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International Review
of Ethnology and Linguistics
Internationale Zeitschrift
für Völker- und Sprachenkunde
Revue Internationale
d'Ethnologie et de Linguistique
78 -1983 -1/2
the AIMTHROPOS INSTITUTE
ANTHROPOS
Publishers: Anthropos-Institut, D-5205 St. Augustin 1 (W. Germany)
Editor-in-Chief: Dr. Louis J. Luzbetak SVD
Acting Editor: Dr. Josef Franz Thiel
Editorial Board: Dr. Alfons Altehenger SVD (Physical Anthropology); Dr. Arnold Burgmann SVD (Linguistics,
Indonesia, and Oceania); Dr. Heinrich Busch SVD (East Asia); Dr. Joseph Henninger SVD (Middle East, North
Africa, and History of Religions); Dr. Wilhelm Müller SVD (Oriental Philosophy); Dr. Rudolf Rahmann SVD
(Philippines, South and Southeast Asia).
Composed by Anthropos Institute
Offset printing and distributions by Paulusdruckerei, CH-1700 Fribourg, Switzerland
CONTENTS
Articles
W. Arens: Evans-Pritchard and the Prophets: Comments on an Ethnographic Enigma................ j
David Hicks; Unachieved Syncretism: The Local-Level Political System in Portuguese Timor, 1966-
1967 .................................................................................... 17
Rainer Waßner: Der Beitrag von Emesto de Martino zur italienischen Kulturanthropologie........ 41
Patrick C. Douaud: Canadian Metis Identity: A Pattern of Evolution............................ 71
D.K. Feil; A World Without Exchange: Millennia and the Tee Ceremonial System in Tombema-Enga
Society (New Guinea)........................................................................... 89
Joseph Nevadomsky: Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship Among the East Indians
in Rural Trinidad............................................................................ 107
Andrew H. Aptcr: In Praise of High Office: The Politics of Panegyric Among Three Sou them-Ban tu
Tribes........................................................................................ 149
Karl Leopold Hutterer: The Natural and Cultural History of Southeast Asian Agriculture: Ecological
and Evolutionary Considerations............................................................... 169
Reports and Comments
Egon Renner: Cognitive Anthropology Reconsidered: Reply and Challenge......................... 213
Andrzej Bronk: Die semiotische Kulturtheorie als eine ,,neue“ Ethnologie...................... 236
S. Boissya, C.L. Boissya, and R. Majumder: Economic Aspect of Some Medicinal Plants Available in
Nowgong District of Assam, India.............................................................. 241
Joachim Stcrly: Zwei Erzählungen der Kuglkane...................................................... 246
Aequatoria: Bibliothèque et revue................................................................. 254
Ainu and Okinawa Collections in the Museums of Central Europe................................. 255
Notes on Books and Articles (256-272)
Time and Language — Structural Anthropology in the Netherlands in the Nineteenseventies — Beyond Death:
The Gates of Consciousness — Local History and Oral History — Digging up Bones — Arnold van Gennep: The
Hermit of Bourg-la-Reine — Die toten Lebenden — Die wörtliche Übersetzung (Französisch-Deutsch) — Die
Sonnenuhr — Konsequenzen ökonomischen Wandels in zirkumpolaren Gebieten — „Gottes Bund mit Abraham“
in religionswissenschaftlicher Sicht • Africa: Edification by Puzzlement — Stufen der Lebenserfüllung: Zur
rituellen Symbolik der Simbete (Tansania) — Les insectes comme aliments de l’homme — Réparation de
l’infidélité conjugale chez les Yansi (Rép, du Zaïre) — Mukanda, l’école traditionelle pende • The Americas:
Papers of the Thirteenth Algonquian Conference — Folk Literature of the Yamana Indians — Die Salish —
Blackfoot-Indianer — Curt Nimuendajus ethnohistorische Karte — Die künstliche Schädeldeformation als
Vorbild für „Scheinköpfe“ altperuanischer Mumienbündel • Asia: Preservation of Jewish Ethnic Identity in
Yemen: Segregation and Integration as Boundary Maintenance Mechanisms — What is a Shaman? — Pile
Houses in Ancient China — Sammlung Wogulischer Volksdichtung — Griechische und römische Quellen zum
peripheren Tibet — Ehe und Familie in der chinesischen Welt — La relation forgeron-chaman chez les Yakoutes
de Sibérie • Europe: The Races and Peoples of Europe — Nautische Attribute römischer Gottheiten* Oceania:
Cottage Industry and the Easing of Rural Poverty in the Philippines: A Comparison of an Entrepreneurial and
a Cooperative Approach — The Dialects of Marinduque Tagalog — From Pigs to Pearlshells; The Transforma-
tion of a New Guinea Highlands Exchange Economy — Tolai and Tok Pisin: The Influence of the Substratum
on the Development of New Guinea Pidgin — A Comparative Word List of the Mabuso Languages, Madang
Province, Papua New Guinea — A Comparative Word Languages, Madang Province, Papua New Guinea — A
Comparative Word List of the Southern Adelbert Range Languages, Madang Province, Papua New Guinea —
The Samoan Fono: A Sociolinguistic Study — Aboriginal Land Rights: A Handbook — Die religiöse Be-
deutung der kosmischen Vorstellungen bei den Ngada (Indonesien).
W. Arens
Evans-Pritchard and the Prophets:
Comments on an Ethnographic Enigma
Abstract. — An overview of the ethnographic corpus on the Nuer of the Southern
Sudan by E.E. Evans-Pritchard elucidates a peculiar shortcoming with regard to his inter-
pretation of the political role and function of the prophets. Subsequent reanalyses and
comparative material offered by other anthropologists are more convincing on the need
to recognize the significant political role played by these religious leaders. This essay
addresses what has implicitly been assumed to be an intellectual failing on Evans-Pritchard’s
part, and suggests in contrast that he either consciously or unconsciously sought to
deemphasize the political nature of this office for extraneous reasons when he formulated
his now celebrated model of Nuer social structure. The argument is supported by reference
to (1) the historical context within which the original fieldwork took place; (2) Evans-
Pritchard’s remarks on the nature of colonial rule in Africa; and (3) his published work on
other African societies which bear on this question. It is concluded that although his
paradigm was and continues to be valid for the interpretation of acephalous societies,
Evans-Pritchard nonetheless failed to give due credit to the political character of Nuer
prophets which he was cognizant of. [Nuer, Prophets, Colonialism, Evans-Pritchard]
Though no enemy of the Sudan administra-
tion ... he [Evans-Pritchard ] was really grati-
fied that the pyramid of the prophet Deng
Kur . . . could still be seen across the plain
from Akobo to Malakal, outlasting the
administration which had tried to destroy
it (Lienhardt 1974: 303)
However defined, the discipline of social anthropology rests upon
ethnography. It is perplexing, therefore, that anthropologists have had little
to say on the subject of what makes for good ethnography (see Karp and
W. Arens is Associate Professor of Anthropology at the State University of New
York at Stony Brook; Ph. D. from the University of Virginia in 1970 with a dissertation
based upon fieldwork (1968-1969) in Mto wa Mbu, a poly-ethnic rural community in
Northern Tanzania. The results of this research formed the bases of a number of articles,
essays, and the monograph, On the Frontier of Change (University of Michigan Press,
1979). He is also the editor of A Century of Change in Eastern Africa (Mouton, 1976)
Anthropos 78.1983
1
2
W. Arens
Anthropos 78.1983
Kendall 1982). This situation is due in no small part to the implicit methodol-
ogical dictum “one man one tribe,” which in practice has rendered it diffi-
cult, if not impossible in most instances, for one practitioner of the art to
evaluate the success of another. Thus, the commentary of this sort, usually
in the form of a review of a recently published monograph, may allude to
the “richness” (i.e., quantity) of the ethnographic data but rarely to its
quality, in the sense of whether or not the information reliably or adequately
represents the social and cultural system of the people under consideration.
Conclusions of this sort are, by the nature of the discipline, most often
beyond the ken of the typical critic.
This guiding principle of allotment is reasonably legitimized by the
perceived number and variety of human cultures available for novel anthropol-
ogical inquiry. The perception of unlimited opportunity has remained con-
stant even though Malinowski, the first modem ethnographer, simultaneously
sounded both the birth and death knells of ethnography some sixty-odd
years ago, in the very first sentence of Argonauts of the Western Pacific. Al-
though less obvious, another reason for the anthropological avoidance of
another’s “people” for research may have to do with the eventual outcome
of the endeavor. Those rare instances of restudy of an extant culture by a
second anthropologist within a short time after the initial one have produced
contradictory conclusions on basic issues.1 There can be little doubt that
such a tendency casts suspicion on the entire matter of the potential reliability
of anthropological methods, and fieldwork in particular. In response to this
situation, ethnographic reanalysis has more commonly taken the form of
literary reinterpretation from afar, rather than replication of field research—
a procedure which draws attention to volume as the prominent feature of
the available data. However, even this approach has been relatively rare in
the annals of anthropological scholarship. Moreover, published intellectual
exercises of this type have produced their own share of controversy over the
basic nature of the social system under scrutiny.1 2 Those committed to the
notion of social anthropology as a science can find little solace with this
state of affairs.
and author of The Man-Eating Myth (Oxford University Press, 1979). In 1978 he con-
ducted field and archival research among the Shilluk of the Southern Sudan. Presently
he is working on the publication of the Shilluk ethnography and with Ivan Karp is co-
editing The Creativity of Power (Indiana University Press), a series of essays on the
ideology and symbolism of power in selected African societies. Address: Dept, of An-
thropology, State Univ. of New York at Stony Brook, Stony Brook, N.Y. 11 794.
1 Although there are others see, for example, Fischer (n.d.) and Goodenough
(1955) on the subject of residence rules on Truk, and Redfield (1930) and Lewis (1951)
on community ethos in Tepoztlan. In both instances the data and interpretation were
quite disparate.
2 In recent years see McKenny’s (1973) and Asad’s (1972) respective reinterpreta-
tion of the Nyakusa and Swat Pathans.
Evans-Pritchard and the Prophets
3
These brief remarks do little more than sketch the bare outline of some
of the ideological and organizational features of contemporary social anthro-
pology. However, if this situation is conceded to be accurate, then how can
one account for the anomaly of Evans-Pritchard’s people, the Nuer of the
Southern Sudan, emerging over the past quarter-century as “anthropology’s
people,” open to comment by all and sundry? The intellectual process was
set in motion innocently enough by Gluckman in 1956, with the appearance
of his reinterpretation of the Nuer feud. In the succeeding decade, two other
essays appeared in print (Sahlins 1961; Buchler 1963). However, it was not
until a few years later, with influential articles by Beidelman (1966) and Firth
(1966) that the Nuer industry was put on a firm and steady footing which
presently shows no signs of abating. Thus the situation is worthy of comment,
even if in a cursory fashion, before eventually focusing on an enigma which
emerges from the overview. However, in addressing the problem, it is recog-
nized that there can be no single or simple explanation, but a number of
obvious ones offer themselves in concert.
1. Why the Nuer?
First, there is both the requisite quantity, but also the less rarely
encountered quality of the ethnography in the sense of internal consistency
which has allowed for informed reanalyses. As Beidelman has pointed out
(1974a; 559), Evans-Pritchard must rank as our greatest ethnographer, since
in addition to scattered monographs and articles on various east African
peoples (see Beidelman 19746), he produced an ethnographic corpus on two
quite different Sudanese societies. Moreover, the extensive material on the
Nuer was the first to demonstrate an explicit analytical relevance in the form
of a persistent and overriding concern for the structures of and the relation-
ship between the social and moral orders. In the Nuer instance, the end
product is likely the closest to a complete ethnographic portrait we shall ever
have. The results are so tantalizingly proximate to the ideal that over the
years many others have felt compelled to add the finishing touches with
their own brushwork. In most cases the result has been a positive con-
tribution to our understanding of these people and selected topics.
A second explanation for the persistent interest in this material leads us
from the realm of pure scholarship to more mundane academic considera-
tion. Until the post-war era, a mere handful of anthropologists dominated
the African ethnographic terrain. In addition to Evans-Pritchard, these in-
cluded Fortes and Forde for West Africa and Gluckman and Schapera for
South and Central Africa. In turn they spawned a second generation of
Africanists with broadly equitable interests pursued in the same region of
the continent. Curiously, Evans-Pritchard, the first major figure of modern
anthropology to work in Africa, did not generate a comparable coterie of
students to follow in his footsteps in the Nilotic southern Sudan.3
3 Although others worked in the Sudan, only Godfrey Lienhardt did fieldwork
among a Nilotic group.
4
W. Arens
Anthropos 78.1983
A third factor which encouraged others to evaluate the ethnography
must be attributed to the fact that, as a rule, Evans-Pritchard took little
public notice of the subsequent reanalysis of his work. The only exception
to this were his brief rejoinders in “the birds are twins” dialogue, in which
Evans-Pritchard took issue with Firth’s (1966) and Littlejohn’s (1970) inter-
pretations of this now-famous Nuer axiom. Essentially Evans-Pritchard’s
response was that only someone who had been among the Nuer, knew their
language, and had a command of all the relevant literature was in a position
to interpret such a complex issue (Evans-Pritchard 1966: 398 and 1970a:
110). Thus, by his more characteristic reticence, Evans-Pritchard gave
others carte blanche to hone their wits on the results of his field research.4
Finally, in this context, the seventeen-year civil war which raged in the
Sudan from 1955 to 1972 effectively precluded further research in the
Southern Region during the heyday of support for African studies. Since
this unfortunate event made fieldwork impossible, both established figures
and neophytes conducted their investigations from afar. Now that the
southern Sudan is again open to research, a fresh impetus to Nilotic (see
Burton 1981a) and Nuer studies can be expected.
These conditions provided the fortuitous opportunity for the initial
spate of reanalyses which reproduced a second generation of the same, and
then the inevitable erudite disputations and controversies as various anthro-
pologists hurled chapter and verse at each other from the sacred texts in
the search for Nuer verities (see Arens and Burton 1975; Beidelman 1976).
In spite of these occasional bouts of academic sterility, the overall results
have been fruitful. The combined end products have also taken an easily
recognizable form.
First, there are those essays which reconsider anthropological chest-
nuts such as kinship and marriage from a different perspective (Gough 1971;
Glickman 1971). Second, there are those publications which reanalyze
the material as the result of newly defined problems, such as the relation-
ship between the sexes (Singer 1973; Hutchinson 1980), or the significance
of ethnicity, exemplied by numerous works (Glickman 1972 and 1974;
Newcomer 1972 and 1973; MacDermot 1972; Riches 1973; Southall 1977;
Burton 1981a).
A third, and by far the most significant, collection of reinterpretation
encompasses an ongoing commentary on the Nuer political system, with
particular reference to political leadership. Although Evans-Pritchard’s
(1940a) exposition of Nuer political relations was initially hailed as a “land-
mark in the scientific study of social organization” (Forde 1941; 374) and
In a personal communication, Professor T. O. Beidelman (1981) notes that
Evans-Pritchard commented on his first two reanalyses (Beidelman 1966 and 1968),
and although appreciative had some misgivings about certain features of the interpreta-
tion.
Evans-Pritchard and the Prophets
5
provided the paradigm for subsequent anthropological inquiry (see Middle-
ton and Tait 1958), this arena of investigation is now implicitly recognized,
35 indicated by the frequent reanalyses, as the major ethnographic and
theoretical problem of the Nuer trilogy. Chiefs, priests, prophets and “bulls”
make a shadowy appearance in every volume, but then quickly fade from
view with minimal commentary. Paradoxically, the original outline of the
Nuer political system has been demonstrated to be both the great strength
and weakness of the first volume.
The suggestion that these figures, especially the prophets, were more
important to an understanding of the traditional Nuer political system than
the author implied, is no longer debatable. The reanalyses of Beidelman
(1971), Burton (1982), and Johnson (1979 and 1981), the comparative
African literature, particularly Middleton’s (1971) and Peristiany’s (1975)
essays in honor of Evans-Pritchard, and the ancillary ethnography of others,
such as Howell (1954), are more than convincing on the score of the more
prominent political function of the prophet. What is not known, and is a
matter of worthwhile speculation, is why this consummate ethnographer por-
trayed the Nuer prophets in such a dim and insignificant political light.
Moreover, it should be noted here that this was a consistent leaning on his
part as deduced from his portrayals of the reth of the Shilluk (Evans-Pritchard
1948a) and the “king” of the Anuak (19405). In both instances he contra-
dicted prevailing interpretations of their political significance, with little
regard for the value of historical documentation and ethnographic factors
to the contrary (see Arens 1979; Mercer 1971). A brief overview of the
relevant ethnography will allow for a greater appreciation of the problem
and its possible resolution,
2. Prophets in Their Own Land
Discussing what he refers to as the “forma mentis of a prophet” (which
is bizarre, according to local standards), Evans-Pritchard notes in Nuer
Religion that the people themselves had an ambivalent attitude toward
these figures. As earthly representations of the divinity (kzvoth), prophets
were both “wanted” and “not wanted” by the Nuer at the same time (1956:
307), As Evans-Pritchard says: “A very complex representation would seem
to be involved here” (1956: 308). It appears that very complex and ambivalent
feelings toward the prophets also characterized the ethnographer’s position,
for he never defined their political role in a complete or consistent fashion.
For example, in opposition to earlier reports by travellers and government
officials, Evans-Pritchard argues in The Nuer:
“ . . . that the power of these prophets, even of the most successful
ones, has been exaggerated, and that their tribal position has been misunder-
stood” (1940a: 178). A little further on, in discussing the prophet Gwek, he
writes that he “came nearest to exercising political functions and to impos-
ing his authority outside his own district, but the hostility between tribes
and between tribal segments rendered effective personal control impossible”
6
W. Arens
Anthropos 78.1983
(1940a: 180). Yet only a few sentences later we read that, although in an
“uninstitutionalized form . , . prophets are tribal figures” (1940a: 189).
More astoundingly, immediately following this, Evans-Pritchard adds: “But
they have a further significance, for their influence extended over tribal
boundaries” (1940a; 189).
Perhaps these statements do not present unresolvable contradictions,
but a reconciliation of the conflicting ideas would surely involve an inelegant
general proposition. The basic point, though, is that the clarity of vision and
internal consistency which were the hallmarks of Evans-Pritchard’s ethno-
graphy are conspicuously absent in this particular instance. An additional
anomaly characterizes the author’s representation of the prophets, for it is
almost devoid of a temporal background. In essence, Evans-Pritchard con-
cluded, from what can only be described as a casual review of the oral and
written sources, that these figures are a recent political force, dating to the
Mahdist period in the Northern Sudan (Evans-Pritchard 1940«: 186-187).
This position is inconsistent with Howell’s more convincing argument
on the same score. He points out that the Nuer concept of ruic Naadh, which
he translates as “leaders of the people,” refers to prophets in the Nuer past,
as well as to those who emerged in opposition to more recent external
pressures (Howell 1954; 30). In general, Howell’s model of Nuer political
organization places a greater emphasis on the potential for centralized leader-
ship than Evans-Pritchard allows for, and also draws attention to the latter’s
failure to introduce and evaluate the Nuer notion of ruic Naadh in its histori-
cal context. This is particularly surprising in light of Evans-Pritchard’s own
critical comments on the failure of anthropologists to appreciate the value
of a diachronic perspective in the interpretation of ethnographic data (Evans-
Pritchard 1962). In sum, on this particular subject, Evans-Pritchard’s analysis
fails to meet his usual standards, resulting in a seriously deficient estimation
of the political function of Nuer prophets which has been readily apparent
to his predecessors.
An explanation for this unusual state of affairs can take either one of
two forms. First, there is the obvious; in the course of research and latter
reflection, Evans-Pritchard did not fully appreciate the true political in-
fluence of Nuer prophets. Despite its implication of an intellectual failing
on the part of a consummate scholar, most would consider this simple
explanation adequate. This is a common and innocuous enough alternative
to entertain, but too difficult to accept for anyone who has seriously studied
Evans-Pritchard’s work on the Nuer. However, there also exists the second
possibility that Evans-Pritchard was not as intellectually naive as this line of
reasoning presupposes, and that instead he obscured and underdeveloped the
role of prophets for complex reasons of a personal nature. This hypothesis
raises a concern for moral tenets, and thus broaches admittedly more delicate
and controversial issues. Nonetheless, it may be more reasonable than the
assumption of a gross technical failing on the part of someone justly recog-
nized as a master of anthropology.
Evans-Pritchard and the Prophets
7
It is suggested that, since the intellectual grounds were sufficient, Evans-
Pritchard advanced a reasonable and valuable position on the role of
the prophets, even though he may have simultaneously recognized its inade-
quacies and thus was not totally committed to it. This is not an unheard-of
uor even uncommon reaction among human beings, including scholars; but
ln this particular instance some evidence, if only indirect, is warranted. In
this regard attention is drawn to two curious minor publications by Evans-
Pritchard, which appeared during the last years of his life. In some ways they
resemble a public examination of conscience and confession.
The first, which was very explicit, took the form of a letter published
m Man (Evans-Pritchard 19706). In this forum, Evans-Pritchard chose to
explain why his apparent position on the basic nature of the discipline
changed so dramatically between his inaugural lecture at Oxford, as Profes-
sor of Social Anthropology (19486), and the Marett lecture, delivered only
two years later (1950). In the first instance, he had wholeheartedly adopted
Radcliffe-Brown’s general theoretical orientation and definition of the
subject as a science, while in the subsequent lecture he had rejected the
entire model without explanation, by referring to the anthropological
enterprise as a humanistic study closer to art and history, rather than science.
In the letter to Man, Evans-Pritchard commented on the contradiction by
stating that it was not a change of mind; rather he explains that he enunciated
the initial intellectual stance merely because Radcliffe-Brown, who was his
immediate predecessor, had asked him to do so! Since the author’s words
provide such a personal insight, they bear repetition. Evans-Pritchard wrote
at the time:
There is nothing to Radcliffe-Brown’s discredit in this, only perhaps to mine. How
could I have refused his request? But perhaps I should have done so. Such is a tiny
piece of anthropological history, but I hope you will find it worth reading (19706:
704).
In his defense, if any is needed, it should be acknowledged that Evans-
Pritchard’s deed was apparently motivated by human kindness and his subse-
quent expiation an admirable example of courage.5 Yet this does not alter
the fact that, by his own account, Evans-Pritchard engaged in intellectual
duplicity for personal reasons.
The second and less important indication of this kind of reversal was
contained in Evans-Pritchard’s (197la) critical line-by-line analysis and
acerbic commentary on the Seligmans’ Shilluk ethnography (Seligman and
Others with whom I have discussed this matter have been less willing to accept
Evans-Pritchard’s published account in explanation for this aboutface. However, even if
there are alternate and less charitable explanations for this recantation, the substantive
implications remain the same. In a review of Douglas’ intellectual biography of Evans-
Pritchard, Kuper (1980: 118) also draws attention to this peculiar incident and offers
various other interpretations. Although not very revealing, Radcliffe-Brown’s response to
Evans-Pritchard’s intellectual reorientation and critique of structural-functionalism have
recently been published (Radcliffe-Brown 1977).
8
W. Arens
Anthxopos 78.1983
Seligman 1932). Previously, in the preface to The Nuer, he had referred to
this material as “their brilliant researches” (1940«: vii). Here again, Evans-
Pritchard is encountered taking an initial position in print, which his latter
comments made clear he did not subscribe to, and thus eventually felt com-
pelled to disown.
In neither instance is it reasonable to interpret these positions and
subsequent recantations as the result of an intellectual reconsideration. How-
ever, there are grounds on which to hypothesize that, for whatever reason,
Evans-Pritchard was inclined to cooperate with and speak agreeably of his
colleagues while they were alive, but moved to set the record straight after
their demise and shortly before his own. This proclivity leads to the possibility
that Evans-Pritchard’s conclusions about Nuer prophets may not necessarily
be related to an intellectual failing which others found so easy to rectify.
Those inclined to assume that he had an inexplicable blind spot on this
very issue need only refer to Evans-Pritchard’s discussion of the political
roles of al-Sanusi al-Kabir and his son, Sayyid al-Mahdi, in the origin and
expansion of the Sanusi order in Libya and the western Sudan during the
nineteenth century (Evans-Pritchard 1949: 11-19). In many historical and
sociological ways, these two figures closely parallel the prophet and the
priest among the Nuer (see Beidelman 1971). However, in this instance
Evans-Pritchard was quite emphatic in delineating the political significance
of these religious functionaries among the acephalous Bedouin, whose social
organization was modelled along lines similar to that of the Nuer. Moreover,
Evans-Pritchard’s diachronic analysis and coherent presentation of the data
in direct contrast to, as well as much more convincing than, the pages devoted
to the similar topic in the Nuer ethnography. Although this monograph on
the Sanusi was published some years after The Nuer, it did precede Nuer
Religion, in which the prophet’s role receives further commentary. There-
fore, Evans-Pritchard had sufficient opportunity and reason to recast his
initial remarks.
A further evaluation of the Sanusi study in the context of this discus-
sion suggests a rationale for Evans-Pritchard’s political underestimation of
Nuer prophets. I refer to the vehement anti-colonial nature of the com-
mentary, which pervades the entire Sanusi volume in conjunction with an
explicit portrayal of the heroism and suffering of the Bedouin in resisting the
European incursion into North Africa. In the preface, Evans-Pritchard admits
to his “indignation” (1949; iv), and explains his use of Arabic place names
instead of the Italian, for the latter referents “ . . . commemorated persons
who for the most part might well be forgotten” (1949; v). Later in the text
he refers to the European greed for possessions which at the time was “ . . .
bringing them rapidly to disaster,” and characterized Sayyid al-Mahdi with
the words: “He wished only to be left alone to worship God according to
the teachings of his Prophet, and when in the end he fought the French it
was in defense of the religious life as he understood it” (Evans-Pritchard
1949; 23).
Evans-Pritchard and the Prophets
9
There is no need to belabor the issue. Yet it is relevant to point out
that, in addition to arguing that the Sanusi religious leadership were capable
of providing a state-like political apparatus as the basis for an independent
political regime when the fate of this former colony was being decided after
World War II, Evans-Pritchard had also taken a particular intellectual and
moral position long before the orientation became fashionable in African
studies. Remarkably, this book is never referred to by contemporary Marxists,
who most often dismiss Evans-Pritchard as the classic example of the anthro-
pologist in league with the colonial authorities (see Ahmed 1973).
If not already recognized as deficient, such a conclusion is further
undermined by the final chapter of The Azande in which, primarily through
the use of oral history, Evans-Pritchard detailed another case of native resistance
to colonial pacification. Again, in a very moving discussion, he demonstrated
by scholarly effort that his deepest sympathies lay not with the Belgian and
British authorities but with their African opponents (see also Evans-Pritchard
1937). Thus, in his remarks to future political officers, he informed them:
“To understand native feelings we have to bear in mind that the Southern
Sudan was conquered by force and is ruled by force, the threat of force,
and the memory of force” (Evans-Pritchard 1938; 76). Moreover, an appraisal
of some other of his more obscure publications indicates that he was keenly
aware of the sensitive political and moral implications of anthropological
research during the colonial era (Evans-Pritchard 1937). As a consequence,
be agreed in principle that some criticisms of “colonial” anthropology were
justified (see Anon. [Evans-Pritchard] 1972: 540 and Evans-Pritchard 1973:
19).
In summary, reflecting on Evans-Pritchard’s anthropological contribu-
tions to this topic, it is impossible not to conclude that, for whatever intellec-
tual or romantic reasons,6 he little appreciated the presumed benefits of
colonial rule in Africa.7 With this in mind, it is possible to reevaluate from a
different perspective Evans-Pritchard’s unsatisfactory scholastic notions
about the political significance of Nuer prophets.
3. Nuer Prophets in Context
Evans-Pritchard’s comments on Nuer prophets were offered at a partic-
ularly sensitive, if not perilous moment for these figures, for a dual and often
conflicting set of pressures were continuously applied by the British regime
In a recent essay covering similar, though more general lines, Michael Kenny
(1981) compares Evans-Pritchard to T.E. Lawrence. A photograph of Evans-Pritchard
in the guise of a British Bedouin at a 1920’s Oxford “costume party” lends some credence
to this line of reasoning (see Powell 1976: plate 21).
See, for example, his remarks, on an aborted attempt to do fieldwork among the
Masai: “The Kenya Government, fools, said I could not go to the Masai as they had just
tried to kill their D.C. (Pity they did not succeed)” (quoted in Beidelman 1974a).
Ironically, the Nuer were more successful in a similar attempt (Howell 1954: 9).
10
W. Arens
Anthropos 78.1983
in the Southern Sudan. On the one hand, there was the administrative
attempt to identify an indigenous political foundation “on which to graft
a system of indirect rule” (Howell 1954; 28), which was the order of the
day. Nuer prophets were considered in this light as potential agents of the
colonial system in what Johnson recently characterized as “the hunt for
the chief” (1981: 514). Howell, who had administrative experience in the
area prior to his formal training in social anthropology, remarks that, al-
though the majority of the prophets had no political following, others had
“exceptional influence,” but notes that they were never brought forward by
the Nuer as possible representatives to the government (Howell 1954; 214).
In direct contrast to this policy, there was a simultaneous mistrust on
the British part of such political leaders as a legacy of earlier experiences
with the Mahdist movement in the Northern Sudan. This attitude was more
than mere paranoia, for Nuer prophets initially and for some period there-
after resisted the British presence which in 1928 under the leadership of the
prophets Guek Ngundeng and Dual Diu, culminated in the slaying of a
District Commissioner and an attack on a government post. This was followed
by British military reprisals, resulting in Guek’s death and the exile of Dual
Diu and other prophets. As Howell observes: “Whatever the moral verdict,
the Nuer learnt their lesson and came to heel” (1954; 9). The overall con-
sequence for the British was the distinct and obvious impression that Nuer
prophets were political leaders to be reckoned with.
In this tense atmosphere, and with presumed foreknowledge of the
government’s attitude toward the prophets, Evans-Pritchard arrived in Nuer-
land with some expressed misgivings.8 During the course of his stay he
personally experienced the effects of pacification, since he was forced to
abandon his first research site after the village he was living in was surrounded
by government forces seeking two prophets (Evans-Pritchard 1940a: 11 and
1956; 305), Later he pointedly refused the offer to interview two other
prophets then in prison (1956: 305). Nonetheless, he persisted with his
inquiries into Nuer social organization and culture. Today the results are as
well known as any anthropological report; the political system is best viewed
as an acephalous but ordered anarchy governed by the principles of balanced
opposition and fission and fusion. Such a conclusion, which Gellner so aptly
characterized as “ . . . repugnant to the modem mind ...” (1981; xv), could
have offered little solace to the typical British political functionary in the
Southern Sudan. Although it is unlikely that Evans-Pritchard’s interpretation
had an effect on formal government policy, it is equally significant to note
that neither did it lend any intellectual support.
He stated in The Nuer that he hesitated in agreeing with the government request
to undertake research among these people in order to complete his Azande studies (1940a;
9). Subsequently he wrote that he rejected their offer twice before, eventually acquies-
cing to the direct plea of an administrator to whom Evans-Pritchard felt a personal obliga-
tion (Evans-Pritchard 1973).
Evans-Pritchard and the Prophets
11
From what is known of Evans-Pritchard’s personal feelings, easily
gleaned from the publications cited above, it is difficult to imagine that
he could have condoned the execution, banishment, or imprisonment of
Nuer prophets for what he interpreted in his own day as good sense, and
what a subsequent generation of intellectuals have come to recognize as
patriotism provoked by foreign domination. Therefore it is suggested that in
his account of the Nuer political system Evans-Pritchard purposely de-
emphasized the significance of these figures for a variety of reasons, includ-
mg the desire to protect them from a harsh fate at the hands of the colonial
regime.
Needless to say, the abstract political model he outlined was neither a
misrepresentation nor unuseful, since it provided the paradigm for British
social anthropology for decades to come. It is clear from all accounts that
the Nuer possessed an egalitarian and acephalous political ideology, but on
the other hand there is also good evidence to indicate that social action on a
large scale was the consequence of political leadership. In effect, Nuer
ideology and practices are incongruent—a lesson first demonstrated by Evans-
Pritchard in his discussion of Nuer descent and residence.
Conclusion
Since this commentary on the ethnography and ethnographer is not the
customary sort of hagiography, a restatement of the general position is
reasonable in order to forestall misinterpretation. First, the argument proposed
is based on the common-enough assumption that the work of an imaginative
and original thinker derives from a complex and interrelated set of psycho-
logical and social factors which influence the eventual results. Admittedly
such an approach entails a nebulous procedure and the evaluation of circum-
stantial evidence, so that conclusions are ultimately undemonstrable. Yet to
ignore these considerations and assume that a scholar is influenced only, or
even primarily, by intellectual stimuli would be naive. Indeed, as Douglas
(1980) has recently demonstrated in her biography of Evans-Pritchard, such
mid approach may be just as mystifying. This restricted interpretation would
be particularly unsuitable in the case of one such as Evans-Pritchard, who
espoused a humanistic definition of his academic calling.
Second, the argument has suggested that Evans-Pritchard’s position on
Nuer prophets is problematic and interpretative, rather than being a curious
intellectual failing. The latter assumption is the usual implication of the
subsequent reanalyses of this topic, and more recently the rationale for the
wholesale epistemological critique of a previous generation of social anthropol-
°gists (Asad 1973). Neither of these interpretations considers some of the
more subtle objective and subjective features of this particular problem.
Finally, the discussion does not postulate intellectual dishonesty on
Evans-Pritchard’s part. There is no evidence or reason to assume that he was
not totally committed throughout his life to the integrity of his political
12
W. Arens
Anthropos 78.1983
model for the Nuer. But this is not to say that Evans-Pritchard did not take
a considered ethical stand in anticipation of the way in which reasonable
alternative conclusions may have been put to practical use by the Sudan
Political Service. The line of reasoning adopted here proposes the recognition
of a further admirable quality of this anthropologist of “profound paradoxes
and powerful passions” (Gellner 1981: xxvi).
This paper was first presented at the 1980 Annual Meeting of the American Anthropol-
ogical Association held in Washington, D.C. I am grateful to the members of the symposium
“The Reinterpretation of Nuer Ethnography” for their comments at the time. A subse-
quent draft was read and criticized by Diana Antos Arens, John W. Burton, T. O. Beidel-
man, Gretchen Gwynne, David Hicks, Ivan Karp, Adam Kuper, Rodney Needham, Aldan
Southall, Lawrence Taylor, and Roy Willis.
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1982 Reflexivity in Fieldwork. In: P. F. Secord (ed.), Explaining Social Behavior.
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1974 Evans-Pritchard: A Personal View. Man 9: 299-304.
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Littlejohn, J.
1970 Twins, Birds, and Vegetables. Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde
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Mac Derm ot, B. H.
1972 The Nuer are not Dinka. Man 7: 480.
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1973 The Social Structure of the Nyakusa: A Re-evaluation. Africa 63; 91-107.
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1971 Shilluk Trade and Politics from the Mid-Seventeenth Century to 1861.
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Middleton, John, and David Tait
1958 Tribes without Rulers. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Newcomer, Peter
1972 The Nuer are Dinka. Man 7: 5-11.
1973 The Nuer and the Dinka. Man 8: 109-110.
Peristiany, John
1975 The Ideal and the Actual: The Role of the Prophets in the Pokot Political
System. In: John Beattie and Godfrey Lienhardt (eds.), Studies in Social
Anthropology. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Powell, Anthony
1976 Infants of Spring. London: Heinemann.
Radcliffe-Brown, A. R.
1977 Two Letters from Radcliffe-Brown to Evans-Pritchard. Journal of the Anthro-
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Redfield, Robert
1930 Tepotzlan. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Riches, David
1973 The Nuer and the Dinka. Man 8: 307-308.
Sahlins, M.
1961 The Segmentary Lineage: An Organization of Predatory Expansion. American
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Seligman, G.G., and Brenda Seligman
1932 Pagan Tribes of the Nilotic Sudan. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
/
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Anthropos 78.1983
Singer, Alice
1973 Marriage Payments and the Exchange of People. Man 8: 80-92.
Southall, Aidan
1977 The Nuer and Dinka are People. Man 11: 463-491.
David Hicks
Unachieved Syncretism:
The Local-Level Political System
in Portuguese Timor, 1966-1967
Abstract, — The thesis of this essay is that Toynbee’s characterization of the
intelligentsia as ‘hated and despised’ by other members of its own culture, while at the
same time being regarded with contempt by the representatives of the alien culture which
is being imposed upon of the intelligentsia’s own culture, needs qualifying. This assertion
is based upon ethnographic evidence from the period 1966-1967 collected among people
living in the Viqueque region of eastern Timor, which was at that time a colony of Portu-
gal. To establish this thesis a detailed facsimile of the local political organization is
provided, a description which also serves to provide the argument with its empirical
substance. The facsimile drawn additionally provides a point of departure for the com-
parative study of the Luso-Timorese political organization, which evolved over the last
400 years, and the Indonesian-Timorese political syncretism presently being forged.
[Indonesia, Timor, Intelligentsia, Political History, Political Organization, Political Syn-
cretism]
The intelligentsia, according to Arnold Toynbee (1947: 394), is a
category of person ‘bom to be unhappy’. Acting as mediators between two
cultures, its members suffer the ‘congenital unhappiness of the hybrid who is
an outcaste from both the families that have combined to beget him’ (ibid.).
Hated and despised by their own people, yet regarded with contempt by
David Hicks is presently Professor of Anthropology at the State University of New
York at Stony Brook. At the University of Oxford he was for two years the Alan Coltart
Scholar in Anthropology before carrying out 19 months’ fieldwork in eastern Timor,
Indonesia. He obtained a Doctor of Philosophy degree from the University of London
(1971) and from the University of Oxford (1972). In 1976 he was a Directeur d’études
associé à l’École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales at the University of Paris. He has
been a recipient of an award from the American Philosophical Society as well as from the
London-Cornell Project for South and Southeast Asian Studies. — Publications: “Tetum
Ghosts and Kin: Fieldwork in an Indonesian Community” (1976); “Structural Analysis in
Anthropology: Case Studies from Indonesia and Brasil” (1978); and nearly two dozen
assays in social anthropology. Address: Dept, of Anthropology, State Univ. of New York
at Stony Brook, Stony Brook, N.Y. 11794.
Anthropos 78.1983
2
18
David Hicks
Anthropos 78.1983
representatives of the alien culture who seek to impose it upon the intelli-
gentsia’s own, persons of this category are decidedly ‘marginal’. Their
genesis, functions, and the roles they play as middlemen are familiar con-
sequences of acculturation that has come about as the result of European
colonialism, yet the case study I shall offer in this paper suggests that Toyn-
bee’s characterization of the intelligentsia as ‘hated and despised’ by its own,
while at the same time being regarded with contempt by the aliens, is mis-
leading.
On 7 December 1975, the army of the Republic of Indonesia crossed
the frontier separating Indonesian Timor from the newly-created state of
East Timor, and by the end of the year had decisively brought to an end over
four hundred years of Portuguese administrative influence1 . What had once
been Portuguese Timor was incorporated into the Republic as its twenty-
seventh province on 17 August 1976. Our knowledge of Indonesian govern-
mental policy since 1950 suggests that, as the result of their becoming
Indonesian citizens, the political lives of the Timorese villagers will undergo
drastic transformations. This probability, and the absence of any published
description of the influence of Portuguese colonial ideas of administration
upon the local-level political system of the peoples of Timor, makes a report
of the syncretic political product of four hundred years’ contact between
Timorese and Portuguese especially instructive.
Besides its empirical content, however, this essay has another point,
which is to support Toynbee’s definition of the intelligentsia as a category
mediating between two cultures. This category was represented in 1966-1967
by the Timorese royalty and by some aristocrats who had obtained a European
education. To understand the position of these Luso-Timorese hybrids,
however, a detailed appreciation of the political system in which they
operated in 1966-1967 is desirable. I shall argue in the following pages that
in the case of Portuguese Timor, mediation between European culture and
Timorese culture was at its most tense, and therefore at its most definitionally
sharp, at the local-level political system of the suku (‘princedom’). At this
political level, alien and indigenous most intimately blended, and here the
evidence of four hundred years of European colonization could be seen at its
strongest. But just how limited the assimilation of foreign institutions proved
to have been may come as something of a revelation to Indonesianists. *
The Portuguese Government had declared in June 1974, its intention of allowing
the people of eastern Timor to decide their own future, and as 1975 wore on, and Portugal
itself became increasingly embroiled in factionalism, so the colonial government relaxed
its hold. Fearing that the power vacuum left by the departing Europeans would be
occupied by the left-wing Fretilin party, however, local cells of a second political party,
the UDT (‘The Democratic Union of Timor’)—pro-Portuguese and anti-Communist—wrested
control over regional affairs from the Portuguese on the night of August 10, and seized
those Fretilin leaders they could catch.
Unachieved Syncretism
19
Our case study will be provided by that suku2 in which I carried out
fieldwork in 1966-19673. This was Caraubalo (‘the suku of the eight buf-
faloes’)4 , and in the account which follows I shall provide as comprehensive
a facsimile of its internal character as possible. But first we must know some-
thing of its geographical placing, historical background, and administrative
setting.
1. Historical Background
What once was Portuguese Timor occupied the northeastern half of the
island of Timor, which is the largest of the Lesser Sunda Islands and is skewed
in a northeast-southwest direction (Fig. 1). The Portuguese part consisted of
two principal territories which, together with the islands of Atauro and Jaco,
amounted to 18,989 km.2. The first was a small enclave, Oe-Cussi, located
on the north coast of western Timor. The second, much larger, took up the
entire eastern half of the island. The frontier between Portuguese Timor and
Indonesian Timor (14,933 km.2 ) was formed by an imaginary line drawn be-
tween the estuary of the River Biku, on the north coast, and the River
Talas estuary, on the south coast. In its middle portion the frontier looped
2 The term suku is ubiquitous in the East Indies, where its referents denote varied
types of social grouping, ranging from ‘tribe’ to ‘clan’. In some parts of eastern Timor,
and probably in most sukus inhabited by Tetum speakers, the term fukun also applies
to the socio-political unit denoted by this term. Suku and fuku(n) are not synonyms,
however. Fukun also includes the referent ‘node’, as on a length of bamboo, and con-
veys the notion of connection between two things otherwise separate; it may be associated
with the Tetum term matan (Hicks 1978&: 299), cf. Barnes (1974: 229-233) for the
Kedang of the nearby island of Lembata. Both fukun and matan convey the idea of
transition, spiritual influence, growth, and the general movement of life (Barnes 1977;
Hicks 1972c): for the Tetum they are sources of life. Another difference between suku
and fukun is that the latter is more often used in Tetum ritual language. The former’s
use in this special form of utterance is restricted to couplets where it is paired with fukun.
Finally, the leader of a suku is always termed chefe de suku; never chefe de fukun.
3 A grant from the London Committee of the London-Cornell Project for East
and South East Asian Studies, which was supported jointly by the Carnegie Foundation
of New York and the Nuffield Foundation, enabled me to undertake the fieldwork upon
which the present essay is based, and I owe a weighty debt of gratitude to the Committee,
as I do to the Trustees of the Frederick Soddy Trust which also provided funds. I ad-
ditionally wish to thank the American Philosophical Society for providing me with a
grant which enabled me to write this essay.
4 To what extent Caraubalo suku was typical of the hundreds of suku existing in
Portuguese Timor in 1966-1967 I cannot say, but it was representative enough of the
concelho (‘district’) in which it was located (Viqueque), and I know no reason why it
should not have been typical of the entire colony, or ‘overseas province’, as it was termed
by the Portuguese Government in those days. Certainly, however, some variation in the
mode of transmission of administrative offices might be expected in regions where
matrilineal descent is more influential than patrilineal, e.g., in the sukus to the far west of
Caraubalo.
20
David Hicks
Anthropos 78.1983
Fig. 1: Portuguese Timor (1966-1967)
abruptly to the northeast and back to form an alcove in eastern Timor. This
comprised the Lamaknen swapradja, the Lassiolat kefettoran, and part of the
Bauho kefettoran,all administrative units in Indonesian Timor. Oe-Cussi
was separated from Indonesian Timor by a frontier running roughly north-
east-southwest between the respective estuaries of the Rivers Meto and Besi,
both on the north coast.
Towards the end of the twelfth century A.D., Timor was a dependency
of a Javanese kingdom, probably Sukadana, which was near Surabaya (Coedes
1968: 186-187). It was known as Ti-wu by the Chinese. From Coedes (ibid.:
239-240) we can infer that Timor in the fourteenth century A.D. was a
dependency of Majapahit, which extended over what was to become the
Dutch East Indies, excluding perhaps northern Celebes. Without any doubt
the empire extended as far east as Sumbawa, because of the discovery there
of a Javanese inscription of that century (ibid.; 240).
It was at Lifau, on the north coast, in what was later to become Oe-
Cussi, that the Portuguese colonization of Timor began. This was in 1562,
and was initiated by missionaries of the Dominican Order, which actually
began proselytizing six years earlier, but had briefly abandoned its work.
They were not the first Europeans, however, to have seen the island. Sea-
farers from Portugal had probably glimpsed it between 1500 and 1514
(Hicks 1976: 4), for the island is mentioned in a letter dated 6 January 1514
written by Rui de Brito, and was visited almost every year after 1515. Sandal-
wood was at first the attraction, then souls. Even so, the handicap of having
Unachieved Syncretism
21
so few friars (never more than five at any one time) in a land so dissected in-
to rugged mountains and valleys as to make travel arduous and slow—even as
late as the twentieth century—must have restricted direct European influence
to the immediate hinterland of Lifau, and diluted it in the more distant
regions. The fastness of the interior and southern coasts remained, one has
to conclude, completely untouched.
The weak hold Portugal had on the island was demonstrated as early as
1568 when the Dutch, in search of sandalwood, landed at Kupang and quickly
extended their influence into its hinterland. Both Europeans powers manoeuved
for control over Timor by cultivating the native kings (liurai) who were the
local leaders, and in 1702 the Portuguese Government replaced ecclesiastical
administration by civil authority. The Portuguese had three aims; (a) keep
Timor out of Dutch hands; (b) bring all the kings under the suzerainty of
the Portuguese crown; and (c) convert the Timorese to Catholicism. A
tenacious struggle for power between the Duch and the Portuguese then
began, a rivalry enduring through the first half of the eighteenth century.
It reached a climax in 1769 when the Dutch seized Lifau. This loss forced
the Portuguese to seek a new operational base that year. They found a site
further east along the coast, a natural anchorage that became today’s capital
of Portuguese Timor, Dili. The war ended in 1859, when Timor was divided
into Portuguese Timor and Dutch Timor. The agreement, the Treaty of
Lisbon, did not go into effect until 1914.
We know little about the origins of the Timorese and their pre-sixteenth-
century histories. The autochthonous inhabitants of the island, it has been
conjectured, were the Atoni, who were displaced from their original territory
on Timor by invaders coming from Malaya, via Makassar (Sulawesi) and
Larantuca (eastern Flores). These were the Tetum, who are thought to have
settled onto the Benain Plain on the southern shore of what is now the Wehali
kefettoran in Indonesian Timor, sometime in the fourteenth century. The
Benain Plain is composed of the most fertile soils on the island, and from it
the Tetum expanded— presumably because their population increased—pushing
the Atoni southwestwards as they went. There were possibly other peoples
living in the mountains at the time, but we have no information on them.
Four tribes are reputed to have come to the Benain Plain from Malaya, and
each established its own kingdom in eastern Timor. One may have been
Wehali kingdom— though it may have been Wiwiku;the other kingdoms were
probably Liquiça, Suai, and Camenassa. Wehali now politically dominated
the other three, and hence all eastern Timor, until 1642. What may be
termed its ‘empire’ was known as the ‘Liurai’, and was one of the two
empires existing contemporaneously. The other empire was that of the
Serviâo Empire, whose leader was called the Sonobai. This held suzerainty
over western Timor. The two empires came to be composed of dozens of
kingdoms (rai), which fought one another, formed military alliances and
broke them, and rose and fell in importance. None, however, attained
Wehali’s eminence. Then, in 1642, the Portuguese commander, Fernando
22
David Hicks
Anthropos 78.1983
Fernandes, shattered the Liurai’s army, and Wehali forfeited its imperial
power, though its prestige remained high, and still does. Among the kingdoms
established in eastern Timor as the result of the four original Tetum kingdoms’
increasing in population, expanding in extent, and suffering fission, was one
located on the southern shores. This was the Kingdom of Viqueque.
The kings of Viqueque, and the dozens of others on Timor, manipulated,
and were manipulated by, the two European powers who contested the
island. After 1642, however, the influence of these kings decreased5. Still,
in Portuguese Timor, the civil and ecclesiastical authorities never exercised
full control. As with the Dutch, the Portuguese were confined to a few
coastal centers, most notably Dili. War between the kingdoms continually
threatened to undermine what little control the Portuguese had won until,
that is, Governor Celestino da Silva’s military campaign (1894-1908) broke
the kings’ remaining power. With the kings under his (still tenuous) control,
he divided the colony into 15 comandos militares (‘military commands’) in
1908 (Felgas 1956: 316), each administered from Dili. These commandos
militares survived a rebellion in 1912 by some of the rulers, after which king-
doms were abolished and the office of king with them. In the nineteenth
century these domains had been amalgamations of sukus, and after 1908 the
Portuguese adapted them to their own purpose by making them regional
units for administering their half of Timor. From 1912 the number of
comandos militares increased, roads and bridges were built with corvee labor,
and some Timorese were obliged to grow crops the Europeans introduced.
These were cultivated on communal plantations.
These commandos militares lasted until January 1934, when they were
gradually replaced by a civil system of administration, the circunscrigdes.
By 1942 Portuguese Timor consisted of one concelho (Dili) and six circun-
scrigdes civis, which, from east to west, were; Lautem, Sao Domingos, Ma-
natuko, Suro, Fronteira, and Oe-Cussi. During World War II, from 1942-
1945, the Japanese occupied Timor, but altered the system very little. Then,
in 1966 the administrative system underwent further alterations. Oe-Cussi
retained its status as a circunscrigdo,and Dili remained a concelho. The rest
of Portuguese Timor was divided into concelhos, the administrative difference
between a circunscrigdo and a concelho being that the latter has a municipio
(‘town’) whereas the former was administered directly from the provincial
capital, Dili.
5 There is some evidence (Toby Lazorowitz 1975, personal communication) that
during the Civil War in 1975 the old rivalries and loyalties dating as far back as the last
century—and possibly for much longer—were determinants in the hostilities that were
conducted and alliances which were formed between kingdoms and between sukus.
Western notions of right wing and left wing, capitalist and communist, were meaning-
less to the vast majority of the Timorese population.
Unachieved Syncretism
23
Portuguese Timor in 1966 was divided into ten concelhos (Fig. 1):
Lautem, Baucau, Viqueque, Manatuto, Dili, Suro, Emera, Bobonaro, Cova
Lima, and Oe-Cussi. Each concelho was under an administrator (administra-
dor) appointed by the Governor of Portuguese Timor, who resided in the
town of Dili, the capital. A concelho was organized into a number of postos
(posts), each governed by a chefe de posto (chief of post). The postos in
their turn consisted of a varying number of sukus, each administered by a
chefe de suku (chief of the princedom). The chefe de suku was entitled to be
addressed by the honorific liurai (liu = ‘more than’; rai = ‘land’, ‘kingdom’,
‘earth’), a term which, until a few decades ago, was used only for the ruler of
a kingdom, and which is usually translated as ‘régulo ’ in Portuguese and as
‘king’ in English. Although not kings in the traditional sense, the chefes de
suku in 1966 were addressed as such. Kings belonged to the royal (dassi)
clans, and no male not of one of these clans could become a king. Chefes de
suku might come from a royal clan or from one of the innumerable aristo-
cratic (dato) clems. Three areas in 1966 still had régulos. None existed in
Viqueque Concelho, but the régulos were described to me as ‘ruling’ several
sukus, just as a chefe de suku ruled several povoagdes (‘villages’).
Each povoagao was governed by a chefe de povoagao (‘headman’). In
the Tetum language the chefe de povoagdo was termed katuas bein, or katuas
bote (‘the most important elder [i.e., in that povoagao]’). He was assisted by
a deputy, the katuas kik (‘the lesser elder’). A suku was not always a tract of
land with clearly marked boundaries separating it from the other sukus
around it, and, prior to 1912, boundary disputes between adjacent sukus
were a common impulse to inter -suku disputes. The number of villages in a
suku varied from as few as three to as many as twenty. The chefe de suku
was elected by the villagers of the suku, and his appointment was subject to
administrative ratification. He had to be literate, a qualification which, in
effect, meant he must be Christian, and at least moderately fluent in Por-
tuguese6 . A headman was chosen by the residents of the village he was to
govern. His appointment, too, had to be ratified by the Administrator, but
he did not have to be literate, Portuguese speaking, or even Christian.
The chefe de suku and headman were always Timorese; the governor
was always Portuguese. With few exceptions in the history of Portuguese
involvement with Timor, the Administrator was always a European. The
chefe de posto was the only office which in practice lay open to Timorese
6 Only the families of chefes de suku and royalty were, in general, able to speak
Portuguese, and read and write Portuguese and Tetum. Most villagers knew a few words
of Portuguese, but that was literally all they did know, and rarely did I find a literate
villager. Bai no (see below) were, however, an exception. As with language and literacy,
so, too, with religion: where Christianity existed in the villages of a suku it was usually
nominal. The families of the chefes and those of the royal families, though, practised the
Catholic faith.
24
David Hicks
Anthropos 78.1983
and Europeans alike, though in 1966-1967 all four of the Viqueque Concel-
ho’s chefe de posto were Timorese7. The fifth posto, the Posto Sede, of
course, had no chefe de posto, the administrator residing here, and acting as
his chefe de posto. It was known as the Posto Sede (the ‘home’ post, the
administrative ‘seat’ of the concelho) because it was from this posto that the
administrator of Viqueque ran the concelho. Besides the .Posto Sede, Viqueque
Concelho also included the four posts of Ossu, Lacluta, Uato Carbau, and
Uato Lari (Fig. 1), each of which was administered by a chefe de posto.
Orders descended from the administrator or chefe de posto down through
the chefe de suku to the headman, and thence to the ordinary villagers. It is
with this lower level of political authoritiy—where the colonial influence was
in 1966-1967 still slight—that we shall be principally concerned.
Located about 20 kilometers from the southern coast of eastern Timor
(Fig. 1), Caraubalo suku8 is one of ten units which together compose the
Posto Sede. Its total population was 2,056, that is to say, in 1966, dis-
tributed among the seven villages which comprised it as shown in Fig. 2.
These seven villages, which were dispersed settlements, were Mane Hat,
Mamulak, Vessa, Cabira Oan, Lamaclaran, Has Abut, and Sira Lari. All were
Tetum speaking, except Sira Lari. Here Makassai was the language.
Fig. 2: Demography of Caraubalo (1966)
Adult Y ounger Other
Village Total Males Wives Widows Males Females
Cabira Oan 310 105 47 4 60 94
Lamaclaran 199 63 31 1 42 62
Has Abut 235 72 41 0 61 61
Vessa 251 82 41 3 49 76
Mane Hat 496 149 80 6 99 162
Mamulak 375 116 61 5 72 106
Sira Lari 160 47 26 0 44 43
Total 2056 635 348 437 604
7 Every Timorese was legally required to obtain a transit pass (giu de transito)
if he wished to leave his posto, either temporarily or permanently. Therefore, the Timorese
did not travel between postos as much as they might otherwise have done.
8 For a detailed account of the ethnography of this suku the reader is referred to
Hicks 1976, and for a conspectus of Eastern Timorese ethnography and that of the Eastern
Tetum, see Hicks 1972a and 19726 respectively.
Unachieved Syncretism
25
Within the princedom was a compact settlement (municipio, ‘town’)9 10 11
known by the same name as the concelho. The population of Viqueque town,
which I do not include in the above figure, was made up of Chinese, a hand-
ful of Europeans, and Timorese from other princedoms. Two hundred
kilometres from Dili, Viqueque town was the administrative centre for the
Posto Sede 10 , and also, therefore, for the entire Concelho. Here was located
the office buildings from which the Concelho Administration operated, and
here resided, as well as worked, the Administrator. In the late 1960s the
position was occupied by José Soares Teles.
Besides the Administrator, the bureaucratic staff in the administration
centre consisted of the Secretary of Viqueque Concelho, the treasurer of the
Posto Sede, and the interpreter for the Posto Sede. Other town residents
included the postmaster, the veterinarian nurse, the meteorological officer,
the schoolteacher, and the nurse. These were employees of the Government,
not members of the Posto Sede staff under the Administrator’s control.
Except for the schoolteacher, a European, all were Timorese of royal or
aristocratic descent.
2. The Hierarchy
In Caraubalo there were royal clans, aristocratic clans, and commoner
clans. Royal persons were termed dassi; aristocrats, dato; and commoners,
ema, ema rai, or ema reino11 . Clan recruitment in this suku was by patrilineal
descent. Commoner clans predominated numerically in every Tetum prince-
dom. Royal clans were the least numerous. An individual’s status was fixed
at birth. Nothing he or she might do could change it. Membership of a clan
(ahi matan) not only determined social status, it allotted political, economic,
residential, and religious prerogatives.
9 The label ‘town’ should not mislead us into thinking Portuguese Timor, any
more than Indonesian Timor, was studded with urban settlements comparable in size
to towns in industrialized nations. The largest town in eastern Timor, Dili, had a 1966
population of about 10,000; Viqueque town had about 500.
10 The name comes from the fact that the Posto Sede roughly corresponded in
extent to the old Kingdom of Viqueque, and was a corruption of v’e or u’e (‘liquid’,
‘water’) + que or kek (‘bracelet’). The appellation comes from a myth, recounted in
Hicks (n.d.).
11 Until 1912, when the Portuguese abolished slavery, there used to exist a cate-
gory of slaves (ata). The term ata remained in use even in the Sixties, where it was applied
to servants.
26
David Hicks
Anthropos 78.1983
a) Aristocrats
Four localized aristocratic clans resided in Caraubalo. The two clans of
Mane Tolu and Macdean formed Mane Hat village (Fig. 3), and the two clans
of Ina-Aman and Tuna formed Mamulak village (Fig. 4). These four were
collectively termed Leten (‘superior’, ‘upper’) and their total population
numbered about 860. Aristocrats had less prestige than royalty, but more
than commoners. Although no aristocratic adult could descend to a com-
moner status, the child of an aristocrat of either sex could. Marriage between
persons of different status was possible, but it was discouraged. Should it
occur, no bridewealth was given. The bridegroom resided uxorilocally and
was forbidden to perform any agnatic duty or claim any agnatic rights in
his father’s clan (cf. Hicks 1976). He might still visit his agnates, but rarely
would they return a visit, and his children were commoners. They could
never be recruited into the clan of their paternal grandfather.
Fig. 3: The Mane Hat Descent Groups
Village
Mane Hat
Clan
Made an
Mane Tolu
Lineages
Manecawai Maneclaran
Maneiku
Fig. 4: The Mamulak Descent Groups
Village
(provoaqao)
Mamulak
Clan
Tuna
Ina-Aman
(ahi matan)
Lineage
(feto fuan,
mane fuan)
Unachieved Syncretism
27
Only aristocrats and royalty were eligible for suku political offices
above the village level, among the most important of which were those of the
macair fukun, dato ua’in, and chief. Yet discriminations between royalty and
aristocrats remained clear-cut in 1966. Royal children were not restricted in
choice of school to the primary school in Viqueque town. They could be
sent away to the private school run by the Canossian Mission at Ossu, The
two daughters of chief Miguel da Costa Soares of the nearby suku of Uma
Ua’in Craik attended the Ossu school, as did his youngest son. Royalty
tended to fill the few jobs available in the colonial bureaucracy, and exclude
aristocrats and commoners. An aristocrat or commoner who obtained such a
job was entitled to be addressed as if he were a type of royal person (dassi).
Nevertheless, a slight though significant shift occurred in the form of address
used for a nominal male dassi and one born into this class. The latter was
referred to as nai no ; the former as bai nô. The terms of address were nai
and bai. This shift need not reflect a status difference. Whatever his family
background, a bai no occupying the position of chefe de posto, for example,
would he granted higher prestige than a nai nô whose job was at a lower
bureaucratic level.
Any male villager, furthermore, who had attended school at Dili, and
who assumed an air of dignified sophistication when dealing with his fellows,
would usually be regarded as a bai no, even though he might hold no job out-
side the village. His formal status remained unaffected by his bai no honorific,
but his personal influence within the community might be considerable. The
only bai no in Mamulak was André Pereira of the Tuna clan (lineage of Baria
Laran), who had been to school in Dili, spoke reasonable Portuguese, and
regarded himself personally superior to all the other residents of Mamulak.
His advice on a range of matters concerning the relations between Mamulak
and the Administration was often sought by the village headman and the
other village elders. Yet to many of these he was formally inferior. On a man
to whom fellow villagers accorded the honorific of bai nô, the Administra-
tion bestowed exemption from the corvée obligation12, which (with the
exception of royalty, chefe de suku, macair fukun, dato ua’in, headmen, and
deputy headmen) was mandatory for healthy male adults. Such a person
had, however, no formal dealings with the Portuguese bureaucracy, and his
status of bai no did not correspond to any office. It was the chefe de suku
12 Voluntary labor could not be recruited during the period May-September, so
during that time the chef es de suku had the bureaucratic job of ordering all men capable
of working on the roads to labor for fixed wages paid by the Administration, Metzner
(1977: 216) reports how, to avoid this corvée labor, the male taxpayers (contribuintes) of
one suku would travel to a neighboring suku during May-September, where, as strangers,
they could not be conscripted for ‘public works’. He cites an instance that occurred
during 1970 in the Posto Sede, when men from Maluro suku went to the suku of Uma
Ua’in dm a.
28
David Hicks
Anthropos 78.1983
and headmen who linked the native polity with the Administration. The
slightly ambiguous position of a bai no who lacked a formal place in the
system of authority may be clarified by an incident that occurred during the
course of my fieldwork.
In October 1966, the annual innoculation of the suku buffaloes took
place, and the work was performed by the local veterinary nurse, Antonio
‘Pecuario’ of Viqueque, who, though an aristocratic Timorese himself, was
classed as a malai (‘foreigner’) by the villagers. Most of the transactions pas-
sing between Antonio and the villagers were handled not by the data ua‘in,
or suku elders, but by André Pereira. The macair fukun failed to appear at
the innoculation, and the other office holders, though they turned up, were
too diffident towards even such an ever-popular fellow as the well-known
and amiable Antonio to represent their villagers. After the work, relaxed talk
developed between Antonio and André, who ate together at a European
style table, whereas the office-holders squatted together in the native fashion
conversing at some distance. On this occasion, as well as later, I was intrigued
by the deference the dato ua‘in accorded André Pereira, but this respect
would be reversed at suku council meetings and on other formal occasions.
A particularly well-regarded bai no might enter into a marriage relationship,
either as wife-taker or even as a wife-giver, with a royal family, and in fact
one of André Peireira’s own sons-in-law was the royal chief of Loi Huno
suku in Ossu Posto. The honorific bai no could not be inherited nor extended
to other members of the bai nô’s lineage.
Conscription into the army (begun in 1960) helped maintain the distinc-
tions between royalty and aristocrats. Royalty automatically became com-
missioned as officers whereas aristocrats might or might not become officers.
Although within the native polity political and religious offices were allotted
according to clan, the office of chefe de suku might be held by either a royal
person or an aristocrat. Unlike Miguel da Costa Soares, who was of royal
descent, the Caraubalo chefe, Joao da Sa Viana, was an aristocrat.
b) Commoners
Five commoner clans resided in Caraubalo, Their total population was
1,155, and together the five clans, each of which formed a povoaçào, were
known as Craik (‘inferior’, ‘lower’). Commoners, of course, like aristocrats,
were liable for corvée labor. Whereas the highest political office to which
a commoner could aspire was a headman of his own village, the major
religious offices were held by the Craik clans. The macair lulik (the prince-
dom rainmaker) and his assistants were members of the commoner class.
c) Royalty
Only one royal family, that of one Antonio Metan, existed in Caraubalo
princedom. His lineage was domiciled in Lamaclaran, but, because of previous
disastrous dealings with the Administration, the political authority and in-
fluence of his descent group had vanished, and (as it had intermarried fre-
Unachieved Syncretism
29
quently with aristocratic families) the family was, in 1966-1967, scarcely
regarded as royal at all. The most famous royal family in the Posto Sede,
that of Miguel de Costa Soares, still commanded much prestige even outside
his suku of Uma Ua’in Craik. Few privileges remained to royalty since the
office of king, which was formerly their exclusive property, no longer existed.
Apart from the exemption of its males from corvée service and their automatic
commissioning in the army, its most apparent endowment was the prestige
it continued to command.
Whereas only a small proportion of aristocrats could be classed as
intelligentsia, almost all royalty belonged to the two worlds of Portugal
and Timor. They were Timorese, yet unlike most aristocrats—and all com-
moners—they were also part of the literate world of the Portuguese. They
were literate persons who mediated between the society of which they were
inheritors and an alien society which was forcing itself upon it. The Timorese
person of the intelligentsia was a ‘marginal person; bom to be unhappy’. This
characterization was to be tragically dramatized in the sad events which
overtook eastern Timor in 1975-1976.
It was from royalty, and, to a lesser degree, from aristocrats, that the
three political parties of the nineteen seventies (the UDT, Fretilin, Apodeti)
were to draw their leaders. It is less clear if any correlation existed between
each party and different strata within this bicomposite category of intel-
ligentsia.
This tension between Portuguese culture and Timorese culture, so to
speak, was demonstrated in practical fashion by the alternation the chefes de
suku made annually between Viqueque town, where each of the ten mlers
owned a house, and their respective sukus, again where each (apart from
Joao da Sa Viana) had a house. For Joao, Viqueque town was located in
Caraubalo, so his suku house and his town house were one and the same.
3. Authority
Political authority (Fig. 5) in the suku 13 was distributed among the
following categories: chefe de suku, macair fukun and dato ua’ n, elders
(katuas), and council. Let us consider each in turn,
a) The Chefe de Suku
This was the highest political office. Other positions, such as that of
chefe de posto, as well as a few minor bureaucratic offices (e.g., meteorological
officer, teacher, and veterinarian nurse) ranked higher in prestige, but these
the villagers considered to lie outside their immediate ambit. Even the office
of chefe de suku was peripheral to most of the daily lives of the suku folk,
13
The present essay, which discusses the polity of Caraubalo, is paralleled by a
discussion I have previously given of its symbolic organization (Hicks 1978a).
30
David Hicks
Anthropos 78.1983
Fig, 5: Office Holders in Caraubalo Princedom in 1966
Age
Chief of the Princedom Joao da Sa Viana ?
Village Headmen
Mane Hat (macair fukun) Fono Loik 57
Mamulak (data ua’in) Funo Gaik 36
Cabira Oan Joanico da Cruz 45
Lamaclaran Paulo da Costa Soares 49
Has Abut Luis Soares 33
Vessa Lela Funak 35
Sira Lari Joao Baptista 56
though the degree to which the chefe immersed himself in village life depended
upon his personal inclinations. Joao da Sa Viana maintained less intimate
contact with his villagers than did Miguel Amaral, of Uma Kik suku, who of
all the nine chefes in the Posto Sede was the one most involved with his
people. Still, the chefe was the leading representative of the Administration
to the villagers of the suku, and, as he was the link between the two political
levels, if we wish to understand the local-level political system of Portuguese
Timor, we must learn something about his role.
Only a male could aspire to the office, though I was informed that in
the past a woman could become a liurai in the traditional sense of the term.
On this point, though, historical fact is difficult to separate from mythological
fancy. Recruitment in all the sukus (except, possibly, Luca, where there was
matriliny) was by patrilineal descent. If circumstances permitted, the eldest
son usually succeeded his late father. Yet for several reasons this latter
preference was uncommonly realized. A candidate had to be over eighteen
years old and willing to be nominated. The latter stipulation was not as sur-
prising as might perhaps seem at first, and quite frequently a son declined to
take up his father’s duties. Although the emoluments could be tempting, he
was usually too highly educated to fill a position so closely linked to the
traditional culture from which he was usually eager to escape; the ‘marginal
man’! Education had raised him above his father’s level, and he often refused
to accept a post which involved a diminution of his prestige. To him the
prestige the office carried in the villagers’ regard was unimportant. He
preferred to seek his own status among occupations prized in the world out-
side the suku.
A candidate had to be acceptable to the Caraubalo villagers, who had
authority to veto his potential incumbency. The process by which a man
became chefe depended upon circumstances. When an incumbent died the
Unachieved Syncretism
31
Administrator or chefe de posto summoned the seven Caraubalo headmen to
the Administration headquarters in Viqueque town to solicit the name of the
successor whom the villagers had selected. This would have emerged at a
meeting of the suku council. The candidate was usually a close agnate of the
deceased, but, if no agnate was considered suitable, the villagers might
propose the name of an outsider, perhaps a prominent and popular Administra-
tion official in whom they particularly held esteem. To take an actual case:
Upon the death of the chefe of Maluro suku, Pedro Claver, in 1967, a man
called Nunes, the treasurer of Viqueque Concelho, was chosen by the Maluro
folk. One name would be presented to the Administrator or chefe de posto
who then sent it to the Administrator. If the Administrator approved, he
would inform the Governor, whose decision to ratify it or decline it was
final. If the choice was unacceptable to the Administrator, the chefe de
posto instructed the suku headman to choose another. As on the previous
occasion, informal discussions in the princedom would lead to the eventual
selection of the name. This was presented to the Administrator. The process
might be repeated several times till a successor satisfactory to both villagers
and Administrator would finally be chosen. Rarely did an Administrator
reject the people’s choice, if only because he lacked sufficiently intimate
knowledge of the events and personalities in the suku. The chefes of the ten
sukus in the Posto Sede used to meet monthly in the Administrator’s office
m Viqueque town with Administrator Teles to let him know what had been
going on in their respective sukus during the course of the previous four
weeks—at least the things they thought he should know about. Of those
sukus outside the Posto Sede the Administrator could have known little, not
even the names of the chefes, though they would, naturally, be on file in his
office. The Administrator was far more interested in the activities of the
Chinese living in Viqueque town than he was in the activities of any other
ethnic population in the Concelho of Viqueque. This was because of their
commercial power in the Concelho, their extensive and dense network of
family ties within the overseas province and with Taiwan, and because they
must have seemed to pose a more lethal threat of sedition than the intensely
parochial Timorese villagers. Should two or more names emerge at the
council meeting, an election day would be fixed by the suku elders. A con-
tinued disagreement by a sizeable proportion of suku inhabitants would
result in the headmen seeking a compromise candidate from another suku.
This would have to be an aristocrat or a royal person. Several Viqueque
sukus were headed by chefes whose natal villages were outside the sukus
they subsequently came to govern, among them Joao da Sa Viana, who was
born in the suku of Uma Kik.
The duties of a chefe were few, but important; transmitting administrative
injunctions to the headmen and ensuring they were obeyed, representing the
villagers to the Administration, organizing the annual suku census, collecting
taxes, and judging cases which the macair fukun, dato uayin, and suku
council were unable to resolve. In one sense a chefe de suku’s prestige with
32
David Hicks
Anthropos 78.1983
his villagers was considerable. He was so obviously an Administration re-
presentative, and, though at the same time his subjects were aware that like
themselves he was a Timorese, some of the respect with which they regarded
all officers of the administrative system rubbed off onto him. Unlike the
macair fukun and data ua’in, he was a bureaucrat. The villagers knew full
well his office was a recent European innovation, and could recall that at the
beginning of the present century their only suku rulers were the macair
fukun and dato ua’in, who even in the time of my fieldwork remained the
principal authorities in most suku affairs.
Besides receiving compensation from the Administration (its size
depending upon the number of tax payers [contribuintes\, horses, and buf-
faloes in his suku), a chefe enjoyed two worthwhile prerogatives. First, he
was entitled to one twelfth of the time owed by the corvée labor force. This
meant that, alone of all the suku inhabitants, he had access to a free supply
of workers for his rice fields (nata). Therefore, he was almost the only rice-
grower in the Tetum region of his princedom. Based upon this resource, a
chefe’s wealth might often be considerable, but it was often squandered in
expensive feasts thrown at rites de passage for members of his family, a
device calculated to increase prestige even as it diminished wealth. The more
elevated a chefe’s prestige, the greater his chances of securing prestigious
marriages for his daughters, social alliances which, in turn, would raise his
prestige to new heights. Since about thirty-five Caraubalo males were recruited
monthly for corvée service, this was the annual number of corvée laborers
Joao da Sa Viana was entitled to compel to assist him. The more populous
the princedom, the larger the work force a chefe had at his disposal. Miguel
Soares of Uma Kik, the most populous suku in the Posto Sede (2,113
persons), was, till recently, the richest of all the ten chefes—‘till recently’
because so reckless was his largesse that by 1966 he was much in debt. The
chefe’s second prerogative was that his income was not subject, as was that
of every other healthy male between 18 and 60 in the princedom (including
the administrative officials), to a personal tax (domiciliario imposto), in
addition to a tax on buffaloes and horses.
Although wealth was of some account to the Tetum in gauging a chefe’s
prestige relative to that of other chefes de suku, it was not the only criterion.
Nor was it the most telling. The status of his affinal partners, the reputation
of the chefe’s clan, and the weight of authority invested in the bureaucratic
jobs obtained by close agnates—these carried greater weight than mere
wealth, as did the degree to which the chefe’s close relatives had been able
to identify themselves with the local European population and its culture14.
14 As it happened, apart from my family and the Administrator of Viqueque and
his wife, whose relationships with the residents of Viqueque Village were formal and
distant, the chiefs and their families in the village had the companionship of only two
Europeans: the schoolteacher and his wife.
Unachieved Syncretism
33
In this respect the family of Miguel da Costa Soares (Uma Ua’in Craik) was
the most successful in the Posto Sede. Chief Miguel was able to boast of visit-
ing Portugal, an extremely prestigious credential of Europeanization. His two
daughters, Rosa Marie and Maria Rosa, were pupils at the Ossû school, and
his eldest son, Luis, in 1967, became treasurer of the Town of Viqueque, re-
placing Nunes. His youngest son, Antonio, was at the Dili primary school,
and his ‘middle’ son, José, was destined to become the new chefe de suku
upon his father’s death. Of all the families I met while in Viqueque, this
family most closely fitted Toynbee’s definition of ‘marginal’ persons. Timorese
though they were, they were more at ease with Europeans than any other
chiefly family (and vastly more so, of course, than ordinary villagers); they
dressed in European fashion, and bought radios and glossy Portuguese
magazines (conspicuously displayed in their Viqueque town house). The
contrast between their style of life and those of the non-literate villagers,
completely Timorese, could scarcely be more striking—as, of course, it was
intended to be.
I never heard of a chefe resigning, but an unsatisfactory incumbency
could be terminated should a chefe de suku forfeit the confidence of either
the Administration or of his own villagers, in which case a new chefe would
be chosen. After World War II, chefes who had supported the Japanese were
relieved of their offices, and new incumbents found. In Caraubalo, Manuel
Metan was removed and the present chefe, Joao da Sâ Viana, was chosen to
replace him. Whether a chefe de suku was replaced at the initiative of the
Administration or the villagers, the usual routine of nomination and approval
would be followed until eventually a candidate acceptable to both parties
was decided upon.
b) Macair Fukun and Data Ua’in
The suku was a diarchy, in which the macair fukun and data ua’in
figured in the collective ideas of the villagers as a dual symbol of the dyadic
structure of their political system (cf. Hicks 1978a: 94-99). Macair fukun
and data ua’in were the traditional leaders of this political unit, and except
for the chefe, the rest of the population were their followers. Both leaders
and followers together formed the integral unity that was the suku.
The macair fukun 15 was always provided by Mane Hat village. Some-
times he came from Mane Tolu, one of the two clans in the village; some-
times he came from the other clan, Macdean clan. Besides being a political
figure of suku importance, the macair fukun was also headman (katuas) of
his village. Fig. 6 is a chronological list of the last seven macair fukun, to-
gether with their clan and lineage affiliations, starting with the earliest (Lera *
15 Macair is made up of the particule ma(c), which denotes the performer of an
action, and the verb cair ‘to hold’, ‘to seize’, ‘to take care of’, ‘to look after’. The macair
fukun, literally translated, means ‘he who takes care of the princedom’.
Anthropos 78.1983
3
34
David Hicks
Anthropos 78.1983
Fig. 6: Macair Fukun
Name Clan Lineage
Lera Funak Macdean Madean
Gai Mutin Mane Tolu Maneiku
Fahi Lequik Macdean Macdean
Fono Gaik Mane Tolu Maneiku
Lequi Rubik Mane Tolu Maneiku
Fono Loik Mane Tolu Maneiku
Loi Lequik Mane Tolu Maneiku
(From September 1967)
Funak) and ending with the man who was about to enter the office when I
left the field in September 1967, Loi Lequik. The dato uaïn16 always came
from Mamulak Village, ideally Ina-Aman clan, though at least once in recent
history, the other clan in this village, Tuna, provided the incumbent. A list
comparable to the above, specifying the last four dato ua’in, appears in Fig.7.
Fig. 7 : Dato Ua’in
Name Clan Lineage
Naha Rubik Tuna Bua Laran
Rubi Lequik Ina-Aman Kia Mahan
Cai Nahak Ina-Aman Kia Mahan
Funo Gaik Ina-Aman Ina-Aman
The occupational distinction, if any such existed, between these two
princedom rulers was unclear. The macair fukun was ‘the father of the
princedom’ and the ‘husband’ of his ruling partner. He was a masculine
figure, whereas the dato ua’in was feminine, his ‘wife’, and the ‘mother of
the princedom’. The macair fukun was said to care for his people, i.e., the
Caraubalo villagers, ‘as a father looks after his children’, whereas the dato
ua’in cared for his people ‘as a mother safeguards her children’.
16 Datu, in Indonesian, denotes ‘shaman’, ‘herb doctor’; datuk, ‘grandfather’,
‘oldest (head) male of a descent group’, ‘headman’; and is an honorific used for persons
in high positions. In the Tetum language dato, as we know, means ‘aristocrat’; wa’in
means ‘many.’ So the dato ua’in is ‘the leader of many aristocrats,’ i.e., the aristocrats of
the princedom.
Unachieved Syncretism
35
They dressed in no way differently from other villagers, but at council
meetings the macair fukun carried a plain wooden sceptre (oe) and wore a
straw hat (taka ulun) to symbolize his authority. Fono Loik, the macair
fukun deposed in 1967, sported, with some originality and more menace,
a short leather whip. At public rituals the two figures were assigned places of
honor and (apart from the chefe or his surrogate) were accorded more
respect than any other category of person. In the round of daily life their
authority was not so readily apparent as on ceremonial occasions, when they
were entitled to receive formal respect (tauk) from other villagers. For their
part, they were expected to manage the daily administration of the suku
and cope responsibly and effectively with whatever emergencies arose. Al-
though the macair fukun and data ua’in themselves received respect, their
wives and children were granted no special privileges, and the degree of
respect to which the macair fukun and dato ua’in were entitled depended
upon the status of their interlocutor. An aristocratic headman, for instance,
would be less deferential towards them than an ordinary aristocrat. Yet any
commoner—even the headman of a village—would have to show more respect
than an aristocrat. The macair fukun and dato ua’in deferred only to the
chefe de suku or his surrogate and, in the case of the latter, only when the
surrogate was actually representing the chefe.
None of the last seven macair fukun succeeded his father in office (Fig.
6), a fact in harmony with the villagers’ concession that their ideal (Te., that
the eldest son inherits his late father’s titles, position, and property) was not
always manifested in the recruitment to this office. The macair fukun was
expected to be an honest man who knew traditional customs and who dis-
played diligence, diplomacy, and patience, in addition to possessing a ‘good
head’. Armed with these qualities a candidate for this office would stand a
reasonable chance of winning community confidence and approval, both of
which were essential; first, for his chances of ultimate election, and second,
for his ability to govern successfully while in office. A woman could not be
chosen macair fukun or dato ua’in. Certain other considerations played a
part in determining a candidate’s qualifications for office. If the prospective
macair fukun were married, his wife had to exhibit social grace, and dis-
play a suitable command of etiquette. A candidate with gardens sited near
his hamlet had the advantage of constantly being available when his presence
as macair fukun was required. In contrast, a man whose hamlet house and
gardens were more distant from one another could not be seriously regarded,
however impressive his other qualifications. Too much of his time would
have been spent away from his place of authority.
The dato ua’in, as I have already said, was also headman of his village,
always Mamulak (Fig. 7). He used to be chosen in a way similar to the man-
ner in which the macair fukun would be in Mane Hat, by the elders (katuas)
of his village sitting in council. In choosing the best candidate for either job,
the members of the village organizing the election took into account the
likely reactions of the elders of the other village to their choice, so that the
man chosen was assured of automatic approval in both villages. The views of
the incumbent partner (whether macair fukun or dato ua’in) carried some
weight with the elders. No candidate might forward his own name for con-
sideration, but as the weeks passed all likely successors to the deceased
incumbent were considered informally outside the council as well as formal-
ly within it in the irregular series of meetings called for this purpose. Every
adult villager had a say in the decision, and was entitled to express his
opinions at any time to a councillor. The consensus of village opinion de-
cided the issue. Usually, before it came, one name would have emerged from
the list of candidates so that the council simply endorsed the popular choice.
If a sufficiently large opposition arose, an election day was set, and the
candidate obtaining the largest number of votes assumed office. The preference
of commoners, that is to say the Craik villagers, were not taken into much
account. Once elected, a macair fukun could not afford to be a despotic figure.
If he proved unsatisfactory he could be deposed, once enough villagers
agreed that he be replaced. The elders took the first steps towards choos-
ing a new leader by sounding out village opinion. Once they made their
choice the unsatisfactory incumbent occupied the office no longer.
Below the chefe de suku, the macair fukun, and dato ua’in were the
highest arbiters of disputes. These were heard in the suku council, which
used to meet in the suku council building {uma bo’o, ‘the great house’),
located in the dato ua’in’s hamlet. Here, macair fukun and dato ua’in had
equal authority. When a decision finally evolved, both had to agree. Personality
and experience carried practical political weight, and in 1966 the dato ua’in
seemed, in my judgement, more influential than the macair fukun—largely,
I suppose, because the villagers regarded Fono Loik as irresponsible. Arbitrat-
ing cases in council and attempting to resolve disputes before they could
reach the court were the main duties of the macair fukun and dato ua’in, but
even in these respects the suku elders’ authority would usually prove the
more decisive. Neither diarchic figure could disregard the elders’ wishes. Had
they done so, their orders would have been ineffectual, and the weight of
their influence in the local-level politics lightened. If they remained recal-
citrant they would eventually be removed from office. But I never heard of
this occurring. Sustained differences of opinion might divide the macair
fukun and dato ua’in from the elders, but when it would the diarchic rulers
usually conceded the issue. With the elders backing them, however, the
macair fukun and dato ua’in’s persuasions on any public matter exercised
considerable power over all other villagers. Either they be obeyed or else the
chefe de suku would intervene to enforce their collective will. Rarely did a
case go as far as that in the nineteen-sixties, but it seemed to me that before
too many years wouldpassanincreasingnumber of what were now exclusively
native problems would by-pass these two figures. They would be dealt with
directly either by the chefe or a superior bureaucrat, and the authority of
the macair fukun and dato ua’in would continue to decline as it had over the
last few decades. The intrusion of Indonesia has presumably stopped this
Unachieved Syncretism
37
process. Once found guilty, an individual who did not appeal to the chefe
de suku would be punished by the macair fukun, dato ua’in, and elders. This
punishment might include forfeiting his property, suffering ostracism, or
suffering expulsion from the suku. In such an event his patrilineage would
offer him no succor.
The 1966-1967 organization of the clans and lineages in Mane Hat village
is shown in Fig. 3. The junior clan, Macdean (the lowly clan of immigrants),
has no lineages, but the Mane Tolu clan consists of three lineages. Although,
as we see in Fig. 6, the macair fukun in practice often came from either of
the two Mane Hat clans, ideally Mane Tolu clan should have provided this
figure. The pre-eminent rank of the eldest brother lineage, Manecawaik,
accorded with its formal responsibility of providing the macair fukun,
but, according to my informants, because of the inexplicable, yet dramatic,
decline in its population over the previous one hundred years and the rise
in the Maneiku population, it was the latter lineage which had recently
supplied most of the better candidates for this office. So, of the last seven
macair fukun, no fewer than five were Maneiku men. The task of selecting a
responsible macair fukun was a serious matter. If the best candidate was not
of the preferred lineage, or even clan, this handicap war never allowed to
mar his chances. Two macair fukun, after all, came from lowly Macdean clan.
The elders could occasionally miscalculate. In the decade before Sep-
tember 1967 (when he was deposed), Fono Loik had on several disrupted
village life by behavior never before exhibited by a macair fukun. Fono Loik
had a penchant for raping (cair ona feto) married women, and, to make
matters worse, usually favored the charms of women from his own village.
For just over two years prior to that September, Fono has restrained his
passion. Then, in that month, he started up again, rekindling the doubts
the Caraubalo folk entertained of his capacity to govern them. It was not, I
gathered, the mere fact of a single relapse which troubled them as much as
the feeling that this assault was merely preliminary to a succession. His
renewed priapism, which they feared hinted of insanity (bulak), led them
to demand he be obliged to make way for a less profligate successor, who
would behave as a true ‘father’ of the suku. After sounding out opinions,
the elders choose Loi Lequik, who was reputed to possess a ‘good head’,
was generally popular in Mane Hat, and had a reputation for honesty.
Furthermore, he knew the Caraubalo tradition better than most elders, and
could handle people. The only dissident voice raised was that of another
Maneiku man, Carlos, who argued that Loi’s wife was ignorant of those
refinements of etiquette a macair fukun’s spouse should be expected to
know. She would be unable to entertain her husband’s guests, he concluded,
without shaming the entire village. Over Carlos’ objections, Loi Lequik
nevertheless in September 1967 became the new macair fukun.
c) The Elders and the Council
An elder was a man who, as a husband, had become the father of a
child. The weight of his authority depended upon whether he was royal,
38
David Hicks
Anthropos 78.1983
aristocratic, or commoner, as well as the status of his clan and lineage relative
to other clans and lineages. The opinions of the aristocratic elders still carried
most weight in council, which used to meet irregularly in the Mamulak
council house. The suku elders17 assembled only on the occasion of a
council meeting. The incessant personal exchange of ideas and views charac-
teristic of elders of the same village was absent at this higher level. As a
result, problems brought to a suku council more often followed a less pre-
dictable course than usually characterized those at a village meeting where,
by informal prior talks, everyone would agree beforehand on a decision,
which the council then formally ratified. What typically happened at a suku
council meeting was that the Mamulak and Mane Hat elders discussed before-
hand among themselves any important matter that was to come before the
council meeting, and the commoner elders did likewise. Should the aristo-
cratic elders disagree with the commoner elders at the meeting, the views of
the aristocrats would prevail. Such was the respect granted members of the
Leten descent groups that prolonged dissension by the commoners was in-
frequent,
A suku council meeting might be held to consider any matter, judicial
or executive, the elders considered affected the welfare of the princedom. As
a suku court it resolved disputes between an aristocrat and a commoner, or
between two commoners from different villages. As an executive assembly,
on the other hand, it considered the latest injunctions issued by the Admin-
istrator, or deliberated upon some matter passed down to the seven suku
headmen by the chefe de suku. The most frequent disputes involved theft
and pigs which had trespassed into someone’s garden, damaged fences, and
eaten crops. Murder and sedition were matters dealt with by the highest
authority, i.e., the Government in the former instance, and the internal
police security (P.I.D.I.) in the second. Murder in the princedom was far
commoner than sedition.
In light of what was to come about in 1974-1976, it might be worth-
while my remarking that I never heard anyone in Viqueque Concelho express
any opinion regarding the incorporation of eastern Timor into the Republic
of Indonesia, or independence from Portugal. I was naturally extremely wary
of inquiring into the political views of the villagers. Insofar as any had them,
they were acquiescently pro-Portuguese and anti-Japanese. It may seem
curious that the Japanese entered into Timorese considerations, but Japan,
it will be recalled, invaded the island in 1942 during World War II, and ruled
it until 1945 when the Japanese government surrendered. The people of
1 7 Each Caraubalo village, as I remarked earlier, was under a headman. Each of the
seven headmen in the suku was also an elder. Their authority was hardly greater than that
of the senior elders in their respective villages, and apart from the macair fukun and data
ua’in, they had no special powers at the suku level. Their distinctive contributions to the
suku polity were restricted to the internal politics of the villages, a level of polity outside
the scope of the present paper.
Unachieved Syncretism
39
Caraubalo told me their military conquerors had chopped down coconut
trees, wantonly killed pigs and buffaloes, stole horses, and raped their
women. The only case of sedition that came to my attention involved a
Chinese who had written a political tract for a paper in Taiwan. Presumably,
tt was anti-Portuguese, because agents of P.I.D.I. arrived one day in 1967 in
Viqueque town, and escorted him off to Dili. I never learned his fate.
The macair fukun and data ua’in would convene the council and chair
it once the meeting had assembled, but they lacked, of course, the authority
to impose their wills on their fellow elders. Should scope for maneuvering
exist, both, or even one of them, were often able to swing a decision their
way. Depending on the gravity of the matter and the obduracy of the problem
faced, a council meeting might extend over several days before a conclusion
evolved, but if, by the end of the fifth day, this was not forthcoming the
session was abandoned and a date set for a new meeting. When a quick
decision was called for, the issue was usually resolved within a couple of
days at most.
Conclusions
The preceding account demonstrates that in Portuguese Timor the two
cultures came closest together at the level of the suku. Above the sukus
European organization oipostos and concelhos was too remote from Timorese
experience. Below it, in the villages, descent18 and hierarchy fashioned the
polity with little stimulus from the outside world. But the suku itself blended
the foreign administrative categories with traditional autochthonous ideas,
and so the bicultural strains are more readily in evidence here.
Such reports that have filtered out of Timor since 7 December 1975
suggest it was from the Luso-Timorese intelligentsia that the leaders of the
three parties, UDT, Apodeti, and Fretilin, emerged. One wonders if, and
how, these marginal persons have adapted to their new status as Indonesian
citizens. Have they perhaps contrived to retain their mediating role, or has
another category of intelligentsia emerged? There will, in any case, be the
more general future issue of how the Indonesian administrative categories
adjust to the polity that emerged from 400 years of European colonialism—
and vice versa, of course. We know little, as yet, about the changes the
Republic must have brought about in its most recent province, but the
history of Indonesian influence on indigenous peoples foreshadows, we must
anticipate, drastic alterations to the 1966-1967 political system19. When the
18 In Caraubalo, of course, patrilineal descent and patrilocal residence defined the
lineal character of the descent groups.
19 An example is provided by the Indonesian policy of bringing together indigenous
folk who live in dispersed settlements into nucleated ones where they can be more
conveniently administered, and where medical facilities can be more readily made effective.
In the 1930s Governor Fontoura (1940: 315) suggested that dispersed hamlets be amal-
gamated into concentrated villages (aldeamentos indigenas), but nothing came of the idea,
possibly because of the generally tolerant policies of the Portuguese Administration.
40
David Hicks
Anthropos 78.1983
new order finally emerges we shall wait with interest to see what remains
enduring after four centuries, what has been discarded, and what has been
adapted from its syncretic predecessor, a facsimile of which I have presented
here20.
References
Barnes, R.H.
1974 Kedang: A Study of the Collective Thought of an Eastern Indonesian People.
Oxford: Clarendon Press.
1977 Mata in Austronesian. Oceania 47: 300-319.
Coedes, G.
1968 The Indianized States of Southeast Asia. Edited by Walter F. Vella, translated
from the French by Susan Brown Cowing. Honolulu: East-West Center Press.
3rd ed.
Felgas, Helio A. Esteves
1956 Timor Portugues. Lisboa: Agencia Geral do Ultramar.
Fontoura, Alvaro da
1940 O trabalho dos indigenas de Timor; sua importancia, estado actual e evolucao
desejavel. In: Congresso do mundo portugues. Publicacoes 14, vol. Mem.
econom. apresentadad ao Congresso Colonia 9, tomo 3, III Seccao, Lisboa:
297-378.
David Hicks
1972a Timor-Roti. In: Frank LeBar (ed. and comp.), Ethnic Groups of Insular
Southeast Asia, Vol. I: Indonesia, Andaman Islands, and Madagascar. New
Haven: HRAF Press.
19725 Eastern Tetum. In: F. LeBar (ed. and comp.), Ethnic Groups of Insular South-
east Asia, Vol. I: Indonesia, Andaman Islands, and Madagascar. New Haven:
HRAF Press.
1972c ^4n Ethnographic Study of an Indonesian People. [Unpublished D. Phil,
dissertation, University of Oxford.]
1976 Tetum Ghosts and Kin: Fieldwork in an Indonesian Community. Palo Alto:
Mayfield Publishing Company.
1978a Structural Analysis in Anthropology: Case Studies from Indonesia and Brazil.
(Studia Instituti Anthropos, 30.) St. Augustin bei Bonn (Federal Republic of
Germany): Anthropos Institute.
19785 Mata in Tetum. Oceania 48: 299-300.
n.d. Imagination and Constraint: The Culture of the Tetum of Indonesia. [Un-
published MS.]
Metzner, Joachim
1977 Man and Environment in Eastern Tirmor. (Development Studies Centre,
Monograph 8.) Canberra: The Australian National University.
Toynbee, Arnold J.
1947 A Study of History. Abridgement of Volumes I-VI, by D.C. Somervell. Lon-
don: Oxford University Press.
20 A further interest would lie in comparing it with the local administrative system
that evolved after independence came to what had been Dutch Timor.
Rainer Wassner
Der Beitrag von Ernesto de Martino
zur italienischen Kulturanthropologie
Abstract. — De Martino (1908-1965) required of the anthropology of religion the
extension of the historical method to include the analysis of magic and religion of non-
occidental cultures in order to redefine in this mirror the potentiality and the limits of
occidental rationality. — In his own work, that is set against positivism as well as against
cultural relativism and ethnocentrism, he initially clears up the reality of the magical
powers. Magic is then derived genetically from situations which signal psychologically
and culturally a loss of control of the world. The effect of magic as an institution is to
re-integrate the threatened groups into coherent social networks. This concept, which
partly goes back to other scholars and partly coincides with theirs, has its weaknesses in
stressing the stabilizing and defensive character of magic. According to de Martino, the
political task of Ethnology and Folklore consists in contributing their share to over-
come the socio-economic conditions of magic-producing situations by providing laical
knowledge and information. His pionieering field-research in Southern Italy which is
to a large extent continued by current Italian cultural anthropologists discovers wide-
spread pre-Christian and anti-Catholic religious elements, in the assessment of which
he remains true to his enlightened impulses. In the history of Italian cultural anthropol-
ogy de Martino is, despite criticism of particulars, on a par with Pettazzoni and Lantemari.
[Methodology, Biographies, Magic, Psychotherapy, Folklore]
1. Vorbemerkung
Das Werk des italienischen Kulturanthropologen und Religionshistorikers
Emesto de Martino (1908-1965) ist außerhalb seines Landes bedauerlicher-
weise wenig bekannt.1 In seinen brilliant geschriebenen Beiträgen, die einen * 1
Rainer Waßncr, Dipl.-Sozialwirt (1972), M.A. (1978), Dr. phil. (1982, Univ. Ham-
burg) ; Forschungsschwerpunkte: Politik-, Religions- und Medizinsoziologie; z.Zt. Wissen-
schaftlicher Angestellter und Lehrbeauftragter am Institut für Soziologie der Univ. Ham-
burg. — Veröffentlichungen: Aspekte der Mythologiebetrachtung bei Marx/Engels fPai-
deuma 1976); Zur Institution des Politischen bei Claude Lévi-Strauss (Kölner Zeitschrift
für Soziologie und Sozialpsychologie 1979); Magie und Psychotherapie: Ein gesellschafts-
wissenschaftlicher Vergleich von Institutionen der Krisenbewältigung (Berlin 1983).
Adresse: Chateauneufstr. 19, 2000 Hamburg 26.
1 Ausgenommen sind Mircea Eliade, mit dem de Martino auch einen (unveröffent-
lichten) Briefwechsel unterhielt; bei uns Wilhelm Mühlmann und, von jüngeren Autoren,
Thomas Hauschild (1981 und 1979).
42
Rainer Waßner
Anthropos 78.1983
Zeitraum von drei Jahrzehnten umspannen2, befaßt er sich mit den Gegen-
ständen der Religionswissenschaft (Aberglaube, Magie, Religion, Symbol-
systeme) in rar gewordener Profundität. Seine Quellen entnimmt er der gan-
zen Breite der Kulturwissenschaften; Ethnologie und Volkskunde, Klassische
Philologie, Geschichtswissenschaft, Psychologie und Psychiatrie, Ethnographie
und Philosophie, Religionswissenschaft und Soziologie; auch die Belletristik
fehlt nicht; und er rezipiert sie im deutschen, angelsächsischen, französischen
und altklassischen Original. Eine enzyklopädische Natur, läßt er sich viel-
leicht mit Max Weber vergleichen, geht aber insoweit über ihn hinaus, als er
selbst Feldforschungen in Süditalien durchgeführt hat. De Martino vermochte
hingegen nicht — hier zieht er nicht mit Max Weber gleich — seine unmittel-
baren Forschungsinteressen über die an den symbolischen und zeremoniel-
len Systemen hinauszutragen.3 In Italien hat er sich hauptsächlich einen Na-
men gemacht durch die Einbeziehung der Folklore des südlichen Landes-
teils in den Forschungsbereich einer laizistischen, historiographischen Re-
ligionswissenschaft und die akademische Etablierung dieses Standpunktes.4
Noch in den fünfziger Jahren wurde er in seinem Land kaum diskutiert (vgl.
Gallini 1977: LXIX ff.); heute übergeht ihn keine Fachnotiz mehr, was nicht
heißt, daß die Interpretationen seines Opus alle in die gleiche Richtung
gingen.5 Die schwache Rezeption im Ausland dürfte vorwiegend durch
die Sprachbarriere bedingt sein,6 gewiß auch, weil uns das inneritalienische
Nord-Süd-Problem wenig vertraut ist. — Meine Darstellung will de Martino
lediglich bekanntmachen und zu weiterem Kennenlemen anregen. Die Dar-
stellung der übrigen religionsethnologischen und kulturanthropologischen
Szene in Italien wird dagegen bewußt vernachlässigt und beschränkt sich auf
das Schlußkapitel.
2 Vollständige Bibliographie in C. Barbati, G. Mingozzi und A. Rossi 1978: 147ff.
— Es handelt sich um 9 Bücher, 39 Zeitschriftenaufsätze, 20 Rezensionen und 8 Einlei-
tungen zu Büchern anderer Autoren. Diesem Bändchen entnehme ich auch die lebensge-
schichtlichen Angaben zu de Martino.
3 Clara Gallini, eine seiner langjährigen Mitarbeiterinnen, macht dafür eine Art
Haß-Liebe zum Irrationalen verantwortlich (Introduzione zu Ernesto de Martino 1977a:
XLII).
4 Vgl. Patrizia Garaguso 1976; Francesco Remotti 1978; — siehe unten, auch Ab-
schnitt 8.
5 Am interessantesten finde ich die Interpretationen zu Neuauflagen und zu post-
humen Schriften de Martinos: Clara Gallini zu 1977a; Luigi M. Lombardi Satriani zu
1980a; C. Cases zu ,,I1 mondo magico“, 3. Aufl. 1973; in der 2. Aufl. von 1958 finden
sich im Anhang mehrere als Kommentar zur 1. Aufl. erschienene Beiträge, u.a. von Bene-
detto Croce und Raffaele Pettazzoni. — Ferner Carlo Prandi 1977: 91 ff.; G. Galasso
1969: 222ff.; Sandro Barbera 1981: 162ff. — Überall dort weitere Literaturhinweise;
zu Lan ternari siehe unten Abschnitt 8.
6 „Sud e magia“ (19805) wurde ins Französische,„Magia e civiltà“ ins Spanische
übersetzt. Drei Aufsätze liegen in deutscher Sprache vor: 1942 und 1961 als Original-
beiträge; als Übersetzungins Deutsche: 1965.
Der Beitrag von E. de Martino zur italienischen Kulturanthropologie
43
2. Die Wende zur Ethnologie
Ernesto de Martino entstammt dem napoletanischen Bürgertum. In
Neapel promovierte er 1932 an der philosophischen Fakultät. Seine Lehrer
Waren die Philosophen und Historiker Benedetto Croce und Adolfo Omodeo,
unter deren Einfluß er 1940 sein erstes Buch über Naturalismus und Histori-
zismus in der Ethnologie schreibt.7 Als Antwort auf die faschistische Regres-
sion der traditionellen Vernunft soll die Geschichtswissenschaft die primi-
tiven4 Gesellschaften miteinbeziehen (vgl. 1980a: 135 f.)8 Wie das 14. und
Jh. aus der Beschäftigung mit der Antike eine reichere Humanität zog,
sollte der Spiegel außereuropäischer Kulturen die Grenzen und Entfaltungs-
chancen unserer Zivilisation belegen (1948: 12ff.).
Mit der Wendung zur Ethnologie und Religionsgeschichte verwies sich
de Martino an eine heikle Ausgangslage. Italien war ein Land, das kaum über
wirkliche Kolonien verfügt hatte und in denen der Zusammenstoß mit den
Eingeborenen, der in Deutschland, England, Belgien und Frankreich die
Entstehung der Ethnologie als eigenständiges universitäres Fach iniitiert
hatte,9 ausgeblieben war. Eine nationale ethnologische Tradition existierte in
Italien in diesem eingeschränkten Sinne deshalb nicht.10 11 Es gab allerdings,
was sowohl von de Martino als auch einigen seiner Schüler kaum erwähnt
wird, eine nicht ganz unfruchtbare Vergangenheit der Religionsgeschichte im
Rahmen der philosophischen und theologischen Fakultäten,11 so daß von
einem so totalen Nullpunkt, wie ihn de Martino suggeriert, nicht gesprochen
Werden kann.
De Martino 1941. — Im folgenden werde ich mich auf die gestraffte und leichter
zugängliche Aufsatzfassung in Paideuma (1942) beziehen.
8 Die universalhistorischen Perspektiven hatten außerhalb Italiens lange zuvor der
Evolutionismus und die Kultur kreislehre gesetzt; sie sind de Martino aber, bei allem Re-
spekt vor Einzelresultaten, nicht frei von Projektionen (dazu Abschnitt 3) und .latenten
philosophischen Optionen' vgl. 1942: 190ff. und 1977a — Adolf Bastian und Richard
Thumwald tauchen bei de Martino nicht auf.
9 Die Bedeutung ethnographischer Domänen für die Geschichte der Ethnologie
wird beleuchtet bei Melville Herskovits 1965.
10 So zitiert das Stichwort „Magia“ in der Enciclopedia Italiana von 1949 nur aus-
ländische Schriftsteller.
11 An erster Stelle muß Raffaele Pettazzoni genannt sein, der die lange Reihe seiner
Schriften bereits 1912 eröffnet hatte und der sich danach in der Kritik der Monotheismus-
These der Wiener Kulturkreislehre hervortat (vgl. 1922 und 1955; dazwischen zahlreiche
Aufsätze; ferner 1924, 1920 und 1947.) Dazu gab es einige qualifizierte religionsphä-
Uomenologische Schriften, von denen ich exemplarisch aufzähle: Tacchi Venturi et al.
1949; Alberto Carlo Blanc 1945; G. Furlani 1936; Momolina Marconi 1939;Arturo Graf
1925. — Zugegebenermaßen erscheint etliches erst passim nach Kriegsende (Marconi), so
daß in den vierziger Jahren die Situation für einen jungen Gelehrten schon recht schwierig
War. De Martino tut sich aber auch später schwer mit seinen Landsleuten, greift nur
gelegentlich in wenigen Verweisen auf sie zurück [1958] 19776, selbst Pettazzoni- und
Lantemari-Bezüge sind selten, die Volkskunde wird pauschal abgeschmettert. — Siehe
auch unten, Abschnitt 8.
44
Rainer Waßner
Anthropos 78.1983
3. Die Kritiken an der Religionsethnologie
De Martinos Erstlingsproduktion (1941) befaßt sich nicht zufällig mit
dem magischen Syndrom anstatt, sagen wir, mit der Kunst oder dem Recht
oder der Sozialordnung einfacher Gesellschaften. In der Reflexion auf Magie
können wir besser als an irgendeiner anderen kulturellen Erscheinung unsere
eigene, abendländische Geschichte nachzeichnen. Darüberhinaus wirft sie,
Magie, Probleme auf, die die Grenzen der akademischen Parzellen des Wis-
sens einreißen (vgl. 1948: 11 ff. [Vorwort]).
In der Sache spricht de Martine daraufhin der transalpinen Religions-
ethnologie die methodische Fähigkeit ab, zur Aufhellung und Erweiterung
des abendländischen Selbstbewußtseins beizutragen, weil sie zum einen
keinen „inneren“ Kontakt zur Religionsform der einfachen Gesellschaften
hersteilen könne, „naturalistisch“ vorgehe (1942: 179ff.). „Außerhalb“ der
Kultur der schriftlosen Gesellschaften bleiben ihmzufolge ebenso diejenigen
Wissenschaftler, die vor der Erforschung der primitiven Religion nicht
alle geistigen Schichten abgetragen haben, die sich im Verlauf unserer euro-
päischen Geschichte im Magiebegriff sedimentiert haben, und die infolge-
dessen entweder unbedenklich nur unsere historische Erfahrung artiku-
lieren (z.B. die Mana-Forschung), abwegige Fragen stellen ( so nach der Ent-
stehung von Magie, wie der Evolutionismus), die Primitivkulturen modernisie-
ren (die Kategorie des höchsten Wesens in der österreichischen Kulturkreis-
lehre) oder — ein anderes Extrem — jegliche Verstehensmöglichkeit überhaupt
abstreiten (der frühe Lévy-Bruhl). De Martine beharrt darauf, daß uns die
magische Welt der außereuropäischen Völker nicht völlig unzugänglich ist,
soweit — und nur soweit — sie über historische Gemeinsamkeiten mit uns
verfügen.12 Zu diesen historischen Gemeinsamkeiten gelangt man durch
systematisches Aufdecken und nachfolgendes Außerkraftsetzen der Voraus-
Urteile, mit denen unser Gebrauch des Magie-Begriffs befrachtet ist. An-
fängen muß der Prozeß der „Enthaltungen“, d.h, der Rück-Erinnerungen
mit unserem Religionsverständnis ; es „stellt eine nicht unterdrückbare
innere Wirklichkeit dar“ (1942: 191), aus der wir hier nicht heraustreten
können, wie heute allen Ernstes geglaubt und gefordert wird.13 Am Ende
ersetzt de Martine den Terminus „primitiv“ durch „geistig am weitesten
entfernte Kulturen“ (1942: 194).
Die zweite Auseinandersetzung mit den umlaufenden Konzepten von
Magie unternahm de Martino 1962, zu einem Zeitpunkt, als er bereits den
Lehrstuhl für Religionsgeschichte in Cagliari drei Jahre lang innehatte (1962;
12 Hier schimmert ein unterschwelliger Evolutionismus von de Martino durch: im
Kerngedanken einer einheitlichen menschlichen Psyche, die sich in verschiedene Richtun-
gen entwickeln kann (dazu Reinhard Goll 1972).
13 Etwa von Hans G. Kippenberg 1978. Siehe auch die Replik von Emesto de Mar-
tino (1977a: 394f.) auf M. und R. Wax 1963.
Der Beitrag von E. de Martino zur italienischen Kulturanthropologie
45
Lit. nach 1976). Eingangs läßt er nochmals die Polemiken Revue passieren,
die in den europäischen Begriff von Magie eingegangen sind und mittels derer
sich unsere Kultur zu ihrem rationalen Telos durchgerungen hat. Sehr verein-
facht gesagt, prüft er anschließend ein weiteres Mal, ob in den verschiedenen
wissenschaftlichen Konzepten von Magie diese Urteile versteckt wiederauf-
tauchen und ob sie Probleme aufwerfen, die nur auf dem Boden unserer Ge-
schichte einen Sinn ergeben.14 Dann würden sie partiell wertlos. De Martine
bekräftigt freilich, daß ein Wissen um verborgene Begriffsimplikationen nur
einen vorläufigen Schutz gegen Übertragungen auf andere Kulturen bieten
könne, ein Rezept gegen Vorurteile stellt es nicht parat (1976: 6). Der Sinn
der Aktion, sich auf die Kategoriengeschichte einzulassen, besteht nach de
Martino nicht nur in der Vermeidung eines „geistigen Kolonialismus“ (ibid.),
sondern in der Prophylaxe vor der Auslieferung an den Irrationalismus. Es
kommt darauf an — das ist de Martinos moralischer Imperativ —, der einmal,
zu Beginn der Neuzeit, für Rationalität und Vernunft getroffenen Entschei-
dung die Stange zu halten (1976: 9); allerdings einer zu modifizierenden,
einer rundum zu erneuernden Rationalität, anderweitig gebe es kein Über-
leben (1976: 213).
Die Kritik findet ihre Gegner im Evolutionismus (Frazer), in der Durk-
heim-Schule, der strukturellen Betrachtungsweise (Emst Cassirer), in Degene-
rationstheoretikern (Ad. E. Jensen) und in psychologischen Schulen (Freud,
Jung, Vollmat). Positiv fallen die Urteile zu Malinowski und zu Eliade aus.
In jedem Falle richtet sich die Kritik immer auf unhistorische Schlüsse; die
phänomenologische Arbeit wird in der Regel für interessant und ergiebig ge-
halten.
Eine Debatte der beiden Kritiken von 1941 und 1962, die neben den
von de Martino zitierten Autoren noch eine ganze Reihe anderer Namen aus
Anthropologie, Ethnosoziologie und Philosophie ins Gespräch bringen könn-
te, habe ich mir an diesem Ort versagen müssen. Man könnte daran u.a. zei-
gen, daß die Beschäftigung mit der eigenen Fachgeschichte nach wie vor
sinnvoll, ja unumgänglich ist (dazu vgl. H. Fischer 1971), und weiterhin,
daß die von de Martino auf den Prüfstand geschickten Konzepte teils selber
Gegenargumente zur Kritik bereithalten, teils fehlinterpretiert sind.
Eine dritte Kritik, ebenfalls aus dem Jahre 1962, bringt einen zusätz-
lichen Standpunkt ein (1980a: 133ff.): Ethnologie, die nicht ausdrücklich
den geschichtlich rückgewandten Charakter von religiösen Symbolen einge-
stehen will, ist entweder „bedrohlich“ oder „verspricht“ keine wissenschaft-
liche Perspektive.15
14 So hat bekanntlich auch Claude Lévi-Strauss (1972) den Totemismus als ein
Scheinproblem hingestellt (1972).
15 Darum bewahrt de Martino den Typologien messianischer Bewegungen gegen-
über eine starke Reserve, obwohl er ihre phänomenologisch-deskriptiven Ergebnisse
aufmerksam zur Kenntnis nimmt und aus wertet. Vgl. etwa die Kommentare zu MühT
mann und Guariglia (de Martino 1977a: 383ff.), zu Lanternari und Guariglia (1980a:
158ff.). — Siehe auch die Bemerkung zu Spengler etc., Abschnitt 5 unten, p. 55.
46
Rainer Waßner
Anthropos 78.1983
4. Die Zentralkategorie „Crisi della presenza“ 16
In den vierziger Jahren leistete de Martino seinen Militärdienst ab, ohne
am Krieg teilzunehmen. Hingegen schloß er sich dem aktiven Widerstand in
der Romagna an. In diese Zeit fällt sein Manuskript zu ,,I1 mondo mágico“
(1948), das seine ethnologischen Studien fortsetzte, aber beinahe den Kriegs-
wirren zum Opfer gefallen wäre. Als Buch erscheint es 1948, und zusammen
mit „Morte e pianto rituale“, das 1958 (zit. nach 19775) gleichzeitig mit der
zweiten Aufl. von „II mondo mágico“ auf den Buchmarkt gelangt, stellt es
den Übergang von der Ablehnung der Vorgefundenen religionsethnologischen
Konzepte zur Formulierung eigener Kategorien des magischen Verhaltens dar.
Der Aufbau des Buches könnte nach dem bisher Gesagten — die Magie
ist ein historisch zu bearbeitender Gegenstand — überraschen. Liegt doch ein
systematischer, synchroner Vergleich zu den Problemfeldem der
„Magischen Mächte“ (poteri magici) sowie des Interaktions- und Funk-
tionszusammenhanges des magisch betriebenen Kultes vor. Überrascht
wird freilich nur, wer vergißt, daß de Martino, so wie jeder historisch vor-
gehende Wissenschaftler, einem epistemologischen Zwang gehorcht. Vor der
Analyse eines Wandels in der Zeit — hier der Magie — muß man das Substrat
des Wandels kennen, von dem aus sich erst historischer Ablauf in Qualität,
Geschwindigkeit und Richtung erfassen läßt, und welches Substrat — hier der
Magie — in seiner Kontinuität die einzelnen Zeitabschnitte zu einem Gesamt-
zusammenhang, zu einer wirklichen Geschichte der Magie vermittelt. Der
Untertitel „Prolegomena zu einer Geschichte des Magismus“ ist also vollauf
gerechtfertigt.
Die Anfrage nach der Wirksamkeit magischer Kräfte und Mächte ver-
kehrt sich unter de Martinos Studium zahlloser ethnologischer Dokumente
(1948; 19ff.) schnell in die Frage nach der Realität solcher Kräfte, und diese
ist allemal sozial festgelegt. Beispielsweise erscheint uns heute das Universum
als gegebene, rational vermittelte Objektwelt, während es vor dem 17. Jh.
noch in mit dem Menschen magisch verbundenen Wesenheiten ausgedrückt
wurde (1942; 182, 189).17 In unserer Kultur existieren keine Geister, weil
wir uns an einer Stelle im Geschichtsprozeß gegen ihre Realität
16 Da Ernesto de Martino selber auf den Begriff des „Selbstgefühls“ bei Hegel hin-
weist, übersetzt man am ehesten mit „Krise des Selbst“ oder „Krise der Präsenz“.
17 Im deutschen Sprachraum haben zur Analyse der Entstehung des modernen
Weltbildes herausragend beigetragen: Emst Cassirer, Max Scheler, Arnold Gehlen. Letzte-
rer hat den zur Debatte stehenden Zusammenhang in dem Satz summiert: „Erst wenn die
Außenwelt in Physik und Chemie verwandelt ist, verstummt sie“ (1977: 57). Der Gies-
sener Philosoph Odo Marquard hat gar die ganze Philosophie des 19. Jh.s als einen Ver-
such interpretiert, sich mit der „stumm“ gewordenen Natur theoretisch in Kontakt zu brin-
gen und zu versöhnen. (Über einige Beziehungen zwischen Ästhetik und Therapeutik in
der Philosophie des neunzehnten Jh.s vgl. Manfred Frank und Gerhard Kurz, 1975.)
Der Beitrag von E. de Martino zur italienischen Kulturanthropologie
47
entschieden haben, aber in den Epochen, die auf die magischen Pro-
zeduren setzten und setzen, sind sie durchaus ein realer Bestandteil des Le-
bens.
In questo senso, gli spiriti non ci sono, ma ci sono stati, e possono tornare nella
misura in cui abdichiamo al carattere della nostra civiltà, e ridiscendiamo sul piano
arcaico dell’ esperienza magica (1948: 197). [In diesem Sinn gibt es keine Geister,
aber es gab sie, und sie könnten in dem Maß zurückkehren, in welchem wir dem
Charakter unsrer Zivilisation entsagen und wieder auf die archaische Ebene der ma-
gischen Erfahrungen herabsteigen.]
Die — historisch relative — Realität belebter Natur im magischen Um-
feld muß dem Positivismus wie ein „scandalo“ Vorkommen (1948: 22), denn
er vermochte darin nur eine Art von Halluzination zu erblicken. Anders als
mit der Realität eines historisch gegebenen Umfeldes sind die von de Martino
herangezogenen Erfolgsberichte der Magie aber nicht zu erklären, zu denen
zur gleichen Zeit auch Claude Lévi-Strauss scharfsinnige Essays geschrieben
hat.18
Was in einer bestimmten geschichtlichen Epoche für real gilt, d.h. wie
die Realität ist, wird in den institutionalisierten Formen der Magie ge-
lernt, erfahren, angeeignet. Wo sind dort der Magier, der Kult, der Mythos
anzusiedeln? De Martino bemüht sich um eine psychologische Funktionsbe-
stimmung der Magie, wohl auch mit dem Gedanken, daß eine soziologische
Funktion nicht ein für allemal festsetzbar ist (1976: 284); historisch gibt
es nur unendlich viele Magien mit endlich vielen aktuellen Funktionen.
Magien treten nun auf, so de Martino, in den hyperkritischen Momenten der
Existenz, in denen die persönliche Identität sich aufzulösen droht, und ein
„rischio radicale di perdere la presenza“ (19776: 12) manifest wird. Dies
ist nur eine der vielen Umschreibungen von de Martino für die „magoide
Situation“, wie ich sie nennen will. Solche Grenzsituationen — um einen
Ausdruck von Karl Jaspers (1948) aufzunehmen — sind Naturkatastrophen,
Tod und tödliche Krankheit, die Übergänge während der psychosexueilen
Entwicklung, Hungersnot, soziale Unterdrückung, usw. (de Martino 19776:
19f.). Kurzum, es sind Situationen, die mit den zur Verfügung stehenden
realen Mitteln nicht mehr zu bewältigen sind, die demzufolge als Angst,
als Gefühle des Ausgeliefertseins und der Lähmung erlebt werden. Zustands-
beschreibungen dieser realen Unfähigkeit, die Konfrontation mit einem
bedrohlichen Objekt zu überstehen, findet de Martino (19776: 21 ff.) schon
bei Kant transzendental erörtert, bei Hegel in der Bestimmung des gefährdeten
18 „Der Zauberer und seine Magie“; „Die Wirksamkeit der Symbole“; beide aus
dem Jahre 1949, jetzt in Lévi-Strauss 1967. — De Martine ist später des öfteren auf die
beiden Aufsätze zurückgekommen und hat sie als Indizien für die historische Wirklich-
keit der magischen Potenzen genommen, z.B. 1980a: 95ff.
48
Rainer Waßner
Anthropos 78.1983
Selbstgefühls.19 In „Sud e magia“ hat de Martino m.E. diese Erlebnisqualität
am besten getroffen. Er sagt da, man fühle sich nicht mehr als ein „esser-agito“,
sondern als „essere-agito-da“, d.i. statt der Erfahrung, ein handeln-
des Wesen zu sein, macht man die Erfahrung, ein verhandeltes
Wesen zu sein (19806: 73).
Mit der Gefahr, sich selbst und die Welt — denn Subjekt und Objekt
bilden eine dialektische Einheit — zu verlieren, ist ersichtlich nicht nur der
Einzelne bedroht, hier steht auch die Kultur in Gefahr. Kultur, die für de
Martino darin besteht, das unmittelbare Vitale in produktiver Tätigkeit,
gemäß sozialer Werte, in Objektivationen zu überschreiten. Erlischt die
Energie, die Entscheidungen für oder gegen ein bestimmtes (sozial und kul-
turell vorgezeichnetes) Handeln speist, würde Arbeit eingestellt, würde Kul-
tur zum Erliegen kommen, würde keine Geschichte mehr sein, „un morire
incommensurabilmente più grave di quel morire naturale che condividiamo
con gli animali e con le piante“ (19776: 17) [ein Sterben unvergleichlich
schwerwiegender als das natürliche Sterben, das wir mit den Pflanzen und
Tieren teilen.]20
Die eben mitgeteilten Zeilen werfen endlich Licht auf die Stellung der
Magie, Die magische Technik wird, wie vordem bemerkt, in den Grenzsitua-
tionen zu Rate gezogen. Aber sie dient nicht dazu, dieses oder jenes Negati-
vum zu bekämpfen, bei dessen Anlaß sie aufgerufen wurde; hierzu dienen
die realen Kenntnisse und Fertigkeiten (oder, weil man die Magie der sakra-
len Dimension zurechnen kann, die profanen Techniken). Die Magie hat viel-
mehr das Negative schlechthin zum Objekt, nämlich ,,la protezione della pre-
senza dai rischi della crisi esistenziale di fronte alle manifestazióni del nega-
tivo“ (19806; 17) [den Schutz des Selbst vor dem Risiko der existentiellen
Krise, angesichts der Manifestationen des Negativen]. Die Magie, was die Auf-
klärung und der Positivismus nie zu sehen vermochten, ist Beeinflussung des
technischen Umfeldes.21 Daraus kann de Martino mit Recht zwei wesent-
liche Folgerungen ziehen. Das Kriterium für den Erfolg einer magischen
Handlung ist nur sehr bedingt ein technisch-profaner Erfolg, sondern viel-
mehr die psychologische und soziale Reintegration. Von daher entfällt die
Annahme jeglicher „prälogischer“ Mentalität, die behauptete, die „Wilden“
könnten den Mißerfolg des magischen Brimboriums nicht wahmehmen,
während tatsächlich diese Theorie die reale und die magische Ebene ver-
19 Es handelt sich bei Immanuel Kant um die transzendentale Apperzerption (Kri-
tik der reinen Vernunft, § 16), bei Hegel um die §§ 407 und 408 des Systems der Philo-
sophie.
20 Die Idee einer ursprünglichen moralischen Energie, die alle anderen Subjekt-
konstitutiven Energien in Gang bringt — eine Idee, die allem Anschein nach auf Freud
und sein Libido-Konzept zurückgeht —, ist gründlich ausgearbeitet im nachgelassenen
Werk unter dem Stichwort „Ethos del Trascendimento“ (1977a: 628ff.).
21 Hier folgt de Martino sichtlich Bronislaw Malinowski 1973: Uff. und 63ff.
Der Beitrag von E. de Martino zur italienischen Kulturanthropologie
49
mischt hat.22 Magie ist auch kein billiger Vorläufer der Wissenschaft, „ur-
zuständlicher Blödsinn“, wie es Engels einmal in einem Brief an Conrad
Schmidt (vom 27.10.1890) ausdrückte (Marx und Engels 1972/11: 463). Und
ein Weiteres darf de Martino folgern; Bei einem bestimmten Stand der Pro-
duktivkräfte ist Magie ein hochfunktionales Element der Sozialstruktur. Weit
davon entfernt ein Irrtum zu sein, hat sie Kultur, Menschsein und Freiheit
von den Zwängen der Natur vorbereitet (de Martino 1948: 258).23
Wie läuft nun die Magie-Fabrik, wie vollbringt sie ihre „protektive
Funktion“? Sie umstellt die Welt mit einem Horizont von Ideen, in den die
verschiedenen Krisenmomente eingelassen werden. Der drohende Verlust
der Authentizität von Welt und Ich wird in mythische Figurationen, in Sym-
bole und in überhistorische Systeme umgeformt (z.B. Aussichten auf schnel-
le Heilung). Zum weiteren ist die Magie stereotypisierte Handlung. In Ver-
bindung mit Geste, Wort und Medizinen werden die negativen Aspekte des
Werdens und der Geschichte in die repetitive Darstellung einer ewigen Ord-
nung übergeleitet und dort aufgelöst, verflüchtigt, entgeschichtlicht.
In virtù del piano metastorico come orizzonte della crisi e come luogo di destori-
ficazone del divenire si instaura un regime protetto di esistenza, che per un verso
ripara delle irruzioni caotiche dell’inconscio e per un altro verso getta un velo sull’
accadere e consente di «stare nella storia come se non ci si stesse» (1980Ò; 72).
[Kraft der metahistorischen Ebene als Horizont der Krise und als Ort der Ent-
Geschichtlichung des Werdens gründet und erneuert sich ein Schutzregime der Exi-
stenz, das auf der einen Seite vor den chaotischen Einbrüchen des Unterbewußt-
seins schützt und auf der anderen Seite einen Deckmantel über die Ereignisse brei-
tet und es erlaubt, in der Geschichte so zu stehen, als ob man nicht darin stünde.] 24
Die Magie erhält und öffnet damit den Weg zu den ausgewiesenen Wer-
ten, das Vitale nicht sich selbst überlassend.
In diesem Geschehen übernimmt der Magier eine Stellvertre terrò Ile, er
steht für alle anderen Angehörigen seiner Gesellschaft im Zentrum der ma-
gischen Prozedur.
L’angoscia, che per gli altri può segnalare un rischio senza compenso, acquista per
il mago la funzione di uno stimolo e il significato di un problema. Il non esserci,
in cui gli altri possono smarrire la loro presenza, si riplasma nel mago in un ordine
di spiriti identificati e padroneggiati (1948: 121). [Die Angst, die für die anderen
ein Risiko ohne Ausgleich bekanntmachen kann, gewinnt für den Magier die Funk-
tion eines Stimulus und die Bedeutung eines Problems. Das Nicht-Dasein, in wel-
chem die anderen ihr Selbst verlieren könnten, formt sich im Magier in eine Ord-
nung bekannter und beherrschter Geister um.]
22 Der Entwurf einer prälogischen Mentalität stammt von L. Lévy-Bruhl (vgl.
1912).
23 Bei Malinowski (1973; 74) gibt es eine ganz ähnliche Passage.
24 Ernesto de Martino hat an dieser Stelle das Konzept von Mircea Eliade (1957:
47ff.) von den Wirkungen der heiligen Zeit ausgebaut.
Anthropos 78.1983
4
50
Rainer Waßner
Anthropos 78.1983
Er erlebt die Krise für seine Gruppengenossen bewußt nach, steigert sie
noch ekstatisch, er zerfällt und wiederaufersteht sozusagen.
Lo stregone si configura come un vero e proprio Cristo magico, mediatore per tutta
la communita dell‘esserci nel mondo come riscatto dal rischio di non esserci (1948:
122). [Der Zauberer nimmt sich als ein wahrhaftiger magischer Christus aus, Mittler
des Da-Seins in der Welt für die gesamte Gemeinde, als Befreiung vom Risiko des
Nicht-Da-Seins.]
So rehabilitiert sich letztlich die Benennung der magischen Welt als ein
„dramma storico“, „dramma soteriologico“, „dramma esistenziale“ (1948:
120).
Alle diese feinen analytischen Bestimmungen der Magie sind Bestim-
mungen des Historikers; die Akteure der magischen Zeremonien würden sich
in ihnen nicht wiedererkennen. Doch nur dem erwächst ein wissenschaft-
liches Problem daraus, der im Anschluß daran unsinnigerweise fragt, was
die Magie „an sich“ wäre, „an sich“ für die Magie Praktizierenden,
Il significato di un’epoca storica vive sempre per entro il movimento della coscienza
storiografica, e il suo problema sta solo per i posteri. La verità storica non si perde
nelle profundità cronologiche, ma piuttosto scaturisce dalla attualità problematiz-
zante di una certa coszienza storiografica (1948: 198). [Die Bedeutung eines ge-
schichtlichen Abschnitts lebt nur innerhalb der Bewegung des geschichtswissen-
schaftlichen Denkens, und sein Problem besteht nur für die Nachgeborenen. Die
historische Wahrheit verliert sich nicht in den chronologischen Tiefen, vielmehr ent-
springt sie der problematisierenden Aktualität eines bestimmten Geschichtsbe-
wußtseins.]
Der Schmerz um den Tod einer nahestehenden Person oder einer wich-
tigen Person der Gruppe ist sicherlich eine der schwersten Belastungen des
Selbst, die schärftste „crisi dellapresenza“, gleichzeitig eine der gravierendsten
Bedrohungen der Kultur. Dazu hat de Martino eine breit angelegte ver-
gleichende Studie vorgelegt, in der er Mittel und Wege untersucht, mit denen
die mediterranen Kulturen das Todeserlebnis verarbeiteten, um dergestalt die
Reproduktion des Lebens aufrechtzuerhalten (19776). Die unterschiedlichen
Ausgestaltungen der Problemlösung haben ein Gemeinsames: auf die Provo-
kation des Todes antwortet man in standardisierten Verhaltensweisen, um
die natürlichen Destruktions- und Resignationstendenzen aufzufangen. Riten
und Trauertechniken versetzen die Trauernden in einen sozialen Sonder-
status und in einen psychischen Ausnahmezustand, die sie zeitweilig von der
Gesellschaft abspalten. De Martino nennt dies die „rituelle Präsenz“ (presen-
za rituale). Die spontan auftretenden psychosomatischen Reaktionen werden
nicht etwa unterdrückt, sondern in disziplinierter Form durchgelassen und
umgeleitet, womit chaotische Regressionen vermieden werden. Die rituelle
Präsenz wird aber nicht ständig beibehalten. In stetem Wechsel mit dem
Der Beitrag von E. de Martino zur italienischen Kulturanthropologie 51
Alltagsstatus dosiert sie den Schmerz, und die Dualität beider „Status“
trägt über die Verzweiflung hinweg, verteidigt das Da-Sein und transportiert
die Betroffenen an ihren gesellschaftlichen Ort zurück. 25
Was die Beschreibung der magoiden Situation — wie ich es genannt
habe — betrifft, halte ich de Martinos Ausführungen für gelungen und in der
Sprache für gleichermaßen komplex wie formschön. Nicht im geringsten
schmälert es die Tat von de Martino, daß er damit eine Erkenntnis bestä-
tig t, n i c h t entdeckt, wie der in der Religionssoziologie und
-ethnologie kundige Leser gemerkt haben wird; vielmehr bestätigt es de
Martino, daß er sich im Einklang mit schon gesichertem Wissen befindet.
Freilich muß ich die Übereinstimmung herausstreichen, da de Martino sich
etwas zu häufig von anderen Interpretatoren des magisch-religiösen Syn-
droms abzugrenzen sucht, und nicht zuletzt deshalb sollen einige wichtige
Zeugen nachstehend aufgerufen werden.
Auf die Einflüsse von Bronislaw Malinowski und Mircea Eliade wurde
schon hingewiesen (Anm. 21, 23, 24). Die stellvertretende Rolle des Magiers
erwähnten besonders Claude Lévi-Strauss (1967) und E.E. Evans-Pritchard
(1965). Die Beschreibung der magoiden Situation als einer Situation, in
welcher der Mensch — um im existentialistischen Jargon zu bleiben — zu
scheitern droht, ist drastisch in einigen, wenngleich wenigen, von Karl Marx’
Frühschriften notiert.26 Ebenso sind darauf gestoßen, wenn auch den existen-
ziellen Aspekt nicht so skulptierend, die neueren Feldforschungen der British
Social Anthropology (siehe Übersicht bei G. Jahoda 1969: 87ff.). Marcel
Mauss sah das Erregende in seinem „Entwurf einer allgemeinen Theorie der
Magie“ (1978/1: 154ff.). Max Webers Begriff des Charisma (1964) wurzelt
hier wie Rudolf Ottos Begriff des „Numinosen“ (1967). De Martino ist also
in prominenter Gesellschaft.
Fügt er sich so weit in diese Gruppe von Forschern ein, so teilt er auch
deren teilweise Schwächen. Der Augenblick, in dem die Magie die Szene
betritt, läuft nicht stets so dramatisch ab, was seinerzeit schon Radcliffe-
Brown (1952: 133ff.) und Evans-Pritchard (1965) an Malinowski bemängel-
ten, unter dem Eindruck ihrer direkten Erfahrung vor Ort auf dem Andaman
Islands bzw. in Nordafrika. Zur Vernachlässigung der Routinisierung des
magischen Manövers gehört, daß de Martino nicht kräftig genug das tradierte,
habitualisierte Element an der Magie hervorhebt. Hierzu wäre übrigens Lévy-
Bruhl kein schlechter Ratgeber gewesen, auf dem die große Monographie von
Evans-Pritchard (1937) ebenso beruht wie der Begriff des Kollektivbewußt-
seins bei Emile Durkheim (1912): Magie ist eine zu glaubende Vorstellung,
ein zu praktizierender Brauch.
25 Den Begriff der rituellen Präsenz und sein Gegenstück, die normale Präsenz,
werden im zweiten Kapitel (19776) an der lukanischen Totenklage entwickelt.
26 „Deutsche Ideologie“. In: Karl Marx und Friedrich Engels 1973/III: 30ff. — Zu
schnell wird Religion jedoch bei beiden Autoren, Marx wie Engels, „Idee“, „Vorstellung“,
was am Kern des Phänomens vorbeiläuft. Sehr einsichtig ist schon Wilhelm Reich (1977).
52
Rainer Waßner
Anthropos 78.1983
Nachteilig macht sich die Konzentrierung de Martinos auf die stabili-
sierenden Effekte („protektive Funktion“) der Magie bemerkbar. Dies
scheint sich dem sozialwissenschaftlichen Denken zu rasch aufzudrängen, als
daß es vermöchte, auch die Schatten- und Lichtseiten der Magie — ihre Dys-
funktionalität, ihre Konstruktivität — angemessen zu berücksichtigen.27
De Martine hat die destruktive Funktion der Magie zurückgewiesen
als ein unterschwellig vorhandenes kirchliches Urteil aus der Zeit der Hexen-
verfolgungen (1976: 55). Das mag tatsächlich ein Voraus-Urteil sein, doch
ein Voraus-Urteil ist noch lange kein Vor-Urteil. Es kann verifiziert werden,
und es sind nicht wenige Ethnologen, die uns auf die sozial und psychologisch
zerstörerischen Wirkungen der Magie aufmerksam gemacht haben.28 Ihre
andererseits auch zu Zeiten historisch aktive Rolle kann de Martino nicht
eigentlich zum Thema werden. Magie ist ihm ja dominant Abwehrmechanis-
mus, re-aktives Handeln. So kommen ihre gesellschaftsverändemden, auf-
bauenden Potenzen in seiner Analyse von erhaltenden Leistungen der Magie
zu kurz. 29 Sein Konzept, so imponierend es auch ist, bleibt auf einen be-
stimmten Wirkungskreis der magischen Handlungen beschränkt.30 Aber
ist das ein großer Schaden, wenn man seine Arbeiten zusammen mit anderen
liest bzw. lesen sollte?
5. Volkskunde und Völkerkunde
Der Krieg hatte de Martino von einer rein akademischen Karriere ab-
gehalten, dabei sollte es vorerst bleiben. Nach Waffenstillstand und Be-
freiung trat er der sozialistischen, 1950 der kommunistischen Partei bei. Als
Sekretär der Sozialistischen Partei Italiens (PSI) in Bari begegnete er der
kargen Alltagswirklichkeit der apulischen Bauern und Landarbeiter. In
27 Das ist der tautologische Schluß jeder Art von Funktionalismus: alles was exi-
stiert, erfüllt voraussichtlich irgendeine erhaltende Funktion für das soziale System, sonst
wäre es nicht da.
28 Vgl. die Übersicht bei Thomas O’Dea 1966: 106ff. — Wenngleich sich de Mar-
tino auch nicht zu einem expliziten Urteil über ihre Destruktivität durchringen konnte,
das Doppelgesicht der Magie war ihm immer klar, und in seiner eigenen Feldarbeit deutet
er die Multifunktionalität durchaus an. So beschreibt er (vgl. unten, pp. 57f.) den Teufels-
kreis des Tarantismus ebenso als ein sozial regredierendes und nicht nur stabilisierendes
Moment: die tarantierte Person fällt jedes Jahr erneut dem Symptom zum Opfer, die
magische Kur verspricht keine dauerhafte Heilung. Mit einem in der gegenwärtigen
Psychologie schicken Wort könnte man sagen: die Magie hat das Helfer-Syndrom.
29 Hierzu etwa Lynn Thorndike 1964; Vittorio Lantemari 1967, — Man muß
allerdings ebenso zugestehen, daß sich im Spätwerk de Martinos ein Umschwung anzudeu-
ten scheint (vgl. etwa 1965), ohne daß freilich der letzte Schritt vollzogen würde: daß reli-
giöse Systeme eine progressive Seite haben.
30 Man vergesse nicht, daß z.B. Max Weber (vgl. 1964) und Arnold Gehlen (1977)
die Magie ausschließlich in eine konservative Ecke gedrängt haben.
Der Beitrag von E. de Martino zur italienischen Kulturanthropologie
53
diese Zeit fällt überhaupt in der italienischen Literatur die Begegnung mit
der archaischen Kultur im eigenen Land (vgl. Gallini 1977: XLVIff.). All
diese Stacheln verfehlen de Martino nicht. Er geht thematisch von den Ge-
sellschaften der dritten Welt zu den meridionalen Subkulturen über, wirft
das Verhältnis von Ethnologie und Folklore auf; forschungspraktisch wechselt
er von der Ethnologie zur Ethnographie. Er organisiert eine Reihe von wis-
senschaftlichen Exkursionen in Süditalien, eine äußerst schwierige Ange-
legenheit, wenn man sich nicht einer universitären Reputation bedienen kann
— seit 1950 unterrichtet de Martino im Hauptamt Geschichte und Philoso-
phie an Oberschulen.
De Martino bezieht 31 eine polemische, zuweilen aggressive Stellung,
wenn er über die Volkskultur („mondo popolare“) und über jene räsonniert,
die konventionsgemäß mit ihr wissenschaftlich befaßt waren: die Volkskund-
ler (folcloristi). Sein Vorwurf an die italienische Folklore scheint zunächst
theoretischen Gehalts zu sein, um die Kritik an der naturalistischen Ethno-
logie zu wiederholen. Die Volkskunde bliebe außerhalb der italienischen
Volkskultur, weil sie nicht geschichtswissenschaftlich arbeite. Aber das ist
längst kein rein wissenschaftsimmanentes Argument mehr. Die historische
Arbeit würde nämlich zum Ergebnis haben müssen, daß der italienische
Staat in seinen südlichen Provinzen gehaust hat wie die imperialistischen
Staaten in ihren Kolonialgebieten. Und deshalb trafen sich der Forscher,
Ernesto de Martino, und sein Gegenstand, die meridionale Landbevölkerung,
so „come se fossero abitanti di diversi pianeti“ (1975: 130) [als ob sie Be-
wohner verschiedener Planeten gewesen wären].
Dieses innere Zeugnis von de Martino — um in seiner eigenen frühen
Diktion zu bleiben — gibt den Blick frei auf historische Strömungen, in
denen die Volkskulturen stehen bzw. welche die Hochkulturen aktiv zu
fördern hätten. Die Volkskulturen kämpfen um den bislang verweigerten
Eintritt in die Geschichte, was de Martino gleichsetzt mit Freiheit von der
Herrschaft der Natur und der damit verbundenen archaischen Lebensweise.
Es komme darauf an — so lautet sein politischer Impuls —, Bedingungen
zu schaffen, in denen dieser Übergang vom „verhandelten“ zum „handeln-
den“ Wesen (vgl, dazu oben, p. 48) gelingen könnte. Der Wissenschaftler
trägt dazu bei, indem er den Volkskulturen ihre verschüttete Geschichte
kenntlich und bewußt macht und indem er sich selbst in dieser Geschichte
wiederfindet. Und das vermißt de Martino an der traditionellen Folklore.
Die Saiten, die Emesto de Martino hier anschlägt, klingen und sind
dramatisch. Der Sozialwissenschaftler sieht sich ja (zum Glück nicht nur)
mit seiner Datenmasse konfrontiert, ihn ruft das Leiden der Welt an, Max
31
Soweit nicht anders vermerkt, beziehe ich mich im folgenden auf de Martino
1949 ff. sowie 1980a: 80-171.
54
Rainer Waßner
Anthropos 78.1983
Weber gab dazu die Losung „Werturteilsfreiheit“.32 Weber läßt die Person
gleichsam in zwei Rollen zerfallen: er unterscheidet den wissenschaftlichen
Menschen, der sich nüchtern, sachlich distanziert verhält vom ethischen
Menschen, der seine Wertsetzungen im wissenschaftlichen Text deutlich
machen und nicht mit wissenschaftlichen Argumenten vermengen soll.
Werturteile — so Weber — sind nicht wissenschaftlich-rational begründbar;
der Frage- und Verwendungszusammenhang gehört nicht zur Wissenschaft.
Wer sich in der Praxis engagiert, tut dies als Ethiker, nicht als Wissenschaftler.
Claude Lévi-Strauss ist von Max Weber nicht allzuweit entfernt. Zwar ist
dessen Anteilnahme an den von der ethnologischen Wissenschaftstradition
vorgeschriebenen „Gegenständen“ größer, aber auch der Belgier spaltet sich
auf; in der Sprache nämlich. Es gibt den strukturalistisch-ethnologischen
Schriftsteller, der kühl über politische - oder Verwandtschaftssysteme, über
Geschichte, Mythologie und Kunst von Amazonas-Indianern spricht, und es
gibt Passagen, in denen sein ganz persönliches, engagiertes Bekenntnis
durchbricht. In einem endlosen Prozeß des aufeinander Verweisens findet
das leidende, private Individuum den von Schuldgefühlen bedrückten Ethno-
logen vor: der Ethnologe wiederum stößt auf das private, leidende Individuum
(siehe Lévi-Strauss 1978: bes. Kap. 38 u. 40; vgl. auch Gallini 1977: LXXIIff.).
De Martino wollte vielleicht die Zerrissenheit in den Positionen von
Weber und Lévi-Strauss (die er natürlich seinerzeit, 1949 und danach, noch
nicht kannte) überwinden,33 als er in der Arbeiterbewegung aktiv wurde.
Doch die massive Kritik, die die KPI an seiner wissenschaftlichen Arbeit
übte, und die schließlich sienen Austritt provozierte (Gallini 1977: LXXIIff,),
ließ auch ihn de facto die Zweiteilung von Wissenschaftler und politischem
Subjekt beibehalten.
Zurück zu seiner Bestimmung von Ethnologie und Volkskunde: Beide
Disziplinen werden von ihm definiert als Wissenschaften von der Begegnung
und der Beziehung mit kolonialen oder halbkolonialen Kulturen. Erste wis-
senschaftliche Aufgabe sei es, zu ergründen, warum sich diese Kulturen als
fremd erleben; und daraus resultieren für de Martino alle Einzelfragen nach
Art, Ursprung, Struktur und Funktion des Fremdverhaltens. Dem Abend-
länder soll die Begegnung — in der Reise und im Fremddokument — zu
zweierlei Einsicht verhelfen. Er soll sich seiner eigenen kulturellen Selbst-
verständlichkeiten und der Vorurteile klarwerden. Doch soll er damit nicht
seine kulturelle Identität preisgeben: Ethnologie entbindet nicht von der
Treue zur Rationalität, Es geht um eine höhere Stufe unseres Selbstbewußt-
32 Auf die Kontroverse der Werturteilsproblematik kann ich hier nicht eingehen;
siehe darüber Weber 1968 und die Diskussion in Adorno et al. 1972.
33 Als Konzept sah de Martino die Trennung des wissenschaftlichen von den ande-
ren Lebensbereichen ohnehin für unsinnig an. Vgl. den von Annabella Rossi überlieferten
Ausspruch in Barbati et al. 1978: 11.
Der Beitrag von E. de Martino zur italienischen Kulturanthropologie
55
seins, nicht um dessen Beseitigung, (Wir sind mit dem Gedanken schon
vertraut geworden; vgl. de Martino 1948: 1976: 9 und 213; siehe auch
Anm. 13.)
„Treue“ (fede) zum abendländischen Telos beinhaltet nun eine gra-
vierende Wertung, Die Volkskulturen sind für de Martino zu überwindende
Relikte, und jeder kulturelle Relativismus (wie der von Lévi-Strauss oder von
Ruth Benedict) wird ganz ausgeschlossen. Emesto de Martino bleibt ganz
Aufklärer. Für die Interpretation der Magie hat das Bekenntnis zu Europa
noch eine besondere und schwerwiegende Konsequenz. Zum europäischen
Telos gehört unvermeidlich die Idee der Geschichte und die Idee des mensch-
lichen Ursprungs und der menschlichen Bestimmung aller Kulturgüter, Der
Religionswissenschaftler, als Europäer, darf „ergo“ nicht bei einer irrationa-
len oder theologischen Religionserklärung stehenbleiben, die das religiöse
Erlebnis (die „crisi della presenza“, s.o.) nicht mehr wissenschaftlich abzu-
leiten können glaubt; eine irgendwie agnostische oder theologische Betrach-
tungsweise von Religion ist qua Rolle nicht erlaubt, (Neben den Kulturrela-
tivisten sind deshalb Spengler, Eliade, Frobenius und Otto — in dieser Hin-
sicht — die von Ernesto de Martino am schärfsten attackierten Autoren; vgl.
de Martino 1980«: 133 ff; vgl. auch oben, Anm. 15.)
6. Einige Ergebnisse der Feldforschungen
Ethnologische Feldforschung ist für de Martino ein integraler Bestand-
teil der Geschichtswissenschaft und der Religionswissenschaft. Freilich ver-
fällt de Martino nie einem theorieblinden Empirizismus. Ihren letzten Sinn
empfängt die empirische Forschung von den Geboten der Aufdeckung
unserer kulturellen Limits, und — unter Beibehaltung einer humanistisch-
europäischen Perspektive — der Modifikation unserer Lebenswelten. Die
durchgeführten Exkursionen versuchen, „Interdisziplinarität“ in praxi, in
Teamarbeit zu verwirklichen. Psychiater, Psychologen, Ethnomusikologen
werden zeitweilig hinzugezogen, um die jeweiligen Forschungsaufgaben
gemeinsam zu lösen?4
Auf die Volkskultur bezogen, hinterlassen die Schriften einen auffälli-
gen Widerspruch. De Martino bricht mit der bisherigen Wissenschaftsbehand-
lung, welche die Volkskultur oder ein Fremdethnos einem einzigen Wissen-
schaftler überläßt, während auf die Hoch- oder Hegemonialkulturen verschie-
dene Disziplinen angesetzt werden: Kunstgeschichte, Archäologie, Religions-
wissenschaft, Soziologie etc. Darin drückt sich für de Martino eine ungerecht-
fertigte Minderschätzung aus; den Gedanken, es könnten vielleicht die *
34 Dabei ist der Hinweis von Clara Gallini (1977: XXX) sehr aufschlußreich, daß
ein autoritärer Führungsstil von de Martino im wesentlichen dessen Interessen durchge-
setzt habe.
56
Rainer Waßner
Anthropos 78.1983
differenten Komplexitätsgrade der Gesellschaftstypen sein, welche solches
Vorgehen rechtfertigten, macht er sich nirgends zu eigen. Mit anderen
Worten: er hält einfacher strukturierte wie komplexe Großgesellschaften für
absolut gleichwertig — auch eine Spitze gegen seinen Lehrer Croce. De
Martino dekretiert stattdessen die integrative Bearbeitung eines Problem-
feldes, und das Beispiel, mit dem er eindrucksvoll vorangeht, ist die Behand-
lung der magisch-religiösen Symbolik.
Derselbe Ernesto de Martino stuft die folkloristischen Kulturelemente
als Überbleibsel ein, von denen die Unterklassen befreit werden müßten —
und nicht nur von ihrem ideologischen Mißbrauch: ein Aushang, der im Zeit-
alter einer weniger großen Begeisterung für die Errungenschaften der west-
lichen Zivilisation und Industriekultur etwas von Aufklärungsdiktatur
an sich hat. 35
Die Studien unseres Gelehrten wollen noch einen anderen Gegner tref-
fen. Die Religionswissenschaft hat sich bislang intensiv dem Studium der reli-
giösen Eliten (Stifter, Priester, Propheten) in den Hochreligionen gewidmet,
und wie sich deren Ideen durchgesetzt haben bzw. durchsetzen.36 Dagegen
kontraponiert de Martino — und ein Großteil der italienischen Kulturanthro-
pologie wird ihm hierin folgen (vgl. Prandi 1977) — ein demokratischeres
Anliegen. Wieweit vermochte sich in Süditalien die Staatsreligion des Katholi-
zismus faktisch Geltung zu verschaffen? Wozu dient die Magie? Die Reli-
gionsgeschichte wird ein Teil der meridionalen Frage; die meridionale Fra-
ge37 erhält politökonomische Akzente, insoweit der Gegensatz von Herr-
schenden und Beherrschten vom Bereich der sozialen Klassen auf den Be-
reich der Kultur übertragen wird.
Schon die große komparative Arbeit über die Totenklagen (19776:
bes. Kap. 2) hatte darauf aufmerksam gemacht, daß von einer echten Domi-
nanz der offiziellen Religion in der Bauemkultur des Südens nicht die Rede
sein konnte38: lebendig erhaltende antik-heidnische Elemente ließen sich
35 So berichten sozialistische Staaten stolz über die Proletarisierung ihrer Acker-
bauern oder über die Seßhaftmachung von Nomaden, weil sie es sich als historischen Fort-
schritt anrechnen. — In staatsoffiziellen italienischen Publikationen feierte man Maßnah-
men wie den Bau des Stahlwerkes von Taranto, dessen negative kulturelle und mittler-
weile auch ökonomische Effekte den positiven Effekten zumindest gleichkommen, et-
wa in Consiglio dei Ministen 1971: 65ff.
36 Der Marxismus, obwohl er Stifterfiguren etc. nicht übergeht, macht eine Ausnah-
me (vgl. Tokarew 1978).
37 „Italia meridionale“ umfaßt die Regionen Kampanien, Apulien, Basilicata und
Kalabrien. — Zusammen mit Sardinien, Sizilien, den Abruzzen und Molise bilden sie den
„Mezzogiorno“.
38 Daß es „das“ Christentum eigentlich nicht gegeben hat, sondern eine Vielheit
von „Christentümern“, d.h. daß das Christentum unendlich viel Variationen, Differenzie-
rungen und Interpretationen gekannt hat, ist sehr gut bei Max Weber (1964: 317ff.) ab-
lesbar; seine Aufgabe sah er darin, den sozialen Wurzeln der Spielarten nachzugehen.
Der Beitrag von E. de Martino zur italienischen Kulturanthropologie
57
nachweisen. Dieses Argument wird mit den großen Expeditionen zwischen
1950 und 1957 forciert. „Sud e magia“ (1959) schält die Spannungen und
Kompromisse zwischen katholischer Hegemonialkultur und örtlicher Gegen-
kultur heraus. Die Strukturen des an und für sich katholischen religiösen Le-
bens sind massiv magisch akzentuiert ; ein wichtiger historisch-ideeller Grund
ist die unterbliebene Kritik der napolitanischen Aufklärung gegen das ma-
gisch-rituelle Moment der geglaubten römisch-katholischen Lehre. Die „jetta-
tura“, eine Art Böser Blick, ist ein Kompromiß zwischen Emst und Scherz,
zwischen mittelalterlichem Zauber und der Rationalität der Neuzeit (vgl.
auch Hauschild 1979). Die reale Wurzel hingegen für das noch weit ver-
breitete magische Verhalten ist die prekäre Existenz der lukanischen Land-
bevölkerung, ihr Mangel an real effizienter Ausrüstung; das, so de Martine,
zwinge den Bauer zur „Entgeschichtlichung des Werdens“ (vgl. oben, Ab-
schnitt 4 ). Die Kirche duldete und förderte gar diese Attitüden, weil damit
christliche Werte und Symbole vermittelt wurden. In seinem Büchlein, das
den mythisch-magischen Horizont der lukanischen Magie gründlich ausge-
breitet hat, trifft de Martine eine delikate Feststellung (19806: 95): Er
meint, daß in jeder gegenwärtigen modernen Gesellschaft ein Rudiment
quasi-magischer Orientierungen der Industriekultur geistige Grenzen setze.39
Materialien und Ergebnisse einer 1959 veranstalteten Untersuchung
auf der Halbinsel von Salent in Apulien sind in „La terra del rimorso“
(1961a) zusammengetragen.40 Es ist wahrscheinlich das Buch, womit de
Martine endgültig der Durchbmch in eine allgemeine Bekanntheit gelang und
das gewissermaßen die italienische Variation der „Traurigen Tropen“ (Lévi-
Strauss 1978) darstellt. De Martino stellt sich in dem Projekt dem sogenann-
ten Tarantismus. Unter „Tarantismus“ subsumiert man eine Reihe von
psychosomatischen Symptomen, die bei einer meist weiblichen Person durch
den (wie die Untersuchung ergab, nur angeblichen) Biß einer giftigen Spinne
ausgelöst werden. De Martino ist wohl der erste, der die Tarantierte nicht,
oder wenigstens nicht primär, als Kranke begreift: „hysterisch“ lautete vor-
dem eines der üblichen Etiketten. Er sieht im Tarantismus-Phänomen ein
kulturelles Ganzes von Krise, Kur und Genesung; er sieht in ihm einen
kulturell definierten Prozeß, der die betroffene Person psychisch stabili-
siert und in ihre Kultur und Gesellschaft zurückleitet. Das ist der äußere
Verlauf: Eine junge Frau wird während der Mähperiode auf dem Feld zum
39 De Martino hat selber zur Aufarbeitung solcher quasi-magischer und abergläu-
bischer Bestandteile kürzere Beiträge über Vorfälle in der Schweiz, in der Bundesrepublik,
in der Sowjetunion und in Schweden verfaßt: 1980a: 225ff. - Dem Beitrag über Magie
und Aberglaube in der BRD hat Thomas Hauschild (1981: bes. 349f.) — ich meine, zu
Recht — eine viel zu wenig differenzierte und auch zu wenig informierte Darstellung
vorgeworfen.
40 Der deutsche Aufsatz (19616) ist ein Konzentrat des reich dokumentierten
Buches.
58
Rainer Waßner
Anthropos 78.198B
erstenmal „gebissen“, von den Symptomen befallen, in der Folge jedes Jahr
zu dieser Zeit. Traditionsgemäß wird die Heilung nach einem procedere er-
zielt, das Musik, Tanz und Farbenspiele vorsieht. Ein Orchester musiziert
ausgewählte Motive und Rhythmen, um die plötzlich einsetzenden konvul-
siven Bewegungen der bis dato im Schlafzustand befindlichen Tarantierten
zu leiten und um sich mit ihr in einen Übereinklang zu bringen. In der
ersten Tanzphase bewegt sich die Tarantierte in Trance über ein ausgebrei-
tetes Bettlaken, und in der zweiten Phase werden verschiedene farbige
Textilteile auf den Boden geworfen oder an der Wand angebracht, um die
Psyche der Tarantierten zu affizieren. Dieses kombinierte symbolische
Instrumentarium exorziert schließlich das „Gift“, wenn all diese Mittel zu
einer Art von Deckungsgleichheit mit der seelischen Struktur der Befalle-
nen gebracht worden sind. Diese nimmt daraufhin ihr alltägliches Leben,
kuriert, wieder auf. — Der Exorzismus kann sich über mehrere Tage er-
strecken und findet häufig in Kirchen statt. An Peter und Paul (29.6.)
fanden sich Hunderte von Tarantierten in Galatina (Nähe Lecce, Apulien)
ein, wo sich seit zweitausend Jahren eine Wallfahrtsstätte befindet. De Mar-
tin© verknüpft den Tarantismus mit bestimmten Lebensweisen der Frau in
Süditalien. Permanente Unterordnung unter Vater, Bruder, Ehegatten
und das Verbot, im sexuellen Bereich aktiv zu werden, finden im Tarantis-
mus eine symbolische Gestalt unbewußter Abreaktion.
Der Leser wird sich fragen, wieweit diese Daten noch Gültigkeit be-
sitzen. Es gibt Daten dafür, daß die magische Welt sich trotz gewisser sozio-
ökonomischer Veränderungen zäh behauptet, abgesehen davon, daß zwan-
zig Jahre für die Dauer von Bräuchen ohnehin kein großer Zeitraum sind. Die
1978 unternommene Reise eines Fernsehteams der RAI (Barbati et al. 1978)
bestätigt die Resistenz magischer Kulte, ebenso einige Reportagen von Bian-
ca Capone (1978) 41 und eine empirische Erhebung von de Nola (1979). Wie
sehr die alten kulturellen Antworten auf Krise in Fleisch und Blut überge-
gangen sind, zeigte schon de Martino selbst. In einer Kollation von Essays
zu einzelnen, meist lokal begrenzten magischen Phänomen („Itinerari meridio-
nali“ in 1980«: 171ff.), kann man u.a. sehen, wie hinter der Fassade einer
modernen Welt die alten Anschauungen wohnen und, in der Krise durchbre-
chend, Rationalität überfluten.42
7. Magie und Psychotherapie
Das Spektrum von de Martinos Themen ist damit noch lange nicht abge-
schritten. Zu diskutieren wären etwa noch seine Verwurzelung in der deut-
schen idealistischen Philosophie, seine verblüffende Marxismus-Interpreta-
41 Leider sind die Reportagen bisweilen — bewußt — ein wenig anreißerisch aufge-
macht.
42 Auf die Exkursionen in Sardinien gehe ich nicht mehr ein, weil sie ganz das Sig-
num von Clara Gallini tragen (1967 und 1971).
Der Beitrag von E. de Martino zur italienischen Kulturanthropologie
59
tion, seine Theorie des Symbols, die Behauptung bestimmter kultureller
Prärequisten, seine Stellung zu Deutschland. Ich will jedoch an dieser Stelle
abbrechen und, repräsentativ, an einem einzigen Beispiel die Fruchtbarkeit
seines Denkens anleuchten: im Verhältnis der Institutionen Magie und Psycho-
therapie zueinander.
Das Räsonnement über Psychotherapie und Psychiatrie hat de Martino
bald nach dem ersten Entwurf der Kategorien zur Magie aufgenommen, weil
die Erfahrungen und Verhaltensweisen der Patienten „posseggono un notevo-
re vaiare euristico“ (19775: 24) [einen bemerkenswerten heuristischen Wert
besitzen] für die Analyse des „Risikos der Präsenz“ (s.o.), weil sie Dokumen-
te der Gegenwart sind, die uns die Realität dieses Risikos exemplarisch
nahebrächten.43
De Martino gibt an, durch Hegel und Freud auf die Verwandtschaft der
magischen mit der psychotherapeutischen Situation gestoßen zu sein, behält
aber gegenüber den Konstrukten beider Autoren trotzdem eine kritische
Reserve. Doch der Vergleich Magie — Psychotherapie ist sicher nicht nur
theoretisch abgeleitet, denn zum Zeitpunkt der ersten Veröffentlichung zum
Thema (1956) hatte er die Welt des italienischen Mezzogiorno bereits gründ-
lich kennengelemt; und dort gehörte die Bedrohung des Da-Seins durch tech-
nisch nicht zu bewältigende soziale und naturhafte Katastrophen, gehörten
psychopathologische Symptomatik und magische Kuren zur Tagesordnung
(vgl. oben, Abschnitt 6).
Anhand diverser psychiatrischer Dokumente demonstriert de Martino
die Parallelen zur Magie. Der „Geisteskranke“ ist unfähig, einen gegebenen
kritischen Bewußtseinsinhalt zu bewältigen; die Objektivität verliert ihre
Konturen, wird fremd und feindlich; ebenso entgleitet die innere Welt. Die
Psychopathen suchen zwar Abwehrtechniken gegen den „Verlust der Prä-
senz“ auszubilden, doch erfolglos. Denn die Abwehr gegen die Entfremdung
ist unangemessen, da sie den Kranken nicht in die Gesellschaft zurückzuinte-
grieren vermag. Seine Ritualismen, protektiven Symbolismen etc. bewegen
sich auf Privatpfaden, gehören nicht zur Gesamtkultur, was gerade das Krank-
sein ausmacht, ja verschlimmert.44 Das hauptsächliche psychische Begleit-
phänomen dieser Seinsbedrohung ist Angst; Angst nicht vor diesem oder je-
nem, sondern Angst schlechthin, Angst, nicht mehr zu sein, konkret: nicht
mehr an der menschlichen Geschichte mitzuwirken, sondern verhandelt
zu werden.45
43 Eine erste Kritik auf „II mondo magico“ (1948) besagte nämlich, das Risiko
eines Verlustes der Präsenz wäre reine Abstraktion (vgl. 1958 [19775] 4 ff. — Im folgenden
stütze ich mich hauptsächlich auf diese Arbeit und weiterhin auf Emesto de Martino 1965.
44 Die mentale Störung ist sozialpsychologisch mit dem Abbruch der sozialen Be-
ziehungen und dem Aufbau eines privaten Kommunikationssystems zu kennzeichnen (vgl.
Bateson, Jackson et al. 1970).
45 Interessanterweise findet sich der Terminus „essere-agito-da“ zuerst in der Be-
schreibung der „presenza malata“ in de Martino 1956 und wird erst danach, 1959 [19805]
auf das Präsenzrisiko überhaupt ausgedehnt.
60
Rainer Waßner
Anthropos 78.1983
Also ist die erste Beziehung zwischen Magie und Psychotherapie damit
gegeben, daß in beiden ihrem Einsatz vorausgehenden Situationen die Ver-
mittlung der Subjekte mit ihrer Gesellschaft bedroht ist. Eine zweite Be-
ziehung ist damit gegeben, daß in der pathologischen Symptomatik Magismen
auftreten (eschatologische Visionen, Wesenheiten etc., Archetypen). Um Ma-
gie handelt es sich trotzdem nicht, es sind lediglich phänomenale Überein-
stimmungen und Ähnlichkeiten. Den Symptomen und Wahnerlebnissen fehlt
der dem magischen Erlebnis innewohnende Appell — der in der rituellen
Antwort auf die Krise liegt —, in die Gesellschaft zurückzukehren, an ihren
Aktivitäten teilzunehmen.
Neben diesen beiden ersten Beziehungen; der Magie bzw. der die
Psychotherapie provozierenden Situationsaffinität und, abstrakt, den ideolo-
gischen Übereinstimmungen im Patienten- und Klientenbewußtsein, steht als
weitere dritte Beziehung bei de Martine das chronologische Nacheinander
von Magie und Psychotherapie (vgl. Ellenberger 1973). De Martine entwirft
diese Beziehung speziell in einigen kleineren Aufsätzen, die sich mit dem so-
zialen und kulturellen Wandel in Dörfern Süditaliens beschäftigen, und die
er unter dem Titel „Itinerari meridionali“ zusammenfaßt (vgl. 1980ö; 171ff.).
Einstens, so zeigt er, betreute die Kirche eine psychische Problematik, jetzt
sind es, wenigstens z.T., medizinische Instanzen. In diesen Beiträgen distan-
ziert sich de Martino wiederum von drei anderen Positionen: Erstens ver-
wirft er den kruden Positivismus, das Aufklärertum, das magische Kuren für
fehl am Platz, kurios und erfolglos hielt (im Gegenteil, solchen waren gute
Erfolge beschieden); zweitens richtet er sich gegen einen Irrationalismus, der
die Erfolge der Magie außergewöhnlichen Fähigkeiten (Suggestion etc.) der
Magier aufbürdet, und drittens aber auch gegen einen Relativismus, der mo-
derne und magische Einflußnahme für äquivalent erachtet. De Martino läßt
keinen Zweifel daran, daß die modernen Institutionen besser helfen würden.
Darüber hinaus bekämpft de Martino einen psychiatrischen Standpunkt, der
besagt, daß die religiöse Welt de facto der Welt des Irreseins zufiele: Die
Psychiatrie verkenne die soziale Durchgeformtheit des religiösen Lebens und
dessen Rationalität, auch sogenannter privater Gottheiten, 46
Ich gehe zu den fehlenden Aspekten einer zu erörternden Beziehung
zwischen Magie und Psychotherapie in den Schriften von Emesto de Mar-
tino über.
De Martino bereitet es keine weiteren Gedanken, welche Dignität seine
These von der Überlegenheit der Psychosomatik bzw. der modernen Psycho-
therapie besitzt. Es ist ganz schlicht seine Geschichtsphilosophie, daß die
Effizienz der Moderne den „Relikten“, wie er es betitelt, den Rang abge-
laufen habe. Ihm entgeht, daß gerade die Medizin einen Schwachpunkt in
46 Was schon Dürkheim (1912) immer wieder hervorgehoben hatte: daß sich zwar
jeder Kult tendenziell privatisiere, aber dennoch die Verbindung zur Gesamtgesellschaft
nicht verliere.
Der Beitrag von E. de Martino zur italienischen Kulturanthropologie
61
der Erfolgspalette der modernen Institutionen bildet (vgl. Jahoda 1969:
144L). Daraus folgt ein weiteres Manko, das mir, je mehr ich darüber nach-
denke, immer unbegreiflicher wird. Warum erforscht de Martino die Struk-
turen der Psychotherapie nicht weiter? Unbegreiflich, weil sich die Frage-
stellung schon aus der chronologischen Nachfolgeposition aufdrängt; unbe-
greiflich, weil die Psychotherapie den Patienten in die Gesellschaft rück-
integrieren will; unbegreiflich, weil de Martino ständig auf Suche nach
einem säkularen Symbolhorizont von Krise ist; unbegreiflich, weil er doch
die entsprechenden Hinweise von Lévi-Strauss oder Eliade kennen muß, und
auch weil er Freud nicht vorbehaltlos zustimmt. So hätte er sich nicht der
Einsicht verschließen können, daß es in den Psychotherapien nicht so ra-
tional und effizient zugeht, wie er meint; daß sich in der Therapie grund-
legende magische Paradigmen reproduzieren. Selbst der Neo-Evolutionist
Talcott Parsons konzediert ja der psychosomatischen Medizin etwas Krypto-
magie (1970; chapter X).
Den Hintergrund für den Verzicht auf diese interessante Fragestellung,
ebenso wie für seinen Glauben an die Überlegenheit der Psychotherapie, gibt,
wie gesagt, die Unberührheit der Norm vom Fortschritt der Humanität und
der Säkularisierung ab. So bleibt schließlich ganz ausgespart, wodurch denn
die Patienten der Psychiatrie in ihre ,,crisi della presenza“ schlittern, wel-
che kritischen Momente sie ängstigen (während er im Fall der Magie sehr
wohl deren ökonomische, soziale und ökologische Bedingungen zu ermitteln
wußte).
De Martino äußert sich indirekt, aber eindeutig. Krankheit ist ein Inte-
grationsdefizit, in erster Linie des Kranken selbst, in zweiter Linie der gesell-
schaftlichen Gruppen, z.B. der Familie. Weder bekommt er dadurch das
Phänomen der neuen Religionen richtig in den Griff, die ja weit über eine
Revitalisierung von Überbleibseln hinausgehen, noch könnte von de Martinos
theoretischem Fundament auf das Terrain der sogenannten Anti-Psychiatrie
vorgedrungen werden. Die englische und die italienische Anti-Psychiatrie
(Cooper 1971; Basaglia 1981), die die gesellschaftlichen Normen nicht
mehr rückhaltlos durchboxen möchte, ist hier nicht vorgedacht: denn
Krankheit ist bei de Martino eine Entfremdung von dem je Vorgefundenen
Gesellten, niemals eine Entfremdung des Gesollten von Vitalansprüchen.
8. Ernesto de Martino im Kontext der Geschichte der italienischen
Kulturanthropologie und Ethnologie
Die italienische Ethnologie hat sich im vorigen Jahrhundert — nicht
anders als in anderen westeuropäischen Staaten — aus der Physischen An-
thropologie zaghaft ausgegliedert, und ebenso stehen ihre ersten Selbstän-
digkeitsversuche in engem Zusammenhang mit der Gründung ethnographischer
Museen und ethnologischer Gesellschaften (vgl. Tentori 1973; 83ff.). Ihr
eigener, besonderer Weg begann, als der Positivismus in Italien das dominante
wissenschaftliche Paradigma, den Idealismus von Benedetto Croce, nicht
62
Rainer Waßner
Anthropos 78.1983
überwinden konnte. Die empirisch betriebene Kulturforschung blieb daher
wenig geschätzt. Religionshistorische und -ethnologische Fragestellungen
wurden weiterhin im Rahmen der geisteswissenschaftlichen Lehrstühle
abgehandelt. De Martino mit vielen seiner Schüler legen über diese, noch vor
dem ersten Weltkrieg beginnende, Wissenschaftsperiode einen Mantel des
Schweigens. Sie stempeln sie ipso facto zu einer Periode der Sterilität,
des Stillstands, der irrelevanten Resultate. Ich habe bereits einen Wider-
spruch gegen diese Meinung eingelegt (oben, p. 43 und Anm. 11). Jetzt sollen
Urteile von anderen kompetenten italienischen Anthropologen die Korrek-
tur vervollständigen (Lanternari 1973; Bernardi 1973; dazu die entsprechen-
den Diskussionsbeiträge).
Zweifelsohne drückte die idealistische Deutung der Kulturphänomene
der Volkskunde einen „esotizzante“ (geheimniskrämerischen) Charakter-
zug auf (Lanternari 1973: 45), dennoch kommt ihr auch ein Verdienst zu,
die italienische Kultur langsam auf eine positivere Wertung des einheimischen
Südens vorbereitet zu haben (ibid.). Die Leistung von de Martino, den Süden
als ein historisches Problem anzugehen und vor Ort zu erforschen, bedeutet
daher durchaus eine Weiterentwicklung von bereits Bestehendem, wenngleich
von entscheidenden Ausmaßen, „fondendo il meglio della tradizione folkló-
rica nostrana“ 1973: 56) [indem er das Beste unserer volkskundlichen Tradi-
tion stiftete].
Das Fehlen kolonialer Besitztümer und die Herrschaft der Philosophie
des Idealismus zogen in der Tat ein geringschätziges Desinteresse an außer-
europäischen und vorindustriellen Kulturen nach sich. Und erst recht der
Faschismus, der den Idealismus verdrängte, konnte weder ein Interesse an
Informationen über archaische Kulturen haben noch an Hinweisen auf Pro-
bleme, die er selbst nicht zu lösen trachtete. Um so wichtiger ist bei die-
ser Konstellation das Folgende zu vermerken: Einerseits blieben die antiken
und höheren Religionen weiterhin Gegenstand einer qualifizierten Religions-
wissenschaft (vgl. oben, p. 44 und Anm. 11). Zum anderen wurde die Gering-
schätzung und Vernachlässigung ethnischer Gesellschaften immer wieder
durchbrochen, durch „tentativi e alcune sporadiche iniziative individuali che
non vanno taciute“ [Versuche und sporadische individuelle Initiativen, die
nicht verschwiegen werden dürfen] (Lanternari 1973: 50).47
Zeitlich und sachlich ragt Raffaele Pettazzoni heraus, der übrigens in
Rom auch den Vorläufer des heutigen „L’Istituto per le Civiltà Primitive“,
ins Leben rief (Bernardi 1973: 100). Bereits 1912 schrieb er sein archäologisch
vorgehendes Buch über die ursprünglichen Religionen Sardiniens, und 1922
eröffnete er die Auseinandersetzung mit der Kulturkreislehre um das Urmono-
47
Lanternari nennt vier ethnologisch-ethnographische Vorläufer: Conti Rossini,
Enrico Cerulli, Lidio Cipriani, Lamberto Loria. — Aus anderen Wissenschaftsdisziplinen
nennt er Renato Biasutti, Raffaele Battaglia, Raffaele Corso, Giuseppe Cocchiara.
Der Beitrag von E. de Martino zur italienischen Kulturanthropologie
63
theismus-Problem (vgl. Anm. 11). Lanternai! nennt ihn den „fondatore“ wie
den „promotore“ (1973: 48), den Wegbereiter ethnologischer Studien in
Italien, der das Fremde in die Religions- und Kulturforschung eingebracht
habe. Warum de Martino so gut wie nie auf Pettazzoni eingeht, entschlüsselt
man aus einer Notiz von Clara Gailini (1977: XL Vif.): Pettazzoni übte näm-
lich keine Religionskritik (vgl. auch de Martino 1977a: 236L).
Ich gebe einige weitere Namen zur Kenntnis: Remo Canzoni veröffent-
lichte 1941, im gleichen Jahr, in dem de Martinos erste Monographie er-
schien, sein philosophisches Buch über „Die Primitiven“. V.L. Grottanelli
verstieß sogar gegen das latente Tabu einer Feldforschung. In den dreis-
S1ger Jahren beginnend, arbeitete er in Afrika, zunächst in Äthiopien und
über die Präniloten, dann unternahm er Forschungen bei den Bagiuni in So-
malia und Kenia und den Nzima in Ghana. Grottanelli war auch Direktor
des Römischen Instituts für Ethnologie und erster Lehrstuhlinhaber dieses
Faches in Italien (Bernardi 1973: 101 f.). — In Äthiopien forschte auch
Ernesta Cernili (Bernardi 1973: 95),
Schließlich darf die Bedeutung der kulturhistorischen Schule nicht un-
tergehen. 1925 eröffnete man das ethnologische Lateran-Museum, und unter
dem direkten Einfluß von Pater Wilhelm Schmidt wurde die ethnologische
Zeitschrift Annali Lateranensi ins Leben gerufen (Lanternari 1973: 50f.).
Fhe Beschäftigung mit schriftlosen Völkern war hier ganz und gar nicht von
Verboten umstellt, und bei aller konfessionellen Deutlichkeit bekennt
Bernardi (1973: 96), daß die strengen methodischen Forderungen der Kul-
turkreisiehre „attrasse l’entusiasmo di noi giovani“ [den Enthusiasmus von
uns Jüngeren auf sich zog] für weitere ethnologische Studien. Boccassino und
Guariglia sind bekannte Vertreter dieses Forschungszweiges.
Zählt man zu den eben erwähnten Wissenschaftlern noch die abseits
vom offiziellen Betrieb geleistete wissenschaftliche Arbeit hinzu, werden
2Wei bilanzierende Urteile verständlich.
NeH‘arco di tempo tra il 1922 e il 1941 si vennero impiantando le radici di una
scienza etnologica orientata fin dapprincipio, come vediamo, verso lo studio della
religiosità primitiva (Lanternari 1973: 49). [Im Zeitraum von 1922 bis 1941 wur-
den die Wurzeln einer Wissenschaft Ethnologie eingepflanzt, die — wie wir gesehen
haben — von Anfang an auf das Studium der primitiven Religion ausgerichtet war.]
Und Bernardi unterstreicht, daß es auch bei der unbestreitbaren Tat-
sache einer retardierten Wissenschaftsentwicklung
non è mancata una tradizione nobilissima di interesse e di ricerca innanzi da studiosi
individuali mossi soltanto dal desiderio personale di conoscenza e di studio (1973:
94). [ ... nicht an einer wirklich ausgezeichneten Tradition von Interessen und For-
schungen gefehlt hat, in erster Linie vorangetrieben durch einzelne Gelehrte, die
ausschließlich von persönlichem Wissens- und Studierdrang beseelt waren.]
Von den Nachkriegsbegebenheiten sind zwei hervorzuheben: die Stu-
dien von Tullio Tentori in den Vereinigten Staaten und die Einrichtung ei-
nes anthropologischen Lehrstuhls in Palermo auf Betreiben der englisch-
64
Rainer Waßner
Anthropos 78.1983
amerikanischen Besatzungsmacht, 1948. In diesem Fall waren es die Italiener
selbst, die diesen Lehrstuhl bei erster Gelegenheit wieder auflösten (Tentori
1973: 85; der Lehrstuhlinhaber war Giuseppe Cocchiara).
In diesem gewachsenen nationalen Rahmen einer Ethnologie, die seit
Beginn ihrer (relativ) eigenständigen Existenz historisch orientiert war —
und nicht soziologisch wie in Großbritannien oder Frankreich —, inseriert die
Leistung von Emesto de Martine.48 1. hat er die Feldarbeit zu einem Essen-
tial von Ethnologie gemacht; 2. indem er die Feldarbeit im eigenen Lande
unternahm, hat er die Kultur des Südens einer religionsgeschichtlichen,
anthropologischen und zeitpolitischen Perspektive unterworfen; 3. weckte er
damit das Interesse an der amerikanischen Kulturanthropologie, die, ebenso,
innerhalb einer komplexen Großgesellschaft von der Modernisierung ausge-
schlossene Kulturen ins öffentliche Bewußtsein gehoben hat; 4. hat de Mar-
tine die theoretischen Anregungen und Leistungen seiner Vorgänger aufge-
nommen, gebündelt und weitergeführt, hauptsächlich durch die Investierung
marxistisch-dialektischer Konzepte und psychologischer Fragestellungen.
Ich schließe einige Worte zu Vittorio Lantemari an, dem im Ausland be-
kanntesten zeitgenössischen italienischen Ethnologen. Um allerdings die
Identität des Aufsatzes nicht preiszugeben, will ich nur so weit auf ihn hin-
weisen, als seine Arbeiten Licht auf das Werk von de Martino werfen. Seine
eigene Beurteilung von de Martino haben wir bereits kennengelernt (vgl.
oben, pp. 61 ff.; Lantemari 1973). Lantemari hat die Lektionen von Antonio
Gramsci (1891-1937)49 gründlich studiert, wie bereits seine ersten Ver-
öffentlichungen zeigten. Die Dialekt i k der gesellschaftlichen Verhält-
nisse drückt sich u.a. aus im unversöhnten ideellen und reellen Konflikt
zwischen offizieller Religion — in Italien also der kirchlich-katholischen —
und inoffizieller Religion — in Italien z.B. der plebejisch-bäuerlichen Religion
der zurückgebliebenen Regionen im Süden. Das Studium jenes oppositionell
zur herrschenden Kultur stehenden und agierenden Komplexes von Vorstel-
lungen, Riten, sozialen Beziehungen soll deren sozial-existentielle und histo-
rische Genesis suchen (Lantemari 1955, 1967: 17 und 22).50 Die phäno-
menologisch-klassifikatorische Arbeit ist wichtig, tritt jedoch an Bedeutsam-
keit hinter die der Kausalanalyse zurück (vgl. 1967: Vor- und Nachwort).
48 Lantemari und Bemardi stimmen nur in einem einzigen Punkt in der Beurteilung
der Leistung von de Martino nicht überein; ob er als Begründer der italienischen Kultur-
anthropologie gelten könne. Lantemari votiert dafür (1973: 54);Bernardi erkennt (1973:
104) Tullio Tentori das Verdienst zu, weil dieser mit seinem Aufenthalt in Amerika die
dortige Kulturanthropologie in Italien bekannt gemacht habe.
49 Auch theoretisch der führende Kopf des italienischen Marxismus in den zwanziger
und dreißiger Jahren.
50 Das Werk von 1967 ist auch in theoretischer Hinsicht so etwas wie eine Bilanz
des Bisherigen.
Der Beitrag von E. de Martino zur italienischen Kulturanthropologie
65
Das stellt eine neue religionsgeschichtliche Perspektive der religiösen Gegen-
bewegungen innerhalb des Christentums her, die alle für Lantemari im
wesentlichen gleicher Natur sind, einschließlich der gegenwärtigen protestan-
tischen oder asiatischen Sekten in Italien (1969: n. 118, vgl. 1967: 471 und
475). Ohne den Einfluß von Gramsci und eventuell der englischen funktio-
nalistischen Social Anthropology mindern zu wollen, die Anstöße von de
Martino liegen auf der Hand, in den Motiven und den geographischen Orten
der Forschung. Die Volksreligionen sind mehr als nur abergläubisch-kuriose
Momente, sondern rational verstehbare, als notwendig nachweisbare Elemente
in einem kulturgeschichtlichen Zusammenhang. Sie sind Ausdruck einer
unterdrückten Gegenkultur, die durch empirische Forschung zu erheben ist.
Lantemari beschäftigt sich anfangs mit typisch ländlichen Festen (Son-
nenwende, Neujahr). Doch seine Herkunft aus der Pettazzoni-Schule läßt
sein Interesse schnell die außereuropäischen Kulturen einbeziehen, und dort
speziell die prophetischen und chiliastischen Bewegungen. Er entfaltet deren
geistigen Beitrag zum antikolonialistischen Kampf und ihr Verhältnis zur
eigenen tradierten und zur oktroyierten Kultur. Hier leistet er 1960 in den
„Movimenti“ sein Meisterstück. Die Studien der außereuropäischen Kulturen
werden mit dem Spiegelgleichnis ä la Martino gerechtfertigt:
So will also die Ethnologie selbst zur Geschichtsschreibung werden. Wir sind davon
überzeugt, daß sich durch die Einbeziehung ethnologischer Aspekte und Perioden
der Horizont einer Geschichtsschreibung wie jener Croce’s, an die unsere Bemühun-
gen um tieferes Verstehen sich in gewisser Hinsicht anschließen, erweitern kann.
So ist also die werdende historistische Ethnologie, womit wesentlich eine „reli-
giöse“ Ethnologie gemeint ist, imstande, ein klärendes Licht auf die Kultur des
modernen Menschen zu werfen, so daß Natur, Eigenheiten, Grenzen der heutigen
Zivilisation leichter zu erkennen sind (1967: 24).
Immer wieder betont Lantemari die Kontinuität von moderner und
kolonialer Welt (1967: 23 und 469).
Bei übereinstimmender politisch-methodischer Blickrichtung zeigt das
Bemühen Lanternaris einen gravierenden Unterschied zu de Martino, den wir
knapp bereits erwähnt haben (Abschnitt 5, Anm. 29). Für de Martino sind
die sich religiös verstehenden und religiöse Symbole verwendenden politischen
und kulturellen Bewegungen noch nicht zu sich selbst gekommen. De Marti-
ne (1980«: 81ff.) weist zwar den platten Positivismus in seine Schranken, in-
dem er eine autonome symbolische Funktion des Menschen verficht;
aber die historisch wahre, unserer Zeit angemessene Symbolik kennt keinen
Bezug zur Transzendenz mehr, dürfte keinen mehr kennen. Sein an Hegel
und Marx geschultes geschichtsphilosophisches Postulat ist sein Parameter
der Kritik realer Bewegungen und wissenschaftlicher Erfassung. Lantemari,
politisch wohl Marxist, geht — wie soll ich sagen? — pragmatischer? vor. Für
ihn ist das Religiöse methodisch eine völlig gleichwertige Lebensäußerung
neben ökonomischen, politischen etc. Aktivitäten (Lantemari 1967: 19). Im
Prinzip sagt er, unterscheiden sich letzte säkulare Werte und Ziele nicht von
Anthropos 78.1983
5
66
Rainer Waßner
Anthropos 78.1983
religiösen (1967: 12f.). Seine Sachneutralität (die gewissermaßen die meta-
physische Wahrheitsfrage in die phänomenologische Klammer setzt) erlaubt
ihm, die Religion ebenso gründlich wie in ihren konservativ-stabilisierenden
auch in ihren gegenwarts-transzendierenden Dimensionen wahrzunehmen.
Immer wieder kommt Lanternari darauf zurück. Religiöse und magische
Kulte nahmen die politisch-soziale Befreiung vorweg (1967: 11); ihre posi-
tive Funktion erstreckt sich auch in die Zukunft und erschöpft sich nicht
in der Erhaltung des Status quo (1967: 486ff.). Es kann sogar angeraten
sein, religiös auf die Herausforderung der dritten und vierten Welt zu antwor-
ten (1967: 25). Im Religiösen schlummert ein Emeuerungsimpuls ebenso wie
Impulse der Bewahrung oder Unterdrückung. Folklore ist selbst Protest,
aktualisiert ihn nicht nur.51 An der Bewertung der Befreiungsbewegungen
in den alten kolonialisierten Ländern tritt die Differenz zu de Martine deut-
lich zutage. Für Lanternari beinhaltet der Millenarismus, auch und gerade
als Heilserwartung (1967: 462), analog zu dem Urchristentum, die Chance ei-
ner schöpferischen Überwindung der kolonialen und priesterlichen Unter-
drückung, was im übrigen auch sein Interesse an organisatorischen wie elite-
soziologischen Aspekten verständlich macht. Für de Martine war das eine so
nicht annehmbare These, Den Vergleich mit dem Urchristentum hielt er in
einer Notiz zu Lanternari für verwirrend (de Martino 1980ö; 159ff.). Das
Christentum bedeutete die Geburt einer neuen Kultur im Schatten der
Kirche; der aktuelle Millenarismus enthält eine Entwicklungsmöglichkeit
nur dann, wenn er die mythischen Instanzen, in denen er sich zu erkennen
gibt, in ein säkulares politisches Bewußtsein von Befreiungskampf umwan-
delt.
Ich bin an den Differenzen zu Emesto de Martino — meinen und denen
anderer — nicht vorübergegangen. Aber die primäre Absicht war, die G e -
s t a 1 t seines Werkes kenntlich zu machen. In ihr tritt bestimmend hervor;
Schicksal und Grenze der christlichen Prägung des Abendlandes; der lebens-
nahe Aufgriff religionswissenschaftlicher Fragestellungen; die Verantwortung
des Wissenschaftlers in seinem Denken und Tun.
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Patrick С. Douaud
Canadian Metis Identity:
A Pattern of Evolution
Abstract. — The Metis occupy a marginal place in contemporary Canadian society:
ln spite of their mixed ancestry they have not had access to the main course of socio-
cultural development followed by White and Indian groups. This paper first outlines the
significant phases of Metis history and describes their emergence into the modem Euro-
Canadian world. Then a rural Metis community is given as an example of the economic
and cultural transition between traditional and modern lifestyles which is currently being
effected. Finally the study focuses on the difficulties met by contemporary Metis in
trying to preserve a distinct identity and on their ability to merge the two different
traditions from which their culture got its substance. Both a historical and an ethnographic
aPproach have been adopted, and wherever possible quotations are drawn from the
Works of Metis authors (Campbell, Cardinal, Daniels, Erasmus, Sealey and Fussier). [Half-
breeds, Acculturation, Multilingualism, Minorities]
1. The Concept of Metis
Halfbreeds exist throughout the colonized world, yet the Canadian
Metis, with perhaps the Cape Coloured and the Haitians, are unique in that
they were able to “successfully assert political and legal rights, for a period
at least, against the national government” (Daniels 1979a: 7). Those Metis,
who gave Canada her only semblance of Indian War with the 1885 Rebellion,
were the result of unions between French voyageurs, coureurs de bois,
or traders with Indian or Halfbreed women:
These first “half-breeds” were literally that, probably the offspring of Frenchmen
from Champlain’s company, which established Quebec in 1608, and of Indian
women among the Huron and Algonquin tribes (Howard 1974: 39).
Patrick C. Douaud, Ph. D. in Anthropology; research on native American languages
and contemporary problems of acculturation. — Publications include: “Canada and
France: Main Trends in the Sociolinguistics of French” (Anthropological Linguistics
1979) ; “Metis: A Case of Triadic Linguistic Economy” (Anthropological Linguistics
1980) ; “An Example of Suprasegmental Convergence” (International Journal of American
Linguistics 1983); Ethnolinguistic Study of a Rural Metis Community (Ph. D. thesis
1982). Address: Dept, of Anthropology, Univ. of Alberta, Edmonton T6G 2H4, Canada.
72
Patrick C. Douaud
Anthropos 78.1983
Price (1978: 82) notes that
Differences between the Europeans who arrived in the New World played an im-
portant role in determining the nature of Indian-European relations. For example,
the French, Spanish, and Portuguese were more tolerant than northern Europeans
of intermarriage with the Natives. Thus, since early historical times there have
been significant populations of Spanish-Indian “Mestizos” and French-Indian
“Metis,” but few British-Indian “Halfbreeds,” considering the size of the British
population in North America.
The author adds that this can be due either to a greater racial discrimi-
nation on the part of the British, or to the fact that they tended to come
to North America as whole families; whatever the exact reason, the French
Halfbreeds were the most numerous and the French word Metis has come
to designate all persons of mixed European and Indian origin in Canada.
The Metis are largely a western phenomenon, as “In the East, large
numbers of mixed-bloods were rapidly assimilated into the dominant society”
(Sealey and Lussier 1975: 3); those who did not settle immediately became
involved in the fur trade, then in the buffalo hunts, and therefore were to
be found where the frontier then was—in this way providing Canada with
the genuine facilitators of western expansion that the United States always
lacked: “Without their help the process would have been much bloodier
than it was” (Howard 1974: 40).
The traditional image we have of the Metis is that of a marginal society
with its own distinctive culture: “Unlike many other minority groups, the
Metis are basically non-conformist” (Sealey and Lussier 1975: 169). Part
of this non-conformism owes to a blend of Indian “reticence” (as defined in
Preston 1976) and Gallic joie de vivre: “We never had a dance without a
good fight, and we enjoyed and looked forward to it as much as the danc-
ing,” remarks Campbell (1973: 57); all these facets of the Metis personality
made them a colourful people with its own privileged place in Canadian
folklore. Yet the term Metis is also an administrative and, in Alberta, a legal
definition: “[It] is applicable to those people who fail to meet the legal or
social requisites of either Indian or White, and yet are the offspring of both”
(Hatt 1969; 19). More precisely, a Metis is a person with any degree of
Indian blood who is not registered on a reserve; as such, the term Metis
covers almost one million people in Canada, as compared to 250,000 registered
Indians—for example, it covers “many non-status Indians (who) live in Metis
colonies on land to which they have no title, and which is not reserved under
the Indian Act” (Manuel and Posluns 1974: 243).
Having defined the population under study, I now propose to give an
outline of Metis history; to follow their passage into the 20th century; to
focus on a select Metis rural community; to describe its pattern of accultura-
tion; and to attempt to foresee the future of the Canadian Metis.
Canadian Metis Identity : A Pattern of Evolution
73
2. The Metis Nation
The Metis people are often called “the offspring of the Canadian fur
trade”; as the European fur traders in the East needed wives, they simply
chose them from the tribes whose territories overlapped the trade—mainly
Cree and Ojibwa, both being close relatives within the Woodland culture
°f Algonquian-speaking Indians. That was in the 17th century, when the
French traders outnumbered the British ones: this explains why the new
hybrid race received a French name. From then on, as the fur trade expanded
Westward, the Metis proliferated in Rupert’s Land:
The French colonies of the West, so largely of mixed blood, had begun, and the
coureur de bois, restless and lawless, was to give way to the voyageur, an engagé
who toiled at the paddle and the portage but did not winter with the Indians or
collect furs (Morton 1969: 96).
At the same time as they were instrumental in the fur trade and the
concomitant geographic explorations, the Metis became semi-settled and
some even farmed part of the year:
At every little trading post the number of Metis increased dramatically, so that by
1800 most posts had a number of Metis homes grouped around the walls (Sealey
and Fussier 1975: 8).
These formed the basis for the Metis settlements which would later
radiate in the organized buffalo hunt.
In 1811 Lord Selkirk obtained from the Hudson’s Bay Company a
grant enabling him to settle a number of evictees from the Scottish land
clearances on an area of land by the Assiniboine and Red Rivers, which
became known as District of Assiniboia. In 1814 the governor of Assini-
boia attempted to forbid the buffalo hunt and limit the pemmican trade—
the very essence of the Metis economic and cultural life—in the hope of
boosting the White settlers’ economy. Led by Cuthbert Grant, the Metis
retaliated and there followed a period of harassment between the two fac-
tions, as neither side realized they were pawns in the war game played by
the North West Company and the Hudson’s Bay Company over fur trade
monopoly. The White settlers were finally driven away by the Metis after the
battle of Seven Oaks (1816); however, the conflict went on between the
two Companies until their eventual merging in 1821, which encouraged the
emergence of new White settlements on the Red River, as well as the settling
°f a number of Metis who so far had had regular employment with either
Company.
74
Patrick C. Douaud
Anthropos 78.1983
The Red River settlement thus comprised a semi-nomadic Metis popula-
tion and a White contingent of sedentary farmers; the activities of the former
included buffalo hunting, employment in the fur trade and horticulture, and
their education was shared by the Roman Catholic Church and the Protestant
Church. Recognized as a “majority group and, therefore, socially acceptable”
(Sealey and Lussier 1975: 47) thanks to their essential role in the still little-
civilized life of Assiniboia, the Metis throve and expanded, becoming the
masters of the plains south of Fort Garry (now Winnipeg) through their
buffalo-hunting skills. This was the time when they were able to beat a
2,000-strong army of Sioux warriors at the battle of Grand Coteau (1851),
and officially to trade with the United States after breaking the Hudson’s
Bay Company’s trade monopoly in Rupert’s Land in 1849.
At the same time their culture was becoming more European under the
influences of the churches, and the progress of civilization in the West was
felt more strongly from 1850 on, as more White settlers arrived, steamboats
appeared on the Red River (supplanting the overland transportation system
by carts) and the buffalo herds dwindled rapidly. However, it was difficult
for the Metis to understand that their prosperity was built on frontier condi-
tions and was therefore doomed. This change was precipitated by the taking
over by Canada of the administration of the Northwest from the Hudson’s
Bay Company in 1869—a momentous transfer that marked the end of two
centuries of rule in non-civilized Canada, The Metis, whose interests clashed
with those of the alien Canadian government in remote Ottawa, went through
a period of insurrections, first in Manitoba (1870), then in Saskatchewan—
culminating in 1885 with the execution of their leader Louis Riel; as Manuel
and Posluns (1974: 22) remark; “It was not even armed resistance, so much
as an effort to set up a government to meet the needs that Ottawa so con-
sistently ignored.” The Metis nation was dead, and the dispersion of its
members intensified; this dispersion had begun in 1870 when a number of
Metis, dissatisfied with the outcome of their first insurrection and harassed
by the White settlers’ hostility, migrated farther west or south to the United
States (especially North Dakota and Montana, where their descendants are
still living). Furthermore, small isolated groups had been leaving Manitoba
regularly since the 1820s for distant regions in Saskatchewan and Alberta,
and ties had been kept between those remote communities and the Red
River Metis settlement.
Thus it is that at the end of the 19th century the Plains Metis found
themselves without land or status, rejected by the Whites, kept off the
Indian reserves, and deprived of their economic and cultural basis: the gre-
gariousness of the large organized buffalo hunt.
3. The Modern Metis
Some Metis integrated into White society, others became incorporated
into the Indian reservation system, but these were marginal cases: as a rule,
the Metis after 1885 were a semi-nomadic destitute people and life for them
Canadian Metis Identity: A Pattem of Evolution
75
was of the moment. Whole families wandered from job to job, trapping,
hunting, and fishing the comparatively depleted areas they covered. They
gathered outside White communities in shanty towns, or along roads and
railways; they were known as the Road Allowance people, and this name
became associated with the traditional “bad image” of a beaten people—
with alcoholism, fights, jail sentences, etc. This state of affairs lasted until
Well after World War II, when Campbell (1973: 1-2) notes:
The Halfbreed families who squatted on the road allowance have moved to nearby
towns where welfare handouts and booze are handier, or else deeper into the bush
as an escape from reality.
The Metis who had been living in isolated rural communities since
before the 1885 Rebellion led a secluded existence away from the political
Mid economic turmoil, converted to part-time farming and kept in check by
the Church; those who had integrated early into the mainstream of Canadian
society were especially contemptuous of their less acculturated relatives.
The Indians had been granted treaties and lived on reservations where, how-
ever unsatisfactory the conditions may have been, they could at least retain
their identity and tribal cohesion. The ordinary Metis had none of this—they
were definitely outside the general path of progress, yet they were not
Marginal enough to be put aside under special status; as a result,
The mental set of the Metis was one of hopelessness, and a feeling that failure
would be their lot no matter what efforts were expended (Sealey and Lussier 1975:
144-145).
However, in spite or because of this lack of outside support, the Metis
Maintained the collective vitality that characterized them as a Nation; they
depended on nobody and thus could maintain a semblance of freedom, even
though it was dearly acquired. Four main types could be distinguished, from
More modern to more traditional;
a) integrated: those Metis who had settled definitively and had success-
fully adapted to Euro-Canadian culture; they had either crossed the colour
bne or become historical Metis, i.e., people proud of their past grandeur but
resentful of the “degeneration” of the other Metis;
b) living on the fringe of White settlements: the Road Allowance people
described in Campbell (1973), wandering from job to job and destitute;
c) living on the fringe of reservations; a common phenomenon, as illustrated
by Dion (1979: 159), then a school teacher on Kehiwin’s Reserve in 1903:
At the Indian agent’s first visit to our little schoolhouse he noted that it was burs-
ting at the seams and I had to confess that a number of children came from Metis
parents who were staying in the vicinity. The agent immediately ordered the
removal of all halfbreeds from the Indian reserve;
76
Patrick C. Douaud
Anthropos 78.1985
d) living in small isolated communities: with an economy based on fishing,
hunting, and trapping, this group best preserved the traditional Metis identity
and was to provide most of the Metis leaders that arose after World War II.
The reason why the great majority of the Metis did not integrate into
White society is simple:
. . . the Metis were asked to work within an economic structure they poorly
understood, with obligations and responsibilities to be assumed that their previous
lifestyle inhibited (Sealey and Lussier 1975: 136).
As voyageurs and meat suppliers, the Metis could only last as long as
the frontier lasted: their economy would then have to be based on more
settled activities such as agriculture and fishing. The White Man’s attempts at
operating such a transition generally failed because: a) the Metis were expected
to adapt quickly to the new lifestyle; b) White speculators often manipulated
them into selling their scrips for a pittance; and c) seldom did the White
authorities show much understanding or provide thorough aid (the farming
implements and seeds were often of inferior grade, or lacking altogether).
For example, such an experimental transition failed at St Paul-des-Metis
(Alberta) at the turn of the century: the newly created Metis farming colony
was unable to expand its exploitations and produce a surplus; also its mem-
bers became easily discouraged if they did not see immediate results, and
were all too inclined to abandon the project—which is exactly what happened,
following which White farmers took over the land (see Drouin 1968 for
further details); “They just did not have the kind of thing inside them that
makes farmers” (Campbell 1973: 8).
After the Great Depression the Metis were worse off than ever; as
often happens in the direst situations, it was then that the first political
leaders began to emerge—in Saskatchewan and in Alberta—and strove to im-
prove the condition of their people. Metis colonies were then established in
Alberta under the Metis Betterment Act (1938), as well as a Metis Trust
Fund which was to receive royalties for the resources taken from Metis land.
Dion (1979: 185) writes;
These Metis settlements are not Indian reserves. The administration differs in that
the Metis settlements are under a rehabilitation plan aimed at bringing the Metis
back to their former independent status and to protect them until such a time when
they will be able to handle their own business to advantage.
As we shall see below the Metis are now well able to “handle their
own business,” but they must contend with many obstacles.
After World War II and the subsequent opening of the general attitude
towards minorities, the Metis “problem” gained more recognition and local
organizations were created. Also, the National Indian Council was founded
in 1961, then to split in 1968 into the National Indian Brotherhood and the
Canadian Metis Society, the latter including enfranchised Indians. The Native
Canadian Metis Identity: A Pattem of Evolution
77
Council of Canada was born in 1971 with the aim of achieving full Native
(mixed and full blood) participation in the life of modem Canadian society.
Here is a significant excerpt from the Council’s Declaration of rights (Daniels
19796):
We the Metis and Non-Status Indians, descendants of the “original people” of this
country, declare:
That Metis nationalism is Canadian nationalism. We embody the true spirit of Cana-
da and we are the source of Canadian identity. . . . That we have the right to
preserve our identity and to flourish as a distinct people with a rich cultural heritage.
. . . That we are a people with a right to special status in Confederation.
These statements will be discussed in some detail below; the next sec-
tion will focus on a concrete example of how the Metis settled into the 20th
century.
4. A Rural Metis Community
One of the most important differences between the Native and the
Euro-Canadian mentalities is that the Native thinks he belongs to the land,
whereas the White considers the land belongs to him. These two attitudes
irréconciliable and account for much of the failures that characterize
Native-White arrangements. The situation is even more complicated in the
case of the Metis. On the one hand, they share with the Indians a lack of
interest for hoarding material wealth and are therefore viewed as Indians
Ey the Whites; Campbell (1973: 27) typifies this cultural incompatibility
Very nicely through a Halfbreed’s view of the White settlers just after World
War II:
These people rarely raised their voices, and never shared with each other, borrowing
or buying instead. They didn’t understand us, just shook their heads and thanked
God they were different.
On the other hand, the Metis also differ from the Indians by their
exuberance and lack of restraint:
There was never much love lost between Indians and Halfbreeds. They were com-
pletely different from us—quiet when we were noisy, dignified even at dances and
go-togethers (Campbell 1973: 25).
It is clear from such statements that the Metis have their own distinct
identity; they partake of both Indian and White cultures but are not fully
accepted by either. No wonder then that Daniels (1979a; 27) warns: “If the
NTetis are to found effective organizations, these should have their roots
111 past traditions.” These past traditions emphasized distinctiveness and
Eased survival on action and fight—this, indeed, is the confirmed manner
ln which repressed minorities can hope to assert themselves.
78
Patrick C. Douaud
Anthropos 78.1983
The Metis reaction in the middle of this century was timely: “At present
they are re-emerging as an ethnic group, with only informal—not legal-
recognition by the federal government,” notes Frideres (1974: 3). More
concerned than the federal government, the three Prairie provinces (Manito-
ba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta, which include the majority of Canadian
Metis) have launched helping programs carried out with various degrees of
determination. The Metis settlements of Alberta are a case in point:
For many years the Metis in the 2000 square miles of Metis land would be forced
to eke out a living through agriculture, trapping, hunting and fishing. The discovery
and exploitation of natural gas and oil deposits in the Metis settlements in recent
decades promised better days but instead resulted in over $ 30 million in oil and gas
bypassing the Metis Trust Fund on its way to the Alberta Heritage Trust, the petro-
dollars account of the provincial government (Daniels 1979a: 81).
As in the case of the Indians, this half-hearted provincial help has
triggered off endless law suits concerning land claims, and even leads to a
number of ugly actions such as the less than fair seizure of Metis files by the
Albertan government in the Kikino Colony offices in July 1979.
As was noted above, a number of more isolated Metis communities have
been sheltered from the industrial and financial White world for a long time;
there the traditional pattern has endured, and the current process of accultura-
tion is progressing more smoothly. One such community is the one com-
prising a cluster of families known as Mission Metis, near the town of Lac La
Biche (Northern Alberta), on which I shall concentrate now.
Now scattered within a radius of several miles, this used to be a pre-
dominantly French- and Cree-speaking community of Metis families whose
ancestors had come from Manitoba (Fort Garry, Saint-Boniface, etc.) around
the middle of the 19th century “to assist with missionary work” (Lac La
Biche 1975: 102) and in search of new, unsettled locations to practice trap-
ping, hunting, fishing, and, to some extent, small-scale farming. Religion had
always been important in Metis culture: “The Church and its teachings
touched every aspect of Metis life,” say Sealey andKirkness (1974; 43) about
traditional Metis. The Roman Catholic Church established its first mission
on the Red River colony in 1818 (the first settlers of Lord Selkirk were
Catholics), and the Protestant Church arrived in 1820. Apart from their
commitment to keeping in check the moral standards of their flocks, the
two Churches were strong advocates of farming and related activities. Also
the Catholic Church, mostly French-speaking, urged the Metis to preserve
their French language in the same way it later urged the Irish to revive the
Gaelic tongue—the Church authorities knew well that cultural separateness
tends to strengthen internal social and spiritual bonds. As a result, the
English Halfbreeds have merged into White society to a greater extent than
the French Metis. The protective role of the Roman Catholic Church was
thus very real;
îrwBgBMfiMÉimifii—im——i mnmn i—i
mm
Canadian Metis Identity: A Pattern of Evolution 79
Les missions s’érigèrent donc de préférence autor des lacs du Park Land, dans les
grandes vallées fluviales de la Prairie, ou dans les secteurs dont la fertilité laissait
espérer le futur développement agricole, mais où la proximité des territoires de
chasse garantirait en attendant la subsistance des missionnaires et des familles qui
se réuniraient auprès de la mission. Les établissements du Lac Sainte-Anne, du Lac
La Biche, de Saint-Albert, de la rivière Qu’Appelle, du Pas, répondaient à cette dé-
finition (Giraud 1945: 1074).
It is in these circumstances that an Oblate mission was built on the
shores of the lake La Biche in 1853 (Giraud 1945: 1038); before that, Lac
ha Biche had been a mere fur-trading post founded by David Thompson in
1798. The missionaries brought with them a few Metis families from the Red
River who focused their subsistence activities on fishing, trapping, and hunt-
lng; in the summer, “many of them were hired to load the Hudson’s Bay
harges with food and supply, then float them down the La Biche river
to the North” (Lac La Biche 1975: 12).
... les trois cents Métis qui formaient en 1880 la population du Lac La Biche des-
cendaient, surtout par voie de mariage entre «parents et alliés», de deux anciens
Canadiens ... , Cardinal et Desjarlais,
frites Giraud (1945: 1038); this does not apply to the Mission Metis, who
t° this day have held five family names, all different to the two he mentions
(which are, indeed, widespread in the Lac La Biche area). Clearly, the
Mission Metis have always been a tight-knit community, physically and
culturally gathered around the mission; in this the situation resembles that
Ascribed by Hatt (1969: 22) in the Kikino Metis colony, where “over 75
Percent of the population . . . belong to five extended families.” This similar-
ly stresses the endogamous character of traditional Metis marriages.
The general pattern of Metis fortunes in the Lac La Biche area after the
1885 Saskatchewan rebellion is familiar:
Dans la région d’Edmonton, au Lac La Biche, au Lac Sainte-Anne, à Saint-Albert,
les Métis perdirent ainsi en grand nombre les titres qu’ils venaient de recevoir. Si
beaucoup les échangeaient contre une somme d’argent raisonnable, d’autres les
cédèrent pour peu de chose, certains pour de la boisson ou pour des chevaux (Giraud
1945: 1215).
The Mission Metis were fortunate enough to escape the White specul-
ators, as they were living on Mission land that they did not own. Secluded as
they were, they have always been marginal to the other Metis of the area,
Who are the descendants of fur trade employees; they have been less exposed
t° hostility and racism, but also—because of the emphasis laid on the non-
Rnglish aspects of their culture—have until recently been prevented from
emerging into the outside world.
80
Patrick C. Douaud
Anthropos 78.1983
In 1935-1936 Giraud {ibid.) observed three characteristics applying to
the majority of Canadian French Metis:
a) their cultural isolation: “Au Lac La Biche, par exemple, aucune
alliance ne s’est faite entre Métis et Canadiens depuis 1920” (p. 1272);
b) their semi-nomadic lifestyle: people lived in log and mud houses; net
fishing on a private basis was forbidden, but line fishing was allowed in
summer; there was little hunting and trapping available in the immediate
vicinity of the lake, which forced the men to seek intermittent wage labour
working on roads or cutting timber; in summer the people moved closer to
the lake and lived in tents or wickiups (p. 1261-1262);
c) their destitution: “Au Lac Sainte-Anne, au Lac La Biche, l’alcoolisme
fait de terribles ravages dans la majorité des familles” (p. 1265) ; Giraud was
appalled by the concomitant spread of prostitution, the number of illegiti-
mate children and the high rate of venereal diseases.
Even though the Mission Metis shared the poverty of the others, they
were privileged in so far as they could till the Mission land and their children
had a school close by in the winter. However, alcoholism was not unknown
among them and there are now a few reformed elderly drinkers; also, the
fact that some Metis aged 50+ are illiterate shows that schooling was not al-
ways enforced with infallibility. The living conditions of the Metis popula-
tion in the Lac La Biche area generally improved with the establishment of
the Metis settlements between 1938 and 1942; significantly, the Mission did
not join in—whether they refrained of their own accord or at the instigation
of the priests.
5. Cultural Trends in Present-Day Mission Metis
Marginal as they are, the Mission Metis have seen two major changes
since the beginning of the 1960s: improved housing facilities and provincial
school education. Better housing has been obtained through the Alberta
Metis Association, which provides modem trailers with mnning water and
electricity for just over $100 per month; typically the old house or shack
that was the only accommodation until recently has not been demolished,
but is used for storage and as a place where you can take a nap in the cool
during the hot days of summer. Provincial education has been made available
to mral communities through a centralized school system based in Lac La
Biche town; this has put the children in daily contact with other Metis,
Indian, and White children, and has contributed greatly to the diffusion of
the English language.
Canadian Metis Identity : A Pattem of Evolution
81
The traditional pattern having thus been altered, we now have a cultural
continuum between two poles that Scollon and Scollon (1979) call bush
consciousness and modern consciousness. In the present case these two labels
cover physical, social, and linguistic correlates that can be schematized as
follows:
age
subsistence
activities
group
activities
linguistic
economy
bush consciousness
50+
fishing, trapping,
hunting
Metis music and
dances, Church
trilingualism:
French, Cree, English
modern consciousness
30-
steady
employment
Rock and Country
music, little or no Church
monolingualism:
English
This pattern is stable and follows the age line rather closely; I know of
only one exception—a 50+ man who held an administrative job for a long
time, has been self-employed for the past 15 years, and has clearly entered
the “modem consciousness” category. As usual, the situation is clear-cut
for those individuals closest to the ends of the continuum; as for those who
fall in between, the classification must take into account such factors as
Personality and marital status: for example, unmarried people appear to be
more tradition-oriented and therefore are pushed towards the “bush con-
sciousness” end.
This continuum can serve as a model for studying the community’s
evolutionary trends. Four themes will now be analyzed within the present
framework: family, subsistence activities, group cohesion, and linguistic
economy.
a) Family
The traditional family in composed of a senior member or couple, their
children with their spouses if any, and the children of the latter; it very often
mdudes one or more unmarried daughter with offspring—there is no stigma
attached to the fact, just a slight embarrassment in front of White interlocu-
tors. As in Indian families the children are the focus of attention of the
household. Marriages used to be endogamous (i.e., within the community
°f five extended families), but exogamy is on the rise among the 30-group
and marriages with English or French Canadians, Ukrainians, and Germans
are not rare. Hatt (1969) notes that in the Beaver Metis Colony there is
factionalism between the extended families but cooperation within them:
fhe same seems to apply to the Mission community, where the more accul-
turated members of one clan tend to stigmatize the more traditional members
Anthropos 78.1983
6
82
Patrick C. Douaud
Anthropos 78.1983
of another clan, taxing them for instance with being lazy or speaking broken
English. It is worth noting a constraint on this behaviour; in the best Indian
tradition, the younger Metis do not speak disparagingly of their elders.
In the past 15 years the community has exploded as many Metis bought
plots of land of their own at a distance from the Mission, and the present
trend is for families to become nuclear. But this does not seem to affect yet
the quality of the contacts with close relatives, nor does it undermine the
traditional role of the male as delineated by Hatt (1969: 26):
Implicit throughout the social structure is the relatively dominant role of the male
over the female. Male prestige comes from supporting one’s family, being a good
hunter or fisherman, . . . and having goods to share and favours to offer.
b) Subsistence Activities
Until the 1960s one had to be always on the move in search of odd jobs
if he wanted to maintain a standard of living barely above poverty level:
“Fallait mouver pour vivre,” as one elder put it to me. Among the traditional
subsistence activities, fishing was legally restricted and people had to go far
afield to hunt or trap game. As a result there were sometimes shortages of
food, when many Metis collected ducks’ and grebes’ eggs and made dough-
nuts with skunk fat. Nowadays there is a fishing cooperative in Lac La
Biche, composed of 55 White and Metis members who devote themselves to
commercial fishing and relinquish 2% of their catch to the cooperative;
trucks are available in most families to hunt farther into the bush and visit
the trapline more frequently (in the winter snowmobiles are used to that
effect); finally, many households own a deep freezer where a year’s meat
supply can conveniently be stored.
“Indian time” is the rule among traditional Metis: the dates mentioned
are vague, the appointments are not kept, etc.; on the other hand those who
stand on the “modem consciousness” end of the continuum are often too
busy for anything frivolous. The most striking aspect of Mission Metis work-
ing patterns is the adaptation to circumstances: traditional individuals may
work very hard during the fishing season and then be idle the remainder of
the summer, only to hunt actively in the fall and trap leisurely in the winter.
“They are good workers when work is available,” remark Sealey and Kirk-
ness (1974: 117): in other words, the White Man’s ethic is subordinated to
the demands of the season cycle. If there is no inclination to overwork, yet
the houses and trailers are kept scrupulously clean, the gardens are well
tended and the various tackle is always in working order. Bush life is still
the older generation’s ideal and the younger one’s secret nostalgia—as one
elder told me: “C’est ma vie, qa; c’est ma vie.”
c) Group Cohesion
Among Mission Metis the community spirit has become loose. One of
them, who lives with his married children in one house and two trailers
placed side by side, said: “Yeah, autrefois vous alliez dans des parties, des
Canadian Metis Identity: A Pattem of Evolution
83
bam-dances qu’ils appellent, là ... Y avait du fun. Aujourd’hui c’est tout
éparpillé.” What is left of the traditional group cohesion is maintained by
both men and women. Women meet as the Mission chapel every Sunday and
chat after mass; they also meet in town, where they spend a whole afternoon
now and again, driven there by a son or a friend. The men meet on an in-
formal basis through bush activities and sharing; both are prestige symbols
available to men only: a Metis in the full sense of the word has to be a good
bushman—ideally he owns a truck, a boat, and all the indispensable tackle
(nets, guns, traps, snowshoes, perhaps a snowmobile), and he also contributes
to upholding his Metis-ness and that of the group by giving away fish and
venison. I personally had a good example of the importance of sharing when
f objected to one of them (aged 50) giving me too large a piece of deer liver;
his only comment was; “Nobody tell me how much meat to give to my
friends.” Future-concerned thrift is certainly not well looked upon by the
older generation of Mission Metis ....
The Mission complex is still a focal point for the community, as all the
Metis live within a radius of five or six miles; some, who have moved close to
Lac La Biche town, do not go to church any more because the Mission is too
far when a car is not always available—it does not seem to occur to them that
fhey could easily go to the church in town. The Mission is also the place
where a number of Metis come to get their water because the water available
°n their land is not suitable for washing clothes or drinking, or because its
level is often too low for easy access. Some of the individuals who have
moved away still rent a plot of land by the chapel, where they keep a garden.
The wakes were religious and social occasions that gathered all the community
for two or three days, but they too have died out.
More and more, leisure time is employed as in the average White society
°f Lac La Biche—watching television and going to bars playing modem music
(the two fiddlers who used to entertain the Mission community until the
f960s do not play any more). Alcoholic beverages are consumed, but usually
with moderation; however, there are several reformed elderly drinkers and,
perhaps for this reason, many wives of the older generation are teetotallers.
Camping in the summer is still common—not out of necessity as in the old
days, but simply for the thrill of living in the bush for a few days or weeks.
The need to be on the move is still strong; trucks and cars are used liberal-
ly, one elderly couple even go to camp by the priest’s house on nearby Beaver
Reserve when the trail leading to their house threatens to be impassable—so
great is their fear of being house-bound.
d) Linguistic Economy
The Mission Metis elders are all trilingual and express themselves in
Cree, French, and English with a paralinguistic repertoire ranging from
Indian reticence to Gallic extrovertness according to sex, personality, and
mood. When asked which language they speak more often they invariably
miswer: “Tout mêlé,” all mixed—-which, typifies the eclectic aspect of their
84
Patrick C. Douaud
Anthropos 78.1983
cultural behaviour. However, English is still the tongue Metis elders feel most
uncomfortable with, and most of them claim that their parents could not
speak it; this should not come as a surprise, as Howard (1974: 308) already
noted about Gabriel Dumont, a Metis leader during the 1870 and 1885
rebellions who by necessity had frequent contacts with anglophones: “He
spoke several Indian tongues and French, but he could not read or write,
could not speak English and understood very little.”
Metis multilingualism has been documented for some time; here are
some examples of early travellers’ accounts:
Erasmus (1976: 26) describing a meeting of men at Saddle Lake Cros-
sing in 1856:
There was a mixture of Cree, English and French among the various groups. The
boatmen, apparently tired of their own company, were intermixed with many
groups, glad of the chance to speak of other things with the French half-breed
packers from Lac La Biche.
The same author (p. 67) mentioning in his account of the 1857-1860
Palliser expedition:
Vital, our buffalo hunter, alone spoke very bad English ... .He succeeded in
intermixing French, English and Cree to a degree unequalled by any person of my
acquaintance.
James Carnegie, Earl of Southesk (quoted in Cavell 1979: 16) observing
a Metis encouraging his dogs in the 1870s:
Fox, ye ould sinner, pren’ garde: crapaud that ye aire. Chocolat! michastim!
[Miehastim, Michastemue—bad dog, bad dogs]
The Church was very instrumental in preserving French and Cree: until
1963 it ran a school—which before World War II counted up to 150 pupils—
where both languages were spoken. What with the recent centralization of
education, the lesser importance of religion among the younger generations
and the spreading of the mass media, it was inevitable that English should
take over as part of the modern Metis consciousness.
6. A Minority with a Future?
It has been seen above that the Mission Metis are a marginal community
which, owing to its small size and its dependence on the Catholic Church,
has been able to pursue its traditional activities without falling into the
physical and moral destitution characteristic of so many Metis groups with
no point of anchor; this is in keeping with what Manuel and Posluns (1974:
183) have to say about the Indians:
Canadian Metis Identity: A Pattem of Evolution
85
Indian people who continue to lead a traditional life in a community that clearly
defines itself in traditional terms are not caught up in the culture of poverty.
