Aristotle's Endoxic Method

In Book 7 of The Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle summarizes the principles of the endoxic method (Aristotle Reference Barnes1984, 1145b1–8). Nussbaum translates the passage in which Aristotle outlines this method as follows:

Aristotelian scholars commonly recognize this passage as proffering a three-step process (see, for example, Barnes Reference Barnes1980; Nussbaum Reference Nussbaum1986; Kraut Reference Kraut and Kraut2006):

1. 1) Collect the phainomena

2. 2) Critically examine the puzzles

3. 3) Resolve the puzzles

Although scholars debate the nuances of Aristotle's method, a thorough discussion of these debates is beyond the scope of this article. For my purposes, it is enough to identify three building blocks of an endoxic method: collection, examination, and resolution. As I unpack the details of this method in the following paragraphs, I will borrow insights from Nussbaum's interpretation of Aristotle (Nussbaum Reference Nussbaum1986).Footnote ⁷

To understand step 1, I want to underscore the relationship between two Greek terms that appear in the passage cited from the Nicomachean Ethics: phainomena and endoxa. According to Nussbaum, Western scholarship has failed to account for this affiliation and, consequently, it has overlooked significant dimensions of Aristotle's method. Nussbaum attributes this oversight to a long history of translating phainomena as “observed facts,” “data of perception,” “admitted facts,” “facts,” and “observations” (Nussbaum Reference Nussbaum1986, 241). Nussbaum contends these translations erroneously equate phainomena with data that can be objectively measured and quantified, a translation that downgrades the epistemic value of human experience and interpretation. As an alternative, Nussbaum defends a translation of the phainomena as “the appearances,” which, she argues, values and preserves the role language plays in our descriptions and interpretations of the world. “Aristotle's phainomena,” she writes, “must be understood to be our beliefs and interpretations often as revealed in linguistic usage. To set down the phainomena is not to look for belief-free fact, but to record our usage and the structure of thought and belief which usage displays” (244). Nussbaum argues that Aristotle's effort “to set down the phainomena” does not presume a neutral or Archimedean starting point. Instead, his method rests on the principle that how the world appears is inextricably conditioned by how we speak about it. Consequently, a study of the appearances must begin with a discussion of the endoxa, which Nussbaum translates as “the common conceptions or beliefs on the subject … usually revealed in things we say” (243). That is, an interactive relationship holds between the endoxa and the phainomena. Whether one is studying starfish, friendship, or akrasia, one begins by surveying the linguistic practices relevant to the topic of study.

Long offers a similar assessment regarding the relationship between linguistic practices and the phainomena in Aristotle on the Nature of Truth. Long terms Aristotle's methodology “logomenology” (Long Reference Long2011, 7), and he describes this practice as one that requires a philosopher “to attend carefully to the ways things are said and to strive to respond to the saying of things in ways that do justice to what has been said” (7). For Long, this attention to language directly corresponds with the philosophical quest for truth. According to his reading of Aristotle, truth is not a matter of identifying propositional content that correctly corresponds to its referent or using a scale that objectively measures entities in the world. Instead, Long conceptualizes truth as a happening or an event in which the world “opens” (7) to us through our use of language. It is important to note that this conceptualization does not imply an ontological opposition between language and the world; rather, “our very speaking about beings reveals something of the nature of these beings themselves” (54). In turn, the revelatory quality of language suggests that philosophers should conduct robust explorations into the many ways things can be said. Given that language reveals different dimensions of the world, and given Long's claim that “it is only by living and speaking in intimate association with the phenomena that we are able to articulate the truth of things” (67), then it follows that a comprehensive engagement with ordinary language will better position us to articulate the truth of the appearances. The more we dwell with various linguistic formulations, the more the world opens up to us. In Long's words, “Indeed, truth does not find expression in the isolated articulation of a single voice; it rather resonates in a polyphony of voices that emerges out of the various ways each engages the world …” (50). Following Long, one can argue that a truthful understanding of the phainomena hinges on one's interaction with language in all its multiplicity.

Therefore, step 1 of the endoxic method requires one to collect, catalogue, and make visible the manifold of things that are said about a topic across different discourses. Or, to offer a stronger formulation, our “ordinary beliefs and sayings” must be recognized before we formulate our philosophical explanations (Nussbaum Reference Nussbaum1986, 245). Nussbaum argues that this imperative distinguishes Aristotle from his own tradition, as well as wide swaths of the philosophical enterprise in general. Nussbaum writes: “[Aristotle] insists that he will find truth inside what we say, see, and believe, rather than ‘far from the beaten path of human beings’ (in Plato's words) ‘out there’” (243). Whereas thinkers like Plato sought to transcend ordinary experience in order to achieve philosophical insight, Aristotle presumes that philosophical disquisitions that neglect human practices risk collapsing important distinctions. As philosophy grows out of a prephilosophical world, it must remain mindful of the variety of opinions and beliefs that inform the world to which it remains in debt.

