On Ethnographic Authority
James Clifford
Representations, No. 2. (Spring, 1983), pp. 118-146.
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J A M E S C L I F F O R D
On Ethnographic Authority*
THE1724 FRONTISPIECE of Father Lafitau's Moeurs des sauuages
ameriquains portrays the ethnographer as a young woman sitting at a writing table
amidst artifacts from the New World and from classical Greece and Egypt. The
author is accompanied by two cherubs who assist in the task of comparison and by
the bearded figure of Time who points toward a tableau representing the ultimate
source of the truths issuing from the writer's pen. The image toward which the
young woman lifts her gaze is a bank of clouds where Adam, Eve and the serpent
appear. Above them stand the redeemed man and woman of the Apocalypse on either
side of a radiant triangle bearing the Hebrew script for Yahweh.
The frontispiece for Malinowski's Argonauts of the Western Paczfic is a photograph
with the caption "A Ceremonial Act of the Kula." A shell necklace is being
offered to a Trobriand chief who stands at the door of his dwelling. Behind the man
presenting the necklace is a row of six bowing youths, one of them sounding a conch.
All the figures stand in profile, their attention apparently concentrated on the rite of
exchange, a real event of Melanesian life. But on closer inspection one of the bowing
Trobrianders may be seen to be looking at the camera.
Lafitau's allegory is the less familiar: his author transcribes rather than originates.
Unlike Malinowski's photo, the engraving makes no reference to ethnographic
experience-despite Lafitau's five years of research among the Mohawks,
research that has earned him a respected place among the fieldworkers of any generation.
His account is presented not as the product of first-hand observation but of
writing, in a crowded workshop. The frontispiece from Argonauts, like all photographs,
asserts presence, that of the scene before the lens. But it suggests also another
presence-the ethnographer actively composing this fragment of Trobriand
reality. Kula exchange, the subject of Malinowski's book, has been made perfectly
visible, centered in the perceptual frame. And a participant's glance redirects our
attention to the observational standpoint we share, as readers, with the ethnographer
and his camera. The predominant mode of modern fieldwork authority is signaled:
"You are there, because I was there."
The present essay traces the formation and breakup of this authority in twentieth
century social anthropology. It is not a complete account, nor is it based on a
fully realized theory of ethnographic interpretation and textuality.' Such a theory's
contours are problematic, since the activity of cross cultural representation is now
more than usually in question. The present predicament is linked to the breakup
and redistribution of colonial power in the decades after 1950 and to the echoes of
118 REPRESENTATIONS .Spring, 1983 o OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA1:2 T I ~ EREGENTS
that process in the radical cultural theories of the 1960s and 1970s. After the Negritude
movement's reversal of the European gaze, after anthropology's crise de conscience
with respect to its liberal status within the imperial order, and now that the
West can no longer present itself as the unique purveyor of anthropological knowledge
about others, it has become necessary to imagine a world of generalized ethnography.
With expanded communication and intercultural influence, people
interpret others, and themselves, in a bewildering diversity of idioms-a global condition
of what Bakhtin called "heterogl~ssia."~This ambiguous, multi-vocal world
makes it increasingly hard to conceive of human diversity as inscribed in bounded,
independent cultures. Difference is an effect of inventive syncretism. In recent years
works like Edward Said's Orientalism and Paulin Hountondji's Sur la "philosophie
africaine" have cast radical doubt on the procedures by which alien human groups
can be represented, without proposing systematic, sharply new methods or epistemologies.
These studies suggest that while ethnographic writing cannot entirely
escape the reductionist use of dichotomies and essences, it can at least struggle selfconsciously
to avoid portraying abstract, a-historical other^."^ It is more than ever
crucial for different peoples to form complex concrete images of one another, as well
as of the relationships of knowledge and power that connect them. But no sovereign
scientific method or ethical stance can guarantee the truth of such images. They are
constituted-the critique of colonial modes of representation has shown at least this
much-in specific historical relations of dominance and dialogue.
The experiments in ethnographic writing surveyed below do not fall into a clear
reformist direction or evolution. They are ad hoc inventions and cannot be seen in
terms of a systematic analysis of post-colonial representation. They are perhaps best
understood as components of that "toolkit" of engaged theory recently recommended
by Deleuze and Foucault.
The notion of theory as a toolkit means (i) The theory to be constlucted is not a system but an
instrument, a logic of the specificity of power relations and the struggles around them; (ii)
That this investigation can only be carried out step by step on the basis of reflection (which
will necessarily be historical in some of its aspects) on given situation^.^
We may contribute to a practical reflection on cross cultural representation by undertaking
an inventory of the better, though imperfect, approaches currently at
hand. Of these, ethnographic fieldwork remains an unusually sensitive method. Participant
observation obliges its practitioners to experience, at a bodily as well as
intellectual level, the vicissitudes of translation. It requires arduous language learning,
some degree of direct involvement and conversation, and often a derangement of
personal and cultural expectations. There is, of course, a myth of fieldwork, and the
actual experience, hedged around with contingencies, rarely lives up to the ideal. But
as a means for producing knowledge from an intense, intersubjective engagement,
the practice of ethnography retains a certain exemplary status. Moreover, if fieldwork
has for a time been identified with a uniquely Western discipline and a totalizOn
Ethnographic Authority 119
ing science of "anthropology," these associations are not necessarily permanent.
Current styles of cultural description are historically limited and undergoing important
metamorphoses.
The development of ethnographic science cannot ultimately be understood in
isolation from more general political-epistemological debates about writing and the
representation of otherness. However, in the present discussion I have maintained a
focus on professional anthropology and specifically on developments within interpretive
ethnography since 1950.5 The current crisis-or better, dispersion-of ethnographic
authority makes it possible to mark off a rough period, bounded by the
years 1900 and 1960, during which a new conception of field research established
itself as the norm for European and American anthropology. Intensive fieldwork,
pursued by university trained specialists, emerged as a privileged, sanctioned source
of data about exotic peoples. It is not a question, here, of the dominance of a single
research method. "Intensive" ethnography was variously defined.6 Moreover, the
hegemony of fieldwork was established earlier and more thoroughly in America and
England than it was in France. The early examples of Boas and the Torres Straits
Expedition were matched only belatedly by the founding of the Institut d'Ethnologie
in 1925 and the much-publicized Mission Dakar-Djibouti of 1932.' Nevertheless,
by the mid-1930s one can fairly speak of a developing international consensus: valid
anthropological abstractions were to be based, wherever possible, on intensive cultural
descriptions by qualified scholars. By the mid-1930s the new style had been
made popular, institutionalized, and embodied in specific textual practices.
It has recently become possible to identify and take a certain distance from these
convention^.^ If ethnography produces cultural interpretations through intense research
experiences, how is unruly experience transformed into an authoritative written
account? How, precisely, is a garrulous, overdetermined, cross cultural
encounter shot through with power relations and personal cross purposes circumscribed
as an adequate version of a more-or-less discrete "other world," composed by
an individual author?
In analyzing this complex transformation one must bear in mind the fact that
ethnography is from beginning to end enmeshed in writing. This writing includes,
minimally, a translation of experience into textual form. The process is complicated
by the action of multiple subjectivities and political constraints beyond the control of
the writer. In response to these forces ethnographic writing enacts a specific strategy
of authority. This has classically involved an unquestioned claim to appear as the
purveyor of truth in the text. A complex cultural experience is enunciated by an
individual: We the Tikopia, by Raymond Firth; Nous auons mangk la for&, by
Georges Condominas; Coming ofAge in Samoa, by Margaret Mead; The Nuer, by
Evans-Pritchard.
The discussion that follows first locates this authority historically-in the development
of a twentieth-century science of participant-observation. It then proceeds to
a critique of underlying assumptions and a review of emerging textual practices.
Alternate strategies of ethnographic authority may be seen in recent experiments by
ethnographers who self-consciously reject scenes of cultural representation in the
style of Malinowski's frontispiece. Different secular versions of Lafitau's crowded
scriptorial workshop are emerging. In the new paradigms of authority the writer is
no longer fascinated by transcendent figures-by a Hebrew-Christian deity or its
twentieth-century replacements, "Man" and "culture." Nothing remains of the
heavenly tableau except the anthropologist's scumbled image in a mirror. And the
silence of the ethnographic workshop has been broken-by insistent, heteroglot
voices, by the scratching of other p e m 9
At the close of the nineteenth century nothing guaranteed, a priori, the ethnographer's
status as the best interpreter of native life-as opposed to the traveller,
and especially to the missionary and administrator, some of whom had been in the
field far longer and had better research contacts and linguistic skills. The development
of the fieldworker's image in America, from Cushing (an oddball) to Margaret
Mead (a national figure) is significant. During this period a particular form of authority
was created, an authority both scientifically validated and based on a unique
personal experience. During the 1920s Malinowski played a central role in establishing
credit for the fieldworker, and we should recall in this light his attacks on the
competence of competitors in the field. For example, the colonial magistrate Rentoul,
who had the temerity to contradict science's findings concerning Trobriand conceptions
of paternity, was excommunicated in the pages of Man for his unprofessional
"police court perspective." The attack on amateurism in the field was pressed even
further by Radcliffe-Brown who, as Ian Langham has shown, came to epitomize the
scientific professional, discovering rigorous social laws, etc.1° What emerged during
the first half of the twentieth century, with the success of professional fieldwork, was
a new fusion of general theory and empirical research, of cultural analysis with
ethnographic description.
The fieldworker-theorist replaced an older partition between the "man on the
spot" (in Frazer's words) and the sociologist or anthropologist in the metropole.
This division of labor varied in different national traditions. In America, for example,
Morgan had personal knowledge of at least some of the cultures that were raw
material for his sociological syntheses; and Boas, rather earlier than elsewhere, made
intensive fieldwork the sine qua non of serious anthropological discourse. But in
general, before Malinowski, Radcliffe-Brown, and Mead had successfully established
the norm of the university trained scholar testing and deriving theory from
first-hand research, a rather different economy of ethnographic knowledge prevailed.
For example, Codrington's The Melanesians (1891) is a detailed compilation
of folklore and custom, drawn from a relatively long term of research as an evangelist
and based on intensive collaboration with indigenous translators and informants.
The book is not organized around a fieldwork "experience," and it does not advance
a unified interpretative hypothesis, functional, historical or otherwise. It is content
On Ethnographic Authority 121
with low level generalizations and the amassing of an eclectic range of information.
Codrington is acutely aware of the incompleteness of his knowledge, believing that
real understanding of native life begins only after a decade or so of experience and
study." This understanding of the difficulty of grasping the world of alien peoplesthe
many years of learning and unlearning needed, the problems of acquiring a
thorough linguistic competence-tends to dominate the most serious ethnographic
work of Codrington's generation. But such assumptions would soon be challenged by
the more confident cultural relativism of the Malinowskian model. The new fieldworkers
sharply distinguished themselves from the earlier "men on the spot," the
missionary, the administrator, the trader, and the traveller, whose knowledge of indigenous
