Abstract
As the editors acknowledge in their opening statement, “Philosophy of social science is a small but vibrant field, which is attested by the number of handbooks and companions: Turner and Roth (2003), Jarvie and Zamora Bonilla (2011), Kinkaid (2012), Kaldis (2013), and McIntyre and Rosenberg (2017)” (p. 1). What distinguishes this anthology from those published in the past two decades is its focus and its method of presentation. Noting the “gradual shift of focus from the demarcation question of whether social science can be a proper science” to “questions concerning actual social scientific practices,” the editors, Michiru Nagatsu and Attilia Ruzzene, propose to focus on the “empirical turn” in the philosophy of the social sciences (paralleling the “practical turn” in the philosophy of science). Instead of asking heady philosophical questions bound by “ontological, conceptual, and methodological issues in science,” the emphasis here is on what one does as a social scientist rather than how one should think about what one does or does not do. As for the structure of the anthology, its presentation, the editors adopt “a dialogic template,” inviting social scientists and philosophers to engage each other to see “to what extent they could be partners in the same conversation” (p. 1). Rather than follow previous templates where social scientists comment on the work of philosophers, here philosophers are commenting on the work of social scientists. Both gambits are partially successful. But as one can expect from any anthology, this one suffers from the inevitable malady of uneven chapters, where some are more technical than others and where some commentaries describe and amplify while others critically engage.
The three parts of the anthology are as follows: part 1: The Plurality of Approaches, Disciplines, and Theories; part 2: From Methodological Choice to Methodological Mix; and part 3: Explanation, Theorizing, Performativity. It remains unclear how these parts are connected, even though a useful summary of each part is offered. When thinking about the philosophy of the social sciences, the editors explain (in the endnote to their introduction) that, Philosophy of Economics is by far the biggest subcategory under the category of Philosophy of Social Science at PhilPapers.org (11,324 entries out of 59,698 as of September 2018). Note that the other bigger two subcategories, Philosophy of Education (27,438) and Philosophy of Law (17,915), are usually not considered to be part of the Philosophy of Social Science. (p. 6)
So, what does count as Philosophy of Social Science? If we add these three subcategories, we find 56,677 entries or 94.93%; what is left? Looking at the chapters of this anthology, more than half are related to economic theory broadly construed, while the other, more general chapters refer to economic theory or decision theory. Is the philosophy of Social Science reducible to the Philosophy of Economics? This review appears in a journal whose title already belies its commitment: Philosophy of the Social Sciences, where other social sciences, from psychology to anthropology and sociology, can find an intellectual home. From the outset, then, this reader is worried that economic theory and practice, however broadly construed, cannot and do not tell the story of the social sciences.
The anthology’s editors argue that in the era of disciplinary specialization, philosophers are paying “increasing attention to scientific practice,” while social scientists “adopt philosophical approaches in formulating and framing the problems they are working on” (p. 3). One wonders if this is a new development (as intimated here) or rather a rediscovery of an old practice. Political economy was, after all, classically understood to encompass moral philosophy, political theory, sociology, legal thought, and geopolitical trade (e.g., Adam Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiment of 1759, Karl Marx’s Philosophical and Economic Manuscripts of 1844, Thorstein Veblen’s Theory of the Leisure Class of 1899, and Karl Polanyi’s The Great Transformation of 1944). Likewise, the focus on praxis as the overlap between the theoretical and the practical has a long history. The framing of this anthology as a dialogue between practicing social scientists and philosophers would have done well to recall the practices of the past and engage with the broad and highly contested discussion over interdisciplinarity (e.g., The Oxford Handbook of Interdisciplinarity 2017).
