The broad theme of “nature and politics” has been ubiquitous at least since Aristotle's Politics, the fourth century BCE text often considered the founding work of political science. Long before “political science” took the distinct disciplinary and institutional forms with which we are familiar, the effort to understand the sources and the range of political experience was typically linked to reflection on nature—the nature of politics, the nature of human beings, the nature of existence, and the nature of “nature” itself. In contemporary, post-World War II political science in the United States, much of this reflection about nature has until recently been linked to the work of Leo Strauss and his followers, who saw themselves as heirs to a philosophical discourse at odds with modern social science. At the same time, serious consideration of nature as a theme of political science never disappeared and in recent decades has dramatically expanded. (And of course interpretations of the science of nature, i.e., “science,” have been at the center of political science, especially since the advent of behavioralism.) One source of this expansion of interest in nature has no doubt been the growing politicization of “the environment” and heightened attention to the natural world as both the setting in which human interaction takes place and the object of extraordinary human transformation and degradation. Another source has been the politicization of identities—race, gender, sexuality—that had long been considered natural and whose contestation raised anew questions about “human nature” and its limits, variations, and transformations. A third source has clearly been the technological and theoretical development of “the natural sciences” themselves, and the growth of new discourses—evolutionary psychology, behavioral economics, neuroscience—that raise new questions about the complex relationships between the non-human dimensions of nature—physics, chemistry, biology and especially neurobiology—and human individuals and the social worlds that human individuals inhabit.

Experimental evidence in cognitive psychology and behavioral economics is transforming the way political science scholars think about how humans make decisions in areas of high complexity, uncertainty, and risk. Nearly all those studies utilize convenience samples of university students, but in the real world political elites actually make most pivotal political decisions such as threatening war or changing the course of economic policy. Highly experienced elites are more likely to exhibit the attributes of rational decision-making; and over the last fifteen years a wealth of studies suggest that such elites are likely to be more skilled in strategic bargaining than samples with less germane experience. However, elites are also more likely to suffer overconfidence, which degrades decision-making skills. We illustrate implications for political science with a case study of crisis bargaining between the US and North Korea. Variations in the experience of US elite decision-makers between 2002 and 2006 plausibly explain the large shift in US crisis signaling better than other rival hypotheses such as “Iraq fatigue.” Beyond crisis bargaining other major political science theories might benefit from attention to the attributes of individual decision-makers.

In any political setting, a few people will defy political authority. The main challenge for theories of rebellion is to explain when and why others join en masse. Scholarship on social movements typically develops answers to this puzzle on the basis of either of two microfoundations. Explanations that conceptualize individuals as utility-maximizers contend that they protest as a means to other ends. Explanations that see individuals as driven by values and beliefs suggest that people protest for the inherent benefit of voicing dissent. Both perspectives generate compelling explanations. Yet how do purposeful individuals act when utilitarian calculations and cherished values recommend contrary courses of action? Why might an actor prioritize one or the other at different points in time? Taking on these questions, I argue for an approach to microfoundations that focuses on emotions. Emotions such as fear, sadness, and shame promote pessimistic assessments, risk aversion, and a low sense of control. Such dispiriting emotions encourage individuals to prioritize security and resign to political circumstances, even when they contradict values of dignity. By contrast, anger, joy, and pride promote optimistic assessments, risk acceptance, and feelings of personal efficacy. Such emboldening emotions encourage prioritization of dignity and increase willingness to engage in resistance, even when it jeopardizes security. When instrumentality and values offer different answers to the question of whether to resign or rebel, therefore, emotions can shift individuals toward one or the other. I ground this argument in findings from the neurosciences and illustrate it with evidence from the 2011 uprisings in Tunisia and Egypt and the absence of an uprising in Algeria.

