The Problem of Skepticism
4
The Problem of Skepticism
The Skeptics . . . were constantly engaged in overthrowing the dogmas of all schools, but enunciated none themselves; and though they would go so far as to bring forward and expound the dogmas of the others, they themselves laid down nothing definitely, not even the laying down of nothing.
Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers
Prove to me that I do not know them, you who do not deny that such matters pertain to philosophy and who maintain that none of these things can be known.
Augustine, Against the Academicians
Since reason already convinces me that I should abstain from the belief in things which are not entirely certain and indubitable . . . it will be enough to make me reject them all if I can find in each some ground for doubt.
René Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy 1
1—Introduction
Common sense assures us that we all know and have justified beliefs about many things: the external world, God, morality, the past, mathematics, our own mental life, and the existence of other minds. And while Scripture places an important emphasis on faith, it places an equally important emphasis on things we can, should, and do know. Thus Scripture unites with common sense to affirm that there are many examples of knowledge and justified beliefs for human beings. However, we have all met skeptics who, in one way or another, reject this or that item of knowledge or justified belief. And some skeptics claim to reject knowledge or justified belief altogether. This chapter examines skepticism and provides important insights relevant throughout one’s intellectual life.
Skepticism has had a long and varied history. During the Hellenistic period of ancient Greek philosophy, two schools of skepticism arose. The first, known as Academic skepticism, flourished in the third and second centuries BC. It was founded by Arcesilaus (315–240 BC), a philosopher in Plato’s Academy, and was propagated by Carneades in the second century BC. There is some controversy over what the Academic skeptics actually affirmed, but the traditional view is that they asserted two things: (1) The skeptical thesis: All things are inapprehensible; no one has any knowledge. (2) Regarding the skeptical thesis itself, we can dogmatically affirm that we know that no one has any knowledge.
It should be clear that, as stated above, Academic skepticism was a difficult position to maintain. For one thing, statement two is self-refuting because it asserts that people know there is nothing they can know. However, it may be that in asserting the skeptical thesis itself (statement one), the Academic skeptics did not really say that there is no knowledge at all, but rather that there is only one thing that people know: namely, that they cannot know anything else. But this affirmation, while not self-refuting, is still hard to maintain. Is it really possible to know only one thing? Would not a person claiming to know this statement also be implicitly claiming to know that he himself existed, that he knew what the statement meant, that he knew the statement was true, and thus that there was such a thing as truth? Further, if someone can simply assert that there is one exception to the skeptical thesis (namely, the thesis itself), what would keep others from simply asserting other exceptions to the thesis, say, that they know red is a color? For these and other reasons, a second school of ancient skepticism was more prominent.
The second school was called Pyrrhonian skepticism after its founder Pyrrho of Elis (360–270 BC). It flourished in Alexandria, Egypt, and reached its zenith in the last great Pyrrhonian, Sextus Empiricus, who lived from AD 160 to 210. This form of skepticism is rooted in the view that philosophy seeks wisdom and wisdom includes knowledge of truths relevant for living a good, skilled life. The main human problem is unhappiness, and this comes, primarily, from a disparity between one’s desires and what one believes to be true in the world. So the key to dealing with unhappiness is to give up on the search for wisdom, suspend judgment about all of one’s beliefs, and be free.
The Pyrrhonian skeptics rejected dogmatism and proceeded in three stages: (1) antithesis (both sides of an issue are placed in opposition to each other, and skeptical arguments called “tropes” or “modes” are used for each side); (2) epoche (the suspension of judgment); (3) ataraxia (the ultimate, desired state of tranquility). In contrast to the Academic skeptics, the Pyrrhonians suspended judgment about all things, including the skeptical thesis itself.
With the spread of Christianity and writings critical of skepticism such as Augustine’s Against the Skeptics, skepticism did not flourish until the time of René Descartes (AD 1596–1650), when it began to flower again. Descartes set out to refute skepticism and set knowledge on a sure foundation. Especially important in this regard is Descartes’s Meditations on First Philosophy, first published in 1641. Descartes began his quest for knowledge by adopting methodological doubt. This amounted to the idea that knowledge requires absolute certainty (sometimes called Cartesian certainty) and that if it were logically possible to be mistaken about something, then one could not know the thing in question. Armed with methodological doubt, Descartes first argued against knowledge of the external world on the grounds that people’s senses sometimes deceive them. Second, he pointed out that people sometimes think there is an external world before them but they are only dreaming and that it is logically possible that one is now dreaming and no external world is there. Finally, Descartes opined that a malevolent demon could be tricking people with sensory experiences of an external world when no such world is really “out there.” The logical possibility of such a malevolent demon meant for Descartes that people cannot know the laws of logic or mathematics, since the demon may be tricking people into accepting these laws even though they are false. But there is one thing about which the demon could not trick someone—one’s own existence, for before one can doubt one’s existence he must exist. This insight was expressed in Descartes’s famous maxim (which had been stated in a different form by Augustine) Cogito ergo sum (I think, therefore, I am). This was one secure item of knowledge that could not possibly be doubted.
Descartes went on from the cogito to reaffirm knowledge of God, logic and mathematics, and the external world. The details of his procedure are not of importance here. But one thing about Descartes is crucial—he accepted a burden of proof over against the skeptic (one does not know something unless he can prove he does against the skeptic) and that knowledge requires complete certainty to qualify as such.
Until now, the purpose has been to illustrate some key episodes in the history of skepticism to give the reader a feel for what skepticism is. In the remainder of the chapter, four items are discussed: the varieties of skepticism, some of the main skeptical arguments for skepticism, different critiques of skepticism, and a brief word about skepticism and naturalistic versions of evolutionary theory.
2—Varieties of Skepticism
Skepticism is a family of viewpoints and not one simple position. For the purposes of this chapter, three forms of skepticism require only a brief mention: iterative, metaepistemological, and heuristic or methodological skepticism. Iterative skepticism occurs when the skeptic refuses to offer an argument for his view but, instead, simply responds to every assertion with the question, how do you know? When this question is answered, the iterative skeptic merely repeats the question, and so on, indefinitely. This form of skepticism is not a genuine philosophical position, since its advocates are not willing to advance arguments against knowledge or accept arguments for knowledge. Iterative skepticism is merely a verbal game and should be treated as such.
