Assessing the Burden of Proof
Well, I've been awfully busy lately but somehow the fact that I'm almost done with my work for the semester makes it that much easier to procrastinate and not finish it. Figures. Anyway, there's an issue that seems to be coming to the fore a lot in my thinking lately, so I'd like to post some thoughts about it. The issue in question is this: How should we go about assessing where the burden of proof should fall in debate?
I should back up a bit, so that we can see why this is an important question. The issue comes up perhaps most readily in some relatively recent work in epistemology (see, in particular, Jim Pryor's "The Skeptic and The Dogmatist"), where it is admitted that we may not have any means by which to refute the skeptic, but this does not mean that we must accept that his conclusions either (i.e. that we have no knowledge, or justified beliefs, or whatever the conclusions of the particular skeptic are). That is, the fact that we cannot, as it were, beat the skeptic at his own game by offering convincing (i.e. sound and non-question-begging) arguments against him does not show that his conclusions are correct. The issue here thus comes down to assessing the relevant burden of proof. In particular, is the burden on us (non-skeptics) to refute the skeptic on her own terms or, rather, is the burden on the skeptic to give us some reason to think that we ought to take her argumentative presuppositions seriously? Much of the "classical" work in the literature seems to suppose the former but, absent an argument, why not think the burden is on the skeptic (or, is at least shared by the skeptic)? To make this perhaps a bit clearer, let's imagine an example argument that could be offered by a "Cartesian" skeptic:
(1) You can't know anything about the external world unless you can rule out the possibility that some epistemically "bad" conditions obtain (e.g. that one is being deceived by an evil demon, etc.)
(2) If you were being deceived by an evil demon (i.e. some "bad" conditions obtain), then your experiences would be, from your point of view, indistinguishable from veridical experiences.
(3) So, if (2), you would be unable to rule out the possibility that some epistemically "bad" conditions obtain based on your experience.
(4) (And here's where we break from Descartes) There's no good reason to think that you can rule out the possibility that epistemically "bad" conditions obtain (since this is, presumably, a contingent matter) by pure internal reflection alone (i.e. on a priori grounds).
(5) So, you cannot know anything about the external world.
Now, this argument looks valid (and, if it isn't, it could easily be patched up), but why should we, as the skeptic thinks we should, accept the premises? Indeed, one might think that since we clearly do know things about the external world, this argument constitutes a reductio against the conjunction of the premises (i.e. (1)&(2)&(4)). Now, it is true that such a maneuver could not refute the skeptic, since it would beg the question (i.e. by taking as given the claim that we really do know things about the external world which, according to the skeptic, is the very claim whose truth is at issue). However, it might be that it is eminently more reasonable to reject one of the premises ((1), in particular, seems weakest) than to accept the conclusion.
Here then is the crux of the issue: We have reached a dialectical point at which neither interlocutor can make a non-question-begging argument against the other. We are at utter loggerheads (this seems to happen quite a lot in recent debates in metaphysics, especially in issues involving qualia and consciousness in the philosophy of mind) with, apparently, no means by which to resolve the issue.
So, the problem that we've reached is this: we must assess a burden of proof issue in some debate, and it seems clear that the strategy of providing sound arguments from premises that both parties accept will not work (because there are no such premises that can do the needed work). How, then, shall we proceed? Richard Creath gave a talk on Carnap yesterday, and he discussed an idea that might be of use here: Carnap's Principle of Tolerance. Now, I should warn you ahead of time that I haven't actually read the relevant sections of Carnap, but Creath's Carnap was clear enough, so I'll be talking about Creath's take on Carnap. In any event, this principle seems to be a softening of the hardcore positivist stance with respect to metaphysics (i.e. that most of the statements employed therein are meaningless). The idea of the Principle of Tolerance, rather, is that we should treat theoretical claims as proposals and not statements and thus, that we should assess them in terms of their pragmatic usefulness (especially in undergirding scientific research programmes) and not in terms of their truth. Thus, says the Tolerant Carnap, let the metaphysicians have their day, provided that their concepts can at least be stated clearly enough so that their pragmatic benefits can be assessed.
Something like the Principle of Tolerance, then, seems to give us the resources to resolve burden of proof issues. Even in cases where the disagreeing parties might have radically different conceptual schemes, such that neither can argue against the other without begging the question, they may still agree to let pragmatic usefulness (in the sense of underwriting a research program) arbitrate the dispute.
Now, perhaps I've put the view unfairly, but I'm skeptical as to whether, ultimately, this will help. If we are considering radically divergent types of views here, it seems a legitimate possibility that they might agree to let pragmatism win the day and yet disagree regarding which position would, in fact, be more fruitful. Indeed, if the debate is between, say, competing logical systems (or positions in philosophy of logic, say, between Logicists and Intuitionists), the disagreeing parties might not even be able to agree on what follows from what. At most, each could claim that, according to their inference rules, such-and-such follows but, of course, the other could rely on some other, incompatible, inference rules. Another problem is that, by requiring "precise" formulations, Carnap's principle might not be so tolerant after all. Again, if we're dealing with radically divergent conceptual schemes, it may be simply impossible for either side to explain themselves in terms that are intelligible to the other.
So, the question remains: How should we go about assessing burden of proof issues? There seem to be situations wherein we simply cannot resolve disputes by argumentation; where does this leave us? Does it show that, at least in some cases, it is neither necessary nor sufficient to refute one's dialectical opponent in order to continue to (rationally) hold onto one's position, or is this intolerable dogmatism?
