Philosophy, Theory and Science of Politics

Philosophy, Theory and Science of PoliticsAuthor(s): Giovanni SartoriSource: Political Theory, Vol. 2, No. 2 (May, 1974), pp. 133-162Published by: Sage Publications, Inc.Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/190670 .

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PHI LOSOPHY, THEORY AND

SCIENCE OF POLITICS

GIOVANNI SARTORI Universit6 di Firenze

Y HI LOSOPHY DOES NOT necessarily imply a philosophic method. Nor, as a matter of fact, does a codified philosophic method exist. At best, one could say that philosophy implies accurate reasoning, i.e., logic. Yet, logic is not to philosophy what the scientific method is to science. It would be risky to maintain that there is no philosophy without logic; and, surely, many illustrious philosophers have amply departed from the only logic that philosophic tradition has codified, namely, Aristotelian logic. On the contrary, there is no science, properly speaking, with a scientific method. Scientific method is not unalterable; it is one, but also many, and in continuous evolution. This does not prevent science from presupposing a scientific method. It is by virtue of this criterion, in fact, that the birth of scientific thought and its separation from philosophic thought is placed within the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries, within that period of time that goes from Bacon to Galileo, and finally to Newton.'

Does the scientific spirit of the seventeenth century constitute a necessary point of reference for a history of the human sciences as well?

EDITORS'NOTE: This is the second part of a two-part article. Part one has appeared in Volume 1, No. 1, February 19 73, pp. 5-26, with the title "What is 'Politics. ' " This article has beeni translated by Nina Juviler and Professor 0. Ragusa of Columbia University and reviewed by the author. The two articles appear as a chapter of Volume 6 of the History of Political Economic and Social Ideas, edited by Luigi Firpo, Torino, UTET, 1973. This article is a slightly revised and abridged version of the Italian original.

[133]



[134] POLITICAL THEORY / MAY 1974

Yes and no. Yes, insofar as the principle that there is no science without a scientific method was established in the seventeenth century. No, insofar as this frame of reference favors one method only, and equates the scientific method with the "Newtonian method." The word science is singular, but it implies a plural, i.e., a plurality of sciences. In the first place, we must remember that since antiquity, geometry and mathematics have furnished the initial model and the first archetype of "scientificity" (Brunschwigg, 1912; Weyl, 1949). Second, the natural sciences (in the plural) precede Newton's physics by many years and have never recognized themselves in the Newtonian model. Botany, mineralogy, zoology, and, in part, biology and medicine are fundamentally classificatory sciences. There is, then, a broad acceptance of the word science which shuns unitary reduction. While physics sets a model that today we call "physicalist," there are many sciences that are not reducible to this model.

One must therefore distinguish between science in a strict sense and science in a broad sense. In the strict sense, all sciences are measured by a reigning science which constitutes their archetype: here science means exact science, science in the physicalist sense. In the broad sense, the "unity of science"' refers to the minimum common denominator in whatever scientific discourse: here science stands for science in general In this second case, we recognize a plurality of sciences and of scientific methods ranging-across a variety of intermediate cases-from the classifying to the physicalist sciences. And it is the flexible and many-sided conception that suits the discussion of the sciences of man;2

By conceiving science flexibly one allows room also for the distinction between the historiographic and the epistemological yardsticks. What may be considered science with respect to the past, in a diachronic perspective, may not be considered science in the perspective of our time. The distinction between these two yardsticks resolves many futile polemics. Did Aristotle and Machiavelli practice a "science" of politics? From a historiographic point of view one may answer affirmatively; from an epistemological point of view one must answer negatively. The historian can note that "realistic observation" constitutes the premise and is an integral part of the scientific forma mentis. He can further point out that while Aristotle has no special place in the history of political science simply by virtue of his being a careful describer, he does have such a place because of his classificatory forma mentis. Likewise, the historian can descry the "scientificity" of Machiavelli in the fact that with him the observer becomes detached from the things observed, and also in the fact that in this way Machiavelli breaks with, and detaches himself from, the



Sartori / PHILOSOPHY, THEORY, SCIENCE OF POLITICS [1351

philosophic tradition. All of this is true. Yet the epistemologist has the right to respond that if realistic observation is a prelude to science, it is not, per se, science. Analogously, the epistemologist will have to state that though science is not philosophy, it is not enough not to be a philosopher in order to be a scientist.

The difference between the historical and epistemological yardsticks equally applies to authors who are very close in time to us. Gaetano Mosca (1858-1941) is a name everyone associates with political science; yet what is the "science" of his Elements of Political Science (1895)? His method was historical-inductive-an empirical method, if you wish, but not a scientific one. Mosca is defined a politologue, as Machiavelli, by virtue of his "realism" and by being a specialist who, as such, reaffirms the necessity for an autonomous study of politics-in the case of Mosca, autonomous of juridical science. Thus, by our epistemological standards, Mosca must be classified as belonging to the prescientific phase of political science.3 The same is true of Roberto Michels. If anyone of the three, it is Vilfredo Pareto who qualifies for inclusion in the scientific phase, even if his scientific method appears to our eyes naive and impure.4 Yet, it is enough to resume a historical perspective to realize that the epistemological yardstick beheads the problem too easily. In spite of their scientific primitivism, Mosca, Pareto, and Michels have theorized three "laws" of politics-respectively,. the law of the political class, the law of the circulation of elites, and the iron law of oligarchy-which are still today at the center of our debates. Now, the formulation of "laws" surely is an objective, and by no means the least important one, of the kind of knowledge we call scientific. Furthermore, granted that the historical- inductive method is not scientific, nonetheless can political science really ignore history and historical experience (Matteucci, 1971)? Or must the method of political science, even though scientific and not historical, include a way of treating-for its own aims-the historical evidence?

Even if in the end we will have to evaluate the political science of the sixties and seventies according to its own principles-i.e., with the criteria of the epistemologist-we cannot dismiss the fact that for about a century one has used the term "political science"-not without justification-to denote the encounter between (1) an autonomous manner of studying politics (autonomy a parte subiecti), and (2) politics seen in its own autonomy (autonomy a parte obiecti). An autonomous way of studying politics in the sense that the political scientist is not a philosopher, nor a historian, nor a jurist, nor an economist, nor a sociologist; and politics seen in its own autonomy in the sense illustrated by the first part of this essay:




that politics has its own imperatives, its own laws, and is not reducible to something else.5

In spite of the scientific canons, the bulk of our knowledge in things political harks back to the "significant encounter" between the autonomy of the political observer and the autonomy of the politics thus observed. I say in spite of the scientific canons because this is not, in effect, an encounter between "science." and "politics." But the lesson we learn from the history of science and from the various accepted meanings of the term is, precisely, of how many encounters did not take place or revealed themselves sterile. Today we are renewing the attempt to bring together mathematics and politics; but has our mathematics developed to a stage that could provide a fruitful encounter? For thousands of years mathematics has been the archetype of science; and yet those philosophers who were great mathematicians contributed nothing, or very little, to our knowledge of politics. Again: the "scientific spirit" of Galileo and Newton pervaded the Age of Enlightenment. We have already discussed Hobbes in this connection (in part one). But take the Encyclopedists, or the sensualistic-mechanical materialism of Condillac (1714-1780), La Mettrie (1709.1751) and d'Holbach (1723-1789). The Encyclopedists, and even more the above mentioned authors, undoubtedly, if in varying degrees, applied to man and to politics the scientific view of the universe characteristic of their times. Thus, in the eighteenth century an encounter between science and politics did occur; but its fruits were scarce. The authors of that period who today we read with much greater profit are Hume, Burke, Montesquieu, and the anti-scientific Rousseau.

