By James B.
Meigs
Monday, October
18, 2021
It was the greatest emperor’s-new-clothes
gag in modern intellectual history. Physicist Alan Sokal’s famous hoax article—a
putative attack on the legitimacy of science and even on the notion of
“objectivity” itself—appeared in the trendy academic journal Social
Text in the spring of 1996. With its precise mimicry of postmodern
language and ideas, Sokal’s parody worked like a laser scalpel, mercilessly
exposing the movement’s incoherence and foolishness. Even the paper’s title—“Transgressing
the Boundaries: Towards a Transformative Hermeneutics of Quantum Gravity”—perfectly captured the Olympian pretentiousness of the field. And the
journal’s editors fell for it. Hard.
A few weeks after the paper was published,
Sokal revealed the truth: He’d come to bury postmodernism, not to praise it.
His stunt, now universally known as the “Sokal Hoax,” proved that the editors
of the most prestigious postmodern journal in America couldn’t tell the
difference between an actual work of scholarship and a vicious satire intended
to make them look silly. Even 25 years later, Sokal’s paper remains stunningly
funny and audacious; every word is a delight. But reading it today is also
disquieting. The academic absurdities that Sokal punctured with surgical
precision no longer strike one as particularly outré. If anything, they are now
commonplace.
The idea that science is just one of many
equally valid “ways of knowing,” that Western rationalism is ideologically
corrupt, that “your truth” is largely determined by your gender or the color of
your skin—these are no longer views held mostly by insufferable Yale
undergraduates. These notions underpin “anti-racist” training programs in
Fortune 500 corporations and in U.S. government agencies. They shape curricula
in American schools down to the early grades. And they influence the views of
ordinary Americans about everything from our own history to the safety of
vaccines.
Sokal’s paper was a hand grenade tossed
into the middle of one of the great intellectual debates of the 1990s, which
came to be known as the “Science Wars.” For the previous two decades,
postmodern ideas had been all the rage in elite academic circles. Following a
path blazed by leftist French thinkers (among them Jacques Derrida and Michel
Foucault), scholars were “deconstructing” everything in sight. Western
institutions including democracy and the rule of law were deemed mere façades
designed to shield the privileges of the powerful. The most basic facts about
our world were asserted to be “socially constructed.” Even the methods and
discoveries of the hard sciences were derided as ideological weapons wielded to
enforce economic and social oppression. At the same time, postmodern thinkers
loved to borrow—and usually mangle—scientific concepts and terminology. True to
their Marxist roots, they liked to think their own style of thinking was
“scientific” in nature, albeit conducted on a higher intellectual plane than
the work of grubby researchers using outdated approaches such as the scientific
method.
Eventually, a few actual scientists spoke
up to defend not only their own work but the whole project of scientific
inquiry. In 1994, biologist Paul Gross and mathematician Norman Levitt waded
into the controversy with a book entitled Higher Superstition: The
Academic Left and Its Quarrels with Science. In a recent interview on
the Savage Minds podcast, Sokal recalled when he first heard
about it. A self-described leftist, Sokal assumed it would be another
“right-wing diatribe about Marxist-feminist subversives brainwashing our
children.” But then he read Higher Superstition and went on to
read widely in the postmodern literature about science. He discovered that the
truth was even worse than Gross and Levitt had claimed. These trendy academics
weren’t just arguing that the science community lacked diversity, say, or that
sexist attitudes compromised some medical research. Instead, Sokal discovered,
“these people were claiming that the content and methodology of the entirety of
modern science—that means astronomy, physics, and chemistry no less than
psychology, biology, and medicine—all of this was somehow irredeemably infected
by patriarchal, capitalist, and colonialist ideology.”
Sokal began keeping a file of postmodern
papers touching on the two fields he knew best, mathematics and physics.