Second, metaepistemological skepticism has been advanced by philosophers like W. V. O. Quine and Richard Rorty. Advocates of this view are skeptical about and reject philosophy (and especially epistemology) as traditionally conceived (e.g., epistemology is a normative search for a theory of justification and knowledge), and claim that philosophy is on a continuum with or merely a part of natural science. Metaepistemological skeptics hold to an extreme form of what is called naturalized epistemology. In its stronger versions, this viewpoint implies that epistemology should be naturalized in the sense that it should be reduced to and treated as a branch of psychology and neurophysiology. Instead of focusing on the normative question of what justifies our beliefs, naturalized epistemology simply describes how people do, in fact, form their beliefs. The task of naturalized epistemology is to describe causal factors and processes in scientific, natural terms as to how people’s beliefs are normally—in the statistical sense of typically or usually—formed.
Most philosophers reject this extreme form of naturalized epistemology and the metaepistemological skepticism it entails. For one thing, it leaves out what is crucial to epistemology—the normative element. Traditional epistemology provides an account of justification and knowledge, of epistemic virtues and duties, and of how one decides what one ought and ought not believe. Purely psychological or neurophysiological descriptions of causal, belief-forming processes are merely descriptive and not normative or prescriptive. Thus they leave out the crucial normative element in traditional epistemology. Second, it will become evident in chapters seventeen through nineteen that science has certain philosophical presuppositions (e.g., that there is truth, that people do, in fact, have knowledge and justified beliefs about the external world). Because of this, the epistemic authority of science rests on that of philosophy (including epistemology), not the other way around. Third, while not all philosophers are in agreement about this, some have argued that the statements asserting naturalized epistemology and metaepistemological skepticism are self-refuting because they are themselves normative philosophical statements (not scientific ones) that stand in need of justification.
A third form of skepticism is heuristic or methodological skepticism. Here, knowledge and justified belief are acknowledged, and skepticism—especially the question “How does one know that X?” and the use of doubt—is taken as a guiding principle to aid people in their search for a better understanding of epistemological issues. In this sense, skepticism is not a position to be refuted or rebutted, but a guiding method to help people understand knowledge. This form of skepticism is indeed very helpful, since doubting and questioning knowledge claims can lead one to deeper understanding. But one must be careful here to distinguish between doubt as a method and doubt as a habitual character trait. The former employs the use of doubt to develop knowledge. The latter is rooted in a skeptical character or heart and is not completely desirable from a Christian perspective, because, as Christians, we are to cultivate faith and knowledge while at the same time not being gullible or naive. If doubt, understood as a character trait, helps one avoid naiveté, then it is an intellectual virtue. If it produces cynicism and a loss of faith, then it is an intellectual vice. Wisdom requires a balanced perspective.
We turn, now, to further versions of skepticism, traditionally conceived, versions that express more deeply what skepticism is when viewed as a substantive philosophical thesis. First, there is a distinction between knowledge skepticism and justificational skepticism. Knowledge skepticism is a thesis to the effect that the conditions for knowledge do not obtain and people do not have knowledge. Justificational skepticism is the same thesis directed, not at knowledge, but at justification and justified beliefs. One could be a knowledge skeptic and not a justificational skeptic. For example, one could deny knowledge on the grounds that there is no such thing as truth (and since knowledge includes justified true belief, there is no knowledge) or on the grounds that the standards for knowledge are so high (e.g., knowledge requires absolute certainty) that they are never met. But one could go on to accept the claim that people often have justification for their beliefs. Alternatively, one could accept the fact that there is knowledge but be skeptical about the existence of justified beliefs if that person held that justification is not part of knowledge.
Both knowledge and justificational skeptics can direct their skepticism at either the generation, transmission, or sources of belief. That is, the skeptic can direct his arguments against (1) the origination of knowledge or justified beliefs in the first place (e.g., the belief that one is experiencing a red sensation generated by the fact that one is, indeed, having that sensation), (2) the fact that some justified or known beliefs (e.g., that one is experiencing a red sensation) transfer justification to other beliefs (e.g., that there is, in fact, a red object before one), or (3) entire epistemic faculties that serve as sources of knowledge and justification (e.g., against memory, sensory faculties, reason, introspection).
In this chapter we will focus on knowledge skepticism, not justificational skepticism, for two reasons. First, much of what is said about knowledge skepticism could be applied to justificational skepticism. Second, part of the task of considering justificational skepticism is the analysis of different theories of justification, and this will be done in chapter five.
Skeptics also differ on the depth of their skepticism. We have already seen this in regard to the affirmation of the skeptical thesis, academic skeptics being dogmatic and certain about skepticism itself and Pyrrhonic skeptics being less deep and more tentative about skepticism. But apart from the skeptical thesis itself, skeptics differ in regard to the depth of their position about knowledge in general. Unmitigated skepticism holds its skepticism with greater assurance and certainty than does mitigated skepticism, which is more tentative about knowledge claims. For any item of alleged knowledge, the unmitigated skeptic asserts that it is not a case of knowledge, but a mitigated skeptic is more inclined to withhold judgment about this assertion.
Within the category of unmitigated skeptics, there are three grades of strength with which unmitigated skepticism is affirmed. Going from stronger to weaker forms of unmitigated skepticism, these grades are as follows: (1) No proposition is knowable, that is, it is not possible for any proposition to be known. (2) While it may be possible for a proposition to be known, as a matter of fact, no proposition is known. (3) While there may be some propositions that are known in some weak sense of that word, nevertheless, no propositions are known with complete certainty.
Skeptics also differ in regard to the width or breadth of their skepticism. Global skepticism is the view that there is no knowledge (or justified belief) in any area of human thought. By contrast, local skepticism allows for knowledge in some areas (e.g., in science or in our sensory knowledge of the external world), but local skeptics deny knowledge in this or that specific area (e.g., in theology, ethics, mathematics). More specifically, local skeptics can direct their skepticism at certain alleged objects, faculties, or subject matters of knowledge. If objects are in view, then the skeptic denies that people have knowledge of certain objects or kinds of objects (e.g., of other minds, God, causal connections, matter). If faculties are in view, then the skeptic denies that knowledge can be gained by the utilization of some faculty or set of capacities people are supposed to possess (e.g., the senses, reason, other forms of intuition). If a certain subject matter is involved, then the skeptic denies that knowledge obtains in that subject matter (e.g., history, theology, science, ethics).
We will not look at local skepticism in the remainder of this chapter for three reasons. First, global skepticism is more interesting from a philosophical point of view and it is more central because if it is acceptable, then local skepticism follows. Second, it is hard to sustain local skepticism because the considerations that drive it in some specific domain are hard to limit solely to that domain. Skeptical considerations have a tendency to spill out into other areas, or, to change the metaphor, once the camel’s nose is in the tent, it is hard limit the camel’s movement throughout the tent. Third, in later chapters (e.g., chaps. 21–22, 25–26), we will examine skepticism about morality and religion, respectively, so we may safely postpone further reflection about local skepticism until then.
