This is a reprint of an essay I first published in 2018, with minor revisions for clarity. I was yet quite ignorant; but tempting as it is to hide from that, I’ve decided to let it stand and respond to its deficiencies as I go on blogging. Leaving a trail of ignorance seems inevitable when it comes to writing about knowledge and learning. See part i, here.

In his autobiography, Franklin said he used the book to list 12 virtues that he wanted to guide his actions, including entries for Silence, Resolution, and Justice. He mapped each virtue to a “precept”, to clarify its practical scope.

After laying out these virtues, he took up one virtue every week and made a focused effort in practicing it. He used his “little book” to order his schedule and track his progress.

When he shared this scheme with an unnamed Quaker friend, the Quaker pointed out a weak point in Franklin’s method: His own pride.

…but a Quaker friend having kindly informed me that I was generally thought proud; that my pride showed itself frequently in conversation; that I was not content with being in the right when discussing any point, but was overbearing and rather insolent, of which he convinced me by mentioning several instances,—I determined endeavoring to cure myself, if I could, of this vice or folly among the rest, and I added Humility to my list, giving an extensive meaning to the word.

To guide his practice in Humility, Franklin wrote simply, “Imitate Jesus and Socrates”.

Jesus and Socrates have more than humility in common. They are also teachers who each embody a unique ethic and a unique way of knowing. That is, they each model a different epistemology. If we look to Jesus and Socrates for their epistemologies, the theories of knowing implicit in their lives, how might that change the way we shape knowledge and trust in our own?

My reason for exploring this is, we are in the throes of a perilous struggle rooted in our relationship to knowledge and our ways of knowing. We notice conflict in our families, fault lines in our communities, and seismic upheaval in our society based on our clashing ways of knowing. The pivotal challenges we face are shrouded in confusion, misinformation, and mendacity.

Over the past decade, I began to see this epistemic crisis as the defining issue of our time. Since then, crisis has become calamity. Calamity upon calamity. Calamity shaped by confusion, mistrust, and desperate, insecure certainties.

Looking back at the values, goals, and relationships you listed, I wonder if any of them are untouched by the calamities we have faced? If you’re like me, the upheaval of our time has sometimes pressed you to triage them like patients in an emergency room.

Everywhere we look, we are faced with uncomfortable conversations. Are you tempted to dismiss these conversations with contempt? It is comforting to think our own way of knowing is so Right that we don’t even have to listen to contrasting views. It is comforting to disregard divergent ideas—and the people who hold them—as groundless, misguided, or even dangerous.

But Jesus and Socrates invite us into uncomfortable conversations. They challenge us to examine our own judgments. And their ways of knowing reveal patterns for inquiry, conversation, and reflection that allow us to encounter Truth as fellow learners.

The epistemology of Socrates is reflected in reason. For this work, I’m focused most of all on Socratic skepticism, Socratic questioning, and Socratic method. Socrates helps us think clearly about the underpinnings of our knowledge, question our certainties, and recognize the gaps in our knowing.

With Jesus, I’m focused most of all on an epistemology that took root in contemplative Christianity—from the early Desert Christians to contemporary Quaker practice. Silence, sustained attention to present reality and the Truth in our midst, observation, reflection, and intentionality. This contemplative epistemology helps us see ourselves and our knowing in a delicate web of relationship and meaninging.

My thesis is, reason and love go together. Together, they can improve our conversations and provide ways to discover common ground for mutual learning and trust.

I’m not sanguine about reversing the widespread culture of epistemic confusion. But maybe we don’t have to reverse it to create some islands where clear thinking and compassionate conversation can survive.

Two books that got me started in this work were To Know As We Are Known by Parker Palmer, and The Habit of Thought by Michael Strong. But it took a lot more than those two to really set out, and my apprenticeship continues. Beyond reading, my thinking about this was nurtured by a spiritual formation group at my Quaker meeting, along with thousands of conversations with friends who love reason. And they have been tested continuously by two decades of teaching and learning and nurturing learning communities.

Reason and love. I want to write more about these ways of knowing, but it’s going to take some work. Would you be willing to explore this theme with me?

