Sei sulla pagina 1di 19



University ojCape Town
The ethnographic monograph has its roots in two traditions. While its format and rhetoric are
strongly influenced by the natural science monograph, its content derives largely from genres of
travelogue and missionary letters and bulletins. In the period 1850-1900, ethnographic writing
was addressed to two audiences, but by the turn of the century it had been 'captured' by theoretical
social scientists and became the appropriate and legitimate domain of the new academic discipline
of anthropology. Academic anthropology could not claim small-scale societies, but could claim
the ethnographic description of small-scale societies, as its professional domain.
The early ethnographic monographs that dealt with southern and eastern
African peoples depended on, and were partly shaped by, European concepts of
morality and identity on the one hand, and the market for ideas and books on the
other. Ethnography was at first written chiefly by missionaries who lived in the
colonial periphery. Their work was 'captured', in a sense, by metropolitan
scholars who wrote finished ethnological treatises derived from the raw
material of missionaries' monographs, letters and reports. In the struggle to
create an institutional basis for anthropology, the early ethnography constituted
a body of work which, for the first time, the discipline could claim as its
appropriate, legitimate and exclusive domain. This accumulated intellectual
product was an essential pre-requisite to the establishment of university depart-
ments and the furthering of research in the field.
The experience of travelling to a distant place in order to be there, not merely
in the course of other activities (such as trade), but specifically to experience and
to interact with that place, is strongly Romantic in both the historical and the
emotional sense. The great Victorian travellers and the evangelical Christian
missionaries who began to describe Africa and Africans intensively were
nurtured by their reading of imaginary travel literature such as Coleridge's Rime
oj the Ancient Mariner, Kubla Khan, or Longfellow's Hiawatha (based on H. R.
Schoolcraft's ethnographic reportage of the North American Indians). The
authors of the first ethnographies were clearly in this tradition. Historians of
anthropology, and anthropologists writing about the history of their discipline,
have ignored these literary roots of the monograph and have focused instead on
the positivistic tradition of the university-trained scholars who made use of
these materials for their own intellectual purposes. We must distinguish,
.\1,," (N.S.) 18. 502-20
University of Cape Town
The ethnographic monograph has its roots in two traditions. While its format and rhetoric are
strongly influenced by the natural science monograph, its content derives largely from genres of
travelogue and missionary lettcrs and bulletins. In the period 1850-1900, ethnographic writing
was addressed to two audicnces, but by the turn of the century it had been 'captured' by theoretical
social scientists and became the appropriate and legitimate domain of the new academic discipline
of anthropology. Academic anthropology could not claim small-scale societies, but could claim
the ethnographic description of small-scale societies, as its professional domain.
The early ethnographic monographs that dealt with southern and eastern
African peoples depended on, and were partly shaped by, European concepts of
morality and identity on the one hand, and the market for ideas and books on the
other. Ethnography was at first written chiefly by missionaries who lived in the
colonial periphery. Their work was 'captured', in a sense, by metropolitan
scholars who wrote finished ethnological treatises derived from the raw
material of missionaries' monographs, letters and reports. In the struggle to
create an institutional basis for anthropology, the early ethnography constituted
a body of work which, for the first time, the discipline could claim as its
appropriate, legitimate and exclusive domain. This accumulated intellectual
product was an essential pre-requisite to the establishment of university depart-
ments and the furthering of research in the field.
The experience of travelling to a distant place in order to be there, not merely
in the course of other activities (such as trade), but specifically to experience and
to interact with that place, is strongly Romantic in both the historical and the
emotional sense. The great Victorian travellers and the evangelical Christian
missionaries who began to describe Africa and Africans intensively were
nurtured by their reading of imaginary travel literature such as Coleridge's Rime
of the Ancient Mariner, Kubla Khan, or Longfellow's Hiawatha (based on H. R.
Schoolcraft's ethnographic reportage of the North American Indians). The
authors of the first ethnographies were clearly in this tradition. Historians of
anthropology, and anthropologists writing about the history of their discipline,
have ignored these literary roots of the monograph and have focused instead on
the positivistic tradition of the university-trained scholars who made use of
these materials for their own intellectual purposes. We must distinguish,
.HUIl (N.S.) 18, 502-20
therefore, between these scholars of the metropole (such as M'Lennan, Mor-
gan, Tylor, Lang, Frazer) and the authors of the ethnographic materials on
which they depended.
If the mode of the nineteenth-century ethnographer's experience was Roman-
tic, the mode of the century's ethnographic theory was Ironic. The theoretically
informed ethnographic writings succeeded in applying universal systems of
classification to the particularities of human behaviour and environment.
Consequently, in the view of the ethnographic monograph, no behaviour,
event or place was ever simply what it might appear to be to the native since the
universal categories deployed by the European social scientist were never
entirely commensurate with those of the native speaker. This vision of incom-
parable realities nonetheless compared, and the profound sense of irony this
occasions, is essential to the ethnographic view, and is made possible by the
rhetorical strategies of the ethnographic text.
The distinction between writing and experience, between the ethnographic
monograph and the ethnographer's fieldwork, is important though little recog-
nised. The ethnographic monograph is not self-defined. The authors of ethno-
graphic monographs sought to distinguish their writing from the contemporary
generic types of travelogue, missionary letter, diary and journalism, while they
sought to emulate the monographs of the natural sciences. The format and
rhetorical conventions of the ethnographic monograph must be examined,
then, in the context of other types of writing whose content was often very
I begin with a discussion of some aspects of the audience for writing about
Africa and Africans (though the conclusions are generalis able for other places
and peoples), and focus especially on the travelogue, the missionary report,
missionary linguistic studies and translations. They contributed to the develop-
ment of the ethnographic monograph by helping to provide a specialised
vocabulary, by defining both the 'field' of study and some of its essential
organising concepts (such as 'tribe' and 'language'), and by setting the moral
parameters of the discourse. It is a complex subject, incompletely surveyed, and
I attempt here only to limn and illustrate some critical features of a neglected
A discovery on paper
When we think of the so-called nineteenth-century discovery of Africa, we
usually think of the professional explorer and soldier, the handful of men whom
Conrad called 'militant geographers'. Yet ordinary literate people also discov-
ered Africa, through their churches, mission societies and a number of written
genres that were offered primarily as entertainment. As entertainment, these
popular accounts found their place among the 'cabinets of natural history' that
many upper-class Europeans maintained as adjuncts to their libraries, and that
were specifically recommended by books on domestic economy (Anon. 1824;
Miller 1974). The popular travel tales added another dimension to the symbol-
ism of rank and status implicit in such collections. The reviewer of Barth's
Travels in central Africa (1849-1855) in the Athenaeum, for example, praised the
extravagance of the volume: 'The books are got up in the most expensive style
by the publishers, accompanied by an unexampled number of maps, and
adorned by beautiful plates and wood cuts' (Athen. 16 May 1857).
