Donna Haraway. enlightenment@science_wars.com: A Personal Reflection of Love and War.

Donna Haraway. "enlightenment@science_wars.com: A Personal Reflection of Love and War." in: Social Text. Vol. 15, No. 1, Spring 1997, pp. 123-29. (English).

The publication of Alan Sokal's hoax, "Transgressing the Boundaries," in the spring-summer 1996 issue of Social Texthas already elicited a never- ending profusion of pungent comment, complaint, exultation, accusation, and analysis on all sides. Engaging in the exchanges sometimes seems more like spreading an epidemic than conducting debate on important issues in science, history, politics, and culture. In my opinion, a spirit of revenge, resentment, and malice infects the attacks on science studies in the so-called Science Wars. In the fraternal text to Sokal's offerings, Higher Superstition (1994), Paul Gross and Norman Levitt's scholarly arguments are a joke, if not a hoax, and the polemical special pleading is a work of art. It is, frankly, hard to take such arguments seriously. But the Science Wars are serious.

In my comments here, I want to back off from the ripe exchanges and the body counts of the fracas. I offer instead a personal reflection on my own contradictory love of science in general, and biology in particular.My way of doing science studies is not representative of a large and complex field of inquiry. Nonetheless, perhaps these reflections can refocus some of what is at stake for many of us in the accusations brought by Sokal, Gross, Levitt, and their allies, that there are dubious folks among us, called by the ominous-sounding name of "constructionists," who "do not believe in reality,"or at least not in science, enlightenment, and facts. My hope is to avoid the endless recursions of countering supposed misrepre- sentations of one's positions with supposed true representations. I know better, but it is worth a try.

A Beginning

"Forthus all thingsmust begin, with an act of love."
- Eugene Marais, "The Soul of the White Ant," South Africa Radio Broadcasting

In his radio talk on "The Soul of the White Ant," Eugene Marais, a South African naturalist who first published his observations on baboons in 1926, offers what seems to me to be a basic technical, ethical, and epistemological point. I take Marais's comment to apply to much more than his literal subject, namely the sexual and reproductive capers of the animals he studied. In particular, I understand Marais's statement, which I used to open my book Primate Visions (1989), to be an important way to state the relationship between scientists and their subjects and between science studies scholars and their subjects. Of course, love is never innocent, often disturbing, given to betrayal, occasionally aggressive, and regularly not reciprocated in the ways the lovers desire. Also, love is relentlessly partic- ular, specific, contingent, historically various, and resistant to anyone hav- ing the last word.

The major ethical and epistemological issue for me, in trying to understand what kinds of undertakings comprise the biological sciences, is that knowledge is always an engaged material practice and never a disem- bodied set of ideas. Knowledge is embedded in projects; knowledge is always for (in many senses of for) some things and not others, and know- ers are always themselves formed by their projects, just as they shape what they can know. Such shapings never occur in some unearthly realm; they always are about the material and meaningful interactions of located humans and nonhumans-machines, organisms, people, land, institutions, money, molecules, and many other kinds of things. It is because scientific knowledge is not "transcendent"that it can make solid claims about mate- rial beings that are not reducible to matters of opinion, even as they are never separate from interpretation. And always, those solid claims and material beings are irreducibly engaged in cultural practice and practical culture; that is, in the traffic in meanings and bodies, or acts of love, with which all things begin. Semiosis is about the physiology of meaning- making; science studies is about the behavioral ecology and optimal for- aging strategies of scientists and their subjects; and biology seems to me to be about the historically dynamic, material-semiotic webs where impor- tant kinds of knowledge are at stake.

But I also want to offer a slightly more confessional account of my own noninnocent act of love in writing about life sciences and scientists over the last two decades. Biology is a historical practice whose job has been to construct people into a category called a species;I am interested, as Hegel might have said, in species being. It is a personal fact that I actually identify as a member of a species and of a zoological order. My view of myself is deeply shaped by bioscientific accounts and activities, and that is a source of intense interest and pleasure. My own life has been shaped at its heart and soul by meaning-making, scientific and technical practices through which I know and relate to myself-not to mention everybody else-as an organism. As my psychoanalytically inclined col- leagues remind me, to identify, internally and subjectively, as a mortal member of a zoological species and order is a very odd thing to do, historically speaking. I am intensely interested in how such a practice came to be possible, even inescapable, for millions, maybe billions, of quite dif- ferent kinds of people over the last couple hundred years. So, my act of love with biology is more like sisterly incest than it is like alien surveillance of another family's doings.

