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ARTICLE

Copyright 2004 SAGE Publications (www.sagepublications.com)

ISSN 1469-6053 Vol 4(1): 527 DOI: 10.1177/1469605304039848

Virtue ethics and the practice of history

Native Americans and archaeologists along the San Pedro
Valley of Arizona
CHIP COLWELL-CHANTHAPHONH
Center for Desert Archaeology,Tucson, Arizona, USA

T. J. FERGUSON
Anthropological Research, LLC,Tucson, Arizona, USA

ABSTRACT
For nearly a century archaeologists have endeavored to illuminate
12,000 years of Native American history in the San Pedro Valley of
southeastern Arizona. Although this scholarship has established an
essential foundation, it is limited by the construction of history through
the singular interpretive framework of western scientific practice. The
Tohono Oodham, Hopi, Zuni and Western Apache peoples all
maintain oral traditions that provide alternative voices about the lives
of their ancestors. This article examines the ethical environment of a
collaborative ethnohistory project, which sought to document Native
American histories and adjoin humanistic understandings of the past
with scientific findings. We argue that a Virtue Ethics approach to the
social context of this research offers sound moral guidance to a flourishing ethic of collaboration. Using this work as a case study, we aim
to extend the available research models for future anthropological
inquiry and broaden the ethical framework of historical research.

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KEYWORDS
archaeological ethics collaboration ethnohistory Hopi
Pedro Valley Tohono Oodham Western Apache Zuni

San

ON THE ORIGINS OF COLLABORATION: AN

INTRODUCTION
One of the major impacts on the practice of American archaeology over
the last two decades of the twentieth century and into the twenty-first has
been the professions shifting relationship with indigenous peoples.
Throughout the 1980s and 1990s archaeologists were forced to confront the
ethics of their research, the overt and veiled politics of their discipline and
the institutional (and historical) erasure of Native American voices. Repatriation and reburial have proven to be paramount issues and have captivated the attention of the media and broader public (Downey, 2000;
Thomas, 2000). These issues have reconfigured museum collections, altered
field and laboratory procedures and have forced increased communication
among Native Americans, archaeologists and government officials. Yet, if
repatriation and reburial were the only concerns that had alienated Native
Americans and archaeologists from one another, perhaps the fracas would
have subsided long ago. Deeply seated conflicts over who controls the
tangible artifacts and intangible memories of the past are also at play (Biolsi
and Zimmerman, 1997; McGuire, 1992; Trigger, 1980; Watkins, 2000). For
centuries Native Americans have struggled to maintain their sovereignty
and have power over their land, history and identity (Cornell, 1988;
Deloria, 1969). Since archaeologys beginnings in North America, it has
been intertwined in this struggle equally as recreant and supporter.
Numerous archaeologists now recognize that their discipline depends on
the ability to include the many publics connected to the archaeological past
(Jameson, 1997; Lynott and Wylie, 1995; McManamon, 1991). And, as
archaeologists have discovered, among the most important publics are
those whose ancestors form the object and subject of historical research.
Collaborative research that is, where groups jointly work together on a
project is one way for archaeologists to become engaged with Native
Americans in a way that benefits all participants (Ferguson, 1996; Swidler
et al., 1997). Collaboration in practice lies on a spectrum, which ranges from
informal dialogue among partners to elaborate associations that last
throughout the entire enterprise of research. For Native American participants, collaborative projects provide documentation and inventories of
ancestral sites, employment opportunities, source material for educational

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programs and a voice in writing their own past. For archaeologists,

collaborative research provides the opportunity to strengthen interpretations of the past through incorporating new epistemological angles, foster
coalitions with stakeholders who share similar concerns and practice ethical
research in a way that both responds to and reflects the values of Native
peoples. These benefits are not mutually exclusive. Certainly archaeologists
profit from research in terms of employment, as Native Americans learn
about different worldviews. While each party benefits from collaborative
research, the benefits need not be the same for all. And as Lilley and
Williams (in press) have suggested, collaboration may thrive when the
interests of native people and archaeologists are not perceived as principally separate from one another, but rather viewed in terms of integrating
shared and mutual concerns.
Even as these ideals of collaboration are becoming ever more established in archaeological research, the reality of its practice remains a
different matter. This article is devoted to two central questions: What is
the environment in which collaborative research is practiced today and
what does an ethic of collaboration entail? In response to the first question,
we provide our insights gleaned at the halfway point of a 3-year research
project sponsored by the National Endowment for the Humanities. This
section does not deal with the products of this research so much as explore
the collaborative process as it is perceived by the authors. Addressing the
second question, we place our personal viewpoints into a broader philosophical perspective by explicitly incorporating a framework of Virtue
Ethics, also referred to as Virtue Theory. From this, we show how collaboration and the ethical system that drives the collaborative process can be
used to expand the available research models for future anthropological
inquiry.