Finally, there is a distinction between first-order and second-order skepticism. First-order skepticism is the more typical version, and it involves skepticism directed at people’s everyday beliefs, that is, beliefs about the external world (there is a tree in the yard) or about an ethical proposition (Mercy as such is a virtue). Second-order skepticism is directed at people’s beliefs about these other beliefs. Here the skeptic does not directly question whether people have knowledge of this or that particular item. Rather, he challenges the idea that people know they have this knowledge. It is normally the case that a first-order skeptic will also be a second-order skeptic, because if people do not have knowledge of this or that, then they cannot have knowledge that they do have knowledge of this or that. On the other hand, one could be a second-order skeptic and not a first-order skeptic. One could hold that people know that a tree is in the yard but that they cannot know that they have this knowledge because such second-order knowledge requires, first, that they have an understanding of what knowledge itself is and, in light of Gettier counterexamples (see chap. 3), that understanding is not available.
We will not look at all of these different versions of skepticism. Such a task is important but too detailed for present purposes. But the considerations to follow will often apply, sometimes with minor adjustments, to several different skeptical positions. We will focus our attention on global, unmitigated, first-order knowledge skepticism. Further, we will focus on our sensory knowledge of the external world unless otherwise indicated. However, before we look at arguments for and against such skepticism, we need to get clear on an important purpose for this inquiry. Our goal here, and a major goal of epistemology in general, is to improve our epistemic situation. Part of such an improvement is to gain more knowledge and justified beliefs (and increase the strength of justification for our beliefs that are already justified to some degree) and to remove unjustified or false beliefs from the things we accept. In light of this, a distinction should be drawn between refuting the skeptic and rebutting the skeptic. Refuting the skeptic involves proving that skepticism is false, perhaps even proving this to the skeptic himself. This strategy involves accepting a burden of proof on the part of the cognitivist—the one who accepts the fact that people do have knowledge. By contrast, rebutting the skeptic involves showing that skeptical arguments do not establish the fact that people do not have knowledge. Our primary concern here is not with refuting, but with rebutting the skeptic. Such a stance involves placing the burden of proof on the skeptic, and it expresses at least initial confidence in our noetic equipment (e.g., sensory and cognitive faculties). Such an expression of confidence is quite at home in a Christian theistic worldview, because God is a good, trustworthy, rational being who created and designed humans to have knowledge about him and his world. Whether such confidence is justified within an evolutionary naturalistic framework is something we will consider at the end of the chapter. But for now, let us press on in earnest and look at some of the arguments skeptics have offered in defense of their thesis.
3—Arguments for Skepticism
Several arguments have been offered on behalf of skepticism, among which are the following.
3.1 The Argument from Error and Fallibility
We can all cite cases where we have been wrong in the past; we have mistakenly thought we had knowledge when we did not or when our senses deceived us. An oar looks bent in the water; railroad tracks appear to touch in the distance; ice will feel hot in certain circumstances; we see someone in the dark, recognize him to be a friend, and later find out we were wrong. The skeptic cites this problem, labeled the argument from error, and generalizes it in this way. In each case of past error we confused appearance with reality and mistakenly thought we had knowledge. How do we know that this is not happening right now? How do we know that this is not universally the case in our sensory awareness of the world? Since we have been mistaken in the past, for all we know we could always be mistaken in our beliefs. If this is so, how can we claim to have knowledge? How do I know I am not mistaken right now?
3.2 Evil Demons, Brain-in-the-Vat Arguments, and the Possibility of Error
Perhaps skeptics do not need to argue from the fact that we have been mistaken on occasions. Instead, skeptics may offer various brain-in-the-vat arguments; they simply need to point out that it is merely possible, logically speaking, that we are mistaken in our knowledge claims. And from the mere logical possibility of error (the fact that a skeptical thesis about any putative knowledge claim is not a logical contradiction), it follows that we cannot have knowledge. It is logically possible that an evil demon is tricking us by giving us sensory experiences of an external world when, in fact, no such world exists. Perhaps some scientist has put our brains in a laboratory vat and is stimulating them in such a way that we have a full range of sensory experiences of an external world when no such world is really appearing to us. Since it is logically possible that these things are happening to me and since there would be nothing in my experience that could indicate this to me one way or another (the brain-in-the-vat and the genuine sensory knowledge of the external world scenarios are empirically equivalent), then I cannot have knowledge since the skeptical arguments are logically possible. How do I know that these skeptical scenarios are not happening to me right now?
3.3 Transfer of Justification Arguments
Some skeptics are willing to grant, for the sake of argument, that we do have sensory knowledge that we are presently aware of at this very moment (e.g., that there is a green tree before me right now or that I am having a green sensation now). But we all claim to know many things that go beyond our present sensory experiences. These claims raise transfer of justification arguments, that is, arguments about the transfer of justification to knowledge claims beyond our present experience. For example, cognitivists claim that one can know what is in one’s study even when one is not there, that the sun will rise tomorrow, that since all previously experienced emeralds have been green, then it is likely that all emeralds are green, that the tree before one now was here ten minutes ago. The problem with all these knowledge claims, says the skeptic, is that they are not entailed by one’s present knowledge. That is, one’s current belief that there is a green tree before one right now could be true, and the belief that the tree was there ten minutes ago could be false. Similarly, one’s study may be burned down, the sun may not rise tomorrow, some emerald somewhere may be blue. These are all cases of inductive knowledge, cases where the truth of the premises do not guarantee, but merely lend support to the truth of the conclusions. In the transfer of justification from premises to conclusion, something is lost and error or loss of justification is possible. The skeptic asks, how do I know in each of these cases that I have not lost my justification for the conclusion even if it is granted that I know the premise?
4—A Critique of Skepticism
4.1 Skepticism and the Problem of the Criterion
A good way to begin an evaluation of skepticism is to focus on what is called the problem of the criterion. We can distinguish two different questions in epistemology. First, we can ask, what is it that we know? This is a question about the specific items of knowledge we possess and about the extent of our knowledge. Second, we can ask, how do we decide in any given case whether we have knowledge in that case? What are the criteria for knowledge? This is a question about our criteria for knowledge.
Now suppose that people wish to sort all of their beliefs into two groups—the true or justified ones and the false or unjustified ones—in order to retain the former and dispose of the latter in their entire set of beliefs. Such a sorting would allow them to improve their epistemic situation and grow in knowledge and justification. But now a problem arises regarding how one is able to proceed in this sorting activity. It would seem that one would need an answer to one of the two questions above in order to proceed. But before one can have an answer to the first question about the extent of knowledge, one would seem to need an answer to the second question about criteria for knowledge. But before one can have an answer to the second question, it seems that one needs an answer to the first question. This is the problem of the criterion.
