4. Seductive circularities and empirical hooks: Is a scientific investigation into normative epistemology possible?

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We have argued that applied epistemology is a science, and that theoretical

epistemology is a theoretical science. But we also seek an epistemic theory

that is normative and reason guiding. How can a scientific epistemology

also be a normative one? The standard worry with our approach is that it

is somehow viciously circular. The objection goes like this: Suppose our

epistemological theory begins with empirical claims about Ameliorative

Psychology. Presumably, we have to make some decisions about which

empirical claims to trust. So we have to decide which views are the epistemically

good ones. But such decisions require a prior epistemological

theory. So (the argument continues) one cannot begin one’s epistemological

speculations with empirical claims. (For a discussion of this objection,

see Appendix, section 2.)

This is a very seductive argument. One problemwith it is that it assumes

the normative must come in a single dollop. So either one has a full-blown

theory and can make normative judgments or one has no theory and can

make no such judgments. If knowledge of the normative were an all-ornothing

affair, then a scientific epistemology, one that began with, say,

Ameliorative Psychology, might be impossible. But it’s not. In fact, Aristotle

points the way to avoiding the theoretical stultification that comes

with the dollop assumption.

Aristotle argued that at least some of the moral and the intellectual

virtues are intimately related and mutually supportive (Nicomachean

Ethics, Book VI). Aristotle’s insight provides us with an empirical ‘‘hook’’

into our investigation of the normative. To see how this hook works, suppose

we’re faced with making parole decisions for people convicted of a

violent crime. An important question to consider is whether the prisoner is

likely to commit another violent crime. Suppose we decide to use the Shoe Size Rule: If the prisoner’s shoe size is a whole number (e.g., 9, 10, 11), he

won’t commit another violent crime; if it’s not (e.g., 9Ѕ, 10Ѕ), he will

commit another violent crime. The Shoe Size Rule is a poor reasoning

strategy. And there is a tell-tale empirical mark of its being a poor reasoning

strategy: In the long run, the Shoe Size Rule will lead to poor outcomes—or

more precisely, it will lead to worse outcomes than better reasoning

strategies. Now, this notion of bad outcomes is not particularly subtle or in

need of philosophical elucidation. Reasoning poorly about this problem

will lead to increases in murder and assault by paroled prisoners. Similarly,

if medical doctors reason poorly about whether patients have brain damage,

cancer, or HIV, patients will tend to have worse treatment outcomes.

Again, this isn’t a particularly subtle point. Poor reasoning in these matters

will lead patients to make treatment decisions that will lead to unnecessary

death, suffering, and illness. (More precisely, poor reasoning will tend to

lead to worse outcomes for patients than will good reasoning.)

The Aristotelian Principle says simply that in the long run, poor reasoning

tends to lead to worse outcomes than good reasoning. So the Aristotelian

Principle allows us to empirically determine—though not with

complete certainty—when one way of reasoning is better than another. Of

course, there are no guarantees. It is logically possible for someone to have

bad luck and for terrific reasoning to lead consistently to bad outcomes;

and it is logically possible for someone to reason badly and yet, Magoolike,

to have consistently good outcomes. But seldom does anything good

in life come with guarantees. To begin our empirical investigation into the

epistemological, all we really need is the robust generalization we have

called the Aristotelian Principle. It allows us to accept certain normative

epistemological judgments as prima facie true and then explore more deeply

the sorts of assumptions that drive such judgments. This is how we will

start our investigations into the normative.

Why should anyone believe the Aristotelian Principle? It is an empirical,

probabilistic claim and, as such, it is child’s play to imagine environments

that are so unfriendly as to make excellent reasoning a danger

(e.g., a powerful evil demon sets out to punish excellent reasoners). But as a

practical matter, we contend that any psychologically healthy, reflective

person who has chosen to spend their life doing epistemology must accept

the Aristotelian Principle. It is a necessary precondition for the practical

relevance of epistemology. Recall that we opened this chapter by arguing

that epistemology is important because it has real potential to improve

people’s lives. The Aristotelian Principle embodies this promise. If the

Aristotelian Principle is false, if good reasoning doesn’t tend to lead to better outcomes than bad reasoning, then epistemology can’t be practically important.

