Cultivating discernment in the face of the forms of ignorance that hold us back

By Franck Essi, July, 08^th, 2026

Every morning, many of us check WhatsApp, Facebook, TikTok or X before we have even properly started the day.

There, we discover messages, videos, statements, screenshots, testimonies and comments. Some of this information is accurate. Some presents only part of the truth. Some is false or deliberately manipulated.

Yet we sometimes react before checking.

We forward a message. We comment on a video. We accuse someone. We defend our side. We attack the other side.

Within a few hours, information whose exact origin nobody knows can become a collective certainty. It can provoke anger, deepen divisions, destroy a reputation or divert attention from the real issues.

I am not saying this as someone who stands above everyone else. I, too, have sometimes believed information too quickly because it seemed plausible or confirmed what I already thought.

Over time, I have come to understand that our problem does not arise only from what we do not know. It also comes from the difficulty we sometimes have in admitting our ignorance.

We want to have an opinion on everything. We struggle to say, “I don’t know.” We easily confuse:

• what we have heard with what we have verified;
• what we think with what we know;
• what we hope with what has actually been established;
• what appears possible with what has been proven.

Our certainties then begin to move faster than the facts.

This is the starting point from which I would like to reflect on discernment. Not as someone who has discovered how never to be wrong, but as a citizen trying to better understand his own mistakes and those we make collectively.

Being educated does not always mean knowing how to discern

For a long time, I tended to believe that the more educated a person was, the better able they were to understand situations accurately.

Experience has gradually taught me to qualify that belief.

We can be widely read and still remain trapped by our prejudices. We can hold degrees and still share false information. We can master a technical field while refusing to listen to an argument that challenges our convictions.

We can even know history and still repeat some of the mistakes of those who came before us.

Education gives us knowledge. Discernment helps us use it honestly.

I therefore believe that discernment is neither a diploma nor a gift reserved for a few exceptionally clear-sighted people. Nor is it some mysterious intuition that allows us always to be right.

I tend to see it as a constant effort: trying to understand a situation as accurately as possible despite our emotions, interests, preferences and limited information.

In practical terms, this means asking ourselves a few simple questions:

• What do I really know?
• Where does the information I am about to share come from?
• Have I heard only one version or several?
• Am I dealing with a fact, an interpretation or merely a hypothesis?
• Would I react in the same way if this information concerned my own side?
• What could make me change my mind?
• What consequences might my message produce?

Discernment does not mean doubting everything. It does not mean refusing to take a position. Nor does it mean waiting for absolute certainty before acting.

In our personal lives, as in public affairs, we often have to make decisions without knowing everything.

I believe the essential thing is to adjust the strength of our claims to the strength of the evidence available to us:

• when the facts have been established, we can state them;
• when we have only clues, we can cautiously formulate a hypothesis;
• when the information is contradictory, we should acknowledge it;
• when we do not know, we should be able to say, “I don’t know yet.”

Admitting that we do not know is not a sign of weakness. It is often the first step towards a more accurate understanding.

We do not always ignore the same things

When we speak of ignorance, we generally think of the simple fact of not knowing something. But the reality seems more complex to me.

We may be ignorant of the facts, the causes, the consequences or the possible alternatives. These different forms of ignorance do not lead to the same mistakes.

1. Ignorance of the facts: we do not know what actually happened

A video circulates on social media. It shows someone making a few shocking remarks. We immediately become outraged.

Later, we discover that the video was edited, that the remarks were taken out of context or that the scene occurred several years earlier in another country.

In this case, our ignorance concerns the facts themselves.

We do not know:

• who produced the content;
• where and when the scene took place;
• what happened before or afterwards;
• whether the images were altered;
• whether other sources confirm the same account.

Our first response should be to verify. Yet the emotion produced by the video often pushes us to react before trying to understand.

2. Ignorance of the causes: we see the problem but not what produced it

We may notice that a product has become more expensive at the market without knowing why.

Is it the result of a poor harvest? Higher transportation costs? Rising international prices? Excessive taxes? Speculation? Insecurity in a production area? Or several of these factors at the same time?

Similarly, we may observe youth unemployment, power cuts, poor public services or the failure of a government policy without understanding the decisions, interests and dysfunctions that produced the situation.

Seeing a problem does not automatically mean understanding its causes.

