Some Questions with No Very Good Answers
For the ancients, man was bound
by but not wholly defined as part of nature. The studies of natural phenomena
and human affairs had to be distinct disciplines, for all of the reasons that
nature and man are distinct in kind. On this view, “political science” was a
distinct form of study from that of natural phenomena, requiring very different
assumptions and approaches. The inauguration of the modern period was marked,
among many other things, by the belief that human beings could be wholly understood
through the same methods as natural things; thus, a new “science of politics”
based upon the ideals of predictability and even control and manipulation of
human beings was seen not only as possible but greatly desirable. The modern
period also saw the reason for scientific inquiry shift from merely
understanding how nature was governed to understanding how human beings could
master it. Nature became not subject but object; and human inquiry was set not
only in service of understanding politics, but manipulating nature for
political ends.
It ought to
come as no surprise, then, that these ideas might be carried further, so that
human beings, as merely part of nature, could also be regarded as natural
objects for manipulation. Man, too, could become no longer just subject but
object. Many of the great horrors of the last century — from economic failures
of all sorts to eugenics and worse — arose from this understanding. But a new
movement today, calling itself transhumanism, carries these notions to their
logical conclusion: human beings are not only manipulable objects, but raw, manipulable material; man himself, his very form,
might be tinkered with, enhanced, and “reengineered,” like a species of crop or
livestock. What becomes of the political animal when politics seeks not to meet
his ends but to unravel them — not to serve him but to remake him?
Classical
Political Science
Science, by the dictionary’s
reckoning, has several meanings. One of those is very familiar: “the
observation, identification, description, experimental investigation, and
theoretical explanation of phenomena.” This is the kind of science we associate
with men and women in lab coats, wearing thick glasses and surrounded by test
tubes. Another definition reads that science means “knowledge, especially that gained through
experience.” This latter definition does not preclude the first, but it seems
to be more comprehensive, including experience that we might gain in settings
outside the laboratory, and settings that are less than entirely controlled. In
both these meanings — which are similar but distinct in crucial ways, as we
will see — the stress is upon knowledge.
This emphasis reflects the etymological root of our word science in the Latin word scientia and its forebear, the
Greek word episteme, both
of which mean knowledge.
The meanings of both words embrace acomprehensiveness of
human knowing: human inquiry of every kind is said to aim at scientia orepisteme. Thus, broadly speaking, for the ancients, philosophy,
theology, history — even the study of politics — were all forms of scientia.