Moving Beyond I Don’t Know

May 07, 2025

Amathia, the Evil Form of Ignorance

Early senses of ignorance in Western languages are consistent across Latin, Greek, French, and English. At its core, the term has always denoted a lack of knowledge or awareness. According to Cusinato (2021), in the Laws Plato puts the following words in the mouth of the Athenian stranger:

“The most serious evil innate in souls of most men is one for which everybody has forgiveness towards himself and so never contrives a way of escaping.”

And what is that particular evil, pray tell? Is it gambling? Besides being the premise for a late night discussion in a bar, the Athenian stranger goes on to nail it: “…the excessive love of self” a.k.a. Amathia.

Cusinato (2021) discussed a history of interpretations of Plato’s two kinds of self-love, a) the kind we need to live well and contribute to the metropolis, the kind that moves the prisoners in the cave to look away from the shadows on the wall and join the world of society, and b) the kind that obsesses us with our own thoughts and feelings, our pleasures, our want, a moral and aesthetic blindness to our brothers and sisters.

“A purification of epistemological ignorance” by way of knowledge education isn’t enough to squelch the twisted, absorbing kind of self-love that enthralls the cave dwellers to their illusions. Excessive self-love isn’t linked to a deficiency in knowledge but suggests “an axiological deficiency.” Axiology, in scholarly terms, is the branch of philosophy devoted to the systematic study of value, both moral and aesthetic.

Cusinato develops this point at great length. Unlike the purely cognitive illusion described in Plato's Republic, in the Laws, this deficiency takes on personal dimensions—it becomes a failure to recognize the good and the beautiful in one's relationship to others. This shift from an epistemological to an axiological perspective moves beyond the understanding of evil as simple ignorance of knowledge—’they didn’t know any better’—instead recognizing it as a complex form of self-deception where ignorance combines with the false presumption of special knowledge. Amathia involves an unwillingness or inability to recognize one’s own lack of true understanding while operating in the world.

Amathia, thy offspring is Donald Trump, and his siblings are MAGA.

*****

I am not the first to make this point, though I do believe Trump’s second term, especially with the added benefit of immunity from prosecution for crimes committed while in office, has amplified his expressions of self-love from a scream to a roar.1 Henry A. Giroux wrote a penetrating article for Truthout in 2019 in which he described Trump’s toolkit as a “state-sponsored grammar of violence’:

“Ignorance now rules the U.S. Not the simple, if somewhat innocent ignorance that comes from an absence of knowledge, but a malicious ignorance forged in the arrogance of refusing to think hard about an issue.”

“I Don’t Know”

When pressed on difficult issues, Trump has consistently responded with some version of "I don't know" or "you'll have to ask my lawyers" for decades. I can find no record of it appearing during his high school years in military school, but according to classmates and biographers, he was known for being domineering, yelling at classmates, and pushing others around, early symptoms of amathia. One former classmate recounted a specific incident where Trump openly defied a direct order during a formal ceremony by refusing to draw his sword. The act of refusing a direct order—or a direct question from a legal authority—also suggests a tendency to prioritize the self above the group, recalling Lord Byron’s famous lines about standing among them but not of them:

I have not loved the world, nor the world me;
I have not flatter’d its rank breath, nor bow’d
To its idolatries a patient knee,-
Nor coin’d my cheek to smiles,-nor cried aloud
In worship of an echo; in the crowd
They could not deem me one of such; I stood
Among them, but not of them; in a shroud
Of thoughts which were not their thoughts.

During New Jersey Casino Control Commission investigations in the early 1980s, Trump was required to disclose legal troubles in court. According to investigative reporting, when pressed about omitting four government probes (including a DOJ racial discrimination lawsuit), Trump later “volunteered” the information only after being confronted, often claiming ignorance or misunderstanding of the forms’ requirements. “I didn’t know,” he said.

Investigator: “Why didn’t you disclose the DOJ lawsuit on your application?”
Trump: “I didn’t know I had to. I thought it didn’t apply.”

In public disputes and lawsuits over his casinos, Trump often threatened legal action and avoided direct answers about financial troubles or regulatory issues:

Reporter: “Mr. Trump, were you aware of the financial risks your casinos were taking?”
Trump: “You’ll have to ask my accountants. I have the best people looking at the numbers.”

In depositions for the Trump University fraud lawsuits (early 2000s), Trump was repeatedly asked about his involvement in selecting instructors and the school’s operations:

Plaintiff’s Lawyer: “Did you personally select the instructors for Trump University?”
Trump: “I don’t know. I might have seen resumes. I don’t remember.”
Lawyer: “Do you recall approving the business plan for Trump University?”
Trump: “I don’t recall. It wasn’t a big transaction for me.”

