The	Genealogy	of	Relativism	and	Absolutism Martin	Kusch,	University	of	Vienna	&	Robin	McKenna,	University	of	Vienna1 Abstract This	paper	applies	Edward	Craig's	and	Bernard	Williams'	'genealogical'	method	to	the	debate between	relativism	and	its	opponents	in	epistemology	and	in	the	philosophy	of	language.	We	explain how	the	central	function	of	knowledge	attributions	-to	'flag	good	informants'	-explains	the intuitions	behind	five	different	positions	(two	forms	of	relativism,	absolutism,	contextualism,	and invariantism).	We	also	investigate	the	question	whether	genealogy	is	neutral	in	the	controversy	over relativism.	We	conclude	that	it	is	not:	genealogy	is	most	naturally	taken	to	favour	an	anti-realism about	epistemic	norms.	And	anti-realism	threatens	absolutism. Keywords Edward	Craig;	Bernard	Williams;	Paul	Boghossian;	epistemic	relativism;	semantic	relativism; epistemic	antirealism;	invariantism;	contextualism Introduction In	this	paper	we	bring	together	two	strands	of	epistemological	theorizing	that	have	lived	separate lives:	the	controversy	around	epistemic	relativism	(e.g.	Boghossian	2006)	and	the	debate	over	'the genealogy	of	knowledge'.	The	latter	refers	to	a	method	first	suggested	in	Edward	Craig's	Knowledge and	the	State	of	Nature	(1990),	and	then	further	developed	in	Bernard	Williams'	Truth	and Truthfulness	(2002)	and	Steven	Reynolds'	Knowledge	as	Acceptable	Testimony	(2017).	There	are different	ways	to	interpret	the	genealogical	method.	On	our	reading	(Kusch	and	McKenna, forthcoming),	genealogy	comes	into	its	own	when	used	to	explain	intuitions	underlying	different epistemological	theories.	The	explanation	in	question	is	functional:	the	explanans	are	ubiquitous human	needs;	and	the	primary	explananda	are	social	practices	and	institutions	of	gathering	and sharing	information	about	the	natural	and	social	world.	Specific	epistemic	concepts	such	as knowledge,	and	the	intuitions	involved	in	their	usage,	are	theorized	as	arising	in	this	context. 1	Authors	listed	in	alphabetical	order. 2 Recent	years	have	seen	a	flurry	of	publications	for	and	against	different	forms	of	relativism.	As far	as	epistemic	relativism	is	concerned,	the	most	influential	discussion	is	Paul	Boghossian's	Fear	of Knowledge	(2006).	Boghossian	attacks	what	he	regards	as	unacceptable	forms	of	epistemic relativism	in	Richard	Rorty	(1981)	and	the	'Sociology	of	Scientific	Knowledge'	(=SSK)	(e.g.	Barnes	and Bloor	1982).	Boghossian's	discussion	of	relativism	foregrounds	two	ideas:	that	the	relativist	denies the	possibility	of	absolute	standards	of	epistemic	justification	('non-absolutism');	and	that	she assumes	a	plurality	of	epistemic	systems	(of	epistemic	standards).	At	least	in	some	cases	these epistemic	systems	licence	incompatible	verdicts	on	epistemic	justification	('pluralism'). A	second	relativism-debate	has	emerged	over	the	last	fifteen	years	in	philosophical	semantics. One	key	question	concerns	the	semantics	of	knowledge	attributions.	'Contextualists'	(e.g.	DeRose 2009)	hold	that	the	meaning	of	'to	know'	(and	its	cognates)	varies	with	the	context	of	utterance; 'invariantists'	hold	that	'to	know	has	the	same	meaning	in	all	contexts,	and	that	knowledge attributions	are	true	or	false	absolutely	(e.g.	Brown	2006,	Rysiew	2001).	Relativists	(e.g.	MacFarlane 2014)	hold	that,	while	'to	know'	has	the	same	meaning	in	all	contexts,	knowledge	attributions	are true	or	false	only	relative	to	the	'context	of	assessment'. We	shall	bring	genealogy	to	bear	on	both	of	these	debates,	though	we	focus	on	the	first.	We shall	call	the	(anti-)relativism	at	issue	in	Boghossian	'B-(anti-)relativism'	and	the	(anti-)relativism	at issue	in	MacFarlane	'M-relativism'.	We	begin	by	giving	a	brief	explanation	of	the	genealogical method.	We	then	give	genealogical	accounts	of	the	intuitions	underlying	B-(anti-)relativism	and	M- (anti-)relativism.	Up	to	this	point,	our	treatment	of	all	sides	to	these	disputes	will	be	even-handed: the	genealogist	seeks	to	explain	the	intuitions	underlying	each	view,	not	to	undermine	them.	In	the final	section	we	investigate	whether	the	genealogist	can	(or	should)	maintain	this	neutral	stance. Our	tentative	conclusion	is	that	genealogy	is	closer	to	B-relativism	than	to	absolutism. Genealogy	-A	Primer In	Was	Wir	Wissen	Können	Craig	situates	his	project	in	close	proximity	to	two	unlikely	bedfellows: Wittgenstein	and	natural	science	(1993:	37).	Wittgenstein	is	an	ally	since	he	opposes	conceptual analysis	in	terms	of	necessary	and	sufficient	conditions,	studies	the	function	of	concepts,	and introduces	the	category	of	family-resemblance	concepts.	Craig's	project	has	affinities	with	natural science	in	its	method	of	hypothesis	testing,	the	search	for	explanation,	and	focus	on	evolution.	We would	add	model-building	to	the	list:	the	building	of	simplified	models	of	complex	target	systems. 3 Craig's	model-construction	has	two	stages:	the	first	focuses	on	the	'epistemic	state	of	nature', that	is,	a	small	community	of	language-using	humans,	engaging	primarily	in	face-to-face communication,	who	are	co-operative,	dependent	upon	one	another	for	information,	and	of unequal	skills	and	talents.	The	central	question	is:	Why	would	a	concept	like	knowledge	be introduced	under	these	idealised--simplified	and	distorted--conditions?	Craig	answers	that	people	in this	situation	have	a	salient	need,	to	wit,	to	pick	out	and	'flag	good	informants'.	And	the	concept used	to	flag	good	informants	is	the	core--or	one	central	aspect--of	knowledge. In	the	state	of	nature,	individuals	depend	upon	one	another	for	information.	Distinguish between	the	'inquirer',	who	needs	information	that	they	are	currently	unable	to	obtain	themselves, and	the	'informant',	who	offers	such	information.	Inquirers	must	be	able	to	separate	good	from	bad informants.	And	it	is	natural	to	assume	that	meeting	this	need	will	involve	concepts.	Assume	that	the concept	of	a	protoknower	is	the	central	conceptual	tool	for	dealing	with	this	problem;	our	ancestors used	this	concept	as	a	tag	for	good	informants.	Which	conceptual	components	should	protoknower contain?	Craig's	answer	is	that	the	concept	protoknower	(whether	p)	comprises	these	elements: (i)	being	as	likely	to	be	right	about	p	as	the	inquirer's	current	needs	require; (ii)	being	honest; (iii)	being	able	to	make	the	inquirer	believe	that	p; (iv)	being	accessible	to	the	inquirer	here	and	now; (v)	being	understandable	to	the	inquirer;	and (vi)	being	detectable	as	a	good	informant	concerning	p	by	the	inquirer. To	elaborate	briefly	on	(vi),	the	inquirer	needs	to	find	'indicator-properties'	that	she	can	detect	and that	correlate	closely	with	holding	a	true	belief,	or	telling	the	truth,	as	to	whether	p	(1990:	25,	135). 