What was the relationship between Christian missions and European colonialism in West Africa? For decades Western and African historians have agreed on an answer—with support from leading authors and activists. It goes like this: When the Atlantic slave trade ended at last in the 19th century, missionaries arrived along the same sea routes. Both along the coast, where slave trading had been a flourishing business since the 17th century, and in the interior, where few white faces had ever been seen, the missionaries settled in, learned local languages, and devised writing systems for Bible translation. Alongside colonial authorities they built schools, clinics, and roads. Thus they sought to bring both the spiritual benefits of the gospel and the economic and political benefits of modernity to communities long burdened by paganism, ignorance, isolation, disease, and poverty.

But their seemingly benevolent intentions—so the story continues—masked a program of domination and control, setting the stage for two centuries of colonial and postcolonial exploitation. The benefits of modernity carried a heavy cost. Communities and families were torn apart by alien systems of hierarchical and centralized authority. Traditional beliefs in the unity of gods, humans, and animals gave way to a new creed of human dominion over creation. No more slaves were loaded aboard departing ships, but now they carried minerals and crops produced by cheap native labor. Africa's self-proclaimed benefactors uprooted ancient traditions, disrupted families and communities, and instilled a slavish imitation of all things European. Native subalterns cast aside their traditional skins and cloths and donned suits and neckties, carrying in their hands shoes too precious (and too uncomfortable) to wear. And they forsook their own traditions for Western concepts of God, the self, and community. But their Faustian bargain haunts Africa today, as its people languish in a cycle of poverty, corruption, and neocolonial exploitation. Underdevelopment and poverty are sustained by the anomie and displacement created when an alien modernity was imposed by outsiders.

The Nigerian American philosopher Olúfémi Táíwò isn't buying this story. In his account of How Colonialism Preempted Modernity in Africa, he insists that modernization is not a bane but a boon in Africa. But colonizers did NOT join missionaries in seeking its advance. Rather, although missionaries systematically planted the seeds of a more peaceful and prosperous Africa by disseminating modern institutions and attitudes, their efforts were stymied by the fundamentally opposed mentalities and objectives of European governors and functionaries.

Táíwò, who is professor of Africana Studies at Cornell University, argues that a salutary and beneficial process of modernization was underway in West Africa 150 years ago, led by Africans who had been prepared for leadership roles in the church; but this process was impeded, and ultimately reversed, by the imposition of colonial rule in the latter part of the 19th century. Rich in historical detail and sometimes dense with philosophical explication, Táíwò's study challenges several widely accepted orthodoxies: that modernity is an invasive intruder into African modes of life; that Christian missionaries were forerunners and faithful servants of colonial masters; and that Africa's salvation lies in reaffirming "authentically African" values and traditions.

A key to Táíwò's argument is his concept of modernity, which he traces to the political philosophy of Hegel and the notion of "subjectivity" that is central to the modern self. On his reading of Hegel, we encounter the world as subjects, privileging reason in our deliberations but acknowledging no ultimate authority except our own. "Individualism is the dominant principle of social ordering in the modern era," Táíwò writes. "It is the manifestation in the social sphere of the principle of subjectivity. Subjectivity arose from the ashes of antiquity in which community and consensus predominated."

From this core other characteristic features of modernity follow, including the principle that all legitimate authority rests on consent. A modern subject cannot acknowledge the right of another to rule simply because of lineage, social ascription, or mere coercive power. Every political hierarchy not built on consent is a sham. In Hegel's words, quoted by Táíwò, "the right of the subject's particularity, his right to be satisfied, or in other words the right of subjective freedom, is the pivot and centre of the difference between ancient and modern times."

This is a controversial reading of Hegel, highlighting the advance of modern over ancient political orders but downplaying his rejection of atomistic liberal theory. Society is not composed of separate individuals, according to Hegel, but rather constitutes subjects as subjects and makes their freedom possible.[1] Táíwò has chosen instead to focus narrowly on Hegel's theory of individual subjectivity, a reading supported by some contemporary theorists who draw on Hegel (such as Charles Taylor, not mentioned in this study) that others would challenge.