The heroic character of the African explorer was frequently emphasised in
contemporary reviews in journals such as the Athenaeum, which catered to an
audience of academics and clerics. A review of Krapf's Travels, researches and
missionary labours, during e(f?hteen years' residence in east Africa (1856) stressed the
heroic dimensions of the task and the inexhaustible mystery of the continent.
Our generation has been rich in African explorers, who have penetrated far and wide across lakes
and rivers, through forest and defile. yet the horizon recedes as we follow it. The
cosmographer who should at length announce that Africa had been finally laid open, mapped,
divided into territories, with its languages and religions catalogued .... might as well tell us that
he had decomposed the zodiacal light, searched the profoundest fire-galleries of Vesuvius,
extracted the last diamond from the mines of Gramm ago a, or flitted like a spectre over the surface
of the silent moon. The African continent would appear all but infinite in comparison with the
actual progress of discovery (Athol. 19 May 1860).
All the travelogues 'got up in the most expensive style' were directed towards an
audience consisting primarily of the well-educated and well-to-do. A popular
bookshop in London, Mudie's Select Library, ordered two thousand copies of
Livingstone's Travels, almost as many as they had ordered of Macaulay's
immensely popular History. By comparison, George Eliot recorded in her diary
on 6 February 1857, that Mr Mudie had ordered only five hundred copies of
Adam Bede (Cruse 1935).
There was, however, a considerable audience among the poorer workers and
farmers of England and Europe whose primary social and cultural activities
centred on their churches. Some of the most accomplished linguists, writers and
ethnographers of Africa in the nineteenth century came from these classes of
workers and journeymen. T ~ e y were members of the Wesleyan Methodist
churches, for example, or Quakers or other Dissenters. Missionaries such as
Robert Moffat, David Livingstone, Charles Appleyard, Henry Callaway and
John Roscoe came from such backgrounds and wrote for those audiences in
church bulletins, Missionary Appeal tracts and letters to the press, and when
they were 'home' spoke to large audiences in church halls and Sunday schools all
over England (Smith 188 I; Walten 1885, Benham 1896; Du Plessis 191 I; Huxley
1978). In many cases the reportage of the missionaries presented a rather
different picture of Africa. In contrast to the portraits of cruel slave-raiders and
despotic kings that clearly sold the well-appointed travelogues, we see on
occasion some close and affectionate relationships between lonely Europeans
and African catechists, converts, 'back-sliders' and even respected ritual experts
and chiefs. 6n the other hand, the missionary reportage was often frankly
critical of African beliefs and life-ways. They were often narrow-minded and
priggish in their judgements, but it is worth while remembering that they were
as often bitterly critical about British society and culture as well. Indeed, for
many of them, it was exactly their sense of disappointment, loss and injustice
suffered in the tenements of London or Glasgow that pushed them towards
Africa in the first place.
The Athenaeum's review of Burton's Lake regions of central Africa pointed to the
differences that existed between the two modes of discourse about Africa in the
printed media.
It is certain. . that the explorers oflanguages and nations, the men who add lines and colours to
our maps, arc surrounded by bewilderments and temptations. If they doubt, they may miss
important facts; if they believe, they may dig pit-falls for geography. Like the hero in the Arabian
romance, they hear strange voices on every side; the mirage and the lake appear alternately; there
is onejargon of the mission house, and another in the dialect of the forest (Athm. 1860).
This contrast between the narratives of the mission house and the romantic
portraits of the forest was very clearly focused when Livingstone returned to
England in 1856 as a national hero in order to raise more funds for his
exploration. One means of doing this was to write. He discovered, however,
that others had already sought to capitalise on his life and adventures. Living-
stone wrote a vehement protest over one such volume that had been 'pirated' by
piecing together his letters and reports in missionary bulletins and printing
in the format of the well-established travelogue literature. He wrote to the
Athenaeum on March 21 1857 to say that
The principal object of my prolonged sojourn in this country is to prepare a narrative of my travels
and discoveries for general information. Great has been my surprise to fmd a host of pirates start
up and upon the strength of some few extracts from certain letters of mine, collected without my
consent or knowledge, have published what they please to call a 'Narrative of my Travels'
(Livingstone 1857).
Livingstone castigated the publishers of London for their perfidy, and enclosed a
sample advertisement:
The Life and Adventures of this remarkable Missionary Explorer must needs be full of interest,
and replete with incidents far more intense than any to be found in the wide range of novel
literature; so true is it that in his case 'truth is stranger than t!ction'. . The book is most profusely
illustrated by Sargant, Wood, Harvey, Thomas, and other artists of celebrity; and the price,s s.,
places it within the reach of all classes (Livingstone 1857).
Livingstone's protest and the text of the quoted advertisement make it clear
that the two domains of reportage about Africa were very distinct. A translation
offormat from the genre of the missionary letter to the other genre, travelogues
with pictures, maps and bindings, verged on the immoral, at least for Living-
stone. His point was not an insignificant one either. The sales of Livingstone's
authentic volume went a long way towards financing his next decade of
exploration, since the London Missionary Society had declined to support him
once exploration and writing, rather than converting Africans to Christianity,
had become the consuming passion of his life.
The discovery of Africa, then, was a discovery on paper. In this respect it was
unlike the 'discovery' of speciation through natural selection, for example, or of
the anthrax bacterium-discoveries that were made at about the same time. The
latter depended to an important degree on the quality of argument by which
they were presented to a sceptical audience as discoveries. The evidence was
available in principle to everyone who cared to take an interest, even though for
all practical purposes the authority of the written report was acceptable as
evidence enough for those persuaded by the argument. This was not so with the
discovery of Africa, a discovery no less profound in its intellectual and practical
effects. In the early nineteenth century, relatively few people actually had
experience with the continent and its peoples. Africa was not 'available for
examination' in the same way that a bacterial culture or a fossil was available to
the scholar in Europe. Its 'availability' to the experience of the scholar or the
educated layman depended on the existence of a text that described Africa, or
some aspect of it.
A few intellectuals, often with institutional support in the major universities
were primarily concerned with the first class ofliterature which I have character-
ised as books bound in leather. The authors of these sturdy volumes on 'native
customs', however, were often missionaries who participated in the other, less
well-known networks of information built around the mission press ephemera.
