I read this book as an undergraduate philosophy student when it was published, and I give it four stars because it is well written, entertaining, and a thorough, rigorous, and unflinching defense of scepticism. If you subscribe to the metaphysical dogmas of "ordinary language analysis" and fellow-traveler schools of epistemology, you will get a kick out of this book.



As a guide to the issues of what we know and how we know it, I would class this book as an excellent example of why so many people think philosophers are over-educated idiots wasting time by blowing hot air. The book is totally within the confines of a certain way of doing theory of knowledge, the dominant way among English-speaking philosophers. That doesn't mean it's the RIGHT way! As with much in the history of philosophy, I believe that this topic will gradually be addressed by more scientific approaches (physics used to be philosophy, too!) and this abstract, logic-based analysis will give way to real investigation and experiment. This means that we will begin to redefine the term "knowledge" by examining how organisms that appear to know things actually get that way.



Like most philosophers, Unger assumes he knows what knowledge is, and he goes on to demonstrate how we all "know" nothing. Perhaps so, but hardly relevant if the definition of "knowledge" is arbitrary or wrong to begin with. The traditional dichotomy between knowledge-belief isn't germane if you examine the question from the standpoint of evolution and neurobiology.



This book, like most treatments of the topic, assumes that animals know nothing (Can a dog know how to do a trick? Is a dog subject to this sceptical nihilism? If there is no knowledge, why does a dog "learn" to do tricks anyway?) and that the only kind of knowledge worth talking about is logical propositions, e.g., "There is a table there." I recall making the objection in my class that Unger's arguments were irrelevant regarding the statement, "I know how to walk," and being treated to a condescending reply along the lines of, "Well, that's not what we're talking about here." Maybe we should be.