A mystery is a problem which encroaches upon its own data, invading them, as it were, and thereby transending itself as a simple problem...
It will be seen at once that there is no hope of establishing an exact frontier between problem and mystery. For in reflecting on a mystery we tend inevitably to degrade it to the level of a problem. This is particularly clear in the case of the problem of evil.
In reflecting upon evil, I tend, almost inevitably, to regard it as a disorder which I view from outside and of which I seek to discover the causes or the secret aims. Why is it that the "mechanism" functions so defectively? Or is the defect merely apparent and due to a real defect of my vision? In this case the defect is in myself, yet it remains objective in relation to my thought, which discovers it and observes it. But evil which is only stated or observed is no longer evil which is suffered: in fact, it ceases to be evil. In reality, I can only grasp it as evil in the measure in which it touches me--that is to say, in the measure in which I am involved, as one is involved in a lawsuit. Being "involved" is the fundamental fact; I cannot leave it out of account except by an unjustifiable fiction, for in doing so, I proceed as though I were God, and a God is an onlooker at that.
Here is the central mystery. Man is both a part of the universe, and apart from the universe; as a subject he may observe himself as an object; he oscillates between subjectivity and objectivity, or rather partakes of both simultaneously; he must come to terms with the temporally-bound percept and the concept which is to some degree freed from time. Ethnically and aesthetically he lives constantly in the presence of two worlds as it ought to be.
Don't try to fix me
I'm not broken
I'm not broken