Is anthropology a science? To put the question today amounts to a reply in the negative. The representatives of the ‘true’ sciences are not alone in suggesting a conjunctural or crippling lacuna which would preclude membership by right of the prestigious world, which, however, the name ‘humanistic sciences’ seems to demand. We should remember that some years ago Claude Lévi-Strauss caused a shudder to run through his discipline by describing it as a ‘flattering imposture’. Since then denigration has spread constantly, and it no longer consists of deploring a slowness, an equivocation or a handicap which we would have the hope of remedying: it is definitely a fatality which we are from now on invited to confirm.

When asked to write for a special issue of Diogenes to be entitled ‘Anthropology: The Reluctant science?’ I was reminded of a remark made to me over dinner by my friend of more than fifty years, the late Eric Wolf. It was the last time I saw him: the meeting of the American Anthropological Association in Philadelphia, in November 1998.

In 1987, Sir Edmund Leach, the most influential British social anthropologist of his generation, startled a conference in Norwich of the Association of Social Anthropologists by declaring that ethnographic monographs were essentially fictions, expressing the personality of the author. When asked what should be the goal of the anthropologist, he replied, ‘To write another War and Peace’. This and some similar papers were published by him and have come in for much criticism: for instance, from a leading anthropologist of the next generation, Adam Kuper, who has regretted that Leach made such a concession to fashionable post-modernism, the ‘literary turn’ in anthropology, shortly before his death (Kuper, 1999: 15-35).

Poor ethnology, never where it should be! One could almost believe that in the intellectual comedy it is always condemned to play the role of the incorrigible blundering fool.

Take a different view. Thirty years ago it was used for any job going, the indispensable commodity of the cultured milieux of the period. The opinion-shapers perfidiously reduced it to structuralism, which was then running out of steam and scarcely intimidated them any longer. Encouraged by this decline, they affected to believe that ‘structures’ had an empirical existence in society, indeed absolutely anywhere their limitations had made themselves felt for far too long, and that ethnology finally won its freedom at the same time as the various changes in custom and social practice which took place as a result of the huge emancipation movement of May 1968. At once ethnology, the sacred instrument of access — or a smattering of it — was to be found in the media, in the professional training of nurses, the therapies of Bonneuil, the fashion for water-bath deliveries, the electoral campaigns of informed politicians, the ‘spin-offs’ of the Second Vatican Council, and so on. Today, on the other hand, it is to be found nowhere at all, not even among ethnologists, who appear with any intellectual label whatever, but above all not as practitioners of a science. They are the new romantics, the new adventurers, the incredible travellers, all having to do no more than produce a strictly personal experience, or at least states of mind. In short, ethnology passed itself off the first time as a kind of panacea, and the next it was declared no use for anything whatsoever, being at best a pretext for narcissistic effusions and at worst a snare for the naive. The more they would have us believe it can do everything, the more nothing can be done for it.

If we overlook a perceptible dating of the words employed and the style of argumentation, French sociological writings published in the socially and intellectually unsettled climate of the early twentieth century acquire an astonishingly up-to-the-minute appeal at the very end of the twentieth century. It must be said that, on the one hand, the successes of socio-biology, then the cognitive sciences, and, on the other, the spectacular vogue of the extreme relativism accompanying the revival of a perennially nebulous humanism, lead us today to a picture of prevailing theoretical antagonisms which irresistibly conjures up the debates for which, in 1901, the Revue Philosophique provided a forum: when the very Durkehimian Celestin Bougie put ‘biological sociology in the dock’ and Gabriel Tarde was challenged by his ‘hot-headed friend’, Alfred Espinas, the first proposing sociology as a continuation of psychology and the second wanting to place it at the end of a spectrum of natural sciences.

In extreme situations such as war, genocide or refugee crises, anthropologists, who are usually closer to afflicted people than other scholars, face the crucial questions of the utility and responsibility of anthropology. However, anthropologists in particular are susceptible to the way of reasoning that concludes that anthropology as a science (or even as a technique or art) does not offer any answers to these questions. Some become engaged trying to help one way or the other, yet not as anthropologists, since they hold that as an anthropologist one is powerless to help …

During the last thirty years both the social sciences and humanities in many countries have experienced a huge increase in student numbers, often directly related to national policies aimed at enlarging access to higher education for the majority of a generation. Although this evolution seems globally positive, it has also caused some specific problems within those disciplines, such as anthropology, which until recently led only to academic careers. In most European countries anthropological teaching has been predominantly research-oriented, that is rather than ‘knowledge-oriented’ like disciplines taught in secondary education. In this paper, after having recalled some aspects of the teaching of anthropology since the 1950s, I would like to propose certain arguments for a discussion about the aims and means of teaching social sciences in general and anthropology in particular in the coming decades. Given the actual ‘dis-ease’ about this topic, this debate seems to becoming more and more inevitable.

Boas, according to Harris, put the matter very succinctly: ‘Anthropology is a science, but science is history’. Malinowski sought a scientific definition of culture in his turn. In a posthumous text entitled A Scientific Theory of Culture, he offered a minimal definition of ‘science’ for the humanistic scholar, which would thus be differentiated simultaneously from abstract thought and from common sense.

During the last century procedures for distinguishing between ‘human sciences’ and ‘natural sciences’ have seen a number of changes. Currently, the pre-eminence of the scientific-naturalist paradigm, which led the field throughout the nineteenth century, seems again under discussion on some fundamental issues. In particular, the boundaries between the two sciences - boundaries which were in no case rigid or absolute - are being tested, in a confrontation concerning the very statutes of both disciplines as well as their respective methods.

Does living on Earth not also for human beings mean being open to the sky? Watching day alternate with night, relying on the seasonal cycle, finding their way according to the position of the stars, humans have always been aware of their dependence on the sky and tried to understand the origin of life in relation to it. And it is up to the sky again that their imagination and thoughts fly whenever they feel cramped in their earthly habitat. Following the axis of their own vertical position, the earth that is the floor for humans is seen as a ‘down here’ by opposition to an ‘up there’, the sky, towards which they turn their heads and raise their eyes. Up there is the origin of the metaphorical figure and /or dream image of the flight up into the high heavens, or the journey to other stars, or to a spiritual land beyond.