Thursday, 14 August 2025

Of Course Science Is a “Social Construction”!

 

This essay at least partially bounces off the title (though not the content) of a book called The Social Construction of What?, by the philosopher Ian Hacking. The point here being that there cannot fail to be at least some level of “social construction” in both scientific knowledge and science itself. But is social construction everything when it comes to science… or to anything else? Hacking, then, believes that social construction is real. So too does the philosopher Susan Haak. And it’s Haak’s work, rather than Hacking’s, which will be featured in this essay.

10 min readMar 16, 2025

“Examples of social constructs range widely, encompassing the assigned value of money, conceptions of concept of self, self-identity, beauty standards, gender, language, race, ethnicity, social class, social hierarchy, nationality, religion, social norms, the modern calendar and other units of time, marriage, education, citizenship, stereotypes, femininity and masculinity, social institutions, and even the idea of ‘social construct’ itself.”

— See source here.

Of Course Science Is a “Social Construction”!

… At least it is in a simple and obvious sense.

All scientists are social beings who work within various social contexts. Indeed, theories are constructed by scientists within social contexts…

How could it be otherwise?

The English philosopher Susan Haak agrees.

In her paper ‘Towards a Sober Sociology of Science’, Haak tells us that “warrant is social in the sense that [ ] [o]ur judgements of relevance of evidence depend on our background beliefs…” She also believes that “scientific inquiry is a social enterprise…” Finally, she concludes:

“[T]he objects of scientific knowledge are socially constructed. Scientific theories are of course devised, articulated, developed by scientists; theoretical concepts like electron, gene, force, and so forth, are, if you like, their creation…”

As can be seen, each statement above is followed by three full stops. Thus, most readers will have guessed that Haak qualifies all of her statements. So there is a sense in which what she says is obviously true. After all, isn’t it the case that scientific theories are “devised, articulated, developed by scientists”? Yet the broad political and philosophical conclusions which some social scientists draw from all this are, in Haak’s view, false.

In more detail. The words “electron”, “gene” and “force” were all coined by scientists. Does this mean that electrons, genes and forces are also “socially constructed”? Indeed, the mathematics and theories used to describe such things were formulated by scientists. However, are electrons, genes and forces themselves created by scientists? Are the words “electron”, “gene” and “force” about — or do they refer to — the words “electron”, “gene” and “force”? Are scientific theories about — or do they refer to — scientific theories? After all, if (to cite Haak putting Kenneth J. Gergen’s position) “the world has little or no role in the construction of scientific knowledge”, then electrons, genes and forces aren’t to be found in the physical world. They’re to be found in the social world of the social beings we call “scientists”.

The clinical and philosophical psychologist Barbara S. Held also puts the point for the obviousness-of-social-construction in the following passage from her paper ‘Constructivism in Psychotherapy’:

“We all sometimes *construct* theories about how the world works, both in science and in life. The fact that knowing involves an active process on the part of the knower does not make all knowers antirealists, and all knowledge subjective. Put differently, *all theories are themselves linguistic constructions*. Constructing theories is the business of science, all science. But that fact does not make all scientists constructionists/antirealists.”

Held goes into more detail when she concludes:

“However, to then say that the theoretical construction we have just created is the *only reality* we have is to confuse two things: it confuses (a) the linguistic status of the theory itself with (b) the extralinguistic or extratheoretic reality that the theory is attempting to approximate indirectly. That is, the reality under investigation is not itself a mere linguistic construction.”

The philosopher Ian Hacking wrote a book called The Social Construction of What? That title alone perfectly represents Susan Haak’s position.

Again, in a qualified and limited sense, Hacking believes in the social construction of science. So too does Haak. Interestingly, Hacking tackles the positions of the French philosopher and sociologist Bruno Latour (1947–2022) and the British sociologist Steve Woolgar (1950-), both mentioned, if only in passing, by Haak herself. According to Hacking, Latour and Woolgar believe that facts are made. This means that they don’t believe that facts are found and then simply registered.

Latour and Woolgar to put their own position on facts, and they do so by indulging in a bit of Heideggerian etymology. In their book Laboratory Life: The Construction of Scientific Facts), they wrote that

“[t]he word ‘fact’ comes from the Latin factum, a noun derived from the past participle of facere, to do, or to make”.

