Persons and Cultures PDF

Persons and Cultures
BY
TINA FENDER GIBSON

B.A., Aurora University, 1997
M.A., Northern Illinois University, 1999
THESIS
Submitted as partial fulfillment of the requirements

for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Philosophy
in the Graduate College of the
University of Illinois at Chicago, 2009
Chicago, Illinois
Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.
UMI Number: 3380692
INFORMATION TO USERS
The quality of this reproduction is dependent upon the quality of the copy
submitted. Broken or indistinct print, colored or poor quality illustrations
and photographs, print bleed-through, substandard margins, and improper
alignment can adversely affect reproduction.
In the unlikely event that the author did not send a complete manuscript
and there are missing pages, these will be noted. Also, if unauthorized
copyright material had to be removed, a note will indicate the deletion.
UMI Microform 3380692

Copyright 2009 by ProQuest LLC
All rights reserved. This microform edition is protected against
unauthorized copying under Title 17, United States Code.
ProQuest LLC
789 East Eisenhower Parkway
P.O. Box 1346
Ann Arbor, Ml 48106-1346
This thesis is dedicated to my husband, Matthew Gibson, who always believed in me and
whose patience, support, love, and encouragement made it possible.
iii
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to express my gratitude to my thesis committee—Samuel
Fleischacker, Marya Schechtman, Walter Edelberg, Steven Collins, and John
Monaghan—for their insights and assistance. I would especially like to thank my
advisors, Sam and Marya, for all of their patience, support, and guidance. Their
dedication, advice, and encouragement helped me take this project from a few
undeveloped ideas to something I'm proud of. I am wholly in their debt for all that they
have done to help me become a better writer and a better philosopher.
I'd like also to thank Jeanine Schroer, Melissa Kozma, and Jessica Gordon for
their advice, support, and sisterhood; Barbara Martin, Andrew Blom, and Cullen Walsh
for giving me a forum to test out ideas; Valerie Brown and Charlotte Jackson for being
invaluable resources as well as amazing ladies; and my family and friends for putting up
with questions such as "What really bothers you about cannibalism?" and allowing me to
test their intuitions so that I could better face the challenges of this project.
TFG
iv
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. INTRODUCTION 1
A. The Question 1
B. Relativism 2
C. Relativism and Personhood 7
D. Approaches to the Question 14
E. The Importance of the Project 22
F. Conclusion 24
II. OUR CONCEPT OF PERSON 25

A. Methodology 25
B. Essential Features of Personhood 26
1. Rationality 27
2. Moral Agency 29
3. Concern for the Future 32
4. Interpersonal Relations 33
5. Emotions 35
6. Identification as Locus of Control 36
C. Bodily Instantiation of Personhood 37
D. Value of Personhood 39
E. Terminological Points 42
1. Persons and Selves 42
2. Anthropological Definition of the Western Concept of Self. 43
3. The Hard Cases 45
F. Cross-Cultural Challenges to Our Concept 47
1. Differences in Concept 47
2. Differences in Instantiation 48
3. Differences in Value 49
G. Conclusion 51
III. CONCEPTS OF PERSONHOOD 53

A. Introduction 53
B. Cultures Lacking the Concept of Person: Buddhist Cultures 55
C. Cultures with Different Concepts of Person 61
1. Rationality: The Eskimo or Inuit 61
2. Moral Agency 66
a. The Kaulong 68
b. The Ik 69
3. Concern for the Future: Buddhist Cultures 71
4. Interpersonal Relations 75
a. The Balinese 77
b. North Indian Culture 82
c. The Ik 84
5. Emotions 86
a. The Balinese 86
b. The Chewong 88
6. Identification as Locus of Control: The Dinka 90
D. Conclusion 100
IV. VIEWS OF THE INSTANTIATION OF PERSONHOOD 101

A. Introduction 101
B. Groups as the Units of Personhood 103
1. "Primitive" Cultures 104
2. Traditional Chinese Culture 115
3. TheWintu 118
C. Body Parts as the Units of Personhood 122
1. The Ba-kaonde 124
2. The Maori 128
3. The Gahuku-Gama 132
D. Bi-presence and Multiple Souls: The Eskimo or Inuit 133
E. Non-instantiated Persons: The Kaulong 138
F. Non-human Bodies as the Units of Personhood: "Primitive" Cultures 143
G. Conclusion 151
V. THE VALUING OF PERSONHOOD 152

A. Introduction 152
B. Moral Significance 158
1. Rejecting the Value of Personhood: Buddhist Cultures 158
2. Valuing Persons Selectively 161
a. JustUs 161
i. The Gahuku-Gama 161
ii. Cannibals 170
b. Just Some of Us 175
i. The Kaulong 175
ii. TheTallensi 181
iii. Indian Culture 184
iv. Other Cases 192
3. Beyond Valuing Personhood: The Ik 195
C. Temporal Significance 197
vi
1. Traditional Chinese Culture 198
2. The Balinese 202
3. Buddhist Cultures 204
D. Conclusion 205
VI. GENERAL EMPIRICAL CONSIDERATIONS 208

A. Introduction 208
B. The Roots of Disagreement 209
C. The Concept of Culture 213
1. Sociobiology and Human Beings 219
2. Pedagogy and Culture 229
D. Conclusion 237
VII. CONCLUDING REMARKS 239

A. Retracing our Path 239
B. The Implications of Our Project 242
CITED LITERATURE 247
VITA 254
vii
SUMMARY
My thesis argues that there are reasons to think that there is a concept of
personhood that is shared across human cultures. It takes issue with the claim by
relativists about personhood that concepts of person differ from culture to culture and that
what is contained in concepts of personhood, the ways those concepts are seen as
instantiated, and the value placed on perceived units of instantiation vary from culture to
culture. I address the relativist by specifying a concept of person present in our culture
and using it as standard of comparison. I then engage the relativist's position in a two
fold manner by analyzing the strength of the empirical evidence that provides the most
likely support for the relativist's position and by providing general considerations that
show that our empirical findings are likely to hold in any human culture.
I begin this task in Chapter One, where I identify the problem of relativism about
personhood, which manifests itself in both moral theory and the debate about personal
identity over time. I motivate the relativist's position and then argue that the relativist is
likely to be persuaded only through an empirical argument of the claim that there is no
one concept of personhood that is present cross-culturally. I then detail a two-part plan
for presenting an examination of this issue, first by examining anthropological data that
indicates differences in the concept or regard of the concept of person and second by
presenting positive reasons why these results are not accidental and why we can
reasonably expect any human culture to share this concept with us.
viii
In Chapter Two, I argue for a particular concept of person present in our culture
(the Core Concept of Person or CCP). This concept is composed of the attributes of
rationality, moral agency, concern for the future, interpersonal relations, emotions, and
identification as locus of control. I maintain that we, in our culture, see this concept as
most basically instantiated in the individual human body and that we regard instantiations
of this concept as having equal moral value and value as the unit we wish to see continue
over time (which I call "temporal value"). I do not maintain that this is the only concept
of person in our culture, merely that it is one that is present and that it provides a useful
standard for cross-cultural comparisons.
In Chapter Three, I begin the empirical examination by examining cases that
appear to show that the CCP is not present in other cultures. I conclude that the cases
that seem most likely to present counterexamples to our view of personhood do not
provide counterexamples to the CCP upon examination.
In Chapter Four I address cases that appear to show that the CCP is seen as
instantiated differently in other cultures than it is in ours. I conclude that while other
cultures may regard the CCP as instantiated in other units, the evidence indicates that, in
the most likely cases of counterexample, the most basic unit of instantiation of the CCP is
the individual human body.
In Chapter Five I address cases that appear to show that instantiations of the CCP
are not seen as equally morally valuable or temporally valuable in other cultures. I
conclude that even amongst the cultures most likely to present counterexamples, units of
ix
the CCP are regarded as having a significant level of moral value and also as having
temporal value, though they are not everywhere regarded as morally equal or as the only
units of temporal significance.
In Chapter Six I provide reasons why the results of our empirical discussion are
not accidental or coincidental and why it would not be surprising if they held for any
human culture. The first of these reasons concerns the fact that cultures are made up of
humans and there are certain sociobiological facts about humans that make the human
body a particularly salient unit and also that might make recognition of humans as
rational, emotional agents part of human hard-wiring. The second reason is connected
with fact that what makes something a culture at all is a worldview of some sort that is
passed on. The way that humans pass on this sort of information is through the process
of teaching and learning and the way that humans do this presupposes recognition of the
traits of the CCP.
In Chapter Seven, I offer some suggestions for the applicability of my project.
The work I have done may have implications both for the issue of personal identity over
time and also for moral theory.
I. INTRODUCTION
A. The Question
When I reflect on who I am, I find that, in addition to many accidental attributes,
there is the bedrock belief that I am a certain kind of thing. I find I also recognize other
kinds of things that I think are similar to me. I call these things "persons". I have certain
views about the person that is me and about other persons. Some of these views are
related to what characteristics I take persons to have and some are related to how I think
persons should be treated. The same is probably true of you and it is likely that there is
considerable overlap in our answers.
But from where do our views about persons come? Are they innate or informed
by the cultures we live in and, if the latter, where cultures differ, might views of
personhood? Could there be some universal view on the matter which spans all cultures?
The question with which I am concerned is whether or not the concept of person
is universal or culturally specific. This project is an investigation into that question. I
think it is an interesting and important question, but perhaps I should begin by explaining
why there isn't any clear and obvious answer to it. That explanation begins with
relativism.
