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Author Information: Fabien Medvecky, University of Otago, fabien.medvecky@otago.ac.nz.

Medvecky, Fabien. “Institutionalised Science Communication and Epistemic Injustice.” Social Epistemology Review and Reply Collective 8, no. 2 (2019): 15-20.

The pdf of the article gives specific page references. Shortlink: https://wp.me/p1Bfg0-46m

A graffiti mural that was, and may even still be, on Maybachufer Strasse in Kreuzberg, Berlin.
Image by Igal Malis via Flicker / Creative Commons

 

This article responds to Matheson, Jonathan, and Valerie Joly Chock. “Science Communication and Epistemic Injustice.” Social Epistemology Review and Reply Collective 8, no. 1 (2019): 1-9.

In a recent paper, I argued that science communication, the “umbrella term for the research into and the practice of increasing public understanding of and public engagement with science”, is epistemically unjust (Medvecky, 2017). Matheson and Chock disagree. Or at least, they disagree with enough of the argument to conclude that “while thought provoking and bold, Medvecky’s argument should be resisted” (Matheson & Chock, 2019). This has provided me with an opportunity to revisit some of my claims, and more importantly, to make explicit those claims that I had failed to make clear and present in the original paper. That’s what this note will do.

Matheson and Chock’s concern with the original argument is two-fold. Firstly, they argue that the original argument sinned by overreaching, and secondly, that while there might be credibility excess, such excess should not be viewed as constituting injustice. I’ll begin by outlining my original argument before tackling each of their complaints.

The Original Argument For the Epistemic Injustice of Science Communication

Taking Matheson and Chock’s formal presentation of the original argument, it runs as follows:

1. Science is not a unique and privileged field (this isn’t quite right. See below for clarification)

2. If (1), then science communication creates a credibility excess for science.

3. Science communication creates a credibility excess for science.

4. If (3), then science communication is epistemically unjust.

5. Science communication is epistemically unjust.

The original argument claimed that science was privileged in the way that its communication is institutionalised through policy and practices in a way not granted to other fields, and that fundamentally,

While there are many well-argued reasons for communicating, popularizing, and engaging with science, these are not necessarily reasons for communicating, popularizing, and engaging only with science. Focusing and funding only the communication of science as reliable knowledge represents science as a unique and privileged field; as the only reliable field whose knowledge requires such specialized treatment. This uniqueness creates a credibility excess for science as a field. (italic added)

Two clarificatory points are important here. Firstly, while Matheson and Chock run with premise 1, they do express some reservation. And so would I if this were the way I’d spelled it out. But I never suggested that there is nothing unique about science. There undoubtedly is, usually expressed in terms of producing especially reliable knowledge (Nowotny, 2003; Rudolph, 2014).

My original argument was that this isn’t necessarily enough to warrant special treatment when it comes to communication. As I stated then, “What we need is a reason for why reliable knowledge ought to be communicated. Why would some highly reliable information about the reproductive habits of a squid be more important to communicate to the public than (possibly less reliable) information about the structure of interest rates or the cultural habits of Sufis?” (Italic added)

In the original paper, I explicitly claimed, “We might be able to show that science is unique, but that uniqueness does not relate to communicative needs. Conversely, we can provide reasons for communicating science, but these are not unique to science.” (Medvecky, 2017)

Secondly, as noted by Matheson and Chock, the concern in the original argument revolves around “institutionalized science communication; institutionalized in government policies on the public understanding of and public engagement with the sciences; in the growing numbers of academic journals and departments committed to further the enterprise through research and teaching; in requirements set by funding bodies; and in the growing numbers of associations clustering under the umbrella of science communication across the globe.”

What maybe wasn’t made explicit was the role and importance of this institutionalization which is directed by government strategies and associated funding policies. Such policies are designed specifically and uniquely to increase public communication of and public engagement with science (MBIE, 2014).

They may mention that science should be read broadly, such as the UK’s A vision for Science and Society (DIUS, 2008) which states “By science we mean all-encompassing knowledge based on scholarship and research undertaken in the physical, biological, engineering, medical, natural and social disciplines, including the arts and humanities”. Yet the policy also claims that “These activities will deliver a coherent approach to increasing STEM skills, with a focus on improved understanding of the link between labour market needs and business demands for STEM skills and the ability of the education system to deliver flexibly into the 21st century.”

