Michael Hannon

This paper defends the Irresolvability Thesis, which holds that many of the most important philosophical questions are irresolvable. I argue that philosophy’s lack of convergence on truth is not a contingent or temporary feature, but a structural consequence of the kinds of questions it addresses. I then examine why philosophical problems resist resolution, highlighting the influence of verbal disputes, defective questions, and value conflict. Finally, I consider the value of philosophy in light of its irresolvability and argue that its worth does not depend on delivering conclusive answers.

Why do philosophers keep debating the same big questions—about free will, morality, knowledge, and political authority—without ever settling them? This piece explores several possible answers. Maybe philosophy makes progress by spinning off answerable questions into the sciences. Maybe some problems are just too hard for minds like ours. Or maybe the trouble lies in language: our concepts are vague, our disagreements often verbal, or the questions themselves may be confused. I also consider how differences in values, temperament, and life experience shape what philosophers find persuasive. In the end, I suggest that philosophy's value doesn’t lie in delivering final answers, but in helping us clarify our assumptions, explore alternatives, and better understand the questions that matter most, even when we can’t resolve them.

This paper examines the claim that marginalized individuals possess unique epistemic advantages regarding oppression. Drawing on recent work in the epistemology of understanding, it challenges strong interpretations of the epistemic advantage thesis, which posit an unbridgeable epistemic gap between marginalized and privileged individuals. The paper also critiques recent calls for deference to marginalized groups, arguing that such deference may impede the development of moral understanding and threaten political solidarity. It concludes by reframing standpoint epistemology as a practice of intellectual and moral collaboration, founded on the mutual development of understanding.

This chapter explores an unappreciated psychological dimension of intellectual humility. In particular, I argue there is a plausible connection between intellectual humility and epistemic egocentrism. Epistemic egocentrism is a well-known cognitive bias – often called ‘the curse of knowledge’ – whereby an agent attributes his or her own mental states to other people. I hypothesize that an individual who exhibits this bias is more likely to possess a variety of traits that are characteristic of intellectual humility. This is surprising because intellectual humility is often regarded as an antidote to cognitive biases, whereas I claim that a particular cognitive bias (namely, the curse of knowledge) may help foster an intellectual virtue.

This study explores the relationship between perceptions of catastrophic events and beliefs about climate change. Using data from the 2023 Life in Transition Survey, the study finds that contrary to conventional wisdom, more accurate knowledge about past catastrophes is associated with lower concern about climate change. The paper proposes that heightened threat sensitivity may underlie both the tendency to overestimate disaster impacts and increased concern about climate change. The findings challenge the assumption that a more informed citizenry necessarily leads to better climate policy decisions. Instead, they suggest that psychological factors, like anxiety and risk perception, play crucial roles in shaping climate attitudes. Illuminating these dynamics can help societies to foster a more nuanced and constructive public dialogue about the urgent challenges facing our planet and our species.

This paper aims to solve a puzzle for instrumental conceptions of epistemic normativity. The puzzle is this: if the usefulness of epistemic norms explains their normative grip on us, why does it seem improper to violate these norms even when doing so would benefit us? To solve this puzzle, we argue that epistemic instrumentalists must adopt a more social approach to normativity. In particular, they should not account for the nature of epistemic normativity by appealing to the goals of individual agents. Rather, they should appeal to norms or rules of inquiry that serve our collective goals. We argue that epistemic normativity grows out of our need to promote a deep kind of coordination in our basic epistemic practices. By subscribing to an appropriate system of norms, we can coordinate epistemic rule-following across the community. This makes testimony more trustworthy and reliable. This account not only solves a puzzle about epistemic instrumentalism but also sheds new light on the foundations of normativity and emphasizes the need for a truly social epistemology.

This article summarizes the key ideas in my book, ‘What's the Point of Knowledge?’. First, I articulate the method of function first epistemology, which looks at our epistemology from a practical point of view. Second, I outline my core hypothesis about the purpose of the concept of knowledge, namely, we have this concept to identify reliable informants. Third, I explain how this account is used to resolve a number of epistemological issues. I also draw connections between pragmatism and my own theory of knowledge.

