Professions of Duplexity: A Prehistory of Ethical Codes in Anthropology Author(s): Peter Pels Source: Current Anthropology, Vol. 40, No.

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Current Anthropology Volume 40, Number 2, April 1999

1999 by The Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research. All rights reserved 0011-3204/99/4002-0002$3.00

Professions of Duplexity
A Prehistory of Ethical Codes in Anthropology1 by Peter Pels

This paper attempts to contextualize the renewed vigor with which ethical codes have been discussed in anthropology in the 1990s. It outlines, with four historical sketches set in chronological order, different ways in which morals have been conceptualized and institutionalized in anthropology. It argues that the history of professional anthropology has been marked by a tension between an Occidental discourse on ethical duplicity and a more specically anthropological epistemology of double identities. This has led to a situation of moral duplexity: an unintentional use of double standards in professional practice. An examination of the different ways in which this tension has worked out in different periods of the history of the discipline will show that the institutionalization of anthropological morals in the form of a code of ethical conduct is not only a very recent butin terms of professional aimsa fairly unusual strategy. The emphasis now seems to lie on negotiation with the people studied as well as the sponsors of anthropological research, and this move may make the institutionalization of anthropological morals in an ethical code obsolete. peter pels lectures at the Research Centre Religion and Society, University of Amsterdam (Oudezijds Achterburgwal 185, 1012 DK Amsterdam, The Netherlands), and is a research fellow of the Netherlands Foundation for the Advancement of Tropical Research. He has edited (with Lorraine Nencel) Constructing Knowledge: Authority and Critique in Social Science (London: Sage, 1991) and (with Oscar Salemink) Colonial Ethnographies (History and Anthropology 8 [1994]) and Colonial Subjects: Essays in the Practical History of Anthropology (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999) and is the author of A Politics of Presence: Contacts between Missionaries and Waluguru in Late Colonial Tanganyika (Chur: Harwood Academic Publishers, 1998). He is currently working on the anthropology and history of elections in late colonial Tanganyika and the history of the interconnections between anthropology and occultism in the 19th and 20th centuries. The present paper was submitted 28 i 98 and accepted 15 iv 98; the nal version reached the Editors ofce 21 vii 98. 1. This paper emerged from discussions about a new ethical code for the Dutch Association for Social and Cultural Sciences and the Dutch Association of Anthropologists. I thank the relevant committee of the former and the board of the latter for giving me the opportunity to clarify my ideas. An earlier version of the paper was presented at the workshop The Ethics and Politics of Anthropological Research: Changing Paradigms of the 4th Biennial Conference of the European Association of Social Anthropologists in Barcelona in July 1996; I thank the participants in that workshop, and especially Cris Shore, George Ulrich, and Marilyn Strathern, for many crucial suggestions that improved the present version of the

Ethical codes have recently reemerged as a fashionable topic for anthropological discussion. The American Anthropological Association discussed the adoption of a new code of ethics for its members in November 1995, the productive phase of one of the cycles of ethical discussion that it has experienced since the late 1960s.2 But whereas the AAAs ethical fervour has been a regular feature of the past 30 years, it has since the early 1990s spread to a number of anthropological associations for which ethical codes have not gured prominently on the professional agenda: the Association of Social Anthropologists in Britain and the Dutch Association of Anthropologists have contemplated revisions of their codes; Swedish anthropologists have been discussing the adoption of a newly drafted one; German ethnologists have decided not to adopt a code because it would stie their ethical discussions; the Danish development agency has commissioned research into the ethics of development research, including anthropology; and one French anthropological association has held a workshop to voice, among other things, its aversion to the U.S. model of ethical codes.3 Whence this resurgence of ethical self-consciousness among anthropologists? Recent ethical discussions clearly accompany shifts in the self-understanding of anthropologists and their position in society (FluehrLobban 1991), but they do not usually address the longterm history, social position, and self-understanding of anthropology. If history is invoked in discussing anthropological ethics, it does not often go beyond the Whiggish acknowledgment of early-20th-century precedents of the ethical consciousness of the 1960s or the identication of (neo)colonial anthropology as morally suspect. This may be a prophylactic against the uncertainties of questioning the anthropological self-image, for a historical approach would soon indicate that the present interest in ethical codes is only one way of institutionalizing moral standards and ethical guidelines in anthropology and a very recent and fairly unusual one at that. If the history of anthropology suggests alternative institutionalizations of anthropological morals, it becomes possible to question our present conduct in the eld of ethics, including the desire to have an ethical code. Hence my notion of a prehistory of ethical

paper. It was read and criticized by my colleagues at the Research Centre Religion and Society of the University of Amsterdam in their habitually thorough and painstaking fashion. I thank Dick Fox and four referees for CA for their comments. I wish to emphasize that they cannot be blamed for the papers imperfections. 2. The productive phases of these cycles were 1967 (Statement of Guidelines for Research), 1971 (Principles of Professional Responsibility), 1976 (Amendment of PPR), 1985 (draft of new code), 1990 (revised PPR), 1995 (draft of new code); 1998 (Code of Ethics of the American Anthropological Association); ethical dilemmas were the main theme of the AAA Newsletter in 1996. 3. I thank many colleagues in European departments of anthropology for providing me with this information. I do not (yet) have sufcient information on the salience of the issue outside Europe and North America.

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codes in anthropologyalthough I stress that it is a prehistory, an interpretation based on a necessarily incomplete genealogy of anthropological morals. Having an ethical code is a necessity in the folk epistemology of professionalism, an epistemology widely shared by anthropologists. This folk epistemology is a product of the interwar period, when the rise of the academic expert was accompanied by social scientic attempts to identify the public service of a professional intelligentsia (Carr-Saunders and Wilson 1933:394) and its relative autonomy from class interests (Mannheim 1936:137). In this professional ideology, ethical codes are meant to ensure the competence and honour of the professional, that is, to help discipline the members of the profession so that its clients can trust the technical and moral quality of the service rendered (Carr-Saunders and Wilson 1933:302, 394; Taeusch 1933:472). This folk epistemology of autonomous corporate professions ensuring their public service has been called into ques tion by studies of internecine warfare (Bucher and Strauss 1961), conspiracies against the laity and commercialization (G. B. Shaw and C. Wright Mills, quoted in Johnson 1973:128), and the loss of professional autonomy (Freidson 1984). In contrast to this folk epistemology, Anglo-Saxon anthropology adopted a rather peculiar trajectory of professionalization. In accordance with 1930s professional folk epistemology, it strove to dene itself in terms of technical and public service rendered to colonial administration (Malinowski 1929, Wilson 1940), but after World War II a vision of anthropology became dominant that identied this service as foreign to it (Evans-Pritchard 1946). The professional ideology of service was marginalized as application in the self-image of the anthropological profession, and while both pure and applied academics were thought to be legitimately professional, extra-academic employment made one a no longer anthropologist (Wright 1995:6667), as if one were to exclude general practitioners from the medical or legal profession because they are practitioners.4 There is therefore reason to question the assumption that anthropology needs an ethical code for the same reasons that other professions say they do. Furthermore, our ethical discussion must go beyond that of the necessity for or adoption of an ethical code to inquire into the different morals of pre- and postwar, or colonial and postcolonial, anthropologys attempts to establish its academic and professional status. Given the support which anthropologists promised to colonial administration, such an inquiry inevitably ends up questioning the moral standards of European civilizing missions in general. It has become standard practice to unmask the moral standards that were crucial in legitimating both colonial rule and the anthropological profession as the surface hypocrisy of European expansionist desires and private interests. This oscillation between the no4. This odd strategy was rst pointed out to me by Oscar Salemink; see also Nadel (1946:187) and Pels and Salemink (1999).

tion of morality as a set of universal and impersonal standards and the critical awareness that these standards are used duplicitously to serve some particular interest is, as Alasdair MacIntyre has argued (1984), characteristic of Occidental talk about morality. I shall try to avoid this oscillation: one cannot merely discuss the morality of anthropology in terms of a set of moral standards and its subsequent betrayal by particular interestsin short, in terms of a duplicity of which anthropologists can be declared guilty. Instead, I want to argue that since the late 19th century anthropologys epistemological commitment to cultural difference has made its morals essentially duplex: without duplicitous intention or moral corruption, anthropologists cannot but adopt double standards. This inquiry into the ethical duplexity of anthropology takes off from a discussion of how the duplicity characteristic of Occidental moral discourseits oscillation between ethics and politicsis complicated and fragmented by the morality of the idea of scientic truth. This sets the scene for a discussion of this triangular interaction of moral value, truth value, and political expediency in different situations in the history of Anglo-Saxon, predominantly British, anthropology. I discuss one form of this tension by zooming in on the humanitarianism and naturalism of the ethnology emerging in London in the rst half of the 19th century. I go on to highlight the way in which some early theorists of ethnographic eldworkBritish anthropologists and colonial administrators around the turn of the centuryadded an epistemological doubling of identity that could not be reduced to Occidental moral hierarchies of means and ends. This epistemological doubling was also crucial to the so-called value-free anthropology of the subsequent period of British functionalist professionalization, here concentrating on the capacity to represent otherness rather than on the skills needed to intervene in other societies. I continue by pointing out the uniqueness of the period of the emergence of ethical codes in Anglo-Saxon anthropology in the late 1960s and early 1970s and the accompanying morality of academic representation. In conclusion, I discuss the alternative moralities of intervention and representation as they present themselves to a reinvented anthropology and wonder about the relevance of professional codes as anthropology enters the 21st century.

Occidental Morality, Ethical Duplicity, and Scientic Truth

What kind of cultural politics is practised by the invocation of ethics, and how does it relate to scientic truth? In one sense, ethics are predicated on the denial of cultural politics, since an appeal to impersonal standards, whether in terms of rights or of duties, presupposes a realm beyond the immediate relationship between speaker and hearer (MacIntyre 1984:9). Thus, it creates

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a third party in the conversation that remains untouched by its cultural and historical contingency and particularity, its personal interests and confrontation of wills. Ethics, taken in this sense of an autonomous authority over and beyond the parties interested, is constitutive of Occidentalism, the image that hegemonic sectors of Western culture have fashioned of themselves for themselves (see Carrier 1995). Crucial to this selfimage is its claim to be able to generate standards that are not culturally specic or politically partisan but founded on universal human nature. From the 18th century onward, natural rights or human rights have represented the epitome of human (read : Western) ethical consciousness, despite the consistent failure of philosophers to provide this ction with an ontological foundation (Dworkin 1976:81; MacIntyre 1984:6970)5 Of course, that rights, duties, and other moral constructs are culture-specic and ctional does not mean that they are not useful. But the use of ethicsaccording to another Western theory deeply embedded in everyday lifeis necessarily irrational and arbitrary, since the only things that we can rationally justify are means, not ends. In this emotivist theory (MacIntyre 1984:1112 and passim), ethics, with its impossible conceit of impartiality, only masks politicsthe struggles between culturally specic and historically embedded interests. Thus, we might say that the cultural politics of modern ethics is built around the discursive oscillation between the absolute denial of politics that is implied by ethical standards and the absolute afrmation of politics that the necessarily partial use of these ethical standards brings with it. MacIntyre has argued that this modern reduction of ethics to a simulacrum (1984:2) is partly the result of the break-up of the scheme of Aristotelian ethics. Aristotles ethics was based on the triad of an untutored humanity that had to be elevated by rational ethical standards to a realization of its potential essence. When Protestantism and Jansenist Catholicism denied the capacity of reason to know the third elementthe divinely ordained human essence and potentialthe scheme was reduced to the rst two: untutored humanity and ethical standards. But these were meant to be discrepant with each other, and since they were no longer mediated and grounded by a notion of attainable and knowable human essence each assumed absolute status. Thus, untutored humanity and the standards of its moral guidance emerged in permanent opposition to each other (p. 55). This loss of the Aristotelian third term was, however, experienced and described as a gain: the liberation of humanity from traditional fetters and its arrival at a free moral agency on the basis of natural knowledge (1984:60). Freed from Aristotles denition of mans proper telos, human beings came to be thought
5. Alasdair MacIntyre has argued that rights, like unicorns and witches, may exist, but we have no good reason for believing that they do (1984:69). Of course, that depends on how one denes a witch.

of as individuals prior to and apart from such roles (p. 59).6 But such autonomous individuals have no self-evident function (or framework [Taylor 1989:16]). Their self-representation as morally responsible persons always raises the possibility that the ethical standards they present are not the relevant ones and that they are concealing their personal wishes and interests under an arbitrary cloak of impersonal rights and duties. Thus, Western ethics discourse is suffused not only with notions of rights, responsibility, and individual freedom but also with notions of protest (against illegitimate arrogations of rights) and unmasking (of false ethical frameworks and identities [MacIntyre 1984:68]). Occidental folk theories presuppose, on the one hand, an ethics that denies politics and, on the other, political interests that will always turn ethical judgments into their mask. These theories are therefore always about duplicity. However, one can turn this assessment on its head: instead of emphasizing how ethics and politics deny each other one can pragmatically and strategically make use of the peculiar interdependence of ethics and politics and recognize that while the former is a means of escaping from the contingencies of the latter, even this escape is impossible without incorporating political contingencies into the process of ethical judgment. While ethical standards aspire to transcendence, they can only be judged contingently, in political context.7 For example, if the company that employs an anthropologist asks that the results of the research she is conducting be kept condential, she can appeal to her professional code and say that an anthropologist is not supposed to consent to a secrecy clause. In this way, she subjects the company to the collective coercion of the impersonal standards of her moral community.8 Thus, her escape to a moral high ground requires that the politics of employer versus employee give way to the politics of professional versus client. The client may, of course, reject the professional service offered (for you, ten others without a secrecy clause!) and thereby return the political issue to the employer-employee nexus. Here, ethics works as a strategy for shifting ones political goalprovided that the potential subject cooperates. When the subject does cooperate, the ethical standards employed become more than just a political strategy; they turn into an intersubjectively validated legitimation of certain political actions.
6. This is the sense in which I understand MacIntyres argument that standards of ethics became simulacra (that is, copies without an original, or truth that hides the fact that there is none [Baudrillard 1994:1]): they refer to the lost original of the divinely ordained, functional essence of man. I cannot go into the social side of this process here, but Taylors argument that rights and duties are looked upon as quasi-possessions (1989:11) suggests interesting relations between ethical discourse and bourgeois notions of property and identity (Rouse 1995). 7. This is a commonplace of processual approaches in legal anthropology, pioneered by Malinowski (1972 [1926]) and revived by, among others, Comaroff and Roberts (1981) and Moore (1978). 8. This example is drawn from the experience of a colleague.

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Thus, the ethical escape from politics requires politics. Conversely, politics depends for its legitimacy on an ethical escape from itself. But what Jacques Derrida would call a supplementary relationship between ethics and politics is in anthropology still more complex because it is mixed up with claims about truth, openness, and objectivity that are grounded scientically. On the one hand, science occupies a specic place in Western morality, since it is the locus of production of the naturalist temper that denies the rational possibility of ethical frameworks and moral ontologies (Taylor 1989:9, 22). Steven Shapin has recently argued that there is a scientic rhetoric that opposes science to moral community. The trust and authority that ground moral community prevent the kind of unprejudiced individual investigation on which the image of scientic objectivity partly depends. Knowledge, this rhetoric implies, is the product of the sovereign individual confronting the world: reliance upon others produces error while doubt and distrust produce knowledge (Shapin 1994:1617). At the same time, scientic communication, however much it is warranted by pointing to individual empirical foundations, is impossible without trust: nothing recognizable as scientic knowledge would be possible were that knowledge actually to be individually sought and held (Shapin 1994:27). Truth is the great civility of granting the conditions in which others can colonize our minds and expecting the conditions which allow us to colonize theirs (p. 36). Scientic truth has emerged from a discourse on gentlemanly honesty. Truth has its own moral values. Truth, therefore, assumes a discursive position similar to that of ethics. It shares with ethics the need for individual responsibilityin the case of truth, a manifestation of doubt and distrust to establish the necessary lack of social prejudiceas well as the way in which, once realized, it overrules individual responsibility. Like ethical standards, truth is supposed to be immune to politics, but like ethics it is impossible without relying on political contingenciesnot just the community of trust envisaged by Shapin but, more important, the ways in which, in Foucaults phrase, truth is always an effect of power. But whereas ethics and truth (or value and fact) are almost congruent features of modern discourse, they are not the same. Established truth and established morals are always potentially at oddsa tension going back at least to Machiavelli. Nineteenth-century philosophies such as positivism and utilitarianism sought to replace the Aristotelian third category of human moral essence with the natural truths of utility and functionalityclaims that go back to the 18th century but have up to now failed to prove themselves except by ideological longevity (MacIntyre 1984:4748; Taylor 1989:2223). The Weberian opposition of fact and value is insufcient for understanding the position of Occidental ethics within the triad of truth, ethics, and politics. Truth and ethics are supposed to rule politics but are also always in danger of being unmasked as politically contingent. We can now

proceed to outline some of the historically specic forms this triad has taken in anthropology.

