On The Cloud of Unknowing

If I ever think I know what God is, that's the time to find a new God. I am not meant to know what God is, only that I should love God.

--Overheard at an AA meeting

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It's a funny thing when it comes to the All; the more I seek to know what that thing is that runs this whole show, the less I get to know. The universal abstracts are never definable, which makes logic very difficult for the believer. By abstracts, I mean those things that are not physically tangible: emotions, ideas, literary characterizations, etc. An apple can be described, death cannot. The same goes for love, fear, life, and even God.

What we learn from the greatest teachers is how to define the undefinable. We do so by describing what God is not. A friend recently told me about an image in her art class, a depiction of Jesus, suffering. I told her that to describe God, she could have said, "See all the stuff inside the frame? Everything on the outside of it is God." This makes sense to me.

An anonymous monk published a spiritual "manual" entitled "The Cloud of Unknowing" and from this we read, "...upon God himself, no man can think. And therefore I wish to leave everything I can think, and choose for my love that thing which I cannot think." In recognizing that God cannot be thought of or visualized, except by the power imbued within us to love, we are faced with an uncomfortable option: do I continue to trust my human ability to conceptualize, or do I trust my God-given ability to feel? Not an easy question for men whose lives are built upon such lofty ideals founded in reason, logic, science, and pragmatism.

Let me offer you this definition of faith, from Merriam-Webster Dictionaries:

faith: 2b) firm belief in something for which there is no proof.

The core value in faith lies in one's willingness to accept that something exists without possessing any practical knowledge of it's reason. I can tell you that I know not how electricity makes my lights turn on, or helps my refrigerator keep my food cold, yet when I walk in the front door, I have faith that flipping that little switch on the wall will illuminate my entryway. Faith exists in all of us, in some way or another. Faith in God is not entirely different from that example.

I can purchase wonderful soil, build a functional planting box, buy the best seeds, ensure that my garden gets plenty of clean water and manage that it gets the proper amount of sunlight; still, I cannot make a seed become a flower. I have faith that the order of the universe works. I think we all do. The real trick, and one I believe is inherent upon every human, comes in whether or not one wishes to trust that the universe works for a reason.

What we learn from this weeks lesson is simple: if you have come to believe that there is a creator of what has been created, it behooves you to know that you cannot know what it is. All you can do is love that it is. If you have not, or cannot, believe that this universe has an order beyond random chance, I earnestly implore you to keep an open mind and remain willing to concede that human knowledge has yet to develop the power of creation. You may one day be amazed.

"Do not stop, therefore, but keep laboring in it till you feel delight."