The concept and dynamics of culture 9783110807745, 9789027979391

Table of contents :
General Editor’s Preface
Introduction
PART ONE: THE CONCEPT OF CULTURE
An Analysis of the Concept of Culture
The Concept of Culture: A New Presentation
The Meaning of “Sociocultural”
The Concept of Culture in the System of Modern Sciences
A Unified Theory of Society-Field Aspect
PART TWO: THE DYNAMICS OF CULTURE
Anthropological Criteria for a Notion of Progress
The Segregative and Integrative Functions of Culture
Ecosystem Analogies in Cultural Ecology
Energy and Culture
Anthropology and “Energology”
PART THREE: THE EPISTEMOLOGY OF CULTURE
Meaning in Culture
Do Anthropologists Explain?
The Contribution of Cultural Anthropology to Scholarship
Economic Anthropology and Developmental Theories
Genetic Epistemology, Marxism, and Anthropology
PART FOUR: THE SYSTEMATIC STUDY OF CULTURE
Study of Man’s Horizon-Creation: A Perspective for Cultural Anthropology
The Object of Ethnology
The Concept of Integral Anthropology
Integration Processes in Complex Societies
Panculture: A Hominization-Derived Processual Taxonomy from Murdock’s Universal Basics
Interrelationships of Individual, Cultural, and Pan-Human Values
Anthropologists and Their Terminologies
PART FIVE: CULTURAL DIFFERENTIATIONS
Toward a Theory of American Culture
On the Scientific Content of the “National Character” Concept
Rethinking Hopi Social Organization
Religio-Anthropological Depth Research
Human Coexistence and Culture
Biographical Notes
Index of Names
Index of Subjects

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The Concept and Dynamics of Culture

World Anthropology

General Editor SOL TAX Patrons CLAUDE LßVI-STRAUSS MARGARET MEAD L A I L A S H U K R Y EL H A M A M S Y Μ. N. S R I N I V A S

MOUTON PUBLISHERS

· THE HAGUE

·

PARIS

D I S T R I B U T E D IN T H E U S A A N D C A N A D A BY A L D I N E , C H I C A G O

The Concept and Dynamics of Culture

Editor

BERNARDO BERNARDI

MOUTON PUBLISHERS · THE HAGUE · PARIS D I S T R I B U T E D IN T H E U S A A N D C A N A D A BY A L D I N E ,

CHICAGO

Copyright © 1977 by Mouton Publishers. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the written permission of Mouton Publishers, The Hague Distributed in the United States of America and Canada by Aldine Publishing Company, Chicago, Illinois ISBN 90-279-7939-1 (Mouton) 0-202-90045-2 (Aldine) Jacket photo by Raymond Lewis and Denys Dawnay Cover and jacket design by Jurriaan Schrofer Printed in the Netherlands

General Editor s Preface

This book reexamines the basic — yet changing — concepts which have marked and served anthropology for at least the century since Edward B. Tylor defined "culture in the anthropological sense." The book demonstrates the continuing validity of these concepts despite the radical changes felt by the world in the middle of a process of decolonialization. Its origin was a Congress which encouraged scholars from all over the world to propose publishable papers in the areas of their special interests. All who responded were sent abstracts of all of the papers proposed. That so many countries took as their subject an aspect of the concept of culture proved to the editor of this book that there exists the need for, as well as the possibility of, a worldwide updating of what is still central as well as problematic in anthropological thought. Like most contemporary sciences, anthropology is a product of the European tradition. Some argue that it is a product of colonialism, with one small and self-interested part of the species dominating the study of the whole. If we are to understand the species, our science needs substantial input from scholars who represent a variety of the world's cultures. It was a deliberate purpose of the IXth International Congress of Anthropological and Ethnological Sciences to provide impetus in this direction. The World Anthropology volumes, therefore, offer a first glimpse of a human science in which members from all societies have played an active role. Each of the books is designed to be self-contained; each is an attempt to update its particular sector of scientific knowledge and is written by specialists from all parts of the world. Each volume should be read and reviewed individually as a separate volume on its own given subject. The set as a whole will indicate what

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General Editor's Preface

changes are in store for anthropology as scholars from the developing countries join in studying the species of which we are all a part. The IXth Congress was planned from the beginning not only to include as many of the scholars from every part of the world as possible, but also with a view toward the eventual publication of the papers in high-quality volumes. At previous Congresses scholars were invited to bring papers which were then read out loud. They were necessarily limited in length; many were only summarized; there was little time for discussion; and the sparse discussion could only be in one language. The IXth Congress was an experiment aimed at changing this. Papers were written with the intention of exchanging them before the Congress, particularly in extensive pre-Congress sessions; they were not intended to be read aloud at the Congress, that time being devoted to discussions — discussions which were simultaneously and professionally translated into five languages. The method for eliciting the papers was structured to make as representative a sample as was allowable when scholarly creativity — hence self-selection — was critically important. Scholars were asked both to propose papers of their own and to suggest topics for sessions of the Congress which they might edit into volumes. All were then informed of the suggestioas and encouraged to rethink their own papers and the topics. The process, therefore, was a continuous one of feedback and exchange and it has continued to be so even after the Congress. The some two thousand papers comprising World Anthropology certainly then offer a substantial sample of world anthropology. It has been said that anthropology is at a turning point; if this is so, these volumes will be the historical direction markers. As might have been foreseen in the first postcolonial generation, the large majority of the Congress papers (82 percent) are the work of scholars identified with the industrialized world which fathered our traditional discipline and the institution of the Congress itself: Eastern Europe (15 percent); Western Europe (16 percent); North America (47 percent); Japan, South Africa, Australia, and New Zealand (4 percent). Only 18 percent of the papers are from developing areas: Africa (4 percent); Asia-Oceania (9 percent); Latin America (5 percent). Aside from the substantial representation from the U.S.S.R. and the nations of Eastern Europe, a significant difference between this corpus of written material and that of other Congresses is the addition of the large proportion of contributions from Africa, Asia, and Latin America. "Only 18 percent" is two to four times as great a proportion as that of other Congresses; moreover, 18 percent of 2,000 papers is 360 papers, 10 times the number of "Third World" papers presented at previous Con-

General Editor's Preface

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gresses. In fact, these 360 papers are more than the total of all papers published after the last International Congress of Anthropological and Ethnological Sciences which was held in the United States (Philadelphia, 1956). The significance of the increase is not simply quantitative. The input of scholars from areas which have until recently been no more than subject matter for anthropology represents both feedback and also long-awaited theoretical contributions from the perspectives of very different cultural, social, and historical traditions. Many who attended the IXth Congress were convinced that anthropology would not be the same in the future. The fact that the next Congress (India, 1978) will be our first in the "Third World" may be symbolic of the change. Meanwhile, sober consideration of the present set of books will show how much, and just where and how, our discipline is being revolutionized. The other books in this series which relate closely to this volume are the many which deal with cultures of particular geographic areas; with special fields like psychological, linguistic, and educational anthropology; and with population, medical, ecological, and social problems where the concepts are put to use. Chicago, Illinois September 7, 1976

SOL T A X

Table of Contents

General Editor's Preface

ν

Introduction by Bernardo Bernardi

1

PART ONE: THE CONCEPT OF CULTURE

An Analysis of the Concept of Culture by Etienne Vermeersch

9

The Concept of Culture: A New Presentation by Bernardo Bernardi

75

The Meaning of "Sociocultural" by Morris Freilich

89

The Concept of Culture in the System of Modern Sciences by E. S. Markarian

103

A Unified Theory of Society-Field Aspect by D. Sengupta

119

PART TWO: THE DYNAMICS OF CULTURE

Anthropological Criteria for a Notion of Progress by Theodore Papadopoullos

143

χ

Table of Contents

The Segregative and Integrative Functions of Culture by S. A. Tokarev

167

Ecosystem Analogies in Cultural Ecology by John W. Bennett

177

Energy and Culture by Eugene E. Ruyle

209

Anthropology and "Energology" by A. Varagnac

239

PART THREE: THE EPISTEMOLOGY OF CULTURE

Meaning in Culture by F. Allan Hanson

247

Do Anthropologists Explain? by Gopäla Sarana

263

The Contribution of Cultural Anthropology to Scholarship by Jean Belin-Milleron

283

Economic Anthropology and Developmental Theories by Fabrizio Sabelli

287

Genetic Epistemology, Marxism, and Anthropology by Gerald Berthoud

295

PART FOUR: THE SYSTEMATIC STUDY OF CULTURE

Study of Man's Horizon-Creation: A Perspective for Cultural Anthropology by Tibor Horvath

315

The Object of Ethnology by Ugo Bianchi

331

The Concept of Integral Anthropology by Joseph Wolf

341

Table of

Contents

Integration Processes in Complex Societies by Β. Haussen Panculture: A Hominization-Derived Processual Taxonomy from Murdock's Universal Basics by Henry G. Burger

χι

345

419

Interrelationships of Individual, Cultural, and Pan-Human Values by C. R. Welte

475

Anthropologists and Their Terminologies by Ikenna Nzimiro

503

PART FIVE: CULTURAL DIFFERENTIATIONS

Toward a Theory of American Culture by Wanda Avila

523

On the Scientific Content of the "National Character" Concept by E. A. Bagramov

547

Rethinking Hopi Social Organization by Stephen William Foster

555

Religio-Anthropological Depth Research by Juha Pentikäinen

569

Human Coexistence and Culture by Pierre A. Radwanski

589

Biographical Notes

599

Index of Names

607

Index of Subjects

615

Introduction

BERNARDO BERNARDI

The present book collects the reports presented to Session 624 of the IXth International Congress of Anthropological and Ethnological Sciences, Chicago, September 1973. The nature of this collection does not allow the editor any other systematic order of the papers than that requested by the occasion of the reports, i.e. the International Congress. The reports were not conceived, nor written, as integral parts of a general plan and single design perceived as a common basis of research and analysis to which every author would have contributed his personal effort. Each represents an autonomous essay, the expression of a specific scientific interest of its own author, which, by sheer coincidence, was found to converge with other writers' interests. The convergence of these interests was the prime motivation for organizing, within the general frame of the International Congress, a special session on the general concepts and theory of culture. Indeed, it should be recalled that no such session had been foreseen in the initial scheme of work set up by the Organizing Committee of the Congress. The session was suggested by the editor of the present volume, who signalled the large number of reports with a broad coincidence of the subject matter regarding the theoretical aspects of cultural and social anthropology, included in the Plan of the Congress and Resumes of Contributions to the Congress Received Before 31 January 1973. The Organizing Committee responded immediately, agreeing to the need for a special session on that theme, and the participants who were asked to take part in the project were also unanimous. The most significant characteristic of the present book is, therefore, the scientific autonomy of the essays it contains. This, apparently, could be considered a shortcoming; it is, in fact, an advantage. While

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the editor had no other choice than to juxtapose the papers freely submitted to the Congress and set aside for Session 624, their unexpected convergence on a single theme, however broad and general, as well as on some aspects of the same theme (as shown by the sections of the volume), constitutes a conspicuous evidence of the present trend of thought among living anthropologists regarding the idea of culture. Perhaps it should be noted that the participants were not all strictly anthropologists. Some were philosophers, others folklorists, linguists, and of various other denominations. Their presence was a sign of the universal interest that the subject had excited. The present collection of essays reflects somehow that same catholicity. It is, however, a legitimate question to ask whether, and how far, a collection of essays such as this can be described as representative of the anthropological situation on the concept of culture of our present time. There is no easy reply to that question. We shall first remark that the authors of these essays had been gathered to Chicago from the farthest countries of the world, each representing his own school of thought or a different academic extraction. None, however, of these facts has been taken into consideration by the editor, and the order of the book's contents has been based exclusively on the subject matter of every paper. In this sense the spontaneous nature of the papers occasioned by the Congress can be said to take on a special significance and to give relevance to this ensemble of essays as a sample of the anthropological thought in the world today. The Congress Session on General Concepts and Theory was viewed as a stocktaking. The concept of culture has been a consistent topic of discussion within modern anthropology since its inception as a systematic discipline. The definition of culture by Edward B. Tylor, at the end of the last century, has become a commonplace of anthropological doctrine. After about three-quarters of a century, in 1952, Kluckhohn and Kroeber assembled a large sequence of definitions, that had been attempted by anthropologists following after Tylor, with a view to attaining a deeper insight into the idea of culture through a comparative analysis. More than two decades have elapsed since the work of Kluckhohn and Kroeber, and the International Congress of Chicago afforded a proper opportunity for ascertaining what development, if any, had occurred in the meanwhile. It seems pertinent to note that the idea of culture is one of the acquisitions in language and thought of modern anthropology. When I speak of acquisitions I refer to concepts that have become self-evident in the sense that their basic meaning does not need to be further ex-

Introduction

3

plained and which, therefore, can be used univocally in common language not only among experts but also by laymen. Anthropological discussion of the idea of culture has been going on and still continues, but it now regards the peculiar aspects of that idea, not its basic meaning. Such basic meaning distinguishes the anthropological concept from other usages of the word culture. Indeed, whatever is the actual definition that may be given of the idea of culture (and the work of Kluckhohn and Kroeber as well as this present volume shows how large that possibility is), the anthropological meaning of the term is neatly distinct from the literary sense that is still largely used in literature and which I propose to describe as "humanistic." We can thus say that, at present, there are two senses of the word culture: one anthropological, the other humanistic. These two qualifications, anthropological and humanistic, if taken literally, sound paradoxically tautological, and need to be precisely explained. In the present context the term "anthropology" and its derivative "anthropological" refer to the sciences of man in the sense by which the International Congresses of Anthropological and Ethnological Sciences, as the one in Chicago, are convened. "Humanism" and "humanistic" have reference to the study and rediscovery of the classical world, Roman and Greek, that distinguished the Italian Renaissance of the fifteenth century and that, since then, have qualified the ancient classical texts. The reevaluation of the ancient, "pagan," writers, for the most part disregarded and almost forgotten for some centuries by Christian thought, brought about a confrontation between a " p a g a n " (no longer taken as debased or areligious) and a "Christian" mode of life, between a "theological" and a "humanistic" vision of the world. This deep antithesis stands at the root of modern thought, which is ever more consistently and radically detached from a theological vision of the world and has characterized it as "humanistic culture." Such a culture was founded on the knowledge of classic wisdom and its development into modern thought (which latter could also be described, but only in a very broad way, as Christian). It was a type of knowledge reserved to the few, a culture of the elites. Not only did it require the know-how for reading and writing, denied for so many centuries to the majority of men, but it reached its true accomplishment in a standard of education that could only be obtained at school and university, both open to even fewer people. These limitations have been kept up by social, economic, and political conditions. When these were overcome in some degree, either by violent and revolutionary breakthroughs or by the internal developments of the situation, the humanistic idea of culture continued to represent the true

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pattern of knowledge; and even today, by some phenomenon of mental laziness, it still stands as such for too many a scholar. The humanistic culture developed as a boundary of social division and caused a state of confusion and incomprehension between the so-called "cultured m a n " and the "common m a n , " humanistically described as vulgus. A cultured man was a "well-read m a n , " the knowledge of reading and writing being opposed to the common sense of the common man. Humanistic culture was, thus, equivocal and restrictive, a sort of special producer goods to be offered to highly selected consumers. Anthropology could but refuse such a biased concept, and had to develop a new one, essentially different, unrestrictive, and omnicomprehensive. For anthropology the opposition "cultured m a n " and "common m a n " makes no sense. M a n as such is a cultured man. Every man by his behavior reflects a precise mode, or at least an attempt to express a precise mode, of relationship towards other men and the other beings of the universe. Of course, that opposition might have, as in point of fact it has, a historical value in connection with a definite society in space and time. It indicates a peculiar trait of a culture system in history, but should not be taken as basic and universal. The anthropological concept is not discriminatory. It regards all modes of life with respect. Whatever the actual form it takes in history, whatever its structural laws, if any, culture, in the anthropological sense, describes a living reality. It needs no books, even if it can be preserved and conveyed also through books. What is confided to books is always, in any case, a past reality which, at best, can lead to a renaissance, i.e. to some reinterpretation. The new interpretation will be different, adjusted to the present. Culture is as dynamic as life, and is made manifest by modes and institutions of the individuals and peoples of the world. Every man is, thus, the active and creative carrier of culture; he can be seen, using for once a classic mythological figure, like Atlas carrying the globe of culture on his shoulders. While it is carried by man, every man, culture develops and is maintained alive. Such a concept is radically different f r o m the humanistic one. It qualifies anthropology as a science and a discipline, entirely distinct f r o m other sciences and disciplines that were, in the past, part of the humanistic ideal of education. It is this new meaning of the word that can be considered an acquisition of modern anthropology. The consensus of the anthropologists on this basic datum can be described as unanimous. The anthropological concept of culture is an important achievement that can contribute to social progress, overcoming any type of cultural and social discrimination and disparagement.

Beyond that generic and basic datum, the consensus of the anthropologists is no longer unanimous. Legitimately they carry on their discussion on all the peculiar facets of the general concept, on the relationship between nature and culture, on the dynamics of culture, and so on. It is part of the vitality of cultural and social anthropology, and of their claim, as scientific disciplines, to lead to a deeper understanding of man, both as individual and ethnic groups. The special session of the Chicago Congress and the present volume are to be set within this scientific perspective, and have been inspired by the urge of a reevaluation and new refinements of the anthropological approach to the idea of culture. The order of the papers reproduces the one approved by the participants to the Congress, except for the further division of a fifth section (Part four in the present volume) on the systematic study of culture. For the reasons aforesaid no rigid criterion was followed in the assignment of the essays to each section. I feel, as editor, that the mere presentation of the papers serves the scope of the book better than other personal comments. 1 The reader will have, thus, an autonomous chance to evaluate for himself the present situation of the anthropological thought as was evidenced by the Congress of Chicago.

1

It was also decided not to include the text of the public discussion that actually took place at Chicago because, as is frequently the case in huge and overcrowded meetings, we realized some practical difficulties of space and time that did not permit a kind of participation and development of the arguments that make them significant.

PART ONE

The Concept of Culture

An Analysis of the Concept of Culture

ETIENNE VERMEERSCH

Kroeber and Kluckhohn (1952) are entitled to the credit of first having stated the problem of defining the culture concept and of having prepared a further analysis of this problem by a comprehensive survey of a great number of remarkable definitions coined before 1950. The importance of such an inquiry cannot be denied since "culture" is a key concept in cultural anthropology. The same notion has also been given considerable attention in a branch of philosophy called philosophical anthropology: it has proved indispensable to everybody wishing to make a serious investigation into the nature of man (cf. Gehlen 1950; Landmann 1961; Rothacker 1965). Sooner or later, interdisciplinary research in the social sciences will result, by a process of convergence, in a unified science of man which will provide a theoretical basis for the various social or behavioral sciences and even for the humanities. In this unified science, the culture concept — or at least a concept closely related to it — will play a central part. Since this notion, however, has strong connections with other ones, such as learning, symbol, etc., no definition can be conclusive, unless we have a theory to link these key concepts. Nonetheless, preparatory to this unified science, it may be interesting to analyze the existing definitions, to point out which of the criteria mentioned are relevant and which not, and, finally, to propose new attempts. In this way we may hope to reach a deeper insight into the problems concerned and a better view of the characteristics necessary to an adequate definition. Therefore, the purpose of this paper is: firstly to make some remarks upon the set of definitions collected by Kroeber and Kluckhohn (1); secondly to examine some important articles more recently published on this subject (2);

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ETIENNE VERMEERSCH

and to suggest a solution of my own (3); which will be submitted to the same tests as the preceding ones (4); and of which the theoretical usefulness will be briefly examined (5). This solution cannot be considered a definitive one, given the state of the science, but perhaps it will be better fitted to resist criticism and will enter into a unified science more easily.

1. KROEBER AND KLUCKHOHN 1.1.1 It should be observed at the very beginning of the investigation that the culture concept I intend to analyze and to define, is restricted mainly to the meaning of this term in cultural anthropology and does not include the very divergent uses of it in literature and everyday language. There are many reasons for this restriction. First, the authors mentioned above are also chiefly concerned with this meaning of the term; second, we are not interested here in descriptions of language use, but in the search for a concept that should be sufficiently important to provide one of the cornerstones of a science; and, third, I will try to prove that some of the other meanings of this term can be clarified starting from my point of view. The first man to introduce this clear scientific meaning of "culture" was Tylor in his famous book Primitive culture (1871), where we find the following definition: "Culture, or civilization, ... is that complex whole which includes knowledge, belief, art, law, morals, custom, and any other capabilities and habits acquired by man as a member of society." The great merit of this definition lies in the fact that it points to a series of phenomena which are important and interdependent enough to become the objects of a separate science. As a first definition it may be called excellent because it indicates a direction for research without imposing too arbitrary limitations: the criterion "acquired" is sufficiently vague, and the list of phenomena does not claim to be exhaustive. It will be the task of the newly created science itself to define its boundaries more precisely and to make out which criteria must be stressed. As appears from the inquiry made by Kroeber and Kluckhohn — who collected some 160 definitions — only limited progress in this direction was made from 1871 to 1920. From that period they can quote only 6 new definitions. For the following decades, the number increases steadily: 22 from 1920 to 1930, 35 between 1930 and 1940, and 100 from 1940 to 1950. The increasing number of attempts at formulating a definition is without doubt symptomatic of the growing interest in the subject matter, but does not necessarily imply an increase in quality of the defini-

An Analysis of the Concept of Culture

11

tions proposed. In fact, many are undoubtedly inferior to Tylor's; but, on the other hand, some reveal new points of view and new characteristics which constitute a real progress. The first thing I propose to do in this paper is to analyze the heterogeneous whole of these definitions and to try to find an order or classification of the numerous items mentioned in them. It should be recognized that Kroeber and Kluckhohn have also made such an endeavor: according to the aspects stressed, they divide the whole into 14 categories. For my purpose, however, their classification turned out to be hardly illuminating, and I therefore prefer to start from an entirely different point of view. 1.1.2. To define a term which refers to a class of objects (or a part of a continuum) we have to point out the means to distinguish clearly between the intended objects (or part of the continuum) and all other objects (the rest of the continuum). From a theoretical point of view, the simplest method to do so is to establish a criterion which permits us to determine whether we are in or out of the indicated field. As for the demarcation within a continuum, this method is the only one possible. I shall call this method "definition by criterion." With classes of objects, another method consists in summing up the objects (or groups of them), or pointing them out one by one. Let this be "enumerative definition." It is important to remark that I do not mention definitions of individual entities in this context, the simple reason is that I do not consider culture as an entity. In accordance with Tylor's views, and with a great number of later definitions, I prefer to speak about culture as a complex of phenomena which I shall call "cultural objects." This is not a philosophical or arbitrary point of departure, but a necessary condition for anyone who wishes to begin his analysis with a minimal number of presuppositions. Indeed, the conception that culture is a single entity takes for granted that the various components of it, such as religion, art, custom, etc., are so strongly and invariably connected with each other as to form a single existing thing, much like the cells constituting the body of a living being. This may be a true hypothesis, but it still is a hypothesis, and consequently it is not suitable as a basis for a definition because it excludes the possibility that these strong relationships among the components may not exist. On the other hand, the assumption that culture is a complex of cultural objects does not exclude the possibility of finding these strong relationships if they really occur. If culture is not an entity we have to ask ourselves whether it is a part of a continuum or a class of entities. This distinction should not be overlooked, for, while it is possible, in the case of a continuum, to give

12 ETIENNE VERMEERSCH

an adequate definition by providing only a criterion of demarcation, this is not true with a class of objects. In this case we also need a "principle of individuation," i.e. a second criterion by which the objects are shown to be distinct from each other. For example after having circumscribed the class of languages (which answers the question: "when is something a language?") we are confronted with the problem of how to distinguish them ("when do languages differ?" e.g. "are English and American different languages?"). Consequently, if we do not consider culture as a continuum we shall have to ask: (i) "when is something a cultural object?" (definition of the class) and (ii) "when are cultural objects distinct objects?" (principle of individuation). Obviously, a complete enumerative definition cannot be given unless there is such a principle; on the other hand a "definition by criterion" is possible in both cases. In the present inquiry I shall start with the working hypothesis that a principle of individuation exists, even if it is not possible to make it explicit for the time being. There are two reasons for this: (i) I am sure that this hypothesis is true and I will prove it in part 3 of the paper; (ii) I start with this certainty now because it will facilitate the discussion of the definitions quoted by Kroeber and Kluckhohn. 1.1.3. Perhaps one can think that I am going too far with these abstract preliminary remarks on the problem of definition. A careful examination, however, of the mistakes and weaknesses of our predecessors, demonstrates that much confusion is due to a lack of adequate insight into the logical status or type of the concept they want to define. If it were explicitly stated in every definition that the culture concept concerned is to be understood as "the class of cultural objects [entities, phenomena]," it would be impossible to begin the definition with terms such as "culture is the process by which..." (Radcliffe-Brown 1949),"culture ... is a statement of the design of the human maze..." (Miller and Dollard 1941), since these terms denote without doubt an entity. 1 The neglect of another distinction has caused even more confusion and disagreement. When speaking about language, we can use this word in a general sense, for example: "real thinking is impossible without language," or, "language is an important characteristic of human beings," or we can use it in a more restrictive sense: "French is a beautiful language," or, "I do not understand that language." With regard to culture an analogous distinction must be made: I can speak about culture in a 1

In this section the citations for the definitions I quote have no corresponding entry in my reference list, since they have only an explanatory purpose and since all of them can be found easily in Kroeber and Kluckhohn's book.

An Analysis of the Concept of Culture

13

general way: "culture distinguishes men from animals," or "anthropology is the science of culture," but also about a particular culture, for example: "The Hopi Indians have a very interesting culture," "Ruth Benedict studied Japanese culture." In what follows I shall speak about the general concept of culture when we are concerned with the first meaning, and about the individuative concept when the second sense is meant; in the first case I use the word culture without article, whereas I use the expressions "a culture" or "a particular culture" in the second case. Although the difference between the two notions seems trivial, it is undoubtedly important, and few authors have realized that it should always be made explicit with relation to the problem of definition. To give one example among many; compare the following definitions by Kluckhohn: "By'culture'anthropology means the total way of life of a people, the social legacy the individual acquires from his group"; "culture designates those aspects of the total human environment... that have been created by men" (emphasis supplied). The reader will have understood that the purpose of the present article is mainly to provide an analysis and definition of the general culture concept, that is, the class of all cultural objects; only afterwards will it be possible to define the individuative concept in terms of the general notion. 1.1.4. As one would expect after the foregoing analysis, the definitions collected by Kroeber and Kluckhohn can be divided into three categories: enumerative definitions, definitions by criterion, and definitions using a combination of both methods. On a first view of the matter, definitions of the third kind seem most satisfactory, because they are more adapted to an adequate expression of what the author has in mind. Indeed, what is obscure and incomplete in one approach may be clarified and completed in the other. Tylor's definition is of the third kind: first an enumeration and then a criterion (acquired by man...). As a more recent example we may quote Wilson and Kolb (1949): "Culture consists of the patterns and products of learned behavior — etiquette, language, food habits, religious beliefs, the use of artifacts, systems of knowledge, and so on." In this case the enumeration follows the criterion. The disadvantage of such a combination — didactically useful as it may be — lies in the uncertainty about its status: should it be classified with the first category or with the second, or with both? In each case it must meet the requirements of the category referred to. From a strictly formal point of view one category cannot possibly counterbalance the imperfections of the other. So one must make a separate analysis of enumerative and criterion definitions to see whether any definitive results have been achieved.

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ETIENNE VERMEERSCH

1.2.1. Enumerative definitions are always in danger of being incomplete and, consequently, inadequate. It is nevertheless instructive to have a survey of a great number of them, in order to determine what kinds of phenomena the different authors consider as cultural objects and which of them are mentioned frequently. Of course, enumerative definitions never sum up all particular cultural objects, but rather indicate sets of them, subclasses of the general class which we will call components of culture. Though these subclasses of phenomena are referred to in an extremely variable terminology, I believe that it is possible and useful to classify them into a small number of groups. In the following survey I give the most important and most current terms in italics, and between parentheses I add some related expressions which are also commonly used. 1.2.1.1. First of all, a large group may be described as "mental states and processes." These are entities present (or postulated) in the minds of people and detectable only insofar as they influence overt behavior or are expressed in language. These states of mind may be of cognitive, emotional, or evaluative (normative) kind: knowledge (science, communicated intelligence), ideas (concepts), beliefs (thought); attitudes (feelings, tastes, preferences); values (ideals, goals), morals (codes, standards). 1.2.1.2. A number of terms refer to regularly repeated patterns of behavior of individuals or groups, whether or not connected with specific times or situations: habits (habit patterns); customs (mores, usages, ways of life). In this group should also be classed less accurate but oftenused terms such as: behavior (repetitive, learned, behavior patterns, conduct), acts (actions, activities), responses (repetitive, response sequences). 1.2.1.3. The third group consists of a series of part-mental, part-material acquisitions, which enable man to achieve some specific aims. They may be classed under two headings: (a) methods of communication, language·, (b) skills (techniques, abilities, capabilities, industries, crafts); important examples are often mentioned: use of tools (of shelter, of weapons), art. 1.2.1.4. The products of human activity can be divided into: (a) material products (equipment, goods), tools (implements, utensils, instruments), artifacts (books, buildings, ornament, paintings); (b) non-material products, which are, strangely enough, rarely mentioned in definitions; examples would be: songs, stories, pieces of music, etc.

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1.2.1.5. The fifth and last group includes everything related to the concept of institution. This is a notion which is not easy to define; it refers to the conglomerate of standardized behavior patterns and mutual attitudes of a group of people. The examples mentioned are: organization (social and political), law, marriage, property system, religion. These five groups cover practically everything which, up to now, anthropologists (but also sociologists, economists, psychologists, archaeologists, and philosophers) have regarded as belonging to the class of cultural objects. Yet none of the existing definitions has enumerated them all; there are even authors who utterly refuse to accept some of the items mentioned into their definition (e.g. artifacts). Other weaknesses will be revealed further on, but in spite of them it will be indispensable to keep the above survey in mind, especially when we come to check further attempts at definition. 1.2.2. At first sight it is possible to distinguish two kinds of definitions by criterion: empirical and theoretical. Empirical criteria are those which can be established by observation. The setting forth of theoretical criteria presupposes knowledge of the subjects, sufficient to build up a theory by which the characteristics of these objects, and the relations between them, can be explained. In cultural anthropology this theoretical basis is far from being developed; consequently, empirical criteria should be preferred, unless one finds a really new criterion, permitting one to construct a reliable and adequate theory. Up to now, such a criterion does not seem to exist. Although empirical criteria too have proved unsatisfactory, they are less dangerous from a methodological point of view, because they imply less hypotheses and hence can be changed more easily. My attempt at classification of the criteria to be found in Kroeber and Kluckhohn's collection, should not be considered as the only one possible: the interpretation of the terms meant as criteria is not always easy. Therefore, while following the same method of quoting as many terms as possible (some in italics, others between parentheses), I will also give examples of definitions in order to prevent misinterpretation. 1.2.2.1. The first group consists of expressions which stress the fact that cultural objects belong to more than one individual at the same time and also to individuals of successive generations; we could call this a social and historical dimension. a. The social dimension is reflected in a series of definitions which attribute the adjectives shared or common to cultural objects: they are always proper to a group of men. An often-added normative aspect appears

16

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in expressions such as group accepted, standardized, regularized. Examples: "The general term for these common and accepted ways of thinking and acting is culture" (Young 1934); "...culture: the ideas and standards they have in common" (Benedict 1934); "... a summation for all the ideas for standardized types of behavior" (Kluckhohn and Kelly 1945). b. The historical dimension (which always includes the social one) is no doubt the criterion set forth in the greatest number of definitions. It stresses that cultural phenomena "are acquired by man as a member of societyand that they are handed down (passed down), from one generation to another. They are traditional, group-transmitted, received from previous groups. The class of these phenomena is often completely identified with social heritage (heredity, inheritance, legacy). Examples: "This social heritage is the key concept of cultural anthropology. It is usually called culture" (Malinowski 1931); "...the social heredity is called culture" (Linton 1936); "Culture means the whole complex of traditional behavior..." (Mead 1937). The social dimension is certainly an empirical criterion: it can easily be found out whether some ideas, habits, etc., are common to the members of a given group. The historical dimension can be established if we possess a number of data on the group at different periods, and if we know how the younger people are educated and in how far they adopt the habits of the older members of the group. 1.2.2.2. The second group contains characteristics of a more theoretical kind; it is, however, not always clear whether they should be attributed to the general or to the individuative culture concept. a. It is widely held that the notions adaptation and adjustment, which apparently come from biology, can be used in the science of culture as well. Cultural objects then become ways of adjusting (men's adjustments), adaptive, useful behavior. The influence of psychology is apparent in some kindred expressions claiming that these objects are ways of solving problems, ways in which needs are satisfied (gratified). Examples: "The sum of men's adjustments to their life conditions is their culture or civilization" (Sumner 1927); "Culture consists of traditional ways of solving problems" (Ford 1942); "The culture of a people may be defined as the sum total of the material and intellectual equipment whereby they satisfy their biological and social needs and adapt themselves to their environment" (Piddington 1950). b. According to some authors, culture always forms an integrated whole. The component parts of a culture are then called interrelated (intercorrelated, interdependent, interlinked); they are in constant

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interaction and are integrated into a system (an organization, a structure, a configuration, a pattern). Sometimes it is added that they are functionally interrelated, but in other cases no specification is given as to what kind of relations are really meant. Examples: "A culture consists of inventions or culture traits, integrated into a system, with varying degrees of correlation between the parts..." (Ogburn andNimkofF 1940); "A culture is a system of interrelated and interdependent habit patterns of response" (Willey 1929). c. In striking contrast with the great number of passages where the traditional character of culture is stressed, we find only a few instances where the dynamic aspect is referred to: dynamic order, dynamic process. Cultural change is indeed a phenomenon which should be studied in anthropology, but it is too general to be used as a criterion. Examples: "...human culture in general may be understood as the dynamic process and product of the self-cultivation of human nature..." (Bidney 1947); "As a sociologist the reality to which I regard the word 'culture' as applying is the process of cultural tradition..." (Radcliffe-Brown 1949). d. It was sometimes attempted to elucidate the meaning of the culture concept by comparing it to the notion of personality. Examples: "Culture is to society what personality is to the organism" (Katz and Schank 1938); "Culture is the collective side of personality; personality the subjective aspect of culture" (Faris 1937). e. For the sake of completeness I have to mention one more theoretical criterion, whose importance should not be ovei estimated, namely the psychoanalytic definition, as, for example, with Roheim (1934): "By culture we shall understand the sum of all sublimations, all substitutes, or reaction formations, in short, everything in society that inhibits impulses or permits their distorted satisfaction." The opinion that the five instances of this second group are of a more theoretical nature could not easily be challenged. Firstly, the empirical import of them is dubious; in a lot of cases it would be very difficult to make out by observation whether cultural phenomena are adaptive, interrelated or dynamic, and their relation to personality and sublimations is even more obscure. Secondly, the present state of research does certainly not admit a final decision as to the truth of statements which ascribe the characteristics of integration, adaptation, etc. to cultural objects; consequently they are no more than hypotheses. 1.2.2.3. Unlike the purely extrinsic space and time dimensions and the the theoretical attributes, a third group seems to point to the right direction. It consists of criteria which lead to a better insight into the

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conditions which determine the creation and the survival of cultural objects. In this way, intrinsic qualities may be approached more nearly. a. The answer to the question of how cultural objects are created, is used in several definitions as the only criterion of cultural objects: they are created (or modified) by man, man-made, produced (invented) by man, artificial. Examples: "The term culture is employed in this book in the sociological sense, signifying everything that is man-made..." (Bernard 1942); "A short and useful definition is: culture is the man-made part of the environment" (Herskovits 1948); "The term culture is used to signify the sum total of human creations..." (Reuter 1939). b. The question of how cultural objects survive, how they are transmitted, is first answered in a negative way: they are transmitted independently of genetic inheritance, (non-genetic transmission, — communication). For example: "Humans, as distinct from other animals, have a culture — that is, a social heritage — transmitted not biologically through the germ cells but independently of genetic inheritance" (Jacobs and Stern 1947). The same way of thinking also appears in the phrase: "Culture might be defined as all the activities and non-physiological products of human personalities that are not automatically reflex or instinctive" (Kroeber 1948). c. Under the influence of psychology, many anthropologists have thought it possible to answer the question about survival in a positive way. Culture then becomes: learned behavior (activities), everything acquired by learning (conditioning). Examples: "...culture... may be defined as all behavior learned by the individual in conformity with a group..." (Davis 1948); "...culture is the sociological term for learned behavior, behavior which in man is not given at birth..." (Benedict 1947). These few quotations, chosen from a large number of similar ones, show how many American anthropologists have been influenced by the behavioristic learning theories; but also how uncritical this influence has often been. In the first place it should be stated that not all learned behavior is a cultural phenomenon. Who would agree to accept as separate cultural objects all particular bits of behavior, all particular response sequences, for example every performance of a rainmaker or of the "Beatles"? In this way cultural objects would not only be innumerable but even quite uninteresting for a science. In the second place, it cannot be said that all learned behavior is cultural, since animals also learn; even to such an extent that almost all learning theories are based upon experiments with animals. d. Some scholars solved the first difficulty by introducing the notion

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of pattern: they speak of patterns of learned behavior, of habit (action), patterned ways of behavior, forms of action. Sometimes this patterncriterion is used without mentioning the learning aspect. Anyway, this is a considerable improvement, because for the first time an intrinsic quality of cultural objects is discovered: they are patterned. Examples: "Culture: the behavior patterns of all groups, called the way of life" (Bennett andTumin 1949); "Culture... consists in those patterns relative to behavior and the products of human action which may be inherited... independently of the biological genes" (Parsons 1949); "Culture is the sum total of learned behavior patterns which are characteristic of the members of a society" (Hoebel 1949). e. Only few scholars seem to have noticed the second difficulty (animals too learn patterns); they come near to a solution by specifying the kind of learning involved: cultural objects are learned from other persons, by imitation, instruction, teaching; they are developed under guidance. Examples: "...the sum total of ideas, conditioned emotional responses, and patterns of habitual behavior which the members of that society have acquired through instruction or imitation and which they share to a greater or less degree" (Linton 1936); "Culture is those habits which humans have because they have been learned (not necessarily without modification) from other humans" (Hocket 1950). f. Another improvement upon the "learning" criterion is set forth by those who state that cultural entities are mediated by symbols, dependent upon the use of symbols. This could be considered as a further explanation of the notion "learned from others"; yet, the authors in question do not seem to make this connection. Examples: "As cultural ideas are said to be 'those whose possessors are able to communicate them by means of symbols', symbolically-communicable should be substituted for cultural above" (Blumenthal 1937) "Culture... includes... habitual attitudes of mind transferable from one person to another with the aid of mental images conveyed by speech symbols..." (Bose 1929); "Culture is all behavior mediated by symbols" (Bain 1942); "Culture is an organisation of phenomena... which consists of or is dependent upon the use of symbols" (White 1943). g. In the first two quotations above appears another aspect which might pass unnoticed if it were not specially stressed: cultural objects are transferase, communicai/e; which does not mean that they are necessarily transferred, but that they can be transferred. In this way more prominence is given to an intrinsic quality, the existence of which does not depend on its already having manifested itself. With Bose, the insistence on this point seems to be well considered; in another definition

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he writes: "...we may describe culture as including such behavior as is common among a group of men and which is capable of transmission from generation to generation, or from one country to another" (1929). Other examples are: "Culture is communicable intelligence..." (Marett 1928), and the definition of Parsons quoted above. The way in which I have presented these last series as successive specifications of the notion of non-genetic transmission is somewhat misleading: one might get the impression that, in this way, the definitions of culture have been gradually improved. This, however, is not true. Nuances introduced by one author have been neglected by another. This goes especially for the last four aspects, which are mentioned by a few authors only and never all at a time. Although I do not agree with the choice of most of the criteria quoted above, I am convinced that the present survey — which I hope is exhaustive — can be very useful in order to understand intuitively what anthropologists have in mind when they are talking about culture and to check further attempts at definition.

1.3. Whoever would submit the definitions referred to in our surveys (enumerations and criteria) to a critical analysis, would distrust from the very beginning their number and variety. Moreover, as this variety can be instanced even in recent works, there seems to be little progress made: uncertainty and dissatisfaction are the first impressions one gets from this study. In defense of this kind of definition it might be argued that they are unfairly censured since the criticism is based on their being understood too literally. I am willing to accept that the authors did not really make mistakes: sometimes they have only explanatory or didactic purposes and, generally, their intention is better than their wording. But, after all, I do not intend to accuse people of a lack of insight: I am only concerned with the definitions themselves. The aim is to show that they do not fulfill the strict requirements of scientific definitions, and one of the most important of these requirements is that they can be understood literally·, otherwise they remain vague and cannot be used for a verifiable theory. 2 1.3.1. The criticism on enumerative definitions and their components can be very short. Firstly they are almost necessarily incomplete and the 2

Criticisms analogous to mine can be found in Kroeber and Kluckhohn (1952) and in the articles of L. A. White and Anderson and Moore, which are analyzed in section 2 of the present paper; cf. also A. C. Cafagna (1960).

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examples quoted by Kroeber and Kluckhohn do not deviate from this rule. Secondly there is no unanimity with regard to the question of which components are to be included in the definition; some authors stated explicitly that the products of human activity are not cultural objects. Finally, a number of terms used in the enumeration of the components are themselves in need of clarification (what are institutions?) and others can certainly not be accepted without some restrictions ("behavior" and "feelings" arc too general to be included without reserve). 1.3.2. In what follows, the definitions by criterion are dealt with somewhat more extensively because these criticisms may give us a better insight into the intuitive meaning of what is to be defined and will prepare in this way our own tackling of the problem. 1.3.2.1. Definitions emphasizing the social and historical dimension have the advantage of mentioning aspects the meaning of which is relatively clear; these characteristics can be easily detected in most cases. A further advantage of these definitions is that they draw the attention to the fact that the study of culture is mainly interested in phenomena with a social repercussion: events, ways of behaving and ideas which are of a strictly unique character, which cannot be repeated and which have no social response or consequences should not be considered cultural objects. They also stress the role of inheritance as an important phenomenon in the science of culture. It cannot be maintained, however, that cultural objects should be shared by all the members of a given community. This would lead to the elimination of many phenomena characteristic of either a subgroup (e.g. a religious caste) or a single individual (e.g. a king, a genius). Yet some of these objects are so important to the rest of the group that they have always been considered as cultural. Moreover, what is at one time familiar to one individual only may later become common property. Saying that culture must be identified with social heritage leaves no room for innovations: a newly inevnted cultural object would be nonexistent because not based on tradition. 1.3.2.2. The criteria we have called theoretical are the most difficult to maintain. Most of the time they rest on two errors: (i) what is still a hypothesis about cultural phenomena is considered as something already proved, or even as a means of detecting them; (ii) what is characteristic of some objects only, is extended to the whole class. a. It is probable, for instance, that a lot of cultural objects play a part in the satisfaction of needs, but it has not been proved and it is rather

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apparently false that all cultural objects do play such a part. There is no sense in eliminating from the field of study everything maladaptive, since this would not at all further the examination of the interaction and development of all kinds of phenomena. If an institution, which has for some time been a means of adjustment, becomes the opposite as a result of changing circumstances, it would suddenly lose its cultural nature. b. The statement about integration and interrelation of culture is a very trivial one when the meaning is vague: it would be completely uninteresting to do scientific research in a field where the elements would not have any relation with each other. When the meaning of this statement is specified in the way that cultural objects are so strongly interconnected that a change in one part would necessarily imply a change of the totality, I would answer that this is a hypothesis. It may be true for some parts of culture (e.g. the phonemic structure of a language) but it cannot be applied to all other classes of cultural objects (e.g. the vocabulary of a language). At any rate, the integration aspect is so very open to gradations that it cannot possibly be used as a criterion. c. The same remark goes for the concept of "dynamic process." This criterion even has a second disadvantage: it cannot easily be said about a class, but rather about an entity. b. The explanation of the culture concept by means of the notion of personality has one drawback: the second concept is a construction as theoretical as the first one, and needs no less elucidation (G. W. Allport distinguished no less than 50 types of definitions of personality [1937:27-50]). Perhaps we can say that this notion is used for inquiring into (i) the way in which the elements that make up a human individual are integrated into a whole; and (ii) the differences between human individuals. If this is true, it appears that the analogy only serves when the individuative culture concept is dealt with, and not the general one. Even in the former case the comparison will rarely hold good, since the differences between personalities are in part biologically (genetically) determined, whereas those between cultures are not. Nevertheless, from this comparison an empirical criterion might be deduced; the criterion of variation: different communities are characterized by different subclasses of cultural objects; ways of behaving, thinking, etc. are cultural phenomena if they differ from one community to another, e. Finally, the concept of sublimation is based too much upon a peculiar and dubious theory about culture ever to be used as a criterion. 1.3.2.3. Those who have tried to find the criterion by inquiring into the creation and transmission of cultural objects, seem to have tackled

An Analysis of the Concept ofCluture

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the problem at the right end. If such an inquiry could lead to the discovevery of intrinsic qualities which may be empirically determined, great progress would be made. Indeed, from the intrinsic qualities other characteristics could be deduced, so that it would be possible to build up a theory from this basis. Up to now, however, nothing of the kind has been achieved. a. The first two instances of this group of criteria are undoubtedly of great importance. It cannot be denied that cultural objects are manmade in a sense, or, at least, modified by man. They do not come into existence somehow or other, by chance; we do not receive them simply from nature: they are created or directed in some way by human activity. Hence, every definition will have to take the factor of human creation into account. This idea, however, remains vague: it does not make sense to consider as cultural object everything produced by man, unless we would agree to apply this predicate to every piece of coal or wood cut by a man. Thus it can be said that culture is included in the class of manmade things, but not the reverse. b. The second aspect I have quoted — non-genetic transmission — is more proof against criticism. Indeed, none of the phenomena which are studied in the science of culture is genetically inherited; if ever the opposite would be proved in some particular case, all cultural anthropologists would agree to remove it from their field of study. Moreover, this criterion also points to the fact that culture can be transmitted, a remark which is doubtless true since all components mentioned above (ideas, customs, skills, etc.) can be communicated from individual to individual, or from group to group. For all its simplicity this seems to be the first really useful criterion: since (i) all cultural anthropologists will accept it as a minimum condition; (ii) it is possible to establish empirical methods to make out whether it does or does not occur; and (iii) consequently it enables us to define with certainty at least one boundary of the class of cultural objects. Nevertheless, even this criterion has serious limitations. First, it is mainly negative, and though it may be practically useful, it does not offer any possibility of constructing a theory. And second, the class so circumscribed does not coincide exactly with the one we are searching for; cultural objects can be transmitted nongenetically, but many other things are also transferable in this way: stones, branches of trees, food, etc. Thus we can say that the criterion of non-genetic transmission constitutes a necessary but not yet a sufficient condition. c. A first attempt to add some positive characteristics was made by those who introduced the notion of learned behavior: non-genetic trans-

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mission would be transmission by learning. But, as I have already pointed out, this phenomenon exists with animals as well; furthermore, some kinds of human behavior which are actually learned would not easily be included in the culture concept: walking, for example, and our sense of orientation in three-dimensional space are certainly not innate, they must be gradually learned by children, but they are never reckoned with cultural phenomena. d. A further specification to "patterns of learned behavior" is, of course, a creditable improvement, since, in this way, particular behavior sequences are excluded. Nonetheless, the preceding criticism remains: animals are also capable of learning patterns. Finally, a restriction to behavior is not to be desired: ideas and beliefs cannot be regarded as behavior, and artifacts are then sure to be excluded. e. It seems thus that we have made no progress with regard to the criterion of non-genetic transmission. In order to get out of this embarassing situation, we shall obviously have to rely on one of the following two improvements: "learned from other people" or "dependent upon symboling" (see section 1.2.2.3., points c and f). These criteria are minutely discussed and defended in two important articles, one by Anderson and Moore, the other by White; we deal with them in part 2 of this paper.

1.4. Perhaps it is interesting, after having analyzed the impressive list of definitions so carefully collected by Kroeber and Kluckhohn, to find out what the conclusions of these authors themselves are. As they say, it is not their intention to add a new definition to the existing ones, but to pick out the valuable aspects and to enrich them with some original observations. The latter often give evidence of a sound insight, but some are confused and even obscure. Moreover, the authors seem to be interested in problems of a more metaphysical nature (e.g. the question of the "reality" of culture) of which I can see neither the meaning nor the relevance. Much of the confusion in this matter is due to the fact that the distinction between the general and the individuative culture concept (cf. 1.1.3.) is not consistently maintained. Of course, they admit that this distinction is important, but nevertheless they continue to use the term "culture" without specifying in each case which of the two meanings is intended. If this precaution has not been taken, and if besides one does not guard against metaphysical questions, it is quite understandable that there is always a danger of speaking about culture as about some mysterious entity; and it is likewise understandable that Kroeber and Kluckhohn

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try to warn us against this. Time and again they emphasize that culture is an abstraction: "One of the reasons culture has been so hard to delimit is that its abstractness makes any single concrete referent out of the question..." (1952:80); "Remember that culture is an abstraction. Hence as a concrete observable entity does not exist anywhere..." (1952:72); "... a culture is inevitably an abstraction" (1952:120; see also 87,120,212,262,359,375). Neither this problem nor its solution is in fact very important: it can easily be avoided by translating the concept each time into the exact meaning needed, and such a translation is always possible in all sentences with real scientific import. Moreover, what is actually meant by "abstraction" remains obscure. If the term has its usual meaning, the sentence "the concept of culture is an abstraction" sounds utterly trivial: each science, even all genuine thinking, works almost exclusively with abstract concepts. Out of the multiplicity of concrete individual data we isolate some general characteristics by means of "abstraction," thus enabling us to speak about classes and relations. The predicate "cultural" with which we build up the class of cultural objects, is apparently such an isolated characteristic or cluster of characteristics, and hence "abstract." But perhaps we must attribute some deeper meaning to the repeated remarks of the authors. There is a passage where this meaning seems to appear more clearly: "As a general category it [culture] is both substantive [or classificatory] and explanatory. That is, it may be asked: to what main natural category is this or that phenomenon... to be ascribed? If the phenomenon is, for example, the religious system of the Haida, the answer is clearly 'cultural'.... Or the query may be: why do the Chinese avoid milk and milk products? The only possible shorthand answer is: because of their culture..." (1952:365). As a "classificatory" categoiy the concept seems to tally with our view of culture as a class. As an "explanatory" category — and this is probably what they mean by "abstraction" — the concept of culture seems to be viewed as a "hypothetical construct." The latter is a nonobservable entity or class of entities to which some characteristics and laws are ascribed, and whose existence is assumed as a working hypothesis; from this hypothesis some observable phenomena can be deduced, and, hence, explained. The concept of "magnetic field" in physics, and those of "id," "ego," and "superego" in psychoanalysis are such constructs (cf. Cronbach and Meehl [1956] and Carnap [1956]). One cannot a priori disapprove the use of such notions in the study of culture, but it is suspicious that a concept should be "classificatory" and "explanatory" at the same time. Moreover, the eternal source of confusion is

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coming up again: is it the general or the individuative concept which is a hypothetical construct? As the above passages show, Kroeber and Kluckhohn are not very clear on this point. Quite irrespective of this criticism, the expression "because of their culture" is a very weak and unilluminating explanation: a hypothetical construct is only useful if some laws or characteristics are established for it. It does not seem that Kroeber and Kluckhohn have made any definitive contribution in this work towards a deeper insight into such laws and characteristics. Their great merit lies in that they tried to demonstrate the complexity of the problem and the incompleteness of the solutions proposed thus far.

2.

RECENT C O N T R I B U T I O N S

Since the publication of this study several articles on the same topic have appeared and some real progress has been made. Since, in a paper of this kind, one could not possibly pretend to be exhaustive I made a rather biased choice of four articles which seemed to me interesting either because their authors showed great familiarity with methodological problems, or because some stimulating insights were proposed. 3

2.1.1. The article of White (1959a) starts from a criticism of the abovequoted "solution" of Kroeber and Kluckhohn; this gives him the occasion to advance some important methodological remarks. In his opinion, the 3

a. In my view the most important omissions are those of Harris and Goodenough. The former's book (1964) could not be discussed because this would need a lengthy study and a detailed exposition of the ideas we have in common and those on which we disagree. The latter's conceptions (1964a) which seem largely analogous to mine have not yet been given an elaborate exposition — as far as I know — so I don't know if our agreement is complete. At any rate I shall try to discuss some of the issues raised by these authors after the presentation of my own solution. b. In order to prevent misunderstanding, it is perhaps useful to explain that the present author's specialty is not cultural but philosophical anthropology (and theory of knowledge). So the form theory exposed in this paper was not built up in the first place to define the culture concept, but was the result of the search for a definition of the concept of information (1963); from this starting point an attempt was made to construct an elementary model of man as an information-processing system and to analyze the epistemological implications of this approach (1967); in the course of this study it became clear to me that the culture concept too could be analyzed within the same conceptual framework. The results of this attempt were published in Vermeersch (1965) where the basic ideas exposed in sections 3 to 5 of the present paper were introduced. At that time the contributions of Harris and Goodenough (and Pike) were still unknown to me.

