Franz Boas: Shaping Anthropology and Fostering Social Justice is the second of Rosemary Lévy Zumwalt's two volumes on the life and work of Franz Boas (1858–1942). Picking up where Franz Boas: The Emergence of the Anthropologist (University of Nebraska Press, 2019) left off, the second volume begins with Boas’ professorial appointment at Columbia University in 1899 and traces his emergence as the “father of Anthropology” (p. 298) and “venerated Papa Franz” (p. 427) through to his death in 1942. Zumwalt's biography reflects extensive primary source research, carried out over some 40 years and presented with an emphasis on the “emotional aspects” of Boas’ life, including his close relationships with students, colleagues, and family. As I noted in my review of volume 1 (Journal of American Folklore 134: 361–3, 2021), scholars in a wide range of fields will appreciate the exhaustive documentation, arranged chronologically. Like her subject, Zumwalt embraces Boas’ “scrupulous regard” (p. 53) for “miniscule details” (p. 92) and “rigorous documentation” (p. xl). Although Zumwalt's title celebrates Boas’ contributions to social justice—as well as discourses on race, cultural relativism, and other causes—her meticulously marshaled evidence sometimes contradicts this claim. In fact, Boas emerges as more than an instrument of his time and its attendant violences. Despite being an antiracist, occasional feminist, and justice advocate in parts of his career, by today's standards, the exploitative dimension of Boas’ research—with students, and in broader nationalist, colonialist, objectifying, extractive, and racist practices—were abundant and sustained throughout his career. Boas, for example, is often lauded for his mentorship of women and students of color. Yet, despite his purported endorsement of women like Margaret Mead and Ruth Benedict, Zumwalt regularly refers to Boas’ pedagogy as “odd” (p. 53) and to his mentoring style as “endlessly demanding” (p. 233). During this time period, mentors and advisors typically assigned topics to students based on their own shifting interests. But in Boas’ case, some instances appear more coercive. In perhaps the worst case, Boas directed William Jones, who was Fox and raised by his Native grandmother, into anthropological fieldwork. Jones ended up without income, unmarried (despite his wishes), and stranded in the Philippines, where he was murdered. Boas’ supposed support of female-identifying students is in fact dubious. According to Zumwalt, early on, he colorfully described being “overrun” with women in the classroom (p. 228), whom “one does not get as much from” (p. 228), or who “are, I fear, stupid” (p. 229). While such dismissals of women scholars abated during his career, that shift was seemingly pragmatic. Zumwalt illustrates that Boas liked women students (and their labor) for three opportunistic reasons: first, because “certain aspects of the life of people. . . can be approached only by women” (p. 229) ; second, because he had a steady stream of enthusiastic students—taught by Gladys Reichard—approaching him; and third, because of direct funding from his patroness, Elsie Clews Parsons. Unfortunately, Boas failed to guide these students into viable careers. Zumwalt recounts the case of Laura Benedict, who graduated under Boas’ direction, but who never got a job in the field and primarily worked as a lecturer in social service (p. 89). Writing about Oneida student Laura Cornelius, Boas observed that “her work here has been somewhat erratic, ” and Zumwalt never reveals whether Cornelius was ever hired (p. 89). Ella Deloria, a Yankton Dakota student and linguist and “by far the best informant Boas had ever had” (p. 321), spent her entire time working for Boas while living in poverty; much of their correspondence involves Deloria begging Boas to pay her on time. Neither she nor Zora Neale Hurston completed their PhDs (apparently the only two out of Boas’ 61 doctoral students) “due to financial challenges” (p. 323). Boas did little for Hurston, whom he characterized as “intelligent but flighty. ” Zumwalt writes that he noted, with surprise, that she preferred folklore to wielding “a pair of calipers. . . on a Harlem street corner measuring people's skulls” (p. 314). Rather than the humble scholar with great “persistence” (p. 138) that Zumwalt sketches in introductory passages, deeper in the text, Boas appears to suffer from great hubris, at times overconfident in his ability to support pet projects or students, at times entirely out of his depth. Such an attitude accounts for the fairly humorous exchanges between Boas and the Mexican government, which sought to cancel Boas’ teaching contract in the new International School he was venturing to found, because he did not speak Spanish. Indignantly, Boas wrote: “I declined an invitation to lecture in Chicago, got a substitute for summer work in Colombia, declined lecturing in England, and postponed some literary work for the State Museum of Sweden—, all on account of the obligation which I had undertaken for your Government” (p. 136). Boas then asked the US Department of State to reimburse him “an appropriate indemnity” of 1, 600, which they refused (p. 138). When the Mexican Revolution began, Boas maintained, against good advice, “I do not think we need to worry about the Mexican affairs, ” (p. 142) and insisted that his colleagues remain in increasingly violent conditions: “Radin's return here irritates me more than I can say” (p. 142). In April 1914, after the US Atlantic Fleet finally evacuated Alfred Tozzer and his wife, under fire in their hotel and practically starving, Boas wrote obliviously, “I am sorry that you and Mrs. Tozzer had such a hard time in getting out. . . . What shall we do next year? ” (p. 151). Boas continued to insist on reopening the International School, despite being told it would lack funding support. He went to Puerto Rico instead, where there were “attractive problems” such as the “effects of race-mixture with reference to form of heredity in man” (p. 155), which allowed him to eagerly “measure the school children” (p. 165). Throughout, Zumwalt paints an unfortunate picture of the turn-of-the-century academic leisure class, undertaking their work half-seriously and grumbling about trifling inconveniences or lack of compensation. (Meanwhile, Boas was often working from his 16-room home, or while summering in Lake George, with a secretary in tow). In many passages, Boas comes alive as possessing two characters. First, he was motivated, persistent, intelligent, persuasive, charming, spirited, loyal, frank, and unwavering in his principles. He grieved deeply and was consoled by his circles in 1929 for the death of his wife, following closely after the death of his daughter and son. At the same time, Boas was also controlling, naïve, obsessive, paranoid, stubborn, arrogant, pushy, vindictive, and abusive. He was, like his research subjects, human. Zumwalt's is a richer portrayal of Boas than most, and therefore of huge importance to understanding anthropology's history. But that would not be clear to a reader who merely read the introduction or conclusion. The color is in Zumwalt's brilliant, often shocking, detail. In sum, Zumwalt's completion of her 1, 000 pages about the life and career of Franz Boas reads on the surface as hagiography, but also is justly critical of its subject. Despite its emotional tone, the core details of the book offer a panorama of minutiae that made up colonial violence and knowledge extraction in Boas’ day—a scholarly contribution that is of immense value.
Diana E. Marsh (Thu,) studied this question.