At this point, it is useful to look to Aristotle's work to observe an example of step 1 in practice. In the Eudemian Ethics and the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle theorizes the nature of friendship. Though these works are frequently remembered for producing a tripartite theory of friendship, a closer reading of the texts reveals a descriptive activity is also taking place. Aristotle commences his investigation in the Eudemian Ethics by surveying what people say about friendship. In doing so, it becomes clear that friendship is a rich and complex term that resists concise definitional capture:

One of the implicit dangers of theorizing is the potential to overlook these different patterns of linguistic usage. Rather than beginning with an argument of the form “friendship is X,” Aristotle demands that we, to borrow an admonition from Ludwig Wittgenstein, “look and see” the multiple ways we use a word or concept in our everyday conversations (Wittgenstein Reference Wittgenstein2001, 27, 93). By surveying the different things that are said about friendship, Aristotle demonstrates the endoxic diversity that constitutes practices of friendship within his community.

This attentive observation leads to step 2 of the endoxic method: working through the puzzles. In Nussbaum's words, “His next job … is to set out the puzzles or dilemmas with which they confront us. The phainomena present us with a confused array, often with direct contradiction. They reflect our disagreements and ambivalences” (Nussbaum Reference Nussbaum1986, 246). Such disagreements or inconsistencies are not surprising given that the endoxa reflect a plurality of viewpoints concerning a subject, not general consensus. For example, if we compare the different beliefs about friendship that Aristotle catalogues above, then the following puzzles, among others, arise: How do we square the belief that friendship is rooted in utility with the belief that bad people cannot be friends? Why does moral character matter if friends are simply those who are regarded as useful? In step 2, we critically dwell with each viewpoint, opinion, and perspective. Along the way, we try to understand the assumptions that underlie competing positions, we unpack their respective implications, we consider the relationships among different beliefs, and we clarify which positions warrant further addressing.

This step promises a number of benefits. For one, if we do not interrogate incongruent beliefs from the beginning, then we may fail to realize the depth or magnitude of the extant incongruities within our communities. If the endoxa expose conflicting viewpoints and ambiguities concerning a subject, it is because these conflicts exist and deserve recognition and inspection. Moreover, this step helps to preclude the dangers of a sloppy reductionism. Nussbaum writes, “Without this serious attempt to describe the puzzles, the philosopher is likely to accept too quickly a solution that disguises or merely avoids the problem” (Nussbaum Reference Nussbaum1986, 246). Furthermore, a failure to engage discordant beliefs and opinions can position the philosopher to perpetuate hegemonic or oppressive beliefs, a claim that Aristotle does not make but one that I will develop in further sections.

All of this is not to argue, however, that philosophy should be exclusively a descriptive activity. Collecting the endoxa, pointing out the problems, and then walking away is not what Aristotle (nor Beauvoir) has in mind. Aristotle was not content with ambiguity and confusion, and Nussbaum reminds us of his incessant desire for clarification. “His imagery of bondage and freedom indicates that he found the experience of dilemma anything but delightful” (247). If the endoxic method limited itself to descriptive activity, then this method might invite charges of irresponsible quietism or impotent relativism. Neither position is in line with Aristotle's philosophical goals, which consistently aim to “bring the matter of life into a perspicuous order” (247). The point of the endoxic method is not simply to preserve the status quo (246).

This brings us to the third step in Aristotle's method: resolve the puzzles. In this step, we offer a theoretical explanation that is animated by our ordinary beliefs and practices. Although the endoxic method compels us to survey all endoxa, it does not obligate us to integrate all of the endoxa into our final accounts. We may need to adapt or reject the endoxa that do not stand up to critical scrutiny; indeed, making these sorts of evaluations and assessments is a critical task of the third step. In doing so, however, we must ensure that our final account continues to resonate with the endoxa we collected and assessed during steps 1 and 2. As Nussbaum writes, “We must, at the end of our work on the puzzles, bring our account back to the phainomena and show that our account does, in fact, preserve them as true—or, at any rate, the greatest number and the most basic” (247). In the case of friendship, for example, Aristotle proposes that there must be “three kinds of friendship, not all being so named for one thing …” (Aristotle Reference Barnes1984, 1236a16–17). By recognizing that the meaning of friendship shifts across contexts and relationships, Aristotle's tripartite theory of friendship preserves his community's endoxic beliefs.

