Welcome to the era of the desire for ignorance

Excerpted from “Ignorance and Bliss: On Wanting Not to Know” by Mark Lilla, M.P.P ’80, Ph.D. 1990, which was released in December by Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

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The faintest of all human emotions is the affection for truth.
— A. E. Housman

There existed a man residing in a cave. He was unaware that this was his home, as his legs had been shackled to the ground and his head was surrounded by a device projecting a fabricated existence not his own. One day, an unfamiliar woman unfastened the device and unlocked the shackles, revealing to him for the first time the actual place where he and many others were situated. He was devastated. The woman consoled him to the best of her ability, assuring him she was there to take him away. As he readied himself to depart, the man noticed a young boy who had been seated beside him, his legs similarly restrained, his small head obscured within the grotesque contraption. Out of compassion, he inquired if he could bring the boy along. She consented, and they set off together.

The ascent from the cave proved to be arduous. Upon emerging, the man and boy encountered a brightness so fierce that initially, they could scarcely open their eyes. Gradually, as their eyesight adjusted, they began to perceive indistinct shapes illuminated by the sun. These forms, though challenging to articulate, were somehow gratifying. The woman referred to them as Ideas and clarified that they, and only they, “truly exist,” while everything else is mere illusion. Neither was fully grasping her words, yet they both found it, in some way, gratifying. The woman departed and did not return for several years.

When she eventually reappeared, she posed a request. Now that the man was liberated and basked in happiness under the light, would he be willing to revisit the cave and rescue another, as she had done for him? He acquiesced and stated he would take the boy with him. However, upon reflecting on the difficulties of his previous journey the next morning, he decided to venture alone. He felt capable of doing the task himself, so why impose suffering on the boy and rob him of time in the sun? He beckoned the boy over and announced the uplifting news: he would be remaining behind.

The boy began to sob, softly at first, then with great intensity. The man felt moved by his loyalty but advised him that he should stay in paradise. The boy then knelt, grasping the man’s cloak, and implored, No, no, you must take me with you! I can’t bear to stay here any longer. I detest it. The man was taken aback. He inquired what was amiss, and the boy began to express his grievances through tears:

I’m perpetually cold here. The light is blinding, yet provides no warmth. It illuminates everything to my vision, yet doesn’t provide heat for my body. It is so intense that all colors have been bleached out; the Ideas appear like desiccated skeletons, akin to death. I long for shadows, the night sky, the stars, even if they were mere fantasies. 

I cannot sleep. Back within the cave, I would occasionally dream at night of scenes I’d never encountered, picturing myself in unfamiliar locales engaged in unexpected activities. Now, I have lost the ability to dream. I am too informed. I know what exists, and nothing else can ever be authentic. Isn’t that dreadful? How can you endure it?

I am perpetually sorrowful. And I miss my companions, even if they were merely pixels on a display. Here, no one engages in play or imagination or even shares a joke. What would be the purpose? You do not care for me, I do not care for you: we know too much for even that. I yearn to return home.

And thus he did

Aristotle posited that all humans possess a desire for knowledge. Our personal experiences reveal that all humans also possess a desire to remain ignorant, sometimes with great intensity. This has always been the case, but certain historical epochs — we currently inhabit one — exhibit a trend where blatant denials of evident truths seem to be prevailing, as if some psychological contagion were spreading in unforeseen ways, with the antidote suddenly impotent. Enraptured crowds heed absurd prophets, irrational conjectures spark fanatical actions, and magical reasoning supplants common sense and expertise.

One can always identify immediate triggers for such spikes in resistance to truth, be they historical occurrences or societal shifts or novel intellectual and spiritual currents promising an escape from reality. The roots lie deeper, however, within ourselves and in the world itself, which remains indifferent to our desires.

