The Library of Congress: Questions and Wisdom
Shariq Ali
Valueversity
The entire day was devoted to exploring Washington, D.C.
As planned, at around ten in the morning, we arrived by Metro at Capitol South station. A long escalator slowly carried us from the underground station up to street level. Unlike London’s busy stations, there was a sense of openness and calm here.
There were relatively few people. Before us stretched broad avenues, imposing government buildings, and the dignified landscape of the American capital.
Mona and I, carrying bags filled with books, began walking towards the Library of Congress. The various buildings of its Capitol Hill campus surrounded us.
Then we crossed the road and finally found ourselves before the magnificent structure known as the Thomas Jefferson Building.
Tall columns, marble steps, statues, and classical architecture. It felt as though the building itself were proclaiming that, in human civilisation, knowledge is not merely a necessity; it also possesses dignity and grandeur.
We had not come here merely as tourists.
Inside our bags were two copies each of five books I had written. Among them were Dada Ji Aur Main and Kaan Kun. I was carrying most of the books, while Mona carried the rest.
Today, we had come to present them as a gift to the Library of Congress.
To add our own living drop to this ocean of knowledge.
Following the directions, we made our way to the appropriate entrance. Uniformed security officers stood at the door. We explained the purpose of our visit.
Our identification was checked, and we were instructed to enter our details into a nearby machine. Once the necessary formalities were completed, we received an entry pass. There was no fee.
After our bags and belongings had passed through security screening, we entered. One corridor after another unfolded before us.
Signs pointed in different directions towards the library’s various departments and Reading Rooms.
There were books everywhere.
Books.
Countless books.
Intellectual centuries of human experience preserved on shelves, in rooms, and in halls.
At a reception desk, we explained that we wished to submit our books, written in Urdu. The staff member there guided us:
“You should speak to the staff responsible for the South Asian Collection.”
He led us to the appropriate place, where we presented our books.
The staff took the necessary details and accepted the books with great courtesy. We were told that they would be reviewed and a decision would be made as to whether they could be added to the Library of Congress collection or sent to another suitable library.
For me, it was a joyful and memorable moment.
Five books by an unknown writer had at least reached the threshold of one of the world’s great repositories of knowledge.
From that point onward, their journey was their own, independent of my wishes and intentions.
Once the formalities were complete, the two of us spent some time wandering through the vast library.
Never before in our lives had we seen such an immense concentration of information gathered in one place.
Everywhere there seemed to be answers upon answers.
The knowledge of philosophers, the discoveries of scientists, the research of historians, the imagination of poets. Medicine, psychology, politics, religion, society, love, war, peace, life, and death. A treasure house of human inquiry spanning centuries.
Suddenly, a thought flashed through my mind.
If all the knowledge in the world were within our reach, but we had no question to ask, what use would all that knowledge be?
The fundamental problem of our age is neither a shortage of knowledge nor a lack of access to it.
Perhaps for the first time in human history, an ordinary person has such easy access to such a vast body of knowledge—something even the mightiest king could not have imagined a few centuries ago.
Books, research papers, videos, lectures, podcasts, Search Engines, and now Artificial Intelligence—an almost limitless reservoir of information and answers lies beneath our fingertips at nearly every moment.
Yet amid this abundance, perhaps the most important question is:
What is our question?
What is our individual quest?
At this particular stage of life, what is important for us to know?
My health? What should I eat? How much should I exercise? How can I grow older in a healthy way?
Marriage, friendship, work, wealth, ageing, loneliness, society, politics, ethics, and death. In relation to all these things, what is my question—my question alone?
No university or curriculum can determine that question for me.
My question arises from my life, my needs, my interests, and my values.
Standing amid that seemingly boundless collection of books in the Library of Congress, a truth revealed itself to me:
Between knowledge and wisdom stands a doorway—the doorway of the individual question.
Knowledge tells us what is known about the world.
Wisdom is knowing what, from within that boundless knowledge, I need to know at this particular moment.
As I walked through the long corridors and book-filled Reading Rooms of the Library of Congress, it seemed to me that human civilisation had placed before us a magnificent flowing river.
That boundless river is knowledge.
If I know my individual question; if I understand where I stand at this moment, what my inner and outer circumstances are, and from which bank of this great river I must draw water to quench my thirst,
then perhaps that is wisdom.
In other words, a question is the beginning of wisdom.