Relativism 1138818542, 9781138818545, 1138818550, 9781138818552

Table of contents :
Introduction1. The What and Why of Relativism2. A Brief History of a Complex Idea3. Relativizing Truth4. Relativizing Conceptual Schemes5. Relativizing the World 6. Relativizing Science7. Relativizing Justification8. How to Formulate Epistemic Relativism9. Relativizing Moral Values10. Questioning Relativism.GlossaryBibliography

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RELATIVISM

Relativism, an ancient philosophical doctrine, is once again a topic of heated debate. In this book, Maria Baghramian and Annalisa Coliva present the recent arguments for and against various forms of relativism. The first two chapters introduce the conceptual and historical contours of relativism. These are followed by critical investigations of relativism about truth, conceptual relativism, epistemic relativism, and moral relativism. The concluding chapter asks whether it is possible to make sense of relativism as a philosophical thesis. The book introduces readers to the main types of relativism and the arguments in their favor. It also goes beyond the expository material to engage in more detailed critical responses to the key positions and authors under discussion. Including chapter summaries, suggestions for further reading, and a glossary, Relativism, an essential reading for students of philosophy as well as those in related disciplines where relativism is studied, such as anthropology, sociology, and politics. Maria Baghramian is Full Professor of American Philosophy, Head of the School of ­Philosophy, and Co-director of the Cognitive Science Programme at University College Dublin, Ireland. She is also a Member of the Royal Irish Academy. Her books include Relativism (2004), Reading Putnam (2013), Pragmatism and the European Traditions (edited with Sarin Marchetti 2017), and From Trust to Trustworthiness (2019), all published by Routledge. Annalisa Coliva is Full Professor, Chancellor Fellow, and Chair of the Department of ­Philosophy at the University of California, Irvine, USA. Her authored books include Moore and Wittgenstein: Scepticism, Certainty and Common Sense (2010), Extended Rationality: A Hinge ­Epistemology (2015), and The Varieties of Self-Knowledge (2016). For Routledge, she is preparing a book on Skepticism (with Duncan Pritchard).

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Maria Baghramian and Annalisa Coliva

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RELATIVISM

Maria Baghramian and Annalisa Coliva

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 Maria Baghramian and Annalisa Coliva The right of Maria Baghramian and Annalisa Coliva to be identified as authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-1-138-81854-5 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-138-81855-2 (pbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-34330-8 (ebk) Typeset in Joanna and Scala Sans by codeMantra

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments ix Introduction 1 1 The what and why of relativism 5 1.1 Defining relativism 6 1.2 Motivating relativism 11 1.2.1 Overcoming persistent disagreement 11 1.2.2 Accommodating difference 14 1.2.3 The inevitability of perspectivalism 17 1.2.4 The virtues of relativism 19 1.3 Forms of relativism 20 1.3.1 Global versus local relativism 20 1.3.2 Varieties of local relativism 21 1.3.3 New relativism 22 Summary 23 Further readings 23 2 A brief history of a complex idea 25 2.1 The beginnings 26 2.1.1 The first relativist 27 2.1.2 Pyrrhonian relativism 29 2.2 Relativism and modern philosophy 32 2.2.1 The Counter-Enlightenment 36 2.3 Relativism in the 19th century 39 2.3.1 Historicism and its impact 40 2.3.2 Neo-Kantian relativism 43

vi Contents

2.3.3 The British discussion 44 2.3.4 The French discussion 47 2.3.5 The impact of science 47 2.4 Relativism and contemporary philosophy 51 2.4.1 Relativism and contemporary European philosophy 51 2.4.2 Relativism and contemporary analytic philosophy 55 Summary 57 Further readings 57 3 Relativizing truth 62 3.1 The many faces of alethic relativism 62 3.1.1 Classical alethic relativism 63 3.1.2 The charge of self-refutation 65 3.2 New truth-relativism 68 3.2.1 New truth-relativism: Kölbel 69 3.2.2 New truth-relativism: MacFarlane 73 3.2.3 Against New truth-relativism 77 3.3 Other ways to be alethic relativist? 85 Summary 88 Further readings 88 4 Relativizing conceptual schemes 92 4.1 The many faces of conceptual relativism 92 4.2 Conceptual relativism 1: the holistic model 95 4.2.1 Against conceptual relativism 1: Donald Davidson 98 4.3 Conceptual relativism 2: the Wittgensteinian model 110 Summary 114 Further readings 115 5 Relativizing the world 117 5.1 The social construction of reality 118 5.2 Linguistic constructivism 120 5.3 Ontological constructivism 127 5.4 Epistemic constructivism 135 Summary 139 Further readings 139 6 Relativizing science 141 6.1 The background: Kuhn and Feyerabend 142 6.1.1 Kuhn’s alleged relativism 142 6.1.2 Feyerabend’s democratic relativism 145 6.2 Grounds for relativism about science 146 6.2.1 Underdetermination of theory by data 146 6.2.2 Holism 148 6.2.3 Theory-ladenness of observation 150 6.2.4 Incommensurability 153

Contents vii

6.3 Applications 156 6.3.1 Sociology of science and the “Strong Programme” 156 6.3.2 Feminist epistemology and relativist interpretations  of science 161 6.4 Relativism as a normative stance 167 Summary 168 Further readings 169 7 Relativizing justification 171 7.1 The many faces of epistemic relativism 171 7.2 Relativizing justification 173 7.2.1 Conflicting evidentiary principles: the dispute between Bellarmine and Galileo 173 7.2.2 Conflicting principles of logic: the Azande’s example 177 7.2.3 Alterative explanatory principles: the Zande notion of causal explanation 178 7.3 Against relativism about justification 179 7.4 Hinge epistemology and relativism 190 7.4.1 Different hinges and theories 193 7.4.2 Different methods I 194 7.4.3 Different methods II 197 Summary 199 Further readings 200 8 How to formulate epistemic relativism 205 8.1 The replacement model 206 8.1.1 Boghossian on the replacement model 206 8.1.1.1  The normativity problem 207 8.1.1.2  The infinite regress problem 207 8.1.1.3  The endorsement problem 208 8.1.1.4  The entailment problem 208 8.1.1.5  The disagreement problem 208 8.1.2 Kusch on the replacement model 209 8.1.2.1  The normativity problem 211 8.1.2.2  The endorsement and the infinite regress problem 211 8.1.2.3  The entailment problem 211 8.1.2.4  The disagreement problem 211 8.1.3 Problems with the replacement model 212 8.2 Epistemic truth-relativism 214 8.2.1 Problems with epistemic truth-relativism 217 Summary 221 Further readings 222 9 Relativizing moral values 225 9.1 The many faces of ethical relativism 225 9.2 Metaethical relativism 228

viii Contents

9.2.1 The metaphysical response 229 9.2.2 Against the metaphysical argument 234 9.3 Truth-Relativism in the moral domain 238 9.3.1 Against moral truth-relativism 241 9.4 Argument from incommensurable alternatives 243 9.4.1 Ethical relativism and value-incommensurability 249 9.4.2 Against relativism of incommensurable alternatives 251 Summary 253 Further readings 254 10

Questioning relativism 256 10.1 Relativism as perspectivalism 257 10.2 Relativism as multimundialism 260 10.3 Relativism and dialetheism 261 10.4 Relativism and subvaluationism 264 10.5 Relativism and superassertibility 267 Summary and concluding remarks 269 Further readings 269 Glossary 273 Bibliography 279 Index 311

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This volume has developed over a considerable length of time. Many colleagues and friends have kindly given us a lot of feedback on previous versions of it. Among them, special thanks are due to, in alphabetical order, Delia Belleri, Adam Carter, Tom Hodgson, and Clare Moriarty. Parts of the book were used as teaching material at the University of Irvine and over the course of a summer school at the American University of Armenia. We are grateful to our students for their feedback. We also thank three anonymous referees for very helpful comments on the penultimate version of this book and to Tony Bruce and Adam Johnson for their patient guidance. The book has been planned by the two authors together, and each part has been re-worked by them together. Yet Maria Baghramian has to be considered the main author responsible for Chapter 1, Sections 1.2–1.3; Chapter 2; Chapter 3, Sections 3.1–3.1.2; Chapter 5, Sections 5.1 and 5.4; Chapter 6; and Chapter 9, Section 9.1, 9.4–9.4.2; while Annalisa Coliva is mainly responsible for the Introduction; ­Chapter 1, Section 1.1; Chapter 3, Sections 3.2–3.3; Chapter 4; ­Chapter 5, Sections 5.2–5.3; Chapters 7 and 8; Chapter 9, Section 9.2–9.3.2; and Chapter 10. The volume draws in part on Baghramian (2004) and Coliva (2009).

x Acknowledgments

For pedagogical purposes, we have made each chapter self-standing, while also giving cross-references for interested readers, at the expense of some repetitions. A grant from University College Dublin Seedfunding Scheme allowed us to work together for periods at UCD and at University of California, Irvine, in 2016 and 2017. We are grateful for having received it.

INTRODUCTION

Relativism is an ancient philosophical doctrine, which made its first appearance in Western philosophy in the 5th century bce, with Protagoras of Abdera. Refuted time and again, only to repeatedly appear throughout the history of Western philosophy, it is once more a topic of heated debate in contemporary philosophy. This book aims to present, as even-handedly as possible, reasons for or against some of the most prominent relativistic positions. It also aims at clarifying whether, underneath the apparent variety of relativistic proposals, there is, after all, a single doctrine deserving of the label – to investigate its motivations and to see whether it can be coherently stated. The book intends to perform two interconnected functions. It introduces students, and those more generally interested in the topic of relativism, to some of the main types of relativism and the arguments adduced in their favor. But in each instance, we also go beyond the expository material and engage in more detailed critical responses to the positions and authors under discussion. Instructors using this book, as well as our general readers, will have the opportunity to choose various chapters or sections of single chapters as appropriate to their degree of familiarity with the topic of relativism or the teaching requirements of an undergraduate or postgraduate course. The book, thus, aims to fill what we believe to be a noticeable gap in

2 Introduction

publications in this area where comprehensive books on relativism that go beyond the introductory are in short supply. Over the next 10 chapters, we first introduce the conceptual and historical contours of relativism; we then focus on four core types of relativism: namely, alethic relativism or relativism about truth, conceptual relativism, epistemic relativism, and moral relativism. The final chapter returns to the meta-philosophical question we started with in Chapter 1: whether it is possible to make sense of relativism as a philosophical thesis. Chapter 1 addresses the difficult question of whether there are any features common to all relativist doctrines. We propose six. The chapter also identifies two main forms that relativism has taken, depending on its main motivations. Relativism has often been invoked to make sense of irresolvable and yet apparently faultless disagreements, about taste, for instance, which could be appreciated from parties to the debate and external observers alike. Yet it has also been appealed to in order to make sense of an unbridgeable distance between people holding different views in ethics, for example. We also argue that this second form of relativism – “relativism of difference” – which trades on the idea of “incommensurability” between frameworks, is, in fact, less theoretically well-motivated than the first. To say that it is less well-motivated, however, does not mean to say that it makes no sense or, of course, that it hasn’t been made use of by relativists. Indeed, we find it operative in many authors and defended, in a particularly strong form, even recently, by Carol Rovane. With these working characterizations of relativism, we then proceed, in Chapter 2, to present an overview of the various relativistic proposals that have been maintained throughout the history of Western philosophy. The main difference between Ancient relativism and later versions of it is the abandonment of any global aspiration. Contrary to Protagoras, the view that all truths are relative has not found many supporters throughout the history of philosophy. Rather, relativistic proposals have been advanced only for specific areas of discourse. For this reason, our subsequent discussion is organized accordingly. Thus, in Chapter 3, we examine relativism about truth, with special attention to the contemporary versions of it presented in philosophy of language by Max Kölbel and John MacFarlane. While finding them wanting vis-à-vis the aim of making sense of the normative trappings of the relevant areas of discourse, we also take issue with the methodology they employ. For, arguably, linguistic data are messy and don’t decisively favor one relativistic account over the other. To select only some of them seems arbitrary,

Introduction 3

and yet holding them all together (as we propose) may lead to forms of local revisionism, contrary to the descriptivist attitude that seems to animate these projects. In Chapter 4, we discuss conceptual relativism and present two main versions of it. The first one goes back to W. v. O. Quine, and it is based, according to its main critic – Donald Davidson – on the “third dogma of empiricism”: namely, the distinction between conceptual scheme and empirical content. The second version of this view we consider is based on a certain interpretation of Ludwig Wittgenstein’s views about meaning and use. We argue, however, that such an interpretation is misleading and therefore claim that there is little room to maintain that Wittgenstein was a conceptual relativist. In Chapter 5, we consider the more radical view that by means of our concepts and descriptions we actually create facts. We examine, in particular, the linguistic version of the constructivism that we attribute to Richard Rorty, the ontological “world-making” of Nelson Goodman, and the epistemological constructivism of Bruno Latour, and find them all wanting. In Chapter 6, we consider the application of conceptual relativism and of constructivism to the case of science. We present its main tenets, prominent in the writings of Thomas Kuhn and Paul Feyerabend: namely, the thesis of the underdetermination of theory by data, the thesis of confirmation holism, the thesis of the theory ladenness of observation, and the thesis of incommensurability between competing scientific theories. We then consider some recent applications of these theses in the arguments for relativism about science by the so-called “Strong Programme” in the sociology of science and feminist epistemologies. We conclude the chapter by raising a general problem for their approach. In Chapter 7, we turn to a third key variant of relativism, or what is known as epistemic relativism or relativism about knowledge. To know, or to be able to claim to know, is to possess justification for your beliefs. We consider three main arguments for relativizing justification: relativism regarding evidentiary principles, as exemplified by the dispute between Galileo and Bellarmine; relativism about logic; and relativism about explanatory principles. We also examine the popular interpretation of Wittgenstein’s views in On Certainty as fostering a form of relativism about justification and reject it. In Chapter 8, we consider the important issue of how best to characterize epistemic relativism – that is relativism about justification and ­knowledge – and consider two main proposals. One, due to Paul Boghossian

4 Introduction

(who  eventually rejects it), and indebted to Gilbert Harman, holds that claims of the form “S is justified in believing that P” should be replaced by relativized statements such as “According to the epistemic system ES (that I/ we adopt), S is justified in believing that P”. Another, due to John MacFarlane, holds that knowledge ascriptions are relative because their semantic assessment is. We raise problems for each of these formulations. Chapter 9 is the only chapter of the volume devoted to relativism in evaluative areas of discourse, such as morals. We consider three main versions that ethical relativism can take. One, due mainly to Harman, holds that the truth-conditions of moral statements are relative to ethical systems or standards. Another one, due to Kölbel, claims that the very truth of moral statements is to be relativized to their holders. Finally, we consider the version of ethical relativism in terms of “relativism of distance” put forth by Bernard Williams and, more recently, defended by Rovane, who appeals to the idea of “multimundialism”. We raise objections to all these views. Chapter 10 is a meta-philosophical chapter. As evidenced by our previous discussions, there is scope for characterizing relativism in at least two main ways: one that aims to make sense of irresolvable yet faultless disagreement, and one that aims at making sense of the idea of an unbridgeable distance – often cashed out in terms of incommensurability – between parties to certain debates. In this chapter, we take up the issue of whether each of these characterizations is ultimately stable. That is to say, whether a model for their respective desiderata can indeed be found. We explore several possible proposals and find them wanting. Yet, while this diminishes our confidence that relativism can be given any consistent formulation, it also indicates a direction for future research. For we think the time has come to address this meta-philosophical issue head on by mobilizing our best intellectual resources, afforded to us by developments in logic and philosophy of language. Each chapter is completed by a set of proposed further readings, falling into two broad categories: some of them provide a background to the topic and facilitate a better understanding of the material under discussion, while some others help readers become familiar with the more advanced discussions of the topics at hand.

1 THE WHAT AND WHY OF RELATIVISM

1.1 Defining relativism 1.2 Motivating relativism 1.3 Forms of relativism One of the difficulties facing a book aiming to discuss and assess the various arguments for and against relativism is that there is no firm consensus on how relativism should be characterized, let alone defined. The difficulty is compounded by the fact that relativism has frequently been defined more clearly by its opponents rather than by its defenders. A further difficulty facing discussions of relativism is that it comes in many varieties and falls into several sub-categories, so any generalized assessments and criticisms of the thesis cannot be very informative or effective. These difficulties will become evident in Chapter 2, in our sketch of the history of relativism, as well as in our assessments of some of the core contemporary debates surrounding it. This chapter, however, aims to address these difficulties in a preliminary fashion by outlining some core general features of relativism. Section 1.1 provides a unified account of relativism by outlining a

6

The what and why of relativism

cluster of core features that we think are central to the characterization of all instances of relativism. In Section 1.2, we motivate relativism by outlining some of the reasons why, despite a long history of critical reactions, and indeed in the face of such criticisms, philosophers, and even non-­ philosophers, have found relativism an appealing option. We also connect these motivating reasons to the discussions of the core features of relativism in Section 1.1. In Section 3, we outline and briefly discuss some varieties of and sub-­categories of relativism and thus provide a roadmap both to the topic and to this book.

§1.1 Defining relativism Relativism has been characterized in many different ways; the suggested readings at the end of this chapter give an indication of the multiplicity of approaches available. And yet, despite the diversity, we can find some common conditions and features to all accounts of relativism. Non-absolutism: A common trait of the varieties of relativism discussed in this book is their rejection of absolutism, and its closely linked allies, universalism, objectivism, monism, invariantism, and realism. The key claim of absolutism is that at least some truths or values in the relevant domain apply to all times, places, or social and cultural frameworks, that such truths are universal and in some relevant sense objective in that they are not bound by historical or social conditions, are independent of judgments and beliefs at particular times and places, and are given independently of our individual view points and biases. Absolutism is formulated differently within specific domains: moral absolutists, for instance, believe that all actions of some kind are, without exception, morally prohibited. Non-absolutism is a necessary, but not sufficient, condition of relativism. One can maintain that there are no absolute truths and values without thereby endorsing the idea that these values are a plurality, that they are mutually incompatible and yet equally legitimate. Antirealism, for instance, rejects absolutism but is not thereby a form of relativism. Dependence: The second common characteristic of various forms of relativism is the claim that a given value x – be it concepts, facts, truth, good, permissibility, justification, or knowledge – depends on parameter y – such as languages, descriptions, cultures, and subjective evaluative standards. It is important to notice that such dependence does



The what and why of relativism 7

not always have the same function: sometimes, when one says that x depends on or is a function of  y, what is meant is that y determines, that is, constitutes x. This is so, for instance, according to some versions of semantic holism, where concepts are seen to be determined by the totality of a language or of a theory. In other cases, this dependence is meant as a relation of implication between y and x, as in the case of the relationship between an ethical system and the value-judgments that follow from it. Mapping relativism in terms of a dependence relation has been a prominent feature of several attempts to define relativism. The approach was first presented in a systematic way by Susan Haack (1996), who distinguishes between the dual questions – (i) What is relativized? and (ii) What is it relativized to? – and offers an identikit of relativism. “Relativism”, she argues, “refers, not to a single thesis, but to a whole family. Each resembles the others in claiming that something is relative to something else; each differs from the others in what it claims is relative to what” (Haack 1996: 297). One might begin to make identikit pictures of various family members along the following lines: IS RELATIVE TO (1) meaning (2) reference (3) truth (4) metaphysical (5) ontology (6) reality (7) epistemic values (8) moral values (9) aesthetic values

(a) language (b) conceptual scheme (c) theory (d) scientific commitment paradigm (e) version, depiction, description (f) culture (g) community (h) individual

The approach has also been used, often in modified form, by others: notably O’Grady (2002), Baghramian (2004), and Baghramian and Carter (2015). The dependence relation is often presented as a discovery about the true logical form of a particular class of judgments, that is, the discovery that in a given domain, for instance the ethical or epistemic, the truths of that domain involve an unexpected and maybe hitherto undiscovered relation to a parameter (Boghossian 2006b: 13). Gilbert Harman (1996), for instance, in discussing moral relativism, claims that

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The what and why of relativism

For the purposes of assigning truth-conditions, a judgment of the form, it would be morally wrong of P to D, has to be understood as elliptical for a judgment of the form, in relation to moral framework M, it would be morally wrong of P to D. (Harman 1996: 4, our emphasis)

Similarly, Boghossian thinks that epistemic relativism should be understood as a replacement claim where a judgment such as “it is wrong to believe or to hold P” is replaced with “in relations to the justificatory framework J, that I, S, accept, it is wrong to hold or believe P” (see for instance Boghossian 2006a, 2006b). More recent versions of relativism, in contrast, consider the truth-value of the relevant claims to be dependent on additional parameters, such as ethical or gustatory standards (Kölbel 2002, 2004a; MacFarlane 2014). Yet, dependence by itself (or together with non-absolutism) is not sufficient for relativism. For instance, contextualism with respect to meaning or even truth-value endorses it, yet, arguably, it is not a form of relativism. Multiplicity: A further core feature of relativism is the assumption of a multiplicity of both the value x and the parameter y on which such values depend. The relativist typically claims that there is a plurality of admissible judgments, values, modes of justification, truths, and so forth as well as a multiplicity of cultural contexts, frameworks of assessment, conceptual schemes, worlds, and languages on which judgments, values, modes of justification, truths, and so forth depend and with which they vary. The multiplicity assumption often takes an uncontroversial empirical form where empirical evidence is cited in support of the claim that there are different systems of belief, value, or categorization. The empirical claim of multiplicity, in turn, becomes the starting point for both epistemic and ethical relativism. Claims of multiplicity can also be put in philosophically more contentious ways, connecting them with discussions of pluralism in a variety of domains. For instance, Edouard Machery has argued that referential pluralism, the view that the same word (e.g. “Paris”) can refer differently for different competent speakers, entails some form of ontological relativism or the view that what there is varies within and across cultures (Machery 2011: 118). Value pluralism, the view, following Isiah Berlin, that there are many universal values, all equally objective, is also used to support stronger claims of meta-ethical relativism (Berlin 1991: 70). It is important to note that multiplicity is not sufficient for relativism. For instance, contextualist proposals – let them be in semantics (DeRose 1999)



The what and why of relativism 9

or in epistemology (Williams 1991) – allow for it. But they also restrict each verdict to a specific, insulated context. Thus, for instance, it may be known that P in a low stake context and not-known that P in a high stake one (while P being the same content in the two ascriptions of knowledge or lack thereof). And within each context, it is known or not-known that P absolutely. Incompatibility: Relativism also assumes that there is a genuine incompatibility, in the sense of non-convergence, between the values x can take as well as between the values the parameter y can take. Such multiplicity can take a weak or a strong form, giving rise to weak and strong forms of relativism. Strong incompatibility is the claim that one and the same belief or judgment may be true relative to a particular value of the parameter on which it depends (e.g. a culture or framework of assessment) and false relative to a different value of such a parameter. Weak incompatibility is the claim that there may be beliefs or judgments that are true in one framework but not true in another one simply because they are not available or expressible in the second. Bernard Williams’s “relativism of distance” (Williams 1985) and Ian Hacking’s (1982) defense of variability in styles of reasoning are instances of weak relativism. Again, it is important to note that incompatibility is not sufficient for relativism (even in conjunction with the previous conditions), since it is compatible with the verdict that only one of two opposite beliefs or judgments, or indeed frameworks, is correct. Equal validity: A further assumption inherent in most relativistic claims is what Paul Boghossian calls “equal validity” (Boghossian 2006a: 2) and Crispin Wright calls “parity” (Wright 2012: 439). In its most straightforward form, parity means that relativism obtains when values of x, determined on the basis of differing parameters y, though incompatible, are both equally valid or admissible, or, indeed, in some versions of relativism, equally true. The idea, in its more general form, is that when relativism is applied to any area of discourse, such as taste or morality, then incompatible judgments, issued from different standpoints or frameworks, would be both metaphysically and epistemically on par and cannot be ranked against one another. Moreover, their being on par should be appreciated by neutral and committed parties to a debate alike. The equal validity claim is made in different ways and within different domains. Boghossian, for instance, thinks that epistemic relativism is committed to the view that “there are many radically different, yet ‘equally valid’ ways of knowing the world, with science being just one of them” (Boghossian 2006a: 2). Berlin’s value pluralism, on the other hand, assumes

10

The what and why of relativism

equal validity through the further claim that the multiplicity of objective values is incapable “of being ordered in a timeless hierarchy, or judged in terms of someone’s absolute standard” (Berlin 1991: 71). Equal validity is also expressed, in a negative sense, in terms of the incommensurability of different epistemic and ethical values or between the parameters that embed them. The idea is that different languages, conceptual schemes, paradigms, and so forth express different concepts and outlooks and their differences preclude the possibility of any meaningful comparison or ranking. Non-neutrality: A further condition common to various relativistic claims is that, in principle and not just in practice, there is no Archimedean point of view or neutral criterion of evaluation available for adjudicating between the plurality of incompatible frameworks, or different values of parameter y, which determine different and incompatible values of x (see Hales 2014). The claim of equal validity thus follows from non-neutrality and from the refusal of absolutism. Now, in practice, it may be possible to rely on pragmatic considerations, such as convenience and utility, to choose between equally valid options. Yet, for the relativist, the practical necessity of choice is not to be equated with a genuine ranking of the frameworks on which incompatible judgments depend. For instance, for a moral relativist, there is no fact of the matter as to whether a given ethical system, with its attendant incompatible first-order judgments, is correct. Such different systems or standards are on equal footing, and there is no superior third ethical system which could allow us to arbitrate between the original two. If one brings such a third perspective to bear on an assessment of the original diverging ethical systems, one would have to recognize that one’s judgment would, in turn, be issued by occupying a perspective on the relevant subject-matter which is no more grounded in objective states of affairs than those one is passing judgment on. There have been a number of other attempts to list the features essential to relativism. Martin Kusch, for instance, argues that what he calls “Dependence, Plurality, Exclusiveness, Notional Confrontation and Symmetry are (in some version or other) essential features for [epistemic] relativism” and that “Contingency, Underdetermination, Groundlessness and Tolerance” are “very frequent, almost regular, bed-fellows” (Kusch 2016: 36); Max Kölbel is content with three core features (Kölbel 2002: 117–118); Coliva (2009) identifies five. Where we disagree with Kusch and Kölbel most strongly is in their failure, in Kölbel’s case,1 and outright refusal, in Martin Kusch’s case, to recognize the force of what we call the Equal Validity thesis2: namely, that, according to the relativist, different and incompatible viewpoints are (de facto, or at least may be in principle)



The what and why of relativism 11

equally legitimate or on par and that there is no neutral perspective or framework from which other perspectives or frameworks can be assessed.3 An interesting meta-philosophical issue is whether all these features can be satisfied together. Clearly, the problem arises from the conjunction of incompatibility and equal validity. If taken at face value, they seem to lead to embracing true contradictions – an option only dialethists would choose (see Moruzzi-Coliva 2019 for a discussion). If we introduce parameterization in content, we seem to lose our grip on incompatibility. For instance, “Sushi is tasty-for-me” and “Sushi is not tasty-for-me” are not incompatible judgments if made by two different subjects. Analogously, if we do not introduce parameterization and claim, following Goodman (1978) and Rovane (2013), that opposite judgments are true in different, equally existing worlds – a thesis known as multimundialism – we would have lost incompatibility once again since these judgments are true in different worlds. Or else, if these worlds were conjoinable, we would have compromised the principle of non-contradiction once again. For both P and not-P would be true in one single, overarching world. We will return to this fascinating meta-philosophical issue at the end of this book (Chapter 10).

§1.2 Motivating relativism Relativism has had an enduring appeal, in part because of the important conceptual and practical concerns that motivate it. These underlying motivations, in turn, connect directly or indirectly with the assumptions that go into characterizing it. §1.2.1 Overcoming persistent disagreement Historically, relativism has been proposed as a reaction to the phenomenon of intractable disagreement. Starting with Protagoras, diversity of views and judgment in a variety of domains has been used as a justification for relativizing epistemic, moral and aesthetic norms in those domains (see also Sankey 2011, 2012, 2013). Relativism-inducing disagreements occur in different domains and give rise to different types of relativism. Here are some crucial examples from the literature. Disagreement about taste. People differ on what they find tasty. For instance, one person hates rhubarb, and another likes it, and neither side has managed to be convinced otherwise. Their disagreement has the following characteristics:

12

The what and why of relativism

(a) They are talking about the same subject-matter. So, they are not talking past each other, and also incommensurability is not threatened. (b) They are genuinely disagreeing with each other in the sense that one affirms the statement “Rhubarb is yum” and assigns it the truth-value “true”, if you like, and the other one denies it and assigns the truthvalue “false”. (c) No amount of information and debate has helped to resolve the disagreement. (d) Most significantly, neither side seems to have made a mistake, and in that sense, their disagreement is faultless and thereby their claims are equally valid. 

Relativists, such as Max Kölbel, one of the so-called New or Truth-­ Relativists discussed below and in Chapter 3, claim that, if well-­ informed, honest, and intelligent people are unable to resolve conflicts of opinion, we should accept that all parties to such disputes could be right and their conflicting positions would have equal claims to truth, each according to their own perspective or point of view. Their disagreement is therefore faultless (Kölbel 2004; Brogaard 2008b; Hales 2014). The disputes or disagreements are irresoluble because both sides are right – they believe what is true according to their perspective. As we will see, Max Kölbel believes that the presence of faultless disagreements is central to motivating and justifying relativism. Looking at the history of relativism, we will see that disagreements about taste were frequently treated under the heading of subjectivism rather than relativism. Relativism was generally assumed to involve some shared parameters, for example, paradigms, cultures, and frameworks, while subjectivism was seen as a claim about the relationship between assignments of truth-­ values to personal preferences. The difference between subjectivism and relativism, however, has largely disappeared from recent discussions of relativism about taste. Persistent and irresolvable moral disagreements give rise to some of the most widely discussed justifications for relativism. Disagreement could be inter-cultural and over general principles such as the right or wrong of a culture of honor, killing, or harming animals (see Doris and Stich 2005). It could also be local and over more specific issues: for instance, it could be about the permissibility of abortion or capital punishment within a given society.



The what and why of relativism 13

It is relatively easy to accept that there could be faultless disagreement in cases of judgments of inclination, more interesting and pressing possibilities arise in the domains of morals and politics, and it is widely believed that there too relativism could arise from irresoluble disagreements where both parties are deemed to be right. As we will see, in Chapter 3, relativism has been proposed as a dissolution, if not a resolution, of such persistent inter-cultural as well as personal disagreements. A third form of disagreement discussed in motivating relativism pertains to epistemic norms and standards of justification. The most famous of these examples is the dispute between Galileo Galilei and Cardinal Robert ­Bellarmine and their disagreement over the appropriate “grids” for determining what would count as evidence of planetary movements (Rorty 1979). Their dispute, in turn, is seen as a manifestation of a more fundamental disagreement over the choice between the incompatible framework offered by science and religion. The relativist claims that there is no fact of the matter about whether the Copernican theory or the faith-based view is justified by the evidence, “for there are no absolute facts about what justifies what” (Boghossian 2006a: 62), while the anti-relativist attempts to show the unintelligibility or the implausibility of such a claim. Relativists, in contrast, believe in the equal epistemic legitimacy of these warring frameworks and exhort us to consider each side legitimate from their own point of view. Formulating the disagreement intuition with reference to the Galileo and Bellarmine dispute differs from the other examples of disagreement discussed above. Unlike the disagreement between different subjects on the gustatory merits of rhubarb, and possibly even about abortion, there is a wider agreement among philosophers that judgments on empirical matters are non-relativistically true or false. Furthermore, there is a large consensus that the disagreement has not proven to be intractable and in fact was settled very decisively in favor of Galileo. Bellarmine offered a number of arguments against Galileo, some theological and others empirical, based on the dominant scientific paradigm of the time, the Aristotelian view, which even by the light of many contemporaries, let alone the eye of the posterity, was rightly seen as flawed and untenable.4 As we will see below and in Chapter 7, the arguments favoring a relativistic approach to this disagreement, unlike previous cases, do not propose a relativistic interpretation of truth; rather, they emphasize the contingency and the framework-­ dependence of epistemic justification. Finally, relativism-inducing disagreements can be over meta-theoretical issues and at meta-evidential level. Steven Hales, to take one example,

14

The what and why of relativism

has argued that although genuine irreconcilable differences are scarce, and therefore the usual proposals of relativism-motivators, such as predicates of personal taste, fail to generate them, relativism as a solution to disagreement can still be adequately motivated, when (1) we have uncovered a genuinely irreconcilable difference, a disagreement that is epistemically irresolvable because there is no such thing as the right kind of evidence to settle it, and (2) the alternative solutions to disagreement are not available. Predicates of personal taste and moral predicates do not meet this standard (Hales 2014: 77). Relativism-inducing irreconcilable differences and disagreements can be found at a higher level of abstraction and, generally, in the choice of “independent methods of generating non-inferential beliefs which are then used as basic data for building theories that one holds in reflective equilibrium” (Hales 2014: 63). The purported cases of persistent and irresolvable disagreements where neither side seems to be at fault play a central role in the equal validity condition of relativists. §1.2.2 Accommodating difference The purported fact of deep difference between cultures, styles of reasoning, world-views, and so forth is also frequently taken as a key motivation for relativism. Relativists cite data from anthropology and history to argue that, in some crucial areas of discourse, there are no universally agreed norms, values, or even frameworks of representation or of valuation. The crucial point here is that such differences may not involve or lead to actual disagreements. Rather, it is the very fact of variability that provides a ground for supporting relativism. Actual disagreements are often a consequence of such differences, but they are not a necessary consequence of it. The argument is that different cultures, societies, and so forth have varying and ultimately incompatible values and sets of fundamental beliefs, when we are not in a position to choose between them. As we will in Chapter 2, arguments for relativism based on differences among beliefs and customs have a long history, going back to Herodotus, if not before, and are the backbone of cultural relativism. Carol Rovane (2012, 2013) is one of the philosophers who rejects the prevailing consensus that overcoming persistent disagreement is the main motivation for relativism. She advocates what she calls an “Alternatives intuition”, based on observations of profound cultural and cognitive differences, and opposes the “disagreement intuition of relativism”. Crucially,



The what and why of relativism 15

Rovane thinks that faultless disagreements are not proper disagreements, at least not in the sense we think of them in our ordinary encounters, where, at pain of violating the law of non-contradiction, we deny that both sides can be right. The situations that are construed as relativism-inducing disagreements lack the distinctive normative significance of a disagreement, which arises only in situations of ordinary disagreements in which the parties cannot both be right. In her approach, relativism is motivated by the existence of truths that cannot be embraced together, not because they contradict and hence disagree with each other but because they are not universal truths. Relativism, she argues, arises because different languages or theories, purportedly about the same subject-matter, fail to share the meanings of their central terms (see Rovane 2013: 116). David Velleman (2013), in a similar vein, rejects the idea that disagreements can ever be faultless and, indeed, finds the idea of faultless disagreement unintelligible (Velleman 2013: 2). According to the Alternatives intuition, relativism arises with the existence, or perhaps just the possibility, of alternatives in the sense of truths that cannot be embraced together. Donald Davidson’s famous article “On the very idea of conceptual scheme” primarily targets this kind of relativism. Bernard Williams’s relativism of distance is another example for he argues that certain concepts are only available to people who live in a particular form of life. These are concepts that are not a part of what Williams calls the “absolute conception of the world” and do not express truths that any rational creature, regardless of her culture, would, in principle, acknowledge. Truths that require these concepts for their formulation are expressible only in languages whose speakers take part in that particular form of life. Such truths need not be true in a relativized sense – true relative to some parameters, false relative to others – rather, such truths are perspectival: real but visible only from a certain angle, that is, for people who adopt a certain way of life. The holders of one system cannot go over to another system without losing some of the key elements and assumptions of their prevailing world-view. Ian Hacking’s (1982) views on styles of reasons and Nelson Goodman’s (1978) multimundialism views may also provide grounds for weaker versions of relativism of difference. Rovane also puts Thomas Kuhn in this category and writes: Take Kuhn, for example. Although there are good reasons not to classify him as a relativist, his account of theoretical paradigms and the revolutionary character of scientific change was widely regarded by his contemporaries

16

The what and why of relativism

as having relativistic implications. This was not because he characterized competing theoretical paradigms as giving rise to r­ elativism-inducing ­disagreements in which both parties are right. The relativistic implications were thought to flow from a quite different aspect of them, which is that they do not share meanings at all, and moreover, that this so even when they appear to employ the same theoretical terms. Kuhn’s idea was that when theories belonging to different paradigms appear to employ the same theoretical terms, they nevertheless apply those terms in completely different ways, with the result that the terms do not refer to the same theoretical entities. It follows that such paradigms could not, strictly speaking, contradict each other, in the sense of affirming and denying the same proposition. Thus, disagreement between the theories was not the thing at stake; it was more that these theories, without a commonly shared semantics for their terms, were to be characterized as alternatives to each other. (Rovane 2013: 72)

As we will see in Chapter 9, Rovane uses this “difference intuition” to argue for moral relativism in circumstances where two parties may be addressing quite different moral circumstances, for which they need quite different moral truths to live by without engaging in any actual moral disagreement. To embrace radically differing moral standards amounts to not (being able) to speak to each other, or at least to talking past each other, rather than disagreeing with each other. What the argument from disagreement and the argument from difference have in common is the claim that truth and justification are plural, that there could be more than one correct account of how things stand in at least some domains. Cappelen and Hawthorne (2009: 60–61) and John MacFarlane (2014) following them, have argued that disagreement can be understood in two different senses: disagreement as a state versus disagreement as an activity involving attitudes of disagreement between parties who are having a disagreement. Thus, relativism of difference may not involve actual attitudinal disagreements, but ultimately invokes states of disagreement. The implicit invocation of disagreement can be seen in Bernard Williams’s own writings, where he starts his discussion of relativism of difference by claiming that the “first condition” for the “problem” of relativism is that there must be systems of belief that somehow exclude one another (cited in Rovane 2013: 104). By exclusion, he seems to mean logical exclusion. Davidson too,



The what and why of relativism 17

who defined relativism in terms of the possibility of there being “alternative” conceptual schemes, often resorts to the locution of disagreement in talking about the phenomenon under consideration (Davidson 1974: 184). The differences highlighted by the relativists are genuinely irreconcilable if in some sense they exclude each other: for instance, by rendering contradictory verdicts on the same subject-matter. These contradictory verdicts are in effect expressions of actual or possible disagreements. In this sense, then, difference does collapse into disagreement. The collapse of difference into disagreement may be avoided if we think that there are reasons to separate the domains of discourse from each other, maybe because of semantic or epistemic incommensurability. Kuhn and Feyerabend’s talk of incommensurability between successive scientific paradigms is such an attempt. Carol Rovane also argues that relativism of difference can be formulated in such a way that some truth-value-bearers are seen as having no logical relations to one another, that “there are many non-comprehensive bodies of truths that cannot be conjoined, that there are many worlds rather than one” (Rovane 2013: 91). However, this form of multimundialism is not without its problems, as we shall see in Chapters 9 and 10. §1.2.3 The inevitability of perspectivalism A further starting point for defending relativism is the conviction that all judgments and beliefs are irredeemably perspectival. Claims to knowledge, expressions of conviction, theoretical and practical explanations all rely on interpretive schemes, and interpretations have an irredeemably perspectival character. They express stands from a point of view, and the view from no-where or the “God’s Eye” perspective is not available to us mortals. The relativist claim, then, is that in any judgment, be it about ethics or on scientific matters, there is an implicit reference to a point of view or particular framework from which our specific judgments descend. The position, in recent years, has been given a semantic twist. Strong support for this view has come from social scientists and cultural theorists who focus on the socio-cultural determinants of human beliefs and actions. As we will see in Chapter 2, the social sciences, from their very inception, were hospitable to relativism. Indeed, August Comte, the father of sociology, claimed that a strength of “positive sociology” was its “tendency to render relative the ideas which were at first absolute” (Comte 1976 [1830–1842]: 89). Other social scientists, under the influence of Karl Marx, Max Weber, and Wilhelm Dilthey, have given credence to the idea

18

The what and why of relativism

that human beliefs and actions could be understood and evaluated only relative to their social and economic background and context. Beliefs, desires, and actions, the argument goes, are never independent of a background of cultural presuppositions, interests, and values. We cannot step out of our language, culture, and socio-historical conditions to survey reality from an Archimedean vantage point. Even perceptions are “theory-laden” on these views, and could vary between linguistic and cultural groupings. The sociological view that beliefs are context-dependent, in the sense that their context helps explain why people have the beliefs they do, has also been used to support what is sometimes called “social” or “sociological relativism”. That is, the view that truth (or correctness) is relative to social contexts because we can both understand and judge beliefs and values only relative to the context out of which they arise. Context-dependence is also used to explain empirical observations of diversity in beliefs and values; different social contexts, the argument goes, give rise to differing, possibly incompatible norms and values. The perspectival justification of relativism takes a variety of forms, but many of these rely on Pierre Duhem’s thesis of underdetermination of theory by data. According to the Quine–Duhem thesis, no amount of empirical evidence would be adequate by itself for deciding between rival scientific hypotheses, because incompatible theories can be consistent with the available evidence. Relativism threatens whenever conflicting theories or views appear to have equal claim to truth or justification. The underdetermination thesis is used to highlight the absence of neutral starting points for our beliefs. Choices between incompatible but equally well-supported rival theories, it is argued, are often made based on interests and local preferences and practices rather than on neutral universal grounds. The moral of underdetermination is that it is not just the facts on the ground, scientific or otherwise, that determine or justify our beliefs. Such beliefs are open to a variety of legitimate interpretations. We will return to this topic at greater length in Chapter 6. ­ ellarmine, Rorty’s treatment of the disagreement between Galileo and B mentioned above, is a good instance of the type of perspectivalism that leads to relativism. As we will see in Chapter 7, Rorty fulfills the no-­neutrality condition of relativism by arguing that there are no a-temporal standards which would enable us to declare Galileo as objectively right and rational. As he memorably quips, “justification is only justification from the point of view of the survivors, the victors. There is not point of view more exalted than theirs to assume” (Rorty 1999: 27).



The what and why of relativism 19

Helen Longino’s contextual empiricism is another good example of appeal to the perspectival dimension of interpretation. Longino (1990) is a relativist insofar as she argues that “epistemic justification is relative to background assumptions because such assumptions are needed to establish the relevance of empirical evidence to a hypothesis or a theory” (1990: 43). She also argues for relativism in the negative sense outlined above insofar as she believes that objectivity is a function of the practices of a community (1990: 74) and that we cannot make sense of the core antirealist idea of objectivity independently of its social context and of the practices surrounding it. Like many feminist epistemologists, she also believes that the social and cultural context of science is instrumental in introducing values and norms into the practices of science (1990: 83).5 What Longino has in common with Rorty is the primacy she gives to the social conditions of both justification and scientific discovery and the role these conditions have in shaping epistemic norms. Perspectivalism has also been expressed in a semantic form. According to this approach, the contents of utterances are assigned truth-values relative to the particular context or perspective of the speaker or the assessor (Brogaard 2010). Understood in this sense, semantic perspectivalism can be seen as a version of semantic relativism discussed in Chapters 3, 9, and 10. §1.2.4 The virtues of relativism Relativism in general, and moral relativism in particular, gained popularity, in the 20th century in particular, because of their perceived links with tolerance and open-mindedness. Relativists often directly link the virtue of tolerance with a relativistic outlook. They claim that all moral frameworks and their cultural contexts not only should be tolerated but are also worthy of respect. The injunction toward tolerance is at the heart of classical liberalism. John Stuart Mill in Chapter 3 of his book On Liberty articulated the credo of tolerance thus: Such are the differences among human beings in their sources of pleasure, their susceptibilities of pain, and the operation on them of different physical and moral agencies, that unless there is a corresponding diversity in their modes of life, they neither obtain their fair share of happiness, nor grow up to the mental, moral and aesthetic stature of which their nature is capable. Why then should tolerance, as far as the public sentiment is concerned, extend only to tastes and modes of life which extort acquiescence by the multitude of their adherents? (Mill 1989: 68)

20

The what and why of relativism

The confluence of tolerance and relativism has created the unfortunate impression that to be a tolerant liberal one must also accept relativism. The conceptual connection between relativism and tolerance is far from clear. For one thing, the true mark of tolerance is to accept a point of view that one considers wrong, but the relativist is not, or at least not obviously, in a position to judge any point of view as wrong. Moreover, if all values are culture-relative, then tolerance could be a value only for those cultures that judge it in that light. Hence, relativism would lead to tolerance only for those who already recognize the value of tolerance. The point is brought home by the way relativism is adopted as an official doctrine by the most intolerant societies, as we will see in Chapter 2, and is adaptable to all ideologies and not just liberalism. W. T. Stace famously observed, Certainly, if we believe that any one moral standard is as good as any other, we are likely to be more tolerant. We shall tolerate widow-burning, human sacrifice, cannibalism, slavery, the infliction of physical torture, or any other of the thousand and one abominations… But this is not the kind of toleration that we want, and I do not think its cultivation will prove ‘an advantage to morality’. (Stace 1937/1973: 58–59)

This is certainly not the type of open-mindedness that the liberals desire or advocate. We will briefly return to this topic in Chapters 6 and 9, where the connections between relativism and the socio-political views of feminist epistemologists, as well as the connections between moral relativism and tolerance, are discussed.

§1.3 Forms of relativism Relativism comes in a variety of shapes and forms when subdivided according to its scope, domain, subject-matter, and mode. §1.3.1 Global versus local relativism The first crucial distinction is between global and local forms of relativism. Global relativism amounts to the claim that truth and falsehood, in any domain and pertaining to any statement, are always relative. Nothing is true absolutely. The strong claim, as we will see in Chapter 3, is open to the charge of self-refutation and the problem of infinite regress. Local



The what and why of relativism 21

relativism makes the more modest claim that the truth and falsity of statements in specific domains, such as in ethics or in matters of taste, are true relative to varying frameworks of assessment applicable in those domains. It is generally assumed that local relativism does not face the problem of infinite regress. §1.3.2 Varieties of local relativism Framework Relativism. According to this popular form of relativism, there are no framework-neutral criteria for adjudicating between conflicting beliefs, judgments, and truth-claims. All beliefs and values, as well as their justifications, arise from and bear the imprint of their linguistic and cultural backgrounds, social and historical contexts, and prevailing world-views. The view has become one of the best known forms of relativism of recent times and has shaped not only the theoretical outlook of the social sciences but also the ethical and political views of many a non-specialist. Framework relativism is usually sub-divided into evaluative and cognitive relativism. Cognitive relativism focuses on questions of truth, knowledge, warrant, and justification (Chapters 3, 6, and 7). The claim is that epistemic norms, like ethical values, vary with, and are relative to, social, cultural, and historical frameworks. The view has far-reaching consequences for our understanding of the role of natural sciences in our understanding of the world. Evaluative relativism primarily focuses on ethical, social, and aesthetic issues where it is argued that moral norms, aesthetic values, and legal precepts are products of inter-subjective agreements among those sharing a cultural or social outlook (Chapter 9). Conceptual Relativism. This is a more narrowly delineated form of relativism where ontology or the world is relativized to conceptual schemes, scientific paradigms, or language games. The underlying rationale for this form of relativism is the belief that the world does not present itself to us ready-made or ready-carved, rather we supply different, and at times incompatible, ways of categorizing and conceptualizing it (Chapters 4, 5, and 6). Conceptual relativism is motivated by philosophical considerations that have little to do with the impulses informing what we have called framework relativism. Cultural, historical, and social relativisms attempt to address the phenomenon of pervasive and irresoluble disagreement, whereas the guiding thought behind conceptual relativism is the idea that the human mind is not a passive faculty merely representing an independent reality. The mind, the suggestion is, has an active role in shaping the “real”, and such shaping can take

22

The what and why of relativism

various, possibly even incompatible, forms. One key idea here is that it does not make sense to talk about a pre-existing world prior to human categorizations and carvings. Nothing in nature, the claim is, dictates whether, for instance, the sky should be marked off into constellations or other objects. This view has been influential among a number of philosophers from the analytic tradition and has also shaped the work of philosophers of science such as Thomas Kuhn. Conceptual relativism provides a good example of the type of relativism of difference that Carol Rovane discusses. The different worlds, shaped by differing epistemic practices, may be incompatible and hence incommensurable, without involving any form of overt disagreement. The extreme form of this approach is social constructivism where it is claimed that reality – objects, entities, properties, and categories – is not simply out there to be discovered by empirical investigation or observation only; rather, it is constructed through a variety of norm-governed socially sanctioned cognitive activities such as interpretation. Social constructivism has relativist consequences insofar as it claims that different social forces lead to the construction of different “worlds”, and there is no neutral ground for adjudicating between them. The worlds we construct would vary with the different conceptual tools we bring into play, tools which are shaped by our social background, cultural settings, and context-bound interest.6 At its most extreme, the view argues that scientific facts, and even reality, are not simply out there to be discovered by the scientists, through their experiments or observations; rather, they are constructed via interactive norm-governed processes and practices within sciences. §1.3.3 New relativism Chapter 3 as well as sections of Chapters 8 and 9 focus on what has variously been called “Semantic Relativism”, “New Relativism”, or “Truth-­ Relativism”. This new and, in many ways, surprising development in analytic philosophy arises from considerations given to assertions containing predicates that do not seem suitable for assignment of truth-values in a standard manner, in particular expressions of personal taste, epistemic modals, moral predicates, future contingents, context-sensitive ascriptions of knowledge, and epistemic possibility. The claim is that the truth and falsity of such statements can be determined only relative to a context of evaluation, because the assessment of their truth depends not just on the context in which these statement are uttered – when, where, to whom, by whom, in what language, and the state of the world in relevant respects – but also on the context where their truth and falsity are judged. Contexts



The what and why of relativism 23

of evaluation could include times, information states, subjective interests, taste parameters, and aesthetic or moral standards. The original idea can be traced back to David Lewis (1980) and David Kaplan’s (1989) foundational work in semantics, according to which sentence truth is to be understood as relative to a context of evaluation that includes world, time, and location. New Relativists take these semantics a step further by adding additional parameters to the context that make reference to a judge or a standard. The final chapter of the book (Chapter 10) returns to the general points we have introduced here and asks if any versions of relativism under discussion in contemporary philosophy satisfy the core conditions of relativism in a coherent manner. But before that, we would like to highlight the variety of positions that have been discussed by philosophers within the Western tradition since Protagoras.

Summary Relativism is an old and multi-faceted philosophical topic. In this chapter, we have outlined a cluster of unifying features that underlie various forms of relativism and thus have given some unity to what often appears as a cacophony of claims and counter-claims. This preliminary chapter, thus, is intended as a compass for navigating the maze of relativism. To this end, the chapter highlighted three guiding points. We first discussed the main core features of various forms of relativism, then tried to explain why relativism is philosophically appealing, and finally delineated various forms of relativism and linked them to the various chapters of our book.

Further readings The entry “Relativism” in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, by Baghramian and Carter, gives an overview of the various approaches to the problem of relativism discussed in this chapter. In “Three Kinds of Relativism”, Paul Boghossian (2011) examines three central ideas associated with the term “relativism”. Susan Haack’s (1996) “Reflections on Relativism: From Momentous Tautology to Seductive Contradiction” has been influential in attempts to define relativism. Carol Rovane, in “How to formulate relativism” (2012), contrasts two core ways of defining relativism discussed in this chapter. Paul O’Grady, in his clearly written short book on Relativism (2002), distinguishes between and critically discusses five main types of cognitive relativism: relativism about truth; logic; rationality; epistemological relativism; and, finally, ontological relativism.

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The what and why of relativism

Notes 1 While faultless disagreement does imply equal validity, the converse does not hold, there is more to being engaged in an actual disagreement than accepting the equal validity or parity of two conflicting propositions. 2 Kusch’s most recent position on this topic (see Kusch 2019) specifies dependence, non-absolutism, plurality, conflict and non-neutrality, but rejects equal validity. 3 Equal validity is particularly clear in the case of taste, where different gustatory reactions and attendant claims vis-à-vis the same food seem to be equally legitimate.   It may be more difficult to maintain, at least de facto, in other areas of discourse such as morals, or with respect to epistemic claims. Yet, we claim, relativism is committed to holding that different and incompatible viewpoints in any area of discourse for which this doctrine has been invoked are legitimate at least in principle.   This caveat should assuage the worry that relativists would be committed to holding that any viewpoint in these “more rubust” areas of discourse is actually on par. 4 For instance, in his April 12, 1615 letter to Father Foscarini, Bellarmine wrote that to affirm that the Sun, in its very truth, is at the center of the universe… is a very dangerous attitude and one calculated not only to arouse all Scholastic philosophers and theologians but also to injure our faith by contradicting the Scriptures. The passage from the scripture that Bellarmine had in mind is the following: “Then spake Joshua … Sun stand thou still upon Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajalon … So, the sun stood still in the midst of heaven, and hastened not to go down about a whole day” (Joshua, X 12–13). There has been little doubt, for the last several centuries, that the sun does not literally go down and that the facts of the planetary motion have shown Cardinal Bellarmine to be wrong. 5 For a helpful discussion of different forms of contextualism in Longino, see Rolin (2015). 6 For reasons of space, this account leaves out the important role American Pragmatism, particularly William James, have played in the development of conceptual relativism on the one hand and Rorty’s brand of relativism, which he paradoxically calls ethnocentrism, on the other hand.

2 A BRIEF HISTORY OF A COMPLEX IDEA

2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4

The beginnings Relativism and modern philosophy Relativism in the 19th century Relativism and contemporary philosophy

Writing a survey chapter on the history of relativism poses particular challenges as the term “relativism”, and its original German counterpart “Relativismus”, are 19th-century inventions, while the doctrines with some of the core features of relativism, outlined in Chapter 1, have been discussed by philosophers at least since Plato.1 However, while some of the key ideas behind the label have a long and complicated history, it is symptomatic of the complexity of the topic that a linear and uncontested history of relativism is not readily available.2 What further complicates this survey of the history of relativism is that the label “relativist” has frequently been used as a pejorative term. Indeed, a great deal of the critical discussions of relativism, in the final decades of the 20th century, was framed in terms of a rejection, if not the ridicule, of the excesses of some strands of contemporary

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continental philosophy, postmodernism in particular. Consequently, the label is often rejected by the very philosophers whose views are in line with what we think are the core features of the doctrine.3 A further complication is that, as we saw in Chapter 1, the many forms of relativism are customarily individuated in terms of their domains – hence, the distinction between alethic, ontic, cognitive, moral, and aesthetic relativisms – or their objects, such as relativism about science, law, and religion. Each variety has a distinct, if occasionally overlapping, history. These histories are shaped in response to a variety of philosophical concerns and are often unified only through what they deny rather than what they endorse. A complex web of philosophical positions both connects and separates these strands of relativism, but their story, like all stories of Western philosophy, begins with Greece and centrally involves Plato.4

§2.1 The beginnings Relativism is primarily motivated by an awareness of deep irreconcilable differences and intractable disagreements between competing viewpoints and beliefs. Evidence of awareness of diversity in cultural beliefs, customs, and attitudes foreshadowing philosophical discussions of relativism were present in Greek thought from 5th century bc. Herodotus (c. 485–430 bc) provides accounts of the variability of customs and habits in Persia and India, and argues that if anyone were to be asked to name the best laws and customs, they would name their own for, as Pindar had said, “custom” is the king of all (Herodotus 1988: Book III, chapter 38). Euripides (c. 485–c. 406) shocked his audience when one of his characters, discussing incest with his sister, announced that no behavior is shameful if it did not appear so to those who practice it (Euripides Andr in Guthrie 1973: 173–176). ­Xenophanes (c. 570–475 bc) went even further by arguing that different people model their conceptions of God on their own physical characteristics, and in that sense, the conceptions of deity are always local, driven from the physical traits shared by the religious community. He writes: “But mortals suppose that gods are born, wear their own clothes and have a voice and body. But if horses or oxen or lions had hands, and could accomplish such works as men, horses would draw the figures of the gods as similar to horses, and oxen as similar to oxen, and they would make the bodies of the sort which each of them had. The Ethiopians say their gods snub-nosed and black; the Thracians that theirs are blue-eyed and red-haired” (Xenophanes Fragments 14–16).



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§2.1.1 The first relativist Protagoras of Abdera (c. 490–420 bc) is considered the first official voice of relativism because of his famous dictum: “man is the measure (­metron) of all things (chremata): of the things which are that they are, and of the things which are not, that they are not” (Plato 1997: Theat. 152a1–3). Plato reports the dictum in Theaetetus, and Sextus Empiricus tells us that it was the opening passage of Protagoras’ treatise Truth (Alētheia). Plato interprets ­Protagoras as meaning “Each thing appears (phainesthai) to me, so it is for me, and as it appears to you, so it is for you—you and I each being a man” (Plato 1997a: Theat. 152a 6–8)5 and gives the example of the same wind feeling cold to one person and hot to another. Sextus also discussed the topic of conflicting appearances and attributes to Protagoras the view that truth is whatever is apparent to each person (Sextus E­ mpiricus PH II 216–217). It is difficult to know what variety of relativism, if any, Protagoras was defending,6 but Plato seems to be attributing alethic relativism – to the effect that claims to truth should be relativized to a framework or ­perspective – to Protagoras. Furthermore, the fact that “Man is the Measure” doctrine was the opening statement of a treatise on truth also gives weight to this interpretation. Plato also emphasizes the social and ethical dimensions of Protagorean relativism by attributing to him the view: what may or may not fittingly be done, of just and unjust, of what is sanctioned by religion and what is not; and here the theory may be prepared to maintain that whatever view a city takes on these matters and establishes as its law or convention, is truth and fact for that city. In such matters neither any individual nor any city can claim superior wisdom. (Plato 1997: Theat. 172a 2–6)

The history of relativism is simultaneously a history of the attempts to overcome or defeat it. Nowhere is this more true than in the case of Protagoras who speaks to us today only through the writings of his critics. It is a testament to the significance of Protagoras’ work that Plato devotes two dialogues to his views and constructs painstaking arguments to refute them. Plato offers a sequence of arguments against the “Man is the Measure” doctrine, known as “peritropē” – turning about or reversal – arguments, the first of many attempts to show that relativism is self-refuting. The argument famously culminates in the conclusion7:

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Most people believe Protagoras’s doctrine to be false. Protagoras believes his doctrine to be true. By his own doctrine, Protagoras must believe that his opponents’ view is true. Therefore, Protagoras must believe that his own doctrine is false.

Plato’s argument, at least as it stands, is damaging only if we assume that Protagoras is committed to the truth of his doctrine for everyone, that is, he smuggles the self-refuting assumption that truth is objective and absolute after all. There has been much discussion as to whether Plato is entitled to impute this assumption to Protagoras8; what is beyond dispute, however, is that Plato initiated a particular line of argument against relativism that remains popular to this day.9 Indeed, the charge of self-refutation is the most abiding and strongest form of objection to relativism, as Hilary Putnam notes, “that (total) relativism is inconsistent is a truism among philosophers. After all, is it not obviously contradictory to hold a point of view while at the same time holding that no point of view is more justified or right than any other?” (Putnam 1981: 118). We will return to this topic in Chapter 3. Protagorean relativism casts its negative shadow on Aristotle’s work as well. In Chapters 4 and 5, Aristotle argues that relativism is tantamount to the denial of the principle of non-contradiction: for, if man is the measure of all things, then different people would assign the value true or false to the same assertion and hence render it both true and false. Such a move, however, would contravene the principle of non-­ contradiction, the most certain of all basic principles and a presupposition of all thought and speech (Aristotle 1908 Met. Book Γ 1011b). The relativist, Aristotle argues, assumes that every utterance and its negation are true by the measure of its utterer. Therefore, the relativist is unable to make a meaningful statement, and even the very expression of relativism is meaningless since it does not exclude its denial. The relativist, then, by attaching the relativizing clause to all statements, makes contradictions in principle impossible and by doing so nullifies the very possibility of contentful thinking. Aristotle’s gambit of claiming that the relativist is incapable of making any coherent assertions has been used, in different ways, by a number of contemporary philosophers, including Putnam (1981) and Gareth Evans (1985). However, as in Plato’s case, the criticism is based on an implicit and, from the relativist’s perspective,



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a question-begging  use  of a non-relativized truth predicate. Protagoras advocates the legitimacy of both (a) “P is true for F1” and (b) “not-P is true for F2”, and these two statements do not contradict each other, so, the criticism begs the question on behalf of the critics of relativism and does not consider alternative views of logic and content that may be available to the relativist. Aristotle goes beyond Plato in allowing the relativists the claim that their thesis is true only for themselves and false for the non-relativists, but he objects that by taking this stance, the relativist assumes the life of a plant (Aristotle Metaphysics Γ6 1008b 10–12 in Evans 1974: 194). The consistent relativist is thus incapable of consistent thought or speech and hence is rendered mute. We will return to this point in later chapters, particularly in discussing New Relativism. Aristotle’s discussion of the principle of non-­contradiction in refutation of Protagoras was one of the first and finest instances of engaging in philosophy of logic, and his thinking about the seminal role of the principle of non-contradiction remains influential to this day. §2.1.2 Pyrrhonian relativism Plato’s and Aristotle’s criticisms notwithstanding, Protagoras’s influence survived into the Hellenistic period. The Pyrrhonian skeptics relied on the “Man is the Measure” argument to strengthen their claims for skepticism. Sextus Empiricus, for instance, based his “Relativity Mode”, the Mode 3 of the Ten Modes of skepticism, on the dictum and wrote: Protagoras has it that human beings are measure of all things, of those that are that they are, and of those that are not that they are not. By ‘measure’ he means the standard, and by ‘things’ objects; so he is implicitly saying that human beings are the standard for all objects, of those that are that they are and of those that are not that they are not. For this reason he posits only what is apparent to each person, and thus introduces relativity. Hence, he is thought to have something in common with the Pyrrhonists. (Sextus Empiricus 1994: PH I I 216–217)

According to Sextus, judgments and observations are relative to the person, the context, and the object of judgment or observation. The example he gives is that of the right and the left, which can be established

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only in relation to other objects. The conclusion he draws is that “since we have established in this way that everything is relative (pros ti), it is clear then that we shall not be able to say what an existing object is like in its own nature and purely, but only what it appears to be like relative to something” (Sextus Empiricus PH I 695). But the conclusion Sextus draws is not relativism but the advice that we must suspend judgment about the nature of objects (Sextus Empiricus PH I 140).10 In the Tenth Mode of Skepticism, the Mode from variations in customs and laws, Sextus lists the habits, beliefs, and laws of different people to argue that since so much anomaly has been shown in objects by this mode too, we shall not be able to say what each existing object is like in its nature, but only how it appears relative to a given persuasions or law or custom and so on. (Sextus Empiricus 1994: PH I163)

This particular mode has more in common with contemporary versions of relativism where the variability of cultures, and disagreement, are seen as the engine driving relativism. One of the obstacles in constructing the intellectual history of relativism is to decide how to map our current understanding of relativism onto earlier views. For instance, in classical as well as well as medieval periods, we find a conflation of relativism with relativity. Most Greek philosophers discuss relativity (tapros ti) or “things relative to something” as meaning that something is what it is in relation to other things, that it has no sui generis but only relational properties. Statements about relational properties – such as taller, shorter, to the left of, to the right of – however, can be assigned non-relativized or absolute truth-values, and therefore, in modern discussions, relativity is not equated with relativism. Relativism, as understood in contemporary philosophy, in contrast, involves the claim that what is true and false, right or wrong, is relative to varying cultural frameworks, belief systems, or the psychological make-up of different people, and that incompatible truth-claims arising from these differing frameworks have equal validity. Relativism, understood in this sense, also amounts to the denial that truth is absolute (see also Annas and Barnes 1985: 130–145). The divergence of ancient and modern views of relativism is also evident when, among instances of relativity, Sextus lists not only beliefs and sense experiences but also signs and causes as being open to a relativistic understanding. He argues,



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… we shall not be able to say what each object is like in its nature but we shall be able to say how it appears relative to this procedure [of ordinary life] or this law or this custom (and so for each of the others). (Sextus Empiricus 1994: HP 208)

He goes on to claim that not only the “sensibles are relative to those who are sensing them but even the intelligible is relative. Because they are expressed relative to the one thinking about them” (Sextus Empiricus 1994: HP 209). Such disparities cast some doubt on the idea that there is a single continuous history of relativism from the ancients to contemporary thought. Indeed, as we have seen, although Sextus bases his arguments on data that may seem to favor relativism, the conclusions he draws are in support of skepticism. This is in part because, like Plato, Sextus believes that Protagean relativism is self-refuting for “if every appearance is true, it will be true also, being in accordance with an appearance, that not every appearance is true, and thus it will become a falsehood that every appearance is true” (ibid. HP M 7.389–90). Pyrrhonism, in contrast, he argues, is not susceptible to self-refutation as it does not commit itself to the truth of any of the contested judgments but chooses to suspend belief on all such matters. There are, however, similarities between aspects of Pyrrhonian skepticism and some contemporary approaches to relativism, particularly when Sextus argues for non-naturalism and relativism in ethics and claims that: there is nothing good or bad by nature, for if good and bad exists by nature, then it must be either good or bad for everyone. But there is nothing which is good or bad for everyone in common; therefore, there is nothing good or bad by nature. (ibid.: HP 29)

These commonalities, we think, justify our attempt to give a continuous history of relativism and to look for clusters of similar questions and philosophical worries that have motivated the various versions. The approach is further justified by the fact that, in recent years, relativistically inclined philosophers have relied on Pyrrhonian skepticism to advance their particular versions of epistemic relativism. Howard Sankey, for instance, has argued that there is a close connection between Pyrrhonian skepticism and epistemic relativism, insofar as both approaches rely on the so-called problem

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of the criterion, the question of how we can justify knowledge (see Sankey 2011, 2013). Both the Pyrrhonian skeptic and the relativist are responding to the worry that it is not possible to justify a definitive choice between differing criteria for knowledge. The skeptic thinks that the problem of the criterion shows that there could be no criterion, while the relativist claims that there could be many equally good, but incompatible, criteria.

