THE
PLEASURES OF IGNORANCE
The Pleasures of Ignorance truly
agitates the readers’ minds and rekindles the desire for rational thinking.
Although, it sings the praise of ‘ignorance’, it starts with powerful arguments
that show it as a human failing. Later arguments cited by him in praise of
‘ignorance’ are both funny and thought-provoking. The essay readers to take a
fresh stand on memory, learning, and academic rigor.
It is impossible to take a
walk in the country with an average townsman—especially, perhaps, in April or
May—without being amazed at the vast continent of his ignorance. It is
impossible to take a walk in the country oneself without being amazed at the
vast continent of one’s own ignorance. Thousands of men and women live and die
without knowing the difference between beech and elm, between the song of
a thrush and the song of a blackbird. Probably in a modern city, the man who can
distinguish between a thrush’s and a blackbird’s song is the exception. It is
not that we have not seen the birds. It is simply that we have not noticed
them. We have been surrounded by birds all our lives, yet so feeble is our
observation that many of us could not tell whether or not the chaffinch sings,
or the colour of the cuckoo. We argue like small boys as to whether the cuckoo
always sings as he flies or sometimes in the branches of a tree—whether Chapman
drew on his fancy or his knowledge of nature in the lines:
When in the oak’s green arms
the cuckoo sings,
And first delights men in the lovely springs.
This
ignorance, however, is not altogether miserable. Out of it we get the constant
pleasure of discovery. Every fact of nature comes to us each spring, if only we
are sufficiently ignorant, with the dew still on it. If we have lived half a
lifetime without having ever even seen a cuckoo, and know it only as a
wandering voice, we are all the more delighted at the spectacle of its runaway
flight as it hurries from wood to wood conscious of its crimes, and at the way
in which it halts hawk-like in the wind, its long tail quivering, before it
dares descend on a hill-side of fir-trees where avenging presences may lurk. It
would be absurd to pretend that the naturalist does not also find pleasure in
observing the life of the birds, but his is a steady pleasure, almost a sober
and plodding occupation, compared to the morning enthusiasm of the man who sees
a cuckoo for the first time, and, behold, the world is made new.
Explanation:
Ignorance among men and women,
especially about facts of nature, is endemic. Nearly everyone suffers from this
shortcoming. Many among us live and die without knowing how an elm differs from
the breech tree. Such ignorance makes us argue heatedly among us about the way
the cuckoo sings, if during flight or when perched on a tree’s branch.
Such ignorance has some bright side to it too. When spring arrives bringing
with it its myriad features, a person who has been casual towards nature
earlier, discovers some fascinating manifestation of spring, and draws
considerable pleasure from it. Even the ubiquitous cuckoo fails to ignite our
curiosity, as a result of which almost half among us fail to describe the way
the bird sings. Such pathetic ignorance about the cuckoo is because we fail to
observe it minutely. We simply let the bird fly past us. An observer of nature
is, by instinct, a slow and carefree man. In contrast, the city dweller
leads a hectic life and can’t devote time to savor his senses with the
pleasures of nature watching.
And, as to
that, the happiness even of the naturalist depends in some measure upon his
ignorance, which still leaves him new worlds of this kind to conquer. He may
have reached the very Z of knowledge in the books, but he still feels half
ignorant until he has confirmed each bright particular with his eyes. He wishes
with his own eyes to see the female cuckoo—rare spectacle!—as she lays her egg
on the ground and takes it in her bill to the nest in which it is destined to
breed infanticide. He would sit day after day with a field glass against his
eyes in order personally to endorse or refute the evidence suggesting that the
cuckoo does lay on the ground and not in a nest. And, if
he is so far fortunate as to discover this most secretive of birds in the very
act of laying, there still remain for him other fields to conquer in a
multitude of such disputed questions as to whether the cuckoo’s egg is always of
the same colour as the other eggs in the nest in which she abandons it.
Assuredly the men of science have no reason as yet to weep over their lost
ignorance. If they seem to know everything, it is only because you and I know
almost nothing. There will always be a fortune of ignorance waiting for them
under every fact they turn up. They will never know what song the Sirens sang
to Ulysses any more than Sir Thomas Browne did.
If I have
called in the cuckoo to illustrate the ordinary man’s ignorance, it is not
because I can speak with authority on that bird. It is simply because, passing
the spring in a parish that seemed to have been invaded by all the cuckoos of
Africa, I realized how exceedingly little I, or anybody else I met, knew about
them. But your and my ignorance is not confined to cuckoos. It dabbles in all
created things, from the sun and moon down to the names of the flowers. I once
heard a clever lady asking whether the new moon always appears on the same day
of the week. She added that perhaps it is better not to know, because, if one
does not know when or in what part of the sky to expect it, its appearance is always
a pleasant surprise. I fancy, however, the new moon always comes as a surprise
even to those who are familiar with her time-tables. And it is the same with
the coming in of spring and the waves of the flowers. We are not the less
delighted to find an early primrose because we are sufficiently learned in the
services of the year to look for it in March or April rather than in October.