peoples, they argued, was not informed by the best scientific hypotheses or
a sufficient neutrality.
Before the emergence of professional ethnography, writers like McLennan,
Lubbock, and Tylor had attempted to control the quality of the reports on which
their anthropological syntheses were based. They did this by means of the guidelines
of Notes and Queries and, in Tylor's case, by cultivating long-term working relations
with sophisticated researchers in the field like the missionary Lorimer Fison. After
1883, as newly appointed Reader in Anthropology at Oxford, Tylor worked to encourage
the systematic gathering of ethnographic data by qualified professionals.
T h e United States Bureau of Ethnology, already committed to the undertaking, provided
a model. Tylor was active in founding a Committee on the North-Western
Tribes of Canada. The Committee's first agent in the field was the nineteen-year
veteran missionary among the Ojibwa, E. F. Wilson. H e was replaced, before long,
by Franz Boas, a physicist in the process of turning to professional ethnography.
George Stocking has persuasively argued that the replacement of Wilson by Boas
"marks the beginning of an important phase in the development of British ethnographic
method: the collection of data by academically trained natural scientists
defining themselves as anthropologists, and involved also in the formulation and
evaluation of anthropological theory." With Boas' early survey work and the
emergence in the 1890s of other natural-scientist fieldworkers like A. C. Haddon
and Baldwin Spencer, the move toward professional ethnography was underway.
T h e Torres Straits Expedition of 1899 may be seen as a culmination of the work of
this "intermediate generation," as Stocking calls them. The new style of research
was clearly different from that of missionaries and other amateurs in the field, and
part of a general trend, since Tylor, "to draw more closely together the empirical
and theoretical components of anthropological inquiry."12
However, the establishment of intensive participant-observation as a professional
norm would have to await the Malinowskian cohort. The "intermediate generation"
of ethnographers did not, typically, live in a single locale for a year or more,
mastering the vernacular and undergoing a personal learning experience comparable
to an initiation. They did not speak as cultural insiders, but retained the natural
scientist's documentary, observational stance. The principal exception, before the
third decade of the century, Frank Hamilton Cushing, remained an isolated instance.
As Curtis Hinsley has suggested, Cushing's long first-hand study of the
Zunis, his quasi-absorption into their way of life, "raised awkward problems of
verification and accountability. . . . A community of scientific anthropology on the
model of other sciences required a common language of discourse, channels of regular
communication, and at least minimal consensus on judging method."13 Cushing's
intuitive, excessively personal understanding of the Zuni could not confer scientific
authority.
Schematically put, before the late nineteenth century the ethnographer and the
anthropologist, the describer/translator of custom and the builder of general theories
about humanity, were distinct. (A clear sense of the tension between ethnography
and anthropology is important in correctly perceiving the recent, and perhaps temporary,
conflation of the two projects.) Malinowski gives us the imago of the new
"anthropologistn-squatting by the campfire, looking, listening and questioning, recording,
and interpreting Trobriand life. The literary charter of this new authority
is the first chapter of Argonauts, with its prominently displayed photographs of the
ethnographer's tent pitched among Kiriwinian dwellings. The sharpest methodological
justification for the new mode is to be found in Radcliffe-Brown's Andaman
Islanders. The two books were published within a year of each other. And
although their authors developed quite different fieldwork styles and visions of cultural
science, both early texts provide explicit arguments for the special authority of
the ethnographer-anthropologist.
Malinowski, as his notes for the crucial Introduction to Argonauts show, was
greatly concerned with the rhetorical problem of convincing his readers that the facts
he was putting before them were objectively acquired, not subjective creations.14
Moreover, he was fully aware that "In Ethnography, the distance is often enormous
between the brute material of information-as it is presented to the student in his
own observations, in native statement, in the kaleidoscope of tribal life-and the
final authoritative presentation of the results."15 Stocking has nicely analyzed the
various literary artifices of Argonauts (its engaging narrative constructs, use of active
voice in the "ethnographic present," illusive dramatizations of the author's participation
in scenes of Trobriand life) techniques Malinowski used so that "his own
experience of the natives' experience (might) become the reader's experience as
we11."16 The problems of verification and accountability that had relegated Cushing
to the professional margin were very much on Malinowski's mind. This anxiety is
reflected in the mass of data contained in Argonauts, its sixty-six photographic
plates, the now rather curious "Chronological list of Kula Events Witnessed by the
Writer," the constant alternation between impersonal description of typical behavior
and statements on the order of "I witnessed . . .," and "Our party, sailing from the
North. . . ."
Argonauts is a complex narrative, simultaneously of Trobriand life and of ethnographic
fieldwork. It is archetypical of the generation of ethnographies that sucOn
Ethnographic Authority 123
cessfully established participant-observation's scientific validity. The story of
research built into Argonauts, into Mead's popular work on Samoa, into We the
Tikopia, became an implicit narrative underlying all professional reports on exotic
worlds. If subsequent ethnographies did not need to include developed fieldwork
accounts, it was because such accounts were assumed, once a statement was made on
the order of, for example, Godfrey Lienhardt's single sentence at the beginning of
Diuinity and Experience: "This book is based upon two years' work among the
Dinka, spread over the period 1947-1950.""
In the 1920s, the new fieldworker-theorist brought to completion a powerful
new scientific and literary genre, the ethnography, a synthetic cultural description
based on participant-obser~ation.'~ onThe new style of representation depended
institutional and methodological innovations circumventing the obstacles to rapid
knowledge of other cultures that had preoccupied the best representatives of
Codrington's generation. These may be briefly summarized.
First, the persona of the fieldworker was validated, both publicly and professionally.
In the popular domain, visible figures like Malinowski, Mead, and Griaule
communicated a vision of ethnography as both scientifically demanding and heroic.
The professional ethnographer was trained in the latest analytic techniques and
modes of scientific explanation. This conferred an advantage over amateurs in the
field: the professional could claim to get to the heart of a culture more quickly,
grasping its essential institutions and structures. A prescribed attitude of cultural
relativism distinguished the fieldworker from missionaries, administrators, and others
whose view of natives was, presumably, less dispassionate, who were preoccupied
with the problems of government, or conversion. In addition to scientific
sophistication and relativist sympathy, a variety of normative standards for the new
form of research emerged: the fieldworker was to live in the native village, use the
vernacular, stay a sufficient (but seldom specified) length of time, investigate certain
classic subjects, and so on.
Second: it was tacitly agreed that the new-style ethnographer, whose sojourn in
the field seldom exceeded two years, and more frequently was much less, could efficiently
"use" native languages without "mastering" them. In a significant article of
1939 Margaret Mead argued that the ethnographer following the Malinowskian
prescription to avoid interpreters and to conduct research in the vernacular did not,
in fact, need to attain "virtuosity" in native tongues, but could "use" the vernacular
to ask questions, maintain rapport, and generally get along in the culture while
obtaining good research results in particular areas of concentration.19 This, in effect,
justified her own practice, which featured relatively short stays and a focus on specific
domains, like childhood, or "personality." These foci would function as "types"
for a cultural synthesis. But her attitude toward language "use" was broadly characteristic
of an ethnographic generation that could, for example, credit an authoritative
study called The Nuer, that was based on only eleven months of difficult research.
Mead's article provoked a sharp response from Robert Lowie, writing from the
older Boasian tradition, more philological in its o r i e n t a t i ~ n . ~ ~But his was a rearguard
action; the point had been generally established that valid research could, in
practice, be accomplished on the basis of a one or two-year familiarity with a foreign
vernacular (even though, as Lowie suggested, no one would credit a translation of
Proust that was based on an equivalent knowledge of French).
Third: the new ethnography was marked by an increased emphasis on the
power of observation. Culture was construed as an ensemble of characteristic behaviors,
ceremonies and gestures, susceptible to recording and explanation by a trained
onlooker. Mead pressed this point furthest (indeed, her own powers of visual analysis
were extraordinary). As a general trend the participant-observer emerged as a
research norm. Of course, successful fieldwork mobilized the fullest possible range of
interactions, but a distinct primacy was accorded to the visual: interpretation was
tied to description. After Malinowski, a general suspicion of "privileged informants"
reflected this systematic preference for the (methodical) observations of the ethnographer
over the (interested) interpretations of indigenous authorities.
Fourth: certain powerful theoretical abstractions promised to help academic ethnographers
"get to the heart" of a culture more rapidly than someone undertaking,
for example, a thorough inventory of customs and beliefs. Without spending years
getting to know natives, their complex languages and habits, in intimate detail, the
researcher could go after selected data that would yield a central armature of structure
of the cultural whole. Rivers' "genealogical method," followed by RadcliffeBrown's
model of "social structure," provided this sort of shortcut. Onc could, it
seemed, elicit kin terms without a deep understanding of local vernacular, and the
range of necessary contextual knowledge was conveniently limited.
Fifth: since culture, seen as a complex whole, was always too much to master in
a short research span, the new ethnographer tended to focus thematically on particular
institutions. The aim was not to contribute to a complete inventory or description
of custom, but rather to get at the whole through one or more of its parts. We have
noted the privilege given, for a time, to social structure. An individual life-cycle, a
ritual complex like the Kula ring or the Naven ceremony could also serve, as could
categories of behavior like "economics," "politics," and the like. In the predominantly
synecdochic rhetorical stance of the new ethnography, parts were assumed to
be microcosms or analogies of wholes. This setting of institutional foregrounds
against cultural backgrounds in the portrayal of a coherent world lent itself to realist
literary conventions.
Sixth: the wholes thus represented tended to be synchronic, products of shortterm
research activity. The intensive fieldworker could plausibly sketch the contours
of an "ethnographic presentn-the cycle of a year, a ritual series, patterns of typical
behavior. To introduce long-term historical inquiry would have impossibly complicated
the task of the new-style fieldwork. Thus, when Malinowski and RadcliffeOnEthnographicAuthority
125
Brown established their critique of the "conjectural history" of the diffusionists it
was all too easy to exclude diachronic processes as objects of fieldwork, with consequences
that have by now been sufficiently denounced.
These innovations served to validate an efficient ethnography based on scientific
participant-observation. Their combined effect may be seen in what may well be the
tour de force of the new ethnography, Evans-Pritchard's The Nuer, published in
1940. Based on eleven months of research conducted-as the book's remarkable introduction
tells us-in almost impossible conditions, Evans-Pritchard nonetheless
was able to compose a classic. H e arrived in Nuerland on the heels of a punitive
military expedition and at the urgent request of the government of the Anglo-Egyptian
Sudan. H e was the object of constant and intense suspicion. Only in the final
few months could he converse at all effectively with informants who, he tells us,
were skilled at evading his questions. In the circumstances his monograph is a kind
of miracle.
While advancing limited claims and making no secret of the restraints on his
research, Evans-Pritchard manages to present his study as a demonstration of the
effectiveness of theory. H e focuses on Nuer political and social "structure," analyzed
as an abstract set of relations between territorial segments, lineages, age-sets, and
other more fluid groups. This analytically derived ensemble is portrayed against an
