34 bar rises 30.15 0mpn NNE dewpoint 28 Spring
Waxing Crescent Moon of Growing
“Where is the Life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?” – T. S. Eliot
Eliot is fussy, conservative and pedantic; yet, he is also a beautiful poet and a trenchant critic. I often wonder about the last two of his questions. As an obsessive gatherer of knowledge and information, it often seems that knowledge gets swamped by information and facts.
In case you wondered, like I just did, what knowledge means, I found this helpful: “Knowledge is part of the hierarchy made up of data, information and knowledge. Data are raw facts. Information is data with context and perspective. Knowledge is information with guidance for action based upon insight and experience.” And this, too, a pragmatic (philosophical) definition: “the human capacity (both potential and actual) to take effective action in varied and uncertain situations.” This, too: “Knowledge is an appreciation of the possession of interconnected details which, in isolation, are of lesser value.”
As long we’re on this track, here are a few definitions of wisdom: “is the ability to discern inner qualities and relationships; it is synonymous with insight, good sense, and sound judgment. It means to have “deep understanding”, “to have keen discernment” I like this one, too: “Knowledge with information so thoroughly assimilated as to have produced sagacity, judgment, and insight.”
The first one of his three questions is tougher. The nesting nature of the wisdom/knowledge/information trio suggests that Eliot also sees this: Life/living/wisdom/knowledge/information. My impression, though, is that he sees Life/living as almost apposite and separate from the other two questions. So, it might be that he suggests an analogous relationship, i.e. Life gets swallowed by the details of living in the same way wisdom can be consumed by knowledge and knowledge in turn overwhelmed by information.
It is so often true. The mundane, even profane (as opposed to sacred, not as in obscenity) aspects of our daily life can so focus our attention that we lose the joy, the delight afforded by this rare and precious gift of Life. Let me give you an example. On some days I go into the garden and my intent is to weed. Or to prune. Or to plant or transplant. If my task obscures the joy the garden itself brings into my life, if I find myself mumbling about the difficulty of getting rid of this particular kind of weed or the physical challenge of a difficult pruning, then I have lost the Life the garden can bring me in the details of gardening.
So often delight gets pushed away by duty, joy by drudgery. The invitation to be in the Eternal Now is the antidote. If, in my weeding, I can appreciate the tenacity and strength of the weed, if I can experience just a tinge of regret for having to remove it, then I am in the moment, aware of the wonder of plant life rather than disgusted by the invader. If pruning allows me a chance to notice the growth pattern of the shrub or tree, to wonder at the delicate reaching for air and light that branches are, then I can settle into the truth of the garden itself, become a part of its work.
