JANUARY 10, 2023 – The more I “mature,” the wider my education gap grows and the deeper a realization sinks in: there’s little I can do to mitigate the trend.
It’s in our nature—by evolutionary necessity and practical convenience—to assume we know everything about one thing or rather, about a lot of things. Similar to many other attitudes, the know-it-all assumption is most assertive in youth. Take our seven-year-old granddaughter, for example. When she was asked recently about attending an after-school class in which she could “learn more about art,” she said, “I already know everything there is to know about art.” She’s now signed up for the class, however, and starting next week, she’ll learn that she doesn’t know quite everything there is to know. Ironically, she’ll become better educated not only about art but about her ignorance.
Before laughing in amusement, however, I must acknowledge that ignorance is the foundation of naïveté, which is the springboard for accomplishment. Alexander the Great, who, at the age of 30, conquered the world known to Greeks, is a leading historical example of this relationship between ignorance and achievement—and also between achievement over-reach and catastrophe: he died at 32.
I confronted the phenomenon of ignorance-based achievement (as it were) in the case of writing, publishing and producing a warehouse of insulation in the form of books branded as Severance Package. In the Acknowledgments I wrote, “If in conceptualizing this book I had known what it would take to publish it, I would not have forged beyond the first page. So it is with many achievements in life: our naïveté protects us from reality until our commitment is irreversible.” At the heart of my naïveté—quite apart from publishing—was the fact that as the least literary member of my extended family, I had the least business writing a novel . . . except, it was a novel about business, so at least I had (some) knowledge of the subject matter.
My widening education gap was exposed to bright light (again) yesterday. A good college friend, now a “Philadelphia lawyer”—who shares my specialty in real estate law (affectionately called, “dirt law” by practitioners)—sent me a gem of a book by Robert Coles entitled, The Call of Stories. In the captivating introduction, Dr. Coles, a psychiatrist – educator, who recognized the value of stories in teaching/learning, tells that when he and his brother were growing up, their parents read great literature to each other out loud. The kids much preferred listening to radio shows (we’re talking 1950s), and the parents’ penchant for literature didn’t catch on until the kids “got smarter.”
How many times in my education—formal and informal—have I had the silver-platter-chance to “get smarter,” only to fall for bright, shiny and shallow alternative pursuits? Why haven’t I devoted more effort answering “the call of stories,” devouring literature, acquiring knowledge? Yet, rather than wallow in regret, I’m calling on what education (broadly defined) I do have to address my ignorance. That’s different from reducing my education gap, a mission as quixotic as using a teaspoon to lower the sea level. No, this year I’ll embrace and celebrate my ignorance by diving into the ocean of knowledge—fathomless waters that stretch far beyond unfixed horizons—and shout to strollers along the beach, “Jump on in! The water’s fine!”
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