Advocacy: Truth as Value in the Protection of Aborigines

British ethnology emerged from moral concerns. After their successes in the early 1830s, the campaigners for the abolition of slavery transferred their attention to a corresponding effort to rescue and elevate the coloured races at large (Aborigines Protection Society [APS] 1838:7). A parliamentary select committee established to investigate the suffering of the aboriginal tribes of the British settlements resulted in the founding in 1837 of the Aborigines Protection Society, the immediate predecessor of the Ethnological Society of London (Curtin 1964:298303; Rainger 1980; Reining 1962; Stocking 1971). The aim of the Society was to assist in protecting the defenceless, and promoting the advancement of uncivilized Tribes (APS 1838:3). Interestingly enough, this practical aim was to be accomplished by research and its publication: by inquiry into the facts of aboriginal life and how it suffered under colonization and the collection and dissemination of these facts in a library, in a museum, and through the press (APS 1838: 9, 12, 24). The APS exemplied a typically 19th-century attitude of British reform: that truth or the facts provided by sciencewould convert the ignorant to the moral necessity of change. Natural sciences anti-conquest declared its innocence at the same time that it proclaimed its universal hegemony (Pratt 1992:7). Through phrenologys naturalizing of human social order and the moral individual, it became a powerful bourgeois ideology (Shapin 1979:59). In this case, truthscientic factwas thought to be both politically neutral and morally compelling. Truth was itself moral: fact was value. The APS asked that the due observation of Justice, and the protection of Rights be extended to the native inhabitants of British settlements (Buxton, quoted in Curtin 1964:299; APS 1838:89). Its moral community was humanity, its motto ab uno sanguine (cf. Motte 1840:1), and its audience the (British) nation, which was expected to be ashamed of its conduct as a colonizer (APS 1838:6; Motte 1840:5). It dened itself politically against the enterprising, avaricious and powerful (APS 1838:9) and in solidarity with those who were unable to resist their encroachment (Motte 1840:5). This solidarity was, however, qualied by the missionary intent of the APS, which clearly saw itself as paving the way for Christian conversion (APS 1838:6, 26). In practice, the political agenda of the APS should be seen in the light of the predominantly Nonconformist persuasion of its members, whose decades of participation in campaigns for radical reform must have made them suspicious of the powerful. Whatever the practical politics, however, the moral community dened by the pro-

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tectors of aborigines (the one blood of humanity) was something that only their own political community was sufciently conscious of. According to the APS, both the powerful and the powerless needed to be missionized, although the former more about the latter than vice versa. This emphasis on advocacythe APSs representation of, or speaking for, the aborigines to a national audiencewas to become more and more autonomous from the work of protection as such. One of the APS committee members, William Edwards, started the rst Ethnological Society in Paris in 1839 (APS 1839a:25), while in England James Cowles Prichard began the plea for ethnology at the British Association in the same year (APS 1839b:99). The Ethnological Society of London was organized by two founding members of the APS (Thomas Hodgkin and Richard King) in 184243, the year that the APS regretfully shifted its emphasis from protecting the defenceless to recording their history (APS 1842:3, 5). But although the shift from APS to ESL increasingly foregrounded the representation rather than the protection of aborigines, the ethnologists did not abandon the APSs moral sentiments (Rainger 1980). One of the founders of both societies noted that the ethnologists split off because of the more exclusive adherence to . . . benevolent objects of the APS (King 1850:15, emphasis mine). Referring in passing to existing political differences as to the means of preserving existing nations, he argued that ethnology should lose no time in obtaining much more extensive information than we now possess of their physical and moral characters (King 1850:13). Thus, politically abstemious salvage ethnology emerged directly from the APSs humanitarian concerns and operated through the same medium: the dissemination of knowledge (Hodgkin 1848:4243, 45). In some colonial circles, the requirement to salvage the knowledge of such uncivilized races was joined to the advocacy of their interests, particularly when this concerned the defence of the aborigines of India against usurping Hindus (Pels 1999). But the protectors of aborigines and the London ethnologists did not advocate the interests of the people studied except in the latters capacity as the (to be) converted. Both the APS and the ESL conceived of their objects as temporal beings subject to missionary intervention. Therefore, they dened them in terms of conversion: as possessing a past to be studied and salvaged and a present and future in which they would be turned into religiously and/or secularly civilized beings (Van der Veer 1995a). The negative community of the past and the moral community of the future (the one blood) were dened to identify the missionary as legitimate spokesman for both. The APS and the ESL thereby established a triad of missionary ethnographer, subject aborigines, and responsible powers. The shift from the explicit advocacy of aboriginal rights of the APS to the emphasis on ethnographic representation of the ESL did not change that scheme of intervention.

In a recent discussion of anthropological advocacy, Kirsten Hastrup and Peter Elsass argue that advocacy is incompatible with anthropology in that it implies stepping outside of the anthropological profession into an essentially moral discourse involving choices of interests that cannot be ethnographically legitimated. This moral discourse is one of responsibility by advocacy (speaking for), which implies the use of knowledge for immediately present, interested individuals who are thereby construed as clients. Anthropology, in contrast, is legitimated by the creation of knowledge through the representation of an absent other (1990: 3023). Hastrup and Elsass offer as an example their decision not to respond to a request for help from members of an ethnic group that they found was a divided polity. The choice of one of the factions interests would have produced divided truths that threatened the credibility of anthropology (pp. 301, 307). This is because anthropology is concerned with context rather than interests; the duty to present the entire context prevents any rational identication with the interests of a selected group. Instead, what is required of the anthropologist as scholar is to show such internal division and to raise the context awareness of the people themselves so that they may eventually become better equipped to plead their own cause (p. 306). At rst glance this seems to put advocacy rmly on the value side of the Weberian divide and anthropological context-awareness in the realm of fact. However, this opposition of fact and value obscures the morals of factuality. The propositions of Hastrup and Elsass differ from the advocacy propagated by 19th-century ethnologists in excluding the third partythe powers that be from moral consideration and locating the relevant ethical discussion in the dyad of ethnographer and people represented (their clients). Moreover, whether the interests of the group concerned are morally defensible is made conditional on their ethnic unity. Given a united polity, an anthropologist may feel obliged to represent its interests. This requirement of unity raises all kinds of questions about the essentialization of cultures or people studied that I do not want to go into here. More important is that this anthropology is moral, too, but dened by the exclusion of the powers that be from the triad that was characteristic of the early ethnologists ethics of intervention and its restriction to the dyadic relationship of representation between anthropologists and people represented. This denition is, as we shall see, characteristic of much 20th-century anthropology, and it is very similar toand perhaps remotely modelled onideas about what a proper profession should do to serve its clients. But if the professional aim is to help the people represented to become better equipped to plead their own cause by raising their context awareness, it becomes apparent that in this more recent approach the facts are still as morally compelling as the ones the early ethnologists presented and still serve a kind of mission. What the early-19th-century approach has in common

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with the late-20th-century one is the reduction of the issue to a single hierarchy of values. What separates the two approaches is the fact that the early-19th-century ethnologists advocacy emphasized truths of similarityof oppression and deprivation as dened by shared human rightsmore than truths of cultural difference. In the early 19th century the latter were construed as a past that aborigines had to be converted from, but today anthropology thrives on them. Before we can understand how the moral community of the interventionist civilizing mission has been replaced by that of the representers-cum-represented, we must rst investigate how the apparently straightforward moral hierarchy of truths of similarity was complicated by the epistemological duplexity of colonial anthropology.

The Dual Mandate and the Epistemological Duplexity of Ethnographic Fieldwork

In 1922, Frederick Lugard set out the duties of a 20thcentury colonizing power as a balance between material and moral obligations (1965 [1923]:58). The moral ones were directed to the subject races in particular, and encompassed the training of native rulers; the delegation to them of such responsibility as they are t to exercise; the constitution of Courts of Justice free from corruption and accessible to all; the adoption of a system of education which will assist progress without creating false ideals; the institution of free labour and of a just system of taxation; the protection of the peasant from oppression, and the preservation of their rights in land, &c. At the time, this sense of moral obligation was widespread among European colonial powers and often centred on paternalist notions of imperial trusteeship. In France it went under the name of mission civilisatrice, in the Netherlands under that of ethical policy. It generally combined an explicit commitment to native interests with an equally explicit denition of these interests in terms of modernization on Occidental terms. Dutch ethical policy combined paternalist control and political emancipation, concentrating on both military pacication and indigenous education.9 The duality of the colonial mandate can be read as an explicit and pragmatic recognition of the duplicity of Occidental moral discourse. It is easy to unmask the ethical policies of colonialism by referring to their practical politics: in the Dutch case, an ethical colonial policy was partly a politics of
9. See Locher-Scholten (1981:176208). On Bali, the denition of native interests meant the elimination of aristocratic control in favour of peasant village republics (Schulte Nordholt 1994:92, 95; Wiener 1995:256), recalling the early-19th-century British Indian policy of Bird and Thomasons revenue settlement school (Penner 1986) by which Lugard was inspired.

weakness in the face of British jingoism or French and German chauvinism, for if one could not actually beat the imperialist competitor one might at least set an ethical example for him (Locher-Scholten 1981:197). In British circles, colonial administrators had long resisted commercial powers by juxtaposing an image of impeccable administrative integrity to the base utilities of mercantile thought. Indeed, the late 19th and early 20th century often legitimated power in terms of the white mans burden, in which considerations of natural utility or laissez-faire were attacked from the standpoint of more elevated sensibilities, just as defenders of the former found ways to unmask the latter. Yet the duality of colonial rule was more complicated than a simple afrmation or betrayal of a set of moral values. One can see this at work in Lugards moral obligations: one trains native rulers, stopping short of giving them the responsibility one takes on oneself; one provides education but not false ideals, that is, of an education equal to the European; one protects the peasant from oppression except by free labour and taxation. Once Europeans engaged in the denition of native interests or forms of rule, they necessarily became immersed in paradox (Pels 1996). The seemingly simple formulation of the dual mandate hid a more complex entanglement, and, to make matters even more difcult, anthropology was intimately involved in producing such denitions. A major spokesman for the Dutch ethical policy was Christiaan Snouck Hurgronje (18571936), Orientalist, colonial administrator, and professor at the University of Leiden (in that order), and his career exemplies the problematic of colonial anthropological duplicity. Snouck was motivated by a reformed, modern Christian theology that did not distinguish between religions except for the more elevated ethical content of Christianity, in particular its concept of neighbourly love (Van der Veer 1995b:17374). As a professor he was the shining sun in the Leiden universe (Fasseur 1993: 389), and as a statesman, scholar, and prophet he ranked far above his contemporaries (Benda 1958:2031). His scholarly expertise was at least partly built up at the request of a government anxious to counter the threat of pan-Islamism in the Dutch Indies (Van der Veer 1995b: 175), and he was accused of betraying the condence of his informants by engaging in counterinsurgency activities during the Acheh War (Wertheim 1972). Wertheims memoir juxtaposes the ethical and the imperialistic in Snoucks career (1972:321) and asks for a moral judgment by similarly juxtaposing his scientic status and anthropological eldwork (1972:323) to his activities as a military adviser and spy (1972:324, 328). Wertheims essay explicitly referred to the discussion that was going on in North American anthropology at the time about the use of anthropology as an instrument of counterinsurgency (1972:320), a discussion that had been a major driving force behind the formulation of the AAAs Principles of Professional Responsibility of 1971. As did inuential participants in that discussion (see, e.g., Berreman 1968, Wolf and Jorgensen

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1970), he opposed a scientic allegiance (which included the eldwork attitude required of the cultural anthropologist) to that of the colonial administrator to argue that the duplicity of posing as the former in the interest of the latter is morally inadmissible (Wertheim 1972:324). In such a Whiggish framing of the story, Snouck can be categorized with mid-Victorian predecessors such as Richard Burton and the latters friend Francis Galton (Burton 1964 [1893]; Fancher 1983:74), who also had few qualms about dissimulation to the natives. This framing distinguishes Snouck as a spy from more ethically modern contemporaries such as Franz Boas and Northcote Thomas, who refused to let anthropology be tainted by espionage or the betrayal of informants condence. But how successful was Wertheims strategy in purifying scientic eldwork? As Berreman (1962) has argued, impression management and the wearing of masks is part of any eldwork situation. This means that most anthropologists have experience with some form of double identity and forced conversion, if not as conscious betrayal then at least as instinctive survival. Susan Stewart has argued that the rhetorics of testimony, confession, and conversion and ethnographic description are similar (1994:56). The self-presentation of the convert describing his fall and redemption, achieving its authenticity by being a rsthand account (p. 57), is a production of authority basically similar to the autobiographical I have been there of the anthropologist reporting eldwork (Fabian 1983:8797). In a sense, the anthropologist poses as someone wanting to be converted to a native audience during eldwork and as someone who has been converted (but, perhaps, has returned to normal ways) when reporting on this eldwork to the audience back home. This doubling of identity is not restricted to the written eldwork report. As any anthropologist who has done eldwork knows, an ethnographer usually confronts the suspicion of having motives ulterior to the immediate encounter with and learning from the people studied: without such motives most people nd it hard to understand why the researcher is paid or wants to spend money to have this experience (the ethnographers desire for an academic career is, of course, such an ulterior motive). This situation is further complicated by the fact that the academic reasons for the researchers choice of precisely this location for study are, to many of the people studied, equally incomprehensible. This sits uneasily with the presupposition that eldwork aims at making observers part of the other culture (Conklin 1968, Freilich 1970) or, more extreme, at their total immersion in it (Jules-Rosette 1978). Instead of speaking of an immersion of identity one might as well, or even better, say that identities are usually doubled and juxtaposed to each other, since for both the home and the eld audience the eldworker adds an other identity, one that may create doubts about the truth or sincerity of his self. Such doubling is also a feature of, even crucial to, ethnography. In our written reports the possessive past (Fabian 1983:94) of having

been there, converted to or immersed in another way of life, is the substitute for ethnographys incapacity to carry [its] appropriate contexts with [it] (Stewart 1994: 55). This absence of other than textual grounds for authenticity creates the opportunity for ethnographic betrayal and forgery (Fabian 1983:94); an ethnographer, in the eld or in writing, can always be suspected of fraud. Burton and Snouck illustrate two of the forms that this could take in early ethnography, disguise and (fake?) conversion. It is no coincidence that the moral worries of many early-20th-century anthropologists concerned anthropologists acting as spies. But as the dilemmas of recent anthropologists-turned-sorcerers-apprentices show, even when there is no suspicion of fraud going native usually implies going double (Stoller and Olkes 1987, van Binsbergen 1991, Van Dijk and Pels 1996). The duplicity of ethnographic authority has only recently become an issue for the ethics of ethnographic representation (see Clifford and Marcus 1986). In contrast to textual duplicity, however, the duplexity of eldwork has created problems throughout the history of anthropology. Early on, Burton was accused of betraying his character of a European gentleman, let alone that of a Christian, in disguising himself as a Muslim in order to enter Mecca (Burton 1964 [1893]: xxi). Like his betrayal of Achenese condence, Snoucks instrumental conversion to Islam for his trip to Mecca raised similar doubts about his identity (Van der Veer 1995b:176). It sometimes seems as if high imperial anthropologists were more explicitly concerned with the ethics of instrumentalizing identity during eldwork than their more professional successors. Especially between 1925 and 1960 (the era of the emergence of professional eldwork), duplicity was rarely explicitly problematized, and reection on the dilemmas of eldwork practice began only in the more reexive 1960s.10 During earlier attempts at anthropological professionalization, the methodology of contact was much more debated than between 1925 and 1960. The coalition of anthropologists and colonial administrators that, around 1900, wanted to institutionalize anthropological training for future colonizers emphasized tact and sympathy in dealing with native peoples. Derived from a discourse of colonial servants about the practical skills required to manage the colonized, this tact was now redened as intuitive anthropological knowledge (Pels 1994). The instrumental morality of late-19th-century eldwork required sympathy with natives for both the acquisition of knowledge and the peaceful administration of a district. This tact and sympathy bordered on makebelieve: the strategic quotation of a native proverb
10. See Berreman (1962), Conklin (1968), Freilich (1970), Spindler (1970). On the moral problems of the combination of establishing trust and publishing it as data, see Appell (1992:585) and Stoller and Olkes (1987:111). This ambiguity of instrumentalizing rapport is also brought out by the fact that the term derives (probably through psychoanalysis) from 19th-century discourse about the hypnotic power of the mesmerizer to bring his subjects into trance (Oxford English Dictionary, s.v.).

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(Temple 1914:67), the observation of the proper native etiquette (Haddon 1921:31), or, as Snouck advised his superiors during the Acheh War, paying lip-service to an apolitical Islam in order to counter one that seemed politically dangerous. But this was not simply a form of ethical duplicity, in which an ulterior end (order) was covered up by the means of presentation (sympathy). Early eldwork tact was more profound than just the idea of putting on a mask: it was thought to be a necessary doubling of the identity of the ethnographer (whether humble anthropologist or administrative overlord). This epistemological doubling of identity was not yet allowed to interfere with the hierarchy of values in fact, tact belonged to, and complicated, only the realm of means, not that of ends. But if the ends of the civilizing mission justied the means of their realization, anthropological intervention in an other society required a different means by a doubling of self and other. Tact and sympathy did not, in this period, supersede the hegemonic morality of the civilizing missions universal truths (such as order and peaceful administration), but they added moral truths of particularity and difference to the means necessary for their realization.

