Leslie A. White: Evolution and Revolution in Anthropology

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Author: William J. Peace

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Leslie A.White

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Critical Studies in the History of Anthropology Series Editors Regna Darnell Stephen O. Murray

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Leslie A.White Evolution and Revolution in Anthropology

William J. Peace [-3], (3)

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University of Nebraska Press Lincoln and London

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© 2004 by the Board of Regents of the University of Nebraska All rights reserved Manufactured in the United States of America All photographs courtesy of Beverly CondittWhite. ⬁ 䡬

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Peace,William J., 1960– Leslie A.White: evolution and revolution in anthropology /William J. Peace. p. cm.—(Critical studies in the history of anthropology) Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 0-8032-3681-6 (cloth: alk. paper) 1.White, Leslie A., 1900–1975. 2. Anthropologists—United States—Biography. 3. Social evolution—United States—Philosophy. 4. Marxist anthropology. 5. Culture—Philosophy. I.Title. II. Series. GN21.W48 P43 2004 301'.092–dc22 2003016612

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For the Chief

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Contents List of Illustrations ix Series Editors’ Introduction Preface xiii Acknowledgments xix

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1. Early Life and Formative Experiences 1 2. Fieldwork in the Southwest 35 3.The Socialist Labor Party and Socialist Evolutionary Theory 4. EvolutionaryTheory for American Anthropologists 99 5. Academic and PoliticalThreats 135 6.White Presses Needlessly On 164 7. PersonalTurmoil and Professional Influence 208

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Notes 233 Bibliography Index 279

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Illustrations Following p. 120 White, circa 1947 Alvin LincolnWhite, circa 1900–1905 HelenWhite, circa 1909 White, Denver, Colorado, winter 1917–18 White in his naval uniform, 1919 White, Santa Domingo, fall 1928 The Open Road Tour Group, Soviet Union, 1929 White and Mary PattisonWhite, 1935 White, 1959

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Series Editors’ Introduction Biography holds a particular place in the critical history of anthropology, as of any other discipline. Anthropology is perhaps unique, however, in its long-standing professional concern with the impact of culture on personality, to use Edward Sapir’s phrase. The history of anthropology is, in this sense, an anthropological problem, with the biographer as archivist presenting an ethnography of his or her subject. Each anthropologist uniquely construes the traditions of a national and transnational anthropology. When the social networks that constitute the profession are approached from the point of view of a single individual, readers are encouraged to construct disciplinary developments as the result of strategic decisions on the part of participants. Some biographical subjects necessarily present greater challenges than others. LeslieA.White confounds the patterned quality of a single professional life because of the diversity of his interests throughout his career. William J. Peace documents the facets and contradictions of Leslie A. White’s life and career, sketching his midwestern farm upbringing and World War I navy service,and limning in meticulous detail the variegated tangents of his contacts with colleagues inside the academy and beyond it. White is widely remembered within the discipline for three areas of specialization: as a southwestern ethnologist in the Boasian tradition of his initial training at the University of Chicago with Boasians Edward Sapir and FayCooper Cole, as North America’s primary proponent of a revitalized evolutionary theory and,in the later years of his career,as a historian of anthropology. His political involvements,particularly in his younger years,constitute a parallel intellectual and activist strand.Very few readers will know all of these sides. White lived in interesting times. Like many of his generation with socialist leanings, his involvement with the Socialist Labor Party was self-defensively clandestine. Peace documents his writing career under the pseudonym of John Steel, the influences of his travels to Russia, and McCarthy-era challenges to academic freedom. White’s unconventional views, particularly on evolution and free will, challenged the integrity of academic freedom at the University of Michigan before the Cold War erupted. The controversy White’s lectures and writings prompted enabled Michigan to fare somewhat better than other universities during this dark era in American history. Although polemic invective characterized much of White’s writing, in

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person he was very polite, and his professionalism ensured that his academic disagreements with his colleagues were not repeated on a personal level. As chair of the Department of Anthropology at the University of Michigan for 25 years,White attempted to avoid the formation of a Michigan evolutionary school, despite his own theoretical commitments to this theory. Diversity of approach was a strength to the anthropology he envisioned. White turned to the history of anthropology to lambast the Boasian tradition as a straitjacket preventing resurgence of evolutionary theories. His disciplinary history was presentist, almost incidental to his reading of the present and future; it had a persuasive rather than a documentary focus. An uncompleted biography of Lewis Henry Morgan expressedWhite’s continuing commitment to Morgan’s evolutionary logic and presented an alternative [-12], (2) future for American anthropology. In White’s mind there was no inherent contradiction between his early Lines: 26 ethnological work at several pueblos and the universalist basis of his evolutionary theory. Southwesternists remember White’s unusual ability to obtain ——— information from the most secretive of the pueblos. Although this work * 31.153 ——— has raised serious ethical questions by contemporary standards, White was Normal P respected for his results at the time. White never recanted as ethical standards changed in the discipline, continuing to insist that ethnographic data was a * PgEnds: P legitimate part of anthropology. As a theorist, however,White preferred universal generalizations. Peace’s [-12], (2) discussion of his relationships, both professional and personal, with other evolutionary theorists helps to frame the uniqueness of his theory of culture. White deemed Julian Steward’s multilinear evolution,with its strong emphasis on environment, to be tainted by Boasian historical hesitations and thus incoherent as a theory. He was more comfortable with V. Gordon Childe and, indeed, with the archaeological reading of history and time perspective. The legacy of Leslie A. White is as complex as his career. His materialist models have proved very welcome to museum anthropologists and archaeologists. His cultural theory served to provide theoretical alternatives in the interwar and postwar years. And for many, White continues to be a significant contemporary figure as well as an icon in the history of American anthropology. Regna Darnell and Stephen O. Murray

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Preface Writing a biography about any figure in the history of anthropology is a difficult endeavor. As a group, anthropologists deeply care about their scholarship and the people they study. They also tend to have prickly personalities. In conducting research about the life and career of Leslie A.White I often felt as though I were traversing a minefield: I never knew when someone was going to blow up in a fury over a question or even the mention of White’s name. This was made quite clear to me early on in my research when I contacted an individual who I knew had had a serious falling-out with White. I already knew White’s beliefs about why the friendship had ruptured; I wanted to ask this scholar his interpretation. When several letters went unanswered I decided to telephone, assuming the person did not want to reply in writing. When I identified myself there was a long silence, and then the reply came: “I have two words to say: Fuck you!” With that he slammed the phone down. 1 Given the strong feelings White’s name can provoke, he remains a controversial figure to many scholars. White was by nature a feisty, opinionated man whose life was punctuated by heated intellectual engagements with other social scientists. It is no wonder he is not well understood. For over two decades White’s work was on the cutting edge of the discipline,yet his legacy has been colored by the semantic battles in which he was so often embroiled. White’s work was a major source of study, one that profoundly influenced many of his students, such as Robert Carneiro, Marshall Sahlins, and Elman Service, as well as fellow faculty members at the University of Michigan and elsewhere. His work was widely discussed, as is evidenced by the inclusion of his name in a short list of most frequently cited anthropologists based on references to him in the American Anthropologist, Anthropology Today, and in The Teaching of Anthropology (Shimkin 1964:14–15). GivenWhite’s central place within the discipline,it is surprising thatWhite is one of the few influential anthropologists of his generation who has not been the subject of a full-scale biography. 2 This is particularly curious considering that the two scholarsWhite is most often associated with, Julian Steward and Vere Gordon Childe, have been the subjects of intense biographical analysis (Clemmer 1999; Green 1981; McNairn 1980). The reasons White’s work and life have not been subject to

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detailed analysis are complex. White was a difficult man, prone to attacking those whom he perceived were not supportive of his work. 3 In addition, some have argued that he spent too much time “defending” Lewis Henry Morgan after he needed no defense,he attacked“antievolutionists” when such attacks were not necessary, and he alienated potential allies when he failed to find common ground intellectually. As a result his peers remember the personal commitment and rhetoric of White’s arguments rather than the nature and scope of his contribution to method and theory. Meanwhile,many historians of anthropology,ignoring the sociopolitical context of his work, considerWhite a technological determinist, unable to see the merit of his other theoretical contributions. In an appraisal of mid—20th century American anthropology, Carroll L. Riley compared the differences between Vere Gordon Childe and LeslieWhite that underscore the reasons whyWhite’s contribution to the discipline has not been adequately studied: The neo-evolutionism of men like V. G. Childe and L. White has had considerable influence onAmerican historical thinking. Childe,indeed, belongs in the circle of seminal minds;since he was not an American,he perhaps cannot be claimed as an American historical anthropologist— and in any case his background and training were quite different (British and continental archaeological tradition plus a dollop of Marxism). He was exceedingly historically minded, but his main interest was in generalization, and history—or prehistory—simply formed the means and material for these larger problems. His unquenching demand for good work, his essential lack of dogmatism (in spite of a presumed Marxist bias), his willingness to discard a position when it became untenable or improbable, and his reluctance to accept easy unproven generalizations about human nature all go to make him a spiritual brother of Boas and Spier and others in American historical anthropology. Leslie White is a study in contrast. His obvious ability and insight is somewhat blunted by a doctrinaire adulation of Lewis H. Morgan and a tendency to polemics when his hero is attacked,criticized,or overlooked. The main difficulty of White,however,is his unwillingness to accept the fact there is no serious theoretical difference between his own reasonable evolutionism and the Boasian approach. [Riley 1967:20–21] In the foregoing quote there is clearly a nuanced view of Childe’s contribution and a forgiving dismissal of his Marxist views, while White is taken to task for being blinded by the polemical content of his work. Just as Childe’s

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work has been placed in its historic context, in my biography of White I will document the political influences that affected his career, demonstrating that his research, too, was embedded in the broader social and ideological times in which he lived. To this end an underlying theme throughout the text is the conjunction between political beliefs and anthropological theory. My contextualization of White’s work highlights a significant shortcoming in the history of anthropology, specifically the failure of historians such as George Stocking and Richard Handler to consider the political beliefs and actions of scholars likeWhite, Melville Jacobs, Oscar Lewis,Alexander Lesser, Bernhard Stern, and many others who were drawn to radical politics. We anthropologists all too often fail to acknowledge what Laura Nader (1997a, 1997b) has identified as the “phantom factor”: many of our long-standing traditions were profoundly influenced not only by anthropological theory but also by the committed political beliefs of our intellectual forebears. After all,as Clyde Kluckhohn (1959:147) noted, anthropologists “have characteristically been men and women fervently in search of a theory.” In acknowledging that contemporary sociopolitical events affected the ways in which a scholar such as White worked, one must look beyond merely the anthropological social milieu to integrate broader economic,social, political, and intellectual history into the analysis. The lack of attention paid to White and the degree to which he was influenced by forces outside of anthropology emphasize the need for a balanced, nonpolemical analysis of his career. Hence my biography will look at both White’s scientific and anthropological contributions. To this end my emphasis is on his intellectual and political work rather than on his personal life. While I do touch upon aspects of White’s nonprofessional life, particularly as it pertains to his childhood, I am principally concerned with his formal thought. No attempt at a definitive portrait of Leslie A.White could be undertaken without extensive research at the Bentley Historical Library at the University of Michigan, where his papers are housed. The collection is voluminous, spanning the period before he was born in 1900 to his death in 1975. The archive contains 27 boxes of materials, not hitherto seriously analyzed by any scholar. 4 Within each box there are approximately 5,000 pages of printed matter. Of particular importance to my research wereWhite’s extensive correspondence files. White corresponded with many notable figures within anthropology; taken collectively these letters are an invaluable resource about White’s views on a myriad of personal and theoretical topics. Throughout the text I make

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liberal use of White’s letters,as they foreshadow and add depth to many of the arguments he engaged in throughout his career. The collection also contains material related toWhite’s unfinished biography of Lewis Henry Morgan. 5 I also make use of White’s personal and academic journals.White faithfully kept a journal from his years as an undergraduate at Columbia University in 1922 until his death—unfortunately, he carefully expunged journal entries he deemed too personal. For instance, he took a razor to his most detailed personal journal and deleted five years of entries, spanning the years 1952 to 1957. Similarly he excised pages from several autobiographical statements regarding the reasons why his family left their farm in Lane, Kansas, in 1917. Another rich source of information I rely on are copies of White’s unpublished articles and books. White left a number of unpublished manuscripts, ranging from poetry to the voluminous sequel to The Evolution of Culture. The manuscripts that survive, particularly those that pertain to his activities in the Socialist Labor Party and his fieldwork in the Southwest, yield invaluable insights into the seemingly unintelligible twists and turns his career took. Of special value in this regard are his field notes and correspondence pertaining to his ethnographic work. Closed to scholars at White’s own direction for some ten years after his death (Dillingham 1985), White’s field notes are a treasure trove of material about the Pueblo peoples. Not only do they highlight the inherent problems with the type of fieldwork he conducted, they also demonstrate how deeply he cared about the people he studied. I have conducted extensive research to fill in the gaps that exist in White’s papers. For example,although at first glanceWhite’s extensive correspondence with Marvin Farber and Elsie Clews Parsons seemed complete,several crucial letters were missing. Accordingly I have closely examined not only White’s papers but also those of approximately 50 other anthropologists who had close connections to White. More generally I have examined archives that were directly relevant toWhite’s career.Thus I delved deeply into the papers at the University of Chicago’s Regenstein Library that concerned the Departments of Anthropology and Sociology and the formation of the “Chicago School of Sociology.”Similarly I have made use of the papers of the Socialist Labor Party housed at the State Historical Society of Wisconsin. In addition to archival sources I have contacted and interviewed many people who knewWhite. Several people I spoke to requested anonymity, and I have respected these wishes. It was principally through interviews that I got a sense of White’s personal reasons for making certain career choices— issues that do not necessarily figure in his writings. These interviews also

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enabled me to understand the interpersonal relationships that existed among anthropologists and, in part, helped me account for disparities that would otherwise have remained puzzling. Throughout the text I try to remain as objective and dispassionate as possible, neither an apologist nor a critic of White. Nonetheless, during the course of my research I have grown exceedingly fond of a man I never met: an extremely complicated man who let few know him well and even fewer know him intimately. In the first chapter I explore White’s lonely and unsettled childhood and his early educational experience. Growing up in Lane, Kansas, had a profound impact on his personal development, as did his eventual rupture with rural farm life. White’s experience in the navy during World War I transformed his worldviews. It made him question all that he had been taught and led him to study at Louisiana State University, Columbia University, the New School for Social Research,and finally the University of Chicago.The second chapter discussesWhite’s fieldwork among the Pueblo peoples.This is probably one of the least appreciated aspects of White’s academic career, although his work was highly regarded by ethnologists of his generation. He was a diligent fieldworker, returning to the Southwest frequently between 1926 and the late 1950s. It was his early fieldwork that convinced him anthropology was the proper career path for him. In fact had he not been attracted to socialist politics and evolutionary theory during the 1930s and become embroiled in heated debates with Robert Lowie in the American Anthropologist, he would not have become a controversial figure in the discipline. The third chapter analyzes why he was attracted to the Socialist Labor Party,evolutionary theory, and socialism,all of which were intricately intertwined inWhite’s view. After honing his arguments with regard to the value of evolutionary theory under the pseudonym John Steel in theWeekly People, the official publication of the Socialist Labor Party,White forcefully tried to rekindle an interest in social evolution among American anthropologists. This battle was long and lonely and it exacted a great toll. White’s unpopular views had an adverse affect on his academic career, for he was hounded by the University of Michigan administration, the Catholic Church and, for a brief time, the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The fourth and fifth chapters argue that White was able not only to remain employed but also to take up a courageous intellectual stand because he had already established himself as a scholar of merit. A fundamental part of my analysis concentrates onWhite’s attempt to define the concept of culture as the core of anthropological investigation.This effort

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was intertwined with a forceful argument that culture could be reduced to a number of variables that could be used to predict a course of action for the future. It was this concept of culture within an evolutionary framework that inspired other scholars, although there was a major difference between White’s evolutionary work and that of scholars such as Julian Steward andVere Gordon Childe, both of whom I discuss in some detail. By the time Steward and Childe joined White in arguing for the value of evolutionary theory, it was politically dangerous to acknowledge any form of Marxist or socialist literature or influence. Given the impact the Cold War had on all scholars, in chapter 6 I will detail why three men who had so much in common spent more time differentiating their work from one another than in seeking theoretical linkages. [-18], (8) The final chapter examines the impact that White’s work had on other scholars, particularly his role in the development of the anthropology departLines: 86 ment at the University of Michigan, one of the foremost centers of thought in the discipline. I also detail the last 15 years of White’s life. After Mary ——— White’s death in 1959,his life was sad and lonely. He entered into a short-lived * 173.05 ——— second marriage and struggled with alcohol abuse for a decade. After joining Normal P Alcoholics Anonymous he tried to reorganize his life, but by the end of his life he was embittered and depressed—an outlook that was reflected in his * PgEnds: P work. Finally, although I am sympathetic to White’s theoretical perspective, his views and some of his actions during his life were not without fault. Like all [-18], (8) scholars, he made errors and in some cases displayed poor judgment.Viewed as a whole,however,his career was of seminal importance to the development and shaping of mid-20th-century American anthropological theory.

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Acknowledgments

People who have helped in various aspects of my work are listed below in alphabetical order.Their respective contributions large and small helped form my biography and influenced my thinking. Thanks are due to: Keith Basso, Harmi Befu,Robert Bills,Samuel Bloom,Phillip K. Bock,Robert Braidwood, Robert Carneiro, Beth Dillingham, Robin DuBlanc, Kate Dudley, Christopher Dunsmore, Shonnie Finnegan, Don Fowler, Frank Girard,Walter Goldschmidt, James Griffin, Dell Hymes, Barry Isaac,Virginia Kerns, Igor Kopytoff, Lawrence Krader, Robert Lawless, Robert Leopold, Maria Lepowsky, [-19], (9) Carmine Lodise, Jeannette Mannion, Betty Meggers, Nancy Parezo,Thomas Patterson,Thomas Peace,David Price,Eugene Ruyle,Marshall Sahlins,Hendel Sebestyen, Elman Service, Helen Service, Jeannie Sklar, Dana Spina, Melford Lines: 89 to Spiro, Lawrence Straus, Melburn Thurman, Malcolm Webb, Beverly Conditt ——— White, PeterWhiteley, and EricWolf. * 176.1010 I would also like to thank the following archives: the University of Wyo——— Normal Pag ming American Heritage Center, the American Philosophical Society, suny at Buffalo, the University of Chicago Regenstein Library, the Lane Historical * PgEnds: Pag Society, and the National Anthropological Archives. Special thanks must be made to the staff of the Bentley Historical Library. Of all the archives I have [-19], (9) ever used, few can compare to the Bentley Library. It is impossible to single out any individual,for all those who work there have gone out of their way to help me.

Chapter 1

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Early Life and Formative Experiences I am beginning to question very closely the value of my college training. I don’t believe the knowledge I will gain at college will really help me much.–White, journal, circa 1922 Childhood

Leslie A. White, the second of three children, was born in Salida, Colorado, on January 19,1900. He and his siblings (Helen,born 1898,andWillard,born 1902) were the children of Alvin LincolnWhite, a civil engineer, and Mildred Mae Millard. Alvin White, originally from Calhoun, Nebraska, received an A.B. and B.S. from the University of Nebraska at Lincoln. For several years the elderWhite worked for various railroads locating routes in Colorado,mostly in the vicinity of booming mining towns. Mildred Mae Millard, born in Boone, Iowa, met White’s father in Nebraska; they were married in 1896 and moved to Salida in the late 1890s. 1 Alvin White was employed by the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad, and Salida,a busy mining town,was division point for the railroad.All three children were born in Salida, where they resided in a small brick house. White’s father was apparently a brilliant engineer but had little time for his family (White to Meyer,April 3, 1964, bhl-wp). He was one of six children and his father, Alvin Granville White, was an outstanding Nebraska pioneer whom White described as being “a straight-laced deeply moral, profoundly religious New England Puritan Methodist minister” (White to Webb, May 7, 1968, bhl-wp). 2 Perhaps due to his influence, the younger Alvin White believed, as Calvin did,that work was a virtue unto itself. He was a hard man,emotionally distant from the family. White wrote that his father “tried to break away from the orthodoxy and fervor of his [own] father” but never truly succeeded (White toWebb,May 7,1968,bhl-wp).A childhood friend of White remembered his father as being “the straightest man I ever saw, who walked like he was going into a fire.”3 According to Mrs. Lippard,a neighbor in Salida,White’s father was“brilliant, studious, withdrawn and nongregarious; a man who regarded gaiety and frivolity wasteful, if not a bit sinful” (Meyer to White, April 23, 1965, bhlwp). 4

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White’s mother,12 years younger and much more outgoing,did not receive the necessary emotional support or love she expected from her husband. Apparently,White’s father refused to attend picnics or parties planned by his wife, and in time she began going out while he stayed home. When White was five years old his mother fell in love with another man, and his parents divorced.This caused quite a stir among family and friends, who were evenly divided as to who was to blame for the end of the marriage. White’s mother moved to Denver and, as was the custom at the time in cases of abandonment or adultery,custody of the three children was awarded toWhite’s father.White never spoke nor wrote about the impact his parents’ separation had on his childhood,yet he retained a number of vivid memories of Salida;for example, he remembered seeingTeddy Roosevelt speak from the rear platform of a train during a campaign stop there (White to Meyer, April 3, 1964, bhl-wp). After White’s parents separated in 1905, his father moved the family to Kansas City, Missouri. With his career advancing, White’s father no longer conducted regional surveys but worked in the main office of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad. However, he did not like working in an urban setting and became convinced that spending all day indoors was unnatural and was adversely affecting his health. Having spent a portion of his younger life working on a farm, he firmly believed that a return to vigorous outdoor life would improve his health. Accordingly, in 1906 he moved his family to a farm near Greeley,Kansas (approximately 65 miles southwest of Kansas City). Although he knew little about farm management, he purchased a farm in March 1907 near Lane, Kansas. The White family would remain in Lane from 1907 to 1914. LeslieWhite’s formative years and earliest memories were dominated by rural farm life. When in a retrospective mood,White would tell people he learned many valuable lessons living on a farm. However,he told precious few that his childhood was unsettled and unhappy.At first he was excited by the livestock and the huge expanses of land, but this was quickly forgotten. In an autobiographical document,White wrote:“The household became desolate and lonely. I used to cry almost every night before going to bed. My father used to ask me, in helpless sympathy,why I was crying,but I could not tell him. I did not know. I knew only an overwhelming loneliness and need for love. My father loved us children deeply and his devotion to us knew no bounds. But perhaps as a stern Puritan’s son, he could not express his love affectionately” (White, untitled reminiscence, circa 1952, bhl-wp). White’s father was tender at times such as these, but this did not stop his

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son’s tears or alleviate his overwhelming sense of loneliness.White frequently argued with his father and took great delight in being able to catch him in logical fallacies. These arguments frequently ended in White’s father beating him. 5 A number of autobiographical lettersWhite exchanged with various people toward the end of his life confirm that his father had a profound impact on his development. For example,White remained grateful, if not relieved, that his father did not speak for or against religion. Apparently his father “believed that there was a God of some sort, and that he was good. But there was never any suggestion that God had anything whatever to do with the world we lived in or in our personal lives”(White toWebb,May 7,1968,bhl-wp).White was not exactly sure why his father never spoke of religion and did not know if this nonverbalization was a conscious decision on his father’s part. White did specifically recall that his father never set foot in a church after his marriage. 6 In 1952 he returned to the farm near Lane in the hope that it would cause him to remember things of consequence he had forgotten.The visit prompted him to describe the farm:“Our home was a small two-story structure. As was the case of houses in that community at that time, it was without running water, plumbing, or electric lights. We had a windmill and a well nearby, an outdoor privy; we heated the house with wood stoves and lighted it with kerosene lamps. Near the house—not beneath it—was a cellar which served as a refuge from cyclones as well as to store potatoes, apples, and canned fruit. There was an old dilapidated barn, a tool shed, a big old straw stack and a few forlorn trees. The railroad ran through our farm about a half-mile from our house” (White, untitled reminiscence, circa 1952, bhl-wp). The isolation of farm life created a lonely existence.There were no neighbors and no playmates aside from his brother and sister, and White quickly became bored by the tedious work required to maintain a farm. The farm was several miles from Lane, a small town with stores abutting a single dirt road. White’s limited social life revolved around school, where the teacher was 18 years old and had only just finished the eighth grade herself. Eight grades coexisted in a one-room schoolhouse dominated by a wood-burning stove. The stove heated the room in the winter and kept the ink bottles from freezing at night.The highlight of White’s social life was the monthly Saturday afternoon trip to Lane with his father, sister, and brother. In town his father sold butter,cream,and eggs to purchase groceries from the general store.White revisited Lane several times and kept in contact with several people from his childhood. After one such visit he was prompted to write:

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I have seen quite a few people and the old town. It is not an inspiring sight. It is small grubby, untidy, in fact ugly. It has deteriorated considerably since I was here twenty-five years ago. . . . Many, many houses here are just as they were 25 years ago except for the natural weathering and degeneration that a quarter of a century will bring. . . . Not only are little towns like Lane untidy, and their houses unsightly, but the men are dirty. . . . It is hard to understand how so many of the men can be so dirty. The town is full of weeds. There are no lawns. The trees have had no care. Cows, pigs and chickens are kept right in town. They all have outdoor crapping cans. . . . I seem so remote here. The world where I customarily live has been so far left behind it hardly seems to exist. Of course, it is just the other way around—time has marched on and left Lane behind—the“town that God Forgot.”Only I don’t know whether Lane knows it or not. [White,untitled reminiscence,September 2,1938, bhl-wp]

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White’s father employed an elderly housekeeper and a hired man to help with farm chores.White found the hired man,John,a novelty;unlike his father, he was capable of carrying on light-hearted conversations. John joked with the boys and was willing to play practical jokes on White’s younger brother, Willard.The housekeeper was an elderly woman whomWhite and his brother named“Aunt Frank.”She mothered the children,told them endless stories,and cared for them through routine childhood illnesses. AsWhite’s father became more settled, the hired man was fired; when the children became more selfsufficient,the housekeeper was dismissed as well. Hence by the timeWhite was eight, he was responsible for many of the household chores; when his father was too tired to prepare a meal,which was often the case,White cooked for his siblings. He was expected as well to help feed the livestock,milk the cows,and work in the fields. He was exposed to the elements and wrote that he suffered greatly in the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter. White sadly recalled:“First John left, then Aunt Frank. We were alone, my father, Helen, Willard and I.The house seemed so quiet and desolate.There was no woman there. There was no odor of coffee, no aroma of John’s Bull Durham. We had only one kerosene lamp lighted. Papa would cook supper, or sometimes we would have a cold meal. Helen would help him wash and dry the dishes.Then Dad would take Billy [Willard], as he would always call him, and who by this time was asleep, upstairs and put him to bed” (White, untitled reminiscence, circa 1952, bhl-wp).

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This way of life abruptly ended in 1915,when Helen became pregnant at the age of 17. A strict and devout man,White’s father was devastated and reluctant to let anyone he knew see his daughter’s “condition.” Deeply embarrassed, he moved the family from place to place during Helen’s pregnancy because of the stigma attached to her age and marital status, eventually settling down in Zachary, Louisiana (north of Baton Rouge), one year later. The event caused a profound rupture in the household and led to White’s estrangement from his father, and to a lesser degree his brother, for several years, although he was never estranged from his sister. 7 While White’s sister was pregnant, the family lived a nomadic existence. White also spent some time in Denver with his mother for the fist time since he was a young child. White’s mother was with her daughter when she gave birth at the East Feliciana Parish, Louisiana (White to County Clerk, Denver,Colorado,April 5,1967,bhl-wp).After baby Herbert was born,Helen moved to Denver to live with her mother and stepfather, who legally adopted Herbert. 8 Although White and his brother remained with their father, they began to visit their mother on a regular basis. The two boys subsequently became closer to their mother andWhite’s feelings for his father hardened. 9 Growing up in a house that was male-dominated had a profound effect on White. This was exacerbated by the rupture his sister’s pregnancy caused; for instance,he could no longer accept his father’s dichotomy that there were two kinds of women—good and bad. Although no letters survive betweenWhite and his sister regarding her pregnancy, he remained close to her throughout his life. White could not accept that an unplanned pregnancy suddenly made his sister a “bad woman,” which led him to question what he had been taught by his father. Certainly, traveling around the United States while his sister was pregnant exposed him to things and ideas he had only heard about on the farm in Lane. While the following passage does not concern his sister’s pregnancy directly,White recalled how the lack of a female presence affected his development: This all-male family unquestionably had a profound effect on the development of my personality and character. There were girls in the schools I attended, of course, and my teachers—except the principal— were women. But that was different. I had no chance to become well acquainted with womankind.The greatest difficulty that I encountered in my social life after I left home was learning how to behave toward,and with members of the opposite sex.This difficulty was compounded too,

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I believe,by my father’s Puritan conception of women:all women could be divided into two classes: good and bad. A good woman was a good woman,and a bad woman was a bad woman.This classification may have simplified matters for my father,but its artificial nature created enormous difficulties for me in my efforts to find my way in the real world of real people. [White, untitled reminiscence, circa 1952, bhl-wp] Despite the turbulence of White’s home life, he distinguished himself in school. His grades rarely dipped below 90 percent. His teachers remarked that he was intellectually gifted, and more than one report card noted he had “MarkedAbility.”WhenWhite graduated from Zachary High School in 1916, he was class president and valedictorian. By now openly antagonistic to his father, on the day he graduated from high school he moved out of his father’s house. Anxious to explore the world and make a life for himself, he had only been waiting until graduation. He put his meager possessions into a single valise and left home for good—on foot. He immediately got a job as secretary—bookkeeper with his former high school principal, Chapple R. Regan, and moved to Alexandria, Louisiana. Regan published a school journal entitled Louisiana School Work, for which White took dictation, wrote letters, kept books, and wrote some editorials. Unfortunately,no editorials have survived. Regan concluded thatWhite could get a much better job, and he suggested White apply for a position at the Armour and Company as stenographer and bookkeeper. White held this position until summer 1917, when the U.S. government began construction of Camp Beauregard. White worked at Camp Beauregard in the fall of 1917 and spring of 1918. In March 1918 he visited his mother and sister in Boulder, Colorado, where he enlisted in the navy. 10 The Navy

Although White never articulated exactly why he joined the navy, several factors surely figured significantly. First,like many men his age,White perceived the sinking of the passenger liner Lusitania as a threat to democracy and the nation. He vividly recalled when his father told him the war had begun:“I was in a corn field with the temperature about 102 and my father came out and said to me the Germans invaded Belgium.This was profound and it had a disturbing, upsetting affect upon me. Wars to me had always been in history books and they had no other reality. But now this was a real war and the Germans were real men” (White, lecture, 1974, ucsc). White must have concluded that enlisting was the best way to actively “make the world safe for democracy.” Moreover,

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White’s two best friends had also decided to enlist. White was 18, had never had a drink of alcohol or smoked, was a virgin, and had an intense romantic desire to “See The World,” as the recruitment posters exclaimed. After White graduated from basic training, he applied for admission to the Naval School for Specialized Instruction. He worked very hard and, along with two other young recruits, was selected to join a destroyer crew that was waiting for its ship to be completed in the San Francisco shipyards. The destroyer uss Ringgold was commissioned November 14, 1918. The majority of the crew had considerable naval experience when White participated in her maiden voyage. White’s experience in the navy was quite unusual because the Ringgold was commissioned three days after the armistice. Accordingly the professional naval crew and officers were no longer concerned with the war but with the downsizing that would inevitably follow. Men such asWhite had their motivational factor eliminated. In addition, a nucleus crew on a ship under construction lives under very difficult conditions. According to naval historian Paul Halpern,“the ship was most likely partially functional and the general living conditions squalid. It was akin to living in a home while it was under construction” (letter to author, September 23, 1997).White found his new life exciting, exhilarating, and enjoyable despite a few “unpleasant episodes.” Brawls were not uncommon and the veteran seamen picked on the “greenhorns” who seemed the most insecure. In a letter to his friend and his former student Edward Norbeck,White recalled:“I fell in love with San Francisco long ago in 1918 when I entered the Navy and had my rookie training at Goat Island (as it was universally called at that time) and was assigned to the nucleus of a destroyer crew at Mare Island pending the completion of the ship at the Union IronWorks. My six months in San Francisco were probably the most exciting and romantic (in the broader sense of this term) period of my life” (White to Norbeck, October 17, 1968, bhl-wp). There can be no doubt thatWhite had conflicting memories of his days in the navy. Toward the end of his life, he recalled:“I enjoyed being in the Navy. It was a great experience for me, a pleasant one, and very instructive. I loved the sea life and the ships. The only thing I didn’t like about the Navy was its purpose.While in the Navy no one seemed to think much of its purpose, that is, its ultimate purpose. And whenever I did think of it then, I thought it a noble one. Was it not committed to sweeping the scourge of U-Boats from the sea, thereby making the world safe for democracy?” (White 1973d:45). The impact his naval service had on White is impossible to overestimate. Most who have written aboutWhite’s life and career have stressed this point,re-

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ferring to the following passage about war:“[T]he facts and all the propaganda, disillusioned me profoundly and completely. Up to 1916 I implicitly believed all that I had learned about the ‘American way of life,’ its principles, practices, ideals and goals.After the war I had come to realize that just about all that I had learned was sheer folk-lore and bore little relationship to reality. Therefore, when I entered college (Louisiana State) in the fall of 1919, I abandoned my plans to become a physicist. The only way I could define my objective then was that I ‘wanted to learn and understand why peoples—nations—behave as they do’” (White 1987:4). This quote illustrates the profound change in White’s thinking created by World War I. Although it implies that his naval experience alone changed his worldview, this was not the case. Given his social isolation as a child,White never questioned what he had been taught. He recalled that he was not exposed to anything but “the mythology of Capitalism and Democracy.” In looking back on his life,White recalled that he“never realized it was mythology and as a matter of fact I did not think it was true or not. I just accepted it as I accepted the atmosphere. I believed everything that the capitalist and democratic system had to say about itself. It was the best of all possible worlds, everyone had an equal chance and so on” (White, lecture, 1974, ucsc). White believed that growing up in “Kansas from 1907 to 1914 was a spiritually organized state of mind,to be understood only against a background of the Free vs. Slavery struggle,John Brown,Quantrell’s raids,Puritan morality, anti-liquor,anti-tobacco,movements etc.”(White toWebb,May 7,1968,bhlwp).11 Given this context,I would argue that it is impossible to discern whether and to what extent the evolution of White’s thinking came from escaping the conservative environment in which he was raised, the turmoil caused by his sister’s pregnancy, or the experience of the war itself. EvenWhite was unsure, writing,“I cannot explain very well what happened to me during the three years after I finished high-school” (White to Meyer,April 3, 1964, bhl-wp). White realized that his naval experience was significant but was not convinced that it was the lone reason for his changed views. Certainly, the two worlds White had been exposed to were diametrical opposites. There was his father’s world on the farm, isolated and barren, and life in the navy, filled with liquor, exotic ports, and the raw edge of life. Undoubtedly the war was a shock to men and women of his generation,as it destroyed their preconception about the nature of civilization. Before the war many believed civilization had advanced beyond warfare and the wanton destruction of life and property. WorldWar I provided graphic proof this was not the case.The ultimate cost of

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WorldWar I in terms of money circa 1918 is staggering:the estimated direct cost was $180 million.The loss of lives for the victorious and defeated powers alike was overwhelming. Even conservative estimates are mind-boggling:Germany suffered 6.6 million losses, France 2.8 million, and Russia 9 million. Great Britain, excluding Scotland and Ireland, sustained casualties of 3 million. Although White did not participate in any battle when in the navy, he became adamantly opposed to all warfare, writing:“I was awed and appalled by the war; I could not understand it. And I had the sickening feeling that our verbal explanations and professions did not really account for our behavior. I wanted to know why millions of men should murder and mangle each other, and why women and priests should urge them to do it. . . . I was overwhelmed when the full realization that everything is not as it pretends to be, struck me; almost everything seemed to me to be ‘out of joint”’ (White to Capen, grant proposal, December 31, 1928, bhl-wp). Even during World War II, when there was virtually unanimous support for the war, the death and destruction appalledWhite. He found fault with both sides, writing in his journal: We seem to be“winning the war”now.That is,our killing and destroying seems to be exceeding those of the enemy. . . . This war sickens me. The lying, cheating bragging; the nauseating hypocrisy, the parading of vicious hate, envy greed, as holy and noble striving and idealism. Using the war and patriotism to shackle and enslave—to humiliate and discredit—the working class—while at the same time proclaiming that this is a war of the common man—is sickening. If there is anything noble, lofty,genuine,unselfish in this war,it is among the common ignorant folk who have really been taken in by the propaganda. And even then, one wonders how much of this rises above the level of tropism and reflex. [White, journal, circa 1944, bhl-wp] After White was discharged from the navy in August 1919, he entered Louisiana State University. However, he decided not to study physics or astronomy as he had originally planned. As early as 1910 White had decided he was going to become a physicist or astronomer. In a letter to Harry Elmer Barnes,White wrote that one of his most vivid childhood memories was of his father taking him outside to see Halley’s comet flaming across the sky (White to Barnes,August 11, 1959, Barnes Papers, ahc). As the comet streaked across the sky, his father explained this phenomenon, an incident that remained one of his warmest memories. White was fascinated by science, and as a young child he read some of his father’s college textbooks. One of these texts,Natural

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Philosophy, he reread many times. In fact he wrote to Fay-Cooper Cole that, as a child, he “devoured” it and became enchanted by the deeds of Newton, Galileo, Kepler, and Halley (White to Cole, circa 1925, bhl-wp). It was thus a foregone conclusion thatWhite would major in physics or astronomy.Yet after his experience in the navy, such matters as electrons and the transmission of light seemed of secondary importance. He did not know what he was seeking or groping for. Nonetheless, he “realized clearly I had been brainwashed all my life.” All that he had been taught were mythologies or, as he put it, “Mothergoose stories” (White, lecture, 1974, ucsc). He was to spend much of his undergraduate and graduate years searching for a discipline that would provide him with the answers to questions such as why do countries go to war.

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Shortly after White left the navy, he contracted a life-threatening case of influenza. Also known as the “Spanish flu,” it came to affect half the human population and was the most deadly epidemic since the Middle Ages. He contracted the disease while working on a transport ship that carried injured soldiers back to the United States from Europe. At the time there was nothing the doctors could do, and he spent several days in a New York City hospital near death. This experience led him to make amends with his father, who had traveled to New York to see him. 12 After convalescing for six weeks, White entered Louisiana State University in the fall of 1919 with a full scholarship. It quickly became apparent that White, majoring in history and political science, was head and shoulders above his fellow students. Two of White’s professors strongly encouraged him to transfer to Columbia University, writing letters of recommendation that stated he was the best student they had ever encountered. He transferred to Columbia University in 1921 after his sophomore year; there he received a B.A. in 1923 and an M.A. in 1925. He took no courses in anthropology as an undergraduate or as a graduate student at Columbia. His M.A. thesis,“A Study ofVocational Choice ofYoung Men in the Professional Schools, with Reference to the Vocation of Their Male Relatives,” was written under the direction of RobertWoodworth. While at Columbia White seriously considered becoming a psychiatrist. 13 He spent several months visiting psychiatric clinics in New York State hospitals. He worked with Frankwood Williams at theVeterans Bureau NeuroPsychiatric Hospital in the Bronx and took two classes in clinical psychology at Manhattan State Hospitals for the Insane at Ward’s Island. In 1923, while visiting France, he spent some time at La Chartreuse Hospital for the Insane

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in Dijon to investigate the graduate programs available.What intriguedWhite about psychiatry in particular and psychology in general was that they provided concrete examples of how a “social problem” could be approached and dealt with at a practical level.White’s interests thus revolved around what he called “peoples” rather than culture. While White’s overall experience at Columbia was positive, he felt he was not getting enough out of his education. He expressed his frustration in a letter: I am becoming quite impatient with school, or Columbia University at least. I am getting a degree in February after four years of work. Then where am I? I don’t feel that I have really gotten very much from school, I feel that I am very deficient and lacking indeed, in the field in which my interests lie, but I feel that another year or two at Columbia will not yield returns of sufficient value to justify their expenditure. I feel that there is something going on in the world that I am missing, and that school, or Columbia at least, is not even letting me know it exists. . . . I may be foolish, but I have the feeling that I am being cheated and deceived. I don’t feel that I am getting the real thing that I think exists and which I am determined to get. [White to Miss Hayes, December 11, 1922, bhl-wp] It is not clear who the recipient of this letter,“Miss Hayes,” was. White was not on a first name basis with her; it is clear, however, that she helped him in a professional capacity.White refers to their many fine and lengthy discussions. He also credited her with getting his life “redirected toward the right path.” It is possible that White had a nervous breakdown. This is implied in a letter from Martha Strong to White’s father (Strong to Alvin White, September 22, 1922, bhl-wp) and in a passage of White’s journal. He wrote that he was “recuperating nicely and that many events have taken place which may change the whole course of my life” (White, journal, fall 1922, bhl-wp). Regardless,there is no doubt that duringWhite’s junior year at Columbia his thinking underwent a profound change. Attracted to Carlton Hayes,professor of history and an enthralling lecturer, White briefly considered a career in history, but Hayes’s modern European history class convinced him that this was not his field. In a letter to Professor Hayes, he wrote,“On a snowy walk this afternoon I noted a marked change in my attitude. . . . If I continue in history, all I can do is teach. I would rather be one who has a hand in the shaping of history than one who teaches it.That is why I prefer action. I don’t

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think I would be content to sit down and read about what others are doing. I want to do things myself ”(White to Hayes,January 19,1922,bhl-wp).White found the action he sought in socialism and historical materialism. Archival evidence in the form of papers he wrote for his classes and his activities at Columbia support his assertion that he had become a “revolutionist” in 1922. By revolutionist,White meant that he embraced an entirely new philosophy of life, one of his own manufacture rather than one he had been taught. In recalling this period, he wrote to Fay-Cooper Cole:“During my junior and senior years I went through a great period of revolutionism. . . . I wished to remake this old world,tear down the stupid,inefficient,unjust social structures and replace them with new wise, modern devices so that mankind would be freer, happier, and closer to the millennium which was soon to come. I tried to decide how much of my time, my life, I should devote to ‘society’ and how much to myself, and how I could best serve mankind” (White to Cole, circa 1925, bhl-wp). During this “revolutionary period” White attended meetings of the Intercollegiate Socialist Society, whose primary purpose was to promote an intelligent interest in socialism among college men and women through the formation of study clubs. Founded by Upton Sinclair and renamed the League for Industrial Democracy (lid) in 1921, it was led by socialists Harry Laidler and NormanThomas (Cohen 1993:31). During the 1920s lid was politically ineffective. Thus it is understandable why White did not become politically engaged in lid or other leftist organizations while a student. Throughout the 1920s socialists had a virtual monopoly on radical organizations, whose motto was “education for a new social order.” So much emphasis was placed on education that socialists seemed unable to take part in active political agitation. While one could learn a great deal from the political pamphlets, lectures, and workshops organized by lid, the organization failed to look beyond the classroom. It has been characterized by Cohen as a “brand of introverted academic radicalism”(Cohen 1993:33).White felt socialists merely debated about the nature of society, thereby attracting radical students, but were not effective in reaching the common man or in creating social change. The inaction infuriated White, who wrote in an unsuccessful grant to the Guggenheim Memorial Foundation: “I was eager to set out to reform the world; all the injustices, cruelties, and stupidities of our whole social system were to be wiped out. And I beat my wings against the bars of my cage until I fell down bruised and exhausted. . . . Then came the awful realization that the mere discovery of an abuse and a publishing of this news to the world,did not at

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once remove the abuse.With this discovery,my militant revolutionism subsided, and I discovered maturity” (White to Capen, grant proposal, December 31, 1928, bhl-wp). White’s newfound maturity consisted of independent reading and correspondence with scholars and political activists he respected as well as participation in various study groups outside of the Columbia milieu. Inspired by Austin Hay,White read John Dewey’s Human Nature and Conduct (White also took one course with Dewey but never commented on its possible influence). Hay encouraged White to read not only Dewey but the “thinkers who are associated with the socialist movement” (Hay to White, October 28, 1922, bhl-wp). White was struggling with what he perceived to be the weaknesses of social psychology. He wrote, “It seems to me that [in Human Nature and Conduct Dewey] has given us a method by which we can study social psychology much more profitably in the future. In Dewey’s interpretation we find hints of a distant but vital relation to that brand of knowledge that is usually termed ‘Historic Materialism’ or ‘The Materialist Conception of History.’ Karl Marx seems to have hit upon about the same idea as Dewey in his Capital where he says that man’s existence is not made by his consciousness but his consciousness is made by his social life” (White, class notes, circa 1922, bhl-wp). ForWhite social psychology grew out of historical materialism,which was divorced from socialist politics; indeed, it could not be monopolized by socialists,Democrats,or Republicans.White believed that historical materialism could not be useful until it took shape in a scientific form able to manufacture generalizations. He therefore argued that historical materialists and socialists were still waiting for their great generalization to be devised or realized. He wrote to Scott Nearing, a well-known socialist, asking him to point out a socialist system better than the capitalist one already in place in America. 14 White wanted to know where a socialist system had worked in the past and where it was currently working.The problem forWhite was that there was no socialist system already in place.White hoped that Dewey’s book would hold the key, enable society and human nature and conduct to be analyzed from a scientific point of view. Dewey showed how the environment in which people act and react determines conduct. Just as we cannot breathe without the atmosphere, in the same way honesty and courage are not properties of individuals alone but belong to the social environment. Thus objects in our material environment and data in our nonmaterial or social environment are necessary for a complete life. The ultimate aim of such an understanding and scientific view was not clear

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toWhite. Although interested in socialism,he could not commit himself until he saw it in action. White wondered why, if socialism was such a good thing, was it so difficult to win converts? As White perceived it, the main problem was: If you intend to replace any order which does not exist by one which you think would be better,you must first convert a number of people to your way of thinking—your first victory must be in the mind of man. This may be difficult at first, but if you can do this, the rest is easy. If you do convert a goodly number of people to your way of thinking, why you can get together and try out this scheme that has existed heretofore only in thought. If your experiment succeeds, do you think that you could keep it a secret and prevent people from adopting it—if it demonstrated that their conditions would be improved and their happiness increased? However, if you can’t win enough people over to your way of thinking to try it out, is your theory antagonistic—or not in sympathy at least, with the human factor, without which no practical change—economic or otherwise—is possible? [White to Nearing, May 25, 1922, bhl-wp] The New School for Social Research

Dissatisfied with Columbia and in search of a scientific and radical methodology to change the world,White turned to Harry Elmer Barnes for advice. In 1922 White took a class with Barnes at the University of California, and the two men struck up what would become a lifelong friendship. Barnes, one of the founding fathers of the New School faculty, strongly encouraged White to take classes there (White to Matthews, November 29, 1964, bhl). Barnes toldWhite that he was both professor of history and general handyman around the New School,often taking care of the boilers to insure his classroom was heated (Barnes to White, May 25, 1963, Barnes Papers, ahc). Foremost among those who made a lasting impression on White at the New School wereAlexander Goldenweiser (anthropology),William I.Thomas (sociology), ThorsteinVeblen (economics), John B. Watson (psychology), and Frankwood E.Williams (psychiatry). The New School for Social Research was founded in spring 1919 by a group of liberals and radical democrats (Rutkoff and Scott 1986). Principally coming from two groups—dissatisfied intellectuals from Columbia University (Charles Beard, Franz Boas, John Dewey,Wesley Mitchell, and James Harvey Robinson) and editors from the New Republic (Herbert Croly and Alvin Johnson)—they were brought together by Caroline Bacon, former professor

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at Smith College. During the time of isolationism and red-baiting following WorldWar I, both groups were deeply dissatisfied with the lack of intellectual freedom on most college campuses.The financial backing came from Frances Hand, Elsie Clews Parsons, Emily Putnam, Charlotte Sorchan, and Dorothy Straight.The New School acquired six townhouses backing onto one another on West Twenty-third and West Twenty-fourth Streets near the offices of the New Republic. Charlotte Sorchan undoubtedly applied her architectural and financial resources to transform the buildings into a school.The New School hired brilliant people who were disqualified from teaching elsewhere because of some act of social or political nonconformity. For example, Alexander Goldenweiser, dismissed from Columbia University, and William Thomas, dismissed from the University of Chicago, found a congenial and tolerant faculty at the New School.15 According toAlvin Johnson,who would become the New School’s first director, the novel quality of the New School excited “every liberal in the city”(Caffrey 1989:95). However, not all were pleased by the founding of the New School. For example, its diverse students and faculty led the president of Columbia University, Nicholas Murray Butler, to characterize the New School as “a bunch of disgruntled liberals setting up a tiny fly-by-night radical counterfeit education.” Between 1919 and 1933 the New School was a small, experimental institution for adult and worker education (Rutkoff and Scott 1986). It was a unique institution in that it had no formal requirements, curricula, or degrees. It attracted a student body largely comprised of people who had been sidetracked or delayed in choosing a career. As such the New School became a trendsetter for other similar institutions, such as the Rand School and the Affiliated Workers School, established in New York during the 1920s (Wald 1987). In order to remain a free and independent institution,the New School did not accept money from other institutions, financing its operation solely with student fees. Contributions from the founders made up for any shortfalls at the end of the year (Krohn 1987:60).Among the early anthropologists drawn to the New School were Alexander Goldenweiser and Elsie Clews Parsons, who each taught various courses. The best-known anthropology students of the early 1920s were Ruth Benedict,Melville Herskovits,and LeslieA.White. Between 1922 and 1924 White took classes at the New School in the late afternoons and evenings (White to Bliven, March 25, 1969, bhl-wp). White also worked at the “old” New School bookshop onWestTwenty-third Street, where he checked admission cards at the library to help pay his living expenses (White to Johnson, August 5, 1955, bhl-wp). Recalling his time

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at the New School, he wrote to Manuel Roman that he could have earned more money elsewhere but felt these jobs afforded him the opportunity to meet both faculty and students (White to Roman, January 16, 1964, bhlwp). What impressed White the most about the New School was the library and its adjacent bookstore, which was filled with revolutionary literature. He concluded that he must take classes there and try to mix in with the social scientists he respected. He also undertook an ambitious reading program, examining the works of Beard, Dewey, Giddings, andWoodworth. White’s first exposure to anthropology occurred at the New School. Of the scholars White was exposed to,William I. Thomas appealed to him the most, becauseThomas was very open-minded.Thomas’s classes were small and there were often wide-ranging discussions. White liked Thomas in spite of the fact he was a terrible teacher. According to Heilbroner (1961:209) whenThomas arrived at the New School his classes were overflowing with students but were quickly reduced to a mere handful because he mumbled in class and was disorganized. White characterized Thomas as stimulating and exciting with a free-ranging mind, fertile and engorged with particular facts. White recalled that he became close toThomas,or as close as a young student could to a much older scholar:“As I look back upon an experience of almost 40 years ago—no; more than 40, if anything—this is what comes to mind. He did not teach anthropology or sociology or psychology or any other ology. He taught what W. I. Thomas had done and thought and wondered about wherever human beings were involved. He exhibited things in a way in which made you see things you had never seen before. He made you think about things in novel ways” (White to Matthews, November 29, 1964, bhl-wp). Thomas also eschewed moralism. His approach to social scientific research was detached; that is, he viewed his subject matter in a dispassionate manner, seeking to understand human behavior relativistically rather than judgmentally. The starting point for this disinterested investigation of the origin and function of social institutions was Thomas’s Source Book of Human Origins (1909).WhileWhite was already familiar withThomas’s better-known works, specifically The Polish Peasant in Europe and America (Thomas and Znaniecki 1918) and Sex and Society ([1907] 1974), his Source Book of Human Origins made a lasting impression. The text was a sociological study of primitive society that viewed history as driven forward by the economic struggle for existence, capitalist accumulation, and the division of labor. Thomas believed America was at a critical stage in its history because rapid change had broken down old habits without creating new ideals. His solution was to break down

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barriers of communication and of class consciousness, sexism, and racial and tribal prejudice to work toward a world of harmonious pluralistic exchange— a social state he believed primitive people had attained. The “secret of life” that the study of primitive peoples would disclose was their failure to progress. It was in the fact that they did not become like modern Western civilization that Thomas hoped to discover the “laws of social physics which raised us above them” (Thomas 1909).Thomas firmly believed that humankind’s long development from savagery to civilization was of fundamental importance in understanding and changing contemporary society.Anthropological evidence drawn from all peoples would shed light on the “social consciousness” of society. White read the works of Franz Boas,Alexander Goldenweiser,Alfred Kroeber, and Clark Wissler, finding both factual and theoretical substance. Of the aforementioned scholars, Goldenweiser impressed White the most. At the New School White took classes with Goldenweiser, whom he characterized as one of the most learned teachers and best lecturers he was ever exposed to (White to Barnes,circa 1959,Barnes Papers,ahc). Goldenweiser was described by Lowie (1922:235) as the most open-minded student of Boas, considered “the philosopher of American anthropology.”White was not alone in this assessment of Goldenweiser. For example,Ruth Benedict,who also took classes with Goldenweiser, wrote that he exuded excitement about anthropology. Goldenweiser had a bold and flashy mind, and she characterized him as brilliant. She also wrote that“in his lectures Goldie displayed his brilliance and his extraordinarily facile imagination” (Modell 1983:111). 16 According toWhite Goldenweiser lived quite well and had salons at which he entertained leading anthropologists from the American Museum of Natural History and visiting professors from Europe.White also received heaping doses of antievolutionism that in retrospect he believed was not taught explicitly—rather it was taken for granted evolutionism had no merit.White read the antievolutionist literature, of which Lowie’s Primitive Society had the most significance on his thinking. Despite his acceptance of Boasian antievolutionism, his theoretical interests remained broad.The best way to examine both the impact Goldenweiser had on White’s thought and his early interest in anthropology derived from the New School is to analyze his rejected Ph.D. thesis proposal at the University of Chicago. However,before turning to this controversial aspect of his career,I must examine his graduate school experience at the University of Chicago and the events leading up to the split of the anthropology and sociology department there. 17

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The University of Chicago

White’s decision to go to graduate school at the University of Chicago was based on the recommendation of Harry Elmer Barnes and his deep respect for William Thomas. Established in 1893, the University of Chicago offered the best graduate program in sociology and anthropology in the United States. More generally, the University of Chicago had the widest course selection in the social sciences, with listings that included anthropology, history, law, philosophy, political science, psychology, sociology, and theology. Thus aside from the department’s outstanding reputation,its appeal fromWhite’s perspective came from its close relations with other departments of the university, in particular psychology. The close collaboration of these departments gave the joint department an interdisciplinary approach firmly grounded in empirical research. In fact virtually all students were assigned specialized topics that necessitated both library research and fieldwork on the streets of Chicago. 18 WhenWhite began his graduate work in Chicago,the university was at the peak of its influence, having placed first in a 1925 national poll of scholars regarding prospective university graduate training.19 Despite this,there were only four other graduate students in the sociology and anthropology department who were specifically studying anthropology: John Blackburn, Paul Martin, Robert Redfield,and Peter Roest. Other students would follow as the department expanded exponentially in the 1930s, and many of them would go on to distinguished careers—for example,Walter Dyk,Fred Eggan,James Griffin, Mary Hass, C. W. M. Hart, Harry Hoijer, Paul Martin, Stanley Newman, Morris Opler, Cornelius Osgood, and Morris Swadesh.The sociology senior faculty consisted of Ernest Burgess,Ellsworth Faris,Robert E. Park,andAlbion Small. Of the sociologists listed, only Faris—who, as I will later demonstrate, had a contentious relationship withWhite—expressed any interest in primitive society. The anthropologists included Fay-Cooper Cole, hired in 1924, and Edward Sapir, hired in 1925. As his personal correspondence indicates,White got along well with both Sapir and Cole,to whom he dedicated his dissertation. White’s first year was spent in courses with Burgess (“Races and Nationalities”), Faris (“Social Psychiatry”), Park (“Study of Society”) and Small (“History of Sociology”). According to White within the department Small was regarded as the“grand old man,”while Park and Burgess were regarded as “top men.” Faris was “prominent” but not of the same caliber.White enjoyed a good relationship with Burgess, Park, and Small, whom he respected.White regarded Park as the most dynamic teacher among the Chicago sociologists. White’s research interests were much different from Park’s, yet he retained

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“great respect for Park as a person—his honesty, his integrity, his simple forthright manner, his interest in and kindness to people with whom he was associated” (White to Matthews, November 29, 1964, bhl-wp). By the end of White’s first year of course work at Chicago, his profound differences with the sociologists were clear. At a personal level,this is reflected in the background of Ernest Burgess, Ellsworth Faris, and Albion Small, all of whom were either ministers or the sons of ministers (see Bulmer 1984; Carey 1975; Dibble 1975; R. Faris 1967; Matthews 1977). Small, as chair of the sociology department, hired men such as William Thomas, Robert Park, and Ernest Burgess, who would help form the “Chicago School of Sociology.”20 PresidentWilliam Rainey Harper, a devout Baptist, asked Small (1854–1926) to come to the University of Chicago in 1892 to form the Department of Sociology. Small was the son of a Baptist clergyman. He graduated from Colby College in Maine and Newton Theological Seminary, both Baptist schools. He received a Ph.D. in history from Johns Hopkins University and returned to Colby College as president. Small was politically engaged and would on occasion support a Republican Party candidate. There was a strong theological influence to the sociology taught at Chicago (Greck 1992). This is reflected not only in the background of Burgess, Faris, and Small but in the titles of early theses produced by the department (R. Faris 1967:10). The sociologists at Chicago sought to professionalize the discipline by joining a scientific commitment to methods with an ethical vision that sought to enhance the lives of all people. For Small, sociology, theology, and social reform were “complementary frames for viewing reality. Christianity, sociology, social work, and social reform would all share the same perspective”(Greck 1992:108). As a result,scientism and moralism were integrally connected.White picked up on this quickly—and was not favorably impressed. He recalled: “Sociology was more than a little tinged with DoGoodism. Many of the founders of American sociology had been ordained ministers or divinity students. Anthropology was secularized,its emphasis was upon cultural facts and their significance,the meaning.They had no reformistic animus” (White to McMillan, May 26, 1973, bhl-wp). Based upon lettersWhite exchanged with Barnes at the time,and many years later with Fred Matthews and Robert McMillan, his relationship with Faris was not positive from the outset.21 Faris,who had been a missionary in the then Belgian Congo between 1894 and 1904, retained a dominant or overbearing manner with students and colleagues alike (R. Faris 1967:31).22 Faris was well organized in class, and his lectures retained the quality of sermons. He did

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not like to be interrupted or have his viewpoint challenged. Never afraid to argue,White voiced his skepticism about the value of sociological theory in his first class with Faris. White and Faris “locked horns” on numerous occasions throughout the quarter and exchanged pointed barbs in class (White to Barnes, March 26,1925, bhl-wp).White confronted Faris a number of times over the concept of type as used by Boas. The disagreements came to a head when White made a student presentation in which he tried to establish that the best idea of type that he knew was that of one of several (two or more) statistical series plotted on a common base, such as Boas used in discussing the Negro’s type and the Norwegian’s type. According toWhite Faris heckled him during his presentation and ridiculed the application of statistical theory to the concept of type. What annoyed White most was Faris’s disingenuous attempt to establish a congenial rapport with him after his presentation. In White’s view, Faris’s attempt to become a sort of intellectual father figure was “obvious and crude.” As he described it to Barnes:“He employed all of the little tricks designed to win over a student—little intimacies, exchange of confidences, gave me an opportunity to unburden my burning ambitions to him—he would understand and sympathize,you know—and even worked in if you have a problem where an older man (the father image) can be of service, why come to me, etc. . . . So the outcome was that as a father confessor, counselor, older man, he was not of any use to me at all, and hence had no control over me. I had the feeling all along that he was simply out to get my vote—to make me a Faris booster” (White to Barnes, March 26, 1925, bhl-wp). AfterWhite did not respond favorably to him, Faris became hostile (White to Matthews, November 15, 1964, bhl-wp). This hostility was not without precedent, for Faris had forced other students he perceived to be disruptive out of the department.According to Pitrim Sorokin,Faris“understood power in an academic setting. He antagonized quite a few people and could be a very disagreeable man” (Sorokin to Matthews, November 22, 1964, rl). A sociology graduate student recalled,“Not everyone got along with [Faris]. He could be very helpful to students but for those that stuck out their necks and disagreed with him there was apprehension he may very well cut it [their head] off ” (interview with James Carey, circa 1974, Carey Papers, rl). 23 White quickly found himself in a precarious position. Within the department he was not in good standing with the sociologists. His unpublished student papers graphically demonstrate that he questioned the theoretical basis of sociology. For example,in one paper,“The Concept Social:A Critical Note”

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(White 1925a), White—echoing his former professor at the New School, WilliamThomas—argued that the concept of culture had a place within social scientific theory. In fact White felt that the sociologists were carrying on the work that Thomas started at the University of Chicago. Moreover, he maintained that the greatest advances in theory had been pushed forward by anthropologists such as Goldenweiser, Lowie, Kroeber, andWissler. Conspicuously absent was any mention of sociology or the works of sociologists at Chicago. White believed that anthropologists had preempted sociological studies, which had laid dormant for many years,and that the“pompous pretensions,the ponderous definitions, the glib theories and the unwarranted generalizations one has become accustomed to expect in sociological treatises are absent” in anthropology (White 1925e:471). Reflecting Goldenweiser’s influence,White believed that within anthropology the concept of culture was openly embraced and avowed with “refreshing simplicity.”White accepted Goldenweiser’s categories of history, psychology, and culture, first presented in the Journal of Philosophy. The originality of White’s worked hinged on the collection and coordination of data between disparate fields. Caught between two opposing camps of thought,White wrote to Barnes: Another bomb shell has burst in my camp. I have been invited to leave the department of Sociology. There is no ill will at all, and I don’t have to leave if I wish to remain, but both Small and Park have told me I ought not remain in their department. Small, though very emphatic, I do not take very seriously. But Park is not to be dismissed so lightly. He told me he had thought a great deal about it, and had talked about me to Professor Cole (in Anthropology) and had decided that I ought to leave sociology and go into anthropology. Park, himself, is very strongly inclined toward anthropology. He told me the other morning, quite unexpectedly, that he thought that my interests and training better qualified me for anthropology than sociology, and he thought I ought to make a change. He thinks that I haven’t “the point of view” of the department of sociology here,and that I am not very sympathetic towards it. [White to Barnes,April 23, 1925, bhl-wp] White’s fledgling career did not look promising, for in addition to being told to leave sociology, his fellowship application was rejected (competition for fellowships was stiff andWhite was not ranked first). In order to remain at Chicago,White devoted 20 hours per week to working part-time as a research

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assistant to Burgess (White to Barnes, April 14, 1925, bhl-wp). Given his financial status, he was very concerned about how he would “fit in” with anthropology and when he would graduate. He wrote to Barnes that he could not afford to stay at Chicago an additional year and felt he was in a precarious position (White to Barnes, April 23, 1925, bhl-wp). While the move from sociology to anthropology seemed to be White’s only option, he was hardly a perfect fit for anthropology. Cole, who was his only choice as adviser, did not know where to “pigeon-hole”White. White was attracted to Cole because he was a“down to earth”anthropologist who had done fieldwork and “made anthropology appear to be something in the real world, not just in the realm of theory” (White, journal, circa 1925, bhl-wp). The appeal of anthropology was strong, however, as White had read and been impressed by many Boasians. White believed that, in time, anthropologists would have the factual basis to develop a system or theory to explain culture change. “Here was a new approach to an understanding of contemporary civilization and its problems.The time perspective provided by archaeology,and the comparative viewpoint made possible by ethnology, give a length and breadth to a study of civilizations that can be obtained in no other way. And to this may be added a psychological insight and understanding (as the work of Sapir, Malinowski, Radin et.al. shows). I believe I can further my knowledge and understanding of human behavior more satisfactorily in anthropology than in any other discipline, possessing as I do indispensable aids from philosophy and the other social sciences” (White, journal, circa 1926, bhl-wp). In order to graduate White had to pass a Ph.D. exam and write a doctoral thesis proposal. He encountered significant difficulty on both fronts. He wrote to Barnes that given the way the department was structured, he could not envision how he could get his thesis proposal approved, and he approached his Ph.D. exam with trepidation (White to Barnes,April 23, 1925, bhl-wp). Apparently unbeknownst toWhite,moves were under way to separate the joint department of anthropology and sociology. His thesis proposal and contentious relationship with the sociologists on staff simply provided a vehicle for this larger struggle. White had clearly alienated Faris and, although he got along with Burgess, Park, and Small on a personal basis, he did not agree with them at an intellectual level. In May 1927 White was required to take a written and oral examination in sociology and anthropology. He wrote to William Duncan Strong that “I am having a very strenuous, feverish, half-mad time—trying to finish my thesis [and] prepare for examinations in May. . . . I hardly know where I

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am at” (White to Strong, April 15, 1927, Strong Papers, naa). Overseeing his examination in sociology were Faris, Park, and Burgess, while Sapir and Cole represented anthropology.The examination lasted a very long time.The questions developed by Sapir, who wrote the exam, had a strong sociological bent. Before the oral exam,White had been warned by Robert Redfield,then a fellow student,that the sociologists,Faris in particular,“were out to get him,” and he warned him not to lose his temper. This came as a surprise to White, who had written to Strong:“I believe everyone in the department has his mind pretty well made up now whether I shall get the degree in June or not,but still, I feel that considerable review would be a good thing.”) It was a good thing White was prepared,as he soon found that Faris was“hostile—even venomous” during the examination (White to Matthews, November 15, 1964, bhl-wp). Faris tookWhite to task for publishing“The Concept Social:A Critical Note” in Social Forces. According toWhite Faris felt the publication of White’s views on the difficulties of using the word social as a technical term in sociology and social psychology was an affront to the professors of sociology. Faris believed White wrote the article because he perceived his educational experience at Chicago to be inadequate. Faris resented the fact White associated himself with the University of Chicago at the end of his article (White to McMillan, May 16, 1973, bhl-wp). While Faris openly attacked White, Park grilled him unmercifully but without malicious intent. White reported that he was told Cole was outraged by the way he had been treated.: Cole was furious after the examination, according to what he told me and what others told me. It is said that he went directly to the University administration and said that if anthropology were not separated from sociology,departmentally,he would leave the University.The division was effected shortly afterwards. Cole told me that Park had been hard on me “to see if I could talk on my feet,”could think without becoming rattled, defend myself,etc. I did not feel at any time during the examination that Park was hostile towards me,nor have I ever thought so afterwards. I had felt before the examination that he was friendly toward me, and I felt so during the examination. Incidentally, I did not lose my temper—in spite of Faris’s provocations. [White to Matthews, November 15, 1964, bhl-wp] White’s views on the separation of the department became part of the folklore of Chicago anthropology. On the surface,White’s recollection of the division between anthropology and sociology is at odds with what others

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have written. 24 Darnell maintains that White’s recollection was “undoubtedly oversimplified”(1990:430). McMillan agrees that there was considerable friction between the anthropologists and sociologists but warns that White’s interpretation should be viewed with caution (1986:214). Stocking does not comment directly on White’s statement about the department’s splitting, merely noting that during his Ph.D. orals“one of the sociologists seems to have given him a rather bad time”(1979:17). For whatever reason,the Department of Anthropology and Sociology was formally separated in 1929. Acting President Woodward wrote to Fay-Cooper Cole and Ellsworth Faris (chairmen of the joint department) that a separate Department of Anthropology under Cole’s leadership would be created (Woodward to Cole and Faris, February 18,1929,President’s Papers,1925–45,rl).With regard to the split,Cole wrote toWoodward: Our relations with Sociology have been most cordial and we feel especially indebted to Prof. Faris for his lively interest and help. As a matter of fact,we have delayed several months in bringing this matter to your attention because of the feelings of indebtedness to Prof. Faris and our reluctance to do anything which might reflect on him. In this request for a separate department nothing of a personal nature is involved. We do believe, however, that the time has come when Anthropology at the University of Chicago would be greatly strengthened by being made independent, and we do not think that Sociology would suffer by its separation. [Cole toWoodward,November 26,1928,President’s Papers, 1925–45, rl] Stocking (1979) and Darnell (1990) take Cole’s November 26, 1928, letter toWoodward at face value.Two letters from Cole and three from Faris stress the mutual respect and lack of personal vendetta between the two departments. The need for so many letters written stressing this fact raises the question if the claims of mutual respect and collegiality are truly accurate. Regardless, Cole stressed two points in the letter: first, the distinctive nature of anthropology, which had close ties to all the social sciences, not simply to sociology; second, at a practical level, the job search for graduates was awkward because of the link between sociology and anthropology. 25 Cole maintained that he was often forced to explain that, despite the linkage with sociology, graduate students in anthropology seeking employment had received complete training in their own discipline. While Darnell emphasized her agreement with Cole in regard to the difficulty of placing graduates, Stocking emphasized that the

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increased number of students, faculty members, and available funds led to the departments’separation.While both Darnell and Stocking are correct in their assessments,I would suggest archival evidence lends credence toWhite’s views as well. Departmental Fissures at the University of Chicago

