IDEAS

Physicists have determined that even the most solid and heavy mass of matter we see is mostly empty space. But at the submicroscopic level, specks of matter scattered through a vast emptiness have such incredible density and weight, and are linked to one another by such powerful forces, that together they produce all the properties of concrete, cast iron and solid rock. In much the same way, specks of knowledge are scattered through a vast emptiness of ignorance, and everything depends upon how solid the individual specks of knowledge are, and on how powerfully linked and coordinated they are with one another. The vast spaces of ignorance do not prevent the specks of knowledge from forming a solid structure, though sufficient misunderstanding can disintegrate it in much the same way that radioactive atomic structures can disintegrate (uranium into lead) or even explode.

Ideas, as the raw material from which knowledge is produced, exist in superabundance, but that makes the production of knowledge more difficult rather than easier. Many ideas—probably most—will have to be discarded somewhere in the process of producing authenticated knowledge. Authentication is as important as the raw information itself, and the manner and speed of the authentication process can be crucial: the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor succeeded despite the fact that knowledge of the impending attack had reached the War Department in Washington hours before it occurred. Still the bombing caught Pearl Harbor by surprise because the information had not yet passed through the authentication process established by the military institutions. Whatever the merits or demerits of those institutions as they existed on December 7, 1941, it is clear that any military organization must have some authentication process, or else any unverified idea that enters the system has the potential to set off a war. More recently, a flock of Canadian geese set off the American warning system to detect incoming nuclear missiles, and only subsequent authentication procedures prevented a "retaliatory" nuclear strike which could have ended in World War III.

Various kinds of ideas can be classified by their relationship to the authentication process. There are ideas systematically prepared for authentication ("theories"), ideas not derived from any systematic process ("visions"), ideas which could not survive any reasonable authentication process ("illusions"), ideas which exempt themselves from any authentication process ("myths"), ideas which have already passed authentication processes ("facts"), as well as ideas known to have failed—or certain to fail—such processes ("falsehoods"—both mistakes and lies).

While these various kinds of ideas are conceptually different, in reality a given notion may evolve or metamorphose through several of these states. For example, we may start with a general impression of how and why certain things happen the way they do, without having any real evidence or any logically structured argument about it. But after we begin with such a vision, we may proceed to systematically determine that if this vision is correct, then certain empirical consequences will be observable under the proper conditions. The "vision" has led to a "theory." The proper conditions may be created in a laboratory or observed in history or otherwise constructed or discovered, and the validity and certainty of the results may be more or less open to criticism. The important point here is simply to distinguish such systematic authentication procedures from decisions based on consensus, emotions, or traditions.

On the continuum of human thinking, at one end is pure science; at the other end pure myth. One is sustained entirely by systematic logical procedures, the other by consensual verification by contemporaries, by their predecessors represented through prevailing traditions, or by posterity for those who expect historic vindication. The crucial distinction is one of procedures, not of end results. Science is no more certain to be correct than is myth. Many scientific theories have been proven wrong by scientific methods, while the great enduring beliefs which have achieved the status of myths usually contain some important—if partial—truth.

Both systematic authentication and consensual approval can be further broken down. Systematic authentication involves a testing of the logical structure of a theory for internal consistency and a testing of the theory's results for external consistency with the observable facts of the real world.

Consensual approval may mean the approval of the general public as of a given time, or the approval of some special reference group—a social class, a religious sect, an ideological movement, etc.—in the past, present, or future. Ideas which lack logical, empirical, or general consensual support may still sustain themselves as acceptable to a consensus of those who regard themselves as special guardians of a particular truth—i.e., as the consensual reference group that really matters. Sometimes the elitism implicit in such a position can be tempered by depicting the idea in question (religious salvation, political reconstitution, etc.) as beneficial to a broad sweep of mankind outside the group, so that the group is only a temporary surrogate for a larger constituency which will ultimately approve the idea. But, of course, this proposition is itself still another idea lacking either empirical verification or general consensual approval.

