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Consensus, Dissensus, and Democracy:

What is At Stake in Feminist Science Studies?


Margret Grebowicz


The questions I will pose here are motivated by a trend in recent literature in science studies, and specifically in texts by feminist scientists and philosophers of science.1 I have in mind the most visible texts to appear over the past two or three years, texts with epic titles like Helen Longino’s The Fate of Knowledge (2002), Evelyn Fox Keller’s Making Sense of Life (2002), Miriam Solomon’s Social Empiricism (2001), and the two excellent collections, After the Science Wars (2001) and Feminism in Twentieth-Century Science, Technology, and Medicine (2001). I call these titles “epic,” because they have in common the sense that this literature is able to stand back a bit and take in some bigger picture, to take stock of a large-scale phenomenon from the outside, looking in, making this phenomenon coherent, framing it within the correct questions, offering a structural stability. The phenomenon in question is the effect of feminist theory on the production of scientific knowledge, technology and epistemology itself. Of these texts, I will look closely at Feminism in Twentieth-Century Science, Technology, and Medicine, because it explicitly poses the question of feminism’s “success” in the sciences, from the vantage point of the turn of the century. The volume is the result of the workshop, ‘Science, Medicine, and Technology: What Difference Has Feminism Made?’ held in October 1998 at Princeton University.2

Same Stakes

The authors assembled in this collection agree that the effects of feminism on scientific and philosophical practices have been revolutionary, in the most positive sense of the word. This success is described in terms of “collaboration,” “contribution,” and invariably in the rhetoric of rigor, reliability, solidity, a defensive rhetoric which reminds skeptics that, in spite of its overt politics, feminist analysis also consists of “good history, sharp critical thinking, good biology, and precise use of language.”3 In other words, skeptics need not worry that feminist contributions will in any way compromise the integrity and rigor with which scientists identify. In addition, they need not object that the role of feminism in the sciences has been purely critical. All of the essays in the volume argue for the “constructive” contributions of feminist theory, for the position that research and scholarship with a feminist edge have added something to the sciences in question, changing them by making them bigger (because more comprehensive) and better (because more accurate).

Those disciplines which have had the biggest influx of women practitioners and feminist theorists have, accordingly, benefited most from analyses which fit Longino’s broad definition of feminist work as work “with a commitment ‘to prevent gender from being disappeared’.”4 These are most notably primatology, developmental biology, and archaeology, because these three sciences are, in the words of Scott Gilbert and Karen Rader, “in the business of telling us who we are and how we came to be.”5 They offer–or at least we fantasize that they do– histories, what are often called “natural histories,” narratives of a past which is assumed to be insulated from the contingencies of modern, human history. And the latest literature defends the contributions of feminist science and feminist science studies by arguing that the work of feminists, work motivated by the commitment to prevent gender from being disappeared, has resulted in more accurate narratives of who we are and how we came to be, with more complete models, fewer gross errors, greater attention to detail, and more careful, reflexive, and responsible natural histories.

In the field of archaeology, for example, making visible the tools and practices of women, in particular, results in a richer, more detailed story about the earliest inhabitants of the Americas, and, literally, “different archaeological ‘facts’ established by excavation.”6 Gender-literate research has shown “that Paleo-Indians depended on a much more diversified set of subsistence strategies than acknowledged by standard ‘man-the (mammoth/bison)-hunter’ models.” In other cases, feminist work can act as a corrective, demonstrating that gender stereotypes have resulted in errors in identifying the sexes of skeletons or in accounts of technological developments in prehistoric societies, thus clearing the way for more reliable sexing techniques and better accounts of development.7 In the particular essay I cite here, Alison Wylie points out that in addition to these improvements in existing areas of archaeology, feminist attention to the work and lives of prehistoric women has opened up entirely new areas of inquiry, areas which “have been assumed to be archaeologically inaccessible–that is, repetitive domestic activities involving perishable materials and utilitarian tools that often leave little durable archeological record.” She mentions increased interest in netting and basketry industries, domestic food processing activities, and shellfishing–all activities associated with women and sometimes children, the study of which requires “creative use of indirect methods of analysis” because they have left behind almost no artifacts.8