STEM (science, technology, engineering and mathematics) is explicitly not a broad view of science; it’s specifically restricted to the bio-physical science and associated fields. If science was truly meant broadly, there’d be no need to specify STEM. These policies, including their funding and support, are uniquely aimed at science as found in STEM, and it is this form of institutionalized and institutionally sponsored science communication that is the target of my argument.

With these two points in mind, let me turn to Matheson and Chock’s objections.

The Problem of Overreaching and the Marketplace of Ideas

Matheson and Chock rightly spell out my view when stating that the “fundamental concern is that science communication represents scientific questions and knowledge as more valuable than questions and knowledge in other domains.” What they mistake is what I take issue with. Matheson and Chock claim, “When it comes to scientific matters, we should trust the scientists more. So, the claim cannot be that non-scientists should be afforded the same amount of credibility on scientific matters as scientists”. Of course, who wouldn’t agree with that!

For Matheson and Chock, given their assumption that science communication is equivalent to scientists communicating their science, it follows that it is only reasonable to give special attention to the subject or field one is involved in. As they say,

Suppose that a bakery only sells and distributes baked goods. If there is nothing unique and privileged about baked goods – if there are other equally important goods out there (the parallel of premise (1)) – then Medvecky’s reasoning would have it that the bakery is guilty of a kind of injustice by virtue of not being in the business of distributing those other (equally valuable) goods.

But they’re mistakenly equating science communication with communication by scientists about their science. This suggests both a misunderstanding of my argument and a skewed view of what science communication is.

To tackle the latter first, while some science communication efforts come from scientists, science communication is much broader. Science communication is equally carried out by (non-scientist) journalists, (non-scientist) PR and communication officers, (non-scientist) policy makers, etc. Indeed, some of the most popular science communicators aren’t scientists at all, such as Bill Bryson. So the concern is not with the bakery privileging baked goods, it’s with baked goods being privileged simpliciter.

As discussed in both my original argument and in Matheson and Chock’s reply, my concern revolves around science communication institutionalized through policies and such like. And that’s where the issue is; there is institutionalised science communication, including policy with significant funding such that there can be specific communication, and that such policies exist only for the sciences. Indeed, there are no “humanities communications” governmental policies or funding strategies, for example. Science communication, unlike Matheson and Chock’s idealised bakery, doesn’t operate in anything like a free market.

Let’s take the bakery analogy and its position it in a marketplace a little further (indeed, thinking of science communication and where it sits in the market place of knowledge fits well). My argument is not that a bakery is being unjust by selling only baked goods.

My argument is that if bakeries were the only stores to receive government subsidies and tax breaks, and were, through governments and institutional intervention, granted a significantly better position in the street, then yes, this is unfair. Other goods will fail to have the same level of traction as baked goods and would be unable to compete on a just footing. This is not to say that the bakeries need to sell other goods, but rather, by benefiting from the unique subsidies, baked goods gain a marketplace advantage over goods in other domains, in the same way that scientific knowledge benefits from a credibility excess (ie epistemic marketplace advantage) over knowledge in other domains.

Credibility Excess and Systemic Injustices

The second main objection raised by Matheson and Chock turns on whether any credibility excess science might acquire in this way should be considered an injustice. They rightly point out that “mere epistemic errors in credibility assessments, however, do not create epistemic injustice. While a credibility excess may result in an epistemic harm, whether this is a case of epistemic injustice depends upon the reason why that credibility excess is given.”

Specifically, Matheson and Chock argue that for credibility excess to lead to injustice, this must be systemic and carry across contexts. And according to them, science communication is guilty of no such trespass (or, at the very least, my original argument fails to make the case for such).

Again, I think this comes down to how science communication is viewed. Thinking of science communication in institutionalised ways, as I intended, is indeed systemic. What Matheson and Chock have made clear is that in my original argument, I didn’t articulate clearly enough just how deeply the institutionalisation of science communication is, and how fundamentally linked with assumptions of the epistemic dominance of science this institutionalisation is. I’ll take this opportunity to provide some example of this.

