Bringing the outside in: The limits of theoretical fragmentation and pluralism in IR theory

Introduction

The idea that International Relations (IR) is a western dominated, some might say Eurocentric, enterprise has long been accepted (Acharya, 2011; Hobson, 2012; Tickner, 2013). This has led to calls to broaden the scope and vision of the discipline by providing space for alternative voices to contribute to the conversation. What is the value of a subject that studies IR if it steadfastly refuses to be genuinely international? As the world has become increasingly interconnected, a western vision of IR looks increasingly out of time and place. Yet even though the discipline, on the surface at least, seems open to alternative perspectives and voices, the possibility of non-western voices joining the conversation is severely limited by particular structural impediments. Most of these are well known. The centres of expertise surrounding IR tend to be located in western universities. These centres of excellence control the major journals and set the standards by which admission to the conversation is granted. In addition, English is the language of science, which means that those beyond the west are forced to use a language that is not their own. What is deemed interesting and/or important is governed by those exercising power in the field. I could go on but, these barriers and more have already been much highlighted, and are probably already well understood.

In this article, I want to concentrate my attention on two other structural factors that affect how alternative voices are received within the discipline. These factors do not function as barriers to entry, but instead, force alternative voices to engage in the conversation in a manner that negates the alterity that makes their contribution valuable. That is, they can only join the conversation through the negation of their otherness. The subaltern can only speak by ceasing to be the subaltern (Spivak, 1996). Underpinning this issue is the problem of theoretical and methodological pluralism. IR has tended to move away from what has been described as the ‘paradigm wars’ to what we might now call the ‘paradigm peace’. Some have embraced this peace and have suggested that ‘isms are evil’ (Lake, 2011). Others have suggested that we need to move beyond paradigms and embrace ‘analytical eclecticism’ (Sil and Katzenstein, 2010). The problem is not with the paradigms, or isms, themselves. Paradigms (isms) are nothing but the ways we talk about, think about, and interact with our chosen subject matter. If the paradigms have impoverished inter-theoretic debate, it is because of how we have employed them. And there is nothing intrinsic to the paradigms themselves that demands we treat them in this way. Paradigms to paraphrase Alexander Wendt (1992), are what we make of them. We have and continue, to treat the paradigms in ways that produce certain kinds of pluralism. The question is not whether to be for or against pluralism, it is what kind of pluralism we embrace, and which type will be most conducive to allowing genuine alternative voices into the conversation without forcing them to adopt pre-existing modes of discourse already circulating within the field. I suggest that there are three versions of pluralism within contemporary IR and that only one can help facilitate of a genuine opening up of IR to alternative voices.

First is a pluralism that accepts theoretical diversity yet insists that this theoretical diversity has to be built on a bedrock of methodological unity (King et al., 1994). Second is the kind of pluralism that advocates letting a thousand theoretical flowers bloom. A type of ‘anything goes’ pluralism (Jackson, 2011; Jackson and Nexon, 2013). Third, is what has been described as an ‘engaged pluralism’ (Lapid, 2003). I prefer the terminology of an ‘integrative pluralism’ because we need to go beyond a mere engagement with the other, and towards a situation in which we genuinely integrate their insights into the substantive knowledge base of the field. For the sake of clarity, we can refer to these differing understandings of pluralism as modes of politics. Hence, the idea of pluralism constructed on a form of methodological monism can be likened to political absolutism. We can employ many theories in our inquiries as long as we all remain committed to the one scientific method (generally positivism). The ‘anything goes’ form of pluralism is equivalent to ‘apartheid for paradigms’, or ‘apartheid pluralism’ (Wight, 1996). The third, ‘integrative pluralism’, is closest to a form of multiculturalism.

Current theoretical debate in the discipline does not seem conducive to this integrative form of pluralism. Theories seem to function as identity markers within a social system suffused by battles over resources and power. Understanding the different forms of pluralism is essential in terms of opening up space for global voices to enter the IR conversation. If mainstream, mainly Western, dominated IR theory struggles to listen to alternative voices from within its own limited inter-paradigmatic frameworks, then there is little chance that it will be open to non-western voices. In addition, if non-western global voices enter the terrain on the terms already set by the fragmentation of the ‘isms’, then opportunities for serious dialogue will be limited. Given the potential for non-western voices to reconfigure IR theory along new and interesting lines, it would be a disaster if those voices adopted the frameworks that have stymied serious cross theoretical debate thus far. Indeed, the current theoretical landscape that confronts new entrants to the discipline might be one factor that increases their exclusion. Those global voices will have a greater potential of not repeating the mistakes of the past if they have a sophisticated understanding of the structural configuration that has produced ‘isms inertia’.

The piece is structured in the following manner. First, I provide more flesh on my arguments concerning the different forms of pluralism within the discipline. I also, in case there is any doubt, suggest that only ‘integrative pluralism’ can provide a space where alternative voices might make a genuine contribution to IR. Second, I turn my attention to epistemology and provide a critique of the dominant understandings of it in the discipline. My point is here to suggest that the dominant way the discipline treats epistemology is a serious barrier to the ‘integrative pluralism’ I suggest is essential to opening up IR to non-western voices. Indeed, the way the discipline uses and understands epistemology forces us to embrace either ‘absolutist pluralism’ or ‘apartheid pluralism’. Third, I highlight the structure of disciplinary politics, which helps explain why the constant abuse and misuse of epistemology, is so tenacious, despite the fact that most agree with the assessment. The point is that the discipline is structured in such a manner that for individuals the benefits of continuing to misuse epistemology far outweigh the collective benefits of rejecting this misuse. Collectively, the discipline would be much improved by moving beyond contemporary understandings of epistemology. But individually, the power structures of the field disciplines any attempt to step outside this understanding. I will admit that I do not know how to move beyond this impasse, but the first step has to be highlighting it.

