In the Absence of Thought

There is something quietly terrifying about the way intelligence has fallen out of fashion.

We have all seen it. Scroll through social media or tune into a primetime debate on any news channel, and you will likely run into someone proudly dismissing “experts,” mocking nuance, or declaring that their personal feelings should override facts. It’s not new, of course. This suspicion of thinkers has been around forever, but there is something particularly aggressive and oddly mainstream about it today. It is not merely scepticism anymore. It is disdain.

Anti-intellectualism, at its core, is a hostility to complexity of thoughts. It flattens  the arguments, mocks the reflections, and replaces debate with the idea of ‘vibes.’ And it is not confined to one group or ideology. It creeps across the political spectrum, disguised in different clothes. Sometimes it looks like populism; other times like cynicism. But its effect is the same, that is, a quiet war on thinking.

What makes it worse is how palatable it has become. In fact, it is now a performance. There is currency and fashion in pretending not to care. People brandish ignorance like it is a badge of authenticity, “I don’t know much about politics, but I just say what I feel.” That sort of thing. Expertise, on the other hand, is often painted as arrogance or detachment. To know things is somehow to be suspicious. And that is dangerous, especially in a world where our problems are becoming more complicated with each passing day.

Part of the blame lies with the way information moves now. The internet has done many wonderful things, it has flattened access to knowledge, democratised the voices, made learning more available than ever. But at the same time, it has also given rise to a strange illusion that all opinions are equally valid, and that the loudest voice wins. You can Google your way into a rabbit hole of misinformation in seconds and come out convinced you know better than epidemiologists, climate scientists, historians, or economists. You don’t need to be right anymore; you only need to be confident. Or go viral.

Then there is the political angle. In many places including, let’s be honest, ours, anti-intellectualism has become a political strategy. It is easier to govern when people are suspicious of those who might question power. And so the attack on universities, journalists, NGOs, and educators becomes part of the script. Thinking too much is “unpatriotic,” asking questions is “anti-national,” and reading books that are not part of the official narrative is “subversive.” The goal is simple, keep people reactive, not reflective.

And it’s not only about politics anymore. The way our education systems are structured does not help either. We teach students how to pass exams, not how to think. We praise obedience over curiosity. The classroom has become a place of repetition, where imagination weeps. So we grow up learning how to memorise things, and not how to question them. No wonder that when someone does question the obvious, they are met with suspicion.

Of course, intellectualism has its flaws too. Academia can be elitist, cloistered, full of jargon, and often disconnected from lived realities. Sometimes people don’t hate knowledge, they just hate being talked down to. That’s fair. But the answer is not to throw out the entire enterprise of thought. Rather, it’s to demand better from it. To insist that knowledge be shared, not hoarded. That public intellectuals actually engage with the public.

What we are really up against is anti-curiosity, not ignorance. The idea that asking “why?” is unnecessary. That the world should just be accepted at face value. That gut instinct is better than evidence. That there is nothing to learn from someone who reads more, or who has spent years studying something you have never heard of. But growth begins with curiousity. Without it, all that is left is dogma, certainty, and slogans.

There is something deeply human about wanting to understand the world better. That is what makes us more empathetic, more capable of nuance, more open to change. That is why this trend toward performative ignorance feels like a step backward. Not because everyone needs to be an academic, but because everyone deserves the chance to think freely and feel respected for doing so.

I am not saying we all need to become experts. But maybe we can slow down a little. Ask better questions. Listen to those who have spent their lives trying to understand the things we casually tweet about. And be willing to say, “I don’t know, but I would like to.”

Because once anti-intellectualism becomes the norm, what’s left? Culture reduced to memes. History rewritten to fit the headlines. Policy shaped by outrage. A society allergic to introspection.

That is not the kind of world I want to live in. And I doubt you do either.

So, by the way, maybe it is worth standing up for the nerds now and then. For the ones who write, read, question, overthink, and occasionally annoy you with their footnotes. The ones who don’t claim to have all the answers, but at least care enough to ask the right questions. The world could use more of that. Not less.