THE SAN PEDRO ETHNOHISTORY PROJECT

The San Pedro Valley begins in northern Mexico and stretches 140 miles
into southeastern Arizona a lush riparian oasis in the midst of the harsh
Sonoran desert (Hanson, 2001). For nearly 12,000 years humans have lived
along the San Pedro (Antevs, 1959; Haury et al., 1959; Haynes, 1987),
leaving behind them the traces of their persistence. Archaeologists have
identified hundreds of archaeological sites in the San Pedro and they
describe the inhabitants of this place in terms of the Hohokam, Oodham,
Salado, Western Pueblo and Apache peoples, all of whom have living
descendants among the contemporary tribes in the Southwest. Historians
write about the Sobaipuri and Apache who lived in this valley during the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and the trading that was conducted with

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Figure 1 The San Pedro Ethnohistory Project study area and contemporary
reservation boundaries

the Hopi and Zuni. The San Pedro Valley thus has multiple histories, each
maintained by the descendants of people who formerly resided in the area.
The authors (with Roger Anyon, Jeanette Cassa, Patrick Lyons, Bernard
Siquieros and other researchers) are in the midst of a multi-year project,
which entails collaborative research with the Native American groups
whose ancestors lived in the San Pedro Valley (Figure 1). Exploring themes
of migrations, violence, social identity, subsistence ecology and population
dynamics, this project aims to add Native American voices to the mosaic
of archaeology and documentary history. To supplement archival and literature analyses, the core of the project involves interviews and fieldwork with
representatives of the Tohono Oodham Nation, White Mountain and San

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Carlos Apache Tribes, Hopi Tribe and the Pueblo of Zuni. Each nation
contributes a research assistant and cultural advisors and establishes the
research framework that best suits its own cultural practices.
Ultimately, this project seeks to document Native American histories of
the San Pedro Valley, adjoin Native American perspectives to archaeological culture history and expand the humanistic understanding of scientific findings of San Pedro history. Using a methodology that recombines
Native American oral traditions and archaeological interpretations, we
have sought to overcome the false dichotomy raised between history and
science (Schmidt and Patterson, 1995; Whiteley, 2002). In this approach,
the project attempts to redress the legitimacy of a historically informed
archaeology by documenting alternative Native American histories that
explicitly recognize past and present use of land and resources in the
construction of social identity (Wylie, 1995). By inviting Native Americans
into the research process and merging Native American memories of the
past with archaeological inquiry, we are attempting to go beyond confrontations of the contested past (Hill, 1992; Layton, 1989) to develop new
perspectives on critical issues of mutual concern and interest.

WHAT IS THE ENVIRONMENT OF COLLABORATION

TODAY?
It is necessary to understand the socio-political and historical context in
which collaboration takes place today because it impacts collaboration in
myriad ways. In our experience, ethical behavior is not independent from
the larger context that surrounds a single project. What follows is a
discussion of some important aspects of the cultural and intellectual
environment in which the San Pedro Ethnohistory Project is situated.

The tentacles of NAGPRA

The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA)
of 1990 has indelibly impacted the communities of archaeologists and
Native Americans. Since its inception NAGPRA has fundamentally
changed how archaeologists and museum professionals carry out research
and the way in which Native Americans have a say in that practice. The
San Pedro Ethnohistory Project does not explicitly address NAGPRA
issues. Our project does not involve excavation, explicit investigation of
cultural affiliation, or use any collection under active NAGPRA review.
Although we think that many positive outcomes have resulted from implementing NAGPRA, including new collaborative efforts (see Dongoske et
al., 2000), one of our goals was to use this project to move beyond the

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Figure 2 Hopi cultural advisors talk about human remains and NAGPRA at
Flieger Ruin (photograph by T.J. Ferguson, 1 May 2002)
political tensions inherent in the laws governing repatriation. Yet as the
project has progressed, we have realized that to break free of the tentacles
of NAGPRA is not easy.
Even before the project began, as meetings were held with various tribal
representatives during development of the grant proposal, it was difficult
to explain how a project combining archaeologists and Native Americans
was not NAGPRA related. With so much work involving Native Americans undertaken solely to satisfy NAGPRA, it was a challenge to describe
a project originating from other motivations. When our research began, we
found that NAGPRA tacitly structures how all the participants conceive of
and discuss the past. That is, the very language of NAGPRA now structures discourses between archaeologists and Native Americans. Expressions such as cultural affiliation have become central to the way we talk
about connections between modern people and past groups (Figure 2). And
in a meeting with a museum official, we kept talking about our research,
while he repeatedly referred to the project as consultation, a term with
bureaucratic and legalistic overtones. NAGPRA has also structured how
we can carry out research. A museum participating in our project asked
that we not invite one group of cultural advisors because their tribe was