In this way the phenomenon of social entropy observed by Scollon and
Scollon (1979) among the Natives and Halfbreeds of Fort Chipewyan is
absent among the Mission Metis; here material progress is accepted, the
Church is respected or tolerated, no major frictions exist between Metis and
Whites, or Metis and Indians. It is significant that Lac La Biche is commonly
viewed as one of the least racist towns in Alberta—the tremendous ethnic
variety prevailing in such a small area has probably helped foster a good
deal of mutual tolerance.
The Mission Metis’ acculturation to modern society has taken the form
°f specialization: economically, where there is an emphasis on wage labour;
socially, where the household tends to confine itself to the nuclear family;
aud linguistically, where one element of the French/Cree/English triad tends
to assume preponderance over the others. By and large, on the greater part
of the bush consciousness—modern consciousness continuum the focus of
Metis ethic continues to be the bush life, where “one can continually reassert
the ability to live on one’s resources” (Scollon and Scollon 1979: 190);
this is in keeping with the psychological importance of the hunt, exemplified
lri native societies throughout the Americas. The search for freedom, masculine
individualism, and open spaces forms the inalienable part of the Metis’
identity: for one end of the continuum it is an everyday reality, for the
°ther a matter of nostalgia. The clan spirit within extended families is still
strong, although it is no more based on a vigorous cultural repertoire: “Most
adults know where their parents were bom, but little else,” writes Hatt
(1969: 20) about Kikino Metis—and this is true also of the Mission Metis, al-
though most of the elders remember what part of the Red River their
ancestors came from, and strong feelings towards Louis Riel have been passed
down to some of them by their parents.
The Mission Metis represent a small fraction of the Canadian Metis
Population—those who are emerging smoothly from a protected abandon-
ment, with few hard feelings against the country’s White majority. The
future for them seems to lie in a complete dependence on steady employment
^d the adoption of many aspects of the majority’s lifestyle. In this they
Wlll join the other Metis or Halfbreeds of colonies and cities. It is likely,
however, that they will retain their Metis identity for some time; in order
to understand what exactly is the current Metis identity, it seems fitting here
to take a look again at the three clauses of the Metis Declaration of Rights
quoted in section 3:
“Metis nationalism is Canadian nationalism. We embody the true spirit
°f Canada and are the source of Canadian identity”; This statement exploits
the old Metis claim that they are the true Natives of Canada—both Indians
^d Whites are immigrants with only a difference in time between their
respective arrivals, whereas the Metis represent a genuinely indigenous
86
Patrick C. Douaud
Anthropos 78.1983
hybrid race. As such they could indeed be seen as a frame of reference in
which Canada might find her long-sought identity, thereby transcending the
petty factionalism and latent racism that are an integral part of her ethnic
mosaic.
“We have the right to preserve our identity and to flourish as a distinct
people with a rich cultural heritage”: There is little doubt that the Metis
cure privileged to be exposed to both Indian and White traditions and that,
given the opportunity, they could “have the best of both cultures”—as the
Albertan Metis leader Adrian Hope likes to put it.
“We are a people with a right to special status in Confederation”: This
is perhaps the most thorny issue in a society opposed to special group status
of any kind—a position made clear by the Trudeau government’s 1969 White
Paper. Yet this would merely amount to the creation of what Manuel and
Posluns (1974) call the “Fourth World,” a system in which aboriginal and
technological cultures co-exist and learn to interact harmoniously. The Metis
are best equipped for such symbiosis, as they were biologically and culturally
born from the contact: what bestowed guilt on the Whites and degeneration
on the Indians gave substance to the Metis.
The Metis drew their originality from the fusion of two cultures that
formerly were non-static and interacting; now that one of them has become
static and is repressed by the other, it appears that the way to harmony lies
in the creation of a new type of dynamism. This is precisely what Metis
leaders have been devoting themselves to since the early 1960s, their prime
objective being the cementing of Metis unity—this task has been comparatively
simple, as a clear sense of distinctive identity has prevailed among them since
the days of the Metis Nation, This is quite unlike the Indian situation, where
the various tribes found unity in their common Indian-ness only well into
the present century.
Unlike the Indians, too, the Metis have been “forgotten” because in a
society which has some difficulty comprehending social or ideological over-
laps and seeks to impose clear-cut, distinctive labels on all its members, no
one knows on which side the Metis are: for some they are europeanized
Indians, for others indianized Whites—from the very beginning, “members
of two mutually exclusive groups, they were rebuffed by both” (Howard
1974: 42). So far the label Metis has not played a significant role, yet it is
as such that the people concerned now want to be “remembered” and
recognized as a single distinct cultural group, regardless of superficial mor-
phological or behavioural variation. One of the means leading to this end is
land ownership: the Metis living outside settlements want to possess some
land in order to be safe from exploiters taking over their government-
leased lands (communities such as the Mission Metis, who live on Mission
land or possess their own, take thus very little part in militating activities);
those who live on settlements view with fear the depletion of natural resources
and the expansion of massive industrialization, which for them means a
Canadian Metis Identity : A Pattem of Evolution
87
reduced need for labour force: they consider that the future of the settle-
ments lies in the development of small industries which will render welfare
allowances unnecessary.
Metis unity can be strengthened by a type of unity that transcends the
principle of individual culture and absorbs the various native peoples who
share common difficulties in front of the White society. For example, in
1972 was created the National Indian Movement of Canada which pur-
ports to unite Status Indians, enfranchised Indians, Metis, and Innuit. The
common actions of all these peoples may well shape the future of the White
society too, and enable it to achieve what should be the goal of its enormous
technological effort—a comprehensive equipoise. Metis architect Douglas
Cardinal has written (Cardinal and Melnyk 1977: 55): “The measure of a
man is seen through the prosperous life that surrounds him, not the inanimate
objects he has forcefully acquired”. At the moment, the measure of the
White Man must appear small indeed to Native American eyes.
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Campbell, M.
1973 Halfbreed. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart.
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1977 Of the Spirit. Edmonton: NeWest Press.
Cavell, E.
1979 Journeys to the Far West. Toronto: Lorimer.
Daniels, H.W. (ed.)
1979a The Forgotten People: Metis and Non-Status Indian Land Claims. Ottawa:
Native Council of Canada.
19795 A Declaration of Metis and Indian Rights. Ottawa: Native Council of Canada,
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1979 My Tribe the Créés. Calgary: Glenbow Institute,
bouaud, P.
1980 Metis: A Case of Triadic Linguistic Economy. Anthropological Linguistics
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brouin, E.O.
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1961 The Lakeman. National Film Board of Canada.
Giraud, M.
1945 Le Métis Canadien: son rôle dans l’histoire des provinces de l’Ouest. Paris:
Institut d’Ethnologie.
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Hatt, J.K.
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Howard, J.K.
1974 Strange Empire: Louis Riel and the Metis People. Toronto: Lewis and Samuel.
Manuel, G., and M. Posluns
1974 The Fourth World: An Indian Reality. Don Mills: Collier and MacMillan.
Morton, W.L.
1969 The Kingdom of Canada. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart.
Preston, R.J.
1976 Reticence and Self-Expression: A Study of Style in Social Relationships. In:
W. Cowan (ed.), Paper of the Seventh Algonquian Conference, 1975: 450-494.
Ottawa: Carleton University.
Price, J.A.
1978 Native Studies: American and Canadian Indians. Toronto: McGraw-Hill.
Radford, T. (dir.)
1975 The Man Who Chooses the Bush. National Film Board of Canada.
Scollon, R., and S.B.K. Scollon
1979 Linguistic Convergence: An Ethnography of Speaking at Fort Chipewyan,
Alberta. New York; Academic Press.
Sealey, D.B., and V.J. Kirkness (eds.)
1974 Indians Without Tipis. Agincourt: Book Society of Canada.
Sealey, D.B., and A.S. Fussier
1975 The Metis: Canada’s Forgotten People. Winnipeg; Manitoba Metis Federation
Press.
The fieldwork on which part of this paper is based was conducted intermittently in
1979 and 1980 at Lac La Biche (Alberta), with the support of a grant from the Boreal
Institute for Northern Studies at the University of Alberta. I wish to thank the Metis
families who received me so kindly, and Father G. Peroni, OMI, without whom this
work would have been impossible.
^ i----^------JMI—
D. K. Feil
A World Without Exchange:
Millennia and the Tee Ceremonial System
in Tombema-Enga Society (New Guinea)
Abstract.— Systems of ceremonial exchange in Melanesia are highly resilent, they
accommodate changes easily and people resist moves, from both internal and external
sources, to abandon these historic systems of reciprocity. This paper examines one such
persisting exchange system, the tee among the Tombema-Enga of the Western New Guinea
highlands. On two occasions in living memory however, the tee was suspended in favour
°f millenarian movements. At these two times, the world was about to end and the Tom-
bema reasoned that tee-making could cease. When in due course, the millennia failed,
Tombema returned with renewed vigour to the tee. It is a ‘total institution’and this paper
demonstrates that without the tee or some total replacement for it, which the millennia
appeared briefly to offer, Tombema believe that their society could not continue. Tee
and society are co-terminous in Tombema-Enga thinking. [Ceremonial exchange, Millenarian
Movements, Enga, New Guinea Highlands, Impact of Colonialism]
Systems of ceremonial exchange in Melanesia have, by and large, shown
remarkable resilience in the colonial and post-colonial eras. The great socio-
political changes wrought by cash cropping, missionization and electoral
politics have certainly modified these historic systems, but their tenacity in
encorporating changes, yet persisting despite them, is a good indication of
their continuing value to the people who participate in them. Nothing in an
alien culture can substitute wholly for these ceremonial institutions. Recent
Work on the kula for example reveals that it is thriving (Macintyre and
Young n.d,; Leach and Leach [eds.] 1982); the moka of the Mount Hagen
Melpa has taken the introduction of money and other changes (including the
prohibition of warfare) in its stride (Strathem 19796), as have the Siane,
D. K. Fcil, Dr. phil., is a lecturer in Anthropology. He received his Ph.D. from the
Australian National University, Canberra, in 1979. Fieldwork was conducted at various
times between 1974 and 1981 among the Tombema in Highland New Guinea, and more
recently in 1980-1981 in the Milne Bay Province of Papua. Major papers have appeared
in Man (1978), American Ethnologist (1978, 1982), Oceania (1980), Ethnology (1981),
and Mankind (1978, 1980). A full length monograph which examines the tee in Tom-
bema-Enga society has recently been completed. Address: Dept, of Anthropology, Univ.
of Sydney, N.S.W., Australia 2006.
90
D.K. Feil
Anthropos 78.1983
elsewhere in the Highlands (Salisbury 1962); Gregory (1980) has more
recently shown how Motuan Christians in Hanuabada ceremonially and
competitively give large sums of money to the United Church, thereby
continuing, yet transforming an earlier exchange pattern. The tee exchange
system, of the Tombema-Enga of the Western Highlands, the subject of this
paper, is still of the highest concern despite all of the pressures noted above
(Feil 1980).1 Why are these systems of ceremonial exchange so lasting? The
traditional significance of exchange and reciprocity in Melanesian societies
has long been noted, and the vast literature demonstrating its significance
pan Melanesia need not be reviewed here.
The tee is, in Maussian terms (1954), almost an archetypal “total social
phenomenon,” simultaneously encapsultating and expressing many values
and social practices of Tombema society and culture. Elsewhere (Feil 1980,
1982) I have examined its economic significance and its relation to Tom-
bema-Enga political life. These are, perhaps, the tee’s most ostensible charac-
teristics, and, as I shall point out, these have often been the target of mission
and government sanctions against ice-making. However, the tee is also about
morality and is, more widely, a weathervane of Tombema “social health.” At
least twice in the past, tee activities have ceased. This paper examines the
circumstances surrounding the suspension of ice-making, and thereby suggests
a perhaps less obvious aspect of its continuing relevance.
1. Colonial Attitudes to the tee
The Tombema-Enga have usually combatted the more blatant anti-ice
forces of government and missions effectively (see Feil 1979). The colonial
administration of the 1940s and 1950s alternately banned and permitted the
tee. Some government officials thought the tee a distinct hindrance to
civilizing the Enga; others were convinced (like most anthropologists) that
the tee had some functional value in ameliorating conflict and dispute (see
Meggitt 1974: 180-182) or at least, by banning it arbitrarily, more problems
were created than allowing it to continue. Despite occasional official edicts,
Enga carried on with their exchanges, calling them by names other than tee
when it was officially in disfavour. There is little evidence, then, that govern-
ment measures ever had much effect in preventing tee practice.
Christian Missions and the tee
The missions have also been less than sucessful in their attempts to
prohibit participation in the tee. The Australian Baptists, Lutherans, and
Seventh-Day Adventists have forbade their members to take part in the
1 Tombema-Enga number about 12,000 persons and inhabit the area around the
Kompiama Patrol Post, Enga Province, Papua New Guinea. Tombema are one of a number
of “Enga” dialect groups. The tee system percolates throughout all of Enga. Details of
the system can be found in Feil (1978, 1980).
A World Without Exchange (Tombema-Enga, New Guinea)
91
0 100 200 miles
■ « *
140°E
__________________________________I___
Enga Province
East Sepik
Madang
Southern Highlands
Western Highlands
Chimbu
92
D.K. Feil
Anthropos 78.1983
tee, but most Tombema-Enga have ignored the warning and continue to
exchange pigs. Ted Westerman, the staff anthropologist of the New Guinea
Lutheran Mission, after noting some positive features of the tee among Laiapu
Enga, suggests that “from the European point of view, the tee has certain
dysfunctions or functions which are harmful to the society. Enga also
recognize some of these things as problems” (Westerman 1968: 168-169).
These ‘dysfunctions’ include, according to Westerman, the rancour created
by a failure to repay tee debts, the tremendous waste of time that tee participa-
tion requires, and, finally, the great quantities of pork that are squandered
which, he argues, could greatly lessen protein deficiencies if pigs were killed
more judiciously. Concluding in a more relieved tone, Westerman writes that
. . . we might note that tee as an institution will probably pass from existence
within three generations. Young people today seem to be relatively uninterested in
tee. Having accepted European values (not necessarily with understanding) they
reject much of the old way of life (Westerman 1968: 169).
This then sums up much of mission policy towards the tee.
The Enga response to directives of the missions to give up tee-making
has been an interesting one, pointing to a futile lack of understanding on
both sides. The missions criticized the tee as avaricious, unsettling, as a waste
of time and pork, as contributing to the spread of disease (through long
distance visiting to “talk tee”; Meggitt 1974: 180) and for being an institu-
tion which took attention and attendance away from church and schoo.
They criticized therefore the more obvious economic and political motives
behind the tee. But they failed to understand or address the more subtle
moral and social components of the tee, and could offer no replacement for
it.2 Enga, on the other hand, did not perceive the Christian message to be in
any sense “total,” that is, as a body of social practices and teachings which
could wholly replace the tee in their lives. Mission teaching appeared partial
and piecemeal and could not substitute for a “total social fact.” Thus,
Kleinig, a Lutheran missionary, reports being questioned by a dissenting
Enga man: “You have taken away our Te, now what are you going to give
in return for what you have taken away?” (1955: 2). The man was apparently
seeking something to substitute for the banned institution whose central
value was interpersonal exchange and reciprocity, two vital features of
Enga morality and society.
As a “total social phenomenon” the tee provides for a commingling of motives.
Tee relationships create a moral community beyond a group’s narrow social boundaries.
Tee-making lessened hostility and fostered loyality and non-aggression between exchange
allies. The following quote from Kleinig (1955: 6-7) sums up an important part of the
Enga view of the tee: “One old man told me that when they made Te the procedure was
as follows: A friend from a nearby tribe would come to his house in the evening and
A World Without Exchange (Tombema-Enga, New Guinea)
93
Feachem reports a Laiapu big-man as saying:
I am not baptized. If all my clan get baptized we shall have no tee or kumanda
(death payments) and kamongo (big-men) from other clans will no longer visit us to
talk about these matters. Christians don’t walk around collecting pigs and talking
about the tee—they go to church or work in gardens and I don’t want to join them
(Feachem 1973: 41).
This man too appears to perceive the tee and Christianity partly as
alternatives and rejects the latter as insufficient. Feachem’s more general
comment is also apt here: The missions have “destroyed important sections
°f traditional culture [and] they have replaced this with a half-understood
version of Christianity with little relevance to the indigenous life style”
(Feachem 1973: 37). “Misin i foulim mi [the mission has deceived me]” is
the occasional response from the Enga (Feachem 1973). It seems clear that
missionaries failed to perceive important dimensions of the tee, and sought
to take away, in Enga minds at least, rather more than the simple exchange
°f pigs. This point will be addressed in discussion below.
At times in the past, internal organizational problems have also beset
the tee. Meggitt (1974: 181) reports one such occurrence in the late 1960s
^hen Mae-Enga men announced that they would no longer participate in
the tee. However, by mid-1970 when he next returned, the tee was still
^ive and well. His conclusion is chastening:
Despite the indication that among the Mae the Te is approaching its end it would
not do to underestimate its tenacity as an institution. I for one would not assume
its demise unless I actually attended the funeral (Meggitt 1974: 182).
So, the tee has withstood many pressures, internally and externally
Produced, I turn now to discuss those occasions when Tombema-Enga “gave
UP” the tee. The reasons and responses may be a part of the framework of
colonialism and missionization, but are not a simple and straightforward out-
come of them.
after a brief and pleasant visit would go home again. During his stay his guest would
Unostentatiously place a small package behind his back, and after the friend had left
he would open the package. Expertly bound up in the choicest leaves and bound up
the tastiest spinach-like greens would be a small cooked pig stuffed with the best
seasoning and deliciously salted. So delighted and honoured would he feel at this splendid
gesture that the next morning he would take his best and biggest pig and cut a slit in
its ear, thus designating it as the reurn [sic] payment for his friend’s gift to him. From
this we can perhaps infer that the present generation has overlooked a feature of the
Te which gave to it a distinctive quality by placing too much importance on the material
value and number of transactions.”
94
D.K. Feil
Anthropos 78.1983
2. Millenarian Cults in Papua New Guinea
Both occasions when Tombema-Enga abandoned the tee were accom-
panied by millenarian cults.3 Millenarian movements and cargo cults have,
of course, been widely reported throughout Papua New Guinea and I will
not pause here to mention the considerable literature. Less widely reported
however, are the cults and movements which have occurred in the Highlands,
although these lacunae have been remedied somewhat in recent years (see for
example Meggitt 1973; Gibbs 1977; Strathern 1971, 1979a). The lack of
attention given to “Highland cults” can be partially explained as a result
of two factors. Firstly, most attention has been given to the dramatic and
persisting coastal cults, considered to be responses to European contact and
colonial rule. Certain Highland cults are also best seen in this light (for
example Strathern 1979a), but many others are “indigenous cults” and may
have occurred often, prior to the advent of Europeans, or at least are not
simply related to their arrival (Salisbury 1958; Bemdt 1952-1953; Meggitt
1973). Highlanders have not typically responded to European impositions
with cult activities (though there are obvious exceptions) and accurate infor-
mation on cults prior to first European penetration of the Highlands in the
1930s is difficult to obtain. The second factor concerns the so-called “Sea-
board/Highlands” religious dichotomy (Lawrence and Meggitt 1965). High-
landers are widely believed to stress “practical endeavours” (Strathern 1979a;
89) at the expense of elaborate religious or ritual means to achieve ends. Al-
though I agree with Strathern (1979a) that such differences may, on closer
inspection, prove illusory, this point of view has contributed to the lack of
attention being shown Highlands religion and ritual in general, and millenarian
cults and movements more specifically.
When Tombema-Enga abandoned the tee, they did so in favour of
millenarian activity. The moral and social encumbrances of the tee gave way
to a new morality and vision of a new society where the tee would not
matter, or in some cases, the end of presently constituted society altogether.
The tee could only be substituted for in these “total” terms. Later, overt
government and mission edict would not stop the tee, for they offered no
comprehensive alternative. The first suspension of the tee was an indigenous
response to serious local conditions, among them, the disruption and delay
of the tee itself. Tombema sought a way out of the malaise through millenarian
activity. The second occasion was also the result of catastrophic events, again
3 I do not attach any special distinction to the terms “cult” or “movement.” A
useful definition of “millenarian movement” can be found in Meggitt (1973: 1): A move-
ment “whose object is to bring about certain existential changes, after which the partici-
pants (the elect) will for ever more enjoy specified benefits such as the acquisition of
power, wealth, health, or happiness.”
A World Without Exchange (Tombema-Enga, New Guinea)
95
partly involving the tee, and the response came in the form of a millenarian
Christian cult. The failure of the tee was emphasized as part of the problem
^d Tombema-Enga sought a substitute for it.4
3. Early Tombema Encounters with Outsiders
The series of events which first led to the abandonment of the tee
°ccurred in the early 1940s. Tombema-Enga territory was yet to be “pacified,”
the Kompiama patrol post was still thirteen years from establishment, and
although Europeans were known to the Tombema, more permanent en-
counters with them were still a decade or so in the future. Even so, the initial
contacts with Europeans had been far from amicable. Meggitt (1973) has
ftoted the clashes which occurred between Western Enga and Europeans;
Tombema-Enga were equally combative. They repeatedly attacked an
Australian Army radio unit, stationed at Fernanda near Kompiama during
the war which led to its closure (cf. Meggitt 1973: 17n.). Years earlier, some
Tombema had fought with the Schmidt party, several dying in the fray. As
Souter reports of Schmidt’s journey, “Rumours of indiscriminate shootings
'vere so insistent that the Administration eventually laid charges” (1963:
t87). Schmidt was later hanged at Rabaul for his murderous deeds, partly
among the Enga. Other miners also established bases in the Tombema area
for short periods prior to the war. But despite often violent episodes with
Europeans, and the impressions they no doubt made, and effects they had,
the greater crisis facing Tombema about this time was disease sweeping
through their pig herds. The same was apparently happening to Western
Enga herds where perhaps 20-30 per cent of pigs died (Meggitt 1973: 19).
Some sort of pneumonia coupled with endemic anthrax decimated Tombema
stock. The accounts of men who sought to make tee at that time are summed
Up by a well-remembered song “we have come to sing for the tee, but my
pigs are dying; I am still a man but cannot make tee” Tombema sent as
uiany dying pigs as they could to partners, hoping to establish substantial
credits rather than have their pigs die at home, and then be “only able to eat
them.” They also gave large bridal payments in order to gain credit for pigs
hkely to die anyway. A small tee they managed to make about that time is
remembered as tee kumingi, “the tee of dying pigs.”
While Enga talk ceaselessly about the tee and plan daily for its activities and
^entual coming, they are also greatly relieved when it has passed and they can return
briefly to “normal” life. This, especially so, if they have made a good personal performance.
Their near obsession with aspects of the tee means, of course, continued anxiety when
U fails to arrive and they feel helpless to do anything about it. The timing of the tee is
essentially out of individual hands (see Feil 1978). The link between the tee anda person’s
Cental health” is not too far-fetched.
96
D.K. Feil
Anthropos 78.1983
It appears too that dysentry was killing humans at that time in alarming
numbers (see Meggitt 1973: 18). Tombema place the timing of tee kumingi
and the deaths of many clanspeople together, and they talk of increased
sacrificial activities to protect pigs and humans at that time. In relating these
events, Tombema stress the disruption to the tee as the most serious obstacle
in their lives. One big-man related the situation thusly: “Our pigs were dying.
If we have pigs and make the tee, men come together, they gather to talk.
There were no pigs, people became easily angered and didn’t speak to other
people. Men didn’t meet their partners; men and women slept in the bush,
didn’t marry, and lived like wild pigs, fleeing from other people. It was a
very bad time.” Although both people and pigs were dying in alarming
numbers, Enga remember and stress the disruption of the tee as more pres-
sing at that time. The suspension of the tee partially resulted from these
other factors, but in Enga minds, the two go together. Illness and death,
to pigs and people, and social disorder caused by the ceasation of tee are not
distinguished by cause and effect. The equating of physical and social ills
will be mentioned below.
4. Mara’s Coming: The First Millennial Upheaval
a) Details of First Cult
At about this time, rumours came from the west that four men were
spreading the word that the ways of the past, including the propitiation of
ancestral ghosts (timongo), were to end, and that a new way of life had come
to the people.5 This cult in Tombema became known as “Mara’s coming”
named after one of its leaders.6 It seems clear that this cult is a further
extension and transformation of one which began in western Enga (Meggitt
1973) and went through a number of modifications as it moved from its
point of origin (see Gibbs 1977). The pronouncements of the Tombema
version of the cult are comparable with those reported by Meggitt and Gibbs.
Tombema-Enga were told to kill all of their remaining pigs. By so
doing, more, bigger, and better ones would come later and fill their pig
houses. Those who hid some pigs or left even one alive would not be included
in the windfall later. All other traditional valuables, for example, stone
5 The cult in Taro-Enga also began with four men (brothers) (Meggitt 1973: 20).
At the time of the first rumours around Kompiama, some Tombema-Enga were perform-
ing ee kundi (garden sacrifice) which suggests troubles with crops or perhaps recent
garden failures in addition to the other social and physical ills affecting them at that
time.
6 Two men in the clan with whom I lived were born at that time and named Mara
after the cult leader. Some have also suggested that Mara had sexual relations freely with
women in the clems he visisted.
A World Without Exchange (Tombema-Enga, New Guinea)
97
axes and shells, would become “like dirt,” would be ruined, and new,
better ones would take their places. One’s reliance on tee partners to secure
valuables, the tee itself as an institution, would no longer be necessary to
gain traditional valuables. In short, the icc-dependent social order would
be transformed. Men would become rich automatically, women would
be taken as brides without bridewealth. The tee and associated exchanges
Would then be forever obsolete.
When they died, Tombema were told, they would not go into the
ground as they formerly believed, but rather they would go upwards to a
platform in the sky (taetoko). Tombema took this to mean away of avoid-
ing death altogether, a further solution to the many worrying deaths that
had recently occurred.7 A parable (kongali pii) was told by the disciples
emphasizing the dichotomy between sky and earth: A man would come
from “down below” and he will be decorated with inferior feathers (from
wild chickens) and he will carry an inferior drum (made from a breadfruit
tree). You must not look at him or pay attention to him. Another man
will come on the road from “up above” and he will have bright, shiny bird-
of-paradise plumes and carry a good drum. If you listen to him (and me, as
bis disciple), all good things will come to you. Good axes, shells, and pigs
Will come to those who look above.
Sacrifices of all sorts to ancestral spirits were to stop immediately. One
of the visiting leaders took all of the bows, arrows, and spears, put them in a
bole covered with stones and made a fire on top of them. He then told Tom-
bema that he had “killed the timongo” (ghosts) and that they should not
believe that these spirits could give them anything of value ever again.
Under other instructions, Tombema subclans made long houses, divided
them into rooms and each family was allocated one in which to sleep. Tom-
bema were told to leave their old houses and sleep together with wives and
children in these new ones. They put tables inside off which to eat. All
foods, except sweet potato, were prohibited. Bananas, taro, sugarcane, and
other crops would cause people to become insane if they were consumed.
Large gardens, planted prior to the arrival of Mara, were left to ruin. Only
sweet potatoes were taken from them. Intercourse was also prohibited.
These taboos would be lifted later, but for the time, they must be observed.
According to some informants, certain men were kept under constant sur-
veillance so they would not infringe the intercourse rule. Otherwise, the
things that had been promised to all would not come to pass.
7 The building of platforms in the sky is a feature of the earliest cults as described
by Meggitt (1973) and Gibbs (1977). However, as I point out below, the importance of
the Sun as object of propitiation is not explicit in the Tombema-Enga version, nor in that
°f the Ipili cult described by Gibbs.
Anthropos 78.1983
7
98
D.K. Feil
Anthropos 78.1983
Certain other rituals were also performed. Those who accepted the cult
were tatooed on the chest. Sweet potatoes were ‘blessed’ before being eaten.
“We eat this sweet potato so we’ll be able to go to the taetoko later on.”
Washing also stressed. Women were taken to a river and while they washed,
the women who accompanied the cult leaders lifted their legs so that water
was forced into their vaginas. “If you women think you’ll come with us to
the taetoko, you must wash your vaginas.” Men washed for the first time
with water falling on to their heads, Tombema were told that after this, they
must wash all of the time. These rules of conduct were constantly reinforced
with the warning that if the teachings went unheeded, people would fall
once again into a bad state and go to a bad place after death,
b) Comparison with Earlier Enga Cults
In most of its essentials, the details of the Tombema cult are similar to
those reported by Meggitt (1973) and Gibbs (1977) elsewhere in Enga during
that time. Meggitt’s account of the Taro-Enga cult, however, stresses the
abandonment of offerings to ancestral spirits, and the recognition by Taro-
Enga that “the sun and moon are their original progenitors” and that people
“should turn their rituals to the sun for aid in this time of crisis” (1973: 21).
The Taro cult seems to have been a unique response to pressing problems
as was the Tombema version, and as Meggitt points out, “with no suggestion
that the cult should persist after it had solved these problems” (1973: 23).
As it spread to the Ipili, the cult transformed (Gibbs 1977). Ancestor propitia-
tion again gave way, and the aim and focus of proper ritual performance and
prohibitions among Ipili was to be “received into the sky (tawetoko)”
(Gibbs 1977: 12). This ascension into the sky was a new feature of the cult,
but Gibbs finds this process to be an extension of Ipili mythology (1977:
14). The Ipili cult was not seen as temporary, but as a path to more permanent
“well-being” (Gibbs 1977: 21). The Tombema version of the cult is closer in
belief to that of Ipili than that of the Taro. However, there are no aspects of
traditional Tombema religion which emphasize the importance of the sun
and moon as progenitors (see also Gibbs 1977: 9), nor which include the
taking up into the sky of mythic heroes or other humans.
Rather, perhaps by the time the cult reached Tombema east of its point
of origin, it had become further transformed by connection with Christianity.
Both Meggitt (1973: 122) and Gibbs (1977: 24) deny that the cults of Taro
and Ipili had any Christian elements. The cult, it is true, predated the arrival
of missionaries in the Enga area (about 1947-1948). It is not impossible how-
ever, that aspects of Christianity, imperfectly understood, were known to
the people from government officials, miners, or other Europeans who
arrived and were resident in Enga before the missionaries. The details of the
Tombema cult: avoiding death by going to a place in the sky, parables about
a man from above and one from below, the marking of adherents to the cult,
A World Without Exchange (Tombema-Enga, New Guinea)
99
the blessing of food before eating, and so forth, are tantalizingly Christian,
and are unprecedented in Tombema religion. The new valuables, communal
houses, tables, washing, etc. seem to imitate European ways. I doubt that the
issue of Christian syncretism can be resolved, but it seems not quite as clear-
cut as the above authors suggest.
c) The Outcome of the First Cult
Tombema killed all of their pigs as instructed. Gardens were planted
without fences, for pigs were no longer a hazard to them. Prohibited foods
Were not eaten. People waited for new pigs to arrive; they made large pig
houses to accommodate the expected numbers. They were told that as soon
as the new houses were completed the pigs would appear out of nowhere.
Some disciples were left behind as the cult moved on, to ensure that their
advice was heeded and instructions strictly followed. Soon however, it was
dear that new pigs would not arrive, that the cult would not deliver what
had been promised. Almost all clans in the vicinity of present-day Kompiama
hilled their pigs, and inevitably men started to ask what were they going to
do to replace their stocks; they had no pigs to exchange or eat, and nothing
to send as inducements to other clans further south, who had not participated
in the cult and had therefore pigs remaining. Eventually, Tombema gathered
bird-of-paradise and cassowary feathers, the few remaining shells and a few
wild pigs and other items, and sent them northward to tee partners in
exchange for tree oil (topa), highly valued as decoration. With these large
quantities of topa, they made a sort of tee southward, known as topa tee.s
The valued commodity secured pigs from members of clans who had not
participated in the cult. To quote one account: “We had killed all of our
pigs, but we soon came to understand where pigs really come from. They
come from partners in the tee. They do not mysteriously arrive from above.
They come only from hard work. We talked long and strong and pulled
pigs from Kola (Tambul) and Wapenamanda. We had lost all of our pigs, but
when the tee came again, we began to look after them as before. We must
always do the same.”
5. Imambu Kalai: The Second Millennial Upheaval
From about late 1977 to the present, a second millenarian movement
has gripped Tombema-Enga. The current movement is clearly Christian in
origin, affirming the view of Guiart (1970) that Christian expansion in the
Pacific often revived original Christian millenarian expectations. That is pre-
cisely what this cult is about. Christian missions, including Australian Baptists,
Topa had always been used in the tee but was of secondary importance to pigs,
the most highly valued objects of exchange. People in the Wapi were probably brought in-
to the tee ambit through the exchange of the highly valued oil for the more prevalent (in
Tombema) pigs. The tee facilitated the circulation of valued, locally produced and scarce
commodities throughout the Enga (tee)area.
100
D.K. Feil
Anthropos 78.1983
Catholics, and Seventh-Day Adventists have been present in the Kompiama
area since the 1950s, and the Baptists at least have been successful in baptiz-
ing a large percentage of the population, educating local pastors, translating
the Bible, and establishing churches in many locations. The understanding
and adherence to Christian doctrine is another matter. There are connections
and continuities between this cult and the other one separated by nearly
forty years. I shall return to this issue below. During the major period of
my fieldwork (1974-1977) there was no hint of this movement beginning,
but a number of alarming events, paralleling those of the earlier cult, have
occurred since then.
a) Circumstances Surrounding the Second Cult
Beginning in about 1978, there has been an epidemic of falciparum
malaria in low-lying areas of the Kompiama region. Kompiama itself is located
at about 4500 feet above sea level, comparatively lower in altitude than
other Enga areas. The name Kompiama itself may be a European approxima-
tion of the Tombema word, kopona, meaning “warm place” or “low-lying
region.” From the central Enga areas of Wapenamanda and Wabaga, the
Kompiama area is relatively low-lying: habitation occurs more frequently
at lower altitudes and crops characteristic of warmer climates are abundant.
Kopona contrasts with central Enga areas known locally as “cold places”
(mandaka) without many food varieties. Habitation at lower altitudes means
people are more susceptible to endemic malaria, and the Mamagakini clan,
for example, with whom I lived, have suffered great loss of life in this renewed
outbreak of malaria.
In the years from 1978 to 1980, more than fifty people in a clan popula-
tion of about 500 have died.9 Not only the very young and very old have
succumbed, but also adolescent men and women, which to Tombema, is
most alarming and unexpected. Health reports show that severe anemia
and splenomegaly are present. Malaria has always affected the Tombema
people but perhaps more so within the last twenty years as people have
moved down from ridge tops and higher ground to live near roads and
growing commerce. But it appears that the present epidemic throughout
Kompiama is more severe than has been previously recorded or remembered.
There has also been in Kompiama, similar to conditions surrounding
the earlier cult, a near complete breakdown and fragmentation of tee-
making and related activities. Physical health and social health are again
linked in Tombema minds. There are definite organizational problems
besetting the tee at present. No one can agree on a course of action and
almost all payments have been suspended. This situation has occurred at
I returned to the Enga Province in 1979-1980 and conducted a new census of
the clans known first to me in 1974. I can confirm this alarming death rate. For details of
the malaria epidemic I am indebted to correspondence with Dr. Peter Sharp who carried
out investigations for the Enga Provincial Authority.
A World Without Exchange (Tombema-Enga, New Guinea)
101
other times in the past (see Feil 1978) but the delays now in the arrival
of the tee seem more serious. The trouble lies outside the Kompiama area,
for Tombema are expecting a major tee from the Wapenamanda and Wabaga
areas to the south and west. Death payments (laita pingi) linked to the tee,
have also stopped and with people dying of malaria, compensation to the
matrikin of the deceased has not been forthcoming. Such payments operate
under the umbrella of the tee. With optimism in the tee waning, these
payments have not been made and this has created animosity between those
who should give and those who would like to receive. The system of marriage
and bridewealth has also been upset (Feil 1981); these too are regulated by
the timing of the tee, and people are unwilling to invest bridewealth as long
as the tee's arrival (and hence, reciprocation) is problematic. The normally
amicable relations between tee partners (kaita miningi) have become strained.
The failure of the tee one informant mentioned, has prompted men to tell
their partners to “get away” and not to “show their faces” until the tee
arrives. Such behaviour is uncharacteristic of tee allies (Feil 1978). The
Seventh-Day Adventists have made significant gains in the area. Always
regarded with suspicion because of their attitude to pigs and pork, they have
converted more people during this period of tee upheaval. One woman
suggested to me that she was joining the S.D.A. because she was tired of
looking after pigs in expectation of a tee that would not come. She did not
care what her husband did, but she was finished with it. Thus, the situation
in Tombema country over the past three years has been grim and in this
context, imambu kalai “the work of the (Holy) Spirit” was bom. It has
centered on the Baptist Church and its members in the Kompiama area.
b) Details of Second Cult
It began at a place called Kalokamanda, near the Lai River, east of the
Kompiama station. Two Enga pastors, members of clans of the area, went to
the bush to pray. There they saw an apparition of Jesus on the cross and
immediately began to shake. They did not know what was causing it and
when they returned home, their shaking had not abated. Others in their
neighbourhood witnessed it, were afraid, but began to shake as well. Men,
Women and children were affected. Shaking fits (ri/ya&ae-epilepsy) are
known to Enga but they are usually accompanied by other symptoms and
they were traditionally treated by the sacrificial killing of pigs to appease
the ancestor who was causing the shaking. A pig’s blood was poured over the
afflicted. This shaking though, was something else, for people who had it,
maintained consciousness and did not fall over into a stupor. People around
Kalokamanda continued to have shaking fits for perhaps a year, it is thought,
and did not tell others fearing adverse repercussions and because they did
not understand its cause.
The two pastors eventually went to Kompiama and told the Baptist
missionaries, resident there, what had happened. The missionaries, it is
believed, told them of the following passage in the Bible, Acts 2: 17-21:
102
D.K. Feil
Anthropos 78.1983
In the last days, God said “I will pour out my Holy Spirit upon all mankind, and
your sons and daughters shall prophesy and your young men shall see visions, and
your old men dream dreams .... And I will cause strange demonstrations in the
heavens and on the earth—blood and fire and clouds of smoke; the sun shall turn
black and moon blood-red before that awesome Day of the Lord arrives. But any-
one who asks for mercy from the Lord shall have it and be saved.”
The two men believed their vision to be a signal of the last days of the
earth. They returned to their houses, prayed, and the shaking then spread to
others. They made their experiences known and people in other locations,
hearing the news, also began to shake, possessed by the Holy Spirit. Shaking
disciples, forecasting the end of the world and preaching the lawlessness of
the Tombema, set out in droves to preach. They worked in “evangelistic
teams” and had special uniforms identifying them as converts. By late 1978,
the cult had spread to the Baiyer/Lumusa area, west to the Wali-Tarua, north
as far as Yangesa, and also to parts of Wapenamanda and Wabaga, though it
has been taken up by only a few non-Baptists. The cultists have told their
adherents to keep the fervour, and to hold on the Holy Spirit. When Jesus
comes, only those who listen to this law will be saved.
Those who have participated in this revival emphasized orthodox
Christian teaching: they should not steal, lie, curse, or kill. Additionally,
they should not smoke, drink beer, or play cards and signs are posted around
settlements prohibiting such practices within. Disciples have told the
people that they should also give up the tee; it is of the earth while the
message they preach has more important concerns and involves ultimate
issues. Many men, including a number of the most powerful big-men, have
given up the tee, while those who continue to be committed to tee activities,
believe that some who cannot repay their long overdue debts have opted out
of the tee in favour of the imambu kalai movement.
The converts to imambu kalai are prone to uncontrolled shaking.
During these fits, they speak in tongues and only the converted can under-
stand. Even so, leaders of the cult have often to translate the babblings of
the shaking to the assembled. In an early stage of the cult, an important
message was transmitted from a shaker speaking in tongues, a message which
dealt directly with the malarial epidemic afflicting them. A shaker told the
people that low altitude places are where Satan resides along with associated
sickness and “bad things.” It was noted that after Jesus was baptized, Satan
took him to a high mountain to tempt him with the riches of the world that
lay below them, Jesus refused to worship Satan and to “go down” to obtain
this wealth. This occurrence is likened to the situation affecting Tombema.
Down below, in low lying areas, good food exists: red pandanus, bread-
fruit, wild pig, and other tantalizing foods. Satan is tempting Tombema
with these luxuries. Those who go down and take them will perish (just
as malarial victims have), while those who move up to the mountains will
be saved, and will avoid temptation just as Jesus himself resisted. Jesus, it
is also argued, rose to the heavens through the clouds and people should
A World Without Exchange (Tombema-Enga, New Guinea)
103
move upwards, to ease and ready themselves for their ascent, in the imme-
diate future, to heaven. After all, there are no clouds at low altitudes, only
m the mountains,
“Holy places” have been constructed in “cold places” where people
can pray, live, and stay together. They will then be together when Jesus
comes. These places are kept immaculately clean and free of rubbish. The
Mamagakini clan constructed three such “holy places” and other clans too,
have moved away from warmer (mosquito infected) areas into the mountains.
People have stayed, neglecting gardens and pigs and former houses. They
reasoned that the world is about to end and there is no need to attend to
former chores. They have been told to “forget everything,” just to stay in
these holy places until Jesus takes them up into the sky. However, more
recent reports show skepticism growing as to the real timing of Jesus’ arrival.
People are starting to feel uneasy about not attending pigs and gardens.
When the shaking fits started, those who feared the imminent coming
of Jesus began to wildly confess their thefts, adultery, and other wrong-
doings of the past. Others resisted. The Holy Spirit in the form of shaking
Was there, but the forces of Satan were also present. Evil forces prevented
people from confessing their sins. The net effect of these opposing powers
caused the recalcitrant to climb trees, to fly like birds, and to attach them-
selves to the rafters of their houses. Such behaviour, people said, affected
those who have sins which they have not yet confessed and when they did
so, “normal shaking” would replace this recklessness. One man, for example,
told me he had flown like a bird to Port Moresby and had seen me get off
the plane. Confessions were then made to collective gatherings who “forgave”
the offender. Those who mocked the shakers or lied about their own behav-
iour died, these include many of the young, brash bachelors whose malarial
deaths have seemed the most inexplicable and had in part, fuelled the cult.
Only those who are “genuine shakers” would Jesus take into the heavens
with him. Now though, it seems that the cult has reconciled itself to a later
arrival of Jesus. The imminent coming has been replaced with the notion
that “after death,” whenever that may be, those who have the holy spirit
will go to heaven. Those who obeyed God’s law here on earth will go to
heaven after death. This idea, some people have claimed, is as before: good
people who did not breach the traditional law of the ancestors have lived
longer than those who committed adultery, stole pigs, and so on. These
latter have always been beset with sickness and death caused by revenging
ancestors of those wronged.
Pigs too have been killed as part of this cult. Large shares of pork have
been offered to those who brought the cult and large sums of money, pigs,
and saleable coffee beans have been given to the church to propagate this
revival. Cars have been bought and airplanes chartered to spread the word.
The cult’s disciples have preached that men and women should now sleep
together in the same beds. This will lead to domestic harmony they have
argued. Some people, at least, have not enthusiastically accepted this point
104
D.K. Feil
Anthropos 78.1983
of view and have decided that the old way in this matter is good enough.
Traditional menstrual taboos should also be suspended; people can now take
food from menstruating women without fear of sickness or death. This idea
too has fallen on deaf ears, though one of the original founders of the cult
has said that “Jesus’ blood, shed on the cross would protect his followers
from menstrual pollution.” The point was also made that a woman’s blood
and a man’s blood are the same and both had been made by God.
c) Outcome of the Second Cult
The initial fervour of the cult was based on the immediate arrival of
Jesus on earth to redeem his followers. All that was traditional, most im-
portantly, the tee, was forsaken because it was no longer needed, and would
not be needed in heaven, Tombema society would end. However, like the
earlier cult, the expected benefits have not been realized and Tombema are
beginning to understand clearly that the holy spirit, exemplified by the fits
of shaking, does not signal an immediate end to the world. In a statement
(made in 1980) reminiscent of the one made by an adherent to the earlier
cult, a person told me that “those who possess the shaking realize that its
promises will not be fulfilled now. People must work and hold on to tradi-
tions like the tee in order to achieve prosperity. The shaking has come only
now, the tee has always been with us. We have tried the shaking, but it will
not give us something for nothing. People must not leave the tee again even
for a short time because only through it do good things come to people.”
6. Conclusion: The “Totality” of the tee
The tee is unquestionably an historic institution; aside from the two
periods mentioned above, Tombema cannot remember when they had no
tee. One early reporter wrote that as far as old men can recall, there has al-
ways been tee, and “their fathers told them the same thing. They became
highly indignant when I hinted that the Te may be of comparatively recent
origin” (Kleinig 1955: 4). I have recorded detailed oral histories of tee as far
back as the early part of this century, and personal details of individual tee
transactions spanning nearly fifty years. The tee is the central institution of
Tombema social and cultural life and a comprehensive account of it would
fall little short of a comprehensive account of the society itself.
“Totalness” is the key to the continuity and persistence of the tee.
Only a radically new society, or the millennium—the end of society—could
replace it. These were the two potential outcomes when iee-making was
suspended. Colonial, and especially mission, attempts to substitute for the
tee were perceived by Enga as insufficient on the grounds that they were
not “total.” Missionaries criticized certain economic and political aspects
of the tee without realizing the interconnection with other features of
Tombema life, among them, the norms of reciprocity and morality. Tom-
bema say that the tee is a part of a person, that it “grows on the skin.”
A World Without Exchange (Tombema-Enga, New Guinea)
105
In this metaphor, the tee is like a person’s body, integral and indivisible.
Additionally, nothing in modern, fragmented society can replace it fully.
Brunton (1971: 115) has argued that “cargo movements are generated
in a native attempt to deal with problems in the traditional exchange system.”
These “movements” especially occur in pre-colonial societies where exchange
relations form the most crucial political and economic relations. This paper
appears to confirm this proposition. In Tombema, delays and postponements
in the exchange system itself have been part of the cause of its abandonment
and fostered a turn towards millenarian action. The more ostensible “causes”
of Tombema’s millenarian movements, unexplained deaths to people and
pigs, and general anomie resulting from colonialism and mission influence,
are always linked in Enga minds to problems in the exchange system. The
tee serves as a marker for social health: when the tee is not working one
might expect other things equally to go awry, and vice versa, including, it
seems, personal physical health. Millenarian movements provided a “total”
response and only such comprehensive moves could replace an exchange
system like the tee.
When, as time proves, millennia do not come, Tombema-Enga return
quickly to the tee and associated activities. That, clearly, happened during
“Mara’s coming” and the signs point to the resumption of the tee now,
after the latest cult has “failed.” After the first cult, informants recount
how, with the resumption of the tee, men and women became a community
again, from a desperate isolation, from a life in their own words, like “wild
animals.” The core meaning of the tee for Tombema society is that it is a
model of, and a model for their humanity. Without the tee, there is no
community, no sociability, no reason for people to congregate. Without
the tee or some total replacement for it, Tombema cannot exist. The tee
persists, above all, because it is an integrated “total” fact.
I acknowledge the research support of the Department of Anthropology and Sociology,
University of Queensland, and the Department of Anthropology, Research School of
Pacific Studies, Australian National University. Rosemary Ricketts read earlier drafts of
this paper and offered valuable criticism.
References
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1971 Cargo Cults and Systems of Exchange in Melanesia. Mankind 8: 115-128.
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Anthropos 78.1983
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1977 The Cult from Lyeimi and the Ipili. Oceania 48: 1-25.
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1982 New Perspectives on the Kula. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
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1954 The Gift. London: Cohen and West.
Meggitt, MJ.
1973 The Sun and the Shakers; A Millenarian Cult and its Transformations in the
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Sou ter, G.
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Joseph Nevadomsky
Changing Patterns
of Marriage, Family, and Kinship
Among the East Indians in Rural Trinidad
Abstract. — Using observational and survey data collected in a large East Indian
community in rural Trinidad, this paper describes a number of important changes in family
organization including a rising age at marriage, personal choice preference in spouse selec-
tion, the absence of village exogamy and the importance of the nuclear family in local
practice and ideology. Attention is also focused on wedding ceremonial changes, inter-
personal roles within the household (particularly the more egalitarian relationships be-
tween parents and children), and changes in kinship behavior and ideology. Behind this
catalog of changes has been the intention to call into question the theoretical adequacy of
those studies of the East Indians in the Caribbean that have stressed cultural retentions
and the tenacity of north Indian institutions in the face of pressures for change. Accord-
ing to this perspective the traditional Indian family has been able to weather migration,
lndenture and over a hundred years of social and political changes in an alien setting. By
contrast, the major thread running through the present description is that the organiza-
tion of the contemporary East Indian family is more adequately assessed by reference
to local factors which tend to determine the kinds of institutional patterns found among
rural villagers. [Caribbean, East Indians, Marriage and Family, Social Change]
Introduction
Among the Hindu East Indians in Trinidad, Guyana, and Surinam, the
three Caribbean countries containing sizable populations of Indians whose
ancestors emigrated from the South Asian mainland in the second half of the
Joseph Nevadomsky, Ph.D. in Anthropology (1977, Univ. of California at Berkeley);
he is a Senior Research Fellow at the Centre for Social, Cultural, and Environmental
Research, University of Benin. He has carried out fieldwork in India (on political attitudes
°f university students), Trinidad (on changing family patterns among the rural East
Indians), and Nigeria (on Edo kingship ceremonies). Address: Centre for Social, Cultural,
Qnd Environmental Research, Univ. of Benin, Private Mail Bag 1154, Benin City, Nigeria.
108
Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
19th century, the traditional family and its related institutions are thought
to have provided the cultural model for the reorganization of family life in
the host environment. Attempts to transplant traditional family institutions
intact appear to have been constrained, however, by several critical local con-
ditions, notably that of indenture, the system of semi-servitude designed to
replace the emancipated African slaves on the sugar plantations with laborers
brought from India. Subsequent economic and political developments in
these societies further contributed to the modification of preindenture family
institutions.
In coming to grips with the adaptation of Indian institutions to their
Caribbean settings some scholars have emphasized the tremendous impact
on “East” Indian culture of the plantation and the wider society. Others
have stressed the importance of rural isolation as a major mechanism for
preserving East Indian culture. Yet others have stressed the sheer tenacity of
Indian institutions and their functional unity in the face of pressures for
change (for a review and critique of these perspectives see Nevadomsky
1981a). By and large, most of the ethnographic research on the East Indians
in Trinidad has not been concerned explicitly with change but has instead
focused on cultural persistance. Scholarly emphasis on retentions has led to
the assumption that East Indian family life, particularly in the rural farming
areas of Trinidad, can still be characterized by the inferior status of women,
formal and segregated marital role behavior, parental selection of mates,
patrilocal residence, village exogamy, and so on (cf. Klass 1961, among
others).
The major aim of the present paper is to describe changes in the marriage,
family, and kinship patterns of the East Indians in a rural community in
Trinidad. The crucial issues are the extent to which social changes, past and
present, have affected the family system and the kinds of outcomes, in terms of
family structure as well as values, that have emerged among the East Indians
in this particular setting. It is hoped that a case study of family changes
among the rural East Indians might help to provide a necessary corrective
to the usual preoccupation with cultural persistance.
1. Social Change and Family Structure in Historical Perspective
Like the Africans who preceded them, about 143,000 Indians arrived
in Trinidad between 1843 and 1917 to toil on the sugar plantations as inden-
tured laborers from India, under conditions as oppressive if less permanent
than slavery. In the sending society, most of the emigrants came from the
northern provinces as part of a widespread demographic movement resulting
from poverty and famine. In the host society, immigration was a direct res-
ponse to the demands of the sugar estates whose manpower needs had reached
critical proportions following the exodus of ex-slaves after emancipation.
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
109
Contracts of indenture stipulated a legally binding obligation on the part of
the immigrants to work for five years followed by repatriation to India.
Later, a commutation payment in land was offered as an option to repatria-
tion and in this way an economically valuable class of resident agricultural
laborers and peasant proprietors emerged.
In the initial period of entry and settlement, roughly until 1917 when
indenture was abolished, Indians on the estates had necessarily to accom-
modate themselves to the requirements of the plantation system. The estates
clamored for a docile labor force and the satisfaction of this demand created
havoc with family organization. The majority of the indentured labor force
Were single males in their twenties. There were few elders to arrange marriages
mid enforce traditional rules. For much of this period there was a ratio of
°ne Indian woman to two or three men. Being in extremely short supply,
^omen thus assumed an importance and independence far beyond that
sanctioned by tradition. Female children bom on the estates came to be
regarded as an extremely valuable commodity and, in contrast to India
'vhere a dowry was essential to partially offset the imbalance in status be-
tween wife-givers and wife-takers, the groom presented gifts to the bride and
her family. Considerations of caste and region were of course meaningless in
such an environment.
Few of the normative regulations concerning married life were possible
to put into practice. The traditional subordination of the wife to her husband
mid his kin had to be abandoned partly because women earned their own
'vages. Lack of land ownership and other forms of property further curtailed
Uiale authority. Traditional penalties against marital infidelity were easily
eroded, and marriages were extremely brittle and short-lived. Limited male
domestic authority, combined with the scarcity of women and their exploita-
tion by estate foremen and overseers, resulted in marriages riven with tensions
mid jealousies. These often erupted into physical assault. In the abnormal
mrnosphere of the estates, Indian men first gained their notorious reputations
f°r wife-beating and murder. Frustrated by their inability to bring ancient
sanctions to bear on domestic relations, men resorted to the cutlass and
to “chopping”—the mutilation of the wife. Eventually the Colonial Office
required that approximately 25 to 40% of indentured recruits had to be
^ornen. Furthermore, planters began paying salaries through household
deads. They also applied stringent measures against those who enticed away
miother man’s wife. The fact that such measures were necessary indicates
the weakness of traditional sanctioning mechanisms in support of male
mithority.
By the turn of the century no more than 10% of the total Indian popula-
tion remained as indentured plantation laborers. Most of those who finished
their labor contracts settled in scattered homesteads and small communities
mljacent to the estates on which they had worked. Although the exposure of
Last Indians to the dominant cultural patterns in the society varied con-
110
Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
siderably (in addition to the 61% of the East Indian labor force listed as
agricultural laborers in the 1921 census, 14% were listed in teaching, 5% in
“public” service, and 5% in the “professions, police and military”), most
were isolated from much of what was going on in the society. Neglect by
government (for example, relatively little attention was paid to rural educa-
tion) and prejudices based on “coolie” stereotypes that had their origins
during indenture reinforced Indian segregation.
The reinstitutionalization of normal family relations followed the return
to stable community life. The gradual leveling of the sex ratio and investments
in farm land facilitated the reemergence of family control over women.
Arranged marriages and patrilocal residence became once again typical of a
girl’s early married life though a pattern of elopements and suicides suggests
occasionally staunch and sometimes fatal resistance to these reactivated pro-
cedures. Customary patterns of deference and demeanor again typified
domestic life in extended households. By controlling the transmission of
land, the only valuable source of wealth among the East Indians, elders
could again control the behavior of their children. Conformity to custom
varied of course by social class, the wealthier families being able to secure
the greater amount of compliance.
In spite of partial successes in reconstituting some traditional family
and marriage patterns, East Indian community life could only be an ap-
proximation of preindenture patterns. The systemic linkages between national
and local institutions took a different form in Trinidad where relations of
social class and race rather than caste dominated social organization. More-
over, although traditional culture represented the general ideological frame-
work for social action, conformity to it was often a matter of personal inclina-
tion for no official penalties could attach to non-compliance in a society
which regarded Indian culture as alien and barbaric. As far as settlement
patterns were concerned, the establishment of villages was most often deter-
mined by government land policy and the interests of the planters rather
than by the residual caste and jati considerations of post-indenture laborers.
The majority of villagers were in any case laborers and farmers so that caste
had to be relegated to the background, as an aside in marrriage negotiations
or as an idiosyncracy of interpersonal relationships. Panchayats seem to have
come into being for a short time but whether or not these were anything
more elaborate than vigilante groups remains unclear. Local social control
was probably based on a combination of vigilante intimidation, the “charisma”
of influential villagers, and the plantation management.
The reemergence of family institutions identical to those of village
India was equally problematical. Schwartz (1965) has argued persuasively
that the traditional joint family could not have been completely reconstituted.
He gives such reasons as inadequate generational time to stabilize a joint
family system, the presence of discordant cultural factors, and the lack of
economic cohesiveness in East Indian domestic groups brought on by social
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
111
mobility. The gist of his argument, however, is that reconstitution could not
have occurred strictly along traditional lines because the East Indian family
m Trinidad lacked the support of other traditional institutions which, taken
together, made up a unique “cultural network” of reciprocally reinforcing
units. Put another way, the various “remnants” of reconstituted Indian
culture did not form a system of social and political relationships that
replicated the sociocultural system of village India. A similar though more
elaborated discussion on the limits of caste reorganization has been made
for another setting (Jayawardena 1971).
In sum, as the social and economic conditions of the East Indians
stabilized, the tendency was to recover aspects of Indian culture and social
organization, a tendency checked, however, by local conditions mitigating
a faithful recreation of the preindenture social system. Unfortunately, the
evidence is simply not available to do more than speculate on the early
outcomes of this dialectical relationship for the study of family structure,
and any reconstruction must remain inchoate. It is thus necessary to rely on
more contemporary evidence in ascertaining changes in family and marriage
patterns. Of immediate relevance to the present research are the social and
economic changes in Trinidad ushered in by World War II. Although the
depression years had restricted economic mobility, the war was a boom for
many East Indians because of the job opportunities and unparalleled wages
provided at American military bases established to protect oil supply routes.
In the long run, of course, the war initiated the process of decolonization.
For Trinidad this ultimately resulted in univeral suffrage and parliamentary
democracy, the repeal of remaining ethnic legislation, the expansion of an
administrative bureaucracy, the creation of social welfare programs and the
institutionalization of formal education. These developments have been
made possible by the abundance of natural resources, particularly oil, natural
gas, and pitch, by which Trinidad has become one of the most industrialized
countries in the Caribbean.
The rest of this paper describes the effects of these and other changes
on rural East Indian family life. The data derive from nearly 15 months of
field research, mainly in “Amity” village, the same community reported on
by Klass (1961)1. *
This is the same pseudonym used by Klass. The present fieldwork was carried
°ut in 1972-1973 and was supported by an NIMH Grant (MH-12475). The support of this
agency is gratefully acknowledged. I wish also to thank H. Ramsingh and P. Ramgulam
for their help in the collection of the survey data. — The data presented here are based
°n observation, interviews, cases, a random sample of about 13% of the 953 households
ln the community, and a non-random, loosely stratified sample of 25 households for
detailed information on family roles, finances, and the like. A pocket tape recorder was
Used to record, with permission, formal and some informal interviews.
112
Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
2. The Social Setting
Except for its relatively large population of about 6,500, Amity con-
forms to the rural settlement pattern typical of the sugar cane areas. The
community borders land owned by Caroni Ltd., a Tate and Lyle subsidiary,
and has no official geographic or political boundaries, the present residence
pattern stemming from the expansion and merger of five distinct villages
which are today wards of the larger community. The village has no main
square or hub where people congregate nor does it have a distinct shopping
district. Leisure and shopping take place at several main road “junctions”
where most of the shops are located. There are four dry goods shops as well
as many smaller “parlors” which stock a few essentials such as bread and
tinned sardines. The village has 18 rum shops, nearly all of them thriving.
Indeed, even the dry goods shops make most of their profit on drinks. For
larger purchases and most social services villagers travel to Chaguanas, the
county seat, two miles away or to Port-of-Spain, the nation’s capital, fifteen
miles northwest of the village and linked to it by a good highway.
The village has two primary schools, a Presbyterian Canadian Mission
Society school and a Hindu Maha Sabha school, both now seriously over-
crowded with nearly 1,500 pupils. A nursery school and a government
sponsored nutrition unit are attached to the Hindu primary school. Not far
from the schools are three Hindu temples each representing a different
religious sect. The Sanatan Dharma, the largest and most traditional Hindu
religious organization in the country, has jurisdiction over one temple, which
is also used by the community’s two “free-lance” pundits. A chapter of the
Divine Life Society, a sect that advocates the reorganization of Hindu
religious services along western lines, is housed in an undistinguished building.
The Bharat Sevashram Sangh, another reformist organization, maintains the
third temple.
The village has three soccer and cricket fields which are in almost constant
use by local sports clubs. The headquarters of the village council are located
on one of the fields, though the building is rarely used. The “offices” of
other associations such as the Trinidad Island-Wide Cane Farmers Associa-
tion are located in the homes of local representatives.
Roughly 90% of the village population is Hindu and this fact helps to
sustain the impression that the community has a culture and character alto-
gether different from that of the larger society. The Moslem population is
negligible (1.5%) and is clustered in three pockets of the village. The four
Chinese families are virtually invisible. They do not participate in any village
activities and they are seldom seen outside their home or shop premises.
Afro-Americans are better represented but they do not exceed 9% of the
population. With one of two exceptions, Afro-Americans live in the southern
wards of the community and hardly ever venture into central or northern
Amity.
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
113
Over two decades ago an anthropologist studying the community (Klass
1961) claimed that the local system of social stratification and prestige bore
little relationship to that of the wider society. His observations indicated
that land ownership and wealth, often reinforced by caste and residence
patterns, were important prestige criteria. Estate laborer and farmer were the
principal occupations; many other occupations had only one or two re-
presentatives each. On the whole, economic relations revolved around
agricultural production, as did the annual cycle of ceremonial activities.
Klass further reported that an important feature of local social mobility
'vas a kind of caste sanskritization, the process whereby caste groups, or in
this case individuals, rose in status by discarding low caste attributes.
By 1972, when the present fieldwork was conducted, the village showed
a remarkable increase in the level of material prosperity and significant
changes in the status system. In contrast to 1958, when 70% of the homes
Were of mud-thatch construction, 70% are now made of concrete blocks
with louvered windows, iron railings, and galvanized roofing. Village roads
are metalled, and most homes have electricity and pipe-bome water. Tele-
phone cables were installed in 1973. Refrigerators, cars, gas cookers, and
television sets are an increasingly frequent family expenditure. More signifi-
cantly, every weekday morning the village empties of children and much of
the adult labor force, on their way to school or town jobs, a workday exodus
strikingly similar to suburban commuting. Equally as dramatic is the employ-
ment of married and unmarried village women as secretaries, teachers, sales-
women, and government clerks. One of the striking features of the local dis-
tribution of occupations is in fact its heterogeneity representing an extremely
Wide range of the economic spectrum. Local occupational distributions
correspond rather closely to national ones (Nevadomsky n.d.) as do percep-
tions of social prestige (19816). Next to agriculture, which accounts for 37%
°f the village labor force, service occupations form the largest category (30%),
followed by manufacturing (12%), transportation and communications
(10%), construction and engineering (7%) and commerce (4%). When these
data are compared to Klass’ observations of twenty years ago it is clear that
there has been a significant pattern of occupational restratification with a
strong drift away from agriculture and relatively little occupational inherit-
ance.
Occupation and education have emerged as the most important indicators
°f social status with education, rather than land investment, providing the
most direct avenue of social mobility. A white-collar job and at least a
secondary school education, both of which correlate with relatively high
mcome, are the aspirations of nearly every young person entering the labor
force and the source of parental hopes and self-denial for their children. As
a rule, the younger generation accepts a standard of living that requires
greater cash income and a greater emphasis on enjoying the good things in
Anthropos 78.1983
8
114
Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
life. Although older villagers chastize the younger generation for never
having known “true hardships” they seem to agree with the life-style their
children are seeking.
Wealth is always important, of course, but its relevance today is measured
more in terms of income potential than in terms of cash or the value of land
holdings. Caste is certainly no longer a feature of the village prestige hierarchy.
If caste status ever was as significant a principle of social organization as is
sometimes claimed, it has long ceased to be a mechanism of social mobility.
Any attempt to change caste nowadays would be regarded as ridiculous; the
younger generation in particular would regard this with incomprehension
because caste is irrelevant to their daily experiences.
3. Contemporary Courtship and Marriage Patterns
The economic and political changes highlighted above, which have re-
duced the desire for agricultural employment and have led to greater mobil-
ity, a greater scope for job specialization, and the introduction of new sources
of income, constitute powerful forces for the erosion of traditional patterns
of family authority and organization partly by offering the individual the
opportunity to make an independent base for his own decisions relative to
his family and kinship group. For young villagers the direction of change has
been toward greater freedom in mate selection and courtship. Freedom of
marital choice is related to an adult age at marriage and a system of court-
ship where the individual has time and opportunity to become acquainted
with potential spouses before making a decision. Marriage by mutual consent
also presupposes changes in other aspects of the marriage system, particularly
those aspects which depend for their maintenance on the strict control over
potential marriage partners.
a) Early Standards
The reconstitution of village life after indenture led to the réintroduc-
tion of arranged marriages. Parental consent was mandatory and had to be
guaranteed before any progress could be made in the negotiations. The
amount of contact a young person had with his future spouse was probably
very limited. Selected interview excerpts give some indication of the leeway
young people had in accepting or rejecting a potential partner.
A 47 year old man
I was 17 at the time and on both my father’s and mother’s side I happened to be
the eldest grandchild and the first child. My grandfather was very eager to see me
married before he died. The old people had made their choice. They just said they
had a child to marry. So they made contact and gave consent. They put up a date
for engagement and it was then that I found out. They told me that some people
were coming to engage me. I said, “But why?” They said I had to marry and that
my grandfather desired it. I asked if that was all the reason and they said it was.
n—T'WWÉiTOfcfïTnannmnrnwiSrii*
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♦J
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
115
A 45 year old man
They said, “Well, this is the girl. See if you like each other.” I liked her immediately.
I wanted to know from she whether she agreed or not, so I take she out in the road
asking her that I wanted a few words with her. I said, “This is a ticklish business.
Marriage is not only for a day. If you know you are friending someone then don’t
fear to tell me because generally a girl does have a boyfriend as does a boy have a
girlfriend.” She said she don’t have anyone. I said, “How is it?” She said her parents
are very strict. Her mother is so strict that whenever a daughter went out she had to
go also. We then agreed. I told her she had to speak first to those assembled because
I did not want to say I agree and then have her say no. That would make me look
like a fool in front of everyone and that happend to me before. Well, they put up a
day and they came and engage me.
A 37 year old woman
Anthropologist: Did you love your husband when you married?
Chandra: I couldn’t say .... My daddy asked me if I liked the boy. I
said, “Yes.” But I didn’t think too much about it. My mind
told me to say yes and I did. Last week my daughter was
asking me some questions but I didn’t know her daddy was
just there. I believe he was standing near just to hear what I
would say. So she say, “Mommy, did you like my daddy when
you marry him?” I say yes. Then she ask me why. I say I can’t
say why because I don’t know but he is a very good person
and he makes me happy in every way.
Anthropologist:
Chandra;
Did you know he was a good person before you married him?
Only just that people say he was a good boy. They come and
tell me parents it have a good boy and he works well and they
don’t never see him nowhere drunk. Only one vice he have and
that is going to cinema. But they never see him all about with
girls or anything. When I hear that I thought: “Good! I wouldn’t
like a person who will drink and get on.”
As everywhere else in arranged marriage negotiations, judgments were
based on a weighing of ancestry, reputation, and prosperity, as well as religion
and caste where applicable. The personal qualities of the spouses were also
relevant considerations. Once a decision was made, the major evidential
requirement was the wedding ceremony, a lengthy, elaborate, and expensive
affair that demonstrated family prestige and confirmed the wisdom of the
match. Post-marital residence was in the groom’s father’s home where the
young wife assumed a subservient role. In some cases the marriage was not
immediately consummated because an early age at marriage prevented coha-
bitation.
b) Selection of a Mate
Nowadays there are a variety of mate selection procedures in Amity
ranging from the traditional method mentioned above to marriage by mutual
consent, the latter increasing in frequency. The increase in the acceptance
y
116
Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
of marriage by mutual consent can be seen when the ever-married female
population is divided into two age cohorts, over 35 years of age (n = 45) and
35 years and under (n = 81): in the former category only 17% of the women
chose their spouses in contrast to 66% in the latter age category.
Arranged marriages take place in families where adolescent youngsters
are still carefully shielded from contact with unrelated boys. They also take
place to prevent a family scandal, that is, to preserve a daughter’s virginity.
Parents may also arrange a marriage when they discover that their daughter
fancies a young man they don’t like.
Informants say that suicides and elopements were common in the
past and they cite several cases that have become a part of village lore and
which, incidentally, show the ineffectiveness of parental authority. Elope-
ment or suicide were then about the only available procedures for rejecting
a choice insisted upon by kinsmen. Such drastic measures are unnecessary
today because parents and relatives have much less say in match-making.
Klass says that during the fifties “free choice” consisted “solely of the fact
that . . . both boy and girl are introduced to each other before the marriage
and each has the right to veto the proposed match” (1961: 111). Today,
however, free choice means more than that the final decisions have been
transferred from the older to the younger generation. Young people are
also responsible for finding a spouse. Moreover, parental insistence is easily
resisted, as the following two cases make quite clear.
Case 1 : The marriage trick that did not work
Anthropologist: Your parents brought the girl to your house?
Krishna: They say they bring the girl to fix up and marry me. I say I
have no intentions of marrying as yet. Then the old lady, my
mom, bring up how they will need help in the home. I say if
they so need help, well, I have another girl who I really need,
but they say they don’t want that girl. I say I don’t like the
girl they have brought.
Anthropologist: Was this an engagement?
Krishna; No. If it was an engagement than I would have done it. But
they wanted me to sign the paper. I mean, this was a real
marriage !
Anthropologist: What would you have done if it were only an engagement?
Krishna: I would then break it, and take my girl and split!
Anthropologist: When they brought the girl to your house they had a paper for
you to sign?
Krishna: Yes. It was a marriage registration paper. When you sign that it
means you already married. It was going to be a small marriage
ceremony they was fixing up. You see, my old lady and my
old man went behind my back and they fix up and I didn’t
know about it. About two days before the business they come
and tell me they want to engage me. And I say, well, if it go
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad 117
Anthropologist: Krishna: happen, it go happen somehow. But when I found out from my sister what it was, I went and ran. After the ceremony I would have had to sign the paper stating that the girl was my wife. I didn’t want that part. They wanted to have a small ceremony: a legal one with just the pundit. I was really Christen- ing (i.e., taking a godfather) on that night on my own. I was getting a godfather, that is. I had my own pundit. But they went and fix up this other business with another pundit. And after I was Christened then they were going to bring in this other pundit and have me sign the paper. You really have to know about these things or you can get tricked! Well, I didn’t wait for no Christening or nothing and I took off! I split! Where did you go? I have this friend and I went there for the night.
Anthropologist: Krishna: What happened when you returned home the next day? I went first and bash my brains (i.e., got drunk). Then I went home to rap to them.
Anthropologist: Krishna: What did they say? What they go say! All they could say is that they tell me I do a bad thing. But I know I do something good for myself. I get away from trouble. I ain’t working nowhere, but I had a job before. But when this business come up I leave my work because I know people will look and say how I am working and is time for me to marry. You see, my big sister’s married. The smallest does go to school and my mother has to go to garden so she wanted someone to help her. But my girl I like a lot, you know.
Anthropologist: Krishna: Why not marry her instead? They are against that. That’s why they get this other girl for me.
Anthropologist: Krishna: What is their objection? I don’t find nothing wrong with the girl. The girl had a fault. She had a boyfriend. Somebody come and push that to them at home and they get to hear the whole story about the girl and how she had a boyfriend. The boy used to take her to the beach and all about. And finally the fellow leave her and he got married. I just saw the girl and my blood take she just like that. I just fall in love with her. I didn’t see nothing wrong.
Anthropologist: Krishna: Old person 1: Krishna: Don’t you mind that she had another fellow before you? I don’t mind that! But the problem is she throw away how many babies? I heard that too! They say she throw away the baby for the boy. The girl does tell me it is not true. And like my parents can’t stop me from taking the girl. I will take her and run away. And if I leave home they got to come and beg me to come home.
Old person 1: Old person 2: They call that natural love. Love is a thing that get to the marrow of the bone.
118
Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
Case 2: The adamant young man
Winston wanted to marry Kamla. His parents refused their consent after their
investigation revealed that the girl had “a fault or two.” Winston’s older sister
claimed that Kamla had had several boyfriends before: “I know Kamla only she
don’t remember me. She used to play around. She used to go to school but never
reach it. It had a time to sit exams and she ran away for about three days. I don’t
know where or with who or if she went by herself. Well, I don’t know if Winston
is the second or third or what boyfriend. And then, what kind of family is that to
allow their daughter to go here and all about? I have two daughters who have not
married, and when they finish their work they come home and stay there. I don’t
even let them go to market in town. The boy goes instead. What is there for them
to do except make mischief and get into trouble. And if people see them liming (i.
e., wandering) all about what they go say?” Another member of the family also
disapproved of Winston’s choice: “This is a bad thing, you know. Look, Winston
take she to a wedding a few weeks back and they are not even engaged. He takes
her shopping in town, too. That is a kind of slackness. I don’t think the family has
much respect. You know, if you are engaged, the boy can come home anytime and
take the girl, because everyone knows you are marrying. But without the engage-
ment he could put her in the family way and leave her. Indian people don’t consider
this proper.”
Winston’s younger sister agreed to the match: “Everyone say he gone and choose
that kind of girl. Well, I say is his choice! He likes the girl. He is the one to mind
her.”
Winston was determined to marry Kamla come what may. He complained that once
before he had found a girl he liked but he dropped her because of his parents’
objections. Although hurt by his parents’ rejection of Kamla, Winston was adamant:
“In the old way, you buy first and see later, but the new way is to see first and buy
later. My family wants to follow the traditional way, man, and I don’t have time
for that!”
Winston’s parents finally gave in. As Winston’s younger sister explained, “What can
they do? The boy has a good job. He has a car. He can take care of himself. There is
little they can object to. They have no choice and must accept the girl.”
These two cases are alike in several respects. First, young bachelors usu-
ally do in fact take their parents’ wishes and interests into account. Krishna
was sympathetic to his mother’s need for household help, his only objection
being that he ought to be free to choose the person who would provide it.
Winston had previously acquiesced to his parents’ wishes but now, as far as
he was concerned, once was enough. Another similarity is the declining
influence that parents have over their sons’ behavior. The continuation of
the traditional village household, resting as it does, at least in principle, on
the tillage and inheritance of land, has been largely undermined so that
economic threats against a son’s choice of spouse are toothless tigers today.
Winston has a good job and Krishna can undoubtedly return to the one he
left. Finally, in both cases, it should be noted that many people agreed with
the two young men. Krishna and Winston may have been faulted for their
poor taste and lack of judgment but their right to make their own choice
was not an issue. Indeed, the rather crude attempt to trick Krishna into a
marriage he did not desire was cited as an example of backward or “coolie”
behavior.
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
119
The freedom to choose a spouse applies to both young men and women.
Young men are free to move about and they have no reputations to lose. The
position of young women is somewhat ambivalent, however, because the rule
of premarital chastity continues to prevail though one suspects that there is
now a lot of lip service to it. Through complementarity with bachelors, the
premarital sex roles of young village women have relaxed to some degree.
Young women have greater opportunity to be courted. Indeed, courtship
appears to be covertly tolerated. Despite much publicized vigilance on the
part of parents many girls manage to have some form of contact with young
men, ranging from harmless flirtations to premarital sex, as the following
examples indicate.
Case 3: The youth who is wise as a serpent
I have a girlfriend in Cunupia. My brother and I went to some prayers there. I look
around and see these girls looking at us. One is looking hard at me. So I look back
at she. My brother tell me to cool it. Now when prayers finish they have a little
dinner so when everybody gone to one side I meet she on the other. No one suspected.
You see, it could have a whole set of people there and I will give a “right” (i.e.,
hello) to everybody but then when I talk with she I will do a little sign or something
like that. She will understand. I can tell her this right in the kitchen when she taking
out food and thing. While I’m cleaning the plates I’m not looking at she. Only talk-
ing low. And I only watching to see if anybody will come. That is why Indians say:
Be wise as a serpent and harmless as a dog. I tell she I want to meet her such and
such place. Will it be possible? She might say yes. If she say no this mean that she
don’t really consider me to that extent. But usually they don’t turn down. You
know, this country have a hot climate and some girls feel extra hot. But most of
the time they would not tell you that. Most of the time you have to beg. You have
to say “Oh gosh!” when you romancing them. You say, “You mean you can’t give
me a little bit of sex? Nothing would be wrong, man, just a little bit. Just this one
time. I wouldn’t bother you again. To married, I will marry you.” That is begging.
Case 4: The final exam
I met my girlfriend in Couva. She is 15. I went be a friend and she come by her
friend. I tell my friend that my blood take she. She say, “No big thing.” This means
it’s all good. I went by the same friend the next Friday. His neighbor was having a
little prayers, a little katha, so I bounce in there about 6. About then my girl come
by her friend. She say she staying the night. I say I myself staying with my friend
tonight. She say alright. I say that if I drop asleep for her to come and wake me
early in the morning. She come five o’clock. She come and wake me up and I alone
in the room. She say, “Hey! Good morning!” She sit right on my bed. She say,
“What happened? Why you sleeping so late?” I say nothing. She only watch me
now. By eyes alone I know what is what. They have an old saying: The beauty of a
girl lies in the eyes. I start to kiss her but she draw back a little. I thought, what is
this? She telling me about school and how she have to write exams and things. But
I only thinking, the only exam I see now is right there on the bed with me. I start
romancing and thing and that was it: I cut (i.e., had intercourse with) she. She say
she had a boyfriend before, but only for three months. But in the time they see
each other she never had sex with him. She say he only say “Hello, hello, hello.”
120
Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
These kinds of assignations are obviously of great concern to many par-
ents though the effectiveness of close parental supervision over unmarried
females is limited partly by the fact that young women, like young men, are
relatively free to move in and out of the community in pursuit of education
and jobs. It is simply not possible for parents to chaperone their daughters,
though occasionally a suspicious and concerned father may surrepiticiously
tail his daughter, request an attendance report from her teachers, or check
her payslip. The majority, however, do little more than caution their daughters
to be careful. As the boyfriend of one educated girl said, “My girlfriend has
five school subjects. She can go where she wants. Her parents will warn her
to be very careful but that is all they can do. She is up to taking care of her-
self now.” This comment correctly indicates that a young single woman,
with an education and seeking a career, is likely to be permitted more
liberty than one whose prospects for social mobility are dim. The pursuit
of a career counterbalances any adverse comments that may be made about
her public behavior. As one 18 year old girl said,
Before I got a job I never went out. I am still not a swinging chick nor do I want
to be. But when I got a job I also got some freedom. Now I can do all my mischief-
like smoking—outside the house. My father knows some of the things I do but even
though he is a strict person he keeps quiet about them. One afternoon I had gone to
a restaurant with a boyfriend and a few other friends. My father happened to be
nearby when we came out. I am sure he saw that I was tipsy. He pretended not to
see me. When I reached home he made no mention of it.
Probably her father realized that he could not effectively enforce tradi-
tional standards of behavior that did not conform to practices his daugther
encountered on the job or in town. Indeed, parental insistence on conformity
to traditional values may have serious repercussions, as the following inter-
view segment reveals.
Case 5; The scheming daughter
My parents force me to scheme. They aren’t reasonable, especially my father. He
says no short hair, no short dresses, no pants suits and no cosmetics. He is too old-
fashioned for the kind of life we lead today. When I want to wear pants I have to
take them outside the house before putting them on. One day I had on a short skirt
and I was coming down the steps and the wind caught it. Well, let me tell you, he
didn’t wait. He abused me right then and there. I went into the kitchen and loosened
the zipper a bit, and lowered the skirt. So I came out and said, “You think this is
too high? What’s the problem?” Then I walked out. I have a boyfriend who is a
teacher like me. A few people knew about this including my elder sister’s wife. She
was helping me scheme because I helped her when she was dating my brother. My
mother also knew about it and although she didn’t agree she went along with it.
When my father found out he was very angry, but I think he feels powerless to do
anything about it. He is part of a Ramayana group. But, good lord, I don’t know
what problem that is supposed to solve! Who reads the Ramayana today?
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
121
It’s really his fault I scheme so much. If he were less strict about things I could do
openly what I now do secretly. It certainly doesn’t worry me, however. It only
worries him and a few neighbors like him. They have this old mentality which they
cannot get rid of, so even in this modern world when everyone is trying to become
more civilized and brighter, he falls back on his old ways. He grew up with that.
They are really worried about my not getting married. They feel awkward having
someone in the house who is 24. They think it is a bad reflection on them. They
are still of the old school: by 16 you must get married. They said I should get
married or leave the house. Of course, they would not really chase me out. It was a
bluff. They know it would look very bad for them to chase out their only daughter.
They feel it might lead to an elopement and that is very much against their old way
of thinking.
The impiety and daring of an elopement cannot, of course, be penalized
today. Civil marriages are available in which age, rather than parental consent,
is the crucial factor. Common-law unions, a widespread phenomenon in
Trinidad society, are not scorned, provided the couple get on together.
The effectiveness of parental chaperonage over single girls may also be
related to the status of the family. The lower status father with a career-
oriented daughter is not prepared to be too stringent. He risks loss of her
potential support. The upper status father can be more effectively autocratic
but then, since this goes against the grain of middle class values, which he
emulates, he is likely to be more democratic and egalitarian in his relations
with his children.
Finally, parental supervision is constrained by a change taking place in
the local value system: young people are unwilling to comply with what they
regard as archaic ways at the same time that parents are losing the secure
faith that the traditional ways remain valid. Though new values have yet to
crystallize into accepted routine, or to be accepted by everyone, the old
values seem less firm as a guide to action. Under these conditions it is not an
easy task deciding what is appropriate behavior in the matter of courtship. If
parents are too lax, their daughter may get “spoiled” and have to live with a
“fault.” As one parent remarked:
If the father allows she to go all about he will catch good hell to get she married. As
a reference, she might talk to a boy, and she might be seen with him in various
places. From the time you see a boy with a girl, two or three times, you think they
are friends. People in the village will say they are going to marry but after a month
or two you might hardly find the boy coming around. Maybe someone go and talk
to the same boy and say, “Look, you were going with this girl.” He say, “No, I
have stopped.” So you will right away think that something is wrong, that he must
have found a fault with the girl. Or another fellow will want to get married to she
but his friend will say, “Naw, man, that girl ain’t good.” Or, “She have a friend al-
ready and you are not the first one.” The girl becomes like a secondhand car. Who
wants to buy a secondhand car if he can get a newbrand model?
122
Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
On the other hand, if they are too strict in their adherence to traditional
rules, they may prevent their daughter from attracting the attention of
potential suitors, as one villager said:
Buddu has a girl home who is not yet married. He has been looking for someone
for six years. But he could not fix anything up. Maybe because the girl is big in size.
But you see, he didn’t use his intelligence. He kept the girl at home, never allowed
her to go to market, or cinema, or walk through the village in the afternoon with
her girlfriends. If he had, then people would have seen her and someone might have
liked her. Also, if she had a job she could meet a lot of people that way. But the old
man didn’t use his head. Now she getting old. No chance now.
Contemporary attitudes about dating provide further indicators of a
shift in values. Dating has never been an acceptable courtship procedure.
However, parents are aware of the fact that dating goes on in town, among
all the ethnic groups. Moreover, young people in the village often seek enter-
tainment in the towns, which are within easy reach by car. As a result, some
parents have had to modify their restrictions about dating and to permit it,
though under rigidly controlled conditions:
Frankly, I don’t find dating acceptable. I will concede this much however. I will
tell the boy: You want to come home, you know my daughter and you seem to
be friendly with her. Good. But I am going to give a lot of instructions to my
daughter. The furthest position you reach in my house is the living room. You want
to go out together alone? Absolutely not! However, I would approve of chaperoned
dates and of course I will try to find someone like a cousin who will feel free to
make jokes so that it will be comfortable for everyone. Even so, I will make sure
that the person is not the type who will drop out on the road. My attitude in this
is affected by the fact that quite often there is jilting. Some boys hang around to
get what they can. The girl is taken for a ride.
In one case, the parents’ desire to see their daughter well-married over-
rode their reluctance to dating. After debating the matter they said that
their daughter could date a particular young man twice. The boy did so and
wished to continue. The girl’s parents refused. They said that if the boy was
serious he should propose marriage. The young man got fed up and called off
the courtship. The girl’s parents were unhappy that such a good catch had
gotten away. Ironically, the girl was relieved. She had dated the boy only at
the urging of her parents.
c) Age at Marriage
The Hindu Marriage Ordinance of 1946 stipulates 14 years for females
and 18 years for males as the minimum legal age for marriage among Hindus,
with parental consent (16 and 21 years respectively, without consent). The
S3SBwS8BSRaBuiSBBBS^BSSSiiBSeEi5SmSB
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad 123
major effect of this ordinance at the time of its passage was to permit the
legalization of marriages celebrated according to customary rites. The
ordinance did not affect the ages at which Hindus normally contracted
marriages during that period because, by the late 40s, child marriages had
already disappeared with the result that the age at marriage was usually over
the new legal age requirement. Census data indicate that only 13% of the
women in the sample who married after the passage of the ordinance were
underage at the time of their marriage. Taking the total number of initial
marriages, the average age at first marriage for males is 20 years with 65%
of the marriages occurring between ages 18 and 25. For females the average
age is 16, with 56% contracted between 15 and 20 years. The trend toward a
rising age at marriage can be seen if women are divided into two age cohorts.
The average age at first marriage for women over 35 is about 14 years but for
women 35 and under the figure is 17.5 years. A similar situation exists for
men. Using a 40 and under/over 40 age division (because of the later ages at
which men normally marry) the respective figures are 21 and 19 years.
The trend toward prolonged bachelorhood can best be explained by the
well-publicized desire for a good education—through the secondary school
level or its equivalent—which is the basis for a good job. This applies about
equally to both young men and women. For the single girl, the postpone-
ment of marriage in favor of training for a job may lead to a greater degree
of independence and security later on in married life, as the comment of
one mother suggests :
My 19 year old daughter doesn’t want to get married yet. She has a job and is
happy for the time being. I agree. Work gives you a feeling of independence. Mar-
riage is important, but later. If you have a job and your husband treats you poorly
you can tell him to go to hell.
When I married Basraj I was only 13. My mother begged me to marry him and I did.
I don’t want my daughters like that. My daughters don’t have long eyes; they are
not after boys. So I am willing to give them a chance. If they succeed I will have
done my best. I tell them they must study and work hard so they can spend their
lives eating sugar instead of salt. I might have gotten somewhere if I had been given
the chance. Instead I had to accept what came my way and, believe me, it wasn’t
much.
d) Types of Marriage
Smith and Jayawardena’s (1959: 335) breakdown of unions into four
types is a useful one: (1) customary marriages solemnized by traditional
Hindu rites and not legally registered; (2) legal marriages registered by a court
officer or an authorized priest; (3) legal and customary marriages performed
according to traditional rites and legally registered during the ceremony; and
(4) common-law unions in which no ceremony or registration of any kind
takes place.
124
Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
TABLE 1
Type of Marriage by Present Age of Married Females
Age category Type of marriage
Customary Legal Legal/Customary Common-law
11-15 1 1
16-20 6 5 2
21-25 4 13 2
26-30 4 18 3
31-35 2 2 7 2
36-40 6 3 11 2
41-45 5 3
46-50 12 1 2
51-55 11
56-60 6
61 + 10
Totals 52 23 55 14(144)
Table 1 sets out the number of marriages in each category according to
the present age of married women. As can be seen, a majority of villagers to-
day favor the customary-legal type of union. In the past, of course, a majority
of women married according to customary rites. It was not until 1946, as
was pointed out above, that the law was changed “to allow the same con-
cessions as had allowed to Christian denominations, that is, to have the
building in which marriage ceremonies took place recognized as a place of
registration” (Singh 1974: 44).
Initially, the registration of customary marriages, seems to have been
abused. Some women who thought they were legally married later dis-
covered to their dismay that the Hindu pundit had not actually signed the
marriage agreement. There thus arose the suspicion that the registration of a
marriage by a Hindu cleric was not as valid as one registered at court. Per-
haps because of this some parents insist that the couple first register the
marriage at the local courthouse. This is also done because some time may
elapse between the engagement and the wedding with the possibility of the
girl becoming pregnant in the interim. Legal marriages also occur when the
union is not supported by the couple’s kin. This is hinted at in Table 2 which
shows that nearly all legal-only unions are the result of personal choice in
mate selection.
Klass (1961: 109-110) has argued that East Indians regarded the legaliza-
tion of customary marriages as irrelevant and therefore unnecessary. He
claims that local sentiment was contemptuous of registration, an attitude
he interprets as a protest by rural East Indians against the treatment of
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
125
TABLE 2
Type of Marriage by Type of Spouse Selection
Customary Legal/Customary Legal Common-law
Arranged marriage 48 30 4 2
Personal choice marriage 4 24 20 12
Totals^ 52 54 24 14(144)
X2 = 53.12
P = < .001
Hinduism as a second-class religion by other groups in the society. He
further claims that there were no legally married Hindu couples in the com-
munity before 1946, though in fact, about 5% of the total number of
existing marriages in Amity had been legally registered before that time. Be
that as it may, the important point is that the registration of customary
marriages may have been regarded as unnecessary so long as villagers had
nothing to gain by them. As Davids (1964; 390) has suggested, East Indian
Women at first did not object to the insecurity of customary marriages
because the relative scarcity of females made it easy for them to enter into
second unions. For Indian men registration carried no benefits either but
instead made separation more difficult. However, the gradual introduction of
widow’s benefits and pensions (thus making the legality of marriage important
to women) and the introduction of the “Pay As You Earn” system of in-
come tax by which men could claim the legal wife and children as deductions
(thus making the legality of marriage important to men) changed this attitude.
About 42 % of customary marriages were subsequently legalized. About
80% of these conversions occurred after the couple had been married more
than 15 years, an indication that they felt sufficiently content and secure in
their relationship to legalize it. Children born before the marriage was
registered remain illegitimate, however. This is easily rectified by filing a
sworn affidavit in court. Parents are casual about this unless there are likely
to be inheritance disputes in which the legitimacy of the child will be an
issue.
e) Selection Criteria and Restrictions
Traditional marriage rules as found in north India are complex, with
extensive proscriptions which severely delimit the category of potential
spouses. Theoretically, custom rules out anyone who is less than seven
126
Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
degrees from one’s father and five degrees from one’s mother, in other words,
all known blood relatives. The rule of village exogamy forbids marriage with
members of one’s own village. Locality exogamy prescribes avoidance of
marriage with members of nearby communities, often those dominated by
a particular clan or those with which marriage alliances had previously been
contracted. Most important of all, of course, were jati and caste proscrip-
tions.
Among the East Indians, marriage rules were governed more by the
social and economic circumstances of given individuals or families as de-
fined by contemporary standards in Trinidad, than by traditional rules.
Nowadays a man should ideally have a good education and a civil service
or comparable appointment. Such an individual is in demand, even if his
pedigree is modest. Ideally a girl should be educated though to a lesser extent
than her husband, and employable, though a woman’s domestic duties are
paramount. It goes without saying that she should also be beautiful.
Klass (1961: 95) has argued that in Amity cousins, however far re-
moved, are barred from intermarriage. A few older villagers informed me
that relatives up to the “100th degree” are barred, an absurdity if taken
literally. Others argue that there are no serious objections to marriage
beyond the second cousin, an understandably practical view taking into
account the fact that there are only three or four generations of East Indians
in Trinidad. Most villagers state that there ought to be no known connec-
tions. Originally, this included fictive kin, composed of the descendants of
those who had journeyed to Trinidad together aboard the same vessel, but
today these linkages are virtually meaningless. When an unknown kinship tie
is accidentally discovered, practical considerations usually govern the applica-
tion of the rule, such as how far advanced the marriage arrangements are.
Today few villagers attach much importance to village exogamy. Klass
(1963: 737-738; but see also Mayer 1961) suggests that in the early stages of
post-indenture settlement village exogamy was absent because Indians lived
in dispersed homesteads. Later settlement patterns prompted the réintroduc-
tion of the traditional rule. If so, the trend is once again in the opposite
direction. In the sample, there is a bias toward village exogamous marriages
among women over 35 years of age (79% of marriages) but a slight bias
toward endogamous marriages among women under that age (53%), an indi-
cation that the traditional rule carries little weight today. Another indication
is the existence of numerous “pumpkin vine families” in the community
whose members can trace an almost interminable number of kinship and
affinal ties to other villagers. Village endogamous marriages are to be expected
among rural East Indians where considerations of personal inclination and
romantic love are crucial to spouse selection. This is supported by Table 3
which indicates that 2/3 of village endogamous marriages as compared to
1/4 of the village exogamous marriages are based on personal choice. The
present trend toward village endogamy may be reversed in the future as
young people increasingly seek employment and recreation outside the
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
127
TABLE 3
Personal Choice/Arranged Marriages by Locality
Personal choice Arranged Total
Amity 40 21 61
Not-Amity 20 63 83
Totals 60 84 144
X2 = 23.2
p = < .001
community, thus coming into contact with eligible partners. Of course the
difference between traditional village exogamy and a possible future trend in
the same direction is that a young man will not have to depend upon his
elders to find him a spouse.
The survey data also indicate that nearby villages form a relatively
“closed” selection pool. In other words, most marriages contracted outside
the village fall within a restricted area, and the numbers sharply decline as
the distance from Amity increases (this is a commonplace in “western” mate
selection studies). Thus the effective mate selection boundary is about a seven
mile radius from the village. Nearly 80% of the marriages are contracted
within this area as shown in Table 4.
Neither religion nor caste are very crucial considerations in the selection
of a mate. In the case of religion, 65% of the East Indians in Trinidad are
Hindus and 19% are Christians who share with Hinduism a number of
doctrinal values. Political and religious disparities between Moslems and
Hindus may, however, sometimes put a severe strain on courtship and
marriage. So far as caste is concerned, most East Indians regard it as an
anachronism, at least in domestic affairs. Smith and Jayawardena (1959),
Speckmann (1965) and the contributors in Schwartz (ed. 1967), maintain
that caste is not important as a factor in mate selection among the popula-
tions of East Indians they studied. In “Boodram,” (Trinidad), for instance,
Schwartz found no relationship between marriage and caste endogamy: “If
caste among East Indians in Trinidad is perpetuated on the basis of endo-
gamous patterns in marriage, Boodram is an exception. Not only do endo-
gamous patterns fail to exist, but marital trends appear to be quite the
opposite” (1964: 65). Boodram is hardly an exception. Although the impres-
sions of Klass (1961) and the Niehoffs (1960) are that marriage patterns do
128
Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
TABLE 4
Premarital Residence for Married Females by Present Age
Age category Amity Up to 3 miles Between 3-7 miles Between 7-10 miles Over 10 miles
11-15 1 1
16-20 9 1 2 1
21-25 10 4 5
26-30 11 4 3 3
31-35 8 2 3 1
36-40 6 2 6 3 4
41-45 5 1 1 1
46-50 2 3 5 4
51-55 5 2 3 1 1
56-60 2 1
61-65 2 1
66+ 1 2 3 1
Totals 62 24 27 16 15
Cumulative frequency of marriages according to radius :
Village endogamous
to 3 mile radius
to 7 mile radius
to 10 mile radius
Trinidad inclusive
= 62
= 86 (62+24)
= 113 (86+27)
= 129 (113+16)
= 144 (129+15)
The cumulative frequency portion of the table reads thus: 62 marriages were village
endogamous; 86 marriages (62+24) were endogamous within a three mile radius of the
village, etc.
conform to caste endogamous patterns, the present research also failed to
find evidence to support this assumption. Indeed, some villagers have absolutely
no idea of their varna affiliation; most don’t know their jatt; some recall
only that they are “high nation” (i.e., high caste) or “low nation.” This is
not unusual. Ehrlich (1969: 123) reports that most Jamaican East Indians do
not know their caste status; roughly 13% of rural Guyanese East Indians do
not know their caste (Smith and Jayawardena 1967: 71), and 25% of the East
Indians in San Fernando, Trinidad, do not know it (Clarke 1967: 172). Klass
and the Niehoffs seem to have based their impressions on a disappearing
custom.
There is little interracial marriage in Amity, as perhaps to be expected
in a community located in a predominantly East Indian area. There are two
Chinese-Indian marriages. While intermarriage between Indian and a person
of Chinese, White or “Spanish” descent carries no stigma, Black-East Indian
marriages are regarded as debasing, moreso if it is the wife who is East Indian.
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad 129
There are six (.006%) East Indian-Black households in the community, all
of the Black husband-East Indian wife type. The common justification for
this kind of marriage is that Black men are reputed to be generous and
sexually experienced;East Indian women are devoted and frugal, a supposedly
ideal combination of traits. In the urban areas, interracial marriages are
more common. Clarke’s survey (1971) in San Fernando showed that one
household in 19 was interracial and, despite the popular stereotype, of the
Black wife-East Indian husband pattern.
f) Wedding Ceremonial Changes
The traditional wedding ceremony has often been regarded as the “most
prominent expression of Indian cultural distinctiveness” and among the most
“authentic” of retained customs (Smith and Jayawardena 1967: 43-72). Yet
the nuptial rite, like courtship and marriage, has also gone through the
inescapable process of change and is in fact at a considerable remove from
ancestral ways.
The structural elements that support a dowry or “groomprice” system
in India are not very relevant to marriages contracted among the rural East
Indians: the pressure to get married by puberty, caste considerations, and
hypergamy. Hypergamy is usually associated with caste status in India
whereas among the East Indians in Trinidad it seems to be linked to class,
education, and occupation, though caste history may be taken into account
and possibly balanced against other factors in arriving at an estimation of the
bride’s and groom’s prestige.
One of the general changes in the wedding ceremonial schedule has
been the telescoping of rituals. This is mainly an economizing measure at
the same time that it brings the length of the ceremony in line with the
wedding celebrations of Christian religious groups. The traditional night
ceremony disappeared more than two decades ago because it was necessary
to keep awake for both the “cooking” and the “wedding” nights, an incon-
venience under modern work conditions where scheduling is important, and
a waste of time because arranged marriages—which are really the unification
of two kinship groups—are fast disappearing. Today all weddings are held on
Sunday and they end the same day.
As for the ritual itself, there are no longer any horoscope consultations
with the Hindu cleric to fix the wedding date. The tilak, or dowry for the
groom, is now a part of the wedding and not a distinct ceremony. It is in fact
a rather perfunctory part of the ritual. A formal engagement ceremony may
not take place. If it does, it is held at both the groom’s and the bride’s
houses—a custom apparently common among the low castes in India. Klass
has suggested that among the East Indians in Trinidad this is a rare example
of a “custom moving up, from low caste to high” (1961: 123), but in fact
this reflects the greater equivalence of status between the bride and the
groom and thus the greater accommodation made these days to the family
Anthropos 78.1983
9
130
Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
of the bride. Indeed, as romantic interests figure more prominently in the
choice of spouse, the manifestation of the traditional asymmetry between
bride-givers and bride-takers, the latter superior in status, is fast disappearing.
This is hastened by the fact that young women have as many opportunities
as young men to get ahead in life so that an educated or working woman enters
marriage without a significant disparity in status between her and her spouse.
Although traditional features of the wedding ceremony denote the superior
status of the groom, the emerging equivalence of status is evident in such
contemporary features of the rite as bridal gifts and showers, diamond engage-
ment rings, and the like. More significant is the fact that a young woman’s
family no longer has to provide a dowry to partially offset the asymmetry in
the relationship. Formerly the groom was the center of attention and a
wedding was an opportunity to show him respect; today attention is shifting
to the bride.
In India there is often a delay of a few months to several years between
the marriage ceremony and cohabitation. In Trinidad there is a very short
delay until the “Second Sunday” when the groom and his friends collect the
bride from her father’s house. In some cases the couple leave immediately
after the wedding on their honeymoon, another innovation. This has the
obvious effect of forcing upon the young couple a more rapid transition to
the married state, replacing the traditional transitional period that was
crucial in arranged marriages.
Finally, an important change has been the intrusion of western ceremonial
accretions. Rice has a symbolic function in the wedding ceremony when it is
first parched and then burned. It is also the main wedding food. Today it has
the added function of being thrown western-style over the couple. Although
the red sari is the traditional wedding dress many brides have switched to
bridal white costumes. Temple weddings are gaining in popularity over the
traditional “bamboo” or home weddings, again in conformity to Christian
standards.
4. Domestic Organization
a) The Household
Plantation life made it impossible for the East Indians to implement the
traditional joint family. After some form of stable village life was resumed,
however, the question arises of whether or not they were then able to revert
to this family form. Most likely, East Indians retained the joint family as a
cultural ideal and this tended to prolong fraternal cohesion. But sooner or
later—as in India—centrifugal forces inevitably built up so that every family
breached the ideal, the fission of the larger group being an inevitable step in
the normal cycle of domestic development. Among the poor the breach
came sooner than it did among the wealthy where land ownership—then the
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
131
primary source of wealth—curtailed fission. Today, the expansion of jobs in
wage and urban employment means that young men pursue careers that are
largely independent of parental control, an important factor militating in
favor of the nuclear family household.
Most anthropological studies of the East Indians in the Caribbean show
that the nuclear family household is indeed the basic domestic form though
they also claim that the joint family has remained as the ideal cultural model,
a more highly valued alternative to the nuclear family, according to Smith
and Jayawardena (1959: 344) and Speckmann (1965; 199). By contrast,
in Amity and, one suspects, in most other East Indian communities in rural
Trinidad, the nuclear household, composed of a man with his wife and un-
married children living alone in a separate dwelling, has become the ideal.
It is felt that this arrangement avoids the conflicts typically found in extended
households, particularly those conflicts embedded in the role dyads of
mother-in-law/daughter-in-law and father/married son. But much more
important from the villagers’ standpoint is the recognition that the establish-
ment of a nuclear household demonstrates a young man’s economic success.
Parents sometimes criticize their still resident married sons for “playing the
fool” by lagging behind their more successful peers who have settled on their
own. They are also criticized for wanting to remain behind to “suck their
parents dry,” that is, to exhaust their parents’ resources and wealth. Many a
young man who shows no signs of preparing for his own household has been
bluntly told to “move one side,” especially if there are other marriageable
sons in the household.
The domestic ideal is reflected in actual living arrangements. The nuclear
household, defined as a commissary unit, is the statistically most frequent
type; 65% of the sampled households are nuclear, 16% are sub-nuclear (e.g.,
a widow and children) or solitary, 9% are nuclear with dependents and 10 %
qualify as extended households of which the classic joint family (patriarch
with married sons) occurs in only 2% of these households. Thus about 80%
of the households can be described as some form of the nuclear type. If
shared residence rather than shared commissary facilities is used as the
criterion of household structure, more than 2/3 of the sample households
still qualify as nuclear. The nuclear type also constitutes the longest phase of
the domestic cycle. Although most households pass through an extended
phase when the son brings home his wife, it usually lasts only a few years
after which the couple set up their own household. About 84% of married
men in the under 40 age category settled nuclearly within three years after
their marriage in contrast to only 24% of men over 40 who had done so.
This more rapid shift to nuclear residence reflects the greater economic
independence of young couples and also the refusal of young wives to play a
subordinate role in an extended household. In the past, when the age at
marriage was lower than it is today and the farm family (or cane labor family)
was the basic unit of production, the extended phase may have lasted longer
and had greater importance than it now has.
132
Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
b) The Economic Organization of Households
In over 50% of Amity’s households the head alone or assisted by his wife
is responsible for sustaining the household as shown in Table 5. The actual
percentage may be higher because the table shows “employed members”
rather than “employed members who contribute to the household.” Many
wage-earning children are not obliged to contribute to the household. By
contrast, in the past the household head controlled the wages of members. It
was customary for the household head to collect his sons’ wage packets from
their employers.
TABLE 5
Employed Household Members
Membership category Percentage Number
Household head 35.0 40
Head and wife 17.5 20
Head and other 14.9 17
Head, wife, and others 7.9 9
Head and 2-3 others 14.0 16
Head and 4-5 others 4.4 5
Others only 6.1 7
Totals 99.8 114
The procedures for maintaining the economic viability of the household
are more flexible today. In wealthier households, for example, there is no
need to demand a portion of a young person’s salary. The energy and wealth
parents have expended on raising and educating their children is repaid in-
directly by the prestige they derive from their children’s successes rather
than directly by proceeds from their salaries. In the past the absence of any-
thing approximating a pension scheme or social security benefits—and the
strong correlation between advancing age and diminishing income—meant
that children represented an investment against old age destitution. Nowa-
days, pension schemes and better occupational opportunities (where advanc-
ing age correlates with salary increments) have eased some of the economic
burdens brought on by critical life situations thus making one’s dependence
upon the income of children less crucial.
In wealthier families the younger earning members contribute nothing
to the budget though they take care of their own material needs. They usually
bank a large portion of their monthly income, retaining only enough for
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
133
such expenses as taxi fare to work, clothes, and entertainment. However,
many lower status households cannot as yet afford to have working children
retain all or even most of their income. Instead they are expected to con-
tribute to the household purse, the amount of which depends on many
factors: the amount of salary, the future goals of the working child, the
father’s salary, household expenses, etc. Within a single household contain-
ing several working children, no two necessarily contribute the same amount.
The following examples show the variability in patterns of households
maintenance:
1. The household head is a part-time laborer for the county. His wife works
on the estate. His 22 year old unmarried son is a security guard who gives his
father his $300 monthly salary. His 17 year old son is a laborer for a con-
tractor. He contributes $20 a month. His 20 year old daughter is a seamstress
in a clothing manufacturing company. She gives $8-12 out of her $80 monthly
income.
2. The head of the house is a scavenger for the Works and Sanitation Depart-
ment. His wife works on the estate. They cultivate two acres of rice and one
acre of vegetables. One of the wife’s sister’s daughter’s lives in the house. The
head’s mother and one of his brother’s sons also reside there. The boy, age
17, works as a laborer but does not contribute to the household; he is saving
his money to go abroad. Finally, the head’s 23 year old son and his wife
live there. The man is a forest ranger. On occasion he gives his father a lump
sum of money, usually for house repairs or the like.
3. Sushila is a 62 year old widow. She cultivates an acre of vegetables. Two
of her nine daughters live with her. One is a nurse, the other is a teacher.
Three of her sons also live in the house. One is a hotel caterer. Another
attends school. The third is a bookkeeper, married, with his wife and two
children in the house. Each of the working members manages his own affairs
but pools some of his income for upkeep. The mother takes care of the pool.
Household expenses include electricity, house and farm land rents,
indebtedness on purchased house land, home construction loans, taxi fares,
school fees, and of course, clothing and food. Many villagers also have life
insurance policies. To some extent the attraction of a life insurance policy
may be seen as an alternative to land as a form of security. As an insurance
broker told me (undoubtedly with characteristic exaggeration);
Insurance is catching on as security. Land as security is out! Land is harder to get
and even people who have land find that their children don’t want to work it. My
policies average $25,000. Every teacher has insurance. The civil servants have it.
Insurance provides a man with an instant estate. Indians are smart. They don’t take
the policy that pays dividends and all kinds of benefits. They take the basic policy—
a lump sum policy with low payments.
134
Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
The data on budgets I have is not good enough to be of much use in
determining expenditures in relation to incomes, but I would estimate that
forthnightly expenses range from about $30-50 for a low status family to
$100-200 for a middle status family, and possibly $300 and more for an
upper status family. As far as food expenses are concerned, the National
Household Food Consumption Survey (1970) points out that rural East
Indians spend the lowest amount on food per person of any ethnic group.
According to the report, East Indians in the Amity area spend $0.95 a day
on food per person as compared with $1.37 for rural Blacks. Although East
Indians households have a higher monthly income than Black households
($316 versus $223) in this area, this is substantially offset by a higher
average household size (6.4 versus 3). The report based its assessment of
monthly income on all wage earners in the household, but seems to have
excluded some income derived from certain agricultural products. In terms
of food costs, East Indian households spend roughly half their monthly
income on food, or about $160. Of course, many households grow some of
their own food (particularly rice) and this cuts down on food costs.
5. Interpersonal Roles in the Household
Increased freedom of marital choice, a rising age at marriage and neo-
local residence are widely associated with an increase in the companionable
relationship between husband and wife, and greater parity in family role
relations. Goode (1963: 21) has observed that on the whole the trend world-
wide has been toward a decline in strict sex-role segregation and a reduction
in sex and age-based inequalities among children as well as adults, with a
corresponding decline in the traditional subordination of the young to the
old. These remarks provide a guideline for the following description of new
patterns in social interaction and normative expectations within the East
Indian household.
a) Traditional Role Relations
The description of traditional patterns is somewhat stereotypic because
it derives from informants’ statements about the past and from the available
literature which often stresses ideal patterns. In the ideal Amity household
(of, say, the period between the world wars which is about as far back as
villagers can remember) a woman’s marital role adjustments were probably
directed as much to the husband’s kin group as to her husband. Avoidance
patterns helped to prevent breaches of etiquette in the household and to
preserve seniority differences. Outside the household they protected her
modesty and prevented idle conversation with men. With age, of course,
came greater freedom of movement and fewer men to avoid.
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
135
A young wife relieved the older women in the household of the most
onerous tasks. As late as 1958, Klass was triumphantly told by one woman
who had recently received a daughter-in-law into the house: “Me have a dou-
lahin (son’s wife) now!” the implication being that there was a young girl to
take over the work. As Klass says, “ . . . many a mother-in-law ceases all
work the day her first son marries . . . ” (1961: 127).
In the extended household the marital bond was subordinated to the
consanguineal one. Outward demonstrations of affection and tenderness be-
tween a young man and his wife were avoided. A young couple had very
little time to themselves, as one villager recalled:
Long time ago the couple couldn’t have a good time in the house. If you want to
have sex and thing you had to thief it. You go with the wife to cut grass. Is so you
have a little free time. When you coming back you come back like a real babulal,
that is, a foolish fellow; like you didn’t do anything. Long ago when you sleeping in
the room with your wife, and if you want to talk, it must be mouth inside ear. As
soon as you say, “Turn this way, girl,” and the bed make a little creak, immediately
the old man would say, “What all you getting on with? Kabheil! Kabheil! What’s
happening?” Also, if your father get up at four and your wife ain’t up to cook for
him, Jesus Christ, the old fellow breaking in the door! He don’t care if you naked
and she naked. Yes, long time ago was hard. No freedom. All work and no play.
This training still in me. Like I does hardly make joke with my wife. You know,
when she passing you hold her buttocks or you say, “Hey, your bottom looking
real good!” Long ago you couldn’t do that because the mother home, the father
home, and they always had the wife occupied in the kitchen. So now, when the
children home I doesn’t make joke but when they aren’t home I do it. But we still
doesn’t do it like the real modernized business because we are still in the coolie-ish
kind of way if you catch what I mean.
At childbirth a woman returned to her natal home for some months.
Other than that visits were apparently frowned upon probably because they
were believed to interfere with the consolidation of the young wife into her
husband’s household. I do not know if husbands frequented the wife’s
village. Informants state that intervillage rivalries were rife, sometimes
preventing free movement between communities. Also, the relationship be-
tween in-laws was tense and formal.
A wife showed deference to her husband. Such customs as the wife’s
eating only after the husband had finished his meal (and from his plate in
some households) and trailing behind her husband in public were outward
demonstrations of the husband’s superior status. After marriage many
women were tatooed on the arm or across the chest with the husband’s
name (or the name of a Hindu deity). The ideology of male authority was
less evident in the later years of married life when the wife’s managerial
responsibilities increased and she gained the trust of her husband.
The relationship between father and son was restrained, that between
mother and son tender. According to informants, a young man was not
permitted to physically touch his parents nor was he allowed to joke, drink,
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Anthropos 78.1983
or smoke in his father’s presence. Fathers and daughters are said to have
had a more cordial relationship, though as a girl prepared for marriage they
kept a respectful distance from each other, the task of training and disciplin-
ing a girl being solely in the mother’s hands.
Ideally, the sibling bond was close. Then, as now, brothers and sisters
treated one another with affection and this sentiment endured over time,
a brother often protecting his sister from mistreatment by her in-laws or
arranging her marriage in the absence of her father. Between brothers sibling
solidarity was usually realized when brothers united defensively against
external threats.
In summary, one could say that traditional role relations in Amity
tended to be structured vertically rather than horizontally, were authoritarian
rather than egalitarian, and were segregated rather than overlapping.
b) Children and Their Parents
Perhaps the most crucial change in parent-child relationships is the
dominant part the school now plays in most children’s lives. A large portion
of a child’s training is thus received outside the home and in an environment
where the children are under the direct supervision of others than parents.
Formal education and the socialization of a child by strangers has become
an accepted part of a child’s early development. When parents were asked
how, if at all, their own childrearing methods differed from those of their
parents, all of the parents interviewed cited the contrasting emphasis on
education for their children. So important is education to villagers that
children who balk at attending school are bribed with sweets and pocket
change, even in the poorer households. Those from wealthy families are
promised holiday trips if they perform well on entrance exams. The “red-
letter” day in the village occurs when examination results are announced;
fathers of successful candidates buy rounds of drinks for their friends. In
other respects, too, there are evident signs of the pivotal role of education in
the community, even to the detriment of traditional values. In some house-
holds, parents who themselves abhor the thought of eating beef may cook it
for their children (though in a separate pot) because it is believed to stimulate
intellectual growth. The teaching of Hindi in one of the local schools faded
away once it became clear to parents that a knowledge of Hindi did not
make a whit of difference in passing exams.
It has sometimes been remarked that the East Indians in the Caribbean
were wary of education, having long regarded it as a tool to undermine
the solidarity of the family and the continuity of custom. For example,
Despres (1967) contends that the East Indians in Guyana feared that formal
education would mean the loss of their cultural identity. In his essay on
Trinidad, Singh (1974: 60) mentions that Indian parents, having been
socialized into a different cultural system, failed to recognize the importance
of formal education as a basis for status differentiation. On the contrary, it
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
137
is much more likely that the existence of inequalities in educational op-
portunities made them realize that formal education was not an effective
means for their own social advancement. This situation no longer exists and
the importance villagers place on education can be seen in the fact that
about 70% of village males and 50% of the females in the 13-35 age category
have had some kind of training (post-primary, secondary, technical and
commercial, university) beyond primary school.
The present emphasis on education means that young people are not
expected to contribute to the maintenance of the household. Parents much
prefer that their children devote themselves wholeheartedly to their school-
work rather than to working “in the garden.” Indeed, farming and estate
labor, the two traditional occupations, are cited as the likely consequences
of school failure. The exhausting physical labor, unreliable income, and
tattered work clothes of the farmer are constantly contrasted with the easy
work, steady income, and clean dress of the white-collar worker. The child-
hood and adolescent years of more and more young people are now spent in
the preparation for a career or a good job during which time they consume
but do not produce household income. The frequently heard refrain by
Amity parents that “Nowadays parents slave for their children” strongly
suggests that children are increasingly perceived in affectional rather than,
as in the past, in instrumental terms.
Role relations between parents and children have also become more
egalitarian and less gérontocratie. Parents are of course respected but they
are no longer feared and young people interact more informally with them,
at times even to the point of disrespect. Today, a young man drinking rum
with friends does not shy away if approached by his father. In the home
meals are taken together and are accompanied by a lot of playful banter.
The decline in formality and hierarchy between parents and children is
brought out in the following contrast one villager made between the
traditional proscription on physical contact and the current practice:
As I grew up my mother began to respect me by keeping away from me. She no
longer allowed me to sit on her lap for fear I would touch her breasts. Normally I
used to go and sit on her lap and she would clean my head of lice, while I am jam-
ming (i.e., squirming) all over the place. But a time came when she just cut off his
business. If she had to see my hair, she would sit down on a bench and make me
kneel in front of her. So today I can’t imagine touching my mother’s person, unless,
I suppose, if she were very sick, then I might rub bayrum on her forehead to cool
her.
Such avoidance is no longer the rule :
I see big boys going and hugging up their mothers. I see my neighbor’s son even
kissing his mother and joking with her, “Give me some money, ma,“ he will say,
“I want to go to the cinema. Why all you don’t want to give me money? Come on,
man, if you don’t give me this money I throwing you right over the drain.” And he
would lift his mother as if to do so. And she would say, “What’s wrong with you,
boy? You playing a baby still?”
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Anthropos 78.1983
Parents seem to be rather sanguine about the changes occurring in adult/
child relationships, an attitude conditioned by their sentiments regarding
social change in general. Most villagers see very little of value in their past.
Life then was hard and cruel and by almost any standards most villagers are
far better off than ever before. The sharp contrast in material wellbeing
conditions sentiments about tradition and progress, as indicated by the
following interview segment:
Old Adult: We did the shaving business (i.e., shaving a baby’s head soon
after birth) a long time ago but don’t bother with that now.
It was believed that such shaving protected the child from evil
spirits.
Anthropologist: Do other villagers still do this?
Old Adult: No, not now, Joe, only long time people. Maybe one or two
today. But when old people were around they said it was good.
Anthropologist ;
Old Adult:
Adult’s Son:
Old Adult;
Adult’s Son:
Old Adult:
Adult’s Son:
Female Adult:
Old Adult:
Adult’s Son:
You said that an evil spirit would bother a person if this wasn’t
done?
That is what they say . . .
That is humbug! It is only old talk! Old people have a whole
set of stupidness! Long time habit business like shaving head
and this thing and that thing! I mean people didn’t do it and
they living good so I don’t know what evil spirits they are
talking about!
You see, the old time people have so much of ignorance.
This business of the pundit choosing your name. That’s another
thing I don’t believe in. It’s nonsense!
No, that one is not stupidness!
Anyway I feel to call my children I will call them.
Mr Joseph, good is good and bad is bad! And today it is the
bad people who are growing up! The good people die out!
(Everyone laughs.)
You see, you can’t talk to these younger people these days.
They think every thing is old time business ... a lot is, though ...
It’s all stupidness. Look, the world is getting brighter day by
day.
For Amity villagers, the world is getting brighter day by day. Both
young people and the elderly are quite prepared to jettison tradition when-
ever it interferes with “progress” or is inconvenient or, as in the above seg-
ment, when it appears silly. Comments such as the above suggest that parents,
though themselves brought up along traditional lines, are not socializing their
children to the same traditional values. Socialization studies usually take the
view that parents are the agents of cultural continuity while their children
are the instigators of cultural change. In other words, it is invariably the
children “who teach the emerging culture to their parents” (LeVine 1967;
216) during the course of which there is likely to be considerable inter-
generational conflict. It is just as likely, however, that in situations where
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
139
values are changing, socialization practices also change. Thus, each subse-
quent generation experiences a different pattern of childrearing, and sociali-
zation is a process of fostering intergenerational changes rather than the
persistance of tradition (Inkeles 1963; Lloyd 1966). Socialization from
this point of view is a process of “acculturation” rather than of “encultura-
tion.” The following comment by a parent brings this out very clearly:
My sons will be different. Now, I could have my sons just as my father had me:
uneducated and ignorant. But that doesn’t pay. If I did that my grandchildren
would say to their fathers, my sons: “But what kind of father you had, he ain’t
know nothing about this world and here, now, they are teaching so many things
about.” To me they would say, “Grandpa, you was a real dotty (i.e., stupid)
Indian man. You didn’t give my father a chance to be this and that.”
To determine the attitudes of young people to their home life, and
especially to relations with their parents, East Indian secondary school
students were asked to write essays on family life. Because the two essay
topics deal with “problems in family life” and “some needed changes in
the family” the essays emphasize the negative aspects of domestic life and
may, therefore, convey a rather distorted picture of it. The results of a
content analysis of these essays is given in Table 6.
TABLE 6
Content Analysis of East Indian Secondary School Students’ Essays on
“Problems in Family Life” and “Some Needed Changes”
Problems/Changes Percentage Number
Too much bickering 21.0 66
Parents too authoritarian 20.3 64
Parents too old-fashioned 13.4 42
Father neglects family 10.2 32
Favoritism for one child 9.6 30
Parents too lenient 5.1 16
Too little sex education at home 4.5 14
Father can’t support family adequately 3.8 12
Too many children in the home 3.8 12
In-law problems 2.5 8
Parent’s adultery 2.5 8
Too much neighbor interference 2.5 8
Forced marriages in family 0.6 2
Totals 99.8 314*
Age group: 15—18
Number of essays: 192*
* These sums do not correspond because many essays dealt with several topics.
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Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
“Too much bickering” is a catch-all phrase for any kind of contention
in the household. One possible reason for the relatively high incidence of
bickering is the weakening of traditional patterns of authority in the home.
The undisputed hierarchy of authority in the traditional Indian family has
become more flexible and ambiguous. As conventions governing family
authority change, interpersonal conflicts are the result, and “bickering”
increases. Authority patterns are reevaluated and renovated to conform to
changes in other areas of social life. The opposite appears to be the case in
households where parents have retained traditional authority roles, and
accusations of “strictness” and of being “old-fashioned” are often heard.
“Father’s neglect” is usually a euphemism for drunkedness. More female
than male students mentioned favoritism for one child but the differences
are not great. Favoritism may be shown to a child of either sex though there
may be a slight preference for a father to favor one of his sons, a customary
residue.
c) Husbands and Wives
Traditional domestic life segregated the husband from his wife. One
consequence of this was the absence of an intense affective bond between
the couple. Public role behavior was also characterized by formality and
distance, though public mores never approached those of purdah, the tra-
ditional Indian institution for isolating women and barring them from
participation in the public social life of the community. The custom of purdah
was probably too awkward and inconvenient in circumstances where women
toiled as laborers beside the men in the fields and lived in barracks where
seclusion and privacy were at a premium. But for a time the orhini, a lace
head veil now worn only by very old women, was probably used to cover a
woman’s face in public; and in the home women were restricted to the
kitchen area when male visitors were around. In one of the very few original
mud houses in Amity can be seen the muktap, small round holes bored
through the wall through which the women of the house could observe
visitors without themselves being seen.
These and other purdah-like practices have been discarded. Even in
extended households young couples today are able to circumvent or to
ignore the remaining customary restrictions on their intimacy. Young
married women are now more assertive in establishing affective and personal
claims over their husbands, and in structuring their marriages to suit conjugal
rather than extended family interests. The courts also support a close conjugal
bond and argue that a husband’s primary duty is to his wife rather than to
his parents. In cases of in-law interference the court almost invariably sides
with the wife.
There is less emphasis today on the segregation of conjugal roles. The
weekly marketing is often shared by husband and wife. Some husbands take
their wives to restaurants and to the cinema. Sundays are outing days for
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
141
the entire family whose members often travel together to visit relatives,
including the husband’s in-laws. When company calls, husband and wife
jointly entertain their guests. At a small gathering of friends in Singh’s house,
his wife asked him to bring her a cold coke from the refrigerator. My com-
ment that this went against custom met with derisive laughter. Singh replied
that in the “old days” the wife hid in the kitchen waiting to obey her hus-
band’s commands. “My, weren’t those funny times,” his wife remarked, then
added, “It’s hard to believe such things could happen. Imagine people getting
on like that. They weren’t civilized, were they?” Her husband added; “You
can still find a few like that. That is real ignorance!”
Many couples are not as “modem” as tile Singhs but their behavior is
far from extreme or deviant. Rather, it coexists with the more traditional
practices it is replacing. Understandably, older couples tend to feel more
constrained by custom. Younger couples, on the other hand, are more ready
to adopt new standards.
The loosening of customary restraints also applies to sexual relations.
Traditionally, couples abstained from sex on religious and ritual occasions,
for which the man was expected to remain pure and unpolluted by contact
with a woman. Post-partum abstinence was practiced. This was inevitable
because the woman gave birth in her natal home and remained there for
many months after delivery. Today women normally give birth to their
first child in the hospital; the remainder are usually bom at home under the
supervision of a midwife. The resumption of intercourse after childbirth is
up to the couple, though couples normally wait until the wife no longer has
the “freshness” of birth about her. Only during a wife’s menses do couples
regularly abstain from sexual intercourse. “Rough jokes,” that is, anything
but the missionary position in sexual intercourse, are no longer frowned
upon as young couples begin to imitate the “practices of other countries
where this kind of behavior is a regular business,” as one villager put it.
6. Kinship Ideology and Behavior
Villagers employ only one term to designate their kinship universe. The
concept “family” may refer to all known kin, to the effective kin network,
to the local kin group or to members of the household. It may also refer to
fictive kinsmen as when villagers say “We consider them as family” or “They
are respect family,” Conversely, it may exclude kinsmen who are too distant
spatially or genealogically and with whom contact has lapsed; hence the
statement “I know I am related to them but I don’t check them as family.”
Those who are “checked” as family may be divided into “home,”
“near,” and “far” family. “Home” family refers exclusively to members of
the household. Proximity, degree of interaction, and genealogical distance
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Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
axe the main criteria that distinguish “near” from “far” family members. As
Klass says, “There are those relatives with whom [a villager] associates
more, and those he sees only on rare occasions. The latter are sometimes
referred to as ‘far family’ ” (1961: 101). However, the actual composition of
these kin categories is equivocal and varies according to individual preferences.
One villager’s near family may reveal a strong patrilineal bias with the wife
as the only near affine. Another villager may have a wider matrilateral spread
in designating his near family.
The apparently idiosyncratic way villagers determine kinship proximity
does not mean that there are no distinctions made between paternal and
maternal relatives or between one’s own kindred and the kindred of one’s
spouse. There is an ideological bias toward paternal kin. This patrilateral bias
derives in the first place from some remaining features of the north Indian
kinship system which distinguishes in behavior and terminology between
paternal and maternal kin. Post-marital residence and property inheritance
are more immediate factors in slanting the kinship system toward the paternal
side.
But the fact that there are no terms to designate specific kinship group-
ings (such as gotra, clan, jati) and that the categories of relatives placed in
the near and far family are individualistic, suggests that no group of kin
larger than the immediate family or household functions as a corporate
group with specific functions. Ideally, a local household expects support in
an emergency from its relatives. Close agnates such as sons and brothers’
sons are theoretically duty-bound to provide help on ceremonial occasions,
in economic activities, and in conflicts with unrelated villagers and outsiders.
In practice, ceremonial occasions such as burials are one of the few times
when the ideal is actually upheld. For the most part, for example in such
activities as cane and rice harvesting, it is usually neighbors and friends who
lend a hand, for a price. As far as seeking help in finding a job or some other
favor is concerned, a villager uses all the social networks at his disposal.
In the past, the idiom of kinship extended to close friends—men who
worked in the same field gang or who had arrived on the same ship. Also, in
a given neighborhood people applied fictive kin terms to one another as an
expression of solidarity and mutual security, thus creating kinship obliga-
tions between neighbors. This also curtailed sexual relations between
youngsters in the neighborhood because it transformed unrelated people
into exogamous groups. Fictive kinship is today very weak and no longer a
bar to marriage. Although fictive kinship no longer expresses neighborhood
solidarity, it may still serve to cement a close friendship, to curry favor, or
to show respect. It is in such contexts that non-kin villagers are called “bye-
family” or “respect family,” the former designating a very close fictive kin-
ship tie based on friendship, the latter expressing respect for age or status
(cf. Klass 1961: 104-105 for a slightly different interpretation).
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
143
a) Depth and Range of Kinship Knowledge
Genealogical histories in the community are of course very shallow.
Seldom can villagers go beyond the second or third generation in reciting
their ancestry. For the most part lineage can be traced back only as far as
indenture. Indenture interrupted lineage continuity.
In terms of both depth and breadth, knowledge of one’s relatives is
generally confined to those kin with whom contact has been made. Although
many informants are able to provide rather extensive kin lists it should be
kept in mind that they interact with or have knowledge about a limited
number of kin. It is mainly within the “effective” kinship network that a
villager has knowledge of marriages, occupations and the like. Affinal kin
knowledge is understandably less systematic than that for consanguines.
b) Joking and Avoidance Relationships
In the traditional kinship system joking relationships probably expressed
ambivalence about the actual nature of the relationship at the same time that
they relieved the strain and tension inherent in the relationship. Only the
older generation abide by these today. Young villagers have very little knowl-
edge of the sets of joking partners, for example, that between the elder
brother’s wife and husband’s younger brother or between sister’s husband
and wife’s brother. One middle-aged villager who happend to see his wife’s
brother’s wife working on the road and wearing a bright green and yellow
dress, called out to her that she looked like a beautiful parrot. He said he
wanted to cage her and put the cage in his bedroom. Some youngsters
nearby looked startled by his remarks. Turning to me he said that he should
have been more careful in making such comments publicly as they are likely
to be misunderstood these days.
The most important kin avoidance relationship is that between the hus-
band’s elder brother and his younger brother’s wife, the barka-chotki rela-
tionship. Klass informs us that “a barka must never be alone in the same room
with his chotki, he must never speak to her, and it is considered advisable
that he not look directly at her” (1961; 103). Although there may still be
some discomfort caused by the other’s presence, there is no longer a feeling
of “tremendous shame and embarrassment” (1961: 103). More and more the
two people concerned greet or speak to each other and do not consciously
avoid each other’s company. In one case, the chotki was chided as a rustic by
those in the household because she blushed when her barka addressed her
directly. In another instance, the barka, who proclaims at the wedding that
henceforth he will abstain from any interaction with his chotki, substituted
a non-relative to take his place in the ceremony. He did this because he felt
that avoidance would be unnecessarily difficult in daily domestic activities.
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Anthropos 78.1983
c) Kinship Terminology
Klass states that at the time of his research in 1958 “the use of non-
western terminology is close to universal in the village,” and that although
some “creolization has taken place in the case of a few families, [such] cases
are rare and by no means complete” (1961: 98-99). Western kinship terms
such as “uncle” and “aunt” were rarely used, and then only by those with
some education or exposure to influences outside the community. Klass
concludes that “Hindi kinship terminology gives no sign of weakening or
dying out in Amity” (1961: 94).
Klass’ implied prediction that Hindi kinship terminology would endure,
at least into the near future, is contradicted by the present data. As every-
where among the East Indians in the Caribbean, Hindi kinship terms are
rapidly disappearing to be replaced by English or North American kinship
terms. This seems to suggest some remarkable and rapid changes in kinship
nomenclature and, to the extent that kinship terms are associated with
kinship norms, changes in the behavior of kin toward one another. More
likely, however, Klass, in his efforts to find examples of cultural persistance,
probably underestimated the intrusion of American and English kinship
terms into the community. In their study of family and marriage in three
Guianese villages, Smith and Jayawardena (1959) point out that the ideology
and structure of Guianese East Indian kinship are now more adequately
expressed in an English idiom. It appears that Klass may have exaggerated
the strength of the traditional terminological system in Amity than was
actually warranted by the data. In any case, there are very few villagers who
nowadays use only Hindi kinship terms, and they are very old. A few kinship
terms such as bauji (elder brother’s wife) are commonly heard as honorifics
but most terms are now of only symbolic or pedantic interest. When probed
on the matter of terminology villagers often distinguish between the “Indian
way” and the “modem way,” with the latter as the standard.
Within the household English reference terms or personal name are used.
Some husbands and wives still “endeavor to avoid calling each other by
name, using either an attention-getting signal (‘E’ is a favorite), or technonomy
(Pooram-Me or Hari-‘fadda’) . . . ’’(Klass 1961; 102), but it is much more
common for spouses to address each other by name, or by a pet name which
is used exclusively within the household. These are taken from well-known
Indian actors and actresses. Parents sometimes use pet names for their
children or what are known as rassi or “house” names, which are given to
the child by a pundit or a relative shortly after the child’s birth. The trend
in naming a child is to use English names. In searching for a name parents
pick up ideas from magazines, television, and relatives. Relatives from town
are often biased in favor of what they regard as “civilized” rather than
“coolie” names: Sharon, Michael, or Suzy rather than Shakila, Mahadeo, or
Shanti. Amity parents often agree; “Well, alright, my daughter should have a
civilized name.”
Changing Patterns of Marriage, Family, and Kinship, Trinidad
145
One of the changes taking place in the community is the standardized
use of surnames. It is only in the last generation—and mainly among the
educated—that surname standardization has become necessary, for work and
school. Two examples illustrate the recency of surname standardization and,
incidentally, the shallowness of genealogies:
Kin Example 1 Example 2
(S) Suren dra Ramroop Ramakrishna Ramsingh
(F) George Ramroop Hardeo Ramsingh
(FF) Ramroop Gangahari Ramsingh Bandoo
(FFF) Gangahari Bandoo Bandoo Ranseewalk
(FFFF) ? ?
Within a single household one may sometimes find different surnames
in use. The reason for this is the unintended practice of registering a child’s
birth with the name of the person, perhaps a friend or neighbor, who had
carried the information on the birth to the courthouse. Also, children were
registered with the “mother’s title,” that is, her father’s name. This changed
after government recognized customary marriages as legal. Of course, in the
community, a child was known by more familiar names.
Conclusion
This paper has described a number of changes in the East Indian family
in rural Trinidad. Among other things, evidence has been presented for a
rising age at marriage, personal choice preference in mate selection, the
absence of village exogamy and the importance of the nuclear family in
local theory and fact. Attention has also been focused on behavior in the
household, especially on changes in husband-wife roles and patterns of
authority. This survey shows how many of the traditional family forms,
their cultural content, and their relationship to other cultural elements
such as caste and religion, have changed enormously. Behind this catalog
of changes has been the intention to call into question the theoretical adequacy
of those studies that have focused primarily on cultural retentions and the
tenacity of Indian institutions in the face of pressures for change. According
to this perspective, the traditional Indian family has successfully weathered
migration, indenture, and over a hundred years of social, economic, and
political developments in an alien setting, thus retaining a cultural coherence
and functional unity very similar if not absolutely identical to that of the
family in India, By contrast, the major thread running through the present
Anthropos 78.1983
10
146
Joseph Nevadomsky
Anthropos 78.1983
description is that the cultural traditions of India cannot be used to satis-
factorily explain contemporary family and marriage patterns among the
rural East Indians. The organization of the East Indian family is more
adequately assessed by reference to local factors which over time largely
determine, if they do not dictate, the kinds of institutional patterns that
emerge. This point has been adumbrated by Jayawardena (1962) and Davids
(1964) in their comparative studies of the overseas East Indian family.
Jayawardena (1962: 63-64) has argued that variations in family forms can
be fully understood only by examining the particular ways in which traditional
resources have been altered in the new environment. By emphasizing chang-
ing patterns of family, marriage, and kinship in the present paper I have tried
to follow this advice.
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Clarke, Colin
1967 “Caste Among Hindus in a Town in Trinidad: San Fernando.” In: B. Schwartz
(ed.), Caste in Overseas Indian Communites. Chandler: San Francisco.
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Davids, L.
1964 “The East Indian Family Overseas.” Social and Economic Studies 13.
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Ehrlich, Allen
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1962 “Family Organization in Plantations in British Guiana.” International Journal
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Singh, Kelvin
1974 “East Indians and the Larger Society.” In: John LaGuerre (ed.), Calcutta to
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1967
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Andrew H. Apter
In Praise of High Office:
The Politics of Panegyric
Among Three Southern-Bantu Tribes
Abstract. — This paper analyzes Southem-Bantu praises of high office as speech-
acts which mediate between a chief and his followers. By exploiting the differences be-
tween addresser and speaker, addressee and hearer, office and incumbent, the specialist
praise-singer communicates (1) to the public on behalf of its chief, distributing his legitimate
authority to maintain public support, and (2) to the chief on behalf of his public, evaluat-
ing his performance against the requirements of his office. Using an incumbency model
adapted from Comaroff the social values and institutional mechanisms invoked by these
praises—to mobilize or divide public support—are identified in a rudimentary content-
analysis of Tswana, Zulu, and Xhosa praise-texts. [South Africa, Poetry, Chieftaincy,
Incumbency Model]
Introduction:
Praise-Singing and the Incumbency Model
The aim of this paper is to analyze Southem-Bantu praises of high office
as a form of political action. This important dimension of Southem-Bantu
praises is often overshadowed by what Western scholars consider to be higher
virtues of literary art—stylistic and poetic devices of dynamic stress, elision,
parallelism, chiasmus, and of course metaphor and simile. These devices do
abound in what Ruth Finnegan calls “the most specialised and complex
forms of poetry to be found in Africa” (1970: 121), but fine-grained stylistic
analysis of these works should not blind us to some of the more basic and
Andrew H. Apter, B.A. in Social Anthropology (1980 from Cambridge Univ.) and
in Philosophy (1978 from Yale Univ.). Fieldwork in Nigeria in 1977, now working for
his Ph.D. at Yale Univ. Forthcoming publication on “Yoruba Talking Drums and Ritual
CommunicationAddress: 51 Hillhouse Ave., Dept, of Anthropology, Yale University,
New Haven, CT 06520.
150
Anthropos 78.1983
Andrew H. Apter
obvious statements which they make; in particular, statements that criticize
the very objects of praise. I argue that the criticism voiced through praise
is of fundamental importance to their production—not as works of art abstracted
onto a printed page but as communicative acts mediating between a chief
and his public. This argument is not entirely original—other writers have
mentioned the critical component of Southern-Bantu praises— but it remains
to be developed into a general model of political action, the contours and
implications of which I hope to explore and make explicit with respect to
particular praise-texts and their institutional contexts.
The general model which accounts for the work performed by these
praises comes from Comaroff, who shows (1975) how the effective power
and legitimate authority of Tswana chiefs is negotiated through a form of
oratory composed of two parts. The first part, highly formalized, expresses
the shared values and ideals of chiefly office, against which the more flexible
second part evaluates the chief’s actual performance. If a chief rules well,
the formal and evaluative ‘codes’ converge; if he violates the norms of his
office, the two ‘codes’ diverge. The Tshidi case which Comaroff examines is
complicated by political competition between rival chiefs and candidates
for high office exercised through their spokesmen, whose orations emphasize
the code convergence of their own leader and the code divergence of his
rivals. But the basic idea which I modify from this case and apply to Southern-
Bantu praises of high office (including Tswana) is what Comaroff calls the
indigenous incumbency model—standards of exemplary conduct which
attach to high office, to which the incumbent is expected to conform and
against which his performance is evaluated. The potential for criticism
expressed through praise is thus generated by way of a contrast, stated or
merely implied, to the public values upheld and specified by the praise.
Ruth Finnegan begins to describe this incumbency model as a diffuse
political resource in the hands of the public when, in her general survey of
African royal ‘panegyric’ she mentions an important consequence of status
validation—the obligation of a status holder to conform to its demands:
In societies where status and birth were so important, the praise-poems served to
consolidate these values. As so often with panegyric, the recitation of the praises
of the chief and his ancestors served to point out to the listeners the chief’s right
to the position he held both through his descent from those predecessors . . , and
through his own qualities so glowingly and solemnly depicted in the poetry. As else-
where, however, praises could contain criticism as well as eulogy, a pressure to con-
form to expectations as well as praise for actual behaviour. In this way praise could
also have the implicit result of exerting control on a ruler as well as the obvious
one of upholding his position (1970: 142).
In effect, two sets of overlapping values can be analytically distinguished
in this rudimentary incumbency model: rights of ascription and entitlement
to high office, which the king or chief possesses by virtue of his membership
In Praise of High Office: The Politics of Panegyric
151
in a royal descent group (hence the emphasis on birth and genealogy), and
norms of good leadership, i.e., duties of incumbency. The blurred quality of
this distinction is important because it allows the praise-singer to distribute
the legitimate authority of the chief, by invoking his rights to office, while
simultaneously voicing the public concern that he fulfill the duties associated
with it. It is therefore apparent that this ‘tug-of-war’ occurs in the idiom of
the same set of values, expressed in a veiled language of indirect allusions
and substitutions which can, but need not always, keep this confrontation
between a chief and his public “beneath the surface” of the praise. An
examination of praise-poems (-songs) of three Southern-Bantu societies—the
Tswana, Zulu, and Xhosa—outlines some of the contours of this incumbency
model, and the directions in which these contours can be pushed and pulled.
Although praises are composed and sung for a wide variety of status holders
and groups, praises of high office will be considered because their function
of status validation is most clearly political.
1. Tswana Praises
Praise-poems among the Tswana (of what is today Botswana) are called
maboko (sing, leboko), a term derived from the verb -boka which Schapera
(1965; 1) translates as “to honour by giving title to a person in poems; to
sing the praises of.” This definition applies to all praises, which are composed
not just for chiefs, but for headmen, distinguished warriors, and ordinary
commoners, including women. The praises of chiefs, however, are of two
unique types—those composed by professional praise-poets/reciters (mmbki)
and those composed by the incumbent himself—and the difference is crucial.
Self-composed praises are of course one-sided, stressing the chiefly virtues of
the incumbent himself as a legitimate leader. A praise self-composed by chief
Lentswe of Kgatla (1875-1924) glorifies his own bravery in battle, a prized
chiefly quality where cattle-raiding was a significant source of tribal revenue.
In an opening stanza he combines this ferocity with his recognition of moral
obligation to a privileged kinsman, demonstrating his aggression and respon-
sibility as a leader:
An elephant once screamed in a pass;
it screamed only once, then was silent,
it was busy trampling on someone.
I am an ape, and I conquer elephants.
One elephant only I cannot conquer;
he is my mother’s kinsman Mothulwe,
son of Ramoletsana of the Elephants (Schapera 1965: 84).
The elephant refers to the totem of the ruling family of his enemies
(the Kwena clan). The Ape is Lentswe’s own totem. He conquers his enemies
but one—his kinsman Mothulwe—who from Schapera’s footnote {ibid.) is
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Andrew H. Apter
Anthropos 78.1983
seen to be his mother’s brother: “Lentswe’s mother, Dikolo, was a daughter
of the Tlhako chief Ramoletsana, and Mothulwe was her brother.” In
another stanza Lentswe exhorts his people to provide him with greater
allegiance, at the same time demonstrating his legitimate right to the chief-
taincy as son and grandson of the former chiefs Kgamanyane and Pilane (son
of) Pheto:
When you try to praise a brave man,
you praise a butterfly (i.e., as if he were of no consequence) . . .
you keep on just prating about him,
you do not praise him with due regard;
you likened him to other chiefs
though in fact he surpasses those chiefs,
In Praise of High Office: The Politics of Panegyric
153
he is startling in his bravery;
he is like his father Kgamanyane,
he is like the master, Pilane Pheto (1965: 85).
Tswana praises composed by the mmoki themselves stress the duties of
a chief to his people as well as his legitimate rights to high office. A praise to
chief Molefi (son of) Kgafela sung at his installation ceremony establishes his
royal pedigree in the first stanza, only to urge him to perform some remarkably
mundane tasks for the town in the second stanza;
Molefi, sweep the town free of refuse,
that old men may go where it is clean.
Fill up the holes and choke them;
also smash the stones, they trip us,
and always make us turn up our toes
when we go across to the chief’s palace (1965: 115).
The third stanza praises his generosity and kindness, based more on
future expectation (he was just installed) than past performance to combine
legitimate authority and duties/obligations of office in the same idiom of
praise.
The narrative content of Tswana praises is largely biographical. History,
like genealogy, is a charter for legitimate authority, but it is personal history,
not family history alone, which distinguishes the incumbent and demonstrates
his social worth. For unlike genealogy, personal biography illustrates great-
ness that is achieved rather than ascribed; a chief is judged by his deeds, not
by his blood. Praises thus provide a public record of the incumbent’s deeds
and character. In the words of G.P. Lestrade, “they narrate deeds for which
the subject has acquired fame, enumerating, in hyperbolize apostrophe, those
qualities for which he is renowned” (Schapera 1937: 296). But this record
works to his advantage only if deemed worthy by his supporters. The chief’s
incentive to achieve a good record, however, extends beyond the establish-
ment of legitimacy in “this world,” to what is more important according to
Tswana belief, the reception of great praise as an ancestor. I mention this
eschatological point—the ‘judgment’ of a chief after his death—because it
underlies the power of the public to negotiate the legitimacy of the incumbent.
The praise to Molefi revealed how this negotiation between legitimacy
and obligation was somewhat crudely expressed between stanzas. A praise
of chief Tshekedi (son of) Khama (Ngwato tribe) illustrates how the praise-
worthy qualities of belligerence and ferocity merge with the disreputable
qualities of cruelty and excess within a single loaded image. Tshekedi is
lionized, literally and figuratively, as a “man-eater” who consumes his
enemies, and this image is earned by his achievements in battle: while other
chiefs are lions without manes, Tshekedi has a mane because “an all-power-
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Anthropos 78.1983
ful one can never be shaved” (Schapera 1965: 222 line 69). This image also
boasts his successes as a cattle-raider: “The lion attacks many cattleposts/it
attacks the cattleposts of the contentious” (line 155). But this same lion
who is praised for his severity with enemies is criticized for treating his own
subjects the same way: “Here, at his home, Tshekedi is a man-eater/here at
his home he swallows people” (lines 142-143), behavior which actually
led to an assassination attempt by the brothers of a rival whom he had publicly
thrashed. The image of the lion is thus contradictory, praiseworthy or blame-
worthy depending upon who it ‘eats’.
Through such ‘loading’ of imagery and indirect allusions to actual events,
Tswana praises (and praises of high office generally) become heavily encoded.
Many passages of older praises are, according to Schapera, incomprehensible
to living Tswana specialists themselves. This is to be expected if praises sustain
confrontations beneath their ‘surface’, but makes the analysis of submerged
conflict very difficult for someone unfamiliar with the events alluded to and
the personal histories of the incumbents. The examples of criticism which I
do cite are by necessity the most explicit because I cannot even identify the
subtler forms which I suspect are there. For praises of high office pertain
to insiders. They are in Bernstein’s sense restricted codes, highly gestural,
intoned, and rich in metaphor, as can be seen from a nineteenth century
description of their performance. E. Casalis wrote about the Southern Sotho,
of the same linguistic cluster as the Tswana (Greenberg 1955):
During the early part of our sojourn among them we often heard them recite,
with very dramatic gestures, certain pieces, which were not easy of comprehension,
and which appeared to be distinguished from the ordinary discourse by the eleva-
tion of sentiment, powerful ellipses, daring metaphors, and very accentuated
rhythm. The natives called these recitations praises (Casalis 1861: 345-346).
Not all criticism, however, is heavily veiled, and an important question
which I raise but cannot answer is why some praises are more explicitly
critical than others. The praise of chief Sekgoma, for example, refers to the
specific violation of his obligation to his affines, whose cattle he unjustly
confiscated. A passage contrasts this impropriety to the norms of prescriptive
altruism:
Sekgoma, you are a thief,
what were you doing with goats of the Phaleng?
and the cattle of your wife’s people,
what were you going to take from them?
In-laws are not deprived of their cattle;
we’ll eat them when we’ve gone there to visit,
eat them when we’ve gone to make a feast,
eat them when they’ve been stewed for us ... (194 lines 22-29).
and concludes with the injunction “great initiate, you are going astray.”
In Praise of High Office: The Politics of Panegyric
155
The confrontation between community and chief, explicit in any case, is
heightened by the inclusive “we” of public opposed to the “you” directed at
the chief.
The impact of public criticism through praise derives from principles of
Tswana chieftaincy and succession. The rightful heir to the throne is the eldest
son of the chief’s “great wife” (usually but not always his senior wife), the
privilege of this filiation illustrated by the proverb “a chief is a chief because
he is born to it” (Schapera 1937: 175). This ascriptive principle, however,
is counterposed by the requirement that he sustains the support of his people.
Hence the complementary proverb: “A chief is a chief by grace of his tribe”
(1937: 184), The institutional mechanisms of mediation between the chief
and his people consist of several councils, ranging from (1) royal advisors
(hagdkolddi) selected by the chief from among his senior agnates and matri-
lateral kinsmen, (2) a representative forum of ward-headmen (lekgotla), and
(3) public assemblies attended by age-sets (pitso), where general policy
proposals are successively discussed, such as taxation and levies, the under-
taking of new public works, the formation of new regiments, and tribal
disputes (Schapera 1937: 183 ff., 1938: 82, 1965: 32). These arenas con-
stitute the institutional contexts of praise-singing, especially the pitso
assembly where the largest public aggregate is organized into age-grades,
for it is here that the chief’s constitutionally unlimited power to execute
policy decisions could be informally checked by the withdrawal of public
support:
In theory, a chief is permitted to take any decision he chooses at the end of a meet-
ing. But decisions which do not reflect majority opinion are dangerous. Not only do
they stand little chance of being implemented, but they may also be used sub-
sequently as the basis of negative evaluation of the incumbent and hence affect his
general standing (Comaroff 1975: 149).
Now it is true that the expression of negative evaluation was by no
means limited to praise-singing, Schapera writes of the pitso assemblies: “Here
much freedom of speech was allowed, and, if it seemed necessary, people
could even criticize the chief or his advisors, without fear of reprisals”
(1965: 33), and I suspect that this refers to the evaluative code in Comaroff’s
analysis of Tswana (Tshidi) oratory within the same assembly. But this
oratory is very different from praise-singing. Where the speeches are impromptu,
praises are composed and fixed. Where the performative contexts of the
evaluative speeches are restricted to the lekgotla and pitso assemblies,
praise-singing occurs in these contexts and others as well—royal weddings,
funerals, age-set initiations, installations, and occasions of general public
festivitiy (1965: 32), where I suspect that greater constraints against explicit
criticism obtain. Furthermore, critical speeches are voiced by individuals,
while praises voice the opinion of the public.
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Andrew H. Apter
Anthropos 78.1983
Whatever the mode of expressing public disaffection, the effect is to
activate rival claims to the chieftaincy. When the Tswana principle of primo-
geniture-type succession (by the senior son of the ‘great wife’) clashes with
the principle of consensual support, the eldest son of the wife next in rank
can ‘claim’ seniority and, if deemed more capable by the people and backed
by a sufficient faction, assume power. Thus a praise to chief Gaseitsiwe
opens with a warning which refers to his conflict with a rival:
Don’t sit at ease, be alert;
a man seeking a village must be alert
when fighting his half-brothers for the village;
the junior wife’s people have taken the breast,
and I feared when they gave me a hind leg (Schapera 1965: 158).
The breast taken by the rival group is the tribute due to the chief,
whereas the hind leg is the joint given to a younger brother (ibid., note). The
praise thus validates the chief’s senior status, hence his legitimate succession,
while emphasizing the vulnerability of his position.
This vulnerability to rival claims to the chiefship has important implica-
tions for the distribution of legitimate authority ‘outward’, an aspect of
praise-singing which is just as actively political as the channelling of public
opinion ‘inward’ to bear upon the incumbent. The incumbency of the
Tswana chief relies upon public support, and this support must be maintained
in the face of rival claims to office. An effective praise must therefore appeal
to as wide a following as possible, and it is this function of maximizing public
support as a scarce political resource which accounts for another characteristic
feature of these praises—the identification of the incumbent by a variety of
different names. For these names identify his affiliation with different
groups with which he shares special interests, and from which he can there-
fore expect support. In addition to the two proper names (one from his
father’s line, one from his mother’s) which every Tswana citizen possesses,
a chief’s praise may include the name of his totem (e.g., Kwena, Crocodile;
Kgabo, Ape), the name of his age-set (e.g., Leisentwa), and a variety of
appellations, often ad hoc, that appeal to a potentially hostile and compet-
itive web of kinsmen and affines through bonds of solidarity. Thus praise of
a chief by his clan totem generates clan solidarity, praise by his age-set name
appeals to the loyalty of his age-mates, a support-base which is particularly
important at the pitsb meetings where attendance is grouped according to
age-sets (mophatb) for discussing tribal policy. Identification of collateral
and affinal ties in praises bonds potential cleavages between rival brothers,
or affines supporting their own kinsmen’s claims to high office. Thus we find
in Senwelo’s praise of only 42 lines the appellations “Radiant son of Molefe,”
“brother of Nyetsane,” “brother of Babopi,” “brother of RaMmopyane,”
“husband of Nketso,” and “husband of Setholatlung” (Schapera 1965: 52-
53).
2. Zulu Praises
As is the case throughout most of Africa, Zulu praises are not limited to
high office, but perform an important function of status validation in many
spheres of social action. Parents praise their children as a reward for good
conduct, and Krige describes how this constitutes an important part of their
socialization:
Praises are an important instrument in the educational system. Not only do they act
as an incentive to and reward for socially approved actions, but their recital is a
reminder to all present what qualities and conduct are considered praiseworthy
(Cope 1968: 21).
These praises establish a means of bringing about conformity to ideals
of social behavior that obtain among children of the same age-group (intan-
ga), young men of a more senior age-set (ibutho), and members of the same
age-graded warrior regiments (impi) who praise each other according to the
code of conduct expected of a warrior (ibid.). But these praises also con-
stitute a form of social control, for if they promulgate norms of ideal be-
havior, they also set the standards of appraisal, i.e., the evaluation of actual
behavior. Cope identifies this critical component of Zulu praises as a func-
tion of their public recitation;
Praises are usually flattering, but not always so. These praises are the expression of
public opinion and provide an effective means of social control, for on occasions
they are shouted for all to hear (ibid.).
Unfortunately, Cope never specifies what these criticisms and the
occasions of their recitation are, nor do we leam who comprises the omni-
present ‘public’. But the general principle is clear that praise has a critical
or regulatory function at all levels of status validation, even if this function is
most clearly political when directed against incumbents of high office.
The Zulu praises of high office provide an interesting record of the
politics of incumbency for they echo the rise of the Shaka and his consoli-
dation of the Zulu chieftaincy into a powerful military state. During the 17th
and 18th centuries the Zulu tribe was one of a large number of Nguni-Bantu
tribes which had migrated (somewhere between 13th and 15th centuries)
into present day Zululand and Natal to form scattered, small scale clan-based
chiefdoms supported by pastoralism and shifting cultivation. As reconstructed
by Gluckman (1940: 25) these early Nguni-Bantu
lived in scattered homesteads occupied by male agnates and their families; a number
of these homesteads were united under a chief, the heir of their senior line, into a
tribe. Exogamous patrilineal clans tended to be local units and the cores of a tribe.
A tribe was divided into sections under brothers of the chief and as a result of a
quarrel a section might migrate and establish itself as an independent clan or tribe.
158
Andrew H. Apter
Anthropos 78.1983
Map 2: Movement of the Nguni
In Praise of High Office: The Politics of Panegyric
159
I include this gloss on the political structure of the early Zulu because
it informs the values of incumbency found in early Zulu praises. Based on a
tenuous balancing of sections which would divide and separate under poor
leadership, the political structure fostered values of reciprocity, shrewdness
and diplomacy as the praiseworthy attributes of incumbency. These values
changed, however, along with the office of the chieftaincy itself, when the
Zulu tribe organized into a powerful military state which devastated and
incorporated its neighbors. This transformation began during the reign of
Dingiswayo (1808-1818), and reached the height of its power and terrorism
during the reigns of Shaka (1818-1828) and Dingane (1828-1840). The
praises of these latter two kings depict changes in high office—values of good
leadership have shifted from shrewdness through diplomacy to prowess and
ruthlessness in war, while the images of the incumbents themselves, portraying
small animals of beauty, brightness, quickness, craftiness, and ingenuity in
the early praises (esp., Jama and Senzangakhoma) switch to large animals
such as elephants, lions, and leopards, depicting force and brute strength
(esp., Shaka and Dingiswayo).
Within this shift, however, general ‘core’ values of incumbency remain
constant. These are of basic generosity and responsibility for the well-being
of the people, built into a set of duties or expectations:
A chief is expected to be generous in his disposal of cattle and land to deserving
subjects, and in his provision of food, especially meat and beer, to visitors and to
tribesmen when in council or on ceremony. He is expected to protect the interests
of the tribe and to govern it in accordance with the advice of his counsellors. The
praiser expresses the opinion of the people and so presses conformity to the approved
pattern upon the chief (Cope 1968: 31).
It is against these duties that the incumbent’s performance is evaluated.
The praise to Jama (great-grandfather of Shaka) portrays his streak of stingi-
ness by referring to him as “He who chewed with his mouth when he had
nothing to chew / As if he were the son of Chewer of the Scrapers Clean,” an
embedded epithet which according to Malcolm (Zulu Proverbs 1948) refers
to a man whose snuff-box was always scraped clean when he was asked for a
pinch of snuff (Cope 1968: 74). Senzangakhama’s praise contains a subtle
criticism of his unpredictability: “. . . son of Ndaba / Gurgling water of the
Mpembeni Stream /1 don’t even know where it is going to / Some runs down-
hill and some runs uphill” (Cope 1968: 78 lines 50-53), and his general
lack of political ability is implied by the epithet “the gate-post ... on which
owls perched” (lines 54-55), the owls being neighboring chiefs listed in the
following lines; chiefs Phungashe, Macingwane, and Dladlama (ibid.). The
concluding stanza contains a veiled implication that Senzangakhona was
headstrong and obstinate, that he did not accept advice from his counsellors:
“Shaker of the head until the neck dislikes it / Perhaps in another year the
trunk will protest” (p.80 lines 86-87), the ‘trunk’ signifying the public which
supports its ‘head’, or if threatened, withdraws its support.
160
Andrew H. Apter
Anthropos 78.1983
The analysis of public criticism embedded in Shaka’s praise should
be prefaced by a sketch of his political deeds and misdeeds to illustrate
the sorts of terrorism that his people were up against. The Shaka rose to
power during his brother’s (Dingiswayo) rule by reorganizing the military
into disciplined regiments and training his warriors in a new method of
fighting—modifying the traditional assegai, a long throwing spear, into a
short thrusting weapon. Hence the epithet in his praise, “Spear that is red
even on the handle.” When Dingiswayo died in battle against the Ndwande
of the north, the Shaka had his legitimate heir (a half-brother) murdered,
and placed himself in control. At first the strongest chiefs did not accept
the Shaka as legitimate successor. He was opposed by the Ndwande to the
north, the Quabe to the south, and the Thembu to the west, and responded
with a campaign of vicious conquests:
In less than three years, thirty chiefs and their people were gathered into a single
political system, and the former enemy troops incorporated into the Zulu military
forces . . . throughout the decade, military activity continued with little respite
(Walter 1964: 128).
This expansion of the Zulu state followed a pattern not of conquest
and conciliation, but conquest and devastation which can be called military,
or external terrorism. After conquering a chiefdom, the Shaka would plunder
what he needed for his state and destroy the rest:
Admitting the young warriors into his regiments, he usually destroyed women,
infants and old people. Sometimes he spared the girls, who, presumably, entered
the royal seraglios, and the stout lads, who became herd boys, baggage carriers, and
ultimately, Zulu warriors. All who were admitted into Zulu society in this way were
absorbed as individuals, giving up their former tribal loyalties and assuming a Zulu
identity (1964: 138).
Such external terrorism, however, was motivated by internal terrorism.
One direction this took was against the warriors themselves. After a battle,
each regiment was expected to “bring forth the cowards” who were then
executed. If one of the regiments suffered actual defeat or was forced to
retreat, the entire organization would be massacred together with the families
of the warriors.
Civil terrorism was no less spectacular, directed against any potential
opposition, no matter how slight, to the Shaka’s power and authority. Witch-
doctors (izanusi) capable of “smelling out” witches and accusing them of
foul deeds were persecuted because their sacred authority as spirit-mediums
(linking the ancestors with the living) threatened the Shaka, not directly, for
he was immune from their accusations, but indirectly, because his circle of
lieutenants, generals, and counsellors were vulnerable. The Shaka reduced
the izanusi’s power by immunizing his entire army against their pronounce-
ments and by taking the title of dream doctor, making himself the only
legitimate rainmaker and witchdoctor. This erosion of ancestral authority
In Praise of High Office: The Politics of Panegyric
161
as embodied by the izanusi went hand in hand with the dissolution of the
primary bonds of kinship and marriage. Men were forced to kill their sons
as public examples of loyalty, and were themselves killed if they hesitated to
deliver the blow, such was the Shaka’s concern that paternal authority could
compete with his own. He further reduced the authority of kin groups by
regulating marriage between men sectioned off from their families in army
barracks, and women in age-grade seraglios commanded by adopted royal
mothers and queens. Final destruction of kinship authority was directed
against lineage elders, who traditionally represented customary wisdom and
exerted a moral influence on the chief. Because this constituted a potential
challenge to the Shaka’s authority, he redefined the status of old men as
“old women” and had them butchered in the thousands.
This brief sketch of external and internal terrorism under the Shaka
introduces some of the political dynamics mediated and articulated by his
praise. As the Zulu chief became the king of a nation formed from the living
remains of different tribes, the function of the praise as a unifying force—dis-
tributing legitimate authority—became more important. According to Cope,
during the rise of the Shaka it became “necessary to build up national loyalty
towards the king as the embodiment of the nation, for he was not related by
blood to the great majority of his subjects” (1968: 32). At the same time,
however, the potential channels of political opposition by a disaffected
public were blocked and undercut by internal terrorism, i.e., by periodically
purging his counsellors, sub-chiefs, persecuting the izanusi, lineage elders,
and even determining marriage alliances and the distribution of adult statuses.
The single institution which appears to have retained relative autonomy was
that of the imbongi or specialist praiser. The political significance of praise-
singing in Zululand under the Shaka is thus underlined by the fact that it
constituted the sole voice of opposition, albeit a muted voice, tolerated by
the dictator.
Just why the Shaka tolerated critical praise is not clear, but judging
from the criticisms that do occur in his praise, it worked as a propaganda
device to enhance his total power by reputation as well as deed. Thus when
the Shaka is addressed in the opening stanza of his praise as “He who armed
in the forest, who is like a madman / The madman who is full view of the
men” (Cope 1968: 88 lines 11-12), the image of a madman embodies his
total and arbitrary power as a dictator. Similarly, an embedded exhortation
to refrain from fighting—“Trickster, abstain from enemies, it is summer /
The grass is long, it will get the better of you” (94 lines 111-112)—may con-
stitute a criticism of his actions, but it also enhances his status as a perpetually
aggressive warrior. In another stanza, the Shaka is called “He who devoured
the trust cattle / Even today he is still responsible” (108 lines 321-322),
an epithet with several possible interpretations. Cope in a footnote (ibid.)
explains the epithet as a reference to cattle lent on trust—according to the
sisa custom—which the Shaka appropriated. But this reference is itself
‘loaded’ with implications for the incumbency model. According to Krige,
Anthropos 78.1983 11
162
Andrew H. Apter
Anthropos 78.1983
the sisa (ukuSisa) was a practice by which a man placed some of his cattle in
the care of another kraal owner as a way of spreading his risks against cattle
disease and appropriation, a system based on mutual trust and cooperation.
By ‘devouring’ the trust cattle, the Shaka violates the obligations of this
system, and by implication, the duties of his office, which include responsi-
bility for the well-being of his people. But this criticism at the same time is
a warning against possible organized resistance to his rule, for the sisa created
a system of alliances which, like marriage, he may have felt threatened his
total power and authority until brought within his control. An alternative
warning is also implied: you may be able to spread your risks against disease,
but not against the Shaka.
An overt criticism of the Shaka found in the middle of his praise works
in much the same way. Here the imbongi chastises the Shaka directly: “King,
you are wrong because you do not discriminate / Because even those of your
maternal uncle’s family you kill / Because you killed Bhebhe son of Ncumela
of your maternal uncle’s family” (Cope 1968: 110 lines 348-350). The histori-
cal reference is to the Shaka’s massacre of the Longeni clan (of which his
mother was a member), which had ostracized and banished him when he
was a boy. In terms of incumbency, the criticism points to his violation of
basic kinship values—the Shaka is not wrong because he kills, but because
he does not discriminate between kinsmen and enemies. Again, the criticism
is a warning—nobody is safe from the Shaka’s death blow. In this way, the
Shaka tolerates critical praise when it enhances his reputation as a dictator,
transforming violations of high office into virtues of total power. In this
rather limiting case, praise is no longer a diffuse political resource in the
hands of the public because the Shaka’s power and authority rests not on
public consensus, but on his monopoly of force. Instead, praise functions
as a propaganda device to mix loyalty with fear in the hearts and minds of
his growing number of subjects.
3. Xhosa Praises
Xhosa praises can be fruitfully compared with Zulu praises because
they highlight the cultural similarities between the two societies while reveal-
ing basic institutional differences. Although the tribal/ethnic/linguistic iden-
tities of Southern-Bantu peoples present a confused and complex picture, it
is generally held that the Xhosa are among the descendants of fragments of
tribes and chiefdoms (collectively called ‘Cape Nguni’) which fled from the
Shaka and settled in the present Transkei and Ciskei during the third decade
of the nineteenth century (Pauw 1975; 3). The cultural affinities between the
Zulu and Xhosa are reflected by the same terminology used for praises
(izibongi lit. ‘surname’ or ‘clan name’) and specialist praisers (iimbon-
gi). But the praises themselves are very different, and constitute very different
forms of political action within different institutional frameworks.
In Praise of High Office: The Politics of Panegyric
163
Diagram 1
Composition of Some Tribal Clusters
Cluster Related Chiefdoms Unrelated (tributary) Chiefdoms
District District
Xhosa Gcaleka Ngqika Ndlambe Dushane Qhayi Dange Gasela Ntinde Hleke Willowvale Kentani East London King William’s Town King William’s Town King William’s Town King William’s Town King William’s Town King William’s Town Gqunukhwebe Middledrift
From W.D. Hammond-Tooke 1965: 146
In contrast to the highly centralized and regimented Zulu state (under
the Shaka) expanding and incorporating neighboring chiefdoms into its juris-
diction, the Xhosa comprise a cluster of independent chiefdoms (see Diagram
1), These chiefdoms remain associated by imputed genealogical ties under a
‘paramount’ chief (Diagram 2) but each retains independent sovereignty
and jurisdiction (Hammond-Tooke 1965: 156). But each chiefdom was also
subject to fission built into the very mechanism of ‘house-succession’ by
which the eldest son of the senior wife (i.e., of the ‘right hand’ house of the
head) was expected to break away and form an independent household, a
pattern which was reproduced for succession to high office, resulting in fission
of the chiefdom. Fission, of course, would not occur at every generation, but
only when disaffection with the incumbent was sufficient to mobilize a fac-
tion in support of his heir:
A common cause of fission was dissatisfaction with the incumbent of the chiefship —
the chiefship itself was never questioned—but among all the Cape Nguni the dicho-
tomizing tendency was, as it were, built into the institution. This was the pre-
emptive right for the heir of the right-hand house of a chief to establish his own
independent chiefdom separate from that of his father (Hammond-Tooke 1965: 152).
It is in relation to this fissiparous institution of succession that the
incumbency model in Xhosa praise-singing works as a form of political ac-
tion, evaluating the performance of the incumbent clearly and forthrightly.
Where the Shaka’s support was imposed by internal and external terrorism
which prevented the opposition necessary for fission to occur, the Xhosa
chief depends upon the effective distribution of legitimate authority, for he
is openly vulnerable to the fission which results from loss of public support.
164
Andrew H. Apter
Anthropos 78.1983
Diagram 2
Xhosa Tribal Cluster
This vulnerability, I would suggest, accounts for the overt character of the
evaluation or appraisal of the incumbent, voiced through praise. This delicate
balance of public support and public criticism expressed by the praise is
described nicely by J. Opland (1981: 7):
The imbongi fulfills a complex of functions in (Xhosa) society ... in arousing his
audience to loyalty for a chief, he acts as a propagandist or cheerleader. In expres-
sing in public the sentiments current in his society, he acts as a spokesman for the
common man. He serves a chief, and his chief is the most frequent subject of his
poetry. But this does not mean that his poetry mindlessly praises his chief or com-
prises merely a litany lauding the greatness of his deeds. While the imbongi is
associated with a chief, he is also a tribal poet responsible to the community, and,
above all, he is committed to telling the truth as he sees it. He has a duty to the
chief to inspire in his audience feelings of loyalty for the chief, but he also has a
duty to the people to decry the actions of the chief whenever he feels them to be
unworthy of a chief.
I argued earlier that the politics of this incumbency model—by which I
mean the evaluation of the incumbent’s performance against the values and
duties of good leadership—can lurk beneath the surface of praise. But it can
also erupt into a public threat. A praise to Chief Matanzima brings public
pressure to bear on him by drawing attention to the dynamics of the incum-
bency model itself, to the political nature of the praise as a performative act:
In Praise of High Office: The Politics of Panegyric
165
As a spokesman of the nation, I deny your claim.
You have deviated from the views of the people.
As a spokesman of the nation, I deny your claim.
Turn back and you will see that you are alone, you have no following (1981: 11).
But if this imbongi warns his chief that he is losing support, it is to
prevent his natural successor from breaking away, i.e., to militate against
what is institutionally entailed when the Xhosa chief really does lose public
support :
My chief’s son causes a problem,
he causes a problem,
he causes a problem for his people . . .
For they say what is the chief’s son going to feed us with when he says we must
get together (1981: 18).
In institutional terms I interpret this passage to mean that the chief’s
son is not yet powerful or wealthy enough to lead his own faction, for tradi-
tionally a chief built up support by lending out cattle. Thus the imbongi
remains loyal to his chief, and by threatening loss of public support, helps to
prevent it from actually happening.
The language of the Xhosa imbongi is exceptionally ribald and prov-
ocative—he has licence to ridicule and criticize with impunity (1981: 9).
In terms of the incumbency model—the evaluation of performance against
the duties of office, this freedom of speech is essential for communication
between chief and public to take place. In terms of native ideology, this
freedom of speech is sanctioned, even voiced, by the chief’s ancestors. The
imbongi is thus a ritual specialist, a spirit-medium praising not with his own
words, but with the words of the royal ancestors on behalf of the community.
Conclusion: Praise-Singing and the Speech Act
Throughout this paper I have looked at particular Southern-Bantu
praises in terms of an incumbency model taken from Comaroff and general-
ized to cover a wider range of data. Where his analysis focuses on the political
oratory of a single Tswanachiefdom (Tshidi), I extended his model to analyze
Southern-Bantu praises of high office. But in so doing I also changed it. For
Comaroff, the incumbency model is indigenous—an ideology of norms,
values, and obligations associated with high office, against which the in-
cumbent’s actual performance is publicly evaluated. As such, it remains an
empirical concept, rooted in the specific culture where he found it. To
generalize this concept for comparative analysis, I have worked this indigenous
incumbency model into a more abstract, analytic concept that refers to the
bi-functionality of the message communicated by praise—the distribution
of legitimate authority ‘outward’ and the channelling of public opinion ‘in-
ward’ to bear upon the incumbent.
166
Andrew H. Apter
Anthropos 78.1983
In the Tswana, Zulu, and Xhosa praises compared, I highlighted the
‘contours’ of this model as implied, and sometimes explicitly stated by the
praises themselves. Through a rudimentary content analysis of particular
passages and references, I outlined some of the institutional mechanisms
through which public support could be mobilized or divided. Among the
Tswana, support for the chief or the rightful heir can be challenged by a
political rival, while among the Xhosa the rightful heir becomes a rival
by pre-empting his right to establish an independent chiefdom. The Zulu
under the Shaka represent a special case, where public criticism was tolerated
when it strengthened allegiance to the king through fear and intimidation.
But in focusing on praises as texts, I paid very little attention to the speech
act of praise-singing itself—the actual process by which the praise communi-
cates its bi-functional message. This dimension was neglected more by nec-
cesity than design because none of the relevant ethnographies and editions
of praises specified in any detail the social contexts and orientations in
which praises to high office occurred. Without this information, I examined
the praises as texts abstracted from specific events—assuming that the basic
principles of the incumbency model could be held constant—and sketched the
basic institutional mechanisms and structures invoked—sometimes into
action—by the praises. More sociolinguistic information is needed, including
knowledge of the original languages, to determine just how praise-singing ex-
ploits elements of the speech act to accomplish its political work in the first
place, but a very general outline can be sketched.
A simple communicative model of sender, message, and receiver is
inadequate for this demonstration because as such, the components are too
crude. The incumbency model of praise-singing works by exploiting significant
differences between addresser and speaker, addressee and hearer, in a public/
political interaction. The specialist praiser is literally the speaker, but he
speaks not as an individual for himself, but as a spokesman for others. In
terms of the bi-functionality of his message he speaks (1) to the public on
behalf of his chief to distribute his legitimate authority, and (2) to the chief
on behalf of his public, who evaluates his performance against the require-
ments of high office. Role distance is a dependent variable of this bi-functional
Political Distance
>
Addresser
Addresser
Minimal
Role-Distance
Role-Dis tance
In Praise of High Office: The Politics of Panegyric
167
communication. By distributing legitimate authority, the praiser minimizes
the role distance between the incumbent and his office, bringing those
qualities of his character and notable actions of his past into the general
model of chiefly conduct associated with high office. But by bringing public
opinion and evaluation to bear upon the incumbent himself, the praise-
singer maximizes the role distance between incumbent and office, high-
lighting the divergences between individual character/performance and the
normative attributes of the office.
An additional variable in the interaction between public and incumbent
is the ‘political distance’ between them, by which I mean the degree to
which the powers of an incumbent overrule the powers of his public to de-
pose or desert him. If we postulate the rule that the less the political distance
the more forthright the language of evaluation, and the greater the political
distance the more veiled the language of evaluation, we can account for the
otherwise suprising differences between the less explicit Tswana and more
explicit Xhosa evaluations expressed through praise-singing. Although this
model is crude and its implications tenuous, it points to an extended theory
of deixis that may eventually incorporate the wider structures of social
and institutional action into the presuppositions of verbal behavior.
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Bloch,M.
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Casalis, E.
1861 The Basutos. London: J.Nisbet.
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Karl Leopold Hutterer
The Natural and Cultural History
of Southeast Asian Agriculture:
Ecological and Evolutionary Considerations
Abstract. — Recent archaeological discoveries in Southeast Asia and the Pacific
have led to provocative claims regarding the prehistoric origins and development of agri-
culture in those regions. The present paper reviews the available evidence in the light of
general ecological and evolutionary principles and presents a tentative framework for
the prehistory of Southeast Asian agriculture. It is found that traditional culture-histor-
ical reconstructions of the Southeast Asian “Neolithic” are unable to account for the
ethnographic and archaeological evidence. The archaeological data are, on the other
hand, presently insufficient to support any specific new reconstruction. The proposed
framework for the origin and development of Southeast Asian agriculture is dynamic,
taking into account continuous interactions between humans and their environments.
However, it is acknowledged that this framework is speculative and needs to-be tested
through further archaeological research. The major purpose of the proposal is to lend
methodological focus to future field investigations. [Southeast Asia, Archaeology, Agri-
culture, Ecology]
1. Introduction
Over the past two decades, archaeological work in Southeast Asia and
the western Pacific Islands, particularly New Guinea, has generated much
excitement among people interested in plant domestication and the begin-
nings of agriculture, A number of tantalizing findings have been reported;
Karl Leopold Hutterer, M.A. (1968, Cebu City, Philippines), Ph. D. (1973, Hono-
lulu); archaeological research in the Philippines (1965-1969, 1971, 1979, 1981), Ha-
waii (1969, 1970), and Australia (1973-1975); present position: since 1979 Associate
Curator (Curator, Division of the Orient), Museum of Anthropology ; Associate Professor,
Dept, of Anthropology, The University of Michigan, Ann Arbor; since 1982 Adjunct
Research Associate, East-West Environment and Policy Institute, East-West Center, Hono-
lulu. Publications: articles in Leyte-Samar Studies, Philippine Quarterly of Culture and
Society, Current Anthropology and other periodicals or books; “A Bibliography of Philip-
pine Archaeology and Ethnoceramies” (1980, with D.J. Scheans and R. Cherry); “Ecology
and Evolution of Agriculture in Southeast Asia” (1982); “Houses Built on Scattered
Poles: Ecology and Prehistory in Southeastern Negros Island, Philippines” (1982, ed. with
W.K. Macdonald); see also References. Address: Museum of Anthropology, The Univ. of
Michigan, Univ. Museums Building, Ann Arbor, Michigan 48109.
170
Karl Leopold Hutterer
Anthropos 78.1983
archaeological plant remains; indirect evidence of early cultivation; and
traces of prehistoric field systems. The fact that these findings were made
was not all that surprising in itself. After all, Southeast Asia constitutes one
of the important regions of agricultural production in the world today, and
it has long been understood that many of the region’s crops and agricultural
practices have their roots in prehistory. What was a major surprise, however,
was the unexpectedly early date of many of the findings, several of them
apparently indicating an early agricultural phase about eight to ten thousand
years ago.
These early dates were all the more interesting as they were being
announced at a time when a general reinterpretation of Southeast Asian
history and prehistory was going on. Up to about 1950, it had been widely
accepted that Southeast Asia was for the most part a culturally passive
region and that its most significant cultural, technological, and political
achievements had come about under the influence of the two great and
ancient civilizations of the Orient, namely India to the west and China to
the north (e.g., Clark 1965; 201). With the end of the colonial period after
World War II, indigenous as well as many foreign scholars started to question
this assumption and began to perceive the region as being essentially culturally
autonomous, having experienced independent and important historic and
prehistoric developments in its own right. The discovery of apparent evidence
for extremely early local developments in the domestication of plants and
animals came at this time of reorientation and was eagerly accepted as a
significant piece of evidence for the independence of developments in South-
east Asia and even the possibility of this region having played a leadership
role in world prehistory (Solheim 1972). Not surprisingly, in the first flush
of excitement, there was a tendency to be somewhat uncritical in accepting
and interpreting new discoveries. As a consequence, issues and evidence have
occasionally become somewhat confused and distorted.
Actually, the possibility that Southeast Asia may have been an ancient
center of plant domestication and agricultural innovation has been raised
since the 1930s by several investigators from a variety of fields (archaeology,
botany, phytogeography, genetics, etc.) (e.g., Haudricourt and Hedin 1944;
Menghin 1931; Sauer 1952; Vavilov 1950; Werth 1954; Wissmann 1956).
Until recently, however, none of these proposals had received broad atten-
tion, at least in part because of entrenched Indo-centric and Sino-centric
biases, and in part because of an absence of solid archaeological or other
culture-historical supporting evidence.
There were, of course, culture-historical reconstructions on a regional
and sub-regional level, based largely on ethnographic distribution studies of
crops, cultivation practices, linguistic terms, and related items of material
culture (tools, terraces, etc.). On that basis, it was widely, although never
universally, believed that agriculture in Southeast Asia started with a slash-
and-bum type of dry land cultivation, and the cultivation in inundated fields
came into practice only quite late in prehistory, probably introduced from
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
171
the outside through migrations or other forms of cultural contact. Similarly,
culture-historical interpretation of ethnographic patterns seemed to suggest
a sequence of dominant cultigens proceeding from root crops to cereals. It
was further assumed that the beginning of cereal agriculture occurred in the
context of dry field cultivation, while wet rice agriculture would represent
the most advanced and most recent innovation (or, more precisely, introduc-
tion) in Southeast Asian subsistence technologies (cf. Burkill 1951;Heine-
Geldem 1923; Linton 1955; Pelzer 1945 and 1978; Spencer 1966). Some
authors have felt that the cultivation of a millet cereal (Setaria) preceded
that of rice (e.g,, Kano and Segawa 1956).
The new archaeological evidence (from Thailand, Taiwan, Indonesia,
New Guinea) seemed to offer not only a point of radical departure from the
traditional picture (e.g., Gorman 1977) but also a small body of firm empirical
evidence against which any theoretical model could be evaluated. Unfortu-
nately, surprisingly little progress has been made in settling long-standing
controversies over the period of time that much of the new evidence has
been presented (Reed 1977). It has become painfully clear that the archaeolog-
ical information available to date falls far short of expectations in terms of
both quality and quantity. This is not entirely the fault of the archaeologists.
As I will argue below, the complexity of the process of domestication and
cultivation, particularly in the tropics, is such that the empirical evaluation
of theoretical models demands voluminous and highly controlled data sets.
Yet, conceptually and technically sophisticated archaeological research in
Southeast Asia has barely begun (Hutterer 1982a and n.d.).
Thus, whether we like it or not, we continue to be limited for the time
being to tinkering with a priori models. This is not all bad, however, since
such models, be they explicit or implicit, exert a powerful influence over
the ways in which we gather empirical evidence and analyze it. It may bene-
fit further research, therefore, if we turn our attention once more to general
theoretical issues concerning prehistoric domestication and cultivation in
Southeast Asia. In the following essay, I will examine these issues from the
viewpoint of evolutionary ecology, in the belief that such a perspective
would be able to integrate otherwise disperate lines of reasoning into a
cohesive processual view. The object of the exercise is two-fold: (a) to
suggest, in the barest outlines, an alternative sequence of Southeast Asian
cultural development; and (b) to sketch a perspective of Southeast Asian
subsistence complexes that might be of value in assessing the evolutionary
and ecological potential of contemporary agro-ecosystems and their con-
templated further development. Thus, the present discussion involves more
than an idle academic exercise. As Southeast Asian nations struggle to in-
crease the agricultural productivity of their lands, it will be of practical value
to understand the ecological and evolutionary background of their principal
food crops and, particularly, to understand the context in which indigenous
cropping systems and agricultural practices have developed.
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In presenting this outline, I can claim neither complete originality nor
comprehensiveness in discussing the issues and data involved. In conceptualiz-
ing basic ecological relationships, I have relied on a number of authorities,
most notable among them Anderson (1954), Barrau (1965, 1974), Flannery
(1968, 1973), Ford (1977), Harlan (1975), and Harris (1969, 1972, 1973,
1977). Unfortunately, many important issues cannot be discussed at all in
the present context, while others can only be touched on, and complex
realities often have to be dealt with in highly over-simplified summary state-
ments. I find this particularly troublesome with regard to the exceedingly
broad and complex topic of tropical ecology. Readers should be aware of
these limitations. Statements about tropical ecology made here are based
on an extensive review of the relevant literature presented elsewhere (Hut-
terer 19826).
2. Basic Concepts
It is good practice in any discussion to define the pivotal concepts at
the start. This seems particularly desirable in the present context, as the
interest in plant domestication and prehistoric agriculture has a long and
venerable history. Over time, the basic concepts have been formulated and
reformulated in many different ways and, in the process, have become
worn and shapeless like an old dress remade a few times too often. We are
interested here in a definition of the key concepts from an ecological point
of view.
a) What Is “Agriculture”?
There has been a tendency to exaggerate the difference between sub-
sistence technologies based on hunting-and-gathering on the one hand, and
those based on “food production” on the other. According to a wide-spread
popular notion, hunters simply harvest what grows naturally, while farmers
produce food artificially. Although nobody would go so far as to say that
farmers make food materialize from ideas or synthesize it from inorganic
elements, it is generally assumed that agricultural subsistence is fundamentally
and utterly different from a hunting subsistence. Yet, farmers also harvest
what nature produces. It is true that agriculturalists manipulate the environ-
ments from which they derive their food and other necessities; they concen-
trate the plants they are particularly interested in into dense stands through
such methods as artificial seed dispersal (sowing) or other means of propaga-
tion (e.g., planting cuttings, etc.); they protect these plants against compe-
tition and predation by other organisms, both plants and animals (e.g., clear-
ing of natural vegetation, weeding, fencing, protection from insects, etc.);1
It is not always understood that the suppression of competition through destruc-
tion of natural communities (clearing) and weeding constitutes probably the most im-
portant human action in raising the productivity of cultivated species. Concentration into
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
173
in many cases they supply the concentrated stands with special subsidies of
mineral nutrients or water beyond what the natural environment would pro-
vide; and so on. All these manipulations may lead to a significant increase in
the productivity of the particular plant organisms that are the focus of the
farmer’s interest, although not necessarily to an increase in the productivity
of the ecosystem as a whole.
The central point is, then, that farmers manipulate their environment.
However, so do hunters, both deliberately and inadvertently. A survey of
ethnographically documented hunting-and-gathering societies will show that
virtually all of them interfere with their environments in a variety of ways,
many of which result in some increase in the productivity of particular
plant and animal species (cf. Campbell 1965). Human hunters act as deliberate
and inadvertent dispersal agents for plants (e.g., Coursey 1976: 402;Rambo
1979: 62, 1980; III-37; Schebesta 1928: 83; Steward 1941: 232); they
often look after plants of particular interest to them and suppress their
natural enemies and competitors (Rambo 1980: III-38);they set fire to dead
or dry vegetation to clear away the detritus and allow fresh growth to develop
(Rambo 1980; III-37; Lewis 1980 and n.d.); they have even been known to
dig canals (Lourandos 1980; Steward 1934: 247-250); and they engage in
many other acts of environmental modification (Rambo 1980). The difference
between hunters and farmers is, therefore, not so much one of kind but of
degree.
This is not a trivial point because, as others have made clear (Flannery
1968), successful hunters have to be well attuned to their environments,
including the reproductive behavior and life cycles of economically important
plants and animals. Thus, hunters and foragers do not have to discover that
plants grow from cuttings or seeds. There is no reliable ethnographic report
of any human group being unaware of this fact today; it is a peculiar carry-over
of Victorian attitudes about “savages” to assume that the highly skilled
hunters and foragers of the Upper Pleistocene were in the dark about this
important aspect of their environment. However, while knowledge of plant
reproduction and of the possibility to manipulate this process is a necessary
precondition to formal agriculture, it is definitely not a sufficient condition.
This is clearly illustrated by the continuing existence of hunting and foraging
groups in Southeast Asia and central Africa, These groups are of particular
interest in the present context because (a) they live in environments that
would allow them to practice agriculture;^) they clearly have knowledge of
highly developed agricultural practices and systems now; and (c) there is
good evidence that they have had such knowledge for a long time since their
dense stands does not necessarily increase the productivity of individual plants—in fact,
it often depresses it—although it does usually increase the productivity of the species per
unit of land area and, by increasing density and size of food patches, decreases search
and pursuit cost in the sense of optimal foraging models of subsistence activities (cf.
Reidhead 1979).
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Anthropos 78.1983
ancestors have been in contact with agricultural populations for many
centuries: at least for several hundred years in the case of Southeast Asia
(Dunn 1975; Hutterer 1976: 226), and possibly as long as over two thousand
years in the case of central Africa (Schebesta 1938: 5-11).
In all, it would clearly be unrealistic to think that the origin of agriculture
was based on a discovery. Rather, agriculture developed incrementally out
of hunting and collecting in concert with a continuing increase in the extent
and intensity of the manipulation of natural ecosystems by human popula-
tions. Consequently, since the development of agriculture is a continuing
process (which, in fact, is still going on today), it is quite meaningless to fix a
point when it first occurred, although it may be quite possible to define
relatively short periods of time when the process of environmental manipu-
lation intensified very rapidly and when new technological tools appeared in
connection with this manipulation (e.g., terracing, irrigation, plow, etc.).
Considered from this point of view, the significant question is not when
agriculture developed and from where it spread, but rather why humans in
various places and at various times felt a need to increase the time and effort
spent in wrestling with their environment to coax it to produce a greater
amount of food. If we approach this question within the framework of
human ecology, it will be almost intuitively clear that it is unlikely that we
will ever have a simple answer that will be of universal validity.
b) Types of Agriculture
What has just been said about the difference between hunting and
agriculture can also be extended, in some way, to differences between
distinct types of agriculture. It need not be pointed out here that there are,
in fact, many different forms of agricultural subsistence and technology.
Some scholars prefer to use the more general term “cultivation” to refer
to all forms of environmental manipulation in which there is a relatively
regular, formal, and systematic interference with the natural ecosystem (i.
e., deliberate tillage of the soil, sowing, planting, weeding, etc.), resulting
in a significant increase in the productivity of the cultivated crop(s) beyond
what they would have shown under entirely natural conditions.2 Cultiva-
tion, then, is a general term that applies to all forms of agricultural activity.
The term “agriculture” itself is often reserved for highly intensive
forms of environmental management that generally involve cultivation in
relatively large, and generally permanent, field plots (e.g., Kroeber 1948:
691). Frequently, such intensive cultivation systems involve the use of fairly
2 This formulation is very vague and it is, in fact, quite difficult in some empirical
cases (both in archaeology and ethnography) to decide whether a particular human group
should be classified as hunters or farmers. This should not be surprising after what has
been said in the preceding section.
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
175
specialized technological methods, such as the use of animal-drawn plows
for tillage. Less intensive forms of cultivation are referred to as “horticulture”
{ibid.). In these systems, fields tend to be relatively small, they are often
impermanent (shifting cultivation), and tilled with simple technological
means (e.g., digging stick, human labor only). Needless to say, there are
many forms of agriculture as well as many forms of horticulture. In connec-
tion with what has been said above, it also stands to reason that the two
types of cultivation systems do not really represent sharply distinct types
but rather analytically defined points along a continuum. In practice, it is
again often difficult to characterize a given subsistence system as being
clearly horticultural or agricultural.
What has been said so far would imply that the configuration of a
particular subsistence system represents not simply a cultural choice but that
it is conditioned, even determined, by the play of a number of ecological
variables. The choice between tubers, rice, or corn, or between planting
hill rice in swidden fields and planting wet rice in pond fields has, therefore,
much less to do with whether a community is ethnically Thai or Vietnamese,
or Hmong or Karen, than with the ecological conditions of its existence
(climate, topography, soils, drainage, natural vegetation, population size,
population density, availability of land, exchange relationships, etc.). This
consideration has very imporant implications for interpreting prehistoric
changes in subsistence technology; it means that the appearance of new
subsistence techniques does not necessarily imply the presence of new and
different populations, or the diffusion of the subsistence techniques from
an outside source, but it reflects first and foremost an ecological change. It
remains, of course, to investigate the causes of change; the influx of a new
population may well figure as such a cause. However, there are also many
other possibilities, including conditions of external environmental change
(e.g., climatic change, erosion, etc,), and internally generated conditions such
as population growth or technological innovation. Isolating a single cause
will often be difficult, if not impossible, because of the dynamic interaction
between the various elements constituting the ecological system.
It should be added here that the diffusion of cultivation techniques
does, of course, occur. It is important to recognize, however, that new sub-
sistence techniques are generally not accepted simply because they are
available but only if they are seen as desirable and advantageous in a given
ecological situation.3 Once a new technique has been accepted, be it imported
or locally developed, it will have its own impact on the ecological system and
may, therefore, become an agent of further change.
This explains in part why hunters-and-gatherers still exist in Southeast Asia al-
though these groups have been in contact with agriculturalists for centuries and perhaps
millennia. It also explains why sometimes well-intentioned attempts by development
agencies to “improve” indigenous cropping techniques are not being accepted by the local
populations.
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c) Cultivation and Domestication
Another concept that is occasionally misunderstood is that of “domesti-
cation.” Although they are often used interchangeably, the terms cultiva-
tion and domestication refer to two very different processes, with neither
of them necessarily depending on the other. In other words, it is possible to
cultivate non-domesticated plants (or husband wild animals), while it is also
conceivable to have domesticated plants or animals without raising them in
a formal cultivation (agricultural) system. The former case is a familiar one:
it happens, for instance, when people plant wild flowers in their gardens or
when zoos breed lions and giraffes. However, this situation may also occur
among hunter-gatherers. Malaysian negritos, for instance, deliberately or
accidentally disperse in the vicinity of their camp sites the seeds of highly
valued fruit trees found in the forest (Rambo 1980: III-37; Schebesta 1928:
83). The resulting seedlings and trees almost certainly benefit from a variety
of ecological conditions that are peculiar to camp site locations and are
related to human activities. In addition, these trees become personal proper-
ties of individuals who watch over and protect them. It is possible to say,
therefore, that the Semang engage in a simple form of silviculture by raising
wild fruit trees. Similarly, Australian aborigines used to use several species
of wild tobacco (Nicotiana) that are native to Australia (Latz 1974). They
collected the plants and often brought them home for consumption in the
camp. In this way, the seeds were dispersed in and around camp sites, includ-
ing caves that were sometimes used as temporary habitation shelters. The
nutrient-rich, moist soils and shady location of such caves often led to the
growth of small but dense and vigorous stands of tobacco plants. Today,
the growth of tobacco in rock shelters and in the mouth of caves in central
Australia is usually a good sign that these sites were utilized prehistorically
by aborigines (personal observation). Again, wild plants of value to human
populations grow here under environmental conditions set by humans. Per-
haps even more poignant is the case of several species of cultivated plants
(“cultivars”) which were widely raised by agricultural groups of North
American Indians and which were important in their subsistence systems but
were never domesticated (e.g., Chenopodium bushianum Allen [lambs-
quarters] and Phalaris caroliniania Walt [maygrass]— Ford 1981: 10).
It is somewhat more difficult to think of examples of the opposite
case, the presence of domesticates without cultivation. Although such
situations are considerably rarer, they do exist. The most striking instance
is perhaps the domestication of the dog which appears in several parts of
the world definitely in the context of hunting-and-gathering societies (Olsen
and Olsen 1977). Another, and perhaps even more intriguing, example
may be seen in the evolution of weeds. At least some of the plants classified
as weeds clearly evolved as distinct new species in response to human habitat
manipulation and through direct or indirect selective pressures exerted by
man (De Wet and Harlan 1975). Not surprisingly, many weed species do have
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
177
economic uses,4 and their propagation often depends greatly on human
activity, so that it may be difficult to draw a rigid line between cultigens
and weeds.
What, then, is the essence of domestication? Most basically, it represents
a process of genetic rather than environmental manipulation. That is, humans
interfere with the process of propagation of natural populations of plants
and animals by acting as agents of genetic selection. This is being done by
conferring some sort of reproductive advantage on individuals who have par-
ticularly desirable characteristics (e.g., large fruit size, high meat ratio, sweet-
ness, docility, features that make a plant easier to harvest, and so on). In
principle, the process of domestication is not all that different from genetic
change th^t occurs through natural selection except that an important selective
agent here is man. The fundamental similarity with natural selection is indi-
cated by the fact that, with sufficient time, artifically selected (domesticated)
populations may vary from their ancestral populations to such a degree that
they will not be able to interbreed with them successfully and must, there-
fore, be classified as new species. Most often, domestication and cultivation
do go hand-in-hand. In these cases, domestication may progress to a point
where the domesticated species (“domesticate”) cannot survive outside the
special environmental conditions maintained for its cultivation by man.
3. The Ecology of Domestication and Early Agriculture in Southeast Asia
I have said above that the process of cultivation entails human manipula-
tion of natural environments, and that the process of domestication entails
human manipulation of the gene pool of natural populations. The genetic
make-up of natural populations of plants and animals itself is, of course,
at least partially determined by environmental conditions. It follows, there-
fore, that an ecological appraisal of native environments, and of potential
cultivars and domesticates found in them, is essential to an understanding
of prehistoric domestication and the development of agriculture.
a) The Natural Ecology of the Indo-Pacific Region
Southeast Asia and the islands of the Western Pacific fall entirely within
a broad environmental zone of the world referred to as “tropics.” It is diffi-
cult to make generally valid statements about tropical environments since
they are extremely diverse as well as complex. In addition, a large portion
of the area under consideration here consists of islands of varying size.
A study in West Bengal, India, showed that of 158 weed species collected in rice
fields, 124 are of some kind of economic importance (Datta and Banerjee 1978)!
Anthropos 78.1983
12
178
Karl Leopold Hutterer
Anthropos 78.1983
Islands maintain a range of ecological conditions of their own which depend
on island size, topography, distance from a continental land mass, and so
forth (MacArthur and Wilson 1967). Nevertheless, for the purpose on hand,
it is defensible to divide tropical environments into two very broad cate-
gories: humid tropical environments and seasonally dry tropical environ-
ments (Barrau 1965). It is important, however, to keep in mind that there
is in reality a continuous range of variability from one extreme to the other
and that there is much variability even within each major division.
Climatically, the humid tropics can be somewhat simplistically char-
acterized as a region where temperatures are consistently high and where the
amount of rainfall exceeds evaporation throughout the year or, even more
roughly, where average monthly rainfall is not less than 100 mm. for any
month of the year. The Solomon Islands, the New Hebrides, New Ireland,
New Britain, much of New Guinea, much of Celebes, Borneo, western Java,
Sumatra, the Malay Peninsula, the eastern part of the Philippines, Mindanao,
and major portions of the coastal fringe of mainland Southeast Asia meet
this condition (see Fig. 1). The major natural vegetation type of the humid
tropics is the evergreen rain forest. It typically consists of a very tall and
extremely lush vegetation, exceedingly rich in species which, however, are
often highly dispersed.
Major vegetational formations in the Southeast Asian region.
(Note: Delineating the boundaries of vegetational formations involves, to some extent,
arbitrary decisions on a variety of definitional matters in tropical ecology. The present
map is compiled from several sources, including Barrau [1965], Flenley [1979], and
Walter et al. [1975]).
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
179
The very lushness of this vegetation is somewhat deceptive from the
point of view of the human forager. Rain forests have generally little vegeta-
tion at ground level. Most of the potential plant food occurs high above the
ground in the canopy of tall trees and much of it is, in addition, poisonous
to humans. Species richness and the high degree of dispersion usually force
human foragers to keep track of a large variety of resources that are thinly
and unevenly distributed. In the absence of major seasonal environmental
stress, most rain forest plants also engage in relatively little energy storage in
reproductive organs (palms are among the exceptions) such as storage of
starch and fats in seeds and nuts, or storage of carbohydrates in under-
ground tubers and rhizomes. These environments are, therefore, often
deficient in carbohydrate plant foods for human occupants and have been
described as “green deserts.” By comparison, animal protein is more easily
available, although game animals are also usually not present in huge numbers
and rarely in herd-like groups (exceptions are found primarily in the New
World tropics). Nevertheless, a variety of herbivores are able to utilize plant
energy available throughout the tall forest structure (from the forest floor to
the top canopy) and to break down specific organic compounds found in
plants that are poisonous to humans. These animals, in turn, can then be
“harvested” by hunters.5 Although there are still some questions about this,
it appears that it is the scarcity of carbohydrates rather than protein that
represents a major limiting factor for low-density human foraging popula-
tions in rain forests (Hutterer 19826; 132-149).
Thus, rain forests (in general) do not represent rich environments for
human populations. They have one positive aspect, however, in that the
productivity of many of the rain forest plants is relatively easily manipulated.
Many of these plants can reproduce vegetatively, that is, they can produce
new plants from cuttings and suckers. This makes it relatively easy to inter-
fere with the distribution of these plants by concentrating them in favorable
locations and by transferring them to places to which humans have easier
and more regular access. Vegetative reproduction also makes it relatively
easy to “fix” aspects of genetic (and phenotypic) variation by raising a popu-
lation, under human protection and encouragement, that is in reality a clone
of a single individual that carried the desired characteristic. At the same
time, given the extremely crowded conditions of rain forests, it is not sur-
prising that many of the plants occurring naturally in these environments
are limited most strongly by competition from other plant species. They
may react, therefore, with a very strong increase in productivity, if this com-
Many human groups have, of course, developed techniques that enable them to
extract poisonous compounds from otherwise nutritious food plan. This fact does not
affect the basic argument developed here.
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Karl Leopold Hutterer
Anthropos 78.1983
petition is suppressed to some extent through human interference (e.g.,
reducing the shade by cutting trees, pulling up competitors, etc.).
In all, it can be said, then, that minor manipulation of rain forest
environments by human occupants is feasible, in fact relatively easy, and has
the potential of increasing within limits the productivity of carbohydrate
plant foods. Major environmental modifications, on the other hand, are far
more difficult to achieve and are possible only with a relatively highly
developed technology. While some forest clearance was undoubtedly accom-
plished prehistorically with stone axes, this must have been a very slow and
highly labor intensive process. Since standing rain forests are not amenable
to being burned, effective clearing requires the use of metal tools to cut the
trees.
Seasonally dry tropical environments (see Fig. 1) contrast in many ways
with the humid tropics. Climatically, they are characterized by one or two
dry seasons per year, that is, periods of varying lengths during which evapora-
tion exceeds the amount of moisture derived from rain. These periods con-
stitute, therefore, seasonally occurring droughts when plant growth is slowed
or halted. Yearly average temperature is still very high in the seasonal tropics,
although daily and seasonal fluctuations tend to be considerably more
pronounced than in the humid zone. It is the total amount of rainfall, how-
ever, and its distribution throughout the year, that constitutes the most im-
portant variable distinguishing the two major categories of tropical environ-
ments.
The native vegetation of the seasonal tropics varies with the rainfall
patterns. In situations where the seasonal drought is short (less than three
months), the typical vegetation consists of forests which are still very similar
to the evergreen forests of the humid zone. As length and severity of the
drought period increase, however, there is a correlated reduction in the
height of the forest, in its density, and in its species richness. At the same
time, there is an increasing tendency for the various species of trees, shrubs,
and herbs to synchronize their reproductive activities in response to the
drought conditions. Vegetational communities of the seasonal tropics are
not only much less rich in species, but tend also to have a great deal more
clustering of individuals of the same species. When the drought season
exceeds about six to eight months in length, the forest breaks up altogether,
and is gradually replaced by tree savanna, bush savanna, grass savanna,
scrub savanna, and eventually desert.
Excluding conditions of extreme deserts, seasonally dry tropical en-
vironments provide as a rule relatively more plant food for human consump-
tion than to do rain forests. Most plants go through a burst of rapid produc-
tion during the rainy period. Toward the end of that season, many of them
accumulate energy stores in the form of starches and fats in seeds, nuts, and
underground organs. These energy reserves allow the plants to react to the
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
181
first rains after the dry season with a new spurt of activity.6 These carbo-
hydrate-rich plant tissues are, of course, a major focus for human collectors.
One important point has to be kept in mind, however; unlike the humid
tropics, these plant foods are for the most part available on a highly restricted
seasonal basis only. In order to be maximally useful in terms of food supplies
throughout the year, they require extensive management in the form of
concentrated and coordinated harvest activities during brief periods and
subsequent storage. Both are aspects of certain kinds of agriculture and may
be considered pre-adaptations for cultivation.
There is one other element that is of great importance: most seasonal
tropical environments are very easily modified on a large scale through a
rather simple tool: fire.7 This simple device makes it possible not only
to clear dry forests and savannas with relative ease but also to clear very
large areas. Finally, it is also noteworthy that the soils of the seasonal
tropics are often highly fertile and can be very productive if they are supplied
with a sufficient amount of water.
b) The Ecology of Domestication
By comparison with temperate zones, the tropics are enormously rich
in species of plants and animals. This species richness means that tropical
environments contain a correspondingly larger number of potential domesti-
cates as well (Barrau 1974). Indeed, a large variety of plants from all major
tropical areas of the world have been domesticated, although relatively few
of them are widely known by virtue of their having become important
staples in our world food economy. Most of these domesticates are, of
course, well known to tropical peoples themselves as well as to academic
specialists. But there are also a number of domesticated plants that have
been replaced during the last few hundred years in local economies by intro-
duced economic plants and have consequently been effectively forgotten. As
many as 100 and more species of useful plants have been reported to occur
in swidden fields (Conklin 1957: 75-87; Kunstadter 1978: 133). The majority
There are some broad ecological tendencies in reproductive strategies of her-
baceous plants noted by Harris (1973: 397): vegetative reproduction from underground
organs (tubers, rhizomes, etc.) is most common in seasonal tropical environments with
short dry seasons, while reproduction from small, hard-shelled, energy-rich seeds predomi-
nates in semi-arid to arid environments. However, it should be noted that representatives
of each reproductive strategy are found in the native floras of all major types of tropical
environments from humid to arid.
The use and management of fire was acquired early in human evolution, at
least on the Homo erectus stage, about one to two million years ago. This does not
mean, of course, that hominids at that time already used fire to clear large tracts of
savanna but it does raise the possibility that this was done quite early in prehistory.
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Anthropos 78.1983
of these are cultivated, but a number of others are not and must be con-
sidered weeds or commensals. It is possible, however, that at least some of
the latter represent minor indigenous domesticates that lost their economic
importance after the introduction of new cultivars from Africa and partic-
ularly the New World beginning primarily in the late fifteenth century.8
In principle, each phytogeographic region is inhabited by a distinctive
and unique set of plants which, being separated from other phytogeographic
regions by ancient and major environmental barriers (oceans, high mountain
ranges, etc.), share a common evolutionary history. Within such regions,
minor environmental barriers exist in the form of geographical variations in
a series of important variables such as temperature, rainfall, soil, drainage,
and so forth. These minor environmental barriers constitute important selec-
tive factors in the evolution of plants within a region and account for a
differential distribution of plant species, genera, and families. While some
plant families or genera have remained, or become, restricted to narrow
sets of environmental conditions, others have evolved series of related
species that have colonized the total range of environmental zones. In con-
sequence, each phytogeographic region (e.g., North America, South America,
Malaysia, etc.) confronts human occupants with a radically different set of
raw materials which they can manipulate in the course of domestication and
cultivation. To a lesser degree, each environmental zone within a region
offers a different set of resources as potential domesticates and cultigens as
well. For each tropical region, this means that there are in principle at least
two rather distinctive suites of plants, one adapted to humid conditions in
the equatorial region, the other to seasonally dry conditions in the outer
tropics.
For a variety of reasons, some of which will become clearer in the
following discussion, it is often very difficult to reconstruct the history of
domestication of a particular plant, or even to identify its wild ancestor
with certainty.9 A partial list of staple crops domesticated in Southeast
Asia and the western Pacific would include the following, tentatively separated
into two groups according to broad adaptation of assumed wild ancestors:
(a) plants domesticated in the humid tropics (in alphabetical order); aroid
tuber (Amorphophallus campanulatus), banana (Musa spp.), Job’s tears
(Coix lachrima-jobi), rice (Oryza sativa) (?), sago (Metroxylon sagu), taro
(Colocasia spp., Alocasia spp., Cyrtosperma chamissonis); (b) plants domesti-
Cases in point may be the root crop Pueraria (Pueraria lobata) which was dis-
covered as a domesticate in Highland New Guinea in the 1960s (Watson 1964 and 1968)
and the cereal Job’s tears (Coix lachrima-jobi) which is found as a minor cultigen or
volunteer throughout much of South and Southeast Asia (Arora 1977; Burkill 1966).
9 The complexity of the domestication history of a tropical crop is well illustrated
by the case of maize, probably the archaeologically and genetically best-studied tropical
domesticate (Brown 1974; Flannery 1973).
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
183
cated in the seasonal tropics: arrowroot (Tacca leontopetaloid.es), millet (Se-
taria itálica) (?),10 Pueraria (Pueraria lobata), rice (Oryza sativa) (?), sugar
cane (Saccharum officinarum), yam (Dioscorea alata, D. escalenta). Besides
these species which may be considered as staples since they supply starches
and sugars, there are also many species of vegetables, spices, as well as fruits
and nuts. All of these played, and continue to play today, important roles.
It is not possible in the present context to attempt to give a complete
list of all these domesticates. Nor is it possible at present to characterize
many of these plants as domesticates of the humid or dry tropical zone.
Generally, among the vegetables are amaranths (Amaranthus spp.), eggplant
(Solanum melongena), and many pulses (beans). Most of the world’s im-
portant spices originated in the Southeast Asian region. Among them are
black pepper [Piper nigrum), cardamom (Elettaria cardamomum), clove
(Syzygium aromaticum), ginger root (Zingiber officinale), nutmeg (Myristi-
ca fragrans), and turmeric (Curcuma longa). Tree crops play a very important,
and possibly quite early, role among the domesticates of this region. Partic-
ularly noteworthy are: breadfruit (Artocarpus communis), many species of
citrus (Citrus spp.), coconut palm (Cocos nucífera), durian (Durio zibethinus),
jackfruit (Artocarpus integrifolia), mango (Mangifera indica), rambutan
(Nephelium lappaceum). In addition, there are numerous plants that are
domesticated for their narcotic properties, such as the betel nut (Areca ca-
techu), the betel leaf (Piper betle), and for their fibers, such as cordyline
(Cordyline fructicosa) and manila hemp (Musa textilis).
Among the important effects of genetic changes brought about through
domestication are not only morphological changes but also changes in the
general ecological adaptation of plants and animals. Such changes may
entail development of a tolerance for a wider range of habitat conditions,
and consequently a dispersal of the species beyond its natural range, or
(more commonly) a new adaptation to habitat conditions that differ radical-
ly from those of the wild ancestor. In most cases, the new adaptations are
to habitats with characteristics that can be more easily managed or maintained
artificially than those of the plant’s native habitats. This transfer of crops
into new habitats, often far removed from the native environments of the
wild ancestors, can make it quite difficult to trace the history of domestica-
10 Plant geographers, botanists, and culture historians have pointed to millet
(Setaria italica) as an important early cultigen in Southeast Asia, probably preceding rice
as a major staple crop (e.g., Barrau 1974; Bellwood 1980; Burkill 1966; Chesnov 1973;
Li 1970). The cereal is widely distributed in the region today, and there seems to
be good evidence in a number of cases of its having been displaced as an important staple
by rice within historic times. In spite of this, however, the empirical case for its great
antiquity in Southeast Asia is still largely circumstantial. Most authorities assume that the
cereal was first domesticated in eastern or central Asia and brought from there to South-
east Asia, possibly at a very early time. Fogg (1978) has recently argued for its domestica-
tion in Southeast Asia.
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tion. The problem is aggravated by the fact that, for the great majority of
Southeast Asian domesticates, we lack sufficient palaeobotanical informa-
tion to trace prehistoric distributions as well as sequences of morphological
changes, and data are presently inadequate to establish secure genetic rela-
tionships between wild, weedy, and cultivated forms. For all these reasons,
it is often difficult to identify wild ancestors with confidence and to recon-
struct the conditions under which the first steps of domestication would
have taken place. In fact, as the following section will show, the roots of
the problem may lie a good deal deeper than with crop dispersals and relative
lack of empirical evidence. In any event, it is important to stress the hypo-
thetical nature of the above list.
It should also be pointed out here that domestication is not a completed
process but continues today in several forms and in several different con-
texts. Its most visible form is the highly accelerated, deliberate, and scientific
breeding of new varieties of usually long-established domesticates (e.g,, in
the International Rice Research Institute in the Philippines).11 However, a
certain amount of genetic change and further selection continues to occur also
in farmers’ fields where often highly domesticated plants cross with weedy
varieties and species. Rice is well known fur its tendency to be accompanied
by weed varieties and for crossing with these weeds (Harlan 1975; 95). Such
crosses do provide a source for genetic change and selection. A low level of
cultural selection probably continues to occur also with regard to a variety
of useful plants that are extensively consumed and often cultivated but can
at present not be said with certainty to be domesticated. Examples of these
are, to name just a few, such fruits as rambutan (Nephelium mutabile) and
mangosteen (Garcinia mangostana), the narcotic betel nut (Areca catechu),
and a number of spices such as cardamom (Elettaria cardamomum) and
nutmeg (Myristica fragrans) (Vavilov 1950: 30-31). Finally, there are ethno-
graphic reports about contemporary tribal peoples deliberately bringing
seeds of valued forest plants into their garden plots for planting and, pre-
sumably, effecting some amount of genetic selection in the process (Rambo
1979: 63).
c) The Ecology of Cultivation
There are two major cultivation systems in Southeast Asia (and tropical
areas in general) involving the use of wet and dry fields respectively. Although
there is no empirical proof at this time, ecological considerations indicate
that these two systems reflect independent agricultural developments in the
two broad environmental categories of the tropics: humid and seasonally
dry. 11
11 There is one significant difference between pre-industrial domestication and
modem plant breeding. Pre-industrial domesticators select from genetic variation that
is provided and maintained by natural processes, while modem breeders often artificially
induce mutations.
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
185
Wet field cultivation represents a system that quite likely originated in
the humid tropics. It involves the raising of humid tropical crops such as
rice and taro in swampy or inundated habitats. It probably has its origin in
the manipulation of natural plant communities in swamps and flood plains.
Very fundamental ways of manipulating these environments would involve
attempts to regulate the water level by draining water, by retaining it through
bunds, by heaping soil up to raise it above the water level, or by artificially
channelling additional water into the field. All these options entail some
labor investment in the engineering of more or less permanent modifications
of the landscape. This in itself would tend to promote repeated use of such
fields. In addition, agricultural systems that involve temporary or continuous
inundation of the fields generally derive a major portion of their nutrients
from minerals and organic materials that are dissolved and suspended in the
water that flows into the plots. Wet field systems are, therefore, able to
maintain fertility over very long periods and are, consequently, in most
cases permanent field systems.
Artificial irrigation makes it possible to expand these systems into en-
vironmental zones where they would otherwise not be found. Conversely,
artificial drainage permits the transformation of swamp environments into
dry land habitats. In other words, canalization makes it possible to establish
in the seasonal tropics habitats that are typical of the humid tropics and vice
versa. Through this creation of artificial habitats it becomes possible to raise
crops outside their natural range, in many cases without necessitating major
changes in the ecological adaptation of the crops themselves.12
Cultivation in dry fields represents a system that is originally adapted to
the dry tropics and involves the raising of seasonal tropical crops such as
yam and millet.13 Before a plot can be planted, it has to be cleared of its
natural vegetation which is primarily accomplished through burning, al-
though it usually involves also some cutting and felling of larger vegetation
elements. The burning not only disposes of unwanted natural vegetation but
also releases from it a considerable amount of mineral nutrients which are
often essential for the productivity of the field. However, this nutrient
12 A word of caution is advised here. While I believe that the argument presented
here is correct in its basic outline, it is admittedly highly simplified. Thus, swamps exist
also in relatively dry tropical environments, and even deserts, on a seasonal basis. At the
same time, there is no assurance that domesticated rice, for instance, derives from an
ancestor adapted to the humid tropics. It is conceivable, therefore, that wet field culti-
vation developed in dry tropical environments as well and that it went hand in hand with
the domestication of rice there.
13 The idea is not new that cultivation in dry fields and inundated fields does not
so much present a sequence of agricultural evolution but rather two separate developments
under different ecological conditions. It was suggested by Bartlett (1962) who, however,
proposed the opposite ecological rationale of the one allowed here: he felt that cultiva-
tion in flooded fields originated in seasonally dry environments, while dry field cultiva-
tion originated in the humid tropics.
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Karl Leopold Hutterer
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supply is soon exhausted both through being taken up by the cultivated
crop and through leaching, which occurs at an accelerated rate in the cleared
plot.
Since there are very few natural processes that can replenish nutrients
in swidden fields at a rate that is even remotely similar to that of the nutrient
drain, these fields decline rapidly in fertility after the first few crops have
been harvested. In addition, competition by non-cultivated plants (weeds)
is suppressed for a short period through the burning but becomes usually a
problem one or two years after initial clearing. Old fields are, therefore,
abandoned and new fields are cleared. With time, the abandoned plots will
return to a climax vegetation.14 Thus, the shifting of plots is an important
aspect of dry field cultivation in the tropics although it is not entirely
synonymous with it. In many parts of Southeast Asia where environmental
conditions make the construction and maintenance of wet fields unreasonably
costly if not impossible, but where there is insufficient land available for an
“integral” shifting cultivation (Conklin 1957; 3) system, dry field cultivation
in essentially permanent plots is usually found with short fallow periods. In
these cases, the fallow fields return only to a grass vegetation which, however,
is still cleared at the end of the fallow period with the help of fire. Such
systems are often incorrectly described as “shifting cultivation.” A case in
point are many of the Philippine kaingin systems of cultivation (Olofson
1980).
In principle, dry field cultivation is possible also in the humid tropics.
However, as pointed out above, the climax vegetation of the humid tropics,
the evergreen rain forest, is a formidable vegetation type which is very diffi-
cult to clear with non-industrial technologies. It is not susceptible to fire
unless it is first cut and left to dry. This, I have said, is possible with stone
axes but becomes feasible on a larger scale only with the availability of metal
tools. It must, therefore, be assumed that the expansion of dry field cultiva-
tion techniques into rain forest areas is a relatively late prehistoric event.
Significantly, swidden plots in rain forests in almost all cases tend to be
quite small.
Following views expressed by Geertz (1963), many investigators have
pointed out that systems of swidden cultivation, while involving an inter-
ference with “natural” environments, replace native communities with
cultivated communities that are structurally similar (e.g., Harris 1969: 6)
and thereby minimize the disturbance by the human cultivator. While there
is some truth to this, the similarity should not be overestimated. Clearly, the
14 Quite commonly, ethnographic swidden cultivators reuse areas before they have
completed the full series of natural succession, that is, areas that are covered by secondary
rather than primary forest. In many cases, the reason may not so much be insufficient
land—and therefore an accelerated swidden cycle—but a human tendency to avoid the
larger amount of labor involved in clearing primary forests.
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
187
magnitude of the disturbance depends largely on the size of the clearing.
However, as measured by Rambo (1980: III-12-16), even very small clearings
entail significant changes in air and soil temperatures, relative humidity and
air movement and, consequently, in potential evap©transpiration ratio. The
latter is an extremely important variable determining tropical life conditions
(Hutterer 19826: 5). On this basis, it can be said, then, that the expansion
of dry field cultivation into the rain forest through slash-and-bum technology
represents the artificial creation of micro-habitats with climatic conditions
that resemble those found in the drier tropical zones. This makes it possible
to grow seasonal tropical crops in the humid tropics.
