"We must make up our minds to be ignorant of much, if we would know anything"
About this Quote
Newman lands a paradox that feels tailor-made for an age of infinite tabs: the only way to know something is to consent, deliberately, to not knowing a great deal else. The line isn’t an anti-intellectual shrug; it’s a demand for intellectual discipline. “Make up our minds” signals willpower, not accident. Ignorance here is chosen, almost ascetic - a renunciation that clears space for depth.
The subtext is a rebuke to the cultured Victorian ideal of the “well-read” mind skimming across everything. Newman, a clergyman and serious thinker about education and belief, is wary of dilettantism: the person who can speak a little about everything and therefore understands nothing with enough granularity to be trusted. There’s also a moral edge. To “know anything” in Newman’s world isn’t just to accumulate facts; it’s to commit to truth in a way that shapes judgment and conscience. That kind of knowing requires limits: attention, humility, and the acceptance that the mind is finite.
Context matters. Newman’s century was swelling with new sciences, new political pressures, and expanding print culture - a knowledge boom that produced both enlightenment and anxiety. His sentence draws a boundary against the fantasy of total mastery. It’s also, quietly, a defense of faith against the demand that every conviction be exhaustively proven on every front before it’s permitted to stand. Newman isn’t asking for blind belief; he’s insisting that real understanding has a cost: the courage to choose a field, a question, a life’s work - and let the rest remain, honestly, unknown.
The subtext is a rebuke to the cultured Victorian ideal of the “well-read” mind skimming across everything. Newman, a clergyman and serious thinker about education and belief, is wary of dilettantism: the person who can speak a little about everything and therefore understands nothing with enough granularity to be trusted. There’s also a moral edge. To “know anything” in Newman’s world isn’t just to accumulate facts; it’s to commit to truth in a way that shapes judgment and conscience. That kind of knowing requires limits: attention, humility, and the acceptance that the mind is finite.
Context matters. Newman’s century was swelling with new sciences, new political pressures, and expanding print culture - a knowledge boom that produced both enlightenment and anxiety. His sentence draws a boundary against the fantasy of total mastery. It’s also, quietly, a defense of faith against the demand that every conviction be exhaustively proven on every front before it’s permitted to stand. Newman isn’t asking for blind belief; he’s insisting that real understanding has a cost: the courage to choose a field, a question, a life’s work - and let the rest remain, honestly, unknown.
Quote Details
| Topic | Knowledge |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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