Certainty about something nobody can see is exactly what puts a hammer in a person's hand for a hundred years.
Godly fear and faith are one motion here: total conviction about what God said and no one could verify sets a state urgent enough to outlast ridicule, and urgency that lasts turns into lumber. The chain runs all the way down, since what a man is certain of decides what he feels each morning, what he feels decides whether he picks up the tools, and decades of picking them up decide who walks onto dry ground afterward.
A boat that size is a decision with retreat cut off, because a man who has spent his reputation and his years on it cannot quietly change his mind. Aimed the other way, the same certainty about the same unseen water produces a frightened man watching the sky, and the difference between the two is a household alive.