The Morals of Representation: Truth against Value in the Politics of Professionalization

Professional anthropology inherited this problematic combination of ethical and epistemological doubling. The process of anthropological professionalization can perhaps best be understood as a bet on the latter in the hope that the problems of the former would disappear. This bet took the form of a morality of representation: the argument that only a disinterested, noninterventionist attitude in the eld could reduce the duplexity of eldwork and lead to an adequate knowledge of the colonized. This morality of representation was fundamental to what has become the hallmark of 20th-century anthropology: cultural critique. This critique, based on the juxtaposition of truths of difference and particularity with Western, universal values of mental and social order and economy, was exemplied by the work of such architects of Anglo-Saxon professional anthropology as Mead and Malinowski. In Malinowskis work, the duplicity of this morality of representation lay in subordinating the presentation of such antiphonal knowledge to another major goal: transforming the anthropologist into a welfare expert serving the colonial state. This was possible only by excising the contact zone (Pratt 1992:6) of colonial intervention from accounts of professional conduct except where including it would set up the colonizer as a client of anthropological experts. Thus Malinowskis morality of representation was suspended between a cultural critique that sought to go beyond ethnocentric Western standards (Malinowski 1922:51718) and an instrumentality of indirect cultural control of native life (Mali-

nowski 1929:24) in the interests of rationalizing colonial administration (Malinowski 1930). The professionalization of British anthropology was made possible by the selection of functionalist anthropology at the London School of Economics as the proper recipient of Rockefeller Foundation funding, at the expense of other anthropological schools (Stocking 1985). This selection was made on the basis of the claim, made by the missionary Joseph Oldham, the former administrator Lord Lugard, and the anthropologist Malinowski, that functionalism would help prevent racial conict, particularly by endorsing and elaborating the British administrative doctrine known as indirect rule (see Malinowski 1929). Yet, at the same time, Rockefeller funding reduced the need to rely for support on the colonial establishment. Henceforth, LSE anthropology was free to claim professional scientic independence of the kinds of questions, research programmes, and intelligence that colonial administrations required. This shift in funding therefore perfectly tted the erasure of the colonial context in works such as Malinowskis Argonauts of the Western Pacic and Radcliffe-Browns The Andaman Islanders, both published in 1922, which dened the relevant social relationship of anthropology as a dyad of ethnographer and informants rather than a triad that also included colonial rule (Pels 1994, Tomas 1991). This was a move away from the previous generations emphasis on tact and sympathy, while at the same time adopting its ideas about intensive eldwork as necessary for understanding the native point of view. Instead of working with colonial ethnographers, Malinowski and Radcliffe-Brown denied them the capacity to do ethnographic research because of their inevitable bias (Malinowski 1922:5; Tomas 1991). After claiming this academic monopoly, Malinowski argued that only academic anthropologists could provide the adequate representations of the colonized so urgently needed by those who administered them (Malinowski 1929). This 1929 essay was a standard grant proposal (Cell 1989: n. 8) meant to convince the Rockefeller Foundation that functionalism was far more useful to colonial administration than other schools of anthropology. Anthropology dened itself in this respect as a technical service (Wilson 1940:46), in conformity with the professionalist ideals of social scientic welfare experts being developed at LSE at the time (by, among others, R. H. Tawney [Freidson 1984:23]). To this complex strategy another step was added by E. E. Evans-Pritchard after World War II. He emphasized that any practical service rendered by anthropologists should be subordinate to the academic detachment and scientic goals that distinguished pure anthropology from its application (Evans-Pritchard 1946). Thus, the morality of representation could work out in two different ways: as a commitment to practical relevance (which was dubbed applied anthropology) and as (pure) scientic detachment. Emphasizing the distinction between science and its application dened the

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ethnographer as an essentially academic creature, and in the same year that Evans-Pritchard published his manifesto of scientic purity that denition was made into a practical reality by the foundation of the Association of Social Anthropologists, from which the administrators, missionaries, and other nonacademics of the Royal Anthropological Institute were excluded. The ASAaccording to Edmund Leach, meant to prevent the Universities from employing unqualied refugees from the disappearing Colonial Service to teach applied anthropology (quoted in Wright 1995:67)united the largely amoral and apolitical followers of RadcliffeBrown (James 1973:66) and the more politically committed Malinowskians (see Nadel 1946; Kuklick 1991: 190). Morally speaking, the hegemonic image of pure science foregrounded the duty to truth and scientic development, although it afrmed the value of expert anthropological knowledge to colonial administration (Evans-Pritchard 1946). After World War II, applied anthropologists also emphasized the anthropologists academic autonomy in (re)formulating issues (Nadel 1946), probably because application had become derivative and secondary. The division of anthropology into a core of pure science and its derivative application was partly the result of the difculty of maintaining a fact/value distinction at another level. The critique that became anthropologys hallmark in the 20th century was based on alternative values that could be found in other cultures. Therefore, the facts which professional anthropology produced for colonial rulersits truths of cultural differencewere often values as well. Because this epistemological doubling produced a confusion of fact and value already at the empirical level, Malinowski and his pupils were rarely able to avoid encroaching on the administrative prerogative of formulating policy, even though they pretended simply to be delivering a technical service to the colonial administration. Malinowski taught administrators that indirect rule was the only possible policy for colonial administration (1929:24), which may have been logical from an anthropological point of view but cannot be said to endorse his separation of the political sphere from the merely analytical one of anthropology (p. 37). Likewise, Godfrey Wilsons manifesto of the value-free mapping by the anthropologist of the eld in which the administrator works can hardly conceal the fact that the eld is not just mapped but also dened by the anthropologist (see Wilson 1940:53). This desire of anthropologists to inuence policy was made explicit by Nadels postwar statement (1946). Malinowski and his students, pretending to provide only facts, came up with revaluations of policies as well. The distinction between fact and value informed both pure scientic academicism and value-neutral applied anthropology and was widely shared in AngloSaxon anthropology until the 1960s (see Fluehr -Lobban 1991:22). Then it was attacked for immorally denying political responsibility and failing to acknowledge that

value-free detachment implies a tacit endorsement of the status quo (Berreman 1968). However, both the distinction between fact and value and its critique were too simple. The anthropological habit of presenting the facts of alternative cultural valuations can be said to constitute a moral stance, even though (as in all Western ethics) this stance can be unmasked as a political strategy for making anthropology one of the academic disciplines that educate welfare and development experts. In presenting themselves as such experts, anthropologists withdrew epistemologically from the dyad between anthropologist and people represented, excising colonial ethnography from the construction of the facts of cultural difference. A number of colonial administrators saw this as a depreciation of their cultural expertise and reacted defensively (see e.g., Mitchell 1930); the Colonial Ofce waited with its recognition of anthropological expertise until after World War II (Richards 1977). Political neutralitywhich often implied a tacit adaptation of anthropological to colonial hierarchies of value and discourseswas the price for such support. If this version of anthropological truth harboured both a critique of Western values and a tacit compliance with them in the name of colonial efciency, the paradox also enabled anthropologists to adapt to the spirit of the age. Even though the hierarchies of value that were of most immediate importance for anthropologists survival were those of the colonial establishment and of the Western academy, the excision of colonial relationships from their self-conception as researchers made them exible enough to adapt to new political hierarchies. Withdrawing discursivelybut not practicallyfrom colonial relationships, anthropologists founded their professional autonomy on the capacity to play on alternative cultural competences and double identities. This epistemological doubling could in itself raise disturbing questions about loyalty and was partly countered by the value-free reduction of dissent from reigning colonial values. But this independence from the hierarchy of values of the colonial establishment could also carry the critical implication of a privileged understanding of anticolonial nationalist interests. That this was the result of an epistemological commitment rather than a political stance is evidenced by Malinowskis introduction to the future Kenyan president Jomo Kenyattas 1938 ethnography of his own people, the Kikuyu. Although it shows Malinowskis genuine interest in the cause of Bantu nationalism (cf. James 1973:61), it would be going too far to attribute this to any afnity between functionalism and Third World nationalism (Gjessing 1968:398), for both Malinowski and Kenyatta were exclusively addressing an audience of non-Africans and were anxious to present facts and truths objectively (Kenyatta 1965 [1938]:x, xviii).11 In other words, we are still, both in terms of politics and
11. In fact, functionalism seems to have been as congenial to the colonial policy of indirect rule (Cell 1989:n. 8) as it was to initiatives in the eld of African nationalism (Forster 1994).

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in terms of audience, some steps removed from the anthropological commitment of the 1960s, which identied the people studied as the primary beneciaries of the profession.

Commitment to the Represented: Truth as Value in the Emergence of Ethical Codes

Ethical codes arrived late in anthropology and played a negligible role in the professionalization of the discipline. The emergence of worries about anthropological duplicity long before these worries were codied in the 1960s and 1970s is to be explained by the desire to pro` duce or maintain professional autonomy vis-a-vis the governments by which anthropologists were employed. In 1914 Northcote Thomas, a student of Haddon and Rivers, refused to disclose the names of his Leopard Society informants to his employer, the Sierra Leonian colonial government (Kuklick 1978:103). In 1919 Boas condemned, in the name of science, anthropologists spying for the U.S. government in World War I (Stocking 1979:4243; 1982:273). In the early 1940s the moral of Malinowskis warning that anthropologists should not act as a spies or agents provocateurs was that they should equally study the motives, intentions, and ways of action of the European community (1945:61). Professional autonomy from research sponsors was also the motivation behind the rst codication of ethics: in 1948, the freedom of publication for ` anthropologists vis-a-vis, in this case, the government was put on paper (Fluehr-Lobban 1991:20, 23942; Jorgensen 1971:n. 2). Despite the practical involvement of anthropologists in the war effort, they soon returned to the value-freedom of pure science after 1945 (FluehrLobban 1991:22; Yans-McLaughlin 1986). There was little sign of a fusion of ethical and epistemological concerns until about 1965, when, especially in the U.S.A., anthropologists capacity to represent the interests of the people studied was increasingly identied as their foremost duty. The story of the emergence of the rst ethical code in the eld and its background in the protest against counterinsurgency research for the U.S. government in Latin America and Southeast Asia has been well told elsewhere (Fluehr-Lobban 1991:27). The turning point was the outrage over Project Camelot, the social scientic research project that supported the U.S. Defense Departments counterinsurgency programme in Latin America and had to be cancelled because of the protest (Fluehr-Lobban 1991:23). The signicance of this becomes apparent when we recapitulate what went before, in particular that the professionalization of anthropology was partly accomplished through the denition of a dyadic relationship between anthropologists and people studied, from which the colonial situation, its representatives, and its values had been erased. This dyadic relationship gave academics a monopoly on ethnography and created a measure of professional auton-

omy that turned colonizersthe foremost audience for anthropology apart from the academicsinto their clients. This academicism was not attacked by the critics of the 1960s. On the contrary, they took it as the basis from which to commit themselves to the people studied. This radicalized the ethics of representation: to lay the ghosts of ethical and epistemological duplicity, anthropologists committed themselves not to the values of colonizers but to the values of the people represented. This radical ethics of representation not only excluded administrators and missionaries from the epistemological relationship between anthropologist and people studied but also excluded them morally by dening them as a threat to the latter. The critique of value-free social science no longer simply said that objectivity was an illusory ideal that harmed anthropologys professional responsibility towards, among others, colonial administrators (as Nadel had argued in 1946) but emphasized that it could harm those studied (Berreman 1968). This turned the dyad of ethnographer and people studied into the most important relationship for anthropologists (Jorgensen 1971:321) and provided the basis on which one could think of those studied as clients (Hastrup and Elsass 1990:307). It spawned the rst article of the Principles of Professional Responsibility that the anthropologists paramount responsibility is to those he studies (Fluehr-Lobban 1991:247). This fear of third-party involvement in the dyadic relationship between anthropologist and informant can be related to the process of political decolonization, which was, at the time, still unnished. Franz Boass 1919 protest against anthropologists spying for the U.S. government in Mexico was motivated by his ties with the Mexican scientic establishment (to which his ambivalence about the war against Germany only added [Stocking 1982:274]): he feared that in consequence of their acts every nation will look with distrust upon the visiting foreign investigator who wants to do honest work, suspecting sinister designs (quoted in Woodbury 1993:31). Malinowskis warnings against anthropological duplicity and espionage were also made in the context of a newly arisen African nationalism (1945:6061), and his student Jomo Kenyatta made no secret of the fact that his anthropology was directed against the duplicity of Western pretenders to philanthropy who claimed to monopolise the ofce of interpreting [the Africans] mind and speaking for him (Kenyatta 1965 [1938]:xviii). Decolonization provided a context in which the duplicity of the West was commented upon by Third World leaders (Rabemananjara, quoted in Gjessing 1968:399) and anthropologists worried about the extent to which their work could be associated with it. The 1967 Beals committee complained that the international reputation of anthropologists had been damaged by anthropologists engaging in intelligence reporting (Woodbury 1993:32). The reputation of anthropology was indeed tarnished. Spokesmen and gatekeepers for the people studied associated anthropologists with colonial administration and

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Christian mission. Kwame Nkrumah was reported to possess a painting in which a colonial ofcial, a missionary, and an anthropologist ed before a black giant breaking its bonds (Verstraelen 1986). Native Americans viewed anthropologists as a curse (Deloria 1969: 83), and in independent Africa anthropology was nearly everywhere banned from the universities (Chilver 1977: 107). This suggests that anthropologists were afraid not just of the accusation of duplicity but also of the denial of admission to the eld by newly decolonized governments. Identication with the people studied and those who controlled access to them was further encouraged by anthropologists relatively autonomous academic position, which allowed them to voice their suspicion of their colonial or neocolonial home governments. Association with other colonial gures such as missionaries was rejected: from the 1960s onward the latter were redened as the quintessential colonizers and the mirror opposite of anthropologists, people who came to teach rather than to learn (see, e.g., Beidelman 1982:56, 16 n. 34). Of course, this redenition was possible only by belittling missionaries contribution to anthropology and reinforcing the amnesia about power inequalities in eldwork that was central to the image of a dyadic relationship between anthropologists and the people studied (Pels 1990:92). This denial of the political asymmetry of anthropological research by a morality of representation continued to inuence many of the dialogical experiments of the 1980s, often turning them into conversations with a scrubbed, disinfected interlocutor (Said 1989:210). However, even this reduction to the dyad of representer and represented could not do away with the problems of ethical and epistemological doubling. It is ironic that the Principles afrmation of anthropologists primary responsibility to the people studiedtriggered by the protest against U.S. Defense and CIA interference in such societieswas the rst article of the code of the American Anthropological Association. This implicit identication with a nation-state from whose policies one wants to dissociate oneself is the peculiar form of double standard or betrayalwhether betrayal of U.S. nationality by its anthropologists or of U.S. standards of freedom and democracy by its government that we encountered with Burton and Snouck. This duplexity may explain why anthropologists have not succeeded in coming up with an unambiguous formula for professionalization: if every profession has a sense of service and a code of ethics is required to ensure the quality of that service, then one has a problem with both the service and the ethics that protect it if it turns out to be impossible to determine unambiguously who the client is. Malinowski wanted to serve colonial administrators as well as Africans, even if the latter didnt know it yet; the anthropologists at the Rhodes-Livingstone Institute were practically caught on the horns of this dilemma (Schumaker 1997). The 1960s codiers wanted to serve the people studied, but one wonders how many ever actually engaged in such action research and what they did, in that case, to keep the particular

part of the U.S. government that paid their salaries happy. I suspect that for many anthropologists in the 1960s and 1970s academicism was an easy way out of this conundrum, and this became a problem when in the course of the 1970s the possibility of academic employment itself came under siege.

Representation, Intervention, and Negotiation

One can summarize these four periods of the history of anthropology as follows: rst, a morality which saw intervention among the to-be-converted on behalf of the morally superior as the end of the ethnological endeavour; second, a morality which saw intervention in other societies as necessary and ethnology as the means to do it in a morally justiable way; third, a morality that opposed the disinterested representations of other societies by professional anthropologists to interventions by the powers that be among the colonized and said that the latter could not be efcient except by means of such representations; and fourth, an ethics that dened intervention among the people studied as unethical except when based on the anthropologists representations of their interests. Intervention as moral end, intervention as efcient means, representation as efcient means, representation as moral end: phrasing the sequence in this way raises the question whether the 21st century will witness a return of anthropology to an earlier combination of intervention, representation, morality, or expediency or whether other factors will help to produce something novel. Some of the 1960s proponents of the radical ethics of representation fear a neoliberal return to an immoral and instrumental interventionism. Gerald Berreman perceived, in the 1980s, an attempt to erase from the Principles the paramount responsibility of anthropologists to the people they studied, the censuring of secret and clandestine research, and the unambiguous commitment to public duty rather than private interest. He classied this as Reaganethics (1991:59). One may not share Berremans assessment of the novel anthropological attitude in terms of the perversity of realpolitik, greed, and self-interest; it seems a typical Occidental folk-ethical way of unmasking the duplicity of others ethical standards. However, it is less easy to dismiss his argument that a change in career and employment opportunities in anthropology had led to a renewed emphasis on value-free efciency for the sake of free-enterprise research, which conicted with the political and public commitment to the interests of the people studied of the 1960s and 1970s. From the late 1970s on, academic employment opportunities steadily dwindled in the U.S.A. and Britain (Goldschmidt 1979: 8; Wright 1995:68, 89 n. 4). New employment circumstances, increasingly in a private interest, reduced the ` independence of the researcher vis-a-vis the research sponsor. Professional autonomy could no longer be for-

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mulated in terms of the paramount responsibility to the people studiedone might even wonder whether anthropology in the private interest did not lose the slight autonomy it possessed (a fate that, perhaps, threatens all professions [see Freidson 1984]). For Berreman, this loss of autonomy was apparent in the attempt to do away with the rst article of the Principles identifying anthropologists paramount responsibility as being to the people studied. It seemed to legitimate a novel era of intervention, this time in the interests of the new private employers of anthropologists. However, one can also interpret the ethical selfconsciousness of the 1980s in terms of resistance to a generation of anthropologists who, safely entrenched in academic jobs, poured scorn on the practical application of anthropology. I think that I have shown that the priestly concerns with the noble pursuit of truth (Goldschmidt 1979:1) which Berremans generation saw embodied in the rst article of the Principles simplied a much more complex struggle for professionalism and academic employment. Paradoxically, historical research into the interventionist anthropology against which the generation of Berreman militated shows that it also could call on the paramountcy of the interests of the people studied.12 Moreover, the critical politics of truth advocated by Berreman sometimes required, in the case of studying up, that the interests of the people studied be questioned rather than defended.13 The loss of relevance of the rst article of the Principles in the 1980s therefore indicated not merely a Reaganethical rejection of public responsibility but also the partial success of historically reexive anthropology and the allied practice of studying up, in short, of the reinvention of anthropology that Berremans generation had called for (Hymes 1974). Both the study of (neo)colonial anthropology and the exigencies of studying up indicate an unexpected confusion of intervention and representation: what were once unquestioned elements of the ethics of representation (truth, respect, rapport) have, in many cases, been redened as discursive strategies, studied by anthropologists for the way in which they help constitute (neo)colonial regimes. Studying the policy-makers, their organizations, and their political cultures implies that the formerly tacit identication of the anthropologists object and the policy-makers project is no longer a self-evident form of cultural politics (Wright 1995:84). Historical research has made clear that the notion of
12. For example, one anthropologist whose research was funded by a program despised by Berreman (1968:392) for its link to the CIA may have supported counterinsurgency tactics against the ethnic Vietnamese because of his commitment to the interests of the Vietnamese Montagnards (Salemink 1991:276). 13. Anthropologists studying the policy-making of the European Council have found the rst article of the Principles problematic (Cris Shore, personal communication). Conversely, it may actively work against the interests of the people studied, as in a recent case in which a court interpreted it as disqualifying anthropological testimony by dening this testimony as subjective and partisan (Daly and Mills 1993).

culture was itself part and product of colonial domination (Dirks 1992:5) just as it has become a tool of management (Wright 1995:83), and the discourse of representation turns out to have united the languages of colonial policy and anthropology (Mitchell 1991). Including the study of the representations of the powerful (including anthropologists) in the denition of anthropological research is a signicant departure from the previous politics of anthropology, since it makes an ethics of representation situated in the dyad between anthropologists and people studied impossible. Instead, anthropology is resituated in a triadic relationship, suspended between the powers that be and their subjects (Wright 1995:88). And this is, of course, only recognizing explicitly what has always been the case, even in the 1960s and 1970s and regardless of political stance. However, it may be that major changes are taking place in this relationship. As I have already indicated, there has been a partial shift of employment opportunities of anthropologists from public service to private enterprise, creating a business anthropology and fears that anthropologists may be reduced to marketers or advertising agents. There is a veritable global explosion of culture, the concept that has summarized much of the expertise of anthropologists, into the most widely differing realms of life, leaving many anthropologists panting to keep up with it. This may itself be a cause of an apparent loss of authority of the anthropological expert: people now feel capable of determining their own culture. Anthropology seems to have lost its selfevident position in the established hierarchies of value that determined forms of intervention or representation. Nowadays, whether in negotiating access and political stance with newly vocal subjects of study (Albert 1997), in discussing terms of reference of a contract with businesses or nongovernmental organizations, or in defending anthropologys relevance and value against the auditors of the states funding agencies (Power 1994), anthropologists seem not so much to intervene or represent as to negotiate. This emphasis on negotiation also emerges from recent initiatives to study through policy, that is, not merely to study up but to try to improve a practical situation by negotiating with both the people governed and the policy-makers (Wright 1995). The identication of anthropological truths of cultural difference with the truths of subject peoples (as they were called by the early professionalizing anthropologists [Rivers 1917]) is no longer possible when the representations of colonial and postcolonial policy-making are dened as part of and subject to anthropological expertise. This simultaneous recognition of and departure from the anthropologists previous position as (colonial) welfare expert caring for the underprivileged citizens of the world goes hand in hand with the changing position of such experts under the inuence of the neoliberal turn to market relationships. Anthropologists may have to sell, market, and audit their expertise more and more through such neoliberal channels. Whether this results in a neoliberal

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pragmatics of employment or a novel denition of anthropological professionalism, it seems to indicate changes in the direction of an anthropological ethics of public relations or negotiation. I suspect that such changes in the institutionalization of anthropological ethics will make ethical codes for anthropological associations obsolete.

