Do We Know Anything About Politics?

Political Humility in the Age of Polarization

Does anyone truly know anything about politics? We talk as if we do. We vote as if we do. We tweet, debate, and take to the streets as if we do. (We write Substack articles as if we do!) But beneath all this passion and certainty, how much of what we believe is built on solid ground?

In Political Humility: The Limits of Knowledge in Our Partisan Political Climate, Blake Roeber (a philosopher at the University of Notre Dame) argues that most of what we think we know about politics is not knowledge at all. “We have almost no political knowledge,” he claims. The reason is straightforward: our political beliefs are shaped almost entirely by testimony—information passed along by media, social networks, and partisan sources—that is often unreliable, biased, or misleading. What’s more, we rarely have the means to verify this information independently. This creates a pervasive illusion of knowledge, where confidence flourishes despite—and sometimes because of—ignorance.

In this post, I’ll take a closer look at Roeber’s argument for political humility and its implications for politics. While I agree with Roeber that our political confidence often exceeds our actual knowledge, I’m not convinced we should be as humble as he suggests.

On Political Ignorance

What kind of “political knowledge” does Roeber think we lack? We are not totally ignorant about politics, as Roeber is careful to note. We can know straightforward facts such as how many members of Congress there are or what a given party’s official policy platform is. However, we tend to lack knowledge of contested political issues, the kinds of questions that divide major parties and shape partisan debate. These include:

• Whether raising the minimum wage to $15 would help or hurt the economy.

• Whether stricter gun control laws reduce crime or make people less safe.

• Whether free trade agreements benefit the average worker or primarily enrich corporations.

• Whether higher taxes on the wealthy lead to economic growth through redistribution or stifle investment and job creation.

• Whether affirmative action policies improve long-term outcomes for marginalized groups or create unintended harms.

Why can’t most of us know the answers to these questions? Roeber gives two main arguments. First, political issues are incredibly complex, requiring expertise in economics, public policy, history, and social science—far beyond what any individual can assess independently. Second, political partisanship itself clouds our judgment. As Roeber puts it, “We are simply incapable of thinking straight about political issues.” Once an issue becomes polarized, we no longer approach it as an open question but rather as a test of ideological loyalty. Our political thinking is plagued by too many psychological biases, making genuine knowledge nearly impossible to attain.

(A third argument is worth mentioning. Several philosophers, including Sandy Goldberg, Richard Fumerton, and Hilary Kornblith, have argued that deep, systematic disagreement can prevent knowledge. For example, they argue that the widespread disagreement among philosophers makes it unreasonable for philosophers to claim they know their own views are correct. When a philosopher claims to know the right meta-ethical theory, the solution to free will, or the true nature of the mind-body relationship, they make a dubious assertion. If such disagreement undermines philosophical knowledge, wouldn’t it similarly undermine political knowledge? If so, then Roeber’s skepticism is merely a special case of this broader phenomenon. Instead of exposing a unique problem with political belief, it may simply illustrate an epistemic limitation common to many areas of contested inquiry.)

The Argument In a Nutshell

The central argument in Political Humility is admirably straightforward:

1. We get our political information from testimony. (Defended in Chapter 2.)

2. Political testimony is unreliable. (Defended in Chapter 3.)

3. Therefore, we have little political knowledge. (Defended in Chapter 4.)

On the basis of this argument, Roeber argues for a further conclusion, namely:

4. “We should hold very few political beliefs.”

In defense of premise 1, Roeber argues that nearly all of our political beliefs come from testimony rather than firsthand investigation. Political issues—such as whether raising the minimum wage reduces unemployment or whether climate policies effectively curb emissions—require specialized knowledge in economics, science, or geopolitics, none of which individuals can assess independently. As a result, we rely on news reports, expert analyses, conversations, and social media to form our beliefs. Even when we think we are reasoning for ourselves, we are usually synthesizing secondhand information. Crucially, Roeber emphasizes that this reliance on testimony is not just common but necessary. Given the vast scale of political knowledge, no one can verify all relevant facts firsthand.

In defense of premise 2, Roeber argues that political testimony is systematically unreliable due to bias, misinformation, and social pressures. Politicians, media outlets, and advocacy groups have strong incentives to frame issues in ways that serve their interests rather than present objective facts, leading to selective reporting, exaggeration, and outright falsehoods. Partisan identity further compounds the problem, as people tend to seek out and uncritically accept information that aligns with their preexisting beliefs while dismissing opposing viewpoints. Moreover, even when individuals are not intentionally deceptive, the complexity of political issues makes errors and oversimplifications inevitable.

