Friends!
This is going to be a short one. It pertains to experimenting with a recent musing and the pleasant outcome that ensued. The musing being: do I really have to know the answer, just because it is available? It may sound quite ludicrous to entertain the notion of NOT knowing, but I have a suspicion that I may not be alone in my unease with slaughtering mysteries through answers. We all know the benefits of finding stuff out, the entire modern empire is built upon the supremacy of intellectual pursuits of answers. But I think it’s worthwhile to play with a hypothesis that - while not denying the obvious wonders resulting from elevating ‘knowing’ to the most salient aspect of modern civilisation - looks at what we might be missing when we chase “knowitallitis”.
The Answer-Toxicity (AT) Hypothesis
The Information Age is a measly, infinitesimal slice of our species’ historical chronology. For most of the time we have existed, access to information was quite limited. Along the lines of scarcity of food for our ancestors translating to the health benefits of fasting owing to the alignment it offers with our biology’s expectations, I hypothesize that ‘psychological fasting’ is perhaps very crucial as well to align with our psychological expectations of not-knowing, and keeping us mentally healthy.
The AT hypothesis posits that living in a world which ostensibly has an answer for every question you may ask, introduces an experiential toxicity which ultimately numbs our natural “a-ha” response to the point of ‘yeah, whatever’.
Consider, for example, that in the 1960s, British musicians who met with Elvis Presley in the USA came back to tell stories about Elvis to answer-hungry fans. The fans did not have much access to stories about Elvis, and these accounts were received which much pleasure, while still retaining some mystery about what Elvis was like. There wasn't an information overload which was deadening the limited pleasure-response to novelty. Today, is there any mystery to what Taylor Swift is like? If she posts often enough, you may even know what she thought of her breakfast today. Our mystery-hunger is almost non-existent owing to constant satiation. I am of the opinion that that isn’t our natural state of existence.
My Tiny Test of the AT Hypothesis
I initiated a small experiment to test the AT Hypothesis. I made it a point to limit one very common answer-seeking behaviour of mine: Googling biographies of almost every new “celebrated” individual I was introduced to in any random way. For example, if I was reading a book and the author described her fascination with some celebrity, I’d stop and Google this new person. The biography would mention that this new person had a mentor, and I’d be like “wow, I wonder what that person was like? What’s his story?”. And on and on.
Through a dedicated effort at catching myself when I wanted to know more about someone (a recent one being a Yogi whose book I was reading), and then restricting myself only to the information I had through my current source, I realised that a certain visceral need was fulfilled.
I had artificially created an air of mystery around the author of the book, and my mind ‘wandered in wonder’. It felt natural. It reminded me of how we all at times day-dream about the personalities, stories, and idiosyncrasies of people that left behind little to no records (audio, visual, or textual) of their lives.
The lesser the amount of direct documentation of their lives, the more enjoyable the myths, commentaries, and debates become. If scientists today tell us of one little quirk or possible penchant of an Egyptian king who lived more than 3,000 years ago, we may find that more exciting than an entire 4K documentary on the life of a current pop star.
I have personally experienced a beneficial rise in enjoyment by limiting answers, lending credibility to the AT hypothesis. A few more personal experiments are in the works! (Including one which involves NOT researching what the protagonist of a film based on a true story is currently up to!).
Can you recall a recent time when you resisted ‘finding out’, and the discomfort was paradoxically rewarding?
i agree! there is so much we do not need to know from being chronically online, there is little space for curiosity anymore.