Deep sectarian cleavages between various missionary groups divided Africa in a
way entirely different from the political divisions effected by the European
governments during the well-documented 'scramble for Africa'. Although we
are aware today that the political boundaries of the colonial powers affected the
quality and distribution of knowledge about Africa, the intellectual effects of its
partition among the many missions, divided among themselves by nationality,
rite and dogma, are still virtually unexplored.
Two audiences, two genres
The best-known and most widely-read writers of ethnographic and linguistic
studies addressed at least two distinct audiences. One of these was the formal
academic or literary audience that we tend today to see as the 'mainstream'
leading to 'modern' anthropology: Morgan, Tylor, Frazer, Marett, Lang,
Rivers and so on (e.g. Lowie 1935; M. Harris 1968; Herskovits 1965). This
audience, though not entirely 'positivistic' in its epistemological orientations,
consisted nonetheless of intellectuals who saw themselves as methodological
empiricists (see Wendell Harris 198 I: 7- 13 where the empiricist position is
defined in more general terms with respect to nineteenth-century writing). The
other audience consisted of the leaders and membership of churches and
evangelical mission societies who stood in a completely different intellectual
tradition. A personal appeal to the imagination and an argument developed from
transcendental and" a priori assumptions was, for them, completely legitimate.
Their intellectual ancestors included Samuel Taylor Coleridge, William Words-
worth, the Liberal Anglican historians such as Richard Whately, Connop
Thirlwall, Thomas Arnold, Arthur Penrhyn Stanley, and literary figures includ-
ing Matthew Arnold, Thomas Carlyle, Charles Kingsley and Charles Dickens
(Forbes 1952; W. Harris 1981; Willey 1949). The methods of argument relied
more heavily on Whately's Elements oj rhetoric (1823), written expressly for the
purpose of Christian apologetics (Ehringer 1963), than on positivist or utilitarian
methods of argument, exemplified by Mill, Bentham or Herbert Spencer. Their
intellectual debts were to the German 'Higher Critics', to classical philology and
the transcendentalism of Kant and Herder, and to Alexander and Wilhelm von
Humboldt, rather than to the French rationalist tradition of Condorcet and
The existence of the dual audience, addressed in many cases by the same
writers, resulted in different narrative techniques, especially with respect to the
narrative stance of the author and his point of view. In the collection of disparate
writings that can be characterised as 'missionary letters' and reports that
appeared in the evangelical and mission society bulletins, the narrator addressed
the reader directly, in the first person; and, while not self-reflective, nevertheless
revealed the European observer in the context and process of observation (cf.
Nash & Wintrob 1972; Marcus 1982). In the ethnographic monograph. how-
ever, patterned after 'objective' scientific genres, the reader lost sight of the
narrator, the observer himself, and was presented only with a kind of disem-
bodied narrative.
Presented thus in the guise of an objective scientific report, it was not long
before the genre provoked a crisis concerning its own validity since it could not,
in principle, be observed in process nor ever be replicated. On the other hand,
the missionary letter and journals, often presented with considerable literary
skill in a way that evoked both place and process most vividly, were usually
considered to be without theoretical import. The first person narrative of the
missionary was often explicit about preconceptions and aims; the author of the
ethnographic monograph usually was not. Yet the same people often wrote
works of both types which differed little in actual ethnographic content.
The mission literature also had an important bearing on the definition of a unit
of study. In most cases, this was the 'tribe' or 'nation', Biblical historians,
philologists and theologians who had been influenced by the romantic tradition
took this to be the only natural unit of society. There appeared to be a more solid
justification for the 'naturalness' of this unit in the very existence of linguistic
and ethnographic texts themselves. The 'existence' or identity of African
peoples depended, for most European readers, on the existence or non-existence
of something written about them, or something written in their language (for
example, a translation of part of the Bible). Thus, current classifications of
African languages were (and still are) taken to be classifications of African
peoples, when in fact. they can only be classifications of (largely) mission
produced lexicographical texts.
Many modern African languages are standardised. Thus the first grammars
and dictionaries of Swahili were the product of missionaries who worked over
large areas of the east African coast and near-hinterland over a period of decades.
Linguistic data from a wide provenance and temporal range were combined to
create a 'standardised' Swahili. The same is true, to varying degrees, of Ling ala,
Nyanja, Shona, Zulu and others. Their linguistic identity is to some extent
created and legitimated through the linguistic text. This was, in part, the
conscious intent of the missionary linguists who intended to give African
peoples just such an identity through literature in and about their language (see
Shepard 1945 for a South African example, though virtually every missionary
society produced similar statements). The model and justification for this
derived in part from a widely held idea that the self-concept and political unity of
the Old Testament Jews depended on or was guaranteed by the existence of a
text. This was a concept that they took with them from their reading of the
influential philologists, theologians and Biblical critics in Europe.
In particular, a group of historians whom Forbes has called the Liberal
Anglican Historians, and other critics and theologians such as Thomas and
Matthew Arnold and Frederick Dennison Maurice, having discovered textual
criticism of the Bible and other ancient texts, presented the history of the Jews as
paradigmatic of all history, and considered their social and political organisation
a model for all societies (Forbes 1952: 65,69,76, etc.). Examples include A. P.
Stanley's The Jewish Church (1863: vol. I: 467, vol. 3: 43), Milman's History of the
Jews (1829), or Thomas Arnold's 'An Essay on the right interpretation and
understanding of the Scriptures' (183 I). Milman, for example, wrote that
Nothing is more curious or more calculated to confirm the veracity of the Old Testament history
than the remarkable picture which it presents of the gradual development of human society; the
ancestors of the Jews and the Jews themselves pass through every stage of comparative civilization
(r829: vol3: iii).
Matthew Arnold, in a conservative critique of mid-century English thought
(1869), drew a distinction between Hellenism, characterised as 'perfection of
consciousness' and Hebraism, characterised as 'strictness of conscience'. It is
clear that the missionaries who went to Africa, both from the Established
Church, and from non-conformist or evangelical denominations, fell into the
'Hebraic' camp. They tended therefore to see and to report on the prescriptive
and proscriptive aspects of African society, and to ignore aspects such as ease of
mobility, multi-lingualism, and the presence of numerous religious cults in the
same communities, all of which indicated a degree of freedom and ease in those
Discovery for paper: the rise of a genre
For most Europeans in the nineteenth century, knowledge about Africa, and an
intellectual, or direct and personal involvement with this continent, seems to
have come mainly through the churches that organised, financed and managed
hundreds of mission stations all over the world. The effect of these earlier
mission writings is not easily analysed. First of all, they provided a channel for
information and comment that was in many ways opposed to the interests of
commerce and political imperialism. 'Low' and 'Broad' churchmen, Method-
ists and evangelical Christians of other denominations rarely participated in
policy-making. With the exception of a few men such as Lord Acton, Roman
Catholics were also almost entirely excluded. This meant that British public
opinion, influenced by evangelical mission groups, constituted a separate and
independent force sometimes counterposed to official government policy and
to the interest of large-scale capitalists. Both Carlyle and Macaulay were
highly sceptical of the colonial enterprise. Though neither was primarily an
evangelical Christian, they had a wide readership among that group, and were
also influential among the ruling elites of their times (see Clive 1973), on
Macaulay, and Carlyle (1849).