A plurality of pluralisms

Since its inception at the end of World War I (WWI), the discipline of IR has seen a steady increase in the number of competing theoretical perspectives. Such has been the pace of this growth since the mid-1980s that it is probably an impossible task to catalogue them all, let alone possess a comprehensive understanding of them. There are almost as many approaches as there are theorists. Theoretical diversity is not necessarily a problem. Indeed, a commitment to theoretical pluralism is often assumed to be integral to all science. The growth of scientific knowledge requires the operation of an open-ended market in ideas. Unlike the natural sciences, however, the social sciences are unable to construct decisive test situations that can settle theoretical disputes, to the general satisfaction of a majority of the research community. Given this epistemological uncertainty, accepting some degree of theoretical pluralism seems the rational choice. The question is how much pluralism, and of what form?

In general, the commitment to theoretical pluralism can also be defended on the basis of a supposed relationship between democracy and science (Popper, 1959). Scientific progress, it is argued, is best achieved under conditions that foster debate and allow the challenging of conventional wisdom. Likewise, there is a widely held belief within the scientific community that the values of science – honesty, objectivity and respect for the intrinsic merit of a wide range of ideas and opinions – are essential to a democratic culture. In democracies, diversity and the safeguarding of minority opinions are seen as essential goods, and any attempt to stifle alternative views, or underrepresented groups is tantamount to giving up the democratic ideal.

As with contemporary debates surrounding the limits of free speech in democratic societies, pluralism in the social sciences poses problems. One aim of any science is to scale-invariant feature transform (SIFT) through knowledge claims in the hope of discarding those that fail to provide a valuable contribution to the overall stock of knowledge. Science is a competitive environment, and many social scientists are concerned that an open-ended commitment to pluralism may lead to a debilitating relativism and the loss of all critical standards (Sokal and Bricmont, 1998). An alternative view presents theoretical pluralism in an altogether differing light. According to this view, pluralism is tolerated because it represents a temporary phenomenon. Eventually, the social sciences will mature and develop a consistent scientific methodology such that theoretical disputes can be settled. Theoretical pluralism can be tolerated, but only on the basis of methodological unity.

As Gary King et al. (1994: 9) put it, the ‘unity of all science consists alone in its method’. What the social sciences need are a rigorous, and clearly defined, set of scientific methods that constitute the framework through which theoretical disputes can be settled. The unity of method, it is hoped, will eventually lead to theoretical unity. The steady accumulation of knowledge generated through the application of scientific methods will ultimately place the social sciences on as secure an epistemological footing as the natural sciences. This position is still committed to pluralism, but pluralism is now a means not an end. Pluralism is tolerated because it exists within a horizon of methodological unity. It is a pluralism that serves the purposes of unity: Unity-through-Pluralism (UtP).

We can contrast the UtP position to the alternative view, which sees little or no prospect of any theoretical unification. According to advocates of this view, we should embrace a strategy of letting ‘a thousand theoretical flowers bloom’. Given the limited prospects of settling theoretical disputes at the epistemological level, the social sciences should embrace an open-ended commitment to all theoretical approaches. This position can be defended on two grounds. First, it is suggested that since theoretical diversity is itself a necessary component in the growth of knowledge, we should embrace a plurality of differing perspectives (Feyerabend, 1988). For the committed pluralist, unity is neither possible nor desirable, but instead, it is the intrinsic good of pluralism itself which is to be defended. Pluralism here is an end, not a means. Only pluralism can deal with a multi-faceted and complex reality, and only pluralism can deliver substantial progress regarding knowledge.

An alternative defence of pluralism rests on the belief that the epistemological uncertainty at the heart of all social science requires acceptance of all theoretical perspectives. According to this view, pluralism does not lead to more and better knowledge, but instead, given the lack of agreed epistemological standards for assessing competing knowledge claims, we should embrace all perspectives (Jackson, 2011). Theoretical perspectives according to this view are likened to political positions, with ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ functioning as ethical, or aesthetic values (Campbell, 1998).

Neither the UtP viewpoint nor the various defences of pluralism seem attractive positions for any science to adopt. Given the history of scientific progress, it would seem inappropriate for any science to adopt theoretical conformity as a goal. Epistemologically, how would we know when we had reached a point where theoretical pluralism is no longer required? The history of science is replete with examples of well-established bodies of knowledge being overturned. Moreover, competing visions of science mean that there are no agreed standards for arriving at a unity of method (Chalmers, 1999; Godfrey-Smith, 2003). ¹

Pluralism for the sake of pluralism seems to lead to an incapacitating relativism, or what Yosef Lapid (2003) calls a ‘flabby pluralism’. A better term might be disengaged pluralism. No claim or viewpoint would seem to be invalid, and theorists are free to pursue their own agenda with little or no contact with alternative views. This is a disengaged pluralism because there is no attempt to specify the relationships between theories or to examine one’s own theoretical position in the light of alternative views. The absence of an agreed unity of method would also entail that the standards by which the various theories are to be judged would be internal to the theory (Jackson, 2011; Smith, 2004). This would be a disengaged form of pluralism with each theoretical perspective legitimating its claims solely on its own terms and with little reason to engage in conversations with alternative approaches. It is the kind of pluralism that finds its political expression in apartheid.

