Most evangelical, non-liberal, Christian theology believes that the Bible is infallible. This is taught in universities and seminaries all over the world. How that gets defined will vary from denomination to denomination, and even then it might depend on which textbook they are using for the course. It is an assumption we all make in order to hold any coherence whatsoever of the Scripture. We cannot claim Scripture is intelligible if we don’t begin with the claim that Scripture can be trusted, and not questioned every step of the way.
This brings a question upon the way that we read and study. We all believe ourselves to be interpreting Scripture when we open the Bible. What if I told you that it’s deeper than that?
We don’t come to Scripture as blank slates. We come already shaped—by upbringing, culture, past teaching, personal experience, even by the specific questions we’re asking when we open the text. Over time, those influences form a framework in us. A way of seeing.
And then something subtle happens.
We begin to read the Bible, not to discover what it says, but to recognize what we already believe. At first, this feels like growth. Pieces start connecting. Themes emerge. Passages reinforce each other. A system begins to take shape that feels unified and stable. And for a while, it works.
Until it doesn’t.
Because, eventually, something doesn’t fit. A passage disrupts the system. A contradiction appears. A question surfaces that can’t be easily answered. And now we’re faced with a tension that we didn’t expect. How we respond to this is revealing.
Some ignore the tension and move on.
Some force the text to fit the system.
Some abandon the system entirely.
Very few stop and ask a deeper question:
What if the problem isn’t the Bible… but the way I’ve learned to read it?
This is the part few seldom talk about. Not in church. Not in most theological discussions. Not even in many academic settings. We talk about doctrines. We debate interpretations. We defend positions. We learn hermeneutics so that we can continue to frame our arguments in Scripture. We learn original languages. But we rarely examine the process by which we came to believe anything in the first place.
And until we do that, we remain vulnerable – not just to being wrong, but to being confidently wrong. The human mind is exceptionally good at one thing: building a world that feels true. We are pattern-seeking creatures. We connect ideas. We form narratives. We construct meaning. And once that meaning feels coherent, we begin to trust it—often without ever testing whether it can actually withstand scrutiny. That’s not a theological problem. That’s a human one.
And it shows up everywhere:
– in science when theories go unchallenged
– in philosophy when assumptions go unexamined
– in relationships when perceptions go unquestioned
And yes—it shows up in how we read Scripture.
So before we ask:
– What does this passage mean?
– Which doctrine is correct?
– Who has the better interpretation?
We need to ask something more foundational: What does it mean for something to be true at all?
If we don’t know how to answer that question, then every interpretation—no matter how compelling—rests on unstable ground. This is the first of a series that is about something deeper than offering a new doctrine.
It’s about learning how to approach Scripture in a way that:
– doesn’t collapse under pressure
– doesn’t ignore difficult questions
– and doesn’t require us to choose between faith and reality
In other words: Not just what the Bible says… but whether what it says can actually survive the world we live in.
We’re going to step back before we move forward. Before interpretation. Before theology. Before conclusions. Because if the way we come to truth is flawed, then everything built on top of it—no matter how sincere—will eventually crack. And if it’s not flawed? Then it should be able to withstand anything we bring against it. That’s where we’re starting.
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