Beyond Codes?
It should be evident from the preceding sketch that the institutionalization of anthropological morals in a written code is by no means necessary. During the years in which ethnology was emerging, morality was institutionalized in the publication of the facts of oppression and the advocacy of the right of aborigines to humane and equal treatment. Its mode of operation was the critique we still associate with the Enlightenment commitment to truth and justice. In high imperial anthropology, morality was to be embodied in the practical knowledge of eldwork, the tact and sympathy that romantically promised a methodical and morally controlled going native. (However, its epistemological duplicity made it an unstable morality at best.) During the professionalization of anthropology, morality had to be reduced to the pursuit of the adequate representation of otherness in order to achieve an academic autonomy that, although often posing as value-free, was also determined by the attempt to attain the governmental position of welfare expert. This difference between a spuriously independent value-freedom and the moral autonomy of commitment was recognized during the fourth period, when the latter morality was institutionalized in a written code that dened the people studied as the anthropologists foremost clients. Of course, the different versions of our codes constitute a valuable and useful collection of anthropologys ethical standards. But is their status as a written code for professional conduct adequate for our times? As I indicated at the beginning, ethical codes are supposed to guarantee the technical and moral quality of the service rendered to clients, helping to discipline the members of the profession; this is why they are written, since this discipline operates quasi-legally, in combination with the sanctions that the professional association can administer. According to these criteria, the ethical code of anthropologists is almost useless: in contrast to other professions, anthropology cannot promise its clients condentiality, and this makes it powerless to guarantee the basic moral quality of its service (Givens 1993). It possesses several codes of ethics, written and revised by a small number of people and little studied or used as intended (Fluehr-Lobban 1993:1). Even worse, a Dutch anthropologist who is challenged for his conduct by ofcials in the country of his research may be held responsible to his own national code, to the research strictures of the country in question, and, if also a member of the AAA, to the strictures of the Principles

of Professional Responsibilityand there is no saying which is paramount. Anthropological associations such as the AAA lack the authority to punish members for ethical infractions; AAA members are not required to subscribe to the principles (Skomal 1993, Levy 1993). In fact, the AAA Ethics Committee was mostly used as a forum for airing scholarly differences (Levy 1993). If anthropologists want a code for traditional professional reasons, it will work only in the utopian situation in which there is an international association of anthropologists whose members subscribe to a single set of ethical strictures and denition of service and empower this association to license bonade practitioners and to sanction infractions. To this one may object that an ethical code serves functions other than the traditional professional ones. One of the reasons for the most recent redrafting of the AAA code of ethics was its purported educational function, but in my view a set of ethical guidelines is unnecessary for and may even hinder the teaching of anthropological ethics. As George Appell has argued, a code of ethics is inert knowledge that lacks the concrete problematic of a decision-making context. Therefore, it fails to train students in choices between several potentially conicting principles and to teach the skills required for ethical conduct. A case method of instruction is far more appropriate (Appell 1978:35). Concrete examples familiar from the ethnographic confessional literature have the additional advantage of making anthropology more accessible to students than lists of moral guidelines or abstruse manifestoes such as this one. In my experience, nothing invites students into anthropological discussion more than an ethical dilemma: it provides them with a language of critique and an immediate point of application of this language (the instructor) and thereby breaks up the often hermetic power of professional expertise. Codes, in contrast, reinforce this esoteric inaccessibility, for who knows what an article means outside of a context of application? This does not mean that the codes we have already formulated are useless. On the contrary, if one can only teach ethical decision-making by the concrete example of an ethical dilemma, then one good way to teach the place of ethical discussion in anthropology may be to study an existing collection of codes of anthropological conduct as historical facts, texts produced at certain times and places, indicators of specic historical practices and their corresponding mentalities, much as I have tried to do in this paper with anthropological morals in general.14 For ethical guidance of students there is no need to produce new drafts of rulesit may even be harmful. Such a historical study may reveal the different points, periods, and places of application of the three main functions of ethical discussion in anthropology that the preceding historical sketches have listed: the critical intervention in discussions affected by an14. I thank Cris Shore for telling me how he rst used this method in teaching ethics in anthropology.

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thropologys presentation of facts, the education of practitioners and nonpractitioners in proper attitudes and behavior towards cultural differences, and the guaranteeing of standards of adequate representation of societies perceived as culturally different. The rst characterized the emergence of ethnology, the second became prevalent under imperialism, and the third characterizes the late colonial period, but all are still relevant today. Since all three arose before there was any idea of codifying them, it is apparent that none of them needs codication as such: they simply need to be part of our academic training. In fact, an anthropological code of ethics was and is largely meant to create an image of the discipline for those outside it (which is at least partly what is meant by a profession). The only eld, therefore, in which I feel a written code of conduct might still be of value is in representing anthropologists to the outside world, especially to the new sponsors that expect a certain service and can dictate the terms of employmentthis is the public relations function of an ethical code. Yet it is precisely at this point that the recent discussions about anthropological ethics show the greatest divergence of opinion between pure academics who feel that service should be explicitly rendered to the people studied and applied or practising anthropologists who are afraid that commitment to the people studied will prejudice their job chances. This is the present form of the fundamental duplexity that since the high imperial period has characterized the formulation of the service that anthropologists can deliver. Anthropologists have wavered, in dening their professional interests and duties, between responsibility to the people studied and service to the authorities under whose jurisdiction these people fall. This permutation of the dual mandate has prevented any unambiguous formulation of anthropological service up to now and will continue to do so for all anthropological ethics based on ethnography. If ethnography professes, it does so in duplexity. This may explain why an anthropological code of ethics has rarely gone beyond a declaration of intent by a small group of academics. It cannot attain the consistency required of a code of ethics that can serve to discipline a profession. In a recent reection on the ethics of anthropological eldwork, Alasdair MacIntyre has argued that practical relativism corrupts . . . morally because it runs against the unqualied prohibition of any assimilation to or identication with others and with the culture of others that violates or even weakens our commitment to our rational community (1993:5). According to MacIntyre, therefore, morality necessitates the denition of a proper community (one that is rational or our own [p. 6]). Ethnographythe description of otherscannot exist without the denition of a them to oppose us and is therefore fundamentally at odds with the denition of one proper community. For MacIntyre, it seems, ethnography is always duplex and therefore nonethical, even when we do nothing wrong. One does not need to agree completely with MacIn-

tyre to see his point. Using ethnography will always make the study of general humanity stop short at the particular. In contrast to doctors or lawyers, who can treat their subjects in terms of the generalized ideal of health or justice, ethnographers have always been sandwiched between the conicting moralities of (neo)colonial law and order and the rights of the oppressed.15 In presenting themselves as value-free representers of others, they were also proclaiming the morality of a welfare expert. In promoting tact and sympathy for the people studied, they adopted a discourse of colonial control, and in advocating the interests of aborigines, they justied their own conception of the civilizing mission. As Michel Foucault wrote, rather than constituting humanity ethnology dissolves it; it is a morally inconsistent counter-science that, because it cannot identify with a single community, poses the most general problems with regard to humanity (1970: 379). Butas the combination of moral inconsistency and most general problems showsthis does not imply immorality. If there turns out to be some truth in the suggestion made earlier that anthropology may be moving towards a morality of negotiation, then it would not do to saddle it with an ethics of a proper, that is, a single superior, communityeven if this is the profession itself. Instead, negotiation would seem to require a capacity for an emergent ethics, a set of moral agreements composed contingently, perhaps inconsistently, but at least appropriate for the situation at hand. In fact, one could argue that this is the kind of moral practice in which ethnographers have trained themselves for a long time and which it is high time they began exporting to elds of social life other than the academic.16 In doing so anthropologists would remain true to the morality of their own science, which, if based on ethnography, cannot but be a profession of duplexity.

Comments
m ic h e l a gi e r SHADYC, EHESS-CNRS, Centre de la Vieille Charite, 2, rue de la Charite, 13002 Marseille, France. 9 xi 98 Summarizing the four historical phases traced by Pels, I see successively colonial ethnology, intervening either directly (involved in the civilizing mission) or indirectly (distanced treatment of indigenous people with tact and sympathy), and then a populist ethnology, either applied or militantthese last two forms increasing
15. It seems to have this in common with sociology, which also emerged from a fundamental opposition, not between colonizer and colonized but between capitalist and workers. 16. I owe the idea of an emergent ethics to George Ulrich; the argument about the possible wider relevance of the anthropological experience with emergent moralities came up in discussions with him and Marilyn Strathern in 1996.

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the risk that anthropology as knowledge will be called into question. Pels emphasizes, and I share this point of view entirely, that experience must replace the more or less recent inclination toward the institutional codication of ethics. However, I wonder about the suitability to his project of his approach. In fact, the scheme he outlines corresponds to a history of what I would call the politics of ethnology. After describing the four phases he launches into a somewhat confused interrogation of the current phasewhich, characterized as it is by neoliberalism, contractualization of ethnologists, demands for expertise, and the fragmenting of the profession, might indeed, he says, justify a code of ethics to protect us from the outside world and especially from the new sponsors of our research. It is on this last point that I would like to focus my critique. It seems to me that the rejection of institutional codication of ethnological practice must be radical and unqualied. This can be justied if we start not from the politics of ethnology or from the teaching of ethnology (which is another problem) but from the statement that the ethnographic relationship is always reciprocal. All our research is a relationship; we are allobservers and observedhuman, and our relations are personal. Like all personal relations they may be sometimes ambiguous (and this is a sort of duplicity) and sometimes ambivalent (perhaps a sort of duplexity?). Thus all our research relationships must be negotiated (as Pels eventually but too briey points out). Things take on a different light if we start from the dual point of view of exchange rather than the split identity of the ethnologist. In every research relationship, negotiation, always necessary, is both renewed and evolving in every situation. An actual contract may sometimes be necessary for the ethnologist to dene with his hosts the terms of a shared project that respects everyones objectives. At other times no such contract is necessary, and at still other times the relationship may evolve in such a way as no longer to need formalization. In any case, we must allow the research relationship this character of interpersonal negotiation and allow ethnology its characteristic craftsmanship and adaptive bricolage. This may make us better able to handle the question of truth that Pels raises. The demand for truths is linked to political strategies and, more generally, to access to resources and to the stakes that social actors have in the relationship. The ethnologist cannot deny the urgency of these demands (cf. advocacy) in the eld, but he must also make clear his own objective, which is knowledge. He must recognize the possibility of distancing and negotiate rather than impose it. This allows him to construct knowledge through the study of the relationships among the contexts and the stakes and strategies of all the actors present in the eld of observation. What we need (and Pelss article participates fully in this despite the reservations I have just mentioned) is not codication but debate. Codication will only end up dangerously reinforcing the power of organizations

and of politics. On the contrary, it is in debate that an ethics of the eld must be constructed. Pels underlines this when speaking of a morality of negotiation, and I think it useful to place emphasis on this point. h e r m a n n a m b or n Institut fur Volkerkunde und Afrikanistik, Oettingenstr. 67, D-80538 Munchen, Germany (hermann.amborn@vka.fak12.umi-muenchen.de). 6 x 98 Pelss critical discussion concerning the establishment of a code of ethics is very welcome indeed. If someone, for instance, were to undertake to write the history of German Volkerkunde with Pelss analytical criteria in mind, he would certainly nd sufcient evidence on which to build his thesis. Most crucial to Pelss thinking is the elaboration of a moral duplicity in anthropology which has been unavoidably intrinsic to our discipline ever since its beginnings. With reference to MacIntyre I want to add an argument to Pelss elaborations. Pels, summarizing MacIntyre, says that ethnography is always duplex and therefore nonethical, even when we do nothing wrong. Yet it is exactly this undermining of our disciplinary security that gives us a chance to act ethically. Furthermore, it is the ambiguity that comes from inter/intracultural observation and the vacillation between incompatible poles which may evoke moral sensibility among anthropologists. This basic anthropological situation is not the borderline but the test case for ethics. Where there is no ambiguity there is no conict, and ethical decisions are needless. This does not make one moral, however, but rather morally indifferent or priggish. Bauman (1995), on the basis of his comprehensive studies, has come to realize that the moral self can be recognized through its insecurity, and it is this very insecurity that he perceives as a source of moral strengthto the extent that it is used. Moral unambiguity, whatever its objective evaluation of morality, leads to priggishness, especially if it can be decreed, and thus runs the risk of undermining morality by virtue of its own uprightness, when morality may become moral obligation and eventually regimentation, in extreme cases justifying cruelty in its name. It is insecurity that has moved anthropologists to allow the basic consensus of their own culture to be criticized, causing them to ask (uncomfortable) questions more often than they offer answers. This is our chance for what Pels calls a morality of negotiation. It is true that a code of ethics would not help much here, but the discussion of ethical dilemmas in colleges and universities could. On this point, I want to go beyond Pels and ask whether anthropological associations and anthropological departments all over the world should not be considering the possibility of an ongoing ethics discussion as part of the curriculum. Such a discussion must not stop, these days, at questions of ethnographic eldwork or representation but must include the history of our discipline, research politics, the ef-

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fects of an applied anthropology, studying up, the role of anthropologists on the free market, etc. Power relations are addressed by Pels, for example, with his discussion of governmentality, but one might have wished that his analysis had focused more on them. The question is whether power can be recognized as a pivot between the poles of duplexity. Power, as I understand it, is not a distinct entity detached from its historical context, which might be overcome, but, in the terms of Foucault and his reading of Nietzsche, a quality that is interwoven with all our cultural characteristics and properties and their ambivalences. It is this ambivalence in the expression of power which we have to bring into all our discussions of ethics and take into account in all our moral decisions. The ethos of any self-critical scholarship should be the disclosure of widely effective power structures. Constant selfreective incorporation of power structures, including ones own power (for example, the power of knowledge) or powerlessness, could open up possibilities for a vectorally selected orientation of action in concrete contexts. In my view, the dovetailing of an ethics curriculum with a more intensive study of power structures should be the necessary next step in moving beyond the status quo in ethics discussions that Pels describes. j. a. b a r ne s Churchill College, Cambridge CB3 0DS, U.K. (jab61@cam.ac.uk). 10 x 98 Pels rightly says that he presents a and not the prehistory of anthropological ethical codes. I agree with much of his version, but my account of the topic would certainly be different from his. He claims that the attitudes of anthropologists have been characterized by duplexity but not by duplicity. The latter claim is charitable and probably not always deserved. The former claim is true but does not differentiate anthropologists from the rest of humanity. A professional commitment to cultural difference may perhaps ease the maintenance of double standards, but most non-anthropologists resolutely maintain them without this help. Some of the publications cited by Pels were written with the object of eliciting support for anthropological inquiry from governments and the general public and stressed its practical value; others were aimed at defending an intellectual home base for anthropology against predation by rival disciplines. It is not surprising that the weights these essentially instrumental texts give to various aspects of anthropological praxis differ from those given in publications targeting a professional anthropological audience. For instance, the long-standing reluctance of the American Anthropological Association to support the publication of the results of inquiries into the relations of Native Americans with other segments of U.S. society must surely be seen as in part a response to competition for exclusive research space with a burgeoning discipline of sociology. In Britain and the British diaspora,

sociology was much less of a threat. At least two of the founding fathers of British social anthropology, Rivers and Haddon, described aspects of their work as sociological. Gluckman, already a card-carrying anthropologist, published his classic paper on Zuluwhite relations as early as 1940. In 1946, during my rst extended anthropological eldwork in British colonial Africa, I brashly informed a district ofcer that he should realize that I was studying him too (Barnes 1967:204). Despite the pronouncements of senior members of the profession in the metropolis, in some parts of British anthropological eld research relations between anthropologist and indigenous informant were seen to be embedded in a wider social network that had to be studied and analyzed much earlier than Pels implies. There are, roughly speaking, three types of ethical code. A regulatory code can, in some occupations, be backed up with effective sanctions against infringement of its prescriptions. Anthropological associations, like most social science organizations, have never been able to impose anything other than the mildest of sanctions. Hortative codes consist of recipes for saintly conduct and are mainly of use in public relations (Barnes 1980: 15960). The medical Hippocratic oath is a classic example, and hortative codes have been adopted by many organizations since at least the 1920s (Gundaker 1922). Educational codes alert practitioners to the ethical hazards they are likely to encounter. In particular, given the diversity of interests in all communities (which, surprisingly, seems to been unexpected by Hastrup and Elsass), an educational code emphasizes the unavoidability of compromise while rmly placing responsibility for whatever decisions are taken in the hands of the practitioners themselves (Barnes 1982, 1996). Most of the time, Pels correctly treats anthropological ethical codes as hortative but criticizes them, unfairly I think, for not being regulatory. In the last part of his paper he more constructively explores their educational potential. j e a n co p an s Faculte de Philosophie, Sciences Humaines et Sociales, Universite de Picardie Jules Verne, Chemin du Thil, 80025 Cedex 1 Amiens, France. 8 x 98 Before presenting a French (but also personal) response to the questions Pels raises, I would like to take a position on what I have gathered from the conclusion of his article. The ethics of negotiation may be inherent to ethnology and anthropology as a kind of go-between between the eld and the powers that be, but the spirit of negotiation that is at issue today corresponds to a supposedly new paradigm, that of liberalism (or neoliberalism), humanitarian (emergency) aid, and the multiculturalism of globalization. There cannot be any serious or true negotiation unless the parties agree upon common ground, but this new paradigm (which is not, I hasten to say, the one Pels adopts) is characterized by a discourse of sociological and cultural equity that dis-

