Graduate 138: The Limits of Science
The following is an excerpt from a paper proposal that I've written. It is very rough but hints at how I see my current work on the nature and structure of explanations as related to broader issues about epistemology and philosophy of science. Please excuse any unduly polemical or pontifical tendencies or tones.
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My paper is concerned with trying to articulate the nature of scientific explanations. What is it that sets scientific explanations apart from ordinary or mundane explanations? I take it that this question is important for understanding and making transparent to what extent and in what ways science is authoritative and why it is so successful. If it is the case that scientific explanations are consistently the best, the truest, the most insightful, etc., then we will have good reason to privilege science or to defer to science or to grant scientific explanations significant weight in our deliberations.
In this paper, I am basically suggesting that there is nothing particularly special about scientific explanations. Following Van Fraassen, I want to say that scientific explanations have exactly the same basic form that all other kinds of explanations have. What sets them apart is the background theory that they presuppose and in terms of which they offer answers to requests for explanation. If asked, "Why did the ball drop to the floor?" it will be contextual features that determine whether (1) a Newtonian-physical explanation is called for or (2) it is enough to say, "Because she dropped it." One explanation is not truer than the other. One explanation is not more complete than the other.
Now to say that contextual features determine which response is appropriate is a bit of an oversimplification. It would be better to say that each of these answers responds to different questions. Even if these different questions are posed using the same interrogative utterance, they are still different questions. How we determine what question is being asked, and what kinds of responses are appropriate, and which particular response is the best, all depends on the background theory and interests of the individual's involved.
Now if the appropriateness of questions and answers alike is to be understood in terms of human interests and projects, that will raise doubts in some people's minds about the possibility of our investigations reaching 'true' conclusions and explanations. Tying scientific explanation (along with all other types of explanation) to human interests and projects seems to introduce an element of subjectivity into the scientific enterprise that would be inimical to its being a reliable source of knowledge about the world. Now some philosophers of science would be comfortable with this. They would be willing to accept that science does not necessarily lead to truth but only to empirical adequacy. (Or they would be willing to remain agnostic on that point.)
But it seems to me that we might be able to say something stronger than that. What if we really were to take seriously that science derives its significance from its relationship to the broader context of human interests and projects? What would "taking this seriously" entail? It might well entail altering our conceptions of truth and about the relationship between science and other disciplines.
For instance, in the experimental philosophy seminar, one of the questions that we consider is the relationship between science and philosophy. Now there are some who think that the final arbiter in matters of dispute between science and philosophy ought to be the former. Philosophical theories that do not meet empirical conditions of adequacy should be dismissed. In the seminar discussions, a great deal of attention has been given to the 'success' of science. Science has made incredible progress. In just the last few hundred years our understanding of the cosmos has undergone a radical transformation. We have acquired such a wealth of knowledge and understanding. By contrast, consider philosophy. Philosophers have been hung up on the same basic problems for the last three thousand years and it's not clear that there is any real hope for progress or resolution in the next three thousand years. Some will conclude that there is something fundamentally amiss about the philosophical project or its methods. Let the scientist try her hand at treating the deep philosophical questions and then we might get somewhere.
But is this the correct picture of the situation? I would suggest not. Kuhn is particularly helpful on this point, for he points out that the history of science is not straightforwardly unified or progressive. He points out that it's not so easy to straightforwardly assert that the best scientific explanations are the one's that have arisen in the last twenty-five years. Rather, the 'best' scientific explanations during the time of Aristotle or Ptolemy or Galileo or Newton or Lavoisier were exactly the explanations that they had. (I'm being imprecise here for the sake of brevity.) Where, then, do we get the idea that the best scientific explanations are the one's that we have now? That, Kuhn suggests, comes from a kind of indoctrination that contemporary scientists all receive as part of their initiation into the discipline. Now, one might read that as a very cynical interpretation of contemporary practice, but it's really not intended to be so. Kuhn points out that this kind of 'indoctrination' (which is non-pejorative) is a necessary and integral feature of successful science. If every scientist had to begin by reevaluating and reconsidering the principles and commitments that ground science, then no scientist would ever discover anything new. They would be stuck in exactly the same boat as the philosopher. So in order to make 'progress,' scientists simply take for granted a certain set of principles, ideas, background theories, and presuppositions and proceed to apply them to emerging problems and puzzles.
Notice, then, what is going on. The difference between science and philosophy is not just that the one is 'successful' and the other is not. Rather, they are engaged in different kinds of enterprises. Science (or ordinary science, rather) operates by taking certain basic assumptions for granted. Philosophy is just engaged in the business of reflecting upon and evaluating those kinds of basic assumptions. Now one might wonder whether it is a worthwhile project to reflect upon these kinds of basic assumptions. That is yet another philosophical question. But what we must not do, in considering the relationship between science and philosophy, is forget that--whether or not we choose to question them or not--there are always some set of assumptions or presuppositions or commitments that ground our various practices, including science.
