False Knowledge
False Knowledge
Is it true that all knowledge is knowledge of truths? Does the concept of knowledge entail that the proposition known is a true proposition? Certainly, we have been schooled to think so; and the idea is far from preposterous. But is the propositional content of the knowledge literally, universally, and necessarily true? We have to concede that not all knowledge involves justified belief: sometimes a creature can know without believing (many animals), and sometimes knowers have no justification for their knowledge (they know directly or intuitively or subconsciously). These requirements are too strong if taken strictly. However, it has generally been held that truth is non-negotiable: you can’t know what is false. But maybe this holds only for some or most knowledge; maybe some cases of knowledge are not beholden to truth. Perhaps we have been misled into a rash generalization by (allegedly) paradigm cases. In our thirst for generality, we have neglected certain peripheral or statistically rare cases. So, let’s explore some of the hinterlands of our cognitive life; we might turn up some unusual specimens (like black butterflies or crimson swans).[1]
First, we should pay attention to the concept of truth, which is not exactly uncontested. Truth, we say, is correspondence to fact—reality, actuality, existence. Truth is denoting an actually existing state of affairs, a real fact. There is no truth but reality makes it so, as Quine once said. All truth is literal truth. There is no your truth and my truth, just the truth. All truth is objective truth. So-called approximate truth is not really truth; it is falsehood that is close to the truth. Metaphors are not true, though they may allude to truth. To be true a proposition must describe a state of affairs in which certain objects really do have certain properties. We must not be sloppy with the concept of truth; truth is a strict concept. If someone uses the word “true” loosely, we might introduce the concept of “strict truth”, which obeys the principles just laid down (like “strict laws”). Then we could ask whether all knowledge requires strict truth. In any case, we have a notion of truth that meets the conditions laid down: good old-fashioned no-nonsense truth—realist truth, we might say (not imaginary truth, whatever that may be).
Now we must test our intuitions. Do I know that the Sun rises in the east (not the west or south)? If you ask me where the Sun rises, will I hesitate to answer or say “In the south, I believe”, or will I promptly and confidently reply “In the east, of course”? Surely, we would say that I have knowledge of where the Sun rises. I have observed that fact innumerable times. But is it true that the Sun rises in the east? No, because the Sun doesn’t rise at all—the Earth rotates. It is not a real objective fact that the Sun rises in the east; this is a kind of illusion. Do I know the color of my coffee cup? Do I know that it is blue not red or some other color? We would surely say so. But is it true that my cup is blue? Not if it has no color at all—that is, if color does not belong to physical things. Do I know that Great Britain is triangular (not square or circular)? Yes, I do know that, if I know anything. And yet that land mass is not really and truly triangular; this is a false statement that only approximates to a true statement. Do I know that my car didn’t move all day? Yes, but of course it is not true that it didn’t move, because the Earth moves. Do I know that the eyes are the windows to the soul? Yes, I do know that—but it is not literally true that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Granted, this metaphor is related to a true proposition (“the eyes are sources of information about someone’s state of mind”), but it isn’t really true; yet I can be said to know it. Do I know that my friend is bald? Yeah, I know this, but it isn’t really true—he has some hair on his head, quite a lot in fact. Do I know that Smith is a damned fool? Yes, but it isn’t true that he is damned. Do I know that Hamlet was prince of Denmark? Sure, but it is not true that he was (look at the history books). Truth is stricter than knowledge, more demanding. In addition to this, not all knowledge is propositional; there is also knowledge of things (as Russell insisted). Knowledge of things by acquaintance is not knowledge of propositional truths; it is not propositional at all. Nor is knowing-how a bearer of truth. The concept of knowledge, in its full generality, is not necessarily tied to the concept of truth; that is the case only in certain cases not in all. To know that p is not necessarily to know that it is true that p, since in many cases p is not true. You can be said to know what is false, though it may have to be tied to something true; but that doesn’t make it true. The connection to truth is indirect, if it exists at all. If we wanted to retain the old style of definition, we would need to say something like, “X knows that p only if p is connected to some proposition q such that q is true”.
