When Seeking Assurance is Labeled as Sin

The philosophical tension explored in our conversation today cuts directly to the core of what it means to be a human attempting to reconcile faith with experience. We began by questioning a fundamental contradiction: a relationship that prioritizes "free, genuine love" while simultaneously demanding that one partner—the less powerful one—must endlessly prove their commitment to a partner who remains consistently absent and unassured.

Our inquiry focused on the logic of the "Divine Hiddenness" defense—the idea that God's hiddenness is a benevolent act designed to prevent the human will from being coerced by overwhelming, undeniable proof. However, as we subjected this analogy to the test of human experience, a profound failure of logic emerged.

A genuine, freely given love in a human relationship requires three non-negotiable elements: presence, availability, and assurance. If a partner hid, offered no time, and gave no assurance, we rightly concluded that the relationship was not merely difficult—it was impossible, and the partner was not acting in a "perfectly loving" way. The powerful party, the boyfriend or girlfriend, must be the one to prove their commitment to the less secure partner.

This revealed the disproportionate burden placed on the human soul in the theological model. The logic states: You must believe I exist without proof so your love is genuine, and if you can’t, it is your fault. This effectively asks the finite creature to generate certainty from ambiguity, to establish a relationship with a being who is actively refusing to meet on common ground. It is, as we noted, a requirement "meant to fail."

The most painful and significant observation, however, was not the intellectual failure of the hiddenness defense, but the social and spiritual consequence of questioning it.

In many contexts, the sincere, non-resistant seeker who articulates this injustice is not met with dialogue, but with condemnation. When an individual honestly states, "I am searching, but I have not found the proof I need," they are not seen as a seeker but as a "sinner," "rebellious," or "blasphemous."

This labeling has two destructive effects:

1. The Shift of Blame: It absolves the system of providing sufficient evidence by shifting the blame onto the individual's will or moral character. The problem is no longer divine hiddenness but human resistance.
2. The New Coercion: The very thing the Hiddenness defense claims to avoid—coerced belief—is ironically reintroduced by the social fear of being labeled an outcast or a heretic. A person may cease to ask questions and profess belief, not out of genuine, free love, but out of the primal human fear of social exclusion and eternal punishment.

Conclusion

Our discussion has demonstrated that the argument from Divine Hiddenness is not merely an intellectual puzzle; it is a profound ethical challenge. The concept that a perfectly loving being would demand an impossible leap of faith while simultaneously punishing the honest doubt created by their absence establishes a paradox that seems incompatible with the concept of perfect love.

Ultimately, the person who asks, "Should we be the one who has to prove to someone we don't see?" is voicing a core demand for fairness and genuine assurance in the relationship that matters most. To label this sincere cry a sin is to replace the promise of a "free, genuine love" with a relationship founded on unjustifiable obligation and emotional coercion. The greatest act of faith, therefore, might not be the quiet acceptance of hiddenness, but the courageous act of demanding transparency from the one who claims to love you perfectly.