This I Believe

In a world that often feels adrift, we all need something to believe.

Edward R. Murrow’s career has become legendary, not just for his journalistic integrity but also for his courage in taking a stand against the reckless American Senator Joseph McCarthy during the Red Scare of the early 1950s. The 2005 film Good Night and Good Luck immortalised Murrow’s battle against McCarthy whose witch hunt for so-called “communists” destroyed many innocent lives. Yet, this fight's profound spiritual toll is often overlooked. Murrow’s stand wasn’t just about saving people’s reputations and careers; it was about grappling with their loss of faith in a just world.

In a time that feels increasingly chaotic, where confusion often reigns, many people trade in their beliefs for cynicism, distrust, or even apathy. Murrow, however, did not succumb to despair. Instead, he turned his attention to something far more constructive: asking people to reflect on their values and share them publicly. This was the genesis of This I Believe, a radio show that allowed people to declare their most deeply held beliefs and explore what guided them through life.

Murrow captured the essence of this struggle when he said:

We hardly need to be reminded that we are living in an age of confusion—a lot of us have traded in our beliefs for bitterness and cynicism for a heavy package of despair, or even a quivering portion of hysteria… commodities such as courage and fortitude and faith are in alarmingly short supply.

The format of This I Believe was deceptively simple: people from all walks of life, from famous thinkers to taxi drivers, shared what they believed in. But the show was not about offering easy answers or comforting platitudes. As Murrow said at the time, he didn’t want his show to be “a spiritual or psychological patent-medicine chest.” Instead, he wanted real people to discuss the values and principles that they lived by, the convictions that anchored them in times of uncertainty.

Some of the most famous episodes of This I Believe featured renowned figures like Helen Keller, who spoke about her belief in optimism and the power of human perseverance despite overwhelming adversity. Sports legend Jackie Robinson, who broke American Baseball's colour barrier, expressed his belief in the goodness of humanity and democracy, despite the racial injustices he had faced. And Kim Phuc, the young Vietnamese girl famously photographed fleeing naked from a napalm attack, shared her belief in forgiveness and healing after surviving the horrors of war. These voices, along with countless others, challenged listeners to reflect on what they believed in, and how their beliefs shaped their lives.

In 2005, Murrow’s show was revived through collaborations with American National Public Radio and the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. The new iteration continued to feature voices from all walks of life—individuals who had survived captivity, war, or personal hardship, alongside athletes, artists, and everyday citizens. Each story offered insight into how belief, in its many forms, can provide a foundation for resilience, purpose, and direction.

Unfortunately, today, such public expressions of belief have become rare, if not outright dangerous. We live in an era when making any kind of statement about one’s beliefs can lead to an instant backlash. Fear of public shaming, trolling, or worse has made many people reluctant to express what they truly believe. As a result, conversations that might once have taken place openly are now whispered behind closed doors or not at all. Many of the things people once publicly believed in—faith, patriotism, and shared moral principles—are hidden lest they be met with cynicism or indifference.

Throughout my career as a university vice-chancellor (president), I have asked countless students two questions: "What is the most important thing you learned at university?" and "What do you believe in?" To my dismay, many students struggled to provide coherent answers to either question. They would often hem and haw, unsure of what they had gained from their education or what convictions guided them. This hesitation reflects a broader societal trend. As a university administrator, I saw firsthand how institutions have increasingly shied away from asking the “big questions” about the meaning of life, about truth, or about what it means to live a good life. Instead, education has become focused on preparing students for careers, technical skills, or the next credential—important things, to be sure, but hardly the stuff of deep belief or moral formation.

This lack of clear purpose among students—and society at large—mirrors a broader retreat from belief. Just as many students are unable to articulate what they have learned, so too are many people unable to express what they believe in. Social media has only amplified this, as platforms designed for quick reactions and fleeting attention discourage the thoughtful engagement that Murrow’s show invited.

Why does this matter? Because without belief, people—especially young people—are left adrift in a world that can seem increasingly overwhelming. Suicide rates among young people are alarmingly high, and many struggle with anxiety and depression. Part of this crisis stems from the sense that there is nothing to hold onto, no anchor to provide meaning or direction. In times past, faith, patriotism, and shared communal values filled this void. People found meaning in their relationship with God, in their commitment to their country or shared moral principles. These beliefs were not always easy or uncontested, but they provided a framework for making sense of the world.

Today, many of these shared beliefs have eroded. Organised religion has seen a sharp decline, particularly in the West. Patriotism, once a unifying force, is often viewed with scepticism, and many young people struggle to find common ground with older generations. Even universities, traditionally bastions of intellectual inquiry into the “big questions,” have retreated from this role. Instead of asking students to grapple with questions of meaning, morality, or truth, universities often encourage a kind of moral relativism where all beliefs are treated as equally valid. This lack of moral standards is deeply troubling. Without something larger to believe in, people are more likely to feel lost, disillusioned, and disconnected.

In a world that often feels adrift, we all need something to believe. Belief doesn’t need to be confined to religion or patriotism. It can be as simple as a belief in the power of honesty, the importance of kindness, or the value of community. What matters is that we have something to hold onto, something that gives us direction in times of uncertainty.

So, what can be done?  Perhaps the first step is to create spaces where people can share their convictions without fear of ridicule or reprisal. We need to encourage public and political discussions that explore not just what is practical or efficient, but what is good, what is meaningful, and what is worth striving for. These discussions, in turn, can inspire others to reflect on their own beliefs and ultimately foster a society where belief is seen not as a relic of the past, but as a vital part of our shared future.

So, what do you believe?