Hacking himself responds to that. He tells his readers that they shouldn’t be too shocked by that because “made things exist”. Indeed, Latour and Woolgar themselves say that they do not “wish to say that facts do not exist nor that there is no such thing as reality”. That, on the surface, is an easy thing to say. After all, if one believes that “peace is a ham sandwich”, then does one really believe in peace? Similarly with Latour and Woolgar when they use the words “fact” and “reality”.

The Real, Etc.

Susan Haak often uses the word “real”. She doesn’t really go into detail about what she means by it. However, she does say that “the entities posited in true scientific theories are real”. That said, she does in a way define the concept — if in a negative manner.

For example, Haak doesn’t believe that “electrons, genes, forces, etc. are brought into existence by the intellectual activity of the scientists who create the theories that posit them”. Thus, (to use a Continental capital) the Real is that which isn’t brought into existence by human beings and their theories. (The Real is there regardless of human beings.) This means that accepting the Real seems to be a kind of metaphysical realism, at least according to my own interpretation of Haak’s words.

Haak uses the word “objective” too.

For example, she tells us that

“[o]ur judgments of relevance of evidence depend on our background beliefs, but relevance of evidence is, nevertheless, objective”.

Here again Haak doesn’t elaborate. (No doubt the meaning of the word “objective” can be gleaned from the rest of her article.) As it stands, it seems that evidence is objective if it’s relevant… But how does that work? Sure, the fact that Stephen Hawking was a keen football fan may not be relevant to assessing his work on black holes, but his mathematical theories are. Still, why bring in the word “objective” here at all?

The Underdetermination of Theory

One trendy idea — which largely came from analytic philosophers (i.e., ones who greatly admired science — or at least physics) is the underdetermination of theory by data, and it’s been a godsend to postmodernists, constructivists, the critics of science, etc. To them, it means that if scientific theories are only partly determined by data, facts, evidence, or whatever, then the rest can be filled in with whatever you like. Haak herself says that postmodernists, etc. believe that “social values take up the slack”. Thus, because scientific theories are underdetermined, then there’s free reign to add to the determined… bit. In fact, postmodernists, etc. use the underdetermination-of-theory-by-the-data idea whenever they can when it comes to their political and/or deflationary views on scientific theories and to science itself.

In terms of the incomplete or inconclusive evidence for scientific theories, Haak expresses the postmodernist, etc. position by saying that

“[e]vidence never *obliges* us to accept this claim rather than that, the thought is, and we have to accept something; so acceptance is always affected by something besides the evidence”.

In other words, the evidence alone is never conclusive. It is never complete. Thus, why not make that extra something “social values”? Or, more plainly, why not make that extra something politics? This isn’t a conspiratorial conclusion. Many postmodernists, etc. are upfront about the fact that this space-beyond-evidence can be filled in such a way.

Communal Science and Evidence

Constructivists rightly pick up on the communal nature of science. Indeed, they pick up on the social nature of science. But is there anything more to science than its social or communal nature?…

Of course there is.

Haak now focuses on what she calls “warrant” in regard to “a scientific claim”.

Firstly, she tackles the position of her opponents. She writes:

“One misunderstanding is that the warrant status of a scientific claim is ‘just a matter of social practice’.”

Haak continues by saying that this claim is “elliptical for talk of how justified a scientific community is in accepting it”. However,

“how justified they are in accepting it does not depend on how justified they *think* they are, but on how good their evidence is”.

But isn’t evidence itself dependent on all sorts of prior detail too?

Haak recognises this when she puts her opponents’ position that “’how good,’ here, can only mean ‘how good relative to the standards of community C’”. Again, Haak believes that there’s more to it than that. So it’s not that she denies the relevance of “the standards of the community”, or that justification occurs within a “scientific community”. However, if all that were the whole story, then science would be nothing more than mutual navel gazing among scientists. To quote Richard Rorty, the “world [would be] well lost”.

In simple terms, justification has “the world” as part of its picture. Evidence and standards are dependent on the world too. That’s because evidence is evidence of something, and standards play their role when it comes to the physical phenomena which are external to the standards themselves.