According to Fagette (1996) Fay-Cooper Cole began his tenure at the University of Chicago with the avowed purpose of creating a research-oriented department with broad graduate training. Similarly, Fred Eggan recalled that when Cole took over the department from the retiring Frederick Starr in 1923, he intended to separate anthropology from sociology and establish an independent, research-oriented anthropology department devoted to graduate education (Eggan 1963:642, 1989:143). 26 Even before Cole arrived the joint department was more fiction than fact. For example,in 1923Albion Small (departmental chair) wrote to President Burton that, in reality, anthropology had always gone its own way “as independent of sociology as it was of chemistry. There is no more necessity in the nature of things for inclusion of Anthropology in the department of Sociology than in History” (Small to Burton, March 23, 1923, President’s Papers, 1889–1925, rl). Small also noted that the “arrangement entered into at the founding of the University of Chicago linked up the department of anthropology and sociology as a single department on paper alone.”The operating budgets of anthropology and sociology were always separate,and it was noted in applications for research funds that the two fields operated independently. According to Cole: We are, in fact, maintaining a fiction rather than a fact when we call it a joint department, for aside from our chairman and a luncheon once a week,we have little more in common than we would have if we separate. That we cannot have the same requirements from candidates for higher degrees is shown by the fact that in announcement of courses there is one set of requirements for sociology and another for anthropology,and these two lists have little in common.The majority of students who now take degrees in the department have practically all their work in one branch or another. . . . We have separate library accounts, and in plans for the new Social Science Research building there is no closer relationship with Sociology than with any other of the social sciences. In the Social Science Research Council we are separate. We have our independent national organizations, and our own publications. Anthropology is represented in the National Research Council, and the American Association for

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the Advancement of Science, while Sociology is in neither. [Cole to Woodward, November 26, 1928, Fay-Cooper Cole Papers, rl] Although the separation of the Departments of Anthropology and Sociology did not officially occur until 1929, Cole was aggressively seeking funds to support a unique program in anthropology as early as 1926. Part of this effort was geared toward hiring other anthropologists. When Cole joined the faculty, he quickly took advantage of the resources available to the social sciences not only to solidify his own position but also to lobby for another anthropologist. In a letter to Albion Small, chair of the joint department, Cole wrote that his teaching duties were onerous; in his first year he taught seven major courses in addition to advanced seminars, research work, and graduate student advisement (Cole to Small, November 12, 1924, President’s Papers, 1889–1925, rl). Cole argued it was necessary to offer courses in physical anthropology and “Primitive Linguistics” so that graduate students would secure the prerequisite background in anthropology’s four subfields. Given Cole’s already heavy teaching responsibilities, offering such courses was impossible unless an additional faculty member was hired. Just a month after writing to Small, Cole wrote to James Tufts, vice president and dean of faculties at the University of Chicago, strongly recommending Edward Sapir. Cole wrote of Sapir:“It is my judgment that in the field of primitive linguistics and psychological problems in anthropology he is one of the best men in America. . . . I am certain that the Department and the University will be strengthened by the addition of Doctor Sapir to the Staff ” (Cole to Tufts, December 23, 1924, President’s Papers, 1889–1925, rl). With the help of the Laura Spelman Rockefeller Memorial, Cole was able to convince the university to hire Sapir. In so doing, the memorial broke its precedent against providing funds for academic salaries, a fact that alienated Sapir from the rest of the faculty (the additional fact that his salary was higher than most other faculty members did not help either). It becomes abundantly clear that in hiring Sapir Cole wanted to build an independent Department of Anthropology. To do so Cole had to hire an “academic star” whose presence could instantly establish the university as a leading center of anthropological studies (Darnell 1990; Shils 1991). Sapir fit neatly into this category, as he was “easily the most influential figure in American anthropology” (Hooton 1940:158). The position at Chicago, Benedict wrote, was one Sapir was “uniquely qualified to adorn” (1939:465). According to McMillan (1986) the quest to establish an independent Department of Anthropology may

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have been due to Cole’s desire for power. It has been well documented that Cole’s predecessor, Frederick Starr, was unable or uninterested in building up a department of anthropology. Given his predecessor’s failure, which disappointed both the University of Chicago and powerful figures such as Boas at Columbia University, Cole’s aggressive attempts to find funds and hire an established scholar such as Edward Sapir evidence his desire to create an independent department of anthropology. In addition, there is abundant anecdotal and secondary evidence that Cole and Sapir chafed under the subordination of the sociologists. Although he provides no proof, McMillan maintains that by the end of the 1920s the lack of sympathy between the sociologists and anthropologists was “barely hidden beneath a veneer of pleasantries” (1986:99). Eggan recalls that it was a“period when rivalries and controversies were rampant”and that Cole worked unceasingly to advance anthropology (1963:644). Murray writes that Cole and Sapir were “ambitious, and therefore inclined to want a fiefdom of their own”(1986:267). Graduate students also recalled tension between faculty members. For example, Herbert Blumer, who knew Sapir well, recalled that he“was very scornful about the sociology department”(interview with James Carey,circa 1974,Carey Papers,rl).Apparently,Sapir disliked competition and believed he could not outshine the sociologists on staff. However, he could attract a larger following within anthropology and was more gifted personally and intellectually than Cole. With the hiring of Sapir, Cole’s onerous teaching and administrative duties were eased, thereby allowing him time to aggressively seek funding for an independent department. The Rockefeller Foundation played a crucial role in establishing the University of Chicago in general and more specifically the social sciences via the Laura Spelman Rockefeller Memorial. The university was the foremost beneficiary of John Rockefeller between 1917 and 1929. Rockefeller money was not targeted directly at anthropology but toward the support of basic social scientific research. The Laura Spelman Rockefeller Memorial, founded in 1918, had an endowment of $74 million (Bulmer 1984:136). By the time the memorial wound to a close,it had distributed $40 million, half of which went to support academic social science. The aim of the memorial was“the development of the social sciences and the production of a body of substantiated and widely accepted generalizations as to human capacities and motives and as to the behavior of human beings as individuals and in groups. Under the term ‘social sciences’ we may include sociology, ethnology, anthropology, and psychology, and certain aspects of economics,

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history,political economy,and biology. All who work towards the general end of social welfare are embarrassed by the lack of that knowledge which the social sciences must provide”(Ruml’s policy statement,circa 1923,President’s Papers, 1889–1925, rl). The preeminence of Chicago owed much to the generous support of the Laura Spelman Rockefeller Memorial. Thus when Cole and Sapir sought funds for anthropological work, they sent their proposals to the Rockefeller Foundation. For example, in 1926 Cole and Sapir sent a proposal to the Rockefeller Memorial via James Tufts, vice president of the university, for a $10,000 one-year grant. In “Opportunities for Research in Anthropology for the University of Chicago,” they argued there was a gaping need for a training center in anthropology that would encompass classroom, laboratory and actual fieldwork.Work needed to be done in all four fields of anthropology and, ideally, the focus would be on intensive local studies—for instance, archaeological excavations in Illinois and Ohio as well as fieldwork among “natives of other countries who are resident in Chicago.”According to Cole and Sapir: “The University needs an endowment or a fixed income for anthropological work of the type outlined. If we could be assured of funds we could undertake several such studies each year and would then require fieldwork from all candidates for higher degrees. This would mean much greater efficiency in our graduates and would place the University in a most favorable position as a research center in anthropology” (Cole and Sapir, circa 1926, President’s Papers, 1925–45, rl). The Cole and Sapir grant was quickly approved by Beardsley Ruml,director of the memorial. That they were setting their sights on more than just a oneyear grant was a point not lost on Ruml, who was favorably impressed by what he deemed “a very valuable program” (Ruml to Tufts, April 9, 1926, President’s Papers, 1925–45, rl). In fact when Ruml approved the funds he wrote to Tufts that he “was wondering what your thoughts are as to the developments after this year.” Frederick Woodward,Tufts’s successor, quickly informed Cole of Ruml’s interest and told him he“had better have a conference as to the proper framing of a reply to this letter” (Woodward to Cole, April 21, 1926, President’s Papers, 1925–45, rl). Cole, who was both shrewd and tireless, spoke to several colleagues (most likely Charles Merriam, Edward Sapir, and James Tufts) before responding to Woodward. Cole believed there were two ways to respond to Ruml. The first was to write a proposal similar to the one already approved,outlining the length and breadth of anthropology and arguing that, to be truly effective, funds for a series of years would be

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required to conduct comprehensive field studies. The second was to include anthropological studies in Local Community Research. Cole identified two such projects that were local in origin—an archaeological survey of Illinois and an ethnological manuscript focusing on local informants in Chicago (Cole to Woodward, June 4, 1926, President’s Papers, 1925–45, rl). Cole faced two inherent obstacles: he could secure adequate financing for the department at the local level through the executive committee of the Local Community Research Council, but this would severely limit the scope of anthropological research. Despite their drawbacks, local studies appealed to Cole for a variety of reasons. For instance, locally based archaeological excavations were a simple, effective, and inexpensive way to fund unique programs, and Cole’s fund-raising was blatant. Such excavations also established the distinctiveness of anthropology from sociology. In addition, they enabled Cole to impress wealthy patrons as he took them on tours of archaeological sites (Griffin 1985). For example, Cole took E. E. Brown (president of the First National Bank), Rufus Dawes (a Republican businessman), Lennox Lohr (a prominent Chicagoan), Frank Logan (a wealthy manufacturer), and others to archaeological digs. After such visits a donation of $500 to $1,500 was expected. Cole, however, remained troubled at limiting the range of anthropological studies. Although he did not mention White by name, Cole identified one student he wanted to send to study Southwest Indians, even though he could not classify it as being “local research” (Cole to Woodward, June 4, 1926, President’s Papers, 1925–45, rl). Cole realized he had secured funds for a limited duration and broadened his fund-raising activities. Between 1926 and 1929, when the department officially split from sociology, he had successfully secured support from the following institutions: the Local Community Research Committee, the University of Sydney, the American Museum of Natural History, the Carnegie Institution of Washington, the Logan Museum of Beloit College, the Oriental Institute, the Smithsonian Institution, and the Southwest Society (Cole, memorandum to Mr. Raney,circa 1929,Department ofAnthropology Papers, series 1, rl). Cole’s fund-raising activities were not irrelevant to White. While it is not possible to ascertain whether Cole went to the administration and demanded the separation of anthropology and sociology, as White maintained, put in the context of Cole’s fund-raising efforts, in particular the formation of the Citizens Committee on Anthropology, it is possible that White’s statements are not so implausible. Formed at the same time as White’s Ph.D. orals, the

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Citizens Committee was Cole’s most ambitious attempt to secure funds from wealthy benefactors. It is possible Cole was angered by Faris’s attacks on White during his defense and approached the administration about separating anthropology from sociology. It is also possible the administration was willing to separate anthropology and sociology but unwilling or unable to provide the necessary funds. This may explain why Cole’s activities in securing funds increased exponentially in 1927. That is, he may have had unofficial approval to form an independent department if he could obtain the prerequisite funds. I contend the Citizens Committee on Anthropology was the vehicle used to garner those funds. The Citizens Committee on Anthropology consisted of about 35 members. 27 During the academic year of 1927–28, the committee formally met four times and held monthly luncheons. Comparable to Columbia’s “Brown Bag Lunches,” these featured a speaker, usually a graduate student but on occasion Cole or Sapir would speak as well. There were no official rules or obligations and the aim of the committee in the most general sense was “to bring the University more intimately in touch with the life of the city”(Cole to Mrs. Lichstern,October 27,1927,Fay-Cooper Cole Papers,rl).The members represented an eclectic list; some simply had a strong interest in anthropology and archaeology, others were students, and quite a few possessed considerable wealth. Two particularly wealthy members of the Citizens Committee were Adolph Lichstern and Frank Logan. According to Cole, in 1929 Logan was contemplating making a “very generous gift” to the University of Chicago in the form of a building that would cost $4–500,000 with an equal amount for the maintenance. Although Cole’s efforts to secure significant funds from Logan failed, Adolph Lichstern would in subsequent years establish a $300,000 endowment for ethnological research entitled the Adolph and Marian Lichstern Fund for Anthropology. Cole wrote to Robert Redfield that he believed the Lichsterns had every intention of adding materially to the fund in subsequent years (Cole to Woodward, March 6, 1929; Cole to Redfield,April 21, 1929, Fay-Cooper Cole Papers, rl). The first substantial block of funds Cole was able to secure was received on May 22, 1929, when the Laura Spelman Rockefeller Foundation awarded the department a $75,000 grant. The money was to be used for the research program of the Department of Anthropology over a period five years, with the understanding that no more than $15,000 would be available under the appropriation during any one year (Cole to the Committee on Expenditures, June 24, 1929, Department of Anthropology Papers, series 1, rl).While these

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funds were not received until six months after the independent department was established,the first budget submitted by Cole,“A Program ofAnthropological Research Submitted by the University of Chicago,” was a five-year plan. He also proposed a budget for the fiscal year 1929–30. Both Cole and the university were confident the funds would be approved by the Rockefeller Foundation. Given Cole’s connections with members of the Citizens Committee on Anthropology, the history of the Rockefeller Foundation’s generosity to the University of Chicago, and the strong interest Beardsely Ruml showed in the anthropology department, Cole had every reason to expect the funds to be granted. Yet it must be noted that these connections and efforts did not appear out of thin air,since the groundwork had been laid by Cole at least two years before.This makesWhite’s version of the split of the department,though difficult to substantiate with firm archival evidence, certainly plausible. Career Decision

Viewed in this broader setting, the catalog for the anthropology department’s inaugural year was quite impressive. It also reflected Cole’s efforts: listed were the Archaeological Survey of Illinois, the Committee on Research in Indian Languages,the Southwest Laboratory,a project inAfrican language and culture, and formal links to cultural groups and other institutions in Chicago such as the Field Museum.The majority of theses being produced by the department had a firm grounding in empirical research. Most had a local focus, with the notable exceptions of Robert Redfield’s work in Tepoztlan, Mexico, and Charlotte Gower’s study of Sicilian peasantry. In sharp contrast,White’s dissertation proposal was highly theoretical. It is a fascinating document in that it prefigures many of the interests that would occupy the rest of his career—evolutionary theory, the concept of culture, materialism,and the philosophy of knowledge,to name but a few.The denial by the sociologists was sound,as the proposal set forth an impossible task. Rather than proposing an intensive study,White’s scope was sweeping, entailing the entire social sciences, even the epistemological basis upon which they rested. White argued that he was not trying to have the final say on the disposition of the problems of social science but to offer an inventory of his thinking and training.White believed he had spent the last seven years gathering information from all the social sciences and wanted the opportunity to put what he learned into some concrete form. He concluded his dissertation proposal: Is a microscopic view inherently superior to a macroscopic survey? Is not the skill of the sculptor a requisite for the modeling of a torso as a

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hand? May not a study of bold outline, a view of the field in toto with a sense of orientation and symmetry, be as valuable as a restricted, though intensive inspection of minutiae? May I not exercise as much skill and industry in a study of this kind as I could in a study of Mr. X’s contribution to the theory of Progress in the last decade of the 19th century? And will not an attempt of summation and coordination, such as this thesis proposes, be as valuable a contribution? I am of the belief that work of this kind is necessary, and it seems to fit comfortably my type of mind and interest. I should like very much to pursue this study as a doctor’s thesis. [White, 1925, comment on proposed thesis, bhl-wp] White desperately wanted to prove to himself and to others that he had not spent the last seven years aimlessly studying the social sciences. Broken down into nine chapters, the thesis aimed to formulate and express exactly what he had learned, for in “science” the world cannot be perceived as it appears. According toWhite the social sciences must cut up their subject matter,translating concrete reality—that is, experiences—into abstract concepts that can be dissected,analyzed,and manipulated. Only in this light can one understand human existence. Building on Goldenweiser’s work,White maintained that within the social sciences there were three major areas of study: psychology, culture,and history.They were the only scientific rubrics by which one could bind together loose strands of thought into a coherent view of humankind’s social life. What concerned White at this juncture was the seeming inconsistency of his education. As an undergraduate he had majored in history and political science. In graduate school he studied psychology and sociology.The proposed move to yet another discipline, though attractive, caused him to wonder if he lacked a purpose in his work. While one could observe a fickleness to his multidisciplinary approach, his interests had in fact not wavered at all. He had been, and remained, interested in why peoples behave as they do, so that he could learn something about humankind. Recalling his education with the hindsight of old age,White commented: I wanted to know why people behave as they do,why these great nations should lock themselves together in combat for four bloody years. I did not have anyone to give me good advice when I was a student. They suggested we will put you in history and political science and they did. I

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learned nothing about why peoples behaved as they do, of course. I was a little dissatisfied with that so they said naturally what you want is in psychology which deals with people and their motives and their goals. I went into psychology and after I got over a few of the rat hurdles we got down to something that did not have too much to do with human behavior.What they did was appropriate to the primate that man is but not really about human beings, his motives and goals. I took a master’s degree in psychology but I was still looking for answers. So they said you should study sociology because they deal with groups not individuals. I got into sociology and that was a rather arid wasteland to me and it got to the point where I could not stand it so I jumped from the frying pan of sociology into the fire of anthropology. [White, lecture, 1974, ucsc] Although entering the field of anthropology held much appeal, White was very discouraged—and for good reason. He had been asked to leave the Department of Sociology, his Ph.D. oral examination had been a trial by fire,his thesis proposal had been rejected and his fellowship denied. Adding to these disappointments,White had had his “heart broken utterly” by a woman he was seeing. He wrote to Barnes: I can reason myself out of my difficulties very nicely, but the difficulty is that cerebral logic seems to leave the viscera untouched. I have been lonesome, homeless and homesick all my life. Then to find one who answers my longing in the wilderness,only to be revealed as unattainable is almost more than my tender soul can endure.And then my professional future is not very promising. I don’t know what I shall do. . . . And then what would professional success be worth if my life were empty? I have never belonged to anyone nor has anyone belonged to me. I have always been alone,lonesome,drifting and seeking. I have worked hard and long and have deprived myself of much in the hope that someday I would have a full, satisfying life. But at the present time that seems rather illusory. [White to Barnes, October 6, 1925, bhl-wp] What would eventually cureWhite’s melancholy mood were the few weeks he spent in fall 1925 at the Menominee Indian reservation inWisconsin.This trip was undertaken at the suggestion of Cole and Sapir, who would later “prescribe”a fieldtrip to the Southwest. InWisconsinWhite saw his first“real” Indians—Winnebagoes as well as Menominee. “Here I experienced for the first time aboriginalAmerican culture,and it made a firm and lasting impression on me” (White to McCoy, November 16, 1972, bhl-wp). It was not until this

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trip that“all the literature which I had previously read took on a new meaning for me;it,too,became alive”(White to Barnes,circa 1926,bhl-wp).White was tremendously impressed by the culture and family structure of what he called aboriginal American culture. What also struck and appalled White was the prejudice of middle-American people. There was no doubt as to who White thought was barbaric:“Talk about primitive people! I was appalled by some of the specimens of Wisconsin peasantry I met this afternoon. They seem to be human, that is to say good hearted, simple and mean well, but crude—Oh Lord! They are perfect peasants. . . . And some of the country squires—the presidents of the little banks and the small town merchants and judges—they were pathetic too.The Methodist desert—Amen. Civilization is yet far in the future for these regions” (White, field notes, circa 1925, bhl-wp). Had it not been for this trip, which energized White’s spirit, there is no telling which direction his career might have taken.White believed that, in all likelihood, the rest of his student days would have been spent in the library stacks (White, journal, circa 1926, bhl-wp). As a consequence of this trip, White met with Cole and Sapir in spring 1926 to discuss the “qualities of an anthropologist”(White 1927d:iii). Shortly afterward he left for the Southwest to study the Acoma, a step he regarded as one of the most significant episodes in his academic career. For White this trip forged a definite commitment to anthropology as a career. He spent the next 31 years, from 1926 to 1957, conducting ethnographic studies among the Keresan Pueblos, resulting in five books and dozens of articles. White’s fieldwork is largely unappreciated today because his theoretical battles over the value of evolutionary theory overshadowed this aspect of his career. But had it not been for his fieldwork and the good relations it fostered among many of Boas’s students in positions of power, he would not have been able to publish his treatise on evolutionary theory in the 1940s.

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Chapter 2

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Fieldwork in the Southwest My primary purpose in all my studies of the Keresan pueblos has been to learn as much as possible about their aboriginal culture. It is this that has been unique, and it is this that is disappearing from the face of the earth.–White,The Pueblo of Sia

Entering the Field

White’s first “real field trip” was to Acoma in May 1926. Unhappy at the [First Page] University of Chicago after six consecutive quarters of course work,White was [35], (1) eager to begin serious ethnographic studies after his brief experience with the Winnebagoes and Menominee inWisconsin. In the preface to his dissertation, “Medicine Societies of the Southwest,” White wrote that without Edward Lines: 0 to 2 Sapir and Fay-Cooper Cole he might never have gone to the Southwest:“I ——— left the University Campus and soon found myself amidst a wealth of vital * 17.4055p ——— realities of another people and of a different civilization—the raw material of Normal Pag the science of man. I regard this step as the most significant episode of my PgEnds: TEX academic experience, and whatever scientific work may follow in the future will owe its initiation to this definite commitment to anthropology as a career. For this decision, for the training which prepared me for it, and for constant [35], (1) guidance and inspiration throughout, I am deeply grateful to Professor Cole and Professor Sapir, my teachers and friends”(White 1927d:ii–iii). Cole and Sapir provided the prerequisite academic background forWhite’s initial fieldwork. His graduate training was steeped in the Boasian tradition, and his first publications, particularly “Personality and Culture,” reflected this influence (White 1925c).1Yet his lifelong interest in southwestern societies and ethnography in general owed far more to Elsie Clews Parsons,undoubtedly his mentor when it came to fieldwork. White was indebted to her intellectually and financially. Throughout the 1920s and 1930s Parsons helped finance, guide, and organize White’s fieldwork. White faithfully followed Parsons’s advise, completing work she had begun. White’s comprehensive studies of five of the seven Keres-speaking Pueblos—Acoma, San Felipe, Santa Ana, Santa Domingo, and Sia—are a testament to her influence. Clearly, Parsons was not simply a wealthy patron of anthropology. As several biographies have demonstrated, she was intellectually gifted and involved in every aspect of the research she funded. 2 Between 1915, when she conducted her first fieldwork

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Fieldwork in the Southwest

among the Zuni,and her death in 1941,she published approximately 75 papers, edited four volumes,and wrote many books about southwestern ethnography. Besides Parsons’s central role as a contributor to a growing body of anthropological literature, her most important contribution to the establishment of professional anthropology was the creation in 1918 of the Southwest Society. Organized at a meeting of the Lunch Club, an informal group of professional anthropologists who met on a regular basis,the Southwest Society was composed of people from the American Museum of Natural History, the Museum of theAmerican Indian,and Columbia University. Dorothy Goddard was the temporary chairwoman, and Parsons was the secretary–treasurer.The Southwest Society had a formal constitution and membership, but it was primarily a front for Parsons’s generosity. In his entry about Parsons in the Dictionary of American Biography,White wrote:“She was in a position to render financial assistance to science and scholarship.The American Folklore Society owed its solvency to her generosity for a number of years. And behind the pseudonymous facade of the Southwest Society she financed fieldtrips and publications for younger anthropologists” (White 1973c:582). The Southwest Society was a way for Parsons to distribute money to academic endeavors she considered worthwhile.According to its constitution, written by Parsons, Boas, and Hodge, its purpose was “to promote inquiries into the culture of the peoples of the southwest through fieldwork undertaken independently or, whenever possible, in cooperation with other institutions; and to arrange for publication of material collected” (Parsons et al. 1928:3). Parsons had great expectations at the founding of the Southwest Society. The stated goal was to document southwestern cultures so they could be understood and compared with other Native American societies in order to determine their historical precedence. She hoped the Southwest Society would create mutual cooperation in Southwest research and was particularly pleased it would be “something of a syndicalist experiment in the research workers running their own machinery and controlling their own funds” (Zumwalt 1992:271).3 As Hare (1985:148) pointed out,Parsons“poured many thousands of dollars into the society’s treasury to support the fieldwork and publications of numerous younger anthropologists working on the Indians of the Southwest.” Membership dues were $1 a year, which raised a very modest amount of money:$44 was collected in 1918 and $33 in 1919.A partial list of those scholars the Southwest Society helped finance includes:John Adair,Ralph Beals,Ruth Benedict, Franz Boas, Ruth Bunzel, C. Daryll Forde, Pliny Earle Goddard,

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Esther Goldfrank, Father Berard Haile, George Herzog, E. Adamson Hoebel, Dorothy Keur, Morris Opler, Paul Radin, Gladys Reichard, Helen Roberts, Ann Gayton Spier, Julian Steward, Ruth Underhill, CharlesWagley, and Leslie A. White. 4 The Southwest Society was instrumental not only in establishing the careers of numerous young anthropologists but also in providing secondary support to Boas and Kroeber,financing the publication of fieldwork results,and underwriting the Journal of American Folklore. She also financed and oversaw the publication of the Memoirs of theAmericanAnthropologicalAssociation. The Southwest Society played a crucial role in funding anthropological fieldwork. Between 1917 and the mid-1920s, the funding that was available via the National Research Council (nrc) was geared toward“scientific anthropology.” Founded in 1916, the nrc was intended to mobilize social science for military purposes.The nrc was hostile to cultural anthropology, and Boas outraged many of his colleagues by criticizing four anthropologists who used their professional affiliations as covers for intelligence work. Characterized by Stocking (1968) as “the scientific reaction against cultural anthropology” the censure directed against Boas for his views set a dangerous precedent in anthropological scholarship—the ramifications of which are still present today (Price 2000, 2001). For young scholars such asWhite,few sources of financial aid were available (Deacon 1997; Stocking 1968). Accordingly Parsons was in a very powerful position. She was also able to influence research strategies—for instance, her approach to anthropology differed from that prevailing in the Columbia milieu (particularly Ruth Benedict’s) in that her interests were about culture history rather than about the relationship between culture and the individual from a humanistic perspective. Much of her influence was wielded behind the scenes, and even to those familiar with the history of the discipline she remains a shadowy figure,the true extent of her influence and power unknown. Parsons was not afraid to use her power throughout the 1920s and 1930s as she sought to chart the course of anthropological research via the Southwest Society and the scholars she supported. Parsons was also the first woman elected president of the American Anthropological Association. While this was an honorific post when she was elected, it symbolized her status as a major figure in the discipline. From 1918 until her death,Parsons worked closely with Franz Boas,Alfred Kroeber, Robert Lowie and, to a lesser extent, Edward Sapir. She relied on their recommendations for locating promising young graduate students who were interested in doing fieldwork.White came to Parsons’s attention through

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Sapir, who suggested that he was worthy of financial support. In response to Sapir’s recommendation,Parsons wrote,“Mr.White sounds promising and the Southwest Society will be glad to finance a fieldtrip for him. We have found that $700–$800 about covers expenses”(Parsons to Sapir,December 26,1925, bhl-wp). Parsons went on to“suggest”thatWhite not conduct fieldwork until June 1926, a suggestion more akin to an order, because Parsons believed that White, as a novice, needed to be personally briefed about the problems he was likely to encounter. She also had a specific “suggestion” as to whatWhite should do: conduct a survey of the social organization at Laguna. White was explicitly instructed by Boas and Parsons not to go into the field until Parsons returned to the United States from Egypt sometime in June. However,White was too restless to wait for Parsons’s indoctrination and left for the field in early May 1926, heading directly to Acoma. When Parsons learned of White’s impetuousness, she chastised him for choosing an area she believed was too difficult to work in. Parsons and Boas wrote to Sapir, expressing their displeasure at White’s selection of fieldwork site. Given that Parsons was paying White’s expenses and that he was undertaking fieldwork for the first time, Boas wrote to Sapir: it seems to us that the proposition to work in Acoma is very risky.We do not believe that he could get informants either in Acoma or in Acomita and the only way to accomplish anything, would be to get one of the people secretly to a place like Grants where he might be willing to talk. It would seem very undesirable that a young man on his first expedition should fail to get any material,and Mrs. Parsons suggested,for this reason, that in case work with the people from Acoma be impossible,Mr.White should go to the Pima. . . . It is likely that in this whole region it would be difficult to get informants in May because all the people are busy with agricultural work and communication with the old people or the women who do not work is difficult. [Boas to Sapir, May 7, 1926, bhlwp] Boas and Parsons had every reason to be concerned about White’s ability to find an informant in Acoma. UponWhite’s arrival, he had a long talk with Father Shuster, a man who had been residing among various Pueblo groups for 16 years. White reported:“He laughed when I told him and said he did not envy my task. A Mr. E. E. Springer, the government stock man, told me the same thing as Schuster adding, that the Acomas were too hostile” (White to Cole and Sapir, May 17, 1926, bhl-wp). Despite the obstaclesWhite faced,

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he wanted to at least try to study Acoma, noting that other anthropologists had not had success.White perceived Acoma to be a challenge,one that could yield significant results. Just a few days after his arrival, White wrote: “The great trouble with these people is that they are afraid of being taxed. It is a perfect phobia with them. Anyone who comes around is preparing to tax them.They are extremely suspicious and suffer delusions of persecution.With the paranoia’s method of reasoning, every act is interpreted as harmful and of evil intent. If you are friendly, you are all the more dangerous because you are in disguise and are merely trying to gain their confidence for some insidious betrayal. How they got this phobia I don’t know” (White to Sapir and Cole, May 17, 1926, bhl-wp). The reviewer of White’s monograph The Acoma Indians (1932a) noted how difficult it was to penetrate this group (Redfield 1934). In contrast to other Pueblo Indians, notably the Hopi and Zuni, few anthropologists were successful in penetrating theAcoma’s refusal to divulge information about their cultural practices and history. I do not mean to imply theAcoma were ignored, for a number of anthropologists such as Franz Boas (1921), Esther Goldfrank (1923, 1927), John Gunn (1917), Elsie Clews Parsons (1918, 1920), and Mrs. William Sedgwick (1926) had written about them. All these ethnographers emphasized that the Acoma seemed impervious to anthropological research. For example, Parsons wrote to her husband, Herbert, that she “was in a nest of suspicion & fear so that the greatest patience was necessary & the results were exasperatingly meager” (March 9, 1917, Parsons Papers, apl). Sedgwick maintained that “of all the Indians the Acomas seem the most resentful of intrusive questioning and most unwilling to impart, even for purposes of record, any real knowledge of themselves” (Sedgwick 1926:viii). Given this, Sedgwick claimed that it was not that the Acoma were neglected,“but that everyone attempting to go beyond the most superficial glance arrives at a wall as blank of entrance as the ancient lower story of its own fortress dwellings. The ladders of admission to its hatchways hardly give the stranger more than uncertain glimpses here and there within the obscure interior, and these are so fragmentary and elusive, often contradictory, that he can affirm little about ritual life.” Parsons sent White a series of letters in May and June, offering advice; she also repeatedly reminded him that he had left for the field prematurely. 5 For example, she wrote,“May I recall to you that I wrote Dr. Sapir from Egypt and Dr. Boas wrote also advising against going to New Mexico until June, also that we concluded that Acoma would be too difficult. Perhaps you are

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learning that now” (Parsons to White, May 27, 1926, bhl-wp). She went on to tellWhite that when she went to Acoma and Laguna she had a Zuni family introduce her to people but was still unable to overcome the distrust of Whites. “[M]uch of my time was squandered in merely trying to differentiate myself from the picture-taking tourist or from the Washington representative from whom every ceremonial or intimate detail of life to be hidden.”What bothered Parsons, aside from the fact that White did not wait for her indoctrination to ethnographic methodology, was that in her estimation he did not know the literature, a prerequisite for successful fieldwork. “[M]aking contacts is not a help but a hindrance among the Pueblos. This is the sort of thing I wanted to tell you about at the appointment in Chicago.”White was quite upset by Parsons’s tone. Fortunately for White, Sapir took a keen interest in his fieldwork and sent a series of strong and supportive letters advising White not to worry about Parsons. Here it should be noted that Sapir was never able to establish a congenial rapport with Parsons—and that he was not alone in this. Parsons had considerable trouble with people at Harvard, such as Alfred Tozzer and Alfred Kidder. White’s formal relationship with Parsons was therefore not unusual.According to Goldfrank Parsons’s relationships often lacked intimacy (Goldfrank 1978:24). Although one could speculate that Parsons’s wealth was an impediment, her gender was also a factor in Sapir’s inability to establish a personal relationship. In this regard Sapir wrote several offensive comments about Parsons to White, for example: “I have not heard from Mrs. Parsons since the last letter you saw. I am awfully sorry she kicked up such an awful fuss about nothing. It should be good exercise for you though—learning to be philosophical, . . . Really she needs psychoanalysis. You might solve her difficulties by having intercourse with her. Her interest in science is some kind of erotic mechanism” (Sapir to White, June 30 1926, bhl-wp). Later in the summer Sapir wrote to White,“I have always thought there was something pathological about that woman. She is probably punishing you with a severe and diabolical touch of negativism. Lord knows what it means psychoanalytically,a resentment of the domination of woman by man!”(Sapir toWhite, July 21, 1926, bhl-wp). Despite Sapir’s disparaging remarks about Parsons, White relied on her detailed knowledge of the Keresan Pueblos and her financial support. When White located an informant at Acoma and began getting some interesting information, the tone of Parsons’s correspondence changed significantly. However,she would not letWhite forget about his impetuous actions,writing

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that she was “sorry I stirred you into feeling badly, and yet not altogether sorry, for I still think you went off rather half cocked” (Parsons toWhite, June 18, 1926, bhl-wp). It is interesting to juxtapose Parsons’s letters with Sapir’s: “I was delighted to get your letter from Acomita and later one of many from Albuquerque. Can it really be that you found a bona fideAcoma informant? God be praised! Or heaven help us! For you have broken a taboo as I gather from Elsie’s enclosed letter.You must not succeed against the rules. It is not done in polite anthropological society. . . .You may remember I was morally certain you would love a trip and would find an energy to do bona fide anthropology. There is not only the original research to fascinate you but also the local scene I knew you would like” (Sapir toWhite, June 1, 1926, bhl-wp). The strong bond between White and Sapir is unmistakable, with mutual affection and a shared perspective on anthropology. Sapir wrote to White a few weeks later about how impressed he was with White’s fieldwork, acknowledging that in retrospect White’s decision to go to Acoma in May had been correct. He also wrote that it “helped prove the usefulness of the dogma that the best way to do something is to make up your mind to do it just your way and then see it through with the calmness of a God fearing fanatic, despite all means of excellent advice, which should be listened to with great respect in as much as you do not intend to follow it” (Sapir to White, June 30,1926,bhl-wp).While Parsons shared the excitement of the first fieldwork experience with White, their relationship was clearly one of respected elder and dependent younger scholar.This is best indicated not only by the tone of their extensive correspondence but also by the acknowledgement of Parsons’s mentorship.White dedicatedThe Pueblo of Sia to her memory (White 1962c) and wrote in the foreword toThe Pueblo of San Felipe:“My greatest debt . . . is to Dr. Elsie Clews Parsons. Not only has she made several field trips possible, but she has advised and encouraged me at every step, from the gathering of data to the reading of manuscripts. I have had the benefit of her wide and detailed knowledge of the Pueblo area for comparative purposes, and her understanding of general features of Pueblo cultures as well. But most of all, I think, I value the inspiration which the example of her indefatigable labors and devotion to science has given me. I can only express my deep gratitude to her; my obligation will always remain” (White 1932d:5). An impedimentWhite encountered from the inception of his fieldwork was financial.ThroughoutWhite’s life he was perpetually short of funds to support his research, not only for fieldwork in the Southwest but also his research about Lewis Henry Morgan and his championship of evolutionary theory.

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The results of his fieldwork were repeatedly hampered and the publication of his ethnographies delayed because he lacked funds. For example, in 1939 White was told his monograph about Santa Ana would be published in August if he could have the entire manuscript typed by the end of the summer.White requested funds from the University of Michigan to hire a typist but was denied (the Department ofAnthropology had no secretarial support).AsWhite was teaching summer school he could not type the manuscript himself. The manuscript was eventually published as a aaa memoir but did not appear in print until 1942. I do not mean to imply he did not receive any support. Over his career he received a limited amount of support from the Social Science Research Council, the Laboratory of Anthropology, Santa Fe, the University of Michigan Horace Rackham School of Graduate Studies Grant, theViking Fund, and theWenner-Gren Foundation. In White’s initial fieldwork in 1926, he quickly realized that the research would cost far more than he had anticipated. Although it cost White one dollar to go to the mesa, the actual cost was more. White wrote that, if he did not buy them something, people would get very nasty and he would be decidedly unwelcome (White,field notes,circa 1926,bhl-wp). In addition,the nature of White’s fieldwork—the “secretive method” (see below)—involved considerable expenses for travel, meals, and lodging for himself and possibly an informant, as well as payment for an informant. White had received $700 from the Southwest Society,half of which was wired to him in on May 19 and the remaining amount sent July 17 (Parsons toWhite, July 31, 1926, bhl-wp). White used the second payment to pay those he owed,and by the end ofAugust he was virtually out of money.White’s correspondence with Parsons and Sapir confirms that his fieldwork was truncated for financial reasons. Parson wrote to White that “if your trip is coming to an end merely for lack of money I would be glad to send you some if you let me know how much you need. It is trying to leave the field before you feel that you have exhausted it” (Parsons toWhite,August 8,1926,bhl-wp).White did not take Parsons up on her offer and returned to Chicago in early September. Fieldwork Methods

White made numerous field trips to the Southwest between 1926 and 1957.It is important to note at the outset that White’s fieldwork differed significantly from the “classic” ethnographies formulated during the 1920s. Here I refer to Bronislaw Malinowski’s Argonauts of theWestern Pacific (1922) and Margaret Mead’s Coming of Age in Samoa (1928). Mead, Malinowski, and other an-

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thropologists of this era established the “proper” conditions for ethnographic work—that is,they validated not only their own fieldwork but set the stage for modern anthropology. Malinowski’s work was held up as the ideal method of ethnography,and thus those who conducted fieldwork tried to write about the beliefs, practices, and behavior of whole cultures. However, no ethnographer working in the Southwest could pitch a tent among the natives as Malinowski had nor write with the same scholarly authority. Instead, scholars such as Parsons and White developed a much different and—in retrospect—highly objectionable avenue of research. Rather than live among the natives, they made periodic trips to the field, interviewed people away from their homes, corresponded with informants, and employed a myriad of secretive strategies to learn about Pueblo culture. In notes titled “Getting Information from Pueblo Indians”circa 1926,Parsons listed three“principles of conduct:1.Avoid whites. Know nothing,less than nothing. . . . 2.Avoid moralistic interest. . . . 3. Patience”(Parsons Papers,apl). Using such an approach,over time Parsons, White, and others were able to pry information out about different Pueblo Indians. While one can take exception to their methodology, the results were informative. Despite significant resistance, in time White found a few Indians who wanted to have a written record of their culture. Within weeks of his arrival in May 1926, he filled four notebooks with finely detailed field notes. 6 Based on these notes, from which he transcribed and edited long passages into his subsequent monographs,White emerges as a dedicated ethnographer. Although it does not pertain directly to his first fieldwork experience,an entry from one of his field notes circa 1938 illustrates his dedication. After receiving funds from the University of Michigan Horace Rackham School of Graduate Studies,White departed for the Southwest on Christmas Day.After driving for 48 hours with his wife, Mary, he arrived at Sia Pueblo at dawn. At 9:30 p.m., after working all day observing an important ceremony, he left the pueblo for Albuquerque, where he was going to stay. In his daily diary, he wrote that he “walked to the highway carrying my roll of blankets expecting to catch the stage to Albuquerque but it never arrived. Instead, I was picked up by a coal truck and rode in the back all the way. Arrived quite cold and dirty.” Because the events of that day were fresh in his mind, he went on to write a detailed (24-page) description of what he had witnessed despite great fatigue. Ethnography was more than just a science to White. He described the visceral effect fieldwork had on him in a letter to his wife:

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It was a great day. It was the sort of thing I enjoy a great deal—swimming in a seething mass of humanity who are carried here and there by quite a variety of currents. But beneath it all, it seems to me that I can see the rather firm hand of old Mother Nature, the appetites and tropisms are not very well hidden from view. The ugly finger of an inhuman social system paralyzes and perverts many of their activities. But all in all,I do not think we are very far from a least-common-denominator of humanity in a situation like that. . . . I think it is highly probable that [I am] animated by a sort of desire to know humanity—with a capital H—and to lose yourself in identification, or contemplation, of it. I am sure at least three months of ennui,fatigue,and malnutrition of the spirit suffered inAnnArbor,escaped from my system yesterday. Not a professor! Not a dummy in a regiment of intellectuals. No brand,no herd. No coat, no tie. Anonymous. I felt free. Then I forgot about feeling free. [White to MaryWhite,August 11, 1934, bhl-wp]

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The most detailed account of how White conducted his ethnological research is published in The Pueblo of Santa Ana (1942e). From the inception of his fieldwork he excelled at finding willing informants. By “informant” I mean an Indian who,knowingWhite’s purpose and objective,would give him ethnologic information in private and in the strictest secrecy. White went to great lengths to keep his informant’s identity confidential, and as a result he often encountered difficult ethical dilemmas. For instance, in 1952 while in Santa Fe,White was approached by a professional psychiatrist defending two Acoma men convicted of murder and sentenced to death.The defense attorney askedWhite to testify as an expert witness on the behalf of the two men.White was drawn into the case because he and those in Acoma believed the death sentence was too harsh a penalty. White interviewed the convicted Indians, corresponded with the defense council and the court-appointed psychiatrist, and approached the American Anthropological Association on their behalf. Despite White’s sincere concern, he refused to testify in court because he felt he could not do so without his informants’ explicit permission, which they would not give, fearing exposure. 7 The ethnographer’s task, as White envisioned it, was to “scent out” individuals who would be willing to impart forbidden or hidden information about Pueblo culture. White wrote in his personal journal that ethnographic fieldwork excited him like no other intellectual endeavor—“the hunt for informants,the scheming and planning. . . . I felt like settling down and trying

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once again to penetrate the secrecy with which they protect themselves” (White, journal, January 15, 1939, bhl-wp).White’s strategy was to first make acquaintances with Indians, then become friends with them. In conversation White would make some allusions to Indian culture, whereupon he would evaluate the reaction to this inquiry. The Indians with whom White had established rapport would, of course, eventually realize what his true interests were. White believed his informants were individuals who were aware that the culture of their people was rapidly disappearing and felt that a written record of it should be preserved. Thus before White even asked his first overt ethnographic question, he already knew the informant was going to divulge information considered secret. White maintained getting information from such an individual was a matter of judgment and timing.A mistake would have serious consequences, for research could become impossible if he misjudged the Indian. White became very close to some of his informants over time. Within White’s papers are dozens of letters from Indians in which it is clear he was personally involved in their lives. For example, after learning that one of his informants had died in a car accident, White wrote: “I loved him as a brother—as he did me. He came to address me as ‘Brother’ and his children called me uncle—all of which is extremely rare with the Keres” (White, note attached to a letter written by the daughter of the man killed, circa 1970, bhl-wp). White also wrote that several informants were visibly moved by his efforts to preserve some record of their culture. “Thus the ethnographer, working incognito, appearing as an ordinary citizen, may make extensive and repeated observations of many phases of pueblo life, and may make friends among the people. When a friendship, begun this way, is cultivated until it matures in absolute mutual confidence, the ethnographer may reveal himself and his purpose. If the Indian is willing to help— and, of course the ethnographer must never disclose his purpose until he is certain that the Indian will consent—then, together, they can lay plans to make an ethnographic record. This work must, of course, be done in the strictest secrecy and at considerable distance from the pueblo” (White 1942e:10). Parsons andWhite termed this approach the“secretive method,”a technique they employed with great success. In fact Parsons felt White was particularly gifted at both finding informants and keeping their identity a secret. In the small world of Keresan Pueblos, this was not a simple task. White described the way in which he worked with an informant thus:“Slowly we toiled up

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the steep mesa, old Juan and I.We had left the Pueblo early that morning.We were going because we wished to visit some ancient ruins found in a canyon that lay to the south. This is the reason we gave for our journey, but Juan was going because I had given him a silver dollar and two El Toro cigars; I was going because I wanted an opportunity to talk with this old Indian away from the watchful and distrustful village. It was always necessary to maintain the appearance of innocence” (White, field notes, 1927, bhl-wp). During the course of White’s fieldwork he developed an intuitive feel for discovering information. It was not so much what people said as what they did not say. For instance,White learned that whenever an informant seemingly lost his or her memory, he was approaching something truly important: he was about to discover something secret or sacred.There was“a certain look in the eye, a certain facial expression—or utter lack of it—a quality in the voice of the informant will tell the experienced investigator that he has hit upon something of considerable importance and that he must follow up on it by all means” (White 1942e:14). White also noted that putting pressure on an informant was useless, if not counterproductive. White did not reveal the true purpose of his work to those who were suspicious of his interests, and if questioned he provided obtuse answers. And while he never admitted to it, it is possible he lied to those who directly asked if he was an ethnographer. Among the Keresan Pueblos White studied, the people were staunchly opposed to telling outsiders anything about their customs and beliefs. Children were taught from infancy not to tell outsiders, especially white people,about their cultural beliefs (White 1935a:7–8,21–23). Strict watch was kept over all those who might betray the Pueblo’s secrets. One wayWhite avoided those who wanted to thwart ethnological studies was to conduct covert interviews:“[I] took Juanito to his home in Sia yesterday afternoon to get him some bread. I did not go into the pueblo but let him out on the highway opposite the village at 6:30. At 9:30 I met him there again and brought him back to Albuquerque. Going and returning he talked quite freely, giving me names of pueblos, mountains etc., telling me what springs and shrines were near Sia and where I might find prayer sticks. He gave me a bit of the origin myth in almost the same outline as Stevenson does” (White, field notes, 1937, bhl-wp). White believed his research would have been impossible if he had identified himself as an ethnologist. Complicating matters further, some Indians would present themselves as sympathetic to anthropological inquiry in order to thwart it. In this regard Parsons was an invaluable resource for White. Throughout

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the summer of 1926 he relied not only on Parsons’s detailed knowledge of ethnographic data but also on her intimate knowledge of individuals who might try to hinder his research. For example,one informant Parsons strongly encouragedWhite to avoid was George Hunt. “The less he knows about you and your information the better”(Parsons toWhite,August 8,1926, bhl-wp). According to Parsons Hunt was part of the“sophisticated group”that appeared helpful to ethnographers but was actually trying to expose them in order to hinder their research. White faced formidable problems when he entered the field:“Acomas early reputation for vigorous unfriendliness to whites has been maintained to the present day. . . . The Acoma people are suspicious, distrustful, and unfriendly. In addition to their constant fears that they may have their land taken from them,or that they may be taxed by the government, they are ever on their guard to prevent any information concerning their ceremonies from becoming known lest they be suppressed (or ridiculed) by whites” (White 1932a:28–29). So strong were the strictures against talking to outsiders that several of White’s informants expressed fear of being exposed. According to White any individual convicted of aiding an ethnologist would be severely punished or even executed (White 1935a:23–24). 8 An earlier ethnographer, Matilda Cox Stevenson, was not as careful as White was in protecting the identity of her informants, two of whom were executed on charges of witchcraft after she left the field when it was discovered they had cooperated with her. Although White respected Stevenson’s detailed observations about Pueblo culture, she caused severe problems among the people she studied. In an unpublished manuscript from 1937,“The Disintegration of Pueblo Culture,”White wrote: “Matilda Cox Stevenson,an ethnologist of the Bureau ofAmerican Ethnology for many years,created a great deal of dissention among the pueblos wherever she went. . . . She provoked bitter dissention at Sia; I have been told by Sia informants that she divided the pueblo into two factions: pro-Stevenson and anti-Stevenson. After she left, a bitter feud burned between them for years, and it is said that a number of the pro-Stevensonites were executed on charges of Witchcraft” (White, bhl-wp). During the course of White’s fieldwork he talked to two men who, as youths, knew Stevenson. In an early draft of The Pueblo of Sia,White wrote that she “appears definitely to be in ill repute in the Pueblo today” (White, draft:22, bhl-wp). White’s views regarding the problems caused by Stevenson were shared by Elsie Clews Parsons inTaos Pueblo (1936:14–15). Nonetheless White had the utmost respect for her work. He was especially influenced by her monograph

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The Sia (1894). In fact amongWhite’s papers are certain texts he saved, works that fundamentally affected his thinking. Stevenson’s monograph was among them,with his inscription:“I obtained this monograph in paper binding. I had it bound in hard cover. I ‘lived with’ this monograph for a long time—just as I lived with the Sia Indians. I absorbed both into my life, and I now look back upon those years and days and recognize them as still part of me”(White, inscription, March 21, 1974, bhl-wp). White was cognizant of prior anthropologists’ failures as well as the seriousness with which the Pueblo peoples guarded their culture. While the Keresan Pueblo people perceived U.S. government employees and missionaries as pernicious influences, ethnologists represented an even greater threat. According to White the presence of ethnologists actually intensified secrecy among Pueblo people, in part because the measure of success they achieved in the face of overwhelming obstacles. As outside influences encroached on the core values of their culture, orthodox or conservative elements of Pueblo society redoubled their efforts to maintain stricter vigilance and discipline among those who might tell whites about their beliefs. White called this prohibition against speaking to outsiders “cultural quarantine,” an especially effective means of preserving culture in the face of powerful outside influences (White 1942e:75). Through cultural quarantine, divulging information to whites became a double crime,one that could be characterized as both treason and sacrilege. “Every child is taught from infancy that it is the most heinous crime to divulge any information concerning their customs to whites or to the Mexicans.Thus they endeavor to shut themselves up in their own villages,and to isolate them from the rest of the world.With this‘quarantine’they endeavor to carry on their old life intact. This extreme secrecy has had the effect, no doubt,of enhancing the sacred character of their ceremonial life,and hence has increased the reluctance on the part of the people either to part with it or to divulge information pertaining to its character” (White,“The Disintegration of Pueblo Culture,” 1937, bhl-wp). There is no doubt that White’s fieldwork at Acoma changed the way he thought about the world. Shortly after his arrival in Acoma in 1926 he wrote in his field notes: There is something pathetically humorous about human endeavor and pretension.What do geologists know about these mesas and this valley? Tis well,perhaps,that universities and libraries are sequestered in cities,for truly they would appear comically ridiculous here. What a perversion

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is civilization. So long have I been habituated to city life that nature to me is unnatural, it is not quite real. . . . Nature is not congenial to civilization. Every advance made by man has been a step away from nature. But nature has not been kind to man. His birth was to him an insult which he has striven for ages to avenge. A naked helpless creature in a world of brutes and unknown powers. His vanity is but recognition of his impotence. He has built himself a world in which he is more at home where he enjoys self bestowed dignity and power and where his acts have the appearance of consequence. All civilization is a defiance of nature, man’s feeble gesture in the cosmos. [White, field notes, May 16, 1926, bhl-wp] [49], (15) Fieldwork Results

When Parsons and White met for the first time in October 1926 at the University of Chicago, she was favorably impressed. She immediately told White the Southwest Society (that is, Parsons herself) would support White’s second field trip in 1927. After this meeting Parsons wrote to White that he should “get his notes into shape.” She wanted him to write a summary of Acoma or a comparative Keresan paper for the aaa meeting (Parsons toWhite, October 5,1927,Parsons Papers,apl). She also suggested that after he finished his study of the medicine society at Acoma he should prepare a monograph about the Pueblo for publication as a memoir of the aaa (Parsons to White, October 28, 1927, Parsons Papers, apl). She wrote that it was important “to me for the sake of one’s own work and that of others to get out monographs on the separate towns in advance of comparative work. This has no bearing on your proposed paper on Keresan medicine societies. I think that would be a good thing to do. For the same issue I might do a review of the other pueblos—Zuni, Isleta, Hopi,Tewa” (Parsons to White, November 13, 1927, Parsons Papers, apl). Between 1928 and 1939White’s monographs and papers about the Keresan Pueblos without exception received uniformly high praise from southwestern experts.9 His first two monographs,TheAcoma Indians (1932a) andThe Pueblo of San Felipe (1932d), were published at the same time as work by other leading scholars such as Ruth Benedict, Ruth Bunzel, Esther Goldfrank, and Elsie Clews Parsons. These, as well as White’s later monographs—The Pueblo of Santo Domingo (1935a),The Pueblo of Santa Ana (1942e), and The Pueblo of Sia (1962c)—are largely descriptive.They were published as Memoirs of the aaa or by the Bureau of American Ethnology, and indeed White’s conventional


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ethnographic descriptions and writing style were perfectly suited to the Memoirs of the American Anthropological Association, fitting well within the historical particularist tradition. (In total the aaa Memoirs consisted of 96 volumes. Always operated on a shoestring budget,the series was discontinued in 1963 due to lack of funding. Although they are now largely out of print, many influential works were contributed, and their authors constitute a veritableWho’sWho of anthropology.) While White’s monographs fit well within traditional parameters of ethnological study, his Ph.D. dissertation,“Medicine Societies of the Southwest” (1927d) was out of the norm. White’s approach, a comparative analysis of medicine societies, was unusual. The chief function of these secret organizations of Pueblo doctors was the curing of disease. Their activities, however, were not limited to health care. They were important rainmakers and as such indispensable at solstices, births, and deaths. In short, they had supreme sociopolitical control of the Pueblo.White wanted to study medicine societies because of their cultural role. He was particularly intrigued by the psychological ramifications of medicine societies: how ceremonies affected people directly. After learning all he could about the medicine society at Acoma in the summer of 1926,White became curious about the medicine societies of other pueblos. Among Acoma’s many neighbors,White conducted field and library surveys with the Zuni,Laguna,Sia,Cochiti,Jemes,Tewa,Hopi,Navajo, Apache, and Pima. The problem, as White perceived it was double-edged: to determine the common denominator that all medicine societies shared and, conversely, where they diverged. In the search for the common denominator, White hoped to reveal the unique nature and organization of each medicine society. The purpose of White’s dissertation was to describe a pattern that could be taken as the norm and to note the divergence of each medicine society from this ideal type. Building on Clark Wissler’s work,White believed that “macroscopically North American Indian culture presented a homogeneous picture, one of Neolithic times,” yet viewed microscopically it revealed many striking differences with the apparent homogeneity breaking up into several types or peculiar combinations of cultural traits (White 1927d).The“hypothesis is suggested that, though in minute analysis, culture is based upon much the same units, considered separately, as actually found, these units are seen to exist in combinations and permutations.” Using an analogy from chemistry, White noted that “there are families or groups of chemical, say bases, which contain the same elements, but are so arranged in different combinations and

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proportions that different types result.”Based on his fieldwork,White believed Pueblo culture exhibited significant similarities but there were local variations as well. Although a given trait or specialization could be found in two or more pueblos, it might be set in different contexts. White believed that by noting these similarities and differences, by tabulating the traits comprising the medicine society for each group, one could divide the Southwest into subareas, or districts, each characterized by a peculiar concentration of traits. White believed this approach would yield interesting historical and cultural relationships,which need not be limited to the Southwest:“To be sure,it would be well to push our investigation beyond the limits of the Southwest, and extend our inquires into the Plains area, into California and toward Mexico. There can be no question that the culture of the Southwest is very closely related to the adjoining regions,and that a full and complete understanding of our area demands a knowledge of its neighbors. But to do this in our present study would carry us far beyond our limits both of time and space” (4). Why White never published his dissertation is unknown. White rarely referred to his own dissertation in any of his publications.The only references to it I have found by another scholar were made by Fred Eggan, who called it a “gem of a study which has not yet been surpassed” (Eggan 1974:7) and later characterized the dissertation as “an amazing performance. He got most everything right”(Eggan 1989:145).10 Based onWhite’s correspondence with Parsons,it is clear she did not appreciate the comparative approach he had taken in his dissertation. Although she wrote that this had no bearing on White’s forthcoming paper,“A Comparative Study of Keresan Medicine Societies,” it was clear she did not consider this approach appropriate for publication. Here it is worth noting Parsons’s letter of November 13, 1927, already quoted, in which she emphasized that it was important to publish monographs on the separate pueblos in advance of comparative work. Certainly,without Parsons’s approval and financial support, publishing his dissertation would have been problematic, though not impossible. Nonetheless,White’s dissertation was a significant contribution to ethnological theory. Largely based on work done in conjunction with his dissertation,White made a comparative study of the formal distribution of functions of Keresan medicine societies (Cochiti, San Felipe, Zia, Santo Domingo, and Santa Ana, Laguna, and Acoma). He presented these ideas in 1928 at the 23rd International Congress of Americanists, where the leading authorities on southwestern ethnography were in attendance. This congress was of particular importance to southwestern ethnography becauseWhite, Parsons, and

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Benedict all presented new theoretical formulations. While White did not follow up on the ideas he presented, the Benedict and Parsons papers led to significant theoretical developments. Parsons’s paper,“Spanish Elements in the Kachina Cult of the Pueblos,”directly led to the development of acculturation studies and specifically culminated in her groundbreaking two-volume work, Pueblo Indian Religion (1939). While not a theory builder by any stretch of the imagination, this monograph was filled with fascinating hypotheses and suggestions for further work. Benedict presented “PsychologicalTypes in the Cultures of the Southwest.”In brief,it introduced the essential ideas that were later enlarged in “Configurations of Culture in North America” (1932) and came to fruition in Patterns of Culture (1934). The Apollonian and Dionysian characterizations are already present in her 1928 paper, and certain specific traits of Pueblo character and behavior are contrasted to those of the Northwest Coast and Plains. White’s paper, “A Comparative Study of Keresan Medicine Societies,” showed that the major functions of medicine societies were curing, retreats to produce rain, and the selection of Pueblo officers. Of these functions, the first was the most fundamental. In his concluding remarks,White attempted to make a hypothetical reconstruction of the historical development of Keresan medicine societies. He stressed that “such a sketch is a hypothetical one, made up largely of inference and conjecture, and, consequently, must be held as tentative”(White 1930a:618).White explicitly declared that medicine societies do have a history and that one can hypothesize about it as well as the puzzles of contemporary culture. It was through such analyses that historical reconstruction could illuminate and render more intelligible the nature of causation in present-day phenomena. White went on to speculate that the “original” function of medicine societies was curing diseases. The paraphernalia utilized were very basic, but because medicine men were trained in the nature of supernatural powers their aid was enlisted in war and scalp ceremonies. For the same reasons they were asked to assist at births and deaths. With the growing importance of agriculture, curing societies undertook ceremonies for rain. This, too, was because medicine societies could cause supernatural forces to influence human destinies.The fact that the paraphernalia of the rain ceremonies were designed for curing indicated to White that the “machinery for treating disease was adapted to rain-making”(White 1930a:618). Initially, the main functions of the medicine society were secret,though some public dances were held.White speculated:

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The private retreats of the curing societies were made public by the masked dancers.The masked dance also serves to complete the psychological cycle implied by the retreat; the retreat is the prayer, the dance the answer (symbolically). The dance is the motor counterpart of the spiritual retreat. In this way the medicine societies became involved in the kachina cult which has a different origin. . . . This hypothesis, it seems to me, observes due restraint and caution and it seems to render more intelligible all of the elements which go to make up the medicine cult today. A final word regarding the relative positions of the several pueblos with reference to the Keresan norm. . . . I think it very significant that the medicine societies should show the greatest degree of uniformity where disease and cures are concerned;the greatest differences are found where other functions are performed. This to me, is of historical significance,again indicating that curing is the primary archaic function, and that other elements are later accretions and elaborations. [619]

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7.1pt PgV There is no resemblance between the portrait drawn by White of Pueblo culture and that of Benedict in her best-selling Patterns of Culture. This is not surprising. Between 1926 and 1957,whenWhite spent the vast majority of his time in the field,extensive work was conducted in the Southwest.11 There was a wide range of new hypotheses presented on divergent subjects: for example, historical reconstruction of kinship systems (Kroeber 1917; Opler 1936), the relationship of categories to social behavior (Eggan 1950;Opler 1937;Parsons 1939), evolutionary changes in the form of religious institutions (Underhill 1948;White 1930b), the concept of patterning in culture and the influence of pattern on personality development (Benedict 1930; 1934; Eggan 1943; Goldfrank 1945; Kluckhohn 1941a), cultural themes (Opler 1945), the social and psychological function of myth, ritual, and witchcraft (Kluckhohn 1942, 1944),and issues in the analysis of value orientations (Kluckhohn 1951). Given the wide range of topics, there was no single underlying theme to studies of the Southwest, and there was widespread disagreement about the best way to interpret the information being garnered. White was also strongly influenced by the work of Adolph Bandelier, who conducted detailed investigations on Keresan Pueblos.White’s familiarity with Banderlier’s writings,published in the 1880s,sharpened his insights and alerted him to important differences with Benedict’s so-called Apollonian aspects of Pueblo society. White published several articles about Bandelier during his


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career; his most detailed study was the edited volume, Pioneers in American Anthropology:The Bandelier–Morgan Letters, 1873–1883 (White 1940e). With regard to fieldwork,White was far more impressed with Bandelier’s observational skills and “super human efforts” to record as scientifically as possible the archaeological record and living history of the Indians. White’s Acoma and San Felipe studies contain numerous references to Bandelier. The point I want to stress is that White’s Southwest work, specifically his fieldwork and subsequent monographs, reflect the influence of Bandelier and not of Lewis Henry Morgan. Morgan’s unilinear scheme of preconquest Mexico had less relevance than Bandelier’s detailed studies of Pueblo culture. In factWhite does not even mention or cite Morgan in the majority of his publications about the Southwest. I would speculate that among the reasons why he never cited his own fieldwork in his evolutionary writings is that he did not find them convincing examples and believed his fieldwork and theoretical constructs were mutually exclusive. White never discussed the dichotomy between his fieldwork and championship of evolutionary theory. When asked directly about this by a graduate student, he wrote:“When I went into the field in New Mexico and Arizona I carried with me no theoretical presuppositions, I did not do my fieldwork in ‘accordance with any school of ethnological theory.’ I had only one question and one purpose:‘What is the Pueblo of Santa Domingo’(or any other group) like?What is their culture like?What reliable information can I obtain bearing upon their past? In other words, virtually nothing was known about those pueblos and my job was to gather information and present it in a meaningful way.This is what I tried to do—not to serve some gods of ethnological theory (White toWilliam Junger, November 17, 1971, bhl-wp). Pueblo culture, particularly as shown in White’s characterization of Acoma, was that of a decidedly undemocratic community (White 1932a:53). In his discussion of Acoma’s structure of authority, White stressed priestly control, particularly the presence of a ditch boss, who regulated when and who could use water for irrigation. In his field notes White was emphatic regarding the role the war chiefs (caciques) played. In the context of several pages of observations about irrigation,White wrote in very large block letters, “THE DITCH BOSS IS BOSS!” (field notes, circa May 1926, bhl-wp). Although White does not mention whipping for disobeying the ditch boss, he discussed the use of whipping in Kachina initiations and for disciplinary reasons. For example, in his unpublished “Autobiographic Sketch of a Pueblo Indian,”White recorded the story of a young man who, along with others,

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was severely whipped with a “big Mexican horse whip on their bare backs” (White, untitled manuscript, circa 1932, bhl-wp). 12 According to White the men were periodically whipped throughout the day until their backs were raw and bleeding, leaving long-lasting scars. The men had been accused of being “pro-American” and of failing to follow traditional ways. White noted that after they were whipped,“the war chief made a long talk, then the cacique, then the heads of the medicine societies, then each medicine man. They all said we’ve got to be one people, believe in the medicineman, katchina, etc. They all cried (wept) for pity.” Acoma and San Felipe, like other pueblos, were highly organized social units. Power was concentrated within a small group of officers and societies who ruled the Pueblo. Their power was both political and religious; disobedience was sacrilege. In summary,White believed that the war chiefs were “the backbone of the spiritual and institutional life of the pueblo” (White 1932a:50). They were also vigorous conservatives, fiercely protecting traditional customs, and men of considerable or dominating character. The cacique war chief group wielded absolute political control of the pueblo. Despite their powerful social position, the caciques were not distinguishable in dress or style of living from any other member of the pueblo. The cacique, however, was the symbol of a tradition that was sacred and followed faithfully. The vast majority of The Acoma Indians and White’s other monographs are devoted to detailed observations of Pueblo social and material culture. For example,inTheAcoma Indians almost 50 pages are devoted to the description of myths and tales, with no commentary (White 1932a:142–190). Nonetheless, passages can be found in all his monographs that indicate the larger theoretical significance of his fieldwork. For example, in his discussion of government and social life in The Pueblo of Santa Ana, the subject of class emerges. He observed that it was tempting to label the government at SantaAna democratic, theocratic, aristocratic, or oligarchic. Yet such labels did not fit easily. In his analysis of the selection of pueblo officers, he noted that free discussion and debate were permitted.The form and function of the council were democratic but the importance of the council could not be overlooked; one could argue the pueblo was governed by a “ruling class” on the council. Therefore, one might think that much of the political power of the pueblo was in the hands of the priest-chief and the medicine men, leadingWhite to maintain they did not constitute a“ruling class”in the customary sense.“Although a ruling class and economic exploitation of the common people are not found at Santa Ana, the germs of class division are nevertheless visible. As social evolution

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progresses, division of labor and differentiation of social structure appear. Societies become stratified into ruling class and a ruled class at a certain stage of development. We can discern at Santa Ana, and the other pueblos, the beginning of this sort of division of society” (White 1942e:186). White characterized the political organization of SantaAna in the following manner. It was not aristocratic, that is, there were no castes or social divisions (though their beginnings could be witnessed). To the extent that a relatively few old men“run things”in the pueblo,one could speak of an oligarchy,but no further. There were pronounced religious tones to the political organization, and the government was also a religious body. Politics was dominated by men; women were excluded from pueblo offices and the pueblo council and government. Essentially, however, the government was democratic. White believed the pueblo was a microcosm, complete unto itself: no one variable could be isolated. Accordingly, in a detailed discussion it was easy to lose sight of a fundamental feature of Pueblo culture: integration. Pueblo culture was remarkably close and it was possible to envisage it as an organic unity. (White 1932a:140).This fact shaped the conditions of existence and the personalities of the people, and it determined the expression of their lives. A pueblo was no place for an individualist or an aggressive“go-getter,”for such a person would make life unbearable for others. Close contact within a pueblo tended to wear off the sharp corners and edges of a personality. Children were taught that kindness and respect were the greatest virtues. Every effort was made to lubricate social life,to reduce friction to a minimum,so that the pueblo would function smoothly. Quarrelling was intolerable, physical violence rare, murder unheard of. InThe Pueblo of San FelipeWhite commented:“San Felipe, like other pueblos, is a highly organized social unit. . . . The pueblo has many interests and functions as a community. Power is concentrated within a small group of officers and societies, who rule the pueblo. Their power is both political and religious; disobedience is sacrilege and heresy as well as treason” (White 1932d:11). Combining this observation with the fact the number of the people in a given Pueblo is quite small,White noted:“When one considers the economic, political, religious, courtship, family life etc. all takes place within a group of 250 men, women, and children; that one may have to work with others as officers or priests or medicinemen who are relatives or former rivals in love etc. one can see the tremendous amount of variety of inner contacts and friction that can and do exist” (field notes, Santa Ana, circa 1933:33, bhl-wp).

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The Disintegration of Pueblo Culture

In White’s estimation, the main “enemy” the Pueblo people faced was the U.S. government. On this subject his views were emphatic. In The Acoma Indians he wrote: “The most important fact in the process of acculturation is, I believe, the program of the United States Bureau of Indian Affairs. The results of other acculturation factors have been largely external, the changes occurring chiefly in the material culture. . . . But the program of the United States Government is aimed at their inner life,their ideas and ideals. Moreover, its program is definite, concerted and unrelenting. There can be little doubt that the forces brought to bear upon the pueblo by this bureau will ultimately bring about the disintegration of its politico-religious life” (1932a:56). Despite whatWhite believed were“heroic efforts to preserve their culture,” sooner or later Pueblo culture was bound to be engulfed and obliterated. The U.S. government in general and the Bureau of Indian Affairs in particular were not purposely trying to destroy Pueblo culture: “I do not mean to imply that the bureau is activated by malevolent motives, as some have charged. It is blind and stupid at times, but its intentions are good” (White 1932a:56).The end,when it came,would be gradual,completed“by a process of cultural osmosis, the ways and beliefs of the White man seep in and the old customs of the Indians leak out. The end is, of course, a uniform solution” (White 1942e:75–76). The process of “cultural osmosis” was being carried out most notably among young people, particularly children sent to government schools. White observed that government schools exposed children to a different way of life, which weakened their loyalty to the pueblo. The end of Pueblo culture was a theme in White’s writings, though this did not overtly figure in his writing for other anthropologists in publications such as the American Anthropologist, Journal of American Folklore, and Papers of the MichiganAcademy of ScienceArts and Letters. However,his concern for the fate of Pueblo culture found an outlet in publications such as the Bee (the newspaper of the University of Buffalo), the Buffalo Evening News, Weekly People, and Hobbies. In Hobbies, for instance,White wrote: Although the Pueblos of the present day have been exposed to the encroachments of Whites for over three centuries,they have maintained their old culture to an amazing degree. In the little sun baked villages today, even within sight of the twentieth-century trains of Santa Fe, life flows in much the same channels as in the days before Coronado. . . .