'Being	at	the	top	of	a	tree'	might	be	such	a	property	for	some	inquirers	in	the	state	of	nature	when	p is	the	proposition	that	a	tiger	is	approaching	the	village.	Usually	more	than	one	property	will	be involved.	The	properties	that	make	Fred	a	medical	protoknower	are	not	one	but	many. Craig	is	adamant	that	(i)	to	(vi)	are	not	necessary	and	sufficient	conditions.	While	all	these elements	are	present	in	prototypical	situations,	the	concept	has	a	use	even	when	some	elements	are missing.	Finally,	protoknowledge	differs	from	knowledge	in	that:	(a)	only	the	former	is	closely	tied	to testimony;	(b)	protoknowledge	is	indexed	to	the	capacities	and	needs	of	specific	inquirers	(1990:	90); (c)	protoknowledge	can	only	be	ascribed	to	others,	not	to	oneself;	and	(d)	protoknowledge	is	not undermined	by	accident	or	luck. 4 Craig	goes	to	great	lengths	to	show	that	his	model	of	the	epistemic	state	of	nature	passes	the test	of	(what	the	philosophy	of	scientific	models	calls)	'external	validation'.	He	does	so	by	arguing that	his	model	predicts	and	explains	several	features	of	our	concept(s)	of	knowledge	that	have	been identified	in	various	philosophical	theories.	These	theories	are	often	seen	as	excluding	one	another, but	Craig	thinks	that	his	model	can	partially	vindicate	all	of	them:	they	contradict	each	other	only	if we	over-generalise	them. This	brings	us	to	the	second	half	of	the	genealogical	just-so	story:	the	hypothetical	socialhistorical	narrative	that	takes	us	from	protoknowledge	to	knowledge.	Craig	speaks	of	this development	as	a	process	of	'objectivisation'	of	protoknowledge.	Key	steps	in	objectivisation	are	the following.	First,	protoknowledge	comes	to	be	used	in	self-ascription.	In	response	to	the	question 'who	knows	whether	p?'	group	members	start	to	investigate	their	own	indicator-properties.	Second, inquirers	begin	to	recommend	informants	to	others.	This	can	be	done	in	a	helpful	manner	only	if	the perspectival	or	indexical	character	of	protoknowledge	is	weakened.	The	recommended	informant must	be	good	in	the	eyes	of	both	the	recommender	and	the	recipient	of	the	recommendation. Further	movement	in	this	dimension-recommending	an	informant	to	ever	more	inquirers-makes protoknowledge	increasingly	harder	to	get.	The	endpoint	is	the	idea	of	'someone	who	is	a	good informant	as	to	whether	p	whatever	the	particular	circumstances	of	the	inquirer	...	That	means someone	with	a	very	high	degree	of	reliability,	someone	who	is	very	likely	to	be	right	–	for	he	must be	acceptable	even	to	a	very	demanding	inquirer'	(1990:	91).	And	a	very	demanding	inquirer	will	not accept	epistemic	luck	or	accident.	Third,	inquirers	begin	to	use	'being	recommended'	as	an	indicator property.	This	move	dilutes	the	original	detectability	requirement.	Inquirers	begin	calling	someone	a 'protoknower'	even	when	none	of	the	original	'natural'	indicator-properties	is	in	sight.	Fourth,	in	the context	of	group	action	inquirers	cease	to	care	whether	the	needed	information	is	accessible	to them	as	individuals;	they	are	satisfied	if	it	is	accessible	to	someone	in	the	group.	As	a	result	they	will speak	of	'protoknowledge'	even	outside	the	context	of	testimony.	The	process	of	objectivisation ends	with	our	concept	of	knowledge:	'The	concept	of	knowing	...	lies	at	the	objectivised	end	of	the process;	we	can	explain	why	there	is	such	an	end,	and	why	it	should	be	found	worth	marking	in language'	(1990:	90-91). The	second	stage	of	Craig's	model	construction	adds	a	dynamic	dimension.	The	dynamic model	takes	the	epistemic	state	of	nature	as	its	starting	point	and	tracks	how	the	concept knowledge	would	evolve	and	diversify	as	the	simplifications	and	distortions	of	the	state	of	nature	are removed	step	by	step.	This	suggests	that	the	dynamic	model	is	really	a	form	of	'de-idealisation'. 5 The	dynamic	model	too	needs	to	pass	muster	as	far	as	external	validation	is	concerned.	Craig suggests	that	it	correctly	predicts,	or	at	least	makes	sense	of, - contexts	with	very	high	epistemic	standards	(1990:	Ch.	X), - intuitions	about	lottery	propositions	(1990:	XI),	and - our	conflicting	intuitions	about	epistemological	scepticism	(1990:	XII-XIII). As	Craig	emphasises	more	clearly	in	2007	than	in	1990	or	1993,	this	is	not	to	be	taken	as	a historical	thesis:	the	epistemic	state	of	nature	is	not	a	historical	period	'like	the	Pleistocene'.	It	is rather	a	ubiquitous	and	important	type	of	social-epistemic	situation	that	one	is	likely	to	find	in	all human	communities,	past	and	present	(2007:	191).	This	suggests	that	what	the	two	models	present as	different	stages	in	the	historical	development	of	knowledge	are	really	two	different	types	of situation	that	we	experience	from	day-to-day.	In	some	situations,	we	are	still	in	the	'state-of-nature', in	other	situations	we	are	at	various	stages	of	the	process	of	objectivisation.	Note	however	that	this interpretation	of	Craig	shows	that	his	talk	of	a	'core'	of	knowledge	might	be	misleading:	if	the	other uses	co-exist,	why	assume	that	'flagging	good	informants'	is	more	fundamental	than	the	other	uses? Or	put	differently,	why	assume	that	the	right	model	for	the	conceptual	development	is	an	avalanche rather	than	a	phylogenetic	tree?	The	avalanche	model	suggests	a	small	conceptual	'stone'	rolling down	the	snowy	(semantic)	mountain,	in	the	process	putting	on	layer	after	layer	of	further conceptual	features.	The	phylogenetic	tree	is	without	a	core.	We	do	not	think	of	homo	erectus	as	the core	or	essence	of	homo	sapiens	just	because	homo	sapiens	developed	out	of	homo	erectus.	Of course,	to	keep	with	the	analogy	we	here	assume	counterfactually	that	homo	erectus	might	still	be alive	today. Up	to	this	point	our	exposition	of	genealogy	has	focused	on	Craig.	But	for	certain	purposes	it	is important	to	complement	his	account	with	the	developments	introduced	by	Williams	(2002)	and Reynolds	(2017). From	Reynolds	we	adopt	an	account	of	how	we	collectively	impress	upon	each	other	the	need to	testify	only	what	one	knows.	His	guiding	thought	is	that	it	would	be	exceedingly	laborious	for inquirers	to	keep	track	of	the	different	degrees	of	reliability	of	several	informants	concerning numerous	topics	of	interest.	Clearly,	it	would	be	better	for	inquirers	if,	prior	to	volunteering	their testimony,	informants	checked	whether	their	views	are	appropriately	based	on	the	right	kind	of experience,	appropriate	norms	of	epistemic	conduct,	and	good	judgment.	