Philosophically speaking, step 3 is the most difficult step of the endoxic process, as it raises a series of complex questions regarding the criteria we use for adopting one belief over another or for rejecting a belief as false or untenable. I do not aim to offer specific guidelines for such adjudication. Rather, I want to stress the interpretive dimension of step 3, which compels us to move beyond descriptive activity to postulate an explanation or theoretical account. Although I have been stressing the descriptive components of the endoxic method, it is critical to remember that the endoxic method is ultimately devised as a strategy for articulating and devising theoretical explanations. What distinguishes the endoxic method, however, is its approach to theory-building. Theoretical activity typically involves abstraction and generalization, actions that can lead the philosopher to collapse empirical differences for the sake of a finely tuned and coherent thesis. One of the values of the endoxic method is that it can circumvent the threats of oversimplification and reductionism through its compulsory engagement with the complexity of ordinary experiences. In Nussbaum's words, “The method of appearance-saving therefore demands that we press for consistency. But in resolving our difficulties, we are not, Aristotle insists, free to follow a logical argument anywhere it leads” (247). Instead, we must continuously verify that our theories find traction in the terrain of lived experiences. A philosophical account must begin and end in the endoxa; a failure to do so marks a failure in philosophy.

The Endoxic Method and Feminist Goals

If the endoxa are to play a critical role in shaping the direction of our philosophical investigations then the question must be asked, whose opinions do we include in our initial proceedings? Who gets to weigh in? It is important to note that the endoxa are not tantamount to individual perspective; not all opinions or beliefs count as endoxa according to Aristotle. Thus we must ask what conditions are sufficient to qualify a belief as endoxic? What elevates a specific belief to endoxic status?

To answer this question, scholars have historically focused their attention on Book 1 of the Topics in which Aristotle describes the endoxa as the following: “those opinions are reputable which are accepted by everyone or by the majority or by the wise—i.e. by all, or by the majority, or by the most notable and reputable of them” (Aristotle Reference Barnes1984, 100b20–22). Although there is some debate over translation, scholars generally agree that an endoxic belief is, simply put, a belief that is held by the many and the wise. This is to say, an endoxic belief is either a) a common opinion that circulates within a community or b) an opinion that is held by someone whom the community recognizes as an epistemic authority.Footnote ⁸ Some scholars argue that for a belief to count as endoxic, an epistemic authority must hold that belief (Brunschwig Reference Brunschwig1967). This requirement corresponds with the word's etymological origins. In his entry for the online Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Christopher Shields writes that Aristotle appropriates the term endoxa from the Greek word endoxos which means “notable or honourable man, a man of high repute whom we would spontaneously respect” (Shields Reference Shields and Zalta2016, under “Phainomena and the Endoxic Method”).

The condition of epistemic authority poses some challenges to my proposal that The Second Sex provides an example of the endoxic method. Likewise, the claim that an endoxic belief is one that is “accepted by everyone or by the majority” (in Aristotle Reference Barnes1984, 100b21) further complicates my thesis. As we will see, Beauvoir includes marginalized and devalued voices across her text, many of which challenge authoritative or popular perspectives within her community. Indeed, one of the revolutionary contributions of The Second Sex is its insight that many common understandings about gender are wrong, such as the belief that gender differences are purely a product of biological differences. To make this argument, however, Beauvoir had to dispute conventional thinking about women's social roles. If the endoxic method tethers one to popular, common, or authoritative beliefs, then one might wonder if this method is congruous with feminist objectives. After all, one of the critical tasks of feminist philosophy is to question conventional, popular, or canonical beliefs that perpetuate oppressive values and ideals.

Yet there is reason to argue that the endoxa can include beliefs that challenge popular or authoritative views, in addition to the views of the many and the wise. Karbowski, for example, claims that if we look beyond the popular passage from the Topics, we will find that Aristotle “broadens the scope of endoxa” (Karbowski Reference Karbowski2015, 76). More specifically, Karbowski notes moments in the Topics where Aristotle recognizes beliefs that are not endorsed or accepted by epistemic authorities as endoxic, such as “beliefs that an individual accepts as true or plausible on their own merits …” (88). Inspired by these additional passages, Karbowski argues for a revised translation that defines endoxa as “essentially reputable, respectable, or noteworthy beliefs. That is, what it is for a belief to be endoxon is for it to be worthy of attention and respect” (75). For the purposes of my argument, I want to underscore Karbowski's point that there are multiple ways for a belief to earn endoxic status, that is, to be a belief that deserves attentive consideration. Sometimes it is because the belief belongs to the many and the wise; other times it is because the belief is probable or plausible (75).

Karbowski's revised understanding of the endoxa as “noteworthy beliefs” helps to unlock the feminist potential of the endoxic method, and it supports my claim that we can read The Second Sex as an example of the endoxic method. Surely, the noteworthiness of a belief is not determined by the believer's status as an authoritative figure or a member of the majority. It is certainly possible, for example, to find noteworthy beliefs circulating within marginalized or oppressed groups. For a belief to qualify as endoxic, it must be shared or collective. However, not all groups or communities that share a belief will register as the “many” or the “wise.” By translating endoxa to include plausible beliefs that deserve attention and respect, one can clear the space for marginalized, oppressed, or underrepresented views to appear.