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reason why one has recourse to the notion of "abstraction," lies in the fact that anthropologists were trying to prove that their science had a subject matter of its own. Indeed, if culture is defined as behavior it becomes clearly the subject matter of psychology. Therefore Kroeber and Kluckhohn proposed the notion of abstraction from behavior as the proper subject matter of cultural anthropology. White is no more happy with this simple solution than I am, and he takes the opportunity to point out that the definition of the culture concept is not an isolated problem, but has to be viewed as the search for the subject matter of a science. It is indeed a very important thought that we only have a sufficient reason to consider a complex of phenomena as a really distinct class when it is possible to build up a theory or a science about them. 2.1.2. White claims to have found a clear criterion to distinguish a class of phenomena which are not studied in the natural sciences (physics, chemistry, biology, etc.), namely, "the class of things or events consisting of, or dependent upon symboling." By "symboling," he means: "bestowing meaning upon a thing or an act, or grasping and appreciating meanings thus bestowed" (White 1959a: 230, 248 note 6; see also White 1959b: 3). Such things and events, depending upon the ability to symbol — symbolates — may be considered in a number of contexts; when they are considered and interpreted in terms of their relationships to human organisms, that is in a somatic context, they are called human behavior, and the science which studies them is psychology; but, when they are considered in terms of their relationships to other like things and events — in an extrasomatic context — they are called culture, and the corresponding science is culturology. To clarify this distinction, he compares it to the one de Saussure made between "tongue" and "parole" language and speech. The former is the subject Aatter of linguistics, the latter that of the psychology of language. It follows that, according to White, culture is to be defined as "a class of things and events, dependent upon symboling, considered in an extrasomatic context." In this way the difference between psychology and culturology is made much more explicit than with Kroeber and Kluckhohn, and also the subject matter consists of real things and events existing in time and space, not of intangible, unreal "abstractions." 2.1.3.1. Before I criticize this new attempt, it must be stated that it contains several really positive elements, (a) For the first time, perhaps, it is explicitly stressed that the definition of culture has to be formulated as the definition of the class of cultural objects, (b) This class is duly de-

28 ETIENNE VERMEERSCH

fined by means of criteria: in each context the predicate "cultural" may now be replaced by these criteria, (c) Culture is defined in relation to the science which studies it and the definition indicates the way in which this science will approach its subject matter. 2.1.3.2. From a purely formal point of view a negative aspect already shows: no intrinsic property of cultural objects is mentioned, only the extrinsic fact that they are dependent upon man's ability to symbol. As regards the contents, two essential questions should be asked: (i) does the criterion enable an exact delimitation of the class? and (ii) does the class so defined actually coincide with what we should like to call cultural phenomena? White seems to assume that his criterion is neat enough, as he does not give any further operational definition of "dependent upon symboling." Admittedly he explains that the typical feature of symboling is "to originate and bestow meaning upon a thing." This definition, however, makes use of a term which itself has not yet been properly defined: despite countless attempts it cannot be said that the problem of the "meaning of meaning" has found a clear solution. In an article published in 1940 (reprinted in White 1949), White elaborated his views on the "symbol" for the first time: there he seems to identify meaning with value. "A symbol may be defined as a thing the value or meaning of which is bestowed upon it by those who use it" (1949:25). It is specified that this meaning is not derived from the properties intrinsic in the physical form of these things, but that it is determined by the organisms who use them: "the meaning of a symbol can be grasped only by non-sensory, symbolic means." Furthermore, he makes a distinction between symbol and sign. The latter is "a physical thing or event whose function is to indicate some other thing or event," after this relationship between the two items has been established, the meaning of the stimulus is as if it were inherent in its physical form, so it becomes perceivable with the senses (1949:26-27). On the contrary, in the symbol context the latter is impossible: there we find "the creative faculty of freely actively and arbitrarily bestowing value upon things." It is added that this faculty constitutes the main difference between man and all other animals: "it is a difference of kind, not of degree." I must confess that this explanation is not at all clear to me. Let us suppose for a moment that we understand what a sign is; a symbol would then be different in that the meaning of the latter is "arbitrarily bestowed." Yet, though it is true indeed that man possesses this faculty (he can bestow meanings arbitrarily), it is not at all proved that this active

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aspect is present in all symbolic behavior. It could very well be argued that we learn that words and sentences designate objects and events without being conscious of the arbitrary and active aspect involved. This appears very clearly from the well-known experience of Helen Keller when she learned her first words — curiously enough this very experience is instanced by White for elucidating his definition of the symbol. She, however, states explicitly that the core of this experience was the insight that "everything has a name"; this is not an insight that one can arbitrarily give names to things, but rather that names are an intrinsic quality of things; therefore she says also "I left the well-house eager to learn" (White 1949:37-38). She wants to learn from somebody which symbols are proper to each thing, and there is no indication that she is aware of the fact that these symbols can be arbitrarily given to things by man. Consequently it does not appear that an insight into the arbitrary character of symbols is needed for the use of them; on the contrary, I would suggest that this insight occurs only in a rather advanced stage of phylogenetic and ontogenetic development. It follows that neither "symbol" nor "symboling" is a notion which can be adequately defined in terms of "bestowing meaning or value." Still, I do not argue that it is impossible to find a satisfactory definition of the terms "meaning" and "symbol," but this would require an entirely different approach on which I cannot expatiate here. 2.1.3.3. Supposing even that the notion of symboling has been clearly defined, there remains the problem of what is to be understood by "everything dependent upon." If this means everything that could not exist without the symbolic activity, it amounts to quite a lot of things! Without the use of symbols, mankind would not have come into existence, according to White. So everything for which man is responsible is "dependent upon symboling," including all particular things and events which have ever been somehow related to man. Yet some scholars have repeatedly — and rightly — insisted on particular things and events to be excluded from the class of cultural objects. Admittedly, White has a second criterion, namely that they should be considered in an extrasomatic context: in terms of their relationships to one another; but even this does not bring us much further: history too studies events in terms of their mutual relationships and we cannot call all these events cultural phenomena without doing the same for activities and events concerning individuals described in biographies "in an extrasomatic context." Finally, we would be forced to call cultural phenomena everything resulting from man's spreading over the earth; if we discuss them as regards their relationships

30 ETTENNE VERMEERSCH

with each other, phenomena such as the creation of deserts as a result of deforestation, or the extinction of certain species of animals due to human expansion, etc. would become cultural phenomena. To this it could be objected that the criterion must be interpreted in a more restricted sense, for example, as "directly dependent upon." However, quite a lot of things are traditionally — and not without cause — considered as cultural objects, but we can and often do learn them by means of imitation, without the help of symbols. We may mention the way a mother feeds her children and, furthermore, all kinds of expressions, gestures, intonation, etc. No doubt, this strict interpretation of "dependent upon symbols" would prove much too narrow. 2.1.3.4. Finally there is a third point on which I would like to comment critically. White's definition is in fact based upon the hypothesis that everything typically human depends on the use of symbols. In The evolution of culture he writes: "we may assume that culture came into being in the following way: Neurological evolution in a certain line, or lines, of anthropoids culminated eventually in the ability to symbol. The exercise of this ability brought culture into existence and then perpetuated it." He even adds that the whole cultural evolution relies on "articulate speech"; language would have emerged first of all, followed by all other cultural phenomena, including the "progressive, cumulative tool-using of man" (White 1959b: 6-7). This is an assumption as yet unproved: on the contrary, I do not think it probable that a primitive being would first attach value to articulated sounds, the utility of which is not directly clear, rather than to tools which offer such direct and obvious advantages. The assumption of a symbolic faculty with an "all or nothing" character (which it necessarily has when it is identified with articulate speech) leaves no room for the description of a gradual evolution, which would be much more understandable and acceptable than a sudden leap. The article White refers to, "On the use of tools by primates" (reprinted White 1949:40-48), is not convincing. It is true that tool using among apes is not the cumulative and progressive phenomenon which it is among mankind. It is equally true that man has a language and that animals have none (at least none of the same kind); also that language may to a great extent further this progressive tool using. Nevertheless, there is nothing to prove that the latter is impossible without language, and that language existed first. It is possible, and even more probable, that progressive tool using is one of the most elementary forms of human (cultural) behavior and that it existed prior to language.

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For all that, I do not want to deny the enormous impact of symbols, and, above all, of language, on the development of mankind and culture. Before White, it was already stressed by Ernst Cassirer, and no cultural or philosophical anthropologist could neglect the essential importance of language and symbols in the study of the individual and of society. But the assertion that all cultural phenomena are directly dependent upon the "symbolic faculty" (whatever this may be), and that the use of language is the first cultural and human performance, seems to me exaggerated, or, at least hypothetical. Hypotheses, however, of this kind — like all statements concerning emergent properties — are not likely to further scientific inquiry. 2.1.3.5. At any rate, since debatable hypotheses are not suitable as a basis for definitions, and since the meaning of the important terms "dependent" and "symboling" has been proved insufficiently clear, White's definition cannot be considered as a definitive one. This certainly does not mean that I underestimate White's contribution to the elucidation of this problem. I have gone so far into the matter because it is an important step. Moreover, his general methodological remarks will be very useful when we try to find a new solution.

2.2. A next attempt at formulating a definition is the one by Anderson and Moore in an interesting and entertaining article (1963). 2.2.1. They too begin by stating some methodological principles that must guide us in our quest for a definition of culture. According to them the essential conditions an adequate definition of a concept must satisfy are: "how can we define [this concept] in such a way as (a) to get an interesting formal theory off the ground, while (b) minimizing conflict with informal usage!" More specifically, for the definition of culture, they propose some very interesting "conditions of adequacy" (1963:119-120), which every definition will have to satisfy in order to be acceptable as a basic concept of the science of culture, (i) We must be able to speak of cultural change: cultural objects must be of such a kind that they can be said to change in the course of time (such changes are studied, for example, in languages), (ii) Some cultural phenomena do not change in the course of time, so we should be able to discuss the persistence of cultural objects, (ii) Cultural objects can move from one society to another, so it must be possible to deal with cultural diffusion, (iv) Since cultural objects may be created in a particular society or may disap-

32

ΕΊΊΕΝΝΕ VERMEERSCH

pear and be rediscovered, we want to be able to study cultural innovation, disappearance, and reappearance. 2.2.2.

After a critical comment on some of the criteria already used by

anthropologists, the authors propose a new one, which would point to a common characteristic of all cultural objects, without falling short of the conditions of adequacy: "they are all things that people can learn from each other." Consequently a cultural object is " a

learnable-from

item"; it belongs to the class: 2(3x) (3j>) [(χ Φ y) and 0 (x learns α from j ) ] (the class of those things a, such that for distinct χ and y, it is possible that χ learns α from j ) (1963:131-132). This definition, formulated in the language of symbolic logic, with a modal operator ( 0 : it is possible) is apparently a combination of the above-mentioned criteria (cf. 1.2.2.3., points e and g). Like that of White it offers the advantage of taking an unambiguous stand by defining "culture" by means of a criterion which delimits the class of cultural objects. Such an approach makes it immediately possible to define also the notion of " a particular culture" (the individuative concept): "the culture of a society A is the set of things α learned by someone from some member of A : a(3.\) (3>>) [(α: ε A) (x learns α from j ) and (χ Φ >-)]. In the same way we can define "the culture of an individual" and "the culture of mankind." Another advantage of this definition is that it is expressed in an exact language, so that one knows precisely what one is saying: even a slight variation in the expression gives a different result: it follows from this that the pros and cons of other formulations of the same kind can easily be checked. As an argument for their definition, Anderson and Moore point out that a great number of the phenomena traditionally studied by anthropologists belong to this class. Languages, methods of counting, raising families and crops, fishing, singing, praying and all kinds of beliefs are things that can be learned from others. Furthermore, it is not said that cultural objects are (actually) learned because we have to build up a theory about all cultural objects without excluding those that have not yet come into existence. This is why the modal operator is needed. An-

An Analysis of the Concept of Culture

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other argument could be that this is to be considered a further explanation of the notion of non-genetic transmission, a criterion which all anthropologists accept. 2.2.3. It is not easy to criticize these authors because they themselves have a clear insight into the shortcomings of their approach: "we offer... definitions... which, while not satisfying our own standards of rigor, seem at least to be steps in the right direction" (1963:119). 2.2.3.1. A first criticism they have anticipated is one of those I have made in connection with White. The criterion is extrinsic and does not tell us anything about inherent properties of cultural objects. Therefore they do not exclude the possibility of a more intrinsic definition from which the notion "learnable from" might be deduced. 2.2.3.2. The second objection — also foreseen by Anderson and Moore — seems to me much more fundamental: the notion "to learn something from another" is obscure. About learning in general, psychology provides us with a sufficient number of theories; hence the concept of learning has a real operational and even theoretical meaning. Nowhere, however, do we find a definition of "to learn from," neither do these theories specify what a learnable item is (i.e. we have no principle of individuation).4 It follows that this criterion is of a rather intuitive kind and can certainly not be sufficient to circumscribe very accurately the class in question. The authors themselves clearly apprehend this defect but they are convinced that in a great number of cases, a sharp distinction between cultural and non-cultural objects has nevertheless become possible. The notion "to learn from" is further explained in the following way. The meaning of this expression is so stipulated as to include e.g. "learning from other persons via books etc.," but not: "learning because of another person's activity." In other words, we cannot use the expression "x learns α from y" unless we assume that y knows something about a, but we do not require y to give formal instruction. For the time being the variables χ and y are understood as ranging over human beings, more particularly: individuals. Yet the possibility is not excluded that someday we 4

In the general survey of learning theories and problems by Hilgard and Marquis (1961) I could not find any indication about "to learn from," nor about an individuation principle, though a whole chapter of the book is devoted to the examination of definitions of learning. Other important works in the field are no more explicit about this matter: see e.g. Hebb (1949); Broadbent (1961); Deutch (1960); Barnett (1963).

34 ETIENNE VERMEERSCH

might speak of animals, computers and groups as learning from one another (1963:135-136). 2.2.3.3. It is in connection with these topics that the actual problems emerge. When reducing cultural objects to items learnable from human beings, one precludes the possibility of studying problems, such as whether australopithecines dealt with cultural objects; if we do not call them "men," of course not, but this is hardly an illuminating approach to the problem. But if the variables x and y are allowed to range over animals it becomes very difficult to keep the class of cultural objects within reasonable limits. It is a matter of fact that, for example, some kinds of birds have to learn their songs from their congeners; are these cultural objects? (Thorpe and Zangwill 1961:209-210). It is equally difficult to understand what the meaning of this learning would be in connection with groups. Yet, learning by individuals will not suffice if we want to include institutions into the class of cultural objects: marriage and government systems are not learned by individuals. Anderson and Moore try to meet this difficulty by arguing that rules for running marriages are learnable things. This may hold good in some cases; but, in general, I cannot agree to consider the process by which institutions are transmitted from one generation to another as sufficiently explained by saying that individuals learn rules from other people. On the contrary, the few individuals who have to ensure the continuation of the system learn their respective roles much more because of the activities of other persons than from other persons. Indeed, this role is determined above all by the expectations of other people, and, consequently, it is learned by an ordinary conditioning process (with reward and punishment) rather than by a kind of "learning from." Moreover, the total system of rules of a given institution is normally not known by any separate individual, yet we would like to consider it also as a cultural object. 2.2.3.4. The criticisms I advanced up to now are intended to show that the concept of "learning from other people" is (i) not yet scientifically defined; and (ii) is even as an intuitive concept subject to limitations. There is, however, a more important objection to the point of view of Anderson and Moore; namely the way in which they have to deal with the products of human activity: tools and other artifacts. Since these products are not "things learned," they do not consider them as cultural objects, although they admit that they are "intimately tied to cultural objects." On the other hand, the methods and rules to make these prod-

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ucts are considered cultural. Even at first sight, this kind of approach seems somewhat cumbersome; up to the present artifacts have been regarded as cultural objects by many anthropologists, and countless anthropological studies deal with, say, the plow, the wheel, masks, totem poles, and other objects of art. It could be argued that these inquiries are more concerned with the methods and rules of producing these artifacts, but this is not always true. Methods to make like things can be different, whereas the same method can be used to manufacture widely different products. In pottery, for example, the number of methods and their use is fairly limited; the external shape, on the contrary, shows an endless scale of variation which can be highly characteristic of a particular society and area. It cannot be challenged that anthropologists and archaeologists are interested in these shapes or forms, and, to a lesser degree, in the production methods. Hence, it would not make sense to refuse the predicate "cultural" to these forms of objects; but this is exactly what follows from the definition of Anderson and Moore; indeed, we do not (and sometime cannot) learn these shapes of objects from other persons: we have to examine the objects themselves! Hence the weakness of the criterion mainly lies in the fact that it would draw an arbitrary line of demarcation between cultural and non-cultural objects. Poems, tragedies, songs, and pieces of music are learnable from others, whereas cathedrals, sculptures and paintings are not; why should some products of human activity be cultural rather than others! The way in which they are produced and their impact on man are in many respects analogous; why then should rules for making poems and poems themselves be cultural, whereas in the case of paintings only the rules would be cultural objects, not the paintings themselves? 2.2.3.5. It appears clearly from these examples that the notion "learnable from," though very useful in many cases, has such serious limitations that it is impossible to say that the class of cultural objects is coextensive with that of "learnable-from items." Again, it must be observed that I do not want to call in question the really valuable aspects in the approach of Anderson and Moore. They too have made an important step towards the elucidation of the problem. I have tried to find some counterexamples in order to prove that this criterion is not fully adequate either; for, as the authors themselves say "Counterexamples, even if they seem farfetched, are counterexamples, and should be taken as seriously in discussions of culture as they are in other areas of scientific inquiry" (1963:130).

36 ΕΠΕΝΝΕ VERMEERSCH

2.3. In Singer's encyclopedia article (1968) no new definition of the culture concept is proposed, but some aspects of the definition problem are stressed which we have neglected until now. 2.3.1. His exposition of the development of the culture concept in anthropology reminds us that Tylor's "charter definition" gave rise to at least two rather different conceptions of this science: "pattern theory of culture," typical for American anthropologists (until the 1950's), and the "social structure theory," represented by Radcliffe-Brown and his British followers. From the early 1930's on, the difference in outlook became so marked that, whereas cultural anthropologists considered "culture" and "pattern" as indispensable key notions, the social anthropologists tended to avoid even using the term "culture" in their writings. After having pointed out that the basic difference between the two theories is to be found in the "different ways they connect culture and social structure within explanatory systems," the author tries to prove that besides these differences both schools show also some striking parallelisms which suggest an "underlying convergence of the pattern theory and the structural-functional theory of culture" (1968:540). 2.3.2. It is not necessary, I guess, to make a thoroughgoing analysis of this widely distributed article, nor is there any need to criticize it since I see no major points of disagreement. On the other hand, some reflections may be made on the pros and cons of the situation he describes. Whenever one wants to build up a science about a particular domain of phenomena — such as the class of cultural objects — one should avoid determining from the beginning which subclasses of entities will be considered as the most important, and what kind of relations will be preferred in the search for coherence and explanation. Although individuals and schools will inevitably tend to concentrate themselves on particular fields and to put forward specific working hypotheses, they should refrain from redefining the whole science until decisive results have been achieved. It is possible, for example, that social relations form a kind of infrastructure which determines more or less the other areas of culture as a superstructure; but it is a priori equally possible that "patterns" emerging in another domain may provide an explanation for the development of a particular social structure. Each reasonable hypothesis is acceptable in a beginning science but in anthropology there seems to be a tendency to define the science and its object on the basis of such provisional hypotheses. This policy is not only prejudicial to the mutual understanding of scientists but it obscures the real issues: the aim of

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science is not to comment on dogmas, but to search for explanatory relationships between a maximum number of phenomena. It follows that an acceptable definition of the culture concept should be large enough to include the field of study of a maximum number of anthropologists; on the other hand theoretical and methodological presuppositions should be reduced to the minimum: which hypotheses and which explanatory systems are best can only be settled by empirical results. Analogous remarks have been made by Harris (1964) and Kaplan (1965).

2.4.1. Although Holloway (1969) pretends not to be interested in "imposing upon the field yet another definition of culture" his study is undoubtedly relevant to our inquiry since he introduces two new attributes as important characteristics of culture. With the aim of giving "the concept 'culture' some force once again as something unique to man" (1969: 395), he suggests that in addition to being "...that complex whole... shared by man as a member of society," culture is also the imposition of arbitrary form upon the environment, and he states that "these two attributes are specific and unique to human behavior, and they can be identified by the appearance of stone tools in the archaeological record." Obviously this criterion can be considered as a specification of an above-mentioned criterion ("created by man") and perhaps also as a generalization of an idea put forward by White: "the creative faculty of... arbitrarily bestowing value upon things"; furthermore, the notion of form is clearly related to the pattern concept in many definitions. So we must see if the definitions and explanations proposed provide us with new insights or hints for the final solution of our problem. 2.4.2. "Imposition" is defined as "any 'statement' (speech, motor act, gesture, action) that acts to maintain a figure-ground relationship against the resistance implied by its non-iconic nature (i.e. the fact that there is nothing in the stimulus itself to suggest it)" (1969:400). The "arbitrariness" of the form consists in its "non-iconic" aspect: the fact that there is no necessary relation between the form of the final product and the original material (1969:401). The thesis is advanced that these characteristics are present in australopithecine tool making as they are in human language, but that they are absent from communication and tool using of all other animals: so they constitute a clear criterion for demarcation between human culture and so-called protocultures. 2.4.3.1.

From a strictly formal point of view one can object to the easy

38 ΕΤΊΕΝΝΕ VERMEERSCH

way in which the author attaches his criterion to Tylor's definition. Tylor was speaking of a whole (a set) of phenomena characterized by their being "shared by man." The "imposition" aspect introduced by Holloway is certainly not a property of this class but, rather, of the people sharing a set of cultural objects: they impose forms. So, to make his approach intelligible, the author should redefine the whole notion of culture from his point of view: "culture is a characteristic of people who impose"; but that does not make clear what the cultural things really are. A better transcription would be (perhaps this is what Holloway has in mind): "Culture is a class of objects characterized by certain criteria (such as Tylor's) and also by the fact that a subclass consists of forms arbitrarily imposed by certain organisms." 2.4.3.2. Yet, animals also impose "arbitrarily" (non-iconically) forms upon things: there is no necessary relation between the form of a dam built by a beaver and the materials used. For this weakness the remedy is quickly found: the criterion "non-genetically determined" should be added to that of arbitrariness. (To those who remark: "cela va sans dire," Talleyrand would answer "cela va encore mieux en le disoM") 2.4.3.3. The third objection, however, is not so easily dealt with. It concerns the somewhat arbitrary use of the notion of arbitrariness. The arbitrariness of symbols in White's approach, for example, depends on the complete absence of any common characteristic or any a priori relationship between the symbol and its referent: there is no imaginable reason why the word "table" should refer to the object table. The form of tools, on the other hand, is determined in a considerable way by the purpose they have been made for; and in many cases archaeologists are making good guesses as to what purpose was meant. With really arbitrary forms such as alphabetic and syllabic scripts there is nothing to guess until we receive some hints to break the code. One can argue that there remains an element of arbitrariness in the tool, since the material substratum does not provide an indication (icon) for the final product. This is true, but it should also be conceded that this is a weaker form of arbitrariness than that of conventional symbols (where neither the substratum nor the use determines the form). Moreover, when Köhler's ape combines two short sticks to make a long one, it is not evident that the separated sticks provide an icon for the combined tool. This kind of arbitrariness is still weaker indeed, but I only want to suggest that we have to reckon with degrees of "arbitrariness" and not with an all-or-none concept which could provide a clear-cut boundary.

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2.4.3.4. From my own point of view the most serious criticism would bear on the absence of any definition of the concept of form. The author does explain how the imposition of form should be understood in the case of tools and of language; he also makes the important suggestion that his approach can be applied to the organization of experience in general; but he does not make clear how this suggestion is to be understood and how his form notion can be applied to all other non-mentioned cultural objects. If this generalization could be made — and I am sure this is possible — a lot of insights of the author would prove very fertile; on the other hand his notion of arbitrariness would receive another blow. For it cannot be denied that many animals (e.g. rats) are capable of imposing "arbitrary," non-genetically determined forms on their behavior (shaping). 2.4.4. All these shortcomings and all the conceptual vagueness of this article cannot prevent me from finding it extremely stimulating. I don't think Holloway is right in trying to look for a sharp boundary between human culture and protoculture, but he does indicate interesting directions for research. 2.4.4.1. He stresses rightly that at least some of the most important cultural objects are not determined (and hence cannot be explained) by the shape of the material (or energetic) substratum, nor by the biological structure of the human body. They result from an interaction of both by the way of operations which are controlled by a mental scheme or design. 2.4.4.2. The idea is developed that through the shaping of the environment by means of these operations, gradually an Umwelt is created that makes new demands on the perception procedures and thus leads to new refinements of the operations and to further adaptation (positive feedback). 2.4.4.3. A remarkable analysis of the tool-making process leads to the finding that even for the production of a stone tool a basic "vocabulary" of elementary motor operations is needed. By using these few elements in different combinations a considerable number of dissimilar tools can be made. It follows that from a rather simple cognitive and motoric basis an increasingly differentiated world might have been constructed, in which individuals with superior intellectual capacities would find a definite survival value.

40 ETIENNE VERMEERSCH

2.4.4.4. Moreover, when the procedures needed for tool making are compared with those involved in language use, it turns out that there are striking similarities. If this line of research is followed and the first conclusions can be confirmed an exciting hypothesis could be deduced about the way in which human language evolved under the influence of progressive tool making. Maybe this kind of result is not exactly what Hollo way has in mind, but, for the time being, his methods seem to me better than his presuppositions and his biased conclusions. If only he could get rid of "arbitrariness," "symbolization," "conceptualization," and other vague expressions, if he could further refine his interesting analysis of tool making and compare the results with those of the specialists of the development of sensorimotor intelligence, namely Piaget and his school, important contributions could be made to cognition psychology and to our knowledge of the origins of culture.

3.

DEFINITION OF THE CULTURE CONCEPT

3.1.1. The criteria formulated in three of the articles discussed above have some aspects in common which might indicate the way to a satisfactory definition. It is stressed that cultural objects somehow presuppose man's creative activity. As they are learned from other people, it seems reasonable to think that, ultimately, they are created by one or more individuals and then transmitted to the others. White's point of view is still more explicit in this respect: cultural phenomena are dependent upon symboling, which clearly assumes human activity (cf. "to bestow meaning"), and Holloway's imposition notion is pointing in the same direction. These aspects of their definitions remind us of the already mentioned criterion: "everything that is man-made." There is another way of looking at these criteria: they may be regarded as an explanation and a specification of that other important notion: "non-genetic transmission." Indeed, "to learn from" presumes communication from man to man; the important role of symbols lies in the fact that they enable the transmission of beliefs, customs, etc., whereas the shaping of a new environment obviously has analogous consequences. 3.1.2. If these fundamental intuitions of the authors mentioned are right, it seems expedient to examine which kind of entities can be created and transmitted by man. To these two aspects I should like to add another very important one: cultural objects may to a great extent be spread

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in space and time; they may be common to a great number of people at the same time, and to different generations. This property constitutes a decisive difference between cultural objects and all other products of human activity! Material goods and energy may be transmitted, but not indefinitely, as the use of the latter is at the same time a consumption (i.e. and annihilation). Foodstuffs and utensils are produced and transmitted, but the one who transmits them cannot use them himself at the same time: he has lost them forever; and he who uses or consumes them can no longer transmit them (in the same condition). This is not at all the case with cultural objects: not only can they be spread indefinitely in space and time, but they can retain the same meaning for those who transmit them as for those receive them. When one communicates beliefs, skill, knowledge, etc., to another, one does not lose them oneself! 3.1.3. There is one kind of entity, capable of being thus transmitted indefinitely; we shall call them forms. The concept of form is one of those notions that are used in all kinds of contexts without anybody trying to define them accurately. All the same it is possible to find a formulation which, though staying close to everyday language use, has all the characteristics of a good definition: neatness and usefulness for building up a theory. A form I call every class of states of a material or energetic substratum which (states) are identified with one another and discriminated from other classes of states. It goes without saying that such states are identified and discriminated only by systems capable of doing so, such as animals, men, and some machines. Consequently when talking about forms we shall always have to know for which kind of systems this form character exists. 3.1.4. This definition may sound somewhat abstract and therefore it may be illuminating to give some concrete examples first. Since Lorenz and Tinbergen, ethologists have been speaking about releasers·, these are particular visual, auditive, or olfactive signals of a stereotyped kind, to which animals of a given species always respond with a particular behavior pattern. Instances of this phenomenon are the "courtship rites" in connection with the copulative behavior of some birds, also some warning cries, which induce escape behavior, and the smell of an animal (or of its excrements) which stakes out its territory and so keeps off other animals. Such releasers are clear instances of what I call forms: they are a well-

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defined set of states (or combination of states) of a substratum, for example a visual image (a combination of states of light rays), or an auditive signal (which is a state of air waves), which, whenever it occurs, causes a particular kind of behavior in a particular kind of animals. The equivalence class of those configurations that always evoke the same response — and are thus identified with each other — is clearly discriminated from other configurations in the animal's visual field; this is proved by the fact that the latter never cause the same response. This equivalence class is a form to the animal. 3.1.5. The same can be said about man: every state of a substratum which is identified with a number of other states (i.e. considered as the same) and yet sharply discriminated from other states (which are considered as different) is an instance of a form. For example, on this page there are a lot of inkblots that are identified with the following one: a, and distinguished from other classes of inkblots like b and c. Thus one may speak of the form a, b, etc. The same holds good for states of energy substrata likewise identified and discriminated, such as the "c", "D", etc. on a piano, the phonemes of languages, the colors of traffic lights, etc. The definition can also be applied in the case of combinations of states or forms, insofar as they are identified and discriminated as such. Thus, visual patterns (Gestalten), melodies and words are also to be considered forms, as well as states of material objects which are identified with each other: the plow, the bow, etc. Finally, in most contexts where traditionally the term "form" is used, (e.g. in art and literature) our more explicit concept will prove equally applicable. Thus, the question of whether a set of states of a substratum will be called a form, depends on the extent to which these states are identified with each other and distinguished from other states. Whether this identification and discrimination occur can be inferred from the overt reactions, and, with men, also from their verbal utterances. For example, the question of whether two specimens of the bow or plow are to be considered as the same form can be answered by examining whether clear differences appear in the construction, the use, the results or the name of these objects.

3.2. In this context it would be impossible to give a full elucidation and analysis of our form concept in all its aspects. At a first approach, however, I should like to make some remarks mainly concerning its scientific meaning and relevance. I shall comment (a) on the main con-

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cepts used in the definition; and (b) on the most interesting properties of forms; so it will be made clear (c) in which ways and with what kinds of methods forms are to be studied. 3.2.1.1. The analysis of forms presupposes a certain knowledge of their substrata. If a form is a distinguishable state of a substratum, the number of possible forms will be restricted by the properties of the substratum. For example: within a given time limit, air vibrations can take only a limited number of states (frequencies); the same applies to light rays, radio waves, and electromagnetic waves in general. Material substrata such as wood, plaster, iron, etc. are subject to analogous limitations. 3.2.1.2. The study of forms presupposes to an even more considerable degree knowledge of the discriminating faculty of the receiving organism. Man can only distinguish a restricted number of sound pitches and light frequencies. Moreover, it rarely occurs that the physiological discriminating faculty is fully used: there are psychological limitations dependent on learning processes. A person who knows Spanish only does not consider the sounds β and ν as different forms because he does not distinguish between them. 3.2.1.3. The notion of discrimination I introduced in the definition is not haphazardly chosen; it has a scientific meaning. To prove this, it may be pointed out that it constitutes one of the most important topics studied in the psychology of learning (see e.g. Hilgard and Marquis 1961: 361-394). I may also refer to the researches into the "amount of information in absolute judgments" by Garner, Pollack, Miller, and others, who are precisely inquiring into man's discriminating faculty (see e.g. Garner 1962). 3.2.1.4. The notion of identification has not been dealt with so explicitly, but it is obvious that the concept of generalization in learning psychology is related to it, and an "identity" notion has been explicitly treated by Hebb (1949). My concept of identification is nevertheless a more specific one than that of generalization, since in animal psychology generalization often amounts to a lack of discrimination: an animal reacts identically to a square and a rectangle because it has not learnt to distinguish them. Man, on the other hand, can, according to the situation, identify some forms (consider them equivalent in reference to a given criterion) which he discriminates in other situations and according to other criteria. A Spaniard who also knows English, does not discriminate

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Β and ν when speaking his native language, but he does when speaking English. Analyses of this kind of identification may be found in the inquiry into the notion of "category" by Bruner and his associates (1962). Techniques of investigating discrimination and identification procedures have furthermore been developed not only in cognitive psychology but also in linguistics and anthropology (method of opposition, distinctive features, componential analysis) and in the study of pattern recognition by machines. Considering that the complexity of the world picture, by which man so clearly distinguishes himself from animals, is mainly based on his quasi-unlimited ability to extend his discriminating capacities on the one hand, and to classify and order this multiplicity by the process of identification on the other hand, it is easy to understand the importance of a thus defined form concept for the scientific study of man. 3.2.2. Some important properties of forms can be made clear without any difficulty by a simple analysis of the foregoing notions. 3.2.2.1. Forms can be learnt, since one can learn to distinguish one class of states from another class, and to identify the states within one class with one another. So it appears that a precise definition of "to learn something" is quite possible; for the first time we are provided with a "principle of individuation": two things we learn are different if they are different forms·, and they are different forms if they are discriminated from one another. Since we can learn to discriminate, we can learn forms. In the same way it can be explained what it means "to learn something from another." We can learn from other people, because they can help us to introduce new discriminations and new criteria to identify things with each other. This learning from other people can occur directly, through instruction or imitation, but the most important way of discrimination learning is an indirect one: we learn to distinguish and identify things like other people by learning their language! Further research into the relations between forms and the receiving organism would enable us to define a subclass of forms, namely "symbolic forms," of which language represents the most important instance. That forms are somehow imposed on the environment follows from the fact that they cannot even exist without the discrimination and identification operations performed by an organism. So it is at once clear that the form concept shows strong relationships with the notions introduced by Andei son and Moore, White, and Holloway and can even help to define them more exactly.

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3.2.2.2. A second important property of forms is that they can be transmitted. a. In a trivial sense this means that states of matter and energy (supports of forms) can be conveyed unaltered to other places and points of time. Objects made of a strong material can be kept unchanged for a long time and transported over great distances, without losing their form. Similarly, sound waves and electromagnetic rays may be transmitted over distances without considerably changing their frequency. b. Forms can also be transferred in a more important sense from a given object to an indefinite number of other objects and to another kind of substratum. In order to make this clear I have to introduce the notion of one-to-one correspondence. Two classes are in a one-to-one correspondence when every element of the first class corresponds to one and only one element of the other. I shall speak of structural identity (isomorphism) between two classes if there is also a one-to-one-correspondence between the relations defined on them. We may speak of one-to-one correspondence between relations because a relation is a class of pairs, triads or «-ads. Now then, forms may be multiplied in two different ways. With some mechanical or other technical means one may bring about in another quantity of the same or another matter a state of such a kind that the component parts, and the relations between them, are in a one-toone correspondence with those of the original object; the new-formed object is then spontaneously, or after a short process of learning, identified with the original one, and hence integrated into the same equivalence class. Consequently it is part of the same form (or, if one does not like an extensional language, it has the same form). The possibility of thus multiplying forms is restricted only by the nature of our techniques and the quantity of the matter (or energy) at hand. Copies from works of art, buildings, utensils and instruments are good examples of such multiplication and transmission of forms (the new-formed objects can be preserved in time and transmitted in space). The transmission of the form as such is, of course, incomplete unless the criteria enabling one to identify and discriminate this form as such are available too. The transmission of a bow from one society to another is not a real transmission of the form "bow," if the latter society does not succeed in learning spontaneously or by instruction the essential properties of a bow, such as how to shoot with it! Hence, as follows from our definition, the appropriate discrimination and identification play an essential part when answering the question of whether a form is really transmitted. Besides this "analogous" kind of reproducing forms, they can be related

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to each other and transmitted in another way. When we have a class of forms (e.g. the class of distinguishable speech sounds [phonemes] in a given language), it is possible to bring — by a mere conventional rule, a code — another class of forms into a one-to-one correspondence with the first class (e.g. the class of written letters in the same language). Of course, it is also possible to realize a similar connection between the class of spoken syllables or words of a language and a class of written symbols. In this way, each form may be related to another one by pure convention: it is not at all necessary that the two are analogous or similar. As the code may be used in the reversed order, the original form may always be obtained again. In this way, too, forms can be indefinitely multiplied. Indeed, this does not only go for writing, but for every method of mapping — by a fixed code — states of matter or energy into states of another substratum. The most striking example of this process is the conversion of all kinds of forms (sound, visual images, etc.) into forms of electromagnetic waves (in radio, television, etc.). the essential condition of this transformation is that both classes of states be distinguishable to a sufficient degree and that there be a code (and technique) to convert the one class of forms into the other and vice versa. 3.2.3. The potentialities, restrictions and properties of this transmission of forms constitute the subject matter of information theory (see e.g. Cherry 1961). It can indeed be said that the communication of information is a transmission of forms; therefore, some important concepts of this theory (e.g. redundancy and noise) are applicable and useful in the theory of forms. Information theory also provides us with the insight that transmission does not always occur in ideal circumstances: the one-to-one correspondence may be reduced to a one-to-many, or a many-to-many correspondence which can be measured as the amount of transinformation. It will be interesting to keep this in mind if we want to understand how, to what extent and in what conditions, forms remain constant, and are subject to changes. It follows that information theory, as well as the above-mentioned psychology of learning, enables an inquiry into the intrinsic properties of forms and their relations to one another. The remarks I have made here are of course far from satisfactory. In my opinion, the problem can only be adequately studied by constructing a model of a system which would be able to deal with forms in the same way as man does (see Vermeersch 1967).

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3.3. Despite the provisional nature of my analysis of the form concept I consider it sufficiently clear, and I think that it shows enough intrinsic properties to serve as a basis for a definition of the culture concept. 3.3.1. The class of cultural objects is the class of forms determined by man. With "man" I mean the individual (who may invent a new kind of plow), as well as the group (which determines the use of language and social organization). 3.3.2. The most delicate part of this definition is obviously the expression "determined by man." By this I mean (i) that it would not exist without man, (ii) that it is not uniquely determined by biological constraints, and (iii) that the form as such is determined by man: the process of discrimination and identification must accompany the creation or change of the form in question (they are necessary and, sometimes, sufficient conditions for it). This specification is intended to exclude the class of forms which are necessary results of the existence on earth of man as a living organism. For example, the consumption of foodstuffs, materials, and energy has certain effects, which may appear, among other things, as forms of the landscape (such as deforestation and the extinction of some species of animals). Forms of this kind are not cultural objects since they are an inevitable result of human activity and, hence, cannot be considered the aim or even the conscious product of individual or group activities. If, however, deforestation takes place according to a well-defined plan, in order to get a certain form of the landscape I shall regard this form as a cultur alobject. Indeed, forms of deforestation, irrigation etc., designed by individuals or groups can be transmitted to other societies and they may therefore certainly be called cultural phenomena. Finally, it follows from the definition of forms that this act of "determining" can be restricted to the applying of mental operations of discrimination and identification on an already given environment (as is the case with perceptual forms); on the other hand it can consist in an active structuring of the physical or social environment (making of artifacts, organization of kinship structures). Although these specifications do not yet entirely satisfy my standards of rigor, 1 hope that they are neat enough to make a further argumentation understandable. In my opinion, a precise definition of the notion "determine actively" would only be possible if we had a model of man as a form-creating system. Instead of entering into detail on this point — which would remove us far from culturology — I shall try to explain and defend my concept of cultural object (also called "cultural form") by

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comparing it with the notions discussed in parts 1 and 2 of this article. In this way it may more directly become clear whether it is useful and tenable or not.

4. TESTING THE DEFINITION In this section I intend to test whether the definition will resist the scrutiny of criticism more than the foregoing attempts. (1) I shall examine the above-mentioned "components" of the culture concept, to see in which manner they can be considered "forms determined by man." (2) I put the question of whether my concept will meet the "conditions of adequacy" proposed by Anderson and Moore. (3) I shall compare the definition with most of the criteria found in the existing definitions. (4) I shall make some brief comments on other recent contributions. 4.1.1. The first group of cultural objects I have mentioned is that of states of mind, indicated by the terms: knowledge, ideas, beliefs, attitudes, values, morals. Whatever may be the exact meaning of these terms, they indicate things that are (i) identified with each other, even if they are found in different persons: knowledge of the structure of the atom, the idea of a world government, belief in the superiority of the white race, attitude of hostility to communism, values, as life, freedom, moral standards, like the approval or disapproval of homosexuality; (ii) there are also criteria to distinguish these ideas, beliefs, etc. from others. Consequently they are distinguishable classes of entities and, hence, forms. Since it is clear that these forms are determined by man, it follows that according to our definition they are cultural objects. What now is the substratum of these forms, and how should we conceive the differences and similarities in this substratum? This is a problem that cannot as yet be solved, since our knowledge of man is still very superficial. The assumption that the substratum is of a neurological and endocrinological kind is a plausible one, though for the time being it can be no more than a working hypothesis. The only supposition indispensable for our definition to hold good is that there really is a substratum and that there are enough methods — if necessary indirect ones — to identify and discriminate its states. These criteria seem to be sufficiently present in overt and verbal behavior. The form concept permits us to draw attention in this context to a very important class of forms which were, until recently, rarely mentioned in definitions of culture though they certainly are cultural objects. I mean

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the forms of perception of our environment, the way our world picture is conceived. It is well known that von Uexküll (1928) already noticed that each animal has its own Umwelt which is determined and restricted by the potentialities of its receptor organs, and by its needs. This Umwelt of an animal is for the greater part genetically inherited. Man, on the contrary, has also a cultural Umwelt: a great deal of his discriminations and identifications in the outer world are not genetically determined, but have been learnt from other persons, directly, or with the help of other cultural forms (e.g. language), and also with the help of discrimination techniques and instruments (microscopes, telescopes) themselves cultural objects. Thus, a possible classification of cultural objects in this area would be: (a) forms of perception; (b) forms of thought, with which should be ranged (i) concepts, and (ii) propositions; (c) forms of attitudes; (d) forms of objects of attitudes — values; (e) forms of attitudes made explicit and accepted — morals. 4.1.2 The second group of cultural objects is that of habits and customs. They are patterns of behavior of individuals (habit) or groups (custom) that regularly occur in certain specific situations or periods. The very notion of behavior patterns presupposes a kind of stereotypy; so it is obvious that the notion of identification is quite applicable here (whenever a potlatch occurs, it is in a sense always the same phenomenon). This stereotypy also makes discrimination possible (potlatch is distinguishable from kula, and both are different from "lending at interest" and "barter"). Hence these are forms, namely distinguishable sets of states of overt behavior. That they are determined by man as well as states of mind appears clearly from the fact that they may vary from individual to individual (without genetic interference) and from society to society: they also must either be invented by an individual, or learned from otheis. The form concept makes it possible to decide to what extent "behavior," "activities," and "responses" may be considered cultural phenomena. Particular behavior sequences may be part of an equivalence class of activities but separately they do not themselves constitute such a class. Only those aspects that give rise to identification and discrimination (what is usually called the pattern) may be considered as a form. Therefore we can fully associate ourselves with the legitimate censure of the unconsidered use of the terms "behavior" and "learned behavior": only their forms are cultural objects. 4.1.3. Within the group of skills we have made a distinction between "methods of communication": spoken and written language (and all

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other symbols) on the one hand, and then the complex of techniques for the production, transport and preservation of all kinds of goods, and for self-defense. I have explained above that communication of information always relies on forms of a great number of substrata (air waves, written symbols, gestures, electromagnetic waves). It requires no further argument that these forms as such are determined by man in order to increase his discrimination and identification capacities and to facilitate the transmission of them. On the other hand, if some forms of this kind would prove to be genetically inherited (e.g. some modes of expression of the human body), they would naturally be excluded from the class of cultural objects. The other abilities, crafts, etc. form in fact a subclass of "habits and customs" which are mentioned separately because they play an important part in assuring the subsistence of individuals and groups, and because they are frequently associated with the "use of tools." Since skills are patterns of behavior or combinations of them, they are evidently cultural phenomena according to our definition. This does not exclude that there may be border cases where it is difficult to find out whether they are determined by man or not. The advantages of a precise definition, however, lie in that it indicates the origin of the uncertainty and allows one to introduce new conventional criteria if we want to solve the problem conclusively. We might e.g. ask ourselves whether standing and walking upright, swimming, sexual intercourse, etc., belong to human culture. Of course, they are forms of behavior, but the second question is whether they are determined by man. This means: not determined by external factors, or bodily constitution, but by a choice from a number of possibilities offered by these factors. If biologists can prove that the upright standing and walking of an adult person are intimately connected with his morphological structure, we shall not call it a cultural phenomenon. Indeed, if this is true, there is no possibility for choice and, consequently, this behavior form is not determined by man. (The fact that it is enhanced by an individual learning process and often even by imitation of other persons is not decisive.) The same goes perhaps for those aspects of sexual intercourse that are essential to procreation; but we do call cultural phenomena the presence or absence of intercourse at certain points of time, and the various positions adopted, as they vary with other aspects of culture and may be characteristic of particular groups or classes of individuals. In the same way we shall have to regard the different methods of swimming as cultural; whether swimming in general is a cultural

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phenomenon is a question that biologists must solve in accordance with the above-mentioned criteria. Yet the use of language in general, and independent of the existence of differences between languages, is always a cultural phenomenon, because it always works with forms presupposing very specific choices from the possibilities of the vocal cords, which cannot be explained or predicted from their anatomical structure. 4.1.4. More than other components, the group of products of human behavior has been especially subject to discussion. Many unhesitantly classify them with cultural objects whereas others exclude them — above all the material products — very explicitly.5 The criticism of Anderson and Moore is particularly interesting; they indicate some awkward consequences of the assumption that all products of human activity would be cultural phenomena: "But it now develops that we must consider the element einsteinium as a cultural item, owing to the historical circumstance that it is not found in nature, but has been made in laboratories.. .. We would have to consider two kinds of lakes — those which are cultural items (being man-made) and those which are not — and similar for radio waves, light waves, and so on" (Anderson and Moore 1963:129). This is a very important remark; it clearly shows that it does not make sense to consider products of behavior as cultural objects, without further ado. On the other hand, the solution of Anderson and Moore leads to equally awkward consequences, since it excludes Greek temples and French cathedrals from the class of cultural objects, but not the Iliad of Homer and the tragedies of Racine! In my opinion, a satisfactory solution would exclude entities like einsteinium, chemical compounds, etc., but not artistic creations of whatever kind they may be: architectural, pictorial, musical, literary, etc. Starting from our definition, the problem is not very embarrassing. There is indeed an important difference between, say, the element einsteinium and the Parthenon of Athens! The form of the element is wholly determined by the laws of nature and not at all by man, whereas the form of the Parthenon is to a great extent determined by man. Russians and Americans cannot produce two different kinds of a certain isotope but they can build different kinds of cathedrals (if they want to). Man can produce light rays, the properties of which are determined by natural laws only; but when he makes a choice from the possible light rays and decides to consider some of them as distinct and others as equivalent, this choice is not determined by nature (instead of green-and1

They are included by Herskovits, Kroeber, Kluckhohn, White; excluded by Slotkin, Murdock, Forde, Anderson and Moore.

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red traffic lights he might have chosen yellow-and-blue ones), the equivalence classes resulting from this choice are therefore cultural forms. Every choice between possible forms of material objects, no matter whether they be statues, buildings, tools or masks, creates a "form determined by man" and, hence, a cultural object. It follows that artifacts are cultural objects, not as particular entities but insofar as they represent a form created or modified by man. Not each particular specimen of the plow is a cultural item, but the plow as an equivalence class, and also each distinct kind of plow, is a cultural form. Elements and chemical compounds made by man cannot possibly be regarded as cultural since their form is not determined by man, But what about artificial lakes? Like skyscrapers, boats and airplanes, artificial lakes and their dams have to conform to some physical laws, and in this respect they are not cultural; yet we must call them cultural phenomena insofar as these laws allow an ample margin for choice between several possible forms. A particular choice among these forms may be distinguished as such and imitated by other people, hence it is a cultural form, as much as the irrigation systems of Incas and Egyptians. Our approach also shows why some individual objects — especially in the domain of the arts — may be regarded as cultural (e.g. the Parthenon of Athens and the Venus of Milo). Indeed, discrimination has here been carried so far that each temple which has not exactly the same form as the Parthenon and each Venus statue that differs in the least from the one of Milo must be regarded as distinctly different forms. Objects of this kind are identified with perfect copies only. Such individual creations sometimes obtain a considerable influence in society, for example, on artistic norms, or they may become important in religion. It is therefore reasonable to consider them as separate forms and, consequently, as separate cultural objects, since all depends on how far discrimination is carried. It therefore seems that we can agree on the one hand with those authors who stressed that artifacts should not thoughtlessly be included in the culture concept, but, on the other hand, that the latter can be kept within the subject matter of culturology in a very significant way: they are cultural insofar as their form is determined by man. "Immaterial" products (literary, musical, etc.) are to be treated in the same way: they too are considerd different forms insofar as they are indeed felt to be different within a given society. 4.1.5. Finally our definition must also include institutions. This concept is not easy to define, but, anyway, it refers to the organization of a group of people, mainly based on the fact that there are some constant relations

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between the members of this group (depending on specific attitudes and behavior patterns of them) which do not change when the individuals are replaced by others. Within the frame of the institution, the role of the individuals is determined, not by their personal qualities, but by their place in the whole. It follows that here also we are concerned with forms: a network of relations may be mapped on another similar network, and so constitutes an equivalence class. The substratum of these forms consists mainly of human individuals with their variable habits and attitudes, but material objects too may be involved in this complex of relations (e.g. instruments, symbolic objects, and buildings). As these forms vary from society to society, they are evidently determined by man. There is, however, one problem left: in many cases the form of an institution as a totality is not surveyed (hence, not identified and discriminated as such) by the individuals belonging to it. It may nevertheless be argued that in a sense the form does present itself as such to this group of people, since changes of it have clearly distinguishable consequences for the individuals, or for the achievement of the institution as a whole. The experience of these consequences may induce the group to create or reject changes of the form. Therefore it is not senseless to say that an institution is determined by man. A more precise treatment of these problems would require a preliminary examination of the exact meaning of the concepts of institution and social organization. For the time being, our inquiry into the relationships between our definition of culture and the components mentioned by anthropologists has proved that the form concept does not lead us to the exclusion of any important group of phenomena considered so far as cultural objects, and that it even offers a clear solution and a precise and reasonable criterion in a number of difficult or controversial cases.

4.2. The definition also meets the "conditions of adequacy" suggested by Anderson and Moore. 4.2.1. Forms determined by man are subject to cultural change. Two forms may indeed be identified in spite of the fact that there are some slight differences between the two specimens. (Such differences should be considered normal since a completely noise-free form transmission is excluded by Shannon's theorem.) A copy (b) from a picture (a) may be considered identical with (a) even if this is not so; similarly, the language of a generation (b) may be regarded as identical with that of the preceding generation (a); the same may go for (b) and (c), (c) and (d), etc. In the

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long run, however, slight changes may create great differences so that identification is no longer possible: at that moment the change of form is noticed: (a) is different from (d). To put it in an abstract way: change of form (and cultural change) is possible because the relation of identification is not necessarily transitive. 4.2.2. Cultural persistence is possible as well, since some forms can be so redundant that they are, to a great extent, proof against distortion (noise). This may be due to a great many reasons, such as because all important aspects or elements can be very accurately discriminated, because the substratum is very durable, or because the form is embedded in a complex of forms, etc. 4.2.3. Cultural diffusion occurs because some substrata of forms (e.g. material objects) are transmissible, and because forms can be transferred to other substrata as we have explained above. Moreover, since individuals and societies can learn to discriminate and identify in the same way as others, cultural forms can be transmitted as such from individual to individual and from society to society. 4.2.4. Innovation is based on the fact that man can create new forms (introduce new discrimination criteria, produce new objects by new combinations of existing operations, or make a choice among forms originated at random, and multiply this choice). Reappearance of cultural objects in a given society may depend on similar processes. Disappearance follows from the fact that change can lead to entirely different forms without the previous ones being preserved. Furthermore, in the case of complex forms (e.g. difficult techniques) a special system of transmission may be needed (e.g. schools, writing techniques) so that the former are lost when the latter are not yet or no longer available. It would be very interesting to expatiate on the problem of how these important characteristics of cultural phenomena are to be studied, but that would remove us far from our topic. It may be presumed that the form concept not only enables a more exact definition of these "conditions of adequacy," but also — because of its links with psychology and information theory — indicates new directions for research.

4.3. The next inquiry of this section will be concerned with the relationships between our definition and the "criteria" for the class of cultural objects we have analyzed and discussed above.

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4.3.1. We have already criticized the criteria stressing the importance of the "social and historical dimension" of cultural objects (common, accepted, traditional); the form concept may perhaps help to make the pros and cons of this approach more intelligible. Forms determined by man can be shared, etc.; this is an intrinsic property of them, since men can identify and discriminate in the same way. Moreover, it is true that most of the discriminations of an individual are determined by those of his environment and, consequently, by social heritage; it is even true that social spreading and historical continuance are among the criteria which indicate whether some cultural objects are important enough to be studied. It does not follow, however, that only shared or traditional forms are cultural phenomena, or even important ones: this point of view excludes the possibility of studying the creation of new forms and neglects the importance of some forms which play a significant role in society, without being common or accepted (e.g. revolutionary ideas). 4.3.2. Although we have rejected the "theoretical" and "evaluative" criteria, this does not mean that the notions proposed in these definitions would not be interesting. On the contrary, since culturology is the science of forms determined by man, it will have to inquire into the significant relations between these forms. One of the most important questions will then be how cultural forms come into existence. It is clear that the notions of adaptation and gratification of needs will be indispensable here. Furthermore, cultural forms are subject to change, as we have already pointed out, and so we understand that the dynamic process stressed by some will remain an important topic of study. But it should not be forgotten that the subject matter of culturology is much broader: besides the dynamic aspect, that of persistence of cultural objects is equally real, and the factors influencing such invariability are not necessarily of the "adjustive" kind. The problem of the "interrelation" and "integration" of cultural objects may also be stated more clearly. The form concept draws attention to the fact that these relationships and interactions between cultural phenomena are at least of two different kinds, (i) There is the functional way of interaction by which the creation of new forms in one of the domains of culture may have considerable consequences in other fields (e.g. the invention of the plow may cause a greater food supply and so give rise to a greater general activity and other inventions), (ii) Another kind of relationships between cultural objects would consist in the structural similarities between forms within the same domain, and even of different domains. From our definition of the form concept the hypothesis may indeed be

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deduced that perhaps the criteria by which we discriminate and identify such an enormous amount of forms depend on a limited number of simple operations we always apply when we are confronted with a new class of phenomena. If this is true, it would be possible to find one-toone correspondences and structural identities between forms of very different domains. If I am not mistaken, this is precisely the core of the approach of Levi-Strauss' "structural anthropology" (1958). So, the definition of cultural objects as forms provides a new rationale and perhaps new methods (including learning theory and information theory) for a fascinating branch of cultural anthropology, without denying the importance of other points of view. 4.3.3. Our definition is without doubt related to those criteria that refer to the fact that cultural objects are man-made and transmitted by man. It is nevertheless instructive to point out in which aspects the "form approach" is different, and, perhaps, better than the other ones. 4.3.3.1. The notion "created by man," which is found in many definitions, is preserved in ours in the expression "determined by man." Most authors however, had formulated it in so broad a way (everything that is man-made) that it cannot stand up against criticism such as that of Anderson and Moore. By stating more precisely that we are concerned with forms that are man-made, it is possible to retain this important notion without the class of cultural objects being extended too much. The intrinsic properties of forms also make understandable why they can be made and modified by man. 4.3.3.2. It has already been shown that the criterion of learned behavior — as an improvement of "non-genetic transmission" — is too broad as well. The same can be said of "patterns of learned behavior." The latter specification, however, has a considerable advantage: it makes clear that cultural objects are no particular phenomena, but aspects common to different phenomena which can be learned as such. Though this criterion is obviously related to ours, it must be pointed out that there are some differences, (i) The notions of pattern or form are always used intuitively by these authors, and no attempt is made to define them explicitly, (ii) A survey of the contexts where these terms occur shows that they do not have such a general meaning as our form concept: they almost always refer to forms of behavior (habits); it is never mentioned that the notion is applicable to all the above-mentioned components of culture.

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4.3.3.3. The improvement by Anderson and Moore comes very close to our views. Indeed, forms determined by man are learnable from others since we can learn to discriminate and identify in the same way as others and under the influence of others. Yet our definition seems to have several advantages, (i) It provides us with a "principle of individuation" (a learnable item is a form), (ii) It enables a further inquiry into the intrinsic properties of cultural phenomena, (iii) It does away with some awkward restrictions connected with the criterion by Anderson and Moore. In addition to the above-discussed problem of the artifacts, it should be stressed that, as soon as we live in a cultural world {Umwelt), there are a lot of things that are rightly considered as cultural items, which we do not and often cannot learn from others. We learn them through our contact with other cultural objects. In this way, a great part of our perceptive as well as our mental "world" is not taken over from others but directly built up under the influence of language and other cultural items surrounding us. Furthermore, there are a number of skills that we cannot learn through instruction, but only by an active contact with certain instruments (learning to drive a car and to fly a machine is not only a question of instruction, it always requires an individual learning process). The modal operator (it is possible...) which was rightly introduced by Anderson and Moore is not needed in our definition, since the possibility of transmission is inherent in the notion of form. 4.3.3.4. Symbols, as I have mentioned already, constitute an important subclass of cultural forms, and it must be admitted that few can be transmitted otherwise than by symbols. Yet, for the following reasons I prefer the present approach to that of White and others, (i) I have the impression that a satisfactory definition of the symbol concept has not yet been given, (ii) As the form concept is more general and more precise than the notion of symbol, I think it possible and desirable to define the latter in terms of the former, (iii) Whether all cultural phenomena are dependent upon symboling seems to be an empirical question rather than a matter of definition, (iv) Finally, the notion "everything dependent upon symboling" is a vague and merely extrinsic characteristic that does not give much information about the essential properties of cultural objects.

