Epistemology deals with the philosophical questions that pertain to knowledge, truth, justification, and the relationship between faith, philosophy, and science. But in addition to these important discussions, epistemology also deals with the opposing tendencies that human beings have to be skeptical about certain kinds of knowledge claims while being extremely confident in other such claims. For some ideas, our confidence seems to rise to the level of absolute certainty. But for other ideas, we are never settled, always questioning and debating the truth. As such, we tend to wonder whether our beliefs are accurate. We wonder if we can be certain about things or if we should be forever skeptical.
The issues of skepticism and certainty represent two perspectival poles that require some attention. On the one hand, we do succeed in knowing things and have great confidence in what we know. In light of this, skepticism seems a bit absurd and counterintuitive. And yet, on the other hand, when we pause to reflect on how we know certain things, we begin to see where epistemic error may have come into play, rendering what once seemed so sure to be much less certain. Once these possible errors are in view, skepticism seems to be more intuitive after all. So who is right? Is it the person who claims to have absolute certainty, whom we can call the certaintist, or is it the skeptic?
In some ways, setting the discussion between the two poles of certainty and skepticism is a bit odd. One might note, for example, that when we talk about certainty, we are talking about an epistemic property that we either have or do not have. But by contrast, when we talk about skepticism we are talking about a philosophical movement that can be traced back into the ancient world to Pyrrho of Elis and up through many modern-day philosophers. Nevertheless, it seems that any discussion about one must be pursued with the other clearly in view, even if one is an epistemic property that a person claims to have and the other is a philosophical tradition that spans philosophical history. Those who claim to have certainty are generally pushing back against those who endorse skepticism. And those who are skeptics are typically pushing back against those who claim to have absolute certainty.
In this chapter we explore certainty and skepticism. We offer an overview of each and delineate the various forms that skepticism, in particular, may take. After this we consider the epistemic factors that give rise to skeptical dispositions, but also give attention to the counterfactors that increase our epistemic confidence. In the later part of the chapter we discuss the concept of intellectual virtues, along with virtue epistemology itself, and how they may be used to bolster our epistemic endeavors in such a way that we achieve greater epistemic success.
Skepticism: Global, Local, and Methodological
What is skepticism? In short, it is the view that rejects all or some kinds of knowledge claims. For many people, the word “skepticism” carries with it a very negative connotation about the person who affirms it. Perhaps, one might think, skepticism in all forms is a pesky disposition bent toward doubting everything and everyone. While there are certainly some who fit this definition, the description is not entirely accurate, since most people are inclined toward skepticism about some, but not all, things. For example, we often employ what we might call commonsense skepticism about the promises of a politician’s speech or the value of a product pushed on us by the salesperson. In these cases, skepticism serves us well. But this is not the kind of matter we are dealing with when it comes to philosophical considerations regarding skepticism. In philosophy, skepticism has taken a variety of different forms, which we will describe here. Generally speaking, skeptics come in global/Pyrrhonian, local/metaphysical, and methodological forms.
Global/Pyrrhonian Skepticism
Global skepticism is often thought to be the most radical form of skepticism and is often associated with the Pyrrhonian skeptics, whom we will describe in the next section. This version is described as “global” because these skeptics have tended to be skeptical about any and all knowledge claims. In other words, their skepticism is applied globally to knowledge itself.
Local/Metaphysical Skepticism
In contrast to global skepticism, metaphysical skepticism is less radical in nature. Unlike methodological skepticism, local/metaphysical skepticism is concerned with particular kinds of knowledge claims. Specifically, it involves claims related to metaphysical matters. So this kind of skeptic might not be troubled with knowledge claims about the physical world, yet would be deeply troubled by knowledge claims regarding God, souls, moral values, or other metaphysical entities. This approach to skepticism is described as local because of its rejection of global skepticism. Recall that the global skeptic rejects all knowledge claims, whether empirical or metaphysical. But the local skeptic is skeptical only about certain kinds of claims, specifically, metaphysical claims.