We know, again, that the blossom precedes and not succeeds the fruit of the
apple-tree, but this does not lessen our amazement at the beautiful holiday of
a May orchard.
Explanation:
Quite paradoxically, the more
the naturalist is ignorant of nature, the more enigmatic it appears to him. He
might have studied about nature quite extensively, yet he yearns to experience
their touch and sound. The way a female cuckoo lays eggs on the ground,
and then carries them up using its bill to reach its nest seems so very
fascinating, only when he observes it firsthand. In the nest, the cuckoo
maintains a strict and long vigil over her eggs. Such eye-witness account may
be used to prove or disprove the fact that the cuckoo lays or does not lay her
eggs on the ground.
After the bird-watcher becomes
sure that the cuckoo does lay eggs on the ground, he has to ascertain if all
the eggs were of the same color or not. The scientific community even do not mu
h about this question, but they seem to worry much about it. For them, there
are so many things humans do not know and may not know in future, such as what
song the Sirens sang to Ulysses any more than Sir Thomas Browne did.
The cuckoo chose cuckoo as his
subject because of no special reason. The only reason could that he had lived
for some time in an area infested with cuckoos. The author has no hesitation to
admit that he is unaware of many more thins that existed, but were unknown t he
author like the Sun and the moon and some flowers too. The author once heard a
clever lady asking whether the new moon always appears on the same day of the
week. She added that perhaps it is better not to know, because, if one does not
know when or in what part of the sky to expect it, its appearance is always a
pleasant surprise. Despite being aware of nature’s time-table, nature-observers
do feel surprised to see the ushering in of spring and some such events. Even
the first blossom of flowers overwhelms a nature lover even if they know about
its coming before hand.
And, if we
can forget books, it is as easy to forget the months and what they showed us,
when once they are gone. Just for the moment I tell myself that I know May like
the multiplication table and could pass an examination on its flowers, their
appearance and their order. To-day I can affirm confidently that the buttercup
has five petals. (Or is it six? I knew for certain last week.) But next year I
shall probably have forgotten my arithmetic, and may have to learn once more
not to confuse the buttercup with the celandine. Once more I shall see the
world as a garden through the eyes of a stranger, my breath taken away with
surprise by the painted fields. I shall find myself wondering whether it is
science or ignorance which affirms that the swift (that black exaggeration of the
swallow and yet a kinsman of the humming-bird) never settles even on a nest,
but disappears at night into the heights of the air. I shall learn with fresh
astonishment that it is the male, and not the female, cuckoo that sings. I may
have to learn again not to call the campion a wild geranium, and to rediscover
whether the ash comes early or late in the etiquette of the trees. A
contemporary English novelist was once asked by a foreigner what was the most
important crop in England. He answered without a moment’s hesitation: “Rye.”
Ignorance so complete as this seems to me to be touched with magnificence; but
the ignorance even of illiterate persons is enormous. The average man who uses
a telephone could not explain how a telephone works. He takes for granted the
telephone, the railway train, the linotype, the aeroplane, as our grandfathers
took for granted the miracles of the gospels. He neither questions nor
understands them. It is as though each of us investigated and made his own only
a tiny circle of facts. Knowledge outside the day’s work is regarded by most
men as a gewgaw. Still we are constantly in reaction against our ignorance. We
rouse ourselves at intervals and speculate. We revel in speculations about
anything at all—about life after death or about such questions as that which is
said to have puzzled Aristotle, “why sneezing from noon to midnight was good,
but from night to noon unlucky.” One of the greatest joys known to man is to
take such a flight into ignorance in search of knowledge. The great pleasure of
ignorance is, after all, the pleasure of asking questions. The man who has lost
this pleasure or exchanged it for the pleasure of dogma, which is the pleasure
of answering, is already beginning to stiffen. One envies so inquisitive a man
as Jowett, who sat down to the study of physiology in his sixties. Most of us
have lost the sense of our ignorance long before that age. We even become vain
of our squirrel’s hoard of knowledge and regard increasing age itself as a
school of omniscience. We forget that Socrates was famed for wisdom not because
he was omniscient but because he realised at the age of seventy that he still
knew nothing.
Explanation:
The author returns to his own
extreme forgetfulness and how it has contributed to his happiness in life. He
cites the many features of nature seen in May, and can reel them off with
dexterity. However, in a few months, he would forget them almost completely. He
could confuse if the flower buttercup has five petals or six. He could even
misidentify a buttercup as a celandine. However, such absurdly poor memory
helps him to revisit the same flowers when they reappear in their scheduled
interval in the next season. Such re-discovery happens year after year, and
become a perennial source of pleasure for the author.
