Inuit and Scientific Philosophies about

Planning, Prediction, and Uncertainty

Peter Bates

Abstract This paper explores Inuit philosophies ahout the future, long-term planning, and pre-
diction and investigates the ways that these contrast with Western ideas. By descrihing how
Inuit deal with the inherent uncertainty of the Arctic environment, and how this leads to dis-
tinct attitudes towards managing the future and its potential risks, the argument is made that
these philosophies are a highly effective method of knowing the Arctic environment. However,
the strengths of this approach may at times be ohscured by a current desire to show that Inuit
predict and plan in the same way as do Western scientists. In fact, such attempts can delegiti-
mize Inuit ways of knowing the future, by effectively setting Western science as a benchmark
by which Inuit knowledge is judged, thus reducing the likelihood of effective collaboration be-
tween Inuit and Western researchers in environmental management.

prediction, to the benefit of both Inuit and scien-

Introduction
Efforts to increase recognition and respect for In-
uit ways of knowing have sometimes resulted in
claims that Inuit predict and plan in a similar way
to that deemed appropriate by Western science
(e.g., Bielawski 1992; Ferguson et al. 1998; Free-
man 1992:9; Northern Perspectives 1992:15-16
quoted in Vitebsky 1995:199). These claims are
also made under the guise of sustainable harvest-
ing practices, in which Inuit are argued to be ac-
tively mindful of their future needs in the ways
that they harvest and gain knowledge of animals
in the present (Freeman 1985:274-277; Nuttall
1998:71, 88-89; Riewe and Gamble 1988). Inuit are
also increasingly represented as fearful of the fu-
ture impacts of phenomena such as climate change
(Armstrong 2001; Clover 2005; Ehrlich 2006). All
this suggests that Inuit knowledge and ideas may
be directly applicable to scientifically founded
environmental management regimes based on
tists (e.g., Stevenson 1996:283).
In contrast to this view, early anthropolo-
gists have written about the inabihty of Inuit to con-
template the future. Inuit were reckoned not to
place themselves within a chain of events, or per-
ceive a chronology to their Uves, or perceive causal
links between the past, present, and future (Car-
penter 1956:39). This charge has indeed been lev-
eled at all hunter-gatherer groups across the world.
Western scholars have suggested that pre-contact
hunter-gatherer societies did not conceive time to be
linear, and that the past and future were seen to cir-
cle around the present rather than define it (Adam
[1994] 2002:504; Brody 2000:139; Ingold 2000:336).
In this paper I aim to explore these contrasting
views of Inuit planning and prediction, focusing
in turn on Inuit and Western scientific approaches
to negotiating the future in the Arctic. In so doing I
will outline a distinct Inuit philosophy towards the
future. This may not be based around prediction

Peter Bates, Anthropology Department, University of Aberdeen, Edward Wright Building

Aberdeen, Scotland AB24 3QY

ARCTIC ANTHROPOLOGY, Vol. 44, No. 2, pp. 87-100, 2007 ISSN 0066-6939
© 2007 by the Board of Regents of the University of Wisconsin System
 88
and planning, but is nonetheless founded on a par-
ticularly astute awareness of the future and its rela-
tionship to the present. I will also demonstrate the
strengths of this approach in comparison to West-
ern scientific preoccupations with environmental
management based on prediction and planning.
My argument is based on observations made
during 15 months of ethnographic fieldwork with
ecological scientists and Inuit elders and hunters in
and around Cambridge Bay, an Inuit community of
around 1,300 individuals on the south coast of Vic-
toria Island in Nunavut, Canada. Most Inuit in Cam-
bridge Bay are eastern Copper Inuit, the original in-
habitants of the surrounding area. Sub-groups from
the south coast of Victoria Island, adjacent main-
land coast and Bathurst Inlet came together to form
the community, predominantly during the 1960s
(Collignon 1993:71-75; Damas 2002:40-49, 72-73,
112-122,160-163; Freeman 1976:46-48). The gla-
ciated landscape beyond the town consists of flat
open tundra, broken occasionally by low ridges
and eskers. A multitude of lakes, ponds, streams,
rivers, and swamps punctuate the tundra in sum-
mer. The mainland south of the island is higher,
and rocky hills and cliffs surround Bathurst In-
let. The ocean around Cambridge Bay consists of
narrow straits that separate Victoria Island from
the Canadian mainland. These waters have lit-
tle tidal range and are bordered by exposed rocky
coast, sheltered bays, stretches of sandy beach,
and small islands. The straits are frozen for much
of the year, allowing access by skidoo to the main-
land, and during this period there is no open wa-
ter within range of the community. Animal spe-
cies hunted by Inuit from Cambridge Bay include
muskox, caribou, Arctic fox, Arctic char, ringed
and bearded seal, ptarmigan, snow goose, Canada
goose, and swan. All of these species are commonly
found around the community, although there is
seasonal variation in their numbers and accessi-
bility. Caribou perhaps receive the most attention
from Inuit hunters, particularly the Dolphin-Union
herd, which migrates between the interior of Victo-
ria Island and the Canadian mainland, passing by
Cambridge Bay twice a year. Wolf, wolverine, and
grizzly bear can also be found on Victoria Island, al-
though their numbers are far greater on the main-
land across the straits. Polar bears are rare visitors
and large sea mammals such as whales and walrus,
which are abundant in other regions of the Arctic,
are absent from the waters around Cambridge Bay.
