The Wisdom of Not Knowing
"Our knowledge is a drop, our ignorance a sea." -William James
“Cafe con leche, por favor.” I proudly say in my most impressive Spanish, as I make my way to the courtyard of the Hotel del Parque, to write my first article in my 50th year of life. Light cardigan draped over my standard morning workout attire, signaling to the locals I feel at home here in Guayaquil, Ecuador. After all, it’s winter in South America and a balmy, yet somehow crisp 70 degrees Fahrenheit clearly calls for a sweater - only a novice from Northern Idaho wouldn’t recognize that. Sipping my nearly perfect cup of coffee (perfection, aside from the styrofoam it was served in - must learn, “in a porcelain cup,” before tomorrow morning), listening to a song high above, I’m reminded even the birds in this part of the world speak a different language. As I sit in the rectangular, travertine paradise, filled with delicate blossoms and bubbling fountains, sectioned off from the rest of the world by arched stone doorways and deep mahogany hand rails, I understand why chief Guayas of Huancavilcas was willing to die for this land.
The first monument we encountered upon arrival was that of a massive warrior man wielding a spear, and a delicate woman holding a child, flanked by a menacing feline beast of some sort. Our driver explained the statue was erected to memorialize the great chief Guayas and his bride, Quil - after which this bustling city of three million is named. Legend has it, in the time of the Spanish Conquests of the Americas, Guayas and his beautiful wife, Quil, who was also trained in the art of war, refused to surrender their lands. After successfully destroying many of the Spanish settlements, Guayas and Quil were eventually taken prisoner by the Spanish forces. In a plead for their lives, Guayas offered the Spanish forces vast hidden treasures, of which only he knew the whereabouts. When they arrived at the place of the supposed buried treasure, Guayas asked for a dagger to lift the stone concealing the riches below. Instead of lifting the stone, he pierced the heart of Quil before plunging the dagger into his own chest. Upon dying, he spoke these words: “They stained the rivers with the blood of my brothers, I take Quil to accompany me to the land of the Sun.” Tragic as this story was to read, it gave me a sense of understanding. Ecuador feels strong aside from all of its beauty - learning of Guayas and Quil explains a lot.
I love travel for many reasons, and stories like the one above top the list. Places have a feeling to them - an essence you can’t quite put your finger on, but blankets you in emotion like a soft, cable knit throw across your legs on a Sunday couch. An air surrounding you that most often becomes relatable, if you take the time to dig into a bit of local history. I also love travel because it reminds me of how insignificant I am. I feel so big, so necessary in my hometown community. I’m a regular fixture upon whom many others rely to make their every day lives complete. Nothing that a jaunt to a distant country can’t fix. Travel puts me right back where I belong - recognizing I am but one stitch in a tapestry of human existence. One small thread in a work of art I will never fully witness, so long as breath fills my lungs and a beat is forging in my heart. There is great value in recognizing our place in the world. Hence the fact I’ve spent the past year of my life writing a book on this very topic.
You Matter, To Everyone Yet to No one - a title that came to me about five years ago but something I am finding is much more difficult to explain than I initially imagined. I carved out nine months for this project, put all other writing and business aside, with every hope my words will change the way in which many people conduct their lives. A book I am certain, given the proper marketing, will become a cherished gift - my contribution to this entire experience we call the state of being human. Like most things in life, I’m realizing my timeframe wasn’t realistic. I’m also learning how little I actually know. Which leads me to the purpose of this article today - wisdom is in recognizing how little we know, not in believing we know so much.
Over the past year, I have learned a great deal. I have spent countless hours studying the philosophy of Hume and Heraclitus, re-reading great literary artists like Dostoevsky and Viktor Frankl, participating in discussions with one of the brightest minds of our modern times, Dr. Iain McGilchrist and sorting through my own past. So when I sat down to write this morning, I had a plethora of material from which to choose a topic to explore. What words of wisdom could I pass along on the mark of my first fifty years of life? Disappointingly, none of them singularly felt worthy of eating up a few hours of my special day. Instead, all I could think of was how little I still know.
A few weeks ago, I was awakened in the night with a profound revelation. Earlier in the day, I had been reading The Master and His Emissary and listening to a discussion on the difference between information and knowledge, while attempting to care for my ever-aging body in the sauna. (There is something about approaching fifty that brings a new awareness of the failing elasticity of the skin and the sensitivities of the digestive tract of the middle aged human.) By the time I went to bed, my mind was still busy sorting through the spectrum of learning we embark upon - from ingesting information like tiny peas and carrots airplaned into the gaping mouth of a toddler, to the profound words we occasionally step into like a perfectly tailored suit, when we experience first-hand the words spoken by someone with a deeper understanding of life. At 2:30am, I popped up in my bed, with a visual representation of how to describe this spectrum of learning to my readers. An image I have since dubbed, The Spiral of Wisdom.
We are caught in an obsession with information. We seem to think the more facts we collect, the more elevated our existence will become. Wrong. In fact, the exact opposite is occurring. The more data points we absorb in the form of information, the less reason, conceptual understanding and wisdom we achieve.
Like life, learning does not occur in a linear fashion. We do not simply stack event upon event to achieve a fulfilling life. We do not simply add data upon data and gain understanding and wisdom. Instead, we move through life in an upward, circular fashion. We are never at the same point in time twice, but we do move year to year, to a place familiar to where we have been before. Ideally, at an elevated understanding of where we have been and a clear vision of where it is we are going. A Jacob’s Ladder - not a straight, linear projection. Learning works in an identical manner. We absorb information, the lowest level of data, become familiar with the information aka get to “know” it and gain knowledge. This knowledge is then implemented into our lives and in time, we have understanding. Pay attention, constantly watching ourselves and others, and we may eventually end up with wisdom.
I have taken fifty revolutions around the sun. Each year, circling back from an elevated view. We know more, but we do not yet know what we do not yet know. That is the beauty of living your life with an understanding of the spiraling nature of existence. There is no need to pretend we cannot see or remember the past. There is no need to pretend we know all there is to know, in order to see where we are going. Instead, there is peace in looking back on where I have been, knowing I will never be there again because it is impossible to return to the same place twice. There is hope in knowing I do not yet know all there is to know.
There is humility in recognizing I am moving my way up the Jacob’s Ladder of life and of wisdom. Maybe I know more than I realize, after all.
Beautiful 🌹 one is taken “to another place” with your writings … 🙏🏼🤗