Such a clearing is important for epistemological as well as social-justice reasons. Including plausible beliefs alongside common and expert ones encourages us to cast a wider epistemic net when surveying the “things said” and, consequently, we stand a better chance of illuminating the full truth of the appearances. Engaging with multiple beliefs will, to use Long's language, “deepen our engagement with the nature of things” (Long Reference Long2011, 51). If marginalized or silenced voices tell us something noteworthy about the appearances under consideration, then we are missing important facets of the appearance if we neglect their voices. To echo Long's argument, we cannot understand the truth of the appearances without first recognizing the many things that are said about the appearances. This is not to suggest that every endoxic belief should necessarily be accepted, celebrated, or advanced; a plausible view may turn out to be erroneous, spurious, or unjust. However, such adjudications and critiques cannot be made without first recognizing the beliefs in question. Before we can sort through the puzzles, we must first make the puzzles evident. Different endoxa reveal different aspects of the world; if we restrict our records to authoritative beliefs, then we risk epistemological bias and philosophical bigotry.

To summarize, an endoxic method that surveys noteworthy or plausible beliefs can provide feminist philosophers with an important resource for practicing engaged and inclusive philosophy because it compels philosophers to integrate multiple, as well as marginal, voices into their theoretical accounts. Nevertheless, a pressing problem remains with the endoxic method. In Book 1 of the Nicomachean Ethics Aristotle writes, “To examine all the opinions that have been held would no doubt be somewhat fruitless: it is enough to examine those that are most prevalent or that seem to have some reason in their favour” (Aristotle Reference Barnes1984, 1095a28–30). Although Aristotle's method offers us resources for grounding our investigations in lived experience, his method also delimits the scope of our philosophical inquiry. The endoxa we include in the beginning of our investigation will determine where our investigations can and will go; endoxa not included within the initial records will play no part in affecting the outcome of our proceedings. Given that Aristotle excludes women from political participation, we can assume that his endoxic records do not include their opinions or positions, or at least not extensively so. In general, Aristotle uses this method to collect the endoxa of people like him; we might say he fails to include the endoxa of the Other.

Although philosophical discourse has advanced since the time of Aristotle in terms of diversity and inclusivity, a philosopher's own preconceptions will always pose challenges to the project of endoxic mapping. Very often, the views that strike one as plausible or noteworthy are the views that corroborate or validate one's own values, beliefs, and epistemic commitments. Karbowski points out that plausibility is always a “matter of degree” (Karbowski Reference Karbowski2015, 88), an observation that parallels some feminist arguments that all epistemological claims are shaped by the knower's social location (see, for example, Collins Reference Collins1990; Code Reference Code, Alcoff and Kittay2007; Alcoff Reference Alcoff, Bailey and Cuomo2008). Aristotle, for example, did not include the endoxa of women and slaves because his own biases regarding the relationship between knowledge and identity prevented him from registering their views as plausible ones. Unfortunately, problems of epistemic bias can never be fully resolved because this flaw is endemic to the method. Insofar as one's own standpoint predisposes one to notice certain endoxa and to overlook others, then the endoxic method is perennially susceptible to threats of exclusion, inadvertent or otherwise.

However, we can manage this problem with a two-pronged strategy. First, we should adopt a constant and responsive practice of epistemic humility. Alistair Wardrope defines epistemic humility as “an attitude of awareness of the limitations of one's own epistemic capacities, and an active disposition to seek sources outside one's self to help overcome these shortcomings” (Wardrope Reference Wardrope2015, 350). This disposition can be enacted by posing questions that are attentive to issues of difference, exclusion, and marginalization. We must continuously ask ourselves, whose perspective is missing from our account? How do we make unrecognized but relevant endoxa appear? How do we identify silenced voices that have “some account to give”? By asking such questions we obligate ourselves to evaluate the scope and content of our endoxic survey with a more inclusive eye. These questions incite philosophers to move beyond the parameters of the many and the wise and give them an incentive to acknowledge the endoxic heterogeneity that exists in the world, an acknowledgment that will likely influence their theoretical conclusions. After all, if Aristotle had included the endoxa of women in his own accounts, then his theoretical assessment of women would have likely looked very different. At the very least, he would have gathered a richer collection of endoxa and, consequently, he could have produced a more comprehensive account of gender difference.Footnote ⁹

Second, we can further manage the problem of bias by introducing a practice of democratic collaboration. A single philosopher collecting endoxa during step 1 of the method is less likely to recognize the full gamut of plausible endoxa than a team of diverse philosophers working in conjunction with one another. Moreover, a collaborative approach can promote more diverse discussions during steps 2 and 3 of the endoxic method in which philosophers work through the puzzles and articulate solutions. In doing so, they will obtain a more comprehensive understanding of the appearances they are investigating. My general point is that so long as one critically assesses the processes through which shared or plausible beliefs are collected, then one can mitigate the problems of bias and exclusion.

