The Ignorant Cowboy has been with us since about 1994 — an alchemical mixture of of William S. Burroughs, Buster Keaton, gnosticism, Egyptian friezes, Edgar Poe, Saadi of Shiraz, and the peculiar texture of dry erase markers.
But a pause — we are waylaid by that old saw about bliss and folly. The common misinterpretation trumpets that a reduction in knowledge increases happiness. However, it is obvious that the qualification « where » renders the main thrust of the argument thus: that in a civilization populated solely by ignorami, wisdom is a silly waste, a cruel joke, a pathetic absurdity, and useless. Even a single jot of knowledge and understanding more than your know-nothing neighbor makes you seem to him a fool, and if there’s a mob of neighbors, democracy has the last word.
Happiness and unhappiness are felt as deeply, and in equal quantity, by both the ignorant and the wise. Rather than take up the uneasy debate about which let us remember there are sufficient mysteries, misunderstandings and boondoggles in the world for us each to enjoy ignorance of something.