Questions And Answers

So following an interesting discussion with John and some reflecting at the retreat on the weekend, I have been wondering a lot about whether I am looking for questions or for answers. Or, stated in other words with tongue firmly in cheek, exactly how post-modern am I?

If you know me, you know that I love questions. I love to consider them, I love to ask them and explore them with other people, and I think that, more than just giving an answer, they can be a very effective tool in leading people to truth and to a greater understanding of what matters. I don't shy away from asking, or answering, tough questions.

At the same time, I don't believe that it's all in the journey, that what matters is only that you are asking the questions, or that the answers are less important. But it has really got me thinking: what is the relative value of a question and an answer?

It was Aristotle who said in his Nicomachean Ethics that, when we discuss any given subject, we would do well to treat it with as much precision as it demands: to expect more is an exercise in futility, and to accept less is foolish. So on a grand scale, here is how I think of it:

The first case is that of an answer without a question. Not that there is no question behind it in principle, but the person receiving the answer has not asked the question that demands it.

I think this can be of some value, especially with children. I don't wait for my daughter to be able to understand everything I explain to her. I teach her about art, about physics, about math and language, and about faith, knowing that much of what she hears will mean nothing to her now... the present value is almost nothing. But there will come a point where she will start to consider these things, and then she will have this storehouse of knowledge available to her. One of my favorite authors, Robertson Davies has written about this in reference to poetry... that teaching children poems they can't understand gives them a store of beauty, mystery, and insight that they will be able to draw upon later, and I agree. In fact, sometimes, without starting with an answer, those questions may never come.

I'm not so sure, though, how closely this parallels the intellectual journey that we are on as adults. If someone is not concerned with the question, how much value is there in giving them the answer? Some, I think, but it is limited. We don't care about what doesn't cost us anything, and without the cost of struggling with an issue, I don't think that having the answer will have a great impact on most people.

Does this mean that we shouldn't bother with answers for people who aren't asking? No, I don't think so. But it does mean that we need to include the questions with the answers, to allow people to consider, think, and explore after the fact, if not before. We don't need to be spoon-fed; we need to be molded, and this cannot come without the conflict that questions bring.

The second case is a question which cannot be answered, or (at least) to which the answer cannot be assured. In my view, this won't be because there is no truth or answer, but may well be because it is not possible for us to know or understand it.

With these questions, if the value is truly in the answer, then we are perhaps better not to even ask the questions - and this is clearly the line some people feel most comfortable taking. "We can't know that" or "People have discussed this for centuries and not had an answer - what do you expect to be different when we talk about it?". They would prefer not to explore what seems unlikely to have a solid outcome.

But I think that there is still value - a lot of value - in exploring these questions, for a number of reasons.

1. Any question that has been answered has, at one time, been a question without an answer. Who is to say that what has not been understood in the past can't be understood now?
2. We get stronger by doing things our body is not capable of doing comfortably. We gain wisdom and an ability to reason by thinking about things which are brains cannot easily contain or comprehend.
3. The exploration of "unsolvable" problems may well lead us to other issues that do have a possible resolution, and without starting on the journey we have no way to know what is down the path. What we do know, though, is that if we are static (spiritually, intellectually, or emotionally) we will discover nothing.
4. These questions force us to acknowledge mystery and uncertainty. For many years, I longed for a black-and-white life. Actions were right or wrong. Theology was sound or heretical. Music was good or crap. Well, I still hold that to be the truth on the music front, but I have learned to see and appreciate and even love mystery in faith. It gives me a more accurate understanding of who God is, relative to who I am, and that is a sobering but healthy thing. That's also the topic of a whole other post...

In the final view, the value of a question without an answer is limited. It may provide an avenue of stimulation, but what I want is not just to get my neurons firing: I want my life to be dynamic, to be transformed and renewed, and without answers I may know that there is a direction that I need to take, but not which one it is. So the time and effort I will devote to these questions is limited.

The third case is a question which can be answered.

For me, this is where the magic happens. When someone is intent on honestly seeking out an answer for a question - regardless of how that answer fits in with their initial ideas - there is an opportunity for growth and maturity and change that takes my breath away. This is what lights me up, when I can explore it on my own or join with others in it. Why is it so special?

First, it starts with a willingness to explore. When we come to an issue with humility and a hunger for truth, we can leave behind our own road maps and truly be ready for change. The stance that I live my life in is "I know, but I might be wrong". I am ready to act, ready to commit to what I believe, but also ready to give it up as I see that I have been mistaken. And this somewhat contradictory position gives me the opportunity to really examine my own beliefs and understanding in a much greater way than either assuming that I have the final word and that it will not change, or that I know nothing and may as well not try to reach any kind of real decision. The willingness to be wrong in search of what is right is powerful, and is a vulnerability that leads not to weakness, but to strength.

Second, it leads us to truth. When we seek , we will find. But without seeking with our whole heart, we will not know the truth. In terms of spiritual truth, without study, and contemplation, and meditation, and prayer, and consultation with wise people, we have no likelihood of ever getting to truth. The reason I am willing to ask the questions are not just because I want to change what I think or understand. It is because I want to know the truth, regardless of where that leads me.

Finally, it gives us grounds for action. Our ideas, and our faith, are proven as they are tested. If we hold them in a vacuum, unexamined and unchallenged, they will never be strong enough to compel us to act on them when circumstances dictate that we should act otherwise. Challenging each other is a first step to being certain of what we believe, of turning knowledge into faith - we do not act on knowledge, but we cannot help but act on real faith. I would rather never enter a search for truth from the "right" position than give up coming away with the truth. The confidence that comes from being shown to be wrong but turning to what is right is far more valuable than the frail ego boost of claiming the knowledge of the truth without being willing to test it.

So let's ask each other questions which need to be asked. Let's seek out the answers, without fear of where those answers may lead us, or where they may be found. But most of all, let's be ready to act, to live, and to be be conformed to the truth we find.