New research suggests that a healthy democracy requires intellectual humility. When citizens are intellectually humble, they are less polarized, more tolerant and respectful of others, and display greater empathy for political opponents. But a flourishing democracy also requires people with political convictions. If the electorate were apathetic, they would not participate in democratic decision-making. Do these two democratic ideals conflict? The standard view in philosophy and psychology is that intellectual humility and political conviction are compatible. In this paper, we challenge the standard view. We appeal to empirical and theoretical work indicating that intellectual humility can result in political apathy or lack of conviction. We conclude by suggesting that there are different varieties of intellectual humility, some aligned with conviction and engagement, and others of a more quietist character. To illustrate this, we sketch a kind of ‘political quietism’ modelled by philosophical thinkers such as Burke and Oakeshott.

A prevalent political narrative is that we are facing an epistemological crisis, where many citizens no longer care about truth and facts. Yet the view that we are living in a post-truth era relies on some implicit questionable empirical and normative assumptions. The post-truth rhetoric converts epistemic issues into motivational issues, treating people with whom we disagree as if they no longer believe in or care about truth. This narrative is also dubious on epistemic, moral, and political grounds. It is epistemically dubious in being largely insensitive to the problem of complexity in politics; it is morally dubious because “post-truth” is often a derogatory label for individuals or groups that are deemed stupid, irrational, or morally compromised; and it is a politically toxic neologism because it purports to use the language of ‘truth’ as a weapon against power, yet these truth-claims are often themselves attempts to exert power over others by delegitimizing their perspectives. While it may seem as if truth and democracy are on especially bad terms lately, politics and truth have long had a vexed relationship, and moral panics about the value of truthfulness in politics are as old as politics itself.

In "Why It's OK to Speak Your Mind," Hrishikesh Joshi argues that the open exchange of ideas is essential for the flourishing of individuals and society. He provides two arguments for this claim. First, speaking your mind is essential for the common good: we enhance our collective ability to reach the truth if we share evidence and offer different perspectives. Second, speaking your mind is good for your own sake: it is necessary to develop your rational faculties and exercise intellectual independence, both of which are essential for living a good life. In this paper, I consider the implications of Joshi’s argument and raise several objections to his view.

Philosophy is a discipline of grand abstractions. Truth, justice, knowledge, goodness, democracy, beauty, freedom, and other venerable ideas have been at the center of philosophical inquiry at least since Socrates. To understand the nature of these things, philosophers have traditionally asked questions of the form ‘What is X?’. What is truth? What is justice? What is knowledge? These are familiar questions. Yet, these questions have proven to be vexing. After more than 2500 years of reflection, there has yet to emerge consensus on what truth, knowledge, or justice are. Perhaps we are asking the wrong questions. Instead of asking ‘What is truth?’ or ‘What is justice?’’, it might be more fruitful to ask why we’ve come to think in these terms. What role do these ideas play in human life? What is the point of thinking in terms of these grand abstractions? If we lacked these concepts, what else would we lose?

It is widely believed that open and public speech is at the heart of the democratic ideal. Public discourse is instrumentally epistemically valuable for identifying good policies, as well as necessary for resisting domination (e.g., by vocally challenging decision-makers, demanding public justifications, and using democratic speech to hold leaders accountable). But in our highly polarized and socially fragmented political environment, an increasingly pressing question is: do actual democratic societies live up to the ideal of inclusive public speech? In this essay, I explore Maxime Lepoutre's defence of discursive democracy from the challenge of defective public discourse. I argue that political ignorance, dogmatism, and social fragmentation present more formidable challenges to discursive democracy than Lepoutre acknowledges. As a result, his account occasionally veers from warranted optimism to unwarranted idealism.

I acquired many intellectual debts while writing What’s the Point of Knowledge?, but I am especially indebted to my three symposiasts. David Henderson’s work helped me to appreciate the value of thinking about the point of epistemic evaluation; Catherine Elgin’s writings prompted me to investigate the purpose of the concept of understanding; and Krista Lawlor’s 2013 book revealed important connections between three of my primary epistemological interests: the role of epistemic evaluation, the semantics of knowledge claims and the work of J.L. Austin. It is therefore an honour to have such personally influential scholars engage with my work. Their thoughtful, generous and philosophically rich comments have provided yet another opportunity to clarify my thinking and develop some ideas further.