Western Perception of
Time and Inuit
Western representations of hunter-gatherer societ-
ies have always been more influenced by the pre-
occupations of researchers than the realities of
Arctic Anthropology 44:2
hunter-gatherer life (Bhabha 1993 in Childs and
Williams 1997:127-129; Bravo 2000:470; Bravo
and Sörlin 2002:18; Pálsson 2002:277; Stuart
2002:85-86; Wachowich 1998:86). It is also com-
monly argued that research aiming to engage with
the knowledge of indigenous people tends to ac-
cumulate decontextualized, scientific facts rather
than engaging with the philosophies that underpin
indigenous ways of knowing (Agrawal 1995; Bates
2006; Cruikshank 1998:45-70; Kothari 2001:149;
Morrow and Hensel 1992; Mosse 2001:32; Nadasdy
2003:60-61, 94-98; Wenzel 2004:239). Accord-
ingly, Adam ([1994] 2002) warns that most stud-
ies of hunter-gatherers are fraught with Western as-
sumptions about time, which influence the ways
hunter-gatherer philosophies are perceived and
described by Western scholars (Adam 1994:506).
These Western assumptions, and the impacts they
may have on representations of hunter-gatherers,
are therefore important to explore.
Assumptions about time as a linear flow
of constant rate, with neat chronologies linking
events in the past, present, and future are con-
victions that are deeply embedded in Western
thought (Adam [1994] 2002:506). This percep-
tion of linear causality has recently been further
reinforced by modern technologies. The hazards
that these technologies generate, such as nuclear
waste, biodiversity loss, or global warming, oper-
ate on timescales previously unimaginable, hav-
ing potential repercussions over hundreds or thou-
sands of years. This has created a preoccupation
with a long-term, open future; a future that is full
of potential hazards that must be understood and
mitigated to ensure our survival. Industrial so-
ciety's greatest tool in this endeavor is the long-
term planning apparently afforded by the predic-
tive powers of Western science (Adam 1998:57;
Beck [1986] 1992; Harries-Jones 2004:295; Ingold
1993:39). Similarly, the storage of provisions such
as food or money for periods of possible future
scarcity has come to be seen as an indication of a
rational mind. There are also assumptions about
how time should be used in industrial society.
Regulating time by "the clock" and engaging in
regular "work" and "free" time increasingly came
to be seen as both practically and morally correct
during the industrial revolution (Thompson 1967:
56-96).
Against these assumptions, the apparent lack
of urgency in their activities and the unwillingness
to prepare for the future displayed by many hunter-
gatherer groups have been judged by observers as
indolence or a lack of foresight (Ingold 2000:336;
Sahlins 1972:30-32; Stern 2003:148). Similarly,
recognition by Western observers that Inuit do not
appear to concern themselves with long-term plan-
ning and prediction may become an assumption
that Inuit are incapable of conceptualizing the fu-
Bates: Inuit and Scientific Philosophies
ture and its inherent dangers. Meanwhile, for those
researchers who aim to increase recognition and re-
spect for Inuit ways of knowing, Western assump-
tions about the future, its risks, and how these
should he managed may lead to assertions that In-
uit do plan and predict in the same ways as West-
ern scientists (e.g., Bielawski 1992; Ferguson et
al. 1998; Freeman 1992:9; Northern Perspectives
1992:15-16 quoted in Vitehsky 1995:199). This may
however again speak more of Western assumptions
than the preoccupations of the Inuit themselves.
To suggest that Inuit frequently engage in long-
term planning and prediction may therefore he to
set Western knowledge claims as the henchmark hy
which other knowledge forms should he judged,
rather then engaging fully with Inuit philosophies.
Do Inuit Plan and Predict?
On the one hand, therefore, it is claimed that In-
uit have no concept of the future and its links to
the present. This claim can he dismissed immedi-
ately. It seems highly unlikely that Inuit in the pre-
contact era could not conceptualize the future, for
the future is knowahle on a hroad scale in the Arc-
tic environment. The tundra and seas change dras-
tically from one season to the next, from snow and
ice to rock and water. Animal populations also
fluctuate from ahundaiice to almost complete ah-
sence on a roughly regular cycle. Negotiating these
changes would always have required an astute
awareness of what was coming next, coupled with
appropriate preparation for these events, for ex-
ample the sewing of new winter clothes prior to a
move onto the sea-ice (Damas 2002:13-14) or stor-
age of ample food in readiness for times of scar-
city that might he of unknown duration (Fosset
2001:97). Moreover, the predictable nature of fixed
astronomical occurrences, such as the winter sol-
stice or the return of the sun in spring, allowed
some Inuit groups to develop complex calendars
which allowed the accurate forecasting of these
events (Stern 2003:150). It is therefore improbable
that pre-contact Inuit did not perceive any link be-
tween the past, present, and future, and a certain
amount of general preparation would have been
essential to negotiating Arctic seasonal variations
(Tyrrell 2005:55-60).
Having established that Inuit can conceptual-
ize the future in this way, it might be assumed that
they do therefore readily engage in prediction and
planning. However in my experience Inuit gener-
ally prefer not to predict and plan in a way that
conforms to Western assumptions about the fu-
ture. I will now explore the reasons that Inuit may
have for not wanting to predict and plan, demon-
strating that preferring not to engage in these activ-
ities is based on a particularly astute awareness of
the future.