At this point, I want to provide an example of an endoxic method that invites marginalized voices to join the discussion. I argue that Beauvoir's polyphonic text, The Second Sex, which records conversations, letters, diary entries, theories, and stories, offers a contemporary example of the endoxic method at work. In addition, by including a larger range of endoxa than what Aristotle gathered, The Second Sex generates philosophical insights hitherto concealed. Consequently, Beauvoir's text suggests that good philosophy may depend on endoxic diversity.

Beauvoir's Endoxic Method

As we have seen, one of the distinguishing features of the endoxic method is its style of questioning. The form of a question influences the trajectory of the investigation, and thus it is important to consider how an initial question is posed. When embarking on an investigation into a subject X, the endoxic method begins by asking, what do people say about X in prephilosophical practice?

One need only turn to the “Introduction” of Beauvoir's The Second Sex to find this method at work. Her text begins with the question “what is a woman?” (Beauvoir Reference Beauvoir, Borde and Malovany-Chevallier1949/2011, 3, 5). In answer, Beauvoir lists a multiplicity of voices, including Saint Thomas Aquinas, John Stuart Mill, Plato, Aristotle, “well-informed persons” (3), feminists, the authors of magazine articles, and public assumptions such as “Everyone agrees there are females in the human species” (3). Every voice offers a different answer to what it means to be a “woman” and, therefore, a different way of looking at the topic under investigation. In line with the endoxic method, Beauvoir carefully records these different responses, juxtaposing them to underscore “woman's” inherent ambiguity. On the one hand, some accounts that hold that “women are, among human beings, merely those who are arbitrarily designated by the word ‘woman’” (4). On the other hand, some reply, “she is a womb” and urge women to “be women, stay women, become women” (3). Beauvoir's endoxa are taken from a variety of sources. Included in the “Introduction” are prayers: “‘Blessed be the Lord our God, and the Lord of all worlds that has not made me a woman’” (10) and an excerpt from an article in Cahiers du Sud: “If only there were no feminine myth but only bands of cooks, matrons, prostitutes, and bluestockings with functions of pleasure or utility” (14, footnote 8). Beauvoir references her own conversations: “I used to get annoyed in abstract discussions to hear men tell me: ‘You think such and such a thing because you're a woman’” (5) and highlights the important role the word woman plays in her own self-identification: “If I want to define myself, I first have to say ‘I am a woman’” (5). This plurality of voices marks an endoxic beginning and lays important groundwork that guides Beauvoir's subsequent exploration.

As demonstrated in the opening pages of The Second Sex, one question—“what is a woman?”—generates a collection of complex and often inconsistent answers, revealing an arena of confusion within Beauvoir's community. Questions direct the light of our attention onto certain aspects of the world, and Beauvoir's query illuminates a philosophical quagmire of contradiction and ambiguity, a turbid impasse that demands investigation. “This is how many men affirm, with quasi good faith, that women are equal to men and have no demands to make,” she observes, “and at the same time that women will never be equal to men and that their demands are in vain” (14). As she continues her introduction, Beauvoir shows that despite playing an active role in our language, woman is an unstable term that does not correlate with a uniform set of experiences or beliefs.

The overall format of The Second Sex is further testimony to an endoxic approach. In volume I, “Facts and Myths,” Beauvoir takes into account the theories generated by the “biological, psychoanalytical, and historical materialist point of view” (17). This volume surveys a range of biological theories ranging as far back as the ancient Greeks, as well as Freud's psychoanalytic account, Engels's arguments in The Origin of the Family, Private Property, and the State, and the anthropological theories of Claude Lévi-Strauss. Given that men penned these theories, and given that their words are still widely regarded and studied, then volume I can be taken to represent a patriarchal or canonical point of view; many would see their perspectives as reflecting the views of “the many and the wise.” Volume II, aptly titled “Lived Experience,” takes a different direction. In Beauvoir's own words, the second half of The Second Sex aims to “describe the world from the woman's point of view such as it is offered to her” (17). The section includes the voices of many marginalized and discounted demographics—at least within the philosophical tradition—including children, adolescents, married women, lesbians, mothers, and prostitutes, among others. By giving voice to each of these views, Beauvoir integrates their perspectives with the traditional canon of male thinkers. In doing so, she expands the range of possible perspectives her readers can adopt and explore as they seek the answer to her opening question.