4.4. Owing to the marked difference in approach (and terminology) between the present author and Harris, the latter's work (1964) cannot be analyzed here in detail; it is however indispensable to discuss some major methodological issues raised by his controversial book. I should

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state from the beginning that I am in profound sympathy with a number of his criticisms on the philosophical and conceptual weaknesses of some anthropological studies; there is no disagreement either on basic methodological conceptions and on a philosophy that comes close to logical empiricism and could even be called materialism if this term were not so open to misunderstanding. Nevertheless I think that my definition of the culture concept would be considered by Harris as typical of the "emic," "subjective" standpoint and could not be completely acceptable to his standards of scientific rigor. I am not at all sure that I understand what the etic-emic controversy is really about, therefore I shall state my opinion on what I think is the issue, without directly referring to the authors involved (as e.g. Harris 1964, 1968; Pike 1954; Hymes 1970). 4.4.1. Like many animals, man is endowed with highly developed sense organs: through these he is exposed to a continuous stream of exceedingly varied light, sound, tactile, and other impressions. This chaotic mosaic would be totally useless and even harmful if he were unable to introduce into it some classification and structure, in order to contain within reasonable limits the number of data he should respond to. No doubt, without identification and discrimination procedures and, consequently, without forms he could not possibly realize an adequate (successful) relationship with his physical and social environment. As a matter of fact this organizing activity is so intense that, as far as the visual and auditive senses are concerned, unidentified sensations are extremely rare. It follows that — except for direct physicochemical influences on the body — human behavior will be determined by the reaction of the organism to the discriminated forms. Hence every science of man, every attempt at explanation of his activities, will have to study these forms and the responses they elicit. 4.4.2. There is considerable agreement that man has very few innate identification procedures; so, form recognition on the perceptive as well as on the cognitive level will be acquired by learning (individual learning in interaction with the environment, learning from other people, or learning via language categories and other products of human communities). Similarities in body structure and physical Umwelt may result in a number of common detection criteria, but most forms are undoubtedly imposed by a human-made environment and differ from society to society. 4.4.3. If the foregoing theses are true the problem of the anthropologist

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concerns the invention of methods (i) to detect the forms present in a given community, (ii) to analyze their mutual relationships, their evolution laws and their impact on people. 4.4.4. Thus far, there should be no difference between the etic and the emic approaches (if both are interested in the construction of scientific theories about man and society). The disagreement seems to arise when methods are proposed for the detection of the important forms and their relationships. Since forms are the result of operations performed by the brains of people, no direct observation method is available. On the other hand, two indirect methods have been suggested: one can try to make detailed observations of the behavior of individuals and groups, and of the objects surrounding them and then look for similarities and dissimilarities, using, if necessary, statistical methods, factor analysis, etc.; in this way some invariables and constant relations between them may be discovered: they would rightly be considered as important forms if they allowed prediction of human behavior. There is nothing wrong with this "etic" method except that an enormous amount of data and complicated manipulations are needed to distinguish the relevant behavior patterns. It seems to me that this method can only lead to practical results in the analysis of artifacts and the techniques by which these are made. In applying the "emic" method, on the other hand, one does not search for the forms themselves but for the criteria by which they are identified and produced. It is assumed that these criteria can be found because form recognition and production depend ultimately on a small number of basic distinctions (contrasts) within certain properties or dimensions. The form is the result of a combination of such elementary distinctions; such basic forms again can give rise to more complex forms according to certain rules. The advantages of this approach cannot be denied: detection is easier since, on the basic level, the contrasts are well marked and the number of rules limited; once a result is known it can easily be tested for it must allow one to reconstruct all relevant forms. Nevertheless, one cannot be sure that this method will be applicable to all important domains of culture. The discriminating capacity of man depends not only on his ability to construct complex forms from simple ones but also on his tremendous memory, in which forms may be stored that have only a loose relationship with each other. 4.4.5. The reader may understand now why I fail to see the rationale of this controversy. If recognition of the fact that "forms" are the relevant

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objects to be studied equals an emic standpoint, then I am definitely an "emicist," but I reject every assimilation with subjectivism or idealism. If the behavior of a robot were to be studied, I would not make detailed observations, I would ask for the program; when a football game is the object of analysis I suggest that before observing the activities of the players, you learn the rules they follow: this is not subjectivism but sound scientific method. If, however, an "emicist" has to believe that an etic approach could never achieve any result or, even worse, if emics is reduced to talking about "meaning" and "symbol," I prefer to be on the other side. Anyway, since none of these extremes can be reasonably defended, the controversy turns out to be no more than an expression of differences in bias for particular methods and no scientist should deplore such a situation as long as everybody is ready to accept the verdict of the results.

4.5. As far as I can see, the view on the culture concept that comes closest to mine is that of Goodenough, as it was briefly exposed in 1964.1 know of no other scholar who has explicitly identified the class of cultural objects with that of forms, while giving at the same time an explication of that concept that is largely analogous to mine: "...culture is not a material phenomenon, it does not consist of things, people, behavior or emotions.... It is rather the forms of things that people have in mind, their models for perceiving, relating, and otherwise interpreting them" (1964a:36). It is also explained that forms are in a certain sense equivalence classes of material objects to which people always react in the same way and hence (as I would put it) are identified with each other and discriminated from other classes. Nevertheless, although the approach seems to be basically the same, there are some slight shifts of accent in intention as well as in wording. 4.5.1. Although it cannot have been his purpose, Goodenough's terminology suggests sometimes that culture is almost exclusively a cognitive phenomenon and that the culture objects are shared by all the members of a community. "As I see it, a society's culture consists of whatever it is one has to know or to believe in order to operate in a manner acceptable to its members..."; "...what you have to know in order to operate as a member of society..." (1964a:37). The notions of role and mutual expectations are of considerable importance indeed, but it should be stated clearly, for didactic reasons at least, that forms of deviant unaccepted behavior may also be cultural phenomena. Moreover, some cultural forms, such as artistic productions in modern societies, exist

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independently of their being accepted or unaccepted. One could argue that the recognition procedures for such phenomena are part of the things that should be known, but, as I have tried to prove above, not only the discrimination criteria but also the artifacts themselves (their equivalence classes, of course) should be considered cultural objects. Not only are the rules to understand Ulysses a cultural form but also the book itself. The notion of knowing, too, is misleading: the term normally refers to conscious knowing, whereas, as Goodenough would certainly emphasize with me, the most important discrimination criteria operate on an unconscious level. Therefore, it is perhaps preferable to use in general the unbiased terms of discrimination and identification and to specify only for particular phenomena whether the discrimination belongs clearly to the perceptual, the cognitive, the evaluative or the performative (motoric) level. (I can hardly regard my dislike for garlic or a rope-dancer's skill as "cognitive" although both are cultural phenomena.) 4.5.2. A similar preference for the cognitive aspects is revealed in other publications, where the importance of studying the "ideational order" is stressed (Goodenough 1964b: 10-12). When this thesis is associated with expressions such as "the subjective world of form" (1964a: 39) the danger of being misinterpreted and of being treated as idealist and subjectivist is not so far away. Operations of the brain by which a circle is distinguished from a square or a judge from a lawyer are no less material and no less objective than the functioning of a human stomach or the run of a horse. I suggest that we get rid of terms like "ideational" and that we use the term "subjective" as a property of statements whose truth value is not ascertained by scientific methods or interpersonal consensus. The "subjective" or "emic" approach in anthropology could perhaps be better termed "actor-oriented" research: this makes clear that we make an objective study of people within their social and physical environment, including the way they look at it, and are influenced by it. 4.5.3. Goodenough, like many contemporary anthropologists, is convinced that language plays an overwhelming role in culture and in the way it is learned: "It is in the course of learning his language and how to use it that every human being acquires the bulk of his culture" (1964a: 39). I am afraid I don't understand the full import of this statement. I have a reasonable acquaintance with first-century Latin, and certainly with seventeenth-century French; nevertheless I have only a poor knowledge of the corresponding cultures. I know almost nothing of their technology, medicine, hygiene, housing and furniture, diet, ways of cooking, eating,

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sleeping, making love, treating the slaves, etc. On the other hand, without knowing Old Egyptian I could learn a lot of things about their culture if I had the opportunity of studying all the buildings, the paintings, the utensils, the tools and other remains. The point is not that language is unimportant, but that we learn a considerable part of culture by looking and doing, seeing what other people do, and by having direct contact with the material products of a culture. Stressing the role of language should not lead to underrating the enormous unmediated impact of technology, and of the man-made part of the material Umwelt. 4.5.4. A final remark is again concerned with terminology. Goodenough tries to incorporate his conception of forms in a theory of signs. The reader will have understood that I prefer the opposite way: the form notion is the general one, and signs are a particular class of forms. For Goodenough, instances of a form (e.g. the particular objects that are identified as a bow, a table, etc.) are considered as signs, namely iconic signs of the form: they signify the identification criteria by possessing the properties common to all the members of the class. Perhaps I am wrong, but this seems to me an unnecessary complication. We can do very well while speaking of (particular) instances or occurrences of a form, or saying, in a more loose way, this object has that form. No new insight is provided with this use of the notion of "iconic signs." We should rather continue to apply the sign concept only in contexts where it refers to a communication vehicle. The term "icon" (iconic sign), as it was meant by C. S. Peirce, did not refer to elements of a class as icons for this class, but rather to those signs which show similarity or structural identity with the objects they denote: such as a drawing of a house as an icon for that house. If the term "icon" is to be used for all members of equivalence classes, we will again have to search for another word to refer to communication signs that are pictograms! These few criticisms, all bearing upon Goodenough's bias for linguistics, cannot minimize the fact that he was the first anthropologist to introduce a basically sound conception of culture and that he also succeeded in linking it with valuable research methods (componential analysis). 4.6. We may conclude perhaps that the form concept retains some of the most important aspects of the previous criteria (man-made, non-genetic transmission), and offers the possibility of detecting the valuable aspects of other ones (social heritage, learnable-from, patterns, mediated by symbols). It also enables us to animadvert on the rest of the criteria and to make understandable why they have been introduced. This first

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examination has not revealed any conspicuous gaps and a number of objections to the preceding definitions seem to have been avoided. We do not mean to say that there are no weak spots in our approach, but, for the time being, we must leave it to others to point them out.

5. THEORETICAL USEFULNESS I shall now subject our definition to a last test by asking whether it is theoretically fruitful, that is, whether it can be used as a basis for dealing satisfactorily with some problems. 5.1.1. To begin with, there is the problem of how culture has come into existence, and, related to it, the question of how and why some cultural objects have acquired a cumulative nature. 5.1.1.1. It is indeed well known that some higher species of animals, like monkeys and apes, show certain behavior patterns that vary from group to group (within the same species). These behavior patterns are invented by some individuals and then adopted by the other members of the group (see e.g. Kawamura 1963). We are thus concerned here with forms capable of non-genetic transmission and invented by members of the species. They have much in common with cultural objects, except that they are not man-made, but rather monkey-made or ape-made. Owing to this similarity we could call them protocultural forms. 6 Consequently, the problem of the transition from the early Hominidae to man may also be put in this way: how did protocultural forms develop into cultural ones, or, in other words, what is the specific property of those forms which could render possible the origin of man. 5.1.1.2. It is generally agreed upon that the cumulative aspect is one of the distinguishing properties of human culture as opposed to protoculture (see Mead 1956). So we have to explain why some protocultural forms have become cumulative. First of all, however, it is important to realize that the cumulative aspect, which some human forms surely have, cannot be used as a criterion for defining cultural phenomena. 6

Our notion of "protoculture" is inspired by that of Hallowell (1962); along the same lines of thought it would be possible to introduce a notion of "quasi-cultural forms" which would include also forms produced by computers.

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It would not make sense to call cultural only those forms that are cumulative (i.e. the forms that are not only preserved, but that are open to progressive improvement and development), since this would exclude from the concept some very important phenomena that vary from one society to another, without being cumulative (e.g. the way a mother feeds her children, carries them etc.). On the other hand it remains true that human culture and man himself would not have come into existence if at least some cultural forms had not been cumulative. Hence, even if the cumulative property is not a criterion to delimit the class of cultural entities, it is an indispensable characteristic of a proper subclass of these entities. Neglecting this subtle distinction might lead to all kinds of supplementary problems. 5.1.2. As to the question of how cultural phenomena of the cumulative kind originated, in our terminology it may be translated as follows: how is it possible that some forms are cumulative or — more abstractly — how can forms have a high degree of redundancy (resistance to noise) and, at the same time, be open to progressive improvement! 5.1.2.1. We know for certain one kind of forms that meet these requirements, namely the genetically determined forms of living beings as they are codified in the chromosomes (in chains of DNA). The substratum offered by these chromosomes apparently has the property of reproducing the same forms on a very large scale without significant alterations. In this way redundancy is secured, and hence, the subsistence of the forms. On the other hand the latter are also sometimes subject to random variations, of which some cause a better adaptation to the surroundings, others a worse one. As the inadequate forms are eliminated in the "struggle for life" a cumulation possibility has been created. Indeed, better forms may again be multiplied and enhance the liability of new improvements. That biological evolution works so slowly is explained by the fact that the environment does not intervene in the creation of new forms, but only in the elimination of the less adequate ones. Cultural evolution proceeds more quickly because the environment plays a part in the creation as well as in the elimination of forms. 5.1.2.2. With many kinds of animals the environment does influence the development of behavior forms, namely by a learning process. The latter, however, does not lead to cultural forms because it is an individual learning process which every individual of the same species must go through; hence it is not capable of transmission to other individuals.

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Cumulation of course is impossible here since it assumes construction and improvement of new forms on the basis of those existing already. This implies that, first of all, these forms should be transmissible (not each time again discovered by trial and error), and that, once transmitted, they should be open to further improvement. 5.1.2.3. Protocultural forms are a first step towards cumulation as they can be learnt from other congeners. Yet even these forms need not be cumulative, and it is easy to understand why. If, say, a young ape imitates the behavior of the older members of the group, part of the result will consist of some really adaptive forms (e.g. the best way of "fishing" termites). Yet these will never be very complex behavior patterns acquired in complicated problem situations because: (i) such a situation rarely presents itself so that there is only a slight chance of having the opportunities of learning by imitation; (ii) a high degree of intelligence is needed to imitate a complex behavior pattern that can only be observed; a few times (iii) even if a second individual could ever, by an extraordinary coincidence, take such a behavior pattern over from its inventor, the chance of transmitting it to a third individual would remain very small, etc. Therefore, imitation of complex behavior forms cannot provide a satisfactory basis for the cumulative aspect of form transmission. Protocultural communication of behavior forms cannot go beyond a certain level of complexity. 5.1.3. The only possible solution to this problem seems to be that complex behavior forms should be somehow encoded in simple fixed forms. The simplest form in which problem-solving behavior can be "petrified" is, we think, the tool. Tools have the advantage over the above-mentioned behavior patterns in that they can become familiar to us — in that we can practice them — independently of the problem situation in which they must be used. One knows that carrying tools (a termiting twig) during a certain period of time and with the manifest purpose of later use has been observed in chimpanzees (Lancaster 1968). This is, however, a rather rare phenomenon. In order to arrive at a following important step, it seems to me that there must have been an environmental situation wherein there was a constant need (for a higher group of apes) to use natural tools (like stones and sticks). This could have caused a selection pressure in the direction of continuous carrying of tools and, hence, in a slow interaction with neurological evolution, the habit of playing and being acquainted with tools from early youth. Over long periods this should have led to greater skill

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and, at the same time, better discrimination procedures with regard to the differences between tools, and their respective uses. The result was that preferences originated for certain forms of stones or sticks, and for certain manipulations to adapt defective forms to the ideal ones. This choice and improvement of tools was in the beginning restricted to sticks and other organic material, but at the moment wherein the habit was transferred to elementary manipulation of stone tools, a new situation seems to have been arisen. Owing to the much higher durability of the material substratum, the forms continue to exist within the community after the death of individuals. This is the beginning of an Umwelt of artificial forms, superimposed on the natural environment. Such a world of new forms necessarily introduces a new selection pressure in the direction of discrimination of more and more forms and more and more manipulation of them. When the moment arrives that the form of some tools is distinctly different from the natural stones, one can say that the artificial forms are identified as such and that progression and cumulation of the forms are assured: a subclass of the forms determined by this animal is cumulative and perhaps we can say that in this period the transition from protocultural to cultural forms is realized. Whether we should also say that this is the beginning of human culture or the origin of man seems to me a purely terminological question that can only be solved by a convention on the use of the term "man." The essential point I want to make is that (stone) tools have been the the first forms capable of progressive, cumulative improvement. They are open to improvement, because, by an ordinary learning process (trial and error) one can learn to choose from a group of objects those that are most suited. They are capable of transmission for the following reasons: (i) because of the material of the substratum, they are almost imperishable and therefore have a good chance of being taken over by the following generations (which is not the case with forms of behavior)·, (ii) the use of simple tools can easily be learnt if one has the tool at one's disposal. Complex behavior patterns cannot be learnt by imitation but the use of a stick to strike, and a stone to throw or to cut, can be. Moreover, the use of improved forms of tools is generally no less learnable than that of primitive ones so that progressive improvement need not make transmission more difficult; (iii) the spreading of tools causes a new environment and thus new selection pressure (positive feedback), a situation that would not have been present if speech had originated alone. 5.1.4.1. White is probably correct in thinking that cultural evolution (i.e. the creation and progressive increase of the class of cultural objects)

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depends on the ability of bestowing value upon things — although he should rather say "upon forms of things." Yet I cannot agree when he considers this as a "symbolic faculty" with an "all or none" character. In the light of the foregoing hypothesis it seems still more improbable that the use and transmission of tools would not be possible without language. As already mentioned above, by introducing the "symbolic faculty" as a whole, we deprive ourselves of the possibility of inquiring into the causes and mechanisms by which it gradually developed. The study of forms and the possible modifications of them enables us to examine these transitions. 5.1.4.2. This study is moreover illuminating when one discovers that the invention of new substrata and, hence, new classes of possible forms, has time and again had a tremendous influence on further evolution (e.g. bronze, iron, electric current, electromagnetic waves, etc.). That the ways of behavior connected with the use of tools must also be learnt goes without saying, but, in fact, transmission and cumulation are not so much caused by improvement of the ways of behavior as by the forms of the tools themselves and, of course, the operations to produce them. Though some people may be better at plowing than others it is not easy to teach this better method to others, because is it often connected with talent and individual learning; yet it is decisive that some have made better plows than others, better forms of this tool. 5.1.4.3. Parallel to the role of D N A replication in biological evolution, the cumulation aspect is here secured by the great redundancy of forms caused by their being encoded in a very durable substratum. Cumulation, however, occurs more rapidly in this case because the environment intervenes not only in the elimination of bad forms but also in the creation of good ones. The same object may be progressively improved and adapted while it is used, and it is even possible for forms already existing in nature to be a direct source of inspiration (an animal's teeth may serve as a model for a knife). 5.1.5. The inquiry into forms and their various kinds of substrata appears to be revealing as to the examination of how protocultural objects changed into cultural ones, but the same kind of inquiry is applicable to further evolution: the decisive steps that heightened the possibility of cumulation are often related to improved methods of encoding forms; spoken language, written language, drawings, plans, and, above all, the mathematical methods in science, are evident instances.

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5.2. By way of conclusion we shall now examine the relations between our culture concept — which coincides with the one in cultural anthropology — and the meaning given to this term on the continent, especially in philosophical anthropology. 5.2.1. Contrary to what is generally believed, these two concepts do not differ so very much. Aims and methods of research are of course different. Cultural anthropologists are mainly interested in the various characteristics by which human societies differ from each other, and patiently rely on empirical inquiries. Philosophical anthropologists, on the other hand, try to find the essential properties of man, to determine his place in the universe and in the whole of living beings; they sometimes use far-reaching extrapolations based on a restricted number of empirical data. Yet this divergence of aims and methods does not prevent the views on the culture concept from being strikingly similar. Already in 1898 the neo-Kantian Rickert tried to introduce the notion of culture, with the view of replacing the traditional antithesis Natur-Geist by Natur-Kultur. Natur is then defined as "der Inbegriff des von selbst entstandenen [the whole of what originated of itself]" and Kultur as "das von einem nach gewerteten Zwecken handelden Menschen entweder direkt hervorgebrachte oder, wenn es schon vorhanden ist, so doch wenigstens um der daran haftenden Werte willen absichtlich gepflegte... [that which is directly produced by man, acting on the basis of aims that are considered values, or, if it existed before, that which is kept and looked after because of the values attached to it]" (Rickert 1926:18). The two criteria mentioned ("created by man" and the value or meaning aspect) also occur in definitions of cultural anthropologists; moreover, it may be pointed out that our criterion of discrimination and identification is related to that of "attaching value or meaning," although it is somewhat more comprehensive, and more exactly defined. At any rate there are certainly no decisive differences between our conception of the subject matter and that of Rickert. It may further be interesting to observe that he — in striking contrast with the earlier concept of, for example Burckhardt — interprets the notion so widely that economic phenomena and even the products of primitive peoples belong to it (Rickert 1926:22-23). A similar view is to be found with another neo-Kantian philosopher: Ernst Cassirer, whose "Philosophy of symbolic forms" in fact constitutes an attempt at building up a general philosophy of culture. These "symbolic forms" correspond with what we have called "components of culture." On the basis of a thus circumscribed culture concept he then

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tries to define man. "Man's outstanding characteristic, his distinguishing mark, is not his metaphysical or physical nature, but his work. It is this work, it is the system of human activities, which defines and determines the circle of 'humanity'. Language, myth, religion, art, science, history, are the constituents, the various sectors of this circle" (Cassirer 1956:93). Here also the culture concept appears not to be restricted to "high cultures," though the absence of the terms "tools" and "technology" shows that the influence of the old "nature-mind" opposition still lingers. This influence has been definitely eliminated with Moritz Schlick, one of the founders of Logical Empiricism. In the small work Natur und Kultur, which was posthumously published, it clearly appears that the invention of tools and also agriculture and cattle breeding, are very substantial components of culture. They even provide the basis for it: "Alle Kultur ist technisch begründet... [all culture has a technical foundation...]." This work is interesting not only because of the wide interpretation of the culture concept, but also because of a deep insight into its fundamental aspects. As the most important characteristic of culture he mentions: "das Zusammenfassen, Organisieren der Naturvorgänge nach einem Plan [the bringing together and the organization of natural processes according to a plan]" (Schlick 1952:30,26). That means that the quintessence of our own criterion, namely the importance of human activity, and the form aspect, comes very close to Schlick's intuitive view on the matter. I have mentioned these authors to show that also in philosophy since the beginning of this century a culture concept has been developing which moves away from the humanistic interpretation, approaches that of American anthropologists, and even coincides with it. This may also be said without reserve of the most outstanding philosophical anthropologists. Whoever reads A. Gehlen, Ε. Rothacker, Μ. Landmann, or others, will see that the classes of phenomena which these authors include with culture, and the components we have examined above, greatly overlap. Here too the active part of man and the form aspect of cultural objects come more and more into prominence (though the form notion remains intuitive and is never precisely defined). For example, from a definition by Landmann: "culture is the form in which man's creative achievements are spread and preserved" (1961:104). As to Rothacker, the whole of cultural objects is a class o f " . . . Handlungsformen, Ordnungsstile, Denkformen, Schauformen... [forms of acting, styles of ordering, forms of thought, of perceiving]" (Rothacker 1965:34). These few examples will suffice to prove that my definition — and the criteria I have chosen for it — is not one-sidedly connected with the

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concept in cultural anthropology. It is just as applicable to philosophical anthropology, and may even contribute to a synthesis of both branches in that it draws attention to the fact that some items, which are neglected by the former and emphasized by the latter, are essential components of culture. 5.2.2. It would be equally possible and interesting to comment on the other meanings of culture in literature and everyday language. Since, however, this would require an extensive survey of the history of the concept, we cannot expatiate here on this subject. I should only like to remark that, perhaps, starting from our definition, the analysis and criticism may be much easier. For example, the problem of definition of the individuative culture concept (a particular culture) may be reduced to the problem of circumscribing a particidar class of cultural forms. For this specification each science may introduce its own criteria: cultural anthropologists will perhaps say that a particular culture is a class of forms identified and discriminated by the members of a given group, such as the Hopi Indians. Archaeologists, on the other hand, who do not come into contact with human groups but only with remains, will perhaps introduce other criteria such as form correspondences between objects and their place in space and time, in order to be able to speak about Maya, Mousterian, Hallstatt culture. In the same way it may perhaps be proved that the other meanings of culture are also concerned with some subclasses of the class of cultural forms, and the historical context may help to explain why people like Herder, Burckhardt, and others were interested in this subclass rather than in the whole of cultural phenomena (e.g. when excluding technology from culture). Finally, inquiries of this kind could make it possible to find a definitive answer to problems such as that of the meaning of progress (i.e. are there irreversible cultural forms?) and that of a possible distinction between culture and civilization. It was not our aim to answer this kind of question here, but only to introduce a concept of form and of cultural object with a definite and clear meaning which would provide a means to deal more exactly with all problems concerning culture and the science of culture.

REFERENCES ALLPORT, G. W .

1937 Personality, a psychological interpretation. New York: Holt.

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ANDERSON, A. R., Ο. K. MOORE

1963 "Toward a formal analysis of cultural objects," in Boston studies in the philosophy of science. Edited by M. W. Wartofsky, 117-143. Dordrecht: Reidel. BARNETT, S. A.

1963 A study in behavior. London: Methuen. BROADBENT, D. E.

1961 Behavior. London: Eyre and Spottiswoode. BRUNER, J., J. GOODNOW, J. AUSTIN

1962 A study of thinking. New York: Science Editions. CAFAGNA, A. C.

1960 "A formal analysis of definitions of culture," in Essays in the science of culture in honor of L. A. White. Edited by G. E. Dole, 111-132. New York. CARNAP, R.

1956 "The methodological character of theoretical concepts," in Minnesota studies in the philosophy of science, volume one. Edited by H. Feigl and M. Scriven, 38-76. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. CASSIRER, E.

1956 An essay on man. New York: Doubleday. CHERRY, c .

1961

On human communication. New York: Wiley.

CRONBACH, L. J., P. E. MEEHL

1956

"Construct validity in psychological tests," in Minnesota studies in the philosophy of science, volume one. Edited by H. Feigl and M. Scriven, 174-204. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

DEUTCH, J. A.

1960

The structural basis of behavior. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

GARNER, W . R.

1962

Uncertainty and structure as psychological concepts. London: Krieger.

GEHLEN, Α.

1950 Der Mensch, seine Natur und seine Stellung in der Welt (second edition). Bonn: Athenäum. GOODENOUGH, WARD H.

1964a "Cultural anthropology and linguistics," in Language in culture and society. Edited by Dell Hymes, 36-39. New York: Harper and Row. 1964b "Introduction," in Explorations in cultural anthropology. Edited by Ward H. Goodenough, 1-24. New York: McGraw-Hill. HALLOWELL, A. I.

1962 "The proto-cultural foundations of human adaptation," in Social life of early man. Edited by S. L. Washburn, 236-255. London. HARRIS, MARVIN

1964 1968

The nature of cultural things. New York: Random House. The rise of anthropological theory. New York: Crowell.

HEBB, D. o .

1949

The organisation of behavior. New York: Wiley.

HILGARD E. R., D. G. MARQUIS

1961

Conditioning of learning (revised edition by G. A. Kimble). London.

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HOLLOWAY, RALPH L., JR.

1969 Culture, a human domain. Current Anthropology 10:395-412. HYMES, DELL

1970 "Linguistic method in ethnography: its development in the United States," in Method and theory in linguistics. Edited by Paul L. Garvin, 249-325. The Hague: Mouton. KAPLAN, DAVID

1965 The superorganic: science or metaphysics? American Anthropologist 67:958-976. KAWAMURA, SYUNZO

1963 "The process of sub-culture propagation among Japanese macaques," in Primate social behavior. Edited by C. H. Southwick, 83-90. New York. KROEBER, A. L., C. KLUCKHOHN

1952 Culture, a critical review of concepts and definitions. New York: Vintage Books. LANCASTER, JANE B.

1968 On the evolution of tool-using behavior. American Anthropologist 70:56-66. LANDMANN, L.

1961 Der Mensch als Schöpfer und Geschöpf der Kultur. Munich. LßVI-STRAUSS, C.

1958 Anthropologie structurale. Paris: Plön. MEAD, MARGARET

1956 "Cultural determinants of behavior," in Behavior and evolution. Edited by A. Roe and G. Simpson. New Haven: Yale University Press. PIKE, Κ. L.

1954 Language in relation to a unified theory of the structure of human behavior, volume one. Glendale. RICKERT, H.

1926 Kulturwissenschaft und Naturwissenschaft (sixth edition). Tübingen. ROTHACKER, ERICH

1965 Probleme der Kulturanthropologic. Bonn: Bouvier. SCHLICK, MORITZ

1952 Natur und Kultur. Vienna: Humboldt. SCOTT, J. P.

1958 Animal behavior. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. SINGER, MILTON

1968 "The concept of culture," in International encyclopedia of the social sciences, volume three. Edited by David L. Sills, 527-543. New York: Macmillan. THORPE, w. H., o. L. ZANGWILL, editors 1961 Current problems in animal behavior. Cambridge. TYLOR, E. B.

1871 Primitive culture. London: Murray. VERMEERSCH, E.

1963 Information and philosophy. StudiaPhilosophica Gandensia 1:141-151.

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1965 Some remarks on the analysis of culture concept. Studio Philosophica Gandensia 3:157-209. 1967 Epistemologische inleiding tot een wetenschap van de mens. Brugge: De Tempel. VON UEXKÜLL, J. 1928 Theoretische Biologie. Berlin. whito, LESLIE Α., editor 1949 The science of culture (fifth printing). New York: Grove Press. 1959a The concept of culture. American Anthropologist 61:227-251. 1959b The evolution of culture. New York: McGraw-Hill.

The Concept of Culture: A New Presentation

BERNARDO BERNARDI

Human activity is expressed by a manifold variety of relationships directed towards the entire universe. Man's behavior reflects those relationships and their variety. Though the nature of man is found to be the same through space and time, man's behavior is extremely varied. The way in which man defines his relationships to the universe is called culture. If, then, man is fundamentally the same through space and time, we are led to discover and discuss the factors responsible for the great variety of his cultural forms. The basic factors of culture are four. Their action is continual and integrated so much so that, lacking any one of them, culture cannot exist. They are (1) anthropos - man in his individual and personal reality; (2) ethnos - the collectivity or the community as an association of individuals; (3) oikos - the cosmic universe in which man lives and operates; (4) chronos - time or the temporal dimension of man's activity. These factors can be considered as the cardinal points or the coordinates of culture. Let us analyze each of them.

ANTHROPOS - THE INDIVIDUAL The stress put by Dürkheim and his followers, such as Radcliffe-Brown, on the need to study social facts as a distinct reality has had the effect of denying the individual man his proper place in the dynamics of culture and cultural forms. On the contrary, one of the reasons that has made the definition of culture by Tylor a locus classicus of anthropology is the inclusion of "the individual... as a member of society."

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If we consider culture as an acquired whole, we can, of course, abstract from the individual. In this sense, culture goes beyond individual intuitions and accomplishments; it is not simply a sum but rather an integration of all of them. If, however, we consider culture in its dynamic genesis, we are bound to refer to the individual. In this perspective, the individual serves an irreplaceable function in the making, maintaining, and transmitting of culture; he is to be considered as the very origin of culture. The relationship between man and culture is ambivalent. It can be seen as a contribution given by every man to culture, and it can be seen as a mold for a man's personality, indeed for his individuality. Meyer Fortes, in his analysis of the functional differentiation and symbolism of Tale society, brings that into focus when he writes: The multiplicity of social roles does not obliterate the individual. Though he is a microcosm of his society he is always, also, uniquely himself. At times this is the prime determinant of his behaviour, at others a particular social role or membership of a corporate group is decisive (Fortes 1945:144). Man can be better described as a culture maker rather than a culture carrier or Kultur-träger, as the Germans say. The apparently passive position of a man in the process of enculturation as opposing that description must thus be explained. First, the process of enculturation is brought into motion by other individuals who are already partial members of that culture. Though, when a man is born, his first introduction into a culture is made without any possible decision of his own - in other words he has no power of cultural choice - his passivity to enculturation is not absolute; enculturation always entails some response by the subject. Every individual, from the beginning of his life, assimilates values and behavior that are taught to him; he appropriates them and experiments with them. Assimilation, appropriation, and experimentation are the active responses of every subject of enculturation. He may also refuse to assimilate or appropriate either for an explicit (however unconscious) will of personal differentiation, or for the need to avoid what experience has shown him to be unfit. He makes his own choices. He becomes the living interpreter of the culture he is being taught. His interpretations, however imitative, will always carry something peculiar and unique of his own. It is in this sense that every individual can be considered a maker of culture. Obviously, the originality of the contribution will vary from individual to individual. It can be minimal, merely carrying culture and thus keeping it alive, or it can be maximal when the contribution radically changes the culture by bringing new elements into it. The innovating

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contribution of the individual to culture is best shown by geniuses. Geniuses are "culture heroes" and every culture has its own. By viewing man as a maker of culture we reach the capillary vessel and the source of culture. Indeed, we identify man and culture. We can, in fact, discover a deep consciousness of this identity in every man so that when we meet a man we meet culture. If we meet an Italian, we see him as representative of the Italian culture, an African of the African culture, a Chinese of the Chinese culture, and so on. If we realize that, we shall have respect and acceptance for every individual and his dignity. Finally, we shall be brought to realize that in every man, whatever his culture and his contribution to culture, it is human dignity that is at stake. The concept of the dignity of man as a culture maker makes no distinction between male and female. Though sex differentiation is basic and offers itself as a natural principle of social structure, as does age, it appears to affect social structure rather than culture in the broad fundamental sense in which we see it here. By thus giving the individual his rightful place in the process of culture making, we can better understand the development of the anthropological method in terms of participant observation. An anthropologist in the field does not limit himself merely to observing collective life and behavior but will make it a point to share that collective life and try to understand the culture through personal contacts. Human and personal understanding is what distinguishes anthropology. This fundamental attitude and direct method brought the recognition, at last, that rational intelligence and a sense of human dignity are traits and rights proper and common to every man, even at those levels once unhappily considered barbarous, savage, or uncivilized.

ETHNOS - THE COMMUNITY Culture as a whole is brought to the fore by the interaction of all the individuals comprising it. In this view culture represents the product of the collectivity, not, as has been said, as the sum of the cultural activity of all the individuals, but as the dynamic and systematic articulation of them all into an integrating whole. As such, culture appears to be a process. How this takes place and develops into manifold cultural systems is not easy to ascertain, but this is one of the most stimulating topics of anthropological research. Every intuition, interpretation, or action of an individual, however new, original, and renovating, would become lost, barren, if not taken up

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by the collectivity, articulated into an organic complex, and transmitted as part of a common inheritance. The very creativeness of a genius could not even be realized if his contribution were not incorporated by the community. In our discussion of how the community realizes the culture-making process, we can refer to the distinction between communitas and community made by V. Turner: "Essentially, communitas is a relationship between concrete, historical, idiosyncratic individuals" (Turner 1969: 131). In this concept the creative part of the individual in the culture process is kept prominent. There is, however, no need to follow up the discussion of Turner on the type of personality, liminal or marginal, that distinguishes the members of a communitas. In any case, it is part of the cultural process that a communitas will develop into a community: "it is the fate of all spontaneous communitas in history to undergo what most people see as a 'decline and fall' into structure and law" (Turner 1969:132). The opposition between communitas and community is set in terms of "spontaneity" versus "structure and law," with the latter being "decline and fall" - a negative phenomenon. But what is it that declines and falls? Surely it is that spontaneity that is thought of as the highest quality of communitas. But, again, where do we find that spontaneity in communitas and how is it expressed? Of course, we find it in the individual members of communitas and in their capacity to express themselves without any constraint. In other words it is by and through its individual members that communitas has its dynamic force. In communitas we are able to see all the individuals at work in the making of culture, singly and collectively. In community it is only by deep analysis that ordinarily we are able to discover and realize, and even to measure, the significance of the individual in the process of culture making. In fact, a community will preserve an impulse to survive and live on as a culture, as long as its "structure and law" sets no obstacle to the cultural activity of its individual members, and as far as it is able to articulate into an integrated whole all the intuitions of its individual members. Communitas and community are two types of human collectivity that stand at different levels. In the process of culture making they are found at two successive stages of structural development. Human collectivities can also differ in scale. Thus a family is of a minor scale than a lineage, a lineage of minor scale than a clan, and so on. But whatever its level or its scale, a human collectivity, being made of individuals, by its very nature is dynamic, not static. It has a life: it begins, it develops, it dies off.

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If we take the family community as an illustration we realize how the life cycle of the family involves many changes of roles, authority, and labor, all of which affect its individual members. In a family a man is first a son, then he is engaged, and finally he is married. At this point his parents become the parents-in-law of his partner. And when he becomes a father, they also become the grandparents of his child. The dynamic character of the family-community is extremely evident, and it is easy to point out how the individual members of a family behave in their different roles. Some can live in it with strength and success, improving, as it were, on its "structure and law"; others suffer stress and frustration; still others seem unable to effect any positive outcome: whatever experiments they make are met by failure. However, all the attitudes and experiences of the individual members are absorbed or rejected - by the family in order to preserve itself and complete the cycle by which its offspring will live on. If the family, a small-scale community, fails, the larger-scale community, whatever that is, takes over. In any case, the community tries to integrate its members, to support them, in order that it itself may live on. In this sense, Marcel Mauss was right in stating that the whole is more important than its parts. Although the contribution of the individuals to culture making cannot be overly emphasized, when culture becomes an integrated whole it grows beyond its individual sources. It becomes a common value of the collectivity. It will be seen as a patrimony, a legacy of the fathers; "our fathers did it" becomes often the only motivation for action. The concepts of value and patrimony imply an autonomy for culture that goes beyond its individual members. They also imply a sense of participation by which all members of a culture share in it. They entail, finally, that culture be seen as a legacy, an inheritance received from forefathers. In this perspective, culture is valued as the patrimony of the collectivity. It is its property, its assets, that which cannot be taken away from it or cannot be lightly changed. It is at this level that the collectivity tends to be conservative. It needs to shape the personality of its members into a definite mold in order to make them conform to its patterns. It is from this conservative tendency that the collectivity is impelled to resist or, in any case, to pave no easy way for any change brought about by the initiative of its individual members or derived by cultural contacts or from any other acculturative phenomena. Individual is thus set against collectivity, generation against generation, in a dialectic that is inherent in the dynamic process of culture. The ideas of culture patterns first described by Ruth Benedict (1934), and of ethos by Gregory Bateson (1958), brought an emphasis on these

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conservative or conformist aspects of culture; every individual in a definite culture is expected to conform to a model accepted as the ideal one and to adhere to it consistently throughout his life. There are, of course, other elements of identification and partnership in the culture-making process between members of a collectivity. Most prominent are language and territory. Social institutions as standardized ways of human interrelations can also be seen as constituent elements of the collective nature of a culture. Identification and partnership of a culture allow for the identification of the members of any collectivity, group, family, people, nation, and make it possible to distinguish among each of them. This distinction is not one of isolation but of relationship. Every collectivity is connected by cultural relations, which are also essential to the dynamic phenomena of culture.

OIKOS - THE ENVIRONMENT Ecology, the study of the relationship between living beings and their environment, is a well-established branch of the natural sciences. The problems of pollution threatening the life of modern man have at long last awakened the attention and interest of the common man and of those in government. We all now realize the need to counteract the fouling effects of the industrialization that engulfs our cities. Anthropology has always studied the human aspects of ecology, i.e. the ways and forms by which culture and society are influenced by the environment. I should, however, emphasize that in this paper oikos is not taken simply to mean the material environment but the entire cosmos or the universe within which man lives. There are many sectors of the universe or cosmos and man's approach to each of them is different. There are sectors made of matter and man's relation to them is quite concrete and direct. There are some that are invisible, such as all the physical forces of nature that can be known and studied. Frequently, man is able to control these and even to exploit them to his advantage. There is a measure of abstraction in the way man deals with these aspects of the cosmos, and, using that, his knowledge is systematized and ordered so as to attain an exact correspondence to reality. But there are other sectors of the cosmos that are subject to belief. These sectors are more felt than known; in dealing with them man tries to exercise his capacity of abstraction and intuition rather than his knowledge and scientific systematization.

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Material environment is an effective and widely recognized factor of culture. On it depends every material and exterior form of culture, such as shelter, tools and arms, and the production of food by simple gathering, hunting, tilling the soil, or breeding animals. How deep is the effect of the cosmos-environment on culture? While all anthropologists consider that effect almost as a truism, they differ greatly in measuring it. According to one school of thought it is "the" deciding factor of the culture-making process; according to another school it is but one of the many conditioning that process. Personally, I do not side with either of these two schools. If we keep in mind, as I have tried to do, how the primary impulse to culture is derived from the activity of the individual man, and is channeled by the collectivity, one must be convinced of the prevailing function of man as opposed to that of his oikos in the culture-making process. Let us take the example of the Nuer. Evans-Pritchard in his classic work has masterfully described the ecological equilibrium reached by the Nuer: As long as present relations exist cattle husbandry, horticulture, and fishing can be pursued but not improved. Man holds his own in the struggle but does not advance. The necessity of a mixed economy follows from the oecological equilibrium. Rinderpest prevents complete dependence upon milk foods; climate prevents complete dependence on grain; and hydrological variations prevent complete dependence on fish. These three elements together enable Nuer to live, and their seasonal distribution determines Nuer modes of life at different periods of the year. The same conditions and the pursuit of a pastoral life in difficult circumstances produces indirect interdependence between persons living in much larger areas and compels their acceptance of conventions of a political order (EvansPritchard 1940:92-93).

That the influence of man - his knowledge and his activity - is the determining factor in the ecological equilibrium reached by the Nuer is shown by the fact that "man holds his own," but more importantly, "were it not for their [the Nuer men's] unceasing vigilance and care the cattle would not survive the harsh conditions of their environment" (Evans-Pritchard 1940:36). Though environment deeply affects the life of man and must be reckoned as one of the fundamental factors of culture, it never subdues or annuls man's mental capacity; on the contrary, it stirs man's mind and stimulates his intuition and inventive capacity. While the Masai of East Africa have kept to milk as their staple food through all ages to the point of developing a unique genetic characteristic in the metabolism of cholesterol (see Ho, et al. 1971:403), the Nuer, as has been said,

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have always included grain and fish along with milk. The Eskimo also afford striking evidence of inventiveness in an extremely harsh environment. While they build the kashim, their ceremonial house, on a structure of whale bones and beams following an architectural design found among many other peoples, they alone use ice as material for building; moreover, they have developed a unique architectural form for their igloos. In the equatorial forests, the Pygmies prefer to hunt and gather food in order to preserve their freedom of movement, while the Bantu live a sedentary life in villages around which they clear the forest and cultivate (see Turnbull 1966:88). Whether cosmological beliefs are true and real is immaterial to anthropology. In any case, whatever their objective value, they form man's Weltanschauung, the theoretical aspect of his culture, and are, so to speak, colored by the material aspects of the cosmos. Indeed, if we take the word theism to indicate everything connected with religious, ritual, magic, and cosmological views, we can describe the basic forms of man's beliefs as sylvan, agrarian, and pastoral theism. The forest for the Pygmies and the veld for the Bushmen, the earth for the agriculturalist and the sky for the shepherd - each lends itself as a ready symbol to express beliefs and rituals. Finally, we should also note the emotional value attached to environment as part of the culture-making process. The environment is the land, "the fatherland." The land, as a territorial space, can be owned, settled, cultivated, abandoned, and also inherited. The right to the land is derived from the ancestors and is made specific by kinship ties. It is a radical right. Among the Tiv, as among many other peoples, the right to the land {tar) is only the right to farm the land: "a farm lasts only for two or three years, then reverts to fallow and the specific right lapses. However, the right to some farm in the tar never lapses" (Bohannan 1966:106). The "land of the fathers" has developed as a multiform myth among many peoples, but especially among modern nations. It is one of those founding charters, of Malinowskian reference, that have great effect in all directions. History shows that this myth can easily excite popular emotions to a feverish state and exploit them for ethnocentric ends. It affords, in any case, a conspicuous example of what consequences the concept of oikos can have for the culture-making process.

CHRONOS - THE TIME It is because culture making is a process that we must include time as

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one of the four fundamental factors of culture. Of all the factors time is most intimately connected with the growth of culture. We have located the original source of culture in the individual, but its actual shaping into a cultural entity takes places by the collectivity in a temporal sequence. It has been said that culture has its own life which means, if anything, that it is a temporal phenomenon: it is born, it grows, it ceases. Time as a category and a cultural value is viewed differently. We refer to a significant commentary on the idea of time of the African (or better, East African) peoples by an African philosopher: "according to traditional concepts, time is a two-dimensional phenomenon, with a long past, a present and virtually no future" (Mbiti 1969:17). Whatever might be said of this commentary, there is no doubt that man has always tried to hold the present still and to reclaim, as far as possible, the vitality of the past. Myth is his way of doing this. The myths of the origin - the myth of the first times - recall the dream epoch, the heroic era, when the creator and the culture heroes were at work turning chaos into order and giving the first impulse to man and his social life on earth. The dramatic re-creation of those first times at the initiation of young men as adults or at fertility rituals at seasonal times is meant to regain for the new adults or the seed the primordial energy that was in the beginning. The myth of the eternal return, analyzed by Mircea Eliade in a historical perspective of religions, is one typical expression of the cultural evaluation of the past. It seems, however, to be more to the point of the present description of the cultural process to emphasize what Evans-Pritchard has aptly termed ecological time and structural time. In describing Nuer concepts of time we may distinguish between those that are mainly reflections of their relations to environment, which we call oecological time, and those that are reflections of their relations to one another in the social structure, which we call structural time (Evans-Pritchard 1940:94).

Ecological time is not reckoned by arithmetical units but by seasonal changes and therefore is cyclical. The rhythm of ecological time provides the tempo for cultural life in its social, economic, and political aspects. Among the Nuer "the oecological cycle is a year. Its distinctive rhythm is the backwards and forwards movement from villages to camps, which is the Nuer's response to the climatic dichotomy of rains and drought" (Evans-Pritchard 1940:95). Time is thus a relation between seasons, activities, and social events. It is by isolating this relationship and making it evident to men that it can be described, as it actually is, as a factor of culture.

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In a sense all time is structural since it is a conceptualization of collateral, co-ordinated, or co-operative activities: the movements of a group.... There is, however, a point at which we can say that time concepts cease to be determined by oecological factors and become more determined by structural interrelations, being no longer a reflection of man's dependence on nature, but a reflection of the interaction of social groups." (Evans-Pritchard 1940:104). Evans-Pritchard illustrates his statement by a lucid analysis of Nuer political institutions: territorial groups, age-sets, and lineages. What Evans-Pritchard says of the Nuer in chapter 3 of his book can be applied, mutatis mutandis, to almost all other societies. It is a common experience to realize how certain events, such as floods, pestilences, famines, wars, etc., are taken as points for ordering the memory of the past; indeed, as long as the memory lasts, they will be taken as precise historical references. The same can be said of the age-set system, wherever this is found. Young boys who go through initiation at the same period are given a common name, and names are memorized as rather precise points of historical reference. The same phenomenon applies to kinship. The segmentation of kinship into groups varying in scale is a general principle of kinship organization. Fortes has given us a brilliant description of structural time within the kinship system: The concept of social structure essentially implies ordered extension in time as well as ordered articulation at a given time. This is often overlooked in the study of primitive society. Among the Tallensi the lineage system enables us to see the operation of the time factor in social structure in a very concrete way. We see how the lineage structure at a given time incapsulates all that is structurally relevant of its past phases and at the same time continually thrusts its growing-points forward. The dynamic equilibrium of a lineage is an equilibrium in time (Fortes 1945:224). The same phenomenon is not only detectable with regard to political institutions or social structure, it is much wider and applies to the whole of culture. The culture-making process takes place in time and its stages of development can be identified - though not always so easily - at definite points of time. The phenomenon could best be illustrated by the analysis of changes in languages. It could also be analyzed by the study of the "mythopoeic" ability of man, in order to see how myths are born, grow, and become articulated elements of culture: the charters of the Weltanschauung. The function of time in the culture-making process is not necessarily to be seen in historical perspective; indeed, it is most profitably seen in a more analytical way. We need not be concerned here with the different

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attitudes and approaches that have prevailed and still obtain among anthropologists with regard to history. The analysis of time as a fundamental factor of culture not only puts the emphasis on the past, not only shows the significance of the "ethnographic present" - which in chronological terms belongs to the category of the past - but affords the possibility of studying the dynamic process of culture in its dynamics as an autonomous avenue of research, as it comes into existence through the individual man, and as it takes shape as an articulated whole through the channel of the collectivity.

ANTHROPEMES A N D

ETHNEMES

The growth of culture as a whole arises from interaction of the four factors we have just described. Though each of these factors can be spoken of in generalized terms and referred to as if they would never differ, in actual fact they do differ. Thus man in his essence can be described as an animal capable of culture, but individual men show different degrees o f t h a t capability. The collectivity is essentially a group of men interacting for a common interest, but collectivity groups differ in scale, scope, and extension; the cosmos is the universe for men, but its interpretation may vary according to the perspective of every individual and collectivity. Time is essentially a succession, it is man's realization of himself, always the same yet never the same. This is why culture affords such a variety of forms through space and time. If we wish to pursue our analysis of the culture-making process to its capillary roots, we need tools to deepen our insight of the phenomenon. We need concepts and terms to refer to the process out of which culture grows. In the history of anthropological theory, discussion about the concept of culture has been continuous. However, in my experience with other colleagues and anthropology students I have been led to feel that much more attention should be given to sharpening our concepts and devising some linguistic terms, not to add to the jargon, but for exact reference when we talk to each other. Returning to our culture factors, the first two - the individual and the collectivity - are defined with reference to man and directly concern his activity. The other two - the cosmos and time - however fundamental, enculturate only through the activity of man. It is therefore the first two factors that interest us most. A s noted, the very source of the culture-making process is the mental activity of man-anthropos. I propose, therefore, to call the capillary ele-

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ments of that process anthropemes. In the same way, as the contribution of the individual must be channeled through the collectivity in order to be articulated into an integrated whole, I propose to call all the aspects of this part of the culture-making process ethnemes. In his cultural intuitions the individual is often led by some singular motivation or elementary principle of interpretation which can be isolated and can be seen to stand at the basis of some cultural expression: these will also be called anthropemes. The creative intuition of man has been able and still tries to bend physical forces and material objects to his use. Anthropemes are thus the first use of fire or of stone for man's existence. Indeed, any invention can be described as an anthropeme. But also such elementary principles as the exchange ("le don" according to Mauss), the opposition left and right, the incest prohibition, the marriage norm, and so on, must be considered anthropemes; each of these principles, and many others like them, is found at the root of some cultural activity or social institution. Thus we can define anthropemes as the capillary impulsions of culture expressed by the inventive intuition of the individual man or rooted in the elementary principles of cultural and social structure. The ethnemes can be described as the articulations of anthropemes. They are the typical product of the collectivity and form the fabric which is culture. Ethnemes are all culture elements and social institutions. They can be simple or complex. Simple ethnemes can be compared to a single mesh in a net. The kinship system, any dyadic group such as mother and child, or the nuclear family are simple ethnemes. The extended family, the lineage, the clan, and so on, are complex ethnemes. Beliefs, myths, rituals, etc., can be considered and analyzed as complex ethnemes. Among ethnemes it is important to distinguish those articulations that refer to the theoretical or ideological aspects of culture, such as values, patterns, norms, ethos, etc., from those that refer to the practical side of culture, such as all social institutions and any type of material activity. We shall call the first type ideoethnemes and the latter socioethnemes. Some Italian anthropogists have proposed a distinction between culture (cultura) and civilization (civilitä). They take culture to be its ideological aspects, and civilization its material aspects (see AA.YY. 1958: 235-253). This proposed distinction is neither clear nor useful; on the contrary, it generates confusion. Civilization was a common term in early anthropology, and has been superseded by the broader concept of culture which is now largely established in anthropological jargon. To revert to an older use of the term would not sharpen our concepts nor provide efficient tools for analysis. Further, the general use of the two

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terms is not consistent. My proposal is to keep "culture" as a wider and basic concept to refer to any human activity which orders man's life spatially or temporally. "Civilization" should be used with reference to its etymology. It is derived from the Latin words eins, civilitas [a citizen, the qualities of a citizen]. It refers, therefore, to a specialized form of culture and social organization, and I think it should most aptly keep that meaning. Thus, the distinction between ideoethnemes and socioethnemes seems to indicate sufficiently and clearly the distinction between the theoretical and material aspects of culture.

REFERENCES AA.W.

1958

L'antropologia culturale nel quadro delle scienze deH'uomo. Appunti per un memorandum. II Mulino 1:235-53.

BATESON, GREGORY

1958

Naven (second edition). Stanford: Stanford University Press.

BENEDICT, RUTH

1934 Patterns of culture. New York: Houghton Mifflin. BOHANNAN, PAUL

1966

"Land, 'tenure' and land-tenure" in African agrarian systems. Edited by D. Biebuyck, 101-115. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

EVANS-PRITCHARD, Ε. E.

1940

The Nuer. Oxford: Clarendon.

FORTES, MEYER

1945

The dynamics of clanship among the Tallensi. Oxford: Oxford University Press for the International African Institute.

HO, KANG-JEI, K. BISS, L. A. LEWIS, B. TAYLOR

1971

The Masai of East Africa: some unique biological characteristics. Archives of Pathology 91:387-410.

MBITI, JOHN

1969

African religions and philosophy. London: Heinemann.

TURNBULL, COLIN Μ.

1966

Wayward servants. London: Eyre and Spottiswoode.

TURNER, VICTOR W .

1969

The ritual process. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.

The Meaning of "Sociocultural"

MORRIS FREILICH

SIMPLICITY IN SOCIAL SCIENCE Science tries to simplify. Social science, at times, so oversimplifies that it appears to perform conjuring tricks; with the aid of cliche-concepts large areas of reality are made to disappear. Starting with the analysis of one cliche-concept, "culture," I will attempt to find the reality lost by another clichi-concept, "sociocultural." 1

CULTURE, BEHAVIOR, AND FUNCTION For anthropologists "culture" has magical properties; the frequent repetition of culture begets prestige from other tribal members. Other social scientists use culture to display ethnological sophistication. No one currently provides useful information by adding culture to a sentence. Yet culture has great utility for science as Kluckhohn and Kelly showed long ago (Kluckhohn and Kelly 1945). "By culture we mean all those historically created designs for living, explicit and implicit, rational and irrational, and non-rational, which exist at any given time as potential guides for the behavior of men." Let us focus on the words I have emphasized. Culture is a design for living, a set of potential guides which at any given time may or may not be followed. As a guidance system maps routes for all kinds of pro1

The model of social and cultural reality herein being developed had its first conceptualization in my summary chapter in a field research text (Freilich 1970) and was further developed in the conclusion to an edited volume on culture (Freilich 1972).

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jectiles, so culture maps routes for human life. However, in each case all kinds of environmental factors enter, impeding a one-to-one relationship between the guidance system and behavior. Culture, therefore, must not be confused with behavior, nor with any of the material consequences of systematic action: digging sticks, canoes, huts, etc. Culture is information; behavior is action. Information is "invisible," hence its presence or absence is not easily demonstrated. Behavior, by contrast, is very visible, rarely escaping notice by one or more of our five senses. Within a given semantic domain2 two types of connections exist between culture and behavior. The behavior may be consistent with the cultural guide — it is "proper" — or the behavior may be inconsistent with the cultural guide — it is "non-proper." For reasons only vaguely understood human behavior is often non-proper. For example, in analyzing land-inheritance data for a ninety-year period for thirty-two East Indian families in Trinidad I found that "the proper" was never done. Although land was always divided among the sons of the deceased, not once was it divided equally as "culture" there dictates! Every fieldworker has similar information which only infrequently is published.3 Humans are proud of their culture, yet often they avoid its dictates. Stranger yet, non-proper behavior generally escapes negative sanction and is generally predictable by other members of the actor's community. How do we know what is likely to happen when cultural guides are avoided? Clearly culture is but one of many guidance systems which influence human behavior. Those who belong to the same community know what guides tend to replace culture on given occasions.

CULTURE AND OTHER GUIDANCE SYSTEMS As already implied, culture belongs to the family "guidance systems." A guide is a bit of information (7g) which makes one type of behavior (Bg) more probable than its opposite. Our basic drives, hunger, thirst, sex, etc., are obvious guides to action. Equally obvious guides are phenomena such as temperature, humidity, rainfall and altitude. Other 2

"Semantic domain" refers to a set of concepts which have a systematic organization "by virtue of the ways in which they contrast with one another." Thus we get domains such as "color" "kin relationships," etc. (Goodenough 1971). Within kin relationships there would be a subset, "marriage rules," for example, and between marriage rules and actual behavior consistency or inconsistency would exist. 3 Among the published literature which discusses avoidance of cultural rules are such works as Firth, Malinowski, Opler, and Freilich and Coser.

