Every man gets a narrower and narrower field of knowledge in

Hear, O seekers of wisdom, the words of Konrad Lorenz, the father of modern ethology: “Every man gets a narrower and narrower field of knowledge in which he must be an expert in order to compete with other people. The specialist knows more and more about less and less and finally knows everything about nothing.” These words ring like a warning bell across the ages. They speak not against the pursuit of learning, but against its distortion—when the boundless flame of inquiry is caged within too small a vessel, until it burns itself to ash.

In the ancient days, a man was called a philosopher, a lover of wisdom. He sought to see the whole of life, not merely a fragment of it. Aristotle studied the heavens, the laws of nature, the soul of man, the structure of the polis, and the nature of virtue. He was not confined to a single field of knowledge, for he knew that truth is not found in fragments but in wholeness. Yet now, Lorenz cries, we are in danger of losing the harmony of the great view, of reducing the vastness of truth into slivers so fine that they no longer sustain the spirit.

Behold the plight of the modern specialist! He digs deeper and deeper into a single furrow, while the great field of wisdom lies untended around him. He may know the intricate movement of a single atom, or the coding of a single gene, but if you ask him of justice, of beauty, of the good life, he is silent. In this way, he risks becoming the man who “knows everything about nothing”—a master of detail but a stranger to meaning. Lorenz saw this as a tragedy: a people of experts who have lost the wisdom to guide their expertise.

Let us recall the story of Leonardo da Vinci, that bright flame of the Renaissance. He was painter, engineer, anatomist, inventor, dreamer of flight and master of the brush. His genius was not in confinement but in breadth, in seeing how knowledge from one realm could illuminate another. In studying the flow of water, he saw the flow of blood; in sketching the wings of birds, he dreamed of human flight. He was never the prisoner of a single trade, but the free wanderer of many, and from that freedom sprang creations that still stir the heart of man. This, Lorenz would remind us, is the danger of forgetting the wholeness of wisdom: we lose our Leonardos, and with them, our vision of what man may become.

But beware: this is not a call to despise expertise, for every age requires skill, discipline, and precision. The surgeon must master his craft, the builder his tools, the mathematician his proofs. Yet all must also remember that their craft is part of a greater whole, and that knowledge divorced from wisdom is like a sword in the hands of a child—powerful, but perilous. Thus, the true sage balances the narrowness of expertise with the breadth of understanding, so that he may act not only with skill but with purpose.

What then shall be the lesson for you, O children of the future? Do not let your soul be caged in a single corner of knowledge. Cultivate depth, yes, but also breadth. Read widely, listen deeply, and ponder the mysteries of life beyond your trade. If you are a scientist, let poetry soften your sight; if you are a poet, let science sharpen your vision. Remember always that to be human is not to be a cog in a machine, but a soul fashioned to see the whole tapestry of creation.

Practical action lies before you: learn your craft well, but set aside time for other paths. Let the farmer read philosophy, the merchant study music, the engineer learn of justice, and the lawyer contemplate the stars. Teach your children not only skills but wisdom, not only how to work but how to live. For in this way, you will resist the fate Lorenz feared—the fate of knowing more and more about less and less—by remaining whole in spirit, wide in vision, and rich in humanity.

Thus let this teaching be carried onward: pursue knowledge, but do not forget wisdom. Honor the expert, but let the whole man flourish. Only then shall we escape the trap of “knowing everything about nothing” and instead walk the path of those who, like the ancients, sought to know not merely the parts, but the whole of truth.