Science as a social activity
Traditional philosophy of science is relentlessly individualistic. It focuses on individual agents and on the conditions they should satisfy if their beliefs are to be properly supported. On the face of it, this is a curious limitation, for it is evident that contemporary science (and most science of the past) is a social activity. Scientists rely on each other for results, samples, techniques, and many other things. Their interactions are often cooperative, sometimes competitive. Moreover, in the societies in which most scientific research is carried out, the coordinated work of science is embedded in a web of social relations that links laboratories to government agencies, to educational institutions, and to groups of citizens. Can philosophy of science simply ignore this social setting?
Many philosophers believe that it can. It is worth recalling, however, that one of the principal influences on the development of modern science, Francis Bacon, was explicitly concerned with science as a social endeavour and that the founders of the Royal Society attempted to create an institution that would follow Bacon’s direction. Furthermore, as the discussion of the Copernican revolution above seems to show, the notion of social (or collective) rationality is philosophically important. As of 1543, the choice between Copernicanism and the traditional Earth-centred astronomy was unclear; the discussion evolved because some scientists were willing to commit themselves to exploring each of the two views. That was a good thing—but the good was a feature of the community and not of the individuals. Had one of the rival positions languished and all of the community members dedicated themselves to a single point of view, it would have been hard to accuse any single individual of a failure of rationality. It would not, however, have been a rational community.
This is an elementary example of a social feature of science that calls for a broader approach to rationality than what is standard in philosophical discussions. One way of understanding why some methods or principles deserve the label “rational” is to suggest that the ultimate standard for appraising them is in terms of their capacity to yield true beliefs. By the same token, one could suppose that institutions or methods of organizing inquiry count as rational if they are likely to enhance the chances of a future state in which members of the community believe the truth. (There are lurking complications here, which will emerge shortly, but they can be ignored for the moment.) It is not hard to think of ways of promoting diversity in a scientific community. Perhaps the educational system could encourage some people to take large risks and others to pursue relatively safe strategies. Perhaps the system of rewards for scientific achievement could be set up in such a way that individuals would gravitate to lines of research that looked neglected. Standard techniques of mathematical modeling reveal that institutional structures like these produce collectively rational outcomes in situations that seem to recur in the history of the sciences. One thus discovers that factors one might have thought of as antithetical to the rational pursuit of truth—individual biases or interest in social rewards—actually play a positive role in the collective venture.
Detailed sociological investigation is required to discover the ways in which scientists interact with each other and with parts of the broader society; detailed psychological investigations are needed to understand the ways in which they make choices. A satisfactory philosophical account of the sciences should be just as interested in whether the sociopsychological matrix is conducive to the attainment of truth by the community as it is in whether particular lines or styles of reasoning lead individuals to correct beliefs. At present, however, the sociology and psychology of science are in their infancy, and philosophy has little by way of data on which to build. It is already possible, however, to envisage a future philosophical account that avoids the limitations of the individualistic perspective now current.
Such an account might find that the social structures inherited from the early-modern period are quite satisfactory as a means of pursuing the aims of the sciences (although that would be surprising). Some contemporary philosophers believe that good reasons for thinking this will not be so are already apparent. Pointing to the exclusion, or marginalization, of some groups of people, they suggest that the current collective practice of science is biased toward the realization of a partial set of values. The most vigorous articulation of this perspective is offered in recent feminist philosophy of science.
Feminist themes
There are various ways of pursuing feminist themes in connection with the sciences. An important project, often dismissed as too limited, is to document the ways in which women have been excluded from participation in research projects. More philosophically ambitious is the attempt to show how women’s exclusion led to a bias in the conclusions that scientists accept. Here there is a classic and compelling example: during the 1950s and ’60s, (male) primatologists arrived at hypotheses about territoriality and aggression in the troops of primates they studied; as an increasing number of women entered the field in the 1970s, aspects of primate social life that had been invisible came to be noted, and the old hypotheses were forced to undergo radical revision. The specific moral of this case is that pooling the observations of both men and women may enlarge the range of evidence available to the scientific community; the more general point is that a diversity of social backgrounds and social roles can sometimes provide the most inclusive body of data.
Feminists sometimes wanted to argue for a bolder thesis. Appealing to the general thesis of the underdetermination of theories by evidence, they claimed that choices between equally good rivals are made by introducing considerations of value that reflect the masculine bias of the scientific community. Yet this style of argument works no better in this context than it did in the blanket sociological invocation of underdetermination considered in the last section. Where feminists can make a detailed case for the existence of equivalent rivals, it is important to probe their decision making to see whether an arbitrary choice is being grounded in a problematic way. There is no general reason for believing that evidential considerations always fall short, creating a vacuum that can be filled only by the irruption of masculine values.