When we do not understand those causes, we become more vulnerable to overly simple explanations. We look for a single person to blame for a problem that may result from a long chain of decisions and failures.

3. Ignorance of the consequences: we see the immediate benefit but not the price we may have to pay

A citizen accepts some money, a bag of rice or a personal promise in exchange for their vote.

At that moment, they may feel that they have obtained something tangible. They may also tell themselves that, since politicians rarely keep their promises, it is better to take whatever is being offered immediately.

I can understand that reasoning, especially when economic hardship is severe.

But we must also consider the consequences.

By selling their vote, the citizen helps to establish or maintain a system in which the elected official believes they have purchased their mandate. They then feel less accountable to the people.

The real price may be paid over several years:

• a neglected school;
• a poorly equipped health centre;
• an impassable road;
• jobs that never materialise;
• embezzlement that goes unpunished;
• public services that function badly.

What we gain today may sometimes cost us far more tomorrow.

4. Ignorance of the alternatives: we believe that no other possibility exists

Sometimes, we accept a situation not because we believe it is good, but because we know nothing else.

We eventually begin to believe:

• that all leaders are necessarily the same;
• that corruption is part of our culture;
• that citizens cannot change anything;
• that authoritarianism is the only way to govern;
• that every attempt at transformation is bound to fail.

In this case, we are ignorant of the alternatives. We do not know how other societies have solved similar problems. We are unfamiliar with local initiatives that are already working. We may never have seen an honest administration or a genuinely democratic organisation.

When no alternative is visible, what exists eventually begins to appear inevitable.

This gives us a first important distinction. We may be ignorant of:

• the facts;
• the causes;
• the consequences;
• the alternatives.

But that distinction is not enough. Another seems even more important to me: why are we ignorant?

Two different situations: involuntary ignorance and cultivated ignorance

I believe we must clearly separate two forms of ignorance that we often confuse.

1. Involuntary ignorance: we do not know because we do not have the means to know

Involuntary ignorance is the kind of ignorance imposed on us.

We may be unaware of something because:

• nobody taught it to us;
• the necessary documents are inaccessible;
• the authorities refuse to communicate;
• we have not received the training required to understand a complex issue;
• the available information is contradictory;
• journalists have been unable to investigate;
• we lack the time or resources to verify everything.

Let us take a simple example. A mother receives a WhatsApp message announcing that a school will soon close. She finds no official communication and does not know whom to contact. If she believes the message, her mistake does not necessarily come from a refusal to understand. It may result from the information vacuum left by those responsible for informing families.

The same applies when citizens question a public decision but cannot access the relevant laws, budgets or reports.

Citizens cannot be blamed for not knowing information that institutions keep in the dark.

Involuntary ignorance should therefore not be treated with contempt. It calls primarily for:

• education;
• explanation;
• transparency;
• access to information;
• investigative journalism;
• honest communication from institutions.

2. Cultivated ignorance: we could try to find out, but we prefer to protect our certainties

Cultivated ignorance is different.

In this case, information is available. We could read it, listen to it or compare it with other sources. But we prefer to look away because what we might discover could challenge our convictions, interests or sense of belonging to a group.

A few familiar examples come to mind:

• we refuse to read an article simply because it comes from a media outlet our side dislikes;
• we immediately share an accusation against an opponent but demand impossible standards of proof when it concerns an ally;
• we continue repeating information after learning that it is false;
• we avoid people who might challenge our opinions;
• we defend a political, religious or community leader despite serious evidence because acknowledging their wrongdoing would make us lose face;
• we select only the elements that confirm what we already believed.

Involuntary ignorance means: “I did not know, and I did not really have the means to know.”

Cultivated ignorance means: “I could have tried to find out, but I did not want to look at anything that might disturb my certainties.”

The boundary between the two is not always perfectly clear. We may begin with involuntary ignorance and then choose to maintain it.

For example, I may receive false information and believe it in good faith. At that point, my ignorance is involuntary. But if someone later shows me serious evidence that contradicts it and I refuse to examine that evidence, my attitude has changed.

We are not always responsible for our initial ignorance. But we become more responsible for what we do when the opportunity to learn presents itself.

Why do we sometimes cultivate our own ignorance?

I do not believe that we always reject the truth out of bad faith.

Several mechanisms can lead us to protect a belief even when it becomes difficult to defend.

