To Know

Merriam-Webster has this to say about the word "know":

know
Pronunciation: \ˈnō\
Function: verb
Inflected Form(s): knew \ˈnü also ˈnyü\ ; known \ˈnōn\ ; know·ing
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English cnāwan; akin to Old High German bichnāan to recognize, Latin gnoscere, noscere to come to know, Greek gignōskein
Date: before 12th century

transitive verb
1 a (1): to perceive directly : have direct cognition of (2): to have understanding of (3): to recognize the nature of : discern b (1): to recognize as being the same as something previously known (2): to be acquainted or familiar with (3): to have experience of
2 a: to be aware of the truth or factuality of : be convinced or certain of b: to have a practical understanding of
3 archaic : to have sexual intercourse with
intransitive verb
1: to have knowledge
2: to be or become cognizant —sometimes used interjectionally with you especially as a filler in informal speech.

In The Shack, the argument is made multiple times that if people really knew God's love, and knew God's nature, then we wouldn't doubt God's goodness when bad stuff happens. God tells Mack that the reason Mack is mad at God, has distance in his relationship with God and others, and keeps getting hung up on the brutal murder of his young daughter Missy, is Mack's lack of understanding of God's love. If Mack just knew God loved him, Mack would be cool with the whole thing. Not to say Mack wouldn't hurt at all, or miss Missy, but he'd understand that God was still good and in control and wouldn't be so upset about it. It seems in part that Mack would be ok because he'd also know that God was hurt by the whole situation as well.

I'm hung up on this "knowing" God loves us. Seems that Young is using it in the sense of 1-a-3, 1-b-3, or some sense of 2. In other words, "knowing" is connected to experience, and is a deep and profound trust in the knowledge. In this case knowing God loves means truly trusting God loves. This is a fine definition of "know" which is often used. I think it was Plato who said that people who know what is good, do what is good; those who don't do good don't really know it, because anyone who knows it, does it.

Call me postmodern, but I have problems with this. "Know" seems like it can be a looser term than that. I think this use of the term places too much reliance on the idea that knowledge based on fact or experience is somehow very solid and reliable. However, someone can come along and debate the truth of that knowledge; a new experience can alter one's perception and interpretation of prevoius experiences and thus question the reliability of former knowledge; memory can get distorted, screwing up one's sense of knowledge... over reliance on "know it means you trust it" drives me nuts. I'd prefer to just throw "trust" or "belief" in there and clear up the whole mess.

Why? I think it's just cleaner than talking about multiple kinds of knowing, like "head knowing" vs. "experiential knowing." A common example uses a chair: I may declare that I know the chair can hold me, and yet not trust it enough to sit in it. On the other hand, I can choose to sit in it, and find through experience that it really can hold me. I think to clarify "knowing" in this case just is confusing. Call the first "think" or "think I know" and the second "trust" or "believe" or "experience." Just drop knowing right out of it. Try this out: I may declare whatever I want about my cognitive acceptance of the chair's ability to hold me, yet until I park my behind in it and let the chair keep me from crashing in embarassing manner onto the floor, I leave room for others to doubt that I trust or believe the chair can actually hold me. If I refuse to sit in it, because I fear crashing, then I don't believe it will hold me.

And now I think we can talk about why it isn't as simple as "knowing" God loves us. Here's the problem: if God loves me, why does bad stuff happen to me? Young's answer is: See, idiot, you don't know God loves you, or you wouldn't ask such a stupid question. Sorry, forgive me, but I'm human. When I think a human loves me, I think that other person 1) won't hurt me and 2) will try to prevent harm from happening to me. When I percieve that person to hurt me, or to fail to protect me, I often question his or her love for me. There's many ways to reconcile this, including: recognizing that people aren't perfect, but that doesn't mean he or she doesn't love me as much as s/he can; recognizing that people are not powerful enough to stop all harm, but again that isn't always a reflection on the reality of love; realizing that my perception may be off, and this spanking could actually be for my good and an act of true love. Thus, my trust in their love may temporarily fade, but I can correct that as I realize it wasn't an issue of their love or lack of it, but something else.

This, however, becomes sticky when I relate it to God. Because if God is perfect, and God is powerful enough to accomplish anything, that leaves only the problem of my perception. But it is incredibly difficult to reconcile certain pains with anything good or loving. Say, the murder of a little girl: how is eternity going to be better because she got raped and slaughtered than it would have been had she led a long, fulfilling life? Sure, people can attempt to answer that question, but the most predictable response to most answers will be a solid fist to the face, delivered by the wounded parent. "How dare you suggest that my daughter would have caused damage enough that her death now is better?" "How dare you suggest that God can love my daugher more than me?" or something along those lines. So, the issue, for me, becomes less a matter of knowing God loves me than God loves me. Somewhere in there, I need to figure out how I can continue to trust and believe in the love of God, when God doesn't demonstrate it the way I expect a human with God's powers were. Or, to put it more personally: I need to figure out how I can continue to trust and believe in the love of God when God doesn't do what I think I would do if I had God's powers in that situation.

Know whatever you want to know. Trust, however, is harder. And in a postmodern world where the ability to know becomes more and more debated, perhaps we should switch the conversation to Trust. Maybe if Mack quit trying to figure out how he could know God loved him even when Missy got killed, but instead decided to trust God anyways, he'd have gotten over it sooner. Not blind trust, but perhaps putting the testing aparatus on hold until the pain quieted down enough to allow a careful inspection of God. Then, perhaps, trust can return.