Impossible. Benedict did something that no anthropologist would even attempt now. Comparative while contextualized, neither brief nor extensive, the three cultural sketches (four if you include the silent partner, early twentieth century America) which make up the heart of Patterns of Culture alone ensure this book’s legacy as a perennial classic. First published in 1935 and still in print, Benedict’s work does something unique. It borrows heavily from the ethnographic research of others, sometimes digesting lengthy ethnographies into succinct chapters. It’s not likely that anybody today would consent to or even tolerate having their hard-earned fieldwork materials given over to somebody else’s research program or political project. But perhaps back then there was still an esprit de corps among the (in this case, Boasian) ethnographers, who each in their own way surmised that people need to be enlightened about the plurality of the planet’s cultural configurations. The Boasians apparently believed that no individual’s research program, nor one’s ‘name’ in the field, was more important than the dissemination of truth about what humans are, what they are not, and most importantly what they could possibly be.
Patterns of Culture begins by defining anthropology as “the study of human beings as creatures of society.” To be human means above all else to be human in a community with other human beings of like manners and beliefs, which entails being human in a particular way. Today, many psychologists assume that fathoming the mind of an idealized individual is basic to any scientific understanding of human nature. But in anthropology’s first golden age, the individual could only be understood in terms of his or her actions and reactions within the context of a particular cultural configuration. The psychologists ‘human nature’ is really already confused with local traditions. These local traditions are what make us ‘creatures of society’ as opposed to creatures of instinct. A century or so ago, it was felt that the easiest way to appreciate how the individual and the social presuppose one another is to look at primitives, embedded in their matrix of traditional cultures that are smaller and simpler and that can be better encapsulated in a text. The anthropologist can observe each primitive culture as a test case, where, through an observation of cultural traits and their interactions, the culture concept can be developed under local conditions. The point is not to idealize primitive cultures (“no spirit of poeticizing the simpler peoples”) but to instead appreciate through the observation of bare life how all individuals are “plastic to the molding force of the society into which they were born”, and how the individual’s feedback of thoughts, feelings, and actions in time lend their form and substance to the social.
Primitive societies, being simpler, can be characterized by a single concept, one which is derived through a synthetic process, not unlike the heuristic abstraction of a Weberian ideal type. This technique will not work for our own highly specialized roles in our highly stratified civilization. But for the primitive folks, who are neither dispersed from a single locality nor stratified into classes, we can distill a configuration of traits into a gestalt, a holistic representation whose unity is greater than the sum of its parts. Clearly, we can not cut all cultures down to what Benedict calls the ‘Procrustean bed’ of some ‘catchword characterization.’ But it always helps to have a key concept handy to frame an understanding of an unfamiliar cultural configuration, although the narrowness or vagueness of the concept can produce a liability. But in principle, we are dealing with an open set of terminological distinctions and not a limited schema of terms taken from a totalizing and closed set of ethnological ideas.
People are born with many different talents and temperaments, and since some cultures allow more and different variation than others, it follows that the same individual might feel freer in one culture than in another. Thus, being born gay means something different for the Puritan than it does for the Plains Indian, who has access to the tolerated and accepted role of the berdache. Likewise, some cultures expect complete sobriety while other cultures permit experimentation with drugs, or else a culture might place great importance on ecstatic trance states. This means that people whose behaviors are regarded as normal in one society might be seen as devious freaks in another society. A naturally skilled warrior might be a pariah in a pacifist tribe. Young lovers might be celebrated in one locale, only to be condemned in another. But all cultures permit or prohibit certain traits according to their own (sometimes inconsistent or seemingly arbitrary) configuration. And so, at times, tradition can be “as neurotic as any patient.”
While the ethnological chapters of Patterns of Culture are interesting, it is the middle three ethnographic chapters which make this book still so fascinating. The key to Benedict’s method is not only to give enough detail about a society so that its cultural configuration can be discerned, but also to provide a terse enough description that several cultures can be lined up for side by side comparison in a single work. “The Pueblos of New Mexico”, based primarily on the Zuñi ethnography of Ruth Bunzel, depicts an Apollonian civilization. While still primitive in scale and simplicity, this culture appears well advanced in its ethical structure. Moderation and the middle way are emphasized. The wielding of power and the exercise of violence are avoided rather than craved, and any thirst for dominating others is regarded as a sinister sign of sorcery. The individual is in fact submerged, through a system of rituals and initiations, into the foundational matrices of the culture itself. Living in harmony with the community is valued more than any personal glory or pride in individual accomplishment. While not puritanical to any degree, the Zuñi are modest, peaceful, sober, egalitarian. For Benedict, the Zuñi out-Greek the ancient Greeks, thriving in their Apollonian near-utopia.
