Historical Background: The “pre-Senegalese” Period and Works

1 Michel Adanson (1727–1806) was one of the most important naturalists of the eighteenth century. He was foremost a botanist, and it is to this field that he owes his fame. The contribution of his book Familles des plantes (1763–1764) to botanical science, however, was appreciated only after a very long delay. The natural classification method he developed was poorly understood and only recognized for its true value as late as 1963, on the occasion of a major conference organized to mark the bicentenary of the book’s publication. It is also around 1960 that numerical (or “phenetic”) taxonomy emerged, based on the idea—in truth quite erroneous—that Adanson had made use of combinatorial calculations to classify plants in this book. According to Jean Dufrenoy, “the origin of this movement [1] can be attributed to P. H. Sneath, who, having ‘rediscovered’ the natural classification proposed by Adanson . . . realized that this classification was particularly well suited to the application of electronic calculators in taxonomy (J. Gen. Virol. Microbiol. 17, 201–206, 1957).” [2] It was precisely on the bicentenary of the publication of the first volume [3] of Familles des plantes that the pioneering treatise on phenetics, Principles of Numerical Taxonomy, by Peter H. A. Sneath and Robert R. Sokal appeared. An expanded edition was published in 1973.

2 It seems certain today that Adanson played a key role in the history of the natural sciences, since rejecting on the one hand the “spirit of the system” and defending, on the other hand, a universal and “totalizing” vision of the living world, he achieved a perfect synthesis of “Linnaeism” and “Buffonism.” [4] Adanson was the first to give a true natural method of botanical classification, rather than merely sketching out the idea, as his master, Bernard de Jussieu (1699–1777) and his great rival Carl Linnaeus (1707–1778) had managed. Jussieu emphasized the need for such an arrangement following the entire ensemble of plant affinities, without ever daring to move from theory to practice. [5] Linnaeus published his Systema naturae in 1735 with his famous “sexual system,” which was not intended to present the natural classification of plants, although Linnaeus had regarded the “natural order”—if one day it could be discerned (a somewhat doubtful notion)—as requiring no more than a simple development of his system, as new species were discovered. [6]

3 Adanson acquired the central concept of his natural method early on. On his trip to Senegal between 1749 and 1754–upon which I will focus my discussion–he realized that the discovery of “natural” (that is to say, real, objective) relationships between beings assumed not only the knowledge of all their parts, but also that of all the relationships between those parts. The beginnings of this “holistic” concept appear in a letter to Jussieu, dated August 1, 1750:

4 I have found a manner of describing, very different from that I used at the time of my first missive, and it is the only one I believe good and useful, not only because it includes absolutely all different parts of the natural body, but also in that it describes these parts in all the qualities that are their own. [7]

5 The conceptual revelation of the young Adanson in Senegal is based on the belief that “partial” begets “false.” In this regard, this trip was a definitive dawning of awareness of the aporia of “systems,” which are all based [8] on the misconception that a “principle” has a power of subsumption. No, the whole cannot be understood in the part, and this is what Adanson discovered in Senegal. He testifies to this revelation:

6 Botanike seems to change entirely its face, as soon as we leave our temperate countries to enter the torrid zone: there are always plants, but they are so singular in form, they have attributes so new, that they elude most of our systems, whose limits hardly extend beyond the plants of our climate. [9]

7 His method, based on the combinatorial evaluation [10] of a set of subsystems embracing all “parts” of an organism, was first tested on mollusks. [11] It was then extended to plants in in Familles des plantes.