In	short,	it	would	be	best if	informants	internalized	the	correct	'testimonial	norms'	(2017:	50).	Reynolds	suggests	that	we 6 could	collectively	bring	it	about	that	informants	engage	in	time-consuming	epistemic	self-monitoring via	reward	and	punishment.	When	informants	tell	the	truth	in	relevant	ways,	we	repay	them	with praise	and	reciprocation.	When	informants	don't,	we	sanction	them	with	criticism	and	lack	of	cooperation.	This	practice,	Reynolds	continues,	would	eventually	lead	to	the	emergence	of	a	special vocabulary	'to	express	this	approval	and	disapproval	and	to	indicate	the	conditions	that	tended	to lead	to	it'	(2017:	57).	Our	concept	of	knowledge	is	part	of	this	vocabulary. Williams	(2002)	adjusts	Craig's	genealogical	method	in	one	crucial	respect.	According	to Williams,	Craig's	'imaginary	genealogy'	needs	to	be	complemented	by	'real	genealogy',	that	is,	by	an engagement	with	historical	and	cultural	contingent	realities.	Although	Williams	does	not	put	it	in these	terms,	one	can	read	him	as	offering	an	imaginary	and	real	genealogy	of	the	social	institution	of testimony.	Thus	Williams	shares	a	method	with	Craig,	but	he	is	more	interested	in	the	values, motivations	and	virtues	that	underpin	testimony	than	in	concepts.	According	to	Williams,	the	central virtues	of	testifiers	are	"accuracy"	(a	disposition	to	seek	the	truth	and	to	report	it)	and	"sincerity". Unlike	Craig,	Williams	does	not	take	assume	that	individuals	in	the	state	of	nature	are	cooperative	and	eager	to	offer	information	to	others.	Williams	recognises	that	the	institution	of testimony	is	a	collective	good.	Individuals	who	are	rational	in	a	purely	self-interested	way	will	try	to 'free-ride':	they	will	seek	to	obtain	accurate	and	sincere	testimony	from	others	without	offering anything	in	return.	After	all,	collecting	useful	information	usually	involves	costly	'investigative investments'	(2002:	88). How	is	the	problem	of	collective	action	solved?	The	core	of	Williams'	solution	to	the	FreeRider	Problem	is	the	suggestion	that	accuracy	and	sincerity	(and	with	them	the	institution	itself) must	come	to	be	regarded	by	community	members	as	shared	intrinsic	–	rather	than	as	merely instrumental	–	values	(2002:	90).	For	community	members	to	have	trust	in	others'	reports,	they must	be	convinced	that	accuracy	and	sincerity	are	non-negotiable.	And	this	implies	that	these	values are	not	–	except	under	extreme	circumstances	–	weighed	against,	and	possibly	outweighed	by,	other interests	and	values	(2002:	91).	Williams	holds	that	values	come	in	socially	shared	webs	and systems,	that	intrinsic	values	occupy	a	central	position	in	such	webs	or	systems,	and	that	values make	sense	only	in	their	essential	relations	to	one	another	(2002:	92).	Williams'	view	of	intrinsic values	relates	directly	to	his	distinction	between	imaginary	and	real	genealogies.	While	no community	can	exist	without	values	like	accuracy	and	sincerity,	different	communities	embed	such values	in	different	'wider	range[s]	of	values'.	And	what	these	wider	ranges	of	values	are,	'varies	from time	to	time	and	culture	to	culture'	(2002:	93). 7 Williams	teaches	that	the	collective	good	of	the	testimonial	institution	can	exist	only	if	the virtues	of	accuracy	and	sincerity	(amongst	others)	become	intrinsic	values.	But	how	can communities	make	sure	that	their	members	look	upon	these	virtues	as	intrinsic	values?	Williams	has an	answer	to	this	problem	as	well.	He	tells	us	that	'people	may	be	discouraged	or	encouraged, sanctioned,	shamed,	or	rewarded	with	respect	to	this'	(2002:	44);	that	a	crucial	motivation	is	the 'fear	...	of	disgrace	in	one's	own	eyes,	and	in	the	eyes	of	people	whom	one	respects	and	who	one hopes	will	respect	oneself'	(2002:	116),	that	'the	motivations	of	honour	and	shame	play	an important	part'	(2002:	120),	and	that	the	structure	'of	mutual	respect	and	the	capacity	for	shame	in the	face	of	oneself	and	others,	is	a	traditional,	indeed	archaic,	ethical	resource,	but	it	is	still	very necessary'	(2002:	121).	In	a	nutshell,	Williams'	idea	is	that	a	system	of	sanctioning	–	of	honouring and	dishonouring	–	encourages	community	members	to	constitute	and	maintain	the	institution	of testimony	and	thus	the	virtues	of	accuracy	and	sincerity. Putting	this	in	different	terms,	sanctioning	in	support	of	the	collective	good	works	through	the "deference-emotion	system"	(Scheff	1988).	The	precondition	of	this	system	is	our	emotional	need	to continuously	monitor	how	others	treat	and	think	of	us.	We	respond	to	our	assessments	of	this treatment	by	changing	our	position	on	an	internal	scale	that	ranges	from	pride	to	shame.	When	we believe	that	others	treat	us	with	deference,	when	we	believe	that	others	honour	us,	we	feel	pride (and	related	feelings)	and	move	ourselves	up	on	the	pride-shame	scale.	When	we	suspect	that	such deference	and	honouring	are	missing,	we	tend	to	feel	bad	about	ourselves	and	slide	downwards towards	the	shame	end	of	the	scale.	This	emotional	dependence	on	others	is	exploited	by	the deference-emotion	system.	The	granting	or	withholding	of	deference	constitutes	a	subtle	system	of social	sanctions,	a	system	that	we	barely	notice.	And	the	operation	of	the	deference-emotion	system is	inseparable	from	our	ongoing	conversation	about	the	collective	good.	Working	with	and	through the	deference-emotion	system,	this	conversation	continuously	re-establishes	the	importance	of	the collective	good	in	everyone's	mind. Finally,	we	can	connect	Williams'	and	Reynolds'	proposals	as	follows.	Attributions	of	(proto- )knowledge	(and	their	cognates)	play	a	key	role	in	the	collective	action	that	constitutes	the institution	of	testimony.	They	do	so	by	honouring	informants.	In	keeping	with	the	genealogical method,	let	us	first	see	how	the	link	between	protoknowledge	attributions	and	honouring	works under	the	simplified	conditions	of	the	state	of	nature.	To	publicly	apply	the	concept	protoknower	to someone	is	not	only	to	classify	them	as	a	reliable	source	of	information,	it	is	also	to	honour	them,	or to	encourage	others	to	do	likewise.	To	classify	someone	as	a	protoknower	is	to	praise	them	for	their contribution	to	the	institution	of	testimony,	and	thereby	for	their	contribution	to	the	well-being	of 8 the	community	itself.	After	all,	the	community	cannot	survive	without	the	institution	of	testimony. By	means	of	attributions	of	protoknowledge	members	of	the	community	honour	good	informants for	contributing	their	part	to	the	existing	and	flourishing	of	the	community.	