When ‘Probably’ Means Nothing

When I moved to the Pacific Northwest I was surprised how much people volunteered to me that they loved the Southern word “y’all.” It’s a great inclusive way to call a group together or refer to a team. I love it, too. But my favorite Southern phrase is “might could.” It’s double-hedged, which may appear to be redundant or imprecise, but actually it’s the opposite. It’s a finely calibrated expression of a qualified possibility that a single modal can’t quite capture. “Could” alone is too open. “Might” alone is too tentative. “Might could” lands somewhere specific that neither word reaches on its own. It’s also situated. You know something about the speaker when they say it. It carries place, community, a whole set of social relations. Which is exactly what Haraway is talking about in situated knowledge.

Hedging language can be perceived as negative or as an indication that the speaker isn’t confident. But in academic circles it often is interpreted as a signal of some epistemic humility or recognition that the concept has enough complexity that you need a bit of hedging to remain accurate. When a scientist says “probably,” a doctor says “likely,” a colleague says “I’m fairly certain,” those words are doing the real epistemic work of communicating a speaker’s actual relationship to uncertainty, calibrated by experience, context, and stakes. It’s worth reflecting on what is lost if these turns of phrase are stripped of their nuance.

When I read ‘Probably’ Doesn’t Mean the Same Thing to Your AI as it Does to You, I was struck that our LLMs may not be using hedging language in the way that we do. LLMs use words like “probably,” “likely,” and “almost certain” inconsistently, averaging over conflicting usages in training data rather than assessing actual odds. The article also points to an interesting intersection with gender studies, showing that the same probability expressed differently depending on whether the prompt says “he” or “she.”

This is a really specific kind of epistemic failure, and an interesting one! Hedging language is how knowledge communities signal the limits of what they know. Strip that calibration out and you get fluency that performs humility while enacting the view from nowhere. This is Haraway’s god trick at the lexical level. We’re moving beyond the synthesis of sources and into in individual word choices.

We’ve all seen use cases in which AI in increasingly being used to summarize research, brief decision-makers, and mediate information. We also are all aware of the conflicting views on to what extent that information is actually good. For now, at least, it seems that we may also have to consider the word choice itself. When the methods we have to convey certainty lose their clarity we may find ourselves being overconfident in our interpretation of words, only to find we’ve made decisions without the information we assumed was supporting our path. Things appear as they were, but in reality the world shifted around us. We read “probably” and think we know how confident to be, but the word has already lost its weight.

This is a post in an ongoing project exploring libraries, knowledge, and the epistemic stakes of artificial intelligence. I’m drawing on social epistemology, feminist theory, and two decades of practice in academic libraries.

The Obsolescence Argument Has It Backwards

Everyone seems to agree that artificial intelligence is going to change education, research, and libraries. The disagreement is about direction. The dominant narrative, at least in some technology circles is: AI can find information, synthesize sources, and answer questions. It’s not a surprise that people hearing that argument in media and from tech commentators point out that libraries and librarians do those things and then assume that libraries are in trouble.

But to anyone who sits at the intersection of technology and libraries it’s abundantly clear that AI doesn’t make libraries obsolete, but rather it makes them more essential.

I’ve been thinking about knowledge systems for a long time. My undergraduate degrees were in philosophy and in communication, with a minor in Women’s and Gender Studies, and the questions that animated these fields were the same ones: Who knows? Under what conditions? With what authority, and on whose behalf? Those questions led me to library science, and they’ve shaped how I’ve understood this work ever since.

Two frameworks have always been particularly generative for me. The first is social epistemology. This term was developed by Jesse Shera and Margaret Egan in the mid-twentieth century, which understands libraries not as warehouses of information but as infrastructure for how communities produce and share knowledge. Libraries, in this view, are epistemic institutions. They don’t just store what we know; they shape the conditions under which knowing is possible. (Incidentally social epistemology also developed within Philosophy, with a slightly different implementation, a few decades later.)

The second is feminist epistemology, particularly Donna Haraway’s concept of situated knowledges. Haraway’s argument, made in a landmark 1988 essay, is that all knowledge is produced from somewhere: from a particular body, a particular history, a particular set of social relations. Claims to view-from-nowhere objectivity, what she calls the “god trick,” are not neutral. They are themselves a kind of power move, one that erases the conditions of knowledge production and forecloses accountability. Sandra Harding’s standpoint theory extends this: knowledge produced from the margins, from positions of accountability rather than dominance, is often more comprehensive, not less, because it cannot afford to ignore what the center takes for granted.

