Decolonising the canon: The case of Bhambra and Holmwood’s Colonialism and Modern Social Theory

Abstract

Two closely related strategies are currently being used in efforts to ‘decolonise’ sociology: subjecting the writings normally included in the sociological ‘canon’ to close scrutiny as regards their treatment, or neglect, of colonialism; and introducing the work of people of colour into the canon, for example that of W. E. B. Du Bois. Both these strategies are used by Bhambra and Holmwood in their influential book Colonialism and Modern Social Theory. They focus mainly on the work of Tocqueville, Marx, Durkheim and Weber, emphasising the significance of colonialism, but they also include a chapter on Du Bois. In this paper I address a series of issues raised by their book. These concern: the nature of the discipline that is being decolonised; the approach that the authors take towards sociological work of the past; their rejection of stadial theory; and their arguments for the centrality of colonialism to sociology. I also critically assess their accounts of the main sociologists they discuss, suggesting that, in some key respects, these are misleading.

Over the past decade there have been increasing demands that sociology should be ‘decolonised’ (Burawoy, 2021; Fahlberg, 2023; Meghji, 2020). This is a broad project, but one aspect of it involves challenging what is taken to be the dominant narrative about the ‘founding’ of the discipline in the 19th century as well as the ‘canon’ of ‘classical’ texts taken to define it. This challenge has taken three forms. First, seeking to modify who are listed as founders and what is included in the canon, so as to include voices from the colonised or subjugated. Second, revising the picture of the established founders and their works, recognising their failings as regards colonialism. Third, arguing that the actual founding of the discipline involved a somewhat different set of actors from those now viewed as having played that role, ones who exemplify the colonialist origins of the discipline (Connell, 1998). In this paper I want to examine a major recent contribution to this aspect of the decolonisation project: Bhambra and Holmwood’s (2021) Colonialism and Modern Social Theory; a book that has been widely praised and has much to commend it. ¹

Central chapters of this book are concerned with the work of the three figures who, since the second half of the 20th century, have generally come to be regarded as the main founders of sociology – Marx, Durkheim and Weber. However, Bhambra and Holmwood also cover some other areas of modern Western social and political thought: there is a chapter entitled ‘Hobbes to Hegel’, and one on Tocqueville. Furthermore, the penultimate chapter, before a brief Conclusion, is devoted to W. E. B. Du Bois, who has increasingly come to treated as one of the founders of US sociology (Brint and LaValle, 2000).

It seems clear that, at least in part, the intended audience for this book was students on sociology courses. The parallel between its title and that of the influential text by Giddens (1971), Capitalism and Modern Social Theory, which has long served as a student text, is no accident (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 19–20). Indeed, Bhambra and Holmwood claim that the two books are ‘similar in kind’ (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2022a: 378). Moreover, their book is currently being used on introductory undergraduate sociology courses in the UK, and perhaps elsewhere. ² Its function in this context is probably primarily to provide brief introductions to Marx, Durkheim, and Weber. But, as will be evident, the book is more ambitious than Giddens’ text, and not just in terms of the range of thinkers it covers. It is intended to carry a message about the need for decolonisation, and one that is relevant to all sociologists.

One of the book’s central theme is stated early on: ‘In none of the writers who make up the usual canon of modern social theory is there a discussion of race as central to the social structures of modernity’ (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: viii). And the authors go on to claim that not only has there been neglect of the impact of colonialism and imperialism on Western society, but that modern social theory has been shaped by a colonialist mentality. For this reason, they argue, the central categories it employs must be ‘reconstructed’ (p. 1).

However, several issues arise about this book: How do Bhambra and Holmwood construe the discipline which they aim to reconstruct?; What sort of approach do they adopt towards the investigation of past thought?; On what grounds do they propose that colonialism and empire should be treated as central to the discipline, and how does this affect their discussion of the work of those usually treated as sociology’s founders?; Why do they reject ‘stadial theory’?; and, finally, What case do they make for the inclusion of Du Bois? These will be addressed in turn.

What discipline?

There is uncertainty about the discipline Bhambra and Holmwood wish to decolonise. The title of their book refers to ‘modern social theory’, as did Giddens’ earlier text. Yet both books deal with what is now referred to as ‘classical social theory’: in other words, that which is to be found in the 19th and early 20th centuries. As a result, most of the subsequent history of social theory is outside of Bhambra and Holmwood’s focus, though there are occasional mentions of Talcott Parsons. Also, in some places they refer to ‘European social theory’ as their topic (e.g. Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: viii, 3), but elsewhere they have made clear that they are including American social theory (p. 377), yet there is no coverage of Ward, Small, Sumner, or Giddings.

While in the body of the book the authors treat ‘social theory’ as synonymous with ‘sociology’, since the 1970s social theory has tended to become a separate discipline or interdisciplinary field; and its relationship with sociology is a matter of dispute. Indeed, one advocate has argued that it should be autonomous and escape the ‘dead hand’ of sociology (Turner, 2004). This may not be the view of Bhambra and Holmwood, but they do focus primarily on the theoretical ideas of the authors they discuss, paying relatively little attention to the methods of investigation and the empirical data that these authors employed. Thus, Bhambra and Holmwood appear to assume that sociology is primarily a theoretical enterprise, rather than one concerned with empirical investigation of diverse substantive topics. In this respect, at best, they adopt a rather narrow view of the discipline.

But, in fact, their view is even narrower: they treat sociological theory as focused on the nature and development of ‘modernity’. They state that ‘contemporary sociology, in its Eurocentric mode, is formed around a straightforward historiography of modernity’ (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 4). However, this is not the focus of many 20th- and 21st century theoretical approaches, such as analytical sociology, actor network theory, interactionism, ethnomethodology, or small group theory, to mention just a few. Furthermore, the authors claim that ‘modern social theory describes itself as embodying a project of freedom’ (p. 24), yet sociology has been equally concerned with social disorganisation, social control, and social order. In short, even the theoretical concerns of the discipline are a great deal more varied than the authors allow. And the relationship of Marx, Durkheim and Weber to current sociological work is often remote. Even where connections are claimed, they frequently amount to little more than rhetoric (Albanese et al., 2023).