This leads to the conclusion that “it is impossible for any person to know the answers to more than just a handful of political questions.” If nearly all of our political beliefs are based on testimony (premise 1), and political testimony is systematically unreliable (premise 2), then our political beliefs are built on an epistemically unstable foundation.

Don’t Stop Believin’

So far, Roeber’s argument shows that our political beliefs rarely count as knowledge. From this, he draws a further conclusion: If we lack political knowledge, we should hold very few political beliefs. His reasoning seems to be this:

1. We have little political knowledge.

2. If our political beliefs do not amount to knowledge, then we shouldn’t hold them.

3. Therefore, we should hold very few political beliefs.

This argument may look plausible. If we don’t have knowledge about something, it seems reasonable to be cautious about forming strong opinions. In many areas of life, we recognize that lacking knowledge is a good reason to withhold belief: If we don’t know much about astrophysics, we wouldn’t confidently assert which model of dark matter is correct; if we lack medical expertise, we wouldn’t insist on a particular diagnosis over a trained doctor’s assessment. If political beliefs are similarly lacking in knowledge, then perhaps we should treat them with the same level of skepticism.

But does this argument hold up? I’ll suggest two ways to defend the idea that we can justifiably hold onto our political beliefs, even if Roeber is right that we lack political knowledge.

First, even if our political beliefs do not amount to knowledge, they may be justified to varying degrees. In everyday life, we routinely hold beliefs that don’t reach the level of knowledge, yet these beliefs remain reasonable, rational, and justified. For example, I believe moral realism is false after carefully weighing the arguments on both sides, but I wouldn’t claim to know that moral realism is false. Similarly, I believe that external world skepticism is false (and have provided arguments for that claim here), but I wouldn’t claim to know that skepticism is false. Still, it seems a stretch to say these beliefs are unjustified, as I have thoroughly examined the arguments.

If we interpret Roeber as only arguing that we lack knowledge, then his conclusion—that “we should hold very few political beliefs”—might be too strong. We can justifiably hold political beliefs even while recognizing that they do not meet the highest epistemic standard. What matters is whether those beliefs are responsibly formed, based on the evidence, and held with the appropriate degree of confidence. If so, then it’s perfectly appropriate to have political beliefs, as long as we remain aware of their epistemic limitations and avoid mistaking them for certain knowledge. This aligns with Roeber’s observation that people are often too confident in their political beliefs. Even when political beliefs are justified, people’s confidence in them typically exceeds their actual justification.

However, Roeber could be making a stronger claim: not only do we lack political knowledge, but we also lack justification for most of our political beliefs. This position makes his argument more forceful. The reasoning would go as follows:

1. We have little justification for our political beliefs.

2. If a belief lacks justification, we should not hold it.

3. Therefore, we should hold very few political beliefs.

This represents a more radical form of skepticism—one that denies not just knowledge but even the weaker epistemic standing of justification. (Hilary Kornblith calls it “full-blooded skepticism.”) Does Roeber endorse this radical view?

In the final section of his book, it seems he does. Roeber examines leading theories in epistemology and concludes: “With very few exceptions, epistemologists can plug the details of the actual formation and maintenance of our political beliefs into whatever theory they like, turn the crank on that theory, and get the verdict that our political beliefs are typically unjustified and/or typically fall short of knowledge.”

To illustrate, consider reliabilist theories of justification, which hold that a belief is justified only if formed through a process that reliably tracks the truth. (This view is popular in epistemology.) Roeber argues that our political beliefs fail this test because they are shaped by unreliable mechanisms—biased media, partisan narratives, social pressures, and cognitive biases like confirmation bias and motivated reasoning. Since these processes distort rather than track the truth, our political beliefs, even when true, are unjustified. Moreover, since most people lack the expertise to independently verify political claims, they have no reliable way to correct these distortions. Thus, on a reliabilist view, the vast majority of our political beliefs are not just unknown but also epistemically unjustified.

The Point of Political Belief

However, this brings me to the second reason why Roeber’s argument may not require people to abandon their political beliefs. While our political beliefs may not always be epistemically justified, they can still serve important social, psychological, and practical functions. Unlike scientific beliefs, which aim primarily at truth-tracking, political beliefs often serve non-epistemic goals—fostering social cohesion, signaling group identity, and reinforcing moral commitments. For many, political beliefs are deeply tied to personal values and community belonging, shaping how they relate to others and engage with the world.

