What do people do in traditional
societies?
Say, in this village, called Tambunum, where about 1000 Iatmul people
live along the banks of the Sepik River in Papua New Guinea.
That is, what do people seek to create when they are not engaged in
the practical activities of everyday life—what we call ‘work—such as
carving a canoe?
Or going fishing?
Or cleaning the fish?
Or going to the market (in this case, a market that came to the village
by canoe)?
Or dancing at a ceremony?
Or hanging out with the anthropologist?
People in traditional societies do all these
things: build houses and canoes, grow food,
hunt, fish, engage in rituals, visit kin, hang
out, have fun, argue, more or less what we
do—only they do these things somewhat
differently. But people in traditional societies
also do something else—something that is
vital to their view of a proper, moral person.
Before I tell you what that is, let me illustrate
this activity—an activity central to the drama
of human life in these societies—with some
additional images.
These women are arranging betel nuts, chewed as a stimulant
throughout the Pacific Islands and Southeast Asia. Iatmul generally
carry a bunch of betel-nuts in their bags and baskets. People
constantly give and take them as part of everyday conversation,
visiting, meetings, social events, rituals, and more or less any form of
activity.
Men from two feuding villages enact a ritual of conflict resolution
through a mutual exchange. The man in the center, representing one
village (he is a member of Parliament), walks to men from the other
village to present them with a gift of betel nuts. The other village will
then immediately reciprocate. There is also a ceremonial invocation of
the spirits to sanctify the cessation of hostilities.
Preparations for a village-wide ceremony. The man on the right believed himself
insulted—for some reason I no longer recall. In order to get him to re-join the community,
and thus to help participate in the ceremony, men from the other clans of the village
walked to his house and handed him a cluster of betel-nuts. A ritual specialist also made
a brief chant to invoke the spirits (which you see here)—in a sense, to apologize for the
insult, and to sanctify or express the fact that the village was now united. Major
ceremonies that involve the entire village may not proceed unless all significant disputes
are resolved. Any arguments, feuds, and disruptions during a major ceremony insult the
spirits, resulting in sickness and perhaps death. The resolution of a dispute always
involves an exchange or gift.
A senior woman
bringing a plate of
coconut as a gift of
food to the spirits—a
necessary gesture of
nurture before the
opening of a major
ceremony. Humans
feed the spirits and,
in turn, the spirits will
‘appear’ during the
ceremony and
sustain village.
A father introduces his son to the spirits. Before doing so, the father
gives a gift of food to the spirits (really, to elder men who oversee the
spirit masks). In exchange, the elder men smear black paint onto the
child’s face. For Iatmul, black is the color of ritual potency. This gesture
thus transmits mystical, magical, or spiritual power to the child. You
feed the spirits—and they, in a sense, feed you.
Even the
anthropologist
gets his face
smeared—he
needed all the
magical
assistance he
could get!
In Iatmul marriage, to
generalize, a woman moves
from the clan of her birth to the
clan of her husband. She
remains a member of her
original clan—but her labor and
children are henceforth
incorporated into her husband’s
clan. Her group thus loses a
woman and everything she will
do and make for the rest of her
life. By way of a symbolic
compensation, the husband’s
clan gives gifts of food and
wealth to the wife’s clan (for
example, a pig with a carton of
beer and some money). This
gift, too, is akin to a legal
document stating that the
women’s children all belong to
the husband’s clan. The
husband, too, will work for his
wife’s parents: tend to their food
gardens, carve them a canoe,
and so forth.
Marriage among the Iatmul is rather complex. Traditionally,
young men and women did not marry on the basis of
romance and love--that is, self-interest. Rather, the kinship
group (a lineage; each clan has many lineages) arranged
marriages in the best interest of the group.
Iatmul marry outside their lineage or clan (but still within the
village). The group tries to spread out marriages to as
many lineages and clans as possible—to create and renew,
through marriage, relationships to those other groups.
Iatmul also strive to avoid any marriage imbalances—say,
when women from your group marry into another lineage,
but that lineage fails to send its own women back to you as
wives.
Iatmul thus see marriage as a type of exchange between
groups—an exchange that, in the long run, should achieve
a sense of balance.
Iatmul clans never perform
their own rituals. Such an
insult to the spirits would
surely result in illnesses and
deaths. Instead, your clan
feeds other groups, and they
perform the ceremony on
your group’s behalf. In this
sense, ritual requires good
social relations between
groups—and ritual ensures
good social relationships.
You feed others, and they
reciprocate by performing
your ceremonies.
In this photo, a group of men
from one clan clean, repair,
and primp spirit masks from
another clan in preparation
for an upcoming ceremony.
The sponsors of the ritual
gave them food, and now
they assume the role of ritual
performers.
Ritual sponsors (one clan) parading with plates of food, tobacco, and
newspaper (for rolling cigarettes) to give to ritual performers from other clans.
The woman in the white shirt, after a few years of marriage, did not become pregnant.
Her brothers reasoned that the spirits were angry—that one of the brothers inadvertently
transgressed some taboo or rule. Only the brothers didn’t know which one violated what
rule. Regardless, the brothers red their sister a small meal—a gift of nurture that
redressed the wrongdoing and appeased the spirits so the sister would conceive a child.
Among Iatmul, a key social relationship is between
the mother’s brother (maternal uncle) and his
sister’s children (nieces, nephews). (To answer
one question often asked: Iatmul and most
traditional societies determine relatives in such a
way that everybody has lots of mothers’ brothers
and sisters’ children.) The uncle often feeds his
sister’s children, and they reciprocate with
valuables. Since the uncle and his sister’s
children belong to different lineages or clans, these
exchanges renew and express the relationship
between two groups that might otherwise quarrel.
