Francis Collins looks at four core sources of wisdom: truth, science, faith, and trust.

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When those in power want to distract and frighten us, it is hard to know how to make a difference. They want you to think that they have all the knowledge, power, and wisdom. But they don’t.

If we step back we can see that those who want to wreck democracy and our country are not evil geniuses. (The rallying cry “Do your own research” was among the things that led to 230,000 needless deaths in America during the Covid pandemic.) They are not all powerful, as seen by how quickly “the people” put a comedian back on the air after those in power tried to silence him. And they certainly do not have, much less understand, wisdom.

It is that last element—wisdom, and how to attain it—that is the subject of the latest book by the former head of the National Institutes of Health.

The Road to Wisdom: On Truth, Science, Faith, and Trust (2024) by Francis S. Collins combines philosophy, Christian theology, sociology, and some degree of self-help in his effort to promote a more civil society. In this thoughtful and ultimately optimistic book, Collins works to get us beyond societal divisions and back to the sources of wisdom. He sees four core sources of judgement and clear thinking: truth, science, faith, and trust. After an introductory chapter about the challenges of seeking wisdom in troubled times, Collins draws on his work from the Human Genome Project and heading the National Institutes of Health to dive into each of these elements. In his final chapter—Hope and a Plan of Action—he outlines specific steps that each of us can take to help reset the distrust that pervades America today.

It is the focus on the individual in that final chapter that is worth highlighting. Collins believes that “building the ultimate path to wisdom will depend on individuals.” The road to wisdom, he writes, “runs right through our hearts and minds.” The thrust of that argument is that we need to do a better job of listening to one another. It is that simple and that difficult.

My “third stage” group (e.g., old retired guys) read this book and found it to be straightforward, thoughtful, reflective, and useful. I agree with the exception of the chapter on faith. Collins, who was an atheist in his youth, is now an evangelical Christian. Much of the argument in this portion of the book seems to be his attempt to convince other evangelicals, many of whom distrust the scientific community. I grew up in the evangelical tradition and the language and viewpoint Collins uses—which are very familiar to my ears—seems too narrow for the larger argument he is trying to make. I agree with the premise that faith is core to gaining wisdom, but I simply think a wider appreciation for other faith traditions outside the evangelical would have put that chapter on par with the other excellent arguments he makes throughout this work. It may also have been a good exercise for Collins to see if he can envision a truth beyond his own faith tradition.

Full disclosure: I have met Francis a few times but knew his parents, Margaret and Fletcher Collins, very well from our time in Staunton. Margaret and Fletch were beloved and Francis—the youngest of their four boys—writes lovingly of them throughout this book. One of the most telling stories comes in the final chapter when he asks, “Consider what might be possible if we all got outside our traditional comfort zones and made the healing of our world a priority.” He gives an example:

“My parents worked directly for Eleanor Roosevelt in the 1930s, helping a deeply distressed mining community in Arthurdale, West Virginia, to get back on its feet in the midst of the Great Depression. Without a security detail, the First Lady would drive herself many hours over terrible roads to spend weekends encouraging these struggling families to be bold, creative, and optimistic. One of Eleanor Roosevelt’s famous exhortations was this: ‘Do one thing every day that scares you.’ She made a difference; so did my parents.”

The lessons out of this book are straightforward:

• One person can make a difference (the lesson he learned from his parents)
• Reanchor your worldview (get your own mental house in order)
• Distinguish facts from fakes (recognize that none of our minds are as rational as we would like)
• Engage with family and friends (listen to understand, not just to respond)
• Help the kids (move away from social media; move toward more outdoor play)
• Engage with your community (group singing enhances physical well-being, reduces chronic pain, releases oxytocin, and makes us feel more generous! I knew that [without the medical research part])
• Engage with your nation (help elect leaders who are people of real vision)
• Make a personal commitment

I was thinking of this book when I read a recent meditation by Barbara Brown Taylor that built around the prayer Lord, increase my bewilderment. It seems to be at odds with the argument Collins puts forward. Isn’t the point of wisdom to reduce our bewilderment?

But Taylor suggests that the right type of bewilderment can take us outside ourselves. I think she is speaking to the broader faith tradition that I wish Collins had included in this work. “Have you ever wondered how scientists can figure out something as intricate as the human genome but still can’t explain how human consciousness works?” she asks. “How the smell of Mentholatum triggers a memory of your mother leaning over your sickbed when you were five?”

“Once you’ve studied the latest photos from the Webb Space Telescope—or spent some time looking up at a clear night sky—what do you make of ‘space’? Is it really space you are looking into, or is it time? Whatever you decide, does either one ever end?”

Taylor writes that when the power of fullness stops her she sees an “abundant life that goes on with or without me, allowing me passage as a short-lived visitor but not as a god or even a head of state. The center of the universe is somewhere else, as it turns out.” That, she believes, “is the most welcome belittlement, the most grounding bewilderment: to be awed for a moment in the presence of the fullness, to lose oneself in the Presence that keeps everything full.”

“The Sufis’ name for that presence is the Beloved, to whom they pray for an increase in the dizziness that comes over them when they gaze upon the beauty long enough for the fullness to take over, burning through every prayer they might have had for more power when all the power is in more love.”

That understanding of faith—one that isn’t wrapped up in getting all the answers right—fits right into the focus on truth, science, and trust that make up the road to wisdom. And because that runs through our hearts and minds, we all have the opportunity to travel that road and make a difference while we are here.

More to come . . .

DJB

Photo by Simon Wilkes on Unsplash