In fact, Bhambra and Holmwood give little attention to the relationship between the current state of sociology and the work of the writers they discuss, despite their declared aim ‘to address the categories that form mainstream sociology in order to reconstruct modern social theory through dialogue’ (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 1). Furthermore, they do not indicate which of these categories they have in mind for reconstruction. Perhaps they assume that the concepts currently employed by most sociologists are ones that have been bequeathed by the authors discussed in this book (p. 21). However, this is far from obviously true. Even in the case of a staple term like ‘social class’, its usual meaning today is very different from that which Marx gave it; and Bhambra and Holmwood do not examine Weber’s different, and arguably more influential, understanding of this term. The meaning of ‘race’ has also rarely been unequivocal, nor has it been fixed over time (Banton and Harwood, 1975).

In fact, like most introductions to classical sociology, rather than being organised around concepts, Colonialism and Modern Social Theory deals with individual theorists. And one of the problems with this approach is that it assumes that their various contributions make up a single discipline. Yet, even if we restrict ourselves to Marx, Durkheim, and Weber, there is only partial overlap in their concerns; and, even where they cover the same ground, they look at it from different angles. This problem is further complicated in the case of Bhambra and Holmwood’s book since, as already noted, they treat those writers, along with Tocqueville, as concerned with the nature of modernity. ³ Yet, while Marx and the others were preoccupied with what was historically distinctive about Western societies, and what this meant for the future, they took different features of those societies to be significant. Indeed, more recent sociologists interested in the nature of modernity have tended to turn to Simmel, rather than to those four writers (see, for instance, Frisby, 1990).

In summary, then, Bhambra and Holmwood skate over the issue of the nature of the discipline they wish to reconstruct or decolonise, and what they say about it relates to only a small part of the vast range of work that is now given the name ‘sociology’. Furthermore, despite what they claim, they do not explore the relationship between the present-day discipline and the concepts employed by the writers they discuss. The task they pursue is a much more limited one, even if still very ambitious: to examine the writings of some key classical sociologists for how much attention they gave to European colonialism and imperialism, and what attitude they took towards it.

The problem of context

A second issue concerns the notion of context on which Colonialism and Modern Social Theory relies. On the first page the authors state that knowledge production is ‘historically located’, but the implications of this are far from clear. Indeed, this statement relates to a major dispute regarding disciplinary histories which Bhambra and Holmwood mention. This hinges on a contrast between what Jones (1999: Introduction and Conclusion), following Rorty (1984), refers to as ‘historical reconstructions’ versus ‘rational reconstructions’: attempts to understand past thinkers in line with their intentions and local contexts as against accounts of their work that approach it through present-day issues.

Bhambra and Holmwood (2021: 23) initially claim to have adopted a historical reconstruction approach, suggesting that this ‘informs our discussions throughout the book’, but in the very next paragraph they write that:

Our concerns, then, are also about the less fashionable mode of rational reconstruction, a reconstruction focused upon current issues of identity and difference and their relationship to histories of colonialism and empire. In this way we initiate a new dialogue between past and present [. . .]. (p. 24) ⁴

And, at the end of their book, they declare that ‘we have been engaging with the past from the point of view of the present’. They claim to have used historical reconstruction in order ‘to fulfil the objectives of [rational reconstruction], placing the writers of our choice into a different conversation with the present from the one normally entertained’ (p. 210).

It seems, then, that Bhambra and Holmwood sought to blend the two approaches – even though the source on which they rely denies that this is possible (Jones, 1997: 150, 1999: 2). And, in practice, what they do matches neither approach. ⁵ Despite providing background information, they do not carry out the kind of detailed investigation of the original contexts in which the writers they discuss worked; and nor do they ‘rationally reconstruct’ the ideas of those past writers in such a way as to enable us to learn from ‘conversing’ with them. Instead, they challenge most of the early sociologists whose work they examine for failing to recognise the significance of colonialism and/or for adopting colonialist attitudes.

As this makes clear, there are not just two approaches that can be adopted towards the work of past thinkers. To make sense of the range of alternatives available, and of Bhambra and Holmwood’s approach in particular, four distinctions seem to be required:

1. Historical versus retrospective approach. Seeking to understand past writers in their own terms and local contexts, versus trying to understand them better than they did themselves in light of subsequent knowledge;

2. Intellectual versus usable history. Aiming to document past thought as accurately as possible because this is of value in itself, versus using past ideas for current purposes, perhaps even knowingly distorting them in the process;

3. Realist versus constructionist orientation. Claiming to produce a true understanding of the past, versus offering one among many possible interpretations, which may be incommensurable;

4. Exposition and commentary, rational reconstruction, critical assessment, or critique? The first of these approaches sets out solely to present contemporary readers with an accurate understanding of the writings of past authors, and how they should be understood. The second transforms those writings into contemporary terms to render them more intelligible to current audiences. The third involves critical assessment of key points that past authors make, on the basis of arguments and evidence available to the commentator. The final approach questions the fundamental assumptions, or the whole orientation, of the writer(s) being discussed.

In terms of these distinctions, for the most part Bhambra and Holmwood’s approach is retrospective, is concerned with producing usable history, is realist, and takes the form of critique. They write that:

[. . .] we are engaging in a critique of the canon [. . .]. Our purpose is to show how the canon [. . .] has been used to develop concepts and categories for the understanding of modernity that elide its broader colonial context. By restoring that context, we seek to renew European social theory as an entity capable of learning from others and of contributing to general social theory, as one part of a global project. (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 3)

This makes explicit that they aimed at a retrospective, usable history, rather than simply at documenting the past in its own terms. Their claim that the colonial context must be restored indicates that they do not regard this as just one context among others: they treat it as crucial to the character of Western societies. Finally, in the above quotation they make explicit that they are engaged in critique, rather than exposition or rational reconstruction. They argue that the writers they focus on, with the exception of Du Bois, neglected colonialism and/or dealt with it inadequately.

This type of approach is surely legitimate, but we should note that its requirements are much more demanding than the sort of ‘rational reconstruction’ that Rorty and Jones describe, and perhaps even than ‘historical reconstruction’. This is because, since claims are being made about what past thinkers believed and about the actual context in which they were working, strong evidence is necessary about these matters before the process of critical analysis can properly begin. As part of this, there needs to be recognition of the time-generated differences between the perspective of the critic and those of the writers whose work is being addressed, and some reasonable mode of navigation between the two found. Finally, there must be clarification of the values in terms of which assessment is being made and of the justification for adopting these.

