It is a very sad thing that nowadays there is so little useless

Hear the words of Oscar Wilde, that master of paradox and wit, who once declared: “It is a very sad thing that nowadays there is so little useless information.” These words, though draped in irony, hold within them a profound teaching about the soul of knowledge and the nature of wisdom. For what he calls “useless” is not valueless—it is the free play of thought, the delight in learning for its own sake, the joy of curiosity unchained by profit or purpose.

In our age, as in Wilde’s, men and women rush to gather only what is “useful.” Every fact must have a function, every skill a yield, every moment a product. Yet Wilde mourns this narrowing of the mind. He calls it sad, for when knowledge is reduced to mere utility, the spirit of wonder is extinguished. What of the tales that serve no end but delight? What of the verses that exist not to instruct, but to inspire? What of the truths that cannot be sold, yet nourish the heart? These are dismissed as “useless,” and yet they are the very threads that weave the fullness of human life.

The ancients knew this truth well. In Athens, philosophers gathered not merely to solve problems, but to contemplate beauty, justice, and the nature of the soul. Much of their discourse was “useless” in the eyes of the practical—yet from that uselessness sprang democracy, philosophy, and art that still endure. Consider Socrates, who wandered the streets asking questions with no end but truth itself. Many called his inquiries foolish or frivolous. Yet those very dialogues, so aimless to some, reshaped the foundations of Western thought.

History offers another lesson in the story of the great libraries—Alexandria most of all. There were gathered not only works of medicine or engineering, but poetry, myths, riddles, and songs—treasures of “useless information.” When those libraries were lost to flame, it was not only knowledge of practical arts that perished, but countless fragments of human wonder, play, and imagination. The sadness Wilde names is the same sorrow: that the frivolous, once dismissed, proves to be the most precious.

There is also a warning here. When societies value only the “useful,” they risk becoming soulless. A nation that treasures only profit will crush beauty; a generation that studies only what is demanded will forget how to dream. Wilde’s jest is thus a plea: preserve the “useless,” for in it lives freedom. For what is art if not “useless”? What is love if not unprofitable? What is laughter if not beyond function? Yet without these, what use is life itself?

The lesson is clear: cherish knowledge not for what it can buy, but for what it awakens. Read the poem with no thought of gain. Learn the star’s name though it guides no ship. Listen to the old tale though it earns no coin. For in these acts, you are not wasting time—you are living richly. What the world calls “useless” is often the food of the soul.

Therefore, let all who hear take this counsel: make room for the useless information in your days. Study something for joy alone. Remember a story, a song, a line of poetry, not because it serves, but because it sings. For in the balance of use and uselessness lies the fullness of wisdom.

Thus the teaching endures: it is indeed a sad thing when useless information vanishes, for in its disappearance goes beauty, wonder, and the playfulness of the human spirit. Guard it, preserve it, and delight in it—for it is in the seemingly useless that we often find life’s greatest treasures.