Part 1: The Problem with Uncurious Love
The tension between curiosity and love is often imagined, but it seems universal. Love must be curious—it knows no other way. Without curiosity, love starves to death. Agape love seeks to understand, to delve deeply, and to uncover truth even when it is painful. As Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 13:7, love “bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” Love must see and accept reality, no matter how uncomfortable it may be. A love that chooses ignorance or avoidance is not love at all; it is fear masquerading as devotion.
Our modern world exemplifies this dichotomy between love and fear. With unprecedented access to information, the opportunity for curiosity has never been greater, yet so too has the temptation to hide from the chaos. We are surrounded by opportunities to question, explore, and learn—and yet, we are often paralyzed by fear, clinging to outdated certainties instead of bravely confronting the unknown. This applies not only to individuals but to institutions, especially the Church.
Churches in particular have struggled to balance curiosity with faith, often treating the two as mutually exclusive. Rather than embracing difficult questions or new perspectives, many congregations retreat into rigid dogma, prioritizing control over exploration. This fear of curiosity has fostered a nihilistic undercurrent in many churches—a sense of despair hidden beneath polished Sunday sermons and emotional worship sets. While the facade may offer temporary comfort, it often alienates those who seek deeper, more honest engagement with faith and reality.
The Nihilism of Modern Christianity
The Church has become the reflection of broader societal anxieties. Like the culture around it, it often prioritizes appearance over substance, creating a consumer-driven model of faith. Worship services are designed as experiences, carefully choreographed to elicit emotional highs and reinforce that group’s mindset. The goal is to “align” individuals with a vision of faith that often feels detached from the complexities of real life. But this alignment is shallow, a band-aid on deeper wounds.
This nihilism is evident in the way churches handle disagreement and doubt. Rather than viewing questions as opportunities for growth, they are often treated as threats. Theological differences become battle lines, and those who challenge the status quo are labeled as rebellious or dangerous. This rigidity reflects a deeper fear: the fear of losing control over the narrative of faith.
The impact of this fear-driven approach is profound. Statistically, Christians in the West often exhibit the same struggles as the broader population—addiction, divorce, depression—yet with an added layer of guilt and shame. The Church, meant to be a refuge, often exacerbates these struggles by failing to address them honestly. Instead of providing space for healing and exploration, it offers platitudes and quick fixes, leaving many feeling unseen and unheard.
Fear and Control: The Roots of the Problem
At its core, the Church’s struggle with curiosity is rooted in fear—fear of change, fear of uncertainty, fear of losing power. This fear manifests in various ways, from the suppression of questions to the demonization of those who think differently. Yet this fear is not unique to the Church; it is a human condition. As individuals, we often react defensively when confronted with ideas that challenge our worldview. Whether through denial, anger, or avoidance, we resist anything that threatens our sense of control.
This resistance is not new. Throughout history, the Church has grappled with the tension between faith and curiosity. Every human has. Early Christian thinkers like Augustine viewed curiosity with suspicion, seeing it as a potential distraction from God. Later theologians, such as Thomas Aquinas, sought to balance the pursuit of knowledge with piety, recognizing the value of curiosity when directed toward divine truth. The Church has often struggled to embrace the full implications of a curious faith.
Augustine and the Fear of Curiositas
The Historical Roots of Curiosity as a Sin
One of the earliest and most influential voices on curiosity was Augustine of Hippo. In his Confessions, Augustine reflected on his struggles with curiosity, describing it as a “disease” that tempted him away from God. For Augustine, curiosity—what he called curiositas—was distinct from the disciplined pursuit of knowledge (studium). While the latter was oriented toward God, the former was driven by pride and a desire for self-glorification.
In Confessions (Book X), Augustine wrote:
“There is another temptation, even more fraught with peril. This is the disease of curiosity. It is this which drives us to try and discover the secrets of nature, those secrets which are beyond our understanding, which can avail us nothing and which man should not wish to learn.”