§2.2 Relativism and modern philosophy There is little evidence of continued interest in either Protagorean or Pyrrhonian discussions of relativism in the medieval period. It is only with the discovery of texts of Pyrrhonian skepticism and the publication, in 1562, of a Latin edition of the Outlines of Scepticism by the French scholar Henri Etienne that we see a sustained engagement with the problems of relativism and skepticism. However, the problem of encountering and interpreting the Pagans’  – a heterogeneous group which includes Greek philosophers, Roman poets, Mongol warlords, native Americans, and the Chinese – ways of thought, John Marenbon has argued, elicited responses in what he calls the “Long Middle Ages”, stretching from ca. 200 until ca. 1700, that have some recognizable parallels with some versions of relativism. When confronted with contradictions between Christian revelation and Aristotelian naturalism on a topic such as whether the world has a beginning and end or is eternal, Boethius of Dacia, according to Marenbon, resorts to a form of relativism by arguing that “the universe is eternal” is true, relative to the frame of Aristotelian Physics, while its contrary is true in the framework provided by Christian theology (Boethius 1976: 352, 463–473). The similarities and differences between the type of relativism advocated by Boethius and the framework relativism resulting from intractable disagreement are interesting. Boethius indeed resorts to relativism to overcome a deep disagreement between two conceptual or belief framework by relativizing the truth or acceptability of some key beliefs. However, unlike more standard attempts at relativizing truth, the aim is not so much to dissolve or bypass disagreements but to bring about a reconciliation between the two beliefs, one of which is backed by the absolute authority of word of God. There is an obvious tension in holding such a position. Marenbon explains the relativism of Boethius as a wish to provide a way in which, from the frame of Christian faith, what natural scientists do within their discipline can be interpreted in an acceptable manner by



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others and even by themselves in their nonprofessional capacity, and which thus allows the natural scientists to continue working within their frame, which is itself incompatible with that of Christianity. He is giving them a space in which they can work as genuine natural scientists. (Marenbon 2015: 350)

Beyond these glimmers of relativistic thinking in the Middle Ages, the most notable figure in the history of both skepticism and relativism, in the cusp separating the Long Middle Ages from the modern period, is Michel de Montaigne (1533–1592) whose work is an important link between the relativism and skepticism of the ancients and the various relativistic doctrines developed by modern philosophers.11 Montaigne uses the argument schemas made familiar by the Pyrrhonian skeptics in support of both relativism and skepticism. Like Sextus, he points out that our judgments change because of our bodily and emotional conditions in such a way that one and the same judgment may seem true to us on one occasion and false at another, and concludes that there are no absolute truths on such matters. He also cites the diversity of opinion on scientific issues – the Ptolemaic astronomers’ disagreement with Cleanthes or Nicetas and the Copernican claims that the earth moves – as evidence that we are not in a position to make well-grounded choices between conflicting truth-claims. “How do we know that, a millennium hence, another theory will not be offered which would replace the existing ones?”, he asks. In a manner foreshadowing 19th-century discussions of non-Euclidean geometries, he also argues that geometry and mathematics, the allegedly most certain of sciences, can be doubted, since alternative systems such as Zeno’s have been sketched.12 Encounters with new peoples and worldviews spurred debates on universalism and relativism in early modern period, as they had done for the ancient Greeks and would do again for the 20th-century cultural anthropologists. Montaigne relies on accounts of recently discovered distant cultures to argue that there are no universal laws of human behavior and no innate human nature. In his highly provocative essay on the habits of the cannibals, he proclaims that there is nothing “savage or barbarous about those peoples, but that every man calls barbarous anything he is not accustomed to; it is indeed the case that we have no other criterion of truth or right-­reason than the example and form of the opinion and customs of our own country” (Montaigne 1991: 231). He connects this last point to the Tenth Mode of Sextus and concludes that, given the diversity of moral, legal, and religious behavior, ethical relativism is the only possible position. Unlike Sextus,

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however, Montaigne does not distinguish very clearly between relativism and skepticism, and seems to think that the two philosophical attitudes are fundamentally one. Miranda Fricker and David Wiggins have challenged the type of historiography that sees Montaigne as 16th-century French ancestor of relativism. Fricker believes that Montaigne’s observations on the habits of the cannibals are “primarily a barbed lament directed against the hypocrisy of his own nation, which he finds not only too quick to judge foreign customs, but also culpably disinclined to turn its critical gaze upon itself and confront the horrifying excesses of a France wracked by religious civil war” (Fricker 2013: 797). Other commentators disagree (see Moody-Adams 1997: 13; Levy 2002: 91). As we will see, similar disagreements surface about almost every prominent figure standardly included in the genealogy of ­relativism – from Protagoras to Nietzsche to ­Wittgenstein – the disagreements are indicative of a problem that besets almost all discussions of relativism: how do we define “relativism” and set its boundaries? This book, in many ways, is an attempt to address this question. Fricker and Wiggins recognize Montaigne’s pioneering emphasis on the role that cultural context plays in the emergence of different ways of thinking about moral issues and his clear attempt to criticize his fellow countrymen for chauvinism and narrow-mindedness when facing alien customs (Wiggins 2006: 349). Moreover, Fricker’s reading of Montaigne as a critic of the excesses of his time is compatible with a relativistic interpretation of his position because, like Montaigne, relativists, modern and ancient, have often positioned themselves against what they have seen as the ­narrow-minded and self-serving views of their time. In fact, such criticisms are part of the main engine driving relativism. Fricker’s objections notwithstanding, at least in a limited sense Montaigne’s thinking can be seen a precursor of cultural relativism with its emphasis on tolerance and its rejection of cultural chauvinism and ethnocentrism. Without doubt, Montaigne was a major influence on the development of French Enlightenment, a movement that heralded the emergence of both the modern scientific outlook and secular humanism. Contemporary postmodernists condemn the Enlightenment for its faith in universal norms of rationality, but at least some strands of the Enlightenment bear the unmistakable signs of a nascent relativism. A strong interest in distant cultures of the New World and a call for tolerance toward other creeds and peoples mark the writings of key Enlightenment figures such  as Voltaire (1694–1778), Diderot (1713–1784), and Montesquieu (1689–1755). The abundance of still-fresh accounts of travelers charting unknown territories



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and peoples led to both the construction of idealized versions of their exotic cultures and a valorization of their beliefs and outlooks – or what Todorov calls “Exoticism”, a tendency which foreshadows the ethical outlook of latter-day cultural relativists (Todorov 1993). Like Montaigne on cannibals, these authors used a fictional external perspective to criticize the customs and norms of their own countries.13 In Montesquieu’s Persian Letters, an imaginary correspondence between Persian visitors to Europe and their friends and relations in Persia, Rical, one of the two Persian characters of the book, echoing Xenophanes, says, “it seems to me, Uzbek that all our judgements are made with reference covertly to ourselves. I do not find it surprising that the Negroes paint the devil sparklingly white and their gods black as coal”. He concludes that if “triangles had a god, they would give it three sides” (Montesquieu 182l, in Todorov 1993: 358). The continuity of thinking with Xenophanes is striking.14 The Enlightenment is important in the history of relativism because its advent fostered an intellectual climate inimical to ethnocentrism. The need for tolerance and respect for other cultures and beliefs is frequently used as a key justification for cultural relativism. The Enlightenment, like the Greeks, thought of alien cultures and habits as topics of literary and philosophical concern, but unlike many of their predecessors, they used the discourse of exoticism as a vehicle for advocating tolerance. To take one example, Diderot, in his “Supplement to the Voyage of Bougainville”, recounts that the Tahitian is mild, innocent, and happy, while civilized people are corrupt, vile, and wretched; the natives live according to customs and rules that vary greatly from the Western ones; they do not possess private property, operate their affairs based on egalitarian principles, and exercise sexual freedom not accepted in “civilised societies” (Diderot 1956: 183–239 see also Todorov 1993: 276, 1991: 238). Diderot’s criticism of the European mission of “civilising the natives” foreshadows criticism of ethnocentrism championed by latter-day relativists. Moreover, despite his commitment to a common human nature as the foundation of trans-­ cultural norms of morality, he advocated the relativistic sounding maxims of “be monks in France and savages in Tahiti” and “put on the costume of the country you visit, but keep the suit of clothes you will need to go home in” (Diderot 1956: 228). Thus, while the Enlightenment is recognized, and at times condemned, for its universalizing tendencies, we should also be sensitive to the role it has played in giving currency to the idea that alternative ways of life can have their own legitimacy, an idea that has motivated at least some of the arguments for contemporary relativism.

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§2.2.1 The Counter-Enlightenment The exoticism of the Enlightenment manifested some of the intellectual tendencies that have given rise to modern-day relativism. However, clearer arguments for relativism began to surface in the 18th century with the so-called “Counter-Enlightenment”, a term first made current by Isaiah ­Berlin in discussing Vico, Hamann, and Herder (Berlin: 1980, 1993, 2000).15 ­Giambattista Vico (1668–1744), prominent above all for his anti-­ Cartesianism16; Johann Georg Hamann (1730–1788); Johann Gottfried Herder (1744–1803); and Wilhelm von Humboldt (1767–1835) introduced the idea that an understanding of cultural outlooks and norms is possible only within their historical contexts and thereby opened the way for a historicized and situational interpretation of cognitive and moral systems. To take one prominent example, Johann Georg Hamann can be seen as a precursor of modern relativism in two senses: first, he initiated what Isaiah Berlin calls “the great romantic revolt, the denial that there was an objective order, a rerum natura, whether factual or normative, from which all knowledge and all values stemmed, and by which all action could be tested” (Berlin 2000: 354). This romantic revolt against objectivity, in turn, inspired philosophers with relativistic leanings from Nietzsche to contemporary postmodernists. Second, Hamann’s views on language foreshadow contemporary epistemic and linguistic relativism insofar as he thinks that the rules of rationality are embedded within languages, and its custom and tradition are the ultimate sources of their legitimacy (Hamann 1967). Hamann’s impact on the discourse of relativism is also evident through his “philosophical anthropology”. Contra the views held by most Enlightenment thinkers, Hamann and, following him, Herder, denied that human beings have an invariant and permanent essence. Rather, he proposed that the nature of man depends upon his culture, so that there are as many forms of humanity as there are different cultures (Beisier 2011: 9). Beisier, one of the most prominent voices writing about the history of 18th-century German philosophy, adds: Hamann’s emphasis on the social and historical dimension of reason had very clear—and very threatening—relativistic implications. If the language and customs of a culture determine the criteria of reason, and if languages and customs differ from or even oppose one another, then there will be no such thing as a single universal reason. Reason will not be able to stand outside cultures and to judge between them since its



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criteria will be determined from within them. Such relativistic implications were not explicitly drawn by Hamann; but they were developed in detail by those who came under his influence, most notably Hegel, Herder, and F. Schlegel. In his Auch eine Philosophie der Gesschichte der Menschheit (1774), for example, Herder argued that the Enlightenment’s tribunal of critique only universalized the values and interests of ­eighteenth-century Europe. Philosophers of the time therefore had no right to criticize the beliefs and traditions of another culture (namely, the Middle Ages). (Beisier 2011: 9)

Wilhelm von Humboldt (1767–1835) too was a precursor of some strands of contemporary relativism insofar as he saw language as the medium through which the collective spirit of a people manifests itself. Language, he tells us, “is, as it were, the outer appearance of the spirit of a people, the language is their spirit and the spirit their ­language; we can never think of them sufficiently as identical” (­Humboldt in ­Losonsky 1999: 46). Every language has an inner linguistic form or distinctive essence that shapes the thinking and the “world picture” of its speakers. It provides a conceptual framework for the users and becomes the primary vehicle for thinking about the world. Moreover, different languages embody their own distinct ontological and metaphysical commitments. Despite a gap of two centuries, the distance separating von Humboldt and modern-day linguistic relativists such as Sapir and Whorf seems negligible, and for good reason, as they took inspiration from Franz Boas, the founder of cultural anthropology and an advocate of cultural relativism, and Boas, in turn, had been influenced by von ­Humboldt, who, unlike many of his contemporaries in German intellectual history, had strong liberal leanings (see, for example, Stocking: 1998). However, it will also be misleading to think of Humboldt as a precursor of linguistic relativity, as he has also been cited by Chomsky as a precursor of his generative grammar, in particular his idea of linguistic creativity. The most influential figure in the emergence of relativism in that period is Johann Gottfried Herder who argued, for the first time, that different historic periods demonstrate different tastes and preferences in ethics and aesthetics, and we are not in a position to rank them or objectively choose between them. Patrick Gardiner singles out Herder as the source of the formative idea that “each age, each national culture, was distinguished by its own practices and attitudes, its own standards of worth or ­excellence,

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its own constellation of beliefs, its own intellectual and imaginative atmosphere; each represented a unique and unrepeatable instance of the inexhaustible potentialities of the human spirit” (Gardiner 1981: 143). Herder’s historical relativism was also evident in Auch eine Philosophie der Geschichte where he argues: Could it be that what a nation at one time considers good, fair, useful, pleasant, and true it considers at another time bad, ugly, useless, unpleasant, false?—And yet this happens! … one observes … that ruling customs, that favorite concepts of honor, of merit, of what is useful can blind an age with a magical light, that a taste in these and those sciences can constitute the tone of a century, and yet all this dies with the century. (Herder 2002: 256)

Herder also writes, “Every nation has the center of its happiness within itself just as every ball has its own center of gravity” (ibid.), which, according to Sikka (2011), shows that Herder should be seen as advocating relativism about virtue of happiness combined with universalism. This is a moderate form of relativism “in so far as he suggests that one needs to suspend the habit of evaluation when approaching the study of a culture, and to try to understand the culture in its own terms, in relation to its own values and beliefs”, and “because he maintains that the goodness of individual lives is relative, within certain limits, to their achievement of the goals and ideals presented to them as desirable and worthy in the society of which they are members” (Sikka 2011: 4). A further indication of the complex connections and theoretical allegiances built around the idea of relativism is that Herder is also seen as a key contributor to the Nazi ideological principle that races are divided into types, and each type comes with its distinct world view. Max Rouché, a Herder scholar, in his introduction to the 1943 French translation of ­Herder’s Yet Another Philosophy of History writes: With Yet Another Philosophy of History, according to which our conception of life is a function of our nation and our age, German thought sets out on the path of relativity; our vision of the world will be presented as a function of our race by H. S. Chamberlain and then Rosenberg, and our type of civilisation by Spengler. Modern Germany is the country par excellence of relativity. (Rouché 1943: 74 in Sikka 2011: 4)



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The points of contact between contemporary relativism and Herder’s nascent version of it, like all other aspects of the historical account given here, are a complex affair. What seems to be beyond doubt is that the Nazis used Herder’s concept of Volk and combined it with their brand of racism. They regarded nations as realizations of racial types which come with their distinct character and values. However, the racial types were not on par. There was a clear hierarchy of races, and most Nazi philosophers attempted to develop an objective foundation of their ranking (see Steizinger 2018 for a detailed discussion of this point). What has to be borne in mind is that the heady ideas associated with relativism throw out many incongruent and unexpected bed-fellows, and it would be a mistake to associate relativism, as it is commonly done, only with the ethics of tolerance and the politics of liberal multi-culturalism.

§2.3 Relativism in the 19th century The history of relativism took a new turn in the 19th century. It is a mark of the increased focus on the idea of relativism that only in this period we come across the first usage of the term “relative” and its German and French counterparts. The terms “relativism” and “relativity”, as noted above, became current in philosophical discussions only in the 19th century. The German term “Relativismus” was first used by Wilhelm Traugott Krug, who succeeded Kant at the University of Königsberg. In his philosophical lexicon, he defines “Relativismus” as “the assumption that everything which we experience and think (the self, the idea of reason, truth, morality, religion etc.) is only something relative, and therefore has no essential endurance and no universal validity” (Krug 2010: 224). Krug locates one source of such relativism in Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal but, like many other commentators before and after him, finds the position self-­defeating. Interestingly, Krug’s reference to Swift is also a gesture to Montaigne, on cannibalism, for Swift’s modest proposal for the inhabitants of Dublin was to resort to selling or consuming their children in order to overcome poverty.17 A great deal of discussions of relativism, starting in the 19th century, originated in reactions to the views of Kant and Hegel. Herder’s historicism also shaped the thinking of not just Hegel, but also Dilthey, who, in turn, became one of the main intellectual forces behind various strands of the emergence of relativism in the 19th century.

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§2.3.1 Historicism and its impact Historicism, inspired by Hegel, had the most direct impact on discussions of relativism in the 19th century. Hegel, the towering influence of first half of the 19th century on philosophy and the object of a great deal of reaction in the second half, could not be characterized as a relativist. However, Hegelianism, through its emphasis on the historical dimension of human reason and understanding, gave rise to the idea that different histories, each in their distinct way, rather than the transcendental absolute idea of history, as Hegel had envisaged, would shape the course of human understanding and knowledge. Historicism crucially shaped Marxism and neo-Marxism as well as the hermeneutics of Wilhelm Dilthey and his followers. According to Engels’s brand of relativism, truth and falsity have absolute validity only within an extremely limited sphere, and not only ethics, which varies greatly from society to society, but even logic does not deal with unassailable universal principles and could not give us conclusive truths. Different social systems, with their varying modes of production – feudal aristocracy, the bourgeoisie, and the proletariat – give rise to their own particular beliefs and practices. Therefore, knowledge claims, particularly those concerning the historical or human sciences, are “limited to an apprehension of the pattern and the effects of certain forms of society and of the state that exist only at a particular time and for a particular people and that are by their very nature transitory” (Engels, in Ladd 1985: 18). Although Marxist relativism is frequently associated with historical and cultural relativism, the type of social determinism it advocates has also shaped the thinking of postmodernist philosophers such as Michel Foucault and the social constructivism that was inspired by the Russian psychologist Lev Vygotsky (1896–1934). We will return to this topic in Chapter 5. Discussions of historicism also shape the Hermeneutics of Wilhelm Dilthey (1833–1911), the German philosopher and historian, who had a seminal role in shaping the social sciences of the 20th century. In a manner reminiscent of Herder and Hamann, Dilthey argued that each nation is a self-contained unit with its own “horizon”, that is, a characteristic conception of reality and system of values. He also believes that the Hegelian “objective Geist”, or collective spirit, manifests itself through texts and other uses of language, and so is available for study, but only by way of intuitive empathetic understanding. He concludes that the methods of the natural sciences are completely inappropriate for the study of the human



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realm. According to Dilthey’s “historical relativism”, comparisons of views and perspectives held in different periods show the relativity and contingency of all historical convictions. The very beliefs that present themselves as unconditional and universal – metaphysical and religious beliefs in ­particular – more than all others carry the imprint of their historical conditions and consciousness. Different historical epochs produce different values or norms, each presenting itself as unconditional and universal. By acquiring historical consciousness, we become aware of the conflicts between these supposedly unconditional and hence universal values and discover their historical contingency. However, for Dilthey, relativism does not lead to a free-for-all cognitive anarchy, because “The historical consciousness of the finitude of every historical phenomenon … and of the relativity of every kind of faith, is the last step toward the liberation of mankind and hence the one non-relative truth”. Although metaphysical systems are historically relative, historical relativism amounts to a kind of historical self-­consciousness that is a non-contingent philosophical position. The discovery of its truth leads to liberation from dogmatism and arbitrariness and ensures continuous creativity as well (see Dilthey 1988; Steizinger 2017). Dilthey’s views, in turn, directly influenced Franz Boas, the founder of cultural anthropology in the United States where he had spent nearly all his academic career. As a student, Boas had attended Dilthey’s lectures in ­Berlin, and his thinking about other cultures and ethnic groups show Diltheyan influences.18 The most popular debates about relativism in the 20th century have revolved around the so-called “cultural relativism”. As we saw, the idea that norms and values are born out of conventions can be traced back to Herodotus, but it is only in the 20th century and with the advent of social anthropology as a discipline that cultural relativism began to gain wide currency. Boas saw cultural relativism as an antidote to the then prevailing evolutionary theories of culture, advocated by early anthropologists such as Edward Burnett Tylor and his disciple James Frazer who placed Western societies in the highest tier of “civilization” and tribes in the early stages of this developmental process (see Sera-Shriar 2013). According to Boas, though, “… civilization is not something absolute, but … is relative, and … our ideas and conceptions are true only so far as our civilization goes” (Boas 1887: 589). He believed that the truth of relativism is backed by empirical data, because “the data of ethnology prove that not only our knowledge but also our emotions are the result of the form of our social life and of the history of the people to whom we belong” (Boas 1940: 636). In the hands of Boas’s foremost students, Ruth Benedict and Melville

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J. Herskovits, as well as other influential anthropologists such as Edvard Westermarck and Margaret Mead, cultural relativism not only became the orthodoxy in social anthropology but also began to shape a great deal of the secular moral outlook of many, particularly younger students, in Western societies. In her widely read Patterns of Culture, Benedict (1934b) railed against universalist notions of what counts as “normal”, arguing that it is only local or indigenous perspectives, in Pueblo, Dobu, or New York, that decide what counts as abnormal. Morality, she argued, “is historical, institutional, and empirical rather than universal or based on individual feelings” (1934: 113). Each society has its own code of ethics, principles, or culturally approved customs or habits, and such codes should not be judged by the standards of those familiar to the anthropologist, however strange they may appear. The aim was to increase mutual respect and tolerance in the world. Benedict’s views point to another important difference between the type of relativism embraced by social anthropologists and the philosophical versions of relativism. What Benedict and other cultural anthropologists were attempting to show was that the so-called “normal” varies greatly between societies and cultures. They believed that this insight can capture the on the ground realities of cultural patterns more accurately and faithfully. Moral and cultural relativism often followed from this anti-­ universalist tolerant position but was not its main aim. Herskovits, on the other hand, took a more theoretical approach to cultural relativism. What he called “the principle of cultural relativism” states: Judgments are based on experience, and experience is interpreted by each individual in terms of his own enculturation. … Even the facts of the physical world are discerned through the enculturative screen, so that the perception of time, distance, weight, size, and other ‘realities’ is mediated by the conventions of any given group. (Herskovits 1972: 61)

He also echoed Boas’s social determinism with his claim that “Judgments are based on experience, and experience is interpreted by each individual in terms of his own enculturation” (Herskovits 1948: 15). His views, thus, have more in common with later social constructionsit approaches than with the methodological relativism that Benedict or Mead advocated. This radical relativist position not only colored a great deal of work done in social anthropology for decades to come but also contributed to establishing relativism as the Zeitgeist of the humanities and the social sciences in the United States and beyond.



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§2.3.2 Neo-Kantian relativism The end of the 19th century witnessed the emergence of a second, quite distinct, strand of relativist discourse in German philosophy, one motivated by empirical-psychological and physiological interpretations of Kantian categories rather than by historicism.19 Immanuel Kant famously argued that, even though the very possibility of thought requires the assumption that the noumenal world – the world of the “thing in itself” – exists, we are not in a position to grasp it directly through our perceptions alone for “what objects may be in themselves, and apart from all this receptivity of our sensibility, remains completely unknown to us” (Kant 1929: A 26/ B42). The world we know – the phenomenal world – is grasped by our senses, but our worldly apprehensions are invariably mediated through “forms of intuition” or the “categories” that are the necessary elements of all knowledge. The raw data of our sensory experiences are organized, and made intelligible, by concepts such as space and time, and the categories of understanding such as cause, unity, and substance. Without these a priori categories, experience itself would become impossible. But though our knowledge begins with experience, it by no means follows that all arises out of experience. For on the contrary, it is quite possible that our empirical knowledge is a compound of that which we receive through impressions, and that which the faculty of cognition supplies from itself … independent of experience, and even of all sensuous impressions …. (Kant 1929: 25)

Without these necessary forms of all actual and possible experiences, there would be no experience, for all our experiences of the world, as well as their descriptions, are subject to the laws of these a priori categories. For Kant, the forms of our experiences provide the very framework within which all thinking becomes possible; they are a priori and necessarily universal, and therefore not open to generalization. However, the innovative distinction between the raw stream of experience and the conceptual principle for organizing it, contrary to Kant’s own aims, introduced the possibility that there could be a variety of equally acceptable incompatible schemes of organization to which ontology is relativized. Psychologistic interpretations of Kant’s scheme-content distinction, in the 19th century, were spearheaded by the physiologist von Helmholtz and the psychologist Wilhelm Wundt (1832–1920), who published a massive ten-volume study on the so-called folk-psychology or Völkerpsychologie from

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1900 to 1920. Their work turned the Kantian a priori into the psychological or physiological, and hence contingent, preconditions of human knowledge. In addition, Theodore Lipps (1851–1914), one of the most influential psychologists of his time, advanced the idea that the laws of logic are psychological laws, and, in that sense, they too are contingent (Lipps 1893: 1–2). To think of the laws of logic as products of psychology leads to the possibility that creatures with a different psychological make-up, or creatures belonging to different species, may rely on very different logical principles. The scope and the truths of logic, thus, could be relative to different species (see Kusch 1995: 47, 327). It is for this very reason that ­Husserl blames Kant, more than any other philosopher, for both psychologism and relativism, and believes that there is nothing in Kant to prevent us from thinking that the Kantian table of categories could vary in different species or even individuals (Husserl 2001: P A/B 132).20 Frege too reacted to psychologism and its resultant relativism, in particular to the views advanced by Benno Erdmann who maintained that truth is that belief that meets with general acceptance. According to Frege, and many later anti-relativist philosophers, that approach would obliterate the distinction between truth and what is believed to be true (Frege 1893: XVI–XVII).21 Frege argues that “If being true is thus independent of being acknowledged by somebody or other, then the laws of truth are not psychological laws: they are boundary stones set in an eternal foundation, which our thought can overflow but never displace” (1893: xvi). He also criticizes Erdmann’s view that logical laws have “hypothetical necessity” only and are relative to the human species. Memorably, Frege believed that if we were to encounter creatures who deny the laws of logic, we would take them to be “insane” (Frege 1893: XVI).22 §2.3.3 The British discussion The newly found focus on the question of relativism in Germany had some parallels in 19th-century British philosophy where the terms “relativism” and “relativity” began to gain currency in discussions of Kantian views of knowledge. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first use of the terms “relative” and “relativity” was by J. Grote in his Exploratio Philosophica (1865) where he writes: The notion of the mask over the face of nature is … what I have called ‘relativism’. If ‘the face of nature’ is reality, then the mask over it, which



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is what theory gives us, is so much deception, and that is what relativism really comes to. (Grote 1865: I.xi 229)

Around the same time, William Hamilton (1788–1856) defended what he saw as a Kantian view that the thing in itself “is absolutely unknowable in itself” since all we know of it is relative to our senses. He advocated what he calls the “great axiom” of the “doctrine of relativity of our human knowledge” according to which according to which all human knowledge is conditional and consequently that all human philosophy, is only of the relative or phaenomenal”. He explains that “in this proposition, the term relative is opposed to the term absolute; and, therefore, in saying that we know only the relative, I virtually assert that we know nothing absolute, nothing existing absolutely; that is, in and for itself, and without relation to us and our faculties” (Hamilton 1861, vol. I: 96–97). Hamilton also advises that “… all we know is known only under the special conditions of our faculties” and adds, “‘Man,’ says Protagoras, ‘is the measure of the universe’” (Hamilton 1861: 91).23 In sympathy, John Grote’s brother, the historian and philosopher George Grote, in his monumental history of Greece and Greek philosophy, complains about the injustice of Plato’s negative portrayal of Protagoras and identifies “the principle of relativity” laid down by Protagoras with the more contemporary relativism of Hamilton (see Herbert 2001). Herbert Spencer (1820–1903), who is better known for his defense of the idea of evolution even before Darwin had published his account, was also an advocate of Hamiltonian relativism and subscribed to the view that “human understanding is only capable of ‘relative’ knowledge. This is the case since, owing to the inherent limitations of the human mind, it is only possible to obtain knowledge of phenomena, not of the reality (‘the absolute’) underlying phenomena” (Herbert Spencer First Principles 1867: 46). John Stuart Mill, however, thought that Hamilton’s relativism is ultimately a trivial doctrine because it amounts to the claim that we can, in fact, “be looking at Things in themselves, but through imperfect glasses: that we see may be the very Thing, but the colours and forms which the glass conveys to us may be partly an optical illusion” (Mill 1864: 16). This, however, as Mill points out, does not amount to a genuine relativization of knowledge and moreover is self-refuting because: [Hamilton] affirms without reservation, that certain attributes (extension, figure, & etc.) are known to us as they really exist out of ourselves; and also

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that all our knowledge of them is relative to us. And these two assertions are only reconcileable, if relativity to us is understood in the altogether trivial sense, that we know them only so far as our faculties permit. (Mill 1864: 22)

The 19th-century discussions of relativism in Britain did not muster the same type of momentum and influence that their German counterpart, with its much broader scope, had. However, by the turn of the 20th century, there were more overt signs of support in British philosophy for something resembling contemporary relativism. One interesting example is the Oxford philosopher and most prominent of the British Pragmatists of the time Ferdinand Canning Scott Schiller (1864–1937). Schiller sides with Protagoras against Plato and argues that the “man is the measure” doctrine has priority over the Socratic injunction that “above all else know thyself” because knowledge, rationality, and even truth are non-absolute and relative to our interests, and, contra Plato, he proclaims that “Truth is human and fact is not independent” but dependent and relative to our knowing (Schiller 1908, 1912: 33). We make truths for specific purposes just as a carpenter makes a chair, but like the carpenter, the truth-makers are constrained by the real as well as by the purpose they have. As we will see in Chapter 5, Schiller’s approach to truth finds strong echoes in the conceptual relativity of Neo-Pragmatists such as Nelson Goodman. The strongest voice in support of historicism or historical relativism in Britain in early 20th century belonged to R. J. Collingwood who, in his An Essay on Metaphysics, suggested that there are unverifiable “absolute presuppositions” at the foundations of the conceptual system of any historical epoch and we do not have an “impartial standpoint” to adjudicate between these foundations. In his 1930 “The Philosophy of History”, he claimed that “Everyone brings his own mind to the study of history, and approaches it from the point of view which is characteristic of himself and his generation”, and concluded that historians will give different perspectives in writing the history of a particular period relative to their own historic situatedness.24 Despite this flurry of interest, the impact of discussions of relativism on British philosophy was rather short-lived. The revolutionary change in philosophical approach brought about by Russell and Moore in the early 20th century transformed the tone of British philosophy completely. Realism, rather than relativism, became the dominant approach, and discussions of relativism became increasingly marginalized. Things began to change somewhat in the 1960s when, under the influence of



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Wittgenstein’s later writings, philosophers such as Peter Winch re-ignited interest in the topic. Debates about Wittgenstein’s alleged relativism continue apace, as we will see in Chapter 7. However, discussions of relativism, in the main, continue to have a critical, indeed dismissive, tone (see, for instance, Williamson 2015). §2.3.4 The French discussion The 19th century also saw a resurgence of interest in relativism in France. Auguste Comte (1798–1857), the father of sociology, believed that that his “positive sociology” had a “tendency to render relative the ideas which were at first absolute” (Comte 1896: 69). Comte was also responsible for the battle cry “all is relative”. He claimed that “speaking in an absolute sense there is nothing good, and there is nothing bad; the only absolute is that everything is relative especially when social institutions are concerned” (Comte 1976: 57). His version of relativism, however, unlike its British 19th-century counterpart, did not owe much to Kant but showed a clearer allegiance to historicism, for Comte argued that “all human knowledge grows from century to century, and that the political institutions and ideas of each epoch of a people must be relative to the state of enlightenment of this people in this epoch” (Comte 1818 in Pickering 2010: 125). Even scientific knowledge, for Comte, was relative to a time and place; he writes: I merely desire to keep in view that all our positive knowledge is relative; and, in my dread of our resting in notions of anything absolute, I would venture to say that I can conceive of such a thing as even our theory of gravitation being hereafter superseded. (Comte 1896: 199)

§2.3.5 The impact of science The surge of interest in relativism in the 19th and 20th centuries coincided with the collapse of old certainties in science. The discovery of non-­ Euclidean geometries helped to undermine the strong distinction between a priori and a posteriori truths and Kant’s claim that Euclid’s geometry provided an a priori description of the physical space. The argument, as Michael Friedman puts it, is that if “Euclidean geometry, at one time the very model of rational or a priori knowledge of nature, can be empirically

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revised, … then everything is empirically revisable” (Friedman 2002: 172). The relativization of the a priori, as we will see in Chapter 4, in turn, opened the way for various forms of the doctrine of conceptual relativity proposed by Quine and Putnam as well as the framework relativism of Thomas Kuhn (Friedman 2002: 187). The advent of the theory of evolution also had a central role in undermining both the religiously inspired and the transcendental absolutist conceptions of ethics. Darwin, in particular in his The Descent of Man (1989/1877), attempts to give a radically naturalized account of ethics inspired by the general biological framework he had put in place in his much earlier Origins of the Species (1859). Morality, for Darwin, is specific to differing stages and pathways of evolution, and there is no overarching criterion of right, and, as the following passage shows: If men were reared under precisely the same conditions as hive-bees, there can hardly be a doubt that our unmarried females would, like the workerbees, think it a sacred duty to kill their brothers, and mothers would strive to kill their fertile daughters; and no one would think of interfering. (Darwin 1989 (1877): 99)

While Darwin’s naturalized view of ethics is closer to a form of speciesism rather than relativism, his influence on the development of relativism can clearly be detected in the work of William Graham Sumner (1840–1910), the pioneering sociologist who gave the very first course entitled “Sociology” in the United States. Sumner defended cultural relativism in his book Folkways (1906) and was also the first to contrast relativism with ethnocentrism. Social evolution, for Summer, was a by-product of biological evolution. Societies develop their own folkways, he claimed, and their moral judgments are right or wrong only relative to their specific social and cultural ways. The popularity of the very idea of relativism in the 20th century also owes something to Einstein’s general and special theories of relativity which were treated both as a model and as an unexpected source of legitimation for relativism. As early as in 1919, The New York Times published an editorial about Einstein and the relativity theory entitled “Assaulting the Absolute”, where it proclaimed that “the foundation of all human thought has been undermined” (The New York Times, Dec. 7, 1919 in Isaacson 2007: 278). In Britain, Lord Haldane, in his book The Reign of Relativity (1921: 123), took a more positive and approving tone, and argued that “Einstein’s principle of the relativity of



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our measurements of space and time cannot be taken in isolation, … When its import is considered it may well be found to have its counterpart in other domains” (in Isaacson 2007: 278). At the other extreme, the influential Italian cultural commentator Adriano Tilgher (1887–1941) linked Einstein’s relativity theory with the cultural relativism of the celebrated German historian Oswald Spengler (Reeves 1987: 189). Matters were not helped by Einstein’s own, frequently quoted, summary of his position as: The “Principle of Relativity” in its widest sense is contained in the statement: The totality of physical phenomena is of such a character that it gives no basis for the introduction of the concept of “absolute motion;” or, shorter but less precise: There is no “absolute motion”. (Einstein 1949/1996: 39)

Insofar as relativism is characterized as the extreme opposite of all things absolute, the conflation of relativism and relativity seemed quite ­natural. For decades, philosophers and cultural commentators in Europe and ­America enhanced the standing of their relativistic views by invoking E­ instein’s “­scientific proof” of relativity. The historian Paul Johnson describes the cultural impact of Einstein’s theories best: It was as though the spinning globe had been taken off its axis and cast adrift in a universe which no longer conformed to accustomed standards of measurement. At the beginning of the 1920s the belief began to circulate, for the first time at a popular level, that there were no longer any absolutes: of time and space, of good and evil, of knowledge, above all of value. Mistakenly but perhaps inevitably, relativity became confused with relativism. (Johnson 1991: 3–5)

What cannot be denied is the currency Einstein’s theory has given to discussions of moral and cultural relativism and anti-absolutism. This is true of even some of those who had close familiarity with and good understanding of Einstein’s work. The theoretical physicist and Logical Positivist Philipp Frank, who, on Einstein’s recommendation, succeeded him at the Charles Ferdinand University of Prague, is an example. David Bloor, sees Frank’s later books (Frank 1949, 1950) as examples of how, contrary to a Popperian mood in philosophy of science, where relativism is seen as a philosophical malady of our time, science and relativism can be made

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compatible. He cites Frank as an example of a scientist and philosopher of science who, having witnessed the intellectual breakthrough of relativity theory, has come to defend relativism not just in science but also in the moral and cultural domain (Bloor 2011: 436). Relativism, it should be added, for Frank and Bloor following him, amounts to the view that there could be no such a thing as absolute truth or absolute knowledge, that is, anti-absolutism. With progress in science, and the theory of relativity a prime example of such progress, we see “the ever-greater interconnection of physical facts. What initially seems self-contained is later revealed to be dependent on other phenomena. What seems simple turns out to be complex; what seems isolated turns out to be connected; what seems unqualified turns out to be qualified” (ibid.). Relativism for Frank does not amount to a denial of the possibility of truth but an acknowledgment of its qualified and contingent nature. We will return to Bloor’s arguments and the social constructivist understanding of the practices of science and their connections with relativism in Chapter 6. Frank’s case, however, gives us more examples of the multiplicity of connections between developments in science over the last two centuries and a resurgence of interest in relativism. Connections between relativism and Einstein’s theory of relativity are also established by using the Theory of Relativity as a model characterizing relativism. Here is, for instance, Gilbert Harman, a realist about science but a relativist about moral values: According to Einstein’s Theory of Relativity even an object’s mass is relative to a choice of spatio-temporal framework. An object can have one mass in relation to one such framework and a different mass in relation to another. … I am going to argue for a similar claim about moral right and wrong. … I am going to argue that moral right and wrong … are always relative to a choice of moral framework. (Harman 1996: 3)

Paul Boghossian, a staunch critic of relativism, also discusses the parallels between relativity and relativism when he writes, “the relativist about a given domain, D, purports to have discovered that the truths of D involve an unexpected relation to a parameter” (Boghossian 2006b: 13). This core idea of relativism, he maintains, also lies at the heart of the most important and successful relativistic theses ever proposed: Galileo’s discoveries about the relativity of motion and Einstein’s discovery of the relativity of time to a variable frame of reference (Boghossian ibid.).



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New discoveries in science thus provided a conceptual and cultural framework for discussing relativism and became a reason for the ever-­ increasing influence and popularity of the idea in the 20th century.

§2.4 Relativism and contemporary philosophy Relativism has been a major topic of philosophical discussion in the past 50 years or so. The discussions, at times, have taken unexpected turns. §2.4.1 Relativism and contemporary European philosophy Historicism and post-Hegelian philosophy had an important role in shaping the relativist tendencies of particular strands of the so-called “continental” or post-Kantian European philosophy, which, beginning in the 19th century, engaged in a deep criticism, if not an outright rejection, of rationalism. The most influential and inspirational figure in the development of this strand of philosophy is Friedrich Nietzsche. Nietzsche agrees with Kant that we are incapable of unmediated knowledge of the world or the “thing in itself” but radicalizes this Kantian view by rejecting the very distinction between the noumenal and the phenomenal world. There is no coherent basis for this distinction, he maintains, because to draw it is to presuppose the very thing Kant ruled out: the possibility of separating what the mind contributes to the world and what is in the world. All reports of the so-called “facts” are statements of interpretation and could always be supplemented or replaced by other interpretations: The world with which we are concerned is false, i.e., it is not a fact but a fable and approximation on the basis of a meagre sum of observations; it is ‘in flux’ as something in a state of becoming, as a falsehood always changing but never getting near the truth: for—there is no ‘truth’. (Nietzsche 1968: §616)

The Kantian categories, such as cause, identity, unity, and substance, arise out of language. Language, however, is not the simple means of describing what there is; rather, it imposes its own interpretation or “philosophical mythology” on our thoughts. All our conceptions and descriptions, even those in physics, the purest of all sciences, are “only an interpretation and arrangement of the world (according to our own requirements, if I may say so!)—and not an explanation of the world” (Nietzsche 1996: §14).25

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Descriptions of reality, claims to knowledge, and moral judgments are inevitably made from a certain standpoint or perspective and hence cannot be representations of what is really out there because “there is only a perspective seeing, only a perspective knowing” (Nietzsche 1968: §540). We can readily accept that all seeing is from a point of view and that “a view from nowhere”, as Thomas Nagel calls it, or a God’s eye view (pace Putnam) does not exist. But what are we to make of the parallel between knowing and seeing that Nietzsche draws? Non-perspectival seeing is a physical impossibility, but different perspectives can converge and give us a wider and hence less partial perspective. The relativist interpretation of Nietzsche, however, does not allow for such convergence of perspectives. Our perceptions as well as our understanding of the world are partial in two different senses. We can only see the world, both literally and metaphorically, from a particular angle, and our perceptions and conceptions are colored by our values and desires. Historicism plays a role because, for Nietzsche, no one perspective occupies a privileged position; we have access only to perspectives that prevail at any given time in history. Thereby, it is not possible to resort to any facts or objective standards of evaluation independently of their relation to the perspectives we occupy; we can do little more than insist on the legitimacy of our own perspective and try to impose it on other people; this is a crucial feature of the “all human” will to power. Nietzsche’s perspectivism, if not quite identical to relativism, comes very close to it, as he seems to affirm some of the core features of relativism discussed in Chapter 1. In particular, knowledge claims are non-absolute, dependent on perspectives and plural. Arguably, they may even have claims to equal validity as there are no objective perspectives for adjudicating between incompatible knowledge claims. We can agree with Patrick Gardiner that Nietzsche’s claim that “no fact could be established as such: in the last analysis there were only ‘interpretations,’ each of which bore the imprint of a certain outlook and to which alternatives could always be envisaged or conceived”, at the very least makes it “understandable that he has frequently been construed as having tried to press the boundaries of relativist criticism far beyond the spheres within which others were inclined to confine it” (Gardiner 1981: 152). Nietzsche’s rejections of universal aspirations of a generalized framework for ethics also make him an ally of moral relativism (see Steizinger 2017: 232). However, the extent to which Nietzsche’s perspectivism should be seen as continuous with, if not identical to, relativism has been a subject of



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debate.26 A large number of contemporary interpreters reject straightforwardly relativistic interpretations of Nietzsche’s perspectivism.27 Moreover, there is no evidence that Nietzsche regarded himself as a relativist, even if he was already associated with relativism in his time. Irrespective of this particular debate, however, Nietzsche’s influence on relativism is evident in the postmodernist movement’s reliance on his approach in questioning the possibility of objective norms, truth, reason, and justification. And insofar as we see postmodernism aligned with relativism, the relationship between Nietzsche’s work and relativism, at least in this genealogical sense, has been well-established. The key ideas of postmodernism were propagated by a number of post-structuralist French philosophers in the 1970s, prominent among them Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida, and Jean François Lyotard. The postmodernists trace their intellectual genealogy to the historicism of Hegel, the radical politics of Marx, the phenomenology of Heidegger, and to Saussurian linguistics. But, above all, it is Nietzsche’s iconoclasm, his rejection of an objectivist conceptions of truth and knowledge, backed by the perspectivism discussed above, that proved a source of inspiration for postmodern thought. Like Nietzsche, postmodernists scorn the quest for universal values, both cognitive and moral, and see it as a manifestation of the will to power masquerading as objectivity. The Enlightenment is rejected as an authoritarian movement and a formative ideology of Western imperialism and colonialism. Postmodernism, on the other hand, is presented as an ally in the fight for emancipation from tyrannies of all sorts. Nowhere is Nietzsche’s imprint on postmodern thinking more evident than in Michel Foucault’s thesis that all claims to knowledge and truth are disguised power-relationships. The will to truth is always bound up with particular political (social, cultural, economic) hegemonies, and philosophers discussing traditional ideas of truth share the presuppositions of such power-structures for they are inevitably located within the nexus of particular social relations. Since Nietzsche, Foucault argues, it has become impossible to believe that ‘in the rending of the veil, truth remains truthful; we have lived long enough not to be taken in’ (Nietzsche Contra Wagner: 99). Truth is undoubtedly the sort of error that cannot be refuted because it was hardened into an unalterable form in the long baking process of history. (Foucault 1977: 143)

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He also seems to fully relativize truth and knowledge by claiming that: Each society has its régime of truth, its ‘general politics’ of truth: that is, the types of discourse which it accepts and makes function as true; the mechanisms and instances which enable one to distinguish true and false statements, the means by which each is sanctioned; the techniques and procedures accorded value in the acquisition of truth; the status of those who are charged with saying what counts as true. (Foucault 2001: 35)

Two further important strands in continental philosophy are also associated with relativism, and both these strands show the influence of Dilthey’s historicism. Heidegger is often seen as the most influential figure in 20th-­century continental philosophy. Heidegger’s view of truth as “unconcealment” led to expressions of views that sound quite similar to the relativist position targeted by Paul Boghossian and others in their arguments, not against ­Heidegger, but against Richard Rorty (see Chapters 5 and 7). Heidegger writes: … neither can we say that the Galilean doctrine of freely falling bodies is true and that Aristotle’s teaching, that light bodies strive upward, is false for the Greek understanding of the essence of body and place and of the relation between the two rests upon a different interpretation of beings and hence conditions a correspondingly different kind of seeing and questioning of natural events. No one would presume to maintain that ­Shakespeare’s poetry is more advanced than that of Aeschylus. It is still more impossible to say that the modern understanding of whatever is, is more correct than that of the Greeks. (Heidegger 1977: 117)

Like Rorty, Heidegger seems to be arguing that the Galilean and Aristotelian frameworks offer different ways of conceptualizing, and hence questioning and characterizing, the so-called natural world. Heidegger’s position, however, may be closer to a form of pluralism involving historical incommensurability regarding the very concept of science. For, he says, “When we use the word ‘science’ today, it means something essentially different from the doctrina and scientia of the Middle Ages, and also from the Greek epistēme. Greek science was never exact, precisely because, in keeping with its essence, it could not be exact and did not need to be exact” (­Heidegger 1977: ibid.). Different constructions of “science”, Heidegger



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seems to maintain, pose different questions, and we are not justified in comparing the historically contextualized responses to such questions. The view will entail the counter-intuitive conclusion that there is no progress in science, but such a view cannot readily be identified with relativism (see also Heidegger 1977: 228, 274). Hermeneutic approaches to philosophy, influenced by Heidegger, Dilthey, Nietzsche, and the Counter-Enlightenment philosophers, also appear sympathetic to relativism. According to the leading German Hermeneutic philosopher of the second half of the 20th century, Hans-Georg Gadamer, “Reason exists for us only in concrete, historical terms––i.e., it is not its own master but remains constantly dependent on the given circumstances in which it operates” (Gadamer 2005: 227); therefore, reason does not possess the type of objectivity anti-relativists require. §2.4.2 Relativism and contemporary analytic philosophy Until recently, the label “relativistic” has been widely seen as pejorative, and very few analytic philosophers “have been willing to mount an explicit defense of relativism” (Swoyer 1982: 84). Analytic philosophy since its inception had subscribed to the common consensus that relativism is incoherent and inconsistent. Even Richard Rorty, who, as we will see in ­Chapter  6, is often seen as one of the most influential proponents of ­relativism, has joined the chorus of those calling outright relativism “self-­ defeating”. He says: Truth is, to be sure, an absolute notion, in the following sense: ‘true for me but not for you’ and ‘true in my culture but not in yours’ are weird, pointless locutions. So is ‘true then, but not now.’ Whereas we often say ‘good for this purpose, but not for that’ and ‘right in this situation, but not in that,’ it seems pointlessly paradoxical to relativize truth to purposes or situations. (Rorty 1998: 2)

Joseph Margolis captures the general scorn in which relativism has been held when he writes, “Of all the conceptual options that have ever crossed the mind of the philosophical tribe, none has attracted quite the scorn and ridicule of the relativist” (Margolis 1991: xiv). And yet, just as the battle lines between analytic and continental philosophy seem to be becoming quite blurred, a strong and detailed defense of relativism has been put

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forward by a number of analytic philosophers of language, chief among them, John MacFarlane, Max Kölbel, Crispin Wright, and Mark Richard, and linguists such as Tamina Stephenson and Peter Lasersohn. The so-called New truth-relativism is an attempt to provide appropriate semantic tools for dealing with various categories of sentences that do not seem suitable for assignment of truth-values in the usual fashion. The motivation for New truth-relativism is primarily linguistic. It follows the views advocated by David Lewis and David Kaplan, who, reflecting on demonstratives and indexicals, such as “here”, “this”, and “I”, believed that propositions are true or false only relative to a circumstance of evaluation. It proposes that for certain discourses, the ones with predicates involving subjective elements, for example, expressions of personal taste, epistemic modals, moral predicates, future contingents, context-sensitive ascriptions of knowledge, and epistemic possibility claims, the evaluation of the truth would depend not just on the context in which a statement is uttered – when, where, to whom, by whom, in what language, and the state of the world in relevant respects – but also on the context of assessment. The suggestion is that the same token assertion could receive different truth-­values depending on its circumstances of evaluation. We will return to the topic of New truth-relativism (Chapter 3) in greater detail, but what is of interest here is the question of the continuity between this kind of relativism and traditional ones. Traditional forms of relativism about truth and justification, such as cultural relativism, have had a metaphysical and epistemological import. They were about the limitations of a representational view of truth, the possibility of objectivity, and the existence of irreconcilable diversity in claims to knowledge. New truth-­ relativism, on the other hand, is presented as a semantic theory proposed as a remedy to the shortcomings of a classical Fregean approach for the assignment of truth-values in certain areas of discourse. Viewed in this light, New truth-relativism is merely a semantic theory, while older relativisms make ontic and epistemic claims. Or at least, this is the way old-fashioned anti-relativists, such as Paul Boghossian, see the matter. Boghossian writes: I do not just mean that the relativisms at issue concern different domains (though that might also be true); but rather that New Age relativism [that is, New truth-relativism] uses a different template for generating a relativistic view of a given domain than I do. In addition, New Age relativism has more limited goals or scope. (Boghossian 2008: 409)



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Crispin Wright and John MacFarlane disagree: Wright because he believes that traditional relativism can be assimilated into New truth-relativism; ­MacFarlane because he believes that some forms of traditional relativism, epistemic ­relativism in particular, are more properly characterized as variants of it. The disagreement about the scope and significance of New truth-­ relativism versus its more traditional approaches is one more demonstration of the fact that the very nature and scope of relativism, and not just its consequences and implications, are hotly contested philosophical topics. In the remainder of this book, we will try to shed some light on this complex and old philosophical problem.

Summary This chapter provided an overview of the history of the idea of relativism and also aims to show some of the continuities and the discontinuities in the development of the different forms of relativism. Framework relativism, particularly in the form of cultural relativism, has the longest philosophical pedigree, going back to Protagoras and classical Greece, re-emerging with Montaigne at the dawn of modern philosophy and receiving its full articulation at the beginning of 20th century. The emergence of the 20th-century versions of cultural relativism was mediated through discussions of historicism or historical relativism in Germany, discussions that were influential in shaping the type of recoil from objectivism that can be found in the writings of continental philosophers such as Heidegger, Derrida, Foucault, and ­Lyotard. Conceptual relativism also emerged in Germany in the 19th century as a product of a more empirically minded or naturalized, as opposed to a historicist, strand of neo-Kantianism, a strand that arose from the application of the methodology of natural sciences not only to psychology but also to philosophical issues. New truth-relativism, in contrast, is a very recent and somewhat unexpected development within analytic philosophy, motivated by questions about the role of context in the assignments of truth-values and meanings.

Further readings Baghramian, Maria (2004) Chapters 1–3. Cover the history of relativism at greater length than discussed here. Burnyeat, M. F. (1976b). “Protagoras and the self-refutation in Plato’s Theaetetus”. Burnyeat, M. F. (1976a). “Protagoras and Self-refutation in Later Greek Philosophy”.

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John Marenbon’s “Relativism in the Long Middle Ages: Crossing the ethical border with paganism” (2015) is a rare example of discussion of relativism in the medieval period. Miranda Fricker in “Style of Moral Relativism: A Critical Family Tree” (2013), in Roger Crisp (ed.), focuses on the different styles of moral relativist thought. Kusch, Martin; Kinzel, Katherina; Steizinger, Johannes and Wildschut, Niels (eds.) in The Emergence of Modern Relativism: The German Debates from the 1770s to the 1930s (2019) provide a detailed examination of the history of relativism in German thought, from the Enlightenment to National Socialism.

Notes 1 See Section 2.4 for the history of the modern term “relativism”. 2 We would like to thank Johannes Steizinger for his extensive and very helpful comments on earlier drafts of this chapter. 3 Richard Rorty is a well-known example. 4 An earlier and much shorter version of this chapter appeared in B ­ aghramian (2010). 5 It is very likely that this passage is a direct quotation from Protagoras’s Truth as the same passage also appears in Plato’s Cratylus 386a. Aristotle and Sextus also use examples of conflicting sensory experiences in their restatements of Protagoras’ position. 6 See Baghramian (2004) and Mi-Kyoung (2005) for discussions of alternative interpretations of the Protagorean doctrine. 7 Theaetetus 169–171. See Burnyeat (1976) and Mi-Kyoung Lee (2005) for detailed reconstructions of Plato’s argument. 8 See Putnam, H. (1981) and Burnyeat, M. (1976) for examples. 9 See Chapter 3 in this volume. 10 The five Modes of skepticism introduced earlier by Agrippa (sometime between 1st century BC and 2nd century AD) share a common form with the Relativity Mode of Sextus. 1 X appears F relative to a. 2 X appears F* relative to b. 3 At most one of the appearances of 1 and 2 can be true. 4 No decision procedure tells decisively either for 1 or 2. 5 We should suspend judgement as to what X is like in its real nature. (Hankinson 1995: 156)



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11 Montaigne, however, was not the only philosopher of that period to discuss ideas congruent with relativism. For instance, in Les Dialogues de Guy de Brués, contre les nouveux Academiciens (1557), de Brués presents the skeptics Baif and Auber and argues that the diversity of human opinions shows that ethical and legal views are merely beliefs and hence do not have the absolute or universal authority of genuine knowledge (Popkin 1979: 33). 12 See Popkin (2003: 53). It is instructive also to remember that Montaigne was writing in the shadow of the heretic Giordano Bruno who posited the existence of an infinity of worlds and speculated about recurrent incarnations, and was burned on the stake for his views. 13 Descartes was also aware of the diversity in religious beliefs; for instance, he mentions that the Hurons in Canada believe that God is a tree or a stone. However, he thinks that this shows that all human beings have an innate and universal idea of God. 14 Fricker’s comments on Montaigne are also highly pertinent to M ­ ontesquieu’s rhetorical strategy. 15 The very idea that German counter-Enlightenment was a distinct intellectual movement reacting to the French Enlightenment has come under question in recent year. See, for instance, Schmidt (2015). Leaving aside the details of the current debate, what we think is quite clear is the influence of Herder in the development of some strands relativism which reached their pinnacle in the 19th century in post-Hegelian historicism. 16 Vico’s views also influenced Collingwood’s historicism which is frequently identified with relativism, but this is an incorrect understanding of his complex, and possibly inconsistent, position where he also explicitly rejects relativism. 17 The following passage from Swift is particularly reminiscent of Montaigne’s essay: “But in order to justify my friend, he confessed that this expedient was put into his head by the famous Psalmanazar, a native of the island Formosa, who came from thence to London above twenty years ago, and in conversation told my friend, that in his country when any young person happened to be put to death, the executioner sold the carcass to persons of quality as a prime dainty; and that in his time the body of a plump girl of fifteen, who was crucified for an attempt to poison the emperor, was sold to his imperial majesty’s prime minister of state, and other great mandarins of the court, in joints from the gibbet, at four hundred crowns” (Swift 1814: 460).

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18 This chapter cannot do justice to the complex interconnections and influences in the development of relativistic strands in the social sciences. See Kusch et al. (eds) (2019) for a more detailed account. 19 See Kusch (1995) for a detailed discussion of the emergence of Psychologism in Germany. 20 It should be noted that Husserl’s direct target was Christoph von Sigwart’s Logik (1873) which, according to Husserl, promoted psychologism about logic. 21 For instance, see Putnam, H. “Two Conceptions of Rationality”, in Reason Truth and History (1981). 22 While Frege and Husserl showed somewhat similar reactions to the relativism they diagnosed in the naturalist psychologized readings of Kant, it should be noted that Husserl’s later writing indicates a more complex relationship with relativism than Frege’s outright dismissal of the idea. Dermot Moran, for instance, has pointed out a possible tension between Husserl’s commitment to the universality of reason as the goal of ­European humanity “and his recognition of the empirical plurality and ‘relativity’ (Relativität) of individual peoples and nations (e.g. Indian, Chinese, Papuan, Bantu) locked into their own particular ‘socialities’ (Sozialitäten), communal worlds, and historical trajectories” (Moran 2011: 464). 23 See Mathieu Marion and Logic (Hamilton 1861, vol. I: 96). This “great axiom” was part of an attempt to marry the doctrines of Reid with those of Kant, which resulted in the claim that there cannot be any knowledge of the noumenal world, or, in Hamilton’s words, of the “unconditioned or absolute” the great axiom, that all human knowledge, consequently that all human philosophy, is only of the relative or phaenomenal. In this proposition, the term relative is opposed to the term absolute; and, therefore, in saying that we know only the relative, I virtually assert that we know nothing absolute,—nothing existing absolutely; that is, in and for itself, and without relation to us and our faculties. (Hamilton 1861, vol. I: 96–97) 24 See Mathieu Marion for a very influential, but ultimately non-relativist interpretation of Collingwood. 25 The parallels with the social constructivist views of science, discussed in Chapter 6, are unmistakable. 26 It is important to note that, in a manner reminiscent of discussions of relativism in analytic philosophical circles in the 20th century, “relativism”



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in 19th-century and early-20th-century Germany was frequently cast in a negative light. A large number of philosophers, with very different philosophical agenda, reacted to what they saw as the threat of relativism. In addition to the opponents of relativism listed above, Katherina Kinzel lists ­Wilhelm Windelband (1924a [1882b], 1924b [1883a]), Max Wentscher (1902), ­Heinrich Rickert (1924 [1904]), Emil Lask (1907 [1905]), Georg Simmel (1900), Friedrich Gundolf (1911), and Ernst Troeltsch (1922) as key figures involved in these discussions. Relativism, Kinzel tells us, was often seen as a “philosophical malaise, an evil to be avoided. It threatened to collapse the distinction between the factual and the normative and to undermine values. Some even feared that relativism would destroy the possibility of philosophy altogether, or that it would plant the seeds of atheism and political anarchy” (Kinzel 2016: 84). 27 See Nehamas (1985), Lanier R. Anderson (1998), Richardson (1996), Hales and Welshon (2000), Janaway (2007), Leiter (2015), and Hahn (2017).

3 RELATIVIZING TRUTH

3.1 The many faces of alethic relativism 3.2 New truth-relativism 3.3 Other ways to be alethic relativist?

§3.1 The many faces of alethic relativism Relativism about truth starts with the claim that the truth of a proposition does not depend just on how things are in the world but also on some additional parameters, such as a standard of taste, a context of assessment, a perspective, or a framework. Moreover, the relativist believes that such parameters could vary between individuals and groups, and since there are no non-relative overarching standards of evaluation, we have to accept that the same proposition may turn out to be true according to one parameter and false according to another and that the conflicting verdicts of truth and falsity generated by differing contexts and standards of assessment are equally valid. Relativism about truth is the broadest and strongest form of relativism available, for the various versions of local relativism, for instance relativism in the epistemic, moral, aesthetic domains, can be restated as a claim about the relativity of truth in those domains. Alethic relativism is often contrasted with a host of positions including objectivism, universalism, and realism about truth. Objective truths



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depend on how things are in the world, independent of our thoughts, beliefs, or frameworks of assessment. Universal truths are ­non-­perspectival in the sense that they do not depend on a point of view or a particular framework.1 Realists about truth standardly define truth as a relation between propositions and states of affairs or facts in a mind-­independent world. All three deny the relativist claim that the truth of a proposition crucially involves a dependence on a possibly hidden parameter of assessment. §3.1.1 Classical alethic relativism Relativism about truth is a doctrine almost as old as philosophy itself, which has made a stunning comeback in today’s philosophical debate. As we saw in Chapter 2, Protagoras is the first philosopher to be credited with the view, but even from the very outset, a global form of alethic relativism was found to be problematic inasmuch as it runs the risk of being self-­refuting. Now, even Protagoras himself seems not to have endorsed it in that form. For he argued that at least truths concerning that of which human beings have no experience, like the gods, are not relative. The problem facing Protagoras, as other relativists, is that one and the same thing, for example this room, cannot be simultaneously both hot and cold. Therefore, either one claims – not without difficulties – that there are true contradictions (see also Chapters 1 and 10), or it cannot be the case that those who express contradictory judgments are both right: at least one of them must be wrong. The Protagorean relativist who wishes to preserve the idea that both points of view are legitimate has to say that a locution such as “this room is cold” is elliptical for “this room is cold for me” said by A. Moreover, when B replies that that is not true, she is not denying A’s claim (with what right could B ever do that, as long as A has been sincere and accurate in expressing her opinion?); what B would be saying is “this room is hot for me”. Yet, if this is so, in what sense would relativism preserve the contrast between A and B? Saying “this room is cold for me” and denying it would not mean disagreeing, exactly as two different people who uttered “I was born in Milan” and “I was not born in Milan” would not disagree. Now, the contrast between A and B would not concern the room’s temperature any more, but the ways in which it is perceived. Therefore, alethic relativism, which looks charming at first glance, because it gives the impression of saying that reality as such is a function of what we believe to be true,

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proves in fact a form of expressivism, or contextualism. In the former case, “this room is hot” is nothing but a way to express – not to describe – one’s own subjective reaction; in the latter, that same judgment contains a hidden indexical parameter – “in my opinion” – which allows to say that the statement is a description, not of reality as such but of particular points of view – mine, or yours – which, although in contrast with each other, can be merged into a single comprehensive view. On occasions, there have been attempts to defend Protagorean relativism about truth. Jack Meiland, for instance, argued that truth is a three-term relation obtaining between statements, the world, and a third thing variously construed as a culture, worldview, tradition, belief-system, and so forth. He writes: When we use expression of the form ‘Ø is true for W’, it seems legitimate to ask the question ‘What does ‘true’ mean in this expression’… The correct relativist answer to this question is: ‘‘It means that Ø is true-for-W.’’ The hyphens in this answer are extremely important. For they show that, the relativist is not talking about truth but instead about truth-for-W. Thus, one can no more reasonably ask what ‘true’ means in the expression ‘­true-for-W’ than one can ask what ‘cat’ means in the word ‘cattle’. ‘­True-for-W’ denotes a special three-term relation, which does not include the two-term relation of absolute truth as a distinct part. (Meiland 1977: 574)

Relative truth is thus distinct from the absolutist conception of truth, which is considered to be a two-term relation between the propositions and the world. Still, it is philosophically viable because it can make use of a schema similar to the one used by correspondence theorists of truth and argue that “P is true relative to W” means something like “P corresponds to the facts from the point of view of W”. In response to the question of what “correspondence from the point of view of W” means, Meiland says that the idea of correspondence is problematic for everyone, including for the realist, so the relativist is in no worse a position than a non-relativist in that respect (Meiland 1977). To return to our original example, for the relativist, the statement “This room is hot” can turn out to be true (for A) and false (for B) without contradiction, but what is lost here is the original intuition that the initial statements “This room is hot” and “This room is not hot” involve a disagreement. The relativist might be happy with this outcome because, as we saw in Chapter 1, relativism



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has been proposed as a solution to (or even a dissolution of) the problem of intractable disagreement. The problem seems to be solved, or at least dissolved, because the relativist makes intractable disagreement disappear. Yet the price seems too high as the global relativist, in its unguarded moment of calling “all truths are relative”, runs the danger of making all disagreements disappear. §3.1.2 The charge of self-refutation Historically, at least since Plato, the charge of self-refutation and infinite regress has been the most trenchant criticism of relativism. The charge is directed at the global relativist’s claim that “(all) truth is relative”. The anti-relativist asks: Is that claim true absolutely or only relatively? If it is true absolutely, then there is at least one truth that is not relative. If, on the other hand, that claim is true only according to the relativist conception of truth, then it is false for the absolutist, and the relativist has no way of convincing her opponent of its truth and establishing her original claim “All truth is relative”. As the above reformulation shows, it is not clear why a consistent relativist should be accused of self-refutation. What is wrong in claiming that the relativist position is true for the relativist only? The self-refutation argument has been formulated in many different ways. J.L. Mackie, for instance, has argued that alethic absolutism is a requisite of a coherent notion of truth and that a claim to the effect that “There are no absolute truths” is absolutely self-refuting (Mackie 1964: 200). But it has proven difficult to convince the relativist of the legitimacy of this move because Mackie, like Plato centuries before him, seems to beg the question on behalf of an objectivist notion of truth. To avoid the charge of begging the question, critics of relativism have offered more nuanced interpretations of the self-refutation argument. One point of resistance is the very form of regress or self-refutation that alethic relativism is presumed to engender. Maurice Mandelbaum, for instance, claims that relativists commit what he calls the “self-excepting fallacy”, that is, “the fallacy of stating a generalisation that purports to hold of all persons but which, inconsistently, is not then applied to oneself” (Mandelbaum 1984: 38), but it seems that the consistent relativist does not need to accept this. The worry Mandelbaum articulates should be located somewhere other than the logical blunder of excepting oneself from a generalization.

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The self-refutation argument takes a second form; Hilary Putnam, for instance, has argued that relativism involves a vicious regress because “truth is relative” should be read as “it is true relative to … that truth is relative”, and the clause “it is true relative to …” can be added ad infinitum. A “total relativist” of this sort, according to Putnam, would have to say whether or not a proposition P is relative or a context C is relative. “And at this point our grasp on what the proposition means begins to wobble” (Putnam 1981: 121). Once again, the claim that as truth goes, there are “turtles all the way down” is not an obvious self-contradiction or absurdity. Some further argumentation is needed. Relativists argue that not all types of iterations are vicious, and something more should be said to convince the consistent relativist that the iterative regress she generates is not of the benign type (see MacFarlane 2014: 32). Miles Burnyeat has argued that the potential complexity of the statements resulting from the infinite reiteration of “relative to” or “according to” renders the relativized assertions of truth unintelligible, or at least unusable. He argues: Protagoras, as Socrates keeps saying, is a clever fellow, but he is not so clever that there is no limit to the complexity of the propositions he can understand and so judge to be true. Therefore, the relativist prefix ‘It is true for Protagoras that …,’ unlike the absolute prefix, admits of only limited reiteration.2 (1976b: 193)

The potential for infinite reiteration, however, is a common feature of language, but we need a motivation for actually engaging in such a move, and the relativist could argue that she is not obligated to take the first step down the regress trap. Here is MacFarlane: The relativist need only move from stage k of the regress to stage k + 1 if an intelligible question has been raised about whether stage k has been put forth as true absolutely or merely as true relatively. But surely this question is intelligible if and only if its possible answers are; they are of equal complexity. So, if stage k + 1 is unintelligible because of its complexity, so is the question that would require the relativist to produce it, and we can rest content at stage k. (MacFarlane 2014: 32)

Boghossian offers a somewhat different argument in defense of the iterative form of the regress argument. Following Gilbert Harman, Boghossian



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thinks that the relativist assertion of “P is true” should be understood as “P is true according to a framework F”, but what about the truth of the statement “P is true according to a framework F”? A consistent relativist would have to argue that that statement is true according to a framework F+1, ad infinitum. But according to Boghossian: “it is absurd to propose that, in order for our utterances to have any prospect of being true, what we must mean by them are infinitary propositions that we could neither express nor understand” (Boghossian 2006a: 7). A perhaps more promising approach consists in distinguishing between self-contradictory and pragmatically self-refuting claims. This approach locates the difficulty with total relativism at the level of the pragmatics of speech acts rather than its logic. J.L. Mackie’s claim that the relativist commits what he calls “operational” self-refutation (Mackie 1964: 202), and Max Kölbel’s discussion of “conversational” self-refutation (Kölbel 2011), are examples of this kind of strategy. The charge is that the alethic relativist flouts one or more crucial norms of assertion and thereby undermines the very possibility of coherent discourse. Gareth Evans, for instance, claimed that the alethic relativist does not allow for a publicly shared distinction between correct and incorrect, and hence true and false, assertion (Evans 1985: 346–363).3 Mark Okrent (Okrent 1984: 355) and Hilary Putnam (Putnam 1981: 121–122) also believe that a relativist is not in a position to distinguish between seeming and being true, a distinction which, in turn, is based on the assumption that to assert something is to be committed to its truth for everyone and not just for the individual who makes the assertion (Passmore 1961: 67, in MacFarlane 2014: 31). A great deal can be said on this topic. For instance, with Max Kölbel, we can ask if it is necessary to treat truth as the norm of assertion. The total relativist, as Kölbel points out, might concede that asserting something does constitute certain commitments, such as the obligation to state reasons for what one has asserted if asked to do so, to defend what one has asserted if challenged, and to retract one’s assertion if one is unable to defend it against challenge. But he or she will deny that commitment to the absolute truth of what has been asserted is among the commitments constituted by an assertion. (Kölbel 2002: 123)

The issue is complex, but, in recent years, the debate on relativism has moved away from the old self-refutation argument because new approaches to truth-relativism have convinced many analytic philosophers that alethic relativism is not an impossible position after all.