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Such are the Pueblos. Cherishing customs and beliefs which have their roots in antiquity. . . . The Indian is willing to admit that a mowing machine is better than a sickle, that a Winchester is better than a bow, and that a plow is more efficient than a digging stick. But the White Man’s “medicine” has not made him happier; quite the contrary. . . . And so they are struggling for their existence.Tiny sparks of Aboriginal Life flickering feebly in the uncongenial air of Modern Civilization. Little islands of an ancient culture destined to be engulfed by the rising tide of Americanization. [White 1927a:26] In the Bee White wrote descriptive essays about how the Pueblo Indians lived and thrived in “pristine conditions.” He wrote of the Pueblo origin myth,published extracts from his journals,and drew parallels between Pueblo religion,Western religion, and psychopathology—observations that did not endear him to his conservative colleagues. In articles not intended for his fellow anthropologists—in particular the unpublished“The Disintegration of Pueblo Culture”—White referred to theAmerican presence in the Southwest as“an occupation force”(1937,bhl-wp). He noted: “Since the pueblo country became part of the United States territory in 1848 shock, rapid change and the inexorable deterioration of pueblo culture has continued unabated. The pueblos have resisted the encroachment of American culture by trying to prevent by means of threats, intimidation and whipping, the younger generation from accepting foreign ways and customs.The priests and medicine men in particular and the old people in general keep a close watch over the children and the young men and women and do their best to keep them from adopting the foreign culture.” White suggested there were certain “laws of acculturation.”The first step was easily accomplished and occurred at the material level, with the incorporation of objects such as new food, metal tools, material for clothing, and the like. Second, changes occurred in social customs and beliefs. Third, there came a point when two “political” parties were formed within the pueblo. The differences between the underlying principles of Pueblo culture and American culture were fundamental; one could not subscribe to both. White maintained there was a limit to the credulity of human beings. These limits were culturally determined;“they are reached,one by one,as culture evolves to higher and higher stages.At one point it becomes impossible to believe that the earth is flat and motionless; at another, that witches cause trachoma” (White 1962a:326). For example, is disease caused by witches or germs? The clash of

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antithetical cultural principles expressed itself in terms of two factions within the Pueblo,one progressive,the other conservative or reactionary.As a rule,the conservative party was composed of older, well-established members of the community, such as medicine men, while the progressive group was younger. Because the Pueblo was such a small,compact group living intimately together, the factions could not easily coexist. Spatial and cultural disintegration was the result. A Pueblo for White was a social, religious, and political unit that must work together or split apart. Once split, the process that followed was inevitable—traditional aspects of society became extinct and were replaced by American concepts. Ironically,the tragic disintegration of Pueblo society would greatly facilitate ethnographic research. In general,as Pueblo culture acquired more traits from American society at large,the Pueblo people would find it increasingly difficult to accommodate the traditional beliefs of their ancestors.White believed that “few episodes in the history of man’s struggle for survival are as impressive [as] that of the Sias;their strength,courage,tenacity,and devotion are unsurpassed” (White 1962a:327). Based on his observations of nearly 30 years, White concluded that what hunger, poverty, and sickness could not accomplish in the past, security, success, and a modicum of prosperity would achieve in the future—”the extinction of an aboriginal sociocultural system as it dissolves in the circumambient sea of the White man’s culture.”Thus after the Pueblo organization with its control over individuals has broken down,it is imperative for “future ethnologists to work without hindrance and haste. The old men and women and their knowledge of the old customs will be dying off and a new generation of students will need to be in place to gather as much as they can from the wreckage and preserve it otherwise it will disappear forever” (White,“The Disintegration of Pueblo Culture,” 1937, bhl-wp). The Laboratory of Anthropology

Theoretical growth and diversification of research methodology in southwestern ethnography increased exponentially during the 1930s and 1940s. The sheer volume of literature might even surpass that of any other ethnographic area in the world. Central to the creation of this literature was the Laboratory of Anthropology at Sante Fe. Incorporated in 1927, it was sponsored by a group of prominent anthropologists to study the development and history of southwestern Indian life and art. 13 As an independent institution, the Laboratory of Anthropology was designed to serve four functions: (1) build study collections for southwestern arts; (2) disseminate knowledge of southwestern

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native peoples;(3) train qualified students in field methods;and (4) undertake a variety of anthropological research projects.The Laboratory of Anthropology was designed to occupy a unique position in the social sciences and as such had several advantages universities and other institutions could not offer. Within the Southwest it provided a relatively “controlled” geographic area in which social scientific research could be conducted by students and professionals alike. Since it had no departmental structure, such as exists in most academic institutions,it offered an environment where free inquiry was possible without interference. Finally, given its location, researchers could study the Southwest over a long period of time. The goals of the Laboratory of Anthropology were supposed to be supported by membership dues and contributions. However, without significant additional financial resources, its objectives could not be met.Those financial resources were secured when John D. Rockefeller Jr. and the Laura Spelman Rockefeller Memorial Foundation donated $270,000 and provided maintenance income for a period of five years.With secure funding,the Laboratory of Anthropology quickly became one of the leading centers of research and graduate student training in all four fields of anthropology. By 1938 the Laboratory ofAnthropology was a large and powerful institution;there were 168 members and 14,000 people visited its center in Santa Fe. Like the Southwest Society, the Laboratory of Anthropology was an independent institution controlled by an advisory board of trustees. 14 Appointments and scholarships were awarded by a committee headed by Fay-Cooper Cole,Roland Dixon,A.V. Kidder,and Alfred Kroeber. In 1929 the Laboratory of Anthropology initiated a series of annual field trips. Three were sent out each summer, specializing in ethnology, physical anthropology, and archaeology (linguistics was added in 1930). The field season lasted nine weeks (June to August). Each field party consisted of an established anthropologist specializing in southwestern ethnography and four or five graduate students. The idea behind the program was to offer graduate students in anthropology an opportunity to conduct fieldwork independently with the advantages of association with other students and an experienced ethnographer. It was believed the students would stimulate one another and, should a problem arise, the experienced ethnographer could offer guidance. Students would devote the majority of their field time to working with an Indian informant and translator, if necessary. In an assessment of ethnological field training,Fenton (1952) andVoegelin (1950) cite the establishment of the Laboratory of Anthropology as a significant step forward.

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In 1932 White was chosen to lead the ethnological field party.Fowler (1999) has noted that the years between 1928 and 1934 were the “halcyon days” of the Laboratory of Anthropology. Given the lack of funding during the Depression, those who guided field schools were “the then-leaders of the discipline in several archaeological, cultural, and linguistic field schools” (Fowler 1999:197). White’s selection amounted to tacit recognition that he was one of the leading figures in southwestern ethnography. The students who accompanied White were Fred Eggan (University of Chicago), Mischa Titiev (Harvard University),Edward Kennard (Columbia University),and Jess Spirer (Yale University).While he was in the field,the Rockefeller Foundation assignedWhite an additional student—George Dobo,who would later change his name to George Devereux. 15 White chose the nearby Hopi Pueblo of Oraiyvi, with the colonies and descendant villages of Moenkopi, Kiqotsmovi (or new Oraiyvi), Hotvela, and Paaqavi. The participants in the field school made their headquarters in a small, newly built house at Kiqotsmovi, a village established at the foot of the Third Mesa around 1900. Not yet completed, the house belonged to Rebecca Williams, whose family was among the first converts to Christianity made by H. R. Voth, a controversial Mennonite missionary. According to Titiev White divided his students into two study groups: White investigated clans,lineages,and related phenomena assisted by Kennard and Spirer. Eggan and Titiev devoted themselves to the study of the kinship system and the behavior of people toward one another (Titiev 1944:vii).The objectives of the field party were to acquire information pertaining to Old Oraiyvi kin and clan systems and to obtain information pertaining to the consequences of the Split of 1906. For instance,White took a census of Oraiyvi in which he listed who was a“Friendly”and who a“Hostile,”noting their clan and ceremonial affiliations as well. All members of the research party shared their material, and the results of the fieldwork were incorporated into all their respective works. All the men except Spirer, who did not continue in anthropology, went on to make significant contributions to the discipline. In looking back on the establishment of the field school by the Laboratory of Anthropology at Santa Fe, Eggan recalled it represented a “great improvement over the older sink or swim procedures. Archaeological students were accustomed to summer excavations,but even they profited by the presence of students from other institutions and the field school discussions. Linguists and physical anthropologists profited mainly from the presence of an experienced leader, but the program was perhaps best adapted to graduate students in

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ethnology. One result was to break down the departmental isolation and rivalry that had developed, but more important was the beginning of cooperative research and the opening of the field to all competent investigators” (Eggan 1974:9). Despite Eggan’s general positive view, he thought White “had a secretive approach to fieldwork” (Eggan 1989:145). Eggan speculated that White may have been protecting his sources and commented that while“White had been helpful in getting us established among the Hopi,I was disappointed he didn’t share more of his knowledge about Acoma with us.”To that extent, Eggan’s assessment differed from White’s. In his final report to the director of the Laboratory of Anthropology, White concluded: “The students in our party were able, industrious, and congenial. They adjusted themselves quickly and soon showed themselves capable of conducting investigation independently. I believe that this field trip has been a real laboratory to them, and that they have profited much by the experience”(White to Nusbaum,August 24,1932, bhl-wp). Titiev, Eggan, and Kennard became White’s lifelong friends. White was instrumental in ensuring that Eggan’s and Titiev’s first fieldwork experience was positive and productive. Both men acknowledged White’s assistance in their first books, and Eggan in particular was thankful to him. In addition, White continued to be supportive of Eggan’s and Titiev’s research when they subsequently took a structural-functionalist approach.White’s animus toward Radcliffe-Brown’s work and theoretical perspective did not stop him from hiring Titiev in 1936, nor did it prevent him from maintaining a cordial relationship with Eggan. Not included inWhite’s final report were his problems with George Dobo (Devereux). Devereux was added to the field session at the request of Stacy May, director of the Social Science Research Council and the Rockefeller Foundation (May to White, August 9, 1932). White could not realistically refuse the request to add Devereux to the field school nor could he,for political reasons,afford to report the resulting problems he created. In explanation, the Laboratory of Anthropology was a fledgling organization and the success or failure of its early expeditions was a serious matter. In part this was because the field expenses for White and the five graduate students selected were significant, almost one quarter of the laboratory’s budget. Failure in the early stages of its existence could threaten the organization’s future. Memoranda sent to White throughout the field season stressed the degree to which such sessions needed to demonstrate immediate results.

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When Devereux arrived it became apparent he was woefully unprepared to conduct fieldwork. Both his fellow graduate students and the locals realized Devereux was hopelessly naive, and he quickly became the brunt of many practical jokes. Placed in an impossible situation,White had to help Devereux, which caused him to neglect his own work, and Devereux, to make matters worse, resisted White’s offers of assistance. White sent blistering reports concerning Devereux’s behavior and disruptive influence to Jesse Nusbaum, director of the laboratory (White to Nusbaum, July 18 and 20, 1932, bhlwp). 16 In White’s estimation, Devereux was a lazy and incompetent fieldworker. Nusbaum responded that it was a“situation that requires handling with kid gloves.” Nusbaum stressed that “we cannot afford to have trouble develop in the field party,and more particularly when we have accepted a student from abroad under a fellowship from the Rockefeller foundation at the request of the Social Science Research Council”(Nusbaum toWhite,July 22,1932,bhl-wp). Should White fail to successfully incorporate Devereux into the field school, the implications for the laboratory were significant. According to Nusbaum, from a “dollar-and-cents basis,” White “could not let Devereux’s influence interfere with the ultimate success of the ethnological group.” Fortunately for White, toward the end of Devereux’s stay he began to conduct interesting research. This was largely due to the fact White arranged to have informants speak to Devereux. Several years after this experience, Devereux published a number of books, foremost among them Reality and Dream: Psychotherapy of Plains Indians (1950).White’s experience with Devereux is important because it illustrates that White was capable of handling an awkward situation at a personal and academic level. Fieldwork Reputation

In the folklore of anthropology, especially among southwestern ethnologists, rumors abound with regard to White’s conduct in the field. These rumors run the gamut from whispers about White’s treatment of his informants to the degree to which drinking affected his work. By contemporary standards, White’s fieldwork methods were unethical or, at best, questionable. White’s fieldwork was also seriously weakened because, with the exception of public performances, he could not participate in or even observe many Pueblo ceremonies. Despite these shortcomings, White was able to penetrate the inner working of Pueblo culture—far more than one might expect given his limitations. However, no contemporary ethnographer would consider clandestine research of the sortWhite employed. He was not the only scholar

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who used what Parsons, a fellow practitioner, identified as “the secretive technique” (Parsons to White, May 30, 1930, Parsons Papers, apl). As Louise Lamphere wrote: “Like others of the period, Parsons relied primarily on information from one family (the host) and from a small circle of paid informants. In more secretive pueblos like Isleta, notes were made during interviews in a hotel room or at a nearby Spanish village. This relatively clandestine research (although Parsons took care never to reveal the names of her informants) gives us (in the 1980s) the sense that anthropologists were almost prying information, often secret, out of the natives” (1989:523). This type of research was common at the time.According to Fowler scholars of White’s era assumed the role of “ethnologist as high grade detective” (2000:341). Each ethnographer responded to Pueblo secrecy differently, and much depended upon the personality of the individual and his or her area of interest. For example, Parsons complained bitterly about wasting her time because of the Pueblo Indians’lack of cooperation,whileWhite wrote that he enjoyed identifying possible informants. Ruth Benedict, on the other hand, found fieldwork arduous,did not form close relationships with informants,and was more interested in cultural patterns than in secrets of Pueblo society (Mead 1974:30–38). Despite their differences,all the aforementioned ethnographers put their own scientific interests ahead of the people they were studying. Fowler has noted:“All saw themselves as‘scientists,’committed to the idea that all knowledge should be a part of the human commons. They were aware, at a romantic level that ‘esoteric’ knowledge and paraphernalia are protected for many reasons. But, at a scientific level, the people, the knowledge, and the paraphernalia were seen as objects, like all else to be investigated and made public for the ‘greater good.’ If such investigations could not be made openly, then ‘detective work’ was warranted” (Fowler 2000:341). The ethical conduct of anthropologists in general, and ethnographers in particular, was of central concern to many younger scholars throughout the 1970s. Largely prompted by the controversy that erupted over professional ethics and counterinsurgency in Thailand (an event that almost tore the AmericanAnthropologicalAssociation apart),ethnographers were confronted with multiple charges of professional misconduct (Wakin 1992). Given the charged sociopolitical climate, the ethical conduct of ethnographers such as White and Parsons became the subject of contentious debate.Among the many rumors that circulated within the discipline at that time was that ethnographers of White’s era misrepresented themselves to their informants: they either lied outright or purposely misled Pueblo Indians about their work. Letters

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and articles published in the Anthropology Newsletter carried accusations of questionable conduct. One such letter, written by Sally Binford, prompted White to respond. She maintained:“All of us have profited directly or indirectly from the state of theAmerican Indians.We study the artifacts looted from their kivas; we teach students their kinship systems and dig up their burials. Native Americans have, without compensation, provided the data for countless M.A. and Ph.D. theses. Perhaps it is time we pay our dues” (S. Binford 1973). Binford’s letter,a plea for financial assistance for more than 100 Indians then in jail for the events surrounding theAmerican Indian Movement atWounded Knee,botheredWhite. He found the tone of the letter aggravating and believed she was but one of a “very noisy chorus” (White to Sweet, July 21, 1973, bhlwp). He also believed that his views as an elder scholar were being distorted. That is, veteran ethnographers were tired of being accused of “exploiting the Indians for profit or advantage” (White toWoodbury, May 21 1973, bhl-wp). White wrote toWoodbury,editor of theAnthropology Newsletter,that he wished to invoke “equal time” to reply to detractors, although “equal time” was not adequate for “it would take pages and pages to take note of and reply to all the indictments, allegations, and tirades. I would like to have an opportunity to speak my piece.”White’s response to Binford, and to what he termed the “mea culpa attitude with regard to the American Indian,” was succinct and critical. Because it concerns not only his fieldwork methods but also his views on why he felt fieldwork was important, I will quote his response at some length. White explicitly rejected the notion that he exploited the people he studied: I resent this accusation. I occupied myself with ethnological fieldwork among the Pueblos intermittently from 1926 to 1957. I do not believe that my researches ever injured Indians, deprived them of anything of value or harmed them in any way. I have known many anthropologists during the past 50 years and I do not know of any who have exploited Indians for personal gain. I certainly did not profit financially. I was removed from the university payroll when I went into the field. I counted myself lucky to receive modest funds for field expense. . . . I never sold a “story” about Indians—or a set of kinship terms. None of my monographs was copyrighted. I never received a cent in royalties. I was out of pocket on every fieldtrip I ever made. . . . The members of the mea culpa chorus miss one big point and that a vital one: many Indians want to have a record made of their

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rapidly disappearing culture, a description and interpretation of their cultural identity—as communicated by the Indians themselves to the ethnographer. Many have told me, with deep feeling, of this desire and their earnest hope that they will not disappear without trace. I have produced a few comprehensive studies of some of the Pueblos; they stand (with all their faults and shortcomings) as enduring memorials of what was once their world. Devoted Indians helped me to make these studies and others treasure them as reminiscences of the lives of their mothers and fathers. I do not see how I could have rendered these Indians a greater service. [White 1973b] While both Binford’s andWhite’s letter are caught up in the rhetoric of the student revolt, they illustrate a significant problem. The information White and other anthropologists garnered was invaluable but the way in which they gathered it was unethical. In retrospect, it is not surprising that such a controversy arose. Many American ethnographers who were students of Boas or worked within a Boasian framework wrote very little about their fieldwork methodology. For instance,Robert Lowie’s account of his fieldwork demonstrates the degree to which this early generation faced serious practical problems in the field. Lowie wrote that ethnographers were often forced to choose between an informant who was alienated from his own people for being educated at government schools or work with interpreters who may or may not be available (Lowie 1959:14). Firsthand and highly personal accounts of fieldwork from this era can also be found in Mead’s An Anthropologist at Work—a collection of Ruth Benedict’s published work and correspondence. In “Selections from Correspondence to and from the Field: 1924–1934,” one letter from Jaime de Angulo to Benedict is particularly interesting. In May 1925 Benedict,then Boas’s assistant,wrote to deAngulo about doing fieldwork inTaos (they had met several years earlier in NewYork). Apparently Benedict asked deAngulo how to get aTaos Indian“to a safelyAmerican place”where she could use him as an informant in order to obtain sacred and secret information about ceremonialism. In reply,deAngulo wrote that he was hurt by Benedict’s request because he cared deeply about her. If such a request had come from “Mrs. Parsons I wouldn’t give a damn,”for he knew“Mrs. Parsons is doing her best to kill Santo Domingo”and that he would“denounce any anthropologist for ferreting out secrets inTaos or any other pueblo.” In de Angulo’s opinion, this sort of practice“kills the Indians. I mean it seriously. It kills them spiritually first and as in their life the spiritual and the physical element are much more

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interdependent than in our own stage of culture,they soon die of it physically. They just lie down and die.That’s what you anthropologists with your infernal curiosity and your thirst for scientific data bring about” (Mead 1959:296– 297). The myriad of logistical problems American anthropologists such asWhite encountered in the Southwest discouraged—and in some cases prevented— others from conducting fieldwork in the area. For instance, Mead wrote a long letter to Benedict that detailed why ethnological work was often discouraging among NativeAmericans. She recounted her problems obtaining information at the Omaha Indian reservation in 1930 and confessed that “if I were going to be an Americanist I would stay in the library most of the time and only emerge to try to verify the most key points after a long search of the literature. . . . I see no way of checking up on material obtained from indifferent, unwilling and frightened informants for money, on what their fathers or grandfathers told them. It isn’t the kind of material which ever carries the mark of authenticity on the face of it as verbatim ritual can”(Mead 1959:314–315). While one can question the degree to which Mead’s and Malinowski’s efforts to live among the natives was successful, their fieldwork techniques struck a responsive chord with anthropologists. Lowie was among a number of Boasian-trained anthropologists who highly praised Malinowski’s fieldwork methodology (Lowie 1937:231). However,this did not inspire him or other American anthropologists to question their ethical conduct in the field. Another variable worth noting here is the limited amount of timeAmerican ethnographers spent in the field,in part due to a perpetual lack of funds and the inability to suspend teaching obligations. White never spent more than three to four weeks in the field at any time. The same holds true for Ruth Bunzel, Esther Goldfrank,Morris Opler,and Elsie Clews Parsons,who also worked in the Southwest. Even Franz Boas,whose work in the Northwest Coast is often lauded, never spent more than two months in the field (with the exception of his 1883–84 trip to Baffin Island) (Stocking 1967). Given this, what many ethnographers who worked in North America did was locate a competent informant who could speak English and the native language,knew the customs and history of his or her people, and was willing to impart this information. Margaret Mead termed this process excavating culture, and she did not find it satisfactory (Mead 1959:314–315). The collection of ethnographic data by Boas and those that worked within a Boasian framework was thus akin to the work of archaeologists. Ethnographers worked hard to collect cultural data,

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native texts and stories,that would constitute an unbiased and objective history of cultures that were rapidly disappearing. In retrospect,White’s fieldwork and educational background was archetypical. It was conducted,within the United States,where the vast majority of anthropological work was undertaken in the 1920s. (Two notable exceptions, both from the University of Chicago,are Charlotte Gower’s work in Italy and Robert Redfield’s work inTepoztlan). Nearly every American anthropologist was working in the United States because cultures were becoming extinct and “salvage ethnography” was deemed to be of critical importance. Ethnographers of this era were also largely influenced by Franz Boas or his students,who were establishing anthropology departments across the country. The general aim of these scholars was to show not only how Indians lived but how they thought and viewed life. In this senseWhite’s fieldwork could be characterized as being well within the Boasian realm of historical particularism. For White the attraction of fieldwork was twofold. First, he wanted to arouse in his readers a deep appreciation of and interest in American Indian culture and to illustrate why the Indians believed and acted as they did. White’s work thus went beyond the mere collection of facts, for he showed that Indian culture was rich in symbolic content and deserved careful analysis in its own right. In so doing he wanted to prove that Indian culture in the broadest sense of the term was not inferior, as racists maintained, but part of the history of humankind and its societal evolution. Second,White wanted to demonstrate the power of cultural systems in a particular setting, to prove that Indians and their manner of living were every bit as important and “normal” as American culture. InWhite’s estimation all cultures trap their members in a complex web that extracts a heavy toll. Accordingly White wanted to understand culture’s inner workings so that rather than being constrained by culture, one could be liberated.

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The Socialist Labor Party and Socialist EvolutionaryTheory The duty is to science, to social science, the science of culture, that more light may be thrown upon the processes of culture, so that mankind may plan and control consciously and effectively instead of blindly and with great pain.This is my duty and I must do it.–White, journal,April 13, 1939 [First Page] Influence of the Soviet Union

Without an appreciation of White’s political commitments it is not possible to appreciate the reasons he embraced evolutionary theory and forcefully argued it had a place in the discipline. It was White’s political commitment to the Socialist Labor Party (slp) that shaped the corpus of the evolutionary work for which he is so well known. The development of White’s thought during the Depression era is most clearly seen in his largely unknown contributions under the pseudonym John Steel to the Weekly People, the official organ of the slp. 1 Within the pages of this socialist paper,White, as John Steel, honed his arguments on cultural evolution that appeared in various anthropological journals in the 1940s. During the 1930s White developed the concept of cultural evolution because he believed that it could function as both a science and a principle of action.Anthropology’s significance and importance for him, therefore, was that it provided a self-conscious, rational, and humane way of understanding the transition from one type of society to another. White was undoubtedly introduced to the slp by Marvin Farber and his father, both of whom belonged to the party. 2 Beyond a small circle of friends and party members,White’s association with the slp is not well known.There are five primary reasons for this. First,White purged his papers before his death, destroying the bulk of those related to the slp. Second,he wrote and said many contradictory things about his association with the slp. Depending upon who asked,White’s responses ranged from an outright denial of association with the party to an open acknowledgement that he wrote articles for them under a pseudonym. Third, there are no surviving members of the slp who knew White and could discuss the extent to which he was or was not active in the party. 3 Fourth,White’s eventual split with the party was turbulent and ill tempered. After a glowing review ofThe Science of Culture was published in the

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The Socialist Labor Party

Weekly People, Eric Hass, the longtime editor, retracted it.Three highly placed members of the slp Executive Committee subsequently wrote a devastating critique of White’s book. Thereafter, the slp went out of its way to criticize White and his work, labeling him an “anti-Morganist” and an “enemy of the slp.” Fifth, White’s association with the slp is not mentioned in any of his obituaries nor are any of his articles in theWeekly People listed in the published bibliography of his work (Dillingham 1976). 4 The first published material by White indicating the importance of evolutionary theory appeared shortly after his return from Russia in 1929. Sponsored by the Open Road, a front organization for the Communist Party, White spent 42 days in the Soviet Union. White was among the first groups of American scholars to visit the Soviet Union in the late 1920s. The tour White went on was led by Sergei Sergeivich Anisimov, a Russian scientist, and by White himself. White visited major cities such as Moscow, Leningrad, Stalingrad, and Kiev. What happened to those he went to Russia with is unknown, as is what prompted the trip (Feuer 1962). 5 Like many other early visitors to the Soviet Union,White was in part looking for a new political hope or “conscience model.” For a Depression-weary America, the Soviet Union held a magnetic appeal. Sydney Hook, who visited the Soviet Union within weeks of White, noted that 1929 was a time of relative prosperity in the country, and the year represented “the last of the good years after the civil war [and] in light of the grim decades that followed” (1987:116). The first tours permitted in the Soviet Union were given wide latitude to explore on their own.White and Hook each recalled they were given more freedom than they had expected and that newspaper accounts of the conditions in the Soviet Union were grossly inaccurate. White was also struck by how little he knew about the country as well as how little the Soviets knew about the United States. American visitors such as White did not have more or less human naïveté and saw certain realities strongly. What they did not grasp was the latent evil of Stalinism and the fact that Soviet society was far less determinate and predictable than they thought. White’s trip to the Soviet Union had a profound influence on his thought. White was enthusiastic about the developments in Russia and spoke widely about his experiences. He wanted to let as wide an audience as humanly possible know that Russia was surpassing the United States in terms of the arts, sciences, and culture. He spoke at temples and churches about the abandonment of religion and how mansions and churches were being turned into hospitals to care for the young and old alike. He was impressed by Russian

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filmmaking, and he spoke at the American premier of the Russian Sovkino production, Czar Ivan, theTerrible. As difficult as it was for Americans to admit, he declared, the United Sates was “not leading the other nations of the world in moving pictures.The Russians have gone us one better”(Bee,November 8, 1929,suny). He was equally forceful in his assessment of the status of women in Russian society. White wrote that Russian women were not interested in fashion or struggling into corsets to enhance their appearance. Rather, they were the economic equal of men, with “political equality, ethical equality, and equality in dignity and in self-respect.” Under “Soviet law, marriage has become an institution of convenience, divorce may be had for the asking, and all children are legitimate.”White firmly believed that the“Communists have jumped a step beyond us.” He told women at the Martha Washington Club in Buffalo that trade unions insured women received time off when their children were young and, as the children grew older, provided nurseries to care for them while mothers worked. In spite of his high praise,White was under no illusion that Russia was a utopia or would become one soon. He did, however, characterize Lenin as “one of the most significant individuals in the history of civilization in the last 1,000 years—a man who not only took advantage of the opportunities granted him to use his great talents,qualities and virtues,but also made opportunities.” White maintained that “shorn of its superficialities and functioning under the dictatorship of the proletariat,” only those who displayed special abilities would be chosen to lead the Communist Party. Under the control of one party, White had no doubt that Russia would become a powerful nation, soon recognized by the United States “as a sister nation” (the quotes above come from undated newspaper clippings from the Buffalo Evening News that White used as bookmarks.) In several talks before academically inclined groups such as the Honor Club of the University of Buffalo and the Buffalo Social Science Study Club,White questioned the reasons behind his conclusion that intellectual freedom was extended to researchers in the physical and biological sciences but not the humanities. Judging from several newspaper accounts of presentations he made,White often started his speeches by asking a rhetorical question. For instance,White asked why“there was probably more opposition to the introduction of scientific methodology in the humanities today than there was in the physical and biological sciences one thousand years ago. More people are in jail today for economic and political experimentation than was ever thought of in the Middle Ages” (Bee, May 23, 1930, suny). In White’s view: “The greatest battle in the history of thought in the 20th century is

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over economic organization and political organization. But the trend is quite obvious that these sacred values are going to be swept aside in this century.Why can’t you talk about the Constitution as you do about a carburetor?You can be jailed for it. Are we, then more tolerant than our persecuting ancestors of the middle ages? Let a teacher criticize the government and see how quickly he is driving a milk wagon!What happened to those who tried to better conditions for the working class? Some of them had their heads broken, and others are serving long penitentiary sentences” (Bee, November 8, 1929, suny). The Bee, the student paper of the University of Buffalo, and the Buffalo Evening News published part of White’s addresses regarding his impression of Russia. 6 White spoke glowingly about the Soviet Union and wrote that he had met all classes and types of people. Based on his experience,White was convinced that“the Russian people,freed from the shackles of supernaturalism and economic exploitation, have the truly international point of view. The general outlook is humanistic: not, as in Europe and America, one of clan organization. . . . The economic change is terrific,though simple.The ruling classes have been driven out, and workers are in command. Their motto is, those who work will eat” (Bee, November 8, 1929, suny). Address to the AAAS

The Buffalo address excerpted above was undoubtedly an early draft of a paper he was to deliver months later at Case Western University. (It was later published as an article in New Masses.)White’s paper was much different than the others presented at the combined meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Science (aaas), the American Folk-Lore Society, and the American Association of Physical Anthropologists because it was overtly political.White’s paper,“An Anthropological Appraisal of the Russian Revolution,” certainly stood out in comparison to the others:“Diffusion of Culture in Central Asia” (William McGovern),“The Problem of the Sweet Potato in Polynesia” (Robert Dixon), “The Process of Invention” (Hornel Heart),“Mortuary Rites in New Ireland:TheirAffect on the Living”(Hortense Powdermaker), “The Pattern of Ceremony” (Alexander Lesser), “Linguistic Changes in the Acculturation of Swedes inTexas”(C. M. Rosenquist),“Pitch, Tone and the Saltillo in Modern and Ancient Nahuatl” (B. L. Whorf), and “Phallic Symbolism” (J. Marker). In “An Anthropological Appraisal of the Russian Revolution” (1931a), White argued that the Russian Revolution was the most significant event in modern history.Taking exception to the various ways in which the revolution

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had been discussed by political pragmatists, White argued that it was not a revolution at all but a cultural mutation resulting from centuries of cultural development. Thus for White the Russian Revolution was not a model “social experiment”—that is,planned human intervention in the social process designed to raise the welfare of people.The Russian Revolution was also not the realization of an idea created in the mind of some radical thinker, nor was it “a process of racial impoverishment, which destroyed the great civilizations of the past and which threatens to destroy our own,” as Lothrop Stoddard had argued in his book Revolt against Civilization (1922:14). For White the Russian Revolution and the political unrest shaking the world had significant implications. The root cause of radical change was not necessarily the Russian Revolution but rather evidence that the world’s social and political problems needed to be reconsidered. In White’s estimation, the Russian Revolution proved that society was evolving culturally and that the present Russian regime was advancing beyond capitalism. The significance of the Russian Revolution was that it ushered into the world a new social order that was an evolutionary development beyond capitalism. It dissolved vertical class stratification and the exploitation of the worker, characteristics of the capitalist system. In short, “Russia’s five year program may fail. Or capitalist states may set upon her and dismember her. But cultural processes grind steadily on. Feudalism fought for its life.The Pueblo Indians are fighting for their life now. Capitalism will soon be fighting for its life. It was created by the machine,and by the machine it will be destroyed.Whether the communist model for the future be Russian,Chinese,or German matters little.The essence of communism is internationalism, or world consolidation—and that is the next stage of political evolution” (White 1931a:14). White’s language in “An Anthropological Appraisal of the Russian Revolution” is provocative. During the Depression many believed that the capitalist system was collapsing worldwide, and that its foundations were under widespread attack. The Russian Revolution was only a decade old and the first five-year plan was in effect. In 1932, only one year afterWhite published this paper, Franklin Roosevelt was swept into office with his declaration that one-third of the United States was ill fed, ill clothed, ill housed, and unemployed. While White conceded that the standard of living in the Soviet Union was lower than in the United States, he maintained this had nothing to do with communism, as many political figures had argued. The Industrial Revolution had come to the Soviet Union only during the revolution and the country was feverishly industrializing and electrifying the countryside. The

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rapid development of Soviet resources would insure there was plenty for all members of society given the fact that “theirs is a social system which solves the problem of social control, and makes the social system conform to the system of production” (16). With the problems of technological and social control solved, there was no doubt in White’s mind that the Soviet Union would continue to grow in strength. In short,White maintained two great social systems existed: Soviet and capitalist. In the capitalist countries of the world industry and technology were well advanced and produced enough for all, but the economic system insured that millions were living in want and no better off than “savage hunters of the stone age.” Many people who were searching for answers to explain the current social and economic morass expressed a strong interest in various socialist and communist party organizations. Thus to White and many others interested in socialist and communist politics,this represented the future,that is,a system that placed a priority on human welfare rather than corporate profits. It is in this socioeconomic context that White’s articles under the pseudonym John Steel began to appear in theWeekly People. Before their publication,an associate editor wrote toWhite: it is with great pleasure and even with a feeling of pride that I greet you at the beginning of a new career. For I am sure your Cleveland address will prove the first step of a series which will, sooner or later, culminate your teaching career. You will then enter the world as a different kind of man; and I know from experience something of what that means. For the present I think the policy [of writing under a pseudonym] you outlined to me the other day is the best possible. Lay low, for the time being, and do your studying, your scholarly preparation. . . . Sooner or later you will be out with me and I certainly look forward to a more intimate friendship with you, that we may help each other to fight the great battle of human emancipation. [M. A. Larson toWhite, January 9, 1931, bhl-wp] It is unknown exactly how White came to write for the slp, but the organization was delighted by his 1930 aaas address, which made headlines in newspapers across the United States and the Soviet Union (the NewYork Times and Pravda carried front-page stories about it).White also received over 100 personal letters from people across the United States, both damning and praising his address. In addition, he received letters from various leftist organizations, such as the Proletarian Party of America, the League for Industrial

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Democracy,the Communist Party,and the Socialist Labor Party. As one might expect, these groups heaped praise upon White. For example, the Socialist Labor Party commented:“We are so used to receiving twaddle from college professors that when a statement comes from an eminent college authority so sound and clear as that which was made by Dr. Leslie A. White, we cannot refrain from hastening to record it. . . . Dr. White pronounced the capitalist system doomed and pointed to the future social system in terms such as have previously come only from the Socialist Labor Party” (Weekly People, January 10, 1931). Apparently,Maxim Gorky’s comments in Pravda were provoked by a correspondent who accused Gorky of being“indifferent to cynicism of the present life” and rejoicing over the misery of those in the world outside the United States. Although somewhat critical, Gorky wrote: “Leslie A. White is not a Marxist and not a communist. This is made sufficiently clear by the entire manner of his expression and by the scientific phraseology which he employs. His position is that of the bourgeois evolutionary sociologist who perceives the history of society as a series of regular mutations such as the mutations known in biology. His conclusions, therefore, are all the more interesting” (Pravda, February 20, 1931, bhl-wp). 7 Conservative newspapers such as the Cleveland Plain Dealer and the Michigan Chronicle blastedWhite.The latter editorialized: Declarations of a University of Michigan professor of anthropology at the session this week of the aaas are hardly worthy of the credulity they are likely to inspire. . . . Dr. Leslie A. White of our own university . . . went rather far a field to declare that the capitalist system cannot continue to exist, and that the communist regime ushered into Russia by the revolution is an evolutionary sequence of capitalist society. . . . Which is merely revelation of a Marxian complex on which the professor’s anthropological lore has made no impress, and to which certainly it has added little. Rather than being an evolutionary sequence of capitalist society,socialism has been the dream of social and economic theorists of many previous ages,and every attempt to put it into practice has proven a tremendous failure. . . . The professor had better stick to anthropology. [Michigan Chronicle, January 3, 1931] White was flooded with requests for his paper and, in many cases, he sent copies to individuals as well as groups. The Chicago Schools Journal mimeographed and widely distributed its copy. Similarly,theAmerican Civil Liberties Union printed a slightly abridged version in its official publication, the Open

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Forum (on occasion White included the Open Forum article in his vitae but never the version published by the New Masses). Although most of White’s responses to the letters he received about his address are not preserved, the duplication and wide distribution of his paper did not disturb him. In fact he seemed quite pleased by the attention his paper received. For example, he wrote to Parsons,“I have been told that I was very indiscreet in reading this paper, and I am willing to admit it. It has produced a great stir” (White to Parsons, June 13, 1931, Parsons Papers, apl). Dozens of letter writers praisingWhite for his critique of capitalist society expressed dismay that, given his political views, he would not be able to maintain his current employment. For example, R. E. Dunbar, a “fellow Marxist and alumnus of the U of M,” wrote to White:“I rather doubt your ability to hold your present position long with such honest and correct views. It makes the plutocrats furious to find out one of their own servants wavering in his acceptance of the bourgeois credo,no matter how puerile and ridiculous it may seem. . . . Under capitalism you are either a paid sophist, or an unpaid logician. In the end the latter is more satisfactory to men of courage and farsightedness” (Dunbar to White, January 8, 1931, bhl-wp). Similarly, a man from Danville, Illinois, enclosed a harsh editorial about White’s paper with the following observation:“As a working man and a Socialist of a good many years . . . I want to thank you for your courageous standing with truth. . . . When a man of your stature takes the stand you have, on the side of the oppressed, it usually means his job, with poor chance of securing another” (Fred Ziegler toWhite, January 8, 1931, bhl-wp). Archival evidence suggests White was seriously thinking about a career in socialist politics. For instance, he wrote to Harry Elmer Barnes that “it does not seem improbable that I may be weaned away from the narrow specialized pursuit of anthropology” (White to Barnes, December 20, 1929, bhl-wp). In a similar vein, he wrote to Marvin Farber that he caught “hell” for having been thrown into the arms of “anarcho-communists” (White to Farber, May 12, 1931, Farber Papers, suny). 8 He later wrote to Barnes that John Effinger, dean of Arts and Literature at the University of Michigan,“gave me holy hell on three counts: obscenity, atheism, and radicalism” (White to Barnes, July 8, 1931, bhl-wp). In recalling the incident many years later during an interview, White remarked that the publication of “An Anthropological Appraisal of the Russian Revolution” “didn’t endear me to anyone in the United States except Communists. . . . Dean [Effinger] told me I was indiscreet, and didn’t predict a long tenure for me” (Weiner 1969).

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White was clearly worried about his position at Michigan and how the controversy would affect his ability to secure funds for future research. In an explanatory letter to Parsons, White enclosed his paper and assured her that he did “not wish to revive Morgan” but spoke about him because of his strategic importance to American anthropology. He went on to explain that he had become impatient with the philosophy of “contemporary American anthropology (if, indeed, it could be said to possess a philosophy). It seems to me that all civilization is the field of the anthropologist. It is possible to discern trends in the development of civilization, trends that are living in the present, and which will push into the future. It seems to me that no one is so well equipped as the anthropologist to understand the present and to foresee the future. And I think he should render this service to society as best he can” (White to Parsons, June 13, 1931, Parsons Papers, apl). In terms of his position at Michigan, immediately after White was hired it became obvious that his views on not only cultural evolution but also a myriad of other issues were at odds with those of the university administration. On a relatively small campus in the 1930s it was possible for White to generate a powerful presence. 9 This was especially true because White’s two most popular classes,“The Evolution of Culture”and“The Mind of Primitive Man,” attracted as many as 300 students. According to Beardsley White’s cultural determinism undercut deeply felt convictions of people outside the field of professional anthropology. Irate parents and churchmen repeatedly pressed the administrators of the University of Michigan or state legislators to muzzle this iconoclast and were driven to greater wrath by his success in persuading students that his views were tenable (Beardsley 1976:618). White had mixed feelings regarding his position at Michigan. There was a great deal he did not like about Ann Arbor, yet he knew precious few jobs would enable him to pursue his scholarly interests and provide any measure of intellectual freedom. By intellectual freedom, White specifically meant the ability to pursue his own interests independently. But such freedom had negative consequences, foremost among them “the close atmosphere of the university community with all its gossip,its jealousies and rivalries,the restrictions upon a free teaching of social science”(White,journal,September 18,1937,bhl-wp).White tried to maintain a low profile, but the administration rarely missed an opportunity to make his life difficult:the university deniedWhite paid and unpaid sabbaticals, refused to increase his salary, turned down research requests, however small, and denied secretarial support. Throughout the 1930s White found himself in an unenviable position.

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He had the conservative University of Michigan administration against him on one side because he was too radical, and on the other side those such as Maxim Gorky and the Socialist Labor Party arguing that he was not committed enough. He wrote in his journal: I should not be surprised if I were fired. I almost expect it daily. Every now and then a student asks me in amazement “How do you get away with it?”Meaning how does the university tolerate a little plain speaking. This makes me wonder myself why they tolerate me and I too wonder when the blow will fall—for I am sure it will eventually. . . . I have made every effort to be as inconspicuous as possible. I never speak before any political or religious group. And I have written nothing provocative. In short I have tried to give them no pretext. But in my courses I have been going my own way. I am afraid that is almost too much for the “good people” to bear. I am apprehensive. [White, journal, January 1939, bhlwp] After he addressed the aaas,he ceased writing anything remotely provocative under his own name (though he did continue to write for the Weekly People under the pseudonym John Steel). Ironically, in 1939 Ellsworth Faris, one of White’s former professors from the University of Chicago, wrote that he was glad White was “safely located in a great university” (Faris to White, February 7, 1939, bhl-wp). In replyWhite wryly responded: I had never thought of a “great university” as a place where one became “safely located,” but I dare say there are some who regard it as such. Neither have I ever thought that once I had become “safely located” in this professional haven (or heaven) that I would thereafter enjoy immunity from the consequences of my own acts. We all know that universities tolerate incompetence and sloth and that they will forgive ordinary error. But will they tolerate or forgive “heresy”? Universities may be safe places,but one may well wonder if some of them—even the “greatest”—are safe to those who deviate from the faith. At any rate, I am glad they no longer burn them to death. [White to Faris, February 17, 1939, bhl-wp] Modifying his actions and concealing his writings to avoid further antagonizing the university placed White in an awkward position vis-à-vis other socialists. For example,White joined the Friends of the Soviet Union but the response from this organization was not warm, despite his enthusiasm for the

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country and his status as an active member of the Socialist Labor Party.White’s failure to commit himself entirely to the struggle for socialism infuriated those more committed. The secretary of the Friends of the Soviet Union wrote to White:“We must state frankly that if you intend to take your right place in the revolutionary drama,the first act of which has been carried out in the Russian Revolution, you must be prepared to take all the political consequences. As a professional revolutionist I know that you will never be really happy in your work until you have definitely aligned yourself with the working class severing all relations with the bourgeoisie,I am sure that your opinions will not let you rest until you act upon them or renounce them. These steps are entirely in your own control” (Joseph Ballam toWhite, February 5, 1931, bhl-wp). [79], (11) 1934 Spring Parley

Knowing his activities in the slp could jeopardize his position at Michigan, White took several precautions. Aside from using the pseudonym John Steel in all his writings published by the slp,White never spoke on behalf of the slp in Ann Arbor and did not receive any mail from the party at home or work (he used P.O. boxes in Detroit and Cleveland for socialist mailings).Yet these precautions did not mask his feelings about socialism and cultural evolution. His spoken views in the classroom alone placed him in a precarious political position at Michigan. Elizabeth Costello wrote to Harry Barnes that she was “worried aboutWhite’s position at the University,”stating thatWhite“realizes that he must keep quiet about such things as the slp if he expects to stay in that work, and he really can’t do much to help the cause by giving up work in that field. However,he says it is just a question of how long he can continue teaching and still retain his self respect. He feels terribly strong about it” (Costello to Barnes, September 10, 1931, bhl-wp). Elman Service, a student of White during the 1930s, recalled that White’s political beliefs were readily apparent during his lectures.This was not at all unusual;EricWolf recalled that intellectuals of this era,especially anthropologists, could be broken into three groups:those who went toWashington to help fdr’s New Deal, those who became academics, and those who devoted themselves to radical politics (interview with author,July 1998). In the fall of 1935 Service asked if White would allow him to give a short talk to his “Introduction to Anthropology” class to request contributions for the men and women who were going to Europe to join the Spanish Republican Forces. Service, along with other anthropologists such as John Murra and Clifton Amsbury, fought in the Spanish Civil War. 10 They were guided by political reasoning, firmly


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believing it was the last chance to stop Hitler. Service recalled that when he spoke to White’s class,White completely ignored what he had to say, to the point of rudeness. White was convinced Service was a communist and a member of the party.11 Service,in turn,thoughtWhite’s lectures“sounded like a left pamphlet,” that he was a “true believer.” For Service, a member of the American Student Union, a front for the Communist Party,White’s lectures “kind of put my teeth on edge,or at least made me want to argue with him and object to what he was saying”(Service n.d.:7). Although one would think the two men, both inclined toward and active in radical politics, would have had much in common, in reality their political affiliations drove them far apart. One incident in the 1930s highlightsWhite’s tenuous position at Michigan. Throughout the 1930s students at the University of Michigan organized a “spring parley.”This event consisted of an open forum discussion about various social problems, with faculty and student participation. A student committee advised by two faculty members drew up the plans and invited other faculty members. The invitation was a formality, because anyone who was invited was expected to participate. The three topics selected for discussion in 1934 were:“War and the Students,”“Sex and the Family,”and“Capitalism and Social Change.” In a letter to Marvin Farber White described his experience at the 1934 spring parley: “A week or so ago I participated in (by invitation, not voluntarily) the annual spring parley in which ‘the students and faculty who think’ get together and discuss war, capitalism, religion, sex etc. It was awful. I wish you could have visited one or two sessions because I doubt if you have ever witnessed anything quite as bad as it was. I couldn’t stick it out, and omitted the last two meetings”(White to Farber,March 11,1934,Farber Papers,suny). In an unpublished paper written for theWeekly People,White wrote that he had accepted an invitation to sit on a faculty panel,only after much hesitation, because he was afraid he “might get himself into further trouble by speaking too plainly.” Before the parley White was assured by two other Michigan professors that his position could not be endangered by speaking openly. In fact, at the parley Professor Preston Slosson, a historian, spoke at some length about academic freedom and maintained it was a stupid superstition that professors dare not speak out for they had nothing to fear. Given these reassurances,White thought he might be able to bring anthropology to the attention of students and further increase enrollment. White knew that class size was critically important to his long-term survival. Larger classes meant increased enrollments departmentally;“the professors are in keen competition with each other for the students trade; the professor who doesn’t get the trade

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doesn’t keep his job”(Steel,“The Modern Corporation and Private Property,” circa 1935, bhl-wp). White’s experience at the spring parley led him to conclude there was a clash of two basic points of view—materialistic and idealistic. The idealists greatly outnumbered the materialists. On the few occasions when materialism was discussed in terms of its bearing on social problems, it was quickly routed by a barrage of idealism.The dichotomy between idealism and materialism came to a head when religion was discussed—the sessionWhite was assigned to.White had made sure he was not scheduled to give a presentation,but he was expected to respond to questions—and his answers to questions concerning religion in various stages of cultural evolution shocked the audience. Many were visibly distressed by White’s materialistic viewpoint, because he “said nothing about the sanctity of human personality, or the beauty of Nazarene ideas nor the immortality of the soul.” Two students responded immediately to White’s comments, the first remarking that the religion of primitive peoples was “just magic” while modern Western religions were entirely different. The second student asked the other faculty members on the panel to provide them with the “idealistic answer.”White was not called upon to speak again. Subsequent speakers went to great lengths to point out the errors of the “anthropological bias.” The complete lack of balance between materialistic and idealistic perspectives made White realize how isolated he was, even among the faculty at Michigan. His materialistic views were an unwelcome anomaly,but what truly troubled White was that the audience was not interested in hearing an open dialogue. He concluded:“The students,through their spokesmen and through the college paper,declared that it was the parley’s purpose to discuss questions with an open mind, to entertain new points of view, to view problems from all angles. This is precisely what the group which met to discuss religion was determined not to do. They were vigorously opposed to discussing religion and the church from any point of view save one. They did not wish to view religion from ‘new angles.’They wanted no facts. As one student put it, they wanted something they could believe in and find security in” (Steel,“Notes on the Spring Parley,” circa 1934, bhl-wp). The 1934 spring parley had a major impact on White. It made him realize how different he was. Rather than questioning his own views, he grew to dislike and disrespect his fellow faculty members and social scientists in general. In a retrospective passage in his journal,White wrote:

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I have, and have had for years, a profound, if not bitter contempt a feeling of loathing and hatred. I despise the cheapness and shallowness of what passes for learning—especially in what are called the social sciences. I have nothing but contempt for the pretentious show made by petty “scholars” which they call “research.” . . . It is only rarely that I can read an article or book on social science that I can even stomach, to say nothing of respect, apart from, of course, purely factual studies. I am called intolerant. I conceal my contempt and disrespect poorly. Many people do not like me. I have made an effort to submerge my feelings in my personal contacts with people,to conceal my real thoughts and feelings lest I wound them. I do not try to make people like me. But I have often times, even in the classroom, apologized, in a sense for my ideas and ideals—to keep them from offending others excessively— and,I think,to shield myself against the potential wrath of“the furies.”It makes me sick when I think of it.To walk through the corrals of academic life, wading through the muck and dung of ignorance and pretense, pompous incompetence, the meanness and pettiness of intrigue and conspiracy, the Lilliputian ambitions and jealousies, the prejudice of the provinces and vested interests,and then to apologize for being different! I won’t do it anymore. I have done it to some extent in the past for two reasons 1) because I did not wish people to think—and feel—too harshly of me—it takes a thick skin to go on,knowing that many beings wearing the same bodily form as you hate you—and partly because of fear of my job—fear, in plain words, of being driven from the feed trough. It is humiliating. Bowing before swine. I will do it no more. I will go my own way hereafter. I shall not compromise, I shall not apologize. I shall not make excuses neither for myself nor my ideas and ideals. I am not sure I shall conquer. I am not confident of victory. But I prefer defeat on my own terms to victory on theirs. [White, journal, March 1, 1939, bhl-wp] Commitment to the Socialist Labor Party

There can be no doubt that White’s commitment to the slp was sincere. He actively recruited people into the party, encouraged those who expressed an interest in socialist politics,and took many people to party functions,including his nephew Herbert Smith (White 1973d). White also regularly attended slp meetings in Chicago and Detroit. When he traveled in the United States, he

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liked to visit other slp sections. He described an slp meeting in Los Angeles where he took his nephew Herb:“The room in which they met was a small one in a bank building downtown. . . . It was dingy and unattractive. . . . it is rather a shock to the new comer to go into a small dingy room where 20 or 30 unimpressive, ordinary looking men and women are and have them tell you that they have in their possession the solution of the nation’s, nay even mankind’s problems. . . . it is precisely among the poor people who work for a living that the sound science of society is to be found—that is among those upon whom light of the GreatTeacher has fallen. And they do,indeed,possess the knowledge,and the principles upon which mankind will eventually be set free” (White 1973d:24–25). The most direct statement White ever made regarding why he joined the slp and not the Socialist Party appeared in “Finding the slp” (Steel, July 28, 1934, bhl-wp). In this essay White characterized himself as a “lucky wageearning slave” who was fortunate enough to afford a vacation. White wrote he was overcome by work and “the troubles and tribulations of capitalism.” He reasoned that if he could get far enough away from civilization, he and his wife could leave their troubles behind. While camping in the woods,White met a man when he was restocking his supplies who told him about a local doctor who had organized a socialist club.White met this doctor and launched into a long discussion in which he explained why the Socialist Party was a mistake and outlined the platform of the Socialist Labor Party. The doctor was suitably impressed by White but told him he had never heard of the Socialist Labor Party. He asked White to address the members of his party the next day. After receiving the approval of the propaganda committee of his section,White agreed to make a presentation to the Socialist Party. In the pouring rain, 75 Socialist Party members and two trucks filled with people from the surrounding area arrived in the town,whichWhite did not name but described as an economically depressed locale some 300 miles northwest of AnnArbor.White proceeded to“drop a bombshell in their midst.”A powerful and entertaining speaker,White spoke for almost three hours, covering topics such as industrial unionism, fascism, and reformism. White believed that his talk had taken the wind out of the sails of the Socialist Party. The doctor who had asked him to speak said that he was going to organize a study class to read the works of DeLeon and articles in the Weekly People. Upon his return home,White sent the doctor 35 copies of the Weekly People and 350 free leaflets that explained the platform of the Socialist Labor Party. White was clearly enthused;he had shown a group of people the“true form of

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socialism”and was hopeful the entire group would break off from the Socialist Party to join the slp. This is exactly what happened. The doctor wrote to Arnold Peterson,Socialist Labor Party Chairman,that he was“very impressed with Mr. J.S.” and requested permission to form two slp sections, largely as a result of the talk and materials sent by White, a.k.a. “Mr. J.S.”The doctor concluded his letter to Peterson:“I have read your pamphlets, one by Daniel DeLeon, which is very good, kindly sent to me by Mr. J.S. I hope society can soon be reconstructed and emancipated from wage slavery. Mr. J.S. is a fine speaker and we are going to try and secure his services again for two towns and see what we can do to get the members to bolt the sp and organize an slp in each place” (Mr. X to Arnold Peterson,Weekly People, July 28, 1934). In essence,the Socialist Labor Party asserted that socialism was the struggle of all people against the trusts.The realization of socialism depended upon the unity of the common people—the workers, small capitalists, and members of the professions. DeLeon believed that the political thrust of the labor movement in the United States was temporarily divided into constructive and destructive wings.The task of the destructive wing,the slp,was a transitory one of taking possession of the state in order to abolish it.Thus for DeLeon and the slp:“Industrial unionism bends its efforts to unite theWorking Class upon the political as well as the industrial field—on the industrial field because,without the integral organized Union of the Working Class, the revolutionary act is impossible;on the political field,because on none other can be proclaimed the revolutionary purpose, without consciousness of which the Union is a rope of sand” (DeLeon 1913). White was favorably impressed by the socialist program articulated by DeLeon and the slp, for one thing because it offered a nonviolent form of revolution. Nonviolence was critically important to White because his naval experience had profoundly changed his outlook not only on violence and war but his understanding of the economic structure of capitalist society. In White’s view nonviolence did not mean the platform of the slp was powerless or lacked force. Rather force and violence meant two different things: for capitalists, force meant military action intended to protect the existing ruling class. In sharp contrast, force for the slp was supposed to avert violence and promote the Socialist Industrial Union advocated by DeLeon as“an equivalent for a military force, a mighty nonmilitary engine of physical force” (DeLeon 1952a:175). For White and other members of the slp, real power was the control of the nation’s productive resources or, as Engels put it,“the triumph of force depends upon economic power, on economic conditions, on the

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ability to organize actual material instruments. Economic force is the control of great industry” (Engels 1890:487). According to the slp workers did not need to stage violent protests because they already had de facto possession of industry from top to bottom. The workers were already in a perfect position to assume complete control of the nation’s economic machinery. With its “mighty nonmilitary engine of physical force,” the Socialist Industrial Union was posed to revolutionize American workers. Such a revolution was going to be won at the ballot box, thereby averting not only physical violence but also economic paralysis and chaos. White was firmly convinced that the “right of revolution is an American political right:it is one of our traditions”(Steel,“Thomas Jefferson,”July 1,1933, bhl-wp). A careful reading of the Declaration of Independence supports this view. After the well-known and often quoted line about the inalienable right of “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness,” Jefferson went on to write: Governments are instituted among Men,deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed,—That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. . . . when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right,it is their duty,to throw off such Government,and to provide new Guards for their future security. Like DeLeon, White perceived the democratic ideology that underlay American capitalism as a genuinely radical tradition of which socialist ideas were the logical culmination. The question for White was not whether there should be a revolution, but what form it should take. In his view, it should follow the “civilized way DeLeon has shown us.” The tenor of White’s writing is provocative, making it understandable that he chose to write under a pseudonym: The Socialist Labor Party is a political party that is teaching workers and preparing them for the social revolution. But the revolution will not be accomplished by votes alone. The workers must be organized. . . . That is why the Socialist Labor Party has been teaching and preaching Industrial Unionism and will continue to do so until “the day” which can not be far off. It is in Industrial Unions that the might of the working

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class lies. It is by means of Industrial Unions that the workers will finally take and hold and operate the means of production.When they do this, there is no power that can resist them. . . . The social system which is capitalism is rotten, its day is done. It is now up to the working class. [Steel,“Thomas Jefferson,” July 1, 1933, bhl-wp] DeLeon,unlike other orthodox Marxists,wrote in a clear,simple style using examples from American history to illustrate Marxist concepts. 12 Obviously influenced by DeLeon,White also used events inAmerican history to illustrate the value of the slp’s political platform. For example,in theWeekly People issue printed before the July 4th holiday,White wrote an article entitled,“Thomas Jefferson:American Revolutionist”(Steel,July 1,1933,bhl-wp).White wrote that “patriotic” politicians who spoke at archetypical Independence Day celebrations were either ignorant or hypocritical when they claimedAmerican society must return to the “principles and teachings of the Fathers of our Republic.”The last thing the capitalists and politicians would want was a return to the principles and spirit of 1776—because that would mean revolution. In the hands of modern-day July 4th orators, the American Revolution had become a“monstrous perversion”and“an instrument of freedom and progress turned into a club of repression and reaction.” Like DeLeon,White had a genuine respect for the principles of the “Revolutionary Fathers.” Indeed,White maintained that Jefferson’s greatest legacy was his work as a revolutionist. A revolution,White argued, consists of the destruction of social forms which have become obsolete and which stand in the way of social evolution. The American Revolution was such a revolution. It was a revolution of the rising capitalist class. It was accomplished by destroying old, outworn social forms of feudalism. No one was more clear-sighted or more determined than Jefferson in this respect. That feudal and unnatural distinction of the laws of primogeniture (whereby the eldest son inherited the entire estate of his father) was fought vigorously by Jefferson. It was Jefferson who drew up a bill (which became a law in 1786, the first of its kind in Christendom) which provided for freedom of religious conscience and the abolition of compulsory support of an established church. [Steel, “Thomas Jefferson,” July 1, 1933, bhl-wp] Jefferson, more than any other figure in American history, opposed “outworn social forms of feudalism.”As such, he fought for freedom and enlightenment.White believed that the Declaration of Independence itself provided

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a general principle of revolution valid for all times and places. In an attempt to educate the public and rally as many people to the next “Revolution of the Twentieth century,” White wrote:“The Socialist Labor Party is a revolutionary organization. It is preparing the way for the coming social revolution, the working class revolution. It is striving to abolish outworn social forms just as Jefferson fought medievalism. It is struggling for emancipation from the shackles of capitalism, just as Jefferson fought the kings, nobles and priests. Guided by the scientific principles of Marxism, and inspired by the courage and determination of great revolutionists of all times, the American working class will throw off such government, and provide new guards for their future security” (Steel,“Thomas Jefferson,” July 1, 1933, bhl-wp). DeLeon’s emphasis on the purity of principle and the intransigence of the slp in this regard was fortified by a belief that the laws of capitalist development would do all the work that was required for the socialist revolution. DeLeon’s beliefs were reinforced by his understanding and use of the social evolutionism espoused by Marx, Engels, and Morgan. In fact DeLeon was converted to socialism by reading Engels’s Anti-Duhring and Lewis Henry Morgan’s Ancient Society. In three influential speeches—“The Ballot and the Class Struggle,” “Reform or Revolution,” and “Socialist Reconstruction of Society”—DeLeon maintained that the slp’s analysis and appreciation of Ancient Society rescued Morgan’s work from oblivion (DeLeon 1952b). In 1909 DeLeon paid his respects to his “great predecessor in social discovery”: “Lewis H. Morgan’s work (Ancient Society) is recommended as indispensable to the understanding of the origin of the Class Struggle, and, thereby, to the understanding of the various manifestations of the Struggle.The work wrought a veritable revolution in the science of ethnology. It is not the least of the glories of the Socialist Labor Party that the demand it created for this work rescued it from the oblivion to which the Ruling Class of America sought to relegate this, the gift to the world of one of America’s greatest geniuses” (DeLeon 1952b:28). Accordingly DeLeon’s writing is liberally sprinkled with scientific and anthropological observations. Under his editorship, the Weekly People published numerous and lengthy discussions of the relevance of Engels’s and Morgan’s work. DeLeon saw close analogies between the laws of evolutionary biology and social evolutionism:for example,economic classes were compared with biological species and the class struggle with the struggle for existence. According to DeLeon the“laws that rule sociology run upon lines parallel with, and are the exact counterpart of, those that natural science has established in

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biology” (Hook 1955:62). This was why DeLeon’s reading of Anti-Duhring made him aware that Engels realized that dialectics, the science of the general laws of change,could be applied to pure science as well as to the social relations of science. Science, for DeLeon, signified clarity of purpose, which in turn demanded the exaltation of the socialist movement as a revolutionary beacon destined to survive the coming social revolution. This obviously struck a chord with White who, like many others in the 1930s, saw a link between Marxist analyses and science. For White there also was a visible link between the positive image of science and technology and radical politics. Science was radically reshaping the world—a point that would be driven home with horrific effects when atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The point here is that science loomed large for many 1930s academics, and there was a widespread belief that scientists soon would lead the world. In White’s view anthropology was to function both as a science and as a principle of action for the next social revolution. Anthropology’s significance and importance, therefore, lay in the fact that it provided a self-conscious, rational, and humane way of understanding the transition from one type of society to another. In part this is why White felt that the Socialist Labor Party was important.Through the slp in particular,and Marxist science and philosophy in general, mankind could find its way out of the current economic crisis. InWhite’s mind it was a“race between education and catastrophe,” and the “clear beam of social science held the only possible solution” (Steel,“Thomas Jefferson,” July 1, 1933, bhl-wp). Part of the party’s platform was based on the belief that once people became aware of the slp, they would “discover that socialism is based on scientific principles, on fact and logic. It is grounded upon material realities and the materialist conception of history—beginning with the proposition that the production of the means to support human life and the exchange of things produced is the basis of all social structure. It is a science serving quintessentially humanitarian ends. . . . They discover that, from its scientific foundation, the slp provides concrete answers to today’s social problems. Unlike any other political party, it explains the causes of these problems” (slp publication, circa 1930, bhl-wp). Given the sociopolitical context,White’s attraction to the slp in particular and Marxist scholarship in general can be more clearly understood. First, the economic chaos of the Depression put a premium on the endorsement of a social order that was to build on the prospective and seemingly imminent collapse of the capitalist system. Second, Marxism, or socialism in the broadest sense, was seen as an outcry against the social injustice of the capitalist order. Thus

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intellectuals were sympathetically inclined toward Marxism and socialism,and they argued for public endorsement of the Left by those who were morally outraged at the current state of affairs. Just as Marx’s work can be seen as an outcry against the conditions of the working class ushered in by the Industrial Revolution,the rise of Marxism and socialism in the United States during the 1930s can be seen as a reaction to the depths of the Depression.Third, the slp distinguished itself from all other socialist and communist organizations in its belief of“pure”Marxism. Elman Service characterized this attribute as the“use of Marxism as an interpretation of modern life and a prediction of the future and understanding of the past. It was a particular kind of cultural evolution approach and the Socialist Labor Party did believe that this was scientifically determined by the nature of man and the nature of society (they didn’t use the word culture in those days). So one of the bones of contention between two kinds of radicals,or two kinds of socialists in the general sense of the word socialist, was this matter of whether you thought you could cause something to happen in a society politically, even though the time was not ready for it from the point of historical determinism” (Service n.d.:8). Given the above, White’s dedication to the slp and its understanding of cultural evolution was not unusual,nor was his interest in Marx and Morgan.13 Far from being a dry intellectual exercise, reading Morgan and Marx was not only relevant and exciting but part of a revolutionary understanding of the present political state of the world. All members of the slp shared this view. For instance,every Sunday throughout the 1930sWhite met with several other men, some members of the slp and others independent of the party, to read the works of Marx and Engels. In describing these meetings,White wrote that he spent five hours a week on chapter 1 of Marx’s Capital and that he had read it at least eight times. I am afraid I am still far from mastering it. But I continue to profit from reading it, so I am still making progress. I have gotten one or two ideas from it that are simply tremendous. They illuminate one phase of all human history. I find it invaluable in anthropological study. Morgan says much the same thing in his discussion of the passion for property and the property career of making that Marx says in showing how personal,social relations become concealed by the economic relationships between commodities. But Morgan did not know the full significance, of the nature of the mechanisms,of this aspect of history.The similarity between passages in Morgan and Marx is simply amazing. I have never realized it

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as much as I have in the past 2 months. [White to Farber, February 29, 1936, Farber Papers, suny] The moral outrage White felt regarding the social conditions in America during the Depression is reflected in all his writing published in the Weekly People. For example, in “Two Deaths,”White noted that when a king dies he is often lauded as having been “wise and benevolent.” In addition, millions will mourn his death and condolences will pour in from all over the world. In sharp contrast,daily newspapers report the death of individuals in the middle of the paper—incongruously tucked between advertisements for soap,medicine, and the latest fashions. In one such story, White noted, a man was found unconscious and died shortly after being taken to the hospital. According to the coroner the man, approximately 40 years old, died of starvation and exposure. White wrote that these two deaths, one that of a king who died at the age of 70 after a life of idleness and leisure, the other that of a man who died in the prime of life while looking for employment, were symptomatic of the social conditions in their respective societies. Symbolically, the king’s death in his palace and John Doe’s death on the roadside were indicative of the social obsolescence and degeneration of the capitalist system.White wrote that the productive forces of the capitalist system in the United States were so highly developed that wanton destruction of food and goods was resorted to in order to protect profits.The death of John Doe illustrated in graphic terms the “rotten” nature of the capitalist system. In contrast, the death of the king and the existence of the “royal heritage” in Britain symbolized a social system that,like the king,is dead. Social systems,like people,die and rot,and the death of these two men illustrated that capitalism had outlived its day (Steel,“Two Deaths,” February 1, 1936, bhl-wp). White explicitly tied his anthropological approach to his political views in an article titled “The Struggle for Food and Freedom” ( Steel, March 19, 1932, bhl-wp). Here White argued that modern humanity’s plight was more perilous than primitive humanity’s because in countries such as the United States, people have less control over their food supply than did ancient hunter and gatherers.The StoneAge hunter,White wrote,could take his weapons and hunt for food, whereas modern men in America (“the flower of millenniums of striving and invention”) were walking the streets and waiting in bread lines for a few morsels of food.This could happen because the means of production were now privately owned and operated for the profit of the owners. “The ape-man had his hands, the savage his harpoon and bow, the barbarian his

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fields and livestock, the craftsman had his tools. But what does the modern industrial proletarian have? Nothing. How does he live? He sells himself in the labor market. Suppose there is no purchaser? Then he starves. It is very simple.” Social(ist) Evolutionary Theory in Weekly People

Under the pseudonym John Steel,White wrote extensively throughout the 1930s on cultural evolutionism. Indeed, in White’s mind and work cultural evolution and socialism were intricately interwoven. White’s early criticism of the “Boas group” and historical particularism circa 1931 contains explicit references to Lewis Henry Morgan and evolutionary theory (White 1931c). White forcefully, albeit briefly, asserted that Lewis Henry Morgan and evolutionary theory were attractive to “Marxist Socialists.” No mention is made of the interest anthropologists might have in evolutionary theory. It was for other socialists thatWhite first discussed the works of Morgan (Ancient Society in particular) and evolutionary theory at length. In this context,White’s criticism of the Boasians was quite harsh. His belief in the value of evolutionary theory was unequivocal. On the Boasians,White wrote: The anthropologist,apparently,does not like to think of social evolution at all. It has been the fashion among American anthropologists for years to attack Lewis H. Morgan, the great exponent of social evolution. . . . Having torn Morgan to shreds, American anthropologists set to work on intensive local area studies. The result is a wealth of ethnographic material and a poverty of synthetic formulation of results. With a few concepts such as convergence,culture area,diffusion,culture complexes, and so on,anthropologists“explain”specific,concrete cultural situations. But they have little conception of all culture as an integrated,organically developing entity.Their microscopic vision is excellent;macroscopically they are all but blind. [White 1931a:14–15] White was equally explicit in his affirmation of the value of evolutionary studies: It is true that Morgan erred in one assumption and a number of facts. But his major thesis, that of the existence and operation of evolutionary forces in the development of culture, is sound. . . . Social evolution is just as real as organic evolution and, if anything, easier to illustrate with facts. . . . I believe that the concept of social evolution is the most important concept in cultural anthropology. It is the unifying and