2
B. Relativism
When we talk about relativism in philosophy, we are often referring to an ethical
theory. Relativism, in the context of ethics (or "ethical relativism") holds that what is
morally right for a person to do is dependent on the culture of which that person is a
member.1 Consequently, certain practices may be right for one person but wrong for
another. Morality, on this view, is culturally dependent.
There is also another type of relativism—cognitive relativism. It is this type of
relativism that I will focus on in what follows. Cognitive relativism is not concerned
with what should be the case, but with what is believed to be the case. It is the view that
beliefs vary cross-culturally. It is this sort of relativism that is generally referred to in
anthropology. The subject of cognitive relativism is whether some thing, say for
example, a certain view of time, is universal or whether it varies cross-culturally. This
type of relativism makes no claims on whether or not beliefs should vary—its only claim
is that they do.
The two types of relativism—ethical and cognitive—do come together. Ethical
relativism is related to cognitive relativism, specifically to cognitive relativism about
values. In order for ethical relativism to be at all tenable, it must be the case that values
really do vary cross-culturally; that is a necessary precondition for holding that they
11 recognize that ethical relativism might take either the cultural or individual form, but since many
thinkers refer to individual ethical relativism as "subjectivism", I'll keep the convention of using "ethical
relativism" to refer to only the cultural variety of relativism. None of what I have to say bears directly on
subjectivism.
3
ought to vary in the way that it is argued in ethical relativism. That theory holds that the
way things are is the way they ought to be. If values didn't vary cross-culturally, it is
hard to see why anyone would suggest that they should. As I've said, my question most
directly concerns cognitive relativism, but we will see that it might have implications for
ethical relativism, as well.
Cognitive relativism is a position that both anthropologists and philosophers have
held, though for somewhat different reasons. Anthropology is the study of cultures in an
attempt to understand humans. For some anthropologists, part of doing so is determining
what is necessary and what is contingent about humankind. Cognitive relativism is an
answer to that question. It replies that to understand humans at all we must understand
their cultures.
According to the anthropologist Clifford Geertz, both relativists and anti-
relativists agree that humankind has in common some number of patterns or modes of
thought and everything else is provided by culture. It is the quantity of things in common
that is in dispute (Geertz 1973a, 357). The relativist claims that there is a great deal that
is not universal to humankind. The anti-relativist or "uniformitarian" claims that very
little about humans is culturally dependent. On the uniformitarian view humans qua
humans have certain universal features—a universal human nature. This human nature
might be said to include, for example, reason, values, rights, emotions, certain concepts
of space and time, and certain forms of processing information. Having all of these
things is necessary to being human. The relativist, on the other hand, thinks that human
4
nature does not exist "independent of time, place, and circumstance". There simply is no
list of this sort in agreement among all humans. There are widely differing views of
rights and ways of processing information and types of emotions and so forth. Any given
human is . .so entangled with where he is, who he is, and what he believes that it
[human nature] is inseparable from them." Values and beliefs are essential to who we are
and these vary, so human identity or nature, on this view, is culturally relative (Geertz
1973b, 35).
Cognitive relativism is concerned with differences in beliefs, and these
differences can fall into several categories. For our purposes, it is useful to distinguish
relativism about concepts and relativism about values. An anthropologist might make a
statement of either sort. She might hold, for instance, that individual glory is not a value
present in all cultures. That would be a cognitive-relativistic position about values. She
might also hold that a certain concept of time is not present in all cultures. That would be
a cognitive-relativistic position about a concept. Relativism, of course, is not single
faced. There is disagreement about what concepts are universal, what values are
universal, if values are universal but not concepts (or vice versa), and many other issues.
But something can be said in general about the relativistic view that many of these things
are culturally dependent.
Those who are relativists with regard to values argue that some or all values are
culturally dependent. To quote Melville Herskovits, "Judgments are based on
experience, and experience is interpreted by each individual in terms of his own
5
enculturation" (Herskovits 1972, 14-15). In the West, we have certain values that seem
to us to be the correct ones. The individual is regarded as the primary unit of moral
responsibility and incest, rape, polygamy and cannibalism are generally regarded as
wrong. A relativist about values, however, will claim that there are different units of
moral responsibility elsewhere or that in certain societies these actions are not considered
immoral. These are often empirical claims and sometimes not subject to much
interpretation (as in the case of a group's feelings about polygamy) but also often the
answers are less obvious than they appear. It might look like a group does not respect the
dead because they practice cannibalism, when, in fact, they regard eating parts of the
deceased as the way to best honor them and to make them immortal.
It is important to remember that relativism about values need not entail ethical
relativism, though it frequently does. Philosophers often raise the issues of slavery and
the Jewish Holocaust to show that ethical relativism is unpalatable (Herskovits 1972, 94).
The same objections do not affect cognitive relativism about values as it stands. One
must make the further jump from is to ought before being forced to contend with
philosophical arguments against ethical relativism.
Cognitive relativists about concepts argue that some or all concepts are filled in
by our cultures and so will differ cross-culturally. Herskovits, for example, brings up the
issue that the learning of certain concepts is culturally dependent and cites judgments
about space, time, and volume as examples (Herskovits 1972, 52). Lucien Levy-Bruhl,
famously and controversially, claimed in his earlier work that "primitives" have no
6
concept of their own personality and that, in general, they see the world homogenously,
as containing many manifestations of one "essential nature" (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 15, 19).
More recent arguments have claimed that perception is culturally dependent, citing cases
like one in Ghana where an electrical contractor asked natives to dig trenches for laying
cable, only to find that every trench they dug was curved. Herskovits claims that this was
because they were from an area where "circular forms predominate and where the
straight line plays a minor role" and, further, that "they do not live in what has been
called the carpentered world, so that to follow a straight line marked by a cord is as
difficult for them as it would be for those of us whose learning experience stresses the
perception and allocation in space of rectangular forms to describe, free-hand, a perfect
circle" (Herskovits 1972, 52). It is claimed by Peter Mtihlhausler and Rom Harre that, in
Tahiti, not only is there no word for "sadness", but that there seem to be no rituals or
behaviors that indicate sadness. They think it is likely that sadness simply "does not exist
in Tahiti" (Mtihlhausler and Harre 1990, 7). And Native Americans in the Southwestern
U.S. have been claimed to operate on the basis of six cardinal points, rather than four,
adding "up" and "down" to north, south, east, and west, indicating, some think, that they
view the world three-dimensionally (in terms of longitude, latitude, and height), as
opposed to our two-dimensional view (in terms of longitude and latitude) (Herskovits
1972, 16). These are but a few examples among many that have been given as evidence
of concepts that are cognitively relative.
7
Anthropologists aren't the only ones that have argued for cognitive relativism.
Many philosophers, often followers of Wittgenstein, have put forth views that either
entail cognitive relativism or lend themselves to its possibility. Philosophers such as
Peter Winch, Rush Rhees, D.Z. Phillips, Henry Mc Donald, Nelson Goodman, and
Willard van Orman Quine have all put forth views of this sort. There are great
differences among them, both in terms of why they hold the view they do and what they
think it entails for our understanding of other cultures, but they all suggest the possibility
that there are at least some concepts that are culture-specific. This agreement is derived
from a Wittgensteinian picture of knowledge and the idea that our worldview is formed
by a system of rules that maintains a coherent picture. There are, however, very likely
other coherent pictures of things with different sets of rules and the possibility of these
other coherent pictures leaves the door open for conceptual relativism.
C. Relativism and Personhood
Understanding why one might hold a cognitive-relativistic position is important to
understanding relativism about personhood, but more needs to be said about why one
would believe that this particular concept is culture-specific. As with the general issue of
cognitive relativism, reasons for support of a relativistic position on personhood have had
both anthropological and philosophical manifestations.
The anthropological reasons stem from observations of profound difference
amongst cultures in how they see themselves and others. There is disagreement, of
8
course, as to what sort of differences exist between cultures, but a prominent
characterization in the literature involves a dichotomy between the Western concept of
person and the non-Western one (Spiro 1992, 116).
The Western view of "person", as described by Melford Spiro, is characterized by
"self-other differentiation, personal individuation, and autonomy" (Spiro 1992, 116). It
conceives of persons atomistically. Each biological individual exists separately from
each other. We are our own islands. Though we interact with each other, the view seems
to be that that is a circumstance we find ourselves in, not a condition for our being. At
any rate, we are fully formed persons first, and actors in larger societies second. The
word "I" is used to refer, in Western societies, to only one individual—me (Spiro 1993,
'j
108). To quote Clifford Geertz, the Western conception holds that a person is "bounded,
unique, more or less integrated motivational cognitive universe, a dynamic center of
awareness, emotion, judgment, and action organized into a distinctive whole and set
contrastively both against other wholes and against its social and natural background"
(Geertz 1984, 126).
Conversely, non-Western societies are characterized as rejecting the atomistic
view of personhood. What it means to be a person is not to be one individual, but to be
2 In anthropological literature, terms like "person", "self', and "I" are often used interchangeably.
Whether this indicates a lack of rigor or not, we should keep in mind that the way these terms are often
used indicates that they are either regarded as meaning the same thing or as having very closely related
meanings. "Self' seems most commonly to indicate a person considering herself as a person—the self is
what is present when one reflects herself. "I" often seems to be used to refer to a particular person, the one
that is me. Both "self' and "I" are used in such a way that they refer to a specific person but since any
person has a "self' and an "I", comments about them also refer to personhood more broadly.
9
part of a complex social system. Society is not a bunch of separate persons coming
together; it is one person formed from several parts. The unit of this personhood may
differ cross-culturally. In some non-Western cultures, it may refer only to the family, in
others it may refer to a larger group, like a tribe. The point, however, is that whereas the
Western conception of person is exclusive, the non-Western conception is inclusive
(Geertz 1984, 108). According to Markus and Kitayama, "others are included within the
boundaries of the self' on the non-Western view (Markus and Kitayama 1991, 61).
