What’s Obvious Tells Many a Lie

What’s obvious is often the worst thing to trust. The obvious things are the ones we don’t think about because we don’t have to, which is the whole point of being obvious. That’s why our most recalcitrant mistakes, the ones hardest to spot, hide themselves in what’s obvious.

But we need the obvious. Not only does the obvious let us get on with our day, it is a linchpin of knowledge. The point of knowledge from its beginning has been to identify what’s most trustworthy, so we know what we can build on without having to start from scratch.

This is reflected in the basic characteristics of knowledge in the West—knowledge consists of beliefs that are true and that we are justified in believing. Such beliefs are our bedrock—you can walk across it without hesitation or even a need to look down.

Settled Knowledge

At least that’s the case for settled  knowledge, epitomized by the fact that the sun comes up every morning, even though, ever since Copernicus, we’ve realized it’s more true to think that the sun doesn’t come up so much that Earth turns. (Yes, you lovable nerds, it’s more  true and not absolutely  true, because in a relativistic universe, there is no privileged point of view.) “Settled” means that when the Flat Earthers criticize you for saying Earth is a sphere that spins on its axis, you are under no obligation to check in with your belief system. The point of settled knowledge is to keep us from having to think about things we don’t have to. As a bonus, it keeps us from feeling we have to engage with every Flat Earther we meet.

Settled knowledge is, in essence, a strategic use of shortcuts, which is an excellent strategy given our limited time and capacities. But there are at least three problems with this particular type of shortcut.

First, history keeps showing us that some settled knowledge is wrong, or at least suboptimal. That’s what we call progress.

Second, what’s settled and obvious can not only hide errors in our settled knowledge, it can also obscure interesting aspects of what we take for granted.

For example, it’s obvious that good decisions require good information, or as we learned to say in the Age of Computing, “Garbage in, garbage out.” This is so obvious that in many groups, you can say, “GIGO,” and no one asks if you need a sip of water or what’s so funny. While there’s truth in GIGO, its obviousness obscures the truth that whether information is garbage depends on the task at hand. It should lead us to ask why we accepted bad information as if it were good. The GIGO excuse should lead us to rethink the processes by which we generate and rely on information.

Here’s a third issue with obviousness: Settling ideas to the extent that they become obvious limits the possibilities that we’ll even consider ... at least until a glitch in the Matrix of the Obvious is so glaring, we have to sigh and commit to patching it.

For example, to many of us it seems obvious that it’s good to encourage your kid by telling them that they’re smart or talented when they do something that’s a bit smart or talented. There’ s been some pushback because that praise becomes meaningless if it’s offered too easily. But a second type of objection arose about 20 years ago, influenced by Carol Dweck’ s 2006 book Mindset: The New Psychology of Success, which says we should praise children not for their traits (such as intelligence or creativity), but for their efforts.