Unfortunately, Bhambra and Holmwood do not meet these requirements very well. In several important respects they seriously misrepresent the work of the writers they discuss – as I will show in the next section. Furthermore, they engage in little clarification of the values on which their evaluation relies – these are largely taken for granted.

The centrality of colonialism

As already noted, Bhambra and Holmwood (2021) claim that colonialism was ‘the context in which modernity developed and the social theories of the modern canon were formed’ (p. 207; emphasis added), and that early sociologists neglected it and/or expressed unacceptable attitudes towards it. As part of this, they specifically challenge the idea, put forward by Nisbet (1966) and others, that the main context for early sociology was the industrial and French revolutions; or, more broadly, the processes of commercialisation, industrialisation, urbanisation, and democratisation taking place within European countries in the 19th century.

In order to establish the ‘centrality’ of European colonialism and imperialism, Bhambra and Holmwood (2021) make a factual claim: that these features were not ‘contingently related’ to the development of European societies but were ‘integral’ to it (p6), and were therefore ‘defining features’ of those societies (p.208). Yet they simply assert this, rather than providing convincing evidence to support it. ⁶ Furthermore, even if we accept this claim, it is important to note that being integral is not enough to establish centrality: there can be integral features of an object that vary in significance or causal importance, and some may even be marginal.

Bhambra and Holmwood (2021: 8) also suggest that Western colonialism and imperialism were distinctive in being based on ‘conquest and extraction’. Yet many other empires have involved conquest and/or have been concerned with establishing control over resources. For example, the Roman Empire involved the ‘subjugation of populations’ on the assumption of civilisational superiority, and the Romans treated the land and resources of the subjugated as available for exploitation. ⁷ Furthermore, European nations differed considerably as regards their practices of colonisation and imperialism, and there was variation across different territories they controlled as well as over time (Hobson, 1902; Osterhammel, 2005). Of course, European colonisation and imperialism, taken as a single phenomenon, was distinctive in terms of its scale and its spread across the globe, reflecting the technological superiority of European societies. It may have been distinctive in involving the domination of black peoples by white, and in being founded on white racist ideology (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: viii). However, much depends here upon what meaning is being given to the highly contested term ‘race’ (Hammersley, 2020: ch7), and where the dividing line between black and white is drawn. Indeed, the meaning of ‘race’ in the 19th century was sometimes close to that of ‘nation’ or ‘ethnic group’ (Paul, 1981: 119); so that some white ‘races’ were treated as inferior by others – notably, Jews, Roma, Slavs and the Irish.

Turning to Bhambra and Holmwood’s discussion of individual writers, the case they make against Durkheim relies entirely on their arguments for the centrality of colonialism to European society in the 19th century, which I have already discussed. It is not quite true that Durkheim ‘barely mentioned’ this topic (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 143), but he did not consider it at any length. ⁸ As a result, their criticism is simply that he was ‘oblivious’ (p. 169) to colonialism. But one can recognise that colonialism and imperialism are an important and neglected topic without claiming that, given this, Durkheim should have devoted attention to them. Nor do Bhambra and Holmwood establish that this ‘absence’ (p. 143) or ‘neglect’ (p. 175) was itself a result of a colonial attitude or that it distorted his treatment of the topics he did address; though they imply the first and claim the second (p. 169). ⁹

Tocqueville, Marx and Weber did discuss colonialism and imperialism, to varying degrees, but Bhambra and Holmwood argue that, even so, they failed to treat it as central to modernity; and that, in the case of two of them, the attitudes they adopted were colonialist. In their chapter on Tocqueville, they acknowledge his description of the American settlers’ treatment of both indigenous groups and African slaves as ‘tyranny’ (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 66), but add that he ‘did not call for a rectification of the injustice’ (p. 67). They also criticise his failure to give any attention to the Haitian Revolution, and they emphasise his positive attitude towards French colonisation of Algeria. ¹⁰ Quoting Stokes (1990: 6), they claim ‘that the unifying racial theme in Tocqueville’s writings is the marginalising of the cultures of people of color’ (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 80). But this was certainly not the ‘unifying’, or the main, theme in his writings, as most discussions of his work make clear.

As regards what Tocqueville actually said on the topic of French colonialism, it is worth noting that he did not justify this on the grounds of the superiority of French civilisation; which is one of the criteria Bhambra and Holmwood (2021: 8) use for the distinctiveness of Western colonialism and imperialism. Indeed, he is critical of this claim and positive in his descriptions of Arab and Berber cultures (Street, 2019). His basis for supporting the colonisation of Algeria was a matter of Realpolitik: he saw this as a means by which the severe internal problems facing France could be solved (see Pitts, 2000). Clearly this involved sacrificing the interests of Algerians to that cause; and, given the brutality involved in the colonisation process, we can condemn his attitude. But we need to be explicit about the value arguments on the basis of which we are doing this.

In contrast to their severe criticism of Tocqueville, Bhambra and Holmwood let Marx off rather lightly, it seems to me. Their complaint is limited to the fact that he treats colonialism as an effect of the dialectic of capitalism, rather than as integral to it (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 110; but see Pradella, 2017; Smith, 2022) and that the interests of colonised populations were not represented in Marx’s class analysis (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 111). Surprisingly, given how they have dealt with the other founder figures, they write that ‘we are concerned with the structure of Marx’s argument and not with the many comments he wrote on colonialism’ (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 83). Even so, they do not appear fully to recognise the implications of his teleological view of universal societal development for communities outside the West, even though he spelled these out in many places, especially in his newspaper articles (Avineri, 1968). The authors claim that he was ‘vehement in his opposition to colonialism’ (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 92), but, while he was no supporter of imperialists, he believed that they were unwittingly doing the work of History by spreading capitalism across the globe – and he regarded this as essential for progress to communism, so that Humanity could realise its inherent ideal form, an ideal formulated very much in terms of Western philosophy. Avineri (1968: 19) states that Marx saw ‘the unchanging nature of non-European society’ as ‘a drag on the progress of history – and a serious threat to socialism’. Thus, Marx was very negative about some of the social forms that the spread of capitalism was eliminating, for example about Indian village communities. He argued that the problem with societies outside the West was that there was no endogenous source of change to prompt the necessary development towards achieving a communist society; therefore, external intervention was essential (see Stedman Jones, 2016: 356–359). In addition, he suggested that ‘the European proletariat will have to take over control of some colonies in order to prepare them for independence’ (Avineri, 1968: 20). ¹¹