Despite the intense theoretical debate that followed the ‘third debate’ (Waever’s ‘fourth’), IR now seems to have settled into an uneasy truce based on theoretical pluralism/fragmentation. Indeed, in some respects, the validity of the ‘ism’s’ themselves have been called into question (Lake, 2013). Analytical eclecticism (Sil and Katzenstein, 2010) now seems to be the mantra of the day. The question remains as to whether we simply embrace this fragmentation or attempt to work towards a more coherent view of global processes. My own view is that we should attempt to move towards a position that I will term ‘integrative pluralism’ (Mitchell, 2003).

Integrative pluralism is not an attempt to forge competing knowledge claims into one overarching position that subsumes them all. It is not a form of theoretical synthesis (Kratochwil, 2003), nor is it a middle ground that eclectically claims to take the best of various theories to forge them into a ‘grand theory of everything’ (Wendt, 1999). Integrative pluralism accepts and preserves the validity of a wide range of theoretical perspectives and embraces theoretical diversity as a means of providing more comprehensive and multi-dimensional accounts of complex phenomena. This is not a suggestion that a summation of the various theoretical claims will produce a complete account; we could not know when any account was complete. Moreover, engaging in integrative pluralism carries risks, and some theories may not survive. In the course engagement, some theories may ultimately be rejected, and others may undergo substantial change and modification; hence, it is not a form of relativism. Which theories contribute to our overall stock of knowledge and which fall by the wayside, however, is not an issue that can be resolved solely in the heat of metatheoretical debate.

The ultimate test of integrative pluralism will be practice, but this is a practice that cannot even begin unless we have some sense of its problems, possibilities and practicality. Current theoretical debate in the discipline does not seem conducive to this discussion and theories seem to function as identity markers within a social system suffused by battles over resources and power. Understanding the different forms of pluralism is essential in terms of opening up space for global voices to enter the IR conversation. If mainstream, mainly Western, dominated IR theory struggles to listen to alternative voices from within its own limited inter-paradigmatic frameworks, then there is little chance that it will be open to non-western voices. In addition, if non-western global voices enter the terrain on the terms already set by the fragmentation of the ‘isms’ then opportunities for serious dialogue will be limited. Given the potential for non-western voices to reconfigure IR theory along new and interesting lines, it would be a disaster if those voices adopted the frameworks that have stymied serious cross theoretical debate thus far. Indeed, the current theoretical landscape that confronts new entrants to the discipline might be one factor that increases their exclusion. Those global voices will have a greater potential of not repeating the mistakes of the past if they have a sophisticated understanding of the structural configuration that has produced ‘isms inertia’.

Getting around the current theoretical impasse will require an explanation of how it arises and an account of the limits, problems and potentials of theorising in IR. I suggest four main factors help explain theoretical fragmentation in the discipline. First is ontology. The contemporary international political system is best understood as a complex open system, which displays ‘emergent properties’ and degrees of ‘organised complexity’. Because all human systems have this form, they require a plurality of explanations to deal with phenomena at differing levels, and the complex differentiation of causal mechanisms within levels. Since theory is a process of abstraction, and since we cannot isolate particular mechanism in the manner of some of the natural sciences, then some form of theoretical pluralism is necessary and to be expected. Yet some of the natural sciences face a similar situation and have not regressed into a state of rampant theoretical fragmentation. So, complexity is not a sufficient explanation.

Second, is the academic division of labour, which compartmentalises knowledge into zones of expertise, which in turn, structurally impedes the development of interdisciplinary research needed to explain complex systems. Third, is the structure of IR as an academic discipline, which using a framework developed by Richard Whitley (1984), I characterise as a ‘fragmented adhocracy’. Whitley views reputation as the currency of an academic discipline. A fragmented adhocracy is marked by a low degree of reputational interdependency between competing research groups, with few organisational impediments regarding the choice of theoretical framework, research methodology or even core problematic. As a consequence, the research activity within the field proceeds in an arbitrary, incoherent and at times ad hoc manner, with few sustained attempts to integrate new research with the existing configuration of knowledge. In such an intellectual structure, the potential for integrative pluralism is low.