Ethnography emerged out of a tradition that in many cases ran counter to
imperial domination and intensive capital development (althougli. colonisation
of new lands was usually strongly supported). Carlyle or Thomas and Matthew
Arnold were by no means entirely convinced of the value of the endemic
Victorian idolatry of Progress. Their pessimism was profound, but their
understanding of the irrational and 'religious nature' of man was often more
acceptable and rang more true for Europeans in Africa than the rationalism and
positivism of the universities that assumed a universal sameness of man's
motives and understandings.
The content of the ethnographic monograph was in most cases not radically
new in appearance, but its identity as a distinct genre cannot be denied. The
monograph was physically presented in a way distinctly different from the
missionary reportage that preceded and accompanied it. The authors of the first
monographs (Callaway I 868-70; Junod I898; I9I2; Roscoe I911) sought to
justify ethnography as truly scientific. Under the influence of European intellec-
tual and moral concerns, on the one hand, and the response of the newly literate
Africans, their students and clients, on the other, ethnographic writing was
transformed into an abstracted discourse on a restricted realm of experience,
formally defined and conventionally presented. It functioned consequently as
symbolic capital that at once permitted rationalisation of a particular form of
administrative practice and provided the basis for the emergence of a new
Schorer (1967) has pointed out that writing itself, the technique and practice,
is really a process of discovery, not merely a means for organising material
which is given. Accordingly, the discovery of Africa was also a discovery Jar
paper. Had the great Victorian travellers not written anything, it would not be
said today that they had 'discovered' anything. Livingstone, Stanley, Burton,
Grant, Speke and others entered into the enterprise for the sake of the text,
although few were explicit about this. There were travellers before them who
did not write (e. g. Osman, who guided Livingstone-see Huxley 1978) and
writers who did not travel (though they wrote as if they did: e.g. Defoe). Henry
Morton Stanley was probably the only one who was fully explicit about his
motives, and he was condemned for just this (e.g., by Conrad 1970 [1902]: 17;
see Huxley 1978). For all of them, however, their lives were the tools that
wrought these narrative artifacts, the commodities of an industry and the
foundation of an intellectual establishment.
Conrad expressed the significance of the written narrative for the European
experience of Africa in Heart oJDarkness. Marlow, the narrator and seeker-after-
Kurtz, the white man in the dark interior, made a significant discovery when at
last he found him:
I learned that most appropriately, the International Society for the Suppression of Savage
Customs had entrusted him with the making of a report, for its future guidance. And he had
written it too. I've seen it, I've read it. It was eloquent, vibrating with eloquence ... It gave me
the notion of an exotic Immensity ruled by an august Benevolence. It made me tingle with
enthusiasm .... There were no practical hints to interrupt the magic current of phrases, unless a
kind of note at the foot of the last page, scrawled evidently much later, in an unsteady hand, may
be regarded as the exposition of method. It was very simple, and at the end of that moving appeal
to every altruistic sentiment it blazed at you luminous and terrifying, like a flash of lightning in a
serene sky:
'Exterminate all the Brutes'.
(Conrad 1902)
According to Marlow, Kurtz was confident that 'it was sure to have in the future
a good influence upon his career', and later, Marlow had to assure Kurtz that his
'success in Europe is assured in any case'. Marlow surrendered the document to
the Company Agent who demanded it.
He [the Agent] invoked then the name of Science. 'It would be an incalculable loss iC etc., etc. I
offered him the report on the 'Suppression of Savage Customs' with the postscriptum torn off. He
took it up eagerly. but ended bv sniffing at it with the air of contempt. 'This is not what we had a
right to expect'. he remarked (Conrad (902).
Kurtz had done his duty by creating a text. By a single gesture, Marlow
removed the taint of its context and the anguish of its author, just as he removed
it physically from Kurtz's darkness: he tore the damning epigram off the
bottom, and handed the manuscript to the Company Agent.
This, of course, is the privilege and the most salient characteristic of the
written text compared with speech. The written text is independent of its
context, the chief reason why Morgan thought of writing as the prime criterion
of civilisation (1964: 17-18). In his evolutionary time-frame, writing stood for
the possibility of transforming the limits of 'Barbarism' into the possibilities of
'Civilization'. Wundt expressed much the same idea when he described writing
as the bridge between the 'psychology' or 'individual culture' of speech, and the
'world culture' marked by a transcendence of'spatial and temporal bounds that
limit oral communication'. For Wundt, 'communication in writing is the first
step from folk culture to world culture' (1916: 487). More than a discovery,
however, writing is a bridge that connects the limited context of speech and
experience of primitive society to the larger world through the narrative that
captures the experience of the particular and makes it available to a universal
scrutiny. A new kind of understanding becomes at least possible. Although the
ethnographic monograph, and other genres shaped around similar content,
marks no new age in Morgan's or Wundt's sense, it does provide the crucial
communicative link between cultures and between audiences that is the hall-
mark of anthropology.
The bibliographic tradition and the moral motive
The concerns of the British audience included evolution, religion, changing
moralities and economic and political upheaval such as the suppression of
slavery or the Anglo-Boer War. Many of these were shaped and given fuel by
the popularisers of Darwinism, by continuing waves of revivalism, by mission
appeals and serialised missionary reports, by newspaper men such as H. M.
Stanley and missionaries such as Livingstone. It was enough to move many to
sacrifice their lives on the African continent in following their callings to mission
work, or as soldiers in the service of the Empire.
Some results of this interest can be seen in the remarkable library of Sir George
Grey, Governor of the Cape Colony from 1854 to 1862. He amassed a large
collection of the publications and manuscripts that were produced over most of
the sub-Saharan Africa, and from Borneo, Papua, Australia, Tasmania, New
Zealand and the Pacific Islands as well. This library, now part of the South
.\ I I
African Library in Cape Town, reveals a tremendous surge of writing on
African linguistics and ethnology in the period (Bleek 1858-9). This
burgeoning store of information allowed for the possibility of a modern
anthropological perspective based on fieldwork. Linguistic studies, from 1850-
1890, in particular, laid the foundations for linguistic competence. Missionaries
could learn the languages of their 'people' more efficiently and have time left
over for ethnological fieldwork and writing. Native speakers of these languages
profited, too, often using grammars of their own language, written in English,
to learn more of both languages. This earlier mission output helped to create a
market for information about Africa since it whetted interest. Moreover, it
began to accumulate in public and private libraries. A bibliographical tradition
was born.
