Patio Pondering: The More You Know (The Less You Really Do)
It is a beautiful morning on the patio. The sun is dawning brightly, the day promises to be a good one, and my coffee—though a common blend—hits the spot with just the right mix of bitterness.
On my trip to and from school I listened to a podcast hosted by Vance Crowe. Around the thirty-minute mark, I had to stop, rewind, listen again, and even mark the time. Something in the discussion struck a nerve.
Vance was calling out someone who thought they understood Bitcoin but didn’t. As I listened, I realized he wasn’t just talking about Bitcoin. He was describing that familiar character we all know: the know-it-all. The person who drones on with surface-level knowledge, so confident that people eventually tune them out. The danger is, once that happens, their credibility is gone, even in the areas where they may truly have valuable expertise.
That thought hit close to home. With a Ph.D. and decades of experience in swine nutrition and agriculture, I know how easily the letters behind my name can be misunderstood. Some expect me to have an answer for everything. Others assume I think I do. The truth is, sometimes my knowledge runs deep, sometimes it’s only surface-level, and other times I know nothing at all about a topic. My struggle is in finding that balance: sharing what I know with confidence without crossing into the territory of the know-it-all.
For all of us, regardless of our educational credentials, recognizing how easily we can slip into know-it-all territory when we research or speak on a topic should remind us to be more thorough in our quest for truth and knowledge, and cautious in how we share our newfound knowledge. But we don’t want to let the fear of that badge keep us from sharing what we know, so long as we craft it properly.
There’s an irony to knowledge: the deeper we go, the more we realize how much we don’t know. True expertise often brings humility. But a little knowledge, just enough to skim the surface, can give us the false confidence to shout it to the world.
This tension isn’t new. Thinkers have wrestled with the value and danger of knowledge for centuries. Sir Francis Bacon reminded us in the 1500s that “knowledge is power.” Yet, two centuries later, the poet Alexander Pope cautioned, “a little learning is a dangerous thing.” Titles and degrees aside, the truth lies in the space between their words. Deep, hard-won knowledge can guide and strengthen. But shallow knowledge, delivered with too much confidence, can do real harm.
Our challenge is to walk that thin line: generous with what we know, careful with what we don’t, and mindful of how our words land. Not to stay silent out of fear, but to share responsibly, with humility and conviction.