Durkheim’s Empire: The Concept of Solidarity and Its Colonial Dimension

Abstract

This article challenges prevailing national interpretations of solidarity by examining its colonial dimensions. Employing the Durkheimian school as a historical lens, I demonstrate how the colonial context during the Third Republic shaped the emergence and application of solidarity as a scientific concept. Informed by colonial ethnographies, solidarity was not merely a sociological self-description within European nations; it also formed part of political agendas beyond Europe. I illustrate how Durkheim’s concept was utilized to enhance scientific understanding of colonized societies, aiding French colonial administrators in promoting developmentalist reforms. As national models extended internationally, solidarity evolved from social cohesion to economic integration within the international legal order. This progression toward modern solidarity—and the injustices it entailed—appeared inevitable, masking political struggles for self-determination. By critically recontextualizing solidarity, this analysis contributes to contemporary political theory debates, demonstrating its application in supporting an inclusive legal-economic agenda while failing to systematically confront colonial injustices.

INTRODUCTION

In 1923, Albert Sarraut, then serving as the French Minister of the Colonies, justified colonialism as an act of solidarity. Echoing Durkheim’s sociology, he argued that a “bond of solidarity” between the metropole and its colonies would facilitate a mutually beneficial “exchange” of resources, ultimately culminating in the realization of “the great idea of human solidarity” (Sarraut 1923b, 19, 87; 1931, 79).¹ Sarraut’s colonial reformism, which prioritized economic exploitation over political self-determination, starkly contrasts with contemporary moral and anti-colonial understandings of solidarity (cf. Bhambra 2007; Getachew 2019; Holley 2024; Mohanty 2003).

Today, political theorists commonly view solidarity as embodying morally positive principles of unity and mutual support within groups (Kolers 2016; Scholz 2010), predominantly within a national scope (Miller 2017; Sangiovanni 2023). Most contemporary accounts trace the modern emergence of solidarity to national contexts, where factors such as class struggle, the decline of church authority, and the fragmentation of traditional norms are seen as catalysts for its rise (Banting and Kymlicka 2017; Stjernø 2005). Yet, political theory must also address the colonial dimension of solidarity beyond the national context, especially since one of the central concepts of solidarity, as articulated by Émile Durkheim, coincided with the expansive phase of the French colonial empire. This is particularly pertinent as recent political theory has sought to ground the concept in Durkheim’s account of solidarity (Herzog 2018; Sangiovanni 2023), acknowledging its underexplored colonial aspects and emphasizing the need for historical engagement. As Andrea Sangiovanni (2023, 247–8) recently stated in response to Jared Holley, “the history of solidarity in an international, and especially colonial, context (…) has yet to be written.”

This article demonstrates how Durkheim’s seminal concept originated in a colonial context and was subsequently applied internationally, thereby evolving from a focus on national social cohesion to facilitating imperial economic integration. Utilizing contextualist political thought (Bourke and Skinner 2022; Tully 2008), the article offers a conceptual history of Durkheimian solidarity during the Third Republic, specifically from the 1890s to the 1920s—a period marking the zenith of the Durkheimian school’s influence. The argument situates Durkheim’s distinction between mechanical and organic solidarity within the Third Republic’s colonial expansionism, illustrating that his framework, though not intended to support colonialism, relied on ethnographies from colonized societies. It further demonstrates that Durkheim’s concept of solidarity, intended to be inclusive, inadvertently reinforced colonial narratives as it was appropriated by colonial reformers, and as sociological models of European nations were elevated in international relations, thereby obscuring the political struggles of colonized societies. The overarching aim of this article is to argue that a comprehensive understanding of solidarity—and its political uses—requires a critical evaluation of its origins and adaptations within a colonial context.

In what follows, I will first analyze Durkheim’s concept of solidarity in relation to colonial ethnographies, with a specific focus on the seminal distinction between mechanical and organic solidarity as presented in his Division of Labor. I argue that the model of mechanical solidarity possesses a distinct spatial index: While it is commonly interpreted as a differentiation of modernization from its temporally earlier European origins, I demonstrate that Durkheim’s ethnographic inspiration derived from spatially distant, presently existing colonized societies, rather than merely from a pre-industrial European past. Second, I contextualize this argument within Third Republic debates and theories of solidarity, including the work of Léon Bourgeois, from a comparative perspective. This analysis shows that, despite Durkheim’s critique of the civilizing mission and racial hierarchies, he envisioned a distinct international division of labor that effectively reverts to evolutionary developmentalist paradigms. Although Durkheim did not endorse developmentalism in positing a distinction between mechanical and organic solidarity, I argue that the distinction implied a functional imperative: to develop organic solidarity within Europe to accommodate its expanding division of labor and to transform the mechanical solidarity of societies beyond Europe into modern ones, ultimately fostering international solidarity.

Third, I illustrate how colonial reformers, such as Albert Sarraut, embraced this developmentalist argument, explicitly using the concept of solidarity to justify colonization. Concurrently, followers of Durkheim, such as Marcel Mauss, promoted sociological insights and ethnographic training for colonial administrators. The advancement of solidarity, deemed historically inevitable by Durkheimian international lawyers such as Georges Scelle and Léon Duguit, would lead to the integration of colonies into imperial economic and legal interdependence, effectively circumventing their political rights. I conclude by examining the implications of these findings for contemporary political theories of solidarity.

The upshot is twofold. First, reconstructing the colonial dimension demonstrates that solidarity extended beyond domestic social dynamics to encompass an international political agenda across colonial power asymmetries. This recontextualization underscores the necessity of critically examining the application of concepts in specific contexts and addressing structural injustices beyond national boundaries (cf. Lu 2017; Young 2011; Ypi, Goodin, and Barry 2009). Second, moving beyond the Anglo-American focus on empire, solidarity reframed the colonies through a sociological lens, emphasizing ethnographic understanding and economic integration. This approach posited interdependence as inevitably prevailing over independence, focusing on social factors while obscuring political struggles for self-determination (cf. Getachew 2019; Koskenniemi 2001; Mantena 2010). This elucidates how colonizing nations could promote solidarity and legal-economic development without addressing underlying colonial injustices.

COLONIAL ORIGINS OF SOLIDARITY

What question did the concept of solidarity seek to answer? During the time Émile Durkheim was writing The Division of Labor in Society in Bordeaux, France grappled with class conflict epitomized by events like the Paris Commune (1871) and was still recuperating from the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-71. This period saw the annexation of Alsace-Lorraine—a territory deeply connected to Durkheim, who was born to a French Jewish family in the region. The extended economic downturn known as the “Long Depression” (1873–1896), marked by rising urban poverty and unemployment, intensified class conflict and sociopolitical instability (Mayeur and Rebérioux 1984, 46–50). Against this domestic backdrop, the concept of solidarity emerged as a response to modern anxieties about social cohesion, encapsulating the zeitgeist of the Belle Époque (Hayward 1961).

