Against Epistemological Relativism: Frans Gregersen and Simo K0Ppe

FRANS GREGERSEN AND SIMO K0PPE*
AGAINST EPISTEMOLOGICAL RELATIVISM
Introduction
EVERYTHING would have been much easier for the philosophers of science if the
original distinction between observation and theory could have been main-
tained. If the dialogue with matter had only been a simple question and answer
business, nature responding uniquely and clearly to every query, we would all
have been happy and effortlessly rational. Unfortunately it is not so. Develop-
ments within the theory of science conveniently subsumed under what has
become known as the Duhem-Quine thesis have pointed to the untenability of a
clearcut distinction between observation and theory. Furthermore, science is
today asking questions of phenomena or problems that have no simple relation
to observation.
It is the purpose of this paper to take a closer look at the relativistic positions
that have been held following the breakdown of what may never have been the
accepted view but nevertheless continues its existence as a kind of folklore of
science - good old empiricism.
1. Some Sources of Relativism
(a) Demarcation and underdetermination
The first symptom of this collapse that we want to point to is the demise of the
demarcation problem. To the falsificationist tradition from Popper onwards the
demarcation problem is central. The sophisticated falsificationist Imre Lakatos
was acutely aware that a solution to the demarcation problem was necessary if
his conception of science, notably his insistence on its rationality was to be
plausible.
What, then, is the hallmark of science? Do we have to capitulate and agree that a
scientific revolution is just an irrational change in commitment, that it is a religious
conversion? Tom Kuhn, a distinguished American philosopher of science, arrived at
this conclusion after discovering the naivety of Popper’s falsificationism. But if Kuhn
is right, then there is no explicit demarcation between science and pseudoscience, no
distinction between scientific progress and intellectual decay, there is no objective
standard of honesty. But what criteria can he then offer to demarcate scientific
progress from intellectual degeneration? (Lakatos, 1973, p. 4).
*Copenhagen University, Njalsgade 80, 2300 Copenhagen S, Denmark.

Received 22 November 1987; in revisedform 10 February 1988.
Stud. Hist. Phil. Sci., Vol. 19, No. 4, pp. 447487, 1988. 0039-3681/88 $3.00 + 0.00
Printed in Great Britain. c 1988. Pergamon Press plc.
447
448 Studies in History and Philosophy of Science
The reason we have chosen to quote this emotional passage rather than some of
the countless other remarks on demarcation is that it brings out clearly that
there is a normative interest at bottom in every search for demarcation.’ As is
well known, Lakatos in his methodology of scientific research programmes
proposed to rationally reconstruct the history of science much to Kuhn’s
abhorrence (Kuhn, 1970, p. 256; Kuhn, 1980, p. 183h).
The problems that Lakatos’ programme faced have been reviewed by among
others Newton-Smith (198 1, p. 77ffl and Larry Laudan (1977, pp. 76678) who
himself should be seen as the reigning prince of the Popper-dynasty. It is
interesting to note that for all his revisions of the internalist stance that is so
characteristic of the Popper dynasty, Laudan has not got the armed forces
necessary to attack the demarcation problem.
In his paper (Laudan, 1983) he explicitly rejects the problem as uninteresting:
Through certain vagaries of history, some of which I have alluded to here, we have
managed to conflate two quite distinct questions: What makes a belief well founded
(or heuristically fertile)? And what makes a belief scientific? The first set of questions
is philosophically interesting and possibly even tractable; the second question is both
uninteresting and, judging by its checkered past, intractable. If we would stand up
and be counted on the side of reason, we ought to drop terms like ‘pseudo-science’
and ‘unscientific’, from our vocabulary; they are just hollow phrases which do only
emotive work for us (Laudan, 1983, p. 125).
The reigning prince, then, is content to leave the first question to the scientific
community, which amounts to begging the second question. For why should the
scientific community be entitled to decide? Perhaps they are not even legitimate
scientists by Lakatos’ standards. “Regrettably, they are the only ones I have”,
the Prince answers.
If we approach science as a structure of concepts, the absence of demarcation
criteria means that you do not have a difference between the structure of
scientific concepts and the vast majority of human concepts - ideological,
everyday, etc. Neither is it possible to postulate the one and only scientific
method - no such thing exists. The most extreme case is, of course Feyerabend
(1975, 1978) who denies the interest of both of Laudan’s two questions.
Following Ariew (1984) we note that the thesis of underdetermination of
theories by data was brought to the attention of the American readership by
Quine (1971) in “Two dogmas of Empiricism”. Quine in this famous paper cited
Duhem for a supporting analysis of physics.2 Quine’s much quoted passage
bears repetition:
1It would not be foolish to suppose that for Kuhn it is an empirical question whether the history
of science in after all a record of continuous intellectual decay. This is, in fact, very possible and it
might be disclosed only if we do history of science without any illusions to the contrary.
2Krips 1982 attempts to show that there are important differences between Quine and Duhem so
that a Duhem-Quine thesis is not a justified artefact.
Against Epistemological Relativism 449
The dogma of reductionism survives in the supposition that each statement, taken in
isolation from its fellows, can admit of confirmation or infirmation at all. My
countersuggestion, issuing essentially from Carnap’s doctrine of the physical world in
the Aufbau, is that our statements about the external world face the tribunal of sense
experience not individually but only as a corporate body (Here is a note with a
reference to Duhem).
Quine continues:
If this view is right, it is misleading to speak of the empirical content of an individual

statement - especially if it is a statement at all remote from the experiential periphery
of the field. Furthermore it becomes folly to seek a boundary between synthetic
statements which hold contingently on experience, and analytic statements, which
hold come what may. Any statement can be held true come what may, if we make
drastic enough adjustments elsewhere in the system (Quine, 1971, p. 41 and 43).
The last sentence lends itself very easily to the misreading: Any statement can be
held true, come what may. The only rule is, that the system should be adjusted
- and that is always possible according to Quine.3
We find the same position in Kuhn’s theory, where a scientific discipline in its
normal state is pictured as a closed and self-developing structure of concepts.
This is not surprising since Kuhn subscribes to a holistic theory of meaning: The
structure of the overall theory gives to its elements unique meanings. If you
change one concept you have changed the structure as a whole and the new
structure will be literally incommensurable with the previous one. Here you
have a sort of demarcation, but all borders seem unsurpassable. The demarca-
tion of science has changed into demarcations between theories as concept
structures whether they be scientific or not.
(b) Incommensurability and accumulation
As different authors have noted, the work within the history of science that
Thomas S. Kuhn has carried out has led him to hold different versions of the
claim that paradigms are incommensurable (Siegel, 1980; Newton-Smith, 1981,
p. 102fT).
To anyone working on the history of science this represents the logical
opposition to the justificationist stance. Justificationist history views the history
of science as one long triumphant march towards the glorious present, whereas
any working historian will be struck with the d$erence between the past and the
present. A truly historical philosophy of science must stress the discontinuity
that justificationists deny.
The incommensurability thesis is, of course, central to any discussion of
relativism in that if it is true, we cannot compare theories belonging to different
3Ariew shows convincingly that Duhem did not hold what Hesse and others have propagated as
the “Duhem thesis”. Note also that even Quine demands adjustments “elsewhere” (Hesse 1980b. p.
VIII. cf. 1980a p. 32f; Ariew 1984, p. 3150.
450 Studies in History and Philosophy qf Science
paradigms or to use Lakatos’ term different research programmes. Now, it has

become clear that the delimitation of research programmes is a hairy problem
for anyone. This difficulty need not detain us here, however, since we are only
pointing out the obvious connection between fashionable relativism and the
strong incommensurability thesis.
It also follows from the incommensurability thesis that we cannot know
whether science progresses. To Lakatos the difference between progress or
intellectual decay hinged on the demarcation criterion being fulfilled. But to the
revolutionary Kuhn - and he can be construed to be a revolutionary no matter
how reluctant - progress is not discernible even if there was such a thing.
(c) Truth and progress

Truth too has run into trouble lately. Laudan, to take one prominent
theoretician, thinks that truth is too difficult a notion to work with (Laudan,
1977, p. 14). Consequently he prefers to take an agnostic view of truth, which by
the way accords very well with his reluctance to endorse realism. Both notions
- the accumulation of scientific knowledge of the world and the disputed goal
of science as getting closer and closer to real knowledge about a real world seem
to him to be too naive to warrant acceptance.
Still, it remains true that even Laudan’s own conception of rationality
stipulates that science progresses. Science solves more and more problems. The
scope of theories becomes greater with every change. But, Laudan says, a lot of
false theories have solved so many problems that they were successful, hence
success has nothing to do with realist truth (Laudan 1980). But this is surely a
mystification. First, how does Laudan know that these theories are false? And
second, why were these theories in the end refuted? Surely progress consists not
only in the victory of sound problem solving theories but also in the elimination
of relatively inferior theories. If we let this elimination rest on the perception of
the scientific community of one theory as more fruitful than the other we have
opened not the backdoor to the Scottish sociologists Laudan loves to hate
(Laudan, 1981, 1983, p. 125) but the front door. And in steps the Edinburgh
school and pupils, strong programme in hand featuring a strange conglomerate
of structural anthropologists like Mary Douglas, classical sociologists like
Emile Durkheim and phenomenological social psychology (alias ethnometho-
dology). We shall return to the Edinburgh programme below.
II. Three Versions of Relativism
It is possible to distinguish between three levels in science. The first level

comprises the specific methods used in investigating an object. This level
includes a large part of what is known as “scientific rationality”. The second
level concerns the theoretical concepts used in interpreting and structuring the
available data which are a product of the first level. At the third level we find
ideologies and world views that use the data of the other two levels to construct
total notions of nature, the human subject and society. We shall return to this
model for a more detailed discussion in the final section. For the moment we
need the model in order to define relativism.
Relativism is the exclusive determination of one of the three levels by an
external and autonomous cause. Since science can be seen as an object in itself,
as a sociological phenomenon or as a historical phenomenon, we are able to
distinguish between three different relativistic positions, which we will label
epistemological relativism, sociological relativism and historical relativism. In the
final section we will outline an alternative view that preserves some elements
from two of the relativistic positions, simultaneously arguing that science is
overdetermined (cf. part IV).
(a) Epistemological relativism
Epistemological relativism is the centre piece of relativism. All other relativ-

isms tend towards this extreme stance. In epistemological relativism the primary
epistemological relation between man and reality is viewed as determined by
some external process. Epistemological relativism thus denies that there will
ever be any epistemological relation without determinants.
The most extreme epistemological relativism implies ontological solipsism
and different versions of subjectivism implying that knowledge is in principle
incommunicable. Objective knowledge, is, of course, impossible for epistemolo-
gical relativists but it is also impossible to reach a general consensus on basic
scientific themes.
The more current and less absurd version of epistemological relativism,
epistemological relativism proper, holds that each point of view so to speak
creates its own facts. Since facts, i.e. explananda, are specific to each theory, it is
in principle and in fact impossible to communicate across theories. Epistemolo-
gical relativism as such cares not about what external mechanism has led to the
theory, it simply says: A paradigm may not be evaluated. Either you are inside,
and then you simply practice the paradigm, you live it, or you are outside and
that means you are inside another paradigm. Paradigms are like Goffman’s
asylums.
(b) Sociological relativism
Where the epistemological relativist focusses on methods and theories the