We are hardly guilty of slackness, therefore, when we link political science not so much to the intrinsic "scientificity" of the discipline- political science in a strict sense-but more to the "autonomy" of the politologue-political science in a broad sense-i.e., to its separation from all those approaches which reveal themselves filtered by speculative, ethical, juridical, sociological, and whatever other eyeglasses. The separa- tions are many, as one can see; but the decisive one is the separation from philosophy. It is, in fact, this demarcation that permits a political science.

PHILOSOPHY AND THEORY

If all sciences come into being when they detach themselves from philosophy, some have by now been in existence for a long time. The natural or experimental scientist no longer feels the need to define himself




as a nonphilosopher, in his opposition-distinction from philosophy. The case is different with the sciences of man whose takeoff is recent and still incomplete. Thus, for the sciences of man the problem of their relationships with philosophy remains an open one.

Given two terms-philosophy and science-to be defined a contrario, in their opposition, the best strategy is to deduce the lesser known from the better known one. In the case of the physical sciences, for example, it is best to take "science" as a point of departure in order to extract from it a negative identification of philosophy as nonscience. However, in the case of the sciences of man, it is better to respect the genetic order and to take "philosophy" as a point of departure in order to extract a negative identification of science as nonphilosophy. This does not mean, to be sure, that science is a philosophical emptiness. To assert that science is not philosophy is only to highlight the separation of the former from the latter in the sequence in which it occurred: departing from philosophy in order to arrive at science.

The general problem is precisely what constitutes philosophy in its difference from science. The specific problem is: what differentiates the philosophy of politics from the science of politics. The second problein is obviously included in the first; but it also has its peculiar difficulties.

Philosophy can be viewed as a content of knowledge, or as a method for the acquisition of knowledge. Taking as the point of departure the recurring and characterizing contents of philosophizing, Norberto Bobbio (1971a; 1971b: 367-369) distills political philosophy into four great themes of reflection: (1) the search for the best form of government and for the best republic; (2) the search for the foundation of the state and the justification of political obligation; (3) the search for the nat ure of politics, or better, for the essence of the political; (4) the analysis of the language of politics. Clearly, these are not the themes of the political scientist. And if the one looks for what the other does niot see, the plausible inference is that the criteria and the objectives of the philosopher are not those of the political scientist. This brings us to the method or, as I prefer to say, to the treatment.

Still drawing from Bobbio, the philosophic treatment is characterized by "at least one" of the following elements: (1) a criterion of truth that is not verification but rather deductive coherence; (2) an intent directed not to explanation but rather to justification; (3) evaluationi as both preimiise and goal. With respect to the first element, the philosophic treatmellt is niot empirical; with respect to the second, it is characteristically normlative or prescriptive; and with respect to the third, it is evaluative or axiological.



(138] POLITICAL THEORY / MAY 1974

By sorting out three characterizing elements, and by protecting himself with the clause that only one is necessary, Bobbio overcomes the difficulty presented by the bewildering variety of philosophizing. If science divides itself into a plurality of sciences, this plurality is an ordered, or at least an arrangeable plurality. Philosophy too subdivides itself, in the concrete, into a plurality of philosophies: but this plurality proceeds in a great and elusive disorder. Some philosophies are highly rarified, i.e., highly speculative or, literally, t'metaphysical"; but other philosophies are steeped in empirical consistence. There is a philosophizing that is rigorously logical and deductive; but there is also a poetry-like philosophizing based on metaphors, assonances and licenses that are truly poetic. And while it is true that the philosopher is usually evaluative, nothing prohibits the philosopher from theorizing Wertfreiheit and from being value-free.

Bobbio's approach, as I said, largely overcomes this difficulty. It also has the advantage of aligning the criteria that constitute the philosophic treatment with those of the scientific method, which are the obverse, and consist of: (1) verification, (2) explanation, (3) nonevaluation (Bobbio, 1971b: 370-371). Nevertheless, some problems remain. In the first place, the relationship between theme (content) and treatment (method) is not always convicing. Bobbio agrees that Machiavelli be assigned to philosophy on the basis of his theme: the inquiry into the nature of politics. But it is difficult to justify this classification by any one of the three criteria which, according to Bobbio, characterize philosophy. For Machiavelli is closer to verification than to deduction, to explanation than to justification, and to nonevaluation than to axiology. Secondly, it is not clear whether we have a reciprocity for the criteria of scientific knowledge, that is, whether the fulfillment of only one of the three conditions cited above is a sufficient condition of "science." Intuitively, one would say no; and this lack of symmetry opens up a number of questions. One may suspect, among other things, that the list of differentiating criteria is still inadequate.

Aside from these intricacies, philosophy and science are generally demarcated by a number of dichotomous oppositions. We have already encountered, in Bobbio, the antithesis between philosophy as an evaluative or normative discourse, and science as a descriptive, nonevaluative discourse. But not all agree on the validity of this antithesis. A second division underlines this difference: that philosophy is such insofar as it is a "philosophic system," i.e., a universal systematization ab imis fundamen- tis, whereas science is segmented and indifferent to the primary principles of the whole. A third demarcation hinges on the difference between the




discrete, noncumulative character of philosophic speculation, in contrast to the cumulativeness and transmissibility of scientific knowledge. A fourth opposition is that between philosophizing as a metaphysical inquiry about "essences"-concerning what is prior, under or above, mere phenomena or appearance-and science as a detection of "existences," of things visible, touchable, or otherwise verifiable through experiment. Finally there is an antithesis between philosophy as nonapplicable knowledge, i.e., as not suited to problems of application, and science as knowledge which is not only operational but also operative.

Taken each one by itself, none of the foregoing demarcations is necessarily fitting or exhaustive. However, they can be clustered into a syndrome. In this way, philosophy encompasses the mental products characterized by more than one-though not by all-of the following traits: (1) logical deduction; (2) justification; (3) normative valuation; (4) universality and fundamentality; (5) the metaphysics of essences; (6) inapplicability. By contrast, science extends over the thinking characterized by more than one-though not by all-of the following charac- teristics: (1) empirical verification; (2) descriptive explanation; (3) value neutrality; (4) segmentation and cumulability; (5) the focus on existences; (6) operationality and applicability.

Yet, in this way, we have only lengthened Bobbio's list, making more symmetrical and elastic the necessary and sufficient requisites (that become "more than one," albeit "less than all"). For an orientation, this can suffice. But we still lack a leading thread, a handle. Two questions remain unanswered. The first is whether a minimum common denominator exists to permit a reduction of the multiplicity of philosophies to the unity of one and the same philosophizing. Moreover, if it is true that a philosophical treatment produces results (contents) so different from a scientific treatment, what is-if it exists-the fundamentum divisionis?

