What do you think?
Rate this book


205 pages, Unknown Binding
First published January 1, 1970
This small book was published as part of the iconic Fontana Modern Masters series five years after Leach wrote a significant essay on Lévi-Strauss for the New Left Review. The book is more expansive than the article but covers much of the same territory. In the intervening five years from article to book, Lévi-Strauss’ most well-known work in the Anglophone world, The Savage Mind, was first published in English, and the structuralist moment in France had given way to the post-structuralist moment. Lévi-Strauss was enjoying a certain vogue outside of France but, as Leach makes clear, it was not a vogue within anthropology itself - the title of Leach’s article for the New Left Review is “Claude Lévi-Strauss– Anthropologist and Philosopher.”
Leach sets the table right away: Lévi-Strauss is gaining popularity outside of anthropology as a philosopher. His prose and arguments have the confounding quality of a flimflam man. He relies on an outdated conception of linguistics that ignores the Chomskyan revolution. His field work is meager, spending a few weeks at a time amongst his subjects, as opposed to years. As Lévi-Strauss does not bother to master the languages of his subjects, his observations of their culture and social systems can’t help but be superficial. He engages in more theorizing than empirical work; the theory itself is already obscure and parochial. We might leave it at that, but Leach still has a contractually obligated word count to fulfill for the Modern Masters series.
Before going into Lévi-Strauss’ actual thought in any depth, having acknowledged its many shortcomings, the reader might be tempted to ask - why was Lévi-Strauss popular enough to warrant a monograph alongside volumes on Freud, Che Guevara and Chomsky? Furthermore - a question Leach could not yet have posed at the time - why has Lévi-Strauss, despite outliving every single major name of structuralism and post-structuralism, not retained the lasting popularity of Foucault, Derrida, or Deleuze?
The problem facing Lévi-Strauss, first and foremost, is that while he shares the gnomic quality apparently endemic to French academic writing of the era, is that he simply made too much sense. As Leach notes, Lévi-Strauss’ own propositions, while clearly having a positivist-scientistic basis of some kind, are effectively unfalsifiable. But this is the worst of both worlds: the mantic outlook of Derrida was ultimately untethered from any conception of truth by design. It was the mantic outlook - not Derrida’s thought itself - which took the world by storm. But it took the world by storm under the signifier “Derrida.” Lévi-Strauss - nominally a social scientist - could never find a mass audience by these means.
But what of Lévi-Strauss’ initial popularity? As Chomsky and Merquior have explained in reference to “French Theory,” the French social sciences were parochial to the core at the time. And yet, there was a counter-current within the Anglosphere which considered Anglo-American social science and philosophy to themselves be parochial. Thus a bizarre series of dialogues in which Lacan - a psychiatrist - finds his greatest influence is on film studies. Derrida and Deleuze - philosophers - are completely ignored in American philosophy departments but attain canonical status in literature departments, not to mention their own para-academic cults that last to this day. Perry Anderson has noted that part of the editorial outlook of the New Left Review in the 1960s was a feeling that British theoretical culture was too insulated from intellectual developments on the continent, closed off from developments in German Critical Theory and French structuralism. That these developments themselves were mostly not in dialogue either with each other or with Anglophone social science and philosophy was, at the time, apparently of less significance.
Now, one might wonder, why read Lévi-Strauss at all? The arguments are bad, or at least obscure, and perhaps both. His popularity has waned significantly since the high tide of structuralism. He is canonical while also being almost completely unread outside of anthropology, and still largely unread within it. And yet, as Derrida might say, “and yet”! If one works backwards from the importance of Derrida and Althusser to the intellectual history of the last century, one must confront that Lévi-Strauss remains a towering figure. That Lévi-Strauss is today unread both within and outside the academy doesn’t diminish his historical significance. That is, Lévi-Strauss can still be appreciated for his significance to intellectual history; whether his arguments merit much attention is peripheral to the concerns of anyone interested in intellectual history (my primary interest). But now it has come time to actually consider some of Lévi-Strauss’ own arguments and ideas.
Lévi-Strauss’s understanding of totemism begins with what he takes to be what distinguishes man from animal: the language faculty. But man shares with animals the capacity to make category distinctions. Before the language capacity in an individual is developed, category formation is animal-like rather than human-like. As Leach explains:
For human (as distinct from animal) survival every member of society must learn to distinguish his fellow men according to their mutual social status. But the simplest way to do this is to apply transformations of the animal level categories to the social classification of human beings. This is the key point in Lévi-Strauss’ Structuralist approach to the classic anthropological theme of Totemism. (39-40).