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§3.2 New truth-relativism There is a recent version of alethic relativism that has arisen out of work in the philosophy of language in the analytic tradition. The leading proponents of this approach have rejected global alethic relativism, but they have claimed that a lot of areas of discourse exhibit traits that can be made sense of by adopting a new form of alethic relativism. They have included ­discourse about predicates of personal taste (Kölbel 2004a; Lasersohn  2005), moral ­judgments (Kölbel 2004b), epistemic modals (Egan 2007; Egan, ­Hawthorne and Weatherson 2005; Stephenson 2007; ­Egan 2007; MacFarlane 2011), future ­contingents (MacFarlane 2003), indicative conditionals (­Weatherson 2009; Kolodny and MacFarlane 2010), gradable adjectives (Richard 2004), deontic modals (Kolodny and MacFarlane 2010; ­MacFarlane 2014, ch. 11), and knowledge attributions (Richard 2004; MacFarlane 2005, 2010, 2014). In this section, we focus on truth-relativism concerning predicates of taste. Chapter 8 will consider truth-relativism in the epistemic domain, and Chapter 9 will look at truth-relativism in the moral domain. It is a commonplace that the truth-value of an utterance can depend on the context in which it is uttered: for instance, if Jill says “I’m cold”, and Jack repeats the same sentence, Jill’s utterance may be true and Jack’s false. In such cases, the context of utterance plays a role in determining which proposition the sentence expresses. Something similar can happen even when the sentence does not contain an overtly indexical expression. For instance, Gilbert Harman thinks that a statement of the form “Action A is wrong” is roughly equivalent to “Action A is wrong according to the moral system I accept”. New truth-relativists rely on this insight but take the idea of context dependence even further by relying on a richer notion of context-­dependence, where the truth of propositions is indexed not just to the context of utterance but also to the context of assessment of the content of the utterance. The truth-relativists’ main strength over classical relativists is that they are prima facie able to preserve both the apparent subjectivity of taste discourse and our intuition that exchanges in that domain may constitute genuine disagreements. They do this by first insisting that there is a single truth-­ evaluable proposition which A affirms and B denies. In the case where A says “Pretzels are tasty”, and B denies this, there is a uniform content that is affirmed by A’s utterance and denied by B’s: namely, the proposition that pretzels are tasty. So, we have a genuine disagreement. Unlike the truth-­absolutist, however, the truth-relativist also adds that the disagreement is faultless in some sense, to be explained below. One important weakness of their view



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is that they reject a long-established view of propositional content, that Cappelen and Hawthorne have called “The Simple View”, according to which propositions bear truth and falsity as monadic properties (Cappelen and Hawthorne 2009).4 Furthermore, as Gareth Evans noted (1985), in discretionary areas of discourse, if truth is relative, then assertions are not absolutely correct or incorrect. In what follows, we focus on the views of two of the most influential truth-relativists. §3.2.1 New truth-relativism: Kölbel Max Kölbel’s book Truth Without Objectivity was one of the early sources of New truth-relativism.5 Kölbel starts by endorsing truth-conditional semantics, according to which the meaning of a sentence S of a language L is provided by its truth-conditions. For instance, the meaning of the sentence “Paris is a city” is given by the conditions in which this sentence is true – the condition being that Paris is a city. Endorsing truth-­conditional semantics implies, Kölbel says, that all the meaningful sentences in a language express a content, typically identified as a proposition, which is truth-­ evaluable. That these propositional contents are truth-evaluable, in turn, seems to imply that they are about objective matters because of the common conception according to which to be true is to describe reality correctly, to state how things are in the world out there. In other words, truth, when it comes to empirical matters, is linked with the accurate representation of a mind-­independent reality – true empirical propositions describe a mind-­ independent reality, and hence are true objectively. However, Kölbel observes, not all sentences we would regard as truth-evaluable are about objective matters. Consider: (1) Liquorice is tasty. (2) Being unfaithful to one’s spouse is wrong. (3) Global temperatures might rise exponentially in the next 50 years.

Sentence (1) seems to concern a wholly subjective matter, for tastes vary from person to person and are typically related to subjective preferences and gustatory reactions. Sentence (2) also seems to deal with a non-­ objective matter for we normally observe that ethical norms change from community to community, or even from individual to individual within one and the same community, and have connections with either shared or

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individual sensitivities or standards of behavior. Sentence (3), finally, states that the rise of global temperatures is a likely event, but it might be thought that there is no such thing as objective probability for probability only holds according to a certain state of information or point of view. Kölbel does not wish to infer from this that sentences (1)–(3) and their ilk are not truth-evaluable, mainly on account of the theoretical loss that would result from giving up on a uniform application of truth-conditional semantics to the whole of our language. His proposal is that (1)–(3) and the like are regarded as truth-evaluable, but their truth is not objective. They are examples of relative truth. What does it mean for truth to be relative in Kölbel’s framework? Stated ­ roposition – for in informal terms, it means that the truth of a certain p example, that liquorice is tasty, or that being unfaithful is wrong – depends on, or is relative to, a certain perspective. Kölbel does not fully explain what a perspective is; he mentions that it could be considered along the lines of a possible world, whose role in a semantic theory is that of being a “point of evaluation” where propositions are assigned truth or falsity (cf. Kaplan 1989; Lewis 1980). Perspectives importantly differ from possible worlds in that they are mind-dependent points of evaluation, and not mind-independent points of evaluation. Thus, we could say that the content expressed by sentence (1), that liquorice is tasty, is truth-evaluable, but it is true if and only if liquorice is tasty according to a certain perspective, or that the content expressed by (2), that being unfaithful to one’s spouse is wrong, is true if and only if being unfaithful to one’s spouse is wrong from a certain perspective, and ditto for (3). In sum, Kölbel provides a semantic framework in which it can still be maintained that sentences like (1)–(3) are truth-­ evaluable, but at the same time they can still be coherently viewed as concerning non-objective matters, because truth is relativized to perspectives. Hence, by insisting that the truth of liquorice is tasty depends on the context of assessment, the truth relativist about predicates of personal taste will allow a single proposition to be (at the same time): (i) true relative to the context of assessment where A’s standards of taste are operative and (ii) false relative to the context of assessment where B’s standards of taste are operative. Kölbel also characterizes non-objectivity in terms of the possibility of faultless disagreement.6 To illustrate what the phenomenon is, let us start from a case of



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objective discourse and walk our way through the non-objective case. When dealing with a typically objective matter, for example, how many sheep are contained in a certain sheep pen, we have a distinctive reaction to disagreement. Suppose Mary counts the sheep and concludes that there are 28 of them; Jane reaches the incompatible conclusion that there are 30 of them. We therefore have a situation of disagreement between Mary, who believes that there are 28 sheep, and Jane, who believes (say) that there are 30 sheep. A third party, if presented with this scenario, would likely react with the following remark: if they are disagreeing, this means that at least one of them is getting things wrong. In other words, when objective matters are under discussion, disagreement typically signals that at least one party is at fault. This, according to Kölbel, is indeed the characteristic trait of objectivity. When a typically non-objective matter is under discussion, however, our reaction vis-à-vis disagreement is likely to be different. We are not inclined to see the disagreement as a signal that someone is getting things wrong. It seems that if both Mary and Jane are sincere, then none of them is making any mistake in claiming that liquorice is tasty or not tasty, respectively, as long as they personally find liquorice indeed tasty or not tasty, respectively. Kölbel then concludes that when a discourse lacks objectivity, it is possible that a faultless disagreement obtains. That is, it may be the case that two subjects have contrasting beliefs (like liquorice is tasty and liquorice is not tasty), but none of them strikes us as being at fault. Kölbel (2004a) states his faultless disagreement argument for relativism about predicates of personal taste initially as a “proof” that there is no faultless disagreement followed by a demonstration that the proof is indefensible. The proof proceeds from two premises: an equivalence schema (ES): It is true that P iff P; and an apparent truism about mistakes: (T): It is a mistake to believe a proposition that is not true. (ES) and (T) generate the conclusion that there is no faultless disagreement through the following proof: (1) A believes that P (Assumption) (2) B believes that not-P (Assumption) (3) P (Assumption) (4) not-true (not-P) 3, ES (5) B has made a mistake 2, 4, T

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(6) Not-P (Assumption) (7) Not-true (P) 6, ES (8) A has made a mistake (1, 7, T) (9) Either A or B has made a mistake (3–8)

However, Kölbel argues that when it comes to “discretionary” or non-­ objective areas of discourse, where we want to avoid the conclusion that at least one party has made a mistake, step (9) in the argument above does not work, and, in order to deal with it, we need introduce a relativized version of (T). The relativized version reads: (T*) It is a mistake to believe a discretionary proposition that is not true as evaluated from one’s own perspective. (Kölbel 2004a: 70)

He further claims that for reasons of uniformity, we should “relativize truth of all propositions across the board” and proposes the following version of truth-relativism: (TR) It is a mistake to believe a proposition that is not true in one’s own perspective. (2003: 70)

The alleged virtues of Kölbel’s version of alethic relativism are, first, that it preserves truth-conditional semantics across all areas of discourse while still maintaining that faultless disagreement is impossible in some non-­discretionary or objective areas of discourse. Second, the approach also purports to predict and explain certain behaviors of ordinary speakers in relation to disagreement. For example, it predicts that they will normally engage in a certain disagreement when the matter is objective (if the question is relevant, of course), because their underlying intuition is that someone is getting the facts wrong and the truth of the matter has to be unearthed. On the other hand, it predicts that speakers will normally not enter into any dispute when a disagreement arises on non-objective matters, because their thought will be that disagreement is not yet a sign that anyone is getting things wrong. Thus, the approach allows for assertions of the following form: “liquorice is not tasty, though John believes that it is. And yet John is not mistaken”.



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This latter claim, however, is disputable, both when the targeted area of discourse involves expressions of taste and when it concerns morality. After all, people do engage in disputes about taste and even more so about morality and do not just pass over opposite views in silence, or even condone them. A second problem with Kölbel’s approach is that by not drawing a sharp distinction between the context of use and the context of assessment, he does not seem to have the resources to explain the possibility of retraction. The latter consists in the practice of “taking back” what one said previously, upon realizing, later, that what one said was false or inaccurate. Retraction is an important feature of our assertoric practice, and yet Kölbel does not seem to have the resources to explain it. For if the context of use calls the shots, we were right when we judged, for instance, that liquorice is tasty. We may have changed our minds and think differently now. Yet we cannot say we were wrong back then, as the relevant standards remain, for Kölbel, those operative at the context of utterance. §3.2.2 New truth-relativism: MacFarlane In a series of contributions, culminating in Assessment Sensitivity. Relative Truth and Its Applications (2014), John MacFarlane has argued that it is possible to embrace relativism about truth, as long as it is correctly formulated. To this end, according to MacFarlane, a suitably modified version of David Kaplan’s semantic theory should be employed. In particular, MacFarlane has proposed to relativize the truth of the proposition expressed in uttering a sentence not only in the context of use, classically understood as consisting of the subject, time, place, and possible world in which the sentence is used, but also in what he calls a context of assessment, that is to say, the individual and standards which are pertinent to the evaluation of the proposition expressed by the utterance (as made by a certain subject at a time, place, and world). This is how he traces the distinction: the qualifiers “of use” and “of assessment” distinguish two different roles a context can play in semantics. We can think of a context as a possible situation of use of a sentence, or as a possible situation of assessment of a use of a sentence. In the former case, the agent of the context is the user of the sentence–the speaker, when the use is a speaking–while in the latter, the agent of the context is the assessor of a use of a sentence. (2014: 61)

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Making truth relative to contexts of assessment allegedly does justice to the Protagorean motto that man is the measure of all things. Thus, if Ted utters “This room is cold”, this utterance can be true for me (according to my standards of assessment) and false for you (according to your standards of assessment), given the same temperature in the room, context of utterance, and world in which the statement is issued. Each of us can thus become the assessor of a certain utterance – be it made by ourselves or by someone else; indeed, it is a key feature of the idea of assessment sensitivity that “a particular use of a sentence may be assessed from indefinitely many possible contexts [of assessment]” (2014, 61, italics added). In slightly more rigorous terms: Sentence e, for example, “This room is cold”, is true as used in context c1 and assessed in context c2 if and only if there is a proposition P such that: (a) e expresses P in c1; (b) P is true in the world of the context of use c1 and relative to the standards of the subject who evaluates it in context of assessment c2.7

The contexts of use and assessment often coincide, for it is natural to consider the speaker as the “privileged” assessor of her own utterance; yet the key thought here is that the context of assessment may differ from the context of use, when the subject assessing the claim is not the one who makes it, but someone else; or else, it is the same subject but at a different time, when she occupies a different context of assessment. This makes it possible that the proposition expressed by Ted’s utterance of “This room is cold” is true according to Ted’s assessment; false according to your assessment; true according to my own assessment, and so on. Or else, it can be false for Ted too if he later comes to occupy a different context of assessment. In that case, he could actually retract his previous assertion, as is now false given the standards operative at his new context of assessment. So far, we have only laid out the details of MacFarlane’s proposal in a semi-formal fashion. However, what would it mean in practice to have an assessment-sensitive notion of truth? In order to make sense of relative truth, we have to be able to see its impact, for instance, on our practice of assertion. Thus, MacFarlane maintains that what is distinctive of a relativistic assertoric practice is that the subject who asserts “This room is cold” commits to retracting that assertion, were she to change her standards and, according to these new standards, her past assertion turned out as having been false. Similarly, she commits herself to justifying her assertion were



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she later to adopt other standards according to which her past assertion turned out false. Finally, she would take responsibility for the case in which someone considers that assertion as true, relative to their currently adopted standards, and the assertion turns out as false always relative to those same standards (cf. MacFarlane 2005: 335–337, 2014, sect. 5.4). MacFarlane has therefore provided the formal tools to determine what is meant by “relative truth”. Of course, the question remains whether this notion has any legitimate application. MacFarlane’s program is intended to show how New truth-relativism accounts for a variety of philosophical questions in a more satisfactory way than its competitors: for instance, the problem of future contingents, disputes about taste or comedy, ­epistemic possibility, the variability of knowledge attribution or deontic verbs (­MacFarlane 2005, 2007, 2014). In what follows, we briefly discuss his account of truth-relativism for propositions expressing future contingents. We will then devote more attention to its application to disputes about taste, while we will address the application of truth-relativism to knowledge ascriptions in Chapter 8. Propositions termed “future contingents”, as the name implies, are about the future, and their truth-values are not settled by the state of the world in the past or present. In a deterministic world, there are no future ­contingent statements in this sense. But in an indeterministic world, statements partly about the future will often satisfy these conditions. Consider ­Aristotle’s famous sea battle example: namely, the proposition “There will be a sea battle tomorrow”, as expressed by the previous sentence as uttered at t. There are two possible reactions to the assignment of a truth-value to it: the determinacy intuition that utterances that “turned out true” were true at the time of utterance; and the indeterminacy intuition that, at the time of the utterance, multiple histories are still possible, including one where there was a sea battle and the proposition is true, and one where there was not, and the proposition is false. The indeterminacy intuition leads us to think the truth-value of future contingents is indeterminate at the time of utterance, and either true or false at a later time (MacFarlane 2003, 2014, ch. 9; Carter 2014b). MacFarlane (2003) thinks that both the indeterminacy intuition and the determinacy intuition should be taken at face value and that the only way to account for the semantics of future contingents is to allow the truth of future ­contingent statements to be, as he puts it, doubly relativized: to both the context of utterance and the context of assessment. When we evaluate a single token utterance of “There will be a sea battle tomorrow” produced on (say)

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Monday, this counts as neither true nor false when the context of assessment is the context in which the utterance is being made (as multiple possible histories are open at this point). However, the very same statement will have a determinate truth-value relative to the context of assessment on the following day. So we can have faultless trans-temporal disagreement about the truth-value of a single utterance (MacFarlane 2003: 36; cf. Carter 2012). It is very important to make sure whether MacFarlane manages to preserve the idea of a genuine disagreement between different assessors of the same proposition, without having to say either that there are true contradictions or that at least one of them is wrong. MacFarlane has it that within a relativistic domain of discourse, the sides to a disagreement believe they are saying something true. Yet if they evaluate what they say according to their own standards, it cannot be both true and false that P. And in fact, according to their respective standards of assessment, only one of them is right, while the other is wrong. In the following section, we will try to establish whether this is a real disagreement. For the moment, we should close by quoting at length the conclusion reached by MacFarlane (2007: 20 with amendments): one is entitled to challenge an assertion when one has good grounds for thinking that the assertion was [false] (relative to the context of assessment one occupies in issuing the challenge), and a successful response to such a challenge consists in a demonstration that the assertion was, in fact, [true] (relative to the context of assessment one occupies in giving the response). This account captures the distinctive phenomenology of disagreement about matters whose truth is relative. The challenger thinks (rightly) that he has absolutely compelling grounds for thinking that the assertion was [false]. But the original asserter thinks (also rightly, from her point of view) that the challenger’s grounds do nothing to call in question the accuracy of the assertion. The asserter’s vindication will seem to the challenger not to show that the assertion was [true], and the challenger will continue to press his claim. (Until the game gets boring.) Thus we have all the normative trappings of real disagreement, but without the possibility of resolution except by a relevant change in one or both parties’ contexts of assessment.

In short, MacFarlane seems to say that in such a communicative context, we act as if there were a disagreement, that is, as if we were contradicting each other; yet this is an illusion. For, to be sure, within any context of



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assessment, it cannot be true that liquorice both is and isn’t tasty. Yet the point is that the parties occupy two different contexts of assessment, and that is why they do not really contradict each other: to really contradict each other, they should be located within the same context of assessment, which is precisely what isn’t the case. Nobody can therefore be the winner or the loser. Therefore, either each one sticks to their standards of assessment, without ever reaching an agreement, or someone’s standards are changed in order to restore agreement. This can happen mainly in two ways: either because one of them embraces the standards of the other, or because new standards are found that both parties agree to accept. §3.2.3 Against New truth-relativism An important dimension along which it is useful to evaluate the New truth-relativists’ proposal is whether they are able to make sense of disagreement in the relevant areas of discourse and also if they can make sense of the idea that, in a sense still to be determined, although the parties disagree, neither of them is at fault. As we saw in Chapter 2 (§2.1), faultlessness is a fall out of the idea of equal validity, which, in turn, is a consequence of non-neutrality and of the rejection of absolutism. For if there is no Archimedean point of view or criterion from which we should evaluate judgments in a given area of discourse, and opposite verdicts are possible, then they are equally valid. Thus, while people may and do disagree, none of them should be taken to have made a mistake. Faultlessness, however, is not just a theoretical requirement stemming from philosophical reflection on relativism. Rather, it seems to be a characteristic trait of our linguistic practice regarding matters of taste (at least). We may disagree with someone regarding the tastiness of liquorice, but we tend to recognize, albeit not at first pass, that they are equally entitled to their views. As we saw in §3.3.1, Kölbel’s (2002: ch. 6) proposal saves faultlessness – each subject is speaking truly, given their respective standards of assessment. Yet each of them is judging that liquorice is or isn’t tasty from within a different context of assessment. This, in turn, entails that it is difficult to make sense of the idea that they are really disagreeing with one another. For disagreement would seem to depend on occupying the same context of assessment and on reaching different verdicts. Yet, as a consequence of Kölbel’s account, speakers should recognize that the other is correct, given her own standards. If they can be said to disagree, then, it is because they

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have conflicting non-doxastic attitudes toward liquorice and not because they are holding true (or believing) contradictory propositions, as evaluated within the same context of assessment. Whatever notion of disagreement may be used to make sense of this possibility, it is not the basic view of disagreement, which we seemed to have started with (see Coliva and Moruzzi 2014a, 2014b). To stress, such a basic notion of disagreement can be fleshed out by means of the following conditions: (i) The incompatibility condition: A and B accept incompatible contents – such as P and not-P; (ii) The aboutness condition: the acceptance of these contents concerns the same circumstances.

Given Kölbel’s semantics, A and B can be said to hold incompatible contents, but crucially they seem to violate the aboutness condition, for the acceptance of these contents concerns8 different circumstances – that is, their respective gustatory standards. Here the intuition is that just as A and B do not disagree if they are saying “It is raining” and “It is not raining”, while they are at two different places, similarly A and B do not disagree if their respective judgments about liquorice concern – that is, are issued while occupying – different perspectives (or contexts of assessment). As we mentioned in §3.3.1, moreover, Kölbel’s semantics does not seem to be able to offer an account of the possibility of retraction. For, as we noticed, if the salient standards are the ones which were operative at the context of use, then insofar as one’s earlier judgment was accurate – that is, it reflected one’s gustatory preferences back then – it was correct and still is. Ditto for interpersonal disagreement if it is taken to aim at having the other one retract their previous judgment. If that judgement was correct, it cannot be retracted. One can, of course, change one’s standards and adopt new ones, which makes one return a different verdict about liquorice at a later time, but one’s original judgment remains correct and cannot be taken back. Moreover, consider that Kölbel, just like MacFarlane, is concerned with an empirical descriptive project (see Coliva and Moruzzi 2012, for the distinction between empirical/normative and descriptive/revisionary projects with respect to disputes of inclination). The idea behind this kind of semantic project is that of using empirical data about a given linguistic practice, taken at face value, to then determine which philosophical theory



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makes better sense of them. So, in this kind of project, philosophers are allowed to appeal to their linguistic intuitions as competent speakers of this or that language and to use those intuitions to adjudicate between competing philosophical accounts.9 They are not, however, allowed to argue against the rationality of the linguistic practice and to propose a theoretically motivated revision of it. Now, according to Kölbel, in disputes of inclination, speakers would not bother to discuss these issues because they would know that it does not make sense. This would confirm the motto de gustibus non est disputandum. Yet, if we are allowed to appeal to our own linguistic data (or “intuitions”), taste is among the most common topics of discussion, and it is extremely normal to debate about it and other matters of inclination. True, when disagreement comes to light, it is very often followed by the recognition that the other party too is fully entitled to her views. Still, we do disagree with one another and engage in discussion. Also, one should not forget that truth-relativism potentially applies to many areas of discourse. Now, it would be absolutely counterintuitive to say that people do not debate about ethical or aesthetic matters (in the latter case, it could be art, literature, music, films, or theater). Furthermore, if relativism were to apply also to knowledge attributions and assertions about the justification of empirical statements, as MacFarlane, but not Kölbel, suggests, then proponents of different scientific theories should not discuss with each other. Yet this seems absurd. Therefore, abstaining from discussion (a) is not a feature (let alone an essential one) of relativistic areas of discourse, nor (b) can it serve to demarcate relativistic areas of discourse from non-­relativistic ones (or else, if it did, it would confine relativism to just the realm of s­ ubjective taste and the like). We will return to the application of alethic relativism to moral and scientific discourse in Chapters 7 and 9. Equally problematic is Kölbel’s idea (2002: 105) that in becoming competent communicators, we learn to tell when it is sensible to engage in some dispute, because at least one of the parties must be in error, and when it is not, because neither party is at fault. This would entail that we should know (at least implicitly and) independently of any theoretical reflection, just based on our linguistic competence, which areas of discourse are relativist and which are not. Thousands of years of discussion about these issues seem to prove otherwise. Let us now turn to an assessment of MacFarlane’s proposal along these dimensions. In his (2014) book, MacFarlane has done a lot of work to distinguish different notions of disagreement and faultlessness. This work has

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resulted in a change in view with respect to his earlier views (see, in particular, MacFarlane 2007). For present purposes, we may just focus on the most salient notions of disagreement put forward in the book. Disagreement as preclusion of joint satisfaction: To disagree with someone’s belief that P is to have beliefs whose contents are jointly incompatible with P. ­Suppose that A believes that S is a poor banker and B believes that all bankers are rich. Clearly, A and B have beliefs whose contents are incompatible, since they cannot both be true. Disagreement as preclusion of joint accuracy: A and B disagree with one another (in this sense) just in case their beliefs or assertions occurring at a given context c1 cannot both be accurate as assessed from context c2. That is, they cannot both be true as used in c1 and assessed from c2. Suppose that A says that liquorice is tasty (P), and B, tasting the same liquorice, says that liquorice isn’t tasty (not-P). Now C cannot hold that both P and not-P are true. Yet their beliefs can both be accurate with respect to A’s and B’s respective gustatory standards and hence contexts of assessment. Characteristically, for MacFarlane, disputes of inclination exhibit disagreement in the sense of preclusion of joint accuracy, yet not according to the view of disagreement as preclusion of joint satisfaction, nor according to what he calls Disagreement as preclusion of joint reflexive accuracy: the accuracy of A’s belief or assertion that P as assessed from A’s context precludes the accuracy of B’s belief or assertion that not-P as assessed from B’s context. For, clearly, the accuracy of A’s belief that liquorice is tasty, given A’s context of assessment, does not preclude the accuracy of B’s belief that liquorice is not tasty, given B’s context of assessment. Disputes of inclination also exhibit some kind of faultlessness, according to MacFarlane. If by faultlessness one means that both A’s and B’s opposite beliefs with respect to the tastiness of liquorice are epistemically ­warranted, there is faultlessness. That is, given their gustatory standards, their respective verdicts are accurate. Moreover, there is faultlessness, if by it one means that neither A nor B has violated the constitutive norms of belief and ­assertion – that is, a truth norm relativized to the context of assessment. There is no faultlessness, however, if by that one means that both A’s and B’s opposite beliefs with respect to the tastiness of liquorice are true tout court, or accurate, when assessed by a third party. Since, arguably, it is this kind of faultlessness that people have been after in this debate, it is clear that, for MacFarlane, disputes of inclination do not exhibit faultless disagreement. Indeed, he concludes the chapter on Disagreement by saying (MacFarlane 2014: 136): “If one does not want to be misunderstood, it is



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best to avoid the phrase ‘faultless disagreement’ entirely. It is not needed for motivating or explaining truth relativism”.10 There are several problems with this view, however. To begin with, by insisting that disputes about taste display disagreement in the sense of preclusion of joint accuracy, MacFarlane seems able to explain why people respond by saying “No” to what the other party is saying, why they may retract their earlier views, and why they may try having the other retract. However, the rationality of that aspect of their practice, if one adopts ­MacFarlane’s semantics, is only apparent. For it was also an initial datum of that practice that each party is making an accurate judgment from their own perspective. So, with what right does one assess it from one’s own position? Furthermore, doing so has an effect on the dispute, for it trumps the perspective that returned an opposite verdict on the matter at issue by making it seem incorrect, even from that perspective (see Moruzzi and Wright 2009; Coliva and Moruzzi 2012). Indeed, this much seems to be implied by aiming at (and perhaps by succeeding in) having the other retract her own previous pronouncement. Thus, the initial idea that the relevant area of discourse is characterized by some sense of parity between the different positions in play would be utterly violated, just like the idea that there is no vantage point from which these pronouncements could be evaluated as correct or incorrect. Maybe we should conclude that the practice itself is somewhat inconsistent. This would not be that surprising, for linguistic practices arise out of our various needs and have several different communicative functions that may eventually produce inconsistencies. If so, however, why favor one set of data, regarding that practice, over the other? So why choose that set of data as the solid ones that one’s theory should account for, when the other ones seem equally solid and entrenched in our practice? Or why not go revisionary and use philosophical theories to improve our linguistic practices by pruning them of some of their more contentious elements? Either way, however, the empirical descriptive project MacFarlane is engaged in would be compromised. One may insist that here we have one single practice, which develops over time and in so doing it goes through different phases: at first we object and say “No, liquorice is not tasty”, in response to someone else’s opposite pronouncements. We discuss the issue a bit further, by adducing this or that element, and perhaps aim at having the other party retract. But at least in several cases, where people are not backtracking, we acknowledge that they are entitled to their opinion, just as we are entitled to ours, given how

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liquorice tastes to them. In that case, the practice ends up with a draw and usually the debate is over. If so, however, it is even clearer that ­MacFarlane has just been focusing on the initial stages of disputes of taste or on a selected sample of them. Yet, if one considers disagreement as, in MacFarlane’s (2014) terminology, preclusion of reflexive accuracy, everyone would be right in regarding that proposition as true (false) within their context of assessment. The crucial point, however, is that the contexts of assessment are different. Hence, if it is true that the parties debate as if they were really contradicting one another, they do so because they ignore the fundamental fact that their judgments are formulated by occupying different contexts of assessment. This has the result that – from the point of view of an external onlooker, apprised of their situation of assessing the truth of a given proposition from different perspectives – the disputes in question should be considered as systematically affected by error, or even illusory (Hales 2006: 118; Moruzzi 2008; Coliva and Moruzzi 2014a: 550–551). Indeed, MacFarlane himself would not regard them as manifesting disagreement as preclusion of reflexive accuracy (MacFarlane 2014: 130). The linguistic practice of disagreeing with one another on matters of taste or subjective inclination, which our semantics should account for, would then turn out to be systematically dependent on ignoring the basic feature of assessing a proposition while occupying different contexts of assessment. Conversely, if apprised of their situation of occupying different contexts of assessment, each of the contenders should agree that, within their context of assessment, the other is right to believe that proposition true (or false), even though they themselves regard it as false (or true) within their own context of assessment. In such a situation, disputes should not continue: everyone should agree – if they were rational – that the other is assessing the same proposition while occupying a different context of assessment and that therefore the other side is right, according to its standards. The discussion should just end there, with the acknowledgment of a draw (Moruzzi 2008, sect. 8.2.1). This, as we noticed, may well be the case in many disputes regarding taste. Yet it is not generally the case when we debate about morals or aesthetic matters. We may recognize that our interlocutor is operating with different standards and judging accurately given those, but we do not seem to be so readily agreeable to the idea that our interlocutor’s views (or standards) and ours are on par. MacFarlane might reply that if the dispute continues, it is because it has moved from being about the tastiness of liquorice, or any other first-order



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subject-matter, to being about the standards that should be used to evaluate it and that this is perfectly in line with his proposal. In fact, the dispute’s aim is “the coordination of standards” (MacFarlane 2007: 30). However, even in this case, the dispute would be more apparent than real. If the truth of “the right standards to be adopted are mine” – said, imagine, by those who argued that liquorice is tasty – is relative to a context of assessment (as one would expect it to be, because otherwise it could be determined what the right standards are and, therefore, whether it is true or false absolutely whether liquorice is tasty), then the assertion will be true relative to the standards of the speakers who made the first assertion, while it would be false relative to the standards of those who argued that it was not true that liquorice is tasty. So the parties should agree that the other is right to judge “the right standards to be adopted are mine” as true according to their own standards of assessment. Yet clearly, if the goodness (or badness) of the standards is such that it self-certifies itself, then there is no way, rationally speaking, to choose between the standards, or to motivate adherence to new standards that can make the parties agree. One might try and rescue the rationality of the practice by saying, like in Kölbel’s case, that people ignore the normative trappings of the area of discourse they are engaged in. But this sits badly with the methodology behind MacFarlane’s project. As we noticed, he is engaged in an empirical descriptive project, which takes linguistic data at face value and tries to provide a semantics that can account for them. If it turns out that the data is based on confusions about and/or ignorance of the real normative aspects of the linguistic practice at issue, one’s proposed semantics, which is meant to account for those data, would no longer be motivated. Finally, there is an overarching, purely philosophical worry concerning MacFarlane’s (2014) proposal, and his defense of the idea that taste disputes exhibit disagreement in the form of preclusion of joint accuracy. This worry, which mimics the one we raised about the empirical adequacy of his semantics, has to do with the motivations behind relativism as a philosophical doctrine, which we have explored in Chapter 1 and have partly rehearsed in this chapter: namely, the idea of parity or equal validity, which manifests itself in the idea of faultlessness with respect to disagreement arising in certain areas of discourse. As we saw, these ideas stem from the basic rejection of absolutism and from the attendant endorsement of non-neutrality. The latter consists in the idea that there is no Archimedean point from which first-order judgments, in the relevant area of discourse, or the perspective from which they are issued, can be assessed. Now, by

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invoking a specific point of view – the one of the assessor – for evaluating a given belief or assertion and by being able to salvage disagreement among parties and retraction only by so doing, MacFarlane seems to have betrayed the overall philosophical motivation for going relativist. True, there may be multiple assessors, but each of them will assess the truth (or falsity) of the proposition absolutely. That is, none of them could make room, within their context of assessment, for the idea that different verdicts are equally legitimate. That is, from one’s context of assessment, if someone else judges false “Sushi is tasty”, they are wrong and have made a mistake. By contrast, it seemed of the essence of relativism, particularly in the context of taste discourse, that opposite parties to a debate could recognize, perhaps after the first moves in the conversation, that the other party is equally right and entitled to their view. Of course, each assessor cannot but assess according to one’s taste, but, for relativism, one’s context of assessment, even if inescapable, is not privileged and speakers, if attentive, would recognize this fact. Or else, if the overall project was not (just) descriptive but normative, they ought to recognize this fact. Thus, one may even grant, at least for the sake of the argument, that MacFarlane has provided us with powerful semantic tools, whose adequacy will have to be assessed case by case by seeing if they help us make sense of this or that linguistic practice within a given area of discourse. Yet he has not given us, we believe, a way of making better sense of the old and highly contentious idea of alethic relativism. To put it provocatively, MacFarlane has given us a more complex contextualist semantics, where we need a new parameter (i.e. the context of assessment) to determine the truth-value of a given proposition. Moreover, he has given us the tools to reiterate this operation as much as we like, for as many assessors there are, or there may be. But he has not given us anything like a plausibly relativistic account of taste discourse, since it is precisely the addition of that parameter that trumps the condition of equal validity or parity which is essential to philosophical relativism. In short, New truth-relativism à la MacFarlane is not true relativism, or so it seems to us. As we saw in Chapter 1, relativism hinges on the idea of faultless disagreement and parity. MacFarlane’s semantics falls short of being a relativist semantics, so characterized because, in his account, occupying a perspective from which a judgment is issued precludes the possibility of recognizing the equal standing (or validity) of opposite judgments and forces one to declare them wrong. Thus, the context of assessment one occupies is not just privileged in the sense of being the one actually occupies but because it rules out the legitimacy of any other, from one’s perspective.



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§3.3 Other ways to be alethic relativist? So far, we have discussed the best developed proposals, to date, concerning alethic relativism. New truth-relativism, as we have seen, comes in two fashions – Kölbel’s and MacFarlane’s – and offers a powerful semantics for the relevant areas of discourse. The main attraction of New truth-­relativism is that it preserves truth-conditional semantics and extends it to areas of discourse which have usually been considered amenable to a relativistic treatment. The main difficulties of New truth-relativism, as we saw, have to do either with the possibility of really accounting for disagreement and retraction, or with the possibility of making sense of the idea that both parties to a disagreement are on par – or, equivalently, that neither of them is at fault. But there may be other ways of developing a form of alethic relativism, which may perhaps obviate these difficulties. Let us go back to ­MacFarlane’s discussion of the various senses of “disagreement” to introduce them. As the reader will recall, according to him, disputes of inclination exhibit some kind of faultlessness. In particular, there is faultlessness if by “faultlessness” one means that A’s and B’s opposite beliefs regarding the tastiness of liquorice are epistemically warranted – that is, if, given A’s and B’s gustatory standards, their verdicts are both accurate. Hence, neither A nor B has ­violated the constitutive norm of belief and assertion, in making their respective judgments and in stating them, since both have operated in accordance with a truth norm relativized to the context of assessment, which A and B respectively occupy when they make their specific pronouncements. Now, MacFarlane does not consider this kind of accuracy in making a judgment regarding the tastiness of liquorice sufficient for the truth of both A’s and B’s beliefs or assertions tout court. Rather, their pronouncements are true or false only if, when assessed by a third party, either A is right and B is wrong or vice versa. That is why he thinks that, ultimately, we should give up talk in terms of “faultless disagreement”. However, one may bolster the first intuition – that is, that both A’s and B’s opposite judgments were warranted – and hold that warrantedness suffices for truth, at least in some areas of discourse. This would be tantamount to maintaining an anti-realist notion of truth. For truth would not depend on representing things as they are, independently of human minds. Rather, if, by exercising one’s taste and judgment in optimal conditions, one finds liquorice tasty, then it is tasty. Conversely, if, under those very

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conditions, one doesn’t find it tasty, then it is not tasty. Thus, A and B would each judge and speak truly and they could be said to disagree over the tastiness of liquorice. Interestingly, moreover, no third party should or could be invoked to determine the truth of A’s and B’s respective verdicts. Faultless disagreement would be accounted for. Indeed, Crispin Wright, in his Truth and Objectivity (1992), laid down the foundations of this strategy and developed an anti-realist account of truth in terms of superassertibility, which he considered applicable to subjective areas of discourse or to the so-called “disputes of inclination”. Accordingly, a statement is superassertible if and only if it is (or can be) warranted and its warrantedness can survive scrutiny and any substantial increase (or improvement) in information (Wright 1992: 48). Thus, the idea would be that if one’s taste wasn’t vitiated by external factors, or by an on-going disease, if one tasted liquorice several times, and judged it to be tasty (or the opposite), while knowing the meaning of the word “tasty”, then liquorice would be tasty (or not). Obviously, this move comes at the cost of abandoning truth-conditional semantics – a price many contemporary philosophers of language would not be willing to pay. In particular, it would seem extremely counterintuitive to go anti-realist about truth all the way down and hold such a position also in areas of discourse which have traditionally been considered to be fully objective. For instance, considering states of affairs concerning mid-size physical objects and their primary qualities, one may find it counterintuitive to hold an anti-realist position. “This table is square” is (usually) considered to be true if and only if the mind-independent object out there which we call “table” has the property of having four equal sides and angles. As Wright himself recognized since his seminal book, anti-realism about truth may not be our preferred choice in areas of discourse we traditionally consider to be fully representational. As a consequence, going anti-realist about truth in the area of subjective taste should be coupled, according to him, with going pluralist about truth in general.11 To go pluralist about truth, then, means to hold that, depending on the area of discourse at issue, P may be true either because it represents mind-independent states of affairs correctly, or else because it is superassertible.12 Now, alethic pluralism is an exciting area of inquiry, in which various positions are being maintained with respect to, in particular, what should be considered to be plural.13 Is it the very concept of truth, which is not uniquely identified by a set of necessary and sufficient conditions, but is to



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be characterized, rather, in terms of family resemblance? Or is alethic pluralism to be understood as the view that the concept of truth is identified by some central features, which are compatible with variability in some other, less central respects? Or, rather, is alethic pluralism to be understood as the view that the concept of truth is uniquely determined (and if so, how?), while the properties that make all relevant judgments true differ – ranging from correspondence to coherence to warranted assertibility? Or is it the view that truth is a functional role property, which can be realized differently in different areas of discourse?14 Finally, is alethic pluralism, so understood, compatible with deflationism, or at any rate with minimalism about truth, at least in some areas of discourse?15 Nevertheless, it is well-known that alethic pluralism faces serious challenges, such as providing an explanation of mixed inferences, in which truth seems to be preserved in inferences whose premises, if true, are true in different ways, according to the pluralist; or the challenge of explaining the truth of mixed atomic and compound sentences; or the challenge of providing an account of the norms of assertion and belief, if they involve reference to truth.16 Let us assume for the sake of argument that all these issues may be satisfactorily resolved. What are the real prospects of this view as a way of making sense of relativism? For instance, Wright’s account has been criticized because the transition from having opposite non-cognitive reactions to a given food to having incompatible propositional attitudes about its tastiness is suspect (see Maudlin 2007). It is also not entirely clear in what sense it would be a form of relativism, since, on the face of it, it does not seem to respect the relativity condition, which is a further core claim of relativist views (see Beall 2006). More importantly, however, it could be maintained (see Beall 2006: 69) that superassertibility is in fact a truth-property, which is relativized to a given subject’s gustatory reactions. If that is the case, however, like other kinds of alethic relativism, Wright’s too would have problems explaining disagreement as due to having incompatible attitudes. For Wright may have a story to tell about assertibility conditions that can explain in what sense A and B may mean the same by, say, “Sushi is (not) tasty”, and thus assent to or deny the same content P.17 Yet their different dispositions to assert and to deny that content would reflect the fact that they would be operating with different truth-properties; thus, roughly, superassertible-given-myA-­ gustatory-standards versus superassertible-given-myB-­gustatory-standards. If subjects were, in fact, operating with these differently relativized

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truth-properties, which would make them return opposite verdicts on “Sushi is tasty”, it would become difficult to see how they could be in disagreement with one another. For clearly it is not incompatible to hold that sushi is and is not tasty, when, in fact, that depends on assessing the truth of “Sushi is tasty” in the light of differently relativized truth-properties. Thus, also this anti-realist rendition of truth relativism seems to be problematic and it is not easy to see how else the very idea of alethic relativism could be developed in a satisfactory way.18

Summary This chapter has examined the most general and strongest form of relativism, alethic relativism, or relativism about truth. We have argued that relativism about truth, both in its classical and in the new semantic form, faces a variety of difficulties, if it means to offer an account of truth that should satisfy both our ordinary and philosophical intuitions about truth and disagreement. Other varieties of relativism which do not have the broad scope of alethic relativism and focus on more specific subject-matters do not necessarily face the same type of challenges and may prove more promising. We will now turn to their discussion.

Further readings In addition to the texts cited in this chapter, the following will provided a better understanding of the issues discussed. John MacFarlane’s (2012) “Relativism” (in Delia Graff Fara and ­Gillian ­Russell (eds.)) is a helpful summary of some of the main points of ­MacFarlane’s position on truth relativism. “From One to Many: Recent Work on Truth” (2016) by Jeremy Wyatt & Michael Lynch offers a useful critical survey of contemporary thinking about truth and includes discussions of John MacFarlane’s relativism and the alethic pluralism pioneered by Crispin Wright. The article will provide a good background to the issues discussed in this chapter. Max Kölbel’s “Faultless Disagreement” (2004a) was the starting point of much of the discussions around new relativism. Annalisa Coliva and Sebastiano Moruzzi’s (2014a) “Faultless disagreement and the equal validity paradox” provides a background to some of the discussions of this chapter.



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Cappelen, Herman and Huvenes, Torfinn’s “Relative Truth” (2019) (in  Michael Glanzberg (ed.))  provides a useful survey of the arguments for new relativism and argues that what we have called classical relativism should be properly understood as a form of contextualism.

Notes 1 We may say they are non-trivially mind-independent. For they may be encoded in a language, which is a mind-dependent entity. However, they are not mind-dependent in the sense required by relativism. In particular, they do not give rise to the possibility of divergent and incompatible descriptions. 2 In fact, Burnyeat (1976a) suggests that the relativist who does not want to “lose grip” on relative truth should accept a kind of “principle of translation” like the following: a proposition of the form “x is F” is true (relatively) for a person (a), if and only if “x is F for a” is true absolutely. The problem with this kind of translation, however, and as we will see at length in the following, is that it makes very difficult to preserve disagreement among opposite parties and tends to move it from the subject-matter to the criteria to be used to assess its truth. 3 For a reply on behalf of the relativist and for a strengthening of Evans’s challenge, see Moruzzi (2018). 4 Cf. MacFarlane (2011) for some resistance to Cappelen and Hawthorne’s claim that this simple characterization should be regarded as the “received” view. 5 Kölbel, M. (2002). Truth without Objectivity. London: Routledge. 6 See also Kölbel (2004a). 7 See also MacFarlane’s formulation (22) (2014: 91), which is not substantially different from this. 8 “Concerns” here means that either the judgment is about or is being issued from a specific point of view, or is being evaluated from a given context of assessment. 9 We are not taking up the important issue of determining which linguistic practice should be taken into account – whether in this or that language, or linguistic community, or cross-culturally, let alone the issue of whether single speakers’ intuitions should be taken as solid empirical data, or whether going empirical should actually involve relying on robust sociolinguistic findings.

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10 Also, Mark Richard (2008: 132) is critical of the possibility of there being faultless disagreement in this sense. For, he argues, given platitudes about “truth” and the disquotational schema, it is always the case that, within a given perspective, only one of the parties is right (at most). We concur with Boghossian (2010, 2011) in finding the resulting notion of relative truth unsuitable to capture the kind of parity claims traditionally considered to be part of relativism as a philosophical doctrine. Boghossian also claims that assuming that there is vantage point or perspective from which first-order judgments about the tastiness of a given food should be assessed threatens the stability of a view, which, like Richard’s, aims to say that those judgments are only relatively true. We will articulate this objection further in the following, while discussing MacFarlane’s proposal. 11 Lynch (2011) argues that alethic relativism entails alethic pluralism because global alethic relativism is implausible. We have already discussed global alethic relativism (Section 3.1.1–3.1.2). We have seen how problematic that view is, and we have concurred with those that hold that the best prospects for alethic relativism reside in going local. Still, for all we have been saying, that falls short of establishing a strict entailment between alethic relativism and alethic pluralism. For one thing, an alethic relativist may opt for a monistic conception of truth and apply it across the board, and do so while also being a local alethic relativist. For instance, one may maintain that it is only in certain areas of discourse that we may want to embrace the idea of faultless disagreement and utilize a conception of truth that allows us to make sense of that, while holding that it is the same property that makes the relevant judgments true across the various areas of discourse. The case of the truth anti-realist discussed in the main text illustrates this possibility. If that still seems implausible because in certain areas of discourse there are powerful intuitions that dispose one to embrace more robust conceptions of truth, we may then say that alethic relativism becomes more plausible if one is prepared to embrace truth pluralism. For, then, going pluralist about truth would allow one to make sense of the idea that relativistic areas of discourse are governed by a kind of truth which is less robust than the one which is operative in non-relativistic areas of discourse (and crucially such as to allow for faultless disagreement). In particular, it will allow one to maintain that while in relativistic areas, truth should be understood in terms of superassertibility, and in non-relativistic ones, it may be understood in correspondentist terms. Thus, even though there may be a connection between alethic relativism and alethic pluralism, it is not as straightforward as Lynch makes it seem.



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12 Or else, because it coheres with some system of judgments, for some other areas of discourse which are not fully representational and yet not merely subjective either. A good example could be that of propositions about morality or legality. 13 For a useful review of how different versions of alethic pluralism respond to these challenges, see Pedersen and Wright (2016). Coliva (2018) defends the idea that in mixed inferences what is preserved is plain truth, which may be differently manifested or grounded. Take “If pigs grunt, 2+2=4; Pigs grunt; therefore 2+2=4”. The inference is valid because plain truth (identified through a set of platitudes) is preserved. Yet, in a pluralistic framework, “Pigs grunt” is true because it corresponds to mind-independent facts, while “2+2=4” is true because it is provable within a mathematical/ logical theory, say. 14 See Lynch (2009). 15 Coliva (2015) and (2018) are examples of holding that truth for “hinges” like “There is an external world”, “There are (other) minds”, and so forth is to be understood in a minimalist fashion, as implying merely certain platitudes (see Wright 1992: 34 for a provisional list of them and Wright 2001b for a more comprehensive one), where the view is considered to be compatible with holding that different properties make true those propositions which can be justified only by taking for granted the relevant hinges. Thus, we need to take for granted the existence of minds if we want to make sense of the truth of “Liquorice is tasty”, which we may understand, in turn, along superassertibility lines. 16 For a useful review, see Pedersen and Wright (2013). 17 Wright (2006: 59) maintains that they would mean the same because they would have a common understanding of when “Sushi is tasty” would be assertible and would have a common conception of the consequences, both analytical and practical, which would attend its correctness. 18 Wright (unpublished) now recognizes this problem for his earlier views and proposes a deflationist account of truth for the relevant areas of discourse, which would fail at what in Wright (1992) he called “cognitive command”. That is, the idea that if A affirms P and B not-P, at least one of them must have made a mistake. We are skeptical that this may suffice to motivate deflationism, since it is still compatible with superassertibility. Thus, the move seems ad hoc.

4 RELATIVIZING CONCEPTUAL SCHEMES

4.1 The many faces of conceptual relativism 4.2 Conceptual relativism 1: the holistic model 4.3 Conceptual relativism 2: the Wittgensteinian model

§4.1 The many faces of conceptual relativism Conceptual relativism is a narrowly delineated form of relativism inspired by the idea that the world does not present itself to us ready-made or readycarved; rather, we supply different, and at times incompatible, ways of categorizing and conceptualizing it. Like other sub-categories of relativism, “conceptual relativism” involves a variety of approaches, but, broadly speaking, we can distinguish between the weaker claim that our concepts carve up the world or our experiences and the stronger view that our concepts afford us the tools to construct facts and, in that sense, make worlds. This chapter focuses on the first variety. Chapter 5 will examine the stronger versions where facts and the world are relativized. Considerations relevant to conceptual relativism have given rise to relativistic views about science, and Chapter 6 will focus on this, more narrowly delineated, variety of conceptual relativism.



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Conceptual relativism may be motivated in various ways. At bottom, however, conceptual relativists tend to embrace the Kantian idea that reality is not given independently of the subject, in particular, of the pure forms of sensibility – space and time – and of the categories of the intellect. The key intuition behind this version of relativism is that “the view from nowhere”, to use Thomas Nagel’s (Nagel 1986) memorable words, is not accessible to epistemic agents like us who are always and inevitably perspectival in their epistemic orientation toward that world. Once we take the Kantian philosophical intuition seriously, as many anti-­realists do, it becomes easy to accept that all our claims about the world bear the imprint of the human mind, that “the trail of the human serpent is over everything” (James 1907:  26). This idea, stripped off of Kantian transcendentalism and suitably modified in light of today’s developments in philosophy of mind and cognitive science, is alive and well and could be presented, in its simplest form, as emanating from a distinction between uninterpreted ­content and conceptual scheme. On the one hand, we would have a brute, blind, and shapeless stream of experience (these are the usual metaphors), which depends on the subject’s causal relationship with the world, which, in its turn, is unknowable as such. On the other hand, there is a scheme, a s­ ystem, framework or grid (these are again the most common metaphors), which depends on the subject(s), is superimposed on the experiential flow, and carves ­common-sense (or also scientific) objects out of it. Reality is, therefore, the result of an interaction between the world out there, which is unknowable as such, and the exercise of our concepts. According to some authors, even perception is already the product of “receptivity” (the enjoying of sensations caused by an interaction with the outer world) and of “spontaneity” (the exercise of our concepts), to put it in the words of John McDowell (1994). According to this perspective, concepts are immediately operative in perception and are not exclusively deployed through judgment. All versions of conceptual relativism rely on a distinction between conceptual schemes and their contents but draw the distinction in different ways. Broadly speaking, we can distinguish between (Sa) Classificatory version: conceptual schemes comprise of the categories and classificatory principles we use to identify, carve up and group elements of the world and our experiences of it.

The Kantian approach falls more readily into this general framework.

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(Sb) Descriptive version: conceptual schemes are the totality of the basic or fundamental beliefs we have about the world. They are ways of describing and representing the world.

A number of approaches, including Quine’s ontological relativity and Kuhn’s arguments regarding the role of paradigms in science (see C ­ hapter 6), have been seen to support this view. (Sa) could be subsumed under (Sb) in those cases where classifications have a descriptive function, but important differences remain: the classificatory version, when assuming that conceptual schemes carve up the world, assigns a greater role to the human mind in shaping “the real” than the descriptive approach does. A further important difference between the two is that (Sa) may operate at a mentalistic and pre-linguistic level, while (Sb) presupposes, at a minimum, a protolinguistic, if not a full, semantic apparatus.1 The content side of the distinction also has been characterized in different ways: (Ca) The content may be sense data, surface irritations, sensory promptings, the ‘sensuous’: what in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century vocabulary was known as ‘ideas’ or ‘impressions’, in other words the Kantian ‘intuitions’. It is ‘the unsullied stream of experience being variously reworked by various minds or culture’ (Davidson 1989: 161); in other words, the stuff that falls under the by-now pejorative term ‘the sensuously given’ (Lewis 1956: 37). (Cb) Alternatively, the content of a conceptual scheme may be something neutral, common, but unnameable which lies outside all schemes: the Kantian ‘thing in itself’, which, according to William James, is ­absolutely dumb and evanescent (James 1907: 96). Those wary of Kantian transcendentalism, see the content in more naturalist terms and subscribe to what Michael Devitt calls ‘Fig Leaf Realism’ the view that all we can know, in any detail, is the phenomenal world or the world as represented to us through our perceptions filtered through our conceptions.

The debate between relativists and anti-relativists does not require a disagreement about these background pictures; all that anti-relativists need to deny is that the conceptual structure imposed by the subject is variable.2 This is exactly how Kant viewed things: the pure forms of perception and the categories of intellect were understood as the universal conditions of



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possibility for the subject’s experience. Having abandoned transcendentalism, which often oscillates in between an a priori conception of the conditions of possibility of experience and their reification, many contemporary philosophers and also cognitive scientists have resumed this view of our conceptual structure. According to them, it is a decidedly subjective structure, which is characteristic of our species, or of our form of life. Relativists, instead, need to say that the conceptual structure is either de facto or, at least in principle, variable. Recent defenses of conceptual relativism have taken the semantic route emphasizing the role of language in any scheme content division. In what follows, we examine two versions of this approach to conceptual relativism.

§4.2 Conceptual relativism 1: the holistic model A general way of construing conceptual relativism is to embrace the following theses: (a) There are, or there can be, different conceptual systems or significant subsets of these, either composed of different individual concepts or radically different beliefs regarding some common concepts. (b) The concepts operate either as an organizing force on an amorphous experiential content or as a tool for describing the world that is available to us only though such descriptions. (c) It is possible to organize the amorphous material of our experience differently or to generate different and incompatible descriptions of the world; thus, the different conceptual systems give rise to different descriptions of the world or subsections of it. (d) Conceptual systems may be incompatible with one another and thus give rise to different notions of reality, none of them more correct or objectively true than the others.

Point c in this case can be explained on the basis of the fact that different conceptual schemes not only give rise to different descriptions (b), but also are not jointly obtainable, or because these conceptual systems (or significant subsets of them) are incompatible or at least incomparable. Consequently, (d) it is no more correct to think that grass is yellow, if yellow is a concept that includes some shades of green, than to think that grass is green if one has the concept green and one’s yellow concept does not

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include any shade of green (setting aside questions of vagueness). It might be more or less useful, given certain aims, to have a finer-grained categorization of colors, but nothing renders one conceptual system more correct than another. The more prevalent approach to conceptual relativism within analytic philosophy has been based on the adoption of a holistic account of concepts. Each concept, in this account, is individuated by all the inferences that it licenses. Therefore, if for an individual (or a group of individuals), the following material inference holds: “If something is Earth, then it is a planet that revolves around the Sun”, but for another individual (or group) it fails to hold, then their Earth-concepts differ. Within this holistic framework, various forms of relativism have been defended, the most famous of which belongs to Quine, who, following Carnap, takes a more overtly linguistic approach to conceptual schemes and, more than once, has emphasized that where he speaks of conceptual schemes, he could have spoken of languages (Quine 1951: 41). Conceptual schemes, for him, thus are not so much sets of concepts but whole sentences. Holism is evident in the way Quine sets up the relationship between beliefs and sense-experiences. He writes: The totality of our so-called knowledge or beliefs, from the most casual matters of geography and history to the profoundest laws of atomic physics or even mathematics and logic, is a man-made fabric which impinges on experience at the edges. (Quine 1951: 42)

The thought experiment Quine uses to lay the foundations for the idea that there are incompatible and equally valid conceptual systems is known as the example of radical translation. The idea is to imagine a linguist who found herself in a community that speaks up to that point unknown language. Quine’s approach to situations of radical translation is inspired by behaviorism. Imagine a linguist finds herself with the native in a field and that the two spot a rabbit. Imagine the native shouts “gavagai”, a sound that the linguist has never heard before. The linguist will formulate the hypothesis that the native meant to say something about the animal they have both just seen, and will therefore translate the native’s utterance with: “Here is a rabbit”. However, it is still possible that the native’s conceptual scheme will not include individual physical objects, for instance, but only universals or mass terms like “milk”, “water”, and “meat”. If things were so, the native



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would then use “gavagai” to mean “here is an example of rabbitness” or “here are some non-detached rabbit parts”. The point is, if all we have is a situation – say one where the little animal runs around the clearing observed by the two subjects – plus a certain sensory stimulation – the one enjoyed by the two subjects – plus the native’s utterance, there seems to be no way to find out what the native actually meant to say with her statement. As Quine argues, the reference of “gavagai” is inscrutable. Obviously, the linguist cannot do anything but use her own conceptual scheme and thereby translate the native’s expression with “here is a rabbit”, but, of course, if another linguist with a different conceptual scheme were to do the translation, she might as well choose “here is an example of rabbitness” or “here are some non-detached rabbit parts”. Since there is no way to find out which translation is correct, Quine formulates the following hypothesis: Hypothesis of the indeterminacy of translation: If there exists one translation manual for one language, then there potentially exist infinite other mutually incompatible but equally legitimate manuals.

It is important for the relativist that these different manuals of translation be indeed incompatible. According to Quine, we can show that they are by considering what would happen if we were to count what there is. Suppose two rabbits hop by and the native says “kai gavagai”. The linguist will translate: “here are two rabbits”, while another linguist could translate: “here are two non-detached rabbit parts”. However, clearly “two rabbits” and “two non-detached rabbit parts” are not equivalent translations: even just the head and the chest of the rabbit would count as two non-detached parts of rabbit (as long as they stick together), but certainly not as two rabbits. However, both translations are adequate, because they are compatible with the native’s manifested behavior. The following results follow: (a) conceptual schemes are determined by theories and/or by languages; (b) there are theories/languages different and incompatible with one another; (c) there are therefore conceptual systems that are different and mutually incompatible; (d) these conceptual systems are all equally legitimate.

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Point a, of course, deserves some qualification, especially if it is derived from considerations that involve diverging scientific theories. After all, we tend to think that one scientific theory replaces another in virtue of the fact that the previous one was false or seriously defective. Obviously, even the theories we hold nowadays may one day turn out to be false, and we will abandon them precisely because of their putative falsity. In other words, despite adopting a holistic perspective, we might maintain that facts falsify (or confirm) scientific theories, and therefore, from a metaphysical point of view, not all conceptual schemes are on equal terms. As we will see in Chapter 6, in contrast with this idea, supporters of various versions of relativism about science argue that moving from one theory to another one never, or at least never solely, depends on “how things really are”. But external factors, including interests and pragmatic considerations, come to play a decisive role in our choices. Also with regard to point d, in the case of different translation manuals, it is clear that some may be more practical or elegant than others. Yet, insofar as they provide equally adeqauate translations of the natives’ utterances, we are not in a position to say which translation is the correct one. Indeed, if the hypothesis of the indeterminacy of translation is well-founded, they all count as equally adequate. §4.2.1 Against conceptual relativism 1: Donald Davidson Donald Davidson’s attempted refutation of conceptual relativism has become a central plank in discussions of the topic; we will therefore investigate it in some detail. According to Davidson, in his celebrated “On the Very Idea of a Conceptual Scheme” (1974), conceptual relativism rests on “the third dogma of empiricism”, the distinction between conceptual schemes and their uninterpreted contents, which are variously characterized as the “given”, the brute sensory flow, or the uninterpreted world. Together with the analytic/synthetic distinction and reductionism,3 which had already been undermined by Quine (1951), and with this third dogma, we have fully characterized empiricism, according to Davidson. Once they are abandoned, then nothing remains deserving of the name. Moreover, Davidson adds, conceptual relativism can be formulated only on the basis of an acceptance of the third dogma. Thus, once the latter falls apart, we can no longer understand the idea that there may be alternative, that is, incommensurable, but equally legitimate, conceptual schemes.



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Davidson begins his attack by noting the distinction between different versions of the distinction between conceptual scheme and uninterpreted content. According to the first version, introduced by Peter F. Strawson in Individuals (1959), given our language, or our concepts, we can imagine possible worlds other than our own, where certain truths obtain that do not obtain in the actual world. For example, given our concept snow, we can imagine that while in the actual world it is true that snow is white, in another possible world that may be false, and it may be true that it is red instead. The second version, introduced by Kuhn in The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (1970 [1962]), states that the actual world can be categorized in different ways: there are several ways of curving up the experiential flow, incompatible with each other, but all equally valid. The first version, Davidson maintains, is based on the analytic/synthetic distinction, that is, the possibility of drawing a clear line between the semantic-conceptual component: snow = df condensed water falling from the sky – (let’s say!)

and the factual component – the fact that in our world what meets the definition of snow is white and it is conceivable that it is red in a possible world alternative to our own. Since, according to Davidson, this distinction is to be abandoned in light of the arguments advanced by Quine (1951), he focuses on the second version. According to this version, if the meaning of the terms, and therefore concepts, vary depending on which set of sentences is considered as true, then every change of theory is also ipso facto a conceptual change. New conceptual frameworks emerge and supplant their precursors. Obviously, though, in order for conceptual relativism – and not simply a change of conceptual framework – to obtain, we must also argue that these different schemes are equally valid. It is this version of the distinction between conceptual scheme and uninterpreted content, with the corresponding conception of relativism, that Davidson (1974) attacks. In particular, he attacks the idea that we could really make sense of radically incommensurable conceptual schemes. Davidson’s arguments are based on a number of assumptions.4 The first is: (P1) There is an identity between conceptual scheme and language. (As Davidson himself notes, a number of languages may express the same conceptual scheme if and only if they are inter-translatable.)

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It follows that (C) If there are incommensurable conceptual schemes, then there are non-intertranslatable languages (and vice versa).

Davidson notes that there can be two cases: (a) total untranslatability: no significant set of sentences of a language is translatable in another language; (b) partial untranslatability: some sets of sentences of a language are translatable in another language and some are not.

As regards total untranslatability, Davidson notes that we can be tempted to support the following thesis, crudely put: Thesis 1: nothing can prove that some kind of activity cannot be interpreted in our language without thereby proving that that kind of activity is not a linguistic behavior.

Now, although Davidson agrees with this view, he believes that it should be argued for and not taken for granted. It should also be noted that Davidson glosses it in a non-equivalent way: Thesis 1.1: a type of activity that cannot be interpreted as language in our language is not a linguistic behavior.

The difference between these two views is quite clear: the latter is a metaphysical thesis, on the conditions of individuation of a language; the former, however, is a thesis about the conditions under which we can say that something is a language, and hence it is an epistemic thesis about the conditions of identification of a language. Yet, moving from thesis 1 to thesis 1.1 means committing a verificationist fallacy: a has property F (if and) only if we have grounds for ascribing F to a. Therefore, assuming that the arguments advanced by Davidson actually advocate thesis 1, it does not follow ipso facto that they support thesis 1.1. In partial defense of Davidson, we should add that, despite his equivocation between thesis 1 and thesis 1.1, even if his argument only works in support of 1, it still should not be seen as an irrelevant or inconsequential outcome. To put it simply, Davidson, through 1, is showing that even if



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conceptual relativism is a metaphysical possibility, we are not in a position to know it, nor could we even fully describe it. Hence, the truth or falsity of the thesis would make no difference to us. This seems to be a relevant result, albeit a more modest one than what Davidson claims to have established. Let us now move to the argument against the idea that there might be different, equally valid, and incommensurable conceptual schemes. For Davidson, this is tantamount to asking whether there may be languages, that is, behaviors, that we can say are linguistic, which are in principle impossible to translate into our language. Davidson, it should be noted, is talking, in principle, about the possibility of translation and not whether we are in practice able to translate because, given the finite nature of our abilities, it is conceivable that we could come in contact with a ­community – human or not – exhibiting what we would consider a linguistic behavior – ­producing sounds or, in any event, signs, with an appearance of coordination between their actions on the basis of the production of these signs – without being able to translate their language into ours. What Davidson asks us to imagine, rather, is that we are able to say of a certain behavior that it is a linguistic behavior, without it being possible for us to translate it into our language, not even in principle. He rejects the intelligibility of this idea. One way of understanding this possibility is to imagine a language which organizes objects, or systematizes and divides the experiential flow, in a manner that is different from but equally coherent for us, and yet remains completely untranslatable. Davidson does not give any detailed examples,5 but a good instance of such organization is the case of constellations. It is clear that we can come across a community that does not organize the visible stars in the sky into constellations. Yet they would still have the simple predicate “star”. We may then try to translate “Big Dipper is a constellation” into their language using an utterance of that language which means “Big Dipper is a group of stars”. The inability to translate “constellation” with a simple term of that language would then be clear and intelligible to us only against a shared background – that is, a conceptual scheme and the ontology underlying it. We could identify it only on the basis of our ability to translate many other utterances made by the speakers of that exotic language and, in particular, those relating to the stars understood as visible objects in the sky. Thus, according to Davidson, to the extent that we can make sense of the hypothesis that there are different ways to organize objects, this

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presupposes differences that are sufficiently local to be intelligible. Yet what we were trying to figure out – that is, to imagine in detail and not only to state – was the possibility of there being a language that organizes objects differently from ours and that, however, is totally impossible to translate for us. That we could not do. The second case is an untranslatable language that divides or systematizes, not discrete objects, but a so far undivided experiential flow, in a manner that is different from but equally coherent for us. Davidson argues again that this is not a fully imaginable proposal. We can illustrate the idea as follows: is it conceivable – that is, fully imaginable – that there is a language in which experience is systematized in a way radically different from our own? Where, say, shapes and colors are not organized, for instance, into objects? What Davidson seems to be saying is that we can invoke the same minimal units – forms and colors – to describe the alternative conceptual framework and translate the attendant language into ours. Again, once the proposal is made intelligible within our linguistic framework, then the possibility of its semantic incommensurability also recedes. Finally, a language – and thus a conceptual scheme – could be untranslatable if it can successfully fit experience – for instance, be used to predict experiences or even face the tribunal of experience, in a different and incommensurable but equally valid way. Is it possible for such a language to be untranslatable, despite being largely true? According to Davidson, to consider a language that is largely true means moving from the referential apparatus of languages – predicates, quantifiers, variables, and singular terms – to considering whole sentences. It is the latter that are verified by experience, that are used to predict it, and that face the tribunal of experience. To suppose that there are equally valid conceptual schemes, which are untranslatable in our language, is to assume that there are sets of sentences that are largely true because, like ours, they fit experience, are verified by it, and face its tribunal; and yet they are impossible to translate for us. Once again Davidson finds this idea unintelligible, because the main feature of the predicate “true”, regardless of any theory of truth one embraces, is that its extension in our language is given by all the T-sentences it allows us to derive. These are sentences of the following form: T-schema: S is true (in L) if and only if P



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where S is replaced by a description of S and P by S itself, if the language L is English, or by a translation into English, if L is another language. For instance: T-sentence 1: “snow is white” is true (in English) if and only if snow is white.

Now, the important point is that the right-hand side of the biconditional contains a translation of S. This is clearly visible if L is not English but, for example, Italian: T-sentence 2: “snow is white” is true (in English) if and only if la neve è bianca.

The T-schema, which is what fixes the extension of the concept true in English (like in any other language), thus presupposes the notion of translation. Therefore, we cannot give substance to the idea of there being what we would consider largely true conceptual schemes, that would be totally untranslatable, not as a matter of fact (indeed, this may well be the case, given our limited capabilities), but in principle. Stated differently, if a conceptual scheme is largely true, in virtue of the very meaning that we attach to the latter predicate, this implies that it must be translatable, at least in principle, otherwise we would not know what it would mean to say that it is true. Therefore, in this case too, the attempt to imagine the possibility of conceptual schemes incommensurable with ours leads to a dead end: if these are schemes – that is, sets of sentences – that we can sensibly assume to be largely true, then they must be sets of sentences translatable into our language, at least in principle, and, therefore, they must be conceptual systems broadly similar to our own. The very attempt to explain the idea of alternative and incommensurable conceptual schemes, in fact, cancels the intelligibility of the proposal. As it may be recalled, however, untranslatability can be total or partial. So far, we have seen Davidson’s reductio directed at the former. What about the latter? As Davidson says (1974: 17), speaking of partial untranslatability means introducing “the possibility of making changes and contrasts in conceptual schemes intelligible by reference to the common part”. However, according to Davidson, taking meanings, concepts, and common beliefs for granted would be wrong. A radical interpreter who is translating

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speakers of a totally unknown language cannot assume any of those things. All she can take for granted is that speakers consider true the sentences they utter. Furthermore, by making the common-sense assumption that these speakers share our environment and react to it in roughly similar ways, we can try to interpret their utterances, at least as far as what is observable and salient in the circumstances in which communication occurs, only with the assumption that what they say is true from our point of view. This claim, in turn, depends on the application of the: Principle of Charity: one must interpret the utterances of speakers in such a way that maximizes agreement between the interpreter and interpretee; one must favor the interpretation that assigns to the interpretee true beliefs from the point of view of the interpreter.

