establishing anthropology and maori language (studies), auckland university college: the appointment...

Establishing Anthropology and Maori Language (Studies), Auckland University College

The Appointment of Ralph Piddington, 1949

Geoffrey Gray and Doug Munro

In case I may be misunderstood I emphasise the fact that talking of a “school of anthropology” does not mean that I dream of the immediate es-tablishment of a huge research department with acres of fl oor space and a host of instructors. One or two instructors, a few square feet of offi ce room, a few books on anthropology and an extremely modest research grant is the limit of my most extravagant dream. (Beaglehole 1938:161 n.)

I have always maintained that Auckland was the most suitable place in NZ for the establishment of such a Chair. Auckland is surrounded by rich cul-tural areas with tribes that have descended from different voyaging canoes. You have a wonderful Museum that forms the richest laboratory that an-thropologists could desire. I sincerely trust that you will be able to establish the Chair as a centre of teaching and research. (Peter Buck, 1942)

Easily the largest anthropology department in New Zealand resides at the University of Auckland (formerly Auckland University College), but sixty years ago it had only begun to exist with the appointment, in 1949, of Ralph Piddington as the foundation chair. Even then, Auck-land anthropology’s remoter origins began some thirty years earlier. At the end of World War I there were a number of conferences to discuss the future of the colonies, the governance of colonized peoples and the usefulness of anthropology to colonial administration in Oceania. The Pan-Pacifi c Science Congress, at its fi rst conference in 1920 in Hono-lulu, addressed the state of ethnographic inquiry in Oceania. Subsequent meetings of the Congress in Sydney and Melbourne in September 1923 proposed that Oceania should be divided into four main ethnograph-ic areas—Australia, New Guinea and Melanesia, Polynesia, and Micro-nesia. It was suggested that Australia take responsibility for Australian ethnology; that Australia “should more particularly investigate Papua, the Mandated Territory of New Guinea and Melanesia, but Great Brit-ain and France should assist in this work”; and that the investigation of

50 Establishing Anthropology, Auckland University

Maori be the responsibility of New Zealand. The rest of Polynesia was regarded as “pre-eminently the fi eld” for American research, with the cooperation of France and New Zealand; and fi nally the study of Micro-nesia was the “particular province” of Japan and America. This propos-al was described by Ernest Beaglehole, psychologist and anthropologist, as a “gentlemen’s agreement” that “fairly placed the responsibility for anthropological research in New Zealand and presumably in its Pacifi c dependencies upon the shoulders of New Zealand research institutions” (Beaglehole 1938:156–157).

It was, however, undecided which parts of Oceania required research priority—although it was thought that Micronesia should be fi rst “since the culture and ruins of this group are of such a nature that . . . they should furnish the clue to much that is obscure in Oceanic mythology, folk-lore and culture generally” (Gray 2010:50).

Notwithstanding the division proposed at the Congress one of the initial tasks for A. R. Radcliffe-Brown, foundation professor of an-thropology at the University of Sydney, was to determine the areas in which Sydney would take responsibility for ethnographic research. He told Raymond Firth, who had written seeking an Australian National Research Council fellowship, that there would be no problem “in pro-viding [him] with funds” that were “intended to be used for anthro-pological research in Australia, New Guinea and Melanesia, although, in exceptional circumstances, it might be possible to provide funds for work in Polynesia or New Zealand” (Radcliffe-Brown 1927a). The gen-eral research plan laid down by Radcliffe-Brown paid “special attention to research in Australia so as to complete if possible, our knowledge of the aborigines before it is too late; . . . to increase our knowledge of the peoples of New Guinea and Melanesia with the resources at our dispos-al, not only for scientifi c purposes, but also that the results may be avail-able for the Administrations concerned” (Gray 2010:51). Overall he wanted “the sociological investigation of primitive peoples—systematic investigation directed by sociological theory” (Radcliffe-Brown 1928).

In New Zealand there was a wider interest in enlisting anthropol-ogy as both a way of preserving Maori culture (Webster 1998; Ngata 1928) and more generally as part of the armory of colonial administra-tion (Sorrenson 1992). Acculturation, as distinct from assimilation, was seen by parliamentarian and Maori leader Apirana Ngata and then-di-rector of the Bernice P. Bishop Museum in Honolulu, Peter Buck, as “es-sentially a process of incorporating useful elements of European culture into an enduring Maori culture. Government’s role was to facilitate that process under Maori leadership” (Sorrenson 1992:17). Ngata wrote an

51Gray & Munro

important paper, “Anthropology and the Government of Native Races in the Pacifi c,” in which he asserted that “a function of government in New Zealand was to discover and appraise “stubborn, conservative ele-ments” of Maori culture, and ‘especially to judge whether in their nature they were detrimental to progress . . . or worth preserving in a modi-fi ed form’” (Sorrenson 1992:17). Ngata and Buck were also “keenly in-terested in the government of native races” in the Pacifi c and indirectly with Maori (Sorrenson 1992:17). Ngata and Buck even went so far as to entertain the possibility of urging the New Zealand–born Raymond Firth, at that time a young anthropologist working at the University of Sydney, to “establish a department of anthropological fi eld research which would later train offi cials in native affairs and islands adminis-tration” (Sorrenson 1992:17). This resonates with the training of colo-nial offi cials at the University of Sydney; and the use of anthropology in the governance of colonial subjects by J. H. P. Murray, lieutenant gov-ernor of Papua, and E. W. P. Chinnery, the government anthropologist of the Territory of New Guinea, Australian administered League of Na-tions Mandate (Gray 2007:1–29; Gray 2003; Campbell 1998). Similarly Felix Keesing’s The Changing Maori (1928)—which was a revised and expanded version of his 1925 MA thesis—argued for “the establishment of some central educational institute or college ‘where the future devel-opment of the race could be fostered’ and young Maori ‘thought-leaders could come to catch their fuller vision’” (1925:51–53).

This brief overview serves to introduce the aims of this article, which examines the arguments advanced by Auckland University Col-lege Council as to Auckland’s suitability as a centre for anthropological teaching, the role of British- and Australian-based anthropologists in the appointment of a foundation professor and the spread of British social anthropology as the new anthropology, and fi nally, what the appoint-ment meant for the nascent development of social anthropology (includ-ing Maori Studies and Language) in New Zealand.

The State of New Zealand Anthropology, 1937

In 1937, New Zealand anthropology was at a crossroads. The day of the gentleman-scholars and “amateur” ethnographers who founded the Polynesian Society was being superseded by Maori scholars and activ-ists such as Sir Apirana Ngata and Sir Peter Buck. They in turn were being overtaken by “a new generation of New Zealand-born but over-seas-trained anthropologists . . .—H. D. Skinner, Felix Maxwell Kees-ing, Raymond Firth, I. G. L. Sutherland and Ernest Beaglehole” (Sor-


renson 1982:7). A similar watershed was concurrently separating the old style of “amateur” historians and the hard-nosed “professionals” (Bar-rowman 1996; Hilliard 2006:88–93). Ngata, Buck, and Keesing had all urged the establishment of a school of anthropological studies that fo-cused on sociocultural rather than physical anthropology and materi-al culture of both Maori and Polynesian peoples, for an academic an-thropology rather than a museum-based anthropology. It was part and parcel of Ngata’s unceasing work for the maintenance of Maori culture and language and in turn his people’s social and economic advancement (Walker 2001). Entwined with these calls for the establishment of mod-ern social anthropology was a form of applied anthropology that re-mained central to the arguments put forward for the establishment of a department of anthropology in one of the colleges of the University of New Zealand. The most signifi cant voice, outside those of Ngata and Buck, was that of Ernest Beaglehole. Although he regarded himself as a psychologist rather than an anthropologist, Beaglehole had nonetheless conducted fi eldwork among the Hopi in North America, in Hawai‘i, and at Pukapuka in the northern Cook Islands. Appointed a senior lecturer in mental and moral philosophy at Victoria University College in 1937, he launched an impassioned plea in successive articles in the Journal of the Polynesian Society that an academic school of anthropology be es-tablished “here and now” (Beaglehole 1937, 1938).

