Try to learn something about everything and everything about

The great English philosopher and biologist Thomas Huxley, often called “Darwin’s Bulldog” for his fierce defense of truth and inquiry, once offered a saying that gleams like a compass for every seeker of knowledge: “Try to learn something about everything and everything about something.” These words, though simple in sound, hold the architecture of a complete philosophy of wisdom. In them lies a call to balance—the harmony between breadth and depth, between curiosity and mastery. For the human mind, like a tree, must spread wide its branches toward the sky of understanding, but it must also send deep its roots into the soil of true knowledge.

To learn something about everything is to honor the vastness of the world. The wise man knows that all things are connected, that no field of knowledge stands alone. The painter must understand light; the musician, mathematics; the leader, the hearts of men. To open one’s mind to many disciplines is to walk through the garden of existence with eyes wide open—to see the patterns that link the stars to the seas, the atom to the cosmos, the heart of man to the turning of the earth. Such learning awakens wonder, humility, and awe. It reminds us that wisdom is not the hoarding of facts, but the recognition of how the great web of life is woven together.

Yet Huxley warns that curiosity alone is not enough. One must also learn everything about something—to choose one craft, one passion, one sacred pursuit, and dive into it until the soul becomes one with its rhythm. For without mastery, knowledge is scattered dust. The mind that knows a little of all things but deeply of none is like a shallow stream—broad but without power. But when a man devotes himself to knowing one thing truly, he touches the eternal. In the depths of one subject lies the reflection of all creation, for truth, in its essence, is one.

Consider the example of Leonardo da Vinci, the Renaissance master who embodied Huxley’s ideal centuries before it was spoken. Leonardo studied anatomy, engineering, painting, architecture, astronomy, and the flight of birds. He sought to learn something about everything, believing that the workings of nature mirrored the workings of art. Yet within this vast sea of curiosity, he also sought everything about something—the perfection of form and movement, the science of human beauty. His devotion to both depth and breadth made him not only a painter of immortal works, but a visionary who bridged art and science, showing that knowledge, when pursued in balance, becomes divine.

The ancients, too, revered this balance. The Greeks called it sophrosyne—the harmony of moderation and excellence. The philosopher should know of poetry, the warrior of philosophy, the healer of politics, for all these streams flow from the same source. Yet each must also find his special calling, his one truth to master. Even the great Socrates, who claimed to know nothing, devoted his life to understanding the soul. So too must each of us—wander far with curiosity, but return home to mastery.

In the modern world, where the rivers of information overflow, Huxley’s words are more vital than ever. Many swim on the surface of knowledge, dazzled by its glitter, but few dare to dive deep. The wise must resist the temptation to be only broad or only deep. To know many things without mastery breeds arrogance; to know one thing without context breeds blindness. The path of true learning is the middle way—curiosity guided by purpose, exploration grounded in devotion.

So, let this be your lesson: be both a wanderer and a craftsman of the mind. Read widely, listen eagerly, observe the dance of the world in all its forms—but do not remain a wanderer forever. Find that one art, that one discipline that stirs your soul, and pursue it until you know it as you know yourself. Let your curiosity give you breadth, and your passion give you depth. In this union, you will not only grow wise—you will grow whole.

And remember this final truth: to learn something about everything opens the mind, but to learn everything about something perfects the soul. The one gives you wings to roam the heavens; the other gives you roots to stand firm upon the earth. Walk the path of both, and you will live as the ancients did—curious as the scholar, steadfast as the sage, and radiant with the light of true understanding.