Ignorance - Aug 3 2024

 

Ignorance

Aug 3 2024

It’s not what I don’t know.

Not what I know I don’t.

And not what I don’t know

there is to know;

the parallel universe of ignorance

I can’t even begin to fathom

let alone imagine.

Not even what I kind of know

but really don’t.

It’s what I’m sure I know

but have wrong.

And in this, it’s not so much the ignorance that hurts

it’s the certainty,

the pigheadedness

I mistake for mastery.

After all, facts are facts

so why even ask

for any second thought?

Wilful ignorance doesn’t count.

That is, what I choose not to see;

what I deny

even to myself;

what I want to be true

and therefore believe,

as if the truth was up to me.

Because if I’m able to will it so

I can also will it away.

It’s said that ignorance is bliss.

So by any measure

I should be ecstatic,

drifting through life

in a pleasant haze

of unreality.

But it turns out, I’m that annoying guy

who’s too arrogant by half,

the object of their laughter

pity

contempt;

the know-it-all

conspiracist,

impervious fanatic.

Who would be better off unlearning

what he’s absolutely certain of,

but nevertheless

stubbornly persists.

Because he can’t help but wonder

if it’s worth letting go;

will he ever be sure of anything

if he abandons what he knows?

And how will it feel

to have the tectonic plates

shift beneath his feet,

his world view

in disarray?

The ground on which he’s always stood

give way?

There is a small subfield of philosophy called agnatology — the study of ignorance. And its practitioners have coined an actual word — ignoration (again, spellcheck notwithstanding!) — that describes the condition of people who do not even know that they do not know. Which would be the worst kind of ignorance if it weren’t for the kind in which you don’t know, but are sure you do. The impervious certainty.