Our problem, from the point of view of psychology and from the

“Our problem, from the point of view of psychology and from the point of view of genetic epistemology, is to explain how the transition is made from a lower level of knowledge to a level that is judged to be higher.”
Thus spoke Jean Piaget, the great explorer of the mind — not of continents, but of consciousness itself. In these words, he reveals the essence of his life’s work: to understand how knowledge grows. His concern was not merely to describe what we know, but to trace the sacred journey by which the human being ascends from ignorance to understanding, from instinct to reason, from confusion to wisdom. This is the eternal pilgrimage of the mind — the transformation that marks the passage from a lower level of knowledge to a higher one, the mysterious process by which thought itself evolves.

When Piaget speaks of this “transition,” he touches upon a mystery as old as learning itself. For the question of how one comes to know — how a child learns to think, how a man learns to judge, how a civilization learns to see — is the question of how consciousness awakens. In his field of genetic epistemology, Piaget sought to uncover the laws that govern this awakening. He believed that the mind, like nature, unfolds according to an inner logic, a rhythm of growth and adaptation. Knowledge, to him, was not a gift bestowed from without, but a living structure built from within — a structure that grows through struggle, through experience, through the tireless interplay of action and reflection. Just as the seed becomes the tree, so too does the child’s simple thought, nurtured by life, grow into the wisdom of the sage.

The origin of this quote lies in Piaget’s profound study of children — not as small adults, but as beings who represent earlier stages of humanity’s intellectual evolution. In their play, their mistakes, and their wonder, he saw reflected the very steps by which the human mind had evolved across millennia. To him, the child’s question was the echo of ancient curiosity, and the child’s confusion the mirror of mankind’s first attempts to order the chaos of experience. Piaget understood that to explain knowledge, one must not only study its form but its genesis — the process by which the mind constructs meaning from the raw material of perception. Thus, his quest was not for static truth, but for growth, for the living movement of thought itself.

This transformation from one level of knowledge to another is not confined to childhood — it is the story of every human soul. The philosopher, the artist, the scientist, and the laborer alike must all face moments when the old ways of knowing collapse under the weight of new experience. These are the crises of learning, the thresholds between the familiar and the unknown. Consider the story of Galileo Galilei, who gazed upon the heavens through his telescope and saw moons circling Jupiter — a vision that shattered the ancient certainty that Earth was the center of all things. His discovery was not just a triumph of observation; it was a transition of knowledge, a leap to a higher plane of understanding. Yet that leap came with pain — for to ascend, one must first let go of what was once secure.

Piaget’s insight teaches that such transformations are not acts of mere accumulation, but of reorganization. The mind does not simply add new facts to old frameworks; it reshapes those frameworks to accommodate new truths. In this sense, knowledge grows as life grows — by overcoming contradiction, by adapting to change, by integrating what was once incomprehensible. To move from lower to higher knowledge is to undergo a kind of rebirth. It demands humility, for one must admit that the old understanding is incomplete. It demands courage, for one must venture into uncertainty. And it demands patience, for true knowledge unfolds not by decree, but by discovery.

In the broader sense, Piaget’s teaching mirrors the development of civilization itself. Humanity, too, has moved through stages of knowing — from myth to reason, from superstition to science, from isolation to understanding of interconnection. Yet in each age, the danger remains: that we mistake our present level of knowledge for the summit, that we forget knowledge itself is alive and ever-growing. The wise, therefore, remain learners forever, open to correction, willing to rebuild the architecture of their understanding when the foundations tremble. For, as Piaget knew, the highest wisdom is not to cling to certainty, but to grow beyond it.

Therefore, O seeker of truth, take this teaching to heart: do not fear the transition of knowledge. When your ideas are challenged, when the world confounds you, do not see it as defeat, but as the stirring of a new birth. The mind that refuses to grow remains imprisoned in its own walls, but the mind that welcomes transformation becomes like the river — flowing, expanding, finding new depths. Be as the child before the mystery of the world: curious, patient, and unafraid of error. For it is only through the passage of confusion that clarity is born.

In the end, Piaget’s wisdom is both scientific and spiritual. To move from lower knowledge to higher is not merely to learn, but to evolve; not merely to think, but to awaken. The ascent of the mind mirrors the ascent of the soul, and each insight we gain is a step toward greater harmony with the truth that shapes all things. So study deeply, question boldly, and grow continually — for the path of knowledge, once begun, leads ever upward, into the infinite unfolding of understanding itself.