I understand, but do I know?

'Dead men's words'

What is the difference between understand and know? Chapter 70 alludes to it perhaps when it states, ‘My words are very easy to understand and very easy to put into practice, yet no one in the world can understand them or put them into practice‘. Our cleverness at understanding is not matched by a comparable ability to know. The first, understanding, is theoretical. The later, knowing, is visceral. For example:

What do people and dogs have in common? They know what they know, and act accordingly. Dogs smell good food and eat; we smell good food and eat. Dogs see something they want and chase after it; we see something we want and chase after it. Dogs see something fearful and avoid it; we see something fearful and avoid it. This is visceral knowing, a teaching that uses no words.

The difference between dog and people is that dogs don’t understand. Only people understand which, absent deeper knowing, often leads to unfortunate consequences, e.g., Irag, Wall Street , obesity, etc. In a curious way, words and names permit understanding and this enables us to think that we know. You could even say that understanding is a form of ‘pseudo knowing’.

Or to put it another way:  We can only truly understand what we already know. If such knowing is absent, the understanding is only ‘pseudo understanding’. If that sounds radical and crazy, apply this observation to your own examples and ponder carefully. Chuang Tzu’s wheelwright story (below) illustrates this nicely. Here now are a few personal examples of differences I’ve noticed between the understanding and knowing:

Wall Street

In 1980’s I studied the stock market until I understood it, theoretically at least. I didn’t actually buy and sell stocks. Now, 30 years later came the opportunity to put understanding to work. I understood the importance of ‘buy low sell high’, patience, diversification, being bold when others were fearful (and visa versa). Most of these come under the heading ‘in action it is timeliness that matters‘. So, six months ago I began to act. Not surprisingly, it has taken being involved over these months to begin to actually know what I previously only understood. Also, not surprising, are the inevitable bruises and scares I incur as I descend down into the belly of knowing.

Gardening

While living in Japan I studied agricultural books. My ex-wife and I were planning to settle down on a 100 acres or so, either back here in the USA or in Australia. Divorce spared us that experience. I say spared because I’ve spent the last 30+ years gardening a few thousand square feet, not 4,000,000 (i.e., 40,000 sq.ft. = 1 acre).

By now I’ve forgotten much of that agricultural knowledge I understood. And yet I know much more what I’m doing. The understanding was word based; the knowing is experience based. Actually, I reckon that it would be impossible to write down what I know. There is a wonderful little story, ” Duke Huan and the wheelwright” by Chuang Tzu, which speaks to this essential difference between understanding (knowledge) and knowing.

Duke Huan and the wheelwright (excerpted from Chuang Tzu: Basic Writings)

Duke Huan was in his hall reading a book. The wheelwright P’ien, who was in the yard below chiseling a wheel, laid down his mallet and chisel, stepped up into the hall, and said to Duke Huan, “This book Your Grace is reading-may I venture to ask whose words are in it?”

“The words of the sages,” said the duke.

“Are the sages still alive?”

“Dead long ago,” said the duke.

“In that case, what you are reading there is nothing but the chaff and dregs of the men of old!”

“Since when does a wheelwright have permission to comment on the books I read?” said Duke Huan. “If you have some explanation, well and good. If not it’s your life!”

Wheelwright P’ien said, “I look at it from the point of view of my own work. When I chisel a wheel, if the blows of the mallet are too gentle, the chisel slides and won’t take hold. But if they’re too hard, it bites in and won’t budge. Not too gentle, not too hard-you can get it in your hand and feel it in your mind. You can’t put it into words, and yet there’s a knack to it somehow. I can’t teach it to my son, and he can’t learn it from me. So I’ve gone along for seventy years and at my age I’m still chiseling wheels. When the men of old died, they took with them the things that couldn’t be handed down. So what you are reading there must be nothing but the chaff and dregs of the men of old.”