Applying a deontic logic to policy evaluation

One of the aims of policy evaluation is to support policymakers in making decisions. In practice, policymaking is shaped by coalitions of actors (Sabatier, 1988), including ministers and civil servants, opposition parties, professional bodies, charities, think tanks, campaigners, academics and journalists. Evaluation should aim to inform the deliberations of all these actors, not only those of whoever commissioned the work – regardless of whether it is remotely feasible to include them in a participatory process as part of the evaluation. Since each actor may hold normative values that clash with others’ values (understatement of the century), they may draw different conclusions about what should be done even when presented with the same evidence.

If the evidence produced by evaluators is to be relevant to a range of actors, we potentially need to reason about conflicting values. Deontic logics, which make it possible to reason about oughts, provide one way of structuring this reasoning. Given the complexities of applying deontic logics formally, as we will see shortly, and the large number of normative values involved, it is unlikely that evaluators will use them in a fully formal way. However, just as process tracing is informed by Bayesian logic (Bennett, 2009), I am curious whether informal reasoning about values can be informed by deontic logics. This post is a first go to find out.

There are many systems of deontic logic. A previous post ruled out standard deontic logic (SDL), which, confusingly, ceased to be standard in the late 1960s (Parent & Torre, 2018, p. 20). An alternative I’d like to explore is Horty’s (2012) approach, a prioritised default logic, which has the following key characteristics:

  1. Classical logic is monotonic, in the sense that adding more premises to an argument can never lead to the retraction of a conclusion: either the set of conclusions stays the same or grows (note the parallel with monotonic functions). Horty’s logic is nonmonotonic, meaning that it does allow conclusions to be withdrawn. The classic example concerns a bird named Tweety. All birds fly, so we conclude that Tweety flies. However, if we subsequently learn that Tweety is a penguin, we revise that conclusion and conclude that Tweety doesn’t fly.
  2. Horty’s nonmonotonic logic is implemented using default rules (defaults for short), written as \(\phi \rightarrow \psi\), which are read as: if we have established \(\phi\), then we should conclude \(\psi\) by default (for example, that birds fly). This inference can be overruled if another default supports a contradictory conclusion (for example, that penguins do not fly).
  3. Defaults represent reasons for believing things (e.g., Tweety can’t fly because Tweety is a Penguin) or reasons for doing things (e.g., meeting a friend for lunch because we promised to).
  4. Some default rules have higher priority than others, e.g., if \(\delta_1\) and \(\delta_2\) are two defaults, then \(\delta_1 > \delta_2\) means that \(\delta_1\) has higher priority than \(\delta_2\), so can overrule it. This might be due to the rule being more specific, e.g., if we’re reasoning about penguins we should prioritise defaults about penguins rather than about birds more generally. When defaults refer to normative values, the priorities determine which values are more important than others.
  5. The system therefore makes it possible to reason about moral conflicts. One of Horty’s examples involves a promise to meet a friend for lunch and a moral obligation to save a drowning child encountered en route to lunch. A reasonable ordering on defaults representing these norms is that saving a drowning child takes priority over fulfilling a lunch promise, so the logic concludes that the child should be rescued.

To illustrate how this works, let’s explore the following simplified example:

  • An evaluation has shown that a programme leads to an outcome valued by a policymaker: \(P\).
  • The same evaluation has shown an unanticipated harmful consequence of the programme that was not considered by policymakers or evaluators at the outset, but was highlighted by service users: \(H\).
  • If the valued outcome is found, then we should roll out the programme nationally: \(d_1 = P \rightarrow R\).
  • If harmful outcomes are found, then it should not be rolled out nationally: \(d_2 = H \rightarrow \neg R\).

We could complicate this further by introducing differences in the quality of evidence. For example, \(P\) might have been established through a rigorous impact evaluation, whereas \(H\) might have been identified through qualitative interviews with a small sample – a common way in which unintended consequences are discovered. However, to keep the discussion simple, let’s assume that there is no difference in the quality of evidence.

How do we evaluate evidence using Horty’s prioritised default logic? Since it is a logic, the rules are all formally defined, and applying them in practice can be challenging. Horty’s (2012) explanation spans several chapters. Here follows a concise summary; refer to the original text for fuller explanation and worked examples.