Before answering, let us attempt to systematize the nomenclature. The knowable is not classified only sub specie of philosophy or of science; it is also classified under the heading of "theory." Moreover, in connection with politics we also speak of "doctrines" and of "ideologies," both of which are different from pure and simple "opinions." We are thus required to pinpoint the entire cluster of concepts that compose and specify the knowable. It is enough to touch or displace one piece of the mosaic, and the whole must be recomposed. And, surely, many sterile controversies are due to a muddled or unsettled architectonics of the whole.

Among all the above mentioned terms, theory is perhaps the most multivalent and certainly the first that needs to be defined. Etymologi-



[1401 POLITICAL THEORY / MAY 1974

cally, theorein means to see, and therefore theory is sight, vision. There is no one particular explanation why the concept of theory maintained this original latitude in meaning, while "science," which is derived from scire (to know) and which therefore conveyed as broad a significance, ended up by designating a specific type of knowledge. At any rate, since we do need a term that cuts across partitions, theory can well be such a term. According to this convention, "theory" belongs as much to philosophy (philosophic theory) as it does to science (scientific theory). Hence the label "political theory" does not specify whether the theory in question is philosophic or scientific; it indicates, however, a high level of mental elaboration. A theory can be either philosophic or scientific, but only the few attain "theoretical standing," or stature. If the denotation of theory is broad, its connotation is aristocratic: theory is above things that are below it, i.e., above mental products of lesser value.6

What is less-than-theory is often referred to, in politics, as "doctrine." A political doctrine ranks lower intellectually or, better, heuristically, than a political theory. This is also because the label is often used for proposals or programs in which the theoretical foundation matters far less than the concrete purpose. But while a political doctrine need not be measured heuristically, nevertheless the assumption is that a doctrine must possess an intellectual rank of some sort. Therefore, a political doctrine also stands above things that are below it: on the one hand, mere "opinions" and, on the other, "ideology," both of which are characterized by lack of cognitive value. True, ideology is used, in the Marxist tradition, not for a noncognitive, lower species of thought, but as an all-embracing imputa- tion. In the latter sense, everything becomes ideology, save for science when it is really science-that is, when it is not declared to be bourgeois or capitalist science. But the Marxist meaning outflanks the problem under consideration, which is to employ the available labels for an ordered classification of the knowable. For this purpose we are best served by the non-Marxist meaning in which "ideology" designates the simplified and emotionalized byproducts of former philosophies or political doctrines.7

By taking the entire cluster into consideration, philosophy and science can be conceived as the extremes of a continuum whose intermediate zone escapes from either of the two ideal types. Much of what follows depends, therefore, on this dilemma: whether to reabsorb theory into philosophy or science, as the case may be, or whether to maintain theory as a tertium genus, as an independent category. The contents of philosophy and of science will vary, and considerably so, depending upon how that dilemma is resolved. In order to resolve it, we have to clarify a last preliminary




point-namely, the difference between classifying what has already been thought (in the past) and thinking along the lines of a preordained classification.

According to Benedetto Croce all history is contemporary: it is the past viewed by the eyes of the present. Still, it is absurd to force into the philosophy-or-science pigeonholes authors who ignored this division. A sensible reconstruction ex post can only draw a line between philosophers and nonphilosophers: nonphilosophers being those who did not perceive themselves as speculative thinkers and had no interest in the construction of universal systems. Such is the case with Machiavelli; but it is also the case, e.g., with Burke, Montesquieu, the authors of the Federalist Papers, Benjamin Constant, and Tocqueville. However, while the alternative, philosophy-or-science, makes little sense in retrospect, it does make a great deal of sense prospectively, for future consumption, on two counts: in order to eliminate sterile hybrids, and to seek that division of mental labor that best suits the differentiation of knowledge.

The distinction between retrospection and prospection, between reconstruction ex post and projection ex anzte, has also a bearing-as noted above-on the placement of theory. Retrospectively, political theory is undoubtedly a tertium genus: that kind which prepares and mediates the long passage from political philosophy to political science in its strict sense. Political theory could thus be defined, in its irreducibility, as the autonomous way (neither philosophic nor scientific) of "seeing" politics in its own autonomy. Prospectively, however, political theory as a third kind seems destined to be reabsorbed, in the long run, either into philosophy or science. As a rule, whenever a scientific discipline becomes consolidated it develops an endogenous theory, i.e., the fruit of the reflectioni of that science upon itself. Only during a transition-regardless of its actual duration-do we get a philosophy of science which is the domain of philosophers. At the end, it is the adept of "pure" science who produces the theory of his own science. For any complete science is, at one and the same time, applied science and theoretic science.

In resume, let uIs establish four points. First, at present, along the continiuuimi whose extremnes are indicated as "philosophy" and 'science," we find a political theorizing that is not reducible to either, even if it can be placed nearer to one than to the other. Second, between political philosophy and science there will always remain an intermediate area, occupied, if Inot otherwise, by "political doctrines." Third, theories, doctrines, and ideologies primarily relate to one another in a hierarchical order, wlhich goes fromn a maximum to a minimum cognitive value and,




inversely, from a minimum to a maximum will-value. Fourth, the dichotomy philosophy-science has a prospective rather than a retrospective validity. If we retrocede it, we must do so judiciously. As Leibniz said, on recule pour mieux sauter, one steps back in order to jump better. Thus the ex post reconstruction is above all intended to serve future construction. And this is the caveat to be kept in mind while searching for the dividing principle between philosophy and science.

RESEARCH AND APPLICA TION

If philosophy generates a scientific knowledge which ends up by repudiating it, there must be, in the philosophical overall standpoint, some constitutive vacuum, a blank which no philosophizing, in any of its many varieties, is capable of filling. Just what is this empty space? If one pauses to consider that science transforms reality, and aims at dominating nature by intervening in it, then the answer comes by itself: philosophy is inherently deficient in operative capacity or, more simply, in applicability.

There is no science without theory. But science-in contrast to philosophy-is not only theory. Science is theory hinged on research, and research (experiment or any valid acquisition of data) which feeds back on theory. Furthermore, and equally important, science is application, i.e., actualization of theory into practice. The methodological debate in the social sciences has been focused, in the main, on the relationship between theory and research, forgetting as it were the relationship between theory and practice. Yet the most advanced science of man-economics-suffices to demonstrate the extent to which science is not theory which exhausts itself in research, but also theory which reaches into full-fledged action: a planning in order to intervene-a praxeology (von Mises, 1966).

There are, then, two elements that science adds to, or substitutes for, philosophizing: (1) research as an instrument for the validation and the creation of theory; (2) the operative dimension, i.e., the ability to translate theory into practice, into praxis. It is unnecessary to dwell upon the relationship between theory and research. We must pause, instead, on the relationship between theory and practice in the light of the concept of application. An operative or applicable theory, is a theory which is translated into practice in a confirming manner, i.e., as anticipated and established by the theoretic design. Applicability is, then, the corre- spondence of result and intent, of outcome and prediction. More vividly put, applicability is the application which "succeds," not the application which fails, which attains unforeseen and unwanted results.




