One has to admit to not knowing as a precondition to actually knowing. It’s as if one is taking pride on one’s own ignorance, except there is no time. Knowledge of one’s ignorance is also knowledge. Recent known unknowns immediately give way to more unknown unknowns and so on. One’s ignorance becomes multi-disciplinary and ever-expanding fast. Stupidity knows no bounds.
If one insists that the goal is to have grasped something, this quest is forever unsatisfying. In fact, if one insists on having a goal at all, having an open mind will never be a source of joy. An unending quest is its natural byproduct. To be content while having a purpose, at some point one has to close one’s mind. Ignorance is not bliss. Ignorance about one’s ignorance is.
After dealing with this question of the is and coming up with an answer, that brings us to the question of the ought. What then? The answer is of course unsatisfactory to the same extent. Nothing. There is no answer. There are only questions all the way down. And we cannot even say there is a point to the cascade of questions. Because there isn’t any.
That is bleak. And by definition it is. So by convention nobody actually loves this idea. In fact, if by loving we mean choosing to confer value, loving this idea is impossible. Conferring by necessity needs an object, and as we said, there is none. To achieve anything, one has to stop. Where to, or when, is completely arbitrary. To finally cover the sky with one’s hands, put them over one’s eyes.
And to those of us who have learned to enjoy this forever slide in boundless ignorance, or claims to, good luck. Enough for today.