Beaglehole by no means underestimated the “heat and burden” that lay ahead: “anthropological research involves three sets of factors: fi rst, money; second, administrators of research fi nance who are seriously in-terested in anthropology; third, trained researchers.” It possessed trained researchers but not the other two. Only H. D. Skinner at Otago taught anthropology, and his was a one-year course (Thomas 1995:88–106). It was not until 1939, a full two years after taking up a teaching appoint-ment at Victoria University College in Wellington, that Beaglehole was able to mount a course, “Man and Culture: An Introduction to Social Anthropology,” which was taught according to the precepts of Ameri-can cultural anthropology (Barrowman 1999:251). In the same year that Beaglehole wrote his initial paper on the state of anthropology in New Zealand (1937), the Auckland University College Council proposed that a chair of anthropology be established when funding became available in the future.

Ernest Beaglehole was critical of the way in which “Maori studies” had been treated both within the academy and in museums. Both institu-tions were responsible for large “gaps in our understanding” and a fail-ure to appreciate the “unique materials for study” that previous observ-

53Gray & Munro

ers, mostly amateur anthropologists and historians, had provided. The greatest weakness was found in the “fi eld of ethnology and social orga-nization” of Maori cultural and social life, especially comparative work on the study of culture change. Only by a study of the history of cul-ture change “can present culture be understood,” he argued. This is per-tinent to anthropological investigations at the time, a belief that “the sto-ry of culture-change . . . can be analysed both as a detailed story and as an annotation on such recent phenomena of culture contact as the mass neuroses of messianic religion, cultural nationalism, or the diffi culties of adjustment to dual cultural standards.” It was a powerful plea for toler-ance, “to-day’s neglected virtue.” There was also the matter of New Zea-land’s colonial responsibilities: “the administration and wise guidance of approximately 144,000 Polynesians, both in New Zealand and in her Pa-cifi c mandate and dependencies.” A trained anthropologist (he suggested a government anthropologist) “may take some of the guess work out of the contact between European and native Polynesian”; equally an argu-ment could be made “for the establishment of a school of anthropolo-gy through whose doors could pass all those civil servants . . . and mis-sionaries whose career is likely to bring them into touch with Maori or Polynesian.” To bring this to fruition he argued for a “centrally-located school of anthropology,” in Wellington (Beaglehole 1937:154–160).

He lamented the state of anthropology in New Zealand, observing that it had become “the poor sister of the sciences, lacking dowry, dress or home.” There was no place in New Zealand where a career could be developed; New Zealand anthropologists were “forced to look else-where.” In Beaglehole’s view anthropology was “in the peculiar and somewhat humiliating position of having to justify its existence.” It was symptomatic of a general neglect of the social sciences in New Zealand (1937:167), which was in accord with that of A. E. Campbell, director of the New Zealand Council of Educational Research, who wrote that research in New Zealand on socioeconomic, psychological, and cultural fi elds “has been backward, the failure of the University [of New Zea-land] to grasp the opportunity to make New Zealand a centre of Poly-nesian studies being symptomatic” (Beaglehole 1937:167). Contrary to Beaglehole he concluded, and Council agreed, that Auckland was the “natural place” in which to establish such a center.

The Value of Anthropology

Beaglehole argued that a study of man’s culture is intrinsically valuable in itself. There were peculiar values to be found in the study of anthro-


pology; it was, he considered, the best antidote to ethnocentrism. Eth-nocentrism equates with intolerance of other people and their way of life and anthropology “makes a direct frontal attack on intolerance and ethnocentrism.” He used Edward Sapir’s “expressive phrase that anthro-pology is constantly rediscovering the normal.” Anthropology enabled a sympathetic and wise governance of colonized peoples. He believed that a problem which was particular to New Zealand, the Maori “na-tionalistic movement and culture” was best addressed by anthropology (1937:166–167; see also Webster 1998:73–102). There was a need to evaluate this movement and what it might mean for future relations be-tween Maori and European: “[W]e are now moulding for good or evil the future relations of Maori and European by the type of education, its content and philosophy, that we are providing for the Maori.” He saw “no good reason” why “this education should not be sensitive to, and guided by, the dynamics of present-day Maori culture. . . . Whether it is for the education of the native in his Pacifi c island or education of the Maori . . . an anthropological orientation is the best measure we know of to-day that this education shall at once subsume and guide the values of native culture in terms of better personal and social adaptation” (Bea-glehole 1937:163–167).

Beaglehole then went on to ask what kind of anthropology should be taught in New Zealand (Beaglehole 1937), seemingly disregarding the published work of Ngata (1929) and Raymond Firth (1929). The fact that Ngata disliked Beaglehole encouraged their mutual avoidance, and eventually caused of a rift between Ngata and Buck (Sorrenson 1988:241–243, 245; Walker 2001:325–326; Condliffe 1971:193–194). In Beaglehole’s view physical anthropology and archaeology—the dis-tribution of techniques, weapons, and implements, and such like—were well covered by museum work and hardly a refl ection of modern trends in anthropology. Rather he argued for an anthropology taught in univer-sities as a “cultural study”; he went so far as to propose the establish-ment of a school of Polynesian studies that

could train civil servants and Native Affairs offi cers in the ele-ments of anthropological sophistication; it could supply basic training for investigators and provide the student with oppor-tunities to conduct research into problems relating to man and his culture; it could proceed with original research in the Maori-Polynesian fi eld; it could teach Maori-Polynesian languages; it could proceed with that linguistic survey of Polynesia that is so badly needed; it could join hands with psychology on the one

55Gray & Munro

side, human anatomy on the other, to provide a wider, systemat-ic basis for psychological generalization and a careful survey of Maori somatology; it could at once conserve knowledge already gained, proceed to new formulations, and render signifi cant ser-vice to the community at large. (1937:171)

It is unlikely Beaglehole had any knowledge of the discussions in Auck-land; the records of the College are so thin that it is not possible to know unless additional material comes to light. Despite such speculation Bea-glehole had written a powerful plea for such a department. The follow-ing year, when discussing the place of anthropology in New Zealand, he suggested Wellington, the capital and the location of government, as a suitable place for such a school:

The applied anthropological side of the school could be carried out most successfully through the teaching of cadets stationed in Wellington; . . . the leaders of this school with their fi rst-hand scientifi c fi eld-experience, would be close at hand for consulta-tion should heads of departments administering our native peo-ples ever feel the need for scientifi c advice (and of course, I hope they would, frequently); and . . . even in Wellington research workers would still be close to the larger Maori communities in the North Island. (1938:161)

He noted that Christchurch “some day in the distant future” planned a school of Pacifi c studies. He did not dismiss anthropology at Otago out of hand but wrote when compared with Wellington, Dunedin “is too far distant easily and inexpensively to train our civil servants, and the Christchurch school is too far distant in another sense by either to train, research, or teach” (1938:161–162). Auckland was not on Beaglehole’s radar any more than Ngata was, but it was Auckland where a school of anthropology was developed along the lines he suggested.

A Chair of Anthropology at Auckland?

The Auckland University College Council, meeting in June 1943, while concurring with the policy outlined in 1937 “to consolidate the teach-ing of subjects already included in the College curriculum and to im-prove the staffi ng in the existing departments rather than to establish new chairs or open new departments until the staffi ng of existing de-partments is less inadequate,” did not “immediately press for the estab-lishment of a chair; partly because of a shortage of accommodation in


the College, and partly because Council felt that its fi rst responsibility was to improve the status and staffi ng of existing departments.” Despite these reservations Council proposed that “a Chair of Anthropology at Auckland should be included in the list of post-war requirements” and raised at the Conference of Colleges meeting for that year. A lectureship would also be necessary. The Council estimated that an annual expendi-ture of £2200 would “probably be required” (Committee 1948). It set out these reasons:

In the opinion of the Council the establishment of a properly staffed department of Anthropology and Pacifi c Studies in New Zealand is long overdue. New Zealand is a natural centre for teaching and research in this subject. The Auckland Institute and Museum some time ago represented to the Council the need for the establishment of a Chair in Anthropology at Auckland. . . . If such a Department is to be established Auckland would seem to be the natural place in which to establish it. (Commit-tee 1948)

It also put forward to the Colleges’ Conference a request for a lecture-ship in geography and the creation of a school of social sciences, of which the training of social workers would be its primary purpose. At its 1943 meeting the Conference of Colleges approved a chair of anthro-pology to be established at Auckland, and a chair of social studies at University College Wellington. The Auckland University College Coun-cil was constrained by funding considerations and there the matter re-mained until war’s end.