And…

Reporter (Face the Nation, 2016): “In your deposition you said you didn’t pick the instructors, but on Fox News you said you did. What’s the deal?”
Trump: “I picked a lot of top people and they picked the instructors… We’re going to find out, I mean, look, here’s the thing…”

As Trump became more politically active, his “I don’t know/ask my lawyers” tactic became more public and frequent. Here is a recent example regarding the Stormy Daniels $130,000 payment that comes from an April 5, 2018 exchange with reporters on Air Force One:

Reporter (Stormy Daniels payment, 2018): “Did you know about the $130,000 payment to Stormy Daniels?”
Trump: “No.”
Reporter: “Do you know why Michael Cohen made it?”
Trump: “You’ll have to ask Michael Cohen. Michael is my attorney.”

Donald Trump’s “I don’t know” response regarding his oath to uphold the Constitution was delivered in a nationally televised interview on NBC’s Meet the Press with Kristen Welker in May 2025. Here is the verbatim exchange and context:

Kristen Welker:
“Don’t you need to uphold the Constitution of the United States as president?”
Donald Trump:
“I don’t know. I have to respond by saying again, I have brilliant lawyers that work for me, and they are going to obviously follow what the Supreme Court said.”

The Case for Simple Ignorance

I happen to know personally and historically a whole tribe of supporters of President Trump and, before we stopped communicating about anything other than “Happy Thanksgiving” via text, was steeped in their vitriolic and in-your-face language. As a result, I do a pretty good mockup of such a citizen (I’ve written some dramatic monologues on my poetry site a while ago using their voices). Here goes:

The fake news media loves to twist our President's words when he says "I don't know." They just don't get it. When President Trump says he doesn't know something, he's showing us exactly the kind of leadership America needs right now.

Think about it. When the Casino Commission tried to trap him with their complicated paperwork, our President was smart enough to cut through the nonsense. He's a businessman, not a bureaucrat drowning in red tape. When he says "I didn't know I had to," he's standing up against the system that wants to bury real Americans in regulations.

And those Trump University questions? Pure witch hunt. Our President built a multi-billion dollar empire. Of course he delegated! When he says "ask my accountants" or "I don't remember," he's showing how a true executive operates. He focuses on the big picture while his experts handle the details.

The Stormy Daniels nonsense? Just another desperate attempt to smear him. His lawyer handled it exactly as he should have. Our President understands something the elites never will. Real leaders don't micromanage.

When Welker tried to trap him with that Constitution question, President Trump showed his genius again. He has brilliant lawyers who interpret that document properly, not like the radical Left who twist it to destroy our country.

The media calls it malicious ignorance. I call it refreshing honesty and executive brilliance. President Trump has the courage to admit when others handle the details, instead of pretending to know everything like those so-called "experts" who've ruined our country for decades.

Sound familiar?

The Case Against Malicious Ignorance

From an axiological perspective—one concerned with ethics, values, and human dignity—Trump's "I don't know" responses reveal a profound moral failure that erodes democratic governance and human relationships alike. These phrases aren't innocent expressions of uncertainty but calculated manipulations that violate ethical principles.

When Trump says "I don't know" about the Constitution he swore to protect, we witness not just political evasion but an existential betrayal of public trust. This response weaponizes ignorance against the very foundation of democratic governance. The true horror lies in how it transforms willful ignorance into a virtue—suggesting that power shouldn't be constrained by knowledge, responsibility, or moral obligation.

These evasions represent a deeper rejection of truth as a shared value. Each "I don't know" is delivered with full awareness of its deceptive purpose—to create deniability while maintaining power. This calculated ambiguity isn't just politically expedient; it's morally corrosive, undermining the possibility of genuine democratic discourse based on shared facts and good-faith engagement.

The real insidiousness appears in how these denials of knowledge serve as rejections of accountability. When confronted with the Casino Commission's questions or the Trump University lawsuits, his claims of ignorance were deliberate attempts to escape responsibility for decisions that affected thousands of lives. The moral perversion here is that these evasions aren't failures of memory but strategic choices to place personal interest above truth.

Most disturbing is how these deceptions reveal contempt for those who expect honesty. Each "ask my lawyers" response carries the subtext: "I don't owe you truth." This violates the Kantian principle that humans should never be treated merely as means—Trump's deceptions reduce citizens, journalists, and investigators to obstacles to be manipulated rather than moral equals deserving of honest engagement.

