Surface knows.

Oh yes, there are voices — usually the loud ones — who shine brightly with explanations for everything under the sun.
As old Mr. Schopenhauer noticed after much deep and weary thinking:

The smaller the portion of knowledge, the greater the proportion of certainty.

Socrates put it more simply:

“I know that I know nothing.”

A sentence that makes perfect sense — and still leaves a bitter aftertaste.

Is that a fatalistic confession of human limitation?
Or is the sheer volume of knowledge just too enormous for our small minds to climb even the first step of understanding?

No, fatalism can’t be part of it — otherwise there would be no scientists.
And what would they do all day?
These thinkers, testers, researchers, and conclusion-makers are driven by curiosity — and by a thirst for knowledge that can never, ever be quenched.
And thank goodness for that.

Most subjects are both immensely complex — especially beneath their visible surface — and too intricate, too unexplored, to be measured by any reasonable percentage of “what we know.”

Of course, I often catch myself declaring an opinion as “knowledge” — simply because I’ve read about it somewhere.
What a delusion that is.
I realize it only when I start digging deeper and find myself buried under the weight of all those layers.

No, that’s not depressing — it’s delightful.
Because there is no end in sight — only an entrance to a very long tunnel.

Where does this delight come from?
I love reading.
I love books — the bigger and thicker, the better.
But when I reach the final five pages, I always feel that tiny sting of disappointment: the story is about to end.
Of course, there are books where I’m just relieved it’s finally over — boredom can be a heavy cover to close.

In today’s world of technological luxury, with information streaming from every direction, a strange phenomenon has emerged.
Knowledge comes in tiny bites, served at the all-you-can-eat buffet of modern understanding.
It looks impressive — sometimes even overwhelming — but in the end, the mind’s stomach is filled with finger food.
And the hunger feels as if it were satisfied.

But does this minimalist menu really nourish understanding?
YouTube University and X-College serve their megabuffet of “insight snacks” every single day.

I prefer to scratch at the surface — and dig deeper.
There must be more beneath the claim itself.
We all adopt phrases and ideas that float by, then pass them on to others — like pollen in a breeze.

Critical thinking, however, has quietly left the room.
The mind, overwhelmed by too many info-snacks, stops chewing.

Marcus Aurelius said something that stuck with me:

“True intelligence explains even complicated ideas in simple words.”

Now that is a morning workout I can agree with.
When I dive into a subject, I try to do exactly that:
to explain what I’ve read — and hopefully understood — in my own, simple words.

How well that goes?
Well… that remains my secret.
It’s a complex — and very private — matter.

But I keep practising.
Again and again.