At the end of 1946 there was a submission to Auckland University College Council that a lectureship in Maori language be established as “a step towards the later establishment of a chair in Maori and Polyne-sian ethnology” (Council 1947a). The whole matter of the Chair and its staffi ng was raised once more; these matters, a Chair in Anthropol-ogy and lectureship in Maori language, were referred to the Education Committee of Auckland University College Council for “consideration and report” (Council 1947a). The committee reported back, the follow-ing month, recommending “that a special Sub-Committee consisting of the President, Vice-President, Professors Rutherford and Davis and [the co-opted Auckland Museum director] Dr [Gilbert] Archey be requested to report to Council upon the establishment of a Chair in Anthropology and a Lectureship in the Maori Language” (Council 1947a).

The committee “considered that a course in Anthropology should in-clude Stages I, II, III and Honours.” After further discussion, it was re-

57Gray & Munro

solved that the following anthropologists be invited to express to the Committee “their views (in the form of a memorandum) to the proposed course”: New Zealand–born Ernest Beaglehole (Victoria University Col-lege, Wellington), H. D. Skinner (University of Otago), Raymond Firth (London School of Economics [hereafter LSE]), Sir Peter Buck (Bernice P. Bishop Museum, Honolulu), and Felix Keesing (Stanford University); and Australian A. P. Elkin (University of Sydney), the sole professor of anthropology in Australasia. They were asked to advise the council on the “following specifi c matters”:

Staffi ng requirement for School (number of members, status and technical assistants); Administration—including space for museum and laboratories; Equipment; Library; Amount and kind of practical work required each stage; Whether the study of Anthropology should be included as part of the B.Sc. De-gree; Whether it is desirable or necessary to link the study of the Maori Language with that of Anthropology; In what direc-tion the study of Anthropology would be of benefi t in the social studies of Maori people in relation to their future (Buck, Firth and Beaglehole); Relationship to Maori Welfare (Buck); Rela-tionship to Civil Service Course in [the] Pacifi c. (Council 1947b)

The committee “hoped to present its report early in 1948” (Council 1947b).

Advice on the Shape and Form of the Proposed Chair

Only Ernest Beaglehole, soon to be professor of psychology at Victoria University College (appointed 1948) and A. P. Elkin, professor of an-thropology at the University of Sydney, provided detailed suggestions, especially on staffi ng, course content, and the relationship to New Zea-land’s dependencies and the civil service. Beaglehole had campaigned long and hard for a school of Pacifi c studies and the importance of an-thropology in training civil servants for work in New Zealand’s depen-dencies and to assist with the various welfare and social problems asso-ciated with Maori. This was a chance to put some of his ideas into play.

Beaglehole argued against “developing a hard and fast scheme” re-lating to the teaching of anthropology in advance of the appointment of a professor to the chair, a sentiment taken up by the council and the professorial board. He suggested a way to do this: “fi rst to appoint to the Chair, then to allow the new Professor time to participate in choos-ing his staff, organizing his course, arranging liaison with the Auckland


Museum and making contacts with Maori leaders before requiring him to embark on his teaching duties.” It was only “by this method,” he de-clared, “will it be possible to secure the best possible staff and thereafter to start both teaching and research with a well organised programme that should promise immediate and long lasting success” (1947a).

Despite his call for not “developing a hard and fast” schema for teach-ing, Beaglehole nonetheless outlined a comprehensive four-year under-graduate course culminating in an MA. It was wide ranging, covering a general introduction to anthropology—social anthropology, material culture, “primitive linguistics,” and archaeology; in the second year he recommended “peoples and cultures of the Pacifi c” and “survey of eth-nological theory” with specifi c reference to Africa, North America, and Asia. The third stage concentrated on social organization, Polynesian and Maori culture, and methodology. The MA, which resembled a modern BA honors degree consisted of four papers and a thesis on one of the following topics: “primitive languages,” archeology and material culture with “special reference to Maori and Polynesian materials,” “principles of culture contact” in the Pacifi c, “advanced studies in Polynesian cul-ture,” and “studies in the theory of culture.” He argued that the empha-sis of the department “should be placed on the investigation and study of living peoples and their cultures both in New Zealand and the Pacifi c.” It was “undesirable,” Beaglehole continued, that Maori language should be taught as a “separate subject apart from the teaching of Maori life, cus-toms and culture.” He advocated the appointment of a “specialist in this subject” if a Senior Lecturer “was not able to offer the Maori and Poly-nesian languages” (Beaglehole 1947a). Elkin was not in favor of Maori or “any other language . . . [as] a compulsory part of the course of An-thropology.” He was in favor, however, of students gaining knowledge of “the principles of linguistics and phonetics.” If Maori was taught then it should be done in conjunction with “at least one year’s Anthropol-ogy.” Like Beaglehole he too was reluctant to “lay down rules on such matter[s],” leaving it for the incoming professor to decide (Beaglehole 1947a). Skinner regarded it “desirable that Maori be taught in a College that teaches Anthropology” but it was not a high priority (Elkin 1947).

With the exception of Skinner, staffi ng was addressed by the others: Beaglehole suggested a professor “with qualifi cations in Social Anthro-pology,” two senior lecturers—one in physical anthropology and arche-ology, and the other in “primitive linguistics”—and a junior lecturer “as demonstrator in material culture.” Elkin and Firth strongly advocated a chair in social anthropology and advised how such a department could be staffed. Firth suggested one professor who “is a specialist in Social

59Gray & Munro

Anthropology, and who is prepared to apply himself to the study of the Pacifi c and in particular to Polynesian problems”—a lecturer who ideal-ly would be versed in economic anthropology—and a departmental sec-retary. Elkin detailed the staffi ng situation at Sydney, stressing the im-portance of a lecturer in linguistics. “This team of six [himself, a reader in Melanesian anthropology, a reader in linguistics, a teaching fellow, a research assistant and a secretary to help the professor] . . . enables me to cope with the Anthropology I and Anthropology II [courses] . . . to-gether with the Distinction work in each; . . . Anthropology III . . . is the Fourth year honours course for the B.A.” (Skinner 1947). He added that anthropology “is not commenced by students until their second academ-ic year . . . I fi nd this very useful indeed for I think Anthropology re-quires a degree of maturity of mind which a successful year at University can provide.” Elkin emphasized the importance of getting the right staff. He recommended that as “a minimum” Auckland should start with a professor, a lecturer in social anthropology, and a secretary or a research assistant. Elkin did not support a general anthropology course that in-cluded physical anthropology and archaeology although he did not dis-miss such interests for postgraduate students. Buck thought a professor, with a full-time clerical assistant, was suffi cient. He also argued for co-operation with the Auckland Institute and Museum (Skinner 1947).

Beaglehole, who also advocated the need for anthropologically in-formed , if not trained, colonial offi cials, recommended that there be a shorter course for “Pacifi c Islands Personnel and Others” leading to-ward a “College Diploma in Anthropology.” It should meet the needs of New Zealand “missionaries, medical personnel, teachers and govern-ment servants undertaking administrative and other duties in the Pacifi c Islands, as well as the needs of district nurses, native school teachers and Native Department personnel ‘serving Maori districts’” (Beaglehole 1947a). Such training would reduce confl ict and contact “between such persons and Pacifi c islanders and Maoris will be more effi cient and help-ful . . . based on knowledge and informed understanding of native needs and problems” (Beaglehole 1947a). Signifi cantly he posed this question, which followed from the arguments of Ngata, Firth, and Buck in the late 1920s and early 1930s: “What is the good of Anthropology for the pres-ent and future welfare of the Maori and Pacifi c islanders in New Zea-land’s dependencies?” (Beaglehole 1947a).