It would be like the New York Times crossword puzzle: an intellectual

challenge, perhaps even an addictive one, but nothing more than an

amusing pastime. More importantly, however, if the Aristotelian Principle

is false, then we can’t know how to lead our cognitive lives. Suppose we

have to reason badly in order to achieve good outcomes. There are indefinitely

many different ways to reason badly. And all of these ways of reasoning

badly will typically lead to many, many different judgments about

the world. Which way of reasoning badly will lead to good outcomes?

Presumably we need to figure this out. But how are we supposed to figure

that out? By reasoning well? Presumably not. But if by reasoning poorly,

then once again, which way of reasoning poorly? And how are we supposed

to figure that out? And so goes the infinite regress. . . .

If a useful epistemology is possible, then the Aristotelian Principle is

true. But this raises an obvious and cynical worry: Is a useful epistemology

really possible? There are at least two reasons for optimism. The first is

that much of the world that is significant to us is stable enough for the

quality of our reasoning to make a difference. We reason about medical

diagnoses, policy choice, financial planning, criminal recidivism, etc.

These (and many other) parts of the world have proven to be predictable

enough for people to make judgments about them and make effective

plans based on those judgments. The second reason to be optimistic about

the Aristotelian Principle is that the human predicament comes with some

stern and demanding contours. As people, we share substantial priorities.

A good life, in general, will favor such things as health, shelter, satisfying,

loving relationships, and the development of talents, interests, and other

capabilities. Of course, there are myriad and surprising ways in which

those facts can be realized. Our Aristotelian Principle does not depend on

the Aristotelian view that the human ideal looks suspiciously like an ancient

Greek philosopher (or a contemporary American one). A stable

environment and the firm but multiply realizable boundaries of human

welfare give us reason to be optimistic about the Aristotelian Principle and

about the possibility of an effective, useful epistemology. Our goal in this

book is to test this prospect.

We have argued that applied epistemology is a science, and that theoretical

epistemology is a theoretical science. But we also seek an epistemic theory

that is normative and reason guiding. How can a scientific epistemology

also be a normative one? The standard worry with our approach is that it

is somehow viciously circular. The objection goes like this: Suppose our

epistemological theory begins with empirical claims about Ameliorative

Psychology. Presumably, we have to make some decisions about which

empirical claims to trust. So we have to decide which views are the epistemically

good ones. But such decisions require a prior epistemological

theory. So (the argument continues) one cannot begin one’s epistemological

speculations with empirical claims. (For a discussion of this objection,

see Appendix, section 2.)

This is a very seductive argument. One problemwith it is that it assumes

the normative must come in a single dollop. So either one has a full-blown

theory and can make normative judgments or one has no theory and can

make no such judgments. If knowledge of the normative were an all-ornothing

affair, then a scientific epistemology, one that began with, say,

Ameliorative Psychology, might be impossible. But it’s not. In fact, Aristotle

points the way to avoiding the theoretical stultification that comes

with the dollop assumption.

Aristotle argued that at least some of the moral and the intellectual

virtues are intimately related and mutually supportive (Nicomachean

Ethics, Book VI). Aristotle’s insight provides us with an empirical ‘‘hook’’

into our investigation of the normative. To see how this hook works, suppose

we’re faced with making parole decisions for people convicted of a

violent crime. An important question to consider is whether the prisoner is

likely to commit another violent crime. Suppose we decide to use the Shoe Size Rule: If the prisoner’s shoe size is a whole number (e.g., 9, 10, 11), he

won’t commit another violent crime; if it’s not (e.g., 9Ѕ, 10Ѕ), he will

commit another violent crime. The Shoe Size Rule is a poor reasoning

strategy. And there is a tell-tale empirical mark of its being a poor reasoning

strategy: In the long run, the Shoe Size Rule will lead to poor outcomes—or

more precisely, it will lead to worse outcomes than better reasoning

strategies. Now, this notion of bad outcomes is not particularly subtle or in

need of philosophical elucidation. Reasoning poorly about this problem

will lead to increases in murder and assault by paroled prisoners. Similarly,

if medical doctors reason poorly about whether patients have brain damage,

cancer, or HIV, patients will tend to have worse treatment outcomes.