While contemporary political theories accurately situate the genesis of solidarity—the writings of Émile Durkheim, Léon Bourgeois, Alfred Fouillée, Charles Gide, and Léon Duguit—within this national context, this same period also witnessed the expansionist phase of French imperialism. During the 1890s, as Durkheim was theorizing solidarity, France was aggressively expanding its empire.² As I will demonstrate, this colonial context was not merely coincidental but intimately connected to Durkheim’s theorizing on mechanical solidarity as a pure form of “primitive” solidarity, inspired by colonial ethnographies.

In the metropole, this expansion reflected a shift in public opinion toward colonization, with support for imperialism surging notably in France—a stark contrast to the indifference or hostility of the 1880s (Andrew and Kanya-Forstner 1971, 99–101). Spurred by domestic issues and the loss of Alsace-Lorraine, this change positioned new colonies as a means for France to regain prestige and territory. The era’s belief in social and technological development as essential to civilization was epitomized by the Exposition Universelle of 1889, culminating in the unveiling of the Eiffel Tower (Conklin 1997, 51–8). Importantly, these expositions also served as “ethnographic showcases,” displaying “primitive” societies and artifacts, which helped shape public and scientific perceptions of the colonies (Corbey 1993).

Durkheim’s seminal distinction between organic and mechanical solidarity is commonly understood to contrast modern society with its earlier, pre-industrial European counterparts. However, I argue that Durkheim’s engagement with colonial ethnographies reveals a primary inspiration not just from temporal differences but also from the spatial distances to colonized peoples in Australia, Africa, and North America. Why does Durkheim turn to societies he considered “primitive” to understand contemporary ones? For Durkheim, mechanical solidarity would, adhering to the “law of history” (Durkheim 2013, 138), diminish in prevalence with progressive historical development, suggesting that social order’s origins lie in a pure form of solidarity. But tracing this notion of original purity does not solely lead Durkheim back to pre-industrial Europe. Instead, it directs him to what he termed “lower societies” to seek evidence of such “pure” solidarity, thereby offering insights into the social cohesion of modern society in turn.³

Durkheim finds this “pure model” for mechanical solidarity in societies like the Kabyle in Algeria, the ancient Hebrews, and the Iroquois in Canada (Durkheim 2013, 138–40). Such “lower societies” represent a kind of organization that is “the most akin to this primordial stage,” and it would be observable in societies not within, but beyond Europe: “We find an almost wholly pure model of this social organization among the Indians of North America” (Durkheim 2013, 138).⁴ Not uncommon for late-nineteenth-century social and political theory, Durkheim understands “lower societies” without much further contextual differentiation: initially, he argues that the Iroquois are the ideal-typical example; then, he precedes the “Australian tribes” in this regard, who, in his view, “are even closer to the horde” (Durkheim 2013, 139) and then to the Jewish population when he adds that “[Albert Hermann] Post reports that it is very common among the African negroes. The Jews remained in this same state until a very late stage; the Kabyles have never got beyond it” (Durkheim 2013, 140).

What Durkheim has in mind is thus not an abstract hypothesis—a Hobbesian state of nature—regarding mechanical solidarity. Rather, solidarity is about physical and, indeed, physiological materiality: “[t]hese societies are the home par excellence of mechanical solidarity, so much so that it is from this form of solidarity that they derive their main physiological characteristics” (Durkheim 2013, 141). These “concepts of mechanical and organic solidarity are developed from an essentially historical framework” (Bellah 1959, 449; cf. footnote 14), but this “historical” framework took its material from ethnographies of contemporary societies beyond Europe.

Regarding the Division of Labor, this ethnographic material was threefold: first, regarding the American continent, L. H. Morgan’s highly influential Ancient Society published in 1877;⁵ second, regarding the African continent,⁶ Albert Hermann Post’s less influential Afrikanische Jurisprudenz published in 1887;⁷ and third, regarding the Australian continent and Pacific islands, Lorimer Fison and Alfred William Howitt’s Kamilaroi and Kurnai (1880). Durkheim’s approach, just like Sir James Frazer’s work, is an example of what would later be called “armchair anthropology”: he never conducted fieldwork himself, and the ethnographic sources contributing to the seminal distinction between two types of solidarity were derived from material gathered by anthropologists and missionaries. In this sense, mechanical solidarity was not based on the “internal” history of Europe but rather on the “external” ethnography of others. Consequently, the primary method was sociology, not history; its “historical” material is not found in the past, but in the present. Traveling to spatially distant colonies—or rather, sociologically interpreting ethnographies of them—was effectively akin to traveling back in time.

This approach, in many ways, set the stage for a scientific agenda of the nascent science of sociology. In Primitive Classification, Durkheim and Mauss (1903) posited that basic categories of human consciousness stem from societal structures: by examining data of “primitive” societies—including the Zuni and Sioux, alongside ancient China—they aimed to shed light on the complex solidarity within more “advanced” societies. This lesser known text laid the groundwork for Durkheim’s seminal The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. In Durkheim’s ambition to explain religious life as a social phenomenon, he draws on the English anthropological tradition—namely Baldwin Spencer’s and Francis Gillen’s The Native Tribes of Central Australia and The Northern Tribes of Central Australia. Durkheim assembled Spencer’s and Gillen’s ethnographic representation of Australia into a new narrative in an exercise which “transfigured” both “Spencer and Gillen’s Australia” and “the old Durkheimian Australia” (Watts Miller 2012, 347).

The “historical” mode of analysis would allow for an explanation of how the very patterns structuring the present took shape, notably by dissecting complex phenomena into their less differentiated components, “going back to its simplest and most primitive form” (Durkheim 1995, 3).⁸ Durkheim seemed fascinated by the original state of solidarity, believing ethnographies could reveal its undifferentiated form as exemplified by segmental societies and their primary units, such as “clans.” This contrast highlights how the differentiated, organic solidarity of modern societies becomes evident. In his discussion on the happiness of the “savages” in The Division of Labor, Durkheim noted that the happiness observed “in those countries which, like so many lands in America, have been exploited by the Europeans” starkly contrasts with the discontent prevalent in modern society (Durkheim 2013, 191). Thus, progress does not inherently bring happiness, prefiguring his study on suicide, which he notes “hardly exists before the arrival of civilization” (Durkheim 2013, 193). Modern life, exemplified by contemporary France, is characterized by pathologies such as disintegration, anomie, and alienation, highlighting the civilizational contrast between the perceived “happiness of the savages” and the discontent of Europeans (Durkheim 2013, 189–92).

While Durkheim acknowledges the exploitative nature of colonialism, this very contrast is derived from interpretations of ethnographic material, based on the observations of anthropologists, missionaries, ethnographers, medics, and colonial administrators. Mechanical solidarity thus presents significant abstraction across different societies. By vastly overestimating the degree of penal law (corresponding to mechanical solidarity) and vastly underestimating the degree of sociopolitical interaction in “primitive” societies, Durkheim’s concept of mechanical solidarity misrepresented what it tried to capture empirically.