Whew, that was quite a post. Making up for lost time, I guess.
I should back up a bit, so that we can see why this is an important question. The issue comes up perhaps most readily in some relatively recent work in epistemology (see, in particular, Jim Pryor's "The Skeptic and The Dogmatist"), where it is admitted that we may not have any means by which to refute the skeptic, but this does not mean that we must accept that his conclusions either (i.e. that we have no knowledge, or justified beliefs, or whatever the conclusions of the particular skeptic are). That is, the fact that we cannot, as it were, beat the skeptic at his own game by offering convincing (i.e. sound and non-question-begging) arguments against him does not show that his conclusions are correct. The issue here thus comes down to assessing the relevant burden of proof. In particular, is the burden on us (non-skeptics) to refute the skeptic on her own terms or, rather, is the burden on the skeptic to give us some reason to think that we ought to take her argumentative presuppositions seriously? Much of the "classical" work in the literature seems to suppose the former but, absent an argument, why not think the burden is on the skeptic (or, is at least shared by the skeptic)? To make this perhaps a bit clearer, let's imagine an example argument that could be offered by a "Cartesian" skeptic:
(1) You can't know anything about the external world unless you can rule out the possibility that some epistemically "bad" conditions obtain (e.g. that one is being deceived by an evil demon, etc.)
(2) If you were being deceived by an evil demon (i.e. some "bad" conditions obtain), then your experiences would be, from your point of view, indistinguishable from veridical experiences.
(3) So, if (2), you would be unable to rule out the possibility that some epistemically "bad" conditions obtain based on your experience.
(4) (And here's where we break from Descartes) There's no good reason to think that you can rule out the possibility that epistemically "bad" conditions obtain (since this is, presumably, a contingent matter) by pure internal reflection alone (i.e. on a priori grounds).
(5) So, you cannot know anything about the external world.
Now, this argument looks valid (and, if it isn't, it could easily be patched up), but why should we, as the skeptic thinks we should, accept the premises? Indeed, one might think that since we clearly do know things about the external world, this argument constitutes a reductio against the conjunction of the premises (i.e. (1)&(2)&(4)). Now, it is true that such a maneuver could not refute the skeptic, since it would beg the question (i.e. by taking as given the claim that we really do know things about the external world which, according to the skeptic, is the very claim whose truth is at issue). However, it might be that it is eminently more reasonable to reject one of the premises ((1), in particular, seems weakest) than to accept the conclusion.
Here then is the crux of the issue: We have reached a dialectical point at which neither interlocutor can make a non-question-begging argument against the other. We are at utter loggerheads (this seems to happen quite a lot in recent debates in metaphysics, especially in issues involving qualia and consciousness in the philosophy of mind) with, apparently, no means by which to resolve the issue.
So, the problem that we've reached is this: we must assess a burden of proof issue in some debate, and it seems clear that the strategy of providing sound arguments from premises that both parties accept will not work (because there are no such premises that can do the needed work). How, then, shall we proceed? Richard Creath gave a talk on Carnap yesterday, and he discussed an idea that might be of use here: Carnap's Principle of Tolerance. Now, I should warn you ahead of time that I haven't actually read the relevant sections of Carnap, but Creath's Carnap was clear enough, so I'll be talking about Creath's take on Carnap. In any event, this principle seems to be a softening of the hardcore positivist stance with respect to metaphysics (i.e. that most of the statements employed therein are meaningless). The idea of the Principle of Tolerance, rather, is that we should treat theoretical claims as proposals and not statements and thus, that we should assess them in terms of their pragmatic usefulness (especially in undergirding scientific research programmes) and not in terms of their truth. Thus, says the Tolerant Carnap, let the metaphysicians have their day, provided that their concepts can at least be stated clearly enough so that their pragmatic benefits can be assessed.
Something like the Principle of Tolerance, then, seems to give us the resources to resolve burden of proof issues. Even in cases where the disagreeing parties might have radically different conceptual schemes, such that neither can argue against the other without begging the question, they may still agree to let pragmatic usefulness (in the sense of underwriting a research program) arbitrate the dispute.
Now, perhaps I've put the view unfairly, but I'm skeptical as to whether, ultimately, this will help. If we are considering radically divergent types of views here, it seems a legitimate possibility that they might agree to let pragmatism win the day and yet disagree regarding which position would, in fact, be more fruitful. Indeed, if the debate is between, say, competing logical systems (or positions in philosophy of logic, say, between Logicists and Intuitionists), the disagreeing parties might not even be able to agree on what follows from what. At most, each could claim that, according to their inference rules, such-and-such follows but, of course, the other could rely on some other, incompatible, inference rules. Another problem is that, by requiring "precise" formulations, Carnap's principle might not be so tolerant after all. Again, if we're dealing with radically divergent conceptual schemes, it may be simply impossible for either side to explain themselves in terms that are intelligible to the other.
So, the question remains: How should we go about assessing burden of proof issues? There seem to be situations wherein we simply cannot resolve disputes by argumentation; where does this leave us? Does it show that, at least in some cases, it is neither necessary nor sufficient to refute one's dialectical opponent in order to continue to (rationally) hold onto one's position, or is this intolerable dogmatism?
Whew, that was quite a post. Making up for lost time, I guess.
posted by Matt Carlson at 11:44 PM
2 Comments:
Matt,
It's only a matter of time before you write a book. That I am sure of!
Matt! I just found your blog through Brea's (can you tell I'm unemployed?) and am agreeably diverted. You should have more than three posts, though.
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