This principle has been widely discussed. Many have argued that the principle is vitiated by what may be called “ethnocentrism”: suppose we really faced an exotic community, with beliefs that are very different from ours. Always interpreting it in such a way that their beliefs are true from our point of view would provide a mistranslation of their utterances and would seriously fail to do justice to their diversity. The principle of charity can be modified in various ways to add to its plausibility. One can perhaps speak of minimizing disagreement between the interpreter and interpretee, rather than maximizing agreement. One can also think of attributing to the speaker true beliefs from her (the interpretee’s) point of view, thus opting for a form of empathy – the ability to put ourselves in someone’s shoes – rather than charity. Yet, to do this, one must somehow already know what the point of view of the other is. However, in cases of radical interpretation, at least in its early stages, this is just what we do not know. Now, because we have to get started on the interpretation, and it is certainly more rational to attribute to the native speaker beliefs that we deem true from our point of view, we can only rely on the charity principle. In order to realize this, it is sufficient to note that the complement class of true beliefs from our point of view, in the empirical circumstances in which communication takes place, is much broader. Thus, since we have to make an interpretive choice, it is certainly more rational to attribute to the speaker a belief that we deem to be true, at least from our point of view. Obviously, as we progress, we can revise our assumptions and employ principles different from that of charity, such as the principle of the minimization of disagreement and the principle of



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empathy. However, at least initially, it seems we have no choice. Thus, as Davidson puts it, “Charity is forced on us; – whether we like it or not, if we want to understand others, we must count them right [from our point of view] in most matters” (Davidson 1974: 19). Let us go back to the case of partial untranslatability. Obviously, we have to assume that we have already translated significant segments of the other person’s language and that she now utters a sentence which, if translated according to what we believe to be true, is false. Mutatis mutandis, we can think of the case of a speaker of English (of which, that is, we have good reason to believe that they speak by and large the same language, although this is not completely obvious for Davidson) who, in salient perceptual circumstances, utters a statement that is clearly false from our point of view. The example cited by Davidson is that of a person who, seeing a boat equipped as a ketch, says, “Look what a beautiful yawl!”6 There are two possible scenarios, according to him: (1) the subject is misperceiving, and therefore has a factual belief which is false because she believes that the wheel is between two shafts, and therefore that the vessel is a yawl; if we told her that the wheel is behind the two shafts, she would correct herself and say, “I was wrong, it is a ketch”; (2) for her, the word “yawl” means ketch: she has a false linguistic belief; if we told her that the wheel is behind the two shafts, she would say, “of course, that is why it is a yawl”.

Neither of these cases points to a substantial conceptual difference. In the former case, the two speakers have a common language and set of concepts, but one has a true belief and the other has a false one. In the latter, however, we have a common set of concepts, but a different language, and therefore we believe the same thing, namely, that there is a double-shaft sailboat with the wheel behind the two shafts. This second case is close to examples of “malapropism” discussed by Davidson (1986). To illustrate, suppose A declares: “I have a very photogenic memory”. Before attributing to the speaker the absurd belief that her memory appears good-looking in photographs, it is certainly best to follow Davidson and interpret her utterance so as to ascribe to her false linguistic beliefs, but also true beliefs about the real world, so to speak. That is to say, we should interpret A as believing (truly, let us suppose) that she has

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a photographic memory, while at the same time entertaining the misguided linguistic belief that “photogenic memory” means what “photographic memory” means. There is, however, a third possibility, which remains unclear if we confine ourselves to the example discussed by Davidson. Suppose we come across a person who believes that a butterfly is both the chrysalis and the real butterfly. She sees a larva on a mulberry leaf and states, “here’s a butterfly”. Evidently, in a holistic perspective of the identification of concepts, her concept butterfly is different from ours: if all beliefs contribute to the identification of concepts, those who believe that both chrysalises and real butterflies are butterflies have a concept butterfly different from ours. This case can be generalized as follows: (3) for the same perceptions, the subject has different beliefs about the world, so that the concepts expressed by her utterances are different from ours. For example, by “butterfly” she means [butterfly or chrysalis].

What should Davidson say about this example, which is the only one – from his point of view – where there would be a conceptual difference between interpreter and interpretee, which could manifest itself in many ways? (We can assume that the speaker, faced with a larva and a butterfly in normal perceptual conditions, says: “here are two butterflies”.) He should not say (contrary to what he does seem to say) that a difference of opinion is indistinguishable from a conceptual difference, that is, at least in principle, that one could distinguish between the two, but in fact is unable to do so. If we choose to translate a sentence that was rejected by speakers of the alternative language with a sentence to which we are particularly attached as a community, we will perhaps be tempted to say that there is a difference in schemes; if we decide to explain the data in other ways, it will perhaps be more natural to speak of a difference of opinions. But when others think differently from us, no general principles and no appeal to evidence can force us to conclude that the difference lies in our beliefs rather than in our concepts (Davidson 1974: 281). After all, in a holistic perspective (substantial), differences between beliefs are ipso facto conceptual differences. What Davidson should say is that local conceptual differences, which in a holistic perspective inevitably depend on differences between beliefs, are detectable only on the basis of an extensive agreement between beliefs and, therefore, on the basis of a large commonality of conceptual scheme.



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As we have seen, we can trace this local conceptual diversity because we can interpret the speaker in such a way as to attribute to her the concepts animal, insect, two, and so forth. Thus, local differences between conceptual schemes are possible and intelligible, but only on the background of a broadly common basis. We must conclude, I think, that the attempt to give a solid meaning to the idea of conceptual relativism, and hence to the idea of a conceptual scheme, fares no better when based on partial failure of translation than when based on total failure. (Davidson 1974: 20)

In the case of total untranslatability, if Davidson is right, the idea is indeed unintelligible. In the case of partial untranslatability, it is intelligible but only on the basis of an extensive sharing of beliefs and, therefore, of conceptual scheme. The fact remains that the radical idea traditionally associated with conceptual relativism, that is, that different and incommensurable conceptual schemes are possible, comes out seriously compromised. Now, the question is what consequences are to be drawn from the rejection of the intelligibility of a plurality of incommensurable conceptual schemes. According to Davidson (1974: 20), there is nothing like a single conceptual framework to serve as a common coordinate system: For we have found no intelligible basis on which it can be said that schemes are different. [Therefore, it] would be equally wrong to announce the glorious news that all mankind – all speakers of language, at least – share a common scheme and ontology. For if we cannot intelligibly say that schemes are different, neither can we intelligibly say that they are one.

Davidson’s idea, then, is that if one cannot identify a difference between conceptual schemes as opposed to some of our beliefs and opinions, then one can neither affirm nor deny that there are differences between conceptual schemes, and, consequently, one can neither affirm nor exclude that there is such a thing as a conceptual framework. From here, though, Davidson draws a final conclusion, namely, that there is no distinction between conceptual schemes and uninterpreted content. Despite abandoning this dogma, according to him, it remains true that the truth of sentences is relative to the language one speaks. That is, it is obvious that, if with “cat” one means cat, then “the cat is on the mat” is true,

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while it is false if with “cat” one means dog (provided that actually there is a cat on the mat and not a dog). Yet, obviously, it is not this trivial thesis one seeks to defend when one says that truth is relative to a conceptual scheme. What is typically meant is that, given the same situation in the world, according to a conceptual scheme, sentences purportedly describing it are true, and, according to another, the sentences which would describe that situation are false. Moreover, In giving up the dualism of scheme and world, we do not give up the world, but reestablish unmediated touch with the familiar objects whose antics make our sentences and opinions true or false. (ibid.)

Davidson’s conclusion can be questioned on a number of grounds. First, Davidson seems once again to take a false step based on the verificationist fallacy: he goes from the impossibility (assuming that he has actually proven it) of establishing that two conceptual schemes are equal, or different, to the impossibility that there is such a thing as scheme/content distinction. Second, as we have seen earlier, it is not true that we cannot distinguish between a mere difference of opinions (1) and genuine conceptual differences (3), although inevitably due – in a holistic framework about the individuation of concepts – to a difference in beliefs. Third, one can draw this distinction only on the basis of a large sharing of beliefs, and therefore – according to a holistic conception of the individuation of concepts – only on the basis of a broad commonality of conceptual schemes; hence, Davidson’s argument about partial untranslatability turns out to be an indirect argument in favor of the commonality between conceptual schemes. In other words, Davidson’s arguments against total untranslatability show that to even start making that idea intelligible, we have to presuppose either that there is one largely shared conceptual scheme or that there are different ones, which are intertranslatable. That clearly does not by itself warrant the stronger claim that there is no scheme/content distinction. Finally, the discussion about total untranslatability showed that in order for the main metaphors used to illustrate the idea of incommensurability to be intelligible to us, they must take for granted a broad commonality between conceptual schemes and their related ontologies; or, alternatively, they must take for granted the (at least in principle) translatability in our conceptual scheme of these radically different schemes. Thus, what can be concluded is either (a) that there is a substantive identity between conceptual schemes – hence, there is only one; or (b) that despite their plurality,



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these conceptual schemes are all equivalent and, therefore, intertranslatable. Davidson goes for option (a), but then argues that if there is only a single conceptual scheme, then it does not make much sense to talk about scheme/content distinction. His arguments undermine (b) only through the implausible assumption that we can talk about different conceptual schemes only when such schemes are not intertranslatable. In short, to exemplify, we all use the conceptual framework of common sense, which refers to medium-size concrete objects; alternatively, those who use a different conceptual framework, such as those who, in Quine’s example, have no terms for individuals, but only mass-terms, actually use equivalent conceptual schemes. As one may recall, the alleged difference should have been manifest in the fact that “two rabbits” is not equivalent to “two non-detached parts of rabbit”. However, it is entirely possible that even the natives are able to distinguish between any two arbitrary undetached rabbit parts, such as the head and the chest, and two specific non-­detached rabbit parts, such as those containing all possibly detachable rabbit parts. Therefore, our concept rabbit would find a perhaps composite equivalent in their conceptual scheme. What Davidson successfully undermines is not so much the dualism between conceptual scheme and uninterpreted content, but the idea of a plurality of equally valid but incommensurable conceptual schemes. He does not so much as refute the possibility that radically divergent schemes could exist. Rather, he shows that if language, truth, and translation are seen as inevitably intertwined, then such schemes are not conceivable for us. Yet even this more modest result has been questioned. Hilary Putnam has reacted to Davidson’s line of arguments by providing a counterexample to the claim advanced by Davidson. The starting point of Putnam’s counterargument on behalf of conceptual relativity is the idea that the question “what objects the world consists of” only makes sense “within a theory or description” (1981: 49). He asks us to imagine a world in which there are three objects: •

x1

•

x2

•

x3

According to one description of this world, there are precisely three objects; but, if we were Polish logicians who believed that agglomerates of individuals are also objects (as believed by Stanisław Leśniewski), in that very

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same world there would be seven objects: x1, x2, x3, x1 + x2, x3 + x1, x2 + x3, x1 + x2 + x3. The problem with this way of arguing against Davidson is clear: as we have said, there is one world that is described differently. Now, while it is true that the description is dependent at least in part on our categories, as a matter of fact it is the world that decides, once the categories to be used in the description have been fixed, whether the latter is true or not, and, therefore, what is a fact and what is not. So, it is true that if by “object” we mean an individual object, then in Putnam’s small world, there are three objects and not four or five; and, conversely, if by “object” we mean not only individual objects but also their mereological sums, then there are seven objects and not nine or ten. However, there is just one world which by itself determines that, given a conceptual system, one description is correct and another is incorrect. It is also important to note that the two ways of describing Putnam’s mini-world are not incompatible. For there is no incompatibility between saying that there are three objects, if by “object” we mean an individual object, or seven objects, if with this occurrence of “object” we mean a mereological object. It is as if we were saying that there are eight people in a room, or four couples (Boghossian 2006a: 55); that something is 3 meters long, or about 3.33 yards; that something has a temperature of 20° C or 68°F. The term “object” is indeed the same, but its meaning, or the concept it expresses, is different in the two cases: objecti and objectm, we could say, and it is obvious that while there are three individual objectsI, there are seven mereological objectsM, and vice versa. Putnam’s argument, therefore, does not even prove the truth of conceptual relativism; it only shows that it depends on the world which facts there are, where the world makes one description true and another false, and that the description is a function of our system of representation, or of the concepts that we adopt. It is true that these may be different from those that we usually employ, but it is not obvious, nor was it conclusively shown by Putnam, that they are incompatible.

§4.3 Conceptual relativism 2: the Wittgensteinian model According to some interpreters, aspects of Ludwig Wittgenstein’s later views on language present an alternative, and more satisfactory, way of formulating conceptual relativism, one that does not presuppose either



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the Kantian or the Quinean versions of the scheme content distinction. For instance, Michael Lynch identifies his preferred account of conceptual schemes, or what he calls “world views”, with Wittgenstein’s idea of “form of life”, and writes Our world-view includes not only our beliefs and the concepts we employ in forming our beliefs, but the interests we have which help explain why we have those concepts, the values which guide those interests, and the underlying practices and capacities which limit and define our cognitive production and intake. A world-view is what Wittgenstein sometimes called a ‘form of life’. (Lynch 1997: 426)

Similarly, Hans Johann Glock has argued that Wittgenstein’s later writings, while unsympathetic toward alethic relativism, were supportive of conceptual relativism (Glock 2007: 377). Glock ties Wittgenstein’s conceptual relativism to his notion of “grammar”. The grammar of a language is the system of its constitutive rules, those rules which define it. “Grammar” for Wittgenstein goes beyond the common or garden use of the word and includes more fundamental rules of syntax, logic, and pragmatic conventions, that is, rules that determine what makes sense to say. According to Glock, Wittgensteinian “grammatical” rules like “Black is darker than white” constitute our “method” or “form of representation”. They lay down what counts as an intelligible description of reality, establish internal relations between concepts (“black” and “white”), and license transformations of empirical propositions (from “Coal is black and snow is white” to “Coal is darker than snow”) (Glock 2007: 382). Since grammars are arbitrary, conventional, and subject to changes, it makes sense to accept the possibility of there being alternative conceptual schemes. Wittgenstein, in the Philosophical Investigations (1953), famously argued that the actual use of the terms within language games, that is, within the practices characteristic of our form of life consisting of both linguistic and non-linguistic elements, fixes the meaning of these terms. These practices could change in time, and it is imaginable that they could have been different from what they actually are (even though, as we shall see, it is much harder to imagine how they could have been). Wittgenstein does not discuss language games that are different from our own; he rather asks us to imagine them. One example that is often discussed is drawn from the

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Remarks on the Foundations of Mathematics, in which Wittgenstein considers the possibility of a community that measures timber and establishes its price according to the area it occupies and not in virtue of its weight: How could I shew them that – as I should say – you don’t really buy more wood if you buy a pile covering a bigger area? I should, for instance, take a pile which was small by their ideas and, by laying the logs around, change it into a “big” one. This might convince them – but perhaps they would say: “Yes, now it’s a lot of wood and it costs more” – and that would be the end of the matter. – We should presumably say in this case: they simply do not mean the same by “a lot of wood” and “a little wood” as we do; and they have a quite different system of payment from us. (Wittgenstein 1978, §150)

It, therefore, seems that for Wittgenstein, different communities are imaginable in which certain practices, such as the way timber is measured and priced, are different from ours. Given the equation between meaning and use (1953, §43), it follows that the meaning of “a lot of” and, consequently, the corresponding concept would be different from ours. These examples are seen, by Glock, as evidence of Wittgenstein’s conceptual relativism.7 The alleged conceptual relativism could be summarized as follows: (a) concepts (identified with linguistic meanings) are a function of use; (b) one can imagine uses different from ours; (c) different conceptual systems from ours are conceivable; (d) all practices are equally legitimate; therefore (e) conceptual systems different from ours are equally legitimate.

It is quite problematic to move from this picture of Wittgenstein’s position (which is fairly accurate, albeit simplified) to fully fledged relativism. On the one hand, in order to have genuine relativism, alternative conceptual systems have to be completely imaginable, and this requires not only to formulate them generically, but also to make sure that one can conceive them in detail. As we shall see (in Chapter 7), it is not clear whether this can be done at all, let alone whether it can be done according to Wittgenstein. Nor is it clear whether the diversity of conceptual schemes is a sufficient condition for relativism. Relativism, we have argued (see Chapter 1), requires the



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incompatibility between conceptual systems or their incommensurability as well as an acceptance of their equal validity. Wittgenstein’s own writings offer a number of arguments against the hypothesis that different practices are sufficient to give rise to different and incommensurable concepts. As always with Wittgenstein’s texts, there is ample room for different interpretations, so, for instance, while Marconi (1987: 128) states that “there is no doubt that Wittgenstein was a virtual relativist”, Stroud (1965) flatly denies that. Needless to say, the following is just an interpretation. Yet, whether or not one agrees on it, the point remains that, at least taking inspiration from Wittgenstein, one can construct arguments against conceptual relativism, provided they cannot simply be found in his own writings. The case of the community that measures timber based on the area it occupies, once examined more closely, casts doubt on the idea that here we have a case of conceptual relativism. Wittgenstein, immediately after inviting us to imagine the “alternative wood seller community”, asks us also to imagine how we would act if we were in their presence. It is clear that, in his opinion, the first thing we would do is attempt to persuade them not to measure and pay the timber according to the area it covers, but by using procedures already familiar to us. That is, we would try to show them that the amount of timber remains the same, although the area and the total volume occupied are different. If we manage to convince them, it would show that the community had a false belief about the world – that the amount of wood varied depending on its spatial arrangement – not yet a different conceptual scheme. Wittgenstein then goes on to suggest that if rational persuasion were to fail, that is, if we failed to have them revise their belief, we should conclude that they do not mean what we mean with the expressions “a lot of wood” and “little wood”. Thus, we should infer that, in fact, we made a mistake in translating their words with ours (and the same is true if the translation was homophonic). We should draw this conclusion because we cannot really conceive going against the idea that something – a certain amount of timber – is identical to itself, no matter how we arrange it (otherwise we should also consider, for example, that an individual who is standing or sitting is not the same; that a book leaning on its back or on its coast is no longer the same; that ice cream spread on a biscuit is more than the same amount of ice cream put in a cone, etc.). Their apparent refusal to correct themselves makes us doubt that they mean the same thing we mean when we speak those words. It seems, therefore, that here we have something very similar to the principle of charity invoked by Davidson

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(see Section 4.2.1). If radical conceptual differences seemingly emerged, we should review our translations, rather than attribute to the speakers’ beliefs that are blatantly false from our point of view. Thus, it is not enough to come across a community that adopts practices apparently very different from ours in order to justify the idea that there may be sensibly conceivable conceptual schemes different from and incompatible with our own. Nevertheless, Wittgenstein does keep asking us to imagine communities other than our own. “What for?”, one might wonder. Is it, indeed, that he wants to show us that they have false beliefs, correctable in light of their interaction with us, or that we must always be ready to revise our translations, if we see ourselves forced to attribute false or even irrational beliefs to speakers? One answer, which is compatible with Wittgenstein’s general approach to philosophy as an attempt to free us from our conceptual traps, is the following one. The parables Wittgenstein recounts make us appreciate the contingency of our conceptual system: the fact that we are bound to it, although it remains a possibility, albeit inconceivable to us in any detail, that there may be beings who embrace different and incompatible conceptual systems. From within our conceptual system, from which we cannot escape, their full conceivability is precluded to us. Yet this does not mean that the “truly unprecedented” cannot exist, even if we cannot sensibly imagine it, and even if we were to encounter it, we would not be able to recognize it. We will return to this topic in Chapter 7 where we discuss Wittgenstein’s alleged epistemic relativism.

Summary Conceptual relativism differs in important respects from other types of relativism discussed in this book because it is motivated by a particular view of the relationship between the human mind and language, on the one hand, and the world, on the other hand, and it is not about the status of truth or knowledge (see Chapters 3, 7, and 8). This is why philosophers, such as Putnam and Quine, who have argued strongly against both cultural and alethic relativism, have been willing to advance some specific forms of conceptual relativism. How we react to the various versions of conceptual relativism depends, to a large extent, on the position we take on the bigger question of realism and anti-realism about the mind-world interface, a topic that is beyond the scope of this book. This chapter has focused on two approaches to conceptual relativism that hinge on the role of language in classifying and representing the world. Conceptual relativism, in the hands



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of some philosophers, has taken a much stronger form where concepts are seen as a means not just of categorizing the world but also of constructing it. Chapter 5 focuses on this topic.

Further readings A number of articles give useful background explanation and justification of conceptual relativism. In his “Three Models of Conceptual Schemes” (1997), Michael P. Lynch distinguishes between the Kantian, Quinean, and Wittgensteinian views of conceptual schemes and argues in favor of a “neo-Kantian”, broadly Wittgensteinian model. Hans-Johann Glock’s (2007) “Relativism, Commensurability and Translatability” contrasts the ideas of Wittgenstein and Davidson, with Quine, Kuhn, and Feyerabend on the question of conceptual relativism. W.V. Quine’s thinking on the indeterminacy of translation and ontological relativity has dominated the discussions of conceptual relativism. Quine’s (1969) “Ontological Relativity” is one of the classics in this area. Davidson’s (1974) “On the Very Idea of a Conceptual Scheme” is essential reading for the discussions on the topic of this chapter. Davidson’s article, among other things, is a critical response to Quine’s conceptual relativity. In “Truth and Convention: On Davidson’s Refutation of Conceptual Relativism” (1987), Hilary Putnam offers a counter-example to Davidson’s arguments for the incoherence of the very idea of conceptual scheme.

Notes 1 Michael Lynch summarizes their difference very helpfully by distinguishing between Kantian and Quinean models of conceptual schemes: Kantian model (KM): Conceptual schemes are frameworks of categorical concepts which are used in cognizing any possible experience. Quinean model (QM)  : A conceptual scheme is a network of sentences believed to be true; none of which are intrinsically more central or unrevisable than any other, and which face the ‘tribunal of experience’ as a whole. (Lynch 1997: 408) 2 It should be noted that the so-called “semantic externalists reject this picture claiming that the world itself decides the identity of (at least of some of) our concepts” (Putnam 1975; Burge 1979; Kripke 1980).

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3 We have introduced the analytic/synthetic distinction in this chapter. Reductionism instead consists in the idea that there is a privileged class of statements, the experiential ones, to which the meaning of all other statements is allegedly traced, which are in direct and immediate connection with reality, in the sense that the latter verifies (or falsifies them) directly. For Quine, then, no statement can be taken to be individually confirmed (or disconfirmed) by experience: verification always involves assuming the truth of other statements. Language, therefore, faces “the tribunal of experience” as a whole and not one sentence at a time. This thesis is known as the “principle confirmation holism”. 4 The assumptions are not always explicit and his supporting motivations are often to be found in other contributions of his, often written later. It is also worth mentioning that, nowadays, all the assumptions on which Davidson’s argument is based are considered dubious to say the least, if not completely erroneous. Nevertheless, this is the most radical attempt to reject conceptual relativism, and, however questionable it may be, it deserves attention. 5 Or if he does, the aim is merely to illustrate the logical flaws of thinking of schemes as organizers. For instance, he writes, We cannot attach a clear meaning to the notion of organizing a single object (the world, nature etc.) unless that object is understood to contain or consist in other objects. Someone who sets out to organize a closet arranges the things in it. If you are told not to organize the shoes and shirts, but the closet itself, you would be bewildered. How would you organize the Pacific Ocean? Straighten out its shores, perhaps, or relocate its islands, or destroy its fish. (Davidson 1974: 14) 6 A ketch is a sailboat with two masts, both in front of the steering wheel. The yawl is still a double-shaft sailboat, but with the wheel between the two shafts. 7 We will discuss some of these examples in Chapter 7, where Wittgenstein’s alleged epistemic relativism is discussed, and argue that they do not support either conceptual or epistemic relativism.

5 RELATIVIZING THE WORLD

5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4

The social construction of reality Linguistic constructivism Ontological constructivism Epistemic constructivism

The strongest version of conceptual relativism, what for greater clarity we call “factual relativism”, claims that facts themselves – for example, the fact that the Earth revolves around the Sun; that a certain group of stars is the constellation of the Big Dipper; or, still, that subatomic phenomena are due to interactions between particles or between electromagnetic fields – do not obtain independently of our own descriptions and could be said to be constructed by us. Since alternative and mutually incompatible modes of construction are possible, it follows that facts themselves are relative. This exotic and almost intoxicating thesis was advocated for by Friedrich Nietzsche, who, in his posthumous Will to Power, writes, “Against positivism, which halts at phenomena — ‘There are only facts’ — I would say: No, facts is precisely what there is not, only interpretations. We cannot establish any fact ‘in itself’: perhaps it is folly to want to do such a thing” (Nietzsche 1968: §481). This idea has gained renewed currency in contemporary analytic and continental philosophy.

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This chapter will critically examine the most important strands of factual relativism, focusing on the variety that fall under the general heading of social constructivism.

§5.1 The social construction of reality The world is made up of not only natural kinds but also artifacts, stuff that we human beings, individually or communally, construct. Chairs and tables, airplanes and buildings, are our constructs; they are conceived by individuals or groups and are also built by them. But the scope of our construction is not limited to physical artifacts; the social space is also populated by our constructions. A university, to take but one example, is much more than a building; its very existence depends on rules, agreements, conventions, and covenants constructed and entered upon by human beings. It is our joint intention, persisting through time, which gives reality to institutions of higher education and their functioning through time. This much is platitudinous and not seriously in dispute. Major philosophical debates begin, first, when we try to draw a dividing line between artifacts and natural kinds, that is, entities and structures in the natural world that are independent of human interests and actions, and, second, with any attempt to adjudicate on the ontological status of our social constructs. Social constructivism, broadly defined, maintains that a diverse range of objects – among them emotions, gender, race, sex, sexual orientation, mental illness, technology, moral precepts, and even scientific belief ­systems – are products of explicit or implicit agreement by social actors, and hence are socially constructed by them. The thesis that our beliefs about the world and the descriptions we use to talk about it are social constructions appears uncontroversial. Let us take science as an example. It is a truism that natural and social scientists construct theories and that these theories would centrally involve the human act of language-use. It is also true that science is a social activity and that scientists follow norms and procedures that are sanctioned by their institutional practices; in that sense, the activities of the scientific community have the imprint of their group thinking. Moreover, it is undoubtedly useful to be aware of the consensual nature of scientific practice and to take account of the connections between science and other aspects of our lives, politics and economics in particular. But should these concessions to the sociologists of science compel us to move from truisms about the process of scientific enquiry to the conclusion



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that what scientists discover or investigate are social constructs? Are social constructivists justified in their denial of a sharp contrast or discontinuity between naturally existing objects – objects that exist and will continue to exist independently of human conventions and actions – and those that are in some sense the product of human language, thought, and actions? In what follows we will critically investigate the various ways in which philosophers have argued for a positive response to this question and outline the connections between these answers and relativism. A core element of social constructivism is the claim that a certain category of objects, theories, or maybe even “facts” is not “inevitable”. Ian Hacking has pointed out that to say that X is a construction is to claim that “X need not have existed, or need not be at all as it is. X, or X as it is at present, is not determined by the nature of things; it is not inevitable” (Hacking 1999: 6). The idea that not just scientific theories but also their posits, the so-called facts of science, are not “inevitable” and in some important sense are not necessarily natural became central to the so-called “science wars” of the 1990s. The question, however, is how to understand this notion of evitability.1 There are two guiding ideas behind this evitability thesis; first, as Ron Mallon (Mallon 2004) puts it, the thought that theories might have been different had human cultures or decisions been different, and, second, and quite crucially, that what these theories are has as much to do with social forces, power-structures, and economic interests, as with how things are at the level of brute facts postulated by realists. More generally, social constructivists understand science as determined by the specific, historically contingent interests and goals of the communities in which it is undertaken. After all, most philosophers, sociologists, and biologists nowadays accept that race is more of a cultural construct than a natural kind. Why should this not prove to be the case for other “natural kinds”? So, a second common feature of social constructivism is the emphasis placed on phenomena that are contingent upon human culture and human decisions. Social constructivism is a relativistic doctrine, as Paul Boghossian argues, because “to say of something that it is socially constructed is to emphasize its dependence on contingent aspects of our social selves” (Boghossian 2001: 1). Also, and more importantly, the assumption is that societies with different needs, values, or interests would construct different kinds of things (ibid.). Relativism ensues if, in addition, it is maintained that different, incompatible scientific constructs have equal standing or validity.

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Claims of social constructivism are motivated by different philosophical considerations and take a variety of forms. Their common starting point, as we have seen, is the thought that some things come into existence by virtue of human decisions and collective intentions, but constructivists disagree on the range of the “objects” of construction and the mode this construction takes. Broadly speaking, it is useful to distinguish between (a) l­inguistic, (b) ontological, and (c) epistemic versions of social constructivism. Point (a) primarily focuses on the role of language and concepts as the tool or means of constructing facts and is often linked to the approach known as linguistic idealism. Points (b) and (c) are useful for distinguishing between the social construction of theories – belief sets, ways of thinking about the world, representing, or modeling it – and the construction of objects and institutions (see Hacking 1982, 1999; Haslanger 1995; Andreasen 1998; Mallon 2004, 2007) The thought is that there is a difference between the construction of “ideas” versus the construction of “objects” (see, for example, Hacking 1999: 21ff), or between the epistemological as opposed to the metaphysical senses of “construction”. The metaphysical version of constructionism amounts to the claim that the constituents of what is “real” are, at least to some extent, of our own creation (Boghossian 2001). Epistemic constructivism, on the other hand, comes down to the claim that the correct explanation for why we have some particular belief has to do with the role that that belief plays in our social lives, and not exclusively with the evidence adduced in its favor.

§5.2 Linguistic constructivism Philosophical defenses of linguistic constructivism often begin with the idea that language is not just a tool for describing or representing the world but has a determining role in shaping our ontology. Richard Rorty is the most prominent defender of this position. The starting point of Rorty’s argument is his so-called “anti-representationalism”, according to which it does not make much sense, nor is it explanatorily useful, to say that some items of language or our mind, items in our factual discourse, “correspond to” or “represent” the environment and other items; for instance, items in the normative discourse do not. He argues: it is one thing to say that a prehensile thumb, or an ability to use the word “atom” as physicists do, is useful for coping with the environment. It is another thing to attempt to explain this utility by reference to



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representationalist notions, such as the notion that the reality referred to by “quark” was “determinate” before the word “quark” came along (whereas that referred to by, for example, “foundation grant” only jelled once the relevant social practices emerged). (Rorty 1991: 5)

To reject that bits of language correspond to or represent those bits of the world we call facts, however, is not to deny the causal connection between language and the world. Rather, For X to be representationally independent of us is for X to have an intrinsic feature (a feature that it has under any and every description) such that it is better described by some of our terms rather than others. Since we can see no way to decide which descriptions of an object get at what is ‘intrinsic’ to it, as opposed to its merely ‘relational’, extrinsic features (for example, its description-relative features), we are prepared to reject the intrinsic-extrinsic distinction, the claim that beliefs represent, and the whole question of representational independence or dependence. (Rorty 1998: 86)

Anti-representationalism, Rorty claims, leads to the rejection of the realist “idea of (as Bernard Williams has put it) ‘how things are anyway’, apart from whether or how they are described” (ibid). But the position should be distinguished from conceptual relativism of the type we discussed in Chapter 4. Rorty, it should be emphasized, goes beyond the guiding idea of conceptual relativism, the distinction between conceptual schemes and their contents. He not only, following Davidson, is happy to see it as the third dogma of empiricism, but also aims to overcome all philosophical approaches, realist or idealist, that see the mind as representing the world (see, for instance, Rorty 1972). He explains: We are tempted to say that there were no objects before language shaped the raw material (a lot of ding-an-sichy, all-content-no-scheme stuff). But as soon as we say anything like this we find ourselves accused (plausibly) of making the false causal claim that the invention of ‘dinosaur’ caused dinosaurs to come into existence – of being what our opponents call ‘linguistic idealists’. (Rorty 1998: 90)

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His view, he insists, does not amount to relativism or to linguistic idealism; he even finds the use of “constructionism” as a description of his work misleading. Rorty’s aim is rather to overcome a number of dichotomies that have shaped the debates around realism and relativism. He writes: I think it is important that we who are accused of relativism stop using the distinctions between finding and making, discovery and invention, objective and subjective. We should not let ourselves be described as subjectivists, and perhaps calling ourselves ‘social constructionists’ is too misleading. For we cannot formulate our point in terms of a distinction between what is outside us and what is inside us. We must repudiate the vocabulary our opponents use, and not let them impose it upon us. (Rorty 1998: 87)

However, while Rorty refuses to embrace the idea that our descriptions cause the existence of the world, he maintains that it does not make sense to talk about the world independently of our descriptions of it, independently of the way our language carves it up into objects or states of affairs. Our linguistic descriptions are not representations of the world, but allow us to entertain certain states of affairs and consider a subset of them. For example, given our concept of giraffe, it is true that giraffes have long necks; it is therefore a fact that giraffes have long necks. Nothing prevents us, however, from coming up with a different concept, according to which giraffes would not have long necks. Given this, it may be argued that a possibly more charitable interpretation of Rorty is to ascribe some form of conventionalism rather than social constructivism to him. Linguistic conventionalism, to take one example, would allow us to accept that, according to a set of conventions adopted prior to the decisions made in Prague in 2006 by a large number of astronomers, (1) “Pluto is a planet”

was true. And according to the subsequent conventions adopted after that date, (1) is false. We would then specify the truth conditions of (1) as follows: (1’) According to (linguistic and scientific) conventions C1, “Pluto is a planet” is true. (1’’) According to (linguistic and scientific) conventions C2, “Pluto is a planet” is false.



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In such a case, it is obvious that if by “planet” one means different things in sentences (1’) and (1’’) and that there is no incompatibility between holding it true or false that Pluto is a planet just as there is no incompatibility between saying that “Mary is an old bag” is true and “Mary is an old bag” is false, if by “old bag” it is meant a grumpy old lady in the first case and the physical object in the second. Therefore, one can distinguish between planets and dwarf planets, such as Pluto, if that is useful. However, it remains a fact that Pluto is always the same: an object that exists independently of our descriptions, both in the pre-summer-of-2006 sense of “planet”, and not a planet but a dwarf planet in the post-summer-of-2006 sense of “planet”. We can vary our linguistic conventions and change our concepts at will, but that does not mean that we change the world (Zimmerman 2007). Under this charitable interpretation, the impression that we have of an example of factual relativism is dissipated once we realize that the relevant linguistic conventions, while different, are ultimately equivalent. Or alternatively, as in the aforementioned cases, they are such that while the concepts in play – for example, planet1 and planet2 – are not equivalent, they are not incompatible either. But it is not clear if Rorty’s position can be interpreted in this rather benign conventionalist light. As the following three extracts demonstrate, Rorty anti-­ representationalism amounts to the denial that it makes sense to talk about a planet that has been variously described according to different conventions. He writes: [W]e describe giraffes in the way we do, as giraffes, because of our needs and interests. We speak a language which includes the word ‘giraffe’ because it suits our purposes to do so. The same goes for words like ‘organ’, ‘cell’, ‘atom’, and so on – the names of the parts out of which giraffes are made, so to speak. All the descriptions we give of things are descriptions suited to our purposes. No sense can be made, we pragmatists argue, of the claim that some of these descriptions pick out ‘natural kinds’ – that they cut nature at the joints. The line between a giraffe and the surrounding air is clear enough if you are a human being interested in hunting for meat. If you are a language-using ant or amoeba, or a space voyager observing us from far above, that line is not so clear, and it is not clear that you would need or have a word for ‘giraffe’ in your language. More generally, it is not clear that any of the millions of ways of describing the piece of space-time occupied by what we call a giraffe is any closer to the way things are in themselves than any of the others. (1999: xxvi)

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And similarly, Once you describe something as a dinosaur, its skin color and sex life are causally independent of your having so described it. But before you describe it as a dinosaur, or anything else, there is no sense to the claim that it is “out there” having properties. (Rorty 1998: 87 emphasis added)

He further explains: [My critics seem] to think that neither I nor anyone else would feel any “serious temptation to deny that the no chairs claim [‘There are no chairs in this room’] will be true or false in virtue of the way things are, or the nature of reality”. But I do, in fact, feel tempted to deny this. I do so because I see two ways of interpreting ‘in virtue of the way things are’. One is short for ‘in virtue of the way our current descriptions of things are used and the causal interactions we have with those things’. The other is short for ‘simply in virtue of the way things are, quite apart from how we describe them’. On the first interpretation, I think that true propositions about the presence of chairs, the existence of neutrinos, the desirability of respect for the dignity of our fellow human beings, and everything else are true ‘in virtue of the way things are’. On the second interpretation, I think that no proposition is true ‘in virtue of the way things are’. (ibid.: 86–87)

What these passages demonstrate is that, despite Rorty’s protestation, his views come close to the type of linguistic idealism that he rejects where not only it makes no sense to talk about a pre-existing reality independently of our ways of describing it but also we can distinguish between better and worse descriptions only with reference to our all-too-human interests and needs. In Rorty’s Darwinian view of language, words can be seen as tools used for specific purposes. The usefulness of the tools depends on the projects “we” have and the way we construct narratives about the world in order to make sense of our lives and our surroundings. The guiding light governing such constructions is not truth, or abstractions such as knowledge or reason, but the better or worse ways of “coping” or achieving our goals; the means to achieve these is what Rorty calls “solidarity”, and not objectivity. Rorty’s distinction between the two understandings of “True” does not address the worries about his position either. Realists claim that the very



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idea that facts about dinosaurs are a consequence of linguistic or scientific practices is absurd. Scientific theories do not make it true or false that dinosaurs existed; the causal nexus runs in the opposite direction. We can admit that “science made it true that we came to believe that dinosaurs and quarks exist”, but this does not mean that science made it true that dinosaurs and quarks exist because “science cannot construct those things; at best, it can discover them” (Boghossian 2001: 1). The Rortyan linguistic constructivism, the realists claim, is in grips of a major confusion between our beliefs and descriptions and what they are about. Paul Boghossian’s (2006: 73–76) line of argument against Rorty’s brand of constructivism highlights the more radical consequence of Rorty’s position. According to Boghossian, we have every right to ask the relativist whether sentences (1’) and (1’’) describe absolute or relative events. In the first case, the factual relativist would undergo self-refutation, because she should admit that there are absolute facts. In the second case, however, if there is an absolute fact that, given a certain conceptual scheme which we accept, Pluto is (or is not) a planet, then it is a fact only with respect to some conceptual framework (or theory) that we accept – for example, the conceptual framework (or theory), according to which there are different conceptual schemes and there are people who have beliefs with certain contents. Yet even this fact, for the factual relativist, can only obtain relative to a conceptual scheme (or a theory). Therefore, according to Boghossian, the factual relativist is stuck in an infinite regress. What is most serious, according to him, is that for the factual relativist, there would be only infinitary facts. Therefore, “in order for our utterances to have any prospect of being true, what we must mean by them are infinitary propositions, that we could neither express nor understand” (Boghossian 2006a: 54). Moruzzi (2007a: 34–38) has argued that it is not clear what the difficulty is in understanding infinitary propositions, since it seems we understand very well propositions as “0 is a natural number, 1 is a natural number, 2 is a natural number, etc…”. Second, Boghossian is assuming that speakers should understand infinitary propositions when they assert (1), or (1’) and (1’’). One could instead maintain that the infinitary propositions just provide the truth conditions of the statements made, and not what speakers intend or claim, although implicitly. However, Moruzzi’s argument does not quite distinguish between infinitary propositions of mathematics and the type of infinitary propositions that open the way to a regress argument. While, arguably, finite human beings are not able to understand an infinite number of propositions, each of the propositions “1 is a natural number”,

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“2 is a natural number”, and so forth is understandable. Boghossian’s claim is that there is no single proposition about relative facts that the relativist can express or understand. Any statement about a relative fact is infinitary and thus inexpressible. Rorty, as we noted earlier, has rejected relativism and has denied that the label would apply to his thinking. But, despite his protestations, the specter of relativism makes a marked appearance in much of what Rorty says because of the underlying intuition that in looking at human projects and their ways of coping with the world, there are always many “we’s”, many different, potentially conflicting, projects and incompatible grounds for solidarity. Rorty attempts to counter relativism with what he calls “ethnocentrism”, but we can’t have the conviction, he argues, that ours is the best narrative and project, and all we can do is to pit them against other such narratives and widen the reach of our solidarity through discursive encounters. The possibility of testing our vocabularies and narratives against the world does not arise because “the world” as the locus of our representations has been “well lost”, so the only option open is to find out which projects, which narratives, and which vocabularies serve us best, and to try to show that ours indeed are best. The problem, of course, is that ethnocentrism is the obverse face of the tired coin of relativism. Faced with diversity and disagreement that cannot be resolved in reference to an objective standard, the available options are relativism, or the acceptance that all sides are correct, of course by their own lights; ethnocentrism or the belief that one’s own position has the right on its side; or to fall into the silence of skepticism. Rorty opts for ethnocentrism to avoid the other unacceptable options, but remains trapped in the shifting sands where ­linguistic constructivism about facts becomes indistinguishable from the type of relativism he wishes to avoid. According to Rorty, each person is in possession of a final vocabulary which expresses their deep fears, hopes, and aspirations, and through which their long-term projects are formulated. The vocabulary is final because it cannot be defended against rivals: no rational argument can settle disagreements between final vocabularies or settle the question of which vocabulary is closer to reality (Rorty 1989: 73). However, what exposure to other vocabularies achieves is the possible expansion of the home vocabulary and thereby an enrichment of an existing final vocabulary. The talk of final vocabularies brings Rorty’s position closer to Carole Rovane’s account of relativism discussed in ­Chapter 9. But as we will see in Section 9.4.2, this type of relativism is not immune from criticism.



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§5.3 Ontological constructivism Ontological constructivism is the view that human beings do not just interact with the world and its objects and engage in categorizing them but also have a hand in constructing or creating them. Nelson Goodman offers one of the strongest versions of the ontological or metaphysical strand of social constructivism. The root idea of Goodman’s approach, like Richard Rorty’s, is the rejection of Realism with a capital R, the view that there is a ready-made world with objects and properties that are independent of our descriptions.2 Goodman’s position has commonalities with Rorty’s linguistic constructivism. Crucially, Goodman argues that symbols have a formative function and through them we are able to construct the world. The world-making we engage in is not like making chairs and tables using our hands but is done with our minds, “or rather with languages or other symbol systems” (Goodman 1980: 2013). “We can hold on to the idea of an underlying world bereft of all descriptions, depictions, etc. if we like, but on the whole, it is a world well lost” (Goodman 1978: 4). Most importantly, “we can have words without a world but no world without words or other symbols” (Goodman 1978: 6). One important difference with the linguistic constructivism discussed earlier is that world-making is carried out in many different ways, not all of them linguistic. Chief among them are the following: (a) Composition and decomposition: putting together and taking apart. This is primarily a linguistic/conceptual activity for it is normally effected by the “application of labels: names, predicates, gestures, pictures, etc.”. (b) By giving differing weightings to the same classes present in each world, for example, what counts as relevant or irrelevant, which one is emphasized. (c) Ordering, for example, twelve-tone scale, versus eight-tone scale, ordering of brightness in color, ordering of hues. (d) Deletion and supplementation, weeding out of some elements, and adding or filling of other elements. (e) Deformation, which depending on point of view, may be seen as correction or distortion.

Goodman allows that we require criteria for success in our world-­making projects as well as standards of evaluation for their varying outcomes.

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Moreover, unlike Rorty, he believes that truth remains relevant to assessing those versions that have a linguistic or verbal form, but he thinks that truth should not be defined as correspondence or agreement with the world; rather, he recommends a combination of coherence and epistemic accounts of truth. He writes: Willingness to accept countless alternative true or right world-versions does not mean that everything goes, that tall stories are as good as short ones, that truths are no longer distinguished from falsehoods, but only that truth must be otherwise conceived than as correspondence with a ready-made world. (Goodman 1978: 94)

And further explains: A version is taken to be true when it offends no underlying beliefs and not of its own precepts. Among beliefs unyielding at a given time may be long-lived reflections of laws of logic, short-lived reflections of recent observations, and other convictions and prejudices ingrained with varying degrees of firmness. Among precepts, for example, may be choices among alternative frames of reference, weightings, and derivations bases. (1978: 17)

In this way, Goodman parts company from the relativists who either relativize truth to contextual factors, or, following Rorty, simply deny its significance.3 Goodman offers a number of examples to explain his position. Take, for instance, the following: (i) “The Earth always stands still” and ( ii) “The Earth dances the role of Petrouchka”. The two sentences (i) and (ii) are in conflict because the truth of (i) seems to exclude the truth of (ii). However, Goodman removes the incompatibly between the two sentence by claiming that they can be true in different worlds. Point (i) is true in the Ptolemaic world while (ii) is true “in a Stravinskian world” (Goodman 1978: 111).



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One glaring problem with this claim, however, is that it is difficult to know how to make sense of the idea of “Stravinskian World” except as some form of metaphor. Goodman’s key proposal is that there is a multiplicity of worlds or what he also, quite confusingly, calls “versions”. He refuses to give any ontological priority to what we might call “the real world”, the one into which we are born and which will go on existing long after all our world-making has been long forgotten. Goodman wishes to deny that a world or version of science, in this case the Ptolemic world, could have priority over the world or version of art, in this case the world of dance. It is an error, he insists, to think that truth or rightness of the statements concerning science is objective and those of the arts subjective (Goodman 1978: 140). Truth, in all instances, is answerability to different versions or worlds. All versions have internal criteria of correctness, which can be used to assess them equally objectively; thus, the subjective/ objective dichotomy is the useless legacy of a misguided way of thinking about the world. In addition, since there is no world given independently of any description and since there are incompatible, but equally legitimate, descriptions, we must recognize that there is a plurality of worlds, as well as a plurality of mutually incompatible but equally legitimate descriptions. When a conflict between versions and, thus, between worlds (and vice versa) arises, this is not a conflict about how the world really is, but only about what kind of conventions we want, or think appropriate, to adopt in order to represent it. However, since for Goodman worlds are determined by our descriptions, conflicts about which descriptions to use are also necessarily conflicts between worlds. Choosing to describe these controversies as conflicts between systems of representation, or rather as conflicts between worlds is, in turn, a function of our contingent purposes. So, the contrast between “different worlds” and “different representations of the world” is in fact only apparent: these are two sides of the same coin. ­ oodman In taking what admittedly is a highly counterintuitive position, G aims to avoid what he sees as a pitfall of conceptual relativism. As we saw in Chapter 4, faced with incompatible but equally plausible descriptions, the conceptual relativist relativizes the truth or acceptability of the conflicting claims to differing frameworks or conceptual schemes. The relativist claims that the pair of contradictory sentences such as (1) The Earth is at rest. (2) The Earth rotates.

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should be understood as elliptical for (R1)  The Earth is at rest according to the geocentric system. (R2)  The Earth rotates according to the heliocentric system.

One problem with the relativization move is that if we take R1 and R2 to be true of the same world, then we will end up with a contradiction, and Goodman is not prepared to countenance that. By assigning the truth of each sentence to a carefully constructed world, Goodman believes he is avoiding the problem of holding contradictory sentences being both true. Moreover, we cannot deduce the absolute truth or correctness of 1 from R1, and similarly of 2 from R2, and it is this more robust sense of “being right” that Goodman’s radical relativism, while remaining pluralistic, wishes to retain. While alethic relativists such as Kölbel and MacFarlane, as we saw in Chapter 3, accommodate intractable disagreements and conflicting claims to truth by relativizing them to different assessors, Goodman, on the contrary, thinks it is best to treat conflicting versions of the world as true in different worlds. “Versions not applying in the same world”, he says, no longer conflict; contradiction is avoided by segregation. A true version is true in some worlds, a false version in none. Thus multiple worlds of conflicting true versions are actual worlds, not the merely possible worlds or nonworlds of false versions. So if there is any actual world, there are many. (Goodman 1996a: 162)

The most frequently cited example of world-making by Goodman focuses on the question “what makes it the case that there is the constellation of the Big Dipper?”. And, indeed, his famous example of world-making through planet-making seems like a field-guide for social constructivism. He tells us: Now we thus make constellations by picking out and putting together certain stars rather than others, so we make stars by drawing certain boundaries rather than others. Nothing dictates whether the sky shall be marked off into constellations or other objects, we have to make what we find, be it the Great Dipper, Sirius, food, fuel, or a stereo system. (Goodman 1984a: 36)



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And a constellation becomes such only through being chosen from among all configurations, much as a class becomes a kind only through being distinguished, according to some principle, from other classes. (ibid.)

The constellation example is again intended to show that our descriptions create not only what facts there are but even the objects that make up these facts, such as the constellations. Goodman’s relativism, therefore, is not only factual but also ontological. One of the standard responses to this idea is that we were indeed the ones who created the constellation Big Dipper because we selected those stars as the components of the constellation. Constellations are certainly conventional entities, as any dictionary will also tell (Boghossian 2006: 51). Yet we were not the ones who created the stars that compose the constellation: those had been there already, independently and long before us. Goodman responds to this line of objection by asking what determines that something is a star. According to him, it is our concept of a star that ensures that a certain aggregate of gases, molecules, and, therefore, atoms is a star, that is, it is our concept star which carves a particular form out of shapeless matter, thus yielding a star. Therefore, even stars are something we construct. (Obviously, the same argument could be repeated for each further entity we believe to be a physical part of a star, like molecules, atoms, electrons, and so on.) Clearly, one could grant the point and say that the matter out of which the star was “cut out” – whatever its ultimate constitution – already existed before us and cannot therefore be considered as causally dependent, for its existence, on us and our descriptions. Goodman replies to this objection by saying that the fact that we are willing to admit the matter which pre-exists us is just a particular description of the world that we find it ­ escriptions – in useful to accept. Once again, it is our concepts and our d this case the concept matter, presumably, and the description given of it by our best physical theories – that make it a pre-existing entity. To clarify, just as a writer can create fictional characters and locate them in a time prior to her very existence, so our concept matter, that we created and developed during the history of physics, means that there is something elementary, capable to constitute the rest of the physical universe, which has always existed and therefore has existed before our

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very appearance on Earth. But the fact remains that just like without any novelist, who lives and works during a given time, there would be none of those characters, similarly, without us and our best physical theories, there would not even be matter, on which the composition of every physical reality depends, even ours. Goodman’s pluralism aims to bypass an anything-goes version of relativism, but we can clearly still see that he subscribes to a strong version of factual relativism, a view that can be summarized as follows: (a) facts, the totality of which constitutes the world, are created by, and are a function of, our linguistic (and other symbolic) descriptions; (b) there are different and mutually incompatible descriptions; (c) although we can distinguish between better and worse descriptions, it is possible for incompatible descriptions to be equally correct; (d) there are therefore many different and mutually incompatible actual worlds. 4

Goodman’s factual relativism is the “stronger” and therefore more interesting form that one can give to this idea. However, it doubtlessly presents problems. First, as in the case of Rorty’s linguistic constructivism, the position is open to charge of linguistic idealism, the highly counterintuitive idea that it is language that creates everything “out of nothing” other than previous existing descriptions. Second, it forces us to admit a plurality of incompatible worlds that are all actual, which seems to go against the commonly accepted view that there is only one actual world, at best comprising all these smaller worlds. Finally, it is not obvious that we can fully make sense of this idea of a plurality of worlds that are actual and contradictory. The question facing us is what incentives we have to sacrifice some of our core intuitive and most widely held beliefs. Goodman believes that the old-fashioned realist and foundationalist ontologies, which have held us in their grip for centuries, are not productive and a change of philosophical framework can free us from their restrictive shackles. Not many philosophers have been convinced by this call. Goodman has also been accused of confusing the elementary distinction between use and mention. The charge is that he confounds the mundane fact that we make the word “star” and we create the concept star, with the extraordinary act of making stars, and confuses our construction of true sentences such as “Sirius is a star” with making it true



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that Sirius is a star (Putnam 1992: 112). Goodman would object that this response begs the question against his irrealism, for the very idea of the distinction between use and mention, once it is seen as something more than a mere linguistic device, presupposes the idea of a ready-made world full of stars and constellations and such like and a language separable from it, presuppositions that he is denying. However, the onus remains on Goodman, rather than on the defenders of common sense, to establish his highly counter-intuitive position to provide knockdown arguments for presuppositions that are foundational to our understanding of language and meaning. Multimundialism is also problematic from a logical and ontological point of view: if the world is understood, à la Wittgenstein, as the totality of facts, what prevents us from merging Goodman’s different and incompatible worlds into one single world? Our wish to comply with the principle of non-contradiction led us to isolate sets of facts or incompatible descriptions in such a way as to make them perfectly separated from one another. Yet does not Goodman ask us to believe that it is a fact, though one created by his theory, that there are several contradictory worlds? Is not this tantamount to considering the world – the totality of what there is – as consisting of partial, mutually contradictory worlds? Compliance with the principle of non-contradiction, which had motivated Goodman’s claim that incompatible truths should be true in different worlds, appears to fail as soon as one considers the world as the totality of the worlds that compose it.5 Concerning Goodman’s idea that we create everything around us, by carving up matter with our concepts, it has been objected that our concept of matter is such that matter is supposed to have existed before us. So how could we be said to have created it? Goodman, as we saw, responds by saying that even that is a creation of ours. After all, according to him, we are like novelists who create characters by locating them in a time before their own. This is all fine, but notice the following. We have “invented” the concept of matter in such a way that not only do we believe that its existence precedes us in time, but also so that its existence is causally independent of us and our minds. This is not so in the case of literary characters: no matter how far they can be located back (or forward) in time, they remain fictional characters, causally dependent on us for their existence. There is therefore a noticeable difference between the concept matter and the concept fictional character. As much as we may think that they are both our

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creations, they were created in such a way that the former excludes and the latter admits causal dependence on our minds (Boghossian 2006: 57). Now notice, however, that by Goodman’s lights, we would have committed a deplorable error of logic in the case of matter, because one should not build concepts that deny the fact, which for him is universal, that all facts depend on us. Thus, either Goodman requires us to revise our concept matter, or it seems he is not in a position to tell us that it is on par with fictional character. Obviously, Goodman could embrace revisionism: nothing exists unless it is created by our minds, not even matter. But this is a really implausible form of linguistic idealism. And why, one may ask, should we have invented concepts, and therefore things, given the present theory, like pain or death, which are not very useful or aesthetically valuable? Why not make all of that disappear just by adopting different conventions of representation? The answer is easy to give: because we can’t. Not everything there is, is the result of our descriptions. Goodman does have a line of response to this type of criticism. He writes: Of course, we want to distinguish between versions that do and those that do not refer, and to talk about the things and worlds, if any, referred to; but these things and worlds and even the stuff they are made ­of-­matter, anti-matter, mind, energy, or whatnot-are themselves fashioned by and along with the versions. Facts, as Norwood Hanson says, are ‘­theory-laden’; they are as theory-laden as we hope our theories are fact-laden. Or in other words, facts are small theories, and true theories are big facts. This does not mean, I must repeat, that right versions can be arrived at casually, or that worlds are built from scratch. We start on any occasion, with some old version or world that we have on hand and that we are stuck with until we have the determination and skill to remake it into a new one. Some of the felt stubbornness of fact is the grip of habit, our firm foundation is indeed stolid. Worldmaking begins with one version and ends with another. (Goodman 1978: 96–97)

This line of defense, however, does not answer the question, “what was the original version a version of”? Surely, a Goodmanian Book of Creation cannot start with the line “In the beginning there was the version”, for as Goodman himself admits, versions are always versions of.



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§5.4 Epistemic constructivism The most provocative version of social constructivism claims that the world, as studied by scientists, is itself a social construction in the sense that the epistemic tools utilized by scientists, including their laboratory activities, are among the primary determinants of scientific practices. Examples of this form of social constructivism can be found in the work of Karin Knorr-Cetina, who states: “My version of the thesis [of constructivism] has been that science secretes an unending stream of entities and relations that make up ‘the world’” (Knorr-Cetina 1993: 557). But the most influential version, at least in the social studies of science, belongs to Bruno Latour, who argues that students of science and technology, must not assume a ready-made divide between the natural and the social world; furthermore, they should ascribe “agency” not just to humans but also to things (see Latour 1993a, 1993b, 1999). Similarly, we should reject the distinction between “nature” and “society”, and instead adopt the less dichotomous ontology of “hybrids”, “quasi-objects”, and “networks” – entities that cannot be clearly classified as either natural or social. The realist emphasis on the terminology of discovery conveys “the misleading impression that the presence of certain objects was a pre-given and that such objects merely awaited the timely revelation of their existence by scientists” (Latour 1979: 128–129). The AIDS virus, to take one example, is not a singular entity out there, but the outcome of an epistemic process that “takes you from sex to the unconscious, then to Africa, tissue cultures, DNA and San Francisco …” (Latour 1993: 2). Natural entities have “historicity” just as we do, and this is equally true of scientific experiments which should be seen as “events” unfolding history. For instance, once Pasteur experimented on lactic acid ferment, and the Academy accepted his results, the identity of the ferment, Pasteur and the Academy, changed forever: So “… we should be able to say that not only the microbes-for-us-humans changed in the 1850’s, but also the microbes-for-themselves. Their encounter with Pasteur changed them as well” (Latour 1999: 146). He goes on to add, “We do not wish to say that facts do not exist nor that there is no such thing as reality… Our point is that ‘out-there-ness’ is a consequence of scientific work rather than its cause” (Latour 1999: 182). Latour’s infamous example of tuberculosis gives us a useful statement of a specific constructivist claim. Latour thinks that the attribution of tuberculosis and Koch’s bacillus to Ramses II is as anachronistic as claiming that his death was caused by a Marxist upheaval, or a machine gun, or a Wall

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Street crash (Latour 2000: 248) because (T) “x died of tuberculosis” is true or false only within the framework of the scientific discourse where tuberculosis has an established role. The claim seems to imply that the truth or falsity of (T) depends on, and hence is relative to, a particular framework of enquiry. Yet Latour explicitly distances himself from relativism and rejects the relativistic implications attributed to his views. Rather, he claims that (T) is false, or at best indeterminate, depending on how we parse out the term “anachronistic”, because the sentence “x died of tuberculosis” gets its meaning, and hence its truth value, within a conceptual framework where the terms “tuberculosis” and “Koch’s bacillus” have a role to play and are false (or indeterminate) otherwise. Such a conceptual framework was not applicable prior to the 19th century, and therefore (T) is false (or indeterminate). The closest truth in the vicinity of (T) is not so much a relational or dyadic truth but one that construes tuberculosis as an artifact that came into existence at a specific time because of the actions of a group of scientists. Truth remains a monadic property, but its conditions of application change to something like (1) Tuberculosis came into existence, in part, through the actions of Koch. (2) Ramses II’s death predates these actions. (3) Therefore, tuberculosis could not have been the cause of Ramses II’s death.

Understood in this sense, Latour’s claim that he is side-stepping relativism seems to land him in an even more precarious epistemic predicament, as it seems blatantly false that tuberculosis came into existence, in even smallest part, through the actions of Koch. What may have come into existence through Koch’s discovery is the new concept of a bacterium that causes tuberculosis. But concepts do not cause diseases; it’s what they pick up, in this case Mycobacterium tuberculosis, that may or may not do so. Thus, Latour avoids relativism by resorting to a causal objectivist-sounding language that is simply false or extremely confused. The initial reaction by most philosophers to Latour’s arguments is to retort, with some annoyance, that Latour is in grip of a serious confusion; he simply fails to acknowledge the distinction between the natural kind object bacterium, which was the cause of Ramses’s death, and the concept of bacterium that came into use when Koch discovered the organic agent he called “bacterium”. But this very distinction is what Latour is rejecting.



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His position amounts to the denial of the intelligibility of talking about bacteria as a timeless natural kind because he does not subscribe to a hard and fast distinction between natural and social kinds or what has existence independently of us and what cannot exist without our intentionality. But there is still the impression of the type of confusion that Ron Mallon, among others, is warning against.6 Mallon writes: Many constructionist claims that are apparently about objects can be reinterpreted as primarily about theories. This reinterpretation allows a deflationary reading of many of the most provocative constructionist claims  - claims that are putatively about objects. On this reading, ­constructionist claims stem from the willful or accidental conflation of a theory or other representation of a thing with the thing itself. While it is quite surprising to think that putatively natural phenomena like sex or race or quarks are the result of our culture or decisions, it is not nearly as surprising to think that our theories and beliefs about these and other phenomena vary sharply from culture to culture. (Mallon 2004: 97)

There are three key points to Latour’s version of constructivism: (1) The so-called “facts” are not inevitable; (2) Facts are not different from artifacts. They are both, in an important sense, the products of human actions; (3) Social, political, and economic interests, the inescapable background of our scientific activities, play a major role in the construction of facts.

The line of reasoning is reminiscent of Goodman, but, in addition, Latour is aiming to show, in his own words, the “lack of scientific certainty inherent in the construction of facts. […] I intended to emancipate the public from a prematurely naturalized objectified fact” (Latour 2004: 227). This emancipatory act, however, is presented as an absolute claim about science derived from empirical data. Latour grounds his constructivist thesis on observations of what happens in a laboratory and presents it as a corrective measure to what he sees as erroneous preconceptions about what scientists actually do and not a claim about the equal validity of the objectivist and constructivist methodologies. This is why he refuses to accept that his version of social constructivism amounts to relativism. However, even if we

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accept Latour’s disavowals of relativism, the specter of relativism is not altogether banished, for social constructivism about scientific facts claims that: (a) Scientific activities, including theory construction, laboratory experimentation, and the development of a referential apparatus for talking about theoretical entities, are all, at least in part, the products of social interactions and are imbued with social norms; (b) The objects that scientists study are the products of these socially informed norm-governed theoretical frameworks; (c) Such norms can vary between different social and historical settings, and hence what they produce, the so-called scientific facts, is relative to their social and institutional settings.

Understood in this sense, social constructivism could be seen as making a claim of double dependency. First, it embeds the theoretical and practical activities of the scientists within a potentially changing context of social norms and actions, and then claims that the objects of science are produced, rather than discovered, by these activities. What is being relativized here, then, is not so much the constructed objects but the theoretical tools that lead to the construction of the objects. Latour, in recent years, has come to express serious concerns over the irrationalist consequences of both relativism and some versions of constructivism. His concern grew out of the realization that the postmodernist critics of science are now finding themselves in the company of the very powers they had set out to fight, for example, right-wing politicians trying to deny climate change and conspiracy theorists out to undermine the very legitimacy of science and its activities. He is now worried that the real social and political threat is no longer with those who believe in objectivity and facts, “but from an excessive distrust of good matters of fact disguised as bad ideological biases”. He says: I am worried to detect, in those mad mixtures of knee-jerk disbelief, punctilious demands for proofs, and free use of powerful explanation from the social neverland, many of the weapons of social critique. Of course, conspiracy theories are an absurd deformation of our own arguments, but, like weapons smuggled through a fuzzy border to the wrong party, these are our weapons nonetheless. In spite of all the deformations, it is easy to recognize, still burnt in the steel, our trade mark. (Latour 2004: 230)



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Latour’s recantation goes to the heart of one of the worries we have about relativism: giving up on more objectivist conceptions of knowledge, truth, and justification has both intended and unintended epistemic as well as socio-­political consequences. Without reason and the goals of more objective notions of truth (let them be realist or anti-realist) as a compass, we are cast adrift in a sea of conflicting information. Contrary to the arguments made popular by the postmodernists, to give up on reason is to deprive ourselves of the very possibility of effective critical engagement. Latour’s original version of social constructionism delivers a strong form of relativism about science. In Chapter 6, we will investigate weaker forms of relativism about science that, while subscribing to some of the tenets of conceptual relativism (Chapter 4), do not embrace the metaphysical constructivism attributed here to Latour.

Summary This chapter has discussed a particularly strong version of conceptual relativism, which claims that facts and even worlds are construed through the medium of conceptual schemes, languages, or humanly epistemic categories and epistemic practices. We distinguished between linguistic, ontological, and epistemic versions of factual relativism and critically discussed the strongest proponent of these approaches, that is, Richard Rorty, Nelson Goodman, and Bruno Latour. All three versions of the constructivist version of conceptual relativism were found to be unconvincing. Weaker versions have been proposed in philosophy of science and in ethics. We will return to these topics in Chapters 6 and 9.

Further readings Paul Boghossian’s Fear of Knowledge: Against Relativism and Constructivism (2006) provides a trenchant criticism of epistemic relativism and social constructivism and is also essential reading for Chapters 7 and 8 of this book. “What Is Social Construction?” by E. Diaz-Leon (2015) examines the question of what it means to say that a property is socially constructed and critically assesses several recent characterizations of social construction, including those not connected with relativism. Nelson Goodman’s (1980) “On Starmaking” outlines the key arguments for his brand of strong conceptual relativism. Starmaking: Realism, Anti-­Realism, and Irrealism (1996), edited by Peter J. McCormick, collects a number of important responses to Goodman, including “Irrealism and Deconstruction” by Hilary Putnam.

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Richard Rorty’s “Relativism: Finding and Making” – the introduction to his 1999 Philosophy and Social Hope – is a useful short discussion of Rorty’s views on relativism. His rather than The volume Objectivity, Relativism and Truth (­Cambridge University Press 1991) brings together many of the articles, including the title article, that have given rise to the charges of relativism and linguistic idealism against Rorty after idealism.

Notes 1 Some of the discussion here draws on Baghramian (2011). 2 For examples of such realism, see Wittgenstein in the Tractatus, some formulations of Russell’s scientific realism where he talks about facts and Frege’s Platonism. 3 Boghossian offers a number of criticisms of what he calls the “cookie cutter” relativism of Goodman, but the criticisms are effective against a reading of Goodman that makes him appear even more unreasonably relativistic than he actually is. For instance, Boghossian asks how we could have created objects that predate us, but we think this criticism presupposes an objectual interpretation of Goodman. We consider such a reading problematic. 4 In the case of ontological relativism, Goodman’s position can be thus rendered: (a) objects, which compose states of affairs, are a function of our conceptual scheme; (b) there are different and mutually incompatible conceptual schemes; (c) these conceptual schemes are all equally legitimate; (d) there are multiple and mutually incompatible objects. 5 This seems a clearer way to express the kind of worry that motivates ­Boghossian’s objection (2006: 58). An unclear formulation causes, for example, Zimmerman (2007: sect. 7), to consider Boghossian as committing a logical fallacy. 6 As an example, Mallon cites Laqueur’s book Making Sex (1990) and his claim that there is an “unstable female body” but says that upon investigation, it turns out that the claim is neither about sex nor the female body but about the theories we produce and entertain regarding the female body (Mallon 2004: 101).

6 RELATIVIZING SCIENCE

6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4

The background: Kuhn and Feyerabend Grounds for relativism about science Applications Relativism as a normative stance

Relativism about science holds that incompatible scientific positions, theories, and approaches can have equal standing, each relative to different paradigms or methodological frameworks that have given rise to them. In-depth investigations of the history of science, the claim goes, show that differing methodologies of science are on par in their claims to legitimacy; furthermore, there is no context-independent overarching criterion to adjudicate between them. The claim, then, is that essentially incompatible theoretical frameworks in science could have equal legitimacy. Relativism about science is standardly contrasted with realist positions, where scientific theories are seen as attempts to describe and explain a world that exists independently of us, and the truth of such descriptions is not affected by the social contexts or the personal characteristics of their discoverers. Relativism about science, insofar as it deals with claims of scientific knowledge and the justification and evidence base for such claims, could

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be categorized as a variant of epistemic relativism (see Chapter 7). However, the philosophical background and arguments introduced in favor of relativizing scientific “facts”, particularly those that rely on Thomas Kuhn’s work, as we will see, have strong parallels with the conceptual relativism discussed in Chapters 4 and 5. The remainder of the chapter has two main sections: the first will outline and critically examine some key arguments used to motivate and support relativism about science. The second will focus on two specific attempts at using these arguments to undermine objectivist and “absolutist” conceptions of science: the Strong Programme of the sociology of science and some versions of feminist epistemology. We will complete the chapter with a critical response to these approaches.

