On Knowledge

St. Paul thought very little of those who aspire to all knowledge and all wisdom. So where do I get off expecting to learn five languages ancient and modern when I can hardly keep out of trouble in English? Some knowledge, like the contents of tax papers ten or twenty years old, is obsolete; some, like the essays from five years of theological study, serve only to remind me of my ignorance.

            You see, I’m divesting my house of paper. Those boxes of precious thoughts from years ago, those financial quagmires, old letters, magazines, even some books — quite some books — have done their time in basement, studio, box and shelf. There’s knowledge I have or have not but hugging the dictionaries clings to a distant age.

            Actually, it might be necessary to know less. Why stop at paper? Do I read the news to be acquainted with every atrocity committed in the year, month, or day? Do the insults, offences, machinations of politics and celebrity intrigue, cheer or fascinate? Do I get a drop of peace here?

            Less knowledge might give a space for breath. Or for knowing, as Aquinas says, what can be taught by the senses.