sociological relativist focusses on the sociological determinants - institutions,
group psychological processes, media, politics, economic interests, etc.
This position holds that it is quite possible for the scientific community to
debate truth, but that different interests see to it that there are disagreements.
Since the available data underdetermine theory there is in principle and fact no
way we can judge one of these views to be true and other ones as false. What is
true for one interest may not be true for another.
The consequence for the scientific community depend upon which version of
sociological relativism you hold. There are two versions. In the strong version
truth is a matter of the Lehensumstiinde der Kfussen. This means that class
struggle also takes place in the scientific community with the proviso, that is,
that the struggling parties themselves belong solely to the state apparatus or its
mercenaries, the intellectuals. The strong version goes well with some of the less
orthodox sorts of marxism.4
If you hold the weaker version, interests are seen as related to social groups
(possibly via ideologies) and the weaker version does not feel constrained to
point to a specific sociological theory to legitimate what groups are recognized.5
A favourite practice for a sociological relativist will be the critique of ideology
that takes a scientific theory and seeks to disclose the “secret” interests that it
serves (a typical example: Shapin and Barnes, 1979).
Note that the sociological relativist, if he is of the more radical kind, accepts
the paradox that for instance Popper would use as a conclusive argument
ugaitist the position. There is nothing to prevent a sociological relativist from
being reflexive enough to accept that his research is serving an interest
(presumably at least his own) in furthering a strong programme in the sociology
of knowledge.
(c) Historical relativism
This position holds that different historical epochs give rise to different facts,
worldviews and problems and that consequently it makes no sense to speak of
truth as an ahistorical transcendent phenomenon. The theories we now know
are false, are false in our epoch, presumably they were true for the epoch that
held them to be so but we can and shall never know. As stated, this position has
its roots in hermeneutics in its capacity as a theory of understanding. Under-
standing is itself a historical phenomenon and we should not expect our truths
4We are aware that an orthodox marxist such as John Desmond Bernal (Bernal, 1954) could not
be classified as a relativist, on the contrary. The difference between the earlier marxism that Robert
Young is searching through in order to find a platform and the younger one would lie precisely in
the contrast between Young’s concern with a mediating factor between societal forces and the
content of science (Young, 1973), and Bernal’s view that it is impossible to discern any influence
whatsoever on the content of specific theories within the natural sciences. There could not be a
capitalist theory of physics and a socialist version which differed. In part then, the relativistic
positions may be seen as countering such simplistic views. The only problem is that - as we argue
below - the relativists seem to have lost track of the economic and other societal forces altogether.
SAmong the more well known specific analyses is Paul Forman’s (1971). His hypothesis is that
there is a causal relation between the antimaterialist ideology of post 1st World War Germany and
the creation of quantum mechanics. especially the thesis of acausality. It has been proved that
Forman’s thesis is wrong ~ e.g. quantum mechanics was not created by Germans only and a
version of acausality was introduced in physics in the last years of the 1890s (cf. Kraft and Kroes,
1984; Kragh, 1985).
to be valid for all times. Hermeneutics demands a thorough study of the epoch’s
totality before we can conclude anything of interest about what made the
particular theory under scrutiny so appealing to the scientists who endorsed it.
And still we cannot escape our own being-in-history in this venture. We can see
things that they could not see and conversely we shall remain blind to some of
the things they saw.
III. Who are the Relativists?
(a) The Edinburgh “Strong Programme in the Sociology qf Knowledge”

In this section we shall try to analyse the different positions within the broad
current known as the “sociology of knowledge”.
As argued above, epistemology has come under pressure due to internal
difficulties in the positivistic paradigm. The philosophers of science have tried to
come to grips with this situation proposing various versions of “rational”
models for the core problems of scientific change (Newton-Smith, 1981;
Laudan, 1977). No one has as yet analysed the philosophers’ reaction to the
sociology of knowledge in terms of professional interests but reading some of
the polemical papers concerned with the Edinburgh “strong” programme, we
cannot help feeling that most philosophers react as if it was an alternative to
their own positions rather than a supplement.
Thus Mary Hesse, who is unusual in being both a philosopher of science and
in sympathy with essential points of the strong programme, writes:
It is now a platitude to hold that the two approaches to the history of science labelled
respectively “internal” or “rational”, and “external” or “social” are complementary
and not contradictory (Hesse, 1980a, p. 29).
Apparently, it is not a platitude to all interested parties. Anyway, whether it is

so or not is of course a matter of definition and Hesse defines the strong thesis as
follows:
the view that true belief and rationality are just as much explananda of the sociology
of knowledge as error and non-rationality, and hence that science and logic are to be
included in the total programme (Hesse, 1980a, p. 310.
To Larry Laudan this represents a severely modified version of the strong

programme in that it has “dropped the demand that both types of belief are to
be explained by the same “sorts” or “styles” of causal mechanisms” (Laudan,
1981, p. 190, n. 21). Thus, if Hesse is right, the “strong programme’ (What
Public Relations professional invented this label?) is simply acceptable and if
Laudan is right it is a “pseudo-science of science”.
In what follows we shall not duplicate Laudan’s critique but rather discuss
454 Studies in History and Philosophy of’ Science
the Edinburgh school on their own premises: Is the strong programme

acceptable as a research programme in the sociology of knowledge?6
There seem to be major disagreements between the statements of Barry
Barnes, David Bloor and Steven Shapin on the one hand and Harry M. Collins
on the other hand. Furthermore, Manier (1980) has pointed out that there are
differences between Barnes and Bloor themselves. We have chosen to restrict the
Edinburgh school to the three researchers actually working in Edinburgh, i.e.
Barry Barnes, David Bloor and Steven Shapin. We shall treat Collins’ pro-
gramme separately.
This may seem to dismiss Manier’s observations as irrelevant but it is not so.
Everyone who reads papers formulated within the strong programme may
distinguish the different styles of David Bloor and Barry Barnes respectively.
Bloor has consistently based his contributions on cultural anthropological
theories, notably Durkheim’s: “In short, it is only by examining the culture of
science that we come close to the heart of that activity” (Bloor, 1981, p. 200).
On the other hand, Barry Barnes is more concerned with explaining how
different professional interests can and do in fact influence scientific conceptions
of the world (Barnes and MacKenzie, 1979). Barnes, too, has introduced the
concept of interest which we shall see below leads to some of the problems for
the strong programme. Barnes, in short, combines the influence of Jiirgen
Habermas7 (“Erkenntnis und Interesse”) with work on perception (Barnes,
1981) and convention (Hesse, 1974). Bloor on the other hand is more influenced
by Durkheim and possibly Wittgenstein. Lastly, Shapin is, as far as we can see,
preeminently the historian of the company.
Shapin’s role as the privileged historian is very much highlighted by strong
inductivist tendencies in the work of the Edinburgh-school:
I think I know why Laudan may have overlooked the role that actual cases played in
the formulation of the programme. He has failed to see that I am an inductivist. (. .)
Indeed some thinkers such as Kuhn and Hesse believe that this is exactly how science
itself grows. Thought moves inductively from case to case (Bloor, 1981, p. 206).
Indeed, it seems to be a common objection on the part of the Edinburghers that

philosophers of science are not inductivist (enough), i.e. they are not historians
and sociologists of science:
6We have an admission to make at the start. We have not read all of the papers that to an
innocent observer might seem to belong in the strong Scottish literature. On being charged with
having the reputation that he had read everything that Henry James had ever written, James
Thurber, the writer and cartoonist, is reported as having said: “Oh no, that would mean a misspent
youth and middle age”. Nevertheless, programmatic statements abound and polemical papers in
plenty serve to delimit the stance sufficiently.
‘It is interesting to note, that “interests” as a theoretical concept was formulated by the German
philosopher Karl-Otto Ape1 in 1968 (Apel, 1968) and that his discussions reveals a manifestly
anthropological view.
Philosophical models of proper evaluation are irrelevant to the historian’s task.

Indeed, with their typical stress upon the formal abstract properties of verbal
arguments, they can even impede an adequate naturalistic understanding of actual
judgements by diverting attention from context and from the goals and interests of
particular groups of scientists. General arguments can readily be adduced to support
this position (MacKenzie and Barnes, 1979, p. 191f).
As anybody knows, excessive inductivism is not really healthy. There is a

problem of theory: Case studies are, of course, only possible if you know what
to look for in the case you want to study. Here Bloor has consistently been
equivocal. In his answer to Laudan, Bloor (1981) quotes Bloor (1976) in which
the following statements occur:
[The strong sociology of knowledge] would be causal, that is, concerned with the
conditions which bring about belief or states of knowledge. Naturally there will be
other types of causes apart from social ones which will cooperate in bringing about
belief (Bloor, 1976, p. 4).
Bloor comments:
I said on page four - and Laudan quotes the passage - that naturally there will be
other types of cause apart from social ones which will cooperate in bringing about
belief. A few pages later there is, accordingly, an extended discussion of the role of
sense-experience to illustrate this point. The importance of combining sociology with
other disciplines was in fact broached in the very first paragraph of the book, and is a
theme that runs through it (Bloor, 1981, p. 199, emphasis original).
Bloor states that the sociology of science tells us only part of the story, we have
to combine its insights with insights of other kinds to achieve a description of the
total process. Elsewhere, however, his claims for sociology seem more exclusive.
Such stability as there is in a system of knowledge comes entirely from the collective
decisions of its creators and users. It derives from the active protection of parts of the
network. That is to say: from the requirement that certain laws and classifications be
kept intact, and all adjustments and alterations carried out elsewhere. (. .) We need
not assume that a protected law or classification is singled out because of any intrinsic
properties like truth, self-evidence or plausibility. Of course, such properties will be
imputed to them, but this will be a justification for the special treatment rather than
the cause of it (Bloor, 1982a, p. 280 our italics).
As one would have suspected this equivocal stance provoked criticism, e.g. by
Buchdahl (1982, cf. Lukes, 1982; Bloor, 1982b). Bloor, somewhat irritatedly,
answered Buchdahl as follows:
The belief that I must be in difficulties over this matter derives, I suspect, from an
important assumption on my critic’s part: that the inductive and the social aspects of
knowledge are opposed to one another. (. .) Buchdahl proceeds as if social
considerations will pull belief in one direction, while observation and induction must
pull it in another. Once again, the fact that I quite explicitly opposed this idea in my
paper has been passed by. So, once again, I must assert that of course the facts of the
456 Studies in History and Philosophy of’ Science
case, in the form of sensory input from the environment, play a crucial role in my
account. (. .) The point is that whatever the sensory input from the world, the
resulting verbal classification is not thereby fixed. If my use of the world “completely”
gave the impression that sensory input had nothing whatever to do with the resulting
system of knowledge, then it was indeed the wrong word. The fact is, however, that
with no change whatsoever in their evidential basis, systems of belief can be and have
been destabilized. Conversely they can be and have been held stable in the face of
rapidly changing and highly problematic inputs from experience. So the stability of a
system of belief is the prerogative of its users (Bloor, l982b, p. 305f).
Bloor is in a fix here.8 He asserts that the sociology of knowledge may tell only
part of the story. However, it is difficult to see what is left for others to tell if
scientists can decide freely whether to take evidence as evidence or to discard the
sense-experiences as irrelevant or immaterial. On the other hand if he asserts
that sense-experience has something to do with the formation of belief, then it
would only be fair to ask him and all the others to take it into account in their
accounts of cases. Sense-experience may very well be social in that everybody
will agree that they had the same experience, the important point is whether
sense-experience is seen as reflecting some independent reality or not.
Put in another way: Sense-experience is guided by theory in the form of
concepts. These concepts would be social in nature, we are told, since they serve
to facilitate communication. In order for communication to be about something
Bloor reinvents the theory of language acquisition by ostension. This theory has
run into severe difficulties in that it cannot easily explain precisely those
concepts that we are dealing with, those that do not easily lend themselves to
showing. Where is the electric field? I may show you other fields with grazing
cows, but how could we get from that kind of field to the other. Metaphor is a
cognitive activity not based on sense-experience.
Even if we accepted the theory of ostension as a valid contribution we should
still be wondering what role conversation with nature, e.g. in the form of
experiments, plays in the development of science. Bloor cannot escape the
%f. Lukes 1982: “In short, classifications and beliefs about the natural world may carry a ‘social
message’, they may serve the social and political interests of specific groups, they may even do so by
reproducing, through the exploitation of accepted analysis, favoured configurations of the social
order. But none of this shows that there are endless classificatory possibilities or that the
organization of a scientific classification is not and cannot be determined by the way the world is,
that the notions of ‘truth’, ‘self-evidence’ and ‘plausibility’ have no role to play in accounting for a
scientist’s acceptance of some laws rather than others, or that their acceptance is just a matter of
‘decisions’, creating ‘conventions’ and determined by ‘interests in social control’. Even if scientific
theories are underdetermined by data, it does not follow that ‘the way the world is’ excercises no
constraint on theory choice” (Lukes, 1982, p. 316f). That this passage is relevant can be documented
by another quote, this time from MacKenzie and Barnes: “The general argument can be made on
the basis of the work of Mary Hesse (1974). Her “network” model of the verbal component of
scientific culture illustrates the conventional and endless/~ nego/iab/e character of our classifications
and knowledge” (MacKenzie and Barnes, 1979. p. 207, note I, our emphasis). If our classifications
and knowledge are endlessly negotiable, ‘closure’ of a scientific debate (Collins’ term) must
necessarily be effected by sociological means. Hence regular sociological relativism is justified.
choice between epistemological relativism, where sense-experiences are com-