“People were making off-the-wall claims about these things with no apparent
knowledge of what they were talking about,” he said. “Some of these people were
quite famous.” But what could he do with this wealth of material? He considered
writing an article challenging postmodern fallacies but realized such a piece
would likely wind up in a “black hole,” unread and unheeded. His breakthrough
idea came to him—as ideas often do—while he was sitting on the toilet: What if,
Sokal asked himself, “instead of writing an article criticizing these people, I
would write an article praising them?” He decided to invent an absurd argument,
“woven around the worst quotations I could find about mathematics and physics,
from the most prominent intellectuals.” The piece would be a parody, a hoax,
but also in a sense an experiment. If leading postmodern thinkers took his pile
of crap seriously, that would say a great deal about their intellectual
standards.
Sokal toiled on his manuscript for months.
“I had to revise and revise until it reached the desired level of unclarity,”
he said. Meanwhile, the editors of Social Text were planning a
special issue, intended to be a resounding rebuttal to the criticisms lodged by
Gross, Levitt, and other scientists. Though Sokal wasn’t aware of the project
at the time, his faux paper fit their “Science Wars” issue like a skeleton key
in a padlock. Social Text’s editors included Marxist literary
critic Fredric Jameson and other top names in the field. They wanted to put
those quibbling scientists in their place. And here came a real scientist—an
expert in quantum mechanics, no less!—telling them the postmodernists had been
right all along. It was (literally) too good to be true.
“Transgressing the Boundaries” hits all
the right progressive buttons. The essay begins by rebuking the mainstream
scientists who resist being enlightened by their postmodernist superiors. These
recalcitrant schmucks are still trapped in the “post-Enlightenment hegemony,”
Sokal writes, clinging to outdated dogmas such as the idea “that there exists
an external world, whose properties are independent of any individual human
being and indeed humanity as a whole; that these properties are encoded in
‘eternal’ physical laws; and that humans beings can obtain reliable, albeit
imperfect and tentative, knowledge of these laws by hewing to the ‘objective’
procedures and epistemological strictures prescribed by the (so called)
scientific method.”
In plain English, Sokal’s essay says that
science as most of us conceive it is a scam. How do we know? Because, the essay
goes on to argue, 20th-century breakthroughs in physics and in the philosophy
of science have properly undermined the credibility of science in general.
Meanwhile, “feminist and poststructuralist critiques” have (so its facetious
argument goes) revealed “the ideology of domination concealed behind the façade
of ‘objectivity’.”
In the end, the essay claims, “we can only
conclude that physical ‘reality,’ no less than social ‘reality,’ is at bottom a
social and linguistic construct; that scientific ‘knowledge’, far from being
objective, reflects and encodes the dominant ideologies and power relations of
the culture that produced it.” The essay, therefore, argues both that
scientific insights are bogus and that they exist only to serve the needs of
various power elites. Finally, it concludes that science and scientists don’t
deserve the respect our society affords them. Or, to put that in
postmodern-ese: “the discourse of the scientific community … cannot assert a
privileged epistemological status with respect to counter-hegemonic narratives
emanating from dissident or marginalized communities.” You’ll note I write
that “the essay” says these things rather than Sokal saying these things because,
of course, Sokal actually believes none of this.
* * *
Prior to publishing “Transgressing the
Boundaries,” the editors of Social Text asked Sokal whether he
could trim it a bit, especially the voluminous footnotes. He refused, mostly,
he later said, because “some of the best jokes were in the footnotes.” In fact,
even the first two footnotes in the article reveal how well Sokal understood
his target audience. First, when he mentions scientific breakthroughs that have
undermined “Cartesian-Newtonian metaphysics,” he drops a footnote referencing
the German physicist Werner Heisenberg, whose uncertainty principle shook up
20th-century physics. In the same sentence, he notes that “revisionist studies
in the history and philosophy of science have cast further doubt on its
credibility.” A second footnote takes us to science historian Thomas Kuhn’s
1962 book The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, which argued
that scientists rely more on shared “paradigms” than on hard facts when
building their models of the world.