Again, this isn’t a particularly subtle point. Poor reasoning in these matters

will lead patients to make treatment decisions that will lead to unnecessary

death, suffering, and illness. (More precisely, poor reasoning will tend to

lead to worse outcomes for patients than will good reasoning.)

The Aristotelian Principle says simply that in the long run, poor reasoning

tends to lead to worse outcomes than good reasoning. So the Aristotelian

Principle allows us to empirically determine—though not with

complete certainty—when one way of reasoning is better than another. Of

course, there are no guarantees. It is logically possible for someone to have

bad luck and for terrific reasoning to lead consistently to bad outcomes;

and it is logically possible for someone to reason badly and yet, Magoolike,

to have consistently good outcomes. But seldom does anything good

in life come with guarantees. To begin our empirical investigation into the

epistemological, all we really need is the robust generalization we have

called the Aristotelian Principle. It allows us to accept certain normative

epistemological judgments as prima facie true and then explore more deeply

the sorts of assumptions that drive such judgments. This is how we will

start our investigations into the normative.

Why should anyone believe the Aristotelian Principle? It is an empirical,

probabilistic claim and, as such, it is child’s play to imagine environments

that are so unfriendly as to make excellent reasoning a danger

(e.g., a powerful evil demon sets out to punish excellent reasoners). But as a

practical matter, we contend that any psychologically healthy, reflective

person who has chosen to spend their life doing epistemology must accept

the Aristotelian Principle. It is a necessary precondition for the practical

relevance of epistemology. Recall that we opened this chapter by arguing

that epistemology is important because it has real potential to improve

people’s lives. The Aristotelian Principle embodies this promise. If the

Aristotelian Principle is false, if good reasoning doesn’t tend to lead to better outcomes than bad reasoning, then epistemology can’t be practically important.

It would be like the New York Times crossword puzzle: an intellectual

challenge, perhaps even an addictive one, but nothing more than an

amusing pastime. More importantly, however, if the Aristotelian Principle

is false, then we can’t know how to lead our cognitive lives. Suppose we

have to reason badly in order to achieve good outcomes. There are indefinitely

many different ways to reason badly. And all of these ways of reasoning

badly will typically lead to many, many different judgments about

the world. Which way of reasoning badly will lead to good outcomes?

Presumably we need to figure this out. But how are we supposed to figure

that out? By reasoning well? Presumably not. But if by reasoning poorly,

then once again, which way of reasoning poorly? And how are we supposed

to figure that out? And so goes the infinite regress. . . .

If a useful epistemology is possible, then the Aristotelian Principle is

true. But this raises an obvious and cynical worry: Is a useful epistemology

really possible? There are at least two reasons for optimism. The first is

that much of the world that is significant to us is stable enough for the

quality of our reasoning to make a difference. We reason about medical

diagnoses, policy choice, financial planning, criminal recidivism, etc.

These (and many other) parts of the world have proven to be predictable

enough for people to make judgments about them and make effective

plans based on those judgments. The second reason to be optimistic about

the Aristotelian Principle is that the human predicament comes with some

stern and demanding contours. As people, we share substantial priorities.

A good life, in general, will favor such things as health, shelter, satisfying,

loving relationships, and the development of talents, interests, and other

capabilities. Of course, there are myriad and surprising ways in which

those facts can be realized. Our Aristotelian Principle does not depend on

the Aristotelian view that the human ideal looks suspiciously like an ancient

Greek philosopher (or a contemporary American one). A stable

environment and the firm but multiply realizable boundaries of human

welfare give us reason to be optimistic about the Aristotelian Principle and

about the possibility of an effective, useful epistemology. Our goal in this

book is to test this prospect.