Ploughman's Lunch .009: Wisdom
Odin, knowledge, memorials; reading, observing, eating.
In The Poetic Edda — what functions as a collection of Old Norse myths and wisdom — there’s a warning from Odin that “a wise man… should keep his knowledge in measure” for “the wisest of men becomes weary of all things.” A stanza later, he continues that too much “knowledge brings sorrow / and a heart that is never at rest.”
I was thinking about this earlier this week, walking through the turkey woods. For the Vikings, wisdom was not just sagacity or intelligence — it was all-encompassing knowledge: of facts, of figures, of places and events, of men and dwarves and elves and giants, of what had occurred and what was to come. Odin was wise; so was Mimir; so was Vafthruthnir, the Riddle-Weaver, and Alviss, the All-Wise. And, as I found myself slowly picking through the forest, listening for but not hearing gobbles, I thought about my own wisdom and how much information is available — and, paradoxically, how little of it actually matters.
We live in a time where any answer is available within seconds. All of human wisdom sits — quite literally — in the palm of my hand. But, does that make me happier? Does being able to know the weather, scout out my hunting route, identify bird calls, and get precise GPS coordinates to habitat features make me a better turkey hunter? Does it allow me to enjoy it more?1 Likewise, I can access — am inundated with — every bit of news from everywhere in the world at every waking moment: am I any happier for it? Or, does it just make me “weary” with a “heart that is never at rest?”
Odin sacrificed his own eye and then his own body for wisdom. He made these sacrifices willingly — the tearing of his eye, the piercing of his flesh — giving up himself and the pieces of himself for the agency to shape fate and the knowledge of the inevitable.
He agreed to the bargain, knew the price for wisdom. I’m not so sure that we do.
We’re heading into Memorial Day weekend — the unofficial kick-off of summer. I’ve mentioned we’re decamping up North. My well of knowledge tells me that we might be faced with poor weather, might be forced indoors. No matter; we’ll still find a way to enjoy ourselves.
As always, I’ll be doing the Murph workout this weekend, in memory of those whose own willing sacrifices have allowed me the opportunity to sit here idly, writing, cooking, hunting, building.2 I’d encourage you to do something of the same, remembering the bargain.
With that, I’ll leave you to the rest of the ploughman’s lunch: some reading, some observations, and some meals. We’ll see you back here next week with our regular programming.
I. Reading
Squirrels I Have Known — I’ve never shot nor eaten a squirrel, but this essay from
makes me want to try. Moreso, I appreciated her reflection on the intimacy we have with nature, and the connection which that bonds. This is truly radical eating, eating squirrel. A deer can be sexy, a turkey familiar — but squirrels are just unfamiliar enough from regular table fare to seem strange. That broth, though, is enough to get me thinking.How James Bond Can Fix the Masculinity Crisis — While Pierce Brosnan was the Bond of my youth, Daniel Craig epitomizes the role for me.
makes the case for a return to Craig’s Bond — an image of masculinity — but tempered, adapted to today’s age, and suggests how a new Bond can be the needed role model for young adults today: showcasing how a man needs have high demands of himself and only by living up to them can he be be truly happy.The Fragile Romance of Oyster Farming — I’ve been a long-time fan of
and was pleasantly surprised, as I went to purchase some live scallops from them a few weeks ago, to find that they now — along with everyone else — have a Substack. This piece, on the way immersing yourself in nature fundamentally changes your sense of a place, resonated with me (duh) and reminded me that I’d love to get out for a farm tour. imbued these three paragraphs with strong medicine. All I can say is I’m envious and that I wish I wrote them myself.In America Today — I always enjoy
’s writing on the balance of technology and the physical world. This paragraph rings especially true:This is what I’ve been working on in my own life, trying to navigate the balance act between working in a digital era, and living in a physical world. As more of society retreats into the digital world it sometimes is tempting to go there with them, but it’s not my bigger goal, so I have to remind myself, close it down when it’s not worthwhile. Don't fall for the doom scroll. Don’t fall for the anger. Don’t get obsessed with “news” that is ever changing and only intended to create outrage.
Attention as Worship — I’ll admit that this piece by
got a little esoteric, even for me — but I fundamentally agree with the statement that “it all comes down to the most important thing there is, the way we can be either intentional or unintentional in shaping our attention.” A good reminder to pay attention to the things that matter.The Iberian Lynx and a Rewilding of an Anarchist Mystic —
writes of his “body-blurring experience of being radically coauthored by a place” in Iberia — an experience I’ve felt vividly over the last year, especially this fall during deer season. I know that feeling, where you feel as if a story is being told through you — a story of place, of animals, of the wind and sky and trees and light — and it’s a feeling I’d encourage everyone to seek out. To do so, though, you need to do things. conveys how to Regain Your Sense of Awe via William B. Irvine’s reading of an essay of the same name. Long-time readers know I believe we need more awe in the world, more grandeur, more sublimity. But even more so, I believe we need to regain our recognition of that which is already here.Always Be Scouting (ABS) — In conversation with a friend recently, he remarked on how to a casual observer, it might seem that the only lens through with which I view a property is its ability to hold deer. That statement is only a slight exaggeration — I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about how any piece of land I’m looking at might be hunted: where the deer would live and bed and browse, how the game trails run, where might be a good spot to set up. I file these things away — solidifying the patterns — ready to use them later. So when I read this essay from
about his mindset of “Always Be Scouting,” I related to it immediately. His is a slightly different lens, but we’re looking at the world in a similar matter.The Game that Will Ruin You — In middle school we took a trip to Belize with some family friends — avid fishermen — and ostensibly went fishing for permit. I used a spinning reel and got on plenty of bonefish. but never a permit.