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guides include population size and density, body type and personality. In brief, a guide is an influence or determinant of behavior. People who share space — members of the same geographic community — share a number of additional guides. Among such shared guides I will distinguish natural guides (body drives, climate, etc.) from standards (guides which are man-made and developed as a byproduct of social interaction). Culture as a member of the family guidance system belongs to the subfamily standards (phenomena with "qualities or attributes required by law or established by custom... having recognized and permanent value... substantially uniform..." [Webster's dictionary 1963 edition]). My view of culture, thus far, is in complete agreement with Goodenough's definition. "Culture," he writes, "is that which is learned... [that which] one needs to know in order to meet the standards of others" (Goodenough 1971). While culture is indeed a set of standards, all standards are not culture. Cultural standards have a history (they are "historically created designs for living") and it is this aging process which gives to culture its unique quality. Time works on standards the way it works on most other phenomena; it erodes function and highlights form. Cultural standards have no obvious function (they may be irrational or non-rational) hence their essential meaning lies in their form: the manner in which one standard interrelates with other standards. We can no more easily demonstrate the functionality of matrilateral cross-cousin marriage than we can show the utility of Mona Lisa's smile. Both examples belong to the same realm, aesthetics. Cultural standards are then conventions or logical standards·, phenomena given meaning within a logical system. Common experience testifies to our constant reference to a second guidance system, one which is less abstract, less consistent but more practical and more oriented to function. Sociologists, at times, refer to what people tend to do as social norms, however, norms is (like culture) a cliche-concept and therefore best avoided. I will refer to the pragmatic guides we use as empirical standards. A knowledge of the empirical standards of the system is the key factor which distinguishes the veteran from the novice in any system. The veteran, in American slang, "knows the ropes," he knows the real boundaries of the system; the empirical standards which often rule in place of the logical standards (culture). We usually learn logical standards from people around us whose status is higher than ours. Empirical standards are learned by living in a system and slowly putting together the operational rules for getting things done. Learning the empirical standards of a system is much like what a child does when he learns to speak (Goodenough 1971).

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The actual process of language learning is a complicated one that is still imperfectly understood. But we know that the individual learner plays an active role, the standards he arrives at... being his own creation. Other people, of course, have their standards for him and correct them when he fails to meet them. But they do not recite to him the principles to which their own speech conforms. These principles are something they know only subjectively in that they have a feel for them. Unless they are grammarians, they have not objectified these principles to themselves. Because empirical standards are rarely codified, some sociologists refer to them as forming an informal structure (Goodenough 1971:46-47). ... codes which govern the navy's operation to the most detailed activities... [constitute] the formal structure of the navy ... [such codes] fail to include a very significant part of the organization which is vital in any functional analysis. This aspect shall be termed the informal structure. Like the formal it consists of rules, groupings, and sanctioned systems of procedure. They are informal because they are never recorded in the codes of official blueprints and because they are generated and maintained with a degree of spontaneity always lacking in the activities which make up the formal structure. Empirical standards are indeed informal and maintained "with a degree of spontaneity" not found in culture or logical standards. These characteristics are necessary because empirical standards carry the burden of function; they help us to adapt to space. It is quite simple therefore to distinguish between culture (logical standards) which teaches proper behavior and empirical standards from which we learn how to do "the smart thing". All we need is the child's question "Why?" Take, for example, the following two standards: 51 Look to the right and to the left before crossing the street. 52 Avoid your wife's mother. Si is clearly an empirical standard because the answer to "Why should I follow Si?" is empirically obvious. Not looking before crossing is often followed by not living after crossing. This empirical standard gives pedestrians practical advice on how to reach their destinations and escape the homicidal impulses hidden in the psyche of the typical automobile driver. S2 may help us live better; it all depends on a host of situational variables. But basically there is no empirically obvious answer to why one should avoid his wife's mother; in the same way no empirically obvious answer exists to such similar logical standards as, "Bishops move along the diagonals in chess." To summarize thus far: culture belongs to the universal "guidance systems" within the family standards and within the subfamily logical standards. Logical standards — including rules of games, the conven-

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tions in various forms of mathematics, and culture — are not easily analyzed in functional terms. Satisfactions derived from the use of logical standards are well described in aesthetic terms, such as beauty, simplicity, pattern, rhythm and balance. Logical standards of the subtype culture, or, more simply, cultural standards, do not teach us how to live "better"; rather they instruct in how to live "differently" in ways the system defines as "proper." Empirical standards are generalizations concerning how the system actually works. Each actor has his own set of empirical standards which only approximate those of other community members. Empirical standards instruct us to behave in ways the system defines as "smart."

DUALISTIC STANDARDS AND OTHER DUALISMS Human life, as Chinese philosophers long ago taught and as structuralists now teach, is dualistic. For me the basic duality is not Yin/Yang, nor nature versus culture but rather cultural standards (logic) and empirical standards (experience). The empirical and experiential aspect of human life is illustrated by the word "social" while the more abstract logical standards we develop are summarized by the word "culture." When put together and shortened into "sociocultural" we find a conflict. That conflict is an essential ingredient of human life is clear to any student of history and equally clear to anyone who has read this morning's (or any morning's) newspaper. Somehow much cultural theory, tied as it has been to functionalism for so long, has managed to avoid dealing with the obvious. Kluckhohn and Mowrer wrote, "Recognition of culture... [as a determinant] is a great gain, but there are some indications that this theoretical advance is tending in some professional circles, to obscure the significance of other determinants" (1944:1-29). Previewing later extensive documentations of the dualistic nature of man Levi-Strauss told us to build two kinds of models: statistical models and mechanical models (1953). As I have discussed more fully elsewhere (Freilich 1972), statistical models are but data summaries — they provide no explanation for data here referred to as "non-proper." The L6vi-Strauss system still leaves considerable data unexplained. Anthropological theory, until recently, managed to bypass man's dualisms and it was left to philosophers, among others, to present a more complete picture of human existence. For example "the main trend of Platonic thought and the tradition of Plato's school were dualistic, emphasizing the conflict between the reasonable and the sensual" (Tillich

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1965: 3). Similar dualities are found in the works of Descartes (time vs. matter), Bergson (time vs. space), Spengler (history vs. politics), Polany (aesthetics of reason vs aesthetics of senses), Whitehead (living in history vs. living in nature) and Frye (symbols vs. signs).4 Taken as one unit organizational theorists provide us with another dualism: reason vs. adaptation to nature. The school which developed from the work of Max Weber considers man to be a rational being, hence the organizations which man creates have a high degree of rationality. Goals are clearly and precisely formalized and means are developed to reach them efficiently. The school which developed from the work of August Comte focuses on man's spontaneity and his need to adapt to changing environmental conditions. Organizations are here seen in less formal terms; goals are not always clear-cut and means are constantly modified to meet environmental pressures. 5 The rational model hides man's animality and his primary goal: survival. Yet much of life must avoid the cool logic of culture in favor of less reasonable but more adaptive strategies of survival. To maintain the image of human superiority over the less endowed life forms it is tempting to dissect the human race into those who typify human excellence and the rest. Falling prey to this temptation Friedrich Nietzsche gave us those with master morality as against those with slave morality. More correctly Robert Louis Stevenson showed that the two faces of "human" are part of every human animal not just Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The pervasive nature of dualistic thought has been well documented in Levi-Strauss' extensive work on myth. 6 Nature vs. culture, human vs. animal, life vs. death, raw vs. cooked, are but a few of the "conflicting" ideas identified in hundreds of myths. The point is no longer debatable: human life is dualistic. The question which remains is why? When answered, this question will lead to other queries all connected to that complex word sociocultural.

4

It will be clearer later how these dualities (respectively) relate to the two environments of Homo sapiens. 5 Alvin Gouldner's analysis of these two ways of discussing organizations (the "natural model" versus the "rational model") concludes with the advice that "a major task confronting organizational analysis is the reconciliation of the rational and the natural systems models" (1959:426). I believe my sociocultural model aids in this reconciliation. β For example, see Claude L6vi-Strauss' various works on mythologiques, as listed in the References.

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TO K N O W M A N WE MUST K N O W HIS HISTORY In an ingenious little paper entitled "The necessity for historical trajectories," Gilbert Shapiro demonstrated that a historical perspective is essential in order to fully understand any phenomena (1972). Human history, therefore, holds one of the keys to unlocking the secrets of human duality. Before man was human (and here we must of course piece together incomplete evidence) he was, as now, a social animal. That is, our ancestors probably lived in small-group settings, adapting to space by means of instinctive responses and by means of shared information. As our ancestral line continued to evolve, instinct played an ever smaller and learning an ever larger role in their lives. Utilizing, in modified form, a recent creative synthesis of paleontological, archaeological and ethnological data (Watson and Watson 1969) I will describe the course of human evolution in terms of four critical stages: non-human primate, protohuman, linguistic, and cultural. In the non-human primate stage a group-living, dominance-ranked animal, generally described as "generalized" in formal structure, developed a unique specialization. With a large (compared to other mammals) cerebral cortex, with an opposable thumb providing the ability to grasp and examine even small objects, and with stereoscopic color vision, the non-human primate specialized in the collection and analysis of information. The typical form of this stage utilized about two dozen vocalizations to express pleasure and pain. These vocalizations were used in the community as signs providing general environmental information. That is, a non-intentional communication system was in existence; without intending to do so, animals sent each other messages concerning danger, fright, tension, sexual aggression, satisfactions from grooming, from copulating, from nourishment, etc. By taking these non-intentional communications as signs of body states, and by observing other behaviors and environmental conditions coexisting with these signs, community members shared considerable information. The community, we could say, shared information or "owned" a set of empirical standards. The empirical standards, we should note, were indeed "standards." All these animals did not behave in precisely the same way when faced with similar situations. Hence what they learned from each other was types of responses to types of situations rather than a response to a situation. The absence of intention in the non-human primate stage of communication (i.e., the absence of symbolic communication) meant that this system lacked the process we call teaching. Yet some kind of pseudo-selfteaching through vocal signs did exist, for the system included total

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feedback of vocalizations. An animal heard itself make instinctive vocalizations, it heard itself copy vocalizations of other community members and it "observed" environmental conditions at such times as well as its own state. The fact that the vocalizations stood for something, and that that something was being communicated could not long escape an animal whose brain was evolving toward an ever stronger specialization in information. Perhaps an animal first accidentally made a pleasurable vocalization and noticed that the vocalization itself had pleasant consequences. From accidental vocalizations may have come vocalizations for their own sake: a kind of babbling stage of semi-intentional communication. Then as the babbling of one animal is noticed to have consequences for others a stage of intentional communication is entered. It is this stage that I refer to as the protohuman. For many scholars intentional communication by use of vocalizations indicates the presence of a language. I believe otherwise. Although a language is a symbolic (i.e. intentional and hence conventionalized) system of communication, it is more than that. A language is a communication system which has the characteristic of displacement. To invent symbols which have the displacement characteristic, an animal must have the concept of time. Time is a far more complex concept than intentionality; hence it is reasonable to assume that a stage with intentional communication preceded a stage with time. My logic is strengthened by the fact that intentionality includes a vague appreciation of a time realm. One can easily imagine how an animal with a limited communication system — just the ability to send messages concerning immediately visible phenomena — can reach true language. Experience with intentionality is actually experience with causal analysis: doing A so that Β will occur. The protohuman stage was then an experimental, prelinguistic stage where animals played with space symbols (empirical phenomena which were present in the immediate environment) and constantly invented new symbols to represent various aspects of the environment. From at most thirty-five to fifty vocalizations which developed in the non-human stage one can reasonably imagine a protohuman population with several hundred space symbols. The ability both to invent new symbols and to make the many sounds that this space-symbolic system demanded was due to animals of this stage having a brain size of around 900 to 1,000 centimeters. Going along with this bigger brain was more cortical area devoted to such sound makers as the lips, the tongue, and the larynx. The social environment of protohumans, it should be noticed, was becoming quite complex. Whatever else may have developed — simple tools, simple familial and associational arrangements, etc. — a

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large symbolic environment existed, making for a considerably enlarged set of empirical standards. Any individual with intelligence far below the mode would have had great survival problems. And periodically, with competition between protohuman communities and with attacks from other types of animals, given communities must have lost large numbers of their membership —just as modern communities do. Under the conditions here outlined it is probably true that the more intelligent protohumans tended to survive such crises more often than did the less intelligent. Lacking culture — concepts concerned with properness — protohumans either followed their empirical standards (and did what was "smart" for the community) or acted in terms of personal ideas or by instinct (and did what was "smart" for the individual). In either case, ideas such as trying to save less able fellows for reasons of honor, charity or religious duty were absent from the system. In the protohuman stage the less intelligent must have been quickly weeded out as the system developed a stronger focus on information collection and information distribution. And the typical protohuman animal must have had a passion for information and a brain size to satisfy this hunger. The linguistic stage probably did not require a greatly increased brain size. It did require a full understanding of the logic of space symbols. If A, the intentional vocalization of an animal, leads to B, a given change in the environment, then A causes B. That is, A, something which happened "before," causes B, something which happened "after." The linguistic stage — the stage which includes as its major advance the invention of time — is for many scholars also the stage of culture. I believe otherwise. Standards for properness or culture grew out of an understanding of time; just as time grew out of an understanding of intentionality. To postulate that culture is a child of time is to tie cultural theory more closely to general evolutionary theory. The road leading into time has been shown as a series of logical steps which follow once an animal has specialized information, has considerable intelligence, and emits vocal signs. The road into time is a slow one-way journey and once the new world of time is reached none but the insane can escape its demands. Once locked into time — once a system includes the notions of past and future — a whole series of novel states of consciousness develops. Now there is a future to live in and imaginations have the freedom to wander where no animal wandered before. Purpose is discovered in time as goals get pushed ever forward and it is necessary to give the prime goal a label. The unraveling of the many aspects of cause-and-effect relationships leads later into the stage of culture but meanwhile whets appetites for more information. More information

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means the possibility of greater control over an ever more understandable environment. Living in time leads to associations between a given time and a given activity. It becomes noted, for example, that it is smart to hunt at a certain time, perhaps when the sun has just risen. Or it is noted that food left to bake in the sun for a certain time tastes sweeter. Time begins to pick up a whole set of labels for itself as more and more associations with time make living more pleasurable and make work more efficient. Living in time has created the first wall between linguistic animals and non-linguistic animals. This wall is built out of long-range planning, more complex technology (due to a fuller appreciation of cause-and-effect relationships) and a communication system with infinite possibilities of message sending. As time continues to be used as a marker for activities and as it becomes habitual to hunt at a certain time, eat at a certain time, pick wild fruits at a certain time, and so forth, uneasy feelings develop when special times are missed. Let us note that it is not that it is smart to eat, say, at a given time; rather it is comfortable — some kind of aesthetic emotion has gotten attached to a natural activity. Once firmly linked to time, eating is no longer just a natural activity; it is something else as yet vaguely understood by this linguistic animal. In order to avoid the uneasy feelings and to hold onto the pleasures which come when things are done at special times, some general concept such as "proper" first got associated with important activities. "Proper" originally only referred to time — that is, there were only proper "whens" in this system. Soon more and more activities got a proper time and hence, so to speak, an aesthetic cover. From properness of time a small logical jump led to properness of place. Soon there was a proper place for eating, sleeping, meeting with friends, and so on. As properness spread through the social life of the linguistic animal, leaving nothing untouched by its strange quality (not even its inventor), the second wall was erected between what was now Homo sapiens and the rest of the animal world. Homo sapiens, locked into the world of time and surrounded by properness, was now firmly pushed out of nature and into culture. Two walls, time and culture, separate Homo sapiens from his animal ancestry. Yet Homo sapiens lives in space. Humans are still animals that need personal space to maintain their separateness from other community members and they still need a "range" within which to find the wherewithal for subsistence. Is Homo sapiens in space with his demands of smartness or is he time's child marching to the beat of properness? The answer — he is both — is the paradox known as human life.

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SPACE, TIME, A N D WAR Humans live in two distinct worlds. Like the blue-green algae found in stagnant ponds we, too, are halfway creatures. Blue-green algae are part-plant and part-animal. Humans are part-animal and part-X. Our inability to grasp the essential nature of X gives us both conceptual problems and war! Theologians tell us we are partly human (animal-like?) and partly divine. Moralists tell us we are partly good and partly evil. Similar information from scholarship since the beginning of written history has been of little help to social science or to man. Perhaps we can get further by saying that we live partly in space and partly in time. The adaptive problems of space-life lead to solutions belonging to the category "smartness"; while the adaptive problems of time-life lead to solutions belonging to the category "properness." Smartness and properness belong to distinctly different sets of phenomena; and the behavioral requirements of these two systems are often completely contradictory. The modal state of the human psyche must then be "tension." Social conflict (of any type) must then be a release of tension, a catharsis for the strange animal called Homo sapiens. Conflict is therapeutic, for it gives a behavioral expression to what the system experiences. Conflict is a drama which devours the energy which is pushing us in two different directions. Intuitively we know that the essence of human existence is conflict because we use the term sociocultural to describe our life. Not fully social and following the empirical standards of other natural animals, nor fully cultural and flourishing with our own logical standards, we exist in a constant state of disharmony. Historically, we have been quick to follow anyone who would lead us into bloody conflict (war) and promised to bring us back safely. The world of time gave us concepts with which to hide our true motives, both from ourselves and from others: we had honor, glory, duty and loyalty. Historically, we have utilized other, less costly means to express the tension which rages within us. We responded to the thesis of our neighbor with an antithesis, and spectators watching this battle of wits sat back and smiled. Here, too, was catharsis. Dualistic thinking kept multiplying, not because our minds have the same structure as digital computers as some scholars maintain, but rather because our minds are forced to live in two separate worlds. Our tremendous fascination with games of all kinds is further proof of our passionate involvement with conflict and is similarly explained by our two-world existence. Young and old, strong and weak, brilliant

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and stupid — all of mankind enjoys conflict. Our ancestral line specialized in information; a harmless enough specialty that could have led in various directions. Information seeking led to a life-in-time and a dualistic existence. Our new specialization — conflict — is not as harmless as information. Like our previous specialization this one, too, can lead in many directions, among which is the total destruction of this planet. What can we do to harness the energy provided by our specialization toward productive ends? What kinds of games can we invent that will have the same cathartic effects as war, but will define the harming of another human as against the rules? These difficult problems will need our combined efforts even to approach a solution that could work. One thing, however, is certain: we must surely resist hiding our true condition with concepts which neither help our science nor help us exist in our two worlds.

REFERENCES FIRTH, RAYMOND

1939 Primitive Polynesian economy. London: Routledge and Sons. FREILICH, MORRIS

1970 Marginal natives: anthropologists at work. New York: Harper and Row. FREILICH, MORRIS, editor 1972 The meaning of culture. Lexington, Massachusetts: Xerox College Publishers. FREILICH, MORRIS, LEWIS A. COSER

1972 Structured imbalances of gratification: the case of the Caribbean mating system. The British Journal of Sociology 23:1-19. FRYE, NORTHROP

1957 Anatomy of criticism. Princeton: Princeton University Press. GOODENOUGH, WARD H.

1971

Culture, language and society. Reading, Massachusetts: Addison Wesley.

GOULDNER, A. W .

1959 "Organizational analysis," in Sociology today. Edited by R. K. Merton, L. Broom and L. S. Cottrell, Jr. New York: Basic Books. KLUCKHOHN, C., W . H. KELLY

1945

"The concept of culture," in The science of man in the world of crises. Edited by Ralph Linton. New York: Columbia University Press.

KLUCKHOHN, CLYDE, O. H. MOWRER

1944 Culture and personality: a conceptual scheme. American Anthropologist 46:1-29. Livi-STRAUSS, CLAUDE

1953 "Social structure," in Anthropology today. Edited by Alfred Kroeber. New York.

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1964 Mythologiques, volume one: Le cru et le cuit. Paris: Plön. 1966 Mythologiques, volume two: Du miel aux cendres. Paris: Plön. 1968 Mythologiques, volume three: L'origine des maniires de table. Paris: Plön. MAUNOWSKI, BRONISLAW

1926 Crime and custom in savage society. New York: Humanities Press. MORGENSTERN, IRVING

1960 The structural dimension of time. New York: Philosophical Library. OPLER, MORRIS

1947 Rule and practice in Jicarilla Apache affinal relatives. American Anthropologist 49:453-462. OTTO, RUDOLF

1970 The idea of the holy. London: Oxford University Press. PAGE, CHARLES

1946-1947 Bureaucracy's other face. Social Forces 25: 88-94. SHAPIRO, GILBERT

1972 "The importance of history," in The meaning of culture. Edited by Morris Freilich, 194-199. Lexington, Massachusetts: Xerox College Publishers. STEINER, FRANZ

1967 Taboo. London: Pelican Books. TILLICH, PAUL

1965 The courage to be. New Haven: Yale University Press. WATSON, R. Α., P. J. WATSON

1969 Man and nature: an anthropological essay in human ecology. New York : Harcourt, Brace and World. WHITEHEAD, A. N.

1960 Process and reality. New York: Harper Torchbooks.

The Concept of Culture in the System of Modem Sciences

E. S. MARKARIAN

THE HISTORY OF THE PROBLEM The sources of the concept "culture" originate in classical antiquity. But it was only in the eighteenth century that it was formulated as an abstract notion. Here, from the very beginning there were two basic tendencies in elaborating this abstract concept of culture. Two qualitatively different approaches to the phenomenon of culture were revealed which in the main remain valid up to the present time. The essence of the diversity of the two lies in their different criteria for distinguishing "cultural" and "uncultural" objects. In the first case, such criteria include some peculiarities of different states of human existence (individuals, nations, epochs, etc.). In the second case, the criteria are applied to general characteristics of human existence as compared to those of animals. The first approach is very typical in an ordinary interpretation of the concept of "culture" in which certain states of human existence are usually regarded as "cultured" and others as "uncultured." In this way such topics as "cultured" and "uncultured" people, nations, etc. are discussed. In such an approach culture is thought of as a positive goal, and in the course of social-historical evolution it is equated with social progress. Hence, the concept of culture, regardless of the object involved, necessarily becomes a criterion of a society's system of value judgment. It means that the standard for distinguishing culture phenomena happens to depend directly upon the value orientation of the person making the choice. Thus, these criteria become, in many ways, rather arbitrary, because people are guided by their value systems, which may differ greatly.

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This approach to the concept of "culture" was rather popular in philosophy and social sciences during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Today this approach has been largely replaced in scientific thinking by the second one in which culture is regarded as a criterion for distinguishing between the activities peculiar to humans as opposed to purely biological forms of life. The most important thing in this approach to the concept of culture is the phenomenon of culture as revealed in any form of human existence as an indispensable and highly typical characteristic, an inevitable attribute of any society. The differences in the states of human existence, f o r example, those between respective epochs and stages of social evolution, are f r o m this point of view no longer regarded as "cultured" or "uncultured" periods opposed to each other, but as different types and degrees of the progress of culture. It is this general meaning o f the concept o f culture that has gradually come to be more popular and more widely used in the social sciences since the second half o f the nineteenth century. Such an approach is very advantageous because it overcomes the axiological interpretation of culture and gives starting theoretical grounds f o r an objective comprehension, irrespective of personal orientation of values. Somehow these are only starting grounds as such. T o consider the phenomenon of culture as a specific object of scientific investigation, it is hardly enough just to mention that culture is " n o t nature." A l s o insufficient f o r the purpose are theories that regard as culture everything created by man in his material and spiritual activities. Such definitions of culture do not set the boundaries of the phenomenon, nor do they give a particular frame of reference f o r studying human activity. A n d it is this very problem which seems to be most interesting and complicated today in specifying the concept o f culture.

P H E N O M E N O N OF

CULTURE

A scientific concept can be fruitfully formulated only when one thoroughly considers its cognitive functions. A s mentioned above, the principal cognitive function of the concept of culture in modern social science is in drawing a strict demarcation line between human and animal forms o f life. Hence, when trying to comprehend the phenomenon of culture as a whole one should not regard as primary this or that special cogintive task o f the social sciences but the task o f characterizing human society generally as a special level and type o f organization.

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It is very important to remember that the concept of culture in this wide meaning does not only express some individual peculiar features of human life dependent upon the condition of the people's abode, i.e. the earth, but it also shows the inherent type of activity which under appropriate conditions may become possible on other planets too. The most frequent and common drawback of modern definitions of culture in today's culturological and sociological literature is in their neglecting this very fact. Meanwhile, without a broad cosmic view in mind the phenomenon of culture cannot today be thoroughly understood. The heuristic significance of such a cosmic view is in presenting the terrestrial forms of life and culture as if from somewhere outside our planet, thus eliminating a geocentric conception of these forms. Hence, the definitions that follow should necessarily be both more exact and more profound. There is obviously a rather strange situation in modern science wherein problems of the existence of extraterrestrial cultures or civilizations, 1 so widely discussed by so many scholars, are often regarded as being without any connection with the traditional study of culture. Now the important task is how to connect these two different approaches to investigating the problems of culture, and to present them as a uniform theoretical synthesis. This interpretation of culture as a cosmic phenomenon may ultimately take the shape of broad and functional generalizations. It may also be generalized at the so-called middle range (Markarian 1971:69-70). In the latter case, our generalizations on human activity as the only manifestation of culture known will have to be elaborated by other generalizations concerning any of the objects discussed. From this point of view, the essence of culture—its basic framework — should be regarded as the ability of living beings united into some stable collective to create a system of some extrabiologically derived means and mechanisms for adapting to the environment and maintaining their social life. The term extrabiological here represents the idea of means and mechanisms not potentially preconditioned by the biological type of an organization. It is not meant to express the material of their implementation which, in principle, may be of an entirely biological nature — domestic animals, for example. Such a definition is likely to be accepted as a theoretical basis for exo1

In this context the terms culture and civilization are used as synonyms. In its so-called "terrestrial" usage the term civilization should be better understood as a definite stage in the development of human culture closely related to the appearance of the state and the urbanization of the human society.

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culturological investigations. 2 To make this definition more concrete, one may say that the essence of culture is the ability of living beings to create some extrabiologically derived means and mechanisms through which the general biological nature of the individuals comprising the society is regulated, their behavior is programmed and directed in the channels necessary for keeping up the social course, and a specific metabolism between the social system and nature is provided. In this theoretical environment, culture is regarded as a way of ordering matter, making it possible not only to support the organization of the system, but also to further develop it. Thus, culture means a specific mode of activity of living beings and organization of their collective life. On the one hand, this mode provides for combining the elements of the system into a regulated whole. On the other hand, it provides for a regulated interaction between the system and the environment. In other words, culture, like a superstructure over the biological type of an organization at a certain stage of its development, reveals a peculiar mode in which the biological potentials of individuals transform and change into some socially directed activity. This transformation enables them to act in the surrounding environment, purposefully change it and adapt to it. 3 It is in this process that the nature and purpose of culture as a specific phenomenon of reality are revealed, irrespective of its terrestrial or extraterrestrial origin. Despite the fact that culture is created by biological beings, its nature is extrabiological. Therefore, it is not justified to use the term culture (civilization) for formations of a purely biological order such as communities of ants or bees and other zoological societies, even though their organization might be highly integrated and clearcut (Shoven 1965:20). Based on the above, the concept of culture, when used in its terrestrial meaning, may be interpreted as a specific mode of people's activity (a specific mode of their existence) because so far we know of only one form in which culture is manifested — that is, in human life. T H E CONCEPT OF CULTURE IN VIEW O F THE DIMENSIONAL MODEL O F H U M A N SOCIETY

MULTI-

In the light of modern knowledge it becomes more and more evident 2

The term is based on the model of the already accepted term "exobiological" which expresses possible extraterrestrial manifestations of biological life. The author believes that his term is the best to suit the definition of the studies of possible extraterrestrial manifestations of culture. 3 Culture provides such facilities when the society from a simple adaptive system turns into a universal adaptive-adapting one (Markarian 1971:72).

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that to analyze the phenomenon of culture embracing everything, and penetrating into all parts of social life, is only possible when it is regarded as a specific dimension of society. In his time Alfred Kroeber (1952:118, 120, 135) was justified in pointing out this problem. It is not, however, at all sufficient merely to mention that culture is some special dimension or plane by which a society is judged. To understand the nature of this dimension it is necessary to distinguish it from other basic and fundamental ones. To this end, human society should be presented in a multidimensional model in order to express the principal levels on which it is judged. It is this very task that students of culture should attempt to solve first of all because only such a methodologically effective multidimensional model of society can provide science with theoretical premises for a clear-cut definition of some culturological frame of reference to study the sphere of a people's social life. Such attempts have already been made in the literature, but they do not seem sufficiently effective methodologically. The author had an opportunity to present his criticism of one of the theories adopted most in modern Western literature. Here we mean the approach that describes social life in an integral three-dimensional way through such notions as culture, social system, and personality (Markarian 1970a). In our opinion, to understand a society (and obviously any living system) as an integral formation it should be first of all considered from three different points of view: 1. from the point of view of the subjects of the activity, thus answering the question who is acting; 2. from the point of view of the fields of activity, showing object and goals of human activity and where they are implemented; 3. from the viewpoint of the mode of activity, so as to answer the question how, in which manner this human activity is implemented, and how its combined effect, the phenomenon of its social life is formed. The author believes that this approach to social reality — from three different angles — makes it possible to embrace all the multiformity of human society in its most essential points, providing science with the required criteria to classify its elementary composition (its componential structure), and to to distinguish different structural sections of the system that reveal this composition. These structural connections are supposed to express the following: 1. the relations between human individuals and groups formed in the process of their life activity; 2. the relations between various fields of socially directed human activity;

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3. the relations between all kinds of means and mechanisms of stimulation, programming, regulation, realization and reproduction of human activity derived extrabiologically.4 By abstracting these structural sections, it is possible to discriminate three classes of elements encountered by the investigator of the social organism. The first class of elements embraces the subject of human activity in its various manifestations (individual and collective subjects of activity). Second is a class of elements presenting various types and spheres of human activity. Third is a class of elements revealing the diverse forms manifested by culture, with the latter regarded as a special mode of human activity, according to the above definition. The given model differs from the scheme cited before (the culture, the social system, the personality). First of all, it introduces an essentially new dimension of the society which reveals the fields where human activity is applied (types and spheres of activity). In the second place, it now becomes possible to unite the social system (as a collective subject of human action), and the personality (as an individual subject of human action), into one common class of the elements of society — that of the subject of human activity. It also helps to clearly interpret culture as a special dimension of society, expressing a special mode of human activity. The interpretation of culture as a mode of people's activity is already a tradition in literature. However, this kind of definition alone does not yet reveal one's theoretical grounds as the very notion of mode (of activity, existence, organization, etc.) is not understood uniformly. Most often this notion is meant to show the specific style of life of some peoples. Here a very important point is neglected. It should be always born in mind that this problem can and must be considered from the very beginning at another, much higher level of abstraction. Then it will not show a specific mode of life activity of some nation, but the special mode of people's activity irrespective of their ethnic or any other differences. When so approached, the problem will reveal the relations between people, on the one hand, and animals, on the other, while in the first case the objects of the analysis were only the different sociohistorical systems. But even though the mode of human activity is regarded in this general way, it is usually interpreted only as a combination of practices and ex4

In his evaluation of this three-dimensional scheme Arutyunov suggested presenting it hierarchically so that the concepts of activity, community, and culture would distinguish three different evolutional levels of the development of life (Sovetskaia Etnografiia 1971:178-179). While having no objections in principle to such a hierarchical order of the scheme, the author still believes that his purpose was different. He meant to consider the society in three equally important equivalent planes to express its different dimensions depending upon the cognitive tasks in view.

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periences which reveal the skills of using the respective means and mechanisms. There are cases when such narrow understanding of the concept of mode of activity can only be justified if the scholar wants to abstract and better qualify its components. However, such narrow interpretation is simply inadmissible for general characteristics of the phenomenon of culture. And it is this very narrowness of approach to the conventional definitions of culture, based entirely upon their functional grounds, that makes them so weak. When discussing culture as a special mode of human activity, one should consider both the means and mechanisms and the skills required to use them. To be more exact, when distinguishing certain means and mechanisms of human activity, as some real structural units of a system, it is meant that there is a certain mode of exploiting them or some kind of technology in their application. When viewed from this point, culture reveals itself as a function of people's social life (Markarian 1969:65-88). This is so because the mode of activity of a system is one of the most important general meanings of the term "function" developed in the history of science. Hence, the task of giving the functional characteristic of a system (in our case, society) will inevitably aim at finding the means and mechanisms which drive the social system and the potential material it bears inside, i.e. human individuals as biological beings. The latter undergo social transformations and turn into functioning units of the system. In other words, they become units having some definite purpose in the general "work" of the system. In this connection, the author regards as entirely erroneous an attempt to form a functional definition of culture on the basis of psychology, as do Alfred Kroeber and Clyde Kluckhohn. They are both quite right in criticizing a number of serious drawbacks of such psychological definitions of the phenomenon of culture. It is true that in such an entirely psychological definition, culture simply disappears (Kroeber and Kluckhohn 1952:57-58). Nevertheless, they ignore the fact that a functional definition can be built upon essentially different grounds. Moreover, the author deeply believes that a "synoptic" interpretation of culture, so much desired by Kroeber and Kluckhohn, can only be possible when this phenomenon is consistently regarded functionally upon materialistic bases. Only then shall we have theoretical premises for solving many principal problems of the science of culture which are debated today — in particular those of the relationship between material and spiritual culture. If, in principle, this division of culture has some logical ground, it should be primarily based upon functional characteristics of such

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products of human activity, traditionally related in literature to material or spiritual culture. Such division should rest upon a clear differentiation of the two basic functions of culture, in accordance with its principal essence, so that some of its elements affect the surrounding biophysical environment, while others do the same in the sphere of people's consciousness and psyche as a whole. W e consider it correct to interpret culture as people's ability to elaborate means and mechanisms which are extrabiological in origin. These means and mechanisms, in their complexity, form a mode of human activity of an essentially specific nature. Such understanding of culture puts an end to the artificial antinomy — which many scientists believe to be true — between its material and ideal aspects. Their error was revealed only through a consistent and functional — and at the same time systemic — approach to different elements of culture. In this theoretical prospect, human consciousness is presented as one of the numerous special mechanisms of human activity. The functions of this mechanism are quite diverse. Nevertheless, they encompass many precise activities such as orienting people in the environment, programming, communicating, and regulating their actions within the limits of a whole social unit. The functions of a material and technological system prove to be essentially different. Thanks to this system people affect the natural environment and transform it in order to provide the society with the necessary products and means of existence. The material and technological system cannot be conceived of without the presence of the human mind and intelligence. In any case, it would be entirely wrong to limit this system as a component of culture to these ideal aspects alone and to regard all the rest as their mere material covers. Take, for example, an ax or an electric power station. It is absolutely impossible to limit them to the ideal meanings inherent in them, or the ideal designs by which they were implemented. These two are definite elements of culture with respect to the values or standards of behavior, the functions of which in the general process of human activity are essentially different and special. Hence, the discrimination line between material and spiritual culture cannot be drawn merely mechanically by abstracting the ideas and symbolic meanings which each element of culture respectively has (spiritual culture) from the means which materialize them in objective reality (material culture). T o make this discrimination the various means and mechanisms of human activity should be approached functionally and integrally, with their material and ideal characteristics regarded only in their indissoluble unity.

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ON THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THE CONCEPTS O F SOCIETY A N D CULTURE The relationship between society and culture is one of the most interesting and complicated theoretical problems in social science. Some aspects 5 of the problem have, for the past decades, been particularly discussed in American literature. There are two evidently opposite tendencies in solving this problem. Some scientists claim that culture is a kind of derivative of the society, that is, the social system. Others regard a social system as a part of a wider whole, namely, of culture. According to the author, the second view is completely unacceptable. By any definition of culture it can never be regarded as a subject of human action, a subject of historical process. It is only society, a social system, that can be regarded as such because it is these very concepts which are supposed to express the numerous individuals who represent a collective subject of coordinated human action. In their joint article "The concept of culture and of social system" Kroeber and Parsons (1958) made an attempt to find another solution to this problem. But they have neglected an extremely important fact— that the problem of the relationship between a social system (society) and culture cannot be tackled on just one level. To be more exact there are two problems here: (1) how to distinguish the "social proper" and "cultural" components of a social organization; and (2) the relationship between the society as a collective subject of human action and the culture as its attribute. Kroeber and Parsons, using the notion of "society" in its narrowest sense, depict a system of relations between human individuals. To them the notion of social system is identical to that of society. Adding to this narrow concept of theirs the notion of culture, they manage later only by intuition to fix the two different aspects of the sphere of human social life (they were called above "social proper" and "cultural" components of this sphere). 6 Kroeber and Parson's article does not mention at all any concept which could combine these aspects of people's social life and could show it as a system which actually functions. Without such a concept it is impossible to establish the genuine relationship between these two aspects and to bring this theoretical analysis to a logical conclusion. It would be as strange as constructing the concepts of morpholB

In this context the terms society and social system are used synonymously. In the past the author of this paper also supported this one-sided and narrow approach to the problem on the relationship between society and culture (Markarian 6

1966:87).

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ogy and physiology, regarding plants and animals, without having the concept of organism. In this way the problem of discriminating the "social" and the "cultural" appears to be more complex and multiform than in the opinion of Parsons who criticizes Malinowsky for the latter's conception which failed to differentiate the concepts "social system" and "culture" (Parsons 1957). This problem, as mentioned above, suggests that there should be two different planes and levels in solving it. The first plane requires that one should discriminate between "social proper" and "cultural" components of a social organization. Practically, this task is necessary when specifying, on the one hand, a network of social relations (the proper social component), and, on the other hand, the means and mechanisms regulating these relations (the cultural components). This is the case of a special type of structural and functional analysis based on abstraction of two components contained in each empirically given system of social relations: the very network of the relations between individuals and groups (the structure) and the diverse means and mechanisms by which these relations are regulated (the function). 7 The author believes this kind of abstraction of the proper relations and the means regulating them may become the key for solving the problem described by Kroeber (1952:164) as "an anomaly of scientific logic." According to him, no one knows how it is possible for a social structure to act simultaneously as "social" and as "cultural" when nothing of the sort can be said about religion or the arts. This bilateral sociocultural meaning of the system of social relations, he proceeds further, is an anomaly of scientific logic, but, nevertheless, empirically it is a plain fact. In this connection Kroeber questions the very possibility of a logical explanation of this phenomenon (1952:164). The aspect of the structural and functional analysis of the system of social relations, as a matter of fact, has usually been neglected by representatives of social and cultural anthropology. It has been ignored even by such an eminent scholar of social anthropology as Firth (1964), although he has studied the problem of social organization as a special and multifarious one. According to the author's knowledge, Radcliffe-Brown (1952) was the first to have closely approached the structural and functional analysis of 7

These abstractions may be regarded as the most complicated ones in social sciences because the elements to be differentiated are, in this case, organically integral and closely coherent. This discrimination process is still more difficult because the very mechanisms regulating social relations can also be expressed through the concept of relation; for example, morals or law can be defined through moral or legal relations and all this can bring about some terminological confusion.

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the system of social relations by means of abstracting "relations proper" and "means of their regulation" when he made an attempt to analyze social systems "morphologically" and "physiologically." However, he failed to draw any final conclusion or to clearly formulate the problem. It should be noted that the relationship of the "social proper" and "cultural" components discriminated from the empirically given system of social relations should not be thought of as that between a part and the whole. This relationship should be understood as expressing two different sides, different planes of the organically integral whole (social organization) dismembered only by our logical analysis. The relationship of the discussed objects appears to be different when considering society as an integral collective subject of social action, on the one hand, and culture, on the other. Here it is already the relationship between the whole and a part. To conclude this discussion on the problem of the relationship between society and culture, the following idea should be mentioned particularly. The author holds that his interpretation of culture as a function of a people's social life may become a theoretical premise for a fruitful solution of the problem at different levels of analysis. In the first case (when discriminating between "social proper" and "cultural" components), culture is regarded only as a means of regulating social relations. In the second case, culture is understood as a general special mode of human life activity, presenting this mode in all of its integrity.

ON THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THE CONCEPTS OF CULTURE AND HUMAN ACTIVITY The concepts culture and activity (as well as behavior) are often identified in literature. Such identification, as a matter of fact, is absolutely groundless. It only confuses the scientists in their attempts to specify the cognitive functions of the concepts activity and culture in the general investigation of human social life. Generally speaking activity, in the strict sense of this word, means the informationally directed adaptive actions of a living system based on an interaction with the environment. As to people's activity it can be defined as their socioculturally directed actions. The very mode in which behavior is directed and implemented is what we mean by culture (Markarian 1973:14). For comprehending an activity as a real process of the functioning system, it is of fundamental importance to abstract two essentially dif-

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ferent aspects. In the first place, it is the actualization of the mechanisms which stimulate, program, and implement the behavior of the subjects of the action (for example, thought, speech, and other activities). In the second place, there are various integral fields where these subjects' socioculturally directed efforts are realized in "activity proper," social practice expressing the system of diverse spheres of activity such as economics, management, education, etc. Let us now apply these two aspects of considering "activity" to the multidimensional model of society offered above. There are three frames of reference for such an analysis: (1) subjects of activity, (2) fields of activity, (3) modes of activity. Now, one of the two aspects expressing "activity proper" will coincide with the second frame of reference, and the other aspect showing the actualization of the mechanisms of activity will be revealed in the third one. Introducing the notion "mode o f human activity" we abstract and integrate numerous different elements of culture into one theoretical synthesis. In the real functioning and development of society, these elements organically interweave with human activity. Being a mode to actualize and implement human activity, culture, in its turn, directly manifests itself through this activity. We distinguish extrabiologically derived means and mechanisms of human activity as a special class of elements which we specify and correlate (for example, instruments of material production, language, morals, law, science, arts, religion, the network of social institutions, customs, dwellings, transport, clothes, etc.). But it should be remembered that in this process we use universal methods of abstracting analysis and classifying the objects of our research. These methods enable us to distinguish and separate for careful examination phenomena which in real social life are always integral to and inseparable from beings. Cultural mechanisms are exercised in the process of human activity. The processes are the immediate means by which people solve their tasks in the course of their social life. For example, socialization of an individual — his adaptation to acceptable social behavior — always happens together with the individual's interaction with others, within his family or the community. Social contradictions are solved in the process of struggle between social classes, in revolutions and wars. The information necessary for any society to exist is obtained in the process of various kinds of research and investigation. Each society has its own set of mechanisms for solving these and many other problems manifested in its own inherent and integral type of culture. This integral type of culture is realized and actualized in different processes of activity, each process

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having its own function. These processes appear as definite tendencies to approach the integral type of culture in a given society. On the other hand, they tend to overcome and change this type of culture.

THE TASK OF CHARACTERIZING A HISTORICALLY GIVEN CULTURE The way any scientific concept fulfills its cognitive functions depends directly on the level of abstraction at which it is studied and upon the nature of generalization for the object under examination. For example, when constructing the general concept culture, this level of abstraction already preconditions the cognitive purpose of the concept. As a whole, it is supposed to give, as already known, a generalized characteristic of a specific mode of human activity (existence) in contrast with modes of existence of biological systems. When some historical cultures are discussed, the cognitive functions of the concept culture become different. They express the specific features of the modes of existence developed by different peoples. Archaeology, ethnography, and history are interested in this level of analyzing culture. A historically given culture is a complex formation which cannot be described in one dimension alone. The concepts expressing this phenomenon acquire different meanings depending upon the type of culture under discussion: general ones (e.g. primitive, capitalist, and the like), or local (e.g. the culture of the Australian aborigines, Indian culture, etc.). These two aspects of the study of cultural and historical systems are essentially different. Many Western students of culture of the first half of the twentieth century ignored this important fact and it was their serious blunder. Spengler, Toynbee, Northrop, Benedict, Herskovits, and others, when discussing historical cultures, did not differentiate clearly between general and local types of culturohistorical systems. Due to some of their general idealistic views, they failed to see the first aspect of studying historical cultures, i.e. they neglected the general types of culture. In consequence, their theoretical systems developed the principle that cultures were "equivalent" or "of equal value." We criticized their positions in some of our publications, particularly in the book Essays on theory of culture (Markarian 1969:99-130). In analyzing the work of Bagby (1958), an American cultural anthropologist, this author concluded that in constructing local historical types of culture, expressing the uniformity of local culturohistorical systems and the common historical types of culture expressing different stages of its

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development, the investigator has to deal with essentially different kinds of generalizations and abstractions. In the first case, the abstracting activity embraces a definite space-and-time continuum. In the second case, emphasizing the common properties and sides of different culturohistorical systems, the investigator neglects these space-and-time limits. But to reconstruct these systems in their full essence it is absolutely necessary to proportionally and integrally combine these two aspects of abstraction and generalization. Such a consideration of the methods for generalization, when studying culturohistorical systems, is of tremendous importance for archaeologists, ethnographers, and historians of culture. When properly abstracted and specified, these methods provide one with initial reference points to analyze the systems and to logically group the facts without confusing their different aspects. The importance of such differentiation of types of culture has been more frequently accepted in later publications (Bromlei 1971:13). When so clearly differentiated, the types of generalization in studying culture help one to avoid the false practice of opposing nomothetic and ideographic methods, so that now individualization of objects is no longer identified with their ideographic studies. The ideographic method cannot individualize a culture. This method can be effective only in those cognitional situations that describe and narrate some momentary events. Meanwhile, culture by its very nature is an ever repeating phenomenon. Hence, its individualization requires a special kind of generalization when the object under study should be considered in a definite space-and-time continuum. For example, some individual peculiarity of the culturohistorical practice of a people can be reconstructed only by repeated comparison of different concrete manifestations of this practice and by fixing the common features of these manifestations as collated to the culturohistorical practice of other peoples. It is in this very way that a definite common style expressed in a local culture 8 is established so that everyone will mean the same when speaking about, for example, ancient Egyptian, Indian, and Arabian culturohistorical practices. But as has been mentioned before, these are special types; they fix the common and integral processes and phenomena in the respective space-and-time continuum. It is these types

8 The author considers this term as best suited to express definite historically given cultures, no matter if one means a tribal, national, international, or any other particular culture.

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which the supporters of the theory of "equivalent cultures" (civilizations)9 defend when they regard as "of equal value" different culturohistorical systems, disregarding their place in the general process of human evolution. And in conclusion there is one idea to consider. While supporting the justified abstraction of culture and its specification as a peculiar object of scientific investigation, the author still believes that there is a danger of this phenomenon being hypostasized into some independent essence. The danger seems to be even more serious in view of the fact that the term culture is often used to denote historical sociocultural complexes in their entirety, when, for example, speaking about Oriental, ancient American, and other cultures (civilizations). Hence, it should be always remembered that this term is rather conditional because the real subjects of the historical process are the respective sociohistorical systems, while culture is only their function. In other words, it is a historically developed special mode of their existence.

REFERENCES BAGBY, P.

1958

Culture and history: prolegomena to the comparative study of civilizations. New York and London: Longmans, Green.

BROMLEI, IU. V.

1971

Κ kharakteristike ponaitiai "ethos" [Towards a characterization of the concept "ethos"]. Rasy i Narody I.

FIRTH, R.

1964

Essays on social organization and values. London: University of London, Athlone Press.

HERSKOVITS, M. J.

1955

Cultural anthropology. New York: Knopf.

KROEBER, ALFRED

1952

The nature of culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

KROEBER, ALFRED, CLYDE KLUCKHOHN

1952

Culture: a critical review of concepts and definitions. Cambridge, Massachusetts: The Museum.

KROEBER, A. L., T. PARSONS

1958

The concepts of culture and of social system. American Sociological Review 23:582-583.

• This term is used by the author to characterize the genera] system of views which was typical for the idealistic historical thought of the twentieth century due to a deep crisis of the Europocentristic theory (Markarian 1963). The conventional term "culturo-relativistic" (Herskovits 1955) frequently used in American literature is too vague and fails to reveal the essence of this particular way of thinking.

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Ε. S. MARKARIAN

MARKARIAN, Ε. S.

1963 Kritika kontsepstii ekvivalentnykh tsivilizatsii [The criticism of the conception of equivalent civilizations]. Voprosy Filosofii 8. 1966 Kul'turologicheskaia teoriia Lesli Uaita i istoricheskii materialism [The culturological theory of Leslie White and historical materialism]. Voprosy Filosofii 2. 1969 Ocherki teorii kuVtury [Essays on theory of culture]. Erevan, Publishing House of the Academy of Sciences of the Armenian S.S.R. 1970a Mesto i rol'issledovania kul'tury ν sovremennom obshchestvoznanii [The place and role of the analysis of culture in contemporary social sciences]. Voprosy Filosofii 5. 1970b "On the element composition of human society." Report delivered to the Seventh World Congress of Sociology. 1971 Chelovecheskoe obshchestvo kak osobyi tip organizatsii [Human society as a special type of organization]. Voprosy Filosofii 10. 1972 Voprosy sistemnogo issledovaniia obshchestva [Questions of the systematic investigation of society]. Moscow. 1973 On the genesis of human activity and culture. Erevan, Publishing House of the Academy of Sciences of the Armenian S.S.R. MONTAGU, M. F. ASHLEY

1968

Culture, man's adaptive dimension. London, Oxford, and New York: Oxford University Press.

PARSONS, TALCOTT

1957

"Malinowsky and the theory of social system," in Man and culture. Edited by R. W. Firth. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. 1965 Societies, evolutionary and comparative perspectives. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall. RADCLIFFE-BROWN, A. R.

1952 Structure and function in primitive society. London: Cohen and West. SHOVEN, R.

1965

Ot pchely do gorilly [From the bee to the gorilla]. Moscow.

SOROKIN, PITIRIM A.

1966 Sociological theories of today. New York: Harper and Row. Sovetskaia Etnografiia 1971 Volume 6.

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A theory of society, if it claims to be universal, must be a study of man in his entirety. It must cover all societies in time from the beginning of human existence and extend up to the moment it would be impossible, ecologically, for them to continue their existence on earth. On the space dimension, it must take into cognizance every individual existing at a point of time. Such a span of attention naturally covers the complete distribution of human population over the earth. This study deals with an aspect of a universal theory. The concepts and analysis of the society employed are, accordingly, contained within the time and spatial limits mentioned. This is possible only if the definition of the society is enlarged to include all human societies, i.e. the entire pageantry of human life passing between the day the first man was born and the day the last man passes into oblivion. These two points on the time dimension are physical limits. All societies must, in order to exist, occur at any point of time within these limits. Before the first point, human life did not exist; consequently, societies could not exist. Beyond the second limit, no human life will exist; therefore, all societies must cease altogether. Similarly with spatial limits human life cannot function outside the biosphere. Even when going to the moon, man has to carry with him his own atmosphere. His biosphere, therefore, becomes his limiting factor from a spatial point of view. Accordingly, all human societies are also spatially limited by it. The boundary conditions of society comprise a four-dimensional (three space and one time dimension) continuum of a biospheric envelope extending from the initial day of human existence to the ecological doomsday. If society is considered to be an aggregrate

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of human societies, then any such human society must also be constrained and confined by these physical limitations.

DEFINITION OF SOCIETY AND FIELD At the outset it is necessary to define two terms used extensively in this study, namely, society and the field. Kroeber has defined society as an aggregation of individuals, "a group of interrelated individuals..." (Kroeber 1948: 7). The concept of field is essentially a concept of the physical sciences. It has been observed that two physical bodies exert influence on each other through a vacuum. Newton explained this by saying that a force exists between the two bodies acting on each other at a distance. For example, the earth and the moon pull each other because there is a gravitational force acting through the space between the two. This force acts through a vacuum and thereby acts at a distance without the help of a medium. Einstein's theory of relativity explained the same phenomenon in terms of a field. It defined the gravitational force between the earth and moon or any two bodies in the universe as a curvature in the field between the two. Field, therefore, in Einstein's theory becomes a spacetime continuum. A large mass will cause curvatures in the field, opened or closed, with other masses or energy radiations tending to follow these curvatures. The latest cosmological theories go further. They conceive stars and planets and the space in which they move as the same thing, changes in one bringing about changes in another. For example, contraction of the space increases the masses of the bodies in them while introduction or withdrawal of a body causes a complete change in the shape, size, and nature of the space. The difference between the space and the masses or energies is, therefore, an operational difference only. The field has acquired a curious position in the atomic and subatomic regions. There, the field has to be freely interchanged with particles and particles with field, and in the process the continuum of the field often gets diffused or lost.

BASIC HYPOTHESIS The basic hypothesis here is that the collective entity called the society can be considered analytically to be independent of the properties of

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the individuals who constitute it. This can be explained by means of an analogy. Waves are common phenomena. They are formed on all liquid surfaces. These waves are formed by particles of the constitutive liquids, each of which is executing a simple circular motion. The motion of the waves is wholly unrelated to the motion of the individual particles. The wave surface also exhibits a separate and different collective existence from that of the constitutive particles. We may, therefore, define the basic hypothesis more precisely as follows: "The society has an independent existence and reality apart from, and yet because of, the individuals constituting it."

THE FIELD ASPECT OF SOCIETY Individuals are the constituents of the society. The aggregate of individuals will, therefore, be its basic aspect. Since individuals are unique, this is also a necessary condition of a field. Every individual occupies a unique space which grows and shrinks over his life span with the movement of his limbs. The space itself changes its position from time to time. In addition, he has four functional extensions of sensation, thought, feeling, and intuition. Sensation is perception through senses; thinking gives meaning and understanding; feeling weighs and values; and intuition indicates future possibilities and gives information about the atmosphere which surrounds all experience. All four functions are used by an individual to orient himself to the world. They, together with the changes of spatial position and space occupied, form extensions of an individual. These extensions are dynamic, being changeable over time, space and environment. Along with their inherent changes they form the individual's little world. At this point an assumption must be made. The minimum number of persons that can establish a social relation is two. Adam, by himself, could not have constituted a society; he needed Eve to do so. The theory presented here will presume that an individual can constitute a society by himself, and the first society was formed by Adam on his own, even if he was monocellular protoplasm. Since every individual is unique and mutually exclusive (except for the time in the mother's womb), an aggregate of individuals will be an aggregate of individual little worlds. These individual little worlds, being in a constant state of motion and change, create a field in the same way that the millions of water particles executing periodic harmonic motions create the ocean waves. Similarly, the field created by individuals becomes and

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remains far different from the nature of the individual little worlds. It has altogether different properties and characteristics from them. Its very existence and reality are different from those of the individual. The field so created will be a macrofield. It will be interspersed with individuals as its mass points. It will present a picture very similar to that of the cosmological universe, where massive bodies and energy systems intersperse vast stretches of space, or even to that of an atomic universe, which also consists of vast amounts of space with some minute mass points in between. However, these analogies have the defect of oversimplification and should not be stretched too far. All three universes, namely, the cosmological, social, and atomic, differ from each other in magnitude, the social universe being the most complex. Its simple picture would be that of a huge fabric having the shape of an envelope around the earth, existing only during the period of possible human existence with individuals forming its dynamic, but finite, mass points. This macrofield with interspersed individuals may be called the society. In this form it transcends the definition of society given by Kroeber, being much wider and more comprehensive than his definition.

DOMAINS, SUBFIELDS, AND HOLES Social groups are galaxies in the social universe. They are small aggregates of individuals forming on the field small domains with special characteristics and features of their own. They are not in nature dissimilar to the magnetic domains of natural and electromagnets having direction or purpose. There are large variations among them in shape, size, purpose and composition. As the boundaries of a domain depend upon the persons who form it, they are dynamic, being subject to changes over a period of time within the group and even within an individual from time to time. An individual may be a member of a number of social groups. He is a common factor in a number of domains. Because the life span of an individual is finite, the time devoted by him to each such group is quantified, limited, and mutually exclusive. Each domain, therefore, meets the individual at different levels or planes, each separated from the other on the time dimension. The length of time spent on the activities connected with that of the different social groups and the frequency with which it is spent are indicative of the roles an individual has to play in society. These two factors will also determine an individual's relationship vis ά vis the domains in his life.

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All domains may be considered as closed subfields. This follows from the assumption that one man makes a society. If an individual is able to form a society by himself, then he forms a field by himself. A group of individuals, therefore, necessarily forms an aggregation of fields all linked up, continuously forming a closed domain. An individual field is what Dahrendorf calls "homo sociologicus," standing at the point where society intersects the individual. From the macrofield aspect individual fields appear as holes (1968). An individual can function as a self-reliant and self-sufficient member of a society only when he attains social maturity, i.e. when he is able to live alone. A child cannot, by himself, be completely social in nature, for he is not able to live by himself biologically, psychologically and economically. Again, beyond a certain age a man loses his capacity to exist alone. He must become dependent upon others. Some individuals remain forever unable to live by themselves. In these circumstances individuals have to attach themselves to other individuals or institutions for sustenance and living. Inability to live by oneself means the field remains open while ability to do so means it is closed and self-contained. Individual fields grow and decay. A field gradually grows to maturity until it becomes self-contained and continues to remain so until it starts degenerating, leading to complete extinction. Sociologically the dyadic field is more important than the individual field. The dyadic field is of two types, namely, that between opposite sexes and that between the same sexes. Unlike individual fields, these fields show curious patterns from the point of view of time. The lifetime of these pairs may vary from a fleeting association to the maximum period of the lifetime of the individual constituents. Most important of these dyadic fields is the opposite-sex field because of the new dimension of sex relations. The fields involving three or more persons are interesting for their long life spans, which often exceed those of individual life spans, and for their corporate nature. The corporeal nature of such fields provides their social extension. Their internal structures assume a special shape and exhibit certain macrocharacteristics and functions. If individual and dyadic fields are considered as cells, then these types of fields approximate certain organic cellular systems. The analogy is stressed only to show that the success of the organic theories can be attributed to these basic similarities. The aims and objectives of these groups are explainable as functional normatives, their attainments as degrees of orientation towards the normatives. The means for attainment of their objectives or normatives

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are internal rules framed by the group and the consequent factors created at the individual's level. All these domains are subject to growth and decay over a period of time. The rates of such growth or decay depend basically upon the length of time and frequency devoted to the service of the group. With larger contributions of time by individuals the domains gradually grow towards maturity. With the lessening in volume of each contribution they start decaying.