Compared with their treatment of Marx, Bhambra and Holmwood are very critical of Weber. The reason for this is presumably that, as claimed by Zimmerman (2006: 53), cited by Bhambra and Holmwood: ‘Max Weber was an imperialist, a racist, and a Social Darwinistic nationalist, and these political positions fundamentally shaped his social scientific work’. Bhambra and Holmwood focus on Weber’s inaugural lecture and the views he expresses there about Polish labourers living in Germany east of the Elbe, on The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, on his view of the state, and on his concept of ideal types. They give relatively little attention to what are often also treated as central to his work: his distinction between social class and social status, the concept of rationalisation, his comparative analysis of religions, and his argument for value neutrality. ¹²

Given the severity of their treatment of Weber, it is worth detailed attention. There is no doubt that, as a political activist, Weber was a German nationalist. And he was also an imperialist, in the sense that he believed that global colonies were essential to Germany’s achieving and sustaining world power status. ¹³ Here, he adopted an idea that was common in Germany in the 19th century: that different nations represent distinct cultural ideals and compete for supremacy. He saw German culture as challenging the rationalism of the French and the utilitarianism of the British. But Weber also adopts a developmental conception of Culture, with these three competing nations regarded as superior to the more ‘backward’ cultures of some other nationalities (Barbalet, 2024). He seems to have viewed participation in this international struggle for global supremacy as a responsibility placed on Germany by History; even though he was personally ambivalent about its costs in human terms.

In his inaugural lecture, Weber referred to ‘racial differences between nationalities in the economic struggle for existence’ (1994 [1895]: 2) but here ‘race’ did not relate to ‘the colour line’, even though he might have applied a similar approach to Africans and African-Americans. Furthermore, in that lecture he does not simply claim German superiority over Polish deficit. He attributes ‘lower expectations of the standard of living’ to the Polish labourers (p. 8) and argues that ‘German agricultural labourers can no longer adapt to the social conditions’ in this part of their homeland (p. 9), so that they leave, many emigrating to other parts of Germany or to the United States. In other words, evolutionary adaptation does not necessarily correspond to cultural superiority, which makes clear that he was not a Social Darwinist. He saw Germans’ emigration away from agriculture east of the Elbe as a problem for Germany, and regarded the Junkers as a backward class that was also an obstacle to Germany’s economic and social development. His lecture is concerned with documenting and interpreting the situation in Prussia from the point of view of what he takes to be the interests of the German nation. ¹⁴

As with Tocqueville, few of us would share Weber’s political views today, especially in light of the subsequent history of Germany. But I believe that Bhambra and Holmwood fail to allow sufficiently for his distinction between value-relevant and value-laden analysis (Bruun, 2007), and for that between his political writings and his scholarly ones (in this, and other, respects they follow Abraham, 1992). The authors also imply that he sought evidence to support his preconceptions rather than carrying out rigorous investigations: they write that ‘Weber began his study [The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism] by taking as self-evident the thesis that he would go on to demonstrate’ (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 120). Yet what they quote – the tendency of business leaders and owners of capital, highly-skilled labourers, and highly-trained technical and commercial personnel to be ‘overwhelmingly Protestant’ (Weber, 1930: 35) – was what he set out to explain, not his ‘thesis’, which was about the elective affinity between some kinds of Protestantism and capitalism – there was no circularity here. ¹⁵

Bhambra and Holmwood (2021: 136) also claim that the methodological device of ideal types allowed Weber to protect his views against counter-evidence. They argue that since ideal types rely on value perspectives, these are ‘inoculated against any criticism that taking another perspective seriously might engender’. ¹⁶ Yet, while quoting Kalberg (1994) in support of this, they neglect the fact that even this author – who also tends to see Weber as concerned with the development of a theoretical framework, not just specific explanations – discusses how ideal types are intended to lead to hypotheses which can be tested (Kalberg, 1994: ch4). Nor do they take account of the fact that Kalberg’s book is concerned with Weber’s contribution to comparative analysis, whose whole purpose is precisely to test interpretations against empirical evidence.

Weber’s concept of ideal types was an attempt to spell out an aspect of what historians routinely do, he did not claim to invent this device. Furthermore, he clarified it on the basis of Rickert’s neo-Kantian philosophy. ¹⁷ In line with this, he treats the social-historical sciences as primarily concerned with understanding individual phenomena: the focus is on what caused what in specific circumstances, not on discovering universal laws (Heidelberger, 2010). And the selection of phenomena for investigation, as well as the questions asked about them, necessarily reflect the use of one or more values to determine relevance. Central to this is rejection of the essentialist assumption – adopted by Hegel and Marx – that the social world is ultimately made up of objects belonging to a single set of categories that exhaust all that is essentially true about them. Instead, neo-Kantians argued that different (though non-contradictory) scientific accounts will be produced depending on the questions we ask. At the same time, Weber insisted on the importance in social science of being committed to ‘value-freedom’, in the sense of not aiming to evaluate the phenomena being studied, but instead seeking to answer value-relevant factual questions about them. And his reason for this was precisely to minimise the ever-present risks of bias. That he did not always live up to this ideal is true enough, but in assessing the extent of this failure it is essential to distinguish between his political and his academic writings.

Bhambra and Holmwood’s (2021: 138–139) objection to Weber’s concept of value relevance is that, since there can be a plurality of interpretations reflecting different background values, a postcolonial or decolonial analysis of modernity can only be viewed as one perspective amongst others, and as no better than a colonialist one. This is because which of these we embrace simply depends on the values we choose to adopt. However, while Weber believed (wrongly in my view) that commitment to fundamental values is necessarily irrational, he emphasised the importance and rationality of value clarification: of appraising particular value judgements according to whether they can be consistently derived from the value principles on which they purport to rely (Bruun, 2007; Hammersley, 2024a). Furthermore, value relevance is about the identification of issues for investigation, it does not promote one view about these against others. The alternative to this position that Bhambra and Holmwood, following Nelson (1990), seem to call upon treats factual and evaluative judgements as mutually determinative, but this requires finding a means by which to demonstrate the superiority of one value conclusion over all alternatives. Neither Bhambra and Holmwood nor Nelson (1990) provide this.