The fourth reason, however, is the most important, the most problematic, and I suspect the most difficult to change. This is the issue of epistemology, and in particular disciplinary accounts of its place in the practice of science. My argument here is simple: The way IR currently understands the issue of epistemology, is confused, incorrect and a severe barrier to serious debate across differing theoretical perspectives. I refer here to the widespread view that positivism, postpositivism, rationalism, constructivism, feminism and postmodernism, for example, are epistemological positions. For instance, according to Markus Kornprobst:

The deepest and most consequential disagreements in the field are epistemological. Both the so-called ‘third debate’ (Lapid, 1989) between positivists and postpositivists and the ‘communicative stasis’ (Lapid, 2003: 130) that has succeeded it, speak volumes about the divisiveness of assumptions on how to produce knowledge. (Kornprobst, 2009: 87)

And for Steve Smith:

the key difference between rationalist and reflectivist approaches is that, broadly speaking, rationalist accounts are positivist, whereas reflectivist approaches oppose positivism … for now it is enough to note that the central differences between rationalist and reflectivist accounts are epistemological and methodological, and only secondarily about what the world is like (ontology). (Smith, 2010: 5)

This account treats the debate between positivists and postpositivists as a debate between competing epistemologies. This is an error; positivism is not an epistemology but a philosophy of science. Moreover, the idea of a ‘feminist’ epistemology or a postmodern epistemology makes no sense. At best we might talk about feminist methods or postmodern methods. However, to ask of a positivist for example, ‘how do you know X’, and to receive the reply ‘because of positivism’ is not an epistemological position it is a statement of identity. As John Gunnell (1998: 7), argues ‘epistemology, properly construed, is I will maintain a post-hot enterprise contingent on substantive theory and scientific practice’.

Yet rarely, if ever, are we told why the differences between positivism and postpositivism are legitimately treated in epistemological terms? Never is it explained why epistemologies cannot be integrated and/or combined; apart that is, from vague allusions to incommensurability (Wight, 1996). This is to misuse and abuse the term epistemology. It is a misuse and abuse of the term because epistemological positions do not operate as the a priori discontinuous and discrete entities this view suggests.

I take it as given that the argument about complexity is a given. Likewise, the adverse effects of the academic division of labour in terms of impeding interdisciplinary work are not in doubt. Hence, the article will concentrate on the relationship between current understandings of epistemology and the structure of IR as an academic discipline. These two aspects are mutually reinforcing. Current understandings of epistemology in IR reproduce the disciplinary social structure, and the disciplinary structure reproduces the current understanding of epistemology.

Before proceeding, however, a clarification on the issue of science. My position is based on what is known as scientific realism (Psillos, 1999). According to scientific realism, there is no such thing as the scientific method that can be applied in all domains and across all subject matters. Science is not one thing it is many. There is no one scientific method, and each science needs to orientate its methods according to the specifics of its object domain. How we study sub-atomic particles will require different methods to how we study human societies. For the sake of expediency, I will merely define science as the attempt to come to understand and/or explain the chosen object domain through systematic and critical inquiry.

Epistemology in IR

There is no epistemological basis to science as such, and theories do not have one epistemology. Science, should, and does, use a range of epistemological supports (what I have elsewhere called epistemological opportunism), and there is no such thing as the scientific method; each science has to develop its own methods appropriate to the object under study (Wight, 2006). We need to get the theoretical claims, understood for the moment as ontology, on the table before we can challenge those making the claims as to how they know a particular claim is valid.

Reflection on the practice and philosophy of science suggests that the place of epistemology in the research exercise is not as currently conceived in the social sciences. In short, a philosophy of science is not an epistemology. Positivism is a philosophy of science, not an epistemology. One reason why this account of epistemology has become accepted practice throughout the discipline can be located in the manner in which positivism attempted to delineate what could be counted as legitimate knowledge. Positivists claimed that only knowledge produced according to positivist principles could rightly be called knowledge. This explains why positivism came to be known as an epistemology. But we should no more accept this limited account of epistemology than we need to accept a positivist account of science. The fact that the discipline has yet to challenge this positivist appropriation of epistemology is evidence of how deeply embedded positivism remains within the field.

None of this should be taken to imply that epistemology is unimportant. Epistemology is a vital aspect of the research enterprise. Its value, however, is post hoc, and always in relation to specific knowledge claims; claims which are embedded with ontological considerations and/or derived from the application of particular methodological techniques. As such, a theorist, or researcher, has no chosen epistemological position before making a particular knowledge claim and the specific epistemological support advanced for any given knowledge claim will vary depending on the content of that claim. Epistemological debate in science never operates in an ontological void.

There is one significant way, however, in which epistemological problems do militate against an integrated body of knowledge in both the natural and social sciences. In all the sciences, we may never ‘know’ that any given account is correct. Hence, we may be unable to decisively decide, for example, between an account of the causes of international terrorism that privileges issues of language and identity over an account that foregrounds material factors and national interest. Notice, that what differentiates these two accounts is their respective ontological claims that causes of international terrorism, not a commitment to a cherished epistemological position. Of course, when confronted with these two accounts, we can and do, compare them, and we reach personal and collective judgements about them.

Moreover, we do so on the basis of a range of epistemological supports that the various accounts provide. What we are unable to say with absolute certainty is that one is right and the other wrong. We may, based on the evidence, prefer one account to the other and in making this choice we will ultimately assess the arguments on either side. Moreover, the fact that we can never know that a given account is correct is an epistemological situation we would face even if we had only one account. Hence, contra the dominant understanding of the place of epistemology in the discipline I suggest that each science demarcates its own object domain, and as such, each object domain will entail its own epistemic standards and methodology apropos its study.

Thus, for example, biologists can be committed empiricists, whereas cosmologists, with limited access to empirical data, must embrace an epistemology more rationalist, or pragmatist in nature. This is not to claim that biologists do not, at times, utilise rationalism or some other epistemological position, or that cosmologists do not at times have access to empirical data to help in the validation of their theories. The point is that the object domain will be an influential factor in determining the most appropriate epistemology. This helps illuminate the point that epistemological considerations are derivative of ontological issues.

