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On Being Certain: Believing You Are Right Even When You're Not
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Product Description
You recognize when you know something for certain, right? You "know" the sky is blue, or that the traffic light had turned green, or where you were on the morning of September 11, 2001&mdashyou know these things, well, because you just do. In On Being Certain , neurologist Robert Burton shows that feeling certain—feeling that we know something&mdash- is a mental sensation, rather than evidence of fact. An increasing body of evidence suggests that feelings such as certainty stem from primitive areas of the brain and are independent of active, conscious reflection and reasoning. In other words, the feeling of knowing happens to us; we cannot make it happen. Bringing together cutting-edge neuroscience, experimental data, and fascinating anecdotes, Robert Burton explores the inconsistent and sometimes paradoxical relationship between our thoughts and what we actually know. Provocative and groundbreaking, On Being Certain challenges what we know (or think we know) about the mind, knowledge, and reason.
Product Details
- Amazon Sales Rank: #3413 in Books
- Published on: 2009-03-17
- Original language: English
- Binding: Paperback
- 272 pages
Editorial Reviews
Review
“In his brilliant new book, Burton systematically and convincingly shows that certainty is a mental state, a feeling like anger or pride that can help guide us, but that doesn't dependably reflect objective truth… In the polarizing atmosphere of the 2008 election, On Being Certain ought to be required reading for every candidate -- and for every citizen.”--ForbesLife
“What do we do when we recognize that a false certainty feels the same as certainty about the sky being blue? A lesser guide might get bogged down in nail-biting doubts about the limits of knowledge. Yet Burton not only makes clear the fascinating beauty of this tangled terrain, he also brings us out the other side with a clearer sense of how to navigate. It's a lovely piece of work; I'm all but certain you'll like it. “--David Dobbs, author of Reef Madness; Charles Darwin, Alexander Agassiz, and the Meaning of Coral
“Burton has a great talent for combining wit and insight in a way both palatable and profound.”--Johanna Shapiro PhD, professor of Family Medicine at UC Irvine School of Medicine
“A new way of looking at knowledge that merits close reading by scientists and general readers alike.”--Kirkus
“This could be one of the most important books of the year. With so much riding on ‘certainty,’ and so little known about how people actually reach a state of certainty about anything, some plain speaking from a knowledgeable neuroscientist is called for. If Gladwell's Blink was fascinating but largely anecdotal, Burton's book drills down to the real science behind snap judgments and other decision-making.”-- Howard Rheingold, futurist and author of Smart Mobs
“A fascinating read. Burton’s engaging prose takes us into the deepest corners of our subconscious, making us question our most solid contentions. Nobody who reads this book will walk away from it and say ‘I know this for sure’ ever again.”--Sylvia Pagán Westphal, science reporter, The Wall Street Journal
“Burton provides a compelling and though-provoking case that we should be more skeptical about our beliefs. Along the way, he also provides a novel perspective on many lines of research that should be of interest to readers who are looking for a broad introduction to the cognitive sciences.”--Seed Magazine
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
I am stuck in an obligatory neighborhood cocktail party during the first week of the U.S. invasion of Iraq. A middle-aged, pin-striped lawyer announces that he’d love to be in the front lines when the troops reach Baghdad. “Door-to-door fighting,” he says, puffing up his chest. He says he’s certain he could shoot an Iraqi soldier, although he’s never been in a conflict bigger than a schoolyard brawl.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’d have trouble shooting some young kid who was being forced to fight.”
“Not me. We’re down to dog-eat-dog.”
He nods at his frowning wife, who’s anti-invasion. “All’s fair in love and war.” Then back to me. “You’re not one of those peacenik softies, are you?”
“It wouldn’t bother you to kill someone?”
“Not a bit.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
He’s a neighbor and I can’t escape. So I tell him one of my father’s favorite self-mocking stories.
During the 1930s and ’40s, my father had a pharmacy in one of the tougher areas of San Francisco. He kept a small revolver hidden beneath the back cash register. One night, a man approached, pulled out a knife, and demanded all the money in the register. My father reached under the counter, grabbed his gun, and aimed it at the robber.
“Drop it,” the robber said, his knife at my father’s throat. “You’re not going to shoot me, but I will kill you.”
For a moment it was a Hollywood standoff, mano a mano. Then my father put down his gun, emptied out the register, and handed over the money.
“What’s your point?” the lawyer asks. “Your father should have shot him.”
“Just the obvious,” I say. “You don’t always know what you’re going to do until you’re in the moment.”
“Sure you do. I know with absolute certainty that I’d shoot anyone who was threatening me.”
“No chance of any hesitation?”
“None at all. I know myself. I know what I would do. End of discussion.”