SHAPE AND CONFIGURATION OF THE FIELD The field, like the waves in an ocean, will be a multidimensional topological entity. It will have troughs and peaks, hills and valleys, canyons and ridges, all in constant motion of a different intensity. But, unlike an ocean, there will be a constant increase in the number of particles, as well as increasing complexity of the particles, the particle movements and actions and internal intricacies. All these factors will cause continuous change in its nature and configurations.

CONTINUITY OF A FIELD The fundamental advantage of a field conception is that it can be considered as a topological entity, permitting utilization of linear and ordinal measures, where many of the social phenomena will appear as contours, configurations, or convolutions in the field and individuals occupy pockets or holes in this field. These holes are source points of further changes. Social groups are considered as domains or subfields. Changes in the field will change the characteristics of these holes and domains. On the other hand, changes in the character of an individual or a group will, through changes in the shape of holes and domains, change the characteristics of the field. Such changes will be continuous and can be represented by changes in the configurations.

THE CONSTITUTING LINES OF THE FIELD The constituting lines of the field or the lines of force in a social field will be the individual life lines. During his existence an individual will follow a set course of living, experiencing, and partaking in a definite sequence of events. These courses will be the time paths. For a given environment

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and similar initial conditions, or similar occupational and other circumstances, these time paths will be similar. Their macrobehavioral content will also be the same and will account for the invariant cultural and other properties of group behavior. Despite similarities between life lines and the sameness of the behavioral content, each one of them is unique and finite in time. They never cross or intersect with each other though they may meet each other for various durations.

THE CHANNELS OF THE FIELD Configurations in the field explain effectively certain macrosocial phenomena like laws, customs, codes, and fashions. These sanctions, which will be called folkways following Sumner, are unified space, time and behavior curvatures of a field. Their properties are somewhat similar to those of cosmological space-time curvatures or orbits. Any individual placed within them will behave exactly like an artificial satellite. He will not only behave according to the folkway-determined conditions, but his intrinsic characteristics and functions such as feeling, sensation, thinking, and intuition will also get oriented specifically, see Figure 1. The compulsive power of the folkways is determined by their spacetime and behavioral gradients. Dahrendorf defines three types of sanctions. The "must," "shall" and "can" sanctions. These represent three types of gradients of the folkways, see Figures 2,3, and 4. "Sloping down" folkways represent "must" sanctions. All individuals are most likely to be affected by these types of sanctions though there will be a few who will attempt to resist these sanctions and be successful in their attempt. Such persons will be deviants and their deviant behavior will attract penalties. Plane and level folkways are "shall" sanctions. There will also be some compulsion on an individual to follow them. The number of deviants from these sanctions will be larger than the deviants of "must" sanctions. In fact, they will almost equal the non-deviants. Steep folkways are "can" sanctions; individuals may or may not climb the steep folkways and the deviants will not be deviants but failures or dropouts. The differences between the various types of folkways are explainable in terms of their gradients in different dimensions.

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Individuals Space, time and behavioral Coordinate Ihe Channel

Figure 1.

Figure 2.

9 Λ

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Aspect

· Figure 3.

Figure 4.

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INTERESTS AND ALIGNMENTS The folkways impart a direction to the individuals placed in them. Their effect on an individual is total, cybernetic, and directional extending into his unconscious. Once an individual is in a folkway, his interest gets aligned to its direction and attuned to its force, the latter depending, of course, upon the gradient and direction of the folkways, the intensity of the interest and the attraction of other folkways. The interests, in other words, become determined and unique. It is, in a way, a protection given to interest. INTERESTS TO RIGHTS An interest protected by law has been defined as a right in jurisprudence, the science of law. It forms the fundamental element in a society governed by law. Law is only one type of sanction. The other forms of sanctions or folkways can also protect interest. As a matter of fact, customs, codes, and fashion, like law, extend protection to interests, transforming them into rights. A right is also an individual's capacity to influence the acts of another by means of the force of the society or the folkways. When a man is said to have a right to do anything or to be treated in a particular manner, this signifies that public opinion will ascertain that he is permitted to act or be treated as he wishes, with approbation or acquiescence. However, it would reprobate the conduct of anyone who would prevent him from acting so or fail to treat him as he desired. The elements of a right are: 1. A person in whom the right resides or who is clothed with the right or benefited by its existence; 2. In many cases, an object over which the right is exercised; 3. Acts or forbearances to which the person in whom the rights reside is entitled; and 4. A person from whom these acts or forbearances can be exacted; in other words, whose duty it is to forbear or to act for the benefit of the subject of the right. These elements can be represented in the series: The person entitled (The person of incidence

The object

The act or forbearance

The person obliged (The person of inherence)

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Rights in the generic sense are eight in number: rights in the strict sense, duty, no-rights, liberty (no-duty), power, subjection, disability (no-power) and immunity. Out of these eight, the first four are static rights being interconnected, see Figure 5. The remaining four rights are all dynamic, i.e. rights in motion. They are also related in a manner similar to the previous four, see Figure 6. These relations can be categorized into two types, one in the nature of areas (scalar and vector) and the other in that of force or linear vectors. In the first category come liberty (no-duty), no-rights, immunity, and disability. The other category contains the rights in the strict sense, duty, power and subjection. The rights in the strict sense, duty, no-rights, and liberty, together form the spatial web of the field by connecting an individual of incidence with an individual of inherence with the right and duties forming channels in the midst of volumes created by spaces of liberty and no-rights, see Figure 7. Power has been defined as the capacity to change or alter other rights. It is a right to change other rights. Operation of this right brings into play subjection. Absence of power is disability, and absence of subjection is immunity. All four concepts are concerned with the changes or resistance to changes in the earlier four rights in the form of their creation, transformation or extinction; they operate through the spatial web of static rights. The web of rights created by the influence or the force of the folkways will be part of the field. Since individual interests will emanate from individuals, the interstices of the web will coincide with the holes of the field the moment the individual interests become significant. This state will continue to be so until the individual fields become closed on social maturation. Holes are actually mobile social positions, whereas the interstices of the web of rights are status. Status and social position are, therefore, different things. Status may be created in the womb of a mother and remain existent even after the death of a man. An artificial, legally created person can also be attributed a status. PROPRIETARY RIGHTS AND COMMERCE Jurisprudence has classified certain rights as proprietary. They constitute an individual's estate or property. They are valuable and form the elements of an individual's wealth. Proprietary rights can be distinguished between proprietary rights in rem and obligations, the latter being correlatives of rights in the strict sense. The former can be given the name property and constitute the fundamental element of economic systems.

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Static Rlc^ts

Right in Strict Sense

Opposite of Correlatives Liberty

Duty

No-rights Opposite of Correlatives.

Figure 5.

Dynamic Rights

Power

Subjection

Figure 6.

Opposite of Correlatives

Opposite of Correlatives

Xnnunity

Disability

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\\\ίΤπ7Τ?\*ψ77] Rights (S.Si Duty Individual Nö-right No-duty Spaces

Figure 7.

ο

κ

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Table 1.

Classification of property rights — Property

1. Material property 2. Immaterial property 3. Encumbrances

Proprietary rights

4. Successions

— Obligations

[[

Land Chattels Γ Patents Goodwill L Trademarks " Leases Tenancies Securities . Trusts Testamentaries Intestate

]

Corporeal property

Incorporeal property and proprietary rights

Contracts Torts or legal wrongs 'Miscellaneous obligations Insolvency Companies or artificial legal persons

Property is either corporeal or incorporeal. Corporeal properties are material things, whether in crude form or man-made; incorporeal properties are otherwise. They can either be encumbrances, such as leases, mortgages, servitudes, and securities, or rights of an individual over immaterial products of human skill and labor including those produced by himself. These immaterial forms of property are: (1) patents; (2) literary, artistic, musical and dramatic copyrights; and (3) commercial goodwill, trademarks and trade names. The obligations are those rights which arise out of contracts or quasi contracts or which give pecuniary satisfaction for juridical wrong, i.e. wrong considered by law or other folkways to be thus remediable; and causes having no comprehensive or distinctive title (see Table 1). Continuous exchange of proprietary rights in the shape of goods, services, and, in monetary economic systems, cash, gives rise to the phenomenon of commerce. The elements of a commercial transaction are: 1. An individual has to enter into dealings with a number of other individuals or firms. 2. He must necessarily have some goods, cash, furniture, and other assets in which or with the help of which he may carry on his business. 3. Certain expenses for services received, accommodation, advertisement or depreciation, and so on, must necessarily be incurred, and there must be some sources from which the income of the business is derived. In double entry accounting, this sort of income and expenditure have been

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considered nominal and fictitious indicating thereby that these entities are incorporeal rights and, therefore, conceptual in nature. Difference between such income and expenditure constitutes an individual's profits or losses, which again are incorporeal rights measurable in terms of monetary rights. The dual effect of the exchange of cash, goods or services consists in the decrease or increase of the factors of the following fundamental bookkeeping law: Assets = Liability + Ownership or Capital. If a financial transaction involves an increase in assets, then there is either an increase in liability or capital or both; and vice versa with a decrease in assets. In primitive economies, economic rights consist only of land and chattels. Most of the incorporeal rights classified in modern accounting science as nominal or fictitious transactions do not exist in these economies. Nor are the folkways sufficiently developed to enable members of such economic communities to conceptualize these abstract ideas. These economies are, therefore, economies in the substantive sense of the term. They merely ensure material sustenance. In primitive economies, rights are economic interests protected by customs or practices; in advanced economies, they are interests protected by laws. These laws create a world of incorporeal properties, including immaterial obligations. They also create artificial persons such as companies which transcend the limitations of age and energy affecting an individual and take part in commercial transactions in a more effective manner. The distinction between the two types of economies is clear in the institution of marketing. In a way the difference between the advanced and the primitive economy is the difference between a market and a non-market economy. Generally, a non-market economy becomes a market economy at a point when law replaces customs, codes, and usages in creating economic rights.

VALUES Folkways have curvatures or points of inflection at almost every point of space, time, and behavior. These curvatures, therefore, have loci or focal points. These loci are virtual and conceptualized by a system of normative thought. Their most important aspect is their influence on the position occupied by an individual who, in terms of loci, perceives the social standing of his fellow men and in turn evaluates his own

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position in the social field. They also represent to him choices between alternate modes of action or direction of his life line. As folkways are constantly changing with time and people, the values are constantly precessing with them. But this precession in the value line being a second-order change is of a lesser magnitude, giving an appearance of comparative steadiness and unchangeability. Precessions of the value line are actually fashion trends.

ECONOMICS — A PHASE IN THE FIELD As defined by Robbins: Economics is the science which studies human behaviour as a relationship between the ends and scarce means, which have alternate uses... it focuses attention on a particular aspect of behaviour, the form influenced by scarcity. It follows from this, therefore, that insofar as it presents this aspect, any kind of behaviour falls within the scope of economic generalisations. We do not say that the production of potatoes is economic activity and the production of philosophy is not. We say rather that, insofar as either kind of activity involves relinquishment of other desired alternatives, it has economic aspect. There are no other limitations on the subject matter of economic science save this... (Robbins 1956:12). This definition points to the fact that the cause of the economic phenomena in the human society can be found in the effect of the folkways of the field. A right as defined in jurisprudence is an individual's capacity to influence the acts of another by means of the force of society, which is the influence of the folkways. In other words, the gradient of the folkways provides the means by which an individual influences the acts of another and thus is able to carry out economic operations. Because of the differential influence of the gradients, the means they provide become differentiated and capable of alternative uses. Again, partly because of the restrictive nature of these folkways, the means they provide to indivduals are scarce. And what are the ends? They are the values or in certain cases the proprietary rights discussed earlier. Economics, therefore, can be reduced to that aspect of human behavior and activity concerning value. It is also an extension of commerce, which arises out of exchange of proprietary rights only. In terms of Robbinsian analogy, economic phenomena are concerned both with production of philosophical works and production of potatoes while commerce deals exclusively with the latter.

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Values, especially economic values, often have been mixed up with proprietary rights. Proprietary rights in an advanced society have been quantified in terms of money. The discovery of money has revolutionized society in many ways and it can be considered to be as far-reaching a discovery as the wheel or the zero. Confusion between the values and the proprietary rights has led to efforts to measure values in terms of money. But while value is continuous, money is a discrete measure. The efforts to measure one in terms of the other have, therefore, not been wholly successful.

POLITICAL PHENOMENA Use of force, physical or otherwise, to alter individual rights forms an important aspect of human life. Inasmuch as exchange of proprietary rights creates commercial economics, employment of force or power rights creates the political structure. Unlike the former, force acts in the direction of greater to lesser; greater force is always in a superior position to the lesser. Force is also transmissible from one person to another. Collective force is always greater than individual force. The result of this is that use of force has become the monopoly of the state only. This monopoly leads to the concentration of the capacities to alter the rights of individuals in the hands of those who control the political machinery at the top. Because it is impossible for an individual to utilize or exercise this collective capacity effectively, the total power is delegated to individual groups or bureaus dealing with different aspects of human behavior. Every individual within the group is assigned specific tasks and made to occupy a specific office or position. The systematic distribution of positions and functions forms a definite circuit similar to an electrical power circuit. These power circuits create, maintain, and extinguish different rights in their respective spheres of human behavior. The bureaus or organizations themselves form into governments and non-governmental political structures. They are hierarchical and structured organizations meant for development, maintenance, and use of collective physical force operated through the creation, maintenance, and extinction of human rights. In other words, political machinery is there to maintain or modify the spatial structure of rights. Its responsibility is to operate and control the huge power transmission and distribution grid engaged in drawing from and giving power and other rights to the individuals in the field.

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Broadly, there are three parts of the political machinery, namely, executive, legislative, and judiciary. The executive part is engaged in the generation and control of the transmission of power all over the field of a state or community. Folkways, especially the laws, form the agencies through which the individual rights are regulated by the political machinery. The work of designing and framing these laws rests with the legislature. This is the organ of the state or the political machinery that chooses or selects for the people which of their interests must be protected and which rights determined. It determines for them the guidelines for their economic and other activities. It is the supreme body in any state. Lastly, the judiciary determines the deviations and deviants from the prescribed adherence to the laws and makes out penalties for deviation in individual cases. The executive makes use of its monopolized instruments of physical and other forces to carry out these penalties and reports to the legislature its experiences about the deviations, suggesting remedial amendments to the laws. The legislature makes these changes, and the judiciary again determines the deviations, and so on. These three divisions are seen in any society, from a primitive society to a multinational state. Such divisions are necessary concomitants of the power-distribution systems.

COLLECTIVE UNCONSCIOUS Jung defined a collective unconscious. Its contents he had called archetypes. These archetypes are urtümliches Bild [primary images]. He writes: The primary image which I have called "archetype" is always collective, i.e., common to at least whole people or periods of history. The chief mythological motifs of all times and races are very probably of this order; for example in the dreams and fantasies of neurotics of pure negro stocks, I have been able to identify a series of motifs of Greek mythology. The primary is a memory deposit, an ingram, derived from a condensate of innumerable similar experiences... the psychic expressions of an atomically physiologically determined natural tendency... (Jung, quoted in Campbell 1960). This collective unconsciousness is not only collective but superorganic. It exists beyond man and is operationally limited to the field. In terms of psychology we can say it is extracerebral. To a great extent, "the collective unconsciousness influences and shapes the universal ideas [elementar-gedanks of Bastian], fantasies and superstitions and beliefs by which individuals live..." (Jung, quoted in Fordham 1956). What is the fundamental feature of the collective unconscious? It is

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incoherent, inchoate, and indeterminate, but universal. It can be best represented as a field or part of a field having a probable density of creativity that comes into existence only when an image is formed in the individual psyche. This collective unconscious manifests itself only through the three-dimensional biological man. Every individual, therefore, will be a potential vehicle of conscious manifestion of the collective unconscious. This manifestation takes place through formation of images. An image is an impression or a series of impressions creating a pattern of order and thereby forming bits of information. The collective unconscious, therefore, can be considered as the base for the creation of information and a vehicle of its communication to the individual conscious level: "It is the matrix of consciousness and in it are bound the games of new possibilities of life." (Jung, quoted in Fordham 1956). Collective unconsciousness forms that segment of the field which gives it an ethereal character. It has its own structure and is subject to its own laws. Thermodynamics has shown that the universe is unceasingly and continuously moving toward more and more disorder, with the result that the amount of work that can be extracted out of the universe is decreasing continuously. The available amount of work in a system has been defined as entropy, which also can be seen to be the amount of disorder in a system at a particular point of time. In terms of this definition, this movement toward increasing disorder can be described as the increasing entropy of the universe. A similar process is occurring in the collective unconscious. Information in the individual psyche is being continuously created out of this unconscious becoming ingrained and embalmed in cultural forms, symbols, and so on. Existing images and thought processes are increasing their complexities along with their meaning. The possibilities for newer symbols and signs become fewer and fewer. Spontaneous effects of the collective unconscious like "Innate Release Mechanisms" are vanishing. The manifestations of irrational thoughts and dreams in individuals are becoming rarer.

RELIGION Information flows into individuals from their environment. An individual feels comparatively insignificant in size and capacity compared to his environment. This feeling was predominant especially during the early years of civilization when the number of individuals was small, and the

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capacity of the individual to control the environment was negligible or nil. In addition he came to realize the fascinating biological facts of sex, birth, childhood, adolescence, adulthood, disease, old age, and death, as well as such psychological factors as love, hate, fear, anger, awe, and wonder. It was commonly felt by the individual that he was being moved by the vectors of environment, including his fellow individuals, largely to his detriment and rarely to his benefit. The next step was to believe that these vectors were controlled by a superhuman power. At the same time the inflow information helped to influence the individual psyche. Irrational images of the individual mind received a new meaning. Some of them were given new meaning. The order of the universe with its inequalities and apparent idiosyncracies provided a model for collective living. With the development of society religions were codified. Liturgies where mythological motifs were rehearsed were put into writing. Common biological experiences were universalized through devising of new rituals. Organization of churches took place at a rapid pace all over the world. Religion through such a process became more and more organized though the individuals became less and less religiously minded. The process is continuing. Since religion deals with collective as well as individual living, it forms an ethical system of values of all types. Campbell writes: "Every people received its own seal of super nature design, communicated to its heroes and daily proved in the lives and experiences of its individuals!" (Campbell 1960:2). Religion is integrated with law, custom, and other folkways, and influences economic, commercial, and political institutions. In primitive societies, the shaman stands by the side of the chief. In advanced civilization the king can get supreme control over the political machinery only when he ousts the papacy from his kingdom. In short, religion is an extension within the field. But the extensions of religion spread over the field are gradually decreasing. The legal, political, and economic structures and systems are being increasingly dominated by their pure forms grown out of pure logical thought processes. Individual relations are ossifying into pure psychological, biological and sociological forms.

SUMMARY Based upon the hypothesis that human society has an independent

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existence and reality apart from, and yet because of, individuals constituting it, and that it is an entity having a space-time concreteness with an underlay of psychic and an overlay of human conceptual reality, the field aspect of a universal theory of society is outlined. Society is conceptualized as a macrofield with multidimensional topological configuration. The social groups including classes and castes form its domains; law, custom, and codes, its channels; and homo sociologicus its holes. The varying degrees of the compulsive power of the channels are explainable in terms of their gradients. An individual placed in such a channel gets his interests uniquely determined and converted into rights. By jurisprudential analysis, and assuming that rights are vectors, multidimensional structures of rights in society are revealed. These structures and changes in them give rise to political society. Channel curvatures cause Robbinsian conditions for the existence of economic behavior, making rights instruments of commerce. The psychic underlay is extended Jungian collective unconscious, the primary source of collective creativity. Religion, which has its source in this underlay, forms an extension within the field, capable of influencing all types of human behavior.

REFERENCES BATLIBOI, JAMSHED R.

1969 Advanced accountancy. Bombay: Private publication. CAMPBELL, JOSEPH

1960

The masks of god. London: Seeker and Warburg.

DAHRENDORF, RALF

1968

"Homo Sociologicus," in Essays in the theory of society. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.

DALTON, GEORGE

1961

Economic theory and primitive society. American 63:1-25.

Anthropologist

EINSTEIN, ALBERT

1947 "The problem of space, ether and the field in physics," in The philosophers of science. New York: Random House (Pocket Library edition). FORDHAM, FRIEDA

1956

An introduction to Jung's psychology. London: Pelican.

GOLDSCHMIDT, W . R.

1959

Man's way, a preface to the understanding of human society. New York: Holts.

KLUCKHOHN, CLYDE

1961

Notes on anthropological aspects of communication. Anthropologist 63: 895-910.

American

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KROEBER, ALFRED

1948 Anthropology. New York: Harcourt, Brace and World. LEWIN, KURT

1951 Field theory in social sciences, selected theoretical papers. New York. ROBBINS, LIONEL.

1956 An essay on the nature and significance of economic science. London: Macmillan. SALMOND, JOHN

1956 Salmond on jurisprudence. London: Sweet and Maxwell. SMITH, ALFRED G.

1966

Communication and culture. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.

SOROKIN, PITIRIM A.

1966 Sociological theories of today. New York: Harper and Row.

PART TWO

The Dynamics of Culture

Anthropological Criteria for a Notion of Progress

THEODORE PAPADOPOULLOS

AXIOLOGICAL CONTENT OF THE IDEA OF PROGRESS The idea of progress is essentially sociohistorical, i.e. the idea and its meaningful content are the outcome of sociohistorical processes in connection with the sociocultural development of mankind, with which the idea of progress is inextricably linked. Before proceeding to any investigation of its nature it is necessary to dissociate its meaning from two fundamental concepts of modern, natural, and social science: evolution, and change. Evolution is here taken in its strict biological connotation, not in its metaphysical implications. This point is made clear by Bradley who distinguishes between Darwinism as a theory of natural evolution and Darwinism as a metaphysics of existence (Inge 1920:10). From the standpoint of the social universe, within which the idea of progress acquires its meaningfulness, natural evolution is not indeed indifferent, but amoral, and has to be accounted for as an external condition. The same applies to cosmic evolution or changes occurring within the physical universe. Although not indifferent to man, these are devoid of moral content and have to be taken as objectively given conditions. J.S. Huxley's attribution of cruelty to nature can have a meaning only in a social and valuational context, for instance in those historical processes in which man struggles against nature and physical forces. This is what makes Τ. H. Huxley speak of a contradiction between ethical and cosmic process (J. S. Huxley 1943:7). Huxley resolves this contradiction by assuming the identity of the ethical with the evolutionary process. This could be valid only in a macrobiological-philosophical perspective not on a comparatively microsociohistorical scale.

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Human values are conceivable on a subjective basis as against the objective biological condition of man as a natural being. Any criteria derived from the cosmic processes with a view to invalidating the idea of progress are logically inappropriate, despite the fact that man's existence may sink into nothingness as a consequence of cosmic processes. An eventual extinction of the surrounding universe may be invoked as an argument against the operational scope and value of the idea of progress (Inge 1937:12-15), but this does not constitute an argument invalidating its reality, but only against its final justification in view of an eventually negative conclusion of the cosmic process. The argument is further invalidated by the fact that processes on the scale of the physical universe operate within immense spans of cosmic time, whereas sociocultural processes can rise, develop, and integrate in further syntheses within the historical and sociocultural time, which is but an infinite fraction of cosmic time. Human values are further commensurate with the still more infinitely small span of individual life, and the realization of a great number of those values is conceived within the individual life perspective, whether such a realization is a final achievement or contributory to a long-term and collective program of human action. Any conceived and projected materialization of the idea of progress can attain a teleiosis within historical time without reasonable fear of being overtaken by cosmic time. The real argument about progress cannot be derived from the external physical world, but from the internal reality of man's individual and social existence. As to the final conclusion of the cosmic process we may oppose the idea, fundamentally inherent in the notion of progress itself, of man's possible emancipation from the cosmic process, an idea further strengthened by the immensity of cosmic time itself, within which man's sociohistorical possibilities and potentialities are infinite, including the possibility of the aforesaid emancipation. Likewise, progress must be dissociated from change. Change is a very general term denoting modification of existing status. In this sense its connotation is larger than that of the idea of progress, which denotes only a particular aspect of change. Change in general is as amoral as evolution, but the idea of change can be value charged as soon as its effects become subjectively appropriated on account of their significance for man. Progress can be associated only with that aspect of change which has a positive and acceptable meaning for man and society. A notion of progress divested from its axiological content is contradictory. The term would be rendered ipso facto unnecessary, since "change" and "evolution" would meet all requirements in accounting for any successive forms of the sociocultural status of mankind.

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Even though the "positive" and "acceptable" meaning may be so only for a section of mankind, the value content of the idea of progress is valid. What represents a progress for a section of the human community may be a regress for another section. This only means that the notion of progress is immersed in relativity, and that our problem consists in defining criteria of progress transcending the realm of relativity.

THE E N L I G H T E N M E N T THEORY O F PROGRESS: HISTORICAL A N D SOCIOCULTURAL LIMITATIONS The greatest exponents of the idea of progress in modern times are the philosophers of the Enlightenment. The Enlightenment theory of progress has been studied either in its historical sequence (Bury 1955), or analytically (Gay 1967, 1970; Gusdorf 1971:310-333). Both approaches are indispensable, the first in establishing the progressive elaboration of the idea, the second in determining the extent of the field covered by the speculations of the philosophers of the Enlightenment. Under the ingeneous argumentation developed in the quarrel between the Ancients and Moderns (Fontenelle 1825b; Rigault 1856; Brunetiere 1922) we may perceive the beginnings of a critical confrontation of culture and the emergence of an intellectual emancipation based on a critical and comparative treatment of methods and achievements. The outcome of such a comparative treatment is an essentially intellectualist definition of progress, conceived as a state of culture clearly differentiated from that of the classical age and developing on autonomous lines. In Fontenelle's discussion of the matter (1825b: 235-236) progress is located at the respective levels at which operates the human intellect (esprit) in different places and ages. The modern level is qualitatively differentiated from the one at which the Greek and Roman achievements are located. Condorcet's approach is evolutionary. Progress is conceived as stages of intellectual achievement, no stress being laid on the development of social institutions (Condorcet 1933). Arts and sciences are the main vehicle of progress, and although considerations about the institutional and social values are not foreign to the thinkers of the Enlightenment, these occupy a comparatively secondary place in their preoccupations. Even Turgot, an economist, conceives of progress as taking place in the area of the sciences and arts (Turgot 1913a, 1913b), the comparative standard being generally set with reference to Greek and Roman culture. This almost exclusively intellectualist approach leaves vast areas of human reality outside the scope of the idea of progress. The limitations of

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the Enlightenment theory of progress should be examined historically and sociologically. The historical limitations are due to a relativism grounded on an almost exclusively classical traditional view of historical evolution adopted by the theorists of progress. Although foreign peoples and exotic social systems and mentalities are not unknown to them (Duchet 1971), the work of Guillaume Raynal (1772) being an outstanding example of this interest, the non-classical cultural traditions are not assimilated into the pattern of knowledge and study of the Greco-Roman tradition. Nonclassical cultures and non-European societies are imperfectly known, misrepresented, and implicitly considered as inferior. Fontenelle, for instance, is skeptical about the possibility of great authors arising from among the Lapps and Negroes (Fontenelle 1825b: 238; cf. Salmon 1973: 56-91). Information about Asiatic and African peoples and cultures is obtained through travelers' accounts and the data collected are usually referred to as curiosities. In universal history Greco-Roman antiquity with its West-European projection occupies an axonic place with the Jewish history frequently enjoying the same privileged status on account of its association with Christianity. Thus, according to Turgot, progress is illustrated by the intellectual achievements of Greece, Rome, and the Age of Louis XIV, with Christianity as a by-product (Turgot 1913b). But in Bossuet's conception of universal history the role of Jewish religion is as fundamental as that of classical culture (Bossuet 1681). Unless Jaspers's "axial" period be conceived in an entirely valuational context, it would suffer from the same limitation (Jaspers 1949:19-40). This gives a limited view of universal history which is conceived with dominant reference to classical antiquity and evaluated almost exclusively according to criteria derived from the classical tradition. The resulting limitation affects the idea of progress, as elaborated by eighteenth-century philosophers, in its very epistemological basis, namely in the lack of comprehensive historical data susceptible to providing the empirical background required for the elaboration of a notion of universal import. The inadequacy of the idea of progress as affected by such limitation is variously evidenced in the inductions and judgments of value of the philosophers of the Enlightenment. Thus Voltaire's conception of decadence as a succession of growth and decay, decay and growth (Voltaire 1878a, 1878b), fares under the relativism imposed by the empirical data of classical antiquity. Voltaire mistakes for decadence a state of civilization which has never been affected by a cultural achievement. In point of fact cultural achievements do not affect universally the otherwise differentiated sociohistorical field, a truth perceived by Hume (1875:382).

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What Voltaire mistook for decadence was merely a persisting state of culture antecedent to cultural achievement and, up to his time, unaffected by it. The sociological limitations of the Enlightenment theory of progress result from an insufficient probing into the anthropology of nonEuropean societies and the values inherent in non-classical cultural traditions. From such insufficiency proceed the erroneous judgments and biased conclusions regarding the nature of progress and its axiological implications. 1. As to the nature: since the essential content of progress consists in intellectual and aesthetic values, values relevant to social organization, institutional structures, and human relations are likely to be ignored. Emphasis on these values has been given only by recent anthropological theory (for instance, Malinowski 1960; Levi-Strauss 1964-1971, etc.). But also the range of intellectual and aesthetic values inherent in the classical tradition, which inspired the idea of progress in the philosophers of the Enlightenment, was not comprehensive and could easily lead to disregard of important intellectual and aesthetic values contained in non-classical traditions. It was a matter of time for European science to explore the cultural traditions of India and China and evaluate their importance within the system of human culture (for instance, Needham 1954-1965, especially IV (3):xlv-lvii). Probing into the mental structures of still less known peoples and assessing their significance was a much later occurrence (for instance, Levi-Strauss 1964-1971). 2. As to the axiological implications: since in the idea of progress projective action is implicit, the axiological content of the Enlightenment theory of progress is liable to serious misapplications and ill-directed policies. The lack of pragmatical and analytical probing into non-European cultures on the part of the thinkers of the Enlightenment results in defective problematics and partial or Utopian solutions to the questions raised. This imperfectness is illustrated by Sebastien Mercier's anticipations as naturally following from the dictates and applications of reason (Bury 1955:194-198). But also Condorcet's axiomatics concerning the future progress of mankind, although strongly sociological, do not derive from an investigation of social origins and structure (Condorcet 1933: 203-239). The explanatory defect is apparent in Turgot's interpretation of the decadence of oriental cultures, which is attributed to their "mysterious character" (Turgot 1913a: 124, 133). The final position about the Enlightenment theory of progress is that it is grounded on a fragment of the historical experience, while its analytical import rests on a super-

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ficial knowledge not only of non-European societies and cultures, but also of the ethnological foundations of European culture itself. This accounts for the strong historical and sociocultural relativism under which the theory fares. Despite the above weaknesses the effort to transcend the ethnohistorical and sociocultural relativism is only too evident among the thinkers of the Enlightenment. The philosophy of reason is necessarily universalistic and any attempt to apply the principles of rational philosophy has to be universal. This is the purport of Montesquieu's doctrine, who searched for laws of universal import regulating the evolution of human societies. It should be remembered that Montesquieu defines laws as the necessary relations deriving from the nature of things, which implies uniformity of structure and evolution. Laws may be natural or positive, i.e. social (Montesquieu 1951b: 232-238). The concrete historical instances studied by Montesquieu are intended to exemplify the operation of such laws (Montesquieu 1951a). Rousseau, by examining the question of cultural progress from a moral point of view as well as the social implications of civilization, initiated the sociological analysis of the problem of progress. His argument, for instance, that civilization is a deviation from the natural state (Rousseau 1966a, 1966b) raises a question of social import. Both the sociological approach and the comparative study of culture were initiated by the philosophers of the Enlightenment, but remained at an early stage of systematization. Likewise, it is to the credit of the thinkers of the Enlightenment that they attained a universalistic outlook, extended even to the study of the terrestrial universe (Fontenelle 1825a), but this outlook remained vague and speculative, because it could not be substantiated by pragmatic content.

THE TRANSITION TO UNIVERSALITY The problem of progress is differently approached by the critical philosophy of Kant. The fundamental ideas directly affecting progress are the moral nature of teleological action and the principle of universalization. Progress in terms of Kantian philosophy is to be conceived within the developmental historical process and has a concrete content consisting in the gradual elimination of the negative forces impeding attainment of the final goal of historical development. This end is essentially ethical, since it is an all-embracing ideal of moral perfection and political unification of mankind. Despite its idealistic ends the Kantian philosophy of history anticipates in many respects modern anthropological realism:

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1. It apprehends the differentiating effect of racial features, but obviates the possible projection of this purely physical differentiation into the social and moral world by means of the logical argument of the unity of species (Kant 1964a). The empirical content of race is treated on a rational basis independent of moral considerations (Kant 1964c). 2. The principle of universality is carried into the realm of world history, namely in the realm of empirical realizations and potentialities, in which are elaborated the conditions for the development of a unified universal society. These include (a) the possibility of development of the natural faculties of man towards their full realization (Kant 1964b, Erster Satz); (b) the attainment of this end by means of the natural antagonism and the eventual transcendence of these possibilities (Kant 1964b, Vierter Satz)·, (c) the teleological principle implicit in nature which poses as a necessary axiom the achievement of a civil government which in its turn would give rise to the international political constitution (Kant 1964, Fünfter-Achter Satz); (d) theoretical action conforming to the plan of nature, which is possible and practically advantageous to this plan (Kant 1964b, Neunter Satz). This proposition sanctions the scope and method of theoretical action with reference to the underlying historical process of international unification. 3. Theoretical activity is assigned a function quasi axiological: to further nature's plans. This is made more explicit in the elaboration of a project of perpetual peace. The project proceeds from the realistic recognition of a state of conflict inherent in status naturalis. To overcome this deficiency and achieve permanent peaceful symbiosis it is necessary (a) to model the civil constitution of each state according to democratic principles (Kant 1964d, Erster Definitivartikel), (b)to model international society according to a principle of federalism (Kant 1964d, Zweiter Definitivartikel), (c) to guarantee free intercourse and traffic in foreign territories (Kant 1964d, Dritter Definitivartikel). This right to "hospitality" runs counter to tribal hostility and watertight delimitation of national territories. The ideas contained in the project of perpetual peace fringe the domain of anthropological theory. The status naturalis may roughly be taken to correspond to the status ethnologicus. Here the axiological propositions are intended as a means to transcend ethnological differentiation and ethnic oppositions, and to pave the way to a progressive unification of mankind under a universal constitution. The clearance of the theoretical ground is a necessary antecedent to the elaboration of a world policy of unification. However, this is only a step forward, still far removed from the stage of practical applications.

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DIVERGENCE BETWEEN STATE OF KNOWLEDGE AND ETHNOCULTURAL CONDITION The problem of progress being an immediate concern of man and society as a whole any theoretical elaborations concerning it have to be appraised with reference not exclusively to the level of knowledge attained, but also to the contribution they can make towards the practical advancement of the solution of the problem of progress taken as a world problem. More particularly, the scientific and scholarly contribution will be measured by its effort to bridge the gap between theory and practice and the resulting efficiency of this effort. The contribution of the Enlightenment in this respect remained at the purely theoretical level and suffered from an intense relativism. But also Kant's universalism was conceived in terms too broad to be of immediate practical use. Both contributions mark the stage of theoretical elaboration, the first as regards the conception and formulation of the problem, the second as regards the extension of its terms. In both, the heterogeneous and differentiated reality they were called upon to treat had not as yet disclosed itself in its immense complexities and inner particularities (Papadopoullos 1965: 6-58). In their case, the distance between theory and realization could be roughly compared with the distance separating a fictional anticipation of travel to the moon (even though conceived on sound principles) and the actual execution of the project, with an important difference of kind: whereas the gap between scientific fiction and actualization can be bridged by quantitative expansion and improvement of existing theoretical and material equipment, the bridging of the gap in the case of human problematics of the kind discussed is not easily conceivable in other than qualitative terms, which means an immensely higher complexity of human reality unaccountable by way of laws of the kind operating in the physical universe. Moreover, social and historical experience indicates that the rate of qualitative progress lags behind the rate of quantitativetechnological expansion. Even though Kant contributed a further advance in the process of theoretical systematization by universalizing the bearing and effects of the idea of progress, thus providing a more realistic orientation to the theoretical prospection of the problem, an immense distance remained to be covered by theoretical knowledge before human reality could be reached in its full extent and complexity, which is a presupposition of practical applications (Papadopoullos 1961:701-704). In the process of achieving an integral knowledge of human reality in its social, ethnic, and cultural differentiation anthropology had to play a dominant role,

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since only through it did it become possible to assess the exact dimensions of the problem of reconciliation and unification. The contribution of anthropology to the theoretical understanding of the problem of universality is, in the first place, descriptive, consisting in the accurate exposition and analysis of the data of ethnocultural differentiation. In the second place, anthropological theory has scientifically exposed the theory of ethnocentrism. In this way anthropology has laid the premises of the problem of universality. It has not offered any practical solutions to the problem of universality. It has investigated the negative aspects of it, namely, ethnocultural pluralism, heterogeneity, and differentiation. Its contribution continues to remain mainly theoretical, without immediate practical results, but it has helped tremendously to bridge the gap between theory and application by bringing to the surface the real status socioculturalis of mankind, with reference to which any policy of unification has to be formulated and elaborated. The practical implications flowing from anthropological theory may also be the concern of anthropologists, but putting them into effect is the task of makers of policy, eventually of political leaders. Up to this point the task of anthropology is descriptive and analytical, and anthropologists would like to confine their role to expressing judgements of reality, not judgements of value. A t least anthropologists believe so, and their belief is backed by the descriptive nature of their research. What anthropologists are not aware of is that their perfectly descriptive science has axiological implications. Once this fact of axiological implications is acknowledged, it does not follow that anthropological inquiry (other vitiating factors excluded) is defective. I believe, on the contrary, that once the axiological implications come to the surface the social role of anthropology as a science of man will be correctly appreciated. For no science of man has ever emerged out of an empty ground, namely without a specific motivation of the inquiries to which it gives rise. Since any science of man is motivated by human problematics, none can pretend to remain unresponsive to the implicit claims made upon it by the social environment which favored its birth. This fact does not mean that the sciences of man are or should be normative, although they have been called upon to deal with some problem and are expected to provide some answer to that problem. Their raison d'etre lies in this implicit mission assigned to them by the community, but to carry out that mission they have to be objective and exclude the interference of subjective criteria and the enunciation of judgements of value. But while their method is scientific, their mission is, in the last place, axiological, since it has to serve human needs. A s explained, it is not on their method but on their implications that their

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axiological character is grounded. Once statistical investigation has established the inequality of income or the high frequency of crime, and once economics has probed into the origin of inequality or sociology into the causes of crime, the axiological implications of their conclusions, reached by way of objective research, are immediately evident, in fact so self-evident that we pass them by, taking it for granted that the community through its social and political leaders will take care of giving effect to the conclusions reached, that is to the axiological claims of those conclusions. In fact the social scientist and the economist have initiated normative action by objective research, and it is only the dictate of division of labor that prevents them from giving effect to their conclusions by projecting them in the realm of practical applications. On the analogy of the other sciences of man, anthropology, by establishing the objective status of sociocultural and ethnic differentiation and defining the phenomenon of ethnocentrism as one of the main sources of ethnocultural relativity, poses ipso facto some axiological claims having a direct bearing on the problem of universality. GENERAL CRITERIA OF PROGRESS Having distinguished progress from evolution and change on the ground of its axiological content, i.e. a content meaningful with reference to human ends and values, we have to examine the criteria by which it has to be defined as a theoretical and working concept. Progress, as a subjective notion, consists in the actualization of those values, the attainment of which constitutes a move towards desirable ends and conditions conceived in an ideal form. Even though those ends are infinite and never attained, they provide, nevertheless, an absolute term of reference on a scale of valuations. In fact, what confers on an ideal end its significance is not a concrete content, which remains inconceivable in positive terms and incomprehensible (cf. the epistemological thesis of Cesari 1960: 229), but its ultimateness and absoluteness which gives a meaning to any particular action defined with reference to it. Let us consider, for instance, progress in wealth or knowledge. It is an ascertained fact of experience that man aspires incessantly to the acquisition of material wealth, and also to increase his stock of knowledge. Any further accumulation of wealth, or any increase in knowledge, is considered progress towards that end. It is equally admitted that there is no final end to both pursuits, each advance being final only in a temporary sense. Once what is considered a goal is attained, the end is tranposed to a more remote point on the scale of values. This might be defined

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as the forward-moving margin of progress. If somebody be asked what is the ultimate end of the process of acquiring wealth or increasing one's knowledge, the answer would be an embarrassing one. For we cannot perceive in clear terms the concrete content of that end, unless we define it as "absolute wealth," or "absolute knowledge," which means that such an absoluteness is not susceptible of further progress. Now, though the content of this ultimate end escapes our capacity of positive comprehension, it is important to note that the absolute quality, which confers on the ultimate end its distinctive property, has, nevertheless, a very concrete and definite function, which is to provide a teleological orientation and a standard of valuation of the individual actions and achievements by which wealth and knowledge are acquired and increased. The functional role of the absolute or ideal end provides a secure basis upon which to found a notion of progress even though conceived in terms of quantitative expansion of values. The next and more important step is to consider whether progress in subjectively conceived values can achieve validity in the realm of objective reality. This is to say that, in order to achieve such objectivity, progress has to go through a process of universalization, which means that human values have to undergo a gradual emancipation from the state of relativity to which they are subjected. Let us consider some implications of the relativity of human values for progress. The anthropological study of culture reveals the fact that while many cultural values are common to mankind (if this were not the case coexistence of human groups would probably be impossible), many others are specific to individual cultures or to some of them. In the process of expansion, diffusion, contact, and unification of culture component individual values may undergo any of the following conditions: 1. Survive in parallel coexistence without mutual influence; 2. Be replaced by other values and disappear; 3. Be universalized. A survival in parallel coexistence is possible when the respective contents of two or more cultural values are different from each other as to their nature, scope, and application, which means that there is no scope for contradiction or competition. Antagonism between cultural values occurs in the second case, when, for instance, two cultural values cover a common pragmatic ground, but they are differentiated by the degree of their respective efficiencies. Unless other factors intervene, contributing towards the perpetuation of an inefficient value, the latter will be replaced by the one possessing a greater potentiality of universalization. Out of this process results the third case, in which a cultural

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component survives as a more or less universally prevailing value (cf. Papadopoullos 1965:687-699). From this simplified scheme it should be apparent that progress within a local, tribal, or ethnic system of values does not necessarily represent universal progress, but only an advance within the frames of that local, tribal, or ethnic universe. Relativity of progress results, therefore, from relativity of values. The implications of the relativity of values are essential for a definition of criteria of progress. The demographic expansion of mankind has given rise to a gradual expansion, diffusion, and interpenetration of ethnic and racial groups, pointing to a further rise in demographic density over the inhabitable surface of the earth. The logical corollary of such expansion is unification under universal organization. But this is only a conceptual anticipation, the objective actualization of which stumbles against the conflicting values of heterogeneous and differentiated racial, ethnic, and cultural traditions. The conflicting background of international history provides the status quo against which a criterion of progress should be defined at the level of universality. For it is clear that the transcendence of international relativity would result in universality. Let me point out that in such a conception of universality the criterion for the definition of progress is essentially ethical. If this be not the case, there is a risk of admitting among our criteria the negative aspect of universality, which can be conceived as a forced imposition of negative values on a universal scale. We can, for instance, conceive of one people imposing by violent action upon the rest of mankind a regime of inequality and discrimination in application of a subjective system of ethnic, racial, or religious values, a system postulating the universalization of those values. Now, if the notion of universality be taken as an amoral one, there is no ground for speaking of positive or negative universality. But the "values" of inequality and discrimination, the postulation of universalization of which may be contained in the ethical code of a certain human group, are definitely negative, at least in relation to that part of mankind which has to undergo their effects. Since their forced imposition entails automatically the reaction of the people affected, their universality cannot be considered as positive, because it does not affect positively the fortunes of mankind as a whole. It is, therefore, a negative universality. Kant's criterion for moral action clears the way for a definition of positive universality by claiming that an action is moral only if it can, by general application, be established as a universal law, that is, a law freely acceptable to the totality of mankind. By this means we secure a criterion (a) for the ethical nature of universality, which confers on it its positive meaning for man; (b) for the transcend-

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ence of the relativity of ethnic, racial, and cultural values; such relativity being abolished by attainment of positive universality, which is inherently absolute and, by universal projection, objective. The ethnohistorical context within the frame of which we have considered the idea of progress makes of the latter a value-charged notion sharply differentiated from the amoral status it acquires when viewed either as a mere change of agnostic import (Hume 1875:381-382), or as a form of biological evolution, save that in the latter case what is described as higher levels of organization (Huxley 1943:41-42) bears a conceptual analogy with the notion of higher levels of universality. It is equally important to note that, although the developmental process in culture differs profoundly from the evolutionary process in nature, it is generally agreed that the attainment of a stage of development by the hominids was a precondition of culture (Steward 1955:12). Despite this connection and the analogies invoked between natural organisms and social organization (Spencer 1885:437^450), it is not possible to retain them from the moment we perceive the axiological nature of the transcendence of ethnocultural relativity and the teleological character of the universalizing principle. The limitation of the concept of progress to individual improvement (Inge 1920:22-23) is not contradictory to the idea of universalization, since the relativity of values rests ultimately on the individual bearers of social values and their capacity of transcending their own subjective limitations. More serious are the limitations to which progress is subjected from the moment its objective manifestations are confined to narrow areas of social life and evolution (Kroeber 1948:298-303). Moreover, a narrow conception and application of the descriptive method may lead to sheer anthropological agnosticism (Lowie 1921:427-428). Aspects of progress can also be isolated and investigated with reference to particular areas of social, economic, and intellectual activity (Todd 1918), but such isolation can elicit the empirical manifestations of progress, not its meaning and comprehension. The criterion of universalization helps to dispense with a number of limitations of the idea of progress, especially the subjection of it to narrow categories. Under some of these categories we easily perceive more or less universalized values disguised as specific aspects of social ethics. The limitation of the content of progress to specific areas such as order, social integration and improvement (Comte 1851-1854), or the moral values (Hobhouse 1915:30; Ginsberg 1956:47-48), does not advance the determination of the required criteria, since the instances of specific values susceptible to universalization are numerous and, moreover, the scope and content of each specific area of

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values can vary not only according to their bearers, but also according to the level of their integration and degree of universality. Moreover, progress in one area does not necessarily coincide with historical progress taken as a total process (Rotenstreich 1971:219), but this criticism must not be accepted as a refutation of progress. For progress in general, if formally defined, is the sum total of partial advances less the sum total of regression, and this definition does not exclude the possibility of a negative final result, regress. Unless the latter result be produced, the empirical facts of history should show "an increasing rationalization of moral values," and "a tendency towards universalism" (Ginsberg 1947: 320). The ultimate goal of progress cannot be defined without reference to relativity. An implication of this is that progress is meaningful only within a relative human universe, i.e. within an ethnocultural group and a system of ethnocultural groups. The emphasis in this connection is not to be laid on the relativity of the value in respect of that group or that system of groups, namely on its imperfectness from a universal point of view, but on its potentiality in respect of universalization. Such potentiality may be revealed in the historical process of confrontation and diffusion of values and results in the universal adoption of the value. If the value cannot be universalized for the benefit of the totality of mankind, its validity will be confined within the ethnocultural area in which it obtains, and its survival will depend on the survival of the bearer group. No attempt at conferring a meaningful basis on relative values by reference to other criteria (Frankel 1967:486-487) than the universalization potentiality of a value can stand the test of progress. A value can be relative and, therefore, imperfect, yet it is meaningful and valid in respect of progress if it possesses the potentiality of universalization. The relativity of values explains also the possibility of differentiated rates of progress among distinct sections of social activity (Weber 1913). We have pointed out the indeterminateness and quasi irreality of the ultimate end of progress, but we have also admitted its functional reality as a teleological reference in the process of universalization of values. Although logically indefinable and concretely unseizable this absolute end has nevertheless been variously conceived, in the context of different systems of culture and thought, as God, Nature, Society, or only as a logical notion, even though vague and contestable, of absolute. The difference between these various concepts can be reduced to a difference of degree in abstraction. It is thought, for instance, that Nature is less abstract than God, and Society than Nature. But all notions are pervaded, whether their proponents like it or not, by an ethical

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principle or, better, they constitute ethical ideals and as such they determine a teleological principle. On all of them can be conferred the attributes of the notion of ϋψ ιστον αγαθόν (summum bonum), a notion elaborated by ancient philosophy to make more explicit the teleological function of progress.

THE CONTRIBUTION OF ANTHROPOLOGY TO THE ELABORATION OF CRITERIA OF PROGRESS We have traced the pragmatic content of progress to the ethnohistorical process, by which term we seek to avoid the dissociation of the analytical study of cultural systems from the dynamics inherent in the diffusion of culture and the ethnic, racial, and political contacts, conflict, and integration, which are purely historical phenomena. By means of anthropological study realism is carried to its extreme limits since (a) anthropology covers the full range of human societies and cultures; (b) it treats every human group and cultural system on equal terms without comparative evaluation. The implication of (a) is that the inclusion in the historical stage of the totality of mankind permits the elaboration of integral international policies without leftover factors liable to perturb or dislocate the international organization. All great empires, including the Roman, have suffered from the deficiency of imperfect ethnocultural integration. Anthropology can boast that it can provide the theoretical foundation for an organization of mankind and human resources on universal lines. The implications of (b) are essentially ethical. They can be analyzed as (1) attribution of semantic content to each culture, which amounts to a vindication of cultural pluralism; (2) exploration of the semantic content and values contained in each culture; (3) availing the international community of values which can contribute to the promotion of man qua man. The abolition of the notion and status of racial, ethnic, and social inferiority follows upon the recognition of the semantic content of culture, not vice versa (Poirier 1969:120). It follows from the above implications that to the inferences of anthropology about various cultures correspond, in the first place, judgments of value. Now, anthropology being a descriptive science, it allows to itself neither jurisdiction nor competence in expressing judgments of value. In point of fact this is not the precise meaning of the statement that judgments of value underlie anthropological propositions. What is argued is that the descriptive statements of anthropology possess an implicit axiological content which may or may not be rendered explicit.

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When anthropologists refuse to express judgments of value in respect of the societies and cultures they study, or deny themselves competence to do so, in fact they avoid making explicit the axiological implications of their descriptive statements. When at times they do make explicit these implications (which happens on such occasions as the issue of manifestoes and recommendations to governments, or when they take sides on the racial question), they usually do so by means of separate literature, carefully avoiding producing judgments of value in their "scientific" descriptions of culture. Even when the anthropologist totally avoids venturing into the domain of judgments of value, the axiological implications of his statements exist all the same. It is irrelevant whether these are made explicit and utilized by people other than the anthropologists. The instance of the anthropological treatment of the racial question is a case in point. A racial policy, obviously inspired by judgments of value, may conceivably derive its theoretical justification from anthropological ascertainments and conclusions which simply and objectively indicate the fact that no immanent differences disqualifying one or the other racial stock exist. But such a conclusion has the immediate implication that racial discrimination should be barred. The fact that the proponent of the implicit axiological corollary about equality of race is not an anthropologist (he may be a politician) does not invalidate the axiological implications of the anthropological inquiry about race. It is only the implementation of these implications that passes out of the control of the anthropologist. We might properly speak of a division of labor, the anthropologist assuming the task of description and analysis, the politician the materialization of the axiological projections of the anthropological results. From this dual character of the anthropological knowledge we may extract the nature of the contribution of anthropology to the science and problematics of man. This contribution operates at two distinct levels: 1. At a level of judgments of reality. Anthropology being qualified to describe and analyze the various human societies and cultures, it provides the objective premises upon which to found any policy intended to deal with mankind as a whole. 2. At a level of judgments of value. By virtue of its axiological implications anthropology sets up norms for action immediately affecting the interethnic and intercultural problems of man and points the way towards preservation and integration of cultural values in an all-embracing system of human organization. At the descriptive and analytical level the contribution of anthropology consists in the elucidation of the premises upon which should rest a

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policy of rational and ethical treatment of human affairs. Within the international system it is the function of the descriptive and analytical part of anthropology to educate the individual and collective consciousness in the realities composing the social and cultural status of mankind. In this its function as the descriptive and analytical study of man and culture is in itself the most complete material justification of the Socratic dictum that virtue is knowledge. Anthropological knowledge provides the fundamental means of collective self-consciousness which is the basic presupposition of human organization on the national and international levels. T o any degree of human organization on universal lines should correspond a proportional amount of anthropological knowledge, and the attainment of full universality has to be backed by as universal knowledge as is possibly attainable. In this intimate relationship between state of knowledge and degree of universalization we can perceive the ethical meaning of anthropological knowledge considered in its descriptive and analytical form. If virtue is knowledge, reciprocally, knowledge is virtue by reason of the fact that it becomes a necessary presupposition to the promotion of human organization in the modern demographic, technological, and ethnocultural context. In this context the anthropological criterion of progress can be defined as the criterion of anthropological knowledge with reference to the promotion of international organization on the scale of universalization. In this particular respect the anthropological criterion requires that any policy or action intended as a treatment of interracial, interethnic, and interpolitical problematics should rest, in addition to any other relevant data, on knowledge provided by anthropological description and analysis. Violation of the

anthropological

data in dealing with any peoples affected by international policy and actions is liable to produce regressive conditions and lead to conflicting human relations. A t the axiological level the contribution of anthropology consists in the theoretical sanctioning of values susceptible to universalization, and therefore capable of enriching and extending the range of values at the disposal of mankind. In the process of integration of values the anthropological criteria are not exclusive. Anthropologists do not reject any of the values encountered and studied, even though, from the point of view of mankind, some of these values may be negative. But anthropology provides the basic criterion for the conservation and eventual universalization of a social and cultural value, that of its positive contribution to the function and promotion of the society in whose system that value operates. But anthropology can also provide a negative criterion for any value the operation of which, within a social and cultural system, is

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proven to be subversive, even destructive to the society, the existence of which it is supposed to promote. The establishment and application of anthropological criteria of progress are attended by a number of difficulties, the complexity of which is equal to their importance. The source of such difficulties can be traced either to the descriptive and analytical field of anthropology, or to its axiological implications. Up to the present anthropologists have mostly paid attention to one set of difficulties, those deriving from the subjective criteria, conscious or subconscious, applied to the descriptive and analytical study of human societies and cultures, the intervention of which may produce distorted and prejudiced accounts of those societies and cultures. Anthropologists are rightly concerned about the possibility that any distorted descriptions, or even insufficient knowledge, may result in either a devaluation of the culture studied, or negative axiological implications regarding the bearers of that culture. Founded as this criticism may be, it is necessary to point to its one-sidedness and insist on a more comprehensive formulation of the problem by taking into account not only its pertinence to the descriptive content of anthropology, but also its close relevance to the axiological implications of the discipline. We may tentatively expose the difficulties attendant upon the establishment and application of the anthropological criteria of progress under the twofold aspect of vitiation of the descriptive and analytical content, and misapplication of the axiological implications. The vitiation of the descriptive and analytical content of anthropology has two different aspects. The first is indicated by the above-noted negative consequences flowing from a distorted description or insufficient knowledge of a culture. This aspect is so evident and generally recognized, that there is no need to insist on it. The second aspect, scarcely touched upon, if ever, by anthropologists, concerns the treatment of the axiological content of the cultures studied. In their zealous preoccupation with exact and objective description, but also in their conscious or subconscious inclination for defense and justification of the traditional cultural systems which are faced with the destructive impact of modern technology, anthropologists are apt to neglect the negative aspects of those cultures and the operation, among their positive values, of destructive elements. In the present writer's view it is a serious shortcoming of the functional theory to have completely diverted attention from the axiological content of culture by confining anthropological interest to the demonstration of the meaningful functions of cultural values. In itself this is not the blameworthy aspect of functional anthropology. The criticism launched here is aimed at the implications of the functional theory, the first of

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which is that since all cultural components have a function in a given social system, their existence is justified as such. The second implication flows from the first, and although it is not usually recognized as such, it is clearly projected as an axiological claim: the fact that cultural values are justified by their function in a certain social system implies that they are inherently good. Now, these functionalist implications are the product of a double fallacy. Firstly, the justification of a cultural value by virtue of its function acquires in functionalist theory a moral content which it does not necessarily have. Despite functionalism's pretensions to scientific method, a serious confusion occurs when what amounts to explanation (the discovery of function) is called upon as a principle of justification. Secondly, the further projection of the notion of justification into the virtual assertion of the goodness of cultural values is uncritical, for the reason that the only criterion for expressing such a judgment seems to be the justification, that is the explanation of the existence and operation of a cultural value. This criticism does not affect the truth, partial or general, of the functionalist explanation, but only its axiological implications. For even though the function of a cultural element be established, it does not follow that this element has an ethically positive content. A cultural element may have a definite function, even though it is intrinsically negative or neutial. The custom of killing old people in certain cultures has a definite function, but the custom viewed as a cultural "value" has a negative content and as such it cannot be universalized. The operation of a negative value in a social and cultural system does not mean necessarily the destruction of that system, since the negative effects may be offset by those of the positive values. However, an accruing number of negative values may cause the disintegration of a social and cultural system, and in this connection Toynbee's thoughts about the breakdown and disintegration of civilizations, if not acceptable to their full extent, can be suggestive to anthropologists (Toynbee 1939). The above considerations will help in eliciting what I have described as the second aspect of the vitiation of the descriptive and analytical content of anthropology. This is the aspect concerned with the negative values in culture and the negative effects of those values on human society and progress. The regression of culture and the passing away of its bearers remain at a most elementary level of investigation despite the legitimate interest of anthropology in it and its competence to undertake its study. The mere historical (Spengler 1918-1922; Toynbee 1939) or philosophical (Schweitzer 1932) treatment of the subject without the intervention of anthropological probing into the facts may deprive any conclusions reached by such treatment of the realistic

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inferences of the latter. The importance of an anthropological investigation of the negative values in culture will be made explicit in the course of elaboration and application of the second category of criteria referred to above, those deriving from the axiological implications of anthropology. The data on the negative values and the decay of human societies consequent upon their operation point to the logical conclusion that not all cultural values can be universalized. In this connection the role of anthropology is fundamental, since the discipline is expected to clear the ground for the determination of positive and negative aspects of culture. However, this role is not exclusive, because the question of values is of universal concern, many other disciplines and factors being equally involved in the procedure of adoption and assimilation of culture. Nor is it decisive, because such universalization is not a matter of theoretical prescription, but of gradual adoption, assimilation, and integration in the social and international system. Nevertheless, the theoretical elaboration keeps its full practical meaning as a prerequisite to the establishment of criteria for progressive action. The function of anthropology is thus viewed in a far wider perspective than many anthropologists are prepared to admit. Without in the least impairing its descriptive and analytical content the acceptance of the axiological implications of its inferences will mean for anthropologists the assumption of a responsibility towards mankind considered in its unity. Should anthropology decline its axiological responsibilities, should it confine itself to the sterile security of a value-free apathetic scientism, it will do so at the risk of losing its raison d'etre, which is to act as a science of man.