Certainly, this notion of pure solidarity forms is historically inaccurate, considering those societies deemed “primitive” were often influenced by European empires long before the arrival of ethnographers. Moreover, it is both epistemically and politically problematic. Many had suffered from diseases introduced during colonization, and it was colonization itself that facilitated Durkheim’s access to ethnographic data in the first place. Furthermore, the ethnographic depiction of the “native” being in a “pure” state of mechanical solidarity perpetuates a romanticized image of the “savage”—noble and content, yet ostensibly stuck in the past (Durkheim 2013, 189–92).⁹

Importantly, Durkheim’s analysis abstracts from the political conditions of colonial rule under which such ethnographic data were collected. Notably, access to data about the Kabyle—Durkheim’s prime example of mechanical solidarity—was facilitated by France’s extremely violent colonization of Algeria in the mid-century, marking a departure from the typical informal expansion of the post-Napoleonic era (Todd 2021, 72–122). Similarly, Henry Maine’s Village Communities (1871) was written amidst the British colonial administration’s shift toward indirect rule following the Indian Rebellion of 1857 (Mantena 2010, 48–53, 138–45). In his 1889 review of Tönnies’ Gemeinschaft und Gesellschaft in Revue Philosophique, Durkheim identified Maine’s depiction of village communities as exemplars of traditional social bonds, prefiguring his concept of mechanical solidarity (Durkheim 1889, 416–8).¹⁰

Access to ethnographic data was largely contingent upon the colonial mobility of anthropologists, missionaries, medics, and colonial administrators, including emerging “African ethnographers” (Sibeud 1994). The sociological theorization of these data became significant not for its empirical accuracy or theoretical coherence but because it offered scientific frameworks for analyzing colonized societies, with “solidarity” emerging as a key concept. Situating Durkheim’s concept within this context underscores how it reflected not only the national sociopolitical landscape of the Third Republic but also its colonial dimensions, as evident in ethnographic studies.

As I will demonstrate using a comparative perspective, Durkheim’s efforts to distance himself from organicist physiology, racist anthropology, and evolutionary biology were significant against the backdrop of the Third Republic, where the “colonial question” often intersected with ideologies of racial hierarchy, spurred by a scientific interest in human development and racial inequalities.¹¹ Rather than positing biological inferiority, Durkheim emphasized the continuous presence of solidarity across societal types, including those within colonized societies. Although questions of colonialism were not central to Durkheim’s sociology, they are reflected in contemporary debates about social development and the hierarchical organization of forms of solidarity during the Third Republic.

FROM DIVERSITY TO SOLIDARITY

Since Europe’s initial encounters with the Americas, political theories have sought to diversify and compare stages of social progress, especially regarding natural rights, culminating in the eighteenth century with a four-stage model (Pagden 1982). Nineteenth-century social theorists like Durkheim, Spencer, Worms, and Tönnies engaged with these theories, albeit often with a critical stance toward stadial models, instead proposing binary categorizations, such as “militant” and “industrial” (Spencer 1897) or “Gemeinschaft” und “Gesellschaft” (Tönnies 2001). Durkheim’s concern with development and hierarchy in relation to “mechanical” and “organic” solidarity was evident even while writing the Division of Labor. In his review of Tönnies, mentioned above, Durkheim agreed with the importance of distinguishing between two social types. However, he emphasized their distinct forms and the continuity of solidarity across them, rather than an evolutionary replacement (Durkheim 1889, 416–8).¹²

Contrasting with Paul Broca’s anthropology and Herbert Spencer’s evolutionism, Durkheim interpreted “inferior” solidarity primarily as “less complex” or “less differentiated”—the French words élémentaire and simple were often misleadingly translated into the literal English equivalent “inferior.”¹³ Durkheim viewed life as a “unity,” where every function is inherent from its earliest form, marking a development from an indistinct to a differentiated form, rather than from homogeneity to heterogeneity (Durkheim 1983, 94). In a biological metaphor, he likened societal development to a human embryo where “all the functions of the human organism are already present” (Durkheim 1983, 94).¹⁴ What others synthesized, Durkheim separated anew: he viewed social solidarity as sui generis, possessing its own logic irreducible to biology or psychology. Despite adopting Spencer’s “organic perspective”—which classifies societies along biological “genera and species” lines (Lukes 1973, 84, 159)—Durkheim emphasized that solidarity does not entail an evolutionary hierarchy nor does it necessarily lead to one form supplanting another. Both forms of solidarity persist in contemporary society, and a “historical” comparative method allows for the study of “present-day humanity” (Durkheim 1995, 1, 240).

This contrast was particularly evident in a long-forgotten debate between Worms and Durkheim, which took place during the 44th session in 1906 and the 46th session in 1908 at the Congrès annuel des Sociétés savantes in the Grand Amphithéâtre of the Sorbonne.¹⁵ While Worms argued that ethnography focuses on “barbaric and savage societies” in the present, sociology also considers “civilized societies.” Durkheim countered by questioning the clarity of such distinctions, asserting that “there is no human society which does not have its civilisation.” He emphasized that “so-called lower societies [held] a very special interest for the sociologist” because the “social forms” found in modern societies can be observed in their less developed state “which highlights their unity better” (Durkheim 1982, 210).

Thus, to exclusively associate “colonized people” with “mechanical solidarity” and “civilized metropole” with “organic solidarity” would be an oversimplification. Given that these forms of solidarity correspond to the unique needs of specific societies, comparative analysis of ethnographic data is what drives explanation. Indeed, comparative ethnographic analyses published in L’Année Sociologique revealed the complexity of cultural differences and solidarities, challenging the utility of a singular evolutionary model.

If the “sociological method” is distinctive to Durkheim’s concept of solidarity, it also opposed racist, proto-fascist, and essentialist views in anthropology. From 1900 to 1907, the emergent Durkheimian group, led by Durkheim and supported by Marcel Mauss, notably departed from racial science by directly challenging theories such as Georges Vacher de Lapouge’s anthroposociology (Mucchielli 1997, 82–4). This shift demonstrated a clear preference for Durkheim’s model of societal determinism over racial determinism, promoting a comparative analysis of solidarity and social practices.

