Sárospataki Füzetek 2025/1. – Editor's foreword

Diversity is a blessing. God has a thousand faces, and getting to know Him is a true adventure. As we change, and as eras rise and fall, our perspective is always shifting. With this in mind, pushing the boundaries of our understanding is both a challenge and a calling. For faith without science is shallow or blind; yet knowledge without commitment, and without faith, is merely empty verbiage. And yet, it seems that doubt or criticism arises again and again regarding both sides, fueled by a hidden demand for exclusivity. Science is criticized for having no connection to reality, as if contemplating God were some kind of luxury that yields no tangible results, but only multiplies questions or sows the seeds of doubt. As for faith, it is seen as naive and intrusive, because without reflection it fails to grasp its own difficulties, suppresses doubts, and makes one narrow-minded. Where is the truth? Nowhere and everywhere. Blaise Pascal puts it aptly: “All human dignity lies in thought. But what is this thought? How foolish! Thought is, by its very nature, something marvelous and unparalleled. There must have been peculiar flaws in it for it to be looked down upon because of them; yet its flaws are among the most ridiculous. How great by its very nature! How lowly because of its shortcomings!” (Pascal: Pensées, 365.) Indeed. Knowledge is fragmentary. Yet a single small exegetical insight or cultural-anthropological realization can transform an entire world, casting new light on a belief—or even a historical fact—that was once taken for granted. A single question can open up profound chasms into which we are right to fear looking. Can evil come from God? Is God more than a skillful compilation of the conceptions of God found in surrounding cultures? To what extent was the idea that Jesus was conceived by the Holy Spirit credible to his contemporaries, and what consequences might this have entailed? Why is it a problem for someone to be rich? What makes a wise person wise? What makes someone a member of the church? These are questions that are often not easy to ask, much less to answer. Of course, we have our panels, our paragraphs, and perhaps our dogmatic articles—some better, some less so; some outdated, some more up-to-date. And the answers are either satisfactory or questionable. In the world of faith, however, there is usually nothing left but to throw up our hands in admission: we do not know. But not knowing cannot be an excuse. Pascal criticizes theological systems—and even the very act of thinking itself—directing our attention to the “foolishness” of the Gospel rather than to wisdom and rational argument. Based on this, we might say that admitting ignorance is the wisest path—much like Socrates, who, according to the Pythia, is the wisest man in the world precisely because he does not believe himself to know anything. At the same time, ignorance can be the result of laziness, the fruit of idleness born of complacency. Paradoxically, Pascal’s entire work—even if intentionally fragmentary—is the fruit of intellectual labor and deep reflection. It is precisely in this tension between faith and knowledge that a virtue can emerge: the will to struggle—and this is the greatest merit of Pascal’s ideas. The energy invested in this struggle may often seem futile, but an outside observer cannot rub his hands together after a grueling struggle that ends in failure and say, “See, I told you so—it’s pointless.” It takes a great deal of thought to recognize the futility of a thought. Moreover, more often than not, it is not the result but the journey itself that ennobles us—the tension of the dilemma and the heavy silence of sleepless nights. The burdens of today and tomorrow strengthen our shoulders; the quest refines our thinking; and the struggle of faith forges perseverance. The irreplaceable gain along the way is the journey itself. Despite all difficulties, an existence full of challenges is, in fact, an incredibly exciting adventure. The thirst for knowledge, the longing for answers, and the joy of the freedom to ask questions are not luxuries, but qualities hardwired into us. Believing and understanding are not a contradiction or an irresolvable paradox; they go hand in hand, longing for one another. Just as our doubts are not the opposites of faith or knowledge, but rather steps on the ladder of change. Pascal again: “A religion can only be true if it has come to know human nature. If it has recognized its greatness and its smallness, and has provided an explanation for both.” (Pascal: Pensées, 433) With great self-awareness, he identifies Christianity as the sole bearer of truth. This requires asking questions, reflecting, and believing all at once—even if the very point of his thoughts is to deconstruct those thoughts themselves. Yet the book radiates the fundamental and unchanging question: Do you want to know? And perhaps even more importantly: Whom do you want to know? This issue guides us along this rugged path—not all the way through, but merely by pointing the way and offering answers that, whether convincing or not, invite reflection. Together, they make for a true treat. Studies in the history of religion, exegesis, church history, canon law, and aesthetics have been gathered side by side—from various fields, by faculty members and students at our university alike—spiced with insightful book reviews and a deeply thought-provoking sermon. I warmly recommend this issue of *Sárospataki Füzetek* to all those who are walking the exciting path of discovery and faith.

György Kustár