"ecological" backdrop composed of migratory patterns, relationships with cattle, notions
of time and space. Evans-Pritchard sharply distinguishes his method from
what he calls "haphazard" (Malinowskian) documentation. The Nuer is not an extensive
compendium of observations and vernacular texts in the style of Malinowski's
Argonauts and Coral Gardens. Evans-Pritchard argues rigorously that
"facts can only be selected and arranged in the light of theory." The frank abstraction
of a political-social structure offers the necessary framework. If I am accused of
describing facts as exemplifications of my theory, he then goes on to note, I have
been understo~d.~'
In The Nuer, Evans-Pritchard makes strong claims for the power of scientific
abstraction to focus research and arrange complex data. The book often presents
itself as an argument, rather than a description. But not consistently: its theoretical
argument is surrounded by skillfully observed and narrated evocations and interpretations
of Nuer life. These passages function rhetorically as more than simple
"exemplifications," for they effectively implicate readers in the complex subjectivity
of participant-observation. This may be seen in a characteristic paragraph which
progresses through a series of discontinuous discursive positions:
It is difficult to find an English word that adequately describes the social position of diel in a
tribe. We have called them aristocrats, but do not wish to imply that Nuer regard them as of
superior rank, for, as we have emphatically declared, the idea of a man lording it over others
is repugnant to them. On the whole-we will qualify the statement later-the diel have prestige
rather than rank and influence rather than power. If you are a dzl of the tribe in which
you live you are more than a simple tribesman. You are one of the owners of the country, its
village sites, its pastures, its fishing pools and wells. Other people live there by virtue of
marriage into your clan, adoption into your lineage, or of some other social tie. You are a
leader of the tribe and the spear-name of your clan is invoked when the tribe goes to war.
Whenever there is a dil in the village, the village clusters around him as a herd of cattle
clusters around its
The first three sentences are presented as an argument about translation, but in
passing they attribute to "Nuer" a stable set of attitudes. (I will have more to say
later about this style of attribution.) Next, in the four sentences beginning "If you
are a dil . . .", the second-person construction brings together reader and native in a
textual participation. The final sentence, offered as a direct description of a typical
event (which the reader now assimilates from the standpoint of a participant-observer)
evokes the scene by means of Nuer cattle metaphors. In the paragraph's eight
sentences an argument about translation passes through a fiction of participation to
a metaphorical fusion of external and indigenous cultural descriptions. The subjective
joining of abstract analysis and concrete experience is accomplished.
Evans-Pritchard would later move away from the theoretical position of The
Nuer, rejecting its advocacy of "social structure" as a privileged framework. Indeed,
each of the fieldwork "shortcuts" enumerated above was, and remains, contested. Yet
by their deployment in different combinations, the authority of the academic fieldworker-theorist
was established in the years between 1920 and 1950. This peculiar
amalgam of intense personal experience and scientific analysis (understood in this
period as both "rite of passage" and "laboratory") emerged as a method: participant-observation.
Though variously understood, and now disputed in many quarters,
this method remains the chief distinguishing feature of professional
anthropology. Its complex subjectivity is routinely reproduced in the writing and
reading of ethnographies.
"Participant-observation" serves as shorthand for a continuous tacking between
the "inside" and "outside" of events: on the one hand grasping the sense of specific
occurrences and gestures empathetically, on the other stepping back to situate these
meanings in wider contexts. Particular events thus acquire deeper or more general
significance, structural rules, and so forth. Understood literally, participant-observation
is a paradoxical, misleading formula. But it may be taken seriously if reformulated
in hermeneutic terms as a dialectic of experience and interpretation. This is
how the method's most persuasive recent defenders have restated it, in the tradition
that leads from Dilthey, via Weber, to "symbols and meanings anthropologists" like
Geertz. Experience and interpretation have, however, been accorded different emphases
when presented as claims to authority. In recent years, there has been a
marked shift of emphasis from the former to the latter. This section and the one that
follows will explore the rather different claims of experience and interpretation as
well as their evolving interrelation.
On Ethnographic Authority 127
The growing prestige of the fieldworker-theorist downplayed (without eliminating)
a number of processes and mediators that had figured more prominently in
previous methods. We have seen how language mastery was defined as a level of use
adequate for amassing a discrete body of data in a limited period of time. The tasks
of textual transcription and translation along with the crucial dialogical role of interpreters
and "privileged informants" were relegated to a secondary, sometimes
even despised, status. Fieldwork was now centered on the experience of the participant-observing
scholar. A sharp image, or narrative, made its appearance-that of
an outsider entering a culture, undergoing a kind of initiation leading to "rapport"
(minimally, acceptance and empathy, but usually implying something akin to friendship).
Out of this experience emerged, in unspecified ways, a representational text
authored by the participant-observer. As we shall see, this version of textual production
obscures as much as it reveals. But it is worth taking seriously its principal
assumption, that the experience of the researcher can serve as a unifying source of
authority in the field.
Experiential authority is based on a "feel" for the foreign context, a kind of
accumulated savvy and sense of the style of a people or place. Such an appeal is
frequently explicit in the texts of the early professional participant-observers. Margaret
Mead's claim to grasp the underlying principle or ethos of a culture through a
heightened sensitivity to form, tone, gesture, and behavioral styles, or Malinowski's
stress on his life in the village and the comprehension derived from the "imponderabilia"
of daily existence, are prominent cases in point. Many ethnographies,
Colin Turnbull's The Forest People for example, are still cast in the experiential
mode, asserting, prior to any specific research hypothesis or method, the "I was
there" of the ethnographer as insider and participant.
Of course, it is difficult to say very much about experience. Like "intuition" one
has it or not, and its invocation often smacks of mystification. Nevertheless one
should resist the temptation to translate all meaningful experience into interpretation.
If the two are reciprocally related, they are not identical. It makes sense here to
hold them apart, if only because appeals to experience often act as validations for
ethnographic authority. The most serious argument for the role of experience in the
historical and cultural sciences is contained in the general notion of V e r ~ t e h e n . ~ ~In
Dilthey's influential view, understanding others arises initially from the sheer fact of
coexistence in a shared world. But this experiential world, an intersubjective ground
for objective forms of knowledge, is precisely what is missing or problematic for an
ethnographer entering an alien culture. Thus during the early months in the field
(and indeed throughout the research) what is going on is language-learning in the
broadest sense. Dilthey's "common sphere" must be established and re-established,
building up a shared experiential world in relation to which all "facts," "texts,"
"events," and their interpretations will be constructed. This process of living one's
way into an alien expressive universe is, in his scheme, always subjective in nature.
But it quickly becomes dependent on what he calls "permanently fixed expressions,"
stable forms to which understanding can return. The exegesis of these fixed forms
provides the content of all systematic historical-cultural knowledge. Thus experience,
for Dilthey, is closely linked to interpretation (and he is among the first modern
theorists to compare the understanding of cultural forms to the reading of
"texts"). But this sort of reading or exegesis cannot occur without an intense, personal
participation, an active at-homeness in a common universe.24
Following Dilthey, ethnographic "experience" can be seen as the building-up of
a common, meaningful world, drawing on intuitive styles of feeling, perception, and
guesswork. This activity makes use of clues, traces, gestures, and scraps of sense
prior to the development of developed, stable interpretations. Such piecemeal forms
of experience may be classified as esthetic and/or divinatory. There is space here for
ohly a few words about such styles of comprehension as they relate to ethnography.
An evocation of an esthetic mode is conveniently provided by A. L. Kroeber's 1931
review of Mead's Growing up in New Guinea.
First of all, it is clear that she possesses to an outstanding degree the faculties of swiftly
apperceiving the principal currents of a culture as they impinge on individuals, and of delineating
these with compact pen-pictures of astonishing sharpness. The result is a representation
of quite extraordinary vividness and semblance to life. Obviously, a gift of intellectualized
but strong sensationalism underlies this capacity; also, obviously, a high order of intuitiveness,
in the sense of the ability to complete a convincing picture from clues, for clues is all that some
of her data can be, with only six months to learn a language and enter the inwards of a whole
culture, besides specializing on child behavior. At any rate, the picture, so far as it goes, is
wholly convincing to the reviewer, who unreservedly admires the sureness of insight and efficiency
of stroke of the depi~tion.'~
A different formulation is provided by Maurice Leenhardt in Do Kamo: Person and
Myth in the Melanesian World, a book which, in its sometimes cryptic mode of
exposition, requires of its readers just the sort of esthetic, gestaltist perception at
which both Mead and Leenhardt excelled. Leenhardt's endorsement of this approach
is significant since, given his extremely long field experience and profound
cultivation of a Melanesian language, his "method" cannot be seen as a rationalization
for short-term ethnography.
In reality, our contact with another is not accomplished through analysis. Rather, we apprehend
him in his entirety. From the outset, we can sketch our view of him using an outline
or symbolic detail which contains a whole in itself and evokes the true form of his being. This
latter is what escapes us if we approach our fellow creature using only the categories of our
intellect.2G
Another way of taking experience seriously as a source of ethnographic knowledge
is provided by Carlo Ginzburg's recent investigations into the complex tradition
of divinatiom2' His research ranges from early hunters' interpretations of
animal tracks, to Mesopotamian forms of prediction, the deciphering of symptoms in
Hippocratic medicine, to the focus on details in detecting art forgeries, to Freud,
Sherlock Holmes, and Proust. These styles of nonecstatic divination apprehend speOn
Ethnographic Authority 129
cific, circumstantial relations of meaning, and are based on guesses, on the reading of
apparently disparate clues and "chance" occurrences. Ginzburg proposes his model
of "conjectural knowledge" as a disciplined, nongeneralizing mode of comprehension
that is of central, though unrecognized, importance for the cultural sciences. It may
be added to a rather meager stock of resources for understanding rigorously how one
feels one's way into an unfamiliar ethnographic situation.
Precisely because it is hard to pin down, "experience" has served as an effective
guarantee of ethnographic authority. There is, of course, a telling ambiguity in the
term. Experience evokes a participatory presence, a sensitive contact with the world
to be understood, a rapport with its people, a concreteness of perception. And experience
suggests also a cumulative, deepening knowledge (" . . . her ten years' experience
of New Guinea"). The senses work together to authorize an ethnographer's
real, but ineffable, feel or flair for his or her people. But it is worth noticing that this
"world," when conceived as an experiential creation, is subjective, not dialogical or
intersubjective. The ethnographer accumulates personal knowledge of the field. (The
possessive form, "my people," has until recently been familiarly used in anthropological
circles; but the phrase in effect signifies "my experience.")
It is understandable, given their vagueness, that experiential criteria of authority-unexamined
beliefs in the "method" of participant-observation, in the power of
rapport, empathy, and so on-have come under criticism by hermeneutically sophisticated
anthropologists. In recent years the second moment in the dialectic of experience
and interpretation has received increasing attention and e l a b o r a t i ~ n . ~ ~
Interpretation, based on a philological model of textual "reading," has emerged as a