Thus, the study of atomic particles will require a different methodology and/or epistemology than will the study of chemical reactions. This allows us to see that the dividing line(s) is not between the natural and the social worlds, but that between differing sciences. There is not one scientific method; there are many. The appropriate metaphor is not that of a sharp dividing line between natural and social science, but that of a series of distinct sciences with potential areas of overlapping methodological and/or epistemological concerns and techniques. What provides the conditions of possibility for such overlapping epistemological and methodological frameworks is the simple fact that these ‘sciences’ are social practices orientated towards the production of human knowledge by humans. And humans only have a limited number of ways by which they come to know the world.

There is no one scientific method or epistemology, that is, available to be rejected or accepted in relation to the study of the social world. In this respect, the aim is not to introduce a new orthodoxy (Kratochwil, 2000); a new metatheoretical position that obliterates all differences, but instead, to open up the possibility of an ‘engaged pluralism’ rather than the debilitating ‘disengaged pluralism’ that currently infects the discipline. And epistemology has a particular place in the practice of each of the sciences.

Epistemology has a long and venerable tradition within philosophy. Etymologically derived from the Greek episteme, meaning knowledge and logos meaning theory, it is the branch of philosophy concerned with the theory of knowledge. At the heart of epistemology is an attempt to chart the difference between belief (doxa) and knowledge (episteme). Theories produce claims. Knowledge emerges when those claims are put to the epistemological sword.

The main problems with which epistemology is concerned include the definition of knowledge and related concepts, the sources and criteria of knowledge, the kinds of knowledge possible and the degree to which each is certain, and, the exact relation between the one who knows, and the object known. Thus, epistemological questions are those concerned with the nature and derivation of knowledge, the scope of knowledge and the reliability of claims to knowledge. In the social sciences, the situation is even more straightforward, epistemological questions are typically concerned with the grounds we have for accepting or rejecting beliefs. It is important to stress that although it will be argued that epistemology is primarily concerned with the grounds we have for accepting and/or rejecting beliefs, this should not be taken to imply that knowledge has no relationship to the objects of which it is knowledge. On the contrary, more often than not the grounds for the acceptance and/or rejection of a particular set of beliefs will be derived from the relationship between the knowledge and the object of such knowledge. Hence, ontology and epistemology, although analytically separable are always linked (Hollis and Smith, 1996: 112).

For social scientists, the crucial question is what legitimates the move from doxa to episteme? If positivism is not an epistemology what is? There are basically five significant ways humans come to know the world. Perhaps the most important is empiricism. According to this view, we know something when we have experiences of the senses. Thus, we can know, theoretically at least, how many tanks a country possesses by counting them. We can know the liquid in the glass is whisky and not water by smelling it. We know there is music playing in the room next door because we hear it. The grounds we have for saying we know X is our experience of X.

Another epistemology is rationalism. According to rationalism if we know all people are mortal, and we know X is a person, then we know X is mortal. We do not need to experience X dying to know that X will die. We can infer the possibility of their death from the validity of the premises. Likewise, we know 2 + 2 = 4, but we do not need to observe every instance of 2 + 2 to know this. We can use logic to infer the outcome from the premises.

Pragmatism is another epistemology. We can read thousands of books of guitar instruction, but we will know how to play the guitar until we practice. Likewise, with driving a car. Reading car-driving manuals will tell us what we ought to do to drive a car. However, we will only know how to drive a car by practising. Pragmatism as an epistemology can also be understood as understanding knowledge to be valid when we know it works. If a piece of knowledge allows us to do something, then there is some sense in which it is useful.

Another important epistemology is conventionalism. We know X because we all agree X to be true. Strange as this may sound, this epistemology is fundamental to the nature of social reality and science. Specific pieces of paper only count as money because we all agree that they carry that value and play that function. People are only married because the rest of the society agrees what it means to be married, and those who are married have acted in accordance with those socially accepted rules. Conventionalism also plays a significant role in science. Often the empirical evidence is slight, or inconclusive. In those instances, scientists will often collectively agree which is the correct theory or interpretation, or which theory holds out the most practical promise. Kuhn (1962) built his account of scientific progress on conventionalism.

Finally, there are epistemological positions based on authority. Before the Enlightenment, this was the dominant epistemological position. We claim to know something because it has come from a source of authority; the Church, the State, the community and so on. Although the Enlightenment was supposed to have purged this epistemology from social life, it still plays a significant role. The ability of someone to speak with authority on a subject still carries epistemological force, although there are signs that this deference to ‘expertise’ (Nichols, 2017) is less accepted in a post-truth era (Ball, 2017; D’Ancona, 2017; Keyes, 2004; Levitin, 2016).

In one sense, all epistemology is ultimately rationalist at heart. Even empiricism rests on a rational belief that there are such things as ‘experiences’. And this argument can be extended to pragmatism and conventionalism. As Derek Layder (1989: 45) puts it, ‘[i]n this sense all philosophy is rationalist’.