A second Western/non-Western distinction focuses not on boundaries of "person"
but on amount of control a person must necessarily have. It is related, perhaps, to the
issue of boundaries because an individual lacking the view that he or she has control over
the environment might necessarily view themselves as part of a greater entity that does
have control, but it is a point worthy of examination in its own right.
Proponents of this view hold that in Western societies the individual is viewed as
an entity that is capable of choice and of action. It is generally viewed as a thing that can
act on other things. If I decide to perform a certain movement and my hand encounters
the table with a smacking sound, we think that I hit the table, not that the table acted upon
me. They argue, however, that many non-Western cultures characterize matters
differently.
According to Dorothy Lee, the tribe of the Wintu has a conception of self that
fades in and out of existence, not in the way that we might conceive it—when the self is
not reflecting, it does not exist—but in the way that we would describe as the person
10
fading in and out of existence, where this happens "gradually and without distinct
demarcation" (Lee 1950, 541). The Wintu seem to view themselves as involved in
activities in degrees, instead of wholly or not at all (Mtihlhausler and Harre 1990, 106).
What the Wintu example seems to get at is the division, as Andrew Lock puts it,
between "being in control and being under control". Lock suggests that in societies
where the locus of control is seen as located in the biological individual, boundaries will
exist between individuals at that point and each might be regarded as persons. But, if
there are societies where the locus of control is seen as located outside the individual, the
boundary between self and other will also be outside the individual (Lock 1981, 32).
Hence, the concept of "person" will be quite different in those cultures.
Paul Heelas characterizes the two possible views about control in relation to the
individual as "idealist" systems of control and "passiones" systems of control. In idealist
systems, the individual is in control, whereas in passiones systems, the individual is not
the locus of control (Heelas 1981b, 41).
We can think of the distinction, so foreign to us, in this way: We often try to
control our facial expressions so that others do not know what we are thinking. Our
bodies are most commonly seen as indicators of our internal selves. In passiones
systems, however, it is said that people control their facial expressions in order to control
their emotions (Heelas 1981b, 45). To illustrate: In Western societies we often draw a
distinction between self and body. My self tries to get a part of my body—my face—
under control in order to hide my feelings. But in passiones societies, no such distinction
11
between self and body exists (Mtihlhausler and Harre 1990, 106). The self does not
control the body because the self is one with the body. So, it is the whole unit that must
be controlled. By what? Well certainly not by the self, so therefore, by external factors.
The Maori, for example, seemed to view themselves as being part of experience instead
of directors of it (Smith 1981, 52). For them, "because the 'self was not in control of
experience, a man's experience was not felt to be integral to him; it happened in him but
was not o/him. A Maori individual was not so much the experiencer of his experience as
the observer of it (Smith 1981, 152).3
Similarly, Godfrey Lienhardt argues that the Dinka have no self—no reflective
unit—and so do not distinguish between interior and exterior influences (Lienhardt 1962,
49). Raising a hand is just the same type of experience, then, as having one's hand lifted
by a friend. Even memories, for the Dinka, are regarded as images experienced rather
than interior manifestations (Lienhardt 1961, 149). If we think of how dreams used to be
regarded in our culture as messages from others, we can see how this view of memory
makes a bit more sense.
In addition to anthropological reasons—or perhaps because of these reasons—the
philosopher Amelie Rorty argues for a view that might lead to philosophical reasons for
being a relativist about the concept of personhood. In "A Literary Postscript: Characters,
Persons, Selves, Individuals" she describes several ways in which literary entities can be
3Though the passiones view is not common in our culture, it is not unheard of, either. We find Western
examples of it in William James's The Principles of Psychology and "What is an Emotion?" in Mind (vol.
9) 1884, for example. It simply is not the dominant cultural view.
12
categorized, dividing them into characters, figures, persons, souls/minds, selves,
individuals, and presences. Whether or not a certain literary entity falls into one or
another of these categories depends on how developed the character is, which is also
related to the function the character serves and the intended importance of that entity for
the reader (Rorty 1976, 302). Rorty thinks that these categories apply not only to
fictional theory, but also reflect our ways of categorizing others. She argues that the
reason the issue of personal identity over time is so contentious is that we make the
mistake of lumping all these categories together as though they are inseparably connected
and, together, form the concept of "person" (or, more reflective of her terminology,
Person).
But in this case, real life is as strange as fiction. These categories often overlap,
but often separate, as well. Just as a writer leaves some entities only partially formed
because they are being used to stand in for a specific type of thing or kind, so sometimes
our interest in whether or not something is a person involves answering a question in the
frame of a certain purpose. When counting the number of persons present at a dinner, our
concern is with individual bodies (specifically, with mouths and stomachs). We are not,
when asking the question in that particular context, concerned with the number of moral
agents in the room or the number of character-types. Sometimes the numbers will line
up—sometimes the number of individual bodies will be the same as the number of moral
agents or the number of character-types or what have you. However, sometimes they do
not coincide. Sometimes the bearer of rights is not the bearer of memory and sometimes
13
the individual body is not the unit of choice. The reason that we have not found a
criterion that satisfies all of our concerns about personal identity is that our concerns
often conflict and it is often the case that some concerns require different criteria for
continuity than others (Rorty 1976, 302, 319).
One concern we have is assigning praise and blame. In "Persons, Policies and
Bodies," Rorty argues that the way in which we, as humans, divide up bodies is
coextensive with the way we assign moral responsibility. Since, she says, different
cultures and members of different eras have divided these things differently than we do, it
is not going to be the case that, in the eyes of every culture, being a moral agent is the
same thing as being an individual human body (Rorty 1973, 71). If moral agency is at all
part of being a person, then what is regarded as a person in one culture will not
necessarily be regarded a person in another. And not only is moral agency assigned
differently cross-culturally and cross-temporally, but the other concerns we lump together
in the untenable super-concept of Person simply do not seem to be universally present. If
she is correct, concerns will sometimes conflict and so we won't be able to fit all of the
aspects we want to have coincide into one package that applies to all cultures or at all
times. Specifically, the point is that individual bodies don't always indicate individual
persons, which is why looking for a criterion that satisfies both is such a mistake. If
moral agency is part of what makes something a person and if this is relative to culture or
time, then Rorty's discussion has provided strong material that could be used to hold
cognitive relativism about the concept of personhood.
14
Cognitive relativism, we have said, can be about concepts or values. In addition
to holding that the concept of person is relative, we need also to consider whether or not
the value placed on persons is relative. That is, even if we determine that, to some extent,
the concept of person is not as culturally dependent as has been suggested, even if we
find that every culture has some similar concept of person, it would not mean that every
culture regards that entity as something of value. If a group has a concept of something
that we label as a person but does not regard that entity as important, if they regard the
existence of some other entity as always and fundamentally more essential, we would be
hard pressed to assert that we share their views on personhood.
But are the anthropologists and philosophers who hold a relativistic view about
the concept or the value of personhood correct? Do the distinctions they draw entail that
there is no culturally universal concept of person, or might there be some common
agreement beneath the differences in views? Could there be a shared concept but
differences in how that concept is seen as instantiated? If there is agreement on these
things, does that agreement extend to the value placed on that entity? The purpose of this
investigation is to answer those questions and now that we know how and why they arise,
we can turn to the issue of how best to do so.
D. Approaches to the Question
In the chapters that follow, I will argue that we, as humans, have more of a notion
of who we are in common than the relativists about personhood acknowledge. I will
15
discuss reasons for thinking that there might well be a concept of personhood that lies
beneath all the differences between cultures and why it is likely that there must be a
significant degree of value placed on units of personhood in any culture.
But if we are going to take up the questions about the relativism of the concept
and value of personhood, if we are going to show that those who hold a relativistic
position are incorrect, we need to figure out the most effective way of doing so. There
are three ways of dealing with the issue: we could ignore or dismiss suggestions that the
concept or value are relative, we could give an a priori argument showing they are not or
we could give an empirical argument showing they are not.
There are many philosophers who respond to the sorts of issues that the relativist
about personhood brings up by either overlooking them or by pat dismissal. They take
for granted we are more similar than different and that how we view persons is how they
are viewed in all cultures. This perspective pops up in the personal identity issue, where
philosophers have argued for various answers to the question of what must continue for a
person to exist over time and where the answers often assume what some would call a
Western view—that things like individual bodies or memories or individual narratives are
important. Derek Parfit, for example, says that his view may be true for all people at all
times, while admitting that he has not considered the views of different cultures or
periods of time. Parfit's view holds that we are not "separately existing individuals,
distinct from our brain and bodies and our experiences.. .entities whose existence must be
all-or-nothing" (Parfit 1984, 273). Arguments to the contrary are refuted through appeals
16
to our (Western) intuitions. The Western view of connecting personhood with brains and
bodies is not called into question through cross-cultural comparison because Parfit takes
for granted that any group of people would share his intuitions.
In ethics, too, many philosophers broach issues such as abortion and animal rights
with descriptions of personhood that weigh heavily on what some anthropologists would
describe as Western traits. Mary Anne Warren, for example, quite famously argues that
concept of personhood must include (among other things) self-motivated activity (Warren
2007, 394). While she allows that it must also include self-concepts and that these may
be either racial or individual or both, and while she holds reasoning to be necessary but
defines it very minimally as the "the developed capacity to solve new and relatively
complex problems", she does seem to hold a view of control that some would regard as
exclusively Western.
Neither Warren nor Parfit nor any of the other thinkers who dismiss or overlook
the claims of cultural divergence on the issue of personhood want to hold that their views
are only true for Westerners. While they might not be so bold as to claim universality,
they are not merely arguing something about Western personhood and being forced to
limit their conclusions to the Western individual would dramatically weaken their
intended positions.