Philosophical ideas have shaped Africa's history, argues Táíwò. When historians and politicians credit missionaries and colonizers with instilling modernity and individuality, they are only half right. Missionaries of the early 19th century—a second wave of African missions, long after the first wave who accompanied earlier explorers and traders—did indeed bring a gospel of modernity along with the Christian gospel. They sought to instill in African converts a new sense of individual responsibility and agency, rejecting the pagan past and embracing a new identity as redeemed sinners called to service in Christ's kingdom. Mission leaders pursued this goal by nurturing African leaders for African churches. But colonialism did not carry this process of modernization to the next stage; rather, it systematically set out to reverse it.

Henry Venn (1796-1873), a leading figure in West African missions, called for "the euthanasia of mission" as native church leaders assume leadership responsibilities. Táíwò singles out three "prophets of modernity" in West Africa: Samuel Ajayi Crowther (1806-1891) of Liberia and Nigeria, the first non-European Protestant bishop since the Reformation; James Africanus Beale Horton (1835-1917), a Sierra Leonean physician and public servant; and Rev. S. R. B. Attoh-Ahuma (1863-1901), Gold Coast pastor and journalist.[2] Each exemplified a critical and discriminating affirmation of the values of modernity, tempered by respect for African traditions. All three can be seen as "modern" figures in three senses: they regarded themselves as independent and autonomous subjects; they affirmed and also challenged both African and European ideals and customs; and they anticipated a new order of self-governing African nation-states.

Modernization did not advance quickly, however—then or now. Democracy has not flourished; the rule of law remains fragile where it exists at all; and Africans have little say in the economic and political forces that shape their lives. Two opposing reasons are frequently offered. Some blame the persistence of the worst aspects of the past: ethnic conflict, opportunistic self-advancement, cronyism, and elevation of group and family loyalty over fairness and rule of law. Africa has never achieved modernization, they say, because it remains so stubbornly African. Others turn this account on its head: modernization was an alien import unsuited to the African context, and the colonizers' fundamental error was to disregard the achievements and potential of African modes of life. African societies unwisely abandoned their own traditions. Africa is not yet modern, on this account, because modernity is not African.

Táíwò rejects both of these narratives. The missionaries of the early 19th century did indeed preach modernization, judging correctly that a greater sense of subjectivity and independent agency would bring many benefits. Modernity in the philosophical sense, the affirmation of individuality and reason, is neither European nor African in its essence, neither Christian nor pagan. It is simply a necessary precondition of social progress. Colonialism did not advance this process but sought instead to reverse it. Nothing inherent in African personality or society prevented colonizers from following the missionaries' example. Instead they systematically suppressed African agency to facilitate their rule.

Early 19th-century missionaries in West Africa, Táíwò argues, exemplified an "autonomy model" of hierarchy and social subordination. Its goal was to uplift those who are temporarily under others' instruction and foster personal and social subjectivity. It is a temporary and self-limiting mode of subordination. The "aid model," by contrast, offers help to those who are considered incapable of making their own decisions. The dominant group in this case "substitutes its own agency for that of the subordinate group and proceeds to exercise it on the latter's behalf." And this distinction, he writes,

ultimately turned on the philosophical anthropology that dominated each cohort's attitudes toward Africans and their place in the concert of humanity … . For the earlier missionary group, Africans were the same as other human beings but were either unequal with other humans or different from but equal with them. For the administrator class, Africans were different from and unequal with other human beings. The first group thought that Africans could exercise agency but needed to be taught how best to do so; the second insisted that agency would be too much of a burden for Africans and proceeded to substitute their agency for that of the natives.