It was a one-two punch. Heisenberg, boom!
Kuhn, bam! Once Sokal dropped those two names, the editors of Social
Text were on the ropes, powerless to resist Sokal’s flurry of
postmodern nonsense. Sokal knew his audience didn’t know much about actual science.
But he also knew that left-wing academics revered Heisenberg and Kuhn. In their
view, Heisenberg proved that scientific knowledge—really any knowledge of
objective reality—was a physical impossibility. Kuhn went further, they
believed, showing that the entire scientific project was, in effect, socially
constructed. In the postmodern interpretation, these two thinkers had revealed
that even the hardest of hard sciences were built on a foundation of shifting
sand. They were wrong, of course. In reality, while both Heisenberg and Kuhn
made large contributions to human understanding, their ideas are among the most
widely misunderstood—and overapplied—concepts in the history of science.
Heisenberg first articulated his
uncertainty principle in 1927. On one level, it expresses a technical
limitation in our ability to observe tiny particles. When scientists try to
establish the exact location of an electron, he and his colleague Niels Bohr
discovered, they can’t simultaneously determine the electron’s momentum. As
Heisenberg wrote, “the more precisely the position is known, the less precisely
the momentum is known.” Is this limitation a quirk of how we observe these
particles? (The electron can be observed only if it happens to collide with one
of the photons researchers blast in its direction. But the impact of that
photon instantly changes the electron’s momentum, making it impossible to
measure.) Or does the principle reflect a deeper property of matter itself?
Heisenberg tended toward the latter view, suggesting that there are aspects of
the physical world that are not just unknown, but unknowable.
The uncertainty principle quickly became
one of the most famous concepts in modern physics—and not just among
physicists. Major scientific breakthroughs often attract followers from outside
the field in which they occur. And these followers usually want to apply the
hot new concept to questions far removed from the original focus of the theory.
Darwin’s theory of natural selection, for example, was embraced by a host of
thinkers who tried to graft ersatz “Darwinian” notions onto unrelated fields
such as ethics and political science. The late 19th century’s ruthless
philosophy of “Social Darwinism” was an all-too-predictable result.
(Early-20th-century progressives also cited Darwinian notions as justification
for their proposed human eugenics campaigns.)
The uncertainty principle appealed to a
certain class of thinkers—including those who couldn’t tell a proton from a
photon—in a similar fashion. To many, it implied a welcome leveling of the
intellectual playing field; why should physicists get to claim their
conclusions are any more “real” than those of, say, literary critics? Within
the field of physics, however, Heisenberg’s claims got a more complex
reception. Einstein, for one, was a famous holdout. In his new novel When
We Cease to Understand the World, the South American author Benjamin
Labatut revisits the debate over uncertainty. “Einstein sensed that if one
followed that line of thinking to its ultimate consequences, darkness would
infect the soul of physics,” he writes. In the end, of course, the field of
physics wound up doing just fine. Yes, the questions Heisenberg raised still
resonate. But whether one takes the broad or narrow view of the uncertainty principle,
it doesn’t make physics impossible. How could anything make physics
impossible anyway? Physics describes; it does not prescribe. And in recent
times, our growing understanding of how particles behave at the quantum level
has opened up new fields of research and new opportunities for applying that
knowledge (as in the case of quantum computing).
Nor did Heisenberg magically pull the rug
out from under science in general. Uncertainty about the behavior of subatomic
particles hasn’t hampered the work of biologists, geologists, or medical
researchers. On the contrary, we live in an age of unprecedented scientific
discovery. But Heisenberg’s ideas did become a magnet for postmodernists. One
of Social Text’s co-founders was the City University of New York
sociology professor Stanley Aronowitz. In his 1988 book Science as
Power: Discourse and Ideology in Modern Society, Aronowitz describes
science as little more than a tool of capitalism, one that has “imprisoned us
in a logic of dominance and degradation.” Aronowitz embraces Heisenberg
precisely because he believes the physicist proved that scientific knowledge
lacks an objective foundation. And that means everything is open to
interpretation. After all, if even hard-nosed physicists couldn’t nail down the
truth, how could specialists in economics or psychology or history make any
claim to be dealing in verifiable facts?