Anyone answering the question by way of dismissal is going to be subject to the
charge of Western elitism and ethnocentricism. The only way to answer that charge is by
argument. If someone could give good reasons for rejecting the position of the relativist
17
about personhood, then thinkers who assume universality would be in a stronger position
to defend their views. Having had one objection cleared for them, they could concern
themselves with other matters.
That leaves us with two options—we could disagree with the relativist about
personhood by giving an a priori argument or by giving an empirical one. While it might
be tempting and seem particularly philosophical to give an a priori argument, it ultimately
won't meet the relativist's charge. Melford E. Spiro, for example, tries to provide just
such an argument. He argues that, in particular, the relativist suggestion that some
cultures view the self as including others within its boundaries doesn't make any sense—
it lacks logical coherence and so can't be what those cultures actually hold (Spiro 1993,
107-153). I suspect that he's right (that that's not what they actually hold), but he's not
likely to convince many relativists of that. A relativist about personhood would simply
say that it lacks coherence in our culture, given our Western way of reasoning. She'd say
that isn't the only way to reason and so their case holds.
Christine Korsgaard also gives an a priori argument for the universality of a
particular concept of personhood which relies on the universality of reasoning. But
though Korsgaard makes an assumption about cultural universality, it is a fairly safe one.
There are few who would doubt that some sort of reasoning is culturally universal and
Korsgaard's own definition of reasoning (the ability to "reflectively endorse" our
inclinations—to pause, recognize what we are inclined to do, and decide whether or not
to follow a given path) is minimal enough for most to allow (Korsgaard 1996, 50). But
18
even this strategy is unlikely to satisfy the relativist. She might well respond, "Clever
argument, but what about those people over there? No matter what your argument holds,
no matter how much we agree on the assumptions about rationality, those people are still
believing precisely what you said they couldn't possibly believe and not valuing just
what you said they must value as rational agents. You obviously go wrong somewhere."
A great many of our philosophical views about relativism and personhood,
including arguments for the position of relativism itself, come from empirical
observation. Arguments that eschew empirical observation in favor of the a priori route
are not going to convince the relativist. He or she is looking for an explanation for
something they see, not an argument for why it would be impossible for them to be
seeing what they think they are. There are issues where that type of response clearly
shows that the person who is responding is merely confused (for example someone who
argues with an a priori argument for the Law of Noncontradiction by saying people hold
contradictory beliefs all the time); the issue of personhood is not an issue where
disagreement necessarily indicates misunderstanding. It is not just that Spiro's argument
or Korsgaard's argument is unlikely to convince the relativist, but that any a priori
argument is unlikely to do so.
The thing that makes a priori arguments unsatisfying in this case, though they
may be quite satisfying in other cases, is that for an a priori argument to be convincing, it
must rely on premises on which everyone agrees. In the clearest cases, these are
conceptual definitions, but they can also be observations about the world, should they be
19
uncontroversial. The important thing is that an a priori argument needs—to get off the
ground at all—at least one premise that can be assumed and from which the other
premises will follow. But the position of the relativist is precisely that there is no such
axiomatic premise about personhood. There is nothing about the concept that can be
agreed upon because their stance is precisely that, cross-culturally, no agreement exists.
So the relativist is likely to look at a definition like Korsgaard's (that takes rationality as
necessarily tied to personhood and draws its argument from what follows of rationality)
or Spiro's and respond by saying that rationality differs cross-culturally or that it is not
perceived as tied to personhood cross-culturally or that it is not a seen as a very salient
part of personhood cross-culturally.
If the non-relativist responds by giving a purely conceptual a priori argument, she
might gain some limited traction—for example, be able to convince the relativist that we
need rationality in our concept of personhood to even make sense of having a concept of
person since nothing that can have a concept at all can fail to have rationality. But in the
end, that tactic yields up at best only the thinnest sketch of personhood and is not robust
enough to lead to any stronger or more interesting conclusions about what persons are
other than concept-holders. The relativist might well grant such a minimal shared
concept without really endangering her stance on personhood.
The purely conceptual route is bound to yield up, if anything, something too weak
to cause the relativist to rethink her position because personhood is not a purely
conceptual issue. It's about something out in the world, something the relativist has
20
observed, and these observations aren't obviously just misunderstandings about the term.
The non-relativist can't answer the relativist by saying "There is no cross-cultural
variation. Where you think you see it you are actually just getting confused about what a
person is." The relativist would likely respond, "No, what a person is is just what is in
question and I'm telling you that, based on what I've observed, there is no culturally
settled agreement on what that concept entails." Nor can the non-relativist merely insist
that the relativist must be misunderstanding what she sees because an a priori argument
shows that persons can't be or do what she suggests. The relativist's very position
assumes that our concept should be formed in terms of what we see in the world—that
there is something wrong with just assuming our concepts and intuitions are universal
and deeming them the correct ones-—and they are noting that what they see in the world
doesn't line up with the sort of premises that the non-relativist could use to argue a priori
for personhood. There is no axiomatic agreement, and can't be, so there is nothing to get
an argument off the ground in the relativist's eyes.
Empirical argumentation is needed to address the relativist's observations about
cultural variance, to take seriously the relativist's position and address it on its own
grounds, before any further argumentation has a chance at success. At that point, the
non-relativist has enabled himself to say to the relativist "We've seen the cases that you
think indicate variation and seen that there is a shared concept even in your strongest
cases. We've also been able to note in our analysis of them some pressures that operate
on the concept-formation of these cultures and probably any other human culture. If you
21
agree we're right so far, let's now look at why we shouldn't be surprised that the
pressures we've noticed have had the conceptual effect they have and why it wouldn't be
natural for them to have the same conceptual effect on any human culture." So,
ultimately, empirical analysis is necessary for the relativist to take an argument about
personhood seriously.
Merely looking at instances of proposed counterexample, however, is unlikely to
be sufficient because we can't observe every culture and there is always the possibility of
the relativist pointing out an alleged counterexample that has not been considered.
However, with this sort of empirical investigation as a base, we can add further general
empirical considerations to support our conclusions. In this investigation I will pursue
both tacks. I will take the strongest cases of counterexample for a universal view of
personhood and show that, within each culture's own system of practices or other beliefs,
those cases don't prove to be real counterexamples. I will then provide further and more
general considerations suggesting why any culture we pick would share a similar concept
and value of personhood. The hope is that doing so will answer the relativist on his own
ground and clear the way for the assumption that the Western concept of personhood and
the Western value of it isn't just ours.
22
E. The Importance of the Project
I would like to conclude by saying some things about why I think an investigation
of this sort is important. There are, essentially, two reasons; one is related to ethics and
the other is related to metaphysics.
The position of ethical relativism hinges upon two premises. The first is that what
is considered right and wrong varies considerably between cultures. There is no one
value that all cultures hold. The second is that moral principles derive their validity from
cultural acceptance. Most philosophers who take up the project of undercutting
relativism do so by arguing against the second premise. They hold that even if there was
no value all cultures accept, that doesn't mean that everyone is right and that morality is
relative. They try to show that moral principles couldn't possibly derive their validity
from cultural acceptance or they try to show that moral principles must derive their
validity from some other source.
But another way to argue against the ethical relativist is by questioning the first
premise. Is there really no value that all cultures share? Do cultures differ in their views
of morality as much as the relativist would have us think? There is a very good reason
for taking the route of questioning the first premise, as opposed to the second. A good
deal of our moral reasoning, like it or not, depends on intuition. We often evaluate
theories on the basis of how well they square with our intuitions about right and wrong to
determine how good they are. Now, if intuitions are a source for moral judgments and if
intuitions do differ cross-culturally, it seems like that fact must have implications for
ethical theory. We can argue with the second premise all we like, but there does seem
something really wrong with dismissing another culture's intuitions on morality while
relying on ours to form the moral principles under which their views fail.
If we are able, in the course of this investigation, to shed some light on how
cultures regard personhood, we might move in the direction of being able to respond to
the ethical relativist in a very strong way—by casting doubt on the first premise of ethical
relativism. If we could show that it is doubtful, we would have room to motivate the
position that it doesn't matter that we rely on our own intuitions to develop our moral
theories because those intuitions, or at least some of them, are shared.
The second area for which this discussion has implications is metaphysics—
specifically in terms of the debate concerning personal identity over time. If we could
show that there is a concept of personhood and a regard for it that spans human cultures,
we have an answer to Rorty's contention about the identity debate. While other cultures
may mean different things by "person" and while we ourselves may not always mean the
same thing, there is at least one core concept that lies beneath our other concepts. It is
not a mistake or an oversight or Western elitism to hold that there is a particular
definition of person that we are interested in for identity over time. We can make
progress with the debate by assuming that concept—and also by understanding the truth
about the views of personhood in other cultures.
24
F. Conclusion
Now that we have discussed how our question arises and what method will best
allow us to answer it, I can move on to beginning the process of defending my view that
there are good reasons to think there is a concept and value on personhood that is shared
cross-culturally. I'll start by identifying what I take to be one important concept of
personhood present in our culture—the CCP.
II. OUR CONCEPT OF PERSON
A. Methodology
There are at least two ways to pursue an empirical investigation into the concept
of personhood. The first involves looking at cases that seem to indicate that no concept
of personhood is held or regarded in the same way in all cultures. The second way
involves providing positive reasons for thinking it is likely that the concept is present in
all human cultures.
