A Disheartening Discovery
In line 98-100 of Thomas Gray’s famous poem, Ode on Distant Prospect of Eton College, he states, Thought would destroy their paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss, ‘Tis folly to be wise.” This is generally where the common phrase ‘ignorance is bliss’ is thought to come from, but the thought that knowledge destroys happiness predates back to Greek mythology. In Sophocles’ play ‘Ajax’, the hero suffers greatly after he believes that the Gods have wronged him; after overcoming his outrage and thoughts of suicide, he looks to his son Eurysakes, and says, “The happiest life consists in ignorance, before you learn to grieve and to rejoice.” His son, unaware of the sorrows of knowledge, is content and happy; Ajax takes pleasure in seeing his son’s ignorant joy. After the idea occurs in this play, it constantly occurs throughout literature in history until 1747, when it occurs in Thomas Gray’s poem.
As ancient as the idea may be, it still applies today. Almost everyone has a story in which they would really prefer to simply not know the truth. Even I have experienced this harsh reality. One occasion, in particular, left me deeply scarred. I vividly remember this horrendous day, and although I wish to never recount or speak of it again, I must endure this narration, as a warning to others, in hope that I may prevent anyone else from experiencing the deep sorrows that accompany this terrible day, and blot out the happiness of my past.
It is dark outside. The clear skies are filled with dim stars, and a brisk breeze, overflowing with crisp frigid air, sweeps the ground. The brown and yellow leaves rattle as they blow across my yard, adding a Halloween feel to a night far from the spooky holiday. The moon is hardly noticeable, for it is in its final waxing stages, and the darkness does not cease as it crosses the fogged windows. Inside, I sit with my knees tightly pulled to my chest, timidly rocking back and forth across the carpet. I feel as if years have passed while I stare aimlessly into the fireplace; my cold arms long for the dancing flames that often reside within its’ mysterious domain. The welcome warmth of the fire might have sliced through the thick tension more successfully than the sharpest of blades; I have waited for this day a long time, but as the anticipated moment comes closer and closer, my apprehension grows to the point of insanity.
The restless night before was filled with inescapable dreams, capable of transforming even the most stable of men into the form of a broken down child. I was forced to give up sleeping, as I had on so many nights just like this one.
I now eagerly await the sunrise that I know will wake my parents. I quietly sit at their door, only capable of dreaming about the wonderful gifts and presents that are only a rip-of-paper away. These gifts have come annually, making their preceding wait almost worth its while. I am seven years old, and this is Christmas day.
The suspense of my wait and the morning coolness force me to clumsily sneak to my room and dig up my favorite blanket. Its’ bright colors make it obvious to spot amidst my messy room, even in the dark. Once I find it, I wrap my self up. The warmth renews my previous thoughts of yet-to-be-known treasures, and I am once again content to sit in the silence of my living room.
Retracing my footsteps, I tiptoe my way back towards my last perch. My parent’s door comes into sight, and I become overwhelmed with joy and anticipation: their light is on! My eyes are immediately violated by the bright penetration of the complete darkness I had grown accustomed to over the last two hours, but they adjust, and I come to my senses: I take a few more steps and fall on the carpet, feigning sleep. When their door opens, even more light floods through the room and I hear my mom’s laugh as she catches sight of my awful attempt to fool them. She is too tired to mumble one of her witty comments that would usually ensue such a discovery, and instead, after a deep yawn, grumbles out a sleepy sentence,
“Go ahead. You can open them.”
I have no thoughts concerning my failed ruse. I spring to the tree. My hands find and tear any wrapping paper they encounter, and my eyes light up at the wondrous sights of Legos, movies, Cowboy boots, and G.I. Joe. These gifts, I know without a doubt, are from the chubby man for whom I left cookies and milk the night before.
My ignorance is short lived though; three hundred and sixty-five days later, I am sleeping in. The sun is up and my parents have been awake for almost thirty minutes. Eventually, after my parents fix hot chocolate and make breakfast, they come to my room.
“Austin, get up. It’s Christmas! Come and open your presents.”
I sit up. After wiping my eyes, I happily obey their request. Santa Claus is no longer the source of my presents, and although they still bring joy to my Christmas day, I feel somewhat sad and wish for the days when I didn’t know.
All of this sorrow was caused by one incident about two months after the former Christmas: a boy in the third grade heard me talking about Santa and laughed at me. He told me that Santa wasn’t real and that I should grow up. That night I cried to my parents, telling them about the terrible lie that I heard from the older bully. They exchanged glances and decided to enlighten me. I didn’t feel very enlightened: actually I felt ‘endarkened’. All of the joy that I had felt and experienced around Christmas now seemed to have been in vain. On that day I learned the truth, but it did not make me feel smarter. I learned that I had been lied to, but I only wished that the lie had gone longer. I was not happy that I had learned something, and I regretted my new knowledge. I longed for my childhood ignorance.
Isn’t it ironic that our society, myself included, strive our whole life for knowledge, seeking to be smarter and know more, when in our moment of deepest despair we wish that we could get rid of our knowledge and stay happily stupid?
Like Ajax, I was experiencing the sorrows of knowledge, but am given the opportunity to witness the ignorant bliss of another, and take joy in seeing their happiness.
Last Christmas I was given the opportunity of seeing my sister, and her joy in the mystery of Santa Claus. Although I know that he is not real, her ignorance and wholehearted belief still makes me happy. One day, she will have to learn about Santa Claus. She will be sad, and probably pray she had never learned, but this is a crucial part of her understanding that the world is full of knowledge that will not always make her happy. After all, she can’t believe in Santa forever, she needs to know the truth.
My experience with sorrow and despair through experience and through witnessing my sister have allowed me to further understand and except that knowledge is important, no matter how it makes me feel.
At least I still have the Easter Bunny…