There are three main solutions to the problem. First, there is skepticism. The skeptic claims, among other things, that no cognitivist solution to the problem exists and thus there is no knowledge. The next two solutions are advocated by cognitivists who claim that people do have knowledge. Methodism is the name of the second solution, and it has been advocated by philosophers such as John Locke, René Descartes, logical positivists, and others. According to methodism, one starts the enterprise of knowing with a criterion for what does and does not count as knowledge; in other words, one starts with an answer to question two and not question one. Methodists claim that before one can know some specific proposition P (e.g., There is a tree in the yard), one must first know some general criterion Q and, further, one must know that P is a good example of or measures up to Q. For example, Q might be “If you can test some item of belief with the five senses, then it can be an item of knowledge,” or perhaps, “If something appears to your senses in a certain way, then in the absence of defeaters, you know that the thing is as it appears to you.”
Unfortunately, methodism is not a good epistemic strategy because it leads to a vicious infinite regress. To see this, note that in general, methodism implies that before one can know anything, P, one must know two other things: Q (one’s criterion for knowledge) and R (the fact that P satisfies Q). But now the skeptic can ask how it is that one knows Q and R, and the methodist will have to offer a new criterion Q’ that specifies how he knows Q, and R’ that tells how he knows that Q satisfies Q’. Obviously, the same problem will arise for Q’ and R’, and a vicious regress is set up. Another way to see this is to note that there have been major debates about what are and are not good criteria for knowledge. Locke offered something akin to the notion that an item of knowledge about the external world must pass the criterion that the item of knowledge must be derived from simple sensory ideas or impressions (roughly, testing it with the senses). By contrast, Descartes offered a radically different criterion: the item of knowledge must be clear (precise, not fuzzy) and distinct (not confused with other ideas) when brought before the mind. If one is a methodist, how is one to settle disputes about criteria for knowledge? The answer will be that one will have to offer criteria for one’s criteria, and so on. It would seem, then, that methodism is in trouble.
There is a third solution to the problem, known as particularism, advocated by philosophers such as Thomas Reid, Roderick Chisholm, and G. E. Moore. According to particularists, people start by knowing specific, clear items of knowledge: that one had eggs for breakfast this morning, that there is a tree before one, or, perhaps, that one seems to see a tree, that 7 + 5 = 12, that mercy is a virtue, and so on. One can know some things directly and simply without having to have criteria for how one knows them and without having to know how or even that one knows them. People know many things without being able to prove that they do or without fully understanding the things they know. People simply identify clear instances of knowing without applying any criteria for knowledge or justification. One may reflect on these instances and go on to develop criteria for knowledge consistent with them, and then use these criteria to make judgments in borderline cases of knowledge. But the criteria are justified by their congruence with specific instances of knowledge, not the other way around.
For example, one may start with moral knowledge (murder is wrong) and legal knowledge (taxes are to be paid by April 15) and go on to formulate criteria for when something is moral or legal. One could then use these criteria for judging borderline cases (intentionally driving on the wrong side of the street). In general, we start with clear instances of knowledge, formulate criteria based on those clear instances, and extend our knowledge by using those criteria to resolve borderline, unclear cases.
The skeptic can raise two basic objections against the particularist. First, particularism allegedly begs the question against the skeptic by simply assuming the point at issue—whether people have knowledge. How does the particularist know that people have this? Is it not possible in the cases cited above that the particularist is wrong and he only thinks he has knowledge?
Particularists respond to this objection in at least four ways. First, regarding begging the question, if the skeptic is an iterative skeptic, his question can be ignored because it is not a substantive position or argument. If, on the other hand, a skeptical question is the result of an argument, then this argument must be reasonable before it can be held as a serious objection against knowledge. However, if one did not know some things one could not reasonably doubt anything (e.g., the reason for doubting one’s senses now is one’s knowledge that they have misled him in the past). Global, unmitigated skepticism is not a rationally defensible position, and the skeptical question cannot be rationally asserted and defended without presupposing knowledge.
Second, the skeptic tries to force the particularist to be a methodist by asking the “How do you know?” question, since the skeptic is implying that before one can know, one must have criteria for knowledge. And the skeptic knows he can refute the methodist. But the particularist will resist the slide into methodism by reaffirming that he can know some specific item without having to say how he knows it.
Third, the particularist argues that just because it is logically possible that he is mistaken in a specific case of knowledge, that does not mean he is mistaken or that he has any good reason to think he is wrong. And until the skeptic can give him good reason for thinking his instances of knowledge fail, the mere logical possibility that he is wrong will not suffice.
The particularist and skeptic have very different approaches to knowledge. For the skeptic, the burden of proof is on the cognitivist. If it is logically possible that one might be mistaken, then knowledge is not present because knowledge requires certainty. Of the two main tasks of epistemology (obtaining true or justified beliefs and avoiding false or unjustified beliefs), the skeptic elevates the latter and requires that his position be refuted before knowledge can be justified. Moreover, if one asks what it means to have “a right to be sure” that one has knowledge, two different senses of this phrase are involved: (1) one can dogmatically assert that one has knowledge and refuse to look at further evidence, or (2) one can have the right to rely on the truth of the belief in explaining things and in forming other beliefs while remaining open to further evidence in the future. The skeptic claims that the particularist assertion of knowledge is an example of the former sense of the right to be sure, not the latter.
Table 4.1.
ISSUE
THE SKEPTIC
THE PARTICULARIST
burden of proof
on the particularist
on the skeptic
knowledge
requires certainty
does not require certainty
“you might be wrong”
uses a logical “might”
uses an epistemic “might”
dealing with the skeptic
skeptic must be refuted
skeptic must be rebutted
two tasks of epistemology
emphasizes avoidance of false or unjustified beliefs
emphasizes obtaining true or justified beliefs
the particularist’s use of “the right to be sure”
dogmatically asserted in a closed-minded way
the right to use our knowledge while remaining open
By contrast, the cognitivist places the burden of proof on the skeptic. Just because it is logically possible to be mistaken in a given case, it does not follow that one might be mistaken in an epistemic sense. There is a distinction between a logical “might” and an epistemic “might” in “you might be mistaken.” The former means that there is no logical contradiction in asserting that a knowledge claim is in error. The latter means that there are good reasons for thinking that one actually is mistaken in a knowledge claim. The particularist claims that all the skeptic provides is the logical possibility of error in certain clear cases of knowledge, but not the epistemic possibility of error (good reasons for thinking one actually is in error), and it is the latter that is required to defeat a knowledge claim. The particularist holds that (1) knowledge does not require certainty; (2) the burden of proof is on the skeptic, that all the particularist needs to do is rebut, not refute the skeptic; (3) of the two main tasks of epistemology, having true or justified beliefs takes precedent over avoiding false, unjustified beliefs; and (4) the appropriate notion of the “right to be sure” is the second one.