89
The Arctic environment is extremely change-
able and one of the first things one learns is that
nothing can be taken for granted. While animals,
the weather, and snow and ice cover follow yearly
cycles, variations in these patterns will always oc-
cur. Ice cover or open water can remain for months
longer in one year than in the next. This makes
crossing the straits that separate Cambridge Bay
from the Canadian mainland hazardous, as' drift-
ing ice can disrupt and damage boats even in mid-
summer, while on years of late freeze-up patches
of open water or thin ice can swallow skidoos well
into December. Also, animals such as carihou and
Arctic char, which are arguably the two species
most often hunted by Inuit from Cambridge Bay,
move with a striking alacrity during their migra-
tions. An Inuit hunter may know roughly what to
expect from these animals for a given time of year,
for example that the caribou should he nearing the
community on their trek north, but the exact tim-
ings and routes chosen by the caribou across such
a vast expanse of land and ice can never be fully
predicted. Caribou migrations can also fail en-
tirely with little warning (Burch 1994:166; Fosset
2001:154). Meanwhile, wolves, bears, and wolver-
ines are highly dispersed in the area around Cam-
bridge Bay and their locations are almost com-
pletely unpredictable. Furthermore, the weather
in particular can never he relied upon at any time
of year. It can change completely in a matter of
hours, catching the unwary and unprepared in
thick fog, torrential rain, gathering waves, blow-
ing snow, or plummeting temperatures. In the days
when Inuit were entirely reliant on the hunt for
food, to presume that something was going to hap-
pen could therefore prove fatal (Briggs 1968:53 in
Omura 2002:106; Briggs 1991:262).
It might seem that present-day Inuit are af-
fected to a lesser extent by these potential hazards.
The Inuit are no longer wholly reliant on success-
fully acquiring game, greatly reducing the risk of
starvation and the need to hunt and travel in poor
conditions. Modern technologies such as skidoos,
GPS, and radios might also seem to have made the
Arctic safer. However, the Arctic remains unpre-
dictable and dangerous (Briggs 1991:260). Hunting
and traveling remain fundamental aspects of In-
uit culture (Hicks and White 2000:38) and are still
subject to the vagaries of the environment, which
occasionally prove fatal to those who make mis-
takes. Reliance on modern technologies can also
introduce new^, unpredictable dangers, such as me-
chanical failure (Aporta and Higgs 2005:735-736).
For Inuit, it is acceptance of this continuing
uncertainty and danger that marks the truly expe-
rienced, a point also noted about the Sami by In-
gold and Kurttila (2000:189). Accepting that the
future cannot he known allows appropriate prep-
aration for uncertainty, rather than condemning
90
a traveler to futile struggle against it. Inuit there-
fore focus on "keeping the show on the road," that
is, opening up a path to the future in the present,
rather than becoming overly fixated on the future
before it has arrived. They respond to each situa-
tion as and when it presents itself, and reaction to
an opportunity or obstacle is often spontaneous.
Having adequate knowledge of the present
therefore becomes far more important than pre-
dicting what might happen next. A hunter re-
lies on acquiring a wealth of information on cur-
rent conditions and opportunities. This is done
in part by maintaining frequent personal contact
with the land, and Inuit will continually note cur-
rent snow and ice conditions and animal locations
as they travel. This personal experience is com-
plemented by constant communication with other
hunters. On first arriving in Camhridge Bay I was
struck by the frequency with which animal move-
ments or environmental conditions came up in
conversation among the Inuit. Hunters would re-
late the numbers of animals that they had seen
whilst out on the land and their location, each and
every time they crossed paths with another hunter,
and anything out of the ordinary also received par-
ticular attention. In this way, as a hunter moved
through the town and the land, meeting other
hunters, he or she would quickly build up a de-
tailed impression of where the animals had been
within the last couple of days. It was noticeable
that it was not the past that was discussed, but
contemporary events. While Inuit would occasion-
ally reminisce about past hunting trips, informa-
tion pertaining to current hunting conditions oc-
cupied the bulk of their attention.
The citizens' band (CB) radio also provides
a source of information on present hunting con-
ditions. These machines are set up as an integral
part of pitching a camp or moving into a cabin, no
matter how temporary. The cumbersome recep-
tor wires will be stretched out and pitched up us-
ing anything that comes to hand, be it a rock, oar,
or a skidoo. The radio is then tuned to a partic-
ular frequency used by the community. It is left
running almost constantly and its disjointed con-
versations, hissing static, and eerily melodic in-
terference are an ever-present background noise to
life on the land. It is used either to communicate
with other hunters, or simply to listen in on other
conversations that are taking place. The informa-
tion passed is a nearly constant stream of updates
of who is out on the land, what location they are
at, how the weather is and what animals they have
seen or caught.
Inuit often act on this new information im-
mediately, since to hesitate can mean missing an
opportunity. In the spring, when the first hunt-
ers begin to report that the caribou have reached
the mainland coast, the excitement in town is pal-
Arctic Anthropology 44:2
pable. Hunters will set out over the sea-ice within
the next few days, often with particular loca-
tions already in mind, determined from what oth-
ers have said, combined with personal knowledge
of animal behavior. Hunters know well where the
caribou are likely to go next once in a certain area,
and how best to reach locations specified by other
hunters. Similarly with the Arctic char run, as the
ice is breaking up in the spring and the fish begin
to move across the lakes, through the rivers and to-
wards the ocean, daily fishing reports will filter
around town, determining where people focus
their attentions on the next day. To be even a lit-
tle behind of what is going on is to stand for hours
on the rapidly crumbling lake ice, without a single
bite, wondering at the amount of fish someone re-
ported catching here just days ago.
Such information does not however provide
fixed instructions governing how a hunt will pro-
ceed. It instead provides vague guidelines that
may be reassessed or abandoned entirely at any
point during the process, and Inuit with backup
plans are the most likely to be successful (Berkes
and Jolly 2001). The vitality of this knowledge
therefore lies in the freedom it allows for improvi-
sation and flexibility, and it should be thought of
as providing general "rules of thumb" rather than
a fixed plan (Suchman 1987:52).