Most obviously, there are nationally funded policies that aim “to develop a culture where the sciences are recognised as relevant to everyday life and where the government, business, and academic and public institutions work together with the sciences to provide a coherent approach to communicating science and its benefits”; policies backed by multi-million dollar investments from governments (DIISRTE, 2009).

Importantly, there are no equivalent for other fields. Yes, there are funds for other fields (funds for research, funds for art, etc), but not funds specifically for communicating these or disseminating their findings. And, there are other markers of the systemic advantages science holds over other fields.

On a very practical, pecuniary level, funding for research is rarely on a playing field. In New Zealand, for example, the government’s Research Degree Completion Funding allocates funds to departments upon students’ successfully completing their thesis. This scheme grants twice as much to the sciences as it does to the social sciences, humanities, and law (Commission, 2016).

In practice, this means a biology department supervising a PhD thesis on citizen science in conservation would, on thesis completion, receive twice the fund that a sociology department supervising the very same thesis would receive. And this simply because one field delivers knowledge under the tag of science, while the other under the banner of the humanities.

At a political level the dominance of scientific knowledge is also evident. While most countries have a Science Advisor to the President or Chief Science Advisor to the Prime Minister, there are no equivalent “Chief Humanities Advisor”. And the list of discrepancies goes on, with institutionalised science communication a key player. Of course, for each of these examples of where science and scientific knowledge benefits over other fields, some argument could be made for why this or that case does indeed require that science be treated differently.

But this is exactly why the credibility excess science benefits from is epistemically unjust; because it’s not simply ‘a case here to be explained’ and ‘a case there to be explained’. It’s systemic and carries across context. And science communication, by being the only institutionalised communication of a specific knowledge field, maintains, amplifies, and reinforces this epistemic injustice.

Conclusion

When I argued that science communication was epistemically unjust, my claim was directed at institutionalised science communication, with all its trimmings. I’m grateful to Matheson and Chock for inviting to re-read my original paper and see where I may have failed to be clear, and to think more deeply about what motivated my thinking.

I want to close on one last point Matheson and Chock brought up. They claimed that it would be unreasonable to expect science communicators to communicate other fields. This was partially in response to my original paper where I did suggest that we should move beyond science communication to something like ‘knowledge communication’ (though I’m not sure exactly what that term should be, and I’m not convince ‘knowledge communication’ is ideal either).

Here, I agree with Matheson and Chock that it would be silly to expect those with expertise in science to be obliged to communicate more broadly about fields beyond their expertise (though some of them do). The obvious answer might be to have multiple branches of communication institutionalised and equally supported by government funding, by advisors, etc: science communication; humanities communication; arts communication; etc. And I did consider this in the original paper.

But the stumbling block is scarce resources, both financially and epistemically. Financially, there is a limit to how much governments would be willing to fund for such activates, so having multiple branches of communication would become a deeply political ‘pot-splitting’ issue, and there, the level of injustice might be even more explicit. Epistemically, there is only so much knowledge that we, humans, can process. Simply multiplying the communication of knowledge for the sake of justice (or whatever it is that ‘science communication’ aims to communicate) may not, in the end, be particularly useful without some concerted and coordinate view as to what the purpose of all this communication was.

In light of this, there is an important question for us in social epistemology: as a society funding and participating in knowledge-distribution, which knowledge should we focus our ‘public-making’ and communication efforts on, and why? Institutionalised science communication initiatives assume that scientific knowledge should hold a special, privileged place in public communication. Perhaps this is right, but not simply on the grounds that “science is more reliable”. There needs to be a better reason. Without one, it’s simply unjust.

Contact details: fabien.medvecky@otago.ac.nz

References

Commission, T. T. E. (2016). Performance-Based Research Fund (PBRF) User Manual. Wellington, New Zealand: Tertiary Education Commission.

DIISRTE. (2009). Inspiring Australia: A national strategy for engagement with the sciences.  Canberra: Commonwealth of Australia.

DIUS. (2008). A vision for Science and Society: A consultation on developing a new strategy for the UK: Department for Innovation, Universities, and Skills London.

Matheson, J., & Chock, V. J. (2019). Science Communication and Epistemic Injustice. SERRC, 8(1).