Elkin, the senior anthropologist and only professor of anthropology in the Antipodes, was prone to talk himself up. He was, he told the com-mittee, “only too pleased to give you any help I can from my own ex-perience during the past fi fteen years in this Chair [at the University of


Sydney]” (Elkin 1947). On the matter of training for the colonial ser-vice Elkin was more strident and, of course, more experienced than any of the other advisors. Training for the colonial service was “almost the main reason why the [Sydney] Department of Anthropology was found-ed” in 1926. A result of “this practical motive” was the type of anthro-pology developed at Sydney: “social anthropology, applied anthropol-ogy and the problems of culture contact” (Elkin 1947). In courses for administrative offi cials and missionaries stress was laid on the “practical problems which they face” (Elkin 1947). Other subjects besides anthro-pology were also part of the training: psychology, law, and an elemen-tary knowledge of tropical health and hygiene.

Peter Buck, the distinguished New Zealand anthropologist and direc-tor of the Bernice P. Bishop Museum, Honolulu, devoted most of his one-page response to the training of civil servants as a way of provid-ing a “better understanding of the native people in the Pacifi c” (Buck 1947). He referred the College committee to the special course estab-lished by the U.S. Navy at Stanford University, of which Felix Keesing was director. It was also an opportunity to further credential himself and his importance. He went on to say, “The Co-ordinated Investigation of Micronesian Anthropology (CIMA) is being assisted by the US Navy be-cause it realized that the anthropological survey will be of great value to the Military Government of the Micronesian area. There are forty-four trained anthropologists from twenty-two American universities taking part in the project. The Bishop Museum is sending four (including my-self) to the Polynesian occupied atolls of Kapingamarangi and Nukuo-ro” (Buck 1947). This type of survey, Buck stated, illustrated the impor-tance of anthropology to both civil and military institutions, and in New Zealand’s case “anthropological training . . . will be particularly useful in view of the proposed establishment of the South Pacifi c Commission” (Buck 1947; see also Beaglehole 1944, 1947b).

H. D. Skinner, Hocken lecturer in Anthropology at Otago Museum and the University of Otago, Dunedin, focused on the importance of choosing a professor. He emphasized the role of the museum in teach-ing anthropology: “every-one of my students (all of them Stage I) knows pretty intimately the sections of the Otago Museum devoted to man’s ancestry, prehistory, the early stages in the development of civilization, and Oceanic material culture” (Skinner 1947). He argued that it would be “wrong to plan a Department of Anthropology at Auckland without making the museum collections a central feature of the work” (Skinner 1947). What he wanted was a department which refl ected his own work at Otago, and recommended that Auckland “should require practical

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work from the beginning, and, further that your laboratories should be part of the Auckland Museum building, though lectures would probably be given” (Skinner 1947). He recognized that such a proposal may not fi nd appeal, referencing a critique of Otago anthropology by Beaglehole, who believed that Skinner engaged in “a rather curious attempt to train in one year’s study, a professional anthropologist or perhaps a more or less effi cient museum assistant, or again a jack-of-all-trades fi eld-assis-tant” (Beaglehole 1938).

Raymond Firth, an ex-student of Auckland University College and author of the infl uential Primitive Economics of the New Zealand Mao-ri (1929), was clear in his view that the new chair had to be in social anthropology, for two reasons: “the separate branches of Anthropology nowadays have attained practically independent status, and the training and equipment required for each is very different” (Firth 1947). Physi-cal anthropology and archaeology, moreover, “need not be concentrated at the one centre.” However, “the problems of the Maori people, of the island peoples whom New Zealand has in its charge, and of the general relation of New Zealand to the Pacifi c, are such that a concentration on the social aspects of anthropology would seem most desirable” (Firth 1947). He added that the department should give “some attention to race relations and race problems, and in this respect should endeavour to get the biological school to provide an elementary course on say He-redity and Variation in Man” (Firth 1947). Linguistics was an important tool for the fi eld and he recommended that there be a course in general linguistics, including phonetics, and a course in Polynesian languages.

Unlike Beaglehole, Elkin, and Firth, who favored arts, Buck support-ed Skinner’s contention that anthropology should be part of a science degree. Felix Keesing did not respond.

The Committee’s Recommendation

Echoing the sentiment of writers such as Beaglehole and Buck, the com-mittee observed, “it is a matter of reproach to New Zealand that no provision has yet been made for students to undertake a full University course in Anthropology and that a major discipline of accepted practi-cal value and academic signifi cance is not making its full contribution to thought and scholarship in the Dominion” (Committee 1948). It report-ed to Council that it had sought the advice of “eminent anthropologists” (as above) on a series of matters (listed above). As a result the committee was “satisfi ed . . . of the urgent need for the establishment of the Chair and of the advantages which the School will give in providing not only


an academic discipline but also practical assistance in understanding of the problems of Maori welfare, and in providing training for those who are to participate in administrative work in the Pacifi c” (Commit-tee 1948). The committee, Council was informed, “feels strongly that a Chair of Anthropology should be established” (Committee 1948). It was sure “the establishment of the School will be welcomed . . . by the Council of the Auckland Institute and Museum and particularly by members, among them several Maoris, of the Anthropology Section of the Institute” (Committee 1948). There were strong reasons, the com-mittee stated

for the selection of Auckland as the appropriate place for the Chair. It is the centre nearest to the Dominion’s Island depen-dencies and it is within the area of greatest Maori population. Maori history is part of Polynesian history and the experience of the Maori people in adjusting themselves to European social and economic life has signifi cance for the future of the inhabit-ants of the dependencies. (Committee 1948)

It addressed the “question of whether the School should be one of gen-eral anthropology or of social anthropology.” It was of “the opinion, that while research interests in anthropology may very well, and not in-appropriately, turn towards social anthropology, it would be undesirable to limit the scope of the studies to this side. It therefore recommends the Council to establish a School which shall provide for studies in the whole fi eld of anthropological science” (Committee 1948). It continued,

Besides providing teaching to honours standard for those who wish to follow a research career in Anthropology, the course will offer a valuable component for pass degrees as at present organised. The needs of intending public servants in Native Ad-ministration will be met either in the degree courses or through special courses such as are conducted at Oxford, Cambridge and London, and at Sydney. It may be expected that students will include Maoris who would, through the opportunities and means provided by the School, maintain the prestige of their race in administration and in scholarship and research in An-thropology. (Committee 1948)

The committee gave “special consideration to whether the lecture-ship in Maori (including Polynesian linguistics) should be included in the School,” which it recommended (Committee 1948). It also recom-mended that “the staff requirements are one Professor, two Senior Lec-

63Gray & Munro

turers, One Lecturer and clerical assistance” (Committee 1948). The professor would be responsible for the academic appointments. It was decided to ask the government to cover the costs associated with these appointments.

Council accepted the recommendations but before it proceed-ed sought the views of the professorial board. There were two issues: whether the establishment of a chair would fi nancially disadvantage ex-isting departments, and whether anthropology would be a research and postgraduate department or an undergraduate teaching department. The choice had an impact on both the budget and accommodation.

Prevarication

At its March 1948 meeting the professorial board passed the following resolutions:

1. That the Professorial Board will welcome the creation of a Chair of Anthropology as soon as the staffi ng and equipment of exist-ing departments has been brought more nearly into line with their requirements.

2. That the Board is of the opinion that the work of the Department of Anthropology should be entirely at the post-graduate stage on the grounds that any wide and deep study of anthropology de-mands an adult and critical approach, and presupposes a study of such subjects as history, the classics and philosophy. (Professorial Board 1948)

This caused Council to seek clarifi cation from the Professorial Board: whether it intended to recommend that “in view of the present circum-stances the establishment of a Chair . . . should . . . be abandoned”; and “in what respects it feels that establishment of the Chair would effect other departments” (Professorial Board 1948). It was also asked to re-consider its views on whether the study of anthropology should be an entirely postgraduate course. The board responded that it remained con-cerned about the cost of a new department, adding that most depart-ments in the college were “suffering from shortage of accommodation” and new department would “constitute further demands on the limited facilities” (Professorial Board 1948). It reiterated its view that the “work of the department of anthropology should be entirely at the post-gradu-ate stage” (Professorial Board 1948). Nonetheless, the board “welcomed the establishment of a Chair ‘subject to the reservations’ above” (Profes-sorial Board 1948).