To a large extent, Colonialism and Modern Social Theory adopts a form of critique in which the attitudes of past writers are judged against a template that the authors believe represents the correct views about colonialism. This makes little allowance for other legitimate values and interests these writers may have had, and thereby produces misleading accounts of their work.

The rejection of ‘stadial theory’

Throughout their book, Bhambra and Holmwood reject what they refer to as stadial theories proposed by some of the writers they discuss. These assume that there are stages of societal development, based on modes of subsistence, starting with hunter-gatherer societies and ending with modernity (Meek, 1976). The authors present these theories as developing from contrasts between ‘the state of nature’ and civil society in the work of Hobbes and Locke. Scottish theorists, such as Smith, Ferguson and Millar, subsequently produced multi-stage ‘conjectural histories’, while Hegel and Marx developed ‘dialectical’ versions instead of assuming a linear path.

Bhambra and Holmwood argue that stadial theories led to indigenous groups being viewed as primitive precursors whose time had passed, thereby legitimising colonisation of their land and perhaps even their extinction in the name of modernisation. They also claim that these ideas facilitated viewing slavery as a survival from premodern times, rather than as an intrinsic feature of the new ‘commercial society’. However, it is worth noting that stadial theories seem initially to have developed in opposition to racial theories based on taken-for-granted biological differences (Meek, 1976: 41 and passim). Furthermore, while it is true that many stadial theories assumed that movement from one stage to the next represented progress, the main aim behind them was to make sense of the diverse forms of human social life to be found in the past and in the present. And these theories do map important changes in forms of subsistence and social organisation. Furthermore, as Bhambra and Holmwood recognise, not all of the authors outlining stadial theories viewed the changes portrayed as entirely beneficial (Meek, 1976: 129) – indeed, some, like Rousseau (Gourevitch, 2018), sketched a path of regress. While these theories were used to justify colonialism and imperialism, this in itself is not sufficient reason to reject them, and Bhambra and Holmwood do not provide strong grounds for doing this.

As this makes clear, it is necessary to draw distinctions between a typology of societies based on their modes of subsistence; a chronology to the effect that some of these types precede or come out of others; the idea that there is an inherent tendency for this process of development to occur; the assumption that the later types of society are superior (in some specified respect) to earlier ones; and the conclusion that more advanced societies can legitimately exploit or eliminate societies of the less-developed type. While these various ideas often go together, they are not logically tied to one another. In particular, one can reject the last, or even the last two, while accepting the earlier ones, and some past writers did.

However, Bhambra and Holmwood do not make these distinctions. Furthermore, it is not clear what alternative conception of relationships among different types of society they are proposing. Perhaps what they have in mind is some kind of cultural pluralism, but they do not explain why this fits the empirical data better than stadial theories that assume an inherent developmental tendency deriving from technological development and population increase. Moreover, it involves well-known problems, for example where the practices of a particular culture are at odds with what are taken to be universal human rights (Moody-Adams, 1997) – a problem that potentially arises across the board, not just with the atrocities involved in Western colonialism and imperialism. A challenging example is female genital cutting, about which there have been sharp conflicts: Shweder (2005) has provided a pluralist defence of it, but critics would reject this as defending a patriarchal practice. And there are many other divisive issues, from homosexual relations to abortion and infanticide. Even if we are committed to broad tolerance, there will be limits to this; so the question arises of on what basis these are to be determined.

Bhambra and Holmwood (2021: 214) deny that they are embracing relativism. Instead, they argue for learning through dialogue. And many would agree that being prepared to question one’s own assumptions, thereby discovering limits to or errors in one’s own perspective, is of value (see Hammersley, 2011: ch7). But Bhambra and Holmwood have not established that, up to now, sociologists have failed to engage in dialogue, or that they have simply dismissed other cultures as less developed. After all, this is not an all-or-nothing matter. Furthermore, for dialogue to be productive, it must operate within constraints, not least a shared devotion to discovering the truth. But Bhambra and Holmwood do not address the question of dialogical constraints. ¹⁸

The issue of the alternative to stadial theories is no minor matter. It is crucial for Colonialism and Modern Social Theory because it provides the ground on which the authors stand in order to survey and evaluate the work of past writers. This might have been relatively unproblematic if they had dealt solely with the factual claims made by these writers; though challenges in the name of epistemic justice to the hegemonic character of modernist science complicate matters even here (see Bhambra, 2023: xx; Meghji, 2020; Scheurich and Young, 1997). But Bhambra and Holmwood are primarily concerned with what early sociologists should have given attention to (and did not) and what attitude they ought to have taken towards those practices. Justifying such evaluations and injunctions is much more difficult than establishing the validity of factual claims: it requires determining the relative priority of particular values, as against others, and how these should be interpreted in particular cases. One solution to this problem, adopted by Hegel and Marx, is through appeal to stadial theory. While, in my view, Bhambra and Holmwood are right to reject this line of argument, it leaves an unaddressed problem.

As Abbott (2018) and Modood (2020) have pointed out, any kind of normative sociology requires that the values underpinning it must be made explicit and justified, for example through an appeal to political philosophy. In addition, Bhambra and Holmwood would need to show that the particular interpretations of freedom and equality on which they rely were available to the past writers they discuss, and that the latter should have felt them to be compelling. Since early sociologists were themselves moderns, if a stadial theory could be adopted this might both justify the values concerned and ground the claim that they ought to have applied them in the way that Bhambra and Holmwood propose. The only alternative is to insist that these values are universal, so that they always have primacy. But this is to ignore the cultural diversity that pluralists would normally celebrate. Of course, there are those who have sought to make the case for why certain values should be universally recognised, most notably Rawls (1971). But Bhambra and Holmwood do not adopt this approach.

To recap, the authors are surely correct in claiming that all knowledge is socially situated, but they clearly do not believe that this prevents their producing a true account, not only of the writings and lives of the early sociologists they discuss but also of what was right and wrong about those sociologists’ views. But the methodological grounds for this are left unclear, given that they reject stadial theories. The work of Nelson does not offer much support: while she calls for a new conception of objectivity, she does not provide this – after over 300 pages of discussion she declares that this is ‘something that will unfold through our collective and reflective endeavors’ (Nelson, 1990: 316–317). As a result, the basis is unconvincing on which Bhambra and Holmwood make very strong claims about the work of the authors they examine and its context, especially since these claims are at odds with the views both of those authors themselves and of many later commentators.