With regard to the first way, though it may seem that we need only to look at
proposed differences in concept, if we wish to be careful and rigorous in discovering
where and to what extent differences lay, there are actually three kinds of cases that must
be considered: 1) those implying that there is no concept of person at all in certain
cultures or that the concept of person in some cultures differs so radically from the
concept of person in others that there is no shared concept, 2) those implying that a
concept is shared cross-culturally but it is seen as being instantiated differently, and 3)
those implying that a shared concept is present and seen as instantiated in similar ways
cross-culturally, but not valued in the same way. In order to be thorough, we would need
to look at the best-known cases that indicate differences of these sorts, namely, the major
claims by anthropologists to the contrary. But, since anthropologists often do not directly
draw conclusions about such matters, we would also have to look at cases where it
appears likely, based on the presence of very different institutions and practices, that
25
26
concepts of person differ to such an extent that no shared concept and shared regard of
that concept could exist. Of course, even if we correctly identify and examine the
cultures that present the strongest challenges we will not be able to show that our view is
shared by every culture. There may well be cultures that no one has examined, living
today or in the past, that provide counterexamples. We need to pursue another avenue of
investigation if we want to show that it is likely that any culture would share our concept.
We need to examine positive reasons for thinking that it is natural for a concept of person
to be held, similarly instantiated, and similarly valued in all cultures. Chapter Six will
focus on considerations of this sort. In the following three chapters we will pursue the
first avenue.
One way to begin is to have a concept of person in mind, in order to hold it up and
use it as a comparison. Our own culture provides the most obvious source for finding a
concept to serve this purpose. We will begin by describing a certain concept of
personhood present in our culture, and in the following three chapters we will investigate
whether that concept is present in other cultures (Chapter Three), regarded as instantiated
in other cultures in the way that we regard it as instantiated (Chapter Four), and valued in
other cultures in the way that it we value it (Chapter Five).
B. Essential Features of Personhood
Since we need some standard of comparison to address either specific claims or
less explicit indications of foreign views of personhood, we must, however imprecise and
27
loose views of our own culture might be, try to discover how we conceive of personhood.
Our culture, like all cultures, has many concepts of person. And, as Amelie Oksenberg
Rorty has pointed out, we do use some in certain circumstances and some in others
(Rorty 1976, 302). However, it also seems to me that there is a core concept of person
that can be distilled from the various concepts of person that we have and that reflects
something essential about our concerns and values. Despite disagreements about what
the concept of person entails, there are certain aspects that seem common to most
concepts of personhood. We can look at our institutions and practices and distill an idea
of personhood that is common and uncontroversial and use this as our tool.
When we look at our institutions and practices, I think that we see evidence of six
characteristics that are fundamental to views of personhood in our culture. These are the
characteristics of rationality, moral agency, concern for the future, interpersonal relations,
emotions, and identification as locus of control. I also think that that we see the concept
as most basically instantiated in an individual human being (that is, connected with an
individual human body) and regarded as having significant and equally significant moral
and temporal value. In this section, I will defend this formulation, which will be called
the Core Concept of Personhood (or CCP), as one that is present in our culture.
1. Rationality
The view that rationality is an essential component of personhood in our culture is
so widely held that specifying it as part of our concept requires almost no justification.
28
We are raised to regard man as a "rational animal". We think of men and women as
thinking things with capacities of a higher level than mere computation. Man reasons,
and that means not only that he can think, but also reflect and apply his thinking to
himself (or self-reflect). Because of the rarity and difficulty of this ability, we often think
of rationality as an attribute that provides its possessor with superiority that things
lacking it can never achieve.
Many of us, for example, justify our treatment of non-human animals on the basis
that they lack the important attribute of rationality. We do not consider them persons
because they do not seem able to reason, though they might be regarded as being able to
think in a more minimal sense. As a culture we consume animal products, use animals
for clothing purposes, show them in zoos, and keep them as pets. We would respond
with horror to the suggestion that we should do likewise to other persons. If we think
about it, this horror is not mainly caused by the idea of something physically like us
being mistreated but rather by the idea of something mentally similar experiencing pain,
suffering, and humiliation. We are appalled by the idea that a creature that can recognize
what is happening and self-reflect on its situation should be treated in these ways.
Consequently, we see the capacities of thinking and reflecting as giving rise to certain
rights that other types of creatures without these abilities do not have.1
1There are, of course, individuals who do not think that lack of reason should entail this treatment. They
might not regard reason as being as important as we indicate. However, what these examples show is that
the most prominent view in our culture does exalt the capacity of reason.
Our treatment of non-human animals is not the only practice that indicates that we
see rationality as essential to personhood. Rationality is also the bedrock of many of our
social practices. For example, our system of law is organized around the requirement that
guilt must be beyond a reasonable doubt. The parties in cases try to provide reasons for
the judge or jury to conclude that the defendant is guilty or innocent. These matters are
not decided with force, or blind luck, or based on height. They are decided by an appeal
to rationality. We also see candidates in elections appealing to this capacity. They try to
convince, through argument, that they are the best people to handle the elected position.
We see shows on television that focus on pointing out people's irrational tendencies and
how having them complicates their lives. We offer courses in logic and critical thinking
in our universities and in mathematics at all levels of education. We demand of each
other that we "be reasonable" and have procedures that force those with significant
failures of reason to be treated by psychiatrists. Our institutions and practices clearly
show that rationality is important to our views of personhood.
2. Moral Agency
There are many sources for the institutions, practices, and beliefs of our culture.
The influences of ancient Greece, Christianity, and the Enlightenment are heavy. In all
of these sources, moral agency is given considerable weight. Our culture is one that has
been molded within the contexts of the Sermon on the Mount, the Ten Commandments,
Aristotle's theory of virtue, Kant's deontology, Mill's utilitarianism, and Rawls's views
30
of justice. Though most who have not taken an Introduction to Ethics course would fail
to identify some of these views by name, they are familiar ones to all of us. We see the
importance of moral agency in our practices, as well. There are few who, deep in
conversation, have not been confronted with justifying their feelings about what the right
thing to do in a particular hypothetical situation might be. We think that our answers
matter. We try to make the law accord with our fundamental views of morality and,
when laws do not, feel justified in saying that certain practices are right or wrong despite
the letter of the law.
Not only do we think that there is such a thing as morality, but also we regard
ourselves as moral entities. We view ourselves as the sorts of creatures who are capable
of recognizing what is right and wrong and of acting on that knowledge. We view
ourselves, consequently, as morally responsible for our actions in most situations and we
praise and blame each other based on action, not on whim or luck. We do not regard
creatures that are incapable of moral agency—of recognizing right and wrong, acting
intentionally, and being held responsible for their actions—as persons. For example, we
do not generally refer to animals as persons. As we saw in the previous section, some
justification for that practice comes from the fact that we do not regard animals as being
able to reason. But this is because reason is directly connected to the capacity for moral
agency.
What follows from not being able to reflect or self-reflect is the inability to assess
one's options, think about what is right or wrong, or act accordingly. Someone or
something that is incapable of envisioning what the good is like certainly cannot aspire to
be so and can't be held responsible, then, for failing. Animals, for example, often
perform "bad" actions. Your dog might steal food off the table when no one is looking or
destroy your best pair of shoes. You might punish the dog that does these things, but you
probably do not think that the dog did something morally wrong. After all, the dog
cannot reflect on what is good or bad, can't consider himself and what type of animal he
should strive to be, and consequently may be reprimanded with the hope that he will not
perform the action in the future, but never with the idea that he will consider carefully
what he has done and how it has affected others and decide to be a better dog.
The evidence that we value moral agency and consider it necessary to personhood
is also clearly seen in our institutions and practices with each other. We tell our children
stories that convey morality and inform them that it is bad to hurt others, in the hopes that
our lessons will give them the values necessary to become good moral agents. We
censure and reprimand those who make poor moral decisions and celebrate those who we
take to be wonderful examples of a good moral life. So, though, without a doubt, we do
differ amongst ourselves as to what the dictates of morality actually are, there does seem
a common cultural view that there is right and wrong and that we are obligated and able,
as persons, to pursue the good.
32
3. Concern for the Future
Essential to our views of personhood is an interest in survival during this life, and
that involves, for us, the idea of an enduring self. We want our plans and projects to be
realized and we want to be, in many cases, the ones who do so. We save for retirement,
we plan vacations months in advance, we chart out five-year plans, we visualize our
futures and take steps to make our dreams reality. We care about and try to protect our
future selves.
Our concern for our futures results from a certain kind of belief system, one
where there are persisting objects, where we are among those objects, and where we
move through time in a linear fashion. Since we see ourselves as moving through time
though we are constantly changing, it is important to make long-term plans so that our
future selves will have the kind of lives we ourselves want to have. Discussions about
what kind of person we want to become or when we will do something in the future or
how long it will take to finish a project simply do not apply without the kind of belief
system that we possess.
This is a fundamental fact, but it also an interesting and important one. As
Richard Taylor points out, we think that what gives life its meaning are our plans and
projects (Taylor 2000, 116). Without concern for the future, our interests and our views
of what makes life meaningful would be very different. Someone who lacked concern for
the future would lack a certain fundamental interest that we have and a certain definition
of meaningfulness that we possess. For example, we might think of a robot as an entity
that is similar to us in some ways but that we would not call a person. A well-made and
sophisticated robot could think and act, but would not have any concern for the future.
A thing of this sort would not have plans or projects of its own making and would be
unconcerned about continued existence. In other words, its interests and priorities would
be very different than ours. For us, being a person involves not only certain capacities,
but certain priorities as well. Though we are all very different from each other, we do
share the view of moving through time and of having interests that stretch into the future.
Consequently, we are concerned about our future existence and regard this concern as an
important condition of personhood.