What is going on here? Why doesn’t knowledge precisely track truth? The answer lies in the function of both concepts. The concept of knowledge is used to assess someone’s epistemic credentials; the concept of truth is used to characterize the objective facts of reality. You can be said to know if you are a reliable indicator of reality, if only a rough indicator; a proposition is true if (but only if) it corresponds exactly to how things objectively are. Truth requires strict isomorphism (to borrow from Wittgenstein); knowledge requires a useful degree of fit. The latter is pragmatic, but the former is metaphysical (mathematical almost). Truth is formalizable; knowledge is humanistic. Truth is strict; knowledge is lenient. Knowledge is about passing the exam; truth is about how things really and genuinely are. You are not going to make any practical errors by believing the Sun rises in the east (even literally), but it is quite false to assert that the Sun rises in the east. Eyes aren’t truly windows, though talking this way shows you know how eyes function in human interactions. That is why we aren’t too pedantic in our attributions of knowledge, but we can become quite schoolmasterly if pressed about the truth. It really wouldn’t matter if all knowledge were of literal falsehoods, so long as the corresponding beliefs didn’t land us in too much trouble; but we would still insist that truth is truth and falsehood is falsehood. To take a classic example, you can know that the Battle of Hastings took place in 1066 even if, strictly speaking, it began in 1065 on New Year’s Eve. True, we can’t get too lax about knowledge, but we are laxer than we are about truth, more forgiving.
This bears on the question of ethical knowledge. The possibility of ethical knowledge is not hostage to a thick notion of ethical truth. You can be said to know ethical propositions without those propositions being true. They might have no truth-value, being logically imperatival, and yet they could still be known: we can say “he knows that stealing is wrong” without being committed to the (literal) truth of “stealing is wrong”. For knowledge is not necessarily truth-entailing, though it may be reliability-entailing. You can make inferences about the epistemic credentials of the person in question, but there is no requirement to infer the truth of “stealing is wrong”. You can even hold an error theory about ethical statements while accepting that people have ethical knowledge. A person can know it’s wrong to steal even if “stealing is wrong” is false as a statement of fact or a pseudo-statement. Ethical knowledge does not imply ethical truth (though there may well be such a thing). If we put this together with other criticisms of the true-justified-belief account of knowledge, we can say that “X knows that p” is consistent with “it is false that p, X does not believe that p, and X has no justification for believing thatp”. These conditions are all too strong, though they may apply in many or most cases. Broadly speaking, they are too intellectualist. Not all knowledge is like scientific knowledge; some knowledge is more rough and tumble than that. Often all that is required is acquaintance with a suitable fact, not grasp of a literally true proposition. Propositional truth is strictly irrelevant to knowledge, broadly understood, as is language. Birds and bees know nothing of truth and propositions, yet they know.[2]
[1] I know, reader, you are skeptical—have I gone mad? False knowledge! But bear with me; the Earth once seemed self-evidently stationary.
[2] They perceive facts, record them in memory, and act on them, which is the essence of knowledge. Believing true propositions is strictly separate. Thus, you can know without believing truths. Humans see the Sun appearing in the east and remember what they have seen, thereby knowing where the Sun appears in the morning. They express this knowledge in the sentence “the Sun rises in the east”, with its accompanying proposition. This proposition is false, but that doesn‘t undermine their status as knowers of the relevant fact. Knowing facts is one thing, believing true propositions is another: see my “Perceptual Knowledge” and “Non-Perceptual Knowledge”.

The many pragmatically valid points made in this post strengthen the greater practical utility of the conception “empirical adequacy” in comparison to “truth”. Bas Van Fraassen is the philosopher of science who developed this concept and expressed it most eloquently in a few books starting from the 1980-ies. He also happens to be one of the strongest critics of scientific realism and its old predecessor metaphysical realism which has “one actual reality” as its most prominent ontological assumption. It is the assumption that underlies naive realism in philosophy of perception an in our native folk psychological thinking mode you are discussing in a few recent posts.
I suppose we could replace truth with empirical adequacy in the definition of knowledge, and then truth would not be a desideratum.
I find the way philosophers talk about things to be puzzling. (I’m not complaining.) Why not focus on a definite logical process as an empirical phenomenon, like the revision of hypotheses? Scientists do it all the time. E.g., the hypothesis could be an attempted explanation of a puzzling empirical phenomenon, where the proposition attempts to describe a dependency relation between events in the world, and of course, including the attempt to get it right. The revision process is open-ended, but the scientist will stop when they have what they need for the moment. How does this process work, how do scientists go about revising a hypothesis such that the new one is more accurate than the previous one? A definite case could validate your image of the world “impinging on the soul” in surprising ways, like in the role of general systems, like the categories of the language being used, including technical terms, which are all involved in the revision process, along with the causal laws accepted provisionally as theoretical principles. Science is at war with conventional thinking, and nostrums like “the sun rises in the east” are good enough for everyday purposes, but not good enough for a theoretical understanding.