Recognition of this allows us to see that rationalism stands at one end of a continuum, with empiricism at the other (Layder, 1989: 7–42). Viewed this way, we can see that all epistemological positions differ only in how they combine the extremities, rationalism and empiricism – of the continuum. All epistemologies, then, except for radical scepticism, which constitutes a denial of epistemology, are admixtures of rationalism and empiricism. This point can be reinforced when one considers that epistemology refers to an act of human knowing. Humans only have a limited number of ways of knowing as a result of their cognitive faculties. This is what Hollis (1979) has called the ‘epistemological unity of mankind’.

Viewing epistemology as a continuum helps us to go beyond debates about the ultimate validity of forms of knowledge conceived of as an opposition between truth and untruth; as in the dispute between scientific or metaphysical forms of knowledge; or rationalist versus empiricist explanations. These dichotomous ways of framing the issue, which surface regularly in the social sciences, do not do justice to the complexity and subtlety of the issues involved.

Humans have many ways of knowing (the possibilities are limited, however), and these should not be viewed as mutually exclusive. Thus, for example, we experience the bent stick in the water, but we do not assume that the stick is bent in the water but straight when out. Rationalism and empiricism are both required to arrive at an adequate explanation of this phenomenon. Equally, this interplay of rationalism and empiricism is not restricted to Western scientific discourses, and antediluvian peoples reliant for their livelihood on fishing quickly developed a rational explanation for the experience of sticks bending in water; even if such explanations would not be considered scientific by western standards. Nor should this be seen as a subsumption of empiricism under rationalism; instead, our experiences only make sense when rationally ordered. Thus as Feyerabend puts it,

Things have to be done in concrete circumstances and not according to a general recipe. I regard the philosophical position of relativism as silly because it assumes what never happens, namely no exchange. I also regard the philosophical position of objectivism to be silly. They are two sides of the same coin. (Feyerabend quoted in, Parascandalo and Hosle, 1995: 137)

Here, Feyerabend is pointing out the futility of attempting to address epistemological questions in black and white terms, and in advance of ontological considerations. He is advocating that we should be epistemologically pragmatic and reject all attempts to outline an a priori account of what constitutes knowledge. Often in IR, we find scholars tightly wedded to what I have elsewhere called the ‘foundational fallacy’ (Wight, 1996). According to this dogma, if we cannot have complete untarnished access to knowledge, there can be no knowledge. This position, as Feyerabend makes clear, is untenable and unnecessary. As William James (1956: 17) has argued, ‘when we give up the doctrine of objective certitude, we do not thereby give up the quest or hope of truth itself’.

According to Susan Haack, what we do when addressing epistemological questions is something much less ambitious than hope to attain precise and infallible knowledge, but something altogether more optimistic than the epistemological nihilism of deep scepticism (Haack, 1993). For Haack (1993: 2), epistemological justification is a matter of ‘A is more/less justified in believing’ something. All human knowledge is potentially fallible, but this does not mean that all knowledge claims are equally valid. Rejecting the idea that knowledge is an all or nothing affair, then, and following Roderick Chisholm (1989), I suggest that we conceive of an epistemic hierarchy:

6. Certain

5. Obvious

4. Evident

3. Beyond Reasonable Doubt

2. Epistemically in the Clear

1. Probable

0. Counterbalanced

-1. Probably false

-2. In the Clear to Disbelieve

-3. Reasonable to Disbelieve

-4. Evidently False

-5. Obviously False

-6. Certainly False.

Such an approach is not without its problems, not least because the meaning of all of the above ‘levels of knowledge’ would be susceptible to multiple interpretations. However, the epistemic hierarchy does allow us to follow Norbert Elias and reject static polarities such as ‘true’ and ‘false’. Contrary to a dichotomous view of knowledge claims, Elias (1978: 53) argues that ‘theoretical and empirical knowledge becomes more extensive, more correct, and more adequate’.

In fact, as far as the actual practices of scientists are concerned, as opposed to philosophical descriptions of them, their activities tend to lend support to the view of epistemological eclecticism advanced here. That is, they appear to operate with epistemological positions functioning as ‘rules of thumb’ rather than all or nothing positions. The process is one where the scientist begins by using one rule of thumb, but if it fails to work, they introduce another. These rules of thumb argues Feyerabend constitute a ‘toolbox’:

I mean, it’s just like rules of thumb: shall I use this rule now, shall I use that rule? Popper introduced into the toolbox the rule of falsification. His fault was to assume this is the only useful instrument, the only useful tool to apply to theories, instead of saying, ‘Well, we have increased our tool box’. Never throw away the tool box, never declare the tool box itself to be the one right thing or one tool in it, but use it, extend it, disregard it sometimes, according to the case with which you are dealing, because you never know what you will run into. (Feyerabend, quoted in, Parascandalo and Hosle, 1995: 123)

This account demonstrates the importance of linking both epistemology and methodology to ontology as well as presenting scientists as little more than epistemological opportunists whose actual practices bear little or no relation to the dogmatic accounts produced by philosophers of science. Einstein makes this opportunism explicit, ‘[c]ompare a scientist with an epistemologist; a scientist faces a complicated situation. So, in order to get some value in this situation he cannot use a simple rule, he has to be an opportunist’ (Einstein, quoted by Feyerabend in, Parascandalo and Hosle, 1995: 117).

