Two men are riding a commuter train. One is, as the expression goes, fat, dumb, and happy. Though he lives the most meaningless sort of life, a trivial routine of meals, work, gossip, television, and sleep, he nevertheless feels quite content with himself and is at home in the world. The other commuter, who lives the same kind of life, feels quite lost to himself. He knows that something is dreadfully wrong. More than that, he is in anxiety; he suffers acutely, yet he does not know why. What is wrong? Does he not have all the goods of life?
If now a stranger approaches the first commuter, takes him aside, and says to him earnestly, “My friend, I know your predicament; come with me; I have news of the utmost importance for you”—then the commuter will reject the communication out of hand. For he is in no predicament, or if he is, he does not know it, and so the communication strikes him as nonsense.
The second commuter might very well heed the stranger’s “Come!” At least he will take it seriously. Indeed it may well be that he has been waiting all his life to hear this “Come!”
The canon of acceptance by which one rejects and the other heeds the “Come!” is its relevance to his predicament. The man who is dying of thirst will not heed news of diamonds. The man at home, the satisfied man, he who does not feel himself to be in a predicament, will not heed good news. The objective-minded man, he who stands outside and over against the world as its knower, will not heed news of any kind, good or bad — in so far as he remains objective-minded. The castaway will heed news relevant to his predicament. Yet the relevance of the news is not in itself sufficient warrant.
A second canon of acceptance of news is the credentials of the newsbearer. Such credentials make themselves known through the reputation or through the mien of the newsbearer. The credentials of the bearer of knowledge sub specie aeternitatis are of no matter to the scientist. It doesn’t matter whether Wagner, in writing his music, is a rascal or whether Lavoisier, in speaking of oxygen, is a thief. The knowledge sentence carries or fails to carry its own credentials in so far as it is in some fashion affirmable. If the newsbearer is my brother or friend and if I know that he knows my predicament and if he approaches me with every outward sign of sobriety and good faith, and if the news is of a momentous nature, then I have reason to heed the news. If the newsbearer is known to me as a knave or a fool, I have reason to ignore the news.
If the newsbearer is a stranger to me, he is not necessarily disqualified as a newsbearer. In some cases indeed his disinterest may itself be a warrant, since he does not stand to profit from the usual considerations of friendship, family feelings, and so on. His sobriety or foolishness, good faith or knavery may be known through his mien. Even though he may bring news of high relevance to my predicament, yet a certain drunkenness of spirit — enthusiasm in the old sense of the word — is enough to disqualify him and lead me to suspect that he is concerned not with my predicament but only with his own drunkenness. If a Jehovah’s Witness should ring my doorbell and announce the advent of God’s kingdom, I recognize the possibly momentous character of his news but must withhold acceptance because of a certain lack of sobriety in the newsbearer.*
If the newsbearer is a stranger and if he meets the requirements of good faith and sobriety and, extraordinarily enough, knows my predicament, then the very fact of his being a stranger is reason enough to heed the news. For if a perfect stranger puts himself to some trouble to come to me and announce a piece of news relevant to my predicament and announce it with perfect sobriety and with every outward sign of good faith, then I must say to myself, What manner of man is this that he should put himself out of his way for a perfect stranger — and I should heed him. It was enough for Jesus to utter the one word Come! to a stranger — yet when he uttered the same word in Nazareth, no one came.
The message in the bottle, then, is not sufficient credential in itself as a piece of news. It is sufficient credential in itself as a piece of knowledge, for the scientist has only to test it and does not care who wrote it or whether the writer was sober or in good faith. But a piece of news requires that there be a newsbearer. The sentence written on a piece of paper in the bottle is sufficient if it is a piece of knowledge but it is hardly sufficient if it is a piece of news.
A third canon of acceptance is the possibility of the news. If the news is strictly relevant to my predicament and if the bearer of the news is a person of the best character, I still cannot heed the news if (1) I know for a fact that it cannot possibly be true or (2) the report refers to an event of an unheralded, absurd, or otherwise inappropriate character. If I am dying of thirst and the newsbearer announces to me that over the next dune I will discover molten sulfur and that it will quench my thirst, I must despair of his news. If the castaway arrived at his South Sea island in 1862 and found his adoptive land in bondage to a tyrant and if a newsbearer arrived and announced that Robert E. Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia were on their way to deliver the island — such a piece of news would lie within the realm of possibility yet be so intrinsically inappropriate that the most patriotic of islanders could hardly take it seriously. If, however, there had been promises of deliverance for a hundred years from a neighboring island and if, further, signs had been agreed upon by which one could recognize the deliverer, and if, finally, a newsbearer from this very island arrived and announced a piece of news of supreme relevance to the predicament of the islanders and announced it in perfect sobriety and with every outward sign of good faith, then the islander must himself be a fool or a knave if he did not heed the news.
(5) Response of the Reader of the Sentence
The response of a reader of a sentence expressing a piece of knowledge is to confirm it (or reject it). The response of a hearer of a piece of news is to heed it (or ignore it) by taking action appropriate to one’s predicament. In the sphere of pure knowledge, knowledge in science, philosophy, or art, the act of knowing is complete when the sentence (or formula or insight or poem or painting) is received, understood, and confirmed as being true. Other consequences may follow. Physics may lead to useful inventions; a great philosopher may invigorate his civilization and prolong its life for hundreds of years; a great artist may lower the incidence of neurosis. But science is not necessarily committed to technics; philosophers do not necessarily philosophize in order to preserve the state; art is not a form of mental hygiene. There is a goodness and a joy in science and art apart from the effects of science and art on ordinary life. These effects may follow and may be good, but if the effect is made the end, if science is enslaved to technics, philosophy to the state, art to psychiatry — one wonders how long we would have a science, philosophy, or art worthy of the name.
The appropriate response of the reader of a sentence conveying a piece of knowledge — a piece of knowledge which, let us say, falls in the vanguard of the islander’s own knowledge — is to know this and more. The movement of science is toward an ever-more-encompassing unity and depth of vision. The movement of the islander who has caught the excitement of science, art, or philosophy is toward the attainment of an ever-more-encompassing unity and depth of vision. The man who finds the bottle on the beach and who reads its message conveying a piece of knowledge undertakes his quest, verification and extension of the knowledge, on his own island or on any island at any time. His quest takes place sub specie aeternitatis and, in so far as he is a scientist, he does not care who he is, where he is, or what his predicament may be.