The foregoing adds up to this conclusion: philosophy is not thinking for application, thinking as a function of the translatability of ideas into deeds, into practical achievement. "How can this be done?" is not the problem of the philosopher or, in any case, not the question he knows how to answer. If we look at philosophy, and particularly at political philosophy, as a key for a program of action, such program is surely inapplicable. For thousands of years man has incessantly tried to establish the good city designed by the philosopher. But from Plato to Marx these "'philosophic programs" have resulted in utter failure: their outcome has always been a far cry from the one that was desired and expected.

By equating philosophy with nonapplicable knowledge, I expose myself to a specific objection and to a general perplexity. The specific objection is connected with Marx-who posited the "revolutionary philosopher" whose purpose is not to understand the world but to change it-and with Marxism conceived of as a philosophy of praxis and, more precisely, of the upturning (umwdlzende) praxis. This objection will be takeni up later. The more general perplexity is that while the thesis of the inapplicability of philosophizing is plausible for the philosophies characterized by a high level of abstraction-the metaphysical philosophies-and for the strongly rationalistic philosophies, it does not seem to fit the philosophies with a low level of abstraction-the empirical philosophies-and especially pragmatism, i.e., the school which theorizes the dependence of thought on action and indeed makes application the proof of truth. It is easy to demonstrate the nonconvertibility of philosophizing into practice with regard to Hegel and to his descendants either on the right or on the left: but how can this thesis be generalized and maintained, e.g., with reference to Aristotle or, among the moderns, to Bentham, John Stuart Mill, Spencer, and Dewey? This perplexity confronts us, once again, with the great variety and normlessness of philosophizing. There are innumerable kinds of philosophies at every level; and we cannot deal with philosophy en bloc unless we find a minimum common denominator shared by all philosophies. We are thus brought back to our initial, major query.

THE LINGUISTIC WATERSHED

Philosophers and scientists do not speak the same language: the vocabulary of the first is incomprehensible or unusable to the second; and, vice versa, the jargon of the scientist is obscure or, at any rate, trivial to the philosopher. To be sure, also among the sciences there is little and



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poor communication-but here the reason is clear: every science creates its own specialized terminology which, for that very reason, is comprehen- sible to its initiates only. It is far from clear, however, why the philosopher and the scientist do not communicate even when they happen to use the same words.

Let us return to the consideration that scientific knowledge finds its distinctive reason for being in providing a "knowing in order to intervene." This is indeed no small undertaking-and an endeavor that requires appropriate legs. Leaving metaphors aside, all knowledge passes through the instrument of an ad hoc language tailored to serving the needs of that knowledge. It follows that we must fix our attention on the linguistic instrument. This, I take it, is the handle for which we have been searching.

When all is said, there still remains to say that philosophy and science are-onomatologically, i.e., in "speech-thinking" terms-different linguistic usages which diverge on account of their respective, fundamental queries. The perennial question of the philosopher is why-of course, an ultimate, metaphysical or metaphenomenal why which concerns the ratio essendi. Conversely, the fundamental query of the scientist boils down to how. It goes without saying that the why of the philosopher includes a how; and, vice versa, that the how of the scientist implies a why. It is not that philosophy "explains" and that science "describes." It is, rather, that in philosophy the description is subordinated to explanation, whereas in science the description conditions explanation. All knowledge "explains"-or aims at explaining. The difference is brought about by research. Philosophical explanation does not ascertain the facts, it surpasses and transfigures them. Scientific explanation, which presupposes research, emerges from the facts and represents (or figures) them. In this perspective, philosophy can be characterized as "ideational understanding," whereas science is "observational understanding." Consequently philosophy easily becomes a "justifying understanding," an explaniation in terms of justification, while science is "causal understanding," explanation in terms of causation.8

A first implication of this fundamental bifurcation is highlighted by the different dosage-between philosophy and science-of the conceptum (what is conceived) with respect to the preceptunm (what is perceived). In the philosopher's vocabulary concipere prevails, and little attention is paid to percipere, i.e., to the refinement of observational terms; whereas the progress of empirical science hinges on the development of a meticulous descriptive vocabulary. Of course, the percipere of science is not a mere passive reading, nor should it evoke the immediacy of sense perception.



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The perceptum, or percept, does not come before but after the conceptum. We first conceive, and then reshape and test the "conceived" on the field, as the fact-finding proceeds. It is not by chance that the philosophy of nature precedes the science of nature, just as political philosophy precedes political science.

This shift of emphasis from the conceived to the perceived becomes evident, and massively so, when a science enters into the phase of so-called operational definitions, i.e., when it tends to define its terms with respect to their observable properties and, more specifically, as functions of the operations which permit empirical verification. Operationalism-let it be stressed-is a requisite of the relationship between theory and research, and should not be confused, therefore, with the operativity inherent in the relationship between theory and practice. On the other hand, operational definitions may well facilitate-if only indirectly-the conversion of theory into practice.

In the final analysis, what renders philosophy and science necessarily different is the onomatological watershed, the diversity of their respective linguistic instruments. Philosophy is philosophy because it bases itself on a meta-empirical usage of language in which words tend to assume-as Croce puts it-"ultrarepresentative" meaning: an ultra or meta-representative meaning which establishes the priority of the conceptum, therein establishing, in turn, a mundus intelligibilis whose "significance," "essence," and ultimate justification it behooves the philosopher to understand (intelligere). To be sure, the philosopher is free to perform on different grounds. By so doing, however, he loses his uniqueness and becomes replaceable.

Conversely, science develops a denotational, i.e., observative-descriptive vocabulary in which words mean what they represent. Hence the prevalence of the percept, of a descriptive understanding that concerns a mundus sensibilis to be explained by its rules of functioning.9 This is also the reason that the problem of application is not resolved philosophically, but in the context of science. In order to intervene upon reality, we must know how the real world is; and for this purpose we need a fact-finding semantic instrument, that is, a language in which words "stand for" what they represent. It is this descriptive-observative tranlsformation of language that permits-this being a peremptory condition-the conversion of theory into practice.' 0

The principle of differentiation proposed here has not-as I have already indicated-presided over the construction of knowledge: it is a reconstruction of that construction; a reconstruction that becomes all the




more useful as the construction becomes more complicated. There is little point in classifying mental products as long as the tree of knowledge consists only of one trunk. But the more the tree of knowledge develops and differentiates itself into a maze of branches, the more we must know where we stand and what we are doing. If there is little point in classifying the Greeks and Aristotle, it is of great consequence, instead, to establish whether Marx was a philosopher or not, and whether he really succeeded in liberating himself from Hegelian philosophy-as Marx claimed, and as I personally very much doubt.

Marx posited the revolutionary philosopher on the basis of a "dialectic unity" between theory and praxis.' 1 Yes-except that what is said is not done. It is one thing to theorize doing, and a completely different thing to know how to do. It is one thing, therefore, to theorize the dialectic unity of theory and praxis, and altogether another thing to achieve that unity. The proof of applicability rests in the outcome. If a theory is realizable, it must demonstrate this in actual realization. And the realization of Marxism eloquently testifies, over the last half century, not to the unity but to the utter disunity of theory and praxis: for the umwalzende praxis is endlessly turned over, or overturns itself, as the theory neither foresaw nor intended.