Attention to gender in developmental biology has also yielded better scientific practices. Scott Gilbert and Karen Rader argue that feminist geneticists and embryologists have transformed the vocabulary of the field, calling for new vocabulary which is less sexist, and which thus results in “a more scientifically congruent view of the world.”9 They cite the work of Emily Martin, whose studies of literature on fertilization expose the fantasies of gender difference at work in the vocabulary of reproduction, including the rhetoric of waste, passivity, and failure, associated with female reproductive physiology, and the rhetoric of production, agency, and virility associated with that of the male. Martin’s work explores more recent research in fertilization, which highlights the active role of the egg, and emphasizes chemical interactions between egg and sperm, rather than the mechanical interactions at work in more traditional accounts, the fantasy of “may the best sperm win,” and for the rhetoric of “penetration.” She draws attention to the social assumptions behind biological metaphors and imagery, and proposes that the new research requires better, more egalitarian metaphors.10 Evelyn Fox Keller also cites Martin as the prime example of how a critique of vocabulary and imagery can help “restore equity in the symbolic realm” and “open up new cognitive spaces.”11 In addition to critiques of language, feminist biologists have offered critiques of research programs, which have resulted in better research, most notably in the area of sex determination. Since Aristotle, we have believed that femaleness was the default state–indeed, I recall learning in elementary school that we are all female until some magical gene comes along and makes some of us male. For this reason, until very recently, researchers identified only those genes responsible for testis formation, since it was assumed that there were no genes responsible for ovary formation. When feminist biologists discovered that “sex determination is actually a bifurcating path, and both testis- and ovary-formation are active, gene-directed events,” scientists looked for–and found– ovary-forming genes. That was in the 1990s, quite a while after Aristotle.12 Should we feel shocked at how truly innovative feminist research has been in this area, Gilbert and Rader reassure us that “numerous men are involved in these critiques, and each of these critiques has been advanced in the name of making the science more rigorous.”13

Of course, it is in the field of primatology that feminist theories have enjoyed the most public success, so much so that in the collection I am discussing, Linda Fedigan (following Donna Haraway) concludes that primate studies might be considered a branch of feminist theory.14 Here, too, feminist critique has yielded new research practices, by indicating how gender stereotypes influence sampling practices, directing everything from which species is considered most important to observe for what purposes, down to which individuals of that species it is appropriate to observe. Elizabeth Lloyd’s essay, “Pre-Theoretical Assumptions in Evolutionary Explanations of Female Sexuality,” demonstrates how androcentrism has dictated which phenomena count as scientifically significant. She describes the methodological problems created by the assumption that orgasm in female primates is connected to reproduction in the same way that it is in male primates, or, as she puts it, the assumption that “female sexuality doesn’t make sense unless it is in the service of reproduction.” The result of this assumption is that researchers simply fail to study those orgasms which are not associated with intercourse or oestrus, because they won’t help us “make sense” of the evolution of orgasmic response in female primates. Lloyd’s critique shows how a male-normative attitude in primatology limits research and distorts results.15 Fedigan considers this kind of critique to be less a specifically feminist contribution, and more a general contribution to the quality of the science: raising the standards of evidence.16

As another example of methodological innovation from coming feminist work, Fedigan cites Haraway’s demand that scientists begin granting agency to female bodies as part of a larger movement in primatology to grant agency to animals, rather than treating them as “a passive resource.”17 New methodology, in turn, yields new “facts,” and Fedigan cites a body of literature where precisely this has happened: research influenced by feminist critiques has resulted in significant changes in our beliefs about primate social behaviors, and in new models of these societies, which tend to grant more agency to females and non-Alpha-males, rather than focusing on the social function of male aggression. Feminist theory has acted as a further corrective by highlighting the degree of anthropomorphic projection present in primatological description. The result, writes Fedigan, is that we are more acutely aware of the “dangers of... project[ing] Western gender role stereotypes onto animal patterns and onto our human ancestors.”18 This awareness requires an awareness of how gender stereotypes work in language, and once again, feminist analysis of language can save primatology from the considerable anthropomorphism from which it suffers, not just as a sexist science, but as a science.