To be sure, ideas of progressive organic development, while distinct, were not unique to Durkheim’s concept of solidarity. Late-nineteenth-century theories of solidarity reflected the civilizational language of the Third Republic, shaped by Enlightenment republicanism and advancements in the natural sciences, notably Darwinian societal evolution and Henri Milne-Edwards’ “physiological division of labor” in complex organisms.¹⁶ Alfred Fouillée conceptualized solidarity as encompassing societal obligations within a “contractual organism” (Fouillée 1885, 111–22), positioning it as a politically progressive idea (Fouillée 1885, 369–78). Subsequently, Léon Bourgeois’ 1896 pamphlet Solidarité, published three years after The Division of Labor, prominently advanced solidarity as a distinctly political concept, helping to bridge the gap between the Radical Republican Party and socialists in Parliament; Bourgeois’ term as Prime Minister from November 1895 to April 1896 solidified it as the “official philosophy” of the Third Republic (Bouglé 1907, 1).¹⁷

Bourgeois’ doctrine advocated collective interdependence and social obligation—termed “social debt” within a “quasi-contractual” framework—asserting that individuals inherently owe a debt to society prior to any consent (Bourgeois 1902, 136–7). Positioned as a political manifesto for left-wing radicalism, Bourgeois primarily defined solidarity as an ethical-juridical principle underpinning societal relations, eschewing Durkheim’s sociological concepts and ethnographic references, and attributed the “great law of the division of labor” to Henri Milne-Edwards (Bourgeois 1902, 55–6).

Despite shared political orientations and professional networks, there is no direct evidence that Bourgeois was influenced by Durkheim; rather, his work primarily built upon Fouillée’s ideas. The Durkheimians, meanwhile, carved out a distinct scientific domain, exemplified by the founding of their journal, L’Année Sociologique. Durkheim himself maintained a critical distance from political parliamentary solidarism, particularly diverging on issues like private property and legislative reform. In his critique of Fouillée published in L’Année Sociologique, Durkheim contended that Fouillée’s proposals merely aimed to “consolidate” the existing order rather than drive transformative social reforms (Durkheim 1899, 445). Unlike Bourgeois and Fouillée, who upheld the sanctity of private property, Durkheim’s socialist inclinations led him to advocate for profound systemic changes over incremental reform.¹⁸

However, both Bourgeois and Durkheim inherited the language of development and civilization regarding solidarity, evident throughout Bourgeois’ pamphlet (Bourgeois 1902, 69, 58, 129). Like Fouillée, they sought to counter social Darwinism: Durkheim viewed solidarity’s role as “moderating” competition (Durkheim 2013, 286) while Bourgeois—applying advances in natural sciences to classic political questions—argued that solidarity complements the “struggle for existence” (“la lutte pour l’existence”) (Bourgeois 1902, 18, 27, 39, 85). Bourgeois thus critiqued Yves Guyot’s view that “higher civilizations’” superiority stems from a diverse range of aptitudes, arguing for a broader consideration of human interests—beyond economics—to meet the expansive social and moral obligations of solidarity (Bourgeois 1902, 142). He sought to counter inequalities, asserting that beneath differences of “sex, age, race, physical strength, intelligence, or will,” all humanity shares the intrinsic qualities of being “alive, thinking, and conscious” (Bourgeois 1902, 109–11).¹⁹

More explicitly political than Durkheim’s concept, Bourgeois’ view posited that true progress in civilization—beyond mere economic or material gains—requires an ethical synthesis of individual freedoms and collective responsibilities, emphasizing social welfare and the moral advancement of society. Solidarity, then, connects individuals within and across generations (Bourgeois 1902, 60–1, 84–6). Consequently, citizens have a “duty” to contribute to the “preservation and development of their civilization,” a commitment stemming from social debt obligations that blend horizontal labor division with vertical commitments to enhance infrastructure and knowledge (Bourgeois 1902, 129).

Bourgeois did not extend the horizontal or vertical dimensions of solidarity beyond national borders to the colonies, focusing instead on domestic social policies, promoting laws and welfare reforms such as insurance and pension schemes.²⁰ Both Durkheim and Bourgeois emphasized national solidarity and, despite opposing social Darwinism and structural hierarchies, did not systematically address the colonial project. Although differing in terminology and approach—Bourgeois’ ethical-juridical and Durkheim’s sociological-ethnographic—both saw societal progress as largely exemplified by the metropole’s infrastructure, technology, scientific advancements, and social organization, reflecting the civilizational discourse typical of the Fin de Siècle. As another point of comparison, even W.E.B. Du Bois, despite critiquing international racial biases, embraced a developmentalist view at the time (Valdez 2019, 90–5), envisioning a transition from “primitive” communities to more “complex civilizations,” as expressed at the 1904 Atlanta Conference (Du Bois 2002, 54).

At the turn of the century in the Third Republic, the developmentalist language of solidarity inadvertently prefigured a sociologically informed colonial theory that emphasized sociocultural factors over evolutionary racial hierarchies (Betts 1961, 61–4).²¹ This reorientation toward mise en valeur—the French version of indirect rule—aimed to promote solidarity and optimize the economic utility of colonies for the metropole.²² Such a positional shift was foreshadowed at the 1900 Congrès International de Sociologie Coloniale, held alongside the Paris Exposition under Bourgeois’ presidency, where participants unanimously opposed colonial assimilation and advocated for the preservation and sociological analysis of indigenous societies.²³ While neither Durkheim nor Bourgeois actively engaged in promoting or critiquing colonial expansion, the Durkheimian school’s reliance on and production of colonial ethnographies, characterized by systematic sociological terminology, distinguished it. Notably, Mauss and Lévy-Bruhl later argued that ethnography should enhance governmental practices, making them more scientific and humane. This approach was operationalized in colonial governance by reformers like Albert Sarraut, the champion of mise en valeur, who applied a sociological approach to enhance administrative effectiveness and benevolence in the name of solidarity. Beyond Durkheim, and despite his own positions which we will explore below, his concept of solidarity was appropriated to advance sociological understanding and justify colonial rule.

Durkheim notably failed to rigorously critique the methods of acquiring ethnographic data, and this “silent complicity with empire,” arguably due to his efforts to establish his academic institution, reflects a nuanced yet ambiguous stance on solidarity and societal development (Kurasawa 2013, 195).²⁴ This ambiguity is clearest in a passage in Moral Education, where Durkheim employs an analogy comparing the educational relationship between a student and their teacher to the interaction between “inferior” and “cultivated” European societies: “Wherever two populations, two groups of people having unequal cultures, come into continuous contact with one another, certain feelings develop that prompt the more cultivated group—or that which deems itself such—to do violence to the other. This is currently the case in colonies and countries of all kinds where representatives of European civilization find themselves involved with underdeveloped peoples. Although it is useless and involves great dangers for those who abandon themselves to it, exposing themselves to formidable reprisals, this violence almost inevitably breaks out. Hence that kind of bloody foolhardiness that seizes the explorer in connection with races he deems inferior.” (Durkheim 1973, 193; my emphasis).²⁵

While noting the futility of colonial violence and ironically qualifying a value hierarchy between primitive and modern societies, Durkheim appears to take colonial rule as an inevitability while suggesting that—like a teacher—it be gentler, more benign. In this reading, the moral imperative lies in the analogy with education: the paternalistic infantilization of colonized peoples implies the need to guide them toward development, while reducing “the abuses into which the civilized so easily fall in their dealings with inferior societies” (Durkheim 1973, 196). This line of argument reflects the education and development-oriented colonial reformism that advocates unilateral, metropole-led progress under the guise of solidarity.

