Countless books have been penned on how one finds the truth.  In a clever look at this question, the British novelist G. K. Chesterton wrote, nearly two centuries ago, a story he called The Man Who was Thursday.  It is the story of a government agent who, working undercover, is attempting to infiltrate an anarchist cadre so as to halt its efforts to disrupt and destroy civil society.  As this agent makes his way into the group, he discovers, little by little, that every other member is actually an undercover agent, too.  In fact, the only member of the group who does not appear to be an undercover agent is its leader, a person called Sunday.  The anarchist cadre doesn't really exist.
     Without disclosing too much of the plot, I will say that, by the end of the story, Thursday and his "comrades" find themselves face to face not with a cadre of anarchists, but with God.  Full of terrifying power, hope, and judgment, this God announces that he alone is the truth, and he alone has provided a way for people to find the truth.
     Taken aback, one of the group questions God as to how he can possibly say this and, moreover, as to whether he has ever really suffered.  Rising to his feet angrily, God then tells him, "Can you drink the cup that I drink of?"  As he did to Job when he dared question God's intentions, God makes clear that unless you are me, you have no idea about what truth is.  How could you?  Indeed, the harder Thursday and his co-conspirators looked for the truth, the more they distanced themselves from it.
     We may find the truth, we may find God.  But we will find neither unless we set our preconceptions aside and look beyond ourselves.  Our eyes will only see as widely as our limited minds allow.  Put another way, we'll never find the truth if we think it can't exist.