Methodological Skepticism
Methodological skepticism is an even less radical form of skepticism. It makes use of skepticism for the process of gaining knowledge but is not skeptical of knowledge claims in general. As we will see below, this is the kind of skepticism found in the work of René Descartes in his quest for absolute certainty. In this approach, one employs skepticism about the claims that legitimately should, or even could, be doubted for the purposes of exposing an idea or set of ideas that is undoubtable. Once such ideas are found, a system of knowledge is built on them. In this case, the skeptic is skeptical for methodological reasons only. Here it is important to recognize that this version of skepticism is related to, if not a form of, global skepticism due to its universal application. Yet it is not exactly the same thing as global skepticism, as we will explain shortly.
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But why would one be a skeptic in the first place? To some, such positions seem deeply problematic. Most of us hold to particular ideas with such confidence that skepticism seems counterintuitive and obviously false. Throughout history, philosophers have raised a variety of problems for knowledge that help us to understand why a person might be so inclined toward skepticism. In what follows we will consider the issues of epistemic regress, the possibility of deception, limitations with induction, and several other less theoretical factors that give rise to doubt and uncertainty.
Skepticism: Historical Roots and Rationale
Questions relating to knowledge, certainty, and skepticism are as old as philosophy itself. In the fifth century BC, for example, Protagoras (485–410 BC) and the Sophist philosophers railed against the boisterous knowledge claims of the pre-Socratic philosophers. In particular, they were skeptical of the knowledge claims regarding moral and religious matters. Against the idea that there was some kind of objective standard for morality and other related truths, the Sophists argued that “man was the measure of all things.” From the fourth century onward, however, skepticism began to take a more serious form and receive support from a variety of thinkers.
Pyrrhonians, Skepticism, and the Problem of Epistemic Regress
Pyrrho of Elis (ca. 360–ca. 270 BC) and his followers put forth a rather radical form of skepticism, sometimes referred to as global. It is a “global” form of skepticism in that it applies skepticism globally to all knowledge claims. Diogenes Laertius (third century AD) summarizes Pyrrho’s teachings: “The sceptics [Pyrrhonians], then, spent their time overturning all the dogmas of the schools, whereas they themselves make no dogmatic pronouncements, and while they presented and set out in detail the views of others, they themselves expressed no determinate opinions, not even this itself [that they had no determinate opinion]. Thus, they even abolished the position of holding no determinate opinion, saying, for example, ‘we determine nothing’ since otherwise they would be determining something.”1
Roughly five hundred years after Pyrrho, Sextus Empiricus (AD 160–210) championed this position and further developed it. In his view, knowledge claims give rise to conflict, disagreement, and social disturbances. As such, he argues that skepticism is a way forward that would relieve society of such conflict: “The sceptical ability is the ability to set in opposition appearances and ideas in any manner whatsoever, the result of which is first that, because of the equal force of the opposed objects and arguments, final suspension of judgment is achieved, and then freedom from disturbance.”2 He then adds, “We say most definitely that the goal of the sceptic is the freedom from disturbance with respect to matters of belief and also moderate states with respect to things that are matters of compulsion.”3
In addition to these kinds of concerns, the Pyrrhonians were troubled by what we might call the problem of epistemic regress. The concern here stems from the need for beliefs to have some kind of justification. That is, a person who believes A should then have reasons for believing A.4 Linda Zagzebski explains the Pyrrhonians’ basis for concern: “The standards for knowledge presupposed by the Pyrrhonists are quite ordinary. They argued that all a person needs for a justified belief is that the evidence for some proposition believed exceeds the evidence against it.”5 And yet, even with such a minimal requirement, she reports how the Pyrrhonians thought that skepticism would always follow. They maintained that the evidence in favor of any proposition would never exceed the evidence against it. Zagzebski offers the following argument as a way to express the point.
Since the process of justification is never ending, it follows that
7. I am never justified in believing any proposition.
Hence by statement 1 it follows,
8. I do not know anything.6
What the Pyrrhonians contend in the regress problem is that justification is an ongoing and never-ending endeavor that is never complete, and thus we never have, in their view, the ability to know anything at all.
