What value has truth, love and that extraordinary state of the unknowable? What value has this in the world of jealousy, envy, passing pleasures, beliefs, dogmas and passions? I’m sorry to use the word ‘passion’. Passion is a lovely thing, a good thing – not the passion of ambition or lust and all that kind of stuff; I’m talking of something entirely different. What is this immensity, if there is such thing, and what is its relation to our pettiness? None whatsoever. But with something known, we always want to establish a relationship with something unknowable.