These different perspectives are summarizes in table 4.1.
There is one final point the particularist makes in his defense. The particularist claims that his view has advantages over the other two positions. Regarding methodism, the particularist avoids a vicious infinite regress. Regarding skepticism, particularism accords and skepticism does not accord with the fact that, after all, people do know many things.
We are now in a position to understand the dialectic between skeptic and particularist about a second major skeptical objection to particularism. Simply put, the objection is that particularism might easily be abused. One could just go around and assert that he or she knows all kinds of things and sanction this intellectual irresponsibility by claiming to be a particularist.
In light of what we have seen above, the particularist response should be clear. Just because it is logically possible to abuse particularism, it does not follow in a particular case that one is actually abusing it. Instead of focusing on generalities and mere logical possibilities, one should look at specific cases of knowledge claims and require that the skeptic give good reasons for thinking that particularism is being abused in that very case. The mere possibility that such an abuse is going on is not sufficient to prove the skeptic’s case, and the particularist does not need a criterion for telling when particularism itself is and is not being abused before he can adopt a particularist standpoint in a specific instance of knowledge.
4.2 Brief Responses to the Main Skeptical Arguments
Our responses here have been brief because they really represent applications of the issues discussed in the analysis of the problem of the criterion. From our discussion of that problem, it should be evident that the skeptic and the particularist have different attitudes of confidence in the human ability to obtain knowledge and in the trustworthiness of human noetic equipment (e.g., sensory and cognitive faculties). But is it really sensible to have confidence in that equipment?
Interestingly, one’s worldview will have an effect on how this question should be answered. More specifically, from the time of Darwin to the present, many thinkers have expressed the thought that if naturalistic evolutionary theory is true, we would have little reason to trust our noetic equipment, but if Christian theism is true, we would have good worldview considerations that help to justify such confidence. We will close this chapter with a brief examination of this issue.
5—The Epistemology of Peer Disagreement
In recent years, a new branch of epistemology has come into focus, namely, the epistemology of peer disagreement. What do the demands of rationality require one to do when faced with an epistemic peer—roughly, a cognitive, educational equal who is equally as competent as you and familiar with the same evidence—who disagrees with your conclusions? There are different viewpoints about the right way to approach such situations, but two have risen to prominence—the conformist and the steadfast views.
The conformist/conciliatory/equal-weight view. According to this position, peer disagreement has enormous epistemic significance. Unless one has a reason independent of the disagreement itself to prefer one’s own view, one of two things follows: Either the person cannot rationally hold to P if the peer believes ¬P (so one must withhold belief about P), or alternatively the two peers must split the difference to take into account not only their different views but also the different degrees of certainty they have. So if one is 80 percent/20 percent certain that P and the other peer is 30 percent/70 percent that P (i.e., 70 percent certain that ¬P), they each should adjust and be 55 percent/45 percent certain that P. In either case, equal weight should be given to each peer and they cannot have a rational disagreement with each other.
Several arguments have been proffered for the conformist view, but we present three important ones here. First, if one disagrees with an expert in another field for which one is not an expert, then one should lower one’s epistemic certainty. However, in principle, there is no difference with this case and with disagreeing with a peer in one’s own field, and, for consistency’s sake, when this happens, one ought to adjust one’s view as stipulated by the conformist position. In many cases, this does seem to be a reasonable approach to disagreement with an expert in another field. But there are two exceptions. For one thing, if one can find sociological, spiritual, or ethical reasons for why the expert holds his view, or if one can find evidence that it is to the expert’s advantage (e.g., financially, for promotion) to hold the view, then one can be reasonable in taking the expert to hold his view on irrelevant bases besides those that qualify him as an expert. Second, years ago Thomas Kuhn noted that it is often new scientists in a field or even someone completely outside the field who have the sort of sociological, epistemic distance from an issue needed to look at it from a different angle and see problems and solutions that are hard to see for those who have lived for years with an internalized perspective held by the majority of practitioners in that field. In this case, it may actually be a disadvantage to be such an expert, and the nonexpert may have reasons for his view that the expert has not considered or taken seriously.
Second, that fact of peer disagreement presents second-order evidence that defeats the strength of first-order evidence. Thus the conformist view seems to take account of the second-order evidence better than the steadfast view. In response, some argue that the presence of second-order evidence of peer disagreement relates to both peers equally, and thus it cancels out and warrants refocusing on the first-order issues. Second, the second-order evidence of disagreement does not require two disagreeing peers to withhold belief about their topic of disagreement. Rather, it simply introduces another layer for argumentation. Thus, while disputants should continue to formulate new arguments about and rededicate themselves to treating fairly the first-order issues, they should also see if they can find evidence to support the claim that the peers on the other side are not dealing with the evidence fairly. More on this below.
Third, it has been argued that the uniqueness thesis supports the conformist view. This thesis states that for a given body of evidence and given propositions in dispute, there is at most one level of confidence that is warranted, and I have no reason to think that I’m not the one who has responded improperly to the evidence. As we will see below, that actual situation may be that I have reason to think that it is I, not my epistemic peer, who has treated the evidence properly.
Three arguments have been raised against the conformist view. If successful, they also count in favor of the steadfast view. First, the position seems to be self-refuting in this way. Conformists say that when epistemic peers disagree about P, then both sides ought to withhold belief regarding P. But, of course, epistemic peers disagree over the principle of disagreement itself along with what should be taken to follow from it. So we should withhold our belief in the alleged implications of the principle as stated by the conformist view. Some respond that the conformist dictate of revision of belief holds for all areas of peer disagreement except for the principle of disagreement itself. But this seems to be a highly question-begging claim for which evidential support is scant, to say the least.
Second, some claim that it is hard to establish that two people are, in fact, epistemic peers. Perhaps one disputant has a weaker education than the other, or does not care about the issue as much, has not read as widely on the topic, and so on. In principle, this does seem to be true. But it’s not clear what follows from it. If one disagrees with what appears to be an epistemic peer or even with someone who is very close to being an epistemic peer, this would seem to be all that the conformist view needs to justify its approach.
