"Some things you'll never know, and some things you'll wish you never knew"
About this Quote
Knowledge, in Eric Williams's hands, is never the cozy kind that flatters the knower. It's the kind that arrives like an overdue bill: unavoidable, clarifying, and capable of ruining your appetite. "Some things you'll never know" concedes the hard limits of evidence and perspective, especially for a historian trained to respect the gaps in the archive and the silences built into power. But the second clause twists the knife: "some things you'll wish you never knew". That's not epistemology as a parlor game; it's moral fallout.
Williams made his career insisting that empire's wealth had receipts. As the author of Capitalism and Slavery and a leader in Trinidad and Tobago's political life, he lived at the intersection of scholarship and consequence, where facts don't just inform - they indict. The line reads like a warning to anyone tempted by innocence as a worldview: history will deny you complete certainty, then punish you with partial certainty anyway, because the fragments you do uncover can be enough to reframe everything.
The construction matters. The parallel "some things... some things..". is balanced, almost casual, as if offering a shrug. That calm surface is the subtext's trick: it normalizes discomfort, suggesting that dread is an ordinary companion to honest inquiry. It's also a rebuke to both naive optimism and conspiracy-brained omniscience. You won't know it all. You also won't be able to un-know the parts that implicate you, your institutions, your inherited stories.
Williams made his career insisting that empire's wealth had receipts. As the author of Capitalism and Slavery and a leader in Trinidad and Tobago's political life, he lived at the intersection of scholarship and consequence, where facts don't just inform - they indict. The line reads like a warning to anyone tempted by innocence as a worldview: history will deny you complete certainty, then punish you with partial certainty anyway, because the fragments you do uncover can be enough to reframe everything.
The construction matters. The parallel "some things... some things..". is balanced, almost casual, as if offering a shrug. That calm surface is the subtext's trick: it normalizes discomfort, suggesting that dread is an ordinary companion to honest inquiry. It's also a rebuke to both naive optimism and conspiracy-brained omniscience. You won't know it all. You also won't be able to un-know the parts that implicate you, your institutions, your inherited stories.
Quote Details
| Topic | Knowledge |
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