8 In the mind of the author, this method would serve a much broader ambition. Believing that it had the ability to organize any object regardless of its nature, Adanson worked all his life as a scientist to apply it to the sum of all human knowledge. Engaging in a rather futile competition with the Encyclopédie of Diderot and D’Alembert (1751–1780) and with the Histoire naturelle of Buffon (1749–1767), he continued with his folly of solitarily compiling a “universal encyclopedia,” up until his death in 1806. [12] Its format, which he presented to the Royal Academy of Sciences of Paris in 1774, was essentially a “natural history” of outlandish proportions—Adanson hoped to describe and include no fewer than thirty thousand “beings” of the three kingdoms! He also planned to include other realms of knowledge, such as physics, chemistry, economics, mechanical arts, and liberal morality, among other subjects. [13] The book never saw the light of day, and we can say without too much exaggeration that all that remains of this work, which took up the last thirty years of Adanson’s life, are a few scattered and rather uninteresting pages. In the final analysis, his real contribution covers only fifteen years, from the Histoire naturelle du Sénégal (1757) to the Cours d’histoire naturelle, which he taught between 1772 and 1774. Of this, only the section concerning zoology—to which we shall return—was published.

9 Adanson was born in 1727 in Aix-en-Provence. [14] There were many children in the family, so to provide adequately for their education, their father Léger Adanson decided to follow archbishop of Aix Charles Gaspar Ventimiglia, to whom Léger was secretary, when Ventimiglia was appointed cardinal of Paris in 1730. Though precarious, this relationship provided the Adanson family some financial protection. In the capital, Michel took up assiduous and scholarly studies, intending him for an ecclesiastical career.

10 At the age of twelve or thirteen, Michel began attendance at the Jardin du Roi. From 1740 he regularly followed lectures given there in botany, physics, chemistry, and anatomy. He quickly developed a passion for natural history, raising his own silkworms and experimenting with plants. A defining moment was undoubtedly his first meeting with the internationally renowned botanist Bernard de Jussieu, who was at that time engaged in planting green spaces around the city of Paris with his brother Antoine. Bernard became the protector and master, but also a friend of the young Michel Adanson. Between the ages of thirteen and twenty Adanson also visited René-Antoine Ferchault de Réaumur (1683–1757), who showed him his zoological collections, and Father John Turberville Needham (1713–1781), famous—among other things—for his work on spontaneous generation. These scholars undoubtedly sharpened the young man’s sense of observation, inculcating the principles of the empiricist method which excludes any a priori assumption in the field of natural history. Thus, at a very young age—but helped by an uncommon memory—Adanson gained extraordinary expertise in the field. At nineteen, he could already name thousands of plant species. [15] His determination to become a naturalist seems to have been unwavering from the age of fifteen onwards.

11 Nevertheless, by twenty, he had no formal qualifications nor any official status. Unlike most naturalists of his time, he was not a doctor or an engineer, nor even a botanist in the formal sense of the term. [16] He prepared for his future membership of the Académie des sciences studiously, we can be sure, but despite his prominent supporters in high places, he was considered too young to be admitted, even as a correspondent. His father, aware of this problematic situation, made use of his contacts to allow his son to use and develop his skills, and also to make a little money. Thanks to the intervention of Pierre-Barthélemy David, director of the Compagnie des Indes, [17] Michel Adanson would be sent to Senegal, a territory under French rule since the establishment of the military and commercial port of St. Louis in 1659 and the taking of Gorée Island from the English in 1677.

12 What could be less surprising or more normal than for a young naturalist of that era to go prospecting abroad, particularly in the tropics? Much more unusual was to undertake such a voyage without the official status of “royal botanist” (that is to say, one paid by the king) or any other official title. In March 3, 1749 Adanson sailed from Lorient, aboard the Chevalier Marin as “clerk dealing with the records of the company” (a mere functionary). Antoine and Bernard de Jussieu, and indirectly René-Antoine Ferchault de Réaumur would be his correspondents in Paris. The letters that the young man wrote to them from Senegal [18] contained extremely valuable information, both with respect to the genesis of his natural method of classification and for reports of his practical activities in Senegal, including relations between company men and natives, health problems, in-country travel, and the discovery of plants, animals, and minerals. The Jussieu brothers, and perhaps also Réaumur, helped convince David of the usefulness of the mission, and, thanks to their authority, they finally won a decision in favor of their young protégé. We take the opportunity to emphasize here the strength and importance of the relationship which united science and commerce at that time. A reciprocal link closely bound the Académie des sciences, the Jardin du Roi, and the Compagnie des Indes. Both scientific institutions could rely on the establishment of trading posts in foreign lands to which their naturalists could be sent. Conversely, colonial trading rejoiced in the presence of naturalists, as their discoveries could enrich and improve trade. In the eighteenth century, naturalist missions became particularly numerous [19]—Antoine and Bernard de Jussieu alone had more than a hundred correspondents worldwide, many of whom, like Adanson, went to the tropics.