Mutatis	mutandis, withholding	or	denying	protoknowledge	is	a	way	of	censoring	and	dishonouring.	It	is	to	mark someone	as	not	willing,	not	worthy	or	not	able	to	participate	in	the	constitution	of	the	collective good,	and	thus	as	not	fit	to	be	a	(working)	part	of	the	group.	In	that	sense,	to	deny	someone protoknowledge	is	to	expel	them	from	the	group. Our	suggestion	connects	Craig's	focus	on	conceptual	needs	of	the	inquirer	with	Williams' emphasis	on	the	motivational	problems	of	the	informants.	By	using	the	concept	of	protoknowledge to	both	classify	and	honour	informants,	the	inquirer	manages	to	serve	two	key	goals	at	once:	the goal	of	tagging	good	informants	for	future	reference	(to	herself	and	others),	and	the	goal	of motivating	community	members	to	make,	or	keep	making,	investigative	investments. A	Genealogy	of	B-(Anti-)Relativism To	offer	a	(Craigean)	genealogy	of	an	epistemological	view	is	to	identify	and	explain	the	intuitions underwriting	the	view.	The	explanation	tells	us	why	these	intuitions	are	natural	given	the	context	of a	community	of	humans	operating	and	maintaining	the	social	institution	of	testimony.	We	now	turn to	the	task	of	offering	such	explanations	for	five	views:	B-absolutism,	B-relativism,	invariantism, contextualism,	and	M-relativism.	We	begin	with	B-absolutism. It	is	helpful	to	distinguish	between	B-absolutism	and	'monism'.	Monism	with	respect	to	a domain	D	is	the	view	that	there	is	only	one	set	or	system	of	norms	operating	in	D.	The	system	might be	more	or	less	complex,	and	contain	more	or	less	distinct	principles.	But	monism	holds	that	all these	principles	cohere	with	one	another,	and	do	not	–	when	interpreted	correctly,	or	applied	singly or	in	combination	–	contradict	one	another.	The	opposite	of	monism	is	'pluralism'.	Absolutism	takes a	crucial	step	beyond	monism:	it	holds	that	the	one	and	only	system	of	norms	has	the	property	of being	uniquely	and	absolutely	correct.	Non-absolutist	monists	refuse	to	take	that	step.	They acknowledge	that	there	is	only	one	system	yet	do	not	draw	absolutist	conclusions.	They	might	offer an	evolutionary	explanation	why	we	have	the	system	we	have,	or	they	might	hold	that	it	is	a	sort	of convention	(cf.	Hazlett	2014).	We	are	interested	in	the	intuitions	that	support	either	one,	or	both,	of these	views. We	begin	with	monism.	Here	Craig's	account	of	objectivisation	is	relevant.	As	objectivization progresses,	the	standards	for	useful	testimony	come	to	be	set	in	ways	that	increasingly	abstract 9 from	the	particular	circumstances	of	inquirers.	In	the	process,	testimonial	norms	concerning	correct investigative	investments,	appropriate	levels	of	accuracy	and	sincerity,	get	more	demanding.	To make	sure	that	the	information	gained	and	testified	to	is	of	use	to	an	ever	wider	range	of	differently situated	inquirers,	informants	must	be	motivated	to	meet	ever	higher	demands	of	reliability.	This development	is	clearly	inseparable	from	the	emergence	of	strongly	monistic	ways	of	thinking	about testimony. What	every	inquirer,	however	situated,	needs,	can	no	longer	vary	from	one	context	to another.	Objectivisation	pushes	all	parties	involved	into	assuming	–	at	least	tacitly	and	on	an intuitive	level	–	that	there	is	but	one	epistemic	system	of	norms. We	can	complement	the	Craigean	genealogy	of	monism	with	themes	from	Reynolds	and Williams.	Recall	the	idea	that	the	social	institution	of	testimony	is	maintained	and	secured	via	the deference-emotion	system.	For	this	to	work,	the	system	of	norms	used	for	evaluating	epistemic performances	had	better	not	to	be	excessively	complicated	and	context-sensitive.	If	it	were complicated	and	context-sensitive,	it	would	be	beyond	the	ken	of	most	non-specialists.	And,	at	least under	the	simplified	conditions	of	the	initial	genealogical	setting,	epistemic	specialists	do	not	feature in	the	story.	Monistic	intuitions	–	giving	support	to	one	epistemic	system	binding	all	–	are	the obvious	solution	to	this	problem	of	evaluation. This	intertwining	of	epistemic	norms	and	the	deference-emotion	system	can	also	be	used	to give	a	genealogy	of	absolutism. Adherence	to	the	one	and	only	epistemic	system	needs	to	be secured	by	continually	re-establishing	its	unique	value	and	significance	in	everyone's	mind. Community	members	are	likely	to	go	about	this	task	by	giving	the	values	underwriting	their epistemic	system	a	central	place	in	their	overall	web	of	values.	These	values	therefore	come	to	be regarded	as	intrinsically	valuable,	and	as	beyond	all	instrumentalist	weighing	up	of	different	goals. The	endpoint	is	that	the	epistemic	system	is	itself	seen	as	absolute	–	as	not	relative	to	anything	else. Let	us	now	turn	to	B-relativism.	How	might	pro-B-relativist	intuitions	live	alongside	the absolutist	intuitions	mentioned	above?	Again,	we	will	distinguish	between	two	steps:	the	step towards	a	plurality	of	norms,	and	the	further	step	to	denying	B-absolutism. Craig's	imaginary	genealogy	starts	with	differently	situated	inquirers	focusing	exclusively	on what	is	useful	to	them,	taken	individually.	At	this	stage,	the	needs	of	each	individual	are	the standard	against	which	the	utility	of	information	is	measured.	This	clearly	is	a	pluralist	stage.	On	our understanding	of	Craigean	genealogy,	this	stage	is	never	completely	left	behind.	Even	after objectivisation,	we	still	often	assess	testimony	in	terms	of	what	we	want	in	our	own	very	specific contexts.	In	other	words,	our	highly	idiosyncratic	needs	and	the	idealized	abstract	needs	of	the assumed	'very	demanding	inquirer'	exist	side	by	side.	Sometimes	they	overlap,	often	they	do	not.	Of 10 course,	the	two	endpoints	of	the	scale	–	the	wholly	idiosyncratic	and	the	wholly	universal	–	are	both idealizations.	Most	epistemic	evaluations	involve	the	informational	needs	of	different	groups	of varying	size	and	composition.	To	be	a	competent	social	actor	is	to	have	acquired	the	competence	to judge	which	testimonial	norms	are	relevant	for	which	group.	Subject	matter,	the	required	degree	of reliability,	the	costs	attached	to	false	beliefs,	and	much	else,	are	relevant	variables.	The	result	will	be a	variety	of	testimonial	norms. Admittedly,	a	variety	of	norms	is	still	compatible	with	monism.	We	get	pluralism	only	once	this variety	is	partitioned	into	distinct	sets	such	that	different	sets	give	incompatible	answers	to	the	same epistemic	questions.	One	system	allows	one	to	judge	that,	in	light	of	Jones'	investigative	investment concerning	p,	Jones	is	a	good	informant	as	to	whether	p.	Another	system	compels	one	to	say	that despite	his	investigative	investment	Jones	is	not	a	good	informant	in	saying	p.	