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involved in a dispute about the implementation of NAGPRA. Finally, we

realize that although our research does not explicitly deal with NAGPRA
issues such as determining cultural affiliation, it has implications for future
claims of repatriation. If, for instance, we record and publish Hopi and Zuni
connections to their ancestors in southeastern Arizona, those claims could
later be used in repatriation cases involving collections from southeastern
Arizona. From our view, the participating tribes are aware of this potential
use and indeed it is one of their motivations in participating it is one of
the benefits of this research for them. Hence, even as we have tried to move
beyond the questions and repercussions of NAGPRA, we find that we
cannot move too far, because our project would then become less relevant
to its participants.

Structuring collaboration
Another aspect of the environment of collaboration today is the degree to
which we must interface with formal committees of tribal governments. We
are a part of the Center for Desert Archaeology and our research team
works with the Hopi Cultural Resource Advisory Task Team, the Zuni
Cultural Resource Advisory Team, the San Carlos Apache Elders Council
and the Tohono Oodham Cultural Preservation Committee (a legislative
branch of the Tohono Oodham Tribal Council). Working with these official
committees of their respective tribal governments is positive because it
gives the project some degree of authority, fosters communication and
helps ensure accountability. These committees explicitly serve to mediate
between research participants from their tribes and project archaeologists.
As a consequence of interacting with multiple committees throughout the
research, it is our experience that we have to give much more attention to
the way we communicate about the project. Before these committees
existed, it was easier for the anthropologist to set the research agenda, to
pursue fieldwork only as a means of data collection. Because we have to
interact with these individuals and they have the power to impact the
overall project, we have endeavored to define how all the involved parties
will benefit from the study. We see the research as a process, as well as a
product, and so remain ready to bend, change, or build on these initial goals
(see Stoffle et al., 2001: 2046). Through these structured relationships, we
are developing a methodology whereby all the participants have some
measure of power, where even if we have different interests, we all find a
way to value the work enough to make it successful (Figure 3). Although
it is not possible to achieve perfect parity and equal power, by merely
making these our goals, it becomes possible for power to become more fluid
throughout the study. Intentionality is not enough by itself; equally important is how one communicates about them and situates them into practice,
but intentions provide the foundation to initiate moral behavior.

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Figure 3 Apache researchers Jeanette Cassa and Vernelda Grant show Chip
Colwell-Chanthaphonh pictographs near Nadnlid Cho (Big Sunflower Hill)
(photograph by T.J. Ferguson, 19 February 2002)

Of course, in the past, Native American hosts have not been simply
mired in nescience, the passive participants of self-serving anthropologists
(Pyburn, 2003). For instance, the early American ethnographer Frank
Cushings presence at Zuni began tumultuously, but he became an advocate
for the pueblo, as well as an observer. The Zuni allowed Cushing to remain
in their pueblo and were able to use him as a link to outside authorities to
protect and promote their own interests (Green, 1979: 40725). In contrast,
Stewart Culin, the first curator of ethnology at the Brooklyn Institute of
Arts and Sciences, arrived in Zuni with the goal of amassing collections for
a distant eastern institution; he was greeted with the town crier warning
Zuni citizens not to have anything to do with him (Culin, 1903, 1904, 1907).
But Culin had arrived during a horrific drought and, in the cover of night,
Zunis would abscond with sacred artefacts and trade the objects to him for
money to purchase food. This example demonstrates a moment of asymmetrical power, where interaction involved only extraction of information
and objects for the use of the anthropologist and desperate actions for the
starving Zunis. Although admittedly an extreme case, we hold it up as the
antithesis to activities of collaboration today. Culin exemplifies a long

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history of anthropological practices that have led Native American

communities to create formalized committees to negotiate how scholarly
research should be conducted. And it is through these committees that
researchers must demonstrate how their work will be beneficial to scholarship and relevant to Native Americans. As Bentz (1997: 130) has forcefully
argued, many Native Americans now require that anthropological research
in their communities serve humanity, as it should have all along and will no
longer allow humanity to serve science, as it often has in the past.

