Knowing To

Richard Ostrofsky
April, 2010

Classical philosophers conceived of knowledge as a matter of true and

false beliefs and statements. They surely knew about skill, but did not see
it as a form of knowledge – at any rate, not the sort of knowledge they
were interested in. They may have regarded it as beneath their dignity: the
achievement of 'rude mechanicals,' not deep thinkers like themselves. It
was only in the 20th century with Gilbert Ryle, that philosophers came to
draw a distinction between knowing-how (having a skill) and knowing-
that (having factual and theoretical knowledge about something.
Now, in this column, I want to suggest a third kind of knowledge, also
deserving of more recognition than it has received. I'll call it 'knowing-to':
knowing to use the toilet when you need to go; knowing to say 'please'
when you want something and 'thank you' when you are given it; knowing
to watch the traffic lights and look to the left first when you cross streets,
(except in England, where it's to the right), and to watch for cars coming
around the corner. These are the sorts of things that my grand daughter
(age almost 3) is learning now. By this point, she has a good many skills,
and quite a few facts at her disposal, but now she has to learn when to use
her skills and factual knowledge to get around in the world, deal with its
hazards and opportunities, and cope with the people around her. What she,
and her parents, are seeing is that knowing that it would be advantageous
or correct to do something, and knowing how to do it are not the same
thing as knowing to do it – quickly, accurately, automatically, as the
appropriate action at the time.
For example, soldiers are trained to 'hit the dirt' in a fire fight, or when
there is incoming artillery. It is explained, and they understand that it is
safer to be lying down than standing up when someone is shooting in your
direction. They may get some training in how to lie down quickly on
rough ground without injuring yourself. But the real training is just to do
it, without thinking, when the occasion demands. Similarly with saluting
and saying 'sir.' It's knowing to do it, not especially knowing how to do it
(though each army has its own special way), that makes a soldier.
The three types of knowledge are closely interelated, and often
acquired together. You are told that you should do something, possibly
with some explanation of why and some demonstration of how. You
practice and learn how to do it well, and finally you acquire the habit just
of doing it promptly on cue. But this third type of knowledge, knowing-to,
is more deeply and directly formative than skill or factual knowledge. The
former two kinds of knowledge are possessions of a sort – part of my
repertoire, things that I have at my disposal. But know-to is a matter of
habit, and of the culture I'm in. It possesses me, and has me at its call, not
the other way round. It's the things I know to do, in this posessed way, that
make me who I am: a man, not a woman; a non-practicing Jew (quite
different in so many ways from a close friend who is a lapsed Irish
Catholic); a Canadian, and not a Japanese.
I got to thinking about knowing-to in connection with a more elaborate
piece that I am writing now on human identity – how it is acquired, and
why so many people seem to be troubled or insecure in their identities
these days.The world is changing very fast, and all sorts of people, from
different cultural worlds, are being thrown together. We often find
ourselves dealing with people whose expectations and know-to are very
different from our own. Even if we know what to do in a given situation,
and have the necessary skills, we may not have the know-to that makes for
real cultural competence. Travelling in Mexico, for example, if I commit a
faux pas, someone used to dealing with foreigners and disposed to make
allowances will recognize that no rudeness was intended. But others may
not, with crossed signals and hostility as a result.
In August, 1967, shortly after Israel's 6-Day War, I visited the Old City
of Jerusalem, staying at a bed-and-breakfast that was owned and run by a
Palestinian whose city had been conquered and occupied by the Israeli
army just a few weeks before. He must have had mixed feelings about the
situation: On one hand, his side had just lost a war; on the other, he was
getting a whole lot of new business – of which I was part. After my sight-
seeing, I had a good dinner, slept well and walked out onto the veranda
early next morning to greet a beautiful summer day. There I found the
owner of the place, sitting on a cushion, smoking a magnificent hookah,
and enjoying the morning just as I was. Without thinking, and myself a
pipe smoker at the time, I made some admiring comment about that water-
pipe, which was really a work of art.
Now, on some level I knew quite well that this was a no-no, something
that tourists are warned not to do. In Arab society, if you compliment a
man on his neck tie, he will take it off and give it to you. If you tell him
that he has a beautiful wife, he may cut your throat because he doesn't
want to and can't give her to you. That culture fears envy – 'the Evil Eye' –
and so it is very rude to admire another's possession. Yet my own culture
works differently; and I was just trying to be friendly, in a particularly
stupid and inappropriate way. This man looked me in the eye, and
ceremoniously handed me the pipe's mouthpiece with an expression of
contempt and hatred that would have killed me on the spot – if looks could
kill. I knew that what I did was dumb. I surely knew how not to do it. But
I didn't know to keep my mouth shut.
One can get in a lot of trouble that way.