When a recent and still excitable fine art graduate (a long time ago) I was speaking to an artist older and wiser than me. I was boring on about how some artwork meant this or that when the older and wiser artist interrupted my monologue to ask, “What about mystery? Is there no room in your analysis for mystery?” I was embarrassed by the question, he had revealed my failure to understand something very simple; that not everything can or should be explained. What we can’t explain (what we can’t understand) is important, and often, paradoxically, where meaning lies. Blaise Pascal, the 17th century scientist and philosopher, believed that mystery – and he was a man dedicated to scientific enquiry – was of central importance in life. He believed that some things could never be adequatly explained but that didn’t mean they weren’t true. A devout Christain, he believed that seeking to explain the mysteries of faith was a kind of blasphemy. Mystery should be given it’s due.
… and of the mysteries of the heart he memorably wrote, “The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing”.