The blurring line of the observers and observed

Traditional ethnographic research has long depended on participantobservation as a focal point of its methodological canon. Since at least
Malinowski, anthropologists have actively sought out the role of observer
(Dewalt et al., 1998). Even in the second part of the methodological
equation, during participation, anthropologists have tended to retain that
abiding sense of observation: participating does not provide an experience
in itself so much as an alternative way of observing.
In our work, however, there is no clear dichotomy of the observers and
the observed (if it has ever existed). The Native American collaborators
are not passive informants, mere one-way conduits of anthropological
information. As active participants in research, they have also expected to
learn about our own behaviors and perspectives on the past. They then
build these alternative non-Indian views into their own understanding of
the past and present. As Kuwanwisiwma (2002a: 47) has written, the Hopi
and many Native Americans more generally want to be a viable part of
the whole dimension of cultural resource management. No longer do the
Hopi desire to be treated merely as informants. The sense of not just
observing but being observed could not be missed with the Hopi cultural
advisors: two advisors videotaped all of the fieldwork, one took copious
notes and another snapped several rolls of photographs (Figure 4). And
nearly all the Zuni, Western Apache and Tohono Oodham cultural
advisors wrote notes. Here Native American participants are not informants as they were for Malinowski but colleagues and fellow researchers
working towards a common goal. During interviews carried out on the Hopi
reservation, Hopi researchers Joel Nicholas and Lee Wayne Lomayestewa
were crucial in setting up meetings, translating and taking notes that will
be incorporated into the final publications. And when a mid-term report
was made to the Tohono Oodham Cultural Preservation Committee,
Bernard Siquieros, an Oodham colleague, co-authored and presented a
PowerPoint display with us, in part incorporating superb digital photographs he had taken during the fieldwork. The blurring line of the observer
and observed is also a part of the interaction with the tribal committees and
other tribal members engaged in research. With each committee, we have

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Figure 4 Hopi advisors Dalton Taylor and Leroy Lewis carry out research
with Patrick Lyons at the Amerind Foundation Museum (photograph by Chip
Colwell-Chanthaphonh, 2 May 2002)
to present our work, our strategies and ideas and have these critiqued by
committee members. And when we prepare publications, each committee
will review the work and be empowered to revise it just as any co-author
would have the opportunity to clarify her or his own ideas in a given manuscript (Bentz, 1997; Fixico, 1998). Thus, the archaeologists on our project
are not simply observing, they are also being closely observed.

Language and social identity

The language used in interactions between Native Americans and archaeologists is important because it has the ability to confuse or enlighten and
because it structures the relations of power within collaborative work: who
gets to define what terms (Warren, 1999: 1416). During much of our fieldwork, cultural advisors often spoke to one another in their native language
and then provided us with a summary of their conversation or what they
wanted us to know. In this way, the archaeologists in the project became
bystanders as the advisors examined an artifact or considered an architectural element at a site (Figure 5). Native language provides an alternative
view of the material world for archaeologists because Native American

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Figure 5 Tohono Oodham advisors and archaeologists discuss different

interpretations of Sosa Ballcourt (photograph by Bernard Siquieros, 28
October 2002)
terms are not just descriptive but have specific cultural meanings that imbue
objects with additional layers of meaning. In practice these perspectives are
difficult to incorporate into our research in any expansive way because we
and it is safe to assume the readers of this work do not fluently speak
or read Hopi, Zuni, Oodham and Apache. And, in fact, because few, if any,
people speak all four of these languages, the use of English as a lingua
franca structures how we collectively talk and think about the past.
Much of the vocabulary archaeologists use to talk about history and
historical groups is a source of confusion that ultimately undermines Native
American perspectives of the past. One term that archaeologists often use
without much compunction is abandonment (Ferguson et al., 2001: 1011),
which can be defined as the complete and final giving up of property or
rights with no intention of reclaiming them and to no particular person
(Oran, 1983: 3). This conception of abandonment is not lost on our collaborators and they have protested its use by archaeologists (Ferguson, 1998).
One objection is grounded on the belief that archaeological sites, that is
ancestral villages, are not empty because spirits continue to inhabit a place
even after peoples corporeal bodies have expired. Ancestral villages are
thus likened to cemeteries, to liminal spaces where there is the opportunity
for spiritual connections between the living and deceased. A second

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objection is that contemporary people have not given up their claims to or

interest in their ancestral villages. Tohono Oodham, Zuni and Hopi
advisors have left prayers and offerings at sites and the Hopi directly incorporate ancestral villages into their conception of the religious landscape.
Hence, to speak in terms of abandoned sites simultaneously rejects Native
American beliefs out of hand and denies the continuing claims contemporary Native Americans make to ancestral sites.
In a similar way, archaeologists use of terms that frame archaeological
cultures Hohokam, Salado, Anasazi, Mogollon are a source of
confusion. Among many archaeologists, there is an implicit assumption that
archaeological cultures have real meanings in terms of past social organization. However, our collaborators do not all approach past people in this
way. The Hopi, for instance, understand their ancestors through unique
clan and religious groups, collectively referred to as Hisatsinom (Kuwanwisiwma, 2002b). Dongoske et al. (1997: 603) have written:
The Hopi believe these clans ranged far and wide in their migrations and
were components of many different archaeological cultures, including the
Anasazi, Mogollon, Hohokam, Salado, Cohonina, Fremont and Mimbres.
None of these archaeological cultures by themselves are thus adequate to
incorporate all of the Hopi and their ancestors.