Agricultural ecologists often speak about a third type of cultivation
system in Southeast Asia and Oceania: the house garden (Terra 1954 and
1958). It involves the use of small plots adjacent to houses. They are utilized
on a relatively permanent basis, that is, continuously at least for the period
of time during which the house stands and is inhabited. House gardens differ
significantly and in several respects from either dry field or wet field cultiva-
tion. In terms of crops, the emphasis in gardens is on supplemental food
sources, fruit trees, vegetables, spices, and some industrial materials (fibers),
while swidden fields and pond fields are used primarily for the production
of staples. The long-range maintenance of fertility in house gardens has to do
in part with the complex organization and structure of the cultivated vegeta-
tion in these systems, and in part with the fact that these plots usually are
supplied with extra nutrients by their cultivators, mostly in the form of
organic debris and waste products from the household.
The selection of crops found in house gardens as well as the interactions
between these systems and their cultivators make it seem likely that these
cultivation systems have evolved from vegetational complexes (and their
interaction with human groups) that were probably found associated with
refuse areas surrounding camp sites of foraging populations (cf. Anderson
1954; 120-130). While the one-time notions about the “discovery” of plant
propagation in connection with these refuse heaps strikes us today as overly
simplistic, there is no doubt that they do represent a very special kind of
human interaction with the environment. If this is so, it seems likely that
house gardens may represent extremely early, and distinctive, forms of
cultivation in the tropics.
4. Prehistoric Agriculture in the Indo-Pacific Area — The Data
Before reviewing the presently available archaeological data bearing
on prehistoric domestication and the beginning of agriculture in Southeast
Asia and the western Pacific, it is perhaps good to review briefly the main
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points made above. First, it has been said that domestication and cultivation
represent two different processes of human manipulation of nature that need
not necessarily go hand in hand, although they very often do. Second, both
domestication and cultivation are continuous processes. It is, therefore,
intrinsically impossible to designate any point as the “first beginning” or
“first occurrence” of domestication or agriculture except on an arbritrary
basis. It is, however, possible to observe specific events in that process with
reasonable accuracy archaeologically. Third, there are two groups of domesti-
cates, one deriving from ancestors adapted to the humid tropics, the other
deriving from ancestors adapted to the seasonal tropics. Genetic changes
accomplished through domestication have made it possible, in part, to grow
many of these crops outside their native ranges. Fourth, there are two major
systems of cultivation, in wet fields and dry fields, which were developed in
the humid and seasonally dry tropics respectively. Certain technological
innovations made it possible to transfer these cultivation systems to environ-
mental zones other than those where they were originally developed. This
establishment and maintenance of artificial humid and dry tropical micro-
environments generated further possibilities to grow crops outside their
natural range. The introduction and spread of such technological innovations
may be among the events in the development of cultivation systems that can
be observed archaeologically. Finally, house gardens may represent a third
and independent cultivation system.
It is necessary to pause here for a moment to consider the potential
complexity of the interaction of processes involved in the evolution of
agriculture. The situation is never static. Human interaction with ecosystems
in the form of habitat modification and manipulation of gene pools does not
stop with the transfer of crops and habitats into new environmental regions
but continues there and is likely to lead to further significant changes and
innovations. As a result, there maybe repeated transfers of crops and habitats
which need not all be in the same direction but may, and very often probably
do, involve a return of highly modified forms back to an ancestral region.
As crops and habitats get shifted around, there is a continuing opportunity
for feral and weedy varieties of crops to establish themselves. Such local
weed populations constitute additional sources of genetic variability that
may contribute to the further development of domesticates through inter-
breeding and backcrossing. Because of human communication and exchange,
often over long distances, the increasing number of populations of a single
crop, existing in different areas and under different environmental condi-
tions, represent an ever increasing genetic pool for further manipulation. A
modem extreme can be seen in the case of rice; in 1964 it was estimated
that the International Rice Research Institute in the Philippines had collected
10,000 races of rice and was using them in breeding experiments to create
new varieties (Chang 1964; 49). Recently, it was stated that about 120,000
races of rice are thought to exist world wide and that the IRRI is attempting
to collect them all for its breeding program by 1985 (Lewin 1982).
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
189
Given the complexity of this scenario, it should not be surprising that
it is often exceedingly difficult to trace the history of particular crops and
cultivation systems. Harlan (1971) has suggested that it may, in effect, be
impossible to pinpoint specific geographical centers of origin for tropical
crops because most of them were domesticated not in a narrow area but in a
broad zone of interaction. However, the basic model presented above should
apply, at least in principle, to all climatic regions of the world, even though
certain aspects may be somewhat more extreme in the tropics than else-
where. Indeed, Harlan has recently questioned whether the apparent existence
of centers of domestication for temperate region crops may not, at least in
part, be an artifact of incomplete and biased evidence (Harlan 1975: 56).
In any event, it is quite clear that the empirical verification of the model
sketched here demands a very large body of highly reliable data from a
variety of fields, including archaeology. As the following review will show,
Southeast Asian archaeology does not, at present, have such a body of
data.15 What we do have are just a very few glimpses, of low resolution and
low reliability. Nevertheless, it is worthwhile to review the material on hand
very briefly.
It is, unfortunately, not possible here to consider in detail every scrap
of archaeological evidence bearing on the domestication of Southeast Asian
and Pacific crops. It would be particularly desirable to assess the bearing of
archaeological evidence against arguments put forward by plant geneticists
and plant geographers. Since there is insufficient space to do so here, inter-
ested readers are advised to consult the relevant literature in that regard.
The present paper is primarily concerned with ecological arguments and I
will limit myself, therefore, to evaluate the more important cases of archaeol-
ogical evidence and interpretations in the framework of these arguments.
a) Evidence for Domestication
There are several reasons for the fact that archaeological evidence for
the history of domestication and cultivation of Southeast Asian and Pacific
crops is still very rare and spotty: a rather small number of archaeological
excavations; a largely erroneous but long-held belief that botanical remains
do not survive in tropical soils which has discouraged the application of
modem techniques to recover such remains in the process of excavations;
and a strong emphasis on the excavation of cave sites which, for a variety of
reasons, are much less likely to contain domesticated, and particularly
cultivated, plant materials than most open sites.
15 This is not to say that evidence regarding botanical systematics, plant geography,
ethnobotany, ecology, genetics, and cytogenetics is generally adequate and satisfactory.
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Fruits, vegetables, condiments, stimulants, medicines. — Perhaps the most widely
known, and most controversial, group of archaeological plant finds is that
from the Spirit Cave site (Fig. 2) in northwestern Thailand. There, Chester
Gorman excavated in 1966 evidence of the occupation of this small cave by
hunters and collectors, dating from about 9,500 to 5,500 B.C. (Gorman
1970). This excavation yielded for the first time a significant number of
preserved plant remains, evidently left by the prehistoric inhabitants of the
site. Among them are a number of tree crops such as candle nut (Aleurites),
canarium nut (Canarium), butter nut (Madhuca), almond (Prunus), termina-
lia nut (Terminalia), and a chestnut-like nut (Castanopsis); several vegetables,
among them cucumber (Cucumis), bottle gourd (Lagenaria), water chestnut
(Trapa), possibly pea (Pisum), bean (Phaseolus) or soy bean (Glycine), and
broad bean (Vida or Phaseolus)', as well as mild narcotics or condiments
such as betel nut (Areca) and betel leaf (Piper). A second excavation at
Spirit Cave in 1973/74 added to this list bamboo, hackberry (Celtis), caster
oil (Ricinus); as well as bitter melon (Momordica), lotus (Nelumbium),
and melon (Trichosanthes) or gourd (Luffa) (Yen 1977). Excavations at two
other caves in the same general region, Banyan Valley Cave and Tham Pa
Chan added mango (Mangifera) and rice (Oryza) (Yen 1977). The occupa-
tion of Banyan Valley Cave is tentatively dated from about 3,500 B.C. to
A.D. 770; that of Tham Pa Chan from about 5,500 B.C. to 3,500 B.C.
Fig. 2
Map of archaeological sites and pollen core sites mentioned in the text
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
191
The Spirit Cave finds created at first a good deal of excitement, as there
seemed to be some reason to believe that some of the remains were of
domesticated plants, or at least of plants that were well along the path of
domestication (Gorman 1969; Solheim 1969: 131 and 1972: 364). In that
case, they would have been among the earliest instances of domestication
known at that time. However, the ethnobotanist Douglas Yen, who originally
identified the archaeological plant material and subsequently carried out
extensive fieldwork in northwestern Thailand, has firmly stated that there
is at this time no unequivocal evidence for domestication among these finds
(Yen 1977). Most of the tree crops are found wild today in primary and
secondary forests in the area. The vegetables are today cultivated in swidden
plots and house gardens in connection with a variety of other staples. Some
of them have also feral or wild forms in the area. It is, of course, possible
that some of the species found in the archaeological assemblage reflect
plant/man interactions of the sort discussed earlier in this paper; the dis-
persal of seeds and cuttings of preferred food plants in the vicinity of camp
sites and the eventual development of variants that thrived particularly in
the disturbed and enriched habitats typical of such locations. In that case,
we would be certainly dealing with plants that cannot simply be classified as
wild. Unfortunately, the presently available evidence is insufficient to
identify such a situation.
A series of caves in eastern Timor, particularly Lie Siri and Uai Bobo
1 and 2 (Fig. 2), excavated by Ian Glover in 1966/67, yielded an archaeolog-
ical plant assemblage that overlaps partially with that from Thailand (Glover
1971, 1977, and 1979). The occupation of the sites spans at least 12,000
years from about 12,000 B.C. to the time of Christ or later. In the levels
predating 3,000 B.C., candle nut (Aleurites), hackberry (Celtis), betel nut
(Areca), pepper/betel (Piper), and Job’s tears (Coix) were recovered, with
hackberry being the most common find. In levels postdating 3,000 B.C.,
there is no hackberry but a number of other plants appear, among them the
Polynesian chestnut (Inocarpus), bamboo (Bambusa), bottlegouid (Lagenaria),
and possibly foxtail millet (Setaria). Finally, in the top levels of these sites,
several introduced New World crops occur such as peanuts (Arachis), sour-
sop (Annona), and maize (Zea) together with Southeast Asian—or generally
Asian—natives, including coconut (Cocos), mangosteen (Garcinia), almond
(Prunus), and a cucurbit. With the exception of the introduced species, there
is again no satisfactory evidence of the status of domestication of these
plants. As Glover (1979: 18) points out, the plant assemblages from Thai-
land and Timor share only a few species, but there is a good deal of similarity
between them in terms of the emphasis on fruit trees, stimulants, vegetables,
and medicinal or poisonous plants. At the same time, there are virtually
no staples in either of the assemblages indicating that they give an incomplete
picture of the total subsistence contribution from plants.
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Anthropos 78.1983
More recently, Ian Glover recovered from Ulu Leang cave in southern
Sulawesi (Fig. 2) a considerable amount of prehistoric plant materials
(Glover 1976, 1977, 1978, 1979). Occupation of this site dates from about
9,000 to 1,500 B.C, Only a partial and tentative identification of the plant
remains is available at present. The excavator has said that there is less
emphasis on tree fruits and stimulants in the Ulu Leang finds but that there
are more grasses, herbs, and shrubs (Glover 1979: 20). Perhaps of more
interest is the presence of abundant remains of rice which have evidently
been clearly identified as domesticated (Oryza sativa). The rice grains were
associated with a hearth which, however, is so far not reliably dated. In any
event, this brings us to the question of rice.
Rice. — Plant geneticists and plant geographers have contributed many and
diverse arguments concerning the domestication of rice, the probable wild
ancestry of the domesticated species, and the likely geographic region or
zone of domestication of this important staple (e.g., Angladette 1966;
Chang 1964 and 1976; Grist 1974; Oka 1975; Vishnu-Mittre 1975; Whyte
1977). These cannot be reviewed here. It is important, however, to remind
the reader that the major wild form of rice in Asia, Orzya perennis, is a
perennial adapted to swampy rain forest habitats. A major point in the
debate revolves around the question whether the domesticated annual
species O. sativa evolved directly from O. perennis, or whether it derived
from an intermediate wild ancestor, possibly an annual that had itself
evolved from O. perennis with an adaptation to a seasonally dry environ-
ment.
If the complex scenario of plant domestication presented above resembles
even remotely what happened in history, there can be no doubt that this
question, and others, cannot be resolved on the basis of either archaeological
or botanical evidence alone. Information from a number of areas such as
phytogeography, ecology, ethnobotany, archaelogy, systematics, genetics,
and cytogenetics has to be used simultaneously. As indicated above, informa-
tion from all these areas is presently inadequate, but it is probably most
unsatisfactory in the field of archaeology. Unfortunately, in the absence of
a solid body of data, phytogeographers and plant geneticists have often
taken recourse to hopelessly outdated conjectural reconstructions of South-
east Asian prehistory to support hypothetical models of rice phylogeny and
domestication history of their own (e.g., Chang 1976; Grist 1974; Hill
1977). In any event, it is necessary to review very briefly the nature of the
archaeological evidence available to date.
Physical remains of prehistoric rice have been found in several South-
east Asian sites, but in all cases there are problems of identification, or dat-
ing, or both. The botanical identification of archaeological rice finds is com-
plicated by the fact that the systematics and taxonomy of wild, weedy, and
domesticated rices are generally still controversial. Furthermore, as indicated
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
193
earlier, Oryza exhibits enormous genetic diversity (indicating at least in
part a long history of human manipulation of the gene pool), but a surprising-
ly narrow range of morphological variation. With regard to the classification
of archaeological specimens, the problem has been further compounded by
conflating the concepts of domestication and cultivation, so that laboratory
investigations of botanical remains were expected to furnish evidence on
both aspects simultaneously. It should be clear, however, that botanical
specimens can furnish direct evidence only on the status of domestication,
not on that of cultivation.
The best known finds are probably from Non Nok Tha and Ban Chiang
in northeastern Thailand (cf. Fig. 2). The sites represent a settled agricultural
hamlet and a village respectively and have become famous for the apparently
very early presence of bronze metallurgy. Rice occurs in the basal layers of
both sites (Bayard 1970; Gorman and Charoenwongsa 1976). Unfortunately,
there are some unresolved problems concerning the dating of these sites.
Thus, the rice finds could conceivably date to as early as about 4,000 B.C.
but they could also be between 1,000 to 2,000 years younger (Bayard 1979;
Higham 1981; Higham and Kijngam 1982). More important is the fact that
botanists have characterized the finds at Non Nok Tha as “intermediate
between the wild race and the weed race” (Chang 1976: 146). No official
identifications are yet available for the Ban Chiang finds, although intensive
work is continuing on the precise botanical characterization of the rice
remains from both Non Nok Tha and Ban Chiang (Yen 1982). The already
mentioned rice finds from Banyan Valley cave in northwestern Thailand,
dating to somewhere between 3,500 B.C. and A.D. 700, have been attributed
to a wild form (Yen 1977: 588 and 1980: 142). At this time, the findings
from Thailand could fit into a variety of scenarios concerning the domestica-
tion of rice.
The rice remains found at Ulu Leang cave in Celebes are of particular
interest because they have been classified as fully domesticated (Oryza sa-
tiva) by the same investigator, T.T. Chang, who judged the finds from Thai-
land as representing intermediate and wild forms (Glover 1979: 23), It is
unfortunate, therefore, that the dating of this find is unresolved.16 If the
originally assumed date of ca. 4,000 B.C. were correct, this would represent
the oldest find of fully domesticated rice in Southeast Asia so far. One
might also attribute further significance to the fact that the site lies within,
16 Stratigraphic evidence suggested at first a date of about 6,000 B.P. However, a
C14 date on charcoal from the hearth with which the rice grains were associated indicated
a date of only about 2,000 B.P. (Glover 1979: 24). Although no final evaluation by
the excavator is available at the time of this writing, prudence suggests to accept the
more recent date until definitive evidence to the contrary is published.
Anthropos 78.1983
13
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Karl Leopold Hutterer
Anthropos 78.1983
or at the edge of, the humid tropical zone. A date of ca. 0 B.C., on the other
hand, has at present little influence on arguments concerning the history
and ecology of rice domestication.
Since many specific areas within a very large region stretching from
India to South China have at some time or other been considered as possible
“hearths” for the domestication of rice, we need to touch very briefly also
on archaeological finds of rice made elsewhere within that zone. Prehistoric
remains of rice have been recovered in a number of Indian sites. They
generally date from about 2,000 B.C. or later and at least some of them
seem to be confidently identified as domesticated (Glover 1979: 28-30;
Vishnu-Mittre 1975). There has also been a report of finds of domesticated
rice dating to before 4,500 B.C. (cited in Glover 1979: 29), but I am not
aware of any further confirmation. Physical remains of prehistoric grains of
presumably domesticated rice have also been recovered in sites of the Dong
Dau phase of the Phung Nguyen period in Vietnam with dates ranging be-
tween 1,000 and 2,000 B.C. (Davidson 1976: 84; Ha Van Tan 1980: 126).
Since very little specific detail is available on this archaeological work,
however, it is difficult to evaluate both dating and botanical identification.
Claims by Vietnamese archaeologists of rice cultivation in “early neolithic”
context (Bac-sonian) should at this time be understood as hypotheses or
expectations rather than statements based on positive evidence (Davidson
1976: 84; Ha Van Tan 1980: 119). Similarly, a number of finds of what
is said to be Oryza sativa have been reported from sites in both North and
South China (Chang 1977; Ho 1975). Not surprisingly, the oldest dates
occur in the South and are said to reach back to beyond 4,000 B.C. Again,
there is insufficient information for an independent evaluation of dating
and botanical determinations of domestication. The latter appear to be quite
secure, while there is some reason to hesitate in accepting the dates at face
value at this time.
In all, then, the presently available archaeological information is inade-
quate to reconstruct the process of domestication of rice, or even to test
hypotheses developed by plant geographers and geneticists.
Root crops, — In spite of the fact that a number of root crops are among the
important staples domesticated in the Southeast Asia—western Pacific region,
and that some of them play an essential role in the subsistence economy of
many traditional peoples of that region even today, no archaeological remains
of these crops have been found whatsoever.17 It is not possible, therefore, to
comment on the history of domestication and cultivation of these staples
from an archaeological point of view, and arguments in this regard remain
for the time being entirely in the hands of botanists and ecologists.
1 7
However, some carbonized remains of root crops have been found in Polynesia.
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
195
b) Evidence of Cultivation
Since domestication and cultivation constitute two different processes
of human manipulation of the environment which can occur independently,
the finding of domesticated plant remains does not necessarily constitute
evidence of agriculture (although such an inference is often correct), nor
does the finding of wild plant remains indicate with certainty the absence of
it. This state of affairs complicates considerably the archaeological search for
evidence bearing on the development of cultivation. For the most part, the
archaeological evidence is of an indirect nature. Even when actual cultivation
tools (e.g., hoes, digging sticks) or cultivation features (e.g., irrigation canals)
are unearthed, they are often difficult to identify and interpret by them-
selves. This should not be surprising, since cultivation systems are complex
systems that involve the interaction of a large number of physical, biological,
and cultural variables. Any one of these elements could, in a similar or
identifical form, be part of a number of different systems. Reconstruction of
prehistoric cultivation systems and cultivation practices involves, therefore,
usually multiple lines of evidence.
It was at one time believed that certain technological elements such as
polished stone axes and pottery were marks of a “neolithic” phase of cultural
development and, by implication, of plant cultivation. It is now known that
the archaeological presence of such technologies by itself has little to do
with agriculture and that both pottery and axes may be present among
hunter-gatherers, while agricultural subsistence systems can exist without
either of these elements.18 This fact, demonstrated well archaeologically,
removes from consideration in the present context a large series of finds
from Southeast Asia. Nevertheless, there are a few pieces of evidence that
do constitute indirect evidence of cultivation.
Glover believes that the appearance between 3,000 and 1,500 B.C. of
pottery, the introduction of pig, monkey, and civet cat, and a more or less
simultaneous increase in the intensity of use of the sites in eastern Timor
indicates “the arrival of some form of agriculture” (Glover 1979: 18). The
argument itself is resasonable but, as Glover himself points out, there is no
evidence for the particular form of agriculture that may have been present,
or the kinds of crops cultivated.
A somewhat similar situation exists in the case of pollen evidence for
the removal of native forest vegetation and its replacement with savanna or
grassland environments. In certain cases it can be argued that such a change
18 Examples of hunting-gathering cultures with elaborate pottery may be found in
the Jomon Period of Japan (ca. 6,000-850 B.C.; cf. Chard 1974), while archaeological
finds from Australia indicate that aboriginal populations there possessed edge-ground
stone axes by about 20,000 B.C. (White 1971). The later prehistory of Polynesia furnishes
some of the best examples of agricultural societies without pottery (Bellwood 1978).
196
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could only have been brought about through human interference with the
forest climax, that is, agricultural clearing. This is particularly true when the
change in pollen spectra is accompanied by a sudden rise in the amount of
small fragments of charcoal in the soil which presumably derive from the use
of fire in clearing the forest. While such evidence is extremely important, it
is often unable to provide specifics about agricultural systems and crop com-
plexes. Evidence of this sort exists in the form of a pollen core from Sun-
Moon Lake in central Formosa (Fig. 2) which supposedly shows a dramatic
increase in charcoal content around 9,000 B.C. and a steep increase in the
pollen of grasses and Chenopodiaeciae around 2,000 B.C. (Chang 1967,
1970; Tsukada 1967). The validity of the 9,000 B.C. date, however, has been
questioned (Gorman 1970; 103) and has not been further promoted by the
original investigators. Pollen cores from Lake Padang, actually a swamp, in
central Sumatra (Fig. 2), show an appearance and quick increase in grass
pollen starting around 2,000 B.C., and similar evidence from the Pea Sim-
sim Swamp on the Toba Plateau in north Sumatra (Fig. 2) indicates such a
change taking place as early as 5,500 B.C. (Flenley 1979: 122; Maloney
1980; Morley 1982: 181). This has, again, been attributed to human
destruction of the natural forest environment and its replacement with
a cultivated landscape. Two pollen cores from West Java, taken at Situ
Gunung and Telaga Patengan (Fig. 2) show a shift in forest vegetation around
3,000 B.C. The investigators there discount human interference as a cause,
at least in part because they consider the date too early (Van Zeist et al.
1979: 50;Morley 1982: 181).
The most striking, and most surprising, evidence comes from the Central
Highlands of New Guinea from where we have both pollen cores and excavated
agricultural features and tools. A significant number of palynological studies
have been conducted in the New Guinea highlands. Several cores indicate
forest clearance by about 3,000 B.C. followed by more or less periodic fluc-
tuations in forest cover. Among them are Lake Birip, Lake Inim, Draepi
Swamp, and Sirunki Swamp, all situated in altitudes ranging from 1,900-
2,500 m. (Flenley 1979: 124;Powell et al. 1975; Walker and Flenley 1979).
At the same time, archaeologist Jack Golson and his associates excavated at
Kuk Swamp (Fig. 2), situated in the Upper Wahgi Valley at an elavation of
about 1500 m. remains of five different systems of drainage ditches which
were constructed and abandoned during alternating periods (Golson 1977).
The greatest archaeological surprise after discovery of these drainage canals
was the extremely early date for their first construction which goes back to
about 7,000 B.C.19 Unfortunately, in spite of the multiple evidence which
19 The New Guinea evidence is particularly intriguing from the point of view of
history of science. Before European exploration of the Highlands in the early 1930s,
it was generally assumed that these forbidding mountains were essentially uninhabited.
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
197
includes also well-preserved wooden tools such as digging spades, it is un-
known what crops were cultivated in these drained swamps, and numerous
other important details remain unclear as well.
5. Discussion
a) Questions of Sequence
There are a number of traditional concerns regarding the development
of domestication and agriculture in Southeast Asia that need to be briefly
addressed in the present context. They have to do with proposed sequences
of plants or crops undergoing the process of domestication or being taken
under cultivation, and their spread from putative centers into out-lying
areas.
Traditional views of prehistoric agriculture in Southeast Asia, incor-
porating sequences of development from slash-and-bum to permanent
field systems, from dry to wet cultivation, from dibble stick to plow, and
from root crops to cereals, are almost exclusively based on culture-historical
interpretations of ethnographic data. They are predicated on a series of,
generally implicit, assumptions about cultural organization and change that
in almost all cases can be shown to be unsupportable or at least questionable.
The most serious and far-reaching of these are: that subsistence practices
are essentially a matter of cultural preference; that subsistence practices as
well as related cultural elements (mythology, beliefs and ritual complexes,
formal aspects of material culture, etc.) are basically conservative; and that
plow cultivation of cereals in permanent fields is intrinsically superior and
preferable to the cultivation of root crops and the shifting of fields.
Basic ecological considerations as well as the results of a growing series
of empirical investigations stand against these assumptions. Although it
has been difficult for some western-trained development experts to appreciate
this, it is clear that intensive permanent field cultivation is often inappro-
priate under tropical conditions and can be maintained only at the cost of
enormous energy subsidies and at the serious risk of environmental degrada-
tion (Janzen 1973). It has also been shown that non-industrial farmers are
When Europeans finally penetrated these areas, however, they found that some of the
highland valleys and plateaux maintained extremely high population densities, in many
cases far above those of coastal plains. In the 1950s and 60s, it was thought that this high
population density was a relatively recent phenomenon, having come about in the wake
of the introduction of the sweet potato in historic times (cf. Watson 1965). This New
World crop, it was believed, quickly became the basis of highly productive horticultural
systems that would have been impossible with native crops only. The new evidence now
indicates that highly intensive cultivation systems were present periodically long before
the sweet potato could possibly have been present, even if it was introduced prehistori-
cally, and that these systems were probably associated with substantial populations.
198
Karl Leopold Hutterer
Anthropos 78.1983
not at all conservative but are, on the contrary, engaged in constant experi-
mentation and are open to innovation (Johnson 1972).20 Finally, a variety
of studies of development failures have shown that, in most cases, the
reluctance of farmers to adopt new crops or cropping techniques has little
to do with cultural preferences but rather with a misunderstanding on the
part of outside experts of crucial economic relationships operating in small
local systems (e.g., cost and supply of labor; cost of flood control versus
derived benefits, measured in terms of the local economic system; cost of
fertilizer versus benefit of increased yield; benefit of increased yield through
chemical weed control versus cost in terms of incidental suppression of
minor but important supplemental food sources; etc. Cf. Gladwin 1980).
These considerations are of direct relevance to the question of the
culture-historical interpretation of ethnographic subsistence patterns. Tak-
ing the example of shifting cultivation systems, these agricultural economies
have often been viewed as survivals of some prehistoric stage (commonly
identified as “neolithic”) of agricultural development (e.g., Linton 1955;
Provencher 1975). Such a view assumes a very high degree of cultural and
social stasis. Assumptions of this sort are contradicted not only by common
anthropological observations of the dynamic nature of social systems, but
also by documented cases of agricultural colonists who came from popu-
lations that practiced intensive cultivation of permanent fields but reverted
to slash-and-bum agriculture in the newly settled land (e.g., Pelzer 1957). It
is clear that these were cases of adjustment to changed ecological conditions.
Even if one could demonstrate in specific ethnographic cases an unbroken
historical connection to a remote prehistoric past, one would still have to
assume that the system had undergone a variety of changes over the course
of that history. A good demonstration of the openness of “primitive”
agricultural economies to innovation can be seen in the fact that all South-
east Asian societies practicing shifting cultivation have incorporated into
their economies, to a greater or lesser degree, New World crops (e.g., com,
sweet potato, cassava, etc.). Indeed, in some cases New World crops con-
stitute the dominant staples. The fact that there is a certain amount of
correlation between cultivation practices, crops, tool types, and even social
organization and spatial patterning among shifting cultivators throughout
Southeast Asia is not surprising and cannot be taken as a sign of shared
history and common origin. For the most part, such correlations can be
comfortably explained through the operation of ecological factors.
20 If farmers were really so conservative, it would be difficult to explain how
agriculture ever developed to the point where it is now. Of course, there is always the
deus ex machina of introductions through foreign invasions and such. But then, it has to
be explained how a highly sophisticated agricultural complex came into existence else-
where. Are farmers more conservative in some parts of the world and less conservative
in others?
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
199
This argument does not suggest that ethnographic subsistence systems
have no historical background and depth. It does suggest, however, that a
historical reconstruction cannot be successful unless it is based on a considera-
tion of ecological and evolutionary principles. Within such a framework, it
seems impossible to ascribe historical priority to a particular type of crop or
type of cultivation system. As far as crops are concerned, it must not be
thought that single natural species were ever manipulated in isolation. Rather,
sets of species, or communities, were manipulated that would have varied in
terms of the plant types they contained as well as the importance and role
particular species had in the subsistence economy. The specific configuration
of such sets would have depended on given ecological conditions. It seems
likely that both broad groups of Southeast Asian domesticates, originating in
the humid and seasonally dry zones respectively, would have included
representatives of tubers, cereals, vegetables, fruit trees, and so on. Similarly,
the two major cultivation systems do not represent successive stages of
development but rather different ecological backgrounds. This does not
mean, however, that there may not have been, and probably were, major
historic and prehistoric changes in terms of the importance certain crops had
in their contribution to the total subsistence effort of human populations in
various parts of Southeast Asia. Again, it can be postulated that such changes
occurred in relationship to ecological changes in the broad sense, which
include environmental transformations brought about through social and
cultural changes (e.g., internal population growth, immigration, technol-
ogical innovation, availability of suitable new cultigens introduced from the
outside). It is quite clear, for instance, that the dominant role rice occupies
as a staple crop today is, for large parts of the region, a relatively recent
phenomenon. However, this has little to do with the antiquity of rice as a
cultigen and domesticate.
The historical reconstruction, and the search for empirical evidence, is
considerably complicated by the fact that both genetic and environmental
manipulations involved in domestication and cultivation make it possible to
transfer crops and cultivation systems into different environments. This can,
in fact, happen relatively early in the process. It is possible, and even to
be expected, that major elaborations and modifications of cultivation
techniques occur in connection with such habitat transfers. At the same time,
it must also be kept in mind that specific environmental, technological, and
sociological conditions may set limits to habitat transfers, and it is here that
the explanation has to be sought for the diversity of cultivation practices
found in Southeast Asia today, and probably also in prehistory.
The transfer of crops from one environmental zone into another, the
independent evolution in different environments of feral and weedy species
from the varieties undergoing domestication, back-crossing with these weedy
and feral forms, and repeated exchange of domesticated forms between areas
and environments can lead to an exceedingly complex and complicated
history of these crops. It is unlikely, therefore, that we will be able to pin-
200
Karl Leopold Hutterer
Anthropos 78.1983
point for most crops a narrow geographical locus as “the hearth” of their
domestication, or that we will be able to reconstruct a simple unilineal
history of their development.
One specific argument raised traditionally in favor of a sequential
development of a root crop phase followed by a phase of cereal (rice) cultiva-
tion must be briefly mentioned. It has to do with the total absence of
cereal cultivation in the pre-modem subsistence systems of the Pacific Islands,
including New Guinea, and a reliance there on root crop staples. This
would indicate, so the argument goes, that the expansion of Austronesian
settlers from Southeast Asia into the Oceanic region occurred at a time
when these pioneers were familiar with root crop horticulture but not with
cereal agriculture. Thus Southeast Asian root crops and other economic
plants diffused with them, but not rice. A number of voices have been
raised against this argument (e.g., Gorman 1977), but it is most seriously
weakened by strong linguistic evidence that the ancestral population(s) of
the Pacific Austronesians already had rice cultivation in their subsistence
repertoire (Blust 1976). An ecological explanation is probably most compel-
ling in explaining the absence of rice in the Pacific (cf. Bellwood 1980; 66),
although we lack at present sufficient information (archaeological, palaeoen-
vironmental, etc.) to construct a specific argument of that sort with confi-
dence. According to my own view of the human ecology of the region,
which leans to the assumption that the earliest phase of the domestication
and cultivation of rice occurred in the humid tropics, it seems reasonable to
propose that the Austronesian expansion took place at a time when rice
cultivation had not yet been adapted to dry tropical environments. As the
Austronesians expanded into the relatively arid zone of eastern Indonesia,
therefore, it was ecologically advantageous for them to abandon the cultiva-
tion of rice and rely on tubers and other crops instead. Consequently, the
population directly ancestral to the settlers of the Pacific had neither seeds
nor cultivation methods of that cereal to take with them.
b) Aliens in the Field
A word should be said at this point about introduced crops and how
they fit into the picture of agro-ecosystems evolution sketched here. With-
out exception, contemporary agricultural systems, in Southeast Asia and
elsewhere, differ very significantly from their prehistoric counterparts
because they have incorporated historically introduced crops that originated
in distant phytogeographic regions.21 In the case of Southeast Asia, the
21 There are also a few cases of documented as well as suspected long-distance crop
introductions in prehistoric times. An example is the introduction of the sweet potato
from S. America into Polynesia, possibly as much as 1500 years ago (Bellwood 1979:
140-141;see also Yen 1974).
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
201
great majority of introduced species of subsistence crops originated in the
Americas, Among them are: corn (Zea mays), sweet potato (Ipomea bata-
tas), manioc (Manihot esculenta), peanut (Arachis hypogaea), pineapple
(Ananas comosus), papaya (Carica candicans), avocado (Persea americana),
peppers, including chili (Capsicum spp.), tomato (Lycopersicon esculentum),
to name just some of the more important ones. Also all the major plantation
crops of Southeast Asia, with the exception of coconut (Cocos nucifera),
represent introductions, among them tobacco (Nicotiana tabacum) from S.
America, rubber (Hevea spp. etc.) from S. America,22 oil palm (Elaeis
guineensis) from Africa, and coffee (Coffea spp.) from Africa.
In a number of cases, introduced crops have become important staples
in Southeast Asian agricultural economies, while in others they figure as
essential spices and condiments in local cuisines (e.g,, chili pepper). The
success of such introductions has a variety of reasons. In general, the trans-
fer of crops from one phytogeographic region to another took place between
analogous habitats, be they natural or established and maintained through
human manipulation. However, in their native region, the species had co-
evolved with a host of competitors and predators (the latter particularly in
the form of insect pests and disease organisms). In most cases, these “natural
pests” were not transferred with the crops, so that introduced crops often
show greatly improved vigor and productivity outside their native region
(Jennings and Cock 1977).23 Thus, the introduced species often compared
favorably with their native counterparts in terms of productivity, the amount
of labor they required in tillage and weed control, and the amount of losses
they suffered through insect pests and diseases. In addition, alien species
were often able to exist, and produce, under environmental conditions (rain
22 Rubber is a particularly interesting case in the present context. There are many
families and about 80 genera of plants, found in all tropical floras, that contain a milky
sap from which latex can be extracted. One of a number of such plants, native to the
Southeast Asian rain forest, is Palaquium gutta (“gutta percha”), a member of the Sapo-
taceae family. This species is still exploited today and is now sometimes grown in planta-
tions. However, the economically most significant rubber trees belong to the genus Hevea,
with H. brasiliensis being the most important and productive. Hevea trees are native to
the rain forest of lowland S. America and were domesticated around the turn of the
century in the context of their introduction to Malaysia and Sumatra and their cultiva-
tion there in large plantations (Bucher 1977: 243-252). Hevea plantations have, on the
other hand, been quite unsuccessful in Brazil, primarily because of problems posed by
indigenous pests.
23 Jennings and Cock (1977) point out that, for several reasons, there is a tendency
for agricultural crops to be more productive outside their centers of origin. It is interest-
ing to note in this context that rice is more productive in the seasonal tropics than in the
humid equatorial part of Southeast Asia (Grist 1974; 11-12). Some (e.g., Bellwood 1980:
66) have taken this as an indication that rice had originally come under domestication
and cultivation in the seasonal zone of the region. The observations by Jennings and Cook
would suggest the opposite.
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Karl Leopold Hutterer
Anthropos 78.1983
fall, temperature, soils, etc.) under which no native cultigens could be
economically raised. Finally, in some cases, there may have been a certain
serendipity in the introduction of foreign species. Such species may have
furnished minor but very important nutritional complements that interacted
with the established diet synergistically and thereby raised the nutritive value
of the native subsistence crops in general. Or they might have increased the
utility of the native crops by making possible new forms of food preparation
and storage.
In general, the fact of diffusion of economic plants between continents
may be seen largely as an historical accident in the context of human explora-
tion and expansion. However, the acceptance of such plants into an existing
cropping complex is in no way accidental or subject to human fancy and
whim. On the contrary, it is predicated on the economics and ecology of
a human group. The integration of introduced species into agro-ecosystems is
subject to the same dynamics of evolutionary ecology as the development of
locally domesticated and cultivated crops.
c) Prehistory, Ecology, and Development
This brings us finally to the question of general relevance of the present
discussion. The foregoing essay on the evolutionary ecology of domestica-
tion and cultivation in Southeast Asia has primarily focused on the prehistoric
development of agricultural patterns and complexes. However, considering
the fundamental nature of the principles and processes involved, it can now
be stated that they are not solely of academic interest but have some very
practical and contemporary implications. Regardless of the degree of human
management and technical sophistication, even contemporary and future
agricultural systems have to operate within a framework of ecological
relationships. An understanding of the ecological and evolutionary principles
and processes involved in the development of crops and cropping complexes
will clearly be helpful in evaluating both the ecological stability and the
evolutionary potential of existing agro-ecosystems. This question is of
particular interest and urgency at this time, when many local, national, and
international organizations are engaged in deliberately promoting agricultural
change, and the rate of genetic and environmental modifications is proceed-
ing at an unprecendented pace.
A series of specific questions might be asked. For instance; Is there a
limit to the degree to which genetic and environmental systems can be mani-
pulated? Is there a point at which the efforts expended in the manipulation
of natural systems are met with diminishing returns or even become counter-
productive? Or indeed, is there a point at which the objects of our inter-
ference themselves (populations, species, and communities of plants and
animals) are put at risk and we are in danger of effecting the very opposite of
our original intent?
History of Southeast Asian Agriculture
203
It has often been suggested that such critical points do exist (e.g., Myers
1979), although it has been difficult to define them in any specific, yet
generally valid, way. This is not the place to discuss this problem in detail.
However, what can be asserted is that an understanding of the ecological
background and evolutionary history of agricultural crops and systems
makes it possible to assess how far human manipulation has removed them
from natural conditions, and that this may be taken as a measure of their
stability and the relative cost involved in their maintenance.
As argued above, there are, broadly speaking, tree major avenues by
which the productivity of selected aspects of the biological environment
can be increased in order to increase the carrying capacity of ecological
systems from the point of view of human populations (or, more simply, to
produce more food for more people). One is by direct genetic manipulation
of species; the second is by transferring species into habitats that are relatively
free of competitors and predators; and the third is to establish and maintain
habitats artificially that give selected species a competitive and productive
advantage. As a rule, all three approaches are used in conjunction and inter-
act with each other. It may be suggested that, with regard to all three strate-
gies, the further a situation is removed from a natural state,24 the more
fragile it becomes and the more energy is required to maintain the status
quo. It can be further suggested that the relationship between energy expended
in increased manipulation of natural systems and the food energy harvested
in return is not a linear one. On the contrary, this relationship becomes
increasingly unprofitable the more highly manipulated such systems are.
Eventually, points are reached in these relationships where systems will
collapse or where energetic relationships will show a negative balance. An
excellent example of the latter situation may be seen in many highly mani-
pulated agricultural systems in the United States, where more energy in the
form of fossil fuels, fertilizers, and pesticides is invested in the process of
agricultural work than is harvested from the fields in the form of food or
industrial crops.
The point of these remarks is not to propose a pat formula by which
to measure the robusticity and development potential of a given agro-eco-
system. Too many theoretical as well as empirical questions remain to be
solved. However, I believe that the general point is valid and that an apprecia-
tion of the principle may have a positive effect on the perception of agricultural
experts and planners. It can be said that, in a manner of speaking, the future
lies in the past. The natural resources we manipulate have evolved in the
24 It is difficult to define precisely what constitutes a “natural state,” since eco-
systems are constantly changing in relation to a variety of sources of perturbation and
change. Very roughly, however, I would suggest to consider native climax communities
as a natural baseline.
204
Karl Leopold Hutterer
Anthropos 78.1983
context of broad ecological relationships. This natural historical dimension
inexorably defines boundary conditions for a successful human interaction
with the environment.
Writing of this essay was assisted by a grant from the Joint Committee on South-
east Asia of the Social Science Research Council and the American Council of Learned
Societies. While writing the essay, I held concurrent fellowships at the Center for Asian
and Pacific Studies, University of Hawaii, and the East-West Environment and Policy
Institute, East-West Center, Honolulu. I am also indebted to many friends and colleagues
with whom I have discussed portions of this article and who have contributed valuable
ideas and corrections, foremost among them R.I. Ford, T.N. Headland, L.R. Heaney,
A.T. Rambo, and W.G. Solheim II. The final responsibility for statements made here
remains my own.
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Reports and Comments
Cognitive Anthropology Reconsidered: Reply and Challenge
Egon Renner
Dr. phil., Hochschulassistent C 1
(Seminar für Völkerkunde, Rothenbaumchaussee 64a, 2000 Hamburg 13)
1, Einleitung
In Anthropos 77. 1982 erschienen zwei Veröffentlichungen zur Kognitiven Anthro-
pologie; ein Artikel mit dem Titel “Current Trends in Cognitive Anthropology” (329-350)
von W. Kokot, H. Lang und E. Hinz und ein Kurzbericht zu einer anderen Untersuchung
(Renner 1980) mit dem Titel „Zur kognitiven Anthropologie“ (564-567) von W. Kokot.
Mit dem Artikel wird der Anspruch erhoben, einen Überblick über den gegenwärtigen
Entwicklungsstand der kognitiven Forschung durch eine exemplarische Darstellung be-
stimmter kognitiver Methoden zu vermitteln. Der Kurzbericht läßt das Bemühen erken-
nen, sich mit einer komplexen Rekonstruktion der theoretischen Grundlagen der kogni-
tiven Forschung kritisch zu befassen.
Der Artikel ist offenbar an der Vorgehensweise amerikanischer Ethnologen orien-
tiert, nach einer bestimmten Zeit intensiven Forschens einen Überblick (survey) über den
Entwicklungsstand eines Arbeitsgebietes bzw. einer ganzen Forschungsrichtung zu geben.
Dabei werden Resultate und offene Fragen eines gegebenen Forschungsthemas zur Dis-
kussion gestellt, oft im Zusammenhang mit Grundsatzfragen und nicht selten mit einem
engagierten Grundton, in der Zeitschrift Current Anthropology meist noch vor einem
Forum kontroverser Stellungnahmen von Ethnologen unterschiedlicher theoretischer
Provenienz. Solche Darstellungen erlauben nicht nur Überblicke, sondern vermögen — in
Verbindung mit fundierten Detailbetrachtungen — nicht selten auch entscheidende
Impulse für die weitere Forschung zu geben. So wurden auch in der kognitiven Forschung
in verschiedenen Phasen und unter verschiedenen Gesichtspunkten solche “surveys”
erstellt und haben wesentlich zu ihrem Fortschritt beigetragen1.
Kritische Stellungnahmen wie diejenige, die der Kurzbericht enthält, sind — zumin-
dest von der Amlage her — in amerikanischen Fachzeitschriften an der Tagesordnung und
stellen ein weiteres wichtiges Moment der wissenschaftlichen Auseinandersetzung dar. Sie
ergeben sich aus kontroversen Positionen, zum einen von Vertretern derselben Forschungs-
richtung und zum anderen von Vertretern verschiedener Forschungsrichtungen. Kritische
Auseinandersetzungen dieser Art haben auch die Entwicklung der kognitiven Forschung
fruchtbringend begleitet* 2.
Vor allem Sturtevant 1964; Hymes 1964a, 1970; Durbin 1966, 1973; Colby
1966; Harris 1968; Goodenough 1969; Tyler 1969; Pelto 1970; Werner/Fenton 1970;
Werner 1972;Keesing 1972; Black 1973; Colby/Fernandez/Kronenberg 1981.
2 U.a. zwischen Burling 1964a und b, sowie Frake 19645, Hymes 19645, 1965,
1966, Hammel 1964, Coult 1966a, zwischen Hammel 1965, 1966;Coult 19665; zwischen
Lounsbury 1964a und 5, Coult 1967.
214
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
Geht man wie Heisenberg davon aus, daß Wissenschaft mit dem Gespräch beginnt,
so sind beide Arten der Auseinandersetzung mögliche und wichtige Formen des Dialogs
in einem schwierigen sprachlichen Prozeß, in dem das Verbindende und Trennende
zwischen wissenschaftstreibenden Individuen zum Nutzen des größeren Ganzen geklärt
werden soll. Die amerikanischen Ethnologen haben in diesen Formen des wissenschaft-
lichen Dialogs einen hohen Standard erreicht. Die beiden hier zur Diskussion stehenden
Veröffentlichungen werden daran zu messen sein.
2. Status quo ante und Status quo der kognitiven Forschung
Unter zwei Gesichtspunkten hat die Kognitive Anthropologie in der gegenwärtigen
amerikanischen Ethnologie eine führende Stellung inne : zum einen durch die Anwendung
ihrer theoretischen und methodischen Errungenschaften im weiteren disziplinären Rah-
men, zum anderen durch ihre nun schon seit knapp 30 Jahren fortdauernde Innovations-
kraft, im disziplinären Rahmen und darüber hinaus. Die ihr eigene Dynamik steht jedoch
nicht isoliert im Raum, sondern ist eingebettet in einen nun schon mehr als 130 Jahre
dauernden dynamischen Entwicklungsprozeß der nordamerikanischen Ethnologie, der als
einzigartig anzusehen ist.
Betrachtet man diesen Entwicklungsprozeß unter dem Blickwinkel des Verhältnis-
ses von “general” und “particular” (Goodenough 1970: 98-130 passim) sowie der da-
mit verbundenen Wechselwirkung von Theoriebildung und empirischer Detailforschung
und ihrer unterschiedlichen Bedeutung in den verschiedenen Entwicklungsphasen der
nordamerikanischen Ethnologie, so stellt die Entstehung der kognitiven Forschung ein er-
neutes Hinwenden zum “particular” der ethnographischen Basis dar, nachdem sich seit
der Mitte des 19. Jh.s mehrfach ein Wechsel vom “particular” zum “general” und umge-
kehrt vollzogen hatte. Solche Wechsel können jedoch nicht als Rückkehr zur Ausgangs-
basis älterer Forschung verstanden werden, sondern bauen auf gewonnenen Erkennt-
nissen auf; d.h. in diesem Fall, daß die kognitive Forschung — durch die Evolution des
ethnologischen Wissens bedingt — ein gänzlich anderes Verständnis von der empirischen
Detailforschung hat als ältere Forschungsrichtungen3.
Wiederum von einer anderen Seite her betrachtet, versucht die Kognitive Anthropo-
logie eine neue Antwort auf die zentrale Frage der ethnologischen Forschung zu geben:
die Erklärung der extra-somatischen Existenz des Homo sapiens durch eine möglichst ob-
jektive Darstellung von notwendigerweise gesellschaftsabhängigen Denkweisen und Welt-
bildern und der ihnen zugrundeliegenden universalen Gemeinsamkeiten. Dabei hat das
“particular” der Denkweisen und Weltbilder eine Vorrangigkeit gegenüber dem “general”
ihrer Gemeinsamkeiten, die — den Grundsätzen der empirischen Forschung folgend —
aus dem “particular” Schritt für Schritt und damit induktiv erschlossen werden sollen.
Ausgehend von diesen Rahmenbedingungen soll zunächst ein Bild von der kogni-
tiven Forschung entworfen werden, das von Vergangenheit und Gegenwart ihrer theore-
tischen und methodischen Grundlagen andere Vorstellungen vermittelt, als sie sich aus
den Ausführungen von Kokot/Lang/Hinz und von Kokot ergeben.
2.1 Status quo ante
Die Kognitive Anthropologie entstand in Yale aus dem Bemühen heraus, neue
Methoden der ethnographischen Datenanalyse zu entwickeln und damit die Ethnographie
— und die Ethnologie überhaupt — auf festere empirische und methodische Grundlagen
Siehe die fünf Grundthesen der kognitiven Forschung und ihre Implikationen in
Renner 1980: 46-59.
Reports and Comments
215
zu stellen, als dies bis dahin möglich war (Renner 1980: 51-53);deshalb ihre Bezeichnung
als “new ethnography” (Sturtevant 1964: 99 und passim). Die ersten grundlegenden Ar-
beiten stammen von Schülern Murdocks, in erster Linie von Goodenough, Lounsbury
und Conklin (Hymes 1970: 294; Renner 1980: 25), die sich bei der Grundlegung ihres
ethnographischen Modelles an der strukturalen Linguistik der USA vor Chomsky4
orientierten, ausgehend von der Annahme, daß diese Linguistik ihre deskriptiven Auf-
gaben besser zu lösen vermag als die Ethnologie. Mit dieser Anlehnung an linguistische
Theorie und Methode verbunden war die Auseinandersetzung mit einem Thema, das im
Zuge der jüngeren Entwicklung wichtiger Untersuchungsgegenstand beider Disziplinen
wurde, nämlich Sprachinhalt; deshalb die Charakterisierung der “new ethnography” als
“ethnosemantics”bzw. “structural semantics” etc. Goodenough spricht sogar von “develop-
ing an empirical Science of meaning” (1956a: 195). Colby verbindet beide Momente der
kognitiven Forschung in der Bezeichnung “ethnographic semantics’T966: 3 und passim).
Seit Sturtevants “survey” (1964: 99 und passim) wird zu ihrer Bezeichnung auch der Ter-
minus “ethnoscience” benutzt, der auf French (Renner 1980: 61) zurückgeht und auf
Untersuchungsbereiche wie “folk classifications”, “belief Systems” usw. Bezug nimmt.
Neben den erwähnten frühen Arbeiten von Goodenough, Lounsbury und Conklin,
in denen der empirisch-analytische Rahmen entwickelt wurde, besitzt eine weitere
frühe Arbeit Goodenoughs (1957) eine Schlüsselstellung für die generelle theoretische
Grundlegung der kognitiven Forschung. Sie enthält: Entwurf der kognitiven Kultur-
theorie, empirische Untermauerung der Kulturtheorie durch Aufzeigen eines analytischen
Gerüstes der empirischen Forschung sowie Aufstellung eines umfassenden Forschungs-
programmes, das in seinen wesentlichen Zügen bis heute gilt. Dabei wird zweierlei deut-
lich: zum einen, daß das Analogiekonzept zur Linguistik, das die ersten 15 Jahre der kog-
nitiven Forschung geprägt hat, von ihrer Kulturtheorie bis zur empirischen Basis reicht;
zum anderen, daß die Semiotik von vornherein als ein wichtiges Mittel zur Entwicklung
einer kognitiven Symbolforschung betrachtet wurde5. Goodenough spricht deshalb von
einer “general Science of signs”, die sich aus dem Analogiemodell zur Linguistik heraus
und von ihm weg entwickeln soll (1957: 172).
Neben der strukturalen Linguistik hat aus diesem Grund die von Ch.W. Morris ent-
wickelte Semiotik den stärksten Einfluß auf diese Phase der kognitiven Forschung gehabt.
Von den drei semiotischen Dimensionen Syntaktik (Beziehungen zwischen Zeichen),
Semantik (Beziehungen zwischen Zeichen und Bezeichnetem) und Pragmatik (Beziehun-
gen zwischen Zeichen und Zeichenbenutzer) gewann die semantische Dimension und ihr
analytisches Instrumentarium eine große Bedeutung (siehe dazu die genannten Bezeich-
nungen “ethnosemantics” und “ethnographic semantics”). Die syntaktische Dimension
wird als Aufgabenbereich der Linguistik und als Vorstufe der semantisch-kognitiven Ana-
lyse betrachtet. Die pragmatische Dimension, die von ihrer Anlage her in den Bereich der
kognitiven Forschung gehört, bleibt zumindest in dieser Phase ein umstrittenes Unter-
suchungsgebiet, da alle Versuche, ähnliche methodische Exaktheitsbedingungen wie
innerhalb der semantischen Dimension zu entwickeln, nicht oder nur ansatzweise gelan-
gen. Mit anderen Worten: Die Beziehungen zwischen Zeichen und Zeichenbenutzer, die
eine Untersuchung prozessualer Zusammenhänge unterschiedlichster Art erfordern, wur-
den als ein diffuses und nicht überschaubares Feld betrachtet, dessen Organisation im ge-
4 Goodenough 1957: passim; Renner 1980: 50-54, 73-90, 144-161 und passim.
5 Colby/Fernandez/Kronenfeld entwickeln in ihrem “survey” (1981) Thesen für
eine Integration von “cognitive anthropology” und “symbolic anthropology”; unbeach-
tet bleibt hierbei, daß Symbole und Zeichen überhaupt schon in der frühen kognitiven
Forschung zentraler Untersuchungsgegenständ waren; so entwarf Goodenough in seinem
Artikel von 1957, der nicht einmal erwähnt wird, ein semiotisch begründetes Programm
für eine kognitive Symbolforschung.
216
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
gebenen Rahmen nicht möglich erschien. Werners Bezeichnung dieses Untersuchungsge-
bietes gleichzeitig als “pragmatics”, “pragmatic semantics” und “pragmatic adjunct to
semantic theory” ist Ausdruck eines unsicheren und unklaren Verhältnisses zu dieser Di-
6
mension .
Die Gründe für diese Problematik liegen im wesentlichen in dem oben erörterten
schwierigen Verhältnis zwischen “general” und “particular”, das nun unter Verwendung
der Pikeschen Begriffe “etics”, abgeleitet von “phonetics” und bezogen auf “general”,
und “emics”, abgeleitet von “phonemics” und bezogen auf “particular”, betrachtet wer-
den soll. Die Analogie zur Phonologie erforderte schon vor der Übernahme der Pikeschen
“standpoints” eine solche Unterscheidung, und zwar zwischen “culture-free units” (z.B.
Verwandten typen) und “culture-bound units” (z.B. Verwandtenbezeichnungen), um der
in der Linguistik gegebenen methodischen Stringenz zu entsprechen. Diese strenge Unter-
scheidung war von vornherein nicht überall einzuhalten; Kompromisse finden sich schon
in den frühesten Arbeiten zur Verwandtschaftsforschung und wurden, je weiter die Ent-
wicklung fortschritt, immer weniger vermeidbar, wenngleich bestimmte Grenzen nicht
überschritten wurden. Der in Pikes Unterscheidung von Beginn an angelegte und vom
Behaviorismus getragene Kompromiß findet schließlich Goodenough für die Ethnologie
durch die Berücksichtigung von in den “cross culture studies” entwickelten “units”, in-
dem er sie als “etic units” bezeichnet und damit eine Brücke zwischen beiden Forschungs-
richtungen schlägt. Jeder weitere Fortschritt in der kognitiven Forschung sollte grundsätz-
lich in diesem Zusammenhang gesehen werden* 7.
Die oben erwähnte Beschränkung auf die Untersuchung der semantischen Dimen-
sion des semiotisch definierten Kontinuums Sprache — Kultur, die also daraus resultiert,
daß nur dort der Übersetzungsmechanismus von der Linguistik in die Ethnologie funk-
tionierte, hatte zur Folge, daß die Lexika natürlicher Sprachen wichtigster Untersuchungs-
gegenstand der ersten zwanzig Jahre der kognitiven Forschung wurden. Die dazu ent-
wickelten Verfahren untersuchen die Beziehungen zwischen lexikalen Einheiten einer se-
mantischen Domäne, die sie konstituieren: a) Merkmalbeziehungen mit dem Verfahren
der Komponentenanalyse, b) Inklusionsbeziehungen mit dem Verfahren der Taxono-
mischen Analyse, c) Äquivalenzbeziehungen mit dem Verfahren der Äquivalenzregel-
analyse; alternativ entstanden zu a) die Relationsanalyse und zu c) die Generative Ana-
lyse. Weitere Verfahren, ebenso solche ohne oder nur mit eingeschränktem formalen
Charakter, bleiben in diesem Zusammenhang unerwähnt8.
Auch der zur pragmatischen Dimension zählende Untersuchungsbereich ist trotz
der genannten Probleme von vornherein berücksichtigt worden, und zwar unter Ver-
wendung von z.T. konventionellen Verfahren, die im Rahmen der neuen Konzeption je-
doch qualitativ bessere Resultate ermöglichten als zuvor. Einige Beispiele seien genannt,
auf denen u.a. auch neuere Untersuchungen aufbauen: Goodenoughs Analysen von Re-
sidenzregeln (1956a) und Status und Rolle (1965), Werners Untersuchung von Hand-
lungsplänen und Prozessen (1966), Frakes kontextabhängiges Aktionsmodell religiösen
Verhaltens (1964a) und Geoghegans Entscheidungsfindungsmodell (1971).
Der Erfolg der formalen Verfahren der Datenanalyse führte zur Entwicklung ent-
sprechend formaler Verfahren der Datenermittlung, z.T. ebenfalls mit Bezug auf lin-
guistische Verfahren der Datenanalyse (also nicht der Datenermittlung), z.T. unter Ver-
wendung wissenschaftstheoretisch begründeter “question-response”-Einheiten8. Eine
Werner 1966: 42; zur Rolle der Semiotik in der kognitiven Forschung siehe
Renner 1980: 90-96, 130-154.
7 Zur Darstellung dieser Problematik und der damit verbundenen Beziehungen
zwischen der kognitiven Forschung und den “cross culture studies” siehe Renner 1980:
154-167.
8 Ein kurzer deutschsprachiger Überblick über diese und andere (formalisierten
und nicht-formalisierten) Verfahren in Renner 19815.
Reports and Comments
217
gleichrangige Stellung behielten die konventionellen Verfahren der Datenermittlung, die
jedoch durch die Prämissen der kognitiven Zielsetzung eine neue empirische Qualität be-
kamen (z.B. Goodenough 1956b). Nicht unerheblich ist außerdem die Bedeutung der
Neuinterpretation empirischer Daten, die von Ethnologen älterer Generationen stammen
(z.B. Lounsbury 1964ß, h, 1965). Das mehrfach benutzte Adjektiv „formal“ bezieht sich
darauf, daß die Grundelemente der genannten Verfahren mit Formalkalkülen und
graphischen Mitteln darstellbar sind. Es handelt sich hierbei um Kalküle der Mengenlehre
(z.B. zur Definition der Menge „Paradigma“)9, der formalen Logik (z.B. zur konjunk-
tiven/disjunktiven Definition von Signifikation) 10 11 und der Mathemathik (z.B. zur for-
malen Unterscheidung von Paradigma und Taxonomie anhand des Kartesischen Produk-
tes) 11 usw. In Verbindung damit lassen sich graphische Mittel einsetzen, u.a. Kastendia-
gramme, Baumdiagramme, Tabellen, Matrixgraphiken, Koordinatensysteme usw.12. Die
Verbindung von Kalkül und Graphik ermöglicht die Wiederholbarkeit der Verfahren und
die Transparenz der Resultate. Entstanden sind solche Formalisierungen durch die Orientie-
rung an Linguistik und Semiotik, wo sie z.T. angelegt, z.T. in vergleichbarer Weise ent-
wickelt sind.
Zusammengehalten und getragen wird die kognitive Forschung von Beginn an von
einer Kulturtheorie, die von Goodenough (1957: 167-169) begründet und (1963, 1964,
1970, 1981) stufenweise differenziert und ausgebaut wurde. Diese Kulturtheorie ent-
hält ein umfassendes Programm der kognitiven Forschung und macht allgemeine Aus-
sagen über den Gegenstandsbereich, der in der empirischen Einzelanalyse erfaßt und
strukturiert wird. Das heißt, sie interpretiert die Ergebnisse der empirischen Analysen
als kognitive Phänomene und damit als Wissen, das Menschen zur Interpretation von
Erfahrung und zum Erzeugen von Verhalten benutzen, um im sozialen Verbund einer ge-
gebenen Gesellschaft leben zu können13. Die kognitive Kulturtheorie erklärt also den
Begriff Kognition, der mit dem identisch ist, was hier unter Kultur verstanden wird, und
sich auf die “ideational order” bezieht, die als eine Ordnung von Wirklichkeit in den Köp-
fen von Menschen existiert (Goodenough 1964: 11-12). Aus dieser zentralen Stellung
von Kognition resultiert, daß die als “new ethnography” begründete, als “ethnographic
semantics” entwickelte und als “ethnoscience” charakterisierte Forschungsrichtungauch
als “cognitive anthropology” bezeichnet wird (siehe z.B. Tyler 1969).
2.2 Status quo
Im Status quo ante der kognitiven Forschung dominierte, wie aus den bisherigen
Ausführungen hervorgeht, die Auseinandersetzung mit den Lexika natürlicher Sprachen,
und zwar vor allem in Bereichen, in denen das aus der Phonologie übersetzte und semio-
tisch explizierte analytische Instrumentarium zu greifen vermochte. Daneben entwickel-
ten sich jedoch unterschiedliche Ansätze, auch weitere Bereiche von Sprachinhalt zu un-
tersuchen, die nicht unter den stringenten Bedingungen der formalisierten Verfahren er-
faßt werden konnten. Es entstand eine ethnologisch motivierte und fundierte Sprach-
inhaltsforschung, die über das Analogiekonzept zur Linguistik hinaus eine Brücke zu
9 Siehe hierzu z.B. Werner/Fenton 1970: 544-548.
10 Siehe hierzu z.B. D’Andrade 1970: vor allem 111-120.
11 Siehe hierzu z.B. Werner/Fenton 1970: 544-550.
12 Siehe hierzu z.B. Kay 1966: 21-23; Werner/Fenton 545-564.
13 Dementsprechend lautet Goodenoughs Definition in einer weiterentwickelten
Form (1963: 258-259): “Culture . . . consists of standards für deciding what is, standards
for deciding what can be, standards for deciding how one feels about it, standards for
deciding what to do about it, and standards for deciding how to go about doing it”.
218
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
dieser Disziplin schlug, während diese ihrerseits seit Chomsky ihre Vorbehalte gegenüber
Sprachinhalt aufgab, so daß sich von beiden Seiten her eine vielschichtige Sprachinhalts-
forschung herausbildete, z.T. sich überlagernd, z.T. mit getrennten Strategien vorgehend.
Der Status quo der ethnologischen Kognitionsforschung wird insbesondere von dieser
Tendenz geprägt, der sich der Bezug zu psychologischen Ansätzen unterordnet .
Diese ganze Entwicklung läßt sich noch unter einem anderen Gesichtspunkt zusam-
menfassen, nämlich dem Hinwenden zu einer betont mentalistisch orientierten Sprach-
und Kulturforschung, in der eine nicht-materielle Auffassung vom Untersuchungsgegen-
stand mit den formalen analytischen Verfahren der behavioristisch konzipierten Lin-
guistik der USA verknüpft werden konnte. Leitmotiv dieser Entwicklung in der Ethnolo-
gie ist der kognitive Kulturbegriff, dessen Analogisierung mit dem Sprachbegriff dieser
Linguistik eine mentalistische Interpretation ihrer behavioristisch begründeten Sprach-
auffassung ermöglichte. Von vornherein also mentalistisch angelegt, stand die Kogni-
tive Anthropologie einer nicht-mentalistischen Linguistik gegenüber, deren analytisches
Grundschema sie übernehmen wollte und nur konnte, indem sie deren Prämissen men-
talistisch interpretierte 14 15. Als dann die relativ engen Grenzen der Orientierung an dieser
Linguistik offensichtlich zu werden begannen, wurde der erwähnte Kompromiß mit den
“etic units” der traditionellen Ethnologie unvermeidbar und das Eingehen auf Psycholo-
gie und psychologische Kognitionsforschung angestrebt, wenngleich hier andere Voraus-
setzungen und Zielsetzungen Vorlagen16.
Obwohl von vornherein u.a. in der kognitiven Kulturauffassung angelegt und in dem
frühen kognitiven Programm Goodenoughs enthalten, setzen die Untersuchungen zu einer
umfassenden Sprachinhaltsforschung erst Mitte der siebziger Jahre massiv ein und zeigen
gegen Ende dieses Jahrzehnts erste Ergebnisse und Perspektiven. Drei Haupttendenzen
der kognitiven Forschung haben sich herausgeschält, die ihren Status quo repräsentieren:
a) Die fortschreitende Integration der kognitiven Forschung in das größere Ganze
der Ethnologie unter drei Gesichtspunkten: erstens durch eine Verknüpfung ihres Be-
griffs apparates mit dem anderer Forschungsrichtungen, zweitens durch ein Einbringen
ihrer Resultate in das größere Corpus ethnologischer Erkenntnisse 17; drittens durch eine
Anwendung kognitiver Verfahren in einem größeren inhaltlichen und methodischen Rah-
men18. Vor allem im Zusammenhang mit diesen drei Gesichtspunkten muß auch eine
Konvergenz der kognitiven Forschung mit einer unabhängig von ihr entstandenen ethno-
logischen Symbolforschung gesehen werden19 .
b) Die weitere Intensivierung der Sprachinhaltsforschung und die damit verbundene
fortschreitende Koordination/Integration mit linguistischen Sprachinhaltsforschungen
ähnlicher Tendenz; von der Semiotik her gesehen unter Berücksichtigung der seman-
tischen und pragmatischen Dimension und ihrer vielschichtigen Interdependenzen; von
anderen sprachinhaltlichen Kategorien her gesehen unter Berücksichtigung von lexikalen,
syntagmatischen bzw. syntaktischen und textinhaltlichen Zusammenhängen und Feldern
und dabei aufbauend auf den frühen formalen Verfahren der lexikalen Analyse20.
14 Siehe z.B. die Sammelbände von McCormack/Wurm 1977; Loflin/Silverberg
1978.
15 Goodenough 1957: 167-169; Renner 1980: 83-90, 96-99.
16 Siehe detaillierte Diskussionen dazu in Renner 1980: 100-106, 154-167.
17 Für beide Aspekte siehe z.B. Goodenough 1970, 1979, 1981; Spradley 1979,
1980.
18 Siehe dazu z.B. Berlin/Kay 1969; Berlin/Breedlove/Raven 1974;Hunn 1977.
19 Siehe hierzu Colby/Fernandez/Kronenberg 1981 : passim.
20 Beispiele hierzu sind: McCormack/Wurm 1976, 1977, 1978, 1979; Loflin/Sil-
verberg 1978.
Reports and Comments
219
c) Eine zunehmende Einflußnahme der Kognitiven Psychologie und eine dadurch
bedingte starke Tendenz ihrer Überlagerung durch psychologische Begriffe, Verfahren,
Inhalte und Zielsetzungen, verbunden mit der Entwicklung von komplexen Handlungs-
modellen sowie der Simulation kognitiver Strukturen und Prozesse im Rahmen der Arti-
ficial Intelligence-Forschung mit dem Ziel der Grundlegung einer umfassend angelegten
Cognitive Science 21.
Insgesamt scheinen dies Entwicklungen einer zunehmenden Diversifikation und
Diffusion der kognitiven Forschung in das größere Ganze disziplinärer und interdis-
ziplinärer Forschung zu sein, wie sie auch bei anderen Forschungsrichtungen, die in der
Vergangenheit dominierten, stattfanden und Zeichen dafür waren, daß neue Richtungen
im Entstehen begriffen sind. Ganz im Hintergrund zeichnet sich außerdem die zunehmen-
de Einbeziehung biologischer und ethologischer Faktoren ab, deren Bedeutung für die
Zukunft oder gar Ablösung der kognitiven Forschung durch ein neues und interdisziplinär
begründetes Forschungsmodell noch nicht abzusehen ist 22.
Zusammenfassend ergibt sich folgende Situation; Der Status quo der kognitiven
Forschung unterscheidet sich von ihrem Status quo ante durch den Unterschied zwischen
gesicherten Ergebnissen und ihrer Anwendung einerseits und der Entwicklung von Hypo-
thesen und analytischen Strategien mit experimentellem Charakter andererseits. Das
Ganze der neueren Ansätze bewegt sich dabei in jeder Hinsicht in dem vorgegebenen
theoretischen und programmatischen Rahmen, mit dem die kognitive Forschung begründet
wurde, ausgedrückt vor allem in der mehrfach erörterten Kulturkonzeption Goodenoughs.
Das bedeutet, daß die gegenwärtigen methodischen Versuche und Entwürfe Extensionen
der bewährten Methodik sind, die keine grundsätzlich neuen Wege zeigen und deren Stel-
lenwert für die weitere Forschung noch nicht eingeschätzt werden kann23 .
3. Die Rekonstruktion von Entstehung und Entwicklung der
Kognitiven Anthropologie
Die Rekonstruktion des kognitiven Forschungsmodelles, die hier zur Diskussion
steht (Renner 1980), geht von dieser unter 2 dargelegten Situation seiner theoretischen
und methodischen Grundlagen aus und berücksichtigt seine Gesamtanlage von seiner Ent-
stehung bis zur ersten Hälfte der siebziger Jahre, und zwar unter Herausarbeitung der ge-
sicherten und im Rahmen der weiteren ethnologischen Forschung anerkannten Ergebnisse
einerseits und der jüngeren, in ihrer Bedeutung und entwicklungsbestimmenden Tragweite
noch nicht überschaubaren Experimente und Tendenzen andererseits.
Die Komplexität des Rekonstruktionsplanes erforderte die Verwendung eines ar-
beitsmethodischen Gerüstes mit wissenschaftstheoretischer Begründung, das es ermög-
lichte, das Verhältnis zum größeren Ganzen der Ethnologie und anderer relevanter Dis-
ziplinen in Betracht zu ziehen. Dieses Gerüst besteht aus einer Hierarchie von vier Ope-
rationsbereichen, dem diachronischen Wissenschaftsmodell von T.S. Kuhn und den drei
Wissenschaftsdimensionen Gegenstand, Ziel und Methode (Renner 1980: 15-34).
Die vier Operationsbereiche umfassen vier Arten von Operationen, die das ganze
Spektrum wissenschaftlicher Aktivität im Rahmen der kognitiven Forschung einschlies-
sen, nämlich das Aufstellen eines kognitiven Programmes (Operationsbereich „program-
21 Beispiele hierzu sind: Schank/Colby 1973; Schank 1975, 1979; Schank/Abelson
1977.
2 2
Siehe hierzu u.a. Loflin/Silverberg 1978; Renner 1981a.
23
Zu Fragen der Kontinuität der kognitiven Forschung siehe Renner 1979 [MSI,
1981a.
220
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
matische Konzeption“), das Begründen einer kognitiven Theorie (Operationsbereich
„theoretische Systematik“), das Entwickeln und Anwenden von kognitiven Verfahren der
Datenanalyse (Operationsbereich „analytische Methodik“) und der Datenermittlung
(Operationsbereich „Feldforschungsmethodik“). In der genannten Reihenfolge ergibt sich
eine hierarchische Sukzession von vier Abstraktionsebenen, die von generellen Grundsätzen
der Forschung bis zu den kleinsten Details der Forschungspraxis reicht; d.h. das gesamte
Feld der kognitiven Forschung wird — ähnlich wie es die drei Dimensionen in der Mor-
risschen Semiotik ermöglichen — in kleinere Felder zerlegt, die zunächst getrennt ana-
lysiert und dann im Hinblick auf ihre wechselseitigen Abhängigkeiten im größeren Ganzen
der kognitiven Forschung diskutiert werden (Renner 1980; 16-18, 35-38, 69-72, 168-
169).
Das diachronische Wissenschaftsmodell ermöglicht eine Bestimmung der Kogni-
tiven Anthropologie als ethnologisches und auch linguistisches Wissenschaftsparadigma
und damit die Darstellung dynamischer Prozesse, die mit Entstehung und Entwicklung
der kognitiven Forschung verbunden sind, zum einen solche paradigmaintemer Art, d.h.
mit kognitiver Theorie und Methode verbundene Entwicklungsprozesse, zum anderen
solche paradigmaextemer Art, d.h. Entwicklungsprozesse ethnologischer und linguistischer
Theorie und Methode, die zur Begründung des kognitiven Paradigmas geführt haben. Dies
erfolgt durch die Verknüpfung der Hierarchie der Operationsbereiche mit der Struktur
des Paradigmakonzeptes einerseits, so daß eine Unterscheidung zwischen paradigma-
begründender und paradigmaprägender kognitiver Forschung in allen wesentlichen Ein-
zelheiten möglich ist. Und dies geschieht durch die Anwendung des paradigmatischen Ent-
wicklungsschemas auf vorausgegangene Phasen vor allem der Geschichte der Ethnologie
andererseits, so daß insbesondere der dynamische Wandel der ethnologischen Kulturtheo-
rie dargestellt und das kognitive Paradigma damit in ein durch Entwicklung geprägtes
größeres Wissenschaftskontinuum gestellt werden kann (Renner 1980: 18-28).
Die Anwendung der drei Dimensionen Gegenstand, Ziel und Methode, die mit
Hierarchie und Paradigma verknüpft werden, hat den Zweck, die komplexe Struktur,
die sich aus der Überlagerung von Hierarchie und Paradigma ergibt, auf eine Form zu
bringen, die dem Argumentationsgang in einer empirischen Nicht-Naturwissenschaft ent-
gegenkommt, ohne daß Abstriche von der Anwendung des Paradigmakonzeptes auf eine
solche Wissenschaft gemacht zu werden brauchen. Gegenstand, Ziel und Methode werden
innerhalb der Hierarchie geortet und im Hinblick auf ihre paradigmabegründende und pa-
radigmaprägende Funktion expliziert (Renner 1980: 28-34).
Einige Beispiele sollen nun erläutern, was mit einer methodisch derart gestützten
Rekonstruktion des kognitiven Forschungsmodelles u.a. angestrebt wurde.
a) Die exemplarische Begründung, daß der kognitiven Forschung ein umfassen-
des wissenschaftliches Programm zugrundeliegt, das paradigmatischen Charakter hat und
ihre gesamte bisherige Entwicklung umfaßt und geleitet hat, d.h. daß der rationale Kern
der kognitiven Forschung — wie in den Naturwissenschaften — von einem hypothetisch-
spekulativen Mantel umgeben ist, der weit über das empirisch Machbare hinausgeht
(exemplarisch bezieht sich darauf, daß dies auch für andere ethnologische und auch lin-
guistische Forschungsrichtungen gilt und insgesamt als eine Eigenschaft wissenschaftlicher
Entwicklung zu betrachten ist) (Renner 1980: 35-68).
b) Der detaillierte Nachweis, daß eine entsprechend umfassende kognitive Kultur-
theorie vorliegt, die alle Bereiche und Aspekte der bisher vorliegenden empirischen For-
schung umfaßt und durchdringt und damit die Grundregeln einer paradigmatischen Pro-
blemorientierung und Problemlösung angibt; die damit verbundene dreifache Funktion
des kognitiven Kulturbegriffs, als Ausgangsbasis einer umfassenden Programmatik, als
Mittelpunkt der Kulturtheorie und als Katalysator der empirischen Analysen, aus der die
Abhängigkeit von Programm, Theorie und empirischer Forschung und damit die Interde-
pendenzen der vier Operationsbereiche hervorgehen (Renner 1980: 72-99).
Reports and Comments
221
c) Die Herausarbeitung der Bedeutung der Semiotik für die kognitive Forschung, die
von der Explikation des Kulturbegriffs über die Interpretation der Methodenanalogie zur
Linguistik bis zur Systematisierung der analytischen Verfahren reicht: d.h. sie kommt in
den verschiedenen Operationsbereichen vor, einerseits getrennt wirkend, andererseits
aber in der Trennung im Sinn der Hierarchie aufeinander aufbauend und in ihrem mehr-
schichtigen Wirken ein Indiz für die Bedeutung dieser Konzeption für eine breit angeleg-
te ethnologische Symbolforschung mit interdisziplinären Perspektiven (Renner 1980: 90-
96, 130-154).
4. Anmerkungen zum Artikel und zum Kurzbericht (Anthropos 77.1982)
Ein Vergleich des bisher über die Kognitive Anthropologie Gesagten mit den Aus-
führungen darüber in dem Artikel von Kokot/Lang/Hinz und in dem Kurzbericht von Ko-
kot zeigt, daß in fast allen wesentlichen Punkten keine Übereinstimmung besteht. Der
Dissens beginnt bereits bei der Bezeichnung der Forschungsrichtung; er wird noch deut-
licher bei der Bestimmung der kognitiven Kulturauffassung und wird unübersehbar mit
der Wertung der Bedeutung älterer und neuerer analytischer Verfahren und Forschungs-
grundsätze. Eine exemplarische Kritik von Einzelheiten beider genannter Veröffent-
lichungen soll über die bisherigen Ausführungen hinaus die Gründe für diesen Dissens
verdeutlichen helfen.
4.1. Anmerkungen zum Artikel (pp. 329-350)
4.1.1 Zur Bezeichnung der Forschungsrichtung (330-331). — Der Terminus “ethno-
science” findet seit Sturtevant (1964) neben “cognitive anthropology” und anderen Ter-
mini Verwendung zur Bezeichnung der Forschungsrichtung, so auch in der Gegenwart,
u.a. für kognitive Forschung in Verbindung mit Komputerverfahren24 , für Untersuchun-
gen zur Simulation von Gedächtnismodellen (Werner 1978: 46) und für die Abgrenzung
einer ethnologisch begründeten von einer linguistisch begründeten und kognitiv orien-
tierten Sprachinhaltsforschung (McCormack 1977: 6). Auch die Bezeichnung “new
ethnography” wird in der gegenwärtigen Forschung in solchen Zusammenhängen verwen-
det 25 . Umgekehrt gibt es genügend Beispiele für ihre Bezeichnung als “cognitive anthropol-
ogy” in relativ frühen Phasen und in Verbindung mit Forschungen im lexikal-seman-
tischen Bereich (z.B. Tyler 1969). Die Charakterisierung der ersten zwanzig Jahre der
kognitiven Forschung als sogenannte “ethnoscience’’-Phase durch Kokot/Lang/Hinz (331)
geht von zwei Annahmen aus, die nicht zutreffen, nämlich daß sich erstens dieser Aus-
druck nur auf die Untersuchung von Lexika beziehe 26 und daß zweitens alle Vertreter
der kognitiven Forschung in diesem Gebrauch übereinstimmen würden.
4.1.2 Zur Entstehung und Abgrenzung der kognitiven Kulturauffassung (330-331). —
In der kognitiven Forschung ist, wie dargelegt, Kultur mit Kognition identisch, d.h. daß
Kultur in den Köpfen von Menschen als “ideational order” der für sie erfahrbaren und
24 Ein Symposium auf dem 78th AAA Annual Meeting (Cincinnati): “Computers
and Ethnoscience” (I und II).
25 Ein Symposium auf dem 79th AAA Annual Meeting (Washington, D.C.): “Renew-
ing the New Ethnography”.
26 Siehe dazu eine ausführliche Diskussion des Begriffes “ethnoscience” in Renner
1980:61-65.
222
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
sozial relevanten Wirklichkeit existiert. Die Begründung dieser Kulturauffassung, mit der
die Entstehung der kognitiven Forschung verbunden ist, und ihre in Stufen erfolgte Wei-
terentwicklung ist, wie ebenfalls dargelegt, ausschließlich die Leistung Goodenoughs., wie
jedem mit der Materie Vertrauten bekannt sein dürfte. Um diese Kulturauffassung in
ihren Artikel einzuführen, beziehen sich Kokot/Lang/Hinz statt auf Goodenoughs Be-
grifflichkeit jedoch überraschenderweise auf den “ideational component” von Hallidays
semantischem Sprachmodell und müssen, um diese Anwendung einigermaßen rechtfer-
tigen zu können, eine nicht sachangemessene Interpretation von Hallidays Konzept vor-
nehmen. Der Verdacht liegt nahe, daß die drei Autoren nicht mit der Problematik der
kognitiven Kulturtheorie vertraut sind.
Während das kognitive Moment von Kultur vom späten 19. Jh. an in den meisten
ethnologischen Kulturbegriffen unter unterschiedlichen inhaltlichen und begrifflichen Be-
dingungen mehr oder weniger deutlich vorkommt, ist der kognitive Kulturbegriff konse-
quent darauf beschränkt. Die empirische Begründung und theoretische Erklärung dieser
Beschränkung bilden den Kern der kognitiven Forschungskonzeption. Der Hinweis von
Kokot/Lang/Hinz, das Interesse am “ideational aspect of culture” (330) in der Ethnologie
sei nicht neu, ist in dieser bruchstückhaften Andeutung unklar und irreführend, weil
damit eine gleichbleibende Berücksichtigung dieser Kulturauffassung in Vergangenheit
und Gegenwart unterstellt wird, die, wie in einer einschlägigen Untersuchung dazu nach-
gewiesen wurde (Renner 1980: 112-128), nicht zutreffen kann. Verstärkt wird der
Eindruck der Unkenntnis der Sachlage noch durch die Behauptungen der drei Autoren,
daß frühere Forschungen mit einer solchen Kulturauffassung Untersuchungen kognitiver
Domänen vorweggenommen hätten und sich nur durch das Nicht-Vorhandensein formaler
Analyseverfahren von der kognitiven Forschung unterscheiden würden.
4.1.3 Zur Hypothesen- und Theorieabhängigkeit der kognitiven Forschung (331). — In
der kognitiven Forschung sind Entwicklung und Anwendung der analytischen Verfahren
von Beginn an mit dem Aufstellen und Prüfen von Hypothesen und Theorien verbunden,
deren Angemessenheit Vorhersagen möglicher Denk- und Verhaltensmuster nicht nur er-
laubt, sondern erforderlich macht (siehe z.B. Goodenough 1970: 72). Die Behauptung
von Kokot/Lang/Hinz, daß nur Verfahren der neueren Entwicklung und nicht diejenigen,
die sie der von ihnen postulierten “ethnoscience’’-Phase zurechnen, “testable theories”
(gemeint sind zunächst einmal “testable hypotheses”) zur Erklärung und Vorhersage mög-
licher Denk- und Verhaltensmuster gestatten, ist deshalb nicht zutreffend. Wie nur in
wenigen ethnologischen Forschungsrichtungen hat gerade in der kognitiven Forschung
die Hypothesen- und Theorienbildung von Anfang an eine zentrale Rolle gespielt.
4.1.4 Zur Unterscheidung zwischen Modell und Methode (331-337). — Die Verbindung
der kognitiven Kulturauffassung mit der Orientierung an Methoden der strukturalen Lin-
guistik hatte die Anwendung von Formalkalkülen und graphischen Mitteln auf bestimmte
kognitive Analyseverfahren zur Folge, zum einen, um den Modellcharakter dieser Verfah-
ren unter formalen Bedingungen sichtbar zu machen und zu präzisieren, zum anderen,
um auf diese Weise abstrakte und universal gültige Grundschemata der Kulturanalyse zu
entwickeln, die die Untersuchung jeder regionalen und lokalen Ausprägung kultureller
Phänomene ermöglichen. Die Unterscheidung von Kokot/Lang/Hinz zwischen “formal
models” und “formal replicable techniques” in der vorliegenden Weise ist nicht korrekt,
da die formalen Modelle das Ergebnis der Formalisierung der analytischen Verfahren
sind, d.h. daß hier nichts weiter als die zwei Seiten einer Medaille angesprochen werden,
die einander bedingen. Bei den drei Autoren führt diese Unterscheidung z.B. zu der irri-
tierenden Trennung zwischen dem semantischen Paradigma und der Komponentenana-
lyse, die statt dessen in dem Verhältnis einer doppelten Wechselbeziehung zueinander
stehen, nämlich, daß erstens die von konkretem Inhalt abstrahierte Begrifflichkeit des
semantischen Paradigmas das analytische Grundgerüst der Komponentenanalyse dar-
stellt, und daß zweitens das Ergebnis der Anwendung des Verfahrens auf einen lexikalen
Set ein inhaltlich definiertes semantisches Paradigma ist, das eine semantische bzw.
kognitive Domäne konstituiert.
4.1.5 Zu Stellenwert und Definition des Begriffes Paradigma (331-332). — Nach den obi-
gen Ausführungen ist zwischen einem formalen bzw. begrifflichen und einem inhaltlichen
Stellenwert des semantischen Paradigmakonzeptes zu unterscheiden. Seinem formalen
Charakter als Modell liegen graphisch darstellbare formallogische und/oder mengentheo-
retische Kriterien zugrunde, die seine abstrakte Definition ermöglichen;z.B. mengentheo-
retisch: Ein Paradigma besteht aus einer Menge von Elementen, in der alle Elemente zu-
mindest eine Eigenschaft gemeinsam haben (sonst würden sie nicht zu einer spezifischen
Menge gehören) und in der jedes Element sich von jedem anderen Element in zumindest
einer Eigenschaft unterscheidet. Inhaltlich gesehen besteht ein semantisches Paradigma
aus einem Set von Lexemen, der durch eine bestimmte Zahl von in semantischen Dimen-
sionen angeordneten Merkmalen gebildet wird, so daß alle Lexeme zumindest ein seman-
tisches Merkmal gemeinsam haben und jedes Lexem von jedem anderen Lexem durch zu-
mindest ein Merkmal unterschieden werden kann. Kokot/Lang/Hinz erklären dagegen den
formalen Charakter des Paradigmas mit einer im wesentlichen inhaltlichen Definition, die
außerdem falsch ist, weil die Eigenschaftsträger (die semantischen Dimensionen) als Ele-
mente angesprochen und damit im Grunde als Lexeme behandelt werden.
Semantische Paradigmata konstituieren, wie oben erwähnt, lexikale Domänen, so
daß eine inhaltsbezogene Paradigmadefinition auch für solche lexikalen Domänen gelten
kann, die sich paradigmatisch strukturieren lassen. Dagegen muß man bei der Charakteri-
sierung einer lexikalen Domäne durch die drei Autoren (332) zu dem Schluß kommen,
daß alle lexikalen Domänen paradigmatisch strukturiert sind. Die Zugehörigkeit zu einer
bestimmten Domäne wird nicht nur durch ein einziges, wenn auch umfassendes seman-
tisches Kriterium bestimmt, sondern ergibt sich aus einem Netz semantischer Beziehun-
gen, die z.B. paradigmatisch oder taxonomisch organisiert sein können. Die Behauptung
der drei Autoren, daß die Zugehörigkeit bzw. Nicht-Zugehörigkeit eines Lexems nur von
dem Vorhandensein bzw. Nicht-Vorhandensein eines einzigen Domäne-abgrenzenden se-
mantischen Kriteriums bestimmt wird, ist somit falsch und irreführend und die daran
geknüpfte Unterscheidung zwischen Lexemen einer gegebenen Domäne und irgend-
welchen anderen Lexemen unsinnig. Alle Lexeme, die z.B. außerhalb einer gegebenen
Domäne von Verwandtenbezeichnungen existieren, bilden den Rest des Lexikons einer
gegebenen Sprache; dazu gehören im Deutschen u.a. Lexeme wie Metaphysik, Regen-
wurm, Apfelstrudel und Sauerampfer.
Schließlich ist zu vermerken, daß auch die graphische Darstellung eines Paradigmas
im Text von Kokot/Lang/Hinz die Zusammenhänge eher verdunkelt als aufhellt. Die Aus-
wahl von Verwandtenbezeichnungen ist willkürlich, d.h. empirisch nicht gerechtfertigt, da
die Auswahl kein semantisches Paradigma bildet. Es gibt nur einen schwachen Bezug zu
dem erklärenden Text vor und nach der Graphik. Was vorliegt, ist eine unsystematische
Aufreihung von willkürlich zusammengestellten Ausdrücken, Zahlen und Strichen, sozu-
sagen ein “fuzzy paradigm”, dem jede wissenschaftliche Erklärungskraft fehlt. Hier wird
insgesamt die empirische und theoretische Problematik der kognitiven Forschung auf Ba-
nalitäten reduziert und dadurch derart entstellt, daß sich der Außenstehende keine Vor-
stellungen mehr von der Bedeutung solcher Verfahren machen kann. Leider trifft diese
Darstellungsweise fast für den gesamten Text der drei Autoren zu.
224
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
4.1.6 Zum Problem der mehrfachen Bezeichnung (Synonymität) und der Mehrdeutigkeit
von Bezeichnungen (Polysemie, Homonymie) (332). — Einbeziehung und Ausschließung
von Synonymen bei der Analyse eines lexikalen Set hängen ab von den empirischen Kri-
terien der Abgrenzung und der Organisation einer gegebenen semantischen Domäne und
ergeben sich außerdem aus der jeweiligen Zielsetzung. Solche empirischen Kriterien be-
ziehen sich auf die Möglichkeit der Wahl unterschiedlicher Kontexte eines gegebenen lexi-
kalen Set, die eine Erweiterung oder Reduzierung der relevanten semantischen Domäne
erlauben, z.B. die getrennte oder gemeinsame Analyse von Verwandtenbezeichnungen
und ihrer regionalen/lokalen Varianten. Das bloße zweimalige Erwähnen des Begriffes
Synonym in Klammem bei Kokot/Lang/Hinz ist erstens für die Darstellung der genannten
analytischen Grundschemata nicht erforderlich und zweitens völlig ungeeignet, auch nur
das Geringste über seine Bedeutung in der empirischen Analyse auszusagen.
Homonyme sind sprachliche Ausdrücke, die sich phonologisch entsprechen, sich
aber semantisch gegenseitig ausschließen. So definiert, können sie in einer einzigen se-
mantischen Domäne kaum Vorkommen. Die Mehrdeutigkeit, die die drei Autoren mit
ihrem Bezug auf diesen Begriff meinen und die innerhalb einer semantischen Domäne
sehr häufig vorkommt, wird seit den siebziger Jahren in der kognitiven Forschung mit
dem Begriff Polysemie erfaßt27. Polyseme sind Lexeme, die sich hinsichtlich ihrer Mehr-
deutigkeit semantisch überlappen, u.a. im Zusammenhang mit Merkmals-und Inklusionsbe-
ziehungen. Zu der entstellenden Kürze der drei Autoren zu diesem Punkt kommt auch
hier mangelnde Sachkenntnis hinzu. Eines der wichtigsten kognitiven Verfahren, die
Äquivalenzregelanalyse, die sich aus dem Problem der empirisch angemessenen Erklä-
rung von Mehrdeutigkeit heraus entwickelt hat und von Lounsbury (1964a und b) be-
gründet wurde, wird in diesem Artikel nicht einmal in einer Anmerkung erwähnt.
4.1,7 Zur Wertung von Merkmal- (Komponenten-) und Inklusions- (Taxonomischer)
Analyse (333). — Die Bedeutung von Lexemen wird im Rahmen der Merkmal- und der
Inklusions-Analyse kontextabhängig bestimmt, und nicht, wie Kokot/Lang/Hinz behaup-
ten, kontextunabhängig. Das geht selbst noch aus ihren entstellenden Definitionen bei-
der Analysemodelle hervor (331-332). Entsprechend bedeuten klar abgrenzbare seman-
tische Untersuchungsfelder keine Restriktionen, wie sie weiter behaupten, sondern die
Abgrenzbarkeit ist eine Forderung des rationalen wissenschaftlichen Vorgehens, ein Prin-
zip der klassifizierenden Aufgabe von Wissenschaft. Kognitive Systeme bestehen sicher
aus mehr als aus systemisch geordneten lexikalen Sets; jedoch hat die bisherige Ent-
wicklung gezeigt, daß die vorliegenden wissenschaftlichen Mittel der kognitiven For-
schung mehr als Andeutungen über die Komplexität solcher kognitiven Systeme nicht
erlauben. Die Kontrastierung der genannten Verfahren mit dem, was die drei Autoren
unter prozeßorientierten Verfahren verstehen, und die damit verbundene Kritik sind
gänzlich irreführend, weil damit ein nie vorhandener Bruch in die Entwicklung der kogni-
tiven Forschung gebracht wird. Außerdem ist festzuhalten, daß die Mehrheit der im An-
schluß an Paradigma und Taxonomie dargestellten Verfahren (333-337) zu keinem
Zeitpunkt die grundlegende Bedeutung in der kognitiven Forschung erlangt haben,
die diese beiden Verfahren heute z.T. noch besitzen; u.a. weil einige davon auf Unter-
suchungsbereiche ausgerichtet sind, bei deren Erfassung die Ethnologie nicht selten
zu geisteswissenschaftlichen Spekulationen verleitet worden ist.
27
Siehe dazu Kay 1971: 872-879; Scheffler/Lounsbury 1981: 3-12.
Reports and Comments
225
4.1.8 Zu weiteren kritischen Bemerkungen über diese Verfahren (377-378). — Diese Kri-
tik ist keine sachliche Auseinandersetzung, in der Standpunkte dargelegt und belegt wer-
den, sondern besteht im wesentlichen aus bloßen Behauptungen, Mutmaßungen und
Spekulationen. Zum Teil werden bereits mehrfach hervorgehobene Zusammenhänge
wiederholt. Nachfolgend eine kommentierte Zusammenfassung dieser kritischen Bemer-
kungen.
a) Die als statisch betrachteten kognitiven Strukturen, die mit älteren Analyseverfahren
untersucht werden, seien empirisch weniger zugänglich als Input und Output von Prozes-
sen, u.a. in ihrer “psychic reality”. Jedoch trifft genau das Gegenteil zu, weil die empi-
rischen Sachverhalte, die mit systemisch organisierten Prozessen verbunden sind, sehr viel
komplexer und unübersichtlicher sind als Strukturen, ganz zu schweigen von ihrer ent-
sprechend komplexen “psychic reality”.
b) Die Vernachlässigung der Untersuchung von kognitiven Prozessen könne erst durch die
Erkenntnisse der “Artificial Intelligence” überwunden werden. Diese Behauptung ist vor
allem deshalb mit einem Fragezeichen zu versehen, weil die Schwierigkeiten des Ein-
bringens psychologischer Erkenntnisse in eine interkulturell angelegte Wissenschaft schon
mehreren Generationen von Ethnologen bekannt sind.
c) In Wiederholung wird hier festgestellt, daß sich die an den kritisierten Verfahren orien-
tierte kognitive Forschung nur mit “isolated problem areas” befaßt habe, während es ge-
rade ein Ausdruck von Wissenschaftlichkeit ist, Problemfelder klar abzugrenzen und sie
zunächst einmal vom ,,Rest der Welt“ isoliert zu betrachten.
d) Die wiederholten Anwendungen vertrauter Verfahren auf vertraute Gegenstandsbe-
reiche seien als Kraftvergeudungen zu betrachten und hätten das Befassen mit neuen Pro-
blemfeldem verhindert. Dem ist entgegenzuhalten, daß gerade die wiederholte Ausein-
andersetzung mit Verfahren und Inhalten, wie unschwer nachzuweisen ist, zur Vertiefung
von Erkenntnissen jeglicher Art geführt hat.
e) Wiederum wird die Theorielosigkeit und Kontextunabhängigkeit der kritisierten Ver-
fahren behauptet, ohne dafür auch nur den geringsten Beleg zu erbringen.
f) Zum wiederholten Male werden hier dieselben wissenschaftlichen Tagungen genannt,
auf denen die Artificial Intelligence — sozusagen als deus ex machina — eine Wende in
der kognitiven Forschung herbeigeführt habe, u.a. das AAA-Meeting in Cincinnati (1979).
Auf dieser Tagung wurden — in einem Rahmen von ca. 1000 Vorträgen in ca. 250
Symposien — auch einige Symposien zur kognitiven Forschung abgehalten, vor allem fol-
gende: “Structures of Cognitive und Semantic Domains” (sieben Vorträge), “Computers
and Ethnoscience” I und II (zehn Vorträge), “Relations between Symbolic and Psychologi-
cal Anthropology” I und II (elf Vorträge). Während im ersten Symposium Fragen ange-
gangen wurden, die aus der Sicht von Kokot/Lang/Hinz überholt sind, und im zweiten
Symposium die Anwendung von Komputern für die Datenermittlung zur Diskussion
stand, ging es im dritten Symposium um Probleme der Integration von Symbolforschung,
kognitiven Verfahren und psychologischen Ansätze. Innerhalb dieses letzten Symposiums
wurde mindestens ein Vortrag gehalten, der sich explizit mit Artificial Intelligence be-
faßte 28 .
Siehe dazu: “Abstracts of the 78th Annual Meeting” der American Anthropol-
ogical Association ; eine vergleichbare Situation liegt auf der nächsten Jahrestagung vor,
wie die “Abstracts of the 79th Annual Meeting” zeigen.
Anthropos 78.1983
is
226
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
4.1.9 Zu der Darstellung der als rezent betrachteten Entwicklung und zu den Perspektiven
einer zukünftigen kognitiven Forschung (337-343). — Da in den Ausführungen von
Kokot/Lang/Hinz dazu entsprechend dem bisher Gesagten vorgegangen wird, beschränkt
sich die Kritik hier auf einige grundsätzliche Anmerkungen:
a) Zunächst einmal fällt auf, daß als rezente Entwicklung im wesentlichen die von Psycho-
logie und Artificial Intelligence beeinflußte kognitive Forschung betrachtet wird, während
die komplexen sprachinhaltlichen Forschungen, in denen Ethnologie und Linguistik inte-
grativ miteinander verbunden sind, so gut wie unerwähnt und die Rolle der kognitiven
Forschung im größeren Ganzen der Ethnologie unberücksichtigt bleiben.
b) Im Gegensatz zu der Parteilichkeit der drei Autoren für eine bestimmte Tendenz der
kognitiven Forschung sind die Ausführungen darüber oberflächlich, simplifizierend und
entstellend. Man nehme als Beispiele die Darstellungen von Abelsons “Goldwater machine”
und Kokots “restaurant Schemata” (338-340), die den Eindruck erwecken, als habe hier
ein cleverer Literat oder Sachbuchautor recht intelligent ausgedachte Konstruktionen zur
Manipulation seiner Leser in eine bestimmte Richtung entwickelt. Mit anderen Worten:
Den Darstellungen fehlt jede durchdringende theoretische und empirische Überzeugungs-
kraft. Salopp wird dem Leser die banale Oberfläche bestimmter analytischer Verfahren
präsentiert, so wie Fertiggerichte plakativ angepriesen werden. Dabei wird einfach unter-
stellt, daß solche Verfahren einen Fortschritt in der kognitiven Forschung darstellten,
ohne daß dafür in irgendeiner Weise Belege erbracht werden oder gar die Problematik der
Entwicklung und Anwendung solcher Verfahren sichtbar wird.
c) Ausgehend von einem — nach ihren vorausgegangenen bisherigen Ausführungen —
unverständlichen Optimismus, versuchen sich Kokot/Lang/Hinz am Ende ihres Textes an
offenen Fragen einer zukünftigen kognitiven Forschung und stellen dabei einen Fragen-
katalog auf, der schlichtweg alle ethnologischen Probleme dieser Welt umfaßt, von einer
partikularistischen Betrachtungsweise ethnologischer Aufgaben bis zu einer “cross culture”-
Typologisierung empirischer Phänomene, vom regionalen Kulturwandel bis zu einem
umfassenden Evolutionsmodell, von der diachronischen za einer synchronischen Rekon-
struktion kultureller Phänomenbereiche bzw. ganzer Kulturen usw. Vor diesem totalen
Anspruch wird selbst die vorher so hoch gelobte Artificial Intelligence-Forschung zum
reinen Sandkastenspiel, das “real-world data” unberücksichtigt läßt bzw. unterschlägt
(343). Andere Ethnologen betrachten solche Themen und Fragen als Aufgaben, die erst in
den nächsten Generationen durch eine Integration von Erkenntnissen gelöst werden
können, die in gegenwärtig noch divergierenden fachinternen und fachexternen For-
schungen erst gewonnen werden müssen, z.B. die Entwicklung einer universalen Theorie
der menschlichen Kultur (Goodenough 1980: 2).
Zusammenfassend betrachtet, übersehen Kokot/Lang/Hinz hierbei, daß die Kogni-
tive Anthropologie Produkt einer grundsätzlich synchronischen Betrachtungsweise von
Kultur und Gesellschaft ist und damit an die zeitunabhängige Statik ihrer synchronischen
Prämissen gebunden ist. Ein Herauslösen der kognitiven Forschung aus diesen Prämis-
sen bedeutet, einen völlig neuen Weg zu gehen, der in der Zukunft zwar notwendig sein
wird, dessen Richtung aber noch nicht bekannt ist.
4,2 Anmerkungen zum Kurzbericht (pp. 564-567)
Der Kurzbericht befaßt sich, wie zu Beginn erwähnt, kritisch mit einer größeren
Abhandlung zur Kognitiven Anthropologie (Renner 1980). Zu dieser Kritik soll vor dem
Hintergrund der bisherigen Diskussion exemplarisch Stellung genommen werden. In den
Titeln der nachfolgenden Unterabschnitte sind die wichtigsten inhaltlichen Punkte dieser
Kritik erfaßt.
Reports and Comments
227
4.2.1 Zur benutzten Literatur (564, 566). — Zur Rekonstruktion von Entstehung und
Entwicklung der Kognitiven Anthropologie wurden in dieser Abhandlung einschlägige
Veröffentlichungen programmatischer, theoretischer, methodischer und empirischer Art
bis zu dem in der Einleitung genannten Zeitpunkt (Renner 1980: 14) berücksichtigt. Die
Behauptung Kokots, es sei nur programmatische Literatur der Anfangsjahre verwendet
worden (564), während die neuere Literatur, die sie als interdisziplinär bezeichnet, igno-
riert worden sei (566), trifft nicht zu. Dementsprechend haben auch die von Kokot/Lang/
Hinz in ihrem Artikel favorisierte Kognitive Psychologie und Artificial Intelligence ihren
Platz in der kritisierten Abhandlung (1980: 102-106), ohne daß ihnen allerdings die Be-
deutung zugeordnet wird, die sie nach Überzeugung dieser Autoren haben. Kokot nimmt
darauf Bezug (565-566) und setzt sich damit in Widerspruch zu ihrer erwähnten Behaup-
tung, daß solche Literatur nicht benutzt worden sei. Hinzu kommt auch, daß das Haupt-
beispiel, mit dem die drei Autoren in ihrem Artikel die gegenwärtige Bedeutung der
Artificial Intelligence in der kognitiven Forschung zu demonstrieren versuchen, aus der
gleichen Veröffentlichung (Schank and Colby 1973) stammt, die neben anderen Ver-
öffentlichungen in der hier zur Diskussion stehenden Abhandlung zur kritischen Be-
trachtung dieses kognitiven Forschungstrendes verwendet wurde (Renner 1980: bes.
101-102, 105-106).
Insgesamt ist hierzu festzustellen, daß in dieser Abhandlung keine Tendenz der kog-
nitiven Forschung, die bis zum Abschluß dieser Untersuchung eine Bedeutung hatte, un-
beachtet geblieben ist, sondern ihrem Stellenwert entsprechend, d.h. als gesichertes Er-
gebnis oder als mögliche Perspektive, untersucht und dargestellt worden ist. Gerade eine
systematische Rekonstruktion, wie sie hier versucht wurde, muß auf solche Unterschiede
und die Nuancen einer divergierenden Entwicklung achten. Dabei bleibt die Standort-
bestimmung und Einordnung neuerer Tendenzen immer problematisch, weil sie der
Vagheit des noch nicht oder nicht vollständig Bewährten nicht enthoben werden können.
Über diese Problematik geht die Autorin hier und — zusammen mit ihren beiden Koautoren
— in ihrem Artikel ohne Zögern hinweg.
4.2.2. Zur Rolle der Linguistik (564-566). — Wie mehrfach erwähnt, ist der synchro-
nische Strukturalismus der USA vor Chomsky, auch als Deskriptivismus bekannt gewor-
den29, diejenige Linguistik, die zur Begründung und Entwicklung der Kognitiven Anthro-
pologie entscheidend beigetragen hat. Später erlangte dann der von Chomsky begründete
linguistische Ansatz eine gewisse Bedeutung in der kognitiven Forschung (Renner 1980:
82-83). Selbst die Komponentenanalyse, die eine so grundlegende Stellung hat und inner-
halb des Prager Strukturalismus entwickelt wurde, macht hiervon keine Ausnahme, weil
sie erst durch die methodische Stringenz dieses Deskriptivismus gefiltert ihre Rolle in der
kognitiven Forschung übernahm (vgl. Renner 1980: 141-143, 147-154). Über die ausge-
dehnte Untersuchung der Bedeutung dieser Linguistik hinaus wurden auch Vergleiche zu
Entwicklungen der europäischen Linguistik gezogen, die zwar keine Einflüsse auf die Kog-
nitive Anthropologie ausgeübt haben, aber auf bestimmten Gebieten ähnliche Tendenzen
einer Sprachinhaltsforschung aufweisen, vor allem zu dem mentalistisch angelegten
Sprachmodell von De Saussure (Renner 1980: 97-98) und zur deutschen Wortfeldtheorie
(ibid. : 143). Schließlich wurden — in Verbindung mit der in diesem Zusammenhang be-
sonders relevanten Semiotik — die sich hieraus ergebenden Probleme und Perspektiven
einer interdisziplinären Sprachinhaltsforschung, die die kognitive Forschung bis zur Ge-
genwart entscheidend mitbestimmt haben, eingehend untersucht und an Beispielen
dargestellt {ibid.: 134-140).
29 Siehe die Skizzierung dieses Deskriptivismus
tive Forschung in Renner 1980: 77-80.
und seiner Bedeutung für die kogni-
228
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Anthropos 78.1983
Kokots Bemerkungen dazu (564) enthalten mehrere Irrtümer. Ihre Feststellung,
daß die Diskussion des Einflusses der Linguistik auf die kognitive Forschung sich in der
erwähnten Abhandlung weitgehend auf die amerikanische Linguistik beschränke, legt
die Vermutung nahe, daß sie mit der behandelten Materie nicht genügend vertraut ist.
Eine andere Linguistik hat, und dies gilt grundsätzlich bis zur Gegenwart, keinen Einfluß
auf Entstehung und Entwicklung dieser Forschungsrichtung gehabt. Selbst die gegenwär-
tigen Konvergenzen mit einer linguistischen Sprachinhaltsforschung bewegen sich im
wesentlichen innerhalb der amerikanischen Linguistik. Vor dem Hintergrund dieser Ent-
wicklung erweist sich eine weitere Behauptung von Kokot als nicht richtig, nämlich daß
die linguistische Orientierung der kognitiven Forschung auf ihre frühe Entwicklung be-
schränkt sei (566). Sie verwechselt hier die Rolle dieser Forschung als Sprachinhalts-
forschung mit ihrer Orientierung an linguistischer Theorie und Methode. Diese Ver-
wechselung wird besonders dann deutlich, wenn man den Artikel von Kokot/Lang/Hinz
betrachtet, in dem die Rolle der kognitiven Forschung als Sprachinhaltsforschung so gut
wie ganz ignoriert wird. Ihre Bemerkung, daß sich die kritisierte Abhandlung nur mit dem
Teilbereich der Kognitiven Anthropologie befasse, der von der Analogie zur Linguistik
geprägt sei, stellt dementsprechend die Tatsachen auf den Kopf.
Der frühe Einfluß der Linguistik erfaßt, wie dort (Renner 1980) gezeigt wurde, vor
allem Begriffe, Verfahren und Theorie und nur mit großen Einschränkungen auch Aspekte
der Zielsetzung der kognitiven Forschung, die auf Grund ihres mentalistischen Charakters
weit über die behavioristisch begründete Zielsetzung dieser Linguistik hinausgeht (ibid
49-51, 83-96). Die Schwierigkeit besteht hier darin, die komplizierte Überlagerung von
Mentalismus und Behaviorismus bei der Entstehung der Kognitiven Anthropologie zu
überschauen {ibid.: 96-99). Die pauschale Abhängigkeit der frühen kognitiven Forschung
von der Linguistik, die Kokot im Zusammenhang mit dem Analogiekonzept behauptet
(564), entspricht somit nicht der Sachlage. Es muß statt dessen, wie ausführlich in der
Abhandlung dargelegt wurde, von vielschichtigen Einflüssen der Linguistik auf diese
Forschungsrichtung ausgegangen werden, die immer wieder neu reflektiert und von ande-
ren Tendenzen überlagert wurden.
4.2.3 Zur Bedeutung und Funktion der kognitiven Kulturtheorie (564-565). — Die gene-
rellen Thesen der kognitiven Forschung, deren Formulierung mit ihrer Entstehung ver-
bunden ist, beziehen sich, wie oben dargelegt, im wesentlichen auf Programmatik und
Kulturtheorie und ihre Implikationen für die empirische Forschung. Sie sind so umfassend
angelegt, daß sie jede ältere und gegenwärtige Form der kognitiven Forschung einschlies-
sen. Dies zeigt vor allem die Diskussion der Operationsbereiche „programmatische Kon-
zeption“ und „theoretische Systematik“ (siehe einleitend dazu Renner 1980: 35-38, 69-
72). Dagegen unterstellt Kokot der kritisierten Abhandlung eine Beschränkung von Kog-
nition auf einen Untersuchungsbereich, der sich nach ihrer Meinung aus der Analogisie-
rung von Sprache und Kultur ergibt. Dies kann schon deshalb nicht richtig sein, weil es
sich, wie eben dargelegt, bei Kognition um einen rein mentalistischen Untersuchungs-
bereich handelt, der aus behavioristischer Sicht nicht existiert und deshalb auch nicht
untersucht werden kann. Was Kokot damit meint, daß der Gegenstand der kognitiven
Forschung auf Grund der Analogie zur Linguistik in dieser Abhandlung „ein für allemal“
festgelegt sei (565), bleibt angesichts dieser Sachlage unverständlich. Weil sie die Zusam-
menhänge offenbar nicht überschaut, vermutet sie, daß die Kritik an der Kognitions-
forschung von Psychologie und Artificial Intelligence, die in dieser Abhandlung geübt
wird, in Verbindung mit dieser Analogisierung stehe 30 .
30 Es erhebt sich hier die Frage, warum eine vergleichbare Analogisierung zwischen
Psychologie und Ethnologie nicht möglich war und ist.
Reports and Comments
229
Im Anschluß an diese Einschränkungsbemühungen kommt die Autorin unverhofft
zu der Einsicht, daß der frühe Kulturbegriff Goodenoughs (den sie leider nicht ganz rich-
tig zitiert) weit über das hinausgehe, was im Rahmen der von ihr vermuteteten Einschrän-
kungen als kognitive Forschung betrieben worden sei. Ihre Erkenntnis deckt sich völlig
mit dem, was in der von ihr kritisierten Arbeit in aller Breite und Tiefe dargelegt wurde
(vgl. Renner 1980: 49-51, 83-96) und was der Grund dafür war, Programm und Theorie
der kognitiven Forschung in zwei von ihrem analytischen Regelapparat getrennten Opera-
tionsbereichen zu behandeln (vgl. Renner 1980: 16-18). Im übrigen ist es einigermaßen
überraschend, wie überzeugt in diesem Zusammenhang auf Stellung und Bedeutung der
von Goodenough begründeten kognitiven Kulturauffassung hingewiesen wird, nachdem
Kokot und ihre beiden Koautoren bei dem Verfassen ihres oben diskutierten Artikels
offensichtlich nicht einmal von seiner Existenz wußten, wie der Bezug auf Hallidays
“ideational component” zur Erklärung der kognitiven Kulturauffassung nur allzu deut-
lich zeigt (330). Statt dessen wird Goodenoughs Text in dem Artikel der drei Autoren
für einen Sachverhalt zitiert, der nicht in ihm behandelt wird, nämlich für die Kompo-
nentenanalyse (336).
Goodenoughs Leistung, die das kognitive Paradigma begründet hat, besteht, wie an
anderer Stelle schon skizziert, im wesentlichen darin, daß er mit seiner Kulturkonzeption,
die aus der mentalistischen Uminterpretation der strukturalen Sprachauffassung resultiert,
die theoretischen Grundregeln der kognitiven Forschung entwickelt und ihre Anwendbar-
keit in der empirischen Forschung unter Verwendung methodischer Kategorien der Se-
miotik und der Linguistik nachgewiesen hat. Dies ist in der hier diskutierten Unter-
suchung mehrfach und ausführlich unter verschiedenen Gesichtspunkten behandelt wor-
den (Renner 1980; bes. 25, 83-90). Kokot klammert sich bei ihren Verweisen auf die
paradigmabegründende Leistung Goodenoughs jedoch immer nur an die Kulturdefinition
Goodenoughs und vermag so diesen Zusammenhang nur als Halbwahrheit wiederzugeben
(564-565).
4.2.4 Zum Verhältnis von ethnologisch-linguistischer und psychologischer Kognitionsfor-
schung (565-566). — In der zur Diskussion stehenden Abhandlung wird auch nicht be-
hauptet, wie Kokot vermutet, daß sich das ethnologisch-linguistische und das psycholo-
gische Kognitionskonzept gegenseitig ausschließen (566). Es wird lediglich die Problema-
tik ihrer Verknüpfung aufgezeigt, wie sie sich aus der Gesamtsituation der ethnologisch-
linguistischen Forschung ergibt und von ihren führenden Vertretern selbst gesehen wird.
Einzelheiten dazu werden in den bisherigen Ausführungen unter verschiedenen Gesichts-
punkten dargelegt. Die Interdisziplinarität der kognitiven Forschung ist nicht erst durch
die Integrationsversuche von Psychologie und Artificial Intelligence gegeben, wie Kokot
offenbar glaubt (566), sondern von vornherein in ihr angelegt, dokumentiert vor allem
durch die Verknüpfung von Ethnologie, Linguistik und Semiotik, wie auch immer sol-
che Verbindungen bezeichnet werden, disziplinübergreifend, integrativ oder interdiszipli-
när. Dagegen bleibt die fortschreitende Integration ethnologischer und linguistischer
Kognitionsforschung zu einer umfassenden Sprachinhaltsforschung, wie sie gerade für
die neuere Entwicklung charakteristisch ist, bei Kokot unerwähnt, ähnlich wie in dem
Artikel, in dem sie Koautorin ist.
Im übrigen wird die Problematik der Verbindung beider Kognitionsforschungen
auch in der von Kokot zitierten Literatur in aller Deutlichkeit herausgearbeitet, wobei
ihre Integration mindestens so deutlich in Frage gestellt wird wie in der von ihr kritisier-
ten Abhandlung, während sie diese Literatur, wie ihre Hinweise zeigen (566), für ihre An-
sicht in Anspruch nehmen möchte3 1. Die von ihr erhoffte Rolle der psychologischen
31
Siehe z.B. Laboratory of Comparative Human Cognition 1978: passim.
230
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
Kognitionsforschung für die Weiterentwicklung des “etic grid” (566) muß zunächst ein-
mal nachgewiesen werden. Gerade an dieser Stelle liegen die wesentlichen Probleme der
Integration beider Kognitionsforschungen.
4.2.5 Zu Charakter und Funktion einzelner Begriffe und Verfahren (564-565). — Kokot
behauptet auch, daß in dieser Abhandlung „Paradigma“ und „Taxonomie“ als charakte-
ristisch für die gesamte kognitive Forschung hingestellt werden (565). Ihre Bedeutung für
die Grundlegung der kognitiven Methodik wird in der Tat unter verschiedenen Gesichts-
punkten diskutiert, und zwar in Verbindung mit einer Reihe von theoretischen und me-
thodischen Zusammenhängen und unter Berücksichtigung weiterer, gleichzeitig und spä-
ter entstandener analytischer Verfahren. Kokot überschaut nicht nur diese Zusammen-
hänge nicht, sondern hat elementare Schwierigkeiten beim Umgang mit diesen beiden
Begriffen, wie die Belegstellen für ihre Mutmaßungen zeigen (565). Auf Seite 78 (Renner
1980) ist nicht, wie sie vermutet, von der semantischen Taxonomie die Rede, sondern
wird der taxonomische Aufbau des linguistischen Deskriptivismus diskutiert, der Good-
enough dazu dient, über eine ähnliche hierarchische Organisation einer umfassend angeleg-
ten kognitiven Forschung zu reflektieren (ibid.: 77-82). Die Verwechslung bzw. Gleich-
setzung der beiden Taxonomiebegriffe, die hier schon offensichtlich ist, wird vollends
durch ihre Behauptung bestätigt, die semantische Taxonomie sei der Linguistik entlehnt
(565). Jeder nur einigermaßen mit der Materie Vertraute weiß dagegen, daß die seman-
tische Taxonomie in Anlehnung an die biologische Taxonomie entwickelt wurde, wäh-
rend sich der Begriff Taxonomie in der strukturalen Linguistik auf das Prinzip der “imme-
diate constituents analysis” bezieht. Seite 153, auf die sie außerdem verweist, gehört
zu einem Abschnitt, in dem die methodische Grundlegung der kognitiven Forschung dar-
gestellt wird. Diese Grundlegung ist verbunden mit der Einführung der Komponenten-
analyse in die ethnologische Forschung und erfolgt über die Methodenanalogie zur Lin-
guistik und ihre semiotische Explikation. Dabei spielt auch der Paradigmabegriff in seiner
oben erörterten Doppelbedeutung eine Rolle (vgl. Renner 1980: 150-153 und oben:
4.1). Die Ausführungen an dieser Stelle sind so eindeutig und unmißverständlich, daß
die Behauptung Kokots, damit werde die gesamte Kognitive Anthropologie (vermut-
lich methodisch?) charakterisiert, nur noch als Ausdruck völliger Sachunkenntnis be-
trachtet werden kann. Entsprechendes ergibt sich aus dem Hinweis der Autorin auf die
Verwendung von Nidas Untersuchung der Komponentenanalyse, deren Erörterung
in der kritisierten Abhandlung im Zusammenhang mit der Interdisziplinarität der kogni-
tiven Sprachinhaltsforschung steht32 .
Zumindest mißverständlich ist auch Kokots Verwendung der Begriffe “emics” und
“etics”. Sie spricht von einem „etischen“ und einem „emischen Ansatz“ (564) und
scheint zu übersehen, daß die beiden Pikeschen “standpoints” voneinander abhängen und
in der empirischen Analyse aufeinander bezogen sind. Lediglich die Kulturmaterialisten,
vor allem Marvin Harris, haben das Verhältnis der beiden “standpoints” zueinander auf
eine andere, der Konzeption Pikes nicht entsprechende Weise dargestellt (vgl. Renner
1980; 155-161).
5. Schlußbemerkungen
Den obigen Ausführungen zufolge läßt sich der Artikel von Kokot/Lang/Hinz zu-
sammenfassend so charakterisieren:
Siehe Renner 1980: 135-140; hier werden Überlagerungen der ethnologischen
und linguistischen Sprachinhaltsforschung diskutiert, die sich bis zur Gegenwart fortge-
setzt haben;siehe z.B. Anm. 20.
Reports and Comments
231
a) Der Einfluß der Kognitiven Psychologie und Artificial Intelligence auf die neuere kog-
nitive Forschung wird bei weitem überbetont, während deren Bedeutung als Sprachinhalts-
forschung und ihre daraus resultierende interdisziplinäre Verbindung mit einer linguistischen
Sprachinhaltsforschung so gut wie ignoriert wird. Andere kognitive Forschungen, die auch
weiterhin in der Ethnologie von Bedeutung sind, werden überhaupt nicht beachtet bzw.
als überholt abgetan.
b) Die Darstellung der einzelnen Verfahren und Themen ist durchgehend entstellend
kurz und dabei derart oberflächlich, daß keine Vorstellung von der wirklichen Proble-
matik der gegenwärtigen und der älteren kognitiven Forschung vermittelt werden kann.
c) Bei den Ausführungen werden grobe und schwerwiegende Mängel und Fehler sichtbar,
die auf eine kaum verständliche Sachunkenntnis der Autoren schließen lassen, so auch
auf jenem Gebiet der kognitiven Forschung, das sie — mit scheinbar souveräner Geste —
als überwunden und unproblematisch ansehen.
d) In einer Untersuchung, die den neueren Stand der kognitiven Forschung zeigen soll,
sind Erörterungen älterer Untersuchungen nicht erforderlich, vor allem dann nicht, wenn
sie, wie hier, entstellend dargestellt sind und wenn ihre Verbindung zur gegenwärtigen
Forschung nicht berücksichtigt und wohl auch nicht verstanden worden ist33.
Aus diesen Gründen kann der Artikel von Kokot/Lang/Hinz weder als ein “survey”
noch als ein Beitrag zur theoretischen Diskussion in der gegenwärtigen kognitiven For-
schung betrachtet werden. Dies ist vor allem auch deshalb bedauerlich, weil damit eine
Chance der deutschen Ethnologie vertan ist, sich an der internationalen theoretischen
Diskussion der Gegenwart zu beteiligen, auf dem sie selbst nach der Ansicht konservativer
deutscher Ethnologen einen Nachholbedarf hat (Schott 1981: 40). Vor allem auf Grund
der oben genannten Mängel propagiert der Artikel genau das Gegenteil von dem, um was
sich die drei Autoren offensichtlich bemüht haben, nämlich eine Entwicklung hin zu rein
geisteswissenschaftlichen Vorgehens- und Betrachtungsweisen, die gegenüber dem Stand
der empirischen und theoretischen Erkenntnisse der kognitiven Forschung einen Rückfall
bedeuten, sozusagen die Herstellung eines Status quo ante minus.
Für den Kurzbericht von Kokot ergibt sich aus den obigen Ausführungen eine
entsprechende Charakterisierung:
a) Die Autorin hat sich mit den Grundlagen der Rekonstruktion der Kognitiven Anthro-
pologie in der von ihr kritisierten Abhandlung nicht angemessen auseinandergesetzt.
b) In ihren Ausführungen werden dieselben groben Mängel und Fehler wie in dem oben
erörterten Artikel sichtbar und führen zu entsprechend falschen Darstellungen und
Schlußfolgerungen.
Insgesamt bewegt sich die Auseinandersetzung der Autorin mit der kritisierten
Abhandlung auf einem Niveau von Sachkenntnissen, das dem des oben erörterten Ar-
tikels entspricht. Sie vermag deshalb keine angemessene Kritik zu leisten. Immerhin
handelt es sich bei dieser Abhandlung um die erste umfassende Rekonstruktion der Kog-
nitiven Anthropologie und um die erste im Detail ausgewiesene Anwendung des Kuhn-
schen Wissenschaftsmodelles (1962) in einer empirischen Nicht-Naturwissenschaft. Eine
Kritik müßte, wie auch immer sie ausfallen mag, solchen Gelegenheiten sachkundig
Rechnung tragen.
Siehe dazu die beispielhafte Darstellung und Verarbeitung älterer kognitiver
Verfahren und ihre Integration in die gegenwärtige Forschung in dem “survey” von
Colby/Fernandez/Kronenberg 1981.
232
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
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Reports and Comments
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Die semiotische Kulturtheorie als eine „neue" Ethnologie
Andrzej Bronk SVD
Dr. hob. phil., Inhaber des Lehrstuhls für Wissenschaftstheorie
der Katholischen Universität Lublin
(ul. Jagiellonska 45, skr. p. 1110, PL-20-950 Lublin 8)
Die Sehnsucht nach strikten, d.h. im Einklang mit dem naturwissenschaftlichen
Paradigma stehenden, Geisteswissenschaften wird immer wieder wach, auch um den Preis
eines (reduzierenden) Verlustes des spezifisch menschlichen (geistes-wissenschaftlichen)
Moments an untersuchten Gegenständen. Diese Tendenz zeigt sich heute ganz klar in der
semiotisch-strukturalen Kulturanalyse. Schon mehrfach versuchten Ethnologen die Er-
rungenschaften der Linguistik für ihre Zwecke zu verwerten: Im 19. Jh. z.B. war es die
historisch-vergleichende Methode der Sprachwissenschaft, im 20. Jh. die strukturale
Anthropologie (C. Lévi-Strauss), die die Idee einer Semiologie (d.h. allgemeinen Zeichen-
lehre im Sinne F. de Saussures zu verwirklichen versuchte, und in letzter Zeit die Auswer-
tung der Ergebnisse der generativen Linguistik (N. Chomsky). Ethnolinguistik, Ethno-
methodologie, Ethnohistorie, “ethnoscience”, Hermeneutik, Symbolismus (E. Cassirer)
usw. knüpfen alle irgendwie an die Sprache an und versuchen, durch sie die kulturellen
Phänomene zu erklären.
Die gegenwärtige semiotische Kulturtheorie scheint noch weiter zu gehen. Die
Sprache gilt hier nicht nur als ein universales Kulturmodell, sondern die Kultur selbst
wird als Sprache, als Text betrachtet. Sie hat eine sprachliche Struktur und bildet ein
System mit vielen Untersystemen. Eine semiotische Analyse hat die Aufgabe, die Struk-
turen der einzelnen Kulturen (und Subkulturen) zu untersuchen, um auf diesem Wege die
eine gemeinsame und universale Struktur der Kultur zu entdecken. Das Faszinierende
dabei ist der Gedanke, daß die Ethnologie, ähnlich wie die generative Linguistik, endlich
das wissenschaftliche Niveau, d.h. das Freisein von subjektiven Momenten, mit voll
verifizierbaren Ergebnissen erreicht habe.
Als Beispiel für diese semiotisierenden Tendenzen der Kulturerfassung kann die
Habilitationsschrift von Katarzyna Rosner (geb. 1939), „Die strukturale Semiotik in den
literaturwissenschaftlichen Untersuchungen [Semiotyka strukturalna w badaniach nad
literatura]“ (Krakow 1981. Wydawnictwo Literackie; 290 pp.) dienen. Im allgemeinen
herrscht in Polen ein ziemlich reges Interesse an der Kultursemiotik. In letzter Zeit
wurden z. B. einige Arbeiten der sowjetischen Strukturalisten ins Polnische übersetzt:
P. Bogatyriew, „Die Semiotik der Volkskultur [Semiotyka kultury ludowej]“ (Warszwa
1975); E. Janus und M. R, Mayenowa (Hrsg.), „Die Kultursemiotik. Eine Auswahl aus
den Arbeiten der sowjetischen Wissenschaftler [Semiotyka kultury. Antología prac
uczonych radzieckich]“ (Warszawa 1975); und E. Mieletinski, „Die Poetik des Mythos
[Poetyka mitu]“ (Warszawa 1981). Ferner ist die Monographie von zwei polnischen
Autoren zu erwähnen: Joanna und Ryszard Tomiccy, „Baum des Lebens. Das volkstüm-
liche Bild der Welt und des Menschen [Drzewo zycia. Ludowa wizja swiata i czlowieka]“
(1975).
Die Arbeit von K. Rosner — mit der wir uns hier näher befassen wollen — will
einen allgemeinen Überblick über den heutigen Stand der strukturalen Semiotik geben
(vor allem der zwei führenden semiotischen Schulen: der funktionalen, aformalen sow-
jetischen und der generativen, formalen französischen Schule), ihrer Genese, Entwicklung,
Ergebnisse, Voraussetzungen, Implikationen, Vor- und Nachteile. Die Autorin versucht,
den „rationalen Kern“ in den Auffassungen der Semiotiker — die nicht selten von einer
seltsamen und komplizierten Sprache Gebrauch machen — herauszuarbeiten, d.h. sowohl
Reports and Comments
237
die semiotische Methode der Untersuchung sprachlicher und kultureller Texte zu analysie-
ren als auch die semiotischen Hauptbegriffe ( von Sprache, Texten, Kultur usw.) so weit
wie möglich zu klären. Weil das Buch die strukturale Semiotik im weiteren Sinne des
Wortes versteht, hätte der Buchtitel adäquat eher ,,Die Strukturale Semiotik bei der Er-
forschung der Kultur“ heißen sollen. In der sowjetischen Tradition (Moskauer- und Tartu-
Schule) nennt man diese Einstellung „Kultursemiotik“ (J.M. Lotman) und im angel-
sächsischen Raum “semiotic anthropology” (M.Singer), “symbolic anthropology” (J. Pea-
cock, D. W. Crabb) oder “interpretative anthropology” (C. Geertz).
Das Buch von K. Rosner besteht aus 4 Kapiteln. Das 1. Kapitel, Die strukturale
Semiotik und der Strukturalismus: Abgrenzung des Themas, Darlegung der Problematik
(5-42), mit einführendem Charakter, dient der Präzisierung von Begriffen wie Semiotik,
Strukturalismus (in seinem Verhältnis zum Funktionalismus), semiotisch-strukturale
(oder struktural-semiotische) Methode, Sprache, Zeichen, System usw. Die Autorin stellt
den semiotischen Strukturalismus, der die untersuchten Gegenstände zugleich als Zeichen
und System (als zeichenmäßige Struktur) behandelt, einem nicht-semiotischen gegenüber,
der den Gegenstand als eine Sprache, nicht aber als bestimmtes System untersucht; hier-
her gehören z.B. die Konzeptionen von I. A. Richards und Ch. Morris, ferner R. Ingardens
Untersuchungen des literarischen Kunstwerkes. Rosner will sich nur mit den gegenwär-
tigen semiotisch-strukturalen Untersuchungen der Funktionalisten (d.h. der sowjetischen
und tschechischen Strukturalisten wie J.M. Lotman, W. Iwanow, W. Toporow, B. Uspens-
ki, J. Mukarovsky und des Polen J. Slawihski) und der Generativisten (L. Hjemslev, N.
Chomsky, W. Propp, C. Bremond, A. J. Greimas, T. Todorov, R. Barthes, C. Lévi-Strauss,
S. Aleksandrescu) über Kunst, Literatur und Kultur beschäftigen.
Wesenhaft für die semiotisch-strukturale Einstellung ist die Betonung des sprach-
lichen (zeichenmäßigen) und systembedingten Charakters jedes Kulturgebildes und der
gesamten Kultur. Es besteht ein enger Zusammenhang zwischen dem Zeichen- und Ele-
ment-sein in einem bestimmten System. Man geht hier von der gemeinsamen Überzeugung
aus, daß der untersuchte Gegenstand komplexer Natur ist, d.h. sich aus mehreren Schich-
ten und Ebenen aufbaut. Die Strukturalisten differieren nur in der Zahl der hervor-
gehobenen Ebenen, ihrer Rangordnung und der Wahl des Prinzips ihrer Unterscheidung.
Weil die strukturale Semiotik den Begriff der Struktur mit dem Begriff des sprachlichen
Systems gleichsetzt, ist die strukturale Untersuchung immer zugleich eine systematische.
Es geht um die Feststellung und Beschreibung der (Beziehungs-)Eigenschaften eines Ge-
genstandes, die ihm alleine auf Grund seiner Position in einem bestimmten System und
seiner Relationen zu anderen Elementen zukommen. Diese Stellungnahme erlaubt der
Autorin, eben eine solche Theorie als semiotisch zu definieren, die dem ganzen Kulturwerk
(der Kultur) einen zeichenmäßigen Charakter zuspricht. Diese Semiotik wird dann struk-
tural, wenn der Hauptgegenstand nicht mehr nur als Zeichen, sondern auch als Sprache
(als ein System) verstanden wird. Daher ist die strukturale Semiotik (hier wird der Be-
griff des sprachlichen Systems auf die Sphäre der nichtlinguistischen Zeichen bezogen)
nur eine methodologische Spezies der strukturalen Untersuchung der Kunst und Kultur
überhaupt.
Schon hier versucht K. Rosner, eine erste Bilanz aus der Behandlung aller außer-
sprachlichen Zeichen wie der Sprache ähnliche Systeme zu ziehen. Die Tatsache, daß
man die Bedeutung eines kulturellen Phänomens nur auf Grund seiner Relation zu ande-
ren Phänomenen bestimmt und nicht durch die Relation, die zwischen einem Zeichen
und seinem Gegenstand besteht, führt zwar zur Präzisierung der Untersuchungen, aber
zugleich notwendigerweise zu ihrer radikalen Formalisierung. Das bedeutet, daß die
strukturale Analyse vom Autor (er verfügt nicht über die Bedeutung seines Werkes und
seiner Äußerungen) wie von dem Entstehungskontext seines Werkes und der Intention sei-
nes Senders absieht. Infolgedessen kann man zwar mit Hilfe der semiotisch-strukturalen
Methode das Gemeinsame und Wiederholbare an vielen kulturellen Phänomenen erfas-
sen, nicht aber das in ihr Spezifische und Individuelle.
238
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
Im 2. Kapitel, Die formale Richtung und ihr Forschungsprogramm: Die Beschrei-
bung künstlerischer, funktionaler Sprache (43-101), werden das Programm der funktio-
nalen Untersuchung von literarischen Texten der russischen Formalisten (die den Be-
griff der funktionalen Sprachen geprägt haben) und tschechischen Strukturalisten (J.Mu-
karovsky) sowie die literaturwissenschaftlichen Arbeiten von J.M. Lotman dargestellt.
Die Poetik der russischen Formalisten (Petersburger Opojaz und der Moskauer Linguistik-
Kreis) gründet auf der Linguistik von F. de Saussure;sie betrachtet die Kunst (Literatur)
als ein autonomes und ganzheitliches Objekt und befürwortet die Eigenart der poetischen
Sprache (Begriff der Sprache ist hier die grundlegende Kategorie). Die poetische Sprache
wird aber sehr schnell nicht nur rein immanent, sondern auch semantisch, obwohl de-
skriptiv und nicht axiologisch, untersucht. Die Prager Schule behielt im allgemeinen alle
wichtigsten programmatischen Thesen der Formalisten bei, entwickelte und präzisierte
sie. Einen bedeutenden Schritt in der Überwindung der Immanenz der strukturalen
Analysen machte J. Mukarovsky. Seine Arbeiten haben zu einer Neuorientierung inner-
halb der Tartu-Schule beigetragen, die auf dem Übergang von der Untersuchung der
Literatur als eines linguistischen Phänomens zur Analyse der Kunst (dabei auch der Li-
teratur) als eines semantischen Phänomens beruhte. Die Ansichten von J.M. Lotman über-
schreiten den Horizont der funktionalen Richtung. Nicht nur die Poesie, sondern die
ganze Kunst wird zu einem linguistischen (semantischen) Problem. Lotman sucht nach
den struktural-funktionalen Diskriminanten eines Kunstwerks. Der Begriff der Struktur
hat einen weiteren Umfang als der Begriff des Textes, weil er auch andere, außertextliche,
Systeme miteinbezieht. „Die Kunst ist eine sekundäre Sprache, und das Kunstwerk ist ein
Text in dieser Sprache“(82). Das generelle Urteil von K. Rosner über das Forschungspro-
gramm der Funktionalisten fällt jedoch negativ aus; es hat zu keiner adäquaten Beschrei-
bung der Eigentümlichkeit der künstlerischen Sprache geführt.
Das 3. Kapitel, Die generative Richtung: Ihre Genese, Voraussetzungen und Haupt-
strömungen (102-196), legt die Konzeption der zwei wichtigsten und am meisten ent-
wickelten Typen der generativen Semiotik vor: der eine Typ trennt die syntaktischen
Analysen von den semantischen (C. Bremond), der andere verbindet sie untereinander
(C. Lévi-Strauss, A. Greimas). Ihre Ansichten sind von L. Hjemslev und N. Chomsky inspi-
riert. Die generative Semantik hat die Hypothese der generativen Grammatik von den an-
geborenen Sprachfähigkeiten zur Hypothese von den kulturschaffenden Möglichkeiten
des Menschen ausgebaut. Sie erstrebt eine so abstrakte und allgemeine Definition ihrer
Hauptkategorien (u.a. der Sprache), daß diese sich auf alle semiotischen, linguistischen
und nichtlinguistischen Systeme beziehen können. Die Kommunikation findet mit Hilfe
der Texte, und nicht der Sätze, statt, die hier nur unselbständige Einheiten eines Textes
bilden. Weil die Texte sich nicht auf die sie bildenden Sätze reduzieren lassen (Holismus),
postuliert man hier statt der Satzgrammatik eine Textgrammatik, d.h. eine Grammatik
aller möglichen kohärenten Texte und der sie generierenden Prinzipien. Das Postulat der
Schaffung von Textgrammatiken — verbunden mit dem strukturalistischen Verstehen des
Menschen als eines die Sprache gebrauchenden Tieres, dem strukturalen Verstehen der
Kultur als eines Systems der semiotischen (Unter-)Systeme und der Kulturgebilde als
Texte — interpretiert man hier auch als Untersuchung mit dem Ziel der Entdeckung der
angeborenen menschlichen Fähigkeiten zur Bildung einer Kultur und der Feststellung
der kulturellen (wenn auch formellen) Universalien. Die von A. Greimas geplante gene-
relle Semantik sollte nicht die Semantik einer konkreten Sprache sein, sondern ein ge-
meinsames Fundament für alle sprachlichen Universalien bilden.
Es ist klar, daß sich solch eine tiefe Grammatik irgendwie mit Logik und Episte-
mologie trifft. Umsomehr als die generativen Semiotiker die bekannte These von L. Witt-
genstein befürworten, daß die Grenzen unserer Sprache die Grenzen unserer Welt seien.
Wird die Sprache so universal und formal verstanden, dann haben wir es mit einer Art
Kantianismus zu tun. Die Sprache ist nicht nur ein Instrument der intersubjektiven
Reports and Comments
239
Kommunikation, sondern ein semantisches Universum (im Sinne von Kants apriorischen
Formen) unseres Denkens. K. Rosner ist der Meinung, daß es trotz allen Bemühens nicht
gelungen sei, das Programm der Konstruktion einer universalen Grammatik (eines Algorith-
mus) aller Texte zu verwirklichen. Die „generierende Kraft“ der angebotenen Gram-
matiken sei entweder zu schwach, d.h. sie generieren nicht alle Bedeutungen der narrativen
Texte, oder zu stark, d.h. sie generieren nicht nur narrative Texte. Der Wert dieser Unter-
suchung besteht in dem Suchen nach festen Konstanten der Kultur, die durch die in-
varianten, spezifischen Eigenschaften der menschlichen Vernunft bestimmt werden
(Intellektualismus ).
Das 4. Kapitel, Die semiotische Textanalyse als Ausgangspunkt für die allgemeine
Reflexion über die Kultur (197-278), ist ein Versuch der Beurteilung einer semiotischen
Beschreibung der Kultur. Als zentrale Frage bleibt jedoch, ob dieser Weg zu einer neuen,
allgemeinen Theorie der Kultur führen kann. Sie ist vorläufig immer noch in statu nascen-
di. Eigentlich setzen sich nur die funktionalen Semiotiker systematisch eine Semiotik der
Kultur zum Ziel. Im Falle der Generativisten kann man eher von den kulturtheoretischen
Voraussetzungen und Konsequenzen ihrer Untersuchungen sprechen. Die Semiotiker bei-
der Richtungen sind sich klar darüber, daß ihre einzelnen Untersuchungen sowohl eine
generelle Kulturtheorie voraussetzen als auch zu einer solchen führen. Diese verallge-
meinernde Tendenz wird z.B. äußerlich sichtbar an dem Verzicht auf den Begriff der
Funktion. Wird nach den gemeinsamen Merkmalen einer jeden Kultur gesucht, also nach
den durch die Differenzierung von Kultur und Funktionen verdeckten Kultur konstanten,
dann ist der Begriff der Funktion auf der untersten Ebene der Untersuchungen über-
flüssig. In den letzten Arbeiten der sowjetischen Semiotiker wurden die Begriffe der Kul-
tur und des generellen Systems der Kultur zu den zentralen Kategorien. Es geht nicht
mehr um die Untersuchung der einzelnen funktionalen Untersysteme einer Kultur, son-
dern um die Entdeckung der Ähnlichkeiten zwischen äußerlich verschiedenen kulturellen
Phänomenen. Die Aufmerksamkeit der Semiotiker steuert auf die Entdeckung der uni-
versalen Konstanten der Kultur zu (sie werden von den Funktionalisten historisch und
von den Generativisten ahistorisch verstanden) und somit auf die Bildung einer Kultur-
typologie und auf das Verstehen der kulturschaffenden Prozesse wie auch der Mechanis-
men des Kulturwandels.
Der Begriff der Sprache wird in diesen Untersuchungen in einem weiteren Sinne des
Wortes verstanden als in der Linguistik. Die nationalen Sprachen werden (hauptsächlich in
der Tartu-Schule) als primäre modellhafte Ursysteme behandelt. Die Kultur ist ein hier-
archisch aufgebautes System sich einander beeinflussender sekundärer, modellierender
Untersysteme wie Religion, Wissenschaft, Philosophie, Moral usw. Für die Funktionalisten
ist eine ethnische Sprache (als primäres, modellierendes System) der Ausgangspunkt für
die Kulturtypologie. Sie interessieren sich weniger für die gemeinsamen Eigenschaften
aller ethnischen Sprachen und aller Kulturen als für ihre fundamentalen Gegensätze. Eine
vergleichende Analyse hat als Ziel die Entdeckung der grundsätzlichen, differenzierenden
Kategorien der Sprache, deren Summe in Zukunft die Ausarbeitung einer allgemeinen
semiotischen Kulturtheorie erlauben soll. Anders ist es bei den Generativisten, die durch
die Anerkennung der aktiven Rolle der Sprache die gemeinsamen, das menschliche Den-
ken und Erkennen determinierenden, allgemeinen Kategorien und so die universalen Be-
deutungen jeder Kultur entdecken wollen. Sie halten es für möglich, alle durch den Men-
schen produzierten (linguistischen wie nichtlinguistischen) Texte mit Hilfe einer begrenz-
ten Zahl der sie generierenden Grammatiken zu beschreiben. Die Kultur selbst ist für
beide Richtungen eine Interpretationsweise der (als Text begriffenen) Welt, d.h. ein be-
stimmtes Weltmodell (ein Beispiel dafür ist die Analyse des Ödipus-Mythos von G. Lévi-
Strauss). Das, was den Menschen von anderen Tieren unterscheidet, ist die Möglichkeit
der Bildung und des Gebrauchs von Zeichensystemen, d.h.die Möglichkeit der Kulturschöp-
fung.
240
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
Aus vielen Gründen ist K. Rosner der Meinung, daß die so konzipierte allgemeine
Kultursemiotik das Vorgesetzte Ziel weder erreicht hat noch erreichen kann. Charakteristisch
für diese Untersuchungsweise ist ihre immanente Betrachtung der Kultur als eines auto-
nomes Systems. Ist die Kultur aber wirklich ein so nach außen geschlossenes und für äus-
serliche Einflüsse immunes System? Im allgemeinen wird akzeptiert, daß die Erklärung
des Kulturwandels (seiner Ursachen) die Möglichkeiten der struktural-semiotischen Ana-
lyse überschreitet. Der Wandel einer Kultur hängt eben auch von vielen außersystemischen
Faktoren ab. Aber auch einige innerkulturellen Faktoren liegen außerhalb des Kreises die-
ser Methode. Es hängt mit dem Spezifikum des linguistischen Strukturalismus zusammen,
daß er die Phänomene auf der Ebene von «langue» und nicht von «parole» analysiert.
Diese Begrenzungen sind zu überwinden, indem man auch die psychologischen, soziolo-
gischen, historischen usw. Momente einbezieht, was aber notwendigerweise zur Sprengung
der inneren Kohäsion der struktural-semiotischen Methode und des Sytembegriffs führt.
Die kulturhistorische Schule (W. Schmidt) und der Diffusionismus (F. Boas), die auch
auf komparativem Weg nach den Konstanten und Universalien der Kultur suchten, waren
hier (durch das diachronisch-vergleichende Verfahren, das aber auch nicht von einer
synchronischen Komparation absah) in einer besseren Lage, obwohl sie leider manch-
mal nur an der Oberfläche und bei inhaltlichen Ähnlichkeiten verharrten.
Der durch die semiotisch-strukturale Methode ausgearbeitete Begriff der Kultur ist
ein theoretisches Modell, das von den sich wiederholenden und den einmaligen Eigen-
schaften einer Kultur absieht. An und für sich ist es eine normale Verfahrensweise einer
jeden Wissenschaft, auf dem Abstraktionsweg von empirischen Gegebenheiten zu theo-
retischen Begriffen zu gelangen. Der semiotische Kulturbegriff ist aber nicht nur ein ab-
strakter, sondern zugleich ein rein formaler Begriff. Eben davon verspricht man sich, daß
die Kultursemiotik (nach dem alten positivistischen Traum) den methodologischen Sta-
tus einer strengen Wissenschaft erreicht. Es ist eigentlich eine antimetaphysische, gegen
den Substanzbegriff gerichtete Konzeption der Kultur. Der hohe Formalisierungsgrad der
Untersuchungen (man nimmt hier u.a. zur System theorie, Kybernetik und Informations-
theorie Zuflucht) zeigt viele Ähnlichkeiten mit den verwickelten Formalisierungen der
Neofunktionalisten (T. Parsons). Weil man hier nicht die „Gegenstände“, sondern Rela-
tionen untersucht und absichtlich von dem einzelnen Menschen (als Schöpfer der Kultur)
absieht, beschuldigt man die Kultursemiotik einer Dehumanisierung der Kultur. Der
Mensch, als individueller Träger der Kultur, verschwindet zugunsten seiner artspezifischen
Fähigkeiten zur Kulturbildung. Der hohe Abstraktions- und Formalisierungsgrad hat noch
als weitere Konsequenz den Mangel an empirischer Überprüfbarkeit der semiotischen
Kulturtheorie. Diese Theorie selbst bestimmt eben die Kriterien ihrer Bestätigung (circulus
in argumentatione). Praktisch bedeutet dies u.a., daß die Auswahl des Untersuchungs-
bereichs intuitiv geschieht. Der semiotischen Kulturtheorie droht, daß sie zu einer Theorie
von allem wird.
Abschließend muß gesagt werden, daß eine semiotische Kulturtheorie noch immer
ein Programm bleibt, mit wenig Aussicht auf eine volle Realisierung in Gestalt einer wirk-
lich allgemeinen Kulturtheorie. K. Rosner meint hier ganz eindeutig „die Semiotik sei
nicht und könne nicht eine allgemeine Theorie der Kultur sein“ (274). Sie ist aber eine
nützliche Hilfsmethode zur Untersuchung sprachlicher Kulturgebilde. Es hatte sich er-
wiesen, daß eine volle Kulturtheorie die Beachtung noch vieler anderer Momente ver-
langt, wie z.B. der Sprachphilosophie, der philosophischen Anthropologie (sogar der
philosophischen Erkenntnistheorie), der Kulturwissenschaften, der Geschichte und
vieler anderer Geisteswissenschaften. Die Arbeiten der Kultursemiotiker haben gezeigt,
daß die einzelnen Kulturgebilde immer das Fragment einer größeren Ganzheit darstel-
len und auch in diesem Rahmen verstanden werden müssen.
Reports and Comments
241
Economic Aspect of Some Medicinal Plants
Available in Nowgong District of Assam, India
S. BOISSYA, C.L. BOISSYA, and R. MAJUMDER
Dept, of Botany, Warden, A.T. Hall No. 9, Gauhati University,
Gauhati-781014, Assam, India
The North Eastern Region of India comprises of five states, viz., Assam, Meghalaya,
Manipur, Tripura, and Nagaland, and two Union Territories, viz., Mizoram and Arunachal
Pradesh, abounds in natural resources including immense potential for medicinal plants
(Tiwari et al. 1978). Assam is specially renowned for her herbal treasure and has been
prominent for saints, tantriks, mantriks, and persons practising witchcraft from time
immemorial. Nature has garlanded her with greens (Bhattacharjee et al. 1977). The
district of Nowgong which is situated on the south bank of the mighty Brahmaputra
occupies a central geographical position in Assam. (The district lies between 25 45’and
26°49’ North latitudes and 91°50’ and 93°20’ East longitudes.)
During the Ahom period the system of indigenous medicine and treatment of
diseases was extensively prevalent in this state. The treatises on diseases and indigenous
medicines were known as Nidan Sastras. It was also seen that people resorted to divina-
tion for prognosis and cure of diseases. Incantations and mantras were also practised as
specifies. The mantras are interesting and important as documents of social history, folk
beliefs, and superstitions (Gazetteer of India 1979). Incantation of mantras is still em-
ployed in rural areas of the district, particularly for curing of snake bites. Mayong, a
place in the North West of the district, was very famous as the land of charms, incanta-
tions, and mantras and the district took pride in a good number of folklore medicines
mostly used by the local people (mostly villagers, Ojhas, Bez, local Kaviraj) for curing
their ailments and encountering the problem of birth control etc. (Bhattacharjee et al.
1980; Majumder et al. 1978; Tiwari et al. 1979;Gogoi et al. 1979;Boissya and Majumder
1980 and n.d.).
Authors while they were on ethnobotanical study tours to this district took note of
certain useful plants from the Ayurvedic as well as other economic points of view. The
present paper is the continuation of their past efforts (Boissya et al. 1981).
For plentiful rainfall there is absence of dry hot summer in the district of Now-
gong and the climate is characterised by a highly humid atmosphere throughout the
year. July is the rainiest month of the year. Rainfall mostly occurs as thunder showers
in the pre-monsoon months of April and May and in October. The thunder storms during
March to May are sometimes accompanied by hail. Fog appears during post-monsoon
period and in the winter season and it is frequent in December. January is the coldest
month. Winds are generally light throughout the year. The atmosphere over the district is
highly humid throughout the year.
Average meteorological data of the district in which the ranges are located are being
indicated below (1972-1976).
Anthropos 78.1983
16
242
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
Average annual rainfall Average minimum and maximum atmospheric humidity per month, i.e., relative humidity of Now- gong district Average minimum and maxi- mum annual temperature of Nowgong district
maximum minimum maximum minimum
1871.5 mm. 27.15% 22.25% 344.00 253.90
Source: Revenue land record Branch, Nowgong, Assam.
The general characteristic of the soil of the district is of alluvial origin. Due to
natural irrigation from the regular monsoon the fertility of the soil is too high. The
statement below gives an analysis of the soil of the district:
Nutrient Low Medium High
Organic carbon as a measure of available Nitrogen below 0.5% 0.5-0.75% above 0.75%
Available Nitrogen by alkaline parmanganate method (in kg./ha.) below 280 280-560 above 560
Available phosphorus by oison’s method (in kg./ha.) below 10 10-24.6 above 24.6
Available potassium (in kg./ha.) below 108 108-280 above 280
Source: Soil Fertility status of Nowgong Sub-Division, Technical Bulletin 5 (May) 1977,
Department of Agriculture, Govt, of Assam.
Botanically the forests of Nowgong district can broadly be divided into two divi-
sions—tropical evergreen forests and mixed forests. The evergreen forests are picturesque.
The mixed type of forests contains the top canopy species such as Shorea robusta,
Largersioemia flos-reginae, Gmelina arborea, etc. The middle canopy contains species like
Cassia fistula, Careya chaplasha etc. The undergrowths are mostly shrubs and grasses and
these are the lower canopy species. The dry miscellaneous type of forests contains the
species like Gmelina arborea, Salmalia malabaricum etc. The wet mixed type of forests is
characterised by evergreen and semi-evergreen species such as Duobanga soneratioides,
Albizzia procera, Eugenia jambulana, etc.
The authors came across and collected the following plants having medicinal value
as well as other economic importance.
Reports and Comments
243
Medicinal Plants and their Uses
Botanical Name Local Name Economic Uses
(Sanskrit Name)
Adhatoda vasica Nees. Tita Bahka (Vasa) Leaf juice is used as a medicine for cough and cold. The leaves of this plant are utilised as green manure.
Amaranthus spinosus Linn. Kata-Khuturia (Tantula) The tender shoots are used as vegetable.
Areca catechu Linn. Tamul (Puga) The raw nut is chewed with pan (Betle leaf) and with a little lime paste. The dried nut is used as “Supari.” The trunk of the tree is used by villagers as water pipe as because it is hollow. It is also used in making monkey bridges over stream lets and drains etc. in the villages. The leaves are woven into mass and the leaf sheaths are used in making huts andjapis (country hats).
Bauhinia purpurea Linn. Ranchan (Kancanara) The leaves are fair cattle fodder. Wood suitable for agriculture implements.
Boerhaavia diffusa Linn. Cassia fistula Linn. Ponarnova (Punamava) Sonaru (Pragunnada) The leaves are eaten as vegetable. Used by local Kaviraj specially for Jaundice. (No further details available.) The heartwood is used for making posts for houses and bridges. The leaves are good for cattle fodder.
Cedrela toona Roxb. Poma (Nandivriksha) The wood is used for making furniture, doors, and windows of houses.
Chenopodium album Linn. Bhotuia (Vastuk) It is used as a vegetable by local people.
Clerodendrum infor- tunatum Linn, Bhataitita (Bhantaka) Roots are used by local tribes for fer- menting liquor.
Datura metal Linn. Dhatura (Dhotura) The flowers are used for the worship of God Shiva. The fruits are not eaten because of high narcotic contents and hence regarded as poisonous.
Dalbergia sissoo Sisso
Roxb. (Syonaka)
The twigs and leaves are used for fodder.
The timber is excellent for furniture.
Dillenia indica Ou
Linn. (Bhavya)
The fruit (flesh calyx) is eaten raw or
cooked. Wood is very good for ridge,
poles and is durable under water.
244
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
Embelica officinalis Gaertn. Amloki (Amalaka) Fruit is edible and also used for dyes. Fruit preserved with mustard oil for pickles.
Enhydra fluctuans Lour. Helochi (Hilamochika) It is used as vegetable.
Erythrina indica Lam. Modar (Paribhadra) Leaf juice is used as a medicine for anthelmintic by the local people.
Eugenia jambolana Lam. Jam (Jambu) Fruit is edible.
Euphorbia hirta Linn. Gakhiroti (Pusitoa) Leaves are eaten as vegetable.
Garcina xanthochymus Hook.f. Tepor (Tamala) The fruits are eaten raw and cooked.
Mallotus philippinensis Muell-Arg. Lochan (Kampilla) Leaves are used as fodder. The red pow- der of the fruit is used for dying silks and for constipation.
Mimosa pudica Linn. Lajukilota (Lajjalu) The herb is commonly used for easy delivery. (No further significant details are available about this.)
Mimusops elengi Linn. Bakul (Bakula) The fruits are edible. The beautiful frag- mented flowers are used in worshipping Hindu Gods and making Garland. The tree is regarded as a sacred one as it has got Hindu mythological connection with Lord Krishna.
Paederia foetida Linn. Bhedalota (Prasarani) It is used as vegetable by the local people. The decoction of the leaves is considered as nutritive and used as a medicine for diarrhoea.
Piper betle Linn. Pan (Nagavalli) Leaves are generally chewed with Areca nut with little quantity of lime paste for refreshing mouth. It is a general custom in Assam to offer betel leaves with Areca nut to welcoming guests.
Tamarindus indica Linn. Titali (Cinca) Ripe fleshy fruits are largely used in cur- ries and chutneys. Leaves yield a yellow dye. Ghee is prepared from dry seeds.
Zizyphus jujuba Lam. Bogori (Kola) The fruit is largely eaten raw and preserved with mustard oil for pickles. Leaves are
good fodder for cattle and goats. Wood is
good for fuel.
Reports and Comments
245
Authors while concluding the paper wish to indicate that there is vast scope for
collection of medicinal plants which have other economic values also in addition to their
medicinal properties.
Authors are obliged to the people of Nowgong District for their friendly welcome
and kind help during the collection of plants. Authors were also grateful to Dr. P.C. Bhat-
tacharjee of Govt. Ayurvedic College, Gauhati-14 (Assam) for helping with the Sanskrit
names of the plants recorded in this paper.
References
Bhattacharjee, S., K.C. Tiwari, R. Majumder, and B. Patowari
1977 Assam Vis-a-vis Plants of Ayurvedic Value. Indian Drugs and Pharmaceutical
Industry (Bombay) 12 (July-August and September-October).
Bhattacharjee, S., K.C. Tiwari, R. Majumder, and A.K. Misra
Folklore Medicine from District Kamrup (Assam). Bull. Medico-Ethnobot.
Res. 1: 447-458.
Boissya, C.L., and R. Majumder
1980 Some Folklore Claims from the Brahmaputra Valley (Assam). Ethnomedicine
(Hamburg) 6: 139-145.
Boissya, C.L., and R. Majumder
n.d. A Few Folklore Medicines from the Brahmaputra Valley, Assam. Quarterly
Journal of Crude Drug Research (Auburn University, Alabama accepted the
the paper for publication.)
Boissya, C.L., R. Majumder, and A.K. Majumder
1981 Some Medicinal Plants from Darrang District of Assam, India. Anthropos
76:220-222.
Gazetteer of India, Assam State, Nowgong District
1979 District Gazetteers, Government of Assam, Gauhati (31st March).
Gogoi, P., S. Boissya, and C.L. Boissya
1979 A Few Ethnogynocological Records from the State of Assam, India. Paper
presented on the First International Conference on Traditional Asian Medicine
held at Australian National University, Canberra, Australia.
Majumder, R., K.C. Tiwari, S. Bhattacharjee, and A.K. Nair
1978 Some Folklore Medicine from Assam and Meghalaya. Quarterly Journal of
Crude Drug Research (Lisse/Netherlands) 16/4: 185-189.
Tiwari, K.C. R. Majumder, and S. Bhattacharjee
1978 Some Medicinal Plants from District Tirap of Arunachal Pradesh: Indian
Journal of Pharmaceutical Sciences (Bombay) 40/6 (November-December).
Tiwari, K.C., R. Majumder, and S. Bhattacharjee
1979 Folklore Medicine from Assam and Arunachal Pradesh (District Tirap).
Quarterly Journal of Crude Drug Research (Lisse/Netherlands) 17/2: 61-67.
Joachim Sterly
Dr. phil., Priv. Doz. (Curschmannstraße 33, D-2000 Hamburg 20)
Die Sprache der Kuglkane, eines Klans oder Stammes am Nordostufer des oberen
Simbu (Chimbu) in der Umgebung von Womatne, Simbu Province, Papua New Guinea,
gehört zur Kuman-Sprachgruppe, die sich vom Quellgebiet des Simbu über Kundiawa bis
westlich von Kerowagi erstreckt und heute etwa 75 000 bis 80 000 Sprecher zählen dürf-
te.1 Kuman ist eine gesprochene, schriftlich bisher kaum fixierte Sprache.1 2 3 Auch wenn
man die verwandten Sprachen benachbarter Sinasina-Stämme nicht hinzunimmt, bildet
sie die zweitgrößte Sprachgruppe in Papua Neuguinea und Melanesien.
Obwohl die Simbu Province seit 1972 über einen eigenen Rundfunksender verfügt,
werden bei den Kuglkane auch heute noch Geschichten erzählt, vor allem am Abend nach
der Mahlzeit, wenn die Leute um die Feuerstelle sitzen und plaudern. Von den tatsäch-
lichen Begebenheiten unterscheidet man die märchenhaften Erzählungen und mythischen
Geschichten, kumbu kaman.3 Die Thematik der kumbu kaman ist recht unterschiedlich,
sie reicht von mythischen Ereignissen, aus denen der Ursprung der Klans und des Brauch-
tums begründet wird, bis zu scherzhaften oder anscheinend belanglosen Begebenheiten.
Nicht selten enden die Erzählungen mit einem kurzen Spruch oder Gesang, und es scheint,
als ob manche von ihnen vornehmlich die Entstehung dieser Sprüche erklären sollten. Alle
Erzählungen werden mit einer Redewendung beschlossen: „Gekocht, gebacken, greift zu!“
Beliebt sind Tiergeschichten oder Tierfabeln, die mythischen oder scherzhaften, auch der-
ben Charakter haben können und zuweilen an totemistische Ursprungssagen erinnern.
Eine andere Gruppe am oberen Simbu sehr beliebter Erzählungen sind die avamo-gavamo
(,,Großmutter-EnkeT‘)-Geschichten, scherzhaft, grausam, drastisch oder belehrend, vor-
wiegend aber lustig und unterhaltsam und an die in Melanesien verbreiteten Tölpelge-
schichten oder an unsere Schildbürger- und Sieben-Schwaben-Streiche erinnernd.4 Die
Themen dieser Erzählungen sind Gartenarbeit, Wachstum der Feldfrüchte, Ernte, doch
läßt sich ein Zusammenhang des Erzählens mit dem Brauchtum für das Gedeihen der Gär-
ten wie bei manchen Stämmen an der Nordküste Neuguineas und im Bismarck Archipel
nicht aufweisen.5
Erzählt wird bei den Kuglkane von Männern und Frauen, Burschen und Mädchen.
Gute Erzähler, die lebhaft vortragen und ihre Worte treffend zu setzen wissen, haben ei-
nen Namen und sind im Umkreis ihrer Wohngemeinschaft bekannt. Beim Erzählen wird
1 Cf. Sterly 1977: 3. — Die dort angegebene Zahl von 70000 Sprechern dürfte zu
niedrig sein; das Ergebnis des Census von 1980 liegt noch nicht vor.
2 Außer Übersetzungen aus dem Alten und Neuen Testament cf. Schäfer 1953
(dazu Burgmann 1953); Bergmann 1966 und 1966/67; Nilles 1969.
3 Kumbu bedeutet „Traum“, no kumbu kumnga „wir sehen im Traum, wir träu-
men“.
4 Eine dieser Erzählungen gibt Nilles (1969: 269) wieder.
5 Cf. van Hasselt 1908: 477f.; Bell 1941: 57; sipoaoo werden bei den Jabim am
Huon Golf Geschichten genannt, die zu Beginn der Pflanzungszeit, etwa im Oktober/No-
vember, nach Einbruch der Dunkelheit vorgetragen werden und einen bestimmten Anfang
und ein bestimmtes Ende haben, häufig einen Segensspruch (Mitteilung von Karl Holz-
knecht, Lae);cf. auch Neuhaus 1911: 161,478f.
Reports and Comments
247
der Vortragende nicht unterbrochen, doch geben die Zuhörer ihren Beifall kund und zei-
gen, daß sie dem Vortrag folgen, etwa indem sie lachen und zustimmen o-öo ,,ja-ja“ oder
erstaunend ausrufen aiyää.
Die beiden folgenden Geschichten wurden am späten Nachmittag des 21. Oktober
1975 in meiner Hütte in Gandigl oberhalb von Womatne erzählt. Es waren mehrere Män-
ner und Frauen anwesend, und nach dem Erzählen wurde über das Vorgetragene gespro-
chen. Die Erzählerin der ersten Geschichte, Gena, damals eine Frau von etwa 42 Jahren,
Ehefrau des Umba aus dem Subklan der Gandiglnem und Mutter mehrerer Kinder, ist
eine tätige, fleißige Person, gilt als scharfzüngig und als gute Erzählerin. Die zweite Ge-
schichte wurde von dem etwa 20jährigen Mädchen Bongugl erzählt, ambai moru, ein
Mädchen, das mit Burschen und Männern verkehrt, aber noch keine feste Bindung einge-
gangen ist. Bongugl hatte es als Kind nicht leicht, denn ihre Mutter starb, als sie noch
klein war, und ihr Vater, ein unentschiedener Mann, hatte sich nicht wieder verheiratet.
Die Erzählung hat sie von ihrem Vater Gandiglnem aus dem Subklan der Gandiglnem
gehört.
I
Großmutter Enkelkind
Avant o gavamo
zwei ein (irgendwelche) dasein (waren)6
suo ta mogl
dasein sie beide machen. Enkelkind
mogi iurika gavamo
Schweine Hüter dasein wegen,
bugia sugl moglondi
Großmutter
avamo
hin
ende
Mondia Spitze7 8 Berge
Mondia muglo kimbo
sie geht fort,
ongwaB
Süßkartoffeln
w ai
Gemüse (Essen) einsammeln
mogona si nage
sie geht fort Enkelkind
ende ongwa gavamo
ist
molkwa
sein Ohr e liegt.9 Kogla10 11 Früchte zwei
kina yongwa kogla mongo suo
kumba11 zwei brechen eine
kumba suo ko gl ta
eine ausgraben, Mais zwei
ta wage digeri suo
abschneiden eine abschneiden
wi ta wi
pflücken eine pflücken,
ure ta ure
brechen, Süßkartoffeln zwei ausgraben
ko gl wai suo wage
pflücken einen pflücken, Bananen zwei
ure ta ure kambe suo
machen es nimmt. Zuckerrohr zwei
ere iungwa bo suo
In der Kuman-Sprache sind Präsens und Imperfekt gleichlautend. Mogl ist die
nicht konjugierte Stammform.
7 Mondia, bewaldete Berge auf dem Weg in das Bundi-Gebiet.
8 Nach einem Vokal wird n vor g wie y gesprochen.
9 ,,Es legt sein Ohr“ oder „sein Ohr liegt“, d.h. „es vergißt“; cf. kina tongwa
„sein Ohr gibt, er tobt, läuft Amok“, Pidgin iapas.
10 Kogla, Ficus copiosa Steud., Früchte und junge Schosse sind eine begehrtes Ge-
müse.
11 Kumba, wörtlich „Keule, Knüppel“, Setaria palmifolia Stapf, Gramineae, Sten-
gelgemüse, das Innere des Stengels mit den Keimblättern gilt als Leckerbissen.
248 Reports and Comments Anthropos 78.1983
schälen eines schälen machen es nimmt. Backen (in der Asche garen)eifrig
bagl ta bagl ere iungwa buglmiwe
es back Zwei es nimmt aus der Asche eines ist nicht da
bulkwa suo suagungwa ta paikrukwa
und Süßkartoffel so wie gerade so kumba und kogla Frucht
te wai yegl kernende kumba ya kogla mongo
alle genauso es backt. Zwei es nimmt heraus, eines ist nicht da.
koi yegl bulkwa suo suagungwa ta paikrukwa
Machen es entfernen, verlieren. Es nimmt draußen machen
ere ye naglandi (nambande?) iungwa wenda ere
essen es ist. Großmutter kommen sie sieht Feuerstelle
ne molkwa avamo u kanungwa ingumule
unten und kogla Frucht zwei dasein eine dasein es macht,
imara te kogla mongo suo pai ta pai erukwa
und hier Süßkartoffel eine Süßkartoffel auch eine ist da, Mais
te ya wai ta wai koi ta pangwa digerí
kochen ist da einer einer ebenso ist da sehen seiend.
ki pangwa suara suara yegl pangwa kan pandigl
Enkelkind rufen Essen anwärmen Haus in den Eingang herüber
gavamo aglendume mogandi ingu dir amu gl im bara
komm sie sagt. Es kommt. Deine Großmutter Süßkartoffel kochen
wuo ndungwa ungwa avan wai ki
obenauf schnell vielleicht. Ich koche ja ich koche du wirst essen
pu tambre kana gaglkra galka(gala) nenatnga
komm sagen, sie spricht. Ausruf herüber es kommt nahe heran.
wuo di(ndi) ye dungwa(yetndungwa) wi imbara pilaundungwa
Großmutter Aschenstock Knüppel schlägt. Enkelkind seine Stirn treffen
avamo avare kumba sungwa gavam o mambuglo bogl
entzweibrechen ganz brechen sofort sterben. Backen, iß! Kochen, iß!
bugundumiwe bugundungo goglmiwe bugl no gagl no
Anfassen faßt an!
age ageo (aglagao). 12
12 Stehende
alles ist erzählt“.
Redewendung, zuweilen wird auch hinzugefügt pra dikondi iwa „genug,
w
Reports and Comments 249
Großmutter und Enkeltochter lebten lange Zeit miteinander. Einmal geht die Groß-
mutter den Berg hinauf zur Mondiaspitze, um Süßkartoffeln und Gemüse zu holen,
das Enkelkind bleibt zurück und paßt auf die Schweine auf.
Als die Großmutter fort ist, vergißt es alles, was sie ihm gesagt hatte. Es pflückt
zwei Feigenfrüchte, erst die eine, dann die andere, bricht zwei Stengelgemüse, erst
eines, dann das andere, macht zwei Süßkartoffeln aus, erst die eine, dann die ande-
re, pflückt zwei Maiskolben, erst den einen, dann den anderen, schneidet zwei Bana-
nen ab, erst eine, dann die andere. Es nimmt die Früchte und bringt sie ins Haus.
Dann schält es sich zwei Zuckerrohrstengel und kaut Zuckerrohr, eines nach dem
anderen. Es tut die Früchte in die heiße Asche und backt sie. Als es immer zwei und
zwei aus der Asche nehmen will, ist immer eine nicht da, eine Süßkartoffel, ebenso
ein Stengelgemüse und eine Feigenfrucht wie alle anderen Früchte, die es gebacken
hat. Eine immer ist ihm verloren gegangen. Es nimmt die Früchte mit nach draußen
und ißt sie auf.
Als die Großmutter heimkommt, findet sie unten in der Feuerstelle eine der beiden
Feigenfrüchte, auch eine der Süßkartoffeln und einen Maiskolben und von jeder
Frucht eine findet sie dort gebacken. Sie ruft das Enkelkind. „Ich habe Essen wie-
der aufgewärmt, komm in den Hauseingang herüber“, sagt sie. Das Enkelkind
kommt. „Vielleicht hat deine Großmutter oben auf der Asche schnell Süßkartoffeln
geröstet“, denkt es. „Was ich gekocht habe, sollst du essen“, sagt die Großmutter,
„komm nur!“ Als sie so ruft, kommt das Enkelkind herbei. Die Großmutter nimmt
den Aschenstock und schlägt ihn dem Enkelkind auf die Stirn. Seine Stirn bricht,
und es ist auf der Stelle tot. Gebacken, gekocht, iß! Greift zu!
Diese Geschichte, die auch zur Belehrung der Kinder erzählt wird, sagt nichts über
das Verhältnis der Simbu zu ihren Kindern aus, die durchweg liebevoll und nicht derart
grausam behandelt werden. Es kommt vor, daß Kinder geschlagen werden, doch pflegen
die Erwachsenen für gewöhnlich ihren Kindern gegenüber langmütig zu sein. Es sei nur
ein Märchen, erklärten mir die Zuhörer lachend, als sie bemerkten, daß der Ausgang der
Geschichte mich befremdete. In der wiederholten Aufzählung der Feldfrüchte und im
Erschlagen des Kinden klingt die Erinnerung an einen urtümlichen Vegetationskult an,
dachte ich, als ich die Erzählung hörte.
Eine Variante und Ergänzung dieser Geschichte konnte ich einige Jahre später auf-
zeichnen, sie wurde erzählt von Goma aus dem Subklan der Gandiglnem, einem 1981
etwa 55jährigen Mann, Familienvater von sieben Kindern.
Großmutter und Enkeltochter leben zusammen. Eines Tages geht die Großmutter
zur Mondiaspitze, das Enkelkind bleibt zu Hause. Am Nachmittag zur Essenszeit be-
kommt es Hunger. Es pflückt zwei Feigenfrüchte, macht zwei Süßkartoffeln aus,
bricht zwei Maiskolben, bricht zwei Stengelgemüse, gräbt zwei Taroknollen aus.
Es tut alles in die heiße Asche. Es denkt, wenn die Großmutter zurückkommt, wird
sie mich schelten und schlagen. Schnell nimmt es die Feldfrüchte aus der Asche.
Zwei Feigenfrüchte hat es gebacken, eine nimmt es heraus, eine läßt es in der Asche.
Zwei Maiskolben hat es gebacken, einen nimmt es heraus, einen läßt es in der
Asche. Zwei Stengelgemüse hat es gebacken, eines nimmt es heraus, eines läßt es in
der Asche. Zwei Taroknollen hat es gebacken, eine nimmt es heraus, eine läßt es in
der Asche. Es ißt die Feldfrüchte auf und geht nach draußen.
Die Großmutter kommt zurück und geht in das Haus. Sie will Feuer machen und
findet in der Asche eine Feigenfrucht, eine Süßkartoffel, einen Maiskolben, ein
Stengelgemüse, eine Taroknolle. Sie nimmt sie heraus. Sie ruft: Enkel komm! Das
Enkelkind kommt vor den Hauseingang. Die Großmutter nimmt einen Stock und
schlägt dem Enkelkind damit auf den Kopf. Der Stock zerbricht, das Enkelkind
fällt hin und stirbt. Die Großmutter schneidet ihm ein Bein ab und legt es in die
13
Me, Taro, Colocasia esculenta (L.) Schott, Araceae.
250
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
Krone eines hohen Pandanus-Baumes.14 15 Sie schneidet das andere Bein ab und legt
es in die Krone eines anderen Pandanus-Baumes. 1 5 Den einen Arm legt sie auf einen
Nothofagus-Baum16 17 , den anderen Arm oben auf das Moos des Baumes.1 7 Mit dem
Kopf geht sie zum Pingigl-Bach und vergräbt ihn.18
In der Nacht, als die Großmutter schläft, hört sie es draußen. Sie hört das Enkel-
kind kommen und singen:
Großmutter, warum hast du mich
Der Feigenfrucht wegen erschlagen?19
Mich klein gemacht, mich zerstückelt? 20
Großmutter, warum hast du mich
Der Süßkartoffel wegen erschlagen?
Mich klein gemacht, mich zerstückelt?
Großmutter, warum hast du mich
Des Maiskolbens wegen erschlagen?
Mich klein gemacht, mich zerstückelt?
Großmutter, warum hast du mich
Des Stengelgemüses wegen erschlagen?
Mich klein gemacht, mich zerstückelt?
Großmutter, warum hast du mich
Der Taroknolle wegen erschlagen?
Mich klein gemacht, mich zerstückelt?
Die Großmutter ist im Hause, sie fürchtet sich, sie hat Angst. Gebacken, gekocht!
Der Schluß dieser Variante, die Zerstückelung, das Verteilen der Glieder auf Bäu-
me und das Vergraben des Kopfes, bestätigt die Vermutung, daß hier ein alter Vegeta-
tionskult anklingt. 21 Offen bleibt, weshalb die Enkeltochter jeweils nur eine der Feld-
früchte aus der Asche nimmt und ißt. Denkbar wäre, daß sich den Kindern mit dieser Ge-
schichte erste Zahlenvorstellungen einprägen. 22
Amugl keja, hoher Schraubenbaum im Busch, Pandanus brosimos Merr. et Perry,
Pandanaceae. Die Bäume werden gepflanzt und unterliegen dem Erbrecht. Die ölhaltigen
Kerne der Frucht sind ein begehrter Leckerbissen und beim Zeremonialaustauch von Be-
deutung.
15 Amugl gorugl, Spielart von amugl keja.
16 Yomba danda, Nothofagus sp., Fagaceae, hoher Baum mit festem Holz, das vor
allem dem Haus- und Zaunbau dient.
17 Tugl kiagl, Baummoos.
18 Pingigl Nigl, Quellfluß des Kuman Nigl, eines Nebenflusses des Simbu (Nigl
kande).
19 Ava, kogla mongo pre na sino? wörtlich „Großmutter, Ficus-Frucht wegen mich
schlagen, warum?“ Si ist die Stammform von „schlagen“, no die Fragepartikel.
20 Te mu mu ta mu mu. Te ist die Stammform von „geben“, mu sungiva „er, sie
verkleinert, wird kleiner, vergeht“. Eine genaue Übersetzung ist schwierig, da die kurzen
Verse am Ende der avamo-gavamo-Geschichten häufig altertümliche, abgeschliffene und
lautmalende Wörter enthalten.
21 Über Menschenopfer, Zerteilen und Köpfen in Vegetationskulten cf. Mannhardt
1963/1: 360-365.
22 Die Kuman-Sprache kennt nur ein einziges nicht-zusammengesetztes Zahlwort,
suo „zwei“. Suara bedeutet „eins“, aber auch „einzeln, einzig, allein“, suo-ta „drei“,
wörtlich „zwei und dann“, suo-wa-suo „vier“ wörtlich „zwei und zwei“, suo-suo-ta oder
ongono koglo, wörtlich „Hand-Bündel, ganze Hand“ oder ongono mam, wörtlich „unser
Daumen“, stehen für „fünf“.
Reports and Comments
251
ii.
Großmutter
Enkelkind zweiein (irgendwelche) beide sind da. Großmutter
Avamo gavamo suo ta miuika avamo
Süßkartoffeln wai Unkraut jätet, sugl erukiva Enkelkind gavam o Gurken Unkraut jätet. Großmutter sugla su gl erukwa avao
Gurke eine sugla ta schlagen abbrechen, si dengie es sagt. Nehmen ndungwa i gehen pi schälen, bagl
du wirst essen nenatnga nehmen gehen, * pi(po) sie sagt. dungwa Du (dein) dein Stein ene kombuglon wir schälen, baglomo
ich(mein) na mein Stein kombuglana wir schälen? baglomo? Ich (mein) mein Stein na kombuglana schälen bagl
ich bin alt motnda kindagl er liegt. yongwa Du selbst enene dein Stein schälen, kombuglon bagl sie sagt. ndungwa
Es schält. Mann balkwa yagl alter kindagl kommen das ein. u mogi Gurke sugla Schale eine(welche) gangie ta gib mir, naro
er sagt. Schale ndungwa gangie es gibt. tongwa Er ißt. nongwa Meine Zähne singena tun mir weh, bolka Kerne mongo
welche ta gib mir. naro Kerne es gibt. mongo tongwa Er ißt. nongwa Meine Zähne singena tun mir weh, bolka
Weiches eines gib magle23 mir. ta naro Weiches es gibt. magle Er ißt. tongwa Meine Zähne nongwa singena
tun wir weh, bolka(bola) Schale gangie welche ta gib mir. naro Geben te es ist ist fertig. molkwa duundungwa
Großmutter avao Gurke sugla schälen bagl Mann yagl alter kindagl einer er kam. ta ungwa Gurke sugla
Schale welche gangie ta gib mir, naro er sagte. ndungwa Schale gangie ich gab. Er aß. teinga nongwa( neingwa )
Meine Zähne singena tun mir weh, bolka Kerne gib mir, mongo naro er sagte. Kerne ndungwa mongo ich gab. teinga Ich esse, neinga
meine Zähne singena tun mir weh, bolka Weiches gib mir, magle naro er sagte. Geben ndungwa te ich bin molka
Magie ist das die Kerne Haltende, hier nicht der Stengel oder Stiel; so auch kom-
ba magle, das feste weiße Innere von Pandanus connoideus, in dem die Kerne stecken,
oder ongomutna magle „das Weiße meines Augapfels“, singena magle „mein Zahnfleisch“.
252
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
fertig sein ja. Mein Ehemann
duundumiwa na wuina
ihm geben ihm geben aß er (nicht?
te te nomo?
alter geben ihm selbst doch
kindagl teiwa
Backen, iß! Kochen, iß! Anfassen, faßt an!
butno gatno aglagao!
Es waren einmal Großmutter und Enkel. Die Großmutter jätete Unkraut in den Süß-
kartoffeln, die Enkeltochter jätete Unkraut in den Gurken. „Großmutter“, sagt das
Enkelkind, „eine Gurke ist abgebrochen“. „Nimm sie, schäl sie und iß sie auf“, sagt
die Großmutter. „Sollen wir sie mit deinem Stein oder mit meinem Stein schälen?“
fragt das Enkelkind. „Schäl du nur, mein Stein ist schon alt. Schäl du selbst sie mit
deinem Stein ab“, sagt die Großmutter. Das Enkelkind schält sie ab.
Ein alter Mann kommt vorbei. „Gib mir die Gurkenschale“, sagt er. Das Enkelkind
gibt ihm die Schale. Er ißt. „Meine Zähne tun mir weh“, sagt er, „gib mir die Ker-
ne.“ Das Enkelkind gibt ihm die Kerne. Er ißt. „Meine Zähne tun wir weh“, sagt
er, „gib mir das Fleisch”. Das Enkelkind gibt ihm das Fleisch. Er ißt. „Meine Zäh-
ne tun mir weh“, sagt er wieder, „gib mir die Schale“. „Ich habe dir alles gegeben,
es ist nichts mehr da“, sagt das Enkelkind.
„Großmutter“, sagt es, „als ich die Gurke schälte, kam ein alter Mann und sagte:
,Gib mir die Schale*. Ich gab sie ihm und er aß. .Meine Zähne tun mir weh*,
sagte er, ,gib mir die Kerne*. Ich gab sie ihm. .Wenn ich das esse, tun mir die Zäh-
ne weh*, sagte er, ,gib mir das Fleisch*. Alles habe ich ihm gegeben“. „Das war
doch mein alter Mann selbst“, sagt die Großmutter, „ihm hast du doch zu essen ge-
geben!“ Gebacken, gekocht, iß! Greift zu!
Auch für die Kuglkane ist es erheiternd, daß die Enkeltochter den Großvater nicht
erkennt, obwohl vorauszusetzen ist, daß der alte Mann sich meistens im Männerhaus auf-
hält, das Mädchen aber bei seiner Großmutter in deren Frauenhaus lebt. Der Großvater
wird als einer jener alten Männer gezeichnet, die stets hungrig sind und nie satt werden. Es
wird als komisch empfunden, wie der Alte dem Kind listig die Gurke abschwatzt, obwohl
er doch „der Vater des Bodens“ (makan nem), der Besitzer des Gartens ist. Besonders
reizvoll an dieser Geschichte aber ist der zweite Teil, worin erzählt und wiedererzählt
wird, wie der alte Mann die Schale, die Kerne und das Fleisch der Gurke verlangt und ver-
zehrt. Die rasche Folge ähnlich lautender Wörter, singena, gangie, mongo, tongwa, nong-
wa oder sugla, bolka, magle, die sich beim schnellen Sprechen abschleifen, sula, bola,
male, erweckt beim Zuhören den Eindruck, daß ein Zungenbrecher erzählt wird.
Eine von Goma wiedergegebene Fassung ist etwas geraffter, stimmt aber sonst mit
der Bongugls überein. Als die Enkeltochter die Großmutter fragt, antwortet diese: „Dein
Vater und deine Mutter haben mir allzeit Ratten und Wild gebracht und ich habe geges-
sen, geh du nur und schäl die Gurke an deinem eigenen Stein, nicht an meinem“. In der
ersten Fassung sagt die Großmutter, daß ihr Stein schon alt sei. Es scheint, daß mit der
Rede von den Steinen auf die weibliche Scham, mit dem Schälen der Gurke und dem
Genuß von Wildbret auf den Geschlechtsverkehr angespielt wird.24 Derartige Anspielun-
gen finden sich auch in anderen kurzweiligen Erzählungen aus Melanesien, die während
des Wachstums der Gärten zum besten gegeben werden. Die Heiterkeit, welche diese Ge-
schichte bei den Zuhörern weckt, ist vielleicht daraus zu erklären, daß die Enkeltochter
ahnungslos ist, während die Großmutter weiß, worum es geht, und auch die Zuhörer Be-
scheid wissen. Die Erzählung endet mit einem kurzen Spruch der Großmutter:
24 Wenn jemandem an der Küste der Huon Halbinsel träumt, er habe Ratten oder
Wild gegessen, weiß er, daß in der Nacht im Dorf geschlechtlich verkehrt wurde (Sterly
1969: 108).
Reports and Comments
253
Mein alter Mann ist es doch!
Gib ihm etwas, gib ihm kein Gras, gib ihm kein Gras! 25
Bibliographie
Bell, F.L.S.
1941/47 The Narrative in Tanga. Mankind 3/2 : 57-67; 80-87 ; 330-333 ; 361-365.
Bergmann, Wilhelm
1966 Grammatik der Kuman-Sprache. Ega. [mimeogr.]
1966/67 Wörterverzeichnis der Kuman-Sprache gesprochen im Inland von Neuguinea
im Chimbu Distrikt. Kuman-Deutsch. Ega. [mimeogr.]
Burgmann, Arnold
1953 A. Schäfers Vokabular der Chimbu-Sprache in Zentral-Neuguinea. Anthropos
48:268-273.
Hasselt, F.J.F. van
1908 Nufoorsche fabelen en vertellingen. Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volken-
kunde van Nederlandsch Indie 61 ; 477-588.
Mannhardt, Wilhelm
1963 Wald- und Feldkulte. 2 Bände. Darmstadt. Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft.
[Unveränderter Nachdruck der 2. Auflage Berlin 1905.]
Neuhaus, R.
1911 Deutsch-Neu-Guinea; Bd. 3. Berlin.
Nilles, John
1969 The English-Kuman Dictionary. Kundiwa. [mimeogr.]
Schäfer, Alfons
1953 Vokabular der Chimbu-Sprache in Zentral-Neuguinea. (Micro-Bibliotheca An-
thropos, 2.) St. Augustin.
Sterly, Joachim
1969 Das Dasein der Papua im Traum. Antaios 11/1: 92-120.
1977 Über den gema-Kult im zentralen Hochland von Neuguinea. Baessler-Archiv
N.F. 25:1-82.
25 Na wuina kindagl iwa, wörtlich „mein Ehemann alter gerade der“, te teno, kugl
tegero, kugl tegero, wörtlich „geben gib, Gras nicht gib, Gras nicht gib“.
254
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
Aequatoria: Bibliothèque et revue
La Bibliothèque
«Aequatoria» est l’institution qui veut perpétuer l’oeuvre du Père Hulstaert. C’est
la revue Aequatoria (1937-1962) qui est à l’origine de la bibliothèque du même nom. Les
ouvrages envoyés à la rédaction, les abonnements d’échange avec des revues similaires, les
livres personnels: tout cela constitue la base d’une bibliothèque spécialisée en ethnologie
et linguistique bantoues, probablement la plus riche de la région de l’Equateur. Elle a trois
sections:
(1) Les publications en langues occidentales: La bibliothèque possède actuellement
3000 «imprimés». Les revues scientifiques (ethnologie, linguistique, histoire) sont si nom-
breuses qu’il nous est impossible de les énumerer toutes ici. La plupart datent de la
période coloniale. Beaucoup ne nous parviennent plus, car comme notre propre revue
avait disparu en 1962, nous ne pouvions plus échanger des abonnements. Mais avec la
reprise de notre revue, nous voulons faire revivre la bibliothèque.
(2) Les publications en langues africaines: Le Père Hulstaert a essayé de récolter
toute édition en langue bantoue qui lui était accessible. Ainsi a-t-on pu constituer une col-
lection d’environ 500 unités représentant 34 langues. Cette collection deviendra de plus
en plus importante pour l’étude de l’évolution de la langue, pour l’étude aussi de la ter-
minologie religieuse et de l’histoire de l’Eglise locale.
(3) Les archives: Les Archives historiques contiennent en premieur lieu l’heritage
du Père E. Boelaert M.S.C. (1899-1966). Celui-ci nous a laissé non seulement ses propres
écrits, mais aussi une collection de copies d’Archives de l’administration coloniale et
d’Archives de sociétés économiques. — Il y a aussi plus de 300 cartes géographiques de la
région; les plus anciennes datent du siècle passé. Cette documentation sera indispensable
lorsqu’on se mettra à écrire l’histoire des villages. N’oublions pas les notes ethnographi-
ques héritées des Pères Trappistes, les prédécesseurs des M.S.C. dans la mission de Mban-
daka. — La partie linguistique des archives est le résultat des nombreuses notes et enquêtes
faites durant plus de 50 ans par le Père Hulstaert en collaboration avec des Zaïrois et des
confrères (E. Boelaert, A. de Rop). Tous les dialectes des Mongo ont été enregistrés selon
des méthodes scientifiques. (Le tome II de la revue Annales Aequatoria donne un inven-
taire analytique de ces archives.)
Les Annales Aequatoria
En 1937, le Père Boelaert lançait une série de brochures sous le titre «Aequatoria».
G. Hulstaert élargissait l’idée et Aequatoria était née. En 1962 la revue cessa de paraître.
Après 18 ans, une nouvelle équipe, mais toujours avec Père Hulstaert en son sein, a
relancé la revue sous le nom Annales Aequatoria. Elles veulent favoriser la recherche
scientifique relative aux cultures et langues zaïroises, avec une attention particulière
pour les Mongo (peuple de la Cuvette centrale du Zaïre). Comme leurs devancières,
les Annales Aequatoria couvrent un domaine assez large: linguistique, anthropologie
culturelle, littérature en langues bantoues, histoire etc. (Pour toute information: Biblio-
thèque Aequatoria, B.P. 1064, Mbandaka, Rép. du Zaïre.)
Reports and Comments
255
Ainu and Okinawa Collections
in the Museums
of Central Europe
The Institute for Japanese Studies,
University of Bonn, is currently engaged
in a two-year research project which will
secure an inventory of all collections of
Ainu and Ryùkyû (Okinawa) material cul-
ture in the museums of Central Europe.
This project is sponsored by Deutsche
F orschungsgemeinschaft.
It is planned to make a precise
inventory of the existing collections and
to publish a catalogue of the objects from
both regions.
Prof. Kreiner, head of the project,
requests all colleagues to cooperate. In-
formation needed is name and address of
museum or private collector being in
possession of objects from the above-
mentioned regions. Please contact:
Ainu-Sammlungen
und Sammlungen von Okinawa
in mitteleuropäischen Museen
Das Japanologische Seminar der
Universität Bonn führt mit Unterstützung
der DFG ein auf zwei Jahre anberaum-
tes Projekt zur Aufnahme von Ainu-
Sammlungen und Sammlungen von den
Ryükyü-Inseln (Okinawa) in mitteleuro-
päischen Museen durch.
Es ist beabsichtigt, die einzelnen
Sammlungen genau aufzunehmen und um-
fassende Kataloge der beiden genannten
Sammlungsbestände zu erarbeiten und zu
publizieren.
Der Unterzeichnende als Leiter des
Projektes bittet alle Kollegen um Unter-
stützung, vor allem um Hinweise auf
Museen und private Sammlungen aus den
genannten Bereichen. Seine Anschrift
lautet:
Prof. Dr. Josef Kreiner
Direktor des Japan elegischen Seminars
der Universität Bonn
Regina-Pacis-Weg 7
D-5300 Bonn 1 (W. Germany)
Notes on Books and Articles
Time and Language (Joachim-Hermann Scharf). — It is a very interesting question
whether time is a priori in mankind’s thinking or whether it is a category which results
from experience. Each human being has a memory so that he is able to distinguish be-
tween the past and the present, but not every language has a word expressing the com-
mon idea of time. In hunting and gathering populations such as Bushmen and Yumbri
no one can state his own age. In chronobiology, the most important zeitgebers are the sun
and the moon. Certain peasant peoples, such as the Santals and Mundas in India, even to-
day use the same word to express sun, Sun-God, daylight, day, day-time, and hour. The
first generalized idea of “time” seems to have arisen in the civilization of Old Mesopo-
tamia. While the general meaning was still unknown to Sumerian, Accadian priest-astro-
nomers presumably created the conception by generalization of the (Sumerian) foreign
word itu(d) “month” and its mingling with the Accadian ittu(m) “sign (as an eclipse,
monstrous birth, etc.), term, moment.” We find the same root in the Etruscan itus “ides”
from which it came as a loan-word into Latin (idus “ides”). The presentation concludes
with an attempt to define time as an abstraction of abstractions, a fuzzy set (of ideas and
definitions) in terms of post-classical set theory. (Gegenbaurs morphologisches Jahrbuch
[Leipzig] 128/3. 1982: 257-289.)
Structural Anthropology in the Netherlands in the Nineteenseventies (Arie de
Ruijter). — Various Dutch cultural anthropologists are guided by a structuralist orienta-
tion in their work. All kinds of influences determine the typical face of Dutch structural
anthropology, even though one can also observe that each important centre (Amsterdam,
Leyden, and Nijmegen) is characterized by its own specific emphases. At Leyden, still the
centre of gravity of structural anthropology, one finds a strong continuity with the
traditional Leyden interest for indigenous classifications, nowadays sometimes supplemented
by some ideas and techniques borrowed from ethno-science. This orientation crystalizes
into a fully fledged research programm in which P.E. de Josselin de Jong’s study “The
Participants View of Their Culture” occupies a central position. The Free University
at Amsterdam follows this orientation rather closely, although what is called “semantic
anthropology” receives particular emphasis. At Nijmegen finally an occupation with
epistemological and methodological aspects of structuralism predominates. Special atten-
tion is paid to a more detailed examination of its relationship with marxist anthropology.
All in all it can be concluded that structural anthropology thrives in the Netherlands. Not
only has there been a remarkable increase in the number of publications during the last
five years, but also a growing group of young graduated anthropologists exists with a
great interest for the more basic methodological problems of structural anthropology.
(In: Peter Kloos and Henri J.M. Claessen [eds.], Current Issues in Anthropology: The
Netherlands. 252 pp. Rotterdam 1980. Anthropological Branch of the Netherlands
Sociological and Anthropological Society. — pp. 191-199.)
Beyond Death: The Gates of Consciousness (Stanislav and Christina Grof). — The
concepts of the after-life in different cultures display striking parallels; their images of
Heaven, Paradise, and Purgatory, and of the posthumous journey of the soul appear to
be. archetypal, arising not from the particular cultural context but from a “death and
rebirth” process inbuilt in human nature. The authors have assembled vivid documenta-
tion from many religions and cultures; Christian, Jewish, Moslem, ancient Greek, Persian,
Egyptian, East Indian, Tibetan, Chinese, Japanese, Pre-Columbian and various preliterate
Notes on Books and Articles
257
societies.— Extensive clinical evidence supports the claims of religion and mythology that
biological death is the beginning of an adventure in consciousness.—Confrontation with
death in a ritual context, or precipitated by emotional or spiritual crises, can both
eliminate the fear of death and lead to transformation—that is, to a more enlightened and
personally satisfying way of living. For many traditions, the “way” is to live one’s life in
the constant awareness of death, and the goal, to die consciously. Such an understanding
of the relation of life and death can only throw into sharp relief the negative attitude
towards the adventure of death that has recently held the West so firmly in its grip.—The
introduction (5-31) contains the following rites: Ancient wisdom and modem science—
Experiences of clinical death and near-death—Images of the Beyond—The posthumous
journey of the soul—Ritual encounters with death—Death and rebirth in schizophrenia
and psychedelic states—Epilogue. Plates (33-64) and figures (65-95) follow, arranged in
themes: The cycles of death and rebirth—Entering the Beyond—The journey—Creatures
of darkness—The ordeal of hell—The universal judgment—Duality: the extremes of heaven
and hell-Emerging-SouIbirds— Encounter with Beings of Light-Paradise—Heaven and
transcendence. (96 pp. in 4°, illustr. London 1980. Thames and Hudson.)
Local History and Oral History (Raphael Samuel). — Oral evidence makes it possible
to escape from some of the deficiencies of the documentary record, at least so far as
recent times are concerned, namely, those which fall within living memory. There are
matters of fact which are recorded in the memories of older people and nowhere else,
events of the past which they alone can elucidate for us, vanished sights which they alone
can recall. It would be a great pity if oral history were fetishised as a project on its own.
A local history based on oral evidence alone runs risk of being routinised and radically
incomplete. As in everything the historian must be alert to the nature of the evidence
presented, whether it is being retailed at first-, second-, or thirdhand, whether it is hearsay
and gossip, or the testimony of direct personal experience, “folklore” polished by
frequent repetition, and elaborated by the storyteller’s arts, or the surprised revelation of
incidents and events long since buried in the unconscious. The value of the testimonies
depend on what the historian brings to them as well as on what he takes, on the precision
of the question, and the wider context of knowledge and understanding from which they
are drawn. The living record of the past should be treated as respectfully, but also as
critically, as the dead. (In: Robert G. Burgess [ed.], Field Research: A Sourcebook and
Field Manual. [Contemporary Social Research Series, 4.] xii+286 pp. London, Boston,
and Sydney 1982. George Allen & Unwin. Price: £12.00 [paper]. — pp. 136-145.)
Digging up Bones (D.R. Brothwell). — Since first edition, there has been á grow-
ing interest on the part of archaeologists in the information to be derived from the study
of skeletal material. The contents are: Notes for guidance in excavating and reporting
on human remains (1-20); Description and study of human bones (21-58); Demographic
aspects of skeletal biology (59-76); Measurement and morphological analysis of human
bones (77-118); Injuries and marks on bones (119-126); Ancient disease (127-174). The
bibliography (179-199) distinguishes 1) standard works of reference and 2) references to
literature quoted in the text. — The handbook cannot give the detailed answers to all the
questions. But an elementary knowledge of the skeletal remains, that are constantly being
revealed in excavations, is now essential to all archaeologists, if they are to evaluate and
deal efficiently with material found on their sites. Furthermore a provisional description
of human remains, suitable for publication with the other excavation details, should not
be beyond the scope of the general archaeologist. — The author hopes that the handbook
may be of value to students of general anthropology and anatomy as well as to the
archaeologists and the layman. (Digging up Bones. The Excavation, Treatment, and Study
of Human Skeletal Remains, vi+208 pp., illustr. Oxford 1981. Oxford University Press.
Price: £8.95. [Third edition.])
Anthropos 78.1983
17
258
Notes on Books and Articles
Anthropos 78.1983
Arnold van Gennep: The Hermit of Bourg-la-Reine (Rosemary Zumwalt). — Van
Gennep was born on April 23, 1873 of Dutch parents in Ludwigsburg, not far from Stutt-
gart in Germany. When his parents separated, the mother with Arnold moved to France,
where he got his education. He was a brilliant student, especially in languages, not in
mathematics. From 1897 to 1901 he had a teaching post in a Polish lycée. On his return
to France he obtained a post as head of translation in a government ministry. In 1904 he
published his dissertation for École des Hautes Études: «Tabou et totémisme à Madagas-
car». His next book, «Mythes et légendes d’Australie», which appeared in 1906, ful-
filled the requirements for his degree. In 1909 he published his famous book «Les rites de
passage». In 1911 and in 1912, he conducted fieldwork in Algeria. In 1912, he accepted
a position at Université de Neuchâtel, filling the first chair in Swiss ethnography. He was
expelled from Switzerland in 1915 as a result of his criticism of the Swiss government
and what he considered its pro-German bias. In France he never got a chair, because he
did not belong to the followers of Durkheim, who was controlling the teaching of all the
universities in France. Van Gennep had to look for various jobs in order to maintain
himself. He lived in an ordinary tenement and in a rather small flat. A visitor wrote:
“ ... in such simple and unpretentious surroundings I was almost shocked.” After 1924
his work was largely focused on the folklore of France: «Le folklore du Dauphiné (Isère)»,
and the various volumes of the «Manuel de folklore français contemporain». He was
founder and director of four journals and officer of many organizations. He died in 1957.
The article is a condensation of a master thesis at the University of California, Berkeley.
The biographical sketch forms the first part of the article. The second part “His work and
his position” deals with van Genneps incisive criticism of the French social sciences, i.e.,
Durkheim and the Durkheimists. He rejected the importance of totemism and of the
society, and he underlined the individual’s position in society.—It is unbelievable that no-
body corrected the blunder of the graduate student; Zumwalt writes that van Gennep
was born “in what is now Holland ... in the kingdom of Württemberg.” (American
Anthropologist [Washington] 84/2. 1982: 299-313.)
Die toten Lebenden (Hans-Peter Hasenfratz). — Die Grenzlinie zwischen Sein und
Nichtsein verläuft für den „modernen“ Menschen zwischen biologischem Leben und bio-
logischem Tod; ist sie überschritten, gibt es kein Zurück mehr. Anders denkt der archaische
(und der „primitive“) Mensch; für ihn sind charakteristisch: kollektive Mentalität, das Ge-
fühl der engen Zusammengehörigkeit von Lebenden und Verstorbenen, die Vorstellung
des Ungeschiedenseins von Körperlichem und Geistigem. Entscheidend ist für ihn, ob et-
was Macht hat, gleich, ob es Leib oder Seele genannt wird. Wer außerhalb der Gemein-
schaft steht, steht außerhalb des Lebens, ist ein akosmischer Toter, auch wenn er biolo-
gisch lebt. Es ist ein sozialer Tod. Ein akosmischer Toter kann wieder ins Leben der Ge-
meinschaft aufgenommen werden, selbst wenn er auch biologisch tot ist. Immer entschei-
det das positive oder negative Verhältnis zur Gemeinschaft über die Existenzweise des
einzelnen, über kosmische Existenz in der Gemeinschaft: das Leben — oder akosmische
Nichtexistenz außerhalb der Gemeinschaft: Tod, den sozialen Tod. Mitspricht das Verhal-
ten des einzelnen zur Gemeinschaft und das der Gemeinschaft zu dem einzelnen, was sich
vor allem in totenkultischen Riten äußert. Todesbereiche sind: Wald, Wüste, Berg, Meer,
Moor, Feuer, Wasser, Luft. Die Trennung von der Gemeinschaft kann freiwillige oder zu-
fällige räumliche Trennung sein; vor allem aber Trennung durch ein Verhalten, das den
Normen der Gemeinschaft widerspricht, ferner durch die Zugehörigkeit zu einem normen-
widrigen Stand: Sklaven, Outcasts, Unehrliche, Rechtlose, Arme, körperlich und geistig
Beschränkte. Ausführlich behandelt werden Bann und Acht im Mittelalter. Von Amiras
und Mommsens Strafopfertheorie zur Erklärung der Todesstrafe wird widerlegt. — Nicht
alle, aber die meisten Beispiele sind der Welt der Indogermanen entnommen, einzelne
auch aus volkskundlichen und ethnographischen Beobachtungen der Gegenwart. (Die to-
ten Lebenden. Eine religionsphänomenologische Studie zum sozialen Tod in archaischen
Notes on Books and Articles
259
Gesellschaften. Zugleich ein kritischer Beitrag zur sogenannten Strafopfertheorie. [Bei-
hefte der Zeitschrift für Religions- und Geistesgeschichte, 24.] xii+167 pp. Leiden 1982.
E.J. Brill. Preis; 62 Gld.)
Die wörtliche Übersetzung (Französisch-Deutsch) (Gisela Thome). — Von den 24
Beiträgen des Buches „Übersetzungswissenschaft“ sind vier Erstveröffentlichungen, darun-
ter eine sorgfältige Untersuchung über „wörtliche“ Übersetzung, veranschaulicht durch
Übersetzungen, meist aus dem Französischen ins Deutsche. — Die übliche Unterscheidung
zwischen wortgetreuer und sinngemäßer Übersetzung bedeutet eine übersetzungsmetho-
dische Grundsatzentscheidung; „wörtliche“ und nichtwörtliche Übersetzung dagegen
sind deskriptive Begriffe, gebraucht zur Bezeichnung linguistisch faßbarer Transfer-
Prozeduren. „Wörtliche“ Übersetzung darf aber nicht gleichgesetzt werden mit Wort-für-
Wort-Übersetzung. Sie ist vielmehr eine translatorische Strategie, die bei mehrgliedri-
gen Satzelementen, bei Teilsätzen, Sätzen oder auch Satzgefügen Anwendung findet. Der
Übersetzer orientiert sich so stark wie möglich am ausgangssprachlichen Muster, richtet
sich aber — darin liegt der Unterschied zur Wort-für-Wort-Übersetzung — bei Anordnung
der Satzglieder nach den zielsprachlichen Syntaxregeln. Die einzelnen Satzglieder läßt er
gewöhnlich vollzählig und mit gleicher syntaktischer Funktion, gleicher Wortklassenzuge-
hörigkeit und möglichst gleichem semantischem Wert in der zielsprachlichen Reproduk-
tion wiederkehren. — Es lassen sich mehrere Typen der wörtlichen Übersetzung unter-
scheiden und innerhalb der verschiedenen Typen obligatorische und fakultative Vor-
kommensweisen. Die wörtliche Übersetzung kann wort-, satz- oder textbedingte Ursachen
haben. — Der Wörtlichkeitsgrad einer Übersetzung ergibt sich vor allem aus dem Grad der
formalen und semantischen Korrespondenz zwischen dem ausgangssprachlichen und ziel-
sprachlichen Satz. (In: Wolfram Wilss [Hrsg.], Übersetzungswissenschaft. [Wege der For-
schung, 535.] xii+414 pp. Darmstadt 1981. Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Preis:
DM 112. - pp. 302-322.)
Die Sonnenuhr (Joachim-Hermann Scharf). — Bereits die Uneinheitlichkeit der
Namen für „Zeit“ in den indogermanischen Sprachen zeigt, daß Zeit ein junger Begriff
ist. Das Sumerische hatte noch kein Wort, das „Zeit“ im allgemeinen bedeutet. Zeit als
Kategorie des Denkens war nicht vor dem ausgehenden Neolithikum (Megalithikum) vor-
handen und hat sich notwendigerweise mit der Verwissenschaftlichung der Astronomie
herausgebildet. Es wird die Hypothese aufgestellt, daß die Benennung der Tageszeiten von
den Bezeichnungen der Orientierungsrichtungen auf der Erdoberfläche — also den Namen
der sog. Himmelsrichtungen — abstammt. Diesen wiederum liegt die naive Beschreibung
des scheinbaren Sonnenlaufs während eines Tages zugrunde. Dies läßt sich durch Unter-
suchung der Bezeichnungen für Himmelsrichtungen und Tageszeiten in den verschiedenen
Sprachgruppen anschaulich machen. Im Lateinischen sind die Namen der Windrichtungen
nicht eindeutig indogermanisch, sondern durch die vor-indogermanische Mediterran-
sprache beeinflußt oder dieser direkt entlehnt. Als die Indogermanen Europa eroberten,
waren sie selbst Steppennomaden ohne jegliche Seefahrtkenntnisse. Sie trafen aber in al-
len Küstenregionen auf autochthone Seefahrerbevölkerungen, von denen sie zahlreiche
Fachausdrücke übernahmen, ehe die beiden Populationen miteinander verschmolzen. Die
Griechen benutzten zwei Orientierungssysteme. Die meisten Bezeichnungen sind wieder —
wie im Lateinischen und im Germanischen — indogermanische Richtungsbezeichnungen,
die den scheinbaren Sonnenlauf beschreiben. Dagegen sind Windrichtungen auch nach
Meinung der offiziellen Indogermanistik nicht oder zumindest nicht sicher mit indoger-
manischen Namen bezeichnet. Die nomenklatorischen Verhältnisse, die auf die neo-
lithische Sonnenreligion zurückgehen, weisen darauf hin, daß dieser Sonnenkult — ver-
mutlich zuerst völlig ungewollt — der Beginn jeglicher echten Astronomie und damit der
gesamten Naturwissenschaft geworden ist. (Nova Acta Leopoldina [Halle] NF 54, Nr. 245.
1981: 283-411.)
260
Notes on Books and Articles
Anthropos 78.1983
Konsequenzen ökonomischen Wandels in zirkumpolaren Gebieten (L. Müller-
Wille [ed.]) — Die Suche nach Flugzeugbasen, nach Energiequellen wie öl, Gas und Elek-
trizität führten die Industriestaaten in die Arktis. Das brachte für die dortigen kleinen
Volksgruppen eine rapide wirtschaftliche und soziale Umwälzung mit sich. Die damit ver-
bundenen Fragen gaben den Anstoß zu einem Symposium der daran interessierten Wis-
senschaften, vorab der Anthropologie. Über 60 eingeschriebene Mitglieder fanden sich im
März 1975 dazu in Amsterdam ein. Rußland war nicht vertreten. Die 18 Referate liegen
nun vor, mit einer Einleitung und einer Zusammenfassung, die auch Diskussionsbemer-
kungen und weitere eingesandte Manuskripte benutzt hat. — Die Entwicklung geht in
einem Tempo vor sich, das niemand geahnt hätte: mit Ölleitungen, Staudämmen, Elektri-
zitätswerken, Bergwerken, Straßen, Flugplätzen, Lastautos, Autobussen, Flugzeugen,
neuen Siedlungen und kleinen Städten. — Großen Einfluß hatte die Einführung des
Schneeautos, wodurch die Schlittenfahrt nicht mehr auf Rentier und Hunde angewiesen
ist, wohl aber auf Benzin und damit auf Geld. Wichtige Änderungen gehen auf staatliche
Maßnahmen zurück: für Wohnung, Gesundheit und Schulausbildung. Touristen bringen
neben anderem auch Gutes mit sich: sie sind an der Kunst der Lappen interessiert, so daß
nun das Kunsthandwerk Geld einbringt. Die Eskimos fanden auch ohne Touristen Ver-
kaufsmöglichkeiten. — Ganz anders wirken sich Radio und Fernsehen aus. Lappen und
Eskimos wollen nun auch regieren und nicht nur regiert werden; das geschah auch früher
in Einzelfällen, jetzt fordern sie es. Überraschend vielen gelingt es, sich den neuen Ver-
hältnissen anzupassen und ihr Brot als Chauffeure, als Techniker etc. zu verdienen. —
Deutlich wurde auf dem Symposium auch, wie sich die Grenzen zwischen diesen Volks-
gruppen und den Weißen verwischen. Schon die Zweisprachigkeit wirkt in dieser Rich-
tung. Es sind Völker, die in einem großen Kulturwandel begriffen sind. (Consequences
of Economic Change in Circumpolar Regions. Papers of the Symposium on Unexpected
Consequences of Economic Change in Circumpolar Regions at the 34th Annual Meeting
of the Society for Applied Anthropology in Amsterdam, March 21 to 22, 1975.vii+269
pp. With 11 fig. and 11 tab. Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, 1978. Boreal Institute for
Northern Studies, The University of Alberta. Price: $10.00.)
,,Gottes Bund mit Abraham“ in religionswissenschaftlicher Sicht (Inge Hofmann
und Anton Vorbichler). — Die Schließung des Bundes mit Gott kommt nach Gen. 15 da-
durch zustande, daß Abraham eine Kuh, eine Ziege und einen Widder mitten entzwei-
schneidet, und Gott zwischen den beiden Teilen hindurchschreitet. In einer Paralleler-
zählung (Jer. 34) geht nicht Gott, sondern das Volk zwischen den beiden Hälften hin-
durch. Ähnliche Riten, die aus Griechenland berichtet sind, werden als rituelle Reini-
gungen gedeutet. Durch einen von Herodot und Diodor überlieferten Ritus (hier handelt
es sich um zerstückelte Menschen), wird die Verlängerung der Herrschaft versprochen.
Durch weitere Parallelen suchen die Verfasser den Nachweis zu erbringen, daß ein Schrei-
ten zwischen den halbierten Tier- oder Menschenleichen hindurch ohne Berührung mit
dem Blut der Getöteten nicht möglich ist. Blut aber reinigt und belebt, verjüngt, macht
lebendig. Diese lebendigmachende Kraft des Blutes wird also durch den Ritus mitge-
teilt. (Zeitschrift für Missionswissenschaft und Religionswissenschaft [Münster] 65.1981/
2: 139-147.)
Africa
Edification by Puzzlement (James Fernandez). — Psychological investigations in a
Fang village soon encounter suspicion. “Why do you ask such things? What do you want
to do with the information?,” the people ask. Not only in West-Africa but also elsewhere
one can detect a big difference between those with a regular education and those who do
not have it, e.g., when asked to express an opinion about a syllogism. The traditional
Notes on Books and Articles
261
thinking takes the whole into consideration. This is evident in the answers to puzzles but
even more so in the detailed text of a sermon for followers of the religious Bwiti move-
ment of the Fang. This is a movement in which the members want to return to the
“whole” world where their ancestors live. The preacher said in a conversation: “The
world is one thing but the witches try to isolate men from each other so that they can eat
them.” The preacher only gives the impulse; the listener must make his own step towards
the whole, even when he does not understand the cosmological thinking of the preacher.
(In: Dan Jorgensen [coordinator], Introductory Readings in Social Anthropology. 217
pp. in 4°. Lexington, Mass., 1981. Ginn Custom Publishing. — pp. 171-183.)
Stufen der Lebenserfüllung. Zur rituellen Symbolik der Simbete (Tansania) (Hugo
Huber). — Die stufenweise Erfüllung und Erhöhung des Einzellebens ereignet und er-
neuert sich, nach dem Dogma der Simbete, in der Begegnung von Prokreation und Hei-
ratsallianzen. Dieser zweidimensionale Rahmen ist der “Ort” und Fokus ritueller Sym-
bolik, die in den Feiern der Lebensstufen und Statuserhöhung konkret zum Ausdruck
kommt. Diese Symbolik weist grundsätzlich auf die erwartete Realität, auf das konkre-
te Heil hin. Eine genaue Abgrenzung zwischen „wirkenden“ und rein deutenden, expres-
siven Symbolen erscheint aber problematisch, desgleichen die Unterscheidung zwischen
direkt wirkenden Symbolhandlungen und Heilwirkungen höherer Mächte. Geht es in den
symbolischen Riten um eine „totale Botschaft“? (Leach) (In; Symbole und Gesellschaft
in Afrika. [Ethnologica Helvetica, 5.] Bern 1981; 79-98.)
Les insectes comme aliments de l’homme (Tango Muyay). — Les insectes présentent
une source de protéines non négligeable pour l’homme. Chez les Yansi, les chenilles
fournissent la même quantité de protéines que le gibier (qui n’est pas un plat quotidien).
En outre, les coléoptères et leurs larves, les grillons, les criquets, les sauterelles, les termites
et certains insectes aquatiques jouent un grand rôle dans l’alimentation des Yansi. ([Ceeba
publications, série 11/69.] 177 pp., avec 60 fig. Bandundu, Rép. du Zaïre, 1981. Centre
d’Êtudes Ethnologiques de Bandundu. [Diffusion hors-Zaïre: Steyler Verlag, D-5205 St.
Augustin 1].)
Réparation de l’infidélité conjugale chez les Yansi (Rép. Zaïre) (Tayaya Lumbom-
bo). — Les Yansi considèrent l’adultère comme un vol, car il se fait ou se commet à
l’insu de tous. Un homme ou une femme adultère chez les Yansi est considéré au même
titre qu’un voleur. L’adultère ne concerne pas seulement des femmes mariées, mais toutes
les Yansi, mariées ou pas. Les jeunes filles commettent, elles aussi, l’adultère, ce qui a égale-
ment des conséquences et donc nécessite aussi réparation. Toute jeune fille yansi, dès
la première seconde de sa naissance est déjà considérée comme mariée. C’est une femme,
à part entière, parce qu’elle est fiancée legale. Pour la réparation de l’adultère, il faut
pratiquer certains rites et payer des amendes, soit en espèces, soit en nature qui sont fixées
par les tribunaux coutumiers, selon la qualité des personnes en question et, éventuellement,
leur degré de parenté. ([Ceeba Publications, série 11/71.] 178 pp. Bandundu, Zaïre, 1981.
Centre d’Etudes Ethnologiques de Bandundu.)
Mukanda, l’école traditionnelle pende (Lengelo Guyigisa). — Mukanda se traduit
par «circoncision», mais toute la période de l’initiation s’appelle Mukanda, pas seulement
l’opération de couper le prépuce. Ce mot a pris un sens très large comprenant l’ensemble
de la durée de l’école traditionelle. Au camp d’initiation, le garçon apprend les techniques
du travail d’adulte (poser des pièges, des nasses, tisser des tissus, confectionner des mas-
ques). Il y fait connaissance avec des plantes médicinales et apprend à lutter, à souffrir, à
obéir aux anciens. Pour ce qui est des arts, l’initié apprend de nouvelles chansons, des
262
Notes on Books and Articles
Anthropos 78.1983
danses, des mouvements, des masques, en un mot, le mukanda est une école de vie. Il
fait cesser chez les initiés l’ignorance et la crainte infantiles. ([Ceeba Publications, série
11/59.] 188 pp., avec 34 fig. et 1 carte. Bandundu, Rép. du Zaïre, 1980. Centre d’Études
Ethnologiques de Bandundu.)
The Americas
Papers of the Thirteenth Algonquian Conference (William Cowan [ed.]). — This
conference was held in October 1981, at the Ontario Institute of Studies in Education,
Toronto. It was by far the largest and richest Algonquian Conference yet held, with 41
papers on a wide variety of subjects, including economics of the northern Ojibwa, rates of
metabolism of alcohol among Whites and Indians, religious movements in northern
Ontario in the 1840s, and baby-talk in Montagnais, in addition to more familiar themes
from anthropology, history, linguistics, and folklore. A television docu-drama dealt with
Micmac culture. Of the 41 papers presented at the Conference, 26 are published in this
issue. (306 pp. Ottawa 1982. Carleton University, Linguistics Department. Price: $10.00)
Folk Literature of the Yamana Indians (Johannes Wilbert [ed.]). — The publication
under review has Gusinde’s volume on the Yamana (1937) as its source. The introduction
provided by Wilbert analyses in particular the method in which Gusinde obtained and
wrote down his texts. The careful English translation divides the material as follows: How
the World Came to Be (Heaven and Earth; The Culture Heroes) and Myths and Legends.
(Explanatory Myths; Ethical Myths; Tales about Shamans, Spirits, and Ogres). Most texts
have a note about the informant, a summary and provide the motif content.
The second part of the book (199-305) entitled “The Motif Indices” has the following
sections: 1. Motif Distribution by Narrative, 2. Topical Motif Index, 3. Alphabetical
Motif Index, and 4. Motif Distribution by Motif Group. A glossary and bibliography
conclude the work.
With this publication (and with the volume on the Selknam in the same series
previously published), the narrative treasures of the Indinas of Tierra del Fuego are opened
up to the English-reading public. (Martin Gusinde’s Collection of Yamana Narratives.
[UCLA Latin American Studies Series, 40.] xi+308 pp. With 2 maps. Berkeley and Los
Angeles 1977. University of California Press. [Publ. for the UCLA Latin American Center
in cooperation with Anthropos Institute St. Augustin.])