This Inuit preference for rapid response
and flexibility is complemented by skills of im-
provisation and adaptability. I will focus on
these skills here in order to further explain the
strength and utility behind this approach to un-
certainty. New technologies have increasingly be-
come a part of Inuit life and it might be expected
that they would, to an extent, have reduced the
need for these rapid response systems, conse-
quently diminishing Inuit skills in improvisation
(Aporta and Higgs 2005:740-742). However, as Si-
gaut (1993:109-110) notes, although the fear that
mechanization will lead to the deskilling of hu-
manity has long accompanied the rise of technol-
ogy, this fear has proved groundless, as skills have
survived, thrived, and evolved in the new era of
machines. This is certainly true with Inuit and
the tendency for adaptation and improvisation
has evolved alongside changes to Inuit lifestyles.
This yields a distinct approach to new technol-
ogy, an approach of which Inuit are proud (Briggs
1991:263; Omura 2002:107-108).
This quick and creative improvisation, and
the confidence to rely on the products of their
work, was demonstrated to me when a hunter's fi-
berglass boat had a chunk torn out of the hull, ei-
ther from drifting ice or from him dragging it along
rocks. In preparation for an upcoming eight-hour
boat journey, traversing the open waters of the
straits that separate Victoria Island from the main-
land, he repaired the boat using a collection of
Bates: Inuit and Scientific Philosophies
items mostly found at the dump: a sheet of scrap
metal, rubber from an old inner tube, rivets, and
some glue that might not have been the right kind,
he was not siu:e.
In relation to skidoos, some Inuit will set out
alone with no tent, radio, or back-up of any kind,
on a disheveled skidoo that has broken down fre-
quently over the last three months, but is today
held together by some old wire, or a splint made of
duct-tape and a chisel. I, on the other hand, fussed
over my machine and fretted over every clank or
groan it made, ensuring as best I could that it was
at its best for every trip out. The results of the two
approaches to skidoo maintenance soon revealed
which was superior. Inuit skidoos broke down fre-
• quently, while mine only had problems on a few
occasions. However, Inuit skidoos generally got
moving again somehow and the owner was able
to make his way home. When my skidoo broke,
I was rather helpless. The Arctic environment is
tough on these machines, as they are designed for
temperatures approximately 20-30° C higher than
what can be standard for the Cambridge Bay win-
ter. Consequently, even the newest, most cared for
skidoo could break down at a moment's notice, in
varied and unpredictable ways. It became appar-
ent that it is best to go out on the land armed with
first-rate knowledge and a dubious machine, rather
than dubious knowledge and a first-rate machine.
Planning ahead was all very well, but being able to
deal with the unexpected was the only sure way to
get home safely.
Good hunters therefore rely on being in con-
stant contact with both those around them and the
land itself to gain an impression of opportunities
and obstacles presented at any given point in time.
This is complimented by their own knowledge of
the land and animals and their skills at improvi-
sation gained and honed through personal experi-
ence, to generate a wealth of flexibly utilized op-
portunities at any given point in time. Having
knowledge of the present is therefore an essential
component of Inuit hunting practices, as is main-
taining the flexibility which allows response to
opportunities and obstacles as they arise. Mean-
while, the ability to work with the unpredictable
Arctic environment, rather than fighting against it,
and acceptance of current conditions rather than
trying to second guess what is coming next reveal
themselves as characteristics of contemporary In-
uit culture. The ingenuity and spontaneity of Inuit
hunters are revealed whether Inuit are fixing a bro-
ken skidoo, repairing an aluminum boat, building
a shelter, reacting to a change in the weather, or
taking advantage of a shifting animal population.
Their skills also prove to be admirable, enviable
and rarely misplaced, amounting to a highly effec-
tive method of approaching the uncertainty inher-
ent in traveling in the Arctic environment. On the
91
other hand, to presume that something will hap-
pen can be dangerous. As a consequence, many In-
uit today remain unwilling to plan ahead or be-
come locked into a course of action. Indeed, Inuit
philosophies may dictate that prediction, plan-
ning, and forecasting are impractical, foolhardy,
and rather arrogant (Briggs 1968:53 in Omura
2002:106; Briggs 1991:262).
Planning in the Community
While Inuit philosophies about time reveal them-
selves during hunting and traveling trips on the
land, most Inuit now spend much of their time
within permanent settlements. Settlement life ad-
heres to certain timetables and rules, which to an
extent structure the lives of contemporary Inuit
(Goehring and Stager 1991; Stern 2003:152-154). It
is necessary therefore to briefly consider the ways
that Inuit philosophies about planning and pre-
diction, so well suited to life on the Arctic tundra,
have been affected by the move to a largely seden-
tary lifestyle.
Necessities of settlement life often dictate
that Inuit commit themselves to rigid plans long
in advance of their commencement, in particular
around work contracts. Cambridge Bay is the ad-
ministrative center for the Kitikmeot region of Nu-
navut. Many Inuit in the town have found employ-
ment in the government offices, as well as in the
schools, health center, bank, garages, stores, a large
meat plant, and other facilities. Many Inuit work-
ers are also involved in the basic infrastructure
that a settlement of Cambridge Bay's size requires,
such as water delivery and sewage removal, or
huilding work on the town's ever expanding in-
frastructure. Trips to the south of Canada by plane
are another common feature of settlement life, and
also require long term planning. Such plans might
not come to ftuition for many months, and of-
ten require extensive preparation in the interim.