This article proposes the concept “extra-lethal violence” to focus analytic attention on the acts of physical, face-to-face violence that transgress shared norms about the proper treatment of persons and bodies. Examples of extra-lethal violence include forcing victims to dance and sing before killing them, souvenir-taking and mutilation. The main puzzle of extra-lethal violence is why it occurs at all given the time and effort it takes to enact such brutalities and the potential repercussions perpetrators risk by doing so. Current approaches cannot account for this puzzle because extra-lethal violence seems to follow a different logic from strategic calculation. To investigate one alternative logic—the logic of display—the article proposes a performative analytic framework. A performative lens focuses attention on the process by which actors stage violence for graphic effect. It highlights the range of roles, participants, and activities that contribute to the production process as a whole. To demonstrate the value of a performative approach, the article applies this framework to three very different extra-lethal episodes: the massacre at My Lai during the Vietnam War, the rape and killing of two women during the Rwandan genocide, and a lynching that took place in rural Maryland. The article concludes by sketching a typology of performance processes and by considering the policy implications of this type of theorizing and knowledge.

Although pacifism and nonviolence bear a close relationship to one another historically, pacifism is the ideological assertion that war and violence should be rejected in political and personal life, whereas nonviolence refers to a distinct set of political practices. Unlike other modern ideologies such as liberalism and socialism, pacifism has never gained widespread acceptance among a significant portion of humanity and seems to remain a minority position among most of the peoples of the world. Even among those who use nonviolent techniques, the conventional wisdom that physical violence is necessary under certain circumstances often prevails. However, a growing body of empirical evidence shows that the methods of nonviolence are more likely to succeed than methods of violence across a wide variety of circumstances and that more people are using nonviolence around the world. At the same time, both the effectiveness of military and material superiority in achieving political ends and the incidence of warfare and violence appear to be waning. In a remarkable example of convergence between empirical social science and political theory, explanations for the effectiveness of nonviolence relative to violence point to a people-centered understanding of power. This research can provide a basis for a reinvigorated and pragmatic brand of pacifism that refocuses the attention of political scientists on the organization, actions, and loyalties of people as opposed to technologies of domination and destruction.

I draw on conservative black Christians' claims regarding their co-constitutive racial, religious, class, and sexual subordination to demonstrate that intersectionality is a heuristic that can be used to advance a range of normative arguments. My research rejects traditional understandings of intersectionality as a necessarily progressive analytical framework, as well as recent discussions that suggest that intersectionality's use for conservative ends is evidence of its theoretical underdevelopment. My analysis also reveals that by positing interlocking racism, classism, heterophobia, and anti-Christian bigotry as blacks' “true” experience of oppression, conservative black Christians guide political scientists to consider 1) that intersectional analysis is central rather than antithetical to in-group policing; 2) that we can best interrogate the standards that social groups use to police their boundaries when we adopt a normative-critical conception of power, and 3) that power so defined challenges the erroneous assumption that our role is to either describe or prescribe social reality.

Papers in the burgeoning empirical literature on distributive politics often focus their analysis on the pattern of distribution of a single patronage good—for example, cash transfers, roads, education spending, electrification, or targeted grants. Yet because governments can favor constituencies through the targeting of multiple public and private goods, drawing general conclusions about distributive politics by investigating just one (or even a few) good(s) can be misleading. We demonstrate the severity of this problem by investigating a particular manifestation of distributive politics—ethnic favoritism—in a particular setting—Africa—and show that the conclusions one draws about who benefits from government allocation decisions can vary markedly depending on the outcome one happens to study. Our findings suggest the need for caution in making general claims about who benefits from distributive politics and raise questions about extant theoretical conclusions that are based on empirical work that focuses on a single distributive outcome. The findings also provide a foundation for a new research agenda aimed at identifying the reasons why political leaders choose to favor their supporters with some public and private goods rather than others.

Political science is far behind the other social science disciplines in incorporating neurobiological concepts, techniques, and theory. In recent years progress has been made in closing this gap but many in the political science mainstream view the movement with concern or even horror. Though a healthy dose of skepticism is appropriate and beneficial to the scientific endeavor, negative reactions to viewing politics through a neurobiological lens are often based on fundamental misconceptions regarding both neurobiology and politics. In this Reflections essay, I address ten of these misconceptions, including the beliefs that biology is deterministic, reductionist, unnecessary, irrelevant, normatively dangerous, and ideologically biased. The goal is to encourage a constructive dialogue on the relevance of neurobiology to political life—a dialogue that would in turn improve research in the fledgling subfield and lead to innovations in political science by encouraging new ways of conceptualizing and analyzing the variables at the discipline's core.