While this new category of writing on and in the many languages of the
world's peoples established itself as an independent genre (or set of related
genres), it also helped to provide a vocabulary for the emerging tradition of the
ethnographic monograph. A new subject matter and a new rhetoric demanded a
new vocabulary with which to describe social and cultural phenomena.
The vocabulary that we work with today derives from roughly three sources.
First, neologisms were coined from Greek and Latin forms by social phil-
oS(i)phers and popular writers throughout the nineteenth century. Comte's
coining of the word 'sociology' is a well-known example. 'Stratification',
'ethnography' and 'exogamy' also appeared for the first time in the period from
the 1830'S to 1860'S. A second source of vocabulary was the writer's own
language of everyday use, but words such as 'family', 'race', 'myth', 'marriage',
'nation', 'state', 'king', 'slave' were often given special definitions by those who
used them and they began to acquire a new set of connotations Others such as
'gens', 'sib', 'tribe' and 'clan' were gleaned from texts that reflected earlier
usages of these words in European languages, or usages in more or less distinct
contemporary dialects. The nineteenth century's discovery of the primitive,
communicated through numerous textual genres, clearly had a strong effect on
the semantic ranges of many such terms as they were appropriated into new
written contexts. A third source of vocabulary that gave the ethnographic
monograph much of its real distinctiveness of style and organisation was the
mission-generated literature itself. This literature contributed the vocabulary
that the ethnographic monograph eventually employed to structure and to
highlight its material and argument. This discovery of native terms, such as
mana, totem, hau ('the spirit of the gift') and taboo, and their wide usage in
ethnological and other literature, has been well documented (e. g. Henson 1974:
30). These terms were borrowed to express efficiently what the European
languages had no words to express. Their original, 'native' meanings, however,
were often distorted in order to answer European moral questions: Freud's
Totem and taboo is an example.
Another use of native terms deriving directly from missionary texts was the
coining of words to name and to classify the various languages and people with
which ethnography attempted to deal. Thus, 'The Baganda' became the name of
a conquered congeries of linguistically diverse peoples, agriculturalists, iron-
smiths, pastoralists, fisher-folk and even hunters who fell under the rapidly
growmg military kingdom of the Kabaka. The same was true of 'Zulu',
'Thonga' and others, especially in southern Africa in the wake of Shaka's
consolidation of his empire and its subsequent collapse.
On a larger scale, the coining of the term Bantu had even further-reaching
historical effects, both intellectual and political, since it came to designate,
ambiguously, an imagined 'race', a conjectured common history, a family of
languages, a zeitgeist or worldview, a 'stage of civilisation', or a culture (Vansina
1979-80). The term was coined by Wilhelm Bleek, librarian to the Governor
of the Cape Colony, in the course of his philological work on African languages.
He applied it for the first time to his classification of the linguistic and
ethnological works in Sir George Grey's Library (Bleek 1858-9). His catalogue
of these works was at the same time the first thorough classification of African
languages then known (i.e. written about) that was worked out from careful
linguistic comparisons. Bleek's classification was strictly a bibliographical
classification of linguistic works, but once these languages had been named,
'Bantu' was taken into the service of many racialist and evolutionist theories of
the time. Like 'Aryan', a hypothetical construct of philologists, the word
'Bantu' began to acquire a poorly defined set of near-mystic connotations. What
was now called 'The Bantu-speaking peoples', 'The Bantu race', or, more
commonly, just 'The Bantu' became a valid subject for European intellectual
concern. And in the same way as 'Aryan' in Europe, it entered the everyday
vocabulary of the European languages, especially as these were spoken in
Africa, with similar political consequences.
The words that we have been discussing fulfilled, in large part, a moral need.
Comte, for example, had hoped to found a civil religion that would reflect an
ideal of reason and replace established religions which he felt were corrupt and
morally bankrupt. He created words to accomplish these goals. The borrow-
ing of terms such as 'stratification' from the prestigious and practical field of
geology was motivated by hope that sociology could achieve the success and
legitimacy of a natural science. 'Totem', 'taboo', 'safari' and 'tribe', and others,
deriving from the emerging ethnographic, missionary and travel literature,
found their way into a wide range of popular literature from as early as the
beginning of the 19th century inJane Austen's novels, through the romances of
Rudyard Kipling, Rider Haggard, Edgar Rice Burroughs and G. W. Henty
(Street 1975; Sinclair 197T I IS). The coining or borrowing of these words was
ultimately motivated by the broad moral currents and concerns of the day, just
as the similar wide usage of today's neologisms and linguistic borrowings such
as 'ecology', 'macho' or 'nirvana' is a response to a different set of moral needs and
Near the end of his life Frazer, who did so much to shepherd these terms into
the fold of everyday usage, was aware of the moral motive that lay behind this
new lexicon. He was also aware of the impact that his own works had had on
ideas concerning morality and social usage in European circles (Vickery 1973).
Frazer wrote to Malinowski in 1936 to say,
It is an immense satisfaction to me to learn from you that my works have been useful to you both
in the inception and in the carrying out of your life-work. I count you with Baldwin Spencer,
Howitt and Roscoe among the great field workers of anthropology whom I have had the honour
to know and to number among my friends. Your work, like theirs, is eternal, because it is built on
the rock of observation and fact. The work of the anthropologists of the study, like mine, is
temporary and transitory, because it rests on the shifting sands of theory and is liable to be blown
away with every fresh wind of doctrine (Frazer Corresp. I3 August I936).
The moral tone of this retrospective assessment is evident in his use of phrases
'your life-work', 'the honour to know', 'eternal', 'doctrine', and in the images of
building on 'rock' or 'shifting sand' which evoke the language of the New
Testament. Somewhere among the shifting sands and rocks of uncertainty in
British thought in the latter part of the nineteenth century among those beset by
the problems and moral quagmires attendant upon war, industrialisation,
empire and world trade, ideas summed up in words such as 'totem' and 'taboo'
and images of ' the customs and beliefs' of other peoples truly found their mark.
Another impetus to ethnography was European and African concerns with
morality in situations of social flux and frequently also of war. Since the
evolutionism in vogue at the time was, in practice, a moral classification of
nature and society, other moral concerns of missionaries and colonialists easily
took their place beside it. The still-smouldering debate between 'creationists'
and 'evolutionists' continues to focus on the linkage of mankind to nature
through a hypothetical pre-historic common ancestor. This was a relatively
small point in the great evolutionist scheme shared by virtually all social
philosophers of the day. More important for both Darwinists and theologians,
however, was the essentially non-temporal and non-scientific moral classifi-
cation implicit in both Biblical creationism or social Darwinism which gave
Europeans an identity and justified their actions.
