Science, Expertise, and Society (Spring 2026)

It was fortunate for Charles de Bois-Valé, lawyer and natural philosopher, that he had an
ingenious legal team. In May of 1780, he had affixed a lightning rod to his house to protect his
community—the small French town of Saint-Omer—from thunderbolts. Unimpressed by the
amateur physicien, Vissery’s neighbors sued him on the grounds that the rod might be dangerous.
Vissery’s lawyer argued that judges could not force Viessery to take down his lightning rod
unless the proper experts, accredited physiciens, deemed it unsafe, and he hired legal whiz kid
Maximilien Robespierre to make the oral argument. Robespierre, however, reversed his boss’s
position on the necessity of experts. Drawing on Rousseau, Robespierre argued that judges were
perfectly capable of determining the safety of the lightning rod without knowledge of electrical
phenomena; like all human beings, they possessed an innate ability to understand brute facts
about nature. A decade later, as deputy of the National Convention, Robespierre imposed his
distrust of expertise upon the new Republic: “All academies and literary societies established or
endowed by the nation are eliminated.”1

“Anti-cholera inoculation in Calcutta in 1894.” (Smithsonian Magazine)

The story of Vissery in eighteenth-century France points to perennial and global questions about
the phenomenon of “scientific expertise.” In a historical register, how have sciences, expertise,
and the state been co-constitutive and mutually reinforcing? How have (and how do) practices of
quantification and categorization contribute to colonial expansion and reification of racial
hierarchies? Philosophically, how can we assess “good judgment” within scientific practices?
Can such assessments be articulated and generalized to domains “outside the lab,” or are they
inevitably “tacit” and context-specific? From a theological perspective, what are the tensions and
synergies between scientific and religious epistemologies and authorities?

Court reenactment of the lie detector test by William Marston on James Frye in Frye v. US. Source: Alder, Ken. The Lie Detectors: The History of an American Obsession. Free Press, 2007.

These questions invite historical, local, and discipline-specific answers to these questions. We are
seeking to bring together a variety of perspectives on the topic of scientific expertise in society in
the hopes of bringing mutual illumination and clarity—perhaps even beyond the walls of the
academy.

The conference will feature keynote presentations from Dr. Mark Harris (Theology, University of Oxford), Dr. Mitra Sharafi (Law, University of Wisconsin–Madison), Dr. Katharina Nieswandt (Philosophy, Concordia University), and Dr. Andrew Jewett (History, Johns Hopkins University).

We are currently accepting submissions for twenty-minute papers and for posters.
Abstracts should be approximately 500 words for papers and 100 for posters. A limited
number of travel bursaries are available.

Possible topics include:
➢ “Epistocracy” versus “technocracy”
➢ Science in the courtroom
➢ Political theology and epistemic authority
➢ Scientific expertise in the colony
➢ Global epistemologies of science
➢ Gender and expertise
➢ State-science institutions—how are science, expertise, and the state co-constitutive? How
have their relations transformed through time?
➢ “Ethics” of science in theory and in practice
➢ Can expertise be “grounded”? Is “tacit knowledge” a productive concept in the history
and philosophy of science?
➢ Science education and pedagogy
➢ Historical continuity and discontinuity in notions of epistemic justification
➢ Race science and its philosophical foundations
➢ Science and religion in society

Abstracts are due January 31st, 2026. Submit here.
Registration is free, but required. Register here.

For additional questions, get in touch at ndhpsconference@nd.edu.

  1. Synthesized from Jessica Riskin, Science in the Age of Sensibility: The Sentimental Empiricists of the French
    Enlightenment (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010), 139-187. ↩︎