Importantly, the state plays a crucial role in progressing from mechanical to organic solidarity by facilitating individual differentiation under modern law—or, in other words, freeing individuals from the bonds of mechanical solidarity. Durkheim envisioned the modern state as increasingly developing a law-based nature, guaranteeing individual rights and social justice: “The State must therefore increasingly strive, not to base its glory on the conquest of new territories, which is always unjust, but to bring about the reign of greater justice in the society that it personifies” (Durkheim 1986, 50; my emphasis). He distinguished between the external and internal actions of states: external actions are typically violent and aggressive, associated with uncivilized wars and colonial conquests, while internal actions are “essentially peaceful and moral,” relating to historical progress toward social justice and organic solidarity (Durkheim 1986, 47). The expansionist state is modeled after the premodern state, whereas the internal, peace-seeking state is modeled after the “European state,” where the “state of war has become the exception” and “judicial activity” is ubiquitous (Durkheim 1986, 48). While Durkheim condemns the conquest of “new territories,” the expansion of solidarity could be justifiable. As society advances toward organic solidarity, it should also develop a more universalist outlook.

It seems that Durkheim recognized the dangers of excessive nationalism and importantly, the scaling of normative orders: the larger the scale, the more universal it likely needs to become, and vice versa. In the Division of Labor, he noted that larger formations of interdependent societies, particularly a “European society,” were forming, which would progressively lead to a “single human society” (Durkheim 2013, 315–6). Given that “the division of labor is linked to our whole moral life,” modern solidarity is required for realizing the “ideal of human brotherhood” (Durkheim 2013, 315).

In consequence, the “lower” societies would inevitably be “absorbed” or “eliminated,” and thus, moral diversity would decrease (Durkheim 2013, 319, fn. 6). In “higher societies,” there is a duty to further increase specialization as society evolves (Durkheim 2013, 313). The ground of this argument is sociological, not moral: It rests on the liberty and quality of activities that “higher societies” facilitate. In this view, the liberty in “lower societies” is not genuine but merely “apparent” (Durkheim 2013, 315): “True individual liberty does not consist in the elimination of all social regulation, but is itself the product of regulation” (Durkheim 2013, 329). Mechanical solidarity, characterized by homogeneous relations, limits individuality, whereas in “higher societies,” the goals and activities are not only more specialized but also “richer and more intense” (Durkheim 2013, 315).

This can be interpreted, extending beyond Durkheim’s own intentional views but not necessarily inconsistent with them, as a developmentalist and educational imperative for modern societies, especially European industrial nations, to strive for organic solidarity. While national cohesion is significant, it should not be exclusive; solidarity must also encompass internationalism.

Durkheim maintained “fairly constant views” (Lukes 1973, 350) on this topic, noting that “beyond this country, there is another in the process of formation, enveloping our national country: that of Europe, or humanity.”²⁶ Such cosmopolitan aspirations, akin to Kant’s Perpetual Peace, would naturally emerge from organic solidarity, envisioning states regulated within an international legal order to promote peace. Contrary to the inevitable imperial rivalry among European nations, Durkheim argued that states, under increased functional interdependence, are not inherently power-driven or amoral.²⁷ Instead, states must act as moral agents, bound by solidarity to promote societal values and interests. Strengthening organic solidarity through robust interdependence and adherence to the rule of law could thus counter nationalist ambitions.

Durkheim’s remarks on European legal and social interdependence stand apart from other contemporary theories of solidarity in that they systematically extend the national division of labor to an international context. Within Europe’s geographical confines, despite diverse levels of labor division, communication, urban infrastructure, and population density (Durkheim 2013, 223–38), solidarity started to transcend national boundaries, fostering an emerging common consciousness (Durkheim 2013, 219, 315). The growing interdependence between European societies had begun to enhance the authority of international law, contributing to a society “among cultured peoples” that was still coalescing yet “increasingly conscious of itself” (Durkheim 2013, 95).

Organic solidarity ultimately drives innovation, legal rights, and social progress through individual differentiation (Durkheim 1983, 71, 319). In contrast, an excessive degree of mechanical solidarity, characterized by homogeneity, can inhibit progress and change.²⁸ This dynamic reflects the Kantian dichotomy between heteronomy and autonomy, indicating a transition from deterministic control to emancipation and individual autonomy. Durkheim’s preference for modern, differentiated solidarity here reverts to the civilizational divide that is typical of the developmentalist paradigm.²⁹

This preference need not be a value judgment, but it presents a choice. In the concluding passages of the Division of Labor, Durkheim argued that we have a decision to make with regard to how far we are willing to limit individualism: Progress toward the “ideal of human brotherhood” requires the division of labor, and in Durkheim’s view, we should foster modern solidarity. We should not do so because of some intrinsic metaphysical value, but for pragmatic sociological reasons—modern pathologies do not arise from a lack of theoretical foundation of our morality, but, rather, from the structural transformations of our societies. Therefore, a modern morality that meets the demands of evolving contemporary society is required.

From this perspective, there is a functional imperative to foster organic solidarity in response to the increasing division of labor within industrialized European nations. But this approach could also be interpreted as a moral imperative to modernize societies beyond Europe. In the remainder of this article, I will examine how this developmentalist path was pursued by colonial reformers in their application of the Durkheimian concept of solidarity in colonial ethnography and administration.

COLONIALISM AS AN ACT OF SOLIDARITY

By the early twentieth century, Durkheimian sociology was firmly established in the French academic system. As editor and “guiding spirit” (Giddens 1970, 171) of the Année Sociologique—later managed by Durkheim’s student, closest collaborator, and nephew, Marcel Mauss—and advisor to Felix Alcan, Durkheim oversaw the publication of seminal works. Of the emerging sociological schools of the Third Republic, typically centered around a single figure like René Worms or Frédéric Le Play, only the Durkheimians achieved lasting success. By the 1920s, Durkheimian sociology had permeated France’s educational system, influencing national examinations in philosophy, pedagogy, and sociology, and extending into secondary education (Clark 1968).³⁰

However, after Durkheim passed away in 1917, his school became also increasingly engaged with the French colonial project, as leading figures, notably Marcel Mauss, became advocates for ethnographic fieldwork. They argued that such fieldwork, through the sociological study of “primitive” solidarities, could inform and improve colonial administration.³¹ In August 1925, Mauss and Maurice Delafosse, along with Lucien Lévy-Bruhl and Paul Rivet, founded the Institut d’Ethnologie, creating a pivotal institution for training a new generation of ethnographers for service in the colonies. The collaboration with the École Coloniale, notably between Mauss and Georges Hardy, the school’s director and a close ally of Albert Sarraut committed to Sarraut’s mis en valeur, directed students to the Institut d’Ethnologie for ethnographic training. By 1926, it had introduced a range of courses in customary law, ethnology, and languages, some taught by Mauss himself—who, like Durkheim, had never conducted fieldwork despite the opportunity (Fournier 2005, 166–7)—aiming to equip students with a scientific understanding of the populations they were to govern.³² The Année Sociologique thus became not only the foremost platform for sociological research but also a comprehensive anthology of colonial knowledge.

