Erudite

er . u. dite /adjective/ learned, scholarly, knowledgeable, well-read, well-informed, intellectual

I lost a dear friend three weeks ago. In the midst of my sadness at his passing,  and recalling the imprint that he’d left on the  world, and on me in particular, I could think of only one word to describe him: erudite. The word kept coming back to me in its variety of meanings as I thought  about what was, without a doubt, a gentleman and a scholar. We’d studied together as English majors in college, but sometime during our senior year, he felt the pull of the Speech Department and changed his major to speech communication. What a smart move that was for him! And what a disappointment for those of us who knew him–including our major professor. He was wonderfully at home in the English language and was a gifted speaker, so he combined both disciplines well and went on to have a distinguished career.

The word erudite, with its Middle English background, originally conveyed the idea  that erudition “smoothed away all raw, untrained incivility.”  Every trace of  “rudeness” was erased from the erudite person. My friend was a sweet blend of all things erudite–well-spoken, a sought-after speaker, a critical thinker, a polished gentleman, and a man of deep faith.

Thoughts about my friend and his intellectual capacity led me to  remember another  individual, my former high school headmaster, who eminently qualified as an erudite gentleman.  We students in the upper forms were in awe of his breadth of knowledge. He could teach several subjects whenever the need arose.  He regularly taught mathematics–his specialty at which he was adept– and sometimes English, which seemed unusual for one so gifted in mathematics. He taught history and geography and made me love them both. He wrote plays,  wrote and published poetry, and was a deep thinker, the kind of individual one would call  a Renaissance man.  Like my classmate and friend, he was a man of strong faith.

It is important to note that to be erudite doesn’t mean to use a string of big words and be pompous, flaunting one’s knowledge. It simply means that the individual has intellectual endowment, a gift for language, and an appreciation for things literary.  It’s a kind of brilliance that isn’t showy. In this regard, think of  C.S. Lewis, who was a wise intellectual, a skilled user of the English language, a literary man,  and a philosopher. He, too, found faith to be the bedrock for living.

Lest anyone  think that I believe only men can be erudite, I’ll mention a gifted woman to whom her peers and associates looked with  great respect and admiration. I attended a forum once where she stood out in a quiet way. She made her contribution to the discussion with such logic, precision, and careful choice of words that even now, after many years since her passing, I still think of that occasion. Like E. F. Hutton, when she spoke, everyone listened. Hers was a quiet brilliance that impressed me immensely.

Among some groups, there is the misguided thinking that spirituality and intellectual achievement are incompatible. In my book Breaking Away, I explore the theme of the clash between faith and intellect. In the narrative, the president of the fictional faith-based New Lebanon College wants to grow his institution into a first-rate one. His belief that intellectual  achievement cannot thrive alongside spirituality leads him to launch an assault on the college’s religion department with a view to dissolving it altogether in favor of science, technology, and liberal, philosophical studies. But not everyone agrees with him. He gets pushback from some of the strongly committed faculty members when he persists in his false assumptions.

That is the way it has been in many of the outstanding educational institutions, especially those in the Ivy League, which were founded by or had their origins under the auspices of  church organizations. Churches sponsored higher education in America before the states did.   Some of these institutions  have minimized  their religious affiliation or have broken ties with the church entities entirely in favor of becoming renowned as superior educational citadels. However, many are still  holding to their beliefs, and  on some of the major university campuses, spirituality of a sort is still alive, but it is diverse and focused on the individual’s own interpretation of what it means to be spiritual.

My friend’s passing set me thinking about what it means to be educated. Today it seems to imply training or preparation to earn a living. From time-to-time we read the reports about which college major commands the highest salary in the work world. Students go to college  to be trained for the job market, and employers reinforce the learn-to-earn mindset by increasing their demands for college degrees for the jobs they offer. But if you examine the job descriptions, there is hardly anything there that a technical program or three  months of on-the-job training  couldn’t  effectively accomplish to prepare  most entry-level workers.

The erudite are not mainly focused on earning from their educational pursuits. They cultivate the life of the mind because they love learning. That they are able to make a living with their education  is not their greatest accomplishment. Learning for its own sake provides  a rich, satisfying life for themselves and makes them valuable contributors to the world around them. The erudite ones like my friend, who combine the life of the mind with the life of the Spirit,  are to be admired for being at home in the two worlds.

Blessings,

Judith

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“Knowledge is love and light and vision.” Helen Keller