The canonisation of Du Bois

As I noted at the start of this paper, one strategy in the process of decolonising sociology has been to seek admittance to the canon for the work of people of colour. ¹⁹ And the main candidate who has been promoted in this way is W. E. B. Du Bois (Brint and LaValle, 2000). Bhambra and Holmwood support this endeavour by including a chapter on his work. They cite Saint-Arnauld’s (2009) portrayal of Du Bois as an ‘African American pioneer of sociology’ (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 178) and draw on the work of a range of other authors who have championed his cause (such as Anderson and Massey, 2001; Morris, 2015). With these authors, they claim his work was neglected ‘until very recently’ (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 177), as a result of racist discrimination. Over and above this, they state that they have included him in their book because he ‘recognised the global colour line traced by colonial modernity’ (p. 176). Given this, it is not surprising that they adopt a much more favourable attitude towards his work than to that of the other authors they discuss. In fact, critique is suspended for this chapter, and in many respects the discussion reverts to ‘exposition and commentary’, of a largely laudatory kind – there is little attention to the criticisms that have been made of Du Bois’s work by others (notably Appiah, 1986; see also Bay, 1998; Bell et al., 1996).

Any claim about neglect is, of course, relative to the level of attention thought to be justified. However, Du Bois’s early work seems to have been widely recognised, and commended, in the United States at the time (see Lewis, 1993: 224–225), even though this did not lead to the funding required for the large program of research he proposed. It is true, however, that his work played a minor role, at best, within American sociology after 1910, the point at which Du Bois left academia to engage full-time in journalism and activism. His activities in those spheres gained considerable public recognition, but had little influence on the development of the discipline. Near the end of his life, two biographies were published (Broderick, 1959; Rudwick, 1960), one of which provides a detailed account of his early research. And in 1978 he was included in the ‘Heritage of Sociology’ series published by University of Chicago Press (Green and Driver, 1978). ²⁰ Contrary to the impression given, Du Bois’s work was not completely ignored until recently.

More importantly, in their chapter on Du Bois, Bhambra and Holmwood give a misleading impression of his work in important respects. First, they label him as ‘a theorist’, claiming that his work represented a challenge to ‘Chicago School theory’, and developed a form of ‘standpoint epistemology’ through his concept of ‘double consciousness’ (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 207, 184, 186, 197). ²¹ In line with this they describe what they take to be his ‘magnum opus’, Black Reconstruction (Du Bois, 1935), a revisionist historical account of the period immediately after the American Civil War, as ‘focused on social theory and its narratives as much as on historiography’ (p. 195). So, as with the other early sociologists they discuss, they emphasise his theoretical and political ideas. Yet his first book was a historical study drawing on primary sources, concerned with the suppression of slavery in the United States (Du Bois, 1896). And most of his early sociological work comprised empirical investigations of the lives of African Americans. Indeed, he specifically pitched this ‘scientific sociology’ against the theoretical speculation that was rife at the time, as it is today (Du Bois, 1905[2000]. Furthermore, Black Reconstruction, while certainly a massive achievement, is a detailed historical work designed to correct the bias in dominant accounts of the period after the American Civil War (Parfait, 2009), it is not primarily a work of social theory. Rather than just offering an alternative narrative, most of this book is devoted to presenting detailed historical facts.

Bhambra and Holmwood (2021: 181–182) outline some of the empirical findings reported in The Philadelphia Negro (Du Bois, 1899), but these are not their main concern. They rightly note that this book was pioneering in substantive terms because it was the first direct investigation of the lives of African Americans in a large city. But it was also path-breaking in methodological terms, and what little Bhambra and Holmwood say about how Du Bois went about his research misdescribes it. For example, they repeat Anderson and Massey’s (2001: 4) claim that The Philadelphia Negro ‘anticipated in every way the program of theory and research that later became known as the Chicago School’ (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 184). This is not just an exaggeration but obscures the distinctive character of Du Bois’s investigation.

While certainly pioneering, The Philadelphia Negro drew on what had gone before. Bhambra and Holmwood pay little attention to this, unlike even some of Du Bois’s other chief promoters (for instance Morris, 2015: 50–52). Broderick (1958) has emphasised the influence of Schmoller and the German historical school, particularly as regards adopting an inductive, empirical view of science. ²² Equally important, Du Bois employed many of the same data collection strategies as Booth (1889–91) in his study of The Life and Labour of the People of London, and the research that underpinned Hull House’s Maps and Papers (Hull House Residents, 1895; see Sklar, 1991). Indeed, The Philadelphia Negro was part of the early development of what at the time were often referred to as ‘social science surveys’, but which are closer in character to what later came to be called community studies (Bulmer, 1991). ²³ Du Bois’s research in Philadelphia documented largely pre-defined aspects of a community: economic activity, family life, religious participation and so on, with the treatment of these reflecting the social reform orientation of sociology at the time, focusing on aspects of what was taken to be ‘the Negro problem’.

To describe Du Bois’s investigation as ‘a survey and an ethnographic study’ (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 178) is also misleading, since the approach he used was not close to what we would associate today with either of those terms. It did not rely on sampling a population spread across a wide geographical area, in the manner of the questionnaire-based surveys that are common today; nor did it deploy the sort of statistical analysis that surveys now typically use – these had yet to be developed. Instead, it employed relatively structured interviews to obtain both quantitative and qualitative data from all African-American households in one area in Philadelphia (the Seventh Ward), and to a lesser extent elsewhere in the city.

