Is anthropology a science? To put the question today amounts to a reply in the negative. The representatives of the ‘true’ sciences are not alone in suggesting a conjunctural or crippling lacuna which would preclude membership by right of the prestigious world, which, however, the name ‘humanistic sciences’ seems to demand. We should remember that some years ago Claude Lévi-Strauss caused a shudder to run through his discipline by describing it as a ‘flattering imposture’. Since then denigration has spread constantly, and it no longer consists of deploring a slowness, an equivocation or a handicap which we would have the hope of remedying: it is definitely a fatality which we are from now on invited to confirm.

‘Siberian hunters have never been able to get used to our insistence on pressing our God on everyone else, nor to our way of abasing ourselves before him when they see us as masters of all - conquering the bear and the elk with our rifles, using our knowledge and power to conquer the indigenous people, who have always been determined to hang on to what little they have. How crazy the shaman would be to put his penny in the collection during mass without knowing whether it would be effective or not, whether the ritual would “work” this time - since only the result, here and now, matters to him. Why thank the priest and his God, why let them prosper, when in the end the famine did take hold and the sick did die?’

Like most Africans, particularly those from Western Africa, I come from an oral tradition where the Word has a central place. Whether it is spiritual or educational, transmission takes place primarily through spoken exchange. Our traditions are passed on to children in the evening, after dinner and around bedtime, by their parents, grandparents, uncles and elders. Then the talk touches on basic matters, which are put across in a teaching style that uses images: this is the time for stories through which children discover their ancestors, their family history and the traditional religions. During these evening hours a number of ceremonies and artistic and religious activities also occur. Circumcised boys join together with the whole community for musical festivities that have a religious dimension, for in the traditional world circumcision is the important rite of passage through which a boy learns to master pain: it should never be visible. This is not a purely medical or surgical act. It is ritualized to the highest degree. It is the first marker of a concept that the West does not have, that of generation.

Our methods of research, duly elaborated hereafter, would benefit from being applied to the realm of the East. For that matter, the examination of Syriac, Armenian, Coptic or Arabic manuscripts does not differ in the least from that of a Greek or Latin manuscript. The rules developed by classical philologists are just as valid for the study of the Maxims of Phtahhotep and the Precepts of Kagemeni…

Alphonse Dain (1975), Les Manuscrits (Paris, Les Belles Lettres)

One of the objects of a comparative history of the scholarly practices in the West, the Far East, the Arab world and classical antiquity is the role of libraries in the constitution, transmission and transformations of the great textual corpora. To the institutional and social aspects of the politics of social memory should be added the range of intellectual and technical practices which have as their aim the conservation of this inheritance: material conservation and transmission - copying texts, restoring them, transferring them from one medium, one script and one language to another - but also work on the literal level and the meaning, the content and the form.

When asked to write for a special issue of Diogenes to be entitled ‘Anthropology: The Reluctant science?’ I was reminded of a remark made to me over dinner by my friend of more than fifty years, the late Eric Wolf. It was the last time I saw him: the meeting of the American Anthropological Association in Philadelphia, in November 1998.

When we speak of prehistoric art, we think almost instantly of visual art, although we know that even the least technologically developed peoples on earth also expressed themselves by means of music, dance, gesticulation, and poetry; they practised the arts of eloquence, of moving and decorating their bodies, and of awakening social or sexual interest; prehistoric peoples developed any number of other aspects of artistic creativity and of externalization of the self, of which we can for the time being only recover (since archaeology does not reconstruct temporal arts) that which leaves decipherable physical traces.

When I was preparing a paper about the problem Greek studies have with globalization of culture on the threshold of the twenty-first century, I was asked who the Greek man was, considered as a separate entity, and how future decades would see him. The question had all the appearance of a trap. The very idea of ‘the Greek man’ is disturbing, even though it is so commonplace that it is hard to trace it back to its origins. Of course it contains a well-established but ill-defined consensus around the Greeks as the first free, rational human beings to found a free polity, who furthermore presided over the creation of a literature without equal in Antiquity and an exceptional and innovative body of art. A more precise answer could also echo the prestigious and much discussed title of Werner Jaeger's indispensable and troubling volume: Paideia. Die Formung des griechischen Menschen (1934), and even become, rather insidiously because of its date and the last few words of the sub-title, a parasitic echo of the period when a mythical discourse evoked Aryans and non-Aryans. But we must take care not to place the thesis of Werner Jaeger, to whom I will return, in that company, since the title is less a reflection of a suspect mode of thought than a simple coincidence of choice of language. And the reason it turns up here is that Jaeger and Dodds, whom we shall meet later, are the two opposite poles of this paper, standing in Greek studies on either side of the bloodstained struggle that transformed Europe and the West's relationship with the rest of the world for ever.

Among the Yezidis the cross-fertilization between the so-called religions of the Book and religions with an oral tradition is reaching a climax. Over the centuries layers of heterogeneous dogmas have been piled one upon another, creating one of the most astonishing syncretisms known to humanity. But in order to penetrate the mysteries of the centuries-old cross-breeding that brought about this situation, we need to try to define what Yezidism is. For we must remember that this is a religion whose mysterious origin and process of development have not yet been traced. Its first appearances on the stage of history are still shrouded in utter darkness.

A recent publication was the starting point of this discussion, whose purpose is to demonstrate the interest of a comparative history of the philological traditions of diverse cultures.

In 1987, Sir Edmund Leach, the most influential British social anthropologist of his generation, startled a conference in Norwich of the Association of Social Anthropologists by declaring that ethnographic monographs were essentially fictions, expressing the personality of the author. When asked what should be the goal of the anthropologist, he replied, ‘To write another War and Peace’. This and some similar papers were published by him and have come in for much criticism: for instance, from a leading anthropologist of the next generation, Adam Kuper, who has regretted that Leach made such a concession to fashionable post-modernism, the ‘literary turn’ in anthropology, shortly before his death (Kuper, 1999: 15-35).