sophisticated alternative to the now apparently naive claims for experiential authority.
Interpretive anthropology demystifies much of what had previously passed unexamined
in the construction of ethnographic narratives, types, observations, and
descriptions. It contributes to an increasing visibility of the creative (and in a broad
sense, poetic) processes by which "cultural" objects are invented and treated as
meaningful.
What is involved in looking at culture as an assemblage of texts to be interpreted?
A classic account has been provided by Paul Ricoeur, notably in his 1971
essay, "The Model of the Text: Meaningful Action Considered as a Text."29
Clifford Geertz, in a number of stimulating and subtle discussions has adapted
Ricoeur's theory to anthropological fie1dwo1-k.30"Textualization" is understood as a
prerequisite to interpretation, the constitution of Dilthey's "fixed expressions." It is
the process through which unwritten behavior, speech, beliefs, oral tradition or ritual,
come to be marked as a corpus, a potentially meaningful ensemble separated out
from an immediate discursive or performative situation. In the moment of textualization
this meaningful corpus assumes a more or less stable relation to a context,
and we are familiar with the end result of this process in much of what counts as
ethnographic thick description. For example, we say that a certain institution or
segment of behavior is typical of, or a communicative element within, a surrounding
culture. (Geertz's famous cockfight becomes an intensely significant locus of Balinese
culture.) Fields of synecdoches are created in which parts are related to wholes-and
by which the whole, what we often call culture, is constituted.
Ricoeur does not actually privilege part-whole relations and the specific sorts of
analogies that constitute functionalist or realist representations. H e merely posits a
necessary relation between text and "world." A world cannot be apprehended directly;
it is always inferred on the basis of its parts, and the parts must be conceptually
and perceptually cut out of the flux of experience. Thus, textualization
generates sense through a circular movement which isolates and then contextualizes
a fact or event in its englobing reality. A familiar mode of authority is generated
which claims to represent discrete, meaningful worlds. Ethnography is the interpretation
of cultures.
A second key step in Ricoeur's analysis is his account of the process by which
"discourse" becomes text. Discourse, in Benveniste's classic discussion, is a mode of
communication where the presence of the speaking subject and of the immediate
situation of communication are intrin~ic.~'Discourse is marked by pronouns (pronounced
or implied) "I" and "You," and by deictic indicators, "this," "that," "now,"
and so on, which signal the present instance of discourse rather than something
beyond it. Discourse does not transcend the specific occasion in which a subject appropriates
the resources of language in order to communicate dialogically. Ricoeur
argues that discourse cannot be interpreted in the open-ended, potentially public
way that a text is "read." To understand discourse you "had to have been there," in
the presence of the discoursing subject. For discourse to become text it must become
"autonomous," in Ricoeur's terms, separated from a specific utterance and authorial
intention. Interpretation is not interlocution. It does not depend on being in the
presence of a speaker.
The relevance of this distinction for ethnography is perhaps too obvious. The
ethnographer always ultimately departs, taking away texts for later interpretation.
(And among those "texts" taken away we can include memories-events patterned,
simplified, stripped of immediate context in order to be interpreted in later reconstruction
and portrayal.) The text, unlike discourse, can travel. If much ethnographic
writing is produced in the field, actual composition of an ethnography is
done elsewhere. Data constituted in discursive, dialogical conditions are appropriated
only in textualized form. Research events and encounters become field notes.
Experiences become narratives, meaningful occurrences, or examples.
This translation of the research experience into a textual corpus separate from
its discursive occasions of production has important consequences for ethnographic
authority. The data thus reformulated need no longer be understood as the communication
of specific persons. An informant's explanation or description of custom
O n Ethnographic Authority 131
need not be cast in a form that includes the message "so and so said this." A textualized
ritual or event is no longer closely linked to the production of that event by
specific actors. Instead, these texts become evidences of an englobing context, a "cultural"
reality. Moreover, as specific authors and actors are severed from their productions,
a generalized "author" must be invented to account for the world or
context within which the texts are fictionally relocated. This generalized author goes
under a variety of names: the native point of view, "the Trobrianders," "the Nuer,"
"the Dogon," as these and similar phrases appear in ethnographies. "The Balinese"
function as author of Geertz's textualized cockfight.
The ethnographer thus enjoys a special relationship with a cultural origin, or
"absolute subject."32 It is tempting to compare the ethnographer with the literary
interpreter (and this comparison is increasingly commonplace)-but more specifically
with the traditional critic, who sees the task at hand as locating the unruly
meanings of a text in a single, coherent intention. By representing the Nuer, the
Trobrianders, or the Balinese as whole subjects, sources of a meaningful intention,
the ethnographer transforms the research situation's ambiguities and diversities of
meaning into an integrated portrait. But it is important to notice what has dropped
out of sight. The research process is separated from the texts it generates and from
the fictive world they are made to call up. The actuality of discursive situations and
individual interlocutors is filtered out. But informants-along with field notes-are
crucial intermediaries, typically excluded from authoritative ethnographies. The dialogical,
situational aspects of ethnographic interpretation tend to be banished from
the final representative text. Not entirely banished, of course; there exist approved
topoi for the portrayal of the research process.
We are increasingly familiar with the separate fieldwork account (a sub-genre
which still tends to be classified as subjective, "soft," or unscientific). But even
within classic ethnographies, more or less stereotypic "fables of rapport" narrate the
attainment of full participant-observer status. These fables may be told elaborately
or in passing, naively or ironically. They normally portray the ethnographer's early
ignorance, misunderstandings, lack of contact, frequently a sort of childlike status
within the culture. In the Bildungsgeschichte of the ethnography these states of innocence
or confusion are replaced by adult, confident, disabused knowledge. We may
cite again Geertz's cockfight, where an early alienation from the Balinese, a confused,
"non-person" status, is transformed by the appealing fable of the police raid
with its show of ~omplicity.~~The anecdote establishes a presumption of connectedness
which permits the writer to function in his subsequent analyses as an omnipresent,
knowledgeable exegete and spokesman. This interpreter situates the ritual sport
as a text in a contextual world and brilliantly "reads" its cultural meanings.
Geertz's abrupt disappearance into his rapport-the quasi-invisibility of participant-observation-is
paradigmatic. Here he makes use of an established convention
for staging the attainment of ethnographic authority. As a result, we are seldom
made aware of the fact that an essential part of the cockfight's construction as a text
is dialogical, talking face-to-face with particular Balinese rather than reading culture
"over the[ir] shoulder^."^^
Interpretive anthropology, by viewing cultures as assemblages of texts, loosely
and sometimes contradictorally united, and by highlighting the inventive poesis at
work in all collective representations, has contributed significantly to the defamiliarization
of ethnographic authority. But in its mainstream realist strands it does not
escape the general strictures of those critics of "colonial" representation who, since
1950, have rejected discourses that portray the cultural realities of other peoples
without placing their own reality in jeopardy. In Leiris's early critiques, by way of
Maquet, Asad and many others, the unreciprocal quality of ethnographic interpretation
has been called to account.35Henceforth, neither the experience nor the interpretive
activity of the scientific researcher can be considered innocent. It becomes
necessary to conceive ethnography, not as the experience and interpretation of a
circumscribed "other" reality, but rather as a constructive negotiation involving at
least two, and usually more, conscious, politically significant subjects. Paradigms of
experience and interpretation are yielding to paradigms of discourse, of dialogue and
polyphony. The remaining sections of my essay will survey these emergent modes of
authority.
A discursive model of ethnographic practice brings into prominence the intersubjectivity
of all speech, along with its immediate performative context. Benveniste's
work on the constitutive role of personal pronouns and deixis highlights
just these dimensions. Every use of "I" presupposes a "you," and every instance of
discourse is immediately linked to a specific, shared situation. No discursive meaning,
then, without interlocution and context. The relevance of this emphasis for ethnography
is evident. Fieldwork is significantly composed of language events; but
language, in Bakhtin's words, "lies on the borderline between oneself and the other.
The word in language is half someone else's." The Russian critic urges a rethinking
of language in terms of specific discursive situations: "There are," he writes, "no
'neutral' words and forms-words and forms that can belong to 'no one'; language
has been completely taken over, shot through with intentions and accents." The
words of ethnographic writing, then, cannot be construed as monological, as the
authoritative statement about, or interpretation of, an abstracted, textualized reality.
The language of ethnography is shot through with other subjectivities and specific
contextual overtones; for all language, in Bakhtin's view, is "a concrete heteroglot
conception of the
Forms of ethnographic writing which present themselves in a "discursive" mode
tend to be concerned with the representation of research contexts and situations of
interlocution. Thus a book like Paul Rabinow's Rejections on Fieldwork in Morocco
is concerned with the representation of a specific research situation (a series of
constraining times and places) and (in somewhat fictionalized form) a sequence of
individual interlocutor^.^' Indeed, an entire new sub-genre of "fieldwork accounts"
On Ethnographic Authority 133
(of which Rabinow's is one of the most trenchant) may be situated within the discursive
paradigm of ethnographic writing. Jeanne Favret-Saada's Les mots, la mort, les
sorts is an insistent, self-conscious experiment with ethnography in a discursive
mode.38 She argues that the event of interlocution always assigns to the ethnographer
a specific position in a web of intersubjective relations. There is no neutral
standpoint in the power-laden field of discursive positionings, in a shifting matrix of
relationships, of "1's" and "you's."
A number of recent works have chosen to present the discursive processes of
ethnography in the form of a dialogue between two individuals. Lacoste-Dujardin's
Dialogue des femmes en ethnologie and Shostak's Nisa: The Life and Words of a
!Kung Woman are noteworthy examples.39The dialogical mode is advocated with
considerable sophistication in two other texts. The first, Kevin Dwyer's theoretical
reflections on "The Dialogic of Ethnology" springs from a series of interviews with
a key informant and justifies Dwyer's decision to structure his ethnography in the
form of a rather literal record of these exchanges.40The second work is Vincent
Crapanzano's more complex Tuhami: Portrait of a Moroccan, another account of a
series of interviews which rejects any sharp separation of an interpreting self from a
textualized other.41Both Dwyer and Crapanzano locate ethnography in a process of
dialogue where interlocutors actively negotiate a shared vision of reality. Crapanzano
argues that this mutual construction must be at work in any ethnographic
encounter, but that participants tend to assume they have simply acquiesced to the
reality of their counterpart. Thus, for example, the ethnographer of the Trobriand
Islanders does not openly concoct a version of reality in collaboration with his informants
but rather interprets the "Trobriand point of view." Crapanzano and Dwyer
offer sophisticated attempts to break with this literary/hermeneutical convention. In
the process, the ethnographer's authority as narrator and interpreter is altered.
Dwyer proposes a hermeneutics of "vulnerability," stressing the ruptures of fieldwork,
the divided position and imperfect control of the ethnographer. Both Crapanzano
and Dwyer seek to represent the research experience in ways that tear open
the textualized fabric of the other and thus, also, of the interpreting self.42(Here
etymologies are evocative: the word text is related, as is well known, to weaving,
vulnerability to rending or wounding, in this instance the opening up of a closed