In other words, political beliefs can function as social commitments rather than as attempts to model the world accurately. As fellow substacker Dan Williams has argued, many poorly justified political beliefs can be highly socially adaptive. This helps explain why deeply held political beliefs often appear unresponsive to evidence: they are shaped more by identity, group loyalty, and emotion than by detached reasoning. Paul Bloom makes a similar point. He argues that while having justified or knowledgeable beliefs about everyday matters—like cooking or interpersonal relationships—has clear practical consequences, unjustified political beliefs often carry little to no direct cost for the individual. If believing something false strengthens one’s social ties, reinforces group identity, or provides psychological comfort, then truth-tracking may not be the primary function of the belief in the first place. (I have argued for this view here.)

A closely related idea is that political beliefs serve as signals—ways of broadcasting one’s social and ideological affiliations to others. Just as cheering for a sports team isn’t always about objectively assessing its performance but about signaling group membership, political beliefs often work the same way. Holding certain beliefs makes one more socially accepted within a group, reinforcing bonds and ensuring access to collective benefits like trust and solidarity. As David Papineau argues, in cases where false beliefs are socially valuable, epistemic justification may not be the relevant standard by which to assess them. If political beliefs function as social signals rather than attempts at objective truth, then it may be a mistake to judge them purely by epistemic norms of evidence and justification.

This perspective challenges Roeber’s claim that unjustified beliefs ought to be abandoned. If political beliefs serve purposes beyond truth-seeking—such as fostering solidarity, navigating social life, or motivating political action—then even those that lack epistemic justification might still have instrumental value. While we should be wary of extreme political confidence, it does not necessarily follow that we should hold fewer political beliefs. Instead, we might rethink what it means to hold a belief in the political domain, recognizing that their role is often more complex than simply tracking the truth.

Wait—What About Experts?

At this point, you might think: “Sure, maybe I don’t have much political knowledge, but some people do, right? There are political experts, after all.”

Not so, according to Roeber. He asserts, “There is literally no person who knows the answer to any significant number of political questions.”

His skepticism about political expertise stems from the same concerns that undermine individual political knowledge: the unreliability of political testimony and the inherent difficulty of verifying political claims. Even political scientists, economists, and policy analysts must rely on contested data, partisan sources, and competing methodologies that prevent clear answers. Political issues rarely have straightforward empirical solutions. Instead, they are complex webs of normative debates, conflicting models, and unpredictable social dynamics. Moreover, political experts themselves are not immune to cognitive biases, ideological influences, and professional incentives that shape their interpretations. Because of these epistemic limitations, Roeber contends that expertise in politics does not grant individuals reliable, overarching knowledge of contested political questions.

Roeber admits there are some limited circumstances where political knowledge is achievable. First, when there is widespread consensus rather than partisan disagreement, we have stronger grounds for treating a belief as justified. Second, we have reason to trust political claims when people concede points that go against their own side’s interests. So, if a political opponent acknowledges a fact that undermines their usual position, this admission carries additional weight because it suggests they are prioritizing accuracy over partisan loyalty. While these exceptions carve out narrow spaces for political knowledge, Roeber maintains that they are rare, and for the vast majority of contested political issues, skepticism remains the most rational stance.

In summary, Roeber’s argument is radical in at least three ways. First, he does not just argue that ordinary people lack political knowledge but that no one possesses it, including political experts. Second, his skepticism goes beyond knowledge to justification. It’s not just that we fail to know political truths; we also lack justified beliefs about them. Third, Roeber argues that such ignorance should lead us to abandon most of our political beliefs. Recall that he says, “We should hold very few political beliefs.” Unlike more moderate forms of skepticism that call for a reduction in confidence, his position suggests that we are not even entitled to hold most political beliefs.

A Guessing Game

Such skepticism raises a pressing question: If we lack political knowledge and even justified political beliefs, does that mean we should refrain from engaging in politics altogether? At first glance, Roeber’s argument might seem to suggest a form of political agnosticism, where the most rational response is to suspend belief on contested issues and withdraw from political debate, voting, activism, and policy discussions. If we have no good reason to think our political views are true, wouldn’t it be irresponsible to act on them?

Yet Roeber rejects political agnosticism. Even though most political beliefs fall short of knowledge and even justification, he does not think we should abandon political reasoning entirely. Instead, says we can make “educated guesses.” An educated guess, as Roeber understands it, is a claim in which you’re rationally entitled to have some confidence—i.e., better than chance but well short of certainty. (To me, this sounds like a justified belief, but let’s set that aside.) You can make an educated guess only when “you’ve really done your homework.”

Educated guesses offer a way to navigate political uncertainty without falling into either dogmatic overconfidence or total disengagement. While they do not grant us firm knowledge, they allow us to act in politics with a level of epistemic responsibility. (I am somewhat skeptical of this, for the reasons outlined here.) For instance, someone who has thoroughly examined arguments for and against raising the minimum wage, weighed the economic evidence, and critically engaged with counterarguments might be justified in making an educated guess in favor or against it. Their belief remains tentative, subject to revision in light of new evidence, but is not entirely groundless.