Let my point be clear: it is not because the theory is misapplied, or remains unapplied, that the city of Marx is unrealized; it is because his theory is not, constitutively, a theory conceived in empirical-let alone applicable-terms. Marxism is all ends and no means, all prescription and no instrumentalization, all exhortation and no engineering. And this is so for the basic, preliminary reason that the language of Marx remains, up until the end, and in spite of his intentions, meta-empirical and meta-observational; a language characterized by the "conceptual tension" for which Hegel had trained his disciples, whether followers or rebels. The state that Marx declared unnecessary is the Hegelian State, not the state spoken of by an empirical science; his work-value is not the value intended by the economist; his notion of class loses all its distinctive vigor when translated into the one of social stratification-and so forth. Marxism would like to be a philosophy of praxis; but the test of history unmasks it for what it is: a philosophy without praxis, a theory without actualization. If there is a macroscopic example of the inherent unpracticability and inapplicability of philosophizing, this example is Marxism. The "revolutionary philosopher" can indeed unchain a revolution; but he soon becomes the victim of his creature, and his parabola goes to confirm the distance which passes between extolling action and succeeding in action.




We may now revert to the more general objection, namely, that the inapplicability of philosophizing is easily demonstrated by high abstract philosophies, such as idealism and its derivatives (not only Marxism but also existentialism), but hard to demonstrate with respect to philosophical empiricism.

Unquestionably, the jump, or discontinuity, between empirical philosophy and empirical science is a lesser one. Yet the discontinuity remains: for the transformation of language-be it operational or operative-requires a long-standing, sustained effort, and is not accomplished until we confront the problems of research and, still further, the suigeneris nature of praxeology, of an "understanding for intervening." Let us take a down-to-earth philosophy, such as that of the utilitarians. It has been shown (Rees, 1959) that from the philosophical premises of utilitarianism one can derive almost diametrically opposed programs of political action. The same is true-to cite another example-for political Darwinism. The crux of the matter is that empirical is not, per se, equal to applicable. An empirical level of knowledge facilitates, or brings closer, the conversion of thought (verum) into action (factum); but empirical knowledge is not, as such, operative knowledge. When Leon Battista Alberti (1404-1472) discussed masserizia (household goods), his level of enquiry was without doubt empirical but he did not, thereby, foreshadow the science of economics.

The thesis of the nondeducibility of politics from philosophy is by no means intended as a preclusion of philosophy. I criticize only the error of asking from philosophy recipes for the engineering of history. But the philosopher, as such, merits one reprimand only-that of no longer being a philosopher. In an age of science, philosophy too is called upon to cross-examine itself: but in order to find itself anew. To reduce philosophy to the epistemology of physics, to the analysis of language, or to the methodology of the particular sciences,2 is to mistake a part-though a much needed and timely part-for the whole. The mainstream of philosophy was and remains-I dare suggest-elsewhere; namely, in the incessant creation of ideas and of values. This is also to say that the inapplicability of philosophizing-as here defined-must not be exchanged for a downgrading of the "practical impact" of philosophizing. That would be absurd, since it is philosophy which elaborates our Weltanschauungen, our visions of the world.

To mark the boundaries of philosophizing is also, at the same time, to pinpoint the boundary lines of science. Just as the philosopher cannot replace the scientist, so the scientist is no substitute for the philosopher.



[ 148] POLITICAL THEORY I MAY 1974

The caution, here, is that my emphasis on the relationship between science and practice not be misunderstood. To say that science originates from the need of intervening into the world of sense experience in order to transform it, is not tantamount to espousing a pettily "practicalist" view of science. Above all, science is "pure" science serving scientific aims: and the scientific purpose is not, in itself, a practical purpose. Yet, in the long run the scientific aim and the practical aim are-in spite of all the contingent frictions-convergent. And the convergence is indeed very close in the nonexperimental sciences for which application is, willy-nilly, the substitute for experimentation.

Let us recapitulate. I have maintained that any kind of philosophizing finds its minimum common denominator in a meta-observative language aimed at "explaining by ideation," and molded by conceiving (concipere) far more than by perceiving (percipere). From this it follows that philosohpic knowledge is always differentiated from scientific knowledge-at a minimum-by a linguistic instrumentation which enither suits the operational requirement (research), nor the operative needs. Therefore, science is characterized by an applicability that philosophy does not possess. To be sure, this onomatologicalfundamentum divisionis relates to prevalences and indicates lines of tendency. Moreover, since we are dealing with an ex post reconstruction, the demarcation in question does not reflect a division of objectives and of competencies deliberately pursued by the interested parties. Therefore, the fact that philosophy and science-as here divided-are often found intermingled, cannot sustain a pertinent objection. To be satisfied with this mingle is tantamount to sanctifying the past and perpetuating its errors. It is true that the literature is rich in hybrids which propose philosophic solutions for practical problems. But if this is an error-and a very costly error-then it behooves us to seek a criterion for dividing in the future what we have muddled in the past.

SCIENCE AND VALUES

Political science in a broad sense has been defined as an autonomous way of studying politics in its autonomy. This conception gradually becomes more precise as political science is detached from political philosophy. But in this way we look at political science from without, according to what it is not. Let us look at it from within, as it becomes more itself and more "scientific." That is, let us pass from the broad to the narrow meaning of the discipline.



Sartori / PH I LOSOPHY, TH EORY, SCI ENCE OF POLITICS [ 149]

The phrases and aspects of scientific procedure are manifold. Some are common to all the sciences; others are not. One common and most fundamental-though often bypassed-element is, as we know, the elaboration of ad hoc languages. In this respect the general rule is that each science posits itself, at one and same time, as: (1) a conscious language, which is constructed by reflecting upon its instrumentality; 2) a critical language, in the sense that it is required to correct the shortcomings of ordinary language; (3) a specialized language, which develops a technical and esoteric vocabulary; (4) a language which is additive and permits control by repetition (of experiments or of research). More concretely put, a scientific type of knowledge requires and presupposes these onomatologic operations: first, definition, and with it the (relative) stabilization of its carrying concepts; second, the creation of new words making available an adequately precise and articulated vocabulary; third, the adoption of a definite logical syntax.

Along with the onomatological elaboration, the other steps of scientific procedure can be summarized thus: (a) construction of empirical concepts; (b) construction of classifications and taxonomies; (c) formulation of law-like generalizations concerning tendencies, regularities or probabilities; (d) theory, understood as a whole of interconnected generalizations, as an organizing and unifying conceptual scheme. As a rule of thumb, at the beginning the emphasis is on descriptive fact-finding; we then have a classifying phase, which is gradually followed by the moment of causal explanation and of theoretic systematization. In its totality science results in "empirical explanation" based upon factual information and intent on arriving at "predictions" of the if-then type which constitute, in turn, the basis of its verification and of its operative implementation.

So much for the common requisites-more or less inadequately satisfied-of any knowledge that purports to be scientific. Where the various sciences separate-of necessity-is in the procedures and techniques of control. Scientific knowledge is not such, if its hypotheses and generalizations are not verifiable (or falsifiable)-that is, if they are not controllable. In principle, all sciences are equally interested in every possible means of control. In reality, however, every science must accommodate itself to those controls that are feasible. It is not by chance that the major division among the sciences is the one between experimental and nonexperimental ones; that is, between sciences that can and those that cannot have recourse to the control of experiment.