authority.)
The model of dialogue brings to prominence precisely those discursive-circumstantial
and intersubjective-elements that Ricoeur had to exclude from his model of
the text. But if interpretive authority is based on the exclusion of dialogue, the reverse
is also true: a purely dialogical authority would repress the inescapable fact of
textualization. While ethnographies cast as encounters between two individuals may
successfully dramatize the intersubjective, give-and-take of fieldwork and introduce
a counterpoint of authoritative voices, they remain representations of dialogue. As
texts they may not be dialogical in structure. (Although Socrates appears as a decentered
participant in his encounters, Plato retains full control of the dialogue.43)This
displacement, but not elimination of monological authority is characteristic of any
approach that portrays the ethnographer as a discrete character in the fieldwork
narrative. Moreover, there is a frequent tendency in fictions of dialogue for the ethnographer's
counterpart to appear as a representative of his or her culture-a type,
in the language of traditional realism-through which general social processes are
revealed.44 Such a portrayal reinstates the synecdochic interpretive authority by
which the ethnographer reads text in relation to context, thereby consituting a
meaningful "other" world. But if it is difficult for dialogical portrayals to escape
typifying procedures, they can, to a significant degree, resist the pull toward authoritative
representation of the other. This depends on their ability fictionally to
maintain the strangeness of the other voice and to hold in view the specific contingencies
of the exchange.
To say that an ethnography is composed of discourses and that its different components
are dialogically related, is not to say that its textual form should be that of a
literal dialogue. Indeed, as Crapanzano recognizes in Tuhami, a third participant,
real or imagined, must function as mediator in any encounter between two indiv
i d u a l ~ . ~ ~The fictional dialogue is, in fact, a condensation, a simplified representation
of complex, multi-vocal processes. An alternative way of representing this
discursive complexity is to understand the overall course of the research as an ongoing
negotiation. The case of Marcel Griaule and the Dogon is well known and
particularly clear-cut. Griaule's account of his instruction in Dogon cosmological
wisdom, Dieu d'Eau (Conversations with OgotemmZli), was an early exercise in dialogical
ethnographic narration. But beyond this specific interlocutory occasion, a
more complex process was at work. For it is apparent that the content and timing of
the Griaule team's long-term research, spanning decades, was closely monitored and
significantly shaped by Dogon tribal a ~ t h o r i t i e s . ~ ~This is no longer news. Many
ethnographers have commented on the ways, both subtle and blatant, in which their
research was directed or circumscribed by their informants. In his provocative discussion
of this issue, Ioan Lewis even calls anthropology a form of "plagiari~m."~~
The give and take of ethnography is clearly portrayed in a recently published
study, noteworthy for its presentation within a single work of both an interpreted
other reality and the research process itself: Renato Rosaldo's Ilongot Headhunting.48
Rosaldo arrives in the Phillipine highlands intent on writing a synchronic
study of social structure. But again and again, over his objections, he is forced to
listen to endless Ilongot narratives of their local history. Dutifully, dumbly, in a kind
of bored trance, he transcribes these stories, filling notebook after notebook with
what he considers disposable texts. Only after leaving the field, and after a long
process of reinterpretation (a process made manifest in the ethnography) does it
become clear that these obscure tales have in fact provided Rosaldo with his final
topic, the culturally distinctive Ilongot sense of narrative and history. Rosaldo's exOn
Ethnographic Authority 135
perience of what might be called "directed writing" sharply poses a fundamental
question. Who is actually the author of field notes?
The issue is a subtle one, and deserves systematic study. But enough has been
said to make the general point, that indigenous control over knowledge gained in the
field can be considerable, and even determining. Current ethnographic writing is
seeking new ways to adequately represent the authority of informants, and there are
few models to look to. But it is worth reconsidering the older textual compilations of
Boas, Malinowski, Leenhardt, and .others. In these works, the ethnographic genre
has not coalesced around the modern interpretational monograph closely identified
with a personal fieldwork experience. We can contemplate an ethnographic mode
that is not yet authoritative in those specific ways that are now politically and epistemologically
in question. These older assemblages include much that is actually or
all but written by informants. One thinks of the role of George Hunt in Boas's
ethnography, or of the fifteen "transcripteurs" listed in Leenhardt's Documents n2oc
a l g d o n i e n ~ . ~ ~
Malinowski is a complex transitional case. His ethnographies reflect the incomplete
coalescence of the modern monograph. If he was centrally responsible for
the welding of theory and description into the authority of the professional fieldworker,
Malinowski nonetheless included material that did not directly support his
own all-too-clear interpretive slant. In the many dictated myths and spells which fill
his books he published much data that he frankly did not understand. The result
was an open text subject to multiple reinterpretations. It is worth comparing such
older compendia with the recent model ethnography, which cites evidence to support
a focused interpretation, and little else. In the modern, authoritative monograph
there are, in effect, no strong voices present except that of the writer. But, in Argonauts
and Coral Gardens we read page after page of magical spells, none in any
essential sense the ethnographer's words. These dictated texts, in all but their physical
inscription, are written by specific, unnamed Trobrianders. Indeed, any continuous
ethnographic exposition routinely folds into itself a diversity of descriptions,
transcriptions, and interpretations by a variety of indigenous "authors." How should
these authorial presences be made manifest?
A useful-if extreme-standpoint is provided by Bakhtin's analysis of the
"polyphonic" novel. A fundamental condition of the genre, he argues, is that it represents
speaking subjects in a field of multiple discourses. The novel grapples with,
and enacts, heteroglossia. For Bakhtin, preoccupied with the representation of nonhomogeneous
wholes, there are no integrated cultural worlds or languages. All attempts
to posit such abstract unities are constructs of monological power. A
"culture" is, concretely, an open-ended, creative dialogue of subcultures, of insiders
and outsiders, of diverse factions; a "language" is the interplay and struggle of regional
dialects, professional jargons, generic commonplaces, the speech of different
age groups, individuals, and so forth. For Bakhtin, the polyphonic novel is not a tour
de force of cultural or historical totalization (as realist critics like Lukhcs and Auerbach
have argued), but rather a carnivalesque arena of diversity. Bakhtin discovers a
utopian textual space where discursive complexity, the dialogical interplay of voices,
can be accommodated. In the novels of Dostoyevski or Dickens, he values precisely
their resistance to totality, and his ideal novelist is a ventriloquist-in nineteenthcentury
parlance, a "polyphonist." "He do the police in different voices," a listener
exclaims admiringly of the boy, Sloppy, who reads publicly from the newspaper in
Our Mutual Friend. But Dickens, the actor, oral performer, and polyphonist, must
be set against Flaubert, the master of authorial control moving godlike among the
thoughts and feelings of his characters. Ethnography, like the novel, wrestles with
these alternatives. Does the ethnographic writer portray what natives think by
means of Flaubertian "free indirect style," a style that suppresses direct quotation in
favor of a controlling discourse always more-or-less that of the author? (In a recent
essay Dan Sperber, taking Evans-Pritchard as his example, has convincingly shown
that style indirect is indeed the preferred mode of ethnographic interpretati~n.~~)Or,
does the portrayal of other subjectivities require a version that is stylistically less
homogeneous, filled with Dickens' "different voices?"
Some use of indirect style is inevitable, unless the novel or ethnography be composed
entirely of quotations, which is theoretically possible but seldom attem~ted.~'
In practice, however, the ethnography and the novel have recourse to indirect style at
different levels of abstraction. We need not ask how Flaubert knows what Emma
Bovary is thinking, but the ability of the fieldworker to inhabit indigenous minds is
always in doubt: indeed this is a permanent, unresolved problem of ethnographic
method. Ethnographers have generally refrained from ascribing beliefs, feelings, and
thoughts to individuals. They have not, however, hesitated to ascribe subjective
states to a culture. Sperber's analysis reveals how phrases such as "The Nuer think
. . ." or "The Nuer sense of time . . ." are fundamentally different from quotations
or translations of indigenous discourse. Such statements are "without any specified
speaker," and are literally equivocal, combining in an unspecified way the ethnographer's
affirmations with that of an informant or informant^.^^ Ethnographies
abound in unattributed sentences like "The spirits return to the village at night,"
descriptions of beliefs in which the writer assumes, in effect, the voice of culture.
At this "cultural" level, ethnographers aspire to a Flaubertian omniscience that
moves freely throughout a world of indigenous subjects. But beneath the surface
their texts are more unruly and discordant. Victor Turner's work provides a telling
case in point, worth investigating more closely as an example of the interplay of
monophonic and polyphonic exposition. Turner's ethnographies offer superbly complex
portrayals of Ndembu ritual symbols and beliefs; and he has provided, too, an
unusually explicit glimpse behind the scenes. In the midst of the essays collected in
The Forest ofSyrnbols, his third book on the Ndembu, Turner offers a portrait of his
On Ethnographic Authority 137
best informant, "Muchona the Hornet, Interpreter of R e l i g i ~ n . " ~ ~Muchona, a ritual
healer, and Turner are drawn together by their shared interest in traditional
symbols, etymologies, and esoteric meanings. They are both "intellectuals," passionate
interpreters of the nuances and depths of custom; both are uprooted scholars
sharing "the quenchless thirst for objective knowledge." Turner compares Muchona
to a university don; his account of their collaboration includes more than passing
hints of a strong psychological doubling, linking ethnographer and informant.
But there is a third present in their dialogue, Windson Kashinakaji, a Ndembu
senior teacher at the local mission school. H e brought Muchona and Turner together,
and shares their passion for the interpretation of customary religion.
Through his Biblical education he "acquired a flair for elucidating knotty questions."
Newly skeptical of Christian dogma and missionary privileges, he is looking
sympathetically at pagan religion. Kashinakaji, Turner tells us, "spanned the cultural
distance between Muchona and myself, transforming the little doctor's technical
jargon and salty village argot into a prose I could better grasp." The three
intellectuals soon "settled down into a sort of daily seminar on religion." Turner's
accounts of this seminar are stylized: "eight months of exhilarating quickfire talk
among the three of us, mainly about Ndembu ritual." They reveal an extraordinary
ethonographic "colloquy." But significantly, Turner does not make this three-way
collaboration the crux of his essay. Rather he focusses on Muchona, thus transforming
trialogue into dialogue and flattening a complex productive relation into the
"portrait" of an "informant." (This reduction was in some degree required by the
format of the book in which the essay first appeared, Joseph Casagrande's important
collection of "Twenty Portraits of Anthropological Informants," In the Company of
Man.54)
Turner's published works vary considerably in their discursive structure. Some
are largely composed of direct quotations; in at least one essay Muchona is identified
as the principal source of the overall interpretation; elsewhere he is invoked anonymously,
for example as "a male ritual ~pecialist."~~Windson Kashinakaji is usually
identified as an assistant and translator rather than as a source of interpretations.
Overall, Turner's ethnographies are unusually polyphonic, openly built up from
quotations. ( "According to an adept . . .", or, "One informant guesses . . .") H e does
not, however, do the Ndembu in different voices, and we hear little "salty village
argot." All the voices of the field have been smoothed into the expository prose of
more-or-less interchangeable "informants." The staging of indigenous speech in an
ethnography, the degree of translation and familiarization necessary, are complicated
practical and rhetorical problems.56 But Turner's works, by giving visible
place to indigenous interpretations of custom, expose concretely these issues of textual
dialogism and polyphony.
The inclusion of Turner's portrait of Muchona in The Forest ofsymbols (1967)