Augustine’s view reflects his broader concern with the human tendency to prioritize worldly knowledge over spiritual wisdom. To him, curiosity was dangerous because it could lead individuals away from God, enticing them to focus on earthly matters rather than eternal truths. He said in De Doctrine Christiana, “Curiosity is a thirst for useless knowledge, having only the appearance of learning, while it really degrades the mind.”
Yet Augustine’s critique of curiosity was not absolute. He acknowledged that the pursuit of knowledge, when directed toward God, could be a form of worship. His caution was not against curiosity itself but against its misuse—a nuanced perspective that often gets lost in modern interpretations.
The Scholastics: A More Nuanced View
By the Middle Ages, Augustine’s skepticism toward curiosity was refined by Scholastic thinkers like Thomas Aquinas. Aquinas distinguished between “good” curiosity, which seeks to glorify God, and “bad” curiosity, which serves selfish or idle ends. In Summa Theologica, he wrote:
“The desire to know is natural to man, and is a desire planted in him by God, as is the desire for happiness. Yet the object of this desire must always be the truth that leads to God.”
This distinction highlights the complexity of curiosity as both a gift and a potential stumbling block. For Aquinas, curiosity was not inherently sinful; its morality depended on its purpose. When curiosity led to a greater understanding of God’s creation, it was a virtue. When it became an end in itself, divorced from love or reverence, it became a vice.
Aquinas’ balanced approach provides a valuable framework for understanding the role of curiosity in faith. It challenges the simplistic notion that questioning is inherently rebellious, instead emphasizing the importance of intention and context.
The Enlightenment: Curiosity as a Virtue
The Enlightenment marked a turning point in attitudes toward curiosity. Thinkers like Galileo and Newton celebrated curiosity as a driving force behind scientific progress, reframing it as a virtue rather than a vice. This shift reflected a broader cultural movement toward individual autonomy and empirical inquiry, challenging traditional religious authority.
For the Church, this newfound embrace of curiosity posed a threat. Scientific discoveries that contradicted their assumed biblical interpretations, such as heliocentrism, forced religious leaders to confront the limits of their understanding. While some, like Galileo, sought to reconcile faith and reason, others resisted, fearing that curiosity would undermine belief. The Church still ended up being wrong despite its need to pretend otherwise.
This tension between faith and curiosity continues to shape the Church’s relationship with modernity. While many Christians embrace scientific and philosophical exploration, others view it as a challenge to biblical authority. The result is a fragmented Church, divided not only by doctrine but by attitudes toward inquiry itself.
Curiosity and the Call to Vulnerability
Curiosity, at its best, is an act of vulnerability. It requires us to admit that we do not have all the answers, to confront our fears and uncertainties, and to seek truth even when it challenges our assumptions. In this sense, curiosity is deeply aligned with love. Both require openness, humility, and a willingness to be changed.
The Church, however, often struggles to embrace this vulnerability. In its desire for certainty, it prioritizes control over connection, creating barriers to genuine exploration. This is not to say that the Church should abandon doctrine or tradition; rather, it should hold them with open hands, allowing space for growth and dialogue.
As Søren Kierkegaard wrote:
“The Christianity of the New Testament simply does not exist. What has taken its place is a falsification of Christianity.”
For Kierkegaard, the Church’s failure lay in its inability to foster authentic faith—faith that is lived out in love, curiosity, and honesty. His critique remains relevant today, challenging us to rethink what it means to follow Christ in a world that demands both conviction and openness. To Kierkegaard, the Church’s suppression of individuality and curiosity was a failure of love and authenticity. Faith had become a mechanical act, devoid of vitality. His critique aligns with Nietzsche’s lament that “God is dead,” though Kierkegaard saw it as a call to rediscover authentic faith through vulnerability, love, and curiosity.
Toward an Honest & Curious Faith
Curiosity is not the enemy of faith; it is its ally. A curious faith is a living faith, one that engages with the world rather than retreating from it. It asks questions not out of defiance but out of love—a desire to know God more fully and to reflect His love more authentically.
The Church must learn to embrace this kind of faith, moving beyond fear and control toward a posture of openness and humility. Only then can it fulfill its calling as a place of healing, connection, and transformation—a place where love and truth curiously walk hand in hand.