pletely guided by something else than ‘reality’, and weak sociological relativism
where the sense-experiences we have may be the common debating ground,
different sociological formations having different perspectives on the same
‘reality’.9,10 The sociological relativist differs from the epistemological relativist
in the relative independence he accords to sense-experience. Talk of common
social perceptions makes no sense to an epistemological relativist, but it does
make sense to a sociological relativist - at least until he/she asks what
perspective you apply.
It may be helpful here to introduce Collins’ work. Briefly, what Collins has
done is to modify the Barnes-BloorShapin programme in a series of studies
aimed at disclosing the sociological construction of such central achievements
as “replication of experiments” and demarcation of science from non-science
(Collins, 1975 and 1981).”
In his programmatic paper (Collins, 1984) in the Mulkay and Knorr-Cetina
volume, Collins explicitly proclaims himself a relativist. Commenting on
Bloor’s demand for symmetryi Collins says:
Of course a tenet, like a rule, does not apply itself and experience has shown that
different readings are possible even of these apparently straight-forward prescrip-
tions. For example, we have argued (Collins and Cox, 1976) that one implication of
symmetry is that the natural world must be treated as though it did not affect our
perception of it (Collins, 1984, p. 88).
Collins, then, opts for epistemological relativism. In an earlier paper he does so

in an attempt to highlight the social construction of what is TRASP, that is:
‘True’, ‘Rational’, ‘Scientific’ and ‘Progressive’:
This is not to say that we must eschew all mention of truth, rationality, success or
progressivenes, but only that any such mentions must be made in such a way that they
are applicable symmetrically to that which is false, irrational unsuccessful and
degenerative. This is possible if the categories are only mentioned and treated as
gWoolgar, in an exciting paper on the implied realism of the relativist analysis, has a fine section
on this problem. After citing equivocal statements by Barnes, Mulkay, Harvey and Collins, he
concludes: “We might speculate that such statements and the ambivalences which they embody are
more an indication of the programmatic purposes of their authors than a reflection of a coherent
epistemological position” (Woolgar, 1984, p. 245).
loMaybe the problem is not an either/or. One famous philosopher who surely cannot be
characterised as a relativist, writes: “1. Sense data or similar experiences do not exist. 2.
Associations do not exist. 3. Induction by repetition or generalization does not exist” (Popper, 1984,
p. 242). Anti-inductivism will always deny any mirror-reflection of the world by the sense-organs,
but that does not necessarily imply relativism. You can, as Popper does, choose a biological-
evolutionary and cognitivist approach, which denies reality its complexity and makes it irreducible
to mirroring sense-stimuli.
’ ‘It is a consequence of the demarcation problem’s being meaningless to a relativist that Collins
has successfully studied a ‘pseudo-science’ such as parapsychology (Collins and Pinch, 1979).
12”[The strong sociology of knowledge] would be symmetrical in its style of explanation. The
same types of cause would explain, say, true and false beliefs” (Bloor, 1976, p. 4).
actor’s categories. An actor’s category is an actor’s perception of what is TRASP with

no expectation that that which is so perceived is TRASP (Collins, 1981, p. 218).
This quotation raises a bunch of problems. First of all Collins effortlessly

continues to use locutions such as “is false etc.” whilst maintaining that we must
not talk in that way. Either he knows what is false and/or could in principle find
out what is true which would make him a sociological relativist - and a realist.
But why should he not, then, include this dimension in his analyses instead of
rejecting it. Or he does not know and really means that he will never be able to
know, and then he should stop abusing the concepts.i3
Secondly, it seems that even if we cannot know what in fact is false we can
know what scientists take to be true. But how do we find out? Collins has a very
simple answer to this, he simply goes and asks them. It may be a symptom of his
wish to end the infinite regress that he does not ask them how they know what
they perceive to be true really is true, apparently he simply believes them.14
Thirdly it seems an odd psychologism to take this stance:
A more general methodological prescription that would save a great deal of confusion
is ‘avoid all reference to what is inside actors’ heads in all explanations of scientific
knowledge’. The crucial point for the investigator is not, ‘Why did various actors act
as they did?’ but. ‘What effect did these acts have on the reception of views about
nature?‘. Attempts at the attribution of degree of rationality, motive, personality
make-up. and so forth all lead to a psychologistic regress (Collins, 1981, p. 221 note
5).
But what about perception: where is that if not inside actors’ heads?
If we cannot go further than actors’ categories we can never escape epistemo-
logical relativism. And epistemological relativism means the end of all science.
Why is that? This has been most elegantly demonstrated in a review of Lynch
(1985) by Latour (1986). If, Latour says, we cannot say more about the world
that scientists live in than they can, the most we can do is to report what they say
and do as they do what they perceive as science. This is what Lynch has done.
“Lynch does not wish to gloss over scientific practice, but he still wants to write
about it, since he does not wish to become a good reader of electron
micrographs” (p. 546). Lynch does not write a book about some scientists
destined for a public of the same scientists themselves. He writes for a public of
“cf Hesse’s (1986) apt diagnosis of the contradictions between Collins the realist and Collins the
radical relativist. This criticism was, in fact, made earlier by Laudan (Laudan. 1982). Collins’
answer was that he would continue to be an empiricist as a social scientist and a relativist
epistemologically. His defense is simply an admission: He does not feel the need of any reflexivity
(Collins, 1982, p. 140).
i4The discourse analysts, of course, have discovered this defect of Collin’s strategy, cf. “Instead
of distancing themselves from participants’ discourse and treating that discourse as sociologically
problematic. CP (Collins and Pinch, 1979) adopt certain of their participants’ terminology and
accounts, and they treat many of these accounts, not as socially generated versions of events. but as
literal descriptions” (Mulkay. Potter and Yearley. 1984, p. 194; cf. Mulkay, 1981). Collins’ answer
may be found in the same volume (Collins, 1984, p. lO6f. appendix 3 by Collins and Pinch).
sociologists. But if the consistent epistemological relativist is faced with a

public, his strategy must contradict his theory or break down. Just to describe to
sociologists how natural scientists behave when they do natural science will not
do. Data are not self-explicating, and if we explicate them, we have broken the
golden rule of only using actors’ categories. This paradox may be thrown into
relief if we transpose the argument above to the participant-observer discourse
of anthropology.
A participant-observer trains to be a participant. Lynch trained to be a
competent neurophysiologist. Participants, however, do not observe and so
cannot report on what participants are doing when they participate. If the
participant in the participant-observer gets the upper hand, the researcher will
end up with nothing to report. If the research is to lead to communicable results,
the participant-observer must step back and take an outsider’s view, i.e. he must
become an observer. Now, an observer necessarily treats the humans he is with
as objects for his perceptions. But this is what Collins cannot do: It is all right to
treat interactions as an object, but making interaction understandable by
interpreting motives, intentions and wishes, that is forbidden, anathema. Collins
has said so himself.
It is interesting to note how Collins copes with the problem of truth in his own
work. Collins worked on gravitational waves in the early days when no one
knew whether there were gravitational waves or not (Collins, 1975). In 1981 he
comments on the earlier paper as follows:
for an investigator looking at the development of gravitational wave science in
1975 it would be extremely difficult to determine which actors were acting in
accordance with the truth (. .) The scientists of the time would not have been able to
give the investigator reliable information since they disagreed among themselves on
these matters and expended some effort in trying to change each others’ minds. It goes
almost without saying that the investigator should not make his own judgements
about which of a set of competing scientists’ accounts were the correct ones (Collins,
1981, p. 220).
Gravitational waves are apparently so minute and so peripheral to any practical

purpose that no social interest can be discerned in the phenomenon itself. But it
strikes us that Collins in the absence of any clear sense-experience criterion did
not look for a theoretical one. We learn in the earlier paper, that
Most of the scientists interviewed in this field agreed that the existence of gravitatio-
nal waves (. .) is predicted by Einstein’s general theory (Collins, 1975, reprinted in
Barnes and Edge, 1982, p. 98).
This piece of information seems to be the only one connected with the
phenomenon’s theoretical importance. In short, we miss in the paper the sense-
experiences, and the concepts and the theory that the scientists used in order to
understand this phenomenon. Small wonder, then, that Collins’ paper contains
460 Studies in Histoq- and Philosophy of Science
a wealth of material on how scientists try to explain “failures” in terms of

various deficiencies on the part of the scientists involved. The later (1981) paper
is more technical. We learn of the different methods for the detection of
gravitational waves, but this time there is almost no sociological analysis, just a
couple of quotes from the interviews. Couldn’t we have both?
We must now return to David Bloor and Barry Barnes not to mention Steven
Shapin.
Shapin is an easy case: In his work on phrenology, he flatly presupposes that
there is something that is true for everyone. Speaking of some of their specific
anatomical claims, Shapin comments:
What the phrenologists, under attack, weakly asserted, but always declined to
display, was, within forty years, firmly established by Turner in Edinburgh and Ecker
in Germany (Shapin, 1979, p. 156).
He also is at pains to stress that:
We should however make it very clear that this thesis is not the same as the
proposition that no interests other than social bear upon the development of
naturalistic bodies of knowledge (Shapin, 1979, p. 172).
No epistemological relativism here. And Shapin clearly comes down on the side
of the combined version of the sociology of knowledge. Bloor and Barnes are, it
turns out, a little more difficult to place. This is because they have adopted the
cultural holism characteristic of Durkheimian sociology. In fact most of their
sociological arguments are transposed anthropological ones.
MacKenzie and Barnes: “Science is a form of culture like any other” (1979, p.
206). And:
In our view this kind of question cannot be answered unless a purely formal linguistic
orientation is abandoned and the alternatives (in this case biometry and Men-
dehanism FG and SK) are considered in their actual contexts as forms of culture,
coherent patterns of thought and activity and interests (op. cit. p. 201).
Shapin and Barnes:
Nonetheless, a culture need not be seen as an homogeneous whole. How differen-

