I call myself an introvert but I wonder sometimes if I’m wrong. I like to talk a lot, just only about a few things. I deeply enjoy sharing with someone else what I have learned about my favorite subjects. I think learning is a social act, with the reward of learning something being the opportunity to share that new understanding with someone else. What is to be done when some knowledge is seen as a threat? Gaining that sort of knowledge transforms an exhilarating social act into an incredibly effective form of self-isolation.

Knowledge seems amoral to me, and learning seems to be as close to a virtue as one could consider. Yet I too, despite my hunger to learn more, can recall with pangs of guilt the council of my youth that considered the act of learning a path riddled with danger, prone to leading a person to destruction if they were not careful. Some things were seen as so antagonistic to a learner that even an idle consideration of such things was a flirtation with the unethical. There was hidden enemy around every paragraph of unapproved text. I didn’t want to remain ignorant, but learning even the smallest new piece of information seems to carry a huge cost to a vast array of elements in my life. Could I find a way to feel comfort in understanding more?

I am fairly certain that I now know why such a practice of fear of knowledge is fostered in some communities: it is essential to that community’s continued existence that its adherents avoid the pursuit of individual and unguided learning. To learn for oneself is to seek out truth without a stranger’s heavy hand guiding one’s conclusions toward a definitive goal. To understand the complexity of things is to unearth shades of gray instead of the stark contrast of dogma. I could sense that breaking through this programming would be to my benefit, but every step forward felt like a violation. Not everyone wants to take those steps, and that’s where my isolation begins.

Bo Burnham: Inside

How the World Works

Here’s a happy little song about the world sung by Bo Burnham and his special friend, Socko. Bo Burnham: Inside is streaming now on Netflix.

I’m not a scholar, I’ve done no independent research, and my recall of details is still often dependent on the bookmarks and search results that I’ve saved over the years. I don’t claim to be a subject matter expert in potentially any area. I am not a better person than someone else because I have read a book. My self-actualization isn’t the element that will redeem the world or is of much value to someone else. Yet I still really enjoy becoming more educated in an increasing number of the subjects most interesting to me. In some of these subjects I have found vast stretches of information new to me that have thrilled me in their discovery. I have longed for an opportunity to share or discuss this information, but what I have learned is that with each new piece of information, I have inadvertently isolated myself. First, there is a shared language lost in this learning. What seemed obvious and beyond debate to me before now feels open to skepticism and consideration, so I no longer have a solid shared foundation on which to call in conversations. Even agreements on simple definitions have to be made first in order to have a conversation. Secondly, I have found that this knowledge, because of how interesting it is, increases specialization and focus on elements which may not be as interesting or desired by others. This limits my potential conversational opportunities over time, increasing my chances of loneliness. Thirdly, sharing this information triggers the listener with the same anxieties I faced in my youthful culture of fear, making me become an enemy instead of a curious reader.

I feel that I’m reading too cold and analytical in this post. I don’t know how to share more. I think I’m just coping and trying to survive with what I’ve learned. There are times where I wonder if that phrase “ignorance is bliss” may be one of the wisest words ever written. I like knowing so much more about life and the complexities of cultures and governments, but it weighs me down to see how much more pain there is in the world than I realized and how I likely directly contributed to its continuation. I think we could all empathize with each other more by being better educated.

Did all this knowledge change me for the better or has it ruined me? I feel that I can love so much better and more deeply than before, but now I feel more lonely when I would have expected to feel closer to community. I am both the same person and yet very different. I still see the same world as before but my definitions have changed and my expectations of what is acceptable have been altered. My goals of loving others are still there, but the methods aren’t what they were. Having all this within me keeps me feeling both the best I’ve ever felt and the worst I hope to ever experience. I have fantasized sometimes about having my memory wiped and what that would mean for me, but I don’t think I could do it. I prize my experiences but I wish I had more people around me with whom to share it.

One might conclude that I should have accepted the advice from those who warned me not to tread in these spaces, but I believe that the struggle to learn is always the better solution to ignorance, even when it carries a heavy cost.