Colonial authority was motivated by, and sought to entrench, an aid model of European intervention in West Africa. It did not adopt but displaced the recognition of Africans' fundamental humanity missionaries had embraced. Christian missionaries had planted the seeds and nurtured new shoots of self-reliance and independence. To the colonizers, these were weeds to be uprooted and destroyed.

Táíwò also challenges the widespread view—a commonplace of neocolonialist theories—that the introduction of European modes of life was inimical to authentic African communal life. Indeed, he disputes the very notion of authentic African modes of life, which in his view are ideological constructs of colonialism, intended to rationalize and solidify colonial domination. In West Africa, in particular, colonizers promulgated supposedly African ideals in order to nullify African autonomy and to baptize European exploitation as a form of benevolence. Thus Frederick Lugard, an influential British author and administrator, boasted of providing "all the gains of civilization by applied science (whether in the development of natural resources, or the eradication of disease, & c.), with as little interference as possible with Native customs and modes of thought." From this ideology arose the systematic disparagement and dismantlement of African agency and a retrogressive policy to which Táíwò attaches a colorful label:

Sociocryonics is the ignoble science of cryopreserving social forms, arresting them and denying them and those whose social forms they are the opportunity of deciding what, how, and when to keep any of their social forms … . Once European administrators adopted sociocryonics as colonial policy, African progress was arrested in the name of preserving (the cryonic moment) what they, the rulers, decided was the African way of being human.

There is exaggeration here—is this analysis or caricature?—but some of the evidence cited is telling. Consider the seldom-noted distinction between early British colonies, limited to urban centers such as Freetown and Lagos, and surrounding "protectorates." The former enjoyed legal systems whose rules and procedures were modeled on those of the mother country. In the protectorates, however, "native institutions" were preserved and residents had no rights as citizens. The failure of most historians to take note of this distinction suggests to Táíwò that "they have not taken seriously the idea of the legal subject and the peculiarly modern metaphysical template from which it is fashioned." Such colonial policies helped set the stage for a mode of autocracy operating above the law that is all too familiar in recent African history. Indeed, we can hear echoes of what Táíwò brands "sociocryonics" in every public speech by a political leader who spurns the petty constraints of Western democratic institutions—whether these be term limits, judicial and legislative independence, or public accountability for public funds—because his authority stands on a foundation of uniquely African values.

My discussion, like Táíwò's, has focused primarily on British colonial rule in West Africa. Although he provides comparisons from time to time with British territories elsewhere, he acknowledges the limits of his analysis and expresses the hope that others will investigate similar developments outside the British orbit. Other colonial powers followed very different paths in creating and eventually liberating their own colonies, after all. The French extended full citizenship rights to a very small subset of their African subjects, acknowledging the possibility of African agency in ways the British never permitted. Hierarchies of power were far more rigid in the Portuguese and Belgian colonies, whose economic successes were built on systematic exclusion of natives from even the most limited managerial roles, and their transition to independence was far more difficult. Whether a similar opposition between missionary efforts to nurture political agency and colonial determination to suppress it played a role in these other colonial empires remains to be determined on the basis of others' investigations.

Extending the scope would also correct one of the most serious omissions in Táíwò's account: in focusing wholly on the transition from Christian mission to British colonialism, he overlooks the role of Islam in sub-Saharan Africa. Relationships between religion and colonial politics unfolded along very different lines in heavily Islamic regions such as the Sahel. Islam was already widely embraced before the colonialists arrived, having been brought by Muslim traders to West Africa as early as the 8th and 9th centuries, to the Swahili Coast even earlier. The Arab world had long been a vital trading partner with sub-Saharan Africa, not only for agricultural and manufactured goods but also as partners in the East African-Middle Eastern slave trade that flourished throughout the 19th century. The face of Islam in sub-Saharan Africa has been quite different from its form in the Arab world, however: more flexible and pragmatic, less doctrinally focused, and more tolerant of accommodation to local beliefs and customs. There is a sense, perhaps, in which African Islam anticipated some elements of European modernity long before they were imported from the West, in ways that are far less visible in Islam's heartland.