tiated it is at any time, how many “sub-cultures” exist within it, how “insulated” they
may be (. .) all these questions cannot be decided by a priori conceptions of how
science must he but only by “going and looking” (Shapin and Barnes, 1979, p. 138).
By sliding from a culture conceived as a totality to subcultures with attached

communities that have specific interests we finally arrive at the picture that has
dominated the case studies: interest theory. l 5
“In a very perceptive paper, Stephen Yearley (1982) has pointed out that interest theory is not a
homogeneous theory but rather two theories. We shall not go into Yearley’s arguments here but
rather point out that what Yearley does not treat is the sociological foundations that the term
“interest” itself lacks.
Cantor (1975) was the first to protest against the indiscriminate use of groups,
subcultures and classes as explanatory devices for social interests. We want to
sharpen this critique.
It follows from Durkheim’s view of society as an organic whole that there is
no possibility of grafting onto his theory a conflict perspective. In all the
analyses we have read, with the possible exception of Shapin’s early work on
phrenology (Shapin, 1975), theoretical discussions of what categories we may
use to conceptualize society are conspicuously absent. Unless the Edinburgh
school starts to develop a notion of society they cannot legitimately peddle their
goods as sociology - not even of knowledge.
Several researchers, but Steven Shapin in particular, have been concerned
with the apparent success of phrenology (Shapin, 1975, 1979a, 1979b; Cantor,
1975). Since phrenology is patently false by any standards (cf. Gould, 1981)
there is no question of treating it as true. What Shapin has done, then, is to show
that both phrenology and its opponents fought for a framework that legiti-
mated class interests. It is helpful to follow the exact delimitation of the groups
that Shapin postulates (cf. Cantor, 1975).16
Shapin at first distinguishes between active propagators of phrenology and
phrenology’s audience. He then proceeds to compare the membership of two
societies, the Phrenological Society and the Royal Society of Edinburgh and
concludes:
Such social distinctions lend support to the view that even the elite of the Edinburgh
phrenologists constituted an “outsider” group (Shapin, 1975. p. 2290.
Note that the category of an outsider group itself does not have any positive
social identification but rests on its being different from the class that has the
cultural hegemony. Elsewhere Shapin concludes that the phrenological elite is
an outsider group (by the same token they belong to the class of the “Edinburgh
literati “), but that their audience consisted of Edinburgh’s “working and lower
middle classes” (op. cit. p. 231). This asymmetrical pattern of persons from a
ruling class formulating ideas avidly adopted by persons from the ruled classes
in great number is not of course unusual. But it might be used to throw light on
the peculiar fate of phrenology.
Phrenology itself seems to be fraught with social inconsistencies: The corner
stone of the theory is that the brain can be divided into a number of fixed
capacities each having a separate place. Since the organs of the different
capacities was supposed to vary in strength with size and since the internal make
up of the brain was supposed to be retrievable from inspection of the skull, the
system made it possible to diagnose any person as to his capacities by measuring
his skull. Now, this theory is in itself deterministic and as such fixes a person’s
16”My contention is that Shapin has considerably underestimated the difficulty of formulating
social theories adequate for the basis of his historical programme” (Cantor, 1975, p. 247).
462 Studies in History and Philosophy of‘ Science
behaviour from birth, thus leaving no place for social or socializing interven-
tions. What could be more to the point for the ruling classes than adopting
phrenology?
As it happens British phrenology was not conservative but became in the
writings of George Combe a platform for a programme of social reform
(Shapin, 1975, p. 232f). How George Combe managed this we cannot see
precisely, but Shapin mentions one important modification that Combe intro-
duced: He distinguished between faculties as such and the power with which
they manifest themselves (op. cit. p. 242).
What Shapin has shown then is that in order for the theory of phrenology to
become a weapon in the struggle for social reform Combe had to introduce
substantial changes in the phrenological theory. Thus it is no longer the same
theory, and Shapin is not entitled to conclude that any use can be made of any
idea (p. 233). On the contrary, there are intrinsic relationships between ideas
and social interests and the story of phrenology shows this as clearly as
anything.
But what has the story of phrenology to do with the history of science? Was
phrenology a science? Certainly not for us. Shapin, however, does not argue
that it was and presumably he does not care, for under the Edinburgh dogmas
false beliefs should be treated on a par with true beliefs (The symmetry demand,
cf. Bloor, 1976, p. 5).” We care however and we wish to make the following
observations: Phrenology did not make it possible to predict and control
anything and so did not evolve any scientifically legitimated practice. It did not
become institutionalized precisely because it suffered from internal inconsisten-
cies and so could not predict correctly anything. Shapin has, however, shown
how the investigations of the anatomy of the brain that Spurzheim and
Hamilton challenged each other to perform eventually led to sound knowledge
(Shapin, 1979). This only goes to prove that the moral philosophy of the time
was as little a scientific anatomy of the brain as was phrenology. Thus it lends
credence to the idea of the rupture that a body of knowledge has to go through
in order to become a science (cf. below, Section IV).
“The symmetry demand can be a problem for the historian of science “(. .) Rudwick is wrong, I
think. in taking over only one side of participants’ accounts for the purpose of drawing wider
epistemological conclusions. There can be little doubt that a.s,frr as Williams und Waver were
conwwed their own arguments were perfectly respectable and suggested radically different
interpretations of the evidence. And in that these arguments were available when the Devonian
interpretation was reached, any views in which the pull of the evidence’ is seen as being decisive is
unwarranted” (Pinch, 1986, p. 712). Does this mean that any interpretation that thinks of itself that
it is all-right is “true”? Can Pinch’s emphasized words be construed as meaning anything else?
Cf. Hesse, some pages later in the same number: “Rudwick explicitly addresses himself to the
question of whether this closure was wholly due to social and professional factors favouring the
opinion which became orthodoxy, or whether it did indeed reflect the objective but unobservable
history of the rocks, the theory of which was eventually based on sufficient evidence. After an
exhaustive enquiry into all possible social factors, he adopts the objectivist conclusion, but not for
want of rigorous search for arguments for its opposite” (Hesse, 1986, p. 721).
We have devoted some space to these papers by Shapin because they seem to
us to exhibit some of the weaknesses of the Edinburgh approach. On the other
hand, they are central to the body of evidence that the Edinburghers claim to
have amassed, in that this area is well researched and Steven Shapin one of the
three musketeers of the Edinburgh ‘core set’. Finally, the studies are supposed
to be strong evidence from the history of science, whereas a lot of the work by
others belonging to the paradigm is concerned with contemporary science.
What the case shows is that a sociological theory underpinning all that talk of
“groups” and “interests” is sadly absent. Bloor and Barnes seem to be satisfied
with the polemical stance: Science is not “pure”, it is rather at once a structure
of true or false propositions and an ideology serving the interests of some section
of society. The Edinburghers studiously avoid using the word ‘ideology’;
nevertheless it becomes very difficult to see how phrenology could be described
as anything substantially different from what we and others would call ideology.
We have come to a conclusion. We located the difficult point as being the role
of sense-experience in the formation of belief and its relation to social interests.
Bloor and Barnes seem to equivocate on this point. If sense-experiences are
completely irrelevant, ontological solipsism follows in the form of epistemologi-
cal relativism and that is the end of all explanatory science.
If sense-experience does play a role, there is a place for a combined sociology
of knowledge that takes into account the theoretical embedding of sense-
experience and the taken-for-granted cultural context, while at the same time
leaving a role for nature independent of our conceptions of it. But if this
sociology is to be worth its salt it must take a stand on the genuine sociological
questions: Conflict or consensus, classes or status groups, the relationship of
objective, materially determined existence and the subjective perception of it.
We do not yet have such a sociology of knowledge but the Edinburgh strong
programme has not even tried to become one. l 8
(b) Ethnomethodology
In this section we want to discuss the possible relativistic uses of ethnometho-

dology. Before we do so, however, we should stress that ethnomethodology as
such is not primarily a sociology of science. Maybe it is not a sociology at all (cf.
‘“Actually. there are two different sociologies of knowledge. One is concerned with the role of
science in society (or in the models of society that the relevant theory entails). The other sociology of
science is concerned with the institutions of science and their capacity to guide research. The first
sociology, macrosociology of knowledge, should of course in some not too distant future be
connected with the second, microsociology, and both should prove relevant to the analysis of the
content of science and the analysis of success. Finally a sociology of knowledge could not aspire to
be critical if it could not analyse the acceptance and promotion of theories, even false theories and
the rejection and denial of theories, even true theories, historically as well as in the present, The
Merton school is, it seems, mostly concerned with microsociology as here defined. For discussions
of the Mertonians and the relativists see Gieryn (1982a, b), Mulkay and Gilbert (1982), Collins
(1982b).
below) but it surely has only recently begun to attempt analysis of science, and,
significantly, scientific practice is only analysed as part of a series of studies of
work, most of which have unfortunately not yet appeared (Garfinkel, 198?). The
relevance of ethnomethodology to the sociology of science is thus different from
the Edinburgh programme in that science is not the primary object of research.
Consequently it will be necessary to touch on wider topics in discussing the
possible relativism of ethnomethodology.
Garfinkel (1967) is now a classic. It is so both in the sense of being solemnly
quoted and having been reprinted, and still more in the sense that even the most
recent papers of the school revert to ideas and idiosyncratic expressions from
one or another of the “Studies in ethnomethodology”.
Garfinkel makes no secret of the roots of ethnomethodology: the father is
philosophical phenomenology and the mother is sociology. No wonder the
offspring is peculiar.
The specific marriage of phenomenology and sociology was the original idea
of Alfred Schutz. On the face of it nothing could be more psychological than
phenomenology so how could anyone even get the idea of a phenomenological
sociology? The problem situation of sociology, however, makes it perfectly
understandable. The sociological concepts of class and power are, to take two of
the most current examples, characteristically external to people. No one person
is the working class and similarly no one person is the bourgeoisie, however
bourgeois he may look. The crucial problem now is how to get from this
external dimension to the lived everyday practice of normal individuals. In
posing this question, we have at once put it in a way that makes it ethnometho-
dological and researchable. But one more thing is needed: we have to exchange
a structural functional Parsonian perspective for a dynamic one. Instead of
asking how people behave in such a way that the social order is maintained, we
should ask how people accomplish the social order, how they construct social
order as a routine.
The dynamic perspective itself drove ethnomethodology to adopt interaction
as the preferred object of research. In interaction there is structure and there is
dynamics. The dynamics is readily discernible in the progressive building up of
mutual understandings. One of the most suggestive of Garfinkel’s demonst-
rations of his methods in Studies is the short excerpt of a conversation between a
student and her husband. The conversation is edited by the student in such a
way as to make visible the presuppositions behind every remark that make it
intelligible to the (ethnomethodological) outsider. I9 This strategy of explaining
19A somewhat parallel method may be found in L. S. Vygotsky’s classic Thought and Language,
p. 140f. Vygotsky comments on an episode from Anna Karenina showing how two persons in love
can communicate by writing the first letters of the words they mean to say. The episode is clearly a
demonstration of an unusual sympathy but the phenomenon is general as Vygotsky shows in his
comments (cf. Vygotsky, 1934).
what is obvious to participants presupposes a kind of estrangement technique