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vivifying motif.The biologist could not have an adequate understanding of any plant or animal without the idea of the unity of all life and of its organic development. And I cannot see how the anthropologist can appreciate the full significance of any cultural situation unless he views it in evolutionary perspective. [White 1931a:14] White’s ideas about cultural evolution are expressed in numerous papers published by the Weekly People. 14 Between 1931 and 1946 White published 31 letters, articles, and miscellaneous notes in the Weekly People under the pseudonym John Steel or the initials J.S. As a proponent of an evolutionary approach and as one with a strong interest in socialism, White believed no American anthropologists were interested in looking beyond highly particularist studies. White viewed much of the work done by Boas and what he identified as the “American Historical School of Ethnology” with admiration. However, according toWhite the organization, principle, and discipline amounted to“a multiplicity of solutions to discrete problems”combined with “an unwillingness toward synthetic formulation of the results” (1931a:14). In spite of Boas’s determination to eschew philosophic speculation, a negative philosophy of civilization emerged from the kind of local, intensive historical research he encouraged. In Boas’s way of thinking, modern industrial civilization could be only a chaotic jumble. Given this, it was impossible to grade cultures. White was not alone in his view that American anthropologists were antagonistic to any sort of theory. Kluckhohn wrote that the mental state of American anthropologists was such that “to suggest something is ‘theoretical’ is to suggest that it is slightly indecent” (Kluckhohn 1939:333). White firmly believed that anthropology had much more to offer. Indeed, he thought the discipline was ideally suited to study and understand the mechanisms,processes, and trends of society. He did not believe a “new school” of anthropology needed to be introduced. Rather, the field should return to the work begun by Lewis Henry Morgan: namely, a dynamic study of the evolution of human civilization.White believed Morgan was the only anthropologist who realized the potential social significance of anthropology.“To those earnest seekers after understanding anthropology, should come up with answers to the questions that perplex them:What is human civilization like? How did it start? When? How does it change and grow? And why? What principles does it observe in its development? Where are we going? What human values are reflected in thousands and thousands of years of civilization building? And, in light of

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these answers,how can we best exert ourselves to control our own destinies and realize the ideals of the ages?” (White,“Cultural Evolution and the American School of Historical Ethnology,” circa 1932, bhl-wp). ForWhite it did not matter that Morgan was unaware of the larger significance of his work as it pertained to socialist theory. Morgan’s evolutionary scheme made “scientific sense” to White, it provided a scheme in which anthropological facts could be organized and understood. This was critically important because a“gigantic madness that had gripped mankind for centuries was at last shattered. New and vital currents of thought were rushing forth like the spring streams that break up the winter’s ice. Science was set free” (White to Ernest Culshaw,November 1932,bhl-wp). Morgan was not trying to create a scientific blueprint for society but an analysis of the current state of human affairs. Morgan was animated by the spirit of science and because of this, the fact that he was a capitalist and “citizen of the small burg of Rochester” was irrelevant. My analysis,or diagnosis,then,seems to boil itself down to this:Morgan was an American citizen and a resident of a small western town (western in those days). But, Morgan was also the instrument through which new currents in thought worked and expressed themselves. . . . I do not believe that Morgan fully understood the use these social currents had made of him. I do not believe that he was aware of the significance of his work—in fact,I am sure that he had no inkling whatsoever of the role his bookAncient Society was destined to play in later years.And I am inclined to believe he would have been quite surprised, and shocked (doesn’t Marx call him theYankee republican?) to learn,had he been resurrected for the occasion some 30 years later, that his book had become a classic among people whose avowed purpose it was to overthrow theAmerican government. But Morgan the citizen can never detract one bit from Ancient Society. [White to Culshaw, November 1932, bhl-wp] The difference, then, between the science of Morgan and the science of Marx was that the former was unaware of what was really going on. Marx, in contrast, not only knew what was going on, he knew why. ForWhite Marxist science was the“key”to understanding how social forces or currents of thought express themselves either in group movements or individual actions. Marx and DeLeon made intelligible culture-historical features of society that were heretofore unknown. Through “science” an individual could be motivated by social–historical forces. In this context,White’s “science” of anthropology

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was acutely attuned to the current state of human affairs. Implicit in White’s writing as John Steel is the conviction that evolutionary studies are inseparable from socialistic beliefs and the platform of the Socialist Labor Party. For White evolution was evident not only in the anthropological realm and the archaeological record, but in contemporary society. White questioned how one could fail to realize the fact that society had evolved and was continuing to evolve when,for example,surveying the cultural development of civilization from “primitive kinship units to the League of Nations” (Steel,“Struggle for Food and Freedom,” March 19, 1932, bhl-wp). Since the Bronze Age, White wrote, the history of civilization has been the story of accumulation and the ever increasing importance of property. Morgan’s emphasis at the end of Ancient Society on the importance of property (which equals power) impressed not only White but Marx, Engels, and socialist scholars in general. 15 Moreover, White was clearly taken with the importance Morgan placed on the role property relations had in determining the nature of all aspects of social organization. Influenced by Morgan,White’s evolutionary scheme considered the following:the importance of technology in determining property relations, the evolution of property ownership from primitive communism to private property,the democratic nature of primitive communities with an absence of slavery,and the primary influence of property as an initiator of change in other aspects of social organization. According to White the change in humanity’s “sources of subsistence” (Morgan’s words) or “mode of production” (Marx’s words) created new social forces, and ancient society “crumbled and the new came into being.” Guided by a materialist conception of history,White believed that the material circumstances of production and distribution determined behavior or,as Marx put it,“social consciousness.” However, progress was not without benefits: One of the fruits of an advancing civilization is knowledge, understanding—knowledge and understanding of the heavens and the earth; knowledge and understanding of human culture and society. As our knowledge grows our control over the external world increases. As our understanding of human culture and society deepens the possibility of self-conscious, rational and humane way of life grows greater. It is not, of course, that knowledge will change the essential nature of civilization or alter the course of its development. Society moves in accordance with certain natural laws whether we know them or not. And a discovery and appreciation of those laws will no more alter them

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then the discovery of the law of gravitation has changed the tides of the ocean. But with knowledge and understanding of social forces and laws, mankind could go forward intelligently with eyes open, instead of stumbling along the road of social evolution in blindness, suffering and perishing in awful price of progress. [Steel,“National Solidarity versus Working Class Solidarity,” circa 1941, bhl-wp] White further argued that the working class needed to know whom its friends and enemies were in preparation for the next social revolution. Obviously influenced by Morgan,White was contemptuous of organized religion, especially the Roman Catholic Church. In many sections of the Extracts from the European Travel Journal of Lewis H. Morgan, edited by White, he provided examples of Morgan’s severe strictures of the church’s pomp, medieval practices, and the superstitions it fostered. Echoing Morgan, White viewed the church as a nest of aristocracy “invariably casting in with kings and privileged classes and against any and all movements to ameliorate the political condition of the masses” (White 1937e:222). Accordingly White analyzed the role the Catholic Church played in class politics in two essays,“Two Portraits of Jesus” and “The Church and theWorking Class” (Steel, December 23, 1933; January 27 and February 3, 1934, bhl-wp). In the former article, written during the Christmas season,White analyzed two irreconcilable portraits of Jesus drawn from Gospels in the NewTestament. In the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5),Jesus is pictured as a loyal servant and defender of the current social order. He tells people to be humble,patient,and obedient,and in return for their suffering and servitude they will receive a heavenly reward. In sharp contrast, Jesus attacked the priests and scribes,denouncing them as“serpents”and“offspring of vipers”(Matthew 23:33).White went on to quote several passages from the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke in which Jesus championed the cause of the poor and called for the abolishment of private property. ToWhite these disparate portraits of Jesus were important because“they are the products of different periods in the historical development of Christianity. At its inception, Christianity was revolutionary, militant, and communistic. It is this period that gives us the portrait of the revolutionist” (Steel, “Two Portraits of Jesus,” December 23, 1933, bhl-wp). As Christianity evolved, however, it became necessary for bishops to administer its business affairs, and as they became more powerful, the New Testament was used to “standardize belief and the theory of apostolic succession was proclaimed.” Over time, the bishops gained a “monopoly” on salvation and small congregations became

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institutionalized:“a Church where the prophets and teachers have given way to bishops and priests,and the revolutionary Jesus has become metamorphosed into his opposite. The Sermon on the Mount is the expression of alliance of the bishops with the Emperors. Jesus is drafted into the service of despots. . . . It is the Sermon on the Mount, painted by the hands of Church sycophants that the regime of class rule might endure. And that is the chief function of the churchmen today.” White was inspired by Marx to analyze the role the church played inAmerican society because“the time may not be far distant when a revolutionary crisis may be precipitated in the United States”(Steel,January 27,1934,bhl-wp). In a two-part article titled“The Church and theWorking Class,”White confined his discussion to the church as a social institution.White demonstrated (citing the 1926 Census of Religious Bodies) that the church was tremendously wealthy, claiming its net worth was close to seven billion dollars in 1934. The church was thus the largest “industry” in the United States, with more assets and income than Ford Motor, General Electric, Standard Oil,Anaconda Copper, Bethlehem Steel,ReynoldsTobacco,American Can,and Proctor and Gamble combined! In addition,White held,much of the church’s income was received from the rich“in return for its efforts to keep the working class in subjection.” White argued that the church was like the state because it,too,was based on the ownership of private property. “[W]ealth is one of the greatest motives in its existence and private property is the chief force that holds the denominations together. Let no one suppose that all Baptists, Catholics, Methodists and Jews are united in their respective creeds. Far from it. . . . The tie that binds, blest so often in hymns, appears to be nothing neither more nor less than private property. . . . It is easy to see that the church has virtually nothing to do with religious belief,but that property has almost everything to do with the church. When the great tap-root, private property, is cut the church will wither away as rapidly as the state” (Steel, February 3, 1934, bhl-wp). White was compelled to analyze the church at length because he believed its teachings were the same as those that concerned Marxist socialists,but that, as institutions,churches were diametrically opposed to the tenets of socialism. It was particularly important toWhite that the masses recognize the church as “an enemy of the working class,” because he was convinced that the United States was about to undergo its “Second Great Revolution.” Like the first agricultural revolution, it was “destined to transform our present way of life to its very foundations” (Steel, April 27, 1940, bhl-wp). This new form of society would be based “upon industrial organization and the exploitation

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of the resources of nature for the indiscriminate welfare of the human race, instead of the exploitation of labor for the private property of a few—in short, from capitalism to socialism.”The reason for this inevitable transition from capitalism to socialism was identical to that of the first great social revolution— “an enlargement of the arts of subsistence or mode of production.” The Industrial Revolution had been only the “first phase of a revolution that was destined to embrace and transform civilization in its entirety: the Industrial Revolution is but the preface to the Social Revolution. “ A revolution was defined by White as the “destruction of social forms which have become obsolete and which stand in the way of social evolution” (Steel, “Thomas Jefferson,” July 1, 1931, bhl-wp). White envisioned a continually changing society:“In the nature of things a social system tends to outlive its usefulness; although outmoded by a developing technology, social institutions persist until they are no longer endurable, when they are thrown off by suffering humanity. So it is that although we have already realized the third great stage of technological evolution we have not yet attained the third epoch in social evolution. . . . But we are on the eve—or dawn—of its attainment” (Steel, “Second Great Revolution,”April 27, 1940, bhl-wp). Clearly White’s conception of the evolutionary development of modern society is organized along radical materialist lines. It was also action-orientated: first, Marxism should be made known to the people and second, the working class—upon which the responsibility for effecting this great social transformation rests—must organize itself in accordance with these principles. “The Socialist Labor Party has been preaching and teaching this for decades. The time is now near at hand when action will be the order of the day. Now as never before it is imperative that the message of Marxism be brought to the masses of mankind. In this message is the promise,not only of the termination of wanton and senseless slaughter, but the confident assurance of a new and finer world” (Steel,“Socialism in One Country,” July 4, 1936, bhl-wp). In effect,White was attempting to describe DeLeon’s theory of revolution in anthropological terms.White accepted as fact the materialist conception of history and the establishment of class struggle in an evolutionary framework. White believed society had evolved and was continuing to evolve and that socialism was the next, and higher, stage of development after capitalism.Yet White was not naive. At no point did he believe the Soviet Union had attained socialism. In fact he declared that it was a“bureaucratic state despotism”(Steel, “Socialism in One Country,” July 4, 1936, bhl-wp). For White socialism was the collective ownership, by all the people, of the factories, mills, mines, land,

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and all instruments of production.According to Engels it was Morgan who“in a manner discovered anew the materialistic conception of history”(1972:71),a concept thatWhite believed was indispensable to anthropology. He concluded that“an anthropologist without the materialistic conception of history is like a mariner without a compass—and without ballast”(White,“Cultural Evolution and the American School of Historical Ethnology,” circa 1932, bhl-wp). He reached this conclusion from the commonsense assumption that the basic element of any culture is the business of living or the problem of survival. All other aspects of culture are mere additions or embellishments. In short,White noted his full agreement with the slp’s position: By the aid of the discoveries of Lewis Henry Morgan, Karl Marx, Frederick Engels, and Daniel DeLeon, and under the guidance of those who have followed them, the working class will eventually succeed in freeing themselves and society from the fetters of property, and all the miseries and inhumanities flowing therefrom. The time is at hand when the workers will reconstitute society on a plane that will be a revival, in a higher form, of the liberty, equality and fraternity of the ancient gentes.And erected onAmerican soil,that infinitely higher,freer, and more enlightened social system will constitute a noble monument, a monument more enduring than one of brass, and loftier than the pyramids of kings,in honor and veneration of those two greatAmericans, Lewis Henry Morgan and Daniel DeLeon. [White,circa 1938,bhl-wp]

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EvolutionaryTheory for American Anthropologists I am quite sure that I am not dogmatic at all. My dictionary says that a dogma is “that which is held as an opinion.” I realize quite well, however, that I appear to be dogmatic, and this dictionary definition gives us a clue as to why. . . .When, in the science of culture, I give utterance to a simple fact, I am called dogmatic.Why? Simply because the science of culture is so young, so undeveloped, and its results known to so few people, that in the realm of society and culture opinion still reigns.–White to David Jassy, June 30, 1940 First Assertions

In 1935 White was considering writing two books, one about the evolution of culture and the other on the evolution of the human mind (White to Farber, February 1, 1935, Farber Papers, suny). In letters to Marvin Farber and Harry Elmer Barnes and in numerous journal entries,White wrote that he was committed to studying cultural evolution in general and Lewis Henry Morgan in particular. White believed that there was only so much he could accomplish in his lifetime; he had to prioritize his writing projects. “I have a sort of fear of dissipating my energies. Of spreading my interests so widely, that I should [not] get anything worthwhile done at all. . . . It is well for me to remind myself that I if wish to accomplish anything—and I most certainly do—that I must settle down to one or two things and stick to them. And the one or two things are ‘Evolution of Culture’ and the biography of Lewis H. Morgan” (White, journal,April 1936, bhl-wp). Based on his unpublished personal writings,White clearly wanted to branch out from his evolutionary writings for the Weekly People. He believed that social evolutionary theory could have an integral role in anthropological theory. He also believed that Morgan’s work had been incorrectly dismissed and critiqued by contemporary anthropologists. White was well aware that anthropologists would be skeptical, if not hostile, to his views, but felt he had a moral and scientific obligation to change their minds. He committed himself to waging battle with the entire discipline if necessary, for he was convinced he knew the truth. His work was not simply an intellectual exchange of ideas but a call to arms. In the midst of this battle, White wrote

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to Walter Lippman of the Herald Tribune about the larger significance of his work and why he felt compelled to reinject evolutionary theory into anthropology: The critical nature of the times through which we are now passing makes it clear to all that an understanding of social forces is imperative to any plan of national conduct for the future. As a consequence everyone— journalists, ex-sports writers turned journalists, analysts, commentators, politicians, business-men, etc.—feel perfectly free, if not competent, to diagnose civilization’s ills and prescribe for the future. In this lusty chorus of sociological doctors and prophets the voice of the scientist is inconspicuous and weak. But this is not because he has nothing to say. He certainly does, but his profession is still so young that it lacks sufficient prestige to win attention. [White to Lippman, September 15, 1943, bhl-wp] The article of White’s most often identified as heralding the revival of evolutionary theory is “Energy and the Evolution of Culture,” published in theAmericanAnthropologist in 1943 (1943a).This wasWhite’s first article solely concerned with evolutionism intended for an anthropological audience. It was here that he first put forth the thermodynamic law E x T = C (energy times technology equals culture); more specifically, culture evolves as the amount of energy harnessed per capita per year increases or as the efficiency of the means of putting this energy to work is increased. This article was quickly followed by a stream of others published by the American Anthropologist, the Southwestern Journal ofAnthropology,and several other academic journals.1These articles, largely published during the 1940s, are well known to historians of anthropology because they created intense debates among anthropologists. However, two important papers were published before 1940 that are not often mentioned:“Science Is Sciencing” (1938c) and “A Problem in Kinship Terminology” (1939b). Combined with his writings under the pseudonym John Steel,discussed in chapter 3,these two earlier papers make the theoretical basis upon which White stood in relationship to his fellow anthropologists much more intelligible. In a letter to Marvin Farber,White wrote that “Science Is Sciencing” was “sort of an adventure,” which he regarded as the “background for a more direct and immediate assault upon the anti-evolutionists in contemporary American anthropology. I have two almost completed articles for this purpose now. I plan to give Boas, Goldenweiser, Lowie, etal. a run for their money

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during the next few years” (White to Farber, January 29, 1939, bhl-wp). 2 In “Science Is Sciencing” White provided a clear analysis of the method and philosophy of science and a forceful declaration that anthropologists must adhere to rigorous scientific methodology. 3 He believed science was not a body of data but a technique of interpretation. He examined and rejected all theological and metaphysical explanations of phenomena. White argued there were two classifications of reality that cut across each other at right angles. One was concerned with structure (the atom, the cell, the symbol), while the other had to do with processes (temporal, formal, and temporal–formal). This gave White (1938c:385) nine categories in which all reality and all manners of sciencing may be logically and consistently divided, as indicated by Table 1, which is taken from White’s later version of it, which he himself preferred, inThe Science of Culture (1949d; reprinted as 1958e:19).

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Cultural

* Temporal

Spatial–Temporal

Spatial

“History,” Culture History, or History of Civilization

Cultural Evolution

Non-temporal, repetitive, culturally determined processes in human society

Biological

Racial history of Man History of animal and plant species, genera

Biological evolution Growth of individuals

Non-temporal, repetitive processes in organic behavior: intra-organismal (physiology), extra-organismal (psychological)

Physical

History of the solar system, of the earth, a continent, mountain system, river, drop of water, a grain of sand

Cosmic, solar, stellar, galactic evolution Disintegration of radio-active substances

Non-temporal, repetitive processes in physics, chemistry, astronomy

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Besides the three fundamental processes distinguishable in all levels of phenomena—cultural, biological, and physical—White maintained there were three types of interpretation—history, evolution, and functional studies—instead of the twofold history and science classification held by many anthropologists (this precedent was established by Boas in 1887 in“The Study of Geography”). ForWhite the scope of each of the three levels of phenomena had important and long-range implications for philosophy and human welfare. He concluded the essay: There is so little effective knowledge of our cultural world,so much difficulty and so little control that many sober minds are seriously wondering if our civilization will survive the present world crisis. It is the profound conviction of the present writer that the phenomena of the cultural level are as susceptible to scientific study as the data of other levels, and that when concerted and sustained scientific attack is made upon problems in this field that the achievements and triumphs will be as great, if not greater, than in the physical and biological domains. A way must be found to divert the resources of science and society in this direction, else, our triumphs in physics, astronomy, and medicine may well turn out to be hollow ones. [White 1938c:388–389] Essentially,White was trying to establish that the theoretical underpinnings of Boasian anthropology were flawed due to a lack of acknowledgment of recurrent patterns of sociocultural development. In a series of letters White exchanged with Marvin Farber, he sought to define the term evolution and understand the difference between the concepts of induction and deduction. (Farber, a philosopher and former colleague at the University of Buffalo, introduced phenomenology toAmerican academe.)4 It is clearWhite believed the Boas school had made a “fetish of induction” (White to Farber, January 22, 1939, Farber Papers, suny). According to White, when Boasians speak of the “deductive” method, they refer to the theory of evolution of specific cultures and to all theorizing in general. White was convinced their position was unwarranted, and he wanted to attack it. “I know what the Boas school means by their use of the terms induction & deduction. By ‘deduction’ Boas means ‘nonscientific’; by ‘induction’ ‘scientific.’And he praises induction and denounces deduction for the purpose of fighting evolutionary theory in particular and other theory in general. Theorizing is ‘unscientific’ according to Boas & his camp followers. I have made quite a study of their use of these terms & I am sure that I am right in my estimate & conclusions.”

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The difference between inductive and deductive logic was critically important toWhite,because he believed Marx,Morgan,and Darwin had arrived at their conclusions about evolution and the materialist conception of history via the deductive method. In response to White’s inquiry, Farber replied there was no firm agreement among logicians as to the definition of these terms. Farber also cautioned White about the “need of distinguishing clearly between the deductive ordering of knowledge,and the devices used in the quest for knowledge” (Farber to White, February 13, 1939, Farber Papers, suny). For Farber, induction in a narrow sense, taken to be simple description, is indefensible if used exclusively. Deduction, on the other hand, could refer to formal reasoning, as in mathematics, and in the broadest sense can refer to the consequences following from a given hypothesis. In a subsequent letter to White, Farber maintained it was possible to use both inductive and deductive reasoning to arrive at a theoretical conclusion, citing Darwin as an example. But Farber stressed the distinction between discovery and verification,writing, “[T]here must be an inductive verification of the consequences in terms of actual facts” (Farber toWhite, March 1, 1939, Farber Papers, suny). White sent copies of “Science Is Sciencing” to Kroeber and Lowie before its publication. Based on White’s correspondence with them, he must have realized he was going to face a difficult battle to revive evolutionary theory— their reaction was not positive. Indeed,White’s correspondence constitutes a historical precursor to the debates that would take place in the 1940s. Kroeber wrote to White that he should publish his essay because “I am struck by your new viewpoint,that there is a space and time approach of science and the time approach of history. I remain somewhat dubious on this score,but it is so far as I know, a new point and I would like to let it sink in farther before I commit myself to a final reaction” (Kroeber to White, June 9, 1938, bhl-wp). Lowie, like Kroeber, appreciated what White was trying to do, especially in his plea for the unity of the sciences and the different levels of investigation. However, Lowie sharply diverged from White on the status of evolutionary theory in anthropology. He took strong exception to White’s statement “In the basic category, that of evolution of culture, we have at present virtually nothing” (White 1938c:386). Lowie believed that some of his own ideas on sundry matters were patently evolutionary, as was the work of Robert Thurnwald, A. R. Radcliffe-Brown (despite his functionalism), and Wilhelm Schmidt. For Lowie, the main difference between his view of evolutionary theory and White’s was the latter’s belief that “evolution was bound up with an insistence on a unified system, and that I cannot follow” (Lowie toWhite, December 27,

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1938, bhl-wp). Lowie concluded his letter:“We seem to revert to the basic difference—our attitude toward systems. You seem to accept an ambitious scheme regardless of its validity; I do not respond positively until convinced of its soundness, at least in essentials. But that does not mean that I object in principle to evolution on the cultural level or to my degree of unification on any or all levels that can be justified by an appeal to the facts.” Reinjecting Evolutionism

Despite his colleagues’ reservations,White was convinced he could revive an interest in evolutionary theory among his fellow anthropologists. He wrote to Farber that his campaign on behalf of evolutionary theory was“going to be vastly different from anything that has appeared in the literature of American anthropology for many years”—as indeed it was (White to Farber,February 2, 1940, bhl-wp).White’s critique of Boas and Boasian anthropology in general was similar in tone to the more recent attacks by Derek Freeman on the value of Margaret Mead’s Samoan research (though White’s championship of evolutionary theory was sounder than Freeman’s diatribes against Mead). WhenWhite and Ralph Linton, then the editor of the American Anthropologist, met in Ann Arbor to discuss the proposed publication of White’s monograph about the pueblo of Santa Ana as a memoir of the American Anthropological Association, the subject of cultural evolution came up. White told Linton he believed cultural evolutionism had a place in anthropological method and theory.While Linton agreed withWhite in principle, he maintained that “the study of cultural evolution had many practical difficulties” (Linton to White, December 13, 1938, bhl-wp). Linton encouraged White to incorporate his views about the value of cultural evolutionism into his work and suggested he add two pages to an article that was scheduled to appear theAmericanAnthropologist,“A Problem in Kinship Terminology.”This eight-page essay was largely concerned with the Dakota– Iroquois type of kinship nomenclature and why some kinship systems disregard the principle of generation while others do not. In the final two pages,however, White wrote that the use of any theory is valuable if it makes things more understandable, that is, there must be a correspondence between observed facts and the illumination of what was once unknown. White lamented that there was a paucity of theory in anthropology alongside a plethora of data. He argued that the main problem facing American ethnology was not garnering more facts but the“interpretation of the facts we already possess in abundance” (White 1939b:573). 5 “[T]he fundamental process in cultural (superorganic)

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phenomena as well as in organic and even inorganic phenomena is, in the judgment of the present writer,evolutionary.The application of this viewpoint and principles of the philosophy of evolution is as essential to the solution of many problems in culturology as it is in biology or physics” (571). For White the question of kinship terminology was directly relevant to the evolution of culture. In response to a question posed by Donald Collier—Why are family groups preferable to clan groups under the conditions of nomadic plains life?— White wrote: All people have families; only some have clans. Clans represent a higher stage of cultural development than that of clan-less (pre-clan) peoples. The clan type of kinship reckoning therefore represents a higher stage of development than the mere family type (in pre-clan) societies. On the other hand, sedentary, agricultural peoples are on a higher stage of cultural development than nomadic,wild-food peoples.We tend to find the family type of kinship system therefore among the nomadic wildsubsistence peoples and the clan (plus family, of course) system among sedentary agricultural people.Thus in the plains area,the settled agricultural people had the clan system,the nomads the family system.When the agriculturalists gave up their sedentary life and horticulture and became nomadic hunters,they reverted to a lower stage of cultural development technologically and from the standpoint of kinship organization. The whole business is perfectly consistent with evolutionist theory. And it is evolutionist theory, it seems to me, that illuminates and explains it. [White to Collier, May 25, 1944, bhl-wp] Linton thought the conclusion toWhite’s paper was likely to create “some fireworks from kinship specialists” (Linton to White, May 30, 1939, bhl-wp), but it prompted no commentary and certainly did not produce any of the “repercussions” Linton anticipated (Linton toWhite, June 10, 1939, bhl-wp). Based on the Linton–White correspondence, it is difficult to ascertain who was more disappointed that a controversy had not been generated about the value of cultural evolutionism in anthropology.While it is impossible to prove that Linton and White wanted to create such a controversy, they certainly succeeded after the aaa session entitled “Theory and Method in Ethnology.”6 Organized and chaired by Linton,the session was intended to examine the state of the art in anthropological theory and field proposals for future research. Aside from White, other people who presented papers included Bronislaw Malinowski, Adam Kardiner, George Murdock, and George Herzog. White

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reported afterward to Farber that he had “blasted the anti-evolutionists with considerable vigor—and no little success—at the Chicago meeting” (White to Farber, January 5, 1940, Farber Papers, suny).White also wrote that he had argued that evolution was one of the most important concepts in philosophy and science,a position that was disputed by others. No written record of what White said exists, but there is no doubt that the paper he delivered that day left an indelible impression on those present. Many years later, in recalling the controversy his paper generated,White wrote:“When I had finished, Ralph Linton, the chairman of the session, remarked that I ought to be given the courtesy extended to suspected horse thieves and gamblers in the days of the Wild West, namely, to allow them time to get out of town before sundown” (White 1987:14). Aside from White’s recollection of the 1939 meeting, the only written record of what took place comes from Esther Goldfrank. 7 She recalled that White spoke with extreme passion, his tone strident and his language intemperate. According to Goldfrank Franz Boas alone was unmoved by White’s presentation, and his silence was “louder than any biting retort,” but “as could be expected, Boas’ friends (many of whom had been his students) quickly rose to his defense.” 8 In the folklore of the discipline, this is the day White seemingly metamorphosed into a different man, no longer the dedicated ethnographer he had been for the past decade. White’s new status as champion of evolutionary theory and seemingly lone critic of Boasian anthropology disturbed him. Richard MacNeish, who was attending the aaa meetings, recalled meeting White late in the evening after his presentation. White was very upset and believed everybody in the aaa hated him because of his attack on Boas.White jokingly referred to MacNeish, a Golden Gloves boxing winner, as his “bodyguard”. 9 One could not surmise from his published work that White was upset by the personal reaction to his ideas. However, it must be considered what the discipline was like between 1930 and the onset of World War II. Sol Tax recalled,“[D]uring the 1930s we had small meetings, with registration of 100 or 200. The program was a leaflet. There was only one session at a time. The spirit of the meeting mixed scholarly interchange with an air of a wedding when the whole family got together” (1960:512). To become a member of the aaa cost six dollars. And in 1940 the entire circulation of the American Anthropologist was only 1,300 copies (Linton toWhite, February 3, 1944, bhlwp). At the 1939 aaa meetings 89 people were registered and there was an even smaller number of panelists. 10 The meetings lasted four days and in total

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there were 45 papers presented. In this social milieu,White’s departure from a Boasian viewpoint was news.This upset people because anthropology was a closely knit profession. Frederica de Laguna has noted that before 1940: Professors and students alike were working among American Indians, and therefore, meeting situations arising from similar but not identical cultural configurations. They were also grappling with complex phonetic patterns that had considerable overlap of sounds, and with other languages that involved similar degrees of grammatical complexity. Many of us had archaeological experience too, and if we handled bones we were apt to be involved with American Indians. Thus, the experiences of one had an immediate relevancy for situations which another might encounter. We were so few in numbers that we knew each other personally, student and teacher alike, almost regardless of what institution we attended, and we listened to each others stories and impressions, learning much which was never committed to paper or imprisoned in a text book. [de Laguna 1962:2] While White’s departure from a Boasian viewpoint is remembered, the degree to whichWhite was supported by other scholars is relatively unknown. For instance, in 1940 White unsuccessfully applied to the Social Science Research Council (ssrc) for funding to support his work on the revival of evolutionary theory. The ssrc had funded two earlier projects: his studies of the pueblos of Santa Domingo and Sia. In his proposal he stated that he had written several articles about the life and work of Lewis Henry Morgan,taught a course at the University of Michigan on the evolution of culture,and believed that“an evolutionist approach to the study and interpretation of culture was not only valid but desirable.”White wrote that his work on cultural evolutionism would initially focus on the errors and misconceptions of the opponents of evolutionism in cultural anthropology. He also noted his awareness that “no amount of criticism of the anti-evolutionists will be of much use until I can offer something positive and constructive” (White, ssrc grant proposal, circa 1940, bhl-wp). His ultimate aim was to reestablish the theory of evolution in cultural anthropology in such a manner as to meet all the requirements of modern science and philosophy. He also believed his work was topical:“a work on cultural evolution would be particularly appropriate at this time. If the principles upon which social evolution has taken place could be discovered, if the laws of cultural development could be formulated, the present world crisis would not only be made intelligible, but a guide to the future would be

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provided.”To this end,White had the support of Alfred Kidder, who wrote in a letter to the ssrc: It gives me great pleasure to express a most favorable opinion of Dr. Leslie A. White and of his project for the study of the concept of evolution in cultural anthropology. . . . Unlike many ethnographers who devote their energies entirely to the amassing of facts, Dr. White has had the courage to come to grips with the fundamentals of human behavior. . . . It is particularly timely that a man of Dr.White’s ability should consider the matter of evolution in culture. The pendulum of that has swung in modern times far too strongly toward anti-evolutionism. Many of us have felt this tendency to be most unfortunate. We have, however, lacked a leader capable of starting the greatly needed swing in the other direction. [Kidder, December 23, 1940, bhl-wp] In a similarly laudatory vein, Harry Elmer Barnes wrote to the ssrc:“I can support [Leslie White’s] application with a good deal of enthusiasm. It seems to me that in many ways what he proposes to do is about the most important undertaking that could be envisaged in American social science today. The evolutionary idea, which once dominated the picture in social philosophy, has now fallen into undeserved dispute. . . . I believe that it can be accurately said that Dr. White is not only the most prepared person in the country to undertake this project, but literally about the only man who could turn the trick” (Barnes, December 31, 1940, bhl-wp). A select few other anthropologists wrote strong letters of recommendation on White’s behalf, including Fay-Cooper Cole, Carl Guthe, Alfred Kroeber, Ralph Linton,and Elsie Clews Parsons.While Cole and Parsons did not agree or even sympathize with the workWhite was doing on the evolution of culture, they supported him nonetheless. Cole, in particular, wrote many letters of recommendation and personally contacted individuals he knew at foundations onWhite’s behalf.Throughout the 1940s the two men exchanged many letters debating the amount of time and energyWhite should devote to evolutionary theory. Cole believed White was more suited to conventional fieldwork and was worried that he would stop going to the field. Cole expressed these reservations in a letter to University of Michigan Dean C. S.Yoakum,in which he enthusiastically supported White’s application to conduct an ethnological study of the Pueblo Sia. Cole wrote that White was a gifted fieldworker and had had considerable success in the past,continuing:“Another reason I should like to see Dr. White undertake this work is that I should like to have him

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actively engaged again in fieldwork. In the last three or four years he has spent a good deal of time on the theoretical aspects of Morgan’s work and in working up materials on Bandelier.While these are important pieces of work,I do not feel that they have contributed as much to ethnological knowledge and theory as this study might do. It is my personal opinion thatWhite is an able research man and that he should be encouraged to do the work for which I believe he is best fitted” (Cole toYoakum, June 5, 1941, bhl-wp). It is doubtful that White knew the degree to which Cole believed his primary area of interest should be ethnographic fieldwork. White reassured Cole he had no intention of giving up fieldwork and emphasized his view that evolutionary theory was an essential aspect of the science of anthropology. Although he was concerned that he would sound pompous,he wrote to Cole: In short, this is a job that needs to be done and I am the man to attempt it (at least) or do it. I know that there are not many anthropologists in America today who have much sympathy with what I want to do. I think this is due chiefly to the fact that they do not know sufficiently about it—and of course, they cannot be blamed for this. But Dr. Kidder does know something about it—we talked about this in Chicago after I talked on cultural evolution at the Xmas meeting. Dr. Kidder expresses great confidence in me and in the work I want to do. And, somehow, I felt that I wanted you to know there was someone who did have confidence in me and my proposed project. I have no thought of giving up field research at all. But I do want very badly to have this chance to do this particular piece of Work. [White to Cole, January 16, 1941, bhl-wp] Ralph Linton strongly encouragedWhite to write an article about cultural evolution for theAmericanAnthropologist,because“this is the sort of thing we are anxious to get” (Linton to White, December 14, 1939, bhl-wp). Linton even suggested the title“Conceptions and Misconceptions of Cultural Evolution.” White’s journal entries demonstrate that he was intellectually energized by the prospect of reviving evolutionary theory:“When I got home I began to write it up for theAmer[ican]Anthropologist. I kept on until I found myself with some 93 type written pages entirely too much for an article. I then decided to use only a portion of it for an article,and use the balance,together with a previous essay on ‘The Philosophy of American Anthropology’ as the basis for a book on Boas school of anthropology I hope to write someday” (White, journal, March 23, 1940, bhl-wp). In 1940 White submitted his article,“Anti-Evolutionism in Cultural An-

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thropology.” Linton felt it was not appropriate for publication because it was too long, contained unnecessary and extensive footnotes, and was overly polemical. Linton went to great lengths to assure White he was sympathetic to his attempt to reestablish cultural evolution and was more than willing to publish his work. Nonetheless, Linton had specific ideas about how White should approach the topic:“I would like to see the evolutionary hypothesis worked out in agreement with modern ideas on biological evolution”(Linton to White, November 6, 1940, bhl-wp). Linton continued that for theories of evolution to be valid, they should relate to factors present in the history of all cultures. In Linton’s opinion,the common denominator in cultural evolution was a trend toward increasing complexity. In other words, the evolution of culture must be equated with processes rather than with stages. He was, thus, interested in“a statement of what you believe these processes to be as distinct from a formulation of successive steps in evolutionary development.” In response to Linton’s critique, White agreed to cut the length of his article but he felt it was impossible to give his own formulation of the theory of cultural evolution. Instead, he argued it was enough to “demonstrate the fact that the critics of evolutionism have based their objections upon false assumptions and misconceptions”(White to Linton,November 15,1940,bhlwp).The lettersWhite exchanged with Linton clearly demonstrate he was so enthusiastic about the prospects of reintroducing the concept of evolutionary theory to American anthropologists he was willing to listen to editorial suggestions. White’s original “Anti-Evolutionism in Cultural Anthropology,” significantly revised and retitled “Energy and the Evolution of Culture,” was accepted for publication by Linton in July 1942. The article was a milestone,heralding a succession of articles in whichWhite forcefully attempted to revive evolutionary theory in the face of overwhelming opposition. This first article typifies the dogmatic tone, scope, and nature of the battle concerning the value of evolutionary theory. In it,White reduces a myriad of variables in culture to constants and broadly traces human history in terms of energy utilization. A number of “laws” are presented, the most important of which are: the degree of cultural development varies according to the amount of energy per capita per year that is harnessed and put to work; the degree of cultural development varies depending on the efficiency of the technological means with which the harnessed energy is put to work; culture develops when the amount of energy harnessed per capita per year is increased; culture evolves as the productivity of human labor increases; the social organization of a people is dependent upon and determined by

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the mechanical means with which food is secured, shelter provided, and defense maintained; in the process of cultural development, social evolution is a consequence of technological evolution; a social system may condition the operation of a technological system so as to impose a limit upon its development. White’s presentation of these laws is forceful, and he concludes his article with the vigor of a sermon: In the foregoing we have,we believe,a sound and illuminating theory of cultural evolution. We have hold of principles, fundamental principles, which are operative in all cultures and at all times and places.The motive force of cultural evolution is laid bare, the mechanisms of development made clear.The nature of the relationship between social institutions on the one hand and technological instruments on the other is indicated. Understanding that the function of culture is to serve the needs of man, we find that we have an objective criterion for evaluating culture in terms of the extent to which, and the efficiency with which, human needs are satisfied by cultural means. We can measure the amounts of energy expended; we can calculate the efficiency of the expenditure of energy in terms of measurable quantities of goods and services produced. And, finally, as we see, these measurements can be expressed in mathematical terms. [White 1943a:355] Had White ended his article there, almost certainly it would not have generated as much controversy as it did. But he was not content to simply illuminate the theory of cultural evolution. He also wanted to demonstrate how the ideas presented stemmed from the work of Lewis Henry Morgan, Tylor, and other 19th-century scholars. In so doing, he critiqued Franz Boas and threw down the gauntlet: The theory set forth in the preceding pages was . . . held by the foremost thinkers of the evolutionist school of the nineteenth century, both in England and in America. Today they seem to us as sound as they did to Tylor and Morgan, and, if anything, more obvious. It seems almost incredible that anthropologists of the twentieth century could have turned their backs upon and repudiated such a simple, sound, and illuminating generalization, one that makes the vast range of tens of thousands of years of culture history intelligible. But they have done just this.The anti-evolutionists, led in America by Franz Boas, have rejected the theory of evolution in cultural anthropology—and have instead a philosophy of “planless hodge-podge-ism.” [White 1943a:355]

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Although it was stated quite clearly,an essential point became lost inWhite’s attack on Boas and antievolutionism in American anthropology:the influence they had had on the social sciences in general. This was a critical component of White’s argument,for as he wrote to Raymond Kennedy:“It is remarkable to survey the influence which they exerted during the past few decades and the extent to which they have turned the minds of social scientists against one of the most basic concepts in all science—for evolution is a concept growing constantly in importance in astronomy and physics today. And I wanted to tie my thesis as closely as possible with the work of older evolutionists whom Boas, Lowie, Goldenweiser, and others have attacked so unmercifully and for so long” (White to Kennedy,August 21, 1943, bhl-wp). Before turning to the implications of and reactions toWhite’s championship of evolutionary theory, it is important to discuss two other influential articles: “Morgan’s Attitude toward Religion and Science” (1944b) and “Diffusion vs. Evolution: An Anti-Evolutionist Fallacy” (1945b). In the former,White demonstrated that contrary to statements by Bernhard Stern, Ralph Linton, and A. R. Radcliffe-Brown, Morgan was not a religious man. He refuted the misconceptions that Morgan never accepted Darwinism and that Morgan sided with the church in the intellectual struggle between science and theology that dominated the era in which he lived. As proof,White wanted to include a facsimile of one of Darwin’s letters to Morgan, but Linton felt this would be too costly (Linton to White,August 18 and August 21, 1942, bhl-wp). White believed the Darwin letter had intrinsic interest, likening it to a museum “exhibit” (White to Linton, August 20, 1942, bhl-wp). White and Linton exchanged several heated letters over this issue. White even offered to pay for its publication but Linton refused to include it because it “would not strengthen your case in spite of your kind offer” (Linton to White August 21, 1942, bhl-wp). White clearly demonstrated, via his detailed knowledge of Morgan’s writings, that his opponents were not intimately familiar with Morgan’s scholarship. However,this was not the main thrust of White’s article,for he concluded with the polemic:“[I]f we see Morgan as a man who never emancipated himself from his theological background, as a conservative Biblicist, all of whose researches were dominated by religion, as a man who could not bring himself to accept Darwinism, we are not likely to think much of his contribution to anthropology” (White 1944b:230). White firmly believed that Morgan’s detractors failed to respect his scientific contributions,thereby finding another means to discredit the theory of evolution in cultural anthropology.

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White’s tone in this article was strident but fell short of the bitter retorts that characterized his later exchanges with Robert Lowie. However,White’s tone in“Diffusion vs. Evolution:An Anti-Evolutionist Fallacy”was obviously sarcastic. This was the first article by White to appear under the aegis of J. Alden Mason, the new editor of the American Anthropologist. Like Linton, Mason solicited work from White, explaining he was looking for a “corker” (Mason to White, March 2, 1945, Mason Papers, apl). The resultant essay was largely concerned with antievolutionism, in White’s estimation “one of the principal theoretical contributions of the Boas school” (White 1945b:354). White argued that Morgan and Tylor recognized and used diffusion in their work, contrary to the antievolutionist belief that they were unaware of the concept and that evolutionism was negated by diffusion.White demonstrated that both Morgan and Tylor were not only aware of diffusion but recognized it as a significant force of culture change in their evolutionary thinking.White went on to argue that“the Boas school has confused evolution of culture with the culture history of peoples.” Evolutionists such as Morgan and Tylor were, according toWhite,describing a culture process in terms of stages of development. InWhite’s view, they never argued that a tribe had to go through stages A and B before arriving at stage C.White held that “the Boas school has tried to apply these formulas that describe a process of cultural development to the culture history of a people. Naturally, the attempt failed; the cultural formulas have nothing to do with peoples. But instead of discovering their own mistakes, the Boasians rejected the evolutionists’ formula” (343).White concluded: The triumph of the “diffusion negates evolution” argument and its success for so many years presents an interesting problem for the student of the behavior of scientists and the growth of scientific tradition. How could an error, which when exposed seems almost absurdly obvious, have had such a run. . . . It is indeed a remarkable phenomenon, one that invites reflection upon the nature of tradition among scientists. We have shown in an earlier article [White 1944b] how error, once established in anthropology, may be perpetuated indefinitely. We seem to have another example here. Graduate students have been taught for years that the facts of diffusion“lay the axe root of any theory of cultural evolution.”They grow up, write books, and teach new generations of students that diffusion negates evolution.And so the error grows,gaining authority with added years. . . . The error is still alive and appears to be flourishing. One can only wonder how much longer it will persist. [354]

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Controversy

White’s championship of evolutionary theory,particularly his criticism of Boas, had a profound impact on him intellectually,personally,and professionally. He quickly became known as a maverick for his forceful attacks on Boas and Lowie. Kluckhohn maintained that White “poured acid on some members of our trade union because they practiced ceremonial avoidance on this great concept of evolution” (Kluckhohn 1960:233).Taking a broader view, Robert Murphy maintained that whenWhite began his defense of cultural evolution it “was in shambles and without adherents”and his efforts to“revive the work of Morgan must rate as one of the most courageous intellectual stands ever taken by an anthropologist” (Murphy 1977:28). Similarly, Eric Wolf characterized White as “an evolutionist prophet crying in an antievolutionary wilderness that yielded no sympathetic echo” (Wolf 1964:27–28). 11 In recalling those years,White wrote that when he began his efforts to rehabilitate evolutionary theory, [t]he ethnologist who held to the theory of evolution found neither friend nor refuge on the anthropological landscape. For years I was virtually alone in my advocacy of cultural evolutionism.To make matters worse,I came to the defense of Lewis H. Morgan;I felt that he had been treated very unfairly by Boas and his disciples—alternately ridiculed or ignored—and labored to restore him to the place of dignity, honor, and great scientific achievement that he had enjoyed during his lifetime before Franz Boas came to America. I was ridiculed, and scoffed at. Everyone knew that evolutionism was dead; my non-conformist behavior was regarded as an aberration, which in my case, was found to be obnoxious to some. [White 1987:14] White’s views were indeed unwelcome, and a great deal of animosity was directed at him. For instance,he was once psychoanalyzed to his face by Ruth Benedict, an experience that he considered unwarranted—especially as her analysis was far from flattering. Benedict thought White had a problem with authority that bordered on paranoia.White was also subjected to much gossip, some of it mean-spirited. For example,in an exchange of letters between Esther Goldfrank and Morris Opler, the former maintained that White’s attacks on Boas were “compulsive and largely unjustified.”Without a shred of evidence, Goldfrank wrote that“I discussed Leslie with Margaret Mead.We both agreed he must have an almost unbelievable father-hatred. Boas, with whom he never studied (He got an M.A. at Columbia, but not in anthropology) has

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become . . . a convenient whipping boy for Leslie”(Goldfrank to Opler,April 5,1968,Goldfrank Papers,naa). In short,White’s evolutionism was considered to be an aberration and his nonconformist views were often ridiculed or scoffed at. There is no doubt that Boas and his students were primarily responsible for the total rejection of evolutionary theory within the social sciences in general and anthropology in particular. By 1931 Alexander Goldenweiser, writing of “Evolution, Social” in the Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, noted that the consensus among anthropologists was that evolutionary theory was dead. In what appeared to be an obituary for an intellectual concept, Goldenweiser asserted that “with the accumulation of adequate anthropological material the concept of uniformity and of stages was shaken, and then collapsed altogether”(Goldenweiser 1931:661).Again:“The ideological heritage which evolutionism has left to posterity is not impressive” and “if there is social evolution, whatever it may be, it is no longer accepted as a process to be contemplated.”A few years later,inAnthropology (1937),Goldenweiser indexed the names and works of the most significant anthropologists; Morgan is mentioned once and Boas over 40 times. Likewise, in General Anthropology, edited by Boas (1938), Morgan is mentioned just once in passing. Anthropology, under the strong influence of Boas and his students, had clearly dismissed evolutionary theory and moved on.The field was dominated by ahistorical and highly particularistic empirical studies devoid of theory. FromWhite’s isolated post at the University of Michigan,Boas and his students must have appeared to be a formidable and united force,in spite of their diverse specializations. At the nadir of antievolutionism, Berthold Laufer, a young colleague of Boas, reviewing Lowie’s Culture and Ethnology in the American Anthropologist, wrote: The theory of cultural evolution, to my mind is the most inane, sterile, and pernicious theory ever conceived in the history of science (a cheap toy for the amusement of children) is duly disparaged [by Lowie]. . . . Culture cannot be forced into the straightjacket of any theory whatever it may be, nor can it be reduced to chemical or mathematical formulae. Nature has no laws, so culture has none. It is as vast and as free as the ocean, throwing its waves and currents in all directions. . . . All that the practical investigator can hope for, at least for the present, is to study each cultural phenomenon as exactly as possible in its geographical distribution, its historical development and its relation or association with

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other kindred ideas. The more theories will be smashed, the more new facts will be established,the better for the progress of our science. [Laufer 1918:90] Perhaps the main problemWhite faced was simply that his fellow anthropologists did not understand why he attacked Boas so vigorously. Edward Kennard wrote to White that after reading his articles in the American Anthropologist, he had the impression Boas and his students “got together in the back room of a saloon and hatched a plot to kill evolutionary theory in anthropology in league with Bible Belt Fundamentalists who were opposed to the theory in biology” (Kennard toWhite, May 14, 1946, bhl-wp). It was not that Boas was above reproach,for by the 1940s Goldenweiser,Kroeber,and others within the Boasian milieu had taken exception to some tenets of Boasian anthropology. Thus it was not necessarilyWhite’s critique of Boasian anthropology alone that caused other scholars to react so strongly but ratherWhite’s style—a full frontal assault. Letters White received from a former student doing graduate studies at the University of California–Berkeley during the mid-1940s, Stephen Cappanneri,gave him an insider’s view of how theWest Coast anthropologists regarded him. Cappannari was routinely quizzed by Kroeber,Lowie,and other faculty members of the anthropology department about why White was so hostile to Boas. Robert Heiser told Cappannari thatWhite was one of a select few who could make Lowie truly angry, and that there was the perception White’s views were, in part, based on his being a communist (Cappannari to White,June 11,1947,bhl-wp). 12 Both Lowie and Kroeber seemed convinced that the root causes of White’s conversion to evolutionary thinking and his attacks on Boas were politically motivated. Neither man thought that White was currently a “Russian sympathizer,” but they clearly implied that he had been on his return from the Soviet Union in 1929 (Cappanari toWhite, June 11, 1947, bhl-wp). Alfred Kroeber asked White point-blank about his “feelings” toward Boas, in part because of his sharply critical review of Boas’s Race and Democratic Society (1947n), in whichWhite argued that Boas’s reputation would undergo a great deflation.There was a general belief thatWhite’s critiques of Boas were becoming obsessive (Stern 1948). Kroeber toldWhite that people“wondered about it; and I don’t know the answer. I don’t think it’s on evolution because you have been letting me off so easily and I don’t think I am any better than Boas”(Kroeber toWhite,February 5,1947,bhl-wp). Kroeber was concerned that he might offend White and closed his letter,“I hope I did not hurt your

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feelings”—at issue in his letter was simply “Boas’ greatness, achievement and recognition within anthropology.”White responded: I do not believe that my feelings about [Boas are] any stronger than the feelings of dozens of his admirers—or, as you once said, of his disciples who “literally worshipped him.”The only thing exceptional about my feelings is that they are negative rather than positive. Intense loyalty and admiration or even worship of Boas seems to be taken for granted but a severely critical attitude toward him seems to require some explaining. Perhaps the following factors might explain further my feelings about him. He has been regarded as perhaps the greatest anthropologist of all times and has been held up before the world as the very essence of the scientific spirit and as a man of colossal scientific achievements, whereas I am firmly convinced by some 20-odd years of observation and reflection that he was quite muddle-headed, incapable of creative imagination, and philosophic synthesis, and at many points directly opposed to the spirit and procedure of science. I believe I can adduce enough evidence to convince any impartial observer that he has done American anthropology a great injury and that it will take a long time to recover from his effects upon it. If I am correct in these beliefs, then the reason for my “feeling” ought to be fairly clear. [White to Kroeber, February 27, 1947, Kroeber Papers, bl] White wrote to George Foster in a similar vein, explaining that “a number of years study and reflection have convinced me that Boas had done anthropology in America a great deal of harm,that he was an anti-scientist in many respects. The image of Boas, created by his disciples, is so unrealistic as to be almost fantastic. This can be demonstrated, and will be some day. We would have to go to the field of religious cults and messianic movements to find its parallel” (White to Foster, September 13, 1945, bhl-wp). White also wrote that his “feelings” about Boas might not be as anomalous as one would think. White based this assessment on a multitude of personal letters he had received, the vast majority of which praised his work. Of the many enthusiastic responses White received to “Energy and the Evolution of Culture,” none was more generous than that of Ashley Montagu, who wrote: “When I read something good I generally put it away for a while lest my enthusiasm overcome my judgment, and return to it on a later occasion that I may read and judge again. I have done this with your paper on ‘Energy and the Evolution of Culture.’This seems to me to be the best general statement

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of the problem yet written, and I wish to thank you for the clarification. I wish you would write a book along the lines of your paper, incorporating the excellent ideas embedded in your recent papers. I say‘embedded’because that is what seems to happen to so many periodical issues,whereas a book somehow commands attention” (Montagu toWhite, January 26, 1944, bhl-wp). Other letters White received were severely critical of Boas; for example, Howard Jensen wrote that White’s critiques were long overdue and that he was “amazed at the looseness with what you call the Boas school or as I call it the Boassinine”(Jensen toWhite,November 6,1945,bhl-wp). CarlWilliams, a member of the slp, wrote to White,“Wouldn’t it be proper now to have an anthropological funeral pyre to rid the earth of these perambulating lumps of contradictory nonsense” (Williams to White, December 7, 1947, bhl-wp). Similarly, J. O. Brew wrote that he was in complete agreement with White’s “anti-Boas” views, adding that he had “often been castigated for this, and it is very nice to have someone else bear the brunt of the lash for a while”(Brew to White, February 1, 1947, bhl-wp). Letters such as these and a severely critical article about Boas by Stanley Hyman (1954) inspired White to continue his critiques of Boas. Characterizing the response to his work,White wrote to George Foster:“I have received quite a number of letters about it and I have been surprised to learn how many people have been pleased that someone has at last had the temerity to criticize the master. Their pleasure seems to arise from a repressed resentment against Boas which they dared not express—or perhaps admit. But almost everyone who has written to me has some grievance, and they are all different. I get the impression that if we added up all those grievances & complaints we would have a fairly comprehensive indictment of Boas” (White to Foster, September 13, 1945, bhl-wp). One more quote demonstrates the contradictions in the response toWhite’s work. Esther Goldfrank, a vocal critic of White who wrote very negative reviews of both his fieldwork and his comments on Boas, actually praised White’s effort to revive evolutionary theory. Goldfrank wrote to White that she and her husband, Karl Wittfogel, thought his work was “excellent” and cleared up some shabby thinking. Goldfrank noted that in contrast toWhite’s 1939 presentation at the aaa meeting,“What you have written now is much better—naturally the quotations are fuller—but while the earlier fervor is still there, it is more tempered and balanced. I am very glad it has been said—and in applauding you I feel no disloyalty to Boas. He would have been the first to criticize bad theory in others. His own critical judgments were uneven.While he clarified many points, he certainly made it difficult for his students to ever

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make contributions on the synthetic level. Anthropology is embarking on a new life. I think your article will give it a necessary shot in the arm”(Goldfrank toWhite, September 5, 1945, Goldfrank Papers, naa). After “Energy and the Evolution of Culture” appeared White ordered 200 copies of his article and sent it not only to those he felt would be sympathetic to his views but to those who would be critical as well. In response White received dozens of letters, many positive but quite a few critical. A common theme among those that critiqued his work was that he did not adequately detail his own views of cultural evolution. One of the most astute responses White received came fromWilliam Ogburn. Ogburn wrote thatWhite’s article was “very bold dealing with a big subject and should cause a lot of discussion” (Ogburn to White, October 6, 1943, bhl-wp). However, Ogburn added that he was“inclined to join the critics,who will be many”because he did not think energy could be broken down so neatly into thermal units. Ogburn believed energy was important but that White “painted with strokes that were too broad,”noting that his formula did not adequately deal with religion or writing. Based on reactions such as Ogburn’s,White wrote to Linton,“I have had a few interesting letters from readers. . . . I should not be surprised if you should receive an article in the near future blasting me to pieces for my heresies—or other faults”(White to Linton,circa fall 1943,bhl-wp). Linton wrote back,“If I do receive an article blasting you on your theories of energy and the evolution of culture, I shall accept it or otherwise, according to its merits. After that the discussions will have to be reduced to ‘Brief Communication’ size since we have just had an extra cut in our paper supply” (Linton to White September 28, 1943, bhl-wp). (During World War II paper was strictly rationed by the government,delaying the publication of many articles and dictating the length of the journal and the aaa Memoirs.) Of all those with whom he crossed swords,White’s exchanges with Robert Lowie were the most heated, polemical and, in a word, nasty. Both men were gifted debaters and their respective articles are peppered with withering phrases and observations. For example, in “Evolution in Cultural Anthropology: A Reply to Leslie White,” Lowie maintained that White’s last three articles in the American Anthropologist (“Energy and the Evolution of Culture,” “Morgan’s Attitude toward Religion,” and “Diffusion vs. Evolution”) obscured vital issues.“ProfessorWhite should relax.There are no underground machinations. Evolution as a scientific doctrine—not as a farrago of immature metaphysical notions—is secure. Morgan’s place in the history of anthropology will turn out to be what he deserves” (Lowie 1946a:223). Lowie went on to

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comment that while he“did not . . . impugnWhite’s good faith;the obsessive power of fanaticism unconsciously warp’s one’s vision” (224). Lowie also took strong exception to White equating Boas’s antievolutionism with the antievolutionism of supernatural explanations of life and mind. He maintained there was “no Boasian sect, so there is no Boasian reactionary philosophy of hodge-podge-ism” (226). According to Darnell (1977:18) White’s selection of Lowie’s well-known characterization of civilization as a “planless hodge-podge” is misleading. She maintains Lowie’s term about the concept of culture is consistently misinterpreted. She has two points to argue. First, during the 1920s Boasian anthropology simply did not permit any type of generalizations about the integration of culture. The studies that did emerge were used to prove that the unilinear evolution of culture did not occur as outlined by 19-century evolutionists such as Morgan and Tylor. Second, many of Boas’s students, Lowie among them, were just as frustrated as White in their attempts to grasp the larger significance of their work. In fact Lowie believed that he, Robert Thurnwald, A. R. Radcliffe-Brown, Paul Radin, Alexander Lesser, and Bronislaw Malinowski could all be considered evolutionists in one sense or another. Hence, Lowie concluded,“White’s gloomy picture of most contemporary anthropologists plunged into Cimmerian darkness, unrelieved by a single lambent ray of evolution, is preposterous” (Lowie 1946a:227). White and Lowie each have valid arguments. And if one looks past the polemics involved in the argument concerning the value of evolutionary theory,I think White is expressing not only his frustration about evolutionary theory but also about the lack of theory in general. All the aforementioned scholars were to some extent muzzled by the lack of theoretical constructs in the discipline. For example,Malinowski,who was in no way dominated or indebted to Boas, wrote:“As a member of the ‘inner ring,’ I may say that, whenever I meet Mrs. Seligman, or Dr. Lowie, or discuss matters with Radcliffe-Brown or Kroeber, I become at once aware that my partner does not understand anything in the matter, and I usually end with the feeling that this applies also to myself. This refers to all our writings in kinship and is fully reciprocal”(Malinowski 1930). In Lowie’s viewWhite grossly misunderstood the status of the problem,that is, Boas and his students did not reject evolutionary theory out of bad faith or bigotry. Thus in response to White’s claim that Boasian anthropologists ignored and belittled Morgan’s contribution to anthropology, Lowie wrote: “What, precisely, doesWhite expect? An academic muezzin at every center of learning who shall lead anthropologists in daily Rochester-ward obeisances

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White, circa 1949.White gave a brief radio lecture,“Energy and the Development of Civilization,” at the intermission of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra.The broadcast was aired nationally.

White’s father, Alvin Lincoln White, circa 1900–1905

White’s sister, Helen White, circa 1909

White, Denver, Colorado, winter

1917–18

(Opposite).White in his naval uniform, 1919

White, Santa Domingo, fall 1928

The Open Road Tour Group, Soviet Union, 1929

White and Mary Pattison White, 1935

White, 1959


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and genuflections?” (Lowie 1946a:223). White took Lowie’s criticisms seriously and respected his views, even though he did not agree with them. After reading Lowie’s“Evolution in CulturalAnthropology,”White wrote to Barnes: The lion [a widely used sobriquet for Lowie, in whose native German lowe means lion] has finally become so exasperated by my persistent annoyance that he has lashed back: I hope you have access to the last issue of the Anthropologist in which Lowie endeavors to annihilate me. And for good measure, a long letter by one David Bidney appears in the discussion and correspondence section also bent upon extermination. And, as if this were not enough, Dr. E. U. Condon, a physicist who is the director of the National Bureau of Standards inWashington,has held me up before the youth of the land as a good example of the sort of person they should shun and avoid like the plague. . . . I am not unduly disturbed or upset by Lowie’s onslaught but I must confess that I am a bit disturbed.You are, of course, an old hand at being on the receiving end of abuse and assaults while it is comparatively new to me. [White to Barnes,April 13, 1946, Barnes Papers, ahc] The ill-tempered exchanges between White and Lowie were not solely White’s responsibility, as some have maintained—for example, Service’s characterization of White as an “essayist–debater and short tempered polemicist” (1981:30). Murphy has noted that Lowie “sometimes expressed his various disagreements as polite demurres [sic], but when he found himself in fundamental opposition to another anthropologist’s views he frequently took the aggressive—as he did when he disagreed with Professor Leslie White” (Murphy 1972:7). 13 White continually tried to tone down the rhetoric in his writings but was encouraged by editors such as Linton to attack Lowie and the antievolutionists with as much force as possible. After reading Lowie’s caustic reply,White was deeply concerned with the rhetoric of his exchanges with other anthropologists. Cappannari wrote to White that he was disappointed in the latest issue of the American Anthropologist and pointed out that while he agreed with White’s “negative evaluation of Boas I simply feel that when you do write a long article on the subject, it will not hurt the reception of your thesis if you briefly acknowledge his positive contributions” (Cappannari to White, June 11, 1947, bhl-wp). Other anthropologists would appreciate his critique more, Cappannari told White, if they thought he had a grasp of the overall contribution Boas had made to anthropology. White sought out the advice of Harry Elmer Barnes, for Barnes had been

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unmercifully attacked in the past for his revisionist histories of both world wars. 14 Barnes advisedWhite that he should not take the criticism of scholars he did not respect seriously,commenting that he could“gather six volumes of published and epistolary attacks on me. I used to take them hard,but no more” (Barnes toWhite,April 15,1946,bhl-wp). Barnes suggested thatWhite try to restrict his comments to the intellectual battle at hand, counseling,“Perhaps you could be more suave in verbiage.”White responded that Lowie was simply “too old to change” his views and thus:“I propose to offer a rejoinder to the Anthropologist which I shall actually though not formally address to the readers of the Anthropologist rather than to Lowie. . . . I do think that I might do well to use somewhat more moderate language in the future:I might actually make style and presentation more effective by doing so. My accents have been somewhat strident in the past, perhaps because I was crying out pretty much alone in the wilderness and wanted very much to have someone hear me”(White to Barnes,April 19, 1946, Barnes Papers, ahc). White was becoming convinced that toning down the rhetoric of his exchanges with Lowie was a good idea. He wrote to Barnes two weeks later:“I am preparing a rejoinder to Lowie which I hope to have ready soon. I am making a special point of keeping out of it all emotionally tinged words and expressions such as insults,sarcasm,venom,etc. I think this might be more effective than to reply to him in kind. And in the future I think I shall write in a more moderate style since I need not now,I think, resort to strident tones in order to attract attention and the more restrained style will perhaps be more effective. Not that I wish to become as dull and as arid as brother Lowie,however”(White to Barnes,May 3,1946,Barnes Papers,ahc). White wrote in a similar vein to Mason at the American Anthropologist when he submitted his reply to Lowie’s article: “I have made a special point of having the tone as impersonal as possible” (White to Mason, June 18, 1946, Mason Papers,apl).White’s article,“Evolutionism in CulturalAnthropology:A Rejoinder”(1947h) was not nearly as diplomatic as he thought.While its tone is not sarcastic,White’s deeply felt personal beliefs virtually leap off the page. It was aimed at clarifying his views,which he believed Lowie confused;foremost among them were Lowie’s evaluation of Morgan,Boas’s antievolutionist views, diffusion versus evolution,and the role of the Catholic Church with regard to evolutionary theory. I would argue that beyond the harsh exchanges and the firmly held intellectual disagreement over the value of evolutionary theory, there was an even more fundamental difference between the two men: their personal feelings about Lewis Henry Morgan were polar opposites. White perceived Morgan as an intellectual father figure. He deeply admired the man

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as a scholar and human being, despite the fact that their lives were separated by a century. Morgan reminds me of my father to an amazing degree. Mary, too, sees many points of similarity: a propensity for noticing details of structure, and especially of measuring rooms,walls,doors,etc.;both simply loathed aristocracy and all that went with it; my father did not see the political significance of the Roman Church as Morgan did, but otherwise he felt the same about it as Morgan did. On the other hand, my father did not have the regard for Protestant churches that Morgan did; my father thought they were all useless at best and damned hypocrisy on the average. Both were “republicans,” believers in “democracy.” But this is not so surprising. Both derived from New EnglandYankees;both reflect quite clearly many of the ideals of the revolutionary fathers. Another point of similarity is their fondness for the Classics. My father made translations of the Aeneid (I can’t even spell it!) and other classics,writing them out in full in leather bound surveying books. Morgan fairly reveled in Rome among the remains of Caesar,Pompey,Scipio,Africanus,Mark Anthony, etc. [White to Farber, February 29, 1936, Farber Papers, suny] Lowie, in contrast, thought Morgan’s fame as an ethnologist was entirely due to his “discovery” by Marx and Engels. In his influential bookThe History of EthnologicalTheory, Lowie asserted it was by this “freak of fortune” that Lewis Henry Morgan, whose main contribution to ethnology lies in its most aridly technical field—kinship terminologies—has achieved the widest international celebrity of all anthropologists. Naturally this is not due to his solid achievements, but to a historical accident: his Ancient Society (1877) attracted the notice of Marx and Engels, who accepted and popularized its evolutionary doctrines as being in harmony with their own philosophy. As a result it was promptly translated into various European tongues,and German workingmen would sometimes reveal an uncanny familiarity with the Hawaiian and Iroquois mode of designating kin, matters not obviously connected with proletarian revolution. [Lowie 1937:54] Obviously, Lowie did not consider Morgan to be an intellectual “giant” or on the same level as Darwin, Newton, or Spencer—as did White (Lowie to White, December 27, 1938, bhl-wp). In print Lowie wrote that at a “purely personal”level,he could“not take kindly to him as a scientific personality. . . .