Mauss extended the concept of organic solidarity to an international context. He concluded his seminal The Gift with a plea for enhanced reciprocity, which he regarded as crucial for fostering international solidarity. Societies had, in Mauss’ view, “progressed” from conflict to cooperation, facilitated by trade and reciprocity: “To trade, the first condition was to be able to lay aside the spear” (Mauss 1990, 105). This is the lesson that “our so-called civilized world” must embrace for the future—a lesson long known to the “clan, the tribe, the people,” representing “one of the permanent secrets of their wisdom and solidarity” (Mauss 1990, 106). Mauss’ fascination with the solidarity found within “primitive” societies, coupled with his advocacy for peaceful, economic cooperation instead of “massacring each other,” set a model for the future solidarity between nations (Mauss 1990, 106).

Mauss’ international extension of the concept of organic solidarity is best expressed in La Nation, written in the 1920s and published posthumously in Année Sociologique: “The organic, conscious solidarity between nations (“la solidarité organique, consciente”), the division of labor among them, according to their soils, climates, and populations, will result in creating an atmosphere of peace around them, where they can give the fullest of their life” (Mauss 1969b, 632). Similar to Durkheim, Mauss perceived sociology as a transformative science, not justifying evolutionary superiority over colonized populations, but rather promoting the expansion of solidarity as a means to create a “sorte de milieu moral,” which would nurture brotherhood among civilizations (Durkheim and Mauss 1913, 48). In a joint publication, they identified “supranational” phenomena—such as language, institutions, and political organization—as forming a solidarity system (“système solidaire”), constituting a distinct entity deserving of its own notion, “civilizations” (Durkheim and Mauss 1913, 47–8). Given that collective representations are what articulate social bonds in the symbolic sphere, the notion of civilization is more inclusive than a state or its territory, and it concerns culture rather than politics.

This depoliticized understanding of civilization depicted the disappearance of “primitive” solidarities not as a consequence of imperial politics, which systematically dismantled indigenous institutions and beliefs, but as an inevitable tragedy. Like Durkheim, Mauss mourned the inevitable loss of “primitive” societies, concerned that the dominant force of the metropole would engulf it, thereby impoverishing humanity as a whole (Mauss 1969a, 432–3). Believing that ethnology should be academically anchored to avoid mere service to colonial interests, Mauss advocated for recognizing all societies as “civilized” in their own right, actively opposed racialist ideologies, and engaged in political activism, exemplified by his involvement in the Dreyfus affair and contributions to the socialist press. Criticizing the civilizing mission while aiming to preserve international solidarity between the French metropolis and its colonies, Mauss advocated for an end to economic exploitation (Mallard 2019, 85–120). He contended that ethnographic knowledge from colonized territories would enable a more enlightened and less coercive administration of local populations (Mauss 1969a).³³ In other words, Durkheimian sociology was envisioned to be as politically significant as it was administratively useful, with its practitioners poised to be “the best guides for administrators of the colonies” (Fournier 2005, 166).

This view pervaded many of the ethnographies of the era, notably those of Delafosse, a colonial official and African ethnologist, whose work was praised by Mauss as exemplary of French scholarship (Mauss 1969a). Delafosse’s Haut-Sénégal-Niger, particularly the third volume focusing on family structures in French Sudan, embodies the developmentalist interpretation of Durkheimian solidarity.³⁴ Proposing that clans originated from a “single primitive family,” Delafosse sought to illustrate diverse forms of solidarity, such as the “deep solidarity” among clan members that surpasses differences in language, religion, and race, unaffected by “ethnic or civilizational” disparities (Delafosse 1912, 103–5).³⁵ Akin to Durkheim’s fascination with a pure state of solidarity, Delafosse emphasized “preserving” the solidarity within African societies, promoting a view that saw them as distinct but not inherently inferior, endowed with potential for development (Delafosse 1912, 93–8). He critiqued the use of anthropology by colonial powers to objectify and disrupt “primitive” solidarities; however, he believed their studies could also support colonial administration. Thus, solidarity functioned both as the subject of ethnographic study and as a means to promote a more “giving,” solidaristic form of colonial governance.

If the central question for the French colonial administration in the first decades of the twentieth century was whether to respond to concerns of imperial disintegration with forceful repression or economic development, those inspired by Durkheimian solidarity chose the latter path. Notably, Lévy-Bruhl emphasized the colonial government’s “libéralité” in funding the Institut d’Ethnologie to train ethnographers, which he deemed just as crucial as doctors and engineers in dealing with “inférieur” civilizations (Lévy-Bruhl 1925, 233–4). He argued that for “la mise en valeur” to succeed, not only capital but also “scientists and technicians” were needed to “catalog natural resources” and recommend the “best utilization methods” (“les procédés d’exploitation”). In its programmatic positioning, the Institut d’Ethnologie thus aligned with the aims of the colonial administration: ethnologists must methodically inventory populations to support governance and prevent uprisings (Lévy-Bruhl 1925, 233–4).³⁶ While Delafosse’s and Lévy-Bruhl’s keen interest in the solidarity of the colonized may not have stemmed from ethical motives but was rather a “governing strategy” (Wilder 2003, 230), this approach was notably promoted by Albert Sarraut, the period’s foremost colonial administrator.

Sarraut, who served as Governor-General of French Indochina (1911-1914 and 1916-1919) and as Minister of the Colonies during pivotal times (1920-1924 and 1932-1933), restructured colonial administration in the 1920s. Following his 1919 return from Hanoi, he championed French colonial investment and, in 1921, presented his mis en valeur plan to the National Assembly.³⁷ This plan outlined an extensive investment strategy focused on infrastructure and educational reforms aimed at developing colonized societies in the name of solidarity. Sarraut’s colonial reformism was distinctly Durkheimian; he “took pride” in his understanding of Durkheim’s work, basing his policies on a “sociological view of the colonial system” (Thomas 2005, 923). Providing a paternalistic justification for colonialism, Sarraut framed colonial rule around France’s purported solidarity, with the goal of securing the empire’s economic interests and mitigating anti-colonial dissent through functional integration and interdependence.

