It will take more than astar shellto light up the pathway of a man who clutters his brain with half-baked knowledge. Pitfalls galore are ahead of him no matter which way he may turn. Such people are, by nature, of the cocksure variety, going in where angels fear to tread, and gaining nothing for certain by reason of their experiences. In time they earn the reputation of beingbull-headedand sooner or later are on their way downstream without a rudder.
Sometimes the strong-willed fellow of fragmentary knowledge isn’t to blame for his affliction. Every little circumstance hassomething to do with his future course and if he happens to be born “on the wrong side of the moon,” his course is more or lesspredestined. He views things through a film—hazy-like, and inaccurate. To him investigation means nothing. His mind is like a sieve that will not retain the fine particles which must accumulate until a firm foundation forms upon which to beara permanent housing for his reasoning powers.
The worst phase of the ever-ready reckoner of uncertain statistics is that he usually circulates among the credulous. Who of us is there that hasn’t at some time in our variegated careers sat across from him at an old-fashioned boarding housetable d’hote? Even now we can hear him saying, “My notion of that is this!” And wasn’t it fun to watch those who drank it all in and gulpedit down with their coffee? The green cheese story about the moon would have been swallowed by some of them if ourhalf-baked know-it-allpersisted in its truth.
For such as him, no doubt, was composed Kipling’s wonderfully cynical line, “alas, we know he never could know and never could understand.” And also for such as him it was ordained that he should never stay in one place long. Something tells him to keep moving—perhaps the giggling that breaks out in the midst of a lofty peroration; a snort of derision at some observation intended to be philosophical but which fell far short of the mark.
While it doesn’t take long to pack up and locate elsewhere, it must be tedious work to have continually the task on hand of making new friends—only to lose them. But thatis the penalty of becoming the butt of the jokester, who will not be denied. Once he finds a victim it’s time for that victim to move. The jokester has no pity, and in lofty speech he tells his victim so—accompanied by shouts of approval from those who hear and understand.
“What ho!” says the King. “Ho hum!” replied his guest.
“What ho!” says the King. “Ho hum!” replied his guest.
The ego of ignorance which stands by its false assumptions from sheer lack of correct understanding invites pity that it seldom receives. In due course of human events the distributor of half-baked wisdom will be grafted with a twig from the tree of learning and thus the species will become extinct. This, as Shakespeare says, “is devoutly to be wished,” and while wishing it seems perfectly all right to express the hope that those who read this short chapter will make a point of sowing a few seeds in certain gardens wheretall weeds now grow, “just for the lack of the rake and the hoe.” A little sarcasm will turn the trick.