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I resent his dreary schematism; . . . I find little evidence in him for that sympathetic projection into alien mentality which anthropology is supposed to foster” (Lowie 1946a:225). In contrast,White wrote that Morgan’s work “had been alternately ignored, belittled, misrepresented,” and sometimes grossly distorted by Boasian anthropologists. “I have tried to defend him against these injustices. To Lowie, my attitude seems to be one of fanaticism and blind hero-worship; to me, it is merely a sense of justice and fair play” (White 1947h:401). White’s choice of words here was purposeful; he was offended by Lowie’s earlier review of Pioneers in American Anthropology:The Bandelier– Morgan Letters, a volume he had edited. Lowie had written,“Professor White sporadically succumbs to a melodramatic conception of his hero, but his periodic onslaughts against the powers of darkness—the largely imaginary calumniators of Morgan—do not seriously mar the text” (Lowie 1941:196). White argued that if evolutionism is secure in anthropology,“it is so in spite of Boasians rather than because of anything they have done to aid it.According to their own statements,the record of their achievements,and the testimony of others,the Boas school has fought the theory of cultural evolution with vigor, tenacity and success for decades”(White 1947i:410). He insisted that Morgan was treated unfairly on a multitude of grounds, but what disturbed White most was Lowie’s attempt to paint two Catholic priests, Fathers Schmidt and Koppers,as evolutionists at heart.This assertion was wrong,fromWhite’s perspective,because Schmidt and Koppers made a distinction between evolution and evolutionism—a distinction hard to understand but critically important. Like Lowie, Schmidt and Koppers accepted evolutionary stages existed—that is, germs of development (a phrase used by Morgan)—but for White it took much more than an occasional reference to the evolutionary process to make one an evolutionist. According toWhite there were three important points in Lowie’s attempt to characterize Catholic priests as evolutionists: first, Fathers Schmidt and Koppers, cited by Lowie as evolutionists, were unequivocally opposed to evolutionary theory in the science of culture. Second, Boas and many of his students had been highly praised by a prominent Jesuit priest for their staunch opposition to evolution. Third, Lowie was repeatedly cited by antievolutionists for his fight against evolutionary theory in general and his critique of Morgan in particular. In White’s estimation, Boas and his students were responsible for the rejection of Morgan and evolutionary theory. However, the intellectual bias against evolutionism also included nonevolutionary functionalists such as Malinowski and Radcliffe-Brown,the age-old concept of supernaturalism,the

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church, the power of the state, and the “American way of life.” Boas may have been the vehicle for antievolutionism, but “vested interests”—the church in particular—were inherently antievolutionary.The fact that anthropology was used by the church to justify its theological theories appalled White. Father Joseph Williams, professor of cultural anthropology at Boston College and president of the JesuitAnthropologicalAssociation,praised Boas and Lowie for their indefatigable efforts in the fight against evolutionism.Williams believed the theory of evolutionism was steadily losing ground, largely due the work of Boas and Lowie, yet White was told by Lowie to “relax,”White concluded that thanks to their clerical comrades in arms, with the disciples of Boas “gladly affirming” their faith in the teaching of the master, those who wish to see ethnology make full use of one of its most powerful tools will be ill-advised to relax their efforts—for the present at least. I would not agree, however, with Father Williams’ prediction of a decade ago. I do not believe that evolutionism is “steadily losing ground” at the present time. On the contrary, the letters I have received in response to my articles, especially from the younger anthropologists, lead me to believe that there is some dissatisfaction with the Boasian point of view and considerable interest in evolutionism. [White 1947i:411] As the debate between White and Lowie raged, J. Alden Mason, editor of theAmericanAnthropologist,had two primary concerns:first,the commentaries about the merits of evolutionary theory were becoming increasingly harsh and personal; second, despite the vigorous interest in evolutionary theory, “no matter how important the subject a discussion cannot go on forever or the Anthropologist would be turned into a forum” (Mason to White, June 22, 1946, Mason Papers, apl). In Mason’s estimation, the debate concerning evolutionary theory had almost run its course. Mason came to this conclusion in part because of White’s review of Alfred Kroeber’s Configurations of Culture Growth. Several months before receiving “Diffusion vs. Evolution,” Mason had asked White to review Kroeber’s book—an assignment White gladly accepted.15 White’s analysis of Kroeber’s book quickly grew beyond a standard book review, becoming a full-length article built around Kroeber’s book. Mason was so eager to read White’s essay that he failed to acknowledge receiving it, because he “took it home at once to read it over the weekend” (Mason to White, September 14, 1945, Mason Papers, apl). Mason’s only hesitation in printing it was that “it will add to the belief of Linton etc. that

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I was chosen by the ‘Old Guard’ for the purpose of purging the aa of all quasi-psychological and other similar recent trends.”Mason went on to write: I think articles of this nature, discussions on the scope of anthropology, where we are bound and whether the destination is worthwhile after we get there, etc., are exactly what the journal of the “science” should publish. You do slam the Boas school pretty hard, but so long as the criticism remains on an impersonal scientific plane without personal animosity I’m all for such discussion. However, of course I can’t turn aa into a forum, and if Lowie, Linton, Benedict, et al each sends in a long rebuttal, I’ll have to call a halt somewhere. If they do, maybe I’ll ask you to reformulate your argument and publish the whole discussion as a memoir. As the matter is so hot at the moment, I’ll send it in next week. . . . I got a very short note from Kroeber. . . . He said it was up to me to decide whether to print it or not,but not to refuse on his account since he considers it more complimentary to him than otherwise. In “Kroeber’s Configurations of Culture Growth,”White heralded the book as Kroeber’s magnum opus, “a huge work, the result of much thought and prodigious labor, the mature fruit of an exceptionally able and energetic mind,one that has been occupied with anthropological theories and problems for over forty years” (White 1946a:78). Kroeber’s book raised key issues in anthropology and provided White with a sounding board for many of the ideas he was trying to put forth. It did not matter to White that Kroeber failed to identify any cross-cultural regularities;the point was that he had tried to break away from the narrow confines of Boasian anthropology. Instead of seeing civilization as a “planless hodge-podge,” Kroeber attempted in Configurations of Culture Growth to“find his way out of the Boasian wilderness, where there was no rhyme or reason, into a world that is intelligible, one that makes sense” (79). In White’s estimation, Kroeber was the lone Boasian who believed that culture was a distinct level of phenomena and that “science of culture [was] needed to grasp and interpret culture as a distinct order of reality, to lay bare and explain that majestic order pervading civilization” (91). According to White the most remarkable thing about Kroeber was the extent to which he successfully made generalizations compared to other students of Boas. Kroeber’s efforts in this regard were critiqued by Boas’s students, foremost among them were Sapir and Goldenweiser, but these critiques were not as polemical as the exchanges betweenWhite and Lowie. For

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example,in theAnthropology of Modern Life,Boas wrote that Kroeber considered “culture a mystic entity that exists outside the society of its individual carriers and that moves by its own force”(Boas 1928:235). Similarly,Benedict accused Kroeber of using“mystical phraseology”and a“force he calls the superorganic to account for the cultural process” (Benedict 1934:231). This opposition to any sort of generalization ledWhite to conclude: Boas had no use for all embracing systems, broad generalizations or philosophic syntheses. . . . On all these points Boas was opposed to the spirit and procedure of science everywhere.The domination of much of American anthropology by such a man for almost four decades has been of course exceedingly unfortunate.To be led by one who was opposed to theorizing,generalizations,syntheses,and philosophic systems,who was a cultural anti-evolutionist, a mind incapable of envisaging a science of culture,could not have been other than disastrous for anthropology. Boas’ reactionary outlook and strong personal influence have done American anthropology an injury from which it will be slow to recover. [White 1946a:91] Kroeber, to whomWhite sent the review article before publication, wrote toWhite that he liked it and believed “you have treated me in a most friendly spirit”(Kroeber toWhite,September 11,1945,bhl-wp). Kroeber maintained that they had much in common and their differences were a matter of degree or emphasis rather than of kind. White’s article and his correspondence with Kroeber demonstrate that the heart of their disagreement concerned the way in which they believed culture could be studied and what was known about it. According to Kroeber, “we do not really understand either its [culture’s] origin or its fundamental nature. It seems to me that we know a lot about culture, but there is also a lot which we do not know, or, at any rate, have not yet developed clear conceptualization for” (Kroeber toWhite, November 19, 1945, bhl-wp). In an earlier letter White took the exact opposite view, writing that there was very little we did not understand about culture,arguing that anthropologists had fairly good answers to the most fundamental questions about the nature of culture (White to Kroeber,November 19,1945,bhl-wp). This basic disagreement was to become an underlying theme in the debates between Kroeber andWhite. Mason made only two editorial changes in White’s essay. One involved a minor typographical issue. In the passage quoted above, Mason changed White’s original reference to Boas as “an anti-evolutionist” to read that Boas

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was “a cultural anti-evolutionist,” thereby ensuring that “fundamentalists will not quote this out of context” (Mason to White, September 14, 1945, Mason Papers,apl). Surely,additional line editing could have tempered the expression of some of White’s strongly held beliefs. Enthused by the reaction his essays were causing,White wrote to Mason: With regard to the Boas school, it would interest you to see the letters I have received from quite a few people concerning my “Diffusion vs. Evolution.”Almost without exception they were delighted to hear someone speak out againstThe Master;almost everyone has a grievance against him (on anthropological, not personal grounds), but seemed to have been hesitant about speaking out. These letters have called my attention to some of Boas’ errors & shortcomings that I was not previously aware of, or did not fully appreciate, despite the fact that I have made what I thought was a fairly thorough study of his works. It is my carefully considered opinion that when a more thorough analysis & evaluation of Boas’s contribution to ethnology is made, what I have said in the article just sent you will seem most temperate & restrained. [White to Mason, September 26, 1945, Mason Papers, apl] By the time White’s rejoinder to Lowie appeared in the 1947 American Anthropologist, Mason was convinced that the debate over the value of evolutionary theory had run its course. Mason cut six pages fromWhite’s rejoinder, informing him that he could“prove that the Roman Catholic anthropologists oppose evolution in much less than seven pages.”He believed“the controversy has gone on for a long time and must end soon. . . .Your ideas on all these points are most important, but personal disagreements or explanations of misunderstandings between you and Lowie are naturally less essential”(Mason to White, February 5, 1947, Mason Papers, apl). Mason began to accept fewer articles on cultural evolution, especially those that were not written by key figures in the debate. For example,he rejected a rejoinder,“Comments on Some Recent Criticisms of Cultural Evolutionism,” written by Maxine Gordon, and an untitled rejoinder written by Stephen Cappannari, both friends of White. In rejecting Gordon’s manuscript, Mason wrote that “this controversy has already taken up too much space in theAmericanAnthropologist, and I feel that it must be brought to an end quickly” (Mason to Gordon, July 26,1946,bhl-wp). According to Betty Meggers Mason was ill at ease over the evolutionary debate. In 1945 Meggers was assisting Mason with the Handbook of SouthAmerican Indians at the Smithsonian Institution (although the volumes

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were edited by Julian Steward, Mason was involved with their production ). Meggers was assigned to help Mason complete Steward’s bibliography. During the course of their work,he confided that he was“delighted”byWhite’s articles (Meggers toWhite,September 17,1945,bhl-wp). Mason asked Meggers if she believed in cultural evolution, to which she gave an emphatic yes. Apparently, Mason believed he did not know enough about the subject and was deeply troubled about“how it could happen that so many people could fall in the same error [antievolutionism]” (Meggers toWhite, September 17, 1945, bhl-wp). Alfred Kroeber and White

The debatesWhite was engaged in were not limited to the pages of theAmerican Anthropologist. In fact White was beginning to chafe under that journal’s length limitations and was anxious to present his views more completely. White received a golden opportunity in 1945 with the founding of the Southwestern Journal of Anthropology (financially supported by the University of New Mexico and the Laboratory of Anthropology). The founding editor, Leslie Spier, deeply committed to publishing in anthropology, was the editor of a series of publications including theAmericanAnthropologist. He had specific ideas about what was suitable for publication in an anthropological journal; as editor of theAmericanAnthropologist,for instance,he had rejected acculturation studies because he considered them to be political science. He strongly encouraged White to write an article on any topic for the Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, promising that he would not impose a limit on its length or content (Spier toWhite,January 20,1945,bhl-wp). AsWhite’s articles tended to be too long for journals, this offer had great appeal. Spier stressed that the journal “is to supply additional space for articles over and above what is now available in existing journals.” Spier told White that the journal would not publish traditional book reviews but would instead focus on longer articles grounded in concrete materials, and that he “was willing to take articles of very special content if the authors will make it very explicit that they see their material as fitting into a wider context or problem.” Spier also wrote to White that he wanted to get the journal off the ground with a “real bang” and so he was particularly interested in “polemical tough-minded articles.” In subsequent letters, Spier emphasized that he was not afraid to get into a controversy with other anthropologists and competing journals. Letters exchanged by Spier andWhite indicate that Spier had an antagonistic attitude toward Boasian anthropology; for example, after reading White’s “Sociology, Physics and Mathematics,” Spier wrote that he heartily approved of White’s

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points,“some of which had been on the tip of my fountain pen for a year.” Spier wrote that what passed for social science “depressed” him and that he was tired of Boasian “Mumbo Jumbo” (Spier to White, October 13, 1943, bhl-wp). The articleWhite sent to Spier,“History,Evolutionism,and Functionalism,” was one of his most polemical articles published in the 1940s. White was delighted to accept Spier’s offer to write an article for the new journal for two reasons: he believed it would foster a healthy competition with the American Anthropologist, and with no length limitations he could completely express his views. White wrote to Spier that he had a first draft of an article ready for publication: I have called it tentatively “History, Evolutionism and Functionalism: Three Types of Interpretation of Culture.” I wrote it in response to a suggestion made to me by Professor Kroeber a few years ago. In an essay, “Science is Sciencing,” . . . I attempted to show, among other things, that there are 3 fundamental processes distinguishable in all levels of phenomena, physical, biological and cultural, and that therefore there have been three types of interpretation,history,evolution,and functional studies instead of the two-fold “history and science” classification of so many anthropologists. It was this part of the essay that interested Dr. Kroeber the most, apparently, and he suggested I write another article developing this theme further. And at long last I have done this. [White to Spier, January 27, 1945, bhl-wp] In this essay White blasted antievolutionism for causing irreparable harm and maintained“the Boas school has waged war on evolutionism for decades” (White 1945d:246). White attempted to demonstrate that in anthropology, as in all sciences, there were three kinds of interpretation, a view that stood in sharp contrast to that of the vast majority of American anthropologists, who accepted the history–science dichotomy. For White there were unique “processes” in culture that corresponded to three types of interpretation: (1) temporal—concerned with chronological sequence and unique events, creating history; (2) formal—nontemporal but structural–functional, creating science;and (3) temporal–formal—the understanding of a sequence of forms, “the interpretation of which is evolutionism.”White argued that evolutionism was the most fundamental of the three types. Its vital function to humankind— that to be able to point out the course of civilization created a capacity for prediction—was entirely absent from anthropological theory.

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Unlike White’s exchanges with Robert Lowie, his debate with Kroeber concerning the differences between history, evolutionism, and functionalism took place not only in print but in a number of personal letters. Kroeber andWhite also shared their work before publication and commented on each other’s drafts. There was a measure of understanding—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say a measure of misunderstanding—between the two men. Their letters make it clear that they respected one another’s views and were frustrated by their inability to agree on fundamental principles. Kroeber wrote to White that he was preparing a reply to “History, Evolutionism, and Functionalism” because he was stimulated by White’s discussion and thought “a good deal of what you call evolutionism is history” (Kroeber to White, February 11, 1946, bhl-wp). In “History and Evolution,” Kroeber wrote that White “emasculated” history of all that was vital and significant and used it as the basis for his concept of evolution. In Kroeber’s estimation,“the core of what [White] calls evolutionistic study is the recognition of predeterminations or imminences;or it may be only a sort of generalized history with the detail suppressed”(Kroeber 1946:15). After reading Kroeber’s essay,White wrote to him:“It may be some of our differences are differences in the meanings which we wish to attach to the word ‘history.’ I am not so much concerned with the arbitrary definition of the word as I am with distinguishing two quite different processes in culture which I have called history and evolution,but which might,of course,be called alpha and beta. In short, is not ‘the evolution of man’ a different sort of story than‘the history of man?”’(White to Kroeber,February 18,1946,bhl-wp). Far from upset by Kroeber’s “History and Evolution,”White wrote,“I appreciate very much the sympathetic and considerate manner in which you treated me in your article” (White to Kroeber,August 7, 1946, bhl-wp). The inability of White and Kroeber to fully appreciate each other’s theoretical perspective is illuminating from a historical point of view. White thought Kroeber was the only Boasian who tried to formulate a philosophy of science and had a long-standing interest in the nature of culture and the way culture formed recognizable and persistent patterns.16 Kroeber often associated these ideas with the superorganic and the idea that individual choices are the products and not the originators of social forces.White and Kroeber therefore shared the idea that culture was a distinct level of phenomena, but they could not agree on the manner and style of the interpretation of culture. In expressing his views on why they were unable to come to an agreement,White wrote to Kroeber:

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The thing that puzzles me about our exchange of articles on this subject is this: there are certain parts of your argument that I seem to be unable to understand or appreciate, and I feel sure that I have not succeeded in making myself wholly clear to you on certain points. I have tried to discover and isolate these points of lack of understanding so that I might try to clarify them, but I have not been able to do this. It appears to me as though we have read each other’s article as if certain words or passages had been deleted by some callous censor. I still feel that two separate and distinct kinds of process in culture can be and should be distinguished. Whether we designate these processes history and evolution, or alpha and beta, or some other terms, does not matter too much I suppose. I feel sure that there are certain problems in cultural anthropology which cannot be solved unless we do distinguish between these two types of process. [White to Kroeber, February 27, 1947, bhl-wp]

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The inability of White and Kroeber to fully comprehend the nuances of each other’s position inspired Kroeber to write “White’s View of Culture” (1948). This was to be Kroeber’s last extensive discussion of the concept of the “superorganic.” In this essay Kroeber identified ten points in White’s work—some of which he agreed with and others of which he took strong exception to—and made comments on each. It is in this essay one can read Kroeber’s well-known and often quoted disavowal of the superorganic as an independent entity: “I take this opportunity of formally and publicly recanting any extravagances and overstatements of which I may have been guilty through over ardor of conviction in my superorganic. . . . As of 1948, it seems to me both unnecessary and unproductive of new difficulties, if, in order to account for the phenomena of culture, one assumes any kind of entity, substance, kind of being, or set of separate, autonomous, and wholly self-sufficient forces. I do not find that I have ever explicitly declared my belief in such. But I do find that I have been ambiguous” (Kroeber 1948:411). It was the “ambiguous” nature of both Kroeber’s and White’s concept of culture that led to a myriad of disagreements. However, the principal thing that separated the two men was basic: Kroeber could not envision any single identifiable cultural process that explained human behavior. Kroeber was content to look at concrete examples and discern different cultural processes. This is best exemplified by his classic essay on dress fashions, in which he and Jane Richardson examined three hundred years of fashion change and identified short-lived“modes”of style change as opposed to long-run patterns

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(Kroeber and Richardson 1940). For White this sort of reductionism was interesting but pointless.An examination of dress fashions paled in comparison to the true aim of anthropology. In an effort to explain what he believed anthropology was supposed to be about,White wrote to Kroeber: I am interested primarily in the “prediction” rather than the amelioration. As I read your works you have been much interested in the order in civilization, in laws & determinism in cultural phenomena.Your last major work deals with trends in culture. Seventy-five years have passed since Tylor. . . . During this time Anthropology has made considerable progress—or at least many people think it has. Now as perhaps never before we—civilization—need an understanding of the crisis in which we find ourselves and a basis for predicting our course for the future. Anthropology as the science of culture par excellence ought to be able to contribute something to this situation. [White to Kroeber, February 18, 1946, bhl-wp]

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White and Kroeber were in agreement that anthropology had much to offer in leading to a greater understanding of society. In fact Kroeber wrote to White that he always enjoyed reading his “clear, vigorous, and courageous thinking and writing. I always get a kick out of what you say and about eight times out of ten I am in complete agreement”(Kroeber toWhite,April 5,1948,bhl-wp).

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By 1947, when he had engaged not only Lowie but also Kroeber in a debate over the value of evolutionary theory,White had clearly put the issue of cultural evolution at the forefront of the discipline. For White one event signified he had become a force to be reckoned with.White often gave public lectures and spoke on the radio regarding the value of evolutionary theory. He particularly enjoyed public speaking and was dynamic lecturer. One of White’s proudest moments occurred when he gave a brief radio lecture, sponsored by the corporate giant U.S. Rubber:“Energy and the Development of Civilization.” As part of a national series of lectures entitled “The Scientist Speaks,” each Sunday afternoon a scholar would lecture at the intermission of the broadcast of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. White was thrilled when he was selected,and it was one of the few instances in his career when he was nervous about what he was going to say. He wrote to Barnes about his nervousness, and Barnes allayed his fears,writing,“You had better go to NewYork and have a time of it. One rapes a Queen only once in a lifetime!” (Barnes to White, February 6, 1947, Barnes Papers, ahc).

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In the succeeding years,White would elaborate on many of his ideas, especially as they concerned the theory of cultural evolution,the science of culture, ethnological theory—especially Boas’s contribution—and his assessment of the career of Lewis Henry Morgan. Not all these interests would lead to fruition,most notably,his lifelong attempt to write the definitive biography of Morgan.Although he had already published a considerable number of articles, he argued in a grant application that his most significant work lay ahead:“I now feel that I am entering upon a new stage in the course of my life’s work. Up to now I have been growing and maturing; from now on I hope to ‘bear fruit,’ to harvest my crop” (White, grant proposal sent to Fejos, January 19, 1948, bhl-wp).White was awarded an unpaid sabbatical year from the University of Michigan in 1947–48 and received a grant from theViking fund. He spent the next two years in residence atYale, Harvard, and Columbia Universities and, for the first time in over a decade, was not encumbered by onerous teaching and administrative duties. White threw himself into his work, particularly elaborating his ideas about the evolution of culture. For in the future,White believed: I think the great task of science today is to take possession of the field of society (culture) and drive the philosophy of free will from it (“civilization is what you—or a number of politicians—make it”) and describe and interpret culture as the astronomer has stars,planets etc.This was the ideal ofTylor,Durkheim,and a few others. It has been lost sight of almost by anthropologists today,who are turning toward psychologic and psychiatric studies of savages etc. I think this is particularly unfortunate for anthropology,for it is anthropology’s“destiny”so to speak to develop a science of culture—as it was anthropology that “discovered culture,” to use Kroeber’s phrase. [White,“An Attempt to Set Forth Some of the Principles of the Philosophy toWhich I Subscribe,”May 1944,bhl-wp]

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Academic and PoliticalThreats I was quite upset naturally.They have been sniping at me from ambush for years, but now they have dared go to the President [of the University of Michigan] himself. I am ashamed of President Ruthven . . . for his readiness to expose me to attack. . . . I think it was cowardly and despicable to behave in this craven manner. . . . I am very indignant about the whole affair. . . . I am calm, however, and composed. But resolved. I shall not compromise or retreat a single inch.These forces of reaction, unopposed by a weak, cowardly and faithless university administration may remove me from my teaching position. But I will not give in.–White, journal, December 30, 1944 Politics at the University of Michigan

LeslieA.White spent virtually his entire career at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. 1 From the time he was hired in 1930 to replace Julian Steward,his tenure at Michigan was stormy. Although he was able to retain his position for 40 years and witness the rise of Michigan as a leading center of thought in the discipline, his academic post was never secure.White was a gifted teacher and powerfully entertaining speaker, but his prickly personality, lack of political gamesmanship,championship of unpopular causes,and radical political beliefs and actions led him frequently into controversy. He often noted that any important step in the history of thought in the last 15 hundred years had been resisted passionately. He humorously added that the “violent reactions to his views were like those of the people who angrily abuse the weatherman for predicting bad weather” (White lecture, 1974, ucsc). White’s views on politics,sociology,religion,and education often infuriated students,administrators,and colleagues alike. In fact Barnes creditsWhite’s repeated firm championship of unpopular positions as being partially responsible for the University of Michigan developing a strong commitment to academic freedom.The issue of academic freedom remained at the forefront of White’s mind throughout his career because he had a penchant for infuriating those conservatively inclined.White’s security at Michigan concerned James Martin and Harry Elmer Barnes;Martin wrote thatWhite was“on the blacklist of the local churches, who caution their freshman at their weekly gatherings to stay away from his courses, with the general result that they are loaded all the time. . . . The moralists who cram the campus at Ann Arbor look upon him

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with the outraged air of the admiral down whose back the orderly has just poured soup, and tolerate him as one of the prices they have to pay for having given lip service to academic freedom. . . . His Good Friday lectures generally steam up the church-bound coeds for days” (Martin to Barnes, January 1951, Barnes Papers, ahc). Behind White’s bravado and dry wit, the reaction his unpopular views provoked took a heavy personal and professional toll.White’s main nemesis in this regard was Edward Kraus,dean of the College of Arts and Literature at the University of Michigan. 2 Kraus andWhite clashed on many occasions, in part because Kraus had final control of departmental budgets.According toWhite’s journal entries,Kraus denied virtually all of his requests for secondary support for his research and blocked his promotion. For instance, in 1938 Dean Kraus told White that after careful consideration, he was being denied a promotion to full professor because he did “not fraternize enough with the boys.”White paraphrased a conversation he had had with Kraus in which he recalled the dean saying,“You see you have not been very sociable and you’re rather standoffish. They don’t feel like they know you very well. They have a feeling you might not be friendly” (White, journal, January 19, 1939, bhl-wp). This was the first outright admission toWhite that promotions rested on being a“good fellow.”White could not fathom that such superfluous factors were required for academic advancement and bitterly wrote that “to get a promotion at the cost of such fraternization is too dear,it is not worth it. Next year I shall receive $4100—$100 more than I got when I came here in 1930. But I suppose I am lucky to have a job at all” (White, journal, June 3, 1938, bhl-wp). White was also aware that what Dean Kraus had told him was accurate. “It is true I am not very sociable, that I am not very friendly. Frankly, I do not like university professors. I do not feel at home,at ease with them.While I have respect for the accomplishments of many professors who are physicists, chemists, biologists, astronomers etc. I have little respect for the social scientists, so-called. In fact, I have a deep-seated contempt for them.They are pretentious ignoramuses at best; at worst, they are unconscious apostles of anti-science—in short dupes or scoundrels” (White, journal, January 19, 1939, bhl-wp). In late 1943 White was finally promoted to full professor. To secure this promotion,White’s academic standing and contribution to the discipline had to be evaluated by anthropologists outside the University of Michigan. This proved embarrassing for Carl Guthe, the associate director of the Museum of Anthropology (now known as the University Museum), who was responsible for soliciting independent views. One reviewer after another could not under-

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stand whyWhite had not been promoted to full professor many years ago. Julian Steward in particular found it “unconscionable that a man of White’s caliber and influence had not been awarded this distinction years ago” (Steward to Guthe,March 19,1943,University of Michigan College of Literature,Science, and Art Papers, bhl). White was finally promoted 13 years after he was hired. He also received his second pay raise (the first increase was of $100). However, White was denied chairmanship of the department, which upset him very much. He wrote a forceful letter to Dean Lloyd S.Woodburne,secretary of the executive committee of the College of Literature,Science,and Art,expressing his outrage. The tone of the letter, dated July 14, 1943, is aggressive. In pencil written over the date is the notation “This letter was never sent to DeanW. or the Ex.Comm. upon the advice of a member of the Ex.Comm. LAW.” In his journalWhite wrote: Well I finally got promoted to full professorial rank. I thought I might have been destined to stay behind the 8 ball for all time. But I was not made chairman of the department. The dean told me that “they,” presumably he and the executive committee, had decided to set up a committee of three, Guthe, Titiev and me, with me as chairman, to run the department. Was it because I was considered incompetent? I have been running the department for 13 years. Or was I considered unworthy of the distinction? Or was there a desire to place power and control in other quarters by “diffusion?”—keeping it out of my hands? The answer is fairly obvious to me: it was the last reason. I am still the “figure head” of the department, as Mary puts it, as I have been for 13 years. [White, journal, June 25, 1943, bhl-wp] White did receive a significant raise with his promotion. In May 1943 he was told his salary would be increased $350 for the promotion and an additional $250 for“basic adjustment.”But the ink was barely dry onWhite’s promotion when he received the departmental budget for the 1943–44 academic year from Dean Kraus—White’s salary increase had been cut by $100. Since the “basic adjustment”of $250 went automatically to all faculty members,White’s raise was only $250, instead of $350 he was told it would be. White “thought it a rather mean business—that as well as the denial of the chairmanship, have not contributed to my enthusiasm and loyal support of the University administration. I have not the words to express my repugnance for and contempt of certain ways of doing things which are characteristic of this, and I presume other universities” (White, journal, June 25, 1943, bhl-wp).

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White’s bitter words about being denied the chairmanship of the department are surprising; although he had been de facto chair for years, an administrative academic title held no interest for its own sake. Yet he was clearly profoundly disappointed he was not awarded the chairmanship and the concomitant power attached to this position. At the time White was appointed chairman of the anthropology department’s executive committee, the university was poised for rapid expansion; possibly he was bitter that his role in this expansion would be limited. According to surviving departmental and dean records, the university expansion was based on a huge grant earmarked for area studies. The grant was awarded interdepartmentally—that is, geography, history, economics, sociology, and anthropology were to make multidimensional analyses about various regions of the world (China, Japan, the Middle East, India, and so on). Elman Service recalled:“The people to be hired were all members of one of the academic departments, but they were to be paid by these regional area studies. And just about everyone thought that they had to have a cultural anthropologist or ethnologist, for each of these regions. So that meant that in our own department we received four new anthropologists, almost all youngish, to become full voting members in our department.Talk about diversity!We had representatives of various regions in our department . . . at any rate,lots of people,all of a sudden descended upon us” (Service n.d.:76). Several key forces were involved in the expansion of the University of Michigan that were well beyond White’s control or influence. At the end of WorldWar II the social sciences at Michigan were not particularly influential, yet by the mid-1960s Michigan had become one of the country’s most prestigious institutions in the area of social sciences. David Hollinger attributes the rapid rise of the social sciences to two factors: the rapid growth of the Institute of Social Research (isr) and the struggle over academic freedom during the McCarthy era (Hollinger 1989).The departments most affected by the isr were psychology,political science,and sociology,although many others were eventually touched,such as history,economics,public health,architecture, and medicine. However, the growth of the anthropology department, which remained completely independent and expanded organically as the university itself grew, was a prime example of non-isr social scientific distinction at Michigan. 3 After World War II the future of the anthropology program as well as that of other social science departments was under intense scrutiny by longtime President Ruthven and the board of regents. Alexander Ruthven had fallen

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out of favor with the regents; by the mid-1940s a minority wished to replace him. In addition,Carl Guthe,a longtime supporter of White,resigned from his position as the director of the Museum ofAnthropology to become director of the NewYork State Museum. Guthe strongly recommended that James Griffin replace him at the museum and that White should become chairman of the anthropology department. However,the board of regents had other ideas;they wanted to completely shake up the museum and anthropology department by appointing one man to head both. Their choice was Froelich Rainey, while Ruthven and Edward Kraus supported either Julian Steward or Leslie Spier for head of the Department of Anthropology and perhaps the museum director as well.White, convinced that if the board of regents had its way he would be fired, became politically active in the reorganization issue. Learning that Ruthven wanted to hire Steward or Spier, he independently contacted both men as well as others he believed the dean would contact. In a confidential letter to Spier,White stated that he disliked “writing to you behind the back so to speak of the administration” but wanted to inform him that the political situation at Michigan was“rather complicated”(White to Spier,July 5,1944,Spier Papers, bl). White wrote a similar letter to his friend Duncan Strong, an influential figure at Columbia University, the Bureau of American Ethnology, and the Smithsonian Institution who likely would have known any news of a possible replacement forWhite.White wrote that the dean was officially taking charge of anthropology and that“since he is to consult you and seek your council and advice, and since whatever happens will vitally affect our department and the men in it, I thought that it would not be improper to write you and tell you something of the way the situation looks to me. However, since in a way, I suppose I should not have communicated with you—at least officially—will you please regard this letter as confidential” (White to Strong, November 3, 1944, Strong Papers, naa). White was not alone in his efforts to influence the future course of anthropology at Michigan. James Griffin also wrote to Leslie Spier and Strong about the situation at Michigan. Griffin was unsure of what Dean Kraus’s intentions were but suspected he favored appointing Rainey, whom he believed was recommended by Spier, to head the museum and anthropology department. Griffin wrote to Strong that he wanted to be director of the Museum of Anthropology and that he had “strong campus backing plus the statements of [William] Fenton and Steward who have already been here [Ann Arbor]. . . . I hardly need to add that Kraus would not be particularly pleased if he knew

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that I had written to you. It is sometimes difficult to tell what he has in mind from what he says” (Griffin to Strong, November 11, 1944, Strong Papers, naa). Strong replied that he would recommend him for the directorship of the museum but added he had “no idea what the dean desires” (Strong to Griffin, November 13, 1944, Griffin Papers, bhl). Griffin thanked Strong for speaking in his favor to Kraus and went on to write that “as usual questions regarding anthropology are not being settled on their own merits but in the light of various campus personalities, prejudices, and so forth” (Griffin to Strong November 30, 1944, Griffin Papers, bhl). White wrote that President Ruthven,Dean Kraus,and the board of regents all had“their oars in the water and were rowing in different directions in terms of their vision for the future of anthropology at Michigan” (White to Spier, July 5, 1944, Spier Papers, bl). Spier responded with thanks for the “inside information”about the department. Spier wrote that he felt committed to the University of New Mexico and that the letters of interest he had received from Michigan were“very deanish and cagey.There was the implication—when he [Kraus] spoke of revising the whole plan at Michigan, considering getting a man for both department and Museum or one for each—that he had in mind considering me”(Spier toWhite,July 20,1944,bhl-wp). Spier wanted no part of this political infighting and quickly withdrew his name from consideration. Steward and Strong were invited by Ruthven and Kraus to visitAnnArbor in the fall of 1944 to provide“council and advice,”as the administration described it. After what must have been an unbelievably awkward two days, Steward realized he was being considered for the chairmanship. 4 According to White Steward told Kraus in no uncertain terms he was not interested in any position Michigan might offer him.White himself then confronted Kraus and Ruthven, asking them their intentions toward Steward—Kraus and Ruthven refused to answer White’s question. White wrote to Titiev:“I have the impression that there has been a great deal of activity behind the scenes and what may come of it I can make no better guess than you” (White toTitiev, November 15, 1944, bhl-wp). In a much fuller statement to Strong,White wrote: I think none of us in the Museum or Department want a joint head;I am, in fact,sure none of us does. But we may not get what we want. . . . Now about the chairmanship of the department:I have carried the burdens and responsibilities of the department ever since I came here in 1930—have done all the work and have planned & striven to improve our curriculum and enlarge our staff. I have been officially“acting chairman”since 1932

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until 1943,when an executive committee was formed in the department with me as chairman. But now they are talking of bringing in a man to be head of the department. I have been told that certain persons on campus do not think I am “the sort of person” to be a departmental chairman. The only concrete objection is that in my classes I have made remarks displeasing to the clergy. After having been the defacto chairman of the department for so many years and now, when it appears that one of the things that I have planned for so long may be realized (a new man on the staff), I would not be happy to have someone else brought in as chairman—especially a younger and less experienced man. [White to Strong, November 3, 1944, Strong Papers, naa] The board of regents and President Ruthven could not reconcile their views and battled to a stalemate.What seemed to break this deadlock was the appointment of Howard Kenniston as the new dean of the College of Arts and Sciences in 1944. Kenniston argued that White was the best-known and most well-respected anthropologist on campus: the logical choice to run the department. As simply as that,White was named chairman. Later in the year Griffin was appointed director of the museum, a post he would hold until his retirement in 1976. With White as chairman, the University of Michigan Department of Anthropology grew rapidly in the post–World War II era, becoming one of the most prestigious departments in the United States. Largely under the aegis of Howard Kenniston, after 1944 the department quickly expanded, a topic I will discuss in detail in chapter 7. The Church and the McPhillips Episode

While White’s standing with the university administration was problematic, opposition was gathering on another front, leading to an incident during the 1944–45 academic year that would dramatically change his feelings about the University of Michigan and his place within anthropology. Father McPhillips, pastor of St. Mary’s Chapel on the University of Michigan campus, recruited other religious leaders, such as the Lutheran minister L.Yoder, in a concerted campaign to have White fired. (White’s other critics included the Reverend Richard S. Emrich,Episcopal bishop of Michigan,Dr. G. Merrill Lenox,executive director of the Detroit Michigan Council of Churches,and Rabbi Morris Adler.)This union of the Catholic Church with other religious denominations on campus was a force to be reckoned with. Why did White generate such animosity among religious leaders?

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In the 1930s higher education was geared to the children of wealthy parents. However, after World War II there was a significant increase in enrollment, and the demographics of the student population were beginning to change significantly. There were also much more stringent accrediting standards for colleges and universities. Catholic students in particular were among the increasing number of middle-class students who attended college. For those in the Midwest, the University of Michigan was considered one of the “great schools,” on par with universities such as Harvard,Yale, Oxford, and Cambridge. The Catholic Church was aware of how highly regarded the University of Michigan was and, according to Tentler (1990), inflated the number of Catholic students enrolled to enhance church prestige. Religious colleges simply could not compete with secular schools, and the church was well aware of the social and economic benefits of attending a university such as Michigan. At the same time there was serious concern over the risks of secular contamination, for religious leaders had no doubt that the Michigan faculty “cultivated skepticism in the heart if not the head of the Catholic student.” The Catholics warned that the Protestant clergy “seemed to be in league to destroy any spark of Catholicity that appeared in the ranks of the students.” After four years away from home, the Michigan Catholic concluded, students might be well prepared for success in the world but were lost to the church. (The foregoing quotes were culled from undated newspaper clippings White used as bookmarks.) In order to forestall the loss of its youth, the Catholic Church acted on two fronts. First, at a national level it made a concerted effort to improve the quality of religious colleges and universities and to develop a first-rate parochial primary and secondary school system. Detroit’s Bishop Foley thus oversaw the development of accredited Catholic colleges for men and women and the transformation of the Jesuit academy into recognizable modern universities. Second,the church tried to create“Catholic halls”on secular college campuses, but these were criticized by some Catholic spokespeople as an unconscionable compromise. A Sunday leaflet (found inWhite’s papers) noted:“The modern college is making thousands of unbelievers in the existence of God. Better for a Catholic young man or young woman to remain in ignorance than to acquire an education which entails a loss of faith and disbelief in God. For the past six months the Michigan Catholic has published many instances of non-Catholic colleges being made the scene of wild orgies and disgraceful conduct of pupils.”The leaflet concluded that parents should send their children to Catholic institutions, claiming,“half the Ann Arbor students are ad-

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dicted to intoxicating liquors”—something that could not happen at Catholic institutions. Campus chapels were founded and the best and brightest young priests were routinely assigned to serve at prestigious universities. Thus campus chapels throughout the country were manned by an unusually high number of able and articulate priests. St. Mary’s Student Chapel at the University of Michigan,founded in 1919 by Father Michael Bourke,was seen as a civilizing force, designed to protect innocent students. St. Mary’s organized clubs for its students such as the Newman Club, Catholic Clubhouse, and the Foley Guild (later called the Catholic Club after Bishop Foley withdrew his support), where students could meet their fellows and receive religious instruction. On Sunday the majority of Catholic students in the Ann Arbor area attended Mass and were warned,“the curse of the U. student is not a loss of faith but indifference to Mass and the Sacraments” (Tentler 1990:232). Father Bourke and his successors were careful to prepare students for the attacks on religion they were bound to encounter in the classroom. They instructed students which classes to avoid. “The Bible as Literature” and White’s “The Mind of Primitive Man” were two offerings deemed particularly objectionable. Although the church wanted students to avoid anthropology in general and White in particular, it could not enforce this prohibition. White’s views on religion were impossible to ignore because the degree program in the field of Religion and Ethics required students to take three anthropology classes, including his well-known“Mind of Primitive Man.”White made no secret of his contempt for organized religion. He also made it clear he did not believe in God and that culture was the key variable in human existence. There was a significant amount of tension betweenWhite and those who vehemently disagreed with his views.After a decade of uneasy tolerance,in 1944 religious leaders had tired of White. In December of that year,McPhillips and a “group of concerned citizens” secured a meeting with President Alexander Ruthven in which McPhillips pressed for White’s dismissal. White bitterly recalled that Ruthven did not support his academic freedom. Apparently, Ruthven passed the buck to Edward Kraus, writing:“[F]or some time I have been receiving from parents,students and clergy sharp criticisms of the teachings of LeslieA.White. I have done nothing with these criticisms because I had only second hand accounts. Recently,however,a group of citizens has brought me a list of his statements compiled by the students, which I am bringing to your attention” (Ruthven to Krauss, December 14, 1944, Ruthven Papers, bhl). Ruthven insisted that he was “not interested in curtailing academic

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freedom in the right sense of the term.” He was also “mildly amused at some of the naïve generalizations”attributed toWhite,which“indicate to me a very poor pedagogy,” especially the belief that anthropology could be considered a science. Unfortunately,no record has survived of the six pages of“quotations”from White’s lectures and excerpts from his essays that McPhillips and the unidentified “concerned citizens” handed to Ruthven. In letters to Duncan Strong and Cornelius Osgood seeking their support,White wrote that “the articles of indictment” were verbatim quotations from two papers, “The Symbol” (1940d) and“Energy and the Evolution of Culture”(1943a). He explained to Strong that “they seemed to object particularly to the statement that a baby is not a human being prior to his use of symbols. Their idea, apparently, is that the baby has an immortal soul from the moment of conception, etc. etc.” (White to Strong, December 25, 1944, Strong Papers, naa). Given this, the church strongly objected toWhite’s position:“A baby is not a human being so far as behavior is concerned. Until the infant acquires speech there is nothing to distinguish his behavior qualitatively from that of a young ape” (White 1940d:462). Torn from its context, the point White was trying to make was rendered meaningless. Other offending passages were misquoted or outright distortions of whatWhite wrote. The simple fact that Ruthven took McPhillips’s charges seriously shocked and disillusioned White. Faculty members, on the other hand, were supportive—not because they sharedWhite’s views—on the contrary,many disagreed with him—but they were well aware of the implications his firing could have on academic freedom. In a letter to Alfred Connable, a member of the board of regents,White wrote there were two points at issue in the attempt to fire him:“1) my competence as an anthropologist and as a teacher;and 2) whether I am permitted to conduct myself as a member of a faculty in an institution of higher learning or whether I am to submit to the interference and censorship of the clergy. I have no doubts or misgivings about the first point. But I cannot but have serious apprehension about the second” (White to Alfred Connable, December 21, 1944, bhl-wp).White’s diplomatic letter gave no hint as to the depth of his feelings or his views of the university. In contrast to the polite tone of his letter to Connable, in his journal he wrote: I was quite upset naturally. They have been sniping at me from ambush for years, but now they have dared go to the President himself. I am ashamed of President Ruthven for his failure to tell the priest to go mind

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his own business, for his readiness to expose me to attack. . . . I think it was cowardly and despicable to behave in this craven manner. . . . I am very indignant about the whole affair. It is humiliating to be made to account for myself at the instance of this Priest. It is humiliating to have the administration—the President—expose me to this attack and ask me for an explanation. I am calm, however, and composed. But resolved. I shall not compromise or retreat a single inch. These forces of reaction, unopposed by a weak, cowardly and faithless university administration may remove me from my teaching position. But I will not give in. [White, journal, December 30, 1944, bhl-wp] In defending himself,White was required to meet with Kraus a number of times in December 1944 and throughout the winter of 1945.The appointment of Kraus to supervise White’s defense is curious, and it is tempting to read implications into this in the absence of facts. Kraus was widely reputed to be Ruthven’s “hatchet man,” and it was well known that Kraus and White did not get along. In this context Kraus’s job of defending White could be perceived as a lack of commitment to White’s defense. White was ordered by Ruthven and Krauss to write a “diplomatic” reply to Father McPhillips’s indictment. After several drafts deemed too forthright and truculent by Kraus, White produced an “innocuous, watered down piece of pap” (White, notes, circa 1969, bhl-wp). 5 White’s letter to Ruthven was certainly polite. It held that the “disconnected and random statements, in many instances garbled or inaccurately reported, [do not] give a fair picture of what I am teaching.” He concluded his letter by noting that the enrollments in his courses had increased every year and that “even a few faculty members themselves have either taken some of my courses or have audited them” (White to Ruthven, December 27, 1944, Ruthven Papers, bhl). Along with this letterWhite submitted seven articles he had published and letters from a number of scholars praising his work, especially those that had been quoted by McPhillips. McPhillips’s meeting with President Ruthven was but the opening salvo in a determined campaign to oustWhite.White confided to his journal he felt like he was“stuck between a rock and a hard place.”Thus he took several unilateral steps to defend himself while working with Kraus. He sought the support of other anthropologists familiar with his work, contacted the head of the local aaup,and wrote to those regents of the University of Michigan he knew personally. All was not entirely negative fromWhite’s point of view. He wrote to Strong:“I thought you might be interested to know how my campaign with

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the Catholic church is going. I am glad to say that I have apparently won the first round at least. The Dean made some inquiry concerning my teaching— and it so happened that two very respectable members of the faculty have sat in on some of my courses—and as a consequence of this investigation I have gone up quite a bit in the estimation of the Dean and others—according to what he told me. . . . But I do not believe that the reverend father will accept this decision. I feel sure he will try again later” (White to Strong, February 3, 1945, Strong Papers, naa). White retained his position but was continually attacked both overtly and subtly by the clergy. For example,in the spring semester of 1945,nuns enrolled in White’s “The Mind of Primitive Man” class expressly to record further “blasphemous statements by ProfessorWhite,”asWhite expressed it in a journal entry. Their presence, as they took stenographic notes of his lectures, must have been awkward, if not intimidating, serving as a constant reminder of the campaign againstWhite. According to the well-known archaeologist Jesse Jennings:

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14.200 He was a source of much discomfiture among the students. Although he was soft-spoken and calm, his words were searingly disruptive of the beliefs and expectations of most people, so he was much discussed and even resented. He was also a bit of a bully, so he often spoke directly to the sisters when he was assigning God to a minor or nonexistent role. One day at lunch after his lecture had been most eloquent on that topic, he asked the sisters if they were enjoying his lectures. . . . the eldest answered, saying,“We are enjoying your lectures; your viewpoint is new to us. Every night we discuss class, compare notes, and make sure we understand you. Then we pray for you.” . . . there was a gale of laughter, this time at White’s expense and to his great annoyance. [Jennings 1994:251] In addition, a flurry of severely critical letters appeared in the school paper, the Michigan Daily. One letter, supposedly written by a student at Michigan, accused White of giving a lecture on Good Friday that ridiculed and scorned the Passion of Our Lord.This letter claimed thatWhite’s lectures offended many students who dared not protest for fear of endangering their academic standing in the class. Several students wrote to defend White, and one particularly well-written letter noted that when White quoted passages from the Bible the purpose was to compare religious purification rituals of


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Hebrews with practices by the Hottentot, the primitive group being studied at the time. While the university administration could not silence White, they could and did punish him financially. For instance, in spring 1946 White had been recommended for a raise by the executive committee of the Literary College. No raise was included for Titiev, even though additional funds were available. (White did not think Titiev deserved a salary increase.) When White received the departmental budget in 1946, he learned that his raise had been stricken out and that Titiev had received it. In short, White’s salary remained unchanged whileTitiev’s raise was doubled. Incensed,White confronted the provost. White was told there was no connection between the McPhillips episode and the denial of his raise, but he was also told by an unidentified sympathetic administrator that the provost had been “distressed” by the numerous complaints about his teaching. It began to become apparent that if something didn’t give,White might well lose his job. Dean Kenniston, with whom White got along reasonably well, told White it would behoove him to secure a sabbatical elsewhere until the situation in Ann Arbor calmed down. Otherwise,White was told by two different and independent parties, he would almost certainly be fired. White wrote to Barnes that“for all practical appears I am persona non grata at Michigan” (White to Barnes, spring 1945, Barnes Papers, ahc). In reply Barnes suggested thatWhite secure a temporary teaching post as a prestigious university. White took this suggestion, writing that not only would he try to secure a visiting professorship elsewhere, he would look for a full-time position. He quickly secured positions for the 1947–48 academic year atYale and Columbia Universities and for 1949–50 at Harvard University. While he was away from the University of Michigan,opposition to his teachings quietly died down. White’s hard feelings, however, did not diminish. He went on a very discreet job hunt, contacting the leading centers of anthropology. He wrote to Kroeber at the University of California at Berkeley,Robert Redfield at the University of Chicago, Cornelius Osgood at Yale University, and to unidentified individuals at Columbia and Harvard Universities. In each case he was politely but firmly rejected.All commented that he was a gifted teacher, had a different viewpoint that appealed to graduate students,and was respected for his championship of evolutionary theory. However, all letters ended with a firm statement that no position was available or would be in the future. For example, Cornelius Osgood’s long, friendly letter concluded:“It would be unfair and misleading if I did not state that I see no opening here for

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anyone now or in the immediate future” (Osgood to White, January 6, 1946, bhl-wp). White’s inability to move to a different center of anthropological thought came as a shock,for he had on occasion been offered other positions throughout the 1930s. For example, in 1939 the president of the University of New Mexico had offered White the chairmanship of the Department of Anthropology, but White had not wanted to leave Ann Arbor because he was close to his in-laws. White was also considered for a position at the University of Chicago during the 1930s. White was ambivalent about this opportunity, for his views were contrary to those of many in the anthropology department,and he had a contentious relationship with some faculty members. While White got along quite well with Fay-Cooper Cole and Robert Redfield, all parties involved felt the potential for departmental strife was too great. Now, isolated in the Midwest at a university that did not support him,White surely must have felt he was alone in hostile academic world. In describing the situation at Michigan, he wrote to Betty Meggers: “I am told by colleagues that the situation is ‘extremely serious’ and that I may expect further assaults. I am not going to take it lying down, but don’t know what I can do about it. I am not going to give them the satisfaction of resigning—that is what they want, no doubt—unless I can get a better job elsewhere. Of course, if the job here continues to deteriorate, a ‘better job elsewhere’ might not have to be very good. But I’d hate to give these academic racketeers the satisfaction of beating me” (White to Meggers, June 30, 1946, bhl-wp). The Tone of White’s Polemics

For many yearsWhite spearheaded the revival of cultural evolutionary theory. Scholars, some swayed by White’s work and others in spite of it, began to seriously reconsider the theory of cultural evolution, so long dismissed and disregarded by Boasian anthropologists. One aspect of White’s championship of evolutionary theory stands out: his polemics were too vigorous; sometimes he simply went too far. For example, White was not content to merely refute the tenets of antievolutionism held by Boas but, citing Paul Radin (1933:303), he suggested many Boasians had not even read Morgan’s work. White also had a penchant for quoting people out of context, particularly Robert Lowie.The reason for this had much to do with the manner in which he worked. Throughout his life he collected quotations from books, articles, and miscellaneous printed works and typed them out on various-sized index cards,which he arranged topically.When writing he would consult these cards

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to find the most suitable quotation to support his point. This method helped him quickly locate many quotations to buttress his arguments but were too often devoid of their original context. 6 White also failed to appreciate that some of his opponents,such as Goldenweiser and Herskovits,wrote measured and fair critiques of evolutionary theory. These weaknesses did much to undermine White’s credibility in the discipline. White became well known as a controversial—to some, a vicious— polemicist, remembered mainly for the rhetoric of his arguments rather than for their intellectual merit.White’s inability to write without passion reflected his personality and his approach to academics: you were either for or against him and his work—there was no middle ground. White was aware of this, writing to Angus Babcock that he was either loved or hated within the discipline (White to Babcock, September 12, 1974, bhl-wp). Betty Meggers raised this point withWhite. Having been exposed to friendly and not so friendly criticism of your work over a period of years, I have come to the conclusion that anthropologists (being human) find it difficult to excuse anyone for being more intelligent or more diligent then [sic] they are. However,even those who might overlook this are repelled if such a person dares recognize other people’s shortcomings. This is obviously something you know already, but it seems to me that you handicap the acceptance of your ideas severely and unnecessarily by frequent assaults in print on current and deceased colleagues. . . . By censuring those who are currently the “leading lights” of the profession, and often doing so with sarcasm (which is frequently amusing to one of the “chosen”), you often put on the defensive or alienate potential believers, who may be students or friends of the victims. Most people are unable to disassociate friendship from the professional,objective considerations, and find it impossible to like a person and at the same time find fault with his achievements or philosophic utterances. [Meggers to White, November 18, 1954, bhlwp] Meggers went on to speculate, with good reason, that one of the reasons Julian Steward’s comparable evolutionary work met with such high praise was because he did not engage in the polemical battles that White did. She maintained that White “could capitalize on this, because what you have to offer in the way of ideas is obviously far superior to his poor efforts”(Meggers to White, November 18, 1954, bhl-wp). White responded that he was very

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grateful to Meggers for being straightforward and honest in her appraisal of his polemical style. He agreed that his controversial battles with Lowie“were a waste of time”and stated he was committed not to engage in them in the future. Yet he also wrote that he “felt obliged” to expose some of the more glaring examples of “stupidity, ignorance, muddle-headedness, etc. I am sure that I have felt that it was worthwhile doing this” (White to Meggers, December 15, 1954, bhl-wp). Here he specifically cited his article “Morgan’s Attitudes towards Religion and Science.” He concluded: “In other words, I have not been undiscriminating in my judgments and evaluations; I have had words of high praise and approval as well as of adverse criticism and contempt. (I am not trying to justify myself;I am just trying to take an impartial look at myself, if I can. But no one can see the back of his neck, of course.)” Based on his experience at the University of Michigan, White deeply resented people who got ahead because of their political guile rather than intellectual merit. He noted that he had been the target of considerable criticism and abuse and acknowledged that he had been prone, and remained prone,to delivering equally belligerent responses. In another letter to Meggers, White asked and answered a rhetorical question,“Should I change my tactics?” To be sure, I want what I write to influence people; I do want to win acceptance for the principles and ideas that I subscribe to and pass on to others. If I changed, so that I would never say anything but nice things about anyone,I would gain something,win more adherents to the point of view that I hold. But would I lose something also?Would my readers lose something? Would the distinction between the cheap and shoddy and the 14-carat product be lost? Would a change of tone of voice lead to indifference on the part of the reader, and if so would I gain more adherents? I don’t know the answer to a single one of these questions. I would like to win acceptance of certain principles and premises and point of view. But on the other hand I am not running for office, or for anything else of the sort.There is only one thing better than mediocrity according to the standards of the aaa, and I may say that mediocrity is highly praised, and that is the tiniest fraction different from the dull, flat norm. Be close enough to prove to even the least discerning that you are O.K., but show also that you have something just a little different— like “Solium” in Rinso, or “iridium” in toothpaste—and you are tops. If you are farther from the norm than that you are either unintelligible, a heretic, or a crackpot. Distinctive mediocrity comes pretty close to

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realizing the highest ideal of the aaa; and others are undistinguished, but respectable. [White to Meggers, December 15, 1954, bhl-wp] This exchange between White and Meggers is instructive, in that it shows White failed to grasp Meggers’s point. Specifically, he thought he faced a dichotomy between being“nice”or“nasty,”when what Meggers was trying to suggest was thatWhite not criticize people such as Boas and Lowie but rather focus the weakness of their work with positive criticism. Meggers argued that most anthropologists were “not sufficiently familiar with the details of your ideas and interpretations, i.e. with culturology, to understand where the polemics fit in” (Meggers to White, December 21, 1954, bhl-wp). This point was reinforced by Volney Jones, who was happy White was able to teach at Harvard,Yale,and Columbia Universities.“It will do your‘cause’a lot of good to lecture to,talk with,and exhibit your personality to the younger anthropologists.At least they will not believe the rumors that you are a gruff bear that lives in the back part of a dark cave and comes out only occasionally to growl at and bite unsuspecting Boasians on the legs as they stroll by on their way to worship at the Boas shrine” (Jones toWhite, November 12, 1949, Jones Papers, bhl). White must have felt like he could not win. For instance,White was roundly denounced for being an ardent Marxist in penning“EthnologicalTheory.”Yet some praised this essay.Weston LaBarre wrote,“I don’t agree always with your theoretical positions,[but] I am endlessly grateful to you for being the articulate polemicist that you are: there is too damn much intellectual orthodoxy and timidity inAmerican anthropology as it is and I suspect any monolithicTruth as a matter of principle”(LaBarre toWhite,November 29,1949,bhl-wp).A year after praisingWhite’s“EthnologicalTheory,”LaBarre wrote toWhite thanking him for the reprint of “The Individual and the Culture Process.”In contrast to “Ethnological Theory,” this article was well received by most anthropologists, yet LaBarre wrote: “I follow you a long way in your argument, even to a Durkheimian consideration that thinking is in its essence a social process,” but “it seems to me you do not allow enough room for the origins of culture,or for culture change; who makes culture, if not people, and who changes it, except non-average persons?” (LaBarre to White, October 9, 1950, bhl-wp). Letters such as these were very frustrating toWhite,for he concluded that LaBarre did not have the slightest understanding of what he was trying to say—regardless of the merits of his argument. In frustration, he wrote to LaBarre:“I think we are miles apart in our premises and conclusions” (White to LaBarre, October 20, 1950, bhl-wp).

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White tried not to let critics he did not respect bother him, but he was not always successful. For example, David Bidney, whom he considered “muddle headed,”particularly annoyedWhite.7 Bidney believedWhite had gone out of his way to unfairly criticize him in “The Expansion of the Scope of Science.” Bidney wrote toWhite that his remarks were unnecessary and added“nothing to the validity of your argument but certainly subtract from the stature of the man who made them” (Bidney to White,August 14, 1947, bhl-wp). In a blistering response,White wrote that he could not conceive how anyone could take what he wrote at a personal level, and he assured Bidney “that I meant nothing personal in my remarks.” He closed his letter:“I have considered you merely as an agent who is exercising an influence and producing an effect upon anthropological theory. My references to you merely describe certain properties and dimensions of this agent. As a matter of fact, I would say that it was my extreme impersonal attitude—i.e., my lack of regard for the feelings of the person who is the agent, is what has hurt your feelings. In any event, I am sorry you have felt an affront. I am adamant and unyielding where science and scholarship are concerned. But I have no desire whatever to touch the personal feelings of anyone” (White to Bidney, August 19, 1947, bhl-wp). In the two examples given,White did much to alienate one scholar who could have been supportive of his work and another scholar whom he might have been able to engage in an interesting dialogue. This penchant certainly made it more difficult forWhite to have his views accepted in the discipline. In part this is why Robert Carneiro noted thatWhite’s“campaign to rehabilitate cultural evolutionism within anthropology was hard and slow” (Carneiro 1980:215). It was not until 15 years after the publication of “Energy and the Evolution of Culture” that anthropologists could accept cultural evolutionism as theoretically legitimate; and if one takes into considerationWhite’s publications under the pseudonym John Steel written during the 1930s and early 1940s, it took over two decades. By the end of the 1940s even White and Lowie, who exchanged some of the harshest words ever published in the AmericanAnthropologist,were learning how to get along with one another, both in print and in person. In a letter to Cappannari,White wrote,“I had two or three chats with Lowie, and one day he came over to my table in the cafeteria, sat down, and we had a nice and long pleasant talk. It is a bit difficult to reconcile his exceedingly amiable personality with the assaults upon me in journals” (White to Cappannari, September 22, 1949, bhl-wp). Cappannari replied to White that Lowie “said personal encounters with you were always very pleasant. This congeniality

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is also a bit puzzling to me, particularly since Lowie’s published references to you have not always seemed altogether impersonal (Cappannari to White, September 27, 1949, bhl-wp). A meeting between Lowie and White at the 1949 International Congress ofAmericanists was a major turning point in their relationship.While they were exchanging barbs in the American Anthropologist, the few notes they sent one another were no more than one or two sentences. In a letter to White after the 1949 conversation, however, Lowie humorously commented that he must be “still be under the influence of our pleasant luncheon conversation at the American museum,” as he found much value in White’s work (Lowie to White, December 5, 1949, bhl-wp). He concluded his letter: “It is fairly clear to me why you underestimate Boas. You are not interested in the same things. It means nothing to you, for example, that Boas undertook the study of illiterate literatures in an extensive way and applied to such study the pertinent methods.To me that fact is of tremendous importance. However,I am quite willing to accept the proposition of‘everyone to his own taste’.” The friendly tone of Lowie’s letter pleasedWhite. In his uncharacteristically conciliatory reply,White wrote:”It is of course apparent that we differ fundamentally in our premises and point of view, and apparently these differences are irreconcilable. But I do not see why we cannot live amicably together in spite of these differences. If I have erred in this respect in the past, as I may well have, I shall try not to do so in the future” (White to Lowie, December 20, 1949, bhl-wp). Satellites and Gods

Aside from White’s 1931 aaas address, his most controversial paper was one he presented in fall 1957. White had been invited by Melford E. Spiro to participate in the symposium “Anthropological Approaches to Religion” at the 56th annual meeting of the American Anthropological Association. White’s paper,“AnthropologicalApproaches to Religion:Cultural Evolution,” created a huge brouhaha, despite the fact he “advocated nothing,” nor did he even “propose anything” (White, statement written above a copy of the paper, January 8, 1958, bhl-wp). There was nothing in White’s talk that was unexpected or even original. He began with a review of the theories of Sir John Lubbock, Herbert Spencer, and Edward B. Tylor on the origins of religion. According toWhite all three theoreticians maintained that humankind began either with no religion or with very basic beliefs in the supernatural.As culture advanced, so too did religion until monotheistic religions were established.

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Based on his predecessors’ work,White suggested that modern religion is “an organization of supernaturalistic beliefs, attitudes, acts, and objects,” and that “religion is an expression or a reflection of a mode of life which is at bottom determined by the material technological means of adjustment to and control over terrestrial habitat.” It was also “conditioned by the social, political, and economic components of culture”(quotes from the draft delivered to the aaa). In short, if culture evolves, so too will religion. To an audience of academics already familiar with his views,White’s statements were not controversial, nor were they inherently newsworthy. In order to show how innocuous White’s comments were, I will quote them in the larger context of his paper: This proposition [that religion evolves as culture does] is in direct contradiction to a principle enunciated not many years ago in a presidential address before the American Anthropological Association. “Man is a creature of such freedom of action and imagination,’said Ruth Benedict (1948:589),“that he can . . . at any stage of technological development create his gods in the most diverse form.’ But this conception of the freedom of culture systems,a freedom which is tantamount to anarchy,is untenable. A cultural system based upon a wild food technology could hardly have such conceptions as “great God, our King,” or “Christ, the royal Master.” Contrariwise, a monarchical cultural system is not likely to have a bear or a feathered serpent for a god. And a cultural system that can launch earth satellites can dispense with gods entirely. [White 1987:352] One sentence, a mere 14 words—“And a cultural system that can launch earth satellites can dispense with gods entirely”—was quoted out of context repeatedly by those who were offended by White’s statement. This choice of words was poor given the sociopolitical context. In addition, there were two possible interpretations of White’s words. They could be read as a mere statement of accomplished fact, or they might as readily be construed as a conditional sentence, whereby “dispensing” with gods is the attainable (and desirable) consequence in a culture capable of launching of satellites. Taking the sentence out of context,most of his critics accepted the latter interpretation: that he was proposing the United States should give up religion now that it was on the brink of successfully launching a satellite.The allusion to Sputnik, the only satellite successfully launched into orbit at that time, was obvious. White’s point, I believe, was simple: cultural evolution had reached a point of

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technological development in a particular cultural system that made satellites possible and at the same time had outgrown its belief in organized religion and gods. In short,White believed there could be highly complex sociocultural systems without gods; the Soviet Union was but one example of such a system. In retrospect, it is no wonder White’s seemingly tame words caused an uproar.The combination of science,the Soviet Union,politics,and religion was a volatile mix.The Russians had stunned the world with the successful launch of the Sputnik satellite. This was particularly galling given the spectacular failure of the U.S.Vanguard missiles. American society had been issued a rude wake-up call,with Sputnik calling into question the credibility of theAmerican scientific community (Dow 1991; Douglass 2000). The military implications were troubling,as it became obvious that the Soviet Union could send ballistic missiles capable of carrying nuclear payloads intercontinental distances. Despite this,White’s views did not cause any controversy among his peers. He was as usual berated by religious leaders, but the real story began with the press coverage. The day after White’s talk, December 28, the NewYork Times carried a front-page story about the aaa meetings. The column in question consisted of one- to two-sentence descriptions of selected papers presented. White’s sentence, already quoted, was published without commentary. The Detroit newspapers immediately picked up onWhite’s statement and created a full-blown controversy, with eight-column front-page headlines such as “M Professor Ripped on ‘Godless Culture’” (Detroit Times, December 28, 1957) and “Clerics Assail Prof. for Slur on Religion” (Detroit News, December 29, 1957). Other midwestern papers followed suit with sensational headlines, the most lurid of which include“Sputniks Can Replace God,Theory of U. of M. Professor” (Mt. Pleasant DailyTimes, December 28, 1957),“Doing Away with God” (Three Rivers Commercial, December 28, 1957), “Sputniks End Need for God?” (Rochester Democratic Chronicle, December 29, 1957), and “SputnikSpawning Culture Can Omit God, Prof Says” (Battle Creek News, December 29, 1957). After these headlines, White’s presentation developed a life of its own. Conservative papers such as the Michigan Catholic attackedWhite on the front page and in editorials. In “How Long Will mu Let White Deride God?”The Reverend Richard Parrish accused White of “using his position as a lecturer in the classrooms to spread an anti-religious program.” The editorial went on to state that the “Catholic Chaplain (Father McPhillips) at the University of Michigan had long ago told administrators about White’s blasphemous

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views and was relieved his teachings had finally been brought into the open.” The editorial concluded with a renewed call for his ouster (Michigan Catholic, January 2,1958). In recalling this incident,White wrote:“No longer was I safe in my academic sanctuary. I was exposed to public view by the press,indicted and convicted by a bishop,a priest,and a rabbi of teaching anti-religious doctrines. Perhaps they could then administer the coup de grace and rid themselves of me once and for all” (White 1987:348). In an ill-advised attempt to respond to the mischaracterization of his paper, White spoke with reporters from the Detroit newspapers. In “Made Quip at Reds,‘M’ Educator Says,”White is quoted as having said,“I threw in that sentence into my talk mostly as an off-hand quip. I was alluding strictly to the Soviet Union and Sputnik” (Detroit News, December 29, 1957). White went on to stress that he was talking about trends over long periods of time, 10,000 years or more. Similarly, in “Educator Explains Remark about God” (Detroit Free Press, December 29, 1957),White complained that he was the victim of a big misunderstanding.“I didn’t recommend that anyone do away with God. I just made a statement that one country has renounced God and still seems to be getting along.” On the whole, though, the newspaper stories gave little space to White’s rebuttals. While supposedly giving White a chance to respond to his critics,well over half the articles on the subject were devoted to comments by his detractors. White was amazed by the publicity his remarks had created. He realized that he needed to respond to his critics, especially at the University of Michigan. Based on his limited experience with the press, he believed it could not be trusted to accurately report the story. On New Year’s Eve White wrote “An Explanatory Note about ‘Anthropological Approaches to Religion: Cultural Evolution.’”The following week he wrote a longer document,“Satellites and Gods; or,The Press, the Clergy, and an Anthropologist,” intended “For Private Circulation Only.”The latter document was intended for his fellow anthropologists,while the“Explanatory Note”was directed toward administrators at Michigan.To his peers he concluded:“One can but wonder at the motivation and ethics of a press that will make such use of a true and valid statement torn from its context. One wonders, too, at the vehemence of the clergy. If a puny anthropologist should in fact ‘deride God,’ does He need a protective clergyman to defend Him? Did the reaction of the clergy, their unwillingness to countenance a free competition of ideas, express a sense of insecurity on their part? Or, was it, perhaps, that the prospect—or even the suggestion—of technological unemployment causes them anxious concern and makes them

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overly defensive?”(White,statement written above a copy of the paper,January 8, 1958, bhl-wp). Two circumstances helped White defuse a potentially dangerous situation that could have cost him his job. First, the story broke during the Christmas break, when most faculty and staff were away from the university (some may even have missed the controversy altogether). This gave White time to marshal his supporters and have written rebuttals available. Second,in 1957 the University of Michigan had just awarded him one of the first five Distinguished Faculty Awards, a fact that would have made his dismissal embarrassing at best. Marvin Niehuss,vice president and dean of faculties,supportedWhite— albeit somewhat tepidly—in a newspaper interview, noting that White was a “competent anthropologist and free to express his views.” He also said White “had some unorthodox views. Personally, I could not agree with some of his views on religion. Sometimes I wish he would not discuss them so freely” (Niehuss, in Detroit Free Press, December 29, 1957). Niehuss and Harlan Hatcher, president of the University of Michigan, each had letters on their desk from White when they returned to work after the holiday break: a copy of White’s paper and the aforementioned“Explanatory Note.”He wrote that he“regretted very much any embarrassment that sensational and irresponsible journalism may have caused the University” (White to Marvin Niehuss and Harlan Hatcher, January 1, 1958, Niehuss and Hatcher Papers, bhl). After the torrent of publicity died down,White was unsure what to do with his paper because it contained no particular insights that could not be found in many of his other writings.Yet he was besieged with opportunities to publish it; three magazines—the Independent, the Nation and the Unitarian Register— were particularly eager.After multiple letters were exchanged with the editors, White decided not to publish his original paper or the privately circulated “Satellites and Gods; or,The Press, the Clergy, and an Anthropologist.” The Cold War and the

FBI

The most unusual aspect of the incidents surrounding “satellites and gods” controversy was the lack of response from university administrators.White was not denounced by President Hatcher,nor was he called before a university investigative committee—actions one would have expected given the attention White received and the sociopolitical context.This lack of reaction highlights the fact that aside from the pressures on White from within the University of Michigan, outside influences were a significant concern as well. While it is commonly known that many scholars were fired during the Cold War, there

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were a variety of other ways in which people and institutions were affected by the Cold War sociopolitical milieu. Therefore, while I have principally focused on the problems White encountered with university administrators, it is equally important to examine the larger forces at work, for these greatly affectedWhite and the way he wrote. 8 During the Cold War enemies abounded—and not just those who were thought to be communists. For example, one of the first important incidents concerning academic freedom occurred at the University of Washington in 1949, when 11 faculty members were called before the Canwell Committee. The university has the dubious distinction of being the first school to fire tenured professors because, as members of the Communist Party, they were deemed subject to party dogma and unable to work without bias (Price 1997; Sanders 1979).As documented by Price and Sanders,among those persecuted was Melville Jacobs, who escaped being fired by agreeing to sign an affidavit stating he had not been a member of the Communist Party since 1946. Jacobs was also placed on academic probation for two years. Not all victims of the Cold War were associated with the Communist Party or radical politics in general. For instance, the University of California regents imposed a special loyalty oath upon the faculty and fired the 31 professors who refused to sign. Those fired—both communists and noncommunists—perceived such loyalty oaths as a violation of academic freedom. In both No Ivory Tower and her more recently published Many Are the Crimes, Ellen Schrecker has amply demonstrated there were a significant number of individuals whose careers were derailed by McCarthyist tactics. Schrecker’s comprehensive account of the impact investigating committees had on universities across the United States serves as an indictment of their lack of commitment to academic freedom. At the University of Michigan “only” three faculty members were fired: Chandler Davis, Clemment Markert, and Mark Nickerson. Like all groundbreaking research, Schrecker’s work is not without flaws. For instance, I would maintain that by focusing exclusively on the overt victims of McCarthyism, Schrecker neglects to examine the degree to which those scholars seemingly unaffected were nonetheless affected by the larger sociopolitical climate. Thus the cases of those academics who were publicly victimized, for example, Melville Jacobs, Richard Morgan, Bernhard Stern, and Gene Weltfish, are in some respects not as important as cases like White’s. Politically astute,White and many other scholars censored their own work to avoid public scrutiny.White then not only hid his political attachments

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to Marxism in the most general sense of the term but he also carefully concealed his political activities with the Socialist Labor Party. Despite White’s precautions, there are strong indications that the fbi was considering opening a formal and public investigation of White in 1955.9 The fbi became interested inWhite during a background check of anthropologist John. B. Cornell, who had listed White as a reference on his application for a position at theVoice ofAmerica (voa). During the check the fbi’s central office inWashington dc realizedWhite had ties to a number of organizations deemed subversive. Even before then,however,the fbi’s records indicate thatWhite had been named before the House Un-American Activities Committee (huac) as belonging to at least one subversive group—the atheist organization Free Thinkers ofAmerica in 1938.10 Once their inquiries concerningWhite began, an individual from the University of Michigan—whose name is withheld by contemporary fbi censors—was contacted. This individual “made available the faculty file on Dr. Leslie A.White.”11 After examining this material,the fbi noted that White “was a leader of an anthropological party to tour the Soviet Union for the Open Road, New York during the Summer of 1929, also of an extensive tour of the Far East and Indonesia in 1926.”The same fbi report noted that the Open Road was a travel agency that had been determined to be a“communist front organization”in 1948 by the California Committee on Un-American Activities. White’s other suspicious affiliations included being on the mailing list of the American Russian Institute for Cultural Relations with the Soviet Union,a group cited by the huac as a communist organization supported by intellectuals.White also subscribed to the Socialist Labor Party’s official publication (Weekly People) and had signed a petition in support of free speech at the University of Michigan. 12 The fbi report contains an interview with a second confidential informant, whose identity is also withheld by the fbi.This individual stated thatWhite was a communist. Confidential Informant 䡵䡵䡵 who has known Dr. White for several years,advised on May 21,1953 that he believed Dr. leslie a. white,who is presently head of the Department of Anthropology at the University of Michigan,Ann Arbor, Michigan, was a communist. 䡵䡵䡵 stated that he had no definite proof of this fact and that he could not recall any specific statements which Dr. white had made which would indicate that Dr. white was a Communist, but he still felt that Dr. white had Communistic tendencies. 䡵䡵䡵 advised that white had visited Russia

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on about three occasions in the early 1920s and that thereafter he frequently mentioned Russia and praised its system up until several years ago when he ceased this sort of talk entirely. 䡵䡵䡵 stated that both Dr. white and his 䡵䡵䡵䡵䡵 were atheists and this added to his belief that white was Communistically inclined. I have quoted the fbi report at some length because it highlights the tone and scope of such reports.There is a factual basis for some of what the confidential informant told the fbi; for instance,White was antagonistic toward organized religion, but at no point did he identify himself as an atheist. White was also openly critical of the capitalist system and believed communism was the next evolutionary development—positions that were out of the ordinary. There were a number of factual errors in the fbi reports, however. For example, White visited the Soviet Union in 1929 and 1964; the fbi incorrectly stated he visited three times. 13 Another fbi report noted White made an extended trip to the Far East in 1926, when in fact he was there during the 1936–37 academic year. Because of Cornell’s voa application and the fbi’s subsequent investigation, agents recontacted a second unidentified individual who had provided information about White in the past. They asked if he would testify or sign a statement concerningWhite’s subversive views.This individual declined to do either.A still partially classified fbi document listing informants who had been contacted indicates the person in question did so because he was related to White:“䡵䡵䡵䡵䡵䡵䡵 Pennsylvania,was recontacted,May 19 1955 by [Special Agent] 䡵䡵䡵䡵䡵 refused to have 䡵䡵䡵 identity revealed;refused to testify;and refused to furnish a signed statement because of 䡵䡵䡵 family relationship with Dr.White per Pittsburgh” (teletype to Detroit, May 19, 1955). While the identity of this individual is unknown, it can be established that White’s brother, sister, and mother never resided in Pennsylvania for an extended period of time. However,White’s longtime wife, Mary Pattison White, had extended family in Elkland, Pennsylvania. During the course of their marriageWhite and Mary visited Elkland frequently. Shortly after Mary’s death in 1959, White wrote several detailed letters to Harry Elmer Barnes about his marriage, some of which touched upon his relationship with his in-laws, with whom it would seem he enjoyed a close relationship. 14 Given this close relationship, it is hard to believe that one of his in-laws would have provided information to the fbi,especially in light of the fact thatWhite rarely discussed his professional work,and certainly not his political views,with them.