Within each of various theoretical positions that currently circulate within social theory, we find just this epistemological opportunism and a range of epistemological supports used to defend specific knowledge claims. Foucault, for example, placed considerable reliance on empiricism (Koopman, 2015), whereas Derrida tends towards a more rationalist framework. However, Foucault also bases many of his knowledge claims on rationalism just as Derrida employs empiricist techniques. The same can be demonstrated of any theoretical position within IR. Certainly, particular theoretical positions can tend to privilege some epistemological supports over others, but this does not mean that whole theoretical tradition can be written off as epistemologically monistic. Moreover, even when theoretical positions do privilege one epistemological support, this is generally the result of a particular ontological, or methodological, set of commitments, not some a priori allegiance to that epistemology.

Disciplinary structure

The fact of theoretical pluralism in the practice of research should not be taken to suggest that all theoretical positions are capable of being integrated straightforwardly. Some theories explicitly rule out consideration of alternatives. However, which ones can be integrated, and which ones cannot require a disciplinary conversation prepared to accept that integrative pluralism is at least possibility. Current theoretical debate in the discipline does not seem conducive to this discussion. Theories seem to function as identity markers within a social system suffused by battles over resources and power. This should not surprise us. Academic disciplines, as social systems, are themselves complex self-organising systems, and as such, possess power dynamics, and modes of inclusion and exclusion.

As a self-organising system, however, we can at least recognise that we get the intellectual structure that we create (within the limits of already existing structures and environmental constraints) and this opens up the possibility of change; assuming, of course, we desire it. But change to what end? What institutional arrangements are more likely to facilitate tolerance, learning and conversations? What are the conditions that might surround productive scholarly exchanges in the field? How might we restructure the field to increase levels of theoretical exchange? Answers to these questions can only be made on the basis of some theory that identifies some of the causal powers that creates an intellectual structure that produces little integrative pluralism.

According to Whitley (1984), scientific disciplines can be understood as reputational organisations. Reputational because reputation is that commodity academics desire most. He argues that organisations differ from one another, depending on the nature of their core task and the external demands to which they are exposed. Until Whitley’s work science was considered mainly as a monolith whose characteristics were the same irrespective of the discipline. Even Kuhn’s work treats science as an undifferentiated whole.

In the sciences, the primary mechanism for members to obtain reputation, and hence an enhanced position in the hierarchy of the field, is by making contributions to the knowledge structure of their field. However, although all the sciences depend to some extent on reputation, the structural configuration varies across disciplines. Whitley identifies two mechanisms that explain the process of acquiring reputation: (1) degree of mutual dependency and (2) degree of task uncertainty.

Mutual dependency is the process through which researchers in a discipline are dependent on colleagues to gain reputational currency. In IR, this mutual dependency is explicit. New entrants to the discipline need to make their mark, and they need to build their reputations. One way to do this is to align oneself with a group of scholars to gain membership of the group and hopefully build up citations. Disciplines that have a practical focus will interact in multiple ways with their external environment; hence, reputational mutual dependency will be low, since the reputation of an individual researcher may be less dependent on colleagues, than on external bodies. As one would expect in complex systems, differences in this dynamic can occur within systems. Hence, political scientists in America have a tradition of interaction with political policy-making elites that academics working in Britain and other parts of the world do not. The political system in the Unites States constitutes a more open environment for political scientists than does the British political system. Of course, this is not a uniform process, and some political scientists in Britain do gain some reputational status from external involvement. In a discipline that produces little in the way of applied knowledge, on the other hand, the researchers have to rely on each other for obtaining their reputation. However, in such disciplines, the process of gaining this recognition is much more dependent on the internal structure of the discipline.

By task uncertainty, Whitley means the uncertainty that researchers face when attempting to solve a particular research problem. A primary function of all science is to produce original knowledge or to reorder existing knowledge in new and innovative ways. Yet, new knowledge does not emerge in a vacuum. New knowledge can only be accepted as new knowledge in relation to the already existing background knowledge of the field. If the background knowledge of the field is ordered, systematic, exact and generalisable, then it increases the ease with which a new contribution can be assessed. If the background knowledge is chaotic and fragmented, then incorporating new knowledge into it becomes difficult. In effect, the new knowledge struggles to find a home. Although an unlikely scenario, an example of this might be a field that has one dominant paradigm. In such a field, the background knowledge will be well structured, clear and comprehensible to all working within the field; hence the task uncertainty of an individual researcher will be low.

Whitley also argues that task uncertainty has two dimensions; technical and strategic task uncertainty. Technical task uncertainty refers to the degree of disciplinary disagreement, inconsistency and variability concerning the methods and procedures accepted to solve problems. In disciplines that are methodologically diverse, it will be difficult to interpret the relevance of research outcomes. Debate about appropriate methods can subsume and obscure the assessment of the validity of the research claims. For Whitley, this means technical uncertainty is high. On the other hand, if a particular method, or set of methods, has been universally accepted as the most appropriate to the field, the degree of technical task uncertainty is low. Researchers know which method to use because there is general agreement that a limited range of methods is appropriate to the subject matter.

Strategic task uncertainty refers to the uncertainty researchers face deciding which problems are significant, and what the ultimate goals of their research are. In disciplines displaying a high degree of strategic task uncertainty, researchers will be confronted with many different problems, and competing groups within the field will evaluate the relevance and importance of them differently. Whitley uses these two variables to identify a range of differing structural configurations for scientific disciplines. The most important in terms of the social sciences are Partitioned Bureaucracy, the Polycentric Oligarchy and the Fragmented Adhocracy.