Rival Constructivists

Susan Haak cites various individuals and schools within the social sciences who and which take a very deflationary (or simply political) position on science. She writes:

“[O]ne thinks of the Edinburgh School’s ‘strong programme’ in sociology of science, allegedly revealing the ‘threadbare fabric of… traditional philosophical accounts’; or Collin’s or Gergen’s assurance that the world has little or no role in the construction of scientific knowledge; of Latour’s or Woolgar’s insistence on approaching science as a process of producing inscriptions and thereby constructing facts; of Hubbard’s or Bleier’s or Nelson’s or Longino’s announcements that all inquiry is biased by the inquirer’s gender, class, or racial perspective; of the proponents of ‘democratic epistemology’ and the alleged ‘strong objectivity’ of multiple standpoint theory; and so on.”

The problem here is that all these schools and positions seem to be rivals. Surely they can’t all be held together. That said, some people may argue that they are all compatible with each other — or at least some of them are. After all, all these examples are simply approaching science from different angles, not necessarily rival angles. However, that is highly unlikely.

For example, if multiple standpoint theory offers us “strong objectivity”, then how does that sit with the view that “the world has little or no role in the construction of scientific knowledge”? How do “facts” (even if “constructed”, as in Latour and Woolgar) sit with the elimination of the world?

Social Science Rules

There may be good political reasons — as well as ones about “epistemic power” — as to why certain social scientists stress the point that science is a “social construction” [see here]. Haak makes this point in the following passage:

“[As] for those who argue that since scientific knowledge is nothing but a social construction, the physical sciences must be subordinate to the social sciences.”

Perhaps the following paragraph offers a somewhat crude take on how some social scientists see themselves.

Social scientists deal with everything that’s… social. Scientific knowledge (or science itself) is social. Therefore, the last word on scientific knowledge should be left to social scientists. More broadly, the physical sciences are carried out by social beings within social contexts. Such social beings (i.e., scientists) may be “naïve” or politically biased without their knowing it. They may not even be (fully) aware of the social contexts they work within. Social scientists, on the other hand, do know about social contexts. They aren’t naïve. And they aren’t unaware of our “political realities”.

Readers can see Haak’s point if they consider the words of the sociologist Professor Steve Fuller (1959-). In ‘Book Review: The Third Culture: Beyond the Scientific Revolution, Fuller told us that his prime motive was to “challenge these skimpily clad would-be emperors” — i.e., scientists. He went on to state the following:

“[T]o a sociologist, it will be apparent that many of the ‘deep puzzles’ that these scientists brood over could be solved, or at least dissipated, by a dose of social science [].”

Fuller then argued that “much of what is said [by scientists] could have benefited from the presence of a sociological interlocutor”. And finally:

“[D]espite their interdisciplinary pretensions, none of the scientists ever feels the need to refer to theories or findings of the social sciences (except for a few derogatory remarks about economists). When Gould wants to flaunt his well-roundedness, he quotes Horace and Shakespeare, not Marx and Weber [].”

Finally, and in simple terms, social scientists emphasise the social construction of science. They believe that most (physical) scientists ignore it. However, and as shown, it’s in certain senses, and in many ways, obvious that science is socially constructed. However, it isn’t only the end result of social construction. It is an end result of the Real (or the world) too.

Moreover, the sociologist Steve Fuller places an undue emphasis on social construction (or the “findings of the social sciences”, including the works of “Marx and Weber”) as a simple consequence of his own specialism (or career) and political leanings. Most (physical) scientists (despite “their interdisciplinary pretensions”), on the other hand, may well place an emphasis on their own specialisms, which is hardly a surprise.

Tuesday, 5 August 2025

Did Saul Kripke Really Imagine Disembodied Pain?

 

Much has been said about the use of the imagination in philosophy. You find imaginative thought experiments all over the place. (Philosophical zombies and Mary the colour scientist are good examples.) It dates back to Descartes. However, the use of the imagination was reprised by Saul Kripke and others in the early 1970s. Nowadays, philosophers like David Chalmers and Philip Goff extensively rely on what they call “conceivability”. (Conceiving and imagining are distinguished from each other by some philosophers.)