Senegal in the Middle of the Eighteenth Century

13 Before addressing Adanson’s actual journey to Senegal, a quick overview should be given of the economic and political situation of that country around 1750.

14 The earliest colonists were the Portuguese, who settled on the Senegalese coast in the middle of the fifteenth century, on the Cape Verde peninsula, Rufisque, Gorée, and Joal. The slave trade began in the sixteenth century, still under the influence of the Portuguese, although other European settlers also made their entrance around then, notably the Dutch, French, and English. The Dutch colonized Gorée in 1617, setting up the first true trading post. The French and English soon found themselves competing for domination of the country. With the founding of St. Louis in 1659 and the taking of Gorée in 1677, France gained the upper hand over its competitor for the colonization of the territory. By 1700, the French dominated trade in the coastal region. By 1750—the period that particularly interests us here—the trade between France and its African colonies had become regular and dependable. Jean-Paul Nicolas writes that Saint-Louis, Senegal, was by then a “major and relatively well organized port;” [20] suitable, we might add, as a starting point for expeditions into the surrounding country. The English retook control of the colony between 1758 and 1779 and again between 1809 and 1814, before the Treaty of Paris (1814) returned all establishments owned by the British since 1783 to the French. In the nineteenth century, French domination continued to grow, especially during the governorship of Louis-Léon-César Faidherbe, who created the port of Dakar in 1857. Dakar became the capital of French West Africa in 1902.

15 Adanson, aware of British attempts at conquest, concealed much of his works–notably his maps of the country–and avoided publication of information about the wealth of the concession during the period when the English took possession of the colony from 1758. The British government even asked Adanson to provide it with his many observations of the geography and topography of the country in exchange for money. The young scholar succeeded in resisting these glittering offers without fail. [21]

16 Adanson’s voyage to Senegal lasted some five years, from 1749 to the beginning of 1754. At that time, the country was extremely poorly known. Concerning its natural history, (almost) everything remained to be discovered. Literature on Senegal was rare and spartan. In La Nouvelle relation de l’Afrique occidentale by Father Jean-Baptiste Labat, published in 1728, [22] the information is disorganized and of minimal interest. André Delcourt notes that this work “was for two centuries . . . the main reference book, even though it covers no more than the first quarter of the eighteenth century.” [23] Adanson’s contribution would therefore not only be substantial, but also foundational, from a historical perspective.

Michel Adanson in Senegal: A Scientifically Rich but Physically and Psychologically Stressful Experience

17 The young man took great care in preparing the expedition. He inquired about climate, local customs, and dialects. He gained, naturally, as accurate a picture as possible of the flora and fauna, in order to gather the appropriate material for collecting them. Through Réaumur, he learned the latest techniques for conserving animals in liquids. Following the method of Conrad Gesner (1516–1565), he prepared “herbarium” techniques for drying and pressing fish. Finally, fully expecting to perform many observations on the climate and geography of the country, he packed different instruments including telescopes, barometers, thermometers, and so on. [24]

