The Age of Loud Ignorance- When Fools Become Famous and the Wise Fall Silent
A fool is known by his speech, and a wise man by silence.” -Pythagoras.
One of my colleagues at the university is deeply versed in both Eastern and Western philosophy. Whenever I see him, I have the impression that he has maintained a long-standing, almost secret understanding with books. Before he has finished one, another somehow finds its way into his hands. Between classes, while walking along a corridor or over a cup of tea, we often find ourselves drawn into long conversations. They may begin with some utterly ordinary incident at the university. Yet, before we know it, we have travelled from Socrates and Plato to Confucius and the Buddha, and on to Marcus Aurelius. Eventually, our conversations circle back to our own society: the people around us, education, knowledge, and the curious ways in which individuals become, or manage to appear, wise. My colleague believes that many people today are more interested in being recognised as knowledgeable than in acquiring knowledge itself. Titles and positions seem to carry more weight than reading, and certificates more than wisdom.
One day, we were having just such a casual conversation in a small park in Holborn, not far from our campus. The park is not particularly large, but the sprawling branches of its old trees form a natural canopy of green leaves overhead. Subdued London light filters through the gaps. Although the bustle of the city surrounds it, the park retains a quietness of its own. We had bought tea from the little coffee shop in the park. As we sipped steaming tea from our glasses, my colleague returned to that familiar distinction between possessing knowledge and pretending to possess it. I listened for a while. Then, smiling, I remarked: “The problem is not that there are too many frauds. The problem is that business is booming for them!” We both burst out laughing. But the remark stayed with me. Later, I found myself wondering whether it was really something to laugh about. In a society where the performance of knowledge commands a better market than knowledge itself, where, exactly, does a genuinely wise person belong? In our society, becoming knowledgeable is difficult enough. Remaining popular while being genuinely knowledgeable is perhaps even harder. To acquire knowledge, one must read, ask questions, acknowledge mistakes, and sometimes submit beliefs held for decades to the scrutiny of new evidence. The road to popularity, however, is often considerably shorter.
It does not require deep understanding. It rather requires an outstanding performance. Speak in a commanding voice, incorporate a bit of theatrics, and make a few strong statements. A little confidence can make some people believe they have answers to every question in the universe. A wise person thinks before speaking, a pretender speaks before thinking. The wise man says, “The matter is rather complicated. We need to examine some more evidence.” The pretender says, “It’s as clear as daylight! Nobody is telling you what is really going on!” Perhaps people may not necessarily appreciate hearing the truth. In the case of the pretender, there is no word like doubt in their speech. The pretender is always sure of themselves, from history to geopolitics to biology to economics. All you need to do is ask the question. The answer is always ready. If required, they may throw in a couple of mistranslated English phrases. Speak in general terms about some study, and refer to some insider info, and say it in a whisper. All can enjoy this spectacle.
A professor who has spent 30 years researching a subject may take 10 minutes to consider a question before answering it. Someone who has read 3 Facebook posts will speak on the same subject with such authority that you might think Socrates sought his final counsel before he died. Because of the sharp increase in the rate of communication, the race to produce the next ‘big idea’ has clouded the distinction between opinion and truth. Slow and careful deliberation is being progressively replaced by confidently held beliefs and assertions. This explains why many feel unconvinced by most of what is said in defence of their belief. There, over a gentle swirl of his tea, Socrates might inquire: “How do you know this news is true?” Socrates lived in a time when philosophising meant challenging others to think and ask questions. Instead of providing answers, Socrates put questions to others. Socrates would probably mourn the absence of questioning among contemporary news readers and politicians. Imagine someone telling Socrates that he had read something on Facebook. Socrates would naturally ask who had written it, whether the person knew anything about the subject, and what the source of the information was. The gentleman would have no answers to these questions, yet he would firmly defend his belief by pointing out that fifty thousand people had shared the post. Surely, he would argue, so many people could not all be wrong. Socrates would probably put down his cup, take a deep breath, and wonder whether, after two and a half thousand years of philosophical inquiry, he would have to start all over again. After all, what the majority believes and what is true are not necessarily the same thing.
Even with smartphones in our hands and information available at the touch of a screen, we continue to mistake shadows for breaking news. There is a well-known story about the ancient Greek philosopher Diogenes, who is said to have walked through the streets in broad daylight carrying a lamp, searching for an honest human being. If Diogenes arrived in Bangladesh today, his search might prove even more challenging. He would probably need to exchange his lamp for a smartphone and a power bank. He would spend his days searching through social media for someone willing to admit, without hesitation, “I don’t know.” In an age when everyone seems eager to offer an opinion on everything, those three simple words have become surprisingly difficult to utter. Yet recognising the limits of one’s knowledge is often where genuine wisdom begins.
The Roman emperor and Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius devoted much of his reflections, later collected as Meditations, to examining his own conduct, responsibilities, weaknesses and pride. His writings remind us that wisdom requires constant self-examination rather than public displays of intellectual superiority. This brings us to an important distinction between knowledge and the appearance of knowledge: the wise seek mirrors, while pretenders seek cameras. The danger begins when the desire to appear knowledgeable outweighs the willingness to learn. Yet there is no reason to surrender to despair. Socrates died after drinking poison, but his questions survived him. Nearly two and a half thousand years later, his philosophy continues to challenge us to ask why we believe what we believe and whether our convictions can withstand careful examination. Pretence often gains popularity quickly because it speaks with certainty and demands attention. Genuine knowledge advances more cautiously because it recognises complexity, welcomes questions and remains open to correction. In the crowded marketplace of public opinion, loud declarations frequently attract more attention than thoughtful arguments. Noise may dominate a moment, but serious thought has the capacity to influence generations.
Ultimately, intellectual crisis does not arise merely because pretenders exist. They existed in the Athens of Socrates, walked the streets during the time of Diogenes, and remain among us today. The deeper crisis begins when society rewards slogans more readily than questions. Publicity more generously than evidence, and popularity more consistently than truth. Therefore, thoughtful people may gradually withdraw from public debate, not because they have nothing valuable to contribute, but because meaningful discussion becomes increasingly difficult in an environment where listening is mistaken for weakness and disagreement for hostility. A society that continues to ask this question has not abandoned its commitment to reason. The noise of pretence may occasionally overshadow its thoughtful voices, but they will not disappear. The wise may sometimes stand alone, but wisdom itself will never remain without company for long.