Third, if one can make a good case that one’s epistemic peer has not dealt fairly and honestly with the evidence, has not approached the topic while exhibiting epistemic virtues, and does not really hunger to know the truth of the matter, then one can disregard the impact of the peer’s view since it is not based on his being an expert or a peer. This happens more often the closer the topic of dispute approaches moral or spiritual teachings at the center of Christianity. Christianity teaches that fallen humans often do not approach ethical or theological topics with an honest hunger to find and obey the truth. As atheistic philosopher Thomas Nagel admitted, the cosmic authority problem—not wanting there to be a God, not wanting to live in a universe where God has the authority to tell us what to do—has strongly influenced his own atheism and the treatment of the evidence for theism, and he suspects that this problem is a widespread factor affecting many atheists. Moreover, if the sociology of a field of study is such that its conformity to the main paradigm accepted in that field provides respect, acceptance, prestige, and connection with others in the field, this second-order evidence is fair game in providing warrant for dismissing the impact of widespread peer disagreement with one’s own view. We suspect this plays an important factor in explaining why intelligent design theory cannot get a significant foothold among evolutionary biologists. Finally, the conformist view says two peer disputants should withhold belief about the topic of dispute unless one side has independent evidence for his view not available to the other side. But Christians will say they do have such independent evidence in the testimony of the Holy Spirit in their lives, the existence of miraculous religious experiences, including specific answers to prayer, or God’s speaking to a person or giving a word of knowledge that could not have been coincidence and that turned out to be true.
In our opinion, arguments one and three have real force against the conformist position.
The nonconformist, steadfast/extra-weight view. The steadfast view is basically the negation of the conformist view. Here, one can be justified in continuing to hold to one’s view with the same degree of justification even in the presence of peer disagreement. One should, as it were, stick to one’s guns. Thus, rational disagreement among epistemic peers is possible.
The main reasons for the steadfast view are the alleged force of the criticisms of the conformist position. Besides these, we present two further arguments for the steadfast outlook. First, two epistemic peers may be using different principles or appealing to different types of evidence. In this case, there is no way to consider the disputants as epistemic peers, and one should steadfastly hold to one’s position in spite of disagreement. In response, one must be careful that this principle does not degenerate into a form of relativism according to which two disputing peers or communities of peers are incommensurable because, among other things, principles of rationality are themselves paradigm dependent and, thus, cannot provide common ground for engaging in rational dialogue. Besides being self-refuting, such a view simply cannot account for the actual nature of many peer disputes. However, if one person or side has adopted a question-begging or even self-refuting epistemology, and the other side has accepted a more pluralistic epistemology where different canons of evidence and rationality are suited to different fields of study, then this argument has teeth. For example, many if not most atheists have adopted some version of scientism (science is either by far the best approach to knowledge we have or the only approach we have) to warrant their atheism. But the stronger versions of scientism are self-refuting and the weaker versions are, arguably, false. Why should we think that rational principles in discovering truths in math, logic, physics, history, psychology, theology, art, and so on should all be the same? It is much more reasonable to conform one’s epistemology to the nature of the objects studied in a given field.
Second, I have first-person acquaintance with my own treatment of the evidence, not with yours, and, thus I am in a better place to know if I was fair or not. If I reexamine my approach to the evidence, as well as the evidence itself, and if I judge I have been appropriate in my approach, then I should stick to my guns because I have far less certainty that my disputant has been fair and so on. Now, one can be mistaken about one’s own reasoning processes, but in general, this seems to be a good argument.
In sum, if the conformist view is taken, not as an absolute, objective truth, but as a mere rule of thumb, then it may be helpful in causing one to reexamine one’s own evidence and intellectual competence and integrity, especially if the topic (1) is not one for which one side has an independent source of evidence and knowledge; (2) is at some distance from the core ethical and theological claims of Christianity; (3) is something for which neither side particularly has an ax to grind or sociological reasons for preferring one view. But rules of thumb are not universal truths, and it seems that, on balance, the steadfast view is preferable to the conformist position.
6—Evolutionary Naturalism and Our Noetic Equipment
Several thinkers, C. S. Lewis, Richard Taylor and Alvin Plantinga among them, have argued in one way or another that naturalism in general, and evolutionary naturalism in particular, lead to skepticism. This idea is not new. In fact, the same problem troubled Darwin himself: “With me the horrid doubt always arises whether the convictions of man’s mind, which has been developed from the mind of lower animals, are of any value or at all trustworthy. Would any one trust in the convictions of a monkey’s mind, if there are any convictions in such a mind?” In what follows, we will give a simple overview of the way Alvin Plantinga develops this argument.
According to Plantinga, knowledge is warranted true belief, and a belief has warrant for some person, just in case (“just in case” means “if and only if”) that belief was formed by cognitive faculties that are functioning properly and in accordance with a good design plan in a cognitive environment appropriate for the way those faculties were designed and when the design plan for our faculties is aimed at obtaining truth. The important point here is that, according to Plantinga, warrant is a normative notion, and an essential part of warrant is that our faculties are functioning properly, that is, functioning the way they ought to function. Since proper function is normative (understood in terms of the way our faculties ought to function), “proper function” cannot be understood as a mere description of the statistically usual or normal way that human faculties do, in fact, function. These two notions (normative functioning versus statistically usual functioning) are not the same thing. Someone could have sensory and intellectual faculties that functioned the way they ought to and be the only person to function that way if everyone else had defectively functioning faculties. Similarly, one could have faculties that functioned in the statistically usual way without having faculties that operated the way they ought to if most people’s faculties were defective.
Now the notion of proper function, understood as functioning the way something ought to function, makes clear sense for artifacts that are designed by an intelligence. Why? Because the claim that something functions the way it ought to is easily understood in terms of functioning the way it was designed to function. An engine functions properly in that it functions the way it was designed to function. Now if knowledge presupposes warranted belief, and if warrant beliefs presuppose that those beliefs were produced by properly functioning faculties, and if the notion of properly functioning faculties presupposes the notion of being designed to function in a certain way, then knowledge presupposes a designer.
The naturalist owes us an account of what it would mean for humans to have properly functioning cognitive and sensory faculties that can avoid the idea of a designer, and, says Plantinga, those accounts have not been successful. In one way or another, they all define “proper functioning” in terms of functioning in a statistically normal, usual way (e.g., a heart functions normally if it functions the way most hearts do) or in a way that enhances the survival value of the organisms that have the organ or faculty in question. But these do not give us a normative notion of proper functioning faculties, and in any case one cannot define proper functioning in terms of evolutionary theory and survival value because even if evolution is true, it is a contingent truth (evolution could have been false; indeed it most likely is false) and there could have been proper functioning faculties even if evolution had been false. So the truth of evolution cannot be required to make sense of proper functioning faculties. Whatever account we give of properly functioning faculties should apply in possible worlds where evolution is true and in worlds where it is false. A definition that captures the real essence of something, in this case “properly functioning faculties,” cannot contingently apply to the thing being defined depending on whether some other factor (evolution) is true.