may be seen as a sign of the times. The Casagrande collection (1961) in which it
originally appeared had the effect of segregating the crucial issue of relations be-
tween ethnographers and their indigenous collaborators. Discussion of these issues
still had no place within scientific ethnographies. But Casagrande's collection shook
the post-Malinowski professional taboo on "privileged informants." Raymond Firth
on Pa Fenuatara, Robert Lowie on Jim Carpenter-a long list of distinguished anthropologists
described the indigenous "ethnographers" with whom they shared, to
some degree, a distanced, analytic, even ironic view of custom. These individuals
became valued informants because they understood, often with real subtlety, what
an ethnographic attitude toward culture entailed. In Lowie's quotation of his Crow
interpreter (and fellow "philologist") Jim Carpenter, one senses a shared outlook:
"When you listen to the old men telling about their visions, you've just got to believe
them."57 And there is considerably more than a wink and a nod in a story recounted
by Firth about his best Tikopian friend and informant.58
On another occasion talk turned to the nets set for salmon trout in the lake. The nets were
becoming black, possibly with some organic growth, and tended to rot easily. Pa Fenuatara
then told a story to the crowd assembled in the house about how, out on the lake with his nets
one time, he felt a spirit going among the net and making it soft. When he held the net up he
found it slimy. The spirit had been at work. I asked him then if this was a traditional piece of
knowledge that spirits were responsible for the deterioration of the nets. H e answered, "No,
my own thought." Then he added with a laugh, "My own piece of traditional knowledge."55
The full methodological impact of Casagrande's collection remains latent, especially
the significance of its accounts for the dialogical production of ethnographic
texts and interpretations. This significance is obscured by a tendency to cast it as a
universalizing, humanist document revealing "a hall of mirrors . . . in full variety
the endless reflected image of man."59 However, in the light of the present crisis in
ethnographic authority, these revealing portraits spill into the oeuvres of their authors,
altering the way they can be read. If ethnography is part of what Roy Wagner
calls "the invention of culture," its activity is plural and beyond the control of any
i n d i v i d ~ a l . ~ ~
One increasingly common way to manifest the collaborative production of ethnographic
knowledge is to quote regularly and at length from informants. (A striking
recent example is June Nash, We Eat the Mines, the Mines Eat Us.61)But such
a tactic only begins to break up monophonic authority. Quotations are always staged
by the quoter, and tend to serve merely as examples, or confirming testimonies.
Looking beyond quotation, one might imagine a more radical polyphony that would
"do the natives and the ethnographer in different voices." But this, too, would only
displace ethn~~ra~hic'authority,still confirming the final, virtuoso orchestration by
a single author of all the discourses in his or her text. And in this sense Bakhtin's
polyphony, too narrowly identified with the novel, is a domesticated heteroglossia.
Ethnographic discourses are not, in any event, the speeches of invented characters.
Informants are specific individuals with real proper names-names to be cited, in
altered form when tact requires. Informants' intentions are overdetermined, their
On Ethnographic Authority 139
words politically and metaphorically complex. Ethnography is invaded by heteroglossia.
If accorded an autonomous textual space, transcribed at sufficient length,
indigenous statements make sense on terms different from those of the arranging
ethnographer.
This suggests an alternate textual strategy, a utopia of plural authorship that
accords to collaborators, not merely the status of independent enunciators, but that
of writers. As a form of authority it must still be considered utopian for two reasons.
First, the few recent experiments with multiply-authored works appear to require,
as an insftigating force, the research interest of an ethnographer, who in the end
assumes an executive, editorial position. The authoritative stance of "giving voice" to
the other is not fully transcended. Second, the very idea of plural authorship challenges
a deep Western identification of any text's order with the intention of a single
author. If this identification was less strong when Lafitau wrote his Moeurs des
sauuages ameriquains, and if recent criticism has thrown it into question, it is still a
potent constraint on ethnographic writing. Nonetheless, there are signs of movement
in this domain, and we may anticipate a gradual increase in experiments with multiple
authorship. Anthropologists will increasingly have to share their texts, and
sometimes their title pages, with those indigenous collaborators for whom the term
"informants" is no longer adequate, if it ever was.
Ralph Bulmer and Ian Majnep's Birds of My Kalam Country is an important
prototype.62 (Separate typefaces distinguish the juxtaposed contributions of ethnographer
and New Guinean, collaborators for more than a decade.) Even more
significant is the collectively produced study, Piman Shamanism and Staying Sickness
(Ka:cim Mumkidag) which lists on its title page, without distinction (though
not, it may be noted, in alphabetical order): Donald M. Bahr, anthropologist; Juan
Gregorio, shaman; David I. Lopez, interpreter; Albert Alvarez, editor. Three of the
four are Papago Indians, and the book is consciously designed "to transfer to a shaman
as many as possible of the functions normally associated with authorship.
These include the selection of an expository style, the duty to make interpretations
and explanations, and the right to judge which things are important and which are
not."63 Bahr, the initiator and organizer of the project, opts to share out authority as
much as possible. Gregorio, the shaman, appears as the principal source of the "theory
of disease" which is transcribed and translated, at two separate levels, by Lopez
and Alvarez. Gregorio's vernacular texts include compressed, often gnomic, explanations,
which are themselves interpreted and contextualized by Bahr's separate commentary.
The book is unusual in its textual enactment of the interpretation of
interpretations.
In Piman Shamanism the transition from individual enunciations to cultural
generalizations is always visible in the separation of Gregorio's and Bahr's voices.
The authority of Lopez, less visible, is akin to that of Windson Kashinakaji in
Turner's work. His bilingual fluency guides Bahr through the subtleties of Gregorio's
language, thus permitting the shaman "to speak at length on theoretical top-
ics." Neither Lopez nor Alvarez appear as specific voices in the text, and their
contribution to the ethnography remains largely invisible to all but qualified Papagos,
able to gauge the accuracy of the translated texts and the vernacular nuance
of Bahr's interpretations. Alvarez's authority inheres in the fact that Piman Shamanism
is a book directed at separate audiences. For most readers focussing on the
translations and explanations the texts printed in Piman will be of little or no interest.
However, the linguist Alvarez corrected the transcriptions and translations with
an eye to their use in language teaching, using an orthography he had developed for
that purpose. Thus the book contributes to Papagos' literary invention of their culture.
This different reading, built into Piman Shamanism, is of more than local
significance.
It is intrinsic to the breakup of monological authority that ethnographies no
longer address a single general type of reader. The multiplication of possible readings
reflects the fact that self-conscious "ethnographic" consciousness can no longer
be seen as the monopoly of certain Western cultures and social classes. Even in
ethnographies lacking vernacular texts, indigenous readers will decode differently
the textualized interpretations and lore. Polyphonic works are particularly open to
readings not specifically intended. Trobriand readers may find Malinowski's interpretations
tiresome but his examples and extensive transcriptions still evocative. And
Ndembu will not gloss as quickly as European readers over the different voices embedded
in Turner's works.
Recent literary theory suggests that the ability of a text to make sense in a coherent
way depends less on the willed intentions of an originating author than on the
creative activity of a reader. In Barthes' words, if a text is "a tissue of quotations
drawn from innumerable centers of culture," then "a text's unity lies not in its origin
but in its de~tination."~~The writing of ethnography, an unruly, multisubjective
activity, is given coherence in particular acts of reading. But there is always a variety
of possible readings (beyond merely individual appropriations), readings beyond the
control of any single authority. One may approach a classic ethnography seeking
simply to grasp the meanings that the researcher derives from represented cultural
facts. But, as we have suggested, one may also read against the grain of the text's
dominant voice, seeking out other, half-hidden authorities, reinterpreting the descriptions,
texts and quotations gathered together by the writer. With the recent
questioning of colonial styles of representation, with the expansion of literacy and
ethnographic consciousness, new possibilities for reading (and thus for writing) cultural
descriptions are emerging.65
The textual embodiment of authority is a recurring problem for recent experiments
in e t h n ~ g r a p h y . ~ ~ in the frontispiece to Ar-An older, realist mode-figured
gonauts of the Western Paci'c and based on the construction of a cultural tableau
vivant designed to be seen from a single vantage point, that of the writer and
reader-can now be identified as only one possible paradigm for authority. Political
and epistemological assumptions are built into this and other styles, assumptions the
On Ethnographic Authority 141
ethnographic writer can no longer afford to ignore. The modes of authority reviewed
in this essay-experiential, interpretive, dialogical, polyphonic-are available to all
writers of ethnographic texts, Western and non-Western. None is obsolete, none
pure: there is room for invention within each paradigm. For example, interpretation-as
conceived by Gadamer-can aspire to a radical dialogism. We have seen,
too, how new approaches tend to rediscover discarded practices. Polyphonic authority
looks with renewed sympathy to compendia of vernacular texts-expository
forms distinct from the focused monograph tied to participant-observation. And now
that naive claims to the authority of experience have been subjected to hermeneutic
suspicion, we may anticipate a renewed attention to the subtle interplay of personal
and disciplinary components in ethnographic research.
Experiential, interpretive, dialogical, and polyphonic processes are at work, discordantly,
in any ethnography. But coherent presentation presupposes a controlling
mode of authority. I have argued that this imposition of coherence on an unruly
textual process is now, inescapably, a matter of strategic choice. I have tried to distinguish
important styles of authority as they have become visible in recent decades.
If ethnographic writing is alive, as I believe it is, it is struggling within and against
these possibilities.
N o t e s
* A n early version of this essay was presented at the American Anthropological Association in
December of 1980. For helpful criticisms I would like to thank Tala1 Asad, Vincent Crapanzano,
Joel Fineman, Thomas Laqueur, Joan Larcom, George Marcus, T. N . Pandey,
Mary Pratt, Richard Randolph, Renato Rosaldo, George Stocking, Sharon Traweek, Steven
Webster.
1. Only English, American, and French examples are discussed. I f it is likely that the modes
of authority analyzed here are able widely to be generalized, no attempt has been made to
extend them to other national traditions. It is assumed, also, in the antipositivist tradition
of Dilthey, that ethnography is a process of interpretation, not of explanation. Modes of
authority based on natural-scientific epistemologies are not discussed. In its focus on participant-observation
as an intersubjective process at the heart of twentieth-century ethnography,
the essay scants a number of contributing sources of authority: for example,
the weight of accumulated "archival" knowledge about particular groups, of a cross cultural
comparative perspective, and of statistical survey work.
2. See M . Bakhtin, "Discourse in the Novel" (l935),in Michael Holquist, ed., The Dialogic
Imagination: Four Esxays by IM. M. Bakhtin (Austin and London, 1981),pp. 259-
442. "Heteroglossia" assumes that "languages do not exclude each other, but rather intersect
with each other in many different ways (the Ukranian language, the language of
the epic poem, of early Symbolism, of the student, of a particular generation of children,
of the run-of-the-mill intellectual, of the Nietzschean and so on). It might even seem that
the very word 'language' loses all meaning in this process-for apparently there is no
single plane on which all these 'languages' might be juxtaposed to one another." What is
said of languages applies equally to "cultures" and "subcultures." See also V. N. VoloSinov
(Bakhtin?), Marxzsm and the Philosophy of 1,anguage (New York and London,
1973), esp. Chaps. 1-3; and Tzvetan Todorov, ~MikhailBakhtzne: le przncijOe dzalogique
(Paris, 1981), pp. 88-93.
3. Edward Said, Orientalzsm (New York, 1978); Paulin Hountondji, Sur la '3hzlosophie 

