I trust my wife. We have been married for decades, and there is a deep trust between us.
But our relationship didn’t begin with trust. It began with attraction. Trust came later.
In the beginning, I didn’t know enough about her to truly trust her. She didn’t know enough about me to trust me either. Over time, though, we came to know one another. We learned each other’s character. We watched how the other responded to disappointment, conflict, success, failure, temptation, and ordinary life.
Knowledge produced trust.
And trust produced peace.
That pattern extends far beyond marriage.
As we step outside our homes and into the world, we depend upon trust simply to live a reasonably peaceful life. We trust other drivers to stay on their side of the road. We trust that the food we buy is safe to eat. We trust the people who built our homes, manufacture our medicines, maintain our electrical grid, and handle our money.
We cannot personally verify everything. We have to trust.
And we need that trust because human beings need peace.
Our Search for Peace
Each of us desires some measure of peace and calm, although the amount varies. What feels peaceful to one person may feel unbearably boring to another. But none of us can live indefinitely in a state of fear and anxiety.
Our bodies themselves tell us this. We can endure stress for a time, but prolonged stress takes a physical toll. We were not designed to live every moment as though a predator were chasing us.
So how do we find peace?
Part of the answer is contentment. Contentment allows the mind to rest. When we are content, fear loses some of its power over us. And when fear recedes, peace becomes possible.
But there is a problem.
We live in a world filled with unknowns.
What will happen tomorrow?
Can I trust this person?
Will I have enough?
Is this safe?
What should I do?
What is true?
The unknown creates uncertainty, and uncertainty can create fear. So we naturally try to reduce the unknown by acquiring knowledge.
From our earliest years, we learn.
A child touches something hot and learns not to touch it again. We learn whom we can trust. We learn how things work. We learn what is dangerous and what is safe.
Knowledge gives us some mastery over the unknown.
And the more we know, the more secure we tend to feel.
Perhaps that helps explain why the temptation in Eden was so powerful.
The Temptation of Knowledge
The serpent’s offer to Eve centered on knowledge.
Genesis tells us that the tree was “the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.” The serpent promised:
“You will be like God, knowing good and evil.”
What an extraordinary temptation.
God had not created Adam and Eve to be ignorant. He had already given them knowledge. They knew God. They knew His provision. They knew His command. They lived in relationship with the One who knew all things.
But the serpent offered something different.
A shortcut.
A hack.
Knowledge apart from dependence upon God.
Eve saw that the tree was “to be desired to make one wise.” She took the fruit and ate. Adam ate with her.
They reached for wisdom on their own terms.
But they had been beguiled.
The serpent offered greater knowledge, greater independence, perhaps even greater security. Instead, Adam and Eve discovered fear.
Immediately after eating, they realized they were naked. They hid from God.
The pursuit of knowledge apart from God did not produce peace.
It produced fear.
That should tell us something.
But How Do We Know What Is True?
Human beings have been wrestling with this problem ever since.
We investigate the world. We observe nature. We conduct experiments. We read books. We attend schools. We listen to teachers. We learn from people who came before us.
All of that can produce genuine knowledge.
But underneath it lies a deeper question:
How do we know that what we think we know is actually true?
There is a famous quip often attributed to Mark Twain:
“It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”
Whether Twain actually said it is almost beside the point. The observation is painfully accurate.
We can be wrong without knowing we are wrong.
I certainly can.
And that exposes the frailty of human knowledge. If I need knowledge in order to navigate the unknown, but some of the things I “know” may not actually be true, then knowledge alone cannot give me lasting peace.
I need something deeper.
I need truth.
Truth Comes Before Knowledge
Truth is foundational to knowledge.
Before I can truly know something, that something must actually be true.
So where does truth come from?
That may be one of the most important questions a human being can ask.
Jesus made an astonishing statement in John 14:6:
“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”
Notice what Jesus did not say.
He did not merely say, I know the truth.
He said:
I am the truth.
Christianity makes the remarkable claim that ultimate truth is not merely a collection of correct propositions waiting to be discovered. Truth is grounded in the character and being of God Himself.
That changes the question.
Instead of merely asking, What do I know?
I must also ask:
Whom do I trust?
The Problem of the Source
We live in an age overflowing with information.
We have more information available to us than almost anyone who has ever lived. With a device in our pocket, we can access libraries, universities, news organizations, governments, scientists, theologians, philosophers, influencers, friends, strangers, and artificial intelligence.
Information is everywhere.
But information and truth are not the same thing.
A lie is information too.
Jesus described Satan as “a liar and the father of lies” (John 8:44). From the beginning, deception has been his weapon.
That is precisely what happened in Eden.
The serpent did not simply tell Eve something obviously absurd. He mixed truth with falsehood. He offered something desirable while concealing its consequences.
That is what makes deception powerful.
If every lie looked like a lie, deception would be easy to avoid.
But it doesn’t.
The most dangerous falsehood is the one that looks enough like truth to be trusted.
And suddenly we are back where we began.
Trust.
Whom Do You Trust?
To live in peace, we must trust.
But trust requires knowledge of the one being trusted.
And knowledge requires truth.
And truth requires a reliable source.
So perhaps the great question underneath so many of life’s other questions is not simply:
What do you believe?
It is:
Whom do you trust?
Adam and Eve faced that question in the garden.
God had spoken.
The serpent spoke.
Two voices presented two different versions of reality.
Adam and Eve had to decide which voice they would trust.
So do we.
Every day we encounter competing claims about what is good, what is evil, what gives life meaning, what makes us happy, what we should fear, what we should pursue, and ultimately what is true.
We desperately want peace.
So we seek knowledge.
But knowledge cannot give us lasting peace unless what we know is true.
And we cannot confidently rest in truth until we know the character of its source.
Perhaps, then, the road to peace does not begin by knowing everything.
Perhaps it begins by knowing whom to trust.
The question is not merely, Where are you getting your information?
The deeper question is:
Who has earned the right to define reality for you?
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