The Psychology of Not Knowing What You Don't Know

Imagine a child who tries to join in conversations in a crowded setting. While adults discuss a topic among themselves, the child suddenly jumps into the conversation. “I know too!” he says. He may truly know, or he may have understood nothing of what is being said. But what matters at that moment is not what he knows, but that he is noticed. The child grows, years pass, the environments he finds himself in change. The child who once tried to show himself at a family gathering can become an adult who writes long comments on a topic he knows nothing about on social media today. Because the need for acceptance does not disappear with age. Only the way he shows himself changes.

One of the behaviors that has caught my attention on social media in recent years is this. People no longer just share their thoughts; they act as if they must have an opinion on every subject. We can see those who give medical advice under a doctor's explanation, those who counter a psychologist's assessment with a few personal anecdotes, and those who reject a scientific study with definitive statements despite never having conducted research in their own life. Of course, a specialist's statements can also be questioned. Science advances through questioning. But questioning without any basis and simply opposing is not the same thing.

What I am really curious about here is why people feel the need to talk about a subject they do not know. Do they truly believe what they claim to know, or are they afraid that remaining silent will make them invisible?

One concept we can use to approach this question in psychology is the Dunning‑Kruger effect. The study published in 1999 by David Dunning and Justin Kruger showed that people who perform poorly in certain domains also struggle to assess their own performance. Just as a person may lack the knowledge needed to do a task correctly, they may also lack the knowledge required to understand how badly they performed. However, this effect does not mean that all ignorant people consider themselves geniuses, as it is often portrayed. There are also scientific debates about how to interpret and measure the phenomenon.

In my view, the issue is not merely a lack of knowledge, but whether one can recognize the limits of their own knowledge.

For example, consider a person who believes in astrology. Based on zodiac signs, they can interpret people's personalities, relationships, and even how they will behave in the future. After a while, they may start seeing these interpretations as being on the same level as psychological assessments. Yet psychology is a discipline that studies human behavior using scientific methods. Astrology's claims about personality and behavior are not supported by the same scientific evidence. Here, what matters more than what a person believes is their ability to distinguish between what they believe and what has been established scientifically.

We see that people sometimes turn to explanations that confirm what they already believe instead of seeking the truth. This tendency, which we call confirmation bias in psychology, can lead a person to more readily adopt information that supports their own thoughts while ignoring information that contradicts them. In such a situation, the desire to learn recedes while the urge to be right takes the foreground.

So why do we find it difficult to say 'I don't know' when we don't know something?

I think we should also look for the answer to this question in the environment we grow up in. In Turkey, many people's relationship with knowledge, formed from childhood, is not shaped solely around learning. Sometimes knowing becomes a reason for praise, while not knowing becomes a reason for criticism. Consider a father asking a university‑studying child a question. When the child says he doesn't know the answer, he may be met with a response like 'How do you study at university?' Yet obtaining a university education does not mean knowing the answers to all the world's questions.

For a person who frequently encounters such reactions, saying 'I don't know' can gradually stop being a mundane response. They may fear appearing inadequate, being belittled, or losing value within their community. This fear can sometimes drive a person to speak even when they don't know, and even to give incorrect information.

If we feared lying as much as we fear saying 'I don't know', perhaps we could have built healthier relationships with each other.

Moreover, this situation is not limited to a lack of knowledge. Sometimes people are reluctant to express what they know. For example, a person learning a foreign language might stay silent out of fear of constructing incorrect sentences, even though they could communicate with simple words. On one hand, there are people who cannot speak because they fear making mistakes; on the other, there are people who speak without hesitation even when they know nothing. The problem in communication is often less about how much we know and more about how we behave in the face of what we know and what we don't.

Social media is a realm where such behaviors become more visible. Comments posted to grab attention, ignite debate, or find like-minded individuals do not always serve the purpose of sharing information. Occasionally, even a single erroneous comment can capture the attention of hundreds. What a child might do by proclaiming "I know too" to show off can, in adulthood, translate into another way of saying "I'm here too."

However, seeing ourselves entirely outside of these behaviors can itself become another misconception.

As a psychologist, I might feel uneasy the moment I learn that a belief I have championed for years is wrong. People invest effort into their thoughts, support them with experience, and eventually internalize them. Therefore, abandoning a belief is never easy. First, I would re-examine the foundations of that belief. Yet if reliable scientific evidence supports an alternative explanation more convincingly, I must change my view. I also see it as part of my professional responsibility to share what I have learned with those who fall into the same misconception.

Here we encounter the concept of intellectual humility. Intellectual humility is the ability to recognize the limits of one's knowledge and to accept that one may be wrong. It is not about believing everything said, constantly doubting oneself, or devaluing one's own thoughts. It is about being able to defend one's ideas when warranted and to reassess them when necessary.

One thing I have noticed in my professional life, as I observe human behavior, is that even when people share similar experiences, they do not think or act in the same way. We may have shared traumas, fears, and needs. Yet each person's past, the meanings they attach to their experiences, and the ways they cope differ. People sometimes move forward, sometimes regress, and sometimes confront a problem they thought they had already overcome. This complexity constantly reminds me that we must not evaluate human behavior with a single explanation.

Perhaps true learning begins not when we can answer every question, but when we encounter questions we cannot answer.

Today, accessing information is easier than ever. Within a few seconds we can reach hundreds of articles, books, and expert opinions. Yet, being able to access information, understanding it, and evaluating it correctly are distinct processes. Researching a topic online does not make us experts in that subject. Likewise, being an expert in one area does not mean we think correctly about all other areas.

I believe a knowledgeable person does not need to constantly proclaim what they know. True knowledge does not always silence a person, but it can help them decide when to speak, when to listen, and when to investigate further.

Let us recall the child at the start of the piece. In the crowd he would say, 'I know too,' to be noticed. Years passed, the child grew up, the world changed. Now there is a place where everyone can speak. Yet, when I pause in that crowd and listen to people, I think we are not that far from our childhood.

Who is psychologist Hüseyin ÖZYAVUZ?

He is a graduate of the English Psychology Department at Lefke European University. In his professional work he focuses on forensic psychology, military psychology, cognitive-behavioral therapy, and psychoanalytic approaches.

Addressing human behavior from individual, social, and psychological perspectives, ÖZYAVUZ emphasizes combining his professional experience with scientific research and contemporary psychology literature. He continues his work particularly on personality structures, thought and behavior patterns, interpersonal relationships, cognitive processes, and social psychology.

Psychology is viewed not merely as a field that addresses individual problems, but as a scientific discipline that contributes to a person’s understanding of themselves, their surroundings, and the society in which they live.

Its professional approach is grounded in critical thinking, scientific inquiry, and a multifaceted assessment of human behavior. Rather than explaining psychological phenomena with ready-made templates, it emphasizes considering the individual’s life story, environmental conditions, and social dynamics together.