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 interjects. ‘I know too!’ he says. He may truly know, or he may have understood nothing of what was said. What matters at that moment is not what he knows, but that he is noticed for being there. The child grows, years pass, the environments change. The child who once tried to prove himself at a family gathering may become an adult who writes long comments on a topic he knows nothing about on social media. The need for acceptance does not disappear with age. Only the way one shows oneself 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 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, despite never having conducted research in their lives, reject a scientific study with absolute certainty. Of course, a specialist’s statements can also be questioned. Science advances through questioning. But questioning without any basis and opposing is not the same.

What I am truly curious about here is why people feel the need to speak on topics they do not know. Do they really believe what they say, or are they afraid that staying 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 areas also struggle to assess their own performance. A person may lack the knowledge needed to do a task correctly, and 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 sometimes portrayed. There are also scientific debates about how to interpret and measure the effect.

I think the issue is not just the lack of knowledge, but whether one can recognize the limits of their own knowledge.

Take, for example, a person who believes in astrology. Based on the 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 on par with 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 is scientifically established.

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 accept information that supports their own thoughts while ignoring contradictory data. In such a situation, the desire to learn falls to the background while the urge to be right comes to the fore.

So why do we find it hard to say ‘I don’t know’ when we don’t know something?

I think the answer to this question also lies in the environment we grow up in. In Turkey, many people’s relationship with knowledge, formed from childhood, is not shaped solely by learning. Sometimes knowing becomes a reason for praise, while not knowing becomes a reason for criticism. Imagine 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 attend university?’ Yet attending university does not mean knowing the answers to all the world’s questions.

For someone who frequently encounters such reactions, saying ‘I don’t know’ can gradually stop being a mundane answer. They may fear appearing inadequate, being dismissed, or losing value in their community. That fear can sometimes drive a person to speak even when they don’t know, or 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 a wrong sentence, even though they could communicate with simple words. On one side are people who cannot speak because they fear making mistakes; on the other side are people who speak without hesitation even when they know nothing. The problem in communication is sometimes 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, however, is a domain where these behaviors become more visible. Comments posted to grab attention, spark debate, or find like‑minded people do not always aim to share information. Sometimes even a single wrong comment can attract the attention of hundreds. The act of a child saying “I know too” to prove himself can evolve into an adult saying “I’m here too” in a different way.

Yet seeing ourselves entirely outside 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 want to reexamine 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 duty to share what I have learned with those who fall into the same misconception.

This is where the concept of intellectual humility comes into play. Intellectual humility is the ability to recognize the limits of one’s own knowledge and to admit the possibility of error. It is not about believing everything said, constantly doubting oneself, or dismissing one’s own thoughts as worthless. It is about being able to defend one’s position when warranted and to reassess it 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 alike. We may have shared traumas, fears, and needs. Yet each person’s past, the meanings they attach to it, 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 human behavior cannot be reduced to 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 an expert 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’s remember the child at the beginning of the story. He used to say ‘I also know’ to be noticed among the crowd. Years passed, the child grew up, the world changed. Now everyone has a place to speak. Yet, when I pause in that crowd and listen to people, I think we haven’t drifted 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 they live in.

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