4. Interpersonal Relations
We often picture the Western individual as a lone thinking thing. We have an
image, for example, of Descartes contemplating great truths alone in his room. We hear
about other cultures and their reported deep attachments to groups and we see a contrast
with our own. We appear to be more ruggedly individual, more self-sufficient, more
isolated. But we should reflect on the truth of this picture. While we do place less
emphasis on group attachment than some other cultures, other people and our relations
with them are essential to us. Descartes contemplated alone in his room, it is true, but he
then reported his thoughts to Princess Christina. We may belong to a society where we
do not live with large extended families or in cohesive groups, and many of us may move
2 It would probably not have concerns of any sort.
away from or lose contact with family and friends, but we are still social creatures and
interpersonal relations still play a very large role in our lives. We have friends, families,
group memberships, we live in cities and towns, we have governments and corporations.
We are enmeshed in a social world.
Furthermore, it is not the case that we are only accidentally social creatures. We
not only naturally form relationships, but we also see them as valuable and work to
preserve them. We wonder at the sanity of the hermit who chooses to live outside of
society and are not surprised to hear that cases of complete social isolation result in
severe psychological difficulties. We read novels and watch films that celebrate human
connection, and we make gestures to try and foster new and better relationships. We not
only have interpersonal relations, we choose to have them.
In order to clearly see how important this characteristic is to us, we might think of
a being that is similar to us in many ways but that lacks interpersonal relationships. Feral
children provide interesting, though rare, examples. They seem much closer to animals
than persons to many of us not only because they lack human communication, but
because they do not seem to need or desire human contact or intimacy. They clearly have
relationships, in most cases with animals, but they do not have ties with other humans
and consequently are quite apart from our social world. When we look at programs or
read articles about these children, we recognize that so much of our personhood is tied to
being social creatures, enmeshed in a world filled with others of our kind. We have jobs
and systems of commerce and family reunions and church picnics. We feel friendship
*
35
and love, not just companionship and protection. Those things depend not merely on
familiarity and association, but on emotional and rational connection. And these things
are not possible without other persons and relationships with them.
5. Emotions
Though rationality is important to our views of persons, it is not the whole story
when it comes to our ways of thinking and acting. We also see ourselves as having an
essential emotional dimension. We view computers and other machines as "inhuman"
because they are purely rational. We get frustrated about not being able to appeal to
machines, to evoke sympathy in them, to "connect". Our frustrations result not from
differences in reason, but from differences in feeling. We have a connection to others
and to the world around us that results from our emotional component.
Though we can imagine individuals without emotions, we find these individuals
so dissimilar to us that we have a difficult time determining where they should fit. Even
in some of our popular television shows, like Star Trek, we see a difficulty in placing
those individuals who have no emotions. There is a real question of how alike and how
dissimilar Mr. Spock, who is half-Vulcan and so, in large part, without emotions, or Data,
who is an android, are to the rest of crew and when these differences matter.
Of course, we can grant that having emotions is essential to personhood in our
culture and still not agree on which emotions are requisite. We might imagine persons
who do not ever experience the emotions of fear or guilt, to name a few examples.
36
Determining a list of essential emotions might be impossible because the range of
emotions could have something to do with our environment and the things we are
exposed to. We still are able to say, however, that having some emotions is essential to
our views of personhood, even if we cannot name precisely what should be included.
6. Identification as Locus of Control
Believing in moral agency requires not only a belief in morality, but also a belief
in agency. Our belief that we are agents is so deeply ingrained that it often escapes
notice. It is important to address, though, because it is so fundamental. We regard
ourselves as capable of action—as thinkers who act and are not merely acted upon. In
our languages, we have both the active and the passive voice. In our interactions with the
world, we view ourselves, quite often, as performers. For example, I regard myself as
smacking the table; I do not see myself as smacked by it. I view my hand, as a result of
my intention, as moving downward and making physical contact with the wood. I do not
regard the wood, as a result of a force I do not understand, as rising upward to meet my
hand. We regard inanimate objects as unlike us not merely because they cannot reason,
but also because they simply do not act.
We regard animals as more similar to us than inanimate objects because though
they cannot reason, they do act. In our moral appraisal, we generally regard the ability to
do otherwise as essential to blameworthiness and praiseworthiness, which assumes the
ability to do something in the first place. We see ourselves not as mere spectators or the
37
puppets of other forces, but as actors. We celebrate accomplishment and mourn failure
precisely because we think that those things are the results of the efforts put forth by
actors, and so they are tied to the individual who succeeds or fails, rather than accidents
of chance or cosmic dictate. In other words, we see ourselves as having some control
over our actions and we see our actions as having effects on the world around us.
C. Bodily Instantiation of Personhood
A distinction can be made between humans and persons. "Human" is a biological
type. It refers to a certain kind of physical make-up. Person is a metaphysical type. It
refers to certain kinds of characteristics that things can have and which are not
necessarily dependent on biology. It is possible that there are things that are persons but
not humans. If we found life on another planet and if the creatures of that planet were
similar enough in terms of intelligence to us, we might say that that planet had persons
even if it did not contain humans. We might also wish to assert that not all humans are
persons. One might argue that someone in a persistent vegetative state is still human, but
lacks any of the requisite features of personhood, and so is no longer a person.
In our culture, we frequently think of personhood as the same thing as humanity.
We often count persons, not by the number of rational agents or moral units that are
present, but by physical bodies of a certain biological type. Occasionally this way of
counting may elicit errors, but for the most part, biological type is a fairly good guide for
us. It generally maps nicely onto the thing that holds the characteristics of personhood
38
and it is far easier to verify than those less visible and less tangible criteria. It stands in
contrast, as well, to some other types of instantiation that we reject for personhood, such
as locating personhood in particular bodily organs, like the spleen, or in large groups, like
the family. There are some problematic cases, such as individuals with multiple
personalities and individuals who share parts of their bodies with another (conjoined
twins), but we generally try to address these issues within the framework of the single
biological individual per person model. We try, for example, to "cure" the person with
multiple personalities, viewing the level of functioning that he or she achieves in living
with more than one as dysfunctional rather than adjusting our social world to tolerate
those individuals. We ask how much of the brain of the conjoined twins is shared and
dismiss the sharing of minor organs or appendages as long as they are able to think and
function, to some degree, independently of each other. In our culture, then, we
generally see personhood as instantiated in a single biological individual, which is
usually human.
I have said that there are many concepts of personhood at work in any culture,
including ours. Our general view of how any concept of personhood is instantiated is in
an individual human body. Though we sometimes refer to other units as persons, we tend
to think of the individual body as the most basic unit of personhood. When I say that the
human body is the most basic unit of personhood, I mean that the individual human body
is the unit that we first associate with personhood and it is this unit from which other
units of personhood, should there be any, derive their characteristics (corporations, for
39
instance). Our concern is not with every concept of person in our culture, however, but
with the Core Concept of Personhood (CCP). The point we need to address is how the
CCP is seen as instantiated. The CCP was derived from our other concepts of
personhood, so we should expect if there is a commonality between them in terms of how
they are seen as instantiated the CCP will also share in it. Since we have said that
personhood is most basically seen as instantiated in an individual human body, we should
expect the CCP to be instantiated in this way, as well. And, in fact, when we reflect on
the type of thing that we see as having the six characteristics, we view that entity as
having an individual body, rather than being an organ in a larger unit or a group or some
other type of entity. Our culture, then, regards the most basic unit of instantiation for the
CCP—the unit that we first associate with personhood and from which other units of
personhood (should there be any) derive their characteristics—as the individual,
generally human, body.
D. Value of Personhood
Persons are seen in our culture as equally morally valuable. We need only look to
influential cultural texts to find Kant's categorical imperative or references to the
"unalienable rights" in the Declaration of Independence. We see persons as having
value simply by virtue of being persons. This value is reflected in the rights we accord to
them.
31 would also add the tenets of Utilitarianism as sharing this view, but do recognize that it is a more
controversial case.
40
Of course, if we are going to say that persons are considered equally morally
valuable, and though we can see support in our institutions and practices for that claim,
we also need to address how it is that certain types of individuals have, historically, not
been valued equally. How is it, for example, that the Enlightenment and its legacy could
have tolerated slavery? It seems that, since no formal recanting of values occurred, the
cases of abuse are not cases where personhood is not valued, but where some individuals
are not regarded as persons because they are seen as lacking some of the characteristics
that we have identified, and so it is seen as justifiable to use them as means. We are not
always very good at determining who is a person, but that does not affect the
commitment in principle to treating everything we recognize as a person as a unit of
equal moral value.4
Since the CCP reflects our essential views of personhood, we should expect that
whatever unit is seen as the unit of instantiation for the CCP will be considered morally
valuable (and that it will be seen as equally valuable as other units of the CCP). The
4 Stanley Cavell, among others, has argued that it is incorrect to assume that people who allowed abuses of
other people on a large scale did not regard them as persons. He points out that these individuals were
clearly seen as different from animals. Though they were abused, they were also treated in a very different
way from other forms of life. Slaves, for example, were baptized. There must be some identification of
that individual with being a person to warrant an attempt to save his or her soul [Stanley Cavell, The Claim
of Reason (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979) 375-378]. I would suggest that clearly slaves were
recognized as being different than animals, but do not think that means that they were seen as persons. I
think it more likely that slaves were seen as humans, but not as persons—that is, lacking many of the
important characteristics and value that slaveholders thought themselves to possess. Humans are their own
special kind of thing—special enough to be thought of as different from other kinds of animals and to be
the population that God specially favors (in the views of most slaveholders). But it seems that there were
humans and there were humans who were like them and I would suggest that this is a distinction between
humans and persons. I doubt that baptism was as much for the benefit of the slaves' souls as for the glory
of those who converted the heathens and for effective control of a population. It certainly in no way
entailed membership into a group that warranted Christian treatment.