These frameworks were developed to critique science. But you can see why I keep coming back to them today.

Large language models perform exactly the god trick Haraway identified. They synthesize at scale without provenance. They produce authoritative-sounding outputs whose origins are opaque, whose training data encodes historical power imbalances, and whose confident tone actively discourages the epistemic humility that good inquiry requires. They are, in Harding’s terms, knowledge produced from nowhere. And this means they are making claims from a position that cannot be held accountable.

This is not primarily a technical problem. It is an epistemic one. And it is precisely the problem that libraries, at their best, are structured to address.

Libraries curate situated knowledge. They preserve provenance. They maintain the bibliographic infrastructure that allows a reader to ask: who said this, when, from what position, in conversation with whom? They select, describe, and organize materials in ways that make the conditions of knowledge production visible rather than erasing them. They employ people (librarians!) whose professional expertise is not only finding information but teaching the critical practices that allow communities to evaluate it.

None of that is replicable by a system that has been specifically designed to flatten those distinctions into fluent prose.

I’m not arguing that AI is useless, or that libraries should resist it, or that the landscape isn’t changing. It is changing, and libraries need to engage with that change thoughtfully and without too much nostalgia. What I am arguing against is the idea that AI supersedes libraries. When someone asks whether AI makes libraries obsolete, the questioner implicitly accepts a definition of libraries as information retrieval systems. That is a definition that was always reductive and is now actively misleading. Libraries are epistemic infrastructure. They are, in Shera and Egan’s terms, the social mechanisms through which communities organize their relationship to knowledge.

AI doesn’t replace that. It creates new urgency for it.

The more our information environment is shaped by systems that perform objectivity while encoding power, the more we need institutions committed to making those dynamics visible. As synthetic text becomes more fluent and authoritative, it will become more important for human thinking to maintain the skills in citation, provenance, critical evaluation, and the slow work of understanding where knowledge comes from. These are the skills that libraries cultivate.

The obsolescence argument has it exactly backwards. This is the moment libraries were built for.

This is the first post in an ongoing project exploring libraries, knowledge, and the epistemic stakes of artificial intelligence. I’m drawing on social epistemology, feminist theory, and two decades of practice in academic libraries.

Before we begin

Years ago I kept a blog (at this URL, even!) where I thought out loud about libraries, knowledge, and the profession I’d built my career around. I was good at it for a while, and then I wasn’t, and then I stopped for all the usual reasons: changing life phase, less personal time to spend on it, increasingly demanding institutional role, the way the platforms evolved from places of earnest and open discussion… I drifted so far away from blogging and this website that when a back up didn’t capture all the files I wasn’t even all that disappointed.

But lately I’ve really missed thinking in public with other colleagues interested in exploring the same ideas. And lately I’ve been thinking a lot about academic libraries, our information environment, and the ways we talk about and use artificial intelligence.

AI is reshaping how people find, evaluate, and trust information. Within libraries we have people all across the spectrum: from those who fully embrace it to those who believe it has no place near our work. One of the dominant narratives outside of the profession treats libraries as information retrieval systems and concludes that AI makes them redundant. This framing mistakes the symptom for the disease. Libraries are epistemic infrastructure. They are the mechanisms through which communities organize their relationship to knowledge. AI doesn’t replace that, but it does make that role all the more urgent.

This lens keeps coming up for me in conversations in varied spheres. Jesse Shera and Margaret Egan’s social epistemology, which understands libraries not as warehouses but as institutions that shape the conditions under which knowing is possible, is foundational to how I think about this work. So is feminist epistemology, particularly Donna Haraway’s concept of situated knowledges and Sandra Harding’s standpoint theory. These frameworks were built to interrogate science. But it turns out that they are extremely useful when interrogating AI as well.

I’m writing as a person who has spent two decades in academic libraries and who has been thinking about knowledge, power, and institutions since an undergraduate philosophy degree made those questions unavoidable. At this URL, I am not writing as an institutional voice. This is a thinking space. I’m hoping that arguments will develop, get complicated, and occasionally get revised. I expect to adapt to new information.

What follows this post is the first real argument: why the obsolescence narrative has it backwards, and what a clearer account of libraries and knowledge reveals about the epistemic stakes of this moment.

I’m still trying to understand where people talk about these things today. In some ways everything was a lot cleaner when the answer was a blog with open comments, an RSS reader, and Twitter. The messiness of our knowledge environment today (LinkedIn? Bluesky? Mastodon? SubStack? Chat threads? Everywhere?) resonates with the messiness of the information ecosystem I’m trying to write about.