These statements also represent a profound failure of self-knowledge. In claiming ignorance about matters central to his responsibilities, Trump reveals either genuine incompetence (which would be disqualifying) or calculated deception (which is morally reprehensible). Either way, it reveals a person who has abandoned the virtue of integrity that connects one's actions with one's words.

The ethical rot extends beyond Trump himself to corrupt our shared moral ecosystem. When such high-profile deceptions become normalized, they poison public discourse and weaken the foundation of mutual trust necessary for democracy. Each "I don't know" thus becomes not just a personal moral failure but a contribution to collective ethical regression.

That’s what they think. Well, the expletives and the what about’s are missing. Here’s what I’d like to say to them.

When "I Don't Know" Undermines Democracy: The Ethics of Willful Ignorance

The pattern of "I don't know" responses from President Trump, particularly regarding constitutional obligations, reveals more than a business man’s perspective—it exposes a dangerous manifestation of amathia, that ancient Greek concept of evil ignorance that threatens our democratic foundations. When a president says "I don't know" about whether they must uphold the Constitution after explicitly swearing to "preserve, protect and defend" it, we confront an irreconcilable contradiction that cannot be dismissed as political maneuvering.

This is not about partisan politics. Amathia flows through our body politic like a pathogen indifferent to ideological boundaries. Trump is not ideological. The pattern spanning decades—from Casino Commission investigations to Trump University depositions to constitutional questions—suggests not isolated instances of genuine uncertainty but a deliberate approach to knowledge and responsibility that serves power regardless of party affiliation.

From multiple ethical perspectives, this pattern fails tests of leadership. Consequentially, it erodes accountability by normalizing the severing of knowledge from responsibility. Through the lens of virtue ethics, it demonstrates a troubling relationship with truthfulness that prioritizes strategic advantage over integrity. Deontologically, it represents a failure to fulfill explicitly accepted duties—the most basic obligation of any office holder.

The contextual nuance matters, certainly. Some "I don't know" statements might reflect genuine memory limitations or legitimate delegation. But others, particularly those contradicting explicit commitments like the oath of office, strain credibility beyond reasonable limits. When knowledge becomes subordinate to strategic advantage, when accountability becomes optional rather than obligatory, the foundation of democratic governance cracks beneath our feet.

This breaking of covenants occurs not because citizens are inherently irrational but because our systems increasingly reward willful ignorance. Media ecosystems amplify confident falsehoods over uncertain truths. Algorithms prioritize content that confirms rather than challenges existing beliefs. Political structures punish rather than reward those who acknowledge complexity or changed understanding. Like COVID-19, amathia attacks our societal immune system—our shared capacity to distinguish fact from fiction—and spreads through carriers who may not recognize their role in its transmission.

The standard of truthfulness should apply equally to all citizens—perhaps even more stringently to those entrusted with greater power and responsibility. Our collective future may depend less on partisan victories than on whether we can recognize this pandemic of willful ignorance for what it is: not clever strategy, but a malignancy threatening the democratic experiment itself.

The treatment begins with naming amathia and insisting on the connection between knowledge and responsibility. Our deeper question remains: what kind of leadership do we truly value, and what level of honesty should we demand from those who serve in our highest offices? The answer will determine not just the character of our leaders, but the future of our democracy.

An Elusive Future Beyond "I Don't Know"

The paradox of amathia reveals that "I don't know"can be a shield against accountability or a true admission of limitations. Our current President understands this paradox all too well. The U.S. body politic is approaching a day of reckoning when this binary hits the proverbial fan. When Trump says he doesn’t know whether he can legally defy the laws of Congress, a Constitutional guarantee, he means “I know I don’t have to honor the oath of Office under some circumstances, and I’m going to profit from every opportunity to refuse to honor my oath when these circumstances are ambiguous and benefit me.”

A movement founded on "Moving Beyond I Don’t Know" could recognize that democracy thrives not on perfect knowledge but on the humble commitment to collectively better understand the questions in relation to the answers—the question-and-answer relationship so fundamental to reading comprehension. Does our President have an obligation to honor the Constitution? could be the first question Moving Beyond I Don’t Know might ask.

It would reject both the arrogance of false certainty and the cynicism of strategic ignorance, embracing instead the vulnerable, powerful truth that we navigate complexity best when we do so from shared axiological and epistemological commitments guided not by immature self-love but by mature love that transcend partisan divisions. The Greeks called this love “Agape,” that refers to the highest form of love: selfless, unconditional, and sacrificial love that seeks the well-being of others regardless of circumstance.

Learning to Read, Reading to Learn

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