Value free governments

“[… I]t is accepted that the social scientists’ contribution cannot be value free but, surprisingly, much less attention has been given to the much more obvious fact that governments are not value free either. The fact that they are not means that the problem facing the social scientist in government is not so much that his own value system colours his research and recommendations, but that these values may be out of tune with those of the government he is advising.” (Sharpe, 1976, pp. 75–76)

References

Sharpe, L. J. (1976). Government as Clients for Social Science Research. Zeitschrift Für Soziologie, 5(1), 70–79.

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.

The value of deferring strong evaluative judgement

This post continues my ruminations on values and evaluative judgements, and considers whether the scarcity of explicit evaluative judgements in reports is really a bad thing. It’s thinking in progress.

The story so far… Evaluation is frequently defined as “the process of determining the merit or worth” of things (Scriven, 1994, p. 152). However, a review of 13 broad evaluation approaches identified only three that provided any guidance on how to make these judgements (Schröter et al., 2026), and this is reflected in practice. A gallon (95% CI 0.8 to 1.2) of ink has been spilled arguing that we need more explicit evaluative judgements.

The argument, roughly and vastly oversimplifying, goes like this: in light of the is-ought gap, evaluative judgements require values. We should make those values explicit and blend them with the (theory‑laden) facts that the evaluation yields to obtain an explicit (value‑laden) judgement. Rubrics are one way to record agreed values and, its proponents argue, help us to reach an evaluative conclusion (King et al., 2013).

Three (value‑laden) facts trouble me about calls for evaluators to provide more explicitly argued evaluative judgements.

Firstly, arguments are often enthymemes: they rely on premises that are left implicit. This is well studied in philosophy, linguistics, and the psychology of reasoning (my PhD was on the latter). It would be extremely difficult to communicate at all if we had to spell out every premise, and it turns out that we are often very good at filling in the gaps. Grice, among others, described a set of conversational conventions that we seem to follow and that help us do this. For instance, if someone says that “Jane ate some of the ice cream”, we typically conclude that she did not eat all of it, even though that conclusion does not follow from classical logic. If she had eaten all of it, then to comply with one of Grice’s principles we would say so.

People draw similar enthymematic inferences when moving from an is to an ought. To take an easy example, from premises like “If you pull the dog’s tail again, then he’ll bite you”, people conclude “You should not pull the dog’s tail”, apparently implicitly inferring a bridging premise that fills in the is-ought gap (Elqayam et al., 2015). A key driver of these inferences is that descriptive sentences are often value-laden, e.g., being bitten by a dog is judged to be bad. Findings from evaluations are usually value-laden too, concerning outcomes such as improved health or educational attainment. However, logicians and philosophers strive to make any is-ought gaps explicit in their analyses.

Secondly, systematic reviews are frequently required to assess evidence, and what you tend to find is that it takes time for patterns in findings to be identified. There is variation in study quality, particularly in the earliest evaluations of a programme. Over time, moderators of change are identified – if you’re lucky, and enough studies have been conducted in sufficiently many contexts. There is also the issue of publication bias, which can take a while to detect, and early optimism about effect sizes is often attenuated. All of this means it can be unwise to rely too heavily on a single evaluation. Yet, in practice, evaluators are not funded to conduct a systematic review once they have finished evaluating a programme in a single context.

Thirdly, there is obviously vast diversity in the values people hold. For example, a YouGov poll a few years back found that around half of Conservative and Leave voters thought the British Empire was something to be proud of, and that former colonies were better off for having been colonised. Roughly 40 percent of them said they would like Britain still to have an empire! Among Labour and Remain voters, only about 20 percent expressed pro‑empire views. Listen to callers on LBC Radio and you will hear equally varied views on, e.g., racism and immigration, and consequent policy suggestions.

Diversity of values applies across a wide range of policy areas that have a huge impact on people’s lives, and that many of us do or will work on. Consider, for example, contemporary debates on holding people in immigration removal centres; the activities of big tech companies; welfare benefit policy and conditionality; how transgender people are treated; or the experiences of people in mental health inpatient units.

Mabry (2010, p. 84) summarises the problem faced by evaluators co-creating rubrics:

“Those who promote attention to the values of stakeholders beyond those of program managers or funders […] often refer optimistically to the importance of building consensus. But the diversity of stakeholder interests may be irreconcilable, and evaluation’s capacity to clarify differences may cement dissensus. Moreover, […] every taxpayer, every citizen, every resident is a remote stakeholder, introducing a diversity of social values that could overwhelm an evaluation.”

Of course, the fact that it is often challenging to reach consensus on values does not mean that we shouldn’t try to do so. Alternatively, we may have to draw more than one evaluative judgement depending on whose values are added to the premises of the argument, or prioritise the values of service users. However, as Mabry’s argument suggests, we may often be stepping into territory that an evaluator’s judgement alone cannot settle.

Regardless of how explicit we are about value judgements, evaluation – like the rest of science – is value‑laden (Ward, 2026). Values shape which evaluations are commissioned, how they are designed, what outcomes get measured and ignored, and how findings are used. But I wonder whether the scarcity of explicit evaluative judgements in evaluation reports can be explained by taking seriously the reality of policymaking, and who uses or could potentially use the findings from an evaluation.