A default theory consists of three elements, which for the example above would be:

  1. \(\mathcal{W} = \{ P, H \}\) is the starting point for our inferences, representing the evidence found by the evaluation and any background assumptions. This would include relationships between the variables, which we don’t have in our simplified policy example. For the Tweety example, it would include that penguins are birds.
  2. \(\mathcal{D} = \{ d_1, d_2 \}\) is the set of defaults described above. For a default \(\phi \rightarrow \psi\), \(\phi\) is the premise and \(\psi\) the conclusion. We can refer to the premises and conclusions of a default or set of defaults, \(\Delta\), using \(\text{premise}(\Delta)\) and \(\text{conclusion}(\Delta)\).
  3. \(<\) is the ordering on the defaults, which specifies which take precedence over others. This is a partial ordering, in the sense that some or all defaults may have the same precedence. Let’s begin with no ordering, so the defaults concerning desired (\(d_1\)) and harmful (\(d_2\)) outcomes have equal importance.

To draw inferences, we need to consider one or more scenarios: these are a subset of the defaults, \(S \subseteq \mathcal{D}\). A scenario could include some, all, or none of the defaults. Binding defaults are defaults in the full theory such that the following conditions hold for a scenario:

  1. The default \(\delta \in \mathcal{D}\) is triggered, in the sense that its premise logically follows from the background theory and conclusions of the defaults in the scenario: \(\mathcal{W} \cup \text{conclusion}(S) \vdash \text{premise}(\delta)\).
  2. The default \(\delta \in \mathcal{D}\) is not conflicted, i.e., its conclusion does not contradict the background theory and scenario: it is not the case that \(\mathcal{W} \cup \text{conclusion}(S) \vdash \neg \text{conclusion}(\delta)\).
  3. The default \(\delta \in \mathcal{D}\) is not defeated by another default in the theory, i.e., there is no triggered default \(\delta^\prime > \delta\) such that \(\delta^\prime\) and \(\delta\) arrive at contradictory conclusions: it is not the case that \(\mathcal{W} \cup \text{conclusion}(\delta^\prime) \vdash \neg \text{conclusion}(\delta)\).

A scenario, \(S \subseteq \mathcal{D}\), is a proper scenario if it doesn’t include any extra defaults in \(\mathcal{D}\) that aren’t binding and doesn’t miss out any defaults that are binding. A proper scenario includes the good reasons for drawing an inference, and is what we (or an algorithm) are trying to find. More than one scenario may be proper.

We want to know what logically follows from each proper scenario, known as the extension, \(\mathcal{E}\), since it extends beyond the background theory and default rules to what they logically imply. This is a set of conclusions, defined

\(\mathcal{E} = \text{Th}\bigl(\mathcal{W} \cup \text{conclusion(S)}\bigr)\),

where \(\text{Th}(\Gamma)\) is the set of propositions, \(\phi\), such that \(\Gamma \vdash \phi\), i.e., every proposition that logically follows from \(\Gamma\).

Finally, how do we conclude that some proposition \(\phi\) ought to be the case, \(\mathsf{O} \phi\)? There are two ways to do this, depending on how we deal with conflicts:

  1. Conflict account: \(\mathsf{O} \phi\) follows if and only if \(\phi\) is included in the extension of at least one proper scenario.
  2. Disjunctive account: \(\mathsf{O} \phi\) follows if and only if \(\phi\) is included in extensions of all proper scenarios.

It is straightforward to find the proper scenarios for our example. We know both defaults are triggered, since the evidence \(\mathcal{W} = \{ P, H \}\), and the defaults are:

\(\displaystyle \begin{aligned}
d_1 &= P \rightarrow R \\
d_2 &= H \rightarrow \neg R
\end{aligned}\)

The conclusions of the two defaults contradict each other (\(R\) and \(\neg R\)), so if we included them both in a scenario they would be conflicted. Neither of the defaults could be defeated by the other since we have not put an ordering on them, and defeat requires an ordering. So there are two proper scenarios: \(\{ d_1 \}\) and \(\{ d_2 \}\), and two sets of extensions, call them \(\mathcal{E}_1\) and \(\mathcal{E}_2\).

  • \(\mathcal{E}_1\) includes \(\{ P, H, R \}\), so we can conclude \(\mathsf{O} R\).
  • \(\mathcal{E}_2\) includes \(\{ P, H, \neg R \}\), so we can conclude \(\mathsf{O} \neg R\).