It	is	plausible	to	think that	the	idea	of	such	distinct	'epistemic	systems'	goes	hand	in	hand	with	a	specific	social	change:	to wit,	the	forming	of	distinct	'epistemic	communities'	with	a	clear	sense	of	their	distinctive	shared individual,	or	collective,	goals	or	needs.	There	is	nothing	in	Craig's,	Reynolds'	or	Williams' genealogies	that	makes	the	emergence	of	such	subgroups	intelligible.	But	we	need	not	add	much	to the	original	versions	to	create	the	space	for	this	obvious	idea.	After	all	every	social	theory	of	the development	of	human	societies	emphasizes	the	crucial	role	of	division	of	labour.	And	division	of epistemic	labour	is	tantamount	to	a	plurality	of	epistemic	communities	with	distinct	standards. Again,	it	is	helpful	to	connect	this	to	our	collective	operation	of	the	deference-emotion system.	Consider	what	might	happen	when	we	sanction	someone	by	refusing	to	accept	their testimony,	and	chastise	them	for	their	lack	of	investigative	investment.	This	will	often	lead	to	an aggressive	encounter	where	criticisms	fly	back	and	forth.	The	resulting	conflict	might	endanger	social cohesion	and	peace.	The	bad	informant	might	well	refuse	to	correct	their	ways,	and	be	unwilling	to share	their	information	with	us	even	on	later	occasions	where	their	investigative	investment	is,	by our	lights,	exactly	at	the	required	level. The	potential	social	explosiveness	of	distrust	creates	pressure	to	help	the	other	'save	face'. 'Face	saving'	might	take	different	forms.	We	might	try	to	find	mitigating	circumstances:	perhaps	the testifier	gained	their	(bad)	information	in	ways	we	find	excusable.	Or	we	might	try	to	find	ways	of holding	that,	by	their	lights,	they	were	justified:	perhaps	the	information	was	obtained	from	a usually	reliable	source,	or	they	were	relying	on	a	source	they	were	prima	facie	entitled	to	trust	since they	had	no	evidence	suggesting	otherwise.	Perhaps	our	testifier	acquired	a	system	of	epistemic norms	different	from	ours	by	trusting	their	elders,	which	is	presumably	how	we	acquired	our	system 11 of	norms.	We	therefore	have	a	variety	of	ways	to	avoid	sanctioning	them. We	might	let	things	rest and	accept	that,	at	least	for	certain	questions,	they	should	not	be	our	first	port	of	call. Epistemic	division	of	labour	and	epistemic	face-saving	incline	epistemic	agents	towards	the intuition	that	there	are	different	epistemic	systems	at	least	some	of	which	might	give	conflicting verdicts	on	the	same	issues.	The	move	from	this	pluralistic	stance	to	the	denial	of	absolutism	is	of course	a	further	step.	It	is	not	obvious	that	it	is	inevitable;	though	once	pluralist	intuitions	are	in place,	and	strong,	it	may	be	irresistible. A	Genealogy	of	M-(Anti)-Relativism We	can	also	give	a	Craigean	genealogical	explanation	of	the	intuitions	underlying	three	standard views	of	the	semantics	of	knowledge	attributions:	invariantism,	contextualism	and	(M-)relativism. A	brief	explanation	of	these	views	will	suffice	here.	There	are	two	'dividing	lines'	in	the literature	on	the	semantics	of	knowledge	attributions.	The	first	concerns	the	meaning	of	'to	know' (and	its	cognates).	Contextualists	hold	that	uses	of	'to	know'	mean	different	things	in	different contexts,	in	much	the	same	way	as	uses	of	indexicals	like	'I'.	In	contrast,	invariantists	and	Mrelativists	hold	that	'to	know'	is	univocal:	it	means	the	same	thing	in	all	contexts.	The	second	dividing concerns	whether	knowledge	attributions	express	propositions	that	are	absolutely	true	or	false. While	invariantists	and	contextualists	disagree	about	the	contents	of	the	propositions	expressed	by knowledge	attributions	they	agree	that	these	propositions	are	absolutely	true	or	false.	In	contrast, M-relativists	hold	that	the	propositions	expressed	by	knowledge	attributions	are	only	true	or	false relative	to	a	context	of	assessment.	Thus,	a	knowledge	attribution	may	be	true	as	assessed	relative to	one	context,	but	false	as	assessed	relative	to	another. In	the	literature	one	can	find	advocates	of	all	three	positions	appealing	to	Craigean genealogy	(see	Kelp	2011	for	invariantism,	Henderson	2009	for	contextualism	and	MacFarlane	2014: Ch.	12	for	M-relativism).	Recall	that	we	are	currently	interested	in	genealogical	explanations	of	the intuitions	underlying	philosophical	views,	not	genealogical	vindications.	But	the	accounts	given	by Kelp,	Henderson	and	MacFarlane	give	good	indications	of	how	to	generate	genealogical	explanations of	their	respective	positions. We	can	start	by	noting	that	contextualism	fits	perfectly	with	some	aspects	of	Craig's genealogy.	It	seems	clear	that	whether	a	subject	is	a	good	informant	depends	on	and	varies	with	the context.	If	I'm	talking	to	a	friend	over	lunch	about	Isla's	whereabouts	last	night	and	I	have	good	but not	conclusive	evidence	that	she	was	at	the	party	I'll	volunteer	myself	as	an	informant	on	her 12 whereabouts.	However,	if	I'm	giving	a	statement	to	the	police	and	I	have	the	same	evidence	I'll	not volunteer	myself	as	an	informant	on	her	whereabouts.	This	suggests	that,	because	what	one	will require	of	a	good	informant	depends	on	and	varies	with	the	context,	what	it	means	to	say	someone 'knows'	must	depend	on	and	vary	with	the	context	too.	Now,	objectivization	clearly	complicates	this picture.	But	recall	Craig's	remark	that,	in	some	situations,	we	are	still	'in	the	state	of	nature'.	One way	of	thinking	of	objectivization	(suggested	by	Henderson,	and	by	our	understanding	of	Craig)	is	as pushing	us	towards	co-ordinating	our	uses	of	'to	know'	in	the	majority	of	situations,	but	allowing	us to	use	the	word	in	ways	that	are	appropriate	to	our	particular	situation	when	the	need	arises	(e.g. when	the	stakes	are	particularly	high). However,	contextualism	fits	badly	with	the	central	role	of	testimony	in	Craig's	(and Reynolds'	and	Williams')	genealogy.	If	uses	of	'to	know'	mean	different	things	in	different	contexts, then	it	is	not	helpful	to	report	that	someone	else	knows	(Hawthorne	2004).	I	may	be	told	that	Isla said	that	Morven	knows	the	bank	is	open,	but	unless	I	also	know	what	epistemic	standards	Isla	was using,	this	information	is	useless.	Compare:	I	may	be	told	that	somebody	said	'I	am	tired'	but,	unless I	know	who	said	this,	this	is	useless	if	I	want	to	keep	track	of	who	is	tired.	This	suggests	that,	if	we are	to	have	a	functioning	testimonial	practice,	we	need	a	univocal	semantics	for	'to	know'. Enter	the	M-relativist.	MacFarlane	thinks	that	M-relativism	can	utilise	both	the	aspects	of Craig's	genealogy	that	seem	to	support	contextualism	and	the	aspects	that	seem	to	support invariantism.	