That the strict timetables brought to the Arctic
by colonialism can disrupt Inuit hunting prac-
tices was illustrated by Stefansson (1922:89-97),
who recounts with some alarm the ramifications
of the prohibition against working on a Sunday
that was taken up by Inuit following their con-
version to Christianity. He writes of crucial whale
hunting opportunities missed and individuals left
stranded on the land without a rescue mission be-
ing launched. Today, constraints of employment
may cast even greater limits on the ability of some
Inuit hunters to respond to hunting opportunities
as they arise (Condon et al. 1995).
Goehring and Stager (1991) have conse-
quently suggested that Inuit had to develop new
concepts of time in order to take part in industrial
society. They write that the immediacy of action
and result that occurred in the previous hunting
92
and gathering regime would have had to be sup-
planted by a more abstract concept of time in or-
der to recognize the delayed returns of settlement
society. However, I have already argued that dur-
ing the pre-contact era Inuit would plan and pre-
pare for the future when they deemed it appropri-
ate. I would therefore suggest that the increased
need for planning enforced by settlement life is
unlikely to have caused a dramatic change in
thought process. Inuit philosophies of time have
therefore been rather more resistant than might
be expected, despite undeniable disruptions to
hunting practices caused by settlement life. Con-
sequently, many Inuit continue to use long-term
planning and prediction selectively and sparingly
where possible.
Certainly in terms of money and employ-
ment, a focus on preparation for uncertainty rather
than rigid planning for the future often seems to
be in evidence within the settlement. It must be
noted that many Inuit have held down the same
steady job for many years. For others, however,
employment is more flexibly utilized. Opportu-
nities for full time employment are in somewhat
short supply in Cambridge Bay, forcing many In-
uit to be flexible in their approach to working.
Furthermore, I found that many acquaintances
who had gained stable full time positions would
feel constrained by the routine and would con-
sequently leave, especially in the spring, when
the 24-hour sun, the warming air, and the linger-
ing sea ice are ideal for traveling. Regardless of op-
portunity, therefore, a sizeable proportion of Inuit
do not engage in full time emplojnnent, and will
instead support themselves throughout the year
through a range of occasional employment oppor-
tunities. These include guiding for sports hunts,
commercial fishing, working out of town at one of
the nearby mines, and conducting military exer-
cises with the Canadian Rangers. Sporadic income
can also be generated from the manufacture and
sale of soapstone carvings, wall hangings, parkas,
mitts, and boots. High levels of unemployment
and income assistance in the settlement, com-
bined with the fact that many families also sup-
port themselves through various subsistence activ-
ities on the land that reduce family expenditure on
store-bought food items, also decrease the need for
commitment to full time work for many Inuit. The
"replacement value" of land food in Nunavut has
been estimated at between $30 and $35 million a
year and its continuing importance, both economi-
cally and culturally, should not be underestimated
(Hicks and White 2000:38).
The money gained from employment may
also be flexibly utilized. Again, some Inuit are fru-
gal with their money and may save carefully. For
others, however, despite the presence of a bank in
the community, cash is often spent immediately
Arctic Anthropology 44:2
on receipt, and does not seem to have any value
in itself. On receiving a lump sum, many Inuit
will spend all they need on food, give some away
to family and friends, and gamble the rest in card
games. Shortly afterwards they may begin to re-
quire money again and will search round the com-
munity for a loan. This affects the way that many
Inuit work, as once enough money has been se-
cured for the immediate future they see little rea-
son to continue earning. The Euro-Canadians in
Cambridge Bay, who may employ Inuit workers
in their businesses, can find this highly frustrat-
ing. Meanwhile, Inuit can find white people to be
greedy and mean with their money, storing it away
and perhaps never even spending it.
Such apparently carefree habits may give the
initial impression that Inuit are giving no thought
to the future, a point occasionally made ruefully
by their employers. However, these habits indicate
a continuation of Inuit philosophies about the fu-
ture, in which uncertainty is embraced and pre-
pared for accordingly. Through the widespread
sharing and circulation of food and money, Inuit
are investing in family and friends for the future,
as the person who borrows today may be relied on
to lend tomorrow (Bird-David 1992:31; Woodburn
1982:440^42), although sharing relationships are
not necessarily directly reciprocal. Rather, wide-
spread sharing cements social relationships and
ensures that Inuit have a throng of people who
will aid them in the future (Bodenhorn 2000;
Hovelsrud-Broda 2000; Wenzel 1995a; 2000). Per-
sonal hoarding of wealth is rather the antithesis of
this philosophy towards the future, as there is no
guarantee that money or food saved up and stored
away will ever serve any useful purpose, or that it
will be enough in the event of disaster.
Inuit resistance to scheduled work is not the
only way that Western concepts of time come un-
der siege in Arctic settlements. Blizzards sweep
in off the tundra, disrupting community sched-
ules for days, as offices and schools are closed
and planes are grounded or prevented from land-
ing. At any time of the year fog or low cloud sim-
ilarly disrupt airplane timetables, and many trips
to the airport with bags packed for a journey end
only in disappointment. Illnesses similarly grind
the community to a halt, as flu epidemics close of-
fices and schools. The 24-hour darkness of mid-
winter and the 24-hour daylight of midsummer
also ill suit those trying to participate in regular
work patterns (Stern 2003). Another threat to com-
munity schedules emerged while I was living in
the Cambridge Bay, as the pipes that deliver water
into town froze and burst, delaying and disrupting
water services for the entire winter. It may appear
that Western concepts of time are absolutely im-
posed onto Inuit settlements by office hours, fixed
weekends, opening times of stores and banks.
Bates: Inuit and Scientific Philosophies
curfews for children, and bans on driving all ter-
rain vehicles (ATVs) at night, even during periods
of 24-hour sun. However, the community rarely
runs so smoothly. Inuit philosophies of time often
therefore prove to he well placed even within the
context of settlement society, and are consequently
reinforced.