While an intellectualised civil and religious morality was the motive for most
early ethnography, the monograph was the privileged medium circulating in a
world-wide forum of ideas. But it is clear that what we might call moral issues
did not exert their influence on theory alone, nor were they only spiritual and
intellectual. There were serious practical considerations as well. Warfare, for
instance, both a moral and a practical concern, exerted an influence on ethnogra-
phy whose effect has scarcely been considered.
Indeed, war was almost never mentioned in the publications. This has been
noted, for example, apropos Evans-Pritchard's ethnographies of the Nuer of the
Sudan who were under serious threat from the British Colonial Government at
the time that Evans-Pritchard described them. Although this state of war was
only fleetingly mentioned in his monographs, we arc told that lineage organis-
ation is most salient in situations of conflict. We are not told, however, that the
overwhelming emphasis on lineage organisation in the ethnographic descrip-
tion may have been strongly influenced by the Nuer's parlous situation. Of
course, Callaway, Junod or Roscoe also did not write of the background of
conflict to their own studies of the (apparently) morally and politically isolated
Zulu, Thonga or Baganda. This lack is especially significant since all three were
living and writing in major epicentres of bloody conflict. This lack of back-
ground has been ascribed to the authors' (apparently) implicit approval of the
colonial endeavour. The argument has some merit, but the generic constraints
of writing etll/IO/;yaphy (as distinct from journalism, travelogue or diaries), the
interests of the audience, and the inter-textual relationship of the ethnographic
5 [5
I found from Rivers that what he doubted was not the belief of the natives in the transformation of
kings and queens into lions and leopards, but the existence of tame lions and leopards in the sacred
forests. No doubt your informant believed in the existence of tame lions and leopards, but it mav
have been a superstition of his. . And as you did not visit the forests in question, it might be
well to express yourself more cautiously as to the existence of the tame beasts. Hence the changes I
have suggested (Frazer Corresp. 3 June [907).
Rivers's comment to Frazer about Roscoe's naivety in reporting the 'real'
existence of lions and leopards marks the emergence of an ironic mood that
pervaded ethnography from this time on: reality, among the primitives, was
never what it appeared, and the outcome of events might not reflect the
intentions of the actors themselves. Later, Malinowski and Radcliffe-Brown,
for instance, tried to account for this by invoking the 'mechanism' (Malinowski
preferred the 'organism' metaphor) of institutional process as distinguished
from the psychological process of individual psychology, Despite such theories
(or because of them), the different levels of reality continued to appear
incommensurable, For Roscoe, however, the problem was merely a question of
more careful observation and more cautious expression in what he wrote, For
Frazer, the irony was largely unperceived, because the facts of African life were
merely pieces of a puzzle that had little to do with Africa in the first place, They
derived, instead, from problems in the interpretation of certain texts of the
Greek Classics, and from the narrative that he himself had spun, In the letters
exchanged between Frazer and Roscoe until the appearance of his mono-
graph, The BaRanda, an account of their native manners and customs (19 I I), Frazer
continued to suggest changes, even insisting upon them at times when the
report did not correspond to the current theoretical stance (Frazer Corresp"
14 November 1914),
In 1913 Rivers, Haddon, and others drew up a sizable report to the Carnegie
Institution of Washington, D. c., on the needs of anthropological research in
order to attract funds for the profession, Rivers, in his report on ethnology,
surveyed research then current in Africa and singled out Roscoe for special
From Uganda we have now a large mass of intensive work of the highest order from the Rev.John
Roscoe. . and from others in the British East Africa possessions ... though there is still much to
be done, there is reason to hope that the British possessions in northern and central Africa may
become one of the most thoroughly worked regions of the world from the point of view of the
ethnologists (Rivers [9[3: [5-[6).
In the same vein, he mentions the adequacy of reportage from Belgian and
German possessions and deplored the dearth of material from the Portuguese
possessions, South Africa was likewise cited as a relative blank in the ethno-
logical map of Africa, 'The Reverend H, A, Junod', he wrote, 'has recently
given us a work of extraordinary merit on the Thonga , , , but with this
exception, little intensive work has been done among the other peoples of South
Africa' (Rivers 1913: 16),
Frazer hoped that some of the expected Carnegie money could be used to
support Roscoe, and wrote to him to say,
I have had a very satisfactory interview with Rivers today. He highly approves of my applying to
[LordJames 1 Bryce, and if the Carnegie Institute, moved by Bryce, should consult him privately
in the matter, he will heartily support your claim to a grant. He thinks youjust the sort of man
whom the Institute should aid. In fact in drawing up a Report on anthropology which he has sent
to the Carnegie Institute, he had you specifically in mind in recommending them to have always a
fund devoted to the promotion of private enterprise apart from the men in regular employment of
the Institute (Frazer Corresp. 8 October 1913).
Emerging clearly from such reports and from letters and comments on the
methods of ethnology at the time is a sense in which the enterprise is like the
commercial manufacture and trade of utilitarian goods. There is a clear division
of labour between the producers of information and the theory-smiths of the
universities in Europe, Britain and America. Rivers listed the work of Junod,
Roscoe and others as a kind of ' stock on hand' which was offered as security for
further financial assistance. From this point, anthropology began to attract more
support. Roscoe was given financial support for a return trip to study parts of
Uganda beyond the borders of the Kingdom of Buganda. An industrialist,
Mackie, supported Roscoe as a full-time, independent ethnologist for two years
in 1916-19 I 7. Three volumes of research emerged from this work in northern
and western Uganda. Roscoe remained, however, within the tradition of the
'division of labour' which did not permit the fieldworker to comment on his
findings. He continued to think in terms of providing evidence for men such as
Frazer to work into proper shape. The work that was produced continued to
serve as an intellectual capital that eventually led to further financial assistance,
and expansion of University departments. Malinowski, for example, upon
returning from the Trobriands subsequently held a post at the London School of
Economics (where he lectured on 'primitive economy'). The South Africa
Government established a Department of African Life and Languages at the
University of Cape Town where Radcliffe-Brown held the first chair. With
appointments to university posts, the whole mode of ethnographic writing was
changed. The generators of raw materials and the manufactures of ethnology
were now combined in the same persons. This was the beginning of the research
tradition of modern anthropology.