There are many variations on the two basic ways of verifying ideas, and many combinations of these variations are used—often involving combinations from both systematic and consensual methods of verification in the same argument. For example, a scientific presentation may avoid—indeed, must avoid—unlimited verification of every incidental aspect of its arguments by saying, in effect, "everybody knows" this or that, and getting on with proving the things that need proving.* Similarly, beliefs resting essentially on consensual approval—religious beliefs, for example—may also employ logical and empirical techniques, such as the scientific "proofs" of the existence of God, which were common in the eighteenth century and in the early nineteenth century, before Darwin. These more or less open combinations present no special problems. A problem does arise, however, when one method masquerades as another—for example, when the results of essentially consensual processes choose to present themselves as scientific, as in the case of much so-called "social science."

This brief and general sketch of the production of authenticated knowledge from raw, unsubstantiated ideas must be elaborated more specifically in later discussions of economic, legal, and political organizations. At this point, it is necessary to consider—in equally brief and general terms—the amount and kinds of knowledge produced, and the manner in which it is used.

THE QUANTITY OF KNOWLEDGE

It is widely believed that modern society has a larger quantity of knowledge than more primitive societies, that this quantity of knowledge is growing, and that the knowledge "required" for the average citizen to live in a modern society is also growing. Certainly the complex apparatus of modern life is beyond the grasp of most non-modern peoples, past or present. What is not so obvious, but true nonetheless, is that most modern peoples would find it equally—or more—difficult to survive individually in a "primitive" or non-modern world. In short, it is not clear or demonstrable that the total quantity of knowledge differs as between "savage" and "civilized" man. What is more readily established is that the kinds of knowledge possessed by the average inhabitant of the primitive and the modern world are very different, and that each would be at considerable hazard in the world of the other.

Consider a modern civilized man suddenly stranded in a primitive jungle, cut off from modern technology, and unaided by such primitive peoples as might exist in that environment. Although the civilized man might be a well educated individual, working in a complex profession such as accounting or electronics, it is doubtful whether his knowledge would be sufficient to merely sustain his life in an environment where primitive peoples have lived for untold generations. The civilized man might often have a choice of going hungry or eating wild vegetation which could prove either nutritious or poisonous. Finding a safe place to sleep at night would require more knowledge of the habits and capabilities of wild animals than he possessed. Avoiding snake bites, infected water, and predatory beasts would be among his other problems, and ordinary illnesses easily cured in a civilized community could be far more dangerous away from scientific medical knowledge and without the herbal and other folk remedies available to primitive man. In the same environment, the savage could not merely survive, but thrive, producing housing, clothing, and other amenities. But of course the primitive man's chances of survival if suddenly dropped down in the midst of New York or Los Angeles might also be bleak.

What then is the intellectual advantage of civilization over primitive savagery? It is not necessarily that each civilized man has more knowledge but that he requires far less. A primitive savage must be able to produce a wide variety of goods and services for himself, and a primitive community must repeatedly duplicate his knowledge and experience in innumerable contemporaries. By contrast, the civilized accountant or electronics expert, etc., need know little beyond his accounting or electronics. Food reaches his local supermarket through processes of which he is probably ignorant, if not misinformed. He lives in a home constructed by an involved process whose technical, economic, and political intricacies are barely suspected, much less known to him. His home is likely to be stocked with many devices working on mechanical and electrical principles which he neither understands theoretically nor can cope with as a practical matter. The chronic complaints and scandals about appliance, automobile, and other repair services testify to the civilized man's utter lack of knowledge of the everyday apparatus on which he depends. A primitive savage could never survive knowing so little about the production and use of spears, grass huts, or with such utter naivete about which berries are poisonous, which snakes dangerous, or the ways and means of coexistence in the same jungle with lions, tigers, and gorillas.

Civilization is an enormous device for economizing on knowledge. The time and effort (including costly mistakes) necessary to acquire knowledge are minimized through specialization, which is to say through drastic limitations on the amount of duplication of knowledge among the members of so ciety. A relative handful of civilized people know how to produce food, a different handful how to produce clothing, medicine, electronics, houses, etc. The huge costs saved by not having to duplicate given knowledge and experience widely through the population makes possible the higher development of that knowledge among the various subsets of people in the respective specialties.