The Hopi advisors we spoke with tend to take a much broader view of
ancient peoples than archaeologists; one suggested to us that all the southwestern archaeological cultures were all Hopi; it is the archaeologists that
give them another name. Its been Hopi all along. Our culture was cast in
stone by the creator. The Zuni similarly connect themselves to ancestral
villages through historic accounts of their ancestors the Atashinawke
migrations across the land. The pottery styles and architectural details
archaeologists employ to define archaeological cultures are not meaningless to Zunis today; however, archaeological approaches are often seen as
missing the dynamic interaction of ancestral pueblo people when they focus
solely on material culture to overlook language abilities and religious
affiliations, the essential sources of identity for Pueblo people today. Thus,
the continued use of terms referring to archaeological cultures while
discounting alternative terminologies leads to miscommunication between
archaeologists and Native Americans and serves to implicitly contest
Native American connections to their ancestral landscape.

WHAT DOES AN ETHIC OF COLLABORATION ENTAIL?

The previous section has illustrated some of the more poignant aspects of
the environment in which collaboration takes place today. Given this

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context, we now consider the moral (for us moral is synonymous with

ethical) criteria we use to guide behavior in collaborative research. As
Winter (1984: 43) has contended, it is imperative that archaeologists ethical
system guide scientific inquiries and not let science drive ethics. And yet
the majority of anthropologists consider themselves principally scientists,
not ethicists. Even the various Codes of Ethics of professional societies,
which aim to provide moral routes for archaeologists, are essentially silent
on issues of collaboration. For example, the Society for American Archaeologys Principles of Archaeological Ethics only makes the broad normative argument in Principle No. 2 that:
Responsible archaeological research, including all levels of professional
activity, requires an acknowledgment of public accountability and a
commitment to make every reasonable effort, in good faith, to consult
actively with affected group(s), with the goal of establishing a working
relationship that can be beneficial to all parties involved. (Watkins et al., 1995:
33, emphasis added)

Although this principle may point the way and generally support an ethic
of collaboration, it hardly provides a strong guidepost for practicing archaeologists. The Register of Professional Archaeologists Code of Conduct
(Section I, 1.1c) only states that an archaeologist shall Be sensitive to and
respect the legitimate concerns of, groups whose culture histories are the
subject of archaeological investigations. The American Institute of
Archaeology Code of Ethics makes no reference at all to either collaboration or consultation. An exception is the World Archaeological Congress
First Code of Ethics (Principle 7), which obliges its members To establish
equitable partnerships and relationships between Members and indigenous
peoples whose cultural heritage is being investigated.
Even as some archaeologists advocate various rule-based approaches,
we argue that a virtue-based approach offers sound moral guidance to a
flourishing ethic of collaboration. It is interesting to observe that while very
few discussions of archaeological ethics explicitly have drawn from the
corpus of writings on Virtue Ethics, many have supported the application
of the virtues throughout the process of archaeological research. For
instance, the virtue of trust often arises, such as in Burleys (1994: 93)
argument that archaeologists must begin to address the concerns of aboriginal groups regarding uses of their past and create a trust that will allow
for future alliance. Similarly, nearly two decades ago, Adams (1984: 241)
observed that in his cooperation with the Hopi Tribe, of great value is the
trust relationship that exists between the museum and the archaeological
community and the Hopi. More recently, Joe Watkins (1999) work has
veins of Virtue Ethics running through it, and the philosopher Merilee
Salmon (1999: 308) has observed that:

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Although Watkins does not refer explicitly to any ethical theory . . . his
proposal exemplifies the views of [Annette] Baier [an advocate of Virtue
Ethics] and other contemporary methaethicists in its emphasis on trust
rather than formal codes or principles of utility or justice, as the fundamental
basis of ethical behavior.

