Few ancient texts have been recruited so often and so contradictorily.
Nineteenth-century Europeans, Max Muller among them, read it as evidence of a primitive philosophical monotheism underlying Vedic polytheism, which suited a developmental theory of religion they already held. Twentieth-century Indian nationalist and reformist writing read it as proof that Indian thought began in enquiry rather than dogma. Modern popular science writing quotes the final verse as an ancient anticipation of scientific humility, and it has appeared in cosmology books, in the opening of a well-known television series, and set to music.
Each reading takes the hymn out of a corpus in which it is anomalous and treats it as representative. Almost every other hymn in the Rig Veda is addressed to a specific deity and asks for cattle, sons, victory or rain.
The translation question compounds this. The Sanskrit is difficult and several key terms are contested, and the elegance of the famous versions, Muller's, Griffith's, and the much-quoted rendering by A. L. Basham, involves interpretive choices. The critical translation by Jamison and Brereton is markedly less lyrical and, in places, less agnostic-sounding.
The defensible statement is that the hymn is genuinely sceptical about the accessibility of cosmological knowledge, that it is genuinely unusual within its collection, and that it does not represent the Rig Veda as a whole. Quoting it as though it did is the single commonest thing done with it.