Humanity in the social world - the path  of Steve Fuller's social epistemology

Knowing Humanity in the Social World is an expansive intellectual portrait of one of the most provocative and polarising figures in contemporary science and technology studies (STS) and social epistemology, Steve Fuller. Authored by Francis X. Remedios and Val Dusek, the book charts Fuller's later intellectual trajectory-particularly after the year 2000-when his focus shifted from the normative organisation of scientific knowledge to the deeper metaphysical and ontological question: What kind of being should the knower be? In doing so, the book provides not only a thematic exposition of Fuller's major interventions-ranging from his critique of Darwinism and defence of Intelligent Design to his promotion of transhumanism and proactionary ethics-but also a lens through which to examine the broader tensions in contemporary science policy, epistemic authority, and human self-understanding.

At the heart of this book lies the figure of Steve Fuller as a relentless disruptor. From his early work establishing social epistemology as a field that bridged the gap between philosophy's normative aspirations and sociology's descriptive accounts, Fuller has cultivated a reputation for taking contrarian stances on some of the most sensitive scientific and political debates of the past few decades. Remedios and Dusek explicitly acknowledge this aspect of his persona, describing him as an "intellectual provocateur" who thrives on controversy and opportunistically engages with high-stakes public debates to advance his theoretical agenda.

This provocation, however, is double-edged. On one hand, Fuller challenges the complacency of STS, which he accuses of retreating into relativism and neoliberal clientelism, failing to develop its own normative goals or coherent science policy. On the other hand, his own interventions-such as serving as an expert witness in defence of teaching Intelligent Design in U.S. schools during the Kitzmiller v. Dover trial-often appear less as principled commitments and more as calculated disruptions aimed at testing the boundaries of academic, legal, and public tolerance.

One of the central arguments of Knowing Humanity in the Social World is that Fuller's work after 2000 represents a decisive turn from epistemology to metaphysics, or more specifically, from organising knowledge to reimagining the nature of the knowing subject itself. In earlier works, such as Legitimising Scientific Knowledge (2003), Fuller was primarily concerned with how scientific knowledge should be organised, validated, and democratised. In his later works, particularly Humanity 2.0 (2011), the focus shifts toward what kind of entity is, or ought to be, the knower in an era of biotechnology, synthetic biology, nanotechnology, and artificial intelligence.

Here, Fuller entertains the possibility-indeed the desirability-of the disembodied knower: a transhuman or posthuman entity whose epistemic agency is no longer constrained by biological limitations. The book highlights Fuller's radical embrace of "morphological freedom," the right of humans to choose any mode of embodiment, including cyborgian, animal, or digital forms. While this vision is presented as a forward-looking response to the challenges of the Anthropocene and converging technologies, it also raises profound contradictions: How does one reconcile a defence of human exceptionalism, often couched in theological terms, with a willingness to dissolve that very exceptionality in a future of engineered or artificial agents?

Perhaps the most controversial section of the book concerns Fuller's defence of Intelligent Design (ID). Fuller does not simply tolerate ID as an alternative theory but actively argues for its inclusion in scientific curricula, framing it as part of a broader effort to revitalise science by restoring a sense of divine participation in creation. For Fuller, doing science is an act of "participating in the mind of God," a position he links to historical figures such as Bacon, Newton, and Mendel.

Remedios and Dusek provide a careful contextualisation of this stance, showing how it aligns with Fuller's belief that theology historically motivated scientific innovation by portraying humans as privileged beings capable of understanding and controlling nature. Yet, their account risks normalising a deeply contentious position that has been widely rejected by both the scientific community and science education authorities. By casting ID as a legitimate epistemic stance, Fuller undermines the demarcation between science and religion, and the book at times appears too willing to accept this as a courageous act rather than a strategic provocation with potentially regressive consequences for public science literacy.