The philosopher who wants to look to science or to empirical observation for authoritative determinations on philosophical questions because of its track record of success is in danger of forgetting that what counts as 'success' varies depending on context. 'Success' in science, too, is only definable within the context of science and within the context of commitments that form the foundation of science. To unreflectively accept the determinations of science as authoritative for fields other than science is to forget that science, as a discipline, also emerged out of a context of human interests and projects. For that reason, the authority of science must be limited and delimited by its relationship to those human projects--those same human projects that also give rise to philosophical reflection.
What does this mean for the possibility of scientific knowledge? Well, here's where things get even more dicey. Here's where I start trying to bring in Heidegger. Heidegger's conception of the world is of one that has its ground, to a large extent, in human beings (Dasein). For that reason, we can refer to his view as a version of idealism. He would reject that label, but it is useful for our purposes. He also focuses on human interests and projects as fundamental for understanding the world, other human beings, and one's self. He defines understanding primarily in terms of one's ability to interact effectively with objects and people in the world, and gives priority to practical knowledge over cognition. His view is one that I think would be very sympathetic to the one that I have described above (for he is surely the source of at least some of the thoughts I've expressed above). He would treat knowledge and truth as primarily having to do, not with some relationship that obtains between one's ideas and the external world, but with our ability to interact effectively with things and people in the world.
With this understanding as the backdrop, it would seem to be quite appropriate to say that science is a source of knowledge and of truth about the world. We would be able to say something stronger than that science 'just' yields empirically adequate theories. We would still be able to say that Einsteinian relativity theory is, in some sense, better than Newtonian mechanical theory, but our analysis of their relationship might be a bit more complicated. We might compare them based on some set of criteria that is confined to the domain of science, or we might compare them based on some set of criteria external to the domain of science. But our conclusions would likely be more nuanced and illuminating, after the pattern of Kuhn's analyses of these interrelationships. Also, we would be in a better position to understand just what the proper relationship is between science and philosophy. Exactly what kind of information about the world does science give to us? What are its explanatory limits?
Now I must confess that it's not altogether clear to me what it would mean to articulate clearly the presuppositions and commitments that ground the sciences. In particular, I wonder how one would articulate those commitments in way that actually does take seriously the success of science, while still pointing out its limits. That is one enormous promissory note embedded in an even larger and more daunting promissory note that basically encompasses all of the preceding five pages. That, at any rate, is a brief summary of the ideas that are running around in my head. I will now turn to try and articulate more carefully a summary of what I think my basic approach to this paper ought to be.
--
God is in this place,
And that reality, seen and understood by the grace of God in Christ Jesus through the work of the Holy Spirit, makes all the difference in the world.
--
My paper is concerned with trying to articulate the nature of scientific explanations. What is it that sets scientific explanations apart from ordinary or mundane explanations? I take it that this question is important for understanding and making transparent to what extent and in what ways science is authoritative and why it is so successful. If it is the case that scientific explanations are consistently the best, the truest, the most insightful, etc., then we will have good reason to privilege science or to defer to science or to grant scientific explanations significant weight in our deliberations.
In this paper, I am basically suggesting that there is nothing particularly special about scientific explanations. Following Van Fraassen, I want to say that scientific explanations have exactly the same basic form that all other kinds of explanations have. What sets them apart is the background theory that they presuppose and in terms of which they offer answers to requests for explanation. If asked, "Why did the ball drop to the floor?" it will be contextual features that determine whether (1) a Newtonian-physical explanation is called for or (2) it is enough to say, "Because she dropped it." One explanation is not truer than the other. One explanation is not more complete than the other.
Now to say that contextual features determine which response is appropriate is a bit of an oversimplification. It would be better to say that each of these answers responds to different questions. Even if these different questions are posed using the same interrogative utterance, they are still different questions. How we determine what question is being asked, and what kinds of responses are appropriate, and which particular response is the best, all depends on the background theory and interests of the individual's involved.
Now if the appropriateness of questions and answers alike is to be understood in terms of human interests and projects, that will raise doubts in some people's minds about the possibility of our investigations reaching 'true' conclusions and explanations. Tying scientific explanation (along with all other types of explanation) to human interests and projects seems to introduce an element of subjectivity into the scientific enterprise that would be inimical to its being a reliable source of knowledge about the world. Now some philosophers of science would be comfortable with this. They would be willing to accept that science does not necessarily lead to truth but only to empirical adequacy. (Or they would be willing to remain agnostic on that point.)
But it seems to me that we might be able to say something stronger than that. What if we really were to take seriously that science derives its significance from its relationship to the broader context of human interests and projects? What would "taking this seriously" entail? It might well entail altering our conceptions of truth and about the relationship between science and other disciplines.