How Colonialism Pre-Empted Modernity in Africa is an important book that deserves the attention of any student of Christian missions or African politics. It offers a cautionary corrective to any appeal to an idealized African past or to traditional African values as a rationale for contemporary political or economic institutions and practices, and it reminds us of the essential role of philosophical assumptions in the establishment and administration of political institutions. The fundamental conception of the nature of the person—the philosophical anthropology—that underlay the work of the missionaries of the early 19th century, Táíwò has shown, differed dramatically from that brought to Africa by the administrators and colonialists a few decades later. And from these differences have arisen some of the most intractable problems of contemporary political life in Africa.

Táíwò's distinction between the "aid" and the "autonomy" model of European assistance is no less relevant today, for example in recent debates over whether, after a half-century of foreign assistance totaling a trillion dollars, aid should be increased (as argued by Jeffrey Sachs, Bono, and many leaders in the nonprofit realm) or cut back sharply, if not eliminated (so argues Dambiso Moyo, and Paul Collier and William Easterly concur in part).[3]

All the antagonists in this debate uphold "autonomy" as their goal, decrying the perpetual dependence inherent in the "aid" alternative. Modernity has won the day, and colonialist "sociocryonics" has been discredited. Yet beneath the surface are traces of the same diverging philosophies, more subtle in expression but no less influential on policies and practices. Some government-funded foreign aid efforts assume that donors know best how to respond to famine, natural disaster, and persistent poverty. Some church groups return again and again to build another school and dig another well, spending ten dollars on airfare for every dollar invested in the partner community, giving little thought to overall priorities as understood by local communities. These examples betray a persistent belief that the more "advanced" and more fortunate members of the human family know best how to reach out to help the more "backward" and less fortunate. But other forms of assistance, both governmental and private, embody the "autonomy" model that Táíwò finds in the second wave of African missions. Educational assistance, business development programs, long-term church partnerships, and the like, in which Africans plan and administer assistance programs with others' help, exemplify a philosophy of equality and mutual recognition, not hierarchy or paternalism.

Táíwò is able to draw effectively on the theoretical resources of philosophy and the historical record of precolonial and colonial history, and from their synthesis he draws important lessons for the ways in which we conceptualize the relationship between Africa and the West. Upending many unquestioned assumptions about the work of missionaries and colonialists, he offers a fresh perspective on Africa's past and sheds new light on its present challenges.

David A. Hoekema is professor of philosophy at Calvin College. He has taught and directed study abroad programs in Ghana, Kenya, and Uganda.

1. In his lectures on history, Hegel made notoriously dismissive comments concerning the primitive mentality and limited capacity of Africans, and yet if he had not been entirely ignorant of the nature of traditional African societies he might have found much to admire in their organic unity.

2. Táíwò provides only a birthdate for Horton, no dates for Attoh-Ahuma. Dates above are from Dictionary of African Christian Biography (www.dacb.org) and Oxford Dictionary of National Biography.

3. See for example Sachs, 2006; Sachs, 2008; Moyo, 2010; Collier, 2006; and Easterly, 2007.

Books discussed in this essay:

Paul Collier, The Bottom Billion: Why the Poorest Countries Are Failing and What Can Be Done About It (Oxford Univ. Press, 2010).

William Easterly, The White Man's Burden: Why the West's Efforts to Aid the Rest Have Done So Much Ill and So Little Good (Penguin, 2007).

Dambisa Moyo, Dead Aid (Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2010).

Jeffrey Sachs, Commonwealth: Economics for a Crowded Planet (Penguin, 2008).

Jeffrey Sachs, The End of Poverty: Economic Possibilities for Our Times (Penguin, 2006).

Olúfémi Táíwò, How Colonialism Preempted Modernity in Africa (Indiana Univ. Press, 2010).

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