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News & Views item - August 2011 |
Macquarie University's Vice-Chancellor's 2011 Annual Lecture: Knowledge Without Wisdom. (August 26, 2011)
On August 24, 2011 Macquarie University vice-chancellor Steven Schwartz gave his 2011 annual lecture "Knowledge without Wisdom".
Click on the image to watch and listen to the 24 minute lecture.
Woody Allen has confessed that he was expelled from New York University for cheating on his metaphysics examination; he was caught peeking into the soul of the boy sitting next to him. This couldn’t happen today because … universities don’t teach metaphysics. As for souls—universities sold theirs a long time ago... today’s universities are concerned with preparing students for a career. Wisdom has been replaced with job skills... Yes, we must prepare graduates for what they will do in life but we also have a duty to help them to at least think about what kind of people they want to be.
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Below is the transcript of Professor Schwartz' 2011 annual lecture
Woody Allen has confessed that he was expelled from New York University for
cheating on his metaphysics examination; he was caught peeking into the soul of
the boy sitting next to him.
This couldn’t happen today because … universities don’t teach metaphysics.
As for souls—universities sold theirs a long time ago.
Instead of the meaning of life, today’s universities focus on the vocational
skills that students need for their first job out of university—the courses that
make money.
Subjects concerned with the ancient search for wisdom — philosophy, classics,
literature — are slowly fading away.
We must face the sad fact: wisdom has developed an image problem.
As far as young people are concerned, wisdom is the province of ghost
whisperers; extraterrestrials like Mr. Spock the Vulcan on Star Trek and wizened
kung-fu sages (“The body is the arrow, the spirit is the bow, Grasshopper”).
Wise people are not only seen as old, alien and weird but also bookish,
risk-averse and unemotional.
No wonder their pearls of wisdom are routinely ignored by the impetuous young.
Youth thirsts for new experiences; it’s in their nature to take chances and to
follow their hearts.
Wisdom just gets in the way.
“Fools rush in, where wise men never go”, sang Elvis. “But wise men never fall
in love, so how are they to know?”
You might think that universities would hold a different view; after all, we’re
in the wisdom business.
Well, you might think this but you would be wrong.
Every type of knowledge—massage therapy, herbal medicine even circus performing
is represented on one or another campus—but the word “wisdom” is rarely
mentioned.
It wasn’t always like this.
Wisdom was once central to education and its importance persisted right down to
the 20th century.
But it is no longer on the curriculum.
As I have said, today’s universities are concerned with preparing students for a
career.
Wisdom has been replaced with job skills.
There is nothing wrong with vocational training; a fulfilling career is an
important part of a good life.
Much of my academic work over the years has been devoted to career preparation.
I was once a Dean of Medicine and there are few more vocational courses than
medicine.
Our students were all bright but they were narrowly focussed on their career
goals.
They resented any time spent on subjects that weren’t directly related to
diagnosing or treating patients.
It’s easy to see why.
Studying philosophy does not make it any easier to remove a prostate gland;
reading Galen sheds little light on how to recognise pneumonia.
As far as our students were concerned, time spent on any subject not related to
a doctor’s daily work was time wasted.
It’s easy to empathise with them; medical education is long, arduous and
expensive.
Why add to its length and cost with apparently irrelevant subjects?
If students want to study history, literature and philosophy, they can take them
up when they retire and have time for such frivolity.
This makes some sense, from the students’ vantage point, but it demeans our
purpose as universities.
Yes, we must prepare graduates for what they will do in life but we also have a
duty to help them to at least think about what kind of people they want to be.
Indeed, these two educational goals—doing and being—are actually inextricable.
Let me tell you why.
No one would try to argue that a deep knowledge of philosophy makes surgeons
better at removing a prostate.
But, it might deepen their empathy and improve their understanding of what
constitutes a high quality life.
This would not help them know how to remove a prostate but it could help them to
decide whether it should be removed in the firs place.
Such wisdom is essential for a doctor’s work.
Without it, how does a doctor tell a mother-to-be that her baby will have Down’s
syndrome?
How does the doctor explain the mother’s options to her in a humane way?
This takes more than just knowledge of genetics.
It also requires an understanding of suffering, of disappointment and maternal
love.
How does a doctor tell a daughter that her mother’s life support needs to be
withdrawn?
It takes more than just knowledge of physiology.
It also requires an understanding of loss.
How does an emergency room doctor avoid despair when faced with a baby battered
nearly to death by its own father?
Such horror requires a faith in humanity that cannot be learned in the anatomy
lab.
It’s not just doctors who could benefit from a broader education.
Everyone can.
Studying drama would not have helped financiers devise the complicated financial
derivatives that plunged the world into financial crisis.
But, if they were familiar with Faust, they may have thought twice about the
consequences of their actions.