We like information that proves us right

Information that confirms our opinion immediately appears credible. We feel less need to verify it because it gives us a certain satisfaction: “I knew it!”

By contrast, information that contradicts our opinion can provoke suspicion before we have even read it.

We want to remain loyal to our group

Admitting a mistake may expose us to criticism from our friends, political party, community or organisation.

We fear being considered weak, disloyal or indecisive. We may therefore prefer to defend a fragile position rather than risk isolation.

We struggle to admit publicly that we were wrong

The more strongly we have defended an opinion, the harder it becomes to reconsider it.

We may ask ourselves: “What will people think if I change my mind?”

Yet I believe that a person who honestly changes their position in the light of new facts does not dishonour themselves. They demonstrate that they value the truth more than their pride.

We are overwhelmed by too much information

We must also be fair. Not everyone has the time to verify every message, read several articles and trace information back to its original source.

Fatigue, daily hardship and the volume of content we receive reduce our ability to pay attention. This makes us more vulnerable to simple, dramatic and frequently repeated messages.

Digital platforms sometimes make the problem worse. They show us more of the content we have already liked. We may then begin to believe that everyone thinks as we do.

When we hear only our own side for too long, we may begin to mistake a repeated opinion for an established truth.

Demanding the truth without manufacturing certainty

Cameroon regularly gives us examples of this difficulty.

When a President of the Republic disappears from public view for a long period, that absence becomes an observable fact. Citizens have the right to ask questions about his condition, his ability to perform his duties and the continuity of power.

In my view, they even have a duty to ask these questions. In a democracy, the institutional health of the country cannot be treated as a private matter.

But we must clearly distinguish between:

• the established fact: the President’s prolonged absence from public view;
• the legitimate question: who is really governing, and how are decisions being made?
• the hypothesis: what that absence might mean;
• the rumour: what is being asserted without sufficient evidence.

This distinction does not require us to remain silent.

We can demand accountability without inventing the answers.

We can denounce opacity without turning every rumour into a fact.

We can acknowledge that we do not know exactly what is happening while still affirming that the silence of the institutions is unacceptable.

Rejecting rumours does not mean defending those in power. Demanding evidence does not mean abandoning civic vigilance.

I even believe that demands for transparency become stronger when they are grounded in solid facts. A weak accusation can easily be dismissed. A precise question based on verifiable facts is far more difficult to evade.

When our confusion benefits bad systems

I tend to believe that a lack of discernment is not merely a personal problem. It can become a genuine instrument of power.

A bad system does not always need to make everyone believe the same thing. It may simply multiply competing versions, create confusion and push citizens into fighting one another.

While we argue over rumours, we spend less time discussing:

• how institutions function;
• how public money is used;
• access to healthcare and education;
• employment for young people;
• the quality of our roads;
• justice;
• the accountability of those who govern.

Little by little, loyalty to a camp replaces loyalty to the facts. We become quick to condemn the faults of our opponents and highly skilled at excusing those of our allies.

This logic does not affect politicians alone. It can also influence the media, social media influencers, civic organisations and activists.

The most violent messages often attract the most attention. A dramatic accusation circulates more quickly than a cautious analysis. A rumour can be expressed in a few sentences, while a serious explanation requires time.

We then become easy to mobilise against someone, but much harder to organise sustainably for something.

Yet I believe that a society is not transformed by indignation alone. It requires:

• suffering to become awareness;
• awareness to become organisation;
• organisation to produce a balance of power;
• that balance of power to make it possible to change rules and institutions.

Anger can awaken a people. But without discernment and organisation, it does not always show them the right path.

Making discernment a daily habit

For several years, I have often returned to the title of a famous etching by Francisco Goya: “The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters.”

I do not believe that reason alone can solve everything. We also need our emotions, intuition, memory, culture and spirituality.

But when we completely abandon the effort to examine what we believe, our fears and prejudices can take over.

A friend once expanded Goya’s formulation: “The sleep of reason produces monsters and monstrosities.”

I understand the “monsters” as the fears, lies and illusions we create. The “monstrosities” are the injustices that those lies can then lead us to accept or justify.

For this reason, I believe discernment must become a form of daily mental discipline.