§6.1 The background: Kuhn and Feyerabend Relativism about science is a recent arrival. Before the 1960s, debates in philosophy of science focused on methodological issues framed by the logical empiricists, such as verification and induction, as well as on broader questions such the demarcation of science from non-science and the instrumentalism versus realism debate. Relativism about science played little, if any, role in these debates. §6.1.1 Kuhn’s alleged relativism Kuhn’s The Structure of Scientific Revolutions and Paul Feyerabend’s “Explanation, Reduction and Empiricism”, both published in 1962, transformed the debates in philosophy of science. Up to that point, most philosophers of science and scientists had taken for granted that progress in science takes place, and is practically self-evident, because of a continuity between earlier and later theories where successive theories improve upon older ones through accumulation of data, a cumulative process of theory-building, and greater success at explanation and prediction. Kuhn, contrary to these orthodoxies, and through a novel injection of a historicist approach to the philosophy of science, problematized the very idea of linear progress. Consensus among scientists and hence the idea of progress, he argued, are limited only to what he calls “periods of normal science”. The history of science consists of a series of radical shifts and fundamental changes in scientific worldviews, or “scientific revolutions”, over the course of which



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the entire theoretical structures and the methodological framework of a given area of research – the prevailing paradigm – are replaced with new and radically different ones that are incompatible on many points with their predecessors (see Baghramian 2004, 2008 for further elaboration). Scientific knowledge is non-cumulative, largely because questions posed in older paradigms and the answers provided for them become irrelevant in a new paradigm. The central idea in Kuhn’s conception of the history of science is that during periods of normal science, theorizing, research, and discovery take place within specific research paradigms. Kuhn gives a number of interconnected but distinct accounts of the role of paradigms in science, but two key conceptions are central. Paradigms, he argues, are the “universally recognized scientific achievements that for a time provide model problems and solutions to a community of practitioners” (Kuhn [1962] 1970: viii). They also provide scientists with “accepted examples of actual scientific practice – examples which include law, theory, application, and instrumentation” (ibid.: 10). Second, he thinks, paradigms provide scientists with common norms, rules, and standards for scientific practice. In this sense, paradigms are the set of shared methods, standards, and values of the scientific community at any given time and within particular fields (Kuhn 1962 [1970], 1977). These common norms and standards include a stable set of theoretical and methodological background assumptions, standard procedures for applying these assumptions to the data being collected, accepted procedures for experimentation, common ways of interpreting experimental results, and the use of similar instruments and techniques of experimentation. Consequently, according to Kuhn, In learning a paradigm the scientist acquires theory, methods, and standards together, usually in an inextricable mixture. Therefore, when paradigms change, there are usually significant shifts in the criteria determining the legitimacy both of problems and of proposed solutions. (Kuhn 1962 [1970]: 109)

The latter notion of paradigm emphasizes the consensual character of science and the role that agreed conventions play in what counts as the best way of doing science. It was this unorthodox idea that the legitimacy of scientific methods and results, in some important sense, is decided only within a paradigm that gave currency to relativism about science. There

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are a number of striking passages in Kuhn (1962) that support the relativist reading of the text. Here are some examples: Though the world does not change with a change of paradigm, the scientists after [a scientific revolution] work in a different world. (Kuhn 1962 [1970]: 150) Practicing in different worlds, the two groups of scientists see different things when they look from the same point at the same direction, for instance one sees chemical solutions as compounds and the other sees it as a mixture. (ibid.) the choice between competing… paradigms proves to be a choice between incompatible modes of community life … When paradigms enter, as they must, into a debate about paradigm choice, their role is necessarily circular. Each group uses its own paradigm to argue in that paradigm’s defense. (Ibid.)

More generally, observation language, Kuhn argues, presupposes a paradigm and a theory, and hence a change in paradigm brings about a change of observation language: after a scientific revolution, the data themselves change (ibid.: 135). Moreover, he compares this shift to a sudden gestalt switch, or seeing the same reality in two different ways. The relativistic implications of Kuhn’s view seem evident. All assessments of the success, and even truth, of a particular scientific theory can be made only within, and relative to a given paradigm – there is no room for extra-paradigmatic, non-relative evaluations in Kuhn’s view of science. Furthermore, if agreement between scientists is the ultimate authority for theory choice and that is, as he puts it, “in paradigm choice – there is no standard higher than the assent of the relevant community” (Kuhn 1962 [1970]: 94), then the idea of objective, mind-independent scientific truth gives way to the suggestion that different communities of scientists may be free to establish their own standards of assent. Based on these considerations, Kuhn has been widely accused of undermining the very basis for rational theory choice. Imre Lakatos, for instance, claimed that for Kuhn theory-choice is a matter of “mob psychology”, and Dudley Sphere argues that, for Kuhn, paradigm choice cannot be based on good reasons or rational grounds (Earman 1993: 10). On the other hand,



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postmodernists, some feminist epistemologists, sociologists of science, and so forth have embraced Kuhnian relativism with marked enthusiasm. Kuhn, however, in the 1970 edition of his book, rejects the charge of relativism and argues that accuracy, simplicity, fruitfulness, consistency, and scope are some of the objective and universal grounds for theory choice. What he seems to confirm, however, is an anti-realist view of science where success is measured in terms of puzzle-solving rather than cumulative proximity to truth. He writes. there is ‘no theory-independent way to reconstruct phrases like “really there”; the notion of a match between the ontology of a theory and its ‘real’ counterpart in nature now seems to me illusive in principle’. (ibid.: 206)

§6.1.2 Feyerabend’s democratic relativism Feyerabend, at least on occasions, has endorsed relativism even more directly. Feyerabend too rejected the claim that there is cumulative progress in science. Progress in science can take place only if there is continuity in the use, interpretation, and definition of theoretical terms within a scientific domain, that is, if there is meaning invariance across various theories. According to Feyerabend, however, the history of science does not support the claim for meaning invariance. Progress in science, according to ­Feyerabend, happens not because of a continuity between theories but only when scientists break the rules of the accepted methodology of their time and allow for a pluralism of approaches, because “[t]he only principle that does not inhibit progress in science is the propagation of theories, and in that sense the only maxim governing science is, or ought to be, ‘anything goes’” (Feyerabend 1975: 23). The provocative statement “anything goes”, however, should not be taken to mean that every statement or theory is as good as any other, or that there is no difference between truth and falsity. Rather, he claims that the maxim should be understood in the context of debates on scientific methodology. The type of relativism Feyerabend defends is “not about concepts … but about human relations”. He calls it “democratic relativism”, where different societies may look at the world in different ways and regard different things as acceptable (Feyerabend 1987: 59). Democratic relativism is backed by a modified version of epistemic relativism, or the view that “For every statement, theory, point of view believed (to be true) with good reason

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there exist arguments showing a conflicting alternative to be at least as good, or even better” (ibid.: 76). This position, as Feyerabend claims, is far removed from the idea that truth is relative to cultural norms or historical contexts. Rather, he argues that a relativist “who deserves his name will… have to refrain from making assertions about the nature of reality, truth and knowledge” (Feyerabend 1987: 78). Relativism, then, in Feyerabend’s hands, is not so much a philosophical doctrine to be judged as true or false, but a method for dealing with cultural and individual differences. It is a plea for intellectual and political tolerance and a denunciation of dogmatism. “It says that what is right for one culture need not be right for another” (ibid.: 85). To privilege one conception of truth, rationality, or knowledge in the name of scientific objectivity runs the risk of imposing a repressive worldview on members of other cultural groupings who do not share our assumptions and intellectual framework. We will return to this point in the final section of this chapter. Key elements of Kuhn and Feyerabend’s views of the history and methodology of science have become cornerstones of the discussions of relativism about science and have also had a formative influence on other varieties of relativism discussed in this chapter. We will examine these in turn.

§6.2 Grounds for relativism about science Several interconnected theses have been central to the development of relativistic thinking in science. They are (1) the underdetermination of ­theory by data, (2) the Quine–Duhem hypothesis of confirmation holism, (3) ­theory-ladenness of observations, and (4) the incommensurability of scientific theories located within differing paradigms. We look at each in turn. §6.2.1 Underdetermination of theory by data At its simplest, the claim here is that any scientific hypothesis could have empirically equivalent rivals that are equally adequate in explaining a data set, for example, experimental results or observations. Quine’s formulation of the thesis states: “Physical theories can be at odds with each other and yet compatible with all possible data even in the broadest possible sense. In a word, they can be logically incompatible and empirically equivalent” (Quine 1970: 179). Experimental results and observational data, the claim goes, do not automatically privilege a single theory; rather, any given body of evidence could be explained by a multiplicity of theoretical frameworks.



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Crucially, it is also claimed that only the help of auxiliary hypotheses, with content that goes beyond science, would enable scientists to choose between competing theoretical frameworks. Underdetermination was one of the key elements of a Kuhnian understanding of the historical development of science. According to Kuhn, “Philosophers of science have repeatedly demonstrated that more than one theoretical construction can always be placed upon a given collection of data” (Kuhn 1962 [1970]: 76). This, he claims, is particularly evident in the earlier stages of the development of a new paradigm, what he calls “pre-science”, where “it is not even very difficult to invent such alternatives” (ibid.). Underdetermination has been used extensively in support of various relativistic positions. Andrew Pickering, for instance, in Constructing Quarks, argues that since “choice of a theory is underdetermined by any finite set of data … it is always possible to invent an unlimited set of theories … capable of explaining a given set of facts” (1984: 5–6). This is where the scientists’ judgments, as individuals and groups, determine theory choice. Scientific method, by itself, is not sufficient to determine which theory to choose, that is why scientists are obliged to rely on their judgments and such judgments are inevitably colored by social, historical, and personal conditions as well as by the prevailing cultural norms and values. The thesis of underdetermination points to a logical gap between theory and evidence; the social constructionists, feminist epistemologists, and other relativists claim that the gap is often filled by economic and political motives and interests. The traditional assumption that scientists follow a determinate set of methodological guidelines is no longer tenable, as no single methodology is available to overcome the inevitable underdetermination of all theories. Larry Laudan usefully lists the ways underdetermination is used to motivate relativism. He says: Lakatos and Feyerabend have taken the underdetermination of theories to justify the claim that the only difference between empirically successful and empirically unsuccessful theories lies in the talents and resources of their respective advocates (i.e., with sufficient ingenuity, more or less any theory can be made to look methodologically respectable). Hesse and Bloor have claimed that underdetermination shows the necessity for bringing noncognitive, social factors into play in explaining the theory choices of scientists (on the grounds that methodological and evidential considerations alone are demonstrably insufficient to account for such choices).

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H. M. Collins, and several of his fellow sociologists of knowledge, have asserted that underdetermination lends credence to the view that the world does little if anything to shape or constrain our beliefs about it. (Laudan 1990: 321)1

Many philosophers of science, including Kuhn, believe that pragmatic and aesthetic criteria, such as simplicity, elegance, ontological parsimony, and fruitfulness, can help decide between equivalent theoretical frameworks. Moreover, such criteria are part of the practice of science and are accorded general acceptance by scientific communities. Hence, the fact that normative elements and value judgments are added to the theoretical considerations involved in science does not by itself lead to relativism. Relativistically inclined sociologists of science as well as philosophers of science such as Feyerabend, on the other hand, have argued that the auxiliary hypotheses used by scientists are colored by socially and historically grounded norms as well as by personal and group interests. The crucial point involved here is that if theory choice in science is guided, if not determined, by social and personal considerations, then there is little reason to believe that science can deliver objective – that is mind-­independent and value-free – knowledge. The scope and extent of underdetermination in science is open to discussion, but even if we agree that the totality of evidence available to scientists does not establish the superiority of a single theory, there are good non-relativistic grounds, based on methodological and epistemic virtues accepted by scientists, that in a majority of cases provide objective grounds for theory choice. The existence of such grounds helps explain how scientists reach consensus and place trust in the work of other scientists. Kuhn and Feyerabend single out extreme moments of change in science, but as Kuhn is happy to admit, these are exceptional periods where theory choice faces greater uncertainty, but uncertainty should not be equated with relativism. §6.2.2 Holism The underdetermination thesis is further strengthened by the so-called Quine–Duhem hypothesis to the effect that scientific knowledge could be tested, supported, or rejected only as a whole. Quine’s best-known, and very first, statement of this sort of confirmation holism that underpins the Quine–Duhem hypothesis, not to be confused with the kind of semantic



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holism defended by Quine and Davidson (see Chapter 4), can be found in “Two Dogmas of Empiricism”: The totality of our so-called knowledge or beliefs, from the most casual matters of geography and history to the profoundest laws of atomic physics or even of pure mathematics and logic, is a man-made fabric which impinges on experience only along the edges. Or, to change the figure, total science is like a field of force whose boundary conditions are experience. A conflict with experience at the periphery occasions readjustments in the interior of the field. But the total field is so underdetermined by its boundary conditions, experience, that there is much latitude of choice as to what statements to re-evaluate in the light of any single contrary experience. No particular experiences are linked with any particular statements in the interior of the field, except indirectly through considerations of equilibrium affecting the field as a whole. (Quine 1951: 42–43)

Quine has emphasized that the doctrine of empirical underdetermination is distinct from holism or the Quine–Duhem thesis and should not to be confused with it, a point that is often missed or set aside by those who rely on Quine to support their relativistic views of science. Quine explains: It is holism that has rightly been called the Duhem thesis and also, rather generously, the Duhem–Quine thesis. It says that scientific statements are not separately vulnerable to adverse observations, because it is only jointly as a theory that they imply their observable consequences. Any one of the statements can be adhered to in the face of adverse observations, by revising others of the statements. (Quine 1975: 313)

However, while holism is a distinct principle governing science, it “lends credence to the under-determination thesis” (ibid.) because “if we are free always to choose among various adequate modifications of our theory, then presumably all possible observations are insufficient to determine theory uniquely” (ibid.). So, Quine, in his more radical moments in “Two Dogmas of Empiricism”, maintains that, as a consequence of underdetermination, “any statement can be held true come what may, if we make drastic enough adjustments elsewhere in the system” (Quine 1951: 43). He further claims that “in the face of a recalcitrant observation we are free to choose

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what statements to revise and what ones to hold fast, and these alternatives will disrupt various stretches of scientific theory in various ways, varying in severity” (Quine 1975: 315). In discussions of relativism, the two theses are usually combined under the general heading of the Quine–Duhem hypothesis and are used to support a much more radical position than what Duhem or even Quine had envisaged. Barry Barnes, a leading figure in the Strong Programme of sociology of science, spells out the connections between the Quine–Duhem thesis and relativism. Almost everyone who accepts the Duhem–Quine hypothesis will recognize that any theory can be maintained compatible with any findings by appropriate strategies of applications and interpretation, and that the strategies involved are just those which maintain our actual accepted theories as our accepted theories. … I have never doubted the correctness of the Duhem–Quine hypothesis. This is why I am not a realist, but an instrumentalist and a relativist. Since alternative systems of real universals can always be kept operative, and since the operation of all of them involves artifice, there is no way of knowing that the world is constituted of any set of real universals in particular, or even that it is constituted of universals at all. (Barnes 1981: 493)

As with underdetermination, the connection between the Quine–Duhem thesis and relativism is not straightforward. The most direct route for denying the connection is the reminder that Quine himself rejects relativism about science. Moreover, philosophers of science, even when willing to concede to the thesis, and frequently they are not, point out that the belief in the fallibility of science, the view that all scientific claims are provisional, a belief that is built into the method of science, is sufficient for dealing with the uncertainties that holism or indeterminacy may give rise to. Relativizing the truth or the legitimacy of scientific claims to the conditions of their production is too high a price for dealing with these allegedly troublesome features of the methodology and practice of science. §6.2.3 Theory-ladenness of observation Relativism about science, particularly the versions inspired by Kuhn and Feyerabend, is also influenced by the view that all observations are ­theory-laden. The initial statement of view is usually attributed to Pierre



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Duhem, but the clearest statement of the thesis can be found in Russell Hanson’s Patterns of Discovery (1958) where he writes, [S]eeing is a ‘theory-laden’ undertaking … . Observation of x is shaped by prior knowledge of x. Another influence on observations rests in the language or notation used to express what we know, and without which there would be little we could recognize as knowledge. (Hanson 1958: 19)

As we saw briefly in Section 6.1, both Kuhn and Feyerabend have relied on theory-ladenness in support of their views. Feyerabend has argued that facts and theories are too intimately connected for us to be able to separate them and that not only the description of every single fact is dependent on some theory but there are also some facts which will not be unearthed except when we test theories alternative to those currently under consideration (Feyerabend 1965: 174–175). He writes, Not only is the description of every single fact dependent on some theory… There exist also facts which cannot be unearthed except with the help of alternatives to the theory to be tested, and which become unavailable as soon as such alternatives are excluded. (Feyerabend 1965: 174–5, quoted in Preston 1997: 126)

Moreover, he claims that alternative theories, with their differing systems of classification, can provide us with perceptual objects that are not easily comparable (Feyerabend 1975: 168). Kuhn makes a similar point when he writes: “something like a paradigm is prerequisite to perception itself. What a man sees depends both upon what he looks at and also upon what his previous visual-conceptual experience has taught him to see” (Kuhn 1962 [1970]: 113). He goes as far as claiming that if a Galilean and an Aristotelian physicist had watched the same pendulum experiment, they would not have looked at or attended to the same things. The Aristotelian paradigm would have required the experimenter to measure the weight of the stone, the vertical height to which it had been raised, and the time required for it to achieve rest because they would have had the prior assumption that the stone will be falling under constraint toward the center of the Earth (Kuhn 1962 [1970]: 123). The Galilean, on the other hand, will have the prior assumption that the pendulum’s swing is constricted by circular motions and will focus on the radius, angular displacement, and the time each swing takes (Kuhn 1962 [1970]: 123–124).

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The hypothesis that observations are theory-laden is thought to give support to relativism because of the special status of observations in establishing scientific truths. Observations are supposed to provide objective evidence to scientists on the assumption that socio-cultural factors play no role in the evidentiary support they provide for theories. The claim that observations are theory-laden, together with the injection of socially and psychologically informed auxiliary hypotheses needed to overcome underdetermination, cast further doubt on this objectivist thinking about observations. The N-ray affair in physics is often given as an example of the effect of theory on scientific observation and data gathering. In 1903, soon after the discovery of X-rays by German physicists, the French physicist Prosper-René Blondlot had announced that his lab had discovered a new form of radiation, which they called N-rays. The process of observation was quite complex and required a judgment on the part of the observers whether there was increased activity in a spark gap. Over 300 papers by 1000 different scientists were published reporting on the properties of N-rays. However, Robert Wood, an American physicist visiting ­Blondlot’s lab, completely undermined the theory when he discovered that the scientists and technicians in the lab continued reporting observations of N-rays even when they had interfered with the apparatus so that no N-rays should have been observable (Klotz 1980). The example, however, does not help the relativists’ claims on the impact of theory on observation, but on the contrary shows that science has the required resources to distinguish between reliable observations and predictions and those that are colored by self-deception and the weight of theoretical expectations. Moreover, contrary to the thesis of theory-ladenness, there is ample evidence that scientists working in very different theoretical frameworks tend to report similar observations. One example comes from the debate between Priestley and Lavoisier who disagreed strongly about phlogiston versus oxygen theories, one of the classic examples of scientific disagreement, but gave similar reports of their observations such as the height of water in an experimental tube used to detect the presence of oxygen/­ phlogiston and the length of time for a candle to go on burning in a closed tube (Conant 1957: 74–109). Although these examples do not show that theoretical commitments may not, at times, influence the observations that scientists report, they do cast doubt on the relativists’ claims that such theory-ladenness is beyond objective correction or adjustment.



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§6.2.4 Incommensurability The most radical and controversial argument in favor of relativism about science, originally to be found in different forms, both in Kuhn and Feyerabend, is the claim that scientists operating within different paradigms or frameworks of enquiry work with incommensurable theories, and therefore their theories cannot be compared or ranked. The term “incommensurability” – meaning the impossibility of comparison by a common measure – has its origins in mathematics and geometry, but its current philosophical usage dates back to Kuhn and Feyerabend.2 The realist claim of cumulative progress in science presupposes continuity in the use, interpretation, and definition of theoretical terms. Feyerabend and Kuhn, on the other hand, claimed that the research methodology, the theoretical language, and the overall worldviews governing different paradigms are irreconcilable and hence incommensurable with one another. As we saw in Section 6.1.1, and earlier in the chapter, this is, in part, because Kuhn argues that observation language presupposes a theory – and thus a paradigm – and hence a change in paradigm brings about a change of observation language to the extent that we could hold that the “the data itself changes”. New paradigms inherit and incorporate elements from the theoretical vocabulary and apparatus of the older paradigm, Kuhn admits, but these inherited elements are used in new ways. For instance, the term “mass”, as used in Newtonian mechanics, denotes a property, while in relativity theory, it refers to a relation; thus, it would be a mistake to assume that “mass” has an invariant meaning across theories. Similarly, space and time are separate and independent entities in Newton’s theory, while in Einstein’s theory, both are replaced by the single concept of space-time; hence, the concepts of space and time in the two theories, strictly speaking, are not commensurable. This is why scientists debating the merits of their respective paradigms, the Newtonians and the Einsteinians in this case, often talk slightly at cross-purposes. Scientific revolutions also bring about a change in the most fundamental assumptions and principles in the theory and practice of science. This change of universal principles brings about a change of the entire world. Speaking in this manner we no longer assume an objective world that remains unaffected by our epistemic activities, except when moving within the confines of a particular point of view. (Feyerabend 1978: 70)

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As this discussion shows, it is useful to distinguish between the semantic and methodological or epistemic varieties of the incommensurability thesis. As we saw in Chapter 4,3 two conceptual systems or theories or frameworks are semantically incommensurable if they are not intertranslatable, that is, if the meaning and the reference of terms used in one cannot be equated with, or mapped into, the terms used in another. Kuhn argues that theories from different paradigms are incommensurable because there is no neutral “observation language” into which both can be fully translated (Kuhn 1962 [1970]: 126–127). Feyerabend also links the incommensurability of scientific theories with questions of meaning and translation more directly. According to him, “two theories will be called incommensurable when the meanings of their main descriptive terms depend on mutually inconsistent principles” (Feyerabend 1965: 227, fn.19) and that incommensurability “occurs when the conditions of meaningfulness for the descriptive terms of one language (theory, point of view) do not permit the use of descriptive terms of another language (theory, point of view)” (Feyerabend 1987: 272). This happens with Newton’s universal gravitational laws and Einstein’s relativistic physics. Thus, even though the concept of mass features in both F = ma

and E = mc2,

these are really two different and incommensurable concepts. Let us call them massN and massE. As already mentioned, for Newton, mass is an intrinsic property of bodies, which does not depend on velocity; for Einstein, instead, the mass of a body varies as a function of velocity and is therefore a relational rather than an intrinsic property. In particular, it increases as it approaches the speed of light. While this fact has no salient effect on several macro-phenomena in which bodies have a conspicuous mass and whose speed is much inferior to that of light, it does have effects when it comes to subatomic particles, whose mass is infinitesimal and whose speed is close to the speed of light. Physics details apart, the idea is that there is no mass outside of all theoretical frameworks: mass is just a magnitude recognized by a theory. Yet, if the theories in which the term “mass” occurs define it in divergent and incompatible ways, then the corresponding concepts differ and could not



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be exported from one theory to another. The difficulty highlighted by Kuhn is to find a way to account for progress in science while allowing that the theoretical terms used in differing paradigms have differing meanings. Unlike semantic incommensurability, methodological incommensurability emphasizes the divergences between the way scientific questions and goals are approached. Kuhn writes “proponents of competing paradigms will often disagree about the list of problems they are to solve, and their definitions and standards of science are not the same” (Kuhn 1962 [1970]: 148). And even more tellingly, “theories can differ not only in their results, but in the methods and standards that they use to generate and evaluate results” (ibid.). Does methodological incommensurability fare better than the semantic version? Kuhn’s methodological incommensurability can be given a narrow and a broad reading, and Kuhn’s own writings can be ambiguous between the two. In the narrower reading, Kuhn is speaking about the incommensurability of scientific paradigms insofar as they deal with specific claims within a given area of science. The broader reading is about styles of reasoning and methods of justification in general. Different paradigms or frameworks of science, the claim goes, have different modes of reasoning, standards, and criteria of rationality, and we are not in a position to (non-circularly) evaluate them. Kuhn, on several occasions, has distanced himself from generalized epistemic relativism by arguing that accuracy, simplicity, fruitfulness, consistency, and scope provide us with objective and universal criteria for theory choice. Thus, he seems to accept that paradigm change can be justified by recourse to some notions of justification and rationality, which are presupposed by the very activity of criticizing old paradigms and inventing new ones, and are not themselves dependent on, or defined by, any one paradigm (Putnam 1984: 125). Putnam, among others, has accused Kuhn of inconsistency on this point. Putnam argues: What Kuhn is doing is allowing selected exceptions to his own doctrine of incommensurability. What he is saying is that, whereas we cannot equate either the meaning or the reference of the word electron as used by Bohr in 1900 with the meaning or the reference of the word as used by Bohr in 1934, …, nevertheless we can equate the meaning and reference of reasonableness and justification, or partially equate them, across changes in our paradigms of justification as great as those which occurred between the tenth century and the time of Newton. (Putnam 1984: 126)

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A consistent application of methodological incommensurability not only would render scientific theories from distinct paradigms incomparable and discontinuous, but it will also bring into question the inter-theoretic application of the very criteria of what is rational and reasonable.

§6.3 Applications A combination of (1)–(4) has been variously employed for advancing relativistic interpretations of science or for criticizing objectivist and “absolutist” accounts of it. In this section, we will examine two well-known examples. §6.3.1 Sociology of science and the “Strong Programme” The sociology of scientific knowledge provides explanations of scientific theories, their generation, and their successes by placing them within a social-political context. Traditionally, philosophers of science had distinguished between the context of justification of a scientific theory and the context of its discovery and had argued that the truth and falsity or even the rational acceptability of a scientific theory is independent of its context of discovery. Objectivists about science argue that the social, economic, and psychological circumstances that give rise to a scientific theory should not be confused with the methodological procedures used for justifying it. Sociologists of science, like Steven Shapin, on the other hand, maintain that there is no way to understand science, unless you place it in society (Shapin 2010: 32). Indeed, the subtitle of Shapin’s 2010 book – Historical Studies of Science as If It Was Produced by People with Bodies, Situated in Time, Space, Culture, and Society, and Struggling for Credibility and Authority – encapsulates the approach that the Strong Theorists, or the Edinburgh School, as they are frequently called, have adopted. Sociologists of science, starting with Karl Mannheim, had argued that science can never be “pure”; rather, it always shows the signs of its time, social context, or its context of discovery, including the subjective as well as the financial interests of the individual scientists and of those who fund them. They deny the legitimacy of the distinction between context of discovery and context of justification, and in doing so, they also open the way for a relativistic understanding of science. Karl Mannheim gives voice to such relativism by arguing that “[r]elativism is a product of the modern historical-sociological procedure which is based on the recognition that all historical thinking is bound up with the concrete position in life of the thinker” (Mannheim 1938: 21).



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The “Strong Programme” was developed by David Bloor, Barry Barnes, Harry Collins, Steven Shapin, and other members of the Science Studies Unit at Edinburgh University in the 1970s, and has become the main target of the arguments against relativism in science and epistemic relativism (see, for example, Boghossian 2006a). The “Strong Programme” agrees with more traditional sociologists of science that social factors have an important causal influence on what scientists do and believe. However, they go ­ erton by beyond the traditional sociology of science of Mannheim and M introducing two further interconnected postulates: The Equivalence Postulate and the Symmetry Thesis. According to the Equivalence Postulate, “all beliefs are on a par with one another with respect to the causes of their credibility” (Barnes and Bloor 1982: 22). The rationale behind the postulate is a form of strong naturalism to the effect that the incidence of all beliefs without exception calls for empirical investigation and must be accounted for by finding the specific, local causes of this credibility. This means that regardless of whether the sociologist evaluates a belief as true or rational, or as false and irrational, he must search for the causes of its credibility. (Barnes and Bloor 1982: 22)

Moreover, it is thought that a naturalistic explanation should be causal and look at the conditions that bring about a scientific belief (Bloor 1976: 7). Social conditions, they claim, are among the causes of any belief. Sociology of knowledge, they argue, should examine the connections between long-held beliefs and the power structures operating within a society and in particular the role of those vested interests that reinforce such beliefs. Different social forces present us with different methods and theories; therefore, both in the practice of science and in our construction of a theory of knowledge, we should take into account the individual, social, and historical particularities of the subjects of knowledge in their diverse forms and accord subjectivity the respect it deserves. Class interests, financial considerations, religious prejudices, a desire for fame or prestige, as well as the implicit or explicit wish to uphold the existing social order are among the factors that should be taken into account when we try to gain a better understanding of the sources of the credibility of any long-held belief, including scientific beliefs.

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The Symmetry Thesis enjoins investigators “to seek the same kind of causes for both true and false, rational and irrational beliefs” (Bloor 1976: 26). Sociologists, as well as philosophers, traditionally have assumed that the truth or rationality of a belief is adequate reason for holding that belief and they also explain adequately why the belief is held. But they insist that this not the case for false or irrational beliefs. It seems absurd to say that “P is false but I still believe it”, or, conversely, that “P is true but I refuse to believe it” (Moore 1942). Moreover, these are conceptual points concerning the norms governing belief and not a sociological theory. Barnes and Bloor deny the force of this point. According to them, strong naturalism, essential to science, requires that “[t]he type of causal explanation that we give of a belief, should be invariant with respect to whether the belief is true or false, rational or irrational” (ibid.). Naturalism requires that we scrutinize the source of all our beliefs in equal measure. While it is easy to accept that all our beliefs and their underlying causes should be open to scrutiny, the assumption that the same type of explanation is relevant to both true and false beliefs does not seem right. It is true that interesting questions can be asked about the social, psychological, and institutional reasons for accepting or rejecting both true and false theories. A good contrasting example is the rapid acceptance of Einstein’s theory of relativity (see Brush 1999) and the rejection of the earlier versions of the now-accepted continental drift theory of Alfred Wegener in 1912 (see Pyenson 1989). Extra theoretic factors, including the personal credibility assigned to Einstein based on his training compared to Wegener who was seen as a maverick outsider, played a significant role in the very different reception that their views received. Hence, this example from the history of science seems to support their view. But the problem with Barnes and Bloor’s thesis is that it does not account for the different types of explanation we might be seeking when we compare the rejection of Wegener’s continental drift theory with that of, say, Immanuel Velikovsky’s “Electric Universe” theory (see Gordin 2012), where Velikovsky connects various biblical accounts of planetary cataclysmic events with astronomical alignments. Interesting sociological stories can be told about the reception of both these theories, but there are fundamental differences in the account given for the regrettable rejection of the continental drift theory and the fully justified and easy dismissal of the Electric Universe “theory” by the community of scientists. For instance, the type of questions we could ask about the marginalization of Wegener as a scientist does not necessarily apply to the dismissive attitude toward Velikovsky who is seen to be



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deserving of the negative appraisal. Barnes and Bloor’s neglect of the crucial difference between true and false theories weakens the explanatory powers of the sociology of science. The Strong Theorists justify their appeal to the ever-present impact of social conditions in the production of scientific theories through detailed analysis of the social and historic conditions surrounding specific scientific discoveries. And this, indeed, is one of the strengths of their approach. The work of Steve Shapin is particularly noteworthy in this context. What Shapin and other sociologists of science have done is to investigate the reasons why a particular scientific question or research project becomes the center of focus at a particular time while others are ignored. In particular, they concentrate on the social conditions that lead to this focusing. Scientists and the funding agencies that facilitate the work of scientists, Shapin argues, inevitably have to make choices on where to place their limited resources. Such decisions are often guided by socio-historical factors. The critics respond that questions about such choices are relevant to the conditions under which science is produced and are not relevant to the truth and falsity of the ultimate outcome of these investigations. It is obvious that scientists cannot investigate all topics of interest or even pursue all the questions relevant to a single topic simultaneously, and social and personal decisions can and will come into play in deciding on scientific priorities. But such limitations do not make any real difference to the veracity or reliability of the answers to the questions they ask or the results they establish. What the historical and sociological studies of science show – that is, that scientists are not in the business of giving an account of the “totality of facts” and the results they obtain are inevitably piecemeal – is in one of the indicators of fallibility of science and does not support any interesting version of relativism. An important reason Barnes and Bloor seem to have for dismissing the traditional objectivist distinctions between true and false, or justified and unjustified, is that their actual target does not seem to be knowledge as commonly understood in philosophy. Rather, by “knowledge”, they mean a system of belief that meets with collective consent and where the requirements of truth and objective justification do not seem to play a role. They say: “we refer to any collectively accepted system of belief as ‘knowledge’” (Barnes and Bloor 1982: 22, fn. 5). This sociological definition of knowledge may suggest that the disagreement between objectivists and relativists about science is merely verbal. If Barnes and Bloor are simply talking about the beliefs that are accepted at any given time, then it is beyond dispute

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that conflicting beliefs have been accepted as true and indisputable at different times. Relativism gains purchase, however, where we deny the distinction between what is true and what is believed to be true, collectively or otherwise. If this distinction is not accepted from the outset, then no arguments for relativism is needed. What Barnes and Bloor are suggesting seems strongly in line with Rorty’s advice that we should revise our views of knowledge and truth and replace the classical objectivist account with a communal sociological one, where solidarity rather than objectivity is the governing model for truth and knowledge (see Chapter 5). And this is indeed the underlying reason for the “methodological relativism” that they propose. The crucial point is that for them, “there are no context-free or super-cultural norms of rationality” (Barnes and Bloor 1982: 27–28) or of logic. The justification for this position comes from the underdetermination thesis (sect. 6.3). In line with other commentators on underdetermination, they argue that: “for a given body of experimental results there will be more than one theory that could explain them” and that “any number of theories may explain a given set of data” (Barnes 1974: 11). Recognition of this point, they claim, leads naturally to the conclusion that “theory may be partially determined by social factors” (1974: 13) and that “the preferred theory is selected because it is salient in the local culture” (Barnes et al. 1996: 27). Similarly, Bloor claims that since a theory is not uniquely supported by experience, something over and above validation from the physical world is required, and the “theoretical component of scientific knowledge” invariably has a “social component” (Bloor 1991: 16). The jump from underdetermination to claims that an appeal to social conditions is the crucial step for filling the gap between theory and evidence is theoretically backed by reference to Kuhn. Bloor, in particular, gives a sociological reading of what Kuhn called “normal science” and argues that where there is determinacy in science, it is established through the local cultural tradition sustained by a group of practitioners of science (Bloor 2011: 433). The overwhelmingly sociological understanding of the idea of paradigm and its effect on how scientists work, however, was rejected by Kuhn, who claimed that Bloor and Barnes’s overemphasis on the social conditions for the production of science leaves out the role that nature plays in deciding between different theories (Kuhn 2000: 110–114). At the level of the individual scientist, Kuhn also complained that the Strong Programme ignores the cognitive considerations such as love for finding out the truth and the desire for puzzle-solving that motivate scientists (e.g. Kuhn 1983: 30). It may be objected that the arguments on behalf of the Strong ­Programme can be evaluated independently of the theory’s reliance on Kuhn. But the



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response is not fully convincing, as the charge by Kuhn and other scientists is that the Strong Programme tends to distort how scientists actually work and that they have exaggerated the purely social dimension of their work as originally presented by Kuhn. §6.3.2 Feminist epistemology and relativist interpretations of science Feminist epistemology, often categorized as a branch of social epistemology, focuses on the gendered socio-political features of epistemic practices and their impact on the production of scientific knowledge. Elisabeth Anderson’s early characterization of the subject area still holds true. She writes: social epistemology … investigates the influence of socially constructed conceptions and norms of gender and gender-specific interests and experiences on the production of knowledge. It asks how the historical exclusion of women from theoretical inquiry has affected the direction and content of research in fields such as anthropology, philosophy and psychology. (Anderson 1995: 54)

Feminist epistemologists, like the social constructionists and strong theorists we have discussed, are skeptical about those accounts of knowledge that ignore the social and personal contexts of its production. They frequently deny the legitimacy of the distinction between a context of discovery and a context of justification and claim that the so-called “neutral” epistemic virtues of objectivity and rationality, seen as essential components of the scientific method, are often the means of furthering patriarchal interests at the expense of women and other disadvantaged groups (Antony 1993: 206). Some feminist epistemologists go even further and argue that there are fundamental differences between the male and female cognitive, emotional, and social experiences, and that the very idea of occupying a neutral and objective standpoint is a means of disguising the biases that operate in the practices of science. Evelyn Fox-Keller, for instance, puts it this way: Recent developments in the history and philosophy of science have led to a re-evaluation that acknowledges that the goals, methods, theories, and even the actual data of science are not written in nature; all are subject to the play of social forces. (1990: 15)

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As with the social constructionists (see Chapter 5), their key claim is “that knowledge is a construct produced by cognitive agents within social practices” and these practices may vary across social groups (Code 1995: 105). Feminist epistemology, at its core, has been premised on a critique of theories of knowledge, held since Plato, where knowledge claims are taken to be subject-neutral. The classic analysis of knowledge, at least until recently, had taken the following form: S knows P iff S believes that P, S is justified to believe that P, and P is true. The knowing subject S is a generic agent with no gender, history, race, class, specific cultural background, sexual identity, and, in some undefined sense, is normal and rational. Knowing subjects are interchangeable; one knower is as good as any other. Moreover, knowledge claims are supposed to be objective, value-neutral, and universally true. A further crucial assumption is that standards of justification are universal, and since they cannot be justified by any more fundamental criteria, they should be seen as self-supporting and self-evident. Once we start asking questions such as “Who is the subject of knowledge? How does the social position of the subject affect the production of knowledge? What is the impact upon knowledge and reason of the subject’s sexed body?” (Alcoff and Potter 1993: 13), we will discover that the supposedly generic interchangeable epistemic agent is modeled on white men of privilege, and biases regarding race, class, sexual identity, and so forth find their way, surreptitiously and implicitly, into the supposedly value-neutral and universal claims of objectivity. So, here is, for instance, Lorraine Code: almost by default the grammar of professional epistemology has restricted the label ‘knowledge’ to products of the epistemic labours of the white, educated, intellectual men who occupy positions of power that grant them the definitive voices in making, analysing, and evaluating public knowledge. (Code 1995: 190)

Feminist epistemology, like all philosophical schools, takes a variety of forms. Two of the most prominent among them are Standpoint Feminist



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Theory and feminist empiricism. The two views, despite their major differences, have the following presuppositions in common: (1) Value-ladenness of knowledge claims: They reject the assumption that science is neutral or value-free. Scientists, they argue, cannot avoid importing their implicit and explicit biases and values into their investigations. These values do have an impact on the conduct of science and hence should be acknowledged and recognized. (2) Context-dependence of knowledge: All knowledge claims and their justifications are, at least in part, the product of their social and psychological contexts. (3) Anti-individualism about knowledge: Knowledge is the product of epistemic communities, rather than individuals. Justification is achieved through the collaborative epistemic labor of communities, through which it can “achieve a higher degree of objectivity”, than individuals (Intemann 2010: 780–782). (4) A commitment to the plurality of acceptable but conflicting knowledge claims. (5) An emphasis on the frequently unnoticed impact of gender on epistemic practices, including on the questions that investigators prioritize and the types of answer they valorize.

There are interesting connections and differences between the types of relativism we have discussed in this book and various strands of feminist epistemology. One such example is Standpoint Theory where the central claim is that knowledge is always socially situated and hence local and is also produced by and for socially situated epistemic agents (see Harding 2015: 44 and Ashton and McKenna 2018). The claim is that it is neither possible nor desirable, even as an idealization, to give a general and universal account of knowledge without taking into account the specificity of the social context of knowledge claims, and the particularities of the knowing subject, because all knowledge, including scientific knowledge, is a social product and bears the imprint of its producers. The approach also rejects the very possibility of a “God’s eye” view of knowledge or a view from nowhere and poses a direct challenge to the objectivity of science as conceived by the scientific realists. The proposed alternative is what, almost paradoxically, is called strong objectivity. On this view,

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what counts as knowledge depends on the cultural and socio-political location where objectivity emanates from situated but trusted forms of knowledge rather than as a view from nowhere (Harding 1991). Feminist epistemologists, like other critics of the objectivist view of science discussed in this chapter, rely on the Quine–Duhem underdetermination thesis in arguing that gender, as well as race and class, plays a crucial role in theory-choice, but they differ from the Strong ­Theorists in the degree of emphasis they place on the political and economic origins and consequences of theory choice. According to their approach, theory choice is not only influenced by social factors, but it also has the imprint of particular biases against disadvantaged groups. Human judgments, they also agree, is never totally disinterested, emotion-free, or non-­perspectival, and the political and economic interests that color, if not determine, these perspectives are ignored at our peril. Where feminist epistemologists part company is in the emphasis they place on the connections between knowledge and the gendered power structures of a society. Because of the well-known links between knowledge and power, the routes for access to knowledge have traditionally been controlled, through exclusionary practices, and manipulated by those in positions of dominance. Objectivist accounts of knowledge ignore this point and dismiss the possibility that such access is gendered. Even more directly, the standard objectivist account of knowledge and the scientific rational approach have been used to oppress women directly through its attempts to “prove” women’s inferiority (Seller 1988). Thus, for feminist epistemologists, the rationale for advocating an alternative position to the dominant objectivist approach to epistemology in general, and science in particular, is primarily socio-political. Their task is not simply to analyze and understand the epistemological issues surrounding science or to describe the social conditions that give rise to particular forms of knowing, but also to offer the means of counteracting the biases that hide under the guise of universalism and objectivity. Thus, their approaches have a normative as well as descriptive component. These considerations have made many feminist epistemologists appear sympathetic to relativism, and while almost all of them reject the type of relativism that is committed to all knowledge claims being equally valid (Harding 2015: 44), many have been sympathetic to more modest versions of relativism. One example is Sandra Harding’s “principled relativism”



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(ibid.), according to which “all knowledge claims are necessarily socially located, including those of modern sciences, and thus permeated by local values and interests” (Harding 2004: 11). Once we accept this starting point, Harding thinks that it would be a poor strategy to continue to insist that one particular set of such claims – those prioritized in place of than credentialed by modern ­science – is not socially constructed. And yet she insists on the necessity of pursuing those avenues in science that are empirically accurate (ibid.: 12). Lorraine Code gives an explanation of why feminists are, and should be, sympathetic toward relativism: … feminists would do better, I am proposing, to opt for the relativist side simply as a refusal of the universalist-objectivist alternative; as a move which deconstructs its starker implications—and could likewise, dialogically, have the effect of deconstructing the too grandiose claims that are still made for the universalist side. Such a refusal would not be performed for its own sake, but in recognition of the extent to which the universalist side is complicit with a foundationalist project in epistemology that has served to underwrite many of the oppressions that permeate and order late-twentieth-century societies. (Code 1995: 194)

Code’s position is influenced by the “democratic relativism” of ­Feyerabend (Section 6.1.2). Code, like Feyerabend, believes that privileging one conception of truth, rationality, or knowledge in the name of scientific objectivity runs the risk of imposing a repressive worldview on members of other groupings who may not share our assumptions or intellectual framework. Democratic relativism is a plea for intellectual and political tolerance and a denunciation of dogmatism both in science and in politics. Code, like many other feminists, believes that when it comes to knowledge, women are left out and women get hurt (Langton 2000: 129), but goes further in placing the blame on a particular conception of knowledge, one reliant on the “often coercive view that we all see everything in the same way” and yet privileging some perspectives on knowledge over others (Code 1995: 201). Relativism, according to Code, is a defense against such coercion. She calls feminists to action by exhorting them to remain open to relativism. As she puts it, “feminists might do well to ‘come out’ and declare themselves relativists” (Code 1995: 186). Her challenge to the

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feminists is to adopt a stance rather than prove the abstract truth of a doctrine, as to “come out”, metaphorically and physically, has connotations of taking a stand and making a commitment. Code also interprets the value of this stance in both epistemic and socio-political terms. Indeed, an important feature of her and numerous feminist epistemologists’ thinking is the denial of sharp distinctions between cognitive and moral virtues. Faced with this socio-political predicament, relativism, for many feminist epistemologists, is seen as the most effective defense against the imposition of universal sameness; it is a battle cry against the repressive imperialism of the Western scientific worldview and the claim by the privileged that they, and only they, have access to the one true story. The approach advocated here by Harding and Code, in particular the view “that knowledge is a construct produced by cognitive agents within social practices” (Code 1995: 15) and these practices may vary across social groups, has been a part of Paul Boghossian’s war against relativism and social constructivism. Boghossian argues that feminist epistemologists, like Strong Theorists, subscribe to what he calls a “social dependence conception of knowledge” according to which “whether a belief is knowledge necessarily depends at least in part on the contingent social and material setting in which that belief is produced (or maintained)” (Boghossian 2006a: 8). The social dependence view is a variant of relativism because it could help to vindicate equal validity claims about knowledge (see ­Chapter 2). If knowledge is a function of the contingent social setting in which it is produced, Boghossian argues, then it looks as though it could very well turn out that what is knowledge for us is not knowledge for those located in different social settings (Boghossian 2006a: 7). But relativism is a perilous position, and the question asked but not fully answered is whether feminist epistemologist should be willing to embrace these perils. Several feminist epistemologists have concurred with this criticism,4 and even Code, who asks us “acknowledge the productively relativist implications of some of their best inquiries” (Code 1995: xvi), tries to come up with a relativism that is “realist, rational, and significantly objective” (Code 1995: 53). What both Code and Harding, to name just two, are looking for is a well-articulated and coherent form of relativism that is also sensitive to the calls of reality and objectivity. The problem is that neither Code nor anyone else has yet been able to give an account of relativism that adequately meets these desiderata. A further frequently repeated criticism



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is that if all knowledge, including scientific knowledge, is perspectival and informed by the specific contexts of production, then its evaluation would also be contextual. If gender or race is one of these contexts, then feminine, masculine, transgender, black, white, and so forth knowledge will each have a justificatory sphere of its own and we will end up with a form of epistemic or methodological incommensurability like the one discussed in Section 6.2. This is unwelcome news to feminist epistemologists whose aim is not simply to advocate the type of methodological pluralism favored by Feyerabend and other relativistically inclined philosophers of science. Rather, their aim is to achieve epistemic justice for all knowers and hence an ability to make cross-contextual comparisons between different situationally informed claims to knowledge. There are also external perils to relativism which demonstrate that relativism, contrary to Code’s claim, is not necessarily aligned with progressive politics but has the potential to be a rallying cry for reactionary political forces.5 Relativism also runs the risk of driving us toward moral and political quietism. As Code argues, if there are no intolerables, no basis for judging any knowledge claim better than any other, then putative knowledge of oppression or injustice can amount only to one take on reality among many. It cannot afford a rational basis for action. And if there is no good reason for choosing one course of action over any other, then the only feasible outcome is the immobilized indifference of political quietism. (Code 1995: 193)

§6.4 Relativism as a normative stance Apart From Kuhn, who has repudiated the relativism attributed to him, what unites these thinkers is the view that relativism is the best defense against absolutism and dogmatism and the intellectual tyranny they can engender (Feyerabend 1987; Code 1995: 75). Relativism, the claim is, can produce both better science and better thinkers. Adopting a relativistic stance makes us more open-minded and tolerant of other’s points of views which, in turn, can lead to the proliferation of more theories (Feyerabend 1999: 5) and make us more curious and less dogmatic (Bloor 2011). Such openness is both intellectually and practically beneficial. They thus are in effect defending relativism as a norm and value rather than a

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thesis.6 To take an example, the relativist, Code suggests, can simultaneously embrace both scientific and traditional cures in medicine, Chinese medicine as well as Western pharmacology, hospital-based as well as a traditional approaches to childbirth, and this tolerant attitude can only be beneficial to patients. When it comes to science, the relativist will notice the socio-political features of research and notice biases and class interests (Code 1995: 202). The suggestion is that to be open to relativism is to give credence to the ideas and beliefs of other people, particularly those whose beliefs are unfamiliar and potentially unpalatable. This tolerant attitude or stance, in turn, will decrease the chances of dogmatism and narrow mindedness. But the purported links between relativism and political and epistemic gains and virtues are far from being established. The anti-relativists targeted by Code and Feyerabend are accused of “dubious self-privileging” of their perspectives (Herrnstein Smith 2018:  26) and the intellectual arrogance of thinking that their position is the only right one. But to counter the type of arrogance and narrow-­ mindedness rightly criticized by the authors, we do not have to go as far as relativizing knowledge. A fallibilistic attitude, which assumes that any scientific view we ­currently hold is almost certainly going to be proven to be wrong at some point in the future, is an equally good defense against narrow-­mindedness and arrogance, but minus the difficulties relativism faces (Baghramian 2019). Discussions about the social and political context of not or the production of scientific knowledge has had a positive impact on the conduct of science. Through detailed and careful case studies, feminist epistemologists have laid bare the implicit and explicit biases that have marginalized and denigrated women in a multitude of ways, both as scientists and as subjects of scientific studies. The attention paid to the multitude of ways in which scientists can achieve their objectives has also provided philosophers of science with a better understanding of the methodological pluralism that is pervasive in science. But these achievements do not amount to a vindication of relativism about science.

Summary This chapter began with a brief critical survey of the views of Kuhn and Feyerabend, two philosophers of science responsible for the relativist turn in debates in philosophy of science. We isolated four key features



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as the cornerstones of relativism about science. The chapter then looked at examples from the Strong Programme in the sociology of knowledge and feminist epistemology as illustrations of how these specific relativism-inducing features of science have been used in support of forms of relativism about science. The arguments by the advocates of the Strong Programme and some feminist epistemologists, as well as by Feyerabend, emphasize the value of relativism on political and normative ground. Relativism, they argue, is an ally of political liberation and is also conducive to developing more open-minded and pluralist attitudes toward science. We have found this type of defense unconvincing.

Further readings Thomas Kuhn’s (1977) “Second thoughts on paradigms”, reprinted in his The Essential Tension. University of Chicago Press. pp. 293–319, helps to explain how some of his views on the role of paradigms have changed since the publication of the first edition of The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (1962). The article is one of the many later publications of Kuhn where he is distancing himself from the type of relativism that has been attributed to his work. Howard Sankey (2009). Scientific realism and the semantic incommensurability thesis. Studies in History and Philosophy of Science Part A 40 (2):196–202, explores the incommensurability thesis as outlined in the first edition of Kuhn’s The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, and leads to a form of epistemic relativism and the way from his relativism-inducing version of epistemic incommensurability. Barnes, Barry and Bloor, David (1982). “Relativism, rationalism and the sociology of knowledge” (In Martin Hollis and Steven Lukes (eds.), Rationality and Relativism. Blackwell) sets up their brand of relativism succinctly. Natalie Ashton and Robin McKenna’s, “Situating feminist epistemology” (Episteme 2019) connects and critically examines some of the core concerns of feminist epistemology within the debates about social constructivism, and thus relativism. The articles in Brown, Matthew J. and Kidd, Ian James (2016) Reappraising Paul Feyerabend (Studies in History and Philosophy of Science Part A 57) attempt to throw a fresh perspective on Feyerabend’s work. The Aristotelian Society Symposium by Baghramian, M. and Kusch M. (2019) debates the virtues attributed to relativism by feminist epistemologists and Strong Theorists.

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Notes 1 Laudan even connects Derrida’s deconstructionism and the view that texts do not lend themselves to determinate readings with underdetermination (Laudan 1990: 321). 2 The term appears in Kuhn’s Structure of Scientific Revolutions and in Feyerabend’s “Explanation, Reduction, and Empiricism”. Kuhn gives the following account of the genesis of the term: “Paul Feyerabend and I first used in print a term we had borrowed from mathematics to describe the relationship between successive scientific theories. ‘Incommensurability’ was the term; each of us was led to it by problems we had encountered in interpreting scientific texts. My use of the term was broader than his; his claims for the phenomenon were more sweeping than mine; but our overlap at that time was substantial. Each of us was centrally concerned to show that the meanings of scientific terms and concepts – ‘force’, ‘mass’, for example, or ‘element’ and ‘compound’– often changed with the theory in which they were deployed. And each of us claimed that when such changes occurred, it was impossible to define all the terms of one theory in the vocabulary of the other” (Kuhn 2000: 33). 3 As we also saw in Chapter 4, the semantic interpretation of incommensurability is the main target of Donald Davidson’s arguments against relativism. 4 Donna Haraway, for instance, writes: “Relativism is a way of being nowhere while claiming to be everywhere equally” (“Situated Knowledges”, in Donna J. Haraway, Simians, Cyborgs, and Women, p. 191). And, Lynn ­Nelson resists relativism with the claim that “we can and should distinguish between beliefs and theories that are warranted and those that are not”. 5 Relativism has often been invoked by repressive regimes (like Fascism in Italy) to support their positions. As we saw in Chapter 5, Bruno Latour changed his position on social constructivism precisely because methods similar to the ones used by critical theorists were being applied to the debate on climate change to muddy the water and hence prevent any urgent measures to be adopted. 6 For a discussion of this point, see Baghramian (2019).

7 RELATIVIZING JUSTIFICATION

7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4

The many faces of epistemic relativism Relativizing justification Against relativism about justification Hinge epistemology and relativism

§7.1 The many faces of epistemic relativism In addition to relativism about truth and the world, there is another form of relativism which concerns what we claim to know or have reasons to believe. This strand of relativism, known as “epistemic relativism”, is characterized by a cluster of claims, one or more of which feature in the arguments in its favor.  (i) there are, in principle or in practice, irresolvable disagreements regarding relevant claims to knowledge, standards and criteria of justification, and evidence;   (ii) irresolvable disagreements on what we know originate from differing and incompatible epistemic systems, where epistemic systems comprise of foundational precepts, overarching theories, methods of reasoning, explanatory principles, and cognitive norms that are accepted by particular communities of believers or cultural groups,

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and are the means through which their beliefs are formed, established, and perpetuated;  (iii) there is no neutral epistemic grid or standard with respect to which the differing epistemic systems can be compared;    (iv) different epistemic systems are on par in their claim to epistemic legitimacy – that is, they have “equal validity”.1 It follows then that     (v) what counts as justified, and therefore as known, can vary from one system of belief (including knowledge ascribing set of sentences)2 to another;   (vi) incompatible knowledge claims can be equally legitimate or well-supported. Therefore, the following holds: (vii) the practice of double standards: it is legitimate to assess the rationality of a belief, that is, whether or not the belief is justified and has attained the status of knowledge only within one’s epistemic system. We are not in a position to judge whether a belief is rational and achieves the status of knowledge across different epistemic systems from an overarching neutral perspective. Any such judgment will be in light only of our own standards. Moreover, as corollary, it follows that (viii) since what counts as a rational ground is determined within an epistemic system, the change from one epistemic system to another can only be based on local, and not universal, considerations;  (ix) belief change, across differing epistemic systems, is achieved through arational means, such as persuasion, or under the influence of historical, social, cultural, or political factors and forces. In short, what counts as the justification of a belief is not given absolutely, but it depends on the epistemic system adopted, that is, on the methods of reasoning and verification, or on the theories and the fundamental explanatory principles that are embraced. Knowledge, like the justificatory system that underpins it, is relative. It should be stressed that an epistemic relativist is not skeptic about knowledge and justification. A skeptic, in the philosophical sense of the term, believes, on the basis of arguments, that there cannot be justification (and therefore knowledge) for certain crucial beliefs – beliefs such as there is an external world, populated by material objects; there are other minds and not just replicants or robots around us; the Earth has existed for a very



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long time; and that what has been happening constantly in the past, like the sun rising every morning, will repeat identically in the future. The relativist follows the skeptic in believing that there are no absolute or overarching foundational justifications, but where the skeptic denies the very possibility of knowledge, the relativist invites and welcomes a profusion of incompatible knowledge claims.3 Epistemic relativism, like other forms of relativism, is motivated by differing considerations and comes in varying degrees of strength. In this chapter, we will introduce and critically discuss some of the most prominent attempts to motivate epistemic relativism. Chapter 8 will investigate the higher-­order question of how to make sense of epistemic relativism.

§7.2 Relativizing justification Attempts to show that justification is relative to an epistemic system often rely on examples drawn from alternative, incompatible approaches to standards or criteria of justification. Here we discuss three. §7.2.1 Conflicting evidentiary principles: the dispute between Bellarmine and Galileo Richard Rorty’s influential discussion, in his seminal book Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (1979), of the dispute between Galileo and Cardinal ­Bellarmine is often presented as a typical instance of epistemic relativism. The dispute centered on the question whether observation through a telescope, or the word of the Bible, should be taken as the ultimate arbiter and standard for what we believe about “the heavens”.4 Bellarmine adopts a justificatory system that, following Boghossian (2006a), we might call justification from revelation: Revelation: When it comes to the structure and composition of the heavens the Bible is the only (or the best) source of probative evidence.

Galileo, on the other hand, adheres to a system of justification we might call, again following Boghossian: Observation: Observation (mediated by the use of the telescope) is the only (or the best) source of probative evidence with regard to the structure of the heavens.

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According to Rorty, Bellarmine and Galileo use two different epistemic systems, that is, they embrace two different theoretical approaches and rely on differing epistemic principles – which, in turn, require different methods and approaches for coming to know the truth about the structure of the heavens. Rorty gives voice to the relativist worry: “What determines that Scripture is not an excellent source of evidence for the way the heavens are set up?” (Rorty 1979: 329). If we say that the Cardinal’s reliance on scripture is “unscientific” and “illogical”, Rorty argues, we are projecting anachronistic categories onto the Cardinal’s way of thinking. These categories apply to our epistemic system, but they could not apply to those who lived before the scientific revolution or when that revolution was happening (Rorty 1979: 249–251).5 According to Rorty, to call Bellarmine illogical or anti-scientific would be nothing less than a “sophisticated form of insult” (Boghossian 2006a: 81). There is no rational argument that allows us to choose between the principle that we called Revelation and the one we called Observation. … To proclaim our loyalty to these distinctions is not to say that there are “objective” and “rational” standards for adopting them. Galileo, so to speak, won the argument, and we all stand on the common ground of the “grid” of relevance and irrelevance that “modern philosophy” developed as a consequence of that victory. But what could show that the B ­ ellarmine-Galileo issue “differs in kind” from the issue between, say, ­Kerensky and Lenin or that between the Royal Academy […] and Bloomsbury? (1979: 331)

The choice between Observation and Revelation as our core evidentiary principles is no different from decisions based on matters of taste, or political ideology or prudential considerations of what works. There are no epistemic facts outside of the “grids” that each side to a debate uses to determine which of the two epistemic systems is correct. To say that the dispute between Revelation and Observation is like that between Kerensky and Lenin is tantamount to saying that it is just a political struggle between the church, on the one hand, and emerging secularism on the other hand. Rorty, it should be noted, does not support the highly counterintuitive view that we could go back to believing in Revelation as opposed to Observation, if we so wished. However, we do not do so, not because there is a



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fact of the matter whether it is objectively correct to rely on Observation rather than on Revelation, we do not do it because We are the heirs of three hundred years of rhetoric about the importance of distinguishing sharply between science and religion, science and politics, science and art and so on. This rhetoric has formed the culture of Europe. It made us what we are today. (1979: 330–331)

Speaking of “rhetoric” in this context suggests that Observation took over not because it is a more rational evidentiary source than Revelation, but for social and historical reasons, including the political and ideological struggle between clerics and the emerging bourgeoisie. The social backdrops of the choice between the two grids were possibly strengthened by pragmatic considerations such as the fact that Observation makes explanations and predictions simpler and more uniform. What we see here is a theoretical move that shares its effects with, but departs in its methods from, the denial of the distinction between facts and values, the type of denial which ends up reifying and making values independent of us. Rorty, following the classical Pragmatists, denies this distinction not by reifying the value-side of the equation but by weakening the facts in general, and epistemic facts in particular. According to him, there are neither facts in general, over and beyond our descriptions, nor are there epistemic facts over and beyond the epistemic practices that we inherit or decide to adopt. These practices, and the specific interests that motivate them, determine what counts as evidence for or against a certain belief. As we will see later on, this move, as theoretically interesting as it is, can lead to unwelcome consequences. Finally, Rorty does not believe that just anyone can determine which grids are most relevant to a particular choice, so, in that sense, he is not an “anything goes” relativist. Rather, the claim is that one can talk about the objectivity of the grid in a “weak” sense where objectivity is a property of theories which, having been thoroughly discussed, are chosen by a consensus of rational discussants (cf. 1979: 338). Epistemic relativism, if true, would have radical consequences for our understanding of our practice of epistemic evaluation. For instance, why should we grant an intellectual superiority to science if, in fact, it is not more rational or better justified than other epistemic practices? We will return to these questions in Chapter 8.

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Rorty’s views on knowledge and justification also have important consequences for philosophy. According to Rorty, the ideas on which Western philosophy in general, and analytic philosophy in particular, are based, are obsolete: as we saw in Chapter 5, the ideas of representation of reality, of truth as mirroring or modeling reality as well as objective justification as traditionally understood are untenable. But there seems to be something paradoxical and aporetic in Rorty’s position. It is the very exercise of reason, as traditionally understood, that underlies the arguments of Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (1979), and it is through this exercise that, according to him, the absence of objective truths and of inherently rational methods is shown. So, the following two things are possible: either Rorty’s position is self-defeating because, after all, there are objective and justified truths; or, if it has not been reached through rational methods and is not an objective truth, why should we take it seriously? Obviously, Rorty could accept both horns of the dilemma and suggest, on the one hand, that self-defeat simply shows that we should “throw away the ladder” after having “climbed on it” (Wittgenstein 1961: §6.54); beliefs in reasons and reason itself must be abandoned, after having been used. On the other hand, Rorty might say that, in fact, his is only an opinion that does not aspire to objective truth, whose only value is to have us talk, thus helping to keep the general human conversation alive. In fact, both these ideas are found at the end of Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature, where Rorty writes: there is no danger of philosophy’s “coming to an end”. Religion did not come to an end in the Enlightenment, nor painting in Impressionism. […] Even if twentieth-century philosophy comes to see a stage of awkward transitional backing and filling […], there will be something called “philosophy” on the other side of the transition. [No one knows what it will look like.] The only point on which I would insist is that philosophers’ moral concern should be with continuing the conversation of the West, rather than with insisting upon a place for the traditional problems of modern philosophy within that conversation. (1979: 394)

Thus, according to one line of thought, the Galileo–Bellarmine dispute is an instance of epistemic relativism because it shows that there are no neutral epistemic norms, which can be used to arbitrate between two different epistemic systems. According to another line of thought, in contrast, the dispute shows that any kind of justification that Galileo or Bellarmine



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may produce is ultimately circular. The two ideas can be combined as follows: when you compare basic epistemic principles, which as such cannot be non-circularly justified, if they collide, you cannot appeal to neutral epistemic norms to decide which one to embrace. Each epistemic system will therefore self-certify, and the choice between them will be based on non-epistemic factors. The dispute between Galileo and Bellarmine is one of the best-known starting points for motivating epistemic relativism, but other cases that stem from empirical research in anthropology also deserve to be mentioned. §7.2.2 Conflicting principles of logic: the Azande’s example According to Edward E. Evans-Pritchard (1937), the Azande, a tribe from North Central Africa, lead their lives in accordance with a belief system and practices that may not share some core principles of Western logic – in particular, they do not seem to accept either modus ponens or the principle of non-contradiction. The Azande, according to Evans-Pritchard, govern their daily lives based on the belief that illness, injury, and other misfortunes are the result of witchcraft and that there are witches among them who are the instigators of such misfortune. Moreover, witchcraft, they believe, is transmitted through the male line and witches can be discovered through autopsies that reveal mangu, a black substance found in the belly of witches. They also are happy to confirm that the Azande is a patrilineal tribe. Thus, the Azande seem to regard the following as true: (1) Some members of the Azande tribe are witches. (2) Witchcraft is transmitted by inheritance from father to son and from mother to daughter. (3) The Azande tribe consists of patrilineal clans whose members are related through the male line.

thus, it follows that (4) If one male member of an Azande clan is found to be a witch, then the other male members of that clan are also witches. (5) Conclusion: from (1) and (4), all male members of some Azande clans are witches.

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However, in conversation with Evans-Pritchard, the Azande, while accepting the force of the argument, refused to accept the conditional in (4) or to admit (5) that all male members of a witches’ clan must also be witches. Elementary logical reasoning in Western societies justifies (4) and (5), but this is not true for the Azande. The Azande, therefore, do not subscribe to some of the most basic rules of logic, including modus ponens and the law of non-contradiction. The Azande example has been used by a number of philosophers and sociologists of science to justify their versions of epistemic relativism. David Bloor, for instance, has argued that if a seemingly contradictory set of beliefs, rejected by our culture, is embraced by another, then those beliefs should be accepted as knowledge for that culture. According to Bloor and other sociologists of science such as Jennings, “what counts as knowledge is what is collectively agreed upon: whether it is moral truths, scientific truths or the truths of mathematics and logic” (Jennings 1989: 276), a view that also echoes Rorty’s account of knowledge and objectivity. Howard ­Sankey (2010) takes the Azande example as a starting point for discussing alternative norms of reasoning employed in achieving rational justification. He argues that the Azande’s reliance on the poison oracle provides an example of justificatory norms that differ substantially from the ones used in Western societies.6 §7.2.3 Alterative explanatory principles: the Zande notion of causal explanation Evans-Pritchard also tells us that the Azande embrace a notion of causality different from, and incompatible with, the views familiar to the W ­ esterners. For instance, what for us is a unique explanation of a phenomenon, for them may not be so. The case usually discussed is that of misfortune, for instance, the collapse of a structure built on top of wooden poles, resulting in the death of a number of people. While accepting a naturalized account, like that termites may have undermined the support for the structure and caused the fall, the Azande believe that this does not exhaust the explanation of the phenomenon and seek further explanation by consulting witch doctors. Evans-Pritchard explains that while it may seem entirely justified to a Westerner to say that the barn fell because of the damage inflicted by the termites, and its collapse in turn resulted in the death of the people who were crushed by it, the same explanatory pattern is not used by the Azande.



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The Azande go beyond what to us may look like simple natural explanation and ask, why should the collapse happen exactly at the moment when these particular people were at that location? Why did it not happen at some other time or involve other individuals? What a Westerner may explain as a coincidence, for the Azande is an occasion to seek further explanation, usually provided in supernatural terms. Moreover, the Azande often resort to the use of oracles to determine the causes of a large number of phenomena, and not just to find out whether certain tragic events were caused by some evil spell. (The practice consists in the administration of a little amount of poison to a chicken or another bird, and in observing how it dies. Depending on how it dies, yes/no responses to specific questions are derived.) Oracles are also consulted to predict the course of future events. This way of determining causes and of making predictions seems antithetical to the way modern Westerners would explain similar events. The three cases in 2.1–2.3 have been the basis of arguments to show that there could be relativism inducing disagreements concerning (1) evidentiary systems, as in the case of Galileo and Bellarmine or, more aptly, in the dispute between supporters of the Ptolemaic geocentric system and supporters of the Copernican heliocentric system; (2) methods of reasoning, as in the case of the acceptance or rejection of logical principles such as modus ponens and the principle of non-contradiction; (3) differing fundamental explanatory principles, such as that of efficient cause that we, but not the Azande, believe to be sufficient for good causal explanations.

The question facing us is whether such disagreements could indeed be used to establish the characteristic claims of epistemic relativism. To put it slightly differently, could these different evidentiary systems, methods of reasoning, and fundamental explanatory principles be incompatible and yet equally valid?