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1955 The idea of progress: an inquiry into its origin and growth (first edition London 1920). New York: Dover. CESARI, PAUL

1960 La valeur de la connaissance scientifique. Paris: Flammarion. COMTE, AUGUSTE

1851-1854 Systeme de politique positive, ou traite de sociologie instituant la religion de Vhumanite. Paris.

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CONDORCET, Α., MARQUIS DE

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1967

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GAY, PETER

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The Enlightenment: an interpretation, volume one: The rise of modern paganism. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. 1970 The Enlightenment: an interpretation, volume two: The science of freedom. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. GINSBERG, MORRIS

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[1944] "Moral progress," in Reason and unreason in society, 298-324. London: William Heinemann. 1956 [1953] "The [idea of progress," in Evolution and progress, 1-55. London: William Heinemann. GUSDORF, GEORGES

1971

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Morals in evolution (third edition). London: Chapman and Hall.

HUME, DAVID

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HUXLEY, JULIAN S.

1943 Evolutionary ethics. London: Oxford University Press. INGE, w . R.

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The idea of progress. Oxford: Clarendon Press. The price of progress. London: University College.

JASPERS, KARL

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KANT, IMMANUEL

1964a [1777] Von den verschiedenen Rassen der Menschen, volume four, 7-30. Frankfurt am Main: Insel. 1964b [1784] Idee zu einer allgemeinen Beschichte in weltbürgerlicher Absicht, volume six, 31-50. Frankfurt am Main: Insel. 1964c [1785] Bestimmung des Begriffs einer Menschenrasse, volume six, 63-82. Frankfurt am Main: Insel. 1964d [1796] Zum ewigen Frieden. Ein philosophischer Entwurf, volume six, 193-251. Frankfurt am Main: Insel.

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KROEBER, A. L.

1948 Anthropology (second edition). New York: Harcourt, Brace. Ι,ένΐ-STRAUSS, CLAUDE

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LOWIE, ROBERT H.

1921 Primitive society. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. MALINOWSKI, BRONISLAW

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[1944] Α scientific theory of culture and other essays. New York: Oxford University Press.

MONTESQUIEU, C.

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1954-1965 Science and civilisation in China, four volumes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. PAPADOPOULLOS, THEODORE

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Sur la nature axiologique des jugements sociologiques. Revue de Sociologie 4:683—710. 1965 Le droit international dans un contexte ethnohistorique. Wetteren: Culta. POIRIER, JEAN

1969 Histoire de Vethnologie. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. RAYNAL, ABBE GUILLAUME

1772 Histoire philosophique et politique des etablissements et du commerce des Europeens dans les deux Indes. Paris. RIGAULT, ANGE HIPPOLYTE

1856 Histoire de la querelle des anciens et des modernes. Paris: Hachette. ROTENSTREICH, NATHAN

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The idea of historical progress and its assumptions. History and Theory 10:197-221.

ROUSSEAU, JEAN-JACQUES

1966a [1750] "Discours," in Oeuvres completes, volume three. Edited by De Bernard Gagnebin and Marcel Raymond, 1-30. Paiis: Gallimard. 1966b [1754] "Discours sur l'origine et les fondements de l'inegalit6 parmi les hommes," in Oeuvres completes, volume three. Edited by De Bernard Gagnebin and Marcel Raymond, 109-237. Paris: Gallimard. SALMON, PIERRE

1973 Le racisme devant Γhistoire. Paris and Brussels: Fernand NathanEditions Labor. SCHWEITZER, ALBERT

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1918 Theories of social progress. New York: Macmillan. TOYNBEE, ARNOLD J.

1939 A study of history, volumes four, five, and six. London: Oxford University Press. TURGOT, A. R. J.

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The Segregative and Integrative Functions of Culture

S. A. TOKAREV

In the process of transforming the natural environment and of actively adapting and adjusting to it, man creates culture which becomes his second, artificial environment. This concept of culture as an artificial environment has been discussed on more than one occasion in ethnographic, sociological, and philosophic literature. This artificial environment — culture — is created not by solitary beings nor by an abstract Homo sapiens, but by man as a social being, by a historically produced and historically changing human collective. At no time or place has culture or any one of its elements been created by a person isolated from a collective. Even inventions made by single scientists or technicians, works of art produced by individual artists, and philosophical systems evolved by individual thinkers have all, on the one hand, been products of a certain social environment that brought forth their creators and, on the other, have all become components of a certain culture only through their "socialization," through their incorporation into the life of a certain social environment, be it as broad as a nation or even the whole of mankind, or as narrow as a small and exclusive professional group. For this reason culture, apart from its primary function as a means of active adaptation to the environment, has another, derivative but no less important, function as an exact material and spiritual environment which mediates and reflects relations within human collectives and among them. This function is inherent in all forms and elements of human culture, both material and spiritual. There are two outstanding aspects among the different manifestations of the "mediating" role of culture, which are closely related and inter-

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dependent. Any manifestation of culture is inherent in some group of people, and thus, consolidates this group or promotes its consolidation, i.e. it plays an integrating role. The significance of this role varies from the minimum (e.g. stamp collectors throughout the woild form a certain community) to the highest degree (e.g. members of a political party or zealots of an isolated religious sect). Yet, in consolidating a given group, the cultural phenomenon inherent in this group also sets it apart from the rest of the world. This, too, occurs in highly varying degrees: stamp collectors do not regard non-collectors as hostile or alien to them, while members of a fanatical sect would like to condemn all who do not share their faith. The two above-mentioned functions of culture, that of the segregation and that of the integration of human collectives, are opposite in direction, but always closely interrelated and, in fact, inseparable aspects of the same function.

Naturally, the ability of cultural phenomena, on the one hand, to consolidate and unite people and, on the other, to set them apart from one another, could not fail to draw the attention of ethnographers, sociologists, archaeologists, and other students of human culture. Thus far, however, no comprehensive study of this aspect of culture has been made. Researchers usually focus upon a specific part of the problem. Thus, the Gräbner diffusionist school of ethnography regarded individual objects of culture, mainly of material culture, as features distinguishing one "culture circle" from another, while each "culture circle" was believed to consist of mechanically amassed elements. That point of view was shared by Frobenius, the only difference being that he substituted the concept of a mechanical amassment of elements for that of their "biological" affinity. The American "historical" school of Boas regarded a series of culture traits as a "culture area"; these areas were concretely delimited. The functionalists led by Malinowski, on the contrary, focused upon the internal connection of elements which together form a certain system referred to as a "culture," but neglected the latter's relation to all other similar systems. Over the past decades, beginning in the 1930's, ethnographers have shifted their attention to the comparison of culture types (patterns) peculiar to different ethnics, to their comparative appraisal, to the causes of distinctions between culture patterns, etc. There have been lively debates concerning the different types of personality which allegedly account for different culture patterns. Researchers have discussed whether

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an axiological grading of these culture patterns was possible or whether it was ruled out by the qualitative differences between them; there has been much speculation about the possibility and permissibility of applying the same criteria in evaluating different cultures, etc. All these problems are of considerable significance, yet they are marginal to the crucial problem of culture's basic social function. Even Leslie White's "culturology" has not covered the problem in its entirety, although this author has done much to clarify the laws of cultural, and particularly technological progress, and its influence upon all aspects of human life. Leroi Gourhan came closer to the problem we are concerned with by bringing forward his idea of an inevitable concentration of culture elements within ethnics. It should be noted however, that the ethnic expression of culture is far from its only important aspect. In the Soviet scientific literature, problems of culture are chiefly tackled by sociologists and philosophers. In their works Artanovsky, Markarian, Bromley, Shkaratan, and others have correctly solved problems of typology of ethnic cultures, their historical interrelations and parallel development, the worldwide historical unity of culture, etc. Yet these works do not fully expound the above-stated problem either.

The relation between elements of culture (material and spiritual) and ethnic communities is only one, even though important, aspect of the general role of culture which consists in uniting people into groups and setting these groups apart. After all, the ethnic community itself is only one of the many forms of uniting people into collectives. The division of the prehistoric tribe according to age and sex found an expression in a certain division of artifacts based on the age and sex division of labor: hunting weapons and implements belonged to adult males, while implements for gathering belonged to women. The spear and the digging stick became symbols and nuclei of the subsequent history of sex-based segregation in economic activities. The earliest stages in the social differentiation of the primitive community were accompanied by the emergence of the powers that be, however limited their prerogatives: the chiefs and elders, as well as sorcerers, medicine men and shamans. Their exclusive status was expressed by certain symbols of power and authority, such as special ornaments, robes, staffs, etc. From that time on, culture implements have not only served to differentiate one tribe from another, but also to distinguish different categories of people within one tribe or community, integrating them into groups and setting these groups apart.

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Any phenomenon of material or spiritual culture can be used to demonstrate how its function of mediating human relations changed in the course of historical development and how it also functioned as a means of both segregating and integrating man's social life. I shall cite just two examples, one pertaining to material and the other to spiritual culture. The primary function of man's dwelling is to protect him from harmful effects of the natural environment, such as cold, snow, rain, and heat, and also, from the very outset, carnivorous animals and human enemies. Man's earliest dwellings, such as caves, pit dwellings, and primitive huts, were a "safety zone" for their inhabitants. The latter, a clan group or family, was a close-knit community held together not only by blood, family, and marriage ties, but also by the common dwelling itself. Another dwelling occupied by other people signified an alien family or group. All peoples in the world have a great number of rituals, beliefs, and taboos related to this contraposition: my home — your home, or a more general one: at home — outside the home. These include the law of hospitality, the magic protection of one's home, the cult of guardian spirits, the idea of the inviolability and sanctity of the hearth, etc. The interior of man's dwelling was never amorphous, it has always been structurally organized. Archaeological findings dating from the Paleolithic indicate that separate sections of the home were meant for different categories of members of a family or group: men's and women's quarters; subsequently, a place of honor for the head of the family; special places for dependent relations, servants, guests of honor, ordinary guests, etc. These differences, perpetuated by custom and well manifested even in the primitive one-chamber house, gain in scope and complexity in the more advanced types of dwellings. The development of man's house thus reflects both the internal microstructure of kin collectives and the macrostructure of the society as a whole. Ethnic and national distinctions in dwellings are important, if only from the scientific point of view (with regard to the problems of ethnic origin and ethnic relations), yet they only cover one aspect of the social role of the house. Of no less importance are the social symbols of the house as a habitation of men, women, young people, or extended families at the early stages of development, which were later followed by such concepts as a rich and a poor house, a palace and a hut, an urban and a country house, barracks, a cloister, a capitalist rent-house, a cooperative apartment house, etc. All these categories are identified with specific types of social structures, and doubtless form a most important, perhaps the most important, object of study not only for ethnographers but also for sociologists, economists, and culturologists.

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It would be easy to demonstrate that this applies in equal measuie to other items of material culture: food, clothing, ornaments, weapons, means of transportation, household utensils, etc., but I cannot do so in this short paper.

From the vast field of spiritual culture, I shall likewise single out one highly significant example: religion. Subjectively (from the point of view of believers) religious beliefs and rituals are manifestation of man's connection with God or, broadly speaking, with the supernatural world. But objectively (sociologically), these beliefs and rituals either unite or disunite people, or, to be more exact, do both at the same time, i.e. they mediate a certain type of human relations. At the earliest stages of human history, when primitive religious concepts and rituals were only starting to emerge, each tribe possessed such concepts and rituals as were distinctly its own; a common religious cult was one of the forms of intratribal cohesion, while differences in rituals (and beliefs) were a manifestation of intertribal divergence. Moreover, differences and divergences existed within each tribe; each totemic clan had its own rituals, myths about its ancestors, and its own sacred hiding places — all of which were kept secret both from aliens and uninitiated members of the clan, i.e. women and children. Women, too, had their cult rituals, myths, and beliefs that were kept secret from men. Finally, one must not overlook the fact that both the tribe and the clan had yet another barrier separating people as regards the religious cult: the appearance of individuals who were "experts" in this field (sorcerers, medicine men, shamans, diviners, etc.), who as a rule were the most reliable and knowledgeable keepers of beliefs and performers of rituals, and also the creators of both (incidentally, they have usually been informants for ethnologists on problems of religious beliefs). The role of these "experts" in religion has been aptly defined by Paul Radin, who described them as "religious thinkers" or "religious formulators." In the course of historical development, the above-mentioned tribal, clan, and partially sex and age segregation with reference to the cult, far from weakening, became stronger and gained in scope. Clan and family cults, as well as cults of sacred objects, the cult of the home and, still later, the cult of clan-and-family ancestors persisted through millennia and have survived in some instances to this day. These forms of religion reflect the internal cohesion and solidarity among members of a clan or a family and at the same time, separate, to a certain extent, this small

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collective from the world. Yet family-and-clan cults have never been the predominant form of religion; they have always played a secondary role. On the contrary, clan cults in the course of the expansion and complication of social relations gave birth to intertribal, national, and state religions. These national and state religions not only played a tremendous role in the history of religious beliefs and cults proper, but also were a major factor in the political, economic, and cultural life of ancient states, and in such countries as India, Japan, and China have retained their importance until modern times. Worshippers of local, national, and state gods regarded worshippers of alien gods as their natural enemies, as "impure" beings, and communication with them as sinful and perilous. Suffice it to remember that ancient Judaism strictly prohibited all communication with the uncircumcised; another case in point is the religious and caste segregation in India. On the other hand, within each religion there was a growing opposition between the mass of believers and a group of priests who often formed an isolated hereditary caste, keeping sacred beliefs, myths, and rituals to themselves. These esoteric teachings and rituals were kept secret from the mass of believers. The emergence of world religions ushered in a new stage in the field of the social structure of religious communities and relations among them. A person's religious affinity was now determined not by his birth, citizenship, or language, but, at least in theory, by his personal convictions. One did not need to believe in Amon, Zeus, or Jupiter, but merely had to perform rituals in their honor. On the contrary, one has to believe in Christ, Mohammed, or the Buddha to become a Christian, a Muslim, or a Buddhist. True, personal convictions were soon disregarded as the new religions turned from isolated sects into mass religious establishments; yet these religions' ties with the language, territory, and citizenship had indeed grown weaker. Religious, i.e. confessional, relations that formerly had only been a duplicate of political relations (being the pharaoh's subject meant worshipping Amon and Osiris) had now become a partially independent form of social relations: they had become one of the characteristic features of the ethnic community. A sense of alienation from foreigners and "infidels" became increasingly pronounced because the new religions were full of the missionary spirit of mutual non-recognition. Any "true" believer ("true" religion meaning "our" religion) was to oppose and shun the "infidels" ("heretics," "schismatics," "heathens," "idolaters," etc.). In certain periods, and in certain countries, this led to calls for a "holy war," a "crusade," jihad, or ghazavat

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against the advocates of other religions. Needless to say, in most cases these calls were only meant to furnish a screen for a war of conquest. A sharp opposition among followers of different religious denominations marks the entire history of the world religions. Only recently has it begun to fade, and there is even a tendency toward putting an end to all kinds of religious animosity (e.g. theosophy in the recent past, Tolstoy's teaching and, more recently, the ecumenical movement, the World Council of Churches, etc). Likewise there are signs of the segregation being mitigated within religious communities: the simplification of religious ceremonies, the laicization of the clergy and the latter's coming closer to their flock, the general democratization of the church, etc. It can be surmised, however, that a complete triumph of the idea of integration over segregation in religous life will only mean that religion has ceased to be religion.

The remaining elements of spiritual culture, such as the arts, popular lore, and scientific knowledge, moral norms, etc., have never been as important instruments of social integration, and still less of segregation, as religion. Nevertheless they also to a certain extent perform these functions. Works of art, both folk and professional, are always marked by a tradition which expresses itself in every particular case in the predominance of a specific genre, in a certain artistic style, in the ideological content, and in the poetic form of a work of art. Such a tradition invariably consolidates people and separates them from those who adhere to a different tradition. This is most vividly manifest in works of art connected with language (folk poetry, folklore, fiction, theater, etc.), which is partially due to the language barrier that cannot be fully surmounted by a translation. In the arts that have no bearing upon language, such as the pictorial arts, music, and dance, differences in traditions are less pronounced; yet the style of an ornament or the nature of a dance clearly indicates their geographical and ethnic affinity, their artistic school, etc. Those who make these objects have a very apt way of putting it: this is ours, and that is not ours. If we take a close look at a Turkmenian carpet, a Kubachi dagger, a piece of Polynesian tapa cloth, a Benin bronze article, or a Tibetan-Mongolian demonic mask, we see that they all unambiguously point to a definite social (ethnic or professional) environment; all can be said to mediate relations among people found in any given environment and to separate those people from the rest of the world.

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In contrast to religion, however, contraposition in these fields never grows into antagonism. Unlike religion, works of art are hardly liable to divide their makers into isolated groups; they are more liable to penetrate into a different environment and even strike root in it. The artistic tradition strongly tends to expand; this is a peaceful expansion, however, which results in more inclusive communities of people. The forces of integration in this case are invariably stronger than the forces of segregation and lead, though in a complicated and contradictory way, to the ultimate cultural unity of mankind. This integration does not involve a depersonalization nor a devaluation of the world's cultural wealth. Turkmenian, Persian, or Armenian carpets are not deprived of their beauty and their distinctive features on being brought into an urban apartment or a European museum. The music of Bach, Tchaikovsky, or Grieg is no less magnificent when performed in Asia or Africa; this is equally true of African and Indian music performed and admired in Europe. In these fields, the trends toward integration clearly take the upper hand over the trends toward segregation.

If we consider the entire evolution of human culture, we can trace common lines in the correlation of the segregative and integrative functions of culture. In tribal society, elements of material and spiritual culture are for the most part common, although not fully common, to members of each individual collective, clan, or tribe, and hence, serve to integrate them; at the same time they separate them from other collectives — tribes or even subdivisions of the same tribe. In societies divided into antagonistic classes, cultural divergence and segregation were preserved and at times intensified between collectives (speaking of more recent times, between peoples or states). These become increasingly pronounced within each individual collective; this is the process of the formation of class culture within each ethnic culture. Class distinctions in culture are often more important than ethnic (national) differences. Both the ethnic and class segregation in culture, partially counterbalancing each other, reach their climax in the feudal period. Yet the forces of integration grow in the course of their struggle against the forces of segregation. The period of capitalism is marked in this respect by two interlinked trends: on the one hand, the growth of commodity economy and the formation of the world market were leading to a strengthening of international cultural contacts and smoothed down the interethnic and international cultural divergence; on the other hand, the

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democratic movement — at first petty bourgeois, and then, proletarian — born of capitalism itself, inevitably resulted in the democratization of culture, i.e. in the elimination of cultural differences between social estates despite the persistent and growing class antagonism in the economic field. Although oppressed, the working class strives to master the world's cultural heritage. Thus, within the capitalist system there appears a tendency toward cultural integration, both on a national on and an inteinational scale. In the classless communist society of the future, the forces of cultural integration will doubtless prevail over the forces of segregation. The building of a single system of civilization that has already started in our transition period will be completed. That will not eliminate cultural differences, regional and national, but these differences will no longer involve mutual alienation, taboos, and antagonisms. National differences in culture will only enrich the world's cultural heritage.

SUMMARY COMMENTS The aforesaid considerations point to a most important task facing ethnography (culturology, the history of culture) which thus far has been largely overlooked by researchers. This task is a study of all aspects and forms of material and spiritual culture of all nations in the context of the integrative and segregative functions of culture and their dialectical interaction. A thorough analysis of these functions of culture and of its components makes it possible, under certain circumstances, to make forecasts and even recommendations as regards trends in the development of people's dwellings, clothing, and folk arts in all their forms. This tremendously enhances both the theoretical and practical significance of ethnography, especially in the light of the processes of social and cultural transformations which the world is undergoing today.

Ecosystem Analogies in Cultural Ecology

JOHN W. BENNETT

This article considers some problems arising from the application of biological models of homeostasis and feedback to ecological aspects of social and cultural process — or what anthropologists call "cultural ecology." The position taken is that while such concepts have their uses in social analysis, their emphasis on stability and reversion of the system to previous states tends to obscure the dynamism and adaptive change so characteristic of human societies. It is also argued that ecological theory in the social sciences, and in anthropology in particular, should give greater recognition to these dynamic features of human societies and their use of natural resources, both in the historical or evolutionary context and in the analysis of contemporary situations. By so doing, cultural ecological studies will gain, in terms both theoretical and practical, in socially relevant knowledge.

INTRODUCTION In the background lies the question of how cultural ecologists can — or should — best utilize concepts derived from the study of plant and animal ecology. These concepts can be used in two general ways when they are transferred from biological to social data: (1) analogically, where the biological concepts and mathematical techniques are used to describe or simulate nonbiological phenomena; and (2) literally, in which case the actual biological or physical dimensions of the human phenomena would be identified and the same measurements performed on them. An example of the first is Barth's (1956) use of the term "niche" (which usually

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means in plant-animal ecology the particular use of an environmental range made by a particular species) to refer to the phenomenon of subsistence occupations in human society. We must ask whether these two things are really sufficiently similar to warrant the use of the same term and the generalized meanings and implications associated with it. For example, niche-occupancy among animals or plants is the result of, among other things, adaptive genetic selection, but one would be hard-pressed to find that genetic selection was responsible for the choice of agriculture or herding as an occupation among human groups. There are few examples of the second case, i.e. plant-animal ecological concepts literally applied to the analysis of human behavior, although in human bioecology and research on adaptability various physiological, genetic, and energy data are collected and interpreted in ways similar to that for nonhuman species.1 The crux of the issue is the exact meaning of the results acquired by using ecological concepts to analyze human behavioral choices and decisions; does this make the behavior "natural," or self-regulating? The "niche" example is relevant here again: the introduction of agriculture into a system of hunting-gathering populations will have biological consequences for the humans and the environment, and other nonhuman species will have to adjust their niche-occupancy accordingly. Something similar would happen if a nonhuman species with comparable impact were to appear — for example, a grazing ungulate with a heavy impact on the floral environment. However, the appearance of agriculture may have been due to cultural transmission or to questions of power, as when a ruler stabilizes a frontier by resettling farmers on it. Are these cultural aspects of the situation part of "niche-occupancy," or do they suggest that human ecology includes a special form of behavior which requires a different set of concepts to represent a different order of reality? There is a style of writing in social-science ecology which involves borrowing terms from a standard biological source like Eugene Odum's text (1971), and using these terms to describe and analyze social-behavioral data. In the early years of sociological ecology, writers in the field spoke of the "succession" and "dominance" of socioeconomic groups across the zones of North American cities (e.g., McKenzie 1928), in a conscious borrowing of a concept from plant ecology. 1

For some available studies of this type, see the following: Lee 1969 (a study of food intake and energy output among Bushmen); Parrack 1969 (estimates of energy levels provided by West Bengal agriculture); Montgomery 1972 (relationship of nutrition and health to social organization in southern India village); May and McClellan 1972 (ecological aspects of nutrition in various southern African regions).

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It was proposed that populations in an urban setting distribute themselves in zones across the community according to differences in income, education, and other variables. The process of distribution creates neighborhoods which develop material characteristics (something like natural habitats for plants) appropriate to the group living in them, and therefore, as the original group moves upward and out, the neighborhood is refilled by people of similar character, or by persons for whom the new neighborhood represents a step up or out of something else. These concepts had strong ecosystemic overtones: the city, in this approach, came to be a large system with many subsystems in a state of homeostatic fluctuation and balance. The causes of the process were considered to be beyond the demographic systems under study — impersonal economic forces and the like. The comparable case for anthropology was the development of the "age-area" idea and its translation into the culture area, a concept and a classificatory scheme which dominated a whole generation of ethnologists and spread into other social sciences.2 This concept also was a borrowing from early plant ecologists, who had found that other things being equal, the older floral species were at the periphery of a geographical area, the newer were in the central portions. When the age-area idea was carried into ethnology, the qualifying factors were ignored, and the impression was given that a lawful regularity in human behavior, below the level of consciousness of the actors involved, had been discovered. Dixon (1928) and others eventually showed that there were more exceptions to the rule than observances, pointing to the fact that historical (situational) circumstances affect the distribution of cultural items in time and space, and only completely ideal conditions will permit such regularities to operate at all. Linton used the telephone in Study of man to illustrate the principle of "marginal survival" of older forms like the hand-cranked type, but failed to note that the telephone, with its instant long-distance communication, transforms all spatial relations of objects and ideas based implicitly on slower forms of communication (1936: 329-330). Another and much later example, this time from evolutionary thought, 8

Wissler (1926) represents a central statement of culture area theory. Perhaps the very earliest was Mason (1895), although the idea was emerging out of several types of intellectual interests and field experience of anthropologists, and there are echoes back into the seventeenth century and foreshadowings in the Greek geographers. The plant ecology material served to crystallize the trend, and the definitive statement of that seems to have been Sapir's (1914), Time perspective in aboriginal American culture. The final product, and certainly the last detailed attempt to use culture area theory empirically, was Kroeber's Cultural and natural areas of native North America (1939). Kroeber's chief finding was that natural phenomena and cultural patterns coincided only when historical conditions permitted.

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can be found in Alland's (1967) and Campbell's (1965) analogies between natural selection in biological and cultural phenomena. Equating cultural and biological traits, they propose (1) that variations must occur; that is, selection does not operate unless there are alternatives available, meaning that cultural variation is analogous to mutation in biology — and both can emerge at "random," that is, without reference to specific functions (a challenge to classical functional theory for culture). However, (2) for a variation to survive, mechanisms of continuity and preservation must be available. Thus, certain mechanisms in culture — e.g. symbolic communication or increasing functionality — are analogous to reproduction in biology. A third criterion (3) environmental selection must take place on the basis of consistent criteria in order to display regularity or direction. Because reproductive success is the single end in biology, the situation in culture is much more complex: a given trait must conform to many different systems for strong selection pressures to favor it. These analogies make logical sense, but the empirical situations represented are widely divergent — the difference between the communication flow in cultural selection and the reproductive flow in biology is sufficient to indicate this divergence. The objectives of analogies at these high levels of generality are sometimes difficult to discern; they titillate the mind and may define very general processes, but they are often ambiguous with respect to the empirical properties of the phenomena represented.

ECOSYSTEM THEORY AND SOCIOCULTURAL DATA Similar intellectual tendencies are currently exemplified in the attempts to conceive of human society, and of man-nature relations, in terms of ecosystemic functioning. 8 Ecosystem is a concept from plant-animal ecology based on cybernetic principles: the actions, energy production, and consumption of organisms in a particular milieu tend, over a period of time, to complement each other — feed back — so as to permit the system to persist on a sustained-yield basis. Trophic levels or "food chains" repre" Ecosystem is commonly advocated as the master concept for a unified science of human ecology, or a general ecology including man (Ripley and Buechner 1970). For other discussions of the concept, see Hall and Fagen (1956); Kalmus (1966); or appropriate sections in any general text in biological ecology. A first round of attempts at applying homeostatic principles to human behavior occurred in the early 1950's, following publication of Wiener's book on cybernetics (1950). Stagner (1951) presented a proposal to reorganize personality theory around homeostasis; and Bateson (1949); and Ruesch and Bateson (1951), made pioneer attempts to use homeostasis as an interpretive principle for interpersonal behavior, psychiatry, and cultural patterns.

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sent one of these processes: what one organism does not eat is food for another; or, the larger eats the smaller, dies, decomposes, and thereby furnishes another round of sustenance for a third, and so on until the energy is used over and over again without a substantial break or loss. The concept of ecosystem, and its affiliations with cybernetic theory, features three terms which define closely related, but significantly different phenomena: steady state, equilibrium, and homeostasis. Social scientists, applying these terms to social and cultural-ecological phenomena, often fail to make the distinctions — a failure related to the fact that many of the applications are analogical, and the dimensions of the systems involved cannot be analyzed with the precise tools used for biological systems. A summary of Buckley's (1967) definitions of these terms follows: The system functions with no apparent change or fluctuation ; all subsystems continually reinforce each other. Systems in a steady state are characterized by minimal complexity, and in social systems, reciprocity relations tend to be fixed or ritualized. (Gregory Bateson, in his classic 1949 paper, "Bali: the value system of a steady state," described an apparent self-reinforcing set of social behaviors and values to produce a stable culture.) STEADY STATE

Terms used to describe a particular state of a system when the self-reinforcing characteristics of steady state are visible. However, a system in equilibrium at point x, may not be so at point y. That is, equilibrium need not imply that the system remains stable indefinitely. EQUILIBRIUM OR STABILITY

A process characterized by cycles of equilibrium and disequilibrium; the system moves or fluctuates in response to inducements to change or adapts to new inputs or conditions. Organization and reciprocity in social homeostasis is reasonably complex and capable of change, so long as the same average conditions are maintained over time. HOMEOSTASIS

Now, it will be noted that all three concepts lean toward stability — a particularly important point when social systems are the topic. Homeostasis does allow for movement and change, but there is considerable emphasis on a return to a particular state. It is also important to note that all three concepts imply the working of feedback processes to produce a measure of self-regulation or correction; that is, the concepts stress self-containment of systems — the system exists, and receives information

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from external sources, reacting accordingly in homeostasis, or resisting it, in steady states. Feedback in cybernetic contexts is usually divided into "negative" and "positive" — terms which have caused considerable confusion when applied to social phenomena. Negative feedback is considered to be a stabilizing function — the messages transmitted back through the system from the output end serve to keep the system operating smoothly. Positive feedback obviously connotes the opposite: the signals result in a change or disturbance — a disruptive function, like the rupture of a valve. These concepts clearly have mechanical sources, and the basic notions of cybernetic feedback were derived from mechanical models and then transferred to biological phenomena. When applied to social phenomena, feedback requires extensive qualification. In the first place, the most common type of social feedback is reciprocal functioning: two social entities, humans or institutions, communicate back and forth, with their behavior being modified by this communication. The process is much more complex than in mechanical or biological situations, in which the thermostat is the basic model. Secondly, the positive and negative imagery can grossly misrepresent the nature of social change, and result in the imposition of undesirable values. Most human societies require "positive" feedback in the sense of corrective change: the positive is not necessarily disruptive but constructive ; or, the "disruptive" effects are beneficial to the system because human systems require change in order to modify corruption, redress wrongs, etc. Negative feedback on the other hand, can be, or lead to, social disruption when institutions become obsolescent and static. Actually there are so many possibilities that these feedback concepts are much too simple to handle human affairs in any large sense; their utility may be confined to highly specific, short-term situations. Moreover, social systems have many indeterminate features: complex relationships among the actors and subsystems, which make prediction of behavior difficult; and hard-to-trace links to external systems, all of which cause dynamic fluctuations and change, making it often a matter of semantic choice to say whether a system is in a state of equilibrium, decline, or restoration. The temporal dimension becomes critical, because the state of the system differs depending on the time of observation. The dynamism of social systems raises the fundamental question of whether anything is gained by using ecosystemic concepts and terminology to describe them, because the available concepts from history and the social sciences often do an adequate job. Proponents of ecosystem analysis respond to this critique by pointing out that the complexities of social

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systems do not make them any less systemic, and that the concepts can serve to bring together, in a single frame of reference, many disparate observations and can eliminate much distracting detail. In the ecological context, man's expanding use of nature's resources and his social life have complex reciprocal relationships, and interference with these relationships always tends to disrupt systems and hamper the flow of information back through the channels. The breakdown of feedback, or the growing impedance to feedback as systems, becomes more complex and permits more interference from cognitive appraisals, and constitutes one of the obstacles to attaining a state of sustained natural resource yield, which is one kind of ecosystemic state. Or, the failure to take into account all components of a system in a state of technological change results in progressive damage to the human and natural components. Perhaps the best case to be made for the use of ecosystemic concepts in human affairs occurs when biological, or natural phenomena generally, are the chief goal of analysis. An example of this principle is available in the research on the sickle cell disease in African and African-derived populations. The findings pertain to the relationship of human subsistence techniques which encourage the breeding of the malarial mosquito, and the frequency of the sickling gene in populations exposed to this mosquito, the link between the two phenomena being found in the fact that the sickle cell disease also confers a certain immunity to malarial infection. Therefore the frequency of the gene builds up in exposed populations practicing agriculture in the tropical forest area. The frequencies of the gene and mosquito populations can reach a steady state, or fluctuate homeostatically, providing a good example of ecosystemic conditions in man-nature relationships. However, the proclivity of human populations to migrate tends to disturb the stability of the system, and makes its properties applicable only to limited historical periods (Livingstone 1958; Weisenfeld 1967). When ecosystemic concepts are applied to human systems defined mainly in behavioral or institutional terms, the applicability of the concepts is less obvious. Geertz' treatment (1963) of "agricultural involution" in Java (the change of the system toward intensification of its own techniques, rather than evolution to a new type) has been represented to be ecosystemic, but the properties of this system seem adequately described by existing concepts of historical and economic change: the exploitation of the Javanese peasantry by various groups involved in Dutch colonialism, so that fewer alternatives for economic change existed. Here one may make a case for the Javanese agricultural sector as having the general

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properties of systems, but whether it is ecosystemic depends on how strictly or how loosely, one wishes to apply these biological concepts. Geertz (1963: Chapter 2) has also characterized two forms of agriculture common in the tropics — swidden (slash-and-burn; shifting cultivation) and wet-rice production, as examples of ecosystems. Here he might seem on solid ground, because he is referring to the biological properties of the floral, edaphic, and hydraulic properties taken as given. Swiddening, in contrast to wet-rice production, is "integrated into, and, when genuinely adaptive, maintains the general structure of the pre-existing natural ecosystem into which it is projected..(Geertz 1963: 16); whereas rice culture more drastically reorganizes the natural structure. This is well and good, but the phrase "when it is genuinely adaptive" is of course the sleeper; later in the chapter he notes how swiddening, under various social pressures, can become destructive when the interval between cultivation is shortened. He also suggests that the rice system tends to result in human population concentrations, due to its capacity for increasing yield and needs for labor, whereas the swidden system results in a dispersal of population due to its inherently limited yield. These and other conclusions have been subject to criticism: for example, swiddening apparently can support large, concentrated populations given the requisite social and political organization (e.g. Dumond's claim [1961] that swiddening in Yucatan supported the Maya cities). The issue illustrates the point that when dealing with human systems like agriculture, an analysis of the "natural" properties of the cultivation as ecosystemic does not tell us what the long-range social-biological potentialities may be. Although swiddening may be closer to nature, wet-rice production has perhaps less degradational potential, because even with the pressures of increasing population and corresponding intensification of production, the system, according to Geertz, is "virtually indestructible." But both systems can turn destructive if they are not maintained properly, or if certain social features require them to produce more than the resources can sustain. The key variable is the social system — that is, human needs, skills, anxieties, population — all of which are not narrowly determined by particular subsistence systems, but rather, can push these systems to produce at varying rates. We may consider next one of the more challenging pieces of research in contemporary anthropological ecology: the study of warfare, swine management, and social ritual among the Tsembaga, a particular local settlement, or clan-cluster, of members of the Maring people, a "tribe" of some 7,000 persons occupying a region of about 190 square miles in central New Guinea. While Roy Rappaport has featured "pigs" in his publica-

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tions on these people (e.g. 1967a and b), the underlying issue seems to be warfare and territorial expansion, a topic of dominant interest in New Guinea ethnology. The curious stylized combat sometimes appears to be no more than ritual confrontation, sometimes genuine mayhem, or invasion and forced resettlement of populations. This "warfare" has been a topic of perennial interest because of its exotic appeal and because it offers, like the potlatch of the Northwest Coast Indians, a kind of caricature of various facets of "civilized" warfare and international relations. The trigger problem in the case of Rappaport's research, therefore, was intracultural, not ecological. His own work, however, came to be an exercise in how an ecological approach might help explain the causes of New Guinea warfare and its territorial implications. One basic theory of New Guinea warfare, developed in a series of papers by Vayda (e.g. 1960, 1961, 1967, 1971), concerns population increase and decrease and the consequent changes in "man/resource ratios" which might give rise to needs for more territory for gardens and raising pigs, the response being hostile attacks on neighbors. This is an ecological problem because a linkage is hypothesized between population, natural resources, and a particular human activity. The theoretical implications of the problem were developed in a spin-off paper by Vayda and Rappaport (1968) which criticizes anthropologists' prolonged reliance on concepts derived from culture in their ecological studies, and advocates a shift to concepts developed by natural ecologists. Specifically, they cite research into territorial rights; intertribal warfare and raiding; ceremonial feasting; sacred animals; and human sacrifice in various tribal cultures, from the standpoint of how these might maintain "within an adaptive range certain variables (such as size or dispersion) pertaining either to human populations or the faunal and floral populations on which these depend" (Vayda and Rappaport 1968: 495). Consideration of such phenomena would be based on units of population and ecosystem, rather than the traditional unit of "cultures."4 The basic facts of the case are complex, but a study of Rappaport and Vayda's papers on the Maring yield the following: warfare and its absence among these people seem to fluctuate rhythmically, with intervals of from ten to fifteen years suggested as the pattern in various papers. Periods of peace between groups in potential competition for land appear * Vayda and Rappaport might well argue that their approach is not "cultural ecology" at all, and therefore has no business being considered in this paper. From a narrow or purist point of view, they would probably be correct. However, because their objective appears to be a translation of familiar cultural phenomena into ecological terms, and because this translation adds a dimension of explanation to these cultural phenomena, we choose to include their approach.

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to have an element of ritual proscription, insofar as the preparations for thanking the ancestor spirits for guidance and protection in the preceding warfare period consume a considerable period of time. Warfare must not be engaged in while these rituals are under way. Because the rituals involve pig slaughter and feasting, enough time must elapse in order to produce a sufficient supply of animals. These periods of ritual last about as long as the warfare periods — again, from ten to fifteen years. The question is whether the human population, assuming it may be one of the underlying causes of warfare due to the man-resource ratio, also fluctuates accordingly — building up every ten years or so to trigger the chain of insults, rapes, thefts, and other things associated with inter-settlement competition which might result in war; and then, due to adjustments in territorial acquisition, or reduction in overall regional population from driving out a competing settlement, whether the pressures lift and warfare ceases. Rappaport's and Vayda's attempts to unravel this complex skein appear to differ. Rappaport seems concerned with the systemic features of all aspects of the system, while Vayda focuses specifically on the warfare pattern (raiding; real wars versus "nothing" wars or stylized confrontation; territorial acquisition; territorial invasion versus plain fighting, etc.). Vayda is more interested than Rappaport in the question of why some fights develop into true wars, and others remain at the level of what Rappaport, borrowing a term from natural ecology, calls "epideictic display" (the trading of threats in order to, presumably, make an assessment of true aggressive ability). Rappaport's sweeping objectives are indicated in his summary of his paper (1967a: 28-29). To repeat an earlier assertion, the operation of ritual among the Tsembaga and other Maring helps to maintain an undegraded environment, limits fighting to frequencies which do not endanger the existence of the regional population, adjusts man-land ratios, facilitates trade, distributes local surpluses of pigs throughout the regional population in the form of pork, and assures people of high-quality protein when they are most in need of it. That is, he proposes that the recurrent war-and-ritual cycles are somehow adjusted to fluctuations in the populations of pigs and people: when, for example, population pressure produces need for land, the people go to war; then they return and consume pigs. When pig populations increase, destroying the gardens, motivation for consuming pigs arises, but because pigs are to be consumed as the culmination of a warfare episode, there has to be previous warfare to provide the excuse. The consumption of pigs may also relieve "physiological stress" resulting from general excitement or, partly, from disease, and of course incidentally

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puts everyone back in top condition for the next round of fighting. Thus the ritual cycle 5 is the key not only to warfare, but also to all the other functions mentioned in the previous quotation. Throughout this presentation, Rappaport applies concepts derived from natural ecology: the relationship of pigs to people changes from mutualism to parasitismcompetition; the ritual behavior is likened to epigamic and epideictic display; and so on.® The applicability of these concepts, and the general proposal that the entire configuration operates as an ecosystemic process or homeostasis is defended on the grounds that the Tsembaga (and the larger unit, the Maring people as a whole) were relatively isolated, and constituted a population in a dynamic self-contained balance with its surround. If this is the case, then the situation closely resembles that characteristic of animal populations, where changes in one component of the system require adjustments in the others via feedback flow. In animal ecological research, these dimensions and changes are specified with rigorously6

This is a very complex system, and we cannot review it in detail. Succinctly, the culminating, post-warfare ceremonial in this cycle is the kaiko, which lasts for approximately one year, and is begun by planting the gardens, which in turn marks the end of combat. The gardens grow until a sufficient number of pigs have accumulated through purchase and breeding, and when this occurs, the kaiko proceeds through the harvest of the gardens, and pig slaughter and feasting, involving ritual presentation of pork between men involved in maintaining prestige. The activities of presentation and consuming pork mean that considerable protein is consumed "during periods of stress" (Rappaport 1967a: 154) that is, in the presumably tense period of the kaiko. The decision to slaughter pigs is made when the consequences of the increasing pig population result in general irritation at their depredations, and fighting, which includes forcing the hamlet settlements farther apart. Rappaport apparently was unable to obtain precise figures concerning the optimal size of pig populations leading to slaughter over a period of years, although he found that over the fifty- to sixty-year period ending in 1963, there were four kaiko, meaning twelve to fifteen years between ceremonials. However, he also notes that these durations are not standard for the Tsembaga or other groups. In other words, the cycles are not regular, and the decisions to slaughter are not governed by precise measurements of populations or time. • The proclivity to use concepts from ethology in analogic or quasianalogic fashion is nothing new: McKenzie was doing it in the 1920's. In a series of papers reprinted in a volume of collected papers edited by Hawley (1968), McKenzie explored the concept of dominance in international relations, urban zoning, and other social groups and segments, leading from an analogy with the physiology of organisms and how this is translated into spatial organization of animal groups — the approach developed later by W. C. Allee and others in their studies of pecking order and dominance-submission relations. An early general reference to the theme of using animal behavioral analogies for human behavior is the volume edited by Redfield (1942) entitled Levels of integration in biological and social systems. This book includes papers by Allee, Robert Park, A. L. Kroeber, C. Carpenter (societies of monkeys and apes) and others concerned with the problem. This was really a "first round" of attempts to use ethology to interpret human society; the new ethologists are discussed in Callan (1970) and Alland (1972).

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collected quantitative information. It is necessary to know precisely what any organism in the system needs in the way of sustenance; how much it acquires as a result of its foraging or other energy-transforming activities; how much physiological energy is actually generated by these methods; or how much muscular energy is used in the activities performed. The environment that sustains these efforts also must be described in detail, in terms of its energy-producing facility — its "carrying capacity." When organisms in such a milieu are in competition with one another, the point at which competition becomes decisive — involving reduction in the number of one of the organisms through predation or starvation — has to be determined with precision, on the basis of the energy-obtaining and -releasing analyses,7 because explanations for the behavior of the organism ride on them. That is, the procedure aims at determining the causes of behavior as they emerge in biological and resource circumstances; the assumption is that the behavior of the organism is not random or willed, but is a necessary emergent from the changing forces in the total milieu. If natural-ecological concepts are transferred to humans, and studies are made of their behavior on the basis of these process assumptions, then along with this goes the assumption that human behavior is likewise largely or wholly emergent from a bioenvironmental matrix of some kind. This, with some qualification, appears to be the fundamental assumption of Rappaport's study. If the human behavior is willed, or purposive, Rappaport's model requires this to be assimilable into the natural process: man wills in response to a perceived environmental factor, but his physiology prompts. Rappaport's study was the best documented piece of research in cultural ecology at the time of its publication: its ten appendices provide an unmatched assemblage of data on climate, agricultural output, flora, and energy expenditures for the community and its environs.8 However, these data are not systematically tied into the interpretive analysis of how ritual and other behaviors serve as automatic regulatory mechanisms. That is, the study is not a rigorous, quantitatively-based demonstration of the ecophysiological causes of human behavioral responses to needs. It is, despite its rich data background, fundamentally an analogic operation, in which ecosystemic complexities, and a generalized impression of ecological causation, are plausibly suggested but not worked out in detail. 7

At the time of writing, work of this kind is just beginning in anthropology. Rappaport has recently reworked some of these appendices data in an attempt to portray the energy flow in his New Guinea society (1971b). 8

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That is, Rappaport followed the protocol, but not the analytical operations, of the natural-ecological approach sketched previously. To whatever extent Rappaport's effort to describe the operation of an automatic feedback system involving environment, animals, flora, and people is a successful one, it is important as a concrete demonstration of the fact that the behavior of men toward each other, as well as toward nature, is part of ecosystems. Rappaport's study is one of the best available portraits of the isolated, small, low-energy system operating more or less in balance with nature (at least during the eleven months of his observation), and it may be that ecosystemic analysis is best applied to societies of this type. Now, if Rappaport's generalizations are limited to a particular type of society, then the relevance of his findings for the contemporary ecological scene are limited — and certainly Rappaport does not propose otherwise. But the issue needs to be raised all the same, because ecosystemicism is a seductive idea, and others have interpreted studies of tribal ecology as if they had universal significance. The New Guinea people, according to Rappaport, seem to have only a limited awareness of what they are doing, and yet balance with nature emerges. Emergence of such feedback in contemporary society, with its philosophy of continuous growth and constant need for resources, is a remote possibility, other than in very specialized and sheltered circumstances. Balance on a significant scale can be achieved only by political change and conscious planning. Cases like Rappaport's, unless their context is thoroughly understood, can lead to illusions about the capacity of men to work out sustained-yield regimes. There is, moreover, a factor of time which needs careful consideration. Let us grant that ecological factors and the actions of the Tsembaga did in fact dovetail so as to produce a functioning, largely automatic system of control. However, Rappaport's observations were of relatively short duration — a field period of eleven months — and there is no detailed information available on the time required for this system to emerge, nor how long it might last after the period of observation. On the basis of data from societies of comparable energy levels and sociopolitical tendencies in Africa, there is reason to believe that such systems were quite unstable and likely to give way to depredations on nature and other men on a scale exceeding the previous limits (e.g. Sahlins 1961; Kottak 1972). The time factor is crucial because various human activities which may be in some kind of balance at a given time period are not usually under simultaneous control, because they can change at different rates and are subject to different forces. This is perhaps less true of tribal and most true of contemporary societies with their many autonomous spheres of

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action. The writer found an "ecosystemic" balance in the population of Hutterian Brethren in the northern Great Plains during the early 1960's, in which the rate of population increase, the rate of financial savings, the "carrying capacity" (productivity) of the land, the amounts of land available for purchase in the region, and various religious beliefs and social practices all fitted together to result in a conscious, planned process of regular colony division at a population level of about 150 persons (Bennett 1967: Chapter 7). However, setting aside the question of whether this situation is to be defined as ecosystemic, it is a particular historical phase in the relationships among various endogenous and exogenous variables, and it is subject to change and to recurrent adaptive modifications of any or all of the factors (by 1971, the population level was down to 130 persons, due to rises in operating costs and colony consumption levels). This case suggests that the question of built-in controls over environmental use is not confined to tribal societies, where they may well be an only half-conscious procedure — the consequence, as Rappaport has implied, of the mutual reinforcing power of many cultural and economic patterns. Such controls can also be entirely purposeful and conscious, in the sense of being planned and maintained as a system of boundarymaintaining regulations, as they are among the Hutterites. To return to New Guinea, we have understood Rappaport as saying that the feedback states were maintained (or participated in) without conscious awareness of the underlying consequences and causes on the part of the actors. Rappaport's presentation therefore resembles a classic functionalist demonstration: the social activities of warfare, pig rituals, etc., have the function of maintaining populations and gardens in homeostasis. This is reminiscent of Harris' claim (1960) that "functionalism" in social science is comparable to biology's "adaptation," and as all critics of functionalism have noted, an approach of this type tends to neglect change, dynamism, and the purposive factor in behavior. Rappaport might reply that he has not neglected purpose and intention, and knows full well that his people are aware of the specific effects of their actions, if not the long-range balance, but that the processes represented by these actions, whether perceived or unperceived by the actors, nevertheless have these systemic properties. This is the difference between the action level and the process level in cultural ecological analysis. Lacking more details, it is of course impossible really to resolve this question. 9 • There is an additional question concerning this matter of a homeostasis functioning automatically, out of direct awareness of the actors. The behavior itself is, of course, under conscious control, and because most of the behavior appears to be ritual, we are dealing with a high degree of control indeed — control by the sacred — or what

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There are, of course, less theoretically-conceived explanations for the New Guinea behavior vis-d-vis swine which do not depend on animal analogies in human behavior, nor on demonstrations of states of subtle ecosystemic balance in ritual behavior and natural phenomena. These New Guinea people appear to have a familiar livestock management problem: raising swine in unconfined spaces, on natural forage. Everywhere in the world people who do this are likely to be confronted with problems of depredation by the animals on flora, and also of cyclical overbreeding, and all must resort to recurrent slaughtering which may or may not feed into market or consumption channels. Families in the Louisiana swamplands used to have annual pig hunts with recreational ("ritual") purposes, involving the consumption of alcoholic beverages and other festivities. The difficulty and inefficiency of swine management in unconfined spaces is due to the individualistic, ranging, voracious behavior of these intelligent animals, who quickly revert to a wild state, and it is no accident that enormous effort in developed agricultures has gone into suitable technology for handling swine in confined, artificial environments. People who choose to raise pigs in the open thus experience a chronic economic problem: at certain intervals, the cost of raising pigs exceeds the gain. Among other things, they may consider that the opportunity cost of seeking additional land by standard methods of moderate expansion is "cheaper" than other alternatives. But just what alternatives are there? In isolation, possibly none, but in the expanding world of New Guinea, obviously an increasing number. Only history, that acid test of all human affairs, will tell. That ecosystemic processes are probably also at work goes without saying — but the question is, do they help to explain the sociocultural reality of man's use of nature?10 Rappaport himself in a later paper calls "sanctity" (1971a). In the secularized, high" energy societies the control systems are regulated by instrumental considerations, or "rationality." The question is, then, if ecosystems in the special sense of sustainedyield principles are to be created, which of these two systems works best, the symbolicsanctification-automatic control system, or the rational-instrumental-planned? The question is, of course, a spurious one; the difference is not one of choice, but one of level of cultural development. Any attempt to impose sanctified systems of control on our own society would be equivalent to totalitarianism; that is, the political costs might be considered to exceed the ecological gain. But this is, in fact, one of the choices we may have to make. 10 Vayda has argued (1969), however, that the ecosystem position can lead to an analysis of imbalance and dynamism in human ecology, because it does allow for the role of human purposes, at least in a generalized way, and does take fluctuation and change into account. This is possibly so, but the problem is that the systems (like Maring warfare) do not remain in equilibrium long enough to permit a detailed analysis to ascertain their ecosystemic properties.

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Scudder's work on Tonga tribalists in Kenya, following completion of the Kariba Dam in their territory (1968; 1972a) provides a contrasting example of systemic analysis in the context of adaptive behavior, rather than systemic determinance. The total system consisted of the following important components (or "subsystems"): the river as a fluctuating resource; the government and its connections with overseas development agencies; the Tonga as a tribal population; Tongan techniques of subsistence as related to climate and soils; Tongan culture and religion; the relationships of Tongans with tribal neighbors. Before the building of the dam and resettlement, Tongan subsistence and the cultural pattern that validated it were in a state of slow evolution toward a particular form well-adapted to the climate and land features. The dam flooded out their home territory, and they were forcibly resettled by the government. It was at this point that Scudder encountered them, and his research then came to focus on just one subsystem: the adaptive strategies developed by the Tongans to cope with the changed conditions. They were required to discover new resources and methods of agricultural production and to cope with the shocks and hazards of a new habitat and a new set of tribal neighbors, all of which required a series of psychological, social, and ritual adjustments. The consumption of new wild vegetable foods required new medicine and curing routines, because some of these were poisonous and may actually have contributed to the increased death rate after resettlement. The accompanying dismay and fear increased mortality, itself requiring adjustments. The analysis is an example of how ideas related to ecosystem theory can dramatize a process called "culture change" in traditional anthropology. However, Scudder has not yet investigated the effects these new adaptations will have on natural resources over a period of time.11 Recovery of psychosocial balance — satisfying cognitive and affectual adjustments between men—is often accomplished at the cost of environmental damage (human adaptation at the price of environmental maladaptation). 12 Thus, 11

The construction of large dams and water impoundments in tropical regions (Africa, Southeast Asia) has received considerable attention in recent years by a number of disciplines (medical research and epidemiology; natural ecologists; hydraulic engineers; geologists; anthropologists). The work constitutes a model of multidisciplinary ecology in which the role of the cultural ecologist, as partly illustrated by Scudder's work, emerges clearly as one of doing before-and-after studies of behavioral adaptations. For a review of these studies, see Scudder (1972b), in Farvar and Milton (1972). 18 Small-scale examples are found in the new communes of the counter-culture movement: the communalists, despite the best of intentions toward nature and the restoration of balanced relations between man and nature, have in some cases been responsible for serious soil erosion, injury to forests, and stream pollution. Intentions

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to some extent, the "permanent war economy" of the United States and other nations in the contemporary period represents such an imbalance between one system and another: man-man is kept in reasonable quietude at the cost of man-nature, which appears to be degradational. In many ancient civilizational systems, balance was maintained for certain periods by high infant mortality, or by resource-utilization systems like large water impoundments which functioned effectively for varying periods of time before collapsing. Still another type of application of ecosystem theory to human affairs is found in the simulation models of institutional systems prepared by biological ecologists (e.g. Holling 1969; Η. Odum 1971). Holling's venture is based on the analogies between animal predation and recreational land speculation in the Puget Sound area. The analogies are presented in Table 1. Table 1. Analogies between predation and land acquistiona Predation

Land acquisition

Populations (quantity and quality) Prey population in generation η Lots available for sale in market period η Predator population, generation η Bidders for lots, market period η Prey quality (size, etc.) Land quality Predator qualities (size, etc.) Bidders by bidding price Unsuccessful predators (predator Unsuccessful bidders mortality) Alternative prey species Alternative land qualities and alternative geographical sources of land Processes Attack process (generates number of Market process (generates number of prey killed in n) lots sold in n) Prey reproduction (generates number of Resale process (generates number of progeny in η + 1 ) developed lots for sale in η + 1 ) Predator reproduction (generates number Population and economic growth of predator progeny in η + 1 ) (generates demand in η + 1 ) Dispersal (generates net number of prey Speculation (generates number of new immigrants) lots in η 4-1) Motivation (e.g. hunger) Final selling prices Competition Competition (between speculators and bidders) 8

Reproduced from Holling's Table 1 (1969:32)

The objective of the ecological studies of predation has been t o determine are simply not enough; balance has to be achieved by detailed knowledge of environments and careful adjustment of human needs and wants to the capacity of the environment to support them. (Observations based on a one-month tour of new communes in the Santa Fe and Taos areas, 1971.)

