Bruno Latour

In this article, we present a few lessons we learnt in the establishment of the Sciences Po médialab. As an interdisciplinary laboratory associating social scientists, code developers and information designers, the médialab is not one of a kind. In the last years, several of such initiatives have been established around the world to harness the potential of digital technologies for the study of collective life. If we narrate this particular story, it is because, having lived it from the inside, we can provide an intimate account of the surprises and displacements of digital research. Founding the médialab in 2009, we knew that we were leaving the reassuring traditions of social sciences to venture in the unexplored territory of digital inscriptions. What we couldn't foresee was how much such encounter would change our research. Buying into gospel of Big Data, we imagined that the main novelty of digital research came from handling larger amounts of data. We soon realized that the interest of digital inscriptions comes instead from their proliferating diversity. Such diversity encouraged us to reshape our professional alliances, research practices and theoretical perspectives. It also led us to overcome several of the oppositions that used to characterize social sciences and to move in the direction of a more continuous sociology.

Nasz problem z budynkami to dokładne przeciwieństwo problemu, z którym zmagał się Etienne Jules Marey, przeprowadzając swoje słynne badanie fizjologii ruchu. Przy pomocy wynalezionego przez siebie „fotorewolweru” chciał on uchwycić lot mewy w taki sposób, żeby móc zobaczyć każdą stopklatkę płynnego ruchu, którego mechanizm wymykał się obserwatorom aż do momentu pojawienia się tego właśnie wynalazku. My potrzebujemy czegoś przeciwnego, problem z budynkami polega bowiem na tym, że wydają się one dramatycznie statyczne. Uchwycenie ich jako ruchu, lotu czy serii przemian wydaje się prawie niemożliwe. Wszyscy – zwłaszcza architekci – wiedzą, że budynek nie jest statycznym obiektem, ale raczej dynamicznym projektem. Nawet kiedy zostanie już wybudowany, każdy budynek zaczyna się starzeć, jest przekształcany przez użytkowników, a także modyfikowany przez wszystko, co wydarza się na zewnątrz i wewnątrz. Przeminie on lub zostanie odnowiony przy użyciu nowych materiałów, często zmieniony nie do poznania. Wiemy to wszystko, lecz problemem pozostaje to, że nie dysponujemy odpowiednikiem fotorewolweru Marey’a: kiedy myślimy o budynku, jest on zawsze nieruchomą, obojętną strukturą, przedstawianą w barwach procesowych2 na błyszczących stronach czasopism, przerzucanych przez klientów siedzących w poczekalniach biur projektowych. Skoro niemożność sfotografowania lotu mewy jako serii następujących po sobie stopklatek tak bardzo frustrowała Marey’a, jakże irytująca musi być dla nas niemożność zobrazowania płynności i ciągłego ruchu konstytuującego każdy budynek. W oparciu o dostępne mu dane wzrokowe Marey mógł ustalić fizjologię lotu dopiero po wynalezieniu sztucznego urządzenia. My również potrzebujemy narzędzia, abyśmy mogli przemienić statyczny obraz budynku w serię następujących po sobie stopklatek, które ostatecznie pokażą, że każdy budynek to tak naprawdę dynamiczny projekt.

Bruno Latour’s article challenges the preconceived notions with which the scholars have approached the Great Divide between prescientific and scientific cultures. In order to account for the immense eff ects of science and technology without assuming a single grand cause for them, he suggests to focus on many, small unexpected and practical sets of skills to produce images, and to read and write about them. However, only those changes that intervene favorably in the agonistic situation in science should be considered. Crucial in this respect is the emergence of numerous “immutable mobiles” – easily transported, accumulated, combined, yet lasting objects – which made possible the mobilization of new scientific inscriptions and of new ways of looking at and presenting them. They help to constitute an optically consistent visual culture with such technologies as printing press. Their combination on the surface of paper and subsequent mobilization of allies can usher in bureaucratic mode of domination over the world and people in the scientific field. The effects of science and technology thus become essentially a question of a shift in power relations enabled by the manipulation of inscriptions.