For a postmodernist, this absence of
objective facts is considered a wonderful thing. It allows the critic to treat
any field of knowledge—about society, history, even science—as something akin
to a literary text. Rather than grappling with stubborn facts, the
postmodernist is now free to interpret that text as cavalierly as a literary
critic might dig for Freudian symbolism in one of Shakespeare’s plays. This is
why postmodernists like to describe their method as “deconstructing,”
“unpacking,” or “interrogating” a text. In their view, the work of the critic is
the highest form of intellectual activity. (This also explains why the journal
Sokal hoaxed is called Social Text, and why left-wing academics
like to append the word “critical” to any field of study they’re trying to
subvert.) Working in the realm of texts, critics can make any claims they like
without the need to defend them from factual rebuttal by so-called experts. In
pure form, postmodern arguments—such as those in radical feminism, critical
race theory, and related fields—are unfalsifiable.
When the American philosopher of science
Thomas Kuhn published The Structure of Scientific Revolutions in
1962, it didn’t make much of a splash initially, selling fewer than
1,000 copies the first year. By the 1970s however, it had become one of
the bestselling academic works in history. (Tellingly, it was far more popular
with those in the humanities than among working scientists. The work is cited
more than any other 20th-century book in the Arts and Humanities Citation index
from 1976 to 1983.) Initially, Kuhn’s core claim doesn’t seem particularly
revolutionary. Most scientific work, he argues, takes place under shared
paradigms. Prior to Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of Species, for
example, the paradigm for biology held that God created life in all its
diversity in a brief burst of creation. Scientists generally aren’t trying to
challenge such paradigms, Kuhn says, but rather to fill in the gaps within them.
A pre-Darwinian naturalist might have spent a lifetime happily cataloguing,
say, the multiplicity of beetles the Lord saw fit to create. Kuhn calls such
gap-filling research “normal science.”
But sometimes the paradigm starts breaking
down. For example, in the years before the Copernican Revolution, astronomers
struggled to accurately predict the movements of the planets. (And no wonder,
since their paradigm held that the sun and planets all orbited the earth.) When
scientists find that their observations aren’t fitting the paradigm, their
field enters a period of “crisis,” Kuhn says. Finally, after a few years or
decades of confusion, along comes a Copernicus or a Darwin to offer a radically
new model that better explains the data. At first, many researchers resist such
“scientific revolutions,” but eventually they fall in line. The field has now
undergone a “paradigm shift” (yes, you can blame Kuhn for popularizing that
idea), and the scientists all go back to work filling in the gaps in the new paradigm.
As with Heisenberg, you might say that
Kuhn offers both a moderate and a radical version of his theory. The moderate
version—that outdated scientific frameworks often get discarded in favor of
models that better fit the data—is more or less how most of us now believe
scientific advances happen. Science isn’t always a steady slog; sometimes ideas
move in giant leaps. The problems emerge in the radical version of Kuhn’s
theory: It holds that since a given paradigm determines what kinds of evidence
scientists see as valid, paradigms are “incommensurable.” In other words, there
is no underlying standard by which we can judge whether one paradigm is better
than another. “Does it really help to imagine there is some one full,
objective, true account of nature and that the proper measure of scientific
achievement is the extent to which it brings us closer to that ultimate goal?”
