Something That We Cannot Call Learning

Several years ago, while working on a graduate degree in philosophy, I was on a soapbox, riding one of my favorite hobbyhorses, railing against reason and arguing that, ultimately, emotion and feeling were far better guides to living life and discovering truth than that cold evolutionary latecomer “reason.” 

My former father-in-law sat patiently, listening to my rant. When I finished, he said: “You use the most reasonable arguments against reason.” At the time, I took his comment as a compliment. Indeed, he did say, “most reasonable.” It was only many years later, recalling this episode, that I realized his words had two meanings: one was the compliment, the way I had taken them; the other was an observation on the irony of what I was doing, using reason to attack reason.

This use of a tool to destroy the tool itself turns out not to be uncommon. In many Western democracies today, for example, people use democratic values and their attendant freedoms to attack democracy, ultimately seeking to destroy the democratic system itself. Some of them may run for political office and win. The Nazis, for example, came to power legally in the 1930s, although manipulation, coercion, and exploitation played a role.

In Chapter 2 of Hermann Hesse’s novel Siddhartha, the protagonist and his friend Govinda have left their homes and families to live and learn with a group of ascetics in the forest. They practice the most severe self-discipline. After a while, Siddhartha becomes disheartened and feels that he is making no progress toward his spiritual goal. He discusses his decision to leave the forest community with his friend Govinda. At one point in the discussion, he says the following. The quotation is from Rosner’s 1951 translation published by New Directions.

“I have always thirsted for knowledge, I have always been full of questions. Year after year I have questioned the Brahmins, year after year I have questioned the holy Vedas. Perhaps, Govinda, it would have been equally good, equally clever and holy if I had questioned the rhinoceros or the chimpanzee. I have spent a long time and have not yet finished, in order to learn this, Govinda: that one can learn nothing. There is, so I believe, in the essence of everything, something that we cannot call learning. There is, my friend, only a knowledge—that is everywhere, that is Atman, that is in me and you and in every creature, and I am beginning to believe that this knowledge has no worse enemy than the man of knowledge, than learning.”

Hesse, Hermann. Siddhartha (A New Directions Paperback) (p. 15). New Directions. Kindle Edition. 

“I am, if I may say so, somewhat flabbergasted, sir.” Since adolescence, at least, I have admired and respected people, organizations, and institutions dedicated to learning and the advancement of knowledge. Just hearing the words “Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Cambridge, Oxford” always conjured up magical worlds. Well, maybe not so much anymore, but there was a time. I don’t know why, really.

I remember seeing my father sitting at our kitchen table many nights after we had eaten supper, with several books open on the table in front of him, with a large legal pad of paper and a pencil. Once, I must have been about ten, I took down a book from his bookshelf, something about mathematics or engineering. I took it to the table and sat across from him. I opened it and pretended to read it. It made no sense to me. But I wanted so much to be like him.

So, it is a shock to read, “One can learn nothing.” The words are jarring even when spoken by a fictional character. But it doesn’t end there. Siddhartha continues by telling Govinda that he is beginning to believe that the knowledge he seeks has “no worse enemy than the man of knowledge, than learning.”

No worse enemy, mind you! In time, Siddhartha and his friend Govinda decide to leave the ascetics and travel to hear the teachings of the Buddha. Here, they will part, for Govinda finds shelter in the Buddha’s teachings but not Siddhartha. Siddhartha has found a flaw in the teachings, an error, if you will. Like many intelligent people, Siddhartha is not content with keeping what he has learned to himself. He feels a compulsion to enlighten the Enlightened One and goes to speak with him. He is respectful and polite, which, unfortunately, can not be said of all intelligent people who draw attention to another’s flaws.

The Buddha listens patiently to Siddhartha, hears, understands, and accepts his criticism. But then he says this to the young man.

“You have listened well to the teachings, O Brahmin’s son, and it is a credit to you that you have thought so deeply about them. You have found a flaw. Think well about it again. Let me warn you, you who are thirsty for knowledge, against the thicket of opinions and the conflict of words. Opinions mean nothing; they may be beautiful or ugly, clever or foolish, anyone can embrace or reject them. The teaching which you have heard, however, is not my opinion, and its goal is not to explain the world to those who are thirsty for knowledge. Its goal is quite different; its goal is salvation from suffering. That is what Gotama teaches, nothing else.”

Hesse, Hermann. Siddhartha (A New Directions Paperback) (p. 27). New Directions. Kindle Edition. 

The Buddha’s warning to Siddhartha about the “thicket of opinions and the conflict of words” is one needed but unheeded by the young Siddhartha. It is interesting to note that the Buddha’s stated goal is not to explain the world, not knowledge. Rather, it is something far different and, in my opinion, far more important, “salvation from suffering.” This is wisdom.

I am grateful to Hermann Hesse. His book gave me a gestalt, a sudden realization of what I had been trying to say to my father-in-law so many years ago but didn’t know how. For many years, I had struggled under the mistaken impression that knowledge was the goal, the only real one, the only worthy one. The unbridled pursuit of knowledge always ended unsatisfactorily. What I yearned for was wisdom, not knowledge. It is easy to see how my confusion arose, how my disenchantment led to cynicism.

In their beginning, knowledge and wisdom look a lot alike. They are comparable to identical twins. But if you’ve ever known identical twins for an extended period, you realize that over time, you get better at distinguishing them from one another. It isn’t always easy; it can take time, and even after a long time, one may still confuse the two occasionally. Knowledge and wisdom may have similar origins and may run parallel to each other at times, but they focus on radically different goals. Knowledge is world-oriented, emphasizes facts, cures disease, builds dams, and flies to the moon. But wisdom emphasizes meaning, prays for healing, builds bridges between people, and lives in another world.

I am grateful to Hermann Hesse for giving me the gestalt hidden in Siddhartha. I am also grateful for a kind, intelligent, patient man who, many years ago, pointed out the irony of what I was attempting to do and who, if I had heard him correctly, would have given me the same gestalt Hesse did. May his memory be a blessing.

All the best,
Gershon

In Memory of Maestro Lewis D. Dalvit