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Nevertheless,the Pennsylvania location of the fbi’s investigation establishes the possibility that one of his in-laws was the unnamed informant. It is not clear why the fbi did not pursue an investigation of White. It had certainly collected enough information to do so. Perhaps the fbi deemed communist organizations more threatening than socialist organizations. Or perhaps White had successfully hidden his affiliation with the Socialist Labor Party. In fact there is no indication whatsoever that the fbi knew the extent of White’s activities with the slp—and certainly no indication that the fbi knew of White’s writings under the pseudonym John Steel or that he gave stump speeches at slp meetings throughout the 1930s. On the other hand,the fact that the fbi knew White subscribed to the Weekly People was more than enough reason for it to investigate him—but it didn’t. Many academics had their careers and personal lives investigated and destroyed based on evidence that was every bit as circumstantial as that collected on White. It seems likely that the timing of the fbi’s discovery of White’s radical politics was the single most important factor in its decision not to launch a full-scale investigation. According to Selcraig (1982) the McCarthy era peaked in the State of Michigan between the summer of 1950 and the end of 1952. During the 1952 legislative year, the Michigan State Legislature failed to enact any new loyalty or security measures,in stark contrast to previous years,in which several such initiatives were adopted. The McCarthy purges affected the University of Michigan and other prestigious universities. President Hatcher and other university administrators, in an unsuccessful attempt to thwart hearings on campus,met and corresponded with Michigan state senators.The huac arrived in the spring of 1952, but hearings did not begin until the 1953–54 academic year. Michigan is somewhat unusual in that its faculty did not acquiesce to the huac—at least in comparison to other universities during this era. Hollinger has noted that during the McCarthy era the faculty at Michigan banded together to support academic freedom, setting aside their intellectual and personal differences:“The Michigan faculty experienced a rare moment of higher institutional consciousness, acting not on the basis of disciplinary and departmental identities, but on the basis of their identities as members of the academy in general, and as members of a particular faculty confronted with a particular administration. In the course of these events, faculty and administrators helped define the political dimension of Michigan’s academic culture” (Hollinger 1989:96). Like other large state schools, Michigan had long-established peer review procedures for faculty charged with various types of misconduct. In fact the

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roots of the University of Michigan’s strong support for academic freedom are traced by some toWhite,who throughout the 1930s drew intense criticism for his championship of evolutionary theory,cultural determinism,and questioning the permanence of the capitalist system (H. E. Barnes 1960:xxi;Beardsley 1976:618). Everyone agreed that academic freedom was the ideal, but there was suddenly a new buzzword on the Ann Arbor campus—“intellectual integrity.”One who did not have intellectual integrity did not enjoy the right of academic freedom. Intellectual integrity consisted of a willingness to tell one’s colleagues exactly what one’s politics were and did not include the right to remain silent. Discussion in 1953 quickly revolved around the degree to which communists and those suspected of having communist beliefs exercised intellectual integrity. In 1957 Hatcher was one of 37 university presidents to sign “The Rights and Responsibilities of Universities and Their Faculties,” which would have given him significant new powers in the hiring and firing of faculty members. The faculty senate refused to endorse this statement,endorsing instead a more conventional aaup document reaffirming academic freedom. Nonetheless, Hatcher used “The Rights and Responsibilities” to control the events surrounding the firing of three faculty members—Chandler Davis, Clemment Markert, and Mark Nickerson. In essence, they were dismissed because they refused to cooperate with the huac. A fourth faculty member, economist and future Nobel laureate Lawrence Klein, was exempted from any disciplinary action by the university because he cooperated fully with the huac. Markert and Nickerson were eventually reinstated by the university after they cooperated with a Special University Advisory Committee created to investigate the charges brought by the huac. Davis refused to cooperate with this special committee and was not reinstated by the university. The political atmosphere on the Ann Arbor campus was charged. Tension was rampant,a number of confrontations erupted,and volatile public meetings were held. There was an incident in which a brick thrown through the window of President Hatcher’s home (RaymondWilder toWhite,December 1, 1954, bhl-wp). Of course, the people most affected were the professors fired. Nickerson had the hardest time personally. His six-year-old son was stabbed by a classmate who said the senior Nickerson was a Russian and a liar. He subsequently went to school with a police escort. Three weeks after Nickerson testified, his wife gave birth at the local hospital, and an ugly mob, tipped off by a radio report, went there to “get the new commie kid.” What White thought of these incidents and the huac proceedings is not

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known. For the period in question,he excised all entries from his personal diary, and there is virtually no commentary in his personal papers about the huac,the professors who were fired, or the special committee created by the university. The only references to this episode are found in White’s correspondence with his friend and fellow faculty member at Michigan, Raymond Wilder. These letters make passing reference to the hearings held with regard to Davis, Markert, and Nickerson. The tone of White’s comments clearly indicate his skeptical attitude toward the university administration and published reports in campus newspapers (White toWilder,October 29 and November 10,1954, bhl-wp). For example, the Michigan Daily reported that Hatcher received a standing ovation when he addressed the faculty after Davis, Markert, and Nickerson were fired. Wilder, who was present at the meeting in question, wrote to White that no such ovation took place. (At the time these hearings were held, White was conducting fieldwork in the Southwest, which may account for why he did not comment directly about them.) Circumstances at the national level, too, support a theory that the fbi’s 1955 investigation of White was dropped because of timing. It was only one year earlier (May 30, 1954) that the so-called Army–McCarthy Hearings had signaled the end of Senator Joseph McCarthy’s public power and presence. 15 While the huac outlived McCarthy, there was a marked decrease in the public “show trials” at which hundreds of individuals whose names had simply been associated with communist, socialist, and front organizations had been subpoenaed to appear for what sociologist Harold Garfinkel called “degradation ceremonies.”As Senator McCarthy came to be seen as a disgrace, the fbi withdrew from its covert practice of providing him information on potential witnesses to be called before the huac, and the generally frenzied pace of the huac hearings subsided. Though red-baiting and other practices continued, the frantic public search for enemies of state had begun to decline significantly.Yet vestiges of this era in the form of loyalty oaths remained for quite some time. In factWhite was required to sign such a document in 1960 when he was invited to give a series of public lecture at the University of Colorado at Boulder (White signed the document because he felt its wording was innocuous).

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White Presses Needlessly On Life is continued only by effort. Pain, suffering, lonesomeness, fear, frustration, and boredom dog man’s steps at almost every turn. He requires companionship, courage, inspiration, hope, comfort, reassurance, and consolation to enable him to continue to the struggle of life. I know cultural devices serve man here but knowing this has not made my personal and academic life any easier—I feel I am in short supply of former.–White, journal, circa 1969

[First Pag Julian Steward and White

At the same time thatWhite was forcefully arguing for the value of evolutionary theory in American anthropology, there was growing dissatisfaction among many of his peers with the accumulation of highly specific and detailed historical and ethnographic studies that lacked theoretical or general significance. During the mid-1940s while White was reintroducing materialistic and technological variables into evolutionary theory, several other theoretical perspectives were gaining in importance. For instance, functionalists such as Radcliffe-Brown and Bronislaw Malinowski provided increasingly sophisticated insights into how respective elements of certain social systems were interrelated. Radcliffe-Brown’s functionalism gained a major foothold in the discipline, disseminated through students and faculty members at the University of Chicago. The most influential proponents of this were Fred Eggan, Robert Redfield, and Edward Spicer (Darnell 1998; Murray 1999). There was also a major interest in the material and economic lives of people. For example, a variety of works—Ralph Beals’s Cheran: A Sierra Tarascan Village (1946),George Foster’sA Primitive Mexican Economy (1942),John Gillin’s Moche: A Peruvian Coastal Community (1945), Melville Herskovits’s Economic Life of Primitive Peoples (1940), and Charles Wagley’s Economics of a Guatemala Village (1941)—analyzed economic issues in particular ethnographic cases. In addition to functionalism and economically guided research, there was a significant push toward applied anthropology and acculturation studies. The New Deal and the Rockefeller Foundation funded historic research on American communities, Indian reservations, and populations outside of the continental United Sates (Stocking 1985). However,acculturation studies and Americanist research dominated the discipline throughout the 1930s and 1940s.Acculturation studies,especially those directed by Julian Steward under

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the auspices of the Smithsonian Institution’s Institute of Social Anthropology, organized in 1943,had a major impact on the discipline (Clemmer 1999;Hatch 1973a).The works produced under Steward’s direction were overwhelmingly concerned with both applied problems and ecological phenomena.The trend toward applied problems and what would become known as cultural ecology was directly influenced by White’s materialist arguments. Given the focus on detailed ethnographic observations and their broader significance, Steward’s and White’s theoretical formulations took on great importance. At the most basic level they shared an interest in science and how history and culture change were used as theoretical constructs. As early as 1936 (“Economic and Social Basis of Primitive Bands”), 1937 (“Ecological Aspects of Southwestern Society”), and 1938 (“Basin-Plateau, Sociopolitical Groups”), Steward felt it was imperative to overcome historical particularism and replace it with a cultural ecological approach. In the 1936 article Steward concluded: Underlying this paper is the assumption that every cultural phenomenon is the product of some definite cause or causes. This is a necessary presupposition if anthropology is to be considered a science.The method of this paper has been first to ascertain the causes of primitive bands through analysis of the inner functional or organic connection of the components of a culture and their environmental basis. Next, through comparisons, it endeavored to discover what degree of generalization is possible. . . . The extent to which generalizations can be made may be ascertained by further application of the methods followed here. This paper, therefore, is but the first in a series which I shall devote to this general objective. [Steward 1936a:344–345] While these words put Steward and White together, the sentences I have omitted from the above quotation are critically important and illustrate why White and Steward differed. ForWhite there was no doubt that generalizations and patterns in evolutionary change were present. Steward,in contrast,always added some guarded words. For instance, in the 1936 article quoted above, Steward included the proviso:“It is assumed,of course,that generalizations may be made concerning all culture traits. On the contrary,it is entirely possible that the very multiplicity of antecedents of many traits or complexes will preclude satisfactory generalization and that the conclusion with respect to some things will be that history never repeats itself ” (Steward 1936a:344). Steward’s approach to evolution was influenced by Vere Gordon Childe, Alfred Kroeber (who was Steward’s mentor at the University of California),

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and Karl Wittfogel. In the mid-1940s Childe, Steward,White, and Wittfogel were the only scholars working with an explicitly evolutionary outlook. Rather than working together, however, they were intent on differentiating their approaches to evolutionism. Some historians of anthropology argue they tried to differentiate themselves because of the tremendous impact of historicist and functionalist thinking on anthropological theory (Bee 1974; Sanderson 1990; Stocking 1968). In addition, a large number of introductory anthropology texts characterize Childe,Steward,andWhite as a triumvirate of scholars whose combined work revived evolutionary theory (Kottak 1974). Finally,many scholars who were trained during the late 1930s and throughout the 1940s recall reading all three scholars’ work simultaneously—and hence in retrospect consider them theoretical brethren. For example, archaeologist Richard MacNeish recalled: As more and more anthropology departments diversified, the Boasian approach centering on the reconstruction of ethnographic peoples appeared to be very sterile to many archaeologists.American archaeologists were also being influenced by such Marxists or cultural materialists as V. Gordon Childe and Grahme Clark; others listened to Leslie White’s neoevolutionist talk about energy and culture;some of us heard another approach to systems theory from the functionalists likeAlfred RadcliffeBrown;some like Clyde Kluckhohn andWalterTaylor protested the lack of theory in our archaeological approaches;others like Al Spaulding just protested about most of what we were doing. [MacNeish 1978:52] While the theoretical contributions of Childe,Steward,andWhite certainly shared many similarities, there were good reasons why the three men spent more time differentiating their work than in finding common ground. This differentiation is most readily seen in the reviews Steward andWhite wrote of each other’s work and in the manner in which they disagreed about the types of evolutionary change and the theoretical definition of evolution. Regarding the former,White was deeply troubled by Steward’s review of The Science of Culture in Scientific Monthly (Steward 1950). In part it disturbed him because he had the utmost respect for Steward and his work. He wrote to Betty Meggers that he could not “understand Steward’s attitude and I am quite surprised at the violence of his reaction—even after his review ofThe Science of Culture, which I thought was distinctly unsympathetic and unfriendly,not to say unfair. Wonder if it is me personally that is poison to him, or whether he just doesn’t

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like my conception of sound and fruitful anthropology” (White to Meggers, March 5, 1952, bhl-wp). White had good reason to be upset by Steward’s review. In Scientific Monthly Steward maintained that the domain of White’s “new science,” culturology, is that of the phenomena that make up culture, or the superorganic. These phenomena are significantly different from biological and psychological ones. Because there are no inherent biological or psychological differences in their behavior, cultural variables are caused by differences in cultural traditions. Culture forWhite, Steward wrote, had its own laws that determine the course of its evolution. Given this, free will is an illusion, as is one’s ability to control one’s own destiny;furthermore,great individuals are entirely creatures of their culture.This line of reasoning led Steward to write,“White’s uncompromising insistence that explanations of culture be kept on a strictly culturological level . . . leads him into specious reasoning. If the objective is to account for cultural differences, it is tautology to say that ‘variations of human behavior are functions of a cultural variable’ (p. 139)” (Steward 1950:208–209). What bothered Steward the most about White’s reasoning was his dismissal of environmental variability, though White’s discussion of the individual was also bothersome. Steward found White’s belief that all environments could be averaged untenable, for in Steward’s experience cultural differences were in part a function of the environment. At a localized level, White would not and did not consider the environment a causal factor, and Steward was incredulous thatWhite “disposes of the environment in one short paragraph” (209). Steward concluded his review: White’s effort to find universal laws in the face of cultural diversity expectably leads to nothing very startling. His own logic prevents him from making the quest for laws a search for similar causes and similar results in particular situations. The equation should read: body X mind X particular habitat X cultureA = culture B.At any given time and place in cultural development the distinctive way in which the human mind reacts upon a particular culture will produce determinable changes.This will be duplicated under similar conditions. White’s rejection of body, mind, and habitat as causal factors amounts merely to elaborate proof that one equals one—that cultural variations are explained by cultural variations. [209] This same point was a source of discussion between White and O. G. S. Crawford, the longtime editor of Antiquity. Like Steward, Crawford critiqued

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White’s failure to deal with localized environmental influences. White responded that he did not deny environmental factors in his theories concerning culture change and evolution, holding that I would certainly admit and grant environmental influence upon the culture process. When one says, as I would, that culture is a process sui generis, that culture must be explained in terms of culture, one is excluding the human organism with its mind and its will as a prime mover or as a determinant of the culture process. To say that culture must be explained in terms of culture is to assert that a given cultural event has been produced or caused by antecedent cultural events, that cultural events follow one another in a cause-and-effect sequence. But this cultural process does not operate in vacuo, but in a very real and varied terrestrial environment. Its operation is, therefore, conditioned by this habitat; the environment affects the way in which cultural elements interact with one another. For a discussion of culture in general one may think of environment as an average of all particular environments and as such it may be eliminated from consideration as a constant. But when one is concerned with the operation of a particular cultural system, then he must take into account the particular features of its habitat. [White to Crawford, November 29, 1949, bhl-wp] White was equally critical of Steward’s work. For example,inWhite’s review of The Theory of Culture Change, he rejected Steward’s threefold classification of evolutionary theory. White argued that Steward’s division of three kinds of evolution: unilineal, concerned with particular cultures in stages of universal sequence; universal, concerned with culture rather than cultures; and multilinear, similar to unilinear evolutionism but distinctive in searching for parallels rather than universals. In White’s estimation, Steward’s concept of evolution“is of this sort:like causes produce like effects,”and as a result,he“falls between the two poles of idiographic and nomothetic interpretation,between the particular and the general.”InWhite’s opinion,Steward’s confusion of the idiographic with the nomothetic resulted in his inability to grasp the difference between history and evolution—two completely different kinds of processes. One is a chronological sequence of particular events,the other is characterized by a temporal sequence of forms. Steward’s weakness,inWhite’s opinion,could be tied to his background: Steward was reared . . . in the atomistic, idiographic, there-is-norhyme-or-reason-to-cultural-phenomena tradition of the Boas school

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which damned and rejected sweeping generalizations and philosophic systems. He has become impatient with one, but cannot quite accept the other.Against the background of the Boas tradition Steward appears to be both daring and original. But, measured by the rich philosophic resources of a century of anthropological thought, he appears timid, unwilling, or unable, to use concepts and theories the validity and fruitfulness of which were demonstrated by Tylor and others long ago. Consequently,his accomplishments are halting and meager. [White 1957f:541] White went on to argue that it was not enough to simply pile fact upon fact, as Boas had done, a trait he felt Steward was unable to shed. More importantly, however,White differed with Steward in that broad generalizations and the integration of these generalizations needed to be combined with a philosophical system—something that was sorely lacking in Steward’s work. White concluded his review: Steward’s attempt to break away from the Boasian tradition, and his determination to bring some order to the science of culture . . . is certainly a progressive move. Our chief criticism is that he does not go far enough: his break with his idiographic past is not clean enough; his acceptance of the nomothetic is restrained and partial. But the return to evolutionism may have to be made slowly, a step at a time. Steward has already done much to remove the stigma placed upon the concept— even the word—evolution by the schools of Boas and Father Schmidt. We may confidently expect him to do even more to re-establish this kind of scientific interpretation in cultural anthropology. [White 1957f:542] In White’s estimation there was an inherent contradiction in Steward’s thinking. On the one hand, Steward was concerned with sweeping generalizations and strove to reach them. On the other hand, he anchored himself to particular,local habitats and consequently restricted his thinking to concrete examples that inhibited the formulation of broad generalizations. In White’s view there was no inherent conflict between what Steward identified as unilinear and multilinear evolution; they were simply complementary aspects of the same phenomena—that is, two points of view from which processes can be observed. White could not understand why others failed to grasp this fundamental flaw in Steward’s work. Worried that his critical remarks about Steward would be misinterpreted,White wondered if his review of Steward’s book was too severe. In several letters White wrote that he should have been

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more polite. In response he was assured his review was accurate. For instance, Meggers wrote that she had been reading Steward’sTheory of Culture Change, and if anyone tells you your review was too hard on him, you can quote me as saying it was too easy. You didn’t even call him on his statement that the theocratic state developed in Maya society because of the necessity for centralized control of the extensive irrigation works in Yucatan! Steward himself knows better because he says in another place that the Maya never developed irrigation. The whole book is filled with contradictions, and to me, they reveal an interesting psychological element. Steward is basically working on energy and the evolution of culture,and he often forgets himself and pursues his train of thought to a logical conclusion. All of a sudden it comes to him that he is beginning to sound like Leslie A.White,and then he recants or says“this may sound likeWhite but it is entirely different.” [Meggers toWhite,August 29, 1957, bhl-wp] The inability of Steward and White to agree about the theoretical underpinning of evolutionary theory brings me to my second point, best illustrated by the exchange among Daryll Forde, Lowie, Steward, White, and several other scholars published in An Appraisal of Anthropology Today. This text is the companion volume to Anthropology Today: An Encyclopedic Inventory, the printed copies of papers presented at the 1951 International Symposium on Anthropology sponsored by the Wenner Gren Foundation. 1 The former text was based on the audio recordings and transcription of discussions held at the symposium.WhileAnAppraisal ofAnthropologyToday is a fascinating account,in preparing the text for publication the editors changed not only the sequence of events and order of speakers but also cut and pasted discussions together, making the book a readable text but one that does not necessarily accurately reflect what took place. In terms of the present analysis, An Appraisal of Anthropology Today is misleading in that the focus of the session “Problems of the Historical Approach: Theory,” chaired by Robert Lowie and Wilhelm Koppers, did not involve a general discussion about the value of evolutionary theory. Rather,the archival tapes demonstrate thatWhite was not alone in his critical view of Steward’s evolutionary analysis. In fact, nearly half of the three-hour discussion session was devoted to a thorough critique of Steward’s paper,“Evolution and Process.”2 Among those who took exception to Steward’s conception of evolutionary theory were Hallam Movius,Kaj Birket-Smith,Ralph Linton,GordonWilley,

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Daryll Forde, and White. The consensus among the aforementioned scholars was that Steward’s work was too theoretical and his treatment of evolution as a threefold process was unconvincing or convoluted. For instance, Forde prefaced his critique by noting that Steward’s attention to the effect ecological conditions had on the sociopolitical structure was important, but he noted: It seems to me that Dr. Steward makes a false dichotomy between universal and multilinear evolution. The universal evolution approach of Childe andWhite,I would suggest,is at a different level of abstraction from the multilinear evolution conception referred to by Professor Steward himself. This point with regard to different level of abstraction seems to me basic. When White and Childe are talking about the development or the emergence of patterns of organization, one is at a different level of abstraction than when one is talking of a particular cultural configuration. It is quite possible and useful to consider problems of universal evolution at one level of abstraction, and very important to do so from the point of view of heading up problems of basic processes and the conditions at which they operate. [Forde 1953:70–71] Forde has a point—specifically,that it is possible to abstract or generalize from a particular culture provided it is relativistic: that is, as a unique version of something that is universal. In contrast to Forde, Birket-Smith, Movius, and White, who found fundamental faults in Steward’s thinking, Lowie agreed with Steward that rejection of unilinear evolutionism did not necessarily mean a rejection of evolutionism in general. Lowie noted that in his battles with White during the 1940s, he had pointed out that multilinear evolution was a central theme in the work of Father Schmidt, who held there was a “primeval” level from which emerged three independent developments: “farming,” “high hunters,” and “pastoralism.”While Schmidt may have rejected the word evolution, he employed the term Entwicklung,which roughly translates to development—a term even Lewis Henry Morgan used on occasion. White would have none of this, forcefully pointing out: Professor Steward makes it very clear that his preference and interest were in a consideration of the multilinear aspect of cultural evolution. In this it seems to me that he belittles,perhaps unnecessarily so,such contributions as the universal evolutionists have to make. In his paper [“Evolution and Process”], on two different occasions, and also in previous publications,

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he has—it seems to me, at any rate—tended to disparage these contributions, calling them “so common place that everyone would accept them,” or else he says that there is nothing startling about them, which it seems to me introduces a somewhat novel criterion to science. In expressing this point of view, Dr. Steward’s statements are, I venture to suggest, more expressive of his own personal interests than they are an impartial evaluation of the contributions of the universal evolutionist. After all,some of the universal evolutionists have done something besides say hunting and gathering must precede agriculture. [White 1953:71] After sustained criticism, most forcibly presented by Birket-Smith and White, it was finally Steward’s turn to speak. When he was introduced by Lowie,there was much good-natured laughter about what Steward would say. Steward’s tone made it very clear he was not amused, nor did he appreciate the tone of the critique of his work. Steward prefaced his remarks by noting “it is a little startling to be accused within approximately 20 minutes by one person [Birket-Smith] of being too broad and wild in my generalizations and by another person [White] of anchoring myself to the particulars to the point that I don’t see any generalizations. I think it is this conflict that is the important issue here.” The inability of Steward and White to resolve the fundamental differences in their work continued throughout the 1950s. For example, in 1953 Walter Goldschmidt wrote to Pedro Armillas, Robert Braidwood, Julian Steward, Gordon Willey, Carl Wittfogel, and Leslie White about anAmericanAnthropologicalAssociation symposium he was organizing devoted to evolutionary theory. In response to Goldschmidt’s letter, Steward made several concrete suggestions,foremost among them that the discussion of evolutionary theory be limited to cross-cultural regularities. In an attempt to have a central theme,Steward recommended that his essay “Cultural Causality” could be“chewed to pieces,”noting that“there seems to be little left to be said on the subject in purely theoretical terms” (Steward toWhite, memorandum, August 9, 1953, bhl-wp). Not surprisingly,White quickly wrote that while he would participate in the proposed symposium, he could not agree with Steward’s view that there was little left to be said in general theoretical terms, especially“when one of our leading anthropologists,and not one of the elders at that, is glad to reaffirm his belief in the utter irrelevance and inadequacy of the theory of evolution as applied to cultural phenomena. And it seems to me, a general statement might be quite useful” (White to Steward,August 21, 1953, bhl-wp). Steward readily acquiesced to White, writing in a subsequent

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memorandum that White was “undoubtedly correct” in holding there was more to be said about evolutionary theory in general terms. However, this did not deter Steward from askingWhite to restrict his proposed presentation to comparative terms (Steward,memorandum,September 25,1953,bhl-wp). In the end White found himself unable to attend the symposium at the last moment because his wife was ill. This was the last direct contact White and Steward would have for several years. By the end of the 1950s Steward andWhite were no closer to resolving their differences. However, just as White came to appreciate Lowie after they had ceased their polemical battles, so too did he learn to get along with Steward. In 1960, less than a year after the death of White’s wife, Mary, Steward sent a couple of heartfelt letters toWhite. Principally concerned with congratulating White for receiving what Steward characterized as one of the best Festschrifts ever produced in honor of an anthropologist (Essays in the Science of Culture:In Honor of Leslie A.White),he took the opportunity to congratulateWhite on 30 years of teaching and his 60th year of life. He wrote that he felt an “academic kinship with you since Michigan was my first teaching job”(Steward toWhite, May 11,1960,bhl-wp). He remarked that“for many years you stood virtually alone in your point of view,” which, Steward knew, had been very hard for White personally and professionally. He went on to talk about their respective differences:“As for professional or scientific points of view,I somehow feel that events more than the realities of science have put us at seemingly irreconcilable positions. You are undoubtedly aware that I made no pretense of being an evolutionist until somehow got stuck with the label in 1952. Even after the Darwin Centennial,I am open to conviction and quite prepared to reshape my thinking. Perhaps I am less intransigent than you think. . . . In any event . . . I am extremely happy about the full import of this book for your life-long work.” In response to Steward’s kind words,White completely ignored the academic content of his letter. He thanked Steward for his “warm, friendly letter”and kind words about the Festschrift. He also noted that the Festschrift had come as a complete surprise and that letters such as Steward’s were “enormously gratifying and appreciated” (White to Steward, May 24, 1960, bhl-wp). White closed his letter: “I believe and feel I can say in complete honesty and with a minimum of self-deception that I have never published anything—or, rather, slanted anything that I offered for publication—so as to win the approbation of anyone for the sake of approbation. On the contrary, I have never refrained from saying something lest I might offend or anger

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someone. As a consequence, I exposed myself to much criticism and even ridicule—I doubt if you are aware of the extent to which this took place. In view of all this, this magnificent volume as a testimonial of approbation and esteem becomes all the more significant and substantial to me.” Vere Gordon Childe and White

An eminent prehistorian, Childe had a long-standing and serious interest in American anthropology (Peace 1988). From the mid-1920s until his death in 1957, Childe corresponded with a host of American scholars, foremost among them White. In Man Makes Himself and What Happened in Prehistory, Childe used the archaeological record to demonstrate that progressive and evolutionary changes in prehistory were a single and continuous process of humankind’s adaptation to the environment. Both Childe and White held that technoeconomic innovations (metallurgy, the wheel, food production, and so on) led to revolutionary technological and social changes, which were identified by Childe as the Neolithic and Urban revolutions (Childe 1950). Childe’s most direct participation in American anthropology occurred in 1946 with the publication of his programmatic article “Archaeology and Anthropology” in the Southwestern Journal of Anthropology. Here Childe displayed his detailed knowledge of British and American anthropological theory. He maintained that archaeology and anthropology were two complementary departments of the science of humanity:“Since ninety-nine percent of human history is prehistory, and only illiterate societies exist or have existed in sufficient number and with sufficient independence to provide the basis for reliable induction, the comparative method offers the brightest prospect for reaching general laws of the direction of historic progress”(Childe 1946:251). Childe did not think that archaeology could generate its own laws, but he maintained that it was an excellent tool for testing theories developed in other disciplines, particularly those that lacked archaeology’s time perspective. By the mid-1940s when Childe published his article, he had already dismissed the work of extreme diffusionists and was intent on critiquing functional archaeologists, who were trying to expand their work beyond the confines of trait-based interpretations of the archaeological record. Hence in describing “Archaeology and Anthropology” to the archaeologist Robert Braidwood, Childe stated that he wrote it to “elaborate on some of the ideas of White’s and castigating equally diffusionists and functionalists”(Childe to Braidwood, March 29,1946,author’s private collection). Here Childe is referring toWhite’s article “History, Evolutionism, and Functionalism,” discussed in chapter 4,

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which he toldWhite he enjoyed immensely (Childe toWhite,January 1,1946, bhl-wp). In“Archaeology andAnthropology”Childe attempted to demonstrate that ethnographic data might supplement archaeological findings and, given this alliance, one could “reconcile functionalism, diffusionism, and evolutionism” (Childe 1946:251). He went so far as to suggest that ethnography and archaeology combine to form a generalized history of culture and thereby provide a universal and objective sequence of culture stages. Childe elaborated on this point in a letter toWhite: I believe within certain limits anyhow that there can be a generalized history of institutions and techniques based upon abstraction and comparison of several concrete histories of specific institutions and inventions. But the functionalists were right to object if evolutionists or diffusionists tore institutions or artifacts out of their social contexts and classified them as the same irrespective of their function. I’m afraid English anthropologists have been very fond of this sort of thing,Trager and Elliott-Smith being conspicuously grave offenders. Malinowski and R.B. [Radcliffe-Brown] are both drawn to extreme reactions against this tendency. [Childe toWhite, January 1, 1946, bhl-wp] When Childe published “Archaeology and Anthropology” he was well aware of the debate raging between White and Robert Lowie regarding the merits of cultural evolution. Three years earlier he had written to White that he was “delighted by your Marxian paper from [the] American Anthropologist which turned up this week. I have as you say been working on very similar lines though rather more conservatively as far as terminology is concerned”(Childe to White, November 10, 1943, bhl-wp). Obviously Childe was referring to White’s paper “Energy and the Evolution of Culture.” Childe wrote to White that both he and Daryll Forde foundWhite’s paper and his scholarship impressive. In fact Childe wrote that he and Forde “envy your ability to read and assimilate such a vast body of literature in such diverse fields and are grateful for the mass of very pertinent quotations that we have either never read or forgotten” (Childe to White, February 1, 1948, bhl-wp). White was delighted to have Childe as an ally and wrote to him that he was thrilled to read “Archaeology and Anthropology,” especially since it appeared in the Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, where White’s most polemical work was printed. He wrote to Childe that he was very glad to see what you had to say about those who would exorcise

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evolutionism by invoking diffusion and also note your remarks on the “shreds and patches”theories of culture. I am afraid it will take some time yet to eradicate some of these notions from American anthropology. I noted with pleasure too that you directly opposed another Boasian thesis, one that has been stoutly asserted and defended by Herskovits—namely, that contemporary cultures of preliterate peoples cannot be equated with prehistoric cultures recovered by the archaeologist. It will take some doing to clear away this misconception too, but you have got in some good blows in the right direction. I was pleased also with your remarks about 19th century ethnographers and evolutionists. [White to Childe, February 26, 1947, bhl-wp] Childe was impressed byWhite’s scholarship and often referred to his work. He singled out White’s “Evolutionary Stages, Progress, and the Evaluation of Cultures” and “The Locus of Mathematical Reality,” writing that he “was waiting for somebody to say what you argue in the latter” (Childe to White, February 1, 1948, bhl-wp). In “The Locus of Mathematical Reality”White maintained mathematics was part of culture and it was therefore“like language, institutions, tools, the arts, etc.—the cumulative product of ages of endeavor of the human species” (1949d:286). Mathematics in its entirety, its “truths” and “theories,” was a reflection of the cultural tradition of people, and as such “mathematical concepts are man-made just as ethical values, traffic rules, and bird cages are man-made” (302). Given this,White argued great men were a product of their times rather than their own greatness. Childe went on to write: I only wonder how far this is compatible with the “evaluation” of cultures. Our culture is surely one of those which have to be evaluated but the values by which they are all judged must inevitably be drawn from our culture. On what grounds was the culture of the British “far superior to that of the poor blacks” of Tasmania. Because it was more efficient in altering various ends approved by that culture in particular the earthly preservation and multiplication of its notaries. . . . This is the difficulty of all social science and we deceive ourselves as objective, a hierarchy based upon the implicit assumption of these values even if we beg to justify them by analogies drawn from biology or some other source. I think we can get out of this difficulty only by an appeal to history. White replied that he was pleased by Childe’s critical comments on his

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attempt to evaluate cultures.White maintained that there were many different criteria, both subjective and objective, by which one could evaluate cultures. The criteria were based on the several premises, among them: (1) that man as a species tries to do what every other species tries to accomplish, namely, to make life secure and continuous and to live it fully; (2) that culture is a mechanism for accomplishing these ends, and (3) some means are better than others and that (4) therefore that culture makes life secure and enduring in the most efficient manner is the best culture. Since we are dealing with two material systems, namely, an animal species, man, and the external world, and with the relationship between these two material systems,it seemed to me that we could describe this relationship in terms of thermodynamics. I therefore constructed an index which would express this relationship in terms of man’s control over his environment through his culture in terms of energy harnessed and put to work per capita per year. [White to Childe, March 6, 1948, bhl-wp] One final example will help illustrate the degree to which White affected Childe’s thinking—here I refer to the ill-fatedAmerican edition of his important text History (see Peace 1995). The bulk of this text consists of an analysis of four different views of the historical order, which Childe categorized as: history conceived of theologically and magically, history described in terms of naturalistic theories, history as a comparative science, and history as a creative process (Childe 1947:33–42,43–59,60–66,67–84). Childe forcefully argued for the superiority of Marxism and the materialist conception of history over theological and naturalistic interpretations. Interestingly,however, he interpreted Marx’s classic 1859 Critique of Political Economy primarily in technological terms and saw Marxism at this time as basically a technological model. Without reference to White, the following passage is reminiscent of White’s energy law: Now the simplest aspect of historical order is . . . the progressive extension of humanity’s control over external nature by the invention and discovery of more efficient tools and processes. Marx and Engels were the first to remark that this technological development is the foundation for the whole history conditioning and limiting all other human activities. . . . Thus Marxism asserts that all constitutions, laws, religions and all other so-called spiritual results of man’s historical activity

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are in the long run determined by the material forces of production— tools and machines—together with,of course,natural resources and the skills to operate them.Thus the Materialist Conception offers a clue for the analysis of the data of history and opens up the prospect of reducing its phenomena to an easily comprehensible order. [69–72] Childe, Steward, White, and the Politics of Evolutionary Theory

Vere Gordon Childe, Julian Steward, and Leslie White are generally credited as being responsible for the revival of evolutionary theory in anthropology in the post–WorldWar II era (Bee 1974;Sanderson 1990). But this triumvirate of scholars,despite their common interests,each believed his individual approach to evolutionism was substantially different. For instance,when Betty Meggers defended her dissertation to her dissertation committee, Steward became visibly upset when his work was closely identified with White’s. Meggers wrote to White that her “defense went off smoothly, although there was one place where I was surprised by Julian [Steward]. He began by saying,‘I object violently to being coupled with LeslieWhite, since my methods are different, my goal is different, everything is different’ (Meggers to White, February 26, 1952, bhl-wp). I maintain that this perception of—indeed, insistence on—difference had much more to do with the sociopolitical climate than with purely scientific differences. During the Cold War the conjunction between politics and academics could come to the forefront unexpectedly. One must look past Steward’s insistence that both Childe and White were unilinear evolutionists while he, as a multilinear evolutionist, was something completely different. Hence the suggestion of Steward that it was “necessary to distinguish Childe the pre-eminent archaeologist from Childe the theoretician” must be viewed with some skepticism. In both his review of Childe’s book Social Evolution and his article “Evolution and Process,” Steward portrayed Childe and White as modern-day unilinear evolutionists whose “theoretical conception of evolution is a combination of Morganism with historical particularism, diffusionism,and relativism”(Steward 1953a:313,1953b:240–241).While this is an impressive list of anthropological“isms,”Steward’s review of Childe’s book and his characterization of White’s work were misleading.At no point does he analyze or discuss Childe’s or White’s commitment to Marxism or historical materialism and seems far more intent on distancing himself from both men. Steward’s characterization of Childe’s and White’s work as rigid unilinear evolutionism was a purposeful attempt to dissociate himself from them. In

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characterizing his own work as multilineal, he distanced himself not only from Childe and White but, by extension, from Marx and Engels. The subtext in Steward’s approach to evolution is the perception that to accept Childe’s or White’s concept of cultural revolutions in prehistory, derived from Marxism, is to implicitly accept Morgan, Marx, and Engels. 3 Thus while the Marxist tradition had a direct influence on American anthropological theory, Leacock has noted that “Morgan was never a revolutionary. This has placed him in a rather curious position” (1974:lvi)—Morgan’s work was uncritically accepted by socialist scholars and summarily dismissed in the capitalist world. Harris (1968) went even farther than Leacock in assessing the impact Marxism had on anthropology, arguing that cultural anthropology developed entirely in reaction to Marxism. In The Rise of Anthropological Theory Harris speculated that Marx was as much an influence on Steward as were Kroeber, Lowie, and Carl Saur. Steward privately admitted that the influence of Marx and the Marxist tradition was much greater than it appeared in his published work. In a letter to Harris Steward wrote: Your speculation about how I [came to develop my conception of “cultural ecology”] is only partly correct. First, I was interested in causes before I really got into anthropology,and was quite disturbed that Kroeber repudiated this interest. Second, the key factor of the national intellectual climate was the depression,which started after I finished my studies at Berkeley in 1928. I had taught at Michigan two years, 1928– 1930, and Utah 3 years, by the time the depression became so acute that everyone was asking why? and thinking generally took a sharp Marxist turn. It was during the thirties that Columbia became a communist cell, far more than people knew,and curiously,many adopted the political and economic orientations yet remained thoroughgoing relativists in their anthropological work. I too read Marx and others but it was dangerous to proclaim a Marxian position. [Steward to Harris,March 8,1969,author’s private collection] In this light it is interesting to speculate about the degree to which Steward may have deliberately muddied the Marxist influence in his work. Considering the potential for concern that one’s conservative colleagues could issue an outright attack or, more commonly, a damning accusation of “Marxist” influence, it is distinctly possible that Steward intentionally used a different style of writing. Steward was surely aware how savage such an attack could

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be; a good case in point was Morris Opler’s “Cultural Evolution, Southern Athapaskans and Chronology in Theory.” In this essay Opler accused Betty Meggers—and, by extension, White—of supporting a “shopworn hammer and sickle” (Price and Peace 2003). While it is not possible to conclusively prove Steward consciously changed his writing, it does reflect the impact the sociopolitical context had on him and other scholars. It also demonstrates a culturally prejudiced mentality toward Marxist scholarship. In part this explains why Childe andWhite failed to examine Marxism explicitly, or even to put a citation in their respective work. As Peter Gathercole has pointed out:“Between 1945 and 1950, the Left Wing intellectuals witnessed the slow disintegration of Russian prestige and a mounting attack by anti-Marxist critics on its philosophical roots. By 1950, when the Korean War broke out, the onslaught had reached massive proportions. Marxist intellectuals were often victimized or treated with contempt, and they were prone to respond with equally dogmatic behavior” (Gathercole 1974:7–8). Similarly, Dell Hymes recalled: “My recollection of the time is that a variety of people felt a need to challenge what was dominant in the 1940s, 1950s, and early 1960s. It was a time in which opportunities had been largely shaped by the emergence of the United States as a self-conscious world power with a world enemy (the Cold War). The outbreak of the Korean War in 1950 was particularly decisive on that score for many. Currents for change characteristic of the 1930s were mostly marginalized or smothered. . . . As to Marxist thought, it was risky to discuss it with people you did not trust. (As a graduate student, I kept my Marxist books off my shelves and out of sight)” (Hymes 1999:vi). While White took Steward’s criticism to heart, Childe wrote to Alfred Kroeber in 1953 that he “was amused to find myself set up with Leslie White as the arch evolutionist! I thought in Social Evolution I had recanted completely” (Childe to Kroeber, February 4, 1953, bhl-wp). This was not simply an intellectual problem. In fact it had far-reaching implications; for example, it aborted an attempted visit to the United States by Childe, because he was declared persona non grata by the U.S. Department of State (Peace 1988, 1995).When approached about the possibility of coming to the United States, Childe wrote: “In general, I should enormously welcome the opportunity of coming to U.S.A. and renewing personal contact with all my friends and colleagues there, and also to do some teaching in American Universities, for I find it very stimulating to lecture to American students. On the other hand, I must say that I feel very doubtful whether, under the present regime of anti-

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Communist hysteria, though I am not a member of the [Communist] Party, I should be granted a visa, and even if I were, whether I might not find myself suddenly kidnapped by some official, or unofficial body!” (Childe to White, September 8, 1948, bhl-wp). Childe’s letter illustrates the degree to which scholars felt affected by the oppressive sociopolitical atmosphere.Yet I hasten to note that the impact the Cold War had on Europe and the United States, though profound in both, was played out somewhat differently, accounting for the different reactions to White and Childe. Childe and other European scholars found themselves working in isolation or as tentative bridges between two mutually hostile camps. According to the eminent historian Christopher Hill: In a way the ColdWar was not as bad in England as in the States. People were not being dismissed in that sort of McCarthy-ite way and there was not any sort of institutional persecution. But it was done in an English gentlemanly way, at the time I called it a cold purge, people didn’t lose their jobs but nobody anywhere near the Left got a job. None of my pupils in the 1950s got jobs, at least none of my LeftWing students did. I had tenure, I held on and I was used to show how tolerant Oxford was that they had a Marxist among them. This was deliberately quoted to me. There was a very real black balling, you see there was no need for a purge of any sort for we just quietly excluded people. It was much more insidious and more difficult to oppose, you could not go public. [Peace 1995:139] Given the sociopolitical climate,White did not discuss or cite Marx in his published work during the ColdWar. As late as 1960,whenWhite was invited to lecture at the University of Colorado, he was required to sign a loyalty oath which involved swearing allegiance to the United States. 4 Is it any wonder then that White was reluctant to acknowledge, much less cite, his interest in and agreement with Marxist scholarship? For instance,in his two best-known books,The Evolution of Culture (1959) and The Science of Culture (1949), he mentioned Marx, Engels, and other Marxist or Russian theoreticians only in passing. In The Science of Culture White wrote, “After, or within, the science of culture, human reality is seen to consist of a network of socio-cultural relations, with the individual a function of the system as a whole. Karl Marx saw this clearly over one hundred years ago when he wrote, in the Sixth Thesis on Feuerbach:The essence of man is no abstraction inherent in each separate individual. In its reality it is the ensemble of social relation’s. As the

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science of culture grows and extends its influence among students of human behavior, this view, this understanding, will become common place” (White 1949d:186). In The Evolution of Culture,White cites no Marxist scholars, and Marx is mentioned by name only once (1959e:256).The paucity of references is significant when one considers the degree to which White was influenced by an incipient American form of Marxism via the slp and Daniel DeLeon. Three passages fromThe Evolution of Culture are worth quoting here. The first illustrates the degree to which White was aware of the Marxist analysis of commodity exchange: Suppose . . . that A and B come together, not as friends and neighbors, but owners of commodities (i.e., objects capable of satisfying human needs and produced by human labor). They exchange their respective goods, let us say yams (farm produce) for iron knives (manufactured articles). Naturally they do not make the exchange for the fun of it;each desires to derive some advantage from it.And since both objects represent and embody human labor, each wishes to derive as much advantage as he can from the transaction. The knife costs its maker so much labor. Yams will satisfy needs of the knife maker. He wishes,therefore,to obtain as much of yams for his knife (i.e., per unit of human labor) as possible. On the other hand, the yams have cost the farmer labor, and he wishes to get as many knives or as good a knife (“as much knife”) for his yams as he can. Consequently each weighs the product of the other in terms of his own.They bargain; i.e., they balance one magnitude of value against another in terms of heir need or desire. Finally the exchange is affected, and the farmer goes home with his knife,the artisan,with his yams. [244] Second, in his discussion of “primitive society,” White presented a view quite similar to that found in Engels’s Origin of Family, Private Property, and the State: Here,the only way in which the non-owning class can live is by working resources of the owning class and upon terms laid down by them.Thus, we find that the basic property institutions in primitive society make for equality of privilege and opportunity, and equality of obligation to labor and to support one’s self. This means freedom, too, of course, since equality precludes the possibility of the rule or exploitation of one class by another. The fundamental property institution of civil society, however, is just the opposite. It makes for inequality, inequality of opportunity, and inequality of obligation. One class owns but does

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not work;another class works but does not own. Freedom,consequently, exists only for the owning class, which is, of course, always a minority. Thus we see that the political character of society rests upon a basis of institutions of property and is determined by them. [White 1959e:41] The third quote illustrates that while White awarded the materialist conception of history a dominant role, he was not as much of a technological determinist as some have maintained.White was aware of the complex nature of culture and the relationship between technological and ideological factors. He wrote: In emphasizing the dominant and determining role of technology one should not lose sight of the influence exerted upon technology by social, philosophic, and sentimental factors. To assert the preeminence or dominance of technology is not to deny all power and influence of other factors. We insisted at the very outset upon the interaction and interrelationship of all aspects of culture, even though the roles played by each were not equal in magnitude of influence. . . . The technology is the basis of all other sectors of culture. It is technological change or development that produces change or growth in the other cultural sectors.The motive power of a culture,so to speak,lies in its technology, for here it is harnessed and put to work. But the magnitude of this power is always finite. . . . It is important to recognize the fact that these observations are not concessions made to an opponent of our theory of technological determinism. This theory states merely that of the various classes of forces within a cultural system, technology is the basis and the motive power of the system. It does not assert that it is omnipotent, independent of conditions and subject to no limitations. [White 1959e:27–28] All three quotes above have corresponding and direct relevance to passages in Engels and Marx. For the sake of brevity, I will quote only one passage by Engels: According to the materialist conception of history the determining element in history is ultimately the production and reproduction in real life. More than this neither Marx nor have I asserted. If therefore somebody twists this into the statement that the economic element is the only determining one, he transforms it into meaningless, abstract and absurd phrase. The economic situation is the basis, but the various

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elements of the superstructure, political forms of the class struggle and its consequences, constitutions established by the victorious class after a successful battle,etc.,forms of law,and even the reflexes of all these actual struggles in the brains of the combatants: political, legal, philosophical theories, religious ideas and their further dogma, also exercise their influence upon the course of the historical struggles and in many cases preponderate in determining their form. There is an interaction of all these elements. [Engels 1939:292] Clearly White went to great lengths to distance himself from the works of Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin, and all other Marxist and Soviet theoreticians. White was extremely cautious that his name not appear even in the same context as their work. When Crawford sent him a copy of his review of Men, Machines, and History by Samuel Lily in 1949,White wrote that he was sympathetic to Crawford’s attempt to show how archaeology,paleontology,and geology have caused people to perceive themselves in a naturalistic context rather than a theological one. However,White departed from Crawford’s views because he maintained that to go from a belief in divine will to one of human free will was to replace naturalistic, terrestrial illusion of the divine with a different, more academic illusion. He concluded his letter by writing: There is no conflict, it seems to me, between Stalin’s conception of the Great Man in History and the one to which I would subscribe. I believe, however, that I have developed the interpretation held by Marx and Stalin a little further than they have. It is pointless to say that “people make history.”There would of course be no history, human history, i.e., without“people”;this goes without saying.The next question is,“Is the course of history determined by people, by man or by Great Men, or by ‘definite conditions already existing’ [by culture]?”And, here of course, Marx-Stalin make it quite plain that they believe that“people”can only work within the framework of their sociocultural situation which means, in effect, be subordinate to it. It certainly smacks of anthropocentrism to speak of “great people understanding these conditions and knowing how to alter them.” Here again it is the external, cultural situation that is the determinant, not the individual organisms. To be sure, no two individuals are alike, and individual differences may well be significant in many situations. But, since the range of abilities may be considered a constant within a population, and similar from one population to another, we can consider the biological factor a constant, the cultural

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factor the variable. . . . Prior to Marx we had the view that man controls and directs his own destiny himself. Marx-Stalin state that it is not man but culture—definite conditions already existing—that determines what man shall do. But they couch this view in the phraseology of anthrocentrism when they say that “it is people who make history.” It is something like saying that it is the axes that chop wood, but that it is the woodsmen who determine and control the behavior of the axes. I believe that I have gone just one step farther and have expressed the view of cultural determination in culturological terms rather than anthropomorphic. [White to Crawford, February 17, 1949, bhl-wp] Crawford was tremendously impressed withWhite’s discussion of the Great Man in history and the relevance of the work of Marx and Stalin. Crawford wanted to publish the paragraph quoted above in Antiquity, which was well known for printing such short notes on its editorial pages. Crawford hoped White would not have any objections but was concerned enough to have some reservations (Crawford to White, March 13, 1949, bhl-wp). Upon receiving Crawford’s letter,White cabled him immediately, denying him permission to publish: As you may know—though not be in a position to fully appreciate the situation—we are having a wave of near hysteria in the United States concerning the Russians: Communist trials, professors being fired, bureaus being purged etc. My statement that there is no essential difference between Stalin’s view and my own, and furthermore that I believe I have developed the theory of cultural determinism even farther than Marx and Stalin, would be all that some of our red hunters would need! Ours is a state legislature,and it would be possible for them to make quite a bit of capital out of such an admission as mine if they chose to do so—and the initiative might well come from a variety of sources. In their eyes,to have me linked with Stalin in your article would be bad enough; but a forthright admission from me of similarity of views even on a scientific matter would be ever so much worse. Under the circumstances I felt it best not to stick my head out too far and gratuitously give them a good chance to wring it. I am sure you will understand. [White to Crawford, March 29, 1949, bhl-wp] The paper that best illustrates the restrictions scholars such asWhite worked under was “Ethnological Theory,” published in Philosophy for the Future. This text was deemed by the fbi particularly objectionable. White’s paper thus

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highlighted a major problem the fbi faced in pursuing those they considered a threat to national security: people such asWhite were not breaking any law. This problem was outlined in an internal fbi office memorandum regarding the significance of Philosophy for the Future. In the fbi’s estimation the contributors to this volume represented a serious threat and “affect our operations and our efforts to safeguard the security of this Nation.” All the contributors were believed to be “materialists” who held similar views that were “widening and deepening the world trend toward materialism, socialism and communism.” The report held: They are day in and day out influencing the minds of countless youths. Their influence goes beyond the classroom.They are also writers issuing books and articles designed to influence educated and articulate adults in positions of importance.There can be little doubt that these materialists are subtly preparing the minds of at least a percentage of those reached by them for the acceptance of communism. Further, they probably are preparing a greater percentage of educated minds to be sympathetic or soft toward communism. . . . It is not unlikely that the majority of the educated enemies of the Bureau who are regularly attacking us or opposing in one form or the other are philosophic materialists.And,they are not decreasing in numbers. Philosophy for the Future is our problem for the future. [fbi, office memorandum, July 28, 1957] This book,andWhite’s article in particular,graphically illustrates a problem many scholars faced during the Cold War: how could they make their work appear benign? One thing was sure: scholars could not mention Marxism, Marxist scholarship,socialist ideology,or anything that could be remotely tied to the Left. The dangers of being associated with Marxist scholarship were significant, as many scholars saw their careers destroyed or at least derailed. While one might expect the academic community would fight such an assault on academic freedom, in fact it did nothing to prevent it. American universities completely redrew the boundaries of academic freedom; as Schrecker has noted: “The academy did not fight McCarthyism. It contributed to it. The dismissals, the blacklists, and above all the almost universal acceptance of the legitimacy of what the congressional committees and other official investigators were doing conferred respectability upon the most repressive elements of the anti-Communist crusade. In its collaboration with McCarthyism, the academic community behaved just like every other major institution in American life” (Schrecker 1986:340).

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In the face of such oppression what did scholars do? Childe and others, for example, tried to make their Marxist beliefs more palatable so they would not be rejected outright. The line between explicitly Marxist works and those in which the use of Marxism are not so readily apparent becomes increasingly blurred. To return to White’s “Ethnological Theory,” in 1950 Childe wrote to White thanking him for sending a copy of his essay:“in spite of [what] I gather is an extreme reaction you and Stern and Company are managing to get across a lot of good Marxism” (Childe to White, January 15, 1950, bhl-wp). Childe noted that the sociopolitical situation in the United States in some way might be an advantage, because what “the bourgeoisie calls Marxist jargon [leads] many intelligent people [to be] so repelled thereby they never read any Marxism at all and I don’t know what it is. I believe in sugar coating as in the Hobhouse lecture. With my own avowedly Marxist work hardly anyone gets beyond the preface.” In another letter Childe humorously thankedWhite for continuing to write, as he “feared that under the present McCarthy regime it would be dangerous to correspond with even a very pale pink inhabitant of the American colony of England” (Childe toWhite, July 2, 1954, bhl-wp). Childe was wrong about one thing:White was not getting a lot of good Marxism across—or anything that could be even remotely characterized as being Marxist.WhenWhite wrote in a style that was obviously influenced by Marxist scholarship he was blasted for his efforts. For example, in a venomous review published in the New Republic, Ernest Nagel, professor of philosophy at Columbia University, savaged Philosophy for the Future, specifically targeting Bernhard Stern, Dirk Struik, and White. Nagel wrote that materialism had a long and valued history within academia,but was currently under attack,citing Philosophy for the Future as one of several defenses that had been published in recent years. Nagel found the quality of the contributions weak; the “volume as a whole makes unimpressive reading.” Nagel correctly pointed out there was internal conflict among the contributions, citing the Stern and White contributions, and felt many of the essays were philosophically neutral. 5 He summarized his criticism: “Far too many of the essays have been written on the assumption that if only the adjective ‘dialectical’ is prefixed to the word ‘materialism’ difficulties become immediately resolved and unsupported claims become warranted. Indeed, though a goodly number of the contributors exercise a commendable objectivity and independence of judgment, the net impression the book makes is that of an uncritical wholesale endorsement of the philosophical pronouncements of Marx,Engels and Lenin” (Nagel 1949:18).

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Nagel specifically cited Stern’s and White’s contributions as the most objectionable in the text. He maintained that Stern’s comments on historical materialism were the “dogmatic reiteration of the orthodox claim that the mode of production is ultimately the determining factor of every social order.” White he characterized as “an intransigent orthodox Marxist” and lamentedWhite’s attempted revival of Lewis Henry Morgan’s simplistic theory of cultural development. Nagel viewed both White and his “devotion to straight-line historical materialism as sterile metaphysics” (Nagel 1949:18). He concluded his essay by warning the reader that Philosophy for the Future was, except in rare instances,“philosophical food offered to the reader” designed to support a communist program concealed amid sectarian polemics (19).

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White continued to write for the Weekly People until the end of 1946. Why he stopped writing under the pseudonym John Steel cannot be definitively established.While he no longer published anything under the auspices of the slp after 1946, he did not end his association with the party then. White continued to subscribe to the Weekly People, as is evidenced by a careful file of articles he clipped out concerning Lewis Henry Morgan. He also corresponded irregularly with several members of the party, most notably Eric Hass,Aaron Orange, and ArthurTaylor. He attended many slp functions and particularly enjoyed the annual July 4th celebrations (he truly enjoyed Independence Day with the slp because he believed they were true patriots and the empty rhetoric at traditional celebrations annoyed him to no end). However,when the break with the party came,it was swift,violent,and sudden. This was not unusual with the slp;fragmented by political strife,the party went through several major internal crises during its history. For instance,there was a failed attempt to oust Arnold Peterson as the national party secretary in 1947, and many longtime members were forced to resign as a result of the coup. White’s estrangement with the slp resulted from the manner in which The Science of Culture was reviewed by theWeekly People. In June 1958White wrote to Eric Hass,longtime editor of theWeekly People, inquiring whether he intended to review his book. White was particularly pleased that The Science of Culture, first published in 1949, was being reissued by Grove Press as an inexpensive paperback. However, the press was not advertising the book, and White was disappointed by the sales and limited number of reviews it had received. Hass wrote to White that he had already requested a copy from Grove, looked forward to reading it, and fully intended

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to write an extensive review. “[F]or several months now I have been trying to widen my knowledge of the science of anthropology and I can think of nothing I should like better than to concentrate on it [The Science of Culture] for a few weeks or months to the exclusion of everything else. . . . I am deriving great pleasure from [your] work and hope that it will give me a more solid foundation for all my work” (Hass toWhite, June 13, 1958, bhl-wp). The review Hass eventually published was extensive and laudatory;“The Insights of Culturology” appeared on the editorial page, with four excerpts fromThe Science of Culture. “White’s method is rigorously scientific,” bringing the reader’s attention to the wide complex of forces and factors that determine the evolution of culture. Accordingly White’s book “was not a restatement of historical materialism but rather an attempt to explain the innumerable differences in cultural traits that exist in societies that have substantially the same economic basis and social systems.” Hass concluded that “the Marxist who studies the science of culture—we use the word studies advisedly— will find confirmation, insights and elaborations of considerable value” (Hass 1958). LikeWhite,Eric Hass had joined the Socialist Labor Party in the late 1920s. He was editor of the Weekly People from 1938 until 1967, when the party witnessed a significant number of resignations. 6 Hass’s favorable treatment of his book did not come as a surprise to White, for throughout the 1930s and early 1940s Hass had line editedWhite’s John Steel articles. Hass had also routinely praised offprints White had sent him of his articles from academic journals such as theAmericanAnthropologist. For example,in thankingWhite for sending a copy of “Energy and the Evolution of Culture,” Hass wrote that he “was doubly impressed with your essay because it shed light on Morgan’s life and work and exposed how men of science were prejudiced against Morgan” (Hass toWhite, June 2, 1944, bhl-wp). After Hass’s review was published,White sent him a short note thanking him for his kind words. Hass replied that he could not “accept your thanks for the favorable review I wrote of your book,The Science of Culture, for the reason that I have reconsidered and repudiated the opinions expressed therein. A‘reconsideration’will appear in theWeekly People”(Hass toWhite,January 20, 1959, bhl-wp). Beneath Hass’s signature was the stenographic notation “cc. A. Peterson.” The reconsideration,“White’s Culturology Reconsidered and Repudiated,” was a devastating critique of White’s work in general, of The Science of Culture, and of Hass’s own laudatory review. The piece was written by three highly placed party members: Aaron Orange (National Executive

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Committee), Arthur Taylor (National Executive Subcommittee), and Emil Teichert (secretary of the German Committee). In an unsigned introduction to the reconsideration of White’s work, it was noted that all three men “sharply dissent from the view that White’s ‘culturology’has anything in common with Marx’s historical materialism”but was in fact“a distortion of Marxian Science”which firmly placedWhite“in the camp of the enemy of Socialism.”The review was particularly vitriolic because, in the words of Teichert,White “should have known better because he was familiar with the writings of DeLeon and the principles of the slp.”Teichert had only contempt forWhite and characterizedThe Science of Culture as a“chain of contradictions and abstract mumbo-jumbo”.The review concluded: There is more detail in these dissents but this suffices. The editor [Hass] agrees that it was a mistake to review Dr. White’s book favorably. By ducking the revolutionary implications of social evolutionary philosophy, and indeed, by ignoring the class struggle, Dr. White has done a service for the ruling class, thereby placing himself in the camp of the enemy of Socialism. His concept of a suprastate resulting from a global atomic war is fatalistic, hence in conflict with the sound Marxian stand that, with the scientific tools Socialism places in the hands of the working class, it can end class rule, destroy the competitive factors that breed wars, and eventually, create a world Socialist Commonwealth. Moreover it should be noted that since the State,ipso facto,implies class rule and mass subjugation,a suprastate would imply the same. Instead of according it praise, the book should have been exposed as anti-Marxist and anti-Morgan,and one whose effect is to becloud issues that it is vital to keep clear. [Orange,Taylor, andTeichart, January 31, 1959] Obviously the reviewers were incensed thatWhite ignored the class struggle;they believed that he“bypassed”the question of the industrial and political organization of the working class and“ducked”the revolutionary implications of social–evolutionary philosophy. Hass’s original review was also held up for contempt because he did not attack White personally or professionally. Hass was severely criticized because he knew White was familiar with slp ideology yet did not write the sort of book they expected.ThusWhite’s work was attacked not only for what it did say but also for what it did not say. In short, when the review is stripped of its political rhetoric, what bothered the reviewers the most was thatWhite did not write the sort of book they expected him to write given his long association with the party.