It appears, then, that when we take stock of the difference that feminist work has made in the sciences over the past hundred or fifty or twenty-five years, when we reconstruct the story of the role of feminism in science, we can reasonably argue for its legitimacy and success: feminist theories and critiques have contributed positively to the methods and results in many areas of science, they have yielded new observations and aided in the construction of new and better natural histories, histories which we have epistemic, scientific reasons to believe are more accurate than the (let’s call them) pre-feminist histories. I say that we have epistemic reasons to believe in the accuracy of these narratives because, as we have seen, feminists have worked side by side with non-feminist scientist, often using their tools or offering improvements on those tools and methods, collaborating with them in the service of “good science,” and not, say, political correctness. I am especially struck by the passage I have already cited, where Gilbert and Rader inform us that feminist critiques of research in sex determination and early brain development also include the work of men (of which Gilbert himself would be an example). This passage exploits our mistrust of research done exclusively by women, and assures us that if a critique of science is co-educational, then at the very least it cannot be accused of being politically motivated, of representing special interests. Instead, Gilbert and Rader seem to be saying, we are all in it together: a universal “we” telling a more accurate universal history of “us.”

Different Stakes

Donna Haraway warned against this as far back as 1978. In “Animal Sociology and the Body Politic, Part II: The Past is the Contested Zone,” she points out that “telling stories of the human past is a rule-governed activity,” and a great deal of research which calls itself feminist has done little to change the rules. Instead, this research tells “of a different human nature, of different universals,” but fails to “leave the traditional space of science.”19 This failure is significant, given that scholars in feminist science studies often tell another story, which is in direct conflict with the narrative of consensus and collaboration I describe above.

One of the most significant contributions of feminist science and feminist science studies was supposed to be an ethic of strong reflexivity, of critical attitude towards not only the object but also the subject of study, as an essential component of research. Elizabeth Lloyd cites Longino’s redefinition of objectivity in science as “resulting from the critical interaction of different groups and individuals with different social and cultural assumptions and different stakes. Under this view, the irreducibility of the social components of the scientific situation is accounted for–these social components are, in fact, an essential part of the picture of scientific practice.”20 However, the notion that an objective science must be reflexive, undogmatic, and critically accessible is hardly a feminist innovation–this idea was developed explicitly (and with a political agenda) in Karl Popper’s work, and is at the heart of his notion of falsifiablity as the primary criterion of scientific discourse. The feminist innovation is the emphasis on dissensus, a term I borrow from and use in the spirit of Ewa Ziarek’s An Ethics of Dissensus: Postmodernity, Feminism, and the Politics of Radical Democracy (2001), as the alternative to epistemological models which rely fundamentally on consensus as the axis of critique. Thus, the feminist innovation is the turn to dissensus between “different groups and individuals with different social and cultural assumptions and different stakes.” For Popper, on the contrary, critique is limited to critiques between scientists, or at least critiques between people with more or less the same stakes (democracy, knowledge of the truth, freedom of thought, etc.). If feminist scientists argue for the irreducibility of the differences between stakes, then they ought to embrace the idea that feminist and non-feminist scientists have different stakes and defend different interests. Indeed, Lloyd says as much when she argues that one of the positive contributions of this feminist, reflexive stance is that if we can show science to be political, it will “lose at least some independent authority in the political arena.”21 Notice that we are no longer talking about epistemic reasons for supporting feminist research, but normative, political reasons. Alison Wylie mentions at the very end of her essay that “the proponents of an archaeology of gender, especially the feminists among them, add to a growing range of voices that have been insisting that archaeologists must take responsibility for the normative (political, ethical) commitments, as well as the theoretical assumptions and methodological standards, that structure their practice.”22