africaine" (Yaounde Cameroon, 1980); for more on this ambiguous predicament, J. 

Clifford, review of Said, IIistory and Theory, 19:2 (1980), 204-23. 

4. Michel Foucault, Power/Knowledge (New York, 1980), p. 145; see also "Intellectuals 

and Power: A Conversation between Michel Foucault and Gilles Deleuze," in Foucault, 

Language, Counter-Memory, Practice (Ithaca, N.Y., 1977), pp. 208-209. A recent un- 

published essay by Edward Said, "The Text's Slow Politics and the Prompt Language of

Criticism," has sharpened my conception of a historically contingent, engaged theory. 

5. I have not attempted to survey new styles of ethnographic writing that may be originating 

from outside the West. As Said, Hountondji, and others have shown, a considerable work 

of ideological "clearing," an oppositional, critical work remains, and it is to this that non- 

Western intellectuals have been devoting a great part of their energies. M y essay remains 

inside, but at the experimental boundaries of, a realist cultural science elaborated in the 

Occident. It does not consider, as areas of innovation, the "para-ethnographic" genres of

oral history, the non-fiction novel, the "new journalism," travel literature, and the docu- 

mentary film. 

6. Compare, for example, Marcel Griaule's idea of team research (with repeated visits to 

the field) and Malinowski's extended solo sojourn: Griaule, Mtthode de l'ethnographze 

(Paris, 1957); Malinowski, Argonauts ofthe Western Pacijc (London, 1922), Chapter 1. 

7. Victor Karady, "Le probleme de la ltgitimitk dans l'organisation historique de I'eth- 

nologie franfaise," Revuefran<azse de sociologie, 23:l (l982), 17-36; George Stocking, 

"The Ethnographer's Magic: the Development of Fieldwork in British Anthropology 

from Tylor to Malinowski," History of Anthropology 1 (1983), forthcoming. 

8. In the present crisis of authority, ethnography has emerged as a subject of historical 

scrutiny. For new critical approaches see: Franpois Hartog, Le mzroir d'Hkrodote: essai 

sur la refirksentation de lhutre (Paris, 1980); K.O.L. Burridge, Encountering Ahorigznes 

(New York, 1973), Chapter 1; Michkle Duchet, Anthropologze et Histoire au sikcle des 

lumikres (Paris, 1971); James Boon, "Comparative De-enlightenment: Paradox and 

Limits in the History of Ethnology," Daedalus, Spring 1980, 73-90; Michel de Certeau, 

"Writing vs. Time: History and Anthropology in the Works of Lafitau," Yale French 

Studies, 59 (1980), 37-64; Edward Said, Orientalism; George Stocking, ed., "Observers 

Observed: Essays on Ethnographic Fieldwork," History ofAnthrojOology 1 (l983), Madi- 

son, Wisconsin; forthcoming. 

9. On the suppression of dialogue in Lafitau's frontispiece, and the constitution of a tex- 

tualized, ahistorical, and visually oriented "anthropology," see Michel de Certeau's de- 

tailed analysis in "Writing vs. Time." 

