Clever Ain't Wise

In a rare moment of sober coherence, troubled songsmith Peter Doherty wrote something profound: "You're so clever, but clever ain't wise." This distinction is hard to assimilate for the young. Having a pithy turn of phrase for the conversation is clever; knowing when to keep your mouth shut is wise. Unfortunately, like most lessons, this one is mainly learned through bitter experience: a well-deserved punch to the stomach in my case. When we're young we want to fill every ephemeral moment of silence with an ironic pop culture reference; every space on the wall with posters; every meaningless social encounter with the need to impress. Through the mutual reinforcement of peers the cocoon of extended schooling allows this behaviour to go on far longer than it would in any previous era or society. For this among many other reasons, our less-schooled but more lived ancestors were wiser than us. Less clever, which is why we tend to scoff at or ignore them, but wiser.

I value being clever of course. The best works of art, the best people, the best comedy ("A Confederacy of Dunces" by John Kennedy Toole, for instance) is both clever and wise. There is a time for each, as that canonically wise text Ecclesiastes makes clear. I won't argue that the Tanakh, the Vedas, the Pali canon, the Canticle for Lebowitz or any other book is sacred: that sort of argument cannot be made or won. I will say that for a book to endure and define a people for thousands of years it likely contains wisdom. Atheists will disagree, and they are entirely right when they say that they are more clever than our superstitious ancestors. Our ancestors, in their superstitious wisdom, would likely have acknowledged this. I do not however, think our benighted forefathers would posthumously regret being born in a time when wisdom ruled over cleverness. They may not have written as many books as us, but something tells me theirs will last a lot longer.