Inuit Philosophies and
Environmental Management
The ways that Inuit manage uncertainty while
hunting and traveling might he thought to hear lit-
tle relevance to the input they might wish to have
in research projects revolving around environ-
mental management. However, my experiences of
hunting and traveling with Inuit became crucial to
my understanding of the ways that Inuit dealt with
certain lines of questioning within research inter-
views that I undertook towards the end of my time
in Cambridge Bay. I argue therefore that Inuit phi-
losophies about the future, although founded in
activities taking place around hunting and trav-
eling, can become highly significant when Inuit
are called upon to provide knowledge that will
aid in environmental management. In these situa-
tions the Inuit distaste for efforts to plan and pre-
dict may clash with the preoccupations of Western
science, which is increasingly focused on manage-
ment founded on prediction (Adam 1998:57). Two
examples may illustrate this point, focusing on
discussions around caribou management and cli-
mate change respectively. These are taken from
12 semi-structured interviews that I carried out
with Inuit elders and hunters towards the end
of my time in the community of Cambridge Bay.
These interviews had the aim of documenting In-
uit knowledge about the Dolphin-Union caribou
herd, which migrates past Cambridge Bay twice a
year. A translator was used in all but two of these
interviews, as interview participants were more
comfortable speaking Inuinnaqtun than English.
During these interviews, questions about the
present and past were answered with comparative
willingness. Past journeys on the land, life histo-
ries, and old hunting techniques were clearly a
pleasure to discuss for most people and the con-
versation would here flow relatively easily. Elders
told of their childhood memories, how and where
they had hunted in their youth, and how they
had ended up coming to Cambridge Bay. Mean-
while, younger hunters related what they had seen
while out traveling. Respondents also appeared to
be happy enough to point out caribou migration
routes and suggest timings for their movements,
to recount where they had seen calves, rutting or
wolf kills, or to recall the history of caribou pop-
ulation fluctuations. However, there was marked
93
reluctance from Inuit to make predictions about
the Dolphin-Union caribou herd, or to be drawn
into discussion of the management of the caribou
to ensure the future prosperity of the animals. In-
uit would frequently decline to answer these ques-
tions, explaining that they did not know or that
they could not say. Even where an answer was
provided, it was often offered with clear reluc-
tance, and the interviewee would reiterate many
times that they were uncertain. Overall, it became
apparent that questions about the future of the ani-
mals made many Inuit rather uncomfortable.
As already discussed, claiming knowledge
of the future is perceived as rather futile and
even arrogant hy many Inuit, and it is little won-
der therefore that they might he unwilling to have
such comments documented within an interview.
Such Inuit philosophies may however be partic-
ularly relevant to discussion about animals. Mor-
row (1990:150), in her work with Yupiit in Alaska,
discusses a "social commitment" to the assump-
tion that one can never fully understand or know
the motivations of anyone else, nor predict what
they might do. Inuit also abhor efforts to control
others (Briggs 1968:53 in Omura 2002:106; Briggs
1970:42; Briggs 1991:267). These social commit-
ments would be extended to include animals, as
relationships between Inuit and animals rest on
the same principals as social interactions (Wen-
zel 1991:140; also see Fienup-Riordan 1990:167;
1999:58 for similar observations about Yup'ik in
Alaska). In the past, these ideas would have dis-
couraged Inuit from attempting to manage future
animal populations. Accordingly, there is little ev-
idence that Inuit or Eskimo groups managed ani-
mal populations via sustainable harvesting strate-
gies (Burch 1994; Fienup-Riordan 1990:167-189;
Cunn et al 1988:26), despite claims to the con-
trary (Freeman 1985:274-277; Nuttall 1998:71,
88-89; Riewe and Cambie 1988). Instead, it was
maintaining respectful relationships with animals
that would facilitate future accessibility to game
(Fienup-Riordan 1990:167-189; Wenzel 1991:4-5,
138-140). Efforts within research situations to en-
courage Inuit to speculate on management solu-
tions for sustainable caribou futures may therefore
go against Inuit philosophies of how one can know
both the animals and the future, and may amount
to being disrespectful to both. As such, they may
be particularly troubling to Inuit interviewees.
I also noted a particular reluctance to dis-
cuss the future impacts of potentially hazardous
phenomena such as climate change in negative
terms. During my interviews, Inuit elders were
keen to explain that climate change was happen-
ing. I was told of previously permanent ice banks
that had started disappearing in the summer time
during the last decade, of lakes that used to keep
their ice all year but now melt entirely, and of the
94
mosquitoes around Cambridge Bay getting more
numerous. It was only when I asked about the fu-
ture that there would be a pause. Mostly respon-
dents said they did not know, or they suggested
that it would end up being fine, and that the cari-
bou and the Inuit could cope. Wenzel (1995:175)
notes a similarly optimistic view of climate change
expressed by Inuit in Clyde village on Baffin
Island.
The philosophies about the future already
described may be compounded in this case by an
Inuit belief that thoughts and words have an in-
herent agency, as Morrow describes for Alaskan
Yupiit (1990:150; 1996:417). This can be distin-
guished from the Western view that only actions
deliver intended effects. Thus careless words, and
in particular definitive statements that fail to rec-
ognize the inherent uncertainty of the world, are
dangerous. Speaking of the future in negative
terms may thus actualize that scenario, creating
the bleak situation described. Briggs (1991:285)
and G'Neil et al. (1997:35-36) also report an In-
uit belief that worrying, brooding, or being pessi-
mistic about the future shortens one's life. Indeed,
O'Neil et al. (1997:36) suggest that Inuit in Nuna-
vik perceive the immediate worry caused by sci-
entific discourses about risks to be more damaging
than the potential future dangers that such dis-
courses aim to mitigate.
