The Book Report Problem

I’m currently sick and having trouble thinking through actual work, so instead I’m going to scratch an itch I’ve had for a while now. Many philosophers of science take close engagement with the relevant science to be necessary to their work. But, what does (should) this engagement look like?

 

I’m going to sneak up on this question by looking at a concrete problem. Many philosophers of this stripe find themselves falling into the trap of writing what more-or-less amount to accessible summaries of some swathe of scientific literature that they find interesting. Maybe this is most familiar from the feedback you’ve given on student writing, or maybe from your own writing, or maybe from that talk you still complain about to colleagues. Regardless, I will call this the book report problem, mostly because I want to let a concrete product—a piece of writing or a presentation—guide us into a discussion of methodological questions.

I take several common critical remarks to be indicative of a book report problem. From less scientifically-engaged philosophers I often hear questions like: “where is the philosophy?”, “what is your contribution?” or even “so what?” From the other end—scientists themselves—I’ve often found myself fielding the “but why does your field exist?” question, albeit usually politely disguised as “so what does a philosopher of science do?” I won’t dwell on why these questions get asked other than to say that responding to these criticisms can be important for advancing in one’s career. Adequately responding often shapes what we read, who we talk to, what products (writings and presentations) we create, how we teach, etc.

Faced with this criticism, the concrete problem is how to turn our (mere) science book report into something worthwhile. But it seems to me there are two broad-strokes strategies one might take to responding. The two strategies essentially come down to whose criticism you take more seriously—philosophers’ or scientists’.

Strategy 1: use the report as an argument for or against extant philosophical positions.

Strategy 2: use the surveying that went into the report to identify intra-scientific issues (or, at least, readily recognized by scientists as genuine) you have relevant skills for dealing with.

Strategy 1, insofar as it requires significant engagement with the extant philosophy (of science) literature, seems to take philosophers’ criticism more seriously. Meanwhile, insofar as it requires interfacing with scientists themselves, Strategy 2 seems to take scientists’ criticism more seriously.

 

I highlight these two strategies because I think they are near the core of a debate among philosophers of science about how they should engage with science. To see this, consider the following caricatures and steelmans of the two strategies:

Strategy 1 caricature: Use the introductory section of famous (and, usually, old) textbooks or review articles to argue that [insert famous old/dead philosopher of science] is wrong about [hot topic in philosophy of science]. Bonus points if you argue by appeal to authority to establish your view, e.g., by cherry picking some quotes from the primary literature that makes it seem as if famous scientists believe what you believe.

Strategy 2 caricature: Collaborate with scientists coming from a minority program in their field. Bonus points if you provide novel and “definitive” evidence in the form of, e.g., newly collected data or a slight variation on an old theorem.

Strategy 1 steelman: We should be engaging with successful science. Lifting results and methods is what we care about, and these make it into famous review articles, textbooks, or public statements from famous scientists, so obviously we should be focused predominately on these. To do otherwise is to forsake rational reconstruction entirely, and thereby to abandon the core mission of philosophy of science. How could we possibly build a reliable epistemology or metaphysics of science otherwise?

Strategy 2 steelman: We should be engaging with active science. Contributing to the scientific enterprise is what we care about, and science is made largely “in the lab,” so obviously we have to be as “in the lab” as we can manage. To do otherwise is to doom philosophy of science to irrelevance, and thereby to abandon the core mission of philosophy of science. How could we possibly contribute if we were only reading their post hoc reports?

You may prefer to caricature or steelman the two differently. Nevertheless, the point of providing these is merely to gesture at how a more familiar distinction relates to the book report problem.

Surely the two responses to the book report problem are not exhaustive, and I expect even a single philosopher of science vacillates over their career. Even so, I’ve found the dichotomy to be a helpful heuristic. And, in fact, more helpful than discussing the sorts of attitudes implicated in the steelmans above. While we could also frame the dichotomy in terms of how we think philosophy of science should be done, I think to do so would be a mistake for two reasons.

First, doing this would center quite general attitudes that, I think, are more often post hoc rationalizations of behaviors we engage in. In fact these behaviors more often rely on situation-specific heuristics or more localized patterns of reasoning than those implicated in methodological pronouncements. For this reason, I think responding to the book report problem by launching into a debate about the proper methodology of philosophy of science is to take the pronouncements in that debate more seriously as explanations of behavior than they really deserve.

Second, putting it the way I have puts the distinction in contact with a familiar problem and implicates constraints on behavior that will be familiar to anyone who has been both a human being and a philosopher. E.g., if you feel more pressure to respond to philosophers, might that be because you have more regular contact with philosophers? In general, by putting the dichotomy in terms of whose criticisms sting the most—philosophers or scientists—it makes sense to ask why one feels this way. Asking instead why one thinks the methodology of philosophy of science should be X and not Y tends to draw one into more abstract debates and away from discussions about which constraints on behavior are fruitful and which are not.

 

Chris Mitsch

About Chris Mitsch

Chris studies the history and philosophy of science and mathematics. He is currently translating several works by Hilbert, Nordheim, and von Neumann as part of a project on the philosophy of mathematics that informed early quantum mechanics formalisms. He is also interested in: historical method and how this should inform general philosophy of science; the cognitive foundations of mathematics; and the construction of identity in (especially American) politics. Chris posts under the banner "Method Matters".

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