Equally, while Du Bois and his family lived in the area being studied, in a flat above the Settlement House, it is misleading to describe his investigation as an ‘ethnographic study’ (despite Anderson, 1998: 259), if this is taken to imply that it was similar to more recent work in this genre (including that by Anderson, 1990, 1999, or the well-known later study in Philadelphia by Goffman, 2015). Du Bois seems to have been a participant observer only in a relatively limited sense, focusing mainly on collecting data from families about their social circumstances and relationships, as well as background information from leaders of local organisations and archives. In his autobiography he wrote that: ‘The coloured people of Philadelphia received me with no open arms. They had a natural dislike of being studied like a strange species’ (Du Bois, 1968: 198). And he may well have found social interaction with impoverished African Americans in Philadelphia difficult. Green and Driver (1978: 2) comment that ‘His aloofness and coldness have been noted by others, and he has been criticized for being unable to identify or appear comfortable with common men’. There is also what has been described as his ‘dandyism’ (Ballard, 2020), his mode of dress would have marked him off from most of those he was studying. Also somewhat misleading is Bhambra and Holmwood’s (2021: 182) claim that he carried out ‘in-depth interviews while walking the streets of the Seventh Ward’: for the most part, he used schedules to elicit standard information that was collected in people’s homes. Lewis (1993: 190) writes that:

[. . .] Du Bois sallied forth on quick firm steps each morning, accoutred with cane and gloves, to spend an eight-hour day knocking on the doors of his new neighbours. Unassisted, indefatigable, he would sit for an average of twenty minutes patiently guiding often barely literate, suspicious adults through the series of questions on [his] six schedules [. . .]

Furthermore, as Lewis (1993: 205) points out ‘barely a single family among the 2500 households meticulously interviewed was granted a voice in the monograph, except for a string of disembodied quotes in the chapter dealing with employment’.

Green and Driver (1978: 31) write that: ‘His primary concern was to make a science of sociology by emulating the orientation of the physical sciences’. Thus, he emphasised the need for ‘measuring and classifying human activity’ (Du Bois, 1978[1900]: 67; Green and Driver, 1976: 315–316). And he complained about the effects of both speculation and bias in the field, and insisted on the need for a detached, scientific approach (Du Bois, 1898b). Today, he would probably have been accused of the deadly sin of positivism.

While The Philadelphia Negro was very much a study of its time, Du Bois developed the methods he inherited: unlike Booth, he primarily obtained data directly from household members, rather than depending on reports by others; and he collected these data himself, rather than relying on assistants. ²⁴ Furthermore, his mode of questioning and analysis, as well as presentation of evidence, were much more precise and rigorous than the studies carried out by the Verein für Socialpolitik in Germany (Oberschall, 1965), with which he was almost certainly familiar from Schmoller’s Seminar. In The Philadelphia Negro he also combined the collection and analysis of contemporary data with a historical analysis of the situation of African-Americans in Philadelphia. This had no equivalent in the work of Booth (1889–91) or that of the authors of Hull House Maps and Papers (Hull House Residents, 1895).

When he wrote The Philadelphia Negro Du Bois believed that providing scientific evidence about the social conditions facing African Americans, and the causes of these, would lead to reform. That this was not sufficient was the frustrating conclusion to which he eventually came; and this was one of the reasons he left academic life for political activism – though he discovered that this, too, would not bring about the rapid and major change he believed was demanded by social justice (Steinmetz, 2024).

Du Bois viewed The Philadelphia Negro as the beginning of a program of studies that would go on to examine the lives of African Americans in other cities. And, when he obtained a post at Atlanta University, he had chance to direct a substantial body of empirical research on this topic, though the funds available were extremely limited (Du Bois, 1903). For this reason, but probably others as well, this research differed considerably from that in Philadelphia. Bhambra and Holmwood say virtually nothing about the character of this work, other than repeating questionable claims that in Atlanta he established the first ‘School’ of sociology in the United States, this preceding the Chicago School (Wright, 2016). ²⁵ Rudwick, 1957, 1960: ch2) provides an excellent account of the form that the research at Atlanta took, its strengths and weaknesses – and he claims that it ‘served as a framework for the dissemination of [Du Bois’s] propaganda on leadership and Negro nationalism’ (Rudwick, 1960: 51; but see Wright, 2006). Some sense of what was involved in research terms can be gained from the following:

A subject is chosen [. . .], schedules are prepared, and these with letters are sent to the voluntary correspondents, mostly graduates of this and other Negro institutions of higher training. They, by means of local inquiry, fill out and return the schedules; then other sources of information [. . .] are tried, until after six or eight months’ work a body of material is gathered. Then a local meeting is held at which speakers who are specially acquainted with the subject studied discuss it. Finally, about a year after the beginning of the study, a printed report is issued, with full results of the study, digested and tabulated and enlarged by the addition of historical and other material. (Du Bois, 1903: 162/504)

From a present-day perspective, this is a very distinctive, and in several respects rather unsatisfactory, approach. Other studies, as well as using already available data and historical material, also employed surveys of relevant populations, collecting both qualitative and quantitative information. But the pattern here is more similar to the studies carried out under the auspices of the Verein für Socialpolitik than to The Philadelphia Negro.

In addition to producing empirical facts about the social conditions of African Americans, Du Bois also engaged in considerable interpretation of these conditions. However, Bhambra and Holmwood’s account of his early views about the causes of the problems faced by African Americans is one-sided. They write that ‘Du Bois placed the causes in the wider environment, namely in the historical circumstances of slavery and segregation and in the ongoing prejudice attached to colour’ (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2021: 183). ²⁶ He certainly identified these as key factors. Not only were there discriminatory attitudes on the part of employers but also of European migrants living in the same parts of Philadelphia and suffering from many of the same problems as African Americans. However, Du Bois also pointed to what he regarded as moral and intellectual deficits on the part of African Americans that contributed to their unequal position in American society (a diagnosis he shared with his great rival Booker T. Washington). He suggests that African Americans were ‘peculiarly weak in that nice adaptation of individual life to the life of the group which is the essence of civilization. This is shown in the grosser forms of sexual immorality, disease and crime and also in the difficulty of race organization for common ends in economic or in intellectual lines’ (Du Bois, 1898b: 8). In his introduction to a collection of Du Bois’s articles for the New York Times, St. Clair Drake (1969: x) comments: ‘Du Bois in 1901 sounded like any white social worker or philanthropist’ (p.x). Furthermore, Du Bois insisted that it was only through the influence of ‘the Talented Tenth’ (Du Bois, 1904) that progress could be made, and he complained that the African American middle classes were not sufficiently active in promoting their racial group and bringing about moral uplift (Gooding-Williams and Jeffers, 2013).

