The man who knew too little
Don’t aim to have an opinion on everything, or to know it all. There is merit to high-agency ignorance. For one thing, it frees you up to prioritise depth of knowledge, over breadth
One of the problems with being a journalist is that people assume one is always in the know, with an “expert opinion” available on all things, at all times. Once upon a time, I felt compelled to opine; wouldn’t people think me an idiot if I didn’t? Over time, I realised that attempting to offer an opinion on everything is what makes one look like an idiot. There are times when it is simply best to admit ignorance of a kind.
A few days ago, I came upon a thread on X that took these thoughts forward. George Mack, an author and influencer of some consequence, posted some statistics to make the case that there is literally too much content out there. At least 500 hours of video are uploaded to YouTube every day, 500 million tweets are generated.
“The 24 hours allotted to you each day isn’t even capable of consuming 0.0000001% of the world’s events,” he wrote. In such a world, deploying what is called “strategic ignorance” becomes a sign of strength. It takes courage to acknowledge one’s limits and decide to use one’s resources more wisely. As Mack put it (paraphrasing Oscar Wilde): “We are all in the ignorance gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”
Any attempt to stay “on top of it all”, then, qualifies as “low-agency ignorance”, which is a time sink and an exercise in futility. We cannot know everything there is to know. The alternative is “high-agency ignorance”, which involves taking tough calls on what one needs to know, wishes to know, and wishes to walk away from.
By way of example, as a business journalist exploring the intersections of technology and public policy, there are boundaries to the subjects I can delve into, the people I can meet, literature I can read, and therefore, the valid and informed opinions I can hold.
What do I think will happen in the general election? The honest answer is: I haven’t a clue. You may as well ask my neighbour, the nearest petrol-pump attendant.
Now, high-agency ignorance does not give one the licence to be uninformed. Instead, it means one prioritises depth over breadth. This selective engagement is crucial if I am to produce content that matters and adds value in my professional role; as well as if I am to have a well-rounded personal life. And this is true for all of us.
I like to think of it as curating a personal museum of knowledge. Any curator will tell you that one does not attempt to fill the given space, or display every artefact available. In much the same way, a journalist need not clutter their mind with every bit of information. And neither should a businessperson, a stockbroker or a homemaker.
Practising strategic ignorance makes it easier to navigate the sea of data and information, because one now has focus and purpose. The activities it involves — reading, debating, contemplating — are more likely to lead to genuine knowledge, perspective and growth.
The focused approach helps one combat the tyranny of the urgent, which prioritises the newest information over the most vital. In journalism, the pressure to react quickly can pre-empt the need to respond thoughtfully. When strategic ignorance comes into play, I feel empowered to resist this pressure.
Ultimately, the practice of strategic ignorance is about recognising that our cognitive resources (including attention and enthusiasm) are limited, and choosing to invest them wisely. It is about understanding that in the information age, being selectively knowledgeable is more valuable than being indiscriminately informed.
It might even eventually allow one to stand out, in a good way. Heaven knows there are enough indiscriminately informed people around to fill any museum.