§7.3 Against relativism about justification In the previous sections, we saw how relativism about justification can be articulated. The idea is that there may be different systems of beliefs, which are equally valid, such that what appears to be a justified belief in one is

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not so in another, or, indeed, its negation is justified. From this, it follows that the practice of double standards should hold: it is legitimate to assess the rationality, that is, whether or not the relevant beliefs are justified, only within the system of justification that produced them, but one cannot do the same with beliefs produced within other justificatory systems. Second, it follows that the change from one to another can never be based on rational considerations: either it is produced through persuasion or by means of historical, social, ideological, or political factors. We also saw what one could mean with “system of justification”: one can mean rival theories, such as in the dispute between Bellarmine and Galileo – at least apparently; or different methods of reasoning, as in the case of the acceptance or rejection of modus ponens and the principle of non-­ contradiction which seems to be exemplified by us and the Azande; or, finally, different fundamental explanatory principles, as with the case of efficient causality that we, but not the Azande, believe to be sufficient to provide a causal explanation of certain phenomena. But do the cases presented in Section 7.2 support the suggestion that there are different, and all equally valid, methods of justification? Bellarmine and Galileo. As a first step, it is useful to distinguish between explanatory principles and principles of belief-formation that are fundamental and those that are non-fundamental, or derivative (Boghossian 2006a: ch. 5). The distinction is quite intuitive: basic principles are the ones that cannot be derived from other ones. The non-fundamental ones, however, can be derived from the fundamental principles together with additional beliefs. How one actually moves from the fundamental to the derived principles is not relevant for our purposes. Key among the fundamental principles, there are methods of reasoning such as deduction, induction, and abduction, as well as the principles of Observation and causal explanation. As we shall see, although it is generally accepted that epistemic systems differ when it comes to their non-fundamental principles, it is much more difficult to argue that they diverge, or that they can diverge, in their fundamental ones. Concerning non-fundamental principles, we could list theory-laden observation. For instance, a scientist “sees” electrons in a cloud chamber. What they see is just a series of traces that, thanks to background beliefs and theories, are interpreted as being produced by the passage of the electrons. Of course, once one is proficient, one will not go through any explicit inference and will have a phenomenology similar to the one of direct seeing. Yet this does not mean that it will be epistemically akin to it.



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As we have seen earlier, if we take Rorty literally, we may think that Bellarmine and Galileo adopted different epistemic systems in the sense of relying on two different theories about how to explain the nature of the heavens. The former embraced the Aristotelian–Ptolemaic theory, compatible with some passages of the Bible (for example, in the Old Testament it is said that God stopped the sun for three days in order to allow Joshua and the Jews to overcome the enemy), while the latter adopted the Copernican theory, incompatible with those same passages understood literally. At its core, the dispute is about how to evaluate the authority of the Bible, in particular with regard to empirical issues such as the structure of the heavens.7 That is, whether, with respect to celestial bodies, one had to prefer the literal message of the Bible, or empirical observations mediated by the use of telescope. In particular, the dispute was about whether the literal message of the Bible could override empirical observations mediated by the use of an instrument, or else, if it could be overridden by the latter. Adherence to either theory would only be the logical consequence of the adoption of either principle. So, it would be more appropriate to say that the dispute between Bellarmine and Galileo was about which of the following two epistemic principles to adopt (see also Hales 2014): Observationof the heavens: observation is the only (or the best) source of probative evidence with regard to the stars and planets so that, ceteris paribus, if it appears to S, on the basis of her senses, that the planets and the stars have the property F, then S is justified (in a non-conclusive way) to believe that they have the property F. Revelationof the heavens: The Bible is the only (or the best) source of probative evidence as regards the stars and planets, so that if the Bible says that the planets and the stars have the property F, then S is justified to believe that they have it.

Boghossian (2006a: 124) does not distinguish between Observation and Observationof the heavens, discussing this same example, but notes that the Cardinal also relies on Observationof the heavens and not on Revelationof the heavens, in order to come to know many things about the heavens, for example, whether it is sunny, or whether it rains, whether the stars are visible or not. Thus, first, according to Boghossian, the Cardinal is inconsistent because he accepts two epistemic principles that are in conflict with each other.

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Second, according to Boghossian, Bellarmine makes use of: Observation: our senses provide us with evidence to form beliefs about the empirical world around us so that, ceteris paribus, if it seems to S that P on the basis of his senses, then S is justified (in a non-conclusive way) to believe that P.

in order to read the Bible. From this, Boghossian (2006a: 124) concludes that Bellarmine did not adopt any fundamental epistemic principles different from that followed by Galileo; in fact, he used Observation in order to gain support for a surprising claim, namely, that “a book notoriously written many years ago and by many different hands, is the word of God and can be rationally considered authoritative about the heavens” (ivi). In other words, according to Boghossian’s interpretation, Bellarmine and Galileo did not reason in significantly different ways. They both espoused Observation, but they had a clash of beliefs on the question of whether the Bible was the word of God and was therefore the most reliable source for both religious and empirical matters such as the ultimate structure of the heavens. That this cannot be a plausible reconstruction of the dispute becomes evident when one considers that, notoriously, Galileo came to argue that the same author – God – had “written” two books (see Galileo’s letter to Father Benedetto Castelli of December 21, 1613): the Bible, designed to take care of the soul and written for the common people; and the book of Nature, written in mathematical language, that only people devoted to science could understand. Galileo, therefore, did not deny at all (at least not officially) that the Bible was the word of God. He denied, however, that it was also reliable about some empirical truths, in particular those concerning the structure of the heavens. Thus, once again, the dispute between Galileo and Bellarmine should be read as a dispute between the supporters of two non-fundamental epistemic principles – Observationof the heavens and ­Revelationof the heavens – and not as a dispute over the legitimacy of ­Observation, or over whether the Bible is the word of God. Conversely, ­Bellarmine himself was open to not interpreting the Bible literally, had conclusive evidence been produced which clashed against some of its claims taken literally.8 This brings us back to Boghossian’s accusation that the Cardinal was inconsistent because he himself accepted Observationof the heavens for a large number of ordinary questions, such as knowing the weather or gazing at the stars on a clear night in Rome. This accusation is



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problematical, though. Consider the following situation: in order to find out whether the glass in front of you is filled with water, you taste it. To find out which molecular structure the liquid has, you take it to a laboratory and have it analyzed. Surely, you are relying on two different epistemic methods: tasting the liquid in the glass and having it analyzed chemically. Are they inconsistent? No, because it can be argued that applying the first principle is fine in the relevant context, while applying the second is recommended when the inquiry needs to be more ­precise. Similarly, the Cardinal could legitimately rely on Observationof the  ­heavens in order to form beliefs about the weather, despite considering it necessary to apply Revelationof the heavens in order to form beliefs about the nature of the stars and planets and their mutual arrangement. ­Bellarmine, we argue contra Boghossian, was not inconsistent, but core to his dispute with Galileo was the epistemic and methodological question of whether, in investigating the ultimate nature of the stars and planets and their mutual arrangement, one should rely on Observationof the heavens rather than on Revelationof the heavens. What complicates the dispute is Bellarmine’s reported refusal to look into the telescope. If Bellarmine refused to look with no further justification other than a declaration that he had a much more reliable source of evidence in the Bible, then he could be accused of being irrational. The alleged refusal to defend his adoption of Revelationof the heavens, given Galileo’s challenge, seems motivated by fear. In general, then, it is never rational, when faced with a challenge (serious and documented, regarding non-fundamental epistemic principles), to refuse to consider it. It is never rational, that is, not to take into account the other party’s evidence, when seriously documented, even if it may turn out to be questionable, given one’s own epistemic system, and even if it can be accommodated by means of auxiliary hypotheses. If Bellarmine looked (or had looked) into the telescope, the question would be: ought the evidence to push him immediately to abandon Revelationof the heavens? The answer is “no” because it is obvious that a series of adjustments could have been proposed to reconcile the evidence provided by the telescope and Revelationof the heavens. The humps and valleys visible through the telescope could have been be due to a malfunctioning of the instrument or to the disturbing effects caused by the distance between the observer and the celestial bodies observed. The Cardinal would not have been irrational to continue to use Revelationof the heavens, despite the evidence produced by the telescope, given his previous beliefs: the belief that

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God exists and that the Bible is the word of God. Whether these beliefs are epistemically rational is another matter. To summarize, the dispute between Galileo and Bellarmine was not about any fundamental epistemic principle, like the role of Observation in empirical knowledge. Rather, it was about some derivative epistemic principles – Observationof the heavens and Revelationof the heavens – applied to a particular area, that is, the study of the nature of the planets and the stars, and their mutual position. The assessment of their dispute at this point takes two different paths, depending on whether or not Bellarmine refused to look into the telescope: in the former case, he would have been irrational because it is never rational to refuse to defend one’s position if it is challenged in a serious and well-documented way. ­Bellarmine, of course, may have assumed that Galileo’s challenge was not serious or well-documented; after all, we too refuse to engage with flat-earthers or alien abduction theorists. But this defense is not available to Bellarmine as there was already a great deal of evidence available and known to him regarding the standing of Galileo’s work and his credentials as a respected scientist. On the other hand, had Bellarmine persisted with his commitment to Revelationof the heavens while exploiting some plausible hypothesis of rational adjustment, he should not have been accused of irrationality. Martin Kusch (2009a) has challenged Boghossian’s reconstruction of the dispute by arguing that, in fact, it involves a disagreement about fundamental epistemic principles. In particular, Observation and Mystical perception according to which, if it seems to S that God is telling her that P, and circumstantial conditions D obtain, then S is prima facie justified in believing that God is telling her that P. According to Kusch, it is through adherence to the latter principle that Bellarmine ends up believing in Revelation and in taking the Bible to override verdicts issuing from other principles. The Bible as the revealed word of God is infallible. Again, this seems doubtful as a reconstruction of the real dispute, also in light of Kusch’s own rendition of it. For he himself notices that Bellarmine was allegedly open to revise the literal interpretation of the Bible (Kusch 2009a: fn. 12).9 Moreover, as we have already mentioned, Galileo himself was not (at least not officially) a heretic. In particular, he did defend the legitimacy of the Bible and presumably the fact that it was the revealed word of God. He thought, however, that it could not be taken as the ultimate authority over empirical matters such as the nature of the skies, especially if read literally.



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Thus, we cannot take this dispute as a case of clash of fundamental epistemic principles like Observation and Mystical perception. What the dispute vividly illustrates is the fact that a change in paradigm – in this case from Revelationof the heavens to Observationof the heavens – can take quite a long time to be effected and that, in the meanwhile, parties to the dispute can make various kinds of rational adjustments to try and defend their favorite, non-fundamental principles, and be within their (epistemic) rights in doing so. Yet, at some point, it is the acquisition of new and decisive evidence that motivates the change. It is instructive to note that, although belatedly, the Church itself recognized that Galileo was right.10 Thus, at no point throughout this complex and long dispute can we find anything that would motivate the relativistic standpoint. To conclude, what we have found is a disagreement about two different and contrasting non-fundamental epistemic principles, with a long portion of the debate in which the evidence underdetermined the issue, since it could be made to cohere with either, thanks to a number of possible rational adjustments.11 At that stage, there was no reason to hold that both theories were equally valid, but only that the issue of which one was correct was underdetermined by the evidence available. Eventually, more evidence piled up and determined the correctness of Galileo’s point of view over Bellarmine’s (or, if you will, the incorrectness of Bellarmine’s) – a fact that even the Church came to recognize, if only much later. Thus, contrary to what Rorty maintains, we are certainly not just the heirs of centuries of rhetoric favoring science over religion. Rather, we are the heirs of patient scientific work that has assembled evidence and developed theories in favor of the Copernican system (or against the Ptolemaic one). The different logic of the Azande. As we have seen, the Azande case has been used to support the claim that there can be disagreements about some of the most fundamental principles of reasoning, including logic, but as it has been argued by many commentators (Tiplett 1988, 1994; Boghossian 2006a), the account Evans-Pritchard gives of the Azande belief formation does not support the strong thesis that they have an alternative logic. It is true that Evans-Pritchard reports that: Azande do not perceive the contradiction as we perceive it because they have no theoretical interest in the subject, and those situations in which they express their beliefs in witchcraft do not force the problem upon them. (1937: 4)

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This passage has led several commentators, starting with Peter Winch in his famous essay “Understanding a Primitive Society” (1964), to conclude that rules of logic do not have universal or absolute validity. The account Evans-Pritchard gives of the Azande does not support this claim, however. Indeed, Evans-Pritchard gives us a variety of instances where the Azande introduce auxiliary hypotheses to overcome the tension in their belief system. For instance, he writes: … Azande doctrine includes the notion that even if a man is the son of a witch and has witchcraft-substance in his body he may not use it. It may remain inoperative, ‘cool’ as the Azande say, throughout his lifetime, and a man can hardly be classed as a witch if his witchcraft never functions. In point of fact, therefore, Azande generally regard witchcraft as an individual trait and it is treated as such in spite of its association with kinship. (Evans-Pritchard 1937: 4)

Thus, contrary to the relativist interpretation, the Azande accept the major premise of the modus ponens – that the magical substance is transmitted in a patrilineal way – but they do not accept the additional premise to the effect that the magical substance is sufficient to ensure that those who have it are witches. Or, equivalently, they add an auxiliary premise to the effect that only those members of the tribe who have hot, as opposed to cool, witchcraft substance are genuine witches. They thus avoid the conclusion that all Azande are witches in spite of the fact that all of them have the magical substance in their intestine (see Triplett 1988, 1994 for similar arguments).12 The Azande’s lack of interest in contradictions should also be familiar from cultural practices closer to home. For example, Catholics accept dogmas that seem to run counter to certain basic logical principles such as numeric identity, and affirm that one single person can be three persons or that wine can also be blood. The Azande case poses some further questions. Does the relativist claim that the Azande really fail to apply logical thinking by routinely violating some core logical precepts or do they use an alternative logical system not shared by Western scientific culture? The questions facing us then are (a) Could there be epistemic systems, which are in violation of the laws of logic? And if so, do they all have an equal standing in methods of reasoning? (b) or is there only one logic?



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The earlier brief discussion of the Azande use of auxiliary hypotheses demonstrates their attempts to mitigate against overt violations of laws of logic. The answer to (b), in the light of recent interest in logical pluralism, is more complex. Evans-Pritchard, in passing, suggests that “… witchcraft has its own logic, its own rules of thought …” (Evans-Pritchard 1937: 79). Relativistically inclined commentators, like Barnes, Bloor, and Jennings, have followed this line of thought, but what form Azande logic actually takes has never been explained (Barnes 1976; Jennings 1989). The following options present themselves (1) alternative logics cannot sensibly be formulated, or (2) they can be sensibly formulated, and they form the only true logic (clearly to be expanded with all the usual extensions of classical logic, such as modal logic and deontic logic), finally (3) they can be sensibly formulated, but they are only some of the possible logics, especially suited to account only for certain aspects or areas of reasoning.

Whichever of the options one chooses, it makes no substantial difference to our case. If we are conservative and opt for (1), cases of deviation from classical logic will be redescribed in the ways we are analyzing in the present section. If we are revisionary and embrace (2), the apparently deviant cases would be cases in which the only real logic is manifested, so there would be no counterexamples to the only logic that we should all recognize but, if anything, only confirmations of its validity. Finally, if we are pluralists and accept (3), apparently deviant cases would be nothing but examples of the many logics contextually in place that must be recognized to account for the actual complexity of human reasoning. None of these three cases requires us to say that there is any logic different from our own; at most, all it requires to say is that the logic that we, in fact, adopt is more complex than is usually assumed. The case of the Azande, therefore, does not prove that cases of rejection of modus ponens are sensibly conceivable (except for the possibility of complications when considering embedded sentences).13 More generally, as noted by Boghossian (2006a: 126–130), since modus ponens fixes the meaning of the propositional connective “if … then”, were we to come across a community that seems systematically to reject it, we should revise our translation of their words. As we will argue in Section 7.4, conjecturing about communities that behave radically differently from us does not mean that we are

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really capable of fully imagining them, because, when we cannot explain their deviance through false beliefs, or conceptual distinctions, there is nothing else we can do but revise our translations, thereby nullifying the alleged radical difference between us and them. The different notion of causality of Azande. It has also been claimed that the Azande have a notion of causality different from, and incompatible with, our own, so that what counts as (the only) causal explanation of a phenomenon for us does not constitute a sufficient causal explanation for them. The example we discussed involved the explanation of why the fall of a barn supported by some wooden poles had resulted in the death of the people who were under it. The Azande accept that the fact that the poles have been eroded by termites may have caused the fall, but they do not believe that this exhausts the explanation of the phenomenon. To obtain it, they turn to the witch doctor. What for us is a sufficient explanation of the event is not sufficient for them. Now, should we necessarily conclude from this that the Azande embrace one single fundamental explanatory principle that is different from ours and, in particular, that they have one single notion of cause which is different from ours? Evans-Pritchard (1937: 72) notes that the Azande distinguish between how and why an event occurs. Winch (1972: 38), discussing this example, points out that our concept of causality is not “monolithic”. But then he goes on writing as if the two concepts of “efficient cause” and “final cause” – as one might say using the Aristotelian terminology – were mutually exclusive. What we would like to suggest, however, is that, just like us, the Azande distinguish between (at least) two senses of “cause”: efficient causes and final causes. Thus, they do not embrace a concept of cause which is either different or incompatible with ours because, in fact, we ourselves have these two different concepts of cause, that we use routinely even to account for one and the same event: we can say, for example, that the efficient cause of the fact that a piece of marble has become a statue is the sculptor’s work and the final cause is that the sculptor wanted to donate the statue to the town. The difference between us and the Azande concerns only a specific application of those two concepts. In particular, while we would tend to rest content with the mere explanation of the fall of the barn in terms of efficient cause, they will also look for an explanation in terms of final cause, which escapes the empirical order of things and that only the witch doctor is able to find out.14 It is stating the obvious that in Western societies too there are often attempts to make sense of what seems to be random and senseless. We



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ask, for instance, why a loved one should have been the only victim of a plane accident, and, if there is no explanation for it in the natural order of events, we resort to the supernatural and cite bad luck, the evil eye, or divine will. The difference between the Azande and many in the West lies in where and how the supernatural responses are utilized: the will of God or witchcraft.15 One can object that what is rational for those who believe in supernatural final causes is irrational for those who do not believe in them. Therefore, one can certainly accept the distinction between efficient causes and final causes, but those who do not believe that there are supernatural final causes will deem those who believe in them irrational. Two different fundamental explanatory principles are therefore being compared, which make certain questions and explanations turn out rational or irrational. In response, it should be noted, first, that believing in supernatural final causes is not a fundamental explanatory principle. If anything, it is final causality that is a fundamental explanatory principle. Second, it is a further and distinct question whether one might believe in the supernatural and, in addition, whether such supernatural entities can enter into the teleological explanation of events. Therefore, we have no reason to believe that those who believe in supernatural final causes use a fundamental explanatory principle different from ours. At most, they only have different beliefs from ours. Obviously, though, the problem seems to have moved only one step further: are those who have this belief rational? In order to answer this question, it is useful to distinguish between epistemic rationality and existential utility (which is a form of pragmatic rationality). This distinction, of course, must be accepted also by those who believe in the supernatural, for, presumably, they too would agree that, for example, it may be existentially useful to believe that one is healthy when one has a terminal illness, one has all the symptoms and knows that they are the symptoms of a terminal illness (as it might happen to a doctor suffering from the disease on which she specializes). But this existential justification does not allow one to say that it is an epistemic justification for the same belief or, a fortiori, that the belief is true. So, the question is whether it is epistemically rational to believe in the supernatural. The so-called “rational proofs” of the existence of God are notoriously inconclusive.16 Furthermore, focusing on the Christian doctrine, it is obvious that the revelation can have force only for those who already believe that there is a God and that Jesus is his son. Maintaining that faith is a gift from God, as it is sometimes proposed, is similarly

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a circular explanation: only if one believes that there is a God, can one believe that he gave one a gift. But while believing in the supernatural does not seem epistemically rational, it may be existentially useful insofar as it allows people to give meaning to their lives and to the most painful experiences they may undergo, and may help them deal with death.17 Yet the existential utility of a belief is, as we have seen, not enough to make it epistemically justified – that is, more likely to be true. Once we allow for this second, pragmatic sense of “rationality”, then belief in the supernatural will be seen as unjustified, and hence irrational, for both believers and non-believers, but as existentially useful and in that sense rationally justified, if somewhat self-deceptive, from the perspective of both groups. The introduction of a dual sense of rationality, thus, obviates the relativist argument that there could be profound disagreements concerning what counts as rational. To summarize, the case of the Azande does not show that they embrace any fundamental explanatory principles different from ours. In fact, just like us, they distinguish between efficient causes and final causes and hence share a fundamental explanatory principle with us. Unlike some people in Western societies, however, the Azande, as a group, believe in supernatural entities and forces and, also, that there are supernatural final causes. Belief in the supernatural is never epistemically rational, although it can be existentially useful and therefore pragmatically rational. However, such epistemic irrationality is not unique to the Azande or non-Western cultures. Finally, to continue the comparison, clearly an atheist not only can have the concept of God, but she may also recognize the existential utility of believing in him, while continuing to maintain that no such supreme power exists. Similarly, but more generally, even those who do not believe in supernatural final causes not only can have the concept of a supernatural force, but may recognize the existential utility of faith in such forces and therefore the pragmatic rationality of the explanations invoked by the believers.

§7.4 Hinge epistemology and relativism A distinct but not unrelated way of motivating epistemic relativism, in particularly, the type of relativism that concerns justification, has been attributed to the later Wittgenstein.18 In his final book On Certainty, Wittgenstein considers knowledge and justification to be a function not just of evidence but of what he calls “hinges”, that is, propositions that are exempt from doubt (On Certainty §341) because they constitute our world-picture and allow us



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to take that evidence to speak for or against certain empirical propositions. On the standard reading of them, hinges are propositions which, at least in context, are exempt from verification and control, and that function as rules of evidential significance. Thus, the hinge proposition “there is an external world”, for instance, allows us to take our present sensory evidence, with a given representational content, to provide a defeasible justification for a proposition such as “there is a table in this room”. Similarly, holding on to “the earth has existed for a very long time” allows us to take the measurement of the radio-carbon decay of a fossil to bear onto the specific empirical proposition “the earth is older than one billion years”, so as to provide a justification for it. Should we not hold on to those hinges, the available evidence could not corroborate any of those more specific empirical propositions. In the absence of such hinges, we will not be able to put aside radical skeptical hypotheses such as we are brains in a vat having table-like experiences, or that the world has come into existence only five minutes ago. Wittgenstein, at least in places, stresses that hinges are neither grounded nor ungrounded, rational or irrational, and even true or false. That is, in his view, these constitutive elements of justification would not themselves be epistemically justified (and known), or even susceptible of semantic assessment. The reason why they cannot themselves be justified (and known) is that no available evidence could support them without taking them for granted already. So, it could only provide a circular justification. But, for Wittgenstein, circular justifications are no justifications. Conversely, no available evidence could, as such, disprove them.19 Thus, to take the available evidence to speak against hinges would presuppose endorsing different and incompatible hinges already. Hence, hinges cannot be disproved either. For the attempt to do so would just be begging the question against them. Moreover, for Wittgenstein, hinges are neither true nor false, at least not in any robust sense of the word, involving correspondence between them and a mind-independent reality.20 Of course, we hold the platitude that if P is true, then it says how things are, or things are as P says they are. But this platitude simply makes explicit one aspect of the role of the predicate “true” in our language. It does not by itself provide any form of justification for the much stronger view that realists about truth advocate. Yet, since justification can only be produced within a system of assumptions or hinges, we cannot go anti-realist about their truth either. That is, we cannot see their truth as a function of the strength of the warrant that these propositions enjoy over time. We may go deflationist about their truth, if we so please (see Coliva 2018). But we may even just do without talk of truth

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altogether if we reflected on the rule-like role hinges play. For, like rules, hinge propositions are not moves within a game. Rather, they make the moves in the game possible (the “game” being that of providing justification for or against ordinary empirical propositions and eventually attaining knowledge about some of them). They play a normative role, rather than a descriptive one. For they prescribe the way we are supposed to use experiential evidence. If that is their function, then it makes little to no sense to consider them true or false. The crucial point in favor of a relativistic interpretation of Wittgenstein is that he thinks that hinges can vary over time and across forms of life. An example of the former in On Certainty is “Nobody has ever been on the Moon”: back toward the end of the 1940s, that was a hinge, yet it is no longer such for us. An example of the second is the famous passage: Suppose we met people who … instead of the physicist … consult an ­oracle. … – If we call this ‘wrong’ aren’t we using our language-game as a base from which to combat theirs? Are we right or wrong to combat it? Of course, there are all sorts of slogans which will be used to support our proceedings. Where two principles clash that cannot be reconciled with one another, then each man declares the other a fool and heretic. I said I would ‘combat’ the other man, – but wouldn’t I give him reasons? Certainly; but … at the end of reasons comes persuasion. (Think what happens when missionaries convert natives). (OC 609–612)

Thus, Wittgenstein’s views seem highly hospitable to the idea that there could be – either in practice or in principle – different epistemic systems, with their respective, incompatible hinges, which could certify as justified (or unjustified), known (or unknown), opposite beliefs. Furthermore, since hinges – no matter how arbitrary they might be – are constitutive of justification, any clash between different epistemic systems could not be adjudicated ­rationally – that is, on the basis of epistemic justifications. For justifications exist only within any given system and cannot be used inter-systemically. As a consequence, the change from one epistemic system to another could only be effected through arational means. Small wonder then if Wittgenstein has often been taken as one of the chief supporters of not only conceptual relativism (see Section 4.3) but also epistemic relativism.21 However, with Wittgenstein, things are never that simple. To facilitate the discussion, we will consider whether his hinge epistemology can be



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taken to give rise to epistemic relativism in one or the other of its guises as previously considered. Thus, we will dwell on whether Wittgenstein was a relativist with respect to different hinges and theories, diverse explanatory principles, and dissimilar epistemic methods. §7.4.1 Different hinges and theories As noted, it is a striking feature of On Certainty that, among the various hinges, Wittgenstein listed “Nobody has ever been on the Moon”, as this proposition is no longer a hinge and appears to our minds as on par with “The Sun moves around the Earth”, which is simply a false scientific statement. But are different hinges and scientific theories enough to ground the idea that we are dealing with different systems of justification which can’t be argued for or against on rational grounds? As we have suggested, it seems plausible to think that Wittgenstein would have been rationally persuaded to change his ­ rmstrong views had they had all the evidence available to us: the images of A and associates leaving the Earth and landing on the Moon in 1969. Thus, it is perfectly conceivable that within just one system of justification – call it “Science” for short – people may have different beliefs, depending on the quantity and quality of the evidence available to them. Subjects are rationally persuaded to change their views only when specific empirical questions, which up to some point had no answer, are replied. So, as we noted, scientific change is, after all, driven by rational considerations (which is not to say that there may not be other, non-rational ones: simply, the latter aren’t as decisive as the former). There are various passages at which Wittgenstein’s considerations support precisely this view. For instance: But is there then no objective truth? Isn’t it true, or false, that someone has been on the moon?” If we are thinking within our system, then it is certain that no one has ever been on the moon. Not merely is nothing of the sort ever seriously reported to us by reasonable people, but that the background assumptions involved in physics forbids us to believe it. For this demands answers to the questions “How did he overcome the force of gravity?” “How could he live without an atmosphere?” and a thousand others which could not be answered. But suppose that instead of all these answers we met the reply: “We don’t know how one gets to the moon, but those who get there know at once that they are there; and even you can’t explain everything.” We should feel ourselves intellectually very distant from someone who said this. (OC 108, italics added)22

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And at OC 286, Wittgenstein writes: What we believe depends on what we learn. We all believe that it isn’t possible to get to the moon; but there might be people who believe that it is possible and that it sometimes happens. We say: these people do not know a lot that we know. And let them be never so sure of their belief – they are wrong and we know it. If we compare our system of knowledge with theirs then theirs is evidently the poorer one by far.

Thus, Wittgenstein held it impossible that someone had been on the Moon because there was no evidence in favor of that hypothesis at that time, and because several empirical questions hadn’t yet had an answer. Conversely, he would presumably have been open to change his mind if reliable evidence had come in and if those empirical questions had had an answer.23 Moreover, that – and not just considerations pertaining to simplicity and ­symmetry – would have made him revise his position. Given the above, the question arises why Wittgenstein would consider a proposition that was turned over its head a couple of decades later a “hinge proposition”, but we should remember that Wittgenstein also says: Remember that one is sometimes convinced of the correctness of a view by its simplicity or symmetry, i.e. these are what induce one to go over to this point of view. One then simply says something like: “That’s how it must be”. (OC 92)

Hence, it can be maintained that, according to how Wittgenstein actually develops his points, rather than according to his prima facie more obvious pronouncements, it is only when entirely rational considerations militate against “Nobody has ever been on the Moon”, that that proposition would cease to be a “hinge” and would become a genuinely empirical one, subject to truth and falsity. §7.4.2 Different methods I Wittgenstein’s example of use of oracles (Wittgenstein 1969; OC 262, 612) has direct parallels with the Azande case (7.2), and Wittgenstein may seem to defunct a relativist position through the claim that no rational conviction



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could be possible, only persuasion (Wittgenstein 1969; OC 262, 612). Yet this is a poor argument in favor of relativism, as use of oracles or divination, in a society where science is not well developed, could be the best available means, both empirically and psychologically, for dealing with an uncertain future. This is, indeed, what Wittgenstein’s seems to be suggesting in the Notes on Frazer’s The Golden Bough: The nonsense here is that Frazer represents these people as if they had a completely false (even insane) idea of the course of nature, whereas they only possess a peculiar interpretation of the phenomena. That is, if they were to write it down, their knowledge of nature would not differ fundamentally from ours. Only their magic is different. (Wittgenstein 1993: 141)

To say that their knowledge of nature isn’t fundamentally different from ours, means that they are responsive to empirical evidence in forming their beliefs about their environment. Their ways of acquiring and treating such evidence may look “primitive” to us (or, as Wittgenstein puts it in OC 286, “poorer”). But this would only support the claim that their empirical methods are less developed than ours, not that their methods of belief-formation in this area are totally different from ours. One may then object that leaving out the symbolic and religious elements is illegitimate. Wittgenstein, too, in the Notes stressed their importance and criticized Frazer’s methodology because he had tried to explain certain religious practices as forms of primitive and erroneous science. Yet this observation, though correct, can’t lend support to relativist interpretations of ­Wittgenstein’s thought. For it is one thing to say that in order to understand different religious practices, we can’t ignore their symbolic elements and must, therefore, connect them, through family resemblance, to what we do, so that by so doing, we can familiarize ourselves with them and abandon a grossly judgmental attitude, which would actually compromise anthropological research. Still, it is a totally different thing to say that, while doing epistemology, thus engaging in a (at least partially) normative enterprise, we can’t judge their epistemic practices, taken as such, and deem them erroneous (see OC 286), or at any rate, “primitive”, if compared to ours, should they so be. Some telling passages from Notes on The Golden Bough make the claim clearer: [N]o phenomenon is in itself particularly mysterious, but any of them can become so to us, and the characteristic feature of the awakening mind of

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man is precisely the fact that the phenomenon comes to have meaning for him. One could almost say that man is a ceremonial animal. That is, no doubt, partly wrong and partly nonsensical, but there is also something right about it. (Wittgenstein 1993: 129, emphasis added) But then it is nonsense for one to go on to say that the characteristic feature of these actions is the fact that they arise from faulty views about the physics of things. (Frazer does this when he says that magic is essentially false physics or, as the case may be, false medicine, technology, etc.). (ibid.) Rather, the characteristic feature of ritualistic action is not at all a view, an opinion, whether true or false, although an opinion – a belief – can itself be ritualistic and part of a rite. (ibid., but see also 121, 123)

Here, Wittgenstein is distinguishing between opinions and theories, on the one hand, and the symbolic and religious elements of a ritual, on the other hand. He claims that there is continuity between the opinions and theories of the “primitives” and ours, for presumably they evolve as possible answers to the same kind of questions. Yet the symbolic and ritual elements differ and may actually disappear for us. The disenchantment of the world brought about by science’s indifference to final causes was, arguably, what Wittgenstein opposed in the spirit of his (our?) time. For he felt that science couldn’t provide an answer to the fundamental questions of human beings’ lives – those questions which had troubled him throughout his life and which were openly addressed in the final sections of the Tractatus (1961 6.4–6.7). That, however, would have been acceptable to him, as long as those questions remained part of our “form of life”, perhaps receiving at least a partial answer from art and meditation, especially on the example of the lives of saints (cf. von Wright 1978). But Wittgenstein sensed that the affirmation of science would have had the effect, in the long run, of making those questions disappear from our lives. This perceived threat to what in his opinion made us really human, motivated much of his attack on science (Wittgenstein 1980; CV 5–8, 56, 79).24 Still, to expose and criticize this possible outcome of embracing science – namely, to end up holding a form of “scientism” – is nowhere near to maintaining the postmodernist mantra that science is just one way of knowing the world on par with, say,



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Zuni’s and Christians’ creationist epistemology. Thus, Wittgenstein’s anti-­ scientistic attitude do not support relativistic interpretations of his thought. §7.4.3 Different methods II In Section 7.2.2, we also discussed the allegedly different logic used by the Azande. This, too, would be a case of an alternative epistemic method, since logic is what is used to connect beliefs and to draw conclusions from them. We remarked that Evans-Pritchard himself argues that the “Azande do not perceive the contradiction as we perceive it because they have no theoretical interest in the subject and those situations in which they express their belief in witchcraft do not force the problem upon them” (Evans-Pritchard 1937: 25). Hence, the Azande’s attitude in this particular case is in fact compatible with their acceptance of modus ponens in general, that is, in most other cases. Hence, it cannot be appealed to claim that they have a different logic from ours. A similar remark would be apposite also in the case of Catholics’ acceptance of certain dogmas, such as the dogma of the Holy Trinity, which goes against the hinge that something can’t be one and three things at once. Now, we would probably resist the idea that Catholics have a different logic than ours and that we would rather say that certain issues remain insulated from the employment of logic. In relation to such dogmas, and in a similar spirit, Wittgenstein writes: [Catholic] dogma is expressed in the form of an assertion, and is unshakable, but at the same time any practical opinion can be made to harmonize with it; admittedly more easily in some cases than in others. It is not a wall setting limits to what can be believed, but more like a brake which, however, practically serves the same purpose; it’s almost as though someone were to attach a weight to your foot to restrict your freedom of movement. This is how dogma becomes irrefutable and beyond the reach of attack. (Wittgenstein 1980; CV 28)

Here, Wittgenstein is actually saying that when it gets to Catholic dogmas, subjects who believe in them aren’t free to apply logic and their usual epistemic methods, despite their behavior in everyday life. Still, the two spheres – the religious and the mundane – are sufficiently insulated from one another not to give rise to problems.

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As we noted, Boghossian lists Wittgenstein among those who would have been sympathetic to the relativistic claim that the Azande have a different logic from ours (cf. Boghossian 2006a: 70–72, 108–109). Wittgenstein’s views on logic, including the law of non-contradiction, in his later work, are complex. For instance, he writes Indeed, even at this stage, I predict a time when there will be mathematical investigations of calculi containing contradictions, and people will actually be proud of having emancipated themselves from consistency. (Wittgenstein 1963: 332)

He also advises against undue fear in the prospect of finding a contradiction in a calculus. For instance, he writes: There is a particular mathematical method, the method of reduction ad absurdum, which we might call “avoiding the contradiction”. In this method, one shows a contradiction and then shows the way from it. But this doesn’t mean that a contradiction is a sort of devil. One may say, “From a contradiction everything would follow.” The reply to that is: Well then, don’t draw any conclusions from a contradiction; make that the rule. You might put it: There is always time to deal with a contradiction when we get to it. When we get to it, shouldn’t we simply say, “This is no use – and we won’t draw any conclusions from it”? (Wittgenstein 1989: 208)

The approach, however, is not relativistic but reminiscent of the Azande reaction to a contradiction in their belief system; they do not have any theoretical interest in the matter, and in practice, they do not allow it to get in the way of their decision-making. Similarly, the community of people who “sell timber by cubic measure” (RFM 148, cf. 143) seem to rely on a different epistemic method, where quantities are measured in a non-standard way and prices are determined differently: How could we show them that – as I should say – you don’t really buy more wood if you buy a pile covering a bigger area? – I should, for instance, take a pile which was small by their ideas and, by laying logs around, change it into a “big” one. This might convince them – but perhaps they would say: “Yes, now it’s a lot of wood and costs more” – and that would be the end of the matter. –We should presumably say in this case: they simply do not



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mean the same by “a lot of wood” and “a little wood” as we do; and they have a quite different system of payment from us. (RFM 150)

This passage has often been taken to motivate relativistic interpretations of Wittgenstein’s thought. Let us look at it closer, though. Wittgenstein suggests that we can coherently imagine such a community. The first response to them is to try to convince them to measure wood by weight and to pay for it accordingly, by using an entirely rational procedure, namely, by showing them that the quantity of wood should remain constant, although the area it occupies has changed. If that succeeded, the case just presented wouldn’t constitute a case of an alternative epistemic method, but, rather, a case in which people hold a false belief, which leads them to using an unreliable procedure to measure (and pay for) wood. In contrast, if rational persuasion failed, Wittgenstein suggests that we should suppose that they don’t mean what we do by “a lot of wood” and “a little wood”. Hence, we should conclude that we have made a mistake in translating (even homophonically) those people’s words with what we mean by “a lot of wood”. We should then revise our translation because we can’t go against the hinge that one thing – a certain amount of wood – is identical to itself, no matter how we arrange it. For instance, we may discover that they only use timber to cover surfaces and that by “a little wood” and “a lot of wood” they actually mean “a little area of wood” and “a big area of wood”. Hence, Wittgenstein turns out to be in complete agreement with Boghossian in thinking that just by conceiving of a possibly different community, which is recalcitrant to rational persuasion, we wouldn’t have discovered ipso facto any alternative epistemic systems. Thus, far from embracing epistemic relativism, he actually thought that, when confronted with people accepting radically different epistemic procedures, we would either try to show them their mistake, or implement a “containment” strategy,25 which would somewhat bridge apparently irreconcilable differences, or else revise our translations (or interpretations of their words) to re-establish accord.

Summary This chapter has considered one version of epistemic relativism, the version that claims that the procedures and approaches to epistemic

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justification can and do vary between different epistemic systems, and thus render knowledge relative to incompatible epistemic systems. The cases we considered – based on incompatible theoretical systems, different logics, and differing causal explanations – fail to provide adequate justification for the strong claim made by the epistemic relativist that knowledge claims have only a local validity deriving from an epistemic system that provides it with evidence and justification. The same issues were also discussed from a Wittgensteinian perspective, and the suggestions that Wittgenstein’s discussions of hinge epistemology in On ­Certainty lead to epistemic relativism were found equally unconvincing. In ­Chapter 8, we will address the broader question of how best to make overall sense of epistemic relativism.

Further readings J. Adam Carter’s (2016) Metaepistemology and Relativism gives an up-to-date and thorough assessment of epistemic relativism. The book covers many of the topics discussed in this chapter as well as some of the issues relevant to Chapters 5, 6, and 8. In a series of articles, including “Witchcraft, Relativism and the Problem of the Criterion” (2012) and “Scepticism, Relativism and the Argument from the Criterion” (2011), Howard Sankey explores the relationship between epistemic relativism and different forms of skepticism, notably, Pyrrhonian skepticism. For critical reactions to Sankey, see Markus Seidel (2013). “Why the Epistemic Relativist cannot use the Sceptic’s Strategy. A comment on Sankey” Seidel, Markus (2013). Martin Kusch is one of the most vocal and prolific defenders of (a moderate form) epistemic relativism. His 2016 “Wittgenstein’s On Certainty and Relativism”, 2017 “When Paul Met Ludwig: Wittgensteinian Comments on Boghossian’s Antirelativism”, and 2013 “Annalisa Coliva on Wittgenstein and Epistemic Relativism” are particularly relevant to the discussions of Wittgenstein’s relativism in this chapter as well as in Chapter 4. Duncan Prichard, in his (2009) “Defusing Epistemic Relativism”,  Synthese 166 (2):397–412, discusses the important question of whether there is an interesting form of specifically epistemic relativism distinct from relativism about truth. Boghossian (2006a) (see the suggestion for further readings in ­Chapter 5) is also centrally relevant to the material covered in this chapter.



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Notes 1 As we remarked in chapter 1, equal validity is particularly clear in the case of taste, where different gustatory reactions and attendant claims vis-à-vis the same food seem to be equally legitimate.  It may be more difficult to maintain, at least de facto, in other areas of discourse such as morals, or with respect to epistemic justification and knowledge claims. Yet, we hold that relativism is committed to maintaining that different and incompatible viewpoints in any area of discourse for which this doctrine has been invoked are legitimate at least in principle.  This caveat should assuage the worry that relativists would be committed to holding that any viewpoint in these “more rubust” areas of discourse is actually on par. 2 See MacFarlane (2014) for a weaker, linguistically motivated, relativism about knowledge. 3 On the connections between skepticism and relativism, See note 5 and and Further readings by Sankey in this chapter. 4 It is beyond the scope of this chapter to establish Rorty as a relativist tout court. As we saw in Chapter 5, Rorty rejects the label “relativist”, while embracing a form of linguistic constructivism as well as rejecting traditional conceptions of objectivity in favor of a socially informed “epistemic solidarity” or what he also called “ethnocentrism”. For a discussion, besides our own in Chapter 5, see Siegel (2011: 212–213). 5 Note here that Rorty lumps together charges as to one being anti-scientific and as to one being illogical: obviously, the former would be an anachronism, if brought against an individual who lived before the scientific revolution; the latter, in contrast, if true, would not. At any rate, the entailment from being anti-scientific to being illogical is dubious. 6 Sankey then goes on to link this point with Pyrrhonian skepticism and the so-called “problem of criterion”. He argues that the Zande use of poison oracles provides a naturalistic response to the form of epistemic relativism that arises from the absence of an overarching criterion for deciding between contested claims to knowledge (see Sankey 2010, 2011, 2013). 7 The historical controversy between Galileo and Bellarmine is complex and subject to very different interpretations. One criticism is that the Galileo–­ Bellarmine dispute involved more specific principles than the ones considered by Boghossian (see, for instance, Kusch [2009a: fn. 12] for a cursory summary and Kinzel and Kusch [2018] for a criticism of the inaccurate or

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8

9

10

11 12

simplified use of this and other historical examples as an engine for motivating relativism). What interests us here is not so much the historical accuracy of the reconstruction but the putative contrast between the epistemic systems adopted by each party and the conditions under which someone adopting epistemic principles different from ours can be considered irrational. “If there were a real proof that the Sun is in the centre of the universe, that the Earth is in the third sphere, and that the Sun does not go round the Earth but the Earth round the Sun, then we should have to proceed with great circumspection in explaining passages of Scripture which appear to teach the contrary, and we should rather have to say that we did not understand them than declare an opinion false which has been proved to be true. But I do not think there is any such proof since none has been shown to me” (letter from Bellarmine to Father Foscarini, April 4, 1615). Notice that Kusch et al. (forthcoming) mark a partial departure from Kusch (2009a). For the claim seems to be that whatever principle we may take to be the bone of contention in the dispute, it is always “situated”, that is, embedded, in a complex network of further principles and values of various kinds (religious, political, etc.). We grant that this is no doubt the case in real-life scenarios. We do not see, however, how this is supposed to motivate a relativistic understanding of the dispute. Nor do we see how insisting on the complexities of the development of the dispute over time can be taken to motivate a relativistic understanding of it. As observed in the main text, even the Church has admitted its mistake. If at all, that speaks in favor of a realist construal of the dispute. Of course, in the initial phases of the dispute, the available evidence was not sufficient to motivate the endorsement of one view or the other, but again this is not itself a reason to prefer a relativistic rendition. Rather, it merely shows that the issue was underdetermined by the evidence available at the time. That was also the result of centuries of development, on the religious side, with respect to the authority of the Bible and of the Pope. It is now commonplace in those quarters to confine claims to epistemic authority (indeed, to infallibility, in the case of the Pope) only to moral and theological issues, thus excluding empirical ones. Regarding the Church’s rehabilitation of Galileo, see “Discorso di Giovanni Paolo II ai partecipanti alla sessione plenaria della pontificia accademia delle scienze”, 31 ottobre 1992). See also Siegel (2011) for a similar conclusion. Similarly, the studies conducted by Nisbett (2003) on the different way of thinking of Westerners and Easterners, at least relative to the acceptance of



13 14

15

16

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contradiction, seem to be vitiated by an obvious interpretive error. What has been found is that Easterners, faced with someone who asserts P and not-P, seek a mediation. Westerners, on the other hand, polarize the judgment, either on P or on not-P. This, however, does not mean that the former accept the contradiction, that is, that they assent to “P and not-P”. On the contrary, when faced with a contradiction, they believe that both parties are in error and, therefore, that the truth lies in a position alternative to both P and notP, which may, however, be related to both and that can be called Q. This way of overcoming the contradiction is quite common even among us whenever, for example, we seek a middle course between two opposite poles. This is, notoriously, van McGee’s position (1985). The appeal to both traditional medicine and Western medicine that is common among certain African populations – Ghiaroni (2007) – should be explained in a similar way: taking antibiotics removes the efficient cause of the disease, but not the final one. To remove the latter, one needs to resort to the ritual practices of the witch doctor. The Azande also consult oracles regularly in order to predict future events. As noted by Laudan (1990), if the oracle is consulted in order to have a prediction, one can show that this is not a reliable method. If consulted regarding the outcomes of actions one is about to undertake – for example: “If I marry this man tomorrow, will I be happy?” – but with the real purpose of receiving some form of approval or reassurance, then that is not a counterexample to our way to either make predictions or provide causal explanations. The Church often expresses itself very vaguely on this point. John Paul II, for example, in the encyclical Fides et Ratio (§22; see §82–83), on the one hand, follows St. Paul in saying that “the mind’s eye” can come to know God. The original sin has weakened this human “metaphysical faculty”; however, thanks to the coming of Jesus and to the liberation from original sin, we have reacquired it. In several passages, John Paul II (1998, §55–56, 61, 67, 78) insists on the teaching of St. Thomas as a means to rehabilitate faith in the eyes of reason, against any fideistic drifts. On the other hand, the encyclical never clearly makes explicit commitments to supporting the cogency of those proofs (ibid., §78). Again, Fides et ratio is very clear on this point: Everyone wants – and needs – to know the truth about one’s end. They want to know if death will be the definitive end of their life or if there is something beyond death; if it is possible to hope for a further life or not. (John Paul II, 1998, §26; see §76, 81, 88)

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18 Wittgenstein is very often rallied to the cause of epistemic relativism both by friends and foes of that position and consequently they tend to be friends or foes depending on whether his views are taken to be in accord or in disagreement with their own. Prominent supporters of Wittgenstein’s relativism are Rorty (1979), Boghossian (2006a), and Kusch (2016). For the opposite interpretation, see Baghramian (2004), Williams (2007), Coliva (2010b), and Pritchard (2011). For further bibliographical references, cf. Kusch (2013). 19 See also Kusch (2016) on this. 20 By the time of On Certainty, Wittgenstein had long abandoned the realist conception of truth he had held in the Tractatus. 21 There is considerable disagreement over the interpretation of OC 609–612. Paul Boghossian (2006a) considers it a sketch of the master argument for epistemic relativism à la Kuhn/Feyerabend; Kusch (2016), in contrast, considers it an argument in favor of relativism of difference. 22 Kusch (2016) takes this last phrase to signify an adherence to relativism of distance (cf. Williams 1981). A third element that Kusch (2017) adds is “particularism”. That is, the idea that relativism need not arise only when fundamental epistemic principles clash but also when more particular epistemic principles collide. Kusch is right to point out that Wittgenstein’s hinges are a heterogeneous category and do not concern only fundamental epistemic principles. However, that underdetermines the issue of whether he was ultimately an epistemic relativist. 23 Kusch (2013) claims the opposite. For a reply, see Coliva (2013). 24 On Wittgenstein’s anti-scientism, see Coliva (2017) and the other essays in Beale and Kidd (2017). 25 Notice, moreover, that Wittgenstein is often considered the inspirational source of much contemporary pluralism about logic and truth. Pluralism, however, should not be conflated with relativism. The idea behind pluralism is that there is no single notion of truth or no unique correct logic, but several, each of which is compatible with any other because they actually model or are applicable to different areas of discourse. Relativism, in contrast, does not make them compatible by distinguishing their different domains of application, and it rather takes them as alternative – yet equally legitimate – theories which model (or are applied) to the same area of discourse (or to all areas of discourse).

8 HOW TO FORMULATE EPISTEMIC RELATIVISM

8.1 The replacement model 8.2 Epistemic truth-relativism After reviewing and discussing some salient examples that have been taken to motivate epistemic relativism, in this chapter, we turn to the discussion of how best to make sense of epistemic relativism itself. That is, we will consider how best to formulate this variety of relativism. This exercise is not pre-empted by the critical outcome of the discussions of Chapter 7 for, even if we have found no real-life cases of disputes about justification that could lead to epistemic relativism, we still would like to know how best to make sense of that idea. After all, philosophy is not an empirical discipline, and many positions developed within it can be tested not just in terms of their empirical adequacy but also in terms of their adequacy de jure. In the rest of the chapter, we will therefore consider two influential models for framing the arguments for epistemic relativism: the replacement model, formulated by Paul Boghossian and further developed by Martin Kusch, and truth-relativism in the epistemic domain, owed to John MacFarlane.

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§8.1 The replacement model The replacement model has been proposed by Paul Boghossian, in his influential Fear of Knowledge (2006a). Boghossian is no epistemic relativist, but he formulates this rendition of epistemic relativism before moving on to criticizing it. Martin Kusch (2010) has proposed it too, albeit in a revised form. We will consider these two versions in turn. The replacement model was first proposed in the realm of metaethics by Gilbert Harman (1996) (see Chapter 9); its original application, however, was in physics upon the discovery of the relativity of motion and the relativity of space/time. So, for instance, when we say (1) The Earth moves

this is taken to be elliptical for (2) Relative to a frame of reference F, the Earth moves

Clearly one and the same body – the earth, in this case – can move relative to one frame of reference and be still relative to a different one Similarly, in the epistemic case, when we say (3) Mary is justified to believe P

what is being said is elliptical for (4) According to epistemic system ES1 (which I, the speaker, endorse), Mary is justified to believe P

where this is compatible with (5) According to epistemic system ES2 (which I, the speaker, endorse), Mary is not justified to believe P

The further idea is that, according to an epistemic relativist, there are, at least in principle, different epistemic systems, which would return different verdicts on whether Mary’s belief that P is justified and that there is no single vantage point from which such verdicts could be assessed. Thus, these different and incompatible epistemic systems would all be equally valid or on par, from an epistemic point of view. §8.1.1 Boghossian on the replacement model According to Boghossian, there are two ways of formulating the replacement model. First is the one we just presented, where unconditional judgments



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justifying a subject’s belief are to be replaced by relativizing clauses, which make reference to epistemic systems understood as sets of propositions. The second, in contrast, conceives of epistemic systems as sets of imperatives which mandate further imperatives of the form “According to the system of imperatives that I/we accept, if E then believe P”. We are going to consider them in turn, together with Boghossian’s criticism of each. §8.1.1.1 The normativity problem (3) Mary is justified to believe P

expresses a normative proposition, in which a given subject’s belief is evaluated as being justified (or unjustified). In contrast, (4) According to epistemic system ES1 (which I, the speaker, endorse), Mary is justified to believe P

does not express a normative proposition. It merely states the fact that, given ES1, a given subject’s belief is justified. So, the original normativity has been lost in the passage from (3) to the relativized proposition (4). §8.1.1.2 The infinite regress problem If epistemic systems are conceived of as composed of general principles that state what epistemic methods, for instance, lead to justified or unjustified belief, they themselves will be incomplete, by relativist lights. That is, if it is not true sic and simpliciter that (3) Mary is justified to believe P

it is equally untrue that (6) Beliefs formed on the basis of wishful thinking are unjustified

or that (7) Beliefs based on the basis of Science are justified

Rather, both (6) and (7) are only true relative to a specific epistemic system, which, in turn, is not true sic and simpliciter, but only relative to an epistemic system, and so on ad infinitum.

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§8.1.1.3 The endorsement problem Given the infinite regress which relativizing propositions such as (3) leads to, it is not clear what people are endorsing, on a relativist construal. Indeed, if we cannot ever specify a complete proposition, there doesn’t seem to be a way of making sense of the idea that anyone is ever endorsing a given epistemic system, with its attendant first-order epistemic judgments. §8.1.1.4 The entailment problem If the epistemic system that should license first-order epistemic judgments is composed of incomplete propositions, how are we to understand the relation between its principles and the judgments it licenses (which are themselves incomplete on the replacement model)? In particular, it is hard to make sense of it as a relation of entailment, since that would presuppose that the entailing principles and the entailed propositions be complete propositions, capable of being semantically assessed. Yet this is exactly what is not the case on a relativist construal of epistemic systems. We can also add a further problem to this list, which is not present in Boghossian’s original formulation. §8.1.1.5 The disagreement problem Consider Lucy who holds that (3) Mary is justified to believe P

and John who holds (3*) Mary is not justified to believe P

They seem to be disagreeing with respect to the epistemic credentials of Mary’s belief. Yet, if we consider the relativized formulations of (3) and (3*), respectively, we get (8) According to epistemic system ES1 (which Lucy endorses), Mary is justified to believe P



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And (9) According to epistemic system ES2 (which John endorses), Mary is not justified to believe P

But (8) and (9) no longer express the original disagreement between Lucy and John. In particular, both Lucy and John can agree that according to the epistemic system the other one endorses, Mary’s belief is (not) justified.1 For all these reasons, Boghossian turns to a different conception of epistemic systems, to see if it can do justice to the relativist and yet overcome the problems just presented. He therefore proposes to conceive of epistemic systems as sets of imperatives, which mandate further imperatives of the form (10) “According to the system of imperatives that I/we accept, if E then believe P”

Thus, to exemplify, if you endorse science and conceive of it as a set of imperatives, then suppose that one such imperative tells you to believe P only if enough observations and experiments support it and that if P is not thus supported, then you ought not to believe it. According to Boghossian, however, (10) is not a normative statement and hence cannot be taken to be a plausible replacement for any first-order judgment on whether a given person’s belief is justified. Thus, Boghossian concludes that “we have found no way of making sense of [epistemic relativism]. In particular, we have found no way of construing the notion of an epistemic system so as to render stable a relativistic conception of epistemic justification” (2006a: 93–94). §8.1.2 Kusch on the replacement model Martin Kusch (2009b, 2010) has defended the replacement model by proposing a reconceptualization of it. Key to Kusch’s defense is the idea that there is an “ordinary”, non-philosophical conception of “justification”, which any competent speaker of English (or of any other natural language which has the equivalent of that term) possesses and is capable of using in ordinary circumstances. The ordinary person is not a philosopher. That is to say, he has no philosophical commitments to meta-epistemic views and thus no commitments to either epistemic absolutism or

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relativism. Moreover, (…) they [the ordinary person, the absolutist and the relativist] belong to one and the same epistemic community: they can share the same (first-order) epistemic system. (2010: 170)

What an absolutist and a relativist diverge about is not even the need of relativizing judgments such as (3) so as to make it obvious that they depend on the endorsement of a given epistemic system. What they diverge about, rather, is whether there is only one correct epistemic system (at most), or whether there can be many different, yet equally valid, epistemic systems, returning incompatible verdicts. Kusch defends the latter position. Hence, he thinks (3) should be replaced with (3**) According to epistemic system ES1, which I/we endorse, and which is one of many equally valid epistemic systems, Mary’s is justified to believe P

Since that would immediately lend itself to the problems rehearsed in ­Section 8.1.1, Kusch makes another adjustment (3***) Mary’s belief in P is justified-according-to-epistemic-system-ES1which-is-one-of-many-equally-valid-epistemic-systems

The relevance of this move is that it no longer preserves the original predicate “justified” (in 3), but rather replaces it with the complex, relativized predicate “justified-according-to-epistemic-system-ES1-which-is-oneof-many-equally-valid-epistemic-systems”. Such a predicate, however, is intimately connected to the original one, according to Kusch, because, as we have just seen, in ordinary talk, that predicate is underdetermined and can admit of two rather different precisifications: the relativist version, we just considered, or an absolutist version interpreted as “justified-­accordingto-the-only-epistemically-valid-system-(which I endorse)”. By claiming that the relativized predicate is connected to the ordinary one, Kusch takes himself to be able to fend off the objection that he is, in fact, eliminating the ordinary predicate in favor of a different, unrelated one, similarly to what would happen if one replaced the term “phlogiston” with the term “oxygen”. We will presently come back to this issue. For the time being, let us see how Kusch thinks that his revised replacement model can overcome the objections originally proposed by Boghossian.



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§8.1.2.1 The normativity problem Kusch’s way out consists in following other relativists (see Wong 1984; Harman 1996) in combining relativism with “quasi-absolutism”. That is the view according to which value predicates express one’s approval or disapproval. Thus, a judgment like (3***) Mary’s belief in P is justified-according-to-epistemic-system-ES1which-is-one-of-many-equally-valid-epistemic-systems

is not to be read as merely a factual statement about what turns out to be justified by the lights of a given epistemic system. Rather, it is to be taken as expressing Lucy’s approval of Mary’s belief in P, by the lights of the epistemic system ES1, which Lucy endorses. §8.1.2.2 The endorsement and the infinite regress problem The epistemic system ES1 is individuated by reference to whatever epistemic principles one is committed to by virtue of being a person who participates in certain epistemic practices. Thus, if one adheres to science, the system to which her use of the predicate “justified” is relativized is that of science. Of course, that system is not valid absolutely if one is a relativist, but that does not pose a threat of not being able to specify the very system which is being used to relativize the predicate “justified”. §8.1.2.3 The entailment problem Since there is no incompleteness either in judgments such as (3***) or in the propositions which constitute ES1, there is no problem of explaining entailment relations either. §8.1.2.4 The disagreement problem Given the combination of relativism and quasi-absolutism proposed to overcome the normativity and the endorsement problem, we can now think of Lucy who holds that (3) Mary is justified to believe P

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and John who holds (3*) Mary is not justified to believe P

As, in fact, holding, respectively, (3#) Mary’s belief that P is justified-according-to-my-epistemic-system-ES1

and (3##) Mary’s belief that P is not justified-according-to-my-epistemic-­ system-ES2

which express Lucy’s approval and John’s disapproval of Mary’s belief in P, as issued from the specific epistemic system that each of them endorses. §8.1.3 Problems with the replacement model Let us now assess the prospects of the replacement model. Let us focus on the initial move made by Kusch – that is, the replacement of the ordinary predicate “justified” with the relativized predicate “justified-accordingto-epistemic-system-ES1-which-is-one-of-many-equally-valid-epistemic-­ systems”, and, specifically, let us focus on his claim that the latter predicate is intimately related to the original one. First of all, let us remark that it is difficult to see how the relativized predicate could play double duty and be making explicit a relativistic point of view, while also remaining intimately connected to the original ordinary predicate, which, according to Kusch, is neither relativist nor absolutist. Second, the move from “justified” to “justified-according-to-an-­ epistemic-system-ES” (which is what an absolutist, according to Kusch, would condone) is not as innocent as it may seem at first sight. For it is not obvious that in ordinary usage we implicitly recognize the dependence of justification on a given epistemic system at all. That claim would clearly require an extensive empirical investigation, as Kusch recognizes (2010: 9 ms.). Notice, moreover, that if it were otherwise, all those philosophers who, in various guises, have defended the idea of immediate ­justification – that is the idea that justification stems directly and absolutely from the immediate deliverances of our perceptions – would have been going against what, according to Kusch, would be the implicit and entrenched



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view of justification. Thus, the move from the unrelativized to the relativized predicate is not only empirically controversial, but it is also, and more importantly, philosophically contentious. For, as just mentioned, not all absolutists would agree on the fact that justification derives from the acceptance of a unique set of epistemic principles or propositions. Furthermore, the specific relativization offered by Kusch is problematic on a number of fronts. In particular, it would permit inferences that are not licensed by the original predicate. For instance, if we take (3) to be true, we would have to regard (3*) as false. But if we consider (3***) (which is the relativization of (3)), then we are not forced to consider (3****) Mary’s belief in P is not justified-according-to-epistemic-systemES2-which-is-one-of-many-equally-valid-epistemic-systems

false (where (3****) is the obvious relativization of (3*) on Kusch’s construal of the replacement model). That brings out another problem with the proposed relativization. (3***) makes sense of the relativist’s general position about the possibility of there being different and yet equally valid epistemic systems. But insofar as it should also characterize the point of view that a subject occupies, while also being a relativist, it is not clear that it would be compatible with any form of genuine endorsement. For, if it is part and parcel of saying that a given belief in P is justified, that it be so by the lights of an epistemic system which is as equally valid as any other epistemic system, with what epistemic right or confidence would one be passing a specific judgment about the epistemic credentials of that belief? By one’s own lights, the opposite judgment would be as legitimate as one’s own. Yet it is essential to Kusch’s way of thinking of relativism, that it does not collapse in a form of “anything goes” and that it manages to preserve disagreement among parties to an epistemic dispute. Kusch (2009) defends this view by distinguishing between absolute and relative correctness. Thus, a relativist would embrace a particular epistemic system, yet recognize, in virtue of the encounter with an alternative one, which cannot non-circularly be proven wrong, that her favorite epistemic system is only relatively correct. That is, correct only from the point of view of those who embrace it. Yet occupying a perspective which is considered to be on par with an opposite one, or only relatively correct, does not strike us as producing any kind of epistemic reason in favor of one’s own view. Insisting on occupying it would, at most, manifest some kind of broadly pragmatic preference for,

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or some acquired habit of, judging in conformity with a given epistemic system. That, however, would surely trivialize any epistemic dispute and do so from the very point of view of those who would engage in it, as long as they were also relativists. Alternatively, the relativist should forget about her own theoretical commitment to equal validity, any time she is engaged in an epistemic dispute, or motivate a switch from the relativized predicate “justified-according-to-epistemic-system-ES1-which-is-one-ofmany-­equally-valid-epistemic-systems” to “justified-according-to-­epistemicsystem-ES1-which-is-the-one-I-endorse”. Or else, she should be taken to breach the rules that govern the use of the very predicate she is supposed to be using any time she passes judgment about the epistemic credentials of a given belief. None of these alternatives seems appealing.2

§8.2 Epistemic truth-relativism In Chapter 3, we introduced the notion of relative truth developed by ­MacFarlane and mentioned that, according to him, it is useful to explain the variability of knowledge attributions.3 MacFarlane’s proposal arises mainly as a development of the contextualist wave in contemporary philosophy of language and epistemology. Stewart Cohen (1999) and Keith DeRose (1999) have argued that knowledge attributions vary depending on the context of use. For example, if the standards are low and there are no substantive issues at stake, the statement “I know that the bank is open on Friday afternoon” is true. Instead, it is false if the standards are high, perhaps because we are in a skeptical context where we have to exclude that we are dreaming in order to know something, or simply because it is crucial for us to deliver our paycheck before Monday, and we are not able to rule out that for whatever reason – a strike, a robbery, an unexpected change of opening hours – the bank will be closed. Epistemic contextualism, however, is problematic.4 For instance, while speakers are perfectly aware of the context-sensitivity of words like “I”, “today”, or “this” as they realize that the propositions expressed by sentences featuring those words vary with context, they are not aware of the alleged context-sensitivity of “knows”, that is, that it expresses different properties in different contexts. Furthermore, they take themselves to disagree with one another, and yet contextualism has problems explaining that. For, if speakers employ different standards that determine different properties expressed by “knows”, it is no longer obvious that their disagreement is rational and sustainable. Ditto for the practice of retraction: if



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different standards are operative at different times, with their attendant different properties expressed by “knows”, why should a subject retract a knowledge ascription made on the basis of different standards? If, in response to such an objection, contextualists charge ordinary speakers with a kind of “semantic blindness”, then they should also be able to offer a convincing explanation of why it affects precisely these aspects of our linguistic practice and not others. More generally, the charge of semantic blindness sits badly with the methodology of defending contextualism on the grounds that it makes sense of the contextual variability of knowledge ascriptions. As MacFarlane himself states (2014: 181), “The more error we attribute to speakers, the less their usage can tell us about the meanings of their words”. A further objection to contextualism as a philosophical doctrine capable of countering skepticism about the external world, to some extent, comes from the following observation, according to MacFarlane. If skepticism and common sense operate according to different standards, which determine different properties for “knows”, then they are not really in disagreement, as they are in effect equivocating on the property expressed by “knows”. Then, what is the interest of skepticism (ibid.)? According to MacFarlane, however, non-contextualists fail convincingly to account for the apparent variability of standards that gives rise to the variability of knowledge attributions. According to them, for example, when the subject said she knew that the bank was going to be open on Friday afternoon, she did not really know that. Her statement was therefore false and inaccurate: maybe she was justified in believing that the bank was going to be open on Friday, but she did not really know that. Contextualists, however, insist that in the context of utterance, where standards were low, her self-attribution of knowledge was perfectly legitimate. In short, it was true and accurate: according to them, we must respect the linguistic datum that the speaker uses “knows”, in that context, and not “justified”. In addition, it must also be admitted that the statement is true. However, this brings us back to the problems just briefly rehearsed. Several criticisms can also be raised against what MacFarlane calls “­subject-sensitive invariantism”, a position maintained, for instance, by Jason Stanley (2005) and John Hawthorne (2004). According to this view, the extension of the predicate “knows” “invariantly expresses a property whose extension at the circumstance of evaluation depends on features of the subject’s practical situation” (MacFarlane 2014: 182). Thus, if the subject is in a context where standards are high, she does not possess knowledge,

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even if by our lower standards, she would. That much seems to be in favor of subject-sensitive invariantism, as opposed to contextualism, but contextualism seems better off when the opposite scenario is being considered: if the attributor’s standards are higher than those of the speaker, then it seems weird to ascribe knowledge to the latter.5 MacFarlane’s proposal is to seek for a middle ground between these poles. According to him, knowledge attributions do not vary with the context of utterance – the anti-contextualist is right about this – nor are they fixed and determined by the interests of the subject – as the subject-­ invariantist holds. Rather, they vary relative to the context of assessment. Thus, the anti-contextualist is wrong to think that knowledge attributions are not in any way sensitive to context. MacFarlane’s idea is that, according to the standards operative in the context of assessment, it may be true that a subject knows that the bank is open on Friday afternoon, if the standards of assessment are low. If they are high, however, it is false that she knows. Yet the standards6 adopted in the context of assessment decide if an attribution of knowledge is true or not. Still, given the variability of standards of assessment, and the fact that they are potentially infinitely many, any given knowledge ascription will never be true or false absolutely. The notion of assessment-sensitive truth is spelled out in the same way that we saw earlier (Chapter 3, Section 3.2.2), and applied to knowledge attributions in the following way: Sentence E, for example “S knows that the bank is open on Friday afternoon,” is true in the context of use c1 and in the context of assessment c2 if and only if there is a proposition P such that: (i) E expresses P in c1; (ii) P is true in the world of the context of use c1 and relative to the standards of the subject who is assessing the sentence in c2.

If, for example, the context of assessment is such that one has to rule out that the opening hours have suddenly changed in order to know that the bank will be open on Friday afternoon, and one is unable to do that, one does not know that the bank will be open on Friday afternoon. One must therefore retract one’s statement and say, “I thought I knew that the bank was open, but I was wrong”. In this, MacFarlane says, the anti-­contextualist is right. Yet the fact remains that it is according to the standards of assessment



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(and not to any context-independent standards) that the original statement is true or false. MacFarlane’s proposal has to be distinguished also from what he calls “nonindexical contextualism”. According to such a view, defended, in the case of knowledge ascriptions, by Berit Brogaard (2008b)7 and discussed by MacFarlane himself in earlier writings, the truth values of sentences containing ‘know’ depend on which possibilities are relevant at the context of use, not because this affects which proposition is expressed, but because it helps determine which circumstance of evaluation to look at in deciding whether these sentences are true or false at the context. (MacFarlane 2014: 190)

Unlike traditional contextualism, this position considers “knows” to express always the same property. Like contextualism and unlike relativism, however, this view takes the extension of “knows” to vary depending on the context of use, rather than of assessment. The problem with this view is once again that of making sense of retraction, and to explain disagreement in a sense which would yield to retraction were one to change one’s mind. Thus, to sum up, by applying truth-relativism to knowledge ascriptions, MacFarlane seems able to make sense of the idea that knowledge ascriptions vary contextually and that when people occupy different contexts of assessment they can return opposite verdicts about them. When they do, the proposition they are disagreeing about stays the same, yet, were one to change one’s mind, one would have to retract one’s earlier attribution, since it would now be incorrect given the new context of assessment one would be occupying. §8.2.1 Problems with epistemic truth-relativism As the reader may surmise, we think there are problems with MacFarlane’s attempt to vindicate a relativistic view of knowledge ascriptions. As we noted in Chapter 3, several elements of MacFarlane’s semantics sit badly with central tenets of relativism as a philosophical doctrine. We will presently rehearse our misgivings. However, in the present context, there is something else, which is altogether problematic, namely, the very intuition that knowledge ascriptions should be modeled according to a relativistic semantics.