Our own experiences and those of archaeologists cited above are contrary
to scholars such as Kent Greenawalt (1998: 20), who despite his instructive
study on the relationship between law and morality claimed that, virtue
ethics. . . seems of peripheral significance for issues about cultural
property. In our discussion we aim to add to these previous studies and
substantially build on them by more explicitly framing archaeological ethics
with the work of moral philosophers.
Virtue Theory, unlike other moral schemes, does not begin with questions of right and wrong, duties and laws, but rather, questions of character: what traits of character make a person good? As Crisp and Slote
(1997: 23) write, Virtue Ethics presents:
an account of ultimate moral reasons which not only is neither
utilitarianism nor Kantian, but makes essential reference to the rationality
of virtue itself. Thus, for example, the real reason why I should not lie to
you is not that it is against the moral law, nor that it is likely not to
maximize well-being, but because it is dishonest. The notions of virtue, then,
are more basic than the notions at the heart of utilitarian and Kantian
theory.

Whereas Kantian and Consequentialist theories rely on deontic (Greek for

doing) concepts of being bounded and required to act, Virtue Ethics
turns on aretaic (Greek for excellence) notions, meaning virtue, character
and excellence (Anscombe, 1958). Virtue Theory provides archaeologists
with a way to examine ethics in light of what constitutes a moral agent
before jumping to what constitutes a moral action (McDowell, 1997). This
issue is particularly relevant for an ethic of collaboration, which seems
heavily dependent on the moral motivations and character as much as the
behavior of the participants.
Suppose, for instance, that an archaeologist depended on an Utilitarian
ethic like that famously proposed by Mill (1987) to determine moral action
during a collaborative research project. Imagine that a project begins and
it goes quite well; everyone gets along and the research phase goes
smoothly. Real friendships develop between the participating archaeologists and the Indian advisors and one archaeologist even invites an advisor
home for dinner to meet her family. Eventually the project draws to a close
and there results not only goodwill, but also some real friendships among
the participants. But then, a year later, the befriended advisor picks up the
new issue of the Journal of Social Archaeology and reads an article by his
friend, the archaeologist, where she says that the Indians were befriended

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only because it was her moral duty and obligation to do so; that this project
was merely the right thing to do after balancing the principles of pleasure
and pain. Thus most people do not simply desire that others initiate
relationships because of moral obligation, but because of genuine commitments to such virtues as trust and friendship. At issue then is not solely the
archaeologists action, which may be said to be moral in this case, but rather
the archaeologists motivation. This is not to say that obligation has no role
in ethics, but that taken unconditionally, it is problematic. As Baier (1997)
has suggested, even obligation involves virtues, such as trust, because
someone must ensure that obligations are met. Someone must judge other
peoples actions, decide if obligations are fulfilled and, if not, perhaps even
punish those persons in some way. And this judgment of others, the power
of manipulation and coercion, requires trust trust that these individuals
will be honest and fair.
Virtue, suggests the philosopher James Rachels (1993: 163), is a trait of
character, manifested in habitual action, that is good for a person to have.
For Aristotle, the superlative life revolves around the concept of eudaimonia often translated as happiness, living well, or human flourishing which
can be attained through the practice of the virtues. Hence, for some philosophers, the virtues that contribute towards attaining eudaimonia are those
that should be pursued. But for many, the source and definition of which
virtues ought to be sought after depend on specific arguments. One can see,
for instance, that verbal honesty is necessary for positive and effective
communication and, because all humans are social animals dependent on
others, the virtue of dependability is valued. As a beginning point, Rachels
(1993: 163) has provided a list of some of the traits humans ought to foster:
Benevolence

Fairness

Reasonableness

Civility

Friendliness

Self-confidence

Compassion

Generosity

Self-control

Conscientiousness

Honesty

Self-discipline

Cooperativeness

Industriousness

Self-reliance

Courage

Justice

Tactfulness

Courteousness

Loyalty

Thoughtfulness

Dependability

Moderation

Tolerance

An advantage of Virtue Theory is that it allows for broader non-Western

perspectives, because it generally does not rely on narrow prescriptions or
inflexible maxims. Hence, Brandts (1954) discussion of Hopi ethics could
be categorized under the banner of Virtue Theory. Equally escaping
Western constructs of morality, Smith (1999) has promoted a research ethic
steeped in indigenous concepts of humility, caution, generosity and respect
that may ultimately foster native peoples capacity for self-determination.