The feminist argument does, however, point toward a deeper issue. Once it is understood that science is a social enterprise, it may be supposed that the institutions that guide the development of the sciences absorb major features of the background society, including the privileged position of men, and that this affects the goals set for the sciences and the values placed on certain types of scientific achievements. This form of the feminist critique is extremely important in bringing into the open issues that were skirted in previous discussions and that have been neglected in traditional philosophy of science. They can best be approached by returning to the unfinished question of the nature of scientific progress.
Progress and values
Suppose that scientific realism succeeds in fighting off challenges to the view that the sciences attain (or accumulate, or converge on) truth. Does this mean that there is now a satisfactory understanding of scientific progress as increasing grasp of truth? Not necessarily. For the truths about nature are too many, and most of them are not worth knowing. Even if one focuses on a small region of the universe—a particular room, say, during the period of an hour—there are infinitely many languages for describing that room and, for each such language, infinitely many true statements about the room during that time. Simply accumulating truth about the world is far too easy. Scientific progress would not be made by dispatching armies of investigators to count leaves or grains of sand. If the sciences make progress, it is because they offer an increasing number of significant truths about the world.
The question of scientific progress is unfinished because this notion of significance was not sufficiently analyzed. Many philosophers wrote either as if the aim of the sciences is to deliver the complete truth about the world (a goal that is not obviously coherent and is surely unattainable) or as if there is some objective notion of significance, given by nature. What might this notion of significance be? Perhaps that the truths desired are the laws of nature or the fundamental principles that govern natural phenomena. But proposals like this are vulnerable to the worries about the role of laws and about the possibility of unified science discussed above. Moreover, many thriving sciences do not seem to be in the business of enunciating laws; there appear to be large obstacles to finding some “theory of everything” that will integrate and subsume all the sciences that have been pursued (let alone those that might be pursued in the future). A sober look at the variety of scientific research undertaken today suggests that the sciences seek true answers to questions that are taken to be significant, either because they arouse people’s curiosity or because they lend themselves to the pursuit of practical goals that people want to achieve. The agenda for research is set not by nature but by society.
At this point, the feminist critique obtains a purchase, for the picture just outlined identifies judgments of value as central to the direction of scientific inquiry—we pursue the truths that matter to us. But who are the “we” whose values enter into the identification of the goals of the sciences? To what extent do the value judgments actually made leave out important constituencies within the human population? These are serious questions, and one of the main contributions of feminist philosophy of science is to bring them to philosophical attention.
The main point, however, is general. An account of the goals of science cannot rest with the bare assertion that the sciences seek truth. Philosophers should offer an analysis of which kinds of truths are important, and, unless they can revive the idea of an “objective agenda set by nature,” they will have to conclude that judgments about human interests and values are part of a philosophical account of science. This means that philosophy of science can no longer confine itself to treating issues that relate to logic, epistemology, and metaphysics (questions about the reconstruction of scientific theories, the nature of natural necessity, and the conditions under which hypotheses are confirmed). Moral and political philosophy will also enter the philosophy of science.
Insofar as philosophers have reflected on the ethics of science, they have often regarded the questions as relatively straightforward. Application of virtually any major moral theory will support restrictions on the kinds of things that can be done to people in scientific experimentation; everyday maxims about honesty will generate the conclusions about fraud and misrepresentation that are routinely made when cases of scientific misconduct surface. These issues about the ways in which scientists are expected to behave in their daily work are superficial; the deeper moral and political questions concern the ways in which the goals of inquiry are set (and, correspondingly, in which progress is understood). One might say, vaguely, that the sciences should pursue those truths whose attainment would best promote the collective good; but this, of course, leaves the hard philosophical task of understanding “the collective good.” How should the divergent interests of different groups of people be weighed? How should the balance between satisfying human curiosity and solving practical problems be struck? How should future gains be judged in relation to short-term demands? Philosophy of science has so far said too little in response to these questions.
Many of the philosophical topics so clearly formulated by the logical positivists and logical empiricists are, rightly, still the focus of 21st-century concern. Increased understanding of the history of the sciences and of the social character of scientific practice has set broader tasks for the philosophy of science. In a world in which the power of scientific research, for good and for ill, is becoming increasingly obvious, it is to be hoped that issues about the values adopted in the pursuit of science will become more central to philosophical discussion.