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guises anything symbolic of domination in contrast to the paternalist-colonial (or neocolonial) paradigm that attended the birth of the social sciences in the 19th century. Pelss only reference to the French context escapes me. I will try to sketch the general outlines of that context before taking up the problem of ethics in our discipline. The American debate of the 1960s and 1970s on the themes of imperialist anthropology and the ethical and political involvement of the researcher was widely imported and translated in France from the beginning.1 I was largely responsible for this, but it was mainly seen as somewhat elementary anticolonialism and as proof of an enthusiasm that was more adolescent than professional. The denunciation of anthropologists serving French military and civilian cooperation in subSaharan Africa was interpreted as partisanship, and the left-right ideological split overdetermined all the terms of the analysis. At the time of the founding of the Association Francaise des Anthropologues, which brought together 143 persons, on May 11, 1979, the majority had reservations about denouncing the plundering of the societies anthropologists studied, but one sentence indicates the assumption of responsibility by anthropologists on this subject (Bulletin de lAFA, no. 1 [1979]: 45). In the domain of development expertise, the dilemma was usually posed in simplistic terms: missionaries or mercenaries? This perspective evolved over the course of the 1980s toward a position that is more deconstructivist than activist. Analyses (rightly) place the colonial instrumentalization of ethnology in perspective, reminding us that the discipline has always been one of the more marginal ones both institutionally and politically (Amselle 1990). Morality and activism were left behind as anti-imperialist commitment faded and the revolt of 1968 became a distant memory, especially since concrete ethical and deontological problems seemed rather rare and there was no independent or autonomous authority that was fully representative (the AFA has no such prole)2 to make decisions on the subject. The 1990s have seen an important revival as a new generation of researchers has begun to ask certain basic ethical questions without reference to the old colonial paradigms. The scholarly terrain and objects changed, and so did the conditions of responsibility and involvement. The AFA frequently organizes its annual conferences around the topic,3 and a recent work edited by Agier (1997) well reects this new state of mind, indigenous claims, advocacy, AIDS, and genocide being the
1. current anthropology was one of the more active sites of the diffusion of this debate in 1968 (see Berreman 1968, Gjessing 1968, Gough 1968). I edited two collections of papers and published an article in Les Temps Modernes in 1971, a book in 1974, and an anthology in 1975. 2. The AFAs annual directory for 1992 contained 267 names. 3. See the issues of the Journal des Anthropologues devoted to these themes: research under conditions (no. 36, 1989), professional ethics and eld experience (nos. 5051, 199293), and anthropology and politics of research (no. 56, 1994).

agenda. The political issue has not, however, disappeared: the responsibilities of anthropology in New Caledonia with regard to Kanak culture have inspired reections on anthropology and citizenship (Bensa 1995). Work in France itself gives rise to engagement in favor of multiculturalism, but it is mainly sociologists and politicians dedicated to solving social problems who take a stand and feel mandated to intervene in society and in the implications of a social science. French anthropology is still relatively uninvolved, in one sense or another, in its own society; on the eve of the 21st century it is still exoticism that determines the deontological issues. With regard to Pelss analysis, half a dozen points deserve general discussion: 1. Which anthropology are we talking about? The ethical question is so rooted in more or less national scientic, political, and cultural idiosyncrasies that its ethical and/or professional utility seems debatable. Thus in France we could summarize the sentiment of the majority of ethnologists and anthropologists since the beginning of the discipline on the institutional level (in 1925, with the founding of the Institute of Ethnology) with the expression no comment. 2. Ethics should be at the heart of the training of future anthropologists, including students from areas regarded as ethnological (and, in the French case, formerly colonial), since practice reveals the politics of those areas. However, here again silence is de rigueur, as it is in the majority of the other social sciences. Social utility goes along with the political ideology adopted. 3. There ought to be an ethics of the object: colonial domination easily designated its civilizing mission as moral, whence the study of change in others. But domination also involves the dominant or even the instruments of domination. The new research paradigm with regard to development projects has to take all parties to the phenomenon of intervention into account. How is one to be both anthropologist and expert? One recalls the answer of Adam (1979), a British anthropologist married to a Soninke peasant in Senegal. Today the anthropologist strives to be at once self-conscious, useful, critical, and distanced. Olivier de Sardan (1995) has proposed such an approach, beyond populism or recourse to postmodernism. 4. Finally, there is an ethics of theory. Marxist anthropology was extremely conservative in its transformation of concepts and in its dogmatic invention of modes of production. The superciality of its categorical appeal to class struggle prevented it from raising the real issues, ethical or political. But let us turn to another theoretical background for an example. President Daniel Arap Moi has become a clever manipulator of ethnicity to the point that Kenyan legislators are distinguished by their ethnic origins. Is it surprising to learn that anthropology there, as an autonomous curriculum, dates to only 198687 and is modeled on the worst American culturalism of half a century ago? And what of the recent debate, initiated in the columns of

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the Bulletin du CODESRIA by A. Mafeje, based on racist and anti-imperialist attacks on Sally Falk Moore, who was trying to demonstrate the potential universality of anthropological knowledge of African races and languages? Is research to be based on the ethnic (or racial) identities of the anthropologists, having proprietary knowledge by virtue of their origins, or on the historicized but distanced elaboration of objects and concepts? Who has the right to ethics? For Mafeje, the answer is simple: it is the victim of the system. I think that anthropology today has, in fact, lived all possible experiences and must draw lessons from them. We need an ethics of the production of knowledge, and it is at the heart of this approach that the relationship to the eld and thus to its history can be clearly posed by confronting its results (works, of course, but also institutions, public images, and so on) with its intentions, its various methods, and its ideas. Ethics comes through an anthropology of anthropological knowledge. This is not an original idea, but its application seems difcult. I thought I understood that American anthropologists were interested in the question. Recapturing Anthropology (Fox 1991), Anthropological Locations (Gupta and Ferguson 1997), and especially Fieldnotes (Sanjek 1990) are self-reections that signal that the ethics of anthropology (although this is not the focus of these works and the contributors see themselves as more politicalas am Ithan ethical) is the right to understand the other, no matter who he is or where he comes from. It is about the construction of difference of and in culture. Ethics for the anthropologist is this constant doubt about the other and about oneself and, consequently, about ones professional practice, called scientic. An ethics of doubt is an ethics of dialogue and democracy, of cultural reversal. Duplexity is the essence of the anthropological position, but, as the saying goes, there will always be some who are more equal than others. It remains to be seen whether anthropologists will accept sharing their doubts, that is, their knowledge and know-how, and in so doing nd themselves the object of some doubt for other persons who may or may not have degrees in anthropology. g ud r un d a h l Department of Social Anthropology, University of Stockholm, S 106 91 Stockholm, Sweden (Gudrun.dahl@socant.su.se). 23 x 98 In a media-driven moral panic some ten years ago, a longitudinal sociological research project in Sweden came into focus and became a catalyst for popular fear of governmental computerized surveillance. The Swedish Council for Humanities and Social Sciences (HSFR), which had originally funded the project, yielded to the pressure by establishing an ethics committee. Taking essentially the same stand as Pels does at the end of his paperthat a set of rules would be conterproductive to critical ethical self-reectionthey (well, we, as I was

a member of the committee) produced a pamphlet on ethics for the social sciences. The intention was to provide guidelines rather than a set of legalistic rules, except that openness and the individual consent of those studied were seen as mandatory. Any application for funding which discharged the need for ethical reection with a summary statement such as I am going to follow the HSFR rules would be duly returned to the applicant for elaboration. The basis of the ethics document was an image of social science as normally based on the quantitative use of registers and on methodological individualism. Anthropological methods seemed problematic in this context. On the initiative of the HSFR, a national conference on the ethics of anthropology was held in conjunction with the rst annual session of the Swedish Association of Anthropologists (SANT). The proceedings were published more or less as an inventory of possible ethical dilemmas; subsequently, in 1997, a code was accepted by the SANT. This code, echoing that of the American Anthropological Association, emphasizes openness in the eld about ones aims and professional identity, avoidance of foreseeable harm to the individual or collectivity studied, and ongoing debate over ethics. Finally, it points to the desirability of publication in a language accessible at least to local intellectuals in the country studied. A main argument in the debate over this code was that it was not so much a tool for taking each other to task as an instrument for strengthening our position in ` negotiation vis-a-vis the employer. The latter may want to take the interests of the researched into account, for example, by retaining authorship of (and ethical responsibility for) the text publicizing the results or to make the results available to the researched in the interest of accountability. The epistemological insight that any ethnographic knowledge is metaphorically the result of negotiation should not make us exaggerate the scope for such negotiation or assume that research results are always easily accessible to the researched. If we drop the ambition to represent in the sense of advocating, a minimal ethical rule might be to strive for the transparency that will allow our research objects to make counterrepresentations when we represent in the sense of depicting. Concluding that ethical codes in anthropology have rarely been useful as internal rules of conduct for the discipline, Pels questions their value. However, I feel that he is breaking down open doors when he rejects formal codes of the legalistic type. Is not the important internal function of the code symbolic in nature? The code is a general statement that certain types of considerations are important as constitutive of the moral community of anthropology. If an ethics committee provides an arena for scholarly differences or a code provokes discussion of such differences, so much the better. The growing market for anthropology as entertainment or as a tool in different kinds of identity politics and the changes in the anthropological job market necessitate that we keep the debate on ethics going. We should not resign our-

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selves to the difculty of maintaining academic ethical standards. They are not inherently doomed by these changes.

c a r o l y n fl u e h r - l ob b a n Department of Anthropology and Geography, Rhode Island College, Providence, R.I. 02908, U.S.A. 19 x 98 Pelss reservations about the inherent value and utility of ethical codes represents a current in European social anthropology with which American anthropology has disagreed by adopting a series of statements and codes of ethics since 1949. Further, Pels views the invocation of ethics in the profession, whether in America or elsewhere, as a denial of cultural politics. However, American anthropologists have been quite direct about the contexts in which activity around codes and statements has occurredfrom Project Camelot to the Vietnam War era to the recently adopted Code of Ethics of the American Anthropological Association that acknowledges the sometimes conicting responsibilities between the interests of the client employing the anthropologist and the people studied. Pelss focus on the AAA may seem appropriate given the postwar dominance of the United States, but given his historical review of 19th- and 20th-century anthropology some explanation for the paucity of ethical or moral discourse among anthropologists from the European imperial countries would have provided better background for his critique of American anthropologys interest in codes. The American scientic communitys postwar preference for codes, rst in biomedical research and then in social and behavioral research, is also absent as culturalhistorical context. Also missing are contemporary voices of anthropologists and others in the former colonies who are no longer silent on many of these matters, especially on the subjects of cultural and intellectual property and human genome research among indigenous peoples. The change in the revised 1998 Code of Ethics of the American Anthropological Association from a grievance model to an educational one does not ameliorate Pelss criticism of codes. However, this move represents a conscious shift in favor of active decision making on the part of the anthropologist using guidelines that presume a consideration of ethics at every stage of research, from conception to postpublication. One of the most important of these guidelines is that research is research, and the moral rules and ethics of research conduct do not vary depending upon the nature of the study or the sponsor. Rather than the professional duplexity or ethical duplicity that Pels suggests, the code of ethics is a document that is intended to be used with real-life case studies as an educational instrument for anthropologists; it can also be used as a negotiating tool for representing the professional and ethical interests of anthropologists to clients. But it is not a legally enforceable

code of conduct reecting what may appear to outsiders as an overly litigious American culture. Pelss historical review of ethical discourse leaves one with a very postmodern view that codes are the result of either utterly naive or ultimately corrupt political motives. In this view either codes exhort anthropologists to do good and avoid harm by referring to ethical statements adopted by professional groups having the coercive sanction of group standards or they are publicrelations documents claiming the high ground of truth and morality for anthropologists and their employers, who practice a kind of condence game of mutual interest while real morality and ethics are put aside. This is an unnecessarily cynical view. Reasonable anthropologists can and do disagree on the subject, as is evidenced by the fact that some national professional associations have adopted statements or codes of ethics and others have not. But to suggest that those which have adopted codes have declared that they have found Truth and codied it or that they have erased the colonialist background of anthropology and laid those ghosts to rest or that codes seek to resolve the natural duplicity of anthropological research vastly overstates the case. It reduces more than a century of diverse anthropological pursuits to Pelss apparent agreement with Foucaults judgment that rather than constituting humanity, ethnology dissolves it. Ethical discourse in anthropology is relatively new, and it is probably part of the unnished business of colonialism. But as anthropology is actively reinventing itself, moral and ethical issues regarding its past and future relationships to those studied and those who sponsor their research are a vital part of the reshaping of the discipline. This can be accomplished by continuing discourse, such as Pelss, on the subject, by studying and reecting upon cases in which ethical dilemmas are confronted, and by the use of codes of ethics to educate, to negotiate, and to be an active part of ethical discussion and decision making. a na n t a k. g i r i Madras Institute of Development Studies, 79, Second Main Rd., Gandhi Nagar, Adyar, Chennai 600 020, India (ssmids@ren.nic.in). 5 x 98 Pels deserves our congratulations for this bold paper, in which, in a self-critical move par excellence, he urges us to recognize the duplexity which characterizes the profession of anthropology and the practice of ethnography. For him this duplexity is based on the initial and elementary condition of ethnography and the professionalization of our practicea professionalization which is manifested in the formulation of ethical codes. Following MacIntyre, he asserts that ethnography the description of otherscannot exist without the denition of a them to oppose us. But in ethnographic encounters there is not only an opposition be-

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tween us and them but a dialogue between the self and the other. True, this dialogue is distorted by the power and the asymmetry of the actors concerned, but it takes place nevertheless. Therefore ethnography not only reproduces the initial dualism of the self and the other but also creates the possibility of an emergent community in which ethnographers and the people with whom the conversation is being carried out discover themselves participants in a dialogue on the human condition. This emergent community helps us to transcend the initial bounds of the self and the other and to discover the mid-point (cf. Dallmayr 1993) of the relationship we inhabit. Therefore, if Pels agrees with MacIntyre that morality necessitates the denition of a proper community, there is a need to think further about the nature of this proper community. In Pelss otherwise excellent essay this community turns out to be a bounded one, but it can also be one which, transcending the boundaries of self and other, professional and client, urges all concerned to be aware of and responsible for their ethico-moral obligations (Santos 1995). Pelss argument can be enriched by further critical scrutiny. At one level it is incontrovertible, because in human life there is a duality between the self and the other. But this initial condition of duality is not a condition of original sin, nor is it a destiny that all of us are condemned to. If duality is one aspect of the human condition, another is an urge to discover the threads of interconnectedness between the self and the other. In traditions of thought such as Advaita Vedanta, there is an incessant effort to overcome the dualism of self and non-self (see Pande 1989). But this urge and aspiration is also at work in modern social theory, probably inspiring an interlocutor such as Giddens (1984) to distinguish between dualism and duality and a thinker such as George Herbert Mead (quoted in Habermas 1987:94) to write, All of us feel that one must be ready to recognize the interests of others even when they run counter to our own, but the person who does that does not really sacrice himself but becomes a larger self. These lines of Mead point to a different relationship among politics, self-interest, and ethics from the dominant tradition of Occidental ethics to which Pels points, in which ethics masks politics. But even in Occidental ethics this is not the only relationship between the two. For example, Kant not only reiterates the autonomy of morals from politics but also urges us to realize that all politics must bend its knee before the Right (Kant 1795:96). The fact that ones ethicomoral engagement is not just an adjunct to ones political self-interest is brought home to us by two other luminaries of Western thought today, namely, Jurgen Habermas (1990) and Emmanuel Levinas (1995). From Habermas we learn that moral consciousness and communicative action constantly seek to problematize politics for the sake of the celebration of justice and human dignity, and from Levinas we learn that an ethical engagement is an engagement of permanent wakefulness in us which listens to the call of the other and responds (Ciaramelli 1991:88). It is this wakefulness

and response which we witness in the work of anthropological practitioners such as Nancy Scheper-Hughes (1995), who, at considerable risk to her own life, brings the tortured boys in a South African shantytown to a nearby hospital and does not let them die, for to do so were to become an accomplice in [their] death (Levinas 1995:189). Therefore, if Kirsten Hastrup and Peter Elsass argue for a safe distance between anthropological objectivity and the needs of the community, this is not the only path for the relationship between anthropological understanding and ethical activism. Pels writes, The ethical escape from politics requires politics. Ethics here is subservient to the human will to power, but it is also a reection of the human will to understand and to serve (Giri 1998a, c). Furthermore, the anthropologist in Pelss example may reject the secrecy clause not solely and necessarily because of her professional code but because of an ethico-moral commitment to the people she studies and a sense of conviction. For Pels her rejection of the secrecy clause subjects the company to the collective coercion of the impersonal standards of her moral community, but why does this rejection have to be read as coercion? The actor concerned here is just saying no, and to an agent that is more powerful. Moreover, why can this initial rejection not create the possibility of a rethinking of the secrecy clause within the company itself and lead to what Habermas (1996) calls a co-operative search for truth? The actor in Pelss example is thought of a priori as a mechanical bearer of a professional code rather than as a self-aware and responsible ethico-moral agent. When we look at actors as ethico-moral agents, we may nd that they themselves come to recognize the limits of codes of ethical conduct and seek to go beyond them. For example, building on the work of the psychologist Lawrence Kohlberg, Habermas speaks of the postconventional stage of moral development, in which actors question the very codes with which they once began their ethico-moral journey. I agree with Pels that professional codes are inadequate to prepare us for our life of responsibility. But if there are different stages of moral development in each of us, then perhaps professional codes have some special signicance for people who are in the conventional stage. Pels looks at the formulation of ethical codes only in terms of professionalization, and for him these codes are meant to provide a trustworthy mask to the outside world about the reliability of the claims of a profession. But these codes can also be constitutive of a profession in terms of giving their practitioners an ideal of selfformation (see Emmanuel 1991). It is not the politics of public relations alone which motivates practitioners within a eld to formulate codes but also their ethicomoral recognition of their responsibility to a wider society, to humanity at large. Pels himself states that the outrage over Project Camelot was a major factor behind the formulation of the rst ethical code in the eld. I admire Pelss effort to historicize the contemporary