For Roeber, the problem is that most people do not make genuinely educated guesses. Instead, they form political beliefs casually and irresponsibly, through partisan media, social circles, and uncritical reliance on testimony. But for those willing to put in the intellectual work, educated guesses provide a middle ground between reckless confidence and total agnosticism. Rather than abandoning politics, Roeber’s skepticism calls for a more cautious, self-aware, and intellectually humble approach to political belief and action. Nevertheless, we should always keep in mind that “we really are just guessing.”

A Defense of Political Beliefs

I’d like to end with two challenges to Roeber’s skeptical view. First, Roeber overlooks an important insight from epistemology: the idea of pragmatic encroachment. (Ironically, this is a view that Roeber himself has defended in previous work.) According to this view, whether a person is justified in believing something can depend not just on the quality of their evidence but also on the practical stakes involved. In high-stakes situations—where being wrong carries serious consequences—more evidence is required for a belief to be justified. But in low-stakes situations, a person can justifiably hold a belief with relatively little evidence. (I mentioned this idea in my last post on political knowledge.)

Pragmatic encroachment may provide a way to defend the justification of political beliefs despite Roeber’s skepticism. Roeber himself acknowledges that individuals have very little influence in politics and that an individual vote often makes “literally no difference.” If that’s true, then why not say that the stakes for any individual’s political belief are also very low? And if the stakes are low, then a person might be justifiably confident in their political beliefs, even if they are based on contested or incomplete evidence. While a voter who has devoted significant effort to researching an issue may have stronger justification than someone who has not, even a modest degree of inquiry might be enough to justify forming an opinion and voting accordingly. It is precisely because there is so little chance that one’s vote will have a decisive impact that a voter may not need an especially high epistemic standard to justify holding a belief.

Consider how people form opinions about the best movie actor of all time. Few people have rigorously analyzed every performance in film history, yet holding a confident belief on this subject is perfectly reasonable, given the minimal consequences of being wrong. The same logic might apply to politics. If an individual’s political belief or vote is unlikely to meaningfully impact policy, then the cost of error is low, making it rationally permissible to hold and act on beliefs formed with limited evidence.

Let’s now turn to the second challenge for Roeber’s view, which concerns the broader collective effects of political humility. Roeber argues that the best response to widespread political ignorance is a kind of humble but real engagement, one where individuals recognize their epistemic limitations and adopt a cautious, less confident approach to political belief. But even if this is epistemically reasonable at the individual level, Roeber does not fully consider the wider social context. Dogmatism, bias, and adversarial political engagement may actually produce epistemic benefits at the collective level.

In The Enigma of Reason, Dan Sperber and Hugo Mercier argue that many of the cognitive biases that distort individual reasoning—confirmation bias, motivated reasoning, and overconfidence—are not merely epistemic flaws but adaptive features of human cognition. While these biases lead individuals to defend their beliefs dogmatically and resist counterevidence, they also fuel a broader process of adversarial deliberation. When opposing sides engage in debate, biased reasoning on both sides can create a productive tension, forcing each side to refine their arguments, expose weak reasoning, and respond to challenges they might otherwise ignore. In other words, what looks like poor reasoning at the individual level can, in the right social conditions, enhance the quality of collective reasoning.

A useful analogy is the adversarial legal system. In a courtroom, each lawyer is motivated to present the strongest possible case for their side, often in a biased or one-sided way. But this very structure ensures that both sides receive scrutiny, that arguments are tested under pressure, and that weak reasoning is exposed. While no single lawyer is perfectly objective, the system as a whole is designed to reach better outcomes than if each lawyer were simply striving for pure neutrality or epistemic humility.

This raises a potential conflict between individual rationality and collective epistemic benefits. At the individual level, Roeber is right that people have good epistemic reasons to be more humble—they often lack justification for their political beliefs, and overconfidence leads to epistemic mistakes. But at the collective level, widespread political humility may actually undermine democratic discourse by reducing the level of engagement, weakening adversarial debate, and diminishing the competitive process through which better arguments and policies emerge. If adversarial politics helps refine ideas and drive progress, then some degree of dogmatism and strong conviction may be epistemically beneficial at the group level, even if it is epistemically suspect for individuals.

Thus, Roeber’s argument for political humility may neglect an important tradeoff: while excessive confidence in one’s own views can be epistemically risky, a society in which everyone is humble may lose out on the epistemic benefits of robust political contestation. If politics is, in part, a battleground of ideas, then some degree of conviction—even overconfidence—may be necessary for the system as a whole to function effectively.