These Inuit philosophies described above,
as they emerge around climate change, are a con-
trast to the frequently reported Inuit fear and de-
spair over such phenomena (Armstrong 2001; Clo-
ver 2005; Ehrlich 2006). This suggests that Inuit
philosophies about the future and the management
of its potential risks may frequently be overlooked.
Industrial society may be committed to deal-
ing with potential future hazards such as climate
change through rigorous environmentally manip-
ulative management strategies based on prediction
(for example the setting of carbon emission quotas
worldwide or the creation of fiood defenses based
on estimates of likely sea level rise). This may lead
to assumptions that if Inuit recognize global warm-
ing, they must also desire predictive management
strategies. Such assumptions are often fundamen-
tal to the agendas of research projects with indige-
nous people, and come to structure and dictate the
information generated (Agrawal 1995; Bates 2006;
Cruikshank 1998:45-70; Kothari 2001:149; Mor-
row and Hensel 1992; Mosse 2001:32; Nadasdy
2003:60-61, 94-98; Wenzel 2004:239).
However, Inuit may be more concerned
with maintaining the flexibility of their knowl-
edge through continuous interaction with the land
and animals, so that they are able to respond ef-
fectively to whatever the future may bring. True
to this, Berkes and Jolly (2001) and Jolly et al.
(2002:112-115) describe ways in which Inuit in
Arctic Anthropology 44:2
Sach's Harbour are successfully negotiating cli-
mate change, through flexibly adjusting hunting
techniques, locations, timings and species sought.
Flexibility is almost a defining feature of Inuit so-
ciety (Adams 1971:9), and over the centuries the
Inuit have proved themselves to be adept at em-
bracing change, be it migration to a new geographi-
cal area, environmental fluctuations, crashes in an-
imal populations or colonialism (Dahl 2000:7-10;
Damas 2002:6,23-24; Dorais 1997:88-101; Fossett
2001:67,113; Nuttall 1992:29; Turner 1994:
150-156; Wenzel 1995:172-174). It is unlikely
therefore that climate change will be their undo-
ing, and they are right to be confident in their ap-
proach to future uncertainty.
Planning and "The West"
The examination of Inuit philosophies about pre-
diction and uncertainty in this paper has illumi-
nated a distinctive attitude to knowing the en-
vironment that contrasts somewhat with the
preoccupations of Western science. Inuit appear
to accept uncertainty, and find great utility in an
in-depth knowledge of the present, coupled with
skills of improvisation that allow flexibility to re-
spond to situations as they arise. They may there-
fore find attempts to predict the future unnec-
essary or foolhardy. It might seem therefore that
Inuit and Western ideas about the future are rather
at odds with one another. It is however possible
to navigate this apparent impasse, if we focus on
the ways that uncertainty and planning play out
in practice during scientific research and manage-
ment. It is towards these processes that I now turn.
During my fieldwork in Cambridge Bay,
the problems that can occur in the Arctic due
to commitment to a "plan," and the compara-
tive strengths of the Inuit methodology of deal-
ing with the future, were perhaps most forcefully
illustrated to me while I worked as both partici-
pant and observer on an ecological science proj-
ect (Bates 2006). This project was based at the Uni-
versity of Aberdeen and the Centre of Ecology and
Hydrology in Banchory, Scotland. Its aim was the
investigation of aspects of the behavior of the Dol-
phin-Union caribou herd. I accompanied the main
investigator and her assistant to their field site
west of Cambridge Bay on numerous occasions
and helped with vegetation sampling and collec-
tion of muskox feces. I also accompanied the ecol-
ogists on trips on the land with Inuit hunters.
During these expeditions we collected jaws and
sections of stomach from caribou in order to de-
termine the ages and parasite loads of the animals
taken by hunters.
In dealing with the unpredictability inherent
in ecological fieldwork on the Arctic tundra, the
study's best-laid plans rapidly proved to be more
Bates: Inuit and Scientific Philosophies
of a hindrance than an advantage. The snows left
late in 2003, meaning that there wras no access to
the tundra vegetation, which was crucial to the
ecological project's commencement. This set the
project schedule hack hy almost a month. Flights
out of the community had already heen predeter-
mined, and the Arctic summer can he frustratingly
short. This limited the period availahle for carry-
ing out the detailed methodology required, forcing
a restructuring of the timetahle of work. This was
not the only divergence from the initial plan. De-
spite weeks of work having been devoted to it, a
whole section of the project investigating the dis-
persal potential of parasites in musk oxen feces
was dropped entirely when no larval stages of the
parasites were found. Furthermore, the carihou
themselves proved to he absent from areas that
were crucial for the study's predetermined meth-
odology, creating a brief panic and forcing a quick
realignment of the project's goals.
Commitment to a plan also proved diffi-
cult in other ways, as it dictated that activities
were carried out on days that were rather unsuit-
able. On one memorable occasion the exposed
hillsides on which we worked were blasted and
drenched by heavy winds and sporadic down-
pours. This weather rendered the study's meth-
odology, which at this point involved the delicate
clipping and storage of the tundra vegetation, al-
most impossible. From the low hills on which we
worked we could watch these storms approaching
out over the ocean, as menacing slate-grey cloud-
banks trailed by tendrils of torrential rain, yet we
hunkered down and worked regardless. While the
assistant and I quickly grew fed up and started to
moan at our predicament, the project leader was
admirably determined to get the work done, pres-
sured ever by the predetermined schedule of work.