cultivated to virtuosity in the so called breaching experiments (Garfinkel, 1967,
p. 44K Heritage, in press, p. 23Of). If you break the rules you may be able to see
what they are and how they function.
This technique of estrangement, reminiscent of Bertolt Brecht’s demands on
his actors, is at the heart of the ethnomethodological enterprise. It goes without
saying - that is why we write it here - that this methodology is dangerous. If
you deliberately put yourself in the position of not knowing anything at all in
order to find out what is going on you will probably find out what in fact is
going on but maybe it is something dreadfully boring. Thus ethnomethodology
walks a delicate balance between the insightful and the banal.
When ethnomethodology is at its best it furnishes insights of the hidden,
taken-for-granted structure of everyday interaction. When it is at its worst a lot
of words are poured out (a handful of which are homemade neologisms) only to
get some point across that has been painfully obvious all along, precisely
because it is part of everyday knowledge. The ethnomethodologist did not
know, or he was forbidden to know, but the reader did.
The instance that comes to mind most easily is Morrison (198 l), the passage
where Morrison elaborates on the problem of questions in a pedagogical
setting:
For each segment the order of answer-occurrence is the same: e.g. the answer occurs
as a second event in the design. A second thing that can be noticed, and this shall
concern us rather more deeply as we go on, is that the answer-occurs-second design
has the further property of organizing a telling-order occurrence in a quiz, e.g., the
order in which the “answer” can properly occur to these materials as either “correct”
or “assessable” events.
Now, we want to suggest that that turns out to be interesting for a variety of reasons,
the first being that it tells us that we are dealing with a class of “question and answer
sequences” (. .) in which what is offered as the knowable (the answer) has the
peculiar feature that its outcome/correctness is prefigured in advance of an interroga-
tory. What is peculiarly interesting about the design, and we shall make this case later
on, is that they are of the class devisedformatted questions. Initially, devised questions
seem to have their organization directed to producing knowledge assessment pro-
cedures, such as quizzing. As a format class, they seemingly do not exhibit the
“question/answer” obvious properties of “question first”, “answer second” design
(. .) (Morrison, 1981, p. 248f).
And so on, etc., and so on, the machine has started never to stop again. And all
this to get at the obvious point that in written texts, contrary to spoken
discourse, temporal order is manipulable and that in the institutional context
questions are a procedure of control more often than a procedure of informa-
tion seeking pure and simple.
In the words the “institutional context”, which is here a pedagogical one (the
material is from a reading test), lies buried a problem for any ethnomethodolo-
466 Studies in History and Philosophy qf Science
gist: Since ethnomethodology is about the accomplishment of interaction as a

manifestation of the institution that this interaction upholds, no ethnomethodo-
logist can allow himself access to the institution over and above and behind the
interaction. In this sense then, ethnomethodology has taken the agnostic stance
on the possible reality of situation-transcendent properties: “We do not know if
they exist, just wait and see if they will show up in the situation” the
ethnomethodologist mutters.20
This necessarily gives to ethnomethodological studies of scientific work a
curious Aavour of casting doubt upon the whole scientific enterprise. The
celebrated study by Garfinkel et al. (198 1) of the discovery of an optical pulsar
reveals this in its insistence on the pulsar as a cultural object, rather than
something out there. Instead of concentrating on the relation of the scientific
practice to the something out there it is designed to “discover”, Garfinkel et al.
obstinately focus on the representation of that something that is worked out
during the continuous sessions that make up the night’s work. This cannot fail
to make us suspend judgement as to whether Garfinkel and his associates in
principle deny that there is something out there that “is” an optical pulsar at all.
We do not think it would be fair to ask this question precisely because the
focussing is so deliberately done. But in the long run, of course, for all their
bracketing ethnomethodologists will have to take a stance on the realism issue
(cf. below).
As practised by Garfinkel and his associates there is a constructivist bias to
ethnomethodology. It is symptomatic that you never catch an ethnomethodolo-
gist using a word like ‘success’ in the sense that, e.g., Larry Laudan gives to this
word. The “truth” of an interaction is a cultural accomplishment, not a relation
between the interaction and something else - let us just call this something else
“reality”.
In most forms of constructivism the focus is on the linguistic construction of
reality. The more radical versions substitute language for reality and thus run
into difficulties when confronted with fundamental questions of linguistics and
philosophy like the question of reference (What is language about?) and the
question of the acquisition of language (How do we learn to speak?). If language
is a self-contained structure and if science is linguistic practice, we may picture
science as precisely social in the sense that the linguistic system is a shared
feature of a culture. But if utterances are not about anything, they have no
semantics and we are left with syntax. This seems to be a common problem for
psychology as well as linguistics, not to mention philosophy of science.
If we are stuck with linguistic data organized in accordance with some
syntactic rule book we can study the structure of talk about the world but not
20This agnosticism is as noted below, a natural consequence of the use of the method of
bracketing adopted fro; Husserl’s phenomenology, cf. Sharrock and Anderson (1986, p. 10).
the relationship between the world and the talk about it. This may give rise to a
popular division of labour: Primary scientists act as if they realistically
investigate the world. At the same time the professionals who study science
investigate the utterances that primary scientists produce with no assumptions
at all of this effort needing any realistic legitimation at all. The philosophers of
science may then study the written texts that the empirical studies of scientific
work consist of in order to disengage theoretical assumptions and stances on
everlasting pet issues like realism, materialism, idealism, etc.
A division of labour like this would put the ethnomethodologists in the
middle doing professional, systematic, detailed and naturalistic studies of
scientific primary practice. Theirs is not in itself a relativist stance, rather it is an
agnostic stance that will necessarily be read as a relativist stance. The experience
of reading ethnomethodology is enhanced to despair when for instance the
studies of discourse analytics like Gilbert and Mulkay (1984) can go on for
pages without ever raising the question of what the world is like apart from
what scientists say about it.ZiJ2
Most constructivists thus end in the language-as-the-world view that we have
sketched above. Not necessarily so with ethnomethodology.
We said above that the so called sociology of science of the Edinburghers was
no sociology at all, since it did not have a theory of society nor a theory of
science in society. Ethnomethodology fares no better on this account. It
manifestly does not have a theory of society (but rather a theory of action, cf.
Heritage, in press, p. 224IQ simply tending to reduce society to interaction.
Moreover, we cannot see all the different life histories of subjects that take part
in interaction when they interact. We cannot see the subjects interacting as
bearers of different experiences that together make up a variety of class
consciousness just by inspecting the way they interact with each other. This
sociology is in fact a social psychology and in so far as it is agnostic about the
wider institutional contexts as something else and something more than
structuring properties of an interaction it will remain impossible to combine
with a sociology of society.
21For all their sophisticated critique of Collins’ taking the point of view of his interviewees,
Mulkay and Gilbert seem unable to analyse the relationship between the discourse as such and what
the discourse is about. They analyse the structure of talk as if the semantics of talk was irrelevant to
its organization. For a penetrating critique of the claims of Mulkay and Gilbert to place discourse
analysis as the central practice of the sociology of science, cf. Shapin (1984).
**In a sense then ethnomethodologists are very materialist in their concentration on praxis. The
most fascinating of the many stories told in Lynch er al. (1984) is the story of how Friedrich
Schrecker joined a handicapped chemistry student in order to learn chemistry by doing assignments
as his body (Lynch et al., 1984, p. 21 If and 225tT). Here we see that the attention to detail so
characteristic of ethnomethodology really pays off. What we learn is not only the by now trivial fact
that what scientists say they do is not by far what they actually do, but rather a much more general
point about bodily practice as a happy marriage of anticipation and skill in placing and arranging
things. The study seems to highlight the fundamental feature of skills in successful scientific practice.
The relativist flavour that any reader of ethnomethodologcal studies of

scientific practice readily detects is a consequence of this agnosticism and the
phenomenological bent. Phenomenology will always tend towards solipsism.
This is no real danger for an ethnomethodology focussed on interaction; but the
insistence on generalized subjects interacting in universal patterns is relativist in
the sense that it misses the specific points of science or rather it ignores them if
they are there. This is a paradox. Garfinkel is fond of citing an exchange
between Strodtbeck and Shils on the point that we want to know what makes a
jury a jury and not what makes it a small group. But if we describe all the things
a member of a jury does when jurying we shall end up with a descriptivism that
drowns us in the flood of data it produces. Some point of view must be selected.
In practice it seems to be a problem that ethnomethodologists either are too
specific or too general. Either talk of temporal order or talk of the arrangement
of bunsen burners on a table. What we want is a connection between the specific
description and the resulting “results” and the uses to which these results are
put. Ethnomethodology stays with the descriptions to end ail descriptions.z3
In conclusion, then, there is no clear answer to the question whether
ethnomethodology is a relativist position. It may be and surely it will most often
be read that way, but that may simply be because ethnomethodology is not after
anything specific about a science at all. In this fact lies of course some sort of
relativism; but it is not argued as such, rather it is presupposed that science is on
a par with, e.g. jazz music - from the ethnomethodological point of view.24
The “solipsistic flavour” in the ethnomethodological texts is a consequence of
their use of the phenomenological technique of bracketing. In the beginning of
the century Husserl(19 I 1) introduced bracketing as a psychological/philosophi-
cal method in which you choose to reduce away a given phenomenon’s reality-
quality. You specify, that you are not interested in the reality-quality of the
phenomenon which presents itself to your consciousness. This does not,
however, equal solipsism; the phenomenologist (and ethnomethodologist) does
not deny the external existence of reality, they just do not care.
Ethnomethodology does, however, exaggerate the bracketing. Not being
content with the bracketing of reality, they even bracket society - their only
subjects are interactions and rules for interaction. As far as we can see,
ethnomethodology keeps itself stuck at the data-level - what we below call the
primary level - and therefore piles up boring and uninteresting data. If you
stay entirely at this primary level, you are free from committing yourselves to
23Ethnomethodology shares another weak spot with any structuralist theory: It has great
difficulties in coming to grips with history and consequently cannot explain change (cf. Collins,
1984, appendix 2, p. 104f).
24Garfinkel’s series of ethnomethodological studies of work concerns not only sciences such as
mathematics (Livingston, 1986) but also jazz music (Sudnow, 1980, which we have not read).
problems such as realism vs. relativism and how society is there in the
interaction. And that is a high price to pay. Too high.
(c) Conclusion
We are now in a position to analyse the series of papers triggered by Steve