The problem of funding was addressed in part by the government giv-ing formal approval for the establishment of the chair but funding only for a professor plus books and equipment. Further consideration would be given after the appointment of a professor. Council, bypassing the concerns of the board, proceeded with the appointment of a professor and the Anthropology Committee was asked to draw up conditions of appointment along the lines recommended in its February report.

The position was duly advertised. The applicants were advised that the School of Anthropology “shall provide for study in the whole fi eld of Anthropology.” They were further advised that the staff “will include a lecturer in Maori and Polynesian languages and linguistics.” The ap-pointment was initially for fi ve years, “renewal thereafter indefi nitely.”

Selection Panels and Applicants

The Association of the Universities of the Commonwealth was asked to convene a committee to advise on the appointment of the professor; Raymond Firth, who by this time was closely involved with the estab-lishment of the Australian National University Research School of Pa-cifi c Studies, was asked to chair the committee and be responsible for appointing the other members, who were E. E. Evans-Pritchard from Oxford and Darrell Forde from London. This committee would make a recommendation, through the Association of the Universities of the Commonwealth, which would then be considered by the Anthropology Committee (in reality the council’s Education Committee).

Firth was in a peculiar but not unusual position, having been named a referee by three of the candidates—W. E. H. Stanner, Ralph Pidding-ton, and W. R. Geddes. Firth not only encouraged Stanner to apply for the chair (Firth 1948), he had provided a general assessment of Pidding-ton for the chair that was attached to Piddington’s application. It was a glowing tribute (Firth 1949d). The other applicants were New Zealand–born sociologist Harry Hawthorn; Richard Morris Stovin Taylor, dentist and student of H. D. Skinner’s; and the Rev. Percival Hadfi eld (“who had previously been interviewed for other posts; the committee did not consider his qualifi cations such as to merit an interview on this occa-sion” [London Committee 1949]). Hadfi eld and Taylor were quickly eliminated. Of the remaining applicants only Piddington and Hawthorn had senior and current academic positions. Hawthorn had been appoint-ed to the University of British Columbia in 1947 when the “department of Economics, Political Science and Sociology added anthropology to its title”; he was appointed to establish social anthropology at the Univer-

65Gray & Munro

sity of British Columbia (Whittaker and Ames 2006:158). Piddington was reader in anthropology at Edinburgh University, which was the fi rst teaching position in anthropology in Scotland (Goody 1995:144). He was responsible for establishing a department of anthropology, a role not dissimilar to that he had undertaken at the University of Aberdeen before the war (e.g., Piddington 1939). In both cases Piddington ar-gued for a broad-based anthropology that did not focus solely on social anthropology.

Before Firth had been formally approached by Auckland, J. F. Foster, secretary of the Universities Bureau of the British Empire (also known as the Association of the Universities of the Commonwealth) wrote to him at the beginning of February 1949 seeking his opinion of Geddes, who had applied for the chair at Auckland (Foster 1949a). Firth re-plied that he regarded Geddes, who only recently completed his PhD, as an anthropologist of considerable promise. His training in psychol-ogy gave him a “very useful additional theoretical angle of analysis of human affairs” (Firth 1949b). He had done “useful work” in Fiji but it was “largely without guidance”; for his “proper development” as an anthropologist it was “essential” that he do “at least one piece of fi eld research in professional conditions, and only on the results of that will I feel capable of judging his calibre properly. At the same time I do not think that Dr Geddes is yet of the seniority desirable for the hold of a Chair in Anthropology, particularly one of such responsibility as this” (Firth 1949b). Nevertheless, Firth had a “high regard” for Geddes and would support his appointment to a lectureship. Geddes joined Taylor and Hadfi eld. This left a short list of Stanner, who had made a late appli-cation, Piddington, and Hawthorn.

Piddington in his application explicated the problem with which the council and professorial board had grappled: it was not clear from the advertisement whether

Anthropology is to be taught in the College for a fi rst degree. I understand quite clearly that the proposed Department of An-thropology is to be primarily a research school, with major em-phasis upon the anthropological problems connected with the administration of Polynesian peoples . . . I am, however, con-vinced that a School could only achieve maximum development if there were also facilities for undergraduate teaching, which also has other advantages apart from the building up of a re-search school. It would of course be premature to refer to de-tails of curricula, but I should like to make it clear that my ap-


plication is subject to agreement in principle that courses in Anthropology should be available to [undergraduates], both at pass and honours level. Much as I should welcome the opportu-nity . . . I should not wish to be appointed to the Chair in ques-tion unless I were satisfi ed that facilities would be provided for the building up of a unifi ed teaching and post-graduate research school comparable with that which is at present growing in the University of Edinburgh. (Piddington 1949b)

It was clear that Piddington had given his application some considerable thought, certainly more than either Hawthorn or Stanner.

The London committee, with Foster in attendance, interviewed two candidates, Piddington and Stanner, on May 10. Hawthorn was consid-ered in his absence: the committee “read carefully the testimonials and letters of reference about Professor Hawthorn, including those supplied by Yale University Appointments Board, and endeavoured to assess his qualifi cations as accurately as possible without the advantage of a per-sonal interview. They were able to peruse one or two of his papers which were obtained from the University College Library. On the whole they thought that while his testimonials were good, his publications were dif-fuse and rather thin, and although he might on interview disclose a per-sonality superior to the others, they thought that he should be ranked below them, while remaining a possibility for appointment if they were not available” (London Committee 1949).

Piddington was described as “being 43 years old and married; in ap-pearance is of middle height, with greying hair, and wears a small fair moustache” (London Committee 1949). He described the work he had been doing at Edinburgh where, the committee reported, he was known as an excellent anthropological teacher; he explained however that what he now sought was an “opportunity to undertake and publish more re-search” (London Committee 1949). He mentioned his forthcoming “An Introduction to Social Anthropology,” proofs of which Firth had seen. It was noted that he had worked in northwest Western Australia in the early 1930s (Gray 1994; 2006).

Stanner, described as “44 years of age and single; . . . a man of middle height, clean shaven, with a quiet voice and confi dent manner.” He “has done some work in the fi eld and has spent about a year as Director of the East African Institute of Social Research” (London Committee 1949). He was questioned “fairly closely on his ideas on the development of the courses and the use of the proposed lectureships at Auckland, but he declined to give a defi nite answer as he had not given any thought to the matter” (London Committee 1949). “When asked his reasons for

67Gray & Munro

applying for the Chair he said he wants a post primarily where he could teach, secondly complete his publications, and thirdly undertake further research. He didn’t appear that interested commenting that ‘he hoped to have a long vacation, if appointed to the Auckland Chair, to carry out his own work, but was thinking less of personal investigations than of directed research through students’” (London Committee 1949). He was also questioned “about publications which at the moment really only amount to eight or nine papers in Oceania; the Kamba report is only in draft although Firth ‘thinks highly of the manuscript . . . which he said was now in the press’” (it was never published [London Committee 1949]). Stanner declared that he would be free to take up the appoint-ment in September or October 1949. Stanner appeared to be uninter-ested; certainly he lacked the interest and enthusiasm of Piddington—as well as experience in setting up a department—and his teaching experi-ence was nugatory. This was noted by the committee.

After discussion, Firth, Evans-Pritchard, and Forde decided on Pid-dington for the Chair:

Though a tense personality [Piddington] is much the better scholar of the two, and has demonstrated his capacity to suc-cessfully build a University Department. [Stanner’s] personal qualities command respect but he has had very little teaching experience (none at all in the last 13 years) and has never been in charge of a University Department. There is also some doubt in the depth of interest in anthropological scholarship as dis-tinct from practical affairs, and his career suggests as one mem-ber of the Committee put it “he often goes to the starting post but does not always run.” On present anthropological publi-cations, his record is somewhat weak. Dr Stanner is therefore an unknown quantity, while there is no doubt that Dr Pidding-ton would do the job well if he could be attracted to the Chair. (London Committee 1949)

The committee was unequivocal: it recommended Auckland act without delay, in view of Piddington’s “apparent reluctance to leave Edinburgh without long notice.” Nevertheless, “in the event of him not being avail-able an alternative offer could be made to Stanner, or failing him Profes-sor Hawthorn” (Foster 1949b). They advised against re-advertising the position.