18 Correspondence with the Jussieu brothers allows Adanson’s discoveries and daily life to be followed. Despite the tremendous number of new beings [25] of the three kingdoms that the young scholar described, whose encounter must have ravished his passion for natural history, the voyage to Senegal was an ordeal from start to finish. [26] Nobody in the Compagnie des Indes understood the meaning of his work. Judging his presence perfectly useless, the abuse from its representatives never stopped. [27] Adanson failed, despite the support of his fellow academics, to persuade the leaders of the concession that his work was, in part, meant to serve their commercial interests, helping them to gain profits from different products. He may have submitted his experiments on the extraction of indigo or tobacco to the company management, but nothing helped. What is more, Adanson suffered dreadful seasickness, which seems to have quickly taken on a phobic character. [28] He explains to the Jussieu brothers that this evil would oblige him to renounce all voyages by sea for the rest of his life. [29] In 1753, literally nauseated and exhausted, the young man prepared to leave. [30] He had written, as early as 1751, “I do not intend to stay long in this country.” [31]

19 Probably due to the intervention of Jussieu, better working conditions were at last granted. Adanson found himself able to store and maintain his collections more easily. One facility he had enjoyed since 1751 was has a small field where he grew all kinds of plants, carried out hybridization experiments, notably on melons, and grew several “rare shrubs,” including papaya, guava, banana, pineapple, and others which he intended to bring back to the Jardin du Roi. [32]

20 Adanson regularly sent material to France [33]—plants in herbaria to Jussieu, seeds, [34] fruits [35] accompanied by descriptive catalogs, as well as insects, [36] shells, [37] birds, [38] and various other animals to Réaumur and Charles-Augustin Vandermonde (1712–1762), [39] and minerals to Guillaume-François Rouelle (1703–1770). [40] It is often difficult to discern exactly what was shipped to France, and what was received in Senegal. The exchange, in any case, was not unidirectional, at least with the Jussieu brothers. Adanson wrote to them in 1751: “I permit myself to be free in asking you to send as many plants of your country as I will send you of mine.” [41] To his corresponding botanists, he asked for seeds or organs of various plants, either to grow them on site, or to make comparisons between the species he found and those of Linnaeus which resembled them—the “tuberose of India,” for example. [42]

21 Note that at this time Adanson was religiously dedicated to the work of the Swedish naturalist, and felt himself too inexperienced to be in charge of naming the species he discovered. For this, he deferred to the Jussieu brothers. The example of the baobab is famous in this regard: Bernard de Jussieu named it Adansonia digitata in honor of its young discoverer. [43]

22 From Senegal, the curiosity of Adanson exceeded the limits of natural history. The encyclopedic temptation is already palpable, and it is about this time that we see the scientist suggesting a book on the whole of human knowledge, a “lifetime’s work.” [44] He learned the Wolof language, taking notes on grammar and different dialects, on social mores, the economy, climate, and celestial phenomena, and finally got round to making maps of lower Senegal and Gorée Island. These were the first maps of this area, and for this reason Adanson carefully concealed them from the English. All this information, all this new knowledge, he included in the Voyage au Sénégal, which appeared in 1757 in the same volume as his studies of shells. The naturalist had many other facts and findings to be made public. Unfortunately, as we shall see a little further on, the remaining material was poorly used.

A Prodigious Scientific Contribution

23 Adanson’s Senegalese harvest was quite extraordinary. According to Jean-Paul Nicolas: “Upon his return to Paris in 1754, Adanson possessed the most comprehensive collections possible in his time.” [45] In a manuscript conserved in Pittsburgh, the naturalist mentions “five thousand species of beings brought from Senegal.” [46] By beings he means specimens from the three kingdoms of nature (plant, animal, and mineral). Through this journey, botanical knowledge made a great leap forward, with the description of a large number of new genera and—of course—an even greater number of new species. [47] The findings went three ways. The first shipments made during his time in Senegal, we have already spoken about. Back in France, Adanson gathered the material that filled his cases, jars, and herbaria. He made a personal collection, but left the majority, between 1764 and 1767, to the office of the king, for which he was paid. [48]