Understanding The Second Sex as an endoxic investigation gives us an angle of entry into passages that contain blatant contradictions. Many of Beauvoir's observations reaffirm the endoxic incongruities recorded in her introduction: women's lives are limited by oppression and they are energized by acts of spontaneous freedom. For example, in the chapter “Woman's Situation and Character,” Beauvoir paints both a positive and a negative portrait of women's character. A few pages after writing, “she is argumentative, she is cautious and petty, she does not have the sense either of truth or of accuracy, she lacks morality, she is vulgarly self-serving, selfish, she is a liar and an actress” (638), Beauvoir reports, “They withstand physical suffering much better than men; they are capable of stoic courage when circumstances demand it: … they deal with crises, miseries, and misfortune more energetically than their husbands … when they apply their calm stubbornness to any undertaking, they are sometimes brilliantly successful” (642). Beauvoir is not seeking a synthesis or a compromise in such sections; these inconsistencies are meant to be confusing. By precipitating conceptual turbulence, contrary endoxa reveal an aspect of the world that is unsettled and disordered. In turn, this revelation points to the inadequacy of theoretical accounts that advance a simple or reductive answer to her initial question, “what is a woman?”

In line with Aristotle's method, Beauvoir's survey of the endoxa leads to a second step: “working through the puzzles.” As discussed above, this activity involves a critical consideration of the divergent beliefs collected during step 1. Once we have identified endoxic incongruities within a community, we need to carefully unpack the assumptions that orbit and underwrite each belief and claim. Throughout The Second Sex, Beauvoir explores the limits and implications of the various opinions that she indexes. For example, after sorting through scientific theories, many of which identify biology as the source of women's ubiquitous oppression, Beauvoir concludes that biological differences cannot “explain why woman is the Other” (44). Although Beauvoir finds it necessary to include biological perspectives and to recognize the import of sex differences, she also cross-examines the premises and assumptions associated with such theories. Recording the endoxa generated by biological discourse enables Beauvoir to locate where certain beliefs about women come from, to determine which ideas she thinks are worth preserving, and to reveal the limitations of different accounts. Beauvoir continues this practice in the second section, in which she explores the lived experiences of women. She uncovers the opinions of children, married women, narcissists, women in love, and mothers, among others, all the while putting into relief the puzzles that arise and the theoretical ramifications that follow from each set of viewpoints.

This brings us to step 3 of Beauvoir's endoxic method: articulate a theoretical explanation that remains mindful of the endoxa. In the opening pages of The Second Sex, Beauvoir announces her intention to clarify the discordant answers regarding the meaning of the word woman. “Every argument has its opposite, and both are often misleading,” Beauvoir writes, “To see clearly, one needs to get out of these ruts; these vague notions of superiority, inferiority, and equality that have distorted all discussions must be discarded in order to start anew” (15). Here, Beauvoir's language of “seeing clearly” testifies to her desire for theoretical comprehension and clarification. As the text progresses, Beauvoir proffers many theoretical insights, including her iconic claim that “one is not born, but rather becomes, woman” (283). In addition, Beauvoir famously theorizes that social practices reduce women to the role of the “Other,” a role that is neither necessary nor inevitable because it is the outcome of historical contingencies rather than “natural” conditions (761). For Beauvoir, insofar as women are historical beings, it is possible for them to become different sorts of beings who can authentically assume the ambiguity of existence, to use the existential lexicon.

Throughout The Second Sex, Beauvoir locates herself in the trenches of ordinary experience, cataloguing and puzzling through the endoxa to arrive to her conclusion. But, to repeat a point made above, this does not preclude her from challenging conventional claims; accounting for a plurality of voices does not obligate one to perpetuate those voices one disagrees with. The key objective is to ensure that a theoretical account takes its bearing from the language of lived experience. In her “Conclusion,” Beauvoir writes, “One must certainly not think that modifying her economic situation is enough to transform woman; this factor has been and remains the primordial factor of her development, but until it brings about the moral, social, and cultural consequences it heralds and requires, the new woman cannot appear” (761). After synthesizing her community's complex beliefs into a rich social topography of gender, Beauvoir theorizes that gender equity will require a significant overhaul of all social practices because beliefs about gender permeate all dimensions of human life. Through a close engagement with the endoxa, Beauvoir articulates a theory of social change that draws its explanatory power from the very world it theorizes.

A further example of a feminist application of the endoxic method can be found in Beauvoir's discussion of abortion in the chapter, “The Mother.” The Second Sex was first published in 1949, meaning that abortion was illegal in France at the time Beauvoir was writing. In 1920, France outlawed information on contraception, viewing such information as “incitement to abortion” (Gallard Reference Gallard, Rolston and Eggert1994, 101). A 1942 law codified abortion as an act of treason, and a laundress named Marie-Louise Giraud was guillotined for performing abortions in 1943 (102). Large segments of Beauvoir's culture framed abortion as an immoral, criminal, and subversive act.