The author feels bemused to
think that the bird swift that looks like a larger version of swallow and
somewhat similar to the humming bird is compulsive nocturnal flier that wanders
in the vast sky at night and never settles on a nest to rest its tired wings.
Having forgotten totally about
the cuckoo’s enigmatic habits, the author finds it highly exciting to re-learn
that the male cuckoo sings, and not its female mate. Such quirky facts of
nature come to him afresh every season, and become great discoveries. His
discovery of the peculiarities of the Campion and ash trees come to him as
total revelation each year.
Many intellectuals also often
appear to be blissfully ignorant about certain elementary facts of life. A
British author, when asked to name the most important crop of England said it
was ‘Rye’.
Ignorance is so pervasive in
society. Men of learning suffer from it as much the illiterate ones do. Common
folks who use the telephone, the railways, the printing presses in their daily
lives are ignorant about the way these technologies work. We all accept them
just as our grandfathers accepted the gospels. Most common folks te d to know
about a very limited number of gadgets and products that they use in their
daily lives. Those who want to expand their knowledge by learning about other
things are ridiculed as being ‘showy’.
However, we, at times, delve
into the unknown and try to unravel their mysteries. We think about our
afterlife, and many other such abstract things. The secrets that eluded
Aristotle continue to elude us. When the fight to dispel ignorance
becomes a pursuit of knowledge, it becomes a very meaningful and pleasant
experience. Thus, ignorance is not all that bad because it triggers a search
for knowledge. There are some lazy people who don’t like to exert their mind to
acquire new knowledge. In their laziness, they embrace dogmas. In contrast,
there were people like Jowart who sat down to study Physiology at the age of
sixty. We even become vain of our squirrel’s hoard of knowledge and regard
increasing age itself as a school of omniscience.
Socrates is revered so much not
because people accepted him as someone knowing everything, but because at the
age of ripe 70, he declared that he was totally ignorant. Such humility was a
sign of his greatness.
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Comprehension check
1. What is unusual about the
way the essay opens?
Ans: At the very outset, the
author asserts that most human beings suffer from abysmal lack of knowledge
about a great many things around us. This leads the reader to assume that the
author will proceed to berate ignorance as a negative virtue that diminishes a
person’s stature. Strangely, in later lines, he comes out as an ardent
supporter of ignorance. He maintains that ignorance multiples our pleasures.
Such volta-face catches the readers off-guard.
2. How is seeing things
different from observing things?
Ans: When a person sees a
thing, the existence of the object just merely recorded as an input, but when
one proceeds to observe it, the colour, size, smell, texture, and movement
patter etc. are all critically examined and the brain reacts to these inputs
with varying feelings like joy, excitement, amazement, disgust, horror, awe
etc. Observing therefore, is an elaborate process, and seeing is just a
perfunctory act. The involvement of the person varies from light to intense.
3. Why does knowledge of a
thing ………………………………………………………….science which murders to dissect?
Ans: If we already know about
a thing, seeing it again does not excite us much. The joy of discovery gets
considerably reduced. William Wordsworth was a great lover of Nature. He
feasted his eyes in the flora and fauna around him. In order to enjoy the
beauty of a flower, he could never bring himself to rip it apart and examine
its internal parts. However, the scientist has no such feeling. A biologist
wanting to learn more about a frog, grabs it, impels his knife into it, and
after it dies, examines its internal part. Wordsworth was horrified at this
approach.
4. Do you think the
………………………………………………… art?
Ans: The author certainly does
not abhor science, because science offers so much to investigate and learn. For
an ignorant, but inquisitive mind, science offers the best hunting ground. Art
is beautiful, no doubt, but its scope for exploration is rather limited.
5. How does the author ………………………………………………………….
renews our vision of things?
Ans: An ignorant man is
generally mild and humble in temperament. He is open to receiving new ideas,
learning new things, and enjoying everything new that comes his way. Innocence is
writ large n his nature. Only when we are humble and apparently ignorant, do we
open our minds to new experiences. Such exposure, innocently accepted, renews
our vision of things.
6. What are the good points of
naturalists?
Ans: A naturalist is
well-versed in the theoretical knowledge of the myriad of Nature. To augment
his understanding of Nature, he needs to observe the outdoors. Such study of
the environment complements his theoretical knowledge about Nature’s myriad
forms
7. What are the bad points of
naturalists?
Ans: A naturalist is essentially
a theoretical man. So, his understanding is limited.
8. How does the author prove
the limitations of the scientists?
Ans: For the common man,
science is too complex and too remote. We use gadgets like phone, cars,
televisions, etc. that are the products of advanced science. Sadly, by being
sophisticated and complex, they remain outside the understanding of the common
folks. So, an ordinary person can not effectively delve into science
without rigorous studies.
9. What are the two types of
reading ……………..?
10. What is the greatest
pleasure of ignorance ………………..?