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Let us introduce the problem by comparison with the case of “tasty” and as a general problem facing anyone who is tempted to embrace relativism about knowledge ascriptions, and not as a specific problem for MacFarlane’s view. In the area of basic taste discourse, it seems a solid intuition that anyone is entitled to their respective, contrasting views. It thus makes prima facie sense to try to model that intuition by means of a relativistic semantics – let it be a semantics like MacFarlane’s or one of a more anti-realist kind (see Chapter 3, Section 3.2–3.3). When it comes to knowledge ascriptions, however, that intuition is not that solid. In particular, it seems that even if there may be a variability in standards, the higher ones will always override the lower ones. Consider the following scenario: John tastes a liquid which looks like water and, based on his experience, he judges that it is water. In a low stake scenario, we would credit him with knowledge of the fact that he has drunk water. Then comes the chemist, who tests the liquid and finds out that it is not water, although it looks and tastes like it. It is some other compound, which we can actually find on this planet, and which in certain conditions gives rise to exactly the same sensory experiences as water. Now, the higher standards seem to call the shots and do so retroactively. John does not know now, and did not know even when the standards were lower, that he was having water. It seems counterintuitive to hold that, given the different standards operative at each context of assessment, both judgments are true. Another way to bring out the same worry is to consider that ­contextualism – of which relativism about knowledge attributions may be considered to be a variant inasmuch as it enriches the context to comprise a context of assessment which becomes operative in the determination of the truth-value of the relevant utterances (as opposed to their truth-­ conditions) – is supposed to offer some counter to skepticism. In a typically contextualist vein, the skeptic is considered to be within her rights to raise the standards and therefore return a negative answer to the question whether a subject A knows that there is a hand where she seems to see it. In particular, a contextualist is not objecting to the typically skeptical move of considering metaphysical possibilities, like being dreaming, or being deceived by an evil demon or being envatted, which are normally farfetched. If so, it would seem strange to insist – in a relativistic spirit – that, despite all that, A also knows that there is a hand where she seems to see it, simply because one can apply lower standards. In short, the idea of equal validity that seems to sit well with respect to our intuitions regarding basic taste discourse does not sit well with our intuitions regarding knowledge ascriptions. After all, the very talk in terms of



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lower and higher epistemic standards seems to point in the direction of there being more or less accurate and therefore precise and epistemically respectable ways of assessing a given knowledge attribution. Moreover, it seems that epistemic discourse should always conform to the more respectable epistemic standards, for, presumably, applying them would prevent us from falling into error due to just sloppiness or laziness.8 By contrast, with respect to basic matters of taste, we do not tend to evaluate gustatory standards that way. As far as basic taste is concerned, subjects are equally entitled to find a given kind of food tasty or not. There is no push whatsoever to consider some basic gustatory standards better than any other (or if there is, it only reflects some further pragmatic concern). Absent such a strong intuition regarding equal validity, the very motivation for going relativist seems lacking. One may object that this is unfair. Of course, if the chemist comes along and determines that the liquid John is drinking is not water, that would be enough to establish that John does not know that the liquid is water and should do so for any view, including for relativism. But the case we should consider is one in which the chemist simply comes to the fore to ask for further tests be done, to make sure that people are not fooled to buy a liquid which is not water by a malignant company that wants to invade the market with its new product. And, as things stand, the outcome of these tests is still unknown. In that kind of scenario, the ascription of knowledge made when lower standards are operative seems still to be admissible. In response, one may notice that, first of all, it is not clear why a relativist should return an absolutist verdict, which takes higher standards to override lower ones. In fact, MacFarlane himself seems to take it as a puzzling consequence of his view that lower standards may override higher ones (cf. MacFarlane 2014: 199). Second, it is important to realize that such an appearance of compatibility depends entirely on the fact that, given one’s state of information, the matter is not yet decided. That is, the higher standards have not yielded a result yet. It does not depend on the fact that lower and higher standards are actually on par. This contrasts sharply with the case of basic taste, where even when the application of contrasting gustatory standards has yielded contradictory results, both the standards and their outcomes are considered equally legitimate. One way in which relativism about knowledge attributions might become less unintuitive is by removing it from the kind of semantic debate within which it has arisen, with the dubious play between lower and higher standards, and by using it to make sense of the kind of debate which

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has traditionally been used to motivate epistemic relativism, that is to say, the debate about different theories, methods of reasoning, and explanatory principles, which we reviewed in Chapter 7. We found the specific examples wanting, but we might think that it is at least conceivable that there could, in principle, be cases of each. Thus, suppose there are equally coherent and empirically adequate theories of F, whose applications return different verdicts on whether something is F and therefore on whether A knows that x is F. Suppose that history has not yet decided which theory is correct and that, for the sake of argument, it will never decide it, and that practitioners of either theory are within their epistemic rights in going about things as they do. Here comes MacFarlane, and, with his assessment-sensitive semantics, he is able to make sense of the fact that practitioners of either theory can return their opposite verdicts, by occupying their specific context of assessment. Each of them is warranted in making their judgment, yet there is no single standpoint (context of assessment) in which both verdicts are true. As we noticed in Chapter 3, MacFarlane’s semantics can account for the initial sense of disagreement between supporters of these theories, due to the fact that, when assessed from one’s context, the knowledge attribution made by supporters of the other theory is wrong. It can even account for retraction, when a supporter of one theory changes her mind and endorses the other theory. But it is a datum of the case that, in order to find at least some initial motivation for embracing a relativistic semantics, both theories are equally legitimate, by their respective lights, and also from a meta-epistemological point of view. If we focus on the former fact, subjects should all agree that the other party is right, given their context of assessment. If they don’t, and keep engaging with one another, it is because they are blind to this crucial feature of their alleged dispute. But then the practice of disagreeing with one another our relativistic semantics is supposed to make sense of would turn out to be based on ignorance of this central aspect of it. We could then – ironically – cite MacFarlane himself (2014: 181) to expose the tension: “The more error we attribute to speakers, the less their usage can tell us about the meanings of their words”, or, more generally, about the semantics we should favor. ­MacFarlane tellingly writes: From the inside, relativism feels a lot like invariantism. In any given context, you treat all knowledge attributions as governed by the same standard, regardless of the context in which they are produced. When you encounter



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others who ascribe knowledge when you deny it … you take them to have spoken inaccurately, and to have false beliefs. You don’t say “Well, they’re right too”. There is a judgement in that vicinity that you can make: you can say that the others are asserting propositions that are true as assessed from their contexts, and hence that they are conforming correctly to the norms governing assertion and retraction. But this judgment requires deployment of more sophisticated concepts, and it is not one that you often need to make. For the most part, a practicing relativist can pretend that invariantism is true, as long as she does not think too hard about how the judgments she makes in different contexts fit together [our italics]”. (MacFarlane 2014: 199–200, italics added)

Our contention is that if a relativist did think about how they fit together, she would have to recognize that the other person is right, given her context of assessment, and therefore that there is no point in going on disputing. But if there is no point in disputing and that practice is based on ignorance of the real normative trappings of the discourse at hand, then there is no reason to prefer MacFarlane’s semantics over rival ones because of its superiority in accounting for disagreement and retraction. If, in contrast, we focus on the fact that both verdicts are equally legitimate from a meta-epistemological point of view, we run against the idea of equal validity, which is precisely what MacFarlane’s semantics cannot account for. As we have amply seen in Chapter 3 (Section 3.2.3), in fact, by always invoking a specific point of view – the one of the assessor – for evaluating a given knowledge attribution, and by being able to salvage (the appearance of) disagreement among parties only by so doing, M ­ acFarlane has in fact betrayed the possibility of rescuing faultless disagreement, which is entailed by equal validity and by the idea that there is no single, Archimedean point of view from which a given knowledge attribution, in this case, can be assessed. His semantics, therefore, cannot be used to make sense of epistemic relativism, properly so regarded, after all.9

Summary In this chapter, we have considered two influential models of formulating epistemic relativism: the replacement model, formulated by Paul Boghossian and further developed by Martin Kusch, and the kind of Truth-­epistemic relativism proposed by John MacFarlane. We have criticized Kusch’s version of the replacement argument on the grounds that either (a) it imputes

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systematic error to participants in a dispute about whether a given claim P is justified: the participants, we argue, tend to ignore or disregard the fact that such a claim is always issued from the specific epistemic system one occupies and that such systems are in fact on equal footing with others, and do not occupy a privileged position; or (b) it trivializes the dispute since there would be no more epistemic reasons to favor one epistemic system over the other. MacFarlane’s formulation of epistemic relativism, in contrast, is found wanting because it inherits the problems already discussed in connection with his account of alethic relativism (see Chapter 3). And, in general, relativizing the truth of knowledge claims to incompatible, yet in principle equally legitimate standars, is a dubious move. While the parity intuition is unproblematic in the case of taste, it falters where it claims that lower and higher epistemic standards, applied by potentially different assessors of a dispute about a given knowledge claim, could be on par.

Further readings The various articles cited in this chapter are essential accompanying reading. In addition to Boghossian (2006a) (see Chapters 6 and 7), the Symposium on Fear of Knowledge (Philosophical Studies 141: 3), particularly the contribution by John MacFarlane and the response from Boghossian, is very useful. The special issue of Episteme (2007, Volume 4. No 1) on epistemic relativism also carries a symposium on Chapters 5–7 of Fear of Knowledge, with contributions by Gideon Rosen and Ram Neta and responses from Boghossian. Section 8.1.2 of this chapter should be read in conjunction with Kush (2010). “Epistemic Replacement Relativism Defended”. In M. Suàrez, Mauro Dorato and M. Rédei (eds.), EPSA Epistemology and Methodology of Science. ­Dordrecht: Springer. pp. 165–175. Chapter 6 of J. Adam Carter (2016) covers the topic of replacement relativism and discusses Boghossian and Kusch as well as Wright. That particular chapter, and the book as a whole, are highly recommended. Various chapters from MacFarlane’s 2014 book, Assessment Sensitivity: Relative Truth and its Applications, in particular Chapters 8 and 12, as well as his (2011). Relativism and knowledge attributions (in Duncan Pritchard and Sven Bernecker (eds.), The Routledge Companion to Epistemology. Routledge. pp. 536–544) could usefully be read in conjunction with the discussions of 8.2. There is a very large number of critical discussions of MacFarlane’s approach. Crispin Wright’s (2016) critical reaction to MacFarlane in his



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“Assessment-Sensitivity: The Manifestation Challenge” (Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 92: 189–196) is one of the many significant contributions to this debate.

Notes 1 As the reader will recall, making sense of disagreement is a problem for all those positions, including contextualist and possibly truth-relativist ones too, which allow for the variability in the semantic assessment of knowledge ascriptions based on contextual factors. We will return to the issue in Section 8.2. 2 It is perhaps not by chance that in Kusch and Kinzel (2018) “De-­idealizing disagreement, rethinking relativism”, Wright’s distinction between ­faultlessness – neither position is unwarranted epistemically – and parity – the parties appreciate and endorse the faultlessness of their d ­ isagreement – is endorsed and that epistemic disagreement about fundamental principles is seen as a case of faultlessness but not of parity. 3 It is useful to note, following Carter (2016, ch. 8), that if knowledge ­attributions  – that is, attributions of propositional knowledge – get a relativistic treatment, so should many other attributions of epistemically significant properties (such as knowledge how, knowledge why, intellectual virtues, norms governing belief, assertion and action, and, importantly, justification). 4 It is worth-noticing that, according to MacFarlane (2014: 33, fn. 5), the replacement model is a form of contextualism, as it incorporates standards in the content of the relevant epistemic judgments. 5 Other problems, according to MacFarlane, beset this view. For present purposes, there is no need to review them in detail. 6 We are being deliberately vague about what “standards” may come down to. In particular, we are not tying relevant alternatives to contexts of assessment. By being generic, we aim to raise objections to MacFarlane’s account which are not just applicable to a specific formulation of his views, even though the latter is the view he has maintained in his more recent writings (2014). Earlier writings, in particular MacFarlane (2005b), were not that specific. For a criticism of MacFarlane’s more specific proposal, see Carter (2016, ch. 7). 7 For MacFarlane, Kölbel’s position about morals is a case of non-indexical contextualism (see Chapter 3, Section 3.2 and Chapter 9.3).

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8 As Cuneo (2007) notices, there are some platitudes about epistemic facts, regarding content and authority. The former is based on the idea that epistemic facts aim at accurate representation, or at representing reality right. The latter relies on the idea that epistemic facts are prescriptive and determine what is correct – rational – or incorrect – irrational – behavior. The feeling is that this much is actually implicit in our way of dealing with knowledge ascriptions. Whether such a practice is ultimately incoherent is a difficult issue to decide. If it were, the very methodology used by various theorists belonging to the contextualist wave in epistemology, including MacFarlane, would be flawed, as at most it would make sense of some of these aspects, while leaving other ones behind, somewhat arbitrarily. Furthermore, it would have no larger epistemic significance, insofar as ­epistemology – qua a philosophical subdiscipline – can carve up the kind of epistemic properties it is going to theorize about as it pleases. Such epistemic properties, in turn, would be more or less interesting, depending either on their possible relations to existing or possible epistemic practices (it has to be remembered that practices vary with time and that what may not find an application yet may have one at a later time, just like a lot of branches of pure mathematics), or else depending on their intrinsic properties (after all, mathematicians keep investigating mathematical entities or structures they find intellectually attractive even if they find no concrete application yet and may never have one). 9 We have not entered the issue of whether relativistic – or for that matter, contextualist – semantics for knowledge ascriptions are of any relevance to mainstream epistemology as a branch of philosophy. For a pessimistic response, see Hazlett (2010); for a more nuanced response, see Carter (2016). We deliberately wish to remain neutral on such a thorny issue.

9 RELATIVIZING MORAL VALUES

9.1 9.2 9.3 9.4

The many faces of ethical relativism Metaethical relativism Truth-Relativism in the moral domain Argument from incommensurable alternatives

§9.1 The many faces of ethical relativism Moral or ethical relativism is simultaneously the most influential and most reviled of the relativistic doctrines under discussion. Defenders often see it as a harbinger of tolerance, open mindedness, and anti-authoritarianism. Detractors think it undermines the very possibility of ethics and is a sign of either confused thinking or nihilism. This chapter, after setting the scene in a general way, will focus mainly on metaethical discussions of moral relativism. Ethical or moral relativism comes in three broad varieties1: Descriptive Moral Relativism: This is an empirical hypothesis, backed by evidence from social anthropology and psychology. The main claim is that individuals or social groups and cultures subscribe to different, incompatible, moral standards. Descriptive moral relativism informs the methodology used by social anthropologists and is the basis of so-called “methodological cultural relativism”, but in the absence of some additional

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premises, it does not lead to any philosophically interesting or relevant theses about relativism. However, the empirical evidence supporting descriptive relativism is frequently used as a starting point or justification for the more philosophical versions of relativism (see, for instance, Prinz 2007: 173–175). Such uses are not confined to contemporary philosophy or the influence of contemporary social anthropology. As we saw in Chapter 2, the Pyrrhonian skeptics were already well aware of the destabilizing effects that learning about different customs and moral outlooks has on our long-held certainties. Descriptive relativism is challenged by critiques that point to the many commonalities in moral thinking across different cultures and even historic epochs. The existence of moral universals is defended both on naturalistic evolutionary grounds – the imperative to produce common codes of conduct needed for cooperation (see, for example, the entries in Ruse, Michael and Richards Robert, J. (eds.) 2017) – and on more abstract normative grounds such as our common humanity and aspiration to human flourishing (see for instance Nussbaum, 1997). Normative Ethical Relativism: This is a first-order moral theory to the effect that the best way to think about moral values, and to follow and act on ethical principles, is to view their truth or correctness as relative to their cultural background or evaluative framework rather than as absolute. The approach is frequently labeled as “cultural relativism” and involves a normative judgment about how to deal with the moral point of views of other cultures. The assumption is that the adoption of a relativist ethical framework leads to open-mindedness and tolerance. Cultural relativism rests on a number of presuppositions: (a) Cultural diversity. The empirical observation that there is a significant degree of diversity in norms, values, and beliefs across cultures and historic period, that is, an assumption of the truth of descriptive relativism. (b) Methodological assumption. Human behavior and thought should be explained in social or cultural, rather than biological or natural, terms. (b) is often justified by recourse to some version of cultural determinism. (c) Cultural determinism. The assumption that cultures determine the experiences, beliefs, and judgments – whether factual or evaluative – of its members. And, additionally, that “the moral code of a society



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determines what is right within that society; that is, if the moral code of a society says that a certain action is right, then that action is right, at least within that society” (Rachels 2003: 18–19). (d) A pessimistic induction to the effect that the failures in previous numerous attempts to resolve moral disagreements demonstrate that there are no universal criteria for adjudicating between differing worldviews. (d), it should be added, is also used to argue against moral realism, or the view that moral claims are objectively true if they pick up a moral fact, and false otherwise. If realism were true, it is argued, there would be more agreement about moral questions, in the same way that there is greater agreement about scientific facts. (e) Rejection of ethnocentrism. In the light of (d), it is also argued that the moral code of our own society should not be given a privileged status. (f) Countering arrogance and abiding by the normative principles of tolerance and acceptance toward other points of views and cultures. The best way to avoid arrogance, it is argued, is not to pass judgment on the conduct of other peoples (Rachels 1993: ibid.). Relativism, it is assumed, leads to such tolerance and well-placed humility. The principle has a political dimension as well because tolerance is seen as a prerequisite of effective liberal democracies (see Baghramian and Carter 2015). (a)–(f) have all been challenged, individually or collectively. Bernard Williams, for instance, famously labeled this approach as “vulgar relativism” for the elementary error of proposing a universal principle, the principle that moral relativism is the right ethical framework, in defending a relativized approach to ethics. Others have argued against the easy identification of relativism with tolerance and open-mindedness (Baghramian 2019) and that, on the contrary, it can lead to moral quietism and inaction at a global level (Baghramian 2004: 211). The assumption of cultural determinism and the idea that cultures provide self-contained frameworks of ethical judgments that remain isolated and are immune to change under external influences or internal dissent has also been widely rejected (see, for instance, Moody-Adams 1997).

For these reasons, cultural relativism, while a first-order philosophical position, finds a majority of its advocates – from Graham Sumner at the turn of

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the 20th century to Edward Westermarck in the 1930s and Clifford Geertz in the 1980s – among philosophically minded social anthropologists and sociologists. It has also been influential in other areas of the humanities and among the general public, or at least with the secularists among them. Philosophers, even those who have proven sympathetic to some versions of relativism (e.g. Rorty 1989), have been reluctant to embrace it and have fol­ eresy” lowed Bernard Williams’s lead in seeing it as “the anthropologists’ h (Williams 1972: 20). This “anthropologist’s heresy”, as Williams calls it, is blatantly inconsistent, since its conclusion makes a non-relative judgment about what is right and wrong in one’s dealings with other societies in stark contradiction with the premise that there aren’t absolute moral standards (Williams ibid.: 21). This is why, when philosophers write about cultural relativism as a first-order moral theory, frequently their chief aim is to criticize and indeed refute it (e.g. Rachels 1993). Metaethical relativism, in contrast, continues to be a significant subject of philosophical debate. In the remainder of this chapter, we will focus on some key approaches to this topic.

§9.2 Metaethical relativism The claim here concerns the very nature of ethical discourse: whether it is representational of a mind-independent realm of moral facts or not. The approach often shares some of the assumptions of cultural ­relativism – (a) and (d) in particular – but the position is put forward as a second-order analysis of our moral concepts and their expressions without any first-­ order injunction as to how we should act. Roughly put, the claim is that judgments about the truth or the correctness of moral evaluations always depend on and vary with the moral frameworks that give rise to them and do not hold absolutely. The view is frequently contrasted with metaethical realism and universalism or the view that there could be “a single objective account of the human good, or human flourishing” which can be used to criticize those moral traditions that deviate from it (e.g. Nussbaum 1997). Metaethical relativism takes a weak or strong form. The weaker claim amounts to the denial that moral values are universal and absolute; the strong form claims that all moral frameworks, and hence the values that are part of them, are equally good. The most common way of motivating and justifying metaethical relativism is to point to the deep differences among individuals and societies about moral issues and the intractability of the disagreements that arise



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from them. It has been argued that since well-informed, honest, intelligent people are simply unable to resolve moral conflicts, often the best strategy is to say that in such cases no party is wrong, and that their conflicting positions have equal claims to validity and truth. Both parties to the dispute are right, each according to their own perspective or point of view (see Hales 2014). In recent years, it has also been claimed that such disagreements are faultless (Kölbel 2004a). But does it even make sense to assume that there could be faultless disagreement? We will address this issue, once again, below. A second approach to motivating metaethical relativism is by pointing to deep differences in ethical outlooks that render them incommensurable and thus give rise to a form of metaethical relativism quite similar to the conceptual relativism discussed in Chapters 4–6. In the remainder of this chapter, we examine these varied approaches to metaethical relativism. §9.2.1 The metaphysical response Isidora Stojanovic characterizes the metaphysical argument for metaethical relativism this way: “On the metaphysical construal, relativism amounts to the idea that there is no single, absolute, universally valid morality, or set of moral values, or codes, or norms” (Stojanovic 2017: 120). This characterization, at best, only partially captures the claims underlying metaethical relativism because, by defining the relativist position only negatively – in terms of a denial of absolutism and the universality of morality – it renders it compatible with both skepticism about ethics, or the view that ethical truths can never be known, and even worse, with nihilism about ethics or the thesis that the extension of the ethical terms is always empty. What the definition misses is the claim of dependence central to any relativist position (see Chapter 1). The relativist not only denies the assumption of absolutism but further claims that, while there are such things as moral values, the truth or falsity of propositions expressing such values is relative to and varies with background considerations such as the moral framework to which they belong or the circumstances in which they are assessed. The classic and probably strongest defense of the metaphysical form of relativism was put forward by Gilbert Harman who, starting in the 1970s, has engaged in a careful analysis of the features of ethics, which, in his view, make relativism the most plausible account available.2 A comparison with the relativity of motion is the point of departure for Harman’s approach to relativism: with Galileo, we came to believe that there is no

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absolute motion, but only motion with respect to coordinates in a system of reference – so much so that one body can be stationary relative to one system and be in motion relative to another. In the same way, there is no absolute good or bad, or right or wrong, but ethical norms and values always and only obtain with respect to an ethical framework. Moreover, just as one cannot say that there is a privileged system of coordinates of reference, which decides whether or not a body is in motion, so one cannot argue that there is a metaphysically privileged ethical system – an ethical system founded on real or objective goodness – that determines whether an action is right or not.3 Furthermore, Harman’s thesis, as he notes, is about the truth-conditions of ethical judgments. Harman thinks that it is a feature of ordinary ethical judgments that they are believed to express objective and even absolute truths.4 For example: A says/judges that: (1) it is wrong to practice female circumcision;

While B says/judges that: (2) it is not wrong to practice female circumcision;

but neither A nor B says, (3) according to ethical system of reference E, it is right (wrong) to practice female circumcision.

According to J.L. Mackie’s (1963) influential Error Theory, A and B are, in fact, making a systematic error about what they say or judge when they assert (1) or (2), because value judgments, unlike judgments about the natural world, are not true or false. All they, in fact, mean is (3), even if they do not know it. Harman offers an alternative account For the purposes of assigning truth conditions, a judgment of the form, it would be morally wrong of P to D, has to be understood as elliptical for a judgment of the form, in relation to moral framework M, it would be morally wrong of P to D. Similarly for other moral judgments. (Harman 1996: 4)

Moreover, according to Harman, the ethical relativist must also maintain that:



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There is no single true morality. There are many different moral frameworks, none of which is more correct than the others (ibid.: 5). Harman thus is not a moral skeptic and indeed rejects ethical nihilism. Just as one cannot deny the reality of motion only because it is relativized to a set of coordinates in a reference system, so one cannot deny the reality of ethical judgments only because they are relativized to an ethical system of reference. So, in effect, he argues that moral relativism is the only defensible realist position in the moral domain (Harman 2012). The main reason, according to Harman, for believing that there is no single true or correct morality is that there are major differences in the moralities that people accept, and these differences are not based on differences about facts or merely terminological ones. There are many common or garden examples of such differences. Harman mentions a few: Moralities differ in what they imply about abortion, capital punishment, euthanasia, religion, etiquette, slavery, caste systems, cannibalism, eating meat, what sorts of experiments on animals are permitted, and what sorts of experiments on human beings are permitted. They may differ concerning the relative importance of chastity in men and women, how many wives or husbands people can have, homosexuality, incest, and whether people in their twenties have special obligations toward their parents. They differ about whether there is an obligation not to lie to strangers and whether there is an obligation to help strangers who need help. They differ concerning the relative importance of equality versus liberty, who gets what, preserving natural beauty, and the acceptability of littering. (Harman 2013: 3–4)

He concludes: “It is hard to believe that we all have the same morality at bottom” (Harman: ibid.). Thus, descriptive relativism is a starting point for Harman’s metaethical relativism. Relativism, according to Harman, is the only metaethical position which can explain the persistence of moral difference and the intractability of moral disagreements. Once it is realized that the holders of differing moral views often are in possession of the same factual information and use the common methods of reasoning but reach different, if not opposite, ethical conclusions, then relativism about ethics becomes the only reasonable explanation of their divergent points of view. Relativism is able to explain the differences by attributing different starting points to the contenders, even just with regards to the ranking of the ethical principles involved. For example, an anti-abortionist

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can believe that the right to life of a fetus outweighs the woman’s right to self-determination; therefore, the woman should not be allowed to have an abortion, even though she has a right to self-determination, which she can exercise by having the possibility to choose who to marry, or to choose the profession that most pleases her. Obviously, a pro-choice supporter will reverse the order of these principles, thus reaching the opposite conclusion. Ethical systems, according to Harman, are social constructs that arise as a matter of established conventions through negotiation and implicit agreements among the individuals, groups, and cultures that have access to the negotiating table – so to speak – and have a chance to impose their ethical system, to promote a conversion to it, or to negotiate a new one, as a result of compromise with other people, groups, or cultures. He draws comparisons between such systems and other social institutions, such as legal systems, languages, and games. To take just one of these points of comparison, he writes: Moralities can also be compared with games that are at least in part defined by their rules: football, baseball, soccer, golf, chess, bridge, solitaire. Often there are several versions of a game with minor differences in their rules. The rules of professional baseball change over time and differ in certain respects from the rules of other versions of school baseball, just as your language, your idiolect, may differ from mine in various respects: vocabulary, pronunciation, grammar, or semantics. Some aspects of the rules of a game or a morality might be describable propositionally, but participants will not be able to provide full and complete descriptions. Roughly speaking, to be engaged in a particular game or morality is to be disposed or committed to acting in certain ways. (Harman 2013: 5)

That an ethical system or point of reference appears as the best depends only on the fact that the ethical system in which one is located, or with respect to which the judgment is formed, has a particular salience for the person who embraces it, so as to look like the only possible or correct alternative. Another important consequence of Harman’s proposal is that ethical disputes are mostly attempts at negotiation between different ethical systems and not so much, or only, debates about what rationally follows from a set of previously accepted principles as they apply to new cases.



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As we have seen in Chapter 3, and we will further discuss later in the chapter, a recurrent problem of relativism is how to ensure the preservation of a genuine disagreement between those who say: (1) It is morally right to D;

and those who say: (2) It is not morally right to D.

For, if the truth-conditions of 1 and 2 are: (1′) According to ethical system E1, it is morally right to D; (2′) According to ethical system E2, it is not morally right to D.

(Where E1 and E2 are sufficiently different), it is not clear how the holders of (1) and (2) can be in disagreement: the holders of (1) will agree that, according to ethical system E2, it is not morally right to D; likewise, the holders of (2) will agree that, according to ethical system E1, it is morally right to D. Ethical relativism, as suggested by Harman, resolves the initial dilemma of interactable disagreement by showing that there was no disagreement to begin with. What is happening, when people seem to be disagreeing, is that they are taking perspectival positions: one action is morally legitimate according to one ethical system and illegitimate according to another. It is also a usual problem of relativism that, if the truth conditions are not as specified as in (1′) and (2′), it cannot be the case that both the backers of (1) and those of (2) are right: one and the same action cannot be both morally right and wrong, without thereby infringing the principle of non-­contradiction. Harman is aware of this issue but believes that, in fact, one cannot help but specify the truth-conditions as in (1′) and (2′). The dispute should therefore be understood not so much as revolving around whether a certain action is morally right or not, but as being about which ethical system should be adopted, that is, if one has to choose E1 or E2. As we have seen, this choice cannot be based on objective ethical criteria, since these do not exist for Harman, but rather on negotiations or forceful imposition. Finally, Harman’s metaethical position has normative consequences in that he thinks ethical relativism has the beneficial effect of promoting greater tolerance for other cultures with differing ethical systems by relying on what he calls “The Principle of Justification”, or the injunction that one must not interfere with the purposes of others unless it can be shown that such interference would

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be acceptable to those who pursue them, if they were completely rational and informed about all relevant circumstances. To do otherwise would imply not treating them with the respect due to rational beings (Harman 1996). §9.2.2 Against the metaphysical argument One problem facing Harman concerns his Principle of Justification. The problem is a variant of what is known as the “paradox of tolerance”. If relativism is the correct metaethical position, then when we start from sufficiently different ethical systems, even when we are in possession of accurate information and reasoning correctly, we can reach very different conclusions. To use an example employed by Harman, Hitler and the Nazis were not “logical idiots”, and, by a total stretch of the imagination, maybe they did not start from false premises (Harman 1996: 59–61), but, according to the Principle of Justification, we would have no way to interfere with Hitler and the Nazis, or we could do so only by appealing to principles that we accept, and they do not – for example, the principle of equality between races – and hence, we will be in violation of the principle of justification. We could try to disseminate these principles among the society that fails to recognize them and try to turn the tables from the inside: if the proponents of these principles were to become the majority, they could enter into negotiation from a position of power and thus change the ethical system internally (or alternatively, they could start a revolution or try to convert the community). Yet we cannot advance any ethical principles to demonstrate the ethical superiority of our ethical point of view. The tolerance advocated by the relativist forces us to tolerate the intolerant and the intolerable. The outcome seems highly unsatisfactory, not just from our point of view but also from the point of view of those in Nazi concentration camps. A second difficulty arises from the prior conditions for establishing any set of moral conventions. Harman as we saw, claims that moral relativism is like “football relativism” where the “sensible idea is that there are different actual and possible versions of football with different rules; whether something deserves a penalty is relative to which version of football is being played” (Harman 2013: 1). But it is not clear how convincing such comparisons are. Rules of football are decided by negotiations and by establishing conventions. When it comes to ethics, negotiations, or even implicit decisions, about adopting a convention can take place only if the participants are already able to make value judgments. That is to say, only if one already knows what is meant by “good”, “evil”, and the like, and how



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to apply these normative concepts can one start discussing whether something is good, or not too good, some practices legitimate, or some actions morally obligatory. To formulate an ethical system, you have to have prior access to the normative domain. Therefore, it is not obvious that ethical values are a pure product of agreements between parties. Harman (2013) comes close to admitting to this when he draws parallels between moral systems and “language” as the term is used in ­Chomskyan linguistics. An I-language in generative linguistics is an innate universal endowment of the human mind/brain which then manifests itself, through differing parameters and principles in different idiolects, such as English and French. The meaning of a sentence such as “Empedocles leaped” (using an example made famous by Donald Davidson) is relative to English. In the same way, Harman proposes that we can make sense of the presence of moral systems across all human cultures by postulating a universal innate core I-morality determined by some principles and parameters on issues such as autonomy, authority ranking, and community sharing (Harman 2013). Different ethical systems can then be seen as idiolects of this core I-morality. Harman’s hypothesis is interesting and worthy of further investigation, but it is a very major concession to the universality of at least some basic ethical norms. Once we accept the idea of a core I-morality, it is no longer clear how much will be left of the metaphysical claim about the nature of morality that we began with. Harman’s version of metaethical relativism, as we saw, relies on the presence of persistent interactable disagreement as a justification for relativism. A further issue, discussed earlier, is that in order to allow for disagreement, the relativist needs to formulate the position of the disputants in such a way that they are indeed talking about the same subject-matter. According to this change of subject concern, disagreement, traditionally construed, involves expressing opposing positions on a single subject-matter. How are we going to retain this second basic platitude about what constitutes a disagreement and not give the impression that the parties to the dispute are simply talking past each other, are involved in a mere verbal dispute, or have simply changed the subject of their disagreement? The moral relativist offers a way around this problem. In such cases, says the moral relativist, there simply is no absolute fact of the matter. It is not that one party is right and the other party wrong and that there is no way to find out which is which. Rather, both parties are right. They disagree, and their disagreement is intractable, but only because they are both correct relative to their respective ways of looking at the matter.

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Let us assume that there are two perfectly identical societies, except for the fact that the right to private property has the highest priority in Society 1 and the right to survival comes first in Society 2. When a member of ­Society 1 says: (1) It is always morally wrong to steal,

and a member of the Society 2 says: (2) It is not always morally wrong to steal.

the truth-conditions of their judgments, according to Harman and other metaethical relativists, are specified as follows: (1′) According to ethical system of Society 1, it is always morally wrong to steal; (2′) According to ethical system of Society 2, it is not always morally wrong to steal.

The starting point of our argument was that ethical disputes involve a strong disagreement between the parties. (1) and (2) are instances of this, because (2) negates (1) and it is clear that one cannot accept both of them, lest one falls into a contradiction. Yet, if the truth-conditions of the utterances (1) and (2) are as specified in (1′) and (2′), it is not clear that there is (or there should be) a genuine disagreement. The person uttering (1′) will (or should) agree that, according to the ethical system (2), it is not always morally wrong to steal; and similarly, the second speaker. The dispute, as Harman notes, moves from the rightness or wrongness of the action of stealing to the background ethical system that each speaker has assumed or adopted. So, the question now changes to (3) It is ethically right that the prohibition to violate a private property comes before the right to survival; (4) It is ethically wrong that the prohibition to violate a private property comes before the right to survival.

Here, too, as long as 3 and 4 are taken literally, it is clear why there may be a dispute between their supporters, since these are contradictory judgments.



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However, according to the relativist à la Harman, no ethical judgment is to be taken literally. Its truth-conditions are, in fact, always relative to background conventions and implicit agreements. So, a consistent relativist will conceive of 2 and 3 as: (3′) According to ethical system of S1, it is right that the prohibition to violate a private property comes before the right to survival; (4′) According to ethical system of S2, it is wrong that the prohibition to violate a private property comes before the right to survival.

So, once again it is not clear why the contenders are not (or should not be) in agreement: to admit that, according to a different system of ­ethics, what seems wrong to us is right, and vice versa, is not a contradiction.5 The so-called “ethical disputes” have thus been dissolved – every ethical system self-certifies and certifies as ethically sound the principles that bring it about. If there are no ethical principles outside of those recognized by specific ethical systems, it is not clear how one can compare, from an ethical point of view, either the principles internal to the systems or the systems themselves. The so-called “ethical disputes”, then, would only be pantomimes aimed at getting people worked up and letting power-­ relationships surface. The relativist may respond that this is indeed the whole point of her approach. Relativism is an attempt at explaining the phenomenon of intractable persistent disagreement, and it does so by showing that such disagreements are not genuine. The success of relativism consists in allowing us to dissolve irresolvable disagreements. But such a move goes against some of our core intuitions about ethics. When people disagree on ethical issues, they take such disagreements to be real rather than an error of logic or semantics. The relativist gambit may dissolve some forms of moral disagreement, but if applied to ethics in general, as its advocates wish to do, it flies in the face of the contrary intuition that ethical disputes are substantial and real and pursuing them can and has produced results throughout the history of humanity. Indeed, disagreements that may have seemed intractable at some point in time, for example, the abandonment of slavery and accepting equal rights for women, have become resolved issues. Why can’t the same be true of other seemingly intractable disagreements?

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§9.3 Truth-Relativism in the moral domain It has been argued that truth-relativism provides a semantics that provides a coherent account of both relativism and the phenomenon of ­relativism-inducing disagreement. We have already considered this “new wave” of relativism about truth in Chapter 3 and about knowledge attributions in Chapter 8. The semantic machinery used to formulate these two varieties of relativism has also been employed to make sense of ethical relativism. Max Kölbel (2004), a strong proponent of ethical relativism, claims to be able to capture “genuine relativism” about matters of morality. Kölbel distinguishes between indexical and non-indexical forms of relativism, claiming that only the latter should count as genuine relativism. Let us start by reviewing indexical relativism. First of all, why “indexical”? Because it commonly takes it that terms like “good” and “ought” express different properties depending on the context of utterance, thus working similarly to typical indexicals like “I”, “here”, or “now”, which pick out different subjects, places, and times, depending on the context of utterance. Two varieties of indexical contextualism can be distinguished, which display similar difficulties. The first variety, called Simple Indexical ­Contextualism (SIR), has it that whenever someone utters an unqualified sentence like (1) Mary ought to donate to a charity.

the content of this unqualified sentence is equivalent to: (1′) According to my moral standard, Mary ought to donate to a charity.

But his is quite close to the type of “vulgar relativism” (Williams 1972), as Bernard Williams calls it (see Section 9.1), that has very few, if any, adherents among philosophers. The second variety of indexical contextualism is more sophisticated. Kölbel attributes the position to Gilbert Harman (1975) and James Dreier (1990)6 and indeed calls it the Harman-Dreier Indexical Relativism (HIR). According to HIR, whenever someone utters a sentence like “Mary ought to donate to a charity”, the content of this unqualified sentence is equivalent to the following: (1′′) The moral code shared by you (the speaker), me (the hearer), and Mary requires Mary to donate to a charity.



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Kölbel criticizes both these versions of moral relativism first for distorting the topic of the assertions that are performed by using moral sentences. For instance, SIR would imply that, when I assert a sentence like “Mary ought to donate”, I am not really talking about what Mary ought to do, but only about what my moral code requires Mary’s actions to be. This gets the topic of the assertion wrong. A similar point holds for HIR. Moreover, both SIR and HIR predict that we would assert or at least give our assent to the unqualified moral sentence (“Mary ought to donate”) in all and the same situations in which we would assert or give our assent to the relativized content (e.g. “According to my moral code, Mary ought to donate”). But this is not so. Let us illustrate the case with SIR, leaving it to the reader to apply analogous considerations to HIR. Suppose John has moral standards SJohn and George has incompatible moral standards SGeorge. John utters both: “Mary ought to donate” and “According to SJohn, Mary ought to donate”. It seems that, if George disagrees with John, he would be perfectly rational to reject the former claim and accept the latter claim – which is simply a claim about what John’s moral standards prescribe. Second, and even more significantly, SIR fails to capture disagreement. For, according to SIR, when John asserts “Mary ought to donate”, he is expressing the content that, according to SJohn, Mary ought to donate; while if George denies that sentence, he expresses the content that, according to SGeorge, Mary ought not to donate. However, there is no contradiction between the expressions of these contents, exactly as there would be no contradiction if John said “I (John) have a guinea pig” and George replied “I (George) do not have a guinea pig”. Although HIR does not suffer from the same problem, it still gets the topic of the disagreement wrong. For suppose that John and George disagree on whether Mary ought to donate to a charity. Then the proposition they respectively affirm and deny is that the moral code shared by John, George, and Mary requires Mary to donate. This seems like a genuine disagreement, that is, one in which none of the parties could rationally accept the content maintained by the other without changing their mind (Kölbel 2004: 305). However, the disagreement seems purely factual and not moral, because it seems to be about whether the shared moral code requires a certain conduct, and not strictly on what the conduct ought to be. The proponent of HIR seems to have to bite the bullet on this. As an alternative to SIR and HIR, Kölbel proposes his “Non-Indexical Relativism” about morality, whereby it is not the content of the utterances of moral sentences that varies from context to context, but rather

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the truth-value. To state the position more clearly, we should bear in mind Kaplan’s distinction in formal semantics between a context of utterance and a circumstance of evaluation (cf. Chapter 3). A context of utterance is a set of parameters that fix the content of the expressions occurring in the sentence, by providing the relevant objects and individuals: for instance, the speaker a provides the reference of “I”. Similarly, SIR and HIR claim that some parameter in the context of utterance fixes the content of moral sentences: for instance, in SIR, the moral-code parameter fixes the content of “ought” depending on who the speaker is, so that if a is uttering the sentence, then “ought” in a’s mouth means “ought-according-to-a’s-moralcode”. In contrast with this picture, Kölbel’s relativism has it that the content of moral sentences like “Mary ought to donate to a charity” does not vary from context to context. Rather, it is evaluated as true or false depending on the circumstances of evaluation, that is, a set of parameters (usually possible worlds) which serve for evaluating an utterance as true or false. Kölbel wishes to add a parameter corresponding to a perspective (in which certain moral standards are retained, for instance). This has the result that an utterance of (1) Mary ought to donate to a charity

expresses the content that Mary ought to donate to a charity, tout court, but it can be true according to John’s moral perspective, if it does indeed require Mary to act this way, and false according to George’s moral perspective, if it does not require Mary to act in this way. Thus, in general, we can summarize Kölbel’s non-indexical relativism (NIR) as follows: (NIR) A subject S’s utterance of a sentence of the form “A ought to φ” expresses the (context-invariant) content that A ought to φ, tout court, and is true if and only if A ought to φ according to the S’s moral perspective. One can immediately see that this relativist position is not susceptible to the change of subject objection we discussed. For, when a speaker utters the sentence “Mary ought to donate to a charity”, she is genuinely talking about what Mary ought to do, and not about what her subjective moral code requires. The view also seems to escape the charge of failing to capture disagreement. For, when John utters “Mary ought to donate to a charity” and George replies “No, Mary ought not to donate to a charity”, John is affirming the content that Mary ought to donate to a charity, tout court, and George is denying that very same content. We therefore see that, at least at the level of content, a genuine contradiction obtains, where this seems to save the



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intuition that John and George are having a conflict about the course of action that Mary ought to take. §9.3.1 Against moral truth-relativism As we saw, Kölbel’s “Non-Indexical Relativism” overcomes one of the difficulties in formulating metaethical relativism motivated by intractable disagreements. The question now is whether it can live up to its promise of delivering an intelligible and interesting relativistic framework that deals with other features of disagreement. As we have seen, Kölbel advocates the following thesis concerning the semantics of moral discourse: (NIR) A subject S’s utterance of a sentence of the form “A ought to φ” expresses the (context-invariant) content that A ought to φ, tout court, and is true if and only if A ought to φ according to the S’s moral perspective. He then goes on to argue that this theory does make room for disagreement because, going back to our original example, when John asserts “Mary ought to donate to a charity”

and George replies “Mary ought not to donate to a charity”,

they are, respectively, asserting and denying the proposition that Mary ought to donate to a charity. This seems to give rise to a semantic contradiction, or at least to a doxastic conflict whereby none of the sides could accept what the other is asserting without changing its mind (even within their own perspective). Still, it seems that there remains a sense in which we do not have a genuine disagreement. In order to see why, notice first that according to Kölbel, the following norm holds (Kölbel 2004: 309): (N) It is a mistake to believe a content that is not true from one’s own perspective.

If we assume (N) and the sincerity of both disputants, then it follows that John is right, from his own perspective, to believe that Mary ought to donate, while George is equally right, from his own perspective, to believe that Mary ought not to donate. If we also suppose that each of them is aware of both (N) and of their opponent’s sincerity, then it seems that John

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should acknowledge that George is right from his perspective, and vice versa. This should make it clear to them that, although there is an appearance of disagreement at the level of the contents they express, once they broaden their perspectives and consider belief-norms such as (N), the situation seems more like an exchange of opinions from two different – and equally ­legitimate – perspectives, than a disagreement. Kölbel might reply that we could account differently for the intuition that there is a disagreement. He could maintain that, in a situation like that between John and George, there is a disagreement insofar as each party is implicitly trying to have the opponent endorse a certain moral content from their own perspective. As he says: “I might desire to get my audience to start believing some moral content” (ibid.: 309); I might predict that, if I uttered “A ought to φ”, my listener might think that, given my reliability and moral competence, my perspective is worth adopting, and hence the content I am asserting is worth embracing. This would yield a picture in which each side asserts “A ought (not) to φ” in order to promote their own moral perspective. However, this picture too distorts what happens in actual cases of genuine moral disagreements. On this reading, the subject-matter that is really under dispute is not whether Mary ought to donate, but rather which moral perspective is better, and ought to be adopted. Non-Indexical Relativism is therefore guilty of the same fault considered in connection with the ­Harman-style version of relativism: it portrays moral disputes not as disputes about what is right or wrong, or about what people ought to do, but as disputes about which perspective is better and should be adopted by the parties involved in the dispute. Moreover, in order for Kölbel’s account of disagreement to hold, it seems as though the participants to the conflict should somehow be deluded and think that a moral perspective (namely, their own) is better than others. Yet this is simply incompatible with the relativist doctrine that any perspective is as good as any other. So, Kölbel’s account only works if we confine the participants in a non-optimal doxastic situation, where they are ignorant of the fact that the moral area of discourse is a relativistic one, where all perspectives are on equal footing. Yet one would want one’s theories to work on subjects that are, if not idealized, at least in optimal doxastic ­conditions – where this plausibly includes being knowledgeable about some fundamental characteristics of the area of discourse they are dealing with. Alternatively, Kölbel’s account trivially works in a scenario where all subjects have the same (or substantially overlapping) perspectives; but then,



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we have lost any sense in which this is a relativistic account of disagreement, for it seems a necessary condition of relativism, as seen in C ­ hapter 1, that there be a multiplicity of perspectives, and not just one perspective. As we saw in Chapter 3, Kölbel argues that the relativism-inducing cases of disagreement could be characterized as faultless. The relativists argue that the very existence of such “faultless” irresolvable disagreements shows that in ethics, unlike in science, truth and falsehood or judgments of correctness are not absolute. As we saw, however, the difficulty that the position faces is that in ordinary cases of disagreement, where the parties involved contradict each other, the natural assumption is that one party is right and the other one is wrong. The moral relativist’s position seems to fly in the face of our core intuition about disagreement to the effect that where there is a genuine disagreement about beliefs and their truth and falsehood, rather than a disagreement about attitudes such as subjective likes and dislikes, at pain of denying the law of non-contradiction, at least one party to such a dispute must be wrong (more on this in Chapter 10). To sum up, it seems that Kölbel’s Non-Indexical Relativism, despite promising to do better than its alternatives in dealing with the phenomenon of disagreement, and thereby advance a more convincing version of metaethical relativism, suffers from similar flaws.

§9.4 Argument from incommensurable alternatives A second major approach to metaethical relativism motivates relativism by means of arguments about morality that have parallels with arguments for conceptual relativism (see Chapters 4–6). The most detailed case for this approach can be found in Rovane (2012, 2013), but we can find similar ideas in Bernard Williams’s Relativism of Distance (1985), in Miranda Fricker (2010), and in David Velleman’s (2013) perspectival relativism. The key philosophical move in this approach is to argue that moral relativism arises in cases where the different moral systems, by virtue of their major differences, are insulated from each other and cannot come into conflict or be compared. As we noted in Chapter 1, Carole Rovane takes the “normative insularity” of fundamentally incommensurable ethical values as the prime motivation for ethical relativism. Rovane, like Harman and Kölbel, defends moral relativism while rejecting any form of relativism about science. Where she differs from other philosophers discussed in this chapter is in her rejection of the prevailing consensus on what she calls the “disagreement intuition of

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relativism” in favor of an “Alternatives intuition” (Rovane 2013 passim). Several core thoughts, or what she calls “intuitions”, she claims, have shaped the contemporary discussion of relativism. They include the idea that there could be irresolvable disagreements where both sides are right – the faultless disagreement intuition which we discussed earlier and in Chapters 1 and 3 – as well as the core idea that truth is relative to a context. The most common examples of relativism-inducing disagreements are in the area of preferences of taste, that is, “disputes of inclination”, in which the parties disagree about such matters as whether snails or fish sticks are delicious, but the discussion has been extended to more pressing issues of ethics and aesthetics. Moral relativism, Rovane argues, is motivated by the existence of truths that cannot be embraced together even if they are not contradictories. The example she uses is a recognizable conflict between the traditional value of deference toward parents, still upheld in India, which is not seen as morally obligatory from a Western individualist perspective. Each belief is true within its particular ethical framework, but the two beliefs cannot be conjoined or embraced together. Another similar but more abstract example is the impossibility to exercise full autonomy and to be fully dedicated to one’s community and its norms. Rovane’s thesis, like Harman’s, is metaphysical in that it is about the nature of the moral domain. However, she insists that any acceptable moral doctrine, including a relativistic one, should be liveable, that is it should show how we could meaningfully live following its injunctions. As we will see, this claim poses some difficulties for her version of metaethical relativism. Rovane makes her case, in the first instance, through a negative argument, along the lines defended in Chapter 3 as well as Sections 9.3 of this chapter, to the effect that relativism-inducing disagreements, or faultless disagreements, are not proper disagreements because the very idea of faultless disagreements violates the law of non-contradiction. In allowing for faultlessness, the relativist loses the distinctive normative significance of a disagreement where not both parties to a dispute can deemed to be right. Indeed, she thinks that a faultless disagreement cannot be “properly thought of as disagreement at all” (Rovane 2013: 30). Moreover, she argues that many of the examples used by the relativists in making the case for faultlessness don’t even have the phenomenological features of genuine disagreements because they almost always concern disputes of inclination where the surface features of two sides in a dispute contradicting each other are missing. By focusing on examples drawn from differences in



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personal attitudes and subjective likes and dislikes, and examples such as “I like rhubarb” and “I don’t like rhubarb”, the disagreement relativists no longer deal with an area where the distinction between resolvable or irresolvable disagreement applies. And when there is nothing to be resolved, there is nothing in dispute between the parties. Philosophers, in recent years, Rovane points out, have emphasized the disagreement intuition at the expense of the “Alternatives intuition”, or the argument from incommensurable differences, and this has led to a mischaracterization of how relativism should be understood. An examination of the 20th-century history of relativism shows that many philosophers who had been characterized as relativists, including Kuhn, Feyerabend, and Rorty, as well as critics of relativism such as Donald Davidson, had based their arguments or relativism on the alternative model focusing on deep differences between cultures and conceptual schemes. Alternatives, according to Rovane, are truths that cannot be embraced together because while they do not contradict each other, they are also neither co-possible nor reconcilable. Such truths are not universal insofar as they do not have a logical relation with other truths, not even the logical relation of being contradicted by other truths. They are isolated from other truths, and in that sense they are incommensurable. So, something other than logical contradiction excludes such truths (Rovane 2013: 53). The question is what, other than negation, and hence contradiction, can create such isolation. As we saw in Chapter 1, the underlying thought, for Rovane, is that not all truth-value-bearers are in logical relations to one another, that there are many non-comprehensive bodies of truths that cannot be conjoined. She calls her position “multimundialism”: the thesis that one person might reject another’s beliefs without supposing that her beliefs fail to be true. She defines her version of multimudialism by contrasting it with unimundialism: the view that in ethics, like in other areas of discourse, there is a single, consistent, and comprehensive body of truths. Unimundialists have a metaphysical commitment to the oneness of the world and the regulative idea that truths in an area of discourse comprise a single, consistent, and comprehensive body with the consequence that “we must not take anything to be true without taking it to be consistent and conjoinable with everything else we take to be true” (Rovane 2013: 82). A number of philosophers have entertained different versions of multimundialism, taking it beyond the normative domain. Thomas Kuhn, as we saw in Chapter 6, in his most provocative moments, has claimed that scientists operating within different

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paradigms work in different worlds, and Nelson Goodman (see Chapter 5) advocated an ontological version of multimundialism by proposing that there could be a multiplicity of worlds or world versions. Rovane’s position is more modest; she believes that there is a multiplicity of acceptable moral values that are neither compatible nor compossible and yet all can be true. Yet she does not argue for the more general epistemic or ontological versions of multimundialism. The locution of “moral worlds” is a device designed to express the way we experience alternative moral perspectives. By “moral world”, Rovane merely means distinct comprehensive bodies of moral beliefs held true. When we find ourselves normatively disengaged from such bodies of belief, then it feels as if we occupy a different world. “This amounts to an experience of Multimundialism” (Rovane 2013: 148). The crucial relativism-inducing normative element of relativism in this account is that there are situations where our beliefs are insulated from each other such that “they do not speak to each other at all, in the sense that is a matter of moral indifference to each of us what the other’s moral beliefs are” (ibid.: 57). Relativism becomes an appropriate philosophical reaction in those cases where we consider another person’s beliefs to be true and yet we are not able to embrace them together with our own and are not willing to accept them as a replacement for our existing values. Such beliefs are alternatives to our beliefs but cannot be seen as contradicting and hence as being in disagreement with the beliefs we hold true. Rovane illustrates her approach to alternative moral values with the following account. Consider the moral outlook of Anjali, born in a traditional family in India, who leads a life prescribed by a sense of duty toward her family – a husband she was given to through arranged marriage, their children, her in-laws, and an extended family. For Anjali, the duties of respect toward the elder and the imperative of self-sacrifice for the family are paramount. Now contrast Anjali’s case with that of an American businesswoman with an MBA and a successful career behind her. Her moral point of view prioritizes autonomy and the imperatives of personal achievement and fulfillment. She remains single and visits her family on holidays, but she does not share her wealth with them. She and her family accept that she deserves her much greater earnings because she has worked for it. Her ability to earn more than they do shows that others are less industrious, talented, or willing to work hard, and establish her deserts. The two women meet in India, and through an interpreter manage to learn of each other’s values, priorities, beliefs about the best way to live, as well as their opinions on one’s responsibilities to oneself, one’s parents, family, and community. The two women come to



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understand and appreciate the differing sets of moral values each holds, but remain steadfast in their original moral point of view, neither choosing to modify her existing position. They do not so much disagree, but keep the other’s point of view at a respectful distance. Rovane thinks that the best way to understand the situation, as described here, is to say that the incompatible moral perspectives and beliefs of the two women are equally true, each according to their particular moral framework. The key point that Rovane wishes to emphasize is that the Western liberal individualism and Indian traditionalist communitarianism are in some sense competitors, in that they are alternative approaches to the question of how we should live but they are not in a relationship of contradiction with each other. The two women are not disagreeing, but opting for different ways of thinking about ethical duties. So, here is the crux of multimundial relativism: the women agree on the truth of the beliefs at play but do not embrace the alternative belief and point of view. They show what Rovane calls “normative unresponsiveness” (ibid.: 57) toward each other’s beliefs because the beliefs as well as the frameworks that contain them are “normatively insulated from each other” (ibid.: 112) and are not co-tenable. What exactly this insulation amounts to is one of the main difficulties of Rovane’s account. Rovane defends her position against the following dilemma for what she calls the “Alternativeness” position: (1) Any pair of truth-value bearers is either inconsistent or consistent; (2) if the two truth-value bearers are inconsistent, by the law of non-­ contradiction, they cannot both be true; (3) if they are consistent, then they are logically conjoinable; (4) therefore, there cannot be alternative truths, or truths that cannot be embraced together; (5) therefore, relativism based on the alternativeness intuition does not make sense (Rovane 2013: 75).

So, there does not seem to be a realistic prospect of formulating the doctrine of relativism in terms of the idea of alternativeness, and the usual objection that relativism is not false but that it cannot be coherently formulated resurfaces. As Rovane puts it, the dilemma is as follows. The following question is immediately (and usually impatiently) posed: What makes alternative conceptual schemes or incommensurable theories

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competitors? Is it that they are inconsistent? If so, then they cannot both be true and the parties who hold them simply disagree. If not, then they are both true and nothing should prevent the parties who hold them from coming to agree, in the sense of embracing them both together. Where, then, is the supposed relativism? (Rovane 2013: 76). Her solution is revisionary of the way we think of truth-values and logic,  and hence quite radical. She suggests that there are cases where “truth-value-bearers are neither inconsistent nor consistent” (Rovane 2013: 77). Such truths “arguably do qualify as ‘alternatives’… because they are truths that cannot be embraced together” (Rovane 2013: 121), but they cannot be embraced, not in the sense of the standard logical rule of conjunction but in terms of what she calls “a rule of inference that would govern belief formation rather than sentence construction, and that would take us from truths to further truths” (Rovane 2013: 122). Rovane thus is moving from the semantic issue of the conditions of truth and falsity to the more pragmatic question of the conditions under which we can hold, in some sense, mutually exclusive beliefs. In the scenario we were considering a form of exclusion is manifested insofar as neither of the two women is prepared to embrace the other’s moral belief together with her own, in spite of being prepared to grant both that it is true and that it is not inconsistent with her own. (Rovane 2013: 122)

The view is radical because, as Rovane shows, the most fundamental dividing issue between relativists and their opponents is a question of logic. That is, it is a question of whether logical relations run everywhere among all truth-value bearers (ibid.: 79). We will argue in Chapter 10 that our attitudes toward the basic rules of logic are indeed the most crucial question facing all attempts to formulate relativism coherently. Rules of logic, like all rules, are open to revision, but the cost of the revision should not outweigh its benefits. We will return to this question in the final section of this chapter as well as in Chapter 10. As we saw, multimundialism is Rovane’s solution to the dilemma. She explains, …there is more than one moral world, in the sense that there is more than one set of things to be morally valued, each of which can be transitively ordered on its own but not together with the others. This means that there are separate and incomplete bodies of moral truths that cannot



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be embraced together, and so moral truths are not truths for everyone, but are truths-for-some. The recognition of moral-truths-for-others – of moral alternatives – will arise insofar as we recognize that others may correctly embrace and deliberate from moral values that we cannot ourselves embrace as a basis for our own moral deliberations. (Rovane 2013: 340)

Rovane’s main claim then is that we can reject certain beliefs while holding them to be true. The questions facing Rovane then are whether such a scenario of belief formation is plausible or sustainable. But before looking at this question, it may be useful to examine the connections between multimundialism and value-incommensurability, as it has been discussed in the literature. §9.4.1 Ethical relativism and value-incommensurability The upshot of Rovane’s multimundialism is the acknowledgement that some ethical values can be incommensurable. The presence of incommensurable values is recognized “when we encounter others who live in different moral worlds [and] we can neither agree nor disagree with them about moral matters” (Rovane 2013: 220). Value incommensurability, like semantic and methodological varieties of incommensurability, has played a significant role in discussions of moral relativism, and Rovane’s approach advances this discussion in an interesting way by linking it with the metaphysical metaphor of multimundialism. Like its epistemic counterparts, value incommensurability has been characterized in a variety of ways, but the sense in which the idea is used by Rovane has had earlier echoes in the work of Bernard Williams, and, even more strikingly, that of Isaiah Berlin. A brief foray into the views of these writers may give greater context to Rovane’s arguments. Bernard Williams, throughout his many publications, has been steadfast in rejecting what he calls “vulgar relativism”. He advocates a much weaker version of the relativism which he calls “relativism of distance”. He begins by distinguishing between “real confrontations” and “notional confrontations” between two systems of belief S1 and S2 and argues that there is a real confrontation between S1 and S2 at a given time if there is a group at that time for whom each of S1 and S2 is a real option for them in the sense that they can move over and adopt S2 as a way of life or make rational comparisons between the two systems. (Williams 1975: 221–222)

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Williams gives the examples of the belief systems and ways of life of Bronze Age chiefs and medieval samurais as instances of moral systems, which are not real or livable options for us. The historical and cultural distance between our way of life and that of the medieval samurai is so great that our normal terms of appraisal – for example, “good” or “bad”, “right” or “wrong” – cannot be applied to their actions and ways of life; their moral outlook is thus incommensurable with ours. We can intelligibly appraise ways of life, which are in real, and not notional, confrontation with ours. The socio-cultural distance that makes the confrontation notional also makes relativism, with its consequent suspension of ethical judgment, possible (see Baghramian 2004: chapter 8). Rovane sees some parallels between her views and that of Williams’s Relativism of Distance and admits that she models her version of relativism on one element of Williams’s relativism in that they both agree that some systems of belief may be profoundly unavailable to us, not because we view them as mistaken, but because we do not stand in any significant rational relation to them at all (Rovane 2013: 158). They disagree, Rovane points out, in their starting points: Williams’s argument, unlike Rovane’s, begins with the disagreement intuition and the assumption that relativism is a way of overcoming disagreement. A second important point of disagreement is that Rovane allows for relativism-inducing incommensurability between simultaneous ethical belief sets. It is not historic distance that separates Anjali’s ethical world from that of an American businesswoman. Rather, it is a metaphysical truth about the moral world that it is irredeemably plural. This pluralist or multimundialist view also has strong parallels with Isaiah Berlin’s value pluralism7 according to which there are many incompatible but equally acceptable moral systems and values, without there being an overarching criterion to decide between them. Like Rovane, ­Berlin thinks that there are many objective ends and ultimate values, some incompatible with others, pursued by different societies at various times, or by different groups in the same society, or by particular individuals within them. P­ eople can lead valuable moral lives by pursuing conflicting but equally ultimate and objective ends (Berlin 1991: 80). Instances of such incompatible moral ends are rigorous justice versus mercy and compassion in particular cases; spontaneity versus organized planning; loyalty to one’s country or fellow human beings versus love and loyalty in the private sphere and concern for immediate relatives (pace Rovane’s case study). These myriad ultimate values are incommensurable in the sense that they cannot be placed along



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a single scale of evaluation or ranking, but they are not closed from each other in the sense that Rovane seems to defend. As with Rovane, Berlin thinks that incompatible values need not contradict each other and countless ultimate values can be true. Where Berlin differs from Rovane is in their respective understanding of the extent of the incommensurability between differing value systems. Berlin thinks that members of different cultures, by using their imagination and insight, can understand the values, ideals, and the forms of life of other cultures and societies, even those that are remote from us in time or space. They may, at least initially, find these values unacceptable, but if they sufficiently open their minds, they can grasp how one can occupy such alien moral worlds (Berlin 1991: 10). Thus, Berlin’s value pluralism, unlike Rovane’s, does not insulate alternative value systems from each other. Partly for this reason, Berlin calls his position value pluralism and not relativism. Great many truths are not co-tenable, but to accept this truth about values does not result in relativism. §9.4.2 Against relativism of incommensurable alternatives Let us return to the alternatives dilemma and Rovane’s solution. We saw that Rovane aims to resolve the dilemma by arguing that there can indeed be truths that cannot be embraced together, but such truths do not necessarily contradict each other. There is normative insularity between such truths, which results in some form of logical insularity (Rovane 2013: 79). It is quite difficult to make exact sense of this claim. The multimundial stance, by Rovane’s admission, makes it possible to attribute beliefs to others, and to regard those beliefs, as in some sense, true – namely, true for them – while refraining from embracing those beliefs ourselves (Rovane 2013: 138). How can the alternative ethical worlds be “normatively insulated” in such a way that they do not speak to each other at all (Rovane 2013: 152) and yet be available for judgments of truth and falsehood? It is difficult to see how we can understand a belief system as being moral, or amoral, if it operates beyond such an insulating barrier. By the same token it is difficult for parties to be able “to assess each other’s beliefs as true and yet for some reason refrain from embracing each other’s beliefs together with their own beliefs” (Rovane 2013: 70). Moreover, it is difficult to see how one can deem a proposition true and yet refuse to believe it. But this is exactly what Anjali and her Western interlocutors are expected to do. They are effectively expected to assent to the following paradoxical statement: “P is true but I do not believe P”, which is Moore-paradoxical.

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A further worry about Rovane’s version of relativism is that what she calls “normative unresponsiveness” is not a feature of a great deal of our ethical experiences. We do not typically experience other ethical frameworks as closed but make judgments about them, negative or positive. We become convinced or are appalled by ethical systems that are culturally and geographically distant from us; we step into foreign ways of life and make them our own; we also change our mind and embrace moral stances that once seemed closed to us, and we even revert back to a moral position that we had previously abandoned. Members of Western societies brought up in a Christian or secular cultural milieu and framework of values opting for a Buddhist way of life or becoming members of ISIS are examples in point. Some ethical viewpoints are not co-possible, both at practical and conceptual levels. At a practical level, we cannot be both a dedicated full-time human rights field activist and raise a young family; at a theoretical level, as Berlin has pointed out, it is not possible to subscribe fully to the ultimate values of equality and liberty simultaneously. Hard choices are to be made about our moral priorities exactly on occasions when conflicting duties and responsibilities are seen to be of equal significance or truth. But facing irresolvable moral dilemmas is not a good reason for going down the relativist road. How is Rovane’s example of the two morally incompatible but equally acceptable moral worlds different from examples familiar from our day-to-day lives? We do not experience epistemic insularity when choosing between a life dedicated to the good of the disenfranchised and a life dedicated to fulfilling our duties toward our children. Why should that type of insularity operate in cases where the two ethical views are divided by cultural distance? Rovane seems to be proposing something stronger than the type of moral dilemma outlined above. She seems to be suggesting that Anjali cannot even entertain the possibility of occupying the moral world of a Western businesswoman and vice versa. So, the alternative ethical world and way of life is not only closed to her on practical grounds, but it also does not present itself as a possibility through the dint of imagination either. Putting aside the psychological implausibility of such a scenario, the proposal makes it difficult to understand in what way, then, the two ethical value systems can both be deemed true. A comparison between the different versions of value incommensurability defended by Rovane, Williams, and Berlin highlights what we find worrying in Rovane’s approach. Bernard Williams’s relativism of distance, as we saw, makes claims that sound quite similar to Rovane’s relativism of alternatives. However, Williams insulates the relativism-inducing alternative



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belief systems from each other through time and space and does not commit himself to their truth. Indeed, Williams is explicit in his claim that the life of a Samurai is beyond judgments of “good” or “bad”, or “right” or “wrong”; so, by the same token, they would be beyond our judgments of truth and falsehood. But Rovane’s relativism does depend on ascribing truth, and falsehood, to alternative ethical beliefs, and she is not drawing a distinction between real confrontations, such as the encounter between Anjali and the American visitor, and a notional confrontation between our way of life and those that are beyond our experiential reach because of separation in time and space. For Williams, there is a strong form of normative incommensurability between the medieval samurai and the present-day Westerners because the samurai moral world is in normative isolation from ours: it is beyond our concerns or judgments of good and bad. Rovane places the Indian traditionalist moral world beyond our access. But it is never quite clear why we should accept this isolationist assumption. Berlin, on the other hand, does allow for the truth of mutually non-co-possible and incompatible but equally acceptable alternative ethical values, but he does not impose the extreme incommensurability or complete isolation that Rovane’s relativism requires. We have argued that the type of logical revisionism that Rovane proposes, while in principle possible, should be recommended only if the benefits of such a radical change in our view of truth would outweigh its costs. The arguments in this section of the chapter were an attempt to show that the cost of this form of relativism outweighs any benefits it may have.

Summary This chapter began by distinguishing between descriptive, normative, and metaethical relativism, but it focused mainly on the most philosophical of these approaches: namely, metaethical relativism. Two different intuitions, it has been argued, motivate relativism. The first, the disagreement intuition, sees moral relativism as a satisfactory way of explaining why disagreements in moral domains are not open to resolutions. We critically discussed two versions of this view – the so-called metaphysical version and the semantic version of relativism of disagreement – and argued that neither satisfies our intuitions regarding disagreement. We then moved to the alternatives version of moral relativism, as developed by Carol Rovane, and found her proposal that divergent moral frameworks may be incommensurable unconvincing.