Instead of summarizing each of the chapters, I will mention five chapters or commentaries that caught my attention. Raffaella Campaner’s commentary on “Plurality and Pluralisms for the Social Sciences” explains and modifies in helpful ways the opening chapter of the book on “crowd phenomena.” For her, the elaboration of pluralistic positions has specifically to do with philosophical considerations over the implications that such pluralities might have with respect to our expectations [of] the goals science should have, over whether or not science must aim at a single method, at universal laws, single explanatory and predictive procedures, and general shared concepts. Pluralism has to do with our orientations and commitments [to] scientific discourse and the forms of plurality it might exhibit. (p. 30; italics in the original)
In this context, she concludes that pluralism, as a value judgment more than as a conceptual framework, “implies some positive evaluation of present plurality,” that is, the many diverse practices she encounters in the social sciences. The ghost of the unity of the sciences advocated by some members of the Vienna Circle is being warded off by this commitment to and endorsement of a plurality of analytic methods. The contributions of poststructuralism and deconstruction to the question of multiple ways of thinking and interpreting data, on the contrary, are not even ghosts here. Instead, Campaner draws a distinction between “competitive” and “compatible” pluralism, gesturing toward Karl Popper’s and Thomas Kuhn’s notions of the competition among theories and methods without citing either. The competitive approach suggests that “the best strategy [is to] test them severely and thereby enhance scientific progress,” while the compatible approach “sees alternatives as not mutually exclusive” (pp. 30-1). The competitive approach is considered “merely temporary,” while the compatible alternative “runs the risk of turning into isolationist pluralism” (pp. 30-1; italics in the original). In their stead, we are offered “integrative” pluralism whereby theoretical differences are sanctioned as long as an integration takes place at the “concrete explanatory level.” Between the isolationist and integrative options, Campaner posits “interactive” pluralism whose value lies in keeping differences alive without consolidating them into a single explanatory model. At some point, one wonders how much of this label-generation tries to square the circle in order to avoid the standard suspicion of a degeneration into relativism. Here, too, Campaner mentions “anything goes” (without mentioning Paul Feyerabend) and recommends instead Hasok Chang’s “many things can go” attitude (p. 32).
What distinguishes this commentary is that in addition to articulating the different kinds of methodological pluralism associated with social science theory, there is a consolidation of three “epistemic values”: consistency, consilience, and complementarity. In Campaner’s words, Consistency has to do with the different approaches not contradicting each other; consilience with the role of the causal factors they study—with just local commensurability; complementarity with the division of scientific labour, with each field of expertise focusing on a few factors, simplifying or bracketing the others; and then all covering each other’s blind spots. (p. 34)
Now this is a useful complement to the first essay of this anthology, for it makes it clear how one should approach the plethora of studies on crowd formation (the example at hand): group psychology, rational choice theory, game theory, statistical analysis, network theory, ecology studies, and so forth. If the three epistemic values remain intact, it seems, then any set of theories or models could contribute to a more comprehensive understanding of the phenomenon. There may not be full (pluralistic) integration, nor will there be a competitive struggle that might devolve into relativism; but there could be enough interaction to yield better explanatory results.
Two other epistemic clouds overshadow many of the chapters in this anthology: rationality and individualism. Some chapters deal with them directly, as chapter 3 on “Team Agency and Conditional Games” (discussing “methodological individualism” without mentioning the Popperian tradition) and all the chapters in part 2, while others allude to them when dealing with other topics. For example, chapter 4 “The Methodologies of Behavioral Econometrics” by Glenn W. Harrison is conspicuous in refraining from any mention of the leaders of behavioral economics, from Richard Thaler and Herbert Simon to Dan Ariely and Cass Sunstein, even though he mentions Amos Tversky and Daniel Kahneman. Instead of quibbling with Harrison’s chapter (the technical competence of which remains unchallenged), I wish to draw attention to what I think is both a missed opportunity of the commentator, Nathaniel Wilcox, and a disappointing dialogic performance envisioned by the editors of this volume. Here is Wilcox’s assessment of Harrison’s chapter: Harrison argues (I think fairly) that decision research does its classical statistics with sometimes questionable rigor. But why would decision researchers do classical statistics at all, if we really believe that obedience to SEUT [Subjective Expected Utility Theory] and Bayes’ Rule [are] rationality in the face of uncertainty? This question is wholly unoriginal: From conversations, I know it nags many other classical empirical economists. But in decision research, perhaps this question ought to elicit particularly sheepish grins? Or should we take our cues from Emerson and Whitman—not insisting on foolish consistency, and accepting that we contain multitudes? These are matters best addressed by philosophers, historians, and methodologists. (pp. 144-5)
Obviously, the promise of philosophers in dialogue with social scientists is missing here, as one “classical empirical economist” is commenting on another mathematical (?) economist’s work. Yet, the questions quoted above deserve scrutiny, as they convey some of the principal epistemic “values” mentioned earlier. Is consistency relevant? Is it important? Are we left with clever technical tools whose explanatory power remains suspect if useful at all? I wish this chapter and its commentary were more fully integrated into the discussion of the first chapter of the anthology so a fruitful examination of kinds of pluralism could be fully explored. What we see instead are platitudes about methodology, some of which come at the end of the chapter itself. Harrison admits in conclusion that “There are some low-hanging methodological issues reviewed here, and some subtle issues” and then proceeds to ask, “how have philosophers of science and methodologists allowed CPT [Cumulative Prospect Theory] to survive on the basis of the flimsy empirical evidence transparently before us?” (p. 129). How have they, indeed? Should that not be the opening question of the chapter, if not, of its commentary? Where are those philosophers of science and methodologists when Harrison needs them? Adding insult to injury, Harrison badgers them further: “If it is not their job to maintain intellectual standards across erstwhile intellectual silos, then whose is it?” One could argue that each intellectual silo should mind its own “intellectual standards,” no? Have economists qua scientists lost the principle of self-policing that has been the bellwether of the rest of the scientific community for over a century?