In effect, the writer on Africa in the period 1850-1900 changed from hero to
handyman. The image of Africa itself changed from the immense and mysteri-
ous to the standardised though enigmatic. Writing about Africa was romantic
and imaginative in the early nineteenth century, since writers of travelogue and
missionary bulletins were interested in attracting an audience for narrative about
a new place, new peoples, new problems. Travelogue writers sought to
capitalise on their experiences. Missionaries wrote to attract capital for their
enterprises. By the end of the century, however, writing reflected an ironic
vision of people who had to be explained, both to themselves and to the rest of
the world. Frazer's writing in particular reveals a satiric 'plot' in which
superstitions and dramatic roles such as divine kingship, scapegoats, witches
and priests were portrayed as protracted charades whose meaning couid only
be guessed at. In 190 I, Francis Galton wrote to Frazer to thank him for the gift
of a copy of the GoldCll bough. In his reading, Galton was impressed by what
he perceived as Frazer's style and tact, and exclaimed that
The cleverness with which you [Frazer] indicate without expressing conclusions, not to wound
the feelings of simple orthodox persons. is delightful. . What one generalizes from this, as
from your 'l'ausanius', is 'what fools people are" (letter, 24 January 1901, Trinity College
Library, Cambridge; see also Vickery I\l7J: IS).
In this consideration of the literature it has been necessary to take into account
a broad distinction between two audiences. The one was positivist and
empiricist; the other, philosophically transcendentalist, was oriented more
towards knowledge of religion and language than towards economy and
society. This sub-division, between religion and language on the one hand, and
economy and society on the other, still bedevils the discipline. For the most part
writing about Africa in this period came from the pens of individuals solidly in
the tradition of romanticism and evangelical Christianity. Some writers, how-
ever, such as Callaway, Junod and Roscoe sought to distinguish their writings
from those of other missionaries and Europeans in Africa, and to attract the
attention of university men. They were anxious, too, to present the genre as
science. This accounts, in part, for the genre's characteristic paradox: its content
is highly particularistic and derived from non-replicable experience, although it
has come to be part of a universal, ostensibly objective 'science'. There was
almost immediately, and has been since then, a crisis of validity arising directly
from this conflict.
The contradiction exists between the content of the text and the rhetorical
forms under which it is presented. Ethnographic descriptions are textual
representations, differing from pictures and direct experience. Through effec-
tive use of textual format (chapter and section headings, captions, lists and
tables), vocabulary, appropriate resonances with other genres (such as the
natural history monograph, scripture, novels, history), subtle metaphors and
other rhetorical strategies, the textual discourse can effectively and convincingly
fuse the generalities of categories (,economy', 'animism', 'social structure') with
the particularities of perception.
Only the discursive text can present us with the possibility of such a fusion
because it allows information to be extracted from the moral community in
which it was written. Just as Kurtz's text could only reveal the beauty of the
'exotic Immensity ruled by an august Benevolence' once it had been separated
from the context of Kurtz's own moral failure, the ethnography becomes
academic when it is transformed by the rhetoric of classifying sciences. It
conceals its context of creation and the moral condition of its author.
Yet it is this limitation that makes it possible for the ethnography to convert
particularities of observation into the 'facts' of a scientific discipline. The
meaning of the ethnographic text is, as Conrad said, 'on the outside'-that is, it
exists in the relationships between it and other texts and between the categories
and ideas that emerge from it, and those imposed on it. This moral limitation, or
isolation, is probably necessary in order that it might bridge cultures success-
fully and make generalisation possible and productive. Indeed its own internal
content would be forever inscrutable without both the possibility for generalis-
ation and classification that writing presents, and the unique independence of the
text from the single and immediate moral context of the observer or the
observed, the reader or the writer.
It was through a disciplined reading of these texts that anthropology acquired
the terms and categories that make its special discourse on human behaviour
possible. European readers made selections out of ethnographic reportage in
order to serve their own moral and intellectual needs. Early linguistic docu-
ments and analyses, in particular, laid the groundwork for a more sophisticated
observational discipline by providing still indispensable vocabulary and ideas
about structure. The experience of war during the writing of many of the most
influential ethnographic accounts of African peoples in this period provides an
excellent example of the characteristics of the text that have been outlined. War
had the effect of emphasising the major points of division and solidarity within
the observed societies. This was true especially of the Zulu, the Thonga and the
Baganda, all of which serve today as paradigms of social organisation in Africa.
In these cases, war influenced the nature of what was observed and the
possibility of observing it. The constraints of the genre that limited first-person,
contextualised narrative, in favour of a universalised generic format, did not
permit treatment of the context of observation. This contextual information is
easily available to the historian, however, in parallel genres of journalism,
missionary diaries, personal diaries and government reports that were some-
times written by the same people who wrote the deliberately decontextualised
ethnographic monographs.
The capture of this knowledge by persons who operated within an entirely
different institutional framework, and who reasoned from quite different
premisses regarding this knowledge, was, in essence, a recontextualisation of
this writing in terms of the intellectual and moral imperatives of the centres of
European culture. The increasing intellectual impact of reportage on Africa
initiated a process in which scholars sought to gain more direct access to the
sources of information. It was this recontextualised writing on Africa that
constituted part of the appropriate domain of anthropology, and resulted in the
transformation of romantic and particularistic narrative into a universal
academic discourse.
This article is a revised and augmented version of a paper read at the 1980 meetings of the
American Anthropological Association in Washington, DC. I have received support during the
period of research and writing from the University of Cape Town, from the Harry Oppenheimer
Institute for African Studies (also of the University of Cape Town), from the Human Sciences
Research Council of South Africa, and from the National Endowment for the Humanities of
the USA. I also wish to thank Clarion State College, Clarion. Pennsylvania. where, as Visiting
Scholar during my 1982 sabbatical leave from the University of Cape Town, I was given valuable
assistance that permitted the completion of this article. Comments from Vincent Crapanzano,
George Stocking, and James Urry have been especially helpful, and are gratefully acknowl-
Anonymous 1824. Aileii' 'ysrc/II ,,(do/llc,t;( e(OlloIllY. London: Henry Colburn.
Arnold, Matthew 1869. Cultl/re alld allarchy. Smith, Elder and Co. [Revised. edited edition with
introduction, Cambridge: Uni\' Press, 19601.
Arnold, Thomas 183 I. An essay on the right interpretation and understanding of the Scriptures.
Sermolls. Vol. 2. London: B. Fellowes.
Athenaeum, The 1857. I{eview: H. Barth, Travels in Central Africa, 184 9-55. 3 volumes.
Athenaellm, No. 1542, 16 May, 1857: 025.
--- 1860. Rev'ie\\,: J. Krapf TravTls, Hesearches, and MIssionary Labours During an 18 vear
Residence in East Africa. Athellaetlm, 1699, 19 May: 677.