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how predatory actions serve to control animal population fluctuation. The processes involved have been found to be complex, due to the large number of variables: rates of searching for prey, hunger patterns, learning attack strategies, diet, topography, cover, age distributions in the animal populations, and so on. The interactions of these variables produce a variety of models of predator-prey populations, each with its own characteristics of stability and fluctuation. Predatory tactics will vary when past circumstances and changing conditions feed back information into the animal population, so as to stabilize the system and "dampen" the population oscillations. Thus reasonable overall stability of population is achieved. In the land speculation model, a population and economic growth submodel generates regional population by income and family size each year. This population is converted by a recreational demand submodel into a population of bidders [for lots] according to bidding prices by using a function that relates the proportion of the population desiring land to income, family size, and distance from home. This output of bidders then represents demand. Supply of lots for sale includes unsold lots developed by speculators in the previous market periods as well as developed lots that come up for resale. The amount of this supply is classified in seven categories that define the lots' qualities for cottage development. Both demand (bidders-predators) and supply (number of lots for sale by quality-prey) come together in a complex submodel that mimics the peculiar properties of the real estate market process, and this submodel generates the number of lots sold, the final selling price, the unsold inventory, and the number of unsatisfied bidders. These outputs in turn serve as inputs to a speculation submodel which moves undeveloped land into the next year's market in relation to the size of the market and the rate of price appreciation over the previous three years. Finally, an ecological feedback model simulates the effects of intensity and duration of use, shifting the amounts of land between quality categories in response to regional and local density effects (Holling 1969: 133-134). The results of these operations generated a model of land speculation which showed properties similar in form to those produced in the studies and simulations of predation and animal populations. Omitting much detail, these properties concerned the way prices responded to changes in population and the supply of lots, and vice versa. Oscillations in these were controlled (damped) in a manner similar to the animal cases: past events tended to control present behavior; that is, the systems achieved stability over time because the "memory" of past events modified present action. The exercise provides a view of the ecosystem analogy in human affairs which features the application of particular mathematical techniques derived from biological phenomena to the behavior of humans in institu-

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tional life. No implication is given that human behavior is somehow like animal behavior; the relationship is purely mechanical, processual. There is no doubt that such applications have intrinsic interest, and serve to illumine the institutional process, but it should be remembered that the result — the portrayal of stability or regular fluctuation — is the result of the particular model, or the particular topic, used for the experiment. Taking land speculation as a whole, it is subject to more, and less predictable, change than the animal case, because all the variables are more dynamic. It is conceivable, of course, that if system simulation of this type ever became official — that is, a phase of governmental control of land and its sale — its regular movements could be maintained by law and other forms of conscious control. In this case we would not be dealing with a "natural" system, open to discovery, but a planned institutional device for controlling and regulating change. H. Odum's simulations of human processes (1971) in a book-length treatise on system analysis, contain proposals for a theory of cultural ecology on the basis of ecosystem concepts, especially economics, politics, and religion. The following quotation from a section entitled "Wages, profits, and savings," illustrates the type of argument: Savings represent the money flows into storages for work services done and thus provide flexibility and time delays in the reward loop of energy expenditure. An equivalent in the ecosystem is the holding of fruits made in summer for planting in winter. The energy has already been expended in preparing a complex product, but an important material of low-energy value is fed back upstream and has the capability of developing new circuits. With the saving of both money and seeds, what is being used as a loop reinforcement is critical information. In seeds it is in the genes; with money the critical information is already stored as the acceptance of the symbolic nature of currency as a measure of value by the network of people (H. Odum 1971: 191-192). This exposition is plausible and undoubtedly has heuristic value, but the analogies are fuzzy. Putting savings in the same category with seeds is not an accurate analogy between culture and natural ecosystems, because the saving of seeds by men means that seeds become capital, that is, part of economics. Odum tends to ignore the fact that natural substances are incorporated into human institutions and feedback systems, and the "natural" aspects — the growing of fruit trees — becomes a cultural phenomenon. Both fruit seeds and savings become part of social systems, whatever natural ecosystem they may also be part of. It is necessary to acknowledge, at all times, the existence of characteristic human social systems which may parallel, or control, ecosystems. The more cogent problem is perhaps not whether human affairs are ecosystemic, but rather,

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the nature of the relationships between natural and social systems. The important ingredient of human social systems — or "social ecosystems," if you will — is the element of voluntarism: purpose, accomplishment, social control, decisionmaking, and of course cognitive evaluations of these. Human ecosystems are not simple matters of food chains or predator-prey relations, (although they can be shown to be mechanically similar to those), but include conscious objectives and techniques, the buying of time, the "trade-off," and the willingness to borrow from Peter to pay Paul. Because these complex adjustments and exchanges configurate into world-wide systems, it is doubtful if much will be gained in the immediate present by the application of ecosystem concepts based on the proposition of self-regulation, unless such analyses are used for the explicit purpose of constructing control systems. But the seeking of control over the use of resources, and a new framework of choices and priorities which value sustained yield principles more highly, should retain an element of democratic decision and choice, and the role of systems analysis and applications in democratic processes is ambiguous. Because most examples of the application of ecosystem ideas to human phenomena are cases of analogy, there is a certain relief to find an attempt to use the concepts to clarify the chief differences between human and natural ecology. E. Odum (1971) distinguishes between human and natural ecosystemic processes in the following manner: the basic process of ecosystem evolution in the natural biosphere is a succession of a regular series of species toward a homeostatic balance (which incidentally links species-succession, a descriptive concept in plant ecology, with ecosystem development, a dynamic concept) in a given habitat. The bioenergetics of the process can be symbolized by "B," or total biomass; "P," or primary production (in plants, photosynthesis); "R," or output (in plants, respiration); — in which case "P/R" is the ratio of production to biomass. In a floral system, when P/R is greater than one, the system is youthful, but as it approaches unity, the system is maturing, and approaching stability or at least homeostasis. So long as Ρ is greater than R, organic matter (B = biomass) will accumulate, so that the P/B ratio decreases. At some point when unity is reached, biomass ceases to accumulate, and a stable system in final stages of succession is reached. In other words, if plants could reason, they would define efficiency as the state of affairs where there is no further need for additional biomass, and the maintenance of the existing amount as their chief goal of existence. Obviously this is not the human goal — or at least it has not been over the span of human history, and especially at the present. For man

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the objective is a high P/B efficiency: maximum mass with the lowest amount of energy expended and in the shortest possible length of time. Nature "seeks" a high P/B ratio, not a high P/B efficiency, so the tendency in the human use of nature is opposite from that in nature — or in other words, man reverses the law of natural ecosystems: the strategy of "maximum protection" (that is, trying to achieve maximum support of complex biomass structure) often conflicts with man's goal of "maximum production" trying to get the highest possible yield (E. Odum 1971: 262266). In the homeostatic states to which natural species tend, energy is constantly being retired or rather relegated to the maintenance of balance, rather than, as in the human situation, to increasing production. Man constantly reorganizes energy; he resists entropy. But man does more; he breaks into succession cycles and prevents nature from attaining these mature states, thus incorporating natural phenomena into culture. The issue here is whether this process is irretrievably dangerous, or whether man, through increasing wisdom and knowledge of nature, can actually find on a conscious, rational basis, his own method of attaining balance: a true sustained yield. If this does come to pass, then man would have become part of "natural" ecosystems in the sense that his will and purpose will have merged with nature instead of opposing it. The issue, therefore, is not really, or at least wholly, a theoretical one. It is not only a question of whether man's ecological or social action is or is not to be analyzed with existing ecosystem techniques, but also whether man can attain a certain kind of ecosystemic state, and how he can do it. Obviously short-term homeostatic conditions have been attained in the past, and in these cases ecosystem theory applies. But the logic of culture also works in the opposite direction, as Odum so clearly demonstrates with a great economy of symbols. The issue is not only practical but historical: homeostasis is not a continuous human process, but eventually must be a recurring event in the history of human culture. However, the ecosystem concept, in the form of a practical recognition of the existence of relationships among organisms and natural substances in particular regions, can play an important role in ecological planning. This has become evident in the issue of pollution in both the developed and emerging nations, where the introduction of new substances and techniques into existing systems of resource use, however stable or unstable these may have been previous to the change, has resulted in a variety of major and minor disasters, most of them avoidable if proper investigation had preceded the innovation (Farvar and Milton 1972). While the omission of adequate study of the whole system can be attrib-

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uted to scientific atomization and to the Cold War, which induced the big nations to compete with each other in the economic aid field, fault is equally present in the eagerness with which the new nations seized on development as a path to power and rivalry among themselves. Once again, ideological and power issues underlie ecological problems. The minimal requirement for dealing with the ecosystem situation in human affairs is to ascertain, with the greatest possible accuracy, the whole range of systems which may be involved in a given form of resource use. To show, as have some cultural ecologists, that a particular tribal or peasant society has reached a state of balance with nature, and to attribute this to internal cultural patterns without at least an attempt to discover whether it is not some external factor like a government regulation or market process which permits or encourages this sustainedyield situation, is to commit a crucial error: to confuse historical actuality and the means-end nexus in human behavior with some automatic process at work in nature. Moreover, in cases like these, it is more than possible that the sustained-yield situation in one locality is being maintained at the expense of some other resource complex. One of the alleged self-regulating systems in human affairs is the "demographic transition," a phrase referring to the fact that the highly-developed industrial societies of Europe, North America, and Japan have tended to display a reduction in fertility as their economies develop, this tendency being based on the trade-off between a reduced number of children and a higher level of family living. The emerging countries of Africa, Asia, and Latin America, on the other hand, just entering the stage of industrialism and a consumer culture, and with public health programs curtailing mortality, have experienced explosive population growth. In order to pay for the support of increasing numbers, these countries must then export raw materials to the developed nations on an increased scale, resulting in a loss of basic resource capital. Thus, the impact of economic aid and the exportation of high consumption aspirations has had a serious demographic and environmental impact on these countries.13 To some extent the processes operate as described, and to some extent, 18

For accounts of the problems associated with the absence of demographic transition, see the following: Stolnitz (1964); Ehrlich and Ehrlich (1972), various references; Geertz (1963, 1965); Frederiksen (1969). Frederiksen presents diagrammed models of feedback between population and economic policy and practice, suggesting that increasing population as a consequence of attempted economic growth can be avoided. Barry Commoner tends to take this view; Paul Ehrlich disagrees. Hillery (1966) compares Navajo Indians and Kentucky hill people, finding that the former are just entering the transition and the latter beginning to leave it.

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then, there may be some tendency for homeostatic conditions to develop around population and level of living as a society matures. However, proponents of the "demographic transition" have tended to neglect the fact that the developed nations displaying it actually maintain fluctuating, sometimes high rates of natural increase — that their populations are by no means static, and there are powerful incentives for further population growth concealed in the labor needs of industry — which is the current situation in Japan. A link between fertility and consumption attitudes is a psychological connection, not a biological one. Changes in traditional subsistence techniques and economies have also accompanied the exportation of the cultural style of the developed society. Low-energy tribal and peasant populations often intensify their traditional regimes in order to supply more food for the growing population and to obtain a cash income to buy the new gadgets. Swidden agriculturalists in Southeast Asia have taken to shortening the cycle of use and recovery of the burned-over cultivation tracts under such pressures — as well as under the stimulus of foreign agricultural development schemes using maximization models inappropriate to such friable resource constellations (Kunstadter 1972).

EVOLUTIONARY IMPLICATIONS That the development of culture can also be seen as a historical account of human relationships with the physical environment is a commonplace in anthropology, and the research provides a valuable link between the prehistoric and cultural fields of the discipline. There have been important theoretical accomplishments, but the work as a whole seems largely devoid of significant policy implications. There is an implicit assumption that cultural, especially technological, evolution is a good thing, involving man's progressive control over the environment and affording greater well-being and support of a larger number. The contemporary demographic and environmental crises clearly suggest otherwise: that cultural-technological evolution, because of its exponential tendencies, has brought the human species close to disaster, and that a new emergent social and mental order is required in order to ensure the survival of the species. Even if we refuse to go along with the extreme doom-sayers, we recognize very serious problems, and realize that an uncritical admiration for growth and development leads to dangerous consequences for the passengers on Spaceship Earth. Anthropology's failure to include some sort of value frame in its assess-

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ment of the course of cultural evolution is in part a consequence of the tendency to scientize — biologize — the cultural process, and to borrow, largely unconsciously, these value-neutral attitudes along with the concept of evolution. From the point of view of the current ecological crisis (not to mention warfare), the use of a biologistic concept of evolution to analyze culture history is nothing short of irresponsible. In part, the failure to see cultural "evolution" as a consequential process is also based on anthropology's preoccupation with a particular type of society: the relatively isolated, relatively slow to change, low-energy society — a microsystemic community. This type of community, from which most anthropological theory has been derived, has been seen with a certain amount of justification as an entity in equilibrium with nature. In attempting to apply the theory of this way of life to complex society, anthropologists have tended to ignore the much greater dynamism of the high-energy society, whether it is a matter of the contemporary industrial or the Bronze Age variety. There has been a tendency to see societies as fixed in time, and a failure to acknowledge the inherent dynamism of all human groups; their basic unpredictability; their proclivity to — sooner or later — maximize their use of resources. Table 2 illustrates the basic factors in cultural history in terms of an oversimplified bipolar typology. This typology permits us to ask a series of policy-relevant questions Table 2. Ideal types of societies based on degree of ecological equilibrium Societies in equilibrium with environment

Societies in disequilibrium with environment

Population dynamics

Small, controlled

Large, expanding, weakly controlled

Contact with environment

Direct contact by maximum number of people

Direct contact by minimal number

Range

Restricted to local resources

Resources available from external sources

Sustenance needs

Close to minimal; defined largely by physiological needs

Maximal; defined in large part by cultural wants

Gratification expectations

Low; controlled

High; promise of continued expansion

Technological capacity

Low

High

Feedback loops

Functioning to control resource use

Functioning only to promote resource use

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about cultural-ecological evolution. For example, is it possible that lowenergy technology societies also can experience rapid population growth and pressure on resources even though the latter are listed as characteristics of the high-technology type? The answer is "yes," when we consider this happened in the monsoon Orient, where an improvement in the minimal technology of rice production, plus the effective mobilization of services through cooperative intervillage organization of labor and irrigation, provided new food energy, in turn triggering rapid population growth beginning around A.D. 1500. This suggests that social instrumentalities can be as effective as technological in increasing production and transformation of natural resources into energy and goods. One of the more controversial examples of evolutionary generalizing in cultural ecology and its related fields revolves around this proposition. Wittfogel (1957), argued that "Oriental despotism" arose out of the need for a large-scale bureaucratic organization to control water resources, which led to another sobriquet, "hydraulic society." This thesis was immediately examined by specialists on other preindustrial civilizations, and it has been reworked to show that despotism and bureaucracy can precede large-scale water and other resource developments, as well as follow them; or that the particular use of the water — e.g. irrigation versus flood control — is the significant cause of particular social forms. 14 14

The term "irrigation civilization" had been used by Steward (1955) before Wittfogel published his major work. Wittfogel appears to return to the earlier Marx-Engels concept of "Asiatic type of society," avoiding the Stalinist distortions of this concept, and it is this "Asiatic type" he calls "Oriental despotism." At the most minute level of research, the approach has produced some interesting studies of the relationship between water resource development and social organization as this results in parallel institutional development in historically unconnected cultures (Beardsley 1964). For some key discussions of the thesis of Wittfogel et al., see the following: Adams (1960, 1965); Millon (1962); Leach (1959); Sanders (1965). The Leach paper is particularly interesting, because he shows that Wittfogel tends to ignore another major type of Asian "hydraulic society": the Indian-Sinhalese. This type has a great many village-level irrigation works sustained by cooperative labor, and grandiose water impoundments engineered andfinancedby the king — the latter largely for ornamental purposes and for the watering of the royal gardens and fields. These vast works were not built overnight, and emerged over several centuries on the basis of grants of land to local magnates. Hence these enormous water systems were apparently not accompanied by the appearance of an authoritarian bureaucracy, and village autonomy was maintained. Sanders, however, for the culture and ecological history of the valley of Teotihuacan, seems to support the generalized Wittfogel hypothesis, stressing the factors of water shortages resulting in crises as population increased, and subsequent social conflict — the two factors stimulating the emergence of large-scale bureaucratic control over water systems and the state. Others concerned with the Valley of Mexico have emphasized different cultural-ecological relationships, in particular, the question of large versus small population centers. It has been proposed that the Classic period was dominated by Teotihuacan, with an absolute monopoly on resources and trade, leading to the decline of smaller centers, while the Aztecs encouraged small settlements,

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With respect to the ecosystem notion, the "hydraulic" controversy serves to emphasize the dynamic or developmental aspects of man-nature relations, rather than the stable and balanced. However stable these centralized resource-development systems may have been during their heyday, they all declined, and nearly all led to a civilizational or political decline of major proportions. That is, the large-scale control systems were actually rather precariously balanced, because they depended on a variety of friable arrangements: uncertain water supplies, docile labor, the absence of invaders, and so on. The increasing scale of social and material technology required ever-greater control to keep the system operating. The whole body of accumulating knowledge on the issue testifies to the instability rather than the stability of large-scale man-nature arrangements, and the increasing uncertainties resulting from technological growth. Or, reinterpreting these events in terms of the several concepts pertaining to self-regulation, we could say that during their heyday, these systems were not stable or equilibratory, but rather the reverse: typical human systems with increasing quotients of "organization" and increasing tendencies to defer the payment of inevitable costs — high P/B efficiency schemes, or positive feedback. Their breakdown, on the other hand, could be defined as a case of a return to pre-existing equilibrious or homeostatic systems with lower levels of organization and with less cost to the related subsystems (negative feedback). Such returns to more primitive systems thus have a dual meaning: in terms of human affairs, or history, they imply social breakdown or instability; in terms of a comprehensive ecological perspective, they represent a reversion to some kind of equilibrium. This also reaffirms that generalizations about stability and instability in human societies need to consider the factor of time in order to obtain an accurate perspective. The tendency in cultural evolutionary thought to consider states of being at particular points of time as sufficient evidence for process generalization leads to erroneous judgments. The issue is paradoxical because of the great interest in history and change exhibited by these evolutionary approaches. A position with greater concern for policy would propose that there exists in human behavior a constant potential toward overexploitation of due to reliance on a dispersed network of economic and trade systems. These differing patterns would have quite different implications for resource use, population growth, and social structure: the network system, with its encouragement of smaller centers on the margins of important resource supplies, would tend to develop strong leadership and innovative aggression in the smaller, marginal communities — as in the case of the Aztecs and their many rebellious clients.

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resources or pollution of the natural environment, granted that in certain historical circumstances and institutional arrangements, the effects may be minimal or phased out over relatively long periods of time. Man can exert a certain control over environmental deterioration by conscious discipline or planning, by ritual regulations, social interaction, or cultural precedents, and/or by very occasional automatic feedback mechanisms operating outside of cognitive awareness. A generalized cultural ecology obviously must include models pertaining to all three possibilities, although for highly developed pluralistic societies the conscious planning process is the only realistic course. The solution to the evolutionary dilemma of cultural ecology can be outlined with the use of the criteria on the chart. The basic question is simply: Is it possible to combine the characteristics of the equilibratory and disequilibratory types so as to: 1. Maintain a high technology but reduce the scale of human wants? 2. Maintain a high technology but reach a stable population growth? 3. Maintain high standards of living without polluting effects? 4. Maintain a dynamic and innovative technology but bring it under the control of society? Many of the current explorations of economists and social planners are directed toward these questions (e.g. Frederiksen 1969), and we are now in an advanced stage of controversy over whether, and how, the apparently contradictory objectives can be reached. What role might the anthropologist play in this situation? Wilson (1971: 107) visualizes it as follows: It is the business of the anthropologist to show the Peter Pans who refuse to grow up, who reject the responsibilities of largeness of scale, what tiny societies are like; to show yet again, that the "noble savage" in Arcadia is dream, not reality. To seek a return to smallness of scale is no cure for our present disorders; rather we must examine very closely what aspects of scale necessarily hang together. Can we have the close-knit warmth and emotional security of an isolated village without stifling individuality? Can one enjoy the fruits of science and industrial production without smothering the personal? These are deceptively simple objectives. They speak in the language of the traditional anthropological preoccupation with the small society, the microsystem, but they also require a serious attempt to struggle with the macroinstitutions of national and world society and show how they affect local systems. However, anthropologists will require extensive training in the institutional social sciences and intensive research experience in macrosystemic societies before they can move vigorously in this direction.

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1960 "Early civilizations, subsistence and environment," in City invincible. Edited by C. H. Kraeling and Robert Mcc. Adams. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ALLAND, ALEXANDER

1967 Evolution and human behavior. Garden City: Natural History Press. 1972 The human imperative. New York: Columbia University Press. BARTH, FREDRIK

1956 Ecologic relationships of ethnic groups in Swat, Northern Pakistan. American Anthropologist 58:2079-2089. BATESON, GREGORY

1949 "Bali: the value system of a steady state," in Social structure: studies presented to A. R. Radcliffe-Brown. Edited by M. Fortes. New York: Oxford University Press. BEARDSLEY, RICHARD K.

1964 "Ecological and social parallels between rice-growing communities of Japan and Spain," in Symposium on community studies in anthropology. Edited by V. E. Garfield. Seattle: University of Washington Press (American Ethnological Society). BENNETT, JOHN W .

1967 Hutterian brethren: the agricultural economy and social organization of a communal people. Stanford: Stanford University Press. BUCKLEY, WALTER

1967 Sociology and modern systems theory. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall. CALLAN, HILARY

1970 Ethology and society. Oxford: Clarendon Press. CAMPBELL, DONALD T.

1965 "Variation and selective retention in socio-cultural evolution," in Social change in developing areas. Edited by H. R. Barringer, et al. Cambridge: Schenkman. DIXON, R. B.

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The building of cultures. New York: Scribners.

DUMOND, D. E.

1961 Swidden agriculture and the rise of Maya civilization. Southwestern Journal of Anthropology 17:301-316. EHRLICH, PAUL R., ANNE H. EHRLICH

1972 Population, resources, environment: issues in human ecology (revised edition). San Francisco: W. H. Freeman. FARVAR, M. TAGHI, JOHN P. MILTON, editors 1972 The careless technology: ecology and international development. Garden City: Natural History Press. FREDERIKSEN, HARALD

1969 Feedbacks in economic and demographic transition. Science 166: 837-847. GEERTZ, CLIFFORD

1963 Agricultural involution: the processes of ecological change in Indonesia. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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1965 The social history of an Indonesian town. Cambridge: Massachusetts Institute of Technology Press. HALL, A. D., R. E. FAGEN

1956 Definition of a system. General Systems Yearbook 1:18-28. HARRIS, MARVIN

1960 Adaptation in biological and cultural science. Transactions of the New York Academy of Sciences, Series II, 23 (1): 59-65. HAWLEY, AMOS, editor 1968 Roderick D. McKenzie on human ecology. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. HILLERY, GEORGE Α., JR.

1966 Navajos and Eastern Kentuckians: a comparative study in the cultural consequences of the demographic transition. American Anthropologist 68:52-70. HOLLING, CRAWFORD S.

1969 "Stability in ecological and social systems," in Diversity and stability in ecological systems. Report of Symposium held May 26-28, 1969. Upton, New York: Brookhaven National Laboratory, Biology Department. KALMUS, Η.

1966 "Control hierarchies," in Regulation and control of living systems. Edited by H. Kalmus. New York: John Wylie and Sons. KOTTAK, CONRAD P.

1972 Ecological variables in the origin and evolution of African states: the Buganda example. Comparative Studies in Society and History 14:351-380. KROEBER, A. L.

1939 Cultural and natural areas of native North America. University of California Publications in American Archeology and Ethnology 38, University of California at Berkeley. KUNSTADTER, PETER

1972 Spirits of change capture the Karen. National Geographic 141:267-284. LEACH, E. R.

1959 Hydraulic society in Ceylon. Past and Present 15:2-26. LEE, RICHARD B.

1969 "!Kung Bushman subsistence: an input-output analysis," in Contributions to anthropology: ecological essays. Edited by D. Damas. National Museums of Canada Bulletin 230, Anthropological Series 86. Ottawa. (Also published in Environment and cultural behavior, 1969. Edited by A. Vayda. Garden City: Natural History Press.) LINTON, RALPH

1936 The study of man. New York: Applet on-Century. LIVINGSTONE, FRANK B.

1958 Anthropological implications of sickle cell gene distribution in West Africa. American Anthropologist 60:533-559. MASON, Ο. Τ.

1895 Influence of environment upon human industries or arts. Annual Reports, pages 639-665. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution. MAY, JACQUES M., DONNA L. MC CLELLAN, editors

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1972 The ecology of malnutrition in seven countries of southern Africa and in Portuguese Guinea. New York: Hafner. 1965 Land behind Bagdad: a history of settlement on the Dyala Plains. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. MC KENZIE, R. D.

1928 Ecological succession in the Puget Sound region. Publication of the American Sociological Society 23:60-80. MILLON, RENE

1962 "Variations in social responses to thepracticeof irrigation agriculture," in Civilizations in desert lands. Edited by Richard B. Woodbury. University of Utah Anthropological Papers 62. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. MONTGOMERY, EDWARD

1972 "Stratification and nutrition in a population in southern India." Unpublished doctoral dissertation, Columbia University, New York. ODUM, EUGENE

1969 The strategy of ecosystem development. Science 164:262-270. 1971 Fundamentals of ecology (third edition). Philadelphia: Saunders. (First published 1953.) ODUM, HOWARD T.

1971 Environment, power, and society. New York: John Wiley and Sons. PARRACK, DWAIN W .

1969 "An approach to the bioenergetics of West Bengal," in Environment and cultural behavior. Edited by A. Vayda. Garden City: Natural History Press. RAPPAPORT, ROY A.

1967a Ritual regulation of environmental relations among a New Guinea people. Ethnology 6:17-30. 1967b Pigs for the ancestors: ritual in the ecology of a New Guinea people. New Haven: Yale University Press. 1971a Ritual, sanctity, and cybernetics. American Anthropologist 73:73-76. 1971b The flow of energy in an agricultural society. Scientific American 224: 116-133. REDFIELD, ROBERT, editor 1942 Levels of integration in biological and social systems. Lancaster, Pennsylvania: Jaques Cattell. RIPLEY, S. DILLON, HELMUT K. BUECHNER

1970 "Ecosystem science as a point of synthesis," in America's changing environment. Edited by Roger Revelle and Hans H. Landsberg. Boston: Beacon Press. RUESCH, J., G. BATESON

1951 Communication, the social matrix of psychiatry. New York: Norton. SAHLINS, MARSHALL

1961 The segmentary lineage: an organization of predatory expansion. American Anthropologist 63:322-345. SANDERS, WILLIAM T.

1965 "The cultural ecology of the Teotihuacan Valley." Preliminary report on the results of the Teotihuacan Valley Project, Pennsylvania State University.

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SAPIR, E.

1914 Time perspective in aboriginal American culture. Ottawa: Canadian Department of Mines. SCUDDER, THAYER

1968 Social anthropology, man-made lakes and population dislocation in Africa. Anthropological Quarterly 41:168—176. 1972a "Ecological bottlenecks and the development of the Kariba Lake Basin," in The careless technology. Edited by M. Taghi Farvar and John P. Milton. Garden City: Natural History Press. 1972b Chairman: "Irrigation and water development," in The careless technology, section two. Edited by M. Taghi Farvar and John P. Milson. Garden City: Natural History Press. STAGNER, ROSS

1951

"Homeostasis as a unifying concept in personality theory." Psychological Review 58:5-17. STEWARD, JULIAN H. editor 1955 Irrigation civilizations: a comparative study: a symposium on method and result in cross-cultural regularities. Social Science Monographs 1. Washington, D.C.: Pan American Union. STOLNITZ, G.

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"The demographic transition," in Population and the vital revolution. Edited by Ronald Freedman. Garden City: Anchor Books.

VAYDA, ANDREW P.

1960 Maori warfare. Polynesian Society Maori Monographs 2. Wellington. 1961 Expansion and warfare among swidden agriculturalists. American Anthropologist 63:346-358. 1967 Research on the functions of primitive war. Peace Research Society (International) Papers 7:133-138. 1969 An ecological approach in cultural anthropology. Bucknell R. 17 (1). 1971 Phases of the process of war and peace among the Marings of New Guinea. Oceania 42:1-24. VAYDA, ANDREW P . , R. A. RAPPAPORT

1968 "Ecology: cultural and non-cultural," in Introduction to cultural anthropology. Edited by J. Clifton. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. WEISENFELD, STEPHEN L.

1967 Sickle cell trait in human biological and cultural evolution. Science 157:1134-1140. WIENER, NORBERT

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The human use of human beings: cybernetics and society. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. (Second edition, 1954, Garden City: Doubleday.)

WILSON, MONICA

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Religion and the transformation of society: a study in social change in Africa. New York: Cambridge University Press.

WISSLER, CLARK

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The relation of nature to man in aboriginal America. New York: Oxford University Press.

WITTFOGEL, KARL

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Oriental despotism: a comparative study of total power. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Energy and Culture

EUGENE E. RUYLE

Man, like all other forms of life, depends directly on the flow of energy through the biosphere. Recognition of this has led to a variety of attempts to apply thermodynamic concepts to the analysis of sociocultural systems. Broadly speaking, thermodynamic analyses of human societies fall into two categories. First, there is ecological energetics, which attempts to analyze the relationship between the population as a whole and the environment. Second, there is the labor theory of value, which attempts to analyze the social relations between individuals and between classes in thermodynamic terms. The present paper represents an attempt to synthesize what is useful in each of these two approaches. To do so, it is necessary to discuss their strengths and weaknesses.

Ecological

Energetics

Much of the inspiration for the application of thermodynamic concepts to the analysis of cultural systems comes from the work of Leslie White (1949, 1959). White's energy theory of cultural evolution, adopted from earlier writers such as Ostwald (1907) and Lotka (1922, 1945; for a more complete bibliography, see White 1959:33-57), sees the evolutionary I thank the University of Virginia for a Wilson Gee Summer Research Fellowship, part of which was devoted to formulating the ideas in this paper, and for a small grant to cover the cost of preparing the manuscript for publication. I would also like to thank my colleagues and students at the University of Virginia for listening to my earlier formulations of these ideas and for their helpful criticisms. No one but myself, however, necessarily agrees with the views expressed in this paper or is responsible for any errors of fact or reasoning it may contain.

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process as essentially a process of harnessing increasing amounts of energy from the environment, with a concomitant evolution of increasingly complex biological and culturological systems. Though the non-biotic universe, in conformity with the Second Law of Thermodynamics, is running down thermodynamically, life processes represent a transitory reversal of this process, a building up of thermodynamic systems. To accomplish this, both biological and cultural systems must capture free energy from the environment and the "struggle for existence" is, above all, a struggle for free energy, with natural selection favoring those systems "whose energy-capturing devices are most efficient" (Lotka 1945:185, quoted by Leslie White 1959:37). As energy-capturing devices become more efficient and more energy is harnessed, this increased energy is organized into increasingly complex systems, hence the evolution of social structures from simple to complex, from bands through tribes and chiefdoms, to states and larger, more modern nations (Service 1962). White's ideas on evolution have exerted considerable influence on general anthropology and have contributed strongly to the reemergence of evolutionary thought in anthropology (see, for example, Cohen 1968; Hoebel 1972). Another source of thermodynamic concepts for cultural analysis has been E. P. Odum's framework (1971) for describing the flow of energy through ecosystems. Energy enters the system as sunlight, is harnessed by the primary producers, green plants, and passes through successive levels of consumers — herbivores, carnivores, and decomposers. Energy is dissipated at each level, so less energy is available at the higher trophic levels (see Figure 1). These basic concepts have been used to describe human subsistence patterns and other aspects of ecosystems containing human populations (Parrack 1969; Lee 1969; Rappaport 1971). Such studies demonstrate that the principles, concepts, and operations used by anthropologists to describe sociocultural phenomena in human populations need not be basically different from those used by ethologists to describe animal populations (cf. Vayda and Rappaport 1968:494). Further, such studies provide firm scientific data for the examination of such problems as the evolutionary distinction between man and other primates (Lee 1969:48) and the relationship between religious ideas and ritual and ecological adaptation (Harris 1966; Rappaport 1967). Mention should be made of Η. T. Odum's ambitious attempt (1971) to develop an energy language to illuminate various historical and contemporary problems in the complex interaction between man and nature. Much of Odum's book is tantalizing, but one doesn't know exactly

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Figure 1.

Flow of bioenergy through ecosystem (from E. P. Odum 1971:65)

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how to deal with some of it, specifically his chapter, "Energetic basis for religion" and his "Ten commandments of the energy ethic for survival of man in nature" (1971:236-253). The major shortcoming of ecological energetics is that it treats the population as a whole and does not attempt to deal with social relationships in a thermodynamic way. As a consequence, it sees the causes of cultural phenomena mechanistically, as resulting from the man-nature relationship, rather than dialectically, as resulting from the sphere of social relations. The individual does not appear as a causal factor in history, and class struggles are seen as a product of cultural evolution, rather than as a primary source of historical change. A related shortcoming is the failure to distinguish between man's somatic energy andextrasomatic energy which is merely used by man. The two are distinct and subject to different principles and ecological energetics simply ignores this important distinction.

The Labor Theory of Value Although not generally recognized as such, Marxist economics is essentially concerned with thermodynamic concepts. In the labor theory of value, the commodity is the focus of analysis. Distinctions are made between three properties of commodities: use-value, or utility, the ability to satisfy some human need or desire; price, or exchange value, the amount of money the commodity will bring on the market; and value, the amount of socially necessary labor required to produce the commodity. The last two properties are thermodynamic in nature. Value is the amount of labor energy, usually measured in hours, required to produce the commodity. Price is measured in money, but money is simply a symbol for energy, a claim on the energy of other people, a means of facilitating exchanges of labor energy, or a store of labor energy. One aspect of the labor theory of value is that it relates price to value: prices are ultimately determined by value through the agency of supply and demand (see Sweezy 1956:47,109-130). 1 However, this aspect is only incidental to the more basic use of the labor theory of value, as a means 1

Marx's passage in Value, price, and profit (quoted by Sweezy 1956:47) helps dispel much of the confusion propagated by orthodox economists (e.g. Samuelson 1970) on this point: "At the moment when supply and demand equilibriate each other, and therefore cease to act, the market price of a commodity coincides with its real value."

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of analyzing social relationships.2 The exchange of commodities, which appears in fetish form to the actors themselves as an exchange of usevalues, is also an exchange of human labor. In analyzing this exchange between producers and consumers, and between capitalist and worker in value terms, Marx provides us with a thermodynamic approach to the analysis of social structures. The difficulty with Marxist economics, for anthropologists at least, is that it is only in capitalist society that most use-values take the form of commodities so that the analysis of economic exchange in precapitalist societies, where markets are relatively limited in scope, requires somewhat different conceptual tools. Further, energy expended in non-productive ways, such as warfare, politics, and wasted labor, is excluded from consideration in the model. Nevertheless, the success of Marxist economics in illuminating the nature of class relations in capitalist societies suggests that a similar approach to the analysis of class relations in precapitalist societies might be equally valuable.

THREE THERMODYNAMIC SYSTEMS Although the evolutionist and cultural materialist approaches which are associated with ecological energetics contain large measures of crypto-Marxism, there has been little or no cross-fertilization between ecological energetics and the labor theory of value. This is unfortunate because the shortcomings of both approaches jnay be overcome by a synthesis which recognizes the strengths of each. There are three analytically distinct but functionally interdependent thermodynamic systems associated with human populations. Two of these occur with all animal populations; these are: (1) the bioenergy system, or the manner in which the population in question articulates with the food web of the ecosystem; (2) the ethnoenergy system, or the manner in which somatic energy is expended by the members of the population; and (3) auxiliary energy system, the extrasomatic energy 2

See Sweezy (1956:128-130) for a discussion of this point. Sweezy concedes that the methods of orthodox economics are perhaps preferable in price calculation, but this is not the major concern in Marxist economics. Robinson's remarks (1960:2) on the differences in outlook between orthodox and Marxist economics are perhaps relevant here: "The orthodox economists have been much preoccupied with elegant elaborations of minor problems, which distract the attention of their pupils from the uncongenial realities of the modern world, and the development of abstract argument has run far ahead of any possibility of empirical verification. Marx's intellectual tools are far cruder, but his sense of reality is far stronger, and his argument towers above their intricate constructions in rough and gloomy grandeur."

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harnessed and utilized by man, including fire, draft animals, fossil fuels, and atomic energy. Recognition of these distinct thermodynamic systems provides us with a way of charting the flow of energy not only through ecosystems but also through social structures and cultural systems, and enables us to incorporate the strengths of the two thermodynamic approaches discussed above into a single analytical framework. This paper deals primarily with the ethnoenergy system, but it is necessary to discuss the bioenergy and auxiliary energy systems in slightly greater detail before turning to our major concern.

Bioenergetic

Systems

Man's bioenergy system has undergone a series of changes during his evolutionary career. The hominid line first began to diverge from the pongid when man's ancestors moved out of the forest, where they had been exploiting primarily frugivorous bioenergetic sources, onto the savanna, where energy was primarily harnessed from graminivorous sources (C. J. Jolly 1970). This in turn led to an omnivorous diet as man became the first and only primate to obtain a significant portion of his energy ration as a carnivore. The greater part of man's evolutionary career, from at least pithecanthropine to Neolithic times, was as a hunter and gatherer, and man's hunting career has conditioned his intellect, interests, emotions, and basic social life (Washburn and Lancaster 1968).3 But as long as man was a carnivore, his bioenergetic position in the food chain necessarily made him a rare animal, and it is unlikely that his numbers exceeded a few million as late as 10,000 B.C. The Neolithic Revolution and the invention of agriculture marked a return to a lower position in the food chain, coupled with a unique degree of ecosystemic management. Man had become an ecological dominant without parallel in the earth's history.

Auxiliary Energy Systems

Major cultural evolutionary advances have been associated with the 8

Perhaps this is a sexist position. The greater part of the caloric intake of most human populations is from plants gathered by women. An interesting, although extreme and fanciful, corrective for male chauvinist thinking on human origins is The descent of woman (Morgan 1972).

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discovery of novel ways of harnessing and utilizing extrasomatic energy (cf. Leslie White 1959; Cottrell 1955). The earliest evidence of an auxiliary energy system is seen at Choukoutien, where there is clear evidence of pithecanthropine utilization of fire about half a million years ago. Slightly later, in Spain, there is evidence of the use of fire in group hunting (Howell 1968:85-99). Only much later, during the Mesolithic, did man harness his second source of auxiliary energy, the domesticated dog, for use in hunting. Although the earliest evidence of the beginnings of animal domestication dates from about 9000 B.C., it was several millennia before draft animals began to be harnessed as sources of auxiliary energy. By about 3000 B.C., ox-drawn plows were in use in the Near East. The harnessing of water power occurred almost simultaneously in the Mediterranean, Denmark, and China about the time of Christ, but did not become widespread for another thousand years (Lynn White 1964:84). The harnessing of energy from fossil fuels during the Industrial Revolution and, more recently, of atomic energy are thus merely the latest episodes in the long, progressive development of larger and more powerful auxiliary energy systems. The use of auxiliary energy in technological processes permits a reduction in the amount of ethnoenergy required to perform a given amount of work, that is, it renders human labor more efficient. More importantly, it permits new kinds of work to be done. Certain soils cannot be cultivated without horse-drawn plows or tractors. Oceans cannot be crossed in any regular way without sails or steam. The moon cannot be reached by human energy alone. Thus, major cultural evolutionary advances are linked to new methods of utilizing auxiliary energy as more efficient technology permits the development of larger populations, larger surpluses, and more complex social structures. But it is not just in the sphere of production that auxiliary energy is important. Important advances in the utilization of auxiliary energy have also come from the sphere of exploitation, especially in warfare. Waves of barbarian conquests were initiated by Near Eastern nomads after they learned to harness horses to war chariots in the eighteenth century B.C., and to ride horses in the ninth century B.C. (Lenski 1970:299). As Lynn White (1964) suggests, the crystallization of European feudalism was a result of the diffusion of the stirrup into Europe, permitting mounted shock combat and demanding social structures capable of producing and maintaining mounted knights. The harnessing of chemical energy was accomplished first for the purpose of warfare, in Greek fire and gunpowder, and the same is true of atomic energy. Finally, the harnessing

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of fossil fuels for productive purposes was a result of the exploitative aspect of capitalism, the drive for profits (see below, under Ethnoenergetic Exchange, Markets, and Capitalism).

CONCEPTS FOR THE ANALYSIS OF THE ETHNOENERGETIC SYSTEM The bioenergy harnessed by the members of a population is actively channeled into various activities, such as spatial movement, interaction with the environment and other members of the population, and so forth. Elsewhere (Ruyle n.d.a.), I have suggested the term ethnoenergy for this outpouring of animal energy. The ethnoenergetic expenditure of all animal species may be measured and described in terms of similar data languages. This has obvious advantages if we wish to describe the similarities and differences between man and the other animals. We are in a dubious position to do so if we emphasize mentalistic differences — symbolizing, language, abstract thought, etc. — for there is no generally acceptable way of getting inside the heads of animals to find out what, and if, they are thinking. It is only when we describe human and animal behavior in a similar operational data language that we can demonstrate similarities and differences. The simplest measure of ethnoenergy is in units of duration — seconds, minutes, hours, days, etc. — but ethnoenergy may also be measured in calories. The ethnoenergetic outflow, or the behavior stream, may be described by a variety of methods (for examples of descriptive techniques which can be applied to both animals and man, see Chappie 1940; Hess 1962; Harris 1964; A. Jolly 1972:111). The ethnoenergetic expenditure of an animal population is patterned by the species-specific needs of that population. The satisfaction of biological needs for food, water, air, shelter, etc., requires the expenditure of ethnoenergy but since the amount of ethnoenergy is limited, the energy expended in one direction necessarily reduces the amount that can be expended in the others. There are certain functional requisites which must be met by any ethnoenergetic system. First and foremost, all animals must eat, and a portion of the ethnoenergetic flow must be directed toward harnessing sufficient bioenergy to maintain the biological functioning of individual members of the population. Over and above this, ethnoenergy is expended in a variety of ways, such as play, grooming, resting, and escape from predators (see Figure 2). It is possible to conceptualize social interaction and social relations in

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ETHNOENEFGY USES IN HABNESSIMG BICENERGY

Figure 2.

Ethnoenergetic harnessing of bioenergy

thermodynamic terms, thus opening the way for the thermodynamic measurement of social structures. As the individual members of a population expend ethnoenergy during the course of a day, they necessarily interact with one another. Such interactions have a durational, hence ethnoenergetic content (cf. Chappie 1940). It is possible to characterize such interactions as being either cooperative or competitive. Cooperation is essentially a pooling of the ethnoenergetic flow of two or more individuals in such a way as to provide some mutually beneficial, or need-satisfying, result. Examples include the sexual activities of nearly all species, the group hunting of lions and wolves, the group warning systems of baboons and herbivores, and, most elaborate of all, the productive activities of man. Competition occurs when the presence of other individuals either inhibits the ethnoenergetic outflow of an individual or reduces the efficiency of the outflow. Examples include competition for sexual access to mates, for scarce food supplies, and so on. The ensemble of social interactions of all species includes both cooperative and competitive relations, the precise balance between the two determining such variables as spatial distribution, and dominance hierarchies (Crook 1971; Wilson 1971). We may also speak of ethnoenergetic flow between individuals. This occurs when the ethnoenergetic expenditure of one individual, A, provides benefits to another individual, B. In such a case we may speak of ethnoenergy flowing from A to B. Examples of ethnoenergetic flow include all sorts of cooperative behavior, which are multidirectional ethnoenergetic flows, the care given to young by adults (which, in mammals, also includes a bioenergetic flow in the form of mother's milk), and the grooming behavior of primates.

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12:00 NOON

Figure 3.

Ethnoenergetic content of status and role (adapted from Anderson 1971:46)

The sociological concepts of status and role may also be given a thermodynamic content. A status is a position in a social structure, and the amount of time individuals spend occupying the status is the thermodynamic content of the status. Role is the behavioral component of status, the patterning of ethnoenergetic expenditure of the individual occupying the status. 4 Figure 3 shows the hypothetical ethnoenergetic expenditure of an individual in various statuses and role behaviors over the course of a day. Beginning in the morning, occupying the status of husband, he eats his breakfast and interacts with another individual occupying the status of wife. Later, he occupies the status of commuter and interacts with other individuals in similar statuses. At work, he occupies the statuses of employee and coworker and expends ethnoenergy in interacting with his employer and his coworkers, as well as his productive activity, and so on 4

Sociologists usually make a distinction between role expectations and role enactment (see Turner 1968:553). Our treatment deals only with actual role behavior, since expectations have no measurable energy content.

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through the day. From a number of similar individual charts, we may proceed to measure the ethnoenergetic content of the man's family, the business firm where he works during the day, the church he visits on Sundays, and, indeed, the entire inventory of social institutions of the population of which he is a member. The advantage of the ethnoenergetic approach suggested here is that it provides an objective, quantifiable way of describing social structures. In so doing, it lays the groundwork for the cross-cultural and even crossspecific comparison of behavior and social structures (for a discussion of status and role behavior among primates, see A. Jolly 1972:247-263).

LABOR, MAN, AND CULTURE In the preceding section, 1 tried to show that a thermodynamic approach to social analysis opens the way to an objective comparison of human and non-human social behavior. Man has a variety of unique characteristics, but viewed thermodynamically, he is unique in the manner in which he appropriates environmental use-values: animals merely appropriate nature to satisfy their needs, man transforms it into culturally acceptable form, a process which requires energy. I shall argue in this section that this thermodynamic peculiarity of the human primate underlies and has caused most of the gross morphological and psychological characteristics which distinguish man from his primate relatives.5

I . 1

ENVIPCtMENT 1

•

— 'Δ *

ι

A A

It

ΌG)/

I

β )

1t

Όtö/

•

Figure 4. Ethnoenergetic flow in non-human primate populations. (1, 2, dominance hierarchy in population) 6

...6

This argument has a respectable intellectual ancestry, as is seen in the following, written in 1846 (Marx and Engels 1947:7; cf. Darwin, in Washburn and Howell 1960:33; Engels 1940): "Men can be distinguished from animals by consciousness, by religion or anything else you like. They themselves begin to distinguish themselves from animals as soon as they begin to produce their means of subsistence."

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Use-values are environmental objects that are able to satisfy various animal needs. These are species specific: grass is a use-value for a gazelle, but not a lion; the gazelle is a use-value for the lion. As shown in Figure 4, populations of non-human primates directly appropriate environmental use-values. Energy is expended in consuming/interacting with these use-values, but little or no energy is spent in modifying natural use-values before consuming them. By contrast, human populations transform natural environmental resources into culturally acceptable form before they are used, as usevalues, to satisfy human needs. This transformation requires the expenditure of a particular form of ethnoenergy, labor. The labor processes in human populations are characterized by first, the expenditure of energy, second, the instruments of labor, tools, and third, the transformation of raw materials into an artificial, predetermined form (cf. Marx 1965: 178). Further, in contrast to the individual food quest of non-human primates, human populations are characterized by cooperative labor activities and by sharing the product of human labor. The product of labor is not an individual product but a social product (see Figure 5). Although man is unique in the elaboration of his labor systems and his dependence upon these systems, various forms of protolabor occur among other mammals. The great apes, for example, have been observed to make and use tools and weapons in a wide variety of contexts (A. Jolly 1972:279-294). Such protolabor among the apes, however, differs from human labor in that (1) the degree of transformation of raw

•

flew of productive ethnoenergy (labor)

Figure 5. Ethnoenergeticflowin human populations

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materials is slight; (2) the tools used, if any, are rudimentary; (3) they are individual acts, not social; and (4) they are not an essential part of the life pattern of the populations concerned — the caloric intake from termites is only a small portion of the total caloric intake of chimpanzees. Man is alone in his absolute dependence on tool use and labor (cf. Bartholomew and Birdsell 1953:489^90). Another form of protolabor is the group hunting of lions and other predators. Here, although this is cooperative behavior, and the raw materials, living herbivores, are transformed into dead ones, and the dead prey may be transported some distance to feed the young, no tools are involved in the process. Nonetheless, all members of the population are dependent upon this pooling of ethnoenergy in the food quest, and, among African hunting dogs, at least, this has the effect of inhibiting the development of a dominance hierarchy such as that among baboon populations (see Langer 1971:322). (Significantly, when predation occurs among primates, the dominant males do not immediately appropriate the killed animal, but wait until the predator has eaten before eating the remains [A. Jolly 1972:68] — a primate recognition of the right of the laborer to his product?) These forms of protolabor are much more rudimentary than the cooperative labor systems of even the most technologically unsophisticated human populations. The transition from the non-human to the human ethnoenergetic flow pattern was complete by the time of the Australopithecines, some two million years ago. The Australopithecine material at Olduvai, dated at 1.75 million years, includes a specialized array of quartz and lava tools made from material transported at least three miles to the site. The fact that the Olduvai hominids were making tools is clear evidence that they were engaged in systematic labor activities (cf. Reed 1963:82). Further, the evidence of smashed animal bones indicates that they were meat eaters and likely predators. But if they were predators, the probability is that they were group hunters, rather than individual hunters. The evidence for this is first, that a slow, weak, poorly endowed creature like Australopithecus could be successful as a hunter only if he coordinated his activity in group hunting, and, second, since group hunting occurs in mentally less endowed creatures such as lions and wolves, group hunting would have been within the range of possible behavior for Australopithecus. The earliest clear evidence of group hunting, however, is at least a million years later (Howell 1968:85-99). The most reasonable interpretation here is that the not quite fully erect, small-brained Australopithecines had already made the decisive

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transition from an animal ethnoenergetic flow pattern to a human one, in which the population is dependent upon labor to produce a social product. It follows that most of the obvious anatomical differences which distinguish man from the apes came after the incorporation of labor into the life style of man's ancestors and were a result of changed selective pressures associated with this new life style (cf. Washburn 1960). The incorporation of labor into the life process of early man-apes is also behind the emergence of language. The labor process, like language, is hierarchical in nature, that is, it is made up of essentially meaningless elements combined in a definite order to achieve a meaningful result. Further, it imposes an arbitrary standardized form on the environment. Thus the labor process helps develop mental abilities comparable to those required in speech (cf. Critchley 1960:296-298; Lewis 1962:39-42; Pilbeam 1972:80). Further, with the development of cooperative labor in hunting the need for complex communication systems created additional selective pressures favoring the greater mental abilities required to handle the more complex systems.6 The incorporation of labor into the life process also had the effect of inhibiting the development of dominance hierarchies similar to those of baboons. In baboon populations, the strongest, most aggressive, most acquisitive individual is likely to be best fed, and presumably reproductively most successful. In human populations, where food is regularly shared and the individual is dependent upon the ethnoenergetic expenditure of others, the most sociable individual, the one who is given most, is likely to be best fed, and presumably reproductively most successful. The individual who is too aggressive and acquisitive is likely to be very lonely, if not dead — witness the high mortality rate among fossil man from "unnatural" causes. The human dependence on a social product thus creates pressures favoring more sociable, more cooperative individuals.7 EXPLOITATION AND CLASS SOCIETY The thermodynamic peculiarity of the human primate opens the way 6

As Engels (1940:284) put it, "First comes labour, after it, and then side by side with it, articulate speech — these were the two most essential stimuli under the influence of which the brain of the ape gradually changed into that of man." 7 A number of fascinating questions have been ignored in this treatment of hominid origins. The view put forth here does not depend upon the resolution of such matters as the single vs. multiple species debate, the relationship between tool use and small canines, or predation vs. scavenging among early man. I think the labor theory of the origin of man is in accordance with the latest human paleontological thought and will stand irrespective of how these specialized issues are resolved.

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for behavioral and ecological phenomena which have no parallel in the non-human world. Man, like other animals, is dependent upon the capture of free bioenergy, but in man alone is there a "struggle for free ethnoenergy." All men are dependent upon the products of social labor, and the strategy of human life is necessarily a strategy to capture ethnoenergy in the form of use-values. About five or ten thousand years ago, as human populations increased in size and as social mechanisms developed for harnessing large amounts of ethnoenergy, this led to the emergence of predacious ruling classes and to the beginnings of the class struggles which have characterized all historic civilizations. To analyze this process, we must turn to a discussion of the general features of the production, distribution, and consumption of use-values in human populations. When material use-values are consumed by an individual, the individual is consuming not only the object itself, but also the ethnoenergy expended in the production of the use-value. One may study the outward flow of ethnoenergy from the individual, following it from its expenditure in individual or cooperative labor to its final consumer. Conversely, one may look at the ethnoenergetic inflow of an individual, as embodied in the use-values he consumes, and trace this back to the original producers. Such an examination would show that the typical individual in nearly all human societies produces only a small proportion of the ethnoenergy he consumes, and consumes only a small part of the ethnoenergy he expends in labor. If we view the human individual as the end product of labor, it is clear that he is a social product. 8 In analyzing the patterns of ethnoenergetic flow in human populations, we may draw upon the work of Polanyi who noted that the production and consumption of material use-values in precapitalist societies is submerged in social principles. Polanyi (1957:43-55) isolates three of these: reciprocity, redistribution, and householding (exchange and markets were relatively unimportant until the emergence of capitalism in modern Europe). These social principles lead to three patterns of ethnoenergetic flow: symmetry, centricity, and autarchy. Householding and autarchy, of course, involve only one individual, or are within a delimited group, and are only peripheral aspects of any human society. Autarchy, with each individual appropriating for his own use, is the characteristic pattern among the non-human primates. Polanyi, however, "deliberately disregarded the vital distinction" 8

As Marx (1963:317) observed, "the human essence is no abstraction inherent in the individual. In its reality it is the ensemble of the social relations."

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between classless and class-structured societies (1957:52-53). By emphasizing patterns and ignoring quantities, Polanyi obscures the difference between master and slave, noble and serf, between ruler and ruled. Yet it is a simple enough matter to reintroduce these distinctions by measuring the quantity of ethnoenergetic flow as well as its direction. When the amount of ethnoenergy flowing from one individual or group to another is balanced by an approximately equal ethnoenergetic flow in the opposite direction, we may speak of reciprocal ethnoenergetic flows. Where there is unequal ethnoenergetic flow, and where this is enforced by violence or the threat of violence, we may speak of exploitation. The amount by which the larger flow exceeds the smaller is surplus.9 Looking at it another way, if the amount of ethnoenergy consumed by an individual is greater than the amount of ethnoenergy he expends in production, and if he enforces this energy flow by violence or the threat of violence, then this individual, or group, is a predator, living, in part at least, on surplus exploited from the rest of the population. As we have shown, human populations can be sharply differentiated from populations of other primates on the basis of thermodynamic structure, i.e. man alone is dependent upon labor. Similarly, a sharp distinction may be made between two types of human society on the basis of ethnoenergetic flow patterns. On the one hand, there are classless egalitarian populations in which all individuals actively participate, for much if not all of their normal lives, in the system of production through expenditure of labor energy. On the other hand, there are class-structured, stratified populations in which at least one class participates only minimally in the labor process. The diagnostic feature of the latter sort of society is the existence of a predacious ruling class, which appropriates a disproportionate amount of the social product while participating only minimally in the productive system. There is thus a flow of ethnoenergy to the ruling class from the rest of the population. The result is the emergence of a predator-prey relationship between ruling and producing classes similar to that existing between animal species, except that the stakes involved are not the food energy locked up in animal flesh but instead the labor energy the human animal can expend in production. Just as predation in the animal world requires the 9

It is to be noted that this definition of surplus follows Marx and not Adam Smith, and thus differs from the concept discussed in the "surplus controversy" (Pearson 1957; Harris 1959; Dalton 1960; Orans 1966; Mandel 1970:42-45). Perhaps it would be well to distinguish between "surpluses of appropriation," in the sense used here, and "surpluses of production" as in the surplus controversy.

