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Knowledge
and Opinion - Part 1
by Mortimer Adler, Ph.D.
All men, Aristotle said, by nature desire to
know. It may not be true that, born with that
native propensity, all persons in fact continue to
nourish it. But certainly there are but few who do
not regard knowledge as desirable, as a good to be
prized, and a good without limit -- the more, the
better.
It is generally understood that those who have
knowledge about anything are in the possession of
the truth about it. Individuals may at times be
incorrect in their claim that they do have
knowledge, but if they do, then they have some hold
on the truth. The phrase "false knowledge" is a
contradiction in terms; "true knowledge" is
manifestly redundant.
That being understood, the line that divides
knowledge from opinion should also be clear. There
is nothing self contradictory in the phrase "true
opinion", or redundant in the phrase "false
opinion". Opinions can be true or false, as
knowledge cannot be. When individuals claim to have
knowledge about something that turns out not to be
knowledge at all because it is false, what they
mistook for knowledge was only opinion.
Closely connected with this distinction between
knowledge and opinion are two other distinctions.
One is the distinction between the things about
which we can have certitude -- beyond any shadow of
a doubt -- and things about which some doubt
remains. We may be persuaded by them beyond a
reasonable doubt, but that does not take them
entirely out of the realm of doubt. Some doubt
lingers.
The other distinction is that between the
corrigible and mutable and the incorrigible and
immutable. When we have certitude about anything,
we have a hold on truth that is both incorrigible
and immutable. When anything remains in doubt, to
even the slightest degree, it is both mutable and
corrigible. We should recognize that we may change
our minds about it and correct whatever was
wrong.
By these criteria for distinguishing between
knowledge and opinion, how much knowledge do any of
us have? Most of us would admit that we have
precious little. Most of us are aware that in the
history of science even the most revered
formulations have been subject to change and
correction. Yet at the same time most of us would
be reluctant to say that the great generalizations
or conclusions of science, those now regnant, are
nothing but mere opinions. The word "opinion,"
especially when it is qualified by the word "mere,"
carries such a derogatory connotation that we feel,
quite properly, that to call science opinion rather
than knowledge is inadmissible.
The only way out of this difficulty that I know
is one that I proposed in an earlier book (Six
Great Ideas) that contained a series of
chapters on the idea of truth. I repeat it here in
order to lay the ground for discussing two modern
philosophical mistakes about the character and
limits of human knowledge.
The solution, it seems to me, lies in
recognizing the sense in which the word "knowledge"
signifies something that is quite distinct from
anything that can be called an opinion, and the
sense in which a certain type of opinion can also
quite properly be called knowledge. That would
leave another type of opinion, quite distinct from
knowledge, which should properly be called mere
opinion.
When the criteria for calling anything knowledge
are such exacting criteria as the certitude,
incorrigibility, and immutability of the truth that
is known, then the few things that are knowledge
stand far apart from everything that might be
called opinion.
Examples of knowledge in this extreme sense of
the term are a small number of self-evident truths.
A self-evident truth is one that states something
the opposite of which it is impossible to think. It
can also be called a necessary truth because its
opposite is impossible.
That a finite whole is greater than any of its
component parts and that each part of a finite
whole is less than the whole are self-evident,
necessary truths. We cannot think the opposite. The
terms "part" and "whole" are indefinable. We cannot
say what a part is without using the notion of
whole, or what a whole is without using the notion
of part, and so we cannot define either part or
whole by itself. Nevertheless, we do so understand
what parts and wholes are in relation to one
another, that we cannot understand a part being
greater than a whole or a whole less than a
part.
Sometimes definitions enter into our grasp of
self-evident truths. We define a triangle as a
three-sided plane figure. We define a diagonal as a
line drawn between nonadjacent angles in a regular
plane polygon. We know that, being three-sided, a
triangle has no nonadjacent angles. Therefore, we
know with certitude that it is necessarily true
that there can be no diagonals in triangles, as
there can be in squares, pentagons, and the
like.
Whether they know it or not, those who say that
we have precious little knowledge that has such
certitude may not realize that the little knowledge
we have of this kind consists of a handful of
self-evident or necessary truths like those just
noted.
Is everything else opinion, then? Yes and no;
yes, if we insist upon the criteria of certitude,
incorrigibility, and immutability of the truth
known; no, if we relax those criteria and recognize
that there are opinions we can affirm on the basis
of evidence and reasons that have sufficient
probative force to justify our claiming at the time
that the opinion affirmed is true.
I stress "at the time" because, since we have
given up the criteria of incorrigibility and
immutability, we must be prepared to have the
opinion we now claim to be true on the basis of the
evidence and reasons now available turn out to be
false in the future, or in need of correction or
alteration at some future time when new evidence
and other reasons come into play.
We should be prepared to say that such
corrigible, mutable opinions are knowledge --
knowledge of truths that have a future in which
they may undergo correction or alteration and even
rejection. As against opinions that deserve the
status of knowledge in this sense of the term,
there remain what must be called mere opinions
because they are asserted without any basis at all
in evidence or reason.
Our personal prejudices are such mere opinions.
We assert them stoutly and often stubbornly, even
though we cannot point to a single piece of
evidence in support of them or offer a single
reason for claiming that they are true. This is
also true of some of the beliefs we harbor and
cherish.
Sometimes we use the word "belief" to signify
that we have some measure of doubt about the
opinion we claim to be true on the basis of
evidence and reasons. In that case, it is not
incorrect to say of one and the same thing that we
know it (because we have sufficient grounds for
affirming it to be true) and that we also believe
it (because the grounds we have still leave us with
some trace of doubt about its truth).