MBIE. (2014). A Nation of Curious Minds: A national strategic plan for science in society.  Wellington: New Zealand Government.

Medvecky, F. (2017). Fairness in Knowing: Science Communication and Epistemic Justice. Science and engineering ethics. doi: 10.1007/s11948-017-9977-0

Nowotny, H. (2003). Democratising expertise and socially robust knowledge. Science and Public Policy, 30(3), 151-156. doi: 10.3152/147154303781780461

Rudolph, J. L. (2014). Why Understanding Science Matters:The IES Research Guidelines as a Case in Point. Educational Researcher, 43(1), 15-18. doi: 10.3102/0013189×13520292

Author information: Jeroen Van Bouwel, Ghent University, Belgium, jeroen.vanbouwel@ugent.be; Michiel Van Oudheusden, SKC-CEN Belgian Nuclear Research Centre and University of Leuven, Belgium.

Van Bouwel, Jeroen and and Michiel Van Oudheusden. “Beyond Consensus? A Reply to Alan Irwin.” Social Epistemology Review and Reply Collective 6, no. 10 (2017): 48-53.

The pdf of the article includes specific page numbers. Shortlink: http://wp.me/p1Bfg0-3Pq

Please refer to:

Image from Alex Brown via Flickr

 

We are grateful to Alan Irwin for his constructive response, “Agreeing to Differ?” to our paper and, notwithstanding differences between his view and ours, we agree with many of his comments. In this short rejoinder, we zoom in on the three main issues Irwin raises. We also use this opportunity to highlight and further develop some of our ideas.

The three issues Irwin brings up are:

How to understand consensus? Rather than, or along with, a thin ‘Anglo-Saxon’ sense of consensus as mutual agreement, one could adopt a thick conception of consensus, implying “faith in the common good and commitment to building a shared culture” (Irwin 2017). The thick sense (as enacted in Danish culture) suggests that disagreement is an integral part of consensus. Therefore, we would do well to pay more attention to conflict handling and disagreement within consensus-oriented discourse.

Why are so many public participation activities consensus-driven? We should question the institutional and political contexts within which consensus-seeking arises and how these contexts urge us to turn away from conflict and disagreement. And, why do public participation activities persist at all, given all the criticism they receive from various sides?

Should we not value the art of closure, of finding ways to make agreements, particularly in view of the dire state of world politics today?

These are legitimate questions and concerns, and Irwin is right to point them out. However, we believe some of the concepts discussed in our paper are helpful in addressing them. Let us start with the first issue Irwin raises, which we will link to the concept of meta-consensus.

Meta-Consensus

It is indeed helpful to draw a distinction between the thinner Anglo-Saxon sense of consensus and the thicker sense of consensus as faith in the common good, as Irwin suggests. In the latter sense, disagreement and dissensus can be seen as part of the consensus. We fully agree with Irwin that consensus and dissensus should be thought together rather than presented only in terms of contradiction and opposition. This is why we analytically distinguish a (simple) consensus from a meta-consensus.

As we sketch in our article, at the simple level, we might encounter disagreement and value pluralism, whereas at the meta-level, the meta-consensus provides a common ground for participation by explicitly or implicitly laying out the rules of engagement, the collective ways to handle conflict, and how to close or disclose discussion. The meta-consensus also impinges on the scope of issues that is opened to discussion, who may or may not participate, the stopping rules, the structure of interaction, and the rationales and procedures that guide participation in general.

We have sought to put this meta-consensus center stage by comparing and contrasting how it is enacted in, or through, two participation cases (participatory TA and the NIH consensus conference). In this way, we seek to give due attention to the common ground that enables and constrains consensus and dissensus formation, and to different institutional designs impinging on participation, without insisting on the necessity of a simple consensus or the need for closure.

Drawing attention to the meta-consensus that governs participation may help to facilitate more reflexive modes of engagement that can be opened to joint discussion rather than imposed on participants. It should also help participants to better understand when and why they are in disagreement and determine courses of action when this is the case. As such, it may contribute to “building a shared culture” by facilitating and by establishing a shared adhesion to the principles of inclusion, mutual listening, and respect (cf. Horst and Irwin 2010; Irwin 2017). However, we believe it is equally important to emphasize that there is always the possibility of dissensus, irreconciliation, and further conflict.

