What Makes Someone Wise?

I think think one core aspect of wisdom, when you experience it in another human being, is that there is an integrity, a connection between inner life and outer presence in the world. Knowledge is something you can possess, intelligence is something you… can point at someone and say that’s an intelligent person. And wisdom is also — it’s a possession, but it’s a possession that is applied.

So the litmus test of wisdom is not just what is contained in that person, but their imprint on the world.

Krista Tippett, in conversation with Pico Iyer

I think we know a wise person when we see them, but it’s often difficult to say exactly why we see them as wise. There’s an essential and critical difference between someone who is intelligent and someone who is wise—but how to describe the difference?

Krista Tippett captures it perfectly in the quotation above (and I strongly recommend you listen to her interview with Pico Iyer in full). The intelligent person is inward-directed. They may have a large inner life, but they draw no connection between their inner life and the outer world. Their knowledge exists within them, for themselves.

The wise person directs knowledge and intelligence toward the outer world, using it to shape and improve the world around them. They not only have the necessary knowledge, but understand how it should be used, leading what they know to be used valuably in their interactions with the world at large. And that makes all the difference.

A Language of Wholeness

At high school the idea is to be well-rounded. Know a little about a lot of things; be good across the board. Do well in academics, music, sport. But don’t be exceptional at anything. At this point, that’s dangerous: you’ll tie yourself down too early, and invite the ire of your peers.

At university the idea is to be well-rounded with a bump. Learn a little more about a lot of things, have a range of interests and talents. But now, you need to become known for something. Be passionate about something. Be exceptional at something. That’s the way to be successful, to get into graduate schools, to land a good first job.

The language of roundedness generally stops there. We speak of successful people from there on. Generally what matters is just that the bump remains. People develop their careers, and the bump becomes how one defines oneself.

I think we need a language of wholeness. Real people are interested in an enormous range of things , and yet remain exceptional at one or a few things. That’s not just well-rounded with a bump or two, but that’s what it means to be a whole human being. We are not our resumes, nor are we just our interests.

Wholeness seems a worthy aim. Interested in the world and in many things throughout life, and good enough to lead and inspire others in one or a few of those things. If we need a phrase to aim for (and do we?), wholeness seems appropriate.

Dubious Lessons of a Well-Intended Education: On Fakework

Let’s be honest: education teaches us some truly dubious life lessons.

A friend of mine recently took a class in which the sole assignment for the whole semester was a single 6,000 word research paper on a topic of one’s choice. Despite giving her professor assurances to the contrary, she began the assignment the night before it was due. She wrote the entire paper in one sitting, editing as she went, and submitted without proofreading.

She said she deserved a bad grade, and would’ve accepted one with resolve. She’d been unengaged by the class and was planning to declare it as a pass/fail. And yet—when she received the graded paper back a few weeks later, it had received an A, and her professor was effusive in his praise. He wrote to her in an email something along the lines of: this is one of the best undergraduate papers I’ve ever read, and I can tell how much effort you’ve put into this. Keep up the hard work, and may your successes continue.

The lesson my friend learned was one of smart work, as opposed to hard work. Pretend to work hard, put in the minimal amount of effort necessary, confuse with big words, elegant sentences and a complex thesis, and the rewards will follow. Success depends as much on impression as on reality—the impression of hard work, the impression of intelligence.

The kind of ‘smart work’ I’m talking about is more than the “hack” mentality put forward by blogs like Lifehacker, and more than the productivity mantra of Silicon Valley. Where those look to help reduce the time it takes to carry out a given task (and that is, after all, the idea of technological progress), the smart work taught by our schools and universities changes what it means to complete a task. A task is complete so long as it gives the impression of it, no matter the thought, detail, care, conscience or morality behind it. Perhaps a better term is fakework.

“Yes, and?”, some will ask. “The activity is still complete. What’s it to others how it was completed? And besides, they’ll never know.”

Modern culture itself seems built on a similar kind of impressionism. It is probably a result of modern advertising, the ever-increasing fight by companies for our attention, the ever-decreasing time we feel we have. Politics is now the competition of the sound-bite. Advertising gives the impression of life transformation through the purchase of a product, when of course the underlying product can never live up to the impression that was sold.

We are taught the lesson in our schools and universities, because everyone—teachers and professors included—are subject to the same laws of impressionism. Teachers have similar constraints on their time as students, if not more, and it seems the trick, for many (though by no means all!), is to give the impression of having thoughtfully read and graded a paper without having truly done so. Because both students and teachers engage with it, it becomes one of the unspoken myths of one’s education. So long as you give the impression of hard work—and don’t call others out on theirs—all will be fine.

We take the lesson with us to the workplace, and it moves us onwards, forwards, upwards.

The problem is, we come to believe it. Fakework becomes not just an unspoken reality of our education systems, but a rule of modern life. If we could once switch fakework on and off depending on the activity, soon we forget it underlies our actions. And for some things in life, hard work is the only solution. It’s those times when the mere impression of it counts for absolutely nothing.

Like when your doctor tells you you’re at risk of a heart attack, and that you urgently need to get fit to improve your heart.

Like when you’re about to become a mother or a father and have just a few months to learn everything you need to know to keep your child safe and healthy and to give them the right start in life.

Like when you’re laid off at 55 and decide to write the novel you always wanted to write.

Like when your father has a stroke and you’re his sole care giver.

In these situations, and so many more where the only one watching is our own conscience and the only people affected are the ones we care most about, hard work is all there is.

Education is so all-encompassing, all-consuming, that we fail to see how the lessons we learn, no matter how broken were the incentives through which we learn them, are lessons we take with us through life. Our views, habits and approaches to life are formed when we aren’t watching; they’re formed when we’re looking the other way, trying to get an assignment done the night before it’s due. I suppose one should try always to keep a watchful eye turned in this direction, and to see every assignment and task as an opportunity to practice the habits and approaches we’ll need when life most tests us. We don’t want to be left floundering, wondering why fakework isn’t working exactly when we need it most.