The Wisdom Pyramid: Feeding Your Soul in a Post-Truth World

by Brett McCracken

Wisdom is the confidence that God is always on, but we aren’t. We are mortal creatures with significant limits.

In today’s hyper-individualized iWorld, wisdom looks like humility—a recognition that, as much as technology puts us at the center of all decisions, we are not the best or highest authority. Wisdom looks like an eager willingness to seek guidance from others; a healthy skepticism about your own instincts and proclivities.

Wisdom is knowing that, as Packer puts it, “our own intellectual competence is not the test and measure of divine truth.” He goes on: It is not for us to stop believing because we lack understanding, or to postpone believing till we can get understanding, but to believe in order that we may understand; as Augustine said, “unless you believe, you will not understand.” Faith first, sight afterwards, is God’s order, not vice versa; and the proof of the sincerity of our faith is our willingness to have it so.3

Perhaps one of the reasons anxiety is on the rise is that the ubiquity of information constantly teases us with what we could know—could read, could watch, could learn—if we only had the time. But wisdom accepts that we can never know everything, and that’s okay.

Without the truth, we are locked into a prison of our own making.

All of us wander in whichever nomadic direction our hearts choose, until we submit to the authority of God’s good compass.

Look to Jesus for peace instead of your circumstances. Look to Jesus for affirmation instead of Instagram. Look to Jesus for truth instead of yourself. Look to Jesus for wisdom before you look anywhere else.

What voices are we listening to? Are they trustworthy, consistent with the divine voice of wisdom (Proverbs 8)?

Our age is unwise in large part because we are going deaf from the cacophony, losing our ability to listen well, if we listen at all.

Wisdom means pressing mute on the voices speaking lies, and then opening our ears to the voice of God, listening intently to his every word. As Jesus said repeatedly: “He who has ears to hear, let him hear” (Matt. 11:15; 13:9, 43; Mark 4:9; Luke 8:8; 14:35).

When I think of the wisest people I’ve encountered, one attribute they share is simply this: they love being with God. Their passion for God’s presence is palpable in their joyful countenance and abiding peace. It’s a look in their eyes when they taste a warm brownie, see a beautiful sunset, or hear a violinist play Vivaldi. It’s not only the things themselves that bring a gleam to their eyes. It’s who they see through them. They are tasting and seeing the Lord’s goodness (Ps. 34:8). Because they love him above all other loves—all else in life makes sense. Existence becomes not only more bearable and more comprehensible. It becomes glorious.

When we are unwise—feeding on a toxic diet that warps our minds and suffocates our souls—we become like a sickly, emaciated tree whose leaves are brown and whose fruit is rotten. We don’t bring beauty and oxygen to the world; only blight and bitter fruit. Our roots are shriveled, our branches snap off easily, and the slightest wind could knock us down. We are like chaff. But when we are wise—feeding on the bread of life (John 6:35), abiding in the vine (John 15:4–5), and drawing upon God-given sources of truth—we become like a robust tree planted near water (Ps. 1:3), with green leaves and vibrant fruit even when drought comes (Jer. 17:8). Our roots deepen securely into the ground, drawing life from vibrant streams. And our branches keep growing upward—like hands lifted in praise to their Creator. When the winds come—as they inevitably will, sometimes with furious force—these branches of wisdom won’t break off. They will simply sway, as if clapping or dancing with joy, turning every storm into an opportunity to sing. Soli Deo gloria.