The Melanesian island of Dobu, on the other hand, hosts a tribe that is about as far from a utopian community as one could imagine. The Dobu, as studied by Fortune, are depicted as paranoid, for they value ill-will and treachery as their highest virtues. From a Western perspective, Dobu ideas of marriage are fairly bizarre. The marriage begins when the girl’s mother traps her new son-in-law in her house, only releasing him once he agrees to the marriage. And when a wife dies for any reason whatsoever, the husband is labeled a sorcerer and is summarily blamed for the death. The widower is then forced to labor like a slave for his wife’s parents for up to two years, or until a hefty ransom is paid by the widower’s clan for his emancipation.
The Kwakiutl of the Canadian pacific, as studied by Boas, had a competitive civilization steeped in a Dionysian and megalomaniac will to power. Like the Zuñi, the Kwakiutl communicate their culture to one another in ritual acts. But unlike the Zuñi, the Kwakiutl do not submerge their egos into the social collective but instead strive toward personal aggrandizement through the shaming of rivals. The famous institution of the Potlatch, by which one acquires power and influence, works through a process of selfishly giving. With great feasting and fanfare, massive quantities of goods (for example, thousands of blankets, or named copper plates worth even more) are presented to one’s enemy in an effort to shame him into a status of inferiority. In a year, the shamed recipient must hold a Potlatch in order to return the goods with 100 per cent interest, or else face further shame and indignation. There is no celebration of the ‘middle way’ like you find in the Pueblo tribes. Rather, ecstatic trance states form part of initiation into the egotistical (to the extreme) Cannibal Society, in which the entranced participant “fell upon the onlookers with his teeth and bit a mouthful of flesh from their arms.” The Kwakiutl are in fact horrified by this display of a cannibalistic lack of self control, but nevertheless accommodate this sort of behavior through ritual initiation as part of the Kwakiutl’s Dionysian, megalomaniac configuration. We have in the Kwakiutl a generalized war of all against all, such that weddings and investitures (purchasing of traditional names together with the prerogatives that go with them) appear more like a personal war than any sort of peaceful projection of the social collective.
Benedict’s Patterns of Culture is a classic for a number of good reasons. The ethnographic sketches of the three main cultures dealt with are succinct and well written, enough so that the reader comes away with impressions of these cultures which are both vivid and lasting. There is no jargon to navigate through or around. The dense webs of ethnographic vignettes help one to visualize the constellation of behaviors which instantiate the cultural configurations. Throughout the point is made that while individual behavior might vary in similar ways in distinct cultures, how that range of behavior is dealt with and made sense of depends to a large extent on the peculiarities of each cultural configuration.
Although I am not aware of Patterns of Culture making much of an impact in any field outside of anthropology, I am intrigued by Kroeber’s 1935 review which claimed Patterns is best suited for the ‘intelligent non-anthropologist’ as ‘propaganda for the anthropological attitude.’
There are a few things which detract slightly from Patterns of Culture. First of all, while the interplay of self and society is expounded with thorough detail, other aspects of cultural context are missing. Apart from the brief statements about the salmon runs making the Kwakiutl rich while barren soils made the Dobu poor, there is no attempt to tie together ecology with the wider economy and society. Maybe the Kwakiutl are wasteful and the Dobu are miserable because of their physical environments. Patterns also lacks any historical depth that one might find in a more modern work of ethnography. And as was later discovered by psychological anthropologists, these concepts that are used to label configurations (as cultural personalities) might be a little too much like stereotypes to be successfully applied to more subtle sociocultural phenomena. I tend to agree with Firth, who in 1936 said that the cultures described in Benedict’s Patterns “seem to demand a more subtle analysis and more varied instruments of measurement.” But I think it is telling that while Firth argues for greater analytical depth, Kroeber makes the contrary argument for more cultures to be included for increased breadth of analysis. Actually, I believe Benedict made optimal choices of what to include and how to characterize these native peoples. Adding more cultures or augmenting the terminology would make the work less effective, not more so.
In the end, Benedict favors a relativist approach to ethnography and ethnology. By not passing judgment on the cultures being explored and investigated, we arrive at anthropology’s Holy Grail: an objective accounting of how one might participate in a unique culture, despite coming into this world as a blank slates free of knowledge or prejudice. Finally, Benedict seems to advocate a program of cultural critique. We need to be sensitive to the fact that those who are odd in one culture might be normal elsewhere, and vice versa. The fact that all cultures are different is not a reason for despair. Rather, the plasticity of human beings means change for the better is always possible, provided sufficient communication and tolerance are condoned. The culture we must live with is ultimately malleable and transformable, as long as it does not succumb under the weight of its own propaganda.