10. B. Malinowski, "Pigs, Papuans and Police Court Perspective," Man, 32 (1932), 33-38;
Alex Rentoul, "Physiological paternity and the Trobrianders," and "Papuans, Professors
and Platitudes," Man 31 (1931), 153-154, and 32 (1932), 274-276. Ian Langham, The
Building of British Social Anthropology (Dordrecht, London, 1981), Chapter VII.
11. R. H . Codrington, The Melaneszans (1891), Dover reprint (New York, 1972), pp. vi-vii.
12. George Stocking, "The Ethnographer's Magic."
13. Curtis Hinsley, "Ethnographic Charisma and Scientific Routine: Cushing and Fewkes in
the American Southwest," Hzstory of Anthropology, 1 (1983), forthcoming.
14. Stocking, "The Ethnographer's Magic."
On Ethnographic Authority 143
15. Malinowski, Argonauts ofthe Western Paczjic (1922), pp. 3-4.
16. Stocking, "The Ethnographer's Magic." See also Harry Payne, "Malinowski's  Style,"
Proceedzngs of the American Philosophzcal Society, forthcoming.
17. G. Lienhardt, Divinity and Exfierience: the Religion of the Dinka (Oxford, 1961), p. vii.
18. I am indebted to two important unpublished papers by Robert Thornton of the University
of Capetown: "The Rise of Ethnography in South Africa: 1860-1920," and "The
Rise of the Ethnographic Monograph in Eastern and Southern Africa."
19. Margaret Mead, "Native languages as Field-Work Tools," Amerzcan Anthropologist,
41:2 (1939), 189-205.
20. Robert Lowie, "Native Languages as Ethnographic Tools," Amerzcan Anthropologist,
42: 1 (1940), 81-89.
21. E. Evans-Pritchard, The Nuer (New York, Oxford, 1969), p. 261.
22. Ihid., p. 215.
23. The concept is sometimes too readily associated with intuition or empathy, but as a description
of ethnographic knowledge, Verstehen properly involves a critique of empathetic
experience. The exact meaning of the term is a matter of debate among Dilthey scholars.
See Rudolf Makkreel, Dilthey: Philosopher ofthe Human Sciences (Princeton, 1975),pp.
6-7, and passim.
24. This bare summary is drawn from H . P. Rickman, ed., W Dilthey: Selected Writings
(Cambridge, 1976), pp. 168-245. "The Construction of the Historical World in the
Human Studies," Vol. VII of the Gesammelte Schriften (Leipzig, 1914).
25. American Anthropologist, 33 (1931), p. 248.
26. Maurice Leenhardt, Do Kamo (Chicago, 1979), p. 2; see J. Clifford, Person and Myth:
Maurice Leenhardt in the Melanesian World (Berkeley, 1982).
27. Carlo Ginzburg, "Morelli, Freud and Sherlock Holmes: Clues and Scientific Method,"
History WorkshoF, 9 (Spring 1980), 5, 36.
28. For example: Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures (New York, 1973); "From
the Native's Point of View: on the Nature of Anthropological Understanding," in K.
Basso and H. Selby, eds., meaning zn Anthropology (Albuquerque, 1976), pp. 221-38;
Paul Rabinow and William Sullivan, eds., Interjoretive Social Sczence (Berkeley, 1979);
Irene and Thomas Winner, "The Semiotics of Cultural Texts," Semiotics, 18:2 (1976),
101-56; Dan Sperber, "L'Interprktation en Anthropologie," L%lomme, XXI:I (1981),
69-92.
29. Social Research, 38 (1971), 529-562.
30. See especially, "Thick Description: Toward an Interpretive Theory of Culture," Chapter
1 of The Interpretation of Cultures.
31. Emile Benveniste, "The Nature of Pronouns," and "Subjectivity in Language," Problems
in General Linguistics (Coral Gables, Fla., 1971), pp. 217-30.
32. Fran~oiseMichel-Jones,  Retour au Dogon: Figure du double et amhiualence (Paris,
1978), p. 14.
33. Clifford Geertz, "Deep Play: Notes on the Balinese Cockfight," Daedalus, 101:l (1972),
reprinted in The Interpretation of Cultures, pp. 412-53.
34. Ibid., p. 452.
35. Michel Leiris, "L'ethnographe devant le colonialisme," Ides Temjos Modernes, 58 (1950);
reprinted in Leiris, Briskes (Paris, Mercure de France, l966), pp. 125-45; Jacques Maquet,
"Objectivity in Anthropology," Current Anthropology 5 (1964), 47-55; Tala1 Asad,
ed., Anthrojoology and the Colonzal Encounter (London, 1973).
36. M. Bakhtin, "Discourse in the Novel," p. 293.
37. P. Rabinow, Reflectzons on Fieldwork in Morocco (Berkeley, 1977).
38. Paris, 1977; translated as Deadly Words (Cambridge, England, 1980). See especially
Chapter 2. Her experience has been rewritten at another fictional level in J. FavretSaada
and Joske Contreras, Corps pour corps: Enque^te sur la sorcellerze duns le Bocage
(Paris, 1981).
39. Camille Lacoste-Dujardin, Dzalogue des femmes en ethnologie (Paris, 1977); Marjorie
Shostak, Nisa: The Lzfe and Words of a !Kung Woman (Cambridge, Mass., 1981).
40. Kevin Dwyer, "On the Dialogic of Field Work," and "The Dialogic of Ethnology," Dialectzcal
Anthropology, 2:2 (1977), 143-151, and 4:3 (1979), 205-24.
41. Vincent Crapanzano, Tuhamz: Potrazt of a Moroccan (Chicago, 1980); and "On the Writing
of Ethnography," Dialectical Anthropology, 2.1 (1977), 69-73.
42. It would be wrong to gloss over the differences between Dwyer's and Crapanzano's theoretical
positions. Dwyer, following Lukdcs, translates dialogic into Marxian/Hegelian
dialectic, thus holding out the possibility of a restoration of the human subject, a kind of
completion in and through the other. Crapanzano refuses any anchor in an englobing
theory, his only authority being that of the dialogue's writer, an authority undermined by
an inconclusive narrative of encounter, rupture, and confusion. (It is worth noting that
dialogic, as used by Bakhtin, is not reducible to dialectic.)
43. On this see Stephen Tylor's "Words for Deeds and the Doctrine of the Secret World:
Testimony to a Chance Encounter Somewhere in the Indian Jungle," forthcoming in
Proceedzngs o/ the Chicago Linguzstic Society.
44. On realist "types," see G. Lukdcs, Studies in European Realism, passim. The tendency to
transform an individual into a cultural enunciator may be observed in M . Griaule's Dieu
d'Eau (Paris, 1948). It occurs ambivalently in Shostak's Nisa. (For a discussion of this
ambivalence and of the book's resulting discursive complexity see my review, London
Tzmes Literary Sujhplernent, Sept. 17, 1982, 994-95.)
45. Crapanzano, Tuhami, pp. 147-1 51.
46. James Clifford, "Power and Dialogue in Ethnography: Marcel Griaule's Initiation,"
History of Anthropology 7 , forthcoming.
47.  I. Lewis, The Anthropologist's muse (London, 1973).
48. R. Rosaldo, Ilongot IIeadhunting 7883-7974: A Study zn Society and Hzstory (Stanford,
1980).
49. Paris, 1932; for a study of this mode of textual production see J. Clifford, "Fieldwork,
Reciprocity, and the Making of Ethnographic Texts," Man 15 (1980), 518-32. See also,
in this context, B. Fontana, Introduction to Frank Russell, The Pzma Indzans (Tucson,
1975), on the book's hidden co-author, the Papago Indian Josk Lewis; M . Leiris, "Avantpropos,"
La langue secrkte des Dogons de Sanga (Paris, 1948), pp. ix-xxv, discusses collaboration
as co-authorship, as does I. M . Lewis, in The Anthropologist's Muse. For a
forward-looking defense of Boas' emphasis on vernacular texts and his collaboration with
Hunt, see Irving Goldman, "Boas on the Kwakiutl: the Ethnographic Tradition," in S.
Diamond, ed., Theory and Practice: Essays presented to Gene Weltfish (The Hague,
1980), pp. 334-36.
50. D. Sperber, "L'Interprktation en Anthropologie," L'Homme, XX1:I (1981), esp. pp. 76-
79.
51. Such a project is announced by Evans-Pritchard in his introduction to Man and Woman
among the Azande (London, 1974), a late work which may be seen as a reaction against
the closed, analytic nature of his own earlier ethnographies. His acknowledged inspiration
is Malinowski.
On Ethnographic Authority 145
52. Sperber, "L'Interprktation en Anthropologie," p. 78.
53. V. Turner, ?'he Forest of Symbols: Aspects ofNdembu Ritual (Ithaca, N.Y., and London,
1967), pp. 131-50.
54. New York, 1960, pp. 333-356. For a "group dynamics" approach to ethnography, see T.
Yannopoulos and Denis Martin, "De la question au dialogue: $ propos des enquttes en
Afrique noire," Cahiers d'ktudes africaines, 71 (1978), 421-42. For an ethnography explicitly
based on native "seminars" see N. Blurton Jones and M . Konner, "!Kung
Knowledge of Animal Behavior," in R. Lee and I. De Vore, eds., Kalahari HunterGatherers
(Cambridge, 1976), pp. 325-48.
55. V. Turner, Revelation and Divznation zn Ndembu Ritual (Ithaca, 1975), pp. 40-42, 87,
154-56, 244; Forest of Symbols, p. 21.
56. Favret-Saada's use of dialect and italic type in Les Mots, la mort, les sorts is one solution
among many to a problem that has long preoccupied realist novelists.
57. J. Casagrande, ed., In the Company ofiMan, p. 428.
58. Ibzd., pp. 17-18. 59. Ibzd., p. xiii.
60. Roy Wagner, The Inuention of Culture (Chicago, 1980).
61. New York, 1980. 62. Auckland, London, 1977.
63. Bahr et a]., Piman Shamanism (Tucson, 1974), p. 7.
64. R. Barthes, Image, Muszc, Text (New York, l977), pp. 146, 148.
65. An extremely suggestive model of polyphonic exposition is offered by the projected fourvolume
edition of the ethnographic texts written, provoked, and transcribed between 1896
and 1914 by James Walker, on the Pine Ridge Sioux Reservation. Two titles have appeared
so far: James Walker, Lakota Belief and Ritual, Raymond DeMallie and Elaine
Jahner, eds., and Lakota Soczety, Raymond DeMallie, ed. (Lincoln, Nebraska, and London,
1980, 1982). These engrossing volumes in effect re-open the textual homogeneity of
Walker's classic monograph of 1917, 'The Sun Dance, a summary of the individual statements
here published in translation. These statements, by more than thirty named "authorities,"
complement and transcend Walker's synthesis. A long section of Lakota Belief
and Ritual was written by Thomas Tyon, Walker's interpreter. And the collection's
fourth volume will be a translation of the writings of George Sword, an Oglala warrior
and judge encouraged by Walker to record and interpret the traditional way of life. The
first two volumes present the unpublished texts of knowledgeable Lakota and Walker's
own descriptions in identical formats. Ethnography appears as a process of collective
production. It is essential to note that the Colorado Historical Society's decision to publish
these texts was provoked by increasing requests from the Oglala Community at Pine
Ridge for copies of Walker's materials to use in Oglala history classes.
66. For a very useful and complete survey of recent experimental ethnographies see George
Marcus and Dick Cushman, "Ethnographies as Texts," Annual Reuzew of Anthropology,
11 (1982), pp. 25-69; Steven Webster, "Dialogue and Fiction in Ethnography," Dzalectzcal
Anthrofiology 7:2 (1982); and Hussein Fahim, ed., Indigenous Anthrojbology in NonWestern
Countries (Durham, North Carolina, 1982).