A great deal of energy is spent evaluating evidence in critical thinking  classes.

The evidence we possess has special salience in our thinking because it is visible, right in front of us. Nassim Taleb, however, reminds us that some of the most important evidence is the evidence we do not have because it is not only unavailable, but also will remain unavailable.

When, as part of critical thinking, we make a habit of inquiring about missing information that would affect the quality of an argument, we do so in major part because we believe the request is a genuine one, in the sense that we fully expect the requested information to be revealed so that we can make a more reflective decision. But suppose there is evidence we will never obtain despite its importance for a thoughtful evaluation of an argument.

While uncertainty pains our humanistic urges to control our world, the discomfort associated with the impenetrability of silent evidence makes nary a dent in its enormous significance. Critical thinking requires humility, and few things teach us as effectively about the need for that attitude as does our interaction with silent evidence.

Despite the efforts of many authors with a dream of a best seller firmly embedded in their consciousness, no one has been able to convince us that he or she can describe the experience of being dead. Yet, the details of that experience, if one dare call it an experience, might have substantial effects on the way we live our lives. Similarly, no one will ever be able to capture what we have lost because prospective female poets and scientists were never freed from a patriarchal history.  We can guess, but the evidence is forever silent.

In The King and I, the king sings:

When I was a boy
World was better spot.
What was so was so,
What was not was not.
Now I am a man;
World have changed a lot.
Some things nearly so,
Others nearly not.
As a student, I have studied to procure,
In my head are many facts.
Of which I wish I was more certain I was sure!

There are times I almost think
I am not sure of what I absolutely know.
Very often find confusion
In conclusion I concluded long ago
In my mind are many facts that

In the course of this brief lyrical turn, the king takes us through the predictable sense of comfort when during our youth, we have little need for critical thinking because we KNOW far too much to be distracted by inquisitiveness and conflicting perspectives.

Then, one would hope, that we move to the King’s “confusion.”  The cognitive discomfort that suffuses our sense of the world, as we encounter “difference” and perspectival diversity may not be pleasureful at Aristotle’s appetitive level of happiness, but the effect on our willingness to listen and consider is a gift.

The dichotomization of “yes” and “no” gives way, as the king says so well, to matters of degree.  Some things are nearly so; others nearly not.

We may never reach a point where certitude loses its beguiling security, but we can through force of will and logic tolerate confusion and even welcome it as a platform for learning.

What does it mean when we read or hear that a firm is financially fit, growing, or flush with earnings? The terms on the surface look simple enough.

Take a look at the following link to an article in the November 2, 2009 Business Week.

http://www.businessweek.com/magazine/content/09_44/b4153000349169.htm

Goodwill, accounts payable and accounts receivable are terms of art. A stroke on a keyboard can change the public image of a firm’s performance and prospects.

Just one more good source to encourage skepticism and alertness to ambiguity.

Finding ambiguity as a prelude* to critical thinking is fun and relatively easy as long as we examine only those materials containing arguments we dislike.

But to challenge ourselves and our students, select a political speech that you admire as an exercise in identifying ambiguity.  In my case, for example, I might choose Franklin Roosevelt’s call for a 2nd Bill of Rights.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UwUL9tJmypI

This clip reveals Roosevelt’s masterful selection of metaphors and frames to propose legislation that was and is quite radical for typical Americans, then and now. Roosevelt was far out front of contemporary marketers and linguists who counsel political parties to select their words based on an understanding of how those words resonate and construct imagery in the minds of typical Americans. See, for example:Frank Luntz, Words that Work and George Leikof, Don’t Think of an Elephant.

However, at each instance when President Roosevelt discusses the objective of particular pieces of legislation, his speech meshes effectiveness with what I can only presume is intentional ambiguity. He knows there are multiple conflicting meanings of those value-laden terms that he uses to herald the needs and objectives for his proposed 2nd Bill of Rights. He also knows that wrapping his political inclinations in certain ambiguities maximizes their emotional credibility (if that construct does not improperly intermix cerebral hemispheres).

Identifying this artfulness in his argument is harder work for me because I embrace his argument. But what a fruitful exercise for our students to watch us struggle with a reluctance to point out how intellectually sloppy the President is being.

*I say “prelude” because the discovery of ambiguity is not by itself a critical thinking move. To transform the discovery of ambiguity into a productive instance of evaluation, we need to suggest alternative definitions that have different dispositive effects on the reasoning.  In other words, if the ambiguity does not alter the meaning of the reasoning, regardless of what form  the ambiguous word or words take, then the ambiguity is more an annoyance than a flaw in the reasoning.

Why, I wonder, do we speak and write as if words have a single meaning? While it would doubtlessly be tiresome to clarify each of our words.  What reader or listener would have the tolerance to endure such slow-moving discourse?  But we surely need to clarify and seek clarification for key words in our reasoning. Linguists, cognitive psychologists, and our own introspection should have convinced us by now that a word is but a chord struck on the imagination.

And how do we identify key words? What are they key to? To answer that question we should consider why we use words in the first place. There are multiple accurate answers to the question.  We may be simply enjoying the thrill of utterance or desiring to create a vivid description of something that has captured our attention. But critical thinkers are always alert to the possibility that words are used to present an argument, i.e., to move us toward a belief or projected decision.

When words are a component of an argument, the multiple meanings of certain words are crucial to an accurate understanding of what we are being asked to believe.  For example, were I to urge you to read a certain book and provide as a reason that the book will enhance your happiness, you could certainly amuse yourself by asking me what I meant by “read” or “enhance.”  And if you did so, I would need to grant that you may be asking a relevant question. But regardless of what I mean by those words, the key to the argument is a shared understanding of “happiness.” 

Play with alternative meanings of happiness (And a comparison of the meaning in Bhutan and the U.S. is a good place to start.), and your eagerness to turn even the first page in the recommmended book will vary dramatically.  The very force of my argument depends on your desire to pursue the kind of happiness that I see attached to the experience of reading the book.  Even were we to have common definitions of happiness, there would still be multiple reasons why you might not read the book. (Perhaps, the last 4 I suggested were all duds.) But unless you are just curious about conflicting forms of happiness, you are much more likely to read the recommended book after I have defined happiness in a way that meshs comfortably with your own definition.

It is so tempting to think those with whom we communicate share our definitions. A more realistic assumption would be that they do not.

*Thanks to Jesse Griggs for the cartoon.