I think it is very important, at the outset of this series, to exclude two misuses of the term "mystery".

When I was still (very) religious, I attended a seminary, working toward a degree in theology. I happened across some very interesting historical information which made the doctrine of the trinity actually make sense to me for the first time.

(For those of you who do not come from a Christian background, the Trinity is the Christian model of the structure of God. It involves three "persons"—the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—each of which are divine and distinct, yet it holds that these three are not three, but one. Needless to say, many a seminary student has gone slightly mad, trying to make sense of the idea.)

I was extremely excited, both because I actually saw a way to understand the doctrine, and because of the insights which I thought this understanding might yield in faith and practice.

I mentioned this new understanding to a friend who was a pastor, and he responded by saying, "Yes, that does make a lot of sense, but isn't it important to preserve the mystery?"

This wasn't the first time that I had heard the word "mystery" applied to the doctrine of the Trinity. The more common application usually came at the end of a failed attempt to explain the doctrine, in some educational setting.

After the teacher had tried various analogies (water, steam, ice; wife, mother, daughter: etc.) in order to make the doctrine clear, and after each attempt had failed, at some crucial point, the teacher would say, "Well, ultimately it's a mystery," and that would be the end of it.

If mystery means anything important at all (and I think it does) then it is not simply the final excuse for a teacher's ignorance. I learned in my first year in the classroom that teachers have a perfectly useful phrase for such occasions already. It's "I don't know."

The pretense that the only reason I don't know is that the thing itself is unknowable by nature ( and the arrogance that I do know that) is absurd.

My friend, on the other hand, was not just trying to protect his ego. When he made the comment about preserving the mystery, he had admirable intentions. But he was mistaken, I believe, on two points.

1. He thought that a good part of the magic and excitement (perhaps even meaning) of life came out of our ignorance. Just as a magic trick is ruined (for some people) when you know how it is done, he thought too much understanding of the deep truths of the world would remove the mystery, and with it the wonder and magic, of life.
   
   I understand this point of view, but I think it is mistaken. Music is not ruined for musicians—if anything their greater knowledge of music provides more pleasure, more meaning, more magic. A well-trained cook gets more, not less, out of a meal, precisely because she knows more. A writer gets more from a novel, an art historian finds more meaning in art, a biologist has a deeper wonder and respect for life.
   
   

2. He thought that true mystery could be fathomed, and that, therefore, one had to be careful not to know, or explain, too much.
   
   Again, I think he was mistaken. If science has taught us anything, it has taught us that the more we know, the more mystery is with us. Every deeper understanding actually leads to a deeper appreciation of the mystery, and of our own limitations. I have yet to come across a person who had a real, deep understanding of any field, who did not have a profound respect and humility for the mystery at its root.

All of the above misconceptions flow from the mistaken belief that mystery is simply lack of knowledge. When I discover that Colonel Mustard did it in the Conservatory with the lead pipe, the mystery is gone, because that kind of mystery is merely a lack of knowledge.

But real mystery is not merely a function of ignorance. It is a real phenomenon, apart from me or you, and apart from our knowledge or lack of knowledge.

It also is constantly and intimately with us at all times, if we know how to pay attention.

But more about that in part three.