I have often wondered about this, and what makes them do it.
Perhaps to lend a supposed importance to what they, themselves, write.
Out of everything that has ever been written, or said, by everyone who ever lived, there is generally something, somewhere, to support what is now being written, by the one writing it.
And so here is one, for those people, from the beak of a crow…
“I do not come seeking knowledge. Please resist the urge to dress up what you think you know, and offer it to me, as such.”
Well. That’s an odd thing to say, don’t you think?
But is it?
I will tell a story, lost to time, and to a humility that has long been lost.
Once upon a time, there was a garden. This garden was Eden. It was, in all respects, perfect. Fruitful, abundant, vibrant and eternal. The sun shone, the dew formed, and balance was its nature.
Into this garden was born a man, and from this man was born a woman. From nowhere, and in a way unknown to those who would come later.
There was no need to labour, or to shelter from storms. For no labour needed performing, and there were no storms from which to shelter.
But there was, in this perfect place, one tree which was poison.
The man knew this, as did the woman. And one other…
There existed a serpent, in this perfect place. A harmless serpent, but for its built-in nature. This nature was temptation. It existed to tempt.
The man and the woman needed nothing, for everything was provided, by the garden itself. Yet the serpent appealed to something dormant within them, that they did not need. And where they might have dismissed the serpent, and its tempting nature, they did not.
Try that tree, advised the serpent. The fruit is like none you have tasted. And more, once you have tasted it, you will become more than you are now. You will know Knowledge, and be as great as the creator of this wondrous place…
The rest is history. It is known to everyone. But is it?
Knowledge. What is this thing? Men seek it, desire it, must have it…
But knowledge is not a thing to be gathered, stored up, or consumed.
It exists, independent of man. It is there, always, like a library, that one must visit in order to access. The books that contain it must remain within the library, lest others, coming later, be denied their content.
To leave with the books is theft of the most dire kind. A crime against all that follow.
One needs merely to read, as and when the need arises, this eternal resource.
Man is possessed of a mind, and this is well, for a mind is an integral part of what a man is. A mind, however, is not what a man is.
A man is an indefinable thing, independent of his mind. A part of a larger thing. A part of all creation.
Knowledge gives a man the notion that he understands. When in fact, such a thing is not possible. Knowledge gives man the notion that words can stand-in for what is, when such a notion is patently absurd. Worst of all: Knowledge gives man the notion of being able to define God…
Long before Christianity, an eastern sage observed this:
“It is older than God”.
He also observed, speaking of the state of people who possessed “Knowledge”:
“It creates confusion in those who think they know”.
And what is this very old thing?
A word that means nothing, and makes no claims to. Just a word, handy for signifying that which it is not possible now, then, or ever, to convey.
And so the word does not matter, at all.
Like the apple, on the tree, offered by the serpent, in a place that was Eden:
Knowledge is something best left alone.
It exists because it must.
Not because man has any need to acquire it.