41
reasons for this are the same reasons discussed in the previous section. The CCP comes
from our most basic thoughts on personhood and the reoccurring themes of these views.
If the moral value of units of personhood is well-supported in our culture, it will be part
of what is entailed by the CCP. And, in fact, when we look at the types of things we
think have these characteristics, we do find that we regard them as units of equal moral
value.
We also view persons as having another kind of value—value in being the units
that we wish to see continue over time. We will call this "temporal value". We have
plans and projects and goals and we wish to be the ones to accomplish them. It is not
enough for someone very much like me to publish the book I am writing. I want to
publish it. And when I think of what that "I" means, a big part of what it means is that
the person who shares my most important characteristics continues on and furthers my
projects. While precisely what characteristics these are is a subject of much debate, at
least part of it might well be things like rationality, moral agency, concern for the future,
interpersonal relations, emotions, and identification as locus of control. If the thing that
continues in the future lacks these things and, hence, is incapable of taking on my plans
and projects and bears little resemblance to who I take myself to be, I think I'd be
tempted to say "That's just not me." So, while I am not here attempting to answer the
identity over time question, I am arguing that in our culture, at least, these sorts of
characteristics are seen as valuable for our concept of personal identity and useful to
identify for comparison with what personal identity over time means in other cultures.
42
E. Terminological Points
We should now consider some points that should be clarified in reference to our
definition.
1. Persons and Selves
"Person" is not only conflated with "human", it is also often conflated with "self'.
Sometimes "self' is used as though it is synonymous with person. While I think that the
two concepts are very intimately related, maybe more so than person and "human", I
think it helpful to distinguish them, in order to clarify the claims of others later and to
explain why we should not define "persons" in terms only of "selves".
The definition of "self' I wish to use is "my person", following the
anthropologist, Melford E. Spiro (Spiro 1992, 117). There are, in other words, some
things that are persons. My self is the one of those things that I am most intimately
connected to, which is mine. The self is our connection to our personhood—our inside-
out view of our personhood. As such, it provides us with knowledge of what it means to
be a person.
On this view of self, it is an essentially reflective thing. Whereas the body often
operates on autopilot, as does the mind occasionally (for example, when we are doing
things like driving a car), the self "has the characteristic that it is an object to itself'
(Mead 1934, 136). This reflective thing is not instantly present as part of our humanity.
43
When we are born, we have no selves because we lack the capacity to self-reflect (Mead
1934, 135). It arises when we develop cognitively, in response to our interactions with
others. We see others as objects and can evaluate their actions and form opinions about
them. We see, too, that they do the same to us. We recognize our common personhood
in this process and take their views of us to be our own, becoming objects to ourselves
not directly, but indirectly (Mead 1934, 138). We think of the self as a solitary entity, but
it is formed only after social interaction (Mead 1934, 140).
The self, then, is impossible without personhood. One can only be a self if one is
a person, because being a self involves recognizing that one is a person and holding
oneself to the standards of personhood just as one holds others to those standards.
Selfhood is not part and parcel with being a human, per se, but with being a person. It
can be distinguished from personhood, however, in that it involves only one person
(one's own person) and certain concerns and emotions directly tied to that entity. We
should not use the two terms synonymously, but if there is concern for the self, there is
also concern for personhood, or at least one's own personhood. We will have to be
attentive to how others use these terms, but laying out a specific use for them allows us to
be more careful and also more accurate in locating problems that might not really exist.
2. Anthropological Definition of the Western Concept of Person
In the anthropological literature, there is a particular view of the Western concept
of person, which emphasizes liberty, equality, the sacredness of individuality, and the
44
priority of each member over the whole (Dumont 1980, 4). One might ask why, if we are
seeking our concept of person, we do not adopt this one, ready made. After all, when
anthropologists claim that the Western conception of person is not universal, they are
often talking about this notion rather than the one we have presented in this chapter. But
the highly individualistic anthropological concept is not actually our concept of
personhood or, at the very least, not our only concept of personhood. Certainly we stress
equality and liberty, but these are ideas of the good. They are things we think people
deserve, not things we think beings must have in order to be persons. The focus on
individuality speaks more to the concerns at hand, but is also overblown by people
seeking to make rigid categorizations.
We do value individuality in our culture, but it would be a mistake to claim that
we do so to the detriment, always, of all of our other values. We also value groups and
the roles of groups in our self-conceptions. We value our families, our religious
organizations, our political parties. We can make sense of being willing to die for certain
groups, like a group of fellow citizens. We are not merely individuals, nor do we care
only about our individuality.
While the anthropological idea of Western culture certainly is one way of looking
at us, there are other ways as well. I am not suggesting that the anthropological notion is
wrong or that my definition is the only right one. We talk about persons in many
different ways depending on our concerns at the time and sometimes one usage is more
appropriate than others. Our formulation of the CCP is valuable, I think, because it
comes from our institutions and practices, is distilled from our most common ideas of
personhood (including the Western concept prevalent in anthropology), and is not
centered only on how we differ from other cultures but on what we ourselves hold. It
will allow for careful analysis and useful distinctions when it is time for us to compare
with other cultures. We certainly may find that the anthropological notion of the Western
concept of person is not universal, but I think we have shown that there is another
concept which is at least (and perhaps more so) "ours", which we can and should use for
cross-cultural examination.
3. The Hard Cases
Certain categories of human beings—babies, young children, those whose brains
are severely damaged—lack many of the characteristics we have said are essential to the
CCP. They cannot reason and, consequently, are not held responsible as moral agents.
They are not able to distinguish between self and others and do not seem to have the
capabilities to locate sources of control. But, we generally do call these humans
"persons". So, either our description of personhood is incorrect or we are in error in
calling these beings "persons".
The problem, however, is that when we modify the definition so that it does not
exclude these groups, we must take away several of the categories and perhaps add others
that are less intelligence-oriented, like sentience. But the result is a list that is indistinct
from a list of traits of many other types of creatures. If we want to describe what is
46
different about persons, we need to have distinctions, but the only distinctions we can list
are those that exclude these groups. Alternatively, we can say that we should just use the
characteristics of being human as those that matter for personhood. While doing so
would take these groups into account and exclude non-human animals, it would be a
mistake to pursue that path because it both unfairly and without rational justification
picks out a group and also because it would entail that we do not have an obligation to
treat as equals those who have similar characteristics to us but do not have human bodies
(should such beings be discovered).
There seems, then, no way to define personhood such that the groups we wish to
include are always included and those we wish to exclude are always excluded. Could it
be that we are merely, in our ordinary thinking, putting groups under the rubric of
personhood that don't belong there? Shall we assert the hard claim that young children
and those in irreversible comas, for example, are not persons?
I don't think that we need to say anything of the sort. We are concerned with our
core cultural definition of person. Certainly a great many people in our culture regard
these beings as persons. But we need not either take a hard line against those who do so
or change the description of our concept to accommodate them. As I have said, there are
many definitions of person at work in our culture. The ones we use depend on what we
are using them for. When we talk about things we think have intrinsic value, we often
include individuals who might not, on other definitions, be considered persons. What is
important for our purposes is only that we have a plausible and present definition of
47
personhood in our culture so that we have an appropriate standard of comparison,
however many other concepts are plausible and present. The CCP, as we have seen, is
such a concept.
F. Cross-Cultural Challenges to Our Concept
Having now arrived at our core concept, the CCP, we can briefly identify the
types of cross-cultural challenges that we will need to address. These challenges come in
three areas. Just as we have a concept of person, see that concept as instantiated in a
certain way, and value that concept in a certain manner, so there are cultures that appear
to differ from us in all three of these ways. We will consider, then, some examples where
cultures seem to have a different concept of person than the CCP or no concept of person
at all, examples where cultures seem to see the CCP as instantiated differently than we
do, and examples where cultures seem to value instances of the CCP differently than they
are valued in ours. I will treat each type of difference in far more depth in the following
chapters, but will now anticipate what sort of challenges we should expect by presenting
some examples here.
1. Differences in Concept
As mentioned, differences in concept might take the form of having a different
concept of person than the CCP or the form of not having a concept of person at all.
Buddhist cultures are often said to lack the concept of person. Reportedly, in Buddhism,
there is no permanent or unchanging "I' or "being" or "individual" or "self' or "soul"
(Rahula 1959, 20, 23-24). Since we have argued that a view of personhood is necessary
for a view of the self and also leads to a view of the self, if there is no concept of the self
in Buddhist cultures that indicates that they have no concept of person.
There are also many cultures that seem to have a different concept of person than
the CCP, as they appear to fail to attach some of the essential characteristics to the
concept of person that we do. For example, some groups do not seem to identify persons
as loci of control. The Dinka have been cited by Paul Heelas as a culture that do not
regard themselves as agents, but rather view themselves as totally controlled by Powers
(Heelas 1981b, 41). There are also cultures that seem to have no real interpersonal
relations, such as the Ik, who demonstrate no bonds of affection or love and who have no
compunctions about leaving family members to die (Turnbull 1972). We will be
investigating these and many other instances of cultures that might be maintained as
having a different concept of person than the CCP in Chapter Three.
2. Differences in Instantiation
We see the CCP as instantiated in an individual human body. A group could be
said to instantiate the concept differently if they regard the most basic unit of personhood
to be 1) units larger than an individual human body; 2) units smaller than an individual
human body; 3) units not related to an individual human body.
49
Confucian cultures are often cited as instantiating personhood in a unit larger than
the individual human body. It has been said that in Confucian cultures, "[f]amily is
conceptualized as the 'great self (da wo), and the boundaries of the self are flexible
enough to include family members and significant others (Bedford and Hwang 2004,
130).
