Legislating Certainty
by Rebecca Barceló | 23 January 2025 |
On January 20th, 2025, the 47th president of the United States signed more than 25 executive orders within hours of inauguration – a record unmatched since 1937. The orders ranged from climate deal changes, to immigration, to the death penalty, to healthcare, and much more.
Among these executive orders was a specific order to only recognize two sexes in the United States of America–male and female. The order has been named the “Defending Women From Gender Ideology Extremism and Restoring Biological Truth to the Federal Government” act.
The main body of the order states that:
“It is the policy of the United States to recognize two sexes, male and female. These sexes are not changeable and are grounded in fundamental and incontrovertible reality. Under my direction, the Executive Branch will enforce all sex-protective laws to promote this reality….”
I watched the news on January 20th, along with millions of other people, as the president made the declaration of his intent to sign this order. What caught my attention, even more than the fact that he was willing to draw such stark lines through his legislation, was actually the reaction of his audience! As the President declared that only two sexes would be recognized in the United States of America, an audible sigh of relief accompanied the cheers and applause. A deep, existential, collective sigh, that seemed to come from the depths of the audience members’ souls, as if to express relief that all this “gender stuff” would now be fully and definitively behind us.
The speech droned on, but that moment stuck with me.
Solid ground?
For a moment, I empathized with their deeply human temptation to step onto solid ground, amidst the turbulent waters of epistemological uncertainty. How nice it would be to find intellectual repose in caricatures of these complex and compounded issues! To think that closed borders would end danger, that death penalties would end crime, that gender definitions would protect women, or that more drilling for more oil would simply eliminate our inconvenient truths.
How emotionally reassuring to believe that situations are simply black and white, and that any reluctance to “call things as we see them” couldn’t simply be a practice in intellectual integrity – no – but, instead is clearly an indicator of lax morality and impotent leadership.
How quaint.
These tactics by politicians may offer immediate gratification to constituents, but their long-term impact quickly fades. Like a drug that provides an instant high but loses its effect over time, the realization dawns that no “silver bullet” can solve complex and uncertain problems, leaving voters disillusioned and restless again.
The question will arise again: “We legislated in 2025 that only males and females exist in the United States. So why are there still people outside of this gender mold in my family, my church, and my society? And how do I relate to them?” The security of certainty begins to fade away, leading to the possibility of violence to buttress its fading allure.
In his book Doubt, Faith & Certainty, theologian Anthony C. Thiselton includes a chapter that speaks to humanity’s deep longing for the advent of certainty through the lens of the “here-but-not-yet.” Just like the advent of Christ, we have an ingrained longing for the advent of certainty in our lives. A proleptic hope that seems insatiable in our current world.
For many of us, to finally reach “certainty” would mean the end of restlessness, the end of confusion or wondering, the end of insecurity, the end of deliberation. Perhaps it would signify a mental place of peace, reassurance, or the feelings of intellectual or spiritual safety.
It sounds heavenly.
But will it work?
The tension between the longing for absolute certainty and the reality of the human experience suggests that faith often involves navigating uncertainties rather than eliminating them. Thiselton asserts that “We do not…voluntarily enact a formal expression of belief when it is not implicitly challenged” (44), suggesting that challenge may actually play a role in bringing forth conviction.
This could mean that a citizen’s process of coming to convictions on any particular issue may be messier and more experiential than simply being informed, top-down, what to believe. The resulting truth may take longer to emerge, but is ultimately more authentic, as it allows individuals to take greater ownership of their beliefs.
While we are reminded that we currently “see through a mirror, dimly” (1 Cor 13:12) and are incapable of arriving at full certainty in this life, Thiselton presents theologian Wolfhart Pannenberg’s idea of “provisional anticipation” of the eschaton, where “at some point in the future, the criterion of . . . belief will become, in effect, experiential and evidential” (130).
Until then, Thiselton hails back to a familiar theme: the gift of the Holy Spirit, provided as the “first installment” to carry us through until that day when we will see God face-to-face, engaging in a personal knowing of Truth. A practice of “present truth,” if you will.
As difficult as it is to live in the uncertainties of our current religious and political climates, we know that the way of Christ calls Christians not to live and die by propositional certainties, but to instead live in relational certainties with God and with others.
A dynamic and reflective posture toward the world will continue to require a kind, curious, and humble epistemology as we navigate the turbulent, but rewarding waters of civil life – together.
Rebecca Barceló lives in Loma Linda, California, and is the editor of AdventInnovate, a ministry of Adventist Today.
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