In chapter 3 we addressed the issue of justification and saw that the various approaches to it are in many ways attempts to avoid skeptical concerns like the regress problem. For different reasons, foundationalists, coherentists, and Reformed epistemologists all reject the above argument from epistemic regress.7 Likewise, arguments like those expressed in the regress problem also failed to persuade philosophers in Pyrrho’s own day. These arguments do, however, provide a glimpse into the kinds of reasons why some have been inclined toward skepticism.
René Descartes and the Problem of Deception
Despite the skeptical dispositions of these early philosophers, most Western intellectuals, as well as nonintellectuals, were disinclined toward skepticism. They thought it was possible to know things and to develop accurate theories about reality. But in the seventeenth century the issues of skepticism and certainty took center stage in the thinking of René Descartes (1596–1650). Whereas most philosophy before Descartes was done with primary emphasis on ontology (the study of being), with Descartes philosophy took an epistemic turn. That is, with Descartes epistemic questions received primary attention and emphasis. Underwhelmed and unimpressed by the progress in knowledge of the generations before him, and bothered by the fact that our senses can mislead us in the way they represent the external world, Descartes was deeply concerned to set the foundations of our knowledge. Specifically, Descartes noticed the possibility that our senses could be deceiving us in every perception we have of the world outside our minds. Or what if, Descartes wondered, there is “an evil genius, supremely powerful and clever, who has directed his entire effort at deceiving me”?8 If such is possible, then it seems as though our deception is widespread, and we must therefore be suspicious of all our knowledge.
What could one do to overcome such radical skepticism? Reflecting on that question, Descartes came to believe that perhaps doubt itself could be a vehicle for finding a sure and certain foundation for knowledge. But to get there one must employ systematic doubt. That is, one must embrace the possibility of being deceived in every belief. Descartes says, “[I would] reject as absolutely false everything in which I could imagine the slightest doubt and to see, as a result, if anything remained among my beliefs that was completely indubitable. Thus, because our senses sometimes deceive us, I decided to assume that nothing was the way the senses made us imagine it.”9 Descartes thought, that is, that doubt allows us to strip away all the things that are actually questionable. But when doubt has done its work and certain ideas remain firm and undoubtable, perhaps then we have stumbled onto the kinds of ideas that can serve as the foundation for our knowledge.
Using this method of systematic doubt, Descartes quickly discovered the kind of idea he was looking for: the idea that he himself must exist. He says, “But I noticed, immediately afterwards, that while I thus wished to think that everything was false, it was necessarily the case that I, who was thinking, was something. When I noticed that this truth ‘I think, therefore I am’ was so firm and certain that all the most extravagant assumptions of the sceptics were unable to shake it, I judged that I could accept it without scruple as the first principle of the philosophy for which I was searching.”10 In other words, Descartes recognized that doubting was a kind of thinking that he was having, and that in order to have it, he must actually exist to have it. This was sure and certain. And on this basis, Descartes sought to build a system of knowledge that leads to absolute certainty.
While building on the certainty of his own existence, he noticed that his thinking was marked by the imperfection of doubt. And yet the very presence of imperfection implies the idea of perfection and suggests that this concept could not have arisen from within himself. Thus it must come from something, a perfect something, outside himself. This, he thought, is at least part of the basis to believe in God. He says, “This idea was put in me by a nature that was really more perfect than I was, one that even had in itself all the perfection of which I could have some idea, that is—to express myself in a single word—by God.”11 And now with God in the picture, Descartes concludes that such a being would not allow us to stray into uncertainty and epistemic error.
Historically speaking, Descartes’s starting point—“I think, therefore I am”—enjoys far more agreement than does the rest of his argument. And as such, many philosophers tend to think that Descartes underscores the problem of doubt without actually solving it. While Descartes was convinced that doubt itself could lead us out of such awful epistemic states of affairs, numerous philosophers throughout history have been less inclined to agree with him. In their minds, the problem Descartes raises is bigger than the solution that he provides. Maybe systematic doubt will yield the certain conclusion that Descartes himself must exist, but it is less clear that his next steps are a sufficient ground on which to build an epistemic system.
