The Natural Beauty of “I Don’t Know”
In an age of instant opinions and algorithmic certainty, intellectual honesty begins by admitting what we do not know.
William Beebe (1877–1962), an American naturalist and explorer, while emphasizing intellectual honesty and scientific temper wrote:
“These words should be ready for instant use … — ‘I don’t know.’”
Going beyond Anglo-references and coming back to our homegrown geniuses, so did Bengal-based chemist, entrepreneur, and literary genius Rajshekhar Basu (awarded the Padma Bhushan in 1956). In his 1951 essay, Mr Scientific Mechanical Brain (as his elder brother Shahi Shekhar used to call him), described “scientific temper” as:
“The attempt to determine truth in all matters with the same care and freedom from prejudice that a scientist exercises during research.”
And that, as per Beebe, starts by acknowledging, prima facie, what we do not have answers to, and the benefits of this mindset far outweigh its drawbacks, if any. After all, a solution to a problem starts by acknowledging that there is a problem. Lucky for us, our Constitution (Article 51A) also calls for its expansion. Scientific temper in India, according to our founding traditions, is the method of categorically applying a scientific and logical thought process to our everyday lives. It’s a mind-state! But have we been able to uphold our founding traditions? I doubt so!
“Know-It-All” Fallacy
Our reluctance towards scientific temper partially spans what I call the “know-it-all fallacy space”. We somehow have a strange inclination to blindly believe general acts of vague referencing without cross-checking. A glimpse into history shows that most established superstitions began in exactly this way.
If a ‘WhatsApp uncle’ (a professor at WhatsApp University) suggests a medicine and I blindly take it, neither of us truly knows whether I might suffer an allergic reaction or long-term side effects. According to pre-COVID data (2020), the rate of self-prescribed medication in India was already significantly high at 19 percent, and unsurprisingly, it rose to over 25 percent post-COVID. Among these, around 75 percent involve drugs like Vitamin C and azithromycin.
The second tendency involves people who do not rely on hearsay and instead turn to ChatGPT or Google. After all, why would we listen to random people when we have the internet? But the problem lies elsewhere.
When we search for something, we do so using only a handful of keywords based on our limited understanding. Worse still, search algorithms often present a few highlighted lines from selected websites, which many people accept as unquestionable truth. Even those who dig deeper often skim abstracts and results from academic articles without understanding the limitations of those studies.
We fail to realize that a scientific paper addresses only specific questions or experiments—it does not provide universal truths. Its conclusions depend on methodology, experimental conditions, and sometimes even bias. In scientific terms, these issues are called insufficient sample size and biased outcomes. Moreover, economic factors influence which search results appear first. Our exploration is rarely objective. So, absorbing and disseminating such ambiguity is at the heart of this problem.
This phenomenon reminds me of Postman’s famous experiment. Neil Postman, best known for his cultural criticism of technology’s expanding authority, used to casually offer colleagues fabricated “scientific findings” to observe whether they would challenge them. He noted that most would accept the claims without hesitation, provided they carried the faint scent of expertise or aligned with the ambient logic of modern life. From this, Postman argues that our basic habits of belief have not changed since the Middle Ages: then, people deferred to the authority of religion, and now they defer to the authority of technology. This continuity, he suggests, is what allows a culture—in which technological authority has eroded the very frameworks that once helped us distinguish the plausible from the merely persuasive—to degrade.
Ultimately, what emerges is this: our surrender to tech-referencing, or even our desire to momentarily establish ourselves within social circles - our know-it-all micro-ego - sways us from objectivity. We fear being perceived as ignorant. As a result, we give answers even when unsure or make generalizations without sufficient evidence. In doing so, we risk wasting time or even causing harm, both to ourselves and to others.
Imagine you asking me a question I have no answer to and I begin my answer by saying, “I don’t know.”
Building Trust
Firstly, even if you don’t get the answer you wanted, you will sense honesty. You will know that when I do know something, I will provide accurate information. This builds trust - a rare commodity in our society today. During my fourteen years in Europe, I have repeatedly seen how this openness helps strengthen social trust, both in personal and professional circles.
Secondly, saying “I don’t know” frees the responder from the burden of appearing intelligent. It removes the pressure of an imaginary standard of knowledge. From there begins the true journey of learning. The mind opens up - free to explore, question, and discover.
Moreover, when both the questioner and the responder acknowledge uncertainty, they ascend to a level playing field. The false guru-shishya bubble vanishes. This shared space of curiosity can even build friendship. In an increasingly alienated world, what could be more beautiful than two people searching for answers together?
So, let us say “I don’t know.” This “know-it-all” problem has far broader social consequences across our country. We are forgetting how to question. Those who seek to control us, regardless of ideology, fear questioning minds the most. Our ability to ask questions is our greatest strength.
The phrase “I don’t know” is the very foundation of curiosity and inquiry.
(The writer is a Lead Process Engineer with GE HealthCare in France and a columnist with four books to his credit. Views personal.)
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