Kuhn asked in 1970. At times he vacillated on this point, but more often than
not Kuhn’s answer was no.1
Much the way Heisenberg’s uncertainty
principle influenced nonscientists, dumbed-down versions of Kuhn eventually
filtered into other arenas, especially education. “He appeared to give
intellectual underpinning to individual and cultural relativism,” writes the
Australian education professor Michael Matthews. “After Kuhn, many more people
felt comfortable in saying ‘what’s true for you, need not be true for me.’” Some
educators embraced a particularly extreme version of Kuhn’s outlook. In an
influential 1985 book, the American education professors Yvonna Lincoln and
Egon Guba wrote, “Since all theories and other leading ideas of scientific
history have, so far, been shown to be false and unacceptable, so surely will
any theories that we expound today.” This is a stunningly nihilistic stance on
the possibility of scientific knowledge, and one that goes far beyond anything
Kuhn actually claimed. Nonetheless, such pessimistic views have deeply
influenced the American education establishment. Teachers are often told that
“teaching children to learn” is more important than teaching any particular set
of facts; those facts are so likely to change that they’re hardly worth bothering
with in the first place.
By starting off his Social Text essay
with references to both Heisenberg and Kuhn, Sokal gave the impression that his
hoax article was merely building on widely accepted ideas from two of the great
thinkers of the 20th century. Of course, Sokal wasn’t referencing the
mainstream version of either man’s views. He was recruiting the radical
versions of Heisenberg and Kuhn and, even then, pushing their ideas into a zone
of absurdity that neither thinker would have countenanced. Sokal also made sure
to stuff his essay “with as many citations to the editors of that journal as
possible,” he later said. Stanley Aronowitz alone gets more than a dozen
unctuous references. Sokal’s combination of shameless flattery and artful
confirmation of the editors’ biases did the trick. Despite containing what one
fellow scientist called numerous scientific “howlers” that would have been
detected by any undergraduate physics major who was paying attention, the essay
was published largely as written.
When the truth came out, the postmodernist
elite was outraged. The controversy reached the front pages of the New
York Times and Le Monde. The Science Wars were hotter than
ever. Some prominent academics accused Sokal of having constructed a “straw
man,” saying his article presented a wildly exaggerated version of postmodern
concepts in order to poke fun at them. No legitimate postmodernist would take
such silly ideas seriously, they said. That argument stumbled, though, on two
points. First, some of the biggest names in the field had taken
Sokal’s versions of postmodern ideas seriously—seriously enough to publish them
in a prestigious journal. Second, the most absurd parts of Sokal’s article were
not his deliberate misstatements of scientific concept; they were direct
quotations from leading postmodern thinkers.
Looking back 25 years later, some might
see Sokal’s hoax as an exercise in shooting some inconsequential fish in a very
small barrel. Did it really matter if some Marxist professors were advancing ridiculous
ideas in a few elite universities? Sure, postmodernism, critical studies, and
various related schools of thought were challenging core elements of the
Enlightenment tradition: the aspiration toward objectivity, the dedication to
rationalism, the primacy of the individual. But haven’t universities
always been places where young people are exposed to a range of
ideas? What’s the harm in learning about some radical views?
Won’t most students leave all this behind when they graduate
and start making their way in the real world? Thus did many on the
mainstream left shrug off the warning that Sokal had delivered.
A radical mindset was chipping at the
pillars of rational inquiry and democratic values. Yet those ideas received
surprisingly little in the way of vigorous academic counterargument. (I’m not
discounting the importance of thinkers such as Allan Bloom and Gertrude
Himmelfarb in the last century, or Steven Pinker and Jonathan Haidt in this
one. But such voices are at best a fringe element on most campuses.)
Today, critics of academic
anti-rationalism—or, for that matter, political correctness, woke-ism, cancel
culture, and the like—are even more likely to be dismissed as worrywarts, or
worse. New York Times columnist Michelle Goldberg recently
devoted a column to pooh-poohing concerns about the erosion of free speech on
college campuses. Defenders of open dialogue are being “histrionic,” she says.
After all, she could find only a few hundred cases in which
academics have been “targeted for sanction by ideological adversaries.” Those
complaining about the loss of academic freedom, she concludes, must be aging,
closet bigots who “resent new social mores that demand outsized sensitivity to
causing harm.” What do 400-odd cases matter, after all?
