Teleology is one of those words that scholars use that makes those unfamiliar with academia look at you with worried, confused brows. However that response doesn’t necessarily change much even when someone is quite familiar with the concept.
Teleology, simply put, is any explanatory scheme which posits, or implicitly assumes, a driving logic or force to a phenomenon that, in the long run, ensures a particular outcome. So, for example, in history we often battle “teleological interpretations,” which are viewed as ahistorical. They are viewed as such because rather than looking at the evidence as is, a teleological history interprets the evidence through an ideological lens that tells a story of inevitability and, usually, ultimate meaning.
A good example of this is Marxism. Marxism is now considered, by most scholars, as horrendously teleological. This is because Marxism posits a clear, inevitable story for the progress of history – the mode of production eventually collapses under its own internal contradictions, producing a new synthesis and, eventually, the final turnover will be the proletariat revolution where then all this dialectic nonsense can stop and we can all rock on in communist equality. (This is why, in my mind, those who can really be called “Marxists” in this sense, rather than just materialists, seem to be attracted to qualities suspiciously similar to the comfortable equations offered by religion.) Hard core Marxists, by the way, considered that not a theory or even a matter of the social sciences, but a factual matter of hard science. Thus when Marxists scholars produced history, they took all evidence and selected and shaped it to fit into this schema, so they could point as say, “see, we are this or that far along to the inevitable proletariat revolution and communist yumminess.”
Thus, ever since Marxism and other teleological schemas starting losing their hegemonic control over the mind of scholars (I employ that other scholarly term to poke fun at us some more) in the 60s and into the 80s, teleological is one of the worst things someone can say about your work. It’s almost the equivalent of saying, “This history is really ahistorical,” or, “you are putting your politics into this interpretation.”
But this has gone a little overboard in recent years. It has gotten to the point where, some people call even the simple argument of cause and effect “teleological.” I’ve seen it several times in seminar. Explanatory schemes that are simply arguing for long term trends – in economics, in culture, whatever – can be picked away at by skeptics who say, now really, was it really all that simple? Can’t we complicate this picture a bit and show how this process doesn’t really hold over time at all? (Sometimes I suspect these holes are picked simply so that someone can write a book about some obscure topic; if the general community accepts a cause and effect scheme which mutes the relative importance of a lot of other topics, a lot of the folks who like to write three-hundred page tomes on rural shoemakers are going to be out of work.) Because no “cause” can really explain any phenomena that isn’t strictly limited and delineated; that’s teleological.
But this is silly. And why it is silly is well shown in this debate between B.J.T. Dobbs and Richard S. Westfall over the Scientific Revolution. Dobbs does not think historians should employ the concept of the scientific revolution anymore – to make her point she leaves the phrase uncapitalized – because she argues that embedded in any such concept is a teleological assumption of the ultimate triumph of progress, as if reason is some force external to historical circumstance that is slowly marching around the globe and through time to save us all. (Newton is totally Jesus, dude.) To quote from her article, Newton as Final Cause and First Mover:
““It is a teleological story we tell: Newton is the hidden end toward which the whole narrative is inexorably drawn, the Final Cause of the Scientific Revolution” (29).
Herbert Butterfield, who wrote one of the foundational books on the Scientific Revolution after WWII, broke his own antipathy to “Whiggish” history (which is simply the history of liberal thought where “progress” is viewed as eventually triumphing, particularly in the form of Parliamentary or representative institutions) in the way he approaches and relishes the accomplishes of the Scientific Revolution:
“His book,” argues Dobbs, “is pervaded with the conviction that the ‘winner’ scientific ideas were right and good, and their triumph is made to seem inevitable” (30).