And then, a sober moment emerges in Harrison’s conclusion: “One reasonable response is that this is what experimental economists should do, since they are the methodological bridge between theory and evidence. In effect, they have to operate at both coalfaces” (p. 129). Who is promoting this “reasonable response”? Why has Wilcox not started with this set of questions about methodological “bridges” and the enforcement of “intellectual standards” within “intellectual silos”? Why has he not continued to answer Harrison’s concerns, feigned or real, about the “subtle” (rather than “low-hanging”) methodological issues that arise in behavioral econometrics? Given the declared mission of this anthology, this seems to be another missed opportunity. A brief mention of the replacement of the “rational economic man” with the “predictable irrationality” of behavioral psychologists and economists would have done wonders to get readers to appreciate the notion of degrees of rationality (instead of the binary of rationality and irrationality or magic) espoused by critical rationalism (e.g., Joseph Agassi and Ian Jarvie).
Chapter 6 “From an Individual to Holistic Lens: Reassessing Marketing Models to Deliver Impact” by Charlotte Vangsgaard reads more like an advertisement about marketing than a practical or theoretical treatise. If marketing practices are the kind of “scientific practice” the editors promise to cover, one wonders how far afield we have moved. Marketing is a means to an end, manipulating tastes and preferences in order to increase sales, whether through fetishizing brands or convincing innocent consumers that they “need” certain products (rather than wanting or desiring them). At best, the art of marketing can be seen as combining sociological and psychological insights with aesthetic devices and exploiting human pathologies and wistful fantasies; at worst it is a deliberate and powerful attempt to commodify and manipulate human confusion and fear within the framework of capitalist extraction (from diamonds to cellphones and beyond). So, here is the marketing of the marketing firm to its clients, its advertisement for its unique approach: At ReD Associates [the marketing firm represented here], a strategy-consulting firm that draws upon methodologies and approaches from the social sciences and humanities, we look to philosophy and social theory to fill this gap [of quantitative disciplines]. We believe that by studying the cultural contexts for human choices we can increase the likelihood that our clients will make the right bet. (p. 186)
Marketing is relabeled here “strategy-consulting,” the clients are not consumers but consumer-product firms, and the major difference in approach is the study of “cultural contexts for human choices.” Any sociology student would know that human choices depend on cultural contexts, and any consumer-product firm would know this, too. After a cursory survey of marketing models (many of which still rely on the contested rational choice theory), Vangsgaard offers the binary of the ideas of Rene Descartes and Martin Heidegger, the former representing the discarded model of decontextualized individualistic rationality, and the latter representing a “phenomenological orientation” that emphasizes “participation in the world” (p. 191). This distinction leads the author to proclaim, “we believe that marketing ought to shift from an atomized, piecemeal approach to a more holistic one” (p. 192). She continues, “Products are thus never understood in isolation from the world around them. Different objects naturally relate to each other; they are intertextual and cross-referential” (p. 193). One need not follow Vangsgaard down the Heideggerian rabbit-hole, as what she says is either patently obvious (about the context of one’s choice) or already in practice (complementary products are offered at every venue). One wonders how helpful is one of her conclusions in this chapter: “Understanding the broader world a product is a part of—the world of celebration, say, or the world of mobility—can help marketers who work across brands acquire a general depth of knowledge about consumers” (p. 197). Is Heidegger really needed here or is he a ploy to legitimate a trivial point? Lest I be misunderstood: there is nothing I would like better than more people reading philosophical texts for any reason whatsoever, but to claim that Heidegger offers an insight in marketing brands is like claiming that Plato’s Symposium is the inspiration for Hallmark cards for Valentine’s Day.