David Hume and the Problem of Induction
We must say something about at least one other figure, David Hume (1711–76), before leaving our brief background of the issues of skepticism and certainty. Hume, a Scottish philosopher known for his skepticism, raised objections with induction. With the inductive method, one gains knowledge incrementally as evidence mounts and probability rises. Contrary to deduction, however, certainty is never achieved. So, for example, we may know that the sun will rise tomorrow based on the vast number of previous events of history where the sun has risen. With every additional instance where the sun rises, our confidence in tomorrow’s sunrise is strengthened. We have come to “know” that the sun will rise by the accumulation of evidence from past experience. As Duncan Pritchard has noted, Hume raised a serious question about the epistemic legitimacy of this by asking “how we could be sure that regularities that are observed within a representative sample . . . should increase the likelihood that the unrestricted generalization . . . is true.”12 In other words, in the case of a sunrise, induction claims require that the regularities within the laws of nature in the past will automatically work the same way as they did in the past. But how do we know that is the case? In Hume’s mind, one could only assume this to be the case and could never prove it. Hence Hume thought that induction as a whole was suspect and an unsure guide to knowledge.
Hume himself expressed this concern regarding a widely assumed belief in the nature of cause and effect. Consider the movement of an eight ball on a billiards table and the question of why it moved. According to almost anyone assessing the situation, the likely answer to the question of the eight ball’s movement will be something like the following: the eight ball moved because the cue ball hit it, causing it to move across the table. In this case, (1) there is clearly pairing of movements: the cue ball moves and the eight ball moves; (2) there is a sequence in which the movements happen: the cue ball moved first and then the eight ball moves; and (3) there is a physical connection between the movements: the cue ball touches the eight ball. According to Hume, that is all we can observe or say. We do not observe (4) a causation between the cue ball and the eight ball. Since we do not observe the causation, we therefore cannot say anything about causation itself. Do we observe in our experience causation itself? “No!” proclaims Hume. On the basis of (1–3), we assume causation. He famously says: “Thus not only our reason fails us in the discovery of the ultimate connexion of causes and effects, but even after experience has inform’d us of their constant conjunction, ’tis impossible for us to satisfy ourselves by our reason, why we shou’d extend that experience beyond those particular instances, which have fallen under our observation. We suppose, but are never able to prove, that there must be a resemblance betwixt those objects, of which we have had experience, and those which lie beyond the reach of our discovery.”13
In other words, reason itself does not and cannot establish the assumption that because things have worked a certain way in the past, we have assurance that they will work that way in the present or in the future. Such assurance is based on the inductive basis of probability and nothing more. It never yields absolute certainty.
Philosophers agree about the nature of induction on which Hume’s “problem” is based. Generally speaking, however, they are far less concerned with this as a problem since most see probability as an adequate basis for epistemic assurance and confidence. It may not offer absolute certainty, but it does yield a sufficient basis for trusting the data produced by induction. So then, if certainty is not required, there doesn’t appear to be much of a problem.
Other Epistemic Factors That Cause Doubt
There are plenty of other figures that we might consider regarding the background of skepticism and certainty. The brief overview above, however, should be sufficient to help us see that skepticism has had a variety of philosophical contributors. And yet, before moving forward, we might also highlight some other, perhaps less theoretical, factors that contribute to epistemic doubt and skepticism. First, we should recognize the impact our finitude has on our epistemic confidence. In short, we are finite creatures and thus lack the ability to perceive, much less process or understand, all the relevant aspects of reality. We have little minds that struggle to grasp all the data and handle it accordingly. Hence our finitude can at times hinder our epistemic abilities and keep us from seeing the world perfectly. Second, we are also fallen creatures whose minds have been tainted by our sin. Our minds are often clouded by biases, prejudices, and other kinds of hindrances, which make knowing difficult. Third, as knowers we must face the reality that we are epistemically situated within contexts that shape our view of things. An Anglo-American Southerner in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries might, for example, have a view of racial matters shaped by the cultural and economic specifics of the Southern context. The same would be the case, of course, for an African American Southerner during those same periods of time. As has been demonstrated well by critics of modernity, situatedness is a genuine factor in our knowing, sometimes hindering and sometimes helping us as we go about the process of gaining knowledge.