Die Salish (Ch. Hill-Tout). — Es handelt sich um Forschungsergebnisse aus den
Jahren 1891/92 bis 1906, veröffentlicht von 1895 bis 1923. Neben einigen archäolo-
gischen und linguistischen Berichten, darunter Grammatiken von elf Salish-Sprachen, ver-
danken wir Hill-Tout vor allem ethnologische Materialien, veröffentlicht in Fachzeit-
schriften von Kanada, USA und England. Sein Ansehen war unbestritten. Er wurde
zusammen mit Boas, Morice und Swanton genannt. Diese Aufsätze, unter Ausschluß der
linguistischen, sind in vier Heften zusammengetragen, mit gründlichen Einleitungen und
Anmerkungen des Herausgebers, deutlich getrennt von denen des Verfassers. Hill-Tout
wurde 1858 in England geboren, studierte Theologie, kam durch die Lektüre von Darwin
und Huxley in Schwierigkeiten, verzichtete auf die Ordination und wanderte 1884 mit
Frau und Kind nach Kanada aus. Von da an nannte er sich Hill-Tout: Hill nach der Mut-
ter, Tout nach dem Vater. In Toronto und Vancouver war er als Lehrer tätig, gründete
sogar selbst eine Schule; seit 1899 aber widmete er sich ganz der Arbeit auf der Farm, die
er in der Nähe von Vancouver aufgebaut hatte. — Von Vancouver aus war es nicht weit
bis zu den Indianer-Siedlungen. Seit 1896 arbeitet er unter den Salish. 1906 ist er das
letzte Mal bei ihnen. Er sammelt Ortsnamen, stellt Vokabulare zusammen, beschreibt die
Stammesgliederung, läßt sich Mythen und Märchen erzählen und interessiert sich für ihre
Notes on Books and Articles
263
alten Waffen, Werkzeuge und Wohnungen. Der ethnologische Autodidakt hatte ein schar-
fes Auge, ein gutes Ohr und ein vorzügliches Einfühlungsvermögen. So hat er das frühere
Leben dieser Stämme, die um 1900 schon völlig europäisiert waren, gewissenhaft festge-
halten. Er wählt seinen Stoff aus und gestaltet ihn, ohne dem Inhalt Gewalt anzutun.
Das ärmliche Englisch seiner Berichterstatter überarbeitet er, so daß man die Mythe auch
ein zweites und drittes Mal gerne liest. Während andere, auch angesehene Autoren sich
mit dem bloßen Text begnügen, schildert Hill-Tout auch einmal anschaulich, wie sein Er-
zähler auftritt: seine Gesten, seine Stimme, die sich den wechselnden Szenen der Mythe
anpaßt, beschreibt auch, wie die Zuhörer reagieren; und das alles in einem glänzenden
Englisch, das sich gleich bleibt, auch wenn er die materielle Kultur schildert. Rein quanti-
tativ überwiegen die Mythen alles andere. — Auffallend sind für den heutigen Leser die
nicht seltenen Versuche Hill-Touts, Wanderungen, Verwandtschaft und Ursprünge zu
rekonstruieren — nicht nur auf kulturellem, auch auf linguistischem Gebiet. Rein äus-
serliche Ähnlichkeiten zwischen Dene- und chinesischen Wörtern genügen ihm, auf Ver-
wandtschaft der beiden Sprachen zu schließen, als ob er noch nie etwas von vergleichen-
der Sprachwissenschaft gelesen hätte. Ähnliches gilt von der Behauptung einer Ver-
wandtschaft mit melanesischen und polynesischen Sprachen. Seine Behandlung des
Schamanismus wird verständlich durch den Artikel über seine früheren Erlebnisse in
spiritistischen Sitzungen; er selbst besuchte so seinen vor 20 Jahren verstorbenen Vater;
vom anfänglichen Zweifel kam er zur Sicherheit. — Unkritisch ist er auch bei Übernahme
einiger Berichte aus fremder Feder. Doch scheint ihm die Literatur zu den Fragen, die
er behandelt, meist unbekannt gewesen zu sein, abgesehen von dem einen oder anderen
Autor. All das berührt nicht seine eigentliche Leistung: die Beschreibung der schon fast
ganz untergegangenen Kultur der Salish im damaligen Britisch-Kolumbien.(Ralph Maud
[ed. and introd.], The Salish People. The Local Contribution of Charles Hill-Tout. 4 Vols.
1: The Thompson and the Okanagan. 167 pp., illustr. — 2: The Squamish and the Lillooet.
163 pp., illustr. — 3: The Mainland Halkomelem. 165 pp., illustr, —4: The Sechelt and the
South-Eastem Tribes of Vancouver Island. 181 pp., illustr. Vancouver 1978. Talonbooks.
Price;$6.95 each.)
Blackfoot-Indlaner (Eva Gerhards). — Das staatliche Museum für Völkerkunde in
München stellte 72 Objekte der Blackfoot-Indianer aus: Zeltdecken, Pfeil und Bogen,
Amulette etc. Sie stammten nur zum Teil aus dem Münchener Museum; die meisten waren
Leihgaben eines Privatmannes und des Berliner Museums. — Die Datierung und die Zu-
schreibung zu einem bestimmten Stamm bleiben vielfach zweifelhaft; auch wenn doku-
mentiert ist, bei welchem Stamm das Stück erworben wurde, bedeutet das noch nicht,
daß es dort angefertigt worden ist; es zirkulieren Gegenstände aller Art zwischen den
Stämmen. — Das reich illustrierte Buch bietet eine erste Einführung in die Welt der Black-
foot-Indianer aus der großen Sprachfamilie der Algonkin. Es ist im ganzen vorsichtig ge-
schrieben und verweist z.B. mehrfach auf den starken Kulturwandel gerade dieser Stäm-
me. Die Übernahme des Pferdes brachte die Gliederung in Arme, Mittelstand und Reiche.
Der berühmte Sonnentanz kam wahrscheinlich erst im 19. Jh. auf. Heute ist der Großteil
der Blackfoot kaum noch von dem Amerikaner oder Kanadier zu unterscheiden, für die
sie aber doch nur Menschen zweiter Klasse sind, obwohl sie die gleichen Autos fahren.
(Buch zur Ausstellung im Staatlichen Museum für Völkerkunde München. 126 pp. Inns-
bruck 1980. Pinguin -Verlag. — Frankfurt a.M., Umschau-Verlag.)
Gurt Nimuendajús ethnohistorische Karte. — Das der Karte beigefügte Heft enthält
zwei kurze biographische Beiträge, dazu eine chronologische Entstehungsgeschichte
der Karte, schließlich Artikel über die Schreibweise der Stammesnamen und die Bedeu-
tung der Karte. Das alles ist Einleitung zum Hauptteil des Heftes: Indice de Tribos,
Indice Bibliográfico mit 973 Nummern, Indice de Autores; alle drei von Nimuendajú. —
264
Notes on Books and Articles
Anthropos 78.1983
Die Karte selbst (98 x 106 cm im Maßstab 1: 5000000) befindet sich getrennt vom Heft
in einer leichten Papiertasche (20 x 25,5 cm). Sie umfaßt Brasilien, Surinam, Guiana,
und Teile von Columbien. Sie trägt den Titel: Mapa etno-histórico do Brasil e regioes
adjacentes adaptado do mapa de Gurt Nimuendajú. Durch verschieden farbige und ver-
schieden gemusterte Streifen sind die 40 Sprachfamilien gekennzeichnet, getrennt davon
33 isolierte Sprachen. Verschiedene Schrifttypen zeigen das heutige bzw. das frühere
Wohngebiet des Stammes an; wieder andere Typen besagen, daß der Stamm ausgestor-
ben ist. Immer ist das Jahr des frühesten literarischen Zeugnisses beigefügt. Dreizehn Na-
men werden für die Herausgabe der Karte genannt, sechs für die linguistischen und sieben
für die kartographischen Arbeiten. (Mapa etno-histórico de Gurt Nimuendajú. 97 pp.
com 1 mapa. Rio de Janeiro 1981. Instituto Brasileiro de Geografía e Estatística — Se-
cretaria de Planejamento da Presidéncia da República. [Editado em colaborado com a
Fundado Nacional Pró-Memória.])
Die künstliche Schädeldeformation als Vorbild für ,,Scheinköpfe“ altperuanischer
Mumienbündel (Hans Becher und Peter H. Röseler).— Die Wiedergabe der künstlichen
Schädeldeformation als ein soziales Rangmerkmal bei der Gestaltung der hölzernen más-
cara funeral ist Ausdruck eines Bemühens um möglichst weitgehende Ähnlichkeit mit dem
Verstorbenen bei seiner Repräsentation im Kult. Zugleich kann man darin einen Hinweis
auf den mehr sozialdifferenzierenden als ästhetischen Zweck der Schädeldeformation im
alten Peru sehen (In: Gedenkschrift Walter Lehmann. Herausgegeben von Anneliese
Mönnichf und Berthold Riese in Zusammenarbeit mit Wera Zeller. [Indiana, 7.] Teil 2:
217-230 mit 11 Abb. Berlin 1982. Gebr. Mann Verlag.)
Asia
Preservation of Jewish Ethnic Identity in Yemen: Segregation and Integration as
Boundary Maintenance Mechanisms (Yael Katzir). — Since the seventh century more
than 100.000 Jews lived in Yemen dispersed in small groups within the Moslem popula-
tion in hundreds of isolated villages. — The persistence of Jewish ethnic identity over the
centuries was dependent upon the interplay between segregation and integration boun-
dary maintenance mechanisms, both external and internal. This group sustained its
ethnicity through cultural and biological continuity and constant adaptation to the
environment. The Yemeni context engendered the retention of Jewish ethnic identity by
providing two major external factors: isolation and d’himmi status, i.e.,they were pro-
tected foreigners, lacking political power and territorial rights. The contributing internal
factors which operated within the Yemeni Jewish communities included their formal
religion and literacy in Hebrew, specialized vocational skills and trade, the practice of
endogamy, and folk culture. — In 1948 they were declared persona non grata by the
Yemeni government and were forced to leave en masse. — (Comparative Studies in
Society and History [Cambridge] 24/2.1982: 264-279.)
What is a Shaman? (I.M. Lewis). — The term “shaman” has been quite extensively
used by American cultural anthropologists. It seems less frequent in French ethnography
while it is hardly used at all by British structural functionalists. The author criticizes the
definitions given by R. Firth, M. Eliade, L. de Heusch, E. Bourguignon, and others. They
distinguish separate phenomena associated with contrasting social formations. But actually
all these various features of possession and trance etc. we find in the single cultural setting
of the Tungus. And he quotes Shirokogoroff’s masterpiece: The Psychomental Complex
of the Tungus (1935). Consequently: What is a shaman? A shaman is an inspired prophet
and healer, a charismatic religious figure, with the power to control the spirits, usually by
Notes on Books and Articles
265
incarnating them. If spirits speak through him, so he is likely to have the capacity to en-
gage in mystical flight and other out of body experiences. Lewis speaks in favor of
clarity of description and analysis, but against excessive terminological rigidity, for a less
inhibited use of the term shaman in accordance with its original native (Tungus) meaning.
(Folk [Kabenhavn] 23.1981: 25-35.)
Pile Houses in Ancient China (Thomas O. Höllmann). — From the Tang Dynasty
(618-906 A.D.) on, at the latest, houses built on pilings can be traced with certainty by
the terms kan-lan, kao-lan, ko-lan, and cha-chii, mostly used in descriptions of the
‘barbarian tribes’ at the southern frontier of the expanding Middle Kingdom. One millennium
earlier the character ch’ao (‘nest’) referred to some kind of human dwelling of possibly
the same construction, and even from the 13th century B.C. on, the pictograph ching
and others, written on oracle bones and bronze vessels, depict buildings which bear
strong resemblance to the main features of the pile house. In the literary records of later
times the character ching had two quite different meanings (‘granary’ and ‘metropolis’),
which leads to the assumption that granaries, erected on piles, might have constituted the
nucleus of the ancient Chinese city. A number of sites, mostly located south of the
Yangtse and dated as early as the neolithic period, yielded dwelling remains, related to
pile houses by the excavators, but the archaeological evidence seems yet insufficient to
reconstruct even rough architectural features. Therefore our knowledge of the shapes and
construction modes, besides supposals based on the pictographs already mentioned, solely
derives from funerary stones and tiles, bronze vessel decorations, and, particularly, from
models made of clay, bronze, wood and stone, for the most part dating from the Han
Dynasty (206 B.C. - 220 A.D.). The majority of them depict granaries, and verify the
main differentiation between a rectangular type (ching, ts’ang, lin) and a round type
(chiin) mentioned in the literary sources. A trapezoidal roof, the ridge being longer than
the caves, is the most distinctive architectural feature of models unearthed in the province
of Yiinnan. A considerable number of human figures inside and around the buildings lead
one to assume that the pile houses at the southwestern periphery of China were, at least
in part, used as social and ceremonial centers. (Pfahlhäuser im alten China. Beiträge zur
allgemeinen und vergleichenden Archäologie [München] 3.1981: 45-86.)
Sammlung Wogulischer Volksdichtung (Erhard Schiefer und Leila Behrens). — Der
erste Band, den E. Schiefer herausgegeben hat, enthält Ausführungen, die der Ungar Bern-
hard Munkacsi (1860-1937) in einem vierbändigen Werk von 1892-1896 veröffentlichte.
Außer den Materialien, die zumeist von Munkacsi in den Jahren 1888/89, teilweise aber
auch um 1843 von seinem Landsmann Antal Reguly (1819-1858) gesammelt wurden,
findet sich darin eine Einleitung von rund 400 Seiten, deren deutsche Übersetzung Mun-
kacsi selbst in einer ungarischen Zeitschrift veröffentlichte. Von dieser Einleitung bringt
der vorliegende erste Band der Sammlung ungefähr die Hälfte, und zwar im Facsimile-
Druck: „Ältere Berichte über das Heidentum der Wogulen und Ostjaken.“ Es handelt sich
um die vorchristliche Periode, die Missionsbestrebungen, die Bekehrung und Berichte aus
den letzten zwei Jahrhunderten und um das Schlußkapitel „Seelenglaube und Totenkult
der Woguler“. Vorangestellt ist ein Beitrag „Über die heidnische Religion der Wogulen“,
der 1893 erschien. — Der zweite Band der „Sammlung Wogulischer Volksdichtung“ bringt
aus Munkacsis erstem Band wogulische Texte mit der ungarischen Übersetzung darunter
und auf der gegenüberliegenden rechten Seite die deutsche Übersetzung von Schiefer
(2-153). Es folgt (154-231) Leila Behrens’ deutsche Übersetzung von Munkacsis un-
garischem Kommentar. — Die Themen sind: „Die heilige Sage von der Entstehung der
Erde“ (2-65; mitgeteilt von dem berühmtesten Sagenkenner der nördlichen Wogulen);
„Die Sage von der Umgürtelung der Erde“ (66-75); „Das Lied von der Überflutung des
Himmels und der Erde“ (76-135; mit fast 500 Verszeilen der dichterischen Darstellung
266
Notes on Books and Articles
Anthropos 78.1983
von Einzelheiten der Sage); „Die Sage von der heiligen Feuerflut“ (136-139); „Die Sage
von der heiligen Sintflut“ (138-147), und „Der Welt-beobachtende-Mann rettet den Wo-
gulen vor der Sintflut“ (146-153). — Beide Bände enthalten eine Fülle von Informationen
und sind eine Fundgrube für den Ethnologen und Religionswissenschaftler. Der Kommen-
tar im zweiten Band: „Sachliche und sprachliche Erklärungen“, (154-231), kennzeichnet
Vermutungen und Hypothesen deutlich als solche. (Bd. 1: 228 pp. — Bd. 2: Wogulische
Texte mit Kommentar. Texte aus dem Wogulischen von Erhard Schiefer übersetzt, Kom-
mentare aus dem Ungarischen von Leila Behrens übersetzt. 231 pp. [Veröffentlichungen
des Finnisch-Ugrischen Seminars an der Universität München. Serie B: Beiträge zur Er-
forschung der obugrischen Sprache, 4 und 7.] München 1980 und 1981.)
Griechische und römische Quellen zum peripheren Tibet (Peter Lindegger). — Daß
es der Periplus des Skylax aus der Zeit um 520 v.Chr. ist, dem Herodot die Nachrichten
über die Landschaft Gandhära am Mittellauf des Indus verdankt, darf für sicher gelten
(über Nachrichten vor Herodot cf. Anthropos 76.1981: 872). Für das sog. „Ameisengold“,
das nach Herodot aus einer sandigen Hochebene im ferneren Nordosten durch Bewohner
des nördlichen Industales — später werden sie bei Strabo als Darden bezeichnet — herun-
ter gebracht wird, läßt sich anhand einer Passage im Mahäbhärata zeigen, daß es ursprüng-
lich durch das Adjektiv pipilika als „Gold wie Ameisen“ qualifiziert wurde; die spätere
Umdeutung des Epithetons führte zur Vorstellung von „Gold, das von Ameisen ergraben
wird“ und bildet den Kern einer fabulösen Tradition, die sich über Nearchos und Me-
gasthenes bis in die Gegenwart zu halten vermochte: der jüngste Beleg für dieses Motiv ist
ein Märchen von Goldgrabenden Ameisen, das zu Beginn unseres Jahrhunderts in Ladakh
aufgenommen wurde. Es läßt sich ferner glaubhaft machen, daß die alten Goldgründe — in
indischen Quellen Suvarnambhümi, „Goldland“, genannt, wo ein Goldgeschlecht, Suvama-
gotra, herrscht — mit dem Gebiet des west-tibetischen Landes Zah-zuh identisch sind. Bei
der Untersuchung bestimmter Ktesias-Stellen auf ihre ethnographischen Inhalte hin wird
dank dem Beizug indischer und chinesischer Quellen wahrscheinlich, daß sich in der
ktesianischen Darstellung von den Kynokephalen, einem Mleccha-Volk „im Norden der
Inder“, ein Aspekt des alten und weit verbreiteten Erzählgutes von einem westlichen
„Schwarzweibervolk“ erhalten hat, deren Männer nach gewissen Quellen hundeköpfig
sein sollen. Dieses barbarische Frauenreich, bekannt als stnräjya in indischen und als
Nü-kuo in chinesischen Quellen, erweist sich mit hoher Wahrscheinlichkeit als die west-
tibetische Bevölkerung von Zan-zuh mit ihren seltsam anmutenden matrilinearen und
polyandrischen Lebensformen. Auch der Passus, in welchem Ktesias von dem wunder-
baren Fluß Silas handelt, auf dessen „weichem Wasser“ wunderbar er weise nichts zu
schwimmen vermag, darf wohl als echtes Element zentralasiatischer Folklore, das auf den
Wegen des Gold- und Salzhandels ins Industral gelangte, betrachtet werden. Andere
indische Mirabilia des Ktesias dagegen sind nachweisbar entlehnt und entstammen trans-
loziert der älteren griechischen Ethnographie. (Griechische und römische Quellen zum
peripheren Tibet; Teil 2: Überlieferungen von Herodot bis zu den Alexanderhistorikem.
[Die nördlichsten Grenzregionen Indiens.] [Opuscula Tibetana. Arbeiten aus dem Tibet-
Institut Rikon-Zürich, Fase, 14, Mai 1982.] 192 pp. Zürich 1982. Tibetan Monastic
Institute.)
Ehe und Familie in der chinesischen Welt (Eduard J.M. Kroker). — Der Vortrag be-
handelt Ehe und Familie zur Zeit der kaiserlichen Dynastien (122-135) und der Volks-
republik (135-152). Schon im 2. Jahrtausend v.Chr. ist die Ahnenverehrung belegt, die
auf der den Eltern geschuldeten Ehrfurcht fußt. In der Chou-Zeit wandelt sich die
Form: der Kult der Ahnentafel auf dem Himmelsaltar in der Ahnenhalle. Die Tendenz
ist auf das Wachstum der Bevölkerung und eine polygame Gesellschaftsordnung gerich-
tet. Das 6. Jh. v. Chr. bringt Konfuzius und seine Weisheit, die bis in das 20. Jh. hinein
maßgebend geblieben ist. Sie kreist um die patriarchale Familienordnung, die Ahnen-
Notes on Books and Articles
267
Verehrung und die kindliche Ehrfurcht. Kroker behandelt dann in ungewöhnlich ge-
drängter und anschaulicher Form die Großfamilie, Verlobung und Hochzeit, die
Frau, das Verhältnis Ehemann-Ehefrau, die Stellung der Nebenfrau, das Vater-Sohn-
Verhältnis, die Ehescheidung. — Ähnlich folgt das zweite Kapitel „In der Zeit der
Volksrepublik“: Geschichtlicher Überblick, Freiwilligkeit, Ehefähigkeit, Familien-
planung, Eheverbote, formelle Ehevoraussetzungen, die Ehescheidung. Die Gesetzge-
bung hat mehrfach gewechselt. Die Verhaltensformen, die 2000 bis 3000 Jahre gültig
gewesen, scheinen bei jeder Gelegenheit durchzubrechen. Altes Denken, alte Sitten,
alte Gewohnheiten, alte Organisationen: diese vier „Alten“ scheinen noch lange
mit ihrer Weisheit das chinesische Leben mitzubestimmen. — Die neueste Verfassung
Chinas vom Herbst 1982 konnte Kroker noch nicht berücksichtigen. Sie fordert, nach
Zeitungsberichten, stärkste Geburtenbeschränkung; das Ideal sei die Einkind-Familie.
(In: E. Kroker [Hrsg.], Ehe und Familie. [Königsteiner Forum.] Königstein 1982. —
pp. 121-153.)
La relation forgeron-chaman chez les Yakoutes de Sibérie (Anne de Sales). — Chez
les Yakoutes, les représentations de la relation forgeron-chaman apparaissent contra-
dictoires quant aux statuts des deux protagonistes en tant qu’ainé et cadet. Cette con-
tradiction conduit à étudier la relation d’alliance beau-père-gendre, laquelle n’a de sens
qu’en fonction d’un système social. Ce système fait jouer des relations d’interdépen-
dance comportant au moins trois termes et non des relations duelles isolées. L’auteur
montre comment on peut alors rendre compte du paradoxe qui veut que dans l’oppo-
sition aîné-cadet — fondamentale pour la société yakoute — les valeurs soient ordon-
nées à l’inverse des statuts. Exemple privilégié de ce paradoxe, la relation forgeron-
chaman permet d’éclairer certains principes organisateurs de cette société. (L’Homme
[Paris] 21/4.1981/ 35-61.)
Europe
The Races and Peoples of Europe (BertilJ. Lundman). — Lundman, born in
Sweden in 1899, Professor of Physical Anthropology at the University of Uppsala, is
author of many articles and books dealing with physical and cultural anthropology.
The booklet contains three chapters. 1. The distribution of anthropological traits in
Europe (1-28): skin color, hair color, and eye color; stature; head form—cephalic
index; head form—other indices; blood groups; (with 16 maps).—2. The living races
and peoples of Europe (29-51): the anthropological systematics of Europe; the races
of Europe—an outline; the races and peoples of Northwest Europe; the races and
peoples of Southwest Europe, ... of Southeast Europe, ... of Russia and Northeast
Europe; (with 3 maps and 10 figures).—3. The racial history of Europe: an outline
(52-65): the origin of the races of Europe; synopsis of European racial history; geo-
graphy and the origin of races; (with 2 maps).—Europe can be divided into four distinct
quadrants: a Germanic northwest, a Romanic southwest, a Balkan southeast, and a
Slave-Finnic northeast. Ancient and modem migrations have spread many of these
races and their subraces outside of their original homeland.—Nowhere it is mentioned
that the German text is to be found in the main in B. Lundman, Geographische
Anthropologic. Rassen und Volker der Erde (1967: 89-117, 183-187);cf. the review in
Anthropos 65.1970: 344. ([IAAEE Monographs, 4: Anthropology.] Translated from
German by Donald A. Swan, v+78 pp., illustr. New York 1977. The International
Association for the Advancement of Ethnology and Eugenics, Inc.)
268
Notes on Books and Articles
Anthropos 78.1983
Nautische Attribute römischer Gottheiten (Arvid Göttlicher). — In der alten rö-
mischen Religion gibt es Gottheiten (Neptunus, Oceanus, Portunus, Trinarcus, Victo-
ria, Minerva, Fortuna, Annona, Astarte u.a.), denen Attribute aus dem Bereich des
Schiffswesens beigelegt werden: allegorische, symbolische und selten auch mytholo-
gische, z.B. das Steuerruder, der Anker, der Riemen, das Vorschiff, das Achterschiff,
der Mast, das Segel und verschiedene Schiffsformen. Sie drücken keine sittlichen Quali-
täten aus. Sie sind Sinnbilder für intellektuelle und soziale Momente, kaum je für emo-
tionale. Sie wollen religiöse und politische Anschauungen auf einfache, überschaubare
Formeln reduzieren. Im Laufe der Jahrhunderte wandeln sie sich kaum; neue Formen
z.B. von Schiffen kommen nicht auf. Sie sind leicht austauschbar: ob Venus ein
Steuerruder oder einen Anker bei sich führt, ist belanglos. In ihrer bildlichen Gestal-
tung sind die Attribute frei, frei bis zur Verunklärung der Zweckform. Die wissen-
schaftliche Literatur des römischen Schiffbaus zieht sie nur selten heran, bedingt durch
das meist kleine Format, die sakrale Zielsetzung und die künstlerische Gestaltungsfrei-
heit in der Darstellung nautischer Attribute. (268 pp.,illustr. Bremen 1981. In Verbin-
dung mit „Materialien für ein Corpus der Schiffsmodelle im Altertum“ als Manuskript
gedruckt.)
Oceania
Cottage Industry and the Easing of Rural Poverty in the Philippines: A Comparison
of an Entrepreneurial and a Cooperative Approach (Rosanne Rutten). — Current devel-
opment policies attribute an important role to cottage industries. The small-scale, labor-
intensive nature of cottage industry production, which requires little capital and a simple
technology, seems to be well adapted to the development needs of countries faced with
growing underemployment, a lack of capital, and an abundance of raw materials. The
Philippines have these conditions. Its cottage industry employed an estimated one million
people in 1976—around two thirds of the total industrial labor force—and handicrafts
ranked in 1978 as one of the country’s major dollar earners. The cases discussed are: the
hat weaving industry of Aklan province (Island of Panay), the abaca crafts cooperative in
Albay province (southeastern Luzon); the bamboo crafts cooperative in Antique province
(Island of Panay),—These cases suggest that an entrepreneurial approach leaves handicraft
producers in a dependent and insecure position, since capital and market contacts are
controlled by entrepreneurs who can easily shift their capital to investment in other lines
of production. A cooperative approach also has to face various problems. However, the
cooperatives discussed seem to function well. Their members are all drawn from the
poorer strata of the towns and villages, and jointly own the cooperative’s capital. Only
labor and skill are required for membership, and, members become earners of the capital
by remitting part of their earnings to the organization. These cooperatives seem to be
truly for the poor. (Philippine Quarterly of Culture and Society [Cebu City] 10.1982:
12-25.)
The Dialects of Marinduque Tagalog (Rosa Soberano). — Tagalog is presently
spoken by 55.2 per cent of the population of the Philippines, either as a first or second
language. Marinduque is a small island province located in the centre of Tayabas Bay,
covering a land area of 959.2 km2; the 1970 census counted a population of 144,109.
The Tagalog dialects of Marinduque share a common core of syntactic structures with
each other and with Manila Tagalog. Their substantially uniform syntactic structures
Notes on Books and Articles
269
justify the assumption that they belong to one language. In examining the lexicon of
Marinduque Tagalog, the Tagalog spoken by educated speakers in Manila was made the
basis for comparison. Equivalents of 300 Manila Tagalog words and expressions were eli-
cited from older native residents, 50 years of age and above, in the six population centres
of town and 113 barrios. Personal observation, confirmed by testimonies from the
islanders and visitors alike, showed that the 300 Manila Tagalog terms are all known to
Marinduque Tagalog speakers. In fact, Manila Tagalog is 100 per cent intelligible to the
native residents. However, the responses indicated that more than half of the Manila Ta-
galog items are not normally used. The Tagalog dialects of Marinduque are more similar
to each other than they are to Manila Tagalog. ([Pacific Linguistics, Series B, 69.] xii+
232 pp. With 8 charts, 9 tab., and 42 maps. Canberra 1980. The Australian National
University, Research School of Pacific Studies, Department of Linguistics. Price: $9.00.)
From Pigs to Pearlshells: The Transformation of a New Guinea Highlands Exchange
Economy (Daryl K. Feil). — Studies of exchange in Melanesia have usually emphasized
the functional value of transactions for maintaining social relations. What items are
exchanged, how they are produced, and what relations arise from their production
have held secondary interests for anthropologists. Feil,therefore, analyzes these questions.
He deals with the Melpa and the Enga in New Guinea Highlands. Salt, stone axes, plumes
and a variety of locally produced items enjoy complete convertibility, while others
can usually be exchanged only away from their sources, never toward them.—Pigs occur
historically before any others. They were needed for every prestation: to gain wives
and promote peace, to compensate enemies and allies, to acquire personal power and
to achieve prestige.—Old informants claim that pearlshells were unknown in this area.
But after 1920, in the Melpa area, they became more valuable than pigs. Not so in the
Enga area, where the pig is still predominant.—The means needed to produce pigs were
available to all. With pearlshells such was not the case. The supply of pearlshells in the
Melpa area was regulated by the Big Men. They had a near-monopoly and would give the
sought-after shells in return for political alliance, labor, or simply for prestige. Therefore
the gulf between influential men and ordinary men was accentuated, relations between
the sexes were transformed. The author explains, how the adoption of pearlshells had
profound consequences for Melpa society, while Enga continued the older exchange
pattern with pigs. (American Ethnologist [Washington]9/2.1982: 291-306.)
Tolai and Tok Pisin: The Influence of the Substratum on the Development of New
Guinea Pidgin (Ulrike Mosel). — Miihlhausler (1975) was able to prove with a comparison
of Samoan Plantation Pidgin and New Guinean Pidgin and an analysis of the economic
connections between Samoa and New Guinea, that New Guinean Pidgin did not originate
in New Guinea itself, but in Samoa and then spread to New Guinea. There was already a
stabilised Pidgin in Samoa in 1870, which was closely related to Bichelamar spoken in the
New Hebrides. If Tolai and the closely related languages of the Duke of York Islands and
southern New Ireland played a part in the development of Tok Pisin, one would have to
be able to prove their influence in Tok Pisin as well as in Samoan Plantation Pidgin, and
that is the case. The relations between Tolais, other natives, and Europeans, and the fact
that the Tolais in contrast to all other natives formed a large speech community, suggest
that Tolai may have influenced the development of Pidgin to a greater extent than the
other languages involved. It can only be stated that substratum influence ‘may be possible,’
or that the structure of the substratum language ‘may have reinforced’ some phenomenon
of Tok Pisin. This precaution is necessary, because both Tolai and Tok Pisin often show
features that in the case of Tok Pisin can also be regarded as universals of pidgins. In
general, each linguistic feature of Tok Pisin can be ascribed to at least one of the following
270
Notes on Books and Articles
Anthropos 78.1983
sources: 1. the superstrat language English, 2. the substratum languages, 3. the pre-
decessors of Tok Pisin, i.e., Samoan Plantation Pidgin, ancient Bichelamar, 4. the univer-
sal of pidgins, 5. independent development. Nevertheless, the comparison between Tolai
and Tok Pisin will be useful, since it will show where in today’s standard Tok Pisin sub-
stratum influence is probable and where it manifestly has to be excluded ([Pacific Lin-
guistics, Series B, 73.] viii+146 pp. Canberra 1980. The Australian National University,
Research School of Pacific Studies, Department of Linguistics. Price: $6.50.)
A Comparative Word List of the Mabuso Languages, Madang Province, Papua New
Guinea (J.A. Z’graggen). — The Mabuso languages are located south and south-west of
Madang on the north-east coast of New Guinea. The language stock with its 22.869
speakers is named after the Mabuso Open Electorate which covers roughly the same area.
The Mabuso Stock consists of three families: Hanseman, Gum2 and Kokon; and one
family type isolate, Kare. The stock comprises 29 languages. The division into language
and dialect was based on the informants’ opinions. A subsequent preliminary comparison
of the vocabulary revealed, however, that some of the languages have more than 80% of
shared vocabulary, e.g., Panim-Isebe, Silopi-Utu, Wamas-Samosa-Murupi-Mosimo. Despite
a high percentage of shared vocabulary in these languages, however, competent inform-
ants insisted that their language is distinct from others. Mutual intelligibility among the
languages, as given in this study, has yet to be studied and tested. In the present classifica-
tion the Mabuso Stock forms part of the Madang Super-Stock which is part of the Madang-
Adelbert Range Sub-Phylum of the Trans-New Guinea Phylum. This volume presents in
comparative tables a list of around 300 words for further research and evaluation. ([Paci-
fic Linguistics, Series D, 32.] xi+184 pp. With 1 map. Canberra 1980. The Australian
National University, Research School of Pacific Studies, Department of Linguistics. Price:
$7.50.)
A Comparative Word List of the Southern Adelbert Range Languages, Madang
Province, Papua New Guinea (J.A. Z’graggen). - The Southern Adelbert Range languages
are located south of the central Adelbert Range (named after the third son of Emperor
Wilhelm II) in the south-central part of the Madang Province. An overall view of the Ma-
dang-Adelbert Range languages and of the languages of the Madang Province is given by
Z’graggen (1975). In the present classification, the Josephstaal and the Wanang languages
form the Southern Adelbert Range languages. Most Josephstaal and Wanang languages
were previously unknown in linguistic literature. The grouping and subgrouping of these
languages as given by Z’graggen (1975) needs to be restudied and an exact count of cog-
nates is yet to be made. But at least the tentative grouping has allowed the arrangement
of the word lists according to their apparent relationship to each other and will facilitate
the study of genetic relationships. A number of cognate series are found in the Southern
Adelbert Range Languages which are practically absent in the northern part. In the
present state of our knowledge the Adelbert Range languages form with the Madang Super-
Stock the Madang Adelbert Range Sub-Phylum which is part of the Trans-New Guinea
Phylum. This present volume presents comparative tables of a list of around 300 words
for further research and evaluation. At the bottom of each column forms for the recon-
structed Austronesian languages known as Proto-Oceanic (PO)2 are provided, wherever
the reconstructions are known. ([Pacific Linguistics, Series D, 33.] xvi+97 pp. With 1
map. Canberra 1980. The Australian National University, Research School of Pacific
Studies, Department of Linguistics. Price: $5.00.)
The Samoan Fono: A Sociolinguistic Study (Alessandro Duranti). — This mono-
graph is a sociolinguistic study of fono, the political meetings of chiefs and orators in a
Samoan village. The intention of this study is twofold: (1) to provide a detailed account
Notes on Books and Articles
271
of language use in an important event in the social life of a Samoan community; and (2)
to demonstrate that systematic variation in language use most be explained by taking
entire social events as units of linguistic analysis. In the case of Samoan language, data
collection techniques dramatically affect the kind and range of data one gains access to.
The Samoan that comes out of informant-sessions does not represent the norm toward
which speakers unconsciously aim, but only one particular kind of norm, that of talking
to outsiders, or while engaged in certain kinds of western-oriented activities (e.g., writing,
school instruction, radio broadcasting, church services). It does not, however, represent
the language used in either informal, casual traditional interaction (e.g., family inter-
action, friendly conversations) nor does it represent formal interaction in highly struc-
tured events, such as the fono. Important features of Samoan grammar, some of which
are particularly relevant to current theoretical issues in linguistics, are missed if one limits
data collection to informant sessions. To reach descriptive adequacy, then, the linguist
must also adopt ethnographic methods of recording spontaneous speech. These methods
include an awareness and an understanding of language variation across social contexts.
The ethnographic approach advocated in the study of language use and language varia-
tion in Samoan fono provides the necessary framework for such an enterprise. ([Pacific
Linguistics, Series B, 80.] xi+195 pp. With 13 tab. and 18 fig. Canberra 1981. The Aus-
lian National University, Research School of Pacific Studies, Department of Linguistics.
Price: $9.00.)
Aboriginal Land Rights: A Handbook (Nicolas Peterson [ed.]). — In 1966, when
the South Australian Lands Trust came into being, no Aborigines in Australia owned land
by virtue of being Aborigines: there were no Aboriginal land rights. In 1981, fifteen years
later, Aborigines hold some kind of title to nearly 450,000 km2, and it is possible that
title to most of the 220.000 km2 of Aboriginal leasehold and reserve in Western Australia
and even some of the 20.000 km2 in Queensland may also, one day, be held by them. —
Accounting for this dramatic change in public attitude towards land rights is something
that will undoubtedly attract attention in years to come. There is the coincidence in
timing of land rights movements and settlements in Australia with those in Alaska and
Canada, having been precipitated by the worldwide period of internal expansion and
development led by the mining industry during the 1960s. But more puzzling are the
reasons why some Australian governments decided to grant land rights rather than deal
with the resulting problems in other ways. Middle class liberal values have played an
important role especially through some politicians. Important also has been Aboriginal
activism. Most recently there is the realisation by government that land rights is not only
morally right but also an effective instrument of social policy for the betterment of the
Aborigines’ place in the community.—The book comprises ten papers surveying the land
rights situation in each of the Australian states, the Northern Territory, and the Aus-
tralian Capital Territory, the Torres Strait Islands; and an additional paper on the Ab-
original Land Fund Commission.—The information is accurate, but the summaries of the
legislation are not of any legal standing but translations into plain English. The volume
is an informational guide rather than an instructional text, (vi+297 pp. Canberra 1981.
Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies. Price: $9.90.)
Die religiöse Bedeutung der kosmischen Vorstellungen bei den Ngada (Indonesien)
(Henryk Gzella). — Nach Auffassung der Ngada ist im Symbol die symbolisierte Realität
gegenwärtig; diese Anwesenheit hat verschiedene Grade, wird aber nicht näher erklärt. Die
Grundlage dieser Auffassung scheint zu sein, daß das Höchste Wesen sich in Himmel und
Erde manifestiert, und daß Himmel und Erde ihrerseits sich fast überall in der Welt mani-
festieren. So sind der heilige Pfahl (ngadhu) und der Menhir Symbole des Himmels; das
272
Notes on Books and Articles
Anthropos 78.1983
Haus und der Steintisch neben dem Menhir sind Symbole der Erde. Die Sonne ist Symbol
des Himmels, der Mond Symbol der Erde; zugleich ist aber das Höchste Wesen in allen
diesen Symbolen anwesend. Auch im sozialen Leben, in den Riten der Eheschließung, der
Beschneidung, selbst in der wirtschaftlichen Tätigkeit begegnet man immer wieder einem
Symbolismus, der auf der Polarität Himmel — Erde, männlich — weiblich beruht. Letzt-
lich ist auch das Höchste Wesen überall im Makrokosmos, aber auch in der kosmischen
Struktur der Ngada-Kultur anwesend. (II significato religioso della visione cosmica pres-
so la tribü di Ngada in Indonesia. 116 pp. Roma 1979. Pontificia Universitas Grego-
riana, Facultas Missiologiae.)
Book Reviews
Sahlins, Marshall. Kultur und praktische Vernunft. Übersetzt von Brigitte Luchesi.
(Theorie.) 336 pp. Frankfurt a. M. 1981. Suhrkamp.
In “Culture and Practical Reason” (Chicago 1976), das jetzt in deutscher Über-
setzung vorliegt, unternimmt Marshall Sahlins den eindrucksvollen Versuch der Grundle-
gung einer Theorie der Kultur aus der symbolischen Vernunft. Der Hauptkontrahent,
gegen den er sich dabei absetzt, ist Marx, und zwar nicht nur im zweiten oder dritten Auf-
guß, sondern Sahlins bemüht sich, die Marxsche Theorie — erstmals in der amerikanischen
Diskussion — direkt in ihrer philosophischen Substanz darzustellen, zu diskutieren und zu
kritisieren. Allerdings schleicht sich hierbei — um einen Haupteinwand gleich vorwegzu-
nehmen — schon im Titel ein begriffliches Mißverständnis ein, das durch die Rücküber-
setzung ins Deutsche nochmals verwirrend verstärkt wird. Unter „Praktischer Vernunft“
verstehen wir seit Kant die moralische, die sittliche Vernunft, und diese sittliche Dimen-
sion ist auch dort überall angesprochen, wo Marx im Anschluß an Hegel von „Praxis“
spricht; “practical reason” aber meint — wie es auch öfters rückübersetzt wird — die „öko-
nomisch-interessierte Vernunft“ oder die Pragmatik des instrumenteilen Handelns. Ganz
in diesem Sinne geht es Sahlins darum — wie er im Schlußkapitel ausdrücklich unter-
streicht —, zu zeigen, daß die Kulturen nicht in der Dimension der „Nützlichkeit“, son-
dern in „symbolischen Ordnungen“ konstituiert sind. Dies aber ist ein Grundgedanke,
den Marx und der kritische Marxismus voll unterstützen würden, denn als sitt-
liche Dimension ist die Praxis natürlich immer symbolisch vermittelt. Die kritische Stoß-
richtung der Marxschen Theorie zielt ja gerade gegen die gegenwärtig vorherrschende
ökonomische Bestimmtheit menschlicher Praxis und auf eine befreiende Veränderung in
Richtung auf eine solidarische Neugestaltung menschlichen Zusammenlebens. Bevor je-
doch diese grundsätzlichen Fragen weiter geklärt werden können, sollten Aufbau und Ar-
gumentation des Buches von Marshall Sahlins näher dargestellt werden.
Im ersten der fünf Kapitel von „Kultur und praktische Vernunft“ greift Sahlins
die Diskussion zwischen „Marxismus und zwei strukturalistischen Richtungen“ in der
britischen und französischen Ethnologie auf und artikuliert seine ersten „Zweifel an der
Eignung der materialistischen Dialektik“ (13) zur wissenschaftlichen Bestimmung von
Stammesgesellschaften, da diese die symbolisch vermittelte „gesellschaftliche Produk-
tionslogik der instrumentellen Logik der Arbeit“ unterordne (15). Dies aber widerspricht
ganz offensichtlich der dominant verwandtschaftlichen Verfaßtheit der Stammesgesell-
schaften, wie Sahlins näher an der Kontroverse innerhalb der britischen Sozialanthro-
pologie zwischen Peter Worsley und Meyer Fortes darlegt. Während Meyer Fortes aus-
drücklich hervorhebt: „Die Verwandtschaft liefert demnach den Rahmen für das gesamte
Gesellschaftssystem“ (zit. 17), ist Peter Worsley gezwungen, diese strukturierende Ein-
heit in die „verborgenen“ Teilsysteme der Ökonomie, Poütik, des Rituals etc. zu zerlegen,
um seine materialistische These überhaupt vortragen zu können, daß die Ökonomie das in
letzter Instanz bestimmende System auch der Stammesgesellschaften sei. Dabei kommt es
zu grotesken Verrenkungen, wenn Worsley beispielsweise bestimmte, verwandtschaftlich
geregelte Segmentierungsprozesse auf ökonomische Interessen zurückführen will und
überhaupt aus technischen Bedingungen des Arbeitsprozesses den Inhalt von Verwandt-
schaftsbeziehungen (21) abzuleiten versucht.
Trotzdem gibt Sahlins auch Meyer Fortes nicht eindeutig recht, denn bereits in
diesem Ansatz des „britischen Strukturalismus“ steckt von Radcliffe-Brown und Mali-
nowski her noch sehr viel Nützlichkeits-Ideologie (29ff.). Deshalb wendet sich Sahlins
Anthropos 78.1983
18
274
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
dem französischen Strukturalismus zu, da dieser sehr viel entschiedener von der „Domi-
nanz der kulturellen Konzepte über das praktische Handeln“ (36) ausgeht. Der franzö-
sische Strukturalismus kann überzeugend aufzeigen, daß jedem System oder Teilsystem
eine „Logik“ zugrundeliegt; es gibt keine naturhaft determinierte „ökonomische Basis“,
sondern auch diese „ist ein symbolisches Schema der praktischen Tätigkeit ... . Sie ist die
Realisierung einer gegebenen bedeutungsvollen Ordnung in den Verhältnissen und Zweck-
bestimmungen der Produktion“, und nicht umgekehrt (62).
Nun sind die französischen Marxisten unter den Ethnologen keine ökonomischen
Reduktionisten, wie ihre britischen Kollegen, sondern auch sie erkennen diese struktura-
listischen Einsichten an, versuchen jedoch darüber hinaus die Geschichte als Dimension
gesellschaftlicher Produktion und Reproduktion von Strukturen zusätzlich in die Dis-
kussion zu bringen. Darin ist ihnen voll zuzustimmen — wie Sahlins näher an Maurice
Godelier ausführt —, jedoch gehen sie letztlich dort zu weit, wo sie — wie nach Sahlins
bereits Marx — die kulturellen Strukturen aus dem Geschichtsprozeß erklären wollen,
denn dadurch wird im letzten urgeschichtlich die Kultur aus der Naturgeschichte abge-
leitet (77f.). Dies alles zeigt, daß der historische Materialismus — wie Sahlins meint —
sicherlich nicht die geeignete Grundlagentheorie für die primitiven Gesellschaften sein
kann; ob sie es für die gegenwärtige bürgerliche Kultur zu sein vermag, muß später noch
entschieden werden.
Im zweiten Kapitel „Kultur und praktische Vernunft — Zwei Paradigmen der ethno-
logischen Theorie“ durchstreift Marshall Sahlins systematisch die Geschichte der ethno-
logischen Theoriebildungen und zeigt auf, daß dabei immer wieder die utilitaristische und
die kulturelle Begründung einander entgegenstanden. Es beginnt bei Lewis H. Morgan, für
den der Symbolcharakter der Kultur überhaupt noch keine Rolle spielt; deshalb gibt es
für ihn noch einen linearen Übergang von der biologischen in die kulturelle Evolution. Ob-
wohl theoretisch noch nicht untermauert, geht doch Franz Boas in seinen ethnologischen
Forschungen immer schon von der bestimmten kulturellen Einheit jeder einzelnen Gesell-
schaft aus und erkennt somit implizit die symbolische Sphäre der Kultur als das das Han-
deln der Individuen Prägende an ; aber auch er versucht, die kulturellen Unterschiede aus
der Lebenspragmatik zu erklären.
Die Fortentwicklung, Radikalisierung und Verknüpfung dieser Ansätze bei B. Mali-
nowski, G.P. Murdock, J. Steward, L. White wird von Marshall Sahlins weiter verfolgt —
worauf hier nicht im einzelnen eingegangen werden kann. Zusammenfassend sei mit
Sahlins nur festgehalten :
Allen diesen Formen von praktischer Vernunft ist außerdem eine verarmte Auffas-
sung von menschlichen Symbolisieren gemeinsam. Für sie alle ist das kulturelle
Schema das Zeichen für andere „Wirklichkeiten“ ... . Keiner gelang es wirklich, je-
ner anthropologischen Entdeckung auf den Grund zu gehen, wonach das Hervor-
bringen von Bedeutungen die unterscheidende und konstituierende Eigenschaft des
Menschen ist (150).
Anders geht die französische Ethnologie seit E. Durkheim immer von der Gesell-
schaftlichkeit menschlicher Kultur aus, und dieser Ansatz setzt sich sowohl — mit Modi-
fikationen — bis in den Strukturalismus von G. Lévi-Strauss durch, als er sich auch in den
an Marx anknüpfenden strukturalen Materialisten wiederfindet. Aber das Paradoxe dieser
Ansätze ist, daß ihnen im letzten die Gesellschaft zu einer natürlichen Größe wird, da sie
sie nicht aus der symbolischen und kulturellen Vernunft begründen.
Dies versucht Sahlins nun im dritten Kapitel „Ethnologie und zwei marxistische
Richtungen“ in direkter Auseinandersetzung mit Marx herauszuarbeiten: Geht man auf
die philosophisch-anthropologische Grundlegung des jungen Marx in den „Pariser Manu-
skripten“ zurück, so entdeckt man bei Marx einen kulturellen Praxisbegriff, der keineswegs
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275
aus der menschlichen Natur und Bedürftigkeit abgeleitet ist, sondern vielmehr ausdrück-
lich hervorhebt: „Unsere Bedürfnisse und Genüsse entspringen aus der Gesellschaft; wir
messen sie daher an der Gesellschaft“ (Marx, zit. 192). Hierin nun — so betont Sahlins —
„muß der moderne Ethnologe in Marx einen anthropologischen Bruder erkennen“ (194).
Jedoch — so fährt Sahlins fort — anstatt nun die symbolische Logik herauszustellen, die
aller Kultur zugrundeliegt, bezieht Marx alles auf „die rationale und materielle Logik der
effektiven Produktion“ zurück; damit wird das „Marxsche Paradigma ... die Umkehrung
des Kulturellen ... . Der Kulturbegriff erscheint als Folge und nicht als Struktur der pro-
duktiven Tätigkeit“ (194). So wird bezeichnenderweise „die Sprache“ bei Marx auf „die
Rationalität der Praxis“ zurückgeführt, und ausdrücklich wird von Marx „die Ideenforma-
tion aus der materiellen Praxis“ erklärt (Marx, zit. 200). Schließlich — so faßt Sahlins sei-
ne negative Beurteilung der Marxschen Theorie zusammen
wird Marxens pragmatische Auffassung der Bedeutung im Kontext der konkreten
Analyse der Gesellschaftsordnung positiviert und funktionalisiert. Sowohl die Kate-
gorien wie auch die Produktionsverhältnisse verkörpern die instrumentelle Logik
eines bestimmten Stands der Produktivkräfte, eine Logik, die noch eine weitere
Reinkamation kennt, nämlich als funktionelle Ideologie zur Unterstützung be-
stimmter Formen der Klassenherrschaft (198).
Da Marx die „Einzigartigkeit von bedeutungsvoller Erfahrung“ des Menschen, die
symbolische Vernunft alles Kulturellen, nicht durchschaut und daher im letzten alle ge-
schichtlich-gesellschaftlichen Formen auf die materielle Lebenspraxis zurückbezieht, muß
er als „vorsymbolischer Theoretiker“ der Kultur bezeichnet werden (204).
Trifft dies zu, so kann seine Theorie auch nicht Grundlage der wissenschaftlichen
Analyse der bürgerlichen Gesellschaft sein, wie Marshall Sahlins nun im vierten Kapitel
„La pensee bourgeoise — Die westliche Gesellschaft als Kultur“ herauszuarbeiten ver-
sucht. Es läßt sich leicht zeigen — so meint Sahlins —, daß auch die Produktion in den
westlichen Gesellschaften nicht in der praktischen Logik des instrumenteilen Handelns
aufgeht, sondern jene vielmehr symbolisch-kulturell bestimmt ist. Dies versucht Sahlins
an „Speisetabus“ von bestimmten Haustieren und am „amerikanischen Bekleidungs-
system“ zu demonstrieren. Da sich diese kulturellen Verhaltensregeln niemals aus der
kapitalistischen Produktion ableiten lassen, sich aber andererseits als prägend in der Be-
kleidungsindustrie durchsetzen, glaubt Sahlins theoretisch schlußfolgern zu können: daß
„die materielle Aneignung der Natur, die wir .Produktion* nennen, eine Folge ihrer sym-
bolischen Aneignung“ ist (276).
Im letzten Kapitel „Nützlichkeit und kulturelle Ordnung“ hebt er dann nochmals
hervor, daß Marx zwar zu Recht auf die gesellschaftlichen Kräfte verweise, die eine Kultur
prägen, dabei aber zu Unrecht die symbolischen Kräfte den instrumenteilen unterordne
(290). Es sei vielmehr leicht zu erkennen:
Eine industrielle Technik als solche schreibt nicht vor, ob sie von Männern oder von
Frauen betrieben wird, bei Tag oder bei Nacht, von Lohnarbeitern oder Kollektiv-
eigentümem, dienstags oder samstags, um des Profits willen oder für den Unter-
halt ... (292).
Vielmehr kann gezeigt werden, daß all diese konkreten Bestimmtheiten im kulturel-
len Leben einer Gesellschaft „durch die Bedeutung“ (289), durch das „symbolische Sche-
ma“, seine Tradition und deren Abänderung hervorgebracht werden. Die „Produktivität
symbolischer Prozesse“ (298) läßt sich jedoch nur durch eine symbolisch orientierte Kul-
turwissenschaft erfassen, die daher nicht nur die primitiven Gesellschaften, sondern
ebensowohl die modernen Industrienationen mit ihren Methoden zu erforschen hat.
276
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Anthropos 78.1983
Die Schwächen der letzten Kapitel offenbaren das grundsätzliche Mißverständnis
Sahlins gegenüber der Marxschen Theorie — in dem er jedoch keineswegs allein steht,
denn zu Recht kann er sich auf Marx-Kritiker und Marx-Nachfolger berufen, die es auch
nicht besser wissen.
Der Hauptmangel liegt, wie eingangs bereits angedeutet, darin, daß Marshall Sahlins
den Begriff der „gesellschaftlichen Praxis“ bei Marx auf die Pragmatik der Lebenserhal-
tung reduziert und ihn damit von vornherein von der sittlichen und damit symbolischen
Komponente reinigt; danach aber Marx vorwirft, daß er auf das Symbolische zu wenig ge-
achtet habe. Diese sittliche Dimension kommt insbesondere in der „Kritik der
politischen Ökonomie“ zum Ausdruck, denn es geht Marx nicht — wie einigen Vulgär-
Marxisten danach — um den Aufweis, daß alles menschliche Leben aus der Ökonomie be-
stimmt sei, sondern gerade um die Kritik an unserer vom Kapital bestimmten Lebens-
praxis, um so eine Befreiung zu freiem, verantwortlichem, solidarischem Handeln in einer
„menschlichen Gesellschaft“ zu ermöglichen.
Zweitens kann sich Sahlins nur linear-abhängige Beziehungen vorstellen: entweder
determiniert die Ökonomie die Kultur — so interpretiert er Marx —, oder die Kultur be-
stimmt die Ökonomie — so versucht er selbst das Verhältnis zu definieren. Karl Marx be-
müht sich jedoch gerade dieses Verhältnis dialektisch zu bestimmen, wenn er bei-
spielsweise betont, daß die Produktion das Übergreifende sei über sich und alle
anderen konstitutiven Momente menschlicher Lebenspraxis, also auch über die sozialen
Beziehungen, die Sprache usw.; jedoch gleich fortfährt, daß diese Momente wiederum die
Produktion in ihrer inhaltlichen Form mitbestimmen. Dabei darf der Begriff „Produk-
tion“ nicht einfach mit Ökonomie gleichgesetzt werden, sondern er bezeichnet die her-
vorbringende Praxis, so wie ja auch Sahlins mehrfach von „symbolischer Produktivität“
oder von der „Produktion einer kulturellen Existenz“ spricht. Niemand kann leugnen,
daß auch die Sprache und die sozialen Verhältnisse, wie auch die Produktionsformen im
engeren Sinne durch menschliche Praxis hervorgebracht sind, wobei aber die gesellschaft-
liche Praxis ihrerseits nicht eine Naturgegebenheit darstellt, sondern in ihrer geschicht-
lichen Formbestimmtheit selbst durch Sprache und Gesellschaft geprägt ist.
Drittens rennt Marshall Sahlins offene Türen ein, wenn er — in oben angeführtem
Zitat — betont, daß die „industrielle Technik als solche“ (292) nichts determiniert, we-
der die Lohnarbeit noch das Profitinteresse des Kapitals usw. Denn zum einen baut ja
Marx gerade darauf seine Hoffnung auf, daß wir ohne Maschinensturm und Destruktion
kultureller Reichtümer zu einem gesellschaftlichen Zusammenleben auch ohne Lohnar-
beit und Profitmechanismen kommen können; zum anderen aber unterschätzt Sahlins
doch sehr die herrschenden ökonomischen Reproduktions- und Akkumulationsmecha-
nismen, und es hat etwas Rührendes an sich, wenn er demgegenüber auf die kulturelle
Geprägtheit des „amerikanischen Bekleidungssystems“ verweist — so als würde das ka-
pitalistische System lediglich von unbewußten Verhaltensnormen bestimmt, die jederzeit
individuell veränderbar wären.
Über die Mißverständnisse hinweg läßt sich jedoch auch sehr viel Gemeinsames
im Grundanliegen der Kulturtheorie von Sahlins und der Gesellschaftstheorie von Marx
auffinden. So geht es Sahlins letztlich um den Aufweis, daß nichts an Kulturellem direkt
aus der Natur und den Bedürfnissen des Menschen abgeleitet werden kann, sondern
alles, auch die ökonomische Lebenserhaltung, immer symbolisch-kulturell überformt ist.
Nichts anderes hatte Marx bereits herausgearbeitet, wenn er von der geschichtlichen
Formbestimmtheit jeder Gesellschaft spricht. Nur daß Marx stärker hervorhebt, daß diese
(symbolische) Formbestimmtheit sich in die gesellschaftliche Praxis eingräbt und daher
nicht nur das Bewußtsein der Individuen, sondern die Strukturiertheit des gesamten ge-
sellschaftlichen Zusammenlebens prägt; weshalb diese oftmals leidvoll und als Wider-
spruch erfahrene Formbestimmtheit der Gesellschaft nicht individuell, sondern nur ge-
meinsam von der Mehrheit der Individuen überwunden und verändert werden kann.
Book Reviews
277
Trotz meiner sehr extensiven und grundsätzlichen Kritik an fundamentalen Miß-
verständnissen gegenüber der Marxschen Theorie ist das Buch von Marshall Sahlins „Kul-
tur und praktische Vernunft“ ein ungemein anregender Grundlegungsversuch einer Theo-
rie der Kultur, der in seinen Auseinandersetzungen mit verschiedenenethnologischen Kultur-
theorien, inklusive der strukturalistischen und marxistischen Ansätze, ein gegenüber der
bisherigen Theoriediskussion in Amerika erstaunlich differenziertes Niveau erreicht. Es
wäre zu hoffen, daß dieser Versuch auch die deutschsprachige Ethnologie wieder zu kul-
turtheoretischen Auseinandersetzungen ermuntere, wobei die bei uns fortgeschrittenere
philosophische Rezeption der Marxschen Theorie verhindern sollte, Marx auf
die primitiven Marxismen seiner Nachfolger und deren Gegner zu reduzieren; denn nach
Herders „Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit“ ist die Marxsche GeselT
schaftstheorie der umfassendste Grundlegungsversuch einer Theorie menschlicher Kultur
und ihrer Geschichte, deren Anregungen zur weiteren ethnologischen Forschung noch
lange nicht ausgeschöpft sind.
Es ist das Paradoxon der Arbeit von Marshall Sahlins, daß seine kritische Abgren-
zung von der Marxschen Theorie zugleich doch deren Anliegen ein Stück weiter voran-
bringt, und zwar gerade in Aussagen, von denen er irrtümlicherweise meint, daß sie gegen
Marx gerichtet seien:
Aus einer Reihe von „materiellen Kräften“ kann niemals eine kulturelle Form
abgelesen werden, als ob das Kulturelle die abhängige Variable einer unvermeid-
lichen praktischen Logik wäre ... . Das bedeutet nicht, daß wir eine idealistische
Lösung annehmen und Kultur als etwas auffassen müßten, das sich in der dünnen
Luft der Symbole bewegt. Die materiellen Kräfte und Zwänge werden nicht etwa
außer acht gelassen, und es wird auch nicht behauptet, daß sie auf die kulturelle
Ordnung keine wirklichen Auswirkungen hätten. Es handelt sich vielmehr darum,
daß diese Auswirkungen nicht aus dem Wesen der Kräfte herausgelesen werden
können, da die materiellen Auswirkungen von der kulturellen Umgebung abhän-
gen. Gerade die Form, in der die materiellen Kräfte gesellschaftlich auftreten, ist
durch ihre Integration in das kulturelle System determiniert (289-290).
Wolfdietrich Schmied-Kowarzik
Völker der Erde (Bildatlas). Vorwort von Hans-Otto Meissner. 207 pp. in fol. Bern
1982. Kümmerly und Frey. Preis: DM 98.
Dieser „Völkerkunde-Bildatlas“, wie es im Klappentext heißt, ist die deutsche Aus-
gabe des gleichzeitig erschienenen englischen Buches “The Atlas of Mankind” (London
1982). Das Werk wurde unter der Mitwirkung zahlreicher namhafter Englisch sprechender
Ethnologen, Historiker und Sprachwissenschaftler zusammengestellt und informiert zu-
verlässig über viele Probleme von Bevölkerungen aus allen Teilen der Erde; in jeder Region
werden auswahlweise einige Ethnien ausführlicher behandelt. Bekanntere Ethnologen
sind — in willkürlicher Auswahl — C. und R. Bemdt, Fred Eggan, Ch. v. Fürer-Haimendorf,
N. Grabum, I. Lewis, J. Middleton, G. Parrinder.
Das Buch ist mit ungewöhnlichem Aufwand hergestellt und soll offenbar einen gros-
sen Leserkreis, nicht den engeren Kreis der Ethnologen, ansprechen. Das Format ent-
spricht dem kleiner Atlanten und ist etwas unhandlich; das Buch hätte — bei kleinerem
Format — leicht etwas umfangreicher ausfallen können. Aber über diese Fragen kann man
unterschiedlicher Meinung sein. Die Bildauswahl ist vorzüglich, und die kartographischen
Zeichnungen sind herausragend, — wie es bei einem kartographischen Verlag wohl auch
nicht anders zu erwarten ist.
Die Hauptgliederung ist regional, was die Übersicht zunächst erleichtert, wenn man
sich mit einer bestimmten Region befaßt. Das Auffinden einzelner Ethnien ist jedoch
nur an Hand des Indexes möglich. Da nur ein kleiner Teil der Tausende von ethnischen
278
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Gruppen im Text erwähnt wird, ist die Informationsmöglichkeit über die große Vielfalt
kultureller Erscheinungsformen kleinerer Völker begrenzt. Vor der regionalen Einteilung
werden einige wichtige Probleme der modernen ethnologischen Wissenschaften ^anthro-
pologischen im Sinne der anglo-amerikanischen Definition des deutschen Wortes „Völker-
kunde“) behandelt; Sprachen, Rassen, Wirtschaftsformen, Formen der Gesellschaft,
Glaubensvorstellungen, religiöse Institutionen, Kolonialgeschichte. Die europäischen Völ-
ker sind eingeschlossen, was dem anglo-amerikanischen Wissenschaftsverständnis der
“Anthropology” entspricht. Man kann dem grundsätzlich wohl zustimmen, aber es erhebt
sich dann die Frage, wie man mit den speziellen Begriffen, die an den „Völkern der Vier-
ten Welt“ entwickelt wurden, die hochindustrialisierten Gesellschaften mit ihren kom-
plexen Strukturen beschreiben will.
Die Inhalte zu den allgemeinen Artikeln wie zu den regionalen Sammel- und Einzel-
artikeln sind durchweg inhaltlich sehr gut und auch leicht lesbar geschrieben, wie über-
haupt das gesamte Buch sehr gefällig aufgemacht und für Laien ansprechend gestaltet
worden ist. Schon bei der „Gesamtschau“, mehr aber noch bei den regionalen Kapiteln,
vermißt man kurze Bibliographien: Es wird kein einziges weiterführendes oder allge-
meines Werk zur Völkerkunde genannt.
Die Auswahl der „vorgestellten Völker“ im speziellen Teil (56-191) ist bei dem ge-
gebenen Umfang etwas dürftig. Für Hinterindien z.B. werden nur die Thai in Süd-Thailand
und die Meo in Nord-Vietnam, in Vorderindien die Gond und Karava, in Nordamerika
die Irokesen und Navajo dargestellt. Auch hier wären weiterführende Literaturangaben
sehr nützlich gewesen.
Die Übersetzung ist durchweg als hervorragend einzustufen, was bei ethnologischen
Übersetzungen nicht oft der Fall ist; die sonst häufig vorkommenden Anglizismen sind ver-
mieden worden. Ob man den Begriff „Naturvölker“ und „Primitive“ allerdings heute
noch verwenden sollte, ist freilich eine Frage des Selbstverständnisses der modernen
Ethnologie.
Druck- und „Versetz-Fehler“ sind in einem solchen Werk wohl unvermeidlich. Eini-
ge mehr zufällig entdeckte Fehler: die Plazierung von Great Basin und Plateau Indians
ist verwechselt worden (22). — „Nach sechs Monaten ans Licht“ (30); hierzu: Die Haut-
farbe einer Indianerin ist sicher nicht durch Aufenthalt in einer dunklen Hütte „ver-
blaßt“. — Kamerun nicht Kaumeun (93). — Warum bei Madagaskar „Malagasy Republic“
steht (97), ist unerfindlich ; die offizielle Bezeichnung ist „Repoblika Malagasy“, die halb-
offizielle, «République Malgache». — Sumatra und Java sind verwechselt worden (150). —
Chippewa (167) muß hier hei-en „Chipewyan“ (unter Na-Dene-Sprachen), Chippewa ist
synonym mit Ojibwa, einer Algonkin-Sprachgruppe. — Unter „Prärien“ muß es heißen
Arapaho, nicht Arapho. — Tscherokesen (sonst auf dieser Seite richtig “Cherokee”) ist ein
obsoleter deutschtümelnder Ausdruck. — In der Colorado River Reservation werden die
Hopi und Navajo aufgezählt (167), die dort nicht leben, sondern in eigenen Reservaten
in Nordost-Arizona. — Tonawanda, nicht Tonavanda-Reservation. — Coeur d’Alene, nicht
Couer d’Alene. — Im Text werden Irokesen behandelt, aber Navajo-Abbildungen gebracht
(168). Das hätte sich vermeiden lassen.
Im ganzen: ein schönes, instruktives Buch zur Einführung in das, was auch in
Deutschland oft noch „Völkerkunde“ genannt wird. Wolfgang Lindig
Knobloch, Johann. Sprache und Religion; Bd. 1:1. Der älteste Mythos der Mensch-
heit; 2. Übersetzungsfehler in der Bibel. 59 pp. Heidelberg 1979. Carl Winter, Universitäts-
verlag.
Der Titel könnte grundsätzliche Erörterungen über das Verhältnis von Sprache und
Religion erwarten lassen, wie man sie etwa in religionsphänomenologischen Darstellungen
unter dem Stichwort „Das heilige Wort“ u.ä. findet. Tatsächlich behandelt der Verfasser
Book Reviews
279
(jedenfalls im 1. Bd., dem einzigen bisher erschienenen) kontrete Einzelprobleme unter
dem Gesichtswinkel dieser Beziehung.
Der 1. Teil: Der älteste Mythos der Menschheit (9-42), ist die erweiterte Wiedergabe
eines Vortrags (cf. Anthropos 77.1982: 916f.). Der methodische Ausgangspunkt dabei
ist folgender: Die Sprachforschung hat durch Vergleichung einerseits vorhistorische
Spracheinheiten erschlossen; andererseits bemühen sich Vertreter der allgemeinen Sprach-
wissenschaft auch darum, universelle Gemeinsamkeiten für alle Sprachen der Erde aufzu-
decken (cf. z.B. Anthropos 77.1982: 593).
So sollte auch die Methode einer vergleichenden Mythenforschung in der Lage sein,
zwischen Motiven, die allenthalben entstehen können, und solchen, die aufeinander
bezogen sind und deshalb auf ältere Zusammenhänge hinweisen, zu unterscheiden (9).
Nach dieser Methode rekonstruiert Knobloch als „ältesten Mythos der Menschheit“
eine Erzählung über die Bildung von Himmel und Erde aus dem Körper des getöteten Ur-
zeit-Ungeheuers, wobei aus dessen Körpersäften die vier Weltmeere entstehen. (Der be-
kannteste Beleg für diese Vorstellung findet sich im babylonischen Schöpfungsepos Enuma
elis, wo aber, nach der Auffassung von Knobloch, einige Elemente des ursprünglichen
Mythos eliminiert sind; cf. 31-42 passim.) Diese Rekonstruktion mag kühn erscheinen;
man muß aber anerkennen, daß der Verfasser seine Argumentation auf höchst umfang-
reichem Belegmaterial aus den verschiedensten Bereichen aufbaut und Schritt für Schritt
mit großer Umsicht vorgeht.
Der 2. Teil: Übersetzungsfehler in der Bibel (43-59), befaßt sich mit einigen Stellen
des Neuen Testaments. Zum Teil sind es solche, bei denen alte Mißverständnisse vorliegen;
zum Teil ist die Wiedergabe der betreffenden Texte in der deutschen Einheitsübersetzung
von 1978 aus verschiedenen Gründen zu beanstanden. Zur Erfassung ihres ursprünglichen
Sinnes muß oft auf eine hebräische oder aramäische Vorlage zurückgegriffen werden.
Die Lektüre des schmalen, aber an vielfältigen Anregungen reichen Büchleins kann
allen Interessierten bestens empfohlen werden. Joseph Henninger
Feldforschung — Enquête sur le terrain. Bibliographie 1967-1981. Methoden und
Erfahrungen — Approches et expériences. Vorwort von Hugo Huber. (Studia Ethnogra-
phica Friburgensia, 9.) v+111 pp. Freiburg, Schweiz, 1982. Universitätsverlag. Preis:
Sfr. 24.
In seinem Vorwort zu dieser Bibliographie sagt Hugo Huber, daß eine intensive
Besinnung auf die Grundlagen der Völkerkunde im Gange sei, besonders im anglophonen
Raum. Im Vordergrund dieser Besinnung steht die Theorie der Datenerhebung sowie de-
ren wissenschaftliche Gültigkeit und ethisch-menschliche Verantwortbarkeit. Man postu-
liert u.a. einen viel stärkeren Bezug zur Frage der Komparabilität der Ergebnisse und zum
Menschen (als solchem). Die Vertreter der angewandten Völkerkunde weisen hin auf die
Problematik der Projektstudien und auf die nicht selten damit verbundenen Konfliktsitua-
tionen. Der Bezug zum Menschen schließt auch die Persönlichkeit des Forschers mit sei-
ner Motivierung und Subjektivität ein.
Die Bibliographie bietet eine Auswahl aus der sich anhäufenden Literatur zu den ge-
nannten Fragestellungen. Die Kriterien der Auswahl werden in einer Vorbemerkung ge-
nannt. Die Sichtung wurde durchgeführt von H. Huber und Maria Theresia Zurron-Krum-
menacher. In etwa ist diese Bibliographie eine Weiterführung der 1967 erschienenen
Annotated Bibliography on Anthropological Field Work Methods von P.C.W.Gutkind und
G. Sankoff (in D.G. Jongmans and P.C.W. Gutkind [eds.], Anthropologists in the Field;
pp. 214-271).
280
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Auf die zum Teil jeweils in der Sprache der Titel (deutsch, englisch, französisch)
kurz kommentierte Bibliographie folgen im ganzen vier Beiträge zur Thematik der Feldfor-
schung: Jean Bonvin, Techniques d’approche anthropologique au moyen des proverbes
en Afrique Centrale; — Micheline Centlivres-Demont, Ethnologue au féminin: Trois
terrains, trois expériences; — Meinhard Schuster, Feldforschung als Gruppenarbeit; —
Serge Tomay, La dimension cognitive dans la démarche ethnographique.
Ein guter Index wird sowohl in deutscher als auch in französischer Sprache geboten;
er enthält u.a. besonders viele Hinweise auf kognitive Problematik. Rudolf Rahmann
Rassem, Mohammed, und Justin Stagl (Hrsg.). Statistik und Staatsbeschreibung
in der Neuzeit; vornehmlich im 16.-18. Jahrhundert. Bericht über ein interdisziplinäres
Symposium in Wolfenbüttel. 25-27. September 1978. (Quellen und Abhandlungen zur
Geschichte der Staatsbeschreibung und Statistik, 1.) 404 pp. Paderborn 1980. Ferdinand
Schöningh. Preis; DM 72.
Der vorliegende Band dokumentiert in vorbildlicher Form die Verhandlungen einer
interdisziplinären wissenschaftshistorischen Arbeitstagung, die auf Anregung der beiden
Herausgeber, Mohammed Rassem und Justin Stagl, 1978 in der Herzog-August-Bibliothek
in Wolfenbüttel stattfand. Wie heute kaum noch bekannt, ist die „Statistik“ der frühen
Neuzeit eine breit angelegte, systematisierte, deskriptive Staatenkunde, die von einer
Länder- und Bodenschatz künde über eine Völker- und Bevölkerungs künde bis zu einer
Kultur- und Verfassungskunde reicht und die somit als Vorläuferin der heutigen SoziaT
wissenschaften im weitesten Sinne des Wortes anzusehen ist.
Im Einleitungsvortrag umreißt Rassem anhand der Wortfeldanalyse eines Textes von
Leibniz („Stichproben aus dem Wortfeld der alten Statistik“) den Bedeutungshorizont
der damaligen Staatsbeschreibung. Diese „Stichproben“ werden durch die Untersuchun-
gen von Ignazio Toscani („Etatistisch.es Denken und erkenntnistheoretische Überlegungen
in den venezianischen Relationen“) und von Monika Thiel-Horstmann („Staatsbeschrei-
bung und statistische Erhebungen im vorkolonialen und kolonialen Indien“) historisch
und regional veranschaulicht und durch den Beitrag von Amo Seifert („Staatenkunde —
eine neue Disziplin und ihr wissenschaftstheoretischer Ort“) theoretisch vertieft.
Im Zentrum der methodologischen Fragen steht dabei einerseits Aufkommen und
Ausdifferenzierung der mathematisch-quantifizierenden Schematisierungsverfahren (Ivo
Schneider: „Mathematisierung des Wahrscheinlichen“; Johannes Gordesch: „Mathematik
als Hilfswissenschaft in der Geschichte der Statistik und Staatsbeschreibung“), in denen
sich der Begriff „Statistik“ bis heute erhalten hat, und andererseits die Herausbildung und
die Verfeinerung empirischer Deskription, wie sie von Justin Stagl in seiner historisch sehr
ausführlichen Studie (mit umfangreichem Dokumentationsteil): „Die Apodemik oder
,Reisekunst“ als Methodik der Sozialforschung vom Humanismus bis zur Aufklärung“ dar-
gelegt wird (siehe auch: Robert Horvath: „Statistische Deskription und nominalistische
Philosophie“).
Zu den inhaltlichen Schwerpunkten der Tagung gehören zum einen die Darstellung
des wissenschaftstheoretischen Grundsatzstreits zwischen der überkommenen kultur-
kundlichen Geographie und der aufkommenden historischen Sozialwissenschaft (Gerhard
Lutz: „Geographie und Statistik im 18. Jahrhundert“; Hanno Beck: „Geographie und
Statistik — die Lösung einer Polarität“) und zum anderen die Nachzeichnung der schritt-
weisen Ausdifferenzierung bestimmter Sozialwissenschaften aus der Staatskunde, wie bei-
spielsweise bereits sehr früh der Ökonomie (Jochen Hoock, Jean-Claude Perrot) oder der
Demographie (Jacqueline Hecht) bis hin zur Medizinalstatistik (Fritz Hartmann/Hans-
Joachim Klauke).
Book Reviews
281
Die Referate dieser ersten Arbeitstagung und die sich daran anschließenden Diskus-
sionen eröffnen nun die Reihe „Quellen und Abhandlungen zur Geschichte der Staatsbe-
schreibung und Statistik“, in der weitere Dokumentationsbände und Einzeluntersuchun-
gen zu diesem wissenschaftsgeschichtlichen Thema präsentiert werden sollen. Im Hinblick
darauf wäre zu hoffen, daß der Hauch von Historismus, der diesem ersten Versuch noch
anhaftet, in Folgetagungen und Folgestudien durch eine größere Öffnung für sozialge-
schichtliche Zusammenhänge und philosophische Grundsatzdiskussionen überwunden
werden könnte. Wolf dietrich Schmied-Kowarzik
Panoff, Michel, und Perrin, Michel. Taschen-Wörterbuch der Ethnologie. Begriffe
und Definitionen zur Einführung. 2. verbesserte und erweiterte Auflage. (Ethnologische
Paperbacks.) Herausgegeben und aus dem Französischen übersetzt von Justin Stagl unter
Mitarbeit von Stefanie und Gabriele Hohenwart. 359 pp. Mit 6 Kt. Berlin 1982. Dietrich
Reimer Verlag. Preis: DM 38.
Es scheint mit zu den schwierigsten Aufgaben eines Ethnologen zu gehören, einer-
seits seinen Fachjargon allgemeinverständlich zu machen und andererseits jene Begriffe
aufzulisten, die das tragende Gerippe seiner Wissenschaft ausmachen. Wer „Vorwort“ und
„Einleitung“ zu dem hier zur Besprechung anstehenden Werk durchliest, gewinnt durch-
aus diesen Eindruck. Und der Rezensent meint, daß jeder, der einschlägige Erfahrung hat,
den beiden Autoren und dem Herausgeber der deutschen Fassung Recht geben wird.
Vorliegendes Werk ist nämlich eine Übersetzung aus dem Französischen. Dies muß
eigentlich nicht groß angekündigt werden, denn der Leser merkt es auf Schritt und Tritt.
Justin Stagl, der Übersetzer und Herausgeber der deutschen Fassung, hebt bereits im Vor-
wort die „ausgeprägt westeuropäische Orientierung“ (9) des Nachschlagewerkes hervor.
Unter anderem wird kein einziger lebender deutschsprachiger Fachvertreter genannt.
Offensichtlich soll gesagt werden, daß es keinen nenenswerten gebe. Der Objektivität ab-
träglich aber ist, wenn renommierte Forscher, die nicht dem angelsächsisch-französischen
Raum angehören, einfach übergangen werden.
Man schlage z.B. das Stichwort „Eskimo“ nach. (Man könnte genauso gut verschie-
dene andere Stichwörter wählen.) Dort werden bei der Literaturangabe eine Reihe von
Forschem genannt, unter anderem auch R. Gessain und sogar Marcel Mauss, aber Knud
Rasmussen, der große Eskimo-Forscher, wird nicht erwähnt. Er hätte es auch verdient,
unter den Persönlichkeiten des Werkes aufgeführt zu werden, wenn er auch kein großer
Theoretiker war. — Ähnlich wie Rasmussen ergeht es dem Missionar Carl Strehlow —
wenn auch beide nicht zu vergleichen sind — beim Stichwort „Aranda“. Justin Stagl sucht
der Einseitigkeit in den Literaturangaben wiederholt dadurch zu begegnen, daß er weitere
Autoren zitiert. So etwa führt er bei „Aranda“ T.G.H. Strehlow, den Sohn von Carl, auf,
aber die wichtigen Forschungen von Carl Strehlow läßt auch er unerwähnt. Beim Stich-
wort „Fang“ wiederum hätte man auch die „Pangwe“ von G. Tessmann erwähnen können
und bei der Mau-Mau-Bewegung die Studien von R. Buijtenhuijs.
Doch Afrika insgesamt und die Religionsethnologie im besonderen — ich zähle nur
diese auf, ähnliches ließe sich auch von der politischen Ethnologie und der Ethnographie
und diversen anderen Teildisziplinen sagen — scheinen nicht die starke Seite der beiden
Autoren zu sein. Wirklich gut und ausführlich wird die Verwandtschaftsethnologie darge-
stellt und regional gesehen Amerika sowie Melanesien und Ozeanien. Ich will nicht sa-
gen, daß hier nur die Eingänge zahlreicher sind, sondern vor allem, daß die Artikel auch
mit größerer Sachkenntnis abgefaßt sind. Der Übersetzer hat sich auch sehr viel Mühe
gegeben, um die Verwandtschaftstermini im Deutschen korrekt wiederzugeben.
Am schwächsten erweisen sich die Autoren in der Religionsethnologie. Es sind nicht
nur die Stichwörter, die fehlen, sondern auch die korrekten Definitionen. Man schlage
etwa das Stichwort „Opfer“ nach, dort heißt es knapp; „Die Handlungsweise, durch wel-
282
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
che Tiere oder Menschen als Gabe an eine Gottheit von ihresgleichen abgesondert oder ge-
tötet werden“ (231). Fürwahr ein recht enger Opferbegriff! Die diversen Primitialopfer
von Ackerbaukulturen und viele andere Opfer wären gemäß dieser Definition gar nicht
als Opfer zu bezeichnen. Andererseits fehlen wichtige Stichwörter, die für viele Kulturen
zentrale Bedeutung haben, so etwa ,,Ahn“, „Ahnenkult“, „Königtum“ bzw. „sakrales
Königtum“, „Monotheismus“ („Henotheismus“ wird aufgeführt), „Höchstes Wesen“
etc.; bei anderen Stichwörtern muß man sich fragen, ob sie in einem Wörterbuch dieses
Umfangs richtig am Platze sind: so auf Seite 194 „Luso-Tropikalismus“, auf Seite 161
der eigenwillige Gebrauch (von Paul Ricoeur) des Wortes „Kerygma“ oder die auf Jugo-
slawien begrenzte Genossenschaft „Zadruga“ (319).
Bei der Übersetzung merkt man immer wieder, daß der Übersetzer gleichzeitig ein
guter Fachmann ist: was sonst bei übersetzten Fachbüchern eine Crux ist, ist hier groß-
artig gelungen: alle Fachtermini werden korrekt wiedergegeben. Einmal allerdings scheint
dem Übersetzer ein sinnentstellender Fehler unterlaufen zu sein: Auf Seite 151 unter dem
Stichwort ,Jäger und Sammler“ übersetzt er „prédateur“ mit „Wildbeuter“; das kann
es zwar auch heißen, aber „prédateurs“ können im Französischen auch „Raubtiere“,
„Freibeuter“, „Plünderer“ etc. genannt werden. Es ist verständlich, daß Franzosen jene
Ethnien, die wir als „Wildbeuter“ bezeichnen, heute nicht mehr gerne „prédateurs“ nen-
nen. Unser „Wildbeuter“ hat aber einen anderen Inhalt. Deshalb scheint mir Stagls
Übersetzung unangebracht zu sein, wenn er schreibt: „der Begriff Wildbeuter ... scheint
unangemessen, da er ein Schmarotzerverhalten andeutet, das mit einer gleichsam selbst-
mörderischen Ignorierung des ökologischen Gleichgewichts Hand in Hand geht ...“. —
Man hätte wohl am besten diesen ganzen Passus wegfallen lassen sollen, da „prédateurs“
und „Wildbeuter“ sich nicht entsprechen.
Eine Kleinigkeit ist mir auch unter dem Stichwort „Totemismus“ aufgefallen. Der
Ausdruck „rarement de végétaux“ bedeutet natürlich keine „seltenen Pflanzen“, sondern
„selten Pflanzen“. Es gibt auch einige sinnstörende Druckfehler: so heißt im Franzö-
sischen die gestampfte Erde nicht „prisé“, sondern „pisé“ (22) und auf Seite 318 muß es
yoni und nicht y oui heißen.
Wer diese Rezension liest, könnte der Meinung sein, bei diesem Wörterbuch handle
es sich um ein schlechtes Werk, da ich viel Kritik geübt habe. Doch trotz der aufgeführten
Mängel halte ich es für eines der besten ethnologischen Wörterbücher. Alle Wünsche wird
kein Wörterbuch erfüllen, dafür sind unsere Meinungen über Ethnologie viel zu diver-
gierend. Eines aber würde ich mit dieser Rezension gerne erzielen, daß nämlich das Be-
dürfnis gespürt wird, ein deutschsprachiges ethnologisches Wörterbuch zu schaffen, das
der deutschsprachigen Ethnologie und ihren wichtigsten Vertretern Rechnung trägt, da-
mit unsere Studienanfänger nicht glauben, die Ethnologie habe mit dem britischen Funk-
tionalismus begonnen und mit dem französisischen Strukturalismus geendet.
J.F. Thiel
Africa
Jansen, Karl Heinz. Literatur und Geschichte in Afrika. Darstellung der vorkolonialen
Geschichte und Kultur Afrikas in der englisch- und französischsprachigen fiktionalen afri-
kanischen Literatur. (Kölner Beiträge zur Afrikanistik, 8.) 353 pp. Berlin 1981. Dietrich
Reimer. Preis: DM 45.
Die meisten Sekundärwerke zur afrikanischen Literatur befassen sich lediglich mit
englisch oder französischsprachigen Texten. Das mag an mangelnden Sprachkenntnissen
liegen, daran, daß nur die Literatur der eigenen politischen Einflußsphäre betrachtet wird
Book Reviews
283
oder daran, daß man sich nur für „sein Fach“, Romanistik oder Anglistik, interessiert und
den Blick über den kontinentalen Horizont hinweg nach Afrika hin schon als Abenteuer
genug wertet. Karl Heinz Jansen setzt mit seiner Dissertation „Literatur und Geschichte
in Afrika“ die von Janheinz Jahn begründete Tradition fort, afrikanische Literatur über
die Sprachgrenzen hinweg zu betrachten, eine Vorgehensweise, die allerdings von seinem
Thema gefordert wird. Seine interessanten Ergebnisse beweisen einmal mehr, welche
Erkenntnisse in interdisziplinärer und komparatistischer Arbeit gewonnen werden können.
Die Rekonstruktion und Dokumentation von Geschichte ist eine Aufgabe des Histo-
rikers, auch er ist allerdings abhängig von den Strömungen seiner Zeit. Die Darstellung
von Geschichte in fiktionalen Werken aber spiegelt die Haltung eines Volkes zu seiner
Vergangenheit wider, und diese Haltung ist für das geistige Leben einer Nation von Bedeu-
tung. Um so verwunderlicher ist es, daß bisher kein Literaturwissenschaftler sich mit der
Darstellung von Geschichte in der afrikanischen Literatur befaßt hat, wenn man von An-
sätzen bei Imanuel Geiss in seinem Buch „Panafrikanismus“ (Frankfurt a.M. 1968) ab-
sieht, in dem er aber nur politische Aktionisten wie Senghor und Cesaire untersucht.
Karl Heinz Jansen interessiert bei seiner Untersuchung nicht, ob und wie wahr afri-
kanische Geschichte in den Werken der anglo- und frankophonen Autoren dargestellt ist,
sondern wie die Schriftsteller die afrikanische Vergangenheit interpretieren und mit
welchen künstlerischen Mitteln sie dies tun, weil auch die ästhetische Gestaltung eine
Auseinandersetzung mit dem Ererbten und Erlernten ist. Dabei beschränkt er sich nicht
auf ein Genre, sondern zieht sowohl Romane als auch Lyrik zu Rate und stellt auch noch
die Untersuchung eines historischen Werkes als Vergleich daneben.
Da die Behandlung der afrikanischen Geschichte eine afrikanische Reaktion auf die
in Europa verbreitete Meinung war, Afrikas Geschichte beginne erst mit dem Kontakt,
untersucht Jansen zuerst die europäische Haltung zur afrikanischen Geschichte, angefan-
gen bei Hegels Bemerkung, Afrika sei ein Kontinent ohne Geschichte, bis zu Leo Frobe-
nius’ Begeisterung für die Größe und Würde des alten Afrika. Wie gründlich Kolonisierung
sein kann, beweist die Tatsache, daß sich selbst einige afrikanische Autoren die Meinung
von der Primitivität und der Rückständigkeit ihres Kontinents zu eigen gemacht haben.
Solche „Zöglingsliteratur“, ein Begriff, den Jansen von Janheinz Jahn übernimmt, mußte
zu Reaktionen anderer afrikanischer Intellektueller führen. Drei Hauptströmungen lassen
sich dabei herausarbeiten:
1. Die afrikanische Vergangenheit wird glorifiziert. Das tut hauptsächlich die frankophone
Literatur in der Zeit kurz vor der Unabhängigkeit (Negritude-Ideologie).
2. Afrikanische Schriftsteller entwickeln einen Antimythos gegen die Verherrlichung der
Vergangenheit. Sie sehen eine Gefahr darin, zurückzuschauen. Diese Schriftsteller be-
schäftigen sich mit der Zukunft Afrikas und entwerfen Visionen dafür.
3. In der jüngsten Phase wird die afrikanische Vergangenheit mehr oder weniger „realistisch“
dargestellt. Diese Art Literatur kommt aus den anglophonen Staaten und wird nach der
Unabhängigkeit verfaßt.
Besonders deutlich wird der Wandel in der Geschichtsbetrachung beim Vergleich
verschiedener Behandlungen desselben Themas, nämlich der Darstellung des Zulu-Königs
Shaka, angefangen bei Senghors Gedicht „Chaka“ über Thomas Mofolos berühmten Ro-
man bis hin zu der jüngsten Verarbeitung bei Mazisi Kunene in dessen umfangreichem
“Emperor Shaka the Great”.
Jansen gründet seine Thesen auf der Untersuchung von 46 Werken der afrikanischen
Literatur. Daß er dabei auch weniger bekannte und bisher kaum kritisch behandelte Wer-
ke heranzieht, macht seine Studie um so lesenswerter. Sein Buch ist nicht nur für Lite-
raturwissenschaftler interessant, sondern für alle, die sich mit sozialen und kulturellen
Fragen im modernen Afrika befassen. Ulla Schild
284
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Grothues, Jürgen. Fischer in Südmarokko. Die Küstenfischerei an der südmarokka-
nischen Atlantikküste zwischen Agadir und Sidi Ifni. (Kulturanthropologische Studien,
8.) xii+157 pp., illustr. Hohenschäftlarn bei München 1982. Klaus Renner Verlag.
Die Feldforschung des Verfassers erfolgte, nach kurzen Besuchen 1972 und 1975,
in den Jahren 1979 und 1980, jeweils drei Monate lang, und zwar in dem Küstenstreifen
am Atlantik zwischen Agadir und Sidi Ifni; Hauptforschungszentrum war die kleine Sied-
lung Tifnit. Traditionell waren Ruderboote mit einer Besatzung von sieben bis acht Mann;
seit 1968 wurden sie ersetzt durch kleine moderne Boote mit Außenbordmotor und einer
Besatzung von zwei bis drei Mann. Die Zahl der Boote stieg entsprechend auf ca. 100. Die
Zahl der beschäftigten Personen hat sich nicht bedeutend verändert. Früher lebten sie in
Zelten; heute stehen in Tifnit fast 100 Häuser, die aber nur während der Fangsaison von
März bis Oktober bewohnt sind. Wie die meisten Boote, so sind auch die meisten Häuser
Eigentum wohlhabender Geschäftsleute und Beamten. Sie vermieten Boote und Häuser an
die Fischer. Die Besatzung eines Bootes wohnt zusammen in einem Haus. Es gibt weder
Frauen noch Kinder in Tifnit, einzigartig in ganz Marokko. Die Männer selbst besorgen
Küche und Wäsche. Konflikte innerhalb der Siedlung werden in öffentlicher Versammlung
geregelt. Da man sich einige Freiheiten vom islamischen Recht gestattet, vermeidet man
alles, was die Aufmerksamkeit der Behörde wecken würde. Die Siedlung bildete sich hier
wegen der günstigen Lage; der Strand gilt als vorzüglich, die See ist relativ ruhig. Das
garantiert eine sichere Fangfahrt. Agadir ist 45 km entfernt und auf guter Straße leicht zu
erreichen. Die Stadt hat sich Mitte des Jahrhunderts wirtschaftlich stark entwickelt.
Von dort kommen die Boote und die Motoren. Hier ist die Fisch-Bearbeitungsindustrie:
Konserven und, seit etlichen Jahren, Gefrierindustrie, da der Weltmarkt Frischfisch
wünscht. Der nahe Flughafen ermöglicht den schnellen Transport nach Frankreich. Ge-
liefert werden Tintenfische, Langusten, Hummer und andere Edelfische. Wie früher ist
aber auch heute die Fischerei nur ein Nebenerwerb. Haupterwerb ist die heimatliche
Landwirtschaft in den verschiedenen Dörfern. Ein zweiter Ort, den J. Grothues unter-
suchte, Mirleft, verlor im letzten Jahrzehnt seine Bedeutung, da dort ein nahes Agadir
fehlt. Fritz Bomemann
Epstein, A.L. Urbanization and Kinship: The Domestic Domain on the Copperbelt
of Zambia 1950-1956. (Studies in Anthropology.) xii+364 pp. with 18 tab. London and
New York 1981. Academic Press. Price: £16.80; $34.50.
This volume is the outcome of two years fieldwork carried out in the town of
Ndola, the administrative and commercial centre of the Copperbelt. Yet the study reflects
far more understanding than two years would bring since the author had already completed
many years of intensive investigation of the area, having studied first urban courts and
then the structure of a mining community. As a consequence, rich insights and subtle
observations grace all sections of this useful work. The long delay in its publication does
mean that this is more an historical study of a colonial era now past, but this in no way
diminishes the work’s great value, both as a description of social life in an African town
and as a model for other studies of the family in changing, urban Africa.
The book is divided into ten chapters: an introduction, an historical survey of the
town’s growth, discussion of urban households, relations between husbands and wives,
parents and children, neighbours and neighbourhoods, changing aspects of kin and kin-
ship, marriage and affinity, the alternating roles associated with gender, and a summation
of the general trends occurring in the family in urban Zambia as well as suggestions as to
why these at times differ from findings from elsewhere in Africa.
At this time of Epstein’s research, Ndola was a town about 60,000. Like most
African towns, it had grown rapidly and little effort had been made by the colonial
authorities to deal coherently and realistically with its increasing problems. The racial
restrictions imposed in what was then Northern Rhodesia prevented the author from
Book Reviews
285
actually residing in the African community, but he was able to rely upon what appears to
have been a very able team of African assistants. The study was not focussed in terms of
any specific theoretical or practical problems; rather, it attempted to explore in depth
all facets of the changing familial and kin relations within the urban setting.
African households were highly variable and unstable in composition. Town life
had overturned many of the traditional relations between the sexes and between parents
and children. The fact that most job opportunities and housing were afforded to men led
to increased enhancement of husbands’ position; wives were far less able to garden and
otherwise secure their livelihoods as they had customarily done in rural villages. Women
were depending increasingly on men for support of the household. Their own tasks and
associated indentities remained traditionally defined as mothers and providers of food.
Yet these tasks now took less time and effort and could be pursued on individual bases,
not in terms of the network of kin and neighbours that characterized traditional Zambian
units of both production and consumption. Furthermore, the diminishing scope of local
kin ties prevented women from relying upon the web of relatives that afforded suppport
and companionship in villages. Marital ties consequently became both more important
yet also more problematical. Ironically, as a result both women and men sought con-
siderable reassurance and support from parents and siblings as compensation for the diffi-
culties of depending upon spouses and offspring. Marriage thus became increasingly
strategic in adapting to town life, but its very importance along with new demands made
marriage more fraught with conflict and ever-changing expectations and demands, so that
relations outside marriage, with kin or even neighbours and work-mates, were often
pictured as more reliable than those with spouses. At the least, such ties were viewed as
essential counter-weights to marital commitments. For example, women often relied
upon a network of fellow housewives for information, petty loans, and moral support
during disputes with their husbands. Unlike relations in villages, parents were rarely at
hand for aid and counsel, but siblings often resided with a married couple, a situation
unusual in traditional life. New notions of individualism, competition, and egalitarianism
clashed with traditional ideas of kinship, neighbourliness, cooperation, and hierarchy.
Actual definitions of what constituted a legal union, as well as what signified a success-
ful union, were also subject to steady changes in the face of new economic demands, iso-
lation of moderating kin, new roles for the sexes, and conflicting customs and traditions
from contrasting ethnic groups.
Epstein provides no simple conclusions other than two sensible but perhaps obvious
points: tradition continues to be cited and utilized to provide coherence and stability in
a difficult, ever-shifting urban environment, and the solutions characterizing family life
in the Copperbelt should not be expected to resemble those of some other areas of Africa
where other traditions earlier prevailed. What is especially valuable in this study is not
any broad theoretical or analytical conclusions but rather the rich, detailed mosaic of
the many facets of domestic life in an African township. Anyone who has lived in an
African city is likely to feel nostalgic on reading this and may keenly recall vivid pictures
of what it means to live in such a myriad and provocative, teeming environment. I warmly
recommend this study to anyone seeking to understand what it is like to live and try
to flourish in urban Africa. T.O. Beidelman
Shostak, Marjorie. Nisa; The Life of a !Kung Woman. 402 pp., illustr. Cambridge
1981. Harvard University Press. Price: $20.00.
The various San (Bushmen) people of southern Africa are becoming among the best
reported preliterate cultures in anthropology. In the past decade many books and scholarly
papers have appeared by the Marshalls, Howell, DeVore, Lee, Silberbauer, Katz, Tobias,
and others; there are also numerous ethnographic films and some excellent gramophone
286
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Anthropos 78.1983
recordings. I am told that even more studies will appear. Many of these were promoted by
researchers at Harvard University from where this present volume derives. One reward of
surveying this rich San material is that it reflects such a wide range in theoretical orienta-
tions and interests. Contrasts between the different San groups studied is interesting, but
no less than comparing these San studies generated out of Harvard with those from Britain,
South Africa, and Japan.
The present work represents a sophisticated return to a genre once popular in an-
thropology but lately neglected, the autobiography or life history of a member of a pre-
literate culture. It also derives from some of the recent influences of the feminist movement
in anthropology. Shostak’s work is an account of the life of Nisa, a fifty year old woman
of the !Kung branch of San living in northeastern Botswana. The study is organized in
roughly chronological fashion; an introduction describes why the author embarked upon
this project, how the material was collected, and places it within the context of San
studies in general. The central body of the book is divided into fifteen chapters: earliest
memories, family life, life in the bush, discovering sex, trial marriages, marriage, wives and
co-wives, first birth, motherhood and loss, change, women and men, taking lovers, a heal-
ing ritual, further losses, and growing older. An epilogue describes Shostak’s final encounter
with Nisa during a revisit in the field.
The main part of the book is organized consistently, each chapter divided equally
between Nisa’s account of a particular theme and a preceding discussion where Shostak
presents a cultural and social contextualization of the material. For example, when Nisa
describes the loss of all her children, Shostak discusses San mortality rates and points
out to what degree Nisa’s misfortunes are representative for San. This seems the only
sensible way to allow Nisa to relate her story without distracting footnotes and asides,
yet still provide the reader with enough information to make sense of it. In notes Shostak
indicates publications that a reader may consult to explain more fully some issues raised
by the text.
Autobiographical studies became particularly popular in the 1930s and 1940s when
there was a strong sense of moral relativism permeating the field, especially in America;
one motive behind publishing such works was a liberal humanism attempting to demon-
strate that preliterates were folk just like us. Shostak is similarly concerned to infuse a
sense of humanistic sympathy even though she repeatedly remarks on the cultural gulf
that separates her (and us) from Nisa. Surveying past studies of this sort one becomes
aware of how many different modes an account of a life can assume. Biography is like
history; it always is written for the demonstration of some end which consequently
colours its form and content. For example, Eggan portrays a Hopi Indian and Sachs a
Zulu medicine man in manners similar to a Freudian case history; Winters describes an
East African, two of his wives, and his uncle in a complex counterpoint that recalls the
Kurosawa film Rashomon in conveying how the same events are differently seen and
presented by different protagonists; Schlosser’s two huge volumes on a Zulu rainmaker
are both biography and autobiography as well as a major compilation of ethnography;
while some of the earlier autobiographies of American Indians read so seamlessly that one
wonders how much is first-hand statement by the subjects and what is improvement and
introjection by anthropologists-editors who yearn to be novelists. In the case of this
work, Shostak’s aim seems to be to present Nisa as much on her own terms as possible,
though if there is a relevant theme, it is that of a new interest in explaining what may
be unique in being female. Shostak’s format sharply separates her own commentary
from that of Nisa, but the texts still reflect, as they must, some direction on her part.
What holds the separate sections together is Shostak’s decision to start with Nisa’s earliest
memories of childhood and proceed through her experiences of growing up, marriage,
motherhood, divorce, and old age. Yet without Shostak’s valuable introductory comments,
the chapters would be so episodic and unrelated that one might have been hard pressed
to retain interest or meaning.
Book Reviews
287
Without diaries, correspondence, newspaper, and other written records, what does a
person recall? Certainly much less than with writing, even though it seems likely that the
San’s illiteracy may have encouraged them to develop a keener mnemonic sense than we
possess. Unfortunately, memories are selective, refashioning facts into what we want to
believe happened or want others to think. Of course, even this is of interest and value,
for what someone of another society wants to believe and thinks worth recalling is likely
to be what is most valued and elaborated in that culture. Still, the consequence of such a
process is that it emphasizes the dramatic and isolated highpoints in a life and overlooks
the myriad incidents that provide the basic fabric of our experience. Nisa recalls births,
deaths, illness, quarrels, and seductions, often with astonishing vividness and detail con-
sidering how long ago they occurred. While these recollections furnish an inimitable im-
pression of how Nisa thinks and what she values, they give little impression of what her
ordinary daily life is like. Instead, we have the peaks of her experience and these return
again and again to the same themes—sexuality, desire for meat, joy at the union of
people, and grief and frustration of their departure, and quarrels that escalate to consider-
able violence.
One of the problems of this book stems from a central difficulty that anthropol-
ogists face in trying to understand an alien culture. To do so we must violate it by taking
it outside its own terms, by dissection, comparison, questioning. Yet those who live such
a life require no such explanations. To the degree that Shostak has respected Nisa’s
choice of what to tell, what to explain, and why things are as they are, and what is
given and obvious, we are both informed yet excluded from comprehension. The things
that Nisa needs or wants to explain are often not what puzzle us. It is what, because of
her culture, she finds obvious, given and unquestioned, that we often find most difficult
to grasp. Yet what makes this a good book is probably the fact that Shostak has faced
this dilemma squarely; rather than try to serve these counterdemands equally she has
elected to let the weight of the account rest on Nisa’s narrative itself, retaining some
sense of the inexplicable or confused as the price of avoiding overanalysis. What remains
is a valuable document, a first-hand sketch of one life, unique yet also representative of a
woman from an alien world.
Shostak’s (or Nisa’s) book gives us some understanding of what a San woman’s
experiences are like; it portrays a world, if only in a sketched form, that is profoundly
different from any we know yet embodying emotions and appetites clearly recognizable
to us all. Food, sex, anger, jealousy, affection, courage, and grief colour Nisa’s story.
Yet she does not seem to be a particularly speculative person, not like many of those
natives that anthropologists so often encounter, self-elected informants who in their
deviancy and alienation appear to have been waiting for an outsider all along just so they
can have someone with whom they can share their subversive thoughts and skepticism.
Shostak repeatedly describes Nisa’s charm, her vivacity, the deep impact that Nisa’s
personality exerted upon others. Oddly, I found Nisa unappealing despite Shostak’s
assurances otherwise, whereas I was fascinated and charmed by what Shostak’s writings
seem to reveal about herself. The volume is written with a candour and self-conscious wit
and ironic humour that are often attractive and absorbing.
Nisa tells us far less about herself than we may need or want to know in order to
make sense of her life, but the present volume teaches us a great deal about what it means
to do and think anthropology. It also enhances our ability to fit a rich body of social
anthropological findings into the more concrete mode of a real life, of experience deeper
and more intense than we may otherwise imagine from these reports and abstractions.
Some may care for Nisa more than I do; few are likely to deny that this is a valuable and
enjoyable book and one written with a literary skill usually lacking among anthropologists.
T.O. Beidelman
288
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78,1983
The Americas
Lobo, Susan. A House of My Own. Social Organization in the Squatter Settlements
of Lima, Peru, xix+190 pp. With 25 photogr. and 8 fig. Tucson 1982. University of
Arizona Press. Price: $18,50 (cloth), $7.95 (paper).
Susan Lobo’s study of two Peruvian urban bairros is an extremely competent
ethnography, simple and straightforward. In A House of My Own, she recounts the
results of over five months residence (from 1964 to 1974) in various families among
cholo (highland) immigrants, most of Indian descent. The author’s aims are amply attained:
to “document ethnographic ally the process of urbanization . . . over a ten-year period ...”
and to discuss this process as an example of “positive adaptation” witnessing the “mi-
grants’ ability to build a community in both a material and psychological sense.”
Her fieldwork takes place in two bairros on the outskirts of Lima, the one of nearly
10,000 inhabitants, an authentic squatter’s settlement dating from the early 1940s, the
other, a relocation project settled in the early seventies, with lots sold by the government
for three years of monthly payments. Although the author mentions the full gamut of
ethnographic data, from “economic strategies” (artisanry, commerce, factory employ-
ment, etc.) and “values” (progress, hard work, thrift, and sociability) to “formation of
alliances” and “rites of intensification,” the most interesting parts of her book deal with
the results of government intervention on the highlanders’ spontaneous forms of social
organization. We see original settlement patterns wherein kin and close acquaintances
from the same highland areas are grouped. This arrangement provides physical space for
the highly-valued solidarity among siblings, and explains the various forms of reciprocity,
mutual aid, and social tolerance (essential to life in so densely-populated an area). The
government “remodeling program” initiated in 1973, bulldozed these neighborhood
groupings, distributed lots on an “impartial” basis that had nearly nothing to do with
kinship or affinity, and essentially disappeared, leaving broken promises for improved
urban infrastructure.
Despite the rich ethnographic data, Dr. Lobo’s book leaves the reader with a
certain doubt. Frankly positioned (as Edward Spicer points out in the foreword) among
scholars who seek to counteract simplistic stereotypes of “disorganization” among urban
poor, could it be the author overemphasizes the smooth-functioning of the highlanders’
social organization? The cases of conflict cited between individuals in the book are
inevitably worked out through “positive” group values and mechanisms of social pressure.
No one steals within the bairro; people can remember only one murder; sons abandon
sweethearts who don’t meet with family approval; and squabbling neighbors resolve their
difference either through pacific demonstrations of force, or through cooperative actions.
The model appears almost overly well-balanced, lacking in sources of inherent change.
Furthermore, despite her own comment that the population of these urban bairros is,
in many respects, by no means homogeneous, the fact is that, through the study of
“representative families,” she describes them as a whole, contrasted basically to out-
siders such as coastal criollos (with a longer urban history) and zambos (of mixed black,
white, and Indian ancestry).
On the basis of this study, it is evident that the cholo immigrants settled in Peruvian
urban bairros are relatively cohesive and that they have, in general, been able to adapt
highland traditions to assure a more harmonious integration into urban life. If, however,
Dr. Lobo had concentrated her analysis more on the group’s inherent patterns of conflict
and change, her argument would be still more convincing, less open to doubts that, by
ingesting the “native’s” own idealized self-image, she has overstated her case.
Claudia Fonseca
Book Reviews
289
Boyer, L. Bryce. Kindheit und Mythos: Eine ethno-psychoanaiytische Studie der
Apachen. Aus dem Amerikanischen übersetzt von Agnes von Cranach. Vorwort von Paul
Parin. 271 pp. Stuttgart 1982. Klett-Cotta. Preis: DM 38.
Ein Psychiater und Psychoanalytiker, der in einer nordamerikanischen Weltstadt
mit Menschen aller Nationalitäten und Rassen zusammenlebte, konnte doch keine Ant-
wort auf die Frage finden, die ihn schon als Student bewegt hatte: Worin sind Völker
verschiedener Kulturen einander ähnlich und worin unterscheiden sie sich voneinander?
Als sich darum die Gelegenheit bot, zusammen mit Ethnologen Feldforschung zu betrei-
ben, griff er zu. Sie entschieden sich für ein Reservat der Apachen im südlichen Innern
von New Mexico, wo der Stamm der Mescaleros wohnt; ihm schloß sich 1913 die Mehr-
heit der Chiricahuas, die seit 1866 als Kriegsgefangene interniert gewesen waren, an; beide
Gruppen sind seit 100 Jahren durch den Kontakt mit den Weißen stark beeinflußt. —
Zum Psychiater kamen Leute, die unter Angstzuständen litten, unter Phobien, Hysterien,
psychosomatischen Störungen, Halluzinosen etc. Das Ergebnis war, trotz einiger Unter-
schiede, daß das psychoanalytische Entwicklungsschema auf die heran wachsenden Apachen-
kinder in genau der gleichen Weise anwendbar ist wie auf weiße Kinder. Forschungen
bei den Athabasken und Eskimos in Alaska — allerdings nicht so ausgedehnt — scheinen
die Gültigkeit des Schemas auch für sie zu bestätigen. Ehe aber eine universelle Theorie
der kognitiven und emotionalen Symbolik auf sicherer Grundlage diskutiert werden kann,
muß noch viel Arbeit geleistet werden ; so meint der Verfasser. — Auf eine umfangreiche
Einführung folgt ein allgemeines Kapitel „Überlieferungsforschung, Kulturanthropolo-
gie und Psychoanalyse: Interaktion der Disziplinen“, dann ein allgemeiner Überblick
über „Geschichte und Sozialstruktur“ der beiden Apachenstämme; die Mitte des Buches
bilden vier Kapitel: „Kindererziehung und Persönlichkeitsorganisation“, „Die Symbolik
in den Mythen und Traditionen“, „Die Fledermaus-Geschichten“, „Die Variation einer
überlieferten Erzählung im Dienste der Abwehr“; zum Abschluß; „Die Kenntnis von
Mythos und Tradition als Hilfe zum Verständnis der Psychiatriepatienten“ und „Reflexio-
nen“. Die rund 400 Nummern der Bibliographie stammen mit wenigen Ausnahmen aus
dem englischsprachigen Kulturbereich. — Die Berücksichtigung der Kräfte der gesell-
schaftlichen Wirklichkeit einer schon stark amerikanisierten Kultur tritt, wie zu erwarten,
zurück vor den psychologischen Fragen der Sozialisation und der alten Überlieferung.
Um so angenehmer fällt es auf, wie zurückhaltend der Verfasser in manchen Abschnitten
seine Auffassungen formuliert: wir vermuten ... , es kann sein ... , es sind zum Teil Speku-
lationen ... , es scheint, als hätten wir hier ... , diese Interpretation ist eine Vermutung ...
u.ä. — Die Übersetzung ist unnötig überladen mit Fremdwörtern aus dem Englischen.
Eine Analyse ist „redundant“, nämlich überflüssig; ein bestimmter Satz ist „kryptisch“,
nämlich dunkel, geheimnisvoll; der Inhalt eines Traumes „manifest“, nämlich klar. Meist
wird von Kulturanthropologie, Kulturanthropologen, kulturanthropologisch gesprochen,
während das auch sonst gute Vorwort Paul Parins Ethnologie, ethnologisch und Völker-
kunde gebraucht. Fritz Bomemann
Tovar, Antonio. Relatos y diálogos de los matacos (Chaco argentino occidental)
seguidos de una gramática de su lengua. 256 pp. Madrid 1981. Ediciones Cultura Hispánica
del Instituto de Cooperación Ibero-americana.
Erfreulicherweise mehren sich in den letzten Jahren die wissenschaftlichen Beschrei-
bungen südamerikanischer Indianersprachen. Unter diesen waren bisher die Sprachen des
Chaco, also Mataco, Chorote, Asuslay oder Chulupi und Enimaga auf der einen Seite und
die Guaicurú-Sprachen, darunter wohl Toba als die wichtigste, auf der anderen Seite,
kaum beachtet. Nachdem in den vergangenen Jahren zwei Arbeiten in diesem Bereich er-
Anthropos 78.1983
19
290
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
schienen sind1, ist nun ein weiteres Buch zum Mataco anzuzeigen, das sich durch die Ver-
bindung einer außerordentlichen Textsammlung und einer Sprachbeschreibung auszeich-
net, die Viñas Urquiza zum Teil korrigiert, zumindest aber ergänzt.
Dieses Buch des vielseitigen spanischen Gelehrten, Emeritus des Lehrstuhls für
vergleichende Sprachwissenschaft der Universität Tübingen, ist die Frucht seiner jahr-
zehntelangen Beschäftigung mit südamerikanischen Indianersprachen, der wir ein solches
Standardwerk wie den Catálogo de las lenguas de América del Sur (Buenos Aires 1961)
verdanken* 2. Mit den Chaco-Sprachen, besonders dem Mataco und Chorote, hat Tovar
sich seit 1951, verstärkt seit 1960 beschäftigt3. Sein Hauptinteresse galt dabei von jeher
der Typologie und den Beziehungen dieser recht wenig bekannten Sprachen zu anderen
Indianersprachen, sowie den Beziehungen zwischen der hispanischen Umwelt und den
Eingeborenensprachen.
Die Stämme des Chaco, jenes ariden Grenzgebiets zwischen Bolivien, Paraguay und
Argentinien, gehören zu den primitivsten in ganz Südamerika. Vielleicht gerade weil sie
ihre nomadische Lebensweise als Jäger und Sammler erst in den letzten Jahrzehnten auf-
geben mußten und sie erst seit kurzem unter der Obhut christlicher Missionsstationen
wohnen, war der Kulturschock des Zusammentreffens mit den Weißen um so größer. Ihre
Sprache und traditionelle Kultur ist daher heute durchaus bedroht. So ist Tovars Buch
nicht nur von linguistischem Interesse, sondern auch wegen der reichen Textsammlung
(spontane Rede, Dialoge, Berichte über die traditionelle Lebensweise, mündlich über-
lieferte Literatur mythischen Inhalts) besonders wertvoll. Dieser Teil hat dem Buch den
Titel gegeben.
Die Texte basieren auf Aufnahmen, die Tovar 1958-1960 und 1970 in Tartagal
(Prov. Salta, Argentinien) mit vier Informanten aus den beiden Hauptdialekten des Mata-
co, dem südwestlichen (Vejoz) und dem nordöstlichen, dem um den Rio Pilcomayo zen-
trierten gemacht hat. Alle Informanten stammen aus Argentinien. Über die Matacos in
Bolivien (wenn überhaupt existent) und in Paraguay ist nichts bekannt und weder bei To-
var noch bei Viñas Urquiza etwas zu erfahren. Gerade die Auswahl der Informanten stellt
aber in Tovars Arbeit einen Glücksfall bei derartigen Unternehmungen dar: Der — in-
zwischen verstorbene — Hauptinformant, Santos Aparicio, dem die zweite Hälfte der
Erzählungen (Nr. 9-18) in dem Band zu verdanken ist (79-162), war Enkel eines Medizin-
mannes und von hoher Bildung. Er hatte die Kenntnis der alten Traditionen des Stammes
gut bewahrt und zeigt dies auch in seinem Erzählstil. So besitzen wir jetzt einen Teil
María Teresa Viñas Urquiza, Lengua mataca, 2 Bde. (Archivo de Lenguas Indíge-
nas Precolombinas, 2.) Buenos Aires 1974. Universidad de Buenos Aires; — Harriet E.
Manelis Klein, Una gramática de la lengua toba: morfología verbal y nominal. Montevideo
1978. Universidad de la República.
Dazu erschien 1972 ein Supplement von Consuelo Larrucea de Tovar (Florenz:
Valmartina). Nach Mitteilung von A. Tovar ist eine Neubearbeitung des gesamten Catálo-
go in Vorbereitung.
Vgl. A. Tovar, „Un capítulo de lingüística general. Los prefijos posesivos en len-
guas del Chaco y la lucha entre préstamos morfológicos en un espacio dado.“ Boletín de
la Academia Argentina de Letras 20. 1951: 360-403;Notas de campo sobre el idioma
mataco“. Revista del Instituto de Antropología (Tucumán) 9. 1960: 7-18; — „Los présta-
mos en mataco: contacto de español y lenguas indígenas.“ In; Strenae. Estudios de filo-
logía e historia dedicados al Prof. M. García Blanco. Salamanca 1962: 461-468; — „El
grupo mataco y su relación con otras lenguas de América del Sur.“ Akten des 35. Inter-
nationalen Amerikanistenkongresses; Bd. 2. Mexico 1962: 439-452; — „Relación entre las
lenguas del grupo mataco.“ In: Homenaje a F. Márquez Miranda, arqueólogo e historiador
de América. Sevilla 1964: 370-377; — „Genealogía, léxico-estadística y tipología en la
comparación de lenguas americanas.“ Akten des 36. Internationalen Amerikanistenkon-
gresses; Bd. 2. Sevilla 1966: 229-238; — „Sobre material lingüístico mataco.“ Akten des
39. Internationalen Amerikanistenkongresses. Lima 1975/V: 99-103.
Book Reviews
291
der bisher durch Alfred Métraux4 in Übersetzung bekannt gewordenen Mythen und Er-
zählungen der Matacos auch in einer sehr authentischen Fassung der Originalsprache. Sehr
interessant sind dabei auch Verarbeitungen europäischer Stoffe, wie z.B. des Märchens
von den Bremer Stadtmusikanten (Nr. 16, Cuento del Gato), das der Umwelt des Chaco
originell angepaßt wurde. Alle Texte sind mit einer Interlinearversion in normaler spa-
nischer Syntax versehen und werden am Ende sachlich und motivgeschichtlich kommen-
tiert.
Der zweite Teil des Buches (163-231) ist der Sprachbeschreibung gewidmet, geglie-
dert in Phonetik, Morphologie und Syntax. Daran schließt sich ein Vokabular mit den in
den Texten vorkommenden Wörtern an (233-254). In der Grammatik geht Tovar weit
über die bisherigen Angaben bei Hunt5 hinaus und versucht, in der Beschreibung den der
Sprache eigenen Kategorien gerecht zu werden. Bei der Anwendung von Fillmores Kasus-
theorie auf das Mataco stellt er fest, daß diese Kategorie so nicht auf diese Sprache an-
wendbar ist, zumal ihre sehr isolierende Struktur nur wenige Morpheme besitzt, die die
Beziehungen zwischen den nominalen Elementen ausdrücken. In Phonetik und Gram-
matik werden manche Angaben von Vinas Urquiza präzisiert.
Insgesamt stellt dieses Werk, das erste der von Tovar ins Leben gerufenen Reihe
„Amerindia“, eine wesentliche Bereicherung unserer Kenntnisse über die Sprache und
Kultur der Matacos dar; es ist ein Dokument ihrer geistigen Tradition. W. Dietrich
Kehoe, Alice Beck. North American Indians: A Comprehensive Account, xii+564
pp., illustr. Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1981. Prentice Hall. Price: $16.95.
Das vorliegende Werk, erschienen in der Reihe “Series in Anthropology” des re-
nommierten amerikanischen Prentice-Hall-Verlages, wird sich würdig in die Serie der dem
Fachmann schon zur Verfügung stehenden Gesamtdarstellungen über die nordamerika-
nischen Indianer einreihen. Die an der amerikanischen Marquette-Universität tätige Au-
torin ist, ähnlich wie manche ihrer Berufskollegen, durch ihre praktische Forschungs-
arbeit motiviert worden, eigene Erkenntnisse und Erfahrungen in eine Gesamtschau
über die Geschichte der nordamerikanischen Indianer einzubringen. Sie konnte bei
der Abfassung dieses Werkes, das sie selbst als das Produkt einer Abwägung publizierter
Quellen gegen ihre selbst gewonnenen Erfahrungen bewertet wissen will, auf fundiertes
Wissen zurückgreifen, das sie durch archäologische Feldforschungen in Mexiko, im nord-
amerikanischen Mittelwesten und in Kanada sowie durch ethnologische Studien bei den
Blackfeet (auf deren Reservation sie viele Jahre gelebt hat), Cree, Dakota, Sioux, Assini-
boin und Ojibwa erlangt hat. Hinzu kamen Einsichten als Ergebnis zahlreicher Erörte-
rungen und Diskussionen mit Fachkollegen und Indianern; aber: “Not all the text re-
presents a Consensus of scholars or of Indians, but it is my honest effort to build a coherent,
factual, unbiased description” (ix-x).
Das vorliegende Buch zeichnet sich, ganz deutlich seiner Zielsetzung entsprechend,
durch eine klare, einfache Gliederung aus. Die frühesten prähistorischen Zeiträume wer-
den für den gesamten Halbkontinent zusammengefaßt im ersten Kapitel abgehandelt, wo-
bei hier — vielleicht etwas deplaziert — bereits ein allgemeiner Hintergrund vermittelt
wird. Einbezogen hat die Autorin auch ein Kapitel über die Entstehung und Entwicklung
der mesoamerikanischen Hochkulturen (19-101) — zugleich der längste Abschnitt in die-
sem Buch überhaupt, und einen Bereich betreffend, den wir gewöhnlich nicht mehr dem
4 Alfred Métraux, “Myths and Tales of the Matako Indians (The Gran Chaco,
Argentina)”. Ethnologiska Studier (Göteborg) 9.1939: 1-27.
Richard J. Hunt, Mataco Grammar. Revised by Rev. B.A. Thompkins. Universi-
dad Nacional de Tucumán 1940.
292
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
nordamerikanischen Subkontinent zuordnen. Da aber insbesondere mit dem Südwesten
bedeutende historische und kulturelle Wechselbeziehungen über lange Zeiträume hin-
weg bestanden haben, mag diese Ausdehnung der Thematik einleuchtend sein.
Jedem Kulturareal ist ein besonderes Kapitel gewidmet, wobei die Autorin im gros-
sen und ganzen auf die in der amerikanischen Ethnologie entwickelte regionale Gliede-
rung zurückgreift. Sie handelt allerdings die „Prärie“- und „Plains“-Gebiete einerseits
und die arktischen und subarktischen Bereiche andererseits in jeweils einem Kapitel ab.
Dabei verfolgt sie innerhalb jeden Kapitels im wesentlichen das gleiche Darstellungs-
schema, beginnend mit den spezifischen prähistorischen Entwicklungen der Region über
die Zeitläufe hinweg chronologisch bis hin zur Gegenwart. Die Autorin selbst hält dies für
eine logische und traditionelle Form einer Geschichtsschreibung der Ureinwohner Nord-
amerikas, die aber bislang in umfassenden Werken über die nordamerikanischen Indianer
kaum verwendet worden und somit durchaus neuartig ist. Die ethnologischen, den ge-
samten Subkontinent umfassenden Werke beschränken sich zumeist auf eine regional ge-
gliederte Synopse des “ethnographic present”, d.h. etwa eines Zeitraumes kurz vor der
Beeinflussung der Eingeborenenkulturen durch die Weißen. Die Autorin gesteht aber
selbst ein, daß sie ihr regional orientiertes Schema der Darstellung historischer Abläufe
nicht immer über alle Zeiträume hinweg konsequent durchhalten konnte, und zwar schon
der vielfältigen prähistorischen und historischen Zusammenhänge und Völkerwande-
rungen zwischen den einzelnen Ökoräumen wegen nicht. Jede „Geschichte“ eines Kultur-
areals wird mit einer Liste zur Einführung empfohlenen Schrifttums sowie einer — durch-
weg sehr fundierten — Bibliographie der benutzten Quellen abgeschlossen. Der Autor
dieser Buchbesprechung, selbst intensiv mit dem Kulturareal der Nordwestküste befaßt,
hat im Rahmen einer solchen Gesamtschau selten eine derart fundierte Darstellung die-
ses Gebiets vorgefunden. Er kann der Autorin, zumindest bezogen auf dieses Beispiel,
nur beipflichten, wenn sie feststellt: “No general study can hope to satisfy specialists,
but I do assure readers that there are no hastily tossed in notions ” (x).
Uwe J ohannsen
Storm, Hyemeyohsts. Sieben Pfeile. Übersetzt von Bernd Peyer unter Mitarbeit von
Ralf Jacke witz. 384 pp., illustr. München 1980. Wilhelm Fink Verlag. Preis: DM 36.
Noch in der ersten Hälfte des 19Jh.s beschränkten sich die Kontakte der meisten
Plains-Gruppen mit Europäern auf seltene, meist friedliche Zusammenkünfte mit Händ-
lern und Reisenden. Mit dem ersten Vertrag von Fort Laramie, der 1851 zwischen den
Vereinigten Staaten und Gruppen der Cheyenne, Arapaho, Dakota und Apsaroke abge-
schlossen worden war, änderte sich die Situation schlagartig. Der wichtigste Verhand-
lungspunkt in diesem Vertrag war das Zugeständnis an die Amerikaner, eine mit Militär-
posten gesäumte Straße durch das Land ziehen zu dürfen;eine Abtretung des Landes oder
eine Einschränkung der Nutzungsrechte stand bei diesen Verhandlungen noch nicht zur
Debatte. Dennoch strömten ab 1858 Goldsucher und Siedler in das Land der Cheyenne.
Mit Ausbruch des Sezessionskrieges (1861) streiften auch in zunehmendem Maße Armee-
einheiten durch das vertraglich gesicherte Territorium. Die Cheyenne vermieden jedoch
jegliche Kontakte mit den Eindringlingen und wichen immer wieder aus. 1864 kam es
dann zu den ersten militärischen Auseinandersetzungen zwischen der Armee der Vereinig-
ten Staaten und den Cheyenne. Diese Übergriffe der Amerikaner trafen die Cheyenne
vollkommen überraschend und erschienen planlos und ohne ersichtlichen Grund zu er-
folgen: ihr Ziel war es jedoch, die Indianer zu bezwingen, um das Land zur Besiedlung
freizugeben. Die Indianer waren schnell über die Frage entzweit, ob man nun gegen die
Eindringlinge kämpfen oder ob man sich mit ihnen arrangieren sollte.
In dieser Zeit des Umbruchs setzt die Handlung von Storms Roman „Sieben Pfeile“
ein, es ist ein „Indianerroman“, wie der Verlag betont. Schon mit dieser Bezeichnung
wird versucht, Storms Werk vom Genre des Westems abzusetzen. Denn nicht die beiden-
Book Reviews
293
haften Kämpfe todesmutiger Krieger sind das Thema des Buches, das Gegenteil ist der
Fall: die Hauptpersonen sind Männer des Friedens, die meist in einem Lehrer-Schüler-
Verhältnis zueinander stehen. Die Schüler werden selbst zu Lehrern, und so wird der
Leser über mehrere Personen, die meist gewaltsam sterben, unversehens ins 20. Jh. geführt.
Als roter Faden dient dem Roman die Lehre, die diese Männer vertreten. Diese wird
in einer langen Einführung vorgestellt:
Der Mittelpunkt der Geschichte dieser Menschen und alles, was ihn umgibt, ist die
Geschichte des Medizinrades. Das Medizinrad ist der Lebensweg der Menschen. Es
ist eine Art, das Universum zu verstehen (11).
In vieler Hinsicht kann dieser Kreis, das Medizinrad, am besten verstanden werden,
wenn du es dir als einen Spiegel vorstellst, in dem sich alles widerspiegelt (14).
Dazu gibt Storm folgendes Beispiel:
Ein Mensch alleine auf einem Berggipfel am Abend könnte Angst fühlen. Ein ande-
rer könnte Ruhe und Frieden empfinden. Noch ein anderer könnte sich einsam
fühlen, und ein vierter könnte überhaupt nichts empfinden. In jedem Fall würde der
Berggipfel der gleiche bleiben, aber er würde unterschiedlich wahrgenommen wer-
den ... . Alle Dinge sind im Medizinrad enthalten, und alle Dinge haben den gleichen
Wert. Das Medizinrad ist das ganze Universum (15).
In diesem Universum seien alle „Dinge“ harmonisch aufeinander abgestimmt, aus-
genommen der Mensch.
Dieses disharmonische Verhalten des Menschen wird gleich zu Beginn der Handlung
deutlich: das friedliche Lagerleben wird durch die Nachricht aufgeschreckt, drei Lager
seien von Weißen überfallen worden. Allerdings stoßen diese Neuigkeiten auf ziemlichen
Unglauben. Erst als die Kämpfe näherrücken und Freunde und Verwandte betroffen
sind, wird allen klar, daß die Fremden einen erbarmungslosen Vernichtungskrieg führen.
Nur wenige sind bereit, den „Weg des Friedens“ zu gehen. Um an dem Töten und Morden
nicht beteiligt zu sein, ziehen sich diese immer weiter zurück und versuchen, ihr bisheriges
Leben aufrechtzu erhalten, werden schließlich aber doch von der überlegenen Kriegs-
maschinerie überrollt.
Die Amerikaner — oder besser gesagt die Weißen — sind in diesem Roman selten
personifiziert, selten wirklich faßbar; sie werden fast immer als fremde, unpersönliche
Macht beschrieben. So versucht Storm konsequent, den Blickwinkel der Betroffenen
wiederzugeben. Dies gelingt ihm besser als anderen Autoren, was sicherlich nicht zu-
letzt auf die Tatsache zurückzuführen ist, daß Hyemeyohsts Storm ein Cheyenne ist.
Sein Roman ist — wie er ausdrücklich betont — „in der gleichen Art und Weise aufge-
baut, wie ich von meinen Vätern gelernt habe, Geschichten zu erzählen“ (21). An diesem
Punkt setzt allerdings die Kritik an Storms Roman an: Wie der deutsche Übersetzer im
Vorwort bereits anmerkt, sind in diesem Buch die Religion sowie andere, damit in Zu-
sammenhang stehende Elemente der sogenannten traditionellen Kultur nicht korrekt wie-
dergegeben. Von Kritikern wurden Elemente entdeckt, die eindeutig falsch beschrieben
werden, und solche, die aus anderen Kulturen stammen. So stellt das Buch tatsächlich
keine getreue Wiedergabe der Traditionen der Cheyenne dar. Aber auch das Argument,
mit dem der deutsche Übersetzer die Kritik zu entwaffnen sucht, ist stichhaltig: es han-
delt sich nun mal um einen Roman, und der Autor hat das Recht auf schriftstellerische
Freiheit. Vielmehr habe Storm — so der Übersetzer — eine Anzahl von Traditionen ver-
arbeitet, um eine gegenwartsbezogene, panindianische Aussage zu machen.
Bei der Lektüre von Storms Roman muß man sich die Zeit, in der er entstanden ist
(“Seven Arrows.” New York 1972: Harper and Row), vor Augen führen. Die Besetzung
der Gefängnisinsel Alcatraz lag nur kurze Zeit zurück, die Besetzung von Wounded Knee
stand bevor. Zusammenstöße von indianischen Aktivisten mit der Staatsmacht in den
USA und in Kanada waren an der Tagesordnung. Für viele Indianer (war es eine Zeit des
294
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Aufbruchs, bedeutete es die Rückbesinnung auf die eigene Tradition und das vehemente
Eintreten für vorenthaltene Rechte und die Wiederherstellung gebrochener Verträge. Bei
Aktionen und Protesten kamen Indianer aus allen Teilen des Landes und mit den ver-
schiedensten kulturellen Hintergründen zusammen, wie z.B. 1972 beim “Trail of the
Broken Treaties”. Und das ist es, was Storm meiner Meinung nach postuliert: Einigkeit
im gemeinsamen Kampf ums Überleben und um die „indianische“ Identität in der weißen
Massengesellschaft. „Sieben Pfeile“ ist somit ein aktueller Roman, geschrieben für die
Menschen von heute, jedoch in vergangene Zeiten projiziert. Das Selbstverständnis der
heutigen Ureinwohner Amerikas nimmt daher einen höheren Stellenwert ein als die
korrekte Rekonstruktion der Vergangenheit. Marco Heinz
Riese, Frauke Johanna. Indianische Landrechte in Yukatan um die Mitte des 16.
Jahrhunderts. Dokumentenanalyse und Konstruktion von Wirklichkeitsmodellen am Fall
des Landvertrages von Mani. (Beiträge zur mittelamerikanischen Völkerkunde, 16.) v+222
pp. in 4 . Hamburg 1981. Hamburgisches Museum für Völkerkunde. [Im Kommissions-
verlag Klaus Renner, Hohenschäftlarn bei München.]
Bis der interessierte Leser etwas vom indianischen Landrecht in Yukatan um die
Mitte des 16. Jh.s erfährt, muß er sich bis auf Seite 171 durcharbeiten, dann allerdings
geht es schneller; das eigentliche Thema wird auf den restlichen 43 Seiten abgehandelt.
Die Aussagen des Landesvertragen [sollen] zu zwei inhaltlichen Bereichen ausge-
wertet werden. Der eine Bereich betrifft die Feststellung der Ausdehnung des
Territoriums der Mani, wie es sich nach dem Landvertrag in der geographischen
Wirklichkeit feststellen läßt. Der zweite betrifft die Auswertung der im Landver-
trag enthaltenen Aussagen über das vorspanische indianische Landrechtssystem (171).
Dazu die Bemerkung der Autorin — die ganze Arbeit ist außerordentlich um Metho-
dik bemüht —, daß die hier vorliegende Interpretation nur ein Modell der Wirklichkeit
sein kann und nicht die Wirklichkeit selber. Schade!
Nach Frau Rieses Aussagen wurde die erste geographische Karte von Roys erstellt.
Da die von Roys erstellten Karten derartige Mängel aufweisen, ist es nötig, ein revi-
diertes Modell der Grenze von Mani nach dem von mir ermittelten Ergebnis der Do-
kumentenanalyse aufzustellen ....Über Roys hinaus konnte ich nur die Grenzorte Ti
Tuk und Yaxche identifizieren und lokalisieren .„ (173). Roys dargestellter Grenzver-
lauf kann in einem solchen Fall höchstens zufällig mit demjenigen weitgehend
übereinstimmen [was er ja weitgehend tut], der sich aufgrund des Befundes der
Analyse aus Kapitel 1 konstruieren läßt (172) [ohne Kommentar].
Die Autorin legt dann eine Karte vor, auf der wir 22 Orte erkennen können, die den
Grenzverlauf nach dem Mani-Text von 1557 markieren, dazu kommen noch 18 Ortsbe-
zeichnungen aus dem Calotmul-Text 2, wobei nicht klar zu ersehen ist, ob dieses Ge-
biet eine Erweiterung des Mani-Gebietes oder ob es separat, nur für sich, zu werten ist.
Nach der so weit wie möglichen Klärung der geographischen Lage der im Text
genannten Orte ist man auch um den gesellschaftlichen Kontext des Landvertrages be-
müht, der in eine Reihe von Landabmessungen gehört, die in der Mitte des 16. Jh.s
erfolgten und von der spanischen Verwaltung durchgeführt wurden. „In keinem dieser
Dokumente [den von der Autorin untersuchten Dokumenten] lassen sich auch nur An-
sätze finden, die auf vorspanische schriftliche Quellen hindeuten“ (175). Das kann aber
sicherlich nicht bedeuten, daß der Vertrag nicht doch auf vorspanischer Landregelung
beruht. Beispiele gibt es dafür in der spanischen Verwaltung des 16.Jh.s genügend, weil
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295
die traditionelle Gebietsverteilung zu diesem Zeitpunkt nicht im Widerspruch zur ko-
lonialen Interessenlage stand. Obwohl hier aus spanischer Sicht ein verwaltungstech-
nisches Interesse vorliegt, sagt das nichts über den Inhalt aus, es ist sogar viel einleuch-
tender für die Verwaltung, Gewohnheitsrecht aktenkundig zu machen. Die Produktiv-
kräfte sollten doch auf keinen Fall in dem Tributsystem des 16. Jh.s erschüttert werden.
Die Arbeit beschäftigt sich im letzten Teil mit einer Beschreibung der indianischen,
vor allem politischen Herrschaftsverhältnisse aus vorspanischer Zeit: Kenntnisse, die aus
anderen Arbeiten bekannt sind, aber den Rahmen dafür liefern, in den die Dokumente
über den Landvertrag von Mani gestellt werden müssen.
Der erste, weitaus überragende Teil, was das Volumen ausmacht, soll auch wohl den
eigentlichen Kern der Arbeit darstellen. Hier geht es um eine methodisch-technische
Frage der Dokumentenanalyse. Text für Text, aus verschiedenen Zeiten, Abschriften und
Übersetzungen aus dem Yukatekischen ins Spanische werden einzeln nach ihren verschie-
denen Eigenschaften untereinander verglichen. Analyse und Vergleich jedes einzelnen
Faktors ergibt am Ende, nach mühsamer Arbeit, dann eine Genealogie der Verwandt-
schaftsbeziehungen der Texte untereinander, aus denen sich einige Altemativmodelle ent-
wickeln, die uns darüber Aufschluß geben, welcher Text von welchem anderen abge-
schrieben wurde oder als Vorlage gedient haben könnte. Dies war um so schwieriger,
da der Originaltext nicht mehr auffindbar ist. Ich finde diesen Ansatz in der Geschichts-
wissenschaft lobenswert, daß man sich zunächst fragt, wie die Texte, die über ein Thema
oder Ereignis reden, überhaupt Zusammenhängen. Ich würde nur gern in diesem Zusam-
menhang die Frage an die Historiker richten, ob es nicht möglich wäre, diese umständ-
liche komparative Methode, die nur qualitativ und mit einem Vergleichsfaktor arbeiten
kann, durch eine quantitative Methode zu ersetzen, etwa nach den Gewohnheiten der
Daten-Verarbeitung: indem man jeden Text taxonomisch oder auch typologisch klassi-
fiziert, sämtliche Eigenschaften in einem quantitativen Prozeß vergleicht und dann die
Verwandtschaftsbeziehungen anhand parametrischer oder nichtparametrischer Statistik
berechnet. Mich würde es tatsächlich interessieren, was im Vergleich der Ergebnisse, die
durch einen unterschiedlichen Prozeß zustande gekommen sind, herauskommt und wie
dann das endgültige Modell der Wirklichkeit aussehen würde. Jürgen Brüggemann
Coe, Michael D., Grove, David, and Benson, Elizabeth P. (organizers and eds.). The
Olmec and Their Neighbors. Essays in Memory of Matthew W. Stirling. xii+346 pp. illustr.
Washington D.C. 1981. Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collections, Trustees for
Harvard University. Price: $30.00.
Zu verzeihen ist, daß eine Nobelgesellschaft, samt Anhang und Nachwuchs, sich be-
eilt, einen Nachruf auf einen der ihren herauszugeben: Matthew W. Stirling (Matt, wie wir
später in vertraulich-kameradschaftlichem Ton erfahren). Was nicht zu verzeihen ist und
was daher das ganze Unternehmen leicht anrüchig macht, ist, wie mit der Sache, aber auch
mit der Wissenschaft selbst, umgegangen wird. Denn die Olmeken sind schließlich doch
nicht das Erbe einer „heiligen Familie“ (cosa nostra) der Goes, Stirlings, Bernais etc.
Für mich bleiben sie auch heute noch geschichtlicher Gegenstand, mit dem sich jeder
beschäftigen kann und sollte. An der Diskussion müssen alle beteiligt sein, wenn diese
verfahrene Situation in der Olmekenforschung überhaupt wieder an Transparenz und
Glaubwürdigkeit gewinnen soll. Ganz sicher wird das jedoch nicht passieren, wenn die
tatsächlichen Probleme, die zum Teil strukturell-methodischer Art sind, verschleiert und
dann in einem Geheimverfahren (Alchemistenküche) als heile Welt dargestellt werden: so
geschehen in diesem letzten Werk, genau wie im vor- und vorvorletzten aller dieser Werke.
Typisch für diese Nachrufanthologie, die nicht nur Stirling (Matt), sondern auch Coe zu-
gute kommt, ist die gegenseitige Bestätigung und Rücksichtnahme der Damen und Herren
untereinander: keine falschen Töne, unisono, sehr gepflegt und ganz harmonisch.
296
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Herr Drucker stellt sich dann auch ganz auf die Stimmlage von Coe ein; hatte er
noch vor wenigen Jahren eine zeitlich von San Lorenzo weitentfernte Chronologie für die
Blütezeit der Olmeken von La Venta angenommen, so ist er jetzt seinem Kollegen doch
sehr entgegengekommen: seitdem überschneiden sich San Lorenzo und La Venta irgendwo
einmal; dadurch sieht jetzt die Entwicklungsgeschichte der Olmeken ä la Coe nicht mehr
so unwahrscheinlich aus, wie sie das früher einmal war. Nach meinen Feststellungen gehen
alle Autoren gelassen über jede Kritik hinweg, die seit Jahren der Coe-Archäologie vor-
wirft, sie baue auf unzureichend belegte Vermutungen auf, die aber dennoch von der
„heiligen Familie“ oder denen, die dazugehören wollen und möchten, immer wieder zitiert
werden, vielleicht in der Annahme, daß durch häufiges Wiederholen das Endergebnis
schließlich doch noch dem beabsichtigten Wunsch entspreche. Neuere Forschungen im
Olmeken-Siediungsgebiet deuten auf jeden Fall nicht auf diese so frühen Daten der San-
Lorenzo-Phase hin. Für unsere Stirling-Freunde muß es anscheinend sehr schwierig sein,
sich mit ihren Kritikern auf einer wissenschaftlichen Ebene auseinanderzusetzen, oder
sollte die Wissenschaft gar nicht im Vordergrund stehen? Wenn nicht, was denn dann?
Ein Beispiel: Unvermeidliche Literaturangaben mißliebiger Kollegen werden unter den
sonderbarsten Praktiken umgangen.
Clifford Evans und Betty Meggars haben diese Art, in den USA Anthropologie zu
betreiben, schon seit geraumer Zeit kritisiert und in einem Artikel in American Anti-
quity von wissenschaftlichem Imperialismus gesprochen. Beide Wissenschaftler gehö-
ren selbst — wie viele wissen — der Smithsonian Institution an, sind also selber Ver-
treter des amerikanischen anthropologischen “establishment” — und dennoch!
Zur Edition selbst: Das Buch ist vom Erscheinungsbild her gediegen, nicht zu auf-
wendig, aber natürlich auch kein Paperback. Es hat die Spröde, die anscheinend für Wis-
senschaftlichkeit bürgt; es ist nicht das Kunstbuch mit vielen bunten Hochglanz-Papier-
fotos.
Zum Inhalt: Nach ein paar einführenden Worten von E.P. Benson erzählt Frau Stir-
ling über ihr Leben mit Matt, wo sie überall herumgereist sind, wie viele wichtige Projekte
Matt leitete und wie viele liebe Freundschaften sie auf ihren Expeditionen geschlossen
haben. Auch hatte Matt ein gutes Verhältnis zur Autorität: Soldaten standen ihm immer
zur Verfügung, sei es in Mexiko, den USA oder Panama. Polizeieskorte und Tropenhelm
scheinen auch bei den geistigen Enkeln noch sehr beliebt zu sein: so marschierte, oder
besser ritt, vor kurzem S. Jeffrey K. Wilkerson unter MP-Begleitung durch das wilde
Mexiko. Die sachbezogenen Artikel dieses Buches beschäftigen sich im wesentlichen mit
archäologischen (Coe, Drucker, Heizer, Gullberg, Bemal, Iseut, Lowe, Diehl und Parsons)
Themen oder gehen wie Joralemon, de la Fuente, Fürst, Carlson, Grove, Benson, Quirarte,
Pohorilenko von kunstgeschichtlichen Betrachtungsweisen aus. Der einzige naturwissen-
schaftliche Beitrag stammt von Elizabeth Wing über die mutmaßliche Ernährungsweise bei
den Olmeken und Maya. Dieser Beitrag ist wegen seines DV-Teils [Daten-Verarbeitung]
sicherlich interessant, was nicht unbedingt für alle anderen Beiträge zutrifft.
Erstaunlich und von politischer Brisanz ist, daß uns Herr Coe, nach vielem Altbe-
kannten, eine bei ihm neue Geschichtstheorie beschert, die nach seinen eigenen Angaben
auf Caneiro zurückgehen soll. Nachdem die hydraulischen Gesellschaften ä la Wittfogel in
einem Paragraphen abgetan waren, geht es zur Sache;
. . . victory in war, as the only workable theory of state origin . . . dissident or
defeated parties can leave to pioneer new lands. In a place like the Viru Valley in
Peru, there is nowhere to go, and the defeated parties must submit to the Victors,
leading to social stratification and concentration of scarce resources into the hand
of an elite (18-19).
Das könnten auch die zur Zeit vorherrschenden außenpolitischen Vorstellungen aus
dem Weißen Haus sein: Militärischer Sieg als die gesellschaftsbildende Kraft in der Ent-
wicklung der Menschheit.
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297
Drucker wirbt für eine etwas subtilere Form der gesellschaftlichen Entwicklung der
Olmeken und ihren Stellenwert in der Gesamtentwicklung Mesoamerikas. Er denkt im
Zusammenhang mit der Olmekengesellschaft an das Chiefdom-Modell, also an eine Ge-
sellschaftsform, die zwischen Stammes- und Klassengesellschaft steht. Leider wird auch
hier wiederum nur auf Sanders und Price verwiesen, ohne Kirchhoffs Modell vom ko-
nischen Klan zu berücksichtigen, eine wesentlich frühere Arbeit, die aber gesellschaft-
lich auf dasselbe hinausläuft.
Und zum Schluß der ewige Streitpunkt: die Chronologie der Olmeken. Coe besteht
nach wie vor auf seinen sehr frühen San-Lorenzo-Daten, denen zuliebe unwahrscheinliche
kulturgeschichtliche Entwicklungstheorien aufgestellt werden mußten, die dann in ver-
schiedenen Varianten als Konstante in den zahlreichen Beiträgen auftauchen. Trotzdem
kommt Parsons nicht umhin, die so heile Welt der Olmeken in den USA-Veröffentlichun-
gen etwas in Frage zu stellen, wenn er darauf hinweisen muß: “Furthermore, it has been
disconcerting that so many classical Olm ec monuments on the Gulf Coast were discovered
in association with Late Classic ceramic levels” (259).
Zusammenfassend läßt sich sagen, daß es sich bei dieser Anthologie zur Olmeken-
frage um ein konservatives Werk handelt, das ein Problem der mesoamerikanischen For-
schung als bekannt und abgeschlossen darstellen möchte, was es in Wirklichkeit aber gar
nicht ist. Im Gegenteil: Für den, der sich mit den Olmeken beschäftigen möchte, stehen
alle Fragen offen, denn das letzte Wort über diese Epoche der mesoamerikanischen Ge-
schichte ist noch lange nicht gesprochen. Jürgen Brüggemann
Asia
Lodrick, Deryck O. Sacred Cows, Sacred Places: Origins and Survivals of Animal
Homes in India, xii+307 pp. With 15 maps, 18 tab., and 21 fig. Berkeley, Los Angeles,
and London 1981. University of California Press. Price: $35.60;£20.00.
Over 180 million cattle in India which form the largest concentration of the world’s
domesticated animals and which bear a mark of sacredness, supported by traditions of
belief, religion, and mythology, and respected and worshipped by over 560 millions in
and around India, have to their score much scholarly and devotional literature relating to
the mystery and holiness of the cow.
In the western eye the sacred cow is almost synonymous with Marco Polo, who in
the 14th century relayed to the West that the Hindus refrain from killing animals and do
not eat flesh. The question he initiated prompted many attempts to tackle the question
of cow worship by using different and even opposite approaches. Deryck O. Lodrick
takes a cultural-historical approach to this matter by treating the obscure and rare topic
of animal homes, whose existence and prevalence is but a crystallization of the sacredness
of cow.
A study of twenty months of field research in India supported by the American
Institute of Indian Studies, “Sacred Cows ...” forms an extensive research of the exist-
ing Goshalas and Pinjrapoles in northern and western India. The six distinct types of
animal homes which fulfill different needs according to their local factors, are to be
wholly understood only in terms of social, cultural, environmental, and historical notions.
Ahimsa, dharma, temple ritual. Gandhian philosophy, and modern economics became
later associations. Religion was the original reason for this interaction between man and
animal.
That the interaction between man and animal was originally religious is traced back
to ca. 6500 B.C. when the bull was reverenced as a symbol of masculinity and the cow as
a symbol of female deity in the Mediterranean area. A similar cattle cult was found in the
298
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Indus Valley civilization. Later, among the pastoral Aryans, cattle appear in ritual and
sacrifice; gods were understood in terms of cattle, and these animals gradually gained a
degree of sanctity. This type of cattle-cult takes a turning point in history when the
doctrine of Ahimsa provided a moral and ethical sanction for the sanctity of all life. The
doctrine of Ahimsa is non-Vedic and non-Aryan in origin. The representatives of the
Vedic tradition, that practised the eating of flesh of the sacrifical animals and that resisted
the doctrine of Ahimsa with apathy until the medieval period, allowing only a limited
role from the 5th century B.C., could not have originated it. On the other hand Ahimsa
could have come from the Aryanized Mongoloids who practised it. It could likewise have
come from areas like Bihar that were far from Aryan influence and Brahmanical control,
that is from the Buddhistic and Jaina traditions. That the doctrine of Ahimsa put into
practice appears first at the time of emperor Ashoka when he issued an edict for the pre-
servation of animals, and that the animal homes first appeared in the 12th century A.D.
when a Chola king promoted sacred herds, are proofs that it originated in Buddhism and
Jainism.
The author makes a very delicate choice between Buddhism and Jainism and attributes
the origin of Ahimsa to Jainism. Because of its political patronage, Buddhism could serve
as a major vehicle of Ahimsa, but Ahimsa itself had its origin in Jaina philosophy which
existed even before the very first mention of it in the Upanishads. The Swastika found in
the Indus Valley civilization and the appearance of Pinjrapoles in 4th century B.C. suggest
the Jaina and pre-Aryan origin of the doctrine. Such an earlier doctrine is said to have
enjoyed enough following and popularity but emerged as a strong force with disaffection
with Vedic religion.
Hinduism, which is known for its assimilation of foreign doctrine, accepted Ahimsa
during the Epic period around 4th century A.D. Since then, many factors began to shape
the present-day sacred-cow concept. When the invading Moslems victimized the cow in
order to humiliate the Hindus, the animal received a martyral sanctity. Later, when
Shivaji, the Maratha emperor, conquered the Moslems, cow worship began to flourish.
Such political factors coupled with the prevalent Krishna-cult, contributed to the invio-
lability of the cow. Goshalas and Pinjrapoles were erected out of compassion, and for
the preservation and protection of the cow. In modem India, the Pinjrapoles have decreased
in favour of Goshalas, the latter becoming centres of animal breeding and economic
activity without being denied the religious principles underlying their existence.
This study of the sacred cow, which deserves a full-scale treatment by the culture-
historical approach, based on isolated evidence which holds only a wishful prospectus of
consencus of interpretation, and further weakened by the so-called historical occurrences
of similarity in the eastern Mediterranean, and in the Indus Valley civilization in Vedic
times and continued to the present, all in support of Ahimsa that is attributed to a Jaina
philosophical origin, whose validity is presumed on the strength of isolated evidence
(like the Swastika found in the Indus Valley civilization),—all this is suggestive of little
more than the author’s bias.
The author’s defence of the culture-historical approach, supported by the arguments
of F.J. Simoons occupied a considerable, lengthy, and demonstrative attack on the func-
tional ecological analysis of Marvin Harris, and is far from establishing the full validity
and the scope of the culture-historical approach in the study of animal homes. All the
same, from the viewpoint of the cultural origin, historical development, and the present
day existence of the animal homes the book makes a valuable contribution. However, for
those who do not attribute the origin of the doctrine of Ahimsa to Jaina philosophy that
seemed to have existed during the Indus Valley civilization, and thus pre-Vedic and non-
Aryan, this book offers no convincing argument for a change of view. Still, credit is due
to the author for attempting to unravel the mystery surrounding the sacred cow.
S. Lourdusamy
Book Reviews
299
Sachchidananda. The Changing Munda. 361pp. With 7 pi. New Delhi 1979. Concept
Publishing Company. Price: Rs. 100.
In the Preface the author explains that his book is a restudy of the Munda tribe as
“enormous changes have taken place in the country and the tribal regions since the first
monographs on these communities were published.” For the Munda, the monograph
alluded to is the book of S.C. Roy, The Mundas and Their Country (1912). The work
under review is neither a synchronic nor a diachronic reworking of Roy’s book, as in either
way Roy’s work would not lend itself to a mere filling in or updating, considering that its
framework and categories do no longer suit the accrued information about the tribe and
the progress made by social anthropology.
This study therefore is neither a recasting nor even an updating of Roy’s book. The
author modestly calls it a restudy, when it is in fact an independent work in its own right,
and though often referring to Roy’s pioneering work, can now be said to replace it as
an indispensable reference for any one interested in the Munda.
The book has 14 chapters, the Introduction included, and two Appendices: one,
listing the Munda clans, the other, giving their kinship terminology; a Bibliography and an
Index. The three first chapters are devoted to the land and ecosystem of the Munda, their
demography, their history; then follows a chapter on kinship, family, and descent, and
another on sex and marriage; the seventh and eighth chapters deal with their economic
activities and with market, exchange, and credit respectively; the next three chapters—the
best of the book as nowhere else can one find such a detailed study of their societal
structure and their political movements, especially the Jharkhand movement—describe
their traditional political structure, the socio-political movements that agitated the tribe
last century, and the genesis and growth of the Jharkhand movement; two more chapters
deal with what the author calls the realm of belief and ritual and the impact of Hinduism
and Christianity on the tribe. The book closes with an overview entitled “The Munda To-
day.”
To draw up this large canvas Sachchidananda refers to three anthropological works:
the Encyclopedia Mundarica of Hoffmann and Van Emelen, Koichi Sugiyama’s study of
a Munda village (name not given), and a monograph on the village of Sode by N.C. Choud-
hury, Munda Social Structure. He also greatly benefited by the writings of Dr. K.S.Singh,
the author of Birsa’s biography and several other studies on the tribals, particularly on
the Sardar movement. He also made use of unpublished doctorate theses, his own works,
and, of course, those mentioned in his bibliography, where, surprisingly enough, The
Nagabanshis and the Cheros by Dr. Virottam, and Crisis in Chota Nagpur by Fidelis de
San are not listed. Still the author acknowledges that the bulk of this restudy is based
on the fieldwork of his two assistants who stayed for more than a year in three villages:
Amlesa, Salehatu, and Gutuhatu, for their research. The choice of these three villages
appears at first sight inappropriate, for Amlesa is a hinduized Munda village, Salehatu is
a little less, and Gutuhatu is a mixed one. In fact, they suit the author, as his purpose
is to draw an accurate picture of the changing Munda. The causes of that change are
enumerated in the Introduction: constant living with non-tribal castes, growth of educa-
tion and of townships, increasing industrialization, the work of missionaries, growth of
political consciousness, administrative agencies, forest officials, businessmen, contractors,
money-lenders. These are subsequently explained or touched upon in the rest of the book.
What one misses is the exposition of the status quo ante of the tribe, that is, the
original condition of the tribe before it underwent the changes the author will assess.
That is why it is regrettable that he did no seek out an “unconverted” village in order
to show the contrast between the past and the present. As the book stands, we are given
a picture of the changed, not of the authentic Munda who can still be counted in their
thousands.
These would be surprised, therefore, to be told that their ‘spirits’ are gods, godlings,
deities; that there is a pantheon of them with a hierarchy of gods and goddesses, nature
300
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
gods, village gods, clan gods, lineage gods, gods residing in hills and in the forests; that
their spirits and deities are supposed to have consorts, and that all of them are worshipped.
All this may be true of the hinduized Munda, but it is an extremely abusive accre-
tion to their ancestral understanding of the supernatural world. Only Singbonga is wor-
shipped as the supreme deity, and the author rightly emphasizes this. The other spirits
are regarded as disembodied real-life persons whom the Munda could not by any stretch
of imagination think of deifying. They do not classify them either by rank, but by their
function or their existential situation. Thus there are the village tutelary spirits (the Asur
widows), the progenitorial couple in the sacred grove, the ancestral spirits in their original
home, the spirits who roam about because they were not taken in their home on account
of the accidental circumstances of their death. None of these spirits is believed to have a
consort. Nor do the Munda believe in transmigration, as the author avers more than once,
perhaps on the authority of Roy, and the village priest never officiates at a child’s purifica-
tion ceremony, at marriage,and the funeral rites.
The author will consider these correctives as irrelevant to his purpose since he aims
at depicting the Munda as he sees them now. It is his right, of course, since he does not
pretend to research their past. Yet, when he states that “witchcraft is practised in almost
all houses,” if taken literally, it is hard to believe, because a witch brings disgrace on the
family and no one will want to marry in such a family. The author may have meant that
all families believe in witchcraft, and that is mostly true. Another statement calls for
correction: “Among the Munda only women are believed to practise witchcraft.” This
reviewer has known three men, one a Christian, and the two others non-Christians, to
have been accused of being witches, and that in the core of Hasada country. Besides, the
author would be hard put to find professional witches as the popular mind imagines them
to practise their craft. Evil persons, of both sexes, expert in the use of poisons and paid
for throwing curses and similar maledictions, yes, but these are criminals, not witches in
the ordinary understanding of the word.
Early in the book we are told of “the homogeneous and the egalitarian character of
the Munda society”—and nothing is truer—, but the author goes on to say that there are
“some distinctions between high and low in terms of prestige and status which were in-
herent in the Munda social system,” which contradicts the previous statement. And he
then proceeds: “These distinctions led to the creation of a three-class society. At the
head of a society were the chiefs and landlords; in the middle ranks came the well-to-do
headmen or the tribal bourgeoisie and at the bottom the general mass.” Such a stratifi-
cation may be valid in hinduized villages with a preponderance of Hindus, it is not typical
of Munda villages.
With regard to marriage, it is erroneous to say that the Roman Catholics and the
S.P.G’s (Society for the Propagation of the Gospel) consider Wednesday and Friday as
inauspicious: this is a concept alien to Christianity. Regarding extra-marital relations, the
author treads on unknown territory. It is easy to generalize from a few instances, but
not fair. There are red-light districts in many Indian towns: shall we conclude that the
Hindus are an unchaste people? What about the millions of faithful married partners?
“Divorce is frequent” writes the author; has he conducted a survey among the Christian
Tribals?
When dealing with missionaries and their impact on the Munda, the author is serenely
objective and on the whole knowledgeable. He is one of the rare Hindu authors who does
not lump together as Christians the three denominations working in Chota Nagpur, with-
out distinguishing them. Still he betrays some unfamiliarity with the subject. When des-
cribing the Roman Catholic marriage ceremony, he omits mentioning that the couple
must express their mutual consent verbally in the presence of the priest and two witnesses.
He never mentions that the Gossner Mission is lutheran, and calls the S.P.G. Anglicans
or Baptists! He does not seem to realize that the three Christian denominations do not
share the same creed, religious festivals and rites which are the basis of their separateness.
Book Reviews
301
Just as in Hinduism one finds many sects, such as the Arya Samaj and Brahmo Samaj. He
describes very well the Catholic Cooperative Credit Society and points out some short-
comings in its running, but omits to say that it is the only Cooperative Credit Society
in Bihar that works, and very successfully too.
A word on Birsa is called for, because the author disapprovingly quotes Roy as
labelling Birsa a “cheat” and an “impostor with the pretentions of a ‘prophet ’. ” Mr.
Sachchidananda does not agree with this denigration. One cannot deny that Birsa’s
liberation movement was initially a rightful upsurge against oppression, yet as his popularity
increased, he—not his disciples, as says the author—proclaimed himself God, which is a
little preposterous, to say the least. The author says that “the soul of his religion remained
completely Munda,” yet the creed and rules of conduct he imposed on his followers went
in important, if not most aspects, against the traditional religion of the Munda.
In the last chapter “The Munda Today: An Overview,” the author believes that
the Munda are slowly but surely getting into the mainstream of Indian society. He is
optimistic that this integration will not turn out to become an absorption: “their genius
for adjustment is superb” he says. The changes they are undergoing and which are so well
described in this book do not bear this out. Not only their religion, but also their culture
and language (not touched upon in this work)—essential elements of their identity—have
been deeply affected. I would have entitled this book “The Disappearing Munda,” for in a
changing world a tribe cannot survive unless it updates itself, and in the process unavoidably
disintegrates.
In spite of some blemishes recorded above, this well written book is now an in-
dispensable reference work. It gives a good and fairly complete picture of the Munda
tribe in all aspects of its struggle for survival against the severe onslaughts that assail it.
P. Ponette SJ
Fuchs, Stephen. At the Bottom of Indian Society: The Harijan and Other Low
Castes, viii+325 pp. New Delhi 1981. Munshiram Manocharlal Publ. Price: Rs. 105.
The author who has lived in India for almost half a century and has always looked
with sympathy at the lowest members of Indian society presents a survey of more than
80 million low and Harijan castes. The book pertinently classifies them according to
their occupation, since the stigma attaching to certain occupations is clearly one of the
major determinants of lowness in Hindu eyes, to which objectionable food habits, noma-
dism, economic dependence, etc. may add.
In the introduction the author discusses various more or less plausible theories
about the origin of untouchability. He resists the temptation to ascribe it to the Indus
civilization, which in the absence of any indisputable evidence would be little more than
speculation. His own theory, however, that Aryan and Dravidian pastoralists might have
brought to India their contempt for manual workers is equally speculative. Since no
speakers of Indo-European languages outside of India practise untouchability, and the most
ancient Rigvedic hymns do not mention Shudras let alone untouchables, it seems difficult
to derive untouchability from the Aryans. If Aryan pastoralists were responsible, pastoral-
ists would hardly rank near the borders of untouchability in India. The fact that Dravid-
ian languages are related to Central Asian languages does not allow any inference regard-
ing the economy and attitudes of the Dravidians before they reached India. In my view it
is futile to try to pinpoint the specific origin of untouchability in India. The phenomenon
has certainly grown over the centuries and millennia if not in intensity so in extension.
Ideas of purity and pollution belong to what I have called “highways” of thought. No-
thing obliges us to follow them but a great number of people tend to do so be they agricul-
turalist, pastoralists, urbans, or rurals. In the majority of cases notions of purity and
pollution apply only to bodily processes, but when they attach to social groups another
302
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
“highway” invites us to choose certain groups like smiths and gravediggers more frequent-
ly than others. Among the African parallels mentioned by the author the case most
strikingly similar to the Indian situation is that of the Bantu cultivators Mongo Bokote
who treat the Pigmoid Batswa hunters as untouchable while living with them in jajmdni-
like economic symbiosis.
The author first discusses a great number of nomadic and semi-nomadic groups
which come into contact with higher castes at irregular intervals. Fear of unknown
qualities, suspicion of ritual laxity, sexual freedom of women, and, above all, criminal
propensities are the factors frequently accounting for the low esteem of vagrant com-
munities in the eyes of sedentary Hindus. The accusation of criminal habits is not devoid
of foundations. While in South India efforts to rehabilitate criminal castes by transform-
ing them into cultivators has been fairly successful, in the North the criminal Sansi
caste, for instance, terrorized people as late as 1977. Semi-nomadic castes of salt makers,
earth workers, fishermen, basket makers, pedlars, jugglers, palmists, and many others
rank low partly as a result of their marginality. Conversely, far from marginal are the low
caste and Harijan village servants to whom the greatest part of the book is dedicated.
Some of these like the potter, the barber, the washerman, the smith, the carpenter, etc.
typically interact with particular landed families in a non-monetary exchange of goods
and services. Others like the weaver, the tailor, the oil-presser, the toddy tapper, the gold-
smith, etc. sell their ware to the whole village.
The author bases himself both on the classical caste and tribe volumes of the British
period and on recent works. He has updated some of the older material pointing out
changes, like the rise in status of several low castes, and drawing attention to the docu-
mented persistence of discrimination against the Harijans despite government prohibi-
tion. Where such updating of old reports was not possible, it would have been advisable
to indicate the date of the source, as the prevention of Harijans from entering temples
on the one hand and Harijan child marriage, buffalo sacrifice, and carrion eating on the
other are becoming increasingly rare.
Two facts emerging from the survey will be of particular interest to the student of
the Indian social system. Firstly, the author shows that shifts from one traditional occupa-
tion to another with the object of rising in status occur, while it is commonly assumed
that disreputable traditional occupations are abandoned only for caste-free jobs. Such
shifts suggest themselves easily, where widely different occupations have long been per-
formed by one and the same caste or by allied castes. In North India, for instance, some
castes specialize in both leather working and weaving so that simply by restricting them-
selves to weaving they may remove part of the stigma lying on them. Secondly, the
author stresses regional variations in the ritual evaluation of an occupation. Every scholar
interested in Indian caste hierarchy has noticed variations in the ranking order but only
a pan-Indian survey reveals the full range of such variations. In the Punjab, for instance,
the potter is ranked just above the Harijan Chamar, while in West Bengal he is superior
even to the carpenter, and Brahmins accept water from him. In Andhra Pradesh the
barber bears the auspicious name Mangali and counts as a clean Shudra, while the barbers
of the Keralese Moplas occupy the lowest position in that community. The fact that an
occupation may be considered polluting in one part of India and respectable in another
suggests, in the reviewer’s opinion, that the eventual abolition of occupational pollution
should not present any insurmountable obstacles.
At the Bottom of Indian Society is a useful survey of a sizable part of the Indian
population. It examines all the numerous criteria for lowness as well as their lack of
stability and shows that some castes have already managed to shake off the opprobrium
of pollution by a combination of ritual and secular means. The author sincerely hopes
that in future the Harijans will abandon mutual discrimination and the high castes will
break down the remaining barriers separating them from their less fortunate countrymen.
Gabriella Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi
Book Reviews
303
Van Exem, A, (SJ.). The Religious System of the Munda Tribe: An Essay in Religious
Anthropology. (Collectanea Instituti Anthropos, 28.) 279 pp. St. Augustin 1982. Haus
Volker und Kulturen. Preis: DM 38.
This outstanding work will be a landmark in the barren field of religious anthropol-
ogy in India. Although there is an abundant literature in that country on the Tribals, their
religion has never been given the treatment it deserves. The existing anthropology is social,
not religious. Fr. Van Exem has applied to Munda religion what Evans-Pritchard, whom
he quotes, calls “a poetic mind which moves easily in images and symbols,” with the
added help of a philosophical turn of mind and, most importantly, a great familiarity
with the Munda way of life and thinking.
The Munda tribe, largely confined to the South Chota Nagpur Division in the
southern part of the State of Bihar, proliferates in a dozen affiliated tribes settled in
Bihar, Madhya Pradesh, Orissa, and Bengal. Among them the Santals are by far the most
numerous. All in all, the Munda families form a group of more than 6 million. It is thus
an important ethnic group. It has also the distinction of speaking a tongue that belongs
to the austro-asiatic section of the Austric language family, and is one of the few surviving
agglutinative languages of the world. For the anthropologist the Munda tribe is the more
interesting because it has more than the others stubbornly adhered to its ancient tradi-
tions and socio-economic values.
No tribe in India has had its religion studied with comparable insight and synthetized
as a coherent system as this one, where every tenet of its creed and the details of its
ritualistic practices, howsoever esoteric, find their explanation and justification. A real
tour de force. It will do the Mundas proud, for their obstinate attachment to their tradi-
tions, prompted by an instinctive trust in the wisdom of their forefathers, is now vindi-
cated by this work in which the author has unravelled their religious roots. The book will
also get missionaries, welfare workers, and anthropologists wise to their wonted mis-
conception of a civilization they consider at best to be replete with superstitions and what
some even call “savage” practices.
The book is divided into 10 chapters, to which are appended the list of works used
by the author, an index, and a glossary. It is impossible to summarize its contents, yet
the sequence of the chapters indicates the path of the author’s evolving argument, and
the step by step careful search for the traces of the initial intuition that has guided the
Munda in his quest of God.
The author, as all anthropologists, was confronted with a medley of beliefs, rites,
festivals, taboos, and attitudes, a variety of spirits, easy to tally, difficult to classify,
borrowed practices and beliefs with, however, two important religious values, their
monotheism and their belief in survival after death.
The Tribals themselves had no explanation to offer to his enquiries, except the
stock answer that their forefathers had told them so. He had little authentic documen-
tation to go by, except the Encyclopedia Mundarica by Hoffmann, a mine of factual
information, two valuable unpublished works of Mennas Orea, a Catholic Munda, who
knew his people and their culture as no one, and his own intimate contacts with the
Mundas for 17 years.
It is in the modem understanding of the importance of myths (ch. I) that he found
the key of comprehension. Distinguishing (ch. II, III) the primordial time from the
historical one, he ranges the available myths into two sections: the myths of creation,
and those describing the fall of man and the origins of the tribe. On this basis, care-
fully elucidated, Haram— the Old One—, creator of man, is distinguished from Sing-
bonga, creator of the tribe. Yet, one and the same God in the two phases of his reve-
lation to the tribe. He then elaborates (ch. IV) at length the implications for the tribe
°f its link with the divine that makes it a chosen race and a spiritual community. Next
(ch. V), he deals with the individual tribesman endowed with life (Ji) and an imper-
ceptible self, called Roa. The explanation of the meaning of roa, which had eluded the
304
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
great Hoffmann and is rarely even mentioned by Indian anthropologists, is an important
breakthrough, because it is the key to the understanding of the nature of the spirits and
their behaviour, the mystery of suffering, and to some extent, of the conditions that
prevail in afterlife. It is not easy reading, because in its elaboration the author displays
his speculative skill on data drawn from his extensive erudition, data which at first sight
may seem irrelevant to his theme, yet do in fact give a full picture of the roa that lives
astride the visible and invisible world.
This logically leads him to deal with the understanding of what the Mundas have
of the world they live in, its occult powers, the spirits, and of the world that awaits
them after death (ch. VI). It is in this chapter, that the spirits (bongas), other than
the ancestral ones, are dealt with in their origin, nature, and function. Their classifica-
tion is neat and complete. Their behaviour is analyzed, and a path of clarity is made in
a jungle that no one before him has even tried to hack his way through. With this chapter
he completes his survey of all Munda religious beliefs.
In the next one (ch. VII) he explains how the Munda lives up to his creed in his
ethical behaviour or deportment— where he draws a distinction between ethical viola-
tions and tribal offences—and in the offering of private sacrifices which he calls sacred
actions. About these he deals with the Rites of Passage and the Festivals, all of them
replete with religious symbolism. It is in this chapter that we are given illuminating pages
on the office of the village priest and on tribal sacrifice with its symbolism.
No one acquainted with the tribe can long remain unaware of some aberrant prac-
tices redolent to some extent of an alien religious ethos. The author calls them the Anti-
System and a Parallel Structure (ch. VIII). It is also the longest chapter as it deals with
the evil-eye, poisonous praise, witchcraft, divining, exorcisms, etc. It is an exhaustive
study of a recondite subject in which every gesture, every action, every puzzling or
esoteric allusion or reference are given an interpretation that parallels the religious tenets
of the Munda.
In Singbonga’s creative design the tribe was expected to multiply, and he himself
blessed the union of the first couple. Logically then, the next and penultimate chapter
(IX) treats of marriage as a religious act. None of its numerous and elaborate ceremonies
—from the initial search of a bride till her final leave-taking from the paternal home—
is left unexplained with the wonted sagacity of the author. In the process, it becomes
abundantly clear that what is taken by most as a mere social event, is in reality replete
with religious symbolism that reveals once more in the most baffling ceremonial gestures
the consistent logic of a deeply religious mind.
The book fittingly concludes with a chapter (X) on the tribe’s situation in and
its behavioural reaction to the changing world in which it is inexorably involved. Arguing
first that “the Munda territory is not only a demographic but also a religious notion,“ he
shows how this religious overtone led the tribe, in order to preserve its ethnical and
religious purity, to fight for its preservation in what came to be a losing battle. He further
surveys the structure of the tribe, divided into clans and clan-associations called parhas,
explains the place of man and the role of woman in their society, and discusses the matter
of leadership and the egalitarian ethos of the tribe. Against the background of his religion
and culture, he considers that a favourable evolution of the tribe is conceivable, provided
the tribesmen succeed in turning in on themselves to give their religion an interiority that
would preserve their identity amidst surrounding change.
This long survey of the book’s content barely touches the abundance of the author’s
insights and the richness of its information. A carping critic might observe that too little
hits been made of the impact of religion on the economic attitudes of the tribe. It is true,
and the author may well answer that this subject would require another book. Another
more obvious criticism that will be made is that the author, being a missionary, has
projected, at least unconsciously, his Christian beliefs into the interpretation of the Mun-
da creed. It certainly helped him, not because of personal bias, but because Munda religion
Book Reviews
305
as it is analyzed in this book, shows an unusual set of values and beliefs similar with or
parallel to those held by Christianity. It is not the author’s fault if their religious system
sollicits such a comparison. Yet the author has consistently stepped clear of this pitfall
by his regular and consistent reference to authoritative traditions and oral declarations of
the Mundas themselves. The philosophical bent of the writer may grate on some readers. Yet
this has made such a synthesis possible. He has done what the Mundas all along failed do-
ing. He has done for them what they were not inclined to do viz. to reflect on their
religious traditions and values and to interpret them according to their myths from which
they derive their authenticity. P. Ponette SJ
Bichsei, Ulrich, und Rudolf Kunz. Indien: Entwicklungsland zwischen Tradition
und Fortschritt. (Studienbücher Geographie.) vii+120 pp., illustr. Frankfurt a.M. 1982.
Diesterweg. — Aarau und Frankfurt, Sauerländer. Preis: DM 15,80.
Biehl, Max. Dynamisches Japan. (Studienbücher Geographie.) 163 pp., illustr.
Frankfurt a.M. 1982. Diesterweg. — Aarau und Frankfurt, Sauerländer. Preis: DM 14,80.
1978 erschien das Heft über Indien in der Reihe „Geographie für die Schule“ der
„Geographica Bernensia“. Es erlebte eine zweite Auflage. Nach einem dritten Indienauf-
enthalt der beiden Verfasser — sie sind Mittelschullehrer und waren schon 1972 und
1975/76 dort — kommt es nun neu bearbeitet heraus. Im Vorwort heißt es: „Das Buch
richtet sich vor allem an Schüler und Mittelschullehrer“, nach der Charakteristik der gan-
zen Reihe aber auch an „Studenten an Hochschulen und Universitäten, Geographen in
Lehre und Praxis“. Ein Drittel des Ganzen sind Farbfotos, Kartenskizzen und andere
graphische Darstellungen. Die Gliederung des Textes: 1. Das traditionelle Dorf; 2. Das
Dorf als Ausdruck des Kastenwesens; 3. Monsun und Bewässerung; 4. Die Landwirt-
schaft: Sozioökonomische Struktur, Besitzverteilung, Landreform, Agrarproduktion;
5. Entwicklungspolitik im ländlichen Raum; 6. Bevölkerungsentwicklung; 7. Strate-
gien der Bevölkerungspolitk: Entwicklung ist die beste Familienplanung — diese ist
Voraussetzung für jeden Fortschritt — indische Familienplanung; 8. Migration und Ver-
städterung; 9. Die traditionelle indische Stadt und die heutige; 10. Die Großstadt im
Wandel: Das Slumproblem, Chandigarth — ein Beispiel für heutige Planung; 11. Der
industrielle Raum. — Behandelt werden auch Probleme des weltweiten Hungers, ein
indisch-schweizerisches Viehzuchtprojekt, ausführlich Gandhis Stellung zur Dorfge-
meinschaft. — Es folgen noch „Aufgaben“ zu jedem Kapitel und Literaturhinweise. —
Es ist ein Schulbuch, das eine möglichst vollständige Geographie anstrebt, mit guten
und, weil es möglichst viel sagen will, auch schwachen Kapiteln.
Ganz anders das Japan-Heft. Es beschränkt sich auf die Wirtschaft, und zwar
(nach einer Einleitung „Land und Volk“, die schon die Zeit seit 1946 zum Hauptthema
hat) auf die Entwicklung während des letzten halben Jahrhunderts; also ein Thema, das
als solches gründlich behandelt werden kann. In der Verlagsankündigung der Reihe
wird darum auch nicht mehr gesagt, daß die Reihe sich an „Schüler der Sekundarstufe II“
etc. wende. Es gibt auch keine Liste von „Aufgaben“ mehr. Die Illustrationen sind nicht
mehr farbig, nur schwarz-weiß, nicht so zahlreich und weniger umfangreich; das Heft hat
40 Seiten mehr. Die großen Themen sind: Industrie, Außenwirtschaft, Entwicklungs-
hilfe und Rohstoffsicherung, Landwirtschaft und Fischerei, das Japan der Achtziger-
jahre. Unter „Industrie“ wird z.B. behandelt: Klein- und Großbetriebe, Energiewirt-
schaft, Eisen- und Stahlindustrie, Verkehrsanlagen, Automobilindustrie, Schiffbau, Elek-
tronikindustrie, Erdölchemie, Textilindustrie. Unter „Außenwirtschaft“: die großen Han-
delshäuser, Einfuhr und Ausfuhr, Japan und die USA, die EG, die Öl-Länder. Das Ganze
ist in einer flüssigen Sprache geschrieben, immer wieder auf soziologische und psycholo-
gische Gegebenheiten verweisend, z.B. auf das ganz andere und menschlichere Verhält-
Anthropos 78.1983
20
306
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Anthropos 78.1983
nis zwischen Arbeitnehmer und Arbeitgeber. Die Sympathie des Verfassers steht auf Sei-
ten Japans; Fehlgriffe der Regierung oder eines Konzerns sucht er wenn eben möglich zu
entschuldigen oder doch verständlich zu machen. — Was man vermißt, ist die Angabe der
Quellen. Das Statistical Handbook of Japan wird mehrfach zitiert, für Statistiken auch
noch einige andere Quellen, aber ohne Angabe der Seite etc. Auch des Verfassers frühe-
re Veröffentlichungen fehlen. Er rechnet, wie er in der ,,Vorbemerkung“ sagt, mit einem
weiten Publikum, das Verständnis für die Triebkräfte des mächtigen Aufstiegs Japan ge-
winnen soll. Ihnen will er ein durchsichtiges und eindringliches Bild geben. Das ist ihm ge-
lungen. Fritz Bornemann
Malik, S.C. (ed. and introd.). Indian Movements: Some Aspects of Dissent, Protest
and Reform. (Studies in Indian and Asian Civilizations.) ix+296 pp. Simla 1978. Indian
Institute of Advanced Study. Price: Rs. 45.
Diese von S.C. Malik herausgegebene und eingeleitete Sammlung von Aufsätzen ist
hervorgegangen aus einem Seminar zur Thematik organisiert vom “Indian Institute of
Advanced Studies, Simla” im September 1975. Von Anregungen aus diesem Seminar her
wurden verschiedene Autoren in Indien beauftragt, Einzelthemcn im Rahmen der Ge-
samtthematik zu behandeln. Der Band vereinigt in sich neun Beiträge.
Im ersten Beitrag von M.G.S. Narayan und Veluthat Kesavan wird die “Bhakti
Movement in South India” behandelt. Es wird die These vertreten, daß diese Bewegung
ihren stärksten Rückhalt in der ländlichen Bevölkerung gefunden habe, ferner aber auch
in den landbesitzenden Schichten, während die „häretischen Sekten“, also Jainismus und
Buddhismus, von Händlern und Handwerkern getragen worden seien. Im Protest der
Bhakti-Sänger gegen diese Religionen spiegele sich ein sozialer Protest gegen die sie tra-
genden Gruppen. Relativiert wird hierbei die Tatsache, daß der Protest der vishnuitischen
und shivaitischen Sänger sich ja auch gegen Brahmanentum und Kastenwesen richtete.
Die Rolle des Brahmanentums, das sich schließlich doch etablieren konnte, das das Tem-
pelwesen beherrschte, den varäsrama dharrna festigte und die Sanskrit-Sprache verbreitete,
erscheint in einem durchaus positiven Licht.
Im Zusammenhang mit den südindischen Bewegungen ist auch die Virashaiva-Be-
wegung von Karnataka zu sehen, die Arun B. Pali beschreibt. Sie habe trotz ihrer Aufleh-
nung gegen die hierarchischen Ordnungsverhältnisse doch wieder derartige Strukturen in
den eigenen Reihen ausgebildet.
Im Rahmen der nordindischen Bewegungen behandelt zunächst G.B. Sardar “Poet-
Saints of Maharashtra: Their Role in Social Transformation”. Es gehe von den Bhakti-Dich-
tem von Maharashtra zwischen dem 13. und 17. Jh. um sozio-ökonomische Gerechtigkeit,
sie strebten eine universalistische und egalitäre Religion an, durch die allen das Heil zuteil
werden sollte. In gesellschaftlicher und religiöser Hinsicht hätten sie sich gegen die etab-
lierte dogmatische Religion und ihre Strukturen gewandt. Ihr Beitrag bestehe darin, daß
sie die Gegensätze in der Gesellschaft verringert hätten, auch wenn sie diese langfristig
nicht abzubauen vermochten.
Savitri Chandra beschäftigt sich mit “Protest and Dissent in Hindu Bhakti Poetry”.
Dem religionssoziologischen Ansatz des gesamten Werkes entsprechend, sieht der Verfas-
ser in der Verkündigung der Bhakti-Heiligen (Kabir, Nanak, Dadu, Dayal, Rai Das usw.)
eine Kritik an sozialen Unterscheidungen ausgesprochen, ferner eine Identifizierung mit
dem einfachen Volk. “The movement”, so faßt der Herausgeber zusammen, “was thus
ideologically against the prevailing socio-economic ideals and institutions which had
sharpened the distinction between the haves and the have-nots” (15).
Ein interessantes Licht auf eine bisher wenig bekannte Bewegung in Chota Nagpur
während des 1. Weltkrieges und der Zeit danach wirft Sachchidananda. Er beschreibt eine
typisch nativistisch-messianische Bewegung unter den Mundas und Oraons, oder vielmehr
Book Reviews
307
eine Kette derselben, deren Höhepunkt die “Bhagat-Movement” ist. Diese Bewegung ist
zunächst durch die Besinnung auf die alte Stammesreligion geprägt, sie bezieht aber auch
hinduistische und christliche Elemente mit ein. Nach 1919 ist sie zunehmend politisch ge-
prägt, was ja das Schicksal vieler nativistischer Strömungen ist.
Der im Westen weitgehend bekannte Arya-Samaj wird von Pushpa Suri beschrieben,
der uns am Schluß vor Augen führt, daß diese Bewegung heute weitgehend an Kraft ver-
loren habe. Wie sich diese um die gebildete Mittelschicht bemühte, so wendet sich der von
Y.M. Pathan beschriebene Gopal Hari Deshmukh, unter dem Namen Lokithwadi bekannt,
auch an die Gebildeten. Im Gegensatz zu Dayananda, dem Gründer des Arya Samaj, be-
fürwortet er aber die Verbreitung der englischen Sprache und westlicher Wissenschaft und
gilt als einer der herausragenden „Rationalisten“ von Maharashtra. Obwohl selbst Brah-
mane, hat er das Kastensystem scharf angegriffen und die vorrangige Stellung der Brah-
manen in Frage gestellt. Da seine Werke in erster Linie in Marathi geschrieben sind, bringt
seine Porträtierung Neues für die moderne indische Geistesgeschichte.
Einen Einblick in die vielschichtigen “Backward Class Movements”, die sich eben-
falls gegen die Vorherrschaft der Brahmanen wenden und teils “parallel sources of legitimacy”
(25) etablierten, teils Religionen anschlossen, die das Gleichheitsprinzip kennen (z.B. die
Ambedkar-Bewegung), gibt M.S.A. Rao. Mit dem Thema “Dissent and Protest in Modem
Hindi-Literatur” wiederum befaßt sich Narendra Mohan.
Das stark soziologisch ausgerichtete Werk bringt z.T. neue Materialien zum Thema,
dessen religiöse Seiten aber häufig zu kurz kommen oder z.T. nur gesellschaftlich inter-
pretiert werden. Dennoch bietet der Band eine Reihe interessanter “Aspects of Dissent,
Protest and Reform” in Indien, wie es im Untertitel vorsichtig heißt.
Manchen Beiträgen ist eine Bibliographie beigegeben, ein Index schließt den Band
ab. Hans-Joachim Klimkeit
Jarring, Gunnar. Some Notes on Eastern Turki (New Uighur) Munazara Literature.
(Scripta Minora Regiae Societatis Humaniorum Litterarum Lundensis, 1980-1981: 2.)
27 pp. Lund, Sweden, 1981. Liber Läromedel.
Jarring, Gunnar. Literary Texts from Kashghar: The Original Texts in Facsimile
Edited with a Preface. (Scripta Minora Regiae Societatis Humaniorum Litterarum Lunden-
sis, 1980-1981: 4.) 76 pp. Lund 1982. CWK Gleerup.
Die vorliegenden Textsammlungen können gemeinsam angezeigt werden, da sich
beide auf die kaum dokumentierte Geschichte der neu-uigurischen Literatur Sinkiangs
(Ost-Turkestan) vor 1950 beziehen. Sowohl in West- als auch in Ost-Turkestan gab es vor
der uzbekischen bzw. neu-uigurischen Literatur des 20. Jh.s die tschagataische Periode
(heute in der Sowjetunion „altuzbekische“ genannt) mit ihrem Reichtum an Dichtungen
und Prosatexten. Bis in die jüngste Zeit wurden Themen aus der Lebenswelt des Islam
von Sängern und Erzählern übernommen, die so einen Teil der oral tradierten Volkslitera-
tur bilden.
Jarring liefert nun (1981) Beispiele aus dem munazara-Genre der neu-uigurischen
Literatur des südlichen Sinkiang. Die mit dem Ausdruck munazara bezeichnete Rang-
streitdichtung kann als typisch für das literarische Schaffen des islamischen Vorder- und
Mittelasiens gelten. Der Inhalt dieser bei den Turkvölkern, und dort gerade bei den Uz-
beken, beliebten Form der Dichtung spiegelt sich z.B. in Themen, wie den Streitge-
sprächen zwischen den Musikinstrumenten, Pfeil und Bogen, Haschisch und Wein oder
dem Streit zwischen den Früchten. Der hierin Transkription (10-11), Übersetzung mit
Anmerkungen (12-15) und Glossar (19-22), Faksimile-Abdruck (26-27) und unter Hin-
zufügung eines dazugehörigen fragmentarischen Verses (16-17) wiedergegebene munazara
308
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
mit dem Titel at birle tivsni s0zls.sks.ni „Die Unterhaltung zwischen Pferd und Kamel“
wurde im ersten Jahrzehnt des 20. Jh.s von dem Sprachlehrer Muhammad Ali Damollah
auf Anweisung von Gustaf Raquette (1871-1945), dem schwedischen Missionsarzt in
Kashgar, niedergeschrieben. Nach Jarring deutet die Tatsache, daß der Text sowohl we-
niger durch arabische und persische Lehnworte dominiert wird, als auch in seiner Wort-
wahl mehr die türkisch geprägte Lebenswelt spiegelt, auf eine eigene ost-turkestanische
mtmazüTa-Schöpfung hin.
Jarring stellt in einer weiteren Publikation (1982) die bereits in den „Literary Texts
from Kashghar“ (Lund 1980) übersetzten Originaltexte (siehe die Besprechung in Anthro-
pos 76.1981: 296-297), die er während eines Aufenthaltes von 1929-1930 in der ost-
turkestanischen Oasenstadt erwerben konnte, in einer ergänzenden Faksimile-Ausgabe
vor. In der vorliegenden Textsammlung in arabischer Schrift sind das Qisas ul-anbiya
von Rabghuzi, ein Abschnitt aus dem Rabat ul-qulub, die Tazkirah (= Biographie) des
Abu Nasr Samani und die Liebesgeschichte Gharip Sannam Shah enthalten.
Jarring leistet mit beiden Publikationen einen Beitrag zur sinnvollen Auswertung
mittelasiatischer Handschriften. Jürgen Frembgen
Münke, Wolfgang. Die klassische chinesische Mythologie. 389 pp. in 8°. Stuttgart
1976. Emst Klett. Preis: DM 90. (Leinen.)
The author of this “Chinese Mythology,” who has been a staff member of the East
Asian Department of the Staatsbibliothek Preußischer Kulturbesitz (State Library, Prussian
Cultural Foundation) is called a disciple of Walter Fuchs (late Professor of Chinese and
Manchu at the universities of Berlin and Cologne) in an advertisement on the dust jacket,
but his present book shows more the influence of Eduard Erkes who specialized in
ancient Chinese art and mythology. In the “Introduction into a Chinese Mythology” (5-
62) the author develops his concept of Chinese mythology mainly by discussing Mas-
pero’s “Légendes mythologiques dans le Chou-king” (Journal asiatique 1924: 1-100),
Karlgren’s “Legends and Cults in Ancient China” (Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern
Antiquities 18. 1946: 199-365), and improving on Legge’s translation of the Yao-tien
and Shun-tien sections of the Shu-ching (“Book of Documents”). He temperamentfully
criticizes the euhemerising attitude of European sinologists as well as of the older Chinese
commentators, emphasizes the necessity of taking the old Chinese texts serious and con-
sidering them important mythological documents. The bulk of the book consists of more
than 80 alphabetically arranged entries, e.g., Affe (“ape”), Ch’ih Yu (“satan of the West
Chou-Ch’iang, opponent of the radiant GOD, huang-ti”), Chu Jung (“proto-Chinese fire
god”), Chuan H [s]ü (“god of heaven of the proto-Chinese”), Donnergott (“god of thunder”),
Drache (“dragon”), Fei Lien (“name of a wind count [Windgraf]”), Flußgöttinnen des
Lo, Han und Siang (“River goddesses of the Lo, Han and Hsiang rivers”). All these entries
are based on the author’s stupendous reading and his careful translations of old Chinese
sources. Many of his views are new and highly original, always stimulating. His book is
by no means just a textbook of Chinese mythology but an attempt to overthrow the
traditional view of the ages of the legendary emperors (whose title ti has to be translated
as “God” which is one of the author’s main arguments). In spite of the fact that it is
shaped as a dictionary it is in some respects more like a huge collection of relevant
material, and some readers will find it difficult reading on account of the author’s concise
style of writing. Though several of the author’s views will be regarded as most contro-
versial by the present generation of sinologists, his “Chinese Mythology” is to be highly
recommended as an important contribution in the field. Hartmut Walravens
Book Reviews
309
Allan, Sarah,and Alvin P. Cohen (eds.). Legend, Lore, and Religion in China. Essays
in Honor of Wolfram Eberhard on His Seventieth Birthday. (Asian Library Series, 13.)
xxiv+269 pp. San Francisco 1979. Chinese Materials Center, Inc. Price: $18.50.
Kaum einer der noch lebenden westlichen Sinologen hat eine so große Anzahl von
Schülern und Freunden aufzuweisen wie Wolfram Eberhard, dessen vielfältige und zahl-
reiche Publikationen und dessen rastlose Reise- und Vortragstätigkeit einen großen Ein-
fluß auf die Asienwissenschaften ausüben. Eberhard ist nicht nur Sinologe — seine ethno-
logische Ausbildung, seine Lehr- und Forschungstätigkeit in der Türkei und seine lang-
jährige Wirksamkeit an der University of California im Department of Sociology haben
ihn mit vielen Kulturen Asiens und ihren Problemen in enge Berührung gebracht. Eine
wirklich repräsentative Festschrift für einen so vielseitigen Gelehrten wäre kaum zu reali-
sieren gewesen, und so haben sich die Herausgeber von vornherein auf einen kleinen
Kreis von Beitragenden beschränkt und zudem ein übergeordnetes Gesamtthema gewählt.
Es ist beabsichtigt, die gegenseitige Beeinflussung und Durchdringung der literarischen
Überlieferung der shih (der Gelehrten, Literaten und Beamten) und der volkstümlichen,
populären Überlieferung der einfachen Leute aufzuzeigen, wobei der Religion eine be-
sondere Rolle zufällt, wie Sarah Allan in der Einleitung (xi-xviii) betont. Religion freilich
hatte in China eine andere Bedeutung als im Westen, und es gibt in China keine klare
Trennlinie zwischen den religiösen Handlungen und Vorstellungen der einfachen Leute
und der Elite, sieht man Religion sehr allgemein als die Beschäftigung mit dem Über-
natürlichen an.
Sarah Allan (School of Oriental and African Studies, London) versucht in ihrem
Beitrag Shang Foundations of Modern Chinese Folk Religion (1-21) die der chinesischen
Religion zugrundeliegenden Strukturen aufzuzeigen. Auf Grund der Untersuchung von
allerdings nur zwei Beispielen — der Shang-Religion und der der chinesischen Dörfler im
modernen Taiwan — stellt die Autorin fest: Die chinesische traditionelle Anschauung geht
dahin, daß es für alle ein Leben nach dem Tode gibt; die Toten brauchen Nahrung und
üben Einfluß auf die Lebenden aus. Daher sind alle Götter ursprünglich Menschen ge-
wesen; es gibt keine äußer-irdischen Lebewesen und kein anderes Zeitalter vor der jetzigen
Chronologie.
Alvin P. Cohen, Professor an der University of Massachusetts, geht in seiner Arbeit
Avenging Ghosts and Moral Judgment in Ancient Chinese Historiograf hy: Three Examples
from Shih-chi (97-108) der Rolle der Rachegeister in den chinesischen Annalen seit dem
Shih-chi nach und weist darauf hin, daß sie ein Mittel des Geschichtsschreibers waren, die
moralische Dynamik der Geschichte aufzuzeigen. Die Folgen böser Taten wirkten sich
nach traditioneller chinesischer Anschauung auf die Lebenden, nicht die Toten,aus. Ob-
wohl die Verbreitung des Buddhismus und seiner Wiedergeburtslehre die Rolle der Rache-
geister modifizierte, kann Cohen ihre Erwähnung selbst noch für die Ming-Annalen nach-
weisen. Damit wird zugleich deutlich, daß es sich hier nicht nur, wie früher allgemein an-
genommen, um einen bei den einfachen Leuten populären Aberglauben oder ein Novellen-
motiv handelt.
Tsai Wen-huis’ (Soziologe an der Indiana University) Artikel Historical Personalities
in Chinese Folk Religion: A Functional Interpretation (23-42) beschäftigt sich mit den
zu Göttern gewordenen Helden historischer Romane (Feng-shen yen-i, Sui T’ang yen-i
und San-ko chih yen-i). Diese Romane beruhen einerseits auf den Erzählungen und Le-
genden der Geschichtenerzähler, andererseits aber auf historischen Werken. Da die Ro-
mane von Angehörigen der Elite in der Umgangssprache geschrieben wurden, liegt hier
eine besonders enge Verflechtung der beiden Überlieferungen vor.
Lindy Li Mark, Ethnologin an der California State University, untersucht in ihrem
Beitrag Orthography Riddles, Divination, and Word Magic: An Exploration in Folklore
and Culture (43-69) Schriftzeichen-Rätsel, ein Spiel der Gebildeten. Sie stellt aber fest,
310
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
daß gelegentlich auch Analphabeten und Kinder solche Spiele kannten, und daß die Gly-
phomantie, die den magischen Wert der Schrift hervorhebt, eine parallele Struktur auf-
weist.
Wolfgang Bauer, Professor an der Universität München, beschäftigt sich in Chinese
Glyphomancy (ch’ai-tzu) and Its Uses in Present-Day Taiwan (71-96) speziell mit den
Techniken und der Verwendung der Glyphomantie. Die meisten der Probanden waren be-
rufsmäßige Wahrsager; einige waren sehr belesen und der Schrift vollkommen mächtig,
so daß sie gebildete Kunden bedienen konnten; andere arbeiteten mit vorbereiteten
Zeichenkarten und Wahrsagehandbüchern, so daß hier eher ein einfaches, wenig gebilde-
tes Publikum in Frage kam.
Herbert Franke, Professor emeritus an der Universität München, untersucht in sei-
nem Beitrag Some Folkloristic Data in the Dynastie History of the Chin (1115-1234)
(135-153) die Nachrichten über die Sitten und Gebräuche der Jurcen im Chin-shih, den
Chin-Annalen, und vergleicht damit die Mitteilungen über die Gebräuche der Kitan im
Liao-shih, den Annalen des Kitan-Reiches. Da die Zahl der spezifischen JurÖen-Gebräuche
vergleichsweise gering ist, schließt Franke auf eine bedeutend raschere Sinisierung der
Jurten.
E.N, Anderson, Jr., Ethnologe an der University of California, beschäftigt sich in
seinem Artikel A Social History of Hong Kong Boat-Folk Songs (155-175) mit einer
kantonesisch sprechenden, in der Castle Peak Bay, Hong Kong, auf Booten lebenden so-
zialen Minderheit. Anderson geht besonders der Geschichte der Volkslieder nach und
stellt eine überraschende Ähnlichkeit zwischen ihnen und literarischen Liedern, wie den
„Elegien von Ch’u“ (Ch’u-tz’u) fest, die ihrerseits schamanistische Ursprünge haben.
David C. Schak, Lektor an der Griffith University, Queensland, weist in Images of
Beggars in Chinese Culture (109-133) auf die Doppelrolle der Bettler in China hin, die
allerdings im Gegensatz zu den Jürgen weder eine ethnische Gruppe noch eine besondere
Kaste bilden. Einerseits gelten Bettler als arm, schwach, hungrig, andererseits sind sie in
der Volksliteratur oft Helden, Vorkämpfer für die Gerechtigkeit, und stehen Göttern und
Unsterblichen nahe. Diese Doppelrolle — ein negatives Bild in der wirklichen Welt, ein
positives in der Volksüberlieferung — fand Schak auch heute noch existent und zum
Teil bestimmend für die Einstellung gegenüber Bettlern.
Hua-yuan Li Mowry, Dartmouth College, geht in ihrem Beitrag The Legend of Li
Miao-hui (177-203) der Erzählung Lu Meng-hsien chiang-shang hsün-ch’i (,,Lu Meng-
hsien sucht seine Frau auf dem Fluß“; enthalten in der Anthologie Shih-tien-t’ou, Kap.2)
nach, die realistisch wirkt und offenbar von einem Ming-Autor stammt. Sie stellt fest,
daß sie letztlich auf dem Werk der populären Künstler und Dramatiker der Yüan-Zeit be-
ruht.
David Pollacks (Professor an der University of Rochester) Arbeit Literature as
Game in the T'ang (205-224) behandelt die Rolle der T’ang-Dichtung als literarisches
Spiel der Gebildeten. Beim Aneinanderreihen von Verszeilen aus dem Stegreif kam es na-
türlich auf Einfallsreichtum und Schlagfertigkeit an.
Den Abschluß des Buches bildet die bislang vollständigste Bibliographie der Arbei-
ten von Eberhard; sie beruht sehr stark auf der früheren in Eberhards Settlement and
Social Change in Asia (Hong Kong 1967), pp. 439-463 erschienenen Zusammenstellung.
Bei zwei Stichproben (Beiträge zur Orientalistischen Literaturzeitung und Sinica) fehlten
nur vier Titel. Die Bibliographie gibt ein eindrucksvolles Bild von der Schaffenskraft des
Jubilars, der übrigens in einer Kurzbiographie (xix-xxiv) persönlich gewürdigt wird.
Hartmut Walravens
Book Reviews
311
Europe
Grimm, Brüder. Kinder- und Hausmärchen. 2 Bde. Nach der zweiten vermehrten
und verbesserten Auflage von 1819, textkritisch revidiert und mit einer Biographie der
Grimmschen Märchen versehen. Herausgegeben von Heinz Rölleke. Bd. 1: 303 pp.; Bd. 2:
pp. 305-592. Köln 1982. Eugen Diederichs Verlag. Preis: DM 56 (zusammen).
Vor 70 Jahren eröffnete der Verlag die Reihe ,,Die Märchen der Weltliteratur“
und veröffentlichte seitdem über 70 Bände. Jetzt legt er eine Neuausgabe der zweiten
Auflage der Grimmschen Märchen von 1819 vor. Die Märchen sind durchnumeriert, im
ersten Band von 1 bis 86, im zweiten von 87 bis 161 ;dazu, getrennt gezählt, neun „Kin-
der-Legenden“. Beide Bände sind durchpaginiert von 1 bis 587. Der Text ist unbelastet
von jeglichem kritischem Apparat, bietet aber einen buchstabengetreuen Abdruck der
Auflage von 1819. Ausgelassen wurden: Widmung, Vorrede, Einleitung, die Aufsätze über
Kinderwesen und über Kinderglauben etc. Die Kennzeichnung der wörtlichen Rede wur-
de normalisiert, sinnentstellende Zeichensetzung und Worttrennungen stillschweigend
korrigiert. Das Nebeneinander einiger Schreibungen wurde beibehalten, vor allem bei
mundartlichen Texten. Druckfehlerkorrekturen sind in einer Liste zusammengestellt. —
Den Abschluß bildet eine „Biographie der Grimmschen Märchen“ aus der Feder des
Herausgebers. Erst 1913 erschien eine zuverlässige Ausgabe der ersten Auflage vom Jahre
1812-1815. Der vorliegende Druck beruht auf der zweiten Auflage aus dem Jahre 1819,
die Wilhelm Grimm allein, ohne seinen Bruder Jakob, betreute. Er bearbeitete viele
Texte sehr stark; der spezifische Grimmsche Märchenstil gewann erst jetzt seine eigentliche
Ausprägung. Die ersten Übersetzungen 1820 bis 1830 ins Niederländische, Englische und
Französische beruhen auf der Ausgabe von 1819. Sie ist auch gemeint, wenn Goethe,
Gutzkow, Mörike, Freiligrath u.a. sich zu Grimms Märchensammlung äußerten. Auf ihr
fußt der weltweite Erfolg der Grimmschen Märchen. Sie wurden zum größten deutschen
Bestseller aller Zeiten. — Der Herausgeber legt auf rund 60 Seiten die Entstehungsge-
schichte der Sammlung dar, angefangen von den ersten Aufzeichnungen 1807-1810, dann
die Erstveröffentlichung 1812-1815 mit den ersten Kritiken, die Verhandlungen mit dem
Verleger (die Auflage betrug 1000; vom zweiten Band waren nach drei Jahren noch 350
auf Lager). 1819 druckte man 1500: nach 14 Jahren waren noch „mehrere Hundert“ un-
verkauft. — 1825 gab W. Grimm eine „Kleine Ausgabe“ heraus, 50 ausgewählte Märchen;
auch davon zählte die erste Auflage nur 1500 Exemplare. Es wurde aber ein großer Er-
folg; bis zu W. Grimms Tod erschienen zehn Auflagen. 1912 war die fünfzigste Auflage
auf dem Markt. — Diese „Biographie“ der Grimmschen Märchen liest sich angenehm und
leicht, ist aber, wie Text und angefügte Anmerkungen zeigen, wohl dokumentiert.
Fritz Bornemann
Zipes, Jack. Rotkäppchens Lust und Leid: Biographie eines europäischen Märchens.
218 pp. Mit 28 lllustr. und 9 Farbtafeln. Köln 1982. Eugen Diederichs Verlag. Preis:
DM 29,80.
Außerhalb der Reihe „Die Märchen aus aller Welt“ legt der Verlag diesmal eine Ein-
zelstudie vor: das Rotkäppchen. Das Corpus des Buches bilden 19 verschiedene Fassungen
des Märchens; die meisten zählen 3 bis 6 Seiten. Auch der flüchtige Leser sieht, daß sich
das Märchen wandelt, und daß diese Wandlungen zeitbedingt sind. Handgreiflich ist dies
in den beiden Versionen aus den USA. Bei J. Thurber aus dem Jahre 1939 frißt nicht der
Wolf das Mädchen, sondern das Mädchen erschießt den Wolf mit ihrer Selbstladepistole;
Thurber fügt ausdrücklich die „Moral“ hinzu: „Es ist heutzutage nicht mehr so leicht wie
ehedem, kleinen Mädchen etwas vorzumachen.“ — H. I. Philipps nennt im Jahre 1940 die
„Moral“ gleich in der Überschrift: „Rotkäppchen, wie es ein Diktator erzählen würde“;
312
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
der Diktator macht Rotkäppchen zu einem gemeinen Provokateur und Agenten kapi-
talistischer Interessen und die Großmutter zu einem Aggressor; der Wolf frißt beide auf,
weil er sich nicht terrorisieren lassen will und in Todesgefahr, also in Selbstverteidigung,
steht. — Bei C. Storr in England im Jahre 1955 heißt das Rotkäppchen Pollykäppchen.
Es hat selbst die alte Rotkäppchen-Geschichte gelesen. Auf dem Weg zur Großmutter
trifft es den Wolf, der auch das alte Märchen kennt. Sie unterhalten sich darüber, wobei
sich der Wolf mehrmals verrät. Pollykäppchen ist die Schlaue, die ihn immer wieder er-
wischt und zurechtweist. Großmutter und Pollykäppchen schließen die Tür: Der Wolf
kommt nicht hinein. Das Märchen hat sich gewandelt und das Rotkäppchen auch: aus
dem naiven Kind ist eine selbstbewußte kluge Dame geworden. — Spannend ist die Bear-
beitung von A. Carter (1979, ebenfalls in England): „Die Gesellschaft der Wölfe“, die
scheinbare Wirklichkeit und wilde Phantasie mischt und voll ungehemmter Sexualität
steckt, wie es realistischer und moderner nicht sein könnte. — Der Verfasser schreibt:
Viele von uns lasen als Kinder Märchen, die unauslöschliche Spuren in unserer Fanta-
sie hinterlassen und vermutlich unseren Entwicklungsgang beeinflußt haben. Sie haben
Benehmen und Normen und kulturelle Schablonen geschaffen. Mit dieser Einstellung
ging der Verfasser, Professor für vergleichende Literaturwissenschaft in USA und z.Z.
Gastprofessor in Frankfurt, an die Untersuchung über die Geschichte von Rotkäppchen
und schrieb seine Einleitung. Die Grundelemente dieses Märchens gehen nicht auf alte
Mythen zurück, wie Anthropologen geglaubt haben, sondern auf eine Erzählertradition
des späten Mittelalters, besonders in Frankreich, Tirol und Norditalien. Es ist eines der
vielen Warn- und Schreckmärchen, die erreichen wollten, daß Kinder nicht im Wald
mit Fremden reden oder Fremde ins Haus lassen sollten. Sie schildern, wie Kinder im
Wald bedroht sind von Riesen, Menschenfressern, Werwölfen und echten Wölfen. Im
16. und 17. Jh. gab es in Frankreich eine Epidemie von Gerichtsverfahren gegen Män-
ner, die beschuldigt wurden, Werwölfe zu sein, gewöhnlich, Kinder gefressen zu haben.
Überall wo man später im 19. und 20. Jh. mündliche Versionen des „Rotkäppchens“
fand, waren die Werwolf-Prozesse vom 15. bis 17. Jh. am verbreitesten. In keiner dieser
Versionen wurde das kleine Mädchen getötet. Scharfsinning bringt sie sich selbst in
Sicherheit, ohne jede Hilfe von anderen. — Die noch erhaltene schriftliche Fassung
stammt aus dem Jahre 1657, aus Frankreich, von Charles Perrault. Er schrieb für Kinder
und Erwachsene der gebildeten Oberschicht. Aus dem selbständigen, kräftigen und klu-
gen Bauernmädchen der mündlichen Tradition macht er für seine Leser ein niedliches, ver-
wöhntes, naives und hilfloses Kind der Oberschicht. Das zeigt der ganze Text wie auch
zum Schluß die „Moral“ in Versform. — Die Brüder Grimm übernahmen es 1812 von
Perrault in ihre große deutsche Märchensammlung. Das Mädchen wird noch abhängiger.
Ein Jäger holt Rotkäppchen und Großmutter aus dem Magen des Wolfs hervor, und der
Wolf stirbt. Bald nachher spricht ein anderer Wolf das Rotkäppchen im Wald an. Dies-
mal gelingt es der klugen Großmutter und dem Kind, den Wolf zu ertränken. Die Moral
zieht Rotkäppchen selbst: Ich werde nie wieder vom Weg abweichen, wenn die Mutter es
verboten hat. Aber die Anspielung auf junge Damen und andere „Wölfe“ findet sich
nicht; das Sexuelle ist verfeinert, kaum noch zu greifen. Der Herausgeber findet bei
Grimm auch noch eine antifranzösische Reaktion auf die Besetzung des Rheinlandes
von 1806 bis 1811. — Dann geht er der Entwicklung des Märchens nach; vom „tugend-
haften Engel“ im 19. Jh. zum witzigen, aufsässigen, realistischen Rotkäppchen im 20. Jh.
Das zuerst bäuerliche und dann bürgerliche Rotkäppchen wird nun revolutionär und
feministisch. Doch wird der Text von Perrrault immer wieder gedruckt. Und Grimms
Einfluß auf Jung und Alt ist unübertroffen, auch heute noch und weit über Deutschland
hinaus. — Wohl alle Leser werden es unangenehm empfinden, daß der Verfasser in seiner
Einleitung, wenn er die verschiedenen Bearbeitungen behandelt, nicht angibt, wo sich das
Stück im Corpus des Buches findet. Nicht jeder wird dem Verfasser stets folgen, wenn er
kleinste Züge als Anpassung an die Zeit deutet. Alle aber werden ihm dankbar sein für
diese instruktive „Biographie eines europäischen Märchens“. Fritz Bornemann
Book Reviews
313
Oceania
Wurm, S.A., and Hattori, Shiro (eds.). Language Atlas of the Pacific Area; part I:
New Guinea Area, Oceania, Australia. Cartography by Theo Baumann. 24 maps in 2 .
(Pacific Linguistics, Series C, 66.) Canberra 1981. Australian Academy of the Humanities.
[Distributed by Geo Center, Postfach 800830, D-7000 Stuttgart 80.]
Das vorliegende Werk ist ein langerwartetes Geschenk, das der Vertiefung unserer
Kenntnisse der Sprachen Ozeaniens und Australiens dient. Wissenschaftler und Fachleute
reichen sich über Erdteile und Meere hinweg die Hand zu diesem gemeinsamen Werk im
Dienste des Studiums am Menschen. Gedruckt wurde das Kartenwerk in Bern (Schweiz),
verlegt im Geo Center, einem internationalen Landkartenhaus in Stuttgart (Bundesrepu-
blik Deutschland), veröffentlicht durch die Australian Academy of the Humanities zusam-
men mit der Japan Academy, empfohlen durch das International Council für Philosophy
and Humanistic Stuckes, mitfinanziert durch die UNESCO. Die Autoren werden aufgeglie-
dert in “general editors” (S.A. Wurm, Australien, und Shtro Hattori, Japan), in “steering
Committee”, “editorial advisers” and “cartographer”.
Der Sprachenatlas enthält 24 lose Kartenblätter. Die Rückseite bietet die Klassi-
fizierung der Sprachen und andere, wertvolle Informationen. Aus Mangel an freiem Platz
wurde der Schlüssel zu einigen Karten auf Einlageblättern gegeben. Blaue Blätter geben
die Titel für die Teilgebiete und die Sprachennamen in alphabetischer Reihenfolge an. Da-
durch ist die Lokalisierung einer einzelnen Sprache schnell möglich.
Die Sprachenkarten 1-2 behandeln West-Neuguinea, West Irian oder Irian Jaya, wie
es heute als indonesische Provinz genannt wird. Blatt 1 gibt die Übersicht mit Einlagen
der Halmahera- und Ost-Timor-Inseln. Erst in neuerer Zeit wurden zwei weitere Sprachen
im indonesischen Inselreich als papuanisch oder nicht-austronesisch identifiziert. Es sind
dies das Nord-Halmahera, das in das West-Papuan-Phylum eingegliedert ist, und das
Timor-Alor-Pantar, das trotz entfernter Lage als zum Trans-Neuguinea-Phylum zugehörig
angesehen wird.
Die Blätter 3-5 geben Teilgebiete mit detaillierten Angaben und mit Einlagen von
weitab gelegenen Inseln wieder, so z.B. die Aru- und Kei-Inseln.
Die Blätter 6-15 enthalten die Sprachenkarten für Ost-Neuguinea oder Papua-Neu-
guinea, mit Einschluß der nördlich gelegenen Inselgruppen. Die Nord-Salomonen, die öst-
lichste Provinz, ist der Gruppe Insulares Melanesien, Mikronesien und Polynesien zuge-
teilt.
Die 19 Provinzen des Staates Papua-Neuguinea werden auf 10 Kartenblätter verteilt.
Provinzen geben den Karten den Namen, aber nur wenige Provinzen sind auf einem
Kartenblatt ganzheitlich erfaßt — wegen der weiten und verzückten Ausdehnung ein-
zelner Provinzen. Wiederholungen der gleichen Gebiete kommen aber reichlich vor.
Hier hätte man dem Anliegen der einzelnen Provinzen für eine vollständige Sprachen-
karte auf einem Blatt entgegenkommen können. Die Morobe-Provinz (Blatt 8) hätte
nur etwas nach Norden verschoben werden müssen, um in den Genuß einer vollständigen
Sprachenkarte zu kommen. Wünschenswert wäre auch eine einheitlichere Präsentation des
Hochlandes gewesen, das geographisch, politisch, wirtschaftlich und linguistisch eine Ein-
heit bildet. Die Aufteilung der Karten bietet eine verwirrende Vielfalt. Den gleichen Ein-
druck gewinnt man an der Südküste mit Port Moresby als Hauptstadt. Die Einzeichnung
der wichtigsten Verkehrsadern, so z.B. der Highlands Highway, wäre eine wertvolle
Orientierungshilfe gewesen für den Wissenschaftler und auch den Touristen. Dies hätte
wiederum das Verkaufspotential der Karten gesteigert.
Die Karten 15-20 präsentieren die sprachliche Situation der Salomonen, der Neuen
Hebriden, Neu-Kaledoniens, Mikronesiens mit den Gilbert- und Marshall-Inseln, den
Marianen und Karolinen, und schließlich Polynesien mit Haway, Fiji und Neuseeland.
314
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Die Kartenblätter 20-24 zeigen die Sprachen Australiens und Tasmaniens. S.A.Wurm
schildert kurz die Forschungslage und ihre Probleme.
Kartenblatt 24 zeigt die Verbreitungsgebiete der verschiedenen Pidgin- und Lingua-
Franca-Sprachen Ozeaniens und Australiens. Auf 2 blauen Blättern werden wertvolle
Informationen über Verbreitung, Geschichte und Eigentümlichkeiten der einzelnen
Pidgin- und Lingua-Franca-Sprachen zusammengetragen. J.A. Z’graggen
Godelier, Maurice. La production des Grands Hommes: Pouvoir et domination
masculine chez les Baruya de Nouvelle-Guinée. (L’Espace du Politique.) 3 73 pp. Avec 12
pl., 13 fig. et 2 cartes. Paris 1982. Fayard. Prix: 115 F.
Als Schüler von Lévi-Strauss und marxistisch inspirierter Vertreter der jüngeren
Ethnologengeneration hat sich Godelier in Fachkreisen längst einen Namen gemacht. Sei-
ne frühen sozial- und wirtschaftsethnologischen Beiträge (Rationalité et irrationalité
en économie [Paris 1966] und Horizon, trajets marxistes en anthropologie [Paris 1973])
haben ihm den Ruf eines eingefleischten Theoretikers eingebracht ; von seinen Feldfor-
schungsergebnissen wurde weitaus weniger Notiz genommen, nicht zuletzt deshalb, weil
sein Material über die Baruya aus dem östlichen Hochland von Neuguinea nur in Bruch-
stücken der Öffentlichkeit zugänglich gewesen ist. Diesem Mangel an einer Synthese ver-
sucht das vorliegende Buch Abhilfe zu verschaffen. In ihm beschäftigt er sich mit den
Grundlagen, Ausformungen und Konsequenzen des für Melanesien so typischen Ge-
schlechterantagonismus — ein beliebtes Thema, das er allerdings gekonnt mit ethnogra-
phischen Details bereichert und mit vergleichenden Überlegungen ergänzt. Er analysiert
es in dreifacher Hinsicht (14): 1. die soziale Ordnung der Baruya als Ausdruck der Un-
gleichheit zwischen Frauen und Männern; 2. die politische Ordnung als Folge der Un-
gleichheit zwischen Männern; 3. die symbolische und ideologische Rechtfertigung des
Systems (Schlußabschnitt) und dessen Aushöhlung durch westliche Einflüsse. Der Be
obachtungszeitraum reicht von 1967, als die traditionelle Sozialordnung noch relativ in-
takt war, bis 1981, als der Wandlungs- und Integrationsprozeß ein bereits fortgeschritte-
nes Stadium erreicht hatte. Die Einbeziehung von Gegenwart und Vergangenheit, ge-
stützt durch historische Rekonstruktionen, macht das Buch zu einem ethnographischen
Dokument, das sich streckenweise wie ein Nachruf auf eine untergehende Stammeskul-
tur liest.
Die Sozialorganisation der Baruya ist gekennzeichnet durch patrilineale Deszen-
denz, Polygynie, bevorzugt patri-virilokale Residenz und Kreuzkusinenheirat (bei iroke-
sischer Verwandtschaftsterminologie). Ihr Gebiet mit heute rund 2200 Bewohnern ist auf-
geteilt unter 15 Klanen (einige davon mit besonderen rituellen Vorrechten) und Lineage-
Gruppen, die noch weiter segmentiert sind, was in der Vergangenheit zu beständigen be-
waffneten Auseinandersetzungen geführt hat. Bezeichnenderweise nimmt in der sozialen
Hierarchie der große Krieger den höchsten Rang ein, der rein lokale Interessen vertritt.
Es gibt also keine übergeordnete, regional anerkannte Institution oder Führungsschicht,
die Interessengegensätze nach außen vereinen und Konflikte mit friedlichen Mitteln bei-
legen könnte. Der überragenden Bedeutung männlicher Kriegs- und Jagdkunst entspricht
die untergeordnete Rolle, die den Frauen in allen Bereichen des privaten und öffent-
lichen Lebens zukommt. Letztlich wird alle soziale ETngleichheit mit den Anschauungen
über Sexualität begründet: Verkörpert das Männliche Kraft, Bewegung, Leben schlecht-
hin, so das Weibliche Schwäche, Passivität, Unordnung (107). Im Weiblichen manifestiert
sich jene Bedrohung für die kosmische und soziale Ordnung, die durch großangelegte
männliche Initiationsrituale abgewendet und in positive Männerherrschaft umgesetzt
wird. Die damit verbundene soziale Entwertung der Frau wird jedoch durch das Ver-
wandtschafts- und Heiratssystem (direkter Sch western tausch) insofern relativiert, als es
zwei Kategorien von Frauen gibt, mit denen ein Mann negativ oder positiv in Beziehung
Book Reviews
315
steht (239-240): Autorität und Gewalt übt er nur gegenüber Frauen aus, mit denen er
sexuelle Beziehungen unterhalten darf bzw. auf die er rechtliche Ansprüche geltend
machen kann (Ehefrauen, Töchter, Bruders Töchter und eventuell Bruders Frauen);
Zurückhaltung übt er hingegen gegenüber all denjenigen weiblichen Verwandten, die er
für Heiraten (für sich oder seine Söhne) als Vermittler oder direkte Tauschpartner akti-
vieren kann und die seine Stellung als gesellschaftlich vollwertiges Mitglied stärken (Schwe-
stern und Schwesters Töchter, mütterliche und väterliche Tanten, Parallel- und Kreuz-
kusinen). Dieser Ambiguität entspricht die doppelte Natur des Mannes, die übrigens auch
der Frau zugeschrieben, ihr jedoch verheimlicht wird: Stärke und Macht einerseits, Zu-
neigung und Schwäche andererseits. Nach mythischer Überlieferung (243-245) ist die
Schwäche durch „inzestuöse Triebe“ bedingt, welche die Gefahr der Vermischung der
für die Erhaltung der Ordnung doch notwendigen Gegensätze heraufbeschwören.