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preoccupation with ethical codes in anthropology but wonder whether there is a need here to understand the work of what Sidney Mintz (1989) calls history within history: enactment and memory. Pelss description of the four stages of the prehistory of ethical codes in anthropology is a discursive history in which there are no life-histories of ethically concerned actors. But once we look at the history of our contemporary concerns in terms of the ethico-moral outrage and identication of actors such as Franz Boas, we may nd that in each of the discursive periods there is not only a Foucauldian discursive self but also a Levinasian self which embodies ethics as a personal vocation and goes beyond any codied notion of ethics or politicized view of morality. I cannot agree more that the institutionalization of anthropological morals in a written code is by no means necessary. My own research on the teaching of ethics and values in schools of management supports Pelss argument that a case method is more appropriate than the teaching of abstract principles and codes (Giri 1998b), but even a case method can be enriched by immersion in wider cosmologies. Therefore the ethics of negotiation with which Pels concludes his reections on the future is not necessarily conned within either the moment or the context of negotiation. What enables the participants in an interaction to arrive at the point of negotiation? To come to terms with this question and challenge, the idea of interactive ethics is not enough; it must be part of and lead to the invocation of a transcendent ethicsone that is emergent rather than a priori.

laura nader Department of Anthropology, University of California, Berkeley, Calif. 94720, U.S.A. 4 ix 98 Pels writes about the ways in which morals were conceptualized and institutionalized in Euro-American anthropology in four different historical periods reecting strategies of intervention, representation, morality, or expediency. He describes the evolution of moral codes chronologically, making passing reference to professions of medicine and law, and concludes that what may be needed is a set of moral agreements composed contingently, perhaps inconsistently, but at least appropriate for the situation at hand. For him, ethical codes may be obsolete. To begin with, Pelss off-the-cuff references to doctors and lawyers who can treat their subjects in terms of the generalized ideal of health or justice is false comparison. Ethnographers have always been sandwiched between the conicting moralities of law and order and the rights of the oppressed. Indeed, seminal literature on professionalism indicates that implicit in professional ethics is the sandwichdoctors between the HMOs and their patients, lawyers between their clients and the Bar or, today, the tort deformers, engineers between the company and the public, economists be-

tween the public and the big trusts, etc. Nevertheless, those who study the sandwich phenomenon usually start with the premise that a requirement for professional behavior is autonomy and independence. At times, codes of ethics focus on the relationship with the patient, the client, or, in our case, the people we study. At other times the preferred relation is between the professional and his peers, his funders, or the general public. During the rise of professionalism in America (a time when ethics was mixed up with claims about truth and objectivity grounded scientically), ideological means of control were salient. An American historian (Furner 1976) examining ideological control of the professions has traced the emergence of the principles of impartiality or scientic objectivity to the time when rst-generation social scientist professionals were dealing with the consequences of industrialization. Academic professionals fought academic freedom cases while powerful elites decided the outcome of these cases, a means of establishing internal discipline in economics. The Revolt of the Engineers (Layton 1971) is about the search for personal dignity, independence, and social responsibilityall features important to professionalism. For engineers, the key issue is divided loyalty. Engineers who endorse the ideal of an independent profession are consistently opposed by engineers who consider engineering to be an integral part of the business community. If we think about these two examples together with the history of anthropology, discussion of whether advocacy is incompatible with anthropology begins to make more sense. We can see external forces acting upon the profession, which is probably why Gerald Berreman calls this the era of ReaganethicsIf you can get away with it, do it. Pels refers to studying up, a term which I coined in the 1960s (Nader 1969) precisely because I thought the channel within which anthropologists were debating ethics too narrow. It is still too narrow. My concern about Pelss chronology is that it depicts progression, yet we still harbor reformers, do-gooders, pure scientists, advocates, people who practice rapport, and anthropologists who hide behind many masks, who are duplicitous, and so forth. That is one reason those who work for ethics codes do soto set standards. A code of ethics is not a legal code; it has a variety of purposes, one being a try for common standards. I too was disturbed by the rst article of the Principles of Professional Responsibility, that the anthropologists paramount responsibility is to those he studies. At the time I remarked to my colleague Gerald Berreman that they were making it difcult to study up. Was I going to protect government agents of whatever country who were planning to massacre the natives? The unambiguous commitment to public duty rather than private interest says it well enough. However, more recently Phillippe Bourgeois (1990) had to make a choice not to condone harm by speaking to the U.S. press about what he had learned in Central America. Be-

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cause U.S. anthropologists narrowly dene ethics in terms of informed consent and responsibility to future researchers and host nations rather than in terms of political repression, his choice was one of public duty over professional ones, a choice that had personal ramications. No profession that I know of has succeeded in coming up with an unambiguous formula for professional behavior, but professionals often try to because freeenterprise research does not bet a profession. A profession involves extended learning, the exercise of judgment, and adherence to standards whose denition, application, and censuring potential it safeguards. As I have said elsewhere, the real issue for anthropological ethics is developing a paradigm that values ethical behavior, quality work, and competence. a n t o ni u s c. g. m. r ob b e n Department of Anthropology, Utrecht University, P.O. Box 80140, 3508 TC Utrecht, The Netherlands. 5 x 98 The four historical cases of ethical tension in anthropology so well analyzed by Pels all occurred during times of great upheaval. The slavery abolition movement shook Europes moral foundations during the rise of capitalism. The expansionist world powers forcibly subjugated the populations of the non-Western world in their competition for colonial control. World War I marked the advent of the modern age, and the struggles in Southeast Asia and Latin America took place at the height of the EastWest confrontation. Anthropology could not remain immune to the moral implications of these historical circumstances. Pels demonstrates in a thought-provoking analysis how professional morality, political convictions, and epistemological concerns jockeyed for position during these four periods. Given the heightened awareness of the entanglement of politics, ethics, and truth during these periods of global upheaval, it is a pity that Pels fails to explore their implications for anthropologys soul-searching. In particular, the analysis of this triad during World War II would have provided an interesting historical case and added a fth relation to his historical sequence of professional positions: intervention as political end. The inclusion of such discussion could have strengthened his argument in four ways: (1) An analysis of the conduct of British and American anthropologists during World War II would have revealed the unique pressure under which the triad of politics, truth, and ethics was placed. (2) This political involvement of anthropologists could have been contrasted with the moral furor raised over intelligence eldwork in Latin America and Southeast Asia, research that in the eyes of the U.S. government would have contributed to rescuing the free world from the scourge of communism just as the Allied victory had saved the world from fascism. (3) Attention to the stance of anthropology during World War II would have demonstrated the added ethical difculty of the

anthropological study of political violence. After all, there is a substantial difference in ethical complexity between studying the Japanese tea ritual and examining the Japanese code of military honor. (4) Due attention to such ethical complexity would have strengthened the case against devising a general code of ethics. The involvement of anthropologists with the Allied war effort is well known. Margaret Mead and Gregory Bateson tried in 1939 to convince President Roosevelt of an anthropologically informed appeasement strategy to prevent Hitler from going to war (Yans-McLaughlin 1986:194). Once the war began, they worked in the Committee for National Morale and contributed professional insights to the effort to boost public support for the war. Furthermore, the study of national cultures by such illustrious anthropologists as Mead, Bateson, Gorer, Kluckhohn, Kardiner, and Benedict helped in the assessment of friend and foe with respect to attitudes toward victory and defeat, relative strength and weakness, standards of truth and falsehood, dominance and submission, success and failure, under- and overstatement, expectations of death or survival in battle, etc. (Mead 1979:149). This research agenda was dened by political objectives that superseded ethical concerns. Anthropologists were applying their professional skills to defeat the very peoples they had studied in prewar times. Pels could have compared the enthusiastic involvement of prominent anthropologists in a just war with the unwillingness of anthropologists to become involved in the unjust war in Vietnam. Clearly, ethical standards about responsibility towards the people studied had changed. Present-day interest in the study of violence has raised the stakes even higher. Anthropological research on political violence inevitably leads us to a moral contemplation of society, culture, and self, irrespective of our political and ideological convictions. We may disagree about the justications for violence from the left or the right, about the means that are admissible to attain political ends, about the legitimacy of overthrowing a repressive ruling class and bringing about a social revolution, but these differences of political opinion should not cause us to overlook the moral consequences of our writings. Once we try to describe how people suffer from violence, we are painting a moral universe in which our representations have political and epistemological consequences. These consequences become all the more relevant when we admit that our analyses are interpretations and may be wrong. This concern for the moral dimension of anthropological research constitutes our common ground as professionals. Anthropologists are caught in the same dilemma as all other chroniclers of society. In the words of Albert Camus, If they speak up, they are criticized and attacked. If they become modest and keep silent, they are vociferously blamed for their silence (1974:249). This dilemma cannot be resolved by subscribing to an ethical code but only by reection and negotiation, as much with others (colleagues, clients, the people studied), as Pels has stated so incisively, as with ourselves.

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h e i k o s c hr a d e r Faculty of Sociology, State University of St. Petersburg, Smolnogo Str, 6/3 Entrance 9, 193969 St. Petersburg, Russia (schrader@infopro.spb.su). 12 x 98 It is difcult to comment on a paper whose arguments one largely shares. Pels provides an interesting analysis of the history of ethical thinking in particularly British social anthropology. His key argument is that the profession of anthropology is duplex, tensed between ethics, politics, and scientic truth. A distinctive characteristic of anthropology is the study of foreign cultures. Western anthropologists expanded with Western capitalism andfor some time at leastperceived themselves as social engineers, a role presupposing that their culture was higher, more advanced, more civilized than the culture studied and this gave them not only the right but also the duty to civilize their research subjects. This Eurocentrism dates back to the forefathers of anthropology. Nowadays anthropology is of course much more critical of its own past perceptions and guidelines. Interpretive and reexive anthropology in particular have developed knowledge critique much further. At the same time, the methodology of anthropologyeldworkaims at representing others, and the researcher has to nd ways to get access in the eld. Fieldwork requires instrumental action, and the ethical guidelines of professional organizations may provide at best a capsule for it. But other sciences such as international law or religion also deal with different cultures and their coexistence and mixing. Why, then, does this tension not arise for them in the same way? A potential explanation is a presumption of ethical ranking, if not a universal ethics, which claims to take an objective perspective and provides clear-cut guidelines for action. In international law, for example, a major violation of human rights legitimates the political intervention of the United Nations or NATO, these human rights being valued over the sovereignty of the country in question. Anthropology, however, presumes that foreign cultures have their own moralities and ethics, and when a culture-specic ethics conicts with basic universal human rights and ethics (if such exist and are not subjective, an outcome of the Western modernization process), guidelines of fair representation may be valued over universal standards. For example, an anthropologist has to accept that it may be ethical from the subjective perspective of an indigenous group to kill people of another group. An ethics is not always good as folk epistemology would have us believe. If the anthropologist gives priority to respect and fair representation (as, for example, in Robert Gardners Dead Birds), this conicts with Christian morality with regard to condemning feuds and saving lives. This is the typical dilemma for anthropologists, but they are not apolitical because they are trying to mediate for the right of other belief systems to exist. The discourse aspect of a contemporary (or postconventional) ethics is to my mind crucial for the ongoing

discussion of ethics and morality. Pels asks in this connection whether anthropologists nowadays need written ethical codes at all. I fully agree with him and just want to emphasize the difference between a conventional and a postconventional morality. While a conventional morality is based on belief, authority, fear of punishment, sacralization of codes (which become laws), and so on, a postconventional morality is based on discourseintersubjective insight into the validity of the norms discussed or at least the expectation that these norms can be reasonably explained if necessary. In line with this distinction, I argue that any written ethical code restricts dispute; aspirants to membership have to accept it. Discourse, however, requires exibilitythe freedom to take a heterodox position, exercise personal judgment, and the like, without being excluded from the discussion/association. Recent discourse has raised the issue of deontological ethicsindividual responsibility to higher goals, which themselves are open to discussion and change over time. In each situation one has to examine the extent to which one is acting ethically according to these standards. Ethical guidelines limit this burden of responsibility, requiring one to justify ones action primarily in relation to a written code of conduct and making ones responsibility to higher goals of secondary importance. But any written code can treat general cases only, leaving more specic ones unregulated. Furthermore, to achieve consensus written codes of conduct usually amount to a compromise among members of a group or association. This is not to say that such minimum standards are unnecessary. A code requirement not to harm informants . . . as far as this is predictable is itself a metaphor for the duplicity. In this context Pels rightly emphasizes that anthropological associations cannot discipline their members, much less nonmembers. This offers the opportunity to treat their ethical guidelines as discussion papers providing the background for an ongoing discourse and an unwritten, emergent ethics. c ri s s h o r e Goldsmiths College, University of London, 40 Lewisham Way, New Cross, London SE14 6NW, England (cshore@pavilion.co.uk). 21 x 98 Pelss article is a thought-provoking and timely contribution to what has become a topic of increasing concern to anthropologists at the levels of both practice and theory: professional ethics and their relevance to the discipline. His analysis of the prehistory of ethical codes in anthropology makes serious charges against the profession that merit closer consideration. Pels argues that the ambiguous position that anthropologists occupy ` vis-a-vis the people they study, on the one hand, and governments and funding bodies, on the other, has resulted in a situation of moral duplexity and an unintentional use of double standards in professional practice. If the use of inverted commas around double standards is intended to suggest irony, that impression

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is soon dispelled. Pels points out that while ethical duplexity can be distinguished from duplicitous intentions and moral corruption, in practice the former has led inexorably to the latter. Indeed, he goes farther, claiming that duplicity is characteristic of Occidental moral discourse. This conation of terms has important consequences. Whereas duplexity is an ethically neutral and largely technical term that refers simply to something that is dualistic, or has two parts, duplicity means two-faced, deceitful, and dishonest. In short, Pels is arguing that because anthropologists have traditionally had to serve two masters (their informants and the authorities under whose jurisdiction these people live), their ethical conduct has necessarily been compromised, dishonest, and deceitful. Furthermore, he argues, this dual mandate renders the discipline incapable of formulating an unambiguous code of ethical conduct because morality requires the denition of a proper (i.e., single) community. Because of its self-conscious regard for other moral and conceptual systems, anthropology can never do this. This is an interesting twist on the familiar predicamentof-anthropology and crisis-of-representation themes. While I see the logic that informs this critique, the problem with this reasoning is that it rests on a conception of ethics that is too absolutist and monolithic and pays scant attention to context. Most existing codes of professional ethics in anthropology readily acknowledge that there can be no easy consensus or agreement over the issue of professional ethics. The ethical problems faced by anthropologists have changed over time and have become more difcult to resolve. There never was, nor is there likely to be, any denitive agreement over the nature of anthropologys ethical problems or their solutions. Pelss chronological history of the different ethical stances towards the morality of intervention in and representation of other societies provides a useful schema for charting the development of ideas concerning professional responsibility in anthropology, but the assumption that anthropologists have traditionally constituted a unied professional community is misconceived. To speak of the disciplines stance assumes a level of organization, coherence, and professional unity that has rarely existed. In Britain, for example, anthropology has traditionally consisted of a loose network of individuals, university departments, and associations (the Royal Anthropological Institute, the Association of Social Anthropologists, Anthropology in Action) rather than a centralized professional body. Anthropological associations, as Ackeroyd (1984:152) has said, do not license their members to practice as do monopolistic professions like the Law Society. The idea that anthropology speaks with one voice, let alone with a coherent moral stance, is illusory. Equally questionable is the assumption that ethical codes are expressions of the institutionalization of anthropological morals. The ASAs Ethical Guidelines for Good Practice (1987) are not tablets of stone setting out immutable regulatory standards for assessing and

enforcing ethical conduct. Rather, they represent an attempt to think through ethical issues and raise ethical awareness among practitioners. Their primary goal is educational: they are tools for nurturing ethical liter acy. To paraphrase Levi-Strauss, ethical codes are good to think with. I therefore disagree with Pelss conclusion that ethical codes are becoming obsolete. On the contrary, they are likely to become more important as anthropological research develops new elds, particularly those that bring it into contact with policy makers and other professionals (see Shore and Wright 1997). Having an ethical code is not simply a question of clothing oneself with the trappings of professional respectability. Increasingly, such codes provide anthropologists with a necessary defence against the demands of other professions including, perversely, bureaucratic intrusions from the various ethics committees designed to monitor and approve academic research (Amit-Talai 1996). Ethical codes also provide useful protection wherever anthropologists come under pressure to act in ways contrary to their professional ethics, for example, when sponsors demand the deposition of eldnotes in data banks and archives in violation of informants requests for condentiality. The argument about duplexity is well made, but a more comprehensive analysis might expand on it. It is not only to participants, sponsors, and governments that anthropologists owe professional responsibility but also to colleagues, students, and the publicthe consumers of their professional ethicsand to their own consciences. If, as Pels argues, duplexity leads to ethical duplicity, the multiplex responsibilities described above would presumably lead to ethical polyphony, or the moral equivalent of multiple personality disorder. Fortunately, this is not the case: a duplex profession is not, de facto, morally duplicitous. j e f f re y s l u k a Department of Social Anthropology, Massey University, Private Bag 11222, Palmerston North, New Zealand. 23 x 98 Pels has written a thoughtful and challenging interpretation of the renewed vigor in discussion and debate about ethical codes in anthropology in the 1990s. I would like to comment as chair of the Association of Social Anthropologists of Aotearoa/New Zealand and as chair of the Ethics Committee for the past decade. I was responsible for producing a modied version of the AAA ethics code which was adopted by the ASAA/NZ in 1987 and for introducing subsequent revisions aimed at further adapting the code to local conditions in Aotearoa. I am also a political anthropologist and specialist on war and conict, my research in Northern Ireland has involved the negotiated ethics of eldwork in high-conict situations, and I am a member of the generation of anthropologists raised on Dell Hymess Reinventing Anthropology (1974). Pels identies professionalisation as a dominant