One way to understand this reality is to look at how policy actually gets made. For example, Sabatier (1988) argues that, rather than sitting neatly within a single department, most policymaking depends on shifting coalitions of actors. Adapting his argument for the UK context, this would include ministers and civil servants, opposition parties, local authorities (both elected members and officers), regulators, professional bodies, charities, think tanks, campaigners, academics, journalists, and service providers. Each brings their own priorities and values, and each has differing levels of power – and therefore differing influence – over how evidence is used.

Evaluations could offer more value by explicitly considering this diverse range of potential users of the findings, beyond the funder. When perusing Hansard, I’m always delighted to see an opposition MP asking when an evaluation is due to be published. Delighted, not always because I share their likely conclusions, but because it shows that evaluations are being used. I am unsure where, within the wider mix of actors described above, evaluation as a profession should position itself. Perhaps we shouldn’t be ashamed of delegating some evaluative judgements to others, provided we ensure that we supply the evidence needed to support those judgements.

Sometimes the values at stake, though left implicit in conclusions, are obvious, e.g., if an evaluation concludes that a programme reduces people’s risk of suicide. In other cases they are less so, and the policy landscape is marked by deep value clashes. Consider, for example, policies concerning asylum seekers or transgender people. Some policy options will cross a threshold that evaluators cannot ignore, leaving us ethically compelled to spell out the values – particularly the value clashes between policymakers and those most directly affected by policies.

Revised 30 March 2026

References

Elqayam, S., Thompson, V. A., Wilkinson, M. R., Evans, J. St. B. T., & Over, D. E. (2015). Deontic introduction: A theory of inference from is to ought. Journal of Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory, and Cognition, 41, 1516–1532.

King, J., McKegg, K., Oakden, J., & Wehipeihana, N. (2013). Evaluative rubrics: a method for surfacing values and improving the credibility of evaluation. Journal of MultiDisciplinary Evaluation, 9, 11–20.

Mabry, L. (2010). Critical social theory evaluation: Slaying the dragon. New Directions for Evaluation, 127, 83–98.

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

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.

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.

Whose values of merit or worth…?

Some helpful thoughts from Linda Mabry (2010) on value clashes in evaluative judgements – perhaps what we could call the fundamental problem of evaluative judgement, the value-based sibling of the fundamental problem of causal inference:

“Those who promote attention to the values of stakeholders beyond those of program managers or funders […] often refer optimistically to the importance of building consensus. But the diversity of stakeholder interests may be irreconcilable, and evaluation’s capacity to clarify differences may cement dissensus. Moreover, for federally funded programs, […] every taxpayer, every citizen, every resident is a remote stakeholder, introducing a diversity of social values that could overwhelm an evaluation.” (p. 84)

“[…] should decision-makers favor the evaluator’s values over those of program personnel and other stakeholders? For a critical social theory evaluator, this issue demands introspection, a willingness to interrogate one’s own conception of appropriate use of the evaluation. Theoretically at least, it is as possible for evaluators to misunderstand appropriate use as it is for clients to do so. While the client can count on lived experience of the program to guide ideas about appropriate use, he or she is invested in the personal values reflected in the program; while an external evaluator can count on fresh eyes and systematically collected data, he or she is invested in the personal values reflected in the evaluation. There being no disinterested view, notions of appropriate use always involve someone’s subjective values.” (pp. 90-91)

“[…] the evaluator cannot simply presume it appropriate for his or her conclusions or values to overrule those of decision-makers and other stakeholders. Errors of two types are possible. On one hand, clients might be well advised to exercise healthy skepticism in considering the work of a short-term outsider, one whose findings might point them toward unproductive territories. On the other hand, stakeholders pinched by evaluation results have been known to engage in blatant self-protection […].” (p. 91)

Mabry, L. (2010). Critical social theory evaluation: Slaying the dragon. New Directions for Evaluation, 127, 83–98.

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.

The Westminster Model and why it’s useful even though it’s wrong

This paper by Paul Cairney (2025) is fun.

The Westminster Model (WM) of policymaking:

“… political parties present manifestos to compete for public votes in general elections, the winner forms a government, and government ministers oversee the delivery of their manifesto by civil servants and public bodies.” (p. 297)

What’s wrong with the British Political Tradition (BPT), the UK flavour of the model:

“… politicians do not live up to the BPT; party manifestos combine some specific and many vague promises; parties don’t always gain a majority; not all MPs are easy to keep in line with government policy; ministers could not understand all of the choices made in their name; EU entry and exit was a bruising experience; and, the UK’s ability to reform devolved or subnational government is constrained in practice. In other words, the first aim of a ‘governance thesis’ is to use the WM as an ideal-type to compare with more accurate stories of the real world.” (p. 298)

Cairney then argues that “these differences between aspiration and reality provide the launching point for a more realistic story” – and goes on to have a go, e.g., noting the impact of the finite time and capacity of ministers, expanding on the range of individuals and informal and formal groups that influence policymaking

The approach reminds me of how classical logic and probability are used in the psychology of reasoning: they offer frameworks for understanding how people ought to reason, and then researchers adjust that framework to match how non‑mathematicians actually do reason, constrained by finite working memory, drawing on broader interpretations of terms like “if” than are used in logic, etc.

References

Cairney, P. (2025). Governance and the Westminster model: What exactly is the dominant story of UK policymaking? British Politics, 20(3), 295–315.