Den Frauen gegenüber sind alle Männer gleich, unter sich sind sie jedoch in gewöhn-
liche und außergewöhnliche differenziert. Da gibt es zunächst die erbliche Position des
Ritualienmeisters, der als Besitzer magischer Objekte die Initiationsriten auf supralokaler
Ebene organisiert und so die Stammestradition bewahrt. Daneben findet sich eine Reihe
von mehr oder minder einflußreichen Männern mit erworbenen Status, angefangen vom
Hersteller des vegetabilischen Salzes, das für rituelle Zwecke und als Handelsobjekt dient,
über den großen Kasuar-Jäger und Schamanen bis hin zum großen Landbebauer und, an
der Spitze der Hierarchie, dem großen Krieger. Ein besonderes Kennzeichen der Baruya-
Gesellschaft im Vergleich zum übrigen Hochland ist, daß in diesem abgestuften System
von Prestige und Macht weder wirtschaftliche noch politische Privilegien zu finden sind.
Im Gegensatz zu Gesellschaften mit Big-Men gibt es keine zwischen den verschiedenen
Einflußbereichen vermittelnde Instanz zur Mobilisierung gesellschaftlicher und wirt-
schaftlicher Ressourcen. Der Grund hierfür liegt, wie Godelier breit ausführt (253-290),
im Gewicht, das den Frauen als direkte Vermittler zwischen Gruppen zukommt. Ge-
genseitige Verpflichtungen, die im Rahmen des Frauentauschs entstehen, können näm-
lich nicht durch wirtschaftliche Leistungen (Schweine, Schmuck) kompensiert werden.
Da es keine Äquivalenz von Frauen mit Reichtum gibt, fehlt die entscheidende Grund-
lage für die Ausbildung einer Big-Man-Gesellschaft, wo es durch die Monopolisierung von
wirtschaftlicher Macht und Frauen zur Manipulation politischer Beziehungen kommt.
Mit seinem Material versucht der Autor den qualitativen Unterschied zwischen
der Stellung der großen Männer (Grands Hommes) und der Stellung der Big-Men zu be-
legen. Letztere seien keinesfalls gleichzusetzen mit einflußreichen Männern; im übrigen
müsse unterschieden werden zwischen z u geschriebenen und erworbenen
Status, zwischen kriegerischen, magisch-rituellen, wirtschaftlichen und politischen Funk-
tionen. Solange noch eine Äquivalenz und ein Gleichgewicht zwischen Tauschpartnern
im Geben und Nehmen bestehe, könne man bei den Führern nur von großen Männern
sprechen; ein „echter“ Big-Man könne erst in Erscheinung treten, wenn Tauschhand-
lungen nicht mehr äquivalent seien und kalkuliertes Ungleichgewicht und Ungleichheit
zwischen den Gruppen herrsche (269). Dies sei erst der Fall, wenn Verwandtschaftsbe-
ziehungen zur Produktion von Reichtum um funktioniert würden und der direkte Frauen-
tausch praktisch nicht mehr Verwandtschafts- und Sozialbeziehungen bestimme (262).
Nach Ansicht Godeliers beruhen die zwei Organisationstypen auf unterschiedlichen
Strukturzwängen, die einen Übergang von „elementaren“ zu „komplexen“ Verwandt-
schaftsstrukturen darstellen. Wie Lcvi-Strauss in seinem Werk über die elementaren Ver-
wandtschaftsstrukturen (1949) bemüht war darzulegen, vollzieht sich der Übergang dann,
wenn das Prinzip des beschränkten Tauschs mit direkter Reziprozität und das
Prinzip des verallgemeinerten Tauschs mit verzögerter Reziprozität vom Prin-
zip des allgemeinen Tauschs mit verwandtschaftsexternen Quellen der Vermitt-
lung (wie Status und Reichtum) abgelöst werden. Auf diese Strukturveränderung gehe
letzlich. so folgert Godelier, auch die sozio-politische Evolution von Stammesgesellschaf-
ten zurück, denn dort wirkten ja ursprünglich, im Rahmen einer funktionellen Hierarchie,
316
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Verwandtschaftsbeziehungen als Produktionsverhältnisse (239-230). Die Belege, die der
Autor in diesem Zusammenhang anführt, unterstreichen zweifellos die These vom Struk-
turwandel. Demnach stellt die Sexualität nur einen sekundären Ordnungsfaktor dar, sie
selbst ist den primären Reproduktionsbedingungen unterworfen (354-357), was sich an
der Verschiebung der Oppositions- und Komplementärbeziehungen zwischen den Ge-
schlechtern im Gefolge des Prozesses der sozioökonomischen Ausdifferenzierung ablesen
läßt. Ob damit so etwas wie eine „Transformationslogik“ nachzuweisen ist, bleibt nach
den eher spärlichen theoretischen Ausführungen Godeliers offen.
Bemerkenswert an der Darstellung ist die Herausarbeitung vieler miteinander ver-
wobener Einzelelemente im kulturellen und historischen Kontext; bemerkenswert ist
weiter der kritisch-distanzierte Blick auf diese doch so sympathische Kultur. Bedauer-
licherweise sind die deskriptiven oder erläuternden Passagen stellenweise etwas redundant;
die theoretischen Erörterungen sind dagegen manchmal zu knapp ausgefallen. Da begnügt
sich der Autor mit Andeutungen oder kondensierten Versionen, die beim Leser den Ver-
dacht auf unzulässige Verallgemeinerungen (oder Verkürzungen) aufkommen lassen. Es
genügt eben nicht, das Modell von Lévi-Strauss gleichsam in den Rang eines universalen
Paradigmas zu erheben und dann unbefragt auf die Realität Neuguineas und Melanesiens
überhaupt anzuwenden. Zusätzliche Erläuterungen hätten hier sicherlich mögliche Miß-
verständnisse ausräumen können. Trotz dieser Einschränkungen ist es ein lesenswer-
tes, ja stimulierendes Buch (leider ohne Index), das viele Fragen für zukünftige Unter-
suchungen offenhält. Man darf daher gespannt sein auf die angekündigten Fortsetzungen,
von denen zu hoffen ist, daß sie die angeschnittene Problematik vertiefen und einige der
noch offenen Fragen einer Lösung zuführen werden. Friedrich Valjavec
New Publications Received
All books and offprints received by
the Editor are here briefly indicated.
Books will be reviewed in one of the fu-
ture numbers of Anthropos as space
allows. Review copies should be sent di-
rectly to the Editor-in-Chief. We assume
no obligation to return unsolicited pub-
lications or to review exchange copies.
Alle bei der Redaktion cingegangenen
Bücher und Sonderdrucke werden hier
kurz angezeigt. Bücher werden in einer
der folgenden Nummern nach Maßgabe
von Raum besprochen. Rezensionsexem-
plare sind unmittelbar and die Redaktion
zu senden. Unverlangtes wird nicht zu-
rückgesandt. Für Tauschexemplare wird
keine Verpflichtung zur Besprechung über-
nommen.
Abbadie, Arnauld d’: Douze ans de séjour dans la Haute-Ethiopie (Abyssinie). 1. xxiii+
628 pp.. 1 et. 2. ix+316 pp. Città del Vaticano: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana,
1980. 4 . (Studi e testi; 286, 287.)
Abdullah, M.S. et al.(Hrsg.); Der Glaube in Kultur, Recht und Politik. Mainz: Hase und
Koehler, 1982. — 170 pp. (Schriftenreihe / Inst, für Intern. Solidarität, Konrad-
Adenauer- Stiftung, 19.)
Äänisvepsän näytteitä. Keränneet ja julkaisseet Antti Sovijärvi ja Reino Peltola. Helsinki:
Suomalais-ugrilainen scura, 1982. — vii+171 pp. (Mémoires de la Société finno-
ougrienne, 171.)
Aitkcn, H. und Ruth Michaelis-Jena (Hrsg.): Schottische Volksmärchen. Köln: Diede-
richs, 1980. — 380 pp. (Die Märchen der Weltliteratur.)
Amstad, Teodoro: Memorias autobiográficas. Säo Leopoldo: UNISINOS, 1981. — 217
pp., illustr., mapas.
Angeli, Wilhelm: Zur Logik von ethnologischer Kulturhistorie und Urgeschichte. Sep.:
Mitteilungen der Anthropologischen Gesellschaft in Wien (Wien) 111. 1981: 1-5.
Angulo Valdes, Carlos: La tradición Malambo: un complejo temprano en el noroeste de
Suramerica. Bogotá, 1981. — 204 pp., lam. (Publicación de la Fundación de Investi-
gaciones arqueológicas nacionales, 12.)
Bancrjee, Sukumar: Impact of Industrialisation on the Tribal Population of Jharia-Rani-
gunge Coal Field Areas. Calcutta: Anthropological Survey of India. 1981. — ii+160
pp. (Memoir/Anthropological Survey of India, 52.)
Basu, A. and A, Pal: Human Remains from Burzahom. Calcutta: Anthropological Survey
of India. 1980. — xi+90 pp., fig., tab. (Memoir/Anthropological Survey of India,
56.)
Bcarth, Th. and Ch. Link: The Tone Puzzle of Wobe. Sep.: Studies in African Linguistics
(Los Angeles) 11. 1980: 147-207.
Becher, Hans: Ocorréncia e significado da mancha mongólica em criancas pequeñas de tres
tribos Yanonámi do noroeste do Brasil. Sep.: Contribui^oes à antropologia em
horn, ao Prof. Egon Schaden (Säo Paulo) 1981: 41-44.
Bcidclman, Thomas O.: Colonial Evangelism: A Socio-historical Study of an East African
Mission at the Grassroots. Bloomington: Indiana Univ. Pr., 1982. — xix+274 pp.
Benson, Elisabeth P, (ed.) : The Olmec and their Neighbours : Essays in Memory of Matthew
W. Stirling. Washington: Dumbarton Oaks ResearchoLibr. and Collections Trustees
for Harvard Univ., 1981. — xii+346 pp., fig., maps, 4°.
ßiersack, Aletta: Communication, Cosmology, and Cybernetics Among a Melanesian
People. 1980. — xii+450 pp. — 5 Microf.
318
New Publications Received
Anthropos 78.1983
Bölschcr, Marianne: The Potlatch in Anthropological Theory: A Pre-evaluation of Certain
Ethnographic Data and Theoretical Approaches. Nortorf: Völkerkundliche Ar-
beitsgemeinschaft, 1982. — 12 pp. (Abhandlungen der Völkerkundlichen Arbeits-
gemeinschaft, 34.)
Boyce, Mary: A History of Zoroastrianism; Vol. 2. Under the Achaemenians. Leiden;
Köln; Brill, 1982. — xvi+306 pp. (Handbuch der Orientalistik; 1, 8, 1, 2, 2A.)
Boyd, Alan W.: To Praise the Prophet: A Processual Symbolic Analysis of Maulidi, a
Muslim Ritual in Lamu, Kenya. 1980. — x+179 pp.
Boyer, L. Bryce; Kindheit und Mythos: Eine ethno-psychoanalytische Studie der Apachen.
Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1982. — 271 pp.
Breton, Roland J.-L.: Les ethnics. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1981. — 127
pp. (Que sais-je, 1924.)
Brown, Fobcs; Magic and Meaning in the World of the Aguaruna Jivaro of Peru. 1981. —
viii+259 pp., maps. — 3 Microf.
Brumbaugh, Robert C.: A Secret Cult in the West Sepik Highlands. 1980. — xv+520 pp.,
illustr., maps.
Buchwald, Wolfgang et al.: Tusculum-Lexikon griechischer und lateinischer Autoren des
Altertums and des Mittelalters. 3., neu bearb. u. erw. Aufl. München; Zürich: Arte-
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Chandrasekhar, S.: The Nagarathars of South India: An Essay and a Bibliography on the
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Chapcllc, Jean: Le peuple tchadien: ses racines, sa vie quotidienne et ses combats. Paris:
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Clement, Jean: Les relations familiales dans le Bengale rural ä travers le roman néo-
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Colby, N. and L.M. Colby: The Daykeeper: The Life and Discourse of an Ixil Diviner.
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Correal Urrcgo, Gonzalo: Evidencias culturales y Megafauna Pleistocénica en Columbia.
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Cowan, W. (ed.): Papers of the Thirteenth Algonquian Conference. Ottawa: Carleton
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Craig, R. D. and R.T. Clement: Who’s Who in Oceania, 1980-1981. Laie: Inst, for Poly-
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Davies, H.J. et al.: Papers in New Guinea Linguistics No. 21. Canberra: Australian National
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Dcwhirst, John: The Origins of Nootkan Whaling: A Definition of Northern and Central
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Dömötör, Tekla: Volksglaube und Aberglaube der Ungarn. Budapest: Corvina, 1981. —
307 pp., 61 Illustr.
Douglas, Mary: Evans-Pritchard. London; Fontana Paperbacks, 1980. — 140 pp.
Drolct, Patricia Lund; The Congo Ritual of Northeastern Panama: An Afro-American
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319
DuBrcuil, Paul: Le zoroastrisme. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1982. — 127 pp.
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Dundes, A. (ed.): The Evil Eye: A Folklore Casebook. New York; London: Garland,
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Farclla, J.R.: A Navajo Philosophy. 1980. — vi+305 pp.
Federschlange und Königsgeier: Indianerkulturen in Costa Rica: Führungsheft. Städtisches
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Feest, Christian: The Art of War. London: Thames and Hudson, 1980. — 92 pp., 104 pl.
Feinberg, Richard: Anuta: Social Structure of a Polynesian Island. Laie; Inst, for Poly-
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Ficicchia, Francesco: Der Baha’ismus: Weltreligion der Zukunft? Geschichte, Lehre und
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Fitzpatrick-Nietschmann, J.; Another Way of Dying: The Social and Cultural Context of
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Fuchs, Stephen: At the Bottom of Indian Society: The Harijan and Other Low Castes.
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Fiirer-Haimendorf, Chr. von: Highland of Arunachal Pradesh: Anthropological Research
in North-East India. Delhi: Vikas Publ. House, 1982. — vi+185 pp., pl., 1 map.
Gardct, Louis: La mystique. — 2me éd. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1981. —
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Gerndt, Helge: Kultur als Forschungsfeld: Über volkskundliches Denken und Arbeiten.
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Gessain, Robert et al.: Vocabulaire du Groenlandais de Test: 1473 mots de la langue des
Ammassalimiut avec leur trad, en Groenlandais de Touest, français, anglais et danois.
Paris; Laboratoire d’anthropologie du Museum national d’histoire naturelle, 1982.
xx+162 pp., 4 . (Documents du Centre de recherches anthropologiques du Musée
de l’Homme.)
Gibbal, Jean-Marie: Tambours d’eau: journal et enquête sur un culte de possession au
Mali occidental. Paris: Sycomore, 1982. — 354 pp., 1 et.
Gieringer, Franz: Islamische Feiertage. Frankfurt: CIBEDO, 1982. — 31 pp., 4°. (CIBE-
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Görög-Karady, V. (ed.): Genres, Forms, Meanings: Essays in African Oral Literature;
Papers in French and English. Oxford: Jaso, 1982. — vi+122 pp. (Jaso Occasional
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Göttlicher Arvid: Nautische Attribute römischer Gottheiten. Bremen, 1981.. — 268 pp.,
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Grohs-Paul, W. und M.Paul: Herder Lexikon; Ethnologie. Freiburg: Herder, 1981.
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Guillcmin, Jeanne (ed.): Anthropological Realities: Readings in the Science of Culture.
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Haley, James L.: Apaches; A History and Culture Portrait. New York: Doubleday, 1981.
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Harrell, Stevan: Ploughshare Village: Culture and Context in Taiwan. Seattle; London;
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Hasenfratz, H.-P.: Die toten Lebenden: Eine religionsphänomenologische Studie zum
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Heath, J. et al. (eds.): The Languages of Kinship in Aboriginal Australia. Sydney: Univ.,
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Heine, Bernd: Boni Dialects. Berlin; Reimer, 1982. — 151 pp., 6 maps. (Language and
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320
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Anthropos 78.1983
----The Nubi Language of Kibera—An Arabic Creole: Grammatical Sketch and Vocabu-
lary. Berlin: Reimer, 1982. — 84 pp., 1 map. (Language and Dialect Atlas of Kenya,3.)
Heine-Geldern, Robert: Gesammelte Schriften. Bd. 4. Wien: Föhrenau: Stiglmayr, 1981.
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Hempcl, Gudrun: Schmuck aus Haaren: Sonderausstellung, Katalog, österr. Museum für
Volkskunde. Wien, 1981. — 53 pp., illustr.
Henley, Paul: The Panare: Tradition and Change on the Amazonian Frontier. New Haven;
London: Yale Univ. Pr., 1982. — xxii+263 pp., pi., fig., tab.
Henninger, Joseph: Gemeinsame und unterscheidende Merkmale sowie die wechselseiti-
gen Beziehungen der drei abrahamitischen Religionen: Ein Beitrag zum Dialog der
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Hernegger, Rudolf; Psychologische Anthropologie: Von der Vorprogrammierung zur
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Herzfeld, Michael: Ours Once More: Folklore, Ideology, and the Making of Modem
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Publication Series.)
Heusch, Luc de: The Drunken King: Or, The Origin of the State. Bloomington: Indiana
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Hickey, Gerald Cannon: Free in the Forest: Ethnohistory of the Vietnamese Central
Highlands, 1954-1976. New Haven; London: Yale Univ. Pr., 1982. — xxi+350 pp.
Hildebrand, Hartmut K.: Die Wildbeutergruppen Borneos. München: Minerva-Publikation,
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Hodder, Ian (ed.): Symbolic and Structural Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge Univ.
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Hofmann, Inge: Probleme der meroitischen Sprachforschung. Sep.: Sprache und Ge-
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Hofmann, Inge und Anton Vorbichler: Herodot und der Schreiber des Esther-Buches.
Sep.: Zeitschrift für Missionswissenschaft und Religionswissenschaft (Münster) 4.
1982: 294-302.
----Das Kambysesbild bei Herodot. Sep.: Archiv für Orientforschung (Hom) 27.1980:
86-105.
Holmberg, David H.: Lama, Shaman, and Lambu in Tamang Religious Practice. 1980. —
ix+382 pp., illustr., maps.
Holy Bible: The New King James Version, Containing the Old and New Testaments.
Nashville: Nelson, 1982. — viii+1236 pp.
Hovens, Pieter (ed.): North American Indian Studies: European Contributions. Göttin-
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Idiens, D. and K.G. Ponting (eds.): Textiles of Africa. Bath: Pasold Research Fund,
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livonen, A. et al.: Voces amicorum Sovijärvi: In honorem Antti Sovijärvi 70. annum
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Irvine, Janice L: Exploring the Limits of Structural Semantics: Analyses of the Buu
Kinship System and their Social Order. 1980. — xiii+355 pp., maps.
Irwin, Paul: Liptako Speaks: History from Oral Tradition in Africa. Princeton: Princeton
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Jacobson, M.R. and S.M. Jacobson: Sama Abaknon Phonology. Sep.: Philippine Journal
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Janzen, John M: The Quest for Therapy: Medical Pluralism in Lower Zaïre. Coll. W.
Arkinstall. Berkeley: Univ. of California Pr., 1982. — xxii+266 pp., illustr., maps.
(Comparative Studies in Health Systems and Medical Care, 1.)
Jar, Mustapha Haji M.: The Anthropology of Development: Village-level Development of
Post-colonial Period. 1980. — x+266 pp.
New Publications Received
321
Jilek, W.G.: Indian Healing: Shamanic Ceremonialism in the Pacific Northwest Today.
Surrey: Hancock House, 1982. — 181 pp., pi., fig. (Cultures in Review Series.)
Kawatake, Toshio: Das Barocke im Kabuki — Das Kabukihafte im Barocktheater. Aus
d. Japan, übers., komm. u. mit Anh. vers, von T. Leims. Wien: österr. Akad. d.
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Kchl, Alois: Die Freimauerei. Sep.: Christliches ABC Heute und Morgen (Emmendingen)
1981: 1-22.
----Symbol und Wirklichkeit. Sep.: Quatuor Coronad (Bayreuth) 1981; 99-118.
Keim, Antje: Kinderalltag in der Dritten Welt und bei uns. Hamburg: Hamburgisches
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28.)
Kikata ^gima: Prestations familiales au Zaire. Bandundu: Ceeba, 1981. — 58 pp., 1 ct.
4 . (Ceeba publications; 2, 65.)
Kingsley, Judith Rae Hilty: Pre-colonial Society and Economy in a Bisa Chiefdom of
Northern Zambia. 1980. — x+269 pp., 8 maps.
Knappcrt, Jan: Namibia: Land and Peoples, Myths and Fables. Leiden: Brill, 1981. —
vi+201 pp., illustr., maps. (Nisaba, 11.)
Köhler, Ekkehart: Hydrologie und Wasserversorgung. Frankfurt a.M. Diesterweg; Aarau:
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Kohl, Karl-Heinz (Hrsg.): Mythen der Neuen Welt: Zur Entdeckungsgeschichte Latein-
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Kowalak, W.: Duchowsc misyjna: materiafy sympozjum misjologicznego 1977-1978.
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----Kulty Cargo na Nowej Gwinei. Warszawa: Akad. teologii katolickiej, 1982. — 354
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Krings, Thomas: Sahel: Senegal, Mauretanien, Mali, Niger. Islamische und traditionelle
schwarzafrikanische Kultur zwischen Atlantik und Tschadsee. Köln: DuMont,
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Kröger, Franz: Ancestor Worship Among the Bulsa of Northern Ghana: Religious, Social,
and Economic Aspects. Hohenschäftlarn: Renner, 1982. — 85 pp., fig., pi. (Kultur-
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Kunitzsch, Paul: The “Description of the Night” in Gurgäni’s Vis u. Ramin. Sep.: Der
Islam (Berlin) 59. 1982: 93-110.
----Observations on the Arabic Reception of the Astrolabe. Sep.: Archives interna-
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----Medizin, Naturwissenschaft und Technik im Mittelalter, Kontinuität und Wandel
in Darstellung und Deutung: Die arabisch-islamische Welt. Sep.: Medizinhistorisches
Journal (Stuttgart) 7. 1982: 54-62.
Latocha, Hartwig: Die Rolle des Hundes bei südamerikanischen Indianern. Hohenschäft-
larn: Renner, 1982. — xi+557 pp. (Münchner Beiträge zur Amerikanistik, 8.)
Lcgast, Anne: La fauna en la orfebrería Sinú. Bogotá: Fundación de Investigaciones
arqueológicas nacionales, 1980. — 119 pp., illustr.
LeMoal, Guy: Les Bobo: nature et fonction des masques. Paris: Orstom, 1980. — x+535
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Leonard, A. and J. Terrell: Patterns of Paradise: The Styles and Significance of Bark
Cloth Around the World. Chicago: Field Museum of Natural History, 1980. — 76
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Lewin, Bruno: Sprachbetrachtung und Sprachwissenschaft im vormodernen Japan. Opla-
den: Westdeutscher Verl., 1982. — 37 pp. (Vorträge/Rheinisch-Westfälische Akad.
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Lewis, I.M.: A Pastoral Democracy: A Study of Pastoralism and Politics Among the
Northern Somali of the Horn of Africa. New York: Africana Publishing Company,
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Anthropos 78.1983
21
322
New Publications Received
Anthropos 78.1983
Lindegger, Peter: Griechische und römische Quellen zum peripheren Tibet: 2. Überliefe-
rungen von Herodot bis zu den Alexanderhistorikern. Rikon: Tibet-Inst., 1982. —
xiii+192 pp., Illustr., Kt. (Opuscula Tibetana, 14.)
Lister, F.C. and R.H. Listen Sixteenth Century Maiolica Pottery in the Valley of
Mexico. Tucson: Univ. of Arizona Pr., 1982. — viii+110 pp., fig., tab. (Anthropol-
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Lutz, Maija M.: Musical Traditions of the Labrador Coast Inuit. Ottawa: National Museums
of Canada, 1982. vi+89 pp., 2 maps. (National Museum of Man: Mercury Series.)
(Canadian Ethnology Service, 79.)
McBryde, Isabel: Coast and Estuary: Archaeological Investigations on the North Coast of
New South Wales at Wombah and Schnapper Point. Canberra: Australian Inst, of
Aboriginal Studies, 1982. — vi+87 pp., pi., fig., tab., 4 . (AIAS, N.S. 24.)
MacCormack, C.P. and M. Strathern (eds.): Nature, Culture and Gender. Cambridge:
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McGilvray, D.B. (ed.): Caste Ideology and Interaction. Cambridge: Cambridge Univ.Pr.,
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Madsen, Brigham D.: The Northern Shoshoni. Caldwell: Caxton, 1980. — 259 pp., pi.,
maps, 4 .
Major ReligionsQand Folk Belief. Nanzan Anthropological Institute. Nagoya. 1981. —
240 pp., 4 . (Nanzan Studies in Cultural Anthropology.)
Mann, R.S.: Hakkipikki: Trapper and Seller. Calcutta: Anthropological Survey of India,
1980. — vi+137 pp., pi., fig. (Memoir/Anthropological Survey of India, 51.)
Mapa etno-histórico de Curt Nimuendaju. Ed. em col. com a Fundaçao Nacional Pró-
Memória. Rio de Janeiro: IBGE, 1981. — 97 pp.
Marglin, F. Apffel: Wives of the God-king: The Rituals of Hindu Temple Courtesans.
1980. — v,vii+530 pp., illustr.
Marshall, Mac (ed.): Through a Glass Darkly: Beer and Modernization in Papua New
Guinea. Boroko: Inst, of Applied Social and Economic Research, 1982. — xxiii+
482 pp., maps. (Monograph, 18.)
Massing, Andreas; The Economic Anthropology of the Kru (West Africa). Wiesbaden;
Steiner, 1980. — xi+281 pp., tab., fig., maps. (Studien zur Kulturkunde, 55.)
Maxwell, Allen R.: Urang Darat: An Ethnographic Study of the Kadayan of Labu Valley,
Brunei. 1981. — viii+272 pp., illustr.
Mayer, A.C. (ed.): Culture and Morality: Essays in Honour of Christoph von FUrer-
Haimendorf. Delhi: Oxford Univ. Pr., 1981. — xv+270 pp.
Mazzoleni, G.: Same: 2. La diversità relativa. Roma: Bulzoni, 1982. — pp. 431-790.
(Chi Siamo.)
Meehan, Betty: Shell Bed to Shell Midden. Canberra: Australian Inst, of Aboriginal
Studies, 1982. — x+189 pp., 40 illustr., 8 maps. (AIAS, N.S. 37.)
Mensen, B. (Hrsg.): Ehe und Familie in verschiedenen Kulturen: Vortragsreihe 1981/
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Mcyer-Orlac, Renate: Mensch und Tod: Archäologischer Befund — Grenzen der Inter-
pretation. Hohenschäftlarn: Renner, 1982. — iv+470pp.
Mieder, W. and A, Dundes (eds.): The Wisdom of Many; Essays on the Proverb. New
York; London: Garland, 1981. — xiv+326 pp. (Garland Folklore Casebooks, 1.)
Milliones, L. y H, Tommoeda (eds.): El hombre y su ambiente en los iMides Centrales.
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logical Studies, 10.)
Molinié Fioravanti, A.: La vallée sacrée des Andes. Paris: Soc. d’ethnographie, 1982. —
238 pp., fig., 10 et. (Recherches américaines, 4.)
Moyano Martin, D. (ed.): Handbook of Latin American Studies: No. 42, Humanities.
A sel. and ann. guide to recent pubi, in art, folklore, history.Austin: Univ. of Texas
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New Publications Received
323
Müller, Christian (Hrsg.): Das große Fachwörterbuch für Kunst und Antiquitäten =
Grand dictionnaire technique d’art et d’antiquités. München: Weltkunst Verl.,
1982. 1. Englisch-Französisch-Deutsch. - 376 pp., Illustr.
Müller, W.W.: Einige Wörter für Katze im Semitischen. Sep.; Münchener Studien zur
Sprachwissenschaft (München) 40. 1981: 139-141.
Murray, J. (Hrsg.): Afrika: Weltatlas der alten Kulturen. Aus d. Engl, übertr. von S.
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Muyay, Tango: Surnoms et sobriquets Yansi (Rép. du Zaire) Bandundu: Ceeba, 1980. —
xxxii+172 pp., 4 . (Ceeba publications; 2,64.)
Nachtigall, Horst: Cofradías among the Ixil-Maya (Guatemala). Sep.: Scripta Etimológica
(Buenos Aires) 6.1981: 113-116.
----Problemas en la educación europea: crisis o solución? Sep.: Poli tica y educación
en la democracia del futuro (Santiago de Chile) 1982: 72-101.
Niles, Susan A.: South American Indian Narrative: Theoretical and Analytical Approaches.
An Annotated Bibliography. New York; London: Garland, 1981.— xxv+183 pp.
(Garland Folklore Bibliographies, 1.)
Nissim, G.M.: Le Bamileke-Ghomálá’ (parler de Bandjoun, Cameroun); phonologie, mor-
phologie nominale, comparaison avec des parlers voisins. Paris: Centre National de
la recherche scientifique, 1981. — 313 pp., 4 et. (Langues et civilisations à tradition
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Östör, Ákos: Europeans and Islanders in the Western Pacific 1520-1840: An Essay in the
History of Encounter and Ideology. Wien: Inst, für Völkerkunde d. Univ., 1981. —
ii+148 pp. (Wiener ethnohistorische Blätter, Beih. 7.)
Olawaiyc, J.A.: Yoruba Religious and Social Traditions in Ekiti, Nigeria and three
Caribbean Countries; Trinidad-Tobago, Guyana, and Belize. 1980. — xvii+485 pp.,
44 illustr.
Papousek, Dick A.: Potlatching, Warfare and Raiding Among the Soutern Kwakiutl:
Some Considerations. Nortorf: Völkerkundliche Arbeitsgemeinschaft, 1982. —
15 pp. (Abhandlungen der Völkerkundlichen Arbeitsgemeinschaft, 35.)
Perrot, Jean (éd.): Les langues dans le monde ancien et moderne. Paris: Centre National
de la recherche scientifique. 1. Les langues de l’Afrique subsaharienne. Texte réunis
par G.Manessy. 2. Pidgins et Créoles. Textes réunis par A. Valdman. — 1981. — xii+
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Plazas, C. y A.M. Falchetti de Saenz: Asentamientos prehispanicos en el bajo río San
Jorge. Bogotá: Fundación de Investigaciones arqueológicas nacionales, 1981. —
136 pp. illustr. (Publicación de la Fundación de Investigaciones arqueológicas
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Pölzl, Konrad: Die gesellschaftspolitische Verantwortung der Kirchen gegenüber den
muslimischen Einwanderern. Frankfurt: CIBEDO, 1982. — 14 pp., 4 . (CIBEDO-
Texte, 15.)
Prioul, Christian: Entre Ougbangui et Chari vers 1890. Nanterre: Soc. d’ethnographie,
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Rabuske, Arthur: O homen que mediu o Brasil: J. H. Augusto Padberg-Drenkpol. Säo
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Range, J.D. (Hrsg.): Litauische Volksmärchen. Düsseldorf; Köln: Diederichs, 1981. —
286 pp. (Die Märchen der Weltliteratur.)
Ratnagar, Shereen: Encounters: The Westerly Trade of the Harappa Civilization. Delhi:
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Ratschow, C.H. (Hrsg.): Ethik der Religionen: Ein Handbuch. Primitive, Hinduismus,
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Raychaudhuri, B.: The Moon and Net: Study of a Transient Community of Fishermen at
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324
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Reynolds, F.E. and T.M. Ludwig (eds.): Transitions and Transformations in the History
of Religions: Essays in Honor of Joseph M. Kitagawa. Leiden: Brill, 1980. — vi+285
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Ribalta, A. (Hrsg.): Volkskunst Amerikas. Bern; Stuttgart: Hallwag, 1981. — 319 pp.,
1006 Illustr., Kt.
Richards, N. Lois: Erythroxylon Coca in the Peruvian Highlands Practices and Beliefs.
1981. — xii+269 pp., illustr., maps.
Riches, David: Northern Nomadic Hunter-Gatherers: A Humanistic Approach. London:
Academic Pr., 1982. — xii+242 pp. (Studies in Anthropology.)
Robbins, Sterling: Auyana: Those Who Held onto Home. Seattle; London: Univ. of
Washington Pr. 1982. — xx+254 pp., maps, tab., fig. (Anthropological Studies in
the Eastern Highlands of New Guinea, 6.)
Roe, Peter G.: The Cosmic Zygote: Cosmology in the Amazon Basin. New Brunswick:
Rutgers Univ. Pr., 1982. — xvi+384 pp., 28 fig.
Riiggeberg, E. (Bearb.): Afrika-Zeitschriften in der Stadt- und Universitätsbibliothek
Frankfurt am Main. — 2., erw. Aufl. Frankfurt, 1982.
Ryan, Kathleen S.: Pollution in Practice: Ritual, Structure, and Change in Tamil Sri
Lanka. 1980. — x+164 pp.
Ryckmans, J.: Al-Ikhdüd: The Philby-Ryckmans-Lippens Expedition of 1951. Sep.:
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----The Arabic Letter-Order According to al-Hamdanl. Sep.: The Intern. Symposium
on the Millennial Anniversary of al-Hasan Ibn Ahmad al-Hamdàrii (San'a’) 1981:
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----L’ordre des lettres de l’alphabet sud-sémitique. Sep.: L’antiquité classique (Bruxelles)
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Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde (’s-Gravenhage) 138. 1982.
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2. Hauschild, T., „Weiblicher Schamanismus“ und „wilde Frauen“. Bemerkungen
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Current Anthropology (Chicago) 23. 1982.
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L’Ethnographie (Paris) 86. 1982. 1.
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Jarvenpa, R., Intergroup Behavior and Imagery: The Case of Chipewyan and
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Ethnomusicology (Ann Arbor, Michigan) 26. 1982. 2.
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Herdt, G.H., Sambia Nosebleeding Rites and Male Proximity to Women (189-231).
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Robert-Lamblin, J., An Historical and Contemporary Demography of Akutan, an
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Folia Linguistica (The Hague) 15. 1981. 1-2.
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History of Religions (Chicago) 22. 1982. 1.
Grottanclli, C., The King’s Grace and the Helpless Woman; A Comparative Study
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Indiana (Berlin) 7. 1982.
Lindig, W., Die Wurzeln der formativen Kulturen im östlichen Nordamerika (7-21).
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International Journal of Comparative Sociology (Leiden) 23. 1982. 1-2.
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Jahrbuch für Völkerkunde und Kulturgeschichte (Berlin)
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46. 4. Katata, J,, Outlines for Anthropological Research on Aging and the Elderly
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Oliver, R., The Nilotic Contribution to Bantu Africa (433-442). — Lovcjoy, P.E.,
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Journal of African Languages and Linguistics (Dordrecht) 3. 1981. 2.
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Rodriguez Adrados, F., The Archaic Structure of Hittite: The Crux of the Problem
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Journal of Latin American Lore (Los Angeles) 7. 1981. 2.
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Wentc, E.F., Mysticism in Pharaonic Egypt? (161-179)
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Jay Miller
Numic Religion:
An Overview of Power
in the Great Basin of Native North America
Abstract. — Although long noted for the gastronomic orientation of much of the
research done in the Great Basin areas of North America, the Numic cultures located
there profess one of the most subtly elementary religions on the continent. Having a
kinetic understanding of power (puha) as flowing over the landscape, people recognize
the affinity of puha for life and hence water. While diffused throughout the area, this
power also concentrates in web-like currents linked to mountain peaks and water sources.
While most closely associated with immortal supematurals, puha is shared with individuals
in dreams. Shamans and others can strengthen their portion of power by using it at night
or within inclosed spaces. Slighting variations, such as the male emphasis on Sun Father
among the Northern Paiute, the present study emphasizes the female dominance of
Ocean Old Woman in the southern and central area of Paiute and Shoshoni, as revealed in
mythology, the ethnographic past, and present practice. Of particular note is the Basin
cultural emphasis on Woman as the inclusive, unmarked category in contrast to the more
confined definition of Man. The mediation of water and burrowing animals also is of
great cultural importance for meshing together these societies. [North America, Great
Basin, Numic Culture, Religion, Power, Women in Culture, Moisture Patterns]
1. Essentials
The Great Basin has long been the subject of anthropological interest
because the elementary patterns of its native societies tell us much about
the persistence, stamina, and ingenuity needed by humans to live in a difficult
Jay Miller, Dr. phil, graduated from the University of New Mexico and Rutgers,
with course work at Princeton. His specialty is Native N orth American cultures, particularly
in terms of the Strucon (structural-configuration) model he has been developing. The
model recognizes a matrix for each culture with threeway relationships (inclosive-mediat-
ing, inclusive-integrating, exclusive-segregating) and an echo-paideuma that pervades and
unifies the entire system. His main publications have developed the model in terms of
Delaware (Lenape) data and have appeared in Anthropological Linguistics and American
Ethnologist. Other publications in Anthropos and Journal of Anthropological Research
have explored the functions of mediation by heart, High God, and berdcche across the
continent; based on his fieldwork among Pueblos, Delaware, Tsimshian, Salish, and
Shoshoni In addition to faculty positions at several Universities and now as Visiting
Scholar at the American Indian Studies Program, he has done legal and consulting re-
search for Salish and Numic tribes. Address: AIS GN-05, Univ. of Washington, Seattle,
Washington 98195.
Anthropos 78.1983
22
338
Jay Miller
Anthropos 78.1983
but productive environment. This concern has so dominated Basin research,
however, that the full sweep of its lifeways and intricate symbol systems has
been largely ignored. Heretofore, the theoretical focus of all this research
has been either descriptive ethnography or cultural ecology, with the focus
most decidedly on ecology rather than on culture.
Most recently, with the possible deployment of MX missle bases, min-
ing operations, and utility expansions, Basin religious sites have been destroyed
or threatened, much as local food resources were destroyed over a hundred
years ago by Christians and their livestock (Andrus 1979; Hartigan 1980;
Inter-Tribal Council of Nevada 1976a-d).
The primary and—except for the Hokan-speaking Washo around Lake
Tahoe—the sole occupants of the Great Basin are members of the Numic
family of languages within the Uto-Aztecan stock. The Numic languages
fanned out from the vicinity of Death Valley and diversified into three
closely related branches. Southern Numic is represented by Kawaisu, Cheme-
huevi, a dozen Southern Paiute (Nuwuvi) groups, and Ute. Central Numic
includes Panamint, Western Shoshoni (Newe) and Gosiute, Northern Sho-
shoni, and Eastern (Wind River-Comanche) Shoshoni. Western Numic em-
braces Mono and several Northern Paiute (Numa) bands noted for their
lake-based economy and expansion into the Oregon and Idaho salmon
fisheries. Today, most people live on reservations, often near or on their
traditional territories or, for reasons of steady employment, have settled
at colonies consisting of reserved plots of land near ranches, towns, settle-
ments, and cities. Extensive visiting and movement between areas is still the
norm as it was in aboriginal times, but the money economy has all but
replaced a primary reliance on foraging [Facilitators 1980).
At present, no general overview of Basin religion exists in print, except
for the study of shamanism by Park (1938) and some treatments of the
Circle, Bear, and Cry ceremonies. These works on religious practices and
beliefs, however, do not constitute a systematic treatment of the basic
theology. Such an overview requires that we shift the focus of research from
society, the behavioral component of human life, to culture, the semantic-
conceptual dimension. Ignoring this distinction between society and culture,
Ralph Linton (in Harris 1940:117) made the absurd comment that “Aboriginal
White Knife culture was so simple and amorphous that there was little to be
destroyed by European contact.” As a canon of anthropology, cultural
relativism has been virtually ignored when Basin data are used in comparisons,
neglecting to realize that while the societies were rather elementary, the
mental elaboration of the cultures was on a par with any other culture.
Our concern, therefore, is less of what people do and more of what
they think, with the caveate that the two are of course closely related and
that the thoughts of some people are more important than those of others,
much as the advice of a recognized expert is more valuable than that of a
novice. In actual practice, these important thinkers were usually shamans,
but sometimes they can be people so physically incapacitated yet mentally
Numic Religion
339
alert and curious that they could devote full time to reflection and system-
atization. According to figures supplied by Whiting (1950: 28) for Northern
Paiute and by Reichel-Dolmatoff (1971) for the Desana of South America,
only about 20% of a Native American population are empowered with
such knowledge and less than 5% of these have any wise and systematic over-
view of the conceptual universe. These adepts earn their position by a long
and arduous period of training in self-discipline, empathy, and the use of
liturgical techniques and languages. This process involves the perfection of
skills dealing with mind and body control, hypnosis, meditation, and, most
especially, breathing exercises.
The aim for all of this training is the ability to gain and control super-
natural power-and-energy (puha) after it is conferred by a spirit through a
recurrent dream because it is already familiar with the family of the trainee
or it has taken a liking to him or her. This person can then use the power for
the benefit of others, which is the socially-sanctioned practice, or for more
personal reasons, which is regarded as selfish and equated with sorcery.
Power in and of itself is merely a significant gift to a human by one of the
Immortals, often the ‘boss’ of a particular species, who has existed since
the dawn of this world and this time frame.
The primary characteristic of this Myth or Timeless Age “when animals
were people” was its sameness. According to Powell (1971: 73), this primal
world consisted of the “original facts or primary concepts that there is a
land and a sea, an abyss below, and a night above.” Southern Paiute mythol-
ogy is even more explicit in tracing the origin of the world to a primal
ocean occupied by an Old Woman who sprinkles some particles of her skin
upon the water and, assuming a birthing posture, stretches it out to make
the land. Laird (1976) provides the most complete account of this creation
in a Chemehuevi version in which Ocean Woman is aided by Wolf, Coyote,
and Cougar. Wolf symbolizes the magical, vastly wise—but pompous and
humorless—shaman possessing the crooked rod (poro) that is the shamanic
insignia. Coyote is the innovative, sensuous, selfish, and foolish character
who set the pattern that humans now follow. Cougar is not well delineated
in the myth, probably because he represents the dangerous, malevolent, and
crazy actions of a sorcerer since “the mountain lion and the rattlesnake . . .
conferred upon their possessors the power to do great harm” (Laird 1974:
22).
Humans were created on the island formed by Ocean Woman as the
result of the union of Coyote as father and of Louse as mother, were carried
to land by Coyote in the guise of a water spider, and carelessly scattered over
the earth when the curiosity of Coyote led him to open the basket contain-
ing them before he reached the center of the world. As Laird (1976: 214)
remarked, Louse is an appropriate mother because “her offspring have
assuredly crept like lice over the beautiful body of the earth.”
From this evidence, it seems likely that the center of the primal world,
if not also the island where humans were born, is Charleston Peak (Snow
340
Jay Miller
Anthropos 78.1983
Having) just west of Las Vegas, since Ocean Woman left a memento of her-
self there in the form of a wrinkled, reclining figure now called Mummy Peak
and the brothers Wolf and Coyote had their cave home on another nearby
slope. The land formed upon the water may have actually been that exposed
as the water receded from the center.1
Other peoples have localized these events within their own territories.
For example, a Northern Paiute version associates Ocean Woman with Job’s
Peak in the Stillwater Range near Walker Lake.
Regardless of these variations, in the beginning the earth was every-
where flat and the same until the series of changes began that left the many
sawtooth ranges and occasional lakes known to humans. The Gosiute attribute
these changes to Hawk slashing the earth with his wings (Malouf 1974). With
“the origin of surface relief commenced the scattering of the nations, for
there was now a diversity of country and each one chose for himself a
special habitat” (Powell 1971; 77). This diaspora was not without its diffi-
culties, however, since the original community lost its common language and
much of the received wisdom of the primordial age. Coyote saw to it that
life would be precarious and laborious so that humans would not have it easy
and hold life in slight regard.
Night was the constant condition until the Sun, Moon, Stars, and
seasons were instituted. This was a night of time and of space, with “the
face of the night meaning the sky or apparent firmament” (Powell 1971:
73). Because it is of the very beginning, night is the most appropriate time
for curings, gatherings, and dances, especially at midnight and just before
dawn. Hence, Olofson (1979: 13),despite some bafflement, correctly learned
about the spirit of the night “which is everywhere and sends animal mes-
sangers to the doctor; it is for this reason that shamans prefer to work at
night when their power is strongest.”
The stars were personages who left the earth to dwell in the sky “where
they are compelled to travel in appointed ways” (Powell 1971: 75). The
moon is a Frog who rose into the sky under the influence of the song and
dance of Whipperwill {ibid.: 221), his seven wives were the sisters of Wolf
and Coyote changed into stars, and Venus is his son (ibid.: 229).
The sun has more complex associations with the black widow spider
(Sun Spider), a period of great brilliance and destructiveness until Cotton-
tail shattered him into present size, and a sky home surrounded by many 1
1 Having now seen Charleston Peak, the San Francisco Mountains sacred to the
Hopi, and Moses Mountain on the Colville Reservation of Washington, all of which are
cosmic centers, I hazard the generalization that each of these is the highest summit in
a close cluster of others. For instance, the Salish name for Moses Mountain indicates that
it is Big Brother surrounded by other brothers. As the Salish and others have carefully
instructed me, the communal ethic and oblique interpersonal relationships or reciprocity
are the norm for all the world (except Anglos), applying to everything, even those as
concrete as sacred mountains.
Numic Religion
341
animals including bears. According to Powell (1971: 75), the Numa have “a
host of mythological stories giving the reason why the sun . , . who should
have a will of his own—is yet compelled to travel by a definite trail along
the face of the night.” This kind of limitation on the effectiveness of sun
indicates that Harris (1940: 56) overstated the role of sun as Sun Father
serving as the fountainhead of supernatural power. While the sun represents
a major concentration of such power, he was not of the beginning nor a close
associate of Ocean Woman.
In keeping with the sameness of the Myth Age, the inhabitants, while
having the names of modem species, had no definite forms, being simultaneous-
ly human, spirit, and biota. In her usual revealing way, Laird (1977: 209ff.)
comments that these Immortals have/had a way of shimmering between
forms. This shimmering quality is a particularly apt description for the
mythic characters from all over Native America because it implies that
they were/are in constant flux and process. Probably the hardest aspect
of the Native world to convey to English speakers is its dominate kinetic
or dynamic quality. It is poorly described by nouns because it involves
verbs almost entirely. While many native languages do use nouns, verbs are
usually much more important because these people concentrate on pro-
cesses. They speak not of life but of living, referring to the ongoing inter-
actions and reciprocities that make life possible. Similarly, power is not a
particularly appropriate word for characterizing the life force-and-energy,
because it is not a static concept. It is kinetic, underlying all aspects and
activities of the native universe, conveying notions closer to those of modem
physics than to other folk beliefs. Yet convention and English usage con-
strains any attempt to introduce more appropriate terms at this time.
This processual dynamic of the universe pervades all of power, and with
it, all of life. This attribute of flow in terms of life is nicely illustrated by
a saga about how Badger revived the wife and son of Owl after they had been
killed by the fatal fumes caused by the anger of Skunk (Powell 1971: 260;
Laird 1980: 80). (Incidentally, it also illustrates the importance of singing
and dancing in relation to the control of power because both of these involve
rhythmical movement attune to that of the power-and-energy kinesis.)When
Badger had his attention called to the two lifeless forms lying upon his
special plot of ground,
He painted himself and danced a dance and sang a song known only to himself.
Then he dug a hole and burrowed along under the ground until he came to a point
just under the bodies and there he emerged from the earth. Standing by the bodies
of the woman and child, he pierced them with his medicine knife until the blood
ran and they returned to life , . . (Powell 1971: 260).
Accordingly, the flow is matched by Badger in his song and dance
before he himself moves with it through the tunnel and emerges to attune the
deceased to it by causing their own blood to resume its flowing. Presumably,
342
Jay Miller
Anthropos 78.1983
it was such flowing that led people to tell Harris (1940: 56-57) that power
is bird-like, but such a description seems to apply more correctly to the
spirits who control or apportion power, based on a comparison with the
Columbian Salish practice of using the same term to refer equally to a bird,
a pet, and a guardian spirit.
This processual flow can also be clearly seen in the lifeways of the
native peoples of the Basin. Men and women scattered over their territory
from a series of strategicly placed camps to hunt and to gather available
resources. The fundamental social unit was a married pair with children and
a few bilateral relatives composing a kindred. These groups were small because
foods, primarily plant seeds, were thinly spread and ripened so precipitously
that not all of them could ever be harvested effectively (Steward 1938: 20).
In addition, the vegetation and animals fluctuated from year to year because
the rainfall upon which they depended was variable. The only gatherings of
people were made possible by a sudden abundance of food, due to the pine
nut harvest or coordinated drives for grasshoppers, mudhens, rabbits, and
antelope. If a valley had a reliable water source, then the population was
larger in consequence and regulated by a leader, known by a term meaning
“talker” because he used oratory to maintain decorum, and by a shaman
with the supernatural empowerment necessary to orchestrate drives and
conduct cures. Sometimes chief and shaman were the same person, but
usually they were separate leaders who shared authority. The wife of a
chief seems to have been responsible for regulating female activities, which
were unusually cooperative (Steward 1938: 99; Kelly 1964: 29). Among the
Chemehuevi,
Everything to do with the gathering and preparation of seeds and fruits and with
weaving belonged to the women’s side. To the men appertained all that had to do
with game, especially big game (except the packing of it into camp, when there
were women available for the task). The hunter, using his awl, sewed or laced
together buckskin clothes for himself and his family (Laird 1977: 6).
More generally, Steward (1938: 44) recorded “Both sexes usually made
things used by both—houses, rabbitskin blankets, and clothing.” Men and
women also worked together during the harvesting of pine nuts and the
capture of small rodents [ibid.: 231). Except for the use of sweatlodges as
men’s clubs in Owens Valley, a man engaged in solitary tasks, working and
hunting alone (ibid.: 36, 55; Whiting 1950: 68). In addition to sharing the
same economic activities, women also divided labor between themselves
since food gathering and child care, the major female activities, often required
different uses of time and skills. It was not uncommon for a camp to have
two women, the younger gathering the food, and the older, often a grand-
mother, tending the children (Whiting 1950: 68). Even when men and
women cooperated in the same task, their symbolic associations were very
different. For example, women had primary responsibility for the covering
Numic Religion
343
of the house, whether of brush or matting, while the men acquired the
support posts; associating women with the outside and men with the inside.
Similarly, according to their activities in relation to time, women engaged in
constant, continuous activities while those of men were periodic.
A woman shared her food with her coresident kin, but big game killed
by a man was shared among everyone present at the time. If a woman gave
food to other kin or neighbors, it was phrased as a gift and required a return
(Steward 1938: 74), although Kelly (1964: 122) lists a term for a distant
relative that means “someone you feed.” Nonetheless, there is an important
difference between the way that food from women and from men was treated
and distributed, because women supplied most of the food that was eaten
from day to day since plants were a more reliable food source than animals.
As Kelly (1964: 132) was told with reference to Southern Paiute economics,
“women dug roots and men ate them.” Obviously, this placed males at a
disadvantage, as Whiting (1950: 73) noted in psychological terms, particularly
because blood kin is always more important than affines in the Basin, and
“A man, then, is closely tied to and dependent on his mother and sisters,”
providing a source for recurring frustrations and occasional suicides. Even
now, women are the mainstays of Numic society and the buffer against
economic and psychological uncertainty (Knack 1976).
The arena for these interpersonal interactions was the series of camps
located near resources throughout the landscape, with any sudden abundances
shared among a larger grouping and serving as the basis for ritual gatherings.
The hub for all of these activities was the winter camp or village, usually
located in the pine nut territories near food caches. As Steward (1938; 12,
14, 124, 141, 232) mentions repeatedly,
Encampments tended to cluster with respect to mountain masses rather than
valleys .... Mountain ranges not only capture but retain greater precipitation.
As more than half of the annual precipitation generally falls in winter through-
out most of the area, it is retained as snow on high mountain summits until well
into summer (the Sierra of California even have small glaciers) and is released
gradually in springs and streams. The run-off of moisture, however, depends upon
mountain structure {ibid.: 232 and 12).
A balanced anticline waters the valleys on either side of it, but most
mountains in the Basin are monoclines with one very steep side. Most often,
drainage is best on the west side, so those valleys have the population clusters,
such as the Reese River Valley of the Toyabe Range rather than the Big
Smokey Valley to the east. While this is the general rule, there are some
notable exceptions, such as the Snake Mountains which drain east into the
Snake Valley rather than the western Warm Spring Valley (Steward 1938:
126). The amount of water also influences the settlement pattern so that
areas roamed by kindreds are much smaller near rivers than in more arid
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Anthropos 78.1983
terrain. In all, camp sites were selected for the availability of water, of
fire wood, of seeds, berries, nuts, or animals, and of moderate temperatures
(Steward 1938: 232).
Ultimately, however, water was/is the most vitally important component
of living in the Basin. It is the keystone of the religion because power as the
life force-and-energy has a very great affinity for all living things, all of
which depend on water, a “purifying agent . . . spoken of as being like the
human breath” (Whiting 1950: 40). Whether as rain, snow, lakes, streams,
or springs, water determined the location and movements of life in the Basin.
Because it often fluctuated widely, so too did these populations.
The temporary and shifting intervillage alliances of this region, therefore, instead of
consistently allying people of well-defined territories, entailed a linkage of village
with village which extended, net-like, throughout the area (Steward 1938: 247).
Communal hunts and ceremonies, reciprocal economic obligations, seasonal group
residence, intermarriage and transient membership of both camp and winter com-
munities wove a loose net of linkages which spread throughout Western Shoshonean
society (Harris 1940: 55).
2. Analysis
If we are to understand the culture that informs and organizes the
societal activities of the past and the present among Basin natives, we need
a coherent model such as that of the Strucon (structural-configuration)
intended to provide a comprehensive, integrated treatment of a human
culture. While the model divides a culture into three components (sensory,
interpersonal, and cosmic) and a format of threeway relationships, the dis-
cussion of power will require only that we look at the format, with its pair
of inclusive and exclusive members mediated by a third inclosive dimension.
On the horizontal or flat dimension, the paired relations are such that
one member is integrative and the other is segregative, or one is open and the
other is closed or confined within the first. The relations between the inclusive
and the exclusive items is semanticly analogous to the relationship between
the unmarked and marked features of a language or vocabulary. For example,
most cultures recognize that the concept of the masculine is inclusive and
incorporating of a concept of the feminine that is much more tightly defined.
The Numic, however, are an exception to this generalization because
they regard Woman as inclusive and Man as exclusive. Thus, Ocean Woman
made the world and all it encompasses, giving the Numic people a female
creator befitting these societies where women are the cooperative group
providing most of the food. As in most cultures, the house serves as a model
for the cosmos and among Basin peoples, men supply the inside supports
while women provide the overall covering. Similarly at gatherings, “the
women are formed in a circle and dance in a slow shuffling manner, the men
standing within dance on their toes with heels turned out and body bent
Numic Religion
345
forward leaping high in the air . . . giving a yell and whirling a bullroarer”
(Powell 1972: 631). Kelly (1964: 104) reported that other variants of the
Circle Dance involve only women or men and women in alternation, some-
times around a tall center post and a male song leader. Because Woman is
inclusive both men and women can appear in the outer ring, but the exclusivity
of Man limits the center to men.
During periods of fasting and abstinence at birth, puberty, and death,
women are usually under restrictions for 30 days, while men are limited to 5
days. As inclusive pattern numbers are larger than exclusive ones, it is signifi-
cant that the female period is fully six-times that for men. More usually, men
are associated with a slightly larger number like three, when women are
associated with single or double occurrences (Miller 1979). The prominence
of women in Basin society is such that they are inclusive to a much greater
extent than would be expectable from comparison with other cultures. Men,
engaged in solitary tasks and supplemental economics, occupy the exclusive
position within the female domain. This appears to generate an ambivalence
concerning women that has important consequences for the culture, as
illustrated by a belief in Water Babies, small females with long hair who live
in artesian springs, travel via water anywhere, and attack or drown people,
especially women and children.
Furthermore, in terms of color symbolism, black is the exclusive color,
associated with warriors, red is the inclusive one, associated with celebrations
of life, and white is the inclosive one, associated with purity, spirits, curing,
and power.
Yet these relations between Woman/Man and Outside/Inside have more
to do with complementarity and cooperation than with hostility. The strong
Native American preference for oblique relations, in which each person is
responsible for the care and welfare of others more than him or her self, is
illustrated by the Basin practices of sharing food with family and close kin
and by the involvement of the few leading families in all activities, serving
to inspire and coordinate the work of all. It is for this reason that Ocean
Woman shares the creation of the world with Wolf, Coyote, Louse, and
Cougar, forming a network of reciprocating relations. No one ever works
entirely alone without regard for others, unless he or she is a sorcerer, and
Ocean Woman is definitely not that.
In most cultures where Man is inclusive, woman is defined as a weak or
incomplete version of Man, but Numic logic, which is certainly closer to the
physiological facts, regards Woman as inclusive and outside because females
define the space enveloped or covered by the group as a whole. Goss (1972:
124, 126) noted that the Southern Ute consider stars and flocks of small
birds as female. As beings of uniform size widely scattered over an area, they
serve as appropriate metaphors for Woman, which, in this light, can be
conceptualized as representing a plane or the flat dimension. Man is ex-
clusive because men are solitary, larger, and more prominent features of the
landscape. Hence, all of the larger mammals are considered male, regardless
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of their social patterns. In all, the Manly stands out as the most specific
and definite parts of the environment, providing it with an aspect of height
and size. The opposition between Man and Woman, therefore, has associa-
tions with exclusive/inclusive, inside/outside, filler/edge, and promontory/
plane. Such an alternation of plane or flat with promontory or rise is, of
course, highly appropriate for expressing Basin physiography with its many
parallel rows of broad valleys divided by sawtooth mountain ranges.
In addition, each of these categories also has an associated action that
is graphicly sexual in that Woman spreads and Man pierces, such as the
hunter with his awl and the shaman with his rod. This enveloping or engulf-
ing aspect of Woman accounts for the extreme taboo on exposed female
genitals, even with tiny babies (Harris 1940; 62, 68), because they represent
the limitless, awesome attraction and domination of the Womanly. In sum,
these relations between the sexes serve as the most compelling metaphors
for the horizontal or panorama dimension of the culture format.
The third relationship provides a solidifying dimension, linking these
flat pairings into an ordered series. It does this through the process of media-
tion, recognizing a commonality between each pair and showing an additional
relationship to other mediators through the quality of being a permeating
nexus, a semantic core with tendrils or offshoots that permeate the fabric of
society and the world. This nexus is most similar to a living web with the
webbing ever reaching outward and integrating all available phenomena, end-
lessly flowing in arcs from the center to the limits and back again. This nexal
web stands as a metaphor for the human minds and its all encompassing
thoughts, with the center serving as the source and summary of it all and
usually symbolized as a prismatic crystal of quartz, which is treated like a
proverbial crystal ball.2 Everyone has a web of thoughts which meshes with
those of other culture members, but all of these are also coordinated by a
focal figure such as a chief or shaman, trained from childhood to undertake
the family responsibility of looking after the wellbeing of the community
and seeing that good thoughts are maintained and perpetuated among all
the members.
Power relates to all of these relationships because it is the precursor of
all of them. As the life force, it serves as the cosmic mediator, pervading the
universe and all intelligence. Its source, however, lies in the immortality of
the first beings, especially Ocean Woman. As has been indicated for other
areas of Native America, the ultimate source of power is the mind of the
focal figure in the creation of the world and the key feature of this mind
that imparts immortality is memory (Miller MS6). In all Native American
Prismatic crystals seem to fulfill this recursive source and summary function
throughout the Americas, not just the Basin (cf. Reichel-Dolmatoff 1971). In fact, all
of this discussion of Basin religion can be regarded as a treatment of the elementary
structure or blueprint for power and religion in Native America, in keeping with the
elegant simplicity with which the Basin seems to do everything.
Numic Religion
347
cultures, memory is the basis for the transmission of all knowledge and for
the prominence of certain families in roles of leadership since their children
are specially trained in memorization. Memory can be aided by various
mneumonics, but it lies at the heart of all these means (Miller 19806).
Among the mneumonics developed as memory aids, although they are not
commonly recognized as such, is the production and use of rock art. As has
become clear from Interior Salish examples, rock art is intended as a form of
communication between humans and other “people” (spirits, animals,
plants, and others) living in this and other times, aspects, and dimensions
(Miller MSa). Rock art serves to remind all of these beings what the appropriate
activities are for certain areas.
In all, then, power in Numic cultures can be traced to the memory of
Ocean Woman, who like Merlin the Wizard, knows the past, present, and
future because they are all the same in her mind, Power permeates the
universe, but it has a marked affinity for the living and so tends to concen-
trate with or near them and most closely parallels the moisture pattern and
the water flow of the Basin. For example, the sacred site of creation in the
south is called Snow Having because Mount Charleston is high enough (about
12,000 feet) to retain this water until the spring melting and as such repre-
sents the promise of water for the future, befitting a focus of religious con-
cern. It also includes a great concentration of power because of its central
location, water supply, living biotic communities, and the cave where Wolf
lived and water continues to collect. All water sources are sacred because
they are reservoirs of power, whether as clouds, rain, snow, springs, seeps,
lakes, streams, or rivers. Similarly, deep and on-slope caves are also sacred
because they collect water by seepage or remain moist or dark like the first
world. Caves can also penetrate to other worlds above and below the earth,
provide an abode for various creatures, and have a central chamber and
branches that evoke the conceptual nexus. All of these characteristics help
to explain why caves are sacred, serving to attract and direct the flow of
power like the webbing of a net. In the same vein, salt is sacred because of its
association with water and its seepage in caves (Kelly 1964: 127).
While power closely follows the flow of water, they are not the same
because power is definitely the most important. As in the Christian tradition
of Lourdes and Fatima, power can sometimes manifest itself by producing
a spring or a water flow in a previously dry location. Moreover, water flowing
between banks serves to limit and define the life living within its current and
similarly concentrates power along its course. In pattern these waterways
axe conceptualized as webbing linked to the peak of a mountain. In this
way, the web has its center at the summit and its branches along the slopes
and valleys, all interlinking with the master web of the mountain at the
center of the world. In practice, all of these features are animate and personi-
fied, both by the Numic and by many other tribes. This has been particularly
well described for the nearby Navaho: “Each mountain is a person. The
water courses are their veins and arteries. The water in them is their life as
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Anthropos 78.1983
our blood is to our bodies” (Alexander Stephen notes quoted in Reichard
1974: 20).
Power like water is widely dispersed throughout the world, but its
flow is not random or haphazard because as an associate of memory-power
it must be rational. In fact, from all of the available evidence, it seems clear
that power follows definite channels or pathways like water does. Moreover,
these pathways move out from a center or multiple centers in passages
that are both concentric and straight-forward which strongly suggests the
pattern of a web. Indeed, it is no accident that Coyote assumed the form of
a water spider to populate the world and that the sky is the abode of Sun
Spider who webs the firmament.
Steward (1938: 247) missed the full import of his remark that inter-
village alliances were “net-like,” as did Harris (1940: 55). Nor did Olofson
(1979: 19) appreciate his comment that “This network of moral-mystical
interdependence among people, with the pact between shaman and spirit at
the center, probably did much to define the limits of Northern Paiute
society.” Nonetheless, Olofson (1979: 17, 19) did have enough insight to
recognize the role of mind in calling the familiar of the shaman to assist
in a successful cure, and the importance of humans surrounding an area, thus
“concentrating power within the circle, by heightening the religious and
empathetic feeling of the people.” Since power is attracted to life and is
related to mind, a human gathering will concentrate it and a dancing circle
will contain it while the singing people become attune to it and assimilate
some of it. Similarly, a rabbit, antelope, fish, or grasshopper drive will
encourage power to concentrate there and be transferred from animals
to humans once the slain creatures are treated respectfully. After these
concentrations, power will proportion among the participants and follow
each of them home along the separate trails or pathways radiating out from
that central location.3
Continuing work on the concept of power has taught me much about the
concept of culture, especially its use in political contexts such as those of Red Power.
Symbolic studies are making it more and more apparent that humans have but a single
culture with the boundaries differently drawn for each of its local expressions as a culture.
Each culture is therefore a particular arrangement and selection from the universal,
using local biota and landscape features to express its distinctiveness and localized adapta-
tion. Similarly, there is only a single power source in the memory of the Creator, expressed
variously in different religious systems. In the Americas, each of these versions was
handed down in the Origin Saga to a “tribe” to be safeguarded as the divinely-instituted
law of that society. In this context, cultural relativity had to do with Native American
respect and avoidance of the various cultural and divine laws determining the practices
of a tribe. Furthermore, while it is generally missing from this and most other discussions,
attention needs to be called to the emotional and personal dimensions of power. Some-
one on a vision quest personally feels and experiences an encounter with power, often
comparing it to an electric jolt. This is also conveyed in the English word power (“some-
thing with a pow”), although the concept is usually treated as an abstraction, probably
due to the lack of affect in modern American religions.
Numic Religion
349
Hence, trails are sacred in the Basin; “Trails were regarded by Native
Americans not only as highways for travel, but as sacred pathways which
symbolize the cultural continuity of ancient and modern peoples” (HDR
1960: 71). Powell (1971; 39) long ago noticed “with what tenacity an
Indian clings to a trail” since it was trodden by the ancients and sacred, not
to be replaced by another that was shorter, better, and newer. Yet it is not
only human paths, but all of the runs used by animals which contain power
since they direct the flow of life. Further, tobacco smoke was used to com-
mune with power because it forms a path for spirits and power to travel
directly to the smoker. It seems significant that the word for power (puha),
for water (paa), and for path (po’ai) are similar in Shoshoni (Crapo 1976:
64, 71, 72). The association of water and breath is also interesting because
the Shoshoni word sua means both to breath and to think, bringing us full
circle to the mediating position of mind (Crapo 1976; 77).
All of the other mediators also partake of this aspect of the permeat-
ing rays from a center, as illustrated by some of the important figures in
Numic mythology. Primary among these are a series of burrowers like Bear,
Badger, Mouse, Rabbit, and Frog. Burrowing is, of course, a typical adapta-
tion to desert climates, but the symbolism of such burrows has been culturally
derived. In addition to these lower members of the food chain, there are
also the canines Wolf and Coyote, various spiders, and some other humanoids
like Water Babies and Short Giants. Plants do not often appear, presumably
because they do not move as freely and so are less appropriate to represent
the flow of power. In Northern Paiute, animals are genericly called “movers,”
while plants are “bloomers.” Moreover, not only do most of these mediators
have burrows, but each of them ideally occupies a main chamber with
several alternative passages leading away from it to permit escape and
frustrate any attempt to trap them. In a myth, Cottontail explicitly has such
a burrow that indicates his intelligence and preplanning. These burrows,
therefore, are apt metaphors for the permeating nexus that characterizes the
inclosive relationship. Initially, Frogs may seem problematic, but the mythol-
ogy makes it clear that frogs dig the tunnels from the primal water (The Self-
Chartering Sea) that allows water to emerge as springs and other water flows
(Powell 1971: 246). The Chumash of southern California had a similar
belief that water, apparently fresh water, was under the care of Frogs since
it is their urine (Blackburn 1975: 91). This is not a distasteful idea because
the great changeability of frogs (which made Frog appropriate to beome the
moon), from tadpole to amphibian, and their obvious association with water
embued them with great power, to the extent of implying that frogs were
important shamans in the world of nature.
The available evidence suggests that these mediators are arranged in a
series from those closest to humans to those most remote from them. On
this basis, the sequence would be spiders, mice, rabbits, frogs, and bears
because spiders weave thought-like webs and can live in houses, mice move
between houses and desert, frogs live near water like humans, badgers are
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Anthropos 78.1983
animal doctors because they root around in plant medicines and are noctur-
nal, and bears are the most physically humanoid of all mammals living in
remote areas. There seems to be another series of animals who are carni-
vorous like wolf, cougar, and coyote, but they are imperfectly understood as
yet because the dog, who would ordinarily be the end of the series closest to
humans, was not kept as a pet in the Basin until quite recently because, like
the horse, it strained the resources to keep them in food. Bat is often mentioned
as an important supernatural and guardian of the dead, probably because of
its nocturnal habits and ambivalent position between birds and quadrupeds.
While power has a clear and deep affinity for living things, once acquired,
some of it is always retained as long as any trace remains of an individual.
As is common in Native America, death is not viewed as an end of living, but
rather as a change to another mode. In the Basin, death also involves an
intensification of community identity, not the dissolving of it, because the
dead provide the most permanent of claims to an area. Given the trans-
humant pattern of seasonal movements in the Basin, it became the task of
the dead to maintain a claim to all of these camping areas and to act as inter-
mediaries between their descendents and the local supematurals. Their con-
tinuous role and proven if residual power encouraged individuals to stay near
graves in order to tap into this source of power. For obvious reasons, areas
with many graves of famous leaders were more important for acquiring such
power than those with a few graves widely scattered and occupied by un-
knowns. The best sites were those where several sources of power over-
lapped, such as high mountains with caves, springs, rock cairns from vision
quests, rock art, and graves all located in close proximity. These ancestral
ties to places through graves and spirits appear much more important in the
Basin than the published literature indicates. Laird (1976: 9) learned that
Chemehuevi owned land because males inherited the right to the song of
Moutain Sheep, and with it “my very own land,” or of Deer and “my very
own mountain,” depending on the trail described in the song.4 Similarly,
Kelly (1964: 7, 22, 93) was baffled that among the Kaibab “Theoretically,
watering places were inherited by the oldest child; in practice, they seem to
have passed to the nearest male relative (either by blood or by marriage)
who happened to be at hand and who continued to live at the site” {ibid. : 7).
Laird (1976: 18ff.) lists other songs only dimly remembered by her husband
that also gave control or access to land. Among these were Salt, Quail, and Day Owl,
with Talking Song a very special prerogative of chiefly families. These claims are also
confirmed in the unpublished field notes of Richard Van Valkenburg made among the
Chemehuevi on November 17-30, 1938, which state “hunting grounds belonged to certain
groups of people.” The notes list the following songs and dances: Bird (which-ee), Sheep
(mah-ha), Deer (too-hee’), Wuail (ka-car-), Salt (a-soo), Cut Hair (na-ghur), and Coyote
(sino, h), and confirm that Charleston Peak is Snow Having, the home of one of the last
two chiefs, Tecopa, who died near Mantz, Nevada (Museum of Northern Arizona, Research
Center Library, Manuscript 6315). The librarian Dorothy House was most helpful in mak-
ing this and other references available at a critical time.
Numic Religion
351
Anyone familiar with the controversy over the existence of family-
owned hunting territories in the eastern Subarctic will recognize in Kelly’s
confusion a problem that has only recently been solved by Tanner (1979),
who found that these territories do exist but that inheritance does not
depend on human descent, but rather upon a long period of exposure and
successful hunting with the spirit responsible for that territory. Someone,
who need not be a relative, who hunts successfully in an area over many
years will inherit the land from the previous “owner” because he is already
known and liked by the resident spirit.
In the same way, the inheritance of springs by males, who may be
distant relatives but always are established residents, suggests that a spirit is
involved, most likely a Water Baby. While each Water Baby appears to have a
home in an artesian spring because it breathes and bubbles, they travel
widely in all forms of water, even irrigation ditches. Descriptions vary, but
they sometimes give power to shamans and so are fairly well known. A Water
Baby is a female with long hair, a hard shell-like skin, and a three-foot
stature, given to luring unsuspecting people and particularly children to the
water’s edge where they drown. Some have wings and mustaches, but all
reports insist they are female. A Washo even claimed to have seen foot
prints indicating that some are now wearing high heels. The indications,
then, are that males inherit springs, at least among the Southern Paiute,
because they have become familiar with the Water Baby who lives or visits
there by residing there over a long period so they can assure the safety of
other members of the camp using the water source.
The propitiation rites between “owner” and spring may have passed
from memory, but then so has Native use of most springs. Often, modern
Numics will disparage their loss of the old ways and the breakdown in
memory transference from generation to generation. This has been used to
suggest that power in these native religions is entropic, but this ignores the
real reason given by several elders “We modern Indians have gotten lazy”
because no one trains and disciplines the self to go out to fast and pray in
a power spot to gain the gift of a spirit familiar with access to power. Now
that their environment is threatened by vast building projects, some will
probably be moved to revive or relearn the proper techniques to acquire
power. The important thing about power is that it is both everywhere and
concentrated in various amounts in many different ways. It can be approached
if the proper pathways are known or it can be met accidentally travelling
and inadvertently encountering one of its flows. The key to the location
of sacred sites is not just the likelihood of power frequenting them, but
also the fact that someone has learned through dream, vision, fast, trance,
or vigil how to properly approach and petition the power there.
Its sources are not only at watering places about the landscape, but
wherever life gathers together. Some have taken the comparatively easy path
offered by Christianity for access to power, recognizing its origins in the
memory of God and Jesus. Others use the avenue provided by the Native
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Anthropos 78.1983
American Church and the sacrament of peyote. None of these are antithetical
to the acquisition of power and some people belong to several religions so
as to have varied and socially-acceptable access to it. This does not involve
hypocracy, which is an Anglo idea, but rather it shows good sense and a
keen understanding of the universe.
In summation, power is always the same to matter how, where, or when
you find it. Only the denomination of your church, the strength of your belief,
and the amount of the power concentration will determine your relations
with this life force. If you come from a better family and were properly
raised, you will know to look for it on the highest summit, deepest well, and
anywhere else where it can flow along the paths of a web in association with
everything living and in need of water.
This paper was composed before, during, and after I was Principal-Investigator
on a contract between Ertec of Seattle and Facilitators of Las Vegas to prepare on over-
view of religious, concerns in the Great Basin generally and the MX impact area specifically.
For advice and encouragement during this process, I would like to thank Sven Liljeblad,
the Drs. Fowler, Jacky Brady, Gary and Jean Palmer, M. and C. Ostanik, Claude Warren,
Margaret Lyneis, Martha Knack and advisors among the six confederated reservations
facing the MX project, particularly those at Moapa, Yomba, Duckwater, and Gosiute. In
great respect and affection, this paper is dedicated to Kay Fowler.
Bibliography
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1979 American Indian Religious Freedom Act Report (PL 95-341). Washington,
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1975 December’s Child: A Book of Chumash Oral Narratives. Berkeley: University
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Crapo, Richley
1976 Big Smokey Valley Shoshoni. (Desert Research Institute, Publications in the
Social Sciences, 10.) Reno.
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Raymond L.M. Lee
Dancing with the Gods :
A Spirit Medium Festival in Urban Malaysia
Abstract. — The activities of Sino-Malay spirit cults in the Malaysia/Singapore
region have only been briefly described by Elliott (1955). In this paper the structure and
activities of one such cult in urban Malaysia are reported. The syncretic practices con-
cerned are examined through an ethnographic account of a festival held in 1980 in
honour of the datuk spirits. This festival is compared with other Chinese spirit festivals
in order to gauge the degree of syncretism involved. The social implications of these
syncretic cults are discussed. [Malaysia, Spirit cults, Chinese folk religion, Religious
change]
Introduction
Among the major recent works on Chinese spirit mediumship in the
Malaysia/Singapore region (e.g., Elliott 1955; Comber 1960; Wee 1977)
only Elliott (1955: 113-116) has described in brief a Sino-Malay spirit cult
in Singapore. These syncretic cults are largely patronized by Chinese devotees
who adhere to various Malay-Muslim beliefs and practices mainly for pur-
poses of worship, but they are not in any way Muslim converts. Elliott had
observed that the Chinese who frequent the shrines of Muslim saints follow
prohibitions such as those against eating pork before entering the sanctuary
and wearing leather shoes inside it. These shrines also contain a mixture of
Islamic and Chinese symbols that are perceived by the devotees as com-
plementary rather than in opposition. According to Elliott’s descriptions, the
Chinese medium who is possessed by a Malay deity speaks in Malay but his
utterances are translated into various Chinese dialects by his assistant. While
he advises his clients in Malay, he also distributes yellow charm papers of
Chinese origin.
Raymond L.M. Lee, Ph. D. in sociology from the University of Massachusetts at
Amherst; research on spirit possession among the Malays and on various urban religious
movements in Malaysia; he is now a lecturer in the Department of Anthropology and
Sociology, University of Malaya. —His recent publications include “Structure and Anti-
Structure in the Culture-Bound Syndromes: The Malay Case” (Culture, Medicine, and
Psychiatry 1981); “Sai Baba, Salvation and Syncretism: Religious Change in a Hindu
Movement in Urban Malaysia” (Contributions to Indian Sociology 1982). Address:
Dept, of Anthropology and Sociology, Univ. of Malaya, Kuala Lumpur 22-11, Malaysia.
356
Raymond L.M. Lee
Anthropos 78.1983
These syncretic cults in Malaysia and Singapore provide interesting
material for the study of religious acculturation. However, Peel (1967: 140)
points out that in any study of acculturation, a concern with the cultural
origins of items of behaviour is productive only if we wish merely to trace
the sources of idea diffusion. Following Peel’s arguments, to answer the
question of why men choose to syncretize their beliefs and practices re-
quires that we analyse the expressive and instrumental motives of their
actions. In terms of their ethnic composition and consciousness, the social
identity of these Sino-Malay spirit cults is distinctly Chinese, While accepting
certain Malay-Muslim beliefs and practices, the devotees are not prepared
to abandon their Chinese identity, for so doing implies the denial of their
cultural survival as a large minority in a Malay-dominated region. On the
other hand, the apotropaic appeal of the Muslim shrines draws many Chinese
devotees who are willing to adopt certain foreign practices, even momentari-
ly, as a condition of healing. Spirit mediums involved in these cults probably
have few qualms about compromising part of their Chinese identity as a
condition for gaining more power and wider reputation. Thus, the syncretism
in these spirit cults can be viewed as an outcome of the “push” factors repre-
senting expressive interests and “pull” forces representing instrumental
benefits.
Elliott’s study was conducted in the early 1950s, He had predicted that
if there were a decline in spirit mediumship, it would have been largely a
result of the increasing influence of modern secular education. Thirty years
later, we find that spirit medium cults are still surviving and they continue to
attract Malaysians and Singaporeans of all backgrounds, even those with a
modem Western or Chinese education. Perhaps, one answer to this apparent
paradox is that even though modern education is thought to provide a bul-
wark against spirit mediumship, it cannot provide instant solutions to all
kinds of daily problems experienced by a population that is steeped in
supernatural beliefs. Or alternately, many individuals do not see any contra-
dictions between a modem education and belief in spirit mediumship. To
many people, values inculcated by modern education can be put in suspension
while they are indulging in supernatural practices, and vice versa. If spirit
mediumship in Malaysia and Singapore is declining, it is because the profes-
sion is relatively less lucrative than other jobs and businesses. Many spirit
mediums depend on public donations for their livelihood, although there
are some who charge their clients exorbitant fees. Given the increasingly
high cost of living in contemporary Malaysia and Singapore, many mediums
are forced to take part-time jobs to supplement their incomes.1 Thus, it is *
Of the 8 mediums in Malaysia and Singapore that I had met and talked to over
the past 5 years, 5 of them held other jobs and served the needs of their clients on a part-
time basis. One was a full-time medium until 1981 when he took a part-time job as a
salesman.
Spirit Medium Festival in Urban Malaysia
357
not “modernism” that presents a serious rival to mediumship, as argued by
Elliott, but economic survival in a rapidly urbanizing environment.
Sino-Malay spirit cults are still found in Malaysia and Singapore. In this
paper, I will describe in detail the activities of one such cult, particularly an
annual festival that I had observed on the 17th of October, 1980.2 These
festive occasions are interesting not only from the perspective of develop-
ments in religious syncretism but also in terms of religious change among
the Chinese in Malaysia and Singapore.
1. The Cult
The Sino-Malay spirit cult reported here is based in Petaling Jaya, the
satellite town of Kuala Lumpur, the Malaysian capital. The central figure
is Ong (a pseudonym), a Sino-Thai man in his late thirties. Ong first dis-
covered his ability to fall into a trance several years ago when he was a travel-
ling salesman in Penang, the island-state located about 400 kilometres north
of Kuala Lumpur.3 On a visit to a temple in Penang reputedly inhabited by
the spirits of seven Malay datuk, 4 he fell into a trance and lost all conscious-
ness. Since then he claims that he is not only possessed by the spirits of these
Malay warriors but also by a Siamese deity. When he is possessed by the
Malay spirits, he speaks only in Malay. But when he is possessed by the Sia-
mese deity, he speaks either Thai or a creolized Hokkien dialect. When he
first became a medium, he had to abstain from eating pork and drinking
alcohol for several months. He is still required to do the same at least 24
hours before conducting a seance.
Ong was born and raised in Petaling Jaya, and was once a notorious
thug. He is English educated. He worked as a travelling salesman for many
years until the mid-1970s, when he returned to Petaling Jaya to set up his
own catering business. When his business failed, he turned to mediumship as
his main source of livelihood. During this period, his services attracted a
large group of Chinese clients, including some Malays and Indians. He began
his career as a medium by first helping his friends and relatives. Then, word
2 The fieldwork was shared with my wife, S.E. Ackerman, who provided many
ethnographic details that I had inadvertantly missed while photographing and document-
ing other aspects of the festival.
3 It is interesting to note that both Elliott’s study and mine reveal that Sino-Malay
spirit cults either are based in or have originated from Singapore and Penang, two former
Straits Settlement colonies (the other being Malacca) which have had longer established
Sino-Malay contacts than other places on the peninsula.
4 Datuk is a Malay title of honour. It can also mean grandfather. The seven datuk
spirits are legendary Malay warriors whose origins are unclear. Ong is also not sure of
their origins, but informed me that their graves, regarded as holy shrines, are located
on Pulau Besar (Big Island), off the coast of Malacca.
358
Raymond L.M. Lee
Anthropos 78.1983
of his powers spread to the acquaintances and associates of his primary
circle of clients, and soon his services became much in demand. His clients
are mainly middle-class people and those in white-collar occupations. Most
of them consult him on problems related to business, sorcery, and their
futures. Ong claims that he is not a money-making medium, since he has
taken a vow not to practise mediumship for profit. Although his vows do
not permit him to levy fixed fees for consultation, he nevertheless encourages
his clients to donate voluntarily and charges them for the cost of materials
in preparing talismans.
Ong conducts his seances at home. He is often assisted by a Chinese
woman who lives nearby. This woman and her sister, who are Ong’s child-
hood friends, are members of an informal committee which manages the
various day-to-day affairs of the cult, such as finances, purchase of worship
items, festival arrangements, etc. Ong usually sits in front of a large altar
in his living room and breathes in kemunyan (benzoic) fumes administered
by his assistant. When he enters into a trance, he swings his head violently
froip side to side. When these movements stop, he ties a green cloth around
his forehead, signalling to his clients that Datuk Hijau has arrived.5 He
trembles slightly during trances. Throughout a seance, he keeps his eyes
closed and sits cross-legged. He smokes a cigar, which is supposedly a charac-
teristic of Datuk Hijau. His clients approach him one by one for private con-
sultation. He usually speaks to them in Malay. His assistant translates for
clients who do not understand Malay well enough. Ong also prepares talis-
mans for his clients by first passing a knife over kemunyan fumes, then cut-
ting his tongue with it, and smearing his blood on a piece of charm paper
kept by the client for protective and other purposes. In preparing special
talismans, he personally buys the required items and instructs the clients to
return later to collect them. He does not permit menstruating women to
consult or approach him when he is in a trance because he claims that their
presence can cause grave harm to his body, especially when he mutilates him-
self to prepare talismans. At the end of a seance, Ong collapses on the altar
but regains consciousness a few minutes later. He usually claims not to
remember anything about his trances.
Since 1980 Ong has become less active in performing as a medium,
largely as a result of his improved economic circumstances. He had earlier
treated a Malay businessman for sorcery. Out of gratitude for the successful
treatment, this client offered Ong a generous amount of money which he
refused to accept. Instead, Ong accepted an offer of partnership in a pub
owned by the Malay. In the past Ong did not follow a fixed timetable for
consultation, but now he performs only as a medium on Sunday evenings
5 Hijau is Malay for green. Ong identifies the datuk spirits by colour rather than
by their names because he considers their names to be excessively long and cumbersome
to remember. He is usually possessed by Datuk Hijau in his seances.
Spirit Medium Festival in Urban Malaysia
359
owing to his heavy involvement in the pub business. It is unlikely that Ong
will permanently end his career as a spirit medium. It is a profession that he
can always fall back on if his other ventures fail. Also, there are many close
friends who continue to seek his help as a medium. In other words, the
activities of Ong’s spirit cult wax and wane according to his fortunes in the
outside world.
2. The Festival
Since 1978 celebrations have been held annually to commemorate the
datuk spirits’ birthdays. Ong had taken a vow to hold these annual festivals
for three consecutive years. In 1980 I attended the last of these festivals.
There was no celebration in 1981. News of the festival is usually passed by
word of mouth to Ong’s clients, friends, and relatives. On the day of the
festival, large flags of different colours (each colour representing a deity)
are placed on the road leading to Ong’s house in Petaling Jaya, where the
celebrations are held.
The 1980 festival lasted two days. The description of the festival that
follows is confined to the events of the second evening to which I was
invited. Ong’s house is located in a lower middle-class section of Petaling
Jaya, on a quiet street ending in a cul-de-sac. The floor plan of his house,
along with the ritual paraphernalia, is shown in the diagram. The festival
started at about 7 p.m. and continued past midnight. Ong had earlier obtained
a police permit to hold this festival, in case neighbours complained about the
noise and crowds. Four large joss-sticks about two metres long were burning on
the side of the road directly facing Ong’s house. A lamb was being roasted on
a spit near the left-hand gate just outside the house. Lamb was later served
to the guests, who were seated around the kitchen extension and along the
road. The guests also helped themselves to a variety of food brought by the
devotees or cooked by the Ong household. A large red metal altar lined with
a red tapestry was placed between the left-hand and right-hand gates. Stand-
ing on top of the altar was a large red um containing numerous joss-sticks.
Flanking this um were two red sand-boxes with several lighted red candles.
Three small teacups and a small teapot were placed close to the um. The
tapestry was embossed with four Chinese figures dressed in traditional robes,
one on an elephant, one riding a lion, another on a reindeer, and the last on
a crane. Five tins, also painted in red and filled with joss-sticks, were placed
beneath the altar. The open area where the ronggeng (traditional Malay
dance) troupe was stationed and where the guests were seated was covered
with a zinc awning to keep out rain. Five small flags of different colours
(red, white, black, green, and yellow) hung from the zinc awning directly
above the red altar. These flags represented the deities that were going to
possess the mediums that night. Two other flags (pink and blue) were placed
on either side of the gate, representing the two deities acting as sentinels at
the ceremony.
360
Raymond L.M. Lee
Anthropos 78.1983
<u
bc
u
d
Kuan Yin Aitar
□
Medium sits here
Living Room
Bedroom
Kitchen
Small Altar
<u
Dh
3
O
S?
fcyD
Open Area
Red Altar
Kitchen Extension
Guests sit here
o
Buffet Table
Gate Gate
Spit
Public Road
o o o o
Large Joss-sticks
Floor Plan of Medium’s House
Spirit Medium Festival in Urban Malaysia
361
The ronggeng troupe comprised several Malay men playing various
Western and Malay musical instruments, such as the violin, accordion, and
kompang drums. There were three Malay women dressed in sarong kebaya
(traditional Malay two-piece dress), seated in front of the musical group and
taking turns at singing ronggeng songs. The ronggeng troupe, originally
from Penang, was paid a special fee of M$750 for performing at this festival.
I was informed by some devotees that ronggeng troupes, rare as they are
nowadays, were kept alive by Sino-Malay spirit cults which engage them for
these special occasions.
The living room in Ong’s house was a hive of activity, with many people
milling around, waiting for the festival to begin. Three altars were located in
strategic positions around the living room. Immediately adjacent to the main
entrance was a medium-size table on which sat four Buddha images in gold,
black, red, and green. Other objects on the table included an urn with many
joss-sticks surrounded by an offering dish containing three tangerines, a
large gl ass filled with oil, and three small teacups. At the far end of the living
room was an altar with three figurines, two of them were Kuan Yin (Goddess
of Mercy) images and the other an unidentified Chinese male deity. These
idols were also placed amidst a plethora of objects such as joss-sticks, offer-
ings of bananas and apples, teacups, red candles, and an oil-glass. The largest
altar was positioned midway between the Buddha and Kuan Yin altars. This
altar was lined with a piece of yellow cloth, a symbol of royalty. A large
metal um filled with joss-sticks occupied the table centre, juxtaposed with
two candelabras containing many red candles. Directly behind the urn stood
seven medium-size flags of different colours, representing the seven Malay
deities. Three glasses of tea and several plates of fruit-offerings were placed
m front of the urn. On the wall, directly above this altar, hung two framed
pictures, one of Sathya Sai Baba (a currently popular Hindu avatar) and the
other of Ganesh, Sarasvati,and Lakshmi (all Hindu deities). Facing this
^tar was a long table filled with a variety of fruit and kueh (Malay cakes)
offerings.6 On the left side of the altar were two cartons containing many
plastic packets of rice and sugar, each packet marked with red paper. Many
small and large red buns in the shape of a tortoise, wrapped in plastic covers,
'vcre stacked next to the cartons. These buns had been personally ordered
^d fetched by Ong from Penang.
Ong was seen wandering in and out of his house, dressed only in a pair
°f running shorts. He was observed playing with his three-year old son and
talking to his guests. Two other mediums were also present that evening.
One was a Chinese man in his forties, named Sai. He worked as a truck driver
111 Penang and was specially invited to attend this festival. Sai is normally
Possessed by the Red Deity, Datuk Merah, who is reputed to be a pleasant
Mai
Many of these cakes are nowadays made by the Chinese who use the original
aY recipies.
362
Raymond L.M. Lee
Anthropos 78.1983
spirit with a penchant for the ronggeng dance. The other medium, Boi, was
Ong’s younger brother, who had trained under Ong, and another Chinese
medium, who happened to be Ong’s rival. Ong has another brother who goes
into trance occasionally and he was present at the festival that evening.
Several bare-chested youths dressed only in shorts were observed preparing
the altars and entertaining the guests. These youths were the mediums’
assistants whose role was to fetch ritual items for the mediums and, in
general, to be at the mediums’ beck and call. Most of them lived in the
neighbourhood and were long-time friends of Ong’s family. Only one of
these youths was Ong’s brother. Several women volunteers assisted these
youths.
Towards 9 p.m. the mediums changed into their modified Malay
costumes—baggy trousers tapered at the ankles, a loose shirt with slightly
raised collar, and cloth headgear with a stiffened portion raised to a point.
Ong wore a green costume, Sai wore a red one, and Boi merely wore a pair
of light purplish trousers without any shirt or headgear. Sai sat on a chair
facing the large altar in the living room. Directly in front of him was a large
claypot containing water with varieties of flower petals floating on its sur-
face. Three candles (red, yellow, and white) stood burning on the edge of the
claypot. Sai’s eyes were closed as he inhaled deeply through his mouth
producing sharp hissing noises. He smoked a cigar, plucked flower petals, and
dropped them into the claypot, while instructing his assistants in Malay.
When the announcement was made that Datuk Merah had arrived, the guests
rushed into the living room to observe Sai in action. Sai got up from his chair
and joined the three Malay singers outside in dancing ronggeng. Throughout
the dance, Sai kept his eyes closed. He invited his guests to join in while
he sprinkled the crowd with perfume and distributed packets of rice, sugar,
and red buns to them. Several of the guests danced with the Malay singers,
waving their arms back and forth in slow rhythmic motion. It is believed
that refusal to accept Datuk Merah’s invitation to dance is a sign of impolite-
ness.
While the crowd revelled outside with Datuk Merah, Ong went into a
trance in front of the large altar. His eyes were closed as he breathed in
kemunyan smoke and swallowed a small piece of yellow charm paper which
he promptly regurgitated. He kept making vomitting motions for several
seconds before calming down. Then he began shouting in Malay, demanding
his bendera (flags). When his assistants failed to locate his flags, Datuk Hijau
(as Ong was now called) became agitated and gave them a tongue-lashing in
Malay. Datuk Hijau requested a knife, which he held over kemunyan fumes
for a few seconds. He cut his tongue several times with the knife, allowing
his blood to drip into a glass containing water and flower petals. This mixture
was given to the guests as a thaumaturgical applicant or drink. Before Ong
drew blood from his tongue, he requested menstruating women to move
away, as their “uncleanliness” could allegedly cause serious injuries to his
tongue.
Spirit Medium Festival in Urban Malaysia
363
While these events were occurring in the living room, Boi became
possessed by Datuk Ahmad in the open area. With eyes closed, Boi per-
formed various acrobatic exercises over a bed of nails, a bed measuring 8
centimetres by 13 centimetres. He stood on his hands and somersaulted
over it. He jumped and lay on it. Later, he stood on the bed of nails while
his assistants lifted it about a metre off the ground. Boi’s trousers were
stained by a few drops of blood from minor wounds on his hands and
feet. After this performance Boi invited his assistants and guests to walk
on the bed of nails. Some of the assistants made half-hearted attempts
at walking on it. Moments later, a sharp cry from Ong brought the guests
crowding around him. Ong had removed his green shirt and had tied a
black piece of cloth around his forehead to signal possession by Datuk
Hitam, the Black Deity. An assistant approached him with seven kris (Malay
daggers with wavy blades). Ong held a kris up to the crowd and pressed the
blade to demonstrate its strength. Holding the hilt with one hand and the
blade with the other, he proceeded to stab his stomach. He repeated this
action with the other six kris. None of the kris pierced his stomach; instead
he bent all the seven blades. Ong then cut his tongue, smeared his blood on a
piece of white charm paper, and delivered the talisman to a Chinese man
standing nearby. I learned that the man was a regular client who had received
the blood-stained talisman to improve his business.
Sai, still possessed by Datuk Merah, entered the scene and began bles-
sing all the items on the red altar. The guests turned their attention to Boi
who was now miming the behaviour of a deaf mute, a characteristic of Datuk
Bisu. Ong, who was still under the influence of Datuk Hitam, joined Boi in a
game of cards. The guests encircled the two mediums, observing their card
game with great interest and excitement. At the end of the game, Boi wrote
down two digits on a piece of paper and held it up for the guests to see.
I learned that these digits drawn in the card game were lottery divinations.
Although the digits were produced by Boi, the guests themselves had to
determine their sequence. At the very next instance, Boi was possessed by
the tiger spirit, Datuk Harimau. It is believed that various animal spirits, along
with the seven Malay warrior spirits, are usually present at such festivals. Boi
crawled on his hands and feet around the open area. His assistants fed him
raw eggs and meat which he swallowed and promptly vomitted. He then
stood up and pierced his tongue with needles. Meanwhile, Ong, who had
been re-possessed by Datuk Hijau, prepared talismans by making inscrip-
tions on small flags with joss-sticks and handed them to his guests. He passed
around a box for everyone to put in their personal talismans. Ong waved
kemunyan fumes over the box and blessed the talismans, which he then
returned to their owners. At the end of this ceremony, Ong sat in front of
tbe large altar in the living room and indicated that he was ready for personal
consultations. Several people who had been milling around the altar came for-
ward individually to discuss their problems with Datuk Hijau. They included
Several Chinese men and women, a middle-aged Indian woman, and a young
364
Raymond L.M. Lee
Anthropos 78.1983
Malay man. When the consultations ended, Ong was possessed by Datuk
Kuning, the Yellow Deity. He walked into the open area with his eyes
closed, organized the guests into groups, and led them in dancing the rong-
geng. The merriment and celebrations continued until one o’clock in the
morning.7
3. Religious Continuity and Change
In Elliott’s 1955 study of Chinese spirit mediumship in Singapore, the
annual celebration of Datuk Machap’s birthday (the deity of a Sino-Malay
cult) was briefly mentioned. A Malay ronggeng troupe or a Chinese theatrical
party was usually engaged to perform at this festival. Since no other details
were available, comparison between this festival and Ong’s is not feasible.
However, some comparisons can be made between Ong’s festival and those
of Chinese spirit temples described in detail by Elliott. Such comparisons
may provide some insights into the degree of syncretism in Ong’s cult.
Elliott’s description of spirit mediums’ festivals in Singapore focused
mainly on displays of various feats, processions, and theatrical performances.
The various feats that he had observed included acrobatics performed by
the possessed mediums on knife beds, sword ladders and bridges, applica-
tion of boiling oil to the mediums’ bodies, fire-walking, and self-mutilation
with skewers, needles, and prick-balls. The processions usually took place
outside the temples with the mediums mounted on sedan chairs carried by
their assistants. Following the mediums through the streets were assistants
carrying sedan chairs in which the deities’ images were fastened, swinging
vigorously from side to side as the procession proceeded. Theatrical perfor-
mances were put on by an itinerant Chinese opera troupe on a stage erected
near the temple. These performances were staged in honour of the deity
and not simply for the devotees’ amusement.
A striking difference between these festivals and Ong’s is the theatrical
group that is engaged for the occasion. The ronggeng troupe takes the place
of the Chinese stage show at Sino-Malay cult festivals, although at Datuk
Machap’s festival a Chinese theatrical group might be seen performing.
Chinese stage shows at spirit festivals usually involve popular plays that are
sometimes performed as puppet shows when temple funds are low. Members
of a ronggeng troupe however do not perform plays but merely sing and
dance. At Ong’s festival, a possessed medium (Sai) actually joined in the
dancing and even invited the guests to dance with him. Unlike the Chinese
7 In previous years, the celebrations had ended with a short procession to “send
off the gods.” For some unexplained reason, the procession at the 1980 celebrations were
cancelled. I made some attempts at discovering the reasons but was unsuccessful.
Spirit Medium Festival in Urban Malaysia
365
spirit festivals, where a certain distance is maintained between the entranced
medium and devotees, Sai encouraged his audience to participate in dancing
and thereby attempted to foster closer relations with them. This relationship
was symbolically enhanced by Sai’s distribution of gifts to the guests (an
event not mentioned by Elliott). This does not suggest that there is less in-
equality in Sino-Malay cult festivals but that a medium may take the op-
portunity to heighten the gaiety of the occasion through trance, dance,
and gift distribution. By joining the ronggeng group, Sai did not compete
with the singers for attention. His behaviour was contrary to that of Chinese
mediums who usually drew crowds away from the stage shows with their
performances of various feats. But it is the particular character of Datuk
Merah (the deity that possesses Sai) which allowed this special arrangement
with the ronggeng troupe to be possible.
Some feats of self-mortification described by Elliott were also observed
at Ong’s festival. The tongue-cutting ritual in which the possessed medium
licks charm papers with his bleeding tongue was an important aspect of
spirit festivals attended by Elliott (1955: 56-57, 156). Similarly, blood
from Ong’s tongue was daubed on yellow paper as a technique for produc-
ing charms. Like the other Chinese mediums at spirit festivals, Ong also
ordered all menstruating women to keep a distance from him for fear of
injuring himself. The tongue-cutting ritual was performed only by Ong
and not by Sai or Boi. This seems to be a role that is reserved for a particular
deity, in this case Datuk Hijau who only possesses Ong. The elaborate dis-
plays of balancing on knife beds and sword bridges at Chinese spirit festivals
were absent at Ong’s festival. Only Boi awed the crowd with a brief display
of acrobatics over a bed of nails. Self-mutilation with prick-balls, a regular
feature of Chinese spirit festivals, was not performed at Ong’s festival.
Instead, Ong under possession by Datuk Hitam attempted to pierce his
abdomen with Malay daggers. Other feats such as fire-walking and immersion
in boiling oil were not observed at Ong’s festival.
Processions are central to Chinese spirit festivals because they are public
displays of supernatural power, they involve the performance of exorcism
rites, and they are occasions for ceremonial visits to temples dedicated to
other deities. Most processions are held at the beginning of the festival to
formally signal the descent of the deities. However, processions were not
held at Ong’s festival. Even the procession for “sending off the gods” was
cancelled. In other words, processions occupied a somewhat lower status
in the scale of propitious events at Ong’s festival. The reason for this is that
Ong’s festival was not held on a grandiose level as some of the spirit festivals
described by Elliott. Ong’s house cannot be considered a temple in the
sense of a permanent place of worship dedicated to or a territory occupied
by particular deities. Ong’s cult is a small exclusive group with hardly any
attachments to other Chinese temples in the area. Given these features of
the cult, a procession to exorcise the deities’ territory and to pay homage to
deities at other temples is therefore not expected.
366
Raymond L.M. Lee
Anthropos 78.1983
Even though the scope of celebration at Ong’s festival does not surpass
that of festivals described by Elliott, nevertheless its basic arrangement is
closely modelled on that of a Chinese religious festival. According to Elliott
(1955: 148), the three main elements in a Chinese religious festival are the
theatrical performance, worship in the temple, and the hawkers’ market.
Variations of the first two features were observed at Ong’s festival: the
ronggeng performance and devotees offering food at the altars and praying
with joss-sticks. The hawkers’ market was absent at Ong’s festival because
the latter was celebrated on a smaller scale at a private home. Like the other
Chinese religious festivals, Ong’s was celebrated in honour of certain deities.
However, it is the worship of the datuk spirits that gives Ong’s cult a Malay
character. Interestingly, the Malay-ness of the cult comprises a curious mix-
ture of pre-Islamic and Islamic elements. Possession by legendary Malay
warriors is probably a trait that is pre-Islamic in origin, while abstinence
from pork and alcohol is obviously an Islamic influence. These practices
are not perceived by the mediums and devotees as idiosyncratic features
of the cult. At the festival, there was no suggestion of the separateness of
Malay and Chinese religious practices. Praying with joss-sticks was not seen
as contrary to dancing ronggeng with a possessed medium or being blessed
in Malay by a datuk spirit. The cult and its annual festival is largely a Chinese
affair dressed in a veneer of Malay supernaturalism.
If we conceptually treat Chinese folk religion as a relatively open
system that readily absorbs elements of other religions, then it is reasonable
to ask how such a system is able to maintain a distinctly Chinese character.
C.K. Yang asserts that
In popular religious life it was the moral and magical functions of the cults, and not
the delineation of the boundary of religious faiths, that dominated the people’s
consciousness .... Centuries of mixing gods from different faiths into a common
pantheon had produced a functionally oriented religious view that relegated the
question of religious identity to a secondary place (1967: 25).
In Sino-Malay cults, the fusion of Malay deities with Chinese styles of
worship is seen for all practical purposes as a necessary combination in the
art of healing. For only in the land of the Malays are Malay deities found.
Respect for and worship of these deities are therefore important pre-requi-
sites for the granting of thaumaturgical requests. In other words, popular
Chinese attitudes towards supernaturalism and healing have not changed
but merely transposed onto the realm of Malay gods in these cults. The
Chinese-ness of these attitudes however cannot be easily disting ushed from
those of the Malays and Indians in Malaysia. Members of the other Malaysian
ethnic groups are just as apotropaically-minded as the Chinese. But it is the
large Chinese membership that provides the Chinese ambience in Sino-
Malay cults. Thus, the borrowing of cultural elements in Sino-Malay cults
provides an innovative approach to the age-old practice of Chinese spirit
mediumship, but its appeal is largely restricted to a Chinese clientele.
Spirit Medium Festival in Urban Malaysia
367
The syncretism described above reflects a facet of religious change
among Malaysian Chinese that suggests their willingness to actively explore
religious alternatives other than the traditional ones. Sino-Malay cults are not
a recent phenomenon but their incorporation of various new elements (such
as Hindu deities in Ong’s cult) suggests a further departure from “standard”
Chinese folk religions. That syncretism in these cults may be moving towards
a new level which is highly attractive to middle-class seekers is an indication
of significant changes in the Malaysian urban scene. Elliott’s earlier work
showed that most of the participants in urban spirit cults were lower, work-
ing-class Chinese. The apparent changes in the class composition of cult
membership suggest a gradual transformation in Chinese religious attitudes
that may be linked to changes in the wider Malaysian society. Questions
related to wider structural changes are beyond the scope of this paper but
are relevant in explaining the new forms of religious syncretism among the
Chinese in urban Malaysia.8
Conclusion
In this paper, I have attempted to show that the imprint of Malay
culture on Ong’s cult is superficial. Chinese deities and some ritual parapher-
nalia have been substituted by Malay ones but the orientation and member-
ship of the cult is still very Chinese. Two folk belief systems exist side by
side in the same cult but neither the mediums nor devotees feel a pressing
need to seek a logically coherent relationship between them. The direction
of syncretism in Ong’s cult is more towards a fulfillment of this-wordly
needs rather than an attempt at working out a cognitive rapprochment be-
tween the two folk belief systems. While the expressive aspect of the cult is
obviously Chinese, it does not explicitly embrace an ideal that stresses a new
form of Chinese identity. The attraction of a large number of middle-class,
English-educated Chinese to the cult suggests that it provides a source of
religious satisfaction (rather than a conscious ideal) to Chinese who are
unfamiliar with traditional folk beliefs. Their foremost motive for member-
ship is thaumaturgical that conjoins an attraction to a syncretic system that
is impressionistically Malay. Thus, the syncretism in Ong’s cult is not ide-
ological but incidental.
The future of these cults is uncertain, not because of lack of member-
ship, but because of the somewhat low income that most mediums receive
which makes their long term participation in a cult unrewarding. This does
not necessarily mean that mediums are always ready to switch occupations,
8 I am presently researching three urban-based religious movements, one of which
ls a Chinese “new religion,” in the hope of seeking some answers to these broader questions.
368
Raymond L.M. Lee
Anthropos 78.1983
but that “spiritual” and other non-economic rewards may prevent a com-
plete demise of their mediumship careers. Mediums who have found better
jobs elsewhere may continue to practise their supernatural craft on a part-
time basis. While spirit cults may sprout and fade away, there is always a
ready clientele of urbanites to sustain their existence, no matter how short-
lived. The “natural history” of these cults cannot be gleaned from the data
provided here but may be traced in future in-depth investigations.
References Cited
Comber, Leon
1960 Chinese Magic and Superstitions in Malaya. Singapore: Eastern Universities
Press.
Elliott, Allan J.A.
1955 Chinese Spirit-Medium Cults in Singapore. London: Athlone Press.
Peel, J.D.Y.
1967 Syncretism and Religious Change. Comparative Studies in Society and History
10: 121-141.
Wee, V.
1977 Religion and Ritual Among the Chinese of Singapore. Unpublished M.Soc.Sc.
thesis, Dept, of Sociology, University of Singapore.
Yang, C.K.
1967 Religion in Chinese Society. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Jan Jacob de Wolf
Circumcision and Initiation
in Western Kenya and Eastern Uganda:
Historical Reconstructions
and Ethnographic Evidence
Abstract. — The distributional technique of analysis of ethnographic data can
provide evidence for historical developments which are not covered by written documents
or oral traditions. One of the reasons for neglecting this method may be the racial pre-
judice on which for instance the “Hamitic hypothesis” was based. Thus the similarity be-
tween the male initiation rites with circumcision of the Kalenjin tribes (then known as
Nilo-Hamites) and adjacent Bantu tribes in western Kenya and eastern Uganda was readily
interpreted as an example of borrowing by Bantu from their neighbours.—A descriptive
account is given of these rituals among six Bantu and six Kalenjin tribes with a quantitative
analysis. Absence or presence of about one hundred different traits formed the basis of
a systematic comparison of each tribe with all other tribes. This resulted in two different
matrices of dissimilarity, depending on the choice of measure of association. It is clear
that the circumcision ceremonies of the Bantu show a significantly greater differentiation
than those of the Kalenjin. This suggests an earlier adoption of these ceremonies by the
ancestors of the Bantu than by those of the Kalenjin. This would be consistent with
Kalenjin borrowing of many agricultural practises from Bantu speakers, for which there is
strong linguistic evidence. [East Africa, Nilotic and Bantu Tribes, Initiation Rites, Circum-
cision, Culture Relations, “Hamitic Hypothesis”]
1. Introduction
An interesting feature of the post-colonial era in Africa is the growth of
historical studies of the pre-colonial past. Research on oral traditions extended
our knowledge several centuries beyond the earliest written documents.
Jan Jacob de Wolf, M. Phil, Ph. D. (1967 and 1971 from the School of Oriental
and African Studies, London University); 1968-1970 Research Fellowship Dutch Founda-
tion for Tropical Research (Wotro); 1968-1969 anthropological fieldwork among the
BaBukusu in Bungoma District, Western Province, Kenya; associate member Makerere
Institute of Social Research; 1971 Research Officer Afrika-Studiecentrum, Leiden,
Anthropos 78.198B
24
370
Jan Jacob de Wolf
Anthropos 78.1983
Nowadays we know much more about migrations, warfare, and political
developments than 20 years ago. The methods of comparative linguistics
make it possible to reconstruct languages which were spoken in the past. A
study of their vocabularies provides important information about the culture
of the peoples who spoke these languages and about their mutual contacts.
In combination with archeology this research throws light on the more
distant past which is only partly or not at all remembered by contemporary
Africans.
Another possible source of information on the more distant past are
ethnographic data. Cultural similarities among different peoples may indicate
a common origin or result from contacts which facilitated cultural borrowing.
Thus the distributional technique of analysis of ethnographic data determines
the geographical spread of a given feature throughout the area of one or
several cultures. This method can provide evidence for the origin of that
feature, give us information about the way it was borrowed, and tell us
something about the relative ages of the feature in the different cultures
where it is found. But it is only possible to apply this method when data
are available for the whole area where the feature exists and some border
areas around it (Vansina 1968: 112).
Although the principles of the distributional method are fairly simple,
their application is fraught with difficulties. Cultural features among different
peoples are rarely identical, and superficial resemblances may well be due to
parallel inventions rather than to historical connections. On the other hand
the relative degree of similarity itself may be a fruitful source of historical in-
formation, provided that objective criteria can be applied. Again, when a
common origin of the peoples concerned seems unlikely—for example
because they speak very different languages—it remains a difficult problem
to decide among which people or group of peoples the feature originated
and by which it was borrowed subsequently, especially if no linguistic
clues (loan words) exist.
In colonial times racial prejudice led many anthropologists and historians
to believe that the Bantu speaking peoples of Africa had been unable to
invent such institutions as ritual kingship or circumcision of boys themselves.
Such features were thought to have had their origin in the civilisations of the
Middle East and have been diffused by non-Bantu speaking peoples of the
Sudan and Ethiopia who were thought to resemble the “Caucasoid race”
Netherlands; 1971-1973 Lecturer in Rural Sociology, Faculty of Agriculture, Makerere
University, Uganda; since 1974 Senior Lecturer, Department of Cultural Anthropology,
Utrecht University, Netherlands.—Main publications: Differentiation and Integration in
Western Kenya (The Hague 1970); “The Diffusion of Age-group Organization in East
Africa: A Reconsideration” (Africa 1980); “Dini ya Msambwa: Militant Protest or
Millenarian Promise?” (Canadian Journal of African Studies in press). Address: Instituut
voor culturele antropologie, Rijksuniversiteit Utrecht, Heidelberglaan 2, 3508 TC Utrecht.
Circumcision and Initiation (Kenya and Uganda)
371
more than the other inhabitants of Africa. The discredit into which this
“Hamitic hypothesis” fell may be one of the reasons that these days the
distributional technique is rarely used in Africa as a tool for historical in-
vestigation (Sanders 1969). However, as the ethnographic coverage of many
areas of Africa becomes adequate for this type of analysis and recent advances
in the field of numerical taxonomy make objective comparison of complex
institutions possible, the time has come to have a new look at some of the
old problems of cultural invention and diffusion in Africa,
In this paper I shall deal with initiation ceremonies of boys or young
men involving circumcision in western Kenya and eastern Uganda. They
occur among all Kalenjin speakers in western Kenya and the linguistically
and culturally related Sebei of eastern Uganda, as well as among most of the
Bantu speaking Luhya of western Kenya (formerly known as Bantu Kaviron-
do), the Gush, who live to the south of the Luhya, and the Gisu, who are
their neighbours in Uganda to the north-west. Everywhere there are prepara-
tions to ensure that the novices are in the right (ritual) state for the opera-
tion which should be endured courageously. There is also an extended
period of seclusion with special rules and tutors who look after the novices
in their separate hut. This is ended with a coming-out ceremony when novices
get new garments. In view of the influence of the “Hamitic hypothesis” it
is not surprising that this basic similarity was attributed to the borrowing
of circumcision and associated initiation ceremonies by the Bantu from their
non-Bantu neighbours (Huntingford 1950; 89, 105; Oliver 1963: 199-203).
Although we can attribute such an explanation to prejudice, this does not
absolve us from a detailed examination of all the available evidence. After
ail, the hypothesis may be right for the wrong reasons. If the circumcision
ceremonies among both the Kalenjin and their Bantu neighbours are in fact
identical, then parallel invention seems unlikely and borrowing the only
other alternative explanation of this distribution. Actually prima facie the
evidence points to a process of borrowing by Bantu from Kalenjin, as cir-
cumcision is not practised by the western Luhya and their immediate neigh-
bours in Uganda nor in the whole of the rest of the inter-lacustrine area.
First of all then, I shall give a descriptive account of these rituals
among twelve different tribes, six of which are Kalenjin: Kipsigis, Keyo,
Nandi, Marakwet, Pokot, and Sebei; the other six are Bantu; Gisu, Bukusu,
Logoli, Idakho, Tiriki, and Gusii (see map). After having read through the
various sources I decided to divide these tribes into four clusters in order to
avoid unnecessary repetition. The first consists of the Logoli, Idakho, Tiri-
ki, and Gusii; the second of the Keyo, Nandi, and Kipsigis; the third of the
Bukusu, Gisu, and Sebei; the fourth of the Marakwet and Pokot. The in-
formation on the Logoli and Idakho comes from Wagner (1949: 334-378),
on the Tiriki from Sangree (1966: 48-82), and on the Gusii from Mayer
(1953: 9-25). The material on the Bukusu was collected by the author in
the field during 1968 and 1969, while data on the Sebei can be found in
Goldschmidt (1976: 267-296) and on the Gisu in La Fontaine (1957, 1959:
372
Jan Jacob de Wolf
Anthropos 78.1983
41-46). The description of the rituals among the Nandi is based on Langley
(1979: 18-45), among the Keyo on Welbourn (1968), among the Kipsigis on
Peristiany (1939: 7-24), among the Marakwet on Kipkorir and Welbourn
(1973: 9-11, 44-49), and among the Pokot on Barton (1921: 90-95). Some-
times other authors give different or more elaborate information on certain
aspects of these rituals. When such data seem important for the argument,
I shall refer to them specifically in the text.
Circumcision and Initiation (Kenya and Uganda)
373
After the descriptive account of the formal characteristics of the initia-
tion ceremonies I shall give a quantitative analysis of the same material
with the aid of techniques borrowed from methods which are used in the
construction of numerical taxonomies (Sneath and Sokal 1973). Next some-
thing will be said about the social function and symbolic meaning of these
rituals, which can provide information on the way these ceremonies are
integrated with other aspects of culture and on the social importance of
these rites. Finally the implications of my description and analysis for the
historical explanation of the contemporary distribution of circumcision
ceremonies among the Kalenjin and their Bantu neighbours will be discussed.
2. Description of the Initiation Ceremonies
2.1 Circumcision among the Logoli, Idakho, Tiriki, and Gusii
2.1.1 Relations between the tribes. — The Logoli, Idakho, and Tiriki belong
to the Luhya and live in the south of the Western Province of Kenya. Osogo
(1966: 3) claims that Logoli, Idakho, Isukha, and Tiriki can on the whole
understand each other, but that other Luhya find it difficult to follow them,
unless they speak slowly. Itebete (1974: 93) places the languages of the
Idakho and Tiriki in one dialect group, and the Logoli language in another.
Whiteley (1974: 21) classifies the Logoli language in a different group from
the Luhya languages, together with the Gusii and Kuria languages spoken in
the Nyanza Province of Kenya.
Wagner (1949: 27) reports that the Logoli were on friendly terms with
the Tiriki and Idakho, who are in fact their neighbours. Presumably the latter
two tribes were also on good terms with each other. They also share a com-
mon boundary. In the pre-colonial past occasional feuds would have been
settled merely by the use of clubs and poles, and regular marriage relations
would have been maintained. The Gusii live in the south-east of the Nyanza
Province of Kenya. Although the Logoli and Gusii claim that they were one
people in the distant past (Ochieng’ 1974: 41-50), the Gusii lived for many
generations relatively isolated from other Bantu, surrounded as they were
by Luo, Maasai, and Kipsigis (LeVine and Sangree 1962: 105). The Kipsi-
gis live now in an area inhabited formerly by the Gusii. They drove most of
the Gusii away and adopted some of them as Kipsigis (Ochieng’ 1974: 109;
Orchardson 1961: 8).
2.1.2 Timing of the circumcision. — Among the Gusii circumcision rituals
are held every year; among the other tribes there is an interval of between
three and five years. Among the Logoli this time was longer during the last
half of the nineteenth century, for which an average interval of 11 years was
calculated. The boys are generally between 12 and 18 years old, with an
upper limit of 30 years. Among the Gusii the age is between 10 and 14 years
374
Jan Jacob de Wolf
Anthropos 78.1983
nowadays, but this may have been higher in the past. The ceremonies are
held after the first finger millet harvest (July, August) among the three
northern tribes, and among the Gusii after the main harvest in the period of
October-December. With the exception of the Tiriki there are no formal
consultations about the staging of the rituals. Among Idakho and Logoli
people would follow the lead of the strongest clans.
The Tiriki tribal area is divided into regions, each with its own circum-
cision grove in a valley and a sacred grove on a hill top, where sacrifices are
made. In each of these regions, comprising various communities, there is a
circumcision chief. Tiriki wait for the initiative of the Kalenjin Nyang’ori
(Terik), who are their neighbours and with whom they share an age-set
system. After having heard the opinions of the different regions the Terik
take a final decision on whether to hold an initiation that year. Now sacri-
fices are made at each circumcision grove and the entrails are inspected to
see whether it would be auspicious to hold the circumcision again at that
place.
2.1.3 Tutors and seclusion huts. — After the operation the novices stay in a
special hut during a period of seclusion. During this time they are looked
after by young men who were circumcised some years earlier. I refer to them
as tutors. Among the Tiriki the tutor has to arrange the building of a new
hut of seclusion in an unfrequented forest area. Among the Logoli and Idak-
ho the hut of a respected old man is used for seclusion, and the novices will
build a new hut for him to live in. Among the Gusii an existing hut may be
used or a new one may be built, which will be used afterwards as an ordinary
boys’ hut. Among the Tiriki a hut can contain up to 20 boys and among
the Logoli even more. One tutor is in charge of each hut. Among the Idakho
there is one tutor for every two novices and four or five tutors are in charge
of a hut. Among the Gusii one or several boys may use the seclusion hut.
A tutor and his assistant are in charge of each hut.
2.1.4 Preparations. — Tiriki novices practise dancing at night during several
weeks (Wagner 1949; 343-344). On the day before circumcision tutors take
their clothes away and novices hold a dance wearing silk vine headdresses. At
night they have to confess misdeeds, particularly sexual trespasses such as
intercourse with adult women, which is forbidden for uncircumcised Tiriki
boys. They are threatened with bull-roarers and by fur clad men. The next
morning they receive a formal blessing at their home before they go to the
grove where the operation will take place.
Logoli novices stay outside in a valley during three days and nights.
They keep a fire burning continuously. They wear leaves of sweet potatoes
and paint each other with white clay. Boys who do this for each other
remain special friends throughout their lives. An old man tells them how to
behave during the operation and the period of seclusion. On the morning
of the day of the operation they take a bath, wash away the white clay and
Circumcision and Initiation (Kenya and Uganda)
375
throw away the leaves with which they were clad. Idakho novices stay in
small groups at some hut during the last days before the operation and one
of their tutors teaches them suitable songs. On the morning before the
operation they are blessed by an elder who spits water and flour on them.
Both Logoli and Idakho novices carry switches of the raffia palm which
they get shortly before the operation. Gusii novices are shaved on the day
before the operation and early the next day they take a bath in a stream
from where they are taken to the home of the circumcisor.
2.1.5 The operation. — Tiriki novices are circumcised inside the grove.
Women and children are kept at a distance. The circumcision chief performs
the first operation, but others are circumcised by assistants. The first and
last positions are preferred and taken up by sons of important men. Novices
either kneel or stand upright during the operation. Logoli and Idakho
novices are circumcised on the village common, where everybody may watch
the operation. The circumcisors wear headdresses of colobus monkey skin.
Their arrival is announced by the beating of a small drum. Logoli novices
must confess their misdeeds, such as the violation of taboos, before the cir-
cumcisor is willing to operate. They stand upright and hold a raffia switch
across their neck to steady themselves. Idakho novices support each other.
Among all three tribes novices may show no fear during the operation. First
the prepuce is cut away with one stroke after it has been stretched as much
as possible. Further cutting involves the making of a transverse cut on the
dorsal side through which the glans is pushed. After the operation the penis
is kept in a horizontal position by means of a string with a noose (Wagner
1949: 351).
Among the Gusii it is unseemly for women and girls to watch a circum-
cision. The novices may not cry or move during the operation; they stand
with their back against a tree. After the operation the boy is given a bunch
of ekurundu grass (a common symbol of fertility) to hold in his right hand,
while with the fingers of his left hand he holds the penis horizontally,
waiting for the blood to clot. He is taken home accompanied by his tutor
and other circumcised lads, who sing esimbore, a song with many obscene
words. When this is heard there is much rejoicement on the part of the
mother who is joined by co-wives and neighbours. The party has to wait at
the border of the homestead until the afternoon, when the novice will enter
the hut of seclusion.
2.1.6 The seclusion. — After the operation sisters of the Tiriki novices dance
with the silk vine headdresses. If the novice behaved cowardly the silk vine
has been cut short. The headdresses are kept for a period in the home near
the hearth. During the first week or so Tiriki novices bathe frequently in
cold streams and practise songs daily. Their life is strictly regimented. They
must do everything together, e.g., eating, urinating. The father of the novice
invites a friend or a relative with a good store of grain to provide food
376
Jan Jacob de Wolf
Anthropos 78.1983
during the period of seclusion. His womenfolk will cook the food and a goat
will be paid as a reward for his services. Tiriki novices may not touch food
with their hands during the seclusion, but apart from a taboo on roast
bananas there are no other food taboos.
Among the Logoli and Idakho mothers and sisters of the novices
rejoice and dance while they rest for a while. They enter the seclusion hut
backwards and must use the side door until the end of the period of seclu-
sion. Young girls provide firewood and bring them their food. There is one
nurse for each boy. She is often a real or classificatory sister. If she is not she
becomes his “sister” with whom sexual intercourse is forbidden. On the
third day caustic ash is applied to the wound. Novices may not eat with
their hands until the circumcisor returns to wash these ceremonially. This
may be within three days, but if he has to look after many novices it may
take several weeks. Now Idakho novices must confess their misdeeds and the
circumcisor gives them medicine to neutralize the bad effects of the violation
of taboos. Logoli novices are fed with thin gruel which they drink from half
a honey barrel for a whole month.
Among the Gush the induction into the seclusion hut is a formal
ceremony. The novice and his tutor are covered by a blanket when they
enter the homestead and proceed towards the hut during the late afternoon.
His father waits for him in the cattle pen together with several elders whom
he has been entertaining. He should have a calabash with milk in his hand,
indicating the desire for many cattle for the novice. There is much rejoice-
ment on the part of the women and a dozen circumcised lads sing esimbore
again, as loudly as they can. Inside the hut a fire has been lit with traditional
fire sticks. The tutor must take care that the fire will never be extinguished
until the end of the seclusion. After the novice has entered the main door
may not be used again until the end of the seclusion.
Among the Gush the washing of hands and the application of caustic
ash is part of a special set of ceremonies called esubo,which take place after
three days. In preparation a bow with blunt and sharp arrows is made for
the novice and inside the hut a bower is constructed, where an old woman
or a young girl puts a mattress of twigs on which the novice will sleep
during the rest of his seclusion. The first two nights he slept on an old skin.
In the afternoon the tutor and his assistant dug a clump of reedy grass
while they and other lads who accompany them sing a special song, the
meaning of which is rather obscure. The grass is planted in the earthen floor
of the hut while the song is sung again. Water is poured over the hands of the
novice and drips on the grass while he sings the song himself for the first
time. The grass has to be watered regularly and may not whither during the
seclusion.
At night, behind closed doors, the novice has to swallow a number of
unpleasant substances, called “mysteries,” which are administered by the
assistant of the tutor called “tamer,” He also puts caustic ash on the wound.
When outside a bull-roarer is sounded the novice is dragged towards it and
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told that he will be swallowed by the beast whose voice he hears. Alter-
natively or in addition novices are confined to the bower and threatened by
the sound of the friction drum in a similar manner. After the confrontation
with the beasts the novice is shown how to play the instruments himself.
Three ordeals follow: the face of the novice is scourged when he tries to
remove a peg near the fire with his teeth; he is beaten with stinging nettles;
a finger is twisted with the string of the bow which was made for him.
Finally the novice goes to the nearest water course and sprinkles water on
his knees, elbows, chin, and forehead saying “Let the one who stayed
behind go to Luoland.” A few days later novices may be pestered by young
girls who try to provoke (painful) erections through obscene dancing and
shouting.
Novices of the other tribes also sleep on twigs or leaves during their
seclusion. Logoli and Idakho boys wear amavinu leaves. Tiriki boys wear
at first a short leather apron which is replaced after five or six weeks by an
elders’ cloak. This is celebrated with a beer drink. At about the same time
(after a month) the Logoli sacrifice cattle and give novices ringlets made of
the skin to wear. Among the Idakho a sheep is killed and hung at the front
door of the seclusion hut. Novices have to take a bite from the raw meat. As
soon as Logoli and Idakho novices can move about they have to wear masks:
helmet shaped with fringes reaching down to the knees for the Logoli and a
kind of cloaks made of wicker work for the Idakho. The Tiriki novices start
to wear masks like those of the Logoli, which they have made themselves,
for the first time in public at a dance which is held three months after the
operation. Now their vine headdresses are also burned.
Among all four tribes novices should not enter homesteads during their
seclusion and must avoid their parents, or indeed all married people among
the Gusii. One of the pastimes of the novices is the hunting of birds and
small animals. A ceremonial rat hunt lasting three days (presumably among
the Logoli) is reported by Wagner (1949: 362). Gusii novices may catch and
eat moles, which is forbidden after they have been initiated. Idakho, Logoli,
and Gusii may steal chickens, and Logoli and Gusii may also take food from
the fields. Gusii may even take goats from the neighbours, but among them
the father of the novices can be asked to recompense people from whom
food was taken. Military training is reported from the Tiriki and Logoli.
Among the latter it culminates in a mock battle with warriors at the end of
the period of seclusion. When Logoli and Idakho novices meet other men
or circumcised boys they hit them on their shins with their sticks by way of
greeting.
Gusii novices may not bathe, dress, or anoint themselves and they
may not lick their lips, in case they should become sore. They must use the
ash of the ritual fire for cleansing purposes. The utensils used for cooking
food for the novices may not be used by anyone else and nobody must eat
left-overs of their food. Mothers send cooked food by the hand of brothers
and sisters or other children who usually stay to chat. A novice who wants
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to call the attention of someone outside his hut does not shout, for his
parents should not hear his voice, but strikes against something which
resounds. When abroad novices carry ash with them which they throw into
the air to signal to other people that they are novices. The boys may hit each
other with blunt arrows, but fighting in the hut of seclusion is not allowed.
Often they meet novices from other neighbourhoods during their seclusion.
About a month before the “coming out” ceremony the Tiriki novices
hold a dance with masks enlarged with branches which they try to break
through vigorous shaking. The following night the novices have to swear
solemnly not to reveal anything concerning the circumcision. Then a beer
drink is held at the circumcision grove and mothers are told that their
sons are dying, which is proved by shouting and simulated cries of hyenas
which are heard from the grove. The tutors tell them that they can only be
rescued through appeasing the elders with generous gifts of food. The next
morning the novices are seen to stagger away from the grove and during
three days they have to be fed with thin gruel like ill people. Then they start
to get choice food and at night they begin to sing again. At first they sound
feebly but on the seventh night they sing again with full vigour. During the
next month they may herd cattle but must continue wearing their masks.
2.1.7 Coming out ceremonies. — The coming out ceremony of the Tiriki
starts with a dance. Then the mask is lifted by a Terik (Kalenjin) woman
who anoints the forehead of the novice with butter. He removes his mask
and is given a string of beads by the Terik woman. Now the novices are
known as “brides.” Afterwards they go to the circumcision grove where
the circumcision chief admonishes them again not to reveal the secrets of the
initiation and tells them to behave as grown-up men henceforward. After a
beer drink with the elders they gather at a huge bonfire. Each novice takes
a stick, runs away from the fire, and hurls the stick away into the darkness.
They go back to the seclusion hut where they bum their beddings and the
wattle fence which surrounds the hut.
The next morning the novices get a new skin dress and start carrying
batons on which people are asked to hang small gifts. They enter the home-
steads ceremonially for the first time and are blessed. The next few weeks
the novices stay together at the hut of an elder widower and continue walk-
ing with batons and begging gifts. During this time a sacrificial feast is held
and the novices are introduced to the friction drum which is kept in the
sacred grove and sounded at ceremonial occasions. Finally they are shaved,
take a bath and anoint themselves for the last dance at which the novices
appear naked.
Logoli novices weave small rings which they throw away into a deep
pit at sunset three days before their coming out. They run away without
looking back and remain confined for two days. The night before the com-
ing out is devoted to singing and dancing. Early in the morning they throw
heavy poles through the roof of the seclusion hut which is then burned to-
Circumcision and Initiation (Kenya and Uganda)
379
gether with all the things pertaining to their circumcision and seclusion.
They run away from the fire and are met by a sister who gives them a new
skin dress. They are shaved and an elder anoints them with butter. Novices
from various huts assemble and dance around a cow pounding the soil with
poles. The cow, which has been drugged, gets weaker and finally collapses,
after which a sacrifice is performed. Some meat and blood is sprinkled for
the ancestors and the elders and novices eat the meat. From the skin ring-
lets are made for the novices to wear. Now a further ceremonial friendship
is concluded when a third boy is invited to join the pair which painted each
other at the beginning of the ceremony. This is celebrated with a common
meal.
Among the Idakho the coming out starts with shaving and washing
of the novices who also put on short skirts made of reed. First each novice
runs up and down accompanied by his tutor and his nurse to be cheered by
the crowd which has gathered at the seclusion hut. Next they go with these
onlookers to a central dancing place where novices from various huts assemble.
They dance in a circle with sticks adorned with iron rings and white fibers
with which they pound the soil. Tutors and nurses brandish big cooking
ladles. After several days of feasting all circumcision things are burned in the
evening and at mid-night the dancing sticks are thrown away into a deep
pit. The novices run away without looking back and go to a banana grove,
where they may destroy the bunches and leaves. The next day the novices
receive a new skin dress, a shield, and a spear, with which they try to hit a
gate post. Afterwards they line up and are anointed with butter, and have
simsim seeds thrown over them by “a married woman whose moral conduct
must be above reproach” (Wagner 1949: 370). Finally the elder whose hut
was used during the seclusion kills a sheep and the chyme is sprinkled on
the novices. During the next few weeks they still carry the poles with which
they cut down the banana grove on all their walks.
After these final ceremonies Tiriki, Logoli, and Idakho novices visit
paternal and maternal relatives and receive gifts. Among the Logoli and
Idakho the maternal uncle is the first to be visited and he gives the largest
gift, usually a bullock.
Among the Gush the coming out rituals start with a party for the young,
unmarried people from the neighbourhood, during which some items of
esubo may be repeated. The next day the novice has to remove his “white-
ness.” He is white because he had to clean himself with ashes. He puts some
twigs of his mattress and a blunt headed arrow on a path. When someone has
crossed these the novice scratches his skin with a twig of his mattress and
throws it after this person. Next he and his tutor are smeared with clay by
his grandfather who also blesses him through spitting beer on him. Now the
novices goes to herd cattle “for the first time” (although he may have herded
cattle already as an uncircumcised boy). While he is away all things with which
the novice had come into contact are disposed off and his mattress is burned.
When the novice comes back the clay is washed away, he is shaved and now
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the same old man anoints the novice and the tutor with butter and blesses
the novice by blowing milk and beer on him. The novice puts on new clothes
and his father gives a beer drink for the elders of the neighbourhood. That
night, or the previous one, the novice stands outside the hut of his father and
his senior wife and asks to be blessed. Both of them pronounce their blessings
without seeing the boy. The novice must continue to “show himself to
people” for some weeks, and he may still not enter his mother’s hut until he
has brought her some meat.
2.2 Circumcision among the Bukusu, Gisu, and Scbei
2.2.1 Relations between the tribes. — The Kalenjin speaking Sebei live to the
north of Mount Elgon. Most of their clans claim to have come from the
Cherengani Mountains on the other side of Trans Nzoia (Kitale). Their
neighbours on the western side of the mountain are the Gisu who speak
a Bantu language. Sebei and Gisu intermarried but they also fought each
other. The Gisu seem to have pushed the Sebei eastwards during the last
century which led to armed clashes between different sections of the Sebei.
But on the whole they seem to have avoided internecine fighting (Gold-
schmidt 1976: 15-23).
The dialect and customs of the Gisu of Bumbo and Bubutu near the
Kenya border are very similar to those of the Bukusu, their Bantu speaking
neighbours to the south of Mount Elgon in Kenya. What will be said here
about the circumcision of the Bukusu also applies to the Gisu of Bumbo and
Bubutu, while what is said about Gisu circumcision does not apply to these
areas. The northern Gisu dialect differs markedly from that of central and
southern areas. In pre-colonial times internal warfare seems to have been
endemic among the Gisu (La Fontaine 1959: 9-12, 30-32). Such fighting
is not reported from the Bukusu. The relations of the Bukusu with their
Kalenjin neighbours in Kenya were at times peaceful, leading to intermarriage
and absorption of many clans of Kalenjin origin into the Bukusu tribe, but
at other times fierce fighting took place with these Bok or Laku and Kony
(Were 19676: 173, 180-181).
2.2.2 Timing of the circumcision. — Nowadays circumcision ceremonies are
held every second year. Among the Gisu intervals may have been longer in
the past and among the Sebei the interval used to be five to seven years. The
age of the Sebei novices is about 18, but in the past they were probably
much older. Among the Gisu the age is between 15 and 20, but in the past
novices could be as old as 35. Bukusu boys are circumcised when they are
between 12 and 18 years old, but here again they may have been older in the
past (Wagner 1949: 339). Sebei circumcision is now held in December, but
traditionally the time was the short dry season in the early summer. Among
the Gisu and Bukusu it is held after the main finger millet harvest in August.
Circumcision and Initiation (Kenya and Uganda)
381
2.2.3 Tutors and seclusion huts. — Among the Sebei each novice has his own
tutor. He selects an assistant who collects for instance medicinal plants
which are needed at certain stages of the rituals. The seclusion hut is either
new or an existing hut may be used. Among the Gisu a song leader teaches
and leads the novices during the preliminary dancing and singing. The tutor
who looks after them during the seclusion has become a thing of the past or
is present in a few areas only, but the seclusion hut must be newly built.
Wagner (1949: 354) reports that five or six Bukusu novices stay in a new
hut under the care of a tutor, but these customs have disappeared. Any hut
will do and tutors no longer exist.
2.2.4 Preparations. — Novices of all tribes march or dance along the roads in
groups during a period of one or two months, although nowadays this may
be as short as a week, and they practise dancing and singing at night (Weather-
by 1967: 280). Bukusu novices do not sing themselves but this is done
by the girls and boys who accompany them. The novices travel around be-
cause they have to visit paternal and maternal relatives and invite them to
attend the ceremonies. Among the Bukusu these relatives sometimes sprinkle
flour or sugar on the novices.
The novices wear strings of beads across back and chest. They get them
from their female relatives. In the past Bukusu wore heavy iron beads around
their middle instead of these glass beads. In addition Sebei and Gisu wear
belts studded with cowries and headdresses made of colobus monkey skin.
The Sebei have adopted this headgear recently from the Gisu. Gisu some-
times attach a hippopotamus tusk or (imitation) horns to their forehead.
Other ornaments such as handkerchiefs are bought in the shops. Gisu wear
thigh bells and Bukusu hand bells, which they beat against iron rings around
their wrists. In the past Bukusu novices also wore thigh bells (Lindblom
1931: 406). Bukusu and Sebei boys nowadays also blow whistles during
the dancing (Weatherby 1967; 285).
Among the Bukusu novices help to prepare ritual beer made of sorghum.
On the third day before the circumcision they fetch water from a river to
pour this on the mixture of fried flour mixed with germinated eleusine. A
piece of lukhaafwa grass is tied around the pot and when they return from
the river siyoyao is sung. This song is also sung when the novices return from
the river smeared with mud before they are circumcised.
For the Sebei novices the day before circumcision starts with a strong
purgative. They receive flexible sticks which have been peeled white to carry
around with them, hold during the operation and keep during their seclusion.
They also add some more ornaments loaned by a female relative or girl
friend to be retrieved after the operation by a small payment. They dance at
various places and in the late afternoon they are smeared with white clay.
At night there is more dancing in which neighbours and relatives also parti-
cipate. The novices visit various houses in the neighbourhood. Their mother’s
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brother usually kills a ram, the chyme of which is smeared on the novices.
The father entertains visitors generously with beer and food.
The novices are given various purgatives and emetics to swallow and
have to urinate on a red-hot pick-and-adze blade. They must confess whether
they have had sexual intercourse with a grown-up woman. She will be asked
for a girdle which the novice must wear to prevent excessive bleeding. The
novices must also confess whether they have ever insulted grown-ups. These
may now take revenge by applying magic which causes the boy to shirk the
operation. They can either be placated or threatened to desist from such
attempts by the boy’s father. Early in the morning they wash themselves in
a river and apply stinging nettles to their penis. They return singing andayet
(Weatherby 1967: 290). At the home where the circumcision will take
place a ram is killed shortly before dawn. It is brought into the house covered
by a blanket. The meat is shared between the tutor and the circumcisor. An
elder smears its chyme on the boys when they return.
Gisu and Bukusu novices have to visit the mother’s brother on the day
before circumcision to receive his blessing. The Gisu uncle blesses through
spitting beer and gives a goat or a cow as a present. In northern parts he
gives the novice peeled sticks which he keeps in his hands during the opera-
tion. The elders clean the ritual groves and rebuild the shrines in preparation
for a blessing ceremony the next day. They offer fowl and beer. Grand-
fathers of the novices, or other elders who are ritually responsible for them,
make similar sacrifices at home to the ancestors. Among the Bukusu the
uncle often kills a bull and the novice is smeared with chyme from the
stomach which is placed in front of a shrine. A piece of breast meat with the
testicles attached to it is hung around his neck. When he comes home a
father’s sister shaves him (Wagner 1949: 343), a bull is killed, the stomach
is put in front of a shrine, and the brother or father of the novice’s father
smears him with chyme and hangs a piece of stomach lining around his neck.
Among both Gisu and Bukusu there is much dancing during the night
before the operation. The whole community takes part. Visitors are enter-
tained generously. Gisu novices may not speak in a normal voice during the
last few days before the operation. They must chant what they wish to say.
They are not expected to answer when people speak to them and are thought
not to be entirely responsible for their actions. Bukusu novices are scrutinized
repeatedly to see whether they know how to stand properly as required
during the operation.
The Gisu kill an animal early the next morning and its chyme is smeared
on the novice. A wealthy father may kill a bull for his eldest son. A piece
of breast meat with the testicles attached to it is hung around the neck of
the novice. In some parts yeast is put on top of the chyme. The novice is
also shaved, generally by his father’s sister. Then the novices of the village,
together with the young women and small boys, go to the grove where the
elders bless them by spitting beer on them. Next the novices who belong
to the same small exogamous lineage go together to a swamp or pool where
Circumcision and Initiation (Kenya and Uganda)
383
they are smeared with mud. On the way home siwoya is sung. The archaic
words of this song make it difficult to understand its meaning. In parts of
central Bugisu it used to be the custom that boys jumped into the air on
reaching the homestead and smashed an egg which had been placed on
a plantain leaf, together with the twigs of certain trees and bushes.
Early on the day of the circumcision Bukusu novices go to a river
accompanied by a large crowd. Here they are smeared completely with mud
while children and women wait at a distance. They go home along a different
road and sing siyoyao,which describes how a leopard (the circumcisor)
waits for them and tells cowards to go to Luo country. When entering the
homestead they are greeted by a paternal aunt with soot on her face and a
small piece of meat attached to her ear. She gives the novices some freshly
made beer on a large cooking ladle,
2.2.5 The operation. — Among all three tribes everybody may watch the
operation which should be endured without any signs of pain. Among the
Sebei and Gisu a flimsy fence may mark the place of the operation. To reach
it Sebei novices pass underneath two crossed spears tied with silk vine with
a whetstone placed underneath. This is said to warn off anyone who wishes
to harm the novices magically. In the plains the operation takes place in the
cattle kraal, but this is a recent innovation. Formerly the operation was
held on an open grassy space and several dozens of boys were initiated to-
gether. Nowadays there are five or six who live in the same neighbourhood
and are circumcised at the home of one of the fathers. Early placement con-
fers prestige. Among Gisu and Bukusu close paternal relatives are often
initiated together. They are circumcised in order of genealogical seniority.
In some parts of Bugisu all the novices of the same lineage are initiated
together. The Bukusu used to bury an axe on the spot where the operation
took place.
The two parts of the operation: cutting of the stretched foreskin and
removal of the inner skin layer are completed in one go, with the exception
of northern Bugisu, where boys may dance and jump in between these two
stages. This interval may last from half an hour to several hours. In central
and southern Bugisu and among the Bukusu boys may steady themselves
by holding a stick across their shoulders. A root called itianyi or idanyi is
used by Gisu and Bukusu to give the boys courage. They grip it between the
toes or have to chew it. Bukusu circumcisors used to wear a colobus monkey
skin headdress. Among Sebei and Bukusu spectators watch the operation
silently, but among the Gisu a deafening noise of shouts and exhortations is
kept up.
Everywhere women start rejoicing when all the novices have been
circumcised. Sebei mothers anoint their sons with butter, and they are given
some maize porridge on a cooking ladle to eat and milk from a gourd to
drink. This is the first food which they get since they took the purgative the
day before. Novices may refuse to sit down until their father promises them
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a cow or a heifer. Gisu women seize ladles with millet porridge with which
they beat the roofs to express their joy. In some parts of Bugisu the most
senior novice throws a cock which he held during the operation on the roof
of a hut. Bukusu boys may be supported after the operation by a young
female relative for a while before they sit down. In the past a girl-friend
could have claimed the novice in this way as her future husband (Wagner
1949; 352). Sometimes a novice refuses to sit down until his father has
promised him a cow. Women bring baskets with food which are put in front
of the novices and many well-wishers put coins into the mud on top of their
heads or bank notes into their hands.
Among all three tribes particular care is taken to remove foreskins,
blood soiled earth and blood stained clothes. Among the Sebei the tutors
take care of them and burn them on the fourth day. Among the Gisu they
are buried that same night in some parts. Elsewhere they are kept for three
days at the hut of seclusion and then disposed off. Among the Bukusu a
grandmother wraps them in banana fiber and throws them somewhere into
the bush after three days.
2.2.6 The seclusion. — Sebei novices may not touch food with their hands.
This taboo lasts presumably until the fourth day when they wash their
hands ceremonially with water mixed with certain leaves. They are also
shaved, the hair is burned, and they wash their penis with cow urine, which
hurts badly. Goldschmidt (1976: 288) reports that the circumcisor comes
back this day to bless the novice who is covered completely with a skin,
hitting him gently with his knife and instructing him about his moral duties.
Afterwards the father and mother of the novice spit beer on him by way of
blessing. Weatherby (1967: 299) tells us that an old man of an age-set which
is already dying out comes to bless the novices. He chews a kind of grass
which brings luck and spits on the initiates. In the past he would have
brought a knife, a bracelet, and utensils with him, but nowadays he takes
some money along.
Among the Gisu novices may not use their hands for eating until the
circumcisor comes back to wash the boys ritually. Normally this happens
in the evening, but in the past it could take two or three days before he
returned. He spits beer on the novices and tells them to wash their hands
in it. He gives them a piece of the most important kinds of food. They also
have to hold his knife while he tells them that they are now grown-up men.
He hands them a hoe and other symbols of male labour and gives them moral
instruction. If the novice is married his wife is also washed and taught the
duties of a wife. If he is not married his sister acts as a stand-in. If the novice
is already father of a child additional purification ceremonies have to be
performed.
Among the Bukusu the novices enter the seclusion hut backwards in the
same order in which they were circumcised. The first boy has to remove the
Circumcision and Initiation (Kenya and Uganda)
385
soot and the piece of meat from the father’s sister. After a couple of hours
the circumcisor returns and gives the boys small bits of food. Now they may
eat again. The circumcisor drinks the beer which the novices helped to pre-
pare. After three days the novices are shaved and caustic ash is used to be
put on the wound (Wagner 1949: 357). When the novices are sufficiently re-
covered to wear clothes again the circumcisor comes to bless them. The
novice kneels down covered with a blanket and the circumcisor touches him
with his knife while he gives moral instruction. He spurts some beer on him
by way of blessing. Now the boy receives new clothes. Only his father and
mother attend this ritual, but later on that day there is a beer party for
neighbours and relatives.
Among all three tribes grown-up women have to be avoided during the
period of seclusion. Bukusu novices must also avoid cows. Sebei novices
used to wear a long dress or cloak of skin which also covered their head.
Before they can move about they go outside at dawn to sing andayet. There
are three different texts, all rather obscure with many obscene words. They
may not bathe and use juicy leaves to clean themselves. When they can move
about they smear themselves with white clay. They have to sleep on leaves.
They should not vomit. They may not shout but must whistle to draw atten-
tion. They may not enter other homesteads and at home they must use the
goats’ door. They may not eat meat or blood. This is also taboo for the
mothers who cook for them and the nurses, young uninitiated girls, who
bring them this food. They continue carrying their sticks. Novices greet each
other by hitting each others’ legs. Other people greet them by squeezing
their wrist between these sticks, which is also a punishment meted out by
their tutors.
Sebei novices come together from time to time to dance and play
games, including the staging of mock fights. But they may not cross streams
or walk on paths until a special ceremony which is held on a moonlit night.
The nurses and the novices have collected baskets full with solanum berries
with which they and other children go around pelting the doors of the neigh-
bourhood. The neighbours give them some maize from which the mothers
make beer which they are invited to come and drink.
Gisu and Bukusu novices walk around with sticks with which they may
hit girls on their legs. They only stop when they are offered eggs or some
money. Gisu women do not cook for the novices, but leave this to young
boys or sisters. Wagner (1949; 364) implies that Bukusu novices were taken
care of by female nurses in the past. Gisu novices may steal food from
gardens and fields. Bukusu boys were allowed to steal chickens and were
engaged in military training (Wagner 1949: 361). Nowadays the favourite
pastimes of the Bukusu novices are fishing and playing the flute. Until they
are recovered completely they smear themselves with white clay and wear
a piece of white cotton cloth around their middle which is fastened around
their neck. In the past they wore a short leather apron (Wagner 1949: 359).
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2.2.7 Coming out ceremonies. — Among the Sebei the final ceremonies
take place two to five months after the operation. They start with a secret
ritual at night during which the novices are introduced to the bull-roarer,
called “lion.” They must take hold of the lion in the dark and are scratched
with thorns when they try to do this. Later novices themselves have to play
the bull-roarer for a long time. They are also instructed about the medicine
which they took and the use of magic against uninitiated children whose
behaviour is insulting. They are lectured on moral values and take an oath
not to reveal initiation secrets. The next day the novices are adopted into
the current age-set. They kneel down in a long line covered with skins.
They only lift their heads and sticks when they hear the correct name of
their set among a number of other names. An elder blesses them with beer
and mothers place butter on the heads of the novices. The father (or his
brother) takes the butter away again and places it on the cloth of the mother,
but before he is allowed to do this he must give a present to the tutor. The
novices receive new clothes.
On the fourth day the novices are shaved. The father kills a ram and the
tutor feeds pieces of meat to the novices, thus removing the taboo on eating
it. An old woman blesses the boys with the milk of a black cow before they
enter the houses of their mother, her co-wives, and her neighbours. The
novices are given a new name. They are also introduced to various things
which they will use as adult men: sticks for herding cattle and various kinds
of arms. The tutor blesses the implements. Finally one of the tutors holds a
running contest with the novices while they carry these things. There are
also contests in throwing clubs and spears. At some point during these final
ceremonies the dry leaves which were used as bedding are also burned.
Among the Gisu a beer drink for the lineage members and age-mates
of the father of the novice marks his readmittance into society. He is presented
with a spear and a new skin garment on this occasion. In some parts of
central Bugisu a final dance is held several months later. The whole village or
even a larger group takes part. The novices wear garlands of silk vine made
by their mothers or sisters.
Among the Bukusu the final ceremonies are celebrated in December,
but nowadays many novices omit them. They put the litter of banana leaves
on which they slept on fire and run with torches which they have lit in this
fire to a banana grove without looking back. Here they make a bonfire and
spend the night. In the past they were allowed to cut down as many bunches
as they pleased (Wagner 1949; 364). The next day the novices wash themselves
in a river, put on new clothes and parade up and down the yard of the
homestead with a spear. Their fathers bless them with beer and the boys
receive new names. Finally they eat a meal of boiled bananas with which
they may play around, trying to hit each other with balls of food.
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2.3 Circumcision among the Kipsigis, Nandi, and Keyo
2.3.1 Relations between the tribes. — The languages of these tribes belong to
the same dialect group of the Kalenjin sub-group of the Nilotic language
group (Ehret 1971: 12). According to their historical traditions they once
were one people living in the Rift Valley. At the end of the eighteenth cen-
tury famine caused the Nandi and the Kipsigis to move southwards. The
Keyo live nowadays at the eastern side of the Uasin Gishu Plateau near the
escarpment of the Rift Valley. The Nandi live at the western side of the
Uasin Gishu Plateau. Their neighbours to the west are the Luhya. Kipsigis
live to the south of the upper Nyando Valley, which separates them from the
Nandi. At first this area was occupied by Maasai and soon after they had
been driven away it was alienated by the colonial administration. To the
west of the Kipsigis live the Gusii (Orchardson 1961: 4-6). Apart from
resemblances between the circumcision ceremonies due to a common origin
and cultural heritage, Keyo initiation has for the last 50 years been in-
fluenced by that of the Nandi. One reason was that the Nandi rites were
less severe, another that they contained more colourful details (Welboum
1968: 215).
2.3.2 Timing of the circumcision. — The interval between the circumcisions
varied from three years among the Keyo, to seven among the Kipsigis and
ten among the Nandi. The latter circumcised for a period of several years
before they had an extended interval. Nowadays Kipsigis circumcise when-
ever enough boys are available. Among the Nandi circumcision has also
become an annual event. Kipsigis may circumcise at any time of the year,
except in August, provided enough food is available. Nandi circumcise main-
ly in December, but also in March and August. Keyo circumcise in December
only. The age at which boys are circumcised is between 12 and 15 for the
Nandi, 14 and 18 for the Kipsigis, and for the Keyo between 15 and 30
years. Formerly Nandi novices were aged between 15 and 19 (Hollis 1909:
52).
2.3.3 Tutors and seclusion huts. — Everywhere there are two tutors who
take care of the group of novices who stay together at the seclusion hut.
They are young circumcised men. Among the Nandi they must be married
with a family, the first born of which has to be a boy. They also make a clear
distinction between the main tutor and his assistant. Among the Kipsigis the
number of boys varies between five and ten, among the Nandi there used to
be as many as ten (Hollies 1909: 52), but nowadays there are only two or
three, and among the Keyo the group counts about 15 boys. Among the
Kipsigis a reliable old man is asked to feed the boys during the seclusion. He
and his wife are called “father” and “mother” by the novices. This sponsor
helps them to build the hut of seclusion, which is in the bush but near his
residence. For every boy they receive a she goat or ewe as recompensation.
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Among the Nandi the two tutors build this hut together with the novices,
their brothers, and certain members of their own age-set near the bank of
a stream in the forest or in the dense undergrowth along its edge. The
site should not be too far from the big house where the preliminary and
final rituals will be held and which may also be built for this occasion. It
is surrounded by a fence. The tutors together with each of the novices in
turn, according to the seniority of their fathers’ age-set or sub-set, strike a
ritual tree four times. This ritual order is always maintained when the
novices have to do something in turn. The centre pole of the hut of seclu-
sion is put into its hole in a similar manner. Among the Keyo the hut is built
by the novices under supervision far from their homes and not too close
to any habitation; preferably it should be in the forest or thick bush.
2.3.4 Preparations. — An important role in the ceremonies of the Kipsigis
is played by the poyot ap tumda, “elder of the ceremonies,” who is in
charge of one of the larger areas into which the country is divided for
ritual as well as political purposes. Although his status is inheritable boys do
not normally succeed their fathers, but priests in other areas. A similar term
is used by the Keyo for the chief circumcisor, while among the Nandi the
words denote the ritual expert, chosen for the occasion, who has to supervise
all details pertaining to the ritual.
Among the Nandi the people from each of the 24 regions into which
the tribal area is divided used to ask the orkoiyot, a great diviner with much
political influence, for his sanction to start a new period of circumcision. He
gets two calves and much beer when they approach him. Afterwards people
from the area have a feast at which goats are killed with which the novices
are fed. Three months later circumcision would start.
Among the Kipsigis and Nandi relatives are invited by the novices them-
selves to attend their circumcision. Among the Nandi the novices go the
home of the “master of ceremonies” in the evening two days before the day
of the operation. Here they are warned of the ordeals they will have to
submit to and are put through some exercises of concentration. Near the hut
of seclusion they collect firewood and ritual plants, especially silk vine.
Some wood is left at the hut of seclusion and the rest is taken to the “house
of ceremonies” by the novices who walk in ritual order. The next morning
the ritual plants are used in the building of a shrine. When this is ready the
boys are shaved, anointed with milk from a little ritual gourd, their bodies
are smeared with red ochre or white clay, they are given a strong purga-
tive, clothed in a short skin dress, and garlanded with silk vine. Novices
no longer put on girls’ clothes at this stage, which was customary in the
past.
Keyo boys are also shaved on the day before circumcision and put on
a sheepskin cloak. Kipsigis boys wear a short cloak of their mothers on the
day of circumcision, and also often on the previous night. They are anointed
Circumcision and Initiation (Kenya and Uganda)
389
by their mother’s brother in the evening. Nandi boys also had to seek the
sanction of their mother’s brother or his representative at this stage (Hollis
1909: 53). Nandi and Keyo novices are scrutinized to see whether they can
stand properly without showing fear. Keyo sing the circumcision song called
kayandaet before and after this inspection which is a kind of dress rehearsal.
Among the Nandi the testing takes place near the hut of seclusion at some
distance from the place where the communal dancing is held which alter-
nates with this testing. Novices from all tribes receive ornaments from their
girl-friends and/or female relatives during the final preparatory stages. Every-
where the whole community participates in dancing and/or singing during
the day and/or early night before the circumcision. Among the Kipsigis the
father and the female paternal relatives of the novice wear garlands of silk
vine. When the dancing and testing is over Nandi novices are anointed and
blessed near the shrine by female relatives chosen to represent the clan and
kindred group of each of them.
Before they can be circumcised novices of all three tribes undergo
various ordeals and have to confess their misdeeds, especially sexual relations
which they may have had with grown-up women. Everywhere novices have
to crawl through a tunnel four times. Among the Nandi this tunnel is adorned
with implements associated with males, females, and cattle. The tunnel is
lined with nettles, or warriors stand alongside with nettles to apply them
to the bodies of the novices. Live hornets may be dropped on their backs.
In addition Nandi and Kipsigis boys must sit on a stool covered with stinging
nettles. Kipsigis boys are also told to rush through a fire, but are held back at
the last moment. During the confession novices are threatened everywhere
by a fur clad man to tell the truth. Among the Nandi he plays the friction drum.
Kipsigis boys are asked to identify the imitation of sounds made during
sexual intercourse. When waiting outside Nandi and Keyo novices have to
gaze intently for a long time at a star. Early in the morning boys from these
two tribes must take a bath in the river before the operation.
2.3.5 The operation. — Among the Kipsigis and Nandi the operation takes
place near the hut of seclusion, and among the Keyo near the house where
the ordeals of the previous night were held. Women and children may see
nothing of the operation. Kipsigis and Keyo boys stand upright, but Nandi
boys sit down. The Nandi novices are held down from behind by one age-
mate and faced with a spear by another at which he has to gaze (or nowa-
days at a tree or bush in the distance when no spear is used). During the first
part of the operation the foreskin is stretched as much as possible and cut
off with one stroke by the master of ceremonies (Nandi) or chief circumcisor
(Keyo and Kipsigis). However, among the Kipsigis he is often a feeble and
shaky man and merely makes a mark on the foreskin, leaving the actual
cutting to others. The order in which the novices are cut is determined by
the age-set or sub-set seniority of their fathers among the Kipsigis and Nandi,
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To announce that the first part of the operation is over silk vine is
brought to the waiting women and children among the Nandi and Keyo. If a
Nandi boy behaved cowardly the creeper is tied in short small bunches or
is burnt at its tips. Nandi women tie the creeper on the roof tops, Keyo
women hang pieces in their homes. Among the Kipsigis novices should not
show any signs of pain during the whole operation. Afterwards they give
back the ornaments which they had received from their girl-riends. If the
boy has been brave they keep them as cherished possessions, but if not they
are thrown into the bush. Among the Nandi the crucial part is the first stage.
During the second stage when the inner lining of the foreskin is completely
or partially removed and in the process a transverse slit is made on the dorsal
side through which the tip of the glans is pushed, many novices collapse.
This is also true of the Keyo, who may even writhe or cry during this part of
the operation.
2.3.6 The seclusion. — Kipsigis novices may not touch food with their hands
during the first month. During the first days they eat thin gruel from half a
tree trunk, which has been hollowed out. Keyo novices may not touch food
with their hands during the first four days while for the Nandi this period
lasts from four to six days. Nandi and Kipsigis may eat meat mixed with
milk during this period, although this is normally forbidden. The period is
ended with a special ceremony of washing hands. Among the Nandi (Hollis
1909: 55) and Keyo the foreskins which were kept until this day are now
buried. Nandi novices now exchange the girls’ clothes which they had put on
after the operation for long leather skirts worn by women between initiation
and marriage.
Kipsigis novices undergo several ordeals at this stage. They are told to
go into the bush to find a cattle thief and meet a warrior whom they have to
fight with mock weapons which break. They drink from a basket, the rim of
which is lined with stinging nettles. Finally they have to dip their hands into
a trough filled with water. On the bottom they find several things which
they were not allowed to touch until now: a circumcision knife, a sword, a
bleeding arrow, a needle, cow dung, rock salt, and an axe. They take off
their mothers’ cloak now and change them for longer dresses made of leather
skins.
Although Keyo call a similar ceremony “washing of hands,” novices do
not actually wash them. They walk four times around an arch made of sticks
singing kayandaet and dip their feet into the cow dung with which it is sur-
rounded. Next they are shown symbols of herding, a cow bell and a bleeding
arrow, and of status, a mothers’ belt and an elders’ staff. Finally there are
several ordeals. They are made to sit down on the sharp end of an iron used
for branding cattle, which is removed at the last moment. Their penis is
threatened with an arrow. Their face is rubbed with stinging nettles by a
man hidden in a small hut covered with skins. He grabs them suddenly by
Circumcision and Initiation (Kenya and Uganda)
391
the women’s necklace which they have been made to wear. After this cere-
mony they eat food with their hands from half-beehives and drink milk from
gourds.
After the ceremonial washing of hands Nandi novices also have to pass
four times underneath a low arch from which stinging creepers are hung and
on top of which a hornets’ nest is placed. Some cow dung is spread round
the base and covered with solanum berries. A little hole, dug in the centre
under the arch, is filled with cow urine. Novices have to step into it with
their right foot. Warriors beat the nest, each time releasing hornets, and
pour cow urine over the naked novices. There are other ordeals as well.
The novice is told to go inside the hut of seclusion to shoot a wild animal,
but is frightened by a man hiding inside with a shield and small bells. He also
has to show that he can aim accurately at a certain plant. If he fails to hit
it he will be told that he may also fail with women. The face is stung again
with nettles after the novice has been asked to enter the tunnel to see some-
thing nice. The process of circumcision is completed among the Nandi when
after threatening the penis with an arrow with a solanum berry on top a
clot of blood is said to be removed from the urethra with a bent stick and
wire. The eyes of the novice are covered and his penis is merely touched. But
cow’s blood is poured on the penis and the wire as if a real operation had
been performed. Finally the next day the testicles are “cleaned” through
hitting them severely. Again, after covering the face, the boy is hit four
times with an arrow with a solanum berry and the stomach is said to be
“cleaned” with a stick. Soil, maize porridge, and meat are put on the ground
to show what came out.
During the next stage singing is important. Kipsigis novices sing at sun-
rise and sunset kipoyesit, and during daytime kayandaet. The meaning of
the texts is obscure. Nandi sing kaandaet three times every day, praising
those who were brave during the operation. Old men and warriors may be
present at these occasions, but for the rest they may see no one except the
young children who bring them their food (Hollis 1909; 56). Keyo novices
sing three special songs, the meaning of which is not known, three times each
day and four times each night. During this period they also sit frequently in
cold streams which is supposed to speed up their recovery, but otherwise
bathing is not allowed.
Kipsigis boys move around after the washing ceremony and Nandi and
Keyo novices as soon as they feel well enough. Everywhere novices must
avoid grown-up women during their seclusion and have their bodies smeared
with white clay (Orchardson 1961; 62). Keyo novices wear a sheepskin
cloak with a hood of sack cloth and Nandi boys also wear a hood to cover
their heads. When Nandi boys move about they may not cross farms, nor
roads or rivers, without leaving the mark of a bow, a blade of grass or a leaf.
Nandi and Keyo novices may not shout to draw attention. They must call
goats “bucks” and cows “buffaloes.” Nandi novices may not come near
the cattle kraal and should not mourn if anyone dies (Hollis 1909: 56). Keyo
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novices hunt birds, and Nandi and Kipsigis shoot other small animals as
well. Feathers and skins are used for decorating masks.
Among the Kipsigis one or two months after the ceremonial washing
a special ritual emphasizes the moral lessons which they now get from
warriors and elders. During one night the novices come together in a special
enclosure where they are visited by elders who teach them when they are
not drinking the beer which has been prepared for them. The “elder of cere-
monies” closes the ceremony and blesses the novices by spitting beer on
them. Keyo novices are also taught customs and manners by all sorts of men
who visit them. They also learn a sign language which they use in encounters
with female novices. It is a kind of game in which the girl challenges the
boy to give suitable answers to her derogatory statements about his wealth,
courage, etc. Visits to the huts of these girls, however popular, are punished
severely by the warriors, as it means breaking the rule forbidding contact
with initiated women. Among the Nandi the tutors give instruction in the
identification and use of trees, shrubs, and herbs used for medicinal and
ritual purposes. Tribal taboos, skills of warfare and herding, and proper male
adult behaviour are taught. They also learn how to make traditional weapons
and the headdresses which they wear when coming out. Kipsigis boys are
frightened by warriors who swing bull-roarers to keep them indoors at
night. Among the Nandi and Keyo they are heard during the week preceding
kapkiai. Among the Keyo they are said to be the voices of fierce animals,
who have to make sure that the novices are worthy to finish their initiation.
Therefore they now have to confess any trespasses which they may have
committed during their seclusion. Among the Nandi the warriors try to
break down the hut of seclusion, while the novices hold on to the centre
pole which they must try to save.
The second part of the seclusion among these tribes begins with the
ceremony called kapkiai by Nandi and Keyo. In. a river a pool has been
made in which a submerged tunnel has been constructed. The novices must
go through it four times. Afterwards they start wearing their decorated
masks, helmet shaped with fringes. Kipsigis boys are given two branches of
the solanum, one of which is covered with mud, when they emerge. With the
latter they have to try to beat a woman and then throw it away. The muddy
stick represents their uncleanness. In some clans they get rid of it through
raping a woman. The novices also form four files, representing the four
regiments into which the Kipsigis are divided traditionally. The groups com-
pete in collecting solanum berries, which represents the raiding of cattle.
They may now sleep in their parents’ house and go far away.
After kapkiai Keyo and Nandi novices have their faces rubbed with
nettles to give them red eyes. With the aid of clay figures they are taught
that from now onwards sexual relations with young girls are forbidden. Keyo
novices take an oath against unsociable individuals and one against revealing
the secrets of the initiation. Singing suiye they go back to the hut of seclu-
sion and in the afternoon they assemble at the home of the novice who has
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393
been chosen to be their leader during the final ceremonies. Among the Nandi
the novices go to the clearing where the preliminary dancing was held wear-
ing their decorated masks. They dance suiyet, paying particular attention to
their mothers. In the past it could then take up to eight weeks before the
coming out ceremonies were held, but now the final ceremonies often take
place in the evening of the same day. They are held at the “house of cere-
monies” where the preliminary rituals also took place.
2.3. 7 Coming out ceremonies. — Among the Kipsigis a gate is made and be-
tween its double lintel cow dung is put. At night a beer drink is held. The
next day the novices put on their mothers’ dresses and new goat skins on
top of these so that their face and back cannot be seen. The novice and his
tutor kneel at one side of the gate, two sisters or female relatives, who
become “sisters” after this ritual, on the other side. Together they pound
the cow dung with sticks while they sing: “Open the way, my grandmother
sister.” The “elder of ceremonies” blesses the novice with beer. Next the
elder and the tutor pound the dung together. The novice and his sisters stand
in the dung and smear each others’ feet with it.
After the novices and the tutor have walked four times around the
shrine of the homestead and the elder has blessed them again by invoking
God, female relatives anoint the novices with butter. They expose the upper
part of their faces for the first time to a woman. In turn the women are
anointed by the novices. Tutors and novices and the elder and the novices
also anoint each other. The mother of the novice gives him a branch from
which an amulet is hung. Then the boys go inside a hut, smear butter on
their bodies and receive a new skin or piece of clothing from their paternal
uncles. The day is closed with a beer drink provided by the sponsor which
goes on into the night.
The next day the novices march again four times around the shrine
with the branches they received from their mothers. The elder blesses them
and fashions the branches into walking sticks. But before the boys give these
branches their father must promise them a calf. Now the sponsor and his
wife anoint the boys with butter. After four days the boys are shaved and so
are their tutors, sponsors, parents, brothers, and married sisters, none of
whom was allowed to cut their hair while the seclusion lasted.
Before Nandi and Keyo novices may enter the house where the final
ceremonies are held they must give a pass-word. This consists of the answer
to the question which sound is made during sexual intercourse. A leather
thong or string is tied around a finger and jerked suddenly, nearly dislocating
the joint. At this point Nandi novices have to swear to reveal nothing of the
circumcision rituals. They also have to undergo some ordeals again and to
identify certain objects. Keyo and Nandi novices are taught to use bull-
roarers and the Nandi novices are also shown the friction drum which they
heard before entering (Hollis 1909: 57). Keyo novices are shown a glowing
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splinter which is whirled around. They are told not to play any longer with
fire like little children. The rest of the night they spend together with the
men, singing frantically.
The next morning Keyo novices take their first bath and smear them-
selves with plenty of oil. In the afternoon a sister or another female relative
unveils the novice. Novices now walk around carrying a stick to which a
calabash is attached and a horn full of butter. They anoint uncircumcised
boys when they see them. After several weeks, but nowadays after one day,
the novices remove their skin dress and are shaved. They put on normal
clothes, partake in a beer drink, and are asked by which name they want to
be called henceforward.
Nandi novices also bathe in the river the next day, but they put on then-
women’s garments and ritual headdress again and show themselves to their
parents and guests which were invited for the feast which is now being held.
They receive gifts of clothes and money. Wearing necklaces presented by
the women they visit in procession the houses in the neighbourhood. Early
the following morning they bathe again and put on new clothes. On their
arrival at home they are greeted by a sister, aunt, or other female relative
who anoints the novice with clarified butter. The two become bamwai and
have a special relationship for the rest of their lives.
2.4 Circumcision among the Marakwet and Pokot
2.4.1 Relations between the tribes. — The Marakwet live on the escarpment
to the west of the Kerio River and in the adjoining Cherangani Hills. The
Pokot live to the north of this area and are divided into agricultural and
pastoral sections. The agricultural Pokot live in the hills and the pastoral
Pokot in the plains which border on the areas of the Turkana and Karamo-
jong. The latter have influenced the pastoral Pokot very much, also with
regard to circumcision which many of them do not practise. The northern
section of the Marakwet merges culturally with the Pokot, the southern
section with the Keyo. Linguistically Pokot forms a major division of the
Kalenjin language group. Two other divisions at this level are formed by the
group of Elgon dialects and the group of Nandi dialects. The latter includes
Nandi, Kipsigis, Keyo, and Marakwet (Rottland 1977). Pokot say that for-
merly Marakwet took the decision when to hold a circumcision (Visser
1982). Another tradition relates that circumcision originated among the
Tugen, a Kalenjin tribe who lives to the east of the Marakwet.
2.4.2 Timing of the circumcision. — Among the Marakwet circumcision
rituals are held in order to initiate novices into age-sets. Initiation into a
particular set was held in three sub-sets, separated by a year. There was a
period of seven or more years before initiation into the next set could be-
gin. Among the Pokot circumcision takes places whenever there are enough
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395
boys who want it and the state of the crops and the flocks permits feasting.
Each circumcision set has a duration of approximately ten years and is
divided into senior and junior sections (Peristiany 1951: 295). Pokot do not
circumcise in December (Visser 1982); for the Marakwet no information
is available on the time of the year when circumcision is usually held. Mara-
kwet boys are at least 18 years old when they are circumcised and in the past
they could be considerably older. The age indicated for the Pokot is between
10 und 20.
2.4.3 Tutors and seclusion huts. — Marakwet novices come under the tutor-
ship of those initiated on the previous occasion—in some cases, their elder
brothers. They wield absolute authority over the novices. Each Pokot novice
has his own tutor, a circumcised youth. The hut of seclusion among the
Pokot is a large rectangular structure, located deep in the bush and built by
members of the previous age-set. The novices are divided into three sections
according to their years, each with its own leader. They sleep head to foot in
rows and are divided by lengths of wood laid on the floor. Among the Mara-
kwet the hut of seclusion is also constructed for the purpose. No informa-
tion is given on the number of boys living at any one hut.
2.4.4 Preparations. — Pokot novices have to obtain a large oxhide, a tra-
ditional women’s garment, from a married woman, with whom a tie of
quasi-kinship will be established. They go to the hut of seclusion where, on
the day before the operation, an elder admonishes them, brandishing the
knife of circumcision. Among the Marakwet novices gather on the eve of
circumcision at the home of eldest of their number. Here they have to con-
fess all sins they have committed: incest, contempt of elders or the breaking
of taboos. This confession is punctuated by singing. Their tutors warn them
that the operation will be extremely painful. Early the next morning, having
again been questioned rigorously about past sins, the novices are taken to a
stream where they wash their penes thoroughly. The tutors pinch them
mercilessly to make sure that the novices will be able to endure the pain.
Perhaps some sections of the Marakwet apply stinging nettles at this stage.
Pokot novices are also taken to a river early in the morning, where they are
shaved and bathe themselves with care. They are asked to confess their
quarrels and sexual relationships. A ceremony of blessing is held and white
clay is smeared on the chest and forehead of the novices. Then they are
again shut up inside the hut of seclusion.
2.4.5 The operation. — Among the Marakwet a large crowd of men, women,
and sometimes children are present at the circumcision. However the men
stand in front so that women and children do not actually see the operation
itself. Novices throw away their clothes and sit down on stones set in a row.
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They are not supported in any way. Each in turn opens his legs, stretches his
arms up and looks straight ahead. The circumcisor who is called “father of
the ceremony” pull the foreskin as far forward as possible and makes a deep
incision. Tutors complete the operation inside the hut of seclusion. The fore-
skin is further slit, bundled, and tied on the underside of the penis.
Among the Pokot there may be many circumcisors who wait outside,
with stones arranged in a slightly semicircular line upon which the novices sit
down. Only men may watch the operation. Boys from certain localities and
clans should get precedence. The foreskin is impaled to the ground by a
sharp peg of wood and scarified with hot ashes. It is scraped with a knife
and cut into strips. The father (or uncle) and the eldest circumcised brother
watch the novice closely, pretending that they will kill the boy with their
spears if he flinches. A friend of the father stands behind the operator fixing
the gaze of the novice to draw his attention from the details of the opera-
tion. If the novice shows signs of pain he brings shame upon himself and his
family. The homestead is affected and the cattle will have to be cleaned
ritually (Visser 1982). A novice who is already married as well as his wife
who bore him a child have to undergo a very strong ritual of purification.
They are put under a shower of chyme from the stomach of a black billy-
goat or any ram (Visser 1982).
2.4.6 The seclusion. — Pokot novices are fed with liquid porridge by their
tutors during the first two weeks. After this time they may still not use their
hands and may only eat from a skin or calabash. After a month this taboo
is also lifted when the circumcisors come to wash the novices. In the third
month the whithered strips of foreskin are anointed with leopard’s fat and
burned away with a hot iron, after which cold water is poured over the
scourged parts. This is done by a man called Sosion. He and his helper
are stoned by mothers and other female relatives of the novices after a
clownesque performance. In mock vengeance he shoots arrows at the hut
of seclusion. After a mock battle with the novices he is overcome and agrees
to finish the operation. When the novices retire again to the hut of seclusion
their mothers and females are told that they are dying and that Kipsigutvoa,
an extremely ferocious animal, doglike with one horn and one eye, is killing
them. When the women hear the novices sing in the distance about this
event they try to reach them but are driven away by the circumcised men.
After a while they are told that the novices have recovered—each of the three
sections in its turn—and urgently require food. This is brought and divided
into two portions: one for the novices and one for Kipsigutvoa who has re-
lented. After about three days the logs which divide the three sections of
novices in the hut of seclusion are tied with pieces of bark string. Novices
and women are told that these strings tie up the offspring of Kipsigutvoa.
That night drums are heard and other noises are made inside the hut of
seclusion.
Circumcision and Initiation (Kenya and Uganda)
397
From now onwards the novices may roam about, but they may not be
seen by adult women and are still wearing their oxhide which is now smeared
with red ochre. They hide their faces behind veils of rope (Visser 1982).
When they go to the homesteads they have to whistle for food. Among
themselves they may only speak in whispers. They spend their time in shoot-
ing birds and rats with two sharp arrows and a blunted one (Visser 1982).
They may “hold up” girls from whom they may demand bracelets, beads,
and so on. This loot goes afterwards to the woman who gave the oxhide. At
the end of the fifth month novices are confronted by the Kipsigutwa who
hides in a small grass booth inside the hut of seclusion. They have to put a
hand and next a leg inside which are stabbed. Later an elder warns the
novices not to reveal anything of what has happened to women, to the
uncircumcised, and to strangers. The next day figures made of grass are
formed inside the hut of seclusion and each novice in turn has to tell what
they represent. The tutor whispers the answers to the assumed annoyance of
the elders.
Among the Marakwet novices may not sit by a fire when the wounds
heal, which takes one or two weeks. Novices are shown certain structures
and designs which symbolize familiar places and aspects of life. They have to
learn and use new words for many common objects. Forgetfulness is punished.
The novices and their tutors undergo much rigorous physical exercise and
engage in regulated fighting. During the seclusion novices remain isolated
from the rest of society. Towards the end of this period they are attacked
by a “wild animal.” Outside the hut men swirl bull-roarers, inside in the dark
some tutors snap the legs of the novices with the jaws of goat and sheep
skulls, while others strike them with nettles. Some novices now confess sins
which they had hidden previously.
2.4.7 Coming out ceremonies. — Pokot novices go to the river to bathe on
the day after their examination. Former age-sets administer small fines and
light beatings to the novices for their past misdeeds. That night they are
given the name of their age-set. On the final morning a dance is held during
which the circumcised men form a circle at the center of which the novices
hide under their oxhides. Their mothers and other female relatives try to
break through, identify their sons, and take them along, anointing them and
decorating them with beads.
Marakwet novices are told the next morning after their night of terror
what actually did happen and have to swear to keep the whole thing secret
and also what they have learned during their seclusion. Now some elders
join in the final counseling in behaviour as adults, composure in married
life, and the responsibilities of all new initiates. Blessing takes place. Then all
move to the home of the eldest novice where other elders, women and
children have gathered for the final feast. Finally each initiate is anointed
by a young girl.
398
Jan Jacob de Wolf
Anthropos 78.1983
3. Quantitative Analysis and Numerical Classification
The use of statistics for the classification of cultural elements or whole
cultures has a long history, but has never been very popular. Apart from the
very first application, published in 1911, no attempt was ever made to con-
struct numerical taxonomies to elucidate the culture history of Africa (Driver
1970). My own attention was drawn to this method by linguists working on
the classification of African languages (Henrici 1973). This work was based
on modem developments in biological taxonomy (Sneath and Sokal 1973).
Comparing Sneath and Sokal with Driver we note that the former two prefer
different measures of association for reasons which seem to me quite con-
vincing (Sneath and Sokal 1973: 131; Driver 1970). They also provide
easy methods for the constmction of tree diagrams, which show much more
clearly which data should be grouped together than matrices or maps (Sneath
and Sokal 1973: 214-222). Although Driver also makes use of tree diagrams
in his most recent work, he does not discuss their principles and merely
uses the results of one computer programme (Driver et al. 1972; Driver and
Coffin 1974).
The first step in the constmction of a numerical taxonomy is the count-
ing of the presence or absence of selected characters for each pair of units
which one wants to classify. In our case these are tribes. Characters which
are universal or which are typical of one tribe only need not be considered,
as the taxonomy will be based on the degree of similarity. Characters are not
weighed as we do not know in advance which of them are more important
for our purpose. If no information is available on the presence or absence of
a character among one or both tribes the trait is not used for our computation
of the measure of association. The maximal number of traits compared was
104, the smallest number of traits which could be compared in a given
instance was 93, in the case of the Gush — Marakwet.
Fig. 1; 2x2 frequency table
Tribe K
1
Tribe J
0
a + b
c + d
a + c
b + d
n=a+b+c+d
Circumcision and Initiation (Kenya and Uganda)
399
The outcome of the comparison can be summarized in a conventional
2x2 frequency table as shown in figure 1. Presence of a character is coded
as 1, absence as 0. I used two measures of association. The Simple Matching
Coefficient which is computed as
SSM =
a + d
a + b + c + d
The Coefficient of Jaccard, which excludes negative matches, is computed as
a
sj = ---------------
a + b + c
(Sneath and Sokal 1973: 131-132).
Clustering was based on measures of dissimilarity expressed as (1-S)
presented in the two matrices shown in table 1 and table 2. I used two
clustering methods known as the nearest neighbour technique and the
farthest neighbour technique. This resulted in the drawing of four different
tree diagrams (Sneath and Sokal 1973: 216-225) which are shown in figures
2-5. Generally the farthest neighbour technique structures the data more,
showing more taxa and more ranks than the nearest neighbour technique.
However, the former technique also leaves out many of the links existing
between the members of the different small and tight clusters which it
establishes. For example the links of the Sebei to other Kalenjin tribes are
much clearer when using the nearest neighbour technique than when using
the farthest neighbour technique. Similarly when we apply the nearest
neighbour technique the Tiriki show a greater resemblance to some of the
Kalenjin tribes than to the tribes of the cluster to which they belong when
we apply the farthest neighbour technique. When the farthest neighbour
technique is used four clusters emerge which show the same composition
whether we base our analysis on S§M or on Sj. Note that the grouping is the
same as the one used in the descriptive part of this essay, which was estab-
lished independently on the basis of intuition.
Anthropos 78.1983
400
Jan Jacob de Wolf
TABLE 1
Matrix of dissimilarity (1-Sj)
Bukusu Gisu Gusii Idakho Keyo Kipsigis Logoli Marakwet Nandi Pol
Bukusu
Gisu 0.38
Gusii 0.86 0.90
Idakho 0.79 0.83 0.75
Keyo 0.87 0.86 0.80 0.89
Kipsigis 0.86 0.80 0.83 0.83 0.49
Logoli 0.74 0.78 0.70 0.32 0.89 0.85
Marakwet 0.84 0.96 0.84 0.85 0.74 0.84 0.87
Nandi 0.84 0.85 0.83 0.90 0.36 0.49 0.78 0.77
Pokot 0.85 0.84 0.79 0.85 0.70 0.76 0.87 0.65 0.69
Sebei 0.63 0.66 0.78 0.71 0.72 0.68 0.71 0.81 0.71 0.67
Tiriki 0.88 0.90 0.78 0.69 0.65 0.60 0.72 0.77 0.73 0.79
0.75
TABLE 2
Matrix of dissimilarity (1-Sgjyj)
Bukusu Gisu Gusii Idakho Keyo Kipsigis Logoli Marakwet Nandi Pokot Sebei Tiriki
Bukusu
Gisu 0.14
Gusii 0.47 0.43
Idakho 0.46 0.43 0.33
Keyo 0.63 0.59 0.49 0.63
Kipsigis 0.56 0.45 0.44 0.49 0.25
Logoli 0.39 0.38 0.29 0.12 0.63 0.50
Marakwet 0.40 0.43 0.28 0.39 0.40 0.38 0.36
Nandi 0.63 0.57 0.53 0.66 0.21 0.29 0.63 0.32
Pokot 0.45 0.40 0.33 0.41 0.40 0.39 0.44 0.21 0.42
Sebei 0.38 0.38 0.46 0.43 0.53 0.44 0.43 0.43 0.53 0.38
Tiriki 0.53 0.52 0.37 0.35 0.40 0.31 0.37 0.31 0.49 0.40 0.49
Circumcision and Initiation (Kenya and Uganda)
401
Fig. 2: Dendrogram (Sj) nearest neighbour technique
0.1 0.2 0.3 0.4 0.5 0.6 0.7 0.8 0.9 1.0
Gisu
Bukusu
Sebei
Pokot
Marakwet
Tiriki
Kipsigis
Nandi
Keyo
Logoli
Idakho
Gusii
Fig. 3: Dendrogram (Ssm) nearest neighbour technique
0.1
0.2 0.3. 0.4 0.5 0.6 0.7 0.8
0.9 1.0
Sebei
Gisu
Bukusu
Logoli
Idakho
Gusii
Pokot
Marakwet
Tiriki
Kipsigis
Keyo
Nandi
Anthropos 78.1983
26
402
Jan Jacob de Wolf
Anthropos 78.1983
Fig. 4: Dendrogram (Sj) farthest neighbour technique
0.1 0.2 0.3 0.4 0.5 0.6 0.7 0.8 0.9 1.0
Gisu
Bukusu
Sebei
Gusii
Logoli
Idakho
Tiriki
Kipsigis
Nandi
Keyo
Pokot
Marakwet
Fig. 5; Dendrogram S (sm) farthest neighbour technique
0.1 0.2 0.3 0.4 0.5 0.6 0.7 0.8 0.9 1.0
Gisu
Bukusu
Sebei
Logoli
Idakho
Gusii
Tiriki
Pokot
Marakwet
Keyo
Nandi
Kipsigis
Circumcision and Initiation (Kenya and Uganda)
403
4. Symbolic Meaning and Social Function
4.1 Symbolic Meaning of the Initiation Ceremonies
Many symbols and sequences which occur in circumcision rituals are
also typical of other life crisis rituals among the tribes which I discuss here.
Initiation of girls involving genital mutilation and commonly called “female
circumcision” takes place among the Kalenjin speaking tribes and the Gusii
and was also usual among the Bukusu before 1925. The pattern of the cere-
monies around this operation are fundamentally the same as those of the
boys according to reports which we have about the Kipsigis (Peristiany
1939: 25, 26), Nandi (Langley 1979: 46-67), Sebei (Goldschmidt 1976:
267-301) and Gusii (Mayer 1953: 26-36). One of the more important differ-
ences with the male rites, with the exception of the Sebei, is that the girls stay
during their seclusion in the hut of their mother (Kipsigis, Gusii) or of the
woman who feeds them (Nandi).
Among the Luhya (Tiriki, Logoli, Idakho, Bukusu) women are secluded
for some days after having given birth and may not touch food with their
hands. They sleep on a mattress of banana leaves and may only use the side
door. At the end of the period they are shaved, take a bath, and have their
hands washed ceremonially by an unmarried brother-in-law (Wagner 1949:
303-308). Confinement for some days, a taboo on touching food and shaving
and bathing at the end of the seclusion are also reported for the Kipsigis
(Peristiany 1939: 76). Among the Sebei the hands of the woman who has
given birth and of the midwife are washed with a similar concoction as that
used for the washing of the novices’ hands (Goldschmidt 1976: 246). Among
the Nandi a woman may not touch food with her hands for one month after
childbirth (Hollis 1909: 92). Among the Gisu women stay inside the hut for
a period of three to six days after having given birth. Afterwards their heads
are shaved. A Gisu girl must eat with sticks during her first menstruation (La
Fontaine 1959: 39, 41).
During funeral rites of the Luhya tribes widows and sisters of a de-
ceased man may cut down a banana grove (like Idakho and Bukusu novices)
and widows are smeared with white clay (like Bukusu novices) (Wagner
1949: 453, 484; 1939: 93). Among the Sebei restrictions for widows during
mourning are essentially the same as those for novices during their seclusion.
Shaving and bathing brings this period to an end (Goldschmidt 1976: 308,
309).
Sebei brides are secluded in the same way when they stay for the first
time at the home of the groom. The bride should not eat meat and native
salt, she does not work and is not supposed to bathe, be shaved, nor speak
in a loud voice. Nurses (young girls) look after her. After three days or a few
more days the seclusion is partially ended with washing with the concoction
which is also used after birth and circumcision. After some weeks or even
several months the natal home of the bride is visited and an old woman has
404
Jan Jacob de Wolf
Anthropos 78.1983
to bless the party by spitting milk of a black cow before the bride and her
companions can enter her mother’s home. On coming back she is shaved and
her husband has to slaughter an animal because now she may again eat meat
(Goldschmidt 1976: 220-224).
When the Tiriki novices have become “brides” and enter the homestead
for the first time after their seclusion they pass through an archway, similar
in form to the one built to honour a girl who is brought to the home of her
bridegroom for the first time (Sangree 1966; 63). The cup used for washing
hands among the Gusii is also the loving cup used in their marriage ceremony
(Mayer 1953: 18). Among the Bukusu a bride is smeared with soot and her
ears are decorated with pieces of meat, like the paternal aunt who meets
the novices before the operation (Wagner 1949: 421).
Wagner has pointed out that the novices can be compared with women
after childbirth and widows. But they are also thought to be like newly bom
children and recently deceased men. Among the Logoli they are both called
omusinde, like the novicel Novices with masks are said to walk like ghosts,
and their way of greeting by touching shinbones with their sticks, resembles
the behaviour of ancestral spirits who touch or hit the living without being
seen (Wagner 1939: 92-95). This interpretation is strengthened by the fact
that among the Bukusu the seclusion hut is called li-kombe, and the place
where the dead are supposed to be is called e-ma-kombe meaning “at the
seclusion huts.” On the other hand Tiriki call novices “brides” and among
the Sebei the seclusion of the bride is the clearest parallel to that of the
novices.
It is undoubtedly tme that many symbols and activities characteristic
of circumcision ceremonies get much of their meaning from the fact that
they also occur in other life crisis rituals. There are also other ritual acts and
objects which are shared widely by all tribes, although not everywhere in
connection with such rites of passage. Shaving, washing, anointing, and put-
ting on new clothes are very usual to mark new stages in rituals. Blessing
by spitting various liquids or by applying chyme or putting on skin ring-
lets of sacrificed animals also occur often among both Kalenjin and Bantu
tribes. The silk vine creeper is a very common marker of ritual status. Some-
times themes characteristic of other ceremonies are also expressed during
the circumcision rituals. Among the Pokot they offer an opportunity for
symbolic cross-sexual aggression which dominates their solstice ceremony
(Conant 1966).
4.2 Social Function of the Initiation Ceremonies
Initiation marks the change of status from boy to man. In some tribes
all boys who are circumcised during a certain period which varies between 10
and 20 years form one age-set, the members of which change their grade
collectively when a new set comes into existence. Among the Kipsigis a
Circumcision and Initiation (Kenya and Uganda)
405
young man becomes a warrior as soon as he is initiated. This is quite a long
time after the former period of circumcision was ended. Most of the candi-
dates are between 20 and 30 years and they put much pressure on the re-
tiring warrior set to agree to a “handing over” ceremony. As a warrior he
enjoys many privileges which he did not have before and in which he cannot
participate to the same degree once he has become an elder, after the “hand-
ing over” ceremony. They monopolize access to uninitiated girls, beating un-
circumcised boys who try to associate with them, but they may also have
intercourse with initiated women and marry them. They engage in hunting
and raiding and go to dances and festivals (Peristiany 1939: 32, 33). Among
the Nandi the same situation prevails, but the “handing over” ceremony
does not coincide with the inauguration of a new age-set, which seems to
be the case among the Kipsigis. It takes place at “half-time” between two
inaugurations. Until then the eldest of the newly initiated men are allowed
to become “junior” warriors and the eldest of the warriors “in power” can
relax and lead a quiet life (Huntingford 1953: 53-71).
Among the Keyo the age-set which is most recently inaugurated is also
charged with military duties as well as with certain public works, the en-
forcement of justice and the initiation of the next age-set. These warriors
are not allowed to have intercourse with uninititated girls. On the contrary
they should concentrate on acquiring wives. Only when all are married can a
“handing over” ceremony be held and can the inauguration of a new set
begin (Welbourn 1968: 215). Sangree (1966; 67-71) claims that the five
Tiriki age-sets which together comprise all adults are ranked and possess
differential statuses and duties which are, at least nowadays, passed gradually
from one set to the next. Tiriki say that in the past there were warriors,
elder war leaders and minor community leaders, judical elders and ritual
elders. Warriors no longer exist and their privileged access to unmarried girls
has also disappeared.
Among the Bukusu and Sebei initiates are also grouped into age-sets.
They serve no important function nor did they so in the past so far as can be
ascertained from oral traditions (de Wolf 1977: 131-133; Goldschmidt 1976:
21). Among the Gisu, Logoli, Idakho, and Gusii each circumcision year is
known by a topical name, but there is no system of ranked age-sets with
seven or eight cyclically recurring names, as among the other tribes (La
Fontaine 1959: 42; Wagner 1949: 373; Huntingford 1944: 30; Mayer 1953:
11). Even when there is no connection between age-sets and age-grades, initia-
tion remains an essential condition for the assumption of authority by men
(La Fontaine 1977: 421-437). Among the Luhya tribes men can only assume
domestic authority when one or several children have been born to them.
Then there is a special ceremony and their wives can establish their own
kitchen. Amongst them a man can be married and have children before he
is initiated without role conflict (Wagner 1949: 340, 342, 343). This was
also possible among the Gisu and neighbouring sections of the Sebei, as well
as among the Pokot, many of whom never get circumcised as a matter of
406
Jan Jacob de Wolf
Anthropos 78.1983
fact (La Fontaine 1959: 45; Goldschmidt 1979: 269; Visser 1982). How-
ever, such a situation was considered anomalous requiring special purifica-
tion rites. Pokot who do not circumcise have an alternative system of grading
with its own specific rituals of transition based on the customs of the Tur-
kana and Karimojong (Peristiany 1951).
5. Discussion
Common elements among rituals of different tribes can be explained as
due either to a process of borrowing between these tribes or to a common
origin of these tribes. However, such resemblances may also be caused by
universally valid psychological principles or ecological determinants (Driver
1941; 52, 56). As those traits which are shared by all tribes were excluded
from our quantitative analysis such psychological principles may safely be
neglected in this discussion. On the other hand it would seem as if the par-
ticular form of these circumcision rituals, and more especially the elaborated
marginal stage with its extended period of seclusion, is incompatible with a
predominantly pastoral economy and a (semi-)nomadic way of life.
It is probably significant that circumcision ceremonies of the kind
which we consider here are not at all or only occasionally performed by the
pastoral northern Pokot who live in the dry plains bordering areas occupied
by Turkana and Karimojong. Again the Tatog of Tanzania, who are the only
surviving Southern Nilotic people apart from the Kalenjin themselves, do
circumcise boys, but their ceremonies are very different from those of the
Kalenjin. They show many fewer communal features and lack an extended
period of seclusion (Klima 1970: 56-57). These Tatog live in Tanzania in
a semi-arid area where they live from their cattle, but according to their own
traditions they still lived on the eastern slopes of Mount Elgon in Kenya
about 200 years ago (Wilson 1952: 34-35). If this is true then they reverted
to the traditional pursuits of the proto-Southern Nilotes. Studies of their
vocabulary show that they were originally pastoralists who adopted agri-
culture from their Bantu neighbours (Huntingford 1950: 92; Ehret 1976;
13).
A common origin of all Kalenjin and Bantu tribes seems unlikely, al-
though in some cases certain groups have changed their language completely.
As we have seen some Kipsigis are descendants of Gusii and many clans of
the Bukusu are of Kalenjin origin. Most probably the ancestors of the core of
the Bantu tribes belonged to one ethnic group which I shall call proto-
Luhya-Gusii and the ancestors of the core of the Kalenjin tribes formed
another ethnic group which I shall designate as proto-Kalenjin, Our numerical
taxonomies show that the circumcision ceremonies of the Bantu show a
greater differentiation than those of the Kalenjin. This suggests an earlier
adoption of these ceremonies by the proto-Luhya-Gusii than by the proto-
Circumcision and Initiation (Kenya and Uganda)
407
Kalenjin which in turn could mean that the latter borrowed these rituals
from the former. This would be consistent with the adoption of agriculture
by the proto-Kalenjin from Bantu speaking people.
Perhaps the Bantu showed already some significant differences in their
ceremonies when they arrived in the area between Mount Elgon and Lake
Victoria. Ancestors of the Bukusu and Gisu possessed a northern variant,
ancestors of the Idakho and Tiriki (before the latter came under strong Ka-
lenjin influence) a central variant, and ancestors of the Logoli and Gusii a
southern variant. Subsequently the Logoli adopted most features of the
central variant when they settled near the Idakho and Tiriki. The proto-
Kalenjin most likely borrowed the central variant. In more recent times
further contacts took place between various Bantu and Kalenjin tribes. This
explains the strong Bantu (Bukusu-Gisu) influence among the Sebei, who
possess 15 traits shared by some Bantu but by none of the Kalenjin. Such
later contacts also account for the considerable Kalenjin influence among the
Tiriki and Gusii. They possess seven respectively six traits shared by none of
the other Bantu, but by some of the Kalenjin tribes.
6. Conclusion
The Hamitic hypothesis of the origin of circumcision ceremonies among
the Bukusu neighbours of the Kalenjin cannot be proved. On the contrary,
the evidence presented in this essay suggests that the proto-Kalenjin borrowed
these rituals from the ancestors of these Bantu neighbours. The use of
methods borrowed from numerical taxonomy proved a valuable aid in reach-
ing these conclusions.
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MARION KlLSON
Antelopes and Stools:
Ga Ceremonial Kingship
Abstract. — An analysis of kingship among the Ga people of southeastern Ghana
suggests that when substantive power decreases, concern with the symbols of power may
increase. The article develops this thesis through a review of competition for Ga kingship
in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, a structural analysis of the installation cere-
monies—enstoolment and inauguration—of a Ga king, and a discussion of politics asso-
ciated with the installation of the Ga king in 1964. The paper concludes by assessing the
limitations of ceremonial kingship in addressing socioeconomic realities in contemporary
African societies. [Ghana, Kingship, Ceremony, Installation, Enstoolment]
Within the contemporary West African state of Ghana, the Ga kingship
has become a ceremonial office with little substantive authority. Royal acti-
vities are devoted primarily to ceremony—participating on behalf of the Ga
state in Ga and Ghanaian national rituals, allocating ceremonial responsibili-
ties, and arbitrating disputes arising therefrom. Nevertheless, sufficient
tangible rewards of goods and services as well as intangible resources of
prestige and influence accrue to the kingship that the office is widely sought,
often by men holding skilled occupations in the industrial economic sector.
In this paper I explore some aspects of Ga ceremonial kingship through a
discussion of three issues: (1) competition for ceremonial office, (2) the
installation ceremonies of the Ga king, and (3) the ceremonial politics sur-
rounding the king’s installation.
Marion Kilson, Academic Dean, Emmanuel College. Ph.D. in Social Anthropology,
Harvard University, 1967. Previous positions: Director of the Bunting Institute, Radcliffe
College, and faculty appointments at Harvard University, Newton College, Simmons
College, and University of Massachusetts-Boston. Research and publications: African and
Afro-American social systems; fieldwork in Ghana and Sierra Leone in 1960, 1962,
1964-1965, 1968, 1972. Main publications: Kpele Lala: Ga Religious Songs and Symbols
(Harvard University Press, 1971); African Urban Kinsmen (C. Hurst, 1974); Royal An-
telope and Spider: West African Mende Tales (Langdon Associates, 1976); and numerous
articles on Ga ritual in Journal of Religion in Africa. Address: Emmanuel College, 400
The Fenway, Boston, Massachusetts 02115.
412
Marion Kilson
Anthropos 78.1983
1. The Ga People
The Ga people, who number about 240,000, live on the Accra Plains
of southeastern Ghana in a series of coastal towns—each of which has depend-
ent coastal and inland villages and hamlets. Contemporary Ga culture has
been shaped by intensive and lengthy interaction between Ga speaking people
and representatives of other cultural traditions. The effective utilization of
educational and economic institutions associated with western industrialism
is reflected in the differentiated socioeconomic structure of the present Ga
population, while the influence of neighboring African societies is most
apparent in Ga religious and political institutions. Some maintain that the Ga
borrowed their notions of chieftaincy and military organization from their
Akan neighbors and only developed a loosely confederated kingdom under
British colonial rule (see Field 1940: passim). But however much Ga political
culture may owe to external influences, Ga people perceive and assert a
political tradition distinctively independent from other African and western
cultural traditions. It is with this autonomous political culture that I am con-
cerned in this paper.
2. Competition for Ceremonial Office
During the nineteenth century, the preeminent position of the Ga king
(Ga mangtse) within the Ga polity became firmly established. Early in the
century the Ga king allied his fortunes with those of the British as they were
consolidating their hegemony as a colonial power on the Gold Coast. Through-
out the nineteenth century, the Ga king living in Accra assisted the British in
their wars against the inland state of Ashanti. In return, the British acknowl-
edged the suzereinty of the Ga king, channeling goods—including ammu-
ition—through him to other Ga chiefs (1907 Enquiry: 33) and formally
recognized Taki Tawia I as King of Accra and the Eastern Districts in 1873.
By the first decade of the twentieth century, chiefs of the divisions of Accra
and of the Ga coastal towns freely acknowledged the paramountcy of the
king within the Ga polity from time immemorial. The ascendancy of the
king was symbolized most meaningfully by the judiciary, for decisions in the
chiefs’ courts could be appealed to the king’s court for final arbitration (ibid.:
17-18). When the king lost this judicial prerogative in 1910, the authority of
the kingship began to wane. Early in the twentieth century the British colonial
government began to institute alternative local administrative structures
adapted to the needs of the ethnically heterogeneous and economically
diversified urbanizing area that coincided with the Ga traditional territory.
As the effective power of the Ga king declined, his role became in-
creasingly ceremonial. Concomitantly, overt competition for the kingship in-
creased. In addition to disputes surrounding the selection of kings, destool-
Antelopes and Stools: Ga Ceremonial Kingship
413
ment—or removal from office—was introduced. Ga kings were deposed in
1918, 1929, 1944, and 1961; in each case, conflict between the king and the
council of royals {dzase) led to the destoolment. In 1918, the Ga king (with-
out consulting his councillors) mortgaged the throne in order to engage in
overseas cocoa trading; in 1944, the Ga king who was in failing health refused
the council of royals’ request to appoint a regent. Thus, whereas in the nine-
teenth century, at least two Ga kings had each reigned for more than thirty
years, in the twentieth century reigns have rarely lasted for more than a
decade and often less.
While destoolment may be a recent innovation in Ga politics, stool
disputes or conflict over the selection of a new king probably are not. Major
succession disputes have occurred in this century. Each dispute involved con-
flict within the council of royals; twice the conflict was exacerbated by the
intercession of a chief; and in each instance the conflict was resolved through
the intervention of the national government. Moreover, the rift within the
royal dynasty producing the stool dispute in 1931 remained salient in the
controversy over candidates for the throne more than 30 years later in 1963.
Theoretically, the Ga king is selected from one of three royal houses
among which the privilege rotates.1 After the elders of the appropriate
house have selected a candidate, they inform the head of the council of
royals who summons the royal councillors to “elect” the candidate. Following
this confirmation of the candidate, the council of royals informs first the
chief in whose division of Accra the king resides, then the chief who acts as
royal regent, and finally the chiefs of other towns of its choice. In informing
the chiefs of the candidate for the kingship, the council of royals is also
seeking the chiefs’ approval of its candidate.
Potential for dissension and support of alternative candidates, there-
fore, exists at each link in the information chain. Such altercations have
arisen frequently during this century. For example, in 1932 the head of the
council of royals openly supported one candidate for the kingship and the
regent another; in 1947, the head of the council of royals supported a differ-
ent candidate than the majority of councillors; and in 1963, factionalism
among the royal electors led to the rejection of two candidates before
identifying a candidate acceptable to most electors. Even after the initial
acceptance of this third candidate, factionalism within the nominating house
again arose and only the council of royals’ threat to go to another house for
a king succeeded in securing the candidacy.
1 The three houses of Tungma We dynasty are Teku Tshuru We, Amugi We, and
Taki Kome We. In 1964, the head of the royal council succeeded in amalgamating the
three into two royal houses: Adzimangkese comprised of Teku Tshuru We and Taki
Kome We, and Akropong comprised of Amugi We and Pian We. This amalgamation recog-
iiized the cleavage within Amugi We that contributed to the stool disputes for almost a
half century.
414
Marion Kilson
Anthropos 78.1983
Competing for ceremonial kingship, whether through destoolment pro-
ceedings or stool succession disputes, enables claimants within Ga society to
assert their authority not only to participate in but to influence the course
of ceremonial politics.
3. Installation Ceremonies
When the chiefs of the major units within the Ga polity have duly con-
firmed the candidate, he is ceremonially installed in office. The installation
of a Ga king involves two major ceremonies: enstoolment and inauguration.2
Each ceremony is preceded by a significant minor ritual: the presentation of
the council of royals’ “marriage” gift before the enstoolment and the crown-
ing of the king before the inauguration. At the enstoolment the king acquires
his regal name; at the inauguration the king is presented to his people. The
enstoolment is a private ceremony occurring at midnight in the royal stool
room and witnessed by a few royal councillors; the inauguration is a public
ceremony taking place outdoors in mid-afternoon and may be witnessed by
anyone. During the three week interval between the two ceremonies the king
is confined in the royal palace where royal councillors tutor him in the
duties of his office. The installation of a Ga king thus follows the classic
tripartite pattern of separation, liminality, and incorporation which Arnold
Van Gennep long ago taught us characterizes status transition rites (Van
Gennep 1960).
Three days before the enstoolment, the council of royals sends the can-
didate a gift consisting of clothing, drinks, and money. This gift is similar
to the bridewealth presented to a bride and her family by the groom’s
family. At the presentation, the royal candidate is referred to as the “bride
of the state,” for as one Ga colleague explained, “As the wife of the state,
the king is its first servant.”
The enstoolment occurs at midnight in the royal palace. Before the
ceremony a priest purifies the building with water and bloody sacrifice in-
forming the gods and ancestors that
today we have a small child whom we will sit on the stool . . ., today we have a
grandchild who will come to look after the town
and asking that the gods and ancestors will
The ceremonial procedures for enstoolment and inauguration of the king in
1964 correspond closely to those described in the Report of the 1932 Stool Dispute;
7-8,25.
Antelopes and Stools: Ga Ceremonial Kingship
415
bless our small child. When he sleeps, may he have good dreams; give him good
dreams so that he may look after the town.
When the priest has purified the palace, the chiefs of the different
divisions of Accra assemble according to rank in the reception room ad-
joining the stool room. Shortly before midnight the lights are turned out.
The candidate is then led in darkness by the head of the council of royals,
the stool priest, and several councillors into the stool room where he is
placed three times on the royal stool by the stool priest and receives several
insignia of office, including a bracelet and a necklace. Drums announcing
the king’s enstoolment begin to beat in the house and their charge is taken
up by talking drums outside the palace informing the people that they have
a new king. When the king emerges from the stool room, he exchanges
oaths of allegiance first with the head of the royal council and then with
each of the Accra division chiefs. Swearing by the names of past rulers and
bygone battles, king and chief pledge mutual aid to one another.3 To the
regent, for example, the king through his spokesman swears:
Hail, Chief of Gbese!
Hail, Chief of Gbese!
Hail, Chief of Gbese!
Today is Saturday, Grandfather’s Saturday.
You sat me on your Ga stool that I may look after the country.
If it is necessary at dawn or at noon that you call me and I do not respond,
I violate the oath of Kantamaso;
I violate the oath of Angla Soo;
I violate the oath of Momotse.
You also, if it is necessary that I call you at dawn
or at noon and you do not turn to look behind,
you also violate the oath of Okaidza’s coffin.
Strike may peace come!
I am the king of Ga; I am the king of Ga.
Following the exchange of oaths, the three senior priests of Accra
libate to ratify the chiefly contracts. A sheep is then slaughtered; the king
and all the chiefs step barefoot in its blood, thereby solemnly sealing their
oaths. Following a final libation by one of the priests, a drink is served to
each participant before all depart for their homes.
Three weeks later on the eve of the king’s inauguration, the head
of the council of royals crowns him with an antelope-skin hat prepared by
members of one of the Asere division families. The antelope, symbol of the
Ga kingship, appears on the king’s sokesman’s staff riding on the back of the
elephant, representing the Ga state.
3
Many of the oaths sworn in 1964 were cited in the 1907 Enquiry: 10-14.
416
Marion Kilson
Anthropos 78.1983
The inauguration of the Ga king takes place in a large public space
filled by the retinues of the chiefs and priests of the Ga state. On a raised
dais, the king sits on the right hand of the head of the council of royals be-
hind the heads of the three royal houses; below the dais on the right sits the
regent, the Chief of Gbese division, with his retinue and on the left the
second ranking Accra chief. The inauguration commences with the head of
the council of royals presenting the king to the regent and asking the regent
to introduce the king to his people. The regent then presents the king to the
populace—recounting the circumstances surrounding his election and high-
lights of his life story. Following the regent’s presentation, one of the major
Accra priests libates.
When the king has been presented to his people, oaths of allegiance are
exchanged. Through his spokesman the king swears mutual aid with the head
of the council of royals on the dais before descending with his retinue to
exchange pledges of loyalty with each chief in the Ga state. These oaths
offered in the names of past rulers and glorious battles are given by spokes-
men standing before their respective leaders. When the king finally returns
to his seat on the dais, the priest of Nai, god of the Sea, libates informing
the gods and ancestral shades of what has transpired.
I call all the Ga gods from Langma to Obutuadza to the Volta River; I call all of
you. I do not call some and omit others.
We have given King Amugi to the Ga people so that they may walk together until
death. May we walk with him until dusk.
Strike may peace come.
Then gifts of cloth and other clothing are exchanged between the king, priests,
and chiefs before the king departs.
At both major ceremonies of installation, the relation of the kingship
to the component units of the Ga polity is clearly articulated by the seating
arrangements, by the order of serving drinks, by the order of swearing oaths,
and most especially by ritual participation. Only members of the council
of royals witness the king’s enstoolment; at the enstoolment ceremony,
oaths of allegiance are exchanged with Accra chiefs but not the chiefs of
the other towns; at the inauguration, such oaths are exchanged with all
chiefs of the Ga state. Thus, the relative social proximity of the king to the
council of royals, to the chiefs of Accra, and to the chiefs of the towns
is expressed by their participation in the major installation ceremonies.
Spatial orientations at the two installation ceremonies clearly convey
status gradations. Polarity and tripartition are especially salient spatial
motifs. As shown in the seating plans for the enstoolment and inauguration,
polarity is expressed principally through differentiations between right-
and-left but also between up-and-down and near-and-far; with superior status
associated with right and inferior status associated with left. Although these
are secular ceremonies in which religious leaders play only minor validating
Antelopes and Stools: Ga Ceremonial Kingship
417
roles, the ascendency of the sacred over the secular in Ga culture is expressed
in the seating arrangements with priests sitting on the right side and chiefs on
the left side of the ceremonial space. At religious rituals the relative in-
feriority of secular to religious office is analogously conveyed, for the king
and chiefs sit with women of the congregation on the left side of the ritual
space, while priests and male members of the religious congregation sit on
the right side.
In the seating arrangements at royal installation ceremonies, triparti-
tion also operates to convey status gradations. In Ga culture the medial
position is associated with the highest social rank, the position to its right
with second rank, and the position to its left with third rank.4 The seating
plans for both installation ceremonies show this spatial motif among secular
Space and Status
1 Stool
Room
P2
Cn pl
c3 p3
RRR c2 K cr
Enstoolmcnt
Space and Status
Left Medial
Behind Medial
Third Rank First Rank
Space and Status
Superior Inferior
Sacred Secular
Priest Chief
Right Left
Up Down
Near Far
Right
Before
Second Rank
4 The associations between spatial orientations and Accra quarters are noted in
the 1907 Enquiry. In fact, a representative from Asere initially attempted to convince
the commission that Asere and not Gbese stood on the king’s right (1907 Enquiry: 3).
Anthropos 78.1983
27
418
Marion Kilson
Anthropos 78.1983
and religious offices. The king is seated with the person of second ranking
secular status on his right and the third ranking chief on his left, just as the
highest ranking priest is seated between the second and third ranking priests.
These associations between space and status also have a temporal
aspect insofar as they determine the ordering of ritual performance. The
order in which oaths are sworn and drinks are served corresponds to these
spatial status orientations. The king swears oaths of loyalty first with the
chief on his right, next with the chief on his left, then with the chief to the
left of the second ranking chief, and so on.
In the royal installation ceremonies, polarity and tripartition primarily
convey gradations in political status. In other social and ritual contexts the
same spatial motifs have the same general meaning with respect to status
differentiation and ranking but the positions involved differ. For example,
at a religious rite, polarity and tripartition differentiate rank among religious
roles: between priests, between priests and mediums, between men and
women. Analogously, at a baby’s naming ceremony, polarity and tripartition
serve to distinguish the baby’s father’s family from its mother’s family, men
from women, and rank within family and sexual groups. The situational con-
text, therefore, provides the specific referents for the status gradations
assigned to polar and tripartite spatial orientations in Ga culture.
While orientations in time and space convey structural relations be-
tween participants in the ceremonies, words and objects express aspects of
the content of these relations. The martial tradition of the Ga kingship is
conveyed in the oaths sworn in the names of battles and martial leaders,
in the stools in the royal stool room commemorating only warrior kings,5
and in the red of umbrellas and buntings symbolic of martial, bloody king-
ship.
While the king should be a warrior against hostile outsiders, within
his state he should wisely maintain a peaceable kingdom. In the words of
one hymn sung during the king’s confinement—after his enstoolment and
before his inauguration :
Live quietly;
Hold the town well;
Reign quietly.
Ga mangtse [King of Ga], hold the town well;
Ga mangtse, hold the town well;
Live quietly
(Kilson 1971: 248).
5
1932 Stool Dispute Proceedings: 253; Ammah, Ga Political History: 14.
Antelopes and Stools: Ga Ceremonial Kingship
419
4. Ceremonial Politics
Despite the pacific tenor of ceremonial words and deeds, the legitimacy
of the installation ceremonies of the present Ga king received several serious
challenges which assumed two principal forms: questioning the legitimacy of
the candidate and doubting the validity of the ritual procedures.
The legitimacy of the candidate was challenged both by an Accra divi-
sion chief and by the national government. When the spokesman of the
council of royals came to inform the chief of the Asere division of Accra
about the identity of the regal candidate, the Asere chief said that since he
had been informed about the rejection of the first and second candidates, he
doubted the current candidate’s legitimacy. In order to assuage the chief’s
concerns, the regent and two royal councillors paid him a ceremonial visit to
convince him of the validity of the candidate’s selection.
The king’s enstoolment was delayed for more than a month pending
approval of the national government. Governmental approval was not imme-
diately forthcoming, because a faction within the council of royals asked
President Nkrumah to reinstate the former deposed king. When the presi-
dent of Ghana formally refused to intervene in the politics of Ga kingship,
the requisite government approval for the enstoolment was granted.
While challenges to the legitimacy of the candidate came from without
and within the Ga polity, the questioning of ritual procedure came only
from within. Some ritual challenges were trivial, others severely threatened
the king’s assumption of office. The regent in an effort to assert his in-
fluence tried unsuccessfully to delay the announcement of the candidate’s
identity to the other chiefs by saying that an essential government permit
had not been obtained. Similarly at the enstoolment, enraged that the
house had been ritually purified before his arrival, the regent insisted on
rearranging the chairs in the reception room and on entering the royal stool
room to libate. The regent’s tempestuous demands, though successful in
asserting his personal influence over the ceremonial proceedings, were
essentially inconsequential, merely serving to delay but not to prevent
ceremonial activities.
Of more serious consequence was the dispute between the council of
royals and the chief of the Asere division of Accra over the antelope crown.
The chief of Asere asserted his right to crown the king before the inaugura-
tion; the council of royals not only denied this right but threatened not to
accept the crown prepared in accordance with custom by Asere and to re-
move the privilege of making crowns from the Asere division. On the night
before the crowning, the regent successfully mediated the dispute. The
chief of Asere agreed that the royal stool priest should crown the king, while
the council of royals agreed to accept the Asere crown. The importance
of this dispute required the slaughtering of a bullock—a major sacrifice—to
redress the disturbed relations that the dispute among men might have
engendered between men and spiritual beings.
420
Marion Kilson
Anthropos 78.1983
Another serious challenge to the legitimacy of the ritual proceedings
came from the head of one of the three royal houses. Respected as an
eminent authority on Ga culture as well as a senior royal, this man was so
distressed by what he perceived as irregularities in the enstoolment ritual
that he questioned whether or not the king had been legitimately enstooled.
His four objections were (1) that the candidate should have been handed
over to the stool priest outside and not inside the stool room, (2) that too
many people had been allowed inside the stool room thereby converting
a private sacred act into a public spectacle, (3) that the order of oath-
swearing had been incorrect—the head of the council of royals should have
been the first and not the last to swear—, and (4) that the king had not
received the appropriate insignia of royal office—the crown, the bracelet,
or the necklace. The distressed councillor wrote to the head of the council
of royals threatening to send an official protest to the national government.
Fearful that the councillor’s letter would invalidate the enstoolment, several
other members of the council of royals visited the elderly royal and entreated
him not to send his letter to the government. Although the royal agreed to
destroy his letter, he said that he did not wish to help further with the in-
stallation ceremonies. Nevertheless, as an expression of good will, the dissi-
dent royal visited the king during his confinement and assumed his appro-
priate position on the dais for the inauguration.
Such procedural challenges to the legitimacy of the king’s installation
ceremony are expressive of cleavages within the Ga polity, of the ability of
certain individuals to influence and shape the ceremonial process, and of the
subordination of the Ga polity to the contemporary nation state. Given the
subordinate and essentially ceremonial status of the Ga state within the
modern nation state of Ghana, ceremonial politics assume greater significance
than they otherwise would. Through ceremony the concept of a glorious
and militant heritage is periodically reaffirmed, while simultaneously rifts
and cleavages within contemporary Ga society are articulated and partially
redressed among politically powerless ceremonialists.