In a careful paper, John R. Hibbing makes a strong case that political scientists—who have learned lessons from many other disciplines—need to make room for biology. While his paper is reassuring on many counts, two matters cause concern. First, Hibbing argues that the open acknowledgment of the biological basis of group differences would lead to greater tolerance. It is easy to adduce examples to suggest that it is unrealistic to expect that people, especially people with political concerns and objectives, will begin to focus on the diversity within groups rather than the differences between groups. Second, it is not clear the extent to which investigations into the biological basis of politics would illumine the great questions of political analysis.

Though I am sympathetic to the program of research that John Hibbing advances, I raise four issues with the claims he presents. I argue that political science has not been slow to adopt an interest in biology. I argue that like all perspectives on how to advance knowledge, neurobiology must win its place by generating demonstrable results central to our understanding of politics. In agreeing with Hibbing that some hold misperceptions, I note that this is hardly uncommon, even if it is unwelcome in a scientific community. And, finally, I note that narratives of explanation often serve a variety of masters. While those derived from science are meant to restrict the consideration of competing narratives to those that are testable with empirical data, even members of scientific communities find that other claimants have some sway. Among the non-scientific purposes that narratives serve are: achieving simplicity; sustaining communities of mutual agreement; and advancing indulgent doctrines of ennoblement.

In the ongoing debate about how and whether biology can contribute to the discipline of political science and thus possibly enhance explanations of political behavior, the focus has been on the role of reductionism. In the Hibbing paper, for example, the question is framed as who is more reductionist—those wishing to incorporate biology or those ‘environmentalist determinists’ who reject biological research? Yet this framing misses one of the most fundamental aspects of scientific theorizing, namely, the vital distinction between reductionism and emergence. Shifting the lens to the emergent properties of behavior raises a different kind of concern: under what conditions do the competing perspectives on the various factors produce an explanation of an emergent outcome. Using Philip Anderson's example from particle physics, there are many phenomena and behaviors that can only emerge from an interaction of elements. Examining two inert chemicals kept apart cannot explain the complex interaction effect of an explosion when those chemicals come together. Now the question is no longer who is the most reductionist, but who is best positioned to explain “political explosions” that otherwise seem to come from nowhere when isolated political elements lay inert side-by-side.

John Hibbing's essay is a persuasive defense of biopolitical research. I argue, however, that Hibbing does not go far enough in recognizing the broad vision of biopolitical science as a science of political animals. We need to see this as a science that moves through three levels of deep history: the natural history of the political species, the cultural history of a political community, and the biographical history of political actors in a community. I illustrate this by discussing Abraham Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation at these three levels of biopolitical science.

John Hibbing's “Ten Misconceptions Concerning Neurobiology and Politics” is a plea for greater understanding of an approach he considers marginalized in political science. This is ironic given the lack of serious attention that his neurobiological approach gives to questions of power and marginality in politics. While Hibbing presents neurobiology as a new and exciting paradigm, his piece reads more like yet another rhapsody about the scientific benefits of new techniques than it does like a novel approach to understanding fundamental questions of politics.

I share the view that biocultural connections should become more central to political inquiry. And I appreciate some of the themes Hibbing develops. The approach considered in this response is one in which variable degrees of agency are pushed deeply into simple organisms, into processes of embryological unfolding, and into subliminal elements of cultural relations. Such an approach appreciates the creative element in evolution as well as in subliminal processes in play within and between us. Several practitioners of complexity theory in biology have been exploring such routes. They may contribute to a more layered set of interfaces between biology and cultural interpretation that are even less reductionist in character. And they may carry import for explorations of how the media work on the visceral register of intersubjectivity, still to be developed.