If we insist on the irreducibility of the normative, and on its essential role in all scientific discourse, then we must take seriously Haraway’s vision of science as a competition for power and resources between groups with different stakes and mutually exclusive interests. This involves taking seriously the idea that critique, in the sense of meaningful, transformative critique, comes from the outside, in the form of dissensus, that in many cases it will appear, necessarily, extra-scientific, and take place in the form of claims which appear too interested, too political—claims which may very well be “bad science.” In Haraway’s classic formulations in Simians, Cyborgs, and Women, standpoints are supposed to be real, particular locations with limited views which are necessarily from somewhere, and scientists can become socially responsible only when they realize this and self-consciously speak from their limited, structured locations. According to this position, the most socially irresponsible thing to do is to continue to fetishize objectivity as a view from nowhere, to continue to homogenize interests and discourses, and to continue to have as our goal “a picture of human universals, of human nature as the foundation of human culture.”23 Either we are in search of theories of universal history of the universal “we,” or we argue for the impossibility of the universal “we” and for the particular, interested nature of all histories, especially the ones which claim to be universal. Looking at the story that feminist science studies is telling about itself at the turn of the century, it appears that, at best, the discourse is suffering from a tension between these two, mutually exclusive positions. At worst, it appears to be moving in the former, less socially responsible direction.

Sandra Harding’s account of feminist standpoint theory (or “strong objectivity”), for example, results in conclusions which place her in the “universal history” camp. In order to hear the voices of the marginalized, Harding writes, “strong objectivity requires that scientists and their communities be integrated into democracy-advancing projects for scientific and epistemological reasons, as well as moral and political ones.”24 It is this meta-narrative of democracy which worries me: if the only projects which count as socially and epistemically responsible are democracy-advancing projects, and we are all in agreement about what is meant by “democracy,” then in what sense are we still talking about groups and individuals with different cultural assumptions and different political stakes? Harding states, without arguing for this point, that “democracy-advancing values” are not only politically desirable, but that they actually result in epistemically better sciences, having “systematically generated less partial and distorted beliefs than others.”25 Gilbert and Rader concur with this when they state that feminist critiques of research have resulted in a more scientifically congruent view of the world. If your science is democratic, it seems, it is more likely to be epistemically successful. From this perspective, of course, it makes no sense to think of feminist standpoint epistemologies as a threat to objectivity or good scientific practice. We should remember, however, the dangers of arguing for the connection between a particular political stake and scientific accuracy–the most racist, sexist, heterosexist, and otherwise “undemocratic” research will yield a scientifically congruent view of the world in the context of particular racist, sexist, and heterosexist political stakes. We should be suspicious of this rhetoric which takes political and epistemic success to be one and the same thing.

And so I am suspicious of this recent literature, which answers Harding’s call for democracy, consensus, and collaboration in the service of truth. Even Helen Longino’s latest book, The Fate of Knowledge, de-emphasizes the differences between feminist and non-feminist stakes. Chapter Eight, “Pluralism and Local Epistemologies,” argues for epistemic plurality versus unification, complexity versus simplicity, and local knowledge versus universal knowledge, using many real examples from contemporary biological research.26 Longino ends the chapter, however, by stating that we should consider the debates between competing interests and approaches as “critical interaction that advances all of them rather than as a duel requiring a single victor.”27 There is nothing objectively good, however, about advancing all interests. Neither, I suggest, does advancing all interests have much to do with any robust, critical contemporary idea of democracy. Why should I, for example, wish to advance the interests of a group which benefits from my political and economic disenfranchisement? Are critiques of scientific practice not in existence because someone, somewhere, wants to promote some interests (say, the interests of some disenfranchised social group) and to substantially interrogate an existing authority (as in Lloyd’s hope that the awareness of the social nature of scientific knowledge might reduce the authority of science in the political arena)?

