 |
| “Knowledge puffs up but love builds up.” |
There is more than one kind of knowledge. First, there is the practical knowledge necessary to design and build machinery,
construct buildings, engineer bridges, develop safety systems, and a host of
other things on which contemporary life depends. If we can see that knowledge has a
usefulness; if we can see how it benefits us; or even if it just promises to
make our lives happier or better, we tend to respect it, even want it. And that describes much knowledge on the
first of three levels, the kind of knowledge that we might call “worldly” or
“practical,” knowledge that has to do with the way the universe runs. It is the realm of that massive
hard-to-define knowledge that is generally known as “common sense.”
 |
| Edward Gibbon |
There is a second level or kind of knowledge. It is what we might call intellectual or
philosophical knowledge. On one end of
its spectrum is rational analysis. It is
the kind of knowledge that is critical in problem solving, whereas common sense
does not always grasp the subtleties of a puzzling situation. On the other end of its spectrum is
wisdom—the kind of wisdom that has insights into the ways the world operates,
that understands the quirks of human behavior, that has digested the sweep of
history. Sometimes those who don’t know
how to switch from level one—the knowledge that takes the world at face
value—to level two—knowledge that is reflective, analytical, and philosophical,
can easily miss the value of level two knowledge. When the famous 18th century
historian Edward Gibbon finished the second volume of his masterful work, The History of the Decline and Fall of the
Roman Empire, he presented a copy to The Duke of Gloucester, brother of
King George III. The prince responded,
“Another damned thick, square book!
Always, scribble, scribble, scribble!
Eh! Mr. Gibbon?”
Both the first and second levels of knowledge at their best
can serve us well. They make the world
function, society relatively effective, and life overall more easily navigable. The downside of either kind of knowledge is
that, to use Paul’s phrase, it“ puffs up.”
Knowledge is essentially a process of the ego, the conscious part of
us. Egos, too, serve us well; and the
best kind of ego to have is a strong and healthy one. The ego loves collecting knowledge. Knowledge
is power—power to, power for, power over—and the ego likes few thing better
than power, especially the power to defend itself against assaults, real or
imagined. So the more knowledge we have, whether of the practical variety or
the analytical/reflective/philosophical variety, the more apt our ego is to
feel secure. In contrast, nothing so
rattles the ego as the discovery that the knowledge it has collected and prized
is not working so well. Then we frequently
flip into defensive gear, or perhaps even panic gear, building fortresses
around our ideas, opinions, identities, and values.
Religion is not immune to ego domination, as you might have
noticed. And Christianity in particular
is well acquainted with reducing the gospel to what it can practically
accomplish to make us feel better (Jesus as the self-help savior ready to get us into heaven as painlessly as possible,
for example). Perhaps even more,
Christians are often obsessed with what is right belief (correct philosophy or
theology, if you will). It is very easy
for us to assume that true religion is at heart a matter of what one believes,
and so we get all twisted up in debates about what is right and wrong, what God
does and does not approve of, what will or won’t pass as the Real McCoy on the
Christian scene.
 |
| El Greco, "St. Paul" |
There is a third kind of knowledge, however. It is not necessarily opposed to either
practicality or intellect. It is
practical enough to shape the way we live daily life. It is also profoundly intellectual in that it
entails a renewal of mind and mindset.
It is what Paul frequently refers to as knowledge or “gnosis,” but
“gnosis” distinctively different from levels one and two. In the well known Chapter 13 of the same
letter that we read today, First Corinthians, Paul writes, “As for knowledge
(gnosis), it shall come to an end.” Yet
he says a few lines later, “Now I know
only in part; then shall I know even
as also I am known.” What is he talking about? He is talking about passing not just from one
life to another, but passing from one kind of knowing to another.
And this is one of the best kept secrets in the entire range
of Christian experience: God is not reached,
at least not entirely, through reading the natural world with a literalistic or
“common sense” frame of mind, because God cannot be grasped that way. Nor can God be apprehended through the
intellect, although one cannot dispense with the intellect and its ability to
think rationally. This third kind of
knowing is capable of knowing intuitively, knowing in the body, knowing in the
heart. It is a knowledge that goes
beyond the world of ordinary experience, a knowledge that engages the
imagination. It is knowledge more akin
to poetry than to the descriptive prose of history. This knowledge is like the knowledge of a
blind person in a world in which nearly everyone is sighted. You’ve perhaps had the experience of seeing a
blind person navigate crowded streets and dangerous crossings. Those of us whose vision is relatively clear
and dependable often wonder how she does it, how does he who is blind
manage? I have a friend, a former
spiritual guide, to whom I was drawn in part because she wrote a book called Losing Sight, Finding Vision[1], a
reflection on her experience with juvenile macular degeneration which has
brought her to near blindness in mid-life.
She writes that she has had to learn another way of seeing, namely
seeing with her body, not just with her eyes.
That is not unlike—in fact it is a good example of—this third way of
knowing: the knowing that experiences
and appropriates the world not in the head but in the body, the soul, the
heart.
And that is why this third kind of knowledge is peculiarly
about the ultimate union of knowing and loving.
You probably know that in the Old Testament, “to know” is frequently a
euphemism for sexual intercourse. “Adam knew Eve and she brought forth a
son.” Deep union is a very powerful kind
of knowledge. You know that to be
true. It doesn’t matter whether it is a
person, an object, an animal, a sport, an art, a skill—if you are passionate
about him, her, or it, you come to know and love him, her, or it. In a real way, you give a part of yourself,
perhaps even your whole self, your soul, your life to whomever and whatever you
love. And the more you know her, him,
it, the more deeply you love, the limitations, flaws, and failings you see in
what or whom you love. And the more
deeply you love, the more you want to know and to understand the object of your
love.
That’s the way it is with God’s love. But we don’t get there by trying to reason it
out, though once our inner eyes are opened, it makes perfect sense, this love
of God and love for God.
It’s time now to go to the context of this notion in Paul’s
First Letter to the Corinthians. He is
writing about a subject that is pretty far from any concern anyone here has
today: what to do about food sacrificed
to idols. The sum and substance of what
the Apostle is saying is that in the end it is not about what we say we “know,”
but rather how much we practice love—especially love towards those who are in a
different place from us. “Practice some
humility,” might be a way that we could sum up his point. Put others ahead of yourself. You might be right, but being right is not
the point nor the way to build up community.
And that is the key to living as Christ lived. If you would save your ego and all that it
prizes, well, you’ll ultimately find yourself empty. But if you forsake all that to find another
way of knowing, the way of love, you will have, as one of our best loved poets
once put it, “all of life and everything that’s in it,” and what’s more, you’ll
have all you need thrown in with the love you will know you have.
[1]
Sheridan Gates, Losing Sight, Finding
Vision: Thriving Throughout Life’s Lasting Losses (Washington: Purpose at Work, 2014), Kindle edition.