My response to John Hibbing raises questions about the nature of judgment implied in the biology and politics agenda that he would have us adopt. Although rightly critical of overly rationalist and cognitivist models, the neurobiological turn casts action and judgment as the mere effects of already primed dispositions, for which the giving of reasons is little more than window-dressing on what was going to happen in any case. Furthermore, the reductively biological picture of human beings that emerges in Hibbing's account is hard to square with democratic conceptions of politics that emphasize the capacity for freedom and association with others. Finally, I worry that Hibbing's unapologetic embrace of scientism remains entangled in the fraught history of deterministic explanatory models and American social science.

John Hibbing's paper prompts me to outline three points: (1) Cognitive psychology and neuroscience are developing a new picture of human beings' cognitive functioning, broadly understood. One startling implication is that we often understand ourselves much less well than we are inclined to think. (2) It is seriously mistaken to think that reading the output of an fMRI experiment is as easy and clear as interpreting a realistic picture. Among other things, various interpretations of an output may be equally acceptable. (3) Neuroscience can, and has been, used to support widespread prejudices, such as the intellectual inferiority of the female mind. Major researchers have given in to the temptation to see their older views in the new sciences of the mind. The second and third points may well lead us to think that incorporating the insights from the new fields involves us in genuinely interdisciplinary research. At the very least, we cannot count on skimming through an admired text to find out what is right. But serious research that spans different disciplines can be immensely rewarding.

Let me begin by thanking editor Jeff Isaac for inspiring and bringing to fruition this exchange. Securing the participation of nine academics and then cajoling us to meet deadlines and follow instructions is a remarkable accomplishment and I can only hope the finished product approaches his hopes for the enterprise. I would also like to thank the eight scholars who provided commentaries on my target essay. I am truly fortunate that such an all-star cast was willing to spend time pondering the role of neurobiology and politics. They assisted me in better understanding my own positions, and who can ask for more than that? I do not have the space here to offer the point-by-point response that their comments deserve, so I will instead concentrate on the two concerns that were raised most frequently: first, whether biological approaches can answer the kinds of questions political scientists should be asking, and second, whether, regardless of their value in answering questions, applying biological techniques to social behaviors leads to normatively unpalatable conclusions. Before addressing these two important matters, however, it is worth a moment to mention several areas of agreement.

This is quite a book. Its sheer heft is daunting, its central claim bold and sweeping, its data relentless. While the planet goes “cycling on according to the fixed law of gravity,” Steven Pinker argues, the human species has been progressing. We have reduced the fear of violent death for an ever-greater proportion of the population across the centuries. Pinker argues that every sort of violence has declined, from interpersonal cruelty to interstate war, beginning toward the end of the medieval period and extending to today. He then identifies the causes of decline so that we can know what can extend the trend into the future. This will allow us, as he puts it, to “obsess not just over what we have been doing wrong but also over what we have been doing right” (p. xxvi).

History holds important insights for political scientists concerned with contemporary international development issues. Michael E. Latham and Nick Cullather's recent historical accounts of US foreign policy toward developing countries provide excellent examples of the significance of understanding the past in order to interpret the present. Both books highlight the ways in which strategic concerns of the US government during the Cold War shaped its international aid policies.

One does not have to look far to see that much of what has been written over the past 10 years reveals a decade filled with US foreign policy missteps, miscues, and failures. Popular books such as Thomas Ricks's Fiasco: The American Military Adventure in Iraq (2006), Jane Mayer's The Dark Side (2008), George Packer's Assassins' Gate (2005), and Bob Woodward's series on “Bush's wars” captured our attention and gave us a first cut on the history of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and the “global war on terror.” These riveting accounts provided rich, descriptive insights and exposed the wide range of ideological and bureaucratic feuding, the breakdown—and often deliberate circumventing—of institutional procedures and organizational practices, and the ad hoc and often chaotic process of policy selection. Embedded throughout these narratives is a broader theme that depicts the past decade as an extraordinary period of American foreign policy excess and a dramatic departure from the past.