For more than three decades, Deborah Mayo has defended severe testing, a framework for evaluating the strength of scientific evidence that provides philosophical foundations for (variants of) classical statistical methods. In her newest book, Statistical Inference as Severe Testing, Mayo (1) extends and refines her views on severe testing, (2) takes aim at researchers who claim that the reproducibility crisis is a result of the use of classical statistics, and (3) exposes some contemporary Bayesian methods as lacking philosophical foundations. The book is engaging, sometimes funny, and often insightful. After reviewing the basics of severe testing, I summarize three lessons from Mayo's book that are valuable for philosophers and scientists alike. I then discuss one way in which I think Mayo's arguments could be tightened.Mayo argues that one has evidence for a hypothesis to the extent the hypothesis has passed a severe test. More precisely, she argues that “for data to warrant a hypothesis H requires not just that (S-1) H agrees with the data (H passes the test), but also (S-2) with high probability, H would not have passed the test so well, were H false” (92). Mayo's two criteria are inspired by the Neyman-Pearsonian maxim that good statistical tests minimize Type 1 and Type 2 errors, but they are novel in at least two ways. First, Mayo's criteria are applicable outside of statistical contexts. For example, let H be the hypothesis that the Cleveland Browns played an excellent team last weekend, and suppose our data is that the Cleveland Browns lost their game. If the Cleveland Browns lose to all opponents regardless of ability, then our data fails to satisfy S-2 and so does not severely test H. Since S-1 and S-2 are applicable in both statistical and nonquantitative contexts, Mayo's criteria unify the logic of statistical testing with qualitative logics of evidence.Second, severity is a function of data, unlike size and power, the two core quantities of orthodox Neyman-Pearsonian methodology. For this reason, Mayo's two criteria closely resemble Nozick's adherence and sensitivity conditions when those conditions are relativized to “methods” (Nozick 1981).1Mayo draws several important lessons from this seemingly simple, two-pronged framework. Here, I discuss three that recur throughout the newest book. First, Mayo carefully distinguishes between statistical hypotheses (e.g., about the frequency of a trait in a population) and “substantive” scientific hypotheses about, for example, causation or the existence of a theoretical entity (84, 93). Conflating the two can lead one to mistakenly infer that a substantive scientific hypothesis has been severely tested, when in fact the evidence against the hypothesis is stronger than that for it.As a vivid example, Mayo discusses a series of psychological experiments used to defend the hypothesis H that heterosexual “men's implicit self-esteem is lower when a [female] partner succeeds than when a [female] partner fails” (101). Mayo carefully distinguishes four statistical hypotheses that are plausibly consequences of ¬ H and then argues that the data were sufficient to reject only one of the four; call it ¬ H 1. Mayo concludes that the experimental data failed to fit H, as researchers could not reject three statistical hypotheses that were compatible with ¬ H. Further, Mayo argues that the statistical evidence against ¬ H 1 (i.e., the purported evidence for ¬¬ H = H ) was perfectly compatible with the falsity of the substantive hypothesis H. So the data also failed to satisfy S-2.Second, Mayo argues that, whereas the severe tester has a unified account of testing both statistical hypotheses and modeling assumptions, likelihoodists and Bayesians lack a cogent story about when to reject a bad statistical model (298–320). Some likelihoodists, for example, argue that measures of evidential strength must be comparative and that the likelihood ratio P (E|H 0)/P (E|H 1) quantifies the degree to which evidence E fits a hypothesis H 0 better than H 1 (Edwards 1984; Royall 1997). It is easy to construct cases in which such a likelihood ratio is enormous, because the data fit H 0 much better than H 1, and yet the data fit neither statistical hypothesis well. If H 0 and H 1 are the only statistical hypotheses under investigation, one might erroneously conclude that one has good evidence for H 0. The right conclusion, according to the severe tester, is to recognize that the two hypotheses do not exhaust logical space and to reject that underlying modeling assumption instead.Naive Bayesian reasoning falls victim to the same criticism. According to some Bayesians, experimenters ought to assign prior probabilities to a fixed set of hypotheses H and then update their degrees of belief by conditionalization. Again, suppose the data fit all hypotheses in H poorly but fit one H ∈ H much better than its rivals. Then a naive Bayesian's posterior degree of belief in H might be nearly one. Again, the right conclusion, according to the severe tester, is to consider more hypotheses. But orthodox Bayesianism is silent about when to do that.Finally, Mayo argues that several novel Bayesian approaches to statistical inference lack foundations (400–415). These parts of the book will be of special interest to philosophers who