Under the conflict account, this means we have two oughts: \(\mathsf{O} R\) and \(\mathsf{O} \neg R\). Note the extensions \(\mathcal{E}_1\) and \(\mathcal{E}_2\) both also include \(R \lor \neg R\) (using disjunction introduction), so by the disjunctive account we can conclude \(\mathsf{O}(R \lor \neg R)\). Therefore, with no ordering on the defaults, we can only say that we either ought to roll out the programme or not roll it out. Not particularly helpful!

To arrive at a decision, we need to put an ordering on the defaults. We could reason that an important normative value is first do no harm, which could be formalised as \(d_2 > d_1\). In this case, the only proper scenario is \(\{ d_2 \}\). This is because a proper scenario cannot have any defeated defaults, and in scenarios \(\{ d_1 \}\) and \(\{ d_1, d_2 \}\), \(d_1\) would be defeated by \(d_2\). We can’t use the empty scenario since it excludes binding defaults, so it is not a proper scenario. The extension of the proper scenario leads to the conclusion \(\mathsf{O} \neg R\): we ought not roll out the programme.

I noted earlier that SDL is ruled out as an appropriate logic for deontic reasoning. It does not, for example, handle conflicts in obligations. However, there’s something slightly puzzling about how Horty (2012) derives oughts: if \(\phi\) is in the extension of a scenario, we can conclude \(\mathsf{O} \phi\) for that scenario. But defaults can include non-deontic conclusions, such as the inference that penguins do not fly. It seems odd to move from this belief to the conclusion that penguins ought not fly. Fuhrmann (2017) suggests instead ditching Horty’s move from extensions to oughts and supplementing the system with SDL. Our original set of defaults would then be:

\(\displaystyle \begin{aligned}
d_1 &= P \rightarrow \mathsf{O} R \\
d_2 &= H \rightarrow \mathsf{O} \neg R
\end{aligned}\)

The idea is that instead of using classical logical consequence for building extensions, we use SDL. An extension of a scenario can then include an ought “for free”, since default conclusions can include oughts. The conflict and disjunctive accounts still work for examples Fuhrmann tries, yielding reasonable inferences, and we also still have the very helpful machinery of default logic. I don’t know whether adding SDL introduces other problems, though.

Does Horty’s prioritised default logic, perhaps supplemented with SDL, help evaluation? Firstly, it offers a deontic logic that formalises some elements of evaluative thinking. Even if we do not use it in a fully formal way, it provides clues about what evaluative thinking needs to include and highlights some of the issues that may arise. For example, we need to anticipate what the potential findings might be and how different normative values may lead to different evaluative judgements.

Secondly, it suggests that one way to do this is through default rules – formally or informally specified – with orderings where possible to reduce the number of conflicting conclusions. This allows some defaults to take priority over others. The justifications for that ordering lie outside the logic itself and form part of what coalitions of actors will debate.

Finally, as alluded to above, we also need an ordering on the evidence, and we need to ensure evaluations are designed so that, for example, if harms are identified, evidence of those harms cannot simply be dismissed on the grounds that the evidence is of insufficient quality. For example, suppose we have evidence from an impact evaluation (e.g., a quasi-experiment) of no harms (\(\neg H_I\)) and evidence from a process evaluation (e.g., qualitative interviews) of harms (\(H_P\)). We could setup defaults to interpret this evidence as:

\(\displaystyle \begin{aligned}
i_1 &= H_I \rightarrow H \\
i_2 &= \neg H_I \rightarrow \neg H \\
p_1 &= H_P \rightarrow H \\
p_2 &= \neg H_P \rightarrow \neg H
\end{aligned}\)

where \(H\) means we have inferred the programme has caused harm. Order the defaults so that \(i_x > p_x\) for \(x = 1,2\). This would mean that with conflicting evidence of harms, the impact evaluation evidence would always trump the process evaluation evidence. So, given the evidence \(\{ \neg H_I, H_P \}\), the conclusion would be no harm, \(\neg H\). This mirrors how process evaluation evidence of perceived impact is often, in practice, defeated by impact evaluation evidence of no impact. These interpretations can be anticipated before any data is collected and feed into the design of an evaluation.

I think it is unrealistic to expect an evaluation to settle debates about normative values, for the reasons explored in a previous post. However, deontic logic could help us think through what evidence needs to be produced to support others when they have those debates, making explicit both the assumed priorities among different forms of evidence and the ways in which this evidence is taken to justify particular policy decisions.