To commence her analysis of abortion, Beauvoir proceeds in true endoxic fashion to survey her community's various opinions and beliefs. She begins by outlining many of the dominant arguments that shape abortion discourse on a public level, for example, the Catholic argument that the fetus has a soul and an abortion will keep the fetus from entering heaven because it was not baptized (Beauvoir Reference Beauvoir, Borde and Malovany-Chevallier1949/2011, 525). She mentions a “masculine sadism” that is evident in the arguments of “Dr. Roy” who argues abortion should be prohibited even to save the mother's life (526). Notably, Beauvoir does not maintain a neutral position as she puts these views into print. She is critical of individuals who oppose abortion but tolerate child abuse, and she attacks “the men” who champion embryonic life but “do not hesitate to send adults to death in war” (525). She accuses bourgeois society of promoting a hypocritical morality with its aggressive defense of fetal rights and its simultaneous refusal to adequately support children once they are born (525). In doing so, she illustrates how an endoxic approach can interweave empirical description with prescriptive evaluation.

After highlighting many common and patriarchal attitudes, Beauvoir expands her endoxic records to include the voices of the women who actually had abortions. To obtain her endoxic records, Beauvoir borrows language from a 1945 report that was published in Les temps modernes. Beauvoir includes many anecdotes and individual reports in this section, but these stories qualify as endoxic because they are common ones and they reveal noteworthy insights regarding the abortion experience. As testimony to the anonymity and fear that restricts reproductive practices, the women are referred to with impersonal monikers such as “Number 9,” “Number 16,” “Number 7,” and “Number 14” (527, 528).

For example, Number 9 has given birth to ten children, but only three are living. She has had seven miscarriages, five of them induced (527). “She regularly used the ‘coat hanger’ technique that she complaisantly displayed, as well as pills whose names she shared with her companions” (527). Likewise, Number 14 is exhausted from multiple births. Beauvoir writes that she had “five children in five years, at forty she looked like an old woman” (528). One woman, Number 7, relives the events leading up to her abortion: “I've been married twenty years. I never loved him: for twenty years I behaved properly. Three months ago I took a lover. One time, in a hotel room. I got pregnant … So what else could I do?” (528). With these voices, Beauvoir is not offering a theory of unwanted pregnancy; instead she is making visible different features of this experience. Note, however, that this descriptive activity entails both political and theoretical ramifications. By documenting this endoxa, Beauvoir familiarizes her readers with poignant empirical details that can engender public empathy and supply a rationale for legalizing the procedure.

On its own, the endoxic method does not settle ethical and legal debates regarding abortion, nor does this tactic resolve timeless philosophical questions pertaining to personhood or moral status. What it does do, however, is provide a clear and cogent picture of the moral terrain of abortion by illuminating the concrete ideas, concerns, questions, beliefs, and conflicts that structure the experience of unwanted pregnancy. Although many ethical narratives focus their attention on the moral status of the fetus, Beauvoir's endoxic record surfaces a different set of ethical concerns. For example, while reflecting upon her abortion, Number 7 proclaims, “Now it's over; I'll never go through it again. I've suffered too much … I'm not speaking about the curettage … No, no, it's something else: it's … it's self-respect, you see” (528). Number 7's story is noteworthy because it shows that women's moral reasoning about abortion often exceeds abstract questions of fetal moral standing, a point further supported by research on women's psychological experiences with abortion (Cockrill and Weitz Reference Cockrill and Weitz2010, 14; Moore, Frohwirth, and Blades Reference Moore, Frohwirth and Blades2011). This is not to suggest that women never consider moral issues of fetal ontology, but rather that the predominant ethical questions that arise are often ones of self-identity and circumstantial necessity. More specifically, Beauvoir observes that “poverty, insufficient housing, and the necessity for the wife to work outside the home are among the most common reasons for abortions” (Beauvoir Reference Beauvoir, Borde and Malovany-Chevallier1949/2011, 527). By recording these details, Beauvoir elucidates elements of the abortion decision-making experience that are neglected by epistemic authorities like Dr. Roy and the Catholic Church. In doing so, she positions feminist philosophers to articulate a more informed account of unwanted pregnancy.

As Beauvoir's analysis of abortion proceeds, other insights emerge. For example, the endoxic method illustrates that the subjective experience of abortion changes in relationship to each woman's social situation. Beauvoir notes that women who have money can access abortion services more easily and that they are less likely to face moral judgment (528). Poor women, on the other hand, are less likely to obtain safe abortion care, and their unwanted pregnancies may indelibly scar their moral characters if they are unmarried (528).

The experiences of “torment” and “misery” (529) are common themes across Beauvoir's endoxic record. Absent legitimate medical care, women resort to a dangerous arsenal of techniques to terminate a pregnancy, including knitting needles, throwing oneself down a staircase, and a “standard remedy” of drinking a soap solution (529–30). Very often, such remedies lead to illness and death. “I was told,” she writes, “about a secretary who stayed in her room for four days, lying in her blood, without eating or drinking, because she did not dare call anyone” (530). Unfortunately, this story is a familiar one for those versed in the unfortunate history of criminalized abortion.

