There is the man who knows nothing and speaks of nothing – this is authentic. There is the one who knows nothing, but speaks as if he knew everything – this is not authentic. There is the one who knows everything, but does not speak of it – this is only half authentic, and there is the one who knows everything and tells it all, too – this, again, is authentic. Beyond these basic cases a million shades exist, and the secret teachings say of those versed in the sacred sciences:
I do not think that I know it well,
nor yet that I know it not at all.
He among us who knows it, knows it;
and by no means that he knows it not at all!
He who does not know it, knows it;
and he who knows it – does not know it.
The learned do not know it,
and the ignorant know it.
(Kena Upanishad 2.2–3.)
It is a well-known maxim that one truly understands something when he can teach it. Experience shows, however, that even those who do not know the subject teach, and at times even a good teacher has to teach something he does not really know. At other times we cannot share what we have understood, because it would do the other person no good. Besides, everyone loves discovery, and truly wise teachers teach not with words and maxims, but by guiding others to it and by their personal example. People believe their own insights far more than what they hear from others. Guiding is true instruction, the midwife's art, asking questions until the person you are talking with says for himself what you wished to convey.
Words have a peculiar power. Superfluous and empty words are weightless, truth is weighty, but words behind which lies something truly lived are convincing. An authentic man has no need to prove he is right, for what he says holds its ground and is unassailable. In the ideal case – and only that one is worth bothering with – it is not a matter of conjuring, not of cheap stunts or charismatic powers. A wise man says much even with his silence, while even the strident word of a man of little weight is void.
We can speak of three levels of knowledge. The first is theory that smells of books. Mere information, either wholly superfluous or perhaps even mistaken, but weak in any case, because you have not yet worked for it. If you are attentive enough, you can catch yourself in the act when your word rings false. The second level of knowledge is lived, assimilated knowledge. Information drawn from authentic outer sources ripens, as it is assimilated and inwardly lived, into authentic inner wisdom. It speaks little, but says much. And the third kind of knowledge is superhuman knowing, sacred knowledge, which as such is free from human shortcomings. A rare treasure, but it exists.
Of course we need theory, information, knowledge that is not yet fully our own. But in life we need wisdom far more, for we must know well how to live rightly. Why? is a question of quantity, how? one of quality, and to what end? one of heaven.
How does theory become practice? Brahma, the world-creating deity, is regarded as the most intelligent being in the universe. His four faces, turned towards the quarters of the world, see everything, and from his lips ring out the four books of the sacred teaching. In his hands he holds two important objects: a manuscript and a string of prayer beads. The manuscript embodies knowledge: studies, theory, information. The prayer beads are an aid to meditation, the instrument of assimilation, of first-hand experience, of realisation. Theory and the teachings must be studied, taken in, and then assimilated through meditation. We must stand behind our words. If a life's practice stands behind the words, they will carry their due weight. Learn, and speak of what you have already assimilated. Through inner work, theory turns into practice, information into transformation, knowledge into wisdom.