Unbeknownst to the London committee A. P. Elkin had been asked to provide his opinion of the candidates (Elkin 1949). His views were contrary to those of Firth, Evans-Pritchard, and Forde. His dislike of


Piddington, which dated from at least 1932, is evident from the lengths to which he went to derail Piddington’s career. Elkin had been angered by Piddington’s criticisms of the Western Australian government’s treat-ment of Aboriginal people in the early 1930s (Gray 1994). He also de-plored Piddington’s alcoholism, which was also commented on by the latter’s wartime colleague, H. Ian Hogbin. Although he supported a grant application by Piddington to undertake research work in postwar Papua and New Guinea, Hogbin believed that “as for the personal side, he should be alright with his wife there because alcohol is hard to get.” In Hogbin’s view Piddington’s deterioration had been steady, observing that he “isn’t the man he was in 1936 when I saw him in London” (Hog-bin 1946a, 1946b).

Elkin’s report—with its impression of an insider able to comment on the abilities and qualities of the candidates albeit uncertain about the po-sition of candidates other than Stanner and Piddington—is a conglom-eration of hearsay, gossip, anecdote, and fact deliberately misrepresent-ing the qualities and abilities of the applicants, and directed especially against Piddington. Likewise he was dismissive of both Geddes and Haw-thorn, even to the point of questioning the value of their doctorates. De-spite a cunning veneer of restraint it is a thoroughly dishonest document:

As I see it, the qualifi cations required are (1) high anthropologi-cal attainments; (2) fi eld experience of fi rst-class value; (3) good publications; (4) tact and administrative ability so as to build the new Department into the University and to create a sound opinion of it in the hands of the Government and people; (5) lecturing ability.

In my opinion, Dr Stanner has all these qualifi cations.1 He is a well-trained anthropologist of Sydney and London; his fi eld experience, the results of which are of fi rst-class quality, is very wide, having been twice in northern Australia, twice in Africa, and having made an important survey in the Pacifi c. His pub-lications, thanks to the war and continued fi eld work, are not as numerous as they could be, but his material in Oceania is of high quality. His book on the Pacifi c is being published by the Institute of International Affairs [Stanner 1953]. A very im-portant [MA] thesis on Culture Contact in Northern Australia, which I had the privilege of examining should be in the press, though I am not sure of this.2 He is outstanding in tact and ad-ministrative ability, and his knowledge of international affairs is very great indeed. Incidentally, when the war broke out in

69Gray & Munro

this area, he joined up and organised a reconnaissance unit in North Australia, and this did very good work. Later on, he was switched to Civil Administration, following the advance of the Armies in Germany and secondly in Borneo. Finally, he is an ex-cellent lecturer, preparing his lectures well.3

To sum up, I don’t think you could make a mistake in ap-pointing Dr. Stanner, and I don’t think Dr. Stanner could be bettered by any of the other applicants. I think, too, that he is of the right age for founding such a Department, for as I men-tioned, the fi rst fi ve years are crucial in the life of a Department of Anthropology. Inevitably, it has contacts not only with oth-er departments, but also with administrative problems in which the Government is vitally concerned. It is, therefore, essential that the Head of the Department of Anthropology must be a person whom the Government will trust and to whom it will go for advice on very many problems of human signifi cance. As I mentioned, this Department nearly crashed in 1931/32 because the authorities did not feel able to do this. (Elkin 1949)

He then dismissed the other candidates. He knew Hawthorn, who had come to anthropology from school teaching, from his The Maori: A Study In Acculturation, which he considered exhibited “good workman-ship, but there is no evolving principles out of the material he collected. The reason for that might quite well be that he received his anthropolog-ical training after having worked for two years in the Maori village con-cerned.” He added that the committee “probably know him . . . for I un-derstand that he is a New Zealander” (Elkin 1949). He likewise thought (he was not certain) Geddes was a New Zealander and

a recent recruit to Anthropology. I know him from a small ar-ticle he submitted to me for publication in Oceania three years ago. After a good deal of editorial work and re-writing, I pub-lished it . . . I think he has only just received his Doctorate. Ap-parently, in his case and in that of Dr. Hawthorn, it was possible to get a PhD in Anthropology without having done the subject for a lower degree. [] His fi eld experience is limited, as far as I know, to what he was able to observe while in the New Zealand Forces in Fiji. He may be quite a good man, but he has not yet had real experience in the subject. (Elkin 1949)

He did not think that Taylor “a specialist in Dentistry . . . had the qualifi cations you require in the fi eld of Anthropology, which must in-


clude a sound knowledge of Social and Cultural Anthropology, Anthro-pology as related to Administration and the problem of culture change, and in addition a suffi cient knowledge of Physical Anthropology and Linguistics to introduce students to these subjects” (Elkin 1949). Had-fi eld was “unknown” to Elkin. He then turned to Piddington:

Dr. R. O. Piddington has had a good academic training in Syd-ney and London and a good lot of teaching experience [see Pid-dington 1935]. He did fi eld work in the early 30’s in north-west Australia. His results are embodied in a few articles in Ocea-nia. It has to be remembered that he had very full notes on the peoples of the region based on work by myself. His part was to build on these notes. The superstructure was very slight. In his second piece of fi eld work in the same region he followed Dr. Porteus, being engaged in psychological research. Once again, the results were not satisfactory. He was not a successful fi eld worker. His main useful work has been the editing, under the guidance of Professor Firth, of material of the late Dr. William-son on Central Polynesia. In doing this, he summarised quite adequately Professor Malinowski’s views. He is quite thought-ful. On the other hand, he lacks that stability and self-discipline that is required for running such a Department as one of An-thropology. I could not put him in the same class as Dr. Stanner.

Needless to say, the Members of your Committee will re-gard these remarks as quite confi dential. I would sum up by say-ing that I regard Dr. Stanner as the outstanding candidate and would certainly put him well above Dr. Piddington for the pur-poses of the Chair; and, unless Professor Hawthorn has had re-search experience and produced important writings, with which I am not familiar, I do not think he would measure up to Dr. Stanner or indeed Dr. Piddington. (Elkin 1949)

There was no reason for the committee to question Elkin’s integrity as he was credentialed in the moral fi eld, being an ordained Anglican priest and professor of anthropology at the University of Sydney. Yet we can see that Elkin’s integrity is compromised by his intense personal dislike of Piddington and his disregard of Piddington’s research and published material done at La Grange Bay in northwest Western Australia—re-search for his MA supervised by Firth and S. D. Porteus. Elkin had little to do with Piddington’s research other than discussing with Piddington and the linguist Gerhardt Laves his fi ndings from La Grange Bay when he was there for little over two weeks in late 1928 (Gray 2006b), and as

71Gray & Munro

editor of the journal Oceania, which he took over in September 1932 with the departure of Firth for LSE.

The decision to appoint Stanner suggests that Elkin’s report had an infl uence on the decision. Piddington, however, was to be offered the chair should Stanner reject it.

Why did the Auckland committee reject the recommendation of the London committee? Did Elkin’s report with its hint of insider knowl-edge bring into question the integrity of the London committee? Did the Auckland committee give more weight to Elkin as an Australian who knew his fellow countrymen? Was Elkin’s report suffi cient reason for the committee to select Stanner? Was Elkin used to break a deadlock in the Auckland committee? The archival record is unclear. What we do know is that the committee informed Council that “in view of the difference of opinion between the London Committee and the referees concerning the candidates, the Executive does not feel able at present to make a strong recommendation in favour of any candidate and asks that further enqui-ries be made” (Committee 1949). Again it is hard to determine who else was asked, as the minutes of council do not record these names, or their reports or whether Elkin was further consulted.