Indeed, instead of emphasizing the difference between the stakes of feminist science studies and liberation epistemologies like Popper’s, Longino takes the role of feminism in social studies of science to be part of the time-honored tradition of philosophers who “affirm the sociality of knowledge,” citing John Stuart Mill, Charles Sanders Pierce, and Karl Popper as examples of what she calls “predecessors” of her own project in this latest book.28 Linda Martín Alcoff makes a similar move at the opening of her essay, “On Judging Epistemic Credibility: Is Social Identity Relevant?”, where she places feminist philosophers in the canon of respectable philosophers like “Kant, Locke, Russell, and the Vienna Circle, who unashamedly declared and defended the political motivations of their work.” Alcoff continues: “Feminist philosophy and feminist epistemology represent a continuation of the tradition in which philosophers openly avow their political aspirations.” 29 The motivation behind these formulations seems to be to defend feminist epistemologies from charges of bias and special interest, which means that Longino and Alcoff, along with Harding, continue, on some level, to buy into the authority of the disinterested, objective voice (even if they have offered us more complex and practically relevant definitions of objectivity than were ever available). Why should feminist epistemologies wish to belong to any traditional political philosophy? What do they gain from such a belonging, and at what price? Or, to put it differently, if feminist theorists interrogate epistemology, should they not also interrogate the politics behind the tradition of politically motivated epistemologies?

The formulations of political motivation by Longino and Alcoff take us far away from the postmodern visions in Donna Haraway’s work, which leaves behind the “innocent” subject of modernity and the Enlightenment fantasy of his emancipation. On the contrary, the stakes adopted by contemporary, Anglo-American, feminist science studies are articulations of the most basic definition of the most retrograde of projects: modernity. I am proposing that this rhetoric of predecessors and of the continuation of tradition is counter-productive, and that we ought to focus on those political motivations which have, precisely, no predecessors in the history of philosophy, on the ways in which feminist political stakes are, precisely “untraditional.” Instead of linking onto concepts like political motivation, democracy, freedom, and even science, as they have been shaped historically and canonized, perhaps it is the task of feminist epistemologies to robustly interrogate these very concepts, their historical shaping, and their canonization. Such interrogations, reflexivity on this level, make up the true political work of feminist thought. Or, to put it differently, in order to prevent gender from being disappeared, feminist philosophy of science must return to its initial project of introducing far more than the dimension of gender to scientific discourse. Not only will the history of modern philosophy from Kant to the Vienna Circle not provide the critical paradigms which feminism needs to affect the necessary transformations, it is modernity itself which is incommensurable with (we could even say: stands in the way of) a radical transformation of the culture of science.

Towards an Epistemology of Dissensus

In “Universal History and Cultural Differences,” Jean-François Lyotard describes modernity as a series of narratives (Christian, scientific, speculative, Marxist, and capitalist), which have one thing in common: “they all situate the data supplied by events within the course of a history whose end, even if it is out of reach, is called freedom.”30 These “narratives of emancipation,” function by means of a universal “we” moving towards freedom, and incorporating outsiders, who are particularized, by giving them access to the possibility of emancipation by means of “becoming universal”: “let the people have a political voice, the worker a social voice, the poor an economic voice, let the particular seize hold of the universal...”31 In The Postmodern Condition, Lyotard describes the narrative of emancipation as the basic assumption that “all peoples have a right to science. If the social subject is not already the subject of scientific knowledge, it is because that has been forbidden by priests and tyrants.”32 Lyotard points out that this narrative, and the accompanying fantasy of the connection between freedom, enlightenment, and science, is increasingly popular once again.33 The contemporary tyranny would be not only at the hands of priests and tyrants, but also at the hands of an exclusive, elitist, and politically untouchable scientific establishment. Indeed, Harding’s formulation of an inclusive, democratic science which also, happily, yields the right answers fails to depart from the original modern project which gave rise to the culture of Western science as, arguably, the most powerful of its master narratives. On the contrary, it is the most natural, uncritical continuation of this project.