In her commentary, Attilia Ruzzene is of little help in challenging the Heideggerian turn. In trying to “deflate the dualistic view [quantitative vs. qualitative, Descartes vs. Heidegger] by showing some fuzziness underneath,” she concludes that, “it is plausible to see the field [of marketing] as characterized by a permanent tension between unity and disunity” (p. 202). What this means remains unclear, as here, too, the commentary is not as critical as one would hope it to be. It seems that (just as is the case with chapter 5 and its commentary on public policy choices) Ruzzene accepts the framework offered by Vangsgaard not as a starting point but as confining the boundaries of the discussion. What could have made an enormous (and quite obvious) difference would have been a more critical discussion of the marketing practices of Amazon, for example, where customized marketing is based on tracking one’s “order history” and the ever-present suggestive appeals to additional products that are labeled “frequently bought together.” How does one’s “digital footprint” affect the targeting of marketing firms? If one wants to speak of Descartes and Heidegger in the digital age, the stakes are higher than a binary choice or an exposition of the cultural context of branding. To think about marketing critically would demand a broad assessment of the debt economy whose appetite for finding new conscripts cannot be satiated, all in the name of free choice and voluntary spending (even if beyond one’s means). Perhaps, a broader critique of market capitalism, the gig economy, and surveillance capitalism goes beyond the confines of this volume, especially when an advertisement is masquerading as a chapter in an academic-sounding anthology.
By contrast, Nicolas Brisset’s commentary on chapter 11 “Assembling Economic Actors: Time-varying Rates and the New Electricity Consumer” by Daniel Breslau is succinct, informed, and critically engaged. Instead of laboring over the details of Breslau’s survey of rate manipulation by monopolies (utility companies), Brisset explains that there is a “middle way between performativist and the political-economic understanding of market formation: the performativity of economic theory through the setting of some specific technical devices necessitates the building of a consensus on these devices” (p. 366). In order to explain the notion of consensus building within market formation, the reader is ushered into the realm of the “constructivist tradition” of Michel Callon where “economic theories are involved in the social construction of the world” (p. 367). It is here that we see some philosophical heavy lifting: is theory a representation of the real world? Or, is it, by contrast, a representation of an ideal world? Or, is the theory itself a way of constructing the world it is supposed to represent? Brisset is candid about the historical process by which social science has “denaturalized the objects of economic theory” going all the way back to Marx (p. 367). Not only does he explain that economic science “relies on the plasticity of the social world to achieve an active and consequent construction of the real economy” but he also recognizes the instrumental role economists have played on the “journey to capitalism” (p. 367). Recognizing the ideological influence of economists on their theoretical constructs, Brisset follows Callon to explicate the particular version of constructivism applied to economic theory: “the theory of performativity is rooted in, and shares the same ontology as Actor Network Theory” (p. 368). To understand what this means, the reader is asked to move from ontological questions about actors and agents in the economic sphere of decision making to the methodology according to which consumer behavior is tracked and analyzed.
Perhaps, the best is saved for last, as Brisset, unlike some of the commentators before him, asks philosophically interesting questions. In his words, “is it possible to understand the participation of economic theory in the construction of the economic world without considering the congruence between the theory and the reality?” (p. 369). His quick retort is that “this touches on the relationship between performativity and self-fulfillment.” Indeed, this problem was discussed by Popper decades ago concerning self-fulfilling prophecies and their impact on behavior (e.g., fear of economic collapse and the run on banks will bring about such a collapse). If, as Brisset concludes, Breslau “delivers a rather classical sociological concept of ‘performativity’” (p. 371), what are more interesting developments that describe the feedback loop between theory and practice in general and the particular conditions of economic theory and practice? Phrasing this question in this manner implicitly endorses the binary of theory and practice instead of undermining this binary altogether, for example, and realizing the constitutive role ideas play in social realities where boundary conditions are themselves messy. Staying in the realm of the social sciences, we are bound to venture outside the cloistered boundaries of demarcation problems into the more complex problems of the plasticity and intractability of human behavior.
Like any anthology, this one offers some promising insights about economic theory and practice and the potential for a plurality of approaches in studying them. Yet, as long as economic theory and practice are taken to be emblematic of the study and practice of all the other social sciences, we should remain skeptical. Doing justice to the theoretical framing and practical application of all the social sciences, we might be well served to examine the critical methods employed by a variety of philosophical schools of thought. The significance of the philosophy of economics (focused, as it was, primarily on methodology) as a field of study has been overshadowed by more interesting exploration of human behavior on one hand and the relation between economic behavior and sociopolitical institutional conditions on the other. Having said this, I still find any attempt to engage social scientists and philosophers in a dialogue to be laudable; I only wish the dialogue had been more critically rigorous.