Cultivating Perspicacity: Certainty and the Ethics of Knowing

B.M. Scott

18 August 2025

Cultivating Perspicacity: Certainty and the Ethics of Knowing

To cultivate perspicacity, as the title of this blog would suggest—viz., clear-sighted insight and discernment—requires more than the command of facts; it requires a commitment to rigorous inquiry and an openness to challenge. It is a persistent error - and one regrettably nursed by segments of contemporary culture - to suppose that intellectual prowess is synonymous with certainty or the crude collection of facts. The finest philosophical traditions tell a far more subtle story - viz., intelligence flourishes where doubt and inquiry are not merely tolerated, but embraced, and where the presence of unanswered questions is seen as a mark of vitality rather than of deficiency. Mortimer J. Adler and Charles Van Doren, in their influential treatise How to Read a Book, articulated a view of learning that is as rigorous as it is humble, insisting that the true measure of intellect lies not in the mere possession of facts but in sustained, candid engagement with one’s own ignorance. The genuinely intelligent mind is not content to collect answers; it persistently seeks to interrogate, refine, and expand upon them - aware that the boundaries of comprehension are always provisional. Indeed, too much comfort with certainty cultivates complacency and stifles the very habits of curiosity upon which intellectual progress depends. The most fertile intellectual environment is one in which certainty is questioned, dialogue is encouraged, and openness to new evidence becomes a foundational virtue.

Adler and Van Doren’s central teaching is that reading—if it is genuinely to cultivate understanding—is an active, interrogative pursuit. A reader who passively accepts authoritative assertions, or who uncritically absorbs what appears self-evident, risks missing the heart of true engagement. “Coming to terms” with a text means grappling with the logic of its claims, dissecting the grounds upon which those claims rest, and generously entertaining objections—whether real or imagined—that might unsettle even the most ornately reasoned arguments. This approach transforms reading from rote consumption to dynamic intellectual exchange, in which the reader participates actively in building, testing, and occasionally discarding the ideas encountered. Intelligence, thus conceived, is not a badge of certainty but the capacity for relentless questioning and a readiness to revise one’s positions when evidence falters. Only through such rigorous questioning can readers and thinkers move beyond the superficial and begin to cultivate genuine understanding.

Contemporary life provides many examples of certainty’s limitations. For instance, the rapid spread of misinformation on social media is often catalyzed by public figures who speak with unwavering conviction, even when their claims lack substantiation. Their followers, drawn by this seeming confidence, are more inclined to accept and repeat these assertions without pause. In contrast, communities that promote fact-checking, encourage debate, and nurture curiosity develop more resilient and informed collective perspectives. Another instructive example is found in the sphere of scientific progress: for decades, the medical community was convinced that peptic ulcers stemmed from stress or dietary causes, until the research of Barry Marshall and Robin Warren upended this consensus by identifying a bacterial origin. Their willingness to challenge prevailing wisdom—despite skepticism and dismissal—ultimately transformed standards of diagnosis and care. In both domains, intelligence and wisdom are revealed not in the defense of established certainties, but in the capacity to question, revise, and remain open to genuine discovery.

Wisdom, as distinct from intelligence, is discovered in the deliberate recognition of the limits of one’s understanding. Adler and Van Doren are unsparing in their observation: “The person who is content with what he already knows is unlikely ever to learn more than he knows now.” Those who possess wisdom do not cling to certainty as a simple comfort; instead, they hold every answer they possess beneath the perpetual shadow of deeper questioning. Wisdom must be understood not as an achievement to be possessed, but as an ongoing discipline - manifesting in the refusal to equate being right with finding what is right. It depends upon a character open to correction, receptive to alternative explanations, and alive to the complexity—and sometimes the opacity—of the world as it is. Such an outlook resists the temptation to simplify or rush to conclusion - preferring instead the slow, dialogical process of refinement and learning. This epistemic humility is neither a retreat into indecision nor an abdication of reason. Rather, it is the highest mark of intellectual maturity. The willingness to dwell within uncertainty, to challenge one’s own ideas and accept the possibility of error, is what preserves the conditions for growth both individually and collectively. In science, a theory’s worth is measured by its openness to falsification and revision. In public debate, meaningful innovation is sparked by the critical sifting of received opinion; and in education, teaching students how to question and reflect activates genuine intellectual development. Adler and Van Doren’s analytic roadmap - which prizes the careful dissection of argument and the reconstructing of meaning - properly illustrates that thinking well is not a static assertion of infallibility, but a tireless labor of discipline and ongoing revision. In essence, the best minds recognize that learning is - above all else - an ongoing process.

