The “B” Word, or How do you know what you say you know

I always encourage my students to use the “B” word in their speaking and writing – “Because.” When you act as a consumer or as a voter, your opinion is very important, and you don’t have to explain it to anyone. However, when you act as a member of a professional community, no one gives a rat’s ass about your opinion, unless you can actually show that it is based on something. You can provide empirical evidence, or a good argument, but you need to have the “B” word there somewhere. Your opinion or belief means nothing if you cannot convince other people that it is somehow better than other people’s opinions. And not all kinds of convincing will do; only those the community accepted as reasonable.

That’s my usual routine speech. What I am not telling my students is that their professors do not necessarily do this in their own professional community. Many university conversations, especially those involving difference in opinion, very often degenerate into proving one’s point by insinuating that one has the authority over the matter and thus one’s opinion should not be questioned. The implication is always “trust me, I know.” Well, another mantra for my students is this: “Don’t trust anyone without questioning; especially don’t trust me.”

How do you know what you know? And don’t tell me you know this with your guts, or this is your philosophy, or that you had this long experience in the field. As a philosopher, I am especially offended by statements of beliefs without any justifications. If you think a naked belief is philosophy, you’re sadly mistaken. Sorry, I don’t buy crap, and I won’t buy it from you, whoever you are. Now, people also imply that if you do not believe their opinion, you somehow question their truthfulness or integrity or their qualifications. This is a subtle psychological manipulation, a form of relational violence. OK, I like and respect you, but why should I believe every opinion you might have? And if I don’t believe what you just said to be true, why should it affect our personal relationships? After all, we deal with professional matters, and must obey the rules of rational professional discourse.

For example, some people can call a certain position on program revision a deep commitment to the values of liberal education, while others call the same position a cynical turf grab. Who is to say who is right? Just renaming the position does not change its substance. Or, some say cooperating teachers won’t like this or that configuration of our field experience, while others say they won’t mind. Who is right? Can you ever know every teacher’s preference? Can we base our decision making on gut feelings, or even on conversations with a few teachers? How representative was your sample? How did you frame the question? Was your instrument valid and reliable; are your findings generalizable? As researchers, we all know how important these questions are. As members of this community, we routinely ignore them. All in exchange for feeling good and righteous, for that fleeting sense of having authority no one dares to question. It’s like this: “I just gave you the shakiest piece of data, but if you disagree, you’re calling me a liar.”

In a professional community, we would need to agree ahead of time what sort of evidence and arguments will prove one side or the other correct. We would marshal logic, research, and other good evidence to support each position. We would openly agree that good data is missing (which is true for %90 percent of decisions we make), and figure out the likely outcomes of decisions given the imperfect body of evidence and reasoning. Instead, people dress their frivolous opinions contaminated by personal interest in colorful garb of rhetoric. It’s all about concern for students; it’s what best for them. It’s because of the state or national standards. Oh, this is what any educator with any values would have supported. It’s for justice. But how do you know what you know? How do you think this is best for students? All these questions are rarely asked, because people get caught in the rhetorical battles, and respond to rhetoric with more sophisticated rhetoric. Hence battles without substance, where egos have overshadowed the issues and concessions are not an option. I like to cut to the chase and lay it out on the table, which is not always wise, and gets me in trouble sometimes. But I’ll take the risk, because there is nothing more torturous than a conversation where real motives are never discloused.

When entering a dialogue, one has to allow a possibility of changing one’s mind. If certain beliefs are too deep seated, or too dear to you, an honorable thing would be to disclose that in advance, apologize and say it is non-negotiable. That would save everyone time and effort wasted on conversations with predefined outcomes. The very act of entering a conversation implicitly states willingness to change one’s mind; otherwise it is deceitful and dishonest. If everyone know there are irreconcilable differences, then it is just easier to see who has more power, and whose opinion shall prevail without the empty dialogues leading to nowhere. However, once a conversation begins, all participants must have a shared sense about what sort of reasons will be acknowledged as valid, what sorts of arguments all parties accept as convincing.