He that knew all that learning ever writ, Knew only this - that

“He that knew all that learning ever writ, Knew only this — that he knew nothing yet.” — Aphra Behn

In these radiant lines, Aphra Behn, the trailblazing poet, playwright, and one of the first women in England to live by her pen, gives voice to one of the deepest truths of the human spirit — that knowledge, however vast, is but a fragment before the infinite. Her words echo like a bell across the ages, reminding us that wisdom begins not in certainty, but in humility. To “know nothing yet” is not ignorance, but the highest realization of the mind that has journeyed far enough to glimpse the boundless horizon of truth. For the more one learns, the more one perceives how much remains beyond comprehension. The truly wise do not boast of knowledge; they bow before mystery.

The origin of this insight lies in the philosophy of the ancients, whose teachings Aphra Behn drew upon with reverence and artistry. Her words are a poetic reflection of the timeless dictum of Socrates, who declared, “I know that I know nothing.” Behn, steeped in classical thought and the intellectual revolutions of her time, understood that even the scholar who has read “all that learning ever writ” — every scroll, every volume, every verse — stands still at the edge of the unknown. She lived in an age of discovery, when science, art, and philosophy were blooming anew, yet she saw that human pride often grows faster than understanding. In her verse, she offers both a warning and a comfort: that the mind’s greatness is not in how much it grasps, but in how deeply it continues to wonder.

To know that one knows nothing is to be reborn into the life of true learning. The ignorant man believes himself complete; the wise man remains a seeker forever. The ancients taught that humility is not weakness, but strength — the foundation of growth. Confucius, the sage of the East, once said, “Real knowledge is to know the extent of one’s ignorance.” Likewise, Aphra Behn, in her gentle yet piercing way, reminds us that the scholar who stops seeking has already begun to decline. The world’s libraries may be filled with wisdom, but the soul must remain an open page.

Consider the story of Isaac Newton, that titan of science, who unraveled the laws of motion and the mysteries of the heavens. At the height of his fame, when his name was revered across nations, he wrote humbly, “I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore... whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.” Newton, though “knowing all that learning ever writ,” saw himself still as a child before the vastness of creation. This humility, not his brilliance alone, is what made him great. He understood, as Behn did, that learning is not a conquest but a pilgrimage — a lifelong devotion to uncovering what is hidden, knowing that the ocean of truth can never be fully contained.

Behn’s reflection also holds a deeper spiritual resonance. She implies that knowledge without humility leads to blindness. When a person believes they have mastered all things, they close their heart to the divine wonder that animates existence. The prideful scholar, filled with words but empty of awe, mistakes information for wisdom. The humble learner, by contrast, looks at the stars and whispers, “Teach me.” In that moment of openness, learning becomes not a possession, but a communion with truth itself. To learn is to listen — to others, to the world, to the quiet voice within that says there is still more to understand.

There is also a striking irony in these words coming from Aphra Behn, a woman who defied every expectation of her time. In an era that dismissed women’s intellect, she rose through sheer brilliance and courage to become a writer of influence and acclaim. Yet even she, who knew so much of human nature and art, bowed before the vastness of knowledge. Her humility did not diminish her power; it magnified it. For she recognized that curiosity, not mastery, is the mark of a living mind. Each work she wrote, each idea she explored, was not a conclusion but a continuation — another step along the infinite path of learning.

So, dear listener, take this wisdom to heart. In your search for truth, do not rush to declare yourself wise. Let humility be your companion and wonder your guide. Read, study, question — but also listen, reflect, and admit what you do not know. The moment you think you have learned all there is, you cease to grow. But when you stand before the unknown and say, “There is still more,” the universe opens to you like a vast and endless book. Remember always the lesson of Aphra Behn — that even the one who “knew all that learning ever writ” stands wiser still who can say, with a clear heart and open mind, “I know nothing yet.”