These exchanges create, and express, a moral
relationship between the two groups.
Moreover, this relationship allows men (the uncles)
to act tenderly, almost motherly, towards some
relatives—a tenderness no man would ever
display to his own children!
Here, mothers’ brothers have given a small meal to their sister’s
children (and the children’s parents). They also tied magical charms to
them (bracelets, necklaces, and ankle-bracelets). The food and
charms magically promote the health of the sister’s children.
In this photo, my sister
(named Tupwa) holds a
woven basket with some
money tied to the handle.
She is giving me this gift
on behalf of her children
(one of whom is standing
behind her). I am their
mother’s brother. A few
days earlier, I gave them
a chicken. Now they are
reciprocating with this
present.
I give them food or
nurture, and they give me
valuables. We renew
and symbolize our
relationship through
exchange.
Male ritual specialists chant in honor of the spirit of the ancestral netbag (hanging on the
pole at the center). Someone took ill in this house because a person in the lineage
accidentally insulted the spirit of the netbag. To make amends to the spirit and heal the
person, the owner of the house gave food to these men so they would perform this small
ritual. The men eat the meal on behalf of the spirit: you give food, and the spirit
reciprocates.
To ensure that this new canoe will glide swiftly, like an
eagle, the owner’s sister’s children placed a gift in the prow
to please the canoe spirit: a bunch of betel nuts, some
money, and magically-bespelled leaves.
Not all exchanges or gifts of food
are polite or kind. Here, a clan
piles food (coconuts, bananas, a
dog, sacks of rice) they will later
give to the other clans of the
village. They do likewise. The
clan that gives away the most food
wins—that is, demonstrates a
greater ability to feed others than
their rival clans. In short, a Iatmul
person or group gains prestige
through competitive generosity.
You shame your rivals not by
possessing more things and
wealth (as in our country), but by
giving them more than they can
give you.
On one memorable occasion in the village, I
mentioned in passing that I had no sweet potatoes.
Little did I realize that one of my relatives (a type of
cousin) overheard my comment—a relative who is
supposed to look out for my well-being. From his
perspective, I insulted his generosity, his abilities
to nurture others, and his morality. As a result, he
presented me the next day with a massive sack of
sweet potatoes—in effect, showing that, contrary
to what I said, he could nurture others with gifts of
food. And he could do so massively! This gift of
food, intended to insure my well-being, also served
as a public way of humiliating me—by defeating
me through generosity.
In some traditional societies in Papua New Guinea
and elsewhere, people compete for political
prestige through competitive feasting. Your group
invites your rivals to dinner; they are obligated to
attend. Your goal is to feed them more food than
they could possibly eat! This way, you win. You
defeat or humiliate them through your generosity.
Of course, your guests have a different strategy:
they want to eat everything you have to offer, and
then ask for more. This way, they express the
sentiment “Is that all? Is that the best you can
do?” In other words, they strive to humiliate you
by implying that you are not generous, or that your
ability to nurture others is simply insufficient.
Okay, what can we conclude.
First, it appears that some sort of exchange occurs in
almost all activities.
Second, social interaction rests on continuous exchanges.
Third, exchange or reciprocity creates and expresses the
ideal of good, moral relationships.
Fourth, Iatmul value balanced reciprocity.
Fifth, reciprocity concerns sharing, and gestures of
consideration. But reciprocity can also be aggressive
and competitive.
Last, people in traditional societies think of the person not a
a bounded individual (egocentric) but as essentially
connected to others (sociocentric). You do not create
groups; rather, groups create you.
The be a person in traditional societies such
as Iatmul is to give—to engage in
continuous reciprocity or gift-exchange. It
is the essence of social life. Reciprocity is
the medium of relationships, ritual, politics,
conflict resolution, anger, and aggression.
In societies constituted by reciprocity, every
person has three obligations: to give, to
receive, and to give back.
It is what you do. A moral person is a
person who engages in reciprocity.
However, you will notice that, in the long run,
people tend to give and receive more or
less the same things. Often, you don’t get
anything you didn’t already have. Indeed,
many traditional societies have rules along
the lines of “your own pigs you do not eat.”
You raise pigs not so you can eat them,
but so you can give them away. You never
eat your own pigs; you only eat the pigs
given to you by others. Why not just eat
your own pigs?
The answer to this question is simple, yet
profound:
Because the goal of exchange is social, not
material. You engage in exchange or
reciprocity not to get things, but to create,
manipulate, and maintain social
relationships. The goal is social, not
material.
None of this is to say that people in traditional societies are
better, or kinder, or more caring, or nicer than we are in
America or elsewhere. We are also generous.
They can also be mean, petty, nasty, self-interested,
stubborn, violent, careless, and aggressive. And so can
we.
Rather, I am saying the people in traditional societies such
as Iatmul think about the essence of life and what it
means to be a person in a fundamentally different way
than we do: we privilege the individual and the
ownership of material things. They privilege the group
and reciprocity. And in this regard, I think it true that we
have much to learn from them.
What do people do in traditional societies?
They create society itself—the grand plot of life is
not to maximize things, but to maximize
relationships. People derive significance and
meaning from exchange and manipulating
relationships. The drama of life is played out in
the realm of the social.
In traditional societies, you engage in ongoing,
continuous reciprocity because that is what it
means to be human.