Better to be ignorant than ill-informed

I don’t know.

Three little words that are hard to say, and arguably getting harder.

For some people, admitting ignorance — in the purest, most non-judgmental sense of the word — when so much information is literally in the palms of their hands, is slothful. Far better to Google it. Or say “Hey, Siri.” Or ask Alexis.

The proliferation of so much knowledge means never having that nagging sensation in the back of the brain, like an itch that can’t be easily scratched, about the name of a particular song, TV show or historical event.

Used to be, you had to wait to get to a library or to a friend who could tell you the first Elvis single, the Twilight Zone episode where Burgess Meredith breaks his glasses at the end, or the date of the Hindenburg disaster.

There is humility in “I don’t know,” a concession of uncertainty, an admission that you don’t have the time, inclination or capacity to understand. Followed by “but I’ll find out,” it’s also an invitation to further learning and discussion.

Nowadays, however, “I don’t know” is often followed by a few taps on the computer in your pocket and an answer. That it may not always be the right answer is sometimes overshadowed by the sheer number of searches through the endless filing cabinets of cyberspace — some 5.6 billion inquiries a day on Google alone — and the speed with which such searches are made.

This convenience may be to blame for the degradation of another expression: “doing my own research.”

Once upon a time, “doing my own research” meant reading books and magazine articles on a topic and perhaps consulting with somebody in the field. The expertise accrued by self-taught individuals rarely extended past their own three feet of influence; many would have been comfortable building their own sheds, for example, but few would have the moxy to build a skyscraper, where people outside their own families could be jeopardized by shoddy architecture and construction.

I can remember my great-uncle “doing his own research” before taking a pledge in church not to see R-rated films or before deciding which truck to buy. He relied on finding somebody who knew more than he did, either in print or in person, and then weighing that person’s judgment.

Today, though, far too many people who are “doing their own research” seek validation for what they already believe, usually among like-minded people with little expertise on social media. One of the more accurate memes of recent months shows “vaccine research” conducted by a white-jacketed worker in a high-tech lab, contrasted with “anti-vaccine research,” conducted by a woman sitting on the toilet, smartphone in hand.

If the latter were reading the research of the former, the problem wouldn’t be so acute. But the implication is that the potty-squatter is relying on professional football players, disgraced politicians, and the like, many of whom are similarly operating in an echo chamber of misinformation, building online skyscrapers atop shaky foundations and filling the suites with gullible tenants.

What “doing my own research” should mean is spending time discovering what the most authoritative voices in a given field are saying about a subject. It should mean learning to distinguish strong evidence from spurious evidence, rigorous scientific study from unsupported personal opinion.

When I tell my students that research should begin with a question to which they don’t know the answer but are curious to learn, some balk. They believe they should start with a claim they already believe, and then find sources that support it.

But putting the cart of conclusions before the horse of research is part of the reason we are in such a mess today, with irrelevant personal opinions carrying as much weight as data-driven results.

It is not a weakness to seek out answers from acknowledged experts, recognizing that their conclusions may not always align with our private beliefs. Nor is it a disgrace to sometimes say “I don’t know.”

By the way, the first Elvis single is “That’s All Right,” the Twilight Zone episode is “Time Enough at Last” and the Hindenburg disaster was May 6, 1937. At least that’s what Google tells me, and it can’t be wrong if it’s on the Internet, right?

Reach Chris at chris.schillig@yahoo.com, and @cschillig on Twitter.