On November 5, 1923, Sarraut delivered the inaugural lecture of a series at the École Coloniale, promoting ethnography and sociological training for future colonial administrators. Defining “solidarity” as the central feature of French colonial rule (Sarraut 1923a, 1062–9), he distinguished French colonialism from British and German approaches, arguing that it uniquely embraced solidarity, transitioning from an era of imperial coercion to one of legal interdependence: from now on, the “idea of solidarity with all its consequences” would structure and justify colonization, transforming it from “a primitive act of force” to “an admirable creation of law” (Sarraut 1923a, 1065–6). Addressing future colonial administrators at the École, Sarraut emphasized that colonial issues had “ceased to remain strictly national,” which, in turn, was “glaring proof that the great idea of human solidarity remains the only source of legitimacy for colonization” (Sarraut 1923a, 1072). He portrayed French colonial efforts as demonstrating “relentless labor for the material and moral development of the domains annexed,” framing them as contributions to a “solidary community” (Sarraut 1923a, 1071).

Sarraut’s appropriation of Durkheim’s concept of solidarity is most evident in the seminal text on colonial administration of that era, La mise en valeur des colonies françaises (1923b). Sarraut sought to extend the division of labor to the colonies and redefined the colonial endeavor as an act of solidarity, which “wants to involve its protégés in its civilizing effort according to their capacity,” thereby transforming their “consciousness to a lucid awareness of (…) their obligations they incur towards us for the growth, preservation, and common defense of a united heritage (“patrimoine solidaire”). In the raw clay of primitive multitudes, it molds the face of a new humanity” (Sarraut 1923b, 89; my emphasis). These policies promoted scientific knowledge of the colonies, emphasizing socioeconomic factors of interdependence and the division of labor required for progress (Sarraut 1923b, 3–7). France had yet to profit from the colonies, he believed, and such enhanced interdependence would benefit both France and its colonies, establishing a “solidarity of interest” that had not yet been realized (Sarraut 1923b, 23–6, 33). Indeed, Sarraut argued that without French solidarity, the “backward” countries would be unable to utilize and profit from their own resources, given that they “did not know how to develop” and extract resources themselves (Sarraut 1923b, 87). Importantly, this “bond of solidarity (“lien de solidarité”) between the metropole and the colonies” (Sarraut 1923b, 116) would foster an “exchange” of resources in the name of solidarity (Sarraut 1923b, 19, 87; 1931, 79).

Sarraut’s reformist policies can be interpreted as an attempt to operationalize Durkheim’s concept of solidarity within an expanded division of labor, emphasizing education, infrastructural development, and social cohesion to enhance sociological interdependence between the metropole and the colonies. This integration, akin to societal segments functioning as parts of organic solidarity, aimed to increase interdependence and prevent disintegration (see Sarraut 1923b, 23–30). Such “progress” and “moral education” (Sarraut 1923b, 115) were intended to awaken the colonies from their “slumber in the darkness of a primitive mentality,” thereby accelerating “an evolution of which we ourselves will have hastened the stages” (Sarraut 1923b, 115–6). Given that colonial questions had extended beyond the nation, as he put it, solidarity was to be extended to the colonies. While France had “undoubtedly” exploited its colonies, Sarraut argued that it would now do so in the name of “solidarity.” Identifying a developmental “delay” in distant colonies, he asserted that “progress” would unilaterally emanate from the metropole (Sarraut 1923b, 115–21). Consequently, Sarraut emphasized the economic benefits to the metropole, advocating for increased investments in the colonies to “assist” their educational and infrastructural development.³⁸

While there are notable similarities between Mauss’ La Nation and Sarraut’s La mis en Valeur (see Mallard 2019, 92–7), Sarraut diverged from the Durkheimian framework by using the concept of solidarity to explicitly justify colonialism. Resolving, as it were, Durkheim’s ambiguous stance on empire by presenting colonialism as a moral imperative under the guise of solidarity, these appropriations illustrate the risks associated with the Durkheimian concept of solidarity. When applied internationally as a developmentalist concept, solidarity unilaterally positioned the organic solidarity model of developed nations at the center of economic exchanges and the legal order. By shifting from emphasizing assimilation to promoting solidaristic association, this appropriation obscured the political struggles for self-determination.³⁹

But this approach had political ramifications; solidarity implied interdependence rather than independence. Sarraut stressed that “colonial autonomy” should not lead to “any rupture, even any relaxation, of the bond of solidarity which unites the colonies to the metropolis” (Sarraut 1923b, 115–6; my emphasis). Thus, to “selfishly isolate” nationally from interdependence would be to withdraw from this bond, undermining solidarity and thereby risking disintegration (Sarraut 1923a, 1068). Moreover, as colonies achieved “a certain degree of development,” the risk of emancipation grew, particularly amidst “the spectacle of foreign colonies whose races are agitated in the thrill of independence” (Sarraut 1923b, 115–6). The inevitable progression from repressive law (mechanical solidarity) to restitutive law (organic solidarity) corresponds to a belief in a superior collective right—the overarching right of the human species to pursue an enriched life materially and spiritually. For Sarraut, overriding legal rights to self-determination was justified by promoting the collective welfare of human society (see Sarraut 1923b, 30–1, 110, 115–7).

This depoliticized vision can be illustrated—as a final point of comparison regarding Durkheim’s legacy—by the international extension of restitutive law, or organic solidarity, prominently featured in “international law as sociology” by a group of Durkheimian interwar lawyers (Koskenniemi 2001, 266–352). Leading proponents such as Léon Duguit and Georges Scelle sought to promote a more integrated and cohesive international legal order, aiming to reduce nationalist conflicts through functional interdependence and federal regulation. They viewed the development of organic, international solidarity as a sociological inevitability, wherein the colonies were to remain within legal interdependence. Indeed, Duguit, Durkheim’s former colleague in Bordeaux, reconceptualized international law explicitly grounded in the concept of solidarity from the Division of Labor (Duguit 1901, 82). Presenting it as a “pure sociological doctrine,” Duguit maintained that it existed across all human communities as a scientific fact, encompassing “the most primitive as well as the most civilized, the most humble as well as the most powerful, the simplest as well as the most complex” (Duguit 1901, 92). Rejecting, like Durkheim, biological “assimilation” theories, Duguit emphasized the moral and social vitality inherent in the principle of “solidarity through the division of labor,” which would determine rights, declaring its “development” a duty (Duguit 1922, 82, 150). Beyond the national context, Duguit viewed the colonies as subject to the metropole’s progressive socio-legal inclusiveness within the framework of the collectivité publique, yet distinctly not as French citizens (Duguit 1913, 20, 134). For both, Duguit and Scelle, the reach of solidarity extended to international contexts, while the law emerges from social solidarity and interdependence, rather than from the political sphere of state authority.