Although reading such stories can be infuriating or dispiriting, Beauvoir's endoxic record provides us with hope as well. By publicizing women's voices, she directly defies the social conventions that discouraged the secretary from calling for help. Indeed, insofar as Beauvoir's community treats abortion as a “repugnant crime to which it is indecent to make an allusion” (524), Beauvoir's endoxic discussion demonstrates the method's revolutionary potential. Given the stigmatized nature of abortion, Beauvoir challenges discursive conventions by placing women's marginalized voices at the center of the discussion. In doing so, she exposes cracks in the dominant ethical narratives, and she confronts prevailing social beliefs that construct childbearing as an essential and necessary component of women's subjectivity and being. Notably, Beauvoir's endoxic approach presages an interesting development in recent abortion discourse. In an attempt to provide a more ethically nuanced picture than what is found in current anti-abortion rhetoric, abortion rights advocates are using various social media platforms to discuss their respective experiences with abortion openly and publicly.Footnote ¹⁰ Collectively, such stories help to expand the ethical boundaries of the abortion debate beyond the simplistic pro-choice/pro-life binary that has dominated abortion discourse for decades, and they concretize and particularize the abortion experience.

In summary, Beauvoir proffers a rich synopsis of the endoxic terrain of abortion and unwanted pregnancy, and her focus on women's experiences helps to expose many of the undertheorized conditions that lead women to seek abortions. Nevertheless, Beauvoir limits her discussion of abortion by focusing almost exclusively on white French women, further testimony to the persistent problems of bias discussed above.Footnote ¹¹ If Beauvoir had extended her account to include women of color living in the United States, for example, she would have encountered a different set of endoxa insofar as women of color have historically faced a unique set of obstacles to reproductive autonomy in the form of eugenic legislation and forced sterilization (Roberts 1997; Nelson Reference Nelson2003; Solinger Reference Solinger2005; Davis Reference Davis and Ehrenreich2008; Aulette and Wittner Reference Aulette and Wittner2015, 356–59). In the words of Angela Davis, “while women of color are urged, at every turn, to become permanently infertile, white women enjoying prosperous economic conditions are urged, by the same forces, to reproduce themselves” (Davis Reference Davis and Ehrenreich2008, 92). The social norms and legislative policies that supported practices of forced sterilization likely shaped abortion experiences as well. Given such social differences, Beauvoir would have proffered a more multidimensional account of pregnancy, maternity, and abortion if she had incorporated the voices of women of color. I pose this concern not to undermine Beauvoir's discussion of abortion; rather, my point is that we should enrich her endoxic records by including voices she overlooked. In doing so, we equip ourselves to articulate a more truthful account of the phenomena.

Endoxic Futures

The Second Sex enforces a type of philosophical investigation that lands one in confusion and complexity. In Linda M. G. Zerilli's words, the “dissonant textual context” (Zerilli Reference Zerilli1992, 118) of Beauvoir's text does not afford the reader an opportunity to dwell within a self-subsisting theoretical lexicon. Instead, Beauvoir asks us to return to the linguistic practices that unfold on a street corner, in a bistro, in a classroom, or in our own home.

This strategy provides notable tools for addressing social injustice. By mapping endoxa, Beauvoir directs her readers to the sorts of experiences that are unfolding about them. Her language asks us, what do we see when we look at, for example, the experiences of young girls or mothers in our own communities? What do these experiences contribute to our understanding of what it means to be a woman? What do they suggest concerning women's relegation to the role of the “Other”? In turn, such questions can provoke critical activism on the part of the reader (see, for example, Bauer Reference Bauer and Grosholz2004, 118–19; Daigle and Renée Reference Daigle and Renée2015, 75). Before we can change the world, we must first see what needs changing. Sometimes, this may be immediately obvious and overt. Other times, however, it is the ideologies that support ordinary practices and beliefs—ideologies that are masked and mystified through processes of normalization and naturalization—that require addressing. Although it is almost a truism to argue that gender is a social construction in the current age of feminist theory, it is important to recall the revolutionary contributions of The Second Sex, one of which was to help establish gender as a legitimate topic for philosophical study and social analysis. One of the powers of the endoxic method is its potential to illuminate those practices that require examination but evade consideration by the very nature of their normality.

In my introductory remarks, I noted a philosophical affiliation between the endoxic method and feminist phenomenology. In his work on the relationship between Aristotle and phenomenology, Dodd notes “a shared attitude towards what is satisfying in a philosophical explanation” rather than a “common set of propositions” (Dodd Reference Dodd, Bloechl and Nicolas de Warren2015, 182). Dodd's concept of a “shared attitude” is a helpful way of understanding the relationship between feminist phenomenology and a feminist endoxic practice. We find instances of this shared attitude, for example, in their mutual practice of doing philosophy by engaging pretheoretical experience, as well as their parallel commitments to changing unjust and oppressive experiences. Future work should consider how the two methods differ in their techniques for engaging lived experiences, and it should explore the implications and repercussions of these technical differences. In doing so, we will generate fruitful discussions regarding philosophical methodologies and feminist activism.