I am also in love with words themselves, as thick, living, physical objects that do unexpected things. Thus, my writing is peppered with words like semiosis, because I am in love with the barnacles that crust such seedy, generative, seemingly merely "technical" terms. Words are weeds-pioneers, opportunists, and survivors. Words are irreducibly "tropes" or figures. For many commonly used words, we forget the figural qualities; these words are silent or dead, metaphorically speaking. But the tropic quality of any word can resurrect or erupt to spoil-or enliven- things for even the most literal-minded among us. In Greek, troposmeans a turning; and the verb trepeinmeans to swerve, to not get directly some- where. Words (not to mention sentences) trip us, make us swerve, turn us around; and we have no other options. Science and science studies, no less than literature or philosophy, depend constitutively upon troping. Unless we swerve, we cannot communicate; there is no direct route to the rela- tionship we call knowledge, scientific or otherwise. Technically, we cannot know, say, or write exactly what we mean. We cannot mean literally; that negative gift is a condition of being an animal and of doing science. There is no alternative to going through the medium of thinking and communi- cating, no alternative to swerving, materially. Mathematical symbolisms and finely honed experimental protocols do not escape from the troping quality of any communicative medium; nor do gestural or visual practices. And, facts are tropic; otherwise they would not matter. Material-semioticis one word for me. But I also know that there is a fine line between an exu- berant love affair with words and a pornographic fascination with jargon. But the bottom line is that tropes are tools; and, female or not, endowed with only the little instrument of the mentula mulieribus,that lovely early modern medical term for the clitoris, I am a practicing member of Homo faber

I also believe stories are thick, physical entities. Stories are embedded in narrativepractices-necessarily. If storytelling is intrinsic to the practice of the life sciences, that is no insult, and certainly no dismissal. Stories are not "merely" anything. Rather, narrative practice is one of the very odd and compelling parts of the semiosis of making biological knowledge. Some sciences reduce narrative to the barest minimum, which, monoma- niacally, I think turns out not to be very small. But crucial branches of biology have never had the questionable privilege of an antiseptic narrative sterilization. Many other practices also go to make up biology, but not to attend lovingly to stories seems worse than abstemious to me; it seems, to my still Catholic sensibilities, contrary to natural law, a kind of epistemo- logical contraception or scientific self-abuse. "For thus all things must begin, with an act of love."

So, there is always a doubled quality to what I love in science. First, I am physically hypersensitive to the historically specific, materially/semiot- ically dense practices that constitute science-made, as well as science-in- the-making (Latour 1987). As my colleagues put it, science is practice and culture (Pickering 1992) at every layer of the onion. There is no core, only layers. It is "elephants all the way down," in my purloined origin story about science. "Elephants all the way down" is an aphorism from the Indian origin story that has the world supported on the back of a pachyderm, who is, in turn, supported on another elephant, and so on, ad infinitum. Everything is supported, but there is no transcendent founda- tion, only the infinite series of carrying all there is. Or, in another tropic effort to say what I mean, nothing insoluble precipitates out of the solu- tion of science as practical culture and cultural practice. Remaining in "solution" is the permanent condition of knowledge-making. And, linked to my meaning of a solution, science and science studies are both a gen- erative mixing of natures and cultures, where the actors are numerous, lively, heterogeneous, and unruly.

Second, I am committed to the solidity and nonoptional, if also non- closed and revisable, quality of scientific projects. How else could I con- tinue to argue that teaching Christian creationism in biology classes in the public schools is serious child abuse? But watch all the substitutions, tropes, betrayals, and situated commitments--acts of noninnocent love- in that last sentence and in my view of science and science studies. My first employment after graduate school in Yale's department of biology was in a general science department in a large state university from 1970 to 1974. There my job explicitly was to teach biology and the history of science to "non-science majors," a wonderful ontological category, to make them better citizens. I was part of a team of young faculty, led by a senior teacher, who had designed a course to fill an undergraduate general education science requirement for hundreds of students each year. In the middle of the Pacific Ocean, home of the Pacific Strategic Command that was so critical to the Vietnam War with its electronic battlefield and chem- ical herbicides, this University of Hawaii biology course aimed to persuade students that natural science alone, not politics or religion, offered hope for secular progress not infected by ideology.

