“The world is so various and rich that there are universes of knowledge that I will never touch (bird watching, mountain climbing, knitting patterns, on and on) but the knowledge that knowledge is endless is bracing and beautiful.”
I suppose it ought to intimidate
or shame us, how little we know. Instead, it’s a goad to further learning. I
recall in a rush of puberty-driven pride resolving, like Doc Savage, to know
everything – Chinese history, welding, herpetology. More than sixty years
later, I still know almost nothing about those disciplines and remain strictly
amateur. I’m left with a mind like a prospector’s pan, revealing the occasional
nugget of ore but mostly stones.
The learned man quoted at
the top is Rabbi David Wolpe, writing on, of all places, Twitter – proof that
wisdom might be encountered almost anywhere humans choose to venture. Among
the saddest spectacles I know is an incurious mind, one without a sense of
wonder or intellectual hunger, especially among young people. They face the prospect
of a barren, tiresome existence. You hear it argued than learning beyond the
purely utilitarian is a needless luxury, a waste of time leading to discontent –
as though only the privileged are worthy of learning. It’s when studying –
lately, Aristotle and Italian – or reading any challenging text that I feel
most in touch with my forebears, the writers and thinkers who came before me.
Learning never occurs in a vacuum, at least for this reader. We're always accompanied by teachers. Boswell recounts Dr. Johnson telling him:
“Why, Sir, that knowledge may in some cases produce unhappiness, I allow. But, upon the whole, knowledge, per se, is certainly an object which every man would wish to attain, although, perhaps, he may not take the trouble necessary for attaining it.”
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