The man who knew too little: Life Hacks by Charles Assisi

A few days ago, I came upon a thread on X that took these thoughts forward. George Mack, an author and influencer of some consequence, posted some statistics to make the case that there is literally too much content out there. At least 500 hours of video are uploaded to YouTube every day, 500 million tweets are generated.

“The 24 hours allotted to you each day isn’t even capable of consuming 0.0000001% of the world’s events,” he wrote. When looked at from this perspective, deploying what is called “strategic ignorance” becomes a sign of strength. Because it takes courage to acknowledge one’s limits and decide to use one’s resources more wisely. As Mack put it (paraphrasing Oscar Wilde): “We are all in the ignorance gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

Any attempt then to stay “on top of it all” qualifies as “low-agency ignorance”, which is a time sink and an exercise in futility. We cannot know everything there is to know. By choosing strategic ignorance, we move into the zone of “high-agency ignorance”, taking tough calls on what we need to know, wish to know, and wish to walk away from.

By way of example, I figure that as a business journalist who earns a living from exploring the intersections of technology and public policy, there are boundaries to the subjects I can delve into, the people I can meet, literature I can read, and therefore, the valid and informed opinions I can hold.

What do I think will happen in the general election? The honest answer is: I haven’t a clue. You may as well ask my neighbour, the nearest petrol-pump attendant, or my local chaiwallah.

Mind you, embracing high-agency ignorance does not give one the licence to remain uninformed. Instead, it means that one prioritises depth over breadth, and then chooses the areas into which to delve deeply. This selective engagement is crucial, for instance, if I am to produce content that matters and adds value in my professional role; as well as if I am to have a well-rounded personal life. And this is true for all of us.

I think of it as curating a personal museum of knowledge. A half-decent curator will tell you that one does not attempt to fill the given space, or display every artefact available. In much the same way, a journalist need not clutter their mind with every bit of information. And neither should a businessperson, a stockbroker or a homemaker.

Practising strategic ignorance makes it easier to navigate the sea of data and information, because one now has focus and purpose. It guards against the mental fatigue that comes from trying to keep up with every trend and hashtag. The activities one substitutes instead — reading, debating, contemplating — are not just more rewarding intellectually, they are more likely to lead to genuine knowledge, perspective and growth.

The focused approach helps one combat the tyranny of the urgent, which prioritises the newest information over the most important. In journalism, the pressure to react quickly can often pre-empt the need to respond thoughtfully. When strategic ignorance comes into play, I feel empowered to resist this pressure.

Ultimately, the practice of strategic ignorance is about recognising that our cognitive resources (including attention and enthusiasm) are limited, and choosing to invest them wisely. It is about understanding that in the information age, being selectively knowledgeable is more valuable than being indiscriminately informed.

It might even eventually allow one to stand out, in a good way. Heaven knows there are enough indiscriminately informed people around to fill any museum.

(Charles Assisi is co-founder of Founding Fuel. He can be reached on assisi@foundingfuel.com)