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trend in contemporary anthropology. He argues that the purpose of professional ethics codes is to guarantee the technical and moral quality of service rendered to clients and help discipline members of the profession who fail to maintain what in corporate-speak would be termed quality control. Professionalism seems to mean redening anthropology as a form of employment like any othersimply a marketable research skill or commodity for sale in the marketplace. Thus, professionalisation and corporatisation appear to me to amount to the same thing. Pels then argues that, from this perspective, anthropological ethics codes have been practically useless. But this is not surprising, since the new corporatist motivation is quite different from the one on which current anthropological codes depend and represents a fundamental shift in both the ethos and the eidos that underlie them. The purpose of the rst ethics codes was to protect research participants from the potentially harmful effects of research involving them. The shift to professionalism subverts this, with the result that harm to research participants is ameliorated by competing ethical obligations and responsibilities to employers and authorities, now referred to in corporate-speak as clients or shareholders, whose interests are treated as equal to those of the people researched. Pels is correct when he observes that, in dening their professional interests and duties, anthropologists are now wavering between responsibility to the people researched, on the one hand, and service to those who fund research and the authorities under whose jurisdiction those researched live, on the other. We now appear to be confused about who our clients arethose studied, funders and sponsors, the anthropologist involved, the public? And, if all four, do we have equal ethical obligations to them all? Up to now, there has been a hierarchical principle that has helped to sort this conict outthe interests of the research participants have been treated as primary, since their cooperation can be obtained only on the basis of trust. This is important, because I cannot see why people should trust anthropologists if we do not promise them that their interests are paramount. Why help anthropologists do research for others who may harm or exploit them using that research? Without the prime directive to do no harm to research participants, anthropology as we have known it does not seem to me to be possible. Thus, the trend towards professionalisation strikes me as bourgeoisication or even an attempt to recolonise the discipline in the 1980s and 1990s, a time when what has always been an essentially bourgeois discipline has apparently lurched to the right, adapting to a long period of changed employment circumstances and right-wing global hegemony. I oppose moves towards the further professionalisation of our ethics codes and view any development that makes them more like those of the medical and legal professions not as progress in our ethical thinking but rather as a form of degradation of our existing standards. The many critics of medical and legal ethics point out that

they are more about protecting the professionals involved than about protecting their clients, and that is true for the move towards the professionalisation of anthropological ethics as well. It seems to me that anthropological codes have been subjected to a form of essentially conservative subversion that parallels the corporatisation of anthropology. Pels is aware of this criticism, observing that some of the 1960s proponents of radical ethicssuch as Gerald Berremanfear a neoliberal return to an immoral and instrumental interventionism. I agree with Berreman, and it is certainly not just the previous generation of anthropologists or radicals who share these fears. I believe that there is still more support within the discipline for the radical ethics of the 1960s than there is for the corporatised ethics of the 1990s, and this is particularly true if you consider the discipline on a global rather than a First World (primarily U.S.) basis. In this debate, anthropologists outside North America and Europeparticularly Third and Fourth World anthropologistsare once again being ignored in what appears to many of them to be a process of recolonisation of the discipline. Berreman (1991) has produced the most important and damning critique of the attempts to eviscerate the AAA code of ethics. He decries the shift away from idealism (and all notions of universal human rights, ethics, or morals are, by denition, idealist) towards self-centered practicality and identies four major removals or eviscerations that represent this shiftthat paramount responsibility is to the people studied, the censuring of covert research, the principle of accountability for ethical violations, and the commitment to public duty rather than private interest. With Berreman, I am appalled by these changes and oppose abandoning the spirit of ethical practice in anthropology that these fundamental ethical principles embody, and I share Berremans scathing but unavoidable conclusion (1991:52) that omitting these concerns results in not a code at all, but a mild statement of intent, and one conspicuously devoid of ethical content. It is in fact, I think, a license for unfettered freeenterprise research, advising and engineering disguised as anthropology, with the intent of employing the ethical reputation of the discipline to enable and facilitate a wide range of missionoriented activities, including those of dubious ethical and even egregiously unethical nature. Many anthropologists, but particularly those in the Third World, share Berremans view that such changes represent an abject surrender of principle to a misguided practicality, a sacrice of public interest to misperceived self-interest: replacing ethics with greed (p. 57). Pels acknowledges that the existing codes of ethics have served a number of functions other than the traditional professional ones, such as educational purposes, but does not believe they have been very useful.

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He prefers the case-studybased approach, where students read about actual cases of ethical dilemmas and how they were handled. Pels argues that the only eld where codes have really been useful is in creat[ing] an image of the discipline for those outside it, particularly the new sponsors that expect a certain service and can dictate the terms of employmentthis is the public relations function of an ethical code. Pels also acknowledges the obvious contribution, given the context of his article, of having and studying these codes as historical facts, texts produced at certain times and places, indicators of specic historical practices and their corresponding mentalities. Nonetheless, he concludes that the plethora of existing codes is a problem, that there is no need to produce new ones (which he suggests may even be dangerous or harmful), and that the emerging ethical stance which emphasizes a type of situational ethics negotiated with research participants and sponsors may mean that codes of anthropological ethics are no longer necessary. I disagree, and would argue for the oppositethe need for creating a whole new range of alternative codes that can compete in the arena of public debate about ethics in the discipline. While I welcome the move towards negotiated ethical contracts (the approach I have used in my research with Republican guerrillas in Northern Ireland), I believe that formal codes of ethics are still necessary as statements of our values and points around which debate and discussion may center. Rather than the current bourgeois focus on professionalism, these alternative codes would express other, less capitalist and more progressive systems of values. It seems to me that the current codes, for all their value, remain essentially top-down perspectives. What would an ethics code based on a bottomup perspective look like? Or a code specically based on the United Nations Universal Code of Human Rights? What would a subaltern, black, womens, Fourth World, or public interest code of ethics look like? And what about local codes of ethicssuch as the code we have adopted in New Zealand, which incorporates as prologue the Treaty of Waitangi, the fundamental constitutional document of a modern bicultural Aotearoa? The development of alternative codes may serve as a partial antidote to the trend towards the corporatisation of the discipline. As the ofcial codes of the main Occidental professional associations are gradually eviscerated, there is a compelling need for discussion of new codes that go in the opposite direction. For example, a perennial debate about the current codes is that they do not deal with politics or power differentials in research situations and do not distinguish between oppressors and oppressed, thus raising the question of whether there should be two codesone for research involving the poor and powerless (Fanons wretched of the earth) and another for that involving the rich and powerful (Millss power elite). Are the ethics of research with death-squad victims the same as those of research with death-squad executioners, and is

there a code of ethics that can deal with this problem? We need to get away from the moral failure to distinguish between oppressors and oppressed, which is presented as neutrality but tends in practice to advantage the oppressors and disadvantage the oppressed. And here the question of covert research becomes pressing. I do not believe that covert research on people involved in gross human rights violations is unethical just the opposite. There is still a pressing need to move away from archaic notions of the separation between science and politics (see DAndrade [1995] and ScheperHughes [1995] on Objectivity and Militancy), hints of which are still apparent in Pelss essay despite his recognition of Foucaults point that truth is always an effect on power. We need to create an alternative code of ethics that takes power into account, and I believe that can be achieved by creating one based on international human rights standards. In a footnote, Pels refers to the now famous court case in which a judge disqualied the expert testimony of anthropologists as partisan because the rst article of the AAA code stresses the paramountcy of the interests of research participants. All anthropologists are dismayed by this. More than any other discipline, anthropology has embraced postmodernism, and we should resist pressure to retard our discipline in order to keep it in line with outdated public and academic conceptions and maintain our authority. Since the 1960s, when ethics codes rst emerged in anthropology, we have failed to reinvent or decolonise the discipline, but we have made progress in some areas, effectively creating liberated zones. The past two decades have seen a backlash by conservative elements dedicated to reinventing anthropology in an oppositecorporatist image. g e o r ge u l r i c h Institute of Anthropology, Copenhagen University, Frederiksholms Kanal 4, 1220 Copenhagen, Denmark. 26 x 98 Taken by themselves, the four central sections of Pelss prehistory of ethical codes in anthropology read as a condensed sketch of the history of anthropology viewed from the perspective of its shifting moral commitments. With a keen sense of historical detail, Pels traces the rise of a broad range of fundamental moral themes which have been instrumental in dening the disciplines sense of purpose and professional identity and which to a very large extent remain current today. This, to my knowledge, is unprecedented; on account of its depth and feel for the complexities of balancing scientic and humanitarian commitments, it may be anticipated that the article at hand will serve as an important reference point and source of inspiration for future debates on anthropological ethics. However, framing Pelss rich historical exposition is a virtual diatribe against the idea of institutionalizing professional codes of ethics. According to a construct

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which he loosely refers to as the folk epistemology of professionalism, it is necessary for any academic discipline that wants to be taken seriously as a profession to adopt a formal code of ethics specifying its responsibilities towards its clients. The widespread currency of this notion today provides the occasion for Pelss article. The formalization of ethics is implicitly presented as an American encroachment on and threat to the integrity of European academic environments, and Pels is concerned to present us with historical alternatives. I nd it difcult to understand this degree of alarm over formal codes of ethics. While Pels convincingly casts doubt on some of their alleged advantages, he never makes it clear why they are so insidious as to merit the kind of opposition that he launches. In my own view, the current trend towards adoptingor, in many cases, revisingprofessional codes of ethics marks a relatively marginal aspect of a much broader pursuit of increased ethical accountability in the postcold war era. No doubt codes of ethics are often surrounded by a certain measure of hypocrisy, but this does not preclude their fullling various important functions, not the least of which is making a public commitment to certain basic standards which, in turn, provides a welcome focus for both ethical discussion and criticism. Of greater signicance, in my view, is the possibility that our underlying assumptions about ethical obligations and the moral mandate of anthropology may be undergoing a new set of radical changes in the 1990s. One would expect that Pels would have sought to illuminate precisely such developments through his historical review, yet the few observations that he does offer towards a clarication of the central ethical challenges of anthropology today appear to be added almost as an afterthought to his more fundamental objection to codes of ethics. This leads me to my main objection to Pelss argument. It is my impression that the primary reason he all but refrains from committing himself to a positive ethical agenda for anthropology today has to do with the underlying logic of his presentation, whereby every ethical stance in the history of anthropology is identied as unstable and untenable. Stated in more general terms, it appears that Pelss aversion to ethics codes is attributable to a profound mistrust of any positive ethical commitment. With reference to Alasdair MacIntyres account in After Virtue of a sweeping moral decline of Occidental culture, Pels hypostatizes a certain structure of duplicity as endemic to all (postAristotelian) Western morality. This, then, constitutes the perennial motif that is found reected in every phase of the history of anthropological ethics. In order to avoid the connotation of deliberate deceitfulness, Pels replaces the phrase duplicity with the more palatable coinage duplexity, but the implication is the same. Anthropology is forever caught in an inescapable moral contradiction, and any attempt at a universal moral commitment is open to exposure as the expression of particular interests. When viewed in this light, it is not surprising that the very agenda of drafting consistent ethical guidelines for professional conduct is go-

ing to be dismissed in advance. If ethics is always reducible to a latent political agenda or simply to expediency, then the quest for normative standards that can be maintained as valid and binding outside of established traditional, communal contexts is inevitably vain. Now, I am not convinced that we need to accept either MacIntyres communitarianism or the critical impulse to reduce ethics to politics as a normative platform for contemporary anthropology. To the contrary, if the general subject of ethics has enjoyed a remarkable revival in recent years, then this undoubtedly has much to do with a sense of urgency related to difculties which present themselves in situations of ethically charged interaction across cultural and communal boundaries, that is, in situations where no preexisting set of common moral references can be assumed. The challenge of dening the parameters of ethical decision making and accountability in such situations needs to be taken seriously. It may be argued that this is one of the central challenges of contemporary ethical theory. But it may further be argued that anthropology is in a privileged position to make an indispensable contribution precisely in this regard, and herein lies a unique opportunity for fostering a renewed sense of moral purpose. If we are able to rise to this challenge, we will see a new anthropology increasingly taking its point of departure not in the conicting moral assumptions that divide people(s) but rather in the shared moral problems that refer us to one another. Furthermore, I anticipate that we are going to witness a denitive shift away from the characteristic Occidental protective/manipulative (i.e., civilizing) impulsewhich Pels has identied as pivotal to the earliest phases of professional anthropology and which remains salient even in recent debates on anthropological advocacyto a primary focus on the quality and complications of reciprocal cross-cultural interaction. As I read the concluding section of his article, Pels himself points in this direction with his emphasis on negotiation and the idea of an emergent ethics. But these are notions which still stand in need of considerable elaboration. With his unprecedented survey of the history of anthropological ethics, Pels has provided a valuable set of tools for beginning this undertaking, but it is as if he himself stopped short of the task by limiting the purpose of his article merely to a prehistory of ethical codes in anthropology. p hi l i p q ua r l e s v a n u f f o r d Department of Anthropology and Development Sociology, Free University, Amsterdam, 1081 HV Amsterdam, The Netherlands. 18 x 98 Pels asserts that there is no need for an ethical code in anthropologythat a code serves no useful purpose and may in fact be harmful. I will argue that, although his historical analysis of ethical codes is largely correct, he does not go far enough. We badly need a new perspec-

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tive on the political responsibility of anthropologists. Pels provides us with an interesting analysis of past experiences, but he seems somewhat hesitant to draw serious conclusions. Duplicity is a key concept in Pelss essay. He argues that the fact-value distinction has been the basis of the various ethical codes in anthropology. We must deal, however, with the morals of factuality. The distinction is indeed irrelevant and anachronistic if it leads to the separation of the two dimensions and domains of our profession. As Pels observes, we cannot separately pursue our academic quest for truth, our professional advocacy of local cultures and communities, and our response to the interventions emanating from all kinds of political domains. He assumes, however, that acknowledgement of the ordo duplex in anthropology is a way out of the quagmire. He emphasizes the importance of negotiation and briey mentions the extended case method. It is important to emphasize the inherent duplicity of anthropology; Pels makes a valuable contribution by making us see that clearly. Still, this is only a start. We mustI feelmove on and learn to distinguish between different modes of coping with duplicity in our profession. How have we dealt with the inherent contradictions between the various responsibilities that we share as professional anthropologists? How do we judge the various ways of coping with the inherent condition of duplicity in the past? It is clear that the people who formulated the ethical codes we know have managed the duplicity of our profession by ignoring and negating it, denying the inherent contingency of our condition. There must be better ways of reinvigorating our discipline in a moral sense. One cannot expect to overcome the prevalent mood of depoliticized relativism in anthropology in this way. On the contrary. As a development sociologist I belong to a generation of relatively quiet do-gooders who took for granted the importance of combining research and practice. Apart from engaging in academic research about various development policies and agencies, I also advised some of these development agencies, wrote evaluations, and participated in various boards and committees. All this meant that I was never clean, often painfully so. I became immersed in various routines of duplicity. Like many colleagues I felt that it would be wrong to choose either applied or pure anthropology, a politicoeconomic approach or interpretive anthropology. It is my experience that this duplicity is becoming increasingly difcult; the separation between fact nding and ethical commitment is becoming wider. I feel that I must try to counter this development, rst academically and second politically. The discourse of moral and political commitment is qualitatively different from discourse that is questioning and deconstructive. Usually we fail to acknowledge the basic disjunctures between good analysis and good policy. The rationality of the one does not parallel that of the other. Elsewhere I have pointed out that the discourse of good development policy must be based on

a degree of ignorance concerning the situation of the target groups. I think that the demand for ethics must be turned inward. We must reexamine the kind of knowledge we wish to produce. We need to reestablish a balance between the two dimensions of our discipline, and this demands much more than rules and regulations. We cannot hope to be good anthropologists if we fail to redene ourselves also as intellectuals, or des clercs, as Julien Benda required of us a few years before World War II. This leads to a second point. Anthropologists must combine research at different levels of organization and break out of the local setting. The focus on localized settings has created an enormous naivete concerning other levels of organization. While the naivete of anthropologists has led to much ideologizing of the state in the past, the onslaught of the ideology of globalization is now meeting with a similar un critical naivete in our profession. Pels has written an interesting and important analysis of past attempts to be ethically relevant. We need to do more than formulate new codes. We must sensibly repoliticize our discipline and profession in a way that ts not the past but the present. m ur r a y l. w a x Department of Anthropology, Washington University, St. Louis, Mo. 63130, U.S.A. 1 ix 98 Coming to a strange community, an anthropologist will have an agenda. Community members, in their turn, may each have a vision about how to interact with this stranger. The anthropologist may encounter gatekeepers who wish to limit, monitor, censor, or prohibit the projected investigation. In multiply researched communities such as the reservations of North American Indians, some inhabitants will have sophisticated strategies for exploiting this stranger. Others may hope to use the anthropologist as a vehicle for narrating their stories or visualize him or her as a benefactor, intermediary, agent, or disciple. Whatever the personae, what ultimately develops between anthropologist and community is a joint creation shaped by the several parties (as is visible in the narratives of such eld anthropologists as R. Wax 1971, Turner 1987, Briggs 1970, Cassell 1998). By essentializing anthropological research, Pels disregards the emergent quality of eldwork and writes as if the only purposive actor were the anthropologist, por` trayed as duplicitous vis-a-vis the presumably naive members of the host community. Pels thus personies the Cretan paradox: I am a Cretan (anthropologist), and all Cretans (anthropologists) are liars (duplicitous). If so, why take seriously an essay that is such a tissue of misinterpretation and ignorance? Given limited space, I can hope only to correct a few of his errors. Pels portrays ethical issues and codes as if these were the products of ideological processes within a profession of independent actors. It is important to correct his image of developments within the United States.

