Tim Muldoon describes why learning isn't a threat to his faith:
I don't want to worship (that is, anchor my life in and be ready to die for) a god that I can understand, nor do I want to engage in a conceit that there really is no god at all. For as wonderful as thinking can be, it is still a rather small tool. Plato understood this, as did other Greek, Jewish, and Christian thinkers from Qoheleth to Plotinus to Augustine. Reading them, I see reminders of a constant thirst for knowledge of God, and with it a stark realization that trying to know God is (to use an image attributed to Augustine) like trying to fit the ocean into a spoon.
Jesus reminds us that ultimately thinking is not the aim of faith; rather, living in love is, which he described with the metaphor of "the Kingdom of God." At the end of the day, when I put down books with ponderous titles, having wrestled with great thinkers who try anew to stretch our imagination and our knowledge of the world, I get up from my desk and am immersed in a world that is in desperate need of rigorously thought-through love.
Kyle Cupp nods:
The faith for which I strive doesn’t give me certainty about the origins of the cosmos or the ultimate destiny of humankind. It doesn’t rid me of doubts, and it doesn’t comfort me. Instead, faith gives me the grace to give myself to another in love knowing that my love may bear no visible fruit and that it will inevitably break my heart and leave me irreparably broken. Faith makes it possible for me to love with all my being while understanding only too well that those I dearly love may be taken from me at any moment. To have this faith is to believe that love has no time constraints and that death does not invalidate the logic of love.