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After White’s work was reconsidered, the National Executive Committee (nec) believed thatWhite,once exempt from criticism,deserved to be severely chastised along with all the other“expelled disrupters.”Less than a year after the devastating critique of The Science of Culture, Aaron Orange wrote a shockingly harsh review of The Evolution of Culture (Orange 1960). Referring to White as a “former sympathizer of the Socialist Labor Party,” Orange asserted that White’s latest book provided conclusive evidence that he was veering far away from DeLeonist principles and “coming to terms with capitalism.” Orange claimed thatThe Evolution of Culture departed significantly fromWhite’s earlier work on evolutionary theory published in theWeekly People. AlthoughWhite maintained he was presenting “a modern mid-twentieth century exposition of evolutionist theory,”White had ulterior motives. Specifically, Orange argued thatWhite tried to prove Morgan’s theories were either “invalid”or “obsolete” in an attempt to“minimize the importance of Morgan’s main contribution to Social Science—his discovery of the materialist conception of history.”Citing an October 10, 1910, editorial written by Daniel DeLeon, Orange warned the readers of theWeekly People to be wary of “modernizers” like White who, according to DeLeon,cannot master scientific socialism and as a result resort to trickery and rhetoric to confuse those who are not familiar with the intricacies of socialist scholarship. DeLeon had concluded that modernizers attempted to substitute a“trick of rhetoric”for the accurate use of the scientific technical term and had reminded readers that “the materialist conception of history is the technical term used by Socialist science to sum up the sociological law that social institutions are reflexes of and determined by the prevalent system of wealth production and its exchange” (Orange 1960). Modernizers such asWhite remained an especially dangerous threat to the slp. Orange maintained that White’s book “watered down the simple, clearly stated scientific principles enunciated by the founders of scientific Socialism. Further, he employed language which was both turgid and obscure” (Orange 1960). Throughout The Evolution of Culture, White confused terms such as use value, exchange value, wages, exploitation, class conflict, the state, private property, and many others, thereby confounding and bewildering readers. Given the dense verbiage,Orange lamented his expectations thatWhite’s book would be well received at universities and would undoubtedly sell many copies. Orange concluded: As to the author, Leslie A. White, professor of anthropology at the University of Michigan,we must draw the following conclusions:During his

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association with the Socialist Labor Party as a sympathizer for a period well over a decade he was seemingly a student of Marxian principles. However, to paraphrase Arnold Peterson, the National Secretary of the Socialist Labor Party,eitherWhite had studied these principles and in that case rejected them thoroughly, or he had not studied them sufficiently and consequently had not understood them.As a professor at a so-called institution of higher learning he helps in the process of addling the brains of his students,thereby promoting incapacity to reason upon the domain of sociology. [Orange 1960] White was deeply troubled by the 1959 “repudiation” of The Science of Culture, which he believed was uncalled for and unfair. He asked Elizabeth Costello Schnur, a well-placed party member, how his work had come to be deemed so objectionable (White to Costello Schnur,August 2,1959,bhl-wp). Costello Schnur brought up the subject with the Michigan State Members Committee and was told that White’s work was attacked for three reasons. First, Hass was under fire from the nec for writing too many lengthy book reviews to the detriment of more important socialist issues. His long review ofThe Science of Culture was simply the last straw. Second, the nec was critical of White because his book deviated from what they deemed to be the truth regarding social evolution, about which they firmly had an all-or-nothing mentality. Third, and most importantly,White knew the slp party platform but did not write the sort of book they expected (Costello Schnur to White, August 12, 1959, bhl-wp). They maintain that since you do understand the slp your approach could have given a more scientific analysis but, that wasn’t your purpose, and had it been,and had you said some of the things they thought you should have said,you would have been severely criticized by the University,and in fact, the book probably would not have been published.The fact still remains that there is a conspiracy of silence against scientific socialism— they can’t refute the basic principles, and run into trouble when they attempt it—and so they ignore it. And so I don’t think you should have been too much concerned about the criticism—but then, of course, one’s pride is hurt. The fact that Costello Schnur concluded that the hostile review of The Science of Culture said more about the intransigence of the slp than about the quality of White’s work reassuredWhite. He wrote back:

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I am glad that you recognized that I was attacked for not discussing a subject which was not pertinent to the book. The main thesis of The Science of Culture is that the affairs of society are to be explained culturally rather than psychologically. I was not discussing the class struggle, the property basis of civil society, etc., but I have done this in my book The Evolution of Culture (see the chapter on “The State Church: Its Forms and Functions”). In my courses here at Michigan I have taught all these things, including the concept of surplus value, etc., for years. I have run into trouble, lots of it, but I have done it. [White to Costello Schnur, August 25, 1959, bhl-wp] White also expressed his dismay regarding the review ofThe Science of Culture to Betty Mitroff, another slp member. Unfortunately, Mitroff sent White’s letter to Aaron Orange—something he had explicitly asked her not to do. Orange sent a long, detailed letter to “Comrade Mitroff,” explaining why White’s objections to the review of his book were not only “pathetic” but also “stupid” and “contemptible” (Orange to Mitroff,August 20, 1960, bhl-wp). In accusing three highly placed members of the slp of “attacking” him for dogmatic reasons,White was attempting to “crawl out from under the weight of legitimate and pertinent criticism by casting the National Secretary as the villain in the piece.”Orange went on to argue thatWhite was all too well aware that any“honorable encounter with the slp would spell defeat for him. Hence he resorted to a cowardly tactic of sniping at the Party’s National Secretary, thereby laying the blame at the National Secretary’s door for an action that exposedWhite’s own deficiency.”Aside from political intrigue within the slp, what incensed Orange the most were the conclusions that White reached: “How can a man who claims to be a social scientist and a Morgan supporter arrive at the unscientific conclusion that the world of tomorrow will be enclosed ‘in a single political embrace,’ and that the way will be ‘made free and open for a richer and fuller life’? Marxian scientists take the position, as you know, that the world of tomorrow will be a non-political world based on the collective ownership and production for use. ‘A single political embrace,’ to use Marx’s language, would be inseparable from slavery!” White was clearly tired of being attacked and misunderstood by the slp. He deeply regretted that Mitroff, albeit with good intentions, had sent his letter to Orange. He wrote that “if I do not understand the position of the slp now, after reading the Weekly People for some thirty years, I never will understand it” (White to Mitroff, September 22, 1960, bhl-wp). White was profoundly

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depressed by the slp’s dogmatism. He concluded that it was impossible to dispute the platform of the slp at any level without being unmercifully attacked. Moreover,“It did not seem to me that Orange’s letter explains the Party’s position or even tries to. He seems to be much more concerned with calling me stupid,contemptible,unscientific,anti-Morgan,a coward,fatalistic, conceited, vain etc. All of these terms are used by him in his letter to you. I note that he is going to keep my letter in his ‘White file.’ What use of it he will make in the future, if any, remains to be seen. But it wouldn’t be difficult to guess what kind of use he will make of it if he does use it.” In spite of his calm letters to Betty Mitroff and Costello Schnur, at times White was understandably outraged by the review. He had spent over a decade writing and working for the party, had encouraged people to join, and he sincerely believed in its ultimate aim.Ten years after theWeekly People retracted its positive review,White was still angry. In a two-page retrospective statement, he wrote:

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We have the spectacle of a man [Hass] who has been an editor of the Weekly People for many years. He is a mature man and a veteran socialist. He has been chosen by the Party to run for high office; he has represented them on tv programs and radio broadcasts. This man, with his background,readThe Science of Culture carefully,he liked it,he thought it worthwhile, it provided many invaluable insights etc. His enthusiasm for it was obvious. . . . It seems to me fairly plain that the three criticisms were not spontaneous. Why did Hass send Peterson a carbon copy of his letter to me repudiating the review? This is not the first time that a member of a radical party has had to recant, to confess his errors, to crawl before the all-powerful party secretary. The attack upon me was personally motivated,in my opinion,and there is considerable evidence for it. My first impulse was to feel sorry for Hass. The spectacle of his humiliation before Peterson tended to make me feel sorry for him. But the spectacle of his crawling in self-abnegation before Peterson only arouses my contempt for Hass. The whole episode is simply ludicrous. It is a farce. It is opera bouffe. It is a pathetic caricature of a radical revolutionary party of the 1870s. . . . The slp has been the custodian of a tradition that has had and still has value,intellectual value,that is,in the works of Marx, Engels, Lenin, DeLeon, etc. Because they feel that their cause is sacred their methods of serving it become certified. [White, retrospective statement, February 22, 1960, bhl-wp]

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White was correct that the attack on him andThe Science of Culture was not spontaneous and was probably personally motivated. In 1954 Arthur Taylor wrote to White about an article he wanted to write for the Weekly People, reviewing The Science of Culture and other works by White. The proposed article was to be lengthy,running serially (Taylor toWhite,April 5,1954, bhlwp). White responded with interest, noting,“With regard to the slp point of view, I might merely say that I have tried to write from the standpoint of a man of science rather than from the standpoint of a man of politics” (White to Taylor, April 16, 1954, bhl-wp). While Taylor found much of interest in White’s writings,he told him they also“offer great provocations to an slp man and in some cases require severe,very severe criticism from our angle”(Taylor to White, April 1954, bhl-wp). Due to illness in the Taylor household, the proposed article was never published. However,Taylor told White he had a manuscript of some 20,000 words and that he had read The Science of Culture twice. Taylor believed White’s writings contained many profitable lessons for the readers of theWeekly People but disagreed with many of White’s conclusions (Taylor toWhite,April 25, 1955, bhl-wp). Given the above, I do not think the negative review came as a shock to White, for his book was also blasted by the Communist Party’s newspaper, the Daily Worker (Friedman 1949) and by the Western Socialist, published by the Worker’s Socialist Party (“Does Man Make History?” 1952). For more than a decadeWhite was the slp’s resident Morgan expert.That is,he was virtually the only person who published analyses about Morgan between 1931 and 1945. Even Arnold Peterson, the powerful and dogmatic national secretary, singled outWhite’s work,writing that“thanks to the fine scholarship and the splendid literary detective work of Professor Leslie A. White, Associate Professor of Anthropology, University of Michigan, we are afforded an opportunity fully to gauge the depth of Morgan’s intellectual liberalism, and to appraise his judgment of Ultramontanism” (Peterson 1938). Peterson also praisedWhite’s editorial skills in Extracts from the European Travel Journal of Lewis H. Morgan. In fact the New York Labor News Company, publisher of the Weekly People, purchased 700 copies of this text. Beginning in 1948, though,White’s essays on Morgan were replaced by ones written by Aaron Orange, EmilTeichert, andWalter Steinhilber. Orange was the primary author of numerous articles about Morgan, most of which did not meetWhite’s rigorous scholarly standards,despite the fact that Orange relied on White’s detailed knowledge of Morgan and regularly corresponded with him on the subject (Orange 1951a, 1951b, 1952a, 1952b). The primary

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problem with slp analyses of Morgan was their uncritical appraisal of his contribution to anthropology. For example,in a series of articles about Morgan in the Weekly People celebrating the 75th anniversary of the publication of Ancient Society,there was no attempt to address the errors in Morgan’s work or present contemporary anthropological data. In a letter to Hass,White wrote that the slp’s enthusiasm for Morgan “should not lead them to put forth as sound portions of his work that have become obsolete in light of progress made since the 1870s”(White to Hass,June 13,1950,bhl-wp). Hass responded:“The trouble here is that, as Socialists, our investigations in anthropology rarely go beyond Morgan for a variety of reasons, one being criticism of Morgan from hostile parties is bound to be suspect. That is, because we know that Morgan has been treated contemptibly by most of the leading anthropologists,and why, we are reluctant to listen to their criticism. With you, of course, it is different, and I shall reflect most respectfully on what you write”(Hass toWhite,January 11, 1951, bhl-wp). Before the review of The Science of Culture, all references to White’s work as it related to Lewis Henry Morgan and Ancient Society were laudatory (“Lewis Henry Morgan”1948;“Literary Pygmy”1955;Hass 1955;Steinhilber 1951, 1955; Teichert 1951). Indeed, White is repeatedly singled out as the lone anthropologist who defended Morgan, for which efforts, it was noted, White “has long been a painful thorn in the side of official anthropology” (Hass 1955). In White’s correspondence with Orange, he tried to keep him apprised of modern anthropological theory. However,uncritical party rhetoric dominated slp analyses of Morgan’s work. For instance, Hass maintained that Morgan’s evolutionary theory was “a cultural hot potato that reputable anthropologists beholden to the capitalists who pay the education bills, prefer not to handle.”Hass also maintained that while anthropological knowledge has expanded greatly since Morgan was working, it did not affect the conclusions he had reached;“latter-day discoveries have shown some of Morgan’s minor assumptions to be unfounded. But in the really vital matter of the family, and of society no subsequent discovery has overthrown Morgan’s fact-bastioned theory.” A careful reading of White’ correspondence with Orange and Hass reveals that by the mid 1950s they had tired of White’s criticism. Compounding this was the factWhite had not published an article in theWeekly People since 1946. In the meantime, a body of literature had accumulated in the pages of the Weekly People that reinforced their uncritical treatment of Morgan. They also had a substantial set of White’s writings in both theWeekly People and a variety

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of professional anthropological journals that convinced them White was not adhering to the party line. 7 Lumped in with all anthropologists who failed to appreciate the revolutionary implications of Morgan’s work, White was severely criticized by the slp.White was in good company,for the slp attacked virtually every academically trained anthropologist who discussed Morgan. TheWeekly People lamented the fact that anthropology was too frequently represented by people like Margaret Mead and Ruth Benedict, who “reject science when capitalist interests are at stake” (“Morgan’s Tracing of Social Evolution” 1965). Those anthropologists who wrote about Morgan were quickly dismissed as enemies. For example, Bernhard Stern’s biography of Morgan was perceived to be “an outrageous attempt to discredit him.” Similarly, Carl Resek’s biography did not support Morgan—and so Resek did not understand Morgan (Orange 1964). Linton supposedly held that Morgan was a “conservative Biblicist,” while Radcliffe-Brown supposedly wrote that Morgan rejected the theory of organic evolution and was not even a social evolutionist (Hass 1955). Eleanor Leacock’s “curtsy” to Ancient Society proved to the slp that a university professor could “approve” and enthusiastically support Morgan without understanding him. This was evidenced by the fact she identified White as “the foremost scholar of Morgan,” when in fact the conclusions he reached were the “antithesis of those reached by Morgan.” The sharpest and most pointed criticism published in the Weekly People was reserved for White. In 1965 Emil Teichert reviewed Harvard University Press’s new edition of Morgan’s Ancient Society, which carried a thoughtful introduction by White. Roundly praised in anthropology journals, White’s introduction was soundly lambasted by the slp. In “Academic Hairsplitter Attacks Morgan,” Emil Teichert blasted White from every conceivable angle (Tiechert 1965).Teichert wrote thatWhite’s “Introduction neither makes for a clearer understanding of Morgan’s work or his contribution to the socialist cause and was simply a repetition of [White’s] past performances.” In short, “the scholarship of Dr.White is unimpressive.” White believed Ancient Society became a socialist classic because “Engels accepted Morgan’s reasoning with regard to early forms of the family.”White wrote that “Morgan’s theory of social evolution has since defied scientific criticism” and has enjoyed “a prominent and honored place in the library of the revolutionary socialist labor movement” (White 1964e:xxxiii). This was the case despite the fact that “Morgan’s theory of the evolution of the family has been shown by modern anthropologists to be invalid; the only adherents to the theory are die hard Marxists who feel that any criticism of Morgan is

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betrayal of the Marxist faith.”This enraged the slp. Teichert believed White’s analysis was reckless and would confuse people unfamiliar with Morgan and “encourage the hairsplitters and sticklers for the inconsequential.”ForTeichert, whether Morgan was right or wrong in his theory of the evolution of the family was not relevant, because it in no way detracted from Morgan’s “great discovery”—the revolutionary implications of social evolution. Focusing on academic minutiae was “preposterous” because there was no such thing as a “Marxist faith.”The slp’s duty was to science:“Marxism—despite efforts on the part of ‘academic Marxists’in the‘Communist’world and in theWest to blur the fact—is a science. It is the science that points the way to the classless, Stateless Socialist Commonwealth—the crowning goal of social evolution. Everyone knows that faith is synonymous with blind, uncritical acceptance of a dogma, or creed, or a ‘principle’ handed down by some ‘higher authority’; or blind, uncritical acceptance of the sterile knowledge that pseudo-anthropologists or pseudo-sociologists pawn off as ‘scholarship.’ Marxism and mere faith are antithetical.The one excludes the other” (Teichert 1965). The attacks onWhite bothered him a great deal but did not necessarily affect his relationship with people still in the Socialist Labor Party. For example, he was close to Betty Mitroff, a longtime slp member. While on sabbatical in California,he visited her to give her a copy of the Festschrift that was presented to him in 1960. He pleaded with her:“Please do not send it toA. Orange or to any other member of the slp. I do not wish to be abused,reviled,and degraded again. I believe myself to be a man of honor and a scholar of integrity. I respect myself and my conscience is clear on all matters pertaining to scholarship and social science. Just the same, I would not wish to invite further abuse and vilification at the hands of persons whose premises and objectives may be different from mine” (White to Mitroff, May 10, 1961, bhl-wp). In the end White was dismissed by the Socialist Labor Party as yet another scholar who could critique capitalist society only within the limits prescribed by the ruling class. Teichert noted that like any other worker,White must eat and that in order to get his bread regularly, “he must write and teach within the limits imposed by our modern institutions of learning” (Teichert 1965). Shortly afterWhite read these words,he was contacted by a Columbia University graduate student,Eugene Ruyle,who was writing a paper concerning the influence Marxism had on anthropology. 8 Ruyle wrote to White that he had “heard it rumored you were at one time a member of the Marxist–DeLeonist Socialist Labor Party.” Ruyle wanted a “confirmation or denial of this rumor connecting you with the Socialist Labor Party” (Ruyle to White, March 15,

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1966, bhl-wp). White responded:“I am not, and have never been, a member of the Socialist Labor Party. I attended a number of their lectures and went to some of their picnics in the early 1930s in Detroit. I have never applied for admission to the Party and I was never asked to become a member (invited to become a member, perhaps I should say)” (White to Ruyle, March 22, 1966, bhl-wp). White went on to write a long and detailed letter explaining how he came to study Morgan and, subsequently, Marxist scholarship. He wrote in such detail because, White believed, Ruyle could “be instrumental in opposing rumors, responsible or otherwise, and help clear up some misunderstanding about my theoretical work”(White to Ruyle,March 22,1966, bhl-wp).Why White lied about his association with the slp is difficult to ascertain, given the sociopolitical context. While the Cold War had not yet ended, the fever pitch of McCarthyism had passed and the ferment of the 1960s was beginning to percolate an increasingly radical following. Perhaps White denied being associated with the slp because Ruyle’s inquiry arrived just after Teichert’s attack and he did not want to be associated with the party historically. Regardless,White’s association with the slp won him few friends.Theoreticians within anthropology perceived his work to be confused by unnecessary rhetoric (Harris 1968), or worse, thought of him as being an “ill-tempered polemicist” (Service 1981:30). Without an appreciation of White’s work within the Socialist Labor Party program, passages of his writings do indeed seem rhetorical. For example, in his widely read foreword to Evolution and Culture, edited by Marshall Sahlins and Elman Service,White wrote: Evolutionism flourished in cultural anthropology in a day when the capitalist system was still growing:evolution and progress were the order of the day. But when, at the close of the nineteenth century the era of colonial expansion came to an end and the capitalist–democratic system had matured and established itself securely in theWestern world, then evolution was no longer a popular concept. On the contrary, the dominant note was “maintain the status quo.” And, although the United States was born in armed revolt against its mother country,in the mid-twentieth century it is determined that no other country shall do likewise,and the communist revolution which is spreading“aggression,” and is opposed on moral grounds as well as with economic and military means. [White 1960b:vi] Unfortunately,White purged his papers before his death,so it is very difficult

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to establish exactly why he devoted so much time to the slp or why he denied his association with it in later years. In part purging his papers might reflect his well-thought-out caution for political purposes, a desire to avoid further direct conflict with others, or simply that he discussed socialism with a select few people outside the slp. Although White was a faculty member of the University of Michigan for 40 years, he spoke about socialism with only two men. Although these men, Raymond Wilder and Wesley Maurer, were fellow faculty members, they were friends first and foremost. Maurer, in a retrospective letter,wrote about his friendship withWhite and their discussions concerning socialism:“I learned much about socialism from him and about related political philosophies.We had many discussions,I arguing in favor of the democratic process. . . . While I saw much good in the socialist philosophy he failed to persuade me to accept it because I thought of it as a negative reaction to the faults of capitalism. . . . What I especially liked about our discussions is that neither of us seemed closed minded about our preferences; he did not try to persuade me to his preference nor did I try to persuade him to mine. The arguments were the substance,at least to me,from which I learned much” (Maurer toWarren Robbins,September 23,1992,author’s private collection). The only remaining papers that come close to establishing the personal reasons why he was active in the slp are letters he exchanged with Elizabeth Costello Schnur.Their friendship,though steady over the years,became closer in 1959, when their spouses died. Those deaths prompted them to reminisce philosophically about their lives and the choices they had made. Schnur wrote to White that she thought he was unhappy in part because in the late 1920s and early 1930s he had failed to commit his career to the slp, as her husband had. “One cannot straddle the fence, either you dedicate your life to propagating socialism, as DeLeon did, or you take the more profitable course of fitting in with the present powers that be! As I often told Frank [Frank Schnur, her husband and fellow party member] his life was full, satisfying and complete because he worked in the field he loved most—Socialist Labor Party” (Costello Schnur toWhite, July 30, 1959, bhl-wp). In his own defense, White replied:“I don’t think that you meant it when you said that one either dedicates one’s self to socialism or ‘took the more profitable course fitting in with the powers that be.’ . . . I haven’t straddled the fence. . . . I have taught what I think is right and what I know. I think you exaggerate the extent to which Universities censor their faculty. Most of them teach from a capitalist point of view because that is all they know. But I have taught genuine social science and although I have been penalized for it—in slowness of promotion,

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salary increase etc. I have not been fired” (White to Costello Schnur,August 25, 1959, bhl-wp). Perhaps the best assessment of White’s relationship with the slp came from Costello Schnur’s son, Joe. Like White and his mother, Joe Costello was a longtime member of the party. Joe Costello believed that White felt he had the moral obligation to introduce others to the slp. It was not simply politics that drewWhite to the party; it espoused a view of the world that made sense to him both intellectually and personally. Costello recalled that, more than anything,White “organized not just his thoughts but action was his method” (letter to author, July 30, 1994). In explaining why White was drawn to the party he wrote:“DeLeon,in one pamphlet,stated that if every working person did his best socialism would triumph over all societal problems. He did not expect perfection but a dedication to the cause and willingness to take action. Leslie White had such an attitude. He was never adamant or dogmatic, rather he wanted what was best for all people, especially those disenfranchised. He was a driven man for the party and for improving the world for the masses.”

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Where did White’s battle to revive evolutionary theory stand by the end of 1950s?To answer this question,one need only look at 1959.This year heralded the mainstream or institutional acceptance of evolutionary theory inAmerican anthropology. Nonetheless,White did not forget many of the unkind things that had been said to him years earlier and was ambivalent,if not hostile,to the surge of people now proclaiming themselves to be evolutionists.The year 1959 also witnessed the republication ofThe Science of Culture and the publication of The Evolution of Culture. Each text was extensively reviewed in social science journals and the popular press. 9 More generally, two significant celebrations were held to mark the centennial publication of Charles Darwin’s Origin of the Species. The Anthropological Society of Washington (asw) sponsored a series of lectures in anticipation of the Darwin centennial beginning in 1957, attempting to include the foremost scholars of all the major subdivisions of anthropology. Those invited to present papers included: Ernst Mayr (“Darwin and Evolutionary Theory in Biology”), T. Dale Stewart (“Evolution and Physical Anthropology”), Robert Braidwood (“Archaeology and Evolutionary Theory”), George Peter Murdock (“The Concept of Social Evolution”), Joseph Greenberg (“The Evolution of Language”),A. Irving Hallowell (“The Evolution of Self ”), Clyde Kluckhohn (“The Role of EvolutionaryThought


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in Anthropology”), and White (“The Concept of Evolution”). While not all the scholars’ contributions were published, the lecture series did spur the publication of Evolution and Anthropology: A Centennial Appraisal, edited by Betty Meggers. White presented his paper,reading from notes,in January 1958. His presentation was marred by an unnecessary heavily sarcastic tone,which was retained in the manuscript Meggers received two months later. For example,White wrote that he had been treated with contempt and scorn for many years and the history of evolutionary theory inAmerican anthropology was“a sad and sorry tale that only I can tell,” as it was due to his effort alone that anthropology was “emerging from a dark tunnel or bad dream”(White,draft of “The Concept of Evolution in Cultural Anthropology,” circa 1958). He argued that there were two reasons for the opposition to cultural evolutionism—one rational and scientific, the other irrational and reactionary. Antievolutionists such as Boas and his students fit into the latter category. Meggers wrote to White that she was disappointed by the harsh polemics of his contribution.“It was somewhat aggressive. Perhaps I got that feeling because of all the underlined phrases. I was going to see how it looked with some of that removed, because I do not think you want to stand out in contrast to the other papers in this respect, and also because I think it detracts from your point. However, you will have to decide this” (Meggers toWhite, March 10, 1958, bhl-wp). This was one of the few instances in which White categorically refused to change his work. He replied to Meggers: With regard to my paper: The nature of its subject is probably quite different from that of the other papers in the series—certainly it is different from Mayr’s paper, and, I would judge from what you said, [from] Braidwood’s—and therefore requires somewhat different treatment.The fact that it is still necessary, a whole century after Darwin, to try to persuade cultural anthropologists to accept the concept of evolution; that influential, living anthropologists are still opposing it, seems to call for considerable emphasis. . . . I feel that the subject of my paper is a very important one and a discussion of it now, and in this series, is both pertinent and timely. I took a great deal of pains with the paper, and I hope it will do some good. [White to Meggers,March 17,1958,bhl-wp] Meggers quickly acquiesced to White’s feelings. She wrote that she had “misjudged” the paper and offered her sincere apologies (Meggers to White, March 19, 1958, bhl-wp). White accepted a few of Meggers’s suggestions,

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especially as they pertained to italics and underlined passages, but did not change the tone of his paper. When White received the galley proofs of his article, he wrote to Meggers:“I suspect that it was my emotions and attitude rather than my literary style that gave you the greater concern. Or,perhaps,the literary style is an expression of emotions and attitude—which,I take it,is just what a literary style ought to do. I do not think it improper for a scientist to feel strongly about important scientific issues and I do not think it improper of him to express his feelings. Must we all be tabby cats—or mice?To be sure,one should not be so harsh and plain spoken as to repel the very ones he wishes to reach, but I do not think I have done this” (White to Meggers, June 10, 1958, bhl-wp). Meggers, unwilling to let the issue drop, wrote to White that emotion was too often a poor substitute for facts. She felt he was going to put even sympathetic readers on the defensive because of his aggressive tone.There was nothing wrong, she wrote, with feeling strongly about academic issues, but there was no need to be so forceful about it, nor was it necessary to belittle others. In her estimation it was not only possible but likely that the reader would wonder,“If whatWhite has to say is true,why is he so aggressive about it”? In short, at issue was not the “question of being a lion or a tabby cat, but more like the difference between a man-eating lion and a normal lion” (Meggers toWhite,June 21,1958,bhl-wp).WhileWhite seriously considered Meggers’s words, he remained more of a man-eating lion than the tabby cat she suggested. In contrast to the relatively modest celebration organized by the asw, the University of Chicago held a massive event.WhenWhite was contacted he was sent a list of the participants and their respective contributions,which weighed in at nine pounds (Marie-Anne Honeywell to White, June 1, 1959, bhl-wp). In 1955 the university selected 50 well-known scholars to present papers on various aspects of evolutionary theory. Of those invited, all but five met in fall 1959 to present their papers and take part in panel discussions. This five-day celebration resulted in the publication of a three-volume set:The Evolution of Life,The Evolution of Man, and Issues in Evolution. Although the theory of evolution was not Darwin’s invention,the Origin of the Species was the first to elaborate upon its consequences,thereby challenging notions held sacred by scientists, clerics, and laypeople alike. Accordingly the Darwin centennial provided the ideal opportunity to assess the last 100 years of evolutionary theory and its impact on disparate fields of knowledge (Stocking 2000:182–189). In recalling the Darwin centennial,White wrote that it

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did much to undermine and dissipate the entrenched antievolutionism. At the Chicago Centennial were gathered distinguished, reputable scientists—biologists, geologists, psychologists, ethnologists—as well as anthropologists from many foreign countries. Many had international reputations. Many of the non-American anthropologists were evolutionists as a matter of course. They were distinguished, reputable and respectable—and they were evolutionists. How then could evolutionists be bad? Some anthropologists came up to me during the meeting and confided they “had really been evolutionists at heart all along”; some I noticed, looked around to see if anyone was within hearing distance before they made this private confession. [White 1987:14–15] The University of Chicago went to great lengths to insure the success of the celebration. LikeWhite, Binford attended the centennial and recalled:

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For the centennial, Chicago brought every person heard of including Darwin’s offspring, [Thomas] Huxley, et cetera, and anybody who was doing basic research that could in any sense be said to be a derivative of Darwin’s ideas—so it was all on the evolution of modern man. So it was all these OldWorld people that were researching—[Louis B.] Leakey and all his bunch—and all the people who were doing research on human evolution were all brought to Chicago for the Darwin centennial. It went on for weeks with endless press releases,and newspaper [coverage], and television appearances, and debates, and all the religious people had to get their act in and come up and have debates with Huxley and Charles Darwin II. It was a show. [L. Binford 1998:9–10]

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The third volume,Issues in Evolution,edited by SolTax,is the most revealing of White’s views on the evolution of culture and his standing among his peers. InWhite’s personal correspondence during this time,there was much internal disagreement about who would participate in the panel discussions. This was one of the few occasions when White and Steward were in total agreement. Steward wrote to White:“I went up to Chicago for the first of the five preCentennial seminars, and it was rather disturbing that our session on cultural evolution will include Muller, the Indiana eugenicist, Anderson, the maize geneticist,Julian Huxley,whose ideas I can’t make out,and Kroeber,who with all his eminence,apparently has decided to substitute‘evolution’for‘history’for this occasion.The prospect of getting anywhere on the central issues that you and I are interested in during the two hour performance before an audience of 1,500 is discouraging” (Steward toWhite, November 13, 1959, bhl-wp).

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Issues in Evolution is primarily a record of the celebration itself; it is a transcription of five panel discussions held by leading scholars in various fields of knowledge. Introduced by Sol Tax, the panel discussions are “The Origins of Life,”“The Evolution of Life,”“Man as an Organism,”“The Evolution of Mind,” and “Social and Cultural Evolution.” Also included in this volume are two sets of papers, one concerning “Evolution and Religion” and the other retrospective essays about the celebration itself, written by Sol Tax and Julian Huxley. Finally, there is a plethora of photographs as well as a television postscript entitled “All Things Considered,” written by Robert M. Adams, Julian Huxley, and IlzaVeith. In the section devoted to “Social and Cultural Evolution,” the chairmen were Clyde Kluckhohn and Alfred Kroeber; panelists included Robert M. Adams,EdgarAnderson,Julian Huxley,H. J. Muller,Fred Polak,Julian Steward, White, and Gordon R. Willey. The preamble to the transcript establishes the subject of discussion, culture, understood “as the most widely employed with the broadest meaning in anthropology and other sciences of human socialized behavior” (Tax (ed.) 1960:206). The preamble states that the evolution of culture challenged the Western concept of nature, culture change, progress, and the spread of modern civilization. After 1890 “evolutionary theory was tied up with the concept of progress and there was an antievolutionary reaction, really directed against ethnocentrism”(207). Following this preamble were 15 points of discussion, the 13th of which set off some heated words by White, who was irate over the phrase “the term evolution tends to be avoided.” Kluckhohn addressed White, stating, “That seems to me your baby,White,” to which White replied:“This subject interests me very much, and I wish to say something that I think needs to be said, even though it may not be very pleasant or complimentary to certain people.” I see here the phrase,“Even the term evolution tends to be avoided.” That is a pretty mild statement for what has taken place in the United States in the last thirty or forty years.When I was a graduate student,the climate of anthropological opinion was definitely and vigorously antievolutionist. One of our distinguishedAmerican anthropologists said:“The theory of cultural evolution is, to my mind, the most inane, pernicious, and sterile theory in the whole realm of science.”About thirty years ago I took up the cudgels in defense of cultural evolutionism and tried to rehabilitate the theory. I was virtually alone. Many very uncomplimentary things were said about me for quite a long time. Finally, these were modified

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somewhat, and I was called a “neoevolutionist,” a term I . . . strongly and vigorously repudiate. Nowadays,thanks largely to the Darwin Centennial Celebration,the theory of cultural evolution is becoming respectable and therefore popular. And I find that most of my fellow anthropologists are evolutionists. They are coming from here and there, saying “Why, I have been an evolutionist all along.” . . . Well,of course I am very glad to see this. I only hope that I won’t become excommunicated when the theory of cultural evolution becomes a full-fledged movement in anthropology, as it seems likely to become. However, I am not overly encouraged by the swelling ranks of cultural evolutionists at this time, because it takes more than popularity to make a scientific concept sound. And I don’t think cultural evolutionists are going to be made overnight by the popularity of television and other public ceremonies and exhibitions. I think it will take a great deal more than this. I wanted to get that off my chest. [Kluckhohn 1960:233–234] In reading the transcript of the entire conversation, I have no doubt that there must have been dead silence whenWhite had finished talking.The only recorded direct comment made after White’s statement was in response to “I wanted to get that off my chest.” Kluckhohn replied,“You certainly did.” When White’s paper presented to the asw is combined with his words spoken at the Darwin Centennial at the University of Chicago, two things become clear. First,White had won his long and improbable battle to revive evolutionary theory in anthropology. The many honors and lectureships that would come to him in subsequent years reflected the maturity of his ideas and widespread respect for his theories. Second, after so many years of strenuous fighting to have his work read and taken seriously, he tended to alienate those now sympathetic to his cause rather than embrace them.After 1959 some of his papers would be returned by editors with comments such as,“Too polemic!” In some ways, then, after 1959 he became his own worst enemy. Despite the fact that his work began to reach a much wider audience, particularly younger scholars, he was unable to change his writing style, which was once characterized by a reviewer of The Science of Culture thus: “Professor Leslie White is an anthropologist who appropriately wields his pen as if it were a tomahawk, adorns his logic with war paint, and is not averse to taking scalps or counting coups over his enemies. He is, in short, a pugnacious, indignant,

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ever excited, and ever exciting student of custom and civilization. His kind has grown almost extinct as the social sciences have gained recognition and admittance in our larger universities, and his new work comes as a reminder that we sorely need many more such polemics. A little skull cracking, a little passionate name calling, and perhaps anthropology will show a little life” (Mishkin 1950:10).

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PersonalTurmoil and Professional Influence One thing that has occupied much of my [mind] when I am not working, is how little time I have left before I must retire from the University of Michigan and possibly how little I have left of my life.And I have so much that I want to do—writing, that is. I know I cannot do it all which raises the question, Does it matter so much if you don’t get this or that written? And that presents the question, Is what you are doing now worthwhile—worth the price you are paying? I wish I had good answers to these questions!–White, journal,August 11, 1957 Mary White’s Death

At the time White was attending the Darwin centennial celebration, his wife, Mary PattisonWhite, was hospitalized and in the final stage of terminal breast cancer. Her death on June 5,1959 started a downward spiral inWhite’s personal and professional life that spun increasingly out of control. In fact the most frequent comment I heard about White was that he was simply “never the same after Mary died.”After her death his professional and personal life was chaotic at best—a lifestyle that prevented him from finishing his biography of Morgan or the sequel to The Evolution of Culture and created such havoc that he was unable to conduct any research for a decade. The lasting emotional scars Mary’s death caused were also contributing factors inWhite’s decent into alcoholism and his disastrous second marriage.Thus between Mary’s death and 1966White’s life was filled with poorly chosen words,spoken and written, and embarrassing events—many of which he deeply regretted later in his life. White’s marriage to Mary was typical of many academic couples of their era. Mary was one of White’s former students at the University of Buffalo, and they wed less than a year after they met in 1929. Their marriage endured for 30 years.WithinWhite’s papers are many mementos of their marriage and a limited number of MaryWhite’s writings. 1 This material makes it clear they shared a close bond. While Mary was not an academic, she helped organize White’s professional life as well as his personal one. She often accompanied White to the field, typed and line edited the majority of his manuscripts, and collected reviews of his academic work. In many fundamental ways White was helpless without Mary. In part because he spent all his time researching and teaching, he did not know how to cook, shop, or care for a home. Many people, such as Elman Service and his wife, Helen, believed that without

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Mary’s help White could not have functioned effectively. Mary held various jobs throughout their marriage, all secretarial in nature, but none interfered withWhite’s career. More than simply logistical and household support,Mary was the grounding influence inWhite’s life. Emotionally,White kept his distance from others and was a difficult man. Like his father,White was rigid to a fault, followed a formulaic sense of politeness, and had great difficulty forging friendships and close personal ties with others. However, this did not stop him from having multiple affairs with other women throughout their marriage. 2 According to Service White had many affairs—“petite amies.” Service wrote to Carneiro of how “a certain kind of girl student would fall madly in love with him and he was a very susceptible man,a father figure of some sort. He used to get mail from unsigned girls to meet him at such and such a time and place (I’ve seen the letters—some quite horny). Mary knew of and condoned law’s liaisons with girls having been one herself at Buffalo” (Service to Carneiro, February 15, 1980, private collection). 3 Of course just because Mary knew of these affairs does not mean she approved of her husband’s actions. Mary’s death hitWhite hard. He was haunted by the thought of the pain that had filled her last few months of life. (Diagnosed with breast cancer in 1953, she endured four major surgeries including radical mastectomies and suffered greatly.) Based on White’s correspondence with Mary’s relatives, it seems she denied her illness was terminal for a very long period of time. However, by 1959 it was clear even to her that she was going to die. In the final months of her life Mary kept a journal expressing her love for White and her hopes for his future. She also wrote down his favorite recipes, explained how to care for their house—essentially, she gave him a primer for how to live. She even wrote that after he was finished grieving for her he should remarry, as he had too much to offer to remain alone (she also doubted he could adequately care for himself).The pages of this journal, stained with their tears, are a testament to how close they were at the end of Mary’s life. When Mary died White felt great remorse for the way he had acted throughout their marriage. He deeply regretted his affairs and shared his remorse with Harry Barnes,the one person he felt could appreciate the depth of his emotions. Barnes helped White significantly, enabling White to work through his“guilt complex.”For example,he wrote toWhite that“you cannot be blamed for marrying Mary under psychic compulsion when you were not in love with her. She spoke to me several times about that. Aside from the sexual side of life, I think you treated her extremely well, and she told me this—

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gratifying her travel compulsions, trotting innumerable times to Elkland, and the like”(Barnes toWhite,June 25,1959,Barnes Papers,ahc).White’s despair led him to question not only his behavior in marriage but to wonder if his life had been a total failure (White to Barnes, June 24, 1959, Barnes Papers, ahc). In reply Barnes wrote that White’s life “has been no failure: outside the material realm it has been one of incredible success.You have defied the vested interests in your profession as much as I have and ended up with great honor and distinction”(Barnes toWhite,June 26,1959,Barnes Papers,ahc). Satisfied on that point,White still found Mary’s death agonizing and overwhelming and desperately wished that he had been a better husband. I did many things for Mary. She kept the checkbook and she bought whatever she wanted and she had lots of nice clothes.We did take trips, which she enjoyed. I did drive her to Elkland many times, a tedious trip and dangerous in wintertime. We had a nice social life together. She enjoyed reading to me and we read countless things together. She got deep satisfaction from helping me in my work. Perhaps I did not love her in the customary, conventional sense. But I was very deeply attached to her,found great satisfaction in her company and our life together. And I can certainly say without exaggeration or boasting that I did everything that I, or anyone else, could have done after the malignancy was first discovered. No expense was spared; we sought out the best medical skills that we could find. . . . I nursed her, I did many things that nurses would ordinarily do—washing her face and hands, helping her brush her teeth and hair, cut her fingernails, fed her at noon and evening, and attended to her toilet necessities. Nothing that I have ever done has given me deeper satisfaction than this. It was as if I were trying to make up to her for all the unkind things I did and said to her, for all the kind things that I might have said and done but didn’t. It was pure devotion without stint, and I do not see how love could have done more. But I am not willing to admit that I did not love her, certainly during those last months. [White to Barnes, June 28, 1959, Barnes Papers, ahc] Remarriage and Alcoholism

White never came to terms with Mary’s death or his actions during their marriage. He was treated for depression after her death, took antidepressants, and saw a psychiatrist intermittently for almost two years. None of this helped, and he later characterized his experience with the psychiatrist as a total waste of time. White’s grief and increasing abuse of alcohol prevented him from

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productive academic scholarship and damaged many personal relationships. For 30 yearsWhite had been a“social drinker.”Alcohol did not interfere with his relationships, nor did it affect his ability to work. He enjoyed drinking because it made it easier for him to socialize and let his defenses down. After Mary’s deathWhite’s longtime drinking turned slowly—and, according to some, inevitably—from a habit into a serious problem. White’s despair and drinking no doubt influenced his decision to marry Helen Heatlie on September 21, 1964. White and Helen Heatlie had had a stormy and passionate relationship for several years.White was strongly attracted to her despite the disparity in their ages (Helen was 20 years younger) and respective backgrounds. White wrote in his journal that he did not know how to let Helen go, although he was convinced it would be a mistake to marry her. However,their relationship had come to the point of either marriage or parting;in the summer of 1964 Helen threatened to move from Ann Arbor if White did not marry her.White got a blood test and marriage certificate but “chickened out” at the last minute and refused to wed. Another variable created further tensions. Helen had four children—two daughters who were married,a 19-year-old son who lived with one of his married sisters, and a 15-year-old daughter who lived with her. White could not establish a rapport with Helen Heatlie’s daughter: “sweet and loving at times but . . . [one of] the most heartedly selfish and inconsistent human beings I ever saw in my life” (White to Barnes, March 29, 1965, Barnes Papers, ahc). White wrote to several people seeking their advice and expressing his reservations. No one explicitly told him he should not remarry, and in the end he married Helen despite serious doubts.The marriage did not last long, in fact just months into the marriage he wrote to Harry Barnes that he was having marital problems. He wrote that the“period of adjustment”was taking much longer and was far more difficult than he had imagined. Six months later it was clear toWhite that his remarriage was a significant mistake. He wrote to Barnes that although at some level he had known the marriage was doomed from the start, he had felt he needed to try to marry for love once in his life. In the spring of 1965 White was faced not just with the end of his second marriage but with the death of his brother and sister, each of whom had been diagnosed with cancer. After seeing Mary White suffer, this news must have been particularly hard to accept. Helen moved out of White’s home for a few days in March but after speaking with an attorney she moved back. According toWhite Helen told him that if he did not take her back she would

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take him “to the cleaners.” In spite of this threat,White filed for divorce in April.White’s lawyer told him he had at best a 50–50 chance of being awarded a divorce and that Helen had already petitioned the court for “temporary alimony.”White’s living situation became intolerable. The arguments he had with Helen, often fueled by drinking, were violent, often involving calls to the police department. In late 1965White finally moved out of his home and into a small apartment in downtown Ann Arbor.This was a very difficult step for White, as he loved the home he and Mary had created and was giving up access to his academic papers. Yet at the same time he knew he was largely responsible for his problems. “God, here I am, at my age, in a little one-room apartment. But I was duly warned. I did it to myself. I was acquainted with all the major facts involved. I could not take her and I could not let her go. So I ‘took a chance.’ Call it love, or devotion, or a mixture of powerful emotions. They held me to her and kept me there despite being subjected to vile verbal abuse and incandescent, explosive tempers. I want to get to my house—and my study—back. I don’t know how good my chances are” (White to Barnes, February 7, 1966, Barnes Papers, ahc). White was in a sorry predicament. He was not living in his own home, had no access to his scholarly papers, Helen was spending money he was responsible for, he was paying alimony, and the relationship was obviously destructive for both him and Helen. White believed the only people who would profit from their suffering were the lawyers. It was clear to White that the only way to get back into his home was to pay Helen an exorbitant financial settlement. Petitions,motions,and the legal maneuvering could take years, and he was not willing to wait. In fact White’s lawyer made it clear that the court would not grant a divorce if the individuals in question were simply “incompatible”—according to the divorce laws at the time one party had to be blameless,the other wrong,in order to obtain a divorce (an annulment was out of the question). With the added threat that Helen would make their divorce proceedings a highly public scandal,White became increasingly desperate to end the marriage. He wrote to Barnes that he vividly recalled “how the press tried—with considerable success—to crucify me in December–January,1957– 58,using for this purpose a sentence taken out of context in a paper I had read at the annual meeting of the aaa” (White to Barnes, April 2, 1966, Barnes Papers, ahc). White knew his reputation would not save him from highly embarrassing attacks, and he was willing to do almost anything to keep the press from finding out about his case. Multiple legal meetings were held. By the end of the summer the judge

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decided it would be best not to allowWhite back to his home or study until a trial, settlement, or reconciliation was made. Helen held a distinct advantage over White because the residence of her daughter, as a minor, was of primary importance in the eyes of the court. By October 1966White was so desperate that he was willing to sign anything to get out of the situation, writing to Barnes that he “understood how political prisoners, in some countries, have been willing to confess to anything” (White to Barnes, October 1966, Barnes Papers, ahc).The settlement he was willing to sign would leave him virtually penniless: his house gone, payments to be made to Helen until his death and afterward.White sourly noted that in the last eight months the only thing that the courts had decided was that Helen should get weekly alimony checks—and those were to be paid or else he would be jailed. After petitioning the court White was able gain legal access to the study in his home—with Helen still living there—but quickly realized such access was too problematic. The scheduled December trial was delayed until April, and White was again denied access to his study by the court. The proposed April trial was delayed because Helen filed a counter divorce suit, and all further action was postponed until August. In August the trial was delayed yet again,and in November it simply did not take place.The judge had convinced both parties that they would deeply regret court proceedings, as a number of embarrassing revelations would be exposed.The judge persuaded the lawyers it was in the best interests of all to come to a settlement, and after a number of contentious meetings a divorce agreement was finalized November 30, 1967. It took Helen a month to move out. White never saw her again after New Year’s Day 1968. However, he paid her alimony until the end of 1974, just months before his death. White’s attraction to Helen was complicated by a profound dependence on alcohol. Service (n.d.) has written that White drifted into an alcoholic haze for many years. Between 1959 and 1966 White drank heavily, had frequent blackouts, and was drunk more often than he was sober. His drinking was an embarrassment to himself, the department, and the university, although he never missed a class or faculty meeting. 4 Stories of his alcohol abuse abound: he was too drunk to give his presidential address at the annual aaa meetings, he knocked on people’s doors in the middle of the night, in Europe he lost all his money and traveler’s checks to two young women who turned out to drifters. By the timeWhite stopped drinking he could barely bring a drink to his lips because his hands shook so badly—research of any kind was clearly out of the question.

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White “bottomed out” when he crashed his car into a tree. He had been drinking nonstop for two days, had blacked out, and did not realize where he was until he found himself in the back of a police car under arrest. He was taken to the county jail, where he was photographed, fingerprinted, and incarcerated overnight. Humiliated and embarrassed,White realized he could easily have killed himself—or worse, an innocent bystander. In the morning White called his lawyer and for the first time since Mary died wept uncontrollably. White stopped drinking on March 18, 1966. Two days later he went to his first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. In a deeply personal and moving autobiographical account of his life and the events that led him to join Alcoholics AnonymousWhite wrote: During my fifties it was discovered that my wife had a serious illness. After some years of surgery,desperate but futile“treatments,”and endless suffering, my wife died. For about three weeks after the funeral I was in a state of shock. I felt virtually nothing: I was numb.Then I began to go to pieces. The whole fabric of my life seemed to become unraveled. I realized vaguely what was taking place and tried to reorganize my life. But my efforts were clumsy, strange, as it may sound, inexperienced. I seemed not to know what to do or how to do it. I was unfortunate in some of my new acquaintances, and said and wrote things I should not have. In all this liquor was a great source of solace and comfort. It calmed and soothed me. It softened—deadened—the pain of living.And,at times,it gave me a warm glow of hope and promise. It was during the first years after my wife’s death that I began to experience blackouts. [bhl-wp] White’s decision to join aa surprised some of his friends. Those who lived near him and helped take care him when he was drunk knew he had a significant problem. Other people, such as Harry Barnes and Mary White’s family,were shocked.As was his custom,Barnes was supportive yet questioned whetherWhite’s drinking was that bad (Barnes himself was a heavy drinker). White replied:“I think I have proved, during the last 3 years, that I cannot be depended upon—that I cannot depend upon myself—to drink temperately. I can some times,but the next time,without warning,I am in jail. And I cannot afford a repetition of that.The charge might be ‘negligent homicide’ the next time, and the Jackson prison if convicted” (White to Barnes,April 17, 1966, Barnes Papers, ahc). White attended at least two aa meetings a week for the rest of his life. He considered alcoholism to be a hereditary disease. In fact he talked to his

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niece, Beverly Conditt White, about the dangers involved in alcohol abuse. White’s sobriety enabled him to see where he had gone wrong since Mary’s death and made him realize why seeing a psychiatrist had been of no benefit. “Looking back over the years since Mary died I can now see a pattern—of events that at the time seemed like disconnected episodes—that was growing and developing. If someone from aa could have taken me in hand 3 or 4 years ago, I am sure it would have prevented some of the miseries and catastrophes that have overtaken me since 1960–61. My marriage, for example, I never would have married Helen but for alcohol” (White to Barnes,April 24, 1966, Barnes Papers, ahc). Before attending his first aa meeting,White knew next to nothing about the organization,and what he did know,he later learned,was not accurate. aa held great value forWhite not only because it was a mechanism through which he could take control of his life, but also because it piqued his interest as an ethnographer—he had never come across any organization that was remotely similar. He wrote that aa had one purpose and one purpose only: to achieve sobriety. In a traditional sense, aa was not an organization at all but a plurality of people who have a common problem and are willing to help one another achieve their goal—sobriety. Alcoholics Anonymous is the most remarkable—and the most wonderful—organization I have ever known. In the first place, it is almost the only organization that does not have something phony about it. The so-called service organizations of the business men, the organizations of the super-patriotic ex-servicemen, the churches, the fraternal orders, professional organizations, such as those of physicians or lawyers, and above all, political organizations all pretend to be something they are not.There is nothing phony about science itself,but societies of scientists can be as phony as a three-dollar bill. But Alcoholics Anonymous has nothing phony about it. Its “image” squares with its reality.They do not profess to do or be anything other than what they are and do. [bhl-wp] That aa had no constitution, by-laws, entrenched leadership, officers, or elections led White to conclude it was the most democratic or egalitarian organization the world had ever seen. People came from all walks of life, and what all members of aa shared and understood perfectly was social solidarity and equality—no one was superior to another individual. aa did not engage in any controversy,did not support or belittle any other organization or cause, did not engage in politics, and accepted all people into its fraternity regardless

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of their background. Not surprisingly,White did find fault with one aspect of aa—the incorporation of Christian theology,albeit nonsectarian.This deeply troubled White; he wrote to Barnes of his “considerable disenchantment” as he was unwilling to accept “Christ to be my savior, or to have God (‘as you understand him, the aas say’) to guide my life” (White to Barnes, May 24, 1966, Barnes Papers, ahc). While White may have found the “requirement” to accept God unacceptable, the need to stay sober was far too important and challenging to abandon such an organization. As far as can be determined,White never drank after March 1966 and he took great strides toward reorganizing his life. Almost two years after he had stopped drinking,he wrote Barnes“I am getting used to my new life and find it good. I think it will improve, too, as I cultivate it. I feel full of life and ambition, but I find that I do not have much energy, that I need more rest, now than I used to. Also, I must do a lot of things that a helper or secretary could do if I only had one (White to Barnes,January 5,1968,Barnes Papers, ahc).

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Despite sincere efforts, after 1959 White was unable to produce the thoughtprovoking scholarship that had characterized his career. He had been unaware during Mary’s lifetime how much her editing had helped him, not only saving him time but providing an invaluable editorial perspective that softened White’s tendency to unnecessary dogma. Certainly, a cursory glance at a list of White’s publications reveals that he published much less often. Between 1960 and 1966, when White’s drinking was at its worst, he published only seven articles and wrote to several friends that the turmoil in his life prevented him from working.The two important theoretical contributions he made,The Ethnography and Ethnology of Franz Boas (1963b) andThe Social Organization of EthnologicalTheory (1966) were roundly criticized by his peers—and for good reason.5 The purpose of these texts was to give a“more realistic”interpretation of Boas’s contribution to ethnological theory as a corrective to his“sacrosanct” position in the history of American anthropology. Thus the aim of the works was to demonstrate the degree to which Boas’s students shaped modern American anthropology. In reality these texts are long diatribes laced with ill-tempered condemnation. For example,White presented the idea that the development of ethnological theory was dominated by social organizations, or what are widely thought of as “schools of thought.” Rather than deal with the “Boas school” or the “Radcliffe-Brown school,” White took this idea


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to an extreme, characterizing Boas and Radcliffe-Brown as leaders of social organizations akin to religious cults.The result is an unbalanced amalgamation, called by one reviewer an “extraordinary and curious piece of writing [that] combines evident erudition with tabloid journalism” (Altschuler 1968:111). OnceWhite stopped drinking he wrote and called many people whom he had hurt. In these letters he detailed his trouble with alcohol, apologized for his previous behavior, and asked for forgiveness. In spite of his apology, some scholars could not forget nor forgive the nature of White’s attacks on them and by extension on Boas and his students. In fact one individual told me he “would rather be racked over burning hot coals than acknowledge he was ever influenced byWhite.” When feelings such as these are combined withWhite’s maverick status, it is not surprising that some scholars preferred to refer to Childe,Steward,Sahlins,and Service as those responsible for the revival of evolutionary theory—a point made byWalter Goldschmidt in a retrospective essay in which he maintained it was Sahlins and Service whose “neo-evolutionary thesis had more influence thanWhite” (Goldschmidt 2000:797). What, then, is one to make of White’s contribution to anthropological theory in the post-1960 era?The scholarly value of his later works is negligible, and I would argue he should be remembered for what did earlier in his career. The reworking of his old ideas later in his career is reflective of a tired and embittered man. Without an appreciation for what he wrote earlier in his career, it is simply too easy to find contradictory and seemingly incompatible aspects in his later scholarship; for instance, culture in his early work serviced humanity as civilization progressed and its technology harnessed energy,while in later texts humanity is in the grip of culture,powerless and unable to make a mark on the world. Such contradictions representWhite’s thought in decline and have led some to wonder about his“paradoxical”approach to anthropology (Barrett 1989). In my estimation no such paradox exists. For the final works he produced are the product of a man who was simply spent by a long battle to revive evolutionary theory,the death of his wife,and years of alcohol abuse. His lasting legacy in the later part of his career is as a teacher and a motivator of others. 6 White obviously touched many of his students,and there are many scholars within the discipline who readily acknowledge his influence on their thought, such as Robert Carneiro, Lewis Binford, and Betty Meggers. Other students had a far more complex relationship withWhite. For instance, Elman Service did not like to discuss the influence White had on his thought as he did not want to be too closely aligned with his former mentor. Likewise, Marshall

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Sahlins moved very far away from his early interest in evolutionism and does not consistently mention White as an important figure in his intellectual development. Further complicating the degree to which White influenced his students was the divide between the anthropologists in Angell Hall and the archaeologists in the Museum of Anthropology. In a retrospective letter to Elman Service principally concerned with this divide between those at Michigan who were in some way influenced by White, Carneiro wrote: “From this distance, it seemed to me that evolutionism and ecology were such invaluable tools to the thinking of the archaeologist that as soon as bright young ones like Flannery and Parsons started working at Michigan,they would absorb this approach, and that absorbing it, would automatically bring them closer intellectually,and therefore socially toAngell Hall. But now I would like to know more about how it really happened.As deeper,broader,more unbiased histories come to be written of modern anthropology, Michigan in the 1950s and 1960s will stand out more and more, as the place where the great sea of change began” (Carneiro to Service, March 2, 1979, private collection). 7 One of the largest and best departments of anthropology in the United States was established under White’s stewardship (a preeminence Michigan retains to the present day). From interviews with former faculty members and students, it becomes clear the department expanded partly because of White and partly in spite of him.According to former faculty members there were two ways White ran the department: good and bad. All those I spoke with agreed White was a poor administrator. Not that he ever shirked his responsibilities, but he could not hide his contempt for administrative duties—or for academic deans. White’s feelings were so strong that he would rather do without than submit a request to an academic dean; under his direction, for decades the department lacked the most basic materials needed to run a professional academic office.The salary structure was chaotic,professors and staff members were not given the raises they were entitled to or made aware of funding opportunities.There was never enough secretarial and secondary support,and White’s budget was austere in the extreme. Former faculty members such as David Aberle,Mort Fried,Elman Service,and EricWolf recalled that they had to buy their own typewriter ribbons, paper, envelopes, and stamps. According to Service, Fred Thieme, and Wolf,White ran the department like a business, one that had a balanced budget and always showed a profit. In fact each man used the word “cheap” to characterizeWhite. White’s views on the way in which a department should be run were unknown to many outside the Michigan milieu but appreciated within it.

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WhenWhite retired from the chairmanship,Aberle wrote:“I was sorry to hear that you are retiring as chairman—not sorry for you, glad in fact, because I have enjoyed working with you in that capacity. Perhaps I can say by mail what I would probably not say face to face, that I have found you so very fair minded and cooperative that it was really a pleasure to be in the department” (Aberle toWhite, May 17, 1957,White Papers, bhl). Based on his experience as chair of the anthropology department at Michigan for 25 years, White firmly believed there was a major commitment of time and effort involved in creating and successfully operating a large department. 8 He maintained the chair must run the department for a considerable amount of time or else individualism,permissiveness,and a laissez-faire attitude would emerge.Above all else, the chair must put the greater good of the department before his or her individual interests and concerns. (White believed all scholars, himself included, were inherently selfish because their research took priority.) The only way a department could succeed was if it had a “definite program and goal,” enabling the faculty as a whole to have an identity. The individual scholar is important and his needs and welfare should be given serious consideration. But the department itself, as a corporate body, has obligations, duties as well as needs and it cannot discharge its obligations—to the College, to the University, and above all, to the students—unless it possesses some power and authority—and exercises it—in the interests of the Department as such. I believe that the Department chairman should assist individual members of his department as much as and as far as he can, and provide them with a habitat that will be pleasing to them. But, unless the chairman places Departmental needs and obligations first, it is not likely that he will achieve a wellintegrated Department, one with a definite program and goal. . . . I believe that the Departmental chairman has a definite obligation to enlist individual members in the service of the Department as a corporate body,to encourage—and in some instances to require—them to put the Department on at least an equal footing with their own work—if not above them. [White toWilliam Haber,April 4, 1967, bhl-wp] Throughout White’s tenure as chairman, he always put the needs of the department first. He hired people he may not have liked if they were the most qualified for the job or would enhance the department and the university. A case in point was Mischa Titiev, whom White hired in 1936. While he respected Titiev’s scholarship, he did not get along with him personally. He

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put these feelings aside because he felt Titiev was the best man for the job. White also listened to students; he saved evaluations of his classes in order to get an idea of how well he had performed and to learn about the types of classes students were drawn to. It was largely throughWhite’s efforts that Michigan’s anthropology department became one of the most democratic, diverse, and objective departments in the country. All members, from undergraduate and graduate students to faculty members, both with and without tenure, had a voice in departmental affairs. Service recalled that when new faculty members arrived inAnnArbor,“Most of them were rather bewildered and misinformed about what Michigan was like, thinking they had to come and bow to Leslie White and get down on their knees, and of course they came with their dukes up and were not about to be told anything from the likes of Leslie White or any of his representatives. While this was far from actuality, this is what they thought. And so they were forever being harangued by somebody to stand up for their rights and to come and vote and don’t let anybody make you a part of the school and so on.What that did,instead of causing the school to break up,it caused the school to be forming.This is a curious paradox” (Service n.d.:76). Thus both within and beyond the confines of the University of Michigan many people believed the department was cast in White’s image. However, this was far from the truth, for agreement with White’s view was in no sense a requirement for appointment. In fact White went to great lengths to prevent the development of an in-grown“Michigan School ofAnthropology.” White and many others at the University of Michigan firmly believed that schools of thought fostered a hermetic quality,a trait that inhibited intellectual growth and new ideas. Although one can find exceptions to this,most notably the “Michigan School of Political Science” associated with Philip Converse, the university was known for its pluralistic and comprehensive departments. Michigan, more than the University of Chicago and the famous “Chicago School of Sociology,” resisted the growth of campus-specific lines of intellectual inquiry.White consciously refused to support the hiring of scholars with previous ties to Michigan and considered schools of thought akin to cults. To this end, departmental records show that White rigorously enforced the following hiring rules: Michigan Ph.D. recipients were precluded from being hired unless they had studied at another leading university for a period of not less than two years; no Michigan ethnology Ph.D. could be hired upon graduation;a balanced representation of faculty members from other graduate schools had to be maintained; the department was to be run by an elected executive committee rather than a single chairman; any and all individuals

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associated with the department could attend executive committee or faculty meetings and were permitted to propose ideas, file grievances, or put forth legislative initiatives. Eric Wolf, who was hired by the University of Michigan in 1961, recalled the atmosphere of the time: This time was important for me in a number of ways. There was a very good group of cultural ecologists, such as Roy Rappaport and Marshall Sahlins (in his earlier incarnation).The“new archaeology”was developing, with its interest in larger social processes. I took part in a biweekly seminar organized by the psychoanalyst Frederick Wyatt, who brought together people from anthropology, history, literature, philosophy, and psychology. I learned a great deal from my interaction with historians through co editing, with Sylvia Thrupp, the journal Comparative Studies in Society and History. I worked with a talented group of students who carried out fieldwork in different parts of the Mediterranean under a Project for the Study of Social Networks in the Mediterranean Area,which I co-organized withWilliam Schorger. And then,increasingly,there was an engagement in political issues—first civil rights,then theVietnamWar—and in a sense that anthropology spoke to the issues. The teach-ins (which I helped initiate in 1965) had a special influence on my professional work. [Wolf 2001:7–8] In spite of White’s efforts to maintain an independent and diverse faculty, the belief that a “Whitean” or “Michigan School” of anthropology persisted for a long time. In part this was due to the fact that evolutionary ideas were embraced by several faculty members. Hired by the University of Michigan in 1963,AramYengoyan recalled: With the presence of LeslieWhite,Marshall Sahlins,EricWolf,and Elman Service on campus, the anthropology department buzzed with ideas of how cultural change came about through evolutionary processes, how cultural evolutionary theory could be ethnographically supported,how the state was structured both in terms of its origins and in terms of its formative processes,and how evolutionary thinking might revolutionize our ideas on polity,kinship,and economy. It was a fervent time. Coming with a degree from the University of Chicago, where evolution was seldom if ever mentioned, into this Michigan ferment, I was at times bewildered and amused at the degree of intensity and argumentation with which students discussed these ideas in classes, in corridors, and in

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the local pubs.As an outsider,I was not expected to toe the evolutionary line. After all, I was not one of the “chosen”; the chosen had arrived in another context and in other ways. However, I might be converted. [Yengoyan 1991:4] Faculty members such as David Aberle, Sahlins, Service, Morton Fried,Aram Yengoyan, and Eric Wolf were all sympathetic to White’s views. Of these men,Sahlins and Service were closest toWhite personally and professionally. 9 Yengoyan’s characterization of Sahlins and Service as the “chosen” indicates this designation did not sit well with others, such as Aberle and Wolf. For example, Aberle felt left out of the inner core of those working within an evolutionary framework. Aberle was convinced he was being excluded from meetings held by Sahlins,Service,White,and others. As forWolf,he wanted to be near the source of power within the department and sought out those he believed“ran”the department. In sharp contrast,other faculty members came to the department intent on proving their independence from evolutionary thinking.ThusWhite found himself in an unenviable position,caught between two opposing schools of thought:those interested in evolutionary theory who expected him to impart some sort of secret knowledge and those itching for a fight over the value of evolutionary theory. Service noted that White “was unable to acquire any of the kind of give and take, which could have been so helpful intellectually to anyone who was trying to think and propound new ideas.There was a wonderful forum available there in the total personnel, if it had been handled adroitly. This was a terrible handicap to White’s career. He could have avoided many of the errors or infelicitous writings had he been willing to talk to anyone about his work (or theirs). All this was in the aim of not allowing a ‘school of thought’ to form. Sad” (Service n.d.:67). Later Academic Engagements and Political Beliefs

Perhaps because of his interpersonal difficulties, as the department expanded White increasingly withdrew from interactions with faculty members. He distanced himself from those who shared similar views, his polemics became increasingly mean-spirited,and he began to work and rework old ideas.White was also appalled by the number of disingenuous people who, once evolutionary theory was in vogue,slapped him on the back and said they had been evolutionists all along. His behavior toward such individuals was contemptuous—a reaction that did not endear him to his colleagues.White also forcefully rejected the term neoevolutionism, believing there was nothing new about his interpretation of evolutionary theory, there was no difference between

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evolutionary concepts of 19th-century theorists and those of his day. He went out of his way to poke fun of the word. Many former students and colleagues recalled him joking that he would only drink “neo-whiskey” thereby making it impossible for him to become drunk. More seriously, he told anyone who would listen that “one is or is not an evolutionist—let’s have none of this neo business!” Regardless of whether one accepts the term neoevolution, its usage heralds an era in whichWhite was no longer an isolated voice arguing that there were general laws of cultural evolution. Morton Fried noted shortly after White’s death: For much of his anthropological life he was ahead of his time. Most of his contemporaries were content to believe that evolutionism was dead in the sophisticated social sciences. White ridiculed every such statement including the notion of “neoevolutionism.”Why call it “neo” when it was merely a continuation of a tradition that gained ground elsewhere, even when it was in anthropological eclipse? Slowly, White collected a number of disciples, and there was for a brief period when all was relatively in phase,White was almost popular. Indeed, for a time he not only commanded a major cohort of anthropological theoreticians but received the accolade of the profession in his elections to high office in both the aaa and the aaas. [Fried 1976:598] For a short period of timeWhite was indeed in a powerful position with the American Anthropological Association, of which he was elected president in 1965. He was honored to have been elected but ill suited for the job (and as his election coincided with his alcoholism his reputation was further damaged). But it was not White’s election to high posts or political maneuvering that influenced other anthropologists. Rather,White’s forceful writings convinced many anthropologists in the post–World War II era that evolutionary theory could be the single unifying force in the discipline.According to Goldschmidt, “less than a half century after Lowie had put the dagger through the heart of cultural evolution, it arose Phoenix-like in the fifties. The first to revive it was Leslie White . . . whose understandings were both forward-looking and antiquated” (Goldschmidt 2000:797). By the mid-1950s it was obvious to American anthropologists that the accumulation of data had reached a point where generalizations and hypotheses were sorely needed.Thus as historical particularistic studies faded into the post-Boasian era,a plethora of anthropological theories were put forth:among

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them was evolutionary theory. Scholars such as Margaret Mead and Talcott Parsons jumped on the bandwagon, and throughout the late 1950s and early 1960s the application of White’s theories to archaeological investigation and ethnological fieldwork was subject to intense debate. These debates took the form of multiple special sessions held at the annual aaa meetings, discussions between scholars,and the publication of a wide array of books and articles.Yet White often refused to participate in aaa panels concerned with evolutionary theory. For instance, he abruptly dismissed Eleanor Leacock’s polite request to participate in a session that was to honor and advance his own work. This rejection,more than others,was surprising because he had worked closely with Leacock (1963) when she was writing a new introduction to Lewis Henry Morgan’sAncient Society.White even refused to participate in a plenary session at the 56th annual meetings designed to expand and support evolutionary studies. In contrast toWhite’s reluctance to engage his peers,he actively courted and energized many graduate students in Ann Arbor and inspired them to carry out the work he had begun. Unlike their predecessors who had received their degrees beforeWorldWar II or soon thereafter,these students were interested in the practical application of anthropological theory. Robert Carneiro recalled: Being a graduate student under Leslie White at Michigan in the early 1950s was exciting and exhilarating.We students had the feeling that we were being armed with powerful intellectual tools with which to go out and conquer the world for evolution and culturology. And in the early 1950s much of the world remained to be conquered. Most of it, in fact, was in enemy hands. At anthropology meetings it was Michigan against the field,and we would engage in prolonged and intense discussions with graduate students from other schools,especially Columbia,Chicago and Northwestern.We never doubted for a moment that our views (White’s views), then held only by a tiny minority, would ultimately triumph. [Carneiro 1980:224] Letters White wrote throughout the late 1960s and early 1970s all express profound loneliness, restlessness, and ambivalence about the future. This is hardly surprising, for after the age of 60 he had taught (including summers) for over a decade without a sabbatical, gone through an intensive program withAlcoholicsAnonymous,briefly remarried and experienced a contentious divorce, sold the house he and Mary had lived in for over 20 years, witnessed the deaths of his brother and sister, and upon retirement faced the prospect of

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moving from Ann Arbor, his home for the last 40 years. In a very sad letter to Wilder, he wrote,“I am just weary of working. I would like to take a trip somewhere; anywhere almost” (White toWilder, circa 1969, bhl-wp). Given White’s involvement in radical politics, one would think he would have been energized by the political turmoil of the 1960s, but he was completely silent and uninterested in theVietnam-era protests and the rise of a more politicized and radical anthropology (John Moore 1971). He rebuffed faculty and students alike who wanted him to get involved in the protest movement. In 1965 pressure was put on him to participate at a “teach-in” form of protest, but he categorically refused. This bewildered Marshall Sahlins and Eric Wolf, whose involvement in the antiwar movement was significant in their lives and teaching careers (Wolf 2001). According toYengoyan “the Michigan and Vietnam years were pivotal to [Wolf ’s] writings” (2000:vii), and Sahlins, too, was profoundly affected by theVietnamWar and campus unrest (2000).White’s fullest explanation of his refusal to get involved with the antiwar struggle is in a letter he wrote to David Aberle after the shooting of Robert Kennedy in 1968. I am able to take (or, I do take) a more detached view of the World and its senseless,cruel and inhuman behavior than you can. Perhaps my own personal troubles have loomed so large in my life that I have not had much room for the “world’s” conduct. But, I believe, the scientific— specifically, the culturological—point of view that I have tried for so long to realize and make explicit (mostly in my own way of thinking, however,rather than in writing,I am sorry to say),makes for an objective, and hence detached, point of view. “To comprehend is to forgive” is an old saying (of French provenience, I believe). But, from the standpoint of scientific,culturological,comprehension,“forgiveness”is irrelevant. I hate to see nations behave as they do. I would hate to see the northern hemisphere largely covered once again by a huge ice-sheet. My feelings about Vietnam, e.g., are more immediate and do involve my emotions much more than the contemplation of the prospect of another ice age. But the intellectual attitude is much the same. The scientist, as scientist, must be a spectator, must he not?To be sure, scientists are human beings, also,and is it not right and good that their voices should cry out in protest against “crimes against humanity” (for which those at Nuremberg were tried). Kroeber used to argue that anthropology was more scientific than sociology because the former kept its emotions out of their science. I

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have tried to do this, also; emotions tend to contaminate science, and culturology has enough obstacles as it is. [White to Aberle, January 4, 1968, bhl-wp] White let fall more hints of his beliefs in correspondence with Carmen Lodise, a graduate in economics who took classes with White at Rice University. Lodise urged White to read Jerry Rubin’s Do It! Lodise characterized Rubin’s book as one of the most important books on politics since Marx and Engels first collaborated, arguing that Rubin did “a beautiful job of documenting the ideological revolution of our times and demonstrating that young people today are the communists Marx told us would emerge”(Lodise to White,August 19, 1971, author’s private collection). White could not help but be aware that many graduate students were enamored with Rubin and actively involved in the protest movement against the war inVietnam. However, White failed to see why people were drawn to Rubin and the Students for Democratic Society (sds), whom he believed were ineffectual liberals. He wrote to Lodise that there must be something in it I cannot see. To be sure there are thousands—perhaps tens of thousands of—young men and women in the US today who think of themselves as revolutionists,as“enemies of the state,” etc. But, (1) they are not organized and there is no sign of organization in progress that I can see; and (2) the masses of American people, the “working class”that the Old Marxists talked about,the men and women in the factories, mines, mills, railroads, clerks, etc., etc., show no signs of revolutionary inclinations that I can discern on the present American landscape. As a matter of fact,many of them are probably more opposed to the revolutionary youth of today than is the Capitalist class. [White to Lodise, September 24, 1971, author’s private collection] In White’s estimation student protesters often came from affluent or at least middle-class families, and he believed the protest movement had less to do with political unrest than with the rejection of middle-class norms and family, religious, and sexual mores. Those who railed against the status quo, the “militants” who wanted to tear down the state, had nothing to say about what would replace it. A protest movement without a plan for the future, White firmly believed, was “little more than gestures, postures and slogans.” He wrote to Lodise that revolutionists “must, to succeed, acquire control of the basic processes of society, and be prepared to construct, or reconstruct, the socio–economic–political structure in accordance with a well thought-out and

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realistic plan”(White to Lodise,September 24,1971,author’s private collection). Against this background,White wrote, Jerry Rubin “seems to me little more than a clown” in comparison to realistic revolutionaries. Marshall Sahlins has written thatWhite used to say at this time that such liberals were“just a human neutron in the political process,somebody who ineffectively wanted a change that was no change” (Sahlins 2000:23). By the end of his life White was extremely pessimistic, convinced that humankind would destroy itself in a nuclear war. White considered the question of the ability of the soul and the modern nation-states to survive, by which he meant“as a class of animals to which dinosaurs belong characterized by huge bodies and peanut brains which is like the cultural system we have in the United States.” There is no better cultural system found anywhere in the world.Yet these nations are incapable of behaving in an intelligent manner, they cannot sense danger at a distance as some forms of animals can and they cannot cope with a crisis when it arises. Our nations could fall apart from its own weight and if it does not there is pollution and overpopulation as threats. But the greatest threat of all in my mind is the threat of thermonuclear warfare. As long as we have national sovereignty, the threat of nuclear war will hang over us. As soon as we get enough deterrents we will start another war. Nothing makes war break out quicker and faster and harder than a bunch of deterrents. This is what the United States and the Soviet Union, the two great superpowers, are doing now—they are getting ready for thermonuclear war. Can you imagine any statesman anywhere in the country be he dictator or elected person who is willing to publicly say yes we will surrender our national sovereignty and merge our nations with others? Imagine Barry Goldwater doing this just to give you an example. National sovereignty is the greatest non-technological threat to the existence of the human race that we have. Personally I think the chances of survival are less than fifty-fifty but maybe I am off a few percentage points.Well these are rather discouraging words but it is not science’s business to comfort people. [White, lecture, 1974, ucsc] InWhite’s later works, texts such asThe Concept of Cultural Systems (1975a) he seemingly turns his back on earlier formulations about the nature of human culture and evolution. This text, published at the initiative of Beth Dillingham, one of White’s literary executors, is particularly misleading in that its focus on cultural systems was not White’s primary area of theo-

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retical interest in his final years. White wrote the book at the urging of Raymond Wilder as a break from his work on his mammoth unpublished text,“Modern Capitalist Culture,”the sequel toThe Evolution of Culture. From 1968 until his death in 1975 he spent most of his time working independently on this manuscript, an endeavor he likened to entering the La Brea tar pits— he quipped that like the dinosaurs, once he put his foot in he was never able to reemerge. Thus the majority of White’s work written later in his career is unpublished and voluminous.WithinWhite’s papers there are several long manuscripts, some well over 2,500 pages. The two largest and most important manuscripts in White’s estimation were “The Fuel Revolution” and “Modern Capitalist Culture.” White was convinced the whole history of European cultural evolution needed to be rewritten and he wanted to create a new culturological account of the rise of capitalism in Europe. Hopelessly ambitious, White was unable to complete this Herculean task. Over the years several publishers have expressed an interest in publishing an abridged version of “The Fuel Revolution,” but this has yet to come to fruition. Another unpublished text worth mentioning here is “The World Tomorrow.” This manuscript is over 1,000 pages long and strongly reflects the influence of Veblen on White’s perception of evolutionary development. 10 By the time White retired in 1970, his feelings about the University of Michigan and Ann Arbor were bittersweet. On the one hand, he had lived his entire adult life in Ann Arbor, working at the University of Michigan for 40 years. The experience had been highly rewarding and stimulating. However, by the late 1960s all those he was close to inAnnArbor had either moved away or retired. This fact was made abundantly clear when, after a routine illness in October 1969, not a single individual from the department called or asked about his health (White to Babcock,October 17,1969,bhl-wp).White was so embittered that he even tried to retire early.William Hays,dean of the College of Literature, Science, and Art, convinced White this was not wise personally or financially (Hays toWhite, September 14, 1967, bhl-wp). When White retired there was no fond farewell ceremony, party, or recognition of any sort.The university also failed to offerWhite a small office upon his retirement, a customary courtesy. While this was most likely an oversight, White considered it below him to fight for an office.Years later he told Robert Carneiro that the university had “turned him out like a dog” (Carneiro to Service,March 2,1979,private collection). In fairness to Michigan,it should be noted thatWhite wrote many different things to people about his retirement.