7 min readMar 13, 2025

“All arguments against the identity theory which rely on the necessity of identity, or on the notion of essential property, are, of course, inspired by Descartes’ argument for his dualism.”

— Saul Kripke, Note 19 of ‘Identity and Necessity’.

The American philosopher Saul Kripke worked on his (to use his own words) “Cartesian intuitions” when he tackled the mind-body problem. Many of those intuitions were about what is, and what is not, logically possible.

Kripke is a very relevant philosopher to bring into any debate about the use of the imagination — or, as it’s often classed today, conceivability — within philosophy. That’s because he seems to have held two contrasting arguments: (1) One argument is used to advance his position on the acceptable use of the imagination in philosophy. (2) The other argument is used to criticise the use of the imagination by his critics.

In the first instance, Kripke informed his audience about an act of imagination which actually misleads us (metaphysically speaking). He wrote:

“[W]e thought erroneously that we could imagine a situation in which heat was not the motion of molecules. Because although we can say that we pick out heat contingently by the contingent property that it affects us in such and such way.”

Kripke also offered us the examples of imagining that water is not H₂O, as well as the case of a person conceiving of a true mathematical theorem to be false or false theorem to be true. (Kripke gave the example of Goldbach’s conjecture.)

On the other hand, Kripke also believed that imagination (or what we can conceive) can tell us something very important about various philosophical issues. In Kripke’s own words:

“[J]ust as it seems that the brain state could have existed without any pain, so it seems that the pain could have existed without the corresponding brain state.”

Kripke stressed our ability to imagine a pain state without its correlated brain state (formerly characterised as the “firing of C-fibres”). Thus, Kripke concluded (to paraphrase):

If we can imagine mental states without their correlated brain states, then such states are possible.

Alternatively put, Kripke was arguing that there’s no necessary identity between mental states and brain states.

Misimagining

Kripke was aware that philosophers criticised his emphasis on both the imagination and “intuitions”. However, he didn’t say much about either. He did tell us that a “materialist” (it needn’t be a materialist!) “has to show that these things which we can imagine are not in fact things we can imagine”. The Cartesian intuitionist is imagining something when he imagines, but the argument in the following is that he’s not imagining what he believes he’s imagining. He’s not imagining, for example, disembodied pain. So no one is claiming that Kripke didn’t imagine something that worked as a substitute (or a surrogate) for what he believed he was imaging.

Of course, Kripke might well have asked the following question: How do you know that I’m not imagining this? However, his critic could have replied: How do you know that you are? How do know that you are?

But there’s a little problem here. In the same paragraph Kripke says that the materialist

has to hold that we are under some illusion in thinking that we can imagine that there could have been pains without brain states”.

This is very different to imagining an actual pain without a brain state. Loosely, perhaps anyone could imagine a pain without a brain state… However, what is being imagined in these instances? Not an actual pain, but some kind of vague possibility that doesn’t involve imagining an actual pain without a brain state.

Disembodied Pains?

What is it to “imagine my pain existing even if the state of the body did not”? Drawing on some of Kripke’s own arguments, doesn’t the imaginer need to literally be in pain in order to imagine his pain? After all, when it comes to pain, many have argued that there’s no reality-appearance distinction to be made between imagining a pain and actually being in pain [see here]. If that’s the case, then no one imagines pain existing even if the state of the body did not simply because no pain is imagined in the first place.

All that said, the words “imagine my pain existing even if the state of the body did not” aren’t clear. Arguably, in this instance an actual pain needn’t be imagined at all, let alone felt. In that case, then, what is imagined? The behavioural manifestations of pain? That obviously wouldn’t work for Kripke’s argument. So once the body and brain are (imaginatively) erased (along with the behavioural manifestations of pain), then what on earth is left?

Again, what exactly did Kripke imagine when he imagined a bodyless pain? Did his pain float free in the ether? In this case, did Kripke imagine, say, a tooth ache without any teeth, or a headache without a head?

What about psychological pain? Take depression. Even in this case depressive pain is intimately linked to many physiological symptoms and changes. In other words, psychological pain isn’t either abstract or disembodied: it is at least partly physical. (Some would say entirely physical.)