Conclusion
In this paper I have argued that when substantive power—or control
over the allocation of resources—decreases, concern with the symbols of
power may increase. Such trappings of power include titles to office, in-
signia of office, and rituals of office. My analysis of Ga kingship suggests
that as the real power of the Ga kingship declined in the twentieth cen-
tury, concern with royal ceremony and competition for the paraphernalia
of royal power has assumed increasing significance in Ga political culture.
Contemporary Ga wrangle not only over who shall succeed to high office
but over how long anyone may stay in office. Contemporary royal politics
Antelopes and Stools: Ga Ceremonial Kingship
421
involve more debate over pomp and ceremony than over economic enter-
prises and employment. The contribution of an increasingly ceremonialized
kingship to confronting and coping with the challenges of living in an in-
creasingly stagflated urban environment is minimal. Ceremonial kingship
consumes energy, time, and money but it does not produce solutions to
poverty, urban congestion, and disease. Ceremonial kingship recreates a
heroic tradition but fails to create new worlds.
Bibliography
Ammah, E.A.
n.d. [Ga] Constitution—Political Structure. [MS.]
n.d, Ga Political History. [MS.]
n.d. Sixty Years of Ga Politics. [MS.]
Field, M.J.
1940 Social Organization of the Ga People. London: Crown Agents.
Gold Coast Government Enquiries
1907 Enquiry into the Tribal Organization of the Gas. [MS.]
1932 Proceedings, Findings, and Report: Ga Stool Dispute. [MS.]
Kilson, Marion
1971 Kpele Lala: Ga Religious Songs and Symbols. Cambridge: Harvard University
Press.
Van Gennep, Arnold
1960 The Rites of Passage. Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press.
Originally prepared for presentation to the Society of Fellows of the Bunting Institute
in 1979, this paper is based primarily on interviews and observations in 1964-1965 Ghana.
In addition, government documents and several unpublished manuscripts of E.A. Ammah
have been consulted. In 1964-1965, my research in Ghana was supported by grants from
the Charles E. Merrill Trust Fund, Radcliffe College, and the Institute of African Studies,
University of Ghana. In 1968, my Ghanaian research on Ga religion was supported by a
grant from the joint committee on Africa of the American Council of Learned Societies
and the Social Science Research Council. Additional opportunities to analyze Ga materials
were provided by a Younger Scholar’s Fellowship from the National Endowment for the
Humanities in 1968-1969 and by the Bunting Institute of Radcliffe College in 1969-
1970. I acknowledge my grateful indebtedness to all these facilitating institutions.
Thomas Klockmann
Der Mutterbruder in Südafrika:
Eine Interpretationsgeschichte 1912-1982
Abstract, — The essay attempts to trace the history of the main contributions from
1912 to 1982 to the problem of the relationship between a mother’s brother and a
sister’s son with particular reference to South Africa. It is shown that Junod’s original
hypothesis as well as such a late refined interpretation of de Heusch partially rest on
unverifiable historical speculations. On the other hand those contributions that aimed at a
truly sociological analysis were equally struggling with the definition of the wider social
field in which the dyadic relationship should have its meaning. It is here that the ‘lineage’
has become the object of recent criticism and it is with Fortes’ writings on the character
of kinship in mind that such criticism is modified. Indeed, the Thonga did not have a
segmentary lineage system of the Tallensi type where domestic as well as political status
are attributed with reference to descent and thus tend to merge. Still the Thonga avuncu-
late is an institution complementary to the father-son relationship in the domestic domain.
But, in addition, it reveals strong repercussions from the implications of the lobola-
system and the house-property complex. [Thonga, Mozambique, East Africa, History of
Anthropology, Social Structure, Ritual and Politics, Avunculatc, Bridewealth]
1. Einleitung
Selten vergeht ein Jahr, schreibt Meyer Fortes, ohne daß eine Über-
prüfung der Interpretation des Avunkulats vorgenommen würde, die Alfred
Radcliffe-Brown in seinem berühmten Aufsatz von 1924 durchgeführt hatte
(Fortes 1969: 47).
Die Bedeutung, die dem Verhältnis zwischen Mutterbruder und Schwe-
stersohn in dem sich in Radcliffe-Browns Worten „unendlich ausbreitenden
Netzwerk miteinander verbundener elementarer Familien“ zukommt (Rad-
cliffe-Brown 1952 [1941]: 51), kann schwerlich übertrieben werden. Fortes
Thomas Klockmann, M.A. (Berlin), M.phil. (Cambridge). — Mitarbeit in der Lübecker
Völkerkundesammlung; Lehrbeauftragter am Institut für Ethnologie der Freien Uni-
versität Berlin. Interessenschwerpunkt: Verwandtschaft und Architektur. Adresse: Her-
bartweg 6, D-2400 Lübeck.
Der Mutterbruder in Südafrika
423
spricht von der „diagnostischen Bedeutung“ des Avunkulats bei der „Klassi-
fizierung der Verwandtschaftssysteme“ (Fortes 1969: 47); für Claude Lévi-
Strauss ist es der Ausgangspunkt einer „Theorie der Haltungen“ oder genauer
der mit Verwandtschaftsbegriffen bezeichneten situationsbezogenen Ver-
haltensnormen, worin er die „einzige positive Grundlage einer Theorie der
Verwandtschaftssysteme“ erblickt (Lévi-Strauss 1945 [1967]: 53-54).
Mein Aufsatz ist in erster Linie ein Blick zurück auf siebzig Jahre Inter-
pretationsgeschichte. Diese zum jetzigen Zeitpunkt einmal gerafft vor Augen
zu führen, scheint schon deshalb geboten, weil ein altgedientes Werkzeug des
englischen Struktur-Funktionalismus, das sich gerade bei der Analyse des
Avunkulats bewährt hatte — die Lineagetheorie —, in jüngster Zeit ins Schuß-
feld der Kritik geraten ist (Kuper 1982 u.a.).
Es sollen also zunächst einige Wegmarken bezeichnet werden, die, ange-
fangen bei Henri Junod (1912), von Alfred Radcliffe-Brown (1924), Edward
Evans-Pritchard (1929, 1932), Claude Lévi-Strauss (1945), Jack Goody
(1959), Luc de Heusch (1974) und schließlich Adam Kuper (1982) in diesem
Feld gesetzt worden sind, um zu sehen, ob für die Wissenschaftsgeschichte
gilt, was Hans Georg Gadamer (1975: 282) von der Geschichtswissenschaft
sagt: „Der Zeitenabstand vermag ... die wahren Vorurteile, unter denen wir
verstehen, von den falschen, unter denen wir mißverstehen, zu scheiden“.
Erst ganz am Ende werde ich in wenigen Worten skizzieren, warum ich
auch den letzten, überzeugendsten Erklärungsversuch von Adam Kuper für
ergänzungsbedürftig halte.
2. Ethnographie des Avunkulats
Beginnen wir mit einer kurzen Ethnographie der Situation bei den patri-
linearen Thonga aus Mozambique:
Das Avunkulat wird hier einerseits durch eine Scherzbeziehung, ande-
rerseits durch ein Opferverhältnis zwischen Mutterbruder und Schwester-
sohn sowie durch andere reziproke Leistungsansprüche charakterisiert.
Im allgemeinen steht der Mutterbruder in hilfloser Nachsicht den als
„privilegierte Agression“ (Goody 1959: 62) bezeichneten Handlungen des
Schwestersohnes gegenüber. Der Onkel ist zeitlebens um seinen Neffen be-
müht, und doch muß er mitansehen, wie dieser sein Essen stiehlt und mit sei-
nen Frauen oft recht grobe Scherze treibt. Der Neffe macht dabei ein
Anrecht auf eine der Frauen seines Onkels geltend, das einen realen Hinter-
grund in dem legitimen Erbanspruch auf eine der Witwen hat. Im Todesfall
des Onkels wird er auch dessen kleinen Speer erben. Der Onkel hat dagegen
Anspruch auf einen Anteil am Heiratsgut, das seine Schwesterstochter für
seinen Schwestersohn einbringen wird. Ist der Neffe krank, so wird sein
Onkel das notwendige Opfer für ihn verrichten. Beim Ahnenopfer des
Onkels hat der Neffe mit seinen Frauen das Recht, den Teil des Opfer-
tieres zu „stehlen“, der den Göttern zugedacht war. Hingegen ist es die
424
Thomas Klockmann
Anthropos 78.1983
Pflicht des Schwestersohnes, bei den Trauerriten der Abstammungsgruppe
des Mutterbruders selbst die Opferhandlung vorzunehmen und die Tiere zu
töten.
3. Die Interpretationsansätze
Die jetzt im einzelnen zu diskutierenden Autoren haben die Beziehungs-
dyade Mutterbruder/Schwestersohn dadurch zu verstehen versucht, daß sie
sie, ausdrücklich oder stillschweigend, in einen größeren historischen oder so-
zialen Geschehenszusammenhang stellten. Es können sieben Konzeptionen
unterschieden werden:
1) Junod sah in dem beschriebenen Verhalten die Nachwirkung einer ma-
triarchalischen Vergangenheit der Thonga.
2) Radcliffe-Brown machte einen Konflikt der Strukturprinzipien der Ver-
wandtschaft für die Besonderheiten des Avunkulats verantwortlich.
3) Evans-Pritchard beschrieb, wie das Verhalten des Schwestersohns dem
Mutterbruder gegenüber innerhalb der Familie erlernt wird, wobei er die
Familie immer schon als durch das größere soziale System geprägt ansah.
4) Lévi-Strauss bettete das Avunkulat in das „Verwandtschaftsatom“ ein,
womit die Grundstruktur der Verwandtschaft überhaupt gegeben sein soll-
te.
5) Goody begriff das Verhalten des Schwestersohns als Kompensation für
die bei der Heirat der Mutter in der Abstammungsgruppe ihrer Herkunft ver-
lorengegangenen Erbschaftsrechte.
6) De Heusch erblickte in der Unsicherheit eines Verwandtschaftssystems,
das eben erst den Schritt von einer elementaren Verwandtschaftsstruktur
zu einer komplexen Form des verallgemeinerten Frauentauschs vollzogen
hätte, den entscheidenden Faktor.
7) Kuper schließlich leitete aus dem Heiratssystem und der damit verbunde-
nen Zirkulation des Heiratsgutes die Eigentümlichkeit des Verhältnisses
zwischen Mutterbruder und Schwestersohn her.
4. Matricharchat und lobola
1912 erschien Henri Junods vorzügliche Beschreibung einer südafrika-
nischen Stammesgesellschaft. Der Missionar Junod war von dem englischen
Diplomaten Lord Bryce mit nachhaltigem Erfolg vom Schmetterlingsforscher
zum Ethnologen bekehrt worden. Dieser Arbeit widmete er sich nun mit
ganzem Einsatz.
Der Mutterbruder in Südafrika
425
Im Zuge seines gründlichen Studiums der Verwandtschaftsverhältnisse
und Heiratsregeln wies Junod zunächst zeitgenössische Interpretationsver-
fahren zurück, die aus der Verwandtschaftsterminologie überlebte Stadien
einer angenommenen gesellschaftlichen Entwicklung herauslesen wollten.
Dennoch sah er sich genötigt, zur Erklärung des Avunkulats mit seinen Ver-
haltenseigentümlichkeiten mutterrechtliche Einflüsse aus der gesellschaftsge-
schichtlichen Vergangenheit der Thonga anzunehmen. In einer frühen Phase
seien Frauen und Gerätschaften in mütterlicher Linie vererbt worden, dem-
entsprechend hätten die mütterlichen Ahnengeister an der Spitze des Bantu-
Pantheons gestanden. Irgendwann sei dann das Vaterrecht eingerichtet wor-
den. Wenn ein Vater sterbe, hätten die Söhne des Toten das alleinige Recht
am Besitz ihres Vaters. Die Söhne der Schwester des Verstorbenen aber könn-
ten sich nicht zurückhalten:
When the implements were distributed, they came and claimed their ‘thjumba.’
They were given the small assagay, the big one remaining for the son. In this way
they give over the inheritance to the legal heirs (Junod 1912: 257).
Den Anspruch des Schwestersohns auf eine der Witwen des Mutter-
bruders erklärt Junod, interessanterweise nun allerdings ohne Bezugnahme
auf das Matriarchat, als im Mechanismus der Heiratsgutzirkulation (lobola)
begründet. Der Gedankengang verläuft hier so: Mein Mutterbruder hat seine
Frau mit dem Heiratsgut erworben, das er für seine Schwester, also meine
Mutter, von meinem Vater erhalten hat. Deshalb gehörte seine Frau eigent-
lich meiner Mutter. Ich vertrete diesen Rechtsanspruch jetzt für sie (Junod
1912: 207).
5. Struktur und der Konflikt der Gefühle
Soziologische Theorien, deren Beweisführung zu einem guten Teil auf
Spekulationen über einen möglichen gesellschaftsgeschichtlichen Ablauf be-
ruhen, können nicht verifiziert werden. Radcliffe-Brown hat sich bemüht,
die soziologische Argumentation am Leitbild der naturwissenschaftlichen Be-
weisführung zu orientieren. Er hat in dieser Absicht seinen berühmten
Interpretationsversuch des Avunkulats ausgearbeitet.
Nach ihm sind für den Zusammenhalt der Thonga-Gesellschaft zwei auf-
einander bezogene elementare Strukturprinzipien verantwortlich: 1) das der
Einheit der Geschwistergruppe, und 2) das der unilinearen Abstammungs-
gruppe (“lineage”). Diese Prinzipien kristallisieren sich nun zu sozialen
Zwecken aus dem Netzwerk miteinander verbundener elementarer Familien
heraus und übernehmen eine Ordnungsfunktion in dem Verwandtschafts-
und Heiratssystem (“system of kinship and affinity”). Der soziale Wert der
426
Thomas Klockmann
Anthropos 78.1983
Strukturprinzipien wird in rituellen Bräuchen ausgedrückt und betont.
Wenn der Schwestersohn anläßlich der Opferhandlung des Mutterbruders
Teile des Opfertieres „stiehlt“, so ist das ein solcher Brauch.
Man kann leicht erkennen, wie bei den patrilinearen Thonga das Wirken
der elementaren Strukturprinzipien das Verhalten des Schwestersohnes ge-
radezu hervorbringt: Seine Mutter gehörte als Schwester ihres Bruders und
Kind gemeinsamer Eltern in die Familie ihres Vaters. Sein Vater gehört zu
einer anderen Gruppe. Durch die Übergabe des Heiratsgutes sind Geschwister-
und Abstammungsband der Frau so weit gedehnt worden, daß das Kind,
welches sie gebären wird, rechtmäßiges Mitglied der Familie seines Vaters
werden wird. Nur, die Bande der Matrilateralität — denn dazu sind sie nun
für den Schwestersohn geworden — sind keineswegs zerrissen. Sein Verhalten
macht das ganz deutlich.
Zu dieser lupenreinen struktur-funktionalen Interpretation steht
Radcliffe-Browns “extensión of sentiments”-Hypothese in einem teilweise
ungelösten Spannungsverhältnis. Danach würde ein Sohn einfach die von
seiner Mutter erfahrene geduldige Nachsicht als Verhaltenserwartung auf den
Bruder der Mutter übertragen. Radcliffe-Browns Kritiker (Goody 1959;
Kuper 1976) haben diese Schwachstelle seiner Argumentation gerne zum
Ausgangspunkt eigener Ausführungen gemacht. Dabei ist, genauer betrach-
tet, diese psychologische Hilfshypothese für Radcliffe-Browns bahnbrechen-
de Entdeckung eigentlich von untergeordneter Bedeutung gewesen (dazu
Fortes 1955).
6. Schwiegerschaft und das Verwandtschaftsatom
Claude Lévi-Strauss’ allgemeine Darlegungen zum Problem des Mutter-
bruders sollten ebenfalls an die Exaktheit naturwissenschaftlicher Forschung
anknüpfen können. Er hat sich deshalb formal an der phonologischen Metho-
de der Linguistik orientiert.
Er untersucht die Struktur der Beziehungen innerhalb des „Verwandt-
schaftselements“, das sich aus den vier Gliedern: Bruder, Schwester, Vater
(Mann der Schwester) und Sohn (der Schwester), zusammensetzt und stellt
fest, daß diese Glieder „untereinander durch zwei aufeinanderbezogene Ge-
gensatzpaare zusammengehalten werden“ (Lévi-Strauss 1945 [1967]: 61).
Im Falle der Thonga käme es wahrscheinlich zu folgendem formelhaften Er-
gebnis: Da die Beziehung Mutterbruder/Schwestersohn durch Nachsichtig-
keit charakterisiert ist (+), ist diejenige zwischen Vater und Sohn von Re-
spekt getragen (-); während das Verhältnis von Mann und Frau als harmonisch
bezeichnet wird (+), ist dasjenige zwischen Bruder und Schwester gespannt (-).
Insbesondere ist es Lévi-Strauss darum zu tun, daß in diesem „Ver-
wandtschaftsatom“ der Mutterbruder als Schwager unmittelbar gegeben ist.
Im Gegensatz zu Radcliffe-Browns “unit of structure”, seiner elementaren
Der Mutterbruder in Südafrika
427
Familie, enthält das „Verwandtschaftselement“ von Lévi-Strauss das Schwa-
gerverhältnis zwischen Männern, das für ihn die „unumgängliche Achse“
darstellt, um die herum sich die Verwandtschaftsstruktur aufbaut. Er unter-
streicht deshalb, daß die Wechselbeziehung zwischen Formen des Avunkulats
und Typen unilinearer Abstammung, die Radcliffe-Browns Analyse nahe-
gelegt hatte, das Problem nicht erschöpfend behandele. Er begibt sich damit
jedoch einer inhaltlich näher bestimmten Interpretation des Avunkulats im
Hinblick auf die Abstammungsgruppe und unterläßt es darüberhinaus trotz
seiner Forderung, das Wesen des Schwagerbandes zu charakterisieren. Dieses
kommt nämlich in Wirklichkeit in dem Verwandtschaftsatom gar nicht vor,
das plus und minus des Ehe- und Geschwisterbandes zwar nebeneinander
stellt, jedoch unabhängig voneinander gewinnt, ohne den Zeitpunkt der
Charakterisierung im Hinblick auf die Lebensphasen und Interaktionen der
drei Personen und ihrer Rollen (Ehemann/Schwager: Ehefrau/Schwester:
Bruder/Schwager) zu berücksichtigen.
Es ist vielmehr Evans-Pritchard gewesen, der in seinen kurzen Beiträ-
gen von 1929 und 1932 das Schwagerband tatsächlich in seine Überlegungen
eingeschlossen hat, allerdings unter dem letztendlichen Primat der Linearität
(Evans-Pritchard 1932: 14). Er hat daraufhingewiesen, daß ein Schwester-
sohn seinen Mutterbruder sowohl mit den Augen seines Vaters, für den jener
zum Schwager geworden ist, als auch mit den Augen der Mutter, für die er
der Bruder bleibt, sehen lernt (Evans-Pritchard 1929: 192).
Radcliffe-Browns „elementare Familien“ ermangelten denn auch nicht
so sehr der Fähigkeit zur Verbindung untereinander als einer Anerkennung
dieses Sachverhalts, die seiner “extension of sentiments”-Hypothese neues
Gewicht verliehen hätte. Seine Entdeckung der Strukturprinzipien hatte
nämlich die ohnehin schon soziologisch definierten “units of structure”
(Radcliffe-Brown 1952 [1941]: 51-52) ebenfalls als zur Verbindung mit an-
deren Elementen offene Bausteine erwiesen. Die “lineage” z.B., als rechtliche
Institution und Rückgrat des gesellschaftlichen Zusammenhangs, war eine
soziokulturelle und, wenn man so will, also geistige Schöpfung der Völker,
die sie besaßen. So geht Lévi-Strauss’ Naturalismusvorwurf (1945 [1967]:
65-66) eigentlich an Radcliffe-Browns Theorie vorbei, die weit davon ent-
fernt ist, schlichten biologischen Gegebenheiten verhaftet zu sein, ohne daß
mit diesem Begriff der eigentliche Unterschied zwischen diesen beiden Theo-
retikern beschrieben wäre.
7, Erbschaft: Lineage und Politik
Jack Goodys Aufsatz über das Avunkulat in Westafrika führt in dieser
Frage zu einer vorläufigen Klärung. Während Radcliffe-Brown den Charakter
von Verwandtschaftsbeziehungen zweiten Grades, zwischen Mutterbruder
und Schwestersohn, durch solche ersten Grades, zwischen Mutter und Sohn,
428
Thomas Klockmann
Anthropos 78.1983
erklären wollte, während umgekehrt Lévi-Strauss ein unmittelbares Ver-
hältnis, zwischen Vater und Sohn, durch ein vermitteltes, nämlich das unter
dem Aspekt der Schwagerschaft gesehene Avunkulat, erklären will, zeigt
Goody, daß das Avunkulat nur von dem übergreifenden System der Abstam-
mungsgruppen her verstanden werden kann:
We must take into account both the more inclusive system of descent groups and
associated institutions such as norms of residence, inheritance, and succession
(Goody 1959: 62).
Er untersucht die Position des im Hinblick auf die Abstammungsrech-
nung übrigbleibenden Mitglieds der Geschwistergruppe (“residual sibling”),
im patrilinearen Kontext also einer Schwester. Dabei trifft er die wichtige
Unterscheidung, daß Erbschafts- und Amtsnachfolgerechte im Gegensatz zu
Rechten der Gruppenmitgliedschaft in der Regel geschlechtsgebunden sind
und entweder nur für Männer oder nur für Frauen gelten; d.h.: wenn die
Schwester ihr Recht als Mitglied ihrer Abstammungsgruppe schon nicht wei-
tergeben kann, so kann sie es doch insofern ausüben, als sie z.B. von den
Frauen ihrer Brüder als von „unseren“ Frauen sprechen kann, oder inso-
fern ihr eigener Ahnengeist zum Wohnort ihrer väterlichen Abstammungs-
gruppe zurückgeführt wird. Erbschaftsrechte hingegen kann sie nicht nur
nicht weitergeben, sondern nicht einmal ausüben. Diesen unterdrückten An-
spruch, so Goody, stellt nun ihr Sohn an ihrer Stelle und in einer Weise, wie
es nur einem Mann zusteht; eine zwingende Argumentation, die sowohl das
rituelle Stehlen als auch den Erbanspruch auf eine Witwe erschöpfend zu
erklären scheint.
Die i/iywm^ö-Transaktionen zwischen dem Mutterbruder und dem
Schwestersohn, insbesondere die Abgabe eines Teils des bei der Heirat ei-
ner Schwester erhaltenen Heiratsgutes an ihren und somit den eigenen Mut-
terbruder (Junod 1912: 253), scheinen auf den ersten Blick zu dem rituellen
Stehlen des Schwestersohnes im Widerspruch zu stehen; jedoch nur, wenn
man außer acht läßt, daß sich erstere auf die Abstammungsgruppe als solche
beziehen, letzteres aber nachdrücklicher auf die Besitzgemeinschaft zielt,
auch wenn diese beiden Gruppen sich gemeinsam, unter veränderten Vor-
zeichen zwar, des Prinzips der Unilinearität als Rekrutierungsinstrument be-
dienen (Goody 1959; 82).
Wenn Goody später den Ausschluß des “residual sibling” aus der Ab-
stammungsgruppe/Besitzgemeinschaft nur als einen Sonderfall des umfassen-
deren Problems des Ausschlusses aus der Geschwistergruppe betrachten
möchte (Goody and Tambiah 1973: 40), muß allerdings noch eine zusätz-
liche Dimension des Problems beachtet werden: In Systemen mit bilatera-
ler Erbfolge und/oder Mitgift, insbesondere wenn es sich um die Übergabe
wichtiger Produktionsmittel wie etwa Ackerland handelt, wird dem auf der
Ebene einer Generation angesiedelten Verhältnis zwischen verschwägerten
Der Mutterbruder in Südafrika
429
Männern ein anderer Charakter zukommen als in Systemen mit unilinearer
Erbfolge und Heiratsgut. Von daher ergeben sich dann auch jeweils andere
Implikationen für das Avunkulat.
Wir nähern uns damit der Frage nach der relativen Bedeutung, die der
Abstammungsgruppe bzw. dem Heiratssystem im Aufbau des gesamtgesell-
schaftlichen Zusammenhangs eingeräumt wird. Die Interpretation des Gene-
rationen übergreifenden Avunkulats steht hier im Zentrum rivalisierender
Theorien der englischen Schule auf der einen und der französischen auf der
anderen Seite.
Vorausgesetzt, zwei Gruppen seien durch eine mit Heiratsgut geschlos-
sene Ehe miteinander verbunden, gilt es erstens, das Kriterium der Zusam-
mensetzung sowie den struktural signifikanten Umfang der Gruppen zu be-
stimmen, und zweitens, die Beziehungen der Gruppen untereinander in der
nächsten Generation zu untersuchen,
Radcliffe-Brown muß hier der Vorwurf gemacht werden, die Abstam-
mungsgruppe in ihrer rechtlich-politischen Bedeutung überbewertet zu ha-
ben, indem er in Übereinstimmung mit einem damaligen Urteilsspruch des
Native Appeal Court zwischen der juristischen Grundlage der Heiratsgutfor-
derung der Frauengebergruppe und dem moralischen Imperativ einer teil-
weisen Weiterführung desselben an die Gruppe, die der eigenen in der vor-
hergehenden Generation eine Frau gegeben hatte, unterschieden hatte
(Radcliffe-Brown 1952 [1924]: 30). Er hat damit auf den Charakter der
“lineage” als des wichtigsten Realbestandteils der politischen Struktur hin-
weisen wollen und, um mit Fortes zu sprechen, bezögen sich die thjumba-
Transaktionen dann eher auf das “web of kinship”.
Goody hatte betont, daß seine Ausführungen nur für Gesellschaften
mit patrilinearen Abstammungsgruppen („UDGs“) mit virilinearer Erbfol-
ge gelten sollten, und ausdrücklich solche ausgeklammert, in denen „der
Mutterbruder gleichzeitig der Schwiegervater ist“ (1959: 83), in der Ter-
minologie des französischen Strukturalismus also Systeme des indirekten
verallgemeinerten Tauschs, in denen Heiratsallianzen über die Generatio-
nen hinweg bestätigt und erneuert würden.
8. Die verbotene Kusine: Inzest und Transformation
Genau das aber, nämlich daß die matrilaterale Kreuzkusinenheirat ein
unterschwelliges Dasein am Rande des Thonga-Systems führe, sozusagen als
eine Versuchung, ist die zentrale These von de Heuschs Beitrag (1974; 614).
Die Heiratsregeln der Thonga schreiben den Heiratspartner nicht positiv vor,
wie die elementaren Formen des direkten oder indirekten verallgemeinerten
Tauschs. Es bilden sich demgemäß wahrscheinlich auch keine stabilen
Allianznetze zwischen frauengebenden und frauennehmenden Gruppen. Die
Thonga begnügen sich mit einer negativen Definition der Heiratsmöglich-
430
Thomas Klockmann
Anthropos 78.1983
keiten, indem sie vorschreiben, daß die Abstammungsgruppe, aus der ein-
mal eine Ehefrau gekommen ist, in den nächsten Generationen keine Frauen
mehr an dieselbe Gruppe geben darf. De Keusch nimmt nun an, daß sich
die Thonga-Gesellschaft aus einem System präskriptiver matrilateraler Kreuz-
kusinenheirat herausentwickelt habe. Daraus nämlich erklärt sich für ihn die
Ambivalenz des Avunkulats:
Wie wir wissen, stellt der Schwestersohn schon zu Lebzeiten seines Mut-
terbruders Ansprüche auf eine von dessen Frauen. De Keusch interpretiert
diesen Anspruch als regressiv-inzestuöses Verlangen, weil eigentlich die Mut-
ter gemeint sei, die der Mutterbruder nur gegen seine Ehefrau eingetauscht
habe, und, wichtiger noch, weil damit die Allianz zerstört werde, die der
Vater gerade durch die Heirat mit der Tochter des Mutterbruders habe
konsolidieren wollen (de Keusch 1974: 614-615).
Eine Interpretation in Inzestkategorien vernachlässigt sowohl die Mo-
tive der an diesen Verbindungen beteiligten Personen als auch die unter-
schiedliche Qualität von WBD- und MBW-Heirat im Hinblick auf deren re-
lative Bedeutung im Lebenszyklus der so miteinander Verbundenen. Statt
dessen wird unterstellt, daß beide Heiratsformen struktural und historisch
bedeutsame Verdrängungen (“displacements”) der Heirat mit der matri-
lateralen Kreuzkusine seien. Aus deren Verbot erkläre sich das Verhalten
des Schwestersohnes.
Am Ende seines Aufsatzes gibt de Heusch dieser Interpretation eine
interessante Wendung:
In any case, it would not be necessary to interpret the privileges of the uterine
nephew as survival of the matrilateral marriage, but rather as transformation (de
Heusch 1974: 617).
Der Begriff der Transformation kann indes nicht darüber hinweg-
täuschen, daß der französische Strukturalismus, was die Analyse von For-
men sozialer Organisation betrifft, einem historisch-spekulativen Schema
verhaftet bleibt. Hatte die Psychoanalyse den verdrängten Inzestwunsch
als lebenslänglich wirksame Triebkraft der Entwicklung des Individuums
aufgedeckt, so sollte dieser Zusammenhang, als kollektives Unterbewußt-
sein sozusagen, nun nach de Heusch die Heiratsregeln einer ganzen Gesell-
schaft bestimmen (dazu auch Flügel 1921: 184ff., 239). Dabei wäre a priori
zu akzeptieren, daß die Crow-Omaha-Systeme, denen die Verwandtschafts-
terminologie der Thonga zuzurechnen ist, das “missing link” zwischen den
elementaren Strukturen und den komplexen Formen der Verwandtschaft
darstellen, wie es Lévi-Strauss im zweiten Vorwort seiner „Elementaren
Strukturen“ im übrigen nahegelegt hatte (1982 [1949]: 37-42).
Die englische struktur-funktionale Interpretation im Sinne Goodys
hingegen muß, um ihre Gültigkeit zu beweisen, zeigen, daß in der unter-
suchten Gesellschaft eine Lineagestruktur vorhanden ist. Damit ist still-
Der Mutterbruder in Südafrika
431
schweigend die Annahme verbunden, daß diese Lineagestruktur die Grund-
lage des politischen Systems darstellt, wie es vorbildhaft Fortes (1945) in
seiner Monographie über die Klanstruktur der Tallensi nachgewiesen hatte.
9. Häuser und Heiratsgut: Das Netz der Allianzen
Die Antwort kommt nun auch aus Holland. Adam Kuper gelingt es in
einer eindrucksvollen Synthese, den Mangel der Allianztheorie auszugleichen,
indem er den Anspruch der Lineagetheorie abweist. Er verwendet die ökono-
mische Transaktion, die Goody unter der Überschrift Erbschaft zwischen
den Generationen zur Definition der Abstammungsgruppe ins Spiel gebracht
hatte, unter der Überschrift Kreislauf des Heiratsgutes innerhalb der Genera-
tionen zur genaueren Bestimmung des Charakters des „Schwesterntauschs“.
Während er die Brauchbarkeit des Lineagemodells für die Analyse der Thon-
ga-Sozialstruktur verneint, greift er Hinweise auf, die auf eine Regelhaftigkeit
im Allianznetz der Thonga deuten (FFMBSSD-Heirat).
Bereits 1932 hatte Audrey Richards Zweifel am Vorhandensein einer
Klanstruktur in Südafrika geäußert:
It is difficult to decide whether the South African Clan was ever a strongly knit
unit with important legal and economic functions; and it is still harder to describe
the part which it plays in native society today (zit. nach Kuper 1982: 47).
In der Tat war die politische Struktur der Thonga von einer herrschen-
den Linie und deren Heiratspolitik bestimmt, während die effektive Struk-
tureinheit zur Regulierung der wirtschaftlich-rechtlichen Beziehungen
innerhalb der patrilinearen Großfamilien und zwischen denselben das „Haus“
war. Ein Haus: das meint eine Frau des polygamen Haushalts und ihre Kin-
der. Zur Zentralinstitution der Thonga erklärt Kuper nun die Zirkulation des
Heiratsgutes (lobola) in der Gesellschaft. Lobola ist ein gesellschaftlicher
Fond (Goody and Tambiah 1973: 17), der per definitionem nicht konsu-
miert werden darf und deshalb ein weitverzweigtes Allianznetz webt zwischen
Häusern und mithin zwischen den Familien, von denen sie ein Teil sind. Die
auf diese Weise neu entstehenden ehelichen Gemeinschaften erfordern keine
Neuordnung der vorehelichen Besitzverhältnisse der beteiligten Familien,
wie es eine substantielle Mitgift oder ein in den Besitzstand der neugegründe-
ten Familie übergehendes Heiratsgut (“indirect dowry”) nötig machen wür-
de. Anders als in einem solchen Fall bleiben die Häuser der Thonga auf spe-
zifische Weise miteinander verbunden: Wenn eine Hausschwester heiratet,
begründet sie damit eine Schuldforderung, die sich aus der Verwendung des
Heiratsgutes, das sie eingebracht hat, für die Eheschließung ihres Hausbru-
ders herleitet. Durch diesen Anspruch werden dann auch Schwestersohn und
Mutterbruder miteinander verbunden.
432
Thomas Klockmann
Anthropos 78,1983
Es liegt im Wesen des Heiratsgutes und der relativen Geschlossenheit
des Kreislaufes, daß der Anspruch der Schwester nicht in gleicher Münze
zurückgezahlt werden kann, ohne daß dadurch alle mit demselben Heirats-
gut geschlossenen Ehen hinfällig würden. Allein aus dieser Tatsache heraus
kann Kuper die Ansprüche des Schwestersohnes an seinen Mutterbruder,
d.h, den scherzhaften an dessen Frauen und den realen an eine der Witwen,
erklären. Mit anderen Worten, es handelt sich also um eine Vertretung des
Rechtsanspruchs der Mutter.
Worin unterscheidet sich nun eigentlich diese Auffassung von der
Junods oder Goodys, die wir doch teilweise auf einen ähnlichen Nenner
bringen konnten? Stark vereinfachend kann man vielleicht sagen, daß Junod
das Avunkulat unter zwei Aspekten gesehen hatte: 1) dem Opferverhält-
nis und dem rituellen Stehlen und 2) dem Erbanspruch auf die Witwe. Er
hatte unbekümmert für jeden Aspekt eine andere Erklärung gefunden.
Goody seinerseits erklärte das rituelle Stehlen aus dem Spannungsverhält-
nis von virilinearer Erbfolge und der Solidarität der Geschwistergruppe,
während Kuper das Erbrecht an der Witwe aus dem lobo/«-System herleitete.
In seinem Bemühen aber, Klan und Lineage aus dem für die Analyse der
Thonga-Sozialstruktur notwendigen Vokabular zu „exorzieren“ (Kuper
1982: 43), hat Kuper vielleicht doch das Kind mit dem Bade ausgeschüttet.
Denn selbst wenn es sich bei den patrilinearen Großfamilien der Thonga eher
um “local descent groups” im Sinne von Leach (1951) mit einem Ahnenkult,
der sich nur weniger Generationen von Vorfahren erinnert, handelt, als um
“unilineal descent groups” mit klaren politischen Funktionen nach der
Definition von Fortes (1953; 1969: Kap. 14), sind Deszendenz und kom-
plementäre Filiation damit weder gegenstands- noch bedeutungslos geworden.
Kupers äußerst sparsame und attraktive Interpretation vernachlässigt
nämlich das Opferverhältnis, in dem Mutterbruder und Schwestersohn sich
in gegenseitigen Pflichten und mit spezifischen Fähigkeiten gegenüberstehen,
womit gleichzeitig wieder das die Generationen zeitlich verklammernde
Prinzip angesprochen wäre.
Ich möchte nun abschließend versuchen, unter Bezugnahme auf Fortes’
Überlegungen zum Charakter der Verwandtschaft (1949; 1961; 1969), Ku-
pers Interpretation zu ergänzen.
10. Synthese: Das Avunkulat im Gewebe der Sozialstruktur
Fortes verwendet in seinen Untersuchungen zur Sozialstruktur der
Tallensi oft das Bild des Webens: Die starken Kettfäden der unilinearen
Abstammungsgruppen werden von den feineren Schußfäden der persönlichen
bilateralen Verwandtschaft durchzogen. Bei den Thonga ergibt sich fast ein
gegenteiliges Bild: Ein robuster Schußfaden durchzieht am Schiffchen des
lobola die eher schwächeren Kettfäden der patrilinearen Großfamilien.
Der Mutterbruder in Südafrika
433
Worauf ich aber eigentlich hinaus will, ist dies: Das „Weben“ der Sozial-
struktur hat ja kein Ende, und auch sein Anfang ist ungewiß. Der Kettfaden
hat eine je andere Qualität zwischen lebenden Menschen und zwischen
Menschen und ihren Ahnen. Er wird durch den Tod gewandelt. Der Schuß-
faden ist schon zu seinen Lebzeiten dem Widerspruch ausgesetzt, als das
Eine, nämlich eine Herde Rinder oder eine Menge Geld, das Viele, nämlich
alle Ehen, die durch ihn gestiftet worden sind, zu verbinden. Ein Mann be-
findet sich so im Zentrum zweier ungleicher Schuldforderungen, die auf den
Wegen Zurückbleiben, die die Fäden bei ihrer Arbeit in der Zeit gebahnt
—— Diagonalen
Anthropos 78.1983
28
434
Thomas Klockmann
Anthropos 78.1983
haben: Als Sohn wurde er von seinem Vater gezeugt und nahm so als Ge-
schöpf etwas an, was nie rückzahlbar sein, aber einen über den Tod hinaus
wirksamen Gehorsamsanspruch begründen wird. Als Bruder später kann er
durch das Heiratsgut, das seine Schwester einbringt, seine eigene Frau hei-
raten. Die Schuld gegenüber der Schwester könnte theoretisch beglichen
werden, wenn das Heiratsgut sich nicht in einem geschlossenen Kreislauf
befände. Es ist darüber hinaus aber für ,die volle Entfaltung des gesellschaft-
lichen Lebens ohnehin unerläßlich, daß die „Rückzahlungen“ so lange wie
möglich hinausgezögert werden. Wenn jeder Bruder seiner Schwester sofort
ihr Heiratsgut zurückgeben müßte, bräche das ganze Allianznetz zusammen.
Wenn jeder Sohn seinen Vater so früh wie möglich in den Status eines
Ahnen versetzen wollte, wäre ein harmonisches Zusammenleben der Fami-
liengruppe undenkbar.
Zum Glück ist ja noch der Schwestersohn da. Er kann auf den Parallelen
zu den Zentralachsen der Sozialstruktur — wenn es erlaubt ist, Deszendenz
und lobola so zu bezeichnen — operieren und ist gleichzeitig ausreichend
nah und weit genug entfernt, um die auf den Zentralachsen entstehenden
und für den Zusammenhalt erforderlichen Widersprüche zu mildern, ohne
ihre Spannkraft zu zerstören (siehe Diagramm).
Die Diagonalen in diesem Koordinatensystem würden gleichsam durch
die i/ywmöfl-Transaktionen gezogen. In diesem Zusammenhang ist festzuhal-
ten, daß auch die Matrifiliation in der patrilinearen Thonga-Gesellschaft
Rechtsbeziehungen beschreibt.
Werfen wir einen letzten Blick auf die Trauerfeierlichkeiten für einen
verstorbenen Vater: Der Schwestersohn wird im Namen seiner Mutter eine
Witwe fordern (Junod 1912: 210); weil er bei der Heirat seiner Schwester
dem Verstorbenen den ihm zustehenden Anteil ausgehändigt hat, wird er
nun seinerseits auch dessen kleinen Speer erben (Junod 1912: 253-257);
schließlich wird er seinen Mutterbruder als Ahnen konstituieren, indem er
selbst bei dieser Gelegenheit, und nur bei dieser, für dessen Sohn und an
seiner Stelle die Opferhandlung vollzieht und die Tiere eigenhändig tötet
(Junod 1912: 158).
Die Thonga drücken das so aus: „Ein Schwestersohn fürchtet den
Speichel seines Mutterbruder nicht“ (Junod 1912: 256).
Um abschließend auf die eingangs erwähnte Kontroverse um die Lineage-
theorie zurückzukommen, ist vor dem Hintergrund des bisher Gesagten
Kuper insofern zuzustimmen, als daß die Bewegung der sozialen Gruppen
durch die Zeit nicht als eine geschlossen fächerförmige Ausdehnung patri-
linearer Abstammungsgruppen gesehen werden sollte, sondern als ein an
bestimmten Punkten des “developmental cycle” (Goody 1958) aktuali-
siertes, kontinuierliches Netz miteinander verbundener patrilinearer Großfa-
milien.
Legt man Fortes’ Modell der nicht segmentierenden “maximal lineage”
und der sie konstituierenden, hierarchisch gegliederten Teilsegmente zu-
grunde, ist es tatsächlich irreführend, an dem Begriff “lineage” bei der
Der Mutterbruder in Südafrika
435
Analyse der Thonga-Sozialstruktur festzuhalten. Das Konzept ist dadurch
jedoch nicht schon an sich und überhaupt unbrauchbar geworden oder
gar seiner Gültigkeit im Hinblick auf Fortes’ eigene Untersuchungen be-
raubt.
Die Tallensi behalten z.B. den ursprünglichen Siedlungsplatz des Vaters
(daboog) sowie den damit verbundenen Ahnenschrein für „immer“ im Ge-
dächtnis (Fortes 1949: 185). Mit zunehmender genealogischer Repräsenta-
tionstiefe wird dabei die Verbindung von Amt qua Status als Oberhaupt ei-
nes Lineagesegments und Ort immer unauflöslicher, bis schließlich nicht
mehr der Schrein zum neuen Amtsinhaber überführt wird (Fortes 1945:
150), sondern der Amtsnachfolger (z.B. des Schutzherrn der Erde) zu
Schrein und Wohnort des verstorbenen Vorgängers (1945: 43). Andererseits
lösen die Thonga die Siedlung beim Tod des Familienoberhauptes oder seiner
ersten Frau auf und verbannen diesen Ort durch rituelle Maßnahmen aus
ihrem Bewußtsein (Junod 1912: 289).
Darüber hinaus kann aber auch ein anderer Aspekt,von Fortes’ Überle-
gungen ausgehend, für das vorliegende Thema geltend gemacht werden: Wie
die Meidungsregeln der Tallensi zwischen einem Vater und seinem erstge-
borenen Sohn auf den Vater-Status im Bereich des Haushalts und nicht auf
den Ältesten-Status in der “lineage” zielen — wenn auch beide Positionen
eben in einem Lineagesystem miteinander verschmelzen (Fortes 1961: 177) —,
so besteht bei den Thonga das Avunkulat zunächst als ein der innerfamiliären
Vater-Sohn Beziehung komplementäres Verhältnis, das aber unter dem
lobola-Aspekt zu sehende Statuselemente der Schwagerschaft des Mutter-
bruders in sich aufgenommen hat und zum Ausdruck bringt.
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Gabriella Eichinger Ferro -Luzzi
Strands versus Structure
in the Theory of Myth
Abstract. — The article proposes to consider the myth and other forms of folk
narrative as polythetic-prototype classes. This approach recognizes degrees of variability
but no constants and is therefore incompatible simultaneously with the Finnish historical-
geographical method, formalism, and structuralism. The arguments put forward are
partly theoretical and partly based on the empirical evidence of Indian sthala puranas
(temple legends or myths). No binary opposition and no motif in these is shown to be
essential and even the most characteristic elements may be omitted without affecting the
rest of the tale. Continuous and discontinuous changes take on the form of criss-crossing
and overlapping strands of meaning. Sthala puranas thus disprove the postulates that a
myth cycle is a bounded whole, that all change in it is discontinuous and entails the
reorganization of the whole and that it necessarily possesses a binary structure revealing
a hidden message of conflict. Whenever binary opposites do appear, search for the media-
tion of conflict and contradiction is only one and not the most likely among many
purposes sthala puranas may pursue. The uncertainty inherent in the notion of the poly-
thetic class is somewhat mitigated by the existence in it of less variable prototypical
elements consisting, in the case of the myth, in culture-free and culture-specific preferred
thoughts. [Polythctic-prototypc Concept, Theory of Myth, Indian Temple Legends, For-
malism, Structuralism]
Introduction
The working of our minds as apparent in mythology and other folk
narrative has long been of great interest to anthropologists. This paper
proposes a polythetic-prototype approach to the study of folk narrative
Gabriella Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi is an unofficial research worker at the Institute of
Anthropology of the University of Rome and was a teacher of Tamil in the University’s
Institute of Linguistics. Educational background includes: diploma in modem languages.
University of Mainz, 1954; doctorate in geography, thesis in anthropology, University of
Rome, 1968. — She has travelled extensively and has done several periods of fieldwork in
India. Her research interests are culture-specific and culture-free attitudes towards foods,
purity and pollution, Hindu ritual and mythology, and Hindu culture as seen through
modem Tamil literature.—Her publications include: “Women’s Pollution Periods in
Tamilnad (India)” (Anthropos 1974); “Temporary Female Food Avoidances in Ta-
milnad: Interpretations and Parallels” (East and West 1975); “La regione indiana” (Popoli
nel mondo, Novara 1978); see also References Cited. Address: Via Mario Fascetti 67,
1-00136 Roma, Italia,
438
Gabriella Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi
Anthropos 78.1983
that denies the existence of constants and recognizes only more or less
variable elements. It is therefore incompatible with the Finnish historical-
geographical method, formalism, and structuralism. Structuralism being the
most prominent among current theories of myth, it will be the main target
of criticism.
Structuralism has not gone unchallenged and the most persistent ob-
jections have come from the empiricists’ camp. I sympathize with empiricists
but my criticism distinguishes itself from theirs in that I offer an alternative
theory, a theory which allows empirical testing unlike certain aspects of
structuralism. Although I am highly critical of Lévi-Strauss’s conclusions I
agree with him on the primacy of the mental in culture; but I conceive the
working of our minds not as necessarily based on a binary principle and not
as rigidly determined. I also have a weakness for linguistic models but choose
for analogy semantics rather than grammar and phonology.
After having presented theoretical arguments against current theories of
folk narrative, in the second part of this paper I shall offer empirical data
apt, I hope, to show the inadequacy of these theories and to support my
alternative view. These empirical data are Indian temple legends. I can imagine
that this fact will immediately bring up in arms some critics who will point
out that Propp and the Finnish School deal with folktales while Lévi-Strauss
deals with myth so that whatever I may be saying about legends misses the
point. The polythetic-prototype approach, however, also dissolves this seem-
ing inconsistency. It sees, in fact, phenomena as devoid of clear-cut boun-
daries while simultaneously admitting the existence of characteristic features.
Most students of folk narrative have felt it their duty to define their
subject of investigation or to distinguish it at least from other related sub-
jects. Vansina (1976: 220), for instance, identifies religious motifs as the
distinctive criterion of myth, and in a symposium on myth all participants
agreed that “stories about the gods and their activities in general are myths”
(Thompson 1958: 104). Eliade (1963: 241) also considers the myth to be
intrinsically connected with religion and finds a progressive “degradation of
the sacred” passing from the myth to the saga and the fairy-tale. For Lévi-
Strauss (1971: 539) the myth and the legend are structurally distinct.
Contrary to these definitions and distinctions, which could have been
multiplied, I hold that the myth, the saga, the legend, and the fairy-tale are
best understood as a polythetic-prototype class. The first term of this notion
corresponds to Vygotsky’s chain and diffuse complexes (1966: 64-65) and
to Wittgenstein’s “family resemblances” (1976: §§65.-75.). It is Needham’s
(1975) great merit to have introduced this concept into anthropology as well
as the term “polythetic” borrowed from zoology. A polythetic class cannot
be defined attributionally because no one of its attributes is possessed by all
of its members. The polythetic view dispenses therefore with essential
features and substitutes for them the image of a merging continuum; not a
unidirectional continuum, however, but a criss-cross of overlapping strands
of meaning.
Strands versus Structure in the Theory of Myth
439
The above scholarly definitions and distinctions of folk narrative with-
out being entirely erroneous were mistaken in supposing that every concept
must have one or a small number of essential attributes. Even Eliade, who
postulates a gliding scale from the myth to the fairy-tale, does not give up
essentialist definition. Thompson (1958: 107-108), who notes that “the
two forms of the fairy tale and the myth continually flow into each other”
goes on to search for the place of origin of the earliest form of a story even
though he knows that the forms and consequently also the tales are unbounded.
The polythetic notion runs counter to ingrained habits of thought,
which have had philosophical support from the times of Plato and Aristotle
and therefore it has found great resistance in philosophy and science. In
cross-cultural comparison it might seem, for instance, to require the abandon-
ment of key terms like “incest” and “belief” (Needham 1971: 28; 1972:
131, 151) because of their imprecision. But this is not necessary. On closer
inspection imprecision and uncertainty turn out to be less than originally
thought. The new polythetic way of looking at things in order to reveal its
full revolutionary potential has to be integrated (in most cases) with the no-
tion of nodal elements or prototypes. The choice of the term “prototype” is
somewhat unfortunate. When I first used it (Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi 1981a)
adopting it indirectly from Berlin and Kay as well as Rosch (Shweder 1977:
646), I did not foresee all the problems it might create, but have also been
unable to think of a completely satisfactory alternative. Putnam’s “stereo-
type” (1975: 148-151) has the same inconvenience that it risks to suggest
the original model after which later forms are copied. The “prototype” of
a myth Indo-Europeanists try to reconstruct, which is precisely one point
my approach tries to disprove, is such an original model. In order to avoid
all confusion I wish to stress that “prototype” in my usage coupled with
“polythetic” does not refer to the original model but to the most frequent
features of a fluid class. The rose, for instance, may be considered the
prototype of the polythetic-prototype concept “flower” in the eyes of the
westerner. Speakers of western languages have hardly coined their terms for
“flower” after the model of the rose, but when asked to name a flower,
more often than not they will mention the rose. Prototypical or nodal
elements have long been intuitively known and they are the ones which
have usually been mistaken for essential attributes defining concepts.
Undoubtedly preoccupation with religion is a prototypical element
in myth but it is not essential. If it were so, Lévi-Strauss would have analyzed
few myths. On the other hand, the first dictionary meaning of “legend” is
“life story of a saint,” so that the myth and the legend overlap in an im-
portant part of their semantic domains and there is no reason to consider
the legend a different “mode of elaborating reality” as Lévi-Strauss claims
(1971: 539). The fairy-tale uses many motifs and structural features like
the love of redundancy, which are also found in the myth, but clearly lacks
the grandiosity of the myth. Lévi-Strauss’s (1966: 183) definition of the
fairy-tale as “myth in miniature” might therefore be acceptable, although
440
Gabriella Eichinger F erro-Luzzi
Anthropos 78.1983
I hold the image of a partial overlap between the two genres to be more
suitable. There is no reason, however, to consider the myth and the fairy-
tale to be two complementary poles, as he states in the preceding sentence,
also because miniature version and complementarity do not seem to go to-
gether. If the fairy-tale, the myth, the legend, etc. are conceived as polythe-
tic-prototype concepts within the vaster polythetic class of folk narrative,
none of their composing strands will run throughout any one of them. The
fairy-tale, for instance, is tied to the legend by the relatively recent past of
the events narrated, while the total absence of religious concern in the
fairy-tale separates it from the legend, which in turn, through its religious
bent, resembles the myth. Just as different scholars have singled out different
elements in order to define narrative forms, different languages divide the
field of folk narrative differently. Only Germanic languages possess the
separate term “saga” for heroic tales; other languages comprise them under
the heading of the myth. The pan-Indian Sanskrit term purâna (a tale from
the past) covers the myth, the saga, and the legend. Temple legends, to be
precise, are called sthala purânas in distinction from other purânas, but this
epithet refers to the general purpose of these tales: to sing the praise of the
temple and its deity and not to their form or content. Many sthala purânas
simply localize events narrated in the classical purânas which normally count
as myths. Shulman (1978; 1980) examining some of the same sthala purânas
as I do but from a different perspective calls them myths. Thus my proposal
to draw conclusions from temple legends to myth is justified also by Indian
linguistic usage.
The Flaws in Current Theories of Folk Narrative
1. The Finnish School and Formalism
Lévi-Strauss criticizes Thompson and the Finnish School for trying to
reconstruct the archetype of a tale. By gathering motifs which appear with
the greatest frequency, he remarks, one obtains only a statistical average, an
artificial unit of which there is no guarantee that it ever existed (1968: 187).
I think that this argument is valid and might by itself be sufficient to render
the folklorists’ technique suspect. The reconstruction of an archetype, in
my view however, has another defect, which Lévi-Strauss cannot criticize as
his own theory shares it. Both structuralism and the Finnish historical-geo-
graphical method (as well as formalism) assume invariants for which there is
no evidence or which are disproved by evidence. For the former there exists
a hard structural core and for the latter a core of motifs. Folk narratives, as
I hope to show with the help of sthala purânas, however, have no cores.
Binary oppositions may disappear and reappear at any time, and any motif
or group of motifs may be combined with any other, albeit not with the
same probability. Even highly favoured motifs like that of the self-milking
cow or the bleeding lihgam, which the Finnish School would doubtlessly
Strands versus Structure in the Theory of Myth
441
count among core elements of a certain type of temple legend, may be dis-
pensed with in nearly identical legends or may appear in very different tales.
While the Finnish School and structuralism have in common almost
only belief in constants, the similarity between formalism and structuralism
is much greater. Lévi-Strauss (1966: 179) admiringly speaks of the
“prophetic intuitions” of his precursor Propp. Struck by the similarity of
Russian fairy-tales, Propp (1966) concludes that they must contain constants
and claims to have found them not in motifs but in functions performed by
the characters. Dundes (1962: 102-103) praises Propp’s function as marking
“a tremendous theoretical advance over the etic unit of the motif” after
having noted a little earlier that “it is not only important to realize that the
same motif may be used in different motifemes [functions], but it is equally
important to realize that different motifs may be used in the same motifeme.”
The latter observation makes it hard to see why an analysis based on function
should be preferable to one based on the motif, since both are equally
variable with respect to each other.
Despite his belief in the invariability of function Propp, at some points,
comes close to the polythetic view. He notes that there are unilaterally and
bilaterally substitutable elements (structuralism would admit only the latter),
and that some elements are perfectly free to combine with any other element
(1966: 117-118). He admits that his definition of the fairy-tale as “a tale
based on the ordered sequence of functions, some of which are missing and
some repeated in each tale” also applies to a great number of legends,
animal fables, and short stories. On the other hand, he finds it easy to
imagine fairy-tales constructed in a completely different way (1966: 105-
106). He does not draw, however, the most plausible conclusions from these
facts, i.e., that functions are not invariant but only less variable than other
minor elements of the tale and that it is futile to search for precise attribu-
tional definitions of the various forms of folk narrative. Instead he thinks
that the defect must lie in the term “fairy-tale” rather than in the definition
he gave of it and contents himself with a linguistic pseudo-correction. Rather
than of a “fairy-tale” he proposes to speak of “a tale with a schema of
seven characters” overlooking that there obviously are fairy-tales with less
or more than seven characters and that seven characters may be found in
other narrative genres as well. The magical number “seven,” so popular in
folk narrative (where it need not refer to characters nor exhaust their num-
ber; cf. the seven-mile-boots, the seven kids), is also a poor choice for a
definition with scientific pretensions.
Strange as Propp’s linguistic pseudo-correction may seem, it has a
parallel in the debate about the definition of caste. Stevenson (1960: 974)
realizes the inadequacy of all definitions proposed so far, but does not dare
to take the bold step of renouncing definition and does not realize that caste
is still another polythetic-prototype concept (Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi 1983).
Instead he thinks to have solved the problem by using the term “caste” not
as a noun but as an adjective.
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2. The Structural Theory of Myth
2.1 Unfalsifiable Claims
2.1.1 The logical unconscious
The structural theory of myth possesses various ingredients, some of
which are open to empirical testing and hence refutable, others are un-
falsifiable or nearly so. The notion of the unconscious which structuralism
shares with psychoanalysis of both Freudian and Jungian persuasions be-
longs to the latter category. The unconscious refers not to thoughts not
conscious at a given moment (these are called pre-conscious) nor to physical
processes without direct influence on our thinking but is believed to be a
part of the mind with mechanisms of its own which can never become
conscious. Although intrinsically unfalsifiable this notion can, at least, be
shown to be highly improbable. Since for psychoanalysis the content of the
unconscious are emotions and for Lévi-Strauss logical structures, the sus-
picion arises that neither may be quite right. The various intermediate stages
between full consciousness and coma that have been demonstrated also cast
doubt on the dualism of consciousness and the unconscious.
Lévi-Strauss (1971: 614) writes: “If myths considered by themselves
appear like absurd tales, nevertheless a secret logic regulates the relationship
among all these absurdities: even a thought that seems to be highly irrational
is thus permeated by rationality.” In other words, absurdity and irrationality
do not exist because absurdity is logic, and irrationality is rationality accord-
ing to a type of reasoning I have called “play with opposites” (Eichinger
Ferro-Luzzi 1980: 54; 1983). Not only structuralists and psychoanalysts, we
all occasionally enjoy playing with paradox, but such thoughts defy the
canons of ordinary logic and should normally be avoided in science.
2.1.2 Innate binary structures
The structuralists postulate that our minds possess innate binary
structures is equally beyond the scope of empirical verification. Lévi-Strauss
(1971: 605) thinks that the discovery of the genetic code supports his prin-
ciple of discontinuity. Sebeok (1970: 623) is even more categorical and
states: “The genetic code must be regarded as the most fundamental of all
semiotic networks and therefore as the prototype for all other signalling
systems used by animals including man.” This extrapolation from the genetic
code to the working of our minds sounds to me like predicting a person’s
character from the fact that he was born under the constellation of Taurus.
There is much more to genetics than the double helix; “jumping genes,” for
instance, (King and Wilson 1975: 107-116; Lewin 1982: 42-43) which will
probably acquire more importance in the future, have not so far revealed any
binary tendency. If one absolutely wanted to draw a parallel between
genetics and the mind, one would have to note rather inconclusively that
both possess binary and non-binary features.
Strands versus Structure in the Theory of Myth
443
I think that a physical model for the working of the mind is inapplic-
able not because I believe in the radical dualism of mind and body but because I
hold that the most likely relationship between the two is that of a merging
continuum. Physical determination seems to be greater in sense-based thought
than in purely abstract thought, and to concept formation I propose to
ascribe qualified indétermination. Concepts held together by Wittgenstein’s
“family resemblance” are not amenable to binary analysis and do not follow
Lévi-Strauss’s principle of discontinuity. The strands connecting motifs in
the polythetic-prototype class of sthala purdnas use associations both by
similarity and opposition. But since it is easier to find similarities than binary
opposites continuous gradual change is more frequent than discontinuous
change through inversion.
2.2 Falsifiable Claims
2.2.1 The bounded whole and change interpreted as transformation
Another fundamental assumption of structuralism is that myth cycles
are bounded wholes within which all changes consist in transformations leav-
ing their structure and message intact. This assumption may be contested not
only on theoretical grounds but lends itself to empirical testing. Lévi-Strauss
(1968: 11) cites in its support the serialized novel and detective stories by
one and the same author, in which always the same characters appear and
the plot is always constructed in the same manner. Undoubtedly the in-
dividual writer’s imagination is limited, especially if he happens to be a
mediocre writer, so that monotonous repetitions in the genres mentioned are
not surprising. It should stand to reason, however, that myths on which
countless individuals have worked cannot be so similar, unless one accepts as
indisputable the premises of rigid mental constraints and of the Platonic
image. Not by chance both Propp (1966: 98) and Lévi-Strauss (1971; 604)
refer to Goethe’s Urpflanze.
Structural linguistics is the major source of Lévi-Strauss’s holistic trans-
formational views. However, the image of a language as a bounded whole
possessing stable structure applies best to a literary and national language;
while boundaries dissolve and structures become fluid, when we look at
dialects. German, French, Dutch, Italian, and Spanish may reasonably be
considered distinct languages with distinct structures, but there also exists
a dialect continuum from Switzerland to the North Sea and another one
from Italy to Spain, in which mutual intelligibility is proportional to the
geographic distance (Gumperz 1964: 418) and structures are obviously sub-
ject to gradual change. The phenomenon of the linguistic area also contra-
dicts the image of a language as a bounded whole. In the Indian linguistic
area languages of Indo-Aryan, Dravidian, and Munda stock have exchanged
phonetic, grammatical and semantic features (Emeneau 1964: 642-653).
444
Gabriella Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi
Anthropos 78.1983
If a language despite its undeniable structure is no truly bounded unit,
one wonders how a myth cycle, the structure of which is highly disputable,
can be such a bounded unit.
Lévi-Strauss (1955: 57) writes: “A myth remains the same as long as
it is felt as such.” In spite of its reliance on intuition I have no serious reser-
vations against this statement. If in one temple legend the cow pours her
milk over a stone, the stone is recognized as &ivaliñgam and a temple built
for it; and in another legend the cow pours her milk over an anthill, the ant-
hill is found to contain an idol of Visnu for which a temple is built, com-
mon sense tells that the two legends are closely related. As long as most ele-
ments in two stories are identical or similar, they may reasonably be con-
sidered two versions of the same theme. There comes a point, however, when
opinions will differ. Only those who have already adopted the structuralist
faith will agree with Lévi-Strauss (1968; 164) that ‘‘the point is not to
catalogue similar traits but to show that despite their differences, and even
because of them, myths which do not seem to be related are governed by the
same principles and generated by the same family of operations.” This state-
ment, incidentally, contains another beautiful instance of “play with oppo-
sites”: because myths are different, they are the same.
Structuralism downgrades motifs that make up the content of the story
in favour of its “underlying” structure. However, in order to delimit a myth
cycle and to decide what has to count as a version of the same myth and
what not, content well-nigh has to be taken into account. The existence of
Thompson’s monumental Mo tif Index of Folk-Literature {1955-1958) should
have discouraged speculations about myth cycles as structural wholes from
the outset. But not only Lévi-Strauss and his followers, also the compiler
of the index himself have failed to draw the most plausible conclusion from
it. If identical motifs are found sporadically the world over, it is clear that
they cannot be stably connected but may combine to form quite distinct
tales. Thompson is even careful to give cross-references, i.e., he shows that
motifs which are listed under one heading might just as well be listed under a
different heading by choosing a different criterion of selection. He thus
comes close to the idea of the criss-cross of overlapping strands in the
polythetic class. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, however, he does not
abandon the hope that it might be possible to “trace a full-blooded tale or
myth to its earliest known home” (1958: 108).
At this point I have to justify my seemingly careless use of the term
“motif.” Structuralists have rightly noted that it is intuitive and imprecise,
but this cannot be helped, because there are no precise units anywhere in
folk narrative. Provided that one is aware of the arbitrariness with which one
delimits a motif, it may be used as a heuristic device. It does not really mat-
ter whether one counts as a motif “cow pours her milk over an anthill hiding
a liñgam,” “cow pours her milk on an idol,” “milk offered to an idol,” or
“milk in a legend.” The more general the motif, the more tales containing it
will be found. Highly specific motifs may, indeed, sometimes be shown to
Strands versus Structure in the Theory of Myth
445
have originated in a certain area and even at a certain time—this is the grain
of truth in the view of the Finnish School—but not whole tales. The cow
•pouring her milk over a stone lihgam or another idol is doubtlessly an Indian
motif, because her action corresponds to abhiseka performed by humans.
Abhiseka (bathing or anointing an idol etc.) is a rite, which possesses vague
parallels especially in the ancient Near East, but has assumed unprecedented
importance in India (Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi 1981a). Only slight changes in
the cow-milk motif, however, deprive it of its Indian character. Rather than
secretly offering her milk to an idol the cow may secretly feed a saint, which
also results in the loss of milk for her owner. On the other hand, the cow
may miraculously increase her milk production at the sight of a saint or an
avatar a (Pulavar Aracu 1979: 135; Ramamirtham 1978: 165). The latter
variant of the milk miracle has no longer anything culture-specific, and Irish
legends contain its exact counterpart (Thompson 1955/2: D 2182). The
motif of the bleeding idol is specifically Indian only when the idol happens
to be Sivalihgam. Bleeding idols and objects in general have universal distri-
bution in the most varied contexts, as can be seen from Thompson’s index.
The futility of trying to trace fixed boundaries around groups of myths,
be they based on motifs or on structure, may also be demonstrated through
the way the motifs of the self-milking cow and the bleeding lihgam combine
in India itself. Struck by their frequency I decided to use them as an arbitrary
nucleus for my corpus. I first considered legends in which one or both of
them appeared and then looked at the vicissitudes of other typical elements
in milk/blood tales. Both the flow of milk and that of blood may explain
the construction of a temple, but there are many other explanations available
of the same fact. Sivalihgam or another idol, for instance, when being trans-
ported, got stuck so that a temple had to be built at the spot or, when an
old devotee was unable to pay his usual visit to a far away temple the god
deigned to come nearer to him and, gratefully, a new temple was built.
Legends about rooted idols and obliging gods are numerous and adequately
serve their purpose without the help of milk and blood, and yet sometimes
they may be entwined with the milk or blood motif. If one wanted to
postulate a myth cycle based on the structural contrast of milk and blood
(rather than a polythetic class in which milk and blood constitute proto-
typical elements) one would have to prove that independent tales like the
above are transformations of each other and of the milk and blood legends.
Not enough with this, since the construction of a temple can also be motivated
by reference to mythological heroes, the whole Mahabharata and Ramayana
epics would have to be included in the “permutation group” of milk and
blood legends, which is obviously absurd.
Myth cycles exist only as unbounded units based on a more or less arbi-
trarily chosen criterion. If this is not realized unwarranted claims are made.
Structuralist Brisson tries to demonstrate that eighteen Greek myths about
Theiresias, who is afflicted with repeated change of sex, are variants of one
446 Gabriella Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi Anthropos 78.1983
and the same myth. They are furthermore said to be implicitly composed of
six elements gravitating around the snake, itself sometimes an implicit figure
(1976; 8, 72, 106), while Theiresias functions as a mediator. All major
elements in the eighteen “variants” of the Theiresias myth, however, have
parallels in India, except the diviner Theiresias himself.
Theiresias, when herding, once hit copulating snakes with a stick and
was punished by being changed into a woman. In the Matsya Purana
(O’Flaherty 1976: 352) King Ila, also known for having changed sex re-
peatedly, inadvertently observed the sexual union of Siva and Parvatl and
was punished by being changed into a woman. Since Siva and Parvatl may
have snakes as alter egos, the association of their union with copulating
snakes comes to mind easily in India. Not so in Greek mythology, where the
Theiresias myth is unique in speaking of copulating snakes, as Brisson re-
marks (1976: 46). On the other hand, the snake being sacred in India, it is a
grave crime to hit a snake, let alone copulating snakes, but such a crime of
violence and “voyeurism” need not be punished by the change of sex or
blindness as in the Theiresias myths. Also in an Indian legend a herdsman
chanced upon copulating snakes and hit the male (not both animals) with
his stick, but nothing untoward happened, because the boy fed milk to the
snakes which came to bite him (Grierson 1968/1905: 90). Associational
strands parting from milk, snakes, and violence tie this story to other legends
of my corpus. In one Greek myth Theiresias caused Hera’s wrath, when
asserting that women enjoy sex more than men and was blinded in punish-
ment. Blindness is, of course, an ideal precondition for a diviner because of
the common metaphor of the “mind’s eyes” and because a loss on one side
is thought to be magically compensated by a gain on another. Also in India
“the mind’s eyes” and the compensation of blindness by wisdom are well-
known themes, but they would hardly be combined with a Theiresias-like
assertion. Given the Indian culture-specific concept of woman as sakti,
Theiresias’s words would not have caused any stir. In the Mahabharata the
hermit-king Bangasvana, who was changed into a woman, preferred to re-
main so precisely because he felt that “a woman has more pleasure in sexual
intercourse” (Brown 1978: 203).
The preceding observations should have made it clear that the eighteen
Greek myths about Theiresias cannot be a bounded structural whole within
which nothing but transformations occur. Normally we need not invoke
diffusion, if similar motifs appear in tales of distant peoples, but in this case,
given the uniqueness of copulating snakes and of Theiresias’s view of female
sexuality in Greek mythology and their common occurrence in Indian
mythology, almost certainly Indian motifs have been diffused to Greece.
Some associational strands tying them to other motifs in Greece are similar
to those in India. Other Indian strands differ from and even contradict
Greek ideas, so that it would not be possible to extract from a combined
supermyth a “common core of meaning,” as Brisson (1976: 10) claims to
have done for his Greek myths.
Strands versus Structure in the Theory of Myth
447
2.2.2 Discontinuous change and the reorganization of the whole
Contrary to the Finnish School postulating a stable nucleus for each
tale, Lévi-Strauss (1971; 585) states that one transforms myths while think-
ing to repeat them. But given his conviction that myths are bounded units
governed by a binary logic he goes on to say:
If the mind does not want to destroy the logical structure supporting myths and
thus annihilate them rather than transforming them, it cannot but effect discrete
changes in the mathematical sense .... Besides, every discontinuous change entails
the reorganization of the whole. It can never occur alone but in correlation with
other changes (1971: 604; see also 1964: 21).
I perfectly agree with Lévi-Strauss’s insistence on change, but object to
his second claim. This claim may not only be contested on theoretical
grounds but is open to empirical testing, and I hope to refute it with the help
of sthala purànas.
The observation that myths change by being repeated is true not only
of myth but of any tale whatsoever. Fifty years ago psychologist Bartlett
(1967/1932) conducted experiments with serial reproduction highly relevant
to my theory of myth. The tales he asked people to repeat serially in the
way that A’s reproduction was reproduced by B whose version was pre-
sented to C, etc. comprised fairy-tales, newspaper reports, and scientific
discussions. In nearly every series gradual change was interrupted by turning
points, which then became for a while the gradually changing model until
the next creative turn took place. The same combination of continuity and
discontinuity may be inferred from the study of Indian temple legends of
which many are so similar that a local mythographer did not even bother to
collect them individually (Mate 1970: 126). Within my large corpus of very
similar legends, however, regional turning points are discernible. Thus
legends which make the king the hurter of the lihgam are nearly all from Ta-
milnadu; inversions in the sequence of milk and blood are found mainly in
Maharashtra; the doubling of the lihgam is limited to Maharashtra and
neighbouring areas of Karnataka; the female discoverer of the idol is typical
of Kerala, etc. In the latter case the social fact of matrilineal descent may
be responsible for crediting a woman with the meritorious deed; other
turning points, however, have no conceivable external determinant and are
therefore best understood as local fashions. Neither the direction taken by
gradual change nor the turning points can be predicted but it is usually
possible to find rationales for them post hoc.
Structuralists will try to shrug off these cases of discontinuity combined
with continuity in the transmission of tales by pointing out that their dis-
continuity does not refer to just any break but to the inversion of binary
opposites. Bartlett’s experiments (1967: 166-168), however, also contain an
interesting example of such an inversion. In his original account of Wallace’s
Darwinism: The modification of species it was said that during the period
448
Gabriella Eichinger F erro-Luzzi
Anthropos 78.1983
of separation from England mammals, reptiles, and land molluscs of Ireland
have hardly undergone any modification. At the eighth reproduction the
argument had become construed to prove that snakes and other reptiles were
once in Ireland, while the ninth reproduction had: “That is the reason . . .
that snakes and other reptiles are not found in Ireland.” Till the end of the
experiment the snake succeeded in keeping its place at the expense of other
animals in the original version. The fact that the snake was singled out will
not surprise anthropologists, given its multiple striking characteristics and
associations; but it might have been expected that matter-of-fact thought
outweighed feeling in the retelling of a scientific paper. Since a relational
argument about modification is more difficult to remember than an argu-
ment about existence, the former had become reduced to the latter and since
existence is logically tied to non-existence, faulty memory mixed them up.
This logical tie between binary opposites added to defective memory accounts
for the frequent inversion of motifs and conclusions in related myths and
not mental constraints which oblige us to invert pairs of opposites as struc-
turalists hold.
Lévi-Strauss (1967: 42) goes so far as to claim that inversion saves the
myth from being obliterated, when transmission from a population to
another renders it difficult to communicate and hence confused. Confusion
or nonsense, however, may also appear in a tale, where no difficulty of
communication exists. Contrary to chance retellers of myth, Bartlett’s sub-
jects (mostly college students) were admonished to listen attentively and
reproduce correctly. Nevertheless the scientific argument, for instance, had
become meaningless by the third reproduction, and also other stories were
becoming more and more nonsense the longer the series continued (1967;
164, 168). This fact should make those weary who think that confusion or
nonsense in myth must hide rational thought. My corpus of legends contains
several instances in which prestigious motifs are placed in absurd contexts.
Since abhiseka with milk is one of the most common Indian rites (especially
in South India), and no other Indian deity likes abhiseka as much as Siva or
his son Murukan, the legend of the self-milking cow makes culturally good
sense, when told in a Saiva temple. In a Murukan temple of Tamilnadu
(Census 1968a; 108), however, no abhiseka is performed because all idols are
of (unbaked) clay. Nevertheless in the sthala purdna the cow offers her milk
to the presiding deity. There are several culturally plausible ways of explain-
ing the unorthodox bent of the lingam’, the cow, for instance, may have hit
it or Siva may have bent to please a human devotee. Another Tamil temple
legend (Census 1966; 201), however, has it that Sivalihgam bent when
Indra in the form of an ant was unable to reach the top for worship. Mythol-
ogy connects Indra and other gods with ants, to be sure, but to explain the
bent of the lingam as a courtesy to an ant seems a poor choice.
I said that Bartlett’s experiments are highly relevant for my theory
of myth, but serial reproduction is only an imperfect model for a polythetic-
prototype class. Gradual change interrupted by breaks, occasional inversions,
Strands versus Structure in the Theory of Myth
449
and nonsense combinations all occur in the transmission of myth as in serial
reproduction. The transmission of myth also resembles serial reproduction in
that associational chains may start from any element of the story. In the case
of myth, however, there is not only one chain of retellers broken off after a
while, but countless individuals reproduce simultaneously for an indefinite
period of time, so that the result is a dense network of criss-crossing strands.
While in the experimental situation the original tale became more and more
irrecognizable with every reproduction, in real life there is feedback. Retel-
lers and intentional mythmakers draw from a pool of myths and tend to
choose over and over again culturally preferred motifs. This process accounts
for the great similarity of myths in a given area.
Lévi-Strauss’s insistence on discontinuity is partly the result of his
Cartesian bent reinforced by Hegel and Marx, but it may also be partly the
result of his data. His myths cover a still wider area than my pan-Indian
legends. The creators of temple legends include sophisticated city dwellers,
villagers, and tribesmen and are therefore culturally more diverse than Lévi-
Strauss’s American Indians, but culture contacts among the latter have
probably been less frequent than among the former. The fact that empires
have repeatedly covered wide areas of India and, above all, the habit of the
population to make pilgrimages have guaranteed the continuous circulation
of religious lore. American Indian myths possessing few indubitable similari-
ties and many differences might therefore seem to support discontinuous
change, while Indian sthala purânas exhibiting numerous minute changes and
unilateral inversions are apt to disprove this assumption.
In the following I shall give a few examples of unilateral inversions con-
tradicting the structuralists’ claim that inversions always occur between pairs
of opposites, as in an equation, and that every inversion entails the reorgani-
zation of the whole tale. The full exposition of my whole corpus of more
than two hundred legends would exceed the scope of this paper. In case the
examples seem scarce I wish to recall that Lévi-Strauss (1971: 604) categori-
cally denies the inversion of individual elements without affecting the rest
of the tale so that even one contrary instance would be sufficient to falsify
his claim.
As mentioned before, a very common purpose pursued by sthala purâ-
nas is to justify why a temple was built at a particular spot and, in case the
presiding deity is a svayambhu (selfbom) lingam, to explain why a seemingly
nondescript stone was recognized as Sivalihgam. This purpose is achieved, for
instance, in the following legend: the king’s horse hit a stone, blood oozed
out, whereupon Siva appeared to the king in dream and demanded a temple
(Census 1971: 229). The bleeding idol is the hint that the deity in question
desires a temple, but this need not always be so. When blood oozed out from
the image of a five-hooded serpent, people recognized it as Nâgarâja (the
king of snakes) and wanted to install it in a temple. In dream, however,
Nâgarâja forbade them to shift him. He was therefore left in a thatched
shrine and a Sivalihgam as well as an idol of Visnu were installed in the
Anthropos 78.1983
29
450
Gabriella Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi
Anthropos 78.1983
temple built for Nagaraja (Census 19686: 123). Both legends speak of the
construction of a temple but it remains that in the second one the bleeding
idol is not the presiding deity of the new temple. Divine order may also be
given to desist from building—a new memorial samddhi (tomb) in honour of
a deceased saint—and yet the blood motif comes in handy. Blood stains then
appeared, when people were digging to find the original samddhi (Maharash-
tra State Gazetteers 1972^ 760). While in sthala purdnas all bleeding idols
and other religious objects prove their supernatural qualities, the effect of
the sight of blood on human building activity may be quite different and
even opposed.
Normally the flow of milk produced spontaneously by the cow induces
people to dig and thus leads to the discovery of an idol. In a legend of Karna-
taka (according to an informant) milk poured by the cow over an anthill
started to dissolve it, so that villagers had to dig only a little further to find
the meditating Sn Siddhalihgesvara Yogi, The pouring of milk, however,
may come in also as an afterthought, when the divine presence is already
known. In another Kanarese legend, after a dream had revealed that a
statue of Narayana (Visnu) was hidden under an anthill, the king offered
milk to dissolve the anthill (Bharanidharan 1974; 538). Note the local
fashion of the dissolving anthill.
Normally on hurting an idol blood oozes out but in a Tamil legend
(Census 1966: 194) milk flows from the wound. The lihgam has proved to
be miraculously alive also in this case and the unilateral inversion of milk
and blood motifs has not affected the rest of the tale. Again a temple is
built.
Normally, when milk and blood motifs are combined in a sthala pu-
rdria, the flow of milk is positive, the expression of devoted love, and that of
blood negative, the result of injury,1 In a Maharashtrian legend (Mate 1970:
126) the soothing quality of milk stops the blood that gushes forth from a
tree which later transforms itself into a lihgam. In the legend of Khandoba,
Jejuri (a Saiva deity of the same area identified with Siva’s son Subrahmanya),
however, the god tells his devotee that only blood will stop the streams of
milk and blood gushing forth from his wounded lihgam (Mate 1970: 178).
This inversion notwithstanding, both legends speak of discovery and of the
construction of a temple. The inverted sequence in the former legend (milk
following blood rather than the usual other way round) confirms Levi-Strauss’s
contention that sequences need not be fixed as Propp holds. The unilateral
doubling of one member of a contrasting pair (blood appears twice in the
Khandoba legend), however, has never been considered in the structural
treatment of opposites, to my knowledge.
For a discussion of the symbolism of milk and blood in Indian mythology see
O’Flaherty 1976: 331 ff.; 1980: 17-29.
Strands versus Structure in the Theory of Myth
451
Normally, after having poured out her milk in the forest the cow gives
no milk to her owner, which prompts investigation and leads to the known
result. A legend of Rajasthan, however, states that suddenly a cow in the
house started to give unending milk. By digging up the ground under her an
idol was found and a temple was built for it (Pal 1969: 66). Also in this case
the cow performed a milk miracle, but there is opposition in her milk yield
for humans and in the scene of the event: the house rather than the forest
(i.e., culture/nature) and yet the purpose of the legend is the same.
Furthermore as mentioned elsewhere (Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi 1980: 45-
54, 62-68), in Indian legends lingas, trees, snakes, lotuses, vessels, weapons,
etc. may appear indifferently as symbols or alter egos of gods and goddesses.
Not only Hindu deities also non-Hindu deities may choose to manifest them-
selves thanks to miraculous flows of milk or blood. Very similar tales con-
taining milk/blood motifs may simply serve to testify to the greatness of the
deity without mentioning discovery and construction. They may also justify
a defect in the idol or explain the name of the deity independently or
in combination with the discovery-construction sequence. Since in the poly-
thetic-prototype class of Indian temple legends no element is essential, all
purposes enumerated above may just as well be achieved without bringing
in flows of milk or blood.
2.2.3 Meaning of conflict derived from binary structure
In any myth, according to Lévi-Strauss (1971: 539), “the first of all
data is the statement of an opposition” and from the analysis of this binary
structure the true meaning of a myth may be deciphered, which always con-
sists in the mediation between perceived conflicts. Both the claim that myths
necessarily have binary structure and that they always try to resolve conflicts
or contradictions I shall partly contest on empirical grounds.
Myths and other folk narrative have, indeed, a predilection for binary
distinctions. To have stressed this fact is the merit of structuralism, but as
such distinctions lie open for everybody to see, they had already been
noticed. Cassirer (1925: 25, 122, 185) equates mythological thought with
structural thought and claims that “the feeling of space in the myth always
expresses itself through the opposition of day and night, light and darkness.”
The fact that two authors have surprisingly similar ideas is no guarantee,
however, for the truth of these ideas and both scholars exaggerated by
making binary opposites the necessary and only structural feature in myth.
Temple legends contain a number of binary distinctions, the most
salient among them being the contrast between milk and blood. Milk and
blood are similar as bodily fluids but also contrast in many aspects, so that
they would seem to be an ideal structural pair. Interestingly enough, how-
ever, only a minority (about 10%) of my corpus of milk and blood legends
brings in both fluids. Structuralists and formalists have deviced a means to
counter such an objection, the missing element necessary for the theory
452
Gabriella Eichinger F erro-Luzzi
Anthropos 78.1983
to work is said to be implicit, virtual, or “represented on the surface, narra-
tive level by ‘zero’ or ‘null’ element” (Robinson and Joiner 1968: 30).
Apart from the dubious method of postulating ghostly elements, it is hard to
see why the missing element should be necessary, if the purpose of the tale
is achieved without it. Why postulate hidden milk, for instance, if blood
alone does the job or vice versa? The hypothesis of the ghostly element
becomes even more untenable, when opposites are paradoxically inter-
changed. If milk flows from the wound, blood becomes utterly superfluous.
The discoverer and the builder figure as another typical pair of opposites
in sthala puränas. A poor low caste man discovers the idol, whereas a wealthy
and influential high caste man builds the temple. But this opposition be-
tween high and low, poor and wealthy, powerless and powerful, which
apparently confirms the structural theory, is not the rule. The discoverer and
the builder frequently coincide. If the king discovers the idol and builds a
temple for it, the low caste man is clearly superfluous.
While I hold the stress on binary opposites in the structural theory of
myth to be correct but exaggerated, I have much more serious objections to
the claim “that mythical thought always works from the awareness of opposi-
tions towards their progressive mediation” (Lévi-Strauss 1955: 62). We
clearly have a tendency to think in binary categories but this tendency is
only a wide “highway” of thought inviting us without constraining us
(Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi 1980: 45, 66), Besides, there is no need to infer
dialectical progression à la Hegel and Marx from pairs of opposites in myth
and several other possibilities exist.
1) The binary tendency of our minds influences memory making us exaggerate
simple difference into opposition in retrospect. Dichotomies appearing in
tales are also better remembered than relative distinctions. Cicero recom-
mended exaggerations as an oratory technique (Harwood 1976: 704) and
polarization is a form of exaggeration. If binary opposites are the result of
faulty memory or of the desire to impress one’s words on the listener’s
memory, no mediator will be sought.
2) Like counterfactual exploits and meaningful correspondences also polariza-
tion may be intentionally chosen to render the tale superreal and exemplary.
Rather than being prompted by the awareness of existing social conflicts,
binary opposites in myth may serve to separate it from reports about every-
day problems.
3) Binary opposites in myth may express wholeness rather than conflict. By
distinguishing the discoverer from the builder, according to the two poles
of the caste hierarchy, the creators of the legends probably did not want to
symbolize social conflict, but to express social harmony. This intention is
Strands versus Structure in the Theory of Myth
453
clearest, when the king and the Harijan collaborate in the discovery of the
idol (Census 19686: 175). A similar use of binary opposites in ritual and
language as an abbreviated statement of wholeness has been discussed else-
where (Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi 1977: 511-512).
4) Rather than searching for a mediator between opposites “play with
opposites” may paradoxically equate them. The exception confirms the rule
popular wisdom has it, a female breast is Sivaliñgam in an Indian temple
legend (Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi 1980: 52), different myths are the same, Lévi-
Strauss adds, etc.
5) Only to those having espoused a negative philosophy binary opposites
suggest the idea of strife. Ordinary people are content with many of them as
they are. They definitely prefer man and woman to the mediating eunuch or
homosexual and day and night to twilight. Desire for mediation between
all opposites is also unlikely because we tend to establish hierarchy between
them. I find it very unconvincing that in the Zuñi emergence myth “the
basic problem consisted in discovering a mediation between life and death,”
as Lévi-Strauss (1955: 59) writes. Like most other people, the Zuñi probably
desire to abolish death or postpone it as far as possible and not to live be-
tween the two poles of very uneven attractiveness.
6) Actually existing contradictions may be reflected in myth, but it is
ethnocentric to believe that all people share the western intolerance of
them. Indians, in any case, manage very well without mediators. In fiction
and reality, for instance, they may simultaneously believe in the total deter-
mination of karma and the total indeterminacy of Hid (divine play) (Eichinger
Ferro-Luzzi 1983).
Myths may, of course, tackle problems but if they do, this is apparent
in their overt content and does not need structural analysis. Firstly, structure
or syntax alone never gives meaning, if one does not know the meaning of
the words. Lévi-Strauss, it will be remembered, wants to write “the syntax
of South American mythology” (1964: 16), Semantics are clearly of primary
importance in communication. Very ungrammatical sentences can be under-
stood but not nonsense words in perfectly grammatical sentences. Secondly,
I find the treasure hunt a fascinating motif in folk narrative but not in science.
The belief that meaning cannot be patent but must be discovered in hidden
depths with great effort satisfies a certain romantic taste but has no objective
support. If these statements sound too critical, a look at some hidden mean-
ings, i.e., conflicts and contradictions in need of resolution, extracted from
myths through structural analysis may dissipate this impression.
454
Gabriella Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi
Anthropos 78.1983
“Born from one or bom from two?” Lévi-Strauss (1955: 56) discovers
as the hidden problem in the Oedipus myth. Carroll (1978: 805-814) has
shown that this problem could not arise for various reasons, notably because
the beings classed as “autochthonous” have parents, because Greek mythol-
ogy does not associate lameness with autochthonous origins and because the
etymology of two characters’ names is faulty. Although he has disproved the
validity of one of the most famous structural analyses, he tries to save the
theory by proposing an alternative conflict, that between the devaluation
and affirmation of patrilineal kin ties. His secondary elaboration, however,
does not seem to me any more convincing. As every reader of Greek mythol-
ogy knows, family sentiment is little developed in Greek heroes and this
not only from the rise of the polity but already in much earlier times (cf.
the gory habits in the House of Atreus). Undoubtedly characters in Greek
myths devalue (patrilineal) kin ties, but they obviously cannot do so all the
time. When they behave as they should, it is termed “affirmation” of patri-
lineal kin ties and the needed but facile opposition is found.
Rhoads (1973: 345-357) analyzes the American comic strip Little
Orphan Annie in search of contradictions according to structural principles.
One very apparent contradiction is said to be between the lack of power and
power, but since these are vested in different people, we have opposition
without contradiction. The basic contradiction of the strip she identifies as
that between self-reliance and dependence. Doubtlessly, Americans value
self-reliance but contradiction between self-reliance and dependence can
only arise, if one postulates self-reliance as “the American core value.” The
core value, however, is a scholarly invention and belongs to the complex
of essences, which the polythetic-prototype conception of culture hopes
to disprove (Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi 1983). The fact that Annie plays an
adult-like role in her own episodes and a child’s role when Daddy Warbuck
is on the scene, does not make her a mediator between a non-existing con-
tradiction. She more likely expresses the reasonable insight that nobody
can be independent from all people at all times.
Since Robinson and Joiner (1968: 1-37) analyze Indian material their
work is particularly useful for my purpose to prove that hidden meanings of
conflict discovered through structural analysis may be invalid. Not only do
they neglect many elements of their Gond myths not fitting the theory, as
for instance the prevalence of preferred numbers, they also make several
assumptions unwarranted by cultural facts. They claim, for instance, that in
India “the sea is considered pure as opposed to the forest” (1968: 24), for
which there is no evidence whatsoever, and tacitly assume that concepts of
speculative Hindu philosophy like “pure consciousness” and “spiritual
progress through a series of rebirths” ipso facto apply to Gond tribesmen
and can profitably be used in the analysis of their myths. The authors’ most
serious error, however, consists in holding that the gods and men are polar
opposites for the Gonds and that the myth cycle “deals with the problem
of creating men from gods” (1968: 20, 35). God and man may, perhaps, be
Strands versus Structure in the Theory of Myth
455
considered polar opposites in Islam, but most tribal and non-tribal religions
admit the deification of human beings and speak of gods begetting offsprings
with humans. The lack of a clear-cut distinction between the gods and men
,in India can almost be called a truism and is visible even in their food (Eichin-
ger Ferro-Luzzi 19816). The statement “There is no conceivable way in
which the transformation from gods to men can take place” (Robinson and
Joiner 1968: 27) patently underestimates both Hinduized andnon-Hinduized
Gonds. Rather than puzzling about how to transform gods into men the
Gonds in their myths most probably try to procure divine ancestry for them-
selves like many dynasties have done. If the central problem revealed through
structural analysis does not exist, the whole analysis collapses. This does not
prove that the structuralists’ claim can never be met (absolutes are intrinsi-
cally unfalsifiable) but adds its weight to similar failures.
Conclusions
The present article has tried to refute current theories of folk narrative
which postulate constants variously identified as nuclei of motifs, functions,
or structures. It has been based on theoretical argument and empirical obser-
vation. The theory offered in their stead proposes to understand the myth
and other types of folk narrative as polythetic-prototype concepts rather
than attributionally definable units. As in serial reproduction the mythmaker,
according to this approach, uses pre-existing material and alters some of it
because of faulty memory, personal taste, or the specific purpose he pursues.
Such alterations follow associations by similarity and, more rarely, by
opposition. Changes are mostly minute and gradual but occasionally a creative
innovation catches on and becomes a new gradually changing model for
some time. Contrary to serial reproduction in the experimental situation,
however, there is not just one series, but countless series develop simul-
taneously, so that myths in any one area present themselves as a dense net-
work of associational strands criss-crossing, overlapping, and forming loops.
Any element in a myth may be altered individually and no motif or combi-
nation of motifs is essential in the transmission of myth, but some elements
appear more frequently than others. These prototypical elements may be
either universally preferred motifs (many of which collected in Thompson’s
index) as well as the tendency of our minds to polarize phenomena or they
may be culture-specific selections and combinations of motifs.
The polythetic-prototype theory of myth resembles the structural
theory in that it explains—or better describes—its subject matter by reference
to the working of the mind. Its linguistic analogy, however, is concept for-
mation, i.e., semantics, and not grammar or phonology. This theory has the
advantage over structuralism to dispense with hidden structures and neces-
sities, which can never be empirically proven. The processes invoked lie open
for everybody to see but this transparency is achieved at a price: the loss of a
456
Gabriella Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi
Anthropos 78.1983
stable point. For this reason the demonstrably correct polythetic notion has
found great resistance in philosophy and science and will probably continue
to do so for some time more. Closer examination, however, reveals that the
old certainty was hardly more than a name. All agreed that there had to be
something stable and essential to phenomena but profoundly disagreed
about what it was. To those who will object that the fluid polythetic class is
obscurantist and inappropriate for science I should like to reply that science,
in this case the science of man, has to learn to deal with disorderly reality
and nothing is to be gained by tailoring an artificial orderly straight jacket
for it. But the situation is not so hopeless after all. Degrees of variability
exist and our “highways”of thought, so prominent in myth, leave ample
scope for future research.
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Adrian Campion Edwards
Seeing, Believing, Doing:
The Tiv Understanding of Power
Abstract. — The article examines the relation of religion to ideas about power
among the Tiv of Nigeria. Although there is a considerable amount of literature on the
Tiv by colonial officials, professional social anthropologists, and a pioneer Tiv writer, no
totally satisfactory synthesis of Tiv religious beliefs or social structure has been achieved.
— The reason for this seems to lie partly in the way the Tiv historically underwent dif-
ferent influences; more profoundly, the unity and harmony of Tiv values does not lie in
political institutions nor in formal ritual, but rather in Tiv beliefs about power, natural,
preternatural, and social. The mysterious power of tsav is both the mystical correlative of
the authority of the elders and an antisocial form of occult malice. Tsav is kept from get-
ting out of control by the swem pot on which oaths are taken.—However, the swem pot
is also linked to what is called the “outer circle” of Tiv beliefs, those connected with the
sprites, the shape-changers, and the mysterious Mt. Swem. This “outer circle” of belief
has little in the way of ritual expression. Yet its existence shows the more optimistic side
of Tiv religion. Good fortune is explained as well as bad, and exceptional gifts of per-
sonality are recognized as well as envy and malice.—It is suggested that Tiv religion can-
not be seen either as a reflection of Tiv social structure, nor as a “mystification” which
prevents people from understanding the society in which they live. Rather, Tiv religion,
more particularly Tiv cosmology, helps them to understand, and to some degree to re-
solve, the changes and tensions present in the society. [West Africa, Nigeria, Tiv Religious
Beliefs, Power Perception, Decentralized Societies]
1. The Tiv: How They Have Been Seen, and How They Have
Seen Themselves
More, probably, has been written about the social institutions of the
Tiv than about those of any other northern Nigerian people.1 Yet con-
tinuing discussions among anthropologists suggest that no completely satis- *
Adrian Campion Edwards studied social anthropology at Cambridge University under
Meyer Fortes and did field research among the Ovimbundu of Angola in 1955-1956. In
1959 his doctoral thesis was accepted and he joined the Holy Ghost Fathers. Between
1967 and 1970 he undertook a study of the Tiv of Nigeria for the Diocese of Makurdi
From 1970 to 1973 he lectured in social anthropology at the Mission Institute, London.
460
Adrian Campion Edwards
Anthropos 78.1983
fying synthesis has as yet been obtained.1 2 Partly, no doubt, this is due to the
somewhat conflicting images of Tiv society which the literature offers, part-
ly also to the fluidity of custom to which the literature bears witness.3 It
is significant that much of what was written on the Tiv was called for by the
‘crises, in the form of anti-witchcraft movements, which faced the colonial
administration in 1929-1930, and again in 1939.4 The moment when a
house is rocking is hardly the best moment to study the architecture; on
the other hand, the ambiguity of Tiv attitudes to authority, and the related
beliefs about mystical causation, make a crisis situation, when authority is
challenged and new means of breaking through the cycle of wizardry are
tried, more enlightening as to real beliefs and tensions than are times of
apparent stability.
Charles Forbes Gordon, who in 1907 was the first British official to
travel extensively in Tiv country, was impressed by the lack of real authori-
ty among the Tiv, though he noted that it was possible to call together a
large number of Tiv in a short time.5 Another early official, G.S. Podevin,
who had entered Tiv country from the south, claimed in 1911 that the Tiv
He was then head of the Ethnography Division in the Federal Department of Anti-
quities, Nigeria, from 1973 to 1977. Between 1977 and 1982 he undertook pastoral
work in the Port Harcourt Diocese, Nigeria, and is now having a sabbatical year.—He has
published The Ovimbundu under Two Sovereignties (1962) and a number of articles in
periodicals. He has also worked on translations into Tiv.
1 See the bibliography compiled by Professor Paul Bohannan (East [ed.] 1965:
419-425). This deals only with first-hand material, not with comparative analyses such as
Sahlins 1961.
2 Cf. Gluckman’s criticism (1965) of Bohannan’s account of Tiv judicial processes.
3 L. and P. Bohannans’ remark “The most characteristic aspect of Tiv beliefs is
adaptability to the situation in hand” (1953; 93) was made apropos of religion. However,
Paul Bohannan’s study of Tiv judicial processes (1957) suggests that it is of wider applica-
tion.
4 Akiga (East [ed.] 1965: 275-289) gives a vivid account of the 1929-1930 move-
ment, known as the Haakaa (throw things away) or the Namakaa (give me things). The
1939 movement is often referred to as the Nyambua, a word which is spelled the same
way as the word for “beef” but is given different phonetic tones. The original name, how-
ever, seems to be Nyambuan, literally Buan’s meat, i.e., Buan’s source of income, Buan
was the supposed founder of it. For an approach more theoretical than Akiga’s (East [ed.])
see Paul Bohannan 1958.
5 “The clans are divided into sections in which there is one man who is spoken of
as the headman, but his position is to a great extent honorary, and unless popular or
feared, has little authority in the section outside his own cluster of villages. ... In their
relations, however, with the Government, the recognized headman of the section has
generally been pushed forward, but it is seen apparent that he is only there as a figure-
head, and that each individual (the only unit) may hear what is going on but not bind
himself, in spite of their representative having seemingly done so” (Gordon 1907). I owe
this reference to Dr D.C. Dorward, who kindly showed me a transcript.
r/ffiNRíi
MUI
■Hnnül
The Tiv Understanding of Power 461
had powerful chiefs, and compared them to the larger South African tribes.6
After the Haakaa or Namakaa movement at the end of the twenties, the
studies undertaken by British officials, notably Abraham (1940a), Downes
(1933), and Dewar (1933, 1935), depicted Tiv society as a gerontocracy
with a certain amount of ritual specialisation7, into which chieftaincy had
come as an alien and inappropriate transplant.8 In the same period the Tiv
writer Akiga described the pre-colonial drum chiefs (East [ed.] 1965: 363-
374), and while recognizing the alien origin of their insignia and investiture,
did not classify chieftaincy as something entirely unsuited to Tiv condi-
tions; indeed, a major theme of his book is the way the Tiv have built up
their own culture by extensive borrowings from neighbouring peoples
(East [ed.] 1965: 19-23, 70-82).
After the Nyambuan anti-wizard movement of 1939, another report on
Tiv institutions was produced by Desmond MacBride (1941).9 He was
critical of earlier studies, and claimed that authority rested with the here-
ditary possessors of swem pots within each clan.10 11 In the post 1945 period,
two professional anthropologists, Paul and Laura Bohannan, undertook a
detailed study of the Tiv, which led to their classifying Tiv society as a seg-
mentary lineage society, in which conflict occurred along the lines of geneal-
ogical fission and fusion.11 While this analysis was widely accepted by
anthropologists, it did not completely explain the nature of the Tiv attitude
towards, and use of, authority.12
Part of the reason for this variety of opinions is to be found in MacBride’s
remark “The Tiv have many heritages, the function and relative importance
of which are not immutable” (1941). Once a Tiv has attained power or
Information from D.C. Dorward on his research in the Kaduna National Archives.
Dr Dorward points out that Podevin, who was District Commissioner of Ogoja, had
derived his information from leading Tiv “big men,” such as Zaki Aba, who would
naturally stress their own importance.
7 Abraham (1940a: 11-15) sketches out a model of Tiv social structure before the
drum chief era as being characterized by a sacred-secular division of authority between
the shagba or and the tee. Shagba or is simply the term used for a man of wealth and
status.
8 For a particularly strong form of this argument see Dewar 1933.
9 I am again indebted to Dr Dorward for showing me this document.
10 Reading MacBride’s report carefully, it is evident that he recognized the existence
of other social institutions, but regarded them as a degeneration from what was authenti-
cally Tiv. MacBride’s view of Tiv society seems to me to be the least satisfactory and most
static of all the views.
11 Laura and Paul Bohannan 1953; L. Bohannan 1958. Strictly speaking, the classi-
fication of the Tiv as a segmentary lineage system comparable to such societies as the
Nuer has been made by other anthropologists (e.g. Middleton and Tait, Introduction to
L. Bohannan 1958), but this has been a fair deduction from what the Bohannans said.
12 This, of course, raises the question of how political systems are to be classified.
The fact that a society has segmentary lineages does not, by itself, tell us much about
how power is distributed within the lineages or between lineages.
462
Adrian Campion Edwards
Anthropos 78.1983
status in his neighbourhood, he, and others, may explain it in various ways.
There is no one strictly marked out path to leadership. However, the Tiv
give esteem to men of standing much more readily than they give obedience;
MJ. Dent has compared the attitude of the Tiv to J.S. Tarka, leader of the
U.M.B.C. in the early sixties, to that of fans to a film star, whom they
applaud but do not obey (1965). I think that this has been a fairly tradi-
tional attitude of the Tiv to “big men.” Many of the ritual trappings of
status among the Tiv may very well have been attempts to make an impres-
sion of mysterious power, rather than elements in a coherent set of symbols.13
In some traditional African societies continuity and cohesion was main-
tained by the upholding of the hierarchy of authority and obedience in law,
war, and politics;14 in others, by the regular reaffirmation of the society’s
values in ritual.15 But with the Tiv the explanation and justification of
society is to be found in a set of beliefs about the activities of various human
and quasi-human beings, activities which of their nature are largely invisible,
but which leave a certain amount of visible evidence. The visible Tiv rites are
regarded simply as the cover for the activities which are carried out invisibly.
As for Tiv public life, the “many heritages,” combined with the attitude to-
wards authority which finds justification in their mystical beliefs, provide
material for attacking or defending a very wide variety of social choices or
decisions. 16
How, then, do the Tiv see themselves? The newcomer to Tiv country
who asks his acquaintances how decisions are finally made, or what are the
most important Tiv customs may get rather vague answers, such as: “It is the
elders who decide everything,” or be told something about the sivem pots.
He may feel that significant information is being kept from him; but the Tiv
do riot generally have a particularly clear idea of how their society operates.
There is, however, a real interest in Tiv history, despite the lack of
deep-rooted chieftaincy. This comes out in Akiga’s Story, which was originally
intended as a history, and which even as it stands in an abridged translation,
shows a view of Tiv culture as something built up over a period of time by
borrowings from other peoples (East [ed.] 1965: 19-23, 70-82, 346f.), and as
the result of the actions of particular Tiv, and as the responses to them of
the society as a whole. Since the Tiv way of life has been built up by bor-
rowings from outside, further innovations were simply a continuation of
13 Cf. Gordon’s remark on the Tiv “He is very easily gulled by pretensions to
occult power on the part of another” (1907).
14 The Nigerian emirates provide, of course, a striking contrast to the Tiv.
15 The Tallensi of Ghana and the Ndembu of Zambia provide very well known
examples from the anthropological literature.
16 I believe the root cause of the difficulties both colonial and post-colonial govern-
ments have found in operating local government institutions in Tiv country lies in the
lack of consensus as to the authentic model of political institutions.
The Tiv Understanding of Power
463
this tradition. In this, Akiga showed himself a much better historian than
the administrator-anthropologists, who were anxious to distinguish what was
“authentically Tiv”17 from what was not.
While Akiga was a more sophisticated and a more coherent thinker than
the average Tiv elder, he was, I believe, expressing in ordered fashion traditional
Tiv ways of thinking of the Tiv heritage as something built up through
historical events and geographical wanderings, rather than as instituted in
some mythological epoch by super-human beings. And with this sense of Tiv
culture as something constructed by the Tiv goes a pride in Tiv farming skill.
Tiv with whom I talked emphasized both their industriousness as a people
in farming, and the variety of crops they produced, as traits which dif-
ferentiated themselves from peoples of Nigeria and the Cameroon. Already
early in this century (1907) C.F. Gordon had heard the myth of how Tiv,
the ancestor of the people who bear his name, was swindled out of the in-
heritance of money and trade, but kept that of farming.18 It may very well
be true that the demographic and geographical expansion of the Tiv is
ultimately traceable to farming techniques and organization, which provided
a diet capable of supporting a growing population (I owe this suggestion to
Dr Dorward),
It is perhaps due to this awareness of being an expanding people, and to
the knowledge that their country’s soil will liberally reward hard work, that
the Tiv seem to have a certain basic optimism, which misfortune or disappoint-
ment may ruffle, but not destroy.19
2. Tiv Social Structure
Tiv society in the immediate pre-colonial period may be, and has been,
characterized variously; a tribe where chieftaincy was beginning to develop, a
society where such authority as there was laid in the hands of the elders as a
collectivity, a society whose leaders were to be found in the lawful posses-
sors of swem pots as ultimate emblems of authority, or a segmentary society
of the type described by Fortes and Evans-Pritchard. To me, it would seem
1 7 E.g., “One of the most pernicious importations was the office of ‘ter ugbande’
(drum chief) . . , the office earned great respect during the unsettled period” (MacBride
1941).
18 There is a version of this myth in Temple 1922, in the section on the Munshi
(Tiv). I have heard this myth several times in Tiv country, once with the addition of a
third brother, Buter, who became the ancestor of the Europeans.
19 Accounts of Tiv witchcraft beliefs may suggest that Tiv are rather gloomy
people. This is far from being the case.
464
Adrian Campion Edwards
Anthropos 78.1983
that it would be most correct, or least unsatisfactory, to see Tiv society as a
collective gerontocracy, although chieftainship, despite its external origins,
had developed more than has sometimes been recognized. 20
The view, which thanks to the painstaking and prolonged work of
Professor Paul and Dr Laura Bohannan (1958) has become widely accepted
(see also Horton 1971), that the Tiv are a classical example of a segmentary
society, must therefore be re-examined. The term “segmentary society” has
come to signify societies in which the basic political units are grouped and
contraposed around a genealogy.
The essential feature of these extended lineage systems is that groups of a lower
level combine together for a particular social purpose at the next order of segmen-
tation .... These particular systems are built round the framework provided by the
genealogy. In the social organization of the Lowiili this process is partial, never
continuous (Goody 1967: 90).
While Tiv social organization is very different from that of the Lowiili,
the same phrase applies.
To develop this point in detail would take me beyond the scope of this
paper, which is concerned with Tiv ideology rather than Tiv social structure.
Tiv society could be said to have the potentiality of a segmentary society, or
rather the potentiality of a segmentary ideology; but, in practice, Tiv tend
to think about group relations in territorial terms rather than in genealogical
ones. While quite a number of Tiv are able on request to give their pedigrees
going back to Tiv himself, the majority of Tiv, including many respected
elders, are not able to do so. Seven ascending generations would show a res-
pectable amount of knowledge; but even this is by no means universal. Again,
the most notable recent case of antagonism between major local groups in
Tiv country, that between Kparev and Iharev,21 is not seen by the Tiv as a
genealogical opposition, but rather as the result of differing degrees of
development.
Just as the political system has resemblances to a segmentary system,
but in practice uses the genealogical idiom to a very limited degree, so the
kinship system is of a much less patriarchal kind than one would expect. One
theme of Tiv thought might be epitomized: “kindly fathers, ungrateful sons,
hard brothers.” In conversation, a father’s affection for his children is
emphasized. A father who has incurred a debt of human flesh to a wizard,
will prefer to die himself, it is generally said, rather than hand over his
20 My informants stated that in pre-colonial times the drum chiefs had spread all
over Tiv country, at any rate south of the Benue.
21 This was highly significant in the period of political conflict, 1960-1966.
The Tiv Understanding of Power
465
child.22 23 A mother is thought to be much more ready to let her child die in
this way. The custom of sending one’s children to a friend or kinsman for
prolonged residence is explained by saying that a child in his own home
receives too much indulgence. The son, it is said, does not fear his father,
and so is liable to deceive him.
A younger brother is afraid of his elder brother and so is less likely to
deceive him. The father-son tie is indeed seen as something very deep and
very personal, but one which must not be allowed to prevail against the
interests of the group of agnates as a whole. Thus, I have been told that an
elder should give the right of marriage guardianship over a girl to what we
would call a second cousin rather than to his own son. Tiv traditionalists ad-
mit with regret that these attitudes were weakening; however, in the areas
where I worked, a son had always had the right to inherit his father’s hoes
and bows and arrows.
The basic kin group, within which inheritances and rights over marriage
wards are shared, and which regards itself as co-residential, even if in fact its
members live in different compounds in the same neighbourhood, is a unit
of three to five generations. This is a familiar African pattern; but what is
less unusual is that even within this group Tiv tend to think in terms of age
rather than of exact kin relationship. Thus, I have heard a man say of some-
body who was both the senior elder in the neighbourhood and his paternal
half-brother, “Yande is my father.” This fits the Tiv emphasis on respecting
seniority while not discriminating between near and more distant categories
of kin.
Tiv ideology of kinship seems somewhat paradoxical. Formal structur-
ing is played down, although the ideal of solidarity is stressed. Respect for
age and seniority is emphasized, but filial piety is regarded neither as auto-
matic, nor, however, as surprising?3 Open-handed generosity between
“brothers” is considered obligatory, but envy is explicitly recognized as
being an all-too-frequent characteristic of life among agnates. Tiv kinship
values and the related magical beliefs go unusually far in enjoying unanimity
while acknowledging animosity between agnates. One well-known anthro-
pologist remarked to me, apropos of my material, that Tiv society had
attempted to do the impossible in stressing the axis of fraternity while
minimizing the axis of paternity. One could also say, if one wished to put
it in terms which Victor Turner has generalized, that Tiv values impose
an underplaying of structure, and a concomitant overplaying of both com-
munitas and the anti-structure of witchcraft (see Turner 1969). To adopt
22 Dr Dorward has shown me the transcript of a case from the nineteen thirties
where this was believed to have happened.
23 To give a comparison, I am told Idoma are astonished by the informality of rela-
tions between Tiv fathers and sons.
Anthropos 78.1983
30
466
Adrian Campion Edwards
Anthropos 78.1983
Turner’s terms would do much to classify and simplify a great deal of one’s
experience among the Tiv of both the exuberance and the frustrations of
their social life. This relative lack of structuring of the jural aspect of kin-
ship would seem the most satisfactory explanation of the lack of an an-
cestor cult among the Tiv. This is applying the argument advanced in Fortes
1965.
In using the rather portentous phrase ’’relative lack of structuring of the
jural aspect of kinship,” I did not mean to say that Tiv fathers lack authority
over their adult sons. Indeed, a Tiv informant, when asked to describe a bad
elder, said this was a man whose brothers had left his compound to go else-
where, leaving him with only his sons, as though even a bad man would re-
tain some affection and authority in his relation with his sons. However,
even at a very local level, the authority of the elders seemed to derive more
from the general axiom which Tiv give, if asked by an outsider to describe
their society, that it is the elders who decide, than from the kinship status
of the elders vis-à-vis other people in their locality. When one presses the
question as to why Tiv leave the elders to decide, the answer most likely to
be given is that it is because of their knowledge. While Tiv readily acknow-
ledge that this or that elder is stupid, selfish, or ignorant, literates and
illiterates alike speak of the elders as a body possessing authority by reason
of their knowledge of the things of the past, a pleasingly vague phrase which
can cover oral history, legal precedents, and ritual objects. The enquirer may
even come to think that there is some complex body of memorized lore,
stored away in the minds of the elders, awaiting the tactful discoverer.24
Attempts to investigate if this is so bring disappointment; but it would
not be unfair to say that the existence in the minds of the elders of such a
body of true traditions seems to be implicit in the way Tiv speak of the
elders.
3. Akombo, swem, and tsav25
Tiv akombo are both conditions of illness or misfortune and the em-
blems associated with either and with their treatment, being similar to the
objects called in other parts of West Africa “fetishes” or “medicines.” If one
is in a Tiv compound, an easy way to see akombo is to step into the rest
house of an elder, where a large number of akombo, mostly in the form of
24 I am inclined to believe that there is a greater variation of beliefs among old men
than among the middle-aged, because experience has taught many elders about the
element of bluff in claims about the powers of the old.
25 There are discussions of these terms both in L. and P. Bohannan 1953, and in
East (ed.) 1965: especially 176-264.
The Tiv Understanding of Power
467
pots used for cooking chickens killed in “mending” akombo can be seen.
Some of the more powerful akombo, such as the imborivungu, will not be re-
presented there; however, the swem pot, a small pot filled with ashes and
with a very few leaves on top, is likely to be there.
Various divisions of akombo may be suggested by informants, such as
“birth akombo,” “hunting akombo,” but akombo often have more than one
sphere of activity. One division suggested to me was between “akombo of
mending the land” and “akombo of self-protection,” these being respective-
ly concerned with saving anybody from misfortune of the kind specified by
the nature of the akombo, happening within the local area, and with purely
individual good luck, or at least avoidance of bad luck. In practice, one does
not find that every local area has a complete collection of all akombo
needed for “mending the land” equally divided between the elders, although
people sometimes talk as though this were so. Despite the idea of social res-
ponsibility for akombo, a master of the akombo is, in Durkheim’s terms,
much more a magician with an occasional clientele than a priest with a per-
mament congregation?6
Tsav is a Tiv word, whose meanings can range from, at widest, knowl-
edge or wisdom, to witchcraft and the witchcraft substance, supposedly
found in the chest. It is possible that tsav has undergone a gradual narrowing
down in meaning: at any rate, if you ask a Tiv, “Do you know tsav?” the
anwer will be an emphatic denial, since the primary reference is to witch-
craft, although in discussing the meaning of the word, the sense of ability or
talent will be recognized. When one asks about “good tsav,” one may be told
that all tsav is bad; alternatively, the ability to know mystically about people
who are using witchcraft may be described as good tsav. “Tiv specialists”
of the colonial administration seem to have regarded tsav as a morally
neutral mystical power attributed to the elders and providing them with
authority in the eyes of the people, akin in its nature to the mana reported
from peoples of the Pacific. My own interpretation would be that tsav al-
ways has a vaguely sinister set of connotations, even though the Tiv dis-
tinguish between the group use of tsav by senior men in a way which is to
some degree regulated and its reckless use by individuals motivated by mere
envy; it is true that tsav has political aspects, but this serves more to indicate
Tiv suspiciousness towards all forms of power than to prove the innocence of
tsav. 26 27
26 It follows from this that there are, strictly speaking, no shrines, as distinct from
collections of akombo emblems among the Tiv.
27 Tiv tend to state that either there is no good tsav, or else that the capacity to see
other people’s tsav is good tsav. In particular situations, however, the use of tsav may be
approved or held permissible.
468
Adrian Campion Edwards
Anthropos 78.1983
’ H
But in this matter I should let the Tiv speak for themselves. Here are
texts taken down from Tiv farmers in Turan.28 Both men had some very
limited schooling but both were pagans, though one had added Patrick to his
Tiv name of lorshagher.
Mending an akombo means that you and a man who has completed that akombo
got together in the presence of all your agnatic kin to get control of the akombo.
When you give your relatives a meat meal, they will eat and calm down. They will
say that your troubles coming from that akombo will finish, and they will no lon-
ger let envy trouble them. And so if a youth or a woman or an elder had any harm
in harming you, he or she will give it up, you will return to health, and the matter
will be over. Then the akombo will cease to bother you ....
When all of us Tiv say “The akombo, that’s the wizards’ business,” what we really
mean is as follows. I’m lorshagher, my father’s son. Now while I’m a baby, still un-
able to walk, I belong exclusively to my father. But from the time I can tie up my
(loin) cloth in a knot, I belong to all my agnatic kin, because I share in whatever my
agnates have to eat, whether good or bad. And so, if my agnates see that I am get-
ting good meals out of them, but never invite them to come and eat with me,
they’ll say, I’m far too selfish. Then, they’ll start planning how to get something
to eat out of me, and they’ll reject ordinary methods in favour of witchcraft. . . .
The next step is bewitching, by using akombo, for, as they say, you counteract
witchcraft by mending akombo. If I possess small livestock, or fowls, then I start
using them to treat their bewitchment of me through akombo. And so, they’ll get
a really good meal out of me. This is the universal Tiv outlook—we use akombo in
the same way as we use witchcraft, and we don’t treat for witchcraft, but we do
mend akombo.
Swem, also is associated with the wizards; really, when you say “swem” you mean
the agnates. Suppose, somebody is a really bad man, and won’t let other people
keep livestock, or comes and sees a farm with promising crops, and spoils it by
witchcraft. If his agnates see that he is acting in this way without any justification,
they will tell him to swear on swem. When he swears on swem, his agnates will
bewitch him, saying “he knows he’s ruining the country, so he’ll have to swear
on swem.” And so swem is fatal to him.—If you are on good terms with your
agnates, and are not ruining their country, swearing on swem will not do you any
harm. They will say that you are all right, and nothing will bother you. On the
other hand, if you had previously angered them, you will quickly be caught by
swem. This is the real meaning of swem; it belongs to the wizards, but they act
according to their obligations to their agnates in controlling the fatal effects of
swem.
Similarly, these akombo, which catch a man, it’s not the bushes outside the com-
pound which catch a man (i.e., the trees and bushes which provide wood for various
of the akombo). It’s human beings, just like us sitting here. People go divining with
the help of the wizards, and find an akombo which you haven’t got. Then they use
it to damage your food crops in the fields, so that to mend it you’ll have to kill
a chicken which they’ll eat. The reason for this is their greed for meat. An akombo
doesn’t operate from the bush, it operates in the compound.—All these things,
28 Both lived in Yande Alum’s compound in Mbakutem, to the east of the Katsina
Ala river.
The Tiv Understanding of Power
469
absolutely without exception, belong to the wizards. Not one of the akombo is
open and above board, without any sinister elements. Swem works to check the
wizards, but it is all the same under the control of the wizards. Swem has its magical
aspect and its public aspect. When I say swem has its public aspect, I mean it’s
being brought out before my eyes when cases are being heard. The magical aspect
is quite different. When we have had a public case, involving the use of swem, and
everything is finished, then when night falls, the wizards take their swem, and
finally bring everything to a complete conclusion.
The akombo rites, and even the swem pot, are ultimately only a facade
behind which the wizards carry out their own mysterious “night” rituals,
some of which seem to be regarded as replicas of “day” ritual, such as the
use of swem pots, and some of which, such as the cutting up of bodies, have
no precise “day” equivalent. Sometimes the Tiv speak as though the activity
of wizards and witches took place in a form visible only to the eyes of those
initiated by the voluntary acceptance of human flesh: sometimes they speak
of such “night” activity as something which is concealed, rather than in-
visible, secret rather than mystical. Such co-existent contradictions are not
unknown in other systems of witch belief,29 and perhaps reflect the fact
that a limited amount of visible evidence which fits the pattern of beliefs can
be adduced—but not very much, all the same.
Earlier on, I argued that Tiv minimize the structural element of social
life, but lay stress on both communitas and the anti-structure of witchcraft.
The texts quoted above give some support to this claim. The man who has
kept his meat to himself, and so denied the claims of communitas, is called
to heel by the masters of the anti-structure. Or to put it differently, the
elders (and in these texts “the agnates” means the elders) are only power-
ful when they act secretly and in an indirect way. Ritual does support
authority, but in a round-about way. It covers up the real agencies rather
than manifests them. It is true that this relation between the elders, the
wizards, and the akombo is an open secret, which everybody knows, but it
still remains true to say that the religious aspect of social control involves
authority clothing itself in illegitimacy.
At this stage in my argument, I have to consider if tsav as used by the
elders is really illegitimate, or whether the “Tiv specialists” were not right in
considering it a morally neutral power. Here I have to go on my impressions
of the Tiv, notably their extremely independent attitude towards authority
of any kind, which seems to be something more than mere obstinacy, and
the ambiguous, often rather suspicious, attitude towards the akombo, which
was not, I think, simply a reflection of missionary activity. More definite
2 9
For similar contradictions in seventeenth century European belief, see Baroja
1964.
470
Adrian Campion Edwards
Anthropos 78.1983
evidence is to be found in that some of the most prestigeful ritual objects
were only obtainable by the mystical killing of several people, as was the
case with the imborivungu, the poor, and the ndyer drum.30
The imborivungu was kept secretly in a particular type of box, but it
seems it would be known that a particular elder had an imborivungu. When
I was shown the broken-down remains of a poor platform, built by a man
whose sons had lacked the personality to keep it up, I asked about the man
who had built it, and was told he was good. I pointed out that I had been
told that the poor cost human lives, and got the reply “He was good to his
own people, but not to others.” Again, the ndyer drum, which stood on the
floor of the compound where I lived in Turan is said to require a high toll
of life before it can be set in place, but this did not prevent the compound
head, Yande, from enjoying a widespread reputation for wisdom. And
neither the ndyer drum nor the reputation for wisdom were sufficient to
enable Yande to get the junior members of his compound to clear the
paths in the rainy season, although when I asked why the area was regarded
as being “old Tiv” in its way of life, I was told it was because the young
men listened to the advice of the elders.
It is, of course, very dangerous to speculate about attitudes to authori-
ty, when the political relationships of the Tiv have changed so much in
the period since 1906. But it may reasonably be claimed that the associa-
tion of authority with witchcraft reflects not any ruthless effectiveness on
the part of the elders but rather the refusal of Tiv society to grant a charter
of legitimacy even to such limited structures of power as it possessed.
Hence, witchcraft had to supply the mystical validation of power. But witch-
craft as it exists in some societies, something both marginal and monstrous,
could hardly fill this role. Hence the need for a concept of self-regulation in
the activities of the wizards, a concept made visible in the swem pot. Moore-
over, as the elders are felt to be generally wizards, wizardry as such is not
all that terrifying. This partial social integration of the concept of wizardry,
coupled with the lack of particular sanctity in the rites (which are seen
simply as occasions for meat-hungry wizards to satisfy themselves), may
explain why a number of observers have found the Tiv fairly secular-minded,
and “unsuperstitious.”31 Whereas in an ancestor cult, family authority may
be unambiguously validated, great stress laid on the actual ritual, and little
30 The imborivungu was traditionally kept secret. Since the time of the Namakaa
some secrecy, at least as regards telling Europeans, has been associated with the poor. The
ndyer drum is displayed openly. For information on the imborivungu and the poor, see
East (ed.) 1965: 225-230 and 199-205; Abraham 1940a: Chapter III; Downes 1971: 55-
57, 58-59.
31 Missionaries in conversation with me have contrasted the “religious” Idoma and
Igbo with the “secular” Tiv.
The Tiv Understanding of Power
471
speculation engaged in on the way of life of the ancestors in the after-life,
Tiv akombo-tsay activities and beliefs validate authority ambiguously, do not
give a sacramental aspect to the rites, and refer to a complex and deplorable
pattern of “night” behaviour,32 As not the dead but the living are the active
figures in these supernatural central systems, this may stimulate both scep-
ticism and a taste for the marvellous; at any rate, both attitudes of mind are
to be found among the Tiv.33
4. The Outer Circle of Tiv Belief: Sprites and Shape-Changers
The seeing, believing, and doing, associated with the akombo, tsav,
and swem, is built into Tiv social life, providing, as it does, the normal ex-
planations for misfortune, and the mystical background of power. But there
exists also an “outer circle” of Tiv beliefs, much less reflected in ritual, but
in a certain way, more powerful and significant. The phrase “outer circle”34
is my own, not the Tiv’s: but it is appropriate because even spatially the
akombo are associated with the compound, the paths, and the farms, where-
as the “outer circle” of sprites and shape-changers are associated with the un-
cultivated bush, the banks of streams and rivers, running water, and the
mysterious Mt. Swem (see East [ed.] 1965: 216-218). If the Tiv have, as I
have hinted, a little more than the normal human taste for the marvellous,
this “outer circle” would seem to be the category of beliefs more specially
concerned with the exceptional and the mysterious. When I asked an elder in
Ityoshin (western Tiv), if the shape-changers were more powerful than the
wizards, he replied, “Yes, because we see the wizards, we don’t see the
shape-changers. ’ ’
The sprites are like human beings in appearance, though very much
shorter, and their social organisation reflects that of the Tiv. They are
particularly associated with groves near streams and rivers. Sometimes, one
can see them at a distance, and one mistakes them for human beings. A
meeting with a sprite can cause illness and even madness;35 but madness
following a meeting with a sprite and manifested by wandering in the bush is
the first stage in a diviner’s career. Some men, who are not diviners, have
established relations with the sprites, who in return for services, including
32 For such beliefs see Abraham 1940a: 46-50; East (ed.) 1965: 248-260. I have
heard very similar stories.
33 Scepticism and a taste for marvels are not necessarily related to an advanced
state of education or the reverse.
34 All sociological analysis of religion involves some imposition of categories by
the observer.
35 A man who had had a stroke which left him partially paralysed ascribed it to a
meeting with a sprite.
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Adrian Campion Edwards
Anthropos 78.1983
the keeping of taboos and the setting up of statues, give help and protection
against wizards. Such dealings with sprites can be dangerous, for they ad-
minister beatings if their commands are not kept. This relationship is not a
form of spirit possession, but it is the nearest thing to it that the Tiv have. It
is sometimes referred to as the igbough akombo (stick akombo), but does
not seem to fit the pattern of the other akombo very closely. The sprites
have nothing to do with tsav.
There is also a more general relationship (as opposed to this individ-
ualistic one) of the community as a whole with the sprites. Theoretically,
each local area has its own “man who calls the sprites.” As the sprites are
believed to have influence over both success in hunting and agricultural
fertility, the man who calls the sprites will be advised by the elders, either
at sowing-time or at the beginning of the hunting season, to hold a feast.
This should take place, it is said, about once every two years. The man first
holds a feast for his agnates, and then goes to meet the sprites, after they
have been fed in the evening.
Then the man who calls the sprites goes and calls them in a place where a small
stream starts.—And the sprites start answering. If the man who calls the sprites
has broken their laws, they will abuse him while they are answering him.—If he
cannot give any answer, when they have left, he will call his agnates together, and
tell them how they have broken these laws of the sprites—he may say that the
sprites said to him that if there was any further misbehaviour of that sort, nobody
would ever find success in growing food or hunting.—These laws of the sprites are:
their wish is that, when the time comes for sowing, every woman will remember
to say, “I am sowing this, and I shall not sell it.”36 They prefer to provide food
of which that which is left over will be given to them.—And they also wish women,
who have brought water to their homes, not to pour it away out of the door, be-
cause it’s then in the evening that they are round about the doors, looking for food
to feed their children or themselves, that evening.
This has two good results; first, the food crops will be abundant and spread over
the ground, and even the orphan child will thrive; secondly, the dry season will be
good, many animals will be killed. Meat will be given to the elders, eating it will
make them happy, they will tell the younger generation the tradition of their
forefathers.
The sprites, then, are associated with the groves around streams, but
are also present in the compounds in the evening. They are helpful to the
men’s hunting activities, and to the good relations between the generations
which permits Tiv tradition to be transmitted, but also take an interest in
women’s yam-sowing and household work. Their laws are concerned with
36 Dr Dorward has suggested to me that this is really an attempt by the elders to
prevent excessive sale of yams.
The Tiv Understanding of Power
473
their own well-being, but bring about results which the Tiv regard as morally
good, such as good feeling on the part of the elders, and sufficiency even for
orphans. Unlike the wizards they are outside of (though parallel to) human
society: like them, they are anxious to be fed, but with cooked yams (foo-
foo), not meat.37 38
Like other West African peoples (cf. Ardener 1972), the Tiv believe in
mammiwatas, the sprites of the new economy. Like sprites, mammiwatas
are associated with streams and rivers, with the evening, and the power to
give both prosperity and beatings to those associated with them. They are
associated with European and Igbo particularly; I have known a Tiv who
had been cook to an Igbo. His master, he asserted, had had a mammiwata as
concubine, who used to turn up at seven o’clock in the evening. Despite their
association with prosperity, mammiwatas are viewed rather unfavourably;
they are said to turn into snakes to terrify their human contacts, or to ad-
minister unjustified beatings to them. Sprites and mammiwatas alike seem to
be personifications of the Tiv experience of chance, bringing danger and
prosperity in turns, and associated with marginal places, times and situations,
the banks of streams, the evening, the beginning of sowing and hunting, and
great financial success, of which few Tiv have had experience as yet.
The belief in shape-changers (mbaahiliv)3* can similarly be seen as a
personification of Tiv experience of the extraordinary; or, it could be said,
that just as Tiv social cosmology makes witchcraft into a support, albeit an
unsatisfactory one, for the social order, so too it gives recognition to the
truly exceptional man. The capacity for changing from human form into
that of a bird, animal, or snake, is given to a man or woman while he or she
is still an embryo. The future shape-changer’s father will approach his wife’s
kin and ask them to give this power to the unborn child. If they have this
power, they will agree to give it without charging any fee. The foetus will be
taken out of the mother’s womb, have pieces of skin from the various species
whose shape it is desired that the child acquire the capacity of assuming
sewn on to him, and be put back in the womb. Even as a baby, the child so
treated will be capable of assuming animal shapes and then changing back.
He will thus be able to escape from the hands of his enemies, and to play
practical jokes, or in the case of bad shape-changers, to commit theft. Apart
from actually turning into some particular animal, or bird, or snake, there
are certain cases of man-controlled creatures, notably snakes, which have an
existence distinct from that of the controlling man, but are sharply different
from the ordinary kind of snakes. Thus, in different parts of Tiv country
37 There is a certain amount of association between meat and masculinity, foofoo
(pounded and boiled yam) and feminity,
38 For beliefs about shape-changers in the south of the Cameroon Republic, see
Brain 1970 and Ruel 1970.
474
Adrian Campion Edwards
Anthropos 78.1983
there are stories about snakes travelling about with lights in their head,39
and this is vaguely felt to be a sign of future prosperity, as they are sent by
one outstanding man to another for “mending the land.” One also hears
stories of magical snakes associated with particular river crossings, who, in
stormy weather, will come up to a boat in difficulties, set it on its back,
swim about with it for a little while from frolicsomeness, and then, when the
passengers are tired, set it safe at the landing-place.
It may be asked whether this is not all mere folklore. However, Tiv in-
formants state that the shape-changers are actually more powerful than the
wizards, and quote as proof that the wizards cannot follow a man across run-
ning water, whereas the shape-changers can. One snake story has a bearing on
this point. Two men were in competition for a chieftaincy, presumably
competing for support among elders who had to recommend a candidate to
the administration. One of the candidates set a magic snake in a ford, but his
rival went round another way, and so avoided being killed by it. Though this
happened a number of years before I heard the story, the snake was still
believed to watch a crossing, playing with, and then releasing, innocent
travellers, but killing anyone on his way to practise witchcraft. For its
nourishment, the snake consumes mystically the blood of two babies both
every dry season and every wet season. It may be that this mystical drink-
ing of blood, which would seem a point of resemblance with the wizards, is
in fact a differentiating detail, since stress is laid on how the wizards eat the
flesh of their victims.
Shape-changers are felt not to be very numerous; thus I was told that
only one child in a family would be given the pre-natal treatment described
above, as having more than one in the same household would lead to conflict
between them. However, it seemed to be believed that there were a few, at
least, in Mbakutem, a local area with a population of a few hundred. Having
a shape-changer is regarded as a good thing, whereas witchcraft in its relation
to society is regarded as an inevitable nuisance.
If a child is sewn (for shape-changing), everything we do goes well, we come to
dances and have plenty to eat, so we are very happy, and praise this child of ours.
Money is abundant, farming goes well. The agnates are well, they do not lack
money, many children are born.
Kwaghcieryol, the Turan man had stated this, then went on to explain
the term verishima (heart-setting), which he used to describe the relations
between the shape-changers and his kin, using it apparently to refer both to
the shape-changer’s energy, and society’s approval of that energy.
39 The late chief Ulam of Masev told me that these stories were absolute nonsense;
I have heard them, however, from men of unquestionable integrity.
The Tiv Understanding of Power
475
Day dawns, you go out to work, you really set your heart. So it is that we, the
agnates, we say that we bless (literally set) our child. If you are not strong-hearted,
your agnates will not bless you at all.
In other words, a really outstanding man can count upon the support of
his kinsmen, whose life he enhances. This idea is of interest particularly
since it has been suggested that the Tiv are extremely egalitarian, and hence
view any prosperity greater than average as having been obtained by mystical
ill-doing at the expense of one’s fellows (cf. Lloyd 1967). It would be more
correct to say, I think, that the Tiv object to inequality being introduced in-
to a relationship which was previously equal. Where inequality is based on
seniority, or some exceptional skill, Tiv do not resent it, providing that it is
exercised with tact and extreme generosity; a generosity easy to imagine, but
difficult to practise. It seems worthwhile noting that fantasies of mystical
cannibalism are not the totality of Tiv speculative thought, and that the Tiv
have tried to explain good, as well as evil, fortune.
While most of Tiv religious “doing” is concerned with misfortunes of
one kind or another, Tiv belief provides in the journey of the elders to Mt.
Swem an explanation of good fortune. Before describing it, I should note
that it is stated by Akiga and the Bohannans that this journey is undertaken
by the wizards (mbatsav). This my informants in Turan and Shitire (eastern
Tiv country) strongly repudiated, asserting that a wizard could not go to
Mt. Swem, or he would be killed. In western Tiv country I found the distinc-
tion between wizards and shape-changers much less stressed, although it was
there that I heard the illuminating remark, which I have already quoted “The
shape-changers are more powerful than the wizards, because we see the
wizards, but we do not see the shape-changers.” Possibly, there is a simply a
question of regional variation; possibly, there has been a certain amount of
shift in Tiv belief.40
Here is an account of the journey:
They go to Swem when it is getting time for the new crops, such as yams for
instance, that’s the time when one goes to Swem. The same people don’t go to
Swem year after year. If you go one year, you don’t go again for several years. The
journey to Swem is really very tough, when they’ve struggled to get there, they
come back, and they take a long rest from going back there, perhaps six years. Of
the men who go to Swem, one brings back hunger, one may bring back illness, one
gets nothing at all. The elders don’t go in an uncoordinated fashion, they select
them from among the shape-changers. A man with a powerful body is the man to
go to Swem, but an elder who is not physically strong can’t go. So that you don’t
40 As Akiga does not seem to distinguish between wizards and shape-changers (East
[ed.] 1965: 217), I think some such shift has taken place. Why it should have taken place
is a different question.
476
Adrian Campion Edwards
Anthropos 78.1983
get a whole crowd of elders going together, but just the one man they choose goes
to Swem, that’s how it is with Swem. They gather by night (i.e., mystically, not
publicly), and those who are going to Swem are chosen. The choice of the elder
going is made in each segment of Tiv country. They wouldn’t choose somebody like
Yande here (because of age), but somebody like Mkaa (a middle-aged man), he
can go because he’s still physically strong.
When my informant just quoted said of the elders who went to Mt.
Swem, that one might bring back hunger, one might bring back illness, and
one might bring back nothing at all, I do not think that he meant this was
necessarily the fault of the elder in question, but I omitted to question him
further on this point. However, he did go on to indicate the link between
Mt. Swem and the swem pot through the use of ayandegh (Yoruba soft
cane) leaves.
The idea of Swem is a unity, the swem they call swem of Ikaragbe, they take some
from there, they dress it in the compound. When they go to Mt. Swem, they snatch
some Yoruba soft cane, they bring it back into the compound. So, when one starts
the ritual performed for the master of the ityokombo (a set of akombo associated
with birth, and, in Turan, regarded as a necessary qualification for “dressing” new
swem pots), one brings that Yoruba soft cane of Swem Ikaragbe, one puts it down
to await use, then, when everything else has been done, that Yoruba soft cane is
taken and burned, and becomes ashes. When it is all ash, it is gathered, and poured
into a pot, then some male ikura leaves are cut, and stuck into it. Then one takes
a little bit of Yoruba soft cane (leaf), one sticks it in, one lifts it up, one touches
the master of the ityokombo on his hand. Thus he becomes a master of dressing
swem.— Nobody can ever start dressing swem for other people, unless your agnates
have all met, and have given you the ityokombo.
The shape-changers come home from Mt. Swem in April, when they are
said to ride on the rain-clouds, which the high winds, common at that time,
blow along. Damage done by storms at this time of year is ascribed to
exuberant frolicsomeness on the part of the shape-changers. A particular
kind of leaf may be put on paths to prevent their coming into compounds,
and beans are spread out on the upper sides of fields to prevent shape-
changers entering and doing damage. I was told if beans were spread on the
lower side of farms then the shape-changers would not notice them and
would come in. Once in, they would be able to change back into human
form only at the cost of doing themselves some injury, and trapping them
thus would be unfair, because they brought back good seeds for the food
crops.
I have linked together the sprites and the shape-changers, as being
figures associated with prosperity, danger, uncertainty, geographical mar-
gins, and exceptionable individuals and experiences. I have only heard
(though I did not make any enquiries about it) about a link between the two
in western Tiv. Here I was told about Gbaaji, a shape-changer of the pre-
colonial era, to whose alliance with the sprites were ascribed such powers as
The Tiv Understanding of Power
477
being able to sink down to the depths of the River Benue, and then sur-
face, and come ashore, with his pipe alight all the time, and to prophesy
the coming of the Europeans.
While it is possible, I think, to claim that both sprites and shape-
changers belong to the same area of Tiv religion, their relation to ordinary
human society is rather different. The sprites are outside it, but come very
close to it, as their rule against housewives throwing water out of doors
shows. The shape-changers are fully human, though they can assume snake
or bird or animal form, and perform valuable services to society. Yet as
shape-changers, they are less close to ordinary life than the sprites, as can be
seen by the precautions intended to keep them out of compounds, and the
danger that beans, regarded by the Tiv as the most ordinary and common-
place of their traditional foods, represent for them. It could be argued that
the wizards represent a caricature of existing Tiv society41 , with such traits
as envy, greed for meat, and secretiveness carried to extremes, the sprites
appear as a society parallel to the Tiv, and helpful to it, while concerned
with areas of geography (the bush, river banks) and of experience (pros-
perity, divination) where human control is limited. The shape-changers,
who are conceptually distinguished from the wizards not only by their
greater powers, but by having received their powers in the womb (not, as
wizards do, by knowingly eating human flesh) from the matrikin, who pro-
tect individuals from the mystical malice of their agnates, are a glamouri-
zation rather than a caricature of human possibilities, but one which in-
volves a certain isolation, dangerous on both sides, from the normal human
lot.
Interestingly, the concept of Mt. Swem seems to have undergone a
certain amount of change. More than one informant, in different parts of
Tiv country, claimed that not only Tiv elders went there. One informant
claimed to have seen an international Swem in Cameroon.
On Buea Mountan, there are seven houses. Now, every kind of European food is
to be found in those seven houses. And there is European food also in these seven
houses. If you go to those houses, you will at first see nothing on the table, but if
you sit down, you will see the cloth which God will set. Then, He will spread it
on the table, and a little later, you will see food on the table. You wash your
hands, you eat all kinds of good food, you take clothing which is there, and you
dress very smartly. But if you want to go away with that clothing, you will not
find the doors to go out. If you take off that clothing, and put it back where you
found it, you can find the way out, and leave. These houses are God’s doing too.
Now to explain about the seven houses, if you go there by shape-changing, you
take raw food back to give your agnates, but if you go by normal means, just as
41 Thus the late chief Donga, after whom the market town of Tor Donga is named,
was believed not to be the senior man among the local wizards.
478
Adrian Campion Edwards
Anthropos 78.1983
we are sitting here in the usual human way, you eat abundantly of cooked food,
and go away, because that place is a place for shape-changers.—Now this inter-
national Swem in Cameroon, I personally went there without any use of magical
methods. I went and saw everything that was there. But I haven’t been to the Tiv
Swem on behalf of my agnates. People prefer that a shape-changer should go to
their Swem for them.
Probably this account of Swem has been to some extent coloured by
Christian teaching, but the relation between food for the public good (in
this case, raw meat) and shape-changing is maintained.
5. Conclusions
It would seem that the concept of swem is the integrating factor which
joins together the inner circle of akombo and the wizards and the outer
circle of sprites and shape-changers. The swem pot is the regulating device by
which the wizards keep witchcraft from becoming too individualistic and
destructive. But the swem pot derives its validity ultimately from the use not
just of any Yoruba soft cane (common enough inTiv land) but from that
growing on Mt. Swem, and gathered there by the shape-changers. The
wizards as a body control the use of witchcraft: but to do so, they are
dependent on the shape-changers, who in their turn, can, but should not, be
trapped by mere beans. From this point of view, it is right to say that Tiv
religion gives witchcraft a centrality rare in African systems of thought 42 ,
while being, on balance, rather optimistic. 43
If we look at what Tiv religion has to say about power, the interesting
thing is that while most forms of political thought approve mediocrity and
mistrust the exceptional, the Tiv seem to regard the conventional authority
of the elders with distrust, as being rather selfish and exploitative, while pre-
pared to accept an outstanding personality, such as Gbaaji, should he appear.
However, it is possible to rephrase this by saying that Tiv distrust of authori-
ty is such that anybody who is capable of remaining accepted for a long
period must have some special charisma. Perhaps it would be better to say
that in this society where authority is always reluctantly conceded, beliefs
about wizards reflect a caricatured version of actual power-seeking, and
beliefs about the shape-changers, powerful, benevolent, but mysterious and
mischievous, indicate a consciousness of common interests among all Tiv and
42 That is, Tiv ritual does not seek to manifest the Tiv understanding of the divine,
but rather to control and avert misfortune from mystical causes.
43 One abiding impression of the Tiv is of an underlying self-confidence, which
seems to relate to a consciousness of their agricultural skill, the fertility of their country,
and their own increasing and expanding population.
The Tiv Understanding of Power
479
even among all men, plus a craving to transcend ordinary human limitations.
If there really has been a change in Tiv beliefs about who (wizards or shape-
changers) they are who undertake the journey to Mt. Swem, this may indi-
cate a change undertaken, not directly as a result of social change, but rather-
to mark off more clearly the domains of wizardry and shape-changing.
References
Abraham, R.C.
1940a The Tiv People. London: Crown Agents for the Colonies.
19406 Tiv Dictionary. London: Crown Agents for the Colonies.
Ardener, Edwin
1972 “Belief and the Problem of Women.” In J.S. La Fontaine (ed.), The Inter-
pretation of Ritual. London: Tavistock Publications.
Baroja, Julie Caro
1964 The World of the Witches. London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson.
Bohannan, Laura
1958 “Political Aspects of Tiv Social Relations.” In: John Middleton and David
Tait (eds.), Tribes without Rulers, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Bohannan, Laura and Paul
1953 The Tiv of Central Nigeria. London: International African Institute. (Ethno-
graphic Survey of Africa.)
Bohannan, Paul
1957 Justice and Judgement among the Tiv. London: Oxford University Press for
the International African Institute.
1958 “Extra-Processual Events in Tiv Political Institutions.” American Anthropol-
ogist 60: 1-12.
Brain, Robert
1970 “Child Witches.” In: Mary Douglas (ed,), Witchcraft, Confessions, and Accusa-
tions. London: Tavistock Publications.
Dent, Martin J.
1965 “A Minority Party; The United Middle Belt Congress.” In: J.P. Mackintosh
(ed.), Nigerian Government and Politics. London: Allen and Unwin.
Dewar, Keith
1933 Note on Tiv Organization. Printed as Appendix A in Abraham 1940a.
1935 Intelligence Report on the Ukan. Division. National Archives, Kaduna,
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1933 The Tiv Tribe. Kaduna: Government Printer.
1971 Tiv Religion. Ibadan: Ibadan University Press.
East, R. (ed.)
1965 Akiga’s Story. London: Oxford University Press for the International African
Institute.
Fortes, Meyer
1965 “Some Reflections on Ancester Worship in Africa.” In: M. Fortes and G.
Dieterlen (eds.), African Systems of Thought. London: Oxford University
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Gluckman, Max
1965 Politics, Law, and Ritual in Tribal Society. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
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1967 The Social Organisation of the LowiUi. London: Oxford University Press.
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1971 “Stateless Societies in the History of West Africa.” In; J.F.A. Ajayi and
Michael Crowder (eds.), History of West Africa; I. London: Longmans.
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1967 Africa in Social Change. Hammersmith: Penguin.
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Sahlins, Marshall
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K. reichl
Syntactic Interference in Afghan Uzbek
Abstract. — In this paper various aspects of syntactic interference in Afghan Uz-
bek, in particular the structure of relative and adverbial clauses, are discussed and related
to similar interference phenomena in Old Turkic and in other Turkic languages that have
been exposed to the influence of typologically different languages. A short sample text is
appended. [Central Asia/Afghanistan, Turkic Languages/Uzbek, Syntactic Interference,
Folk-talc Type 1240]
Uzbek, a Turkic Language of Central Asia, is spoken in Northern
Afghanistan by approximately one million speakers.1 Like the Uzbeks in the
Soviet Union and in China, the Afghan Uzbeks live in close contact with
speakers of Iranian languages, most notably speakers of Persian (Dari and
Tajik).1 2 Although not all dialects of Uzbek show the same amount of Iranian
interference, the prestige of Persian as an administrative and literary idiom in
Southern Turkestan from the Middle Ages to the twentieth century has
heavily influenced both Modem Standard Uzbek in the Soviet Union and the
dialects of Southern Uzbekistan and Northern Afghanistan.3
K. Reichl, Dr. phil., professor of English philology (linguistics and medieval liter-
ature) at the University of Bonn, studied at the universities of Munich, Montpellier, and
Cambridge, and has taught at the universities of Munich, Bochum, and Bonn.—Publica-
tions in book form: Religiöse Dichtung im englischen Hochmittelalter (1973), “Tractatus
de Grammatica” (1976), Usbekische Märchen (1978), Turkmenische Märchen (1982),
Catégorial Grammar and Word-Formation (1982). Address: Englisches Seminar der Uni-
versität Bonn, Regina Pacis Weg 5, 5300 Bonn 1, W. Germany.
1 For the Uzbeks in Afghanistan cf. Jarring 1939: 53ff. Cf. also Kraus 1975:
192; Slobin 1976: 10.
2 Tajik is a somewhat archaic dialect of Persian; Dan is the name generally adopted
in Afghanistan for Farsi QàbùlT as opposed to the form of Persian spoken in Teheran. Cf.
for instance Abaev et al. 1979: 18f.
3 It is interesting to note AIT Sir’s (1441-1501) attempt at showing the excellency
of the Chagatay language, the literary ancestor of Standard Uzbek, over the Persian
language—in a Turkic heavily enriched by Persian loan-words ; cf. Devereux 1966.
Anthropos 78.1983
31
482
K. Reichl
Anthropos 78.1983
As is usual in a situation of linguistic contact, the lexical borrowings
from the ‘prestige language’ are the most prominent loan-element in the
borrowing language; this is true of Uzbek with its Persian and (via Persian)
Arabic loan-words as well as of English with its French component in the
lexicon.4 The great extent to which Uzbek has been subjected to a foreign
influence is even more clearly revealed by the fact that in the so-called Irani-
dzed dialects of Uzbek the Turkic system of vowel-harmony has been practi-
cally abandoned.5 The Persian influence on Uzbek is, however, also notice-
able in the domain of syntax, as has been pointed out already by K. Menges
in his analysis of the texts in Afghan Uzbek published by G. Jarring (cf.
Jarring 1938; Menges 1946-1949: 693ff.). Having had the opportunity of
working with a native speaker of Uzbek from Northern Afghanistan, I should
like to elaborate Menges’ remarks on syntactic interference in Afghan Uzbek
in this paper.6
There is no agreement among linguists on the delimitation and sub-
dassification of interference phenomena in the syntactic sphere. U. Wein-
reich treats both morphology and syntax proper under the heading of
grammatical interference, basing his discussion on the distinction between
morphemes and grammatical relations, which is not isomorphous with the
dichotomy of morphology and syntax, since a content unit expressed by
jnorphemes in one language can be expressed by grammatical relations in
another and vice versa.7 V. Ju, Rozencvejg (1972) distinguishes between
syntactic and morphological interference, defining syntax basically as the
domain of grammatical relations, which are then analysed in the framework
of dependency grammar. If the syntactic level is characterized as the organi-
zation of the sentence in terms of grammatical functions or relations such as
‘subject*, ‘direct object’, etc., as the use—rather than morphological represen-
tation—of grammatical categories such as ‘tense’, ‘mood’, etc., and as the
structure of the complex sentence, then the analysis of syntactic interference
phenomena could be based for instance on the typology proposed by K.
Schumann.8
Schumann distinguishes between five types of syntactic interference:
1. the use of a closed-class item with predominantly syntactic function-
such as a conjunction—in a replica language A along the lines of a model
4 On Persian-Uzbek interference cf. Borovkov 1952; Resietov et al. 1966: 169ff.
5 For the dialectal division of Uzbek cf. Worm 1959: 489; Resetov and £&ab-
durahmanov 1978: 29ff.
6 My informant, M.A. Lafra’i, comes from Maimana, where he was born in 1945.
He is bilingual, preferring Persian at home.
7 Cf. Weinreich 1953. For various classifications of linguistic borrowing cf. Scher-
ner 1974.
8 Cf. Schumann 1965. For an application of Schumann’s typology to Middle
English cf, Reichl 1982a.
Syntactic Interference in Afghan Uzbek
483
language B; 2. the loan of a closed-class item with predominantly syntactic
function in A from B; 3. the use of grammatical categories in A on the
model of B; 4. the construction of syntactic units in A in imitation of B;
5. word-order changes in A based on the word-order of B. Although these
various types of syntactic interference can be separated in some cases, the
following data suggest that not only word-order and syntactic construction,
but also the use of grammatical categories and closed-class items in syntactic
function are closely interrelated. These data are taken from the area most
typical of syntactic interference in Afghan Uzbek, the construction of
relative clauses and of adverbial clauses.
The position of relative clauses has been studied from a typological
point of view by J.H. Greenberg, whose ‘universal 24’ states that
If the relative expression precedes the noun either as the only construction or as
an alternative construction, either the language is postpositional, or the adjective
precedes the noun or both (Greenberg 1966: 91).
Turkish, as Greenberg points out, preposes both the relative clause and the at-
tributive adjective; it makes furthermore use of postpositions and con-
forms thus to the postulate of universal 24. Turkish has in this respect pre-
served the original Turkic pattern. We find, for instance, in the Orkhon in-
scriptions of the eighth century A.D. expressions like tiiriik bodun, “the
Turkish people” (antenominal attributive adjective), kist oylinta iizd, “men-
children over,” i.e., “over the human beings” (postposition iizd), and illdduk
il, “having-founded state,” i.e., “the state which has been founded” (cf.
Tekin 1969: 232-233, from the Kill Tigin Inscription). The expression
illdduk il is paralleled in Modern Turkish and shows the typically Turkic
rendering of what would be a relative clause in English.
Thus sentence 1, where the shared noun functions as subject in the
relative clause, has to be translated into Turkish and Standard Uzbek by 2a
and 2b respectively, where the verb of the relative clause ($ali§-/isla-) is put
into the present participle:9
1 I know a man who works in the library
2a
Ben kütüphanede çaltfan bir adam
I in-the-library working a man
taniyorum
I-know
2b Men kutubyjinada
I in-the-library
illaydigan b'ir ddam taniyman
working a man I-know
9 For Turkish cf. Lewis 1975; for Standard Uzbek cf. Kononov 1960. For the
system of transcription adopted here cf. Wurm 1959.
484
K. Reichl
Anthropos 78.1983
If the shared noun functions as object in the relative clause, the verb of the
relative clause has also the form of a participle (or pro-participle’),10 11
while the subject of the relative clause is put into the genitive (which is op-
tional in the case of pronominal subjects) and furthermore marked by the
possessive pronoun affixed to the participle. Sentence 3 translates then into
Turkish and Standard Uzbek as follows:
3 I didn’t read the book which my friend recommended to me
4a Ben dostumun mana tavsiye ettigi kitabt
I of-my-friend to-me recommendation his-having-made the-book
okumadim
I-not-read
4b Men dostimrivj met)go. tawsiya qilgani
I of-my-friend to-me recommendation his-having-made
kitdbni oqimadim
the-book I-not-read
Sentences 1 and 3 are rendered in the dialect under investigation as 5
and 6, respectively: 11
5 Men b'ir ddamdi taniyman ki u ketab^anaga isldidi
I a man I-know who he in-the-library he-works
6 Men ketdbni oqimadim ki uni merjga dsenam tawsiya
I the-book I-not-read which it to-me my-friend recommendation
yetti
he-made
In 5 and 6 the participial construction is replaced by a clause with a
finite verb, introduced by ki. The shared noun is expressed by a personal
pronoun, in the nominative (u) in 5, where it functions as subject, in the
accusative (uni jin 6, where it functions as object. The order of elements
in the relative clause in 6 is unusual for Turkic insofar as the direct object
precedes the subject. Both the conjunction ki and the word-order of the
relative clause point to Persian influence here; compare the translation of
1 and 3 into Persian:12
7a (Man)adamT ke (u) dor ketab\dne kdr mikonad mitdnam
(I) a-man who (he) in library work he-does I-know
10 Cf. Deny 1959: 208. The question of defining and classifying the non-finite
forms of the Turkic verb is too involved to be treated here.
11 For the linguistic peculiarities of the dialect spoken by the informant see the in-
troduction to the sample text below.
12 These are the standard patterns, of which, however, variations are possible. Cf.
Lambton 1960: 75ff.;Jensen 1931: 91ff.
Syntactic Interference in Afghan Uzbek
485
7b (Man) ketabi ke (ura) dustam beman tousiye kard
(I) a-book which (it) my-friend to-me recommendation he-made
na^andam
I-not-read
The shared noun is marked by -i in the main clause and optionally re-
peated by the personal pronoun in the nominative (u) or accusative (ura)
in the relative clause. The relative clause is introduced by ki/ke and has
the order O-S-V, if as in 7b the shared noun functions as object in the
relative clause. Comparing 7a with 5 and 7b with 6, there can be no doubt
about the Persian influence on the formation of relative clauses in the
dialect under investigation. For other examples of this construction see
sentences 3, 5, 15, 23, 27, 30, 31, 33, 43, 47, 50, 54, 67, 72, 75 in the
sample text (not counting the use of ki as a speech-introducing particle); it is
also found in the texts collected by G. Jarring (1938) and R. Dor (1977).
In addition to the use of ki as a relative pronoun there is also the use of
ki in temporal clauses, again in accordance with Persian usage (for ki in
clauses of purpose see below); compare sentence 53 in the sample text:
8 Men ki oldim . . .
I who I died = When I am dead
This construction of relative clauses, although ‘un-Turkic*, is yet quite
common in Old Turkic. Thus we find for instance in the Old Uighur version
of the Buddhist tale of the princes Kalyanamkara and Papamkara construc-
tions like the following (Pelliot 1914: 240; cf. also Gabain 1974: 188ff.):
9 ¿intamani drddni bar kim iilugliig qutluy kiU ol drd(d)ni
cintamani-jewel13 there-is which lucky fortunate man that jewel
bulsar qamay ti(n)l(i)y-larqa as(t)y tusu frilur
if-he-finds all to-living-beings profit profit makes
There is a jewel cinta-mani which brings profit to all living beings, if a lucky,
fortunate man finds it.
Here, too, the construction is to be explained as a syntactic loan from
Indo-Iranian :
Der iranische Einfluß setzt im Osten schon vor der Zeit der Islamisierung ein. Den
Anfang machte auch hier eine Übersetzung. Im Uigurischen nahm das fragende Pro-
nomen kim alle übrigen Funktionen des persischen ki an, fungierte also auch als re-
lative Partikel oder Relativpronomen und führte überhaupt allerlei Nebensätze ein
(Grönbech 1936: 54).
13
From Sanskrit ¿intd, “thought,” and mani, “pearl,” i.e., “philosopher’s stone.”
486
K. Reichl
Anthropos 78.1983
K. Gronbech mentions that in Turkish the conjunction ki, though
popular in colloquial speech, is yet avoided in its function as relative pronoun
(Gronbech 1936; 55). There is, however, another construction frequently
encountered in spoken Turkish which is also characterized by postposition.
C.S. Mundy calls this construction ‘sentence-plus’ and gives the following
example (Mundy 1955: 303):
10a Written style:
Kayseride doktor olan bir ddmddt var
In-Kayseri doctor being a his-son-in-law there-is
10b Spoken style:
Kayseride bir ddmddt var, doktor
In-Kayseri a his-son-in-law there-is, doktor
He has a son-in-law who is a doctor at Kayseri
The postposition of the relative clause, with a finite verb instead of
a participle and frequently introduced by ki and other conjunctions, is also
found in other Turkic languages, most notably those that have come under
non-Turkic linguistic influence. Gagauz for instance employs arii besides
ki, Karaim uses kaysi besides ki ,14 Apart from Old Uighur, Persian influence
on the formation of relative clauses is also strong in Chagatay and Ottoman
Turkish, both of which employ ki and kim (cf. Eckmann 1966: 119; Guzev
1979: 74f.). This particular construction in Afghan Uzbek stands therefore
in a long line of syntactic interference phenomena.
We have here then a combination of four of the types enumerated by
Schumann: in the case of kim the loan-use of a ‘syntactic particle’ (inter-
rogative pronoun relative pronoun) (1); in the case of ki the loan of a ‘syn-
tactic particle’ (2); the construction of a relative clause with a finite verb is
a loan-construction (4), which might be characterized, as in 6, also by a
loan word-order (5). As to the loan-use of grammatical categories we find
this type exemplified, in conjunction with the other types, in the construc-
tion of some adverbial clauses in Afghan Uzbek.
Adverbial clauses, definable as syntactic constructions that stand in a
paradigmatic relationship to simple sentential adverbs, are normally rendered
in the various Turkic languages by constructions involving the nominal form
of the verb. An adverbial clause of purpose as in 11a is as a rule expressed in
Turkish by means of the verbal noun in -mak in the dative (lib) or by the
verbal noun in -mak followed by the postposition igin, “for” (11c):
14 Cf. Gajdarzi 1973: 33ff.; Musaev 1977: 92f. For Karaim see also below; cf.
also Menges 1946-1949: 693f.
Syntactic Interference in Afghan Uzbek
487
1 la I am going to the town (in order) to buy meat
lib Ben §ehre et almaga gidiyorum
I to-the-town meat to-the-buying I-am-going
He Ben $ehre et aimak ufun gidiyorum
I to-the-town meat the-buying for I-am-going
The same construction—which is comparable to the use of the supinum
in Latin; cf. véndtum eo, “I am going to hunt” (cf. Hofmann and Szantyr
1965: 380-383)—is used in Afghan and Standard Uzbek:15
12a Men sahrga gost dlmaqqa ketaman
I to-the-town meat to-the-buying I-go
12b Men sahrga go St almaq ucun ketaman
I to-the-town meat the-buying for I-go
If, however, the subject of the adverbial clause is different from the subject
of the main clause, the most common construction in Turkish and Uzbek
employs a gerundival form of de-, “to say”:16
13a I gave my son a letter to take to the post-office
13b Turkish:
Onu postaneye gótürsün diye ogluma bir mektup verdim
“It to-the-post may-he-take” saying to-my-son a letter I-gave
13c Uzbek:
Uni poctaga eltsin deb oylimga bir maktub berdim
“It to-the-post may-he-take” saying to-my-son a letter I-gave
Both in Standard Literary Uzbek and in Turkish the Persian conjunc-
tions ki and td ki are also found, as a rule with postposition of the adverbial
clause and with the subordinate verb in the subjunctive-optative mood.17 It
is this type which is preferred in the idiolect under investigation:
15 Instead of almaq, alis ucun is also used; cf. Abdurahmanov et al. 1979; 154f.
For the expression of purpose by the use of the gerund in -gani in Uzbek cf. Kononov
1960: 243.
16 Cf. Lewis 1975: 175. As in Uzbek the optative in -sin + if in is also possible; cf.
Lewis 1975: 139; Abdurahmanov et al. 1979: 155. In Turkish the so-called shortened
infinitive in -ma + if in is also possible.
17 Cf, Lewis 1975: 264; Abdurahmanov et al. 1979: 155f. For the subjunctive
in Persian cf. Jensen 1931: 301ff.
488
K. Reichl
Anthropos 78.1983
14 Men serjga bir maktup beraman ki uni postga yeltsan /yeltkin
I to-you a letter I-give that it to-the-post if-you-take /may-you-take
Compare Persian:
15 Man beta maktub midaham ta ke ura bepost\dne bebari
I to-you letter I-give so that it to-the-post you-may-take
The following instances occur in the sample text:
16a . . . men ta u dunydni bu dunyani bir b'iriga moqaysa yetsam (53)
I so-that that world this world one to-one comparison if-I-make
so that I can compare this world with the other
16b . . . ki men u dunyaniam korarsam (61)
so-that I this world-also if-I-see
so that I may also see this world
16c . . . ki td gdnawdr edi. . , (77)
so-that alive he-was
It is to be noted that in 14 apart from the imperative-optative [yelt +
emphatic particle -kin) the conditional form (yeltsan) is used as subjunctive;
similarly in 16. This use is typical not only of Afghan Uzbek but also of
other Turkic languages under Iranian influence, as for instance Azeri.18 It
is also found in concessive clauses and in syntactic constructions where the
semantic relationship between main clause and subordinate clause is one of
purpose or necessity; compare:
17 Pir ham balsam, tez isldyman
Old also if-I-am, quickly I-work
Although I am old, I work quickly
18 Men \d(h)leyman bu ketdbdi sdtip dlsam
1 I-wish this book selling if-I-take
I want to buy this book
19 Men magburman bu ketdbdi sdtip dlsam
I I-am-obliged this book selling if-I-take
I must buy this book
Cf. Gadzieva 1979: 160. The conditional is also possible in Standard Uzbek,
see Abdurahmanov et al. 1979: 156.
Syntactic Interference in Afghan Uzbek
489
While 17 is also common in Literary Uzbek, 18 and 19 are typical of the
informant’s speech and represent direct translations from Persian:
20a Man mt^âham in ketâbrâ be^aram
I I-wish this book I-may-buy
20b Man magbüram in ketâbrâ be^aram
I I-am-obliged this book I-may-buy
Here again the interference phenomenon is found already in Old Uighur.
A. v. Gabain quotes a number of examples from Old Uighur, mostly in trans-
lations from Old Indie, in her grammar of Old Turkic (cf. Gabain 1974: 190
ff.), and K.H. Menges discusses this use of the conditional in Old Turkic and
in the modem Turkic languages, especially in Ottoman Turkish and Uzbek,
extensively in his introduction to Turkic studies (cf. Menges 1968: 183ff.).
The conditioned functions here as a subjunctive in that the action expressed
by the verb in the subordinate clause is notionally linked to the action ex-
pressed by the verb in the main clause.
Returning to the question of typology alluded to above, we might
expect other changes in the speech of the informant and in Afghan Uzbek in
general. According to Greenberg’s basic-order typology a change in the
position of the relative clause from an antenominal to a postnominal position
should be accompanied by a change from postpositions to prepositions and
by a change in the order of noun and attribute (adjective and genitive) from
an antenominal to a postnominal position. That such a far-reaching re-
structuring of a Turkic language is possible, is shown by Karaim, a Turkic
language spoken in Lithuania and the Ukraine, on which for religious and
cultural reasons Hebrew (apart from the neighbouring Slavonic and Baltic
languages) has exerted a strong influence (cf. Musaev 1977; Kowalski 1929).
Together with the replacement of preposed participial constructions by
postposed clauses (21a), we find in Karaim the postposition of the genitive
(21b) and the use of prepositions instead of postpositions (21c) (Kowalski
1929: 50, line 27; 46, line 1; 50, line 14):
21a ol ierd’an ki acty avzun
the from-the-place which opened its-mouth
from the place which opened its mouth
21b baslyyynda varatybnay(nyn
in-its-beginning of-creation
in the beginning of creation
21c ... ainyna adonainyn
before God
490
K. Reichl
Anthropos 78.1983
The attributive adjective, on the other hand, remains in antenominal position
in Karaim, as in Afghan Uzbek, where, however, due to the in-
fluence of the Persian ezáfe-construction some cases of postnominal adjectives
occur. Persian constructions of the type mard-e %ub, “man-ezafe good” (i.e.,
“good man”) and manzel-e mard, “house-ezáfe man” (i.e., “man’s house”)
(for the construction cf. Jensen 1931: 47ff., 230ff.) are, however, on the
whole treated as phraseological units; compare, e.g., in sentences 90, 92 of
the sample text azab-e qawur, “the torment of the grave (inflicted on sin-
ners by the questioning angels),” a technical term of Islam. A curious case is
kawut-e (y)esak in sentences 29, 42, 43; the ezáfe is present, but the ad-
jective is prenominal instead of postnominal (it would have to be (y)esak-e
kawut).
Although the use of ezafe-constructions in Afghan Uzbek seems to vary
from speaker to speaker—compare expressions like tuyyar-e kop katta, “a
very big merchant,” in the texts collected by Dor (1977: 88)—, the post-
position of the attributive adjective is the exception. Furthermore, it must
be stressed that prenominal participial constructions can be found in the
speech of the informant. Apart from the use of the gerundival from in -ip
for temporal clauses as in sentences 2, 4, 19, 59, 66, 70, 78 of the sample
text (22a), there are also occurrences of the present participle used in a
relative/temporal clause (22b) and the past participle corresponding to a
relative clause (22c):19
22a Tabardi, tesasini dlip dafga ketti (2)
the-ax, the-hatchet having-taken to-the-field he-went
After he had taken the ax, the hatchet, he went outside
22b Arra qilardtgan waxtiga (5)
sawing making in-its-time
While he was sawing
22c .. . sent aitkariirj keldi (20)
of-you your-having-said came
what you said came true
Summarizing the most striking cases of interference in the syntactical
sphere in Afghan Uzbek, it can be said that the imitation of the Persian
subordinate clause has led to a decrease of participial and gerundival con-
19
Despite the re-structuring of Karaim, participial constructions are also found;
compare for instance kogot urlu-y etadoyon urhix lit. “cabbage-seed making seed”;
Kowalski 1929: 46, line 17.
Syntactic Interference in Afghan Uzbek
491
stmctions. This entails a change of word-order; while the participial/gerundi-
val construction is preposed—prenominal in the case of relative construc-
tions, preverbal in the case of adverbial constructions—, the clauses are post-
posed (postnominal and postverbal). From a functional point of view, relative
clauses and adverbials can be defined in the same way as attributive adjectives
or simple adverbs, i.e., as modifiers of their respective heads (nominal or
verbal) (c.f. Reichl 1982b: 89ff., with further references).20 As has been
pointed out by T, Vennemann and others, word-order universals must be
seen in relation to these functional connections between the various syntac-
tic elements of a construction. While therefore a consistent XV language
(where X replaces 0 and stands for the more general notion of verb comple-
ment) exhibits the order object-verb, adjective-noun, relative clause-noun,
genitive-noun, noun-postposition, adverb-verb, with the first element as the
modifier and the second element the modified, the order of elements is
reversed in VX languages, where the modified element precedes the modi-
fier (cf. Vennemann 1974a, 19746).
Fitting Afghan Uzbek as spoken by the informant into this scheme, we
find the following situation:
23
XV
VX
| object — verb
| adjective — noun
(relative construction — noun
(genitive — noun
(noun — postposition!
adverbial construction — verb
verb — object
[noun — adjective j
noun — relative construction I
noun — genitive
preposition — noun
verb — adverbial construction
That means that the variety of Afghan Uzbek investigated here is firmly
XV as regards the elements object—verb, genitive—noun, noun—postposition,
and (though this seems to vary from speaker to speaker) also adjective-
noun. It is on the other hand predominantly, though not exclusively, VX in
relation to the elements noun—relative construction and verb—adverbial
construction. Although a proper typological evaluation of Afghan Uzbek
would have to take other syntactic and morphological phenomena into
20 Adverbial constructions like the ones discussed here are strictly speaking modifiers
of sentences rather than of verbs.
492
K. Reichl
Anthropos 78.1983
account as well, its typologically mixed character does nevertheless emerge,
a type not unlike that represented by contemporary English.21 It is temp-
ting to speculate on the future of Afghan Uzbek from a typological point
of view; to predict, however, a further development along the lines of
Karaim would not only be speculative but also gratuitous, given the im-
portance sociolinguistic factors have for language development (language
planning, language use in the media, etc.), factors very difficult to assess in
the case of Afghan Uzbek.
Sample Text
The following text is a story about Mulla Nasreddin, the Till Eulen-
spiegel of the Turks, Persians, Turcomans, Uzbeks, Kirghiz, and other Near
Eastern and Central Asiatic peoples.22 The text shows a high frequency of
Persian loan-words, drawn from the Afghan variety of Persian (Dari) and
thus phon©logically and sometimes also semantically different from FarsT-
TeheranT; cf. for instance 83 ndgur, Dari “ill,” Persian “unfitting; strange”
(cf. Kiseleva and Mikolajcik 1978: 682). As to morphology, the informant’s
dialect conforms to traits found also in the dialects of Southern and South-
Western Uzbekistan in the extension of the dative-suffix to the locative (e.g.,
ketdb\dnaga instead of -\dnada in 5 above) and the reduction of the genitive-
suffix -niy to -ni (-rii, -nd, with dissimilation after nasals as in the case of the
accusative-suffix; cf., e.g., ddamdi = ddamn'i in 5 above).23 Phonologically,
the most striking feature is the optional diphthongization of word-initial e-
(cf., e.g., 6 above yetti = etti), a feature typical of the dialects of Southern
Uzbekistan (cf. Resetov and Saabdurahminov 1978: 68f.).
1.
2.
Bir kun Mulla Nasreddindi uyiga
cubi24 yoy edi, ot'ini yoy edi.
Tabardi, tesasirii dlip dasgd ketti.
One day Mulla Nasreddin had no
wood, no firewood in the house.
He took the ax, the hatchet, and
went outside.
21 For lexical and morphological interference in Uzbek see Reichl (forthcoming);
for English compare Fries 1940.
22 For Mulla Nasreddin see Wesselski 1911. For the anecdote in question see
Thompson 1973: No. 1240.
23 For -ga instead of -da cf. Resetov and Saabdurahmanov 1978: 138 (Samarkand,
Buchara, etc.); for -ni, -ni, -di instead of -nit) cf. Resetov and SaabdurahmSnov 1978: 140
(Qarsi etc.).
24 From Dari (abbreviated as D.) cob, “wood” (the transliteration takes account of
the phonological characteristics of D.).
Syntactic Interference in Afghan Uzbek
493
3. Bir gâigà kiesti[=yetisti\ birkatta
dara\t bar edi.
4. Dara\t ustiga ciydi-u, bir fdxaga
ucigà kelip sâxanï bexadan 25
arralaydi.
5. Arra qilardigan ivaxtiga di ki bir
àdam keldi-u, Mulla Nasreddindi
kordi ki u daraxtt'i ustiga sâxanï
bexadan arralaydi
6. “Bu àdam xu àlà26 taga tusadi,
uladini?” 27
7. Mulla Nasreddirjga aitti ki
8. Mulla Nasreddin, sen xu amâlà28
tusasin, ulasin.
9. Sen uni yalat arra qilâtuwsan [=
qil-yâtip-san].
10. Mulla Nasreddin aitti ki
11. “Yâ sen, nemadi sen kettiy?
12. Sen yeliyga [yel = yol] ketkin!
13. Meni qoy isimga!
14. Sen yalyân aitasan. ”
15. Bu asnâgà di kisaxa arra boldi-u,
Mulla Nasreddin taga tusti.
16. Taga tusti-u, aitti:
17. “Xo, bu àdam auliyà yerkan, bu
hamma narsani bila yerkan. ”
18. Bu âdamdi ketidan cawip [= cà-
pip]ketti.
19. Adamga yetisip aitti:
20. “Sen auliyà ekansin, sen'i ait-
kanirj keldi.
21. Meyga ait kin ki men kacan u la-
man. ”
22. Bu àdam aitti:
23. ‘Men, men nima bilaman ki sen
kacan ularsin ?
He came to a place where there was
a big tree.
He climbed on top of the tree, sat
on a branch and sawed the branch
from the stem.
While he was sawing, a man came
and saw Mulla Nasreddin, who was
sawing a branch from the stem on
top of the tree.
“This man is surely going to fall
down in a minute and die!”
He said to Mulla Nasreddin;
“Mulla Nasreddin, you will surely
fall in a minute and die.
You are sawing it off wrongly.”
Mulla Nasreddin said:
“O you, what’s that to you?
Get on your way!
Leave me do my work!
You are lying.”
It was at this moment that the branch
was sawn off and Mulla Nasreddin
fell to the ground.
He fell to the ground and said:
“Hey, this man is a holy man,
he knows everything.”
He ran after this man.
When he had reached the man, he
said:
“You are a holy man, what you
said came true.
Tell me when I shall die.”
This man said:
“I, how should I know when you die?
25 From D. bex, “root, beginning.”
D. xo, surely,” + xali, “presently, in a minute.”
-ni = mi; cf. Resetov and Saabdurahmanov 1978: 90.
D. ham, “even,” + hdli, “presently.”
494
K. Reichl
Anthropos 78.1983
24. Xoddbiladi.”
25. “Yá, sen auliyasin, sen bilarsan.
26. Sen atman 29 aitkin meyga. ”
27. Bu ddam kordi ki Mulla Nas-
reddin bir lauda 30 ddam di.
28. Aitti:
29. “Xo, bir kawut-e31 esak us qala
osirsa, sen, sen ularsan. ”
30. Mulla Nasreddin bdsqa raqam en-
te zdri bar edi ki fikir qilwedi
[= qilip edi] alwat32 bu aitadi ki
yuz yil, ikki yuz yil sen trisan 33
31. Kop yam gin bo Idi-u, yamgin uyga
ketti-u, xdtirii kordi ki Mulla
Nasreddin kop yamgin di.
32. Aitti:
33. “Seyga nima bolipti ki kop
yamginsan ? ”
34. Mulla Nasreddin aitti:
35. “Sorama, mundax bir qissa woldi
[= boldi].
36. Bir auliyd keldi-u, men daraxt
ustigadim, aitti:
3 7. ‘Sen taga tusas an. ’
38. Taga tustim, augdram boldim,34
39. Men soradim:
40. Men kacan ulaman?’
41. Aitti:
42. ‘Bir kawut-e yesak us qala osir-
sa, sen ularsan.
43. Su asndgd di ki bir meymdn kel-
di, kawut-e yesak bar edi.
44. Bu Mulla Nasreddindi fikr boldi,
gdniga larza tusti.
God knows.”
“O, you are a holy man, you know.
Tell me by all means.”
This man saw that Mulla Nasreddin
was a fool.
He said:
“Now, when a grey donkey breaks
wind three times, you, you will
die.”
Mulla Nasreddin had expected
something different, he thought
that he would surely say that he
was going to live a hundred or two
hundred years.
He became very sad, went home in
a sad mood, and his wife saw that
Mulla Nasreddin was very sad.
She said:
“What has happened to you that
you are so sad?”
Mulla Nasreddin said:
“Don’t ask! The following tale hap-
pened:
A holy man came, while I was on
top of a tree, and said:
‘You are going to fall down.’
I fell down and even hurt myself.
I asked:
‘When am I going to die?’
He said:
‘When a grey donkey breaks wind
three times, you will die.’ ”
At that moment a guest came, with
a grey donkey.
This made Mulla Nasreddin fearful,
he started to tremble.
29 D. hatman, “undoubtedly.”
30 D. lauda, “fool.”
31 D. kabud, “grey (of a horse etc.).”
32 D. albatta, “surely.”
33 tri = tirik, “alive.”
34 D. augar, “injured,” + ham, “even.”
Syntactic Interference in Afghan Uzbek
495
45. Aitti:
46. “Ana, yendi bu esak xdy-nd-xdy3s
us qala qoyberadi, men ularman. ”
47. Bu asnàgd di ki bu esak bir qala
qoyberdi-u, Mulla Nasreddin xati-
nini aiqirdi [= haiqirdi], aitti ki
48. “Endi yesak bir qala qoyberdi,
men ularman.
49. Bu hatmidi. ” * 36
50. Su asnàgd di ki bu yesak ikkimci
dafa qoyberdi-u, Mulla Nasreddin
aitti:
51. “Men yendi ulaman, gdyimd'i
tayyàr qil.
52. Men seyga bir nasihatim bar:
53. Men ki oldim, gurka, qàwurga37
qoy, mardomga aitkin ki bir tesik
qoysin, men tà u dunyani bu
dunyàni bir biriga moqaysa yet-
sam. ”
54. Bu asnàgd di ki yesak ucimki38
qala qoyberdi-u, Mulla Nasreddin
ozini uzun tailadi, aitti:
55. “Yendi men oldim. ”
56. Xub, xàtini iylamaqqa soru qdldi-
u, mardom muni esitip keldi.
57. “Nima boldi, nima boldi?”
58. “Ana, Mulla Nasreddin oidi. ”
59. Xub, Mulla Nasreddindi yuwup-
u, gandzasini oqup yettilar.
60. Qàwurga qoysa xdtini yelga aitti
ki
61. “Mulla Nasreddin meyga nasihat
qoyberdi ki ‘Sila [= sizlar] men ki
yelga qabirga qoyasilar, bir tesik
qoyla ki men bu dunyàniam ko-
rarsam.
He said:
“Look, now this donkey will willy-
nilly break wind three times, I am
going to die.”
At that moment the donkey broke
wind once, Mulla Nasreddin called
his wife and said:
“Now the donkey broke wind once,
I am going to die.
This is certain.”
At that moment this donkey broke
wind for the second time and Mulla
Nasreddin said:
“Now I am going to die, make my
place ready.
I have a request:
When I am dead, put me into the
tomb, the grave, and tell the men
that they should make a hole so
that I can compare this world with
the other.”
At that moment the donkey broke
wind for the third time, Mulla Nas-
reddin stretched himself out and
said:
“Now I am dead.”
Well, his wife started to cry and the
people who heard this came.
“What’s the matter, what’s the mat-
ter?”
“Look, Mulla Nasreddin has died.”
Well, they washed Mulla Nasreddin
and read the prayer for the dead.
As they were putting him into the
grave, his wife said on the way:
“Mulla Nasreddin requested of me
that you should make a hole, when
you put him into his grave, so that
he can also see this world.
D. \dh na\ah, “willy-nilly.”
36 D. hatmi, “necessary.”
D. qabr, pi. qabur, “grave.”
38 Dissimilation of the suffix.
496
62. Uni faràmus yetmaila.
63. Xub, mardom qawurga qoydi-u,
b'ir tesikam qàburga qoydilar.
64. Ax$am boldi-u, keòa, qàranyi e di,
matàpli edi.
65. Tesiydan musane qawurga keldi.
66. Mulla Nasreddin gay dan turup Ra-
fani minan qawurdan dolga keldi.
67. Asnàgà u xàladi [=x&hladi] ki b'ir
neca qadam yurirsa-u, b'ir hawà-
Xori39 q'ilsa, b'ir Ratta yeldi
damiga kelip oltirdi, ki bu yelga
mardom esay minan gayalgà ke-
tibdi-u, cup, ot'in keltiràdi.
68. Yarim Reca ed'i, b'ir qala tur, bes
xarkàr, igirma, otuz yesay minan
kelard'i.
69. B'ir yesay bulardan kop mast40
yedi.
70. Mulla Nasreddindi korup bu
waxxatà41 bolup qàsti.
71. Qàsti, hezivf2 àrqasidan tusup
kop qàcip Retti.
72. Xarkàrlar keldi-u, kordi ki bu
mast yesay qàcipti-u, yesaydi tà-
pàlmiydi.
73. Kordi muyjga:
74. Mima bold'i, nima boldi?
75. Yeldi yambasiga kordi ki b'ir
àdam kafan minan oltiripti.
76. “Ana, su àdam, su murda hatman
bizlard'i yesaybizdi ràm43 berip-
ti. ”
77. Xub, tur, bes nafar, xub, qollari-
gà katta, katta cuplar minan Mul-
Anthropos 78.1983
We shouldn’t forget this.”
Well, the people put him into his
grave and made a hole in the grave.
It became evening, it became
night, it got dark, the moon was
shining.
Through the hole the light came in-
to the grave.
Mulla Nasreddin got up and went
outside in his shroud.
Then he wanted to go for a few
steps, for a walk, and he came to
a big road and sat down, a road
people went on into the wood with
donkeys, bringing wood, firewood.
It was midnight and four or five
donkey-drivers with twenty to
thirty donkeys came.
One of these donkeys was very
wild.
When he saw Mulla Nasreddin, he
got scared and ran away.
He ran away and in his flight the
firewood fell from his back.
The donkey-drivers came and saw
that this wild donkey had fled, and
they couldn’t find the donkey.
They looked there:
But what was that?
Next to the road they saw a man
sitting in a shroud.
“Now this man, this dead man, has
surely frightened our donkey.”
Well, four, five men, well, in their
hands big, big pieces of wood, hit
K. Reichl
39 D. hawdxprl, “pleasant walk.”
40 D. mast, “drunken, wanton; in rut (of animals).”
41 “Fearful,” presumably from D. wa\sat, “fear.”
42 D. hezom, “firewood.”
43 D. ram, “fear.”
Syntactic Interference in Afghan Uzbek
497
la Nasreddindi sunca urdí ki tá
gánawár ed'i, tá gánawár edi.
78. Mulla Nasreddin bilá\ra44 olí
[= olik\ ozin'i uzat'ip tailadi, he¿
quwati yoy edi.
79. Biláyjá mardom qoyberdi-u, endi
qalay gune xarkárlar Mulla Nas-
reddindi tailardi, uylariga ketti-u,
ruz boldi-u, cásgá kunesi Mulla
Nasreddin nim kala, nim gán uy
tarafiy keldi.
80. Uyi keldi-u, xátini kordi:
81. “A, sen tirilipsan. ”
82. Mulla Nasreddin aitti:
83. “Hm, xub, men tirilip keldim,
ama men kop nágur-u, olátim-
man [= ol-yátib-man]. ”
84. Bu awázani mardom yesitti.
85. Mardom hammasi aitti ki
86. “Ketalirj, Mulla Nasreddindi ko-
rali), soralirj ki u dunyága nima-
ga bár edi. ”
87. Hammay keldi-u:
88. “Ha, Mulla Nasreddin, siz tirilip-
siz, siz auliyá erkansiz, xub, gáp
kutá, xulása, aitiy ki u dunyága
siz nima kordiz. ”
89. “Ax, ásená, dostlar, rafiqlar, su
hecnima korganman.
90. Hamma narsani ki mardom aita-
dilar: azáb-e qáwur wár, farista-
lar kelardi, sizlardan gawáb, sa-
wál etardi, behest wár, duzáx wár
- bu narsalami men kormadim.
91. Ama men silarga bir nasihatim
bár, bu di ki waxt tá ki tñsilar
hus qillar [=qilasizlar] ki hec
yesayini rám bermaylar [- ber-
maysizlar].
92. Agar rám berdizlar [= berdiyiz-
lar] azáb-e qawur di. ”
Mulla Nasreddin so that he became
alive, that he became alive.
Mulla Nasreddin lay finally down
dead, he had no strength left.
Finally the men stopped, now some-
how the donkey-drivers left Mulla
Nasreddin, went to their houses; it
became light, in the morning Mul-
la Nasreddin came half dizzy, half
dead to his house.
He came to his house, his wife saw
him:
“A, you have come to life again.”
Mulla Nasreddin said:
“Hm, well, I have come to life again,
but I am ill, I am about to die.”
The people heard of this rumour.
They all said:
“Let’s go and see Mulla Nasreddin,
let’s ask him what there was in that
other world.”
They all came:
“Ha, Mulla Nasreddin, you have
come back to life, you are a saint,
well, in a word, to be brief, tell us
what you saw in the other world.”
“O friends, pals, companions, 1
didn’t see anything.
Everything that people say: that
there is the torment of the grave,
that angels would come, that they
would interrogate you, that there
is heaven, that there is hell—these
things I didn’t see.
But I have a piece of advice for
you, it is this: that you be care-
ful as long as you live never to
frighten a donkey.
If you frighten one, it will be the
torment of the grave.”
44 D. belâ^era, “finally, at last.”
Anthropos 78.1983
32
498
K. Reichl
Anthropos 78.1983
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Karl Jettmar
Indus-Kohistan
Entwurf einer historischen Ethnographie
Abstract. — Indus-Kohistan, i.e., the valleys on both sides of the gorges of the
Indus north of Tarbela, was never conquered by the Britishers and remained a blank
spot on the linguistic and cultural map of Asia. In 1954 Fredrik Barth was allowed a short
trip through the valleys west of the Indus. His report is surprisingly exact in many details
but he failed to understand that the “wesh”-system, i.e., the practice of periodical re-
allotment of land, is by no means an heritage from a hoary past “shared with many Indo-
European peoples.” During conversion to Islam it was introduced by Pashtun missionaries
as part of a political and social utopia. It needs the foregoing grouping of the lineages
of landowners in segments of equal size forming together close-knit “republics.”By this
organization the Kohistanis were able to repel the invading Pashtun tribesmen. [Indus-
Kohistan, Dards, Wesh-system, Segmentary System]
Einleitung
Das Große Spiel (“Great Game”), in dem die Briten versuchten, das
Vordringen des russischen Reiches in Richtung auf Indien für ewige Zeiten
zu blockieren (Hassnain 1978; Keay 1979), hatte die kuriose Folge, daß
weite Gebiete hinter dem von England aufgebauten Korridor in der Nord-
westecke Britisch-Indiens in ihrer Unabhängigkeit nicht angetastet wurden,
so Dir-Kohistan, Swat-Kohistan und Indus-Kohistan. (Ursprünglich gehörte
auch Swat selbst zu dieser Zone.) Die Zugangswege zu dem Glacis, das aus
Chitral und der Gilgit Agency mit Einschluß der in sie eingegliederten Für-
Karl Jettmar, Dr. phil. (1941); Prof. Univ. Wien (1958), Mainz (1961), Heidelberg
(seit 1964); Ordinarius, Leiter des Seminars für Ethnologie am Südasien-Institut der Univ.,
Leiter der Abt. für südasiatische Archäologie. — 1955-1982 zehn Expeditionen in den
Hochgebirgen von Nordpakistan, Reisen in Indien (Ladakh) und Afghanistan. — Seit 1948
zahlreiche Publikationen zur Kulturgeschichte des indo-iranischen Grenzraumes, zur
Archäologie und Ethnologie Zentral- und Nordasiens, zur Domestikationsproblematik, zu
Theorie und Methode der Ethnologie und zur angewandten Ethnologie. Adresse: Süd-
asien-Institut der Universität Heidelberg, Seminar für Ethnologie, Im Neuenheimer Feld
330, 6900 Heidelberg 1.
502
Karl J ettmar
Anthropos 78.1983
stenstaaten gebildet worden war, führten daher über Pässe, die nur während
kurzer Sommermonate für Reiter und Tragtiere passierbar waren. Es handelte
sich im Osten um die berühmte Gilgit Road, auf der man entweder den Kam-
ri- (4014m) oder auch den Burzil-Paß (4117m) überschreiten mußte, oder
aber um den Lowari-Paß (3211m) im äußersten Westen. Dazwischen riegel-
ten unkontrollierte Berggebiete das Industal ab, das die Möglichkeit geboten
hätte, eine auch im Winter verwendbare Straße nach Gilgit zu bauen — aller-
dings unter Überwindung abenteuerlicher Schluchtstrecken.
Diese Situation änderte sich nicht bis in die letzten Jahre britischer
Herrschaft, abgesehen davon, daß es dem Wali von Swat gelang — zur ge-
ringen Freude seiner britischen Oberherren —, Swat-Kohistan und den west-
lichen Teil Indus-Kohistans zu erobern. Er nutzte eine Situation, in der Eng-
land wahrlich andere Sorgen hatte (1939/1940).
Pakistan befürchtete eine Bedrohung seiner Integrität aus anderer
Richtung. Es wünschte eine Landverbindung mit dem befreundeten China
und war daher an einer Verkehrserschließung seiner Nordgebiete vital inter-
essiert. 1959 begann der Bau einer Straße durch die Indusschlucht, um eine
ganzjährig für Motorfahrzeuge benutzbare Verbindung herzustellen. Bis da-
hin war man entweder auf den wetterabhängigen Flugverkehr oder aber auf
eine nur für Jeeps passierbare Piste über den Babusar-Paß (4173m) angewie-
sen, die kaum während der Sommermonate einigermaßen zuverlässig funktio-
nierte, Die Straße durch die Indusschlucht war bereits Ende der Sechziger-
jahre fertig. Nach einer Unterbrechung bei Patan durch ein schweres Erd-
beben (1974) wurde sie unter intensiver Beteiligung chinesischer Komman-
dos weiter ausgebaut und durch Sprengung zuvor umgangener Hindernisse
verkürzt. Heute bildet sie einen integralen Teil des Karakorum Highway, der
eine direkte Verbindung mit China darstellt, allerdings über einen hohen Paß,
den Khunjerab, hinweg (die Höhenangaben variieren, die niedrigste beträgt
4697m, ein andermal wird von 4934m Seehöhe gesprochen).
Noch vor dem Straßenbau hatte es am untersten Teil der Indusstrecke
zwischen Besham und Karora einen Maultierpfad am rechten (westlichen)
Indusufer gegeben. Der Wali von Swat hatte ihn anlegen lassen, nachdem er
seinen Staat in der oben erwähnten Weise „abgerundet“ hatte. Die pakista-
nischen Ingenieure konnten diese Vorarbeit intensiv nutzen. Man blieb zu-
nächst auf dem bereits erschlossenen Ufer. Ab Karora, wo man den Indus
mit einer Brücke überspannte, baute man am gegenüberliegenden, also öst-
lichen, Indusufer weiter, unter unendlichen Schwierigkeiten. Nach einhelli-
gen Aussagen der Einheimischen beginnt hier das unwegsamste Gelände.
Der bisherige Pfad, selbst für berggewohnte Männer zu Fuß lebensgefähr-
lich, klettert an vielen Stellen hoch in die Berge hinein, um dann wieder bis
zum Ufer des Stromes abzusteigen.
Außerdem widersetzten sich die Einheimischen der Erschließung. Ihre
traditionelle Freiheit, die sie zu erbitterten Blutrachefehden nutzten, war ih-
nen zunächst lieber als die Segnungen der Zivilisation. Nach Überwindung
des direkten Widerstands — der Krach der dort bisher unbekannten Hub-
Indus-Kohistan: Entwurf einer historischen Ethnographie
503
schrauber soll eine große moralische Wirkung gehabt haben — war es not-
wendig, den unbezwungenen Rest Indus-Kohistans der regulären Verwaltung
zu unterstellen.
Es handelt sich um ein Gebiet, das im Norden und Westen vom Indus
begrenzt wird, im Osten, Südosten und Süden durch eine Linie, die östlich
des Tals von Basha beginnt, dann am Westhang des Kaghan-Tales verläuft
und das von Pashtunen bewohnte Alai-Tal ausschließt. Die politische Integra-
tion wurde inzwischen mit großer Vorsicht vorangetrieben, völlig abgeschlos-
sen ist sie auch heute noch nicht. Wesentlich war dabei die Mitwirkung des
Kohistan Development Board (KDB). Diese Institution wurde zum sinnvol-
len Einsatz der internationalen Hilfsgelder geschaffen, die nach dem Erdbe-
ben von 1974 zu fließen begannen. Man baute Brücken und Straßen, Kanäle
und Wasserwerke, legte aber auch gleich Sanitätsstationen und Schulen an.
So lernten die Einheimischen die Wohltaten der modernen Zeiten schätzen
und nahmen es leichter hin, daß auch die Polizei ihre Posten weiter vor-
schob.
Der vom Wali von Swat eroberte Teil Indus-Kohistans wurde „befreit“
und mit den Gebieten östlich des Stromes zum neuen Distrikt Indus-Kohistan
im Rahmen der Hazara Division zusammengefaßt, die ihrerseits zur Nord-
westgrenzprovinz gehört. Die Täler Tangir und Darei, die sich bald nach der
Gründung Pakistans in islamischer Solidarität freiwillig geöffnet hatten, blie-
ben freilich im Verband der Northern Areas als Teil des Diamar Distrikts,
dessen Zentrum in Chilas liegt. Hauptort und Verwaltungszentrum von
Indus-Kohistan wurde Dassu, das in dieser Eigenschaft das weiter südlich ge-
legene Patan ablöste.
Die Chance, gleich bei der Erschließung Ethnologen einzusetzen und sie
mit der Erstellung eines Ethnographie Survey zu beauftragen, wurde nicht
wahrgenommen. Ein Institut, das diese Aufgabe hätte lösen können, wurde
erst spät in der neuen Hauptstadt Islamabad gegründet. So blieb es bei dem
Forschungsstand, den Fredrik Barth durch seine Reise im Jahre 1954 er-
reicht hatte (Barth 1956a, 19566; Barth and Morgenstierne 1956). Er hatte
allerdings nur die vom Wali von Swat kontrollierten Täler westlich des Indus
unter dem Schutz einer bewaffneten Eskorte besuchen können. Die Reise
dauerte insgesamt drei Wochen. Da sie auch noch Swat-Kohistan einbezog,
standen maximal 14 Tage zur Durchquerung eines unwegsamen Gebietes zur
Verfügung, das zuvor nur ein einziger Europäer bereist und beschrieben
hatte: Sir Aurel Stein. Sein Bericht (1942) ist erfüllt von der Begeisterung,
im höchsten Alter die Indusschlucht sehen zu dürfen, die einst chinesische
Pilger auf dem Weg von ihrer Heimat zu den heiligen Stätten in Swat/Udyana
durchquert hatten — aber fast frei von ethnographisch auswertbaren Be-
obachtungen. So beschränkt sich bis heute die ethnographische Literatur
über Indus-Kohistan auf das Buch, in dem Barth (1956«) seine Reise ausge-
wertet hat, auf ein paar Notizen bei Raverty (1878/1976), bei Biddulph
(1880/1971) und Leitner (1893/1978, Appendix IV). Außerdem gibt es
noch Hinweise in Werken, die in Urdu geschrieben sind. Die Ausführungen
504
Karl Jettmar
Anthropos 78.1983
der englischen Autoren beruhen auf Informationen, die man von Kohistani
einholte, deren man weit außerhalb ihrer Heimat habhaft werden konnte.
Man hat auch Agenten in das Gebiet eingeschleust, vor allem im 19. Jh., als
man noch mit der Notwendigkeit einer baldigen Eroberung rechnete. Ver-
mutlich wird ein systematisches Durcharbeiten der früher geheimen Be-
richte in der India Office Library Brauchbares zutage fördern.
Die ethnologische Aufgabe, die sich aus dieser Lage ergibt, war mir seit
langem bewußt, ohne daß ich daraus Konsequenzen ziehen konnte. 1971
und 1973 durfte ich die Straße benutzen, die Indus-Kohistan durchquert —
das waren damals eindrucksvolle Erlebnisse, aber an Forschungsarbeit in den
Seitentälern war nicht zu denken. Ab 1974 wurde das Industal für Ausländer
überhaupt gesperrt, der Ausbau der Straße unter chinesischer Beteiligung
hatte begonnen (Shahid Hamid 1979: 167). Das rigorose Verbot wurde erst
1978 aufgehoben. Während meiner nächsten Reise, 1979, war ich durch die
Entdeckung von Felsbildern und -inschriften im Hunzatal und am Induslauf
unterhalb von Chilas (Jettmar 1980) völlig in Anspruch genommen. Ich lern-
te jedoch Brigadier Jan Nadir Khan (Retd.) kennen, den Chairman des KDB,
eine Persönlichkeit von seltener Aufgeschlossenheit, leidenschaftlich an der
Geschichte der Bevölkerung interessiert, der er durch seine Arbeit dienen
wollte. Er wies mich nachdrücklich auf die Notwendigkeit hin, mit ethno-
graphischen Untersuchungen rasch zu beginnen, bevor die Verkehrserschlies-
sung zu grundlegenden Veränderungen führe. Er bot mir dabei die Unter-
stützung seiner Organisation an, Unterbringung in ihren Rasthäusern. Dieser
Aufforderung bin ich nachgekommen, allerdings nur im Verlauf von zwei
kurzen Aufenthalten zwischen dem 11. und 25. November 1981 (vgl. Jett-
mar 1982) sowie vom 4. - 24. Oktober 1982.1
Das von mir aufgenommene Material ist naturgemäß begrenzt — man
kann nur über den Umfang der Informationen staunen, die Barth mit dem
ihm eigenen raschen Zugriff eingeholt hat. Aber ich konnte mich auch in den
Talbezirken östlich des Indus bewegen — nur Kolai habe ich bisher nicht be-
treten —, außerdem brachte ich auf Grund früherer Aufenthalte in den an-
grenzenden Northern Areas eine völlig andere Einstellung zur Problematik
des Raumes mit.
Ein Buch ist in Vorbereitung, hier können nur wenige Themen ange-
schnitten werden. Ich greife diejenigen heraus, bei denen sich eine direkte
Konfrontation mit den Aussagen Barths ergibt.
1 Während meiner Expeditionen in diesen Jahren war ich unvermeidlich mit der
Aufnahme von Felsbildem und Inschriften beschäftigt, die Entdeckungen nahmen kein
Ende. Ich konnte allerdings die verbleibende Zeit intensiv nutzen. Bei beiden Aufent-
halten fand ich in Adam Nayyar, einem jungen pakistanischen Ethnologen, der in Heidel-
berg promoviert, einen effektiven Helfer. Er hat die Vokabulare aufgenommen, von denen
noch die Rede sein wird. Ich hoffe, daß er die linguistischen Untersuchungen selbständig
weiterführt.
Indus-Kohistan: Entwurf einer historischen Ethnographie
505
1. “Subsistence and Economy”
Die von Barth unter diesem Titel gemachten Ausführungen (1956a: 17-
18) sind, gelinde gesagt, unvollständig. Es ist irreführend, Spate (1954: 381)
zu zitieren (so Barth 19566: 1080), der die Indusschlucht als “a desert
embedded between icy gravels” charakterisiert. Nur der Nordostteil Indus-
Kohistans hinter der vom Nanga Parbat nach Westen ziehenden Kette liegt
außerhalb des Monsungürtels. Im Norden sind wirklich Talsohle und Flanken
wüstenhaft, Felder brauchen künstliche Bewässerung. Aus dem Text Barths
geht jedoch nicht klar hervor, daß in den westlich und südlich angrenzenden
Gebieten sehr viel mehr Vegetation spontan gedeiht. Ein großer Teil der
Agrarfläche wird nicht durch Kanäle bewässert, die von den zum Indus
führenden Bächen abzweigen. Vielerorts wäre das sinnlos, das Bachbett ist
normalerweise trocken, es füllt sich nur während der Schneeschmelze und bei
Regenfällen. Bei diesen Gelegenheiten funktionieren auch Stichgräben, die
das Wasser direkt von den Bergflanken auf die terrassierten Felder leiten.
Das System ermöglicht stellenweise sogar zwei Ernten, Problematisch bleibt
die Versorgung mit Trinkwasser für Mensch und Vieh. Das Dorf Jag im
Duber-Tal ist ganz auf Regenfeldbau angewiesen, ebenso Jijal. Hier hat der
KDB einen Kanal aus großer Entfernung herangeführt, vielleicht unter Fehl-
einschätzung der bisherigen Möglichkeiten. Das sind aber nur zwei Bei-
spiele unter vielen. Entscheidend ist, daß mit diesem System ein weit grös-
serer Teil der Hänge landwirtschaftlich genutzt werden kann als im Inneren
des Gebirgssystems. Die Felder reichen bis auf die hier relativ niedrigen
Kämme hinauf.
Die bisher nicht beachtete Konsequenz der Situation ist eine weit höhe-
re Bevölkerungsdichte als in den Northern Areas. Barth übernimmt offenbar
die Zahl, die ihm von den Administratoren des Wali von Swat gegeben wur-
den. Er berichtet, die Zahl der Einwohner in den Tälern westlich vom Indus
(Aba Sind-Kohistan) werde insgesamt auf 15000 geschätzt. Vielleicht hat
man Barth absichtlich falsch informiert. Die Verwaltung des Wali war kaum
interessiert, die volle Bedeutung der 1939/40 erfolgten Annexion offenzule-
gen. Nach den Angaben, die ich in der Polizeistation in Dassu erhielt, leben
allein in Kandia und Seo 130000 Menschen. Die südlich angrenzenden Täler
sollen 210000 Bewohner haben, also 340000 auf der “West Bank”. Damit
stimmen die offiziellen Angaben des Census von 1981 überein: Der gesamte
Kohistan Distrikt soll 680000 Einwohner haben.
2. “Ethnie Groups and Languages”
Auch die Darstellung der sprachlichen Gliederung durch Barth bedarf
einer Korrektur. Ein Dialekt der “West Bank” wird in Kandia und dann sehr
viel weiter stromabwärts in Duber gesprochen — das aber in Jag eine pashtu-
nische Enklave hat. Der andere Dialekt findet sich dazwischen in allen Tälern
von Gayal (zu Seo gehörend) bis Patan. Er ist aber auch in Ranolia anzutref-
506
Karl J ettmar
Anthropos 78.1983
Sprachenkarte von Indus-Kohistan
(entworfen v. K. Jettmar auf der Basis einer Karte des Kohistan Development Board)
Dialekte des Kohistani (auch Maiyä genannt)
1. Manzari
2. Mani
Süddialekt des Shina
Batervi
• • Enklaven des Chiliss im Shina-Sprachgebiet
Enklaven des Gowro im Shina-Sprachgebiet
Karakorum-Highway
z.T. unfertige Straßen (für Jeeps) in Seitentälern
Indus-Kohistan: Entwurf einer historischen Ethnographie
507
fen, einem großen Seitental von Duber. Ebenso gibt es ihn in allen Tälern
weiter südlich, die zwischen Duber und Besham (exklusive) zum Indus füh-
ren. Hier soll Bankar (Bankar) allein etwa 5000 Häuser haben. Barth muß
von diesem südlichen Verbreitungsgebiet gewußt haben. Er hat Buddruss
informiert, der Patan-Dialekt werde auch in Banköt (sicher identisch mit
Bankar) nahe der Duber-Mündung gesprochen. Das stimmt aber mit seiner
eigenen Karte nicht überein (vgl. Buddruss 1959: 7).
Barth nannte den Dialekt von Kandia und Duber „Westdialekt“, den
anderen „Ostdialekt“. Tatsächlich treffen wir von Nord nach Süd fortschrei-
tend zuerst den „Westdialekt“, dann den „Ostdialekt“, dann wieder den
„Westdialekt“ und schließlich noch einmal, reichlich weit westlich, den an-
geblichen „Ostdialekt“. Diese Unterscheidung ist unbrauchbar.
Es ist wesentlich besser, die einheimischen Bezeichnungen zu verwen-
den; den Dialekt von Seo/Patan, Ranolia und Bankar nennt man Mani,
den in Kandia und Duber verbreiteten Manzari. Bereits Leitner (1893/
1978: Appendix IV: 8) hatte die Bezeichnungen gehört, allerdings verball-
hornte er Manzari zu Bunzäri und hielt beide für ethnische, nicht sprach-
liche, Namen. Nach Biddulph (1880/1971: 12) soll sich der ganze Verband
Maiyon nennen. Nach Leitner heißt die ganze “West Bank” Kandia, was im-
merhin den Ausdruck Kanyawali für einen in Tangir gesprochenen Aussied-
lerdialekt erklären könnte (Buddruss 1959: 7f.).
Die Verzahnung war ursprünglich nicht so kompliziert. Die Ursache läßt
sich erfragen. Die Duber-Leute haben über den Bisao-Paß Kandia erobert, die
früheren Einwohner verdrängt oder unterjocht — kein Wunder, daß man heu-
te in beiden Gebieten die gleichen Verwandtschaftsgruppen trifft.
Barth (1956a: 17) unterstellt, daß der „Ostdialekt“ auch jenseits des
Indus gesprochen wird (deshalb der Name!). Das ist nach meinen Informa-
tionen unrichtig, Biddulph hat vor über 100 Jahren bereits die linguistische
Situation am Ostufer korrekt wiedergegeben. Der überwiegende Teil der Be-
völkerung spricht Shina. Innerhalb der politischen Verbände der Shina-
Sprecher gibt es aber Enklaven: Eine solche ist die Sprache der Gabare, die
heute auch Gabar-Khel genannt werden. Sie sollen aus dem Alai-Tal stam-
men, wo es einen Ort Rashang gibt. Er dürfte sich hinter dem bei Biddulph
genannten Ort „Rashung“ in Swat verbergen (Biddulph 1880/1971: 10).
Diese Sprache existiert heute noch. Eine zweite ist das von Biddulph genann-
te „Chiliss“. Biddulph gibt Buner als Herkunftsgebiet der Chiliss-Leute oder
Galos an. Das ist plausibel. Dort lebten sicher einmal dardische Stämme. Als
sie von Pashtunen besiegt wurden, mögen Flüchtlinge im Verbreitungsgebiet
des Shina Aufnahme gefunden haben.
Eine dritte Dardsprache wird in Batera gesprochen. Biddulph hat auch
von ihr erfahren, konnte aber kein Vokabular aufnehmen. Das hat jetzt
Adam Nayyar nachgeholt. Batera war vor der Einbeziehung in das staatlich
kontrollierte Territorium eine politisch selbständige Einheit, mit Kolai ver-
bündet. Heute wird das Batervi auf der östlichen Flußseite völlig vom Shina
umgeben, da Kolai-Leute sekundär bis ins Alai-Tal vorgedrungen sind.
508
Karl Jettmar
Anthropos 78.1983
Das von Barth (1956a: 51) erwähnte Badeshi im Raum von Chakesar
ist, wie wir an Ort und Stelle erfuhren, inzwischen erloschen. Hier vermoch-
te sich eine Dardgruppe mit eigener Sprache lange Zeit durch ein Abkommen
mit den erobernden Pashtunen zu behaupten. Erst bei der Unterwerfung des
Tales durch den Wali von Swat ist es den Pashtunen gelungen, die Verwal-
tung zu überzeugen, daß sie allein rechtmäßige Eigentümer des Bodens seien.
Die Sprache Badeshi soll aber bei einer Fluchtgruppe weiter existieren, die
sich östlich von Madyan in einem Seitental des Swat-Flusses niedergelassen
hat. (Diese Auskunft verdanke ich Dr. v.d. Lühe.)
3. “Political Organization — Descent Groups”
Die noch erfragbaren Genealogien sind von Barth mit beachtlicher Ge-
nauigkeit aufgenommen worden. Das Vorwissen, das ich ihm verdanke, hat
großen Eindruck gemacht. Was über “subdivision” angegeben wird (Barth
1956«: 17), bedarf jedoch der Ergänzung. Ich zitiere:
Socio-political units correspond to territorial subdivisions of smaller size. Where a
compact winter village is found, its inhabitants form an autonomous political unit.
Where Settlement is dispersed, territorial units with vague “centers” are defined:
Compact villages: Lahor, Bankött, Ränöliä, Jijäl, Patan, Seo, Jalkot, Palas. Dis-
persed habitation: Düber valley, centering in Düber Fort. Lower Kandiä, centering
in Tod. Middle Kandiä, centering in Karang. Upper Kandiä, centering in Gabräl.
Abgesehen davon, daß die Liste unvollständig ist, handelt es sich immer
um territoriale Einheiten, die jeweils ein oder zwei größere Täler mit ihren
Seiten- und Nebentälem umfassen. Der politisch aktive Teil der Bewohner-
schaft dieser Territorien kam im Verlauf der Wintermonate für kurze Zeit in
einem Hauptort im Bereich der Zentralmoschee zusammen. Dabei wurden
die Beschlüsse gefaßt, die für die gesamte Bevölkerung bindend waren. Nur in
dem sehr ausgedehnten Kandia entstand eine Untergliederung. Wollte man
die Liste der politischen Einheiten aufzählen, dann käme man für das Ostufer
— das Westufer ist im wesentlichen richtig wiedergegeben — zu folgender
Ordnung: Basha — Harban — Shatial — Sazin (diese Talbereiche liegen bereits
nördlich vom Indusknie, sie haben daher eine ökologisch bedingte Sonder-
stellung) — Jalkot — Palas — Kolai — Batera. Um ihre Ausdehnung zu charak-
terisieren, sei erwähnt, daß allein Seo zwischen Komila und Gayal 20 größere
oder kleinere Täler umfaßt, die aber nicht alle einen permanenten Wasserlauf
aufweisen. Dazu gehören umfangreiche Weidegebiete.
Diese Territorien sind auch heute noch zu einer politischen Willensbil-
dung fähig. Als Beispiel: Azimo, ein Mann aus Darei, hatte sich im Verlauf
einer Blutrachefehde auch gegen die wider ihn mobilisierte Polizei erfolgreich
gewehrt. Er stellte sich dann freiwillig, in der Hoffnung auf die ihm zuge-
sicherte glimpfliche Behandlung. Längere Zeit saß er in Haft, ohne daß etwas
geschah, auch eine Verurteilung fand nicht statt. Da brach er mit zwei
Dutzend getreuer Anhänger aus dem Gefängnis in Gilgit aus — eine vielbe-
Indus-Kohistan: Entwurf einer historischen Ethnographie
509
staunte Tat von großer Kühnheit. Er traf mit seiner Gefolgschaft in Seo ein
und bat um Asyl. Von dem Volke Indus-Kohistans wurde ihm Schutz zuge-
sagt, wobei jedes der erwähnten Territorien Gäste aufnahm und diese höchst
effektiv vor Verhaftung bewahrte. Ein Polizeioffizier erkannte beim Be-
gräbnis eines angesehenen Mannes zwei der Geflüchteten unter den Trauer-
gästen. Sein Versuch, ihrer habhaft zu werden, mißlang kläglich — er sei zum
Mittrauem eingeladen worden, nicht zum Verhaften, belehrte man ihn.
Jedes der Territorien hatte nach Barth einen Zentralrat. Die Mitglieder
hießen in Patan Zetwän, in Duber/Kandia: Zetan.
Ähnlich klingende Bezeichnungen sind weitverbreitet, in den Northern
Areas heißen so die Beauftragten der Dorfversammlung, die für den gleich-
zeitigen Beginn der landwirtschaftlichen Arbeiten und für den Schutz der
Dorfflur zu sorgen haben.
Obwohl es auch innerhalb der Gemeinwesen blutige Auseinanderset-
zungen geben kann, ist es doch richtig, von Republiken zu sprechen, wie dies
Biddulph (1880/1971) bereits vor hundert Jahren tat. Der Ausdruck „Tal-
schaft“ von A, Friedrich eingeführt, von mir gebraucht, ist weniger korrekt.
Mindestens in der Vergangenheit war durchaus eine koordinierte Außen-
politik möglich. So hat die ganze “East Bank” Chilas im Abwehrkampf ge-
gen die Dogra unterstützt (Leitner 1893/ 1978: 80-87). Auch interne Kämp-
fe zwischen den Republiken wurden unter erheblichem Einsatz geführt. So
wurde z.B. Sazin gezwungen, Jalkot aufzugeben. Zunächst stand dieses Tal
unter den „Siegermächten“ Palas undKolai, heute ist es politisch selbständig,
ja führend, geworden.
Barth (1956a: 39) hat unter der Überschrift “Factions” erwähnt, daß
es auch in Kohistan die das ganze Pashtunen-Gebiet durchschneidende Tei-
lung in zwei Parteien gibt, die man dala — in verschiedenen Dialektvarianten
— nennt. Die Auswirkungen dieses Systems, auch seine Implementierung an
Ort und Stelle, waren mannigfacher, als Barth angibt, und sicher nicht auf
das Verhältnis zwischen “larger territories” begrenzt. Im allgemeinen schütz-
ten sie den Status quo, da die unterliegende Hälfte Verbündete in immer wei-
terem Umkreis mobilisieren konnte. Bei den Leuten ihrer Hälfte finden
Flüchtlinge Schutz, Reisende Aufnahme. (Azimo konnte erfolgreich die Hil-
fe seiner Erbverbündeten anrufen.) Andererseits kann diese Aufspaltung bis
zum Exzess getrieben werden. Im Ranolia-Tal sind selbst die einzelnen Ver-
wandtschaftsgruppen untergliedert, ebenso die Handwerker. In der gröbsten
Form — als Bündnis zwischen ganzen Talbereichen — dehnt sich diese Grup-
pierung in zwei Parteien bis ins nördliche Dardgebiet aus.
4. “Landownership and Administrative Bodies”
Die Frage, wer eigentlich die Mitglieder des republikanischen Rates stel-
le, konnte Barth nur ungenau beantworten. Er schrieb:
510
Karl Jettmar
Anthropos 78,1983
The members sit in the village council as the recognized representatives of segments
of the three major lineages—or rather, of the political groups of which these lineage
segments form the core, they thus speak also for the allies and clients of the seg-
ment, rather than for the strictly genealogically defined group (1956a: 36).
In der einheimischen Theorie — und weitgehend auch in der Praxis —
sind diese “political groups” mit jenen Segmenten identisch, die für das
System periodischer Wiederverteilung des Landes notwendig waren. Hier
kommt das sogenannte „Wesh“-System ins Spiel, das Barth (1959a: 64-70)
später in seinem vielbeachteten Buch über die Swat-Pathanen genauer be-
schrieben hat. M.T. Ahmad (1962) hat wesentliche, kaum beachtete Ergän-
zungen festgehalten. Keiner der beiden Autoren hatte Zugang zu dem Werk
von Rejsner (1954) über „die Entwicklung des Feudalismus und die Staats-
bildung bei den Afghanen“ (russisch).
Es behandelt ausführlich das Wesh-System, stark ideologisch gefärbt,
aber unter sorgfältiger Würdigung der älteren, meist englisch geschriebenen
Literatur. Die relevanten Teile dieses Buches wurden seinerzeit von mir
übersetzt; darauf beruht eine (ungedruckte) Wiener Dissertation von Eva
Lorenz, die interessante Aspekte einbringt. Die gleiche Übersetzung wurde
später von Christian Sigrist benutzt.
Aber gehen wir zunächst von dem aus, was hier Barth (1956a: 31f.) un-
ter der Überschrift “Landownership” geschrieben hat, mit dem Untertitel
“The system of re-allotment”:
The descent group owns the rights to land in common, and the problem is to
achieve an equitable distribution between its component members. Since no two
plots of land are really identical, a semipermanent division can never be fully satis-
factory, Instead, the land is subdivided into blocks corresponding to the segments
of the descent group, and each segment will, by the completion of the cycle, have
occupied all the different areas an equal length of time, and full equality is ensured.
Within each segment, land may be subdivided into lots according to the adult male’s
traditional share of the total. Thus a person does not own particular fields, but a
specified fraction of the common land of his lineage segment, and at the end of
each standard period, he moves with his segment to a new locality allotted to it,
where he again is allotted fields corresponding to his share of the total, to be utilized
in the next period. In the same way, not land, but a specified share of the common
lands is passed on as inheritance from father to son.
Zweifellos irreführend ist die Vorbemerkung:
The principle on which this system is based is quite simple and occurs also among
other Indo-European speaking peoples (Pathans, Baluchis, ancient Celtic and
Germanic tribes).
Indus-Kohistan: Entwurf einer historischen Ethnographie
511
Erstens ist das System nicht einfach. Man muß zunächst einmal Perso-
nengruppen gleicher Stärke schaffen, wobei Leute aus unbedeutenden Ver-
wandtschaftsverbänden zum „Auffüllen“ der starken Verbände dienten. Die-
se Korrektur des durch unterschiedliche Reproduktion der genealogischen
Einheiten unvermeidbaren Ungleichgewichts heißt rath. Dann muß das
Land in ebenso viele Lose (bathä) unterteilt werden, wobei die Qualität des
Bodens in bezug auf Höhenlage, Exposition und Wasserversorgung berück-
sichtigt wird. Jeder Anteil muß die gleiche Quantität der verschiedenen Qua-
litäten enthalten. Das ist ein Kunststück, das sich nie konfliktlos bewältigen
läßt.
Zweitens aber ist dieses System auch in Kohistan keinesfalls indo-
europäisches Erbe. Die Auskünfte, die ich erhielt, geben folgendes Bild: Vor
der Bekehrung zum Islam bestanden noch nicht die heute z.T. aufgelösten Dör-
fer mit einer Zentralmoschee im unteren Talbereich. Neben den Gehöftgrup-
pen der Sippen gab es Fluchtburgen auf den Bergspitzen, in die man sich bei
Kriegsgefahr zurückzog. Wieweit eine (staatliche?) Organisation in den spä-
teren Territorien entwickelt war, bleibt unklar. Die heutige Ordnung geht je-
denfalls auf die Pashtu sprechenden „Heiligen“ zurück, die den Islam ge-
bracht haben. Barth nennt von ihnen Akhund Sädiiq Baba, Mian Baqi Bäbä,
Mian Bäbä. Das entspricht den Angaben, die ich erhielt.
Diese Männer sollen nun die Verwandtschafts verbände von ihren Trutz-
burgen heruntergeholt und um die neuerbauten Moscheen versammelt ha-
ben. Gleichzeitig mit der Bekehrung zum Islam sollen sie auch das Wesh-
System gebracht haben, als sei es ein integraler Teil der neuen Religion. Die-
ses System lieferte nun auch den politischen Rahmen für die Verfassung der
Republiken. Die gleichen Einheiten, die geschlossen ihren Boden besaßen
und austauschten, entsandten ihre Delegierten in den Dorfrat (wobei als Titel
eine bereits vorhandene Bezeichnung für die Flurwächter gewählt wurde).