Plenty of other things could be mentioned about the rationale behind skepticism and epistemic doubt, but this quick survey is sufficient to show that skeptics have their reasons for holding the views that they do. We now turn to consider why it is that we, despite our causes for doubt, have epistemic confidence.
Why We, Nevertheless, Have Epistemic Confidence
Thus far we have encountered various rationales for skepticism, and we’ve been exposed to the thinkers behind those ideas. Now we turn our attention to the various reasons for why we have confidence in the things we claim to know. Why is it, despite the factors considered in favor of skepticism, that most people aren’t epistemological skeptics? One reason for this is that skepticism has its own problems. To begin with, some versions of skepticism are self-defeating or impractical. If, for example, a skeptic were to claim that no one knows anything at all, this would be a self-defeating claim since it is itself a knowledge claim. Ideas like these just can’t be held with consistency, no matter how big a fuss someone makes about it. Moreover, even in cases where inconsistency is not involved, it is still often the case that skepticism is unlivable or impractical. Skeptics might claim to know nothing at all, but this is surely not the way they live their lives. They operate in the day-to-day matters of life and plan their affairs in response to information they gather from their senses, the testimony of others, and their own sense of right and wrong. No matter what they claim about knowing, they live as one who does know a host of things about the world in which they live. And in doing so, they demonstrate the impractical and unlivable nature of skepticism. But there are, of course, more positive reasons for us to have epistemic confidence. We now turn our attention to those considerations.
A Priori Knowledge
We know things in different ways. For some things, like the desk in front of me, I know about it by looking at it, feeling it, and so forth. Knowledge of such things requires empirical data—data gathered by experience, observation, and the senses. But this is not the only way of knowing. For other things, it is possible to know without any reference to experience, observation, or the senses. In these cases, we are able to grasp some truths simply by analyzing concepts. These truths, often referred to as analytic truths, are considered a priori knowledge: without or apart from experience. Take, for example, our knowledge of certain mathematical truths like 5 + 7 = 12; 10 – 4 = 6; or 18 ÷ 3 = 6. It’s safe to say that you know these things as opposed to merely believing them. But how is it that you know them, and how did you get that information? Did you survey the world around to discover that this was the case? Did you perform some experiment in a laboratory to find this out? No, you didn’t. Rather, you simply thought about the numbers and functions in question, and the answer was obvious and certain. It just is the case that 5 + 7 = 12, and you know that without some kind of empirical experience.
But are there other truths, beyond mathematical truths, that can be known in this way? Philosophers throughout history have agreed that indeed there are. A classic example is the idea that a “bachelor is an unmarried male.” Again, it is safe to say that you know this is true. But again, how did you arrive at such a conclusion? Did you interview all the bachelors in the world to see if they were unmarried? Did you perform an experiment in a laboratory to gather evidence for this conclusion? Again, no, you didn’t. Instead, you simply reflected on the concept of a bachelor, which just is an unmarried male. Nothing beyond your reflection on the concept was required for the conclusion.
One final example, from someone we have already considered in this chapter, may help to make the point. Recall that Descartes worried that all that he believed could be based on deception and illusion. It seemed, at least for a moment, that it was possible to doubt everything. And so, in an effort to find a foundation for all of his beliefs that was sure and certain, that is exactly what he set out to do: doubt everything. As he undertook this project of systematic doubt, he considered his own physical body and concluded the same thing about it that he did about all other physical objects. His body, like a tree or a table, was something that he could doubt. But when he considered himself, he quickly realized that this was something he couldn’t doubt, for to doubt himself required that he must actually exist. This was the truth that Descartes believed was sure and certain. And yet it was not a truth he arrived at by way of experience, empirical observation, or from his senses. He knew this a priori. All this to say that there are some things we know a priori. But there are still other reasons for thinking that knowledge is possible.