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Further readings Moral relativism is a vast topic. In this chapter, we have primarily focused on some recent arguments for metaethical relativism, but, as a consequence, we have ignored other interesting and influential arguments for various forms of moral relativism. The following reading suggestions can be used as a guide to these other approaches. David B. Wong’s (2006). Natural Moralities: A Defense of Pluralistic Relativism is one of best available defenses of a moderate form of moral relativism. Hagop Sarkissian et al. (2011) in “Folk Moral Relativism” use the results of six studies to argue that that ordinary folk intuitions about morality are not uniformly objectivist but tend to be quite nuanced in their attitude toward relativism. That study and James Beebe’s (2010) “Moral Relativism in Context”, are a good starting point for learning about experimental philosophers’ approach to the topic. Marc Hauser (2006). Moral Minds: How Nature Designed Our Universal Sense of Right and Wrong takes the universalist route, arguing, on evolutionary and empirical grounds, for a universal moral instinct. Berit Brogaard’s (2008b) “Moral Contextualism and Moral Relativism”  is a seminal article in discussions of what we have called truth-relativism in the moral domain. Annalisa Coliva and Sebastiano Moruzzi (2012) discuss some of the issues relevant to this chapter in their “Truth relativists can’t trump moral progress”. Paul Boghossian, recently, has focused his critical attention on moral relativism. “Relativism about Morality” (2017) is among the first of his articles on the topic to appear.

Notes 1 Many commentators, including the influential Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, distinguish between descriptive and metaethical moral relativism only. But we think that, in doing so, they fail to fully appreciate how relativism can be taken as a value for guiding moral choices. 2 It may be worth noting that Boghossian (2006b) has questioned if a ­Harman-style view is indeed a metaphysical thesis as opposed to a thesis about meaning. Harman admits that his earlier writings made relativism a question of truth of sentences, but that his current views have more in common with metaphysical theses such as realism (Harman 2012).



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3 The approach is adopted by Boghossian in his replacement definition of relativism (see Chapter 8). 4 The standard assumption, shared by many contemporary moral philosophers (see, for instance, Mackie 1977), has been questioned by experimental philosophers who have investigated the attitudes toward relativism of ordinary speakers (see Sarkissian et al. 2011). 5 Moreover, ethical systems of Society 1 and Society 2 differ, by hypothesis, only as to the priority assigned to the prohibition to violate private property on the right to survival. There is thus no way to justify the choice between the two through a simple derivation from the internal characteristics of the ethical systems. Or rather, the only way to do that is to recognize that one of the two groups gets things wrong when it derives the logical consequences of the principles it embraces. Therefore, either relativism is forced to conclude that the two systems do not differ, or else it self-obliterates, because one would collapse into the other. This, however, depends on the chosen example and is not a generalizable result. 6 Dreier, J. 1990, “Internalism and Speaker Relativism”. Ethics, 101, pp. 6–26; Harman, G. 1975, “Moral Relativism Defended”. Philosophical Review 84, pp. 3–22. It is not clear to us if Harman fully defends this poison (see ­Harman 2013), but this interpretive point is not relevant to the discussion here. 7 Rovane mentions Berlin only in a footnote but seems to acknowledge the parallels with her work.

10 QUESTIONING RELATIVISM

10.1 Relativism as perspectivalism 10.2 Relativism as multimundialism 10.3 Relativism and dialetheism 10.4 Relativism and subvaluationism 10.5 Relativism and superassertibility In this concluding chapter, we are going to look at various formulations relativism can take, or, in other words, at different models that have been, or may be, offered to make sense of relativist intuitions and motivations (see Chapter 1). As we shall see, however, none of them is entirely satisfactory, either because they depend on endorsing problematic claims about the underlying logic, semantics, and ontology, or because they cannot respect all the relevant intuitions and motivations behind relativism (or both). In Chapter 1, we have identified a number of core claims at the heart of relativism. Now, the thorny point is: Can these claims really hold together? Stated differently – is this set of claims consistent, whether or not also actually instantiated? That is, are we faced with a coherent, but perhaps empty concept such as that of phlogiston, or are we facing a concept that is in fact inconsistent, such as the concept of a round



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square? Obviously, the main problem lies in the contention that there must be an incompatibility between the parties to a disagreement and, therefore, that one subject holds that P, while the other holds that notP, and yet none of them is in error. Within classical logic, the principle of non-contradiction, which denies that both P and not-P can be true together, is paramount: either P is true and not-P is false, or vice versa. It therefore seems that relativism is bound to fall into a contradiction (as already claimed by Aristotle in Metaphysics, IV, 4–5). As we saw in Chapter 3, Section 3.2.1, the incompatibility between disagreement and faultlessness can be brought out by means of the following Simple deduction (as Wright 2006 calls it,1 cf. Kölbel 2004a). Given the equivalence schema: (ES) It is true that P iff P

And the apparent truism about mistakes: (T) It is a mistake to believe a proposition that is not true, (1) A believes that P (2) B believes that not-P (3) P (4) Not-true (Not-P) (5) B has made a mistake (6) Not-P (7) Not-true (P) (8) A has made a mistake (9) Either A or B has made a mistake

(Assumption) (Assumption) (Assumption) 3, ES 2, 4, T (Assumption) 6, ES 1, 7, T 3–8

Various ways of blocking this argument can be devised, corresponding to very different lines that can be taken to model relativistic intuitions. We will briefly look at some of them.

§10.1 Relativism as perspectivalism One way to avoid abandoning the principle of non-contradiction is to say that the content, the truth-conditions, or the context from which the truth of a proposition is assessed include a hidden element, for example, “in my opinion, P” or “given my evaluative system, P”, or non-eliminable reference to one’s standards of assessment. This proposal saves the principle of

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non-contradiction because, if different subjects utter or judge them true,2 then “in my opinion, P” and “in my opinion, not-P” are not contradictory and can therefore be true together. In effect, perspectivalism hinges on substituting P and not-P with one of the previous indexical formulations, such that from believing, correctly, that according to one evaluative ­system, P, it does not follow that believing not-P according to a different evaluative system, is incorrect. Or else, it hinges on substituting (T) with (T*) It is a mistake to believe a discretionary proposition that is not true as evaluated from one’s own perspective (or, in light of one’s standards of assessment). However, it is not clear that this move preserves disagreement. As we have seen, it does not save it if one thinks that disagreement has to consist in a contradiction. But, then, in what sense is disagreement captured? One could argue, following Harman and (early) MacFarlane, that it is captured by moving the level of the dispute from a given subject-matter (i.e. the taste of a food, the moral permissibility of an action, or the justifiedness or knowability of a proposition) to the different perspectives or standards of assessment, which can be brought to bear on it. The underlying intuition would be that the world is one, but it can be assessed in different ways, because different standards of assessment are used. For example, one action would be morally permissible when assessed based on certain standards of assessment and morally impermissible when assessed by using different ones. Thus, a sentence expressing a proposition about the moral permissibility of a given action may be true if evaluated according to certain standards, but false if evaluated according to different ones.3 This move has many problems, as we saw in Chapters 3 and 9 because it loses the supposed objectivity of the dispute, the countenancing of which is one of the main motivations in favor of the relativist position as opposed to expressivism. According to this objectivity requirement, disputes about taste, ethics, and so on are essentially about things – the wine we are drinking or the actions we perform – as such. By moving the disagreement to the question of which standards are to be adopted, perspectivalism seems to go against one of the main motivations for embracing relativism itself over expressivism or attributor contextualism. Moreover, moving the dispute at the level of which standards to adopt risks losing the incompatibility between opposite parties to a debate altogether. For parties can agree that, given the other party’s perspective or



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standards of assessment, things are as that party says they are. This result sits badly with the disagreement intuition. It does not sit badly, however, with the faultlessness and parity intuitions, according to which each party is entitled to their views, and this should be recognizable from both neutral and engaged parties to a debate alike. In fact, when the dispute is moved at the level of which standards to adopt and parties are apprised of the legitimacy of different and incompatible standards, the dispute should stop right there. If it continues, it does so only because people are blind to this normative fact. Yet, if they were, then those descriptive projects, which take themselves to be in the business of providing an adequate description of the situation, would lose part of their original motivation. For it is not clear why one should develop a semantic theory which should describe a practice that, by the lights of the theory, can only be rationally sustained by imputing ignorance of its normative trappings to participants. As we saw in Chapter 3, Section 3.2.2, MacFarlane’s form of perspectivalism aims at preserving disagreement (and the possibility of retraction) by means of the notion of preclusion of joint accuracy. That is, by means of the idea that, in the light of one’s standards of assessment, either P is true and not-P is false, or vice versa. Clearly, however, preclusion of joint accuracy does not preserve parity. Only appeal to the notion of disagreement as preclusion of joint reflexive accuracy would preserve it. For B’s judgment that P is true is false, given A’s standards of assessment. Yet A’s judgement does not make P false also from B’s point of view. However, as MacFarlane himself recognizes, that would not preserve disagreement between parties at first-order – that is, on the subject-matter at issue. Thus, although perspectivalism, in its several guises, has been and still is a very popular way of trying to model relativistic intuitions and motivations, it is not clear that it can deliver the intended results, as some of the core claims of relativist positions would not be accounted for. One may then try to embrace it by discounting one or the other of those conflicting intuitions – disagreement, faultlessness or parity – but then one’s best prospects for so doing would lie in unashamedly buying into a revisionary project. That is to say, they would lie in buying into a project that does not consider its methodological duty to take linguistic data at face value. ­Insofar as, as we have argued, current projects in the perspectivalist camp are unwilling to go revisionist, then their favoring one aspect of the practice over the other seems arbitrary. Yet any revisionary project has to be strongly theoretically motivated. That is, the motivation cannot simply lie in the claim that by ditching one or the other of the problematic claims, one will then be able to offer

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a consistent model. Which claim(s) to ditch and which one(s) to preserve will have to be motivated in a non-ad hoc way. It is not clear to us that such a non-ad hoc motivation is forthcoming. Interestingly, it should be noted that, contrary to what MacFarlane has been using as a powerful weapon for maintaining the superiority of his form of alethic relativism, namely, the fact that the latter would account better for disagreement and retraction, it is faultlessness and parity that seem to be more distinctive of relativism. They are more attuned to relativism at the very least because, contrary to disagreement and retraction, they are not also key features of objectivist positions. Yet again, it is quite indisputable that in many areas of discourse for which relativism has been invoked, disagreement arises and remains even after coming to light.

§10.2 Relativism as multimundialism Another way of trying to account for the core relativist claims and motivations without embracing contradictions consists, as we have seen in Chapters 1, 4, and 9, in accepting what, after Rovane, is known as multimundialism. The motivation for multimundialism is the following. We start with the Alternatives intuition, according to which there are bodies of truths that cannot be embraced together. We then reason that, if the world is the totality of facts and facts are true propositions, then it follows that the worlds parties occupy are different. This way, the Simple deduction would be blocked because from the fact that A believes that P and P is the case (in A’s world), it would not follow that B has made a mistake in believing not-P (and vice versa). For what A and B believe is true in, or in regards of, the different worlds they inhabit. The question then is whether multimundialism respects the incompatibility condition. For, if P is true in a given world and not-P is true in a different one, then P and not-P are not incompatible – whence the thought that these separate worlds can be conjoined in one unique, comprehensive world. Yet, if these worlds cannot be conjoined, what is the explanation for that? The most straightforward one would be that the relevant bodies of truth contradict one another, such that subjects who embrace them ­disagree  – in the sense of being in a state of disagreement, even if they may not be involved in actual attitudinal disagreements (see Chapter 1, Section 1.2.2). This immediately runs against one possible reading of the ­Alternatives intuition, such as Rovane’s, which we discussed in Chapter 9, according to which subjects embracing truths which are not conjoinable



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cannot be said to disagree with one another. As the reader will recall, Rovane’s view is that the propositions they endorse do not stand in any logical relation to one another. The problem with that reading, however, is how exactly to understand the claim of logical insularity. That is to say, it is not clear what else, apart from a resulting contradiction, could prevent subjects from embracing those alternative truths. Thus, after all, these truths seem to stand in a logical relation to one another, and, in particular, they seem to contradict one another, such that embracing both of them (knowingly and willingly) would be excluded. Yet that suffices for disagreement as a state. If the Alternatives intuition, however, is read more weakly, as allowing for logical relations between the relevant truths – in particular, as allowing for their being contradictory – it may be true that at first-order, the resulting worlds are not conjoinable. In particular, it may be true that if you occupy one of these worlds and hold P true, you cannot simultaneously occupy also another one and hold not-P true. Yet, at that point, the proposal would not really differ from a way of thinking about relativism driven not by the Alternatives intuition, but by disagreement. To avoid falling into the denial of faultlessness and of parity, multimundialists would then have to say that, at a meta-level, these incompatible worlds are actually conjoinable. This would either mean that at the meta-level there would be true contradictions (a hypothesis we will consider in Section 10.3), or else that each of these incompatible truths has to be treated as obtaining only within one’s perspective. In this latter case, multimundialism would then collapse into perspectivalism and inherit the problems we examined in the previous section.

§10.3 Relativism and dialetheism From the discussion conducted so far, it seems that we have reached a dilemma: if there is real disagreement between A and B, that is, if one holds P and the other not-P, classical logic tells us that they cannot both be right and, therefore, that relativism, which involves faultlessness and parity, cannot be coherently formulated. If, on the other hand, we comply with the principle of non-contradiction, following some perspectivalist and multimundialist proposals, there is no real incompatibility between their positions and we have to compromise on one driving aspect of relativism – that is, the disagreement intuition. If we then try to respect incompatibility, we compromise on faultlessness and parity, which seem to be equally important intuitions behind relativism.

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At this point, one may think that in order to formulate relativism, one should safeguard disagreement along with the requirement of objectivity, and that this requires revising the underlying logic, that is, it requires abandoning classical logic with the constraints imposed by the principle of non-contradiction. This means, in effect, to embrace some form of paraconsistent logic. Paraconsistent logics are a family of logics that deviate from the classical one. “Weak” paraconsistent logic rejects Scotus law, according to which, from a contradiction, that in classical logic is false, any proposition and its negation can follow (ex falso quodlibet). It is for this reason that normally contradictions are avoided: if they are part of one’s theory, this “explodes” – as they say – that is, it admits that everything and its opposite are derivable, thus becoming useless. Now, many theorists have the intuition that various theories presented over the course of the history of science and mathematics (think of Frege’s arithmetic, for example) contained contradictions and yet they were not useless. Whence the idea of denying the validity of Scotus law: despite being faced with theories that contain contradictions, ways can be devised to ensure that these do not entail everything and its negation. Normally, to this end, various types of containment strategies are adopted, thus confining P and not-P within different, non-connected parts of the theory. Weak paraconsistent logics, however, do not admit that contradictions are true: they just tell us how to handle a theory that contains contradictions so that we do not necessarily have to abandon it. Only “strong” paraconsistent logics admit the truth of contradictions – that is, the denial of the principle of non-contradiction. One of these is dialetheism – that is, the theory of the two truths – primarily proposed by Graham Priest. Now, it is clear that at least at first glance, dialetheism would seem like a promising route: it would allow us to say that the judgments of A and B, who hold, respectively, P and not-P, are actually contradictory, without adding hidden indexical parameters to their contents, or to their truth conditions, or without relativizing the assessment of their truth to further parameters, with the consequences that we have seen in Section 10.1. It would also allow us to admit that their judgments are equally valid because, in fact, dialetheism admits the possibility of true contradictions. Thus, in the end, the Simple deduction would be blocked because, from the fact that A believes that P and B believes not-P, since both P and not-P can be true together, it does not follow that at least one among A and B has made a mistake.



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However, even this way of making the constitutive features of relativism coherent poses problems. For example, the true contradictions accepted by paraconsistent systems are normally paradoxical, often self-referential sentences, such as “What I am saying is false (or not true)”, or “This statement is false (or not true)”, which are true if they are false (not true) and false (not true) if they are true. The extension of dialetheism to seemingly harmless sentences, which are certainly not paradoxical in the way just described (e.g. “Female infibulation is wrong”, “Sushi is tasty”), as well as to their negations, is at least problematic. Indeed, dialetheists like Priest have often warned against going down this route, since it would entail “trivialism” – that is, the idea that all sentences, including contradictory ones, are true.4 There are also problems internal to dialetheism (Berto 2006): for example, how to interpret it and if it can be sensibly formulated. For, is it the world that is contradictory, or is it our representation of it? Priest is a realist; he believes the world contains true contradictions. Yet, just as for the dialetheist believing that the world does not contain true contradictions is simply a matter of faith, believing the opposite would also seem a leap of faith; and, in fact, it is not easy to give examples that concern concrete objects. If, on the other hand, we say that our representations of the world are contradictory, this does not yet mean that they should both be true. At most, what we can say is that, while not being able to exclude either P or not-P, we try to get by somehow: for example, by preventing that from this informational state everything and its opposite be derived. Regarding the second issue, the question is that, for a dialetheist, both P and not-P are true. Now, P may be the dialetheist’s own theory. If so, then the theory, which states that there are true contradictions, would be true, but also the theory of those who deny it would likewise be true. In order to have some content, however, the dialetheist theory cannot admit its own negation. Since it seems to admit it, it is completely devoid of informative content. It is unclear how the dialetheist can solve this problem (Berto 2006, chapter 14). In connection to the latter problem – about which we do not need to take a position here – another objection can be raised against the plausibility of an appeal to dialetheism in order to make the core claims of relativism cohere. A salient aspect of relativism which dialetheism promised to account for is the disagreement between the holders of incompatible statements such as P and not-P, with all the implications that follow from this. That is to say, with the usual battle between those who maintain P and those who maintain not-P. Suppose a dialetheist asserts P – “Female

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infibulation is wrong” – and that this subject meets another dialetheist who declares the opposite. Let us assume also that the area of discourse is amenable to relativist treatment and that, according to the proposal that we are considering here, a dialetheist logic is to be applied to it. Now, both parties to the debate should admit that the other is right, not only from her specific point of view, but tout court. Therefore, they could no longer disagree and should admit, in fact, that both their positions – hence, “P and not-P” – are true. Notice, moreover, that this finding would have paralyzing consequences. For instance, what should one believe, since “P and not-P” is true and hence each of the conjuncts is? How should one act, given that P and not-P are both true? And how could one still be regarded as responsible for one’s beliefs and actions, if both P and its negation are true?5 This result, however, applies not only to possible disputes between dialetheists and relativists. It can be generalized if one considers that dialetheism proposes a kind of “error theory”: those involved in relativistic disputes believe that they disagree, but, in reality, they do not because they are both right, and if they recognized this, they would in fact conclude the truth of “P and not-P”. The essential point, however, is that dialetheism would not preserve the rational legitimacy of the disagreement between the parties. Or else, it could do so, only by imputing them ignorance of the fact that they are actually disputing over a dialetheia. Once again, a dialetheist model of relativistic intuitions would involve going revisionist with respect to the kind of linguistic (and epistemic) practice that originally motivated those intuitions.6 Yet, as we saw, any time one goes revisionist with respect to the initial data, one should have very strong and non-ad hoc motivations for so doing.

§10.4 Relativism and subvaluationism Given the problems with the dialetheist rendering of relativism, one possibility might be that of continuing to make use of some paraconsistent logic, just one that is a little weaker than dialetheism. The idea is this: dialetheism cannot make the constitutive traits of relativism coherent, because, by admitting the truth of “P and not-P”, it eliminates the disagreement between the parties. However, what seemed promising was exactly the idea of being able to say that while A and B support incompatible claims, they are both right. What we need, then, is to say that both P and not-P are true, without having to say that their conjunction “P and not-P” is true.



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Indeed, this is what happens in a subvaluationist logic developed especially by Achille Varzi (2004). Varzi differentiates between a collective reading of the principle of non-contradiction, according to which there is no circumstance in which a statement of the form “P and not-P” is true, and a distributive reading according to which there is no circumstance in which statements of the form “P” and “not-P” are (both) true. According to Varzi, while the principle of non-contradiction in its collective reading is unassailable, it is instead to be rejected if read distributively. The examples Varzi gives in support of his proposal mainly concern fictional contexts and databases. For instance, it is not infrequent that an author contradicts herself within the same novel, or throughout the various volumes of a saga like that of Harry Potter, where – says Varzi – it is said that the protagonist’s parents die in one way in one volume, and that they die in another way in another volume. Assuming that fictional contexts constitute a “circumstance”, this means, according to Varzi, that the following sentences are both true: “Harry Potter’s parents died in way w” and “Harry Potter’s parents did not die in way w”. Moreover, there may be databases or belief-­ systems in which both P and not-P feature. If these statements, or beliefs, are sufficiently isolated, it may well be that both of them are maintained, with no use being made of their conjunction “P and not-P”, or without the subject asserting (or judging) “P and not-P”. Of course, objections could be moved against subvaluationism too: saying that both “Harry Potter’s parents died in in way w” and its negation are true may, in fact, be elliptical (in content or in truth conditions) for “according to volume x, Harry Potter’s parents died in in way w”, and “according to volume y, Harry Potter’s parents did not die in in way w”. In that case, however, the two statements would not negate each other. Or, again, if Harry Potter’s parents die differently in different volumes, it could be argued that P and not-P are true in different circumstances, that is, in volume x and y, respectively, where this does not give rise to any violation of the principle of non-contradiction. In addition, one may wonder what prevents us from conjoining P and not-P, if they are true in the same circumstance, as it would be the case in the example of inconsistent databases and systems of beliefs. If the answer is that the rule of conjunction-introduction fails to hold, it can be argued that the meaning associated with “and” is different from the usual one. Or else, it could be argued that the fact that a database or a belief system features both P and not-P does not mean that both of them are true, although in a non-conjoinable way. Rather, they are (unknowingly) deemed or believed true, while not being both true at once.

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Varzi is obviously aware of these objections and prepares various response strategies. It is not the aim of this chapter to assess them. For our goal is to see whether subvaluationism might be used to model the core claims of relativism. One first problem arises concerning its remit of application. As we have just seen, subvaluationism applies to statements that occur in special circumstances: fictional contexts, or situations where P and not-P remain completely isolated from each other. Neither the first nor the second condition seems to fit with the case of relativistic disputes. Indeed, it is with respect to the real world that one argues, for example, that sushi is tasty or not, or that female infibulation is right or wrong, and so on. In addition, relativistic disputes have the characteristic of being completely manifest: contradictory statements are fully disclosed and appear in the same conversational situation. It is precisely for this reason that they may be the content of conflicting attitudes, and of conflicting attitudes which are sustainable even after the disagreement has come to light and has shown to be intractable. The second problem seems to arise when one asks how the world would be like if the subvaluationist is right. Like in the case of dialetheism, there are two types of interpretation – realist and anti-realist. Let us start with the latter. According to this interpretation, our representations of the world are contradictory. Now, as in the case of the anti-realist interpretation of dialetheism, here too, from the fact that we are unable to rule out either P or not-P, it does not follow that they are both true (even if they are not conjoinable); we are simply unable to rule out either of them (or both). Yet the relativist seemed committed to defending the idea that, in a relativistic dispute, both sides are actually right. Turning now to the realist interpretation, there are two options: one can think that the world makes true both P and its negation. However, it then becomes unclear in what sense subvaluationism would differ from dialetheism in its realist interpretation, according to which it is the world which is contradictory. That is, if, in the same world, both P and not-P are true, how could “P and not-P” be true at that world? Conversely, a realist subvaluationist might suggest that P and not-P are true in different actual and contradictory worlds, each of which “goes its own way”, so to speak, because there are contradictory though non-­ conjoinable truths. However, if P and not-P are true in different worlds, in what sense are their respective holders in disagreement? To be in a real disagreement, they should say that those incompatible contents are true in the same world.



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This latter observation might seem to favor Rovane’s version of multimundialism, according to which making sense of disagreement is not really the business of relativism properly so-regarded. Rather, as we saw in Section 10.2, the point of relativism is to vindicate the Alternatives intuition, that is, the idea that there are bodies of truths which cannot be embraced together, as they do not stand in any logical relation with one another. But then, as we noted, it is unclear what else, apart from a resulting contradiction, could prevent subjects from embracing those alternative truths. Thus, after all, their being contradictory (or their giving rise to contradictions) would be the reason why they cannot be embraced together.

§10.5 Relativism and superassertibility As we saw in Chapter 3, Section 3.3, another way of providing a model for the core claims and motivations for relativism consists in proposing an alternative, anti-realist conception of truth for those areas of discourse, which, like disputes of inclination, exhibit the following traits. (i) Incompatibility between opposite parties’ attitudes; (ii) faultlessness since nobody would be making a mistake in judging as they do; and (iii) “sustainability”, as Crispin Wright (2006) calls the fact that antagonists may stick to their views, even after the disagreement comes to light and impresses as intractable.7 Sustainability, as Wright thinks of it, is closely connected to parity, that is, the idea that the equal standing of opposite views should be appreciated by committed (as well as neutral) parties to a debate. Wright calls the (i)-(ii)-(iii) package the “Ordinary view”, regarding disputes of inclination. By reverting to a notion of truth as superassertibility, according to which a proposition is true if its assertibility survives any possible addition of information, Wright claims that these three features can all be respected together. For subjects would mean the same by “Sushi is (not) tasty”, as they would have a common conception of its assertibility conditions and of its analytical and practical consequences. Thus, by respectively affirming and denying “Sushi is tasty”, they would actually hold incompatible attitudes and would thus disagree with one another. Yet their disagreement would be faultless because it would be grounded in their perfectly proper, yet opposite, non-cognitive responses to sushi. Moreover, neither claim could be defeated by taking into account the other party’s opposite judgment. For the fact that someone else has opposite non-cognitive responses to sushi, say, and holds that it is not tasty, does not entail that I have been making any mistake in judging that it is tasty, based on my non-cognitive

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reactions to it.8 So the Simple deduction would be blocked because from the fact that A believes correctly that P, given her non-cognitive reactions, it does not follow that B, who believes not-P, has made any mistake. For her judgment is based on her non-cognitive reactions that are legitimately different from A’s. As we noted in Chapter 3, Section 3.3, this seems to be a potentially promising way of providing a model for relativist core claims and motivations. Nonetheless, it has been criticized, for instance, because the transition from having opposite non-cognitive reactions to sushi to having incompatible propositional attitudes about the tastiness of sushi is suspect (see Maudlin 2007). It is also not entirely clear in what sense it would be a form of relativism, since, on the face of it, it does not seem to respect the relativity condition, which is a further core claim of relativist views (see Beall 2006).9 Yet, in effect, Wright seems to think that any model capable of salvaging the (i)-(ii)-(iii) package – that is, the “Ordinary view” – deserves to be considered a viable rendition of relativism. However, it could be maintained (see Beall 2006: 69) that superassertibility is in fact a truth-property, which is relativized to a given subject’s gustatory reactions. If that were the case, however, as we saw in Chapter 3, Section 3.3, like other kinds of alethic relativism, Wright’s too would have problems explaining disagreement, as due to having incompatible attitudes. For, while Wright’s story about assertibility conditions can explain in what sense A and B may entertain the same content P, their dispositions to assert and to deny it would reflect the fact that they would be operating with different truth-properties – roughly, superassertible-given-myA-­gustatorystandards versus superassertible-given-myB-gustatory-standards. If subjects were, in fact, operating with these differently relativized truth-properties, which would make them return opposite verdicts about “Sushi is tasty”, it then becomes difficult to see how they could be in disagreement with one another. For clearly, it is not incompatible to hold that sushi is and is not tasty, when, in fact, that depends on assessing the truth of “Sushi is tasty” in the light of differently relativized truth-properties.10 Furthermore, this way of modeling relativist core claims and motivations would depend on abandoning truth-conditional semantics, as well as a monist conception of truth. For, as is well-known (see Wright 1992), superassertibility can ground, determine, or realize truth only in limited areas of discourse, while different properties would have to play that role in other areas of discourse.11 This amount of revision may not be something one would be willing to embrace for general considerations of symmetry



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and explanatory width. Yet one might at least consider the option, if it allowed one to make sense of relativistic core claims and motivations. As we have just seen, however, it is not clear that the proposal would have that pay-off either.12

Summary and concluding remarks This concluding chapter has discussed a number of plausible formulation of the concept of relativism and its underlying logic, semantics, and ontology, and has found all of them unsatisfactory. We have argued that if one adopts classical logic and honors the letter of the utterances of the speakers engaged in relativistic disputes, one violates the principle of non-­ contradiction, and, therefore, relativism does not seem to be amenable to a consistent formulation. If one respects classical logic, but interprets the utterances of speakers differently (either with respect to content, or to truth conditions, or to the parameters that come into play in the assessment of their truth), one either loses the disagreement that seems to lie at the core of relativism, or else one has to compromise faultlessness and parity. If one takes literally the parties’ utterances and gives up on classical logic, by adhering to dialetheism or subvaluationism, once again one cannot give an account of disagreement. Finally, by reverting to an anti-realist conception of truth as superassertibility, one would face problems explaining incompatibility and therefore disagreement. Furthermore, that move will entail abandoning truth-conditional semantics, as well as a monist and realist account of truth. The required extensive departures from more orthodox views regarding semantics and truth may make one hesitate to go down that route. It thus seems that no model hereto examined can provide a coherent account of all core claims and motivations of relativism. While this inclines us to think that ultimately Relativism may well turn out to be an incoherent concept, our hope is that our discussion will motivate further research, which might, someday, arrive at a coherent formulation of this fascinating, albeit thoroughly problematic, notion.

Further readings This chapter has briefly introduced various positions in philosophy of logic and language and has connected them with discussions of relativism. The following suggested reading will provide a background to these discussions.

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On Paraconsistent Logic. Graham Priest is one of the pioneers of paraconsistent logic and dialetheism. His entry on Paraconsistent logic. Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, 2008 is a good starting point for those not familiar with the topic. His In Contradiction: A Study of the Transconsistent. Oxford University Press, 2006 is the definitive work on this controversial topic. On Perspectivalism: Berit Brogaard strongly advocates perspectival semantics in a variety of domains. Her (2008) “In Defense of a Perspectival Semantics for ‘Know’”, Australasian Journal of Philosophy 86: 439–459 and “The  Trivial Argument for Epistemic Value Pluralism. Or How I learned to Stop Caring about Truth”, in Epistemic Value, 2009, edited by  Adrian ­Haddock, Alan Millar, and Duncan Pritchard, Oxford University Press, are good examples. On Crispin Wright’s project. In a relatively early paper, “On Being in a Quandary. Relativism, Vagueness, Logical Revisionism”. Mind 110 (437), 2011: 45–98, Wright addresses the problem of formulating a coherent relativism and the best case for the revision of classical logic. In “Against Relativism”, Philosophical Studies 133 (3), 2007: 313–348, Aaron Zimmerman argues against various forms of relativism, including relativist approaches to knowledge, to first-person belief, and to future contingents.

Notes 1 Wright’s formulation is different but equivalent. 2 For the sake of brevity, we will not introduce all the possible variations on this theme. However, just to remind the reader, the possibilities are as ­follows: (1) (Boghossian) the content of the judgment is “in my opinion, P”; (2) (­Harman) its truth conditions are: given the frame of reference of the speaker S, P; (3) (MacFarlane) given a world w and a context of assessment c, P is true. 3 As we noted, this is already a problematic claim, since the “perspectives” are potentially infinitely many. As a result, the truth of the proposition expressed by the sentence is not determinate. 4 See Priest, Berto and Weber (2018). For a possible defense of local trivialism, see Moruzzi and Coliva (2019). 5 Priest tries to recover an incompatibility by distinguishing between accepting and rejecting a proposition, whether or not one asserts or denies it. He does claim that acceptance and rejection are exclusive, even though they are not exhaustive, since they are compatible with agnosticism. For a discussion, see Moruzzi and Coliva (2019).



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6 For a more elaborate discussion of dialetheism in relation to relativism, see Beall (2006, sect. 4.2) and Moruzzi and Coliva (2019). 7 Sustainability can also be backed by what is known as the steadfastness view of peer disagreement. Ralph Wedgwood (2007), Gideon Rosen (2001), among others have argued that there are rational grounds for both parties to a dispute to persist in holding to their existing views and not to change them in the face of disagreement. The position is contrasted with the conciliationist views of disagreement. 8 At places, Wright suggests that finding someone with opposite attitudes to sushi may induce some kind of lowering in one’s credence that is, say, tasty. However, we do not find this claim compelling. Furthermore, it would sit badly with the ideas of faultlessness and sustainability. For why should an opinion different from my own matter, if it is granted that I haven’t made any mistake and that I am entitled to my view even after the disagreement has come to light? Since this idea is not central to the proposal, we will not include it in the main discussion of the prospects of giving a model of relativism by appealing to the notion of superassertibility. 9 This is, in fact, an objection that could be raised against dialetheist and subvaluationist accounts too. They too, however, could avail themselves to the kind of response Wright may give. Namely, that as long as the model makes sense of the (i)-(ii)-(iii) package, then it deserves to be considered a model of relativistic intuitions and motivations. 10 See Chapter 3, Section 3.3. fn. 18. 11 As is well-known, superassertibility would hold only for those areas of discourse in which what Wright (1992) calls “cognitive command” does not hold. That is to say, for those areas in which it is not a priori knowable that if there is a conflict of opinion, then at least one of the parties must have made a mistake. 12 Clearly, these general objections can be raised against dialetheism and subvaluationism too.

GLOSSARY

Absolutism (also moral absolutism) The view that some propositions, including those in ethics, are true or false for all subjects, times, and places. Alethic relativism Relativism about truth, or the view that the truth and falsity of propositions varies with, and is determined by a cultural, conceptual or epistemic framework. See also truth-relativism. Alternatives intuition The belief, by some relativists, that there are bodies of truths that cannot be held together. Analytic Analytic sentences are sentences whose truth or falsity is decided in virtue of the meaning of their terms rather than by reference to the world. Anti-realism Anti-realist philosophers believe that meaning, and even the truth or falsity of sentences is decided by the assertibility conditions of the sentence, or the conditions of the use of the sentence, rather than by correspondence to facts or states of affairs. Assertibility conditions The conditions within a language that allow a sentence to be stated meaningfully and to be understood as such. Assessment-sensitive Sentences whose truth and falsity depend on the context in which they are being assessed rather than conditions in which they are being asserted. Bivalence In logic the thesis that every proposition is either true or false. The principle of bivalence is one of the core tenets of classical logic. It is also

274 Glossary

connected to the law of excluded middle which rules out truth values other than True or False. Charity (principle of )  The principle is proposed as a core presupposition of translation and interpretation. It enjoins the translator to maximize the truth (Davidson) and the logical coherence (Quine) of their interlocutors. Classical logic The type of logic that accepts the principle of non-contradiction and the principles of bivalence and excluded middle as core tenets. Conceptual schemes A system or framework of concepts used to organize perceptions or categorize the world. Consistency In classical logic, a consistent system of belief or theory does not contain or entail a contradiction, i.e. all its sentences can be simultaneously true. Constructivism (Social Constructivism)  The view that what we call reality, at least in part, is constructed or shaped by social practices and language. Context-dependence  The view that at least some sentences express propositions only relative to their context of utterance and that their truth-value may change with respect to the possible world at which they are evaluated. Contextualism The philosophical position according to which the meaning of a sentence is determined by context. Contingent Contingent sentences may be true or false depending on how things stand in the world. Necessary sentences are always either true or false. Contradiction The conjunction of a sentence, or proposition, and its negation. The law of non-contradiction, in classical logic, states that contradictions can never be true. Correspondence theory  The view that truth should be understood as a relationship of mirroring, picturing, or mapping between propositions and states of affairs or facts in the world. The correspondence theory is central to many realist positions in philosophy. Counterfactual states Alternative ways that things might have been or could have been done. Cultural relativism The view that what is true, rational, justified, good, etc. varies with and is dependent on cultural frameworks of different societies or historic periods. Deductive and inductive logic They are the two main types of logical reasoning. In deductive logic conclusions follow from premises according to a number of rules that preserve truth. That is, that are such that if the premises are true so is also and necessarily the conclusion. Induction, on the other hand, involves generalization and the conclusion goes beyond what is already contained implicitly or explicitly in the premises.

Glossary 275

Deflationary theories of truth These theories, including the Redundancy Theory of Truth, claim that to say that a proposition P is true amounts only to asserting P. In other words, truth is not a substantial property. The theories rely on a disquotational view of truth, namely that “P” is true if and only if P. Dialetheism An approach to logic where some contradictions such as “P and not-P” are considered true. Empirical knowledge  Knowledge based on observation as it pertains to the natural world. Empiricism The philosophical position claiming that sense experiences are the central means of acquiring knowledge and forming concepts. Epistemic modals The use of modal terms such as “possibly”, “probably”, etc. within epistemic judgments, e.g. “it is possibly true”. Epistemic modals are frequently used to express degrees of confidence in what we claim to know or believe to be true. Epistemic systems (or epistemic frameworks) These are social and cognitive processes that give rise to judgments of truth and falsity, rationality, irrationality, etc. Epistemic Pertaining to knowledge and justification. Equal Validity The view that, at least in certain areas of discourse, incompatible values and epistemic procedures, or incompatible judgements based on those, are equally legitimate. Error theory  The view that ethical statements can express propositions, but such propositions are in fact false. For instance, morality, on this view, rests on an error. Essentialism The view that some properties of objects are essential to them and make them what they are. Ethnocentrism The view that one’s own culture and social norms are superior to others. Expressivism A non-cognitivist metaethical position. Expressivists believe that the function of moral language is to express subjective attitudes, such as likes and dislikes. Fallibilism The view that no theory can conclusively be shown to be true. Faultless disagreement The view that there can be disagreements about value judgments, matters of taste, and even justification of beliefs where both sides are right or are not judged to be at fault. Form of life A notion relevant to Wittgenstein’s later philosophy. It consists of both biological and cultural elements which are relevant to the various linguistic practices in use within human communities (see also Language games).

276 Glossary

Hinge propositions Propositions that need to be presupposed within (empirical) inquiries to generate epistemic justification and knowledge for specific (empirical) propositions. Holism  The thesis according to which the meaning of each term of a language is individuated by all the inferences licensed in that language containing that term. It is to be contrasted by atomism – the view that meaning is not inferentially determined, but consists in the object or property for which the term stands – and molecularism – the view that meaning is determined only by some core canonical inferences involving that term. Incoherence Being illogical or inconsistent. Incommensurability Two theories or judgments are incommensurable if there is no common measure or standard for comparing or ranking them. Indeterminacy of translation The view, proposed by Quine, that there might be different ways of translating a language which are equally correct but may be in conflict with each other. Indexicals Terms that refer to specific subjects, places and times, for example, “I”, “now”, “here”, whose reference can change with the context of use. Intuitions (philosophical) Core beliefs and judgments, regarding philosophical positions. Philosophical intuitions are often the starting point of a particular philosophical thesis. Invariantism  The view that the truth or falsity of sentences does not vary according to their context. The position is contrasted both with contextualism and truth-relativism. Justification Evidence that corroborates the truth of a given proposition. Language games  Activities governed by (often implicit) rules performed through the use of language. The term was coined by Wittgenstein to express the rule-governed nature of language as it is employed in specific social contexts with the background of what he calls a form of life. Malapropism The use of an incorrect word in place of a word with a similar sound, resulting in a nonsensical, sometimes humorous utterance (e.g., “dance a flamingo” instead of flamenco). In his essay “A Nice Derangement of Epitaphs” (1986), Donald Davidson suggests that our ability to understand malapropisms show that people make use of contextual information to interpret the meaning of utterances. Metaethics The area of ethics dealing with which the meaning of ethical sentences and terms and the nature of ethics. It is contrasted with normative ethics, which deals with the right and wrong of actions.

Glossary 277

Metalinguistic A metalanguage is a higher order language used for discussing the features of a base or object language. The distinction between language and metalanguage was introduced by the Polish logician Alfred Tarski in the early 1930s as part of his semantic characterization of truth. Metaphysical realism The view that the world, and its constituents, exist and can persist independently of the human mind and thought. Metaphysics That branch of philosophy that examines the fundamental nature of reality, including the relationship between mind and matter, between substance and attributes. Mind-independent  Those aspects of the world that exist and persist independently of the human thought and action. Objectivity is usually defined in terms of mind-independence. Moore’s paradox The paradox of asserting or judging “P, but I don’t believe it”, like “It’s raining but I don’t believe it”, or “I believe that P, but it isn’t the case that P”, like “I believe it is raining, but it is not”. The conjuncts in either form of the paradox are not contradictory, since one is about a fact in the world and the other about one’s beliefs. Yet they seem to exclude each other out. Multimundialism The view that for a given area of discourse, there is no single body of truths, such that for any proposition either it is compatible with it, or it isn’t. Thus, for some areas of discourse, there are propositions that are neither compatible nor incompatible with one another. The position is contrasted with unimundialism. Natural kind terms Terms that refer to entities whose identity is entirely determined by natural – that is, physical, chemical, or biological – facts. Naturalism The view that reality is fully explainable by reference to the natural world and the explanation is accomplished through science. Nihilism (about ethics)  The view that there are no moral truths. Nothing is right or wrong, good or bad. Moral nihilism is the extreme form of moral skepticism, which denies that there can be genuine knowledge on ethical issues. Non-cognitivism The position in ethics that denies that moral statements can be true or false. Rather, they are expressions of subjective attitudes and feelings. Paraconsistent logic Alternative (non-classical) systems of logic which reject Scotus’ Law or the law according to which from a contradiction everything would follow. Only a particularly strong version of it, dialetheism, holds that there are true contradictions.

278 Glossary

Pragmatic rationality  The rationality governing actions and decisions, given one’s beliefs and desires. Pragmatic self-refutation  It is the kind of contradiction exhibited by a claim whose truth entails that that claim cannot be made. Reductio ad absurdum The kind of argument in which the falsity of what one wants to maintain is assumed and proved to lead to a contradiction. The truth of one’s claim is then supposed to follow from it. Representationalism The view that at least some areas of discourse are about a domain of mind-independent states of affairs. Skepticism The view that knowledge (or justified belief) in a specific domain (or in general) is not possible, such that neither P nor its negation is known (or justifiably believed). Scheme-content distinction The idea that our conceptual schemes, embodied in our languages, carve up a brute, unconceptualized given, afforded by perception. Super-assertibility A proposition is super-assertible just in case its truth-value does not change for any increment in information. Supervenience A state S2 is said to supervene on a state S1 if no change of S2 can occur without a corresponding change in S1. Theory-ladenness  The thesis that observations are never neutral, but always mediated by theory. Truth-relativism The view that the truth-value of a truth-value-bearer (such as a proposition, or a sentence, or an utterance, or a belief) is not absolute but relative to the assessor of it (which may or may not coincide with the person who uses or holds it). Underdetermination thesis The thesis that the data underdetermine the theory. Conversely, that, given the data, more than one theory is compatible with them. Unimundialism The view that for a given area of discourse, there is a single body of truths, such that for any proposition either it is compatible with it, or it isn’t. Universalism The view that at least some truths hold unconditionally for any possible subject. Validity A valid inference is one that proceeds in accordance with rules of inference that are truth-preserving, such that, if the premises are true, the conclusion is necessarily also true.

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INDEX

Note: Page numbers followed by “n” denote endnotes. absolutism 6, 10, 273; alethic 65; assumption of 229; epistemic 209; Kuhn on 167; quasi- 211; rejection of 77, 83 accommodating difference 14–17 alethic relativism 2; charge of self-refutation 65–7; classical 63–5; many faces of 62–7; new (see New relativism and Truth-relativism) alethic relativists 67, 90n11; Kölbel as 130; MacFarlane as 130; other ways to be 85–8 alternatives intuition 14–15, 244–5, 260–1, 267, 273 analytic philosophy 96, 176; relativism and contemporary 55–7 Ancient relativism 2 Anderson, Elisabeth 161

anti-individualism about knowledge 163 “anti-representationalism” 120–1 Aristotelian naturalism 32; physics 32; terminology 188 Aristotelian–Ptolemaic theory 181 Aristotle 28, 29, 58n5, 75, 257 Armstrong, Neil 193 arrogance: countering 227; cultural relativism and 227; intellectual 168 assessment-sensitive 273; semantics 220; truth 74, 216 Azande tribe 177–9, 185, 201n5 Baghramian, Maria 7, 23, 57, 58n4, 140n1, 143, 169, 227 Barnes, Barry 30, 150, 157–60, 169, 187

312 Index

Bellarmine, Cardinal Robert 3, 13, 18, 173–7, 180–5, 201; dispute between Galileo and 173–7; justification and 173–7 Benedict, Ruth 41–2 Berlin, Isaiah 8, 10, 36, 41, 249–53 Bible 173, 181–4, 202n9 biological evolution 48 Blondlot, Prosper-René 152 Bloor, David 49–50, 147, 157–60, 169, 178, 187 Boas, Franz 37, 41–2 Boethius of Dacia 32 Boghossian, Paul 3, 8–9, 23, 66–7, 90n10, 119, 125, 140n5, 157, 173, 201n6, 203n17, 204n20, 221, 222, 254, 254n2, 255n3, 270n2; on Azande belief formation 185, 187, 198–9; “cookie cutter” relativism of Goodman and 140n3; as critic of relativism 50; disagreement problem 208–9; endorsement problem 208; entailment problem 208; on epistemic relativism 8–9, 54, 166; on equal validity 9; infinite regress problem 207; normativity problem 207; Observation and 181–4; as old-fashioned anti-relativists 56; Replacement model 206–9; on Rorty’s brand of constructivism 125–6; and social constructivism 119, 166; on Strong Theorists 166 British philosophy 44, 46 Brogaard, Berit 217, 254, 270 Buddhist way of life 252 Burnyeat, Miles 57, 58n7, 66, 89n2

Cappelen, Herman 16, 69, 89, 89n4 Carter, J. Adam 7, 23, 222, 223n3 Catholics 186, 197 Chinese medicine 168 Chomsky, N. 37 Chomskyan linguistics 235 Christian; creationist epistemology; doctrine 189; revelation 32; theology 32 Code, Lorraine 162, 165–8 Cohen, Stewart 214 Coliva, Annalisa 10, 78, 81–2, 88, 91n13, 91n15, 191, 200, 203n17, 254 Collingwood, Robin George 46, 59n16, 60n24 Collins, Harry 157 Comte, August 17, 47 conceptual relativism 2, 21–2; against 98–110; classificatory version 93; descriptive version 93–4; Donald Davidson on 98–110; holistic model 95–8; many faces of 92–110; Wittgensteinian model 110–14 conceptual schemes 7–8, 10, 15, 17, 21, 274; classificatory version 93; against conceptual relativism 98–110; descriptive version 93–4; Donald Davidson on 98–110; Goodman on 140n4; holistic model of conceptual relativism 94–8; many faces of conceptual relativism 92–110; Michael Lynch on 111, 115n1; partial untranslatability 100; total untranslatability 100; Wittgensteinian model 110–14

Index 313

conflicting: evidentiary principles 173–7; principles of logic 177–8 constructivism 274; epistemic 120, 135–9; epistemological 3; idealism 120; linguistic 120–6, 201n3; metaphysical 139; ontological 127–34; Rortyan linguistic 125, 127, 132; social 22, 40, 118–20, 127, 130, 135, 137–8, 139, 166, 169, 170n5, 274 contemporary analytic philosophy: relativism and 55–7 contemporary European philosophy: relativism and 51–5 contemporary philosophy: analytic 55–7; European 51–7; relativism and 51–7 context-dependence 18, 68, 163, 274 contextualism 8, 24n4, 64, 274; attributor 258; epistemic 214; expressivism or attributor 258; Harman-Dreier Indexical Relativism (HIR) 238–40; indexical 238; nonindexical 217; Replacement model as form of 223n4; Simple Indexical Contextualism (SIR) 238–40; subject-sensitive invariantism and 216; traditional 217 continental drift theory 158 “Counter-Enlightenment” 36–9; German 59n15; philosophers of 55 cultural anthropology 37, 41; chauvinism 34; determinism 226–7; diversity 226 cultural relativism 14, 34–5, 37, 40–2, 48–9, 56–7, 274; Boas

on 41; countering arrogance 227; cultural determinism 226–7; cultural diversity 226; emergence of the 20th-century versions of 57; framework relativism and 57; Herskovits on 42; methodological 225; methodological assumption 226; presuppositions for 226–7; rejection of ethnocentrism 227; Spengler and 49; Sumner on 48; tolerance and acceptance 227 Darwin, Charles 45, 48 Davidson, Donald 3, 15–17, 115, 116n4, 121, 149, 170n3, 235, 245; on conceptual relativism 98–110; “malapropism” 105; “third dogma of empiricism” 3; on untranslatability 101–5, 107–9 dependence: and relativism 6–8 DeRose, Keith 214 Derrida, Jacques 53, 57, 170n1 De Saussure Charles Ferdinand 49 determinacy intuition 75 dialetheism 275; anti-realist interpretation of 266; described 262–3; relativism and 261–4; subvaluationism 264–6, 269 Diderot, Denis 34–5 “difference intuition” 16 different methods I and II 194–9 Dilthey, Wilhelm 17, 39, 40 disagreement: as preclusion of joint accuracy 80; as preclusion of joint reflexive accuracy 80; as preclusion of joint satisfaction 80

314 Index

“disagreement intuition of relativism” 14 “disputes of inclination” 78–80, 85, 86, 244, 267 Dreier, James 238, 255n6 Duhem, Pierre 18, 149, 150–1 Edinburgh School 156 Einstein, Albert 48–50, 153–4, 158 “Electric Universe” theory 158 elementary logical reasoning 178 empiricism 275; contextual 19; third dogma of 3, 98, 121; “Two Dogmas of Empiricism” 149 epistemic modals 22, 56, 68, 275 epistemic systems/or epistemic frameworks 4, 171–4, 176–7, 180–3, 186, 192, 199–201, 206–14, 275 Engels, Friedrich 40 Enlightenment 34, 53; alien cultures and 35; Diderot 34; exoticism of 36; French 34, 59n15; Montesquieu 34; postmodernists on 34; Voltaire 34 epistemic relativism 2; Boghossian on the replacement model 206–9; epistemic truth-relativism 214–21; formulating 205–24; Kusch on the replacement model 209–12; many faces of 171–3; problems with epistemic truth-relativism 217–21; problems with the replacement model 212–14; replacement model 206–14 epistemic truth-relativism 214–21; problems with 217–21 epistemology: creationist 197; feminist 161–7; hinge 190–9; professional 162; social 161

equal validity 9–11, 14, 24n1, 24n2, 30, 52, 77, 83–4, 88, 113, 137, 166, 214, 218–19, 221, 275; relativism 9–10; theory 10 Equivalence Postulate 157 Erdmann, Benno 44 Error Theory 230, 264, 275 essentialism 275 ethical relativism: many faces of 225–8; and value-incommensurability 249–51 ethnocentrism 24n5, 34–5, 48, 104, 126, 201n3, 275; cultural relativism and 227; rejection of 227 Etienne, Henri 32 Euclidean geometry 47 Euripides 26 Evans, Gareth 28, 67, 69 Evans-Pritchard, Edward E. 177–8, 185–8, 197 “Exoticism” 35, 36 expressivism 64, 258, 275 factual belief 105 fallibilism 150, 159, 168, 275 faultless disagreement 2, 4, 12–13, 15, 24n1, 70–72, 80–81, 84–6, 88, 90n10, 90n11, 221, 229, 244, 275 feminist empiricism 163 feminist epistemologists 145, 164 feminist epistemology 142, 161–7; and relativist interpretations of science 161–7 feudal aristocracy 40 Feyerabend, Paul 3, 17, 115, 142, 150–1, 153–4, 165, 167–9, 170n2, 245; democratic relativism 145–6; and science 145–6

Index 315

folk-psychology 43 form of life 15, 95, 111, 196, 275 Foucault, Michel 40, 53, 57 Fox-Keller, Evelyn 161 Frank, Philipp 49–50 Frazer, James 41, 195 Frege, Gottlob 44, 66n22, 262 French Enlightenment 34, 59n15 Fricker, Miranda 34, 58, 59n14, 243 Gadamer, Hans-Georg 55 Galileo Galilei 3, 13, 50, 173, 179–80, 185, 202n9, 229; dispute between Bellarmine and 3, 13, 18, 173–7, 180–84, 201n6; justification and 173–7 Gardiner, Patrick 37, 52 Geertz, Clifford 228 German intellectual history 37 German philosophy 36, 43 Glock, Hans Johann 111–2, 115 Goodman, Nelson 3, 11, 15, 46, 127–34, 137, 139, 140n3, 140n4, 246 Grote, George 45 Grote, John 44, 45 Haack, Susan 7, 23 Hacking, Ian 9, 15, 119 Haldane, Lord 48 Hales, Steven 10, 12, 13 Hamann, Johann Georg 36–7, 40 Hamilton, William 45, 60n23 Hanson, Norwood 134 Hanson, Russell 151 Harding, Sandra 164, 165 Harman-Dreier Indexical Relativism (HIR) 238, 239, 240

Harman, Gilbert 4, 7, 50, 66, 68, 206, 211, 228, 229–38, 242–44, 254n2, 255n6, 258 Hawthorne, John 16, 68–9, 89n4, 215 Hegel, Georg F. W. 37, 39, 40, 53 Herder, Johann Gottfried 36–40, 59n15 Herodotus 14, 26, 41 Herskovits, Melville J. 42 hinge epistemology: and relativism 190–9 hinge 91n15, 114; different hinges and theories 193–4; different methods 194–9; epistemology 190–9; justification and 193–4; propositions 191–2, 194, 276 historicism 39, 43, 53; Collingwood on 46, 59n16; of Dilthey 54; of Hegel 53; and its impact 40–2; Kant on 47; post-Hegelian 59n15; and post-Kantian European philosophy 51 Hitler, Adolf 234 holism 96, 276; confirmation 3, 146, 148; principle confirmation 116n3; science 148–50; semantic 7, 148–9 Holy Trinity 197 Husserl, Edmund 44, 60n20, 60n22 incommensurability 2–4, 10, 12, 153–6, 170n2, 170n3, 276; epistemic 17, 169; methodological 155–6, 167; normative 253; relativism-inducing 250; semantic 17, 102, 155, 169; value-incommensurability 249–51 incompatibility 11, 110, 113, 123, 257–8, 260, 261, 267, 269, 270n5: relativism 9

316 Index

indeterminacy 115, 150; intuition 75; of translation 97–8, 115, 276 indexicals 56, 238, 276 Indian traditionalist communitarianism 247 intuitions 276; alternatives 244; determinacy 75; folk 254; indeterminacy 75; Kantian 94; linguistic 79; philosophical 88, 276; relativist 256; relativistic 259, 264, 271n9 invariantism 6, 276; subject-sensitive 215–16 ISIS 252 Jennings, Richard C. 178, 187 Johnson, Paul 49 justification: alterative explanatory principles 178–9; Azande’s example 177–8; conflicting evidentiary principles 173–7; conflicting principles of logic 177–8; different hinges and theories 193–4; different methods 194–9; dispute between Bellarmine and Galileo 173–7; hinge epistemology and relativism 190–9; many faces of epistemic relativism 171–3; against relativism about justification 179–90; relativizing 173–9; Zande notion of causal explanation 178–9 Kantian: intuitions 94; philosophical intuition 93; table of categories 44, 51; transcendentalism 93, 94; view of conceptual schemes 115; views of knowledge 44–5

Kant, Immanuel 39, 43–4, 47, 51, 60n22, 60n23, 94 Kaplan, David 23, 56, 70, 73, 240 Kerensky, Alexander 174 Knorr-Cetina, Karin 135 knowledge: anti-individualism about 163; context-dependence of 163; value-ladenness of claims 163 Kölbel, Max 2, 4, 10, 56; alethic relativism and 72; “conversational” self-refutation 67; faultless disagreements and 12, 70–1; on moral relativism 239–40; moral statements and 4; New truth-relativism and 69–73; on Non-Indexical Relativism 243; as proponent of ethical relativism 238; semantics of 78; truthconditional semantics and 69 Krug, Wilhelm Traugott 39 Kuhn, Thomas 3, 15, 22, 48; relativism 142–5; and science 142–5 Kusch, Martin 10, 184; disagreement problem 211–12; endorsement and the infinite regress problem 211; entailment problem 211; normativity problem 211; on the replacement model 209–12 Lakatos, Imre 144, 147 language games 21, 111, 276 Lasersohn, Peter 56 Latour, Bruno 3, 135–9, 170n5 Laudan, Larry 147, 170n1, 203n14 Leśniewski, Stanisław 109 Lenin, Vladimir 174 Lewis, Clarence Irving 94 Lewis, David 23, 56

Index 317

linguistic belief 105 Lipps, Theodore 44 local relativism 20–1; conceptual relativism 21–2; framework relativism 21; varieties of 21–2 logic: conflicting principles of 177–8; paraconsistent 262–4, 270, 277 Longino, Helen 19 “Long Middle Ages” 32, 33 Lynch, Michael 88, 90n11, 111, 115, 115n1 Lyotard, Jean François 53, 57 MacFarlane, John 2, 4, 16, 56–7, 66, 89n4, 90n10, 214–22, 223n6, 223n7, 224n8, 258–60; on determinacy intuition 75–6; on indeterminacy intuition 75–6; New truth-relativism 73–7; on notions of disagreement and faultlessness 79–80; “relative truth” 75; semantics 81, 84 Machery, Edouard 8 Mackie, John Leslie 65, 67, 230, 255n4 malapropism 105 Mallon, Ron 119, 137, 140n6 Mandelbaum, Maurice 65 “man is the Measure” doctrine 27–9, 46, 74 Mannheim, Karl 156, 157 Marconi, Diego 113 Marenbon, John 32, 58 Margolis, Joseph 55 Marx, Karl 17, 53 Marxism 40 McDowell, John 93 Mead, Margaret 42

Meiland, Jack 64 memory: photogenic 106; photographic 106 Merton, Robert King 157 metaethics 206, 276 metalinguistic 277 metaphysical realism 277 Middle Ages 33, 54 Mill, John Stuart 19, 45 modern philosophy: “CounterEnlightenment” 36–9; relativism and 32–9 monism 6 Montaigne, Michel de 33–5, 39, 57, 59n11, 59n12, 59n14 Montesquieu, Charles-Luois de Secondat 34 Moore, George Edward 46 morality 9, 35, 39, 42, 48, 73, 91n12, 229 moral relativism 2, 7, 16, 19–20, 52, 228–53; descriptive 225–6, 254n1; folk 254; metaethical 254n1; normative 226–8 moral values: argument from incommensurable alternatives 243–53; ethical relativism and value-incommensurability 249–51; many faces of ethical relativism 225–8; metaethical relativism 228–37; against the metaphysical argument 234–7; metaphysical response 229–34; against moral truth-relativism 241–3; against relativism of incommensurable alternatives 251–3; truth-relativism in the moral domain 238–43

318 Index

Moruzzi, Sebastiano 11, 78, 81–2, 88, 125, 254, 270n5 motivating relativism 11–20; accommodating difference 14–17; inevitability of perspectivalism 17–19; overcoming persistent disagreement 11–14; virtues of relativism 19–20 multimundialism 4, 11, 15, 133; relativism as 260–1 multiplicity: and relativism 8–9 Mystical perception 185 Nagel, Thomas 52, 93 naturalism 32, 157–8, 277 natural kind terms, 118, 119, 123, 137 Nazis 39, 234 neo-Kantianism 57 neo-Kantian relativism 43–4 neo-Marxism 40 Neo-Pragmatists 46 New Relativism 22–3, 29, 56 New Relativists 12, 23 Newton, Issac 153, 154, 155 Newtonian mechanics 153 New truth-relativism 68–84; against 77–84; Kölbel on 69–73; MacFarlane on 73–7 Nietzsche, Friedrich 34, 36, 51–3, 55, 117 nihilism 225, 229, 231, 277 non-absolutism 8, 24n2; and relativism 6 non-cognitivism 277 non-doxastic attitudes 78 non-Euclidean geometries 33, 47

non-indexical relativism (NIR) 240, 241 non-neutrality 24n2, 77, 83; and relativism 10–11 “normative unresponsiveness” 247 objectivism 6, 57, 62 Observation 174, 181; theory-ladenness of 150–2 O’Grady, Paul 7, 23 Okrent, Mark 67 Paraconsistent logic 262–4, 270, 277; strong 262; weak 262 “paradox of tolerance” 234 parity 9, 24n1, 81, 83–4, 90n10, 223n2, 259–61, 269 Pasteur, Louis 135 persistent disagreement: overcoming 11–14 perspectival 15, 17–19, 93, 164, 167 perspectivalism 19; inevitability of 17–19; relativism as 257–60; semantic 19 perspectival relativism 243 phenomenology 53, 76, 180 philosophical anthropology 36 Pickering, Andrew 147 Pindar 26 Plato 25–9, 31, 45–48, 65, 162 Platonism 140n2 positive sociology 17, 47 postmodernism 26, 53 postmodernists 145 pragmatic rationality 189–90, 278 pragmatic self-refutation 278

Index 319

Priest, Graham 262–3, 270, 270n5 “The Principle of Justification” 233–4 principled relativism 165 propositional attitudes 87 Protagoras of Abdera 1, 11, 27, 34 Protagorean relativism 27–8, 64 psychology 44, 57, 225 Putnam, Hilary 28, 48, 66, 67, 109, 110, 114–5, 139, 155 Pyrrhonian relativism 29–32 Pyrrhonian skepticism 31–3, 200, 201n5 Pyrrhonism 31 “quasi-absolutism” 211 Quine, Willard Van 3, 48, 97 Quine–Duhem thesis 18, 149, 148, 150, 164 radical translation 96 Ramses II (pharaoh) 135–6 rationality 24, 34, 36, 46, 79, 81, 83, 146, 155, 158, 161, 165, 172, 180, 189–90 “rational proofs” 189 realism 6, 46, 62, 114, 122, 140n2; anti-realism 6, 86, 114, 139, 273; metaethical 228; metaphysical 277; moral 227 reality: social construction of 118–20 reduction ad absurdum method 198 relativism: in 19th century 39–51; about logic 3; about science 146–56; about knowledge ascriptions 218; about truth 2; alleged 142–5; alethic 2, 27, 62–7,

68, 79, 84, 85, 87, 88 ,90n11, 111, 260, 268, 273; beginnings 26–32; British discussion 44–7; cognitive 21, 24; conceptual 21–2; and contemporary analytic philosophy 55–7; descriptive 226, 231; and contemporary European philosophy 51–5; and contemporary philosophy 51–7; defining 6–11; democratic 145–6, 165; and dialetheism 261–4; of difference 2; of distance 4, 9, 243; epistemic 8–9, 54, 166; equal validity 9–10; ethical 225–8, 249–51; factual relativism 117–8, 123, 132, 139; first relativist 27–9; forms of 20–3; framework 21, 32, 48, 57; French discussion 47; genuine relativism 112, 238; global vs. local relativism 20–1; hinge epistemology and 190–9; historical 40–1; historicism and its impact 40–2; impact of science 47–51; incompatibility 9; linguistic 36; Marxist 40; metaethical 228–37; and modern philosophy 32–9; moral 2, 7, 16, 19–20, 52, 228–53; motivating 11–20; as multimundialism 260–1; multiplicity 8–9; nascent 34; neo-Kantian 43–4; non-absolutism 6; non-neutrality 10–11; as a normative stance 167–8; ontological 8, 24, 94, 140n4; as perspectivalism 257–60; Pyrrhonian 29–32; questioning 256–71; social 18; semantic 22;

320 Index

and subvaluationism 264–7; and superassertibility 267–9; varieties of local 21–2; virtues of 19–20; “vulgar relativism” 227; see also specific types relativism-inducing disagreements 13 “Relativismus” 25, 39 Relativity Theory 50 replacement model: Boghossian on 206–9; disagreement problem 208–9, 211–12; endorsement and the infinite regress problem 211; endorsement problem 208; entailment problem 208, 211; infinite regress problem 207; Kusch on 209–12; normativity problem 207, 211; overview 206; problems with 212–14 Revelation 174, 181 Richard, Mark 56, 90n10 Rorty, Richard 3, 18, 19, 24n5, 54, 55, 120–28, 132, 139, 160, 173, 174–6, 178, 181, 185, 201n3, 201n4, 203n17, 228, 245 Rouché, Max 38 Rovane, Carol 2, 4, 11, 14, 15, 16, 17, 22, 23, 116, 243 Ruse, Michael 226 Russell, Gillian 46, 140n2, 151 Sankey, Howard 31, 169, 178, 200, 201n5 Sapir, Edward 37 scheme-content distinction 43, 278 Schiller, Ferdinand Canning Scott 46 science: applications 156–67; background 142–6; feminist

epistemology and relativist interpretations of 161–7; Feyerabend’s democratic relativism 145–6; grounds for relativism about science 146–56; holism 148–50; incommensurability 153–6; Kuhn’s alleged relativism 142–5; overview 141–2; relativism and 47–51; relativism as a normative stance 167–8; sociology of science and “Strong Programme” 156–61; theory-ladenness of observation 150–2; underdetermination of theory by data 146–8 scientific revolutions 142 secular humanism 34 self-refutation 20, 28, 31; charge of 65–7; conversational 67; operational 67; pragmatic 278 semantic blindness 215 semantic holism 7, 148–9 semantic perspectivalism 19 “Semantic Relativism” 22 Sextus Empiricus 27, 29, 30–34, 58n5 Shapin, Steven 156, 157 Sikka, Sonya 38 Simple Indexical Contextualism (SIR) 238–40 skepticism 29, 201n2, 215, 218, 278; five Modes of 58n10; Pyrrhonian 31–2, 200, 201n5; Ten Modes of 29 social anthropology 41, 225 social construction of reality 118–20 social determinism 40, 42 social evolution 48

Index 321

truth-relativism 22, 56, 278; epistemic 214–21; against moral 241–3; in the moral domain 238–43; New 68–84 Truth-Relativists 12 Tylor, Edward Burnett 41

sociology of science and “Strong Programme” 156–61 Spencer, Herbert 45 Spengler, Oswald 49 Sphere, Dudley 144 Stace, Walter Terence 20 Standpoint Feminist Theory 162–3 Stanley, Jason 215 Stephenson, Tamina 56 Stojanovic, Isidora 229 Strawson, Peter F. 99 Strong Programme 3; sociology of science and 156–61 Stroud, Barry 113 subvaluationism 265–6; relativism and 264–7 Sumner, William Graham 48, 227 superassertibility 278; relativism and 267–9 supervenience 278 Swift, Jonathan 39 Symmetry Thesis 157, 158

Varzi, Achille 265–6 Velikovsky, Immanuel 158 Velleman, David 15, 243 Vico, Giambattista 36 Völkerpsychologie 43 Voltaire, (François-Marie d’Arouet) 34 von Humboldt, Wilhelm 36–7 Vygotsky, Lev 40

Ten Modes of skepticism 29, 33 Theaetetus 27 theory; justification and 193–4; underdetermination by data 146–8 theory-ladenness: of observation 150–2 Theory of Relativity 50 Tilgher, Adriano 49 Todorov, Tzvetan 35 tolerance 234, 227 truth: aletheia 27; many faces of alethic relativism 62–7; new truthrelativism 68–84; other ways to be alethic relativist 85–8

Weber, Max 17 Weber, Zach 270n4 Wegener, Alfred 158 Westermarck, Edward 42, 228 Western: imperialism 53; liberal individualism 247; pharmacology 168; philosophy 1, 2, 26, 176; scientific culture 186; societies 41–2, 178, 180, 190, 252 Whorf, Benjamin Lee 37 Wiggins, David 34 Williams, Bernard 4, 9, 15–16, 121, 203, 227–8, 238, 243, 249–53 Winch, Peter 47, 186

underdetermination 3, 18, 146–50, 152, 160, 170n1; of theory by data 146–8 underdetermination thesis 18, 148, 160, 164, 278 unimundialism 245, 277, 278 universalism 6, 33, 38, 62, 164, 228, 278

322 Index

witchcraft 177, 185, 187, 189, 197 Wittgenstein, Ludwig 3, 34, 110; on conceptual relativism 110–14; on epistemic relativism 222; model 110–14; see also hinge; hinge epistemology; different methods I and II Wood, Robert 152

Wright, Crispin 9, 56, 57, 86, 87, 88, 91n13, 91n17, 223n2, 257, 263, 267, 268, 270, 271n8 Wundt, Wilhelm 43 Xenophanes 26, 35 Zande 178–9, 201n5