Woolgar’s ‘Interests and Explanation in the Social Study of Science’ (198 1a)
(Barnes, 1981; MacKenzie, 1981; Woolgar, 198lb). Woolgar’s position is that
of a radical ethnomethodologist. It is not quite clear to us whether this stance is
adopted as the basis for his critique of Barnes only, or whether he is in fact
endorsing Garfinkel’s claim that
(. .) when we talk of “a world” or when we talk of “the world” we are talking of a set
of empirical constructs. These are all of the sociologist’s world. There is no reality
beyond them (Quote from Garfinkel’s unpublished dissertation. Woolgar quotes R.
H. Brown, A Poeticfor Sociology, 1977, p. 146f; Woolgar, 198lb, p. 507).
Let us pause briefly in order to establish the mere possibility of this claim for a
sociology of science.
It is a common feature of the new sociologists of science that they are
investigating what scientists really do in their laboratories rather than recon-
structing it in the armchair at home. The research method most commonly used
is participant observation coupled with extensive interviewing. Now, partici-
pant observation as such has always created a problem of documentation: How
can we, i.e. the scientific community, be sure that the participant observer is not
cooking up things that never happened. The interviews are, of course, meant as
a solution to this programme. But - as has been stressed by all critics of the
“linguistic turn” - interview data are not the royal road to the scientist’s minds
but, on the contrary, data themselves in need of interpretation. If you add to
this picture the extreme distance between what natural scientists are investigat-
ing and the things they actually do to investigate them, if you, in short, focus on
the process of operationalization as a process of interpretation itself (Lynch,
1985) then you will perhaps be able to understand why it might be held that
what science is about is the cultural products, the talk, that in the realistic
discourse are taken as “standing for” something else, i.e. “reality”. And this last
mentioned word is just a word like all the other words. Reality is what we
construct as pictures of it.
The problems that this view of reality runs into are the problems that all
epistemological relativists must face. How can we evaluate a theory? Falsifica-
tion? Falsification is traditionally seen as the guarantee that there is a reality out
there independent of the observing subjects. But Woolgar is not at all interested
in falsification. (Neither, by the way, are Barnes, Bloor and Collins - Collins
has even invented a concept to avoid speaking of falsification, the concept
“closure”.) What could falsify a relativist’s theory?
470 Studies in History and Philosophy C$Science
Since Barnes and Woolgar do not agree with each other, and since we have
diagnosed Woolgar as a full blown epistemological relativist, we owe Barnes a
label too. Unfortunately, what we have to offer is only tentative - we feel that
both Barnes and Bloor are specific only in their dismissal of epistemological
relativism whenever they are pressed:
My work refers to interests not to agents’ account of interests and the two cannot be
assumed to be the same (Barnes, 1981, p. 492).
Barnes’ work refers to interests but he does not seem to have grasped that
Woolgar’s critique is of a methodological character: Woolgar asks: “How does
Barnes find his actor’s interests?” Woolgar answers: Barnes does so by
analysing and interpreting in the normal realistic way (cf. MacKenzie, 1981 p.
502) and that is precisely what is wrong: He is constructing another “realistic”
account, but an account. As such Woolgar’s critique has not been met and -
we conclude - this is because it cannot be met if you do not at some level
profess a realistic epistemology. And any relativist would count that as
committing suicide.
Fortunately we have no relativistic image to defend. We shall accordingly
proceed to delimit a model with both realistic and relativistic features
IV. An Alternative to Epistemological Relativism
In philosophies of science it is normal to settle for one fundamental feature of

science, and project that feature on to all relevant problems, i.e. you choose to
use one single metaphor: The scientific process is like problem solving (Laudan),
science is like cognition (Popper), science is a social praxis (Marxism), etc. These
definitions-we would rather say all definitions using only one metaphor - are
insufficient and will often narrow the conception of scientific activity in various
ways. We are convinced, that it is impossible to define science from such a single
notion, without distorting what we define. Science is a complex social, psycho-
logical, institutional, linguistic, communicational etc. process, and if you focus
exclusively on one aspect your explanations of, e.g., scientific change will be
severely limited.
Our primary point of departure is history of science. We share the by now
everywhere accepted view that history of science is a rich source of empirical
material, material relevant to adoption and rejection of philosophies of science.
History furnishes the ‘facts’ that our theories should explain. In this view
history and not logical arguments come to the fore (Lakatos, 1971; Hesse,
1981).25
25We do not think it is fair, as Hiibner (1980) does, to base a historical theory on logical
arguments from ourside history. We think, that the usefulness of history of science legitimates itself
in accordance with a rrulislic viewpoint. which we in part defend here, and that this does not
necessarily equal a historicist viewpoint. Brown (1980) claims that historicism within philosophy of
science is not able to distinguish between good and bad science. On the contrary, as far as we can
see, it is only at a historical distance that you are able to make this distinction.
In the rest of this paper we want to sketch the outlines of a view of science that
incorporates elements from two of the three relativistic positions, without the
position being relativistic as such. Our main guideline is that science is
overdetermined: that is, that in every element of the scientific process you choose,
you will be able to find some relevant theme related to the different levels, from
purely methodological questions to the most general worldview or ideological
structures. Every scientific result, and even the most boring routine work,
displays specific methodological, theoretical, institutional and societal elements.
The point about overdetermination is that it precludes simplistic causality in
that one cause does not exclude other causes being at work at the same time.
Thus science is not only a multi-level affair but also a multiple-cause affair.
(a) Science as such
In order to unfold our alternative, we have to introduce some ideas we have

developed elsewhere in greater detail (Gregersen and Ksppe, 1985, 1987):
(1) Scientific disciplines are constituted by what Althusser calls an epistemolo-

gical rupture.26 This should not be conceived of as a catastrophe, a sudden
creation like the Phoenix. Rather, over a period of say 50 years a scientific
discipline defines itself in terms of two constitutive elements:
(a) There is a precise selection of a spec$c object-field. Often the object-field
is defined as a very narrow set of problems in relation to the general pre-
scientific activity. The object-field in what became mechanical physics was mass
and velocity, in psychology it was sensory data registered as perceptual
differences, in linguistics it was the genesis of the Indo-European languages.
(b) Establishing a specific object-field goes hand in hand with defining a
speczjic method. Method and object-field are two sides of the same coin. If a
scientist at some point in the development of a certain discipline uses qualitati-
vely new methods to gain insight it will often in the long run result in the
establishment of a new school.*’
(2) It is one of the essential features of science that the foundation of the object-
field and the method together always involve a reduction. This is on the one hand
a very banal conclusion - you cannot investigate totalities, e.g. ‘the organism’
as such, you have to reduce the object-field by selecting a specific object for your
Z6Cf Althusser (1965). The concept ‘epistemological rupture’ was introduced by Gaston
Bachelard (1938).
27We have here another sort of demarcation problem - between science and schools of science.
The problem is in fact much of a national-institutional one. A more specific demarcation demands a
more detailed analysis, which we cannot give here. Just one example: When Freud constituted
psychoanalysis it was far from Fechner’s or Wundt’s respective psychologies, but on the other hand,
he used Fechnerian elements in his topological theory and -as “Entwurf’ (Freud, 1895) shows -
he was very eager to find a reductionistic-physiological basis for his theory, in order to make it
commensurable with Fechner’s and Wundt’s theories.
empirical work. On the other hand, it has some consequences, specifically in

relation to scientific theory and ideology.
(3) When a scientific discipline is constituted it will in a relatively short period
develop into an institutional and social organization with a specific practice.
Concomitant with the epistemological rupture comes a process of institutionali-
zation and professionalization: in other words it soon becomes possible to live
as a professional scientist, publishing in journals devoted to the specific
discipline and teaching students who want to become precisely that kind of
scientist. Historically, this institutionalization of the theory-practice relation-
ship has been a feature of the dominant sciences only for the past century or so.
Science, thus, has a social practice corresponding to it. Indeed it was often the
need for the solution of some practical problems that stimulated research in the
first place. 28 This practice is the manifestation of the usefulness of the science.
For meteorology it is the weather report, for Nordic philology it is the teaching
of Danish (language, literature, culture) in the educational system as a whole,
and for quantum mechanics it is, e.g., computer hardware. Incidentally it is
through these useful practices that society as such executes some of the influence
branded by most philosophers as ‘external’: Nobody will blame secretaries of
defence if they consistently channel funds to transformational linguistics a la
Noam Chomsky as long as the secretary can convince them that the money will
result in advanced communication facilities for the Navy.
(b) The primary level
We are now able to discuss the three levels which we took as our point of
departure in distinguishing the three types of relativism above (Section II).
The first or primary level is roughly identical with the traditional empirical
one - that level which empiricism defines as the only relevant one. As far as we
have understood the main themes of the last 30 years of philosophy of science it
is for the moment nearly impossible to define science in the empirical way. But
the criticism of empiricism can be exaggerated. Siegel (1983, 1985) claims that it
is impossible to define a clearcut methodology and as a consequence, a
traditional empirical level, and proposes a rather unprecise and normative
“commitment to evidence”.29 One of the main themes in modern philosophy of
science is to combine a sort of realism with a sort of relativism (cf. below), and it
is in this context our three-level-model has to be seen.30
l8We are well aware that the history of science reveals that the relation between practical and
theoretical problems may be extremely indirect often involving relations of legitimation and make-
believe, but we are convinced that in the long run every science has to be useful in some way.
29Rapp (1980) on the other hand is very close to the old ideal of objective knowledge, but
unintentionally reveals that empiricism can be a question of normative plea, too.
3oOne of the most penetrating and detailed discussions of the relation between empiricism and
realism is written by the English philosopher R. Bhaskar. In recent books (e.g. 1978) he defends a
transcendental realism which is in opposition to the classical empiricist view.
The primary level is methodological, reductionistic and realistic. In every

specific scientific activity you are bound to use the methodological rules of the
scientific disciplines concerned as well as some general scientific machinery -
causality, division into types of variables, mathematical formalism, etc. The
activity at the primary level results in quantitative data, defined semantic
relations, etc., which, according to the stated methodological rules are true
propositions about the world. If the rules are followed correctly, then the
propositions are true.
This can be stated historically as well: Consider what happens during a
paradigm shift. The first paradigm is losing the battle against the younger and
more vigorous one. The new paradigm to a certain extent has new problems on
the agenda but paradigms must necessarily treat some common problems in
order for them to be paradigms of the same science, i.e. they must have the same
object-field as their target. These common problems are the battleground for the
adherents and, paradoxically, they will soon agree that their different view-
points are incommensurable in the weak sense that they cannot convince each
other. But does that mean that reality changes as paradigms shift?
If we wish to avoid this solipsistic, relativistic and what-have-you-istic stance
we must delimit a level of science that contains the “uninterpreted” facts, the
facts interpretable but without any specific interpretation. Science has amassed
tons of such tedious facts. It is amazing how much we “know” in the form of
figures for the import of goods, measurements of the flexibility of steel,
documents of divorce in the 20th century and tables showing the effect of
anabolic steroids on muscle growth. This, then, is the stuff that the primary level
is made of.
Let us take a simple example from linguistics: Most research efforts within
19th century linguistics was directed towards unraveling the secrets of the
ancestor language supposed to “explain” the attested Indo-European
languages. By comparing meticulously attested word forms from the different
Indo-European languages it was possible to reconstruct (not construct, they
were realists to a man!) the language that the Indo-Europeans had spoken once
in their “Urheim”. The data from this period are the basis for the etymological
dictionaries all over Europe.
Now, when structuralism defeated comparative linguistics as the reigning
paradigm for linguistic research, a development that lasted from the late 1880s
at least till 1928 when the first International Congress of Linguists was held at
the Hague, the notion of a unique Indo-European ancestor language was
discarded as an unnecessary hypothesis:
There is, thus, really no cogent reason to accept the idea of a homogeneous Indo-
European primal language, from which the particular Indo-European branches of
language would spring. It is just as thinkable, that the original Indo-European
languages were unlike each other, but gradually approached because of sustained
474 Studies in History md Philosophy of Science
contact,mutual influence and borrowing, without however becoming totally identical