The practical lessons of this disposition are manifold and relevant across spheres. Organizations that prize certainty above critique risk stagnation, groupthink, and insularity - undermining both morale and adaptability. Teachers who confuse performance with wisdom may inadvertently dull students’ intellectual appetite, discouraging exploration and independent thought. Citizens who seek refuge in moral or factual certitude bankrupt the quality of public discourse - fostering polarization and undermining the collective search for better solutions. In every context, progress is achieved not by celebrating what is already known, but by persistently seeking to shed light on the obscured (as well as the nuanced) and to challenge the agreed-upon. It is through habitual inquiry - rather than static answers - that communities and individuals alike expand the boundaries of the possible.

Certainty promises comfort, but it is inquiry that delivers growth. To seek wisdom is to challenge the boundaries of one’s own understanding, to embrace discomfort as a sign that learning is alive and unfinished. What matters is not how much we already know, but how we question, test, and revise the knowledge we possess. The deepest intelligence lies in the courage to trade the solace of final answers for the restless investigation that brings insight—and, sometimes, transformation. True wisdom demands that we relinquish the vanity of being right and instead pursue, with patience and humility, the truths that lie just beyond our certainties. In the end, it is the aspirant - not the gatekeeper of settled knowledge - that advances our collective intellectual horizon.

Invitation for Reflection

The foregoing analysis has sought to approach our understanding of knowledge with both rigor and humility. Yet the practices explored here gain their full significance only when they are taken up personally questioned, tested, and lived. The following questions for reflection are not intended as a mere checklist, but as a starting point for further reflection and purposeful conversation: 

- Where in your own thinking or professional life do you notice a tendency to mistake certainty for insight? In what ways might this constrain your growth or understanding?

- Can you recall a moment when your conviction was constructively unsettled by new evidence, thoughtful critique, or dialogue with others? What did this experience reveal about your readiness to reconsider and revise your views?

- Are there particular habits—such as deference to authority, preference for closure, or reluctance to admit “I don’t know”—that silently shape your approach to information, study, or conversation?

- How often do you invite critical engagement with your ideas, or seek out perspectives different from your own—in reading, discourse, or everyday decision-making?

- In what ways might you become more intentional in resisting the comfort of settled answers and embracing the rigors of inquiry, especially when circumstances reward quick conclusions?

- Consider a setting—be it a classroom, workplace, or community—where openness to questioning produced collective growth or innovation. What made such an environment possible, and how might this ethos be cultivated elsewhere?

- If wisdom is indeed a discipline rather than a possession, what practical steps can you take to more consciously welcome correction, remain receptive to complexity, and nurture curiosity in yourself and others?

- What small change - in either your reading, dialogue, or self-scrutiny - could help you shift from passively “knowing” to actively seeking, questioning, and understanding?

Further Reading

Adler, Mortimer J., and Charles Van Doren. How to Read a Book: The Classic Guide to

Intelligent Reading. Touchstone, 1972.

Montaigne, Michel de. The Complete Essays. Translated by M. A. Screech,

Penguin, 2003.

Russell, Bertrand. The Problems of Philosophy. Oxford UP, 1998.

Socrates (as reported by Plato). Apology. In The Trial and Death of Socrates,

translated by G. M. A. Grube, Hackett, 2001.