24 The royal collection is today completely scattered, but the catalog, preserved at the National Museum of Natural History in Paris, gives an idea of the treasure Adanson brought back from Senegal. More than five thousand “objects of natural history” are listed, many from Senegal, according to the author himself, who introduced the document thus:

25 Monsieur Adanson, meeting with the office of the king, or notice of 5211 natural history objects largely collected in Senegal, forming a fairly complete suite, in plants, animals, and minerals, organized according to new methods, most of which have not yet been published. [49]

26 The “largely collected in Senegal” is not altogether true. According to Theodore Monod, who has carefully examined this document, “species from Senegal represent only a fraction of the total.” [50] This catalog is not a mere list of names—it contains many zoological descriptions. Concerning birds, Adanson states that 101 species of the 117 recorded are from Senegal. The list includes everything from fish to reptiles, shells, [51] worms, a cetacean (the manatee), quadrupeds, and insects (632 from Senegal), as well as minerals, wood, and even fossils. The catalog finally mentions seventeen species of gums and resins, products on which Adanson performed many experiments. In a letter of 1751 he wrote to the Jussieu brothers that the locals were absolutely ignorant of the existence of resins, which could be very useful to them. [52] Concerning shells—which occupy a prominent place in Adanson’s work—we note that a relatively large number of species described by the naturalist do not come from Senegal, but “the Caribbean, the Indian Ocean, the Mediterranean, and so forth.” [53]

27 The naturalists of Adanson’s time do not seem to have denied themselves the opportunity to dip into this vast collection. Buffon in particular, and his collaborators on the Histoire naturelle described several species of birds and quadrupeds using specimens from the collection and Adanson’s descriptive notes, not always acknowledging their source. [54]

28 As for the collection the scholar reserved for himself, it was, according to him, far more extensive, although it is virtually impossible to say whether his enumeration encompasses the specimens given to the king’s office. In 1775, in the plan for his encyclopedia, addressed to the Académie des sciences, he indicates that the “eighth book” (and last) covers “the vast collection of beings kept in his office, thirty-four thousand at least in number.” [55] In the Cours d’histoire naturelle in 1772, he said:

29 A work uninterrupted, of sixteen to eighteen hours a day for thirty years, since the age of fourteen, has permitted me to make a unique collection of almost fifteen thousand species of plants that make up my herbarium, six thousand seed species, two thousand types of wood, six thousand minerals, four hundred corals and stony corals, three thousand species of shells, six thousand insect species, over three hundred fish, excluding two hundred crustaceans, twenty snakes, twenty reptiles, two hundred birds, five cetaceans, and one hundred quadrupeds. [56]

30 In sum, nearly forty thousand “objects of natural history” in 1772, but thirty-four thousand in 1775. Either way the inventory is, to say the very least, gigantic.

31 Although these collections are almost entirely lost today, the Adanson herbarium is conserved at the National Museum of Natural History in Paris. [57] It is simply the largest herbarium—quantitatively—in the entire museum. With a little more than twenty-four thousand samples, it outnumbers that of Lamarck (over nineteen thousand specimens), which also contains several plants of Adanson’s herbarium. [58] This herbarium would have been even larger if the young scholar had not lost all the live plants he had been carrying to storms and frost on the way back to France. [59] A total of 8.4 percent of the dried plants come from Senegal and the Canary Islands, where the ship had stopped for eight days on the way out, in Tenerife. Although the herbarium is in fairly good condition, it is regrettable that the plant collection sites are rarely mentioned. The technique borrowed from Gesner also allowed the young scientist to dry some fish. We find seven species in the herbarium, among the flowers. [60]

32 Naturally, it is the published texts which constitute Michel Adanson’s main contribution to the knowledge of Senegal. The discoveries fall into a few main groups—the Histoire naturelle du Sénégal (voyage and shells) of 1757, the Familles des plantes of 1763–1764, and the Cours d’histoire naturelle (zoology, 1772) the latter works forming an ensemble; a number of botanical articles written for the Supplément Panckoucke of the Encyclopédie of Diderot and D’Alembert; [61] and finally, four papers published by the Académie des sciences. [62]