The postmodernist bubble that Sokal tried
to lance is not so clearly defined today, at least not in its 1990s form.
Foucault and Derrida don’t loom over campus discussions as they once did.
Nonetheless, Sokal recently noted, “postmodernist ideas have come back more and
more front and center, albeit in an evolved way.” Over the decades these ideas
filtered into related intellectual movements, including various types of
“critical” studies and today’s proliferating identity-based disciplines, gender
studies, queer studies, fat studies (yes, that’s a thing), and the like. These
movements might not describe themselves as postmodern, but they all share the
postmodern distrust of objectivity. To them, facts are relative, and truth is
determined by one’s “lived experience”—especially if one is a member of some
marginalized group.
In 2017, James Lindsay, Helen Pluckrose,
and Peter Boghossian—three academics who describe themselves as “left-wing
liberal skeptics”—decided to repeat Sokal’s hoax. Their target was what
they call “grievance studies,” leftist academic disciplines including
postcolonial studies, critical race theory, intersectional feminism, and
related fields. Because the postmodern movement ridiculed by Sokal had by now
splintered into dozens of overlapping channels, the trio would need to
perpetrate the hoax on a much larger scale. Political scientist Yascha Mounk
dubbed it “Sokal Squared.” The group produced some 20 parody articles and sent
them off to a wide range of journals. One article argued that the male penis is
“a social construct.” Another was a version of Hitler’s Mein Kampf,
rewritten in feminist jargon. A paper that explored “rape culture” among
canines at a Portland dog park was so outlandish that it attracted mainstream
ridicule. Reporters started asking questions, and the hoax was blown. By the
time the Sokal Squared conspirators were forced to go public, four of their
papers had been published, nine had been accepted or were under review, and
only six had been rejected. Clearly not that much had changed since the days of
Sokal’s original hoax.
After the Sokal Squared stunt was
revealed, Harvard psychologist Steven Pinker asked, “Is there any idea so
outlandish that it won’t be published in a Critical/PoMo/Identity/‘Theory’
journal?” The answer, apparently, is no. It doesn’t seem that any amount of
ridicule can slow the left’s ideological juggernaut. And, unlike in the days of
the Sokal Hoax, the main arena for anti-rationalist thinking is no longer just
the elite academy. The anti-Enlightenment ideas cooked up over the decades in
trendy journals and in departments of literature and sociology have now escaped
the lab. They are self-replicating and circulating freely in our society.
“There is no objective, neutral reality,”
Robin DiAngelo writes in her bestselling White Fragility. In fact,
she sees that claim as so self-evident that it doesn’t even require an
explanation or defense. The New York Times’ “1619 Project” treats
American history not as a set of facts to be weighed, but as a text,
one whose true meaning is open to radical reinterpretation in the hands of
critical theorists. “Anti-racist” training materials urge us to reject the
culture of white supremacy, which includes dangerous ideas such as “the belief
that there is such a thing as being ‘objective,’” or the notion that “linear
thinking” and “logic” are desirable ways to understand the world. And on and
on.
When we look at the collapse of
rationality all around us, it seems that while Alan Sokal might have won his
battle with postmodern lunacy, he ultimately lost the war. Sokal wrapped up his
1996 hoax essay with a resounding call to action, a campaign that “must start
with the younger generation.” One hears a faint echo of China’s Cultural
Revolution in his urgent admonition: “The teaching of science and mathematics
must be purged of its authoritarian and elitist characteristics, and the
content of these subjects enriched by incorporating the insights of feminist,
queer, multiculturalist, and ecological critiques.” Sokal meant his essay as a
parodic warning. Twenty-five years later, it appears that the Sokal Hoax
was actually an instruction manual.
1 I attended a lecture by Kuhn around 1980,
when I was an undergraduate. The lecture hall was packed with
comparative-literature majors. I remember being disappointed that Kuhn’s
answers to the deepest questions seemed to amount to little more than apologetic
shrugs.
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