As we see it, entertaining this possibility is an important prerequisite or condition for genuine participation, as it creates an open and contested space in which participants can think, and engage, as adversaries. Thus, we concur with Irwin that consensus and dissensus both have a place in public participatory exercises (and in the public sphere more generally). However, when we are faced with a choice between them (as with fundamental disputes, such as those over abortion or human enhancement), we must carefully consider how, whether, and why we seek (dis)agreement. This is not to argue against consensus-seeking, but to insist on the importance of constructing and sustaining an agonistic, contestable order within participation.

Different Democratic Models of Participation

Irwin appropriately proposes to reflect more on the institutional and political contexts in which participation is organized. The question why we aim for consensus in public participation activities, as well as the broader question of why public participation activities persist at all, do indeed deserve more attention. We have not addressed these questions in our paper, but we do think being more explicit about the aims of participation is an integral part of the approach that we are advocating. In order to discuss and choose among the different democratic models of participation (aggregative, deliberative, participatory, and agonistic), it is imperative that we understand their political, economic, and social purposes or roles and make these explicit.

Similarly, we may ask how the models serve different aims within specific institutional and political contexts. Here, the notion of political culture springs to mind, as in our region (Flanders) and country (Belgium), conflicts and divisions between groups are often managed through social concertation between trade unions, employers’ organizations, and governments. This collective bargaining approach both challenges and complements more participatory modes of decision making (Van Oudheusden et al. 2015). As mentioned earlier, we do not consider this issue in our paper but it is well worthy of further reflection and consideration.

Irwin also wonders whether policy makers might think our concepts and models of participation miss the point as many of them see it. It is an interesting question (we wonder whether Irwin has any particular cases in mind), but one thing we can do is to insist that there is no one-size-fits-all approach to participation. Different options are available, as each participation model has strengths and weaknesses. It seems important to us to attend to these strengths and weaknesses, as the models designate roles and responsibilities (e.g. by specifying who is included in participation and how), foresee how the collective should interact and indicate what kinds of results may ensue from participatory practice. By juxtaposing them, we get a better picture of how problems, contexts, and challenges are framed and handled differently within each participatory setting. As making trade-offs between approaches is at the heart of policymaking, we invite policy makers (and decision makers more broadly) to explore these settings with us, and carefully consider how they embed multiple social and techno-scientific values and orientations.

Disclosure

As Irwin rightly notes in his reply, we do not propose one final alternative to existing practice but entertain the possibility of mobilizing more than one model of democracy in participation. This implies that we also allow for a consensual approach when it is warranted. However, in developing ideals that contrast with consensus, we open onto disclosure and a more agonistic appraisal of participation, thereby abandoning the ideal, and appeal, of final closure. In response to this move, Irwin wonders whether we should not value the art of closure, especially in these times. While we agree on the dire state of world politics, we are not convinced that replacing closure by disclosure would aggravate the present situation. Perhaps the contrary is true. What if the quest for consensus brought us to this situation in the first place?

As the political theorist Chantal Mouffe argues, in a world of consensual politics (also characterized as neoliberal, de-politicized or post-political, or in Mouffe’s words as a “politics of the center”), many voters turn to populists to voice their dissatisfaction (Mouffe 2005: 228). Populists build on this dissatisfaction, publicly presenting themselves as the only real alternative to the status quo. Thus, consensual politics contributes to hardening the opposition between those who are in (the establishment) and those who are out (the outsiders). In this antagonistic relation, the insiders carry the blame for the present state of affairs.

This tension is exacerbated through the blurring of the boundaries between the political left and right, as conflicts can no longer be expressed through the traditional democratic channels hitherto provided by party politics. Thus, well-intentioned attempts by “Third Way” thinkers, among others, to transcend left/right oppositions eventually give rise to antagonism, with populists (and other outsiders) denouncing the search for common ground. Instead, these outsiders seek to conquer more ground, to annex or colonize, typically at the expense of others.