First published Aug 2018; revised Sep 2021 and May 2023

This is a reprint of an essay I first published in 2018, with minor revisions for clarity. I was yet quite ignorant, but tempting as it is to hide from that, I’ve decided to let it stand and respond to its deficiencies as I go on blogging. Leaving a trail of ignorance seems inevitable when it comes to writing about knowledge and learning.

In March 2001, I began working as a human resources administrator at Whole Foods Market. But by summer I was struggling and bungling with the avalanche of paperwork and requests.

That’s when my new team leader arrived. Tom Fox had the profile of a serious and taciturn man, tall and thin, with neatly-cropped hair circling a bald crown. He had frost-green eyes and an aquiline profile. Add a sleek top hat and extravagant side burns, and he could have struck terror into Bob Cratchit.

Needless to say I was nervous to face him. But I was afraid that if I didn’t tell him about my struggle, he would think I was incompetent. Or careless.

So one day, I gritted my teeth and nervously went to the door of his office. Tom listened carefully. Then he promised to find training for me. He made a note in his Franklin Planner to follow up.

The next April, Tom sent me to a FranklinCovey training seminar hosted by Homero Bayarena, and it had a drastic impact on my work. Instead of just focusing on completing tasks for the company, he challenged us to direct our attention towards what truly matters most. He also gave me a Franklin Planner, which had pages for daily appointments and tasks, but also included pages to determine my own values and vision.

It was Tom’s persistent example that convinced me to take this seriously, and cemented the new habit into my life. Week in and week out, Tom made time for stillness, listening, and reflection. In that space, he examined his commitments, converted them into concrete actions; he cut out the clutter, and put life-giving service and relationships first.

This defined his leadership in the aftermath of 9/11 when our store was just 13 miles from the Pentagon’s smoldering rubble on the Potomac River; and during the Beltway sniper attacks, when we found ourselves in the uncertain circle of a new battlefield. Tom quietly committed himself to nurturing fellowship, building trust, and prioritizing focused work to serve our community during a time defined by menace, mistrust, and fear.

Tom’s simple practice of reflection and planning inspired me to seek my own life’s calling, and to likewise mete out my daily plans. At work, this drove me to prioritize people—and helping them meet their most difficult challenges—over administrivia. The clarity of being able to invest my limited time and attention in service and relationships enabled me to discover and head off countless problems, while also developing a more resilient workplace culture.

Unhurried reflection on where the Light is pointing me, and turning my gleanings into concrete plans, eventually guided me to new forms of work, service, teaching, and learning. To this day, I still keep coming back to the habits Tom taught me and I am forever thankful for the impact he had on my life.

Invitation to Reflection

Tom once summarized his focusing method as follows. The memory of Tom’s living example makes these words seem lifeless in contrast. But they are his words:

1. Estimate how long you can expect to live given your health, frame of mind, lifestyle, and family/support system. Try to arrive at a realistic date “you can live with.”
2. Think of up to five things (values, goals, relationships) that are most important to your life.
3. For each one, consider how much time you need to spend on it.
   1. Percent of time now
   2. Total, in your remaining lifetime
4. Think of at least one action you can take today that will help you advance the things you listed in #2 as most important.
5. Think of at least one action you can take to simplify your life now, to free up time and resources for the most important things.

It might take 10 or 15 minutes, when your mind is calm. I invite you to try it.

Then imagine how your answers might change over time. Death has a way of putting everything into perspective. If we wait, we may find this perspective too late when we are faced with our own deaths or the deaths of those around us.

But we don’t have to wait. We can look at our lives from that perspective today.

Where does this perspective come from? For Tom, it wasn’t a product of going through a mechanical, step-by-step process. As a Quaker, he found it by quiet and patient listening, for motions from the Divine center.

See part ii, here.

Comment (2023): When I wrote these words, I imagined this section was mostly background material. While personally meaningful, it took too long to get to the marrow of the issue, which I finally reached in part ii. It seems like a long, circuitous ramble on the way to epistemology. When re-publishing this essay, I was tempted to cut it.

What stops me is, Tom’s invitation to reflection expresses something close to the heart of this project, something unexpected when I first put the words down. The Desert epistemology is vitally present in this story. I plan to write more about that as time goes on.