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•

flow of productive ethnoenergy (labor) flow of exploitative ethnoenergy

Figure 6. Ethnoenergetic flow in stratified populations

expenditure of ethnoenergy in hunting, so predation among men requires the expenditure of ethnoenergy into an exploitation system. The elements of all systems of exploitation include: 1. The exploitative techniques themselves, the precise mechanisms — slavery, rent, corvee, taxation, etc. — by which economic surplus is pumped out of the direct producers and into the ruling class; 2. The State, which monopolizes access to legitimate violence, and which thereby physically coerces the exploited; and 3. The Church, which monopolizes access to the sacred or supernatural and thereby controls the minds of the exploited. These institutions may be relatively discrete, as in our own society, or they may be united into a single institution, as in many of the early civilizations (cf. Leslie White 1959:303-328; and Harris 1971: 405-413) (see Figure 6). Ruling classes, then, are populations which exist by pumping surplus out of an underlying population of producers. The subsistence technology of ruling-class populations is exploitation, and the econiche of the ruling class is different from anything existing in the animal world. But how did this situation come about? How did predation develop within the human species? Elsewhere (Ruyle n.d.b), I have suggested that, to the extent that labor

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is not satisfying in itself, there will be a "minimax" principle operating in cultural evolution in which the individual attempts to minimize his own expenditure of energy of labor but still maximize his own satisfaction. When applied to the environment this results in the increasing efficiency of the technology and organization of labor. When applied to the rest of the population, however, it may result in attempts to substitute the labor of others for one's own and to develop techniques for exploiting human labor. In certain types of ecological situations, where small, highly mobile populations utilize the environment with a relatively unproductive technology, for example, such exploitation may threaten the system of cooperation and mutual interdependence upon which the entire population depends for the satisfaction of basic needs, and hence be subject to strong negative selective pressures. As technology becomes more productive and as populations become large and immobile, on the other hand, this minimax principle has greater scope for expression and a new ecological niche opens, one based on the exploitation of labor. The origin of social stratification, then, can be seen as an extension of a more general principle of niche filling. The filling of this new ecological niche occurred solely because the satisfaction of the individuals entering the niche was thereby maximized in the changing ecological situation. This theory articulates well with the latest theories of the origin of social stratification and the state. In Carneiro's treatment (1970), for example, the evolution of state structures is seen as resulting from population pressure in limited areas. As population builds up, pressure on the land leads to increased competition for land and to warfare. In expansive areas of unlimited land, defeated groups can simply move away into virgin territory, but if this option is not available, they may become subordinate groups forced to pay tribute or rent. As this process is replicated again and again in relatively restricted areas, most typically river valleys, hierarchical subordinate-superordinate systems based on military force result. Thus, the origins of the state are linked to conflicts over land. Carneiro's theory, however, may be reinterpreted in ethnoenergetic terms. Conflicts over land arise because, with population pressure, there is less return for more effort — a reversal of the minimax principle. The result is likely to be increased dissatisfaction, perhaps witchcraft accusations, and warfare. When defeated groups are unable to move away, forcing them to pay tribute, or rent, is a reassertion of the minimax principle. Killing the enemy would be a return to the status quo ante, but forcing them to pay rent or tribute, or into slavery, would increase the victors'

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supply of use-values while further minimizing the expenditure of their own energy. Exploitative ethnoenergy — in warfare, raiding, collecting rent and tribute, managing slaves — is then substituted for expending energy in production in conformity with the general evolutionary principle of minimaxing. The mechanisms suggested by Carneiro need not be the only ones at work. Preferential access to land as a result of membership in a unilineal descent group, participation in intergroup trade, or location in a redistributive system may also develop into exploitation. Elsewhere (Ruyle n.d.a.), I have suggested that one may find the following exploitative techniques in the incipient stratification system of the Northwest Coast: rent, tribute, plunder, redistribution, trade, and potlatch, as well as incipient state-church organization. 10 The analysis of the complex thermodynamic systems of class-structured societies requires the development of additional conceptual tools. One such tool is the concept of ethnoenergetic field. The ethnoenergetic field of an individual is simply the ethnoenergy embodied in his property. Property is a social institution, relating not only an individual and his possessions, but also the owners and the remainder of society, such that the owner is not only guaranteed access to his possessions but is also able to deny access to any non-owner. Although there is considerable variation in the ensemble of property rights from society to society in kinds of objects which may become property and in the kinds of access which may be permitted or denied, in general there is a major contrast between property rights in egalitarian societies and in class-structured societies. In egalitarian societies, although certain kinds of use-values, tools, weapons, clothing, household utensils, etc., are recognized as the property of an individual, no one is denied access to the strategic natural resources of the population and, typically, no one is denied access to the paramount use-value of all populations, food. In such populations the ethnoenergetic field of the individual is restricted in scope and relatively weak, including merely his own body, his clothing, such implements as he uses in his daily life (although these are typically shared with the members of the population on request). Indeed, the development of property rights and ethnoenergetic fields 10

It is less easy to reconcile this theory with that of Fried (1967). As I understand Fried's concept of "rank society," distinctions of rank preceded the development of class exploitation (cf. Service 1962:150). If my analysis of Northwest Coast society (Ruyle n.d.a.) is correct, one of the major empirical supports for the concept of rank society disappears, and the theory is to that extent falsified.

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in egalitarian societies is probably no greater than that of some animal species (Beaglehole 1931). Economic exchange, as we know it in bourgeois society, exists in only rudimentary form; instead there is a form of sharing, in which ethnoenergetic flow follows patterns dictated by various social principles, with no immediate attempt to maximize benefits or minimize costs. It is in stratified populations that ethnoenergetic fields develop most strongly. As exploitative systems develop, increasing amounts of ethnoenergy are pumped into the ruling class and accumulate there in the form of use-values. In order to protect these accumulations, the ethnoenergetic field of the ruling class must become considerably extended and protected by strong property rights. Yet exchange, as it is known in bourgeois society, does not yet occur. The ethnoenergetic flow of surplus from ruled to ruler is patterned by social principles emphasizing hierarchy and obligation, commonly Polanyi's redistribution. ETHNOENERGETIC EXCHANGE, MARKETS, AND CAPITALISM Once there is the development, in stratified population, of strong ethnoenergetic fields, the possibility emerges for ethnoenergetic exchange. Exchange is a form of ethnoenergetic flow characterized by higglehaggling, with each party consciously attempting to maximize his inflow and minimize his outflow. Exchange can only develop between strong ethnoenergetic fields. In egalitarian populations, where individual ethnoenergetic fields are relatively weak and small in scale, exchange is limited in scope. Flow between individuals is more properly described as sharing, with no conscious attempt to maximize inflow or minimize outflow (cf. Mandel 1970:49; Polanyi 1957:49; Harris 1971:238). Exchange first appears in rudimentary form as barter between groups, with the local group forming a single ethnoenergetic field vis ä vis other groups. As ethnoenergetic fields develop within populations, there is a development of barter between individuals, markets, and money, Money thus has a thermodynamic aspect as a symbol-facilitating ethnoenergetic exchange. It represents a socially acceptable claim on other people's labor. There is a bedrock of violence underlying any exchange system. Violence, or the threat of violence, enforces the property rights without which exchange could have no meaning. Further, exchange is a form of competitive ethnoenergetic flow, occurring between hostile parties, one able to prevent access to certain use-values, the other acquiring by ex-

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change that which would be too costly to acquire by force. Indeed, early trading expeditions are typically simultaneously trading and raiding expeditions, adapting their acquisitive techniques to particular situations (cf. Mandel 1970:82-85). In populations where money exchange and markets are institutionalized there is a concomitant growth of commodity production, the production of use-values for sale in the market. It is, of course, only in capitalist economies that most use-values take the form of commodities, but commodity production undergoes an embryonic development within the womb of Asiatic and feudal societies. This embryonic development may be analyzed in three phases: simple commodity production, mercantile capitalism, and capitalist production. These phases are "ideal types" or models, and do not necessarily represent actual historical configurations. Simple Commodity

Production

Simple commodity production is an economic formation where: (1) the ethnoenergetic field of each producer includes both the means of production and his own labor; and (2) each producer is specialized, so that he sells the commodities he produces and buys other commodities on the market. In such a system, exchange occurs according to the formula: C-M-C

Commodities are exchanged for money, and this money is then exchanged for other commodities which are consumed. Such a system is competitive, with each party attempting to minimize his effort and maximize his return, but the system operates in such a way as to prevent exploitation, provided that there is perfect competition, perfect knowledge of the system by all parties, and perfect mobility of producers in and out of various spheres of production. Another way of saying this is to say that in a system of simple commodity production characterized by perfect competition and mobility between spheres of production, supply and demand will come into equilibrium where prices correspond to values. This may be seen if we consider the following. If a shoemaker, producing a pair of shoes in one hour and selling them for fifty cents, sees that a tailor is making a shirt in one hour and selling it for a dollar and a half, the shoemaker will stop making shoes and make shirts. As this shift is repeated by innumerable producers, the supply of shoes

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falls and hence the price rises, while the supply of shirts rises and hence the price falls, to the point where both, being produced in one hour of time, sell for one dollar. At this point, labor will have no incentive to shift to alternate spheres of production. Of course, if there are restrictions as to skill, difficulty in acquiring tools or the mobility of labor, if the various kinds of labor are not equally distasteful, or if there is imperfect knowledge about the labor time and techniques of alternate spheres of production, the value-price ratio will be skewed. But a considerable body of ethnographic evidence confirms the tendency for labor to be exchanged for equivalent labor (see Mandel 1970:60-65). Since equal amounts of energy are exchanged, a system of simple commodity production is basically mutualistic, not exploitative. Of course, where there is imperfect competition and imperfect knowledge of the system, the system will become exploitative. If one man owns the only well, he can sell water at above its value, thus exploiting the buyers of water. A similar situation obtains among merchants, who hold a partial monopoly on the means of exchange, money, and knowledge of the workings of the marketplace. Mercantile Capitalism Implicit in the formula for simple commodity production is another, that of mercantile capitalism: M-C-M The merchant begins with money, exchanges this for commodities, and then exchanges these commodities for money again. Unlike the formula for simple commodity production, where the individual ends up with use-values, merchant exchange has no apparent justification: the merchant begins with money, which has no use-value, and ends with money. The sole motive for this form of exchange is if the second sum of money is larger than the first, as follows: M-C-M', where ΑΜ'-Μ=ΔΜ> 0 In such a case A Μ is profit, a form of surplus (to the extent that the merchant is performing productive labor in transporting or storing usevalues, he is functioning as a simple commodity producer; profit emerges only after such labor costs are accounted for). Capital is thus any store of value which tends to augment itself in the process of circulation. The exploitative nature of mercantile capitalism is seen when we consider

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that the outflow of energy from the merchant is M, the inflow is Μ + Δ Μ . Significantly, the surplus obtained by the merchant (and also by the usurer whose formula for exchange is simply M - M ' ) is merely transferred from elsewhere in the system (cf. Mandel 1970:84) — no new value is created by buying and selling. Mercantile capitalism is parasitic in nature; energy flowing to the merchant must come from somewhere, from either the producing class or from the old, feudal, Asiatic ruling class. There is thus a fundamental class antagonism, competitive in nature, between the rising bourgeoisie and the old, feudal, Asiatic ruling classes. Capitalist Production A further elaboration is seen in the formula M-C\+Cz^>C'-M' in which a capitalist buys two kinds of commodities, Ci, the means of production, including raw materials, and C2, labor. He then combines these in the labor process and creates new commodities, C' which he then exchanges for money M'. Unlike merchant capitalism, industrial capitalism does not require deviations of price from value, since the value of the commodities he produces is greater than the values of the commodities he bought. This results from the value-creating nature of one of the commodities he purchases, labor. Labor, like other commodities, has a value, namely the amount of labor required to produce it. But labor, like other commodities, also has a use-value, namely the ability to create new value. If it requires six hours of labor to sustain a laborer and his family, this is the laborer's value, and the capitalist pays a wage equivalent to those six hours. But having purchased the labor, he wants to realize its total use-value, and therefore has the laborer work not just six hours, but a full day of ten, twelve, or sixteen hours. Using our definition of exploitation, six hours of energy, in the form of wages, flows from capitalist to worker, but ten, twelve, or sixteen hours of energy, in the form of productive labor, flows from worker to capitalist, so that the surplus is four, six, or ten hours of energy. This surplus value is generated in the process of capitalist production itself, not simply in the sphere of circulation as is the case in merchant capitalism. In contrast to systems of simple commodity production, prices in systems of competitive capitalism do not necessarily conform to values when the system is in equilibrium but the deviations from value follow lawful principles (see Sweezy 1956:109-130).

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As the above analysis shows, capitalism is not only a system of production but is also a system of exploitation, indeed, the exploitative aspects are the dominant ones. The motive force behind capitalist production is the drive for surplus value; if profit cannot be realized, production will cease. Much more than precapitalist systems of exploitation which, whatever their ideological veil, are basically systems of plunder, capitalism is subtle, complex, and above all, hidden. Once money and markets become dominant in the economic life, fantastic things begin to happen. The individual in capitalist society is confronted not with naked force so much as a world of commodities and property rights, which take appearance in fetish form as use-values and prices rather than as embodiments of social relationships (cf. Marx 1965:71-83). The strength of Marxist economics lies in its ability to cut through the fetishism of the commodity world and reveal the hidden ethnoenergetic structure upon which bourgeois society rests. It not only focuses on the reality of class exploitation, but also goes on to reveal the necessity of unemployment, of increasing exploitation, of secondary antagonisms within the working class, of periodic crises and depressions, and the ultimate transformation of the system into socialism, a return to an egalitarian ethnoenergetic system. This analysis is too lengthy to be considered here (I have tried to make a succinct statement of its most essential elements in Ruyle 1972; see also Sweezy 1956; Marx 1965). What I wish to emphasize, however, is that Marxist economics is thermodynamic in nature, a special form of ethnoenergetic analysis, albeit the most relevant form for understanding the contemporary world.

DIFFERENTIAL ETHNOENERGETIC SOCIAL PROBLEMS

CONSUMPTION

AND

The relevance of any theory incorporating Marxist economics to an understanding of the modern world and its problems is obvious. Nonetheless, I would like to elaborate somewhat on the importance of the study of ethnoenergetic flow patterns to the understanding of social problems. As we noted in our introduction, all life is dependent upon the flow of energy through the biosphere. Human life is also dependent upon the flow of ethnoenergy through cultural systems. The human individual requires a continual inflow of ethnoenergy not only in the form of culturally acceptable use-values — tools, clothing, shelter, ornaments, and

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artistic objects, as well as food — but also in the form of social interaction, ceremonial ritual and religious activities, and so forth. Recognition of the human dependence on this inflow leads to a recognition that a reduction of the inflow is likely to have deleterious results for the individual or aggregate of individuals affected. And indeed a considerable body of data indicates that there is a high correlation between poverty (i.e. reduced ethnoenergetic inflow) and crime, punishments for crime, high rates of infant mortality, high incidence of disease, mental disorders, and so forth. What is true within national societies is also true on the international level. Considering the problem of economic underdevelopment, we know that for economic growth to occur, surplus must be devoted to the building up of an industrial structure and infrastructure — the construction of railroads, highways, schools, etc. (cf. Baran 1957). Yet the flow of capital, a form of ethnoenergy, has always been from the now underdeveloped world to the developed world (Marx 1965:713-774; Magdoff 1969), a process which certainly facilitated industrial growth in the advanced nations but which also led to the "development of underdevelopment" in the Third World (cf. Frank 1969). Thus the problems of paramount concern in the contemporary world, both within national communities and in the international community are illuminated by the perspective of ethnoenergetic analysis. More than this, ethnoenergetic analysis points the way toward a resolution of these problems. If these social problems have their roots in particular patterns of ethnoenergetic flow, then they can be resolved only by a restructuring of these ethnoenergetic flow patterns.

CONCLUDING REMARKS In this essay, I have argued that a thermodynamic approach to the analysis of sociocultural systems illuminates many of the problems of paramount concern in contemporary anthropology — the origin of man, the origin of social stratification and the state, the nature and significance of the modern world. In the course of the discussion, I have naturally taken definite stands on each of these issues, but adoption of a thermodynamic perspective does not necessarily commit one to the particular views offered here. It does, however, provide an objective, operational data language for investigating and debating these issues. Finally, adoption of an ethnoenergetic perspective does not obviate the need for other perspectives. To appreciate the richness and complexity

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of sociocultural phenomena it is essential to take a dialectical approach, to turn the subject around and view it from a variety of perspectives. The parable of the blind men and the elephant is not merely that vision is desirable in sociocultural analysis; each of the blind men, within his limits, has his own valid and important perspective on his selected aspect of the elephant and it is important that these be not lost. Ethnoenergetic analysis, I submit, is a way of looking the elephant in the face (although some might suggest that it looks up the other end) and bringing the limited perspectives of the blind men together into an integrated and meaningful whole.

REFERENCES ANDERSON, CHARLES H.

1971 Toward a new sociology: a critical view. Homewood, Illinois: Dorsey Press. BARAN, PAUL

1957 The political economy of growth. New York: Monthly Review Press. BARTHOLOMEW, GEORGE Α., JR., JOSEPH B. BIRDSELL

1953 Ecology and the protohominids. American Anthropologist 55:481-498. BEAGLEHOLE, ERNEST

1931 Property: a study in social psychology. London School of Economics and Political Science, Studies 1. New York: Macmillan. CARNE1RO, ROBERT

1970 A theory of the origin of the state. Science 169:733-738. CHAPPLE, ELIOT D.

1940 Measuring human relations: an introduction to the study of the interaction of individuals. Genetic Psychology Monographs 22:3-147. COHEN, YEHUDI A., editor 1968 Man in adaptation: the cultural present. Chicago: Aldine. COTTRELL, WILLIAM FREDERICK

1955 Energy and society: the relation between energy, social change, and economic development. New York: McGraw-Hill. CRITCHLEY, MAC DONALD

1960 "The evolution of man's capacity for language," in Evolution after Darwin, volume two: The evolution of man. Edited by Sol Tax, 289308. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. CROOK, JOHN H.

1971 "Sources of cooperation in animals and men," in Man and beast: comparative social behavior. Edited by J. F. Eisenberg and Wilton S. Dillon, 235-260. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press. DALTON, GEORGE

1960 A note of clarification on economic surplus. American Anthropologist 62:483-^90.

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ENGELS, FREDERICK

1940 "The part played by labor in the transition from ape to man," in Dialectics of nature, 279-296. New York: International Publishers. FRANK, ANDRE G.

1969

"The development of underdevelopment," in Latin America: underdevelopment or revolution? 3-17. New York: Monthly Review Press.

FRIED, MORTON H.

1967

The evolution of political society: an essay in political anthropology. New York: Random House.

HARRIS, MARVIN

1959 The economy has no surplus. American Anthropologist 61:185-200. 1964 The nature of cultural things. New York: Random House. 1966 The cultural ecology of India's sacred cattle. Current Anthropology 7:51-66. 1968 The rise of anthropological theory. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell. 1971 Culture, man and nature: an introduction to general anthropology. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell. HESS, ECKHARD Η.

1962

"Ethology: an approach toward the complete analysis of behavior," in New directions in psychology. Edited by Roger Brown, Eugene Galanter, Eckhard Η. Hess, and George Mandler, 157-266. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.

HOEBEL, E. ADAMSON

1972 Anthropology: the study of man (fourth edition). New York: McGrawHill. HOWELL, F. CLARK

1968 Early man (revised edition). New York: Time-Life Books. JOLLY, ALISON

1972

The evolution of primate behavior. New York: Macmillan.

JOLLY, c . J.

1970 The seed-eaters: a new model of hominid evolution based upon a baboon analogy. Man 5:5-26. LANGER, SUSANNE Κ.

1971

"The great shift: instinct to intuition," in Man and beast: comparative social behavior. Edited by J. F. Eisenberg and Wilton S. Dillon, 313-332. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press.

LEE, RICHARD B.

1969

"!Kung Bushman subsistence: an input-output analysis," in Environment and cultural behavior: ecological studies in cultural anthropology. Edited by Andrew P. Vayda, 47-79. Garden City: Natural History Press.

LENSKI, GERHARD

1970 Human societies: a macrolevel introduction to sociology. New York: McGraw-Hill. LEWIS, JOHN

1962

Man and evolution. New York: International Publishers.

LOTKA, ALFRED J.

1922

Contribution to the energetics of evolution. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 8:147-151.

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1945 The law of evolution as a maximal principle. Human Biology 17: 167-194. MAGDOFF, HARRY

1969

The age of imperialism: the economics of U.S. foreign policy. New York: Monthly Review Press.

MANDEL, ERNEST

1970 Marxist economic theory, volume one. New York: Monthly Review Press. MARX, KARL

1963 "Theses on Feuerbach," in Reader in Marxist philosophy. Edited by Howard Selsam and Harry Martel, 316-318. New York: International Publishers. 1965 Capital: a critical analysis of capitalist production, volume one. Moscow: Progress Publishers. MARX, KARL, FREDERICK ENGELS

1947

The German ideology. New York: International Publishers.

MORGAN, ELAINE

1972

The descent of woman. New York: Stein and Day.

ODUM, EUGENE P.

1971 Fundamentals of ecology (third edition). Philadelphia: W. B. Saunders. ODUM, HOWARD T.

1971 Environment, power, and society. New York: Wiley-Interscience. ORANS, MARTIN

1966 Surplus. Human Organization 25 (1): 24-32. OSTWALD, WILHELM

1907 The modern theory of energetics. The Monist 17:481-515. PARRACK, DWAIN W .

1969 An approach to the bioenergetics of rural West Bengal, in Environment and cultural behavior: ecological studies in cultural anthropology. Edited by Andrew P. Vayda, 29-46. Garden City: Natural History Press. PEARSON, HARRY W .

1957 "The economy has no surplus: critique of a theory of development," in Trade and market in the early empires: economics in history and theory. Edited by Karl Polanyi, Conrad M. Arensberg, and Harry Pearson, 320-341. Glencoe, Illinois: Free Press. PILBEAM, DAVID

1972

The ascent of man: an introduction to human evolution. New York: Macmillan.

POLANYI, KARL

1957

The great transformation: the political and social origins of our time (paperback edition). Boston: Beacon Press.

RAPPAPORT, ROY A.

1967 Ritual regulation of environmental relations among a New Guinea people. Ethnology 6:17-30. 1971 The flow of energy in an agricultural society. Scientific American 225 (3) :116-132. REED, EVELYN

1963 New light on the origins of man. International Socialist Review 24(3): 81-83.

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ROBINSON, JOAN

1960 An essay on Marxian economics. London: MacmilJan. RUYLE, EUGENE E.

1972 "Capitalism and caste in Japan." Paper read at the 72nd Annual Meeting of the American Anthropological Association, Toronto, December 1972. n.d.a "Slavery, surplus, and stratification on the Northwest Coast: the ethnoenergetics of an incipient stratification system. Current Anthropology. n.d.b Genetic and cultural pools: some suggestions for a unified theory of bio-cultural evolution. Human Ecology. An Interdisciplinary Journal. SAMUELSON, PAUL A.

1970

"The labor theory of value: a digression," in Economics (eighth edition), 27-28. New York: McGraw-Hill.

SERVICE, ELMAN R.

1962 Primitive social organization: an evolutionary perspective. New York: Random House. SWEEZY, PAUL M.

1956

The theory of capitalist development. New York: Monthly Review Press.

TURNER, RALPH H.

1968

Role: sociological aspects. International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, volume thirteen, 552-556. New York: Macmillan.

VAYDA, ANDREW P., ROY A. RAPPAPORT

1968

"Ecology, cultural and noncultural," in Introduction to cultural anthropology: essays in the scope and methods of the science of man. Edited by James A. Clifton, 477-497. Boston: Houghton Mifflin.

WASHBURN, SHERWOOD L.

1960 Tools and human evolution. Scientific American 203(3): 63-75. WASHBURN, SHERWOOD L., F. CLARK HOWELL

1960 "Human evolution and culture," in Evolution after Darwin, volume two: The evolution of man. Edited by Sol Tax, 33-56. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. WASHBURN SHERWOOD L., C. S. LANCASTER

1968

"The evolution of hunting," in Man the hunter. Edited by Richard B. Lee and Irven DeVore, 293-303. Chicago: Aldine.

WHITE, LESLIE A.

1949 1959

The science of culture: a study of man and civilization. New York: Grove Press. The evolution of culture: the development of civilization to the fall of Rome. New York: McGraw-Hill.

WHITE, LYNN

1964 Medieval technology and social change (paperback edition). Oxford: Oxford University Press. WILSON, EDWARD O.

1971

"Competitive and aggressive behavior," in Man and beast: comparative social behavior. Edited by J. F. Eisenberg and Wilton S. Dillon, 181-217. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press.

Anthropology and "Energology"

A. VARAGNAC

Anthropology has contentedly concerned itself, since the beginning of the twentieth century, with the technical aspects of various cultures. But we continue to confuse, under the one term, "technical," two different factors of man's action on the universe. Technology is only the unity of processes by which a certain source of energy is applied. Now, the power of societies depends less on their technology than on the energy which they have at their disposal. Today's world is enough to prove this. But let us take other examples. In the past the art of shipbuilding was undoubtedly indispensable to the colonial expansion of European peoples. But no nation would have been capable of creating colonies, after the fifteenth century, without the possession of firearms. It is the use of gunpowder which permitted white nations to impose their hold on black or yellow populations, until some of them in turn acquired the use of explosives. The complex crank-connection-rod system is used by the bicycle and at the same time by our automobile motors. In one case the source of energy is human muscle; in the other it is the explosion of a gas mixture. The bicycle was born ninety years ago; it has never transformed our social life as the automobile has, because the source of energy is much smaller. Technology is not enough to characterize a civilization, at least since the end of prehistoric periods. The pulley was a marvellous invention. However, we never speak of civilizations of the pulley. There are, nevertheless, sailing civilizations because this technical device, the sail, permits the capture of wind as a source of energy. We must no longer include in this one word "technical" the study of

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mechanical processes and that of various energies. Side by side and in conjunction with technology, it is important to inaugurate a new science: energology. For, if technical means are important in the ascending curve of material civilizations, the introduction of a new source of energy determines a true revolution. A new technical procedure is an invention; a new source of energy is an earth-shaking discovery. It is enough to consider the contemporary effect of atomic science. Technological improvements have followed upon each other more and more rapidly since the beginning of prehistory, with the result that the technical progress of the human species may be conveniently represented by an exponential curve. But the introduction of a new source of energy is a much more rare phenomenon. Each time, it has provoked in cultures a true revolution by raising certain societies to a level of superior power. Because of this fact, the energy evolution of the human species can be represented only by an escalating curve, where each ascension is followed by a more or less long plateau. Since the beginning of prehistory, we can recognize only seven energetic revolutions, each one closer to the preceding one. In the beginning, Australopithecus, like animals, had at his disposal only his muscular strength. Beginning about 500,000 years B.C. fire appears to have been employed from time to time, then put into general use, which presupposes the invention of lighting devices, around the time of the glacier of Würm. The second energetic revolution is the production of food by breeding and agriculture — that is to say, the Neolithic period. Man was no longer obliged as before to depend on the hunt, to practice a primitive Malthusianism. He organized himself in small communities where peasant traditions were established which often persist into our twentieth century: it is the origin of many aspects of folklore. The third revolution is that of industrial fire which began with the potter's oven, and soon created metallurgy with all its urban and warfare consequences: animal power, the production of swords, wheels, ships, the division of societies into castes, then into classes, slavery and multiplication of human motors (carrying, galleys, etc.), and finally the economies of markets and empires. The watermill, invented in the Near East in the last century B.C., was used widely only later (in the eleventh century A.D.) because of slavery. Then came the eve of the fourth energetic revolution: that of explosives, rising from Greek fire. The fifth, that of coal and later of steam, culminated in the nineteenth century, just before the sixth (electricity and gasoline). And our twen-

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tieth century has known still another energetic revolution, the seventh, with electronics and atomic energy. It is important to note that these various sources of energy are of two kinds: the first are borrowed by man directly from his natural surroundings: these are fire, wind, the force of water, muscles of certain living beings. These natural energies, when they are not alive, are difficult to control; and pulling animals require drivers who will guide them. Therefore, all need the contribution of human force, which itself constitutes an all-powerful motor. Also, all create wastes which are easy to eliminate, or even to use as fertilizer. Finally, the relative weakness of these means of energy strongly limits man's control of the planet: the cultivated surfaces leave vast spaces of forest or brush on all continents. This is no longer the case with artificial energies which we create in factories or with enormous equipment such as dams. Their power permits the attack on natural resources, the anarchistic usage of geological resources (coal, petroleum, ore). Moreover, they accumulate wastes which are difficult to eliminate, such as plastics, or which are dangerous, such as atomic residue. This pollution attacks even the atmosphere, not only in the cities, but even the stratosphere by the increase in air traffic. Finally, the most serious consequence of the seventh energy revolution is that our bodily force is thus banished from the majority of our practical operations. We congratulate ourselves for this as if muscular fatigue were the worst possible situation. What a short-term satisfaction! If machines work in our stead, and transport us, they replace our muscular fatigue by nervous fatigue such as humanity has never before undergone. When natural energies were constantly guided and controlled by human arms, the entire man dominated his own productions. With a tree a carpenter built all furniture. The same artisan always performed all the operations. Thus everything produced was a work, having some qualities of a work of art. Moreover, to the extent that production still has recourse to a worker, these are, in the strong expression of George Friedmann, only crumbs of work. Man has become an occasional (and provisional) auxiliary of the energies which he has created to be his auxiliaries. The psychological consequences are severe. While man cooperated physically with natural sources of energy, he benefited from his fatigue: muscular fatigue is a school for the personality in that it unites and organizes the entire being toward material realization. On the contrary, nervous fatigue tends to disorganize the personality, and this disorganization intervenes all the more when the worker no longer sees the goal of the efforts which are imposed on him. There are deep reforms needed

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in European industries, where assembly lines multiply objections and lend themselves to revolt. All these contradictions have quite grave cultural consequences. When man no longer dominates his work, how is a new humanism to flourish? The principle of all humanism is that man is the measure of all things. It seems truly difficult to apply this principle when the human body is excluded from the forces of production. What is happening in our time? Automation eliminates the action of the human body. However it cannot be suppressed: far from it, it multiplies, it springs up! The International Bureau of Work is concerned: " I n the year 2000, the population of the globe will have reached 6.5 billion, or four times as many as in 1900. In less than thirty years there will by 2.9 billion more human beings to feed, clothe, shelter, educate and employ." What are all these supplementary human beings going to do? Already the percentage of unemployed is increasing. As for those who find work, in the large majority of cases they do not sell their force, as in the time of Karl Marx, but their effort of attention, which is very different. As for their bodies, the "society of consumers" considers them as so many digestive tubes and hangers for "ready-to-wear." Thus the body has fits of violence, or buries itself in an obsession for sex shops. Youth, which is agitated in all countries whatever the political regime, has tried to flee consumer society by inventing an impossible integral freedom, or by demanding the unreal through drugs. As for artists, they truly become the "witnesses of their times" by creating nonhuman art forms. All these aspects of our end of the twentieth century are perfectly logical and comprehensible if we remember that we are living in the seventh energy revolution in which the rule is the exclusion of any living source of energy. The human species, which began three million years ago only with animal force, has risen to a level above animals by annexing to itself certain energies which are complementary to its own. But this complement is in the process of becoming the totality. Thus human evolution "loops the loop." It is necessary to come out of this dead end. All cultures up to the present have had action or work as a basis. Atomism reduces warrior action more and more. Electronics frees us more and more from work. It is necessary to reinvent true actions and work if we do not want the values that have given meaning to the word civilization to disappear.

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REFERENCES CIPOLLA, CARLO

1962 The economic history of world population. Harmondsworth: Pelican. GUYOL, NATHANIEL B.

1971 Energy in the perspective of geography. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. HENSHAW, PAUL

1971

This side of yesterday: extinction or Utopia. New York: Wiley.

HUYGHE, RENE

1971 Formes et forces, de Vatome ä Rembrandt [Forms and forces, from the atom to Rembrandt]. Paris: Flammarion. VARAGNAC, ANDRE

1972 La conquete des energies [The conquest of energies]. Paris: Hachette. VASSILIEV, M.

1971 La conquete de Vinergie: de la prehistoire au reacteur nucleaire [The conquest of energy: from prehistory to the nuclear reactor]. Moscow: Mir.

PART THREE

The Epistemology of Culture

Meaning in Culture

F. ALLAN HANSON

This paper concerns what the peculiarly social sciences — social and cultural anthropology, sociology, history — are all about. It explores the nature of their subject matter and the kind of knowledge we can expect to get about that subject matter. These inquiries will result in the conclusions that sociocultural phenomena and explanations are not reducible to their psychological counterparts, and that to understand sociocultural phenomena is to know their intrinsic meaning. It will also contend that neither of these conclusions entails the view that culture is some sort of superorganic entity or being with purposes of its own.

INDIVIDUAL A N D INSTITUTIONAL QUESTIONS Our first question concerns the nature of the subject matter of social science. Do systems of belief or of social relations, cultures, historical eras, civilizations have peculiar existence in their own right, or are these concepts merely convenient shorthand for the more tangible stuff of individuals engaging in bits of shared and repetitive behavior? This question is often thought to threaten the territorial integrity of many social sciences, for if the latter possibility is the case then all social science is reducible to psychology. Hence the question has an emotional charge, for such a remapping of disciplinary boundaries is exciting to some scholars and distressing to others. After briefly describing the two sides I will contend that neither is right. There is another, preferable way of talking about what the social sciences study and the division

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of labor between them which does not get bogged down in perplexing problems about the ontological status of cultural things. A rationale for those holding that culture has its own special existence was provided in the early nineteenth century by Auguste Comte. This is the view that reality comes in levels. Each level represents an emergent order of existence with laws of its own, irreducible to lower levels. Chemical reactions and combinations, for example, cannot be explained by the laws of physics. The division of scientific labor is thought to reflect layered reality, each level of existence having an autonomous discipline to study its laws. Usually, the levels are identified, from simplest to most complex, as physical, chemical, biological, psychological, and social (Comte 1934). From this perspective cultural institutions, patterns of behavior and social interaction do indeed represent a level of reality unto themselves, and disciplines like sociology and anthropology carry the mandate to explore it. Kroeber represented this kind of thinking in anthropology. He wrote: "the mind and the body are but facets of the same organic material or activity; the social substance — or unsubstantial fabric, if one prefers the phrase, — the existence that we call civilization, transcends them utterly for all its forever being rooted in life" (1917:212). Kroeber conceived of social reality —he also termed it "superorganic" — as following a path of evolution essentially independent from organic evolution (1917:210); it seemed even to have some inscrutable but intelligent purpose of its own. Concerning the strikingly regular and repetitive pattern of changes in women's fashions he said (1919:261): What it is that causes fashions to drive so long and with ever increasing insistence toward the consummation of their ends, we do not know; but it is clear that the forces are social, and not the fortuitous appearance of personalities gifted with this taste or that faculty. Again the principle of civilizational determinism scores as against individualistic randomness. Many empirically minded social scientists find views like Kroeber's excessive if not downright mystical. They hold that concepts like "culture" and "social system" are only abstractions from the reality of human behavior. To say that culture is a real thing which determines individual behavior and shapes its own development is to be guilty of the fallacy of reifying an abstraction and endowing it with causal influence over the very thing from which it was originally abstracted (Bidney 1944:41-43). If collective concepts like culture are merely abstractions from individual behavior, then cultural phenomena ought ultimately to be explicable in psychological terms. Such is the view of Melford Spiro, who has argued that "cultural heritage" does not refer to anything that is not already

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covered by the term "super-ego" (1951:36). George Homans argues that social and cultural phenomena can be explained by the propositions of behavioral psychology (1964;1967:36-43, 60-64, 73, 103-104), while George P. Murdock analyzes them according to psychological considerations such as the satisfaction of basic needs and drives, habit formation and learning (1965:83-84, 96-101). Recently Murdock has even recommended the abandonment of concepts like culture and social system as "illusory constructs" with no more utility and validity than notions like phlogiston (1971:19). There is no need to opt for either of the polar positions just described, for there is a better way of looking at the subject matter of social science. As David Kaplan outlined it, this perspective involves the denial of the Comtean position that reality comes in levels or layers. Instead, the division of labor among the sciences stems from variations in our point of view. One way of asking questions about human things produces answers in psychological terms, another way produces them in cultural terms (Kaplan 1965; see also Kaplan and Manners 1972:128-33). I term this the distinction between individual and institutional questions. It can readily be made clear with an example. One day during my fieldwork on the French Polynesian island of Rapa, 1 was helping a few men with the heavy job of turning the soil to prepare a taro garden for cultivation. The sun was hot and we were perspiring freely. I picked up a jug of cool water I had brought and asked my comrades if they wanted a drink. They said no. When I then took a drink myself, they looked concerned and one of them told me I should not do that est I get sick. Now we can ask the question, why did they refuse the water and caution me against drinking? The question admits of two quite distinct answers, depending on our aim in asking it. If we want to know the Rapans' motives or reasons for acting as they did, we are asking an individual question and the answer in this case would be simply that they wanted to avoid illness both for themselves and for me. On the other hand, we may want to know about the ideas which lead Rapans to believe that drinking cold water when hot and perspiring can produce illness. This is an institutional question. It is not about people at all, but about concepts in their own right. In this case the answer would detail the Rapan system of ideas relating health to body temperature, which in turn is affected by various foods. One implication of these ideas is that drinking cold water when the body is hot and perspiring can adversely affect bodily temperature and hence endanger health. To summarize the difference between individual and institutional questions: individual questions relate to the motives, intentions, reasons people have for

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doing what they do; institutional questions concern concepts, forms of organization, patterns of behavior seen in relation to each other. 1 What then of the reality of culture? Well, culture exists in the same way that beliefs, values, customs, forms of social and economic organization exist, for culture is the organized total of such things. But that is beside the point, because the peculiarly social sciences do not stake their claim for existence upon having a separate chunk of reality to investigate. They study the same reality that psychology studies. The difference between them is that psychologists ask individual questions about that reality whereas sociologists and their kinsmen in anthropology and history ask institutional questions of it. In asserting this I do not wish to quibble about disciplinary boundaries, such as arguing whether psychological anthropology is a branch of anthropology or psychology. The only point I wish to make, and stress, is that sociocultural investigations are not reducible to psychological ones because the institutional questions asked in the former are different from and irreducible to the individual questions asked in the latter. While there are still plenty of psychological reductionists around, today it is difficult to find a scholar who can fairly be said to reify culture. Later in his career Kroeber explicitly shifted to a view similar to that advocated here (1952:23, 112). And although Leslie White has been accused not only of reifying culture but also of deifying it (Bidney 1950), as I read him, White is driving at a distinction not so much between kinds of substance or levels of reality as between ways of inquiring into human phenomena. There is no clearer statement of the distinction between individual and institutional questions than his: When things and events dependent upon symboling are considered and interpreted in terms of their relationship to human organisms, i.e. in a somatic context, they may properly be called human behavior, and the science, psychology. When things and events dependent upon symboling are considered and interpreted in an extrasomatic context, i.e. in terms of their relationships to one another rather than to human organisms, we may call them culture, and the science, culturology (White 1959:231, original emphasis; see also 1969:77).

MEANING Thus far we have talked a good deal about questions but very little about answers. Now I want to discuss the kind of knowledge we can expect 1

My ideas here are very close to Popper's in his lucid discussions (1968, 1969) of the difference between subjective and objective thought (see also Jarvie 1972: Chapter 6).

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to get when we inquire into human phenomena. Of special interest will be whether we get the same kind of answers when we ask individual and institutional questions. It has frequently been argued that there is a fundamental difference between human and natural phenomena. As Collingwood characterized it, natural events have only an "outside," whereas human events have also an "inside" consisting of the thoughts, motives, purposes of the agents (1946:113-114). The "inside" of human events is their intrinsic meaning. Natural events lack this meaning: the moon does not mean to orbit the earth, nor plants to grow, nor glands to secrete, they just do. But meaning is so crucial in human events that they are often unintelligible unless their meaning is known. Jones crawls about peering intently at the ground, because he means to recover a contact lens he dropped. Head-on collisions sometimes occur on the shoulder of the highway, because each driver meant to avoid a crash by swerving off the road. For Max Weber, "the specific task of sociological analysis... is the interpretation of action in terms of its subjective meaning" (1947:94; see also 101 and 1949:72-82). "Meaning" is notorious for its multiplicity of meanings. Wittgenstein termed it an "odd job" word which is called upon for a variety of tasks (1958:43-44); Ogden and Richards (1923) wrote a whole book about what it means. As the foregoing examples make clear, however, the most common meaning of meaning when used with reference to human phenomena is intentional (see Weber 1947:93). The meaning of a human act is the agent's intention, purpose, motive, or reason for doing it. In addition to human acts, meaning of the intentional sort is intrinsic to man-made objects, because an artifact's design crystallizes its maker's purpose. Think of the intentional meaning inherent by design in shoes, parking meters, or scissors, or of the delay and debate devoted to fixing nuances of meaning in the shape of the table at the Vietnam peace negotiations in Paris. Artifacts belong to what Dilthey called "objectifications of life" or the "mind-affected world" : "everything human beings have created and in which they have embodied their thoughts, feelings and intentions" (Dilthey 1962:114; see also Weber 1947:93).2 Dilthey also perceived meaning in the human arrangement and combination of objects. "Every square planted with trees, every room in which seats are arranged, is intelligible to us... because human planning, arranging and valuing — common to us all — have assigned its place to every square and every object in the room" (Dilthey 1962:120). Thus while chairs, 2

The passage quoted is from some introductory remarks by H. P. Rickman, editor of the Dilthey volume.

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tables and blackboards all have their meanings, a new meaning emerges from their combination to form a classroom. And think how one can turn a seminar room into a lecture room simply by rearranging the furniture. Dilthey's "mind-affected world" consists of more than artifacts and their configurations. "Its realm extends from the style of life and the forms of social intercourse, to the system of purposes which society has created for itself, to custom, law, state, religion, art, science and philosophy" (1962:120). In other words, that intrinsically meaningful thing which Dilthey variously and expressively referred to as "objectifications of life," "objective mind" and "mind-affected world" is nothing other than "that complex whole" that anthropologists call culture. At this point a problem develops with the intentional concept of meaning. This notion is adequate when the focus is on human acts or artifacts, for their meaning can be found in the purposes or motives of the people who did or made them. But how can we talk of the intrinsic meaning of cultural institutions, when no one intended them? 3 We can, of course, talk about the intentional meaning of people's use of institutions: why they affirm them, conform to them, manipulate them, rebel against them, and so on. These are human acts and their meaning lies in the purposes, motives, reasons of the agents. But we cannot explain the meaning of cultural institutions themselves in this manner, for here there are no intending agents. Note that in the terminology developed above, this problem occurs precisely at the shift between individual and institutional questions. Individual questions are associated with intentional meaning, in that when we ask why people do the things they do, answers in terms of the intentional meaning of their acts are appropriate. But institutional questions focus on cultural phenomena in their own terms and not on people, so answers in terms of intention, reason and so on are not fitted to them. How, then, can we hold with Dilthey and others that cultures and their institutions are intrinsically meaningful? At least some of the time, Dilthey tried to get around this problem via the notion that intentional meaning is in fact valid for cultural phenomena because institutions can intend things as well as people can. So in a 8

To be sure, a few institutions like the American form of government were explicitly designed and can hence legitimately be treated in terms of their intentional meaning, although a good share of any such discussion would be devoted to how such institutions have developed in unforeseen ways. But the concept of intentional meaning seems entirely alien to the vast majority of customs and institutions — the British constitution, capitalism, marriage, motherhood, honor, patrilineal descent, preferential cross-cousin marriage, Oxford University — because no one ever sat down and designed them.

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passage quoted above he spoke of "the system of purposes which society has created for itself" (1962:120; see also 129). And Tuttle (1969:75) attributes to Dilthey the view that "the true causal forces in history are found in the motive-deliberations of the systems and not in the motive-deliberative actions of any 'mere' individuals who compose the system." But this solution is scarcely acceptable for, in reifying culture not just into a thing but into something that thinks, it badly distorts normal use of language. Words like "intend" and "deliberations" relate to the conscious thought or design of thinking agents. To apply such terms to cultural institutions, which do not think and have no consciousness, is in my judgment a confusing, unfortunate, and unwarranted use of those words.

IMPLICATIONAL MEANING An alternative solution to the problem, and the one I advocate, is to recognize that there are many different kinds of meaning, and that the meaning intrinsic to cultural institutions is not of the intentional sort. Just what kind of meaning it is will be readily apparent if we consult a few uses ofthat word in ordinary language. If someone asks, "What was the meaning of Caesar's crossing the Rubicon?" or "What do you mean by keeping my daughter out until 3:00 A.M.?" the concept of meaning in question is clearly of the intentional sort. But consider some other questions about meaning: "What does the theory of evolution mean?" "What is the meaning of the motherin-law taboo?" "What does it mean to have good manners?" The answers one is likely to get — dealing with matters like inaccuracy in the biblical account of creation, systems of kinship, marriage and residence, and not blowing one's nose on the tablecloth — do not relate to intentions at all. Instead, they concern implications of the things in question. This concept of meaning, which we may term implicational, is quite different from the intentional variety. I suggest that the meaning intrinsic to cultural institutions of all sorts — scientific theories, religious creeds and practices, social organization, ethics, and so on — is of the implicational type. Every cultural thing, like the Rapan prohibition against drinking cold water when hot and perspiring, is linked by implication to other cultural things, like a general hot-cold theory of health and disease, and therein lies its meaning. A focus on implications produces a view of culture as a logical system analogous perhaps to a geometry or a scientific theory, albeit a rough and complex one with internal contradictions and tensions as well as re-

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inforcements. Those authors who have noticed the implicational usage of "meaning" tend to characterize it in logical terms: "every proposition has systematic or logical meaning, so that its full meaning consists in all the propositions which it logically implies and which are required to define its terms" (Nagel 1934:146).4 From this it is clear that context is critical to the idea of implicational meaning. The meaning of a whole is in its parts and their organization; the meaning of a part is in its logical articulation with other parts to form a whole.5 Now let me summarize the main points of my argument thus far. Human phenomena are intrinsically meaningful, and they are best understood and explained by making their meaning intelligible. However, one can ask different kinds of questions about human phenomena, and the answers involve different kinds of meaning. Individual questions are about the needs, motives, desires, aims, purposes of people; their answers are in terms of intentional meaning. Institutional questions are not about people at all. They inquire into ideas, beliefs, customs, forms of social organization as such, and their answers demonstrate implicational meaning. I want to stress that institutional questions are not reducible to individual ones, nor vice versa. They move at different levels, asking different kinds of questions and receiving different kinds of answers. Hence they neither conflict nor compete.6 Either approach can be pursued independently of the other; together they provide a comprehensive picture of human phenomena. Having made these distinctions, from this point on our discussion will be concerned with the logic of institutional questions.

THE LOGIC OF QUESTION AND ANSWER One important methodological issue in the study of institutional questions is the manner or format in which the meaning of cultural institutions should be described and analyzed. Since implicational meaning is 4

See also Langer (1957:53-6); Rickman (1967:95) and White (1969: xxv). See also Winch (1958:108). Since dissatisfaction with some of Dilthey's formulations led us to the discussion of implicational meaning, it should be noted that he also recognized meaning in the part-whole relationship (Tuttle 1969:15-6,80-7). 6 This is often not recognized. Homans, for example, holds that institutional questions can be reduced to individual ones. But this results in the myopic view that the only thing to explain about a social norm is why people conform to it (Homans 1967: 60-4). Together with a collaborator he made a similar error of assuming that systems of unilateral cross-cousin marriage are fully explained if we know what motives and sentiments induce people to follow their rules (Homans and Schneider 1955; see also Needham 1962). s

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essentially a matter of logical relationships, I think an excellent model for our purpose can be found in Collingwood's views on logic and metaphysics. 7 These views developed out of Collingwood's reaction to the idea that the questions of Western philosophy are timeless: that ancient, medieval, and modern philosophers have merely offered different answers to the same questions. He held that the questions themselves have changed and therefore that distortion and misunderstanding can be avoided only if one examines the views of a given thinker in terms of the questions he asked. His concern with seeing propositions in the context of questions led Collingwood to formulate a "logic of question and answer." In this logic, .. .no two propositions, I saw, can contradict one another unless they are answers to the same question— The same principle applied to the idea of truth. If the meaning of a proposition is relative to the question it answers, its truth must be relative to the same thing. Meaning, agreement and contradiction, truth and falsehood, none of these belonged to propositions in their own right, propositions by themselves; they belonged only to propositions as answers to questions: each proposition answering a question strictly correlative to itself (1939:33). Moreover, a question and its answer taken as a unit has its proper place in a "question-and-answer complex" such that each answer gives rise to the next question in an ordered chain of thought. 8 Questions of truth and meaning should not be asked of particular answers, but of the question-and-answer complex taken as a whole (Collingwood 1939: 37-39). Nor does the process stop here. The truth and meaning of question-and-answer complexes should be determined in the context of the metaphysical beliefs of the culture or historical period: what people "believe about the world's general nature; such beliefs being the presuppositions of all their 'physics', that is, their inquiries into its detail" (1939:66). The most general metaphysical beliefs are "absolute presuppositions"; with them the questioning activity comes to an end. Rather, this is where the process of question and answer begins. Absolute presuppositions are not themselves answers to any questions; they are the ultimate assump7

It may seem curious to look to Collingwood for guidance in the study of institutional questions, because he has been criticized by both Hodges (1944:103) and Popper (1968:29) for reducing sociocultural phenomena to psychological ones. Such a criticism may apply to Collingwood's stress on the reenactment of the thought of past individuals for historical understanding (1946), but as the sequel will demonstrate it is far from the mark with regard to his concept of metaphysics. 8 I believe this "question-and-answer complex" is what Collingwood elsewhere termed "reflective thought" (1946:307-315). It is simply a series of logical implications.

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tions which give rise to all questions (Collingwood 1940:31-3). Because they follow from no other questions or suppositions, absolute presuppositions are arbitrary. Probably this is what Wittgenstein had in mind when he wrote "At the foundation of well-founded belief lies belief that is not founded" (quoted in Needham 1972:71).9 Clearly the hallmark of the logic of question and answer is its emphasis on context. One should understand the beliefs, concepts and theories current in a particular age or society in the context of the presuppositions assumed and the questions asked at that time and place. Hence it is not surprising that for Collingwood metaphysics is properly a historical study. Its mandate is not to speculate about the nature of reality, but to describe systems of thought which have actually existed, to determine what their absolute presuppositions were and to demonstrate how these generate the sequences of questions and answers which were pursued (Collingwood 1940:49-57, 63). Although Collingwood's ideas refer primarily to philosophical and scientific thought, it is easy to expand them to provide a paradigm for the institutional approach to social science. The affinities between the implicational concept of meaning and the logic of question and answer are clear, for both emphasize that the meaning of an idea or belief lies in its context, in its relation to other ideas and beliefs. In fact, the question-and-answer sequences that radiate out from absolute presupposition are nothing other than chains of implication. If one stipulates that in addition to verbal entities like beliefs and concepts these chains include customs, rites, forms of social organization, artifact design, manufacturing techniques and so forth, then Collingwood's logic of question and answer becomes an ideal model for the description and analysis of cultural institutions. One example of the kind of analysis I have in mind is Miller's study (1955) of how absolute presuppositions held by Europeans and Fox Indians as to whether or not the cosmos is ordered hierarchically have all kinds of fascinating implications for concepts of the afterlife, the form and stability of government, the nature of collective action, relations among kinsmen, and so on. Again, the Rapan practice of carefully specifying where everything occurred when telling a folktale or simply recounting the events of the day, their tendency to measure the value of a man by how much land he owns, and their custom of burying the placenta under the threshold of the family home are all implications of the

9

Readers who wish to explore Collingwood's logic of question and answer and the concept of absolute presuppositions further might begin with a criticism by Donagan (1962:66-93) and a defense by Rynin (1964).

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absolute presupposition that location is a source of order and permanence in the world (Hanson 1970:46-48).

CULTURAL DETERMINISM Nearly every author whom we have cited in connection with an institutional approach to social science — Dilthey, Kroeber, White — has somewhere reasoned to the effect that culture works out its own purposes in history, follows its own laws, determines its own development. In discussing the world of objective knowledge (arguments, theories, systems of thought considered in their own right), Karl Popper acknowledges that these things are human creations, but characterizes that fact as "overrated." He continues: But it is to be stressed that this world exists to a large extent autonomously; that it generates its own problems,... and that its impact on any one of us, even on the most original of creative thinkers, vastly exceeds the impact which any of us can make upon it (1969:272). It is easy to conclude from propositions like these that culture is some sort of an entity — perhaps even an intelligent entity — in itself. Although I reject any such reification of culture, I think there is a great deal of truth in the thesis of cultural determinism. In this concluding section I want to suggest that the concepts developed above enable us to talk about how culture participates in its own development without implying a superorganic thing or purposive agent in itself. As with so much else in this discussion, the distinction between individual and institutional questions is crucial to my argument at this point. One important approach to social change is via individual questions, where one seeks the motives, intentions, reasons, and rewards which lead people to behave in new or different ways (see Murdock 1965:149-150). But an equally important approach is via institutional questions, where one analyzes changing institutions in themselves, in their relations to each other. My discussion here is concerned with social change at the institutional level. I have contended that the intrinsic meaning of culture is implicational in nature, relating to the ways in which a culture's component institutions presuppose and imply each other. These implicational relations are dynamic in nature, modifying and developing over time. This means that a culture's present state has a good deal to do with its future state, because the institutions of any particular time have implications that become manifest in the institutions of a later time. Consider for example how

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a science, working within a particular paradigm or theoretical framework, develops and changes as the unforeseen implications of the theory are worked out. Or consider the vast array of implications of the invention of agriculture for population size and density, sedentary settlement patterns, occupational specialization, the growth of towns and cities. This dynamic quality of institutional implications is, I suggest, what Popper and the others are driving at when they talk about cultural phenomena generating their own problems, following their own laws or determining their own development. 10 Because such changes are logical or implicational in nature, the evolution of a culture is intelligible after the fact. That is, one can discern the seeds of one period in an earlier period. Doing this, of course, is one of the main activities of historians and other scholars interested in social change. These points also imply the possibility of predicting the future development of a culture. There are, however, so many variables internal to the culture and in its environment that the likelihood of predicting successfully is probably about the same as that of successfully predicting the future form of a biological species — something which also develops out of its present state. I have stressed that a culture is not a completely harmonious system. Change may result from conflicts, strain, or disequilibrium among institutions (Collingwood 1940:74-5). For example, conflicting views on the age of the earth and the origin of the species on the parts of Christianity and science led to an abandonment of literal biblical interpretation of these subjects by most branches of Christianity. Again, urban life and large, close-knit kin groups seem to be incompatible, so that where the former increases the latter diminish. Finally, changes in a culture's environment can render institutions illadapted and hence set the stage for their modification. In such a case the organizational principles (or "absolute presuppositions") may remain intact while the changed institutions may be analyzed as different and better-adapted implications drawn from those presuppositions. For example, an ordering principle among the Tiwi of North Australia is that a man's prestige and influence depend upon how many women he can gather about him. Formerly, ambitious men strove to marry many wives for this purpose. With conversion to Christianity polygyny was replaced by monogyny. But the ordering principle persisted, in new guise: today men of importance keep a covey of consanguineal kinswomen (sisters, daughters, etc.) about them (Hart and Pilling 1960:107-111). 10

In talking about the dynamics of cultural implications I am very close to Popper's concept of unintended consequences (1966:96-7).

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I have argued that change in the social and political organization of Rapa during the nineteenth century is also a case of new manifestations derived from the same underlying principles of organization (Hanson 1970: 200-206). As the French so insightfully put it, "/