Du Bois’s views about race at this time have been subject to considerable criticism, for example being described as Social Darwinist and elitist (Bay, 1998: 52–53). It is certainly true that he adopted both the idea of distinct cultural traditions associated with racial groups and a developmentalist conception of Culture. He viewed the literature and art of the West as the most advanced, so a key issue from his point of view was inequalities in opportunity to benefit from this. ²⁷ Thus, in his speech ‘To the Nations of the World’ at the first Pan-African Conference, in London in 1900, he declares:

The problem of the twentieth century is the problem of the color-line, the question as to how far differences of race – which show themselves chiefly in the color of the skin and the texture of the hair – will hereafter be made the basis of denying to over half the world the right of sharing to their utmost ability the opportunities and privileges of modern civilization. (Du Bois, 1900: 1)

Du Bois argued that African Americans were a distinct race that were currently at a lower stage of development, this stemming in large part from their being blocked from full participation in mainstream culture: he refers to ‘a people comparatively low in the scale of civilization’ and a ‘half-developed race’ (Du Bois, 1899: 66, 351). ²⁸ He argued that in Philadelphia their development had been interrupted both by the arrival of large numbers of ex-slaves from the South, who still suffered from the material and cultural effects of slavery, and by competition for jobs from European migrants along with the racial discrimination involved in this. Furthermore, it seems that Du Bois believed that the problem predated slavery, he refers to ‘a barbarous people forced to labor in a strange land’ (Du Bois, 1899: 15), this suggesting commitment to a stadial theory.

In addition to this developmental conception of Culture, Du Bois drew on the notion, influential in 19th- and early 20th-century Germany as I mentioned earlier, that different nations or races represent distinct spiritual ideals. ²⁹ He applied this idea to African Americans, viewing them as potentially making a unique contribution to the dominant European-sourced culture. In this respect, whites too would gain from racial equality. But he also believed that African Americans had a responsibility for their own ‘moral uplift’. In a chapter headed ‘The Duty of the Negro’, Du Bois (1899: 389) writes:

Simply because the ancestors of the present white inhabitants of America went out of their way barbarously to mistreat and enslave the ancestors of the present black inhabitants, gives those blacks no right to ask that the civilization and morality of the land be seriously menaced for their benefit. [. . .]. Consequently a nation may rightly demand, even of a people it has consciously and intentionally wronged, [. . .] every effort and sacrifice possible on their part toward making themselves fit members of the community within a reasonable length of time [. . .]. Modern society has too many problems of its own, too much proper anxiety as to its own ability to survive under its present organization, for it lightly to shoulder all the burdens of a less advanced people, and it can rightly demand that as far as possible and as rapidly as possible the Negro bend his energy to the solving of his own social problems [. . .].

The debates over Du Bois’s views reveal the complexity and difficulties of the concept of race, but Bhambra and Holmwood tend to view his work through the lens of their own theoretical and political perspective, ignoring those aspects that do not fit this.

Bhambra and Holmwood do not draw much distinction between Du Bois’s early work as a sociologist and his later political activism. Yet there is a major difference. Initially, he insisted that sociology must have ‘but one simple aim: discovery of the truth’, and that ‘any attempt to give it a double aim, to make social reform the immediate instead of the mediate object of a search for truth, will inevitably tend to defeat both objects’, in other words it will fail to achieve both goals (Du Bois, 1898b: 16). He declares that ‘the frequent alliance of sociological research with various panaceas and particular schemes of reform, has resulted in closely connecting social investigation with a good deal of groundless assumption and humbug in the popular mind’ (Du Bois, 1898b: 16–17). And he made clear that his leaving Atlanta University to work for NAACP as editor of its journal Crisis in 1910 was a significant change in direction: he gave up social science, in the face of inability to secure funding and his growing sense that one ‘could not be a cool, calm and detached scientist while Negroes were being lynched’ (Du Bois, 1944, 1968: 222). ³⁰ Instead, he sought more effective ways of achieving racial equality.

While I agree with Bhambra and Holmwood, and others, that Du Bois’s work ought to be included in the sociology curriculum, if we are to learn from it his ideas must be represented accurately, not in a reconstructed form designed to suit current perspectives.

Conclusion

Despite its weaknesses, Bhambra and Holmwood’s book Colonialism and Modern Social Theory is a significant contribution to the literature: it is important that we do not rely on sanitised versions of the work of those we treat as ‘founders’. And, not the least of the book’s virtues is that it prompts important questions about the discipline of sociology, and how we should approach its history. At the same time, it is necessary to ask: what are these authors seeking to ‘reconstruct’, and into what?

I noted that they adopt a very narrow conception of the discipline: as concerned with theoretical understanding of modernity. Given this, how relevant are their arguments to the bulk of the work that currently goes under the name of sociology, including that dealing with race and ethnicity? Furthermore, rather than seeking to understand the ‘founders’ of sociology in their own terms, Bhambra and Holmwood’s aim was to view them against the background of what they take to be the main feature of 19th- and early 20th-century Europe: colonialism and imperialism. I argued that the resulting pictures of Marx, Weber and Du Bois, especially, are misleading.

Equally important, the nature of the reconstructed discipline the authors are aiming to produce is far from clear, but it is obviously some kind of normative sociology. Yet they fail to make explicit or justify the normative perspective on which they rely, in the manner demanded by other advocates of this approach (Abbott, 2018; Modood, 2020; see also Hammersley, 2024c). In a subsequent article they write that:

One response within the academy [to the decolonisation project] has been to lament the politicization of sociology and to criticize ‘advocacy research’. The point, however, is that all research does in some sense advocate, even where it claims to be disinterested. We cannot separate ourselves from wider social and political processes in which universities are embedded and the ways in which they support both the economy and the state. As well as being academics, we are citizens and are located within the inequalities we study. At a time when the liberal state is once again more explicitly revealing its illiberal side, we must engage with the traditions of thought that are implicated with it in order to find usable sociologies to further social justice globally. (Bhambra and Holmwood, 2022b: 440)

This is in line with Bhambra’s (2022) call for a ‘reparatory social science’. But it displays the usual confusions associated with declarations that sociology is necessarily political: the fact that sociologists are part of the social world they study, and that their work can have consequences in that world, or that that they are also citizens, does not imply that their goal is inevitably, or that it should be, to serve a political cause; and there are good reasons why it should not have that purpose (see Hammersley, 1995, 2000, 2017). In my view, any kind of sociology that adopts such an approach, however good and urgent the cause it serves (Hammersley, 2024b), threatens the discipline’s sole distinctive and genuine purpose: to produce worthwhile factual knowledge. As Du Bois recognised in his early career, this is a demanding task that requires single-minded dedication to rigorous investigation, rather than to political advo.