to each other (Trubetzkoy, 1939, p. 82).31
It should be noted that this paradigm shift had profound consequences of an

epistemological character: realism was defeated by some version of constructi-
vism.
There is certainly no possibility of finding a paradigm shift in the history of
linguistics with more far reaching repercussions for the theory as well as the
practice of linguistics. And yet the etymological dictionaries continue to be used
by successive generations of structuralist linguists. Etymological dictionaries
sharply distinguish reconstructed forms from actually attested forms and thus
anyone interested in doing so may reinterpret the “facts”.
Data remain, theories change: this is so obvious that we do not claim any
originality for the idea of a primary level in science. We just conclude that a
theory of science that does not have a similar level is bound to let data disappear
with the theories that gave rise to them.
The epistemological relativist - using our definition from Section II above -
would now be able to object that a scientific discipline not only defines an
object-field, and a particular method, but also a type of truth. “Truth” would
then be relative to the method defined - define some other method, and you
have automatically defined another truth. But truth cannot be something you
can choose - truth must be truth always - therefore scientific truth does not
exist.
To this we have three counter-arguments.
(a) In every theory of epistemology, there are some ontological postulates more
or less hidden. In relativism the ontology is in principle solipsistic.32 We choose,
on the contrary, to suppose that matter as such, in itself, is structured in an
infinity of relations and configurations. 33 The scientific initiation of an object-
field consists precisely in a selection of a specific field of relations and
configurations. This specific field has to have some relatively autonomous
existence. By ‘autonomous’ we mean sufficiently autonomous to be easily
researched in relative isolation. By ‘relative’ we intend to convey the idea that
3“‘Es gibt also eigentlich gar keinen zwingenden Grund zur Annahme einer einheitlichen
indogermanischen Ursprache, van der die einzelnen indogermanischen Sprachzweige abstammen
wiirden. Ebenso gut denkbar ist dass die Vorfahren der indogermanischen Sprachzweige urspriing-
lich einander unlhnlich waren, sich aber durch stindigen Kontakt, gegenseitige Beeinflussung und
Lehnverkehr allmahlich einander bedeutend genahert haben, ohne jedoch jemals mit einander ganz
identisch zu werden.” (Trubetzkoy, 1939, p. 82.)
32Note that almost all the epistemological relativists of today are linguistic solipsists, probably
because scientists’ talk is more central to the scientific enterprise the further you get away from
simple observation.
“Gruender (1981) contains an interesting discussion based on the same view of the material
world. Gruender argues that the infinity of &figurations is responsible for the fact that deductive-
nomological explanations are not necessarily mechanisistic.
ultimately there exists no phenomenon completely independent of the totality.

Now, we know that all scientific disciplines taken together cover a rather
extensive area, but, as we discuss later, they will never cover matter as such. You
might, consequently, say, that scientific statements are ‘relativistic’, in so far as
scientific statements will always be only ‘partly true’ - because their domain
corresponds to just a part of matter.
(b) In accordance with Althusser, we shall postulate a material core included in

every scientific result or statement. Afier the epistemological rupture, after the
initiating of a methodology, etc., genuine scientific results will always incorpor-
ate a material core, that is, some true statements about the world (cf. Althusser,
1974).
(c) As far as the concept truth has any meaning, the application of a scientific
method will always result in true data, e.g. data which can be repeated by other
scientists. This presupposes a consensus about the object-field and the available
methods, and inside these frames the data are data about the world in a realistic
fashion. The problem with the concept ‘truth’ is, that the easiest way to reach it
is inversely proportional to the number of variables involved, and that the
opposite is valid for scientific engagement. But the scientific activity is headed
precisely towards reducing the number of variables.
Now, we can nearly hear the objection: If that is so, why then are so many
scientific theories wrong? And: How can a scientific theory both have success
and notoriously incorporate what we can now only see as mystical substances
such as ‘ether’? To answer this, we have to introduce the second or theoretical
level.
When we make a distinction between the primary and the secondary level, we
in fact separate two levels which in every specific inquiry, scientific analysis, etc.,
are completely intertwined - which, furthermore, in scientific practice are felt
as one and the same. Every methodological activity presupposes concepts of
two sorts: (a) the concepts which are the background for measuring appara-
tuses, for the mathematical formalism used in every quantification, and (b) the
concepts which constitute the actual theoretical hypotheses which the inquiry is
going to tell us something about. Theoretical hypotheses are statements about
the object-field, and so, in accordance with the epistemological rupture, the two
sets of concepts are related in the grounding activity - in the same process you
establish the object-field and the valid scientific methodological concepts. The
concepts so to speak define the fundamental Laudanian ‘problem’.
In most scientific disciplines there is a fair amount of consensus on methodo-
logical questions. Even in the so-called “scientific revolutions”, the revolution-
ary theory (e.g. relativity theory and quantum mechanics in physics) is based on
highly conventional methodological procedures (otherwise it would convince
nobody). In other disciplines, such as psychology, the object-field is so complex,

that different definitions of the object-field arise after the epistemological
rupture, and in accordance with this, different and specific methodological rules
are used inside subdisciplines.
In continuation of our theses concerning the epistemologicai rupture, metho-
dological reductionism and the material core, we differentiate between the
methodological primary level and the theoretical secondary level and between
different categories of theoretical concepts. There are many examples of the
necessity for this differentiation. We choose some of the most important ones:
(1) Anomalies are always in the last resort empirical. Lakatos has stated many
times that any theory is always born refuted since there will always be some
empirical data which the theory is not able to cover. This means that the valid
theoretical entities or concepts will always be insufficient. As far as we can see,
the history of science does not know a single example where theoretical concepts
and theses alone function as anomalies - anomalies always have the form of
specific data obtained by using methods which otherwise result in valid
knowledge. Therefore, you have to isolate the methodological data-acquiring
level which in principle will always be ahead of the theoretical level.
(2) When somebody makes investigations in order to promote a theory which is

at odds with the prevailing “normal science” - e.g. Lamarckism - the design
has to follow the ordinary methodological rules very strictly.35 It is only
sometimes in connection with the establishment of a subdiscipline and the
redefinition of the object-field that specific methodological changes are seen -
in all other instances, the consensus on methodology is unquestioned.
(3) The results obtained at the primary level, raw data, are in themselves
unintelligible and uninteresting. Most of the data entities and methodological
machinery which are in the last resort the bases for obtaining data, are
conventionally defined or defined operationally or both. These concepts and
entities have to be differentiated from the theoretical concepts proper, because
they are themselves unquestioned during empirical research.
34We use scienrific methodologv in a more narrow sense than, e.g., Nagel (1961) who in his
definition of scientific methodology includes the valuation of the scientific data. This valuation or
interpretation of data is here placed at the secondary level. Scientific methodology consists in
legitimate prescriptions by which data are acquired, consequently they will contain, mostly implicit,
assertions about perception and observation. Cf. Klein (1981). Hesse (1981) and Werth (1980) for
recent discoveries of these themes, and especially Leplin (1986) and his methodological reulism which
is partly in accordance with our view.
jSThis may not be sufficient but it is certainly necessary. Collins and Pinch (1979) have shown that
the methodological standards set by critics of parapsychology are very strict: “Some of the above
criticisms (, .) seem visibly influenced more by the desire to reject psi in particular, than by
consideration of universal standards. Thus many of the criticisms would have a devasting effect if
turned against parts of orthodox science.” (Collins and Pinch, 1979, p. 249.)
(c) The secondary level
The secondary level can be characterized as theory, that is, a structure of

concepts which interprets the results gained at the primary level. The problem
with the primary level is, as noted, that the data acquired are as such
uninteresting. To quote a well-known biologist, R. C. Lewontin: “What we can
measure is by definition uninteresting, and what we are interested in is by
definition unmeasurable” (1974, p. 23). This means that science cannot make do
with the primary level. Data have to be interpreted by a theory. On the other
hand it is by now a commonplace to hear that only a theory makes it possible to
find facts. This is true only in the sense we have specified here: It is impossible to
understand what has been found out by amassing data (from the primary level).
Interpretations (the secondary level) make data understandable as scientific
facts.
The theoretical secondary level is not, however, uniform but has an internal
structure. It is necessary to distinguish among theoretical entities: some entities
have established their value as “ candidates for actual constituents of the world”
(Leplin, 1986, p. 51); while others only have a catalysing effect, themselves being
without a more durable relation to reality. The last category of concepts is just
as important as the first, and it even has a greater value for the development of
science.
Not only does the secondary level contain different types of concepts, it also
contains a set of key problems, viz. the problems that led to the epistemological
rupture by which the different sciences were established. There may well be
some discussions about how to formulate these essential questions but we
venture some specimens:
Biology: What is life, the evolution of life?

Psychology: The psychoophysical relation.
Physics: The ultimate character of matter.
Linguistics: What is language?
The peculiar character of these problems stems from their abstract nature and at
the same time their inevitability for any theoretical effort in the field in question.
Every scientist has to take a stance vis-&vis these key questions of his field - or
leave the field.
Now, it is evident that an answer will not be forthcoming from empirical
work alone: on the contrary, it is the other way round. Since the key problems
are not empirical they border on the ideological commitments in the way they
“draw” or attract scientists towards level III. In so far as the scientist is a
spontaneous ideologue he is so in his/her capacity as the person who holds an
answer to an essential question.
We are now able to return to the question about the “false successful theory”.
In Maxwell’s electromagnetism the central concept of ‘ether’ concerned the

ultimate basis of matter. Maybe it even functioned as a catalyst for his
equations, but, as the history of physics proves - the equations are usable in
practice, without the concept of ‘ether’ (cf. Powers, 1982).
The history of science knows many examples where a theory is later rejected
not because the theoretical entities prove to be invalid, but because ‘the facts’ at
the primary level were wrong. In many of these examples, however - think of
de Vries’ theory of mutation, of Morton measuring the volume of crania, Sir
Cyril Burt’s work on twins’ IQ 36 - the distorting factor was precisely the
theoretical concepts. Whether the scientist manipulated his data consciously or
unconciously is not important here, the point is, that the scientist is “highly
motivated”, he is convinced before there are any data. These examples involve
valid and/or invalid theoretical entities and unsound data. But it is also possible
to have invalid theoretical entities and correct data. We call these catalytic
theoretical entities3’
Many scientific theories have been rejected as wrong, but in the long run, very
few - maybe none at all - did not contribute with some new insights, some
new data, etc.
This is also the case with the Kuhnian scientific revolutions which initiate a
shift in paradigm. These paradigm-shifts (after the scientific discipline has been
established) never take the form of a clearcut break. Heisenberg coined the term
“closed theories” (cf. Bohme, 1980) for scientific theories which were overtaken
by development. The point is, that the closed theories (the “old ones”) after the
development has taken place are only applicable within well-defined borders.
Their validity-field becomes restricted - but that is not the same as a denial of
the theory. Closed theories will always contribute to the development of science.
As far as we can see, you really cannot judge scientific theories as completely
wrong - there will always be something which contribute to the accumulation
of scientific knowledge.
‘Is it not the case’, the sociological relativist will object, ‘that the differences in
theoretical concepts between scientific schools inside a discipline reflect sociolo-
gical determinants?’ And if this is so - ‘How is it then possible to defend a view
of science as a truth-accumulating process. 7’ Well, here we have to insist on a
36Cf. Mayr (1982), regarding de Vries; Gould (1981). regarding the measurement of volumes and
Kamin (1976). regarding IQ.
37In general, we think that our position agress with a tendency within recent philosophy of
science to integrate realism and a modified version of relativism -cf. Hesse (1981) Elkana (1978),
Boyd (1981) Leplin (1981, 1986). Morgenbesser (1969), Bearn (1985), Heelan (1983). These authors
are far from agreement on every detail, but they all try to deconstruct the absolute opposition
between realism and some other notion which traditionally has been opposed to it - e.g.
instrumentalism, conventionalism or relativism. We are especially in accordance with Elkana’s
views of theoretical frameworks that in/erndl.v presuppose realism, but externally can be seen as
based on a specific selection of matter, and consequently define science as such as a hierarchy of
frames, including each other.
difference between determination and selection. Doubtless sociological determi-