The seemingly universal tendency to worship plants and animals, then, can tell us something universal about the human mind itself. Comparing totemic systems - cultural products of the human mind - can tell us something about the human mind. This is a crucial methodological point as well - the highly abstract and algebraic nature of Lévi-Strauss’ analysis still relies on empirical material to be possible. Lévi-Strauss may be faulted for the shallowness of his own fieldwork, but it would be wrong to say that he is only interested in grand theorizing.
For Lévi-Strauss, then, human society exists at all through symbolic exchange - we exchange words, we exchange signs, and so forth. As Leach puts it, “These words and gifts communicate information because they are signs, not because they are things in themselves.” (44) And yet, for Lévi-Strauss, the primary model for exchange in all society is the incest taboo itself (Leach is quick to qualify that the incest taboo is not, despite Lévi-Strauss’ claim to the contrary, universal. Leach is also quick to clarify that he takes Lévi-Strauss’ conclusion to be apparently so absurd as to perhaps simply be the product of his - Leach’s - own misunderstanding.) Leach summarizes it thus:
The basis of human exchange, and hence the basis of symbolic thought and the beginning of culture, lies in the uniquely human phenomenon that a man is able to establish relationship [sic] with another man by means of an exchange of women. (44)
Leach is quick to point out that Lévi-Strauss’ account is unverifiable; I would go further and say more damningly that it is also unfalsifiable. It certainly won’t teach us anything new about any particular culture; can it teach us anything about the human mind? And, importantly, what would it take to show Lévi-Strauss is wrong? Could anything? If it is merely a classificatory scheme, why ought we prefer this one to any other? Lacking any mechanism for generating a “grammar” of myth (of the type Chomsky is concerned with in linguistics), it would seem to instead be primarily an exercise in an inductive classification that then makes generalizations about the human mind (failing to meet the criterion of falsifiability is also potentially a characteristic of aspects of Chomsky’s thought as well, at least as I understand it).
It is this, the theory of primitive classification, that Leach clearly takes to be the most interesting area of Lévi-Strauss’ thought. He is dismissive of Lévi-Strauss’ earliest work in kinship theory, and not entirely dismissive, but still highly critical, of Lévi-Strauss’ work on myth. The same critiques emerge over and over: Lévi-Strauss’ inability to meet criteria or verification or falsification, low standards of empirical field work, grand theory that is ultimately too grandiose.
Leach sums up Lévi-Strauss’ basic outlook thus:
Lévi-Strauss is not an idealist in the style of Bishop Berkeley; he is not arguing that Nature has no existence other than in its apprehension by human minds. Lévi-Strauss’ Nature is a genuine reality ‘out there’; it is governed by natural laws which are accessible, at least in part, to human scientific investigation but our capacity to apprehend the nature of Nature is severely restricted by the nature of the apparatus through which we do the apprehending. Lévi-Strauss’ thesis is that by noticing how we apprehend Nature, by observing the qualities of the classifications which we use and the way we manipulate the resulting categories, we shall be able to infer crucial facts about the mechanism of thinking. (25-26)
The basis of this entire procedure, however, becomes suspect once we start to gather the evidence for it. As Leach repeatedly reminds us, Lévi-Strauss never engaged in any significant fieldwork of the type that had already long been standard in Anglo-American anthropology departments. Here the problem of falsifiability rears its head - on just what basis could we reject Lévi-Strauss’ structural anthropology altogether? Or, at minimum, by what criteria could we reject any part of the theory?
Leach ultimately pulls off quite the feat, laying bouquets even as he bruises and bashes. Leach repeatedly assures us: Lévi-Strauss may be wrong, but he is wrong in an interesting way - particularly regarding primitive classification, and to a lesser degree, with regard to the structure of myth. Yes, Lévi-Strauss’ prose may be difficult and perhaps tinged with claptrap, but it is worth reading nonetheless. This is not quite the stuff of social science, but then again - maybe it is, and it is just better to be sober about the matter. J.G. Merquior suggests in his own book on structuralism that structuralism can be characterized in part by its “mantic outlook”:
[Structuralism] rejoices in pointing at the place of meaning without naming it. Like a cryptic soothsayer, the Pythian oracle of Barthes’s own example, the structuralist analysis loves to spot meaning as an obscure vibration, a dim discharge of deeply enigmatic sense. Hence the mystique of the signifier, the obsessive dream of non-denotative languages. (Merquior 191)
Leach, writing a decade and a half earlier, would seem to concur:
…Lévi-Strauss is a visionary, and the trouble with those who see visions is that they find it very difficult to recognise the plain matter of fact world which the rest of us see all around. (18)