Roughly, factual assertions can be verified, or falsified, in four ways: by experiment, statistical control, comparative control, and historical control.



[ 150] POLITICAL THEORY / MAY 1974

It is superfluous to explain why the strongest method of control-experiment-is almost inaccessible to the sciences of man, with the limited exception of psychology. Statistical controls are widely used in economics and, to a lesser degree, in sociology. Political science too resorts, when it can, to statistical treatment; but the quantitative data of which it disposes are seldom sufficient, often trivial, and frequently of dubious validity. As a result, the political scientist often has no choice: he must resort to comparative control or to historical control (conceived as a longitudinal or diachronic comparison).

Given these premises, when is it that political science, in the strict sense, appears, so as to permit the distinction between a prescientific and its properly scientific phase? The turn occurs during the 1950s, with the so-called behavioral revolution.1 3 Naturally, this revolution had been maturing for some time. The introduction of quantitative techniques goes back to Stuart Rice and to Howard Gosnell, and many premises of the new course had been set, between 1908 and 1930, by Bentley, Merriam, and Lasswell. But we cannot speak of a turning point in the discipline as a whole until the early fifties. 1 4 According to David Easton (1967) behavioralism modifies traditional political science in eight ways. The major modifications are: (1) search for regularity and uniformity; (2) subordination of every assertion to empirical verification; (3) adoption of precise research methods; (4) quantification; (5) value neutrality. In short, the behavioral revolution is the actual application of the "scientific method" to the study of politics.' 5And the truly distinctive develop- ments are: research, quantification, mathematization.

As already noted, it is too soon to say whether the time is finally ripe for a fruitful encounter between mathematics and politics. Meanwhile it is important to recognize, in this development, the quest for the deductive power of mathematical formalizations. While the adoption of a physicalist model is subject to dispute, there is no doubt that political science has much to learn from the mathematical development of economics, and that the logical rigor of a mathematical training constitutes a positive acquisition.

With reference to quantification, measurement, and thereby to the statistical treatment of data, the problem is not whether political science should go quantitative or not. The question is to what extent the information that can be expressed numerically is "relevant" to the problems of the discipline. No one denies that measurement is better than impressionistic estimates. But to the extent that it is the nature of the data-whether quantifiable or not-which determines what the problems




are, to the same extent political science risks discovering "more and more" about "less and less." The caution is, then, that quantiflability does not constitute, per se, a criterion of relevance.

The undisputed and central development of the behavioral revolution is, therefore, the one mentioned first: research, and, through research, the joining of library and field work. It is here that behavioralism leaves its decisive mark. Research is not only acquisition of data, quantitative or qualitative as the case may be. Research modifies, in the first place, the very nature of the information. In the second place, as we equally know, research results in transforming language-no matter how unawares. Therefore, the fruits of research are not only in the information they yield, but, more significantly, in the long-run shaping of an observational language capable of true empirical adherence.

I have, up to now, passed over Wertfreiheit, Max Weber's "freedom from value." I take it up now, in its own right, not only because the issue long precedes behavioralism, but also because value-neutrality is best assessed last, after having weighed all the other elements. For at least thirty years Wertfreiheit has been the grand issue not only between philosophers and nonphilosophers, but also within the social sciences. It has marked the boundary line between philosophy which prescribes values, and science which ascertains facts. It has also marked the boundary line between traditionalism, charged with being normative and evaluative, and the young Turks of behaviorism of some twenty years ago. Ironically enough, today the roles are, in this respect, inverted: the behaviorists are accused for their "conservative" value-neutrality, while the new left advocates "freedom to evaluate." 1 6

It is fair to say that the logical and epistemological status of the question is in deep water. First of all, we are not clearheaded about what "values" are. Second, the nexus "values-prescriptions" is a very dubious one, because it confuses axiological imperatives with the technical imperatives that relate means to ends. Third, the knot of Wertbeziehung, of Weber's "relation-to-value," remains as he left it half a century ago. While the observer can be value-free, the fact remains that those who are observed are not. This is so not only because human beings do evaluate, but also because they employ a language (ordinary language) which is imbued to the very marrow with appreciative or derogative connotations, with preferences or phobias. This poses for the observer the problem of how to "receive" the language of the observed. If he receives it as it stands, he will be trapped by the value-laden vocabulary he imports. If he does not receive it, is he dealing with the real world? Perhaps the solution to this



[1 52] POLITICAL THEORY / MAY 1974

dilemma lies in finding rules of transformation-rules which we are far from having found.

These intricacies being what they are, the problem can be made more manageable by distinguishing between two cases: the demarcation between philosophy and nonphilosophy, and the internal polemics among political scientists.

As far as the relationships between philosophy and science are concerned, the dichotomy between values and facts does not merit-I suggest-prime importance. In perspective, values and facts are elements of the ongoing differentiation between meta-empirical and empirical use of language. Values and evaluative connotations are-whether analytic philosophy likes it or not-a constituent element of a language intent upon grasping the sense of life, the essence of things and the teleological raison d'etre of the world, that is, of philosophical language. Conversely, an evaluative discourse does not find a congenial vehicle in scientific language. A knowledge intent upon scire per causas and upon explaining through describing, does not have genuine axiological potential: at the most, it declares or implies values that are not of its own making. From this vantage point the divergence between, on the one hand, teleological, normative, and axiological discourse, and, on the other hand, nonevaluative, etiological discourse, resolves itself-in the final analysis-in the differentiation between philosophical language and scientific language; a differentiation according to which the axiological potential of language decreases as its empirical adherence increases. It is not by chance that the "evaluating science" advocated by the New Left reappears in philosophical garments or as philosophizing sociology, that is, by returning to that "ipoietic" language which forever characterizes speculative thought.

With respect to the polemic on Wertfreiheit which tears apart political science-and also sociology-from within, the thesis of those who recommend neutralization should be distinguished from the thesis of those who propound the cancellation of values.

The first school settles for these recommendations: (1) to separate judgments of fact from judgments of value; (2) to make one's values explicit, and to ascertain the facts before evaluating them; (3) to comply to rules of impartiality, such as presenting with equity all the various value standpoints. Clearly, these recommendations balance, and thereby neu- tralize, values, but do not eliminate them. For this interpretation the essential point is not to confuse the "ought" with the "is," and not to smuggle value preferences under the cover of the factual statement. Which is equivalent to saying that values and evaluations do not hamper scientific




knowledge, on the condition that they be identified as such, and that they do not becloud descriptive reports.

The second school demands something more and something different: an outright "value void." Values must disappear not only a parte subiecti, as evaluations by the observer; but also a parte obiecti, i.e., in the things observed. Ultimately one must aim, therefore, at the purification of language, that is, at the construction of an aseptic vocabulary purged of all connotations of value. In this way, however, we open up gigantic problems which are still beyond our grasp-for example, the problem of Wertbezie- hung, of how the observer relates to the values of the observed. We must also face the fact that, at least for the time being, the gains brought about by the sterilization of the vocabulary tend to be paid for by losses in precision: the price of a value-drained language is a lesser power of discrimination. This is so because the simplest way of purifying a concept is to render it more "abstract" and all-inclusive.

