On Ignorance And Apathy

In an Archemedian moment, I have risen, towel-clad, to attempt to convey what thoughts arose amidst the froth and foam.

It seems to be that each bit of knowledge, each key finding or mastered form of expertise that we accrue merely serves to illuminate what areas lie further out in the gloom, dimly glimpsed and of uncertain magnitude and complexity. And yet, so much of what we are sure we know, we really may not.
I thought often of how glorious and adept I would seem were I whisked back in time, like the heroes of A Conneticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court in Mark Twain's classic, or the even more revered The Time Machine by H.G. Wells. I could end disease, build skyscrapers, fly jet-powered craft to the amazement of those unlearned and properly worshipful natives...

But, really, could I? Could many of us?

Take the notion of the germ theory of disease. Easily proved, simply show someone the spiricles and other mutilegged wonders in a drop of water. Well, as soon as you build a microscope. Glass should be easy, that's just melted sand... and I'm sure someone around there would have a forge so I could make some kind of a frame and, oh, yes the tube of the microscope and... um. Err. Well, perhaps that's a bit complex. How about something simple, like bleach? Clean clothes, sterile bandages, and you just... umm. Mine it? Make it out of something and that other thing and some water?
Likewise most things we take for granted.
Steam power, refined metals, a stable ink for printing, paper to print things on, plastics - many of the simple and/or complex things that make up our daily existence have passed beyond our ken and ability to make for ourselves.
At best, any adventuring into the past would have simply seen me relegated to a teller of fanciful tales, if not actually being labeled as insane.

And yet, basic theories of gravitation were worked out by such simple timings as the human pulse or counted numbers while dropping objects... and the fact that the world was round could be proved by means no more advanced than digging two wells far, far apart, with an ordinary shovel, and then measuring where the sunlight fell at noon with regard to the mouth of each well on the same day.

Advances in science do not carry all of the accompanying developmental effort and understanding with them. There must be a process of discovery of the basic principles, exercising them, and then, with persistence, eventual mastery. Exploration into uncharted territory with the expectation that the miracle of GoreTex and the magic of Kevlar will save you frequently results in additional entries in the annals of Darwin, should you not actually be able to light a camp stove.

I remember having a man from NASA come to our elementary school when I was in the second grade. He had a piece of the material from which the astronauts' suits were made, and invited any of the teachers to try and cut it. This was suitably impressive, as it couldn't be marred or even deformed by an teacher bringing considerable force on them... and then, the man who had the ability to make things so sufficiently advance as to be magic told us about the most powerful words he knew.

They were, "I don't know."

He was in no way espousing ignorance as a thing to be proud of - profoundly, he showed us that the smartest man that we had seen was quite able to say that he didn't know everything, and to do so with no loss of face or shame. This was a watershed moment for me. There was, even then in the heights of hubris attained by reading my father's science fiction novels, certainty that I didn't know as much as I professed, let alone much about anything. And yet, that wasn't the point. It's very hard to determine what areas of growth and learning one has if pride and fear of admitting less than omniscience dictate that we not express any such lack.

Those that turn rocks over and marvel at the simple things found there, or the patterns of a fern, replicating ever smaller, or the grains and composition of a rock, or whence comes inspiration and altruism and the dare to ask the nature of diety are those that I love. And with this love of finding untrammeled paths comes the knowledge that we can explore and move and learn. And even more precious than those that have bravely ventured out into ignorance and returned with tales of fantastic new things are those that have done so and then encourage others to do the same.

I remember sitting down with my father after having asked what would happen if the earth suddenly stopped. He could have simply told me, but did not. With a series of questions and guidance, allowing me to progress past my own area of known forms and maths and into new territory. And so, with hesitating steps, scribbled calculations and encouragement, I was able to work out the rotational velocity of the earth. Heady wonderment followed, and queries about inertia, gravity and Newtonian concepts naturally followed, and some subtle enlightenment was gained.

Safely ensconced on the shoulders of giants, I still had little reach, but oh, what a view. I could borrow the surety that things could be reached given time, and that grew into the knowledge that I had the capacity to do so. I wonder how much of my resilience to despair is due to this concept being ingrained at an early age.

I remember feeling the pit of my stomach drop away when I heard that Carl Sagan had died. My next thought was kind of a bleak wondering who would champion the pursuit of knowledge and especially wonder at the interweavings and beauty of our universe. I don't know that anyone has stepped up to fill that space, or that there will be ever be an exact fit into the void he left. I don't have his power to explain and make the very large and very small fit nearly into a very normal-sized head. I do share his wonder and the love of the interactivity of all things.

And in time, perhaps there will be another champion; the pursuit of understanding and knowledge will go on regardless. We can each step up and perhaps even do more than a famous personality could by being there for those around us and working through life together, pointing out the wonders to each other.

At the heart of such things is not the knowing of the answers outright, but of knowing the steps to take to find out for oneself, and the confidence that things can be, and will be, knowable.

I'll be frivolous and goofy next time.

- Ryan