’s account of his trip targeting them on the fly makes me want to get back out and give it a go — “for real” this time. I also relate to his description of fishing as a “desolate desert hellscape with no fish, an unforgiving sun and feeling of hopelessness during a day where you don’t see [anything] for 9 hours straight and are not sure why you are there” — because my turkey seasons has veered dangerously close to that thus far.3The Great Reorientation — I enjoyed this entire perspective from
, but I’m especially grateful for him turning me onto the Lakota idea of “Mitakuye Oyasin” — “all my relations,” or “the interconnectedness of humans, animals, plants, earth, sky, and spirit.”Spring Fever — I relish the way in which
writes, but — in the context of infinitely available wisdom, losing rootedness with reality, and seeking enlightenment — I haven’t been able to get these two sentences out of my head:A friend of mine, a retired vascular surgeon, told me he quit meditating after he looked down from the ceiling and saw himself sitting on the floor folded into the lotus position like a hologram. Said he loved his wife and kids too much to be messing with that stuff.4
Outsourcing Your Life to AI Will Make You Miserable —
makes the eloquent case for doing things — for lifting, for writing, for making an effort — in order to “feel the aliveness of a great idea.”5 And, like Odin, he warns of the hollowness, the sorrow, that can come when wisdom flows too freely, too easilyOn Pre-State Hunters and State Entitlement — I link to
’s stuff often because I think he’s circling around the same well as me.6 In this essay, he argues that our culture of entitlement keeps us from fully experiencing life, keeps us from feeling “savage, grateful, and alive.” I think he’d agree that our limitless access to information helps keep us feeling entitled, keeps us from “savage thrill.”Death of the Hunter-Gatherer —
’s essay on what we’ve lost as we’ve transitioned from a hunter-gatherer society dovetails perfectly with Sam’s writing above. His argument that by not having to hunt — for food, for knowledge, for inspiration, for that pernicious wisdom — we lose out on a critical aspect of society: the social feedback of successes and failures and the subsequent “spiritual enrichment” that comes from finding out your role in the world. gives some tremendous writing advice in this essay, but the best of it is that “most truly great hunting and fishing writing doesn’t—at its core—have a damn thing to do with catching fish or shooting birds, but has everything to do with life, and living.” This is true of outdoors writing and true of radical writing and true of all writing. And as Brad and Sam and Jesse and all these others I’ve linked to have emphasized — you have to live in order to write about living.II. Observing
III. Eating
The answer to that first question is “apparently not” and I’ll tell you the answer to the second one if I kill a bird today.
This isn’t to say, though, that there’s no benefit to the tools we have at hand. I use the Merlin app to identify bird calls, yes — but after a few times those songs reveal themselves without the app. I can identify the birds who frequent our house and yard now by sight and sound. Likewise, I’ll use the PictureThis! app to identify plants. You do this enough times and then you’re recognizing what Black-Eyed Susan seedlings look like and Pink Lady’s Slipper and the difference between sugar and swamp maples, red and white oaks. There are similar “shortcuts” to reading terrain and mapping routes. You can do all these things without AI and other tools — but there’s no denying they can help shorten the learning curve, help those who didn’t grow up with all of this to play catch up. As I continue to build my own foundation of skills, I can impart them — person-to-person — to my kids, cutting out the artificial middleman.
Again — wish me luck this morning.
Not to overly reference
in the footnotes, but I was having a conversation with him recently and this vignette came up — and Sam described how he had a mentor relate to him that, for most people, there’s probably a level of meditation at which you should stop. Otherwise, you get too far into it, too detached from reality, and it becomes impossible to live a normal life. Paradoxically, this is “enlightenment” — the removal of oneself from the physical world, from suffering and rebirth. From samsara.It’s the attainment of ultimate wisdom and I wonder what Odin would have to say about that?
(And — not to mention — I still firmly believe that samsara is nirvana.)
If we ever get to the bottom of it, I’m sure we’ll find Odin’s eye.
Thanks, Lou. Your first section struck a chord since I've been seriously contemplating the pool of information we're swimming in. The revelation that occurred to me when reading this is that perhaps that's the new struggle, the quest. To navigate this sea and keep going, day after day, staying the course, while keeping the core values that motivate us as our guide.
I have always thought Substack was a wonderful way to maintain a journal, but you inspire a different format altogether. Your commentary, substantiated by experience, memory, and a reading list, is an exciting slice of your life—right here and now.
Thank you for reading and mentioning my piece. Just a small correction: Irvine’s “Regaining Your Sense of Awe” was a read-aloud-by-the-author essay on the Waking Up app. I am not sure what you call one of these. He has written several books (williambirvine.com/books), but not one on the subject of Awe, yet.