Knowledge And Decisions

We start with an idea. It may be a sense impression of some sort — something that happened to catch our eye and intrigue our curiosity. Or it may be a speculation in our mind — a daydream or a theory, for example. As the idea or theory passes through the authentication process, it may be verified, refuted, or transformed to accommodate additional and discordant evidence. But if the authentication process is doing its job, whatever conclusion it is reaching about the idea is becoming progressively more certain (even if that means that the original idea itself is becoming progressively more dubious). Therefore, at some point in the authentication process, the probability of a mistaken conclusion is reduced to the point where we can say that we “know” this or that. Where that point is varies from person to person, so that what is “knowledge” to one is merely a plausible belief to another and only a theory to someone else. Each of us has some point — some probability level — beyond which we will say that we “know” something. But all things fall short of absolute certainty: life itself might be a dream and logic a delusion. Still, because we act, we must decide, and how decisively we can act depends on how well we know the consequences.

How much knowledge there is depends on where we draw the line on the spectrum of probabilities. Within a given probability requirement for “knowing,” how much is known varies enormously from one area of human life to another, and from one historical era to another, and of course from one person to another. Because the arena of decision making almost always exceeds the arena of knowledge, there must be belief — or at least hope — to fill in the gaps where there is no knowledge. This means that the ratio of knowledge to belief may also vary enormously from one aspect of life to another. The specific nature of the respective authentication processes available in various aspects of human life then become crucial.

To say that a farm boy knows how to milk a cow is to say that we can send him out to the barn with an empty pail and expect him to return with milk. To say that a criminologist understands crime is not to say that we can send him out with a grant or a law and expect him to return with a lower crime rate. He is more likely to return with a report on why he has not succeeded yet, and including the inevitable need for more money, a larger staff, more sweeping powers, etc. In short, the degree of authentication of knowledge may be lower in the “higher” intellectual levels and much higher in those areas which intellectuals choose to regard as “lower.” A business which produces a product that the public will not buy in a sufficient quantity, or at a high enough price to cover production costs, will have its ideas validated — in this case invalidated — in a swift and painful process which must be heeded quickly before bankruptcy sets in. The results cannot be talked away. But in many intellectual areas, notably so-called “social science,” there is neither a swift nor a certain authentication process for ideas, and the only ultimate validation is whether the ideas sound plausible to enough people, or to the right people. The stricter standards and independent, often conclusive, evidence in the physical sciences cannot be generalized to intellectual activity as a whole, even though the aura of scientific processes and results is often appropriated by other intellectuals.

Because what is meant by “knowing” varies enormously, according to the respective authentication processes available, it is by no means clear that there is more knowledge in civilized countries than in primitive countries or among intellectuals as compared to the less educated members of the same society. It is very possible that, as more people cease being farmers with little or no education, and increasingly acquire more schooling, that their standards for “knowing” decline while the area of their secondhand and tenuous knowledge expands. As a poet said, “we knew a million things we could hardly understand.”² There may be not only a qualitative decline in knowledge, but — more important — an erosion of the very meaning of “knowing”: for example, a young man might be said to know how to milk a cow if he could write an essay on that subject, and we would no longer demand that he take the pail out to the barn and come back with milk.