are unfamiliar with the substantial differences between Bayesianism in theory and in practice. According to textbook philosophical presentations, prior and posterior probabilities represent an experimenter's beliefs. However, some contemporary Bayesians have given up on the myth that the infinitely precise densities that appear in journal articles are appropriate idealizations of any person's beliefs. Those Bayesians, however, disagree about what justifies the choice of prior (e.g., transparent communication vs. frequentist coverage properties) and the use of further Bayesian mathematical machinery.Mayo levels several different criticisms against these contemporary Bayesian approaches, but I think all share the same underlying philosophical problem. Rationality, so says standard decision theory, requires one to maximize expected utility relative to one own's degrees of belief. So some contemporary “Bayesian” methods require a new theory of rationality to justify the behavior of an experimenter whose decisions employ posterior probabilities that do not even approximately represent her (or perhaps anyone's) beliefs.There are other important lessons scattered through Mayo's engaging and fairly accessible book. That leads me to my main criticism: accessibility sometimes comes at the cost of precision. I focus on one example that is directly relevant to Mayo's analysis of the causes of the replicability crisis, a central topic of the book.Mayo repeatedly suggests that a hypothesis is not severely tested if it is the result of “data-dredging.” Data-dredging is one of several pejorative terms (including p-hacking) that some statistical reformers use, and it refers to a loosely defined set of purportedly objectionable practices for finding associations in data. Often, “data-dredging” describes the practice of subjecting a single data set to many (sometimes hundreds or thousands of) statistical tests in an attempt to find a statistically significant result that is publishable.Critics of data-dredging allege that, because there is always a chance of finding a spurious association between two variables, one should be wary of “dredged” hypotheses. For severe testers, that default skepticism is justifiable: if an experiment is not designed to test a hypothesis, it is unlikely to be a severe test by chance. However, intuitions about data-dredging depend upon how the practice is described. Searching through data for patterns sounds exactly like what scientists should do!Mayo illustrates the dangers of data-dredging via several thought experiments. For example, she imagines a pharmaceutical company that hires scientists to find the benefits of a recently developed drug (267–68). When the hired researchers find no evidence that the drug is salutary in any of ways the manufacturer had hoped, they mine their data to find some salutary effect. Sure enough, they find the drug has an “impressive benefit on factor B” and begin marketing the drug with that promise. Mayo concludes that the hired scientists fail to subject the hypothesis to a severe test because they would have found an effect no matter what.Unfortunately, Mayo never explicitly applies her two criteria for severity to this example. Which hypothesis exactly is being tested? Here are two candidates. Let H 1 be the hypothesis “The drug has some salutary effect” and let H 2 be the hypothesis “The drug has the specific salutary effect found on B.” Even if the drug manufacturer is guaranteed to find some effect (i.e., H 1 is not severely tested), it does not follow that the manufacturer lacks evidence that the drug has the specific effect found by mining the data (i.e., it does not follow that H 2 is not severely tested). When I grade student logic exams, I am guaranteed to find that some student scored highest, but I do not thereby lack evidence that Roshan scored best when I tally her score and see it is highest. Similarly, cigarette manufacturers cannot avoid liability for causing lung cancer by (1) collecting enormous amounts of data, (2) investigating the relationship between cigarette smoking and hundreds of health problems, and then (3) claiming they were destined to find some statistically significant effect or another.2Some accusations of data-dredging, I claim, are instances of a fallacy that Mayo typically distinguishes for her readers with great care: the conflation of the pre-experimental reliability of a test with the postexperimental evidence provided by a particular data set.3 The history of science is replete with examples of unlikely, happy discoveries, where the data unequivocally support a hypothesis that scientists did not intend to test. In accessible, vivid prose, Mayo illustrates why one should typically be wary of data-dredging, but readers will be disappointed if they wish to learn how Mayo's two criteria can be used to distinguish between (a) hypotheses that are illicitly “dredged” and (b) hypotheses that are supported by one's data, despite being formulated postexperiment.Quibbles aside, Mayo's newest book is a yet another deep and engaging contribution to the philosophy of statistics and philosophy of science. Most importantly, it shows how foundational philosophical debates matter to pressing issues in science policy.
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