Before sharing information, we can ask ourselves:

• Who is the source?
• Can that source be identified?
• Do other credible sources confirm the information?
• Are the date, place and context known?
• Does the headline accurately reflect the content?
• Is this a fact, an opinion or a hypothesis?

Before condemning someone, we can ask ourselves:

• What facts have actually been established?
• Have I listened to their version?
• Am I criticising a specific action, or condemning the whole person?
• Would I react in the same way if they belonged to my side?

Before taking a position, we can ask ourselves:

• What do I still not know?
• What other explanations are possible?
• What consequences might my position produce?
• What could honestly make me change my mind?

These questions do not guarantee that we will always be right. They can only help us make fewer mistakes and correct them more quickly.

Learning to live with some unanswered questions

We live in an environment that pushes us to react immediately.

The person who answers quickly appears well informed. The person who hesitates may seem to lack courage. Anyone who admits doubt risks being accused of weakness or complicity.

Yet not every question can be answered immediately.

Some situations require investigation. Some information must be cross-checked. Some decisions require time. Some truths emerge only after several testimonies or rounds of verification.

I believe we must learn to live, at least temporarily, with some unanswered questions.

This does not mean remaining passive. We can continue searching, questioning, documenting and demanding accountability.

But we can resist the temptation to fill every silence with an invention.

The vacuum created by a lack of information should not automatically be filled with rumours.

Civic courage does not consist only in speaking out. It can also mean:

• waiting before sharing;
• publicly correcting false information;
• acknowledging that an opponent is right on a particular point;
• admitting that our own side was wrong;
• revising our opinion when the facts change;
• honestly saying, “I don’t know yet.”

A conviction can be strong while remaining open to facts. When it refuses in advance to consider any contrary evidence, it no longer helps us understand. It becomes a prison.

The responsibility does not rest on citizens alone

In my view, it would be unfair to demand greater rigour from citizens without questioning the institutions that produce or maintain a lack of information.

How can people verify information properly when public documents are inaccessible?

How can rumours be prevented when the authorities remain silent for weeks?

How can journalists be expected to investigate when they lack the necessary resources and protection?

How can critical thinking develop when schools mainly ask students to memorise and repeat?

Responsibility is therefore shared.

A society that wants to develop discernment needs:

• schools that teach people to reason, question and argue;
• professional media organisations capable of verifying facts;
• public administrations that make public information accessible;
• leaders who accept contradiction;
• an independent justice system capable of establishing responsibility;
• civic organisations that teach their members to think, not merely to obey;
• digital platforms that take greater responsibility for manipulation.

Citizens must learn to seek the truth. But institutions must not organise darkness.

I therefore believe that transformation requires a double movement:

• building more transparent and accountable institutions;
• becoming more honest ourselves in the way we seek information, judge and speak.

Institutions must create the conditions for discernment. But we must also decide to make use of them.

Choosing truth over our certainties

I do not claim to have fully met this standard myself. I still make mistakes. I probably continue to believe certain things too quickly, judge with incomplete information or treat some people more harshly than others.

But I believe we can all improve if we agree to examine ourselves honestly.

We can begin with a few questions:

• What information do we share without verifying it?
• What truths do we reject because they make us uncomfortable?
• What behaviour do we excuse in our allies?
• What opinions do we defend simply because they are popular within our circles?
• When was the last time we admitted that we were wrong?
• What questions have we stopped asking?

I would like us to build a civic culture in which admitting a mistake is not regarded as a humiliation.

A culture in which:

• reasonable doubt is not confused with weakness;
• loyalty to a cause does not require blindness;
• we apply the same standards to our friends as we do to our opponents;
• we can challenge authority without becoming its enemy;
• the search for truth matters more than winning an argument.

This can begin within our families, WhatsApp groups, associations, political parties, religious communities, media organisations and institutions.

Our societies need awakened citizens. Citizens who do not believe everything, but do not reject everything either. Citizens who verify, question, organise, demand accountability and refuse to remain mere spectators of their own future.

Discernment alone does not guarantee change. But I believe that without it, our citizenship remains fragile. Our anger, even when legitimate, can be misdirected. Our commitments can be manipulated. Our divisions can distract us from the real responsibilities.

Discernment may be one of the quietest forms of civic courage: holding convictions without closing our eyes, defending a cause without abandoning the facts, and seeking the truth even when it challenges our own side.

Franck Essi

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