Stanner Rejects, and Piddington Accepts, the Offer

Stanner was of two minds about accepting the offer from Auckland. He knew that he was in line for a readership at the recently established Aus-tralian National University (Firth 1949a). It was, Stanner conceded, “a rather decisive matter for me,” a turning point in his career (Stanner 1949). He sought advice from Firth, who pointed out that if Stanner ac-cepted the Auckland position he would be better placed to seek a more attractive chair sometime in the future (Firth 1949c). His reticence is ex-plained by wanting to be sure that when a chair “comes there to be no doubt about my fi tness for it.” This is a surprising lack of confi dence for a man who behaved as if only senior positions were suitable for his tal-ents and skills. He went on:

The balance of my mind, for practical reasons, is quite strongly in favour of Canberra. The conditions are equal and in some re-spects superior. On some personal grounds it is much more suit-able . . . Where my hand sticks a bit at sending a cable saying “no,” without a little more thought, is at the implications of re-fusing a chair. If it were Sydney, my problem would, I think, be the same. I will not feel fully ready for a couple of years at least. But many professors scratch for a while on fi rst appointment so


it is not an insuperable objection. It seems to me that I either have to take this chance in NZ or prepare myself to miss out [on] an independent chair at some later stage; otherwise, I shall not get the best out of or perhaps put the best into Canberra.

For it means if I persist in the idea of a chair, going to Can-berra presumably for four or fi ve years, which puts me in the late 40’s—a bit late for a fi rst chair. And I cannot count on this chance coming again: so it looks a decision of some importance. . . . I think it turns, really, on estimating the future at Canberra, and after. . . . If these things are clear and agreeable I do not know that I should care over-much if later I did miss out on a chair . . . I shall turn Auckland down without any misgiving. (Stanner 1949)

Stanner informed Auckland, by telegram, that he had withdrawn his candidacy. By this time Piddington was “rather fed up with the long de-lay” (Piddington 1949a); on the same day he wrote to Auckland, how-ever, he received notifi cation that Auckland would offer him the posi-tion and wanted to know when he “could take up duties” (Piddington 1949c). He rather brusquely asked Auckland that in the event that he accepts the offer that Auckland advise him when they have government approval for the “appointment of junior staff” (Piddington 1949c). Pid-dington arrived in Auckland in October 1950. Stanner was never ap-pointed to a professorial position to head up a department, either in re-search or teaching. He had to wait until 1964 when, when he was nearly sixty, he was appointed to the second Chair in Anthropology at the Aus-tralian National University.

On hearing that Piddington had accepted the chair Elkin somewhat hypocritically congratulated him, and provided him with gratuitous ad-vice. Elkin pointed to his own role and his interest in “your chair, be-cause I was associated with the arguments and representations for the preceding two years. One of my emphatic points was that the chair should not be started unless there was a position for a lecturer and a sec-retary.” He offered further unsolicited advice:

Your responsibility is a big one. A Department of Anthropology has many external relations and repercussions as well as rela-tionships within the university, so that one has to work wisely and tactfully if a sound foundation is to be laid. . . . The Sydney experience was an eye-opener to me. (Elkin 1950)

He then set out a potted history of the Sydney department, and how he had inherited a department, at the end of 1932, which was on its knees.

73Gray & Munro

He went on, paralleling his own position when he took over the depart-ment—he too had to “start behind scratch,” and drawing out the impor-tance of personal relations.

Events showed, however, that the establishment of the Depart-ment was a personal matter, and a matter of personal relations and contacts all over the place . . . I only mention this to let you see, from my experience, the great responsibility that is on your shoulders, and of its many aspects. (Elkin 1950)

Piddington replied, with a hint of irony, acknowledging “the debt which our science owes to you for building on the work of Radcliffe-Brown and Firth.” He pointed out that the situation at Auckland, however, was

entirely different. The social, economic and political importance of the Maori in the life of the Dominion means that there is a general readiness, in fact eagerness, to accept anthropological studies. The particular pattern of race relations pertaining here means that there is basic respect for and interest in native cul-tures something which is lamentably lacking in Australia. The situation as regards the island territories is not so satisfactory, and here I shall have to work along the lines suggested by you.” (Piddington 1951)

Piddington’s relationship with Firth was almost in direct contrast. Firth had supported Piddington in his critique of the Western Austra-lian government’s policy and treatment of Aboriginal people in the early 1930s; supported him both to obtain a Rockefeller Foundation fellow-ship to undertake doctoral studies at the LSE; supported him in obtain-ing work at the LSE; and arranged for a position at the University of Aberdeen and later at the University of Edinburgh. Piddington wrote to Firth toward the middle of November, thanking him “for all [Firth] did to secure this appointment for [him] and for [Firth’s] invaluable prelim-inary guidance. Thanks to [Firth’s] introductions, [he had] made very pleasant contacts [in Auckland].” Moreover, he was grateful that Ged-des had accepted the lectureship, which he understood was on the basis of Firth’s insistence (Piddington 1950; Firth 1950).

Shaping a New Department

Piddington had already set up two departments of anthropology, at Ab-erdeen before the war, and then at Edinburgh after the war. He came


well versed in the type of anthropology he wanted taught at Auckland. At Aberdeen he had expressed the hope that

one result of the teaching of anthropology in Aberdeen Univer-sity will be the training of students to carry out original research in the fi eld—to go out to the remote parts of the world and help to amass a heritage of scientifi c knowledge for the future. To do that they must concentrate on functional rather than historical problems, for it was in actual fi eld work, in the collection of raw material of anthropological science, that the functional meth-od was of the greatest importance and contrasted most sharply with that of the historical schools. It insisted upon observations and documentation, upon the formulation of hypotheses on the basis of empirical observation, and the verifi cation, rejection or modifi cation of these on the same basis of further studies of the same kind. It stressed the necessity of studying each element of culture in this context, of tracing out its relations to other ele-ments and of defi ning its integral role in a cultural scheme for the satisfaction of human needs. (Piddington 1938)

It was a view of the value of anthropology that he brought to, and imple-mented at, Auckland. Piddington promoted what may be termed “four-fi eld” anthropology: social anthropology (in Auckland’s case including Maori Studies), linguistics, archaeology, and physical anthropology. This fi tted well with the aims of the Auckland University College, which had argued that the new department should be one of general anthropology and not limit its scope to social anthropology alone. Moreover Council encouraged cooperation with the Auckland Museum and its director Gil-bert Archey, as well as creating a climate whereby Maori language and studies could be introduced as part of course work for Anthropology.

At his fi rst meeting with the Faculty of Arts Piddington set out his proposed course structure for anthropology to commence in 1951. He pointed out that it was not fi xed and could be altered by the appoint-ment of staff and their interests. Anthropology I was a basic introduc-tion to anthropology: elementary physical anthropology and prehisto-ry; social organization; primitive culture; introduction to culture contact and colonial administration; also “special attention . . . [would be] paid to the traditional culture of the Maori.” In addition all students who took honours and the MA would be encouraged to take the degree ex-amination in Maori I. He placed great importance on the thesis, pointing out that “candidates will be required to devote a considerable amount of time to this part of their work.” The oral gave “examiners a better in-

75Gray & Munro

sight into the ability and knowledge of the candidate, particularly in re-gard to topics which may have been treated cursorily or with an insuffi -cient degree of clarity in the body of the thesis.” There was also the need to be certain that the thesis represented “the candidate’s original work” (Faculty Board 1950).

It was comprehensive and wide ranging in its conceptualization. Can-didates for the fi nal examination would “present themselves for exami-nation in three papers, a thesis and an oral examination on the subject of the thesis.” His only prescription was examination on the “papers on General Ethnography and Ethnological Theory, which are . . . essen-tial for candidates for a Master’s degree in the University of New Zea-land” (Faculty Board 1950). The other papers would be “any two of the following”:

(a) Primitive Economics and Technology

(b) Culture Contact, Race Relations and Applied Anthropology

(c) Primitive Social and Political Organization

(d) Culture and Personality

(e) Primitive Law, Religion and Magic

(f) The Anthropological Study of Folk Cultures and Civilised Com-munities

(g) Prehistoric Archaeology

(h) Physical Anthropology and Comparative Primate Behaviour

(i) Maori Language and Culture

(j) Primitive and General Linguistics. (Faculty Board 1950)

Maori language and culture were prominent from the beginning. He an-nounced there would be one lecture a week on elementary Maori and one lecture on Maori language per week for fl uent speakers and one lec-ture on Maori culture, which were “provisional and experimental.” The “tentative nature of these arrangements . . . is due to the need to consid-er carefully certain policy decisions which will determine future develop-ments” (Faculty Board 1950). He advocated

(a) “the relative emphasis to be placed upon language on the one hand and culture on the other in the Stage I Maori course.” An-thropology I “would be a pre-requisite.”