33 Upon his return from Senegal in 1754, Adanson engaged in grand projects to publicize his knowledge of the country. In a prospectus in 1756 he announced his intention to publish eight volumes that would address Senegalese zoology, botany, mineralogy, meteorology, physical geography, and anthropology. Mainly for financial reasons, Adanson only published one volume. This appeared in 1757, with the full title, Histoire naturelle du Sénégal, coquillages: Avec la relation abrégée d’un voyage fait en ce pays, pendant les années 1749, 50, 51, 52 & 53. The book opens with this account of the journey, which was largely written as it happened. It should be noted, in addition to the lively style of a charming and picturesque narrative, that the encyclopedic approach is already evident. The author, following the chronology of his adventures, reviews a wide range of materials—considerations of climate, fauna and flora, geography, customs, and dialects. The scientific section on shellfish is important, but we cannot develop an analysis of it here. [63] We must, however, mention in passing the particularly remarkable quality of the engravings, owed to the talent of a certain Marie-Thérèse Reboul.

34 Over the years Adanson maintained the vast program of his prospectus. In his mind, everything would be published one day, in the context of a comprehensive work of universal dimensions—his “encyclopedia.” We have already said what became of this utopian and megalomaniacal project. However, in 1767, Adanson made public his intention to publish a book in 1772, describing three thousand Senegalese plant species, as well as another book—this time with no prospective date given—containing one to two thousand plates “of Senegalese animals, plants, and minerals.” [64] None of this would ever see the light of day.

35 In Adanson’s major work, Familles des plantes, the author gives families and genera that are sometimes new, and often so in terms of the genera, as a proportion of them was identified in Senegal. The botanist does not, however, describe individual species, which undoubtedly contributed (among other reasons) to the relative failure of the work in his time. Concerning species, we note a curious fact. We noted previously that in 1767 Adanson planned to publish a book describing three thousand species of Senegalese plants. However, in Familles des plantes, he writes that he found three hundred plant species [65] in Senegal. Thus, between 1754 and 1767, the number of Senegalese species increased tenfold, which is somewhat hard to explain, since during this period Adanson remained in Paris, lodging for ten years at the home of Antoine and Bernard de Jussieu. In Familles des plantes, Adanson often emphasizes the usefulness of herbaria and “botanical gardens,” [66] but since nobody returned to Senegal to collect plants, there remains, it seems, only one tangible hypothesis—the 2,700 missing Senegalese species overlooked for inclusion in Familles des plantes were described too briefly (perhaps sketched only with a few pencil marks) to be taken seriously as “new.” Finally, we must consider the highly megalomaniacal character of Adanson, [67] which became ever-more marked as the years went by, finally “exploding” precisely around 1765, following the criticism of Linnaeus (and his followers) of Familles des plantes. [68]

36 The last major contributions of the scientist to the natural history of tropical Africa were his studies of trees. If we combine the Cours d’histoire naturelle of 1772, the articles for the Supplément Panckoucke of 1776, and the memoirs of the Académie des sciences (1761, 1773, 1778), we find several large unpublished monographs that are to be noted for including descriptions of the baobab, banana, gum trees, and many species of palm trees. Obviously, if the original prospectus of 1756 had been fulfilled, it may be said, as Alfred Lacroix stated, that “Senegal may be the best known tropical country, and therefore French colony, both scientifically and economically.” [69]

Colonial Projects in Senegal: The Issue of Slavery

37 From an economic point of view, the contribution of Adanson is hardly less substantial, but insofar as this work remained, for the most part, in the secrecy of large projects circulating in governmental institutions, this contribution actually appears quite slim in the final analysis. Michele Duchet stresses that Adanson’s voyage to Senegal had more than a scientific purpose:

38 they are fact-finding missions in the broadest sense of the term. The result of his travels is not only the natural history of Senegal, but also secret memoirs under the direction officialdom, to be found side by side with archives of other colonial administrative memoirs, as elements of the same dossier. [70]

39 In the margins of his copy of the Encyclopédie of Diderot and D’Alembert, Adanson provides a plan for the Senegal colony, which would not abolish slavery, but perhaps might permit a more “humane” regime therein:

40 Make Senegal, along the Niger from its mouth, and along the Gambia to Galam, not a white settlement, but, under the direction of five to six hundred whites at most, a vast cultivation to occupy all negroes, all free and voluntary slave farmers of the country, to supply the whole of Europe with its consumption of sugar, coffee, cocoa, gum arabic, and incense. [71]

41 What, in Adanson’s mind, were “free and voluntary slave[s]?” The oxymoron stops us from seeing clearly, but another note scribbled in the same copy of the Encyclopédie is close to asserting an antislavery position. Adanson proposes to replace “slaves by deported criminals who bear a plaque stating the nature of their crimes, to be chained and to work in this hot country instead of black slaves.” [72]

42 Adanson had the audacity—or more likely the naivety—to submit this project (the first proposal cited above) in 1753, to the directors of the Compagnie des Indes, [73] which was, one suspects, strongly attached to black slavery. This fact may better explain the abuses of which the naturalist complained during his long stay. The “memoir” was also sent to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which accorded him no better hospitality. The English, on the other hand, showed strong interest and made attractive proposals to the French scholar, who resisted all such temptations towards disloyalty.

43 While Adanson is silent on the issue of the slave trade on his voyage to Senegal—without doubt for strategic reasons concerning publication [74]—he shows himself immediately to be hostile to any form of racism. He explains in the Cours d’histoire naturelle that there is on Earth only one species of man, and that the observed variations in regard to skin color, morphology, longevity, health, and so on are the result of climatic constraints only. [75] In 1757, Adanson praised the Wolof people, who he thought capable of making the same progress as Westerners [76] and, in 1772, praised black people more generally, which was no trivial matter in the middle of the eighteenth century:

44 The negroes of Senegal are as well made, the women as beautiful and as well made as in any other country of the world. It is commonly said that they have small minds, that they sell their children, their parents, and sometimes themselves for alcohol, and that their wives have a taste for white men. These three assertions are equally at fault. Their mind is of the strongest, and most salient, they sell neither themselves nor their children, and finally, they are of the most beautiful ebony black, which they esteem above all other colors. Their wives welcome white men for reasons of interest only. [77]

Conclusion

45 Michel Adanson was able to pass on to his contemporaries and to posterity only a fraction of what he saw and collected in Senegal, and only a tiny part of what he conceived for the economic development of the colony. Clearly, it was his eagerness to do “too much” that derailed his many projects and publications. The universalist vision, both practical and theoretical, that characterizes his work, began its disturbing inflation in Senegal. In the 1760s, Adanson wrote a huge economic development plan for Guyana, of great interest, but far too ambitious, no doubt, ever to be implemented. [78] Over the years, Adanson continued to expand the scope of his designs, simultaneously narrowing the possibility of their practical application. For Senegal in particular, he placed the bar far too high. Wanting to say and demonstrate too much, he trapped himself. Working on totalities, he never knew how to master or manage such abundance. Thus was he drowned in his Senegalese natural history collection, finally abandoning all his work to scattering and dust.

46 Nevertheless, what remains, as we have seen, is far from negligible. Adanson’s contemporaries accurately estimated his contribution, consulting him into his last years on his immense knowledge of tropical Africa. In 1786, because of the lack of new research in Senegal, Adanson was relied upon as the source for all travel plans to these countries, either through consultation of his work or by visiting the home of a man universally acclaimed as the “grand master of Africa.” [79]