 An important tool for those who wish to explain away the existence of moral luck is what Latus (2000) calls the “epistemic argument” (see Richards, Rescher, Rosebury, and Thomson). To see how it goes, let us begin by focusing on resultant luck. Why do we feel differently about the successful and unsuccessful murderers? Because, according to the epistemic argument, we rarely know exactly what a person’s intentions are or the strength of her commitment to a course of action. One (admittedly fallible) indicator is whether she succeeds or not. In particular, if someone succeeds, that is some evidence that the person was seriously committed to carrying out a fully formed plan. The same evidence is not usually available when the plan is not carried out. Thus, rather than indicating our commitment to cases of resultant moral luck, our differential treatment of successful and unsuccessful murderers indicates our different epistemic situations with respect to each. If we were in the unrealistic situation of knowing that both agents had exactly the same intentions, the same strength of commitment to their plans, and so on, then we would no longer be inclined to treat them differently. Thomson represents a number of those who employ this strategy when she asks, “Well do we regard Bert [a negligent driver who causes a death] with an indignation that would be out of place in respect to Carol [an equally negligent driver who does not]? Even after we have been told about how bad luck figured in his history and good luck in hers?” And Thomson answers: “I do not find it in myself to do so” (1993, 205). Not everyone shares this intuition, however, as we will see in the next section.