However that may be, the point is that we have to reckon with two different theses. The first thesis-neutralization-boils down to a pure and simple "regulative principle," to rules aimed at establishing that objectivity which is impartiality. Essentially, this type of Wertfreiheit posits a professional ethic. Bobbio (1971b: 377) says this very well: "value-neutrality is the virtue of the scientist, just as impartiality is the virtue of the judge." Even though the judge is never absolutely impartial, it does niot follow that he should be encouraged to be partial. Analogously, to recognize the limits of scientific objectivity does not entitle one to sectarian subjectivity. And the importance of a regulative Wertfreiheit, of a professional ethic, for an inflammable discipline dealing witl bunming issues should not be downgraded.

The second thesis amounts, instead, to a "constitutive principle," for it assumes that the purification of the vocabulary-because this is where we must get to-represents the epistemological watershed between what is, and what is not, science. I take it, however, that whoever raises Wertfreiheit to the prime and sine qua non requisite of scientificity skates on thin epistemological ice and is guilty both of exaggeration and of oversimplification. The construction of a scientific language is a far more determining factor. Sciences such as psychology and economics have made their way pursuing or presupposing, more or less implicitly, value aimns. Medicine is not necessarily harmed by perceivinig health as a positive value. I would thus endorse the view that freedom from value is a "regulative," not a constitutive principle. But what should be clearly uniderstood is that those who subscribe to the first Wertfreiheit need not subscribe to the



[ 154] POLITICAL THEORY / MAY 1974

second, and that it is the second type of value neutrality far more and better than the first, that helps resurrect an "evaluating science" which is both bad philosophy and very suspect science.

THE BALANCE SHEET

What is the balance sheef, at the beginning of the seventies, with respect to the scientific fulfillment of political science? Most people lament that the study of politics is not sufficiently a "science." But I would rather ask what the discipline has gained from its scientific advance.

The excesses of the behavioral revolution have been largely recognized, and the hyperfactual and crudely scientistic phase is bygone. The current perplexities are aroused by an excessive technicism, by the abuse of mathematical displays, and by the operational bent of the discipline. In this latter connection, while the operationalization of language deserves high praise, one must also recognize the limits of operationalism-namely, that operational definitions develop the extension or denotation of concepts at the expense of their connotation. Consequently, too much operational emphasis leads to the atrophy of theory, that is, to impoverishing the theoretical fertility of concepts. In spite of these and other reservations, one can agree with Easton (1968: 297): in the sixties there has been a transition from "synthetic" to "theoretical" political science. If this is so, then the above lamented excesses have not hindered a parallel development of theoretical construction. It is true that, theoreti- cally speaking, the discipline finds itself in full diaspora. There is a plethora of conceptual schemes and approaches among which to choose."17 Yet this state of fluidity and confusion may well reflect the endogenous birth of theory, that is, the affirmation of a theory that is no longer a loan nor a tertium genus, but the fruit of the reflection with which political scientists examine their findings. The fact that even the theory-oriented scholar is learning to use the "language of variables" testifies to the birth of a theoretical reflection which emerges ab intus, from within. One may well speak of crisis-but as a crisis of growth.

All in all, the merits and scientific returns of the behavioral revolution are undeniable. Nonetheless, the coin has another face, namely, that the progress of the science is counterbalanced by the regression of its object, that is, of politics. The behavioral focus leads to a diffuse and "horizontal" perception of politics and, through this, to the diluting of the political.

Let it be recalled that behavioralism is, at its origins, an interdiscipli-




nary movement, i.e., the "common method" of all the sciences of man. To begin with, therefore, behavioralism is the science common to all the sciences that adopt its precepts. These sciences are all behavioral sciences before becoming political science, sociology, psychology, or even behavioral economics. Up to this point, all is well. The methods and techniques of inquiry are, by definition, cross-disciplinary: a reservoir from which all the sciences can, and do in fact, draw. The question is if, and to what degree, this methodological unity of the behavioral sciences supplants the division of labor, and thereby the specialization among the various disciplines. We are thus brought back to the vexed question of the unity of science. Does this unity reside in a common methodological point of departure, or must it be pushed further?

The behavioral movement declares itself interdisciplinary, not "reductionist"; but it contains, willy-nilly, a reductionist potential. There is no doubt, for example, that behavioralism has mightily contributed to the "sociologization of politics"-that is to say, to the reduction of political science to political sociology. Therefore, behavioralism opens up, if only by implication, a question of principle. If we enter a reductionist path, such path must be pursued to its end. If political science is a "part" of sociology, by the same token economics too is to be considered part of a larger context and should, therefore, be equated with the sociology of economics. After this, one can maintain that also the notion of society is a theoretical construct soaring in midair. What really exists is only "social relationships," only intersubjective links centering on those ultimate, concrete units which are the single individuals. In the end, by dint of this logic, sociology too should disappear, reabsorbed by social psychology or by psychology tout court. What remains to be proved is whether, in this way, our understanding would be improved-something I very much doubt.

This is not to say, to be sure, that the existing disciplinary subdivisions among the sciences of man are sacred. What appears irreversible-in spite of many inconveniences-is the division and specialization of intellectual labor. The rationale for such specialization can be entirely different from what it is-but it must be a rationale. Meanwhile it is important to assess how the "interdisciplinary convergence" suggested by the behavioral persuasion affects the study of politics.1 8

By virtue of its canons and its perspective, behavioralism is inclined-I noted-to view politics in its horizontal diffusion more than in its verticality.' This is immediately apparent if we compare the "behaviorali- zation" with the "juridicization" of politics, that is, with the institutional-



[1561 POLITICAL THEORY I MAY 1974

legalistic approach originating from the German Staatslehre, the doctrine of the state. The behaviorists were correct in reacting to "legalism," just as they were right in saying that politics is not coextensive with the orbit of the state. But their polemics go beyond the target. Granted that politics does not reside only in the vertical dimension circumscribed by the state, it does not follow that it can all be flattened outward, at the community level, or reduced to interactions among groups which lack altimetric placement."0 Likewise, it is quite true that the formal (juridical) structures are not the real structures; but it is very dubious that the polity-forming structures can be reduced to pure and simple "roles" loosely defined as observable activities that occur with regularity. While the concept of role applies nicely to social structures, it fails to underpin those structures which result from, and are institutionalized by, juridical-constitutional enforcement. The optics which renders the way in which social life-the sponte acta-is structured, is ill suited for representing the way in which a polity is structured. We are thus left with the frustrating feeling of revolving around something we never really seize. The behavioral approach leaves us at the periphery, letting the epicenter of politics go.