I and the other younger members of the course staff could not teach the subject that way. Our post-Enlightenment epistemological confidence was much messier than that. For us, science and history had a much more contradictory and interesting texture than did the allegory of purity and prophylactic separation we were supposed to teach. Many of my graduateschool biology faculty and fellow graduate students were activists against the war partly because we were acutely aware of how intimately science, including biology, was woven into that conflict-and into every aspect of our lives and beliefs. Without for a minute giving up our commitments to biology as knowledge, many of us left that period of activism and teaching committed to understanding the historical specificity and conditions of solidity of what counts as nature, for whom, and at what cost. It was the epistemological, semiotic, technical, political, and material connection- not the separation-of science and cultural-historical specificity that riv- eted our attention. Biology was not interesting because it transcended his- torical practice in some positivist epistemological liftoff from earth, but because natural science was part of the lively action on the ground.

I still use biology, animated by heterodox organisms burrowing into the nooks and crannies of the New World Order's digestive systems, to persuade my readers and students about ways of life that I believe might be more sustainable and just. I have no intention of stopping and no expectation that this rich resource will or should be abandoned by others. Biology is a political discourse, one in which we should engage at every level of the practice-technically, semiotically, morally, economically, insti- tutionally. And besides all that, biology is a source of intense intellectual, emotional, social, and physical pleasure. Nothing like that should be given up lightly-or approached only in a scolding or celebratory mode.

What I want to understand in science and in science studies is the simultaneity of both the hard facts and explanatory theoretical power and also the relentlessly tropic, historically contingent, and practical material- ity of scientific knowledge. The world we know is made, in committed projects, to be in the shapes our knowledge shows us; we (humans) are not the only actors in such relational shaping projects; and the world thrown up by knowledge-making projects might (still) be otherwise, but is not otherwise. Science is revisable from what its practitioners like to think of as "outside" as well as from "inside." What counts "semiotically" as inside and outside is the result of hard, ongoing work, work deeply inflected by and constitutive of power of all sorts.

One instance of the simultaneity of power-laden historical contin- gency and material facticity that characterizes scientific objects of knowl- edge has riveted my attention ever since that first job in the militarized tourist fields of Hawaii. It was there that I came to understand what a command-control-communications-intelligence (C3I) system was. As a late-twentieth-century North American organism, I was such a system, lit- erally/tropically. Teaching biology as civics to non-science majors was a great revelation. I began to get it that discourse is practice, and that par- ticipation in the materialized world, including the world of one's own nat- ural/cultural body, is not a choice. Practitioners of immunology, genetics, social theory, insurance analysis, cognitive science, military strategic dis- course, and behavioral and evolutionary sciences all invoked the same eminently material, theoretically potent stories to do real work in the world, epistemologically and ontologically. That is, I began to understand that I was a cyborg, or cybernetic organism, in cultural/naturalfact. Like many other beings that both scientists and lay people were coming to understand, I too, in the fabric of my flesh and soul, was a hybrid of information-based organic and machinic systems.

This account of myself as a cyborg, not to mention a related account of the genome of E. coli or the division of labor in a fire ant colony in information-saturated terms, is surely a representation; but it is much more than that. It was and is that kind of representation that shapes lived worlds accordingly, even as the account is shaped by all the naturally/ culturally situated human and nonhuman collaborators that have to be articulated in order to do such representations. In the second half of the twentieth century, in a globally distributed pattern affecting many millions of people, we really do know and relate to the biological world, in mater- ial-semiotic-practical fact, as energetic, economic, strategic, and informa- tional processes. In this material-semiotic, real-and-revisable world, simi- lar important formulations can and do show up interchangeably in economics textbooks, immunology journals, evolutionary discourses, gov- ernment policies on family, and military plans.

ment policies on family, and military plans. What is going on? To borrow from my science studies colleague Andrew Pickering (1995), how does the "mangle of practice" that is sci- ence, including biology, produce the zoological order to which I am com- mitted, for better or worse? Pickering thinks about science as a "zone of encounter," where instruments, machines, facts, theories, disciplined and various human practices, and social relations tangle productively. This model is typical of much thinking in science studies these days, including my own. It's hard to get through a sentence without using the word prac- tice at least once in my field. How do commitment, anger, hope, pleasure, knowledge, and work all come together in the practice of love we call sci- ence? And science studies? If I hope to avoid the commercialized and rigged epistemological Super Bowl where the only teams on the globe are Realism and Relativism, I need to enter the net with an address other than .

Gross, Paul R., and Norman Levitt. 1994. Higher superstition: The academic left and its quarrelswith science.Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Haraway, Donna J. 1989. Primate visions: Gender,race, and nature in the world of natural science.New York: Routledge.

Latour, Bruno. 1987. Science in action: How to follow scientists and engineers throughsociety. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press.

Pickering, Andrew, ed. 1992. Science as practice and culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

------------. 1995. The mangle of practice: Time, agency, and science. Chicago: Univer- sity of Chicago Press.