The	contextualist	highlights	the	fact	that	we	may	require	different	things	of	good informants	in	different	situations	and	reasons	that	these	requirements	will	lead	us	to	use	'to	know' in	different	ways	in	different	situations.	But	this	fact	might	equally	well	be	taken	to	support	Mrelativism:	while	words	like	'to	know'	(or	'good	informant')	mean	the	same	thing	in	all	contexts	of utterance,	whether	it	is	true	that	someone	'knows'	(or	is	a	'good	informant')	is	relative	to	the context	of	assessment.	MacFarlane	buttresses	this	point	by	arguing	that	relativism	is	more	plausible than	contextualism	because	it	places	less	demands	on	our	memory.	He	says	that,	if	M-relativism were	true,	'[t]here	would	be	no	need	to	store	a	standard	with	each	knowledge	attribution,	because all	of	the	knowledge	attributions	would	be	evaluated	in	relation	to	the	current	standard'	(2014:	312). To	hammer	this	point	home	MacFarlane	even	offers	an	'evolution	of	assessment	sensitivity':	it	may well	have	been	that	'once	upon	a	time,	"knows"	behaved	just	as	contextualists	say	it	does'	(317).	But as	social	interaction	increased	and	knowledge	attributions	were	exchanged	ever	more	widely	across situation	and	standards,	it	simply	became	too	tedious	to	keep	track	of	the	standards	attached	to each	attribution.	And	thus	speakers	drifted	towards	the	M-relativist	understanding. 13 And	yet,	while	there	is	a	plausible	genealogical	explanation	of	why	we	should	expect	to	have intuitions	supporting	M-relativism,	there	is	also	a	plausible	story	to	be	told	that	goes	the	other	way. There	are	grounds	for	doubting	whether	M-relativism	is	really	compatible	with	the	role	of	testimony in	a	genealogical	account.	Consider	Reynolds'	idea	that	informants	need	to	internalise	the	correct testimonial	norms.	This	is	difficult	to	fit	with	M-relativism:	the	M-relativist	claims	testimonial	norms require	us	to	assert	only	propositions	that	are	true	relative	to	our	present	context	of	assessment (see	MacFarlane	2014:	Ch.	12),	but	if	we	follow	these	norms	our	testimony	may	be	of	little	use	to inquirers	in	different	contexts	of	assessment.	Further,	M-relativism	poses	more	general	problems	for our	testimonial	practices	(Rysiew	2012).	We	often	rely	on	reports	to	the	effect	that	someone	knows that	p.	But,	for	the	M-relativist,	these	reports	will	be	true	relative	to	some	contexts	of	assessment and	false	relative	to	others.	Should	the	inquirer	rely	on	these	reports?	Either	the	M-relativist	has	to hold	that	we	shouldn't,	or	they	have	to	allow	that	we	need	a	way	of	keeping	track	of	which	contexts of	assessment	reports	are	true	relative	to.	And	thus	the	seeming	advantage	of	M-relativism	over contextualism	disappears. Genealogy	and	Neutrality Let	us	take	stock.	We	have	argued	that	a	genealogical	account	can	be	given	of	the	intuitions underlying	five	philosophical	views:	absolutism,	B-relativism,	invariantism,	contextualism	and	Mrelativism.	Some	of	these	views	cannot	be	adopted	together.	For	instance,	absolutism	and	Brelativism	are	incompatible.	This	prompts	three	questions	about	the	relationship	between	(Craigean) genealogy	and	relativism: 1. Can	genealogy	maintain	a	neutral	stance	towards	these	views? 2. Should	genealogy	maintain	a	neutral	stance? 3. If	genealogy	cannot	(or	should	not)	maintain	a	neutral	stance,	which	of	these	should	it	favour? We	take	each	question	in	turn. Question	1:	Genealogy	is	primarily	a	methodology.	Its	aim	is	to	make	sense	of	different epistemological	'intuition-pumps'	as	natural	responses	to	very	general	social-epistemic	situations. On	Craig's	account,	knowledge	was	introduced	in	order	to	serve	certain	deep-seated	human	needs related	to	these	situations.	But	it	is	far	from	obvious	that	there	should	be	only	one	single	way	in 14 which	these	needs	can	be	met.	The	different	genealogical	rationales	for	both	absolutism	and	Brelativism	(or	for	the	various	views	about	the	semantics	of	knowledge	attributions)	make	this	point vivid:	incompatible	philosophical	positions	can	be	understood	as	motivated	by	the	same	set	of general	needs.	Moreover,	in	providing	genealogical	explanations	for	different,	or	even	opposed, intuitions,	we	are	not	necessarily	taking	a	stand	on	the	correctness	or	rationality	of	these	intuitions. We	can	understand	something	as	a	response	to	a	need	without	taking	the	need	(or	response)	to	be rational.	For	instance,	you	can	view	a	politician's	provocative	statements	as	a	response	to	a	need	for attention	without	regarding	this	response	as	rational,	or	as	a	good	thing. A	comparison	with	the	"Impartiality"	and	"Symmetry"	principles	of	the	"Strong	Programme" of	the	"Sociology	of	Scientific	Knowledge"	(SSK)	can	help	strengthen	this	point	(Barnes	and	Bloor 1982,	Bloor	1991).	The	Strong	Programme	'would	be	impartial	with	respect	to	truth	and	falsity, rationality	or	irrationality,	success	or	failure'	and	it	'would	be	symmetrical	in	its	style	of	explanation. The	same	types	of	cause	would	explain	say,	true	and	false	beliefs.'	(Bloor	1991)	Thus	the	proponent of	SSK	offers	the	same	general	types	of	explanations	of	theory	acceptance	in	science	regardless	of whether	the	respective	theories	are	true	or	false	by	our	lights.	For	instance,	SSK	gives	'symmetrical' sociological	explanations	of	the	beliefs	of	all	sides	in	controversies	like	the	dispute	between	Boyle and	Hobbes	over	the	'Spring	of	Air'	or	the	possibility	of	a	mechanically	produced	vacuum	(Shapin and	Schaffer	1985). Genealogy	does	something	similar,	albeit	at	a	different	level.	Where	SSK	tends	to	focus	on particular	and	contingent	historical	controversies,	the	genealogist	starts	from	an	abstract,	idealised and	simplified	social	scenario	–	the	'epistemic	state	of	nature'	-and	then	imagines	how	human needs	related	to	these	scenarios	lead	to	the	development	of	one	or	more	concepts.	Both	forms	of analysis	are	impartial	and	symmetrical. And	yet,	this	comparison	prompts	a	worry.	Isn't	genealogy	just	an	empirically	unconstrained form	of	philosophical	speculation?	Why	engage	in	genealogy	when	we	have	SSK	(and	related	forms of	social	theory	and	anthropology)? At	this	point	we	dig	in	our	genealogical	heels.	The	worry	is	over-stated.	First,	genealogy	is	not alone	in	thinking	through	abstract	and	simplified	social	scenarios.	'Social	theory',	the	abstract	and highly	theoretical	end	of	social	science,	does	likewise.	Take	game	theory,	for	example.	Few	social scientists	are	inclined	to	dismiss	game	theory	out	of	hand	just	because	it	abstracts	away	from	details about	the	social	world.	