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The comment he made most often was that he felt nothing—not happiness,not sorrow, not relief—upon his retirement. He could find no words to express how he felt. He undoubtedly felt lonely, for he wrote to Raymond Wilder that “my isolation here [Ann Arbor] is extreme. . . . I have almost no friends here,or so it seems to me:theThiemes,Spauldings,Jelineks,Spuhlers,Wilders, Services, and others have moved away. I do not know half of the people in our department” (White to Wilder, March 7, 1969, bhl-wp). For many years White had very hard feelings toward Michigan, and he seriously considered donating his academic papers to the American Heritage Center,University of Wyoming—for him the ultimate insult as he considered his papers an invaluable resource. [229], (22) Final Years and Death

After he retired from the University of Michigan, White worked hard at research and writing in offices supplied by the University of California in Santa Barbara. He died there in 1975—“in harness” (Bohannan and Glazer 1988:334). White’s final years were lonely and sad. Between his retirement in 1970 and his death in 1975,White taught part-time at San Francisco State College, Rice University, and the University of California at Santa Barbara. His responsibilities were limited, as was his teaching schedule.White had no serious commitments to these schools, but given the poor financial settlement he signed to end his second marriage he was forced to teach far more than he desired after he retired. Former Michigan students now at the aforementioned schools insured he was well paid. White was forthright about his financial situation and drove a hard bargain as he realized his name was being used as “window dressing.” White did not stay at Rice or San Francisco State College for long;at Rice he was shocked by the conservatism of the faculty and students alike. He wrote to Betty Meggers that his views were an anomaly,noting that no one had ever referred to religion and southern Baptists with anything other than reverence (White to Meggers, November 1970, private collection). “I was distressed and hurt when I received some written communications from the hard-shell Baptists in my course, one of which was obscene as well as abusive.”11 By the end of 1971 multiple medical problems,particularly a series of small strokes and cancer of the prostate, left White weak and debilitated. In Santa Barbara he was living in a small one-room apartment. He did not socialize, had very few friends,and was withdrawn from those he once knew. However,


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a small but loyal group of friends and former students looked after many of his basic needs.White maintained a regular writing program.According to Elman Service, who was instrumental in getting White an office at Santa Barbara, White worked every day,often rising well before dawn,as had been his custom since he was a farm boy. Apparently he worked steadily, keeping a typist busy. He was making a sincere effort to finish “Modern Capitalist Culture,” but his progress was agonizingly slow. As had been the case for many years, much of his writing was devoted to correspondence. Many of those he wrote to were former students, whom he likened to his children.White wrote to Betty Meggers that he knew teaching prevented him from conducting research, but that it was one of the most rewarding aspects of his life.White’s files are filled with numerous letters that are a testament to the influence he had on students. For instance, Betty Meggers wrote: It is a very long time since we first met and were once close friends. I have regretted that the years have changed this, but I will never forget that whatever success I have is owed to the inspiration and insight gained from your lectures, formal and informal, during my two years at Michigan. Before I came, all I knew was disconnected facts; by the time I left I had learned how they fitted together and the succeeding years have been rewarding because I have been able to apply what you taught me. I know that you also did this for a great many others before and since my period,and not only for those who remained in the field of anthropology but also for others who went into other disciplines. Hopefully,this gives you some satisfaction. [Meggers to White, December 5, 1972, private collection] In response to Meggers’s kind words,White wrote that whenever he was depressed he would inevitably receive a letter similar to hers.That former students expressed such deep gratitude meant more to him than all his published work combined. Such appreciation helped reconcile him to the knowledge that despite his best efforts, his weak health would undoubtedly prevent him from realizing his final academic research goals. In spite of this he wrote:“I am not depressed. I know I must die sometime of course and while I would like to finish my book and a few other things I think I can and will accept death when it comes with good grace. I have had 73 years full of zest. I have made many mistakes, but who hasn’t? I have not used my talents to the fullest by any means (in my estimation). But on the other hand, I believe I have wasted

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some of my life by working as my Puritan forebears moved me to” (White to Meggers, December 18, 1972, private collection). In the summer of 1974White had a heart attack,and his health and powers of concentration were never the same. He wrote to Beverly CondittWhite that he was quite weak and“spend much of my time in bed. Part of this,I suspect,is psychological—lack of motivation”(White to Beverly CondittWhite,March 11, 1975, author’s private collection). In the spring of 1975 White became friendly with a much younger woman, about whom much is speculated but little is known. Knowing he was nearing the end of his life, he shared many of his hopes and regrets with her. Foremost on his mind were the places he wanted to see before his death—among them Owens and DeathValley.White and his friend accordingly set off on a one-week vacation. Tired from a long drive, the couple checked into a motel in Lone Pine, California, on March 31, 1975. White died that afternoon in a manner that would make most men jealous were it not for its finality. White had strong opinions about his funeral arrangements as about everything else. Earlier he had joined the Channel Cities Memorial Society, an organization that provided inexpensive funeral services.White requested that his body be cremated and his ashes placed in a plain ceramic urn and buried in Forrest Hills Cemetery,Ann Arbor, next to MaryWhite. One point he was emphatic about: he wanted no funeral or religious ceremony held. He wrote to several people about this, pointing out that this was not only his wish but included as a provision in his will (White to Beverly CondittWhite,December 23,1974,author’s private collection). He expressed similar sentiments to Mary White’s older brother Thurman Pattison, who assured White that his wishes would be carried out. White wrote to his lifelong friends Angus and Wanda Babcock, “I am requesting in my will that no religious rite or ceremony be performed, and that no member of the clergy function, at any time in connection with my death, cremation, and internment. (I would call myself a very religious person, but I cannot subscribe to any theology. And I do not wish to contribute to the perpetuation of institutionalized supernaturalism by permitting a member of the clergy to assist at my departure from human society)” (White to Angus and Wanda Babcock, November 9, 1974, author’s private collection).According to Elman Service and Beth Dillingham,White’s final wishes were honored and his ashes were buried next to MaryWhite. Retrospective

Often reviled by his peers and his place in the history of anthropology

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inadequately contextualized by later scholars,Leslie A.White has been poorly understood for too long. Thus I hope my biography has revealed a detailed and nuanced view of a man whose work was critically important to the development of contemporary American anthropology.White’s contribution to the discipline was remarkably diverse. He was one of the pioneers of Southwestern ethnography. He established himself as a gifted fieldworker in a difficult area, Acoma, where other ethnographers had failed to garner any information.White was also an intellectual maverick,the first to make a radical break with Boasian anthropology, forcefully arguing that it was theoretically retrogressive.White’s championship of a scientific approach seeking to establish general laws of evolution has been expanded upon since his death, leading to further development of the evolutionism he espoused as well as to materially based theoretical contributions such as cultural ecology. The types of anthropology and ethnographyWhite espoused are no longer in vogue—indeed, I have no doubt he would find the current interpretive approach nothing short of anathema. 12 Regardless,White’s work often foreshadowed what was to become highly influential within the discipline in terms of the integration of a scholar’s contributions theoretically and personally. For White anthropology was not only a science but a way of life—an approach that demanded total dedication. This dedication took many forms and was most clearly articulated through his theoretical and political activities. White’s integration of political activism and anthropological theory preceded its popularization during the tumult of the 1960s. It also predates the sort of engaged activist ethnography of activist—scholars such as Nancy SheperHughes.Viewed with a broader lens,White’s work remains important in that it highlights the connections among anthropological scholarship,personal and political commitment, and the usefulness of anthropology itself.

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Notes Preface 1. The identity of this individual is not important. The harsh words about White highlight the polarizing influence he had on people. Analyses about his life reflect this polarization. Robert Carneiro (1980) has lauded White’s contribution to the discipline, while Diana Amsden has damned him. Amsden’s Ph.D. thesis,“Piltdown II: Leslie White’s Theory of Cultural Evolution” (1976) was considered unacceptable by all members of the anthropology department at the University of New Mexico (though approved by the American studies department). Another attack on White worth noting was by Gerald Weiss (1972), a former graduate student of White who accused White of plagiarism. White (1975b) replied to Weiss and filed a complaint against him with the American Anthropological Association Ethics Committee (White to Norbeck, March 9, 1974, bhlwp). 2. Analyses of White’s life and work include:Anderson 1978;Artanovskii 1964–65; H. E. Barnes 1960;Beardsley 1976;Carneiro 1980;Copeland 1963;Crowe and Otterbein n.d.; Cuzzort 1969; Dillingham and Carneiro 1987; Fluehr-Lobban 1986; Fried 1976; Guksch 1990;Hatch 1973b;Kopytoff 1995;Marshall 1949–50;Navarra 1993–94;Pasquali 1969–70; Peace 1993, 1998; Peace and Price 2001; Phillips 1971; Radcliffe-Brown 1949; Radetsky 1959;Weiner 1969;Willhelm 1974. 3. White’s strident tone, particularly as typified by his exchanges with Morris Opler (1961, 1962, 1967) and Bernhard Stern (1948) includes ill-tempered personal comments that mar the content of the discussion (Price and Peace 2003). 4. Beth Dillingham, one of White’s literary executors and his close friend, worked for many years with the White papers (Dillingham 1983, 1985). Her untimely death in 1988 prevented her from finishing her proposed biography of White. She was very supportive of my work and strongly encouraged me to continue my research aboutWhite. 5. Although White published several papers about Morgan and edited his journals, he never completed his biography—despite collecting and transcribing over 2,500 letters Morgan wrote.White did not think highly of Bernhard Stern’s biography of Morgan, and the publication of Carl Resek’s biography in 1960 dampened his enthusiasm significantly.

1. Early Life and Formative Experiences 1. According toWhite’s paternal Aunt Grace,White’s parents married after dating for a short period of time. Aunt Grace recalled that White’s father was “rather shy and I believe did not go with girls much, so we were very much surprised when he wrote to us that he was married and was coming home. He and his wife stayed a few weeks with us, then he was appointed assistant engineer with the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad and they went to Salida,[Colorado] to live” (Aunt Grace, notes, n.d., bhl-wp). 2. According to a short autobiographical document written by White’s Aunt Grace,

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the White family arrived in the Nebraska territory via covered wagon train in 1861. They moved to Nebraska to participate in the antislavery struggle to make Kansas and Nebraska free states.The family moved constantly becauseAlvin GranvilleWhite had been a chaplain in the Union Army since the Civil War. They eventually settled down in Lincoln so the children could attend the state university (White to the Nebraska State Historical Society, September 4, 1972, bhl-wp). White was always intrigued by his paternal grandfather’s background. In 1972 he began to assemble material about Alvin Granville White because he wanted to write a brief biographical essay (White to Recorder’s Office, University of Nebraska,August 24, 1972, bhl-wp). 3. In 1978 Robert Carneiro garnered invaluable information aboutWhite’s high school days in Zachary, Louisiana. He interviewed Walker Chaney, Rita Hart, and Margaret Wall, contemporaries of White. Carneiro’s research was aided by another formerWhite student, William Haag, a professor at Louisiana State University. 4. In 1964White was contacted by Frank A. Meyer, a graduate student atWestern State College writing a short biography of White (Meyer 1965). Meyer, a resident of Salida, Colorado, inspired White to write two detailed autobiographical reminiscences. White encouraged Meyer to interview people who knew his family when they lived in Salida. Meyer tookWhite’s suggestion and retrieved invaluable information. For example, Meyer interviewed a neighbor of theWhites,Mrs. Lippard (Grace Moore),who recalled there was a lot of gossip about the breakup of theWhite marriage in part because they were relatively older and their personalities direct opposites (Meyer toWhite,April 23, 1965, bhl-wp). 5. Within White’s papers there are a few references to corporal punishment, not an unusual child-rearing practice whenWhite was a child. Dillingham recorded the following after she talked with White in 1969: “law’s father used to whip him. . . . His younger brother Willard, who looked like an angel used to get Leslie beaten. . . . law also says he always knew his father loved Willard best but he never resented it—he thought Willard needed it and he did not. . . . He says he never loved his mother (he did love his father) and remembers her visits as a time when they had good hot food” (Dillingham, September 20, 1969, private collection). 6. The most detailed statement White made about the influence his father had on him was written shortly after the latter’s death in a notebook entitled “Book of My Father.” Over a period of monthsWhite wrote how much he loved and missed his father, trying to come to terms with his grief. 7. Late in lifeWhite painstakingly purged his papers concerning his family,scrupulously destroying all references to the circumstances surrounding his sister’s pregnancy. For example, in an autobiographical document written in 1952, he tore out three pages whose chronological placement in the narrative suggest that they must have concerned this episode. 8. Herbert Smith, who was not told the truth about his parentage, grew up believing Leslie White’s mother and not her daughter was his own biological mother (he learned the truth as an adult). Herbert Smith’s life was beset with problems.White’s papers include two cryptic references to him and the issue of his parentage.The first is a newsy letter from

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Helen to her brother Leslie in which Herbert Smith’s “troubles” were discussed and Helen speculated about “the shock he got when he found out about his parentage.” Second, in a letter to his sister,White specifically asked her about Herbert Smith and his attitude toward her. She responded that he had no resentment toward her,but still felt the wound and shock that “Mama” was not his biological mother (White to Helen White, circa 1965, bhl-wp). When informed of Herbert Smith’s death,White wrote,“that poor man.What a loused up life he had. I loved him—which I could not honestly say about some of my other relatives” (White, journal, November 4, 1974, bhl-wp). 9. It is unknown how much contact the White children had with their mother before HelenWhite’s unplanned pregnancy.Apparently Helen visited her mother every summer— no such visits are mentioned by Leslie orWillardWhite. It is worth noting here that Leslie andWillardWhite had a difficult relationship. LeslieWhite once wrote,“I don’t know what to think of Willard. Sometimes I feel awfully close to him and at other times I feel at sword’s points.We are so different and it would take a long time for us to understand one another” (White, journal, September 6, 1923, bhl-wp). Throughout their lives the White brothers would argue and become estranged,sometimes not writing or speaking to one another for years. 10. The simple fact that White enlisted in the navy in Boulder indicates he sought his mother’s advice and council. His journal never explicitly states this, but two passages seem to imply it (White, journal, circa 1973, bhl-wp). 11. The area in Kansas where White grew up, now Franklin County, was the scene of much of “Bleeding Kansas” (Goodrich 1991). The John Brown to whom White referred was the main participant in the “Pottawatomie Massacre” of May 24 and 25, 1856, one of the most famous events leading up to theAmerican CivilWar.Throughout his careerWhite used Brown to illustrate various points, indicating he was important to him personally and academically. 12. It is unknown what transpired betweenWhite and his father.White never spoke in a negative or disparaging tone about his father after they reconciled, but their relationship remained strained for a long time.White spent the summer of 1923 working for his father inTexas, and in his journal he wrote about a number of arguments. 13. Archival evidence suggests that White was seriously interested in psychiatry. In his senior year at ColumbiaWhite was impressed by Clifford Beer’s A MindThat Lost Itself. He was intrigued by psychiatric disorders because they represented a “real concrete example of how a social problem has been approached and dealt with” (White, journal, circa 1924, bhl-wp). 14.White corresponded with Scott Nearing,a member of the Socialist Party from 1917 to 1922. Although brief, their correspondence indicatesWhite was impressed by Nearing. For more information on Nearing and the Columbia milieu, see Saltmarch 1991. 15. Thomas’s association with the University of Chicago ended abruptly in 1918 after he was arrested in a Chicago hotel room with a married woman. He was charged with disorderly conduct and false registration—a violation of the Mann Act (Matthews 1977:102). Thomas was not alone in being fired for what was termed “moral laxity.”

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Thorstein Veblen and Alexander Goldenweiser’s careers were blighted by similar sexual indiscretions and lack of regard for conventional morality. 16. Benedict forgave Goldenweiser for his flirtatiousness, a quality that led many to characterize him as a “womanizer.” Ignoring his efforts to charm her, she remained drawn to his intellectual abilities (Modell 1983:111–112). 17.The archival material at the University of Chicago, Regenstein Library is unevenly spread out in a number of files. A definitive history of the sociology and anthropology department, despite a wealth of resources, has yet to be written. Stocking’s Anthropology at Chicago (1979) gives a sense of the way such a history could be written but, as he noted, his work was unusual in that it was designed to accompany an exhibit celebrating the 50th anniversary of the department as an independent entity. The history of the department is critically important because much of the history of anthropology was influenced by important academic departments such as Chicago’s. 18. It is worth noting here that community studies were taken seriously at the University of Chicago throughout the 1920s (for example, the dissertations of Roderick McKenzie and Dwight Sanderson in 1921, of Pieter Roest andWalter Reckless in 1925, of Cornelius Janzen in 1926, of Charlotte Gower and Robert Redfield in 1928). 19. There were few centers of anthropological and sociological training when White entered graduate school in fall 1924. Between 1924 and 1939 there were six primary departments of anthropology that produced Ph.D.s:University of California–Berkeley,University of Chicago,Columbia University,Harvard University,University of Pennsylvania,andYale University (Ebihara 1985). Chicago dominated sociology,producing more Ph.D.s than any other department in the country. 20.The history of the Chicago School of Sociology is voluminous. Studies range from personal remembrances to polemical analyses and historical studies. Some of the most wellknown texts include:Bulmer 1984,1985;R. Faris 1967;Harvey 1987a,1987b;Kurtz 1984; Platt 1996; Smith 1988. 21. Fred Matthews (1977) and Robert McMillan (1986) each wrote to White in the 1970s about their respective research. Conspicuous by its absence is any mention of White within Ellsworth Faris’s papers, making it impossible to ascertain what Faris thought of White. Given this,the material that has survived reflects only whatWhite thought and must be viewed with this in mind. 22. In the notes of Robert McMillan’s dissertation (1986) it is suggested that some people believed Faris was hired in the wake of William Thomas’s firing because of his devout religious background rather than for his intellectual prowess. 23. In 1972 James Carey conducted a series of interviews with 25 sociologists and scholars who worked or studied at the University of Chicago in the 1920s. Transcriptions of these interviews are located in rl. 24. Murray (1986) cites Fay-Cooper Cole’s letter to Acting President Frederic Woodward as proof thatWhite’s views are incorrect. He offers another reason why the department split, citing personal communication with Eggan (Murray 1986:267). Eggan, on the basis of what Cole,Redfield,and Ogburn told him,maintained that the split had nothing to do

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with White; it was a preemptive move to avert a plan to reorganize sociology core classes that would have fragmented anthropology. The split between the two departments is only mentioned in passing by sociologists,whose principle concern was the development of the Chicago School of Sociology. 25. The union of sociology and anthropology was not an anomaly. I cannot dispute whether it was problematic for graduate students to explain why anthropology was linked with sociology,as Cole believed;however,the University of Chicago was not alone in combining the two fields.Three other universities—the University of Minnesota,Northwestern University,and the University of Wisconsin—all had combined departments. (Carl Guthe to Dean Effinger, March 19, 1930, University of Michigan College of Literature, Science, and Art Papers, bhl). 26. Starr’s appointment at the University of Chicago was regarded as a failure in that he never developed an independent department of anthropology. Starr was frequently absent for long periods and took little interest in university affairs. 27. A list of the Citizens Committee on Anthropology is: John Taylor Adams, Max Adler, Louis Asher, L. E. Block, Herbert Bradley, Paul Davis, Charles Dawes, Rufus Dawes, Edwin Embree,William Folsom, Gerard Foreman, George Getz, Charles Goodspeed, M. E. Greenebaum, Hary Hart, Julius Hess, Clarence Hough, Gustav Kaltenbach, George Langford,Adolph Lichstern,Marian Lichstern,Frank Logan,B.A. Massee,Russel Matthias, Cyrus McCormick, George McKinlock, Leopold Metzenberg, Joy Morton,William Parsons, Francis Pickcords, John Pirie, Harold Pitman, George Pollock,T. W. Robinson, and CharlesWalgreen.

2. Fieldwork in the Southwest 1. White was the first anthropologist to use the term personality and culture. Although White was a student of Sapir, he was not a participant in Sapir’s “Culture and Personality” seminar held at Yale University. Kluckhohn and Murray (1949) incorrectly stated this, leading to some confusion about White’s background and involvement in culture and personality studies. 2. For biographical analyses of Parsons, see Deacon 1996; Hare 1985; Zumwalt 1992. The edited volume,Hidden Scholars:WomenAnthropologists and the NativeAmerican Southwest, is particularly helpful in understanding the broader academic climate in which Parsons and other female scholars worked (Parezo 1993). 3.The reference to syndicalism indicates Parsons’s association with various leftist causes. She was referred to by William O’Neill as the “Left’s favorite anthropologist” (1966:206). Parsons contributed regularly to the New Republic,Masses,and Dial.WorldWar I disillusioned Parsons from participating in radical politics, and Zumwalt notes that “Parsons had turned to the Southwest as an escape from the disappointments of political action and movements for social change” (Zumwalt 1992:257). 4. A complete accounting can be found in the Southwest Society’s treasurer’s report in Parsons’s papers.While generous to a fault, Parsons did not give amounts that would allow a luxurious existence. In White’s papers is an accounting ledger for his expenses during

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his first fieldwork. He truly counted his pennies and often deprived himself of what one would consider staples of life—such as coffee and hot meals. 5. The letters between White and Parsons are housed at the Bentley Historical Library and the American Philosophical Library. Neither repository has a complete set of the correspondence. When combined, however, the correspondence is reasonably complete, but many letters are not dated,and even when they are placed in context,it is often difficult to establish exactly when they were written. 6.The materials relating to his ethnographic activities consist of two large archival boxes that were sealed until 1986. The fieldwork material includes all of White’s extensive field notes. 7. The two Indians were retried and their death sentence was commuted to life imprisonment. The materials relating to this incident are scattered throughout White’s papers and largely consist of letters he exchanged with Wendell Bennett (President of the American Anthropological Association), George Devereux (Director of Research,V.A. Hospital,Topeka, Kansas), and Robert Navarre (Senior Assistant Surgeon, Medical Center for Federal Prisoners, Springfield, Missouri). 8. Ethnographers were not immune from the threat of danger.While conducting archival research I met an Acoma Indian whose father was one of White’s informants. He told me that beforeWhite’s arrival Parsons tried to surreptitiously slip into a kiva without permission. According to this man Parsons’s presence was quickly realized and she was forcibly removed and warned that if she returned to Acoma she would be killed.This man metWhite when he was younger and his father told him this story. 9. For reviews of The Acoma, see Redfield 1934; of The Pueblo of Santo Domingo, see Guisinde 1935;ofThe Pueblo of Santa Ana,see Bushnell 1945;Goldfrank 1943;Walter 1943; ofThe Pueblo of Sia, see Goldfrank 1964; Hutchinson 1963. 10. Eggan referred toWhite’s fieldwork more than any other scholar.White and Eggan had little in common personally and professionally. In Eggan’s retrospective essays and his correspondence it is clear he respected White’s knowledge of the Southwest (see letters, circa 1963,Fred Eggan Papers,rl,regardingWhite’s monographThe Pueblo of Sia and Eggan 1974; 1989). 11.The health of White’s wife,Mary,declined significantly in the 1950s. She was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1953 and underwent a radical mastectomy. White’s fieldwork ended as his wife’s cancer progressed. 12. White abandoned an attempt to write a biography of a Pueblo Indian he was close to. White concluded that all biographical analyses would fail because any Pueblo Indian’s life was so intimately interwoven with the fabric of society that it was impossible to separate it from the larger sociocultural context. 13. The most detailed history of the Laboratory of Anthropology is Fowler 2000. For other information about the history and founding of the Laboratory of Anthropology, see Fowler 1999 and the 50th anniversary issue of El Palacio (1981). 14.The advisory board was quite large,consisting of approximately 60 members.Among some of the more significant were Ruth Benedict, Franz Boas, Fay-Cooper Cole, Carle

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Guthe,A.V. Kidder,Alfred Kroeber, Ralph Linton, Elsie Clews Parsons, Robert Redfield, Edward Sapir,William Duncan Strong,and ClarkWissler. (Announcement of Scholarships forTraining in Anthropological Field-Method by the Laboratory of Anthropology at Santa Fe, bhl-wp). 15. There is no question George Dobo and George Devereux are the same individual. In a letter toWhite Fred Eggan wrote,“Our old pal George Dobo (alias Devereux) talked to the [University of Chicago] anthropology club last week—I unfortunately had an evening class so I couldn’t hear him but I understand he mystified them properly with semantics” (Eggan to White, January 30, 1939, bhl-wp). For an analysis of Devereux’s career and the reasons he changed his name, see Kilborne 1988. 16. According to White Devereux’s presence created many problems. White wrote detailed letters outlining his many faults as a fieldworker (White to Jesse Nusbaum,August 1, 1932, bhl-wp;White to May, October 2, 1932, bhl-wp). May, new to the Rockefeller Foundation and an economist,was at a loss to explain Devereux’s inability to fit in among his peers. This was especially mystifying because he came highly recommended by a number of European scholars. At worst,May wrote toWhite,his evaluation would be an interesting historical anecdote, speculating,“Can it be that this distinguished bevy of French scientists is in a conspiracy to sell one of their own annoying problems‘down river?”’(May toWhite, October 8, 1932, bhl-wp).

3. The Socialist Labor Party 1. White’s decision to use the pseudonym John Steel has three possible explanations. First, it could be a reference to Joseph Stalin.This is doubtful given the anti-Stalinist views of the Socialist Labor Party. Second,he could have selected the name because Lewis Henry Morgan’s mother’s name was Harriet Steele Smith. A third—and intriguing—possibility is that the name Steel is a pseudonym within a pseudonym. Johannes Steel was the pseudonym of a German refugee who escaped from Hitler’s purges in 1933. Under a great variety of names, Steel wrote for a host of magazines and newspapers throughout the 1930s and published several books about Germany and the threat of fascism. None of White’s articles written under the pseudonym John Steel have ever been listed in an analysis of White’s work. Dillingham (1976) was unaware these articles existed when she compiledWhite’s bibliography. Peace (1993) refers to many of the published works by White as John Steel,but archival research since 1993 has unearthed a number of unpublished articles also written under the pseudonym John Steel. Pagination for the Steel works in the Weekly People has not been included as it is frequently inconsistent. The records of the Socialist Labor Party, including the Weekly People, have been microfilmed by the State Historical Society of Wisconsin, Madison. 2. Little biographical material about Marvin Farber has been published aside from obituaries. For information about Farber,see Chao and Lynn 1981;Spiegelberg 1965. Also see Crowe and Otterbein n.d. for discussion about the degree to which Farber influenced White. 3. It is worth noting here that the slp has not been subject to intense historical analysis.

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Unlike the Socialist and Communist Parties,no history of the slp has been written. Robert Bills,the longtime slp executive secretary,wrote a brief history of the party,but it is a partisan study (Bills 1990). A short-lived publication, Bulletin of the Socialist Labor Movement, circa 1994, edited by Ben Perry, was the only nonpartisan attempt to examine the history of the slp. 4. Morton Fried (1976) and Christian Guksch (1990) have noted White’s connection with the slp, but their discussions are not detailed. The only other mention in print of White’s association with the party was made by John Moore (1981). Commenting on a paper by Elman Service (1981), Moore took exception to Service’s characterization of White, claiming the latter portrayedWhite as“an essayist–debater and short-tempered polemicist” who, during the Depression, became a “crusading intellectual leftist.” Moore argued that there was an “anti-communist aspect to Service’s essay” and that White’s work was much less “abrasive intellectually if put into the context of the writing of Daniel DeLeon” and the slp. Barry Isaac (1984) refers to Moore’s comments. 5.This trip was a pivotal moment inWhite’s career.Afterward he tried,unsuccessfully,to keep in touch with the people who were in the Soviet Union with him, intrigued by how this trip affected others.The people he lost track of included Michael Blankfort,Katherine Wasserman (whose married name was Davis), Helen C. Wilson, Barbara Mailhouse, and William Osgood Field. Interestingly, Blankfort was called before the huac committee in 1952 and part of his testimony can be found in Bentley 2002. 6.White’s articles published by the Bee can be found in the University of Buffalo special collections (suny). Newspaper articles from this time period can also be found in the Bentley Historical Library, but they are not as extensive as the original articles found in Buffalo. 7.White’s papers contain translations of articles published by Pravda about his address to the aaas. Throughout White’s career he tried to contact Soviet scholars and had Russian scholarship translated when his finances permitted. 8.The correspondence between Marvin Farber andWhite can be found in the Bentley Historical Library and the suny archives.The latter archive has a more complete record of this correspondence. 9. Between 1930 and 1940 the University of Michigan was not particularly large, and the student population generally consisted of the wealthy children of the upper middle class (Peckman 1994; Shaw 1937). The Michigan student body at the time White was hired in 1930 numbered only 3,800 undergraduates and was still fewer than 5,000 in 1940 (Beardsley 1976:617). For six yearsWhite was the only anthropologist at Michigan (Griffin 1975). 10. Service was injured in the fighting, and spent most of his time in Europe driving an ambulance. Another scholar associated with the University of Michigan who fought in the Spanish CivilWar was Clement Markert (Richardson 1990). For more information about the Spanish Civil War, see Carroll 1994; Katz 1989; Rosenstone 1969. An excellent documentary of 1984 isThe Good Fight by Noel Buckner, Mary Dore, and Sam Sills. 11. I spoke to Service at length on the phone shortly before his death. His widow, who

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was also kind enough to be interviewed, sent me “Segment of Oral History and Cultural Anthropology”(Service n.d.) and commented on early drafts of the present work onWhite. 12. Some have argued that Marxism failed to take hold in the U.S. labor movement because its language was unpalatable—too foreign and filled with technical jargon— to appeal to the working class. For a discussion concerning the difference between the American and European Marxist tradition and the reasons why socialism and the slp failed to grab a large following, see Lipset and Marks 2000; Seretan 1979; Stevenson 1977. 13. For information about DeLeon and how he affected other scholars, see Coleman 1990; Reeve 1972. White was not the only member of the slp fascinated with Marx and Morgan. Ernest Culshaw corresponded regularly with White about the relevance of Morgan’s work to contemporary society. Similarly, Aaron Orange and White exchanged numerous letters about the foreign editions of Ancient Society and other aspects of his work. Other scholars of White’s generation who were interested in Morgan include Bernhard Stern. 14. Elsewhere I incorrectly stated thatWhite also submitted articles under the name E. H. Culshaw to the Weekly People (Peace 1993:144). Culshaw, also a longtime member of the slp, was a close friend of White’s during the early 1930s and was one of the men he read Capital with. 15. Cultural evolutionism became entwined with communist and revolutionary theory—an unfortunate association, in the eyes of some American anthropologists. For example,in the foreword to Ancient Society,Tooker (1985) dismissively refers to the Marxist use of Morgan’s work as a small “cottage industry.” Similarly,Trautman (1987) devotes a scant five pages to the Marxist legacy of Morgan’s work in his book Lewis Henry Morgan and the Invention of Kinship.

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4. Evolutionary Theory for American Anthropologists 1. The best-known and most often cited articles include:“Energy and the Evolution of Culture” (1943a); “History, Evolutionism, and Functionalism” (1945d); “Diffusion vs. Evolution”(1945b);“Evolutionary Stages,Progress and the Evaluation of Cultures”(1947f); and,“Evolutionism and Anti-evolutionism in American EthnologicalTheory” (1947g). 2. No doubt the articlesWhite is referring to are “A Problem in KinshipTerminology” (1939b) and “Energy and the Evolution of Culture” (1943a). 3.“Science Is Sciencing”was slightly modified in the first chapter ofThe Science of Culture (White 1949d; reprinted as 1958e:3–21). In the chart reproduced in my text,White used cultural for super-organic, biological for organic, and physical for inorganic. 4. Phenomenology is a philosophy developed by the German philosopher Edmund Husserl. It is dedicated to describing the structures of human experience as they present themselves to consciousness without reference to the assumptions made in other disciplines such as the natural sciences. Phenomenologists believe that everything we know about reality is derived from our consciousness—the power of the mind to be aware of acts, sensations, and emotions. 5. This was not the first time White expressed his belief in the value of evolutionary

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theory in an academic press. In his 1931 review of Stern’s biography of Lewis Henry Morgan,White emphatically endorsed cultural evolution and the work of Morgan (White 1931c), points that made virtually no impression on his colleagues. 6. Two points should be noted here. First, it is well known that Linton and Boas did not get along.Thus it is not surprising that Linton would lend a hand in an attack on Boas. Second, subscriptions to theAmericanAnthropologist had been dropping steadily throughout the 1930s, in part due to the Depression. Linton wanted to create additional interest in the journal and believed he could boost circulation if a heated debate developed.The exchanges betweenWhite and Lowie certainly were controversial and much discussed throughout the 1940s. Perhaps not coincidentally,subscriptions to the journal rose throughout the decade. 7. Five years after White delivered his paper, Esther Goldfrank, then married to Karl Wittfogel, wrote to him that “as I remember it, the article [“Energy and the Evolution of Culture”] was based on a paper that you gave in Chicago (1940 wasn’t it?). That created quite a sensation” (GoldfrankWittfogel toWhite, September 5, 1945, bhl-wp). In another passing reference toWhite’s presentation,he wrote toAlfred Kidder that the latter was there when White “fired the opening gun in my campaign against the Boas school.”Apparently Kidder slapped White on the back and said,“Good work! That Boas group has needed a licking for a long time,and you gave it to them”(White to Kidder,May 23,1963,bhl-wp). 8. The quotes selected here come from the rough draft of Notes on an Undirected Life (Goldfrank Papers,naa).The draft contains margin notes that do not appear in the published version of Goldfrank’s book (1978).There are also letters associated with specific chapters in Goldfrank’s book. For example, Goldfrank wrote to several people who witnessed White’s first attack on Boas. In one such exchange with Titiev, Goldfrank confirmed and subsequently corrected lapses in her memory of this event (Goldfrank toTitiev, March 24, 1974, Goldfrank Papers, naa). 9. While conducting research for his paper “Leslie A. White” (1980), Robert Carneiro contacted Richard MacNeish at the suggestion of Elman Service. MacNeish wrote about his experience at the aaa meetings (MacNeish to Carneiro, December 18, 1979, private collection). MacNeish, very proud of his boxing background, turned this meeting into a long-standing joke—albeit one with a sharp edge (MacNeish, personal communication with author). 10. Alexander Lesser also delivered a paper about evolutionary theory, although his and White’s papers were not presented at the same session: Lesser’s was included in the afternoon session about the “Present Status of New World Ethnology,” chaired by Robert Redfield. Lesser’s paper, “The Present Status of Evolution in Social Anthropology,” was published 13 years later as“Evolution in Social Anthropology”in the Southwestern Journal of Anthropology.According to Lesser:“The text was lost for a good many years. It is offered now, as given in 1939,because of the greatly increased interest in the subject that has developed” (Lesser 1952:134). Lesser later noted:“I discussed‘Evolution in Social Anthropology’at the Association meetings in Chicago, I had been warned by a social scientist who was by no means extreme in his view that ‘evolution’ was a dirty, dangerous word, and urged me to replace it with the word development” (Lesser 1961:40).

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11. Elsewhere,Wolf (1964) erroneously maintained thatWhite was a student of Boas at Columbia, an error that that was repeated by Leacock (1982). 12. Kroeber specifically asked Cappannari the following questions: Does White teach his evolutionary ideas in his classes? How much of a communist following does he have? Did White become interested in Morgan through an interest in Russia or vice versa? (Cappannari toWhite, October 16, 1947, bhl-wp). Kroeber knew thatWhite had gone to the Soviet Union in 1929 because at the time he had written to Kroeber and Boas seeking other anthropologists who might be interested in making such a trip (Kroeber to White, March 28, 1929, bhl-wp;White to Boas, March 17, 1929, Boas Papers, apl). 13. According to Murphy there was considerable speculation at Berkeley concerning howWhite and Lowie would get along whenWhite arrived as a visiting professor in 1956. In fact Murphy recalled that White told him one of the reasons he visited Berkeley was to get to know Lowie better. The two men got along quite well and Murphy wrote,“[O]ne day White remarked to me that his Berkeley stay would always be a source of satisfaction if only because he had gotten to know what a splendid person Lowie really was” (Murphy 1972:7–8). 14. From the inception of Barnes’s career, his work created controversy. Barnes’s scholarship is subject to intense debate because his work has been embraced by those who deny the Holocaust occurred. His work is the most direct link between two generations of American revisionists and Holocaust deniers. While Barnes stopped short of denying the Holocaust,there is no doubt he was deeply anti-Semitic. No full-length biography has been written about Barnes’s life and work. Information about his career can be easily broken down into two categories:works that praise him and those severely critical,such as Lipstadt 1993 and Novick 1988. Another source of information about Barnes is a personal memoir written by his son Robert (R. H. Barnes 1994). Barnes’s papers, housed at the ahc, are voluminous, though poorly organized and in bad condition. The fact that White was very close to Barnes—they were like brothers—is deeply troubling given Barnes’s anti-Semitism. Further complicating matters was the fact thatWhite was accused by Morris Opler of being anti-Semitic.Although the subject was never discussed in their correspondence,White must have been aware of Barnes’s extreme views. 15. In the transition between Linton’s and Mason’s editorship of theAmericanAnthropologist,White’s request to write an article-length review of Kroeber’s book was lost. Before writing the article,White wrote to Irving Hallowell,the book review editor,informing him that his review had turned into an article (White to Hallowell,August 29, 1945, bhl-wp). 16. White believed that Clark Wissler, like Kroeber, differed significantly from other students of Boas. White wrote to Wissler that he believed his work was fundamentally different from Boas’s on three fronts: race, the evolution of culture, and attitude toward Morgan. Although they exchanged several letters,Wissler was not sympathetic toWhite or Boas.Wissler’s responses toWhite were clipped, and he ended one letter:“Boas considered me a heretic, so I have no right to claim a place in the inner circles of the Boas school. He felt that I was too schematic to be a good anthropologist. His faith in Kroeber and Sapir was profound” (Wissler toWhite, March 31, 1943, bhl-wp).

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5. Academic and Political Threats 1. Little is known about the three years (1927–30) White spent in Buffalo, where he was hired as an instructor of anthropology and sociology in 1927. He was promoted to assistant professor in 1928 and named the curator of anthropology at the Buffalo Museum of Science. He left Buffalo in 1930 for Ann Arbor. Apparently, and unsurprisingly,White’s tenure at Buffalo was not without controversy. 2. At a state university such as Michigan, academic deans wielded considerable power. According to Nancy Bartlett, university archivist at the University of Michigan, a man in Kraus’s position was capable of seriously hindering a scholar’s academic career, including having promotions and raises delayed or even denied. 3. The isr was very important in terms of the Cold War and the impact it had on the University of Michigan (Frantilla 1998; Hollinger 1989; Kulakow Papers, bhl). According to Hollinger the Cold War and the funding of the isr-related social science changed the intellectual landscape of not only Michigan but other major universities. Aside from Michigan, Price has documented the effect government funding had on anthropology, in particular the Human Relations Area Files (hraf), and more recently the relationship between the Central Intelligence Agency and the American Anthropological Association. (Price 2000). 4. Steward was in some ways an odd choice for Michigan. His brief tenure in the late 1920s was awkward. There were rumors that he had a drinking problem, and his divorce and remarriage were subjects of much discussion. However, by the 1940s Steward had become a major figure in anthropology. His organizational skills were attractive, as were his connections within the government. It was well known he had a hand in the reorganization of the American Anthropological Association and was involved in the planning and coordination of the Federation of the Social Sciences, the precursor to the National Science Foundation. 5.White’s first attempts to respond to McPhillips were harsh and undiplomatic. In one draft he wrote that he was being singled out and that his accuser relied upon a“hodge podge” of hearsay. White maintained that if his ability to teach what he wanted was violated, the University of Michigan would have an “authoritarian imprimatur” and its faculty could never be trusted by free individuals at other,“enlightened universities”(White,journal,n.d., bhl-wp). 6.The most pointed exchangeWhite had with regard to quoting another scholar’s work out of context was with Melville Herskovits. Herskovits (1960) wrote an angry letter to the American Anthropologist regardingWhite’s foreword to Evolution and Culture (Sahlins and Service 1960). Herskovits and White exchanged several heated letters debating whether White misrepresented or distorted Herskovits’s work. Herskovits was convinced the socalled neoevolutionists distorted the facts and misrepresented others’ views. Although invited to reply by Edward Spicer, the editor of the American Anthropologist,White chose to let the issue drop. 7.White wrote toWilliam Duncan Strong,book review editor at theAmericanAnthropologist,that he was upset David Bidney had been selected to reviewThe Science of Culture.White

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maintained that“not only is Bidney’s philosophical point of view diametrically opposed to mine, but he has shown in ‘On the So-Called Anti-Evolutionist Fallacy’ as well as in other ways, that he is hostile toward me personally” (White to Strong, October 20, 1949, Strong Papers, naa). Strong replied that Bidney would not review his book—however, this was not the case (Bidney 1950). 8. The material this section is based on is the result of two independent Freedom of InformationActs conducted by the present author and David Price.This section was written in conjunction with Price.A significantly revised portion of our work aboutWhite has been published (Peace and Price 2001).The material on which it is based was obtained from the fbi through the Freedom of Information Act. 9.The fbi did not maintain a primary file onWhite. However,the fbi maintains a central records system that catalogs not only the files held on persons and organizations who have been the subject of bureau investigations but also indexes individuals who are mentioned in files held on other individuals and organizations. White’s name came up a number of times in these types of files. This is the reason why White was becoming of interest to the fbi, which was beginning to compile all these references in the bureau’s headquarters in Washington dc. 10. White’s father died in 1937. Appalled at how much burials cost, White sought out information from various groups offering inexpensive burials. The Free Thinkers of America was one such group. 11. This individual is most likely the University of Michigan registrar. (See Diamond 1992 for information about the fbi’s procedure in these matters.) 12. The petition White signed appeared in the Michigan Daily, May 25, 1954, and was signed by 236 staff members of the University of Michigan. Other anthropologists who signed the petition included David Aberle, Elman Service, Albert Spaulding, and Fred Thieme.The statement was hardly radical:“We wish to reaffirm at this time our belief in the free inquiry and the free discussion of ideas as the foundation of the academic community. We believe competence should be the criterion for hiring and evaluating faculty personnel, and that personal beliefs—unless they are demonstrated to interfere with a man’s ability to study and teach objectively—should not enter the evaluation. We do not feel that the invocation of a right guaranteed by the Constitution is grounds for firing. We believe that the introduction of any such extra-professional criteria into the University could have only harmful effects on the intellectual life of the nation.” 13. White’s second trip to the Soviet Union did not take place until 11 years after the fbi report was written. He went to the Soviet Union in 1964 to participate in the Seventh International Congress ofAnthropological and Ethnological Sciences held in Moscow. For a critical discussion of White’s role in this congress, see Constas 1978. 14. I have corresponded Mary White’s sister, Jeannette Mannion, and Leslie White’s niece,Beverly CondittWhite. Both individuals firmly believedWhite had a good relationship with his family and in-laws. This is reinforced by what White wrote to Harry Barnes and the fact that upon his death he bequeathed his monetary estate to Beverly Conditt White and Mary’s family.

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15. While I do not mean to suggest that this single event in any way signaled the end of McCarthyism, it does serve as a useful historical signpost indicating the waning of McCarthy’s power and significant changes in the willingness to tolerate unreasonable attacks by McCarran and McCarthy.

6. White Presses Needlessly On 1. Anthropology Today was the first conference organized by the Wenner Gren Foundation. The foundation’s archival holdings pertaining to the conference consist of 58 audiotapes, or about 54–60 hours of recordings. These tapes are an invaluable resource, as they are a complete record of all the discussions held. As to An Appraisal of Anthropology Today,according toTax only the“serious moments”were published. In total,the editors had 1,900 pages of transcriptions (this does not include papers presented). A stenographer was present at all the discussions and they were also electronically recorded.The editors’goal was to include 50 percent of the discussions, but even then the manuscript was 8½ inches thick and weighed 18 pounds!What remains in the printed version is the “intellectual content.” Tax lamented that“much of the amusing by-play”was missing and the transcriptions failed to give a flavor of the individual personalities (Tax et al. 1953:vi). 2.“Problems of the HistoricalApproach”was but one of 18 three-hour discussions held over a period of ten days.The papers discussed included those by Julian Steward (“Evolution and Process”),William Duncan Strong (“Historical Approach in Archaeology”), Hallam Movius (“OldWorld Prehistory”),Clyde Kluckhohn (“Universal Categories of Culture”), Grahame Clark (“ArchaeologicalTheories and Interpretation: OldWorld”), Irving Rouse (“The Strategy of Culture History”), Gordon Willey (“Archaeological Theories and Interpretation: New World”), Henri Vallois (“Race”), and G. S. Carter (“The Theory of Evolution and the Evolution of Man”). Panelists who attended the session included Kaj Birket-Smith,Daryle Forde,Theodore McCown,Irving Rowe,Wilhelm Koppers,Salvador Canals Frau, Ralph Linton,A. Irving Hallowell, and SherwoodWashburn. 3.This point was also made by Negrete:“To speak of Childe and revolutions is to invoke the ghosts of Morgan,Marx,and Engels;to reject the concept of revolution in understanding the socio-economic phenomena of the remote past allays thoughts about the present and future.To my way of thinking,it is not a question of conscious thought processes,but rather of a culturally prejudiced mentality,from which we cannot emancipate ourselves”(Negrete 1987:12). 4.The oathWhite and all other visiting scholars were required to sign stated:“I solemnly swear or affirm that I will support the constitution of the United States of America and the laws of the state of Colorado and of the United States and will teach by precept and example respect for the flags of the United States and the state of Colorado, reverence for law and order and undivided allegiance to one government of the country, the United States of America.” 5.WhenWhite was approached by the editors of Philosophy for the Future,he objected to the inclusion of Bernhard Stern’s work.White wrote to Sellers that he was not impressed by Stern’s scholarship and thought that in comparison to the other contributors he was a poor

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choice. White also maintained that the inclusion of Stern’s work would lead to internal problems with respect to other contributors—himself included. 6. In his resignation letter,“Why I Resigned from the slp,”Hass wrote,“slp Democracy was largely a myth and authoritarianism permeates it top to bottom” (Hass 1969). Hass makes it is clear that he was disturbed that the slp had turned DeLeon into an infallible guide. While other socialist parties devised programs to incorporate new members and attract a wider audience, the slp coined the term “Marxist DeLeonism” to describe its ideology, from which it forcefully forbade deviation. Even when praised, as it was in an editorial in Science and Society, a journal of Marxist thought and analysis, the slp lashes out and chastises any description of the party and its publications (Laibman 2000–1). 7.The works most often cited in theWeekly People included“Lewis H. Morgan’s Journal of aTrip to Southwestern Colorado and New Mexico”(1942c),“Morgan’sAttitude toward Religion and Science” (1944b), “Lewis Henry Morgan” (1946b), “The Lewis Henry Morgan Collection” (1947j), “Lewis Henry Morgan: Pioneer in the Theory of Social Evolution” (1947k), and “Lewis Henry Morgan’sWestern FieldTrips” (1951a). 8. Eugene Ruyle, a Columbia University Ph.D., was influenced by the slp and White. He recalled thatWhite’s lecturing style was reminiscent of Nathan Karp,a leading figure in the slp (letter to author, February 9, 2001). Ruyle also took a class with White while the later was visiting professor at the University of California. Morton Fried was Ruyle’s thesis adviser at Columbia.Although Fried knew of White’s association with the slp,Ruyle does not recall him ever talking about it. 9. Reviews of The Evolution of Culture include: Bose 1960; Browning 1960; Carneiro 1960; Greenway 1959; Steward 1960. Reviews of The Science of Culture include: Bidney 1950; Bose 1959; Davidson 1950; Dozier 1958; Edel 1950; Friedman 1949; Gordon 1959; Haag 1950;Hartung 1950;Jones 1951;Mishkin 1950;Myres 1950;Needham 1969;Oberg 1950; Schneider 1952; Steward 1950;Wolf 1960.

7. Personal Turmoil and Professional Influence 1.White did not save many letters he and Mary sent to one another. He wrote to Beverly Conditt White that he “burned loads of letters that Mary and I exchanged years ago, and I think it was for the best. They stir up too many powerful emotions” (White to Beverly CondittWhite, November 27, 1969, bhl-wp). 2. I am convinced the“love of White’s life”was Elizabeth Costello Schnur,who refused to marryWhite in the late 1920s. 3. It is my impression that the one serious affairWhite had took place in 1948. In a letter to Barnes White wrote,“I remember with shame that episode. I really did want to divorce Mary for that gal. I was insane” (White to Barnes, May 26, 1966, Barnes Papers, ahc). 4. White believed his alcohol abuse was partly to blame for the administration’s failure to acknowledge his contribution to the university upon his retirement. His drinking was a well-known problem. 5.The Ethnography and Ethnology of Franz Boas andThe Social Organization of Ethnological Theory were published at the initiative of two former students, William Newcomb and

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Edward Norbeck.The former text about Boas was too long to be published as an article,and White did not want to expand it to book length (the essay was 76 pages long).White knew Newcomb would be interested in publishing his essay as a bulletin of the Texas Memorial Museum. In fact Newcomb did not send the manuscript out for scholarly review. Edward Norbeck (the editor of Rice University Studies) was responsible for editing and publishingThe Social Organization of EthnologicalTheory.This text also was not sent out for scholarly review. 6. Among the very many graduate studentsWhite inspired during the 1950s and 1960s are: Pierre Berry, Albert Cafagna, Robert Carneiro, John Dowling, Charles Fairbanks, Robert Fonner,Yvette Gagnon, Edward Kennard, Eloise Kerlin, Barbara Savadkin Lane, Wilfred Logan,Frank Moore,William Newcomb,Mark Papworth,Howard Sargent,Miguel Schoen,William Sears, Louise Sweet, Lothar Witteborg, Grace Wood, and WilliamYoung. This list is far from complete but will suffice to show thatWhite affected a large and diverse number of individuals. 7. According to Service, “White was contemptuous of archaeology and the museum. Anthropology’s rapprochement happened in spite of White (but because of evolutionism). I know because I was there, and I took a lot of gruff, trying to bring them together” (Service to Carniero, January 26, 1979, private collection). The divide between the Department of Anthropology and the Museum of Anthropology when White and Griffin were on faculty is legendary. Stories abound about how graduate students in archaeology could not pass White’s required courses, leading in some cases to tragic results. 8.White was not actively involved in the everyday affairs of the department after he resigned in 1957. However, in 1967, three years before he retired, he was asked byWilliam Huber, dean of the College of Literature, Science, and Art, who he thought should be the next chair of the department. Huber noted that four members of the faculty—James Griffin,Volney Jones, Mischa Titiev, and White—were all approaching retirement age and was concerned about the future of the department. White proposed bringing Edward Norbeck to Ann Arbor to chair the department, a suggestion that was not well received. Within the department, White recommended William Schorger, Robbins Burling, and Richard Beardsley for chairman (White to Haber, April 4, 1967, bhl-wp). 9. Service was not close toWhite until after MaryWhite’s death (at that time Service and White lived near one another).White would often call the Services for help with mundane household matters,and over time a strong bond was forged.WhenWhite’s drinking became a significant problem they were often called to takeWhite home. 10. An analysis of this material is beyond the scope of the present discussion of White. I do not want to fall into the same problem or “tar pit” thatWhite found himself in—I leave this aspect of White’s career for future scholars to analyze. 11. In a rare compliment,White went on to write that his former students at Michigan were far more open-minded though no less conservative than those he encountered at Rice. 12. White’s work is still widely referred to among archaeologists and Lewis Binford, founder of New Archaeology, is quick to acknowledgeWhite’s influence on his work.

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Bibliography Manuscript and Archival Collections Secondary Sources SelectedWritings of Leslie A.White SelectedWritings of Leslie A.White under the Pseudonym John Steel Articles Published in theWeekly People Unpublished ArticlesWritten for the Socialist Labor Party

Manuscript and Archival Collections

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Archdiocese of Detroit (ad) Father Francis McPhillips Papers American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming, Laramie (ahc) Harry Elmer Barnes Papers American Philosophical Library, Philadelphia (apl) Franz Boas Papers J. Alden Mason Papers Elsie Clews Parsons Papers Bentley Historical Library, University of Michigan,Ann Arbor (bhl) Richard Beardsley Papers James Griffin Papers Harlan Hatcher Papers Volney Jones Papers Adam Kulakow Papers Marvin Niehuss Papers Alexander Ruthven Papers University of Michigan College of Literature, Science, and Art Papers Leslie A.White Papers (bhl-wp) Bancroft Library, University of California, Berkeley (bl) Ralph Beals Papers Alfred Kroeber Papers Robert Lowie Papers Leslie Spier Papers National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution,Washington dc (naa) American Anthropological Association Papers Central States Society Papers James Ford Papers Esther Goldfrank Papers Edward Norbeck Papers (LeslieWhite’s original journal) Albert Spaulding Papers

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William Duncan Strong Papers University Archives, Northwestern University, Evanston (nu) Melville Herskovits Papers Rye Historical Society, Rye ny (rhs) Elsie Clews Parsons Papers Regenstein Library, University of Chicago (rl) Ernest Burgess Papers James Carey Papers Fay-Cooper Cole Papers Department of Anthropology/Sociology Papers Fred Eggan Papers Philip Hauser Papers Fred Matthews Papers William Ogburn Papers Robert Park Papers President’s Papers, 1889–1925 and 1925–45 Robert Redfield Papers Edward Sapir Papers Albion Small Papers Harold Swift Papers SolTax Papers LouisWirth Papers State Historical Society of Wisconsin, Madison Socialist Labor Party Papers (shw) University at Buffalo Archives,State University of NewYork Bee,student newspaper of the University of Buffalo (suny) Marvin Farber Papers Special Collections, University of Colorado, Boulder (ucsc) Leslie A.White 1974 Lecture (videotape) Special Collections, University of Oregon, Portland (uo) Melville Jacobs Papers

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October 25, 1941. “uaw ‘Triumphs’ over Ford with Layoffs,‘Economies’.” December 16, 1944. “Southern Negro with ‘Jail Record’ Is Easy Prey for Labor Imprisonment.” August 18,1945.“Social Implications ofAtom Fission Revealed in theWeekly People 5Years Ago.” (Reprint of August 31, 1940, article listed above) August 21, 1945. “Energy and Social Evolution.” Unpublished Articles Written for the Socialist Labor Party 1932. “HowWrongWas Marx.” 1934. “Notes on the Spring Parley, 1934.” 1935. “The Modern Corporation and Private Property.” 1936. “The Merging of Nations.” 1936. “National Solidarity versusWorking Class Solidarity.” 1937. “Detroit AutoWorkers.” 1939. “Lewis Henry Morgan and Modern Anthropologists.”

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Index

acculturation, 57–59, 164, 165 Acoma Pueblo, 34, 44, 48, 50; secrecy of, 38–40; social structure of, 54–57 alcoholism, xviii, 213–216, 247n4, 248n10 American Anthropological Association (aaa) meetings (1939), 105–108, 242n9 American Anthropologist, 100, 116, 119, 121, 244–245n7; Linton as editor of, 104–106 109, 110, 242n6, 243n15; Mason as editor of, 113, 122, 125– 128, 243n15 Ancient Society (Morgan), 87, 94; Lowie’s opinion of, 123; Leacock’s introduction to, 197, 224; White’s introduction to, 197; in Weekly People, 196 Anthropological Society of Washington (asw), 201–203 Anthropology Newsletter, 64–66 Anthropology Today, 170–173, 246n1

Babcock, Angus and Wanda, 149, 231 Bandelier, Adolph, 53, 54 Barnes, Harry Elmer: and academic freedom at Michigan, 76, 79, 80, 135, 136; as advisor to White, 122; in Chicago, 18, 19–22, 33; controversial views of, 243n14; endorsement to Social Science Research Council (ssrc), 108; and evolutionism, 99; and Mary White’s death, 209–211; New School recommendation, 14; and White’s alcoholism, 212–215 Bee (University of Buffalo), 71, 72, 74 Benedict, Ruth, 26, 49, 52, 53; and Congress of Americanists, 51–53;

fieldwork of, 66–68; and opinion of White, 114, 115; slp’s criticism of, 197 Bidney, David, 152 Binford, Lewis, 204, 248n12 Binford, Sally, 65, 66 Boas, Franz: critique of, 91–93, 100, 102, 104, 111–114; feelings toward, 116– 118; fieldwork of, 36–38, 67; initial critique of, 106–108; and Race and Democratic Society, 116, 117

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Lines: 0 to 8 Cappanari, Stephen, 116, 152, 153 Carneiro, Robert, xiii, 209; contact with MacNeish 242; researching White’s childhood, 234n3; retirement of, 228, 229; and reviving evolutionism, 152; as student of White, 217, 218, 224 Catholic Church: abandonment of, 70, 71; White’s analysis of, 81, 95–97 Chicago School of Sociology, 19 Childe,Vere Gordon, xiii, 174–178; and Cold War politics, 178–181, 187 Columbia University, 10–14 Cold War, 138, 157–163; impact on scholarship, 167, 168, 178–188; loyalty oaths, 158, 163; Socialist Labor Party during, 199–201 Cole, Fay-Cooper, 22; acknowledgment of, 35, 36; and Chicago anthropology, 18, 23–31, 236n24, 237n25; fieldwork of, 148; fundraising by, 20, 30; and Laboratory of Anthropology, 60; recommendations for White, 33, 34, 108, 109 Connable, Alfred, 144, 145 Cornell, John B., 159, 160 Costello, Joe, 201

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Index

Costello Schnur, Elizabeth, 192–194, 200, 201, 247n2 Crawford, O. G. S., 167, 168, 184, 185 Darwin Centennial, 201–207; and Issues in Evolution, 204–207 deduction v. induction, 102–104 DeLeon, Daniel, 81–88; analyses of, 241 the Depression, 88–95 Devereux, George, 61–63, 239nn15–16 Effinger, John, 76 Eggan, Fred: in Chicago, 27; fieldwork of, 61, 62; and White’s dissertation, 51 “Energy and the Evolution of Culture,” 100, 110–112, 117–119 Engels, Frederick, 84, 85, 87–89, 94, 98, 123, 177, 179, 182–184, 187, 194, 197 Evolution and Culture (Sahlins and Service, eds.), 199 Evolution of Culture, 181–182, 191, 193 Farber, Marvin, 69: and evolutionism, 99–102, 106; 1934 spring parley, 80; papers, 239n2, 240n8 Farris, Ellsworth, 19–24, 30, 78 Federal Bureau of Investigation: investigation of White, 159–161, 245nn8–9; report on Philosophy for the Future, 185–186 Forde, Daryle, 171, 175 functionalism, 164, 216 Goldenweiser, Alexander, 100, 112, 115, 116, 126, 149, 236n16; and the New School, 14, 15, 17 Goldfrank, Esther Schiff, 114, 115, 118, 119, 242n5 Goldschmidt, Walter, 172, 217, 223 Griffin, James, 139–141 Guthe, Carl, 136, 137, 139 Hatcher, Harlan, 157, 162

Hass, Eric: as editor of Weekly People, 188–190; repudiation of Science of Culture, 188–189, 190; resignation from slp, 247 Herskovits, Melville, 149, 244n6 historical materialism, 12–14, 178, 187– 190 Hollinger, David, 138, 161 Hopi Indians, 39, 49, 50, 62 Hymes, Dell, 180 Jefferson, Thomas, 85–87 Jennings, Jesse, 146 Jones,Volney, 151 kinship, 104, 105 Kluckhohn, Clyde, 114, 166, 201, 205, 206 Kraus, Edward: clashes with, 136, 137, 139, 140; support for White, 143–146 Kroeber, Alfred, 103, 104, 129; “History and Evolution,” 131; letter of recommendation to ssrc, 108; review of Configurations of Culture Growth, 125–127; “White’s View of Culture,” 132–134 LaBarre, Weston, 151 Laboratory of Anthropology, 59–63, 238n13 League for Industrial Democracy (lid), 12, 13 Lesser, Alexander, 72, 120, 242n10 Lodise, Carmen, 226, 227 Louisiana State University, 9, 10 Lowie, Robert: debates with, 110–125; fieldwork, 66; friendship with, 152, 153; views of “Science is Sciencing,” 103, 104 MacNeish, Richard, 166 Martin, James, 135–136

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Index

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Marx, Karl, 89, 90, 94, 95, 177–179, 181– 184 Marxism: in the United States, 87–89, 241 Marxist science, 93–95 materialism v. idealism, 81–82 Mead, Margaret, 66, 104, 114 Meggers, Betty: as editor of White’s work, 201–203; and Opler controversy, 180; on polemics, 149–151; as student of White, 230, 231 Michigan School of Anthropology, 220– 222 Mishkin, Bernard, 206, 207 Mitroff, Betty, 193, 194, 198 Morgan, Lewis Henry, xiv, xvi; biography of, 99, 134, 208; on deduction, 103; and Entwicklung, 171; and European journals, 95, 195; fieldwork of, 41, 53, 54; influence on DeLeon, 87–89; relevance to slp, 91–95, 98, 188, 190; status in anthropology, 111–113, 115, 120, 121, 148; versus White’s father, 123; in Weekly People, 195–197, 247n7; and White’s letter collection, 233n4 Murphy, Robert, 114, 121, 243n13 Murra, John, 79 Nagel, Ernest, 187, 188 Navy, U.S., 6–10 Nearing, Scott, 235n14 neoevolutionism, xiv, 217, 222, 223 New School for Social Research, 14–17 Nickerson, Mark, 162, 163 Norbeck, Edward, 7, 247n5 Open Road (front for Communist Party), 70, 159 Opler, Morris, 114, 115, 233n3 Orange, Aaron, 188–198 Osgood, Cornelius, 147, 148 Parsons, Elsie Clews, and Congress of

281

Americanists 51–53; fieldwork of, 35–40, 43, 49, 238; analyses of her life, 237n2; Leftist views of, 237n3; at New School, 15; and Russian Revolution, 77; and “secretive method,” 45–47; and Southwest Society, 36, 37, 237n4; and White’s comments on Morgan, 77; White’s debt to, 35, 41 phenomenology, 241 Price, David, 158 Pueblo cultural disintegration, 47, 48, 57–59 Radin, Paul, 148 Redfield, Robert, 18, 23, 30, 31, 39, 68, 147, 148, 164 Resek, Carl, 197 Riley, Carroll, xiv Rockefeller Foundation, 27–31, 60, 164 Russian Revolution, 72–74 Ruthven, Alexander, 135, 138–141; and controversy with religious leaders, 143–145 Ruyle, Eugene, 198, 199 Sahlins, Marshall, xiii, 199; Michigan anthropology, 217, 218, 221, 222, 225, 227 San Felipe Pueblo, 41, 49, 54–56 Santa Ana Pueblo, 42, 44–46, 49, 55, 56 Santa Domingo Pueblo, 54 Sapir, Edward: Chicago anthropology, 25–31, 148; and culture and personality, 35, 237n1; disparaging comments about Parsons, 40, 41; support of White, 41, 42; White’s acknowledgment of influence, 35 “Satellites and Gods,” 156–157 “Science is Sciencing,” 100–104, 130, 241 Science of Culture: reviewed by Steward, 166–168; repudiated by slp, 181, 188– 196

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Index

Service, Elman, xiii, 79, 80, 89, 138, 248; and Spanish Civil War, 79, 240, 241; and White’s marriage, 209 Sia Pueblo, 41, 47–49 Small, Albion, 18, 19, 21, 22, 25, 26 socialism, 13, 14 Socialist Labor Party: commitment to, 82–91; discussion of, 240; and repudiation of Science of Culture, 191– 197; split from, 69–70, 188–201 Soviet Union: Sputnik launch by, 154– 156; White’s visit to, 70–72, 160, 240, 245n13 Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, 100, 129 Spier, Leslie, 139 Steel, John (J. S., pseudonym for White): explanations for, 74, 91, 239n1; on Boasians, 91; on Morgan, 91–93 Stern, Bernhard, xv, 187, 188, 241n5, 246n5 Steward, Julian, xiii, 164–174; and Cold War politics, 178–181; tenure at Michigan, 244 Strong, William Duncan, 22, 23; and support of White, 139–141, 145, 146 Thomas, William: morals of, 235–236; at New School, 16–18 Titiev, Micha, 61–63; fieldwork of, 147, 219, 220 University of Buffalo, 244 University of Chicago, 18–25; archival collection, 236n17, 237n25; departmental split, 25–31; sociology department, 18, 19 University of Michigan: administrative persecution of, 76–79; anthropology department, 137–141, 218–222,

248n8; and Church opposition, 141– 148, 244; during McCarthy era, 157– 163; size and history of, 240; Spring Parley, 79–84 war: understanding, 32–33; World War I, 8, 9; World War II, 9 The Weekly People: association with, 69– 70; critique of White, 191–194, 196– 198; and Daniel DeLeon, 87, 90– 99; editorial views of, 74–75; and founding the slp, 80–84; repudiation of White’s scholarship by, 188– 192 White, Helen, 5–6 White, Leslie: archival papers, xv, xvii, 238; Chicago dissertation, rejection of, 31–34; childhood, 1–6; death, 229–232; divorce, 211–213; ethics, 44, 3–68; father, 1–6, 9, 10, 233n1, 234nn4–6, 235n12; fieldwork, access to, 38–40; fieldwork, first experiences of, 33, 34; fieldwork, funding for, 41, 42, 60, 61; fieldwork, methods used, 42–49; fieldwork, reputation, 63–65; fieldwork, training in, 35, 36, 59– 63; in Lane, Kansas, 2–4, 8, 233n1, 235n11; and loneliness, 2–4, 224, 225, 229; mother of, 1–6, 234n5, 235nn9– 10; polemics of, 148–153; remarriage of, 210–214; retirement of, 228, 229; teaching career of, 230, 231, 248n6, 248n11 White, Mary, 208–210; death of, 248n9; family of, 160, 161; health of, 238n11; personal papers, 247n1 White, Willard, 5–6, 234n5, 235n9 Wissler, Clark, 50, 243 Wolf, Eric, 79, 80, 114, 243; tenure at Michigan, 218, 221, 222, 225

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in the critical studies in the history of anthropology series Invisible Genealogies:A History of Americanist Anthropology Regna Darnell The Shaping of American Ethnography:TheWilkes Exploring Expedition, 1838–1842 Barry Alan Joyce Ruth Landes:A Life in Anthropology Sally Cole Melville J. Herskovits and the Racial Politics of Knowledge Jerry Gershenhorn Leslie A.White: Evolution and Revolution in Anthropology William J. Peace

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353.4030


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