Plantinga’s case is more detailed than we can present here. But if his argument is correct, then metaphysical naturalism, including evolutionary naturalism, is false. The issue is this: if knowledge exists and if properly functioning faculties are necessary conditions for knowledge, then if the notion of proper function requires the existence of a designer of those faculties and cannot be adequately understood in strictly naturalistic terms, we can conclude that metaphysical naturalism is false.
Next, Plantinga develops arguments that try to show not that evolutionary naturalism is false, but that even if it is true, it is still irrational to believe it. He begins by pointing out that, according to naturalistic evolutionary theory, human beings, their parts and cognitive faculties, arose by a blind, mindless, purposeless process such that these things were selected for solely in virtue of survival value and reproductive advantage. If our cognitive faculties arose this way, then their ultimate purpose (assuming they have one; see above) is to guarantee that we behave in certain ways, that is, that we move appropriately in getting nourishment, avoiding danger, fighting, and reproducing such that our chances of survival are enhanced. From this perspective, beliefs, and certainly beliefs that are true, take a hindmost role if they play any role at all. Thus naturalistic evolutionary theory gives us reason to doubt that our cognitive systems have the production of true beliefs as a purpose or that they do, in fact, furnish us with mostly true beliefs.
But could not someone object to this in the following way? Surely an organism with trustworthy sensory and cognitive faculties would be more likely to survive than those without those faculties, and thus the processes of evolution would select trustworthy faculties and make their existence likely. According to Plantinga, this is not so. That is, the probability that our faculties would be reliable, given the truth of evolutionary naturalism and the existence of the faculties we possess, is either (1) very low indeed or (2) something about which we should remain agnostic. Why does Plantinga think this? Evolution is likely to select behavior that is adaptive, but we cannot say the same for faculties that produce true beliefs because, given evolutionary naturalism, at least five different scenarios regarding our beliefs (or those of a hypothetical creature or, say, a monkey) and our noetic faculties are possible and cannot be ruled out.
First, evolutionary processes could produce beliefs that have no causal relationship whatever to behavior and thus no purpose or function. In this case, evolution would select adaptive behavior but beliefs would be mere epiphenomena, entities that “float on top” of physical states in an organism with no purpose or function. Beliefs would not cause or be caused by behaviors and thus would be invisible to evolution. We can add a further point to Plantinga’s argument here.
In chapters eleven and twelve, we will see that naturalistic evolutionary theory seems to imply a physicalist view of living organisms, that is, that they are merely complex physical objects. Why? Because on this view, living organisms are solely the result of physical evolutionary processes operating on solely physical materials, and thus the products of evolution (living organisms) would be solely physical. Now, at least two things seem to be mental entities and not physical ones: beliefs and our relationship to them. Our beliefs (e.g., that red is a color) seem to be states of the mind with certain mental contents (the meaning or propositional content of the belief) being essential to them. Moreover, as cognitive beings, we sustain certain relations to our beliefs that are mental and not physical in nature: We grasp, attend to, affirm, hold, and ponder our beliefs. Thus, if beliefs and our relationship to them are mental in nature, evolutionary naturalism would seem to imply that there would be no beliefs or mental relations. If beliefs do not exist, they can hardly be said to cause or be caused by behavior.
Second, evolution could produce beliefs that are effects but not causes of behavior (in option one, beliefs were neither). In this case, beliefs would be like a decoration and would not be a part of a causal chain leading to action. Beliefs would function much like dreams.
Third, evolution could produce beliefs that do have causal efficacy (they are caused by and, in turn, cause behaviors), but not in virtue of what they essentially are as beliefs, that is, not in virtue of their semantics or mental contents, but in virtue of the physical characteristics or syntax that are associated with (or part of) them. Plantinga illustrates this with a person who reads a poem so loudly that it breaks a glass, but this causal effect is not produced by the meanings or contents of the poem (they, like beliefs in this third option, are causally irrelevant), but by the sound waves coming from the reader’s mouth.
Fourth, evolution could produce beliefs that are, in fact, causally efficacious syntactically and semantically (in virtue of their content), but such beliefs and belief systems could be maladaptive in at least two ways (in general maladaptive features such as being an albino can be fixed in a species and passed on to offspring; similarly, the presence of a certain belief system or the propensity to form beliefs could be maladaptive and still be fixed in a species and passed on to offspring). First, beliefs could be energy expensive distractions causing creatures to engage in survival enhancing behavior but in a way less efficient and economical than if the causal connections producing that behavior bypassed belief altogether. In support of Plantinga’s point, some scientists have argued that the possession of rational abilities (e.g., belief processing systems) can be a disadvantage because such systems require increased information-processing capacities associated with the nervous system, and this is a reproductive liability prenatally (such a system requires a longer and more vulnerable gestation period) and postnatally (it takes longer to raise and teach the young). Second, beliefs could directly produce maladaptive behavior, but the organism could survive anyway, perhaps due to other, overriding factors.
Finally, evolution could produce beliefs that are causally efficacious in virtue of their contents and that are adaptive. However, in this case we can still ask: What would be the likelihood that the noetic faculties producing such beliefs would be reliable guides to having true beliefs? Not very high, says Plantinga, and to see why, we need to note that beliefs don’t produce behaviors directly; rather, entire sets of beliefs, desires, and other factors (e.g., sensations, acts of will, or persons themselves) are among the things that produce behavior. Plantinga invites us to consider Paul, a prehistoric hominid whose survival requires that he display various types of tiger-avoidance behavior (e.g., fleeing, hiding). Call these behaviors B. Now B could be caused by Paul’s desire to avoid being eaten plus the true belief that B will increase his chances of avoiding such a fate.
However, indefinitely many other belief-desire systems could easily produce B as well, even if they contain false beliefs (and wrong desires or inaccurate sensory experiences). For example, perhaps Paul likes the idea of being eaten but always runs away from tigers, looking for a better prospect because he thinks it unlikely that the tiger before him will eat him. Or perhaps he thinks a tiger is a large, friendly pussycat and wants to pet the tiger, but also believes the best way to pet it is to run away from it. Or perhaps he confuses running toward it with running away from it. All of these belief-desire sets would get Paul’s body in the right place so far as survival is concerned, but most of them will not need to contain true beliefs to do this. To elaborate on Plantinga’s point, from an evolutionary perspective, organisms are black boxes insofar as their beliefs, desires, sensations, and willings are concerned. Organisms that move the right way (for survival purposes) given the right circumstances need not have true beliefs about or accurate sensations of the world around them. Thus the possession of trustworthy faculties that regularly produce true beliefs is not required by the demands of survival. This is especially true when it comes to the ability to have true beliefs about abstract issues or to engage in intellectual theorizing, for example, philosophical reflection, scientific theorizing, and so forth, including the ability to argue for or against evolutionary theory itself. These abilities go far beyond what would be required within the constraints of reproductive advantage and survival.