Das Wesh-System wäre somit eine der sozialen Utopien, die im Namen
einer missionierenden Religion institutionalisiert wurden. Die islamischen
Missionare wären damit auch zu Sozialreformem und Stiftern einer poli-
tischen Ordnung geworden.
Kann eine solche Auskunft, die zunächst verblüfft, richtig sein? Ich
glaube, ja.
Der Einfluß des Wesh-Systems reicht weit über das heutige Indus-
Kohistan hinaus. Ich beobachtete ihn in Tangir und Darei (1955 und 1958),
später auch in Chilas. Das alles sind Gebiete, die nach den lokalen Traditio-
nen von Sendboten aus dem Pashtunen-Gebiet missioniert wurden. Bereits
1960: 133-134 habe ich daher das Wesh-System als pashtunischen Export
bezeichnet. Tatsächlich ist die verwendete Terminologie aus dem Pashtu
übernommen. Die Teilung des Bodens in Rupien, bzw. deren Bruchteile,
mag dem Steuersystem des Mogulreiches entstammen, das die Pashtunen
nachhaltig beeinflußt hat. Die früheren Sippenburgen auf den Bergspitzen
sind jedenfalls Realität, sie werden in den verschiedenen Tälern gezeigt, 1982
erzählte man davon in Sazin.
512
Karl Jettmar
Anthropos 78.1983
Die Rolle, die die orthodoxe Geistlichkeit des Islam bei der Propagie-
rung und Implementierung des Wesh-Systems bei den Pashtunen gespielt
hat, wurde von M.T. Ahmad betont; das von Rejsner gesammelte Material
(1954: 104-183) spricht für diese Interpretation. Die Mullahs besaßen Au-
torität und Erfahrung, die für die Klassifikation des Landes und für die
Gruppierung der Menschen notwendig waren.
Rejsner hat nicht herausgestellt, daß hier eine Utopie realisiert wurde,
weil er als orthodoxer Marxist bemüht war, den Übergang von der egalitä-
ren Gentilverfassung zum Feudalismus zu zeigen. In dieses evolutionäre
Schema hätte die Annahme einer quasi-kommunistischen Reform nicht ge-
paßt.
Man kann höchstens fragen, warum die dardischen Bergbewohner be-
reit waren, nicht nur den Islam, sondern auch eine so radikale, soziale und
ökonomische Reform zu akzeptieren — offenbar ohne pashtunische Herr-
schaft. Hier gibt eine Legende Aufschluß, die mir 1981 in Patan erzählt
wurde:
Als Mahmud von Ghazni Swat eroberte und seine Macht weiter ausdehnte, seien
die Ältesten des Daram-Khels gezwungen gewesen, nach Chilas zu fliehen. Dort
hätte man ihnen das Schwimmen und das Bogenschießen beigebracht. Das mach-
te sie so überlegen, daß sie ihre Heimat zurückerobem und die Tötung ihrer Ange-
hörigen rächen konnten. Es blieb aber die Sorge vor weiteren Einfällen. Da er-
fuhren sie, daß es im Süden einen starken und weisen Mann gab, Musalman genannt;
ihn suchten sie auf. Dieser beriet sie dann so erfolgreich, daß sie von da an stand-
hielten. Er bekehrte sie aber auch gleich zum Islam und brachte ihnen die nötigen
Gebete bei. Er muß Pashtune gewesen sein, denn noch heute beginnt man das Ge-
bet in Pashtu.
Ich glaube, daß diese Legende, die auch andere realistische Elemente
enthält — Schwimmen gehörte tatsächlich zur besonderen Kriegskunst der
Chilasi, und vor dem Bogen war die Schleuder die eigentliche Femwaffe der
Kohistani —, korrekt darstellt, was der Islam für die nationale Selbstbehaup-
tung der Kohistani gegenüber den Pashtunen — als deren Vertreter auch in
anderen Fällen Mahmud von Ghazni genannt wird — bedeutete.
Mit der Islamisierung wurde den Pashtunen die Möglichkeit genommen,
ihr Vordringen religiös zu motivieren. Das mit dem Islam gekoppelte Wesh-
System bildete eine politische Klammer, die die koordinierte Abwehr der
Einheimischen außerordentlich erleichterte. Bei periodischer Wiedervertei-
lung des Landes muß der gesamte Verband gegen jede Verletzung seiner Ter-
ritorialgrenzen einschreiten, jedes einzelne Segment könnte bei der nächsten
Umverteilung eine Einbuße erleiden. Außerdem wurde durch die Öffnung ge-
genüber der islamischen Ökumene die Möglichkeit geboten, jene Hand-
werkergruppen aufzunehmen, die man für eine Verteidigung brauchte. Es
wurde mir mehrfach versichert, in heidnischer Zeit habe man neben der
Schleuder nur Bogen und Pfeil als Fernwaffen gekannt. Mit dem Islam ka-
Indus-Kohistan: Entwurf einer historischen Ethnographie
513
men nicht nur die Schmiede, sondern auch die Gewehre. Man lernte ferner
überlegene Nahkampfwaffen, nämlich Schwerter, herzustellen. Mit der Re-
krutierung der Handwerker aus den bereits pashtunisierten Gebieten hängt
sicher zusammen, daß sie heute noch in Kohistan vorwiegend Pashtu spre-
chen, vor allem die Schmiede. Die Bedingungen, zu denen sie beschäftigt
werden, entsprechen denen des Pashtunen-Gebiets.
Man könnte auch behaupten, daß ein mit der Islamisierung verbundener
erheblicher Nachteil durch die Einführung des Wesh-Systems kompensiert
wurde: In heidnischer Zeit waren die Kohistani wie alle mir bekannten Dard-
gruppen in exogame Verwandtschaftsverbände gegliedert. Der Tausch der
Frauen bildete die entscheidene Klammer. Im Islam ist jedoch eine Heirat im
eigenen Verband nicht nur zugelassen, sie wird geradezu empfohlen. Die Auf-
gabe des Frauentausches wurde also durch den Landtausch wettgemacht.
Ich möchte hier nicht darauf eingehen, was das Wesh-System heute be-
deutet und in Zukunft bedeuten wird. Nur soviel sei gesagt: Aus den Teil-
nehmern des Wesh-Systems sind “landlords” geworden, eine Oberschicht
über den weit zahlreicheren Abhängigen, nämlich den Handwerkern, den
Landarbeitern und Hirten. Weil man diese „Hintersassen“ in den früheren
Zählungen, bei denen es auf die Bewaffneten ankam, nicht berücksichtigt
hatte, haben sich die erstaunlichen Fehler in die Schätzungen eingeschlichen.
In jüngster Zeit hat das Wesh-System vermehrte Bedeutung erhalten, weil
die Gelder, die die Regierung beim Abholzen der Wälder zahlt, noch nach
den alten Regeln verteilt werden, auch dort, wo die Felder längst vererb-
barer oder veräußerter Privatbesitz geworden sind. Für die Wälder gibt es
keine Schonung — sie gehören allen und niemand — aber auf keinen Fall den
Außenseitern.
Ich möchte vielmehr auf einen Aspekt hinweisen, der meines Wissens
bisher nicht beachtet worden ist.
4.1 Die Ordnung der Pashtunen in Swat war zum Zeitpunkt der Eroberung
(1525) segmentär und egalitär. An diesem Zustand wurde lange Zeit fest-
gehalten. Gleichzeitig handelte es sich jedoch um eine Klassengesellschaft,
da die bei der Einwanderung unterworfenen Vorbewohner des wichtigsten
Produktionsmittels, nämlich des Bodens, beraubt wurden. Das bildete den
wesentlichen Inhalt des Eroberungsrechtes. Seiner Erhaltung dienten gestifte-
te Institutionen, die den segmentären Charakter in der internen Ordnung der
Oberherren in regelmäßigen Abständen bestätigten. Sie dienten der Absiche-
rung kollektiver Herrschaft gegen Nachbarn und Unterworfene.
4.2 In Indus-Kohistan ist nun eine Variante aufgetaucht, bei der ein segmen-
täres System von besonderer Strenge geschaffen wurde. Das bedeutete nicht
nur außenpolitische Resistenzkraft. Die Stabilität war so groß, daß ohne
sichtbare Gefährdung zahlenmäßig starke Zuwanderergruppen in dienender
Anthropos 78.1983
33
514
Karl Jettmar
Anthropos 78.1983
Position integriert wurden. Da diese selbst keine Waffen tragen durften, wa-
ren sie auf den — ausbeuterischen — Schutz ihrer Herren angewiesen. So re-
sultierte auch hier eine Klassengesellschaft.
4.3 Barth (1959a: 12) nennt das System der Swat-Pathanen “acephalous
and anarchic”. Sein Urteil beruht zweifellos auf einer Konzeption, die —
nicht zuletzt durch die Autorität Max Webers — nicht genügend hinterfragt
wurde; nämlich daß zum integralen Inhalt des Staatsbegriffs die Existenz
einer Zentralinstanz und einer von ihr gesteuerten Exekutive gehört.
Diese Kriterien müssen wir nicht unbedingt ablehnen — man könnte die
gleiche Situation auch so umschreiben, daß nach traumatischem Erleben
des Beherrschtwerdens eine die staatlichen Aufgaben wahrnehmende Ord-
nung geschaffen wurde, in der eine große, aber scharf umrissene Gruppe als
Zentralinstanz fungiert. Dabei wird effektiv und fiktiv auf die Tradition jener
Zeit zurückgegriffen, in der noch „naturwüchsige“ Akephalie und Egalität
im Rahmen der Verwandtschaftsordnung bestand,
4.4 Das neue Gebilde sollte man eher „makrokephal“ nennen. Da der Kreis
der theoretisch Herrschaftsbeteiligten, nämlich alle Männer „richtiger Ab-
stammung“, viel zu groß ist, um praktikabel zu sein, kommen Mechanis-
men, die die Spieltheorie aufgeklärt hat, zum Tragen — wie Barth (19596)
bereits gesehen hat.
Die gleichen Mechanismen führen in modernen Staaten, die sich demo-
kratisch nennen, zur repräsentativen oder parlamentarischen Demokratie.
Neue Formen der Entmündigung künden sich an. Auch bei Pashtunen und
Kohistani droht die Bildung neuer Herrschaftszellen; unter Umständen wer-
den sie sogar notwendig. Aber es gibt in einem überschaubaren Rahmen
effektive, gelegentlich „mörderische“ Regulative. Ein Blutrachesystem, das
den Unterlegenen zwingt, bei allzugroßer Provokation sich bis zur Selbstver-
nichtung zu wehren (bei Strafe totalen Ehrverlusts), war in Swat und ist
noch heute in Indus-Kohistan die wichtigste Abwehr gegen „Uber-Mut“. Die
präskriptive Gliederung in Parteien hat eine ähnliche Funktion. Jedenfalls
sehe ich keinen Grund, von einer Klassifikation als Sonderform des Staates
ganz abzusehen. Die Tradition der Urgesellschaft ist nicht mehr ursprünglich,
sie wird selektiv gebraucht. Man könnte die so entstehende Ordnung „Tradi-
tionale Demokratie“ nennen, ihr Resultat „Segmentäre Republik“.
4.5 Das Buch von G. Kippenberg (1978) zeigt, wie man in Judäa nach dem
babylonischen Exil eine Gliederung der Heimkehrer nach dem Verwandt-
schaftsprinzip durchgeführt hat. Diese Neuordnung sollte Egalität und Soli-
darität begünstigen — unter Ausschluß von Nachbarn und Vorbewohnem.
Bei der Einrichtung und Bewahrung der Ordnung kamen Priestern und reli-
giös Gesinnten entscheidende Verdienste zu. Das heißt doch, daß es auch
dort nicht jene naturwüchsige Gentilordnung, für die sich Engels begeisterte,
gegeben hat, sondern eine „künstliche“, sekundär geschaffene.
Indus-Kohistan: Entwurf einer historischen Ethnographie
515
Diese Parallele ist sicher kein Einzelfall. Vermutlich gibt es einen „ty-
pischen Ablauf“ (Mühlmann), der in vielen Regionen zur Bildung politischer
Einheiten führte, die Funktionen des Staates wahmehmen konnten, anderer-
seits aber statt der permanenten Zentralgewalt nur ad hoc gebildete Ent-
scheidungsgremien und deren Beauftragte zuließen. Diese Neubildungen wer-
den legitimiert, indem man der eigenen Konstruktion den Anschein hoher
Altertümlichkeit gibt.
4.6 Man könnte auch unter Verwendung der Terminologie von Fried (1967:
185) von “stratified societies” sprechen, bei denen der nach Frieds Auffas-
sung unvermeidliche Aufbau von “political institutions on state level“ auf
das unbedingt nötige Maß begrenzt ist. Diese Restriktionen führen zu solchen
Reibungsverlusten (an Besitz und Menschenleben), daß der Eindruck von
Anarchie entstehen konnte.
4.7 Zum Schluß möchte ich auf eine Eigenart der natürlichen Bedingungen
eingehen, die für die Erhaltung segmentärer Republiken in Indus-Kohistan
von größter Bedeutung war, aber meines Wissens noch nie hervorgehoben
wurde. Mir wurde diese Eigenart zum Erlebnis, als mich ein Polizist, um den
Weg abzukürzen, auf einen der Pfade lockte, die gegenüber von Patan die steil
zum Indus abfallende Bergflanke queren: Nur stellenweise trat der blanke
Fels zutage, viel unangenehmer waren die mit Erdreich und spärlicher Vege-
tation bedeckten Strecken am Steilhang, sie waren unerwartet rutschig.
Es wirkten sich die häufigen Niederschläge aus. Hier könnte man keine Pfer-
de verwenden. In Indus-Kohistan reiste man daher zu Fuß; zu Fuß und mit
Trägem wurden auch die Feldzüge und Raubüberfälle unternommen.
Weiter nördlich, hinter der ersten Hauptkette, ist der Untergrund felsig,
die Steige sind schmal aber trittfest, der Einsatz von Reit- und Transporttie-
ren ist daher leichter möglich. Früher verwendete man nur Hengste — sie
klettern erstaunlich sicher, wie die Katzen — schrieb Durand. Die Fürsten der
vielen Staaten zwischen dem Badakhshan und Ladakh waren selbst passio-
nierte Reiter; mit Reitern, aus den vornehmen Familien rekrutiert, zogen sie
ins Feld. Das Hauptproblem waren die parri, d.h. Stellen, an denen Fels-
bastionen bis an den Fluß herantreten. Aber auch diese ließen sich bezwin-
gen, wie Durand (1899/1974: 54) anschaulich schreibt, “even if the inner
leg would be brushing the cliff and the outer hanging over etemity”. Wenn es
ganz schlimm kam, kreuzte man den Fluß, um die leichtere Seite zu gewin-
nen — die Pferde waren ans Schwimmen im Wildwasser gewöhnt, und die
Reiter hatten Lederschläuche zum Aufblasen dabei.
Auf diese Weise waren rasend schnelle Überfälle möglich, denen kein
Dorf widerstehen konnte. Allerdings brauchte man ausgesuchte Pferde — und
jene Beherrschung des Tieres, die man am besten beim Polospiel erwirbt.
Mit dieser Taktik konnte man allenfalls die nördlichen Republiken
Indus-Kohistans überrennen (Kandia, Tangir, Darei, Gor, vielleicht Chilas
und Thor), aber weiter südlich, unterhalb der Hochweiden, in Wäldern und
516
Karl Jettmar
Anthropos 78.1983
Schluchten, blieb jeder Angriff stecken. Das war die Grundlage, auf der sich
„segmentäre Republiken“ bilden und behaupten konnten.
Diese Situation erklärt übrigens, warum der Angriff der Pashtunen so
gefährlich war. Im Gegensatz zu den fürstlichen Armeen aus dem Norden
kämpften die Stämme, die hier vordrangen, ebenfalls zu Fuß. Die Art ihrer
Kriegsführung war bereits an das Gebirgsvorland angepaßt. Deshalb ver-
schaffte erst die Übernahme einer straffen Organisation und einer besseren
Bewaffnung den Kohistani Luft.
Als Anregung für künftige Studien sei vermerkt, daß das geographisch
bedingte Areal der Fußkämpfer keinesfalls auf Indus-Kohistan beschränkt
war. Es reicht weit nach Westen, über Swat- und Dir-Kohistan und kleine
Enklaven am Kunarfluß nach Nuristan und in Täler, in denen die Pashai-
Sprecher siedeln. In all diesen Gebieten konnten sich „segmentäre Repu-
bliken“ bis ins 19. Jh. halten. Die Staatsform ist zwar nicht einfach eine
Funktion der Kampfes weise, aber ein Zusammenhang ist kaum abzuleugnen
innerhalb eines breiten Spektrums von Möglichkeiten. (Zum Zusammen-
hang zwischen Fürstenstaat und Pferd vgl. Goody 1971: 39-56.)
Im Gegensatz dazu reichten Fürstentümer dort, wo sich Reitern ein bes-
seres Operationsfeld bietet, nämlich östlich vom Nanga Parbat, bis weit nach
Süden. Viele gute Wege führten von Astor aus über die Pässe und die Deosai
Plains ins Kishanganga-Tal — und damit war man an der Haustür von Kasch-
mir, wo soviel Beute lockte.
Darum lesen wir in der Räjatarangini (Stein 1900/1979/2: 198, 224)
über diese Einbruchsstelle;
(2519) The ambitious Dards were waiting for the snow to melt on the
mountains over which (lay their) way, with their mounted troops in readiness.
(2842) The proud Darada army then descended from the mountain
gorges to battle with their horses, which carried golden trappings.
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56.
I. Chukwukere
Chi in Igbo Religion and Thought:
The God in Every Man
Abstract. — This paper attempts to show that the concept of chi gives the Igbo-
speaking people of Nigeria a central, unifying theme that integrates the various fields
of their thought. The author argues that chi is inextricably linked with eke, a complemen-
tary spiritual force, and both are associated with the act of “natural creation.” Thus, chi
constitutes the foundation of Igbo intelligence, providing a “satisfactory” explanatory
model for the diversities of human personality and the broad category of causation. In
the light of this, the author rejects the “established” idea that Chineke denotes God in
the monotheistic sense of the revealed religions. Rather, he suggests that a view of chi and
eke as inseparable dual divinity fits in with Igbo way of “thinking” as a whole. In any
case the emphasis is on the crucial interpretative role chi plays in Igbo religious thought
and philosophy. [Igbo, Nigeria, Religion, World View]
The categories are . . . priceless instruments
of thought which the human groups have
laboriously forged through the centuries and
where they have accumulated the best of
their intellectual capital (Durkheim 1915: 32).
1. Introduction
Emile Durkheim’s (1915) classic pioneer study of religious anthropol-
ogy offers not only a general sociological theory of religion based on Australian
“totemism” but also a significant introduction to the sociology of knowl-
edge. The impact of the latter theme on anthropological studies of traditional
I. Chukwukere, B.A. (London), B. Litt. (Oxford), read Social Anthropology at
postgraduate level at Edingburgh, Scotland; several years of lecturing at universities in
Ghana and the USA; now Senior Lecturer in the Department of Sociology/Anthropology
at University of Nigeria, Nsukka.— Major anthropological publications are on the Fante
Akan of Ghana (Africa 1978 and 1982; Journal of African Studies 1980; Current Anthro-
pology 1981). Address: Dept, of Sociology and Anthropology, Univ. of Nigeria, Nsukka,
Nigeria.
520
I. Chukwukere
Anthropos 78.1983
African religions is evident in the contributions made by Evans-Pritchard
(1937, 1956), Nadel (1954), Forde (1954), and later eminent Africanists
(e.g., Turner 1967; Horton 1962 and 1967; Lienhardt 1961). In their analyses
of diverse African religions, pains are taken to define the nature of the com-
plex connection between the main categories of the religious belief and the
way of “thinking” peculiar to the people in question. Evans-Pritchard’s
(1937) celebrated demonstration of “the logic” behind Azande witchcraft,
beliefs, and rituals remains a locus classicus of this genre of African religious
and cognitive anthropology.
In this paper I shall examine one abstract religious and cosmological
concept, commonly known as chi, among the Igbo-speaking people of Ni-
geria. I wish to show that chi is a dominant fundamental notion of Igbo
thought and social structure as a whole, a notion that lies at the roots of
the Igbo intellectual system. I shall argue that (a) the individualistic prin-
ciple of the chi system of belief and ritual underlies many areas of Igbo
behaviour; (b) the representations of chi are predominantly “religious”
in character, and significantly suggest a “collective” Igbo “mentality”;
(c) as far as Igbo ideas and actions associated with chi are concerned, two
major categories of the understanding stand out, viz. theories of causation
(especially cosmic and certain puzzling human events) and of the human
personality in its manifold variety.
The category of causality is of special interest in this essay mainly
because invisible anthropomorphized beings tend to play a preponderant
role in traditional or non-scientific “explanation” of the universe, natural
and social (cf. Guthrie 1980). Part of the reason lies in the inherent nature of
spiritual powers, which is common to all known religions, but in the tradi-
tional African context further complicated by the extreme multiplicity of
those products of man’s inventive imagination.
I stress this point here because the term chi has been differently “trans-
lated” as “god,” “guardian spirit,” “God,” and allied theistic concepts.1 In
the sense of God, as in Christianity, some of the exponents claim that chi
is synonymous with Chukwu and Chineke, these two presented as identical
accurate Igbo denotations for the “Supreme Being.” But I shall argue below
that such a rendering of chi, a central metaphysical conception of Igbo
1 Precise correspondent Igbo words for the English synonymous notional terms
“god”/“God” and “spirit” hardly exist. Chi is probably the nearest generic equivalent
for “god” while muo (agbara in some dialects), roughly translated “spirit,” is a much
more inclusive term than “spirit.” For example, the “gods” of village-groups and con-
stituent villages, ancestors, and extremely powerful oracles where the diviner is believed
to be the “spirit” itself rather than regarded as a medium (e.g., Chukwu of the Aro and
Igwekala of Umunneoha, near Owerri) all come under the category of muo. Chi cannot be
said to be muo in the same way that one would say in English: “ ‘God’ (i.e., Supreme) is a
spirit.”
Chi in Igbo Religion and Thought
521
cosmology and general philosophy of life, cannot pass the simple test of
systematic anthropological reasoning, which should spring from well-founded
empiric evidence on chi rather than a preconceived idea of Igbo monotheism,
by which chi is reduced to the status of the particle of Chukwu (“God”)
which He donates to every man.
2. The Igbo Language Problem in chi Ethnography
The issues outlined above are central to any sound anthropological
analysis of chi in Igbo religion and cosmology. But before we tackle them,
the following brief digression is necessary mainly because my analytical
approach in this paper is broadly linguistic. In this connection the main
deficiencies I have observed in previous ethnographic accounts of the chi
phenomenon are of a “linguistic” nature. First, the ethnographers’ inad-
equate understanding of Igbo language patterns of thought and expression,
which even to the “educated” native speaker of Igbo can be quite slippery
and, at times, frustrating. Secondly, the authors’ general lack of a certain
degree of sophistication and sensitivity concerning the semantics of cate-
gories in cross-cultural comparison—in this context the translation of Igbo
religious categories into English and vice-versa.
I may add at this juncture that social anthropologists themselves (cf.
Evans-Pritchard 1956: v; Fortes 1970: 164; Bohannan quoted by Winter
1966: 156) unequivocally admit that religious institutions have proved
“more complex and baffling” than the other socio-cultural institutions
which they have been analysing with great success since the emergence of
modem fieldwork in the first decades of this century. Evans-Pritchard
(1965; 7) more or less expresses the consensus of anthropological opinion,
that the difficulty lies as much in the inherent nature of religious beliefs—
“what neither European nor native can directly observe, . . . conceptions,
images, words”—as in the basic fact that “a thorough knowledge of a people’s
language” is a sine qua non for “understanding” these beliefs. And in this
sense, he adds, “fluency” in the language, which many good field anthro-
pologists claim they attain, should not be mistaken for “understanding it.”
Let us therefore look at a few broadly sociological writings on Igbo
thought in general and the concept of chi in particular in order to illustrate
the danger for comparative sociological analysis if the ethnographer’s under-
standing of his or her informants’ language is imperfect in any sense. Our
first example is taken from a prolific American writer on Igbo religion and
philosophy, Professor Austin Shelton2 , who in his critical article titled “The
2 Professor A.J. Shelton was a lecturer in English at Nsukka (northern Igboland),
in which area he claims to have done his “fieldwork.” It is not easy for me to infer from
his writings the extent of his formal training, if any, in the sociological disciplines.
522
I. Chukwukere
Anthropos 78.1983
Offended Chi in Achebe’s Novels” affirms that his interpretation of the
tragedy of Achebe’s heroes is “based upon [his] personal studies of Igbo
Weltanschauungen,” and that chi means “God Within, not ‘personal god’ as
Achebe blasphemously refers to chi” (Shelton 1964: 36). Later, in an
essay on Igbo proverbs, most of which could be usefully analysed as vig-
nettes of Igbo cosmology and thought in general, Shelton (1971: 47) ex-
hibits a sad superficial grasp of the Igbo language:
enwe si na o foduru nwa ntinti, ma iku aruo ya mma. “Monkey says that he
would have remained a little child but [his] eyebrows produced his beauty [adult
appearance ].”
The correct literal English translation of the proverb, however, is: “The
monkey says that his eyebrows nearly ruined his beauty,” i.e., that his eye-
brows are the only p^art of his body that come close to being imperfect.
Shelton’s error stems from treating a single but compound Igbo word
nwantinti (“near-miss”) as two separate words nwa (“child,” or, to be more
exact, the offspring or descendant of any animal, including man of course)
and ntinti (dubiously translated as “little” by Shelton, but its meaning in
isolation, except perhaps as shortened colloquial form for nwantinti, I do
not really know). What is worse, on the basis of this sterile morphological
breakdown of nwantinti, Shelton proceeds to equate his two forms with
their apparently corresponding “literal” English meanings without due cog-
nizance of the contextual limitations of the sentence. Hence the ludicrous
idea that “monkey . . . would have remained a little child,” and the arrant
contradiction that the monkey’s negative eyebrows contributed to “his
beauty [adult appearance]” [sic].
If Shelton’s grave mistake is a result of poor knowledge of Igbo lan-
guage—the indispensable vehicle of the Weltanschauungen he claims expert
knowledge of—Revs. Iwuagwu (n.d.) and Ilogu (1965), well-educated native
speakers of Igbo, commit the “cardinal sin” of uncritical assimilation of Igbo
religious categories into their probably more familiar Euro-Christian belief
and practice (Beattie 1964: 203).
Iwuagwu claims that “Igbo religion begins with the belief in, and wor-
ship of, Chi-ukwu the ‘Great Chi’ or the ‘Great God’ . . . Chi is Chukwu’s . . .
essence in man conceived either as man’s double or his guardian spirit.” In
short, Chukwu, admittedly morphologically speaking a welding of chi and
ukwu (“big”), is the universal Igbo term for (Supreme) God. That is to say,
Iwuagwu derives the meaning of the compound word chukwu from the
separate meanings (assumed in the case of chi) of its two components,
chi and ukwu, and goes further to generalize that since every Igbo man
theoretically speaking has a chi the “great” chi or Chukwu must be a single
universal Igbo deity. This is, of course, speculation guided by preconceptions
of Igbo religion modelled on Christian theology.
Chi in Igbo Religion and Thought
523
Ilogu (1965) similarly draws a close analogy between the Euro-Christian
idea of God and Igbo concepts chi, Chineke, and Chukwu. These, he says,
mean respectively: “spirit,” “belief in a supreme bénéficient source of
creation,” and “belief in a Supreme Spirit or World Over-Soul.” Such facile
postulation of semantic parallels between key religious and philosophical
concepts of two basically different cultures would obfuscate the very terms—
here chi, Chineke, and Chukwu—that need clarification, which is what I
aim at providing in the rest of this essay.
3. Chi and Allied Concepts: Description and Explanation
a) Early Studies
In the immense but widely scattered literature on chi, confusion still
lingers over the exact “meaning” and full religious and sociological signif-
icance of the word. The main reason behind this unhappy situation can be
traced back to the apparently strong legacy left by early Christian missionary
scholars and amateur pioneer ethnographers (e.g., Basden 1921; Talbot
1926; Thomas 1913), from which “modem” students of Igbo religion and
epistemology ought to break away. Characteristic of these earlier writings is
the concentration on Chukwu (taken to be interchangeable with Chineke) as
the Supreme God while chi is seen as basically a sort of spark of Him dis-
pensed to every Igbo person, qua individual. And although this as a pre-
liminary definition of chi is neither totally false nor altogether invalid, yet
it remains only a tiny portion of the truth or “reality” underlying the social
fact designated chi.
b) Scope of the Analysis
In the light of the above criticisms, much of this paper in a way con-
stitutes the outlines of a sociological analysis of chi, based on the primary re-
cognition of its cardinal explanatory role in Igbo belief system and world
view. Chi thus represents the central, unifying theme that incorporates the
different facets of Igbo social thought and usages, especially those aspects
concerning man’s relationship with the inscrutable realm of the supernatural.
As a general guide to the discussion let us employ a set of three major
propositions. First, fundamental common Igbo ideas and beliefs about chi:
what is chi\ how is chi conceptualized by Igbo people; what are its individual
and social manifestations in the language, religion, politics, ritual activities,
art, system of personal names, etc. of the Igbo-speaking people? Secondly,
in traditional Igbo classification of the universe3, what position does chi
It would be fruitful to adopt a three-fold typology of the Igbo “social” universe:
Chi na eke (dual divinity), muo (as defined above), and mmadu (human beings alive).
524
I. Chukwukere
Anthropos 78.1983
occupy, and who are its closest relatives in this cosmological scheme? The
answer to this question entails a close examination of the relation of chi to
eke, ikenga, ofo, and ogu (see below). Thirdly, chi is best explained in the
broad context of Igbo social structure and collective temperament; thus its
value as the hub of the Igbo cognitive system is clearly brought out.
With regard to the last assertion, my interest is focused on the following
more prominent characteristics of Igbo social behaviour; (a) element of
“fragmentation” of social system coupled with individualistic conception
of human personality; (b) bias towards the principle of dualism in thought
and expression, an extension of which is the tendency to conceptualize
human relations with preternatural beings and powers in relative terms;
(c) strong but vaguely formulated belief in reincarnation; (d) essentially
fatalistic attitude toward the material “success” or “failure” and misfortune
of individuals and elementary social groups (e.g., family, lineage);(e) practice
of divination as the key to knowledge about social and cosmic phenomena
beyond Igbo “technical” explanation.
c) Chi Definition
The belief in chi is as universal to the over ten million Igbo-speaking
people of Nigeria as the belief and practice of ofo (Igbo symbol of authority
and retributive justice), yet it is not easy to get from various informants a
straightforward, unambiguous “definition” of the former. What is absolutely
clear, however, is that chi and ofo are invariably paired with two other Igbo
metaphysical ideas, eke and ogu respectively. This implies a complementary
dualistic relationship, which makes the sociological explication of any of
these concepts in isolation rather difficult.
Basden (1938: 46) identifies two dimensions to chi. He defines it first
as “a sort of guardian deity, deputising for Chi-Ukwu,” and secondly as “al-
most a generic word for God,” i.e., Supreme Being (Chukwu or Chineke,
in his and many other authors’ usage).
Grappling with the semantic elusiveness of the term chi, one of the
first modem field anthropologists in Igboland, Green (1947: 52), seems
to despair:
As for Ci, the spirit who creates people and whose name, as in Cineke, has been
taken by the Christians to denote the Creator, it is difficult to know what the
real Ibo significance of the word is. Ci and Eke together create an individual, but
each person is thought of as having his own Ci and whether over and above this
there is any conception of a universal Ci seems doubtful.
Green, however, usefully underscores first the fundamental complemen-
tary dualism of chi and eke and secondly the most distinctive universal
attribute of chi in Igbo thought—individuality. Lastly, Green poses a significant
question on the commonly expressed view that the concept of Chukwu is a
Chi in Igbo Religion and Thought
525
simple union, logical in the context of an assumed universal Igbo social
development, of chi and ukivu (“big” or “great”), which implies that Chuk-
wu denotes God. I shall return to this issue later.
Meanwhile, our preliminary definition of the term chi derives from its
intrinsic individuality: a spiritual being or force, which, theoretically speak-
ing, every Igbo person (adult or child) “possesses.” Thus, chi’s essence lies
first and foremost in its commonest Igbo modes of practical expression in
everyday life, which are mainly lingual and, to some extent, visual forms.
Considered thus, chi is highlighted in (a) possessive singular adjectival usage:
chim (my chi), chigi (your chi), chiya (his or her chi; (b) a thousand-and-
one proper names which exist (some with marked dialectal variations) all
over Igboland, e.g,, Chima, Kelechi, Chidi, Onyewuchi, Anamelechi, etc.;
(c) a common Igbo interjection for wonder and surprise: Chi n’eke h!
(“chi and eke”!); (d) a common curse used often by children and adolescents:
Chi n’eke kpo gi oku (“May chi and eke bum you out”!).
d) Chi Symbols
The concrete representations of chi cannot be summed up in a sentence
or two. One reason for the complexity is, although in theory every Igbo in-
dividual has his or her chi, in practice only adults, especially males who have
married and females who have borne children, establish their own chi symbol.
Secondly, there are diversities among the various Igbo sub-groups about the
exact form the symbol takes.
In some it is a special tree (e.g., ogbu, ogilisi, oha) planted in one’s
own compound; some use “stones set in a depression at the back of the com-
pound” (Horton 1956: 20); some others erect a kind of mini-altar: a small
clay pot filled with sand, with three sticks cut from a special plant (ububa
among the Owerre Igbo) stuck in three equal heads into the sand, odo and
water used to plaster the whole edifice. At this “shrine,” which is placed in
a specific position (head of the bed, right-hand corner of the living room,
etc.) in the owner’s house, periodic sacrifices and prayers are offered. An im-
portant sociological point to note is that once the chi shrine is established it
serves as the “protector” and altar for all minors and proteges under the
particular adult owner. In this sense the chi of a newly wed bride remains
her husband’s until she gets her first child.
Needless to repeat, differences exist among the many Igbo sub-groups
regarding the details of the above-mentioned beliefs and rituals. But a
fundamental similarity underlying all the diversities of thought and action is
that chi is individual to every Igbo person. At his or her death the shrine
is destroyed. Thus, many writers on the subject have given the primary
meaning of chi as “personal god” or “guardian spirit.” Thus also one may
talk of chi as the “divinity that shapes” every man. For seen in perspective,
the individualistic strain in Igbo notion of chi best illuminates its tripartite
relation with eke (another “creative” force, complementary to chi), ikenga
(the cult of strength and success), and Igbo belief in iyo uwa (reincarnation).
526
I. Chukwukere
Anthropos 78.1983
e) Chi and Igbo Theory of Personality
The fundamental individual nature of chi is evident in Igbo belief that
dead men and women reincarnate among their living kin. The re-birth does
not follow the strict rule of unilineal descent of Igbo social organization.
Lineal and collateral relatives on both sides of Ego’s parents participate
freely in this process of reincarnation. The most important aspect of the
phenomenon for our purpose here is that the Igbo believe that at the time
that one’s “creation” is initiated (could be even before the death of the
person about to be reborn) the “creator” establishes a dialogue, somewhat
like that of political negotiation, with the unborn child’s chi (equivalent
here to eke) about the child’s destiny on earth. Stress is laid on abstract ideas
like “luck,” “success,” “fortune,” “wealth,” “illness,” “fertility,” etc.; as
such no basic connection is claimed between the separate chis of, say,
siblings, let alone remote blood relations. (I have in fact come to think that
the dialogue is best conceived of as held between chi and eke, inseparable
deities, rather than between a single overriding creator-actor and the child’s
chi. This I amplify below.)
Anyway, one who gets a good chi is thought of as usually “lucky” and
“successful”; he or she is not prone to serious irreversibly damaging mis-
takes, accidents, and misfortunes. The opposite goes for a bad chi. And in
this sense it is believed that one’s chi and ikenga work together to make
success on earth a reality.
But in character with general Igbo thought on relationship between
man and supernatural beings, good or bad chi is not an absolute gift. A bad
one can be prayed to and propitiated in order to reverse the ill hands of fate;
in the same way a good chi has to be regularly sacrified to and placated in
order to keep up its benevolence. Considered thus, Igbo ambivalence about
the nature of chi—a theme that has received eloquent literary treatment
of sociological interest in Achebe’s portrayal of the ups and downs of
Okonkwo, the tragic hero of his classical novel (1958)—4s made more
intelligible. Okonkwo’s eventful attainment of high social status and subse-
quent adversity are “explained” in terms of his standing with his chi (Chuk-
wukere 1971: 113-114).
f) Chi and Its Close Relatives
We turn now to the intricate and perplexingly intriguing relationship
between chi and eke on one hand, chi and Chukwu and Chineke on the
other. In this, the historical destiny of the Igbo people (which they share
with other African peoples) must be taken into full account before one can
expect to resolve the problem. By “historical destiny” I mean here the
advent of evangelical Christianity in the second half of the 19th century,
long before the spread of literacy and documentary history consciousness
among the Igbo people. The implications of the event for Igbo religious
belief and practice in particular and Igbo culture in general deserve detailed
and systematic discussion elsewhere.
Chi in Igbo Religion and Thought
527
Nevertheless, it must be noted that the first religious question to
generate conflict was finding equivalent Igbo denotations (then in spoken
Igbo form only) for key Christian religious concepts,4 especially (Supreme)
God, with its overtones of monotheism. Against such background early
missionary scholars asserted that Chukzvu or Chineke (the latter being, I
postulate, their mistaken notation for chi-na-eke) means God; further they
opined that chi—a term they heard their Igbo informants use more often
but unfortunately with less “precision” than Chukzvu or Chineke—was the
root, both morphologically and semantically, for the latter two terms.
Plausible argument this is but not circumspect at least with respect to
Chineke (most probably three separate, if interwoven, words: Chi na eke,
in the originally Igbo usage, as I will contend below).
Chi and Chukzvu
It is reasonable to postulate that Chukzvu derives its basic meaning as
well as primary Igbo conceptualization of it from a simple amalgamation of
chi and ukzvu{ “big,” “great”). However, the sociological implications of
accepting this line of reasoning are:
First, Chukzvu is a grand aggregate of all the chis of the individuals of
any social group, from nuclear family through lineages to villages, village-
groups, and, by extension, all Igbo and perhaps humanity as a whole. The
ethnographic evidence goes against such a view of Chukzvu, for the idea of a
group chi in any fundamental sense (e.g., family or lineage) is not typically
Igbo. The few documented exceptions5 of Igbo subgroups to this general
rule open the question as to whether a group chi was not a later accretion to
their culture.
Secondly, why is Chukzvu not generally represented in observable
images or symbols? That is, if the Igbo conceived of a single collective chi
one, logical dynamics of the thought would be a material representation
of it on the same lines as, if on a much bigger scale than, the chi of the
individual.
Thirdly, as already indicated, the evidence from the earliest recorded
accounts of Igbo religious belief and practice seems to confirm that chi
was the dominant and commonest Igbo corresponding term for the general
Rev. Fr. Ezekwugo documents early (1857-1912) missionary efforts to trans-
late English religious concepts into Igbo. According to him, the terms Ci (Chi), Cuku
(Chukwu), and Cineke (Chineke) were at first used, almost interchangeably; later, the
first, Chi, was dropped, and still later, Chukwu became the established form for the
notion “God.” The ambiguity that surrounds the concept chi was made more complex
by its close association with individuals, which went against the ideal of Igbo mono-
theism the missionaries were keen to advance.
5 A notable one by Afigbo (1972: 18) refers to the Umuchieze group in Okigwe
Division. In an oral discussion with the author, however, I learnt that Colonial Intel-
ligence Reports, which stressed the “bonds of unity” in Umuchieze “clan,” were his
source.
528
I. Chukwukere
Anthropos 78.1983
European notion of “deity.” Igbo informants at times gave (and still give
today) Chukwu as a synonym, but many a time explicitly qualified as
Chukwu Oke Abiame, the all-powerful oracle and “god” of the Aro—the
most widespread and influential Igbo sub-group in living memory.
My line of thought leads me to hypothesize that Chukwu was not
originally, except in a morphologic sense, a simple fusion of chi and ukwu.
That is to say, it is not semantically speaking the Igbo name for Supreme
God, of whom none seems to exist in the Christian sense of “one and only”
Supreme.6 Chukwu rather appears to be the Aro people’s name for their
“town” deity, which the Aro may well have conceived as a kind of their
collective or “national” chi, at first peculiar to themselves and later “adopted”
by other Igbo people, which is understandable in the context of collective
Aro achievement in Igbo history.7 This idea is best examined against the
background of general Igbo social organization.
Every village-group—the largest autonomous political entity of Igbo
society—has its own deity, which is generally thought of as a “child” of
ala, the supreme deity of earthly morality. The village-group god is further
thought of as the progenitor of the deities of the constituent villages, each
deity with its own distinctive name. The spheres of activity and influence
of each god are so vaguely demarcated that some overlapping occurs. Ala
and amadioha (the god of thunder and “supreme deity” of negative sanctions
for a class of heinous offences) are the universal constants at each level of
the social organization, very much like the dovetailed relationship between
Nuer social order and religious thought (Evans-Pritchard 1956).
But having thus speculated that Chukwu has intimate connection
with the Aro, one wonders about the pervasiveness of its metaphysical
dimension in general Igbo thought and usages. Could it be adequately
explained in sheer diffusionist terms of manifest Aro diaspora (all over Igbo-
land) and “cleverness”? What seems to be indisputably true, however, is
that the prevalence of Chukwu proper names among the Igbo has close
links with the divinatory power and influence which the famous Aro oracle,
Chukwu Oke Abiame, exercised even beyond Igboland from around the
18th century to the beginning of the 20th century.8 Traditionally, the Igbo
Henotheism or a vertical conception of “Supreme” divinity would be more
appropriate for traditional Igbo theology. That is, there is more than one “supreme
god,” each god supreme in its own sphere of authority, e.g., amadioha (god of thunder)
and ala (earth goddess).
7 Authoritative socio-historical assessment of well-known Aro “contributions” in
Igbo history is still fragmentary and not accessible to a large audience (see Ekejiuba and
Dike 1976; Ekejiuba 1972). Ottenberg (1958: 299) was right to say, “The history of the
rise of the Aro to a position of influence is uncertain.”
8 Ekejiuba (1972: 13) claims that “the Aro society was constituted” about mid-
17th century. I have not as yet come across any date regarding the setting up of the
Chukwu oracle, but its shrine was definitely destroyed by the British colonial “con-
querors” in 1902.
Chi in Igbo Religion and Thought
529
refer to diviners when a woman is pregnant. If the child arrives in accordance
with the diviner’s verdict a name reflecting the particular god or circum-
stances invoked at the time, or in recognition of the generally acknowledged
supreme oracle, Chukwu, could be given to the child. Hence Chukwueke,
Chukwukere, Chukwunyere, Nwachukwu, and a host of other theophorous
proper Igbo names.
A case-history of an old informant (not less than 80 years) Nwachukwu
X, which I recorded in the field, underlines the point. His father’s first wife’s
five pregnancies, he said, resulted in five female children. At the first preg-
nancy of the second wife, his own mother, a son was divined by Chukwu it-
self. (Generally in cases of child-birth a local or minor diviner suffices, but a
wealthy person, as Nwachukwu’s father was, might prefer to go straight to
Chukwu oracle itself.) Consequently the Chukwu-“gift” name he bears.
Further enquiry into this aspect of the matter would require a detailed
study of the Igbo system of nomenclature, which is not within the scope of
this paper. Furthermore, real historical depth must be given to the enquiry;
otherwise the analysis would lose much of its sociological validity. In other
words, it needs to be shown that the names post-date the establishment and
fame of the celebrated supreme Igbo oracle located at Arochukwu.9 The
Chukwu and Chi first names Igbo children bear today may have only a little
bearing on the traditional practice. In fact, the Chi and Chukwu of many of
these names are interchangeable, although one must note the important fact
that exclusive Chi name-forms preponderate in number.
Chi and Chi-na-eke: Dualism in divinity
The relationship between chi and Chineke is by far more complex and
enigmatic. Available earliest historical records (referred to above) show that
chi and chukwu were the common Igbo usages for the European concept of
“godhead”; Chineke as a single word-form for “God” suggests a later Christian
missionary introduction. Nevertheless, it is definite that the Igbo people
themselves use frequently in everday life—in fact more often than one would
say of “chukwu”—three interwoven words, chi-na-eke, which is spoken
language, particularly rapid speech usual with native speakers of any
language, sound like a single term “chineke. ” It would appear that at the
cognitive level the Igbo refer primarily to chi na (and) eke, which connotes
two inseparable and complementary deities rather than the single overriding
Unfortunately the information I have been able to secure (admittedly by only
cursory and unsystematic search) throws no light on this. In a recent personal conver-
sation with me, Dr. Ekejiuba rather holds the contrary view that chukwu must have been
an indigenous Igbo word the Axo (a mixture of Igbo and Ibibio groups) “adopted” and
later “transformed” to an oracle. This is, of course, rational speculation that fits in with
Aro reputation for astute “adaptation” to situations. The matter, however, rests neither
here nor there.
Anthropos 78.1983
34
530
I. Chukwukere
Anthropos 78.1983
God of Christian belief. The other possible meaning of Chineke (as a single
word), chi that creates, bears the same metaphysical allusion to divine
essence but in the sense of exclusive Creator-God as in “revealed” religions
(Christianity and Islam specifically), which is apparently foreign to Igbo
way of thought. The indigenous Igbo frame of reference, chi and eke, im-
plies a dualistic divine principle in the act of “natural” creation.10
My informants on this aspect of the subject are hopelessly but under-
standably confused. Part of the problem arises from the discrepancy between
the written and the spoken usages of a language on one hand and the form
(morphology) and meaning (semantics) of the concepts of the language on
the other hand. The Igbo informants do not and need not perceive the
existential and so do-linguistic question raised here. For the greater majority
of them, especially before the second half of the 20th century, the wave-
length of thought and speech lay in the “spoken” word. The visual symbols
of speech and thought—“written” language—have only recently become part
of the general Igbo people’s stock of knowledge for conceptualizing the uni-
verse.
Thus, one of my “old” and “reliable” informants seems not to recog-
nize the contradiction in these two assertions of his; (a) “ndichie (the elders)
used to refer to chineke here uwa (chineke that made the world) but had no
definite idea of him”; (b) “chi is what we know as ‘god’, chineke was in-
troduced by the whiteman.” When I questioned him further concerning the
concept eke alone the cobwebs apparently began to fall. Eke and chi com-
bined, if I may paraphrase his speech, exercise authority over “creation” in
all its ramifications as a natural rather than imaginative or human inventive
process; there is no concrete representation of eke and no sacrifices or prayers
to it either; chi is the one that demands and gets all such ritual attention
because eke is what chi gives to every person—that is, one’s “destiny” or
“fate.” He added that the personal name “Ekezie” refers to the idea of
“onye yo ziri uwa”, i.e., one held to have reincarnated very well. My in-
formant concluded: “eke na chi wo otu mana eke siri na chi bia.” (Eke and
chi are one and the same but eke originates from chi.) Paradoxes do in fact
underlie many aspects of various peoples’ religious thought on spiritual
beings!
In the light of the above, I derive my speculative generalization that
chi and eke represent in Igbo religious thought and philosophy of life a dual
divinity. I find it refreshing to view the relation between them in terms of a
famous conceit from 17th-century English metaphysical poetry (A valedic-
tion: forbidding mourning, by John Donne), which likens two platonic
10 In an original socio-literary essay Achebe (1975: 100) makes the seminal point
that “the early missionaries” made the initial mistake of treating chi and eke as one God,
Chineke (“Chi that creates”).
Chi in Igbo Religion and Thought
531
lovers to the two legs of a compass. Chi is the “fixed foot,” and eke is the
mobile complement. Or, if I may change the metaphor, chi and eke are like
two stones that must be struck together in order to produce a spark. Al-
though chi and eke can be fruitfully separated for analytical purposes, how-
ever, in the structure of Igbo belief and social action relating to spiritual
beings and forces in general, the two tend to coalesce rather than bifurcate.
In this sense the notion of duality, which we said earlier characterizes
Igbo philosophy of life, is placed in a broader context. For not only chi and
eke, a series of other analogous “stiff twin compasses” exist, e.g,, ofo na ogu,
ako na uche, ikwu na ibe, ogu na mgba, okwu na uka, and nta na into. 11
I am not hereby stating a general hypothesis about complementary
dual categories in Igbo religion and structure of thought. Rather, it is note-
worthy and sociologically significant that the twin concepts chi and eke
are not unique in Igbo religious thought or social structure taken as a whole.
Their affinity with another pair of key cosmological ideas, gfo and ogu,
is underscored in this traditional folk-song of the ‘Owerri Igbo’ of eastern
Nigeria:
Oka n’azy. ka lam n'ihu
Ka mar a ihe nga’gwa y a n’ihu
Onye g’egbu onye ‘ari ihe omere ya
A chi n’eke ofo n’ogu ekwere Veya
Back biter “bite” in my presence. So that
I may know what to tell him in his face.
If you intend to harm someone who has
not offended you, may chi and eke, ofo,
and ogu not go along with you (i.e., may
they thwart you).
4. Conclusion
My main interest in this paper is not whether the twin notions chi and
eke or the single notion chukwu or chineke accurately denotes and connotes
Supreme God. The point is that the Igbo themselves conceptualize chi as the
foundation of their intellectual efforts to make sense of the bewildering
diversities of human personality, experience, and cosmic phenomena. Chi in
this sense offers the indigenous Igbo philosopher a satisfactory explanation
for most of the “things everywhere around us that are incapable of explana-
tion” (Laye 1954: 58), e.g., misfortunes that occur despite all human endea-
vours (from the angel of the victim and close relatives anyway) to make a
11 It is not easy for me to provide brief and direct English glossaries of these pairs
of concepts. Each needs to be dilated upon (which is not possible here) to bring its
proper meaning out.
532
I. Chukwukere
Anthropos 78.1983
success of a venture, phenomenal success, and mysterious escape from
dangers and from premature death, diametrically opposed qualities of
terqperament, and character among siblings.
The belief in chi also provides an adequate explanation or perhaps
rationalization for the dominant invidualizing principle of Igbo social organiza-
tion. Chi therefore is a theory of both causation and human personality in
the proper context of Igbo people’s cosmology and speculation upon the
divinity that determines the nature of man generally and severally. In other
words, chi serves as a central and integrating conceptual framework in which
the Igboman can reasonably picture to himself the universe, natural and
social, in which he willy-nilly lives.
This is a completely rewritten and largely modified version of a paper first presented at a
“workshop” on “the foundations of Igbo civilization” organized by the Institute of
African Studies, University of Nigeria at Nsukka, in May 1980. The fieldwork on chi
was carried out mainly in the Owerri area of Igboland in 1977/1978 as my Institute
research project for 1976/1977 academical year.
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The Hutterite Economy:
Recent Changes and Their Social Correlates
Abstract. — The Hutterites, an Anabaptist sect which left Germany in the six-
teenth century, and after periods in Moravia, Transylvania, and Russia, reached North
America in the 1870s, are now facing major transformations of their life-style. Having
been characterized by the communal ownership of property, the Gütergemeinschaft
[community of goods], and having participated in a society organized on highly tradi-
tionalized lines, external forces are now being exerted so that the Hutterites are making
substantial technological changes in their agricultural economy. These are of considerable
significance for an understanding of emerging features of their transformed society. In
this article we seek to document how changes in their economic system effect the Hut-
terite social structure and the community spirit which, over centuries, has maintained its
character of a Bauernvolk. An attempt is also made to assess how these changes threaten
the survival of the group. [Religion, Sects, Social Movements, Hutterites, Economic
Systems ]
The traditional socio-cultural and economic adjustment of the Hutterite
colonies in North America has recently come under severe pressure, due
primarily to major technological changes in the field of agriculture, as well
as to regulatory impositions, largely of a bureaucratic nature, by the state.
These pressures have given rise to such social problems as unemployment, as
Karl Peter, Ph. D., graduated from the University of Alberta in Edmonton, Canada,
is now Professor of Sociology at Simon Fraser University, Burnaby. He has done research
among Hutterites for the past twenty-five years, and has written extensively on various
aspects of their culture, history, religion, and social life. Address: Dept, of Sociology and
Anthropology, Simon Fraser University, Burnaby, B.C., Canada V5A 1S6.
Ian Whitaker, Ph.D., a graduate of the Universities of Cambridge and Oslo, is Profes-
sor of Anthropology at the same institution. He has earlier completed fieldwork among
reindeer-breeding Lapps (Sami), Albanophone shepherds, and Eskimo (Inuit) hunters
of north-eastern Canada. In recent years he has joined his colleague in the study of con-
temporary changes in Hutterite culture.
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Karl Peter and Ian Whitaker
Anthropos 78.1983
well as to economic inefficiency, and these in turn threaten both the social
fabric and the spiritual unity of the community. In adjusting to these pres-
sures, the Hutterites have been compelled to engage in a far-reaching restruc-
turing of their economic system, with concomitant extensive changes in their
social structure. The present paper seeks to analyse these changes in detail,
especially through recent observations in recently established colonies in
the eastern part of the State of Washington, and also attempts to assess the
impact of these same changes on the future survival of the group.
1. The Traditional System
The Hutterites have been a singularly successful minority group, com-
prising adherents to a particular sect within the Anabaptist tradition, who
first entered the United States in the 1870s, organized in three colonies, only
comprising a few hundred individuals. From these beginnings in the New
World they have expanded to a total population of some 24,000, living in
250 colonies in Canada and the U.S. The successful expansion of this group
during this one hundred years’ period was in large measure due to a subtle
but well functioning relationship between psychological, economic, and
social structural factors.
During this period of a century the Hutterites have instituted and re-
fined a communal system of production based upon the principle of economic
diversification! The grain production common to Western Canada and the
U.S. formed the economic core around which were organized such activities
as the raising of cattle, sheep, hogs, chicken, ducks, geese, and turkeys. The
rationale behind this mixed farming1 was to grow basic agricultural products
as efficiently as possible, and then to convert this grain, by way of the dis-
gestive tracts of livestock, into products offering a maximum profit. Any sur-
plus of grain was marketed through normal commercial channels. The diver-
sified system of production offered a good insurance against the risks in-
herent in the cultivation of a single product, and it fitted in also with the
Hutterite system of social stratification. The basic division between male and
female labour effectively took care of the considerable variety of economic
pursuits, whilst the efficiency of the system was maintained by the hierarchi-
cal organization based on a gender-determined division of labour.
For males the division of labour entailed three hierarchically-ordered
strata. There were six elders who, between themselves, shared the responsi-
bility for religious, economic, and educational leadership in the colony. The
1 For detailed descriptions of the mixed farming economy among Hutterites see
Bennett 1967 and Ryan 1977.
The Hutterite Economy: Recent Changes
537
second level comprised the various bosses who ran such operations as the
raising of cattle, sheep and hogs, the mechanics’ shop, etc. The third level
consisted of a labour force in which each individual was required to display
multiple skills. This labour force could then be employed flexibly during
different seasons and in a variety of climatic conditions. The female division
of labour was similarly organized, apart from the absence of women in the
upper level of colony leadership. The head cook, the head gardener, and the
seamstress organized female activities, using the women’s labour in such
a way as to increase greatly the efficiency of the whole operation. Young
women were employed in such activities as milking, canning, and general
maintenance including painting.
This division of labour created an opportunity structure within the
Hutterite colonies which, due to the enormous population increase of 4.1%
per annum, took on some highly dynamic qualities, A new colony, which
would usually start with 60 to 65 people, would grow within 17-20 years
to between 140 and 150. Since the population growth of Hutterites con-
formed to the statistical model of a stable population (Eaton and Mayer
1954), the following developmental processes could usually be observed in
a Hutterite colony: If a new community were formed with a population of
sixty persons, about half of these would consist of children under the age of
fifteen years. Another six persons would be between fifteen and nineteen
years of age, and the rest, some 24 persons in all, consisted of adults over
the age of twenty. Of these 24 persons, half would be males. A new com-
munity would therefore start with a labour force of twelve males over
twenty years of age, and three males aged between 15 and 19. The female
labour force would have approximately the same demographic characteris-
tics. About a generation later the community would have a total population
of some 140 persons, of whom 70 would be children, fourteen between the
ages of 15 and 19, and the rest, 56 in all, would be adults, 28 of them being
males (Peter 1971: 166).
Under the stated division of labour the opportunity structure was wide
open when a colony was young, but became closed as it “turned old” some
twenty years later. The “branching” (or division) of colonies at this point
in their evolution became necessary since the system of division of labour
became unable to absorb any further increase in numbers. The inefficiency
of the enterprise, and the social discontent due to a closed opportunity
structure, would require the branching of a colony into two parts. The
establishment of new colonies was, however, only possible if there existed
an environment that made land-acquisition possible, and if the colony in-
volved had accumulated enough capital to permit the purchase of such new
land.
The social, cultural, and economic adaptation of Hutterites in North
America can therefore be seen as a dynamic interrelationship between the
traditional division of labour, the constant rate of natural increase, the
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Karl Peter and Ian Whitaker
Anthropos 78.1983
motivational progression between old and new colonies, and the ability
to accumulate enough capital for expansion, all present in a milieu in which
the acquisition of further land was possible.
2. The Changes
This traditional system has now come under pressure from three new
factors, namely technological change, regulatory restrictions primarily
bureaucratic in nature, and the limiting of expansion due to changes in the
surrounding farm population.
a) The principal change in the technological sphere has been the emergence
of machinery that reduces the demand for manual labour, with the con-
sequence that the relatively large adolescent labour force that existed in the
past is no longer required. Instead of a multi-skilled large work-force that
would often be employed on a number of different tasks in the course of
the agricultural year, there are now required a few, mechanically competent
machine-operators, with a sufficient degree of technical knowledge to use
sophisticated equipment.
h) In the organizational sphere there have emerged, more especially in Cana-
da, a variety of government agencies whose principal function is to regulate
the production and marketing of such items as eggs, chickens, etc. These
boards are seen by Hutterites as having created a rigid structure which re-
duces their own flexibility, and in some cases has made the continued pro-
duction of the item no longer commercially profitable.
c) The trend in the consolidation of farm operations during the last twenty
years has been towards larger farms using a complex technology requiring
increased capital investment. This process has on the one hand eliminated a
great number of marginal farms, and on the other has facilitated a process
of economic consolidation for the surviving ones. The elimination of mar-
gined farms affects the opportunities for Hutterite expansion by withdrawing
land from the market, A general increase in the price of land, which coin-
cides with the disappearance of the marginal farm, makes expansion much
more costly than was the case previously. For a decade and a half, therefore,
Hutterites could often expand only into frontier areas of Canada, or into
marginal agricultural areas.
a) Technological Change
How have these factors affected the structure and dynamics of Hutterite
society? The elimination of manual labour in the colonies led to under-
employment among the younger members. This phenomenon means a loss
The Hutterite Economy: Recent Changes
539
of control over the young people, and results in a search by this segment for
behaviour patterns more characteristic of the host-society. Such behavioural
changes lead to increase in deviancy, unrest, and discontent, and elicit
either repressive measures, or resignation and relaxation of the traditional
rules. In either case the existing balance in social relations is greatly upset.
Also changed are the opportunity structures in the colonies. Tradi-
tionally the male Hutterites build up expectations of advancement in the
status system of the colony. Such expectations usually emerge between the
ages of 12 to 15, and take on more concrete forms when the individual
leaves school and joins one of the economic operations in the colony as
junior helper, For the next five to ten years he acquires an intense familiarity
with these operations, such that at the end of this period, when baptism and
marriage have elevated his social status, he will move into a more responsible
economic position as well. With the mechanization of these operations, how-
ever, the role of these helpers becomes redundant. The lack of work lowers
the motivational level in these individuals ; their self-perception dramatically
changes. Since the social and economic utility of the individual in the
colony determines to an overwhelming extent his/her self-perception, its
withdrawal therefore prevents the traditional identification of the indivi-
dual with the pursuits of the group. Under such conditions the individual
is free to search for other reference points which at least partially he often
finds in the outside society. Reorientation from Hutterite behavioural pat-
terns to those of the outside society results in reduced loyalties; it lowers
both the morale and the sense of esprit de corps. Such individuals are readier,
and more able, to confront Hutterite values and behavioural patterns with
those of the outside world, and hence they contribute to the questioning of
many traditional concepts. The result is an insecurity of both values and be-
haviour in Hutterite colonies. This creates a dangerous situation, since the
traditional Hutterite order rests on its “separation” from the world, and on
the rejection of worldly values.
b) Regulatory Restrictions
Regulatory impositions by government agencies or semi-official boards
affect certain economic pursuits through the setting of quotas and of stand-
ards. Thus the level which the egg production in a particular colony is sup-
posed to maintain depends very much on the available manpower, the capital
resources, and the location of the colony in question; these factors must be
balanced to achieve economic efficiency. Quotas which are set or refused,
for example, by an Egg Marketing board might interfere with the establish-
ment of such a level of economic efficiency. Demands for certain standards
of production might necessitate the installation of equipment which Hutterites
might not wish to meet, or which they might find unprofitable. Standards
of production relating to the final product might likewise interfere with the
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Karl Peter and Ian Whitaker
Anthropos 78.1983
overall efficiency of the Hutterite enterprise. Some colonies, for example,
might find it more profitable to turn out an average hog rather than attempt-
ing to produce a top-quality one.
The overall effect of these regulations is to discourage the maintenance
of certain operations under mixed farming conditions. On the other hand
these regulations encourage specialization, with the resulting concentration
of colony resources to meet the stipulated standards. If such a concentra-
tion of resources is attempted, it demands production on a scale that would
no longer allow the continuation of the balanced mixed farming. Even where
these regulatory impositions are absent, general market conditions tend to
have the same effect. The permanency of supply, the maintenance of quali-
ty, and the scale of production are all prerequisites demanded by the agricul-
tural wholesaler and the price structure. When these conditions cannot be
met, certain branches of production might run into marketing difficulties
which could make their viability questionable.
c) Limiting of Expansions
The trend toward larger farms in the western prairies accelerated after
the Second World War, and resulted in the elimination of a great many
farmers who for some reason could not participate in this trend. This situa-
tion provided a very favourable environment for the Hutterites, by making
the acquisition of agricultural land possible. During the last ten to fifteen
years, however, the trend has slowed down considerably, as more farms have
reached a size and level of efficiency which no longer makes them marginal
operations. There are, therefore, considerably fewer people willing to sell
land, and if they do the prices they demand are much higher than was the
case in the past. Hutterite colonies aim at a minimum of 6,000 acres, which
few family farms can manage. Tracts of land that come on to the market
are usually much smaller than a colony’s normal requirement. The probabili-
ty of assembling more land in a particular locality so as to satisfy the mini-
mum needs of the colony also diminishes as more farms outside Hutterite
control become economically efficient. To acquire land within a reasonable
distance from the home base, therefore, has become more difficult over the
years. This is especially so for those colonies who have not managed a
sufficient accumulation of capital to make rather enticing offers to farmers
reluctant to sell. The result is that the bulk of moderately wealthy Hutterite
colonies find it more difficult to acquire the landholding that would allow
them to branch out after seventeen to twenty years in the traditional pattern.
The Hutterite Economy: Recent Changes
541
3. Transformation of Hutterite Social Structure
Economic Specialization
How do Hutterites cope with these factors? There are strong indica-
tions that the higher rate of natural increase of 4.12% per annum has declined
to 2.9% and is still declining (Peter 1980). There is also a considerable drop
in the size of colonies from 98 members per colony in 1950 to 88.4 mem-
bers in 1977 (ibid. : 106). Such a decline is indicative of a much diminished
demand for manpower. By reducing the size of the colony the problem of
under-employment has somewhat declined. Although all three main divisions
among the Hutterites, the Dariusleut, the Lehrerleut, and the Schmiedeleut,
have reduced the size of their colonies, the Dariusleut have gone much
further than the others by reducing the average colony size to 77 members,
whilst the Schmiedeleut had a colony size of 92, and the Lehrerleut colonies
remained as large as 98 members. This suggests that the groups deal with the
problem in somewhat different ways.
Whilst it is of course both difficult and extremely risky for an established
colony to change its balanced economic operations, newly established colo-
nies are less inhibited by such concerns. It is in these colonies, therefore, that
major adjustments to the above-mentioned pressures become visible. A
number of recently established colonies of the Dariusleut in the eastern part
of the State of Washington and in Montana clearly show these patterns of
adjustment. At the beginning most of these colonies tried to establish a
mixed farming enterprise; however, they soon came to realize that agri-
cultural specialization provided a much more solid basis for survival than did
mixed farming. The form of specialization they finally adopted was dictated
either by geographical circumstances, as in the case of ranching, or business
opportunities in the form of dairy production, the raising of hogs or turkeys,
seed potato or large-scale potato production. Each of these modes of pro-
duction implied a loss of cultural experience in that the mixed farming cul-
ture among Hutterites had been built up over generations, and incorporated
the collective economic wisdom of the sect. In contrast, the new specializa-
tion could only partially build on the traditional wisdom. The scope of the
operation, and the expertise necessary for its successful implementation, had
to be generated within each of the new colonies separately. Such an enter-
prise demands an active, creative, and risk-taking population willing to
discard traditional wisdom, and prepared to tread on new ground. Some of
the new colonies openly describe themselves as being “aggressive” in their
economic relationships, which is a major departure from older Hutterite
values and behaviour.
Accompanying greater specialization we find that there is also required
a high degree of economic innovation. In order to achieve good economic
returns, and also to avoid competing with neighbouring Hutterite colonies
that might also be adopting a policy of specialization, there is continuing re-
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Karl Peter and Ian Whitaker
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quirement of inventiveness, in contrast to the old pattern of mixed farming,
in which change was relatively slow. Such personality characteristics as
flexibility and creativity become much more desirable than in the old-style
colony, where the only outlet for flexibility lay in the variety of tasks that
the general work-force would complete in the course of the season. Both of
these new virtues are in marked contrast to the esteem placed on cultural
continuity which has hitherto been so characteristic of Hutterite life. These
demands are primarily made on the leadership rather than on the rank and
file membership, but the relative smallness of the total work-force in a
specialized operation makes it probable that the individual will in due time
be required to demonstrate and exercise such qualities as well.
Of particular importance is the need for an understanding of the
potential advantages of a complex technology. For a successful and efficient
enterprise there is a distinct need for a high level of production, to achieve
maximum economies of scale, and this in turn requires the use of the most
modem equipment to achieve such efficiency. At the same time a much
more marked attention will be paid to the quality of the ultimate product,
since to remain in the economic vanguard the colony can no longer be satis-
fied with achieving a middle-range standard. The highest financial returns
accompany highest quality productivity.
Colony X, which specializes in large-scale potato production totalling
annually 45,000 to 50,000 tons, was established nine years ago. It main-
tains four large semi-trailer trucks for long-range potato hauling, and ten
large three-axle trucks for supplying customers at medium distances. It
receives its seed potatoes from first class producers, some of which have to
be brought over distances of four hundred miles; it markets its products to
processing firms which produce a variety of potato-based products. The co-
lony irrigates most of its land and developed a highly sophisticated system
utilizing deep wells. It has a number of tractors, four of them of the largest
type to be found in eastern Washington. It connects all of its moving equip-
ment through a private radio system which alone cost $800,000 to instal
(although the use of radio and television receivers for domestic entertain-
ment in Hutterite dwellings is still barred).
Perhaps the most striking evidence of the changes accompanying such
economic specialization is to be seen by the visitor to colony X. The dwel-
ling units are laid out according to a careful and artistic plan, so that they
resemble a modern sub-division, the units themselves having the appearance
of a condominium. In a departure from tradition these dwellings contain
interior plumbing, including several bathrooms, as well as a kitchen unit,
although the scale of equipment is still somewhat low since members eat in
the communal eating-hall. There are hardwood floors and a good, but not
lavish, degree of electrical and other fittings. The houses face well-landscaped
lawns, maintained by an underground sprinkler system, and planted with
flowering shrubs, illuminated at night by street-lighting.
The Hutterite Economy: Recent Changes
543
The working environment is similarly changed. In place of the low
wooden buildings customary in the older colonies, there are pre-case con-
crete structures, of the size and proportions of an aircraft hangar, with the
most modem facilities including air-conditioning, as well as a small coffee-
shop where workers may take light refreshment without returning to the
communal eating-hall. While older colonies have fuelling facilities for their
trucks and tractors, colony X has a fully-equipped service station with a con-
crete canopy prominently situated in front of the work-area. The main-
tenance of the equipment is facilitated by a complex of machine shops, in-
cluding separate sections for welding and tyre-maintenance, as well as a
large truck-washing facility. All transportation equipment is kept indoors,
and is maintained in impeccable condition. Potato-sorting, -cutting, -planting,
and -harvesting equipment is kept in such quantities as to enable maximum
demands due to variable weather conditions to be met. In contrast, cattle,
dairy, sheep and hogs have shrunk to insignificant operations meeting only
the domestic needs of the colony. Similarly the production of ducks and
geese is now a minimal operation to satisfy the colony’s own requirements.
For the period of the year when there is no agricultural work, the colo-
ny maintains a large and well-equipped carpentry shop, in which is made
custom-built furniture of the highest quality. This is highly priced, and is
usually supplied to commercial enterprises which place precise orders for
individual units. The materials used are expensive hardwoods, wrought on
machinery often imported from Europe. Although a smaller operation than
the complex of machine shops, the carpentry enterprise is still comparable
in the scale of its maintenance and the high calibre planning required by its
manager.
The whole colony has a population of less than sixty people, of which
thirteen are adult males. There were no complaints of these individuals being
overworked; on the contrary, when discussing the future viability of the ope-
ration, colony members let it be known that they would rather branch out
than enlarge the scope of the existing operation. It seems, therefore, that
specialization demands only approximately half the population base that was
previously required in the mixed farming economy.
Turning to the effects which such economic changes have on the social
structure, it is evident that with the disappearance of such operations as the
raising of beef, cattle, and hogs, a number of traditional work and status
positions have also disappeared. New jobs, including the maintenance of the
new equipment, do not carry the traditional social statuses—their value is
derived from the utilitarian nature of the enterprise. There is therefore not
only a shrinkage in the division of labour, but also an injection of egali-
tarianism, since all status is derived from the utility of the operation in the
overall economic process. An example might illustrate this point. In time
of famine, the Hutterites elected a trusted male to distribute bread among
the members of the community in accordance with established convention.
Today where bread is plentiful a few colonies still have a bread-cutter, who,
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Karl Peter and Ian Whitaker
Anthropos 78.1983
during mealtimes, goes back and forth between the tables and the kitchen to
replenish the supply of bread. The utility of this job has now disappeared,
since the females who serve the meals anyway, could easily supply the
bread as well. The status of this position nevertheless has been maintained,
because only male individuals honoured as exemplary members of the
colony would be alloted the appointment to this position.
The shoemaker, who traditionally cared for the footwear of all indi-
viduals in the colony, was forced to remain in close contact with them. He
would have to repair all footwear, and thereby stood in a service relation-
ship to his fellows. Feelings of generosity and gratitude, but also sentiments
of equality and economy, would flow between the shoemaker and the mem-
bers of the colony. This exchange of sentiments was an important com-
ponent of the social bonding. New job positions, however, lack this overlay
of traditional sentiment. Their utility relates to machinery rather than to
people; greater social distance between one individual and another is the con-
sequence. The performance of machine-oriented work is accompanied by
long periods of isolation when individuals drive trucks for hundreds of miles
alone, or operate tractors in a solitary situation. The radio communication
was consciously installed by colony X, not merely because of its efficiency
in eliminating delays after breakdown or malfunction of equipment, but also
to maintain social contact between individuals who were isolated by the
nature of this new work from their fellows. Yet despite the use of electronics,
a greater degree of individualization is apparent.
Even among women, who still perform many of their jobs in groups,
such as cooking, baking, and cleaning, there is a nostalgic yearning for the
evenings spent spinning, singing, and story-telling. Splitting feathers used
to be a popular winter activity, which afforded an opportunity for the ex-
change of gossip between women. In specialized colonies where these jobs
have disappeared, women are very vocal in complaining about the loss of this
type of social contact with their neighbours. Since there is no corresponding
compensation for these activities, either in reading or through the electronic
media, the reduction of such communal discourse is keenly felt.
Hutterites maintain that the religious community and its services
demand a minimum number of people to make their rituals psychologically
impressive. Since the religious services have become completely ritualized to
the degree that no new sermons have been written during the past three
centuries, the emphasis is very much on the emotional effects which their
sermons have on individuals. As the medieval Catholic church found, such
emotional effects can best be achieved in buildings of a certain size, and
with a congregation sufficiently numerous. The intonation of a hymn
carried by only a few voices does not contain this emotional effect. There-
fore Hutterites recognize that small congregations lack certain religious
qualities. This feeling is enhanced by the practice of establishing colonies
based on one or two families. In the past the colony consisted of four or
five families thereby drawing on a number of family traditions all well-
The Hutterite Economy: Recent Changes
545
known to each Hutterite. The reduction of family-diversification creates a
community which coincides with the kin-group. This results in the loss
of diversified family traditions, and in restricted contact, apart from the
existing isolation brought about the three endogamous divisions of the
Hutterites.
Colonies which are as small as forty to sixty persons have some diffi-
culty in electing a full slate of elders. Very often the second preacher be-
comes redundant. When such a colony branches out, a preacher must be
quickly elected, and thereby is deprived of a long apprenticeship in his
role as preacher and leader.
Another change that becomes apparent is the shifting of prestige
to a somewhat younger group of persons in the economically specialized
colonies. The new economy requires that leaders have a technical under-
standing that is often not possible for those of an older generation, and
hence the positions of authority tend to be filled by a younger group of
persons, in contrast to the traditional mixed farming economy where knowl-
egde might often be equated with experience, and hence also with age. There
is therefore a perceptible shift in the relative status hierarchy, which works
to the disadvantage of the older group.
There are, on the other hand, a number of consequences which seem
to strengthen the central authority within the specialized colonies. The
disappearance of operations such as the raising of cattle and other live-
stock also means the disappearance of operations that are partially inde-
pendent in a financial sense. Every boss of a Hutterite enterprise had to
account for his financial transactions every two weeks. This gave each of
the bosses a degree of freedom to handle the finances as he thought best.
Although ultimately he would be responsible to the manager, he neverthe-
less enjoyed a degree of autonomy commensurate with his experience. In a
specialized colony where many of these positions are lacking, all financial
transactions are now conducted by the manager. He in turn employs a
chartered accountant who will assess the financial success of the different
operations strictly according to profit and loss. On the basis of his advice
colonies have eliminated whole operations when their accountant deemed
them unprofitable. The accountant, of course, is unaware of the social
consequences when his advice is followed. Torn between economic efficiency
and social utility, they are most likely to follow the route of economic
efficiency as offering immediate economic benefits. The social consequences
are only realized much later, and often at a time when the economic process
is irreversible.
4. Conclusion
Changes in technology, bureaucratic impositions and scarcity of suitable
land have all induced a number of Hutterite colonies to change from a mixed
farming economy to one involving agricultural specialization. The conse-
quences of such changes are noticeable in a utilitarian transformation of the
Anthropos 78,1983
35
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Karl Peter and Ian Whitaker
Anthropos 78.1983
Hutterite social structure. A great many positions having traditional status
are being eliminated, thereby reducing the job and status-positions in the
colonies, and requiring fewer personnel to run these operations. The highly
complex technology that is being adopted tends to isolate the individual
from his neighbours by reducing or eliminating the work-group. There is
a certain amount of egalitarianism in running different types of machinery
in contrast to the hierarchically organized division of labour in mixed farming.
Each colony is forced to find its own form of economic specialization,
subject to local opportunities and conditions. The result is a loss of the tra-
ditional agricultural wisdom. We may also expect over time that the com-
monality of Hutterite experience, previously developed through the common
practice of mixed farming, will disappear, to the detriment of the solidarity
of the sect as a whole. There are, however, no signs yet that colonies that
have specialized are in any greater danger of breaking up. At least at this
juncture specialized colonies seem to display a degree of economic vigour
which draws the individual towards the common centre, and thereby con-
tributes to its unity.
The risk to the Hutterites is perhaps greatest at the point of transition
to the new economy. Success depends on the presence among those changing
of a high degree of inventiveness and independence. These characteristics will
not necessarily always be present in sufficient quantity, and when they are
not, a colony will probably not be successful. Such failure, with resulting
tensions and the visible fruitlessness of social upheaval will all be serious
elements. Where these qualities are present, however new, but substantially
different units in the form of economically separated colonies will emerge.
Some of the new psychological and behavioural characteristics of the aggres-
sive economic enterprise may, however, contribute to a reduction in the
social distance due to different cultural traditions and assumptions, which
has hitherto contributed to the isolation of the Hutterites from the wider
society.
References
Bennett, John W.
1967 Hutterian Brethren: The Agricultural Economy and Social Organization of
a Communal People. Stanford: Stanford University Press.
Eaton, J.W. and AJ. Mayer
1954 Man’s Capacity to Reproduce: The Demography of a Unique Population.
Glencoe: Free Press.
Peter, Karl
1971 The Dynamics of Open Social Systems. In: James E. Gallagher and Ronald D.
Lambert (eds.), Social Process and Institution: The Canadian Case; pp. 164-
172. Toronto: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.
1980 The Decline of Hutterite Population Growth. Canadian Ethnic Studies (Cal-
gary) 12/3: 97-110.
Ryan, John
1977 The Agricultural Economy of Manitoba Hutterite Colonies. (Carleton Library,
101.) Toronto: McClelland and Stewart.
Reports and Comments
Book of the Hopi* The Hopis Book?
Armin W. Geertz
Senior Research Fellow (Department of the History of Religions,
University of Aarhus, Paludan-Müllersvej 17, DK-8000 Aarhus C, Denmark)
This article is meant as a reply to F. Bornemann’s review of the German edition of
Frank Waters’ Book of the Hopi (Das Buch der Hopi, Düsseldorf und Köln 1980: Eugen
Diederichs Verlag) in Anthropos 77. 1982: 959-960. My intention is not to criticize
Bornemann, rather to use the occasion of his review to attempt to enlighten the scientific
community concerning this disturbing enigma called Book of the Hopi.
Bornemann’s words of praise are understandable, since the book seems wonderful
from a superficial point of view. But Bomemann has gone further, following that natural,
nagging sense of doubt which any humanistic scientist has when confronted with literary
wonders. His review finishes with a series of questions which reflect a healthy scepticism.
Some of the questions are not relevant, but others are exactly to the point, seen from a
specialist’s point of view.
We can clear the air of those questions which do not apply to the Hopi situation.
Bornemann’s surprise concerning the existence of a coherent and seemingly Ur-indigenous
religion among the modern Hopi is understandable. He asks whether the Catholics, Mor-
mons, and Mennonites have really meant so little to Hopi development. The answer is yes,
relatively speaking of course. One can refer here to an excellent study concerning these
problems by E.H. Spicer (1962). The Hopis have not shared the same enculturative
developments such as those of the Eastern Pueblos. As Spicer noted, by 1955 less than
2 percent of the Hopi population had become practicing Christians (Spicer 1962: 207).
The indigenous religion had indeed changed, but it is still decidedly Hopi. One finds all
the phases of culture contact from disintegration to revitalization, and quite a spattering
of eclectic pocket philosophers in between. But there is no doubt to anyone who has
lived with the Hopi, that the old ways and the traditional religion are alive and thriving. One
can, by way of comparing from a historical perspective, identify most of the motifs found
in the mural evidence in the area during the 14th and 15th centuries on the basis of
modem Hopi religious ceremonial symbolism (cf. W. Smith 1952). Why is this? Because
the Hopi are still living where they have been living for perhaps a thousand years, they
still speak their own language, still preserve traditional subsistence activities, traditional
authority systems, and traditional moral values. These latter elements are modified, and
do pose conflicting contrasts to the urges of the modern Anglo world, but they are not
destroyed.
The remarkable thing about the Hopi religion is that it has a built-in mythical
model which has taken the present cultural situation into account and which, judging by
the Aztec traditions, existed since the time of the Spanish Conquest at the very least.
It is Bomemann’s questions concerning the authors of Book of the Hopi, their
informants and the role of Hopi clans in the construction of and preservation of oral tra-
dition, that are the most relevant in defining the reliability of this work. And it is along
these lines that one must try to understand exactly what Frank Waters has achieved. It
must be emphasized here that my intention is not to ridicule. This book demands a res-
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Anthropos 78.1983
ponse from the scientific community because of the very existence of its success and
popularity. The book is worth more than an ivory tower cold shoulder.
Several questions have struck my mind ever since I first became acquainted with
this book. If it is what it purports to be, namely, the Hopi’s Book (“a Hopi Bible,”
xxii;—all references are to the English edition, Waters 1963), why then do the Hopi one
meets denounce it? Why have groups of angry Hopi requested meetings with the authors
on at least three occasions since the publication of the book? Why do the specialists avoid
even mentioning the book? Even worse, why is it that it is the book most often quoted
by every non-specialist who wants to say something profound about the Hopi? Why is it
that this book, out of all the books ever written about the Hopi, is the only one which
has really hit the big book market (surpassing by far the notable popularity of Simmons’
Sun Chief), having been published in several paperback editions and now moving beyond
the borders of the English publishing world?
All of these questions warrant answers. But the answers are neither simple in nature
nor easy to find. By examining the backgrounds of the authors, their methods of approach,
the informants involved, and the end product then the interested reader may perhaps
come to understand the significance of Book of the Hopi.
1. The Authors
Frank Waters has spent most of his life in the Southwest. As a boy he lived on the
Navaho Reservation. He has served in the Office of Inter-American Affairs in Washington,
D.C., during World War II and at the AEG in the Southwest, He has also been a consultant
on movies in the Southwest area. So far the scanty information offered on the back
covers of Masked Gods and Pumpkin Seed Point. Waters has of course been involved in
many other activities, but two things are most important here: he has no academic train-
ing, and he is an exceptionally talented novelist. His subjects are especially Southwestern
Indians, with emphasis upon the problems of confrontation with Western Civilization. He
is interested in occultism and Jungian psychology, and he constantly searches for those
elements common to mankind, human values, and life philosophy, which somehow can
be appealed to in order to improve our understanding of ourselves. See especially his
work Mexico Mystique (1975). Suffice it to say that reading his works is a true literary
pleasure.
But one thing stands out, common to all of his non-fictional works: scientists in
the fields of his inquiries are disturbed. Clyde Kluckhohn’s positive though peppered
“Foreword” to Masked Gods illustrates precisely the problem we have with Book of the
Hopi. Waters brings new ideas and interpretations to material too long dominated by
colorless ethnographers, but at the cost of caution and with only a minimum of data con-
trol. Kluckhohn expresses it more politely:
Although I am personally more comfortable with conclusions that can be reached
independently by different observers using the same explicit methods, I recognize
the profound usefulness of the warmth and imagination of Mr. Waters’ approach.
His picture may—I believe it does—require correction in details of color, size,
shading, and perspective but it is at least a painting with depth and color (1950:
xii ).
It is important to realize how such literature is to be used. Swallow Press’ state-
ment that Masked Gods is “accepted as an authority on the complex and little-known
rites and ceremonies of these Southwestern Indians” is exactly what the book is not!
Reports and Comments
549
Alice Marriott’s praise of Book of the Hopi in her American Anthropologist review
is again an example of a non-specialist not really knowing what to do with Waters’ work.
The only criticism she could pinpoint was that the book lacks an index! However, she
starts her review with:
No anthropologist could have written this book. Its compilation required poetic
rather than scientific perception. Only a person as deeply steeped in Hopi mysticism
as the Hopi themselves could have produced this volume (1964: 1189).
This is nonsense. No non-Hopi can be as “deeply steeped” as the Hopi. Anyone
who believes they are, are fooling themselves—and even worse—fooling others. There are
many “mystics” in this world. Only a tiny fraction of a percent are true mystics. And
even if Waters is a true mystic, one thing must remain clear here, the Hopis are not
mystics! They are a group of people with a rich mythology and a profound ceremonialism.
But dreams, visions, and mystical experiences (i.e., communion with a deity or with an
abstract “All”) play a minor role. I have recorded dreams and visions as well as others
have (cf. D. W. Eggan’s studies), but this is not “mysticism.”
Waters is not the only one who has had personal experience with the Hopi spirit
world, but to construe a series of dreams as being sent by a Hopi priest in the form of an
occult initiation into the “mysteries” is, in my opinion, self-deception (Waters 1969: 9,
27-28, 32-36). His claim to interpreting the Hopi and other evidence at the “mythological
and symbolic” levels is a highly subjective hermeneutic which tastes too much of the
“long-lost-white-brother-returned” theme. Again, a form of cultural imperialism just as
devastating as Waters’ unimaginative scientist.
Such a total subjectivity must take its toll when the time for objectivity comes
around. I am not implying that Waters is the Lobsang Rampa of the Hopi. His sincerity
and integrity are beyond question.
Oswald White Bear Fredericks, on the other hand, is the Hopi von Daniken. He was
born in Old Oraibi in 1905. He has a long record of schooling from Phoenix Indian
School to Haskell Institute and Bacon College in Muskogee, Oklahoma. Here he became
a devout Christian and worked many years for the Boy Scouts in New York, the Y.M.
C.A. in Newark, and for Fred Waring at Shawnee-on-the-Delaware (Waters 1969: 15).
He has served on the Hopi Tribal Council, as Tribal Judge and as the Governor of New
Oraibi. He is of the Coyote Clan, and even though he is the nephew of the late Chief of
Old Oraibi, Tawakwaptiwa, he holds no traditional religious posts. The publication of
Book of the Hopi has unfortunately placed him in a very uncomfortable position among
his own people.
Waters has described his association with Fredericks in his book Pumpkin Seed
Point (1969), and has given his description of the man. I will let him tell the story.
His many years away had given him a devout belief in Christianity and a modern
white perspective on life, a white wife, and a love of golf. At the same time, para-
doxically, these years had nurtured an equally strong belief in the religious tradi-
tions of his people. It took shape, as he lay alone and lonely in boarding houses
and hall bedrooms, in the idealistic vision of a Hopi Camelot standing on its cliff-
top, resplendent, pure, and untouched by mortal frailty. So it had stood in the
past and would stand again. Like a messiah, he prophesied a rejuvenation of ancient
Hopi belief and the restoration of crumbling Oraibi as a citadel of Bear Clan domi-
nation once his people had thrown off the yoke of White oppression (1969: 16).
Waters was suspicious of White Bear:
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Anthropos 78.1983
His obsessive desire to record his people’s valid religious beliefs could not be doubted.
But it was obvious that he did not know the essential detail and dignity, the scope
and depth of the material that would be required (1969: 17).
Out in the White world, he was cheerfully, aggressively White Bear of the Bear Clan,
Old Oraibi, a spokesman for all his people. Here in New Oraibi and throughout the
Reservation he was demurely Oswald Fredericks, abnormally shy and retiring. He
had lost completely his self-confidence and proud assertiveness. He was timidly
hesitant to meet other Hopis who participated in the sacred kiva rites to which he
was not admitted, and could hardly be induced to call upon the influential elders
whose cooperation he had promised us. If he did happen to meet one of them, he
was reluctant to ask him to record his discussion on tape (1969: 19).
Nevertheless, White Bear held that “it was prophesied when I was a boy that I
would be the eyes, ears, and voice of my people” (1969: 24). His role in the gathering
of material for the project led him through an inner transformation. The result was un-
avoidable, considering all of the conditions—White Bear came to regard himself as a
prophet. On the back of his pottery ashtrays for the souvenir shops was imprinted his
signature: “White Bear, Expert on Hopi Religion” (1969: 158).
During their trying sessions of collation and interpretation, White Bear would
counter Waters’ objections with:
I know you now! You go by these ethnologists who have lied about my people!
You won’t accept my word as the spokesman for my people. You got to print just
what I say or I’ll quit! (1969: 87)
White Bear did not, however, enjoy support from the very people whose informa-
tion led him to believe in his role.
. . . I was worried about him. He was now fully possessed by his archetype. Reality
of course did not justify his assumption of the role of messiah for all his people or
a spokesman for any group. A relative of his, Thomas Banyacya of New Oraibi, was
now recognized as the official spokesman for the Hopi Independent Nation, as the
Traditionalists now called themselves, indicating that White Bear’s assumptions
were ignored .... Only in the White world outside could he confidently assert
himself as the Hopi prophet, White Bear (1969: 170).
This is a revealing indictment from a man who would have us believe that the data
collected by and single-handedly translated (with absolutely no controls by a competent
linguist) by just this White Bear should seriously be accepted as the Hopi Bible! Others
who have had field experience can sympathize with Waters’ trials, but there is no doubt
in my mind that White Bear was a definite barrier between Waters and the Hopi tapes.
White Bear has continued his career as Hopi prophet. One finds him prophecying
the end of the world in a letter to the Hopi newspaper Qua’ Töqti (April 29, 1976: 2).
And once again in co-authorship with another amateur, he has produced an incredible
work with renewed authority (the dust jacket of the German edition calls him “Häupt-
ling Weißer Bär,” Blumrich 1979). In this book one finds Atlantis, Mu, Lemura, Tia-
huanaco, Aztecs, Mayas, Hopis, and Flying Saucers all mixed into a fine porridge.
2. Methods of Approach
The methods employed were simple enough:
Reports and Comments
551
White Bear collected most of our research material. He would take down on a
little battery-run tape recorder the discourses of our Hopi spokesmen. Later he
would play them back, translating them into English to his wife who would type
them for my use. He also served as my interpreter when I interviewed Hopis,
guided me to all the mentioned sites of ancient ruins and hidden shrines, and made
drawings of pictographs and petroglyphs carved on rocks and cliffs (Waters 1969:
14).
His wife was a businesswoman born in Waukegan, Illinois. She has no academic
training and has no understanding of the Hopi language. Yet she has had an important
hand in the editing. Waters noted, as an example, how she persisted in typing all re-
ferences to Kookyangwwuuti “Spider Woman” as “Spider Lady,” “because, as she said,
a lady was more dignified” (Waters 1969: 86). Even though this example is seemingly
harmless, how many other attempts made by Naomi Fredericks to make sense out of
White Bear’s English went unnoticed by Waters? All of us who have struggled with trans-
lating this and other non-Westem languages know what an ill-placed pronoun or mis-
understood particle can lead to.
Not only are we confronted with the many technical errors which undoubtedly
have arisen. There is the unpleasant fact that the translator of these tapes is a man ob-
sessed with an idea—a missionary for the Hopi religion, a religion that a priori is not
interested in missionizing. This is a man trained in Western, Christian thinking, trying
to reproduce for the first time a non-existent systematic philosophy of the Hopi religion.
The tapes are available at the Museum of Man in San Diego. I have unfortunately
not had the opportunity to listen to them. But it should be done by someone.
Waters pursued his topics of interest through interviewing various Hopis and by
visiting ruins. He owes many of his interpretations to White Bear and to one or two other
informants whom I will treat in the following section.
3. The Informants
Waters mentions his thirty or so “spokesmen” in his introduction (1963: xxi).
But when looking through their names, and at the same time comparing with revealing
statements in his 1969 book, we find a not so motley crew. The most important of these
informants are Wilson Tawakwaptiwa, the late Village Chief of Oraibi, and his brother
(White Bear’s father) Charles Fredericks. By comparing with previously published material
from Tawakwaptiwa (cf. Titiev 1944: 73-74; James 1940: 9-12, 1974: 2-8) we are con-
fronted with the surprising fact that he has played no role in the first section on the
creation myths. This section is the theoretical basis for the rest of the book, and yet, it
stands out as being the only account of its kind in the entire published literature!
Who then, if not the Village Chief, has provided the structure for this unique sys-
tematization? As far as I can tell, one man, the late Otto Pentiwa (Katsina Clan, New
Oraibi) has provided Waters and White Bear with the material made for poets (Waters
1969: 55-57), I do not know anymore about the man, but he it is who has provided
Waters with the whole idea concerning psychic centers and other occult matters as well
as adding colorful details about the three previous mythical worlds. All of these ideas
are again unique for the whole literature about and by the Hopi (which goes back to the
1860s!).
There are a number of important interpretations made in the Book of the Hopi of
the many petroglyphs both in the area and scattered all over the Southwest. The man
who gave this information is John Lansa (Badger Clan, Oraibi). He has also provided
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Anthropos 78.1983
much of the material on the ceremonies, especially the interpretative material (Waters
1969: 74-85). He is a leading figure in the highly controversial activist group called
the Traditionalists, or more correctly, the Hopi Independent Nation.
This is a small group of very active, determined and highly visible politicians whose
main goal seems to be the overthrow of the Hopi Tribal Council. Their leader was, until
shortly before his death, Dan Kachongva of Hotevilla. The leadership passed to his even
more controversial rival David Monongye. There is at present another power struggle
going on at Hotevilla for the new leadership.
There are certain things which characterize this group: they are not annointed,
duly-appointed spokesmen of the Hopi any more than White Bear is. They are active fund
raisers in the U.S. and Europe, and have discovered how to make the gullible Whites be-
lieve in practically anything they say. They have intimate contact with and support from
the generation of the sixties, which found in Hopiland the occultistic Mecca of the
American continents, and the Traditionalist “spokesmen” as the messiahs of the coming
End of the World. Finally, they have developed through many, many hours of discussions
among themselves and with non-Hopis a coherent, systematic series of “prophecies” con-
cerning the end of the world and the coming world renewal (see, among others, Clemmer
1978). This group has always used their mythology for political purposes, as Goldfrank
(1948) has shown.
This group is unfortunately represented by a significant number of Waters’ infor-
mants. An educated guess would place anywhere from 37-51 percent of the 27 names
listed (1963; xxi) in this group. This is unfortunate, since the group in question, among
all of the Hopi groups, comes closest to Waters’ own decidedly occultistic-eclectic under-
standing of the world around him (see his many interpretations in Waters 1969: passim).
In some instances, one finds these leaders so obsessed with the end of the world that it
has led to the founding of a flying saucer cult at the instigation of the White “Flying
Saucer Prophet,” Paul Solem. See the pamphlet produced by the Hopi Independent
Nation in Skidmore 1970.
Finally, it should be noted for the record that a certain percentage (3-6) of the
listed “spokesmen” are avowed, acculturated Christians, including, of course, White Bear
himself.
4. The End Product
Considering the authors and the informants involved, what else can be expected
than an enigmatic “Book of the Hopi”? Waters is certainly correct in writing that “this
great cooperative effort could not have been obtained before, nor could it be obtained
now ...” (Waters 1963: xxi). But I am firmly convinced that this is so by reason of the
individuals involved and not because Waters has somehow discovered the well-hidden
esoteric mysteries of the Hopi.
But let us look more closely at the publication in question. There are portions of
the book which are reliable from a purely documentary point of view. But it must be con-
stantly held in mind that the book is consistently dominated by Waters’ skillful, yet
opinionated, interpretative tone.
Starting with the easiest section, “Part Four. The History: The Lost White Brother”
(1963; 305-412), even though it is decidedly colored by Waters’ interpretation of histori-
cal events and by the Traditionalists’ interpretation, it is sufficiently documented by
eyewitness accounts.
It is the remaining 300 pages which are problematic. As my previous comments
have shown, there is little doubt that the homogeneous presentation of the myths, legends,
and the ceremonies is synthetic. If we allow all direct quotes as being genuine eyewitness
Reports and Comments
553
material, we are still confronted by the fact that White Bear has done all of the trans-
lating without any control by a competent linguist. Even trained Hopi need the balast
of a trained English-speaking person if there is to be any hope of attaining a reliable
translation. In any event, the Hopi original should always be made available for future
investigations.
Nevertheless in “Part Three. The Mystery Plays: The Ceremonial Cycle” (1963:
153-306) we find about 18 pages of direct quotes, or 12 percent. But it is obvious that
much of it is based upon eyewitness material. Waters did not bother, however, with the
courtesy of noting what are paraphrases of native accounts, what are his own eyewitness
observations, what are Hopi interpretations and what are purely his own interpretations.
In other words, an account claiming by its very language to be objective, is hopelessly
mixed in with the author’s own subjectivity. Of course, every author has this problem,
but the difference between a trained and an untrained scholar is that the former is obliged
to make the boundaries of his subjective opinions and objective accounts transparent to
his readers.
The main problem with this book, as well as with any study of the Hopi, lies in the
fact that each clan owns a set of traditions with appropriate rituals and ritual objects. The
traditions relate about the beginnings, but especially about the clan’s own migrations.
Each clan has its place and destiny in Hopi history. These clan traditions are mutually in-
compatible, and accounts—even within a single clan, especially from other mesa villages—
are conflicting and based entirely upon the knowledge and hierarchical status of its mem-
bers. Acculturative processes have disturbed this situation further, in some instances to a
considerable degree. The religious brotherhoods, on the other hand, have served to
coordinate these disparate clan traditions into a workable ceremonial homogeneity at
each village. But as soon as the ceremonies begin disappearing, the disruptive nature of
the clan philosophies becomes more evident, as is the case at Hotevilla.
“Part Two. The Legends: Migrations of the Clans” (1963: 37-152) is again a blend-
ing of interpretation and paraphrases of native accounts. But the stories deviate some-
times from other published accounts. The interpretations are most likely those of John
Lansa. But again, the Badger Clan has no rights to (and therefore no knowledge of) other
clan traditions.
The most serious breach found in this book is perhaps the most interesting section
of all: “Part One. The Myths: Creation of the Four Worlds” (1963: 1-36). As I wrote
above and elsewhere (A.W. Geertz 1983: note 14) this account is unique in the history
of the literature about the Hopi. There are gods who play unprecedented roles (i.e.,
Taiowa, which only means “face”—probably the face of the sun—, is made into a Creator
god), there are explicitly translated songs (one of the most difficult genres to translate),
there are concepts for which the Hopi have no word, words wrongly translated and there
are names which cannot be verified by other scholars (such as the names of the previous
three worlds). But the worst part of all is that this account contains no Emergence Myth
which follows the universal pattern of all published Hopi myths. This is brushed aside as
a “popular anthropological belief” (Waters 1963: 31). The architecturally-storied series
of worlds is absent! Instead we find the Hopi coming to the continent from the west
on reed rafts [ibid.: 23f.).
Finally, no clan has a “complete” version of the Four Worlds Mythology, since
there is no such complete version. Each clan jealously guards its own version as being
autonomous and complete in its own right. All the versions of the Four Worlds Mythol-
ogy that are published, are, without exception, of doubtful textual value. There is no
doubt in my mind that the first 36 pages of Book of the Hopi are completely the fantasy
of Otto Pentiwa, Oswald White Bear Fredericks, and Frank Waters with a piece here and
there from a variety of narrators. In other words, the account which is the ideological
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Anthropos 78.1983
starting point for the whole book is an artificial construction. Waters admits this him-
self: “It stands for itself as a synthesis of intuitive, symbolic belief given utterance for the
first time” (1963: xxiii).
This synthetic approach is unfortunately the most dominant method of presenta-
tion among all of the genres of the literature about the Hopi. Very few authors, whether
scientist or poet or both, pay due attention to the contexts of their information. Hopi
religion has always been presented on the basis of a false premise, i.e., that there exists
a common national religion, a pan-clan, pan-mesa ideology and ceremonialism. This is
simply not the case.
I have criticized Book of the Hopi from a scientific, source-critical point of view.
The task set for Waters by the Charles Ulrick and Josephine Bay Foundation was not to
make
“an academic study of them and their present difficulties—neither an ethnological
or economic report, nor a sociological or psychological paper, to be filed away in
museums and libraries—but by persuading them to relate freely, for the first time,
the complete history and religious beliefs of their people (Waters 1969: 11).
The book is at least not an academic study, and it is not filed away and forgotten,
but it is also not the first time the Hopi have related anything “freely.”
Waters may not have a high opinion of “the documentary scholar” (1963: xxiii)
and insist that this book is
the presentation of a life-pattern rooted in the soil of this continent, whose growth
is shaped by the same forces that stamp their indigenous seal upon its greatest
mountain and smallest insect, and whose flowering is yet to come (1963: xviii).
But the truth of the matter is that Waters is a good, however untrained, scholar
himself, clothed in the elegant cloak of a poet. If the field of Hopi literature were not
littered by hundreds of other less talented poets, one could suffice to ignore the whole
problem. But while Waters confuses ethnocentrism with scientific studies, he is at the
same time misusing the very methods of the disciplines he ridicules. While hiding behind
such accusations as, the scientist “will certainly deny that invisible spirits manifest them-
selves as described,” he is avoiding his own responsibility as an accurate chronicler. How
can it be claimed that this book is the Hopi “Bible” when not even the most elementary
ethnographic and linguistic controls have been observed? In a field of literature hopeless-
ly littered by a tremendous amount of romantic rubbish and unimpeded amateurism, I
do not think it pompous, sacrilegious, or pedantic to ask that we are allowed to hear the
Hopi in a completely unadulterated form and in their own language. “Mythic and symbolic
levels” thrive quite well in this manner and are neither made more true nor more clear
by the use of obfuscating Jungian assertions.
A good story is made better by a good storyteller, but poetic licence can ruin the
tale. Book of the Hopi will probably continue to be a source of inspiration for thousands
of Western readers to come. It obviously fulfills deep-seated Western needs and will
probably be cited as the authority. I hope that my comments serve to show exactly why
it isn’t.
Reports and Comments
555
References
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Eggan, D.W.
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Harry C. James. 28 pp. El Centro: The Desert Magazine.
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Marriott, A.
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Simmons, L.W. (ed.)
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Smith, W.
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Wall Paintings in the Pueblo Southwest. With 9 plates in Serigraph by Louie
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(Papers of the Peabody Museum of American Archaeology and Ethnology,
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Spicer, E.H.
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Anthropos 78.1983
Waters, F.
1950 Masked Gods. Navaho and Pueblo Ceremonialism, xviii+459 pp. Chicago:
The Swallow Press. [New York: Ballentine Books edition 1970, 4th printing
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1963 Book of the Hopi. Drawings and Source Material Recorded by Oswald White
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Ballantine Books edition 1969, 4th printing 1971.]
1969 Pumpkin Seed Point, xiii+175 pp. Chicago: The Swallow Press. [2nd printing
1970.]
1975 Mexico Mystique. The Coming Sixth World of Consciousness, x+326 pp,
Chicago: The Swallow Press.
Abu Kan'ân,
ein Kulturheros in den Trockengebieten des Westsudans
Samia Al Azharia Jahn
Dr. med. habil (Water Purification Project, P. O.B. 2681, Khartoum, Sudan)
Brunnen und Regenwasserzistemen haben von alters her im Brennpunkt des Existenz-
kampfes von Hirtenvölkern gestanden. Der gewöhnliche Nomade besitzt wenig Interesse
und Geschick, seine Wasserversorgung technisch zu verbessern. Wenn die Vorräte zur Neige
gegangen sind, bricht er auf und setzt seine Wanderung fort. Erst mit dem Übergang zum
Seminomaden tum ist der Ansporn gegeben, nach neuen Möglichkeiten zur Beschaffung
oder Speicherung von Wasser zu suchen.
Nach dem Volksglauben im Westsudan schaffte ein riesenhafter Kulturheros die
Voraussetzungen zur Ansiedlung in extremen Trockengebieten. Die vorliegende Arbeit
versucht, die Herkunft dieser Legende zu deuten. Die ethnographischen Daten aus Kor-
dofan und Darfur wurden im Jahre 1977 im Zusammenhang mit einem Forschungspro-
jekt über traditionelle Trinkwasserreinigung gesammelt.
1. Wasserspeichernde Bäume
In den trockenen Savannen aus Afrika oder Nordwest-Australien haben die Einge-
borenen auf ihren Streifzügen entdeckt, daß Affenbrotbäume (in Afrika: Adansonia digi-
tata, in Australien: Adansonia gregorii; vgl. Fitzgerald 1916/17: 175) gelegentlich an der
Basis der Hauptverzweigungen tiefe Höhlungen haben, in denen sich große Mengen von
Regenwasser ansammeln. Im Westsudan werden Bäume dieser Art als läqaiya, d.h. das
(zufällig) Gefundene, bezeichnet. Die Beduinen kannten sie wahrscheinlich ebenso gut
wie Brunnen in der Wüste.
Reports and Comments
557
Nach den Mythen der Fali, einem im benachbarten Tschad und in Nordkamerun
beheimateten Stamm, nahm ihr vom Himmel gesandter göttlicher Lehrmeister seinen
ersten Aufenthalt in einem hohlen Affenbrotbaum, in dem er Wasser entdeckte. Schon
sein Name deutet darauf hin, denn To dino ist der „Vater des Affenbrotbaumes“ oder
„der Ahne, der in einem Affenbrotbaum wohnte“ (Lebeuf 1961: 371).
In der Gegend von Timbuktu im heutigen Mali wurde die Nutzung natürlicher Was-
serspeicher in Affenbrotbäumen schon von Ibn Battuta auf seinen Streifzügen im 14, Jh.
beobachtet. Bis heute sind solche Wasserquellen nicht technisch verbessert worden, und
man trinkt nur im Notfall aus ihnen (persönl. Mitteilung von Brahima Mariko, Ministère
des Sports, des Arts et de la Culture, Bamako, 1982).
Wann man lernte, in den mächtigen Stämmen der Affenbrot- oder ,,Tibaldi“-Bäume
gezielt Zisternen anzulegen, ohne das Weiterleben des Baumes zu beeinträchtigen, ist
nicht bekannt. Der arabische Reisende Mohammad Ibn ‘Omar at-Tunisi, der 1803 nach
Darfur kam und viele interessante Beobachtungen über die dort Vorgefundenen Bäume
niederschrieb, erwähnt nur die natürlichen Wasservorkommen in Affenbrotbäumen, die
von den Beduinen ausgenutzt wurden (al-Tunisi [Neuausgabe] 1965: 309). Als der deutsche
Forschungsreisende Gustav Nachtigal (1971: 285) im Jahre 1873 durch Darfur und Nord-
kordofan zog, ließ er sich bis in Einzelheiten berichten, wie man die Affenbrotbäume aus-
höhlt, füllt und entleert. Tibaldi-Wasser aus künstlichen Speichern wurde von der ein-
heimischen Bevölkerung getrunken und auch an Karawanen verkauft. Je größer die
Wasserknappheit war, desto höhere Preise konnten die Eigentümer der Baumzisternen
begehren. Seit man in den zwanziger Jahren dieses Jahrhunderts Tiefbrunnen zu bohren
begann, ist die sozialökonomische Bedeutung der ausgehöhlten Affenbrotbäume in
Kordofan und Darfur stark zurückgegangen. In geologisch ungünstigen Gebieten, in denen
es an Aquiferen mangelt und der Sandboden nicht zuläßt, Hafire (Wasserauffangbecken)
zu graben, ist ihre Rolle bis heute noch nicht ausgespielt. In Dar Hamar (Nordkordofan),
einem wichtigen Gebiet zum Einsammeln von Gummi arabicum, wird noch in mehreren
Bezirken monatelang Wasser aus Tibaldi-Speichem verbraucht. Wenn dieses Wasser aus der
Regenzeit aufgezehrt ist, benutzt man die leere Zisterne mancherorts auch zur Aufbe-
wahrung des teuer erstandenen Wassers, das Lastwagen aus weit entfernten Tiefbrunnen
heranbringen. Gegenwärtig haben die größten Reservoire in Affenbrotbäumen eine Tiefe
bis zu 3 m und ein Fassungsvermögen von 10-12 Kubikmeter und sind oft mit einer Holz-
türe mit Vorhängeschloß versehen. Eine solche Wassermenge würde jedoch nur einen
Monat lang für 17-20 Personen ausreichen, wenn man ihnen einen Mindestverbrauch von
20 Liter pro Tag gemäß den Zielsetzungen der gegenwärtigen „Wasser-Dekade“ zugesteht.
Die Hamar begnügen sich bisher gewöhnlich mit der Hälfte und sind am Ende der Trok-
kenzeit dankbar, wenn sie nur genug Wasser zum Trinken und Kochen haben (ca. 6 Liter
pro Tag für Männer).
Die innige Verbundenheit der Leute vom Stamm der Hamar mit ihren wasser-
speichemden Bäumen drückt sich darin aus, daß sie ihnen individuelle Namen gegeben ha-
ben, z.B. der Schwarze, der Gelbe, der Zottlige, Zwilling, Wert einer Ziege, Wert eines
Ziegenbockes, Kumpane des Todes usw., indem sie auf Aussehen und Standort des Bau-
mes oder den Tauschwert seines Wasservorrates anspielen oder darauf hin weisen, daß
der Aufstieg zum Baum schon Todesopfer gefordert hat.
Das Aushöhlen der Stämme und die jährlichen Reparaturarbeiten werden von Dorf-
handwerkem ausgeführt, die meistens auch ihre speziellen Werkzeuge für diesen Zweck
hergestellt haben. Das Füllen und Entleeren der Speicher besorgen jüngere Männer aus der
Familie des Eigentümers (vgl. Jahn 1981: 71 und Fig. 8a und Sb). In manchen Dörfern
wagen sich sogar Frauen auf die Bäume, um mit einem kleinen Ledereimer Wasser aus der
Zisterne heraufzuziehen und ihn dann mit einem Seil am Stamm herunterzulassen (z.B. in
lyal Bakhit und Umgebung).
In Dar Hamar werden gewöhnliche und auch ausgehöhlte Affenbrotbäume als ham-
ra bezeichnet, wegen des Rötlichen“ Schimmers ihrer Früchte. Der Stammesname der
558
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
Hamar soll auf ihren „roten“ d.h. hellhäutigen Ahnherrn zurückgehen, der Mohammed
oder Abdallah al Ahmar genannt wurde und entweder zum Stamm der Arakiyin oder der
Juhayna-Araber gehört haben soll (Mohammad Ahmad Ibrahim 1971: 5). Die Ähnlich-
keit zwischen Baum- und Stammesname ist offenbar eine Zufälligkeit. Die Behauptung,
daß nach der Legende ein Tibaldi-Baum der Stammvater der Hamar sei (Born 1965:
80), muß auf einem Mißverständnis beruhen.
2. Legenden von Abu KarTän
Man erzählt sich bei den Hamar, daß ihr Stamm von Westen aus in das Gebiet des
heutigen Nordkordofan vordrang. Dort trafen sie auf einen riesigen Mann mit Namen Abu
Kan'än, der damit beschäftigt war, Affenbrotbäume auszuhöhlen, um in ihnen Wasser
aufzubewahren. Er war so groß, daß er selbst an den höchsten Bäumen mühelos im Stehen
arbeiten konnte. Mit Staunen sahen sie ihm zu. Als Abu Kan'än bald darauf die Gegend
auf immer verließ, lebten sie zuerst von seinen Vorräten, die aber nicht ausreichten.
Schließlich faßten einige der Hamar Mut, verschafften sich lange Stämme mit einer
Astgabel am Ende als Leitern und stiegen, mit Äxten bewaffnet, auf die Tibaldi-Bäume,
um seine Methode nachzuahmen. Selbst wenn sie sich länger als eine Woche damit plagen
mußten, was Abu Kan‘än im Bruchteil eines Tages fertiggestellt hatte, gelang es ihnen am
Ende doch, ähnliche Zisternen zu bauen, mit deren Hilfe sie bis zur nächsten Regenzeit
überleben konnten.
Es herrscht keine Übereinstimmung in der Überlieferung, ob Abu Kan‘än allein
war (Khouwei, Kul-Dörfer) oder ob er drei (lyal Bakhit) bzw. sieben ähnlich riesenhafte
Brüder bei sich hatte. Eine alte Frau aus Qubba Abu Sara, einem Dorf auf dem Wege
zwischen Khouwei und lyal Bakhit, trug folgende Verse vor:
Abu Kan‘än
Hatte sieben Brüder
Mit Gold bauten sie seine Höfe
Mit Seide banden sie seine Lämmchen
Abu kan'än
‘inda-hu sab'a ikhwän
bil dhahab banä htshän-(h)u
bil harir rabtin himlän-(h)u
Mit Honig seiften sie seine Trinkschalen.
Ein Unheil befiel ihn,
Verlassen blieb sein Ort.
bil ‘asal subin ktzän-(h)u
gät-hu daha
wa akhla makän-(h)u
Fragt man nach der Herkunft von Abu Kan'än, so gehen die Meinungen bei den
Hamar noch mehr auseinander. Entweder gehörte er zu einem alten, längst erloschenen
Stamm unbestimmter Herkunft, oder er kam vom Westen. Einige meinen auch, er habe zu
den Pharaonen gehört. Sein Name konnte von keinem der Informanten gedeutet werden.
Ein Polizeibeamter aus dem Nordsudan meinte, er käme von Kanaan, dem Heimatland der
„Phönizier“.
In Süddarfur gilt Abu Kan'än nach Erzählungen der Bevölkerung von Jebel Umm
Kardous bei Nyala als Brunnenbauer. In der Umgebung von Jebel Ulgu gibt es gemauerte
Brunnen von „Neun-Männer-Tiefe“, die als säni (= tiefe Brunnen) bezeichnet werden. Das
Maß bezieht sich auf einen Mann mit senkrecht emporgehobenem rechten Arm, d.h. es
beträgt mehr als 2 m. Gegenwärtig würde sich in diesem Gebiet niemand Zutrauen, ohne
moderne technische Hilfsmittel einen derartigen Brunnen zu bauen. In Darfur wird er-
zählt, daß Abu Kan'än mit den Pharaonen ins Land gekommen sei. Andere sagen, er habe
Reports and Comments
559
zu einem Stamm aus dem Westen gehört, und einige sind der Meinung, daß er vom Ge-
schlecht der alten Für von Tora Tonga (Jebel Marra) abstammte, das auf Grund von
Skelettfunden sehr groß gewesen sein soll.
3. Zur Herkunft der Legenden
Geschichten aus den Nachbarländern im westlichen Zentralafrika und vom alten
Ägypten scheinen Stoff für die verschiedenen Versionen der Abu Kan‘än-Traditionen
geliefert zu haben.
Schon zur Zeit des Königs Merenre (6. Dynastie, ca. 2300 v. Chr.) sollen ägyptische
Expeditionen bis nach Darfur vorgestoßen sein. Sichere Beweise gibt es nicht, denn es
sind keine Ortsnamen überliefert. Man weiß nur, daß Eselskarawanen eingesetzt wurden,
um die Wüstenwege zu erforschen (Vercoutter 1959: 10). Waren aus dem sudanesischen
Hinterland sind jedoch seit Jahrtausenden von nubischen Karawanen für den Tausch-
handel beschafft worden. Mit den Kaufleuten aus dem Nordsudan müssen Augenzeugen-
berichte und Mythen aus dem ägyptisch-hellenistischen Kulturkreis nach Kordofan und
Darfur gelangt sein. Demgegenüber ist die Wanderung von Legenden aus westlicher Rich-
tung vermutlich weniger den Händlern als durchziehenden Nomaden und später Mekka-
pilgern zuzuschreiben.
a) Riesen als Helfer und hervorragende Handwerker
Die alten Ägypter glaubten, daß ihre prädynastischen Pharaonen von Göttern und
Menschentöchtem gezeugt wurden und daher Wesen von übermenschlicher Größe und
Stärke waren. Ähnlich lauten die Formulierungen in der Septuaginta in bezug auf die
Giganten aus vorsintflutlicher Zeit (Gen. 6: 4; Rydberg 1926: 288). Knochenfunde von
prähistorischen Tieren, die man in Ägypten für Überreste von riesenhaften Menschen
hielt, veranlaßten Phlegon von Tralles, einen griechischen Schriftsteller am Hofe des
Kaisers Hadrian, zu folgender Verallgemeinerung (15. Kapitel von „De Mirabilibus“):
“We must not be incredulous if we consider that in the beginning when nature was in her
prime, she produced everything god-sized (’eyyus decov), but with the passage of time the
size of nature’s products diminished” (persönliche Mitteilung von Prof, Alex Scobie,
Wellington, New Zealand).
Für die einfachen Leute im Westsudan, die nie Gelegenheit hatten, Lesen und
Schreiben zu lernen, sind die „Pharaonen“ keine Könige, sondern „die alten Ägypter“
schlechthin, die allen anderen Stämmen überlegen waren und Bauten errichteten, von
deren Pracht und Vollkommenheit sie sich nur vage Vorstellungen machen können. Da
nach dem Hörensagen die „Pharaonen“ Abbilder in Stein hinterließen, die übermensch-
liche Dimensionen haben, müssen sie selbst Riesen gewesen sein. In Nubien lagen die
zwei gewaltigsten Steinkolosse von einer Länge von 7 Metern und einem Gewicht von
fast 30 Tonnen bis 1972 in der Nähe des Dorfes Tebo auf der Insel Argo bei Dongola.
Seitdem befinden sie sich im Nationalmuseum in Khartoum (Hinkel 1977: 93). Vermut-
lich stellen sie den kuschitischen König Netekamani dar, aber ihr Stil entspricht den
Kolossalstatuen des hellenistischen Ägypten (Shinnie 1967: 50, 219).
Vielleicht sind auch Bruchstücke der Prometheus-Mythe überliefert worden. Nach
Auffassung der Griechen waren die meisten Riesen gewalttätig und rebellisch, nur der
Titan Prometheus wurde zum Freund und Helfer der Menschheit. Die ihm wohlgesinn-
te Göttin Athene unterrichtete ihn in Architektur, Astronomie, Mathematik, Navigation,
Medizin, Metallurgie und anderen nützlichen Wissenschaften und Techniken. Er gab sein
Wissen an die Menschen weiter und wagte am Ende sogar dem Göttervater Zeus zu
trotzen, um seinen Schützlingen das Feuer zu bringen (Graves 1955: 39e ff.).
560
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
Riesenwuchs gehört auch zum Stoff von muselmanischen Prophetenlegenden. In
Kordofan ist beim Stamm der Bidariya, der im 14. Jh. von Dongola in die Gegend von El
Obeid auswanderte, eine Legende im Umlauf, die den in Ägypten aufgewachsenen Pro-
pheten Moses als Riesen erscheinen läßt. Als einziges Lebewesen, das sich nicht in Noahs
Arche befand, hatte der bis zum Himmel reichende Gigant ‘Og Ben ‘Anq die Sintflut über-
lebt, doch er verursachte den Menschen bis zum Zeitalter von Moses viel Verdruß. Eines
Tages war Moses derartig über den heimtückischen Ewedsh (‘üg = ‘ewij bei den Bidariya)
erzürnt, daß erbeschloß, ihn umzubringen. Moses hatte eine Größe von 40 dira' (=23,20 m!).
Sein Stock war ebenfalls 40 Ellen lang. Als er nun weitere 40 dira‘ in die Höhe sprang,
konnte er mit dem Stock gerade die Achillessehne des gottlosen Unholdes treffen. ‘Og
stürzte tot zur Erde, und sein Bein bildete eine Brücke über das rote Meer, auf der die
Israeliten zum Sinai gelangen konnten. Nach Ansicht der Mutter von Zain al Abdin
Ahmed Khalifa (Institut für Musik und Drama, Khartoum), dem ich diese Erzählung ver-
danke, waren zur Zeit des Propheten Moses auch die übrigen Menschen noch „riesen-
groß“. Gemäß einer Variante der obigen Erzählung, die Tabari (9. Jh.) aufgezeichnet
hat, betrug die Größe von Moses nur „10 Ellen“ (vgl. Encyclopaedia of Islam).
Die Länder südlich und westlich vom Tschadsee wurden in alten Zeiten von Völkern
der Jäger und Fischer bewohnt, die unter dem Kollektivnamen „Sao“ bekannt geworden
sind. Die Überreste ihrer Städte mit gewaltigen Mauern und seltsamen Kultbauten (z.B.
Logone-Bimi) zeugen davon, daß sie eine sehr hohe Kulturstufe erreicht hatten (Ibrahim
Sälih Bin Yünis 1970: 76; Annie und Jean-Paul Lebeuf 1955: 25). Der Sage nach waren
die Sao ein Riesengeschlecht von erstaunlicher Tüchtigkeit. Sie vermochten auf eine Ent-
fernung von zwei Tagen zu sehen, und ein einzelner Mann war in der Lage, einen Elefan-
ten zu erlegen und nach Hause zu tragen (Ibrâhîm Sälih Bin Yünis). Ihre Trinkbecher wa-
ren riesige Tonumen. Die Archäologen haben jedoch zeigen können, daß diese Urnen von
maximal 1,50-1,60 m Höhe als Speicher und auch zur Bestattung dienten, und die Kno-
chenfunde von Sao-Leuten deuten keineswegs auf Riesenwuchs hin (persönliche Mit-
teilung von Prof. Lebeuf, Paris). Von den Tongefäßen wird heute außerdem noch erzählt,
daß sie bei den Sao die Voraussetzung für das Überleben der Trockenzeit in den wasser-
armen Gegenden bildeten (Ibrahim Sälih Bin Yünis 1970). Eine Wasserspeicherung in
Tongefäßen hat tatsächlich praktische Bedeutung und ist im Sudan im Bezirk von Kolo-
gi in den Nubabergen (Südkordofan) anzutreffen. Jede Familie besitzt ein oder zwei
Hütten, in denen nahezu kugelförmige Tongefäße (dahlöb) in großer Zahl auf Boden und
Gestellen angebracht sind. Zur Regenzeit werden sie mit Wasser gefüllt, mit einem Dek-
kel versehen und mit frischem Ton versiegelt. Ähnlich verfährt man in Ostnigerien im
Gebiet von Nsukka (Egbuniwe 1978: 466).
Westlich vom Tschadsee in der Gegend von Sinder lobt man die Sao auch als Brun-
nenbauer und behauptet, daß sie die Brunnen in der Umgebung von Agades angelegt hät-
ten (J.P. Lebeuf).
b) Die Schmiede oder „Söhne von Kenan“
In Pantheon vieler alter Religionen ist der „göttliche Schmied“ zugleich der „Mei-
sterhandwerker“ des Götterhaushaltes. Man denke nur an den ägyptischen Ptah, den
göttlichen Handwerker im Palast des Gewittergottes Baal in den Mythen von Kanaan
(Gray 1969: 81) oder den griechischen Hephaistos.
Als biblischer Stammvater der Schmiede gilt Tubalkain aus dem Geschlecht des Erz-
vaters Kain, der in der Elohim-Urkunde und der Septuaginta auch „Kenan“ genannt wird
(Rydberg 1926: 257 und 290). Der Name „Keniten“, der sich ursprünglich auf Nomaden-
schmiede aus Midian bezog (Gray 1969: 108), ist später allgemein auf Wanderschmiede
angewandt worden. Selbst bei den Massai in Ostafrika heißen die Schmiede nach Kenan
ol kononi (Merker 1910, zit. in Vogel 1973: 440).
Reports and Comments
561
Abb. 1
Junge Tuareg Schmiede von
Timea beim Schnitzen von
Holzlöffeln. Bei der Arbeit
mögen sie unverschleiert sein,
doch wenn sie sich in der Öf-
fentlichkeit zeigen oder foto-
grafieren lassen, bestehen sie
meistens darauf, den tagul-
must, das Zeichen ihrer männ-
lichen Würde, anzulegen.
Abb. 2
Die Mutter der Schmiede mit
dem jüngsten Sohn. Frauen
des Schmiedeklans sind eben-
falls Kunsthandwerker, vor
allem in der Herstellung fei-
ner Lederarbeiten.
Anthropos 78.1983
36
562
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
Der Name Abu Kan‘än zeigt Verwandtschaft zu Kenan. Abu steht als „Typenbe-
zeichnung“. Obwohl keiner der Informanten aus Kordofan oder Darfur angab, daß mit
Abu Kan‘än ein Schmied gemeint sei, könnte die Anregung zum Aushöhlen von Affen-
brotbäumen von Schmieden ausgegangen sein. Das Ausschaben der Bäume erfordert
nicht nur geschmiedete Werkzeuge, sondern auch handwerkliche Umsicht. Gegenwärtig
wird von weniger erfahrenen Männern mancher Baum bei der Neuanlage einer Zisterne
oder der jährlichen Säuberung des Reservoirs unbrauchbar gemacht, weil die Höhlung zu
tief in den Stamm hineingetrieben oder Fäulnisherde nicht sofort herausgeschält und mit
gesunden Holzstücken überdeckt und ausgeteert worden waren. In Schwarzafrika gibt es
außerdem tatsächlich Schmiedeklane, die sich auf eine Herkunft von jüdischen Wander-
schmieden berufen und handwerklich eine sehr vielseitige Erfahrung besitzen.
Die Falasha oder „schwarzen Juden“ Äthiopiens, die in den Hochländern am Tana-
see leben, sind tüchtige Schmiede, Maurer, Zimmerleute, Korbflechter und Töpfer. Sie
haben bis heute ihren Jahwe-Kult beibehalten. Man nimmt an, daß sie von Israeliten ab-
stammen, die sich beim Auszug aus Ägypten von Moses trennten und nach Süden nil-
aufwärts zogen. In Zeiten der Verfolgung flohen sie manchmal auch nach Inselbergen
und Bergstöcken der sudanischen Ebene (vgl. Vogel 1973: 448). Die erste jüdische Ein-
wanderung größeren Umfangs erfolgte in Nordafrika nach der Einnahme von Jerusalem
durch Nebukadnezar (6, Jh. v. Chr.) Vereinzelt sind dann israelitische Händler und Hand-
werker auch in Länder jenseits der Sahara vorgedrungen. Der erste Beleg dafür wurde
von Valentin Fernandez erbracht, der zu Anfang des 16. Jh.s Walata im heutigen Mali be-
suchte und dort auf Kaufleute, Goldschmiede und Juweliere jüdischer Herkunft traf,
die zu Ansehen und Reichtum gekommen waren (Bovill 1970: 50).
Die Schmiede der Tuareg im heutigen Niger (Ahaggar und Ayr) bekennen sich zum
Islam, verehren jedoch „Sidna Dawud“ (Unseren Herrn David) als ihren Schutzpatron.
Aus ihren mündlichen Traditionen geht ferner hervor, daß sie von vertriebenen jüdischen
Schmieden aus der Oase Tementit in Tawat abstammen sollen oder von jüdischen Schmie-
den, die von Marokko ausgewandert waren (Nicolaisen 1963: 18). Die Männer des gegen-
wärtigen Schmiedeklans in Timea im Ayr-Gebirge sind zwar dunkelhäutig, haben aber kei-
ne negroiden Merkmale. Einige von ihnen besitzen markante semitische Züge. Sie betäti-
gen sich nicht nur als Grobschmiede, sondern fertigen auch den Silberschmuck für die
Frauen an und schnitzen Holzstiele für ihre geschmiedeten Werkzeuge sowie Löffel, Kel-
len (Trinklöffel), Schalen usw., die sie mit traditionellen Einkerbungen verzieren. Mit
ihren technischen Fertigkeiten und ihrer künstlerischen Begabung ist ein schnelles Auf-
fassungsvermögen für Sonderwünsche der Auftraggeber verbunden. Aus diesem Grunde
könnten sie bei geplanten Maßnahmen zur Verbesserung der dörflichen Infrastruktur
eine vielversprechende Rolle spielen (Jahn 1980). Trotzdem leben sie in der traditionellen
Gesellschaft des Wirtsstammes isoliert. Einheiraten sind ihnen versagt. Ähnlich ergeht es
anderen Gruppen von Schmieden, auch den Schmieden der Hamar, die vorzugsweise aus
Dar Tama, einem Gebiet im Raum von Wadai und Westdarfur, kommen. Als tüchtige
Handwerker haben sie andererseits meistens die Möglichkeit, sich einen bescheidenen
Wohlstand zu sichern, der nicht mit den ärmlichen Existenzbedingungen zu vergleichen
ist, unter denen andere nicht zum Wirtsstamm gehörende Bevölkerungselemente, wie z.B.
Landarbeiter, leben.
Die Abu Kan‘än-Legende ist ein interessantes Beispiel der mythisierenden Inter-
pretation technischen Fortschrittes. Obwohl die Verbesserungen der Wasserversorgung
im Westsudan, die Abu Kan‘än zugeschrieben werden, mit großer Wahrscheinlichkeit
nicht vor der Hälfte des vergangenen Jahrhunderts in Angriff genommen wurden, wird
die Enstehung in der Legende in graue Vorzeit verlegt. Dennoch enthält der Name des
gigantischen Kulturheros sowie die ebenfalls überdimensionierte Beschreibung seines
Lebensstandards Andeutungen auf historisch plausible Ereignisse. Abu Kan‘än war gewiß
ein Außenseiter, doch „groß“ nur in bezug auf Scharfsinn, Geschick und Tatkraft.
Reports and Comments
563
Abb.3
Wasserentnahme aus einem
Affenbrotbaum in Wad el AsTI
bei Khouwei (Dar Hamar).
Literatur
Bora, M.
1965 Zentralkordofan. Bauern und Nomaden in Savannengebieten des Sudan. (Mar-
burger Geographische Schriften, 25.) Marburg.
Bovill, E.W.
1970 The Golden Trade of the Moors. 2nd ed. revised and with additional material
by Robin Hallett. Oxford. Oxford University Press.
Egbuniwe, N.
1978 Rural Water Supplies from Laterite Runoff. Water Resources Bulletin (America)
14: 466-469.
Fitzgerald, W.V.
1916/1917 Botany of the Kimberley District. Journal of the Royal Society of
Western Australia 3.
Graves, R.
1955 The Greek Myths, 1-2. Edinburgh.
Gray, J.
1969 Near Eastern Mythology (Mesopotamia, Syria, Palestine). London.
Hinkel, F.W.
1977 Auszug aus Nubien. Berlin. Akademie-Verlag.
564
Reports and Comments
Anthropos 78.1983
Ibrâhîm Salih Bin Yünis
1970 Tärikh al-Isläm wa haiyät al ‘arab fi Imbrïïtüriat Kanem Bornu. Silsilat dira-
sat fil-turâth as-sudânt 14. University of Khartoum.
Jahn, Samia AI Azharia
1980 Wasserversorgungsprobleme der Tuareg im Ayr-Gebirge. [Unveröffentlichter
Gutachterbericht. ]
1981 Traditional Water Purification in Tropical Developing Countries—Existing
Methods and Potential Application. (Handbuch.) Publ. German Agency for
Technical Cooperation (GTZ, SR Nr. 117), Eschborn.
Lebeuf, Annie et J.P. Lebeuf
1955 Monuments symboliques du Palais Royal de Logone-Bimi (Nord Cameroun).
Journal de la Société des Africanistes 25: 25-34.
Lebeuf, J.P.
1961 L’habitation des Fali. Paris.
Mohammad Ahmad Ibrâhîm
1971 Malämih min turäth Hamar ash-sha ‘bï. Silsilat dirasat fil-turäth as-sudânt 15.
University of Khartoum.
Mohammad Ibn ‘Omar al-Tunisi
1965 Tashfyidh al adhhän bi strut biläd aVarab wa-s-sudän. Edited by Khalil Mahmud
‘Aslkir and Mustafa Mohammad Mus'äd. Cairo.
Nachtigal, G.
1971 Sahara and Sudan. Transi, from the Original [Berlin 1879-1881] by A.G.B.
and H.J. Fisher. London.
Nicolaisen, J.
1963 Ecology and Culture of the Pastoral Tuareg. With particular reference to the
Tuareg of Ahaggar and Ayr. (Nationalmuseets Skrifter, Etnografisk Raekke,
9.) Copenhagen.
Rydberg, V.
1926 Urpatriakemas släkttavla i genesis och tideräkningen hos „de sjuttio uttol-
kare“. In: Skrifter av Viktor Rydberg; Vol. 11. Stockholm.
Shinnie, P.L.
1967 Meroe: A Civilization of the Sudan. (Ancient Peoples and Places, 55.) Nij-
megen, Holland.
Vercoutter, J.
1959 Ancient Egyptian Influence in the Sudan. Sudan Notes and Records 40: 8-18.
Vogel, M.
1973 Onos lyras — Der Esel mit der Leier. (Orpheus-Schriftenreihe, 13.) Düsseldorf.
Reports and Comments
565
Indigenous Astronomical and Cosmological Traditions
of the World
“Ethnoastronomy: Indigenous Astronomical and Cosmological Traditions of the
World” is an international conference to be held at the Smithsonian Institution, Washing-
ton, DC, September 5-9, 1983. Hosted by the National Air and Space Museum of the
Smithsonian Institution and the Center for Archaeoastronomy of the University of Mary-
land, the conference is sponsored by these institutions and the Historical Astronomy Divi-
sion of the American Astronomical Society.
For the purposes of this meeting, Ethnoastronomy is defined as the study of folk
or indigenous astronomies, calendars, celestial lore, sky mythology and related ritual, and
cosmological concepts and traditions. People interested in participating or attending as
observers should write for further information to: Ethnoastronomy Conference, Center
for Archaeoastronomy, University of Maryland, College Park, MD 20742.
A New Review of History of Religion
In October 1982 the University of Arhus (Denmark) published the first issue of a
Review, entitled; Religionsvidenskabeligt Tidsskrift. The aim of this journal is to create
a forum for humanistic scientific studies of religion and debate in Denmark, not only for
scholars but also for teachers of religion at all levels of education. All of the articles (in
Danish) are followed by summaries in English. The first number concerns “Narrative
and religious language.” The second number (March 1983) concerns “Myth” and will in-
volve contributions by historians of religion as well as a semiologist of religion. Number
three concerns “Religion and politics.” Other themes on the agenda: rites and myths,
sacred places, history and historicity, symbols, religion, and sexual roles. Please, address
to: Religionsvidenskabeligt Tidsskrift, Institut fiir Kristendomskundskab, Hovedbygnin-
gen, Ndr. Ringgade 1, 8000 Aarhus C.
To Richard Borshay Lee s !Kung San
T.O. BEIDELMAN
In my review of R.B. Lee’s “!Kung San” (Anthropos 75.1980: 977-979) I stated
that Lee maintained that “the scientist of culture is neutral.” I recently met Lee who ob-
served that I had misquoted him and that he had explicitly stated that he and indeed
modern anthropology in general no longer believe that “the scientist of culture is neutral.”
I am sorry for this misquotation and grateful to Lee for calling this error to my attention.
In no way, however, does this alter either my general evaluation of the volume under
review nor does it diminish my profound disagreement with Lee about how to go about
doing anthropology. It also does not imply that I believe that a cultural anthropologist is
a scientist in the sense that physicists, chemists, or physiologists are.
Notes on Books and Articles
The Significance of Food Storage among Hunter-Gatherers: Residence Patterns,
Population Densities, and Social Inequalities (Alain Testart). — Hunting-and-gathering
societies have often been viewed as forming a single category about which it is easy to
generahze. Northwest Coast societies and Indians of California have been treated as
exceptions. Ernst Grosse made a distinction: the “lower” hunters and the “upper”
hunters; the “upper” hunters were able to raise their cultural level above that of the
others because of a richer and more stable production owing mainly to advantageous
natural conditions. Testart presents a different solution with reference not to ecology but
to economy: the economy of the Bushmen and the Australian Aborigines etc. is based on
the immediate use of food resources, is flexible and relies on multiple alternative strate-
gies; the second type is found among more sedentary foragers as the Northwest Coast
and California Indians and is based on large-scale seasonal food storage. Testart points
out the conditions underlying the second type of economy and its consequences for the
society as a whole. In the second part, he uses the cross-cultural codes to show how a
distinction between storing and non-storing types of economies may account for the ob-
served differences among hunting-and-gathering societies. Testart concludes: Storing
hunter-gatherer societies exhibit three characteristics: sedentarism, a high population
density, and the development of socioeconomic inequalities, which have been considered
typical of agricultural societies; their economic style—massive harvest and intensive
storage of a seasonal resource—is the same as that of societies based on the cultivation of
cereals. The difference lies in whether the staple food species are domesticated or wild;
but that does not affect the main aspects of society. Not the presence of agriculture or
its absence is the relevant factor, but rather the presence or absence of an economy with
intensive storage as its cornerstone (523-530).—The article includes the comments of
seven scholars (530-534) and the reply of the author (534-536). (Current Anthropology
[Chicago] 23.1982; 523-537.)
Slavery (Igor Kopytoff). — The problem is this: Why has modem anthropology,
which claims that nothing human is alien to it, consistently ignored so widespread a
phenomenon as slavery? In J.C. Miller’s bibliography of research on slavery (1977-1980)
Table 1 shows, that anthropologists have contributed some 6 percent of total entries. The
rest comes overwhelmingly from history, with economic history a distant second. Generally
speaking, the anthropological contribution which is also recent is narrowly focused on
Africa and the Caribbean.—Anthropology almost completely forgot slavery in its classic
1920 to 1960 period. The sample of human variation became restricted to those societies
that one could personally visit, that had forbidden cannibalism, warfare, or slavery.
Anthropology moved into the classroom and the textbooks and took upon itself a public
relations task for societies that had been much misunderstood and maltreated. As good
advocates, anthropologists did not dwell on what was repugnant to Western opinion, be
it cannibalism or slavery.—The Civil Rights movement of the 1960s gave an impetus to
studies of American slavery and of the African background of Afro-Americans. European
scholarship did move in with these trends. Traditionally, history was where the docu-
ments were, and for Africa, it was first in colonial policy and administration, then mission
history, then trade; publication on slave trade and slavery followed.—The author adds
Notes on Books and Articles
567
chapters: Contemporary anthropological analysis of slavery—Problems of definition—
Processual approach to slavery—Problems of origins. The “Literature Cited” includes 139
titles. (Annual Review of Anthropology [Palo Alto, Calif.] 11.1982: 207-230.)
The Volume of the Atlantic Slave Trade: A Synthesis (Paul E. Lovejoy). — Since
the publication of Ph.D. Curtin’s “The Atlantic Slave Trade: A Census” (1969), there
have been numerous revisions of different sectors of the trade. It is apparent, however,
that his tabulation was remarkably accurate. The volume of exports from Africa across
the Atlantic is here calculated at 11,698,000 slaves, while imports into the Americas and
most other parts of the Atlantic basin are estimated to have been 9,8-9,9 million slaves.
The revisions shift the distribution of slave exports over time but do not affect estimates
of the relative scale of the trade by more than 2-3 per cent. The current state of research
on the volume of the trade is summarized in a series of tables which analyse the trade
by time period, national carrier, and coastal origin.—The slave trade had a tremendous
impact on Africa. Western central Africa was drawn into the trade in the sixteenth cen-
tury and remained a major exporting region until the nineteenth century. The Bight of
Benin became a second major source of slaves in the second half of the seventeenth
century, and from there the trade spread westward to the Gold Coast and eastward to
the Bight of Biafra by the 1740s. The Sierra Leone coast, including the rivers to the
north, was another focal point. Senegambia retained all the time a relatively small place in
total exports. Southeast Africa was drawn in relatively late; only after the movement to
end the slave trade began to have an impact it was advantageous to seek slaves so distant
from the Americas.—Slaves were more than commodities and numbers, of course, which is a
major reason why the study of slavery retains its significance. (The Journal of African
History [Cambridge] 23. 1982: 473-501.)
Zur Erforschung der Religionskritik (Heinz Robert Schlette), — Die Religionskritik
bei einzelnen Autoren wird immer wieder dargestellt. Was fehlt, ist eine allgemeine, über-
greifende Erforschung der Religionskritik. Sie darf sich nicht auf die Kritik des Christen-
tums beschränken, sondern muß die Kritik an allen Religionen umfassen. Um Interesse
dafür zu gewinnen, skizziert Schlette, wie es bis jetzt mit der Erforschung der Religions-
kritik steht und welche methodischen und thematisch-inhaltlichen Aufgaben anzugehen
sind; dann erörtert er die Frage nach dem Zweck solcher Forschungsarbeit, wobei er die
Bedeutung für die Philosophie und Religionsphilosophie besonders darlegt; bei der Frage,
wo ein solches Fach wissenschaftsorganisatorisch anzusiedeln sei, entscheidet er sich für
Philosophie; schließlich spricht er über die Kritisierbark eit von Religion überhaupt, über
die Konsequenzen der Religionskritik für die Religionsphilosophie, und stellt die Frage
nach dem letzten Grund von Religionskritik. (Kairos [Salzburg] 24. 1982: 67-86.)
Nikolai Nikolajewitsch Mikloucho-Maclay: Briefwechsel mit Anton Dohrn (Irmgard
Müller [Hrsg.]). — Der 20jährige Russe Mikloucho-Maclay war 1866-1868 Assistent von
Ernst Haeckel, der sechs Jahre ältere A. Dohm Schüler von Haeckel: beide ungewöhnlich
begabt. Als sie 1868 einige Zeit gemeinsam in Messina arbeiteten, wurden sie sich einig,
daß man an der Küste des Mittelmeeres ein zoologisches Laboratorium mit angeschlosse-
nem Aquarium gründen und dann die ganze Erde mit derartigen Stationen überziehen
müsse. Dohm, nicht nur Zoologe, sondern auch Organisator, begann mit der Gründung am
Mittelmeer; 1873 nahm die Station in Neapel die ersten Forscher auf. Sie hat sich be-
währt. Mikloucho-Maclay, weniger praktisch, weder diplomatisch noch zäh, dafür aber
568
Notes on Books and Articles
Anthropos 78.1983
um so beweglicher, machte weltweite Propaganda für die Idee, verhandelte in Moskau und
Sebastopol, 1875 in Batavia, 1878 in Singapore, 1884 in Sydney; immer wieder aber zog
er sich zurück, ehe das Werk gesichert war, geleitet von neuen Interessen. — Die Heraus-
geberin fand bei den Arbeiten für ihre Geschichte der Gründung in Neapel dort unter an-
derem Briefe von Mikloucho-Maclay. Die hier veröffentlichten 32 Briefe sind, mit Aus-
nahme von vier, an Dohm gerichtet, von Januar 1869 bis August 1884. Das Deutsch hol-
pert vielfach, was aber die Lektüre kaum stört. Der Inhalt ist mannigfaltig: das Wetter,
immer wieder seine Gesundheit, empfangene Post, Bücherbestellungen, Geldüberwei-
sungen, Fotografien, seine Entdeckungen im Meer und in Bibliotheken, Bitte um Aus-
kunft über Literatur zu einzelnen Fachfragen, Kollegen — Freund und Feind, Möglich-
keiten einer Ausstellung und ... die Gründung einer zoologischen Station, aus der schließ-
lich eine anthropologische wird, denn sein Interesse hatte sich inzwischen gewandelt. Er
untersucht nun Papuas in Neuguinea und freut sich über jeden Schädel, den er aus einem
Krankenhaus erhält. Er untersucht Negritos auf den Philippinen und auf Malakka. Er
schreibt und telegraphiert gegen englische und deutsche Kolonialpläne und stellt sich
schützend vor die Eingeborenen. Er liebt die Einsamkeit. „Ich heisse den oder die Men-
schenhaufen, auch in dem Fall, wenn er aus Herren Doctores, Professores und anderen
sehr gelehrten Herren besteht.“ Er hat Humor und kann sarkastisch werden. Eine äußer-
lich bescheidene Veröffentlichung gibt Einblick in das Innere eines in seiner Art erfolg-
reichen Forschers. Er starb 1888 in Petersburg, 42jährig, arm und verlassen. ([Beiträge zur
Ethnomedizin, Ethnobotanik und Ethnozoologie, 4.]. 127 pp. Norderstedt 1980. Verlag
für Ethnologie.)
De la condamnation de la gcophagic dans la tradition musulmane (Georges Vajda).
— La consommation, soit par gourmandise, soit à des fins prétendument thérapeutiques,
soit enfin comme trompe-la-faim, de diverses sortes d’argiles est un phénomène assez fré-
quemment constaté à travers le temps et l’espace humains {ci. Anthropos 28.1933:
493s.). Dans l’Islam tant sunnite que sî'ite il y a un ensemble de réactions à cette prati-
que: réaction hostile et motivée à grand renfort de «traditions» dont la critique musul-
mane du hadit elle-même n’admet point l’authenticité. Il y a deux sortes de motivations
dans le groupe de traditions, marginales par rapport aux hadits reconnus authentiques à
divers degrés en Islam sunnite: l’une d’ordre «médical», tandis que l’autre se fait l’écho de
considérations, pourrait-on dire, «théoïogiques» mises au niveau de la masse des croyants.
Il est probable que les matériaux de ces hadtts avaient pris naissance au IIe siècle de
l’hégire dans les milieux qui se sont donné pour tâche de cultiver et de nourrir la piété
populaire. Il est curieux de noter que l’équilibre entre les inconvénients physiques et
éthico-religieux de la géophagie paraît mieux assuré dans la compilation sunnite que
dans les recueils IsTites ou le premier aspect est plus accentué que le second. (Rivista
degli Studi Oriental! [Rorna] 55.1981: 5-38.)
Africa
Ancestor Worship among the Bulsa of Northern Ghana: Religious, Social, and
Economic Aspects (Franz Kroger). — The Bulsa, an ethnic group of about 60,000 mem-
bers, are a segmentary patrilineal society, in language and culture closely related to the
Tallensi, The office of kpagi is linked to the possession of an ancestral shrine, a bogluk.
Important shrines are, however, not transferred vertically, but circulate through almost
all lineage systems. The crucial factor determining the possession of an ancestral shrine is
genealogical position and seniority. The shrine is again of paramount importance for the
social position of the holder within the clan-section. The kpagi of a large lineage segment
Notes on Books and Articles
569
not only officiates at sacrifices to common ancestors, but is also consulted on many
religious and secular affairs and can give him economic advantages by means of the acqui-
sition of ancestral land and cattle.—30 fotos, a map, etc. illustrate the text. ([Kultur-
anthropologische Studien, 9.] 85 pp. Hohenschäftlarn bei München 1982. Klaus Renner.)
Sisters in Affliction: Circumcision and Infibulation of Women in Africa (Raqiya
Haji Dualeh Abdalla). — This is the first book by a woman from the Horn of Africa to
deal with female circumcision and infibulation, a widespread practice which more and more
women in Africa are discussing publicly, criticizing and campaigning against. The authoress
conducted field research in Somalia and examines the origins and incidence generally, of
the practice in Africa and other parts of the world as well as focussing on Somalia. She
describes the different types of operation involved and their physical and psychological
effects and complications, as well as the ideological rationale for the custom, including
the manipulation of religious teachings, and its economic aspect.—The originally of the
book lies in both its community study, which reveals an interesting range of attitudes on
the part of women and men, and its commitment. She, in fact, concludes her book with
recommendations for educational and other action that African governments (some of
which are already becoming concerned) should take in this field, (ii+122 pp. London
1982. Zed Press. Price: £11.95 [hardback]; £5.50 [paperback].)
Zulu Ethnography: A Supplementary Bibliography (L. Neser). — This bibliography
supplements Zulu Ethnography: A Classified Bibliography (1976). As originally conceived,
this booklet was to take care only of information published since 1976 and a few docu-
ments that have escaped the attention of the compiler. However, largely owing to the
publication in 1977 of Van Warmelo’s monumental Anthropology in Southern Africa in
Journals to 1950, a large number of articles had to be included. The delimitation of the
field as well as the definition of Zulu ethnography remains unchanged. The more than
500 numbers include general, ethnic history, physical and psychological studies, social
organisation and social life, military organisation, economy, technology and material
culture, political system and law, religion, magic and healing, proverbs and philosophy,
urban studies and change. ([Publication Series of the University of Zululand, Series B No
6.] viii+71 pp. Kwa-Dlangezwa, South Africa, 1980. University of Zululand.)
Enstasis, Ancestor Spirit, and Medicine-man (Alfred Rupp), — This monograph
informs on the present stage of fieldwork in South East Africa and presents studies in
that material which has been collected. The discussion is done in a psychological and
phenomenological way. The main area is Makhatini. The project was aiming at isangoma
centres and their tradition. Studies still have to be continued.—At the present stage
the study deals with basic data of the world of religious imagination and thinking in
connection with the concepts of enstasis, ancestor spirit, ritual, and isangoma. The inter-
pretation of religious ideas and practice has to be seen in the light of those concepts. The
analysis of the enstatic situations describes them as extremely intensified means of com-
munication between ancestor spirits and man. The ritual appears as the intensified
necessary way of behaviour in the face of enstatic dangers and as the modus of the situa-
tion of personal existence in the face of intensified situation of encounter. (Enstase,
Ahnengeist und Medizinmann: Religionspsychologische und religionsphanomenologische
Studien über Feldforschungsmaterial aus Makhatini, Südostafrika. [Forschungen zur An-
thropologie und Religionsgeschichte, 7.] 86 pp. Mit 16 Abb. Saarbriicken 1980. Homo et
Religio. Preis: DM 9.)
570
Notes on Books and Articles
Anthropos 78.1983
Märkte und Menschen in der Savanne — Entwicklungsproblcme in Nordghana (Rü-
diger Schott). — Das Thema einer Ausstellung des Kölner Völkerkunde-Museums, „Märk-
te am Rand der Sahara“, wurde in einer Reihe von vier Vorträgen ausführlicher dargelegt:
Die Entwicklungshilfe ist zwei Jahrzehnte lang einen falschen Weg gegangen; sie steht nun
vor einem neuen Anfang und muß die sozialen und kulturellen Verhältnisse berücksich-
tigen. R. Schott veranschaulichte dies durch Erfahrungen bei den 60000 Bulsa in Nord-
ghana (1966/67 und 1974/75). Die Lehmmauem der herkömmlichen Häuser halten die
Räume relativ kühl und — wenn nachts die Temperatur fällt — auch warm; beides fehlt
modernen Bauten, Die seit alters angebauten Hirsesorten haben sich als vorteilhafter er-
wiesen als eigens gezüchtete mit zwar reicherem Ertrag, aber vielerlei Nachteilen. Der
Pflug anstelle der alten Hacke wirkte sich sehr abträglich aus, ebenso moderner Kunst-
dünger anstelle des alten Komposts. Da die Bauern Rinder, Schafe und Ziegen halten,
baute man mit deutschem Kapital eine Fleischfabrik, auch Kühlräume, Kühlwagen, Woh-
nungen für das deutsche Personal, selbst ein Schwimmbad. Doch die Bauern waren nicht
bereit, ihr Vieh zu verkaufen, weil sie es für ihre Zwecke, u.a. als Brautpreis,brauchten;
vor allem aber weil die eigentlichen Besitzer des Viehs die Ahnen sind, gegen deren Wil-
len Vieh zu veräußern den Tod bedeutet. So fehlte der Fleischfabrik das Fleisch. Die
Weltbank wollte den kleinen Bauern durch Kredite helfen; auch das scheiterte. Eine För-
derung der Subsistenzwirtschaft ist praktisch unmöglich. Selbst den Sinn einer Schulbil-
dung, wie sie gepflegt wird, bezweifelt Schott. Wer nicht die Glaubensvorstellungen dieser
Menschen kenne, ihre Auffassung von Leben und Tod, Hunger und Krankheit, aber auch
von dem, was sie mit Hoffnung und Freude erfüllt, dürfe sich nicht wundem, wenn er mit
Technik und Geld nichts ausrichte. (In: Leben am Rande der Sahara. Eine Herausforde-
rung an die Entwicklungspolitik. Vier Vorträge zur Sonderausstellung „Markt am Rande
der Sahara“. Konzeption Gisela Völger. 72 pp., Illustr. Köln 1981. Bundesministerium für
wirtschaftl. Zusammenarbeit in Verbindung mit dem Rautenstrauch-Joest-Museum. — pp.
38-52.)
Nigeria — von der völkerrechtlichen Unabhängigkeit zur Zweiten Republik (Joseph
Lütke Entrup). — In sieben Kapiteln wird die Entwicklung Nigerias geschildert: die Kolo-
nie, die erste Republik und ihr Untergang (1960-1966), die Gowon-Regierung (1966-
1975) mit dem Biafra-Krieg und dem ölboom, das Reformprogramm unter Murtala Mu-
hammed und Obasanjo (1975-1979), die Rückkehr zur Zivilregierung, die Verfassung,
die Parteien und ihre Programme, die Wahlen 1979 und die neue Zivilregierung (1979):
Eine sachliche Darstellung, die auf Urteile, auch kritische, nicht verzichtet, handgreif-
liche, ruhige Kritik übt, vor allem in dem Schlußkapitel „Entwicklungsprobleme und Aus-
sichten“ (90-96). — „Eine wesentliche Quelle“ für die „Benutzte Literatur“ (97)„waren
vier nigerianische Tageszeitungen ... . Diese Zeitungen brachten in den Jahren 1978-1980
eine Fülle von Artikeln über die Entwicklung Nigerias von der Entstehung als Kolonie
... bis zur Schaffung der zweiten Republik. Aus Gründen der Übersichtlichkeit und besse-
ren Lesbarkeit wurde auf einzelne Quellenangaben im Text verzichtet.“ Mit einigen Aus-
nahmen (36, 86, 90) geschieht dies auch in den Anmerkungen. Eine noch so einfache Kar-
tenskizze des Landes hätte die Lektüre erleichtert. — Auf die Darstellung der politischen
Entwicklung (1-98) folgt eine Dokumentation (99-243). Abgesehen von den Überschrif-
ten, sind alle Texte in englisch: Manifeste der fünf Parteien aus dem Jahre 1978, sieben
Reden von Regierungsführern bzw. dem Präsidenten aus den Jahren 1978-1980. ([Ma-
terialien zur Politik in Afrika, Asien und Lateinamerika.] viii+243 pp. Sankt Augustin
1981. Verlag Hans Richarz in Zusammenarbeit mit der Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung, Insti-
tut für Internationale Solidarität.)
Notes on Books and Articles
571
Völkerkundliche Aufzeichnungen aus dem Notizbuch eines Kamerun-Missionars,
J890-1914 (Peter Valentin). — Die Basler Mission eröffnet mit diesem Heft eine neue
Reihe über ihre Mission in Afrika: „Beiträge zur Afrikakunde.“ Es sind Auszüge aus einer
Art Tagebuch des Missionars Jakob Keller (1862-1947), der von 1890 bis 1914 in Kame-
run weilte. Die ersten 14 Jahre arbeitete er bei Stämmen des Waidlandes und wechselte
alle zwei bis drei Jahre die Station, von 1904-1907 und von 1909-1914 war er in Bali im
Grasland. Er sprach Duala, auch mit anderssprachigen Waldstämmen. Die Eintragungen
sind meist nicht genauer datiert; manche Berichte stammen von Gewährsleuten. Einzelne
Wörter und Sätzchen gibt Keller in Duala oder einer anderen Sprache wieder, in einer
damals gebräuchlichen Umschrift. 25 Kurzberichte stammen aus seiner Tätigkeit im Wald-
land (11-30), acht aus den Jahren im Grasland (33-37). Die Zwischentitel fügte meist der
Herausgeber hinzu, ebenso Stamm oder Ort. Eine kleine Kartenskizze erleichtert die
Orientierung. Die Texte beziehen sich überwiegend auf das religiöse und soziale Leben.
Keller bleibt fast immer bei Einzelfällen, ohne zu generalisieren. ([Beiträge zur Afrika-
kunde, 1.] 37 pp. Basel 1978. Basler Afrika Bibliographien.)
Erziehung und Sozialisation in afrikanischen Stammesgesellschaften (Johannes
W. Raum). — Die vorkoloniale Erziehung bewältigte ein allgemein menschliches Pro-
blem, nämlich die Kinder in die Gesellschaft einzugliedern, sie angemessen auf ihre Rolle
als Erwachsene vorzubereiten, ohne ihnen die Anpassungsfähigkeit an neue Verhält-
nisse — auch in Krisenzeiten — zu nehmen. Darum haben Bevölkerungsgruppen auch un-
ter schwersten Belastungen wie Sklavenhandel und Sklavenjagden oder beim Einbruch
der europäischen Geldwirtschaft sich nicht aufgelöst, sondern überlebt. Darum sind ei-
ne Vielzahl von Sprachen ohne das Hilfsmittel einer Schrift mündlich von Generation
zu Generation weitergegeben worden. Das Erlernen von Liedern, Mythen, Märchen und
Sprichwörtern führt in die Gedankenwelt der Erwachsenen ein, schult Geist und Wort-
gewandheit; Rätsel üben schlußfolgerndes Denken. Die ursprünglichen Erziehungs- und
Sozialisierungsformen in Afrika, bei denen die Großfamilie viel leistete, sind unendlich
vielfältig: kollektive Reifeweihen mit Beschneidung für junge Männer; in unmittelbarer
Nachbarschaft individuelle Weihen ohne Beschneidung, auch Stammesgesellschaften
ohne jeden Durchgangsritus; dann wieder „Schulen“, die mehrere Jahre dauern, für
männliche und weibliche Jugend zur Aufnahme in die Geheimbünde; anstelle der frü-
heren Reifeweihe um 1800 die Einführung von Altersklassenregimentern, um den Elfen-
beinhandel militärisch zu schützen. Wahrsager, Kräuterdoktoren, Handwerker absolvierten
einen eigenen Ausbildungsgang. — Die traditionelle afrikanische Erziehung war im wahr-
sten Sinn des Wortes eine echte Erziehung, die vielleicht für den Aufbau eines modernen
Erziehungs- und Bildungswesens wertvolle Anregung liefert. (In; Heinz-Dietrich Ortlieb
und Jürgen Zwernemann [Hrsg.], Afrika zwischen Tradition und Fortschritt. Die Schick-
salsfrage eines Kontinents. [Veröffentlichungen des HWWA-Instituts für Wirtschafts-
forschung — Hamburg.] 119 pp. Hamburg 1980. Verlag Weltarchiv GmbH. — pp. 89-106.)
The Americas
Native American Painting. Selections from the Museum of the American Indian (D.
M. Fawcett and L.A. Callander). — In New York, the Museum of the American Indian
owns a large collection of paintings and drawings, over 2000 works. As early as a century
ago, individuals collected such painting and had an impact on its maturation. The museum
also played a part in the developmental directions of painting, collected and commis-
sioned from an anthropological point of view.—The catalog is designed to accompany an
572
Notes on Books and Articles
Anthropos 78.1983
exhibit which will travel to several institutions around the United States. Additionally, it
fully documents this collection for the first time and includes 48 color and 22 black-and-
white photographs of some of the finest works. They range from early ledger drawings exec-
uted in the mid to late 19th century to works done in 1982. The catalog features an introduc-
tory text as well as an index listing all of the works in the Museum’s collection.—The pub-
lication is outstanding as a source of quality reproductions and as a research reference.
(95 pp. New York 1982. Museum of the American Indian, Heye Foundation.)
The People of Buena Ventura: Relocation of Slum Dwellers in Postrevolutionary
Cuba (Douglas Butterworth). — As a part of the Cuban Revolution, the slum of Las Ya-
guas was razed and its inhabitants relocated in seven government-built housing projects
on the outskirts of Havana. Because of the limitations imposed upon the study by the
Cuban government, a pseudonym for one of these communities was chosen: Buena Ven-
tura. Buena Ventura is the focus of the present study. Butterworth has chosen a tradi-
tional anthropological approach by citing specific cases and incidents in order to develop
his commentary on the difficulties faced by the inhabitants of Buena Ventura. He examines
the nature and extent of changes experienced by the Buena Venturans during their first
ten years under the Cuban socialist regime. He describes the prerevolutionary Las Yaguas
and records the reactions of the people to their resettlement. He discusses the economy
and material culture of the new housing project and analyses the social aspects of Buena
Ventura: marriage and the family, crime, and community relations. Finally, he examines
the participation of these residents in the revolutionary organizations and activities.—But-
terworth’s fieldwork, synthesis of data, and conclusions present a view of one segment of
the Cuban population. He avoids generalisations beyond the time and place studied,
(xxix+157 pp,, illustr. Urbana, Chicago, and London 1980. Univ. of Illinois Press. Price:
$18.75; £7.17.)
Asia
Family Life in a Northern Thai Village (Sulamith Heins Potter). — The authoress
deals with two interrelated questions. First, what is the structure of a Northern Thai
family? A body of anthropological literature suggests that family life in Thailand is form-
less or loosely structured. The book shows that this is not the case. Instead, Northern
Thai family structure can be understood as a system in which lineality is traced through
women, rather than men, and authority is passed on affinally, from father-in-law to son-
in-law, by virtue of their relationships to the line of women. This new type of family
system, a novel recombination of familiar elements—sex, lineality, affinality, and the in-
heritance of authority—is not previously reported in the literature. The key factor in un-
derstanding the system is the recognition of the structural importance of women; without
that, the system is unintelligible.—Second, how do individuals experience social structure
in the context of the family? The authoress deals with this in two ways: by showing the
demands of structure places on different family members, and by showing how each in-
dividual brings his or her idiosyncracies to the structural context and takes away a unique
and utterly personal experience of life.—The name of every individual mentioned in the
text is a pseudonym, as is the name Chiangmai Village. (Family Life in a Northern Thai
Village: A Study in the Structural Significance of Women, xv+137 pp. With 1 fig., 26 pi.,
and 5 maps. Berkeley and Los Angeles 1980. University of California Press. Price: $4.95;
£2.35.)
Notes on Books and Articles
573
Materialien zur Georgischen Bibliographie: Deutsches Schrifttum (Heinrich Rohr-
bacher). — Als Kriegsgefangener lernte der Verfasser 1946-1949 die Gastfreundschaft der
georgischen Bevölkerung schätzen. Nach der Rückkehr in die Heimat suchte er mehr über
Land und Leute zu erfahren. 1959 gab er eine Bibliographie heraus mit fast 900 Titeln.
Jetzt legt er eine wesentlich erweiterte Fassung mit über 2000 Nummern vor, zwar nur
deutschsprachige Veröffentlichungen, doch umfassend und für alle interessierten Kreise —
Philologen, Linguisten, Historiker, Kulturforscher. Sie enthalten Bücher, Beiträge in
Büchern, Zeitschriften und Zeitungen sowie kartographische Arbeiten; Rezensionen wur-
den nicht einbezogen. Wenn auch 51 Bibliographien und 7 Bibliothekskataloge verzeich-
net sind, so hat der Verfasser doch jeden Titel persönlich eingesehen. Da das Material geo-
graphisch weit verstreut erschien, erhielt er infolge politischer Barrieren nicht Zutritt
zu allen Bibliotheken, auch nicht im Fernverleih. Hier liegen Grenzen der wertvollen
Veröffentlichung, (ix+156 pp. Bonn 1981. Rudolf Habelt.)
Das Barocke im Kabuki — Das Kabukihafte im Barocktheater (Toshio Kawatake). —
Das Kabuki ist eine schon im 17. Jh. vorhandene Form des japanischen Theaters. Wenn
man die Theater in klassische und antiklassische, d.h. barocke, einteilt, gehört das Kabuki
zum Barocktheater. Dies bedeutet aber keineswegs eine historische Verwandtschaft mit
dem europäischen Barock, im Gegenteil: es handelt sich um eine echt und ursprünglich
japanische Kunst, die zwar einige Eigenarten mit dem europäischen Barocktheater ge-
meinsam hat, sich aber hier wie dort selbständig entwickelte. — Das Buch gliedert sich in
3 Kapitel: 1.) Die zwei Großkategorien des Theaters und Japan (14-36); 2.) Der barocke
Charakter des Kabuki (37-81); 3.) Inhaltsübersicht der im Text behandelten Stücke (82-
122). — Der Autor hat sich Mühe gegeben, die Eigenart des Kabuki deutlich herauszu-
stellen. Die vielen für eine nicht japanologisch gebildete Leserschaft nötigen Erläuterun-
gen hat der Übersetzer klugerweise nicht als Anmerkungen, sondern in den Text (in Klam-
mem) aufgenommen. Zu bedauern ist, daß er den japanischen Text fast sklavisch über-
setzt, auch in Partien, die dies durchaus nicht erforderten. Dadurch verliert das Buch
bedeutend an Lesbarkeit. Vorzüglich sind die Bilder, die der Autor für die deutsche Aus-
gabe zur Verfügung gestellt hat. (Aus dem Japanischen übersetzt, kommentiert und mit
Anhang versehen von Thomas Leims [österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften,
Philos.-Histor. Klasse, Sitzungsberichte, 382.] 127 pp. Mit 25 Abb. Wien 1981. österr.
Akad. d. Wiss. Preis: DM 30.)
Europe
The Art of Mixing Metaphors (Alan Dundes and Claudia A. Stibbe). — C.A. Stibbe,
an undergraduate, suggested to identify folk metaphors depicted in Bruegel's Nether-
landish Proverbs of 1559. Her native language facility with Dutch made it possible for
her to read closely through several major collections of Dutch proverbs searching for
possible referents for various scenes in the painting.—The instructor became increasingly
excited by the project; they began to investigate the previous scholarship devoted to the
painting, who sometimes had made incorrect proverbial identifications or had failed to
notice a reference to a proverb or folk metaphor. Nearly two dozen new proposed identi-
fications have resulted from the research.—An index of the 115 proverbs and folk meta-
phors gives first the item in Dutch, and indicates the authorities who concur in the identi-
fication (all are references to studies of the painting) or the standard collections of Dutch
proverbs (they do not refer to the painting). It follows a literal English translation of the
574
Notes on Books and Articles
Anthropos 78.1983
proverb and a discussion, including differences of opinion among scholars. Here we read
again and again: None of the previous studies of the painting have suggested this partic-
ular folk metaphor .... No one to our knowledge has previously suggested this folk
metaphor. ... No previous scholar has suggested this identification .... —The article
provides historians a basis for an interpretation of the painting either by art historians
or folklorists. (The Art of Mixing Metaphors. A Folkloristic Interpretation of the Nether-
landish Proverbs by Pieter Bruegel the Elder. [FF Communications, 230.] 71 pp., illustr.
Helsinki 1981. Academia Scientiarum Fennica.)
The People of the Plain: Class and Community in Lower Andalusia (David D. Gil-
more). — Previous ethnographic studies of Spain have limited themselves almost entirely
to tiny villages in the mountains. Accepting these studies as relevant to rural communities
of all sizes and geographies, anthropologists have presented a somewhat distorted image
of rural life in Spain that overemphasizes social integration and community cohesion. Gil-
more takes issue with this dominant anthropological concern for cultural and social inte-
gration in Spanish life, focusing his attention on class relations and traditional culture in
Fuenmayor (a pseudonym), a farming town of 8,000 people in Spain’s lowland south.
Based on fieldwork and supported by exhaustive statistical data and ethnographic examples,
Gilmore’s study depicts a rural life characterized by class antagonism, political polariza-
tion, and occasional violence—the underlying realities of Spanish agrarian life ignored by
previous studies.—Anthropologists are now seeking an understanding of exactly what is
complex in a complex society, rather than confining themselves to isolated, homogeneous,
and small community systems that happen to exist within a complex society. Gilmore’s
study points out how this new orientation must entail a shift in analytical focus from the
tiny, semi-autonomous village to the comparative study of community variation within
a specific area.—As an ethnographic study of a single community, The People of the Plain
breaks new ground by exploring the relationship between class conflict,political regres-
sion, and traditional culture in a modern complex society, (xiv+247 pp.,illustr. New York
1980. Columbia University Press. Price: $25.00.)
The City as Context: Urbanism and Behavioral Constraints in Seville (Irwin Press).
— A competent reviewer writes: “There is nothing else quite like it in urban anthropol-
ogy”; and another, equally competent: “The functional analysis of the interrelationship
between housing systems and life patterns is one of the best and most extensive I have
seen.”—Seville is a travelogue city bathed by memories of imperial power, bullfights,
flamenco, and the rituals of millennia-old custom, and is a contemporary example of an
urban community enmeshed in a cradle-to-grave welfare state with socialized medicine,
unemployment compensation, and government-controlled workers’ unions. This contrast
forms the backdrop against which the author investigates urban Spanish life as reflected
in Seville’s teeming “corrals.” These inner-city tenements, with numerous one-room
apartments surrounding a common courtyard, are the essence of traditional and the
foundation of modem Seville. While most Sevillanos now live in dispersed condominium
apartments, the author emphasizes that their behavior patterns still continue to be in-
extricably rooted in the communal traditions created by the “corrals.”—Although the
author utilizes urban analysis to define Seville as a paradigmatic context for social inter-
action, this approach never interferes with his intimate and richly textured portrayal of a
very vital people.—His extensive interviews and behavioral descriptions regarding friends
and family ties, neighborhoods and housing, sex roles, religion, health, class differences,
and work reveal Sevillanos to be sage and earthly individualists. They are shown to share
Notes on Books and Articles
575
with city dwellers everywhere a life determined largely by social and economic forces be-
yond their control, (xiv+303 pp., illustr. Urbana, Chicago, and London 1980. Univ. of
Illinois Press. Price: $21.19.)
The Circle of Mountain: A Basque Shepherding Community (Sandra Ott). — The
commune of Sainte-Engrace extends along a mountain valley in the southeastern corner
of Soule, one of the three Basque provinces in France. The people insist, however, that
they live not in a valley but in “the circle of mountains,” They visualize their communi-
ty as a circle. At the same time the word they use to describe the “circle” is also applied
to a diverse range of phenomena which they conceive as “making a rotation.” The con-
cept of rotation is to be found among other European communities, but its importance
as an ordering principle has not been fully appreciated by social anthropologists. Dr. Ott
also stresses the importance attached by the community to the fundamental ideals of
cooperation and reciprocity. The Circle of Mountains will be of interest not only to social
anthropologists but also to those concerned with the Basque language and culture,
European minority groups, and the current political problems in the Basque provinces.
(xv+238 pp,illustr. Oxford 1981. Clarendon Press. Price: £17.50.)
Vorzeitkunde (Peter Buchholz). — Eine Habilitationsschrift der Universität Kiel
untersucht die mündliche Erzählkunst im mittelalterlichen Skandinavien aufgrund von
etwa 40 Sagas. Von den rund 800 Literatumummem enthalten etwa 60 altnordische
Texte. Zwei Fragen versucht der Autor zu beantworten: 1. In welchen Formen vollzogen
sich Erzählen und Überliefern? 2. Wie sah die wikingerzeitliche und mittelalterliche skan-
dinavische Gesellschaft die Vergangenheit und Tradition? — Ein einleitender Abschnitt
sucht den Stand der Diskussion um die Mündlichkeit zu umreißen. Das folgende Kapitel
diskutiert zunächst die wichtigsten direkten Hinweise auf mündliches Erzählen, um zu
klären, ob für die Zeit der Schriftlichkeit überhaupt noch mit mündlichem Erzählen und
Dichten zu rechnen ist. Nachdem dies gesichert ist, werden fünf Themenkreise behandelt:
die Prinzipien der Aneinanderreihung von Abenteuern und der schablonenhaften Perso-
nendarstellung, der auktorialen Erzählperspektive, der Bildhaftigkeit und szenischen Dar-
stellung, des Wechsels von Vers und Prosa. Vor allem im Weg des Helden (Kap, IV) wird
sichtbar, wie archaische Seinserfahrung, die immer auch Jenseitserfahrung ist, die Münd-
lichkeit prägt. Die Realität des Übernatürlichen als zentralen Elements erweist sich auch
im Schlußkapitel als wichtiger Bestandteil des Geschichtsbildes. (Vorzeitkunde. Münd-
liches Erzählen und Überliefern im mittelalterlichen Skandinavien nach dem Zeugnis von
Fomaldarsaga und eddischer Dichtung. [Skandinavistische Studien, 13.] 204 pp, Neumün-
ster 1980. Karl Wachtholtz Verlag. Preis: DM 30.)
Same (Gilberto Mazzoleni [ed.]). — Dieser Beitrag zur Ethnographie der Lappen ist
eine Gemeinschaftsarbeit. Planer ist Prof. Gilberto Mazzoleni, der zwei der im ganzen
neun Beiträge zeichnet, Vittorio Papi den dritten, Rosella Mengucci den vierten, Angelica
Fago den fünften und sechsten, Rita di Reda den siebten; den achten zeichnen zwei und
den neunten drei Autoren gemeinsam. Unter Mazzolenis Leitung arbeitete 1977-1979
eine Gruppe junger Studenten, um aus allen Ländern und Sprachen die Literatur zusam-
menzutragen. Es folgte die Feldforschung in Finmarken (1978, 1980). Wegen technischer
Schwierigkeiten mußte man zwar auf die Darstellung verschiedener Seiten der Kultur der
Lappen verzichten, konnte jedoch die Hauptthemen in systematischer und chronolo-
gischer Ordnung behandeln. Der erste Band stellt zunächst die Lappen in der griechischen-,
576
Notes on Books and Articles
Anthropos 78.1983
römischen- und Renaissance-Literatur dar, geht (61-141) die dafür benutzte Literatur
durch und sucht den Stand des einzelnen Autors zu charakterisieren. Ein weiteres Ka-
pitel (143-321) vergleicht das lateinische Abendland mit der Arktis und den Lappen. Ein
drittes behandelt einen einzelnen Autor: Olaus Magnus, Nachfolger seines Bruders Jo-
hannes als Erzbischof von Uppsala. — Der zweite Band untersucht Probleme der Reli-
gionsethnologie aufgrund der Feldforschung: die Götterwelt und ihre Mythen, das Ver-
hältnis zu den Toten, den Schamanismus und schließlich die Rolle von Mann und Frau bei
den Lappen. (Same I; La dimensione remota. 415 pp. — Same II: La diversità relativa, pp.
431-790). [Chi siamo.] Roma 1981 e 1982. Bulzoni editore. Prezzo: L.34.000.)
Der mystische Ruto in der samischen Mythologie: Eine religionsethnologische
Untersuchung (Gustav Ränk). — In den letzten Jahrzehnten ist eine Fülle von Unter-
suchungen über die Religionen der nordeurasischen Urvölker erschienen; doch gibt es
auch hier noch offene Fragen. Dazu gehört Ruto, der vielfach als Gottheit aufgefaßt wur-
de und als eine Verkörperung der Krankheit. Der Verfasser entscheidet sich gegen die
Gottheit und für die Personifizierung der Krankheit. Dazu führen ihn vor allem die Dar-
stellungen auf den Schamanentrommeln. Alle anderen Gottheiten können sowohl gut wie
auch schlecht sein; Ruto ist von Natur aus böse, und nur böse. Das Eingraben des Pfer-
des im io-Kult ist keine Opferhandlung, sondern ein Übertragungs-, ein Verscharrungs-
ritus. Weit weniger gesichert sind Beziehungen zum Sündenbock und zu ähnlichen Kom-
plexen bei den alten indo-iranischen und türkischen Völkerschaften. ([Acta Universitatis
Stockholmiensis, 21.] 130 pp., illustr. Stockholm 1981. Almqvist & Wikseil. Preis: Sw.
kr.63.)
Der Baumkult bei den Slaven (Wilhelm Lettenbauer). — Das Buch entstand von
Ende 1939 bis 1943. Es beruht ausschließlich auf Literatur, nicht auf unmittelbarer Be-
obachtung und Befragung. Damals schon waren mit der fortschreitenden Industrialisie-
rung der von Slawen bewohnten Länder volksreligiöse Vorstellungen und altes Brauchtum
mehr und mehr geschwunden. Das Material zum Thema Wald und Baum verdanken wir
Ethnographen des ausgehenden 19. und beginnenden 20. Jh.s. Trotzdem ist der frühere,
erst recht der ursprüngliche Sinn eines Brauches nicht mehr immer zu fassen. — Ausführ-
lich behandelt werden: Der Lebensbaum und der Baum als Träger der Fruchtbarkeit bei
Ost-, West- und Südslawen, ferner der Schlag mit der Lebensrute, der Weihnachtsklotz der
Serben, Kroaten und Bulgaren. Je ein Kapitel behandelt den Geister abwehrenden Baum,
den heilenden Baum, den Orakelbaum, den Baum als Sitz von Seelen verstorbener Men-
schen und von dämonischen Wesen, die Verehrung der Eiche. Die Zusammenfassung legt
die Hauptergebnisse noch einmal dar. Wichtiger ist das Nachwort, in dem der Verfasser
aufgrund jüngerer, nach dem Krieg erschienener Literatur ergänzt, erklärt und korrigiert.
(Der Baumkult bei den Slaven: Vergleichende volkskundliche, kultur- und religionsge-
schichtliche Untersuchung. [ Selecta Slavica, 6.] 273 pp. Neuried 1981. Hieronymus Ver-
lag. Preis: DM 84.)
Oceania
An Iban-English Dictionary (Anthony Richards [compil.]), — Iban is the language of
about a third of the population of Sarawak (northwest Borneo). Besides these 300.000
people in Sarawak it is also spoken in Kalimantan. Within Sarawak Iban is used as a
HI
Notes on Books and Articles
577
lingua franca wherever Iban have settled. It belongs to the “Malay” group of languages,
but cannot be regarded as a Malayan dialect.—Although a number of books in Iban have
been printed and a few articles: Iban remains primarily a spoken language.—The author
spent many years among the Iban, and his book is based on firsthand experience as well
as subsequent research. As a result it is not merely a lexical dictionary, but a wide-
ranging work of reference, that will be of value to anthropologists as well as students
of language and administration and anybody coming into contact with the Iban. In addi-
tion to full coverage of Iban daily life and occupations, the dictionary gives a wealth of
detailed information, much of which is published for the first time, on such matters as
ritual and belief, myth and poetry, augury and adat law, and customs at birth, marriage,
and death. A general introduction to the language and an extensive bibliography are
provided, (xxx+417 pp. Oxford 1982. Oxford University Press. Price: £25.00.)
A Declining Religion (Stefano Coronese). — The author (born 1931) has laboured
as a missionary in the Mentawai Islands (Indonesia). He has watched and studied closely
the cultural alterations and vicissitudes which were taking place in the islands, marking,
at the same time, the evolution in the religious traditions of the islanders. In 1973 he pub-
lished “Una civiltà primitiva” with photographic documentation and anthropological
explanation. The purpose of the present book is twofold: to acquaint the readers with
the religious beliefs of the Mentawai population and to offer to the missionaries the tools
of work, so that they get acquainted with the thinking capacity and the mental endow-
ment of the people.—The volume is divided into two parts: the first (17-65) draws a
brief sketch of the Mentawaian culture and explains how, through frequent contacts with
the neighbouring populations and the eastern and western world, the decline of the tra-
ditional religion was brought about; the second part (67-198) deals with the religion:
animism, myths, taboo, shamanism, magic, divination, festivals and rites, etc.—A biblio-
graphy (201-248) which includes 135 titles with extensive notes, adds much to the value
of the publication. (Una religione che muore. La cultura delle isole Mentawai nell’impatto
con il mondo moderno. [Collana «Biblioteca Scientifica».] 248 pp. Bologna 1980. Editrice
Missionaria Italiana. Prezzo: L.8.000.)
Coast and Estuary (Isabel McBryde). — After a short introduction the first part (1-
50) contains The Wombah Shell Midden: An Archaeological and Ethnohistorical Analysis
(1-37); with Appendix 1: The Shell Content of the Wombah Middens; Appendix 2:
Chalcedonies from Schnapper Point and Wombah; Appendix 3: Mammal Remains at
Wombah Midden. The second part (51-82) contains: Investigation of Archaeological
Sites at Schnapper Point, Evans Head, New South Wales (53-77); with Appendix 4: The
Petrology of the Boulder Beach, Schnapper Point; Appendix 5: Midden Sites in the Evans
Head District; Appendix 6: Historical Archaeology: The Evidence for Mining at Schnap-
per Point in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries. (Coast and Estuary. Archaeological
Investigations on the North Coast of New South Wales at Wombah and Schnapper Point.
Contributions by V.M. Campbell, K.H. Lane, K. McQueen, and N.A. Wakefield, vi+88 pp.,
illustr. in 4 ., Canberra 1982. Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies. Price: $5.95.)
Anthropos 78.1983
37
Book Reviews
Abdullah, M.S., H. Dobcrs, W. Erl und A. Th. Khoury (Hrsg.). Der Glaube in Kul-
tur, Recht und Politik. Ein christlich-islamisches Kolloquium. (Institut für internationale
Solidarität. Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung. Schriftenreihe, 19.) 170 pp. Mainz 1982. v. Hase
& Koehler Verlag.
Das christlich-islamische Kolloquium, dessen Referate und Diskussionen hier vor-
liegen, fand am 23. - 26. März 1981 statt. Es war von der Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung orga-
nisiert1 ; daher bewegten sich die Themen des Kolloquiums im Aufgabenbereich einer
politischen Stiftung.
Die Veranstalterin stellte die Frage, wie sich in einer pluralen, vom Postulat weltan-
schaulicher Toleranz bestimmten Gesellschaft der Glaube in der Kultur, im Recht
und in der Politik auswirkt, auswirken kann und — für den Gläubigen — auswirken
sollte (8).
Es geht darum darzulegen, ob und — wenn ja — wo im Glauben die Basis vorhanden
ist, die gemeinsame praktische Folgerungen aus dieser Verantwortung ziehen und
die Gläubigen im Islam wie in den christlichen Kirchen zu einer Solidargem ein-
schaft für die Aufgaben der Weltgesellschaft wie der nationalen Gesellschaften wer-
den läßt (9-10).
Unter dieser Zielsetzung wurden vier Hauptthemen jeweils in Referaten eines
christlichen und eines islamischen Teilnehmers behandelt und dann in Arbeitsgruppen
weiter diskutiert:1 2
1. Religion in Tradition und Wandel der Gesellschaft (17-37);
2. Religion und Gesetz (38-64);
3. Politische und gesellschaftliche Formen des religiösen Auftrags (65-91);
4. Muslime und Christen in gemeinsamer Verantwortung (92-123).
Die Tagung fand ihren Abschluß mit Gesamtwürdigungen seitens beider Teilnehmer-
gruppen (124-134). Außerdem sind hier auch „Nachgereichte kurze Stellungnahmen“ ver-
öffentlicht (135-157), und der erste der Herausgeber, M.S. Abdullah, fügte, mehrere Mo-
nate nach der Tagung, noch ein Nachwort bei (158-163).
Es hat in den letzten Jahrzehnten bereits viele derartige islamisch-christliche Ge-
spräche gegeben3; man fragt sich daher oft etwas skeptisch nach deren Wert und Ergeb-
nissen.
1 Dies wurde als besonders günstiger Umstand hervorgehoben: „ ... im kirchlich-
religiösen Raum wäre eine solche Begegnung mit all ihren persönlichen und organisations-
bezogenen Risiken wohl kaum möglich gewesen. Der politische Raum konnte zumin-
destens in diesem Fall von allen Teilnehmern als neutrale Plattform akzeptiert werden, als
Ort religiöser Liberalität gewissermaßen“ (M.S. Abdullah, 159).
Es gab deutsch-, englisch- und französischsprachige Arbeitsgruppen; die Proto-
kolle wurden jeweils ins Deutsche übersetzt, ebenso wie verschiedene Vorträge, die auf
englisch oder französisch gehalten worden waren. Das ganze Buch wird übrigens auch in
englischer und französischer Sprache erscheinen.
3 In der Einführung ist die Rede von einem Dialog, „den Muslime und Christen seit
1969 neu begonnen haben“ (7). Tatsächlich liegt der Neubeginn schon weiter zurück; cf.:
The Proceedings of the First Muslim-Christian Convocation, Bhamdoun, Lebanon, April
Book Reviews
579
Die Herausgeber stellen realistisch fest:
Angesichts der Vielzahl und der Komplexität der für das Kolloquium aufgeworfe-
nen Probleme konnte die Veranstalterin nicht erwarten, daß am Ende der Tagung in
annähernd befriedigender Weise Lösungsvorschläge auf dem Tische lagen. Es ging in
erster Linie darum, auch auf dem Gebiet der Gesellschaftspolitik den Dialog zu be-
f innen (10).
Die Stiftung] betrachtet das Bonner Kolloquium nur als einen Anfang und nur in-
soweit als sinnvoll, wenn die Gespräche fortgesetzt werden (11).
Im Hinblick auf diese Zielsetzung konnten die Teilnehmer, trotz mancher kritischer
und eher enttäuscht klingender Äußerungen (62, 124-126, 140, 157), am Ende überwie-
gend positive Urteile aussprechen (cf. 124-134 passim, 147, 150, 158-163 passim).
Als einige besondere Charakteristika dieses Kolloquiums seien folgende Einzelhei-
ten hervorgehoben:
1. „Auf diesem Kolloquium waren auf der islamischen Seite alle Hauptströmungen
des modernen Islam vertreten: der Fundamentalismus, der reformerische Modernismus so-
wie der Laizismus“ (Bassam Tibi, 154).
Von den elf Muslimen (zwei unter ihnen waren iranische Schuten, neun Sunniten)
können zwei als Traditionalisten, zwei weitere als entschieden liberale Modernisten
— einer bezeichnete sich sogar lediglich als „Kultur-Muslim“ - bezeichnet werden;
die anderen standen eher zwischen diesen beiden Strömungen (M.S. Abdullah, 159).
Daß auch unter den Teilnehmern, die der christlichen Tradition verhaftet waren,
Unterschiede bestanden, wird man schon eher als selbstverständlich annehmen; gegen-
über landläufigen Vorstellungen von einem „monolithischen“ Islam sollte aber die dort
aufscheinende Vielfalt besonders hervorgehoben werden.
2. Obwohl theologische Streitfragen grundsätzlich ausgeklammert wurden (15),
zeigte sich doch zuweilen eine gewisse apologetische oder defensive Haltung, wurde aber
auch wieder zurückgewiesen (cf. 62, 78-80, 83f., 140, 150, 157 u.ö.). Jedoch kann man
nicht sagen, daß man aus Höflichkeit in den Austausch von Banalitäten verfallen wäre.
Ganz im Gegenteil: freimütige Kritiken gegenüber der anderen Gruppe und entsprechende
Wünsche wurden nicht selten ausgesprochen (cf. 11, 62, 64, 85-91 passim, 95f., 106f.t
119-123 passim, 131f., 136-138, 140-142), ohne daß dadurch die Atmosphäre gegen-
seitiger Achtung und Sympathie gestört worden wäre (128, 133L, 150, 159, 161, 162).
3. Besonders bemerkenswert erscheint dem Referenten die auch von islamischer
Seite geäußerte Selbstkritik (20-25 passim, 62-64, 106, 127, 130, 141, 161), der man im
allgemeinen bei solchen Tagungen viel seltener begegnet als christlicher Selbstkritik.
So können als Gesamtwertung abschließend die Aussagen eines orientalischen
Christen und eines Muslims zitiert werden:
Das Ganze fand im Geist einer Wahrheitssuche statt, die weder die Informations-
suche noch die Richtigstellungen angesichts von Verzerrungen noch die lebhafte,
sogar heftige, jedoch immer positive und konstruktive Diskussion ausschloß (150).
22-27, 1954 (New York and Cairo 1955); dazu die Rezension von J. Henninger, Neue
Zeitschrift für Missionswissenschaft 15.1959: 235-237. Weitere Literatur zum christlich-
islamischen Dialog bei J. Henninger, Verbum SVD 19.1978: 407-421, bes. 413, 418-
421 Anm. 52-57.
580
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Das Kolloquium hat sicher zu mehr Wissen übereinander, zum Abbau von Fehl-
urteilen und zur Entdeckung von Gemeinsamkeiten beigetragen, zumal in Bonn
Christen wie Muslime einmütig betonten, daß die Zeiten, da man sich bekämpfte,
für immer vorbei seien, und den ebenso ermutigenden Wunsch ausdrückten, das Ge-
sprach fortzusetzen (163). Joseph Henninger
Dumézil, Georges. Camillus. A Study of Indo-European Religion as Roman History.
Edited, with an Introduction, by Udo Struynski. Translations by Annette Aronowicz and
Josette Bryson. xii+269 pp. Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London 1980. University of Cali-
fornia Press. Price: £10.20-, $21.20.
Die Gestalt des Marcus Furius Camillus, der nach der römischen Tradition 445-365
v. Chr, lebte, und seine besondere Beziehung zu Mater Matuta, der Göttin der Morgenröte
(Aurora) waren Teil von Dumézils drittem Band seiner großen Studie Mythe et épopée
(Vol. 3: Histoires romaines). Aus diesem 1973 erschienenen Werk (Paris: Gallimard)
und den Seiten 255-283 seiner Arbeit Fêtes romaines d'été et d'automne, suivi de dix
questions romaines (Paris 1975: Gallimard) hat der Herausgeber Udo Strutynski die vor-
liegende, mit einer Einleitung versehene Übersetzung ins Englische zusammengestellt.
Die Einleitung beschäftigt sich mit der Problematik, die durch die mythologischen
Elemente der Camillus-Biographie im Vergleich mit anderen indo-europäischen Mythen
aufgeworfen wird. Dabei spielt vor allem die Frage nach einer indo-europäischen Ur-
religion eine gewichtige Rolle. Der Herausgeber weist darauf hin, daß der Verfasser im
Gegensatz zu vielen früheren Mythenforschem (hier sei als einer der prominentesten nur
Max Müller genannt) nicht nur Gemeinsamkeiten bei den diversen indo-europäischen Reli-
gionen sucht, sondern ebenso auch Unterschiede herausarbeitet, d.h. auf das Spezifische
einer jeden Religion hinweist und die Gründe dafür in deren eigener historischer Entwick-
lung sucht. Ihm gilt nicht mehr eine der mehr oder weniger konkret nachweisbaren indo-
europäischen Religionen als die indo-europäische Urreligion (für Max Müller war dies die
Religion der vedischen Arier), sondern er geht vielmehr davon aus, daß Mythenforscher
aufgrund der Kenntnis indo-europäischer Religionen und Gesellschaften bei gemeinsamen
Eigentümlichkeiten (zu nennen wäre z.B. die Dreiteilung der Gesellschaft in Priester,
Krieger und Viehzüchter/Ackerbauern) lediglich Rückschlüsse auf eine aus keiner Original-
quelle mehr zu belegende Urreligion ziehen können.
Die ungewöhnliche Biographie des Camillus — hauptsächlich überliefert von Livius
und Plutarch —, die mit ihrer Serie von militärischen Siegen und letztlich nahezu unge-
hemmten persönlichen Erfolgen ohne Niederlagen für einen Historiker unglaubwürdig
erscheinen muß (Theodor Mommsen: „die verlogenste aller römischen Legenden“; vgl.
45), legt den Schluß nahe, den Schlüssel für das Verständnis in der Mythologie zu suchen.
In seiner überaus sorgfältigen Studie zeigt der Verfasser, daß das Leben des Camil-
lus nur so erfolgreich verlaufen konnte, weil er von Mater Matuta (Aurora), der Adoptiv-
mutter und Beschützerin der Sonne, geleitet wurde. Diese enge Verbindung zu Aurora
bestimmt aber auch quasi den Verlauf des Lebens innerhalb von der Mythologie vorge-
prägter Bahnen. Schon der erste Kampf des Camillus gegen Aequer und Volsker am
mons Algidus (laut Chronologie 431 v. Chr.) unter dem Oberbefehl des Diktators A.
Postumius Tubertus endet mit einem Sieg bei „Morgenröte“. In seinem späteren Leben
erringt Camillus drei weitere militärische Siege zur Zeit der Morgendämmerung, was bei
Livius als reine Zeitbestimmung erscheint, bei Plutarch aber als Eingreifen der Göttin
Aurora gewertet wird. Auffällig ist dabei, daß es keine Berichte von Siegen anderer Römer
zur Zeit der Morgenröte gibt, sieht man von Publicola ab, dessen bei Plutarch referierter
Sieg aber wie eine Kopie von Camillus’ Sieg am mons Algidus klingt.
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581
Unter dem Aspekt dieser engen Beziehung beleuchtet Dumézil dann die Rolle der
Göttin der Morgenröte, deren Funktion als Adoptivmutter und Hervorbringerin des
Sonnengottes wichtiger ist als die der eigentlichen Mutter. Dabei zieht er zum Vergleich
die vedische Usas, ebenfalls die personifizierte Morgenröte, die Tante, nicht Mutter, der
Sonne ist. Wie in Rom ist sie wichtiger als die Mutter, die gute, nützliche Nacht (im Epos
Mahäbhärata hat die Sonne dann zwei Mütter, die Nacht und Usas). Über die Herkunft
des Camillus ist nicht viel bekannt, doch weist Dumézil darauf hin, daß er auffälligerweise
als Kind dem religiösen Dienst des flamen Dialis zugeordnet wurde, obwohl seine Eltern
noch lebten und der Priester eigene Kinder hatte. Dies führt unmittelbar zu der kom-
plexen Thematik des Matralia genannten römischen Kultus kurz vor der Sommersonnen-
wende, wo römische Frauen im Tempel der Mater Matuta für die Kinder ihrer Schwe-
stern beten und eine Sklavin, die die dämonische Dunkelheit repräsentiert, brutal aus dem
Tempel treiben. Wieder kann Dumézil auf die vedische Religion verweisen, wo es biswei-
len nicht nur eine, sondern viele Göttinnen der Morgenröte gibt, die über der jungen Son-
ne wachen. Das Thema des Matralia-Festes ist offensichtlich in eine Camillus-Episode
transponiert worden, wo während der Belagerung von Falerii ein ungetreuer faliskischer
Schulmeister ihm anvertraute Kinder aus Falerii zu den Römern bringt, Camillus aber die
Kinder freiläßt und ihnen den Schulmeister überantwortet, der ausgetrieben und bestraft
wird. Alle weiblichen Rollen haben hier Männer angenommen, Camillus den Part der
römischen Frauen, der Schulmeister den der Sklavin.
Ein weiterer Vergleich des Mythos von Morgenröte und Sonnen findet sich im
Leben des legendären römischen Königs Servius Tullius (er regierte nach der Tradition
578-534 v. Chr.), der Sohn einer Gefangenen im Palast des Tarquinius Priscus (traditio-
nelle Daten 616-578 v.Chr.) war, aber von dessen Frau Tanaquil aufgezogen wurde.
Er errichtete Tempel für Mater Matuta und Fortuna, die Göttin des Glücks, der er in
seiner zweiten Lebenshälfte mehr zugewandt war. Das wetterwendische Glück ließ es
aber zu, daß Servius von seiner Tochter und deren Mann ermordet wurde. Ähnliche
Schicksale widerfahren anderen Schützlingen der Fortuna, die quasi eine Schwester
der Mater Matuta ist. Im Rgveda hat der Glücksgott Bhaga („Anteil“) eine ähnliche
Verbindung zu Usas (Rgveda I, 123, 5 bezeichnet Usas als Schwester des Bhaga).
Dumézils eingehende Untersuchungen auch der anderen kriegerischen Erfolge
des Camillus zeigen immer wieder Bezüge zum solaren Mythos, so z.B. die zur Zeit der
zweiten Nachthälfte errungenen Erfolge. Die zweite Nachthälfte gilt als die „gute“ Dun-
kelheit, die schwanger mit der Sonne geht. In Rom beginnt der Tag im Gegensatz zu
anderen indo-europäischen Kulturen um Mitternacht, denn Rom interessiert vor allem
die jährliche gleichmäßige Geburt sowie die täglichen Geburten der Sonne. Daraus leitet
Dumézil auch das Fehlen von Mythen ab, die von Konflikten zwischen Sonne und Sturm
berichten, wie sie in den Veden verkommen.
Die Berücksichtigung von Mythos und Kultus sowohl der Römer als auch anderer
indo-europäischer Religionen machen diese detailreiche Studie zu einem wertvollen
Beitrag zur Mythenforschung. Die vorliegende hervorragende Übersetzung ins Englische
hat dieser Studie zudem einen weitaus größeren Bekanntheitsgrad ermöglicht.
Karl-Heinz Golzio
Neumann, Wolfgang. Der Mensch und sein Doppelgänger. Alter ego-Vorstellungen
in Mesoamerika und im Sufismus der Ibn ‘Arabx. (Arbeiten aus dem Seminar für Völker-
kunde der Johann Wolfgang Goethe-Universität Frankfurt am Main, 11.) xii+252 pp. Mit
8 Abb, Wiesbaden 1981. Franz Steiner, Preis; DM 24.
Wer den Untertitel liest, wird wohl darüber erstaunt sein, wie hier Ideen aus so ver-
schiedenen Kulturbereichen unter einem einzigen Oberbegriff zusammengefaßt werden.
Dabei handelt es sich jedoch nicht darum, historische Zusammenhänge zu konstruieren
(cf. 2); vielmehr umschreibt der Verfasser sein Ziel wie folgt:
582
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Jeder Teil bildet für sich genommen ein in sich geschlossenes Ganzes und schildert
zugleich denselben Sachverhalt aus einer besonderen Perspektive (v).
Die Vergleichbarkeit der Alter ego-Ideen verschiedener Kulturen gründet in der Ver-
wendung gleicher Sinnbilder, die aber der besonderen Situation jeder Kultur gemäß
unterschiedlich tief ausgelotet werden. ... So werden wir uns im ersten Teil, in dem
mesoamerikanische und parallele Vorstellungen anderer Gebiete ... den Ausgangs-
punkt der Darstellung bilden, dem Alter ego von außen nähern, indem wir dem Zu-
sammenhang der einzelnen Vorstellungen nachgehen. Im zweiten Teil wird das We-
sen des Alter egos von innen beleuchtet, den Erlebnissen und der Metaphysik des
islamischen Mystikers Ibn ‘ArabT folgend. Wir werden dann sehen, daß beide Seiten
einander entsprechen (vi).
Die Metaphysik und Kosmologie traditioneller Gesellschaften sind grundsätzlich
nicht „primitiver“ als die der Neuzeit. Ihr Verständnis erfordert nicht nur intellek-
tuelles Bemühen, sondern auch die Fähigkeit, gewisse heute allgemein gewordene
Vorstellungsschemata hinter sich zu lassen (vii).
Der 1. Teil: Alter ego-Vorstellungen in Mesoamerika (1-155) — der Ausdruck Alter
ego wird gegenüber anderen Termini wie „Nagualismus“ und „Tonalismus“ bevorzugt
(cf. 3f.) — behandelt aufgrund der ethnographischen Literatur die Vorstellungen von Tie-
ren und verschiedenen Naturphänomenen (z.B. Wind, Blitz, Wasser, Feuer, Steine) als
Doppelgänger des Menschen; dabei werden Parallelen aus Asien und Europa ausgiebig
herangezogen (24-26, 58-68 passim, 80f., 87,91-96, 101-118 passim, 137-139, 144-146)1.
Zur Begründung heißt es:
Die kosmologischen und religiösen Vorstellungen gleichen sich in Mesoamerika und
Nordasien so stark, daß einzelne Elemente miteinander austauschbar sind, oder Lük-
ken in einem Gebäude durch Bausteine aus dem anderen geschlossen werden kön-
nen. Am deutlichsten tritt diese Notwendigkeit bei der Alter ego-Gestalt des Bau-
mes zutage, die nur verständlich wird, wenn wir den Schamanenbaum als Kern-
punkt der Analyse betrachten (152).
Ein Schlußkapitel: Das Alter ego, der göttliche Aspekt des Menschen (152-155),
faßt die Ergebnisse dieses ersten Teiles zusammen; dabei wird das Sinnbild des „Pols“
oder „Mittelpunktes“ („Nabel“ der Welt) als besonders wichtig hervorgehoben:
... das Alter ego des Menschen ist die Abbildung des obersten Pols, ist im Zwischen-
bereich zwischen absoluter und relativer Existenz angesiedelt, aber zugleich vom
Absoluten nicht lösbar (154).
Im 2. Teil: Die Stellung der Alter ego-Idee im Sufismus Ibn ‘ArabTs (156-237), soll
gezeigt werden, wie
ein Mensch aus einem ganz anderen Kulturbereich, dem islamischen nämlich, an
solch einem Nabel, einem heiligen Stein, seinem Alter ego begegnet, das er auf-
grund der „Fähigkeit seines Herzens“ erblicken kann (155),
Für die Analyse der Gedankenwelt des islamischen Mystikers Ibn ‘Arabi (560-
638 der Hegra = 1165-1240 n. Chr.) stützt sich der Verfasser weitgehend auf die Arbei-
ten von anerkannten Spezialisten wie Titus Burckhardt, Henri Corbin, Fritz Meier und
Seyyed Hossein Nasr. Ausgangspunkt ist die von Ibn ‘Arabi geschilderte Vision, in der
er an der Ka‘ba einem Jüngling begegnete (157-161); dieser wird interpretiert als sein ei-
Durch ein Versehen ist die Seite 106 bei der Zählung ausgefallen; dadurch ergibt
sich von da ab das merkwürdige Bild, daß die ungeraden Zahlen links und die gerade
Zahlen rechts stehen.
Book Reviews
583
genes himmlisches Selbst, sein Alter ego (161-164). Im Anschluß daran entwickelt der
Verfasser, welche Position der Begriff des Alter ego in der gesamten Gedankenwelt
Ibn ‘ArabTs hat, mit dem Endergebnis
... daß der Archetyp oder Herr eines Individuums mit dem identisch ist, was wir im
ersten Teil dieser Arbeit als Alter ego bezeichnet haben: der Archetyp ist genau je-
ner essentielle Teil des Individuums auf einer jenseitigen Seinsebene, der das Schick-
sal des Individuums determiniert, denn der jeweilige Zustand auf der „irdischen“
Ebene ist eine Reflexion der Zustände auf den höheren Seinsebenen. Der Mensch,
beziehungsweise jedes geschaffene Sein dieser Welt, ist als Ganzes auf allen Seins-
schichten „anwesend“. Die Archetypen als die Inhalte des göttlichen Bewußtseins
stellen die „göttlichen Aspekte“ der Individuen dar, wie dies auch für die Alter
egos in Mesoamerika gilt (221-222).
Auf die einzelnen Schritte der Argumentation und auf weitere Einzelheiten kann
hier nicht mehr eingegangen werden; der interessierte Leser muß sich selbst in die ent-
sprechenden Ausführungen vertiefen und schließlich entscheiden, ob er den Auffassungen
des Verfassers überall zustimmen kann. Joseph Henninger
Kohl, Karl-Heinz. Entzauberter Blick. Das Bild vom Guten Wilden und die Er-
fahrung der Zivilisation. 319 pp. Mit 15 Abb. Berlin 1981. Medusa Verlag.
Ein gelungenes Buch! Es behandelt den Gedankengang: wie es dazu kam, daß die
von Kolumbus und seinen Nachfolgern entdeckten „Wilden“ als die „guten Wilden“ be-
trachtet und berühmt wurden: «le bon sauvage», “the noble savage.” Kohl legt dann dar,
wie sich das Bild vom Wilden änderte und warum. Er veranschauücht seine These durch
reiches Material, das klug verteilt ist.
Im Ersten Teil; Die Formierung des Bildes vom Guten Wilden (12-40), werden Ko-
lumbus, Morus und Campanella behandelt, dann ausführlich die Grundlegung des Bildes
bei Montaigne und schließlich der Wilde in der englischen Literatur des 17. und frühen 18.
Jh.s.
Der Zweite Teil (41-106) illustriert die ethnographische Berichterstattung am Bei-
spiel Nordamerika; die Anfänge der britischen Kolonisierung; Neu-Frankreich im 17. Jh.,
Louis-Armand de Lahontans «Nouveaux Voyages dans l’Amérique Septentrionale»,
Joseph François Lafitaus «Moeurs des Sauvages amériquains comparées aux moeurs des
premiers temps» und schließt mit einem kritischen Rückblick: Konservativer und kri-
tischer Gehalt der frühen Ethnologie.
Der Dritte Teil (107-200) verfolgt den Wilden im philosophischen Diskurs der Auf-
klärung: Montesquieus Anthropogeographie, Turgots Geschichtsphilosophie, Buffons An-
thropologie, Voltaires Geschichtsphilosophie und Anthropologie und Rousseaus Kon-
struktion des «homme naturel».
Der Vierte Teil (201-238) behandelt die Neubelebung der Figur des „Guten Wil-
den“ in Verbindung mit der Entdeckung Tahitis, vor allem Bougainvilles Reise um die
Welt, — Die reichen, gedrängten Anmerkungen füllen über 60 Seiten (239-301), das Li-
teraturverzeichnis weitere 12 Seiten. Im Text nehmen Abbildungen, meist aus den zitier-
ten Quellen, 16 Seiten in Anspruch. Sachlichkeit charakterisiert das ganze Buch. Auch
die katholischen Missionare, ihre Leistungen und ihr Versagen werden sachlich darge-
stellt.
Daß P.W. Schmidt 1906 „vermutlich noch keine Kenntnis“ von Lafitaus Werken
hatte (101-102), stimmt nicht (cf. Anthropos 1.1906; 152 und 194 mit Anm. 1). Kohl
schreibt, daß K. Kälins Abhandlung (1943), die bisher umfassendste Studie über Lafitau,
584
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
bei Schmidt als Dissertation angefertigt worden sei. Schmidt hat die These tatsächlich als
erster Zensor begutachtet und schrieb in seinem Gutachten, sie habe „zu unserer Über-
raschung — ich muß sagen; auch zu meiner eigenen“ deutlich gemacht, daß Lafitau eigent-
lich ein Vorläufer der kulturhistorischen Ethnologie sei. Lafitau kennt große Völkerwan-
derungen von einem Erdteil zum anderen: er stellt Kulturbeziehungen aufgrund über-
raschender Ähnlichkeiten her, was später als Form- und Quantitätskriterium bezeichnet
wurde. Er kennt kulturelle Aufwärts- und Abwärtsbewegung, als Evolution und Degenera-
tion, etc. Lafitau wurde von seinen Zeitgenossen als Theologe verstanden, der er auch
wirklich war und der mit Hilfe der Wilden den christlichen Glauben gegen die Angriffe zu
verteidigen suchte, die mittels der Wilden gegen den Glauben vorgebracht worden waren
(102-103). Fritz Bornemann
Gedenkschrift Leopold Schmidt (1912-1981 ) zum 70. Geburtstag. Mit dem Wie-
derabdruck von Leopold Schmidt, Die Volkskunde als Geisteswissenschaft (1947), und
mit Leopold Schmidt-Bibliographie II (1977-1982). Im Auftrag des Vereins für Volkskun-
de in Wien und unter Mitwirkung des Instituts für Gegenwartsvolkskunde der öster-
reichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften herausgegeben von Klaus Beitl. (Buchreihe der
österreichischen Zeitschrift für Volkskunde, N.S. 4; österreichische volkskundliche Bib-
liographie, Suppiementreihe: Personalbibliographien, 2.) 100 pp. Mit 8 Photos. Wien
1982. Verein für Volkskunde in Wien.
1977 erschien zum 65. Geburtstag des Wiener Volkskundlers Leopold Schmidt sei-
ne Bibliographie (vgl. Bespr. in Anthropos 75.1980: 328). Sein 70. Geburtstag sollte wie-
derum gefeiert werden. Doch drei Monate vorher, am 12. Dezember 1981, starb er.
Die Gedenkschrift bringt in der zweiten Hälfte (58-96) Fortsetzung und Abschluß
der Bibliographie, nämlich der Jahre 1977-1982, mit den fortlaufenden Nummern von
3679 bis 4112, und — ohne Nummer — einen Gedichtband, drei Schauspiele und eine
Novelle; schließlich eine Biobibliographie (97-100), die zwar Artikel in Tageszeitungen
unberücksichtigt läßt, nicht jedoch andere, auch kleinste Notizen.
R. Pittioni nennt in seinem Beitrag (12-19) vor allem die Vorlesungen, die Schmidt
an der Wiener Philosophischen Fakultät mit kurzen Unterbrechungen von 1946-1981
hielt. Themen aus der Symbolkultur stehen im Vordergrund: das Hochzeitsspiel, das
Weihnachts-, Passions- und Osterspiel, das Paradeisspiel, das Maskenwesen und das Volks-
lied. Er las auch über Haus- und Gerätewesen und Möbel, über Gegenwartsvolkskunde, so-
gar über Großstadtvolkskunde, in den letzten Jahren über Kulturhistorische Volkskunde.
Stets ist er nicht nur an Österreich, sondern an Europa interessiert.
C. Blaha behandelt die Leistung für das österreichische Museum für Volkskunde (20
-25). Dort war er seit 1946 beamtet und von 1952-1977 dessen Leiter und Direktor. Die-
se Stellung verschaffte ihm den Lebensunterhalt. Die Restaurierung des Gebäudes und die
Neuaufstellung, die Aufarbeitung des Materials durch Karten und Bildzeugnisse, die Er-
weiterung der Bibliothek, die Schaffung einer Photothek und neuer Kartotheken sind
seine Initiativen und sein Werk. Bei dem Aufbau neuer Museen half er, wenn gefragt,
durch seinen Rat und durch ein fast faszinierendes Konzept. Er war ein Mann mit umfas-
sender Bildung, über sein Fach hinaus, mit kritischem Urteil über Gegner und Freunde.
H. Hunger skizziert (23-25) Schmidts Tätigkeit in der Akademie der Wissenschaf-
ten. Als sich die Akademie Mitte der sechziger Jahre wandelte und eine Reihe von natur-
wissenschaftlichen und geisteswissenschaftlichen Forschungsinstituten gründete, trat
Schmidt dem Plan eines Instituts für Gegenwartsvolkskunde näher und legte ihn schließ-
lich, gedrängt vom Akademiepräsidium, der Gesamtsitzung vor. So kam es 1973 zur Grün-
dung. Das Burgenland stellte in Mattersburg ein Gebäude zur Verfügung. Heute liegen
Book Reviews
585
schon zehn Bände der Mitteilungen des Instituts für Gegenwartsvolkskunde vor, die mei-
sten von Leopold Schmidt selbst geschrieben. Themen sind z.B. Brauchtum der Fabrik-
arbeiter, Volksbrauch in der Karikatur, Wandel des Totenbrauchtums.
Es folgt noch ein Abdruck des grundlegenden Artikels von L. Schmidt „Die Volks-
kunde als Geisteswissenschaft“ (Mitteilungen der österreichischen Gesellschaft für An-
thropologie, Ethnologie und Prähistorie 1947).
In der Gedenkschrift ist manches zweimal gesagt, vieles rhetorisch; die drei Ar-
tikel, die das Corpus des ersten Teiles bilden, sind nämlich Reden, die bei der Gedenk-
feier zu Ehren Schmidts gehalten wurden. Man hätte einen einheitlichen Text schaffen
sollen, was um so leichter gewesen wäre, da sich aus Schmidts Hand ein zweihundert-
seitiges Curriculum vitae erhalten hat. Aber auch so sind wir für diese Ehrung eines eil-
ten Mitarbeiters des Anthropos dankbar. Fritz Bornemann
Miedcr, Wolfgang, and Alan Dundes (eds.). The Wisdom of Many: Essays on the
Proverb. (Garland Folklore Casebooks, 1.) xiv+326 pp. New York and London 1981.
Garland Publishing, Inc. Price: $32.50.
Destiné à ceux qui s’intéressent aux proverbes, ce recueil de vingt articles ravira
autant les profanes que les spécialistes. Toutes ces contributions ont déjà été publiées de
1939 à 1979, sauf une traitant des proverbes chinois et parue en 1875. On sait que la
littérature sur les proverbes est abondante et souvent dispersée dans des revues d’accès
difficile. Ici, les éditeurs ont d’abord sélectionné une centaine de textes, puis opéré un
choix judicieux d’études ponctuelles traitant chacune du proverbe sous un angle déter-
miné. L’intitulé de la première, The Wisdom of Many and the Wit of One donne son titre
à l’ouvrage.
L’un des mérites du travail est de montrer sous de multiples facettes, la richesse du
genre sentencieux: proverbes bibliques, yiddishs, irlandais, africains et autres, sont l’occa-
sion de considérations générales et d’annotations particulières. Les proverbes dans
l’oeuvre de Shakespeare, l’humour dans les proverbes espagnols, sont traités par des philo-
logues. L’influence du proverbe dans la publicité et les mass media, son utilité dans les
tests psychologiques, son importance dans les relations internationales, sont mises en évi-
dence. La liste des spécialistes concernés va de l’historien au sociologue, en passant par
le théologien-exégète, le psychologue, le psychiatre, et jusqu’à l’ergonomiste.
Chacun des articles est coiffé d’une brève note introductrice, claire et précise, en-
richie d’orientations bibliographiques. En fin d’ouvrage figurent 41 références, sous le
titre Further Reading onProverbs. L’ensemble est pragmatique à la manière anglo-saxonne.
Il est frappant de constater que, sans s’être nullement concertés, quelques-uns de
nos auteurs citent comme exemples les mêmes proverbes, où il est question de l’herbe du
voisin, toujours plus verte, des oeufs dans le même panier, de la relation entre la fumée
et le feu; que si l’on dort avec son chien, il ne faut pas s’étonner d’avoir des puces; que
celui qui veut battre, pendre ou noyer son chien a toujours une bonne raison, et j’en
passe.
Dans ce genre de compilation, les redites sont inévitables, mais au lieu de les dé-
plorer, j’estime pour ma part qu’elles sont significatives. Elles révèlent par leur fréquence
même les problèmes auxquels sont confrontés les parémiologues. Et les divergences de
vues prouvent qu’il est souvent malaisé d’y répondre.
Une des questions fondamentales concerne l’identification du proverbe, en même
temps que sa définition. L’unanimité se fait autour de la nature de l’énoncé sentencieux;
c’est une citation qui passe de bouche en bouche et qu’on reconnaît au passage. Mais,
devant les choix concrets, les opinions divergent. On trouve, à côté d’authentiques pro-
586
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Anthropos 78.1983
verbes, des formulations plates et sans relief. Comment juger des phrases telles que: “Do
not anything without taking counsel” (153), ou encore “His own desire leads every man’
(154)? Certains prennent clairement position en appelant proverbes: “England has mild
winters but hard summers” (49), “The French proverb: tout comprendre c’est tout par-
donner” (306), ou “Every land has its own laws, customs and usages” (157). Or, toute
citation n’est pas nécessairement sentencieuse et ces formules toutes faites posent l’irri-
tant problème de la définition du proverbe. La plupart des auteurs de l’ouvrage sous
rubrique s’appuient sur l’autorité d’Archer Taylor qui a décrété: “The définition of a
proverb is too difficult to repay the undertaking” (44). On s’en remet donc à l’intuition,
comme le confirme un de ses disciples: «Heureusement, une définition n’est pas réelle-
ment nécessaire du fait que chacun de nous sait ce qu’est un proverbe» (44).
Il n’est pas étonnant dès lors, ce problème crucial étant éludé, que se multiplient
ce que j’appellerais les pseudo-proverbes. D’un bout à l’autre de l’ouvrage, on se plaît à
nommer proverbes des comparaisons telles que “As cold as ice” (6), “as cold as the Old
Woman of Beare” (290). Même la locution “From A to Z” (5) est appelée proverbe.
Peut-on ici parler de Sagesse proverbiale?
Plus d’un fait état de la richesse de son Trésor de «proverbes» et ce souci de chiffrer
les collections semble constant. On nous affirme qu’aucun auteur (anglais?) n’est plus
riche que Shakespeare, avec plus de 2.000 citations proverbiales ou semi-proverbiales
(184). A nouveau, sont retenues comme exemples, à côté de vrais proverbes, des com-
paraisons banales du type “As dry as a biscuit”, “Swim like a fish” (185), “Swim like a
duck” (186). Faute de définition claire et de critères objectifs, “jealous as a Turk”, “un-
lucky as a Negro” (303) sont baptisés proverbes. Je ne doute pas qu’en Irlande, il y a
plus de 8.000 proverbes (286), qu’en Espagne, les proverbes sont innombrables: des cen-
taines et des centaines de mille (259), et qu’on en a publié de 1926 à 1941, plus de
40.000. Je m’étonne que les collections n’aient pas une plus grande extension numérique
si sont retenues comme proverbes toutes les locutions imagées, toutes les comparaisons.
En Finlande, le corpus de «proverbes» récoltés, et qu’on dit unique au monde, dépasse
les deux millions (275). Qui dit mieux?
Par contre, une étude historique comparative, fort bien faite, traque dans l’espace et
dans le temps le proverbe «Vilain oiseau que celui qui salit son nid». Vieux de plus de 900
ans, attesté dans douze langues depuis le détroit de Gibraltar jusqu’au Cap Nord et de-
puis les pays slaves jusqu’en Islande, cet authentique proverbe met en évidence les traits
fondamentaux caractéristiques du genre.
Le problème de l’identification de tout énoncé sentencieux est naturellement lié à
celui de la spécification. Quels sont les traits distinctifs qui permettent de dire que l’énoncé
“It is an ill bird that fouis its own nest” (190) est un proverbe et que “From A to Z” ne
l’est pas? Il y a manifestement un écart entre ces deux locutions. Existe-t-il une méthode
simple et claire pour les différencier?
La nature, la structure et la fonction de l’énoncé «vilain oiseau» sont distinctives
et nettement marquées. Le fait de citer ce micro-récit instaure une rupture contextuelle;
la structuration analogique de cette citation la décale du langage courant: l’oiseau est mis
en parallèle avec un être humain; la fonction sous-jacente en fait une leçon de choses et
la conjonction des trois lui donne son caractère sentencieux. La sentence est un jugement
de valeur qui fait référence à une norme préétablie. Elle résume à partir d’un fait concret
une sagesse pragmatique; le groupe juge un comportement et, dans le cas présent, l’estime
blâmable. Rien de semblable ne s’applique à la locution “From A to Z”. Tout proverbe
en effet, vise une généralisation en évoquant une norme.