Whether one agrees with Mouffe’s analysis of recent political developments or not, it is instructive to consider her vision of radical, agonistic (rather than antagonistic) politics. Contrary to antagonists, agonistic pluralists do seek some form of common ground; albeit a contested one that is negotiated politically. In this way, agonists “domesticate” antagonism, so that opposing parties confront each other as adversaries who respect the right to differ, rather than as enemies who seek to obliterate one another. Thus, an agonistic democracy enables a confrontation among adversaries – for instance, among liberal-conservative, social-democratic, neo-liberal and radical-democratic factions. A common ground (or meta-consensus) is established between these adversaries through party identification around clearly differentiated positions and by offering citizens a choice between political alternatives.

To reiterate, antagonistic democracy is characterised by the lack of a shared contested symbolic space (in other words, a meta-consensus) and the lack of agonistic channels through which grievances can be legitimately expressed. This lack emerges when there is too much consensus and consensus-seeking, as is arguably now the case in many (but not all) Western democracies. We therefore need to be explicit about the many aspects and different possible democratic models of participation. Rather than emphasize the need for more consensus and for closure, we would do well to engage with the notions of dissensus and disclosure.

This, in our mind, seems to be a more fruitful venue to sort out various political problems in the long run than attaching to the ideal of consensus and consensus-seeking. Disclosure keeps the channels open. It is a form of opening joint discussion on the various models of participation, not with the aim of inciting endless debate but of making the most of them by reflectively probing their strengths and weaknesses in specific situations and contexts. Rather than aiming for closure beyond plurality, it urges us to articulate what is at stake, for whom, and why, and what types of learning emerge in and through participation. It should also increase our understanding of what “game” – participatory model – we are enacting.

Beyond Consensus?

At the end of his response, Irwin raises the very pertinent question as to whether we need more disclosure now around climate change. For Irwin, “certain consensual ideals seem more important” (Irwin 2017). There are many aspects to Irwin’s big question, but let us pick out a couple and start sketching an answer.

First, calling for a consensual approach or a consensus regarding climate change risks backfiring. A demand for consensus in science may lead to more doubt mongering (cf. Oreskes & Conway 2010), not so much because of disagreement among scientists, but due to external pressures from various lobby or pressure groups that gain from manufacturing controversy (e.g. industry players and environmental NGOs). A lack of scientific consensus (within a framework that emphasizes the importance of achieving a scientific consensus) might, in turn, be used by politicians to undercut or criticize science or policies based on scientific evidence and consensus. Even the slightest doubt about a claimed consensus may erode public trust in climate science and scientists, as was the case in 2009 with Climategate.

Second, the demand for consensus in science might also set too high expectations for scientists (neglecting constraints on all sides, such as lack of time, scientific pluralism, and so on) and suggest that dissent in science is a marker of science failing to deliver.

Third, granting too much importance to scientific consensus risks silencing legitimate dissent (e.g. controversial alternative theories), whereas dissent and controversies also drive science and innovation. (There are, as we all know, many important scientific discoveries, paradigms, and theories that were for a long time ignored or suppressed because they went against the prevailing consensus.)

We are thus led to say that seeking a consensus on climate change does not result in effective policies and policymaking. Taking to heart Irwin’s plea “to imagine the kinds of closure which might be fruitfully established,” we think it is important to ask if closure here necessarily unfolds with consensus seeking, and if so, how consensus is best understood. Finding ways to break the antagonism invoked by a (depoliticized) scientific consensus on climate change may ultimately be more fruitful to forge long-term durable solutions among particular groups of actors, something that might be done by publicly disclosing the divergent agendas, stakes, and power mechanisms at play in “climate change.” (A scientific consensus does not tell us what to do about climate change anyway.)

Seen in this way, and again drawing on Mouffe, an agonistic constellation might have to be put in place, where disclosure challenges, or even breaks, the sterile opposition between outsiders and insiders. This is because disclosure requires that insiders clearly distinguish and differentiate their policies from one another, which urges them to develop real alternatives to existing problems. Ideally, these alternatives would embed a diversity of values around climate change and engender solutions that make use of the best available science without threatening a group’s core values (cf. Bolsen, Druckman & Cook 2015).