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To explore how Rachels inventory compiled by a non-Indian philosopher

might relate to other worldviews, we asked some of the Native Americans
advisors in this project what virtues they like and do not like in archaeologists. A provisional list of attributes specified by some Hopi, Tohono
Oodham, Western Apache and Zuni advisors includes:
Cooperativeness

Honesty

Patience

Courteousness

Humility

Respect

Friendliness

Long-term commitment Sensitivity

Generosity

Not patronizing

To be oneself

Good listening

Openness

Willingness to learn

Although some overlap can be found between the lists of Rachels and the
Native American advisors, such as cooperativeness, friendliness, generosity and honesty, more important is that these accounts do not contradict
one another in any fundamental way. For instance, Rachels list does not
advocate arrogance as a virtue while the advisors encourage humility.
Hence, these lists offer a gateway, not an absolute or exhaustive catalogue,
to consider which virtues might guide archaeologists responses to the
environment in which collaborative research takes place today.
NAGPRA often raises contentious issues and will continue to do so for
some time to come. In our project, it has been a challenge to move beyond
NAGPRA issues to the historical questions that are the focus of our work.
We appreciate how NAGPRA has impacted our fieldwork and vocabulary
however, because it is one way our project may ultimately benefit our
collaborators. And if our project benefits the tribes we are working with in
this way then the seeming intrusion of NAGPRA is positive. However, in
order to understand this motivation of using the project for NAGPRA and
how this work might be used even more generally in the future, the virtues
of awareness, openness and respect are vital.
The structured process of collaboration is an important issue because it
involves more than personal relationships. Collaboration is dependent on
professional ties, as well as the political infrastructure of each participating
institution. For example, in the early fall of 2001, we met with a tribal
committee. The meeting went well and plans were made for the upcoming
year. However, the committee members were busy with other work and
were unable to undertake the field trips they had requested prior to
initiation of research. Then in the spring of 2002, the committee chairman,
an elected official, resigned. After a delay of several months, the chairman
was replaced following an election, and then we were given another opportunity to meet the committee to reintroduce the project and obtain their
approval to begin the fieldwork and interview phase of the research. As
our project is structured through institutionalized governmental organizations, the membership of which is subject to change, researchers need a

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heightened sense of civility, cooperativeness, self-control and tactfulness.

This work can be a long venture and it requires patience and courteousness.
As the line blurs between the observers and the observed, the former
observers have become the object of attention in new ways. Whether it is
in the field having your observations observed with a video recorder or
discussing research results with a tribal committee, the ambiguous
dichotomy compels collaborators to enter into a real dialogue even about
differences rather than a silence or simple monologue. A reticence to
engage in genuine conversation will only foster narrow-mindedness and
exclusiveness. Responding to these conditions, researchers need a strong
sense of trust, honesty and thoughtfulness. It can be a challenge to begin
forming trust, for in our experience, it is based on past performance, which
requires time spent together over a long period. It is an evaluation of past
and present work and interactions. So to initiate building trust, the virtues
of willingness to learn and dependability are central.
The power of language and the way in which it pervades issues of social
identity are key considerations in collaboration between archaeologists and
Native Americans. The use of specific terms defines relations of power among
collaborators, and language can alienate the connections some groups have
with the past as manifested in archaeology. In dealing with the issue of the
power of language, archaeologists ought to be motivated by the virtues of
tolerance, humility and reasonableness. These mean a willingness to be critical
of ones own vocabulary and way of communicating. When objections are
voiced over the naming, classifying, or meaning of sites, equitable consideration needs to be given to different viewpoints without embedding or
imposing one belief onto another. We are not trying to synthesize disparate
outlooks so much as highlight where these different perspectives articulate,
how each informs the other. Weaving together the perspectives of archaeologists and Native peoples entails incorporating multiple (and sometimes
conflicting) worldviews. This above all requires the virtue of respect.
With this discussion, our intent has not been to lionize our own ethical
outlook or roseate our efforts. In practice, moral perfection is only a goal,
as we have (admittedly) made errors and misjudgments in this evolving
work. But our approach has not been one of constant moral evaluation of
specific acts, but rather an attempt to cultivate habitual action grounded
within the framework of these virtues. One proponent of Virtue Ethics has
observed that humans do not naturally possess these virtues and one cannot
act on them mechanically or thoughtlessly:
Virtues . . . we acquire just as we acquire crafts, by having previously
activated them. For we learn a craft by producing the same product that we
must produce when we have learned it, becoming builders, e.g. by building
and harpists by playing the harp; so also then, we become just by doing just
actions, temperate by doing temperate actions, brave by doing brave actions.
(Aristotle, 1985: 34)

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And so we shape our moral character from our behavior and we behave
from our moral character. Practicing the virtues requires a quotidian
commitment that we keep working to do the right thing for the right
reasons. Hursthouse (1997: 224) has observed that:
Acting rightly is difficult and does call for much moral wisdom . . . moral
knowledge unlike mathematical knowledge cannot be acquired merely
by attending lectures . . . there are youthful mathematical geniuses, but
rarely, if ever, youthful moral geniuses.