La norme est un critère fonctionnel pertinent: on ne cite pas de proverbe sans
raison. La norme regroupe des règles éthiques ou coutumières, des principes de com-
portement, des recettes de vie pratique. Les normes sont vitales pour les sociétés tradi-
tionnelles, dépourvues d’autres formes de coercition. Sans elles, le groupe est voué à
l’anarchie.
Book Reviews
587
La norme est le commun dénominateur de tous les énoncés sentencieux. Elle n’est
jamais exprimée, mais figure toujours en filigrane. A partir de cette notion, il devient
possible de tenter une définition du proverbe: le Proverbe est une sentence normative de
structure analogique consacrée par l’usage1.
Le lecteur appréciera le nombre élevé d’observations judicieuses dispersées dans les
divers essais et qui permettent de mieux cerner la parémiologie. Chacun apporte sa pierre
à l’ensemble et les points de vue divers sont enrichissants. Remarquons toutefois qu’une
note de synthèse aurait été la bienvenue. Il n’en reste pas moins que Wisdom of Many
procure l’occasion de faire le point des connaissances au sujet du «proverbe».
Citer un proverbe, c’est recourir à une forme spécifique de communication. Dans
l’échange sentencieux, trois facteurs sont concernés: un émetteur adresse à un destina-
taire-cible un message conventionnel. Ce dernier seul est au centre des préoccupations de
nos divers auteurs. On aurait aimé néanmoins qu’une réponse soit donnée aux nombreux
pourquoi qui restent en suspens.
Quelle est la finalité des effets sonores, lexicaux et stylistiques de la Parémie? Pour-
quoi ce langage fréquemment allusif?
A mon sens, tout dans la Parémie est astucieusement agencé pour produire un effet:
— le «déjà-dit» traditionnel, proche de l’incantation scandée, impressionne la mé-
moire et suscite le besoin de se faire répéter;
— le «déjà-vu», la fable suggestive, frappent l’imagination;
— le «non-dit», la leçon implicite suggérée sous forme allusive, mieux qu’un blâme
direct, facilite la tâche de qui a des choses désagréables à dire. Ainsi, la parole sapientielle
favorise l’intégration harmonieuse de l’individu dans le groupe, tout en assurant la trans-
mission et la permanence du savoir. F. Rodegem
Africa
de Heusch, Luc. The Drunken King, or. The Origin of the State. Translated and
annotated by Roy Willis. (African Systems of Thought.) xiv+269 pp. Bloomington 1982.
Indiana University Press. Price: $34.38.
When Le roi ivre appeared in 1972, it was generally greeted, and deservedly so, as a
major achievement in the field of africanist anthropology. It was, as Roy Willis notes in
his introduction to the present translation, a brilliant application of the analytical tech-
nique, developed in Lévi-Strauss’ Mythologiques, to a neglected body of Central African
mythology. The achievement was all the more impressive as de Heusch had to work from
material that was definitely scant by Amerindian standards. He was, however, able to
make up for this by drawing on the rich accounts, by Vansina and Turner, of the initia-
tion rites among the Kuba (Bushong) and Lunda (Ndembu) peoples, showing that the
symbolic ideas underlying these rituals were also part of the kingship myths of these
Pour éviter l’ambigüité dans les dénominations, je propose de désigner par le
terme Parémie (du grec paroimia, proverbe), l’ensemble des énoncés sentencieux à carac-
tère normatif, objet d’étude de la parémiologie. Les types de normes permettent d’établir
une typologie du genre sentencieux: la norme est dite générale lorsqu’elle s’applique à
tous indistinctement. Ceci vaut pour le proverbe, la locution proverbiale, la maxime et
l’aphorisme. Elle est dite particulière lorsqu’elle ne concerne que des groupes spécifiques
ou restreints, avec des domaines d’application limités. C’est le cas du diction, de l’adage
juridique, du slogan; aussi de la devise et de l’apophtegme.
588
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
peoples. This in itself was already a major discovery, as it led him to part with Lévi-
Strauss’ idiosyncratic and misleading conception of ritual. There was more, however,
for in contrast to the politically innocent Amerindian myths examined by Lévi-Strauss,
their Bantu counterparts appeared to convey also a political ideology, centred on the
polarity of dual sovereignty, which seemed to make them more directly and more open-
ly concerned with history.
Whatever the truth about the universality of the theme of dual sovereignty in Bantu
state mythology, there can be little doubt that it commonly presents itself as history, and
it is precisely because of this that these tales have constantly be mined by a variety of
scholars for historical information. But the question remains what relation there is be-
tween the as yet largely unknown precolonial histories of these African societies and their
myths and ritual symbols. That question is in no sense new, as evidenced by the at times
acrimonious debate between the fideists and agnostics (Willis’ terms) in this field; a
debate which already has been going on for years. But where does de Heusch stand?
As a structuralist of the Lévi-Straussian persuasion, one would reckon him to side
with the agnostics, and indeed, he does not hesitate occasionally to use the qualification
“pseudo-historical” to describe the general character of the Central African myths1. But
surprisingly enough, towards the end of Le roi ivre he takes the opposite stand by inter-
preting the mythical figures as real persons and by subscribing to most of Vansina’s histori-
cal reconstruction. He does this, however, or so it seems, in a rather intuitive way without
really clarifying how his structuralist exercise forces him to this conclusion. As a matter
of fact, Le roi ivre in this respect looks like a regression from his earlier work on the
Ryangombe myths in Rwanda and adjoining areas, in which he seems to have come much
closer to reconciling the structuralist and historical approach1 2. The reason behind this
may have been, on the one hand, that our knowledge of Rwandan precolonial history
is generally more extensive and more detailed than that of the Central African kingdoms;
and on the other, that the Ryangombe myth represents a case in which protest against
the prevailing social and political order is one of the major themes. Thus the precon-
ditions for a combined historical/structuralist approach were probably more clearly
present in that case, but the point is that he did combine the two, and that the combina-
tion seems to have worked.
Religious protest against dominant political structures is a common theme in
Africa’s colonial as well as precolonial history. In addition to this, it is also a theme which
typically tends to emerge in the context of the rise of indigenous state systems3, which is
the specific kind of situation that Le roi ivre focuses on. In most or all cases this entailed
changes in a people’s mythology, which then came to express this kind of protest (again,
Ryangombe being an excellent example). It must therefore come as a surprise that
nothing of this shines through in this remarkable book, whereas one is led to suppose, if
only because of the quasi-universality of the phenomenon, that the political organisations
whose myths de Heusch examines must have been subject to the same kind of experience.
One might object that it was not de Heusch’s purpose to occupy himself with a history of
social stratification and religious protest, or one could possibly say that the myths he
examined contained no traces of such events and processes. But this is precisely the
question, for how does one know, if one has not even tried to look at the myths from
that viewpoint?
1 Luc de Heusch, “What Shall We Do with the Drunken King?” Africa 45/4. 1975.
2 Luc de Heusch, Le Rwanda et la civilisation interlacustre. Brussels 1966. Univer-
sité libre,
3 J.M. Schoffeleers (ed.), Guardians of the Land: Essays on Central African Terri-
torial Cults. Gwelo (Zimbabwe) 1979. Mambo Press.
Book Reviews
589
Take for instance the myth about the conflict between the sun and the moon (51),
which de Heusch quite plausibly interprets in terms of the contrast between the cruel
original king, Nkongolo, and the founder of divine kingship, Mbidi. But it is conceivable
that the same myth could also be interpreted as a statement on the part of the popula-
tion about the difference between living under a bad and a good chief. That at least is the
way I heard it recounted among the Chewa of Malawi, where it definitely harked back
to the days, when the only defense against political oppression often was to migrate to a
different chiefdom. The Chewa thus use a tale, similar to that of the Luba, to concep-
tualize a concrete and recurrent political problem. This does not in any sense invalidate
de Heusch’s analysis; it only extends it by drawing attention to the possibility that myths
may draw part of their meaning also from the way a population uses them to refer to
concrete as supposed to philosophical problems.
A somewhat different question relates to de Heusch’s selection of mythical para-
digms. African myths may to thin on the ground compared with South America, but
there may be more than one is sometimes led to suppose. Thus the Luba possess highly
intriguing myths about the origin of their secret societies, which are not mentioned in this
book. Knowing from other parts of Africa how secret societies often stand in a tense rela-
tionship with the state, an opportunity may have been missed to identify and outline a
counter-ideology, which could only have enriched the analysis. Briefly, then, my point
is that, however brilliant de Heusch’s analyses (and about that there need be no doubt),
they suffer from his failure to relate them to political realities and, through these, to
history.
It is more than ten years now since Le roi ivre was published and, contrary to
expectation, it did not have the impact or set in motion the kind of discussion it merits.
Part of the reason for this may have been that it has so far only been available in French.
The present translation, though long overdue, is therefore more than welcome. Roy
Willis has done an excellent job. His translation is impeccable; his annotations indispen-
sible, and his introduction enlightening. The volume is elegantly produced, but un-
fortunately and for unknown reasons lacks the analytical index that proves so helpful in
the French edition. Matthew Schoffeleers
de Hcusch, Luc. Rois nés d'un coeur de vache. (Mythes et rites bantous, 2.) 537 pp.
Paris 1982. Gallimard. Prix: 165 FF.
This study consists of two major parts: one dealing with the political myths and
ritual code of the Rwandan kings; the other dealing with southern African myths rituals
and circumcision schools. This vast panorama is introduced by a general chapter on divine
kingship and followed by a historical discussion. The method of analysis is the one
pioneered in Le roi ivre, which continues to function as the author’s basic point of re-
ference. First, the origin myths or the major rituals of a dynasty are presented and analyzed
in their own terms, and afterwards links with the cosmological and familial codes are ex-
plored and elucidated so as to show up the underlying thought structure.
The Rwandan royal myths and chronicles are much more extensive and detailed
than those of the savanna area. With their accounts of battles, murders, and political
conflicts, they also seem to come closer to western conventional concepts of history.
On that count they have already attracted a whole line of scholars, both foreign and
indigenous, all of whom have been attempting to extract from these oral records the
building stones of an objective history. De Heusch for his part maintains that these
seemingly historical accounts with their long king lists gravitate around a limited number
of royal names—four, to be precise—each of which represents a specific aspect of Rwandan
590
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
concepts of divine kingship. What appears at first as linear history thus turns out to be
just another instance of cyclical history, in which two “producer” kings (mutually dis-
tinguished in terms of fire and water) alternate with two warrior kings. These four sovereigns
continue to succeed each other in the same order and under the same dynastic names
from the seventeenth to the middle of the twentieth century. The similarity with Dume-
zil’s findings in regard of ancient Roman kingship, which de Heusch had already drawn
attention to in Le roi ivre, is once again confirmed.
Moving from Rwanda to Swaziland, de Heusch first re-examines the well-known
annual ritual of regeneration and the institution of Swazi kingship itself, and then goes
on to lay bare the various transformations which apparently connect this vast symbolic
system with that of the Karanga/Venda and Great Zimbabwe. Among the latter peoples
the python has traditionally been the central religious symbol, and at this point we are in
for a surprise, for the Kuba of Central Africa, discussed at length in Le roi ivre, are
shown to possess a creation myth, featuring the python as the primordial demiurge,
which appears essentially the same as that of the Venda. Having examined and then re-
jected the possibility of mere coincidence, de Heusch then advances his theory of a com-
mon proto-Bantu creation myth from which the Kuba on the one hand, and the Karanga/
Venda on the other, along different historical routes, may have developed their basic con-
ceptions of kingship. The conclusion to be drawn, then, is that the royal myths of these
peoples constitute part of a vast field of transformations of this common pattern, a field
of transformations which geographically encompasses southern and central Africa.
There is more to this, however, for de Heusch also argues that similar links exist be-
tween the circumcision camps in both regions, the difference being that the creation
myth from which the royal myths were derived travelled from north to south at a very
early stage in Bantu history, whereas the circumcision camps spread in the opposite
direction at a much more recent date, around the middle of the nineteenth century. If
the theory about the diffusion of the creation myth must remain a theory based solely on
arguments derived from structuralist criteria, de Heusch’s historical reconstruction of the
south-to-north movement of circumcision camps appears to be of an entirely different
nature, since it can be subjected to historical examination. This being so, the feasibility of
de Heusch’s concept of structural history can therefore in principle be validated.
It is of course difficult, if not impossible, to do justice to the numerous new ideas
and insights that one encounters in this masterly study, nor to the equally many problems
it raises. We will therefore limit ourselves to a few points that seem to us of particular
importance. To begin with, the more the reader gets into this volume, the more he gets
the impression that he is in fact reading two books. One on Rwanda, in which it is demon-
strated that what at first sight appears to be linear history is actually cyclical history. And
one on southern and central Africa, where it is demonstrated how cyclical history (the
realm of myths and circumcision camps) can be made to yield linear history, that is to
say, information on the development over time of these myths and camps. But what
the book appears to lack is an overall logic integrating these two concerns, which accounts
for the impression that one is reading two different works, each with its own problematic.
A second remark that I have is not so much a criticism as a suggestion. De Heusch
quite correctly draws our attention to the structural opposition between hot and cold,
which plays such a large role in Bantu symbolic thought, from their conception of the
cosmos and kingship down to the nitty-gritty of social relations at micro-level. In view
of his impressive and extensive treatment of this subject, it is all the more surprising
that he pays little or no attention to bush fires, which are such an important and wide-
spread seasonal phenomenon in Africa. Bush fires play a role in gardening, when virgin
ground has to be cleared. They also play a role in certain hunting systems, and there is a
general belief that smoke clouds are converted into rain clouds. Finally, in many African
societies initiation camps are held during the dry season, when these fires begin to flare
Book Reviews
591
up everywhere, and the burning of the bush used to be subject to a whole string of restric-
tions concerning times and places where it could and could not be done. Briefly, they
operate as a major symbolic agent, uniting religion and economy, kingship and initia-
tion-all of which are major themes in this book—into one overarching structure1.
My final remark concerns de Heusch’s project of a structural history, and my
question here is: could the same results that he claims to have achieved by his structuralist
method not have been obtained in a much simpler way? Does one have to be a struc-
turalist to hypothesize the existence of a particular Ur-myth, or to trace the diffusion
of male circumcision from country A to B? I do’nt want to sound facetious, but I do
have the impression that the same result could be obtained along other and less circuitous
trajectories. Despite these and other questions that necessarily arise from a voluminous
work such as this, one cannot but agree that de Heusch has rendered africanist studies
a signal service by reintroducing the long forgotten theme of divine kingship and by link-
ing this so systematically and convincingly to the institution of initiation camps.
Matthew Schoffeleers
Berger, Iris. Religion and Resistance: East African Kingdoms in the Precolonial
Period. (Koninklijk Museum voor Midden-Afrika,Tervuren, België. — Annalen — Reeks in
8° — Menselijke Wetenschappen, 105, 1981.) xv+181 pp. With 1 chart and 3 maps. Ter-
vuren 1981. Musée Royal de l’Afrique Centrale.
Religion and Resistance is a comprehensive attempt to reconstruct the history of
a collectivity of mediumistic cults in part of the interlacustrine area and adjacent terri-
tories. These cults, which centre on the Cwezi spirits or on Ryangombe and his followers,
are subsumed by the author under the general term kubandwa. In contrast to the majority
of authors on the subject, she holds that these cults and the legends associated with them
did not originate during or after the rise of the various kingdoms in the area, but that
they were already in existence before that time as a typically female form of religion,
comparable to the cults of affliction or “democratic” possession cults that emerged in
the Central African region during and after the nineteenth century. Being concerned
primarily with female problems related to fertility and childbearing, they constituted
a counterpart to the veneration of the ancestral shades, which tended to be dominated
by men. These two institutional complexes may thus have represented, even in their
earliest form, a certain degree of sex antagonism. Kubandwa, however, occasionally also
took a more elitist form. This it did particularly at permanent, kin-based religious centres
with priests, which seems to have been a feature in areas where economic conditions
allowed for the formation of large, cohesive, and relatively stable groups of kindred.
But either form, the elitist as well as the democratic, may ultimately have evolved from
the apparently quite ancient practice of dedicating girls and women to the deities as
spirit wives (69).
At some point in time, however, probably during the early struggles against cen-
tralized rule, these female cults and ceremonies were put to new political uses by local
politico-religious leaders (70). This process involved granting one group of deities (mostly
or entirely male) the enhanced status of Abacwezi, while ideologically demoting others,
including the women’s spirits. This had a twofold effect. First of all, it molded into a
J.M. Schoffeleers, “The Religious Significance of Bush Fires in Malawi.” Cahiers
des Religions Africaines 5 (10).1971.
592
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
unified group a number of hitherto unrelated divinities, possibly as a means of forging
cohesion against the new ruling groups. Secondly, it transformed the older distinction
between men’s and women’s ceremonies into a Cwezi/non-Cwezi dichotomy, associated
respectively with malignancy and benevolence (ibid.). Gradually, though, the older and
more recent political and ideological systems adapted to each other in a variety of ways.
As kingdoms grew larger and stronger, kubandwa not only came to embody the theme of
protest, but also the often observed tendency of states to transform popular movements
into instruments of established authority (89). But despite the ability of the ruling clas-
ses to incorporate kubandwa into new state systems, women’s support for its major
deities apparently declined as these spirits became more closely associated with central-
ized states. Thus from the nineteenth century onwards they became widely displaced
—first by Nyabingi, a new female deity with a militant image, and later by the fundamen-
talist Christian Balokole sect. But it was the Nyabingi cult in particular, which revived
the older tradition of religious-based resistance against the encroachment of the cen-
tralizing state (90). Kubandwa thus presented two faces: that of a local and popular
cult with a tradition of opposition to state authority, and that of a nationally oriented
cult, whose leaders in different ways cooperated with the state organisation. Whereas
these contrasting aspects kept each other in balance for most of the time, the element
of resistance was regularly revived during periods of intensive transformation and dis-
order (ibid.) Summarizing, then, we may say that kubandwa in its long history has under-
gone two major transformations: one through which it ceased to be an all-female affair to
become a kind of clan religion; and another through which it ceased to be a clan affair to
be made to varying degrees subservient to the state. In either case, though, the original
form tended to persist also, so that the end result was a religious complex, which under
the same name operated at different levels of social organisation.
It is not altogether inconceivable that this is indeed a broad outline of what hap-
pened in reality. Of the two transformations just mentioned, it is particularly the second,
which has been documented by a goodly number of historical and anthropological
studies as I have shown in my introduction to a collection of essays on Central African
cults published two years before Berger’s study1. New rulers did indeed in quite a few
cases try to (or were forced to) establish a relationship of cooperation with an older
religious establishment without, however, being able to destroy the potential for political
protest and resistance that the old cults embodied. The variations on this theme are
numerous, but the theme itself shows a remarkable consistency throughout the traceable
history of Central African communities. In most of these cases the accomodation be-
tween the earlier and later social strata seems to have taken place in the ideological con-
text of the so-called “earth cults,” religious complexes which focus on communal con-
cerns such as droughts and plagues rather than individual misfortune. A further characteris-
tic of these cults appears to have been the presence of spirit wives, women perpetually
dedicated to the godhead, who usually also acted as its medium. The existence of similar
figures in the interlacustrine area is noted by Berger on several occasions (i.a. 69-70), al-
though she adds that they seem to have acted as priestesses or shrine caretakers rather
than mediums.
In the Central African region popular or democratic possession cults seem to have
originated both independently and within the organisational structure of earth cults, but
always (or so it seems) at a rather recent point in time. Berger, on the other hand, main-
tains that popular possession in the interlacustrine area, though possibly evolved from the
1 J.M. Schoffeleers (ed.), Guardians of the Land: Essays on Central African Terri-
torial Cults, Gwelo (Zimbabwe) 1979. Mambo Press.
Book Reviews
593
institution of spirit wives (69), has a much older history, predating by far the kingdom
period. I do not wish to argue that this is to be considered impossible or incorrect; only
that the available evidence does not in my opinion substantiate that view. This means
that I have my reservations about the first major transformation of kubandwa, viz. the
adoption and reconstitution of this religious complex by male clan leaders so as to serve
them as a means by which to express their autonomy vis-à-vis the emerging kingdoms.
Van Binsbergen has recently described and analysed cases from colonial Zambia, in which
men became founders and leaders of largely female possession cults2. Hence the trans-
formation noted by Berger need not be thought of as somehow incongruous, but the
problem is once again that in her case the evidence seems to be lacking.
This, however, is the only serious objection I have against her book, which other-
wise appears to be well-researched and painstakingly documented. I have been particular-
ly fascinated by the author’s reconstruction of the transformation that the Cwezi mythol-
ogy has undergone during the colonial period, from Sir Harry Johnston onwards (Ch. HI),
showing clearly and in convincing detail how this happened under the influence of the
racist assumptions and imperialist preoccupations that were prevalent at the time. It is
most unfortunate that the author has not been able to see Bjerke’s extensive study of
Cwezi worship among the Zinza, which appeared in the same year as Religion and Re-
sistanee3. Bjerke not only describes the cult in an area which had thus far remained terra
incognita; he also adds a fundamental riddle of his own to the many still waiting to be
solved: how is it that the Zinza consider the Cwezi the most nefarious spirits in their
pantheon, whereas everywhere else they are viewed as beneficent? This goes to say that
the study of the kubandwa cults will continue to present us with unexpected problems
for some time to come. But we should be grateful to Iris Berger for the thorough manner
she has gone through the available material and for opening up new lines of thought in
regard of the Cwezi complex. Matthew Schoffeleers
Trost, Franz. Die Felsbilder des zentralen Ahaggar (Algerische Sahara). Mit einem
Vorwort von Hans Biedermann und Beiträgen von D. Emst, W[olfgang] Frisch, H[elga]
Kolb, J[eanJ-P[ierre] Maître, W[ilfried] Morawetz, Hjans Günther] Mukarovsky, U[lrike]
Pechinger. (Monographien und Dokumentationen: Die Afrikanischen Felsbilder.) 251 pp.
in fol. Mit 779 Fig. Graz 1981. Akademische Druck-und Verlagsanstalt.
Dieses Buch ist das Ergebnis von 10 Sahara-Reisen und 6 Jahren Forschung an den
Felsbildem im Ahaggar. Einführungen über Geomorphologie, Geologie, Klimatologie, Flo-
ra und Fauna geben Einblicke in die Großlandschaft der Felsbilder. Es folgt ein knapper
ethnologischer Überblick über die Twareg, die sich selbst Imühar nennen. Der Autor un-
terteilt sie schematisch in sechs große Gruppen, deren Verbreitungsgebiet von Südalgerien
und dem libyschen Fezzän bis in die heutigen Republiken Mali und Niger reicht. Ihre Her-
kunft wird kurz diskutiert, ihre vergangene und gegenwärtige Gesellschaftsordnung und
ökonomische Lage skizziert. Mukarovskys Beitrag zur Schrift der Twareg, von diesen Ti-
finag genannt, sucht diese von altarabischen Schriftformen wie dem Thamüdischen,
Lihyänischen und Safäitischen abzuleiten und belegt dies mit Vergleichstabellen, ver-
weist aber gleichzeitig auf Einflüsse des Phönikischen.
W.M.J. Van Binsbergen, Religious Change in Zambia: Exploratory Studies. Lon-
don 1981. Kegan Paul International.
Svein Bjerke, Religion and Misfortune: The Bacwezi Complex and the other
Spirit Cults of the Zinza of Northwestern Tanzania. Oslo 1981. Universitetsforlaget.
Anthropos 78.1983
38
594
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
In die „Protohistorie“ des Ahaggar führt Maître, der die sogenannten Wagenstraßen
der Sahara (benannt nach den Funden gepunzter und bemalter Wagen) auf das von an-
tiken Historikern Garamanten genannte Volk zurückführt. Die Felsbilder dieser Zeit kann
man z.T. auch nach lokalen Schulen unterscheiden. Unter anderem geht Maître auf das
„Grab von Abalessa“ ein, dessen Skelettfund nach einer neueren anthropologischen Stu-
die männlich sein soll. Er bestimmt es als das Grab eines Prinzen aus der Zeit zwischen
400-450 n.Chr. Wegen widrigen Klimas und Wassermangels kamen dann ein Großteil der
heutigen Twareggruppen (hauptsächlich aus dem Fezzän) in den Ahaggar, um 650 dann
andere Gruppen als Folge der islamischen Eroberung der Kyrenaika und des Magrib. Den
Fezzänern war im 6. Jh. bereits das Kamel bekannt, und Maître schließt daraus, daß die
Vorfahren der heute als Dag-Räli und Ait-Loaien bekannten Stämme aufgrund dieser Tat-
sache zwischen 650 und 700 das Land im Ahaggar unter sich aufteilten und die dort an-
sässigen Esebet ins Zentrum des Bergmassivs vertrieben. Aus dem Kitab al-‘Ibar des Ibn
Haldün (1332-1406) und lokalen Überlieferungen konnte Maître auf Invasionen marokka-
nischer Berber zwischen 950 und 1200 schließen, deren Nachkommen Kel-Rela und Kel-
Taitok genannt werden (nach einer Legende gründete ein âarîf aus dem Hause IdrTs in
der Sahara ein großes Reich, nach Ibn Haldün beherrschte ein Lamtuna-König die ganze
Wüste). Jedenfalls erhielten diese Eroberer des Ahaggar den Spitznamen Kel-Ihänän,
„Volk der Zelte“, wovon Maitre den Ursprung des Mythos von Ti-n-Htnän herleitet,
was fälschlich mit „Herrin des Zeltlagers“ übersetzt wurde. Jedenfalls wurden die Dag-
Räli und Ait-Loaien den Neuankömmlingen lehnspflichtig, die unter anderem wohl auch
die bis dahin blühende Landwirtschaft ruinierten. Nach Maître rechtfertigten die Kel-
Rela ihre Oberhoheit durch den Mythos von Ti-n-Htnän (als deren Grab sie das des Prin-
zen von Abalessa bezeichnen) und deren Tochter Kella, die sie als ihre Ahnen betrachten.
Dieser Beitrag bietet einen guten kulturhistorischen Hintergrund zum archäolo-
gischen Teil. In diesem werden die Fundstätten der Felsbilder mit Koordinaten, Höhen-
angabe etc. sowie Entdecker, Ausführung und Inventarisierung aufgeführt, gefolgt von
lithischen Fundbeschreibungen. Eine Auflistung von Grabmonumenten und Steinsetzun-
gen mit Kurzbeschreibungen rundet das Bild der Kulturhinterlassenschaften des Ahaggar
ab. Den Abschluß bilden Kapitel über Patina, Herstellungstechniken von Petroglyphen so-
wie der Versuch einer Systematisierung der Felsbilder. Bei den zoomorphen Darstellun-
gen treten Giraffen, Pferdeböcke, Kuhantilopen, gazellenartige und ziegenartige Tiere,
Nashörner, Elefanten, Hunde, Hyänen, Geparden, Hundsaffen, Strauße, Esel, Kamele,
Pferde, Rinder, Schafe und Ziegen auf. Der Verfasser geht insbesondere bei Elefanten,
Kamelen und Pferden auf historische Berichte über Vorkommen bzw. erstes Auftreten
dieser Spezies im nordafrikanischen Raum ein und verweist in diesem Zusammenhang
auch auf Tierabbildungen im pharaonischen Ägypten, wo Belege für das Kamel aller-
dings sehr spärlich sind (der erste eindeutige Bericht stammt von Caesar während seines
Feldzuges gegen den Numiderkönig luba I. im Jahre 46 v. Chr,).
Auch bei den Menschendarstellungen wird auf ägyptische Vergleichsbeispiele ver-
wiesen, so z.B. beim Federschmuck im Haar, der schon im Grab des Pharao Seti I. (1304-
1290 v. Chr.) abgebildeten Libyern eigen war. In der Jezreel-Stele des Merenptah (1224-
1204 v. Chr.) wird berichtet, daß der Libyerfürst seiner Feder beraubt wurde. Erst im
al-Masälik wa’l-Mamälik des Abü ‘Ubaid al-Bakn (ges. 1094) wird zum erstenmal von
der Sitte der Gesichtsverschleierung bei Sahara-Stämmen berichtet, die anscheinend
bei gepunzten Personendarstellungen (z.B. Fig. 217) zu finden ist.
Diesem Teil folgen Diskussionen über Felsbilder, die Waffen, Wagen, Kamelreiter,
Symbole, Ornamente sowie Fallen und Fanggeräte darstellen. Den Schluß bilden ein
Glossar von geographischen Ausdrücken der Twareg sowie eine reichhaltige Bibliographie.
Das Werk ist eine ausgezeichnete Dokumentation der Felsbildkunst einer nord-
afrikanischen Region, wobei die Schwierigkeit der zeitlichen Bestimmung und der stili-
stischen Zuordnung aufgrund der relativ spärlichen historischen Quellen voll in Rechnung
gestellt werden sollte. Karl-Heinz Golzio
Book Reviews
595
Bascom, William. Sixteen Cowries. Yoruba Divination from Africa to the New
World, vii+790 pp. in 8 . Bloomington and London 1980. Indiana University Press.
Price: $44.
Bascoms Arbeiten über die Ifa-Divination der Yoruba gehören zu den reichsten, die
über Divination in Westafrika erschienen sind. William Bascom ist 1982 gestorben, und
Sixteen Cowries wurde sein letztes Buch zu diesem Thema.
Die Divination mit Kaurimuscheln ist eine vereinfachte Form der Ifa-Divination
mit Palmnüssen, die Bascom schon früher beschrieben hat. Sie wird heute nicht nur bei
den Yoruba in Nigeria, in Benin und in Togo, sondern auch in Afroamerika betrieben.
Dabei werden 16 Kauris geworfen. Es können 0-16 Augen der Muscheln nach oben
weisen. Jede dieser 17 Figuren trägt einen Namen, zu dem entsprechende Verse rezitiert
werden. Das Buch ist eine Zusammenstellung solcher Verse, die den einzelnen Figuren
entsprechend geordnet sind. Dazu hat der Autor Ergebnisse seiner eigenen Feldforschung
bei den Yoruba herangezogen, wo er 1950 von einem Wahrsager dessen gesamtes Reper-
toire auf Tonbandgerät sprechen ließ. Hier steht der Text in Yoruba jeweils auf der linken
Seite und rechts daneben die englische Übersetzung. Diesem riesigen Corpus ist nur eine
kurze Einleitung und ein noch kürzerer Anhang beigegeben, so daß man Bascoms andere
Arbeiten über die Ifa-Divination besser schon kennen sollte, bevor man sich diesem Buch
zuwendet.
Wie im Untertitel bereits erwähnt, werden Kaurimuscheln auch in Amerika zur Di-
vination verwendet. An einigen Beispielen zeigt Bascom dann auch, wie nahe sich die ent-
sprechenden Verse in Afrika und Amerika noch stehen. Aber vieles, wenn nicht das
meiste, bleibt noch zu tun. So wird diese erste, detailreiche Sammlung wohl als Fundus
für weitere vergleichende Studien dienen und läßt sich als Aufforderung sehen, die große
Arbeit William Bascoms fortzusetzen. Till Förster
Musaniwabo, Thérèse M. Ludovic. Les chemins de la sagesse. Imana et le Murundi.
231 pp., illustr. Louvain-la-Neuve 1979. Centre d’Histoire des Religions. Université
Catholique de Louvain. Prix: 600 FB.
Ziel dieser von Soeur T.M.L. Musaniwabo an der Universität Loewen erarbeiteten
und verfaßten Dissertation ist eine Antwort auf die Frage nach dem geistigen Reichtum
der religiösen Tradition Burundis, vorab die Frage nach dem Gottesbild und nach dem
menschlichen Umgang mit dem Göttlichen. Aufgrund von Sprachanalysen, Erzählungen,
rituellen Handlungen und Symbolen sucht die Autorin die zentrale Bedeutung der Schöp-
fergottheit Imana darzustellen. Sie stützt sich dabei auf die bekannte ethnographische Li-
teratur, einschließlich einiger ungedruckter Manuskripte einheimischer Autoren, sowie
auf eigene Befragungen und Untersuchungen. Trotz verhältnismäßig häufiger Referenzen
und z.T. minuziöser äußerer Angaben zu den handschriftlichen Zeugnissen bleiben aber
die benutzten Quellen — schriftliche und mündliche — in ihrer Bedeutsamkeit und Zu-
verlässigkeit zu wenig differenziert überschaubar. Sie stellt zwar auch kritische Fragen
und bringt eine Reihe anschaulicher Worterklärungen und schöne Bedeutungstabellen,
man hat aber eher Mühe, das Gesamtwerk als religionsethnologische Analyse im vollen
und systematischen Sinn anzusprechen.
Von psychologischem und zugleich missiologischem Interesse erscheint die betont
positive Einstellung der Schwester zu den in der ersten christlichen Zeit oft recht negativ
dargestellten „heidnischen“ Praktiken. Die tiefe, auf Imana konzentrierte Religiosität
ihrer Vorfahren wird ihr zur eigentlichen Offenbarung. Christianisierung bedeutet dem-
nach, nach ihr, nicht religiöse Entwurzelung. Hugo Huber
596
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Braukämpcr, Ulrich. Geschichte der Hadiya Süd-Äthiopiens. Von den Anfängen bis
zur Revolution 1974. (Studien zur Kulturkunde, 50.) xv+463 pp. Mit 30 Kt. Wiesbaden
1980. Franz Steiner Verlag. Preis DM 87.
Das Unterfangen, die Geschichte einer schriftlosen Ethnie zu schreiben, kann nur
dann erfolgreich durchgeführt werden, wenn die Informationsquellen als ausreichend ab-
gesichert gelten können. Der Verfasser konnte sich im Fall der Hadiya, eines der „bedeu-
tendsten politisch-territorialen Machtblöcke Äthiopiens neben dem christlichen Reich“
(p.l ) auf mittelalterliche äthiopische Chroniken und arabische Historiographen für den Zeit-
raum vom 13. bis zum 17. Jh. stützen. Der Schwerpunkt der Arbeit lag aber in der Aus-
wertung der mündlichen Überlieferungen der Hadiya über ihre Vergangenheit, insbeson-
dere, was die Ethnogenese dieses Volks und die Zeit vom 17. bis zum 19. Jh. betrifft, da
es dafür so gut wie keine schriftlichen Quellen gibt. Die Auswertung dieser oralen Tradi-
tionen basiert auf zweijährigen Feldstudien des Autors. Die Restituierung der Geschich-
te dieses Volkes wird dadurch erschwert, daß es im 16. und 17. Jh. durch die Miteinbe-
ziehung in den gihäd („Heiligen Krieg“) der Muslime von Adal gegen das äthiopische
Kaiserreich und die gewaltige Völkerwanderung der Oromo (Galla) miteinbezogen und da-
durch teilweise zerstreut und von heterogenen Ethnien überfremdet bzw. absorbiert wur-
de. Als Gesamtzahl der Köpfe aller Stämme, die heute als Nachkommen der Hadiya iden-
tifiziert werden können, gibt der Verfasser ca. 2-3 Millionen an, die die Großlandschaft
im zentralen Südäthiopien zu beiden Seiten des Rift Valley bewohnen.
Aus den Traditionen der Hadiya über ihr Entstehen und ihre Ursprungsländer las-
sen sich vielfach muslimische Einflüsse feststellen, die von einer Wanderung muslimischer
Araber von der arabischen Halbinsel und ihrer Vermischung mit autochthonen Völkern
im Gebiet des heutigen Somalia und Ostäthiopien berichten. Eine genaue Datierung der
die neue Ethnie Hadiya konstituierenden Ereignisse ist unmöglich. Der Verfasser nennt
bei den rein islamisch geprägten Überlieferungen einige Higra-Daten, wo sich dann zum
erstenmal die völlige Unkenntnis des Verfassers bei deren Umsetzung in die christliche
Zeitrechnung zeigt. Ihm ist zwar bewußt, daß die Higra-Ära im Jahre 622 n.Chr. beginnt,
er weiß aber nicht, daß es sich hierbei um einen lunaren Kalender handelt, d.h., das Jahr nur
354 Tage (355 in Schaltjahren) zählt. Insgesamt hat der Verfasser 8 Daten falsch berech-
net, indem er zum Higra-Datum einfach die Zahl 622 addierte: auf p.60 gibt er für 75 n.
d.H. 700 n. Chr. an (richtig; 694/5 n.Chr.); ebenda Anm. 26 für 295 n.d.H. 917/18 n.Chr.
(richtig: 907/8 n.Chr.), obwohl sein Gewährsmann Michele Pirone annährend richtig als
Äquivalent 909 n.Chr. angegeben hatte; p. 61 setzt er 828 n.d.H. mit ca. 1450 n.Chr. gleich
(richtig: 1424/25 n. Chr.); p. 64 132 n.d.H. mit 754/5 n.Chr. (richtig: 749/50 n. Chr.).
Anscheinend kamen dem Verfasser auch nie Zweifel an seinen Umrechnungen, obwohl
mehrmals die richtigen Daten der christlichen Ära von seinen Gewährsleuten mitgelie-
fert wurden. So schreibt er (p. 65 Anm. 41): „Nach Cerulli (1941: 35) datiert die Gründung
in das Jahr 283 n.d.H. (896/7 n.Chr.). Offenbar ist bei der Umrechnung jedoch ein Feh-
ler unterlaufen. Das Jahr 283 n.d.H. müßte dem Jahre 905/6 n.Chr. entsprechen.“ Cerulli
hat aber hier ebenso richtig gerechnet wie beim Jahr 685 n.d.H., zu dem der Verfasser
(p. 69 Anm. 6) schreibt: „Cerulli 1941: 13. Das genannte Jahr soll der Zeitspanne vom
27. Februar 1286 bis zum 15. Februar 1287 entsprechen. Wenn man das Jahr 622 für die
Higra zugrunde legt, so würde sich 1307 n.Chr. ergeben.“ Vollends unverständlich wird
p. 80 das vorgegebene Higra-Datum 832 (d.i. 1428/29 n.Chr.) in 806 n.d.H. geändert, da
dem Verfasser in diesem Falle das christliche Datum unumstößlich erschien, weil es in
die Regierungszeit des äthiopischen Kaisers Yeshaq (1414-1429) fallen mußte. Daß sein
Gewährsmann Josef Marquart (Die Benin-Sammlung des Reichsmuseums für Völkerkunde
in Leiden, Leiden 1913), der sich wiederum auf Étienne Marc Quatremère {Mémoires
géographiques et historiques sur l’Égypte, . . . , Paris 1811, Vol. II, p. 27 7f. ; vom Verfasser
nicht eingesehen) stützt, hier von Maqrîzî, dem Quellenautor, ein falsches Higra-Datum abge-
schrieben haben sollte, hätte auch dem Verfasser unwahrscheinlich erscheinen müssen.
Book Reviews
597
In die Reihe dieser Fehlschlüsse gehört auch die Anm. 79 (p. 121): „Gelegentlich wird in
den mündlichen Überlieferungen des Harar-Gebietes als Datum für die Expedition von
’ämtr [!] Nur b. Mugähid nach Gurage und die damit verbundene Auswanderung von
harari-sprechenden Gruppen das Jahr 973 n.d.H. (1595 n.Chr.) angegeben, wobei es sich
jedoch um einen chronologischen Fehler handeln muß, da Nür zu dieser Zeit tot war.“
Der chronologische Fehler lag aber wiederum beim Verfasser, denn da das Jahr 973 n.d.H.
dem Jahr 1565/66 n.Chr. entspricht, fällt es sehr wohl in die Regierungszeit des Amlr Nür
b. Mugähid (1551-1568). Nun schmälern diese bedauerlichen Irrtümer keinesweg die Lei-
stung des Verfassers in seiner historischen Darstellung. Der Name Hadiya ist schriftlich
zuerst in einer aus dem Koptischen übersetzten arabischen Fassung des Kebra Nagast
(„Herrlichkeit der Könige“) aus dem 13, Jh. erwähnt. Dieses Volk sollte sich zu einem
Erbfeind des äthiopischen Kaiserreiches entwickeln. Unter Kaiser ‘Amda Seyon (1314-
1344) wurden die Hadiya unterworfen und Äthiopien tributpflichtig, behielten aber den-
noch ein großes Maß an politischer Unabhängigkeit. Aus dem Taqivîn al-Buldän des
Abü’l-Fidä’ (1273-1331) und dem Masaltk al-Absär ft Mamälik al-Amsär des Sihâb ad-DTn
Fadl Alläh al-‘Uman (1301-1348), die dem Verfasser — wie alle von ihm benutzten ara-
bischen und äthiopischen Quellen — in Übersetzung Vorlagen, geht hervor, daß die Hadiya
eine relativ hohe Kulturstufe mit einer bedeutenden Agrarproduktion besaßen und über
eine der größten Armeen der Großregion verfügten und ausgedehnte Handelsbeziehungen
pflegten. Besonders bekannt waren sie für die Heilung kastrierter Sklaven und deren Ver-
kauf in die arabische Welt. Kaiser Zar’a Yä'qob (1434-1468) heiratete eine Hadiya-Prin-
zessin names Elëni (gest. 1522), die eine bedeutende Rolle im äthiopischen Reich spielen
sollte. Zu seiner Zeit wurde das Territorium der Hadiya Äthiopien als Provinz ein geglie-
dert, und eine äthiopische Chronik nennt die Namen von Hadiya-Stämmen, was es ermög-
licht, eine Kontinuität zu heutigen ethnischen Gruppen festzustellen. Die wechselvollen
Beziehungen zwischen dem Kaiserreich und den Hadiya nahmen unter den Kriegen
der Muslime von Adal, insbesondere unter Ahmad b. Ibrâhîm al-Gâzî, gen. Grän (1528-
1543), und Nür b. Mugähid (1551-1568), eine dramatische Wende, kämpften doch die
Hadiya auf muslimischer Seite gegen das Kaiserreich und errangen ihre Selbständigkeit
zurück. Äthiopien konnte sich nur mit knapper Not mittels portugiesischer Hilfe vor
dem Untergang retten. Der langwährende gihäd verwüstete und entvölkerte auch die
Wohngebiete der Hadiya. In dieses Machtvakuum brachen dann im 16. Jh. die Oromo-
Völker ein, die viele Hadiya-Gruppen assimilierten, andere vertrieben. Die fliehenden
Gruppen gerieten dann praktisch zwischen zwei Feuer: die Oromo und die christlichen
Äthiopier. Diese Hadiya gaben häufig den Ackerbau gänzlich auf und wurden reine Noma-
den. Für die Zeit bis zum Einbruch der Oromo bzw. der Vertreibung der Portugiesen un-
ter Kaiser Fäsiladas (1632-1667) im Jahre 1633 konnte der Verfasser die oralen Tradi-
tionen aus seiner Feldforschung immer wieder mit schriftlichen historischen Quellen ver-
gleichen und korrelieren; für die Zeit danach bis zu den Eroberungszügen von Menilek II.
war er gezwungen, sich ausschließlich auf mündliche Überlieferungen seiner Hadiya-
Gewährsleute zu stützen. Während dieser Periode ethnischer Überlagerungen und Wande-
rungen wurde der ehemals relativ einheitliche Block der Hadiya derart gespalten, daß die
Geschichte jeder einzelnen Untergruppe gesondert betrachtet werden mußte. Die Qabena
und Alaba z.B. verließen aus unbekannten Gründen ihre Heimat im Sidama-Land um
1720, überschritten den Bilate und siedelten in der Nähe des Tembaro-Volkes. Der Kon-
takt von über einem halben Jh. mit diesem Volk ließ die Qabena und Alaba ihre semi-
tische Sprache zugunsten des kushitischen Kambata-J'embaro-Idioms aufgeben. Um 1790
erfolgte eine weitere Wanderung nordwärts zu der Region von Waèamo und Guna südlich
der Gurage-Berge. Von dort wurden sie um 1815 von der Hadiya-Gruppe der Lemo ver-
jagt; die Alaba trennten sich von den Qabena und zogen ostwärts, die Qabena begaben
sich nach Gurage, durchquerten Ennamor- und Caha-Gebiete und ließen sich um 1860
endlich in Zenna-Banner nieder. Während des 19. Jh.s erlebte der Islam bei den Qabena
eine starke Neublüte, und diese wurden unter ihren Führern ‘Umar Baksa und Hasan
598
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Engämo die herrschende politische, militärische und wirtschaftliche Macht im Gurage-
Land. Der Verfasser hat mit großer Sorgfalt die Schicksale der einzelnen Gruppen ana-
lysiert und mit zahlreichen Karten, welche die Wanderungen aufzeigen, untermauert.
Mit der Unterwerfung der Hadiya und des gesamten Südens durch den äthiopischen
Kaiser Menilek II. (1889-1913) in den neunziger Jahren des 19. Jh.s begann eine neue
Phase auch in den sozialen und wirtschaftlichen Verhältnissen. Dem Verfasser ist voll
und ganz zuzustimmen, wenn er die äthiopische Eroberungspolitik als kolonialistisch
charakterisiert (was zwar nicht so augenfällig in Erscheinung tritt, da hier keine euro-
päische Macht der Kolonisator ist und die Kolonisierten unmittelbare Nachbarn des Kolo-
nisators sind). Mit Recht schreibt er auch, daß der äthiopische Kolonialismus in seinen
negativen Konsequenzen für die Unterworfenen den europäischen Imperialismus in Nord-
ostafrika übertraf. Die unterworfenen Völker wurden zu einem gabbär (wörtlich „Steuer-
zahler“) genannten Status degradiert, der in der südäthiopischen Praxis aber ein Staats-
sklaventum war; den Soldaten von Menileks Armee, die meist amharischer Herkunft wa-
ren, wurden Hadiya-Familien zugeordnet, die jene mit Lebensmitteln versorgten und
ihnen Frondienste zu leisten hatten. Zwischen fünf und zehngaö&är-Haushalte hatten ei-
nem gemeinen Soldaten zu dienen, Dutzende oder gar Hunderte den verschiedenen Offi-
ziersdienstgraden. Diese Besatzer wurden naftannä („Gewehrleute“) genannt. Nur die
traditionellen Häuptlinge der Hadiya behielten ihre Stellungen als unabhängige Landbe-
sitzer {bäläbbät), wurden aber von der Bevölkerung als Agenten der äthiopischen Staats-
gewalt betrachtet. Bei jeder sich bietenden Gelegenheit (dem Bürgerkrieg während der
Herrschaft von lyäsu IV., 1913-1916, der italienischen Eroberung Äthiopiens 1935/1936)
erhoben sich die Hadiya-Stämme gegen die äthiopische Staatsmacht, die amharischen
Landlords und ihre Helfershelfer. Die meisten Hadiya sahen in der italienischen Okkupa-
tion Äthiopiens (1936-1941) eine Verbesserung ihrer Lage, da das gabbär-System von den
neuen Kolonialherren abgeschafft und die Steuern reduziert wurden; gleichzeitig unter-
stützten die Italiener den Islam im Süden, der einen bedeutenden Aufschwung nahm.
Zwar schaffte Häyla ¿eiläse I. nach der Rückgewinnung des Kaiserthrons 1941 das gabbär-
System auch ab, doch verblieb das meiste Land in den Händen amharischer Landlords
und der äthiopischen Kirche. Dies führte in den sechziger und siebziger Jahren des 20.
Jh.s zu großen Spannungen. Erst die Revolution von 1974 versprach eine Landreform,
doch führte deren Realisierung zu erneuten gewaltsamen Auseinandersetzungen. Außer-
dem ließ der marxistische Militärrat DERG keinen Zweifel am Weiterbestehen der amha-
rischen Suprematie und bekämpfte Autonomie- und Separationsbestrebungen mit mili-
tärischen Mitteln. Im Grunde wurde das imperiale Kolonialsystem durch ein sich pro-
gressiv gebendes System ersetzt, das zwar die alten Feudalstrukturen aufriß, zugleich
aber den Status der Südvölker als Bürger zweiter Klasse beibehielt. Diese Aussage hat
der Verfasser zwar nicht so pointiert ausgedrückt, doch zeichnet sich bei ihm eine ähn-
liche Tendenz ab.
Das Werk ist eine sehr sorgfältige Studie, die im Anfang auch eine Zeittafel und
Genealogien von Informanten aus verschiedenen Hadiya-Gruppen enthält, außerdem eine
Auflistung der Hadiya-Klane.
Die Arbeit mag auch dazu beitragen, die Problematik der Beziehungen zwischen
dem Herrenvolk einer Region (also keinem überseeischen Kolonialisten) und den in
Randpositionen gedrängten Ethnien aufzuzeigen (die Indianer Lateinamerikas sowie die
Cham, Meo und andere kleinere Gruppen in Vietnam, Laos und Thailand sind nur eini-
ge von zahlreichen anderen Beispielen). Karl-Heinz Golzio
Book Reviews
599
Lydall, Jean, and Ivo Strecker. The Hamar of Southern Ethiopia. 3 vols. (Arbei-
ten aus dem Institut für Völkerkunde der Universität zu Göttingen, 12-14.) 1: Work
Journal, xix+289 pp. — 2: Baldambe Explains, x+231 pp. — 3: Conversations in Dam-
baiti. xxii+273 pp. — Göttingen 1979. [Distributed by Klaus Renner Verlag, Hohenschäft-
larn.] Price: DM 70.
Die Hamar sind eine omotisch-sprechende Gruppe mit nicht mehr als 2000 Mitglie-
dern. Sie leben im extremen Südwesten Äthiopiens nahe der Grenze zu Kenia und dem
Sudan. Die Nachbarn dieser ethnischen Gruppe sind im Süden die Geleba, im Westen die
Karo und Bashada, im Osten die Arbore und Tsamay und schließlich im Norden die Bana.
Die Kulturzüge der Hamar stimmen zu einem beträchtlichen Teil mit denen ihrer Nach-
barn überein. Die Hamar betreiben eine Mischwirtschaft, d.h., sie pflegen den Hackbau
(besonders Sorghum) und halten Rinder und Ziegen. Dem Vieh werden soziale und ri-
tuelle Bedeutungen beigemessen, die sich besonders bei der Heirat (Brautpreis), der Initia-
tion (Sprung über die Rinder) und der Institution des Lieblingsbullen (rituelle Symbiose
von Mensch und Rind) manifestieren.
Die drei Bände umfassende Publikation beruht auf mehrmaligen Feldforschungen
der Verfasser von März 1970 bis Januar 1974; von diesen insgesamt 46 Monaten ver-
brachte Jean Lydall ca. 19 Monate bei den Hamar und 14 Monate in Addis Abeba; Ivo
Strecker war ca. 27 Monate bei den Hamar und 19 Monate in Addis Abeba.
Im ersten Band stellen die Verfasser subjektive Betrachtungen über den Verlauf
ihrer Feldarbeit, ihre sozialen und zwischenmenschlichen Beziehungen zu den Hamar so-
wie ihre veränderte Lebensweise an. Dieses “work Journal” fußt auf Tagebucheintra-
gungen beider Feldforscher und ist als verkürzte und „gereinigte“ Fassung der Diarien
und Itinerarien zu betrachten, wobei das Ausmaß der Auslassungen, Kürzungen und
Überarbeitungen dem Leser verschlossen bleibt. Zahlreiche Tage im Felde sind nicht
dokumentiert bzw. wurden in der Publikation nicht berücksichtigt. Hingegen nehmen
das tägüche Kaffeetrinken und die zahlreichen Besuche in den Eintragungen einen zu
großen Raum ein. Dieses amüsante und in einem saloppen Stil geschriebene Tagebuch
bietet dem felderfahrenen Völkerkundler zwar nichts Neues, doch gewährt es ihm einen
Einblick in die Feldsituation und Arbeitsweise der Verfasser.
Das Quellenmaterial für den zweiten Band beruht auf in Addis Abeba (!) über einen
Zeitraum von mehreren Tagen auf Tonband festgehaltenen Gesprächen mit dem aus Dam-
baiti angereisten Schlüsselinformanten Baldambe. Die aus Baldambes Sicht erwirkte In-
formation vermittelt dem Leser einen Eindruck vom Ursprung der Hamar, ihren kriege-
rischen und friedlichen Auseinandersetzungen mit den Nachbarn, der primären und se-
kundären Sozialisation, den sozialen Institutionen sowie den rituellen Handlungen, wo-
bei auch (besonders im Fußnotenteil) die materielle Kultur berücksichtigt wird. Am
Schluß dieses Bandes findet man eine Genealogie der Familie Baldambes, weitere genea-
logische Diagramme und Kartenskizzen.
Während der letzten Tage im Felde (19. bis 24. Januar 1974) führte Strecker mehre-
re Gespräche mit Baldambe und seinen Verwandten. Diese ebenfalls auf Tonband aufge-
nommenen Gespräche bilden das Quellenmaterial für den dritten Band “Conversations in
Dambaiti”. Der Gesprächsverlauf über die tägüchen und außerordentlichen Ereignisse, die
die Hamar bewegen, wurde von einem während dieser Zeit von den Hamar auf die benach-
barten Arbore durchgeführten blutigen Überfall überschattet.
Ohne die Glaubwürdigkeit Baldambes anzweifeln zu wollen, bleibt es dennoch
sehr fraglich, ob sich ein Völkerkundler primär nur auf die Information eines einzigen
Gewährsmannes berufen kann, da dieser seine Kultur selbstverständlich durch seine „Re-
levanzbrille“ sieht. Leider wurden die Ergebnisse der teilnehmenden Beobachtung kaum
berücksichtigt; und dies verwundert, denn schließlich hat sich Strecker längere Zeit mit
den „Methodischen Problemen der ethno-soziologischen Beobachtung und Beschreibung“
in seiner 1969 erschienenen Dissertation auseinandergesetzt. Unter Berücksichtigung der
600
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
vorhandenen Publikationen über die Nachbargruppen der Hamar hätten Vergleiche ange-
stellt und Analogien nachgewiesen werden können. Analysen, Interpretationen und Kom-
mentare wurden absichtlich unterlassen. Diese „Trilogie“ stellt — trotz der entschieden
abzulehnenden Arbeitsweise der Materialgewinnung und -aufbereitung — eine Arbeit dar,
die für zukünftige Feldforschungen bei den Hamar als vorläufige und kritisch zu betrach-
tende Erstinformation herangezogen werden kann. Günter Best
The Americas
Sexton, James D. (ed.). Son of Tecun Umdn. A Maya Indian Tells His Life Story.
250 pp. Tucson 1981. University of Arizona Press. Price: $19.95 (cloth); $8.95 (paper).
This is an interesting if rather disturbing book. It is essentially a two-part auto-
biography of Sr. “Ignacio Bizarro Ujpan”, a Tzutuhil Maya, who lives in a farming village
on the shores of Lake Atitlan in the Republic of Guatemala. The work is divided in three
parts: The first one is an autobiography of Sr. Ignacio to the year 1972 as told to Dr. Sex-
ton. (Here the editor carefully delimitates the material elicited by him, as anthropologist,
from that directly recalled by Sr. Ignacio, a very useful distinction.) The second part is
the translation of a diary kept by the author from 1972 to 1977 at the request of Dr.
Sexton. Finally there is a brief analysis of the autobiographical material by the editor.
From the standpoint of method it is easy to criticize a work of this kind. Like most
autobiographies of non-Western people in anthropology the individual who can be per-
suaded to retell his or her life history to an anthropologist is usually far from being a
“typical” member of the people of his community. In this case the difference is even
more extreme than usual. Sr. Ignacio is a personal friend and was a field assistant to Dr.
Sexton in Guatemala. This fact in itself is not a problem since friendship is probably an
essential factor in obtaining information of this kind. However, Sr. Ignacio was also a
soldier in the Guatemalan army and a labour recruiter paid to persuade the Maya of the
Highlands to work on the plantations of the agroindustries of coast.
These factors are both the strength of the book as a life history and its weakness as
ethnography. Although there is a fairly extensive literature about highland Guatemala
there are (to my knowledge) few such autobiographical studies of the Maya. It would be
of enormous interest to have a half-dozen related accounts, somewhat in the method of
Oscar Lewis for Mexico, to establish a fuller picture of the social reality of the region.
However, one must admit that the document at hand is extra-ordinarily rich in con-
tent. This is why the study is disturbing to the reader, not for any failure in method, but
for its display of a constant and almost unconscious anguish of daily life in the Maya
villages. The life history is told by an intelligent and relatively acculturated individual-
fluent in Spanish and ex-soldier and labour recruiter—who takes his tasks for the govern-
ment and corporations as a natural part of the order of things. He is an individual who has
always lived in poverty, sometimes surviving from day-to-day, and knows that he will al-
ways live in poverty. Yet he accepts life as it comes, with slight ambition for himself or
his family and with a deep religious faith derived from Catholic and Maya sources.
Still, at the same time, he is deeply involved in local politics which he recounts al-
most as a minor issue—which indeed perhaps it is, considering the problems of sheer
economic survival. Many things are expressed as commonplace events which to our
vision might seem disturbing, such as the constant illnesses which cost Sr. Ignacio and his
family days and weeks of work, the almost perpetual alcoholism (which he had managed
to control by 1977), and the serenity with which he confronts overwhelming social and
economic problems. The political events and motivations are not very clear, sometimes in-
volving purely local issues and sometimes with an awareness of national issues.
Book Reviews
601
In short, the study is a fascinating, if incomplete, one. The reader can only wish
that Dr. Sexton had managed to record several more such accounts from other Maya in
the region. Robert W. Shirley
Thomas, David John. Order Without Government: The Society of the Pemon
Indians of Venezuela. (Illinois Studies in Anthropology, 13.) xiii+265 pp. With 17 fig.
and 12 tab. Urbana, Chicago, and London 1982. University of Illinois Press. Price: £21.88.
It is sometimes said that the development of the State is an inevitable evolutionary
phenomenon. The State is necessary to plan agriculture and irrigation systems, encourage
trade, defend national boundaries and other vital needs—in these theories. Yet the ethnol-
ogical evidence shows time and again that the state is not really essential to social life and
that people can often develop extraordinarily complex social and cultural institutions
which permit them to live quite satisfactorily without the formal restraints of bureau-
cracy.
This book, on the Pemon Indians of Venezuela, is one such case. As the title im-
plies, it is an ethnography of a people who have developed a way of life, apparently fully
satisfactory to themselves, without recourse to hierarchical organizations, either of their
own or those of the neighboring, and encompassing, State of Venezuela.
The author lived and studied for over a year (1970-1971 and again in 1975) with
the Pemon, a Carib speaking people who inhabit an enormous stretch of the Guiana High-
lands at the headwaters of the Caroni tributary of the Orinoco River. They have a total
population of about 4,000 people living in several subgroups in a region of about 30,000
km2. Their basic subsistance food is bitter manioc, although they also grow a variety of
other crops through slash-and-burn technology. In addition they suppliment their diet
through hunting and fishing—an economy fairly typical of many tropical forest peoples in
South America.
What is distinct about the Pemon, however, and in dramatic contrast with some
other similar peoples, such as the Yanomamo, is the pacific nature of their social life. The
greater part of this book is devoted to a meticulous analysis of Pemon political culture.
This begins with an analysis of the nature of leadership. This can be based on shamanism,
prophecy, or simply a quiet and systematic building of networks of kind and friends. An
interesting characteristic of Pemon political philosophy is that leadership is granted more
to those who act as peacemakers rather than as warriors. Fighters, and harmful shamans,
are respected and feared, but not followed.
Another important element in Pemon social life is sibling solidarity, together with a
series of kinship and residence rules which minimize the possibilities of conflict. Well over
half of the book is devoted to these topics as well as an extensive analysis of Pemon
myths reflecting their social and political vision. The author believes that an important
elements are elegantly and thoroughly developed in this book. It is perhaps unjust, there-
combined with their enormous territorial residential space, which reduces conflict by
simply allowing potential enemies to move away from each other. These socio-political
elements are elegantly and thorougly developed in this book. It is perhaps unjust, there-
fore, to complain that the ethnography is incomplete. The reader is left with tantalizing
glimpses of other aspects of life, such as trade and economics, of a fascinating people. It
should be noted, however, that some of these topics are developed in other publications
by the author and other anthropologists.
A somewhat more serious criticism can be made, however, about the author’s al-
most systematic exclusion of the cultural, economic, and political intrusion of the larger
Venezuelan society. At times the book reads like a 19th century ethnography, a detailed
602
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
analysis of the culture of a “people” distant from the modern world. Still, at other times,
the author notes in passing the existence of service agents, missionaries, and other ad-
vance agents of the state. Other important cultural intrusions, such as the new Hallelujah
Religion, are referred to repeatedly without description or analysis of the historical and
psychological significence of these phenomena. The reader is left with a large and beauti-
fully crafted piece of a puzzle without being able to visualize the larger picture of social
dynamics. Perhaps these factors will be treated in other publications, but they are very
important to a modem anthropology increasingly concerned with the impact of moderni-
zation on the peoples of the world.
From the standpoint of political philosophy the book offers a useful examination
of one people’s systematic efforts to avoid the state. A further step, not made here,
would be to examine comparatively the Pemon social techniques with those of other
determinately stateless peoples. One example which comes to mind are the Philippine
Ifugao who have also refused to build a state of their own nor have they allowed others
to impose a government over them.
In all, this is both an interesting and frustrating work. One looks forward to further
publications by the author which will elaborate the way of life and social dynamics of
these fascinating people, the Pemon. Robert W. Shirley
Schierle, Sonja. Funktion einer Survival School für städtische Indianer. Heart of the
Earth Survival School: Indianische Alternativschule in Minneapolis, Minnesota. (Arbeiten
aus dem Seminar für Völkerkunde der Johann Wolfgang Goethe-Universität Frankfurt am
Main, 12.) x+178 pp. Wiesbaden 1981. Franz Steiner Verlag. Preis: DM 28.
Man hat mit Recht auf zwei zentrale Problemkreise im Bereich der neueren Ge-
schichte der nordamerikanischen Indianer hingewiesen, einerseits auf die rechtliche Frage
im Kontext der Landenteignungen und Kompensationen und, andererseits, auf den Fra-
genkreis: indianische Identität/Assimilation. Kein Geringerer als L.H. Morgan hatte
noch bis in die 1850er Jahre die These der vollen Integration der Indianer vertreten und
als Weg dazu die später so viel kritisierten Internatsschulen gefordert, jene Bildungs-
stätten, die paradoxerweise nicht wenig zur Entstehung des sehr aktiven p anindianischen
“American Indian Movement” (AIM) der Neuzeit beigetragen haben. Auch wenn letzteres
sich weithin auf die indianische Elite der Städte beschränkt — die Reservatsindianer sind
eher Tribalisten geblieben —, so hat es, gerade was die hier in Frage stehenden neuen in-
dianischen Altemativschulen betrifft, deren Verwirklichung stark vorangetrieben. Die von
Sonja Schierle untersuchte und beschriebene “Heart of the Earth Survival School” (HESS)
von Minneapolis, dem Zentrum der Bewegung, verdankt letzterer auch ihr Entstehen,
1972, im Jahr der Promulgation des Indian Education Act. Staatlich unterstützte Kon-
traktschulen mit dem Akzent auf indianischer Tradition und Sprache hat es schon vor der
Gründung des AIM gegeben, so die Rough Rock Demonstration School der Navaho.
Schierle geht in ihrer Studie — ungleich anderen Beschreibungen mit oberfläch-
lichem, eher tendenziösem Charakter wie etwa Claus Biegerts ,,Indianerschulen“ (Ro-
wohlt Taschenbuch 1979) — von Gmonatiger teilnehmender Beobachtung, 2 Schultagen
pro Woche als Lehrer-Assistentin, verbunden mit vielfältigen Gesprächen mit den Lehrern
und mit der Einsichtnahme in die offiziellen Schulakten,aus.
Die HESS versteht sich sowohl von ihrer Zielsetzung als auch von ihrer Kurriku-
lum-Gestaltung und ihrer Organisation her als engagierte, auf Überleben und Eigenstän-
digkeit des Indianertums, seiner Sprache und seiner geistigen Werte zentrierte Bildungs-
stätte vor allem für jene Indianerkinder, die an den öffentlichen Schulen „versagten“,
bzw. ihren Besuch verweigerten. Indianische Kultur soll dabei weniger als Schulfach do-
Book Reviews
603
ziert, als vielmehr die ,»Grundlage und Verbindung aller anderen Unterrichtsgebiete“, der
„kulturell geprägte Lernraum“ für die Kinder sein: religiöse und politische indianische
Führer, einheimische Sänger und Dichter, Trommler und Kunsthandwerker bringen ihnen,
jeder nach seiner Art, zusammen mit den großenteils indianischen Lehrern, nach moder-
nen pädagogischen Methoden den Geist des neuen Indianertums und seiner
politischen Aspirationen bei.
Schierles Arbeit bringt trotz gewisser Schwächen und Mängel in der Organisation
und Darstellung der Thematik (Wiederholungen, Überschneidungen, wenig sinnvolle Auf-
teilungen und einzelne kleinere Widersprüche etc.) solide Daten und abgewogene Urteile.
Sie sieht ihrerseits die große Bedeutung solcher Alternativschulen und ihres theoretischen
Konzeptes, andererseits aber auch die Schwierigkeit der Umsetzung in die Praxis, die
Überforderung der Lehrer und die Gefahr der Erziehung zu militantem Rassismus, dies-
mal seitens des Indianers. Nicht wenige der Kinder haben übrigens weiße Elternteile oder
Vorfahren. Hugo Huber
Roe, Peter G. The Cosmic Zygote: Cosmology in the Amazon Basin, xvi+384 pp.
With 28 fig. and 3 tab. New Brunswick, N.J. 1982. Rutgers University Press. Price: $40.
Die Brockhaus-Enzyklopädie (1974/20: 815) definiert Zygote als die bei der Be-
fruchtung aus der Verschmelzung der beiden haploiden Zygoten-Kerne der männlichen
und der weiblichen Keimzelle entstehende diploide Ursprungszelle eines Lebeweisens. In
Anlehnung an die organische Welt hat Roe anhand der von Reichel-Dolmatoff über-
nommenen zentralen Metapher vom befruchteten zweigeschlechtlichen Ei ein Modell
entwickelt, mit dessen Hilfe er die Kosmologie der indianischen Stämme des Amazonas-
Tieflandes, die er als eine Einheit ansieht, in den Griff zu bekommen sucht. Dieser Kos-
mologie liege nämlich ein tiefgreifender männlich-weiblicher Dualismus zugrunde, der
allerdings letzten Endes wieder in eine Ganzheit münde, da das Männliche nicht ohne das
Weibliche bestehen könne. Diese beiden und eine Reihe weiterer ihnen parallel laufen-
der Prinzipien, wie Leben bzw. Geburt und Tod, Kultur und Natur usw., werden in 804
Mythen und anderen Daten von 105 ethnolinguistischen Gruppen aufgespürt und ein-
ander gegenübergestellt. Diese Belege sind, wie Roe auch zugibt, auf eklektizistischem We-
ge zustande gekommen, um sein Modell zu repräsentieren; man könnte sich m.E. eine
andere Auswahl vorstellen, die zu abweichenden Ergebnissen führen würde. Der Autor
glaubt jedoch, einen wesentlichen Aspekt des amazonischen Weltverständnisses erfaßt zu
haben. Er räumt ein, daß keine der Gruppen des Tieflandes das gesamte kosmologische
Modell, wie er es erstellt hat, besitze, zum mindesten nicht auf der Ebene des Bewußt-
seins. Das empirische Zeugnis einer Konfusion von einander widersprechenden Einzel-
mythen zeige nur zu oft das Gegenteil. Alle disparaten Zeichen und Symbole würden je-
doch im Modell vom befruchteten Ei vereint.
Es ist also der abendländische Verstand, der hier Ordnung schafft. Dies geschieht
nach der strukturalistischen Methode, die Roe nicht ohne beträchtliche Kritik von Lévi-
Strauss übernimmt. So beanstandet er, daß Lévi-Strauss es wie alle Künstler eigentlich
genieße, Ideen auf einem Prokrustes-Bett eigener Machart zu lieben (making love!), je-
doch gebe sein szientistischer Gebrauch algebraischer Formeln seinem System zum min-
desten den Eindruck einer strengen Ordnung. An anderer Stelle zielt Roe ebenfalls auf
Lévi-Strauss, wenn er bemerkt, daß von einem biogenetischen strukturalen Gesichts-
punkt aus — wohl dem seinigen — mythische Inhalte mehr seien als eine Funktion my-
thischer algebraischer Formeln. Schließlich habe man nach der Lektüre der beiden ersten
Bücher von Lévi-Strauss über die südamerikanische Mythologie gewisse Schwierigkeiten,
zu verstehen, was diese Mythologie ihren Schöpfern als Gesamtsystem bedeutet haben
604
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
möchte. Hier wolle er (Roe) mit seinem Modell einen Schritt weiter gehen und auch kul-
turhistorische Gesichtspunkte berücksichtigen, von denen der Rezensent allerdings we-
nig bemerkt. Bei seinen Untersuchungen verfügt der Autor über ein eigenes reiches Mate-
rial von seinen ausgedehnten Feldforschungen unter dem Pano-Stamm der Schipibo in
der peruanischen Montana — sieben Expeditionen von jeweils 2-3 Monaten seit 1969 —,
ferner zieht er literarische Belege aus dem restlichen amazonischen Tiefland einschließ-
lich Guayana heran. Besondere Beachtung finden die Nachbarstämme der Schipibo.
Weitere Schwerpunkte sind Nordwestamazonien und das Gebiet des oberen Xingu, aber
auch der Gran Chaco und Ostbrasilien werden berücksichtigt, am Rande sogar das Anden-
Gebiet sowie Mittelamerika und die Antillen, diese jedoch nur sporadisch.
Der Autor bringt zwar eine Reihe auch den Rezensenten überzeugende Beispiele,
zumal wenn sie expressis verbis belegt sind; in dem Bestreben, so viel wie möglich in sein
Modell miteinzubeziehen, schießt er jedoch häufig über das Ziel hinaus. Wenn die Fakten
nicht für sich selbst sprechen, bemüht auch er das geschmähte Prokrustes-Bett; ihre An-
passung an das Modell geht dann bisweilen nicht ohne wunderliche Kapriolen ab. Den In-
halt der vom Verfasser ausgesuchten Mythen bilden vorwiegend — wie kaum anders im
indianischen Denken zu erwarten — Erzählungen, in denen natürliche und übernatürliche
Tiere und deren wechselhafte Begegnungen und Beziehungen untereinander und mit dem
Menschen im Mittelpunkt stehen. Auf der positiven, männlichen, der Kultur zugehöri-
gen Seite des Lebens steht der „gelbe“ Jaguar obenan; auf der negativen, weiblichen, der
ungezügelten Natur verhafteten anderen Seite, derjenigen des Todes, dominiert der
Drache, eine von Roe eingeführte mythische Figur, die aus Anakonda, Kaiman, Piranha
und anderen sinistren Elementen zusammengesetzt sein kann und ursprünglich der Unter
(Wasser)-Welt angehört. Die gleiche Funktion erfüllen auf der negativen Seite noch ande-
re Tiere, wie Tapir, Frosch, Ameisenbär usw. und sogar ein „schwarzer“ Jaguar, wie der
„gelbe“ keine zoologische, sondern eine mythische Kennzeichnung. Die Gründe für
solchen Wechsel sieht der Autor einmal in der Ökologie der betreffenden Gruppe — so
ersetze z.B. der Tapir als Landtier in einer entsprechenden Umgebung die in wasser-
reichen Gebieten stark auftretende Anakonda —, zum anderen in dem Streben des Er-
zählers wie des Zuhörers nach Abwechslung: das Bedürfnis nach metaphorischer Neue-
rung sei wesentlich für jede Form der Kunst, als welche er eine mythische Erzählung dem-
nach einstuft, was aber m.E. kaum eine erschöpfende Definition sein dürfte. Letzlich sei
für den Wechsel wohl auch ein pantheistischer Aspekt maßgeblich, nämlich in der Viel-
falt das Eine zu sehen.
Hier sei ein Wort zur Problematik des von Roe mit Vorliebe verwendeten Begriffs
der Metapher eingefügt, die ich an einem Beispiel demonstrieren möchte. In einer Mythe
der Schipibo über den Wettstreit des Ameisenbären mit dem Jaguar, wer länger unter Was-
ser bleiben könne, legen beide Tiere zuvor ihre Baumwollhemden ab. Roe (190) merkt
nun an, die Bezeichnung „Hemd“ {tari) sei eine Metapher für das Fell der Tiere. Dies mag
sich ihm aus abendländisch zentrierter Sicht so darstellen. Ich bin jedoch der Meinung,
daß die Gleichsetzung von menschlichem Gewand und tierischem Fell darauf hinweist,
daß im Denken der Schipibo beide Tiere zugleich auch Menschen sind, zumal das er-
wähnte Geschehen eindeutig in der mythischen Urzeit spielt, in der eine solche Einheit
von den Indianern Amazoniens, soweit sie noch in ihrer eigenen Vorstellungswelt verhaf-
tet sind, fast durchweg angenommen wird.
Doch nun zurück zum Modell des Autors, zu „seiner“ zentralen Metapher. Außer
den genannten und anderen Tieren schreibt er den beiden Oppositionsreihen männlich/
weiblich aufgrund der Forschungen von P. Rivière unter den Trio und anderer Autoren
noch weitere Kategorien zu. In dem fiktiven Weltbild der amazonischen Indianer stehen
außer den bereits erwähnten Prinzipien noch Sonne und Mond; Ost und West; rot (orange),
gelb, weiß und schwarz, blau, grün; rechts und links; Ordnung und Chaos; Aggressivität
und Passivität; Heiratsregelung und Promiskuität (einschließlich Inzest); Tüchtigkeit
(virtue) und Verderbnis (corruption); hart und weich; trocken und naß; geschlossen und
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605
offen; usw. einander gegenüber. Außerdem existiert, aus der graphischen Wiedergabe des
Modells ersichtlich, ein von der Sonne beherrschtes „Oben“ (Zenit) und ein vom Mond
dominiertes „Unten“ (Nadir), denen die Himmelsrichtungen Norden/Osten und Westen/
Süden zugeordnet sind. Mit dem Mond ist in der Unterwelt der schwarze Kaiman, hier
sogar im zoologischen Sinn, eng verbunden; in der himmlischen Welt finden wir außer
dem von der Erde aufsteigenden „gelben“ Jaguar auf der rechten Seite den Riesenadler
(Harpyie), auf der linken den Königsgeier, der aber nach Roe eigentlich ein Unterwelttier
ist. Die mittlere, scheibenförmig runde, vom Wasser umflossene Erde, das Domizil des
Menschen mit der vom Dorfplatz umgebenden Maloka als Zentrum und Ort der Kultur
(civilization), ist von der Anakonda umringt. Dem Ganzen ist auch noch ein Weltenbaum
eingeschrieben.
Das weibliche Element käme also gegenüber dem männlichen in Roes Rekonstruk-
tion der Weitsicht der amazonischen Indianer ausgesprochen schlecht weg, aber so ein-
fach liegen selbst nach seiner Meinung die Dinge auch wieder nicht. Abgesehen davon, daß
das eine Prinzip das andere bedinge, widerspricht er der früheren Auffassung — von wem
sagt er nicht —, daß jedes Glied eines Zweierpaares entweder männlich oder weiblich sei;
er meint vielmehr, daß jeder Teil in sich wieder eine männliche und eine weibliche Kom-
ponente enthalte — was an moderne biologische Erkenntnisse erinnert. Die beiden Kate-
gorien seien nicht statisch festgelegt, sondern bewegten sich dynamisch aufeinander zu.
Das Überlappen männlicher und weiblicher Aspekte repräsentiere am deutlichsten die
Anakonda, die eine phallische und eine uterine Bedeutung haben könne. In beiden Fäl-
len sei sie als ein Bestandteil des „Drachen“ die Manifestation der als negativ bewerteten
männlich-weiblichen Verführung, die durch die vom Mann eingesetzte Heiratsregelung
überwunden werde. Nach Roe ist das amazonische Denken entsprechend seiner als aus-
schlaggebend betrachteten männlich-weiblichen Orientierung völlig von der Sexualität
beherrscht. Vorbei sind also demnach die Zeiten, in denen man die südamerikanischen
Indianer — im Gegensatz etwa zu den Negern — in dieser Hinsicht für relativ — z.T. wohl
aus Prüderie, den entsprechenden Sachverhalten nachzugehen — uninteressiert hielt. Dank
der in den letzten Jahrzehnten angefallenen Fülle neuen ethnographischen, vor allem
mythologischen, Materials aus diesem Raum, aber auch des durch die Lehren von S.
Freud u.a. „geschärften“ Blickes vieler heutiger Forscher hat sich dies grundlegend ge-
ändert. Die Wahrheit dürfte, wie in den meisten Fällen, in der Mitte liegen: Weder waren
noch sind die Indianer so „asexy“, wie man früher annahm, noch habe ich nach einigen
Jahrzehnten des Studiums südamerikanischer Kultur und Mythologie den Eindruck ge-
wonnen, daß das Denken der Amazonas-Indianer in dem von Roe und anderen postulier-
ten Ausmaß vom Geschlechtlichen erfüllt sei, nämlich daß alles und jedes in der Umwelt
als Penis, Vagina, Uterus usw. begriffen werde, wobei Unterschiede vom Stamm zu
Stamm zuzugeben sind.
Den Hintergrund des kosmischen Dualismus bildet nach Roe der Kampf der Ge-
schlechter, die nichtsdestoweniger aufeinander angewiesen sind. Dieser Antagonismus
äußere sich in einer strikten sexuellen Arbeitsteilung, in der Männer und Frauen sowohl
miteinander im Wettstreit liegen als auch kooperieren. Ich vermisse in diesem soziolo-
gischen Bereich der Untersuchung jegliches Eingehen auf die in einer ganzen Reihe in-
dianischer Gesellschaften Südamerikas auftretende Dualorganisation, die auch häufig auf
einen männlich-weiblichen Gegensatz hinausläuft. Hier wenigstens hätte sich der Autor
einer meiner Arbeiten zu seinem Nutzen bedienen können, da eine diesbezügliche Ab-
handlung sowohl in Deutsch (Staden-Jahrbuch 11/12. 1963/64) als auch in Portugiesisch
(bei E. Schaden: Leituras de Etnologia Brasileira, 1976) in erweiterter Form vorliegt.
Aber trotz anscheinend vorhandener Deutschkenntnisse (vgl. 103) macht Roe von deut-
scher Fachliteratur nur äußerst sparsamen Gebrauch. Das 23 Seiten umfassende Literatur-
Verzeichnis enthält nur zwei Titel, darunter — wohl unvermeidbar, da es sich um die
Schipibo handelt — G. Tessmanns „Menschen ohne Gott“. Ich stelle bei dieser Gelegen-
heit fest, daß auch kaum brasilianische, portugiesisch geschriebene Quellen und keine
606
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Anthropos 78.1983
französischen Arbeiten herangezogen wurden. Selbst Lévi-Strauss wurde in der englischen
Ausgabe benutzt.
Den kulturhistorischen Aspekt seiner Arbeit kann ich allenfalls in der Heranziehung
archäologischer Fakten erkennen; Roe hat selbst in der peruanischen Montaña, in Cuman-
caya, ausgegraben. Das Alter des von ihm eruierten amazonischen Weltbildes veranschlagt
er auf 3000 Jahre, da es schon auf Stelen von Chavin de Huantar, vor allem in den Dra-
chendarstellungen des Tello-Obelisks als Tiefland-Einfluß aus dem Osten nachzuweisen
sei, womit er den Spuren von Donald Lathrap folgt. Die Drachen bzw. Krokodile des
Tello-Obelisks stellen nach Roe (275f.) einen männlichen Kaiman des Himmels und einen
weiblichen der Erde bzw. Unterwelt dar, während Lathrap umgekehrt einen weiblichen
Himmels- und einen männlichen Erd-(bzw. Unterweits)Kaiman annimmt, was Roes Mo-
dell zu dessen Mißvergnügen widerspricht. Beide „Drachen“ besitzen auch positive Aspek-
te, da sie als Bringer von Kulturpflanzen, u.a. von Maniok, auftreten, der als angeblich
„weibliche“ Pflanze unprogrammäßiger Weise dem Penis des männlichen Kaiman ent-
springt, was Roe sehr beklagt. In diesem Zusammenhang sei auf die soeben erschienene
Dissertation meines Schülers Klaus Zeller: „Das Krokodil (Kaiman) in der Vorstellung und
Darstellung südamerikanischer Indianer“ (Münchener Beiträge zur Amerikanistik, 7.
1983), hingewiesen, welche die Monumente von Chavin ebenfalls miteinbezieht und auf
Lathraps Erkenntnissen aufbauend zu weiteren Ergebnissen gelangt. Auch zu Roes Dra-
chen-Konzeption allgemein bringt Zeller interessante Beiträge, die jedoch teilweise in
eine andere Richtung weisen.
In der Ikonographie von Textilien aus Karwa (Ica) an der Südküste Perus aus einer
späteren Phase der Chavin-Periode erscheint eine andere Gestalt der amazonischen Kos-
mologie, der Wer-Jaguar in einer männlichen und einer weiblichen Form, die dem „Gel-
ben“ und dem „Schwarzen“ Jaguar, dieser mit Brüsten und Vagina dentata ausgestattet,
in Roes Modell entsprechen. Der Wer-Jaguar steht nach Roes Meinung möglicherweise
in Verbindung mit dem Mais (278f.) — ein interessanter Hinweis auf die schon von Lathrap
vertretene Abfolge der beiden Kulturpflanzen Maniok und Mais im alten Peru, Der
menschliche Anteil an der Figur des Wer-Jaguars stehe im Einklang mit der zunehmenden
Anthropomorphisierung der sich entwickelnden andinen Kosmologie und Religion, die
nun schon eine Priesterschaft kenne. Die älteren Darstellungen der Chavin-Periode gin-
gen hingegen auf schamanische Vorstellungen des amazonischen Tieflandes zurück, in
denen die häufige Anwendung halluzinogener Drogen eine gewichtige Rolle bei der Er-
zeugung kosmologischer Visionen spiele. Auch der heute noch an der peruanischen Nord-
küste bei Heilkuren verwendete San-Pedro-Kaktus komme hierfür in Betracht, zumal eine
Wer-Jaguar-Gottheit der Chavin-Kultur (Fig. 17) einen solchen Kaktus in der Hand halte.
In einem Exkurs nach Mesoamerika bezieht der Autor die Chavin zeitlich etwa ent-
sprechende Kultur der Olmeken von La Venta in seine Untersuchung mit ein und findet
dort Elemente seines Modells bzw. des amazonischen Weltbildes wieder; so den Drachen
in einem Teil der lange Zeit nur als Jaguar interpretierten Darstellungen auf Mosaiken
und Reliefs, Roe folgt dabei der Arbeit von K. Lückert über die Religion der Olmeken
von 1976, der u.a. die sogenannte Jaguarmaske aus Serpentin in dem unterirdischen Pfla-
stermosaik von La Venta als Kopf der grünen Klapperschlange (Crotalus durissimus
terrificus) deutet, die hier nach Roe aus ökologischen Gründen in seinem Modell an die
Stelle der Anakonda tritt. Aber auch Lückert kann nach Roes Feststellung (286) nicht
alle Jaguarmerkmale in der olmekischen Kunst wegerklären. Es bleibt bei der Figur des
Jaguars, bzw. des Wer-, d.h. Mann-Jaguars als eines der zentralen Themen der La Venta-
Kultur.
Das Hauptbindeglied zwischen der olmekischen- und der späteren Maya-Kultur ist
der Stil von Izapa, für den ein Datum 36 n.Ghr. vorliegt. Auf der Stele 25 dieses Stiles
findet Roe (Fig. 7) die beste bildliche Darstellung des in seinem amazonischen Weltbild
auftretenden schwarzen Kaiman als Welt- und Lebensbaum. Hier wird ein auf dem Kopf
stehender Kaiman zu einem dicken Flaschenbaum, einer Ceiba (Bombaceae sp.), wobei
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607
Hinterbeine und Schwanz in Blätter und Zweige auslaufen, auf dessen oberstem ein Vogel
sitzt. Sein zahnbewehrter Schädel Hegt zu Füßen eines menschlichen Priester-Offizian-
ten mit einem Zeremonialstab, auf dessen Spitze sich ein riesiger Quetzal-Vogel niedergelas-
sen hat (292). Roe sieht hierin beide Aspekte des Weltenbaumes nebeneinander darge-
stellt: Einmal den weiblich assoziierten ,,verschlingenden“ Drachen-Baum, zum anderen
den Weltenbaum als phallischen Stab mit einem männlichen Himmelsvogel obenauf. Der
eine ist hohl, der andere solide; einer ist dick, der andere dünn; zusammen bilden sie das
weiblich-männliche Paar des Modells.
Das Konzept des Wer-Jaguars findet der Autor wiederum vor allem in den Nach-
Chavin-Perioden des andinen Südamerika, so in der Mochica-Periode an der peruanischen
Nordküste zu Beginn unserer Zeitrechnung. Eine der bedeutendsten mythischen Figuren
der Mochica war — wenn sie nach den Zeugnissen ihrer Nachfahren, der Chimu, inter-
pretiert wird — die Gottheit Ai-Apec; u.a. auf Vasenmalereien als anthropomorphe Ge-
stalt mit Jaguarmerkmalen im Gesicht dargestellt: Raubtierzähnen und weit aufgerisse-
nen Augen, sowie einem Stirnschmuck mit Jaguarkopf. Für Roe ist sie nicht irgend-
eine Gottheit, sondern mit E. Benson die oberste Schöpfergottheit, die sich in einen eher
otiosen Vater und einem aktiven Sohn aufspaltet. Roe identifiziert den „Schöpfergott“
mit der männlichen Sonne, den „Sohn“ mit dem „Gelben“ Jaguar, der ebenfalls mit der
Sonne verbunden ist. Er bekämpft u.a. siegreich böse Wassergeister (Fig. 26). In der mari-
tim orientierten Küstenkultur von Moche tritt auch eine Mondgottheit mit feliden Zügen
auf, die mit dem Meer assoziiert ist und von Roe mit dem „Schwarzen“ Jaguar identi-
fiziert wird, um so mehr, da diese Figur auf Vasenmalereien in schwarzer Farbe wieder-
gegeben ist. Er verkörpert hier an der Küste die Dominanz des Mondes über die im Gebir-
ge herrschende Sonne, den Gelben Jaguar, als verehrte Wesenheit.
Der Autor bezeichnet seine Untersuchung in wohl nicht ganz ernst gemeinter Unter-
treibung als „Gedankenspiel“ (mind game) ; ihre Grundlage wurzele in einer Art Hegelia-
nischem Taoismus, wenn er gleichermaßen „schalkhaft“ (puckish) sein wolle, wie R.
Murphy, der Lévi-Strauss’ Ansatz als „Zen-Marxismus“ verstanden wissen möchte. Immer-
hin begegnen wir an einer Stelle (198) anstatt dem Zygote der chinesischen Monade mit
den Zeichen Yang und Yin als männlichem und weiblichem Symbol in einem Kreis in-
einandergreifend. Trotz seiner anfechtbaren Methodik und angebotenen Patentlösung
verdient das Werk von Roe die Aufmerksamkeit von jedem, der sich mit den Problemen
der südamerikanischen Mythologie beschäftigt. Man sollte an ihm nicht vorübergehen,
auch wenn dies der Autor mit Arbeiten anderer zum gleichen Thema tut.
Otto Zerries
Giaccaria, Bartolomeo ed Adalbert© Heide. Geronimo Xavante Racconta. Miti, leg-
gende, racconti e sogni. Presentazione di Egon Schaden. (Diari e memorie, 3.) 276 pp.,
illustr. Roma 1980. Libreria Ateneo Salesiano.
Voraussetzung für das vorHegende Buch sind zwei portugiesische Veröffentlichun-
gen über dasselbe Thema, die die beiden Salesianer-Missionare (von denen Giaccaria der
führende Pionier ist) 1975 in Brasilien herausgaben: Mythen, Märchen, Erzählungen,
Träume, erzählt von einem Xavante. In der itaHenischen Ausgabe wurden einige Stücke
gestrichen, andere gekürzt; Stellen, die in der portugiesischen Ausgabe sachHch oder
sprachlich unklar waren, möghchst geklärt. Hinzukamen eine Reihe Anmerkungen, die
auf den Zusammenhang mit dem übrigen reHgiösen Brauchtum hinweisen. Im Anhang
findet sich eine kurze Beschreibung des Xavante-Stammes in Mato Grosso und seine
Geschichte (262-272), wobei die Kleidung mit keinem Wort erwähnt wird, wohl weil
sie fehlt. — Jeder Mythe etc. geht eine kürzere oder längere Zusammenfassung des ge-
schilderten Ereignisses voraus. Die Mythen selbst sind, von wenigen Ausnahmen abgese-
608
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
hen, Gespräche zwischen zwei oder mehreren Personen; die Wechselrede beherrscht das
Feld. In einigen Fällen wird die Melodie eines Gesanges, kurz oder länger, in Noten-
schrift wiedergegeben. Zu fünf Stücken schrieb Geronimo — das ist der christliche Name
des alten Xavante-Mannes — zum Schluß einen kurzen Kommentar. Ein junger künstle-
risch begabter Xavante malte unter Anleitung von Geronimo zu 32 Szenen farbige Illu-
strationen. Weitere 32 Tafeln bringen prächtige Fotos, die die Menschen und ihre Umwelt
veranschaulichen. — Um jede Beeinflussung zu vermeiden, erschien der Herausgeber
nicht, wenn Geronimo den jungen Leuten des Stammes seine Geschichten erzählte.
Aber einer von ihnen registrierte mit einem Magnetophon alles, was er sagte.1 — Sind
seine Erzählungen Teile aus alter Stammesüberlieferung? Sind es Neuschöpfungen von Ge-
ronimo? Eine Mischung von beidem? Das eine dieses, das andere jenes? Überlieferte
Motive, die er frei gestaltet hat? Der Herausgeber verzichtet bewußt auf jede Interpre-
tation; ja, er weiß, daß schon die Übersetzung kaum je eine Interpretation völlig ausschües-
sen kann; es ist schwer, bei Berichten über eine Fremdkultur die eigene kulturelle For-
mung ganz auszuschalten. Er ließ darum den ursprünglichen Text von Geronimo von
einem Stammesmitglied fast wörtlich aus dem Xavante ins Portugiesische übersetzen,
wobei Geronimo assistierte. Mit beiden zusammen korrigierte der Herausgeber dann das
einfache und stellenweise unverständliche Portugiesisch, bei sorgfältiger Wahrung des
Inhaltes, wobei Geronimo Ergänzungen machte, die in Klammem in den Text eingefügt
wurden. Das Ergebnis dieser ganzen Arbeit, die sich über mehrere Jahre erstreckte, ist ein
Text, der sich an Zuverlässigkeit kaum übertreffen läßt. Das wird auch für die italienische
Übersetzung gelten. — Die 46 Texte (11-266) und die 64 nichtpaginierten Bildtafeln sind
ein Dokument der Mentalität, wenn nicht eines Stammes, so doch eines hervorragenden
Mitglieds dieses Stammes der Xavante, der seit Generationen dem Wandel unterliegt, nicht
zuletzt durch den Einfluß der Weißen: ihre Wirtschaft, Technik, Gesellschaftsordnung,
Religion. Und Geronimo weiß das; er kennt die Weißen; mehrfach bilden sie das Thema
seiner Erzählung. So ist diese Sammlung ein vorzügliches Material für ethnologische,
mythologische und psychologische Studien, wie Prof. E. Schaden in seinem Geleitwort
feststellt. Mit ihm sei den beiden Herausgebern für die rein sachliche Berichterstattung
gedankt. Theorien vergehen; die neutralen Berichte bleiben bestehen.
Fritz Bomemann
Asia
Rao, Aparaa. Les Garbai d'Afghanistan: Aspects économiques d'un groupe itiné-
rant «Jat». (Institut Français d’Iranologie de Téhéran. Bibliothèque Iranienne, 27.) 262
pp. in 4°. Avec 23 fig., 17 tabi., et 46 pl. Paris 1982. Éditions Recherche sur les civilisa-
tions. Mémoire 14. A.D.P.F. Prix: 99 F.
In Afghanistan, the term “Jat” is used in a derogatory manner about a range of
different, marginalized (gypsy-like) groups, and this terminology has also been widely
used in anthropological and other literature on Afghanistan. The application of this mis-
leading and derogatory concept, also among scholars, is mainly due to lack of knowledge
about these groups as the so-called Jats have received very little attention in their own
1 Die Mythen und Märchen der Xavante, «una quarantina circa», Geronimo und
das Aufnahmeverfahren werden schon 1971 genannt; siehe B. Giaccardia ed A. Heide,
Auwè Uptabi (Uomini Veri). Vita Xavante. Ricerca storico-etnografica su una tribù indi-
gena del Mato Grosso, Torino 1971: 8-9.
Book Reviews
609
right. Aparna Rao’s Les Gorbat d’Afghanistan deserves attention as the first of its kind
dealing with some of these forgotten und neglected people of Afghanistan. Initially she
deals with the local usage of the term “Jat” which
s’appliquent donc a au moins six groupes [Balué, Gorbat, Jalâli, Pikra], Sadibâz, Vai}-
gâwàlà] qui se distinguent les uns des autres autant par leurs métiers que par leur
langue et par leur origine .... Bref, le terme «Jat» . , . serait un« . . . ethnonyme
imposé à un ensemble de groupes disparates ayant en commun une marginalité»
(32-33).
Consequently, the Jats of Afghanistan do not exist as an ethnie group and none of
these so-called “Jat” groups accept the term about themselves although they, like the rest
of the society, apply it to the other five groups!
The Gorbat constitutes a socio-vocational and ethnic group, originating from Iran.
Of a total population of about 1,000 nuclear families, approximately two-third are either
nomadic or semi-nomadic. Their principal traditional occupations are: manufacture and
sale of sieves and drums, dealing in pack animals by the men; and peddling in cloth,
haberdashery, etc., and blood-letting by the women. After a description of technical
constraints of forces of production, the migration and residence patterns of Gorbat are
described and analysed. The patterns of interaction between Gorbat and non-Gorbat are
also dealt with and, within this context, their traditional occupations lead to a symbiotic
relationship between Gorbat and the sedentary population, and especially so between the
women on both sides.
Dr. Rao argues that the traditional occupations of Gorbat oblige them to be itinerant
and this itinerancy is one of the factors contributing to the group’s low social status.
Change of occupation, it is noted, invariably leads to sedentism and to the veiling of
women folk. Among the nomadic and semi-nomadic groups, women, in order to support
their families, pursue their essential economic activities unveiled and with considerable
freedom of movement. The veiling of women, as a consequence of sedentism, is a typical
response to an attempt of upward social mobility among the poorest groups in the Afghan
society. Another aspect of the practice of veiling is that, during the last couple of genera-
tions, it has spread to the countryside as a diffusion of urban middle class norms. How-
ever, in the case of Gorbat, Dr. Rao notes: sedentism and veiling do not remove the social
stigma whichthe Gorbat is subjected to.
The last part of the book deals with the relations of production within the Gorbat
community, with marriage and, finally, the changes that are taking place as a result of the
process of general modernization of Afghanistan. The description of Gorbat’s economic
conditions and internal organisation is meticulous and comprehensive, illustrated with
plenty of tables, charts, and figures.
The most fascinating parts of the book are about the role and positions of Gorbat
women within the community and in their external relations. Dr. Rao sums it up this
way in the English summary:
The traditional Gorbat woman’s role has several aspects: With the non-Corbat, she
exploits her marginal image with a certain aggressiveness and a freedom of manners
unacceptable in the rest of Afghan traditional society. With men of her own group
she must on the one hand play the part of a docile wife in order to safeguard their
honour in a male dominated world; on the other hand, she must also be true to
her own traditional role as main income earner of the nuclear family (262).
The description of the extraordinary role and position of Gorbat women is ex-
tremely interesting and, although this perspective is not directly included, it is very much
relevant to the position of women in a Muslim society as well as to the general anthropol-
ogical debate on women. The only shortcoming is that the discussion of the position of
Gorbat women is not throroughly related to the situation of Afghan women in general.
Anthropos 78.1983
39
610
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
This would have been particularly illuminating since, as Dr. Rao points out, the situation
and behaviour of Gorbat women constitute an important factor in the whole ‘marginali-
ty’ of the group.
Dr. Rao makes many reference and comparisons to other itinerant and/or marginal
groups in other societies and thereby gives the study a wider scope.
In the last chapter the future prospects of the Gorbat are discussed relating to the
general modernization of the Afghan society. However, for the analysis of “the continued
existence” of Gorbat as a marginalized and occupationally specialized nomadic group,
a deeper analysis of socio-economic structures of the Afghan society at large is needed
which would be essential for the understanding of other marginalized groups as well as
the ethnic groups specializing in certain occupations and forming an integral part of
settled communities in East Afghanistan. But, this would become a very big task to be
added to what Dr. Rao has already covered in the book.
All in all, Dr. Aparna Rao’s socio-economic study of the itinerant and “outcast”
Gorbat group is a valuable and solid contribution to the ethnography of Afghanistan. The
study is also unique in the sense that it fills an almost complete gap in the knowledge of
the ethnic puzzle of Afghanistan. On the basis of personal experience, I would like to
add, that research among the marginalized communities in Afghanistan involves many
difficulties as a result of prevailing prejudices and suspicions which these groups have
to encounter from the rest of the society. In spite of obstacles, Dr. Rao has managed to
make the study comprehensive, recommendable to those interested in Afghanistan.
Asta Olesen
Shapiro, Michael C., and Harold F. Schiffman. Language and Society in South
Asia. (MLBD Series in Linguistics, 1.) xi+293 pp. With 61 fig. Delhi, Varanasi, and Pat-
na 1981. Motilal Banarsidass. Price: Rs. 130.
The book is primarily a bibliographic study of linguistic diversity in South Asia and
surveys what is known about socially determined linguistic variation. Shapiro, an expert
in Indo-Aryan linguistics, and Schiffman, an expert in Dravidian linguistics, dividing the
various chapters between themselves forcefully argue in favor of sociolinguistics and in
particular of the ethnography of speaking, a new discipline astride of linguistics and
anthropology.
Before approaching their special field of interest the authors discuss some major
linguistic theories like isoglossal theories of language and dialect, the family tree (Stamm-
haum) model, the wave model as well as structural and transformational theories. All
these different theories share the assumption that a language can be described as a fully
homogeneous code without taking into account influences from other languages and from
non-linguistic sources. South Asia is ideally suited to demonstrate the untenability of
this assumption since it constitutes a linguistic area (Sprachbund) in which languages
belonging to different language families have mutually influenced each other. Just as it is
impossible to define the terms language and dialect on linguistic grounds so it is impossible
to draw clear boundaries around different languages in a speech continuum like the one
stretching throughout the North Indian plains from Pakistan to Bangladesh.
The exposition of achievements and goals of sociolinguistics is furthermore pre-
ceded by a discussion of the major genetic classifications of Indo-Aryan, Dravidian, Munda,
and Tibeto-Burman languages. However sophisticated genetic classifications may be, they
always include a bias of selection and disregard or minimize the influence from other
languages in close proximity. In the linguistic area of South Asia, however, Indo-Aryan
and Dravidian are in many respects more similar to each other than Indo-Aryan is to
other Indo-European languages and all four existing language families have come to share
Book Reviews
611
features like retroflex consonants, echo-words, onomatopoetic forms, and pronounced
stylistic differences. Within the wider linguistic area of South Asia micro-linguistic areas
may be discerned such as the Himalayas, the Northwest Indian Frontier, Central India,
and Sri Lanka in which a partial convergence between adjoining languages of different
stock has taken place. The most striking instance of linguistic convergence has been
postulated by Southworth who sees in Marathi a fusion of Dravidian and Indo-Aryan. If
Southworth is correct, the authors think, it will be necessary to “come up with models
of linguistic prehistory that, in essence, bring the convergence into the core of the des-
cription.” Undoubtedly, Marathi in which the lower castes speak more Dravidian varieties
and the higher castes more Indo-Aryan varieties defies family tree and structural models
but it looks as if such convergence were the limiting case. It may not be accidental that
the Marathi area lies about halfway between the Indo-Aryan and Dravidian speaking
parts of India and in Maharashtra not only language but also marriage rules, ritual, and
legend exhibit a similar fusion of two different cultures.
In the emergence of Marathi pidginization and creolization might have played a
role. By pidgin one understands a mixed and reduced language where speakers using it
for intergroup communication retain their own different mother tongues. Highly pid-
ginized speech forms in South Asia are Indo-Portuguese, bazàr Hindustani, Bombay Hin-
dustani, and Naga Pidgin. When offsprings of pidgin speakers grow up only with this
one language it tends to develop into a full-fledged mixed language called creol. At least
so the theory goes, but South Asia also presents instances which suggest that pidgin,
creol, and koiné (a reduced largely unmixed form of language of which South Asian
English might be considered an instance) are no clearly definable entities and differ only
by degree.
Some mutual influence of adjoining languages on each other probably always takes
place but South Asia, were bi- and multi-lingualism is common, proves that prolonged
contact need not lead to a complete merger. Caste where people value their differences
tends to favor the retention of linguistic distinctions. The authors dwell on the curious
phenomenon of code-switching in which speakers use more than one linguistic code in a
single utterance. Sometimes this is done in what Shanmugam Pillai has called a “re-
flected” form. Tamil speakers in that case provide their own translation of the English
terms they use in their Tamil sentences.
The various contact phenomena discussed in the book go far beyond the loan word
of traditional linguistics and dissolve the boundaries between different languages and
language families. They undermine the view of language as a coherent genetically and
structurally determined unit from outside, while other sociolinguistic findings do so from
inside. South Asian languages in addition to regional dialects possess caste and even
subcaste dialects. In North India the major dividing line runs between the speech forms of
touchable and untouchable castes, whereas in Dravidian South India a triple division into
Brahmin, non-Brahmin, and Harijan speech forms is discernible. Nearly all South Asian
languages are furthermore characterized by what Ferguson has called diglossia (at times
even triglossia) which refers to differences between literary and colloquial speech forms
much greater than in the West, so that extreme versions may be incomprehensible to
some speakers of the same official language.
Ethnographic semantics and the ethnography of speaking put the relationship be-
tween language and society at the center of their investigation. The former considers
cultures to be coherent systems and tries to deduce from the structure of lexical items
hidden categories of a culture. Ethnographic semantics has concentrated on kinship
terminology but even in this relatively most structured subfield of culture it has become
clear that there is no one to one correspondence between terminology and behavior.
Fictive kinship in which speakers manipulate pre-existing linguistic elements to suit their
purposes is a point where ethnographic semantics merges with the ethnography of speak-
ing. Contrary to traditional linguistics mainly concerned with the referential function
612
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
of language, the ethnography of speaking is more interested in its expressive and
conative functions (to elicit a response), in performatives (to say “I command” performs
the command) and in linguistic devices to achieve and avoid certain consequences (lin-
guistic pragmatics). Jain’s studies of the verbalization of respect in Hindi and of linguistic
avoidance, which he called “no-naming,” are good instances of the ethnography of speak-
ing.
From rigid diachronical laws which disregarded all outside influence on language
and rigid structural and transformational laws which played down exceptions linguists
have come to realize that linguistic phenomena present themselves as continua, and that
linguistic factors co-vary with non-linguistic factors like socio-economic background,
education, age, sex, habitat, audience, etc. The reviewer agrees with the authors that
“a major advance has been the advocacy of the notion that certain linguistic processes
are inherently variable, and that some environments increase or decrease the likelihood
of the occurrence of the process.” The emphasis on the unbounded continuum and the
recognition that within the general flux nodal elements exist where variability decreases
strongly reminds of the notion of the polythetic-prototype class. It is hardly an accident
that this notion which has recently been introduced into anthropology1 has been partly
derived from Wittgenstein’s linguistic philosophy.
Sociolinguistic analysis has reached great subtlety and has refuted many “laws”
but the authors remain convinced that linguistic variation is systematic and rule-governed.
In the reviewer’s opinion one more step must be taken: search for tendencies should
replace search for laws. It is unlikely that highly predictive generalizations will be reached
not only because of the great number of variables involved and the difficulty to assess
the context factor of a speaker’s intention but also because of the speaker’s possible
lack of intention, his carelessness, forgetfulness, or simply capricious choice among
the many options at his disposal.
Since sociolinguistics is a discipline still in its infancy the authors state some de-
siderata at the end of each relevant chapter. The sizable bibliography includes also works
that for various reasons could not be discussed in the book. Language and Society in
South Asia gives an excellent overview of recent developments in sociolinguistics and is
highly recommended to all linguists and anthropologists interested in South Asia.
Gabriella Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi
Dhasmana, M.M. The Ramos of Arunachal: A Socio-Cultural Study, 298 pp. With 9
fig. and 24 pi. New Delhi 1979. Concept Publishing Company. Price: Rs. 80; $16.00.
This is the first ethnographic study of the Ramos, a tribe speaking a Tibeto-Burman
language and living in the North Eastern part of India now known as Arunachal Pradesh.
Part of the material was collected in 1973, but the author must have been acquainted
with the Ramos for a much longer period; the exact duration is not indicated. The villages
of the Ramos are situated at an altitude of 5000-9000 ft. on the southern slopes of the
Himalayas. They have been fairly isolated because of the inaccessibility of the terrain,
Rodney Needham, Polythetic Classification: Convergence and Consequences
(Man 10.1975: 349-369); G. Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi, Cool Fire: Culture-Specific Themes
in the Tamil Short Story (Gottingen 1983); id., Strands Versus Structure in the Theory
of Myth (Anthropos 78.1983: 437-458).
Book Reviews
613
even now they can only be reached on foot, and because of the Inner Line drawn by the
British in 1873 which created a buffer zone between India und China and kept the war-
like tribes inhabiting it to themselves.
The author discusses the migrations of the Ramos, their settlement patterns, their
material and spiritual culture as well as their social and political organizations. The Ramos
complement their shifting cultivation with hunting, fishing, animal husbandry, and the
collection of edible roots and leaves. Hunting is done with traps, bows, and poisoned
arrows. Their main crops are maize, rye, and chillies, but more than vegetable food the
Ramos relish the meat of bovines, pigs, goats, and chicken. Beer made of maize and rye
is a staple accompanying them throughout life and beyond. The pregnant woman promises
beer to her unborn child and the deceased receives offerings of beer. The Ramos marriage
ceremony is a “marathon beer drinking session,” at the beginning of which the host
wisely collects and hides the weapons of his guests.
The Ramos possess a class hierarchy. Exogamous clans of different status rank
highest followed by degraded Ramos (offsprings of Ramos who married slave girls) and
elevated slaves (slaves liberated in the past). Slaves liberated in the sixties at the abolition
of slavery by the govenment und recent immigrants to the zone stand at the bottom of
the social hierarchy. Slaves were either purchased or obtained through raids on the
villages of the neighbouring Tagin tribe. In some respects the relations between master
and slaves seem to have been good and they used to eat from the same plate but justice
was not equal for them. No capital punishment was inflicted on a Ramos but slaves used
to be drowned for theft and adultery. Clearly, slaves brought economic advantages to
their masters but when the author claims that “the only way by which the Ramos could
secure extra hands was to enslave others with whom they were not on good terms” he
overlooks the possibility of mutual help and payment for services resorted to wherever
no slaves are available.
The Ramos intermarry with some neighbouring tribes like the Bokars and the Pai-
lebos but not with others like the Buddhist Membas. Their marriage hinges on the bride
price which may be paid in mithuns (a semi-domesticated type of bovine) or slaves.
Desire to avoid paying the bride price is probably one of the reasons why the husband’s
brothers and sometimes also his father have sexual access to the wife. But to describe this
custom as an “inescapable necessity among the Ramos” again tries to transform con-
tingency into necessity. A family in which three married brothers live together and coha-
bit with each others’ wives is not a “near polygynous type of marriage,” but the combi-
nation of de facto polygyny and polyandry, probably the closest to group marriage a
community allows its members to go. The author insists that the wife cannot be compel-
led to grant her sexual favours but this sounds unconvincing, since for the Ramos the
woman is a property that may be bought and sold.
The pantheon of the Ramos is composed of gods as well as benevolent and male-
volent spirits. Some members of the latter two categories the author calls “Angelical
Lords” and “Devilish Lords.” Since the term “Lord” is normally reserved for the highest
gods, to apply it to inferior or supernatural at the exclusion of the highest might create
confusion. The advantage of calling benevolent spirits “angelical” remains obscure, as
angels in the Christian tradition are not in charge of parts of nature like fire and musk
deer and do not require animal sacrifice. Devils unlike the “Devilish Lords” of the Ramos
cannot be induced to cure disease. The most interesting aspect of the Ramos pantheon,
in the reviewer’s opinion, is the fact that both gods and minor spirits always come in pairs
and triads and their names are usually embellished by alliteration. The author has collec-
ted some noteworthy myths, as for instance the myth of three-eyed Tani, a forefather
of the Ramos. Tani’s third eye was at his back, could be detached and ended up stolen.
Animal sacrifice is the Alpha and Omega of Ramos ritual. The sacrifice of chicken
may serve to ascertain the number and type of animals to be sacrificed later to various
supernaturals. The sacrifices of mithuns and pigs stand out for their cruelty. The pig
614
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
has its liver pierced and is slowly left to die. Like the Etruscans the Ramos are firm be-
lievers in hepatoscopy. They also show particular interest in the human hand. In the past
they used to drink beer in which human fingers or a palm was soaked in order to cure
gastro-intestinal troubles or to immunize children against them. The author emphasizes
that the Ramos did so only for medical purposes and that they were exophagous, i.e.,
they practised exocannibalism and chose their victims among tribes with which they
did not intermarry. The last murder for medical reasons on the part of the Bokars, a
tribe allied to the Ramos, came to light in 1964.
The government has opened cooperative stores, a primary school, and two hospitals
in the Ramos area and is trying to introduce democratic village government. So far the
response has been weak but the government has succeeded in pacifying the area and stop-
ping the Ramos from raiding other villages.
The Ramos obviously do not live in a cultural vacuum and some of the most strik-
ing features of their culture such as feasts of merit, constant recourse to animal sacrifice,
the ritual erection of stones, their polyandry and their partiality to beer they share with
other Tibeto-Burman speaking tribes. It would have been interesting to learn more about
their similarities to and differences from other tribes. The knowledge of many aspects
of Ramos culture could be deepened but at a time when tribes little influenced by the
outside world have become rare, the author is to be congratulated for having picked out
a hitherto unstudied people and provided us with fascinating glimpses of their way of
life. Gabriella Eichinger Ferro-Luzzi
Vidyarthi, L.P., and Upadhyay, V.S. The Kharia: Then and Now. A Comparative
Study of Hill, Dhelki, and Dudh Kharia of the Central-Eastern Region of India, viii+296
pp. With 19 pi. and 7 fig. New Delhi 1980. Concept Publishing Company. Price: Rs,70.
Here is an outstanding example of an anthropological monograph that serves two
ends: its declared purpose is to bring up to date the study of the Kharia people, and this
it does admirably; but it could also be seen as a model for all who are concerned with
other rapidly changing ethnic minorities in Central India and their relationship with the
Indian nation as a whole.
Professor Vidyarthi, Head of the Department of Anthropology in Ranchi Univer-
sity, is a scholar of international repute. Co-author Dr. Upadhyay is a Senior Lecturer
in the same university.
Kharia villages are widely scattered among other tribal and Hindu peoples in an
area stretching from Madhya Pradesh through Chota Nagpur to West Bengal and over
the north Orissa border. Earlier accounts of the tribe, few in number, have been em-
pirical and descriptive rather than analytical. Though these provide a certain amount of
material for comparison with the contemporary situation, the emphasis of this “re-
study” is on careful and critical analysis of the three main sections of the Kharia people,
each within its different ecological, social, and cultural setting. These three sections are,
first, the Hill Kharia who are still 80% dependent on forest economy, household sub-
sistence being their daily pattern; secondly, the Dhelki Kharia, now gradually changing
to field produce though still complementing this with about 30% dependence on food
from the forest; and thirdly, the Dudh Kharia, almost entirely adapted to agricultural
economy and innovative methods and who now produce a small surplus to sell in the
markets for cash. Hence the full range of development from food gathering to food
producing is seen in one people. Following the introduction and discussion of the method
of study are chapters that provide the reader with a reassuring sense of detailed scholarly
research based on thorough and competent fieldwork. The Kharia, in common with most
Book Reviews
615
tribal peoples, see life as a unity. Nevertheless, for purposes of objective study their
culture and practices must be considered in their component parts. Hence the next seven
chapters present Kharia ethno-economics, religion, social interaction, events and customs
from birth to death, traditional politics, the place of women, and traditional folklore-
all set as far as possible within this essentially holistic Kharia world view. To take but one
example typical of many, under “ethno-economics” food is discussed not only in rela-
tion to daily diet but to each of the many calendrical festivals and also to social custom
regarding the acceptance or non-acceptance of particular foods from non-Kharia neigh-
bours, tribal and Hindu.
The differences between the three types of Kharia unfold as the study proceeds.
At one end of the scale is the extreme conservatism of the forest-dwelling food-gathering
Hill Kharia and at the other is the plains-dwelling Dudh Kharia, now joining in develop-
ment schemes and seeking the advantages of higher education and health facilities. Some-
where between the two are the Dhelki with their mixed response to innovative ideas and
practices.
The differences are underlined in relation to religious beliefs, for the Dudh have
largely accepted Christianity. The resulting advantages and disadvantages are objectively
considered, as is assimilation into Hinduism, which also affects increasing numbers of
Dudh and Dhelki. Hill Kharias, on the other hand, maintain their traditional religion so
far inviolate, for their zone of interaction is much more restricted. A considerable section
of the study is devoted to Kharia traditional religion, mainly through descriptions of their
many religious festivals. Although the purpose of each festival is stated, greater emphasis
on critical analysis of these rituals would have provided further insight into the values
and beliefs underlying these essentially corporate activities—but perhaps this work awaits
the first Kharia to become an anthropologist, for communication of traditional religious
beliefs demands a prior knowledge of the traditional language.
A rich chapter describes Kharia folk traditions and oral folklore and underlines
their vital function in Kharia culture, that of promoting solidarity, especially among
the pre-literate groups. Helpful points are made here which could be applied equally to
the study of other tribal peoples. Regarding the Kharia in particular, it would have been
valuable to have been given, for example, not just a brief page describing Kharia tradi-
tional medicine and the statement that some now accept modern medicine, but informa-
tion about the points at which tensions arise between the twoje.g., for which sicknesses
or states is modern medicine used/refused? By which age-groups? Does this relate to the
family’s educational background? Are certain situations open to healing only by tradi-
tional forms of medicine? Are there tensions regarding traditional healers in relation to
Christianity or Hinduism or to development programmes?
The final chapters on Cultural Change, The Problems, and the Kharia To-Day pro-
vide the reader with much food for thought. Typical of the authors’ clear-sightedness is
their appraisal of inevitable changes and tensions resulting from modern influences.
Wherever indigenous cultural traits have been ignored, Kharia involvement in govern-
ment welfare schemes and development projects or their adoption of certain factors in
Christianity has tended to unsettle traditional patterns without successfully providing
an improved replacement. However well-intentioned such schemes may be, the authors
declare that if the incoming personnel fail in their understanding of tribal organisation,
values, and problems, their programmes can never succeed. The problems listed in this
study are directly supported by the material given earlier. These could well be used as a
comprehensive check-list for workers in many tribal areas. Not only are the problems
described clearly and frankly but positive and practical suggestions are made for future
consideration and implementation.
An impressive number of Appendices provide added detail and cover a wide range
of subjects from population tables and glossaries to Case Studies and Life Histories.
Barbara M. Boal
616
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Stöber, Georg. Die Sayäd-Fischer in Sistan (Sistan-Projekt III). (Marburger Geogra-
phische Schriften, 85). ix+132 pp. Mit 22 Abb. und 7 Tab. Marburg, Lahn 1981. Geo-
graphisches Institut der Universität Marburg. Preis: DM 24.
Der Autor führte 1978 im Rahmen des Sistän-Projektes der Universität Marburg
eine mehrmonatige geographische Feldforschung bei den Sayäd (persisch: Fischer) durch,
die 1979 in London durch Archivstudien ergänzt wurde. Die Sayäd, eine fast unerforsch-
te Randgruppe des Mittleren Ostens, leben als Sumpf- und Uferbewohner im iranischen
Teil des Sistän-Beckens. In diesem Grenzgebiet zu Afghanistan werden der Deltabereich
mehrerer Flüsse (Helmand, Harnt Rud, Faräh Rud, Khäsh Rud) und deren Endseen (Hä-
mün) von verschiedenen Bevölkerungsgruppen ökonomisch genutzt.
Nach einer Darstellung der natürlichen Umwelt (Kap. 2) der Sayäd und einiger
Merkmale ihrer Gesellschafts- und Siedlungsform (Kap. 3) bildet die Untersuchung der
Wirtschaftsstruktur, einschließlich des ökonomischen und sozialen Wandels, den Haupt-
teil (Kap. 4) der vorliegenden Arbeit. Neben den traditionellen Wirtschaftszweigen der
Jagd auf Hühnervögel und Enten und des Fischfangs mit Netzen gab es als Zuerwerbe
Fährdienste, Erntehilfe bei der seßhaften bäuerlichen Bevölkerung,Mattenflechten und
Weben. Die Labilität des Ökosystems bedingt jedoch eine Krisenanfälligkeit dieser Wirt-
schaftsformen, Daher erkennt Stöber eine wachsende Seßhaftwerdung und um die Mit-
te des 20. Jh.s die Aufnahme neuer Erwerbsquellen, wie Lohnarbeit, Ackerbau und vor
allem die Herstellung von Schilfvorhängen im Heimgewerbe. Der Autor stellt die Ver-
änderungen der Siedlungsstruktur im Zuge ökonomischer Wandlungen dar, die Über-
gänge von der Schilf architektur zur Lehmbau weise, vom Tauschhandel zur Geldwirt-
schaft, und analysiert eingehend die wirtschaftlichen Verflechtungen mit dem Marktzen-
trum Zaböl, besonders ausführlich den Handel mit Schilfvorhängen, die in iranische Städ-
te exportiert werden. Die Untersuchungen stützen sich vor allem auf den Geheimbericht
der “Perso-Afghan-Arbitration-Commission” (Simla 1906), spärliche Angaben in der Lite-
ratur, eigene Beobachtungen und Befragungen des Verfassers.
In dieser im Grunde wirtschaftsgeographischen bzw. wirtschaftsethnologischen Ar-
beit wird zwar ein Bereich der Kultur in detaillierter Weise analysiert, die ethnische Iden-
tität der Sayäd bleibt jedoch gänzlich unerwähnt. Wer sind überhaupt die in einem ty-
pischen Rückzugsgebiet lebenden Sayäd und die benachbarten Hämün-Gruppen? Diese
Fragen erscheinen bei einer so wenig bekannten Lokalgruppe unabdingbar und sollten we-
nigstens in einem begrenzten Rahmen diskutiert werden. Stöber macht es sich m.E. etwas
zu leicht, wenn er schreibt:
Die Ethnogenese dieser Gruppe spielt für unsere Fragestellung auch nur eine unter-
geordnete Rolle, so daß auf diesen Problemkreis nicht weiter eingegangen werden
soll. Immerhin weisen sich aber die Sayäd — auch durch ihren eigenen Dialekt —
als eigenständiges Element innerhalb der von ihrer Herkunft her sehr heterogenen
Bevölkerung Sistäns aus (23).
Der Autor erwähnt lediglich die (Eigen- oder Fremd-?) Bezeichnungen folgender
Gruppen Sistäns: Arbäbi, Pudineh, Saräni, Sanchuli (107); Gäwdär, Ramehdär (89). Han-
delt es sich bei diesen von Stöber „Stämme“ bzw. täyfehs (die häufige Verwendung der
Pluralendung s bei persischen Wörtern wirkt störend) genannten Gruppen, sowie bei den
Sayäd, nun um Baluchen (Balüö), wie verschiedene Autoren (z.B. L. Dupree) annehmen,
Nachkommen arabischer Zuwanderer, Färsiwän, Pashtunen oder Jat? Eine Aufarbei-
tung der oralen Literatur (Legenden, Genealogien usw.) der Sayäd hätte u.U. nicht nur
Hinweise zur Bestimmung der ethnischen Zugehörigkeit erbracht sowie die Geschichte
und Sozialstruktur (Klanorganisation?) dieser Hamün-Gruppe erhellt, sondern auch das
Problem beleuchtet, ob die deutlich hervortretende wildbeuterische Komponente als
primär oder eher sekundär anzusehen ist. Durch solche Informationen wäre die Dar-
stellung des ökonomischen Systems abgerundet worden. Jürgen Frembgen
Book Reviews
617
McGilvray, Dennis B[eaton] (ed.). Caste Ideology and Interaction. (Cambridge Papers
in Social Anthropology, 9.) x+255 pp. With 22 fig., 18 matrices, and 8 tab. Cambridge
1982. Cambridge University Press. Price: £19.50.
Die insgesamt vier Beiträge versuchen aufzuhellen, inwieweit man die Kasten-Ideo-
logie — hauptsächlich verstanden als spezifische Vorstellungen von Reinheit und Hierar-
chisierung der Kasten (in Anlehnung an Louis Dumont) — verallgemeinern kann, ferner,
welche Arten der Kommunikation im weitesten Sinne bestehen.
Der erste Beitrag von R.L. Stirrat (Gaste conundrums: Views of caste in a Sinhalese
Catholic fishing village) ist eine Fallstudie, die zeigt, daß in einem ganz bestimmten Dorf
(Vällagoda, ca. 50 Meilen nördlich von Colombo) Reinheit, Unreinheit, Befleckung usw.
kaum eine Rolle spielen. Dort gibt es im Prinzip nur zwei Kasten, die Karäva und die
Goyigama, die zwar Befleckung, killa, singhales.: kiliya (die Umschrift des Rezensenten
nach R[alph] L[illey] Turner: A Comparative Dictionary of the Indo-Aryan Languages.
London 1966-1971), kennen, aber nicht im Zusammenhang mit Kasten, wo eher solche
Begriffe wie gut (honda) oder nicht gut (honda nä), bzw. hoch (ihala) und niedrig (pahala),
gebraucht werden. Die Kastenzugehörigkeit wird durch die Kaste des Vaters determiniert
und kann nicht mehr verändert werden, d.h. auch durch keine in anderen Regionen den
Kastenstatus gefährdende Handlungen. Die Untersuchungen Stirrats ergaben, daß die
Kaste aber auch stark durch den traditionellen Beruf bestimmt ist und z.B. ein Karäva oder
Goyigama, der Wäscher wird, den Kontakt zu anderen Kastenangehörigen verliert. Jede
der beiden in Vällagoda vertretenen Kasten beansprucht, einen höheren Status als die
andere zu haben, doch ist die Kluft nicht groß, jedenfalls kleiner als die zu anderen Ka-
sten. Bei Eheschließungen spielen entweder die Kaste oder der Reichtum eine Rolle, wo-
bei eine reiche Familie durchaus niedrigkastig sein kann. Stirrat gibt Beispiele, wo einige
Bewohner von Vällagoda nicht als echte Karäva oder Goyigama angesehen werden; in
solchen Fällen knieten die Bräutigame während der Hochzeitszeremonie vor dem Bruder
der Braut, während sonst die Familie des Brautnehmers immer als höher stehend ange-
sehen wird als die des Brautgebers. Die Studie ist vor allem deswegen so interessant, weil
sie ein vom traditionellen Kastenverständnis abweichendes Bild zeigt, bei dem aber gleich-
zeitig bestimmte Verhaltensmuster mehr oder weniger latent vorhanden sind.
McGilvrays Aufsatz “Mukkuvar vannimai: Tamil caste and matriclan ideology in
Batticaloa, Sri Lanka” handelt von einer ehemals niedrigen Fischerkaste aus Malabar, die
im 13. Jh. als Eroberer nach Mattakkalappu (Batticaloa) kam und heute zudem eng mit
der Sekte der Lihgäyats (VTracaiva [Sanskr.: Vxrasaiva]) verbunden ist. Die Klane (kuti)
dieser Mukkuvar-Kaste sind matrilinear und tragen königliche oder kriegerische Namen,
während die ebenfalls in dieser Region wohnenden Vellälar eher priesterliche und die
VIracaivas sektarische Klannamen besitzen. Bei den Mukkuvar gibt es keine Kasten-
Endogamie; Reinheit und Verunreinigungen spielen zwar eine Rolle (z.B. bei Menstrua-
tion, Tod usw.), aber es geht hier um ein “secular cleanliness”, d.h., es existieren keine
Theorien, nach denen das Blut bestimmter Kasten „reiner“ sei als das anderer. Die Muk-
kuvar sollen als Söldner des singhalesischen Königs Parakkamabähu II. (1236-1270) nach
Sn Lanka gekommen sein, nach regionalen Traditionen 1215 unter Führung des Mägha,
eines Eroberers aus Kalinga, der den Norden der Insel einschließlich Polonnaruva besetzte.
Jedenfalls bildeten sich regionale Häuptlingsschaften (vannimai) der Mukkuvar, die ihre
kriegerische Herkunft betonen, andererseits aber selten ihre Zugehörigkeit zum varna der
Ksatriya behaupten, sondern die 31-Tage-Periode für Verunreinigung durch Tod akzep-
tieren, die die Manusmrti (V, 83) für Südras vorschreibt. Hauptrivalen der Mukkuvar sind
die Vellälar, eine Bauernkaste von hohem Status, die aber die politische Oberhoheit der
Mukkuvar anerkennt. Beide Kasten vermeiden die Unterordnung unter Brahmanen: die
Mukkuvar als Wächter und Aufseher der Tempel suchen deren Einfluß auf den rein die-
nenden Aspekt zu beschränken, ebenso die Vellälar in ihrer Rolle als Tempelpersonal.
Es gibt regelrechte Heiratsallianzen zwischen Mukkuvar und Vellälar. Das matrilineare
618
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Anthropos 78.1983
Klansystem wurde anscheinend auch von den niederen Kasten übernommen. Auch die
Vellälar beanspruchen hier ihren hohen Status nicht aufgrund der Theorie von reinem
Blut, sondern in Nachahmung der Mukkuvar-Ideologie von Autorität und matrilinearen
Rechten und Ehren. Traditionelle Vorstellungen von der Struktur des Kastensystems
treffen hier nicht zu.
“Gaste rank and verbal interaction in Western Tamilnadu” von Stephen C. Levinson
ist eine Feldstudie in einem Dorf in Tamilnadu, in dem insgesamt 18 Kasten wohnen,
von denen die tamilischen Konku Kavuntar (Farmer und Landbesitzer) mit 54 % und die
Telugu sprechenden Muracu Mätäri (Harijan-Lederarbeiter) mit 21 % der Einwohner-
schaft die größten Kontingente stellen. Diese letztgenannte Kaste verwendet das Telugu
in einer geradezu demonstrativen Weise auch in Anwesenheit von Tamil sprechenden Per-
sonen, während diese Sprache bei den drei anderen Telugu sprechenden Kasten ent-
weder im Aussterben begriffen ist oder strikt vermieden wird. Das Ziel dieser Unter-
suchung war die Herausarbeitung von Kastendialekten und deren Verwendung innerhalb
und außerhalb der eigenen Kastenschranken. In zahlreichen Tabellen veranschaulicht der
Verfasser die Interaktion und die daraus resultierenden Verhaltensmuster zwischen
den Kasten, wobei die Verteilung von Ehrungen — wie sie zwischen Kasten üblich sind —
eine sehr fein abgestufte Rangordnung zeigt, die hauptsächlich im Medium der Sprache
zum Ausdruck kommt.
“Gaste and politics in India since 1947” von Geoffrey Hawthorn ist eine scharfe
Kritik vieler bisheriger Theorien über die Rolle der Kasten in der Politik und eine Neu-
einschätzung im Licht der überraschenden Schwäche der Kaste als politischen Faktors.
In den Jahren von etwa 1920 bis 1947 war die Kongreßpartei z.B. hauptsächlich eine
städtische Vereinigung, die erst nach der Unabhängigkeit auch Stimmen vom Lande be-
kam. Politische Allianzen wurden und werden hauptsächlich von wirtschaftlichen Be-
ziehungen bestimmt, obgleich diese natürlich bis zu einem gewissen Grade vom jewei-
ligen Kastenstatus abhängen.
Die vier Aufsätze sind interessante Beiträge gerade im Hinblick auf ihre Auseinan-
dersetzung mit bestehenden Kastentheorien, die durch die vorliegenden Arbeiten doch
partiell eingeschränkt werden. Karl-Heinz Golzio
Hershman, Paul. Punjabi Kinship and Marriage. Edited by Hilary Standing. Fore-
word by David Pocock. (Studies in Sociology and Social Anthropology.) xv+227 pp. With
7 fig. and 12 tab. Delhi 1981. Hindustan Publishing Corporation. Price: £19.00.
Der im Alter von 25 Jahren verstorbene Paul Hershman wahrt mit seiner Mono-
graphie über die Sozialstruktur des Panjab die besten Traditionen der britischen Sozial-
anthropologie. Das jetzt posthum herausgegebene Werk füllt eine beachtliche ethno-
graphische Lücke, und es liefert Stoff und Anregung für eine wichtige theoretische Kon-
troverse der Gegenwart.
Die anspruchsvollere Ethnographie hatte bisher etwa 60 Millionen Panjabi im hoch-
entwickelten Nordwesten des indischen Subkontinents ignoriert. Hershman war über lang-
fristige Kontakte zu Einwanderern schon in England bestens vorbereitet worden. Er
konnte dann länger als ein Jahr 1972/73 im Jullunder Doab bei verschiedenen Kasten und
Religionsgemeinschaften arbeiten. So demonstriert sein Buch nicht nur die gewohnt gute
methodische Vorbildung, sondern auch die persönliche Sensitivität und Beobachtungs-
gabe des Feldforschers.
Die einheimische Ordnung segmentärer Abstammungsgruppen, die wir aus M.C,
Pradhans Werk zum politischen System der nordindischen Jat als unilineare Pyramide
von schönster Regelmäßigkeit in Erinnerung haben, muß einen britischen Autor in die
nun klassische Kontroverse zwischen Deszendenz- und Allianztheorie lenken. Im Zuge
Book Reviews
619
eines umfassenden Arguments bietet er dann auch vergleichende Perspektiven zu Verhal-
ten und normativen Forderungen unterschiedlicher Kasten des Fünfstromlandes, zu den
bekannt deutlichen Gegensätzen zwischen nord- und südindischen Arrangements und zu
den aufregenden Disputen zwischen Afrikanisten und der jungen Garde aus dem Hoch-
land von Neu Guinea, also zu analytisch differenzierten Abwägungen der Prinzipien von
Abstammung, Filiation und Heirat. Schließlich finden sich auch relevante Informationen
zum sozialen Wandel in der Provinz des indischen „Wirtschaftswunders“.
Über die institutionellen Regelungen der traditionellen Körperschaften wird der
Leser zum tieferliegenden anhaltenden Widerspruch zwischen dem Prinzip der patrilinea-
ren Rekrutierung einerseits und dem bilateraler Verbundenheit andererseits geführt. Die
Zeichen der Gegenwart deuten auf eine Senkung des “agnatic bias”. Sie unterstreichen
zunehmend die substantiell kaum faßbare, aber fortwährend relevante Präsenz wechsel-
hafter egozentrischer Konstellationen von zweiseitiger Orientierung wie die der “kindred”.
In dem Komplex, der auf unterschiedlichen analytischen Ebenen als „Kaste“ beschrie-
ben werden kann, hat eine überproportionierte kindred soziozentrische und damit offen-
kundig diachronische Qualität gewonnen.
Der Widerspruch prägt also die Wechselbeziehung der Lokalverbände Klan und
Kaste genauso wie das Verhältnis zwischen der agnatischen Erbengemeinschaft und den
durch komplexe Gabenverpflichtungen verbundenen Kognaten und Affinen, Im An-
schluß an Parrys neuere Arbeiten in Kangra überrascht es nicht, daß sich die Solidarität
der unilinearen Abstammungsgruppe schon nach drei Generationen in ihr Gegenteil ver-
kehrt, während affinale Beziehungen, die in den Augen der afrikanistischen Klassiker
nur die „Individuation“ besorgen, beim genauen Nachzählen langfristig Kollektive ver-
binden, ohne öffentlich-rechtliche Form anzunehmen und gegen das erklärte Verbot,
Heirat (wie in Südindien) von einer Generation zur nächsten neu aufzulegen. Nicht nur
diese Sperre gleicht der Regelung der Tallensi. So wie in jenem klassischen Demonstra-
tionsfall der Deszendenztheorie die Klane (nicht die inneren lineages) von „Mutterbru-
der“ und „Schwestersohn“ statistisch nachweisbare Dauerbeziehungen durch Heirat un-
terhalten, so sorgt auch in Nordwestindien eine differenzierte Heiratsarithmetik für den
anhaltenden Austausch zwischen den gleichen Segmenten.
Hershman tendiert also zu den Aussagen der Allianztheorie, deshalb sind seine De-
tailbeobachtungen sicher auch nicht ohne die wegweisenden Vorarbeiten Dumonts vor-
stellbar. Aber der Autor distanziert sich auch vom Hauptwerk des Pariser Kollegen, also
vom „einschließenden“ Konzept Hierarchie, weil er wohl doch noch zu substantiell
Phänomene wie Hypergamie verarbeitet und so den historisch wechselhaften oder ablös-
baren Statusansprüchen der Frauennehmer nicht mehr als historisch begrenzte Relevanz
zumessen kann. Andererseits folgt Hershman Dumonts Abkehr von der unbedingten
Priorität der terminologischen Festschreibung. Er sieht wie Dumont wechselnde „Schwer-
punkte“ der Verwandtschaftsstruktur, in Nordindien also als Ersatz die durch den Gaben-
tausch definierten Beziehungen.
Ähnlich wie Schneider scheint Hershman eher an der Rate der vollzogenen Heiraten
als an den kategorialen Forderungen interessiert zu sein. Weil wir im Panjab offenkundig
„komplexe“ Strukturen finden, wechselt er von der systematischen zur statistischen
Sphäre. Bei diesem Schwenk dürfte die Kritik einsetzen, da er die grundsätzliche Un-
terscheidung zwischen Präferenz und Präskription ignoriert. Lévi-Strauss mag der Sprung
in eine andere Domäne gestattet sein, wenn er etwas dafür anbietet, eine Monographie
sollte aber die von Needham definierten Rahmenbedingungen nicht ohne Not verlassen.
Hershman setzt sich zwar mit den taktischen Varianten der Termini auseinander, unter-
läßt aber formale Analysen, obwohl dabei m.E. noch ungenützte Wege frei sind.
Ein anderer Abschnitt, der nicht völlig zufriedenstellt, bezieht sich auf sexuelle
Freiheiten gegenüber den Ehepartnern der Geschwister. Wenn in den benachbarten Ge-
bieten des Himalaya jüngere Geschwister kollektiv in formale Rechte der Eheleute einbe-
zogen sind, die in Jullunder oft stillschweigend wahrgenommen und im gesamten nordin-
620
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
dischen Raum als “joking relationships” praktiziert werden, so sollten wir gerade in einer
strukturalistischen Arbeit mehr als nur die üblichen ökonomischen und taktischen Plau-
sibilitäten erfahren. Gerade weil zuvor kategoriale Rahmen gewechselt worden sind,
müßte diese Freiheit auch holistische Interpretationen der Beobachtungen zulassen.
Diese geringfügigen Einwände schmälern das ausgezeichnete Gesamtwerk nicht.
Hohes Verdienst kommt dabei auch der undankbaren Rolle der Herausgeberin zu.
Georg Pfeffer
Ware, James R[oland] (transl, and ed.). Alchemy, Medicine, and Religion in the China
of A.D. 320. The NeiP’ien of Ko Hung (Pao-p’u tzu). xiv+388 pp. New York 1981. Dover
Publications. Price: $6.00. [First publ. 1966.]
Die vorüegende Paperback-Ausgabe ist eine Neuauflage des 1966 in Cambridge
(Ma.) erschienenen Originals. Kapitel-, Seiten- (Recto- und Verso-) sowie Kolumnenzäh-
lung der Übersetzung folgen der Textedition von Sun Hsing-yen (P’ing-chin-kuan ts’ung-
shu) aus dem Jahre 1885.
Der etwa 280-340 n.Chr. lebende Ko Hung war ein berühmter taoistischer Philo-
soph und Alchemist mit dem Beinamen Pao-p’u-tzu (der seine Einfachheit bewahrende
Meister), einem Namen, den auch sein Hauptwerk trägt, das in zwei große Sektionen zer-
fällt, eine „exoterische“ {wai-p’ien) in 50 Kapiteln und eine „esoterische“ (nei-p’ien)
in 20 Kapiteln. Vom Wai-p’ien ist in der vorliegenden Übersetzung lediglich das 50., auto-
biographische, Kapitel wiedergegeben, das Ko Hung in Anlehnung an das autobiogra-
phische Kapitel im Lun-heng („Abwägung der Lehrmeinungen“) des Wang Ch’ung (27-
100 n.Chr.) geschrieben hat (Wai-p’ien L, 11b: S. 20 der Übersetzung), des „kritischsten
und unabhängigsten Denkers des mittelalterlichen China“ (Otto Franke).
Ko Hung war durchaus vertraut mit den konfuzianischen Klassikern, doch ist schon
eine Selbstcharakterisierung (Wai-p’ien L, 36: 10) taoistisch geprägt:
My speech is frank and sincere; I engage in no banter. If I do not come upon the
right person, I can spend the day in silence. That is the reason my neighbors call me
Simplex (Pao-p’u), which name I have used as a sobriquet in my writings.
Das ganze Moral- und Formensystem des K’ung-tzu (Konfuzius) hielt er für äußer-
lich und banal, für flache Maximen der Nützlichkeit, nicht tauglich für die großen Lebens-
fragen (Nei-p’ien VII, 36: 128);
Confucius is a sage in the eyes of the scholars, but Lao Tan is a sage for those who
have attained God. The teachings of the Confucian scholars, being empiric and easy
to grasp, are honored by the great majority; but the idea of God, being abstruse and
hard to understand, is comprehended by a few only.
Es sei hier bemerkt, daß es eine Eigentümlichkeit des Übersetzers ist, den Begriff
Tao (den Urgrund des Seins) mit „Gott“ zu übersetzen, was beim westlichen Leser doch
zumeist die Assoziation mit einer personalen, überweltlichen Größe hervorruft. Mit Recht
sieht Ko Hung im Tao den gemeinsamen Ausgangspunkt von Konfuizianismus und Taois-
mus, betrachtet ersteren aber als einen entarteten Zweig (X, 1 a: 165):
Taoism is the very trunk of Confucianism, but Confucianism is only a branch of
Taoism. My uncle felt that the arts of the prognosticators (Yin-Yang School) had so
many taboos that they frightened people, whereas Confucianism, although encyclo-
pedic, did not contain all the essentials, and caused much hard work with but few
Book Reviews
621
results. ... He was convinced that only the teachings of Taoism made men’s inner
gods concentrate upon Unity (God: 18.1a) and enjoy a constant harmony with
God (Form that is Perfect Freedom).
Vom Tao sagt Ko Hung (IX, la; 151), daß es Himmel und Erde umfasse und sein
Ursprung namenlos sei und auch die Begriffe Sein und Nichtsein es letztlich nicht be-
schreiben können; Tao ist das Eine:
If men Unity \God\could know
Then they'd know all here below.
For there is nothing that such men would not know, but those ignorant of Unity
can really know nothing (XVIII, la 301).
Himmel und Erde entstanden durch Trennung von feinen und trüben Substanzen,
wurden aber absichtslos vom Tao geschaffen (VII, 1b; 125). In Kapitel VII, 25:127 wen-
det er sich gegen die Ansicht, daß die Menschen von Himmel und Erde geschaffen seien,
da dann alle gut sein müßten und Unsterblichkeit leicht erreichbar sei; aber auch K’ung-
tzu und Meng-tzu erlangten sie nicht:
The most capable are not certain to live long lives, and the stupid are not certain to
die before their time. Goodness does not vouchsafe imminence of good fortune,
and evil does not guarantee imminence of misfortune (VII, 3a: 127).
Glück und langes Leben erlangt man nicht durch Opfern und Beten, sondern durch
Zufall, geheime Qualitäten oder Amulette (IX, 8a-b: 163-164). Das Schicksal wird eher
von den Sternen bestimmt (XII, 3a: 203):
A man’s good and bad fortunes take form on the day that the fetus is formed and
receives its potential (8.7a7). All receive sperm from the asterisms above.
Aufgrund seines magischen Weltbildes glaubt Ko Hung aber an die Möglichkeit,
durch Alchemie das Leben zu verlängern oder unsterblich zu werden wie Geister oder Ge-
nien (II, la: 33). Ein Fragender (mehrere Kapitel sind in Dialogform gehalten) wirft zwar
ein, daß alles, was entsteht, auch zugrunde geht, doch verweist Ko Hung (II, 2b-3a:
36-37) darauf, daß auch die scheinbar unbedingt gültigen Regeln der Welt Ausnahmen
zuließen. (Alles verdorrt im Winter, aber Bambus und Tannen bleiben grün; der Herzog
Niu Ai von Lu [495-467 v. Chr.j soll sich in einen Tiger verwandelt haben.) Zur Stützung
seines Geisterglaubens verweist er auf Berichte der Geschichtswerke Shih-chi des Ssu-
man Ch’ien und das Han-shu (II, 9b: 49). Ko Hung klassifiziert die Genien in drei Katego-
rien (II, 9a: 47):
The genii classics [d.i. Hsien-ching] say that processors of the highest class raise
their bodies into the void and are then designated Heavenly Genii [chines.: T’ien-
hsien]. Those of the second class resort to the famous mountains and are designated
Earth Genii [chines,: Ti-hsien]. The third class sloughs off the body after death and
is designated Corpse-freed Genii [chines.: Shih-chieh-hsien].
Die gesamte Natur besteht aus Geistwesen wie auch Himmel und Erde, und ein
Geist belohnt die Guten und straft die Bösen (VI, 5a: 116).
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Anthropos 78.1983
Bereits die frühesten Taoisten wollten das Leben verlängern oder gar die Unsterb-
lichkeit erreichen. Ko Hung zitiert das Hsien-ching, nach dem das Lebenselixier und der
Goldsaft dafür die wichtigsten Mittel sind (III, lö; 54):
Take the elixir and preserve Unity:
With all heaven together end.
Revert your sperm, breathe like fetus:
Protract longevity peaklessly.
Die Vorschriften zum Einnehmen des Elixiers sind genau zu befolgen (IV, 9a: 82):
An elixir of the first cyclical transformation culminates in geniehood after being
taken for three years; of the second, in two years; of the third, in one year; of the
fourth, in half a year;. . . and of the ninth, in three days.
Wie viele andere Gelehrte vertritt Ko Hung aber die Ansicht, daß nicht das Elixier
allein, sondern auch die Ethik eine bedeutende Rolle für die Erlangung der Unsterblich-
keit bedeutet (VI, 5a: 116): man muß gute Taten akkumulieren und Verdienste erwer-
ben; diese Verdienste sind aber auch gefährdet (III, Sa-9b: 66-67):
Those wishing to become earth genii must do three hundred consecutive good
deeds; those wishing to be heavenly genii must acquire twelve hundred. If, after
acquiring 1199, one commits a single bad deed, all the ones previously acquired are
lost, and one must begin anew.
Neben ethischem Fehlverhalten konnten auch „Verunreinigungen“ den Erfolg der
Rezeptur immer wieder zunichte machen, so daß die Forderungen des Ko Hung so schwer
waren, daß sie die vielen Mißerfolge der Alchemisten erklären konnten. Von ihrer haupt-
sächlichen Beschäftigung mit dem Erzeugen von Gold und Silber hat die Alchemie die chi-
nesische Bezeichnung Huang-pai, „Das Gelbe und das Weiße“, und es finden sich zahl-
reiche Beschreibungen von Goldrezepturen im Nei-p’ien, die von Erfolgen und Mißerfol-
gen bei der Herstellung des Lebenselixiers berichten (Kapitel XVI).
Zwar bestimmt nicht das Tao das Schicksal, wohl aber der Schicksalsgott Ssu-ming,
dem vom Küchengott an jedem Neumond über die Verfehlungen der Menschen berichtet
wird (VI, 4b: 115):
For the more important misdeeds a whole period of three hundred days [chines.:
chi] is deducted. For the minor ones they deduct one reckoning [chines.: suan],
a reckoning being three days.
Der Geisterglaube brachte es auch mit sich, daß man glaubte, böse Geister, wilde
Tiere usw. mit Zaubersprüchen abwehren zu können (V, 3b: 102). Geister können von
Menschen mittels eines oder mehrerer Zauberspiegel herbeigerufen werden, aber man darf
diesen auf Fragen nicht antworten, sondern soll warten bis Lao-tzu erscheint, was lebens-
verlängernd und erkenntnisfördernd wirkt (XV, Sb: 255-257).
Das Nei-p’ien ist eine Mischung von phantastischem Aberglauben und genauen Na-
turbeobachtungen, von mit Magie und Alchemie durchsetzter taoistischer Religion. Ko
Hung vertritt in seinem Werk den philosophischen Taoismus der älteren Zeit wie den vul-
gären, ganz auf die Produktion von Lebenselixieren und Magie ausgerichteten Taoismus.
Gerade letzterer vermittelt zugleich einen Einblick in die chinesische Volksreligion, und
es ist dem Übersetzer zu danken, daß er diesen durch die erste vollständige Übersetzung
des Nei-p’ien in eine europäische Sprache auch für Nichtsinologen ermöglichte.
Karl-Heinz Golzio
Book Reviews
623
Oceania
Blumentritt, Ferdinand. An Attempt at Writing a Philippine Ethnography. With an
Appendix: The Spanish Maritime Discoveries in Philippine Archipelago (with a map of
the Philippines). Translated from the original German text by Marcelino N. Maceda. [Ver-
such einer Ethnographic der Philippinen (Ergánzungsheft No. 67 zu „Petermann’s Mitthei-
lungen“.) Gotha: Justus Perthes, 1882.] 238 pp. Marawi City 1980. University Research
Center of Mindanao State University.
For Ferdinand Blumentritt, the Director of the “Communal-Oberrealschule” of
Leitmeritz (Litomefice) in Bohemia (then part of the Austro-Hungarian empire and now
part of Czechoslovakia), anthropology was a scholarly hobby, and a very fruitful one for
that matter. Moreover, he was a great admirer of the people of the Philippines, a country
he never saw, and a close friend of Dr. José Rizal, the Filipino patriot, who visited Blu-
mentritt in his home in Litoméfice, when he was a student in Heidelberg. Blumentritt’s
work appeared in 1882, and Marcelino Maceda’s translation of it may be considered a
worthy centennial tribute, paid by a Filipino anthropologist to a learned man who during
his lifetime was awarded the Knighthood of the Order of Queen Isabella the Catholic,
and after whom a street in Manila is named.
The English translation is faithful to the German original and very readable. It is
difficult in itself to be perfect in an endeavor of this kind. In this concrete case, Maceda
had to do his work under conditions that were not favorable. It would therefore not serve
the purpose to elaborate on imperfections. However, one critical observation may be
made at this point (infra). Blumentritt dedicates his attempt (Versuch) respectfully
(hochachtungsvoll) to the “Herren Dr. A.B. Meyer and Dr. F. Jagor”;he does not call his
publication a “humble work,” as the English rendering of the Dedication puts it. This is
not a wrong translation but a deviation from what Blumentritt actually says.
Blumentritt bases his description, and partly brief mentioning, of more than
fifty ethnic groups, including the Chinese, on Spanish sources as well as on the writings
of contemporary travellers and scholars who were mostly Germans. Jagor and Meyer be-
longed to them, and so did, to mention one more name, Carl Semper. The translation
should be of great help to Filipino anthropologists and historians. In particular, they
may find valuable hints in it for a better understanding of the ethnohistorical situation
of their country as it presented itself around the middle of the last century and during
a considerable span of time previous to it.
The value of the translation is considerably enhanced by Maceda’s numerous anno-
tations, 295 altogether, which are, on their part, based on an extensive bibliography (25
pp.) of his own. These annotations will particularly be useful for non-Filipino readers of
the translation.
Some years ago Filipino anthropologists discussed a plan to republish in a kind of
“Anthropological Library” standard English works on the Philippines, which appeared
during the early part of this century. This would indeed be a worthwhile undertaking
and a kind of counterpart to, or rather continuation of, the monumental work by Emma
Blair and James Robertson: The Philippine Island, 1493-1898 (55 vols., Cleveland, Ohio,
1903-1908), in which Spanish sources on the Philippines are made available in English.
Should the ambitious plan be realized, the English translation of Blumentritt’s work
certainly deserves to be part of that Library. Its inclusion in it would also be an occasion
to purge Maceda’s translation from the rather numerous printing mistakes and other flaws
(supra) that are found in it.
Both the original and the translation contain an Appendix on the maritime dis-
coveries of the Spaniards in the Philippines. A Spanish version of this Appendix was
published simultaneously with Blumentritt’s Versuch in Revista Contemporaria (Madrid)
164. 1882: 129-159, under the title: “Descubrimientos marítimos de los españoles en el
624
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
archipelago filipino” (cf. Gregorio F. Zaide: Philippine Political and Cultural History;
Vol. 1. Manila 1950: 396). As a further proof that Blumentritt’s studies on the Philippines
received wide recognition, it may be mentioned that the Smithsonian Report for 1899
(Washington, D.C., 1901: 527-547) published Blumentritt’s “List of Native Tribes of the
Philippines and of the Languages Spoken by Them” (Zaide 1950: 371). A little later, in
October 1901, the U.S. Philippine Commission set up “The Bureau of Non-Christian
Tribes for the Philippine Islands” (see Rahmann in Philippine Quarterly of Culture and
Society 1975: 212L). Soon afterwards American anthropologists, first rather non-
professionals in the field and foremost among them Otley H. Beyer, began to develop
an interest in Philippine anthropology, that yielded very rich results. It may safely be
assumed that Blumentritt exercised upon this development an influence which remained
as such unnoticed but was none the less real. If this assumption is warranted, it is all the
more praiseworthy that Maceda revived the memory of Ferdinand Blumentritt, the
reputable anthropologist of the second half of the last century. Rudolf Rahmann
Hildebrand, Hartmut K. Die 'Wildbeut er gruppen Borneos. (Münchner Universitäts-
schriften — Münchner Ethnologische Abhandlungen, 2.) xxii+374pp. Mit 1 Kt. München
1982. Minerva Publikation Saur GmbH, Preis: DM 49.
Die Aufsplitterung der wildbeuterischen Punan oder Penan über das Innere Borneos
und die schwere Erreichbarkeit der einzelnen Gruppen an den Oberläufen der Flüsse in
auch heute noch kaum zugänglichen Dschungelgebieten hat mit dazu beigetragen, daß
Berichte über sie nur sporadisch erschienen. Eine umfassende monographische Darstel-
lung aller dieser Gemeinschaften in Sarawak und Kalimantan lag bislang nicht vor. Die un-
ter der Sammelbezeichnung Punan oder Penan zusammengefaßten Gruppen, die auch die
OIo ot, Bukitan, Bakatan, Bukat, Bassap u.a. mit einschließen und die mit zehn- bis fünf-
zehntausend Individuen die größte Nicht-Negrito-Wildbeutereinheit in Südostasien aus-
machen, unterscheiden sich nur durch die aneignende Wirtschaftstätigkeit und ihre
schweifende Lebensweise von der nichtmuslimischen Inlandbevölkerung Borneos, den
Dajak-Bauern, nicht aber in ihrem anthropologischen Phänotyp oder in ihrer sprach-
lichen Zugehörigkeit, was oft behauptet wurde.
Hildebrand hat die Vielzahl von älteren, häufig spekulativen und kurzen Nachrich-
ten, die oft nur schwer faßbar waren, und die wenigen neueren Forschungsberichte syste-
matisch und mit Akribie zusammengetragen und erstmals in einer — soweit dies eben
möglich — vollständigen Übersicht aller bekanntgewordenen Punan-Gruppen mit den
Lokalisationsangaben, den Synonyma und Literaturnachweisen dargeboten. Damit er-
füllt er ein altes Desiderat, endlich ein klares Bild von den aufgrund der unterschied-
lichen Benennung durch ihre Nachbarn oder durch die einzelnen Feldforscher, aber auch
aufgrund ihrer Mobilität schwer zu lokalisierenden Gemeinschaften zu vermitteln. Diese
Aufstellung wird ergänzt durch eine Übersicht über die derzeitigen Wohngebiete.
Mit den wildbeuterischen Punan verbindet sich die grundsätzliche Frage nach ihrer
kulturhistorischen Zuordnung, eine Frage, die Hildebrand ,,mit Vorbehalt“ angeht und in
seine Ausführungen über die Stellung der Punan im Bomeo-Handel und über die Formen
ihrer Subsistenzsicherung miteinbezieht. Er mißt der Beschaffung von Dschungelpro-
dukten durch die Punan für den Export, nämlich Gold, Bezoar-Steine, Rhinozeros-Horn,
Nashornvogelschnäbel, Vogelnester, Kampfer, Damar-Harz, Jelutong-Gummi u.a., ein
besonderes Gewicht zu und deutet die Möglichkeit an, daß sich mit dem Aufkommen des
Fernhandels und der Nachfrage nach, diesen Produkten erst das Wildbeutertum der Punan
herausgebildet haben könnte, indem sich einzelne Gruppen von seßhaften, bäuerlichen
Gemeinschaften loslösten und zu „Buschproduktesuchern“ wurden. Die schwindende
Book Reviews
625
Nachfrage seit dem vorigen Jahrhundert habe dann auch neben anderen Faktoren das
Seßhaftwerden bestimmter Punan-Gruppen bewirkt. Er fügt damit eine weitere Variante
über eine mögliche Ursache für eine „sekundäre Primitivität“ oder „Devolution“, für
deren Annahme mir eine ganze Reihe gewichtiger Gründe gegeben zu sein scheinen, hinzu,
auch wenn sie letztlich hypothetisch bleiben muß. Darin eingeschlossen ist beispielsweise
die Frage nach der Bewertung der Sagogewinnung bei den Punan, ihrer Hauptnahrungs-
quelle, und nach deren kulturhistorischer Einordnung, ob wildbeuterischen Ursprungs
oder pflanzerischer Herkunft, sowie die Frage nach der Bewertung der Jagd, die bei den
Punan keine spezifische Formen erkennen läßt, sondern sich an jene der Dajak anschließt,
so, wie auch der Autor zu Recht das von den Punan eingesetzte Blasrohr und den Jagd-
hund den bäuerlichen Kulturen zuordnet.
Auch dieser zweite Teil der Arbeit, der das Zusammenleben der Punan mit den Da-
jak, ihr Zusammenwirken im Handel und das Verhalten in Konfrontationen, sowie die
Formen der aneignenden Wirtschaftstätigkeiten behandelt, bietet eine Fülle an Mate-
riell, das primär ökonomische und technologische Daten liefert. Eine Stellungnahme zu
der von Needham vorgetragenen Differenzierung zwischen Punan und Penan sowie eine
Gegenüberstellung der vorhandenen Wortlisten von Punan-Gruppen schließen die Dis-
sertation ab, die als erste umfassende Informationsquelle über die Wildbeuter Borneos
gelten darf. Stefan Seitz
Metzner, Joachim K. Agriculture and Population Pressure in Sikka, Isle of Flores:
A Contribution to the Study of the Stability of Agricultural Systems in the Wet and Dry
Tropics. (The Australian National University Development Studies Centre Monograph,
28.) xxxii+355 pp., illustr. The Australian National University. Canberra 1982.
Mit dieser Habilitationsschrift legt der deutsche Geograph Joachim Metzner die
Quintessenz intensiver Feldstudien vor. Wenn auch primär auf den Geographen hin
ausgerichtet, sind seine geoökologischen Untersuchungen über das Gebiet des Kabupaten
(Distrikt) Sikka auf der Insel Flores auch für den indonesienkundlich interessierten
Ethnologen durchaus beachtenswert, geben sie ihm doch einen Einblick in die komplexen
Umweltbedingungen einer klimatisch weniger gut gestellten marginalen Region Indo-
nesiens.
In drei Kapiteln versucht Metzner — unter Ausnutzung der bewährten Technik
des „Länderkundlichen Schemas“ — dem Leser die vielschichtigen Strukturen des Sikka-
Gebietes nahezubringen; zunächst die physisch-geographischen Grundlagen: detaillier-
ten Angaben über die geologischen (Vulkanismus, Relief, Böden) und klimatischen Fak-
toren (Feucht- und Trockenzeit, Niederschlagsverteilung) folgt die Darstellung der unter-
schiedlichen natürlichen Vegetationsformationen (Restwälder, anthropogene Grasländer).
Solchermaßen eingeführt bietet sich dem Leser folgendes Bild: die Sikka-Region zeich-
net sich aus durch ein vulkanisches Rückgrat im Inselzentrum, das nach Süden zu abrupt
in die Sawu-See abfällt, nach Norden hin jedoch eine breitere Küstenebene aufweist. Bis
auf den Süden finden sich in der Regel fruchtbare Böden — Schwemmländer in der
flachen Küstenebene des Nordens und tief verwitterte Andosole in der vulkanischen Zen-
tralregion, die sich u.a. durch Hangneigungszahlen bis über 50% auszeichnet. Zwischen
den Vulkanen dieses Zentralgebietes sind drei „Sattel“ eingelagert, als bedeutendster jener
von Nita, im Westen des Sikka-Gebietes, über die man die Insel von der Flores-See im Nor-
den zur Sawu-See im Süden in relativ kurzer Zeit durchqueren kann (an der schmälsten
Stelle ist die Insel hier nur 10 Kilometer breit). Klimatisch zeichnet sich die Region durch
— für die Tropen — relativ niedrige Jahresniederschlagmengen aus (je nach Exposition
zwischen 1000 und 2000 mm), wie in ganz Ostindonesien bedingt durch eine mehr-
Anthropos 78.1983
40
626
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78,1983
monatige Trockenphase während der Zeit des SO-Monsuns von Juni bis September. Diese
Niederschlagsverhältnisse bilden auch die Hauptursache für das heutige Erscheinungsbild
der Vegetation: die ursprünglichen Monsunwälder wurden weitgehend abgeholzt und
haben sich nur noch in den höchsten, und damit niederschlagreichsten, Vulkanregionen in
Gestalt immergrüner Wälder behaupten können. Das übrige Land ist durch die lange
Trockenphase (bis zu sechs Monaten), sowie anthropogen bedingte Feuer, im Zuge von
Brandrodung und Jagd, einem sich ständig fortsetzenden Prozeß der Savannenbildung
ausgesetzt.
Metzner versucht dann, die vom Menschen ausgehenden Einflüsse auf diese Umwelt
aufzuzeigen, indem er uns historische, ethnographische und anthropogeographische Daten
vor Augen führt. Ein ausführlicher Abriß der historischen Entwicklung auf Flores und in
Sikka gibt einen Überblick über Kulturgeschichte, Anthropologie und linguistische Ver-
hältnisse. Es folgt die Darstellung der von den Portugiesen und Holländern ausgehenden
Einflüsse auf diese Region Ostindonesiens. Besonders die Ausführungen über die soziale
Organisation Sikkas (Klane als Grundeinheit, Adat-Traditionen, Bedeutung der Brautzah-
lungen etc.) sowie die traditionellen Agrarstrukturen (u.a. Funktion des ,,Herrn des Bo-
dens“, Nutzungsklassifikation verschiedener Landschaftstypen, regional verschiedene
Landnutzungssysteme, Anbaufrüchte, Agrarzyklus, Organisation der Feldarbeit) dürften
die besondere Aufmerksamkeit des Ethnologen finden.
Das zweite Kapitel zeigt die Komponenten auf, die zu einem Wandel des traditionel-
len Ökosystems wesentlich beitrugen: das Eindringen fremder Händler (Buginesen aus
Süd-Sulawesi, Chinesen), der Portugiesen (frühe Mission) und der Holländer (,,Pax Neer-
landica“, infrastrukturelle Erschließung, Besteuerungsformen etc.). Besonders die seit
1874 erfolgte katholische Missionierung Zentral-Sikkas — heute gehören 80% der Gesamt-
bevölkerung dieser Konfession an — hatte dabei weitreichende Folgen für den Wandel
der traditionellen Kultur (Aufbau eines Bildungs- und Gesundheitswesens; Abbau der Be-
deutung der Adat; Innovationen im Agrarbereich, wie die Einführung von cash crop-
Wirtschaft und Antierosionsprogrammen). In weiten Teilen fördert die indonesische
Regierung durch ihre Erlasse und Programme diesen Prozeß heute indirekt weiter.
Waren in den ersten beiden Kapiteln Geograph und Ethnologe angesprochen, so
begibt sich Metzner im Verlauf des dritten Kapitels auf ökonomisches Gebiet (er ist auch
Diplom-Volkswirt). Hier liefert er — wieder wie in der gesamten Arbeit, unterstützt von
ausgezeichnetem Kartenmaterial, umfangreichen Tabellen und Diagrammen, die mehr-
heitlich Ergebnisse eigener Umfragen darstellen — Daten über saisonale und permanente
Migration, die Hauptzentren der Immigration, Landbesitzverteilung und Arbeitsproduk-
tivität. Diese empirisch gewonnenen Daten benötigt Metzner als Stütze für seine noch zu
erläuternde These. Am Ende dieses Kapitels filtert er drei geoökologische Hauptzonen
in seinem Untersuchungsgebiet heraus:
1. Das Gebiet der südlichen Flanken wird geprägt durch seine geringen natürlichen
Ressourcen (edaphische Trockenheit, starke topographische Gliederung) und ist ein in je-
der Beziehung isoliertes Rückzugsgebiet, in dem traditionelle Adat-Regeln noch weit-
gehend Beachtung finden (u.a., weil das Christentum hier erst spät Fuß faßte). Im agra-
rischen Bereich herrscht noch der traditionelle nichtindividuelle Landbesitz vor, sowie
ein nicht am Markt orientierter Anbau (kaum cash crops) mit einer hohen Arbeitsinten-
sität. Da die ökologische Stabilitätsgrenze weitgehend erreicht wird, macht sich eine
Abwanderung nach Norden bemerkbar.
2. In starkem Gegensatz dazu stehen die ,,Sattel“-Gebiete des zentralen Sikka,
schon traditionell Zentren höherer Bevölkerungsdichte (heute bis zu 500 E./km2 !), auf-
grund weitgehender Sicherheit vor den Bugineseneinfällen, sowie relativen Schutzes vor
der Malaria (höhere Lage). Gleichzeitig empfing dieses Gebiet schon seit Jahrhunderten
fruchtbare Einflüsse von außen, durch die Kontakte mit buginesischen Händlern oder die
schon relativ früh einsetzende Missionierung. Letztere bewirkte eine weitgehende Auf-
Book Reviews
627
hebung des Adat-Einflusses, was im agrarischen Bereich besonders durch die weitreichen-
de Einführung des privaten Landbesitzes und die Aufhebung traditionell festgelegter
Landnutzungsregeln (z.B. über einzuhaltende Brachephasen etc.) in Erscheinung tritt.
Cash crops (besonders die Kokospalme) spielen hier heute eine bedeutende Rolle. Die
aufzuwendende Arbeitsleistung ist hier zwar auch relativ hoch, erreicht allerdings nicht
die kritische Grenze — wie zum Beispiel in der Südküstenregion. Man kann mit neuen
Feldern hier noch auf unbebautes Land ausweichen, wenn man dies auch mehr und mehr
an steilsten Hängen in Form pseudoterrassierter Anlagen bewirtschaftet, die durch das
isophysenparallele Anpflanzen einer Strauchleguminose (Leucaena leucocephala) — zur
Erosionsverhinderung — entstehen.
3. Die Inwertsetzung der nördlichen Fußhügel- und Küstenzone erfolgte erst unter
niederländischem Einfluß, seit den späten zwanziger Jahren dieses Jahrhunderts. Ihre
fruchtbaren Schwemmlandebenen ermöglichen teilweise sogar eine permanente Kultiva-
tion, vor allem durch die Einführung einer Fruchtwechselwirtschaft zwischen Mais und
einer Bohnenart (Phaseolus radiatus/green gram). Diese Zone besitzt ein nach Metzner
weitgehend stabiles agrarisches Anbausystem mit der größten Arbeitsproduktivität aller
drei Gebiete. So scheint es nicht verwunderlich, daß seit der „Befriedung“ durch die
Holländer (Beendigung der Buginesengefahr) und dem Zurückdrängen der Malaria (Auf-
bau eines Gesundheitswesens) die Bevölkerung aus den dichter besiedelten zentralen
Gebieten hierhin abwandert, was zum Ausgleich des dortigen Bevölkerungsüberschusses
beiträgt.
In der Hauptsache setzt sich Metzner mit den Thesen von Geertz1 auseinander, die
dieser ohne Untermauerung durch Feld- oder Fallstudien darlege. Seit diesem Beitrag zur
Diskussion des ökologischen Wandels in Indonesien sei es fast zu einem Axiom geworden,
daß Anbausysteme auf der Grundlage von Brandrodungsfeldbau (ladang), wie sie haupt-
sächlich auf den „Außeninseln“ auftreten, sehr fragile Gebilde darstellen, die nur Bevölke-
rungsdichten bis hin zu etwa 50 E./km2 erlauben. Würde diese Bevölkerungsdichte über-
schritten, so wäre die ökologische Stabilität des Systems gefährdet, denn durch die Not-
wendigkeit einer immer kurzfristigeren Inkultumahme ein und desselben Landteiles, was
eine ausreichende Erholung des Bodens nicht mehr gewährleistet, muß es zu einem Kol-
laps des gesamten Systems kommen. Diesen ladang-Gebieten stehen nach Geertz die
sauia/i-Gebiete gegenüber, vor allem in Gestalt der Naßreisbaugebiete Javas und Balis. Die-
ses artifizielle agrarische Landnutzungssystem besitzt eine weit größere Flexibilität ge-
gegenüber einem Bevölkerungsanstieg, als das der natürlichen Umwelt in stärkerem Maße an-
gepaßte ladang-System, da man in einem solchen Falle bei ersterem mit einer stärkeren
Intensivierung des Anbaus — durch Mehraufwand an Arbeitsleistung — eine größere Pro-
duktivität erreichen kann. Geschieht dies allerdings bis hin zu einem Punkt, an dem
auch dieses Landnutzungssystem seine ökologische Flexibilität einzubüßen beginnt, weil
trotz agrarischer Intensivierung — über einen hohen Aufwand an hineingesteckter Arbeits-
leistung — der Prokopfertrag für den Einzelnen trotzdem absinkt, so bezeichnet man dies
mit Geertz als “agricultural involution”.2 Somit ist dieser also der Ansicht, daß in
Zadang'-Systemen zum einen nur eine begrenzte Bevölkerungsdichte erreicht werden kann,
und zum anderen Prozesse gemäß einer agricultural involution hier nicht auftreten kön-
Clifford Geertz, Agricultural Involution. The Process of Ecological Change in
Indonesia. Berkeley and Los Angeles 1966 [1963]: University of California.
Siehe auch Albert Polak, Agrarian Developments on Lombok. An Attempt to
Test Geertz’ Concept of Agricultural Involution. Tropical Man (Leiden) 5 [1972-1973]
1976:20.
628
Book Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
nen. Metzner findet jedoch in seinem ostindonesischen Untersuchungsgebiet — nach
Geertz dem Typ der Außeninseln mit ladang-Anbau zuzurechnen — wider Erwarten eine
erstaunlich hohe Besiedlungsdichte vor (bis zu 500 E./km2 im zentralen Bergland), ohne
daß das Ökosystem einem Zusammenbruch ausgesetzt wäre. Zudem konstatiert er auch
agricultural involution-Prozesse in zwei seiner geoökologischen Zonen: in ausgeprägter
Form in Zone 1, in Ansätzen in Zone 2 — beide Male in Gebieten ohne Naßreisanbau.
Wie lassen sich diese Widersprüche auflösen? In ökonomische Termini umgesetzt
habe Geertz die Behauptung aufgestellt, daß Arbeitsintensivierung innerhalb von ladang-
Systemen unbelohnt bleibe, da sie zwingend zu einem rapiden Niedergang, und schließ-
lich Zusammenbruch, des Ökosystems führen müsse, da diesem durch die exzessive
Nutzung seine Grundlagen entzogen würden. Hier versucht Metzner mit seiner Kritik
einzuhaken, indem er dieser Behauptung seine empirisch gewonnenen Fakten aus dem
Untersuchungsgebiet entgegenhält. Die dazu notwendigen Daten finden im dritten Ka-
pitel, in den Arbeitsproduktivitätsdiagrammen und -tabeilen (237-252) ihren argumen-
tativen Höhepunkt. Zwischen Bevölkerungsdichte und Grad der agrarischen Nutzungs-
intensität besteht somit kein simpler Zusammenhang, wie dies gemäß Geertz’s „Axiom“
eigentlich sein sollte. Metzners Daten ergeben, daß gerade in der relativ dünn besiedelten
Zone 1 (Südküste) der Boden zwar mit maximalem Arbeitsinput bebaut wird, der Output
hingegen — auf den Einzelnen bezogen — sogar rückläufig ist (wodurch man hier also
von einem klassischen Prozeß von agricultural involution sprechen kann). In Zone 2
(,,Sattel“-Gebiete) kommt dagegen, trotz der Spitzenwerte in der Besiedlungsdichte, kein
Involutionsprozeß zum Tragen. Vergleicht man die Ergebnisse gerade dieser beiden Zonen
miteinander, so wird deutlich, welcher Faktor für die Erweiterung der ökologischen Flexi-
bilität innerhalb des ladang-ökosystems in Sikka verantwortlich zeichnet. An der über
Jahrhunderte im kulturellen Windschatten hegenden Südküste steht das System kurz vor
dem Zusammenbruch, während in den stark von exogenen Einflüssen bestimmten „Sat-
tel'‘-Gebiete dieser Punkt trotz starker Bevölkerungszunahme vermieden werden konnte.
Dieses Beispiel zeigt, daß, neben der naturräumlichen Ausstattung, die Durchdringung
der Bevölkerung eines Gebietes mit innovativem Gedankengut zu jenen Faktoren ge-
hört, die den Grad der Stabilität eines /adang-ökosystems weitgehend bestimmen. Mit
Hilfe eindiffundierender, also auf historischen Prozessen beruhender, Innovationen läßt
sich das naturräumliche Potential zu einem größeren Grad in Wert setzen, auch dann,
wenn es sich dabei um einen von der Natur benachteiligten Raum handelt. Im vor he-
genden Falle ist die Erweiterung des ökologischen Nutzungsspielraumes in besonderem
Maße auf die Übernahme neuer Kulturpflanzen, die Einführung effektiverer Frucht-
wechselsysteme und geeigneter Antierosionsmaßnahmen zurückführbar.
Dieses Ergebnis stellt indirekt ein Plädoyer dafür dar, daß Entwicklungshilfe (zu
verstehen als Innovationshilfe) im agrarischen Bereich durchaus Erfolge vorweisen kann,
wenn sie die auf sie zurückgehenden Anregungen auf geeignete Weise in bestehende
indigene Systeme zu integrieren weiß. Als regionalem Koordinator der deutschen tech-
nischen Hilfe für Südostasien und den Südpazifik (seit 1980) bietet sich Metzner dazu ein
reiches Betätigungsfeld. Abschließend bleibt festzuhalten: Metzners Buch leistet einen
wichtigen Beitrag zur rezenten Diskussion der Problematik Mensch-Umwelt in Savannen-
klimaten3. Darüber hinaus bietet es dem Völkerkundler die Gelegenheit, sich die weit-
reichenden Auswirkungen von Akkulturationsvorgängen im agrarischen Bereich vor
Augen zu führen. Dem Indonesienkundler schließlich üefert es das Material, um sich mit
einem Ökosystem des oft übersehenen „trockenen Indonesien“ vertraut zu machen.
Rolf B. Roth
Siehe z.B. David R. Harris (ed.), Human Ecology in Savanna Environments.
London and New York 1980: Academic Press,
New Publications Received
AD books and offprints received by
the Editor arc here briefly indicated.
Books wiU be reviewed in one of the fu-
ture numbers of Anthropos as space
aUows. Review copies should be sent di-
rectly to the Editor-in-Chief. We assume
no obligation to return unsolicited pub-
lications or to review exchange copies.
Alle bei der Redaktion eingegangenen
Bücher und Sonderdrucke werden hier
kurz angezeigt. Bücher werden in einer
der folgenden Nummern nach Maßgabe
von Raum besprochen. Rezensionsexem-
plare sind unmittelbar and die Redaktion
zu senden. Unverlangtes wird nicht zu-
rückgesandt. Für Tauschexemplare wird
keine Verpflichtung zur Besprechung über-
nommen.
Aarni, Teddy: The Kalunga Concept in Ovambo Religion from 1870 Onwards. Stock-
holm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1982. — 166 pp., illustr., maps. (Acta Universitatis
Stockholmiensis.) (Stockholm Studies in Comparative Religion, 22.)
Adler, Heidrun: Politisches Theater in Lateinamerika: Von der Mythologie über die Mis-
sion zur kollektiven Identität. Berlin: Reimer, 1982. — 171 pp. (Beiträge zur Kul-
turanthrop olo gie. )
AUcn, Michael (ed.): Vanuatu: Politics, Economics and Ritual in Island Melanesia. Sydney:
Academic Pr., 1981. — xviii+425 pp., maps. (Studies in Anthropology.)
Allgemeine islamische Menschenrechtserklärung. Frankfurt: CIBEDO, 1982. — 75 pp,
(CIBEDO-Dokumentation; 15, 16.)
Arenas, Pedro de: Vocabulario manual de las lenguas casteDana y mexicana: ed. facsi-
milar de la publ, por Henrico Martínez en la ciudad de México, 1611. México: Univ.
Nacional Autónoma de México, 1982. — lxxxi+160 pp. (Facsímiles de lingüistica
y filología Nahuas, 1.)
Arewa, Erastus Ojo: A Classification of the Folktales of the Northern East African Cattle
Area by Types. New York: Arno, 1980. — viii+297 pp., 1 map. (Folklore of the
World.)
Assmann, J. et al.: Funktionen und Leistungen des Mythos: Drei altorientalische Bei-
spiele. Freiburg Schweiz: Universitätsverl.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht,
1982. — 118 pp. (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis, 48.)
Baal, J. van: Jan Verschueren’s Description of Yéi-nan Culture Extracted from the Post-
humous Papers. The Hague: Nijhoff, 1982. — xiii+107 pp., pi., tab. (Verhandelin-
gen van het Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde, 99.)
Bahadur, K.P.: The Castes,Tribes,and Culture of India: Vol. 7. Western Maharashtra and
Gujarat. New Delhi: Ess Ess Publ., 1981. — vii+201 pp.
Barclay, Harold; People without Government. London: Kahn & Averill, 1982. — 150 pp.
Barcigts, André: Les Lau tu: contribution à l’étude de l’organisation sociale d’une ethnie
chin de Haute-Birmanie. Paris: Centre national de la recherche scientifique, 1981. —
313 pp., illustr., et. (Langues et civilisations de l’Asie du sud-est et du monde in-
sulindien, 11.)
Batson, C. and W.L. Vends; The Religious Experience: A Social-Psychological Perspec-
tive. New York; Oxford: Oxford Univ. Pr., 1982. — vii+356 pp.
Baum, Willa K.: Transcribing and Editing Oral History. — 2nd print, with corr. Nashville;
American Association for State and Local History, 1981. — 127 pp,, 1 dise.
Beginnings. The Royal Academy for Islamic Civilization. Research (Al Albait Founda-
tion). Amman, 1981. — 90 pp.
630
New Publications Received
Anthropos 78.1983
Bcnzing, Johannes: Bemerkungen zu zwei türkischen Gottesbezeichnungen. Sep.: Scho-
lia, Beiträge zur Turkologie und Zentralasienkunde (Wiesbaden) 1981: 8-12.
Bcrnot, Denise: Bibliographie birmane, années 1960-1970. Paris: Centre national de la
recherche scientifique, 1982. — xxx+293 pp.
Berque, Jacques: Bibliographie de la culture arabe contemporaine. Sindbad: Presses de
rUnesco, 1981. — 483 pp.
Bhuriya, M.: Folk-songs of the Bhils. Pref. by S.Fuchs, Indore: Mahipal Publ., 1979. — xiv+
174 pp., illustr.
Bin Gorion, M.J.: Altjüdische Legenden und Volkserzählungen. Aus d. Hebr. von R. Bin
Gorion; Ausw. u. Nachw. von E. Bin Gorion. Frankfurt a.M. : Insel Verl., 1981. —
271 pp. (Insel Taschenbuch, 529.)
Blcyler, Karl-Eugen: Religion und Gesellschaft in Schwarzafrika: Sozialreligiöse Bewe-
gungen und koloniale Situation. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1981. 207 pp.
Bloch, M. and J. Parry (eds.): Death and the Regeneration of Life. Cambridge: Cam-
bridge Univ. Pr., 1982. — x+236 pp.
Blong, R.J.: The Time of Darkness: Local Legends and Volcanic Reality in Papua New
Guinea. Canberra: Australian National Univ. Pr., 1982. — xi+257 pp.
Boal, Barbara M.: The Konds: Human Sacrifice and Religious Change. Warminster:
Aris & Phillips, 1982. — xii+294 pp., pi., fig.
Boas, Franz: Race, Language, and Culture. Chicago; London: Univ. of Chicago Pr.,
1981 (Repr. of the 1940 ed.). — xx+647 pp., illustr.
Bogncr, Piet: Die Ahnen rufen: Ein Papua wird wiedergeboren. Olten; Freiburg: Walter-
Verl., 1982. — 313 pp., Illustr., 1 Kt.
Boland, B.J.: The Struggle of Islam in Modern Indonesia. — Slightly rev. repr. The Hague:
Nijhoff, 1982. — viii+283 pp. (Verhandelingen van het Koninklijk Inst, voor Taal-,
Land- en Volkenkunde, 59.)
Bollinger, Armin: Einführung in die Welt der Indios: Geschichte, Kultur, Religon und
Krankenheilung von Groß-Peru. — 2. Aufl. Wald: Verl, im Waldgut, 1982. — 133
pp., Illustr. (Die Reihe im Waldgut, 1.)
---Die Indiovölker Alt-Mexikos: Geschichte der Olmeken, Tolteken, Mixteken, Azte-
ken und anderer mexikanischer Völker — von den Anfängen bis zur Conquista.
Wald: Verl. Im Waldgut, 1981. — 148 pp., Illustr. (Die Reihe im Waldgut, 4.)
Boone, E. Hill (ed.): The Art and Iconography of Late Post-classic Central Mexico. A
conf. at Dumbarton Oaks oct. 22nd and 23rd, 1977. Washington: Trustees for Har-
vard Univ., 1982. — 254 pp., fig.
---Falsifications and Misreconstructions of Pre-Columbian Art. A conf. at Dumbarton
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Buthelezi-Report: Der Hauptbericht. Vorw. von H.H. Klein. St. Augustin: Richarz, 1982.
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Caspar, R.: Islamische Mystiker II. Frankfurt; CIBEDO, 1983. — 19 pp. (CIBEDO-Texte,
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Chapman, Anne: Drama and Power in Hunting Society: The Selk’nam of Tierra del
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Crawford, A.L.; Aida: Life and Ceremony of the Gogodala. Bathurst: National Cultural
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Crummey, D, and C.C. Steward (eds.): Modes of Production in Africa: The Precolonial
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Csiffáry, G.: Egri céhemlékek. Eger, 1982. — 189 pp., 89 illustr. (Studia Agriensis, 1.)
Cultura Mapuche en la Argentina. Ministerio de cultura y educación, Inst. Nac. de antropo-
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Davis, J. (ed.): Religious Organization and Religious Experience. London: Academic Pr.,
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Dcmarcst, A.A.: Viracocha: The Nature and Antiquity of the Andean High God. Cam-
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Digard, J.-P. (éd,): Le cuisinier et le philosophe: hommage à Maxime Rodinson. Études
d’ethnographie historique du Proche-Orient réunies par Jean-Pierre Digard. Paris:
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Domschke, R.A. und R. Goosmann: Korea-Bibliographie. Bd. 1. Verzeichnis der deutsch-
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Drijvers, Han J.W.: Sanctuaries and Social Safety. Sep.: Visible Religion (Leiden) 1.
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Duerr, H.P.: Der Wissenschaftler und das Irrationale. — 1. Beiträge aus Ethnologie und
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Dumoulin, Heinrich: Begegnung mit dem Buddhismus. Freiburg: Herder, 1982. — 172 pp.
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Edwards, G. and J. Mason: Onje fun orisa = Food for the Gods. New York: Yoruba
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Edzard, D.O.: Der Aufbau des Syllabars „Proto-Ea“, Sep.: Societies and Languages of the
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Egli, Hans: Das Schlangensymbol: Geschichte, Märchen, Mythos. Olten; Freiburg i.Br.:
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Eichncr, Klaus: Die Entstehung sozialer Normen, Opladen: Westdeutscher Verl., 1981. —
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El Dorado: Der Mythos vom Gold. Altindianische Kunstschätze aus Kolumbien. Museum
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Fakhry, Majid: A History of Islamic Philosophy. — 2nd ed. London: Longman; New
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Fawcett, D. M, and L.A. Callander: Native American Painting: Selections from the
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Fernandez, James W.: Bwiti: An Ethnography of the Religious Imagination in Africa.
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Gaiter, H.D.: Der Gott Ea/Enki in der akkadischen Überlieferung: Eine Bestandsauf-
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Gedächtnisausstellung Etta Becker-Donner 1911-1975. Wien: Museum für Völkerkunde,
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Zum Gedenken an Anton Exner 1882-1952: Festvorträge anl. d. 100. Wiederkehr d. Ge-
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Goma Foutou, C.: Histoire des civilisations du Congo. Paris: Ed. Anthropos, 1981. —
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Gonzalez Ñañez, Omar: Mitología guarequena. Caracas: Monte Avila, 1981. — 286 pp.,
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Goody, Jack: Cooking, Cuisine and Class: A Study in Comparative Sociology. Cambridge:
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Goody, Jack (Hrsg.): Literalität in traditionalen Gesellschaften, Übers. F. Herborth u. T.
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Gough, Kathleen: Rural Society in Southeast India. Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Pr.,
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Guidieri, Remo: La route des morts. Paris: Ed. du Seuil, 1980. — 425 pp. (Recherches
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Gumperz, J.J.: Discourse Strategies. Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Pr., 1982. — xii+225
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Gumperz, J.J. (ed.): Language and Social Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Pr.,
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Gupta, R.K.: Bibliographie of the Himalayas. Gurgaon: Indian Documentation Service,
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Häusler, Alexander: Zur ältesten Geschichte von Rad und Wagen im nordpontischen
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les rites de passage. Musée d’ethnographie, Neuchâtel, exposition du 28 juin au 31
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Halifax, Joan: Shaman: The Wounded Healer. London: Thames & Hudson, 1982. — 96
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Hatch, Elvin: Culture and Morality: The Relativity of Values in Anthropology. New
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Hebcrer, Thomas: Nationalitätenpolitik und Ethnologie in der Volksrepublik China. Bre-
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Heinrichs, H.-J. (Hrsg.): Das Fremde verstehen: Gespräche über Alltag, Normalität und
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Henninger, Joseph: Nouveaux débats sur l’interdiction du porc dans l’Islam. Sep.: Le
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Hubbcling, H.G.: Einführung in die Religionsphilosophie. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck &
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Huber, Hugo: Tiefendimensionen der Familie? Ethnologische Sicht. Sep.: Familie —
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Hu-DeHart, Evelyn: Missionaries, Miners, and Indians: Spanish Contact with the Yaqui
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Hudson, T. and T.C. Blackburn: The Material Culture of the Chumash Interaction
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Huertas Vallejos, L.: La religion en una sociedad rural andina siglo XVII. Ayacucho:
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Hummel, Reinhart: Indische Mission und neue Frömmigkeit im Westen: Religiöse Be-
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Huppertz, J.: Mobul, der Stammvater der Kambot-Leute in Nordost-Neuguinea. Aulen-
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Hussain, Asaf: Islamic Movements in Egypt, Pakistan and Iran: An Annotated Biblio-
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New Publications Received
Anthropos 78.1983
Hutterer, Karl L.: Ecology and Evolution of Agriculture in Southeast Asia. Honolulu:
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Israeli, R. (ed.): The Crescent in the East: Islam in Asia Major. London; Dublin: Curzon
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Jackson, Michael: Allegories of the Wilderness: Ethics and Ambiguity in Kuranko Nar-
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Jaggi, O.P.: Science and Technology in Medieval India. Delhi; Lucknow: Ram, 1981. -
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Janelli, R.L. and D.Y. Janelli: Ancestor Worship and Korean Society. Stanford: Stan-
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Janning, J. (Hrsg.): Gott im Märchen. Kassel: Röth, 1982. — 179 pp. (Veröffentlichun-
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Jarrell, Howard, R.: International Yoga Bibliography, 1950-1980. Metuchen; London:
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Johnson, B.L.C.; Bangladesh. — 2nd ed. London: Heinemann; Totowa: Barnes 8c Noble
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Jungraithmayr, H. (Hrsg.): Berliner afrikanistische Vorträge (XXL Deutscher Orienta-
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Jungraithmayr, H.(éd.): Études sur le subjonctif en Tchadique. Marburg, 1982. — 46 pp.
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Jungraithmayr, H., and K. Shimizu: Chadic Lexical Roots: A First Evaluation of the
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Kecskési, Maria: Kunst aus dem alten Afrika. Innsbruck: Pinguin-Verl.; Frankfurt: Um-
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Knobloch, Johann: Beschleunigte und verzögerte Sprachentwicklung. Sep.: Nova Acta
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Kolstee, A.F.: Bella Coola Indian Music: A Study of the Interaction Between North-
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Kramer, B. et al. (Bearb.): Kölner Papyri. — Bd. 4. Opladen: Westdeutscher Verb, 1982.
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Kremer, H.W.: Von der ausgehenden Altsteinzeit bis zur Jungsteinzeit an der mittleren
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Krokcr, E. (Hrsg.): Anspruchs-Gesellschaft am Ende? Königstein: Städt. Kurverwaltung;
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Krupa, Viktor: The Polynesian Languages: A Guide. Transi, from the Russian by G.L.
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Kuppuswamy, G. and M. Hariharan: Indian Dance and Music Literature: A Select Bib-
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Langstaff, E. DeSelms; Panama. Oxford; Santa Barbara; Clio Pr., 1982. — xii+184pp., 1
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Larsen, C. S.: The Anthropology of St. Catherines Island; 3. Prehistoric Human Bio-
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Larsen, C. S. and D.H. Thomas: The Anthropology of St. Catherines Island: 4. The St.
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Lehmann, D. (ed.): Ecology and Exchange in the Andes. Cambridge: Cambridge Univ.
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Leiderer, Rosmarie: La médecine traditionelle chez les Bekpak (Bafia) du Cameroun
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Lénárt, Andor: Az egri vár feltárásának tôténete 1949-ig. Eger, 1982. — 149 pp., 48
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Lcvi, J. and M. Havinden: Economics of African Agriculture. Harlow: Longman, 1982.
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Lincoln, Bruce: Emerging from the Chrysalis: Studies in Rituals of Women’s Initiation.
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Lissner, I. und G. Rauchwetter: Der Mensch und seine Gottesbilder. Olten; Freiburg i.
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Lizet, Bernadette: Le cheval dans la vie quotidienne: techniques et représentations du
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Llanos Vargas, H. y R, Pineda Camacho: Etnohistoria del Gran Caqueta (siglos XVI—
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Lowcry-Palmcr, Alma L.: Yoruba World View and Patient Compliance. 1980. — xv+232
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Lundström-Burghoorn, Wil; Minahasa Civilization: A Tradition of Change. Göteborg:
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Lurker, M. (Hrsg.): Beiträge zu Symbol, Symbolbegriff und Symbolforschung. Baden-
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Luxton, Richard: Mayan Dream Walk: Literate Shamanism in the Yucatan. With Pablo
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Magee, Susan Fortson: Mesoamerican Archaeology: A Guide to the Literature and Other
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Márquez, M.E.: Los indios Tunebo y su cosmogonía: col. de lenguas indígenas. Caracas:
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Anthropos 78.1983
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Matthäi, Hildegard: Die Um: Ein altertümlicher Indianerstamm im Andenhochland.
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Meyn, Wolfgang: Bestattungswesen und Bevölkerungsbewegungen in Nord-Nigeria.
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Mildenberger, M.: Islamliteratur in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland. Frankfurt: CIBEDO,
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Miller, Arthur G.: On the Edge of the Sea: Mural Painting at Tancah-Tulum, Quintana
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Misra, P.K. (ed.): Cultural Profiles of Mysore City. Calcutta: Anthropological Survey of
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Morrison, George et al.: History of Persian Literature from the Beginning of the Islamic
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Muchembled, Robert: Kultur des Volks — Kultur der Eliten: Die Geschichte einer er-
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Müller, C. C. und W. Raunig: Der Weg zum Dach der Welt. Innsbruck: Pinguin-Verlag;
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Museum für Völkerkunde Wien. Braunschweig: Westermann, 1981. — 128 pp., Illustr., Kt.
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Nguyen Huy Lai, J.: La tradition religieuse spirituelle et sociale au Vietnam: sa con-
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Noblen, D. und F. Nuscheler (Hrsg.): Handbuch der Dritten Welt. Überarb. u. erg. Ausg.
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Pircnnc, Jacqueline: Sud-arabe: QYF-QF/ / MQF: de la lexicographie à la spiritualité
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Quaritch Wales, H.G.: Divination in Thailand: The Hopes and Fears of a Southeast Asian
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Robin, C. et J. Ryckmans: Dédicace de bassins rupestres antiques à proximité de Bâb al-
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----Inscriptions sabéennes de Sirwâh remployées dans la maison de ‘Abd Allâh az-
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Rossi, Maurizio: Religiosità populäre e incisioni rupestri in età storica. Un contribute alio
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Rottland, Franz: Die südnilotischen Sprachen: Beschreibung, Vergleichung und Rekon-
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Ruud, I.M.: Women’s Status in the Muslim World: A Bibliographical Survey. Köln:
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Ryckmans, Jacques: Un cas d’impiété dans les inscriptions sud-arabes. Sep.: Studia Paulo
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----Some Remarks on the Late Sabaean Inscriptions. Sep.: Studies in the History of
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----‘Uzzâ et Lät dans les inscriptions sud-arabes: à propos de deux amulettes mécon-
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Salvoldi, Valentino: D banchetto sacro: aspetti della cultura Yoruba della Nigeria. Bolog-
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Santandrea, S,: Ethno-geography of the Bahr el Ghazal (Sudan): An Attempt at a Histori-
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Saraf, D.N.: Indian Crafts: Development and Potential. New Delhi: Vikas Publ. House,
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Schlosser, Katesa: Der Zulu-Blitzzauberer Susa Madela: König der Einäugigen. Kiel:
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Schnyder, B. (Hrsg.): Familie — Herausforderung der Zukunft = La famille — un défi
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Schuld, Sühne und Erlösung in Zentralafrika (Zaire) und in der christlichen Theologie Eu-
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Serjeant, R.B.: Hadramawt to Zanzibar: The Pilot-Poem of the näkhudhi Sa’îd Bä Täyi’
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Símbolo e técnica nei tessuti dell’antico Perú; Museo Luigi Pigorini, Roma, 1982. Roma:
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Singh, Hakam: Sikh Studies; A Classified Bibliography of Printed Books in English. Pa-
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Spittler, Gerd: Verwaltung in einem afrikanischen Bauernstaat: Das koloniale Franzö-
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Strathern, Andrew (ed): Inequality in New Guinea Highland Societies. Cambridge: Cam-
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Tassonc, V.G.: Curso de introduçao à teoría antropológica. Natal: PRAEU, 1982. — iv+
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Temple, R.K.G.: Götter, Orakel und Visionen: Die Zukunftsschau im Altertum und heu-
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Vidyarthi, L.P. and V.S. Upadhyay (eds.): Development of Researches in Anthropol-
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Volkstrachten aus dem Heiligen Land. Wien: Museum für Völkerkunde, 1982. — 24 pp.,
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Wagner, Waltraud: Indianer und Weiße: Eine Gegenüberstellung von Verhaltensweisen.
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Walcns, Stanley: Feasting with Cannibals: An Essay on Kwakiutl Cosmology. Princeton:
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Wicker, Hans-Rudolf: Mbyá, PaT-Tavyterä und Chiripá in Ostparaguay: Zur Guarani-
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Wickert, Jürgen D.: Der Berg im Koffer: Lernen mit der fremden Kultur Indonesien.
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Abhandlungen und Berichte des Staatlichen Museums für Völkerkunde
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Kadour, M.S., Die bäuerliche Bevölkerung des Hauran-Gebietes im Süden der Sy-
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Ickc-Schwalbe, L., Dorfstudien bei christlichen und nichtchristlichen Munda in Chota
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Acta Ethnographica (Budapest) 30. 1981. 3-4.
Tälasi, I., Die wichtigsten Ergebnisse ethnographischer Forschungen über Ernte-
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Acta Linguistica (Budapest) 30. 1980. 1-2.
Hessky, R., Überlegungen zum Idiom als Problem der zweisprachigen Lexiko-
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Africa-Tervuren (Tervuren) 28. 1982. 1.
Dechamps, R., L’identification anatomique des bois utilisés pour des sculptures en
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Afrika und Übersee (Berlin)
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Afrika Zamani. Revue d’Histoire Africaine (Yaoundé) 12-13. 1981.
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América Indígena (México) 42. 1982.
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Agar, M.H., Toward an Ethnographic Language (779-795). — Merten D.,G, Schwartz,
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American Ethnologist (Washington) 9. 1982. 4.
Galt, A.H., The Evil Eye as Synthetic Image and its Meanings on the Island of Pan-
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A Trinity of Christs: Cultic Processes in Andean Catholicism (730-749).
Annals of the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute (Poona)
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Agirre, G. et al., Etnografía del Valle de Oñati. Permanencia de culturas arcaicas
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Archaeology in Oceania (Sydney) 17. 1982.
2. Chappell, J,, Sea Levels and Sediments: Some Features of the Context of
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Analysis of Adzes from Puntutjarpa Rocksheiter and the James Range East Site Complex,
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Archiv für Völkerkunde (Wien) 36. 1982.
Feest, C.F., J. Rostkowski, Indian Posters of North America (1-32). — Schiencrl,
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Dchergne, J., Lettres annuelles et sources complémentaires des missions jésuites de
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Anthropos 78.1983
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Review of Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Arctic Anthropology (Madison, Wisconsin)
18. 1981. 2. Cruikshank, J., Legend and Landscape: Convergence of Oral and
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Change in Prehistory: The Origin of a Regional Ground Slate Industry in South-Central
Coastal Alaska (103-125). Turner II, C.G. et al., New Anthropological Evidence Bear-
ing on the Issue of Neo-Aleut Origins (127-140).
Asian Folklore Studies (Nagoya) 41. 1982. 2.
Antoni, K., Death and Transformation: The Presentation of Death in East and
Southeast Asia (147-162).
Asiatische Studien (Bern) 26. 1982. 2.
Mathicu, R., Fonctions et moyens de la geographic dans la Chine ancienne (125-
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Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde (’s-Gravenhage) 138. 1982. 4.
Noorduyn, J., Buiangga Manik’s Journeys Through Java: Topographical Data from
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Boletín. Museo del Oro (Bogotá) 4. 1981. 5-8.
Valdcrrama Andrade, B., G. Fonseca Truque, Exploraciones en la vertiente norte
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Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Etudes Andines (Lima) 11. 1982. 1-2.
Caillavet, C., La nourriture dans les projets de développement: le cas d’un village
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Bulletin of the International Committee on Urgent Anthropological and
Ethnological Research (Vienna) 23. 1981.
Mbon, F.M., African Traditional Community in Transition (41-67). — Ukah, L.,
Religious and Social Significance of Names Among the Ibos of Nigeria (77-81). — Upad-
hyay, V.S., Retrieval from the Precipice: An Action Approach of Survival of the Shom-
pens of Great Nicobar Island (83-87). — Reinhard, J., The Chonos of the Chilean Archi-
pelago (89-98).
Cahiers d’Études Africaines (Paris) 21. 1981. 4.
Burton, J.W., The Wave is my Mother’s Husband: A Piscatorial Theme in Pastoral
Nilotic Ethnology (459-477). — Van Doornc, J.H., Situational Analysis: Its Potential
and Limitations for Anthropological Research on Social Change in Africa (479-506). —
Salvaing, B., La femme dahoméenne vue par les missionnaires: arrogance culturelle, ou
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Cahiers de Littérature Orale (Paris) 1982. 11.
Koubi, J., Parole de Toradja: mal dire, invoquer ou conter (11-35). — Sorin-Barre-
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Central Asiatic Journal (Wiesbaden) 27. 1983. 1-2.
Poppe, N., Chaladsch und die altaische Sprachwissenschaft (112-120).
Comparative Studies in Society and History (Cambridge) 25. 1983. 1.
Burke, P., From Pioneers to Settlers: Recent Studies of the History of Popular
Culture (181-187).
Culture, Medicine, and Psychiatry (Dordrecht, Holland)
4. 1980. 3. Townsend, J.M., C.L. Carbone, Menopausal Syndrome: Illness or
Social Role. A Transcultural Analysis (229-248). — 4. Kennedy, J.G. et al., Qat Use in
North Yemen and the Problem of Addiction: A Study in Medical Anthropology (311-
344). — 5. 1981. 1. Nichtcr, M., Negotiation of the Illness Experience: Ayurvedic Thera-
py and the Psychosocial Dimension of Illness (5-24). — Like, R., J. Ellison, Sleeping
Blood, Tremor and Paralysis: A Trans-Cultural Approach to an Unusual Conversion
Reaction (49-63). — 2. Baer, H.A., Prophets and Advisors in Black Spiritual Churches:
Therapy, Palliative, or Opiate? (145-170) — 6. 1982. 4. Ito, K.L., Illness as Retribution:
A Cultural Form of Self Analysis Among Urban Hawaiian Women (385-403).
Current Anthropology (Chicago)
23. 1982. 6. Aldcn, J.R., Trade and Politics in Proto-Elamite Iran (613-640). —
Littlefield, A, et al., Redefining Race: The Potential Demise of a Concept in Physical
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Human Foragers: Ecological Models and an Application to Four Bushman Groups (47-
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Dacia. Nouvelle Série (Bucureçti) 26. 1982. 1-2.
Matccscu, C.N., I. Voinescu, Representation of Pregnancy on Certain Neolithic
Clay Figurines on Lower and Middle Danube (47-58).
Economic Development and Cultural Change (Chicago) 31.
1982. 1. Nihei, Y. et al., Industrialization and Employment Practices in Asia: A
Comparative Study of Ten Spinning Factories in Five Asian Countries (145-171). — 1983.
2. Leaf, M.J., The Green Revolution and Cultural Change in a Punjab Village, 1965-
1978 (227-270).
Erdkunde (Bonn) 36. 1982. 4.
Mahnke, L., Zur indianischen Landwirtschaft im Siedlungsgebiet der Kallaway as
(Bolivien) (247-254).
Ethnic Groups (London) 4. 1982. 4.
Van Esterik, P., Celebrating Ethnicity: Ethnic Flavor in an Urban Festival (207-
227). — Kirkland, J.R., Maintenance of Armenian Identity and Ethnicity in Australia
(255-294).
Ethnic and Racial Studies (Henley-on-Thames)
4. 1981. 3. Yingcr, J.M., Toward a Theory of Assimilation and Dissimilation
(249-264). — Homes, C., The Ritual Murder Accusation in Britain (265-288). — Kupcr,
L., Theories of Genocide (320-333). — Ray, J.J., Explaining Australian Attitudes
Towards Aborigines (348-352). — 4. Smith, A.D., War and Ethnicity: The Role of War-
fare in the Formation, Self-images and Cohesion of Ethnic Communities (375-397). — 5.
1982. 3. Vincent, J.A., Differentiation and Resistance: Ethnicity in Valle d’Aosta and
Kashmir (313-325). — Williams, C., Social Mobilization and Nationalism in Multicultural
Societies (349-365). — 4. Mason, D., Race Relations, Group Formation and Power: A
Framework for Analysis (421-439).
644
Review of Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Ethnographia (Budapest) 93. 1982.
2. Banó, I., Märchenstruktur und Ästhetik (232-258). — 3. Földes, L., “Wander-
ing People of Transylvania.” Historical-ethnographical Research on the Transhumance Be-
tween Transylvania and the Danubian Principalities (353-389). — Kristó, G., On the
Question of the “Nomadism” of Hungarians of the Middle of the 10th Century (463-
474).
Ethnographisch-Archäologische Zeitschrift (Berlin) 23. 1982. 3.
Kabo, V.R., Die Struktur des urwüchsigen gesellschaftlichen Bewußtseins (385-
408). — Rose, F.G. G , B. Schcps, Tradition und Wandel in der Rindenmalerei im Oen-
pelli-Gebiet, West-Arnhemland (425-445).
Ethnohistory (Wichita Falls, Texas)
27. 1980. 3. Lightfoot, K.G., Mormon Sociopolitical Development in Northern
Arizona, 1876-1906: Implications for a Model of Prehistoric Change (197-223). — Herz-
fcld, M., The Dowry in Greece: Terminological Usage and Historical Reconstruction
(225-241). — 4. Mathews, Z.P., Of Man and Beast: The Chronology of Effigy Pipes
Among the Ontario Iroquoians (295-307). — Abler, T.S., Iroquois Cannibalism: Fact
Not Fiction (309-316). — Bieder, R.E., The Grand Order of the Iroquois: Influences
on Lewis Henry Morgan’s Ethnology (349-361). — Tookcr, R., Isaac N. Hurd’s Ethno-
graphic Studies of the Iroquois: Their Significance and Ethnographic Value (363-369). —
28. 1981. 1. Lomas, P., The Early Contact Period in Northern New Ireland (Papua New
Guinea): From Wild Frontier to Plantation Economy (1-21). — Olwig, K.F., Women,
‘Matrifocality’ and Systems of Exchange: An Ethnohistorical Study of the Afro-American
Family on St.John, Danish West Indies (59-78). — 2. Stone, T., Whalers and Missionaries
at Herschel Island (101-124). — Burton, J., Pastoral Nilotes and British Colonialism
(125-132). — Orellana, S.L., Idols and Idolatry in Highland Guatemala (157-177).
Etimologia Americana (Düsseldorf) 19. 1982. 1-2.
König, R., Hintergründe des Navajo-Hopi-Konfliktes (1050-1055). — Hochlcitner,
F.J., Der Jadering von Pomona (1055-1056).
Etimologia Europaea (Göttingen) 13. 1982/83. 1.
Wicgclmann, G., Die Begriffe der Ethnologen (70-84).
Ethnology (Pittsburgh) 22. 1982. 1.
Wallace, B.J., Plants, Pigs, and People: Studying the Food Web in Pagan Gaddang
(27-41). — Henning Brown, C., The Gift of a Girl: Hierarchical Exchange in North Bihar
(43-62). — Nevadomsky, J., Economic Organization, Social Mobility, and Changing
Social Status Among East Indians in Rural Trinidad (63-79). — Kent, S., The Differen-
tiation of Navajo Culture, Behavior, and Material Culture: A Comparative Study in
Culture Change (81-91).
Ethnomusicology (Ann Arbor, Michigan) 26. 1982. 3.
Koskoff, E., The Music-Network: A Model for the Organization of Music Con-
cepts (353-370). — Brandily, M., Songs to Birds Among the Teda of Chad (371-390). —
Gourlay, K.A., Towards a Humanizing Ethnomusicology (411-420).
Ethos (Los Angeles, California) 10. 1982. 4.
Prince, E., The Endorphins: A Review for Psychological Anthropologists (303-
316). — Jilek, W.G., Altered States of Consciousness in North American Indian Cere-
monials (326-343). — Kane, S.M., Holiness Ritual Fire Handling: Ethnographic and
Psychophysiological Considerations (369-384). — Prince, R., Shamans and Endorphins:
Hypotheses for a Synthesis (409-423).
Review of Reviews
645
Finnisch-Ugrische Forschungen (Helsinki) 44. 1982. 1-3.
Janhunen, J., On the Structure of Proto-Uralic (23-42). — Lehtiranta, J., Eine Be-
obachtung über die Gründe der raschen Veränderung des Grundwortschatzes im Lap-
pischen (114-118).
Folia Lingüistica Historica (The Hague) 3. 1982. 2.
Maxwell, D., Implications of NP Accessibility for Diachronic Syntax (135-152). —
Swiggcrs, P., A propos d’une opposition fondamentale dans I’historiographie de la lin-
guistique (239-246).
Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies (Cambridge, Mass.) 42. 1982. 2.
Hartwell, R.M., Demographic, Political, and Social Transformations of China, 750-
1550 (365-442), — Overmycr, D.L., The White Cloud Sect in Sung and Yüan China
(615-642).
Historical Diffusionism (London) 33. 1981.
Joel, C.E., New Guinea and the Archaic Civilization (4-6). — Joel, C.E., The Me-
galithic World Turned Upside Down? (7-9) — Nimmo, A.W., Egypt and the Dynastic
Race. The Evidence of the Human Remains (44-60).
History of Religions (Chicago) 22.
1982. 2. Cooper, E,, The Potlatch in Ancient China: Parallels in the Sociopolitical
Structure of the Ancient Chinese and the American Indians of the Northwest Coast (ЮЗ-
128). — Wayman, A., The Human Body as Microcosm in India, Greek Cosmology, and
Sixteenth-Century Europe (172-190). — 1983. 3. Hultkrantz, Ake, The Concept of the
Supernatural in Primal Religion (231-253). — Borgcaud, P., The Death of the Great Pan:
The Problem of Interpretation (254-283).
L’Homme (Paris) 22. 1982. 3.
Var. auct., Les fetes dans le monde hindou (5-120).
IB LA (Tunis) 45. 1982. 2.
Guettat, M., Visages de la musique tunisienne (227-240). — Tabone, B., Aspects
socio-culturels de la folie en Tunisie (259-279).
The International Journal of African Historical Studies (New York) 14.
1981. 4.
Sheridan, R.B., The Guinea Surgeons on the Middle Passage: The Provision of
Medical Services in the British Slave Trade (601-625).
The Islamic Quarterly (London) 26. 1982. 3.
Naseef, A.O., The Role of Faith and Islamic Ethics in the Teaching of Natural and
Applied Sciences (131-137). — Eaton, H.G., “Knowledge and the Sacred”: Reflections
on Seyyed Hossein Nasr’s Gifford Lectures (138-148).
The Japanese Journal of Ethnology (Tokyo) 47. 1982.
2. Takakuwa, F., Genealogical Reforms in an Island of Yaeyama: A Case Study of
Changing Social Structure (157-189). — 3, Kamohara, D., Eine Deutung der Stammva-
terlegende Khitans: Eine Anwendung des Studiums über Schamanismus (245-264). — Ta-
maki, Y., Preface to the Study of the Philippine Lowland Society in Terms of Social
Relationships (265-296). — Matsuzono, N,, The Female Initiation Ceremony Among
the Gusii (297-304). 7 s
646
Review of Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Journal of African Languages and Linguistics (Dordrecht) 4. 1982. 1.
Samarin, W.J., Colonization and Pidginization on the Ubangi River (1-42).
Journal of American Folklore (Washington, D.C.) 96. 1982. 379.
Fontcnrosc, J., The Building of the City Walls: Troy and Asgard (53-63).
Journal of Anthropological Research (Albuquerque) 38. 1982.
3, Miller J., People, Berdaches, and Left-Handed Bears: Human Variation in Native
America (274-287). — Saffirio, G,, R. Scaglion, Hunting Efficiency in Acculturated and
Unacculturated Yanomama Villages (315-327). — 4. Jones, N.G.B., Origins, Functions,
Development, and Motivation: Unity and Disunity in the Study of Behavior (333-349). —
Witkowski, S.R., C.H. Brown, Whorf and Universal of Color Nomenclature (411-420).
Journal of Asian and African Studies (Tokyo) 1982.
23. Hara, R., H. Hara, Village Economy: Agriculture, Animal Husbandry and
Carpet-Weaving (38-72). — 24. Kagaya, R., Tonal Analysis of Kikuyu Nouns in Three
Dialects: Murang’a, Nyeri and Ndia (1-42).
The Journal of Pacific History (Canberra) 17, 1982. 3.
Hczcl, F.X., From Conversion to Conquest; The Early Spanish Mission in the
Marianas (115-137). — Mosel, U., P. Miihlhausler, New Evidence of a Samoan Origin of
New Guinea Tok Pisin (New Guinea Pidgin English) (166-175).
The Journal of Religion (Chicago) 63. 1983. 1.
Burrell, D., Faith and Religious Convictions: Studies in Comparative Epistemology
(64-73).
Journal of Religion in Africa (Leiden) 13. 1982. 1.
Burton, J.W., The Divination of Atuot Philosophy (1-10). — Ikenga-Metuh, E.,
Religious Concepts in West African Cosmogonies (11-24). — Spencer, L.P., Christianity
and Colonial Protest: Perceptions of W.E. Owen, Archdeacon of Kavirondo (47-60).
Language and Linguistics in Melanesia (formerly KIVUNG). Journal of the
Linguistic Society of Papua New Guinea (Ukarumpa via Lae) 13. 1981-1982.
1-2.
Piau, J.A., Kuman Classificatory Verbs (3-31). — Whitehead, C.R., Subject, Ob-
ject, and Indirect Object; Towards a Typology of Papuan Languages (32-63). — Reesink,
G., Review Article: The Whorfian Hypothesis and Siroi Grammar. A Review of M.A.
Wells Siroi Grammar, Pacific Linguistics Series B, No. 51 (81-105).
Man. The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute (London) 17.
1982.4.
Keen, I., How some Murngin Men Marry ten Wives: The Marital Implications of
Matrilateral Cross-Cousin Structures (620-642). — Sanmartín, R., Marriage and In-
heritance in a Mediterranean Fishing Community (664-685). — Drucker-Brown, S., Jok-
ing Relationship (714-727). — Strenski, I., Malinowski: Second Positivism, Second
Romanticism (766-771).
Man in India (Ranchi, Bihar) 62. 1982. 4.
Upreti, H.C., Ethnocentrism of a Migrant Group (381-392).
Review of Reviews
647
Medical Anthropology (Storrs, Connecticut) 6. 1982. 2.
Foster, G.M., Responsibility for Illness in Tzintzuntzan: A Cognitive-Linguistic
Anomaly (81-90), — Katz, S.S, et ah, The Making of an Urban Mganga: New Trends in
Traditional Medicine in Urban Kenya (91-112).
Monumenta Serica. Journal of Oriental Studies (Fribourg) 34. 1979/80.
Taylor, R.L., Acquiring a Point of View: Confucian Dimensions of Self-Reflec-
tion (145-170).
Namibiana (SWA Windhoek) 4, 1982. 1.
Zaby, A., Die Riemvasmaker. Geschichte und Kultur einer Gemeinschaft (9-154).
Neprajzi Ertesitö (Budapest) 61. 1979.
Anon., Applied Anthropology. Initiatives in the Practical Use of our Science (29).
— Agücro, I., A szinkretizmus es a transzkulturacio fogalma (31-63).
Neprajzi Hirek (Budapest) 10. 1981. 3-6.
Gemcs, M.S. et ah, Bibliographie der ungarischen Volkskunde 1980 (48-101).
Occasional Papers in Anthropology (St. Lucia, Queensland) 10. 1980.
Satterthwait, L.D., Communicating with Objects: Some Problems Relating to the
Exhibition of Material Culture in Museums (1-8). - Devitt, J., Fraser Island Material
Culture (9-22). — Collivcr, F.S., F.P. Woolston, The Rain Forest Sword and Shield in
Queensland (63-93). — Trigger, D.S., Aborigines, Anthropologists, and the Aboriginal
Relics Issue in Queensland (148-154).
Pacific Studies (Laie, Hawaii) 5. 1982. 2.
Feinbcrg, R., Structural Dimensions of Sociopolitical Change on Anuta, S.I, (1-
19.) — Shuster, D.R., State Shinto in Micronesia During Japanese Rule, 1914-1945 (20-
43). — Tonkinson, R., Vanuatu Values; A Changing Symbiosis (44-63). — Campbell,
I.C., Polynesian Perceptions of Europeans in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries
(64-80).
Paléorient (Paris) 7. 1981. 2.
Aurenchc, O., L’architecture mésopotamienne du VIIe au IVe millénaire (43-55).
— Lyonnct, B., Etablissements chalcolithiques dans le Nord-Est de l’Afghanistan: leurs
rapports avec les civilisations du bassin de l’Indus (57-74),
Philippine Quarterly of Culture and Society (Cebu City, Philippines) 10.
1982. 3.
McCoy, A.W., Baylan: Animist Religion and Philippine Peasant Ideology (141-194).
Religion (London) 12. 1982.
1. Dumont, L., A Modified View of our Origins: The Christian Beginnings of
Modem Individualism (1-27). — Krcjci, J., Civilization and Religion (29-47). — 2. Haule,
J.R., Psychology and Religion: A Review of Efforts to Work at the Interface (149-165).
— 3. Pcssar, P.R., Millenarian Movement in Rural Brazil: Prophecy and Protest (187-
213). — Hutch, R.A., Are Psychological Studies of Religion on the Right Track? (277-
299) — 4. Kent, S.A., A Sectarian Interpretation of the Rise of Mahayana (311-332). —
Gager, J.G., Body-Symbols and Social Reality: Resurrection, Incarnation and Ascetism
in Early Christianity (345-364), — Batunsky, M., Recent Soviet Islamology (365-389).
648
Review of Reviews
Anthropos 78.1983
Religion and Society (Bangalore)
28. 1981. 3. Charrcrji, S.K., A Note on the Study of Religion and Society, Mission
and Transformation (2-8). — Prabhakar.M E., Caste-Class and Status in Andhra Churches
and Implications for Mission Today: Some Reflections (9-35). — Ayrookzhiel, A.M.A.,
The Church and the Study of Religion (36-41). — Taylor, R.W., Social Research and
the Church (42-52). — 4. Wingate, A., A Study of Conversion from Christianity to
Islam in Two Tamil Villages (3-36). — Augustine, P.A., Conversion as Social Protest
(51-57). - 29. 1982. 1. Joseph, R., Purusottama Coudhari: His Special Contribution
to Indian Christian Theology (29-54). — Devasahayam, K., The Bible Mission (55-
89).
Religious Studies (Cambridge) 18. 1982. 4.
Mcyncll, H., Towards a New Dialectic of Religions (417-431).
Revista de Etnografie §i Folclor (Bucure§ti) 27. 1982. 1.
Veti^anu, V., Vasile Parvan et la dimension ethnique de la culture (3-13). — Fochi,
A., lovan lorgovan, personnage mythologique ou simple creation artistique? (60-77).
Social Compass. Revue Internationale de Sociologie de la Religion (Ottignies
Louvain-La-Neuve) 29. 1982.
2 -3. Var. auct., Popular Piety in Northern, Eastern and Middle Areas of Europe
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Studi Storico Religiosi (L’Aquila) 6. 1982. 1-2.
Lévèque, P., Structures imaginaires et fonctionnement des mystères grecs (185-
209). — Xella, L.P., Ipotesi sulla mitologia nel tardo Romanticismo tedesco: la schellin-
ghiana introduzione storico-critica alla filosofia della mitologia (253-285). — Marini, A.,
Conversione e morte. Il problema della conversione al cristianesimo in Bernardo di
Clairvaux (345-381).
Suplemento Antropològico, (Asunción, Paraguay) 16. 1981. 2.
Oberlar, A., La problemática indígena en el Paraguay (7-18). — Velázquez, R.E.,
Indígenas y españoles en la formación social del pueblo paraguayo (29-67). — Robins, W.,
La importancia de la cultura indígena en el programa socio-cultural del Paraguay (69-82).
— Vysokolán, O., Perspectivas de desarrollo de las etnias indígenas en el Paraguay (83-
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guayo (105-117).
Tribus (Stuttgart) 31. 1982.
Hartmann, G., Fischfest der Pau d’Arco-Kayapo, Brasilien (Ngore-Zeremonie) (37-
44). — Lopasic, A., The Lerman Collection (51-85).
Verbum SVD (Roma ) 23. 1982. 4.
Twi, P., The Influence of Traditional Culture and Religion on the Ghanaian
Christian (351-371).
Die Waage (Stolberg/Rhld.) 21. 1982. 4.
Ross, W., Der Mensch als Homo ludens. Nichts ist so ernst wie das Spiel (134-
140).
Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde Südasiens (Wien) 26. 1982.
Miller, R.A., Linguistic Issues in the Study of Tibetan Grammar (83-116).
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