nation has been demonstrated, but that does not mean that science as such is
determined only by sociological factors or that sociological determination as
such necessarily leads to invalid or distorted theories. Many of the specific
analyses of scientific knowledge authored by sociological relativists are insight-
ful and revealing - but the epistemological claim that they have demonstrated
the prevalence of irrationality is plainly false.
Let us take the economic and military interests which nobody can deny as
examples of sociological determinants. These interests will surely further, and
even rule, a large part of scientific research not only in physics, technology and
biology, but also in many other disciplines. But this ruling functions as a
selection and not as a determination with epistemological relativism as the
consequence.38
It is possible to conceptualize the development of science using a Darwinian
non-teleological theory of evolution as a model, where progression is teleologi-
cal while selection figures as the ordinary mechanism of evolution, just as in
ordinary Darwinism, but note that progression is here defined as a teleological
process. Every science manifests accumulation of data, but a lot of these results
are not very interesting. A progression within science implies an - in the last
resort political - specification of certain common goals. This is what the
scientific community is for. Science can develop in a nearly redundant way, as a
uniform collection of facts - this is plain accumulation - but it can also
progressively accumulate. And progression involves normativity.39
(d) The tertiary level
We have now reached the last question we want to discuss - the normative
basis of science. The discussion involves the third level, the ideological, and
some elements from the discussion of historical relativism.
The third, or tertiary level, is the ideological. Following S.-E. Liedman
(Liedman, 1977) we define ideology as an all encompassing idea of the human
38Note that this view makes it possible to have a sociology of knowledge with realistic pretensions
as to its findings, In this way we hope to avoid the problem of the relativist circularity while at the
same time accepting the burden of reflexivity.
39This is a very difficult point, We only want to sketch a line of reasoning in order to facilitate
discussions of it. By differentiating between determination, selection and progression we want to
underline the impossibility -pace Popper (1984) ~ of explaining the development of science in a
Darwinian way. Scientific communities do not function as gene pools, and society as such is not on a
par with climate. A conscious and normative selection of scientific development - that is
progression - is a non-biological evolutionary possibility (cf. Idan and Kantorovich, 1985, for a
different but also non-biological evolutionary view). The relation between an evolutionary theory of
science and the formation of theoretical concepts in science has recently been discussed by
Nersessian (1984) and Bechtel (1984). Both authors emphasise that it is possible to maintain that
concept formation in the initiating phase of a scientific discipline is interdisciplinary (Nersessian)
even determined by what we would call ideology (Bechtel) and that science manifests accumulation,
i.e. our progressive evolution.
subject, nature and society. The differentiation between the various political
ideologies is one way to specify ideologies, but not the only one. The political
ideologies are often too narrow, e.g. do not always include a coherent view of
nature. We prefer to differentiate between a liberalistic, a Romantic and a
mechanistic ideology, 4o but it is not necessary to elaborate on this point here.
It has often been claimed, that the creative period granted to normal scientists
ranges from the age of 25 to the age of 35, and that in the rest of their career they
apply their findings to more philosophical and humanistic subjects. Even
though it is in fact not that simple, the claim implies that it is possible to project
scientific findings on to more general subjects. As far as we can see “all scientists
do it all the time” - such projectability is one of the aspects of the central
concepts in science. Since this is so, it will be convenient to define normative
criteria for good science. It is not possible to use them as criteria for
demarcation, but only to differentiate between accumulation and progression:
(a) In a preceding section we sketched the necessary reduction which the

undivided material substance of the real world has to go through for it to be
scientifically manageable. It is one of the basic defining properties of the
methodological primary level. The first normative demand is that the scientist
should reflect upon this reduction process and its relation to the totality. This
normative demand may take two related forms: First the demand may
legitimate a search in disciplines supposedly independent from one’s own for
evidence for one’s own insights. The second form is that it may lead to
reflections on the role of the discipline in the totality of the scientific endeavour
to understand the indivisible reality. If reduction is the sine qua non of
scientificity, it becomes all the more important to realize that the reduction
process is only historically cogent. In principle, however, it is arbitrary in that it
is precisely a reduction of indivisible reality.
(b) The second demand that we propose as a norm has to do with the relation
between theory and practice. Above, we have described how this relationship is
institutionalized. Institutionalization is in itself a fossilization that may partially
blind the scientist. Too many scientists have followed what they believed to be
their private fascination only to awake after the fact to discover that they have
invented a monster. In order to avoid this we propose that the theory-practice
relationship be made the subject of independent investigation by every scientist.
(c) The third demand is to realize that scientific results as well as its concepts are
historical phenomena. There is a growing interest in the history of science but
the trend tends to split off the history of science from science as such, thus
creating a situation where normal scientists can behave as if history has stopped.
4oCf. Andkjaer Olsen and Kerppe (1988).

But history is not only the past but also the present and the future. Precise
analysis of the historical nature of the problem under scrutiny will enable
critical discussions to attack the ideological stance embodied in actual research.
Historical relativism states that scientific results are bound to the specific
historical epoch in which they are stated, and that it is impossible for anyone
outside the epoch to understand them. This hypothesis is at odds with our
hypotheses about the epistemological rupture, the material core, accumulation
and progression of knowledge. But it is possible to view science as a specific way
of getting knowledge about the world, a specific way, but not the only way.
Maybe science as defined here started in the period of Galileo and Descartes,
involving the drawing of a borderline between psyche and soma, between matter
and velocity, but that does not mean that science is bound to a certain historical
period in the sense of the historical relativist.
What we call science is a certain way of explaining nature. Other epochs,
other societies and other groups in society have other ways of getting knowledge
about nature - but this knowledge is of a different sort. It is often holistic,
which means that it implies a total view of nature - a total view not far from
what we have here called ideology. This total view is impossible to reach in “the
scientific way”, among other reasons because science is reductionistic, implying
that it is impossible to integrate all sciences into a total explanation of
everything. It is only religion, mythology and the like that can cope with
concepts like “everything”. Science and these other explanation-systems are
consequently not on the same levels - it is not possible to “choose” between
them as you choose your breakfast or hat.
V. Conclusion
The theory of science invented and practiced by philosophers has during the
last decade been under attack for its “abstract”, “formal” or “speculative”
character. In their penetrating study of Karl Popper’s influence on scientific
practice, Mulkay and Gilbert (1981) locate the failure of Karl Popper to have
any influence whatsoever on scientific practice partly in his theory and partly in
the way the scientific community works.
If the theory of science is to play any role as a guide to scientific practice it has
to be “naturalistic” and it has to square with the facts of the best history of
science. Unfortunately the only theories that propose to do just that are
relativistic ones. We have, however, argued that epistemological relativism
makes it impossible to account for the central facts of accumulation and the
material core of science.
We have in the last four or five years been able to spot some forces countering
this tendency and calling for (w)holistic theories and interdisciplinary efforts.
482 Studies in History and Philosophy af Science
Much as we support the weak forces in question we see no reason to abandon

the insights of the sociology of knowledge. We would much rather incorporate
them in a stance that will make it possible to be both naturalistic and relativistic
realists at the same time. A stance like that is what we have tried to sketch in this
paper.
Acknowledgements - We are grateful to Nicholas Jardine, Ib Ulbaek and an anonymous

referee for forcing us to rewrite and rethink portions of the previous version of this
paper.
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FRANS GREGERSEN AND SIMO K0PPE*

AGAINST EPISTEMOLOGICAL RELATIVISM

1. Some Sources of Relativism

(a) Demarcation and underdetermination

*Copenhagen University, Njalsgade 80, 2300 Copenhagen S, Denmark.

If this view is right, it is misleading to speak of the empirical content of an individual

(b) Incommensurability and accumulation

paradigms or to use Lakatos’ term different research programmes. Now, it has

(c) Truth and progress

II. Three Versions of Relativism

It is possible to distinguish between three levels in science. The first level

(a) Epistemological relativism

Epistemological relativism is the centre piece of relativism. All other relativ-

(b) Sociological relativism

Where the epistemological relativist focusses on methods and theories the

(c) Historical relativism

III. Who are the Relativists?

(a) The Edinburgh “Strong Programme in the Sociology qf Knowledge”

Apparently, it is not a platitude to all interested parties. Anyway, whether it is

To Larry Laudan this represents a severely modified version of the strong

the Edinburgh school on their own premises: Is the strong programme

Indeed, it seems to be a common objection on the part of the Edinburghers that

Philosophical models of proper evaluation are irrelevant to the historian’s task.

As anybody knows, excessive inductivism is not really healthy. There is a

choice between epistemological relativism, where sense-experiences are com-

Collins, then, opts for epistemological relativism. In an earlier paper he does so

actor’s categories. An actor’s category is an actor’s perception of what is TRASP with

This quotation raises a bunch of problems. First of all Collins effortlessly

sociologists. But if the consistent epistemological relativist is faced with a

Gravitational waves are apparently so minute and so peripheral to any practical

a wealth of material on how scientists try to explain “failures” in terms of

He also is at pains to stress that:

Shapin and Barnes:

Nonetheless, a culture need not be seen as an homogeneous whole. How differen-

By sliding from a culture conceived as a totality to subcultures with attached

In this section we want to discuss the possible relativistic uses of ethnometho-

what is obvious to participants presupposes a kind of estrangement technique

gist: Since ethnomethodology is about the accomplishment of interaction as a

The relativist flavour that any reader of ethnomethodologcal studies of

We are now in a position to analyse the series of papers triggered by Steve

IV. An Alternative to Epistemological Relativism

In philosophies of science it is normal to settle for one fundamental feature of

(a) Science as such

In order to unfold our alternative, we have to introduce some ideas we have

(1) Scientific disciplines are constituted by what Althusser calls an epistemolo-

empirical work. On the other hand, it has some consequences, specifically in

(b) The primary level

The primary level is methodological, reductionistic and realistic. In every

contact,mutual influence and borrowing, without however becoming totally identical

It should be noted that this paradigm shift had profound consequences of an

ultimately there exists no phenomenon completely independent of the totality.

(b) In accordance with Althusser, we shall postulate a material core included in

nobody). In other disciplines, such as psychology, the object-field is so complex,

(2) When somebody makes investigations in order to promote a theory which is

(c) The secondary level

The secondary level can be characterized as theory, that is, a structure of

Biology: What is life, the evolution of life?

In Maxwell’s electromagnetism the central concept of ‘ether’ concerned the

difference between determination and selection. Doubtless sociological determi-

(d) The tertiary level

(a) In a preceding section we sketched the necessary reduction which the

4oCf. Andkjaer Olsen and Kerppe (1988).

Much as we support the weak forces in question we see no reason to abandon