Being able to quote from Shelley’s poems will not help politicians get elected
(certainly not in Australia).
But studying Ozymandias might make them more humble and thoughtful about their
accomplishments.
Rupert Murdoch might not now be shaking his head and muttering “Who would have
thought it would come to this?”
Instead, he might be reflecting on Shakespeare’s words about how easy it is to
be “done to death by a slanderous tongue”.
As I say this, I’m looking around the audience and I can see the raised eyebrows
of my academic colleagues.
A generation of graduates familiar with the great works of history, philosophy
and literature is a wonderful vision.
But they doubt that reading Goethe and Shelley and Shakespeare does not
guarantee wisdom.
They are correct.
Reading, by itself, won’t make anyone wise.
Experience is also required.
As Odysseus learns on his journey back to Ithaca, some important lessons can
only be learned the hard way—through bitter experience.
Nothing has changed.
Youth start out with sex, drugs and rock and roll and with experience they
eventually come to appreciate the Delphic prescription “nothing to excess”.
Tragic exceptions—like poor Amy Winehouse—only serve to prove the rule.
There is a problem, however.
Experience, alone, cannot guarantee wisdom any more than reading books can.
The lessons of life are only available to those who are ready to learn them.
If wisdom is the goal, then students must “walk 10,000 miles, read 10,000 books”
said 17th century Chinese philosopher, Gu Yanwu.
In other words, becoming wise requires more than a set of adventures but a
cultured mind that is open, ready and able to absorb the lessons that experience
teaches.
Pasteur famously said that “Chance favours the prepared mind”, and our job as
university academics is to take his words seriously.
To prepare students to learn from experience, we need to go beyond vocational
training.
Life, death, tragedy, love, beauty, courage, loyalty—all of these are omitted
from our modern vocational curricula and yet, when it comes time to sum up our
lives, they are the only things that ever really matter.
On Ash Wednesday, the priest admonishes the faithful to “remember that thou art
dust, and to dust thou shalt return.”
A salutary reminder of what we all have waiting for us.
In the meantime, like the Preacher in Ecclesiastes, we spend our years trying to
find some meaning in our lives.
It is easy to fall into the pit of nihilism, to consider life “a tale told by an
idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing”.
But before we let our students reach Macbeth’s conclusion, we should at least
try to provide them with the intellectual foundation they need to make such a
judgement.
Fortunately, it turns out that students want us to do this.
The Vice-President of an American university recently asked his students: “Why
have you come to university?”
The students said, “I want a good job” or “I need a degree to get a promotion at
work”.
Not surprising. Just what he expected.
But, when he framed the question in a larger context: “What kind of life to you
want to be leading five or ten years from now?” the answers were different.
Students talked about purpose, meaning, identity, integrity and relationships.
There is a hunger for the kind of insight and wisdom that a narrow skills
education cannot satisfy.
Not long ago, I published an article in a magazine saying that there ought to be
a list of great literary works with which every student should be familiar.
This sparked a lively debate in the magazine and the Internet.
Most writers agreed that there should be such a list, but, as you can imagine,
not everyone agreed about what should be on it.
The important point is that people really cared.
They felt strongly that books have the power to convey wisdom.
And so do I.
Whatever profession students choose to pursue, they will benefit not only as
professionals but also as human beings from being exposed to the greatest works
of fiction, history, biography, philosophy and science.
It if from these sources that they will learn about love and loss, about memory
and desire, about loyalty and duty, about our world and our universe and about
what it means to be a human being.
In Choruses from The Rock, T.S. Eliot asks these questions: “Where is the wisdom
we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?”
Good questions.
I recently read two books that tried to answer them.
The books were The Lost Soul of Higher Education by Ellen Schrecker and Harry R.
Lewis’s Excellence Without a Soul.
I was struck by the word soul in both titles.
In my 40 years as an academic, I don’t think I have ever heard any of my
colleagues use the word “soul”, at least not in connection with the university.
Yet soul is exactly the right word.
Our universities have made a Faustian bargain.
Like the scholar in Goethe’s famous play, we have traded our souls and this
transaction did not turn out to be a win-win proposition.
We have replaced wisdom with skills but pretend that nothing has changed.
We are like priests who have lost their faith but still have to conduct mass
every day.
Of course, universities are right to be concerned with preparing students for
work.
As I have said, a fulfilling career is part of a good life.
But work is about more than money.
To paraphrase John Ruskin, the highest reward for work is not what graduates get
for it but what they become by it.
Mahatma Gandhi warned us to be on guard against science without humanity;
politics without principle; knowledge without character; wealth without work;
commerce without morality; pleasure without conscience; and worship without
sacrifice.
He may not have realised it, but he was making the case for including wisdom in
higher education.
It’s time our universities heeded his advice.
It’s time we once again started hearing the word “wisdom” on campus.