Why we must settle for knowing only in part

On the eve of Easter, the Revd Dr Colin Heber-Percy considers how asking ourselves a question to which we already know the answer, but which we may have forgotten, echoes the message of the Resurrection

 

I AM an agnostic. There, I’ve said it. How can you be a vicar, Colin, and call yourself an agnostic? ‘Agnostic’ only means not knowing. And not knowing actually puts us in good company at Easter: the disciples don’t know, either. At first. St Paul is agnostic when he says: ‘Now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully’ (1 Corinthians 13:12).

For the time being, I must settle for knowing only in part. This isn’t because I wasn’t paying attention at school; it’s because I’m human. Arguably, even if I had been paying attention at school (which, quite honestly, I wasn’t), it may not have been to my advantage anyway. Good teachers encourage us to ask questions. How will you ever learn, they explain, if you don’t ask? And remember, they invariably add, there are no silly questions.

But what if all questions are silly questions? In Meno, Plato argues we can never learn anything by asking questions. Let’s assume, he says, you can divide all facts into two classes: the facts you know and the facts you don’t. I know what the capital of France is, but I don’t know the exact current population of Vancouver. There’s no point in my asking ‘what’s the capital of France?’ because I already know the answer. I’d learn nothing new by asking the question. Yet, I don’t know the population of Vancouver, so how would I ever be in a position to accept as false or correct an answer you might give me? Again, I can learn nothing by asking the question.

If you know the answer already, inquiry is unnecessary. If you don’t know the answer already, inquiry is futile.