Dobbs argues that by reading the present into the past, historians interpret the men of the Scientific Revolution to be modern thinkers like ourselves, and in a sense by admiring them are really praising ourselves. When confronted with some of their not so modern behavior, such as Newton’s obsession with alchemy, she quotes scholars through the decades who have been put off and concerned about this, openly disappointed and confused that such a great mind could engage in such a superstitious activity:
“I think the problem arises somewhat in this fashion,” argues Dobbs, “we choose for praise the thinkers that seem to us to have contributed to modernity, but we unconsciously assume that their thought patterns were fundamentally just like ours” (34).
Dobbs makes several good points in her article which at some point or another, were true enough; but I believe that she is setting up a straw man to a great degree, although she explicitly denies that particular critique. How many modern day scholars are really so disturbed by Newton’s alchemy? I find it completely unproblematic; it is not surprising that Newton chose to direct his energies and talents in directions other than our modern science, particularly if he thought there was an underlying logic that he could apply to it. And few historians today are insensitive to the social context of the Scientific Revolution or science in general; indeed the History of Science now has its own discipline. (To be fair, Dobbs was writing in the mid 1990s, so the situation could have looked much different from her viewpoint).
But on larger points I also feel she is mistaken; because to posit that there was a long term, fundamental change in the nature of a society, and that this can be proscribed to scientific developments and the concurrent effects of this on the surrounding culture, is not to set up any “God of Science” that is necessarily guiding all events. Westfall makes this and many other strong points in his article, The Scientific Revolution Reasserted.
“To pick up on another theme in Dobb’s chapter, there was of course nothing inevitable about Newton’s work. Like the rest of the Scientific Revolution, it was a free creation of the human spirit, mediating on the evidence that nature presents and forcing itself to conform to that evidence. … However, what did happen had an internal logic, because Newton consciously built on the work of earlier men. Internal logic is not inevitability” (48).

Badass.
Furthermore, Westfall takes to issue the tendency Dobbs seems to be falling into to argue that all good history is history that keeps its head out of the present; that to truly understand the past, you must only work within the understandings and events of the times, rather than project them forward or read in contemporary experience. But, as Westfall here argues, if taken to an extreme this takes much of the point out of the purpose of doing history:
“Merely describing the past in its own terms does not constitute the historian’s function in my notion of it. We are not antiquarians. We are called to help the present understand itself by understanding how it came to be. We strive to find a meaningful order in the multifarious events of the past and thus, explicitly or implicitly, we pass judgments on the relative importance of events. Before we dismiss Butterfield’s statement on the Scientific Revolution by attaching the pejorative adjective ‘Whiggish’ to it, let us pause to consider whether it may not be correct” (42).
I applaud the decision to “pass judgments on the relative important of events.” Too often you hear the critique of “well, this isn’t what people at the time thought,” or, “there is no evidence that at the time, this is how people explained things.” Well, of course. One of the main lessons of history is sometimes that historians see things much more clearly than those in the midst of the historical moment; we have a bird’s eye view of course, whereas individuals and specific groups only have their vantage point, their interests and experiences to draw from. So we have to make inferences, at the end of the day, about what was more important in the long run to long term developments and what wasn’t. If that means downplaying the relative importance of some people’s eccentric experiences, well, they’re dead so I am sure it won’t hurt their feelings.
Finally, Westfall makes the point that to downplay the Scientific Revolution as merely a self-congratulating phenomena made up by historians requires ignoring the fact that science shapes almost every aspect of our lives today, and has been doing so for quite a while. The fundamentals of human understanding have in fact changed, and it seems to be sticking around:
“Clearly I think that it was and that the transformation was a once and for all event that has never been reversed. Scientists of today can read and recognize works done after 1687. It takes a historian to comprehend those written before 1543” (44).
And furthermore, this is no small event which can be isolated as purely a discussion amongst historians with an interest in the history of science:
“Before the Scientific Revolution, theology was the queen of all the sciences. …. Theology is not even allowed on the premises anymore. Here is the very heart of Butterfield’s specific statement. A once Christian culture has become a scientific one” (43).
That’s a Revolution if I ever saw one.