For simplicity, I have chosen to lump together the closely allied feelings of certainty, rightness, conviction, and correctness under the all-inclusive term, the feeling of knowing. Whether or not these are separate sensations or merely shades or degrees of a common feeling isn’t important. What they do share is a common quality: Each is a form of metaknowledge—knowledge about our knowledge—that qualifies or colors our thoughts, imbuing them with a sense of rightness or wrongness. When focusing on the phenomenology (how these sensations feel), I’ve chosen to use the term the feeling of knowing (in italics). However, when talking about the underlying science, I’ll use knowing (in italics). Later I will expand this category to include feelings of familiarity and realness—qualities that enhance our sense of correctness.
Anyone who’s been frustrated with a difficult math problem has appreciated the delicious moment of relief when an incomprehensible equation suddenly makes sense. We “see the light.” This aha is a notification from a subterranean portion of our mind, an involuntary all-clear signal that we have grasped the heart of a problem. It isn’t just that we can solve the problem; we also “know” that we understand it.
Most feelings of knowing are far less dramatic. We don’t ordinarily sense them as spontaneous emotions or moods like love or happiness; rather they feel like thoughts—elements of a correct line of reasoning. We learn to add 2+2. Our teacher tells us that 4 is the correct answer. Yes, we hear a portion of our mind say. Something within us tells us that we “know” that our answer is correct. At this simplest level of understanding, there are two components to our understanding—the knowledge that 2+2=4, and the judgment or assessment of this understanding. We know that our understanding that 2+2=4 is itself correct.
The feeling of knowing is also commonly recognized by its absence. Most of us are all too familiar with the frustration of being able to operate a computer without having any “sense” of how the computer really works. Or learning physics despite having no “feeling” for the rightness of what you’ve learned. I can fix a frayed electrical cord, yet am puzzled by the very essence of electricity. I can pick up iron filings with a magnet without having the slightest sense of what magnetism “is.”
At a deeper level, most of us have agonized over those sickening “crises of faith” when firmly held personal beliefs are suddenly stripped of a visceral sense of correctness, rightness, or meaning. Our most considered beliefs suddenly don’t “feel right.” Similarly, most of us have been shocked to hear that a close friend or relative has died unexpectedly, and yet we “feel” that he is still alive. Such upsetting news often takes time to “sink in.” This disbelief associated with hearing about a death is an example of the sometimes complete disassociation between intellectual and felt knowledge.
To begin our discussion of the feeling of knowing, read the following excerpt at normal speed. Don’t skim, give up halfway through, or skip to the explanation. Because this experience can’t be duplicated once you know the explanation, take a moment to ask yourself how you feel about the paragraph. After reading the clarifying word, reread the paragraph. As you do so, please pay close attention to the shifts in your mental state and your feeling about the paragraph.
A newspaper is better than a magazine. A seashore is a better place than the street. At first it is better to run than to walk. You may have to try several times. It takes some skill, but it is easy to learn. Even young children can enjoy it. Once successful, complications are minimal. Birds seldom get too close. Rain, however, soaks in very fast. Too many people doing the same thing can also cause problems. One needs lots of room. If there are no complications, it can be very peaceful. A rock will serve as an anchor. If things break loose from it, however, you will
Customer Reviews
Certainty is chemistry
This book was full of 'ah ha' moments. Things which, once thought about, are surprising and important, but which in some ways are so obvious that they literally go without saying. So it is that being certain about something (or doubtful, for that matter) is akin to an emotional response to a belief - which in the end is a matter of brain chemistry. Although we sometimes become certain of something because we have weighed all the evidence, it can also be so just because we believed it for a long time, or heard from someone we trusted at the time or even just because we have a chemical imbalance in the brain (the lunatic who believes she is Napoleon). This is a scientific investigation of the nature of certainty, taking in neuroscience, evolution and literature. The book itself is literate and easily readable, although I found myself stopping and thinking every few sentences because of the implications and associations of each paragraph. This book is well worth reading two or three times.
Brilliant Insights into the Limits of the Human Mind
We all know that our minds are limited. I cannot understand string theory; others might be smart enough, but I am not. And no one can perform calculations as quickly as even an old computer. Our minds are not infinite.
This book is about an even more fundamental limitation on our minds: we do not even know when we are right about something. The feeling of being correct is not the same as actually being correct. The two usually happen at the same time, but not always. Sometimes, we have the right answer, but it does not feel right, and we have no confidence in it. Other times, we are certain that we have the right answer, but we are wrong. As a result, it is impossible to be completely rational, no matter how hard we try.
If you've read and enjoyed Consciousness Explained and How the Mind Works, you'll like this one, too. The concepts are difficult, but the author is good at explaining them in plain English, without dumbing it down. Five stars!
