I wish I could know everything ever, like that would be my wish -

The words of Louis C.K., though spoken with jest, conceal a yearning ancient as humankind itself. “I wish I could know everything ever,” he declares, as one might whisper a prayer to the stars. Beneath his humor lies a profound desire—the same fire that burned in the hearts of philosophers, mystics, and wanderers since the dawn of time: the longing to understand the mystery of existence, to pierce the veil between ignorance and truth. In his words, when he imagines heaven as a place where “they tell you who shot JFK and all that stuff,” he reveals a sacred hope—that beyond this life lies revelation, the ultimate knowledge that unites all fragments of truth into one eternal clarity.

For is not this hunger for knowledge the mark of our species? The first humans looked upon the lightning and asked what power it held. They gazed at the stars and wondered who placed them there. Each question became a torch passed down through generations, illuminating the dark corridors of time. Louis C.K.’s wish, though wrapped in the laughter of the modern age, is a reflection of the same divine restlessness that moved Socrates to say, “The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.” It is the voice of every soul that has ever stood before the vast unknown and said, “Tell me, what is this life, and what lies beyond it?”

Consider the story of Hypatia of Alexandria, the great philosopher and astronomer of the ancient world. She walked the marble streets of her city teaching the movement of the heavens, seeking harmony between reason and faith. Her quest for truth was so luminous that it frightened those who preferred ignorance, and for it, she was slain. Yet her spirit did not die—it became a symbol for all who seek to know everything ever, who crave not mere information but the illumination of understanding. Hypatia reminds us that the pursuit of knowledge is sacred, even when it is perilous, and that truth, though veiled, forever calls to the courageous.

There is also a kind of humility hidden in this wish. To long for all knowledge is to confess how much remains hidden from us. The modern man, armed with machines of data and oceans of information, still walks in the dark, uncertain of what lies beyond the next sunrise. Louis C.K.’s humor strikes us because it exposes a wound—our awareness of how little we truly know. Even as we unravel the secrets of the atom and map the stars, the questions of love, death, justice, and purpose still humble us. To wish to “know everything” is to stand before the infinite and whisper: I am small, but I wish to understand.

Yet there is beauty in this unfulfilled longing. For if heaven were simply a library of all answers, would our souls not grow weary of perfection? It is the seeking itself that ennobles us. The questions we carry shape our humanity; the mysteries we chase keep our hearts awake. In the same way that Odysseus’ long voyage gave meaning to his return, our journey through ignorance toward wisdom gives meaning to our existence. The true paradise may not be in knowing all things, but in being forever permitted to seek them.

And yet, when Louis C.K. imagines a heaven where “they tell you who shot JFK and all that stuff,” he gives voice to a gentler hope—that truth, at last, will reconcile the confusion of the world. That somewhere beyond this mortal realm, the secrets that divide us will be revealed and made harmless. Perhaps that is what heaven truly means: not streets of gold, but understanding without pain, knowledge without arrogance, truth without violence. It is the great unveiling, where curiosity no longer leads to conflict, but to peace.

Let us then take from this wish a lesson worthy of the ancients: Seek knowledge with reverence, not greed. Ask questions not to prove yourself wise, but to make yourself whole. Read deeply, listen widely, observe carefully, and hold every truth as a gift. And when you encounter mystery, do not despair—embrace it, for it is the divine teacher. The journey to know everything ever is not meant to end; it is meant to transform you.

In your own life, practice this seeking. Each day, learn one thing that stirs your spirit. Study history, listen to elders, question the world, and dare to wonder at its beauty. Do not chase knowledge as a collector hoards coins, but as a pilgrim gathers light along the road. For though we may never know “everything ever,” each truth we uncover brings us closer to the eternal—the quiet heaven where, at last, all things are made known, and the soul, long restless, finally understands.