‘It is not possible to settle on a method of classifying manuscripts in the abstract; the lost works whose content is being reconstructed can be dated more or less precisely and the classification only acquires significance if it is accompanied by the history of the text. Then many apparent anomalies of tradition automatically disappear […]. In several of his articles Paul Maas has helped to clarify the notion of Byzantine conjecture; it would have been nice if he had placed greater emphasis in his summary on the importance of a critical history.’

During the last ten years I have been working on the process of conversion to Protestantism of the indigenous people in Chimborazo province, Ecuador. Protestant evangelization in Ecuador started in the early twentieth century, but it is only in the last thirty years that the process of conversion of the indigenous people has become a large-scale one. During the first sixty years of evangelical activity North American missionaries from the Evangelical Missionary Union baptized only four natives in Chimborazo province. This period was marked by strenuous resistance and rejection of the new religion. Accounts given by missionaries of the period describe the disasters and difficulties that the first evangelizing mission suffered. It was only the conviction that lost souls had to be saved that helped them overcome adversities and later achieve amazing results.

Poor ethnology, never where it should be! One could almost believe that in the intellectual comedy it is always condemned to play the role of the incorrigible blundering fool.

Take a different view. Thirty years ago it was used for any job going, the indispensable commodity of the cultured milieux of the period. The opinion-shapers perfidiously reduced it to structuralism, which was then running out of steam and scarcely intimidated them any longer. Encouraged by this decline, they affected to believe that ‘structures’ had an empirical existence in society, indeed absolutely anywhere their limitations had made themselves felt for far too long, and that ethnology finally won its freedom at the same time as the various changes in custom and social practice which took place as a result of the huge emancipation movement of May 1968. At once ethnology, the sacred instrument of access — or a smattering of it — was to be found in the media, in the professional training of nurses, the therapies of Bonneuil, the fashion for water-bath deliveries, the electoral campaigns of informed politicians, the ‘spin-offs’ of the Second Vatican Council, and so on. Today, on the other hand, it is to be found nowhere at all, not even among ethnologists, who appear with any intellectual label whatever, but above all not as practitioners of a science. They are the new romantics, the new adventurers, the incredible travellers, all having to do no more than produce a strictly personal experience, or at least states of mind. In short, ethnology passed itself off the first time as a kind of panacea, and the next it was declared no use for anything whatsoever, being at best a pretext for narcissistic effusions and at worst a snare for the naive. The more they would have us believe it can do everything, the more nothing can be done for it.

Cornelius Nepos tells us that when Cato talked of wars, he did not mention the generals’ names, but stuck to events without ever glorifying the protagonists. He saw the military exploits themselves as important and not the pride they might inspire in noblemen who were often more concerned with their personal merit than the glory of the Roman people. However, he made a few exceptions to this rule, which, precisely because they were rare, made the individual selected appear more brilliant. I shall do likewise. I intend to present a survey that will give a full account of the body of knowledge that has been consolidated between the end of the war and today. I shall deliberately give more emphasis to general trends than to specific results, highlighting the overall picture rather than individuals as such. But, as I have indicated, I shall break my rule occasionally to point to the birth of a new idea or to show how cooperative work developed out of an individual's vision.

Compared with the Greek and Latin fields, the systematic study of the concept of textual criticism in classical India has made little progress, despite the quality of work produced by specialists. And yet research of this nature would probably lead, paradoxically, to a clearer formulation of the aims and methods of modern critical editions of Indian texts.

Korea has undergone so much transformation under modernization and industrialization to an extent that tourists visiting from anywhere in the world will not feel inconvenienced for lack of modern facilities. In this modern day and age, it is not easy for foreigners to meet shamans or see shamanistic rituals, even if they try to. The same thing can even be said of educated Koreans. In contrast, shamanists or those attached to shamanism hear shamans perform their rituals anytime and anyplace. There are an estimated 0.2 million shamans in Korea, though the statistics differ according to the researchers’ survey methods. This number surpasses that of all priests of any other established religions. These shamans take their position at the base or margins of Korean society, not readily visible from the surface.

If we overlook a perceptible dating of the words employed and the style of argumentation, French sociological writings published in the socially and intellectually unsettled climate of the early twentieth century acquire an astonishingly up-to-the-minute appeal at the very end of the twentieth century. It must be said that, on the one hand, the successes of socio-biology, then the cognitive sciences, and, on the other, the spectacular vogue of the extreme relativism accompanying the revival of a perennially nebulous humanism, lead us today to a picture of prevailing theoretical antagonisms which irresistibly conjures up the debates for which, in 1901, the Revue Philosophique provided a forum: when the very Durkehimian Celestin Bougie put ‘biological sociology in the dock’ and Gabriel Tarde was challenged by his ‘hot-headed friend’, Alfred Espinas, the first proposing sociology as a continuation of psychology and the second wanting to place it at the end of a spectrum of natural sciences.

In order to understand history as it has been practised in the twentieth century, we must go back in time. Not necessarily to Herodotus and Thucydides, nor even to the great founding figures of the ages of learning and of the Enlightenment, however enduring their influence. But to those historians who in the course of the nineteenth century brought to its conclusion the radical renewal of knowledge about the past: the means that enabled them to acquire it, arguments which were accepted as proofs, conceptual frameworks supposed to make deeds intelligible, ways of talking about times past - to historians who integrated this knowledge that was formerly split between literature, learned research and theology supplanted by philosophy, around a discipline comparable to philology as much from the epistemological point of view as in terms of status and driven not only by ambition to retain the exclusive right to the term history but also, very early, by that of conquering a superior position in the world of science.