Latour in this essay criticizes and abandons the approach to science studies—in which the object of study is presumed to be inert and passively circulating amid networks of practices, institutions, authorities, and historical events — that he took in “The ‘Pédofil’ of Boa Vista,” an article published in the spring 1995 issue of Common Knowledge. Here he argues that Whitehead’s neglected text Process and Reality offers the possibility of a radical historical realism that puts the scientific object and the scientist’s laboratory on the same footing. His case study is of the Lille laboratory where, in 1858, Pasteur identified a yeast responsible for lactic fermentation. Even as Pasteur acted to cause the yeast to emerge, he felt—in a way that practicing scientists often attest—that he was “led” to do so by the propensity of things. Whitehead enables us to understand that it was not Pasteur alone who altered the representation of fermentation; the fermentation itself modified its manifestation. Hence there is historicity not only on the human side of scientific discovery—the story of Pasteur and his yeast—but also historicity on the nonhuman side—the story of the yeast and its Pasteur.

Including empirical examples and theoretical clarifications on many of the analytical issues raised in his recently published Down to Earth (2018), this conversation with Bruno Latour and his collaborator, Danish sociologist Nikolaj Schultz, offers key insights into Latour’s recent and ongoing work. Revolving around questions on political ecology and social theory in our ‘New Climatic Regime’, Latour argues that in order to have politics you need a land and you need a people. This interview present reflections on such politics, such land and such people, and it ends with a call for a sociology that takes up the task of connecting the three by investigating what he and Schultz call ‘geo-social classes’. The interview was conducted by Jakob Stein in Paris in November 2018.

The French, it is well known, love revolutions, political, scientific or philosophical. There is nothing they like more than a radical upheaval of the past, an upheaval so complete that a new tabula rasa is levelled, on which a new history can be built. None of our Prime Ministers starts his mandate without promising to write on a new blank page or to furnish a complete change in values and even, for some, in life. Each researcher would think of him or herself as a failure, if he or she did not make such a complete change in the discipline that nothing will hereafter be the same. As to the philosophers they feed, from Descartes up to Foucault's days, on radical cuts, on ‘coupure épistémologique’, on complete subversion of everything which has been thought in the past by everybody. No French thinker, indeed no student of philosophy, would seriously contemplate doing anything short of a complete revolution in theories. To hesitate, to respect the past, would be to compromise, to be a funk, or worse, to be eclectic like a vulgar Anglo-Saxon!

Biology and politics have always been permeable to one another, trading metaphors back and forth. This is nowhere more blatant than when people claim to talk about ‘the planet’ as a whole. James Lovelock’s concept of Gaia has often been interpreted as a godlike figure. By reviewing in some detail a critical assessment of Lovelock’s Gaia by one scientist, Toby Tyrrell, the paper tries to map out why it is so difficult for natural as well as social scientists not to confuse Gaia with some sort of Providence.

Technology is always limited to the realm of means, while morality is supposed to deal with ends. In this theoretical article about comparing those two regimes of enunciation, it is argued that technology is on the contrary characterized by the `ends of means' that is the impossibility of being limited to tools; technical artefacts are never tools if what is meant by this is a transmission of function in a mastered way. Once this modification of the meaning of technology is accepted, then it is possible to relate technology, in a totally different way, to morality which is not about values, but about the exploration of ends.

Pretendo investigar de qué manera la metafísica de Whitehead puede arrojar alguna luz sobre un problema difícil de la historia social de las ciencias, la historicidad de las cosas, que hasta ahora no ha tenido solución satisfactoria. Como buen filósofo empírico, partiré de un ejemplo, el del descubrimiento-invención-construcción por Pasteur del fermento del ácido láctico en 1857. En este artículo examinaré dos cosas: ¿cómo podemos replantearnos una gran cuestión de filosofía de la historia a partir de Whitehead? ¿Cómo se comporta su filosofía cuando hay que afrontar los detalles concretos de una situación experimental?