Common Sense
Other philosophers have pushed back against skepticism by appealing to common sense. Sure, they may admit, it is possible that we are deceived in some of the things we think we know. But the fact is, they argue, there are some things that we just know. In response to Hume’s brand of skepticism, the Scottish philosopher Thomas Reid (1710–96) argued that common sense is the basis on which to build all philosophical knowledge. In his famous Inquiry, he makes note of the way philosophers like Descartes, Nicolas Malebranche (1638–1715), and even John Locke (1632–1704) set up the skepticism that would eventually result in Humean skepticism. Mocking those who have “employed their genius and skill to prove the existence of a material world,” Reid thought such efforts had been met “with very bad success.”14 Instead of refusing to hold beliefs about the external world unless he had good philosophical reasons for doing so, Reid contended that such beliefs should be held on the basis of common sense. He says, “Let scholastic sophisters entangle themselves in their own cobwebs; I am resolved to take my own existence, and the existence of other things, upon trust; and to believe that snow is cold, and honey sweet, whatever they may say to the contrary. He must be a fool, or want to make a fool of me, that would reason me out of my reason and senses.”15
In other words, Reid thought it a terrible mistake to go down the path of his contemporary philosophers by trying to justify basic beliefs about our own existence and the information given to us by the senses. He argued that such beliefs should be held on the basis of common sense. Furthermore, not only should common sense be the basis for such beliefs; common sense should also be the foundation of philosophy and philosophizing itself. He says, “Common Sense holds nothing of Philosophy, nor needs her aid. But, on the other hand, Philosophy (if I may be permitted to change the metaphor) has no other root but the principles of Common Sense; it grows out of them, and draws its nourishment from them. Severed from this root, its honours wither, its sap is dried up, it dies and rots.”16
At the turn of the twentieth century, G. E. Moore (1873–1958) argued for a similar view regarding the information we gain from the senses. In a short article titled “Proof of an External World,”17 Moore offers the following argument in favor of our confidence in common sense and the ability of our senses to give us accurate information about the world around us:
Moore’s point here is fairly obvious and simple to grasp. Despite the possibilities of deception that were raised by Descartes and others, and despite the other reasons skeptics might have for questioning the senses or any other sources of knowledge, there are some things we just know. This truth about Moore, “I have two hands,” is obvious and shouldn’t be doubted. In many ways, Moore’s argument is intended to mock and scoff at skepticism, showing that no matter what skeptics insist, we succeed in knowing things about the world, and it is foolish not to take as basic the information given to us by the senses.
Another specific example of this kind of view comes from the philosophers known as particularists. In the twentieth century, American philosopher Roderick Chisholm (1916–99) was largely responsible for establishing this as a respected school of thought. Understanding both Reid and Moore as advocates of this view, he distinguished his particularist view from a view called methodism. The debate between these two camps revolves around two epistemic questions:
Question A: What do we know?
Question B: How do we know what we know?
Let us call question A the content question, as it pertains to the content of what we know, and let us call question B the method question, as it deals with the “how” of our knowing. Methodists are the group of philosophers who believe we must start with B, the method question: How do we know what we know? In this approach, what one is trying to figure out is what it means to know something and what the proper way is for us to go about gaining knowledge. Exemplified by philosophers like Descartes, Locke, or even Francis Bacon (1561–1626), these thinkers developed philosophical systems that gave primary attention to the methods of knowing. Particularists disagree with the methodist approach of making the method question primary. For them, the proper starting point for epistemology is A, the content question: What do we know? Following in the wake of philosophers like Reid and Moore, Chisholm believed that methodism was fundamentally mistaken and would likely lead to skepticism. He noted three distinct possibilities: “There is skepticism (you cannot answer either question without presupposing an answer to the other, and therefore, the questions cannot be answered at all); there is ‘methodism’ (you begin with an answer to B); and there is ‘particularism’ (you begin with an answer to A). I suggest that the third possibility is the most reasonable.”19
And so, instead of trying to identify the proper methods for knowing, perhaps, Chisholm argued, we should simply start with something that we do know and use that example of epistemic success as a case study of sorts that could then be used to figure the proper methods for knowing. All this is to say that Chisholm, with Reid and Moore before him, thought that we are within our epistemic rights to believe basic things about the world based on our senses. They did not deny that we can and do make epistemic errors or that deception is a real possibility. But they did insist that common sense forces us to trust our sense data and that our senses are largely successful in helping to give us knowledge of the world.
