In the mid-1980’s the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles had just purchased a rare sixth century B.C. Greek statue of a male youth called a kouros, eager to put it on display. The statue had already been carbon-dated and deemed authentic by a stable of scientists. Yet, to Thomas Hoving, the recently retired director of the Metropolitan Museum in New York, it “didn’t look right.” It appeared “fresh.”
And when some of his colleagues in the art world came to the same conclusion, it left the Getty in an awkward position. The eventual consensus among them: the statue is a forgery. This is how Malcolm Gladwell introduces his book, Blink, and the phenomenon he calls “thin slicing” and “thinking without thinking.”
How did Hoving know what had eluded the more scientifically-trained eyes of experts? Was it the knowledge he had accrued over a lifetime in the art world? Was it his brief career as an archeologist in graduate school digging up ancient artifacts? Was it because Hoving was a contrarian by nature? Who can say for sure. Let’s just call it “experience.”
The cognitive structure behind the accumulation of our experiences may well be what scientists call “tacit knowledge.” It’s the muscle memory we rely upon once we’ve learned how to ride a bicycle or mastered a musical instrument. It’s the myelin sheath that lubricates our neurons. It’s what’s behind our ability to piece together a complex jigsaw puzzle or in performing surgery. It’s embedded in the habits that inform our values.
In short, it’s Gladwell’s thinking without thinking. It’s what Thomas Hoving instinctively drew upon in sizing up the authenticity of the kouros.
Tacit knowledge is experience personified. And for us older persons, our experience is our advantage.
And when some of his colleagues in the art world came to the same conclusion, it left the Getty in an awkward position. The eventual consensus among them: the statue is a forgery. This is how Malcolm Gladwell introduces his book, Blink, and the phenomenon he calls “thin slicing” and “thinking without thinking.”
How did Hoving know what had eluded the more scientifically-trained eyes of experts? Was it the knowledge he had accrued over a lifetime in the art world? Was it his brief career as an archeologist in graduate school digging up ancient artifacts? Was it because Hoving was a contrarian by nature? Who can say for sure. Let’s just call it “experience.”
The cognitive structure behind the accumulation of our experiences may well be what scientists call “tacit knowledge.” It’s the muscle memory we rely upon once we’ve learned how to ride a bicycle or mastered a musical instrument. It’s the myelin sheath that lubricates our neurons. It’s what’s behind our ability to piece together a complex jigsaw puzzle or in performing surgery. It’s embedded in the habits that inform our values.
In short, it’s Gladwell’s thinking without thinking. It’s what Thomas Hoving instinctively drew upon in sizing up the authenticity of the kouros.
Tacit knowledge is experience personified. And for us older persons, our experience is our advantage.