Similarly echoing Durkheim, Scelle argued that the “source of all law is the social fact, or solidarity” (Scelle 1932, 2–6), and because no society is “entirely homogeneous and undifferentiated,” solidarity extends beyond nation-states to encompass “international societies” (Scelle 1932, 29–34). Scelle critiqued the right to national self-determination for colonized peoples on these grounds: withdrawing from the legal framework of solidarity, asserting particularistic demands, and protecting minorities implies an anti-legal subjectivism (“subjectivisme antijuridique”) (Scelle 1935, 70). He related the validity of positive law to Durkheimian sociology, noting that while the solidarity of undifferentiated societies (“sociétés simples”) had faded, modern society was an “aggregate” of individuals tied to each other in a “solidarité de fait,” expressing the necessary conditions for “progress” (Scelle 1935, 44–5, 70).⁴⁰ Reflecting Durkheim’s vision of the international division of labor, political and state functions were ultimately subsumed within the social sphere, positioning the colonies for integration under the civilizing guise of solidarity. In this sense, extending beyond Durkheim’s own views, solidarity not only fostered cohesion among the colonizing nations but also with their colonized subjects, leading to sociologically informed colonial policies, notably promoted by Sarraut.⁴¹

However, the much-feared colonial disintegration from the bond of interdependence arose not only from economic underdevelopment but also from the political agency and aspirations for independence among the colonized. Such political aspirations became notably pronounced after the establishment of the League of Nations, which provided a legal vocabulary and an international forum for advancing the self-determination claims of colonized nations (see Clavin 2013; Manela 2007). Despite Sarraut’s aim to maintain imperial cohesion and solidarity through infrastructure and educational enhancements, including limited university admissions, this developmentalist approach often had the opposite effect. Far from consolidating colonial rule, it inadvertently spurred the spread of pan-African and anti-colonial nationalist ideas among students, intellectuals, and journalists.⁴² Movements like the Étoile Nord-Africaine, initiated by Messali Hadj in 1926 in Algeria, and uprisings in Tunisia invoking French republican ideals, reflected the shortcomings of Sarraut’s strategies for imperial cohesion. The nascent anti-colonial movements and revolts, such as the Rif War (1921-1925) in Morocco and the Syrian Revolt in 1925, stemmed more from colonial grievances than the communist influences Sarraut feared.⁴³ Sarraut underestimated the fact that the political “threat” originated from within the colonies themselves—within the ties of solidarity, as it were—rather than from external influences.

Despite Sarraut’s efforts to tighten non-European immigration control (Rosenberg 2002, 82), Paris became a hub for anti-colonial activism in the 1920s, supporting an anti-colonial press and student movements, and attracting intellectuals and activists from the empire, including Jean Ralaimongo, Ho Chi Minh, Léopold Sédar Senghor, and Aimé Césaire (Goebel 2015). In this sense, the colonial appropriations of solidarity, though inadvertently, helped forge a transnational space where “counter-publics” could emerge (see Valdez 2019, 1). Indeed, Césaire later criticized Sarraut for legally justifying the exploitation of non-European peoples as a form of “expropriation for public purposes” to benefit more powerful nations (Césaire 1972, 38–9).

These appropriations of solidarity reflect a broader pattern where the concept is used to obscure, remain silent about, or even justify colonial power asymmetries by recasting exploitation as mutually beneficial economic or legal practices within a sociological bond of interdependence. Originating from national models and extended internationally, this approach helped transform the emphasis on social cohesion through the division of labor into an economically driven, “giving” colonial rule. Yet, within this colonial dimension, solidarity was not a gift of freedom but a disguise for colonial exploitation: giving entails a debt, the repayment of which colonial reformers sought to reinforce.

CONCLUSION

By recontextualizing Durkheim’s concept, this article uncovers a neglected colonial dimension of solidarity that extends beyond its national interpretation. Rather than offering a redemptive or corrective reading that seeks to purify the concept of solidarity from its colonial implications, this analysis demonstrates how the concept was derived and used in ways that both reflected and reinforced colonial dynamics, thereby contributing to the emerging debate on the colonial limits of solidarity. In conclusion, I will briefly outline the implications of these findings for contemporary political theories of solidarity.

Contemporary political theory differentiates between “solidarity with,” a unilateral concept (Kolers 2016), and “solidarity among,” which encompasses political (Scholz 2010) and more capacious joint actions (Sangiovanni 2023). The appeal of anchoring contemporary political theory in Third Republic concepts of solidarity notably stems from Durkheim’s proximity to “solidarity among” within the national division of labor, advocating for an economic-material basis for solidarity, rather than one based on ethno-nationalism. Similarly, Bourgeois’ focus on social debt is compelling to contemporary political theory as it broadens the liberal vocabulary of justice, resonating subtly with Rawls’ “original position.”

Within the colonial context, the emphasis on national socioeconomic factors risks obscuring the colonial origins and uses of solidarity—with its historical, epistemological, and political problems demonstrated in this article. First, it risks neglecting how the national infrastructure and domestic product might have been financed through labor in distant colonies. In such cases, obligations of organic solidarity or social debt arising from the division of labor might be owed not only to domestic constituents but also to those in colonies, embodying “associative duties” tied to colonial legacies (Ypi, Goodin, and Barry 2009). Second, this article demonstrates the appropriations of solidarity beyond national contexts, suggesting that its depoliticized focus on socioeconomic factors might be compatible with, or even perpetuate, structural inequality, especially within colonial contexts (see Lu 2017). Given the paternalistic manner in which colonial administrators projected solidarity—utilizing sociological knowledge to foster international interdependence—it becomes crucial to critically reassess models that promote unilateral solidarity across power asymmetries.

Third, given the lack of a sustained critique of colonialism and the obscuring of political agency, these findings highlight the need for contemporary theories that emphasize political action within the concept of solidarity. Recent scholarship highlights this agency, which could underpin anti-colonial solidarity (Holley 2023, 163), by specifically aiming to confront the “legacies of racism, sexism, colonialism” through “joint action” (Sangiovanni 2023, 78), or by forming “communities of people who have chosen to work and fight together” (Mohanty 2003, 7). Although the colonial genesis of Durkheim’s concept of solidarity does not inherently diminish its contemporary relevance, and while it holds potential to address persisting social inequalities (see Herzog 2018), a comprehensive critique to fully disentangle the concept from this historical context remains unwritten. The article lays the groundwork for future research exploring whether other versions of solidarity within wider European contexts—beyond Durkheim’s own concept, but not necessarily inconsistent with it—were interlinked with colonial practices and their enduring consequences (see Hansen and Jonsson 2014).

Reconstructing Durkheim’s concept of solidarity within its colonial dimension underscores not only the importance of historical context and structural injustice for contemporary political theory (Young 2011) but also calls for careful consideration of how concepts are used in practice. This article has demonstrated how the concept of solidarity—originally derived from ethnographic interpretations of colonized peoples—was repurposed under the guise of benevolent development and returned to the colonies as the “gift” of economic and legal integration, along with the injustices it entailed.