References

Bennett, A. (2009). Process Tracing: A Bayesian Perspective. In J. M. Box-Steffensmeier, H. E. Brady, & D. Collier (Eds), The Oxford Handbook of Political Methodology (pp. 702–721). Oxford University Press.

Fuhrmann, A. (2017). Deontic Modals: Why Abandon the Default Approach. Erkenntnis, 82(6), 1351–1365.

Horty, J. F. (2012). Reasons as defaults. Oxford University Press. (Final version preprint available here.)

Parent, X., & Torre, L. van der. (2018). Introduction to Deontic Logic  and Normative Systems. College Publications.

Sabatier, P. A. (1988). An advocacy coalition framework of policy change and the role of policy-oriented learning therein. Policy Sciences, 21, 129–168.

Bixonimania

Research involves immersing yourself in the literature; engaging in a struggle to try to keep up with key findings in your field; critically engaging with studies, learning from their strengths and unintentional errors and mishaps to improve your work; attending conferences and debating in and between sessions to reach an informed view on what’s going on; maintaining collections of papers that may be relevant in future, e.g., using reference managers like Zotero to keep track and aid searching, annotation, and citation.

LLMs can’t engage and think for you, can’t magically place the ideas in your brain, fails to find papers that a simple literature search uncovers. But the literature is being flooded by complete nonsense, driven by some researchers’ credulous reliance on what LLMs produce. Bixonimania is a great illustration of what can go wrong, but the prevalent examples are more subtle – worth a read of the Nature writeup: Scientists invented a fake disease. AI told people it was real.

The value-ladenness of science, and what it means for evaluation

There’s a long history of work arguing that science is value‑laden and involves evaluative judgements. But what sorts of values and evaluative thinking are involved? I read an analysis by Zina Ward (2026) to get a sense of the latest thinking, and pondered what it might mean for our discipline of evaluation.

Ward reminds us that value‑ladenness is obvious in science. For instance, more research funding is devoted to understanding and curing diseases in humans than in koalas. A recent example is the UK’s £2 billion investment in quantum research. This investment is motivated by anticipated applications such as secure communication, faster algorithms for scientific problems, and advanced sensing. Each of these reflects underlying values: that communication should be secure; that certain scientific problems are worth prioritising; and that military capabilities, such as detecting submarines that evade current technologies, should be strengthened. Ethical values also play a role in shaping the sorts of research that is conducted.

There are at least four different ways that a choice is value-laden, according to Ward. Value-ladenness can be:

  • rational,
  • motivational,
  • causal, or
  • objectual.

Choices that are value-laden in the rational sense provide the justification for a choice. For example, we may want to promote certain kinds of research given priorities in society and some overall ideology. What actually motivates a scientist to conduct research (motivational value-ladenness) may also align with these rational values; however, scientists often conduct research for personal reasons. That has been the case for scientists focusing on Covid-related research (e.g., they lost a loved one to Covid or know someone with long Covid) or working on trans-inclusive theories of gender (e.g., they are trans or have a loved one who is trans). Outside the realm of science, Ward gives the example of someone who cites reducing their carbon footprint and reducing animal suffering as justifications for becoming vegetarian (rational), whereas in reality they did so to fit in with their vegetarian friends (motivational, but also rational if used as a justification).

A choice is causally value-laden if values influence the choices someone makes. For example, the code of ethics for a profession such as psychology constrains the sorts of research that can be conducted. This may also be an example of motivational value-ladenness – psychologists want to conduct research that aligns with these ethical frameworks, and may have been involved in developing them. However, some scientists would be motivated to conduct research that is unethical without the causal constraints – there are plenty of examples of this in history.

Finally, a choice, or an evaluation of a potential choice, can be objectually value-laden. This concerns the impact that the choice has on the world, in relation to values. Choosing to fund more human than koala health studies is an example. Another would be reforming private family law, e.g., through the recently announced national rollout of the Child Focused Model. These choices cannot be made based on facts alone, as the is-ought problem reminds us.

When evaluation is defined as “the process of determining the merit or worth” of things (Scriven, 1994, p. 152), it reflects this latter objectual value-ladenness. Given this definition, it is striking that a recent review of 13 broad evaluation approaches identified only seven that considered judgements of merit or worth “essential”, and only three provided any guidance on how to make these judgements (Schröter et al., 2026). This gap between definition and practice requires some consideration; however, I am still formulating my views on this. Where I’ve got to can be summarised in the following two paragraphs.

