Is Belief in Objective Reality Harmful—or Helpful?
A look at truth, humility, and how not to weaponize what we believe
There’s a conversational cul-de-sac we keep finding ourselves in lately. Someone makes a claim—about science, gender, faith, or justice—and someone else replies with something like, “Everyone’s truth is different.”
Cue a polite nod—or a meme—and suddenly, the conversation has nowhere to go.
Behind that phrase is a powerful assumption: that truth is private, internal, and treated as something that can’t be questioned without offending someone. In this framing, the idea of one shared, objective reality starts to sound not just outdated—but aggressive.
Some critics go further, arguing that belief in objective truth isn’t just mistaken—it’s exclusionary. They say it reinforces dominant narratives, silences marginalized voices, and operates as a tool of control. And as an academic who studies truth claims and the way people experience them, I take that critique seriously.
But I also think we’re asking the wrong question.
The real issue isn’t whether objective reality exists.
The real issue is how we use our belief in it. Are we connecting—or controlling?
What Is Objective Reality, Anyway?
To say something is objectively real means it exists independently of our thoughts, feelings, or cultural preferences. Gravity didn’t suddenly kick in when Newton wrote it down—it was already flinging apples and humbling egos long before the textbooks showed up.
Historical atrocities don’t become more or less true depending on who believes in them. They happened. Denial doesn’t delete.
But here’s where it gets tricky: Believing in objective reality isn’t the same as claiming to see it perfectly. That’s often where people (understandably) flinch.
Saying "truth exists" is not the same as saying "I've got it all figured out and filed under T for truth."
In fact, if anything, belief in objectivity should be humbling. It reminds us that none of us has the full picture. It invites curiosity and course-correction. Or at least, it should.
How the Idea of Objectivity Has Been (Mis)Used
Of course, history gives people good reason to be cautious. Institutions—including governments, churches, and scientific communities—have at times appealed to “objective truth” in ways that marginalized dissent or elevated their own authority as beyond question. When truth is presented as absolutely settled and unquestionable, it can stop conversations before they start—and leave little room for voices outside the dominant framework.
Christian philosophers like James K.A. Smith and Alvin Plantinga have highlighted how truth claims, while essential, can be misused when stripped of humility. Smith, in particular, critiques modernist appeals to objectivity that ignore the cultural and embodied nature of knowing, while Plantinga emphasizes that our access to truth is always mediated by our human limitations. Appeals to authority without epistemic humility can become the intellectual version of "because I said so."
And that matters. If you've been excluded from the dominant narrative, it’s fair to question the language used to keep you out.
But that misuse doesn’t mean objective reality is the enemy. Acknowledging that truth exists doesn’t require arrogance—it requires responsibility. The real danger isn’t in recognizing objective truth, but in wielding it to silence, shame, or exclude—especially when it’s most needed to make sense of the mess and move toward something better.
Why Belief in Objectivity Can Be a Force for Inclusion
Oddly enough, it’s precisely because we believe in something beyond ourselves that we can challenge injustice.
If truth is just whatever we feel or believe, then what basis do we have to say that racism, abuse, or oppression are wrong—not just wrong-for-me, but truly, deeply wrong?
A shared reality is what lets us confront lies and demand accountability. It’s also what makes reconciliation possible. When two people remember an event differently, it’s the shared pursuit of what actually happened that can begin to heal the wound.
Not because everyone agrees—but because they agree there’s something real to seek. You don’t need perfect memory to pursue truth—you just need to believe there’s something more than your side of the story.
The Real Challenge: Knowing vs. All-Knowing
The issue isn’t objectivity itself, but our expectations of how clearly we can access it. In other words: What kind of knowledge can humans reasonably expect to have?
We often confuse affirming that truth exists with needing absolute certainty—as though we can’t speak with conviction unless we see with perfect clarity. But that mindset risks what philosophers call epistemic overreach: claiming a level of justification or access to knowledge that exceeds what our evidence or reasoning actually supports.
From a theological standpoint, this isn’t just a philosophical error—it’s a misunderstanding of our posture before God. Scripture tells us we “see through a glass, dimly” (1 Cor. 13:12), not to discourage us, but to remind us that our calling isn’t to know everything, but to be faithful with what has been revealed. We walk by faith, not by omniscience. That means we can hold truth with conviction and humility—confident in God, even if our understanding is still in process.
And honestly? If complete clarity were the standard, I wouldn’t be allowed to talk about much of anything—God, math, how taxes work...
When we confuse conviction with omniscience, we shut down conversation. But when we acknowledge the limits of our understanding, belief in objective truth becomes a shared pursuit—not a personal weapon.
That posture isn’t just intellectually honest. It’s relationally generous. In church, in classrooms, and in comment sections, this posture lets us pursue truth not as conquerors—but as disciples.
Conclusion: Truth That Walks With Us
Believing in objective truth doesn’t mean you have to weaponize it. It’s not a mic drop or a theological flex. When held with humility, truth can build something—like deeper conversations, sharper thinking, and maybe even friendship across disagreement.
No human owns the truth (not even the loudest voice in your feed). But we can walk toward it together—awkwardly, inconsistently, and hopefully with snacks.
In a world where certainty is often confused with arrogance, and where “truth” gets tossed like a grenade in online debates, we need a better way. Because the goal isn’t to win—it’s to become more like the One who is the Truth.
Jesus doesn’t just offer answers; He offers Himself. So if we’re serious about objective reality, let’s remember: Truth isn't something to throw at people. It's someone who walked with them.
And maybe that’s what makes truth not just helpful, but healing.
Key Takeaways:
Objective truth isn't arrogance—it's accountability.
Epistemic humility makes room for others.
Misuse of truth doesn't cancel its value.
Jesus is the Truth—and He walked with people.
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If you don't believe in objective reality then you're going to have a hard time driving, working, cooking or eating or anything else as a corporal being in a material world.
If you want to test this theory, then just step off a skyscraper or out in front of the next truck that you see.