--- 1860. Rn'icw: Richard Burton, The Lake Regions of Central .A-fricl: A Picture of
Exploration. Athellae",,,, 1704. 23 June.
Benham, Mari,Ul S. 1896. Hellry Calla"',,y, .tirst Hishllp o(Kalli'aria. London: Macmillan.
Bleck, Wilhelm Hendrick Immanuel [858-5'). The Library o(Sir Crey; Catalogll1 ("01. 1. 2).
London: Truhner, ,Uld Cape Town:JuLl.
Callaway, Henry 1869-70. The s),stelll o(the AII/azlilli (4 vols). London: TrubnCf & Co.
Carlyle, Thomas 1849. Occasional discourse on the negro question. FraziTs JJag. 40, 670-90.
Church Missionary Society 1898. L'gallda Jlissioll. Precis Book of Letters with Excerpts. London:
Church Missionary Society Archives.
Clive, John 1973. Thomas ,\lacaulay: thc shapillg of the historiall. New York: Alfred Knopf.
Conrad, Joseph 1902. Heart of darkness. In }',llIth, a IlilfTaril'c, and two ,'thtT stllries. London: \Villi,l111
--- 1970. Last essays (cd., intro.) R. Curle. Freeport: Books for Lihraries.
Cruse, Amy 1935. The Virtoriillls alld their books. London: Allen &: Unwin.
Du Plcssis, J. 191 I. History o(Christiall lI1iHiollS ill SOlith .'1)iica. London: Longmans, Green.
Ehringer, Douglas 1963. Introduction to Richard Whatley's Eleillmts o( rhetoric. ix-xxx. Carbon-
dale, Illinois: Southern Illinois Univ. Press.
Forbes, Duncan 1952. The liheral of history. Cambridge: Univ. Press.
Frazer, James George Correspondence. Manuscripts Collection, Cambridge University Librarv.
Freud, Sigmund 1950. Totelll alld tahao (trans.)Janws Strachev, New York: W. W. Norton and Co.
Harris, Man'in 1968. Ti,e rise of'lIIthropologi(,'1 theor),. New York: Thomas Crowell.
Harris, Wendell V. 1981. The olllllipresCllt de/Jilte: elllpiricislI1 alii! tr,1IIscl'IIdelltalisll1 illllinete""t" ((,lItllr),
prose. DeKalb, Illinois: Northern Illinois Univ. Press.
Henson, Hilarv [974. British so(ial allthropologists alld la IIgli age: a history ,If selJllI',1(e dcvcloplllCllt.
Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Herskoyits, M. J. 1')65. A genealogy of ethnological theory. In COlltext alld rncant'''g ill (II I tlil'a I
<1Iltizropology: (ed.) Melford Spiro. N ew York: The Free Pre".
Huxley, Elspeth HJ78. Livillgsto"e and his Africalljolll'll(,Ys. Ne\\ York: Saturda y Rev'iew Pre".
Junod, Henri-Alexandre 1898. Les DaRonga, Etude Ethnographique sur les indigenes de]a bail' de
Delagoa. Bull. Soc. G('ogr .. '\'c1Ichat. Neuchatcl: Attinger Freres.
--- 1912. The life o( a South A)i'icall tribe. Neuchatel: Attinger; [Second revised edition, London:
Macmillan, 1927].
Livingstone, David 1857. Letter to the Editor [Livingston's protest over the 'piracy' of his published
letters]. Atlml. 1534, 21 March, 1857: 375 [the subsequent number of the Athenaeum carries
replies from the Editor, the publisher of the impugned volume, and from its compiler: AthCII.
1535, 28 Marchi
Lowic, Robert 1935. A histo!'y ofethllological theor),. N ew York: Farrar &: H.hinehart.
Marcus, George 1982. The as text. (Ann. Anthrop.). Palo Alto: Annual Rcvie\\'s,
Miller, Edward N. 197-+. That lIohle cahillet: ,1 history of the British ,\illselllll. Athens, Ohio: Olno Uni,.
Milman, Henry Hart 1829. History ortheJell's. London: J. Murr:n.
Morgan, L. H. 1904. A"cimt society (cd.) L. A. White. Camhridge, M,lss.: Belknap Press.
Nash, Dennison &: R. Wintrob 1\172. The emergence of self-consciousness in cthnograph\ Clirr.
Allthr,,!'. 13), 527-,P.
Rivers, William Halse Rivers 19 [3 J(eporrs "POll the pnsellt ([lllditioll alldjiltlln' lIeeds [l( the snellce o(
anthropology; presellted to the CaYliegie IIl5titlltion of DC. Washington: Gibson
Brothers Press.
Roscoe, John 19 I I. Tlte Bllgll/lda: llll awnlllt or their 1I,ltive cUSt(llllS alld hcliets. London: Macmillan.
Shepard, H.obert H. H. W. 19 . Liter"tlll'cfi)/' the Bant": a hrie(histOl')' lllld "fOre(,1St. Lovedak, Cape:
Lovedalc Press.
Schorer, Mark 1967. Technique as discovery. In Theory a{the nouel (cd.) Philip Stevick, New York:
Free Press.
Sinclair, Andrew 1<)77. The salJage: a history o{mislllldcrstallding. London: Weidenfcld & Nicolson.
Smith, Rev. Thornley 188 I. ,\twIGir of}. W, Appleyard, Wesleyml missionary ill South Ati'ica, etc.
London: Wesleyan Mission Society.
Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn 1863. Lectures 011 the history or the Jewish church. New York: Charles
Street, Brian V. 1975. The savage ill literature: representations of the 'primitille' society in Englishjiction,
1858-1920. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
Urry, James 1972. Notes and queries on anthropology and the development of field methods in
British anthropologv, 1870-1920. Proc. R. Anthmp. Imt. 1972; 45-56.
Vansina, J. 1979-80. Bantu in the crystal ball. History in Ajfira 6,287-333,7,293-325.
Vickery, John B. 1973. Literary impact of the Goldm Bough. Princeton:Univ. Press.
Walten, Rev. William 1885. Life and labours a{Robert ,";loffat. London: Walter Scott.
Whatley, Richard 1846. ElewCllts of,hfforic. (7th edn). Oxford: Univ. Press. [originally published in
1823; reprinted in 1963, by Southern University of Illinois Press, Carbondale, Illinois].
Willey, Basil 1949. Ninetccnth cmtury studies. New York: Columbia Univ. Press.
Wundt, Wilhelm 1916. Elements o/j()lk psychology: olltlines a{a history o{the dellelopmcllt of
mankind (trans.) E. L. Schaub. London: George Allen & Unwin.