For instance, in the experimental philosophy seminar, one of the questions that we consider is the relationship between science and philosophy. Now there are some who think that the final arbiter in matters of dispute between science and philosophy ought to be the former. Philosophical theories that do not meet empirical conditions of adequacy should be dismissed. In the seminar discussions, a great deal of attention has been given to the 'success' of science. Science has made incredible progress. In just the last few hundred years our understanding of the cosmos has undergone a radical transformation. We have acquired such a wealth of knowledge and understanding. By contrast, consider philosophy. Philosophers have been hung up on the same basic problems for the last three thousand years and it's not clear that there is any real hope for progress or resolution in the next three thousand years. Some will conclude that there is something fundamentally amiss about the philosophical project or its methods. Let the scientist try her hand at treating the deep philosophical questions and then we might get somewhere.
But is this the correct picture of the situation? I would suggest not. Kuhn is particularly helpful on this point, for he points out that the history of science is not straightforwardly unified or progressive. He points out that it's not so easy to straightforwardly assert that the best scientific explanations are the one's that have arisen in the last twenty-five years. Rather, the 'best' scientific explanations during the time of Aristotle or Ptolemy or Galileo or Newton or Lavoisier were exactly the explanations that they had. (I'm being imprecise here for the sake of brevity.) Where, then, do we get the idea that the best scientific explanations are the one's that we have now? That, Kuhn suggests, comes from a kind of indoctrination that contemporary scientists all receive as part of their initiation into the discipline. Now, one might read that as a very cynical interpretation of contemporary practice, but it's really not intended to be so. Kuhn points out that this kind of 'indoctrination' (which is non-pejorative) is a necessary and integral feature of successful science. If every scientist had to begin by reevaluating and reconsidering the principles and commitments that ground science, then no scientist would ever discover anything new. They would be stuck in exactly the same boat as the philosopher. So in order to make 'progress,' scientists simply take for granted a certain set of principles, ideas, background theories, and presuppositions and proceed to apply them to emerging problems and puzzles.
Notice, then, what is going on. The difference between science and philosophy is not just that the one is 'successful' and the other is not. Rather, they are engaged in different kinds of enterprises. Science (or ordinary science, rather) operates by taking certain basic assumptions for granted. Philosophy is just engaged in the business of reflecting upon and evaluating those kinds of basic assumptions. Now one might wonder whether it is a worthwhile project to reflect upon these kinds of basic assumptions. That is yet another philosophical question. But what we must not do, in considering the relationship between science and philosophy, is forget that--whether or not we choose to question them or not--there are always some set of assumptions or presuppositions or commitments that ground our various practices, including science.
The philosopher who wants to look to science or to empirical observation for authoritative determinations on philosophical questions because of its track record of success is in danger of forgetting that what counts as 'success' varies depending on context. 'Success' in science, too, is only definable within the context of science and within the context of commitments that form the foundation of science. To unreflectively accept the determinations of science as authoritative for fields other than science is to forget that science, as a discipline, also emerged out of a context of human interests and projects. For that reason, the authority of science must be limited and delimited by its relationship to those human projects--those same human projects that also give rise to philosophical reflection.
What does this mean for the possibility of scientific knowledge? Well, here's where things get even more dicey. Here's where I start trying to bring in Heidegger. Heidegger's conception of the world is of one that has its ground, to a large extent, in human beings (Dasein). For that reason, we can refer to his view as a version of idealism. He would reject that label, but it is useful for our purposes. He also focuses on human interests and projects as fundamental for understanding the world, other human beings, and one's self. He defines understanding primarily in terms of one's ability to interact effectively with objects and people in the world, and gives priority to practical knowledge over cognition. His view is one that I think would be very sympathetic to the one that I have described above (for he is surely the source of at least some of the thoughts I've expressed above). He would treat knowledge and truth as primarily having to do, not with some relationship that obtains between one's ideas and the external world, but with our ability to interact effectively with things and people in the world.
With this understanding as the backdrop, it would seem to be quite appropriate to say that science is a source of knowledge and of truth about the world. We would be able to say something stronger than that science 'just' yields empirically adequate theories. We would still be able to say that Einsteinian relativity theory is, in some sense, better than Newtonian mechanical theory, but our analysis of their relationship might be a bit more complicated. We might compare them based on some set of criteria that is confined to the domain of science, or we might compare them based on some set of criteria external to the domain of science. But our conclusions would likely be more nuanced and illuminating, after the pattern of Kuhn's analyses of these interrelationships. Also, we would be in a better position to understand just what the proper relationship is between science and philosophy. Exactly what kind of information about the world does science give to us? What are its explanatory limits?
Now I must confess that it's not altogether clear to me what it would mean to articulate clearly the presuppositions and commitments that ground the sciences. In particular, I wonder how one would articulate those commitments in way that actually does take seriously the success of science, while still pointing out its limits. That is one enormous promissory note embedded in an even larger and more daunting promissory note that basically encompasses all of the preceding five pages. That, at any rate, is a brief summary of the ideas that are running around in my head. I will now turn to try and articulate more carefully a summary of what I think my basic approach to this paper ought to be.
--
God is in this place,
And that reality, seen and understood by the grace of God in Christ Jesus through the work of the Holy Spirit, makes all the difference in the world.
posted by Metaphysician_delta | 11:27 AM
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