I don't know technology and engineering. I don't know

Hear, O children of commerce and seekers of wisdom, the sobering words of Bernard Ebbers: “I don’t know technology and engineering. I don’t know accounting.” At first, these words may sound like a confession of humility, yet they are, in truth, the tragic prelude to downfall. For Ebbers, once the mighty leader of WorldCom, presided over one of the greatest corporate collapses in history. His acknowledgment of what he did not know is a reminder that ignorance, when coupled with unchecked ambition, can lead not to simplicity and truth, but to ruin and betrayal.

From the earliest ages, men have risen to power not by skill alone, but by persuasion, vision, and leadership. Yet the ancients always warned: let the general understand his armies, let the captain know the seas, let the merchant know the weight of his goods. For leadership without knowledge is like steering a ship with no compass—destiny becomes drift, and drift becomes disaster. Ebbers, who admitted he did not know technology or accounting, nonetheless commanded an empire built upon them, and thus became blind to its true foundations.

Consider, O listeners, the story of Icarus. He rose high on wings not of his own making, yet he did not understand their craft. He trusted in what he did not comprehend, and so he fell. So too with Ebbers: entrusted with technology, with numbers, with markets, he soared on the winds of growth but lacked the wisdom to see their fragility. And when the deceptions of false accounting were revealed, the empire he built collapsed, and thousands suffered. The tale is as old as time: to rule without knowledge is to build upon sand.

Yet the words themselves also reveal a deeper human truth. For who among us knows all things? Who is master of every art? No man can be both builder, scribe, and philosopher in equal measure. To confess “I don’t know” can be the beginning of wisdom, if followed by humility and reliance upon the counsel of the skilled. Had Ebbers embraced such humility in truth, surrounding himself with wise and honest advisors, his empire might have endured. But when ignorance is cloaked with pride, the fall is inevitable.

The meaning of the quote is not only personal, but universal. It teaches us that in every endeavor, we must know our limits. To lead does not require mastery of every skill, but it does require respect for those who possess it. The king does not need to be a farmer, but he must understand the toil of the farmer’s hands. The general does not need to forge weapons, but he must understand their power and their cost. To say “I don’t know” should not be an excuse for neglect, but a call to seek the wisdom of others.

The lesson is plain: do not rise higher than your understanding without building bridges to those who know what you do not. In your work, in your family, in your life, recognize where your knowledge ends, and seek counsel where others excel. Beware the arrogance of thinking that vision alone is enough; for vision unguided by skill and truth will collapse upon itself.

Practical steps stand before you. When you face a task beyond your strength, admit your weakness and call upon those whose craft exceeds yours. Do not be ashamed to confess what you do not know, but let that confession drive you to learn, to delegate, and to honor the gifts of others. And above all, guard against the temptation to build success on illusions or half-truths, for the higher the tower built on lies, the greater the ruin when it falls.

Therefore, O children of tomorrow, remember Bernard Ebbers’s words—not as a lesson in humility alone, but as a warning against pride and negligence. To say “I don’t know technology, I don’t know accounting” is no sin. But to lead without listening, to command without understanding, is to invite destruction. Be wise, be humble, and walk always with those who can teach you what you do not know. For only then will your works endure, and your legacy be one of honor, not of ruin.