Firstly, objectual evaluations are pervasive across science and policy making – evaluation, as the field operates in practice, does not have a monopoly on evaluative thinking. Now it could be that there is a need for a transdisciplinary genre of evaluation (see, e.g., Scriven, 2008) – something similar to logic, psychometrics, or statistics. Conferences for such a discipline would invite anyone who reasons about objectual values, whether they be scientists, educators, vegetarians, or anyone else.

I’d conjecture instead that the current field of evaluation that we know and love is really focused on policy evaluation, and policy evaluation concerns a range of activities other than evaluative thinking. It’s about conducting social research on policies and programmes. One important aspect of policy evaluation is reasoning about objectual values – just as it is across the sciences. But there is more to policy evaluation than this, for example how to develop theories of change, apply participatory approaches in evaluation design, understand methods that can be used to test theories of change, and a huge number of practical considerations involved when conducting research on policy at scale. Finally, I’d venture the conjecture that evaluation in the transdisciplinary sense already exists. It just has a different name and lives somewhere in departments of philosophy and/or politics.

References

Schröter, D., Becho, L. W., & Montrosse-Moorhead, B. (2026). The garden of evaluation approaches: Supporting explicit, theory-informed evaluation practice. Evaluation.

Scriven, M. (1994). Evaluation as a discipline. Studies in Educational Evaluation, 20(1), 147–166.

Scriven, M. (2008). The concept of a transdiscipline: And of evaluation as a transdiscipline. Journal of MultiDisciplinary Evaluation, 5(10), 65–66.

Ward, Z. B. (2026). What does it mean to say that science is value-laden? In K. C. Elliott & T. Richards, The Routledge Handbook of Values and Science (pp. 74–83). Routledge.

Evaluation as a social science

“We have argued that good evaluation is good social science. For us, this embraces the gallant aims of precision in articulation of theory, rigor in empirical testing, confederation in lines of inquiry, and cumulation in the body of findings. The ‘realist movement,’ of which we are a part, is often considered the brash upstart of the evaluation schools. In fact, it depends on these rather venerable ideas. The future, for us, thus lies in keeping faith with some of the grand old principles of social science and in not forgetting the hard-won lessons of the old studies.” (Pawson & Tilley, 2001, p. 324)

“All scientific investigation utilises explanations relating mechanisms and contexts to empirical patterns.” (Pawson, 2024, p. 42)

“Despite the habitual use of the appellation ‘social science’, many of my colleagues would reject any claim to follow science, dismiss any interest in causality, deny any need for objectivity, and scorn the possibility of generalisation. They are beyond hope. I don’t seek to convert them. But in following their chosen paths these various tribes – constructivists, post-modernists, emancipators, critics, essayists, relativists, and so on – have found time to say why causality, objectivity, and generality are false idols. So, in defending the science in social science, their criticisms also need to be overturned.” (Pawson, 2024, p. xviii)

“What I’ve come up with here might well be entitled The Old Rules of Sociological Method. I have attempted to extract and justify some realist principles for conducting social research on the back of a generous portfolio of existing examples. Those illustrations reach across many research domains and a broad portfolio of practical methods. But they remain a pinprick; I could have called upon a thousand others. Accordingly, there is another way of perceiving my efforts. The book is no more and no less than an attempt to codify and formalise existing practices. I have tried to capture a tradition.” (Pawson, 2024, 251)

References

Pawson, R., & Tilley, N. (2001). Realistic Evaluation Bloodlines. American Journal of Evaluation, 22(3), 317–324.

Pawson, R. (2024). How to Think Like a realist: A methodology for social science. Edward Elgar Publishing Limited.

The bargraphs of evaluation approaches

Scroll down for a redrawing of Schröter, Becho, and Montrosse-Moorhead’s (2026) characterisation of broad evaluation approaches. R code here.

Their assessments of each approach on 8 dimensions are linked here:

References

Schröter, D., Becho, L. W., & Montrosse-Moorhead, B. (2026). The garden of evaluation approaches: Supporting explicit, theory-informed evaluation practice. Evaluation.

