Julia Schwartz

March 16, 2003

Ecclesiastes

            The typical definition of wisdom and knowledge involves that which is learned in schools or from books, that which earns an elegant framed diploma on one’s office wall or a narrow sticker in the window of Mom’s car. Yet this knowledge is only a tiny fraction of that which we know on Earth, and perhaps the type of lesser importance. “True knowledge consists of knowing things, not words,” says Lady Montagu, and knowing “things” is not always the most comfortable option. Despite the challenges that wisdom and knowledge can present, the old saying “what you don’t know can’t hurt you” rings true, as does the Bible as it claims that “much wisdom is much grief, and increase of knowledge is increase of sorrow.” Knowing more destroys any idealistic world that one might have created, leaving behind only the harsh realities of life.

            John Irving’s Owen Meany allows his bizarre knowledge to dictate his life, with his every move dependent on the fact of his extreme wisdom. His wisdom is great as he knew that he was to soon die tragically, yet he is swallowed by incredible grief as he lives out what he knows are his final days, tying up his “loose ends” and struggling to find a way to cope with his eternal departure. In effect, Owen Meany mourns himself, as he is faced with all the pain of his death before anyone else knows of it.

Owen Meany suffers every day in carrying out the actions that he knows will eventually lead him to death. He is tied down by the truth of his approaching death, and his life is hindered. If he was not privy to the knowledge of his passing before its occurrence, the majority of his life could have been lived in a much more carefree and meandering manner. Owen Meany is burdened with the duty to do everything in his life before a certain day, the day of his death, instead of simply doing as he wanted when he did, which is the freedom of the ignorant man.

             The educated in our society are typically thought of as being constantly informed of world events, thus it logically follows that they are news buffs, taking in the terrors of the world each night before bedtime. The knowledge of current events is indeed important knowledge, but the knowing of this does not make the healthy person joyous; instead, it fills her with sorrow. Each night on the news we hear of myriad deaths, murders, rapes, kidnappings, environmental hazards, and so on ad infinitum. And where does this get us? Yes, it makes us “knowledgeable” in the eyes of the naïve, and we are oft impassioned to somehow change the world, yet the knowledge of such suffering and evil destroys any lingering image of idealism that we might still have for the world. In the presence of such suffering, finding enclaves of beauty and peace seems not merely impossible, but reprehensible. The knowledge of the terror that is revealed to us each night on our news stations strips us of our dreams of purity in the world, causing us much grief and sorrow.

            When a child disappears, despite the forlorn nature of the situation, there is great hope of his or her return while there is no knowledge of what has happened. Last summer, when Danielle van Dam disappeared, hundreds of people searched for her; thousands hoped for her. Without knowledge of what had happened, people could imagine the best: that she was still alive. It was only when the knowledge of her brutal murder was revealed by her decaying body in the desert that the true sorrow set in, for the possibilities of her reconciliation with her old life were once and for all shattered. Similarly, until the body of Chandra Levy was found last summer, the optimists of the country could still believe she had just become tired of her life and run off to start anew. Knowledge of her demise brought grief and sorrow, because there was no longer any happy ending left to discover.

            My mother tells me of how her own mother never wanted to look through the glossy pages of “Architectural Digest,” because she knew it would make her realize the sub par quality of her own home. She knew that if she never saw the sunny, colorful rooms of mansions she would still be able to be content with what she herself had. If she didn’t know these things existed, she had no way to miss them. The knowledge of these things would have only brought upon her suffering and feelings of inadequacy.

            Francie and Neeley Nolan of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn are content with their lives and who they are, despite the fact that they could have a field day with a couple pennies at the turn of the twentieth century. To themselves and each other, they are beautiful people, living wonderful lives because they have each other and their loving parents. Yet when Francie hears an inoculating doctor expressing his distaste toward her due to her muddy arm, and sees the girls in her class with shiny hair and ribbons, she realizes that she is different than them and is from a different class, and she is embarrassed and hurt by the way others look at her. In her own world, she is content. It is only when she enters the world of other people who condescend to her because of her economic standing that she is struck by the sadness of being inadequate.

            Francie and Neeley’s mother Katie doesn’t tell the children the night their father dies, because she wants to let them have one last good night’s sleep to buoy them for their upcoming pain. In their ignorance, they can sleep peacefully, yet if she had told them of their father’s death, their grief would be unbearable and they would not be able to withdraw into the realm of dreams. Instead of burdening them with knowledge, Katie chooses to let them be comforted by their unawareness of the situation. Not knowing the truth of the situation is the most comforting for them; increased knowledge would indeed bring much increased sorrow.

            Ignorance is a grossly underrated state. Instead of despising it, more people should embrace it, for in a state of lesser knowledge, there is no fact present to destroy one. Although naivety can be less exciting and stimulating than a state of complete awareness, it is often safer, because in a world of naivety, one can still believe in the light in the darkness; one can still search for the ray of hope; one can still believe her loved one will come home. If one is oblivious to the painful truths of a situation, it cannot bother her, and she will be left to enjoy the corner of her world that still remains pure.