Knowledge and Wisdom
Over the course of the past six months, as I have sorted, re-sorted, picked over and picked through the hundreds of volumes of texts which once comprised my library, I've been thinking a good deal about the difference between knowledge and wisdom.
In a consumer culture, it's little wonder that knowledge, which is often claimed by our society to be "power" in and of itself, has become another product to be bought and sold. We can even acquire the trappings of knowledge, without ever actually becoming knowledgeable. We chew up information, digest it, apply it or discard it with little thought as to the ways such information has formed us in the process. In a society constantly looking for the next big thing, learning for the sheer joy of learning has been overshadowed by the pragmatic concerns of "making a living" (income generation) so that we can purchase the stuff society tells us are the markers of people who are living "the good life".
Sitting in the basement of the house I live in, surrounded by the volumes -- read, partially read, unread and unlikely to be read -- I had to face the facts. More knowledge of how to better manage my time wouldn't make me a better time manager. More knowledge of how to pray wouldn't make me a more prayerful person. More knowledge of how to write wouldn't make me a better writer. More knowledge of the game of golf wouldn't make me a better golfer. At some point, I would actually have to "practice" the activities of time management or prayer or writing, or golfing (or any of the dozens of other self-improvement projects that have been a part of my life since adolescence).
In my insatiable thirst for new knowledge, I neglected to understand the necessity of allowing myself the space and time to practice doing the various things that comprise my interests. Throughout the course of my life, I've accumulated a fair number of facts, figures, quotations, sayings, theories and all the rest. There are certainly plenty of people smarter than me -- with more knowledge than I have or will ever be able to acquire. And I've begun to wonder a bit about my own knowledge chase through the years. Exactly what have I been attempting to prove to myself? To others?
One of the challenges of a consumer culture is the constant reminder that we each need "one more thing" to make us complete. For me that "one more thing" had become another book. For others it may be the next electronic gadget, the next drink, the next car, or the next relationship. My experience of turning loose of so many of the books I have collected through the years has made me all too aware of my own attempt to find completion, wholeness, maybe even "salvation" apart from God and through my own efforts at acquiring the right sort of information.
The writer of Proverbs (slightly paraphrased) said, "Living in the awe of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom"...and I can't learn how to live that sort of life out of a book.
posted by FrGaryB | 7:22 AM
4 Comments:
This is a timely reflection, mate. Your account of "knowledge" brought to mind two thoughts:
1. Rieff, Philip, in his 1966 work, _The triumph of the therapeutic; uses of faith after Freud_, notes that the therapeutic ethos (i.e. the embrace of personal autonomy and intensive exploration of one's psyche) has become institutionalized to the point that, both East and West are now committed, culturally as well as economically, to the gospel of self-fulfillment. Self-help books are no longer only in the "self help" aisle; they are found under management, religion, parenting, finance and perhaps many more. Self-fulfillment is what matters, even under the description of the gaining of "knowledge".
2. In his recent book, _Intellectual Appetite_ Paul Griffiths explores the grammar of curiositas, and its counter, studiositas. Though the usual English translation renders these terms as curiosity and studiousness, Griffiths prefers to draw from the medieval usage of the words in order to expose the temptations of curiosity as opposed to the benefits of studiousness. In brief, Griffiths notes, “the curious seek to own what they know; the studious seek to act as stewards of what they know.” (Page 140) As Griffiths explains, the curious inhabit a world of objects, which can be sequestered and possessed, while the studious inhabit a world of gifts, given things, which can be known only through participation. It takes a well-formed intellect to receive rather than possess the world of knowable things. The deep intellectual heritage found in the classical Christian tradition of Augustine and Aquinas, and the repetitive performance of the liturgy provide, for Griffiths, the kind of formation that opens the human knower to the divine life of participation and gift.
Following Griffiths, I think what you describing is the vice of curiositas. The question is, now do we in our current contexts develop a well-formed intellect able to embrace a vocation of studiositas?
At the risk of sounding 'unknowledgeble' - thanks for the thoughtful post.
Lyndon:
Thanks for the summary of Griffiths! The notions of being stewards of knowledge and cultivating a vocation of studiousness is compelling. Perhaps this is a way toward wisdom?
I wonder how far the Church would have gotten in those first few centuries if the apostles and the first generation of their disciples had needed to cart a wagon-load of books with them everywhere they went as evidence that they were knowledgeable. Somehow the story of the Gospel, their experience of the Spirit and the teaching they received in community with one another was more than enough.
Mate,
Yes, studiousness is a condition for wisdom, for wisdom is always knowledge "towards" (i.e. God) and not simply knowledge "of".
Griffth's book is a kind of therapy for an information-saturated culture. It also makes clear what Foucault argued years ago: that knowledge is power, and this can be a corrupting force more easily than a source of human well-being.
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