Who am I? A question older than civilization itself. Yet it echoes more loudly today than ever, lost in the cacophony of hashtags, headlines, and hollow self-assurance. It is a question that remains the foundation of any serious attempt to understand our world -- or ourselves.
The wisdoms of history
Let us start, as all philosophy should, with humility. Socrates, the father of Western philosophy, famously declared: "I know that I know nothing." In this single phrase, he unmasked the paradox of human existence -- our insatiable hunger for knowledge, set against the vastness of what we cannot comprehend.
His wisdom was not in knowing more than others, but in understanding the contours of his ignorance.
Today, in a society obsessed with confidence, certainty, and immediacy, Socratic humility feels not only foreign but even threatening. We are encouraged to brand ourselves as experts, flaunt what little we know, and fear the vulnerability of uncertainty.
But what if true wisdom begins precisely at that vulnerable point -- when we admit that we do not know? What if, in that act of surrender, we discover the doorway to real knowledge?
The ancient Sufi mystic, Jalaluddin Rumi, offered a radiant metaphor: "Dig your heart, there you will find a gold mine. The gold mine is within you."
Modern neuroscience confirms this in ways Rumi could not have foreseen: The human brain, made up of nearly 86 billion neurons, remains a mystery even to the most advanced scientists. We understand its processes, but not its essence. It is as if each of us is carrying an undiscovered cosmos inside, and yet we spend our days gazing outwards, scrolling endlessly, numbing ourselves to avoid the silence of self-reflection.
Isaac Newton, whose mathematical genius shaped our understanding of the universe, confessed near the end of his life, "I do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself, I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore ... whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me."
Here is the man who formulated the laws of motion and gravity, who laid the foundation for classical physics, yet he considered himself a mere child on the shore. Such humility is nearly extinct in the age of algorithmic arrogance.
A duty to know
In contrast, many in today’s society confuse information with knowledge, and confidence with wisdom. Social media platforms reward certainty, not reflection; volume, not veracity. A little knowledge becomes a pedestal from which we shout, not a doorway to deeper inquiry.
To know oneself is not a solitary act of narcissism, but a moral imperative. Without self-knowledge, how can one act justly? How can one love another? How can one serve society?
This journey inward is not easy. It requires solitude in a world addicted to stimulation. It requires patience in a culture obsessed with instant gratification. Most of all, it requires courage -- the courage to face one’s flaws, contradictions, and limits.
The Quranic verse from Surah Al-Baqarah (2:286) reminds us: “Allah does not burden a soul beyond that it can bear.” This line, often quoted in times of hardship, is also an invitation to self-awareness. It assumes that we know our burden, and by extension, know ourselves well enough to carry it.
Knowing ourselves includes knowing our limits -- not as defeat, but as design
Beyond the curated self
We must also realize that knowing ourselves includes knowing our limits -- not as defeat, but as design.
The existentialist philosopher Søren Kierkegaard believed that despair arises when we fail to become our true selves. In his The Sickness Unto Death, he describes despair as the misrelation within the self. We despair when we pretend to be what we are not, or when we are too afraid to be who we truly are.
In a society that rewards curated identities, this is particularly relevant. Our social avatars -- be it the filtered Instagram feed, the professional LinkedIn bio, or even the casual conversational self we present to the world -- often bear little resemblance to the silent, questioning soul within.
To rediscover this soul, we must cultivate what might be called "self-time." Not merely a spa-day or digital detox, but a regular, sacred space for meditation, contemplation, and honest questioning. It may mean journaling at dawn, walking alone at dusk, or simply sitting in silence without the need to be productive.
Thoreau retreated to Walden Pond not to escape life but to confront it more fully. He wrote: "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately … and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." Today, even five minutes without a notification feels like eternity. But perhaps eternity begins precisely there -- in that breath of stillness.
Gautam Buddha's teachings also echo the importance of self-love and compassion as extensions of self-understanding. "You, yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection." Only when we stop rejecting parts of ourselves -- our fears, our failures, our contradictions -- can we begin to understand and love others. Compassion begins at home, and home is within.
The patience to become
And yet, knowing oneself is not a final destination; it is a continuous unfolding. As the poet TS Eliot wrote, “We shall not cease from exploration / And the end of all our exploring / Will be to arrive where we started / And know the place for the first time.”
In a world where success is measured in quarterly results and trending tags, patience feels like an outdated virtue. But patience is not passivity. As Rumi noted, “Patience is not sitting and waiting. It is foreseeing. It is looking at the thorn and seeing the rose.”
The slow work of self-discovery requires endurance. Confucius warned that “many possibilities die prematurely due to lack of patience.” A child learns to walk after many falls. A seed becomes a tree through seasons of silence. The self, too, must be given time to ripen. The rush to “find oneself” often bypasses the deeper labour of “becoming.”
Personal ignorance and societal dangers
Why does this all matter? Because the failure to know ourselves is at the root of many societal problems. We project our unresolved fears onto others. We seek validation in domination. We fear what is different because we do not understand what is within. When leaders lack self-awareness, they become tyrants. When citizens lack it, they become mobs.
Imagine a society where individuals are not ashamed to say, "I do not know." Where leaders pause to reflect rather than react. Where children are taught to ask, not just to answer. Where silence is as valued as speech.
In this age of noise, the call to "know thyself" is revolutionary. It cuts through the superficial and points us toward what is essential. We are not just economic beings, political pawns, or digital consumers -- we are vast, complex, mysterious souls. As the old saying goes, “You consider yourself a small body, but a vast world is hidden within you.”
So tonight, as you scroll through headlines, or pause between meetings, ask yourself -- not out of vanity, but out of reverence -- “Who am I?” You may not find the answer immediately. But the asking itself might just awaken the beginning of real knowledge.
HM Nazmul Alam is an academic, journalist, and political analyst based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Email: [email protected]