The world is a defiant place, and there are realities we would rather avoid acknowledging. Some are uncomfortable truths about our own nature; these are the most challenging to accept. Others are facts about the external world that, once uncovered, rob us of beliefs and emotions that have somehow made our lives more enjoyable, or simpler to navigate — or so we perceive. The sensation of disillusionment is as distressing as it is prevalent, and it is unsurprising that a line from an otherwise overlooked English poem has morphed into a widely recognized proverb: Ignorance is bliss.

We can all concoct justifications for why we and others shy away from knowing certain things, and many of those justifications are entirely logical. A trapeze performer, just before ascending the pole, would be unwise to consult the risk assessment statistics for her profession; a young bard should refrain from seeking the opinion of an older one regarding her verses. Even the inquiry Do you love me? should not spill forth from our lips but rather navigate several assessments before being spoken. If we were aware of every individual’s thoughts about us at every moment (visualize a small LED screen embedded in every forehead, transmitting every thought), we would not only feel immobilized in their presence; we would also struggle to achieve any independent understanding of ourselves, unshackled from the judgments of others. Even self-awareness, the initial step towards wisdom, relies on resisting at least this type of knowledge about the universe.

Thus, in various scenarios, we all possess practical reasons for avoidingthe reality, the entire reality, and nothing but the reality. Our existence, however, is not composed of a sequence of separate, unrelated instances where we opt to pursue understanding about one matter, then choose not to explore another. Life is not a factory task where we are instructed to categorize experiences into one compartment or another — desire to comprehend, unwilling to comprehend— as they traverse down the assembly line. Each of us has a fundamental inclination toward understanding, a manner of navigating the world as experiences occur. Some individuals are inherently inquisitive about how things became what they are; they appreciate enigmas, they enjoy investigating, and they find pleasure in learning why. Others remain apathetic about learning and perceive no particular benefit in posing questions that seem irrelevant for merely getting by. And then, there are those individuals who, for whatever rationale, have cultivated a distinct aversion to the quest for knowledge, whose inner gates are firmly locked against anything that could challenge their preconceived notions. We have all encountered people with these foundational perspectives. Most of us have also experienced states of mind where these attitudes surface within ourselves, however atypically.

Understanding is an emotive journey. It does not merely involve the senses transmitting signals to the mind, synapses engaging, concepts forming, and their logic being evaluated. The yearning to know is precisely that, a yearning. Whenever our yearnings are fulfilled or hindered, our emotions are stirred. Even in mundane issues, we have feelings regarding what we discover. Consider, for instance, when a toaster I possess malfunctions and requires repair. I consult the manual, watch tutorials, pose inquiries, tinker around, and, with any fortune, I discover how to restore its functionality. I feel a sense of fulfillment, and even more so. Not only can I operate the appliance once again, I have also validated my perception of being someone who can pursue knowledge, uncover it, and apply it. Toast and personal satisfaction: not a terrible way to kickstart the day.

However, there exists the opposing mindset: the will not to know, the inclination towards ignorance.

Socrates maintained that the unexamined life is not worth living for a human being — though it does not imply that the incessantly examined life is.

Nietzsche coined this term, and his portrayal of being under its influence is unforgettable. In contrast to the urge for knowledge, he articulated:

a seemingly opposing urge, a sudden eruption of choice in favor of ignorance, a conscious exclusion, a closure of one’s windows, an internal No to this or that, a denial to let things approach, a kind of defensive posture against a great deal that is knowable, a satisfaction with obscurity, with limited horizons, a Yea and Amen to ignorance.