(b) [The] possible future relation of the study of Maori language to that of general linguistics. He thought it might “prove desirable


for a lecturer in Maori language to spend a period abroad study-ing general linguistics.”

(c) “The possible inclusion of the study of historical and contempo-rary problems in Maori sociology.” Such a course might involve other departments such as History, geography and Economics.

(d) “The relation of Maori studies to more general Pacifi c problems, particularly the New Zealand Island Territories.” This could lead to “another projected development . . . namely a Diploma of An-thropology . . . for missionaries, administrators, welfare work-ers, teachers and others who might require instruction in applied anthropology with a view to work among the Maori or in island territories.” (Faculty Board 1950)

His selection of staff complemented his proposals for teaching anthro-pology. The proposed appointment of a lecturer in Maori language was greeted with enthusiasm by the Maori community. At a meeting of the National Council of Churches in July 1950, for example, it was de-clared that a lectureship in Maori language and culture should be seen as a memorial to the Maori leader Sir Apirana Ngata, as he had been a strong advocate for “the preservation of the culture of the race” (Auck-land Star, July 26, 1950, in Metge n.d.). Following the appointment of Geddes, Piddington quickly appointed Bruce Biggs, a schoolteacher at the Wairongomai Maori School, as part-time lecturer in Maori language (Millar 2010:238), and R. A. Scobie, as part-time lecturer in technology and primitive economics. Archaeologist and pre-historian Jack Golson was appointed lecturer in archaeology in 1953. Of course Piddington was well prepared; he had completed the fi rst volume of Introduction to Social Anthropology, which was published in 1951, and used the pri-mary text at Auckland. Biggs described “how until the second volume was published, dog-eared drafts of it were passed among Anthropology tutors and lecturers” (Webster 1998:105).

When Piddington gave the Chairman’s address at the Seventh Science Congress of the Royal Society of New Zealand he left no one in doubt that “New Zealand was entering a new era of anthropology.” Biggs recalls that Piddington “debunked the uncritical culture history that had passed for anthropology up till that time.” And he prosecuted his “synchronic view of anthropology energetically,” giving papers, lectures and speaking on radio. It was, Biggs recalled, an exciting department from the begin-ning and “assumed something of an international character,” with visits by Firth and Keesing within the fi rst two years, and a steady stream of “Fulbright and other long-term researchers from America” (Biggs 1988).

77Gray & Munro

Piddington’s legacy was greater than simply establishing Maori stud-ies and language at Auckland (see Webster 1998:103–123). Piddington made anthropology in New Zealand. Steven Webster argues that the “‘integrity’ of Piddington’s teaching gives us no grounds to suppose a dominant ideology.” Rather, he suggests, many of Piddington’s students “would have learned more from his sincere struggle to understand cul-ture contact, his liberal divergence from more conservative predecessors, his defence of Maori and other cultures’ right to be different, and his ‘pioneering efforts to develop an applied anthropology devoted to social process.’ Perhaps most importantly they would have learned from him the uniquely anthropological spirit of scholarly critique and polemic” (Webster 1998:123). At the same time it was both limited and narrow in approach. Piddington’s students undertaking research in contemporary Maori communities in the 1950s and 1960s refl ected Piddington’s “abid-ing concern” with contemporary Maori society. It was an ahistorical ap-proach refl ecting “a functionalist disinterest in history” and his notion of culture as traditional whole ways of life. The work of his students was “centrally interested in social and cultural change in the sense of a transition” from traditional to modern Maori culture. This research em-bedded an “essentialised version of traditional Maori culture” (Webster 1998:124–125). Nonetheless, Piddington’s students were able to go be-yond his (and Firth’s) functionalized and thus ahistorical preconception of culture. Webster suggests it represents the “demise of the Pidding-ton era of research in contemporary Maori culture and social change” (Webster 1998:127). These were all matters that were challenged, Web-ster argues, by a succeeding generation of scholars and Maori intellectu-als and activists, who had to go through a hiatus that existed between 1975 and 1989. Notwithstanding, we would argue, the legacy of Pid-dington remains: he initiated and developed modern social anthropology and Maori studies, and with Bruce Biggs made Maori language central to university study in New Zealand universities.

Such a view of Piddington was largely reiterated by Ralph Bulmer, who was appointed by Piddington as a lecturer in the mid-1960s, and who returned to head the department after establishing anthropology at the University of Papua and New Guinea in the late 1960s; he was part of an unoffi cial triumvirate that included Biggs and archaeologist Roger Green and ran the department for most of the 1970s. It is this period that Webster, who was one of a group that was dissatisfi ed with the running of the department and its direction, describes as the hiatus (see also Rimoldi and Rimoldi 2000). Bulmer noted in his speech at the naming of the “Piddington Room” (Anthropology Reading Room), that


Piddington “chose to develop a ‘traditional’ Department . . . containing all the main branches of our discipline—Prehistory, Physical Anthropol-ogy and Linguistics as well as Social Anthropology.” Possibly not aware of the long history of developing a teaching course in Maori language, Bulmer nonetheless gave Piddington credit: “His prescience in sponsor-ing the teaching of the Maori language, and of Maori studies, at a very early stage in the history of the department, was an enormous credit to him” (a view supported by Biggs who speaks of Piddington’s “temerity” in introducing these subjects). Bulmer continued that a result of mak-ing a general department was particularly important to archaeology and linguistics in Oceania, “who between them have totally transformed our knowledge of the prehistory of Oceania.” Bulmer could not resist making the point that Piddington was unfashionable in his attachment to Malinowskian functionalism “at a time this became unfashionable among most of his colleagues” (Bulmer 1979; Metge n.d.).

Piddington’s attachment to functionalism by no means weakens his legacy and importance in the establishment of anthropology at Auck-land. In the 1950s and 1960s other chairs were established—most no-tably the Australia National University’s appointment of S. F. Nadel in 1951. After Elkin’s retirement in 1955 Sydney appointed British anthro-pologist J. A. Barnes to Elkin’s old chair, but he moved to the Austra-lian National University in 1958 (Gray and Munro 2011). W. R. Ged-des was appointed his successor. At the University of Western Australia Ronald Berndt was appointed senior lecturer in 1956 and made profes-sor of a separate department in 1963. In 1965 a new department opened at Victoria University of Wellington under the Dutch-trained anthropol-ogist Jan Pouwer. Monash and Queensland Universities established an-thropology departments in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Overall the fi rst two decades after the World War II was an expansive moment for anthropology in the Antipodes. These matters are for future research. Piddington, however, was alone in his attachment to Malinowskian functionalism. He retired on January 31, 1972, as professor emeritus, leaving, in the words of Joan Metge, a department “fi rmly established and widely respected” (Metge 2000)—a department that far exceeded the hopes of such early advocates as Ernest Beaglehole. Piddington died in July 1974.

Notes

We would like to acknowledge the assistance provided by Libby Nicholl, Records Management Programme manager, Offi ce of the Vice-Chancellor, University of Auckland.

79Gray & Munro

The research of Tim Causer, University of London, was invaluable. Christine Winter, Andy Pawley, Jack Golson, Steven Webster, Caroline Thomas, and Antony Hooper commented on earlier drafts. We are grateful for their comments and observations but any shortcom-ings rest with us.

The following abbreviations have been used to cite material in the references: EP: Papers of A. P. Elkin, University of Sydney ArchivesFIRTH: Archive of Sir Raymond Firth, British Library of Political and Economic

Science, London School of EconomicsUAA: University of Auckland Archives1. Elkin had an ambivalent attitude toward Stanner. His poor opinion of Stanner’s abil-

ities and personal failings, contrary to what is stated in this correspondence, is expressed in correspondence with Firth and with Ronald and Catherine Berndt. See Gray 2006a, 2007:143–146.

2. This was never published as a book. A microfi che copy is held at the Australian In-stitute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Library, Canberra.

3. This was an exaggeration. Stanner had last undertaken teaching at the University of Sydney in 1936, the year he left for London.

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