Is it better to know more or less?

Once, Socrates was approached at the local gymnasium by a young Athenian, seeking the tutoring of the great mind of Attica, the wisest man since Solon

“O, Socrates son of Sophronikus, you who know so many things, please take me as your pupil, so that I can be as wise and as blessed by the goddess of wisdom, Athena herself, and get a good name among the people of Hellas.”

“Wise, you said? Let us see,” said Socrates wistfully. He picked a small twig from the ground and clearing patch of dry, sandy ground where the young men exercised their wrestling skills. He drew a small and a large circle.

“Son, this is my knowledge.” Socrates pointed to the larger circle. “And this yours” he added, pointing to the small one. “Inside each circle is your and my knowledge. While mine is great, yours is small, indeed. But to call me ‘blessed by the gods’ is a great mistake. I do not consider myself blessed, but cursed by them.”

The young man’s eyes grew as big as fully ripened figs.

“How could you say such a thing, Socrates? Now you will for sure angry the gods, for scorning and badmouthing that which they gave you.”

Socrates smiled his crooked smile of a faun, answering back “Oh, young man, you know nothing of our gods’ twisted ways. They only gift us in jest.”

Pointing his twig at the center of the large and then at the small circle, he asked. “Pray, tell me again, what is inside each circle?”

The young man’s eyes grew bigger, the size of apricots. “What could it be, my master, than what you just said: your greater knowledge in the larger one and my meager understanding of the world in the smaller one.”

Socrates looked at him with satisfaction. Then, pointing the twig at the space between the circles, he asked “

And what is this, outside the two circles?”

The young man’s eyes grew impossibly large, their whites growing as large as two hen eggs. “I do not know, master.”

Socrates roared with laughter. “Indeed you do not, my son, indeed you do not.” Smirking he continued “This is the vast unknown, my dear, which boundaries both what I and you know.”

Suddenly, the young man’s eyes shrunk and his heart sunk. He saw it coming.

“My son, consider this now,” said Socrates retracing the lines of the two circles in the air, just above them. “My circle is indeed larger, but so is its rim. Yours, on the other hand, is smaller, thus its edge is smaller too. Now, you see, the edge of the circle is how much what I and you know we do not know. You know little, so there are so fewer things to worry about or to regret of not knowing. While I know too much for my own good. The more I know, the less happy I am. There is so much more to know and so little time left to know. Not even Sisyphus, the man cursed to roll a stone to the top of the mountain only to see it tumbling down again, was more vengefully cursed by the gods than I. This is why I cannot consider myself blessed or even wise for that matter.”

The young man turned and ran away without a word thinking: “What do I know about all the things we do not know? I know that it would be better if I never asked the question.