From the perspective of Lyotard’s account of the postmodern, of course, the very possibility of this way of understanding humanity is in crisis: “the real question is whether or not there is a human history.”34 The fantasy of humanity as the hero of liberty ultimately suffers from a crisis of legitimation. Since such a free, inclusive science depends on the idea of a fully autonomous agent involved in ethical and political decisions, the narrative of emancipation effects a division of reason into science, or cognitive or theoretical reason, on the one hand, and ethics/politics, or practical reason, on the other. This division ultimately delegitimizes the genre of discourse called science, “indirectly, by revealing that it is a language game with its own rules, . . ., and that it has no special calling to supervise the game of praxis.” The delegitimation of the modern notion of science opens the road “for an important current of postmodernity: science plays its own game; it is incapable of legitimating other language games.”35 According to Lyotard, it is in this delegitimized state that contemporary knowledge finds itself.

In the wake of the failures of the great modern narratives, the possibility of a universal history with emancipation as its end, and the possibility of a “we” which is the subject of that history are both fully delegitimized. The postmodern condition is “the contingency of what follows” from this crisis of legitimation.

There are several possible ways to follow on, and we [the “we” whose very identity is in question as it faces this crisis] have to decide between them. Even if we decide nothing, we still decide. Even if we remain silent, we speak. Politics depends entirely upon how we follow on from one sentence to the next. This is not a matter of the volume of the discourse, nor of the importance of the speaker or the addressee. One of the sentences which are currently possible will become real, and the question is: which? A description of [the crisis] does not give us even the beginnings of an answer to that question. This is why the word postmodernity can refer simultaneously to the most disparate prospects.36

Donna Haraway’s work from the late seventies signals this condition of crisis, and calls for feminist science studies to exploit precisely this disparity, to realize the potential for real contest on the level of meta-narrative. In contrast to the “consensual critique”-model of science as democratically-oriented, critical interaction which benefits everyone, Haraway proposes a “dissensual critique”-model, starting from the assumption that contest and polemic are irreducible and epistemically valuable, and indicating the need for what Lyotard describes as the real feminist contribution, the “guerilla war of skirmishes and raids in a space and time other that those imposed for millenia by the masculine logos.” She highlights the same meta-level instability which Lyotard describes:

Feminists must not expect even arguments that answer clear sexist bias within the sciences to produce adequate final theories of production and reproduction as well. Such theories still elude us, because we are now engaged in a political-scientific struggle to formulate the rules through which we will articulate them. The terrain of primatology is the contested zone. The future is the issue.37

This, I want to suggest, is the truly revolutionary challenge which feminist science studies are failing to meet. The work of feminist scientists has indeed been extraordinarily innovative and transformative. It is our task, as scholars of feminist science, as philosophers of science, to give an account of this work which fully articulates its revolutionary effects. This is what we have not yet begun to do. If we wish to prevent gender from being disappeared, or, in Lyotard’s words, to bear witness to “the irremediable differend of gender,”38 we must address the possibility of meta-discursive transformations, of new and (let’s say) uncomfortable relationships between different discourses, between feminism and science, between (negative) critique and (positive) knowledge, between the epistemic and the normative, between the subject of knowledge and the subject of politics. When we tell a story which incorporates the work of feminist scientists into a universal history of a homogeneous “we,” with democracy and truth as coextensive stakes, we continue to ensure the erasure of gender.


11. This article is the result of my work as “science” reviewer for The Year’s Work in Critical and Cultural Theory. I am grateful to the editor, Martin McQuillan, for the opportunity. I here develop some of the ideas which originated in my contribution to volume 12 of the journal.

