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.