To give some quick examples, a first example could center on reducing the amount of carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases by adjusting consumption patterns; a second could insist on private enterprise-driven geo-engineering to mitigate global warming and its effects (e.g. technology to deflect heat away from the earth’s surface); a third alternative on making cash from carbon by emission-trading systems; a fourth on moving to Mars, etc.

Whichever political options are decided on, we again emphasize the importance of questioning the rationales and processes of consensus-seeking, which to our mind, are too often taken for granted. Creating a more agonistic setting might change the current stalemate around climate change (and related wicked problems), by re-imagining the relationships between insider and outsider groups, by insisting that different alternatives are articulated and heard, and by publicly disclosing the divergent agendas, stakes, and power mechanisms in the construction of problems and their solutions.

Conclusion

Thanks in large part to Alan Irwin’s thoughtful and carefully written response to our article, we are led to reflect on, and develop, the concepts of meta-consensus, disclosure, and democratic models of participation. We are also led to question the ideals of consensus and dissensus, as well as the processes that drive and sustain them, and to find meaningful and productive ways to disclose our similarities and differences. By highlighting different models of democracy and how these models are enacted in participation, we want to encourage reflection upon the different implications of participatory consensus-seeking. We hope our article and our conversation with Irwin facilitates further reflection of this kind, to the benefit of participation scholars, practitioners, and decision makers.

References

Bolsen, Toby; James Druckman, and Fay Lomax Cook. “Citizens’, Scientists’ and Policy Advisors’ Beliefs about Global Warming.” Annals of the AAPSS 658 (2015): 271-295.

Horst, Maja; and Alan Irwin. “Nations at Ease with Radical Knowledge: on Consensus, Consensusing and False Consensusness.” Social Studies of Science 40, no. 1 (2010): 105-126.

Irwin, Alan. 2017. “Agreeing to Differ? A Response to Van Bouwel and Van Oudheusden.” Social Epistemology Review and Reply Collective 6, no. 10 (2017): 11-14.

Oreskes, Naomi and Erik Conway. 2010. Merchants of Doubt: How a Handful of Scientists Obscured the Truth on Issues from Tobacco Smoke to Global Warming. London: Bloomsbury Press.

Mouffe, Chantal. “The Limits of John Rawls’ Pluralism.” Politics, Philosophy and Economics 4, no. 2 (2005): 221-31.

Van Bouwel, Jeroen and Michiel Van Oudheusden. 2017. “Participation Beyond Consensus? Technology Assessments, Consensus Conferences and Democratic Modulation.” Social Epistemology 31(6): 497-513.

Van Oudheusden, Michiel, Charlier, Nathan, Rosskamp, Benedikt & Pierre Delvenne. 2015. “Broadening, Deepening, and Governing Innovation: Flemish Technology Assessment in Historical and Socio-Political Perspective.” Research Policy 44(10): 1877-1886.”

Author Information: Alexander Bird and James Ladyman, University of Bristol, plajb@bristol.ac.uk, James.Ladyman@bristol.ac.uk

Bird, Alexander and James Ladyman. 2013.“Free Inquiry: The Haldane Principle and the Significance of Scientific Research.” Social Epistemology Review and Reply Collective 2 (7) 14-22.

The PDF of the article gives specific page numbers. Shortlink: http://wp.me/p1Bfg0-Of

Please refer to: Yoshida, Kei. 2012. “Re-politicising Philosophy of Science: A Continuing Challenge for Social Epistemology.” Social Epistemology 26 (3-4): 365–378.

Introduction

What is the best way to organise science and how should it relate to the rest of society? Any answer to this question depends on a criterion of ‘best’? Best for the cognitive aims of science, the production of significant knowledge? Best for the production of economically and socially beneficial technology? Best by the lights of democratic engagement with important areas of social activity?

One might ask whether the question is even appropriate. Why should science and its relationship to society be managed at all? The question arises less naturally arise for religion, art, or sport. Perhaps, science should be allowed to develop its own relationship with the rest of society in an organic fashion, with minimal external management of that relationship. Yet science, it has long been recognised, is a significant social good. Society as a whole benefits from the promotion of knowledge, even when abstract and abstruse. Furthermore, science has the potential to do social and economic good — and harm. And in most countries, it is the recipient of large sums of public funding. So it is proper to ask how, in this case, the relationship should be managed. Continue Reading…