2. Angela Creager, Elizabeth Lunbeck, and Londa Schiebinger, eds., Feminism in Twentieth-Century Science, Technology, and Medicine (University of Chicago, 2001), xi.

3. Creager, Feminism…, 5.

4. Creager, Feminism…, 28, citing Helen E. Longino, “In Search of Feminist Epistemology,” Monist 77, no. 4 (1994), 472-85.

5. Scott F. Gilbert and Karen A. Rader, “Revisiting Women, Gender, and Feminism in Developmental Biology,” in Creager, Feminism…, 92.

6. Alison Wylie, “Doing Social Science as a Feminist: The Engendering of Archaeology,” in Creager, Feminism…, 31.

7. Wylie, “Doing Social Science…,” 32-3.

8. Wylie, “Doing Social Science…,” 35.

9. Gilbert and Rader, “Revisiting Women…,” in Creager, Feminism…, 92.

10. Emily Martin, “The Egg and the Sperm: How Science has Constructed a Romance Based on Stereotypical Male-Female Roles,” in Feminism and Science, edited by Evelyn Fox Keller and Helen E. Longino (Oxford University Press, 1996), 103-15.

11. Evelyn Fox Keller, “Making a Difference: Feminist Movement and Feminist Critiques of Science,” in Creager, Feminism…, 105.

12. Gilbert and Rader, “Revisiting Women…,” 90.

13. Gilbert and Rader, “Revisiting Women…,” 90.

14. Linda Marie Fedigan, “The Paradox of Feminist Primatology: The Goddess’s Discipline?” in Creager, Feminism…, 46, 48.

15. Elizabeth Lloyd, “Pre-Theoretical Assumptions in Evolutionary Explanations of Female Sexuality,” in Feminism and Science, ed. Evelyn Fox Keller and Helen E. Longino (Oxford University Press, 1996), 91-102.

16. Fedigan, “Paradox…,” 51.

17. Fedigan, “Paradox…,” 57.

18. Fedigan, “Paradox…,” 53.

19. Donna Haraway, “Animal Sociology and the Body Politic, Part II: The Past is the Contested Zone,” Feminism and Science, ed. Evelyn Fox Keller and Helen E. Longino (Oxford University Press, 1996), 67.

20. Lloyd, “Pre-Theoretical Assumptions…,” 100.

21. Lloyd, “Pre-Theoretical Assumptions…,” 101. Author’s emphasis.

22. Wylie, “Doing Social Science…,” 39.

23. Haraway, “Animal Sociology…,” 70.

24. Sandra Harding, “Rethinking Standpoint Epistemologies: What is ‘Strong Objectivity?’” in Feminism and Science, ed. Evelyn Fox Keller and Helen E. Longino (Oxford University Press, 1996), 245.

25. Harding, “Rethinking…,” 246.

2626. Helen E. Longino, The Fate of Knowledge (Princeton University Press, 2002), 175-202.

27. Longino, The Fate of Knowledge, 189.

2828. Longino, The Fate of Knowledge, 3.

2929. Linda Martín Alcoff, “On Judging Epistemic Credibility: Is Social Identity Relevant?”, in Engendering Rationalities, ed. Nancy Tuana and Sandra Morgen (Albany: SUNY Press, 2001), 53-5.

30. Jean-François Lyotard, “Universal History and Cultural Differences,” in The Lyotard Reader, edted by Andrew Benjamin (Blackwell, 1998), 315.

31. Lyotard, “Universal History…,” 316.

3236. Jean-François Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge, trans. Geoffrey Bennington and Brian Massumi (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984), 31.

3337. Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition, 35.

34. Lyotard, “Universal History…”, 321.

3539. Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition, 39-40.

36. Lyotard, “Universal History…”, 319. Author’s emphasis.

37. Haraway, “Animal Sociology…,” 70-1.

3842. Jean-François Lyotard, “Can Thought go on without a Body?” in The Inhuman, trans. Geoffrey Bennington and Rachel Bowlby (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991), 22.

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