However, at other times, we use the word
"belief" to signify total lack of evidence or
reasons for asserting an opinion. What we believe
goes beyond all available evidence and reasons at
the time. Then we should never say that we know,
but only that we believe the mere opinion that we
are holding on to.
The only time when it is totally inappropriate
to use the word "belief" is in the case of
self-evident or necessary truths. We know that the
whole is greater than any of its parts. To say that
we believe it is an egregious misunderstanding of
the truth being affirmed. The same thing applies to
many, but not all, mathematical truths. We know, we
do not believe, that two plus two equals four.
Not only personal prejudices but all matters of
personal taste, liking one thing and disliking
another, fall in the realm of mere opinion. In such
matters of taste or personal preference, we may
have our own reasons for liking this and disliking
that, but those reasons carry no weight with others
whose likes and dislikes, or preferences, are
contrary to our own.
The extension of the word "knowledge" to cover
all corrigible and mutable opinions that can be
asserted on the basis of evidence and reasons
available at a given time covers more than opinions
that can be affirmed beyond a reasonable doubt, if
not beyond the shadow of a doubt. It includes
opinions that have a preponderance of evidence or
reasons in their favor as against opinions
supported by weaker evidence or reasons.
In general it can be said that knowing is not
like eating. When we eat something, we take it into
our bodies, digest it, assimilate it. It becomes
part of us. It no longer remains what it was before
it was eaten. But with one striking exception, our
knowing something in no way affects or alters the
thing we know. We may take it into our minds in
some way, but doing that leaves it exactly the same
as it was be fore we knew it. The one exception
occurs in the case of quantum mechanics, where the
instruments we use to investigate the phenomena to
be observed and measured do affect the phenomena as
we observe and measure them.
What I have just said about the difference
between knowing and eating requires me to call
attention to an other special use, or misuse, of
the word "knowing." It involves the distinction
between two acts of the mind to which I called
attention in a previous essay.
The first act of the mind is simple
apprehension. Some object is apprehended, be it a
perceptual object, an object of memory or
imagination, or an object of conceptual thought.
Strictly speaking, with one exception, we should
not use the word "knowledge" for such
apprehensions. Except for perceptual apprehensions,
which cannot be separated from perceptual
judgments, all other apprehensions are totally
devoid of any judgment about the object apprehended
-- whether or not it does exist, whether or not its
character in fact is identical with its character
as apprehended.
Devoid of such judgments, an apprehension is not
knowledge because there is nothing true or false
about it. True and false enter the picture only
with the act of judging, and only then do we go
beyond apprehension to what, strictly speaking, can
be called knowledge.
There is a sense in which knowing is like
eating. The edible, before it is eaten, exists
quite independently of the eater and is whatever it
is regardless of how it is transformed by being
eaten. So, too, the knowable exists quite
independently of the knower and is whatever it is
whether it is known or not, and however it is
known.
The word that most of us use to signify the
independent character of the knowable is the word
"reality." If there were no reality, nothing the
existence and character of which is independent of
the knowing mind, there would be nothing knowable.
Reality is that which exists whether we think about
it or not, and has the character that it has no
matter how we think about it.
The reality that is the knowable may or may not
be physical. It may or may not consist solely of
things perceptible to our senses. But whatever its
character, its existence must be public, not
private. It must be knowable by two or more
persons. Nothing that is knowable by one person
alone can have the status of knowledge. Whatever
can be genuinely known by any one person must be
capable of being known by others.
Let this suffice as background for the
discussion to follow. I will be using the word
"knowledge" to cover the necessary and self-evident
truths we know with certitude and also the opinions
we are able to assert on the basis of sufficient
evidence and reasons to outweigh any contrary
opinions. I will be using it to cover things about
which we can say both that we know them and also
that we believe them, because some measure of doubt
remains about them. I will be using it always for
judgments that are either true or false, but never
for apprehensions that are neither true nor false.
And I will use the phrase "mere opinion" for
whatever is deemed by anyone not to be knowledge in
any of the foregoing senses.
The authors of the two philosophical mistakes
with which we are here concerned are David Hume and
Immanuel Kant. The influence that, historically,
Hume had upon Kant, conceded by Kant to have
prompted the philosophical edifice he constructed
in order to avoid the conclusions reached by Hume
(which he thought untenable, even disastrous),
throws some light on the relation of the two
mistakes.
Looked at one way, the two mistakes represent
opposite extremes. Looked at another way, they
represent opposite faces of the same error. The
error in both cases has to do with the role that
sense-experience plays with regard to the origin
and limits of knowledge. The two mistakes are
opposed to one another by reason of the fact that
they take opposite stands with regard to the
certitude, immutability, and incorrigibility that
does or does not belong to knowledge.
Hume's mistake had its roots or origin in
earlier mistakes, and especially the mistakes made
by John Locke with regard to the senses and the
intellect and with regard to ideas as objects we
directly apprehend. On the other hand, Kant's
mistake had its origin in the mistake made by Hume.
He might have avoided his own mistake by pointing
out that the conclusions Hume reached, which he
found so repugnant, were based on false
premises.
Had he rejected those premises, that by itself
would have sufficed to avoid Hume's conclusions.
But he did not do so. Instead, he invented and
erected a subtle and intricate philosophical
structure in an effort to reach and support
conclusions the very opposite of Hume's, and just
as incorrect.
--
To Part 2 --
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