Faced with the conflicting pressures of a cha-
otic Arctic environment and the desire for an orga-
nized scientific project, the ecologists showed con-
siderable skill in shifting between two approaches,
that of highly structured planning and that of
rapid reaction and adaptation. During this pro-
cess it became increasingly clear which was the
more appropriate mode of operation on the tundra.
Overall, the ecologists' work emerged not as the
orderly implementation of a pre-determined meth-
odology, but as a process of rapid response that
bore a marked similarity to that preferred by In-
uit. "The plan" seemed to trail along in the wake
of this, shifting in response to actions taken rather
than dictating them. Having to react in this way
would seem to he an unavoidable consequence of
working in such an unpredictable environment.
However, while the Arctic may provide an ex-
treme example, Suchman (1987:viii-ix, 52) sug-
gests that no matter how planned any action is,
once underway it will always hecome a situated
95
process of ad hoc response and improvization, as
circumstances can never fully be anticipated and
many obstacles and opportunities will only reveal
themselves once a practitioner is fully engaged in
an activity. Plans are thus only really useful as ori-
entation prior to launching into an activity, so that
the best starting point for forthcoming improvisa-
tion can be obtained.
Suchman (1987) also notes that in indus-
trial society fixed plans are most often invoked af-
ter an event, to lend an aura of rationality, cred-
ibility, and tidiness to what actually took place.
True to this, scientific fieldwork is generally rep-
resented as having followed a simple, algorithmic
series of orderly, impersonal, and pre-determined
procedures. This conceals much of the messiness
of such studies, lending the impression of meth-
odologies so meticulously thought out in advance
that their implementation requires minimal per-
sonal involvement and skill. Such representations
often receive more attention from the academic
west than the processes behind them (Turnhull
2000:91). The very idea of pre-determined plans
that can be flawlessly followed through may there-
fore be something of a myth, developed through
Western society's preoccupation with rationality,
order, and certainty (Golinski 1998:2-6; Medawar
1969:8; Milton 2001:21, 129-132, 150; Polanyi
1978:168-170; Turnbull 2000:82, 210).
It is not only in terms of scientific fieldwork
practice that avenues for collaboration can be
found between Western and Inuit ways of know-
ing. The ways that scientific predictive models
function in practice has also led to questions over
some of the assumptions that underlie Western
science. Science's history of environmental man-
agement hased on prediction is notable mostly
for its inaccuracy, as large time spans and multi-
ple pathways are often unfathomable to scientific
disciplines, which tend to focus on linear cause
and effect (Adam 1998:50; Anderson 1999; Feit
1988:83; Freeman 1985:267-277, 1992:9-10; Lud-
wig et al. 1993; Riewe and Gamble 1988:31; Roep-
storff 2001:85). Some branches of science, such as
chaos theory, have made efforts to understand and
account for uncertainty. However, their influence
has so far remained limited (Adam 1998:44-45).
Generally speaking, by assuming that it will even-
tually be able to eliminate uncertainty from its
predictions, much of science presently limits its
capacity for effective environmental management.
Moreover, scientific knowledge about com-
plex environmental phenomena is itself gener-
ally uncertain and contradictory. Indeed, this con-
flict and uncertainty is essential to the dynamism
and progression of science (Kuhn 1962:11-12; Me-
dawar 1969:49; Popper 1979:36-37). However, this
process must be somewhat obscured from view
in order to maintain the public or policy maker's
96
confidence in tbe current authority of scientific
knowledge (Beck [1986] 1992:164). This drive to-
wards certainty and suppression of dissent may
cause crucial amhiguities to he overlooked, lead-
ing to policy and action for environmental man-
agement heing hased on incomplete data (Walters
1997).
Recognition of these limitations to scientific
knowing has led to calls for science in general to
confront, accept, and attempt to understand uncer-
tainty (Adam 1998:59; Dove 1996:581; Ludwig et
al. 1993). Adaptive management strategies, which
are constantly reviewed and updated, rather than
based on rigid strategies and long term predic-
tions, are increasingly seen as a way around this
current impasse in relation to glohal environmen-
tal change (Peterson et al. 1997). This may finally
allow appropriate action towards sustainable fu-
tures. In the case of research into Inuit knowledge
of the environment, it may also allow for a more
meaningful collaboration with Inuit, which suits
Inuit philosophies about the future.
Conclusion
Through an ethnographic study of the ways that
Inuit and scientific philosophies about the future
and its uncertainties play out in practice, I have
argued that Inuit philosophies fair admirably in
comparison to Western preoccupations. Rather
than rigid planning and prediction, many Inuit
instead focus on efficient response and improvi-
sation to whatever reveals itself in the present,
alongside a certain amount of general preparation
to cater for any eventuality. This Inuit approach to
knowing, in which future uncertainty is positively
embraced, does not limit itself in the ways that
science does. Appreciation and recognition of
these Inuit philosophies may therefore allow for
more effective management of the Arctic environ-
ment, via adaptive management strategies. It may
also generate a more meaningful collaboration be-
tween researchers and Inuit. In this way Inuit may
be able to inform thinking on environmental man-
agement, rather than being limited to the submis-
sion of information that can be slotted into prede-
termined scientific concepts about the future.
Acknowledgments. This work would not have
been possible without the hospitality, kindness,
and tolerance of the people I worked with in
Cambridge Bay, for which they have my sincere
thanks. I am also grateful to Tim Ingold, Steve Al-
bon, Nancy Wachowich, Joelene Hughes, Martina
T)n:rell, and Rachel Olson for reading early drafts
of this paper, or the thesis on which it is based.
Funding for my PhD research was generously pro-
vided through an interdisciplinary NERC/ESRC
grant.
Arctic Anthropology 44:2
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