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Consider the following recent case: The health problems of a local ethnic population have been an investigative priority of the researchers on the medical campus of a major U.S. university. Among its key staff is a medical anthropologist whose ethnic identity is close to this population. As part of a recent project funded by the federal government, she was asked to study the health beliefs of this population, and the inquiry led her to discover the crucial role of local healers whose practices were secretive. When she proposed to interview and observe their operations, the campus administrators endorsed her plan but then insisted that each healer ( research subject) sign a schedule of informed consent, this being their interpretation of the ethical requirements of the federal funding agency. Given that the status and practices of the healers could be judged as illegal and that many of them were not literate in English, the anthropologist judged this requirement gravely immoral. Having a signed statement in project les would have made them vulnerable to jural procedures. After a protracted struggle, she was able to deect the administrative requirement by insisting that her conduct as a researcher was governed by the ethical code of the American Anthropological Association. The case is not unique. To understand the bureaucratic dynamics, one requires a bit of institutional history. In the mid-1970s, the president of the United States convened a national commission to formulate ethical principles and guidelines for the protection of the human subjects of research. The commission was composed of eminent theologians, philosophers, and physicians, and its predominant concern was biomedical research, then of particular interest because of the experimentation that had been performed by Nazi doctors and also because of the recent revelation of the withholding of treatment from a cadre of black men aficted with syphilis in an experiment initiated in 1932 in Tuskeegee, Alabama, and continued thereafter (James 1981). While the commission took no testimony from social scientists (either anthropologists or others), its mandate was interpreted as including the behavioral sciences. In their deliberations, two phrases were repeatedly utilized: informed consent and risk/benet ratio. (Philosophically, the source of informed consent would be Kantian ethics and that of risk/ benet ratio utilitarian ethics. Although it might have been advocated by a MacIntyrethe philosopher used and misused by Pelsthe Aristotelean notion of the virtuous actor [research investigator] could not be legislated.) Consequent upon the work of the commission (National Commission for the Protection of Human Subjects 1978), a series of regulations were promulgated that required institutions receiving federal grants to institute procedures for reviewing the ethical bases of the research projects they sponsored. Since federal grants were an important ingredient of institutional research and since no institution wished to be branded as sponsoring unethical projects, the system quickly rami-

ed. Research institutions recruited attorneys and ethicists to interpret and enforce the federal regulations. Researchers were not permitted to undertake investigations unless these were approved by institutional review boards. Sociocultural anthropologists, fellow social scientists, and academic journalists (see American Association of University Professors 1981) found the review system uncongenial because its procedures were structured for monitoring biomedical investigation. The most elementary inquiries seemed to require complex institutional review. In order to explore the issues and redirect the bureaucratic procedures, a number of scholars now devoted themselves to the analysis of the ethical issues of social research (see, e.g., Beauchamp et al. 1982, Sieber 1982, Reynolds 1979, and Diener and Crandall 1978). Joan Cassell and I organized a series of interdisciplinary conferences on ethical problems of eldwork, many of whose papers then appeared in a special issue of the journal Social Problems (Cassell and Wax 1980b). In general, our analysis led to the conclusion that the primary ethical issues were not those of informed consent or of risk/benet ratios but of how the data were handled and disseminated (Cassell and Wax 1980a). In the abstract, this conclusion is sometimes acknowledged by the federal government but usually resisted by research institutions, which prefer to have signed consent statements in their les as a legal tactic for absolving themselves of any responsibility. The worst problem is constituted by courts of law, which have been disinclined to grant a privileged status to the relationship between anthropologist and hosts and so have been willing to authorize the seizing of eldnotes and the compelling of testimony by researchers. In the face of such institutional forces, ethical abstractions can be misleading. The anthropological disposition to consider cases can be helpful, and in the 1980s Sue-Ellen Jacobs instituted a regular column in the AAA Newsletter devoted to case narratives, subsequently edited by Cassell. Together with other materials, these narratives were assembled as an AAA handbook (Cassell and Jacobs 1987). Despite the need for such materials and an evident demand, the handbook has been allowed to go out of print. Given Pelss focus upon duplicity (or duplexity, if you will), the papers by Cassell (1991) and Wax (1992) in special issues of the International Journal of Moral and Social Studies would have particular relevance. To deal with the bureaucratic logic of the federal government, professional organizations within the United States have found it strategically useful to formulate (and reformulate) codes of professional ethics. In response to various crises and the continual series of changes in the environment of research, the codes are continually being revised. However, a truly relevant anthropological code can never be developed, because the present review system is grounded in 19th-century moral philosophies which violate elementary anthropological principles. Kantian and utilitarian (deontological

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and teleological) ethics focus upon detached and independent social atoms rather than upon human actors organically related to each other. The institutional review system is prejudiced in favor of research methodologies that mimic epidemiology and kindred objective approaches, dealing with humans as detached social atoms. From this it is but a short step to rejecting as unethical any proposal that employs methodologies which appear subjective, emphasizing eld relationships, participation, and reciprocities. Permit me to offer another example: In the 1960s, my associates and I conducted a study of the encounter of Oglala Sioux children with the school system operated by the federal government. Prior to the investigation, we obtained the consent of both the Commissioner of Indian Affairs and the Oglala Sioux Tribal Council. Nonetheless, most adult Sioux were perplexed by the nature of our study and of our identication as anthropologists. After completing the study (Wax et al. 1989 [1964]), we sent tens of copies of the report to the reservation, and the comments we received included If we had known the Waxes would write this kind of report, we might have helped them! Some time thereafter, I was approached by a research ofcer of the National Institute of Drug Abuse (NIDA), who perceived the need for an ethnographic study of how Indian teenagers were using and abusing hallucinogenic inhalants, an extremely destructive if popular practice. In corresponding with the Sioux, I again received permission for a study from the Tribal Council and even from a local school board. Despite these evidences of support, when I tried now to secure the funding promised by the ofcer of NIDA I encountered a pair of psychologists who skillfully blocked the investigation on the grounds that I had not shown how I could secure the assent of the teenage glue-sniffers. As they interpreted the federal regulations, the consent of parents and tribal authorities was not ethically sufcient. Had the present AAA Code of Ethics been then in effect, I might have utilized it to deect their bureaucratic critique. Thus, in order to understand ethical issues in contemporary anthropological investigations and the appeal to codes of ethics, one needs to be conscious of crucial actorssuch as gatekeepersas tellingly explicated by Barnes (1977, 1980, 1984), and one needs to consider issues of relative status and power as explicated by Cassell (e.g., 1982a, b). Because Pels has failed to acquaint himself with the literatures mentioned above, his analysis is unanthropological. He has essentialized anthropological inquiry and its ethical dilemmas. All too often he writes as if there were unanimity among anthropologists when in fact there have been bitter ideological disputes in which the various parties appealed to ethical principles to justify political partisanship. Likewise, he totally ignores the emergence of applied anthropology and action anthropology, each having an ethical ideology. As is typical of accounts based on hearsay and misreading, Pels does not perceive that while Vine Deloria

could mock anthropology, he also saw the need for it (1980, 1991, and in public discourse at AAA meetings). Yes, North American Indians have teased, criticized, and even vilied anthropologists, but they have also valued their researches to the point where they have commissioned them and, in addition, have produced their own anthropologists (see Pavlik 1998 and, for an evaluation by Indians of the research projects conducted within their communities, Wax 1991 and Deloria 1991). Pels fails to perceive that Project Camelot was the natural outgrowth of the participation of social scientists in World War II and had been designed as an open research and archival project (Wax 1979). The furor about the project had more to do with rivalries between the U.S. Departments of State and Defense than with true ethical issues, but it became a myth and symbol for the postwar generation of anthropologists, many of whom were so bitterly opposed to the military intervention in Southeast Asia as to be willing to distort the most evident facts. (Some even deceived themselves into seeing political virtue in military movements and governmental regimes to which the appropriate response would have been horror and censure.) Disciplined inquiry about other peoples has been conducted throughout the millennia by many persons and in various contexts. Some reporters have been honest, some dishonest, some moral, some immoral; some have provided great benets to their hosts, others have inicted injuries; some have worked cooperatively and with reciprocity, others not so. At times Pels seems to recognize these distinctions, but, regrettably, when he essentializes anthropological inquiry he dissolves them into a tasteless melange.

Reply
peter pels Amsterdam, The Netherlands. 15 xii 98 The number, scope, and diversity of the reactions to my essay are a challenge, and I will not be able to do full justice to them. I am particularly happy to see a published materialization of the discussion from which the essay emerged and to which it hopes to contribute. An especially positive aspect of the comments is the way in which they help to take the discussion of anthropological ethics away from its narrow focus on the national institutional space of anthropological associations and their codes of conduct. The addition of information about France and Sweden (Copans, Dahl), of a New Zealand point of view (Sluka), and of a broader institutional dimension of the most recent U.S. discussion (Wax) brings in interesting comparative dimensions. It should, moreover, do away with the ethnicization of this discussion into a spurious contrast between litigious Americans and the ethical paucity of European anthropology that Fluehr-Lobban and Ulrich

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seem to be able to discern. Clearly, ethical discussion among European anthropologists is far more diverse than that; moreover, as Copans points out, one can also discern different arenas of debate among U.S. anthropologists (between, for instance, the code-focused discussion within AAA institutions and the more political moral arguments in a broader disciplinary debate.)1 Most important, we should not let such ethnicizations of the discussion distract us from the issue of the way in which our ethical discussion is supported by a culture of legalist liberalism (dominant in the U.S.A. but found throughout Europe as well)a point to which I will return. An ethnicization of the debate is only one of the possible essentialist pitfalls threatening the discussion. Perhaps the most obvious of these is the ination of the accusation of essentialization itself, as practised in the comments by Giri, Shore, and Wax, who seem to dene essentialization in terms of any commitment to specic categories of argument. In my understanding, a historical analysis is an explicit attempt at deessentialization, and I think my version of anthropological history (which lacks the essentialist claim that this is the history of anthropological ethics) shows, if anything, that (a) there is no absolutist or monolithic notion of ethics operative in anthropology (vs. Shore; he seems to mistake my argument that a very recent professionalist discourse in anthropology uses ethical codes as a hegemonic strategy for one that all anthropologists use the same notion of morality); (b) there is no unied anthropological actor in the moral eld but several, sometimes conicting layers of moral discourse (vs. Wax; his accusation that I am involved in a Cretan paradox is itself based on a thorough essentialization of my position); and (c) any harmonial attempt to see anthropological eldwork as based on dialogue (Giri; cf. also reciprocity [Agier] or joint creation [Wax]) has to think through the more agonistic issue of epistemological contradiction as well. The argument about epistemological contradiction is in fact the core of the paper. It implies that any attempt to proclaim the moral goal of anthropology will inevitably be essentializing if it does not take the duplexity of anthropological knowledge production into account. Ulrich is right when he identies this as a profound distrust of any positive ethical commitment (my emphasis): in the eld of anthropological morality, we have to be even more wary of positivism than in other areas of theoretical discussion. Many of my commentators have not recognized this epistemological argument, as is apparent from their failure to appreciate the distinction between duplicity and duplexity (Amborn, Fluehr-Lobban, Ulrich, Wax). It may not be a coincidence that most of them also read an earlier version of the essay in which I was not particularly clear about this important issue. The neologism
1. As the most extreme example of diversity within the national arena, Copans seems to be unaware of the discussion about ethics organized by the Association pour la Recherche en Anthropologie Sociale in Paris on October 22, 1997, to which I was invited.

duplexity was devised in response to earlier comments that reacted, sometimes vehemently, to the pejorative connotation of duplicity, which, lacking sufcient mastery of the English language, I had overlooked. The paper states explicitly that I want to get away from the oscillation between a naive discourse on standards of ethics and its opposite, the emotivist unmasking of these standards as functioning in a particular interest. My use of duplexity points to a contradiction in the conditions of the ethnographic production of knowledge that cannot be dissociated from the moral stances that anthropologists may take. It is not about bad faith or the negotiation of particular interests as much as about what I regard as a condition of the politics of knowledge of ethnography. The essay deals with the different and sometimes contradictory ways in which this epistemological condition entered into anthropologys moral arguments at different stages of its developmentwhich is rather a long way from saying that all anthropologists or ethnographers confront, or have to confront, this epistemological condition in the same way. I fully agree with Copans, who, recognizing that duplexity is the essence of the anthropological position, does not take it for granted and looks for ways of dealing with that condition by an ethics of doubt and cultural reversal that nevertheless has to move in a political world where some are more equal than others. Another source of misunderstanding has been my failure to explicate more thoroughly that I am discussing the condition of duplexity relative to professionalist discourse in anthropology. Given that anthropology emerged as a science (the members of which were experts, whether academically trained or not) and that today it has a clear institutional presence as a discipline (which trains students in its modes of operation), we need to ask what is specic and necessary about the ways in which anthropologists present themselves as professionals (that is, people who offer a service to laypersons). As Nader clearly indicates in her useful comments, all professions proclaimed autonomy and independence and repudiated free-enterprise practice while they were being sandwiched by conicting interestsand, one can add, increasingly subordinated to the more powerful among them (cf. Freidson 1984). Such deprofessionalization (which, pace Sluka, I regard as concomitant with corporatization as well as, pace Dahl, with an increase in accountability and transparency) may lead to an increase in emphasis on the disciplinary aspecthence the widespread call for including ethics in the curriculum, despite Copanss justied scepticism about the potential success of the latter. The kinds of dilemmas in anthropological moral discourse that seem to be facing us today may therefore well lead to a shift from the professional rhetoric of ethics towards one on the morals of our scientic and disciplinary identity (a development that I feel would be salutary). This would, however, increase the poignancy of Copanss question of how to be an anthropologist and an expert as well. Where is our neutrality if

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our expertise is to be neutral not only towards one set of values but towards several? Nader may well be right to suggest that there is a different justice depending on whether the lawyer is facing her clients or the Bar or a different health according to the HMO or to the patients, but surely that conclusion is too counterintuitive to be taken for the established view of professionalism? A further issue with professionalist discourse is the rapid change it seems to have been undergoing in the 1990s (see Ulrich). As I argued in the essay and have made more explicit elsewhere, the increasing emphasis on the accountability of research and teaching has fortied the public relations aspects of ethical codes, leading to the paradox that what seems like an increase in transparency and accountability (as Dahl has it; see also Ulrich) also produces an increase in invisibility (cf. Power 1994:26). Screening or auditing can therefore have a double effectboth making visible and screening off. It is therefore unclear whether this will make anthropology more accountable (to, for instance, underprivileged groups) or whether it is meant to make it less accountable (to what Shore calls monitoring systems)it can clearly work both ways. An interesting suggestion in this respect is made by Sluka (cf. the doubts about the Principles rst article voiced early on by Nader) when he argues that an alternative, bottomup ethics might legitimize covert research in the interests of the underprivileged or the people whose human rights are being violated.2 The secrecy of researchanathema to most liberal temperamentsis only one of the issues that should be central to a further questioning of anthropologists moral heritage, a questioning that, as Wax points out, should identify our problems with a Kantian or utilitarianthat is, liberalistethics. Again, I am in full agreement with Copans when he says that the spirit of negotiation that is at issue today corresponds to a supposedly new paradigm, that is, liberalism (or neoliberalism) [which is] characterized by a discourse of sociological or cultural equity that disguises anything symbolic of domination. I never intended my invocation of negotiation to be a moral one (as Copans recognizes) but merely meant to suggest that the concept is better suited to understanding the conditions of anthropological morality today than the earlier emphasis on legitimate intervention and proper representation. The new discourse on accountability is clearly set within a neoliberal, or postcold war atmosphere (Ulrich). One of its more problematic aspects is, I feel, put forward by Giri, who argues for a recognition of dialogue on the basis of a Kantian ideal of self-formation or personal vocation that is apparently accessible only to people who have progressed beyond a conventional stage. This, I suspect, would lend credence to the attempt to impose standards of ethics held by a supposedly more elevated section of humanity on those who have not yet reached their form of enlightenmenta version of the typical liberal paradox of whether one is allowed to il2. I have elaborated on this elsewhere (Pels 1998).

liberally impose liberal forms of being on those who do not conform to them (Parekh 1995). I do not want to accuse Giri of this, but I do feel that his emphasis on actors, agents, and their life-histories should be subordinate to the critical focus on the forms of power by which their interactions are mediated. Another issue crucial to the rethinking of our liberal heritage is that of politics, and here I am inclined to accept Robbens profound suggestion that I should have included a separate focus on the moral situation of anthropology during World War II. Indeed, the proclamation of overriding issues of sovereignty during the war years, which made anthropologists decisively change their attitude towards the people they studied at least for the duration of those years (cf. Yans-McLaughlin 1986), would indeed have been an additional source of insight into the development of postwar issues of ethical commitment. Sovereignty is, of course, the zero degree of political commitment, and I regard Robbens suggestion as reinforcing my own, Quarles van Uffords, and Amborns exhortation to incorporate issues of power and politics into ethical discussion (beyond, that is, declaring them, in classical liberal fashion, to be out of ethical bounds). Here I need to underscore that both Ulrich and Giri starkly misrepresent my position by quoting my argument that the ethical escape from politics requires politics while forgetting that it is immediately followed by the complementary argument that politics needs ethics to escape from itself. It is signicant that Copans calls some of the more interesting critical anthropologists of recent years political rather than ethicalI would endorse that while adding that one cannot straightforwardly replace a liberalist primacy of ethics with an antiliberal primacy of politics. In addition, a number of other issues have emerged in this discussion. First, it gave me occasion to question the ethics of anthropological discussion, which I feel are repeatedly violated by Wax when he uses invective (a tissue of misinterpretation and ignorance, hearsay and misreading) without providing the substance of an argument that would allow his interlocutor to refute it. Second, and much more important, there is Copanss excellent idea of an ethics of theory, which he explicates in relation to Marxism but which can, obviously, also be further elaborated with reference to the discussion on anthropological forms of representation that started in the 1980s (Clifford and Marcus 1986). Lastly, I would urge anthropologists to discussshort of immediately adoptingSlukas interesting remarks about an oppositional codication of ethics in terms of the human rights of the underprivileged. Although, for reasons set out in the essay, I am not convinced of its immediate social success, I do think that it would form a valuable addition to our moral discussions. Perhaps needless to add, I do not claim in any way to be more capable of dening available alternatives than my interlocutorsas Ulrich says, notions of negotiation or emergent ethics are in need of much further elaboration. Clearly, Giri, Schrader, and Ulrich use a term such as emergent ethics in ways not necessarily

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coinciding with mine. I would be inclined to think further about these terms against the background sketched in this paperthat is, by means of an epistemological reection on the agonistic dimensions of eldwork, of our struggles to comprehend, including our failures to do so. Specically, we should make a new effort to formulate in a more methodologically precise and historically faithful way why we think ethnography is such a valuable endeavourhow we can explain to audiences other than anthropologists why a mode of research that cannot predict its outcome and that prides itself on the discovery of the culturally unfamiliar (rather than those values with which one can positively identify beforehand) is such a valuable attribute of human understanding. I think most of my interlocutors would agree that that would provide a more lasting contribution to ethical discussion than focusing on professional codes of conduct.

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