A while ago, I was checking my Twitter feed, and as I scanned the variety of items calling for my attention, I felt a little overwhelmed.
An article to encourage young moms; a book review; an article highlighting why I should care about a "Christian" movie made in Hollywood; an article highlighting why I shouldn't care about a "Christian" movie made in Hollywood; news from the Ukraine; news from Afghanistan; news from South Africa about a man who is on trial; a funny picture of a dog wearing an article of clothing.
Information everywhere; we're inundated with it. In days gone by, newspapers only came out monthly or weekly, because technology did not allow for this constant hum of noise. Information can be good. But infomation isn't understanding, so we must be careful to know the difference.
Then I think of blogs. This little space here is fun for me, and I'm grateful for it. I love to write. But having a blog space can trick me into thinking I have the right to say something without knowing what I'm speaking about. It can fool me into thinking I know more than I do.
I could sit here, make an assertion, scour the internet for supporting articles, and seem like I know what I'm talking about. And all without even putting more than a couple of hours into the project.
In recent days, I have been reading books by and about Lucy Maud Montgomery. In addition to the books themselves, I've been reading critical works. As I have read, I've begun to recognize the names of the Montgomery scholars.
Mary Rubio is one of the pre-emininent scholars, and the author of the best Montgomery biography. Rubio has spent years researching. Years. All of the scholars I have confrontred have worked for years, and focus on very specific facets of their topic. As I watch my own daughter working toward her PhD, specializing in American noir fiction, I see the amount she reads. I see the work she puts in gaining understanding and mastery. This is the anthithesis of what often happens on the internet where hyperlinks distract us.
What the internet ought to reveal to us is how small we are. As we read stories of places like Ukraine and Afghanistan, we should be mindful of the fact that 500 years ago, most people would have known little (or nothing) about those places, let alone see day to day information coming out of them. That missing Malaysian Airlines plane? Most people would have heard about it weeks, months, or even a year later. Now, we see minute by minute glimpses into places on the other side of the globe, places we will never see. We live the reality of a "global village."
This should inspire humility. As we view the vast arry of information, it should communicate to us loud and clear that we don't know everything. We don't even know a fraction of what there is to know, whether our topic of choice is theology or L.M. Montgomery. We cannot presume to say we are an expert in anything simply by having access to the internet. Instead, we should see clearly how vast the world is, and how small we are. Just when we think we have written a profound blog post, a few clicks later will show something better. Just when we think we've read "the must read" of the year, three weeks later, a new book will be released, and we will be confronted with a "must read" again.
The internet reminds me of the fleeting nature of earthly things, no matter how good they are.
I find it encouraging to know that no matter how long I live, there will always to more to discover. I love the internet for that reason. It shows me just how much there is to learn. It ought to inspire me to humility in what I say and to be careful that I don't promote myself as an expert of any kind.