Thought is necessary, but perilous. In the words of 17th-century French philosopher Blaise Pascal, “Thinking too little about things or thinking too much both make us obstinate and fanatical” (Pensées, trans. Krailsheimer, fragment 1.II.21). Sadly, modern college life has the tendency to push us toward both extremes at once.
Even at a “liberal arts” school like Gordon College, the arriving freshman is no longer greeted by a single, well-trodden path of intellectual and moral development that would prepare him for almost any learned occupation. Rather, he is faced with a stunning array of vocational choices, each with its own opportunities, challenges, skills, limitations, market projections, and salary potential. The sheer number of decisions compressed into a mere four years—what to study, where and when; whom to befriend, live with, and work for; how to work without exhaustion, rest without laziness, and enjoy without frivolity—can drive us to distraction, if not delirium.
To ignore the importance of these decisions would be reckless. Yet each presents a hazard: to think that we control the direction of our lives, that success requires a well-planned career, that our efforts must be strong and consistent enough to “get ahead,” or that one mistake could “ruin” our plans.
This burden is one our minds were not created to bear. Scripture does indeed call us to “ponder the path of [our] feet” (Proverbs 4:26, ESV), but also warns us that we do not know what will happen from one day to the next (James 4:13–16). To think too much of our future plans is to doubt that God will establish them as He sees fit (Proverbs 16:9) and to distract from our daily work. To think too much of our daily activities, to the neglect of the future, is to live a life void of purpose. To think too little of either is to fail to serve God with our whole minds (Matthew 22:37).
At this point, one might ask whether I have simply thought too much about thought. I think not. My goal is not to induce paranoid metacognition, but to recall this: there is tremendous confidence to be found in knowing that one’s entire life has already been architected in the most minute detail by an unerring Master Builder. Every scratch, mar, and defect is ours alone; He has already seen beyond them to that final perfection He has promised us in the next world.
The full blueprint is His, even when we see almost none of it (Isaiah 46:8–10; Philippians 1:6). Ours is only to trace the next line, step by prayerful step. We must indeed see (Ecclesiastes 2:13–14), but we need not see farther than this.
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