With due acknowledgement to important exceptions, what we have come to call the normal science tends to perceive the political system as a system of transformation of (external) inputs into outputs-not as a system which generates decisions, i.e., steered by the "withinputs" resulting from how the political actors interact among themselves and play against each other. If this is so, then the behavioral development does contribute to the "crisis of identity" of politics. On the other hand, it should be immediately acknowledged that this identity crisis is not to be blamed on behavioralism onily. I have already pointed out in the first part that the horizontal dilution of politics reflects its massification and even more its democratization. In addition, the idea of politics becomes diffuse and evanescent also as a result of its "globalization," that is, following the global extension of comparative politics (Sartori, 1970b). In the Third World and in the so-called developing countries we find societies which are-if measured by a Western yardstick-stateless societies; that is to say, characterized by shapeless or nonspecialized political structures. Hence a dilution of politics which reflects the search for a minimal definition applicable to any human aggregate-e.g., to the so-called political system of the Eskimos.

If the identity crisis of politics results from a variety of concomitant circumstances, nonetheless the single major factor in this predicament appears to be scientificity itself. We need data; all the better if they are




quantified; and better still, if data come in large numbers. Now, most of the data of this sort consist of socioeconomic information collected by statisticians. Hence, the data base already prefigures a horizontal and peripheral perception of politics which shows us from where politics arises, to the detriment of where it coagulates. Furthermore, if the data on which we base ourselves are, in the main, socioeconomic, then it is from these data that we must derive our explanation. The information prejudges the interpretation: from socioeconomic data we necessarily extract socioeconomic explanations. It does not follow that the science-minded student of politics is obliged to explain politics with sociology and economics. But it does follow that politics becomes an explanandum whose explanans is furnished and preempted by data which are hypopolitical, that is, far removed from the real "stuff' of politics. Thus, the retroaction of data-of the data which the market affords-brings us back to the heteronomy of politics, to politics explained by something else.

With all of its merits, therefore, the scientific urge of the behavioral approach makes the autonomy of politics questionable again. The treatment affects the object. If science is the how, this how vaporizes the what. The behavioral persuasion leads, in the end, to the disappearance of what is political, to taking politics out of politics.2 1 There is nothing paradoxical in this development. To the contrary, it is in the logic of every scientific approach to do away with whatever is refractory to its treatment. In all likelihood, therefore, the encounter between science and politics will remain suspect and perilous. To the extent that politics is neglected-be it because it is made peripheral, be it because it is declared heteronomous-to the same extent politics escapes control and becomes once more a force out of control. At one extreme, we have science eating up politics; on the other extreme, we have politics eating up science. The two extremes touch and transform themselves into one another. It is the task of the political theorist-whether philosopher or scientist-to be on the alert and to shun both extremes.

NOTES

1. For the complex history of the genesis of science from philosophy, see esp. Cassirer (1 952-1958: passim). A useful symposium is Wienier and Nolan (1957).

2. Contemporary epistemologists can be classified according to their degree of adherence or distance from the "physicalist" model. In this order Rudolph Carnap and Michael Polanyi represent the two opposite extremes, with Hempel, Nagel, and Popper standing in between. The little book by Kuhn (1952) has been very




influential. A useful anthology is by M. Brodbeck (1968). With specific reference to empirical methodology the best overall text is Kaplan (1964).

3. Discussion of Mosca continues. Among more recent works, see Vecchini (1968), Bobbio (1969), Passerin d'Entreves (1970), Lombardo (1971).

4. On Pareto see the five studies now in Bobbio (1969), Aron (1967), and for the more recent bibliography, Busino (1968). As for Michels, the best critical interpretation is the "Introduction" by Juan Linz (1966).

5. See part one of this article, "What is 'Politics' " Political Theory 1, (February 1973): esp. 11-16, 21-23.

6. The usage here proposed for adoption does not detract from the complexity of the notion, which forcefully results from Brecht (1959). See also Easton (1951), Weldon (1953), Cobban (1953), Rapoport (1958), Strauss (1959), Weil (1961), Deutsch (1965), Chapman (1965), Brecht (1968), Wolin (1968), Boudon (1970), and, finally, the excellent series edited by Laslett (1956), subsequently joined by Runciman (1963, 1967).

7. For this interpretation Sartori (1962: ch. 18); and for a judicious assessment of the Marxist type of reductionism, see Shklar (1966: esp. intro.).

8. Popper (1963: 255-256) criticizes the view that science is "characterized by its observational basis, or by its inductive method." by noting that the modern theories of physics were . . . far removed from what might be called their 'observational basis.' " However, my argument specifies the vague notion of observational basis; and the case of physics bears no evidence, unless we are prepared to confuse the laboratory-experimental sciences with the empirical sciences. Popper goes on to propose that "the refutability or falsifiability of a theoretical system should be taken as the criterion of its demarcation." I do subscribe to this criterion-except that Popper takes up the argument when given theories already are testable (or falsifiable), whereas my problem is to explain, genetically, how wve arrive at a testable/falsifiable knowledge.

9. It should be clear that this prevalence does not downgrade in the least the importance, for scientific knowledge, of theoretical terms. Prevalence means what it says.

10. There exists no systematic onomatolotical study focused on the linguistic usages and transformations considered here; e.g., in the review of Jacobson (1970: ch. 6), no linguistic study keyed along the lines of my argument can be found.

11. For the revolutionary philosopher of Marx and his uimwdlzende praxis one must refer to his Theses on Feuerbach of 1845. On the point of dialectics, see Bobbio (1958), Rossi (1962-1963), and Dal Pra (1965).

12. For this latter view-with respect to how political philosophy relates to political science-see Oppenheim (1968) and Treves (1965). The classic, contrary view is well rendered by Leo Strauss (1959): "Political philosophy is the attempt truly to know both the nature of political things and the right, or the good, political order" (p. 12). The most recent overview, aligned with the classic traditioni of political philosophy, is Passerin d'Entreves (1972).

13. See, among others, Truman (1955), Dahl (1961), Eulau (1969, 1966). 14. This is the turning point of all the social sciences. For the distance that

separates the late forties from the sixties it is very telling to compare-wherever comparable-the UNESCO panoramic accounts of 1950 and 1970.




15. For the overall methodological development and technical sophistication of the discipline up until the present writing, see Isaak (1969), Golembiewski et al. (1969), Meehan (1969), Holt and Turner (1970), Przeworski and Teune (1970). However, major methodological contributions originate from sociology (see esp. Lazarsfeld, 1967).

16. For the literature on value-neutrality which precedes the current revival of the debate, see Myrdal (1958), Waldo (1958), Stevenson (1963), Pennock (1968). For the current controversy, see Oppenheim (1973).

17. See Bluhm (1965), Easton (1966), Charlesworth (1967), Young (1968), Haas and Kariel (1970), Mackenzie (1972).

18. On behavioralism as an interdisciplinary movement, see Berelson (1963). On the rationale for the intellectual division of labor, see Sartori (1970a: esp. 12-17).

19. On the vertical as opposed to the horizontal perception of politics, see the first part of this essay, Political Theory No. 1, February 1973, esp. 9-10, 20-22.

20. This group-type flattening is very evident, e.g., in Eulau (1966), a collective volume that reflects the framework of Eulau's concise monograph of 1963.

21. On the loss of focus upon politics and for a vindication of the primacy of political factors, see Paige (1966), Spiro (1966), La Palombara (1968), Macridis (1968), Wiseman (1969), Sartori (1969). My point should not be confused with the new left type of criticism, as exemplified by McCoy and Playford (1967).

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