THE MEANING OF "KNOWING"

Although the phrase "ignorant savage" may be virtually self-contradictory, it is a common conception, and one with a certain basis. The savage is wholly lacking in a narrowly specific kind of knowledge: abstract, systematized, knowledge of the sort generally taught in schools. Considering the enormous range of human knowledge, from intimate personal knowledge of specific individuals to the complexities of organizations and the subtleties of feelings, it is remarkable that one speck in this firmament should be the sole determinant of whether someone is considered knowledgeable or ignorant in general. Yet it is a fact of life that an unlettered peasant is considered ignorant, however much he may know about nature and man, and a Ph.D. is never considered ignorant, however barren his mind might be outside his narrow specialty and however little he grasps about human feelings or social complexities. We do sometimes refer to a "learned fool," but the notion of a "fool" implies deficiencies in the reasoning process (so that one is easily deceived or fooled), whereas it may actually be knowledge that is lacking, so that the "learned" person has simply not learned enough outside a certain sliver of human experience.

The point here is not simply to deplore the use of certain words. The point is to avoid having our own discussion of knowledge drastically shrunk, arbitrarily, and virtually without our realizing what is happening. We need to consider the full breadth of knowledge and its depth as well. That is, we need to consider not only how much we know, but how well we know it.

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." 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.

It is not necessary, at this point, to insist that the average amount of personal knowledge has declined over time. It is sufficient that we realize that conflicting trends are at work, and that the net result is an open question, rather than the foregone conclusion often assumed by those who depict an ever more knowledgeable society needing ever more years of schooling for its citizens. The march of science and technology does not imply growing intellectual complexity in the lives of most people. It often means the opposite. Matthew Brady required far more knowledge of photographic processes to take pictures with his cumbersome equipment during the Civil War than a modern photographer requires to operate his automated cameras. Science and technology lead to far more complexity in producing cameras and film today, but that growing complexity among a handful of technicians permits far more simplicity (and ignorance) in the actual use of modern photographic equipment and materials by a mass of people. Similar trends are discernible in a wide variety of fields. Automobiles are much more complex to build, but far simpler to operate, than in the days before automatic ignition, automatic transmissions, automatic chokes, self-sealing tires, etc. The technology available in the modern home reduces not only the time but the knowledge required by a modern homemaker. Even a mere man can now perform some chores for which girls and young women were once trained for years.

The growing complexity of science, technology, and organization does not imply either a growing knowledge or a growing need for knowledge in the general population. On the contrary, the increasingly complex processes tend to lead to increasingly simple and easily understood products. The genius of mass production is precisely in its making more products more accessible, both economically and intellectually to more people. Electronic calculators enable mathematical illiterates to perform operations which only highly trained people could perform with ease in earlier times. The printing press performs daily communications miracles beyond the ability of an army of the most highly trained and dedicated scribes of the Middle Ages.

Organizational progress parallels that in science and technology, permitting ultimate simplicity through intermediate complexity. An ordinary individual can easily arrange travel across thousands of miles through cities he has never seen by tapping the knowledge of travel agents and/or the American Automobile Association. Or he can weigh the relative merits of commercial products whose individual mechanisms are wholly unknown to him, by reading the (simple) results of highly complex tests conducted by general consumer magazines or by publications specializing in particular items such as audio equipment or motorcycles.

DECISION-MAKING UNITS

Knowledge may be enjoyed as a speculative diversion, but it is needed for decision making. The genesis of ideas and the authentication of knowledge are part of a continuous process which ultimately brings knowledge to bear on decisions—when the system is working ideally. In real life, the process may, of course, fail to bring knowledge to bear, when accurate knowledge is” available somewhere in the system. What matters, then, is the knowledge actually used at the decision-making point, not the knowledge in process of development or authentication, nor even the knowledge clearly apparent to particular individuals or organizations somewhere in the society. And while decisions may be thought of as made by specific individuals at specific points in space and time, the decision-making process is more usually structured so that various combinations of individuals repeatedly and habitually make certain classes of decisions, so that they form continuously functioning decision-making units, which may range from a married couple to a police department to a national government. A single individual may also form a decision-making unit for some purposes, or—more likely—he may be part of several decision-making units simultaneously, and the set of such institutions may change over time.

The emphasis on specific decision-making units is especially necessary in an era given to metaphors about an amorphous "society" deciding to do this or that: "Society" doesn't keep its air or water clean; "society" is punitive, permissive, frivolous, uptight, generous, uncaring, etc. While metaphors may sometimes be useful shortcuts, like other shortcuts they can also take us further away from our destination and delay or even prevent our arrival there.