2026-04-26
One of my teachers used to say that it was important not to know too much.
As with many lessons from the Book of Clown, it was never explicitly explained. Students are left frustrated, and pondering possible deeper meanings.
When I manage to get past my deeply-ingrained instinct to call bullshit, I’ve taken this as a reminder to leave a bit of space for life’s tiny mysteries. To enjoy a bit of whimsy and wonder, and not let myself become too closed off.
I’m also capable of being a cynical bastard.
In those moments, I find myself angry and sad about how the mob that’s us thrives on avoiding the existence of the unknown. We strive to quantify everything, and tear down mystery at any opportunity.
I do believe that exposing corruption is good. I fear that we take this instinct too far. In exposing all the sadness, we often end up numb instead of wise.
Our species is, in its best moments, capable of so much silliness, whimsy, and joy.
At our worst, we focus energy on unmasking Banksy, rather than discovering what makes Satoshi Nakamoto want to help the world burn.
Being human is hard.
We yearn to know more, and we need to not know too much.