Nietzsche was a dramatic thinker and writer, but in this instance, he was not exaggerating. Some individuals exhibit fluctuating inclinations towards the pursuit of knowledge based on their moods or situations. Moreover, there are those whose fundamental psychological stance is inherently to resist new insights. Just as we can foster a love for truth that invigorates us, we can also nurture a disdain for truth that engenders a fervent sense of purpose. If this appears to be an unusual concept, reflect on this excerpt from Pascal’s “Pensées” and ponder whether it encapsulates an emotion that has surfaced within you at some moment, or if it is a demeanor you have noted in others:

The self aspires to greatness, yet perceives itself as small; it yearns for happiness but sees itself as miserable; it wishes to be faultless, yet sees itself filled with flaws; it desires to be an object of love and esteem, yet acknowledges that its shortcomings warrant only disdain and contempt. This embarrassment in which it finds itself gives rise to the most unjust and malevolent passion conceivable, as it harbors a mortal hatred against this truth, which reprimands it and enlightens it of its failings. It seeks to obliterate this truth, but, unable to annihilate it in its essence, it strives to erase it as much as possible from its own awareness and that of others.

Opposing knowledge is also an emotive affair.

Living under the influence of the contemporary Enlightenment, we have grown accustomed to hearing curiosity praised for the tangible rewards it yields and for its contribution to what we consider our most cherished asset: inner liberty. Perhaps for this reason, we are less familiar with observing and contemplating curiosity as a purely psychological impulse charged with unruly desires. Historically, there exists a long-standing tradition that regards the human passion for knowledge with skepticism and raises concerns about its worth for life. Justifications can be made for the yearning to comprehend; justifications can also be provided for limiting that yearning.

Yet, beyond this conflict of rationales, there is also a clash of unreasoned emotions, with the desire to uphold and even nurture our ignorance standing as a formidable opponent to the desire to escape it. Once one learns to recognize this struggle of wills, one begins to appreciate the vital role it plays in our personal and collective lives, particularly in how we understand those lives. As George Eliot articulated: It is a common saying that Knowledge is power; but who has adequately contemplated or articulated the power of Ignorance?

In my experiences, the most profound examinations of the will to ignorance are found in works of Imagination — ancient legends, sacred texts, epic narrations, plays, and contemporary literature. This revelation should not be shocking: without the capability to resist confronting what is plainly before our eyes, drama in human existence would cease to exist, and movement would halt. A narrative about someone who uncovers that a truth has been concealed from them by another yields nothing particularly engaging about the human condition (other than the fact that some individuals are deceitful). A narrative about someone who has concealed the truth from themselves becomes an intricate work akin to any finely crafted watch, with countless gears and springs operating just beneath the seemingly sluggish exterior.

In revealing the deceptions of the will to ignorance, literature reveals us to ourselves, which suffices for its objectives. What we often lack — or at least what I have found lacking for my purposes — is a non-poetic contemplation of the will to ignorance and its multifaceted role in human existence. How is it that we are beings who both desire to know and not to know? How can both desires coexist in the mind? What role does resistance to knowledge play in shaping our emotions, our self-perception, and our comprehension of the world surrounding us? How has it influenced our shared existence, our beliefs, and our cultures? And what implications does this hold for how we ought to live? Socrates claimed that the unexamined life is not worth living for a human being — yet it does not follow that a life under perpetual examination is. Where does that position us? These are some of the inquiries I intend to investigate.

Throughout, it will be helpful to return to the narrative with which I began, a parody of Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave.” The young boy comprehends what understanding entails — and that is why he seeks to escape. His is a knowing will to ignorance. I envision him initially emerging from the cave bewildered and slightly anxious, yet like all children, fascinated by a new environment to explore. I picture him observing the Ideas and at times relishing the sensation of having grasped something meaningful. Yet, he ultimately snaps. The world as it genuinely is does not embrace him; it looms, heavily. The cost of living in such a manner is overly steep. He yearns to flee and forget what he already comprehends. He seeks a different existence from the one that has been imposed upon him. Plato spoke of the eros of intellect; the young man finds himself in the grip of the thanatos of intellect. If we fail to comprehend both, we fail to understand ourselves.

We desire to know, we desire not to know. We accept reality, we resist reality. Back and forth the mind oscillates, engaging in a dialogue with itself. Yet it does not feel like play. It feels as if our existence hangs in the balance.

And indeed, it does.