Science and Epistemic Success
In addition to the arguments from a priori knowledge and common sense, philosophers have provided another significant reason for why it is that we have epistemic confidence. In the estimation of many, the success of modern science to make progress in the areas of technology, medicine, and computer science is enough for us to reject skepticism. As Alister McGrath has put it, “It seems to many that the success of the natural sciences shows that they have somehow managed to uncover the way things really are, or to lock into something which is fundamental to the structure of the universe.”20 In other words, the discoveries made by modern science, and the opportunities that arise from them, are strongly suggestive that we have been successful in coming to understand the way the world is. Knowledge is being attained step-by-step and with steady progress. But how is such a thing possible if skepticism were true? It would seem that the kind of progress we describe here would be forever off-limits and impossible for us to have. But that is not how things really are. Instead, we have been successful in attaining knowledge of the world.
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Thus far we have explored two topics in this chapter. First, we’ve considered skepticism and the various reasons why some have held this position throughout history. Second, we’ve considered why it is that, despite the concerns of the skeptics, we nevertheless have epistemic confidence in the things we claim to know. In short, epistemic error is possible, yet we are nevertheless largely successful in knowing things about our world. As we ponder such questions, a new question should be considered: How can we be most successful in attaining knowledge? To answer this question, we now turn to explore intellectual virtues and virtue epistemology.
Virtue Epistemology
Numerous philosophers have contended for something called virtue epistemology as an approach to knowledge acquisition that builds on the concept of intellectual virtues.21 To begin with, we need to set forward what we mean by “virtue.” Simply put, a virtue, like a vice, is a particular kind of characteristic or quality that a person may have. Vices are qualities that are negative in nature and that hinder, hurt, destroy, or make something very difficult. When we say that someone has a vice, we are saying that they have a particular kind of quality or characteristic that causes trouble and difficulty both for them and for those around them. For example, if someone has the vice of having a quick temper, it typically causes problems in some way. By contrast, virtues are positive qualities or characteristics that a person may have that help, bless, create life, or give a particular kind of advantage. As a result of having a virtue, the person who has it is helped in some way. Plato summarized the difference well, declaring that virtue is “a kind of health, fine condition, and well-being of the soul,” while its opposite, vice, can be understood as “disease, shameful condition, and weakness.”22
Today, discussions about virtue typically arise within the context of ethical considerations. This is fitting, but it is certainly not the only application of the concept of virtue. In the ancient world, philosophers like Aristotle seem to have given equal attention to something we might call intellectual virtues. At the beginning of his discussion about virtue, for example, Aristotle distinguished two kinds: “Virtue, then, is of two sorts, virtue of thought and virtue of character.”23 Virtue epistemology is an approach to knowledge that builds on the notion of intellectual virtues. Like a moral virtue, an intellectual virtue is a cognitive characteristic or quality that allows a person to think well, acquire knowledge, and avoid epistemological error. Or, as Pritchard has put it, an intellectual virtue “is a character trait which makes you better suited to gaining the truth.”24
There are numerous examples of the kind of characteristics that might be thought of as intellectual virtues, including such things as humility, studiousness, honesty, courage, or even carefulness. These concepts clearly have moral connotations to them, but according to virtue epistemologists, they are equally clear examples of intellectual virtues. Take humility and honesty as two quick examples. In the case of humility, we can think of two opposing characteristics that would be vices and would also be opposites of humility. Persons who are arrogant or prideful would be overconfident in their intellectual abilities or in their understanding of a particular topic. As a result of that arrogance and pride, therefore, they may be prone to overlook, ignore, and dismiss important details that need to be considered in evaluating a theory. Or it could also be the case that their pride and arrogance predispose them to intellectual laziness. In either case, a person marked by the vice of arrogance has a significant intellectual liability. Additionally, we can also think of another vice that stands in contrast to intellectual humility—namely, despair. In this case, persons have absolutely no confidence in their intellectual abilities and either give up too early or never set out to gain knowledge and understanding. As such, both arrogance and despair are intellectual vices that sit in contrast to the intellectual virtue of humility.