Kripke went further:

“We can perhaps imagine my not being embodied at all and still being in pain, or, conversely, we could imagine my body existing and being in the very same state even if there were no pain.”

Kripke supposedly imagined two things here. (1) He imagined “not being embodied at all”. (2) He imagined being in pain without having a body. As already stated, to imagine a pain is to be in pain. (What is imagined if there is no actual pain?) Kripke imagining being disembodied is also problematic. What is it that he imagined when he imagined himself disembodied? What was it, precisely, that was disembodied? The “I” or the “soul”? (Berkeleyan idealists touch on something similar in response to someone saying that he could imagine a tree falling without anyone around to hear it. Berkeleyans respond by arguing that all the imaginer is doing is imagining himself being there, perhaps in some vague supposedly disembodied state. Thus, he surreptitiously imagines what he would hear — with his physically-embodied ears, etc. - when the tree is falling.)

In a very loose sense, Kripke might have “imagine[d] [his] body existing and being in the very same state even if there were no pain”. Sure. Kripke could also have imagined his body existing and being in the same state and yet having a pain in a completely different area of the body. He could have even imagined being in the same physical state and being a (philosophical) zombie…

However, no actual pain was ever imagined.

So what was imagined? The behavioural manifestations of being in pain? They would have been easy to imagine.

Imagining Different Inventors of Bifocals

Kripke’s imaginative abilities are used across the board in his paper ‘Identity and Necessity’. For example, Kripke — and everyone else — could have easily imagined someone else inventing bifocals other than Benjamin Franklin. Here all Kripke needed to do was to use his… imagination. After all, I can imagine Hitler inventing bifocals. I can also imagine bifocals never having been invented at all.

Imagination also comes to the rescue in Kripke’s case against the American philosopher David Lewis. Kripke told us that Lewis imagined Richard Nixon himself inventing bifocals or “getting [G. Harold] Carswell through”. Apparently, Lewis believed that it was (is?) the actual Nixon who did these things at other possible worlds. However, Kripke argued that Lewis only imagined Nixon’s “counterparts”, not “our Nixon”.

Another of Kripke’s examples is a philosophical opponent imagining this lectern being made of ice, rather than wood. Kripke argued that what his opponent was actually imagining was not this lectern, but another one that existed in a “counterfactual situation”. However, if one is an essentialist like Kripke, then this lectern must be made of wood. Regardless of the truth of that essentialist position, what was it that was being imagined when Kripke’s opponent imagined this lectern being made of ice? Kripke argued that he didn’t imagine this lectern being made of ice, but a lectern being made of ice. That is, a lectern that looked the same as the wooden lectern in all respects… except for being made of wood.

Now to ram the point home. We see the same scenario played out when Kripke discussed Hesperus and Phosphorus. Kripke told us that his philosophical opponents “may mean that they can actually imagine circumstances that they would call circumstances in which Hesperus would not have been Phosphorus”. Thus, Kripke made the same point that no such thing was actually imagined. Indeed, Kripke was explicit about his own case against these imaginers. For example, he argued that his opponents “thought erroneously that [they] could imagine a situation in which heat was not the motion of molecules”. Kripke is stronger elsewhere when he used the word “mis-imagined”. That is, he argued that the imaginers believed that they’d imagined scenario x, but they didn’t. They actually imagined some surrogate or counterpart of x.

Yet, ironically, the same kinds of thing can be said about Kripke’s own use of his imagination when he claimed to have imagined his own disembodied pain.

Note: Phantom Pains

It’s worth stressing the case of “phantom pains” — which belong to phantom parts of the body — here. In this case, the sufferer isn’t consciously imagining pain as part of a Cartesian thought experiment. Instead, he’s actually feeling pain regardless of his conscious acts or will. (How could we know that?) What’s more, even phantom pains require brain states. And phantom pains are actual pains (although this is hard to establish).

Oddly enough, Descartes himself mentioned phantom limb pain [see here]. He argued that because the mind is connected to the body at the pineal gland, then it’s possible that the pineal gland might be affected by stimuli which didn’t correlate with any actual parts of the body. Yet even in this case of a phantom pain that was part of the “substance” that is the mind, it was still connected to the body via a part of the brain.