How do we make sense of our universe? Of ourselves? Human beings seem inherently driven to seek meaning in life, sensing that something deeper lies beyond the horizons of our present experience that makes life worthwhile and fulfilling. The cultural anthropologist Clifford Geertz suggests that humanity “cannot live in a world it is unable to understand.” We are “symbolizing, conceptualizing, meaning-seeking animals,” who want to “make sense out of experience, and give it some form and order.”

Human beings are always seeking meaning. Yet this “meaning” proves elusive. It is not something that we observe; rather, it is something we have to uncover by interpreting what we observe. The universe stays silent about its own significance, compelling us, as its observers and interpreters, to discover “some form and order.” P. D. James, who created the investigator and poet Adam Dalgliesh of New Scotland Yard, famously remarked that “what the detective story is about is not murder but the restoration of order.” Meaning is something that we uncover by following clues and discovering where they lead us.

Dorothy L. Sayers, a prominent figure in the Golden Age of Detective Fiction, drew an explicit connection between fictional detectives, philosophy, and theology: like detectives, we are surrounded by a multitude of clues and must find the best framework to interpret them. The result is a new way of seeing things, enabling us to perceive the interconnectedness of these clues. The detective novel appeals to our underlying belief in the inherent rationality of the world around us on the one hand, and our capacity to uncover its underlying patterns on the other.

Sayers suggests that we experience a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction when we solve a mystery by uncovering the meaning of the clues. In a semi-autobiographical piece, she wrote about the “satisfaction of plaiting and weaving together innumerable threads to make a pattern, a tapestry, a created beauty.” One of the best (and certainly one of the most enjoyable) examples of such a weaving together is the detective novel. We were not present to witness the mysterious death of Sir Charles Baskerville. Through careful analysis of the clues, however, Sherlock Holmes developed the most probable explanation of what truly occurred. We can look beyond the clues and discover the hidden thread that connects them.

One of the most familiar examples of this sense-making process is found in the natural sciences. Careful observation of our world leads to reflection on what theory – a term that denotes a way of “seeing” or “beholding” – can be found to connect and coordinate these clues. In the language of modern philosophy of science, theories are epistemic frameworks that we construct to make sense of phenomena. Isaac Newton’s theory of gravitation was seen as a wonder of its age, demonstrating that the orbits of the planets around the sun and the falling of an apple to the ground were all interconnected. Yet, these are explanations of how our world functions, not interpretations of what it means.

The detective novel appeals to our underlying belief in the inherent rationality of the world around us on the one hand, and our capacity to uncover its underlying patterns on the other.

Some argue that we should confine ourselves to scientific explanations of our world, yet this is both unnecessary and impoverishing. We need to use multiple intellectual toolkits to understand the world and our place within it. Science is one of them. But limiting ourselves to this single way of understanding our world impoverishes us. It restricts us to a partial vision of a rich and complex reality. It can’t disclose or accommodate deep existential truths – such as purpose, meaning, or moral values. In fact, there are some who regard any such quest for meaning as an outdated superstition, discredited by modern science.

In his book The Atheist’s Guide to Reality: Enjoying Life Without Illusions, the atheist philosopher Alex Rosenberg asserts that science is “our exclusive guide to reality,” providing us with reliable certainties about our world and ourselves – such as his belief that there is “no moral difference” between right and wrong. Given his rather dogmatic working assumptions, Rosenberg is entitled to draw this conclusion. If you rely solely on the natural sciences as your “exclusive guide to reality,” you will not be able to answer moral questions. Rosenberg is just being consistent here. But most of us feel deeply that moral questions are important!

Rosenberg provides his own somewhat unsatisfactory explanation for this human concern to do what is right. “Why should I be moral? Because it makes you feel better than being immoral.” Happily, Rosenberg has a therapeutic solution for those who might be troubled by his radical exclusion of morality or meaning from their worlds. If this makes it impossible for you “to get out of bed in the morning,” then take some Prozac. (Other pharmacological solutions are, of course, available.)

This is where religious belief becomes relevant. It may seem strange to suggest that a fictional whodunit might help us make sense of life, but it really helps us appreciate the importance of following clues and seeing where they lead us. Like science, religious belief is about attempting to make sense of the clues we observe in our world and experience within us. For C. S. Lewis (an excellent representative of this approach), our sense of moral obligation and experiences of longing and desire are “clues to the meaning of the universe.” Like their scientific counterparts, they open up new ways of thinking about ourselves and our world. Yet they operate at a different level. Lewis interprets human desire as a clue to our true nature and genuine needs. The realization that nothing within the world ever seems able to satisfy our deepest longings is one clue among many others to the true meaning of the world.

Realizing this is like a curtain being drawn aside for a moment, giving us a tantalizing glimpse of a distant and beautiful landscape, leaving us with a painful longing to enter into it. We contemplate the splendor of the night sky, wondering whether the serene beauty of the stars could illuminate the mystery of human destiny. Is our true homeland out there, beyond this world? We appreciate the beauty of a glorious sunset while wondering whether the sense of beauty it evokes within us is a hint of another, more wonderful world that we have yet to discover.

For Lewis, the Christian faith has an explanatory capaciousness that makes sense of our observations and experiences, while also enabling us to develop moral values and an understanding of meaning that are grounded in this deeper vision of reality. Science helps us to understand how the world works, while religion helps us understand what it means and clarifies our place in the “big picture” that it provides. It provides a lens through which we can perceive our world as it really is, offering a framework for interpreting its true meaning.

Not everything fits perfectly within this big picture. Like a landscape just before dawn, there are patches of mist and shadow that stubbornly linger, obscuring our vision. As Paul puts it, we presently “see through a glass darkly” (1 Cor. 13:12), limited by human weakness and frailty. Yet we see enough to keep us going, reassuring us that there is indeed “form and order” in life, even if we discern this only in part and imperfectly. Nature is studded with clues to our true destiny and fingerprinted with the presence of God.

In her remarkable book Prisons We Choose to Live Inside, Doris Lessing criticizes what she calls the “great over-simplifiers” who confine us in simplistic and shallow accounts of the world. These people simply ridicule anyone who suggests that things might be richer or more complicated than they are prepared to allow. They offer a superficial understanding of our world, a surface reading that overlooks its complexity and depth. Lessing argues that we needlessly walk into these prisons and close the door. But other, better ways of understanding our world are available; we can leave these imprisoning worldviews behind!

Nature is studded with clues to our true meaning and destiny and fingerprinted with the presence of God.

That’s why we need to pay attention to the clues we find in the world around us and our inner experiences that challenge these reductive simplifications. They are what Peter L. Berger terms “signals of transcendence,” indicating something deeper and richer that lies beyond our present vision. We need to break free from the constraints imposed by a diminished vision and limited understanding of human existence.

We must entertain the possibility that our sense of unfulfilled desire is not a mere illusion, the creation of a confused human mind. This sense of longing is one of many clues to our true identity and meaning, and a pointer to how we can achieve life in its fullness. Anselm of Canterbury (1033–1109), one of the greatest thinkers of the Middle Ages, points to how these clues can be resolved intellectually and fulfilled spiritually by realizing that God is both the source and goal of this deep sense of yearning. As he writes in one of his prayers, “Lord, give me what you have made me want; I praise and thank you for the desire that you have inspired; perfect what you have begun, and grant me what you have made me long for.”