One of the book's strengths lies in its detailed exposition of Fuller's disputes with two significant figures: Thomas Kuhn and Bruno Latour. Fuller's critique of Kuhn is particularly scathing. He portrays Kuhn as a key architect of the postwar academic settlement that justified "Big Science" while concealing its entanglements with Cold War power structures. In his Thomas Kuhn: A Philosophical History for Our Times (2000), Fuller accuses Kuhn of aestheticising the history of science, sidestepping its social and political dimensions, and retreating from the more provocative implications of his paradigm theory when confronted with criticism.

Against Latour's actor-network theory, Fuller defends a more robust conception of human agency. Latour's notion that humans, animals, and artefacts can all function as "actants" within a network, Fuller argues, dilutes responsibility and moral accountability. Drawing on Hannah Arendt's critiques of totalitarianism, he warns that such a view risks reproducing the very forms of dispersed responsibility that allowed figures like Albert Speer and Adolf Eichmann to evade moral culpability.

However, a tension emerges again here. Fuller insists on the uniqueness of human agency. Yet, his own transhumanist leanings open the door to precisely the kind of non-human agency-whether in the form of AI, synthetic organisms, or avatars-that he elsewhere critiques as a threat to human distinctiveness. Remedios and Dusek document this paradox but leave unresolved the question of whether Fuller's position is a principled defence of humanism or a speculative flirtation with its dissolution.

A particularly thought-provoking aspect of the book is its treatment of Fuller's advocacy for the proactionary principle-a counterweight to the precautionary principle that dominates contemporary risk governance. For Fuller, risk-taking is not a deviation from the human condition but its defining feature. He envisions a "Welfare State 2.0" that would not shield citizens from risk but actively enable experimentation, enhancement, and transformation, even at existential scales.

This is a radical proposition, one that aligns with transhumanist aspirations and neoliberal calls for entrepreneurial subjectivities, but it raises serious ethical and political concerns. Who bears the costs of failed experiments? Who decides which risks are worth taking? And how does one prevent the proactionary principle from becoming a license for recklessness under the guise of progress? Remedios and Dusek acknowledge these dilemmas but tend to present Fuller's stance as bold rather than potentially perilous.

Fuller's vision of the university occupies a central chapter in the book. He sees the university as a corporate agent responsible for producing knowledge for the public good, and he laments its capitulation to neoliberal forces that reduce interdisciplinarity to client-driven project teams. His alternative-a regenerative interdisciplinarity where academics organise inquiry internally rather than externally for clients-is intellectually appealing. Yet, given Fuller's own history of leveraging controversies for personal and theoretical advancement, one may question whether his model is genuinely emancipatory or merely another form of elite knowledge management.

Remedios and Dusek deserve credit for assembling a coherent narrative out of Fuller's sprawling, often contradictory oeuvre. Their inclusion of a glossary, detailed chapter structure, and postscript interview helps readers navigate a complex intellectual landscape. The book succeeds as a reference work for scholars of STS, philosophy of science, and those interested in the intersection of knowledge, power, and human enhancement.

However, as a critical appraisal, the book sometimes falters. It is sympathetic to Fuller's provocations and occasionally adopts his framing without thoroughly interrogating its social and ethical ramifications. Fuller's defence of creationist-adjacent curricula, his opportunistic use of theological rhetoric, and his selective application of democratic ideals-often invoking "public accountability" while engaging in elite-driven controversies-deserve more rigorous critique. The authors identify the controversies but do not constantly challenge their underlying opportunism.

In the end, Knowing Humanity in the Social World is less a vindication of Steve Fuller than an anatomy of his intellectual gambits. It leaves the reader with a set of unresolved but urgent questions: Is Fuller a visionary anticipating the posthuman condition, or an opportunist exploiting the epistemic anxieties of our time? Does his call for a proactionary, transhumanist future empower humanity, or does it risk entrenching new forms of inequality and epistemic elitism?

For policymakers, educators, and scholars grappling with the implications of artificial intelligence, genetic engineering, and synthetic biology, this book is both a resource and a warning. It shows how one thinker has sought to redefine humanity not by preserving its dignity, but by pushing it to-and perhaps beyond-the limits of its own embodiment.

Dr Matiur Rahman is a researcher and development professional.

matiurrahman588@gmail.com