Thus, ethical practice for us does not so much demand incessant self-evaluation of moral action, as a general embrace of the virtues, enacted through
habituation.

CONCLUSION
Beginning in the 1970s, the discipline of American archaeology was
confronted with the discord between its professional practice and the
concerns of living Native American communities. What started out as a
protest and rejection of the colonialist aspects of the field was transformed
into a radical shift in archaeological method and theory. Although in the
past several decades we have seen an increase in professional archaeologists self-reflection, the conflicts that spurred these changes have been a
part of the profession since its very beginnings in North America. Even
more, as Thomas (2000) has persuasively argued, the strain today between
archaeologists and Native peoples is profoundly based on 500 years of
struggle and the endemic problems of power and control that characterize
WhiteIndian interactions. Collaboration between archaeologists and
Native Americans provides new opportunities for each community to learn
from (and with) one another. It also entails designing projects that allow
each participant to benefit, respect different ways of knowing the past and
challenge historical arrangements of power, whether it is reconsidering
language, working with tribal committees, or reviewing manuscripts before
publication (Fluehr-Lobban, 2003: 242). In this way collaboration is about
working together concordantly, as well as recognizing the relations of
power that have structured interactions in the past and continue to do so
today (Figure 6).
Because there is a gap between the ideals of collaborative research and
the reality of its practice, a robust ethical framework is needed. We have
argued that Virtue Ethics provides a compelling approach to the many challenges that arise in conducting collaborative research. In particular, we have
recommended firstly that although we may not do entirely without deontic
notions of morality, aretaic notions need increased attention from

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Figure 6 Zuni advisors and archaeologists examine ceramics at the Arizona

State Museum (photograph by Chip Colwell-Chanthaphonh, 26 April 2002)
archaeologists; and secondly that archaeologists need a greater appreciation for the character of moral agents over prescriptions for specific behaviors. Thus we agree with Michael Stocker (1976) and to a degree with
Louden (1984), who argue for attention on sustained action instead of
single acts. An ethic of collaboration involves no simple rule or moral
equation; it entails the cultivation of sincere relationships guided by
virtuous ideals civility, cooperativeness, tactfulness, patience, trust,
honesty, thoughtfulness, tolerance and respect. In many ways, this ethical
approach begins with questions of what constitutes a moral person before
it addresses what makes a moral archaeologist. This outlook allows for a
better appreciation not merely of what contributes to a flourishing of
archaeological practice, but more importantly to a flourishing of human life.

Acknowledgements
The National Endowment for the Humanities, Salus Mundi Foundation and Center
for Desert Archaeology provided key funding for this research. Earlier iterations
of this article were presented at the symposium, Ethics and the Practice of Archaeology, held at the University of Pennsylvania Museum on 28 September 2002, and
the Association for Practical and Professional Ethics Twelfth Annual Meeting, in

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Charlotte, North Carolina on 28 February 2003. We are grateful for all the constructive comments different scholars provided during these conferences, especially
those of Robert Preucel and Brian Schrag. We also greatly benefited from the advice
of three anonymous reviewers and Roger Anyon, Alexander Bauer, Jeff Clark,
Jeanette Cassa, Jonathan Damp, Bill Doelle, Vernelda Grant, Leigh J. Kuwanwisiwma, Patrick Lyons, Barbara Mills, Seth Pilsk, Ramon Riley, Bernard Siquieros,
John Ware, John Welch and Larry Zimmerman. The staff of the Amerind Foundation Museum and the Arizona State Museum graciously facilitated access to the
museums collections. This project would not be possible without the help of the
people who make up the Hopi Cultural Preservation Office, Hopi Cultural
Resource Advisory Task Team, San Carlos Apache Elders Council, Tohono
Oodham Office of Cultural Affairs, Tohono Oodham Cultural Preservation
Committee and their advisors, White Mountain Apache Tribe Heritage Program,
Zuni Cultural Resource Advisory Team and Zuni Heritage and Historic Preservation Office. To them, we are very grateful.

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CHIP COLWELL-CHANTHAPHONH is a PhD candidate at Indiana

University in the Department of Anthropology. He is also currently
a Preservation Fellow at the Center for Desert Archaeology
(www.cdarc.org), a non-profit institute in Tucson, AZ.
[email: chip@cdarc.org]
T.J. FERGUSON has conducted research in Southwestern USA for 25
years, working on a variety of projects investigating Native American
settlement and land use, land and water rights and management of
heritage resources. He currently owns a company providing anthropological research services in Tucson, AZ and is an Adjunct Professor of
Anthropology at the University of Arizona.
[email: tjf5000@cox.net]

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