Now each of these five scenarios is possible. And given no further evidence either way about the reliability of our cognitive equipment, the likelihood that those faculties would be reliable, given evolutionary naturalism and the faculties that we have, would either be very low or something we would simply have to be agnostic about. Thus evolutionary naturalism serves as an undercutting defeater that removes our grounds for trusting in the reliability of our noetic equipment. Plantinga likens this to a case in which a person enters a factory, sees an assembly line carrying apparently red widgets, and is then told that these widgets are being irradiated by various red lights that make everything look red. A given widget before the person could still be red, but the person would have no grounds for believing this. She has an undercutting defeater for such a belief.
Someone might object and claim that we do have grounds independent of evolutionary theory for trusting our noetic equipment, namely, the fact that we engage in reasoning to true beliefs all the time. But, says Plantinga, such a claim is pragmatically circular in that it alleges to give a reason for trusting our noetic equipment, but the reason is itself trustworthy only if those faculties are indeed trustworthy. If I have come to doubt my noetic equipment, I cannot give an argument using that equipment, for I will rely on the very equipment in doubt.
An evolutionary naturalist could respond to this charge of pragmatic circularity in this way: He claims to start with evolutionary naturalism, comes to see Plantinga’s argument and thus to distrust his noetic equipment, but at the same time realizes that his distrust also removes any reason he has for trusting Plantinga’s argument itself, and thus comes in the end no longer to have reason to distrust his noetic equipment. Plantinga’s response to this is to show that, in fact, the evolutionary naturalist is caught in a paralyzing dialectical loop like the one noted long ago by David Hume:
This [skeptical] argument is not just; because the skeptical reasonings, were it possible for them to exist, and were they not destroy’d by their subtility, wou’d be successively both strong and weak, according to the successive dispositions of the mind. Reason first appears in possession of the throne, prescribing laws, and imposing maxims, with an absolute sway and authority. Her enemy, therefore, is oblig’d to take shelter under her protection, and by making use of rational arguments to prove the fallaciousness and imbecility of reason, produces, in a manner, a patent under her hand and seal. This patent has at first an authority, propostion’d to the present and immediate authority of reason, from which it is deriv’d. But as it is suppos’d to be contradictory to reason, it gradually diminishes the force of that governing power, and its own at the same time; till at last they both vanish away into nothing, by a regular and just diminution.
Hume’s argument against skepticism can be rephrased in this way. We start by trusting our reason. But, later, we encounter skeptical arguments against that trust and so we stop trusting reason. But once we do this, we no longer have any reason to accept the skeptical arguments themselves and continue our mistrust of reason. At this point, I begin to trust reason again, but then, the skeptical arguments reassert themselves, and so forth. We have entered a vicious dialectical loop that, eventually, will reach a sort of intellectual paralysis. According to Plantinga, evolutionary naturalists are caught in this same sort of loop. This shows that evolutionary naturalism is an ultimately undefeated defeater of our grounds for trusting the reliability of our noetic equipment. Put another way, evolutionary naturalism is self-defeating because it provides for itself a defeater (grounds for not trusting our noetic equipment) that is ultimately undefeated (cannot be removed by more basic considerations). Given that evolutionary naturalism and traditional theism are our options, this provides an argument for traditional theism that, among other things, teaches that a rational, good God designed our noetic equipment and placed us in a conducive cognitive environment so we could have knowledge of many things about him and his world.
We cannot undertake an evaluation of arguments against Plantinga’s line of thought or of responses to those arguments. But one thing should be mentioned. The trustworthiness of our cognitive faculties is closely related to broad worldview considerations relating to the nature, function, and origin of those faculties. Thus the problem of skepticism should be analyzed, at least in part, in light of the resources that different worldviews bring to bear on that problem.
Chapter Summary
Skepticism has had a long history from the ancient Academic and Pyrrhonian skeptics up to the present. There are several forms of skepticism. Iterative skeptics merely repeat the question, how do you know?; metaepistemological skeptics are skeptical about philosophy and epistemology themselves; and heuristic skepticism is merely a guiding approach to developing epistemological insights. Knowledge skepticism and justificational skepticism are directed at knowledge and justification, respectively, and utilize arguments against the origination, transfer, or sources of knowledge or justification. Unmitigated skeptics are more certain of skepticism, and mitigated skeptics are more tentative. Global skeptics claim that there is no knowledge in any area of human thought, and local skeptics limit skepticism to a specific object (or kind of object), faculty, or subject matter. First-order skepticism focuses on ordinary beliefs, and second-order skepticism centers on knowing that we know. There is a key difference between refuting and rebutting the skeptic.
Three main skeptical arguments were stated: the argument from error, the argument from the possibility of error, and arguments about the transfer of knowledge. In responding to skepticism, we saw that the central area of focus was the problem of the criterion and its application to the debate among skeptics, methodists, and particularists. We also discussed the epistemology of peer disagreement by stating and evaluating the two chief views in this area of reflection: the conformist view and the steadfast view. Part of the debate about skepticism involves confidence in our noetic equipment, and this confidence is, in part, a function of one’s overall worldview. In particular, naturalist evolutionary theory fails to have the resources for justifying confidence in the trustworthiness of our noetic equipment.
Checklist of Basic Terms and Concepts
Academic skepticism
antithesis
argument from error
ataraxia
brain-in-the-vat arguments
burden of proof
Cartesian certainty
cognitivist
conformist view
cosmic authority problem
defeaters
dialectical loop
epistemic “might”
epoche
first-order skepticism
global skepticism
heuristic or methodological skepticism
iterative skepticism
justificational skepticism
knowledge skepticism
local skepticism
logical “might”
metaepistemological skepticism
methodism
methodological doubt
mitigated skepticism
naturalized epistemology
particularism
pragmatically circular
prima facie justified
problem of the criterion
proper function
Pyrrhonian skepticism
rebutting the skeptic
refuting the skeptic
right to be sure
second-order skepticism
steadfast view
transfer of justification arguments
uniqueness thesis
unmitigated skepticism
vicious infinite regress
warrant