What is the primary intellectual aim of philosophy? The standard view is that philosophy aims to provide true answers to philosophical questions. But if our aim is to settle controversy by answering such questions, our discipline is an embarrassing failure. Moreover, taking philosophy to aim at providing true answers to these questions leads to a variety of puzzles: How do we account for philosophical expertise? How is philosophical progress possible? Why do job search committees not care about the truth or falsity of a candidate’s philosophical views? We argue that philosophy does not aim at discovering true answers to philosophical questions. Instead, its primary intellectual aim is understanding. We argue that many familiar aspects of philosophy become intelligible once we accept this hypothesis.

I acquired many intellectual debts while writing What’s the Point of Knowledge?, but I am especially indebted to my three symposiasts. David Henderson’s work helped me to appreciate the value of thinking about the point of epistemic evaluation; Catherine Elgin’s writings prompted me to investigate the purpose of the concept of understanding; and Krista Lawlor’s 2013 book revealed important connections between three of my primary epistemological interests: the role of epistemic evaluation, the semantics of knowledge claims and the work of J.L. Austin. It is therefore an honour to have such personally influential scholars engage with my work. Their thoughtful, generous and philosophically rich comments have provided yet another opportunity to clarify my thinking and develop some ideas further.

It is widely believed that democracies require knowledgeable citizens to function well. But the most politically knowledgeable individuals also tend to be the most partisan, and the strength of partisan identity tends to corrupt political thinking. This creates a conundrum. On the one hand, an informed citizenry is allegedly necessary for a democracy to flourish. On the other hand, the most knowledgeable and passionate voters are also the most likely to think in corrupted, biased ways. What to do? This paper examines this tension and draws out several lessons. First, it is not obvious that more knowledgeable voters will make better political decisions. Second, attempts to remedy voter ignorance are problematic because partisans tend to become more polarized when they acquire more information. Third, solutions to citizen incompetence must focus on the intellectual virtue of objectivity. Fourth, some forms of epistocracy are troubling, in part, because they would increase the political power of the most dogmatic and biased individuals. Fifth, a highly restrictive form of epistocracy may escape the problem of political dogmatism, but epistocrats may face a steeper tradeoff between inclusivity and epistemic virtue than many would like.

An intuitive and widely accepted view is that (a) beliefs aim at truth, (b) many citizens have stable and meaningful political beliefs, and (c) citizens choose to support political candidates or parties on the basis of their political beliefs. We argue that all three claims are false. First, we argue that political beliefs often differ from ordinary world-modelling beliefs because they do not aim at truth. Second, we draw on empirical evidence from political science and psychology to argue that most people lack stable and meaningful political beliefs. Third, we claim that the true psychological basis for voting behavior is not an individual’s political beliefs but rather group identity. Along the way, we reflect on what this means for normative democratic theory.

As current events around the world have illustrated, epistemological issues are at the center of our political lives. It has become increasingly difficult to discern legitimate sources of evidence, misinformation spreads faster than ever, and the role of truth in politics has allegedly decayed in recent years. It is therefore no coincidence that political discourse is currently saturated with epistemic notions like ‘post-truth,’ ‘fake news,’ ‘truth decay,’ ‘echo chambers,’ and ‘alternative facts.’ This book brings together leading philosophers to explore ways in which the analytic and conceptual tools of epistemology bear on political philosophy, and vice versa. It is organized around three broad themes: truth and knowledge in politics; epistemic problems for democracy; and disagreement and polarization. The authors provide new and rich insights on topics such as: propaganda, fake news, weaponized skepticism, belief polarization, political disagreement, the epistemic value of democracy, voter ignorance, irrationality in politics, political bullshit, and identity politics.

A striking feature of political discourse is how prone we are to disagree. Political opponents will even give different answers to factual questions, which suggests that opposing parties cannot agree on facts any more than they can on values. This impression is widespread and supported by survey data. I will argue, however, that the extent and depth of political disagreement is largely overstated. Many political disagreements are merely illusory. This claim has several important upshots. I will explore the implications of this idea for theories about voter misinformation, motivated reasoning, public reason liberalism, deliberative democracy, and a number of other issues.