Second,	genealogy	is	not	entirely	unconstrained	by	empirical	information.	In Craig's	version,	we	build	on	information	about	supposedly	universal	human	needs.	In	Williams's version,	we	add	further	assumptions	about	human	practices,	collective	goods,	free-riding,	values, 15 commitments,	and	much	else.	True,	Craigean	genealogy	does	not	study	actual,	concrete,	dated events.	But	that	is	because	it	investigates	ubiquitous	and	repeatable	types	of	events.	Finally,	recall Williams'	insistence	that	genealogy	ultimately	has	to	'make	contact'	with	actual	historical	writing. Genealogy	is	not	complete	until	it	has	identified	the	actually	endorsed	values	underlying	our epistemic	institutions,	until	it	has	pinpointed	the	actual	values	to	which	accuracy	and	sincerity	are linked.	Going	beyond	Williams'	own	writings,	one	might	argue,	for	instance,	that	Steven	Shapin's study	of	Boyle's	scientific	testimony	brilliantly	brings	out	the	importance	of	gentlemanly	values	and conventions	surrounding	the	reporting	of	facts	(Shapin	1994,	cf.	Kusch	2009). Question	2:	Let	us	assume	that	there	is	a	sense	in	which	genealogy	can	be	neutral	–	it	is	an explanatory	method	for	making	sense	of	conflicting	intuitions.	Alas,	this	does	not	yet	show	what exactly	would	be	valuable	about	neutral	genealogy.	Maybe,	if	it	is	to	have	any	interest,	a	genealogy needs	to	'take	sides'.	The	general	worry	here	is	that,	while	an	explanation	of	where	our	'intuitions came	from'	may	be	of	historical	or	sociological	interest,	it	isn't	of	philosophical	interest. We	are	not	convinced.	If	philosophy	is	anything,	it	is	an	exercise	of	critical	self-reflection.	And surely,	it	must	be	part	and	parcel	of	such	self-reflection	to	ask	where	our	(most	deeply	held) intuitions	come	from.	Their	origins	may	be	important	for	all	sorts	of	reasons.	For	instance,	if	Williams is	right,	understanding	the	origins	of	our	institution	of	testimony	is	crucial	for	understanding	the 'twin	values'	of	sincerity	and	accuracy.	More	generally,	if	we	see	social	epistemology	as	in	some sense	continuous	with	social	theory,	we	surely	must	care	about	the	social	origins	of	our epistemological	intuitions	and	institutions. An	analogy	might	be	helpful.	We	see	the	role	of	genealogy	as	being	roughly	akin	to	the	role	of experimental	philosophy	when	it	asks	which	psychological	mechanisms	and	processes	influence	our judgements.	The	experimental	philosophers	do	not	just	claim	that	it	would	be	interesting	to	find	out what	drives	our	judgements;	they	claim	that	their	findings	are	philosophically	important.	Take,	for instance,	psychological	work	on	the	cognitive	processes	underlying	our	judgements	about	whether subjects	'know'	in	'bank	cases'	(and	other	similar	cases).	Some	of	this	work	explains	intuitions appealed	to	by	contextualists	in	support	of	their	semantics	for	knowledge	attributions	(see	e.g. Gerken	2013;	Nagel	2008,	2010).	The	underlying	idea	is	that	epistemology	is	continuous	with psychology,	and	that	therefore	the	epistemologist	must	care	about	the	psychological	origins	of	our epistemological	intuitions.	We	want	to	insist	that	the	same	goes	for	epistemology	and	social	theory. One	might	object	that,	while	this	analogy	may	clarify	the	philosophical	relevance	of	genealogy, it	does	so	at	the	cost	of	compromising	its	neutrality.	After	all,	Gerken	and	Nagel's	work	is	generally 16 seen	as	an	argument	against	a	contextualist	account	of	the	semantics	of	knowledge	attributions.	We grant	that	this	is	both	Gerken's	and	Nagel's	intention.	But	we	reject	the	inference	against	neutrality. Why	should	it	be	assumed	that	we	could	not	use	the	experimental	method	to	explain	proinvariantist	intuitions	too? Nevertheless,	we	do	not	insist	on	the	complete	neutrality	of	genealogy	regarding	the	five positions	at	issue	in	this	paper.	Instead,	we	shall	ask:	if	genealogy	has	to	take	sides,	which	position should	it	favour? Question	3	We	are	going	to	focus	on	the	absolutism/B-relativism	dispute.	The	genealogist	who	'takes a	side'	in	this	dispute	seems	to	have	(at	least)	four	options: a. The	genealogical	explanation	'debunks'	both	absolutism	and	B-relativism	(both	are	'empty ideas',	cf.	Unger	2014). b. The	explanation	leads	to	philosophical	'quietism'	(the	question	of	the	'correctness'	of	these views	never	arises). c. The	explanation	'vindicates'	both	absolutism	and	B-relativism. d. The	explanation	vindicates	one	view,	but	not	the	other. We	think	the	genealogist	should	plump	for	d.,	and	this	vindicates	B-relativism	over	absolutism. The	problem	with	a.	is	that	it	conflates	origin	and	validity.	It	assumes	that	just	because	our intuitions	have	their	origins	in	contingent	social	settings,	our	intuitions	are	worthless.	The	accusation of	worthlessness	falls	back	on	this	very	argument.	(This	seems	like	an	instance	of	the	'genetic	fallacy' cf.	Srinivisan	2015). The	problem	with	b.	is	that	it	is	unstable.	On	one	rendering,	it	collapses	into	option	a.:	there	is nothing	to	say	because	both	views	have	been	debunked-they	were	both	wrong,	and	it	was	a mistake	to	have	the	dispute	in	the	first	place.	On	another	reading,	it	amounts	to	a	form	of	'secondorder'	relativism:	there	is	nothing	to	be	said	since	both	views	'have	their	place'.	But	it	is	hard	to	see how	a	resolution	of	the	absolutism/B-relativism	dispute	that	involves	second-order	relativism	could possibly	be	even-handed.	Thus	the	second	reading	of	b.	is	really	tantamount	to	d. Option	c.	is	problematic	for	the	same	reason.	Absolutism	and	B-relativism	can't	'both	have their	place':	absolutism	is	committed	to	non-absolutist	views	being	thoroughly	mistaken. This	leaves	alternative	d.	There	are	two	ways	of	arguing	that,	if	genealogy	takes	the	fourth option,	it	will	end	up	debunking	absolutism.	The	first	is	relatively	direct.	Start	with	Williams'	solution 17 to	the	free-rider	problem:	in	order	to	stop	free	riders	taking	advantage	of	the	institution	of testimony,	we	impress	upon	each	other	the	need	to	regard	accuracy	and	sincerity	as	intrinsic,	nonnegotiable	values.	Whatever	the	merits	of	this	solution,	it	clearly	involves	a	form	of	anti-realism about	the	norms	of	accuracy	and	sincerity.	On	Williams'	view,	these	norms	are	'of	our	making', rather	than	'being	there	anyway'.	That	these	norms	'are	there	anyway'	is	very	much	at	the	heart	of the	absolutist's	credo.	Something	similar	applies	to	genealogy	more	generally.	Whenever	we	offer an	account	of	the	genealogy	of	our	epistemic	concepts	and	norms,	we	are	presenting	them	as human	constructs,	anchored	in	contingent	human	needs,	subject	to	the	causal	influences	of biological	and	cultural	evolution.	