You may know the story of Faust, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's oft duplicated, in various forms, parable about the enticements and hazards of questing for knowledge beyond human ken.  Wishing to know more than the material, the intimate secrets of the hiddenness of the universe, Goethe ends up making a pact with the Devil (here presented as Mephistopheles) in which he will receive such knowledge in return for an eternity of serving the Devil in hell.  For anyone who believes in an afterlife, this of course may strike her as a difficult bargain:  eternal insight in return for eternal damnation.
     We all have a bit of Faust in us.  We all long to know more than what we know today, and most of us long to know that which, though we are loathe to admit it, we will never know.  We spend our lives knocking on the door of eternity, wandering about this earth, as a Gypsy proverb puts it, "our hearts full of wonder and our souls deep with dreams."  We long to know more.
     Such longing is thoroughly human and, viewed with humility, fully fits who we should be.  We are born to wonder and wander.  Too many of us, however, wander in a circle, a circle of our human frailty and folly, a circle that forgets it is but a circle within a greater presence.  Otherwise, it would have absolutely nowhere to be.
     Faust was acutely aware that he was a circle within others.  He knew there was something more to be known.  Yet he forgot that we can only know what is beyond us if we in turn recognize that it cannot be known unless it makes itself so.  It's only knowable when we ourselves are known, known by that which governs and guides the reality of our existence.  Otherwise, we're shouting in the dark.