Persons who have the virtue of humility are not hindered by the liabilities of arrogance or the defeat of despair. Instead, they will approach a topic with earnestness, paying attention to all the relevant details. By having the virtue of humility, they are better suited to gain knowledge. We might also consider the intellectual virtue of honesty. Again, consider how someone with an opposing vice of dishonesty will be hindered in grasping the truth. Because dishonest persons are unwilling to tell the truth about the facts of the matter, it is also safe to say that their account of a particular thing is suspect. But the person who is honest enough to tell the truth about the facts of a matter is far more suited to gain knowledge about the way the world actually is. Many other examples could be mentioned, but these two are sufficient to help us see how intellectual virtues make us better suited to know and understand.
We have covered a lot of terrain in this chapter. First, we looked at skepticism, its history, and the kinds of concerns that have caused some to be skeptics. As we saw, skeptics have been concerned with the issue of epistemic regress, the possibility of deception, the uncertainty involved in induction, and several other factors. But second, we also considered the reasons why, despite the concerns of skepticism, we can still have epistemic confidence. There we gave consideration to a priori knowledge, common sense, and the epistemic success of modern science. Finally, we also gave a quick survey of virtue epistemology as a way to navigate through the concerns of skepticism and as a way to increase epistemic success.
For Christians, virtue epistemology is a promising pathway forward. If nothing else, it provides a way to deal with doubt that sometimes arises with faith. And what is more, the pathway provided by virtue epistemology allows us to deal with doubt without committing the sins of intellectual hubris or intellectual laziness. The intellectual virtues are designed to produce the proper balance between humility and confidence.
1. Diogenes Laertius, Life of Pyrrho, in Hellenistic Philosophy, trans. Brad Inwood and L. P. Gerson (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1997), 288.
2. Sextus Empiricus, General Principles [Outlines of Pyrrhonism], in Inwood and Gerson, Hellenistic Philosophy, 303.
3. Sextus Empiricus, General Principles, 307.
4. As we saw in chap. 2, not all philosophers agree that this requirement is legitimate. Some argue that such a standard is too high.
5. Linda Zagzebski, On Epistemology (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 2009), 29.
6. Zagzebski, On Epistemology, 30.
7. For reasons why, refer back to the section on justification in chap. 3.
8. René Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy, trans. Donald A. Cress, 4th ed. (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1993), 16.
9. René Descartes, Discourse on Method, trans. Desmond M. Clarke (London: Penguin, 1999), 24.
10. Descartes, Discourse on Method, 25.
11. Descartes, Discourse on Method, 26.
12. Duncan Pritchard, What Is This Thing Called Knowledge?, 2nd ed. (New York: Routledge, 2006), 102.
13. David Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987), 91–92.
14. Thomas Reid, “An Inquiry into the Human Mind on the Principles of Common Sense,” in Inquiry and Essays, ed. Ronald E. Beanblossom and Keith Lehrer (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1983), 5.
15. Reid, “An Inquiry,” 11.
16. Reid, “An Inquiry,” 7.
17. G. E. Moore, “Proof of an External World,” in Philosophical Papers (New York: Macmillan, 1959), 127–50.
18. Moore, “Proof of an External World,” 166.
19. Roderick M. Chisholm, The Foundations of Knowing (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1982), 69.
20. Alister E. McGrath, The Science of God (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 126.
21. See Ernest Sosa, A Virtue Epistemology: Apt Belief and Reflective Knowledge (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), vol. 1; Zagzebski, On Epistemology; Linda Zagzebski, Virtues of the Mind: An Inquiry into the Nature of Virtue and the Ethical Foundations of Knowledge (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996); Robert C. Roberts and W. Jay Wood, Intellectual Virtues: An Essay in Regulative Epistemology (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007); W. Jay Wood, Epistemology: Becoming Intellectually Virtuous, Contours of Christian Philosophy (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 1998).
22. Plato, Republic 444e, in Plato: Complete Works, ed. by John M. Cooper (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1997), 1076.
23. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, trans. Terrence Irwin, 2nd ed. (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1999), 2.1.
24. Pritchard, What Is This Thing Called Knowledge?, 58.