This	type	of	analysis	jars	with	the	idea	of	independent	epistemic truths	(cf.	Street	2009).	Admittedly,	there	is	a	conceptual	difference	between	anti-realism	and	Brelativism:	while	relativism	entails	anti-realism,	the	reverse	is	not	true.	Nevertheless,	anti-realism	is incompatible	with	absolutism.	And	thus	genealogy	debunks	absolutism.	While	not	being	a	direct argument	for	B-relativism,	it	does	remove	B-relativism's	main	competitor	from	the	contest. There	is	also	a	second	way	in	which	genealogy	weakens	absolutism.	One	common	line	of argument	in	defence	of	absolutism-whether	in	epistemology	or	in	ethics-is	that	it	is	the	default view:	the	view	that	we	should	adopt	unless	we	are	given	good	reason	not	to	(see	Cuneo	2007).	Part of	the	reason	why	absolutism	is	taken	to	be	the	default	view	is	that,	if	absolutism	is	true,	we	can explain	a	wide	range	of	common	intuitions.	For	example,	we	can	explain	why	epistemic	norms,	such as	norms	of	accuracy	and	sincerity,	seem	so	attractive.	Genealogy	decisively	blocks	this	route. Genealogical,	symmetrical	explanations	of	absolutist	and	relativist	intuitions	put	all	of	these intuitions	on	a	par.	None	of	these	intuitions	have	the	special	rights	of	the	firstborn.	None	of	them are	the	default.	Hence	the	relativist	need	not	fight	the	uphill	battle	of	challenging	allegedly	absolutist common	sense.	Neither	side	is	common	sense	alone.	Both	are	–	up	to	a	point.	Given	absolutists' reliance	on	the	'burden	of	proof',	the	genealogical	redistribution	of	this	burden	helps	B-relativism. Finally,	where	does	this	leave	the	invariantism,	contextualism	and	M-relativism	dispute?	For the	reasons	just	given,	it	is	hard	to	see	how	a	genealogical	account	of	this	dispute	could	be	entirely neutral.	But	which	side	does	it	favour?	Answering	this	question	requires	getting	clear	on	the relationship	between	M-relativism	and	B-relativism:	to	the	extent	that	M-relativism	fits	naturally with	B-relativism,	the	argument	above	offers	reasons	to	think	that	genealogy	favours	M-relativism. But	this	is	a	complicated	issue,	which	we	lack	the	space	to	address	here. Summary 18 In	this	paper	we	have	brought	together	two	important	strands	in	contemporary	epistemology:	the debate	around	epistemic	relativism	and	the	genealogy	of	knowledge.	We	have	proposed	–	what	we believe	to	be	–	an	original	rendering	of	the	latter,	and	have	applied	it	to	the	former.	We	have identified	the	general	human	needs	and	practices	that	give	rise	to	the	intuitions	underlying absolutism,	B-relativism,	invariantism,	contextualism	and	M-relativism.	And	we	have	tried	to maintain	–	albeit	in	a	tentative	and	'first-shot'	fashion	–	that	genealogy	is	a	natural	ally	to	Brelativism.2 Bibliography Barnes,	B.	&	Bloor,	D.	(1982),	'Relativism,	Rationalism	and	the	Sociology	of	Knowledge',	in	M.	Hollis &	S.	Lukes	(eds.),	Rationality	and	Relativism,	Oxford:	Blackwell,	21-47 Bloor,	D.	(1991),	Knowledge	and	Social	Imagery,	2nd	ed.,	Chicago,	Ill.:	Chicago	University	Press. Boghossian,	P.	(2006),	Fear	of	Knowledge:	Against	Relativism	and	Constructivism,	Oxford:	Oxford University	Press. Brown,	J.	(2006),	'Contextualism	and	Warranted	Assertibility	Manoeuvres',	Philosophical	Studies	130 (3):	407-435. Craig,	E. (1990),	Knowledge	and	the	State	of	Nature:	An	Essay	in	Conceptual	Synthesis,	Oxford: Clarendon	Press. Craig,	E.	(1993),	Was	Wir	Wissen	Können,	Frankfurt	a.	M.:	Suhrkamp. Craig,	E.	(2007),	'Genealogies	and	the	State	of	Nature',	in	A.	Thomas	(ed.),	Bernard	Williams, Cambridge,	UK:	Cambridge	University	Press,	181-200. Cuneo,	T.	(2007),	The	Normative	Web:	An	Argument	for	Moral	Realism,	Oxford:	Oxford	University Press. DeRose,	K.	(2009),	The	Case	for	Contextualism:	Knowledge,	Skepticism,	and	Context,	Vol.	1.,	Oxford: Oxford	University	Press. Gerken,	M.	(2013),	'Epistemic	Focal	Bias',	Australasian	Journal	of	Philosophy	91	(1):	41-61. Hawthorne,	J.	(2004).	Knowledge	and	Lotteries.	Oxford:	Oxford	University	Press. Hazlett,	A.	(2014).	Expressivism	and	Convention-Relativism	about	Epistemic	Discourse.	In	A. Fairweather	&	O.	Flanagan	(eds.),	Naturalizing	Epistemic	Virtue.	Cambridge	University	Press, 223-46. 2	Our	work	on	this	paper	was	assisted	by	funding	from	the	ERC	Advanced	Grant	Project	"The Emergence	of	Relativism"	(Grant	No.	339382). 19 Henderson,	D.	(2009),	'Motivated	Contextualism',	Philosophical	Studies	142	(1):	119-131. Kelp,	Christoph	(2011),	'What's	the	Point	of	"Knowledge"	Anyway?'	Episteme	8	(1):	53-66. Kusch,	M.	(2009),	'Testimony	and	the	Value	of	Knowledge',	in	A.	Haddock,	A.	Millar,	and	D.	Pritchard (eds.),	Epistemic	Value,	Oxford:	Oxford	University	Press,	60-94. Kusch	and	McKenna	(forthcoming),	'The	Genealogical	Method	in	Epistemology'.	Synthese. MacFarlane,	J.	(2014),	Assessment	Sensitivity:	Relative	Truth	and	its	Applications,	Oxford:	Oxford University	Press. McKenna,	R.	(2013),	'"Knowledge"	Ascriptions,	Social	Roles	and	Semantics',	Episteme	10	(4):	335350. Nagel,	J.	(2008),	'Knowledge	Ascriptions	and	the	Psychological	Consequences	of	Changing	Stakes', Australasian	Journal	of	Philosophy	86	(2):279-294. Nagel,	J.	(2010),	'Knowledge	Ascriptions	and	the	Psychological	Consequences	of	Thinking	about Error',	Philosophical	Quarterly	60	(2-3):	286-306. Reynolds,	S.	(2017),	Knowledge	as	Acceptable	Testimony,	Cambridge:	Cambridge	University	Press. Rorty,	R.	(1979),	Philosophy	and	the	Mirror	of	Nature,	Princeton:	Princeton	University	Press. Rysiew,	P.	(2001),	'The	Context-sensitivity	of	Knowledge	Attributions',	Noûs	35	(4):	477–514. Rysiew,	P.	(2012),	'Epistemic	Scorekeeping',	in	J.	Brown	and	M.	Gerken	(eds.),	Knowledge Ascriptions,	Oxford:	Oxford	University	Press. Scheff,	T.	J.	(1988).	Shame	and	conformity:	The	deference-emotion	system.	American	Sociological Review,	53(3),	395-406. Shapin,	S.	and	S.	Schaffer	(1985),	Leviathan	and	the	Air-Pump:	Hobbes,	Boyle,	and	the	Experimental Life,	Princeton:	Princeton	University	Press. Shapin,	S.	(1994),	A	Social	History	of	Truth:	Civility	and	Science	in	Seventeenth-Century	England, Chicago:	University	of	Chicago	Press. Srinivasan,	A.	(2015),	'The	Archimedean	Urge',	Philosophical	Perspectives	29	(1):	325-362. Street,	S.	(2009),	'Evolution	and	the	Normativity	of	Epistemic	Reasons',	Canadian	Journal	of Philosophy	35:	213-248. Unger,	P.	(2014),	Empty	Ideas:	A	Critique	of	Analytic	Philosophy,	Oxford:	Oxford	University	Press. Williams,	B.	(2002),	Truth	and	Truthfulness:	An	Essay	in	Genealogy,	Princeton	and	Oxford:	Oxford University	Press. Williamson,	T.	(2000),	Knowledge	and	Its	Limits,	Oxford:	Oxford	University	Press.