Reflections on Ignorance-Why do I not write more?

     I have never been given to writing very much. I was an avid reader when I was growing up, but that slowly dwindled, but it then turned around again later in high school. I enjoy reading and I appreciate the writing of others, but I have not really seen a purpose in writing my own material. I think there might be a more substantial point to this otherwise bland observation. 

    What does writing do for me? That is not something I have reflected on very much, so I will spend some time here doing just that. In order to do that I will first reflect on why I read. I read in order to take in new information, and, as I talked about in my first post, I want to know things. I have read history, fiction, scientific material, classical literature, and a few other things in between those categories. Now I mainly read philosophy and theology books. I have the great privilege of being born in an unprecedented time with respect to mass literacy, so I hope I take advantage of the opportunity. Reading helps me to encounter things that are true, good, and beautiful. Broadly speaking, I feel like this is what my life should be spent pursuing: the true, the good, and the beautiful. The three things have a very unique way of manifesting themselves in the writings of people from all different time periods, social classes, religions, and races. This is incredible to me, but where does writing fit into this picture? 

    I think writing helps serve the second half of the process of knowing. I can take in information, but what do I do with it? I sometimes converse about the things that I read, but I always need someone else to talk to. In writing I am able to mimic this reflection found in conversation. In writing I can converse with those people that I will never get a chance to talk to. I can "talk" to Dostoyevsky, Aristotle, St. Thomas Aquinas, and countless others. Well, I hope I get a chance to be with St. Thomas one day. This is an incredibly exciting opportunity, but my writing is mostly restricted to my assignments for class, and even this is often constricted by certain academic expectations. So why do I not write more? I think this apprehension displays part of my ignorance. I am afraid to write. Writing means that I can grapple with new ideas, even ideas that are contrary to my own. What this also means is that I would have to struggle. I would have to confront my ignorance of Plato, Shakespeare, Conrad, and others. This is uncomfortable! 

    I have accustomed myself to the comfort of my own world, so I can live peacefully in my ignorance. I think this is a misunderstanding of peace on my part. Peace can be found in the midst of chaos, strife, and disagreement. This little blog allows me to begin this confrontation. In writing I can attempt to articulate my defenses and attacks in the grand struggle for Truth. I hope to write more, but this will only occur by a continued death to the comfort that I so often find refuge in.