Imagine this: you’re at a bar. You order a beer. It arrives warm. You turn to the bartender.
“This beer is warm.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
You take another sip. Yeah, it’s warm. No doubt.
But here’s the thing: if there’s no doubt, can you really say you know it’s warm?
Wittgenstein says no.
Sounds insane, right?
But the man wasn’t drunk (probably). He just saw language for what it was—a messy, tangled, contradictory thing.
And he believed that certainty kills knowledge the way a bad bartender kills a good night.
Let’s break this down. Six points, no fluff.
1. Knowledge and Doubt Are Roommates, Not Enemies
People have this romantic idea about knowledge. They think it’s about pinning something down, about wrapping your hands around a truth that can’t slip away.
But, no. Wittgenstein came along and took that idea and bent it until it snapped.
He said, “If you can’t doubt something, you can’t know it.”
Wrap your head around that for a second.
Take this: “I know I have a headache.” It’s a truth I’m living. It’s immediate, it’s pressing, it’s lodged right there between my temples, pulsing.
But what’s the alternative to knowing it? What, that I’m lying to myself about the pain?
That I’m tricking my own mind into thinking this sharp, gnawing discomfort is real?
No. That’s just nonsense.
Now, imagine I say, “I know this chair will hold me up.” Fine. The chair’s been solid for years, it’s sturdy, unyielding.
But somewhere in the back of your mind, there’s that tiny flicker of doubt. What if something gives? What if the wood splits, the metal rusts, the fabric frays at a moment’s notice?
You can’t escape that doubt, no matter how small.
But when you know something without a sliver of doubt—like the pain you feel when your head is pounding—it’s not knowledge at all.
It’s just you in a moment, trapped in that sensation, with no escape or contradiction.
You can’t question it, can’t back away from it. And if there’s no room for doubt, then there’s no space for knowing, either.
Knowledge isn’t about certainty. It’s about uncertainty, the cracks and spaces where we can still ask questions, where we can still breathe.
Certainty is like a too-tight collar. It’s choking the life out of everything. Let it go, let it wobble and shift. That’s where knowledge thrives.
3. Toothaches and the Trap of First-Person Knowledge
You get a toothache. It hurts. You tell someone, “I know I have a toothache.”
Wittgenstein would laugh. Not because he’s cruel. But because that sentence is absurd.
Why? Because the word “know” implies the possibility of being wrong.
But here, there’s no room for that. You don’t need evidence to convince yourself of your own pain. You just feel it.
It’s different when you say, “I know you have a toothache.” Now, there’s doubt. Maybe you’re faking it. Maybe you just want an excuse to skip work.
Suddenly, “knowing” makes sense again.
4. Certainty is Not Knowledge, It’s Just… Certainty
Certainty is that smug guy at the party who thinks he’s won the argument just because he talks the loudest. But volume isn’t validity.
Wittgenstein argues that certainty isn’t the peak of knowledge—it’s something else entirely.
It’s like the foundation of a house. You don’t question the foundation every day.
You just assume it’s solid. That doesn’t mean you know it won’t collapse—it just means you’re not thinking about it.
Science works the same way. We don’t “know” gravity won’t suddenly reverse tomorrow. We just assume it won’t. And we move on.
| Knowledge | Certainty |
|---|---|
| Needs doubt to exist | Exists without question |
| Built on justification | Built on assumption |
| Can be proven wrong | Cannot be meaningfully challenged |
5. Ordinary Language: The Philosopher’s Kryptonite
Philosophers love twisting words into weird shapes. Wittgenstein wasn’t a fan.
He believed that language only makes sense in the context of how we actually use it.
And in real life, we don’t demand absolute certainty before we claim to know something.
Example:
You say, “I know my name is John.”
Wittgenstein says, “Do you really know it? Or is it just something you’ve never doubted?”
Because if you can’t doubt it, you don’t know it in the strict philosophical sense.
It’s just part of the game we all agree to play.
6. The Paradox of “Knowing” Everything
What if you knew everything? No more doubts, no more errors.
Well, congratulations. You just stopped knowing anything at all.
Because if doubt disappears completely, knowledge disappears with it.
It’s like trying to play chess without the possibility of losing.
At that point, it’s not chess—it’s just moving pieces around.
So, the next time someone says, “I know this beyond all doubt,” feel free to ruin their day by asking, “Then do you really know it?”
7. Pros and Cons: The Real Takeaway
| Pros of Wittgenstein’s View | Cons of Wittgenstein’s View |
|---|---|
| Helps us understand how knowledge actually works | Makes everyday knowledge sound complicated |
| Forces philosophers to stay grounded in real life | Confusing as hell for beginners |
| Exposes flaws in extreme skepticism | Annoying when you’re just trying to order a warm beer |
Explaining The Concept To a Bro Who Likes To Bench Press
Alright, bro, listen up. Imagine you’re in the gym, right?
You’ve been hitting the bench press for months, no problem. You know you can lift that weight—no doubt about it.
Every time you get under the bar, it’s like you’re invincible. You press, it moves, you rack it. Simple.
But here’s the thing: What happens if one day, you’re feeling off? You step up, load the bar, press—and that thing doesn’t budge.
Suddenly, your chest feels weak. You can’t lock it out. You start thinking, “What the hell? I know I can do this.”
But Wittgenstein—this old, clever guy who thinks about stuff way deeper than you’re used to—would call you out.
He’d say, “You think you know you can lift that weight every time, but the second you stop doubting it, the second you think there’s no chance you’ll fail, you stop really knowing anything.”
That’s right, bro. He’s saying if you don’t have a little doubt—if you never question if that weight’s gonna crush you—that’s not knowledge.
That’s just you getting cocky. And cockiness? It gets you nowhere.
Think about it: you know you can bench 225, right?
But if you never once wonder if that bar might fall on your face, you’re not really thinking. You’re just cruising, pretending you’ve got it all figured out.
Knowledge isn’t about saying, “Yeah, I got this,” and stomping around like you’re King Kong. Knowledge is being like, “Alright, what if today’s the day I feel weak? What if something changes?”
When you doubt, that’s when you get better. That’s when you start working harder, lifting smarter.
But when you’re sure—when you’re too sure of yourself—everything goes to hell in a handbasket. Your form slips, your ego gets in the way, and bam, you’re under a bar that might just end your day.
So, next time you think you know something for sure, stop for a second.
Ask yourself, “Am I really sure, or am I just too cocky?” If you never doubt, you never grow. If you never question, you never really know.
It’s not about the weight you’re lifting, bro. It’s about the weight you’re letting go of in your head.
Conclusion: So, What Do We Do With This?
Wittgenstein doesn’t want you to stop using words like “know.” He just wants you to be aware of how they work.
Because the moment you stop questioning what you think you know—the moment you stop doubting—it’s not knowledge anymore. It’s just blind certainty.
And blind certainty is dangerous. It leads to bad philosophy, bad science, and, worst of all—warm beer that nobody questions.
So next time someone says, “Are you sure about that?”
Take a second.
Smile.
And remember:
If you can’t doubt it, you never really knew it to begin with.
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