IR, insofar as it can be considered a discipline, is a fragmented adhocracy. In disciplines of this type, there is a high level of task uncertainty both in strategic and technical terms. The solution to both types of uncertainty is to align oneself with one particular theoretical or methodological approach. In IR of course, the dominant divisions are assumed to be epistemologies. Hence, it makes sense to identify as belonging to a particular epistemological sect. This has the effect of further embedding the idea that approaches to research are epistemologies. This leads to sub-optimal outcomes where scholars treat epistemologies as something one belongs to rather than something one uses.

In addition, in fields of this type, specific research methods can be more fashionable than others, but this may change over time because of the unstable overall situation. The fragmented nature of the field ensures that there is also low mutual dependence between researchers when the field is considered as a whole, which produces high levels of mutual dependency within particular theoretical traditions. IR also has minimal interaction with its environment, when compared to other disciplines, but paradoxically its environment regularly invades or interacts with it. Practitioners, politicians and media pundits regularly pronounce on international affairs. In addition, the hands-on expertise and ‘lived experience’ of these ‘outsiders’ means that they are often called upon to contribute to the disciplinary conversation (2017). As Whitley puts it,

[t]ypically, these fields are open to the general ‘educated’ public and have some difficulties in excluding ‘amateurs’ from competent contributions and from affecting competence standards. The political system is therefore pluralistic and fluid with dominant coalitions being formed by temporary and unstable controllers of resources and charismatic reputational leaders. (Whitley, 1984: 159)

Fragmented adhocracies display intellectual variety and fluidity with no coherent specification of what the most critical areas of research are. Significant differences of opinion exist as to what the legitimate parameters of the discipline are. In the absence of clearly demarcated problem areas in need of research, interaction between theoretical perspectives tends to operate on the meta-theoretical level. Discussions surrounding ontology, epistemology and the methodology of research replace the construction of new theories and research programmes. To the outsider, it is often difficult to identify what the participants do that makes them operate as a whole. There may be no robust coordinating mechanisms that systematically interrelate research results and strategies.

No single group controls the discipline and is able to enforce norms of agreed research practices and general research strategies. They may be some interconnection across research groups, but theoretical specialisation is a predominant feature. As a result, integration of research results into a general framework is not encouraged, and theoretical and empirical diversity is embraced for its own sake. Fragmented adhocracies function without coordination and central reputational control, which results in diversity, specialisation and the lack of a theoretical centre, or even a core problematique. The absence of such control allows room for more idiosyncratic research practices since the individual researcher does not have to appeal to the wider research, or public, community for reputational gain. Interestingly, Whitley (1984: 168) argues that often in fragmented adhocracies the only sustained controversy, over which the participants genuinely engage in debate, is that of theoretical diversity itself.

Conclusion

Taken together the current disciplinary structure of IR and the way epistemology is addressed mutually reinforce each other. In some respects, IR today it is equivalent to what Tom Scheff (1995) calls ‘academic gangs’. New entrants to the field are faced with the problem of deciding which gang to join to gain reputational advantage. Their careers depend on it. In a fragmented adhocracy, the best way to achieve this is by aligning themselves with one approach. This is not an inevitable outcome, but those who attempt to challenge the social structure will be punished. Which epistemology are you using is a common question. In a fragmented adhocracy, the pressure to identify with one or other group is high. This takes place through training in PhD programmes, where students can face pressure to adopt the theoretical approach of their primary supervisor. But also grant applications where specific language signals group membership and even in journals, which will often have a theoretical underpinning rather than an issue specific one, or perhaps a combination of both.

The idea that we have one and only one epistemology, which then determines how we do research feeds this structure. It also precludes the idea that we might be able to use multiple epistemologies in research. In the social sciences, then, we need to become much more relaxed about epistemological discussion. It is a post hoc dimension of research, and although important in the practice of science we neither need to nor can, stake out epistemological positions in advance of either theoretical or empirical, claims. The aim here is not to provide secure epistemological grounds, but instead, to understand the limits to our knowledge claims and current uses of the term. If we are in the business of producing knowledge of social processes, we could surely benefit from an understanding of what knowledge is and what its limits are.

Reflection on the practice and philosophy of science suggests that the place of epistemology in the research exercise is not as currently conceived in the social sciences. In short, a philosophy of science is not an epistemology. One reason why this account of epistemology has become accepted practice throughout the discipline can be located in the manner in which positivism attempted to delineate what could be counted as legitimate knowledge. Positivists claimed that only knowledge produced according to positivist principles could rightly be called knowledge. This explains why positivism came to be known as an epistemology. But we should no more accept this limited account of epistemology than we need to accept a positivist account of science. The fact that the discipline has yet to challenge this positivist appropriation of epistemology is evidence of how deeply embedded positivism remains within the field.

It would be unfortunate if alternative global voices to IR were forced to replicate this structure, but insofar as they attempt to become part of the disciplinary community, this is the situation they will face. If we are genuine in our attempts to listen to alternative visions of what IR is, and can be, we need to reflect on our own practices and the way in which those practices reproduce a particular kind of disciplinary structure. There is scope for agency. IR is what we make of it.