Theory-based evaluation as tautology

“Realist” evaluation and the more general “theory‑based” evaluation umbrella often present themselves as distinct forms of evaluation; however, their core assumptions that programmes work (or not) through underlying causal mechanisms that cannot be directly observed are restatements of what sciences already presuppose. It’s rare indeed for an evaluation not to begin with a theory of change; the issue is not whether that’s necessary but how good theories are. We’ve all seen boxology lists in the logic model style.

The full range of evaluation methods can test mechanisms rather than only whether an outcome has been shifted by a programme and current practice involves qual and quant evidence, e.g., the latter using mediation tests. The logic of “what works best for whom in what context” predates “realist” approaches by a few decades and is used across all methods. Similarly, there’s nothing uniquely “realist” about context-mechanism-outcome triads: it’s a useful way to move from boxology to theory prose.

Advocating “realist” or “theory‑based” evaluation is essentially advocating “scientific evaluation” – a kind of tautology. It may be helpful for some readers to learn about separating ontology from epistemology (the map is not the territory, to paraphrase Korzybski), but I’d suggest that’s best left to the first chapter of an introduction to evaluation rather than something that needs to be restated in every report. There are examples of fields that stick on the “science” term: neuroscience and cognitive science are two examples. But what would unscientific policy evaluation look like? What does it get called? (That’s a genuine question – I have a blog post brewing.)

Theorising what evidence would test a theory

Policy evaluation involves speculating about what might be going on – a creative process – based on what we currently (think we) know, and then working out what evidence we would expect to see if we were correct or if plausible alternative theories were true. That logic is explicit in process tracing, but it is far more general than that. The oft‑cited Van Evera (1997) rules, such as the “smoking gun”, follow directly from Bayes’ rule. We cannot directly observe a programme’s mechanisms of change; many different theories will be compatible with both qualitative and quantitative evidence. That problem has a name, underdetermination, and it is a challenge across the sciences.

An interesting example of the gap between theory and evidence is how physicists detect gravitational waves produced by black holes merging. The Laser Interferometer Gravitational-wave Observatory (LIGO) does not observe the waves themselves; it measures how those waves distort spacetime by a miniscule amount, far smaller than a proton.

My favourite analogy comes from trying to crack encrypted texts. We can systematically analyse letter and word frequencies in ciphertexts to spot patterns, but that only takes us so far (try the exercises in Rubinstein‑Salzedo, 2018). It helps to guess what people might be trying to say to each other based on something beyond the ciphertext; for example, that they open with “How are you?” or that they are likely to be discussing a particular event. These knowledge‑grounded guesses, drawing on a wealth of experience and prior evidence, help reduce the search space of possible encryptions. Something similar is going on in evaluation when we iterate between programme theories, tests of those theories, and exploratory research to generate ideas for new theories.

References

Rubinstein‑Salzedo, S. (2018). Cryptography. Springer.

Van Evera, S. (1997). Guide to methods for students of political science. Cornell University Press.

Positivism

Joas and Knöbl (2009, p. 6) on how Popper demolished positivism in 1934:

As Popper lays out in his now very famous book The Logic of Scientific Discovery, which first appeared in 1934, in the case of most scientific problems we cannot be certain whether a generalization, that is, a theory or hypothesis, truly applies in all cases. In all probability, we will never be able to verify once and for all the astrophysical statement that ‘All planets move around their suns along an elliptical trajectory’, because we are unlikely ever to get to know all the solar systems in the universe and therefore we will presumably never be able to confirm with absolute certainty that every single planet does in fact follow an elliptical trajectory around its sun, as opposed to some other route. Much the same applies to the statement ‘All swans are white’. Even if you have seen thousands of swans and all of them were in fact white, you can ultimately never be certain that a black, green, blue, etc. swan will not show up at some point. As a rule, universal statements cannot therefore be confirmed or verified. To put it another way: inductive arguments (that is, inference from individual instances to a totality) are neither logically valid nor truly compelling arguments; induction cannot be justified purely in terms of logic, because we are unable to rule out the possibility that one observation may eventually be made that refutes the general statement thought to be corroborated. Positivists’ attempts to trace laws back to elementary observations or to derive them from elementary observations and verify them are thus doomed to failure. This was precisely Popper’s criticism.

Joas, H., & Knöbl, W. (2009). What is theory? In Social theory: Twenty introductory lectures (pp. 1–19). Cambridge University Press.