There are also cultures that seem to instantiate personhood at a level smaller than
the individual human body. For example, it is said that, to the Gahuku-Gama, each part
of the body is a member of the whole self and each contributes to the nature of that self
(Read 1967, 212). This is so to the extent that even the loss of bodily fluid through
excretion is considered "a loss to the personality itself' and if someone cuts his or her
hair, his or her family members and age-mates go into mourning, "plastering their bodies
with clay and ashes and perhaps even cutting off a finger" (Read 1967, 207, 209).
The final type of difference is instantiation in a non-human unit. For example,
Lucien Levy-Bruhl says that, in many tribes, it is considered not at all unusual for people
to turn into animals and animals to turn into people (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 36).
We will explore these and other cases of apparent differences in views of
instantiation in Chapter Four.
3. Differences in Value
The examples in this area fall into two main categories: those which seem to
present counterexamples to the universality of equal moral value and those which seem to
50
present counterexamples to the universality of temporal value. With regard to the first
category, many instances have been suggested in anthropological literature. The
Gahuku-Gama, for example, are said to recognize that all men are human, but do not
conclude from that that they have a moral obligation or the same degree of moral
obligation to all people (Read 1967, 224). Each person has value only within the social
context in which they are enmeshed, not as an intrinsically valuable unit, and,
consequently, there are more duties required of the Gahuku-Gama to other members of
his family than to a larger group like the tribe and to the tribe than to outsiders (Read
1967, 195-196).
An example of the second type of difference in valuation comes from the Balinese
culture. In Bali, there is a complex system of kinship terminology that gives almost no
role at all to individual, personal names. Instead, one is often referred to by titles relating
to descent, status, or age group (Geertz 1973c, 373). This system is said to reflect the
general metaphysical view that one is, primarily, the temporary occupant of a spot in a
spiritual hierarchy that is "transhuman" and unchanging (Geertz 1973c, 387). One is
related, in this way, with those unborn and dead as much as with those who are, as it just
so happens, alive at the same time as that person is. Consequently, everyone is treated as
"stereotyped contemporaries, abstract and anonymous fellowmen" (Geertz 1973c, 389-
390). All relations are extremely formal, with a great deal of ceremony, in an attempt to
"block the more creatural aspects of the human condition—individuality, spontaneity,
perishability, emotionality, vulnerability—from sight" (Geertz 1973c, 399). This lack of
51
focus on the individual can and has been taken to suggest that an individual is only seen
as valuable insofar as they occupy a spot in an unchanging hierarchy and not as an
individual of temporal value, as in our culture.
We will explore these and other apparent instances of differences in the moral and
temporal value of persons in Chapter Five.
G. Conclusion
After examining our own institutions and practices, the fruits of our labor are
these. There is a concept of person in our culture that includes the characteristics of
rationality, moral agency, concern for future, interpersonal relations, emotions, and
identification as locus of control. We will refer to this as the CCP. We see it as most
basically instantiated in the individual human body and we value instances of the
instantiation as units of temporal significance and equal moral value. We will say that
other cultures have the CCP if, in their institutions and practices, they associate these
characteristics together, either explicitly or implicitly. We will say that a culture lacks
the CCP if their institutions or practices give us reason to think that they do not associate
these characteristics together, either by direct rejection of some of the characteristics or
by support of others that preclude the ones we have listed. We will say that a culture
views the instantiation of the concept of person in the way that the CCP does if they
indicate in their institutions or practices that they view the six characteristics as most
basically associated with an individual human body. We will say that a culture values the
52
concept of person in the same way that the CCP does if they indicate, in these same
sources, that they associate things having the characteristics we have mentioned with
having equal moral value and temporal value. We can now investigate with some
precision whether or not the claims of differences in concepts of personhood are genuine
instances of differences in concept with our definition of personhood.
III. CONCEPTS OF PERSONHOOD
A. Introduction
In the previous chapter, we presented the description of a core concept of
personhood found in our culture (the CCP). We said that the CCP contained six
characteristics. We also said that the CCP is seen in our culture as most basically
instantiated in an individual human body and that units are seen as having equal moral
value and temporal value. In this chapter, we will be concerned with examining
promising candidates for cultures that do not have the CCP.
How are we to know whether or not a culture has the CCP? Certainly we can't
just check to see if a word that is something like our word "person" is used in their
language. There are many concepts of person in our own culture and, presumably, that is
also the case for other cultures. We need somehow to verify not only that they identify
some unit that corresponds to our unit of personhood, but that they think the same way
about it, fundamentally, that we do. That is why we are using the CCP as a standard of
comparison. It is our core concept, from which many of our other concepts of
personhood are derived. We can find the core concepts of personhood in other cultures
and then compare them to the CCP to see if they are the same, or, in other words, if the
Core Concept of Person is more than a Western concept. But the question of how we can
know what the core concept of person in a given culture is remains. One way, of course,
would be to go into various cultures and ask the question. But since "person" is our word
53
54
and since most people couldn't describe to you their core concept of personhood if asked,
that pursuit might prove more frustrating than fruitful. Another way, and one that
involves much less travel, is to assess similarities and differences in core concepts by
looking at the very things that enabled us to formulate the CCP in the first place.
We are individuals who live in a culture and have formed societies. The
institutions and practices of our culture reflect what we take to be important to us and the
concepts at work in our collective mind. Looking to our institutions and practices, we
were able to formulate a core concept of personhood that is present in our culture. Other
individuals also live in cultures and societies. As such, they are like us in an important
way. We can assume that since they, too, live in cultures, the institutions and practices of
their cultures also reflect what is important to them and the concepts present in their
collective minds. One of the main things that is reflected in our institutions and practices
is how we regard ourselves. This, by extension, should also be true for other individuals
who are like us in that they live in cultures and have institutions and practices, provided
that they have the ability to reflect on their condition. There is reason to believe that any
culture that exists has the ability to do so because the creation and maintenance of
something as complex as a culture requires not only establishing rules and practices, but
also reflecting on them and judging their merits. Therefore, we can investigate the core
concepts of personhood in other cultures in the same way we did in ours—by looking at
institutions and practices.
55
It would be extremely time-consuming to look at every culture and separately
derive their core concepts of personhood, as we did our own. But since we have a
concept to use as a comparison, we can forgo that procedure. Instead, we can use the
CCP when we look at other cultures and determine whether or not they share it by
examining whether their institutions and practices support or contradict it. We need not
look at every culture in existence to do this thoroughly, but only those that seem to
provide strong examples of cultures that have no concept of person at all and those that
seem to have a very different concept of person than ours, either because they lack some
characteristic intrinsic to that concept or they have some characteristic that is in conflict
with those contained in it. We will begin with those cultures which have been suggested
by some to have no concept of personhood at all.
B. Cultures Lacking the Concept of Person: Buddhist Cultures
There are several things that might be meant by someone who holds that a given
culture lacks the concept of person. First, she may mean that the members of that culture
do not link characteristics that we often regard as related to personhood. A culture that
lacks the concept of person would certainly, then, not have the CCP. That is, there would
be no association of the characteristics of the CCP with each other at all—no linking of
rational agency with moral agency or with concern for the future or what have you.
Second, she might mean to assert something less literal. She might be asserting that
members of a certain culture have a concept of person, but simply do not regard such an
56
entity as being instantiated. They can coherently reflect on the concept of person, but
don't regard it as a real, existing thing, much in the same way one might think about the
concept of "unicorn". Third, she might mean that they have a concept of person but
regard that concept as dissolving upon close examination, revealing its deep and essential
incoherence. Finally, she might hold that they recognize a concept of person but deny
that it should have any grip upon us—that it is an important concept around which to
orient our lives.
Buddhist cultures are often cited as lacking the concepts of person and self. In
order to determine what is meant by this claim and to examine its merit, we need to
understand the tenets of Buddhism, specifically the view of anatta.
The view of anatta has its origins in the idea that when the objects of
consciousness—the things we look at or reflect upon—change, consciousness itself
changes (Collins 1982, 236). Consciousness, then, is seen as impermanent. If we add to
this the understanding that, in Buddhist thought, that which is impermanent and changing
cannot be said to be real, we see that consciousness, or whatever we take to be lying
behind our accidental attributes, does not really exist.
Since what it means for there to be a self at all in Buddhist thought is for there to
be a self that endures without change, the tenets of Buddhism assert that there is no self, a
doctrine which is referred to as anatta or not-self (Collins 1982, 104). Rather, what we
make the mistake of ignorantly thinking of as an enduring entity—a self, an "I", an
individual—is, in fact, a combination of constantly changing and impermanent "physical
57
and mental forces or energies, which may be divided into five groups or aggregates."
The five aggregates contain: 1) the aggregate of matter; 2) the aggregate of sensation
(including sensations of mind); 3) the aggregate of perceptions; 4) the aggregate of
mental formations (all volitional activities including karma, will, desire, etc.); 5) the
aggregate of consciousness (Rahula 1959, 20-23). Concerning the impermanence of each
of these aggregates, the Buddha says: . .body is like a heap of foam because it cannot
endure being pounded, feeling is like a bubble of water because it is enjoyed for a
moment, perception is like a mirage because it is illusory, mental formations like a
banana tree because they have no core, and consciousness is like an illusion because it
deceives" (Collins 1982, 125-126).
It is a well-known fact that Buddhists also espouse beliefs in nirvana (nibbanaj
and reincarnation. Though the doctrine of anatta implies that there is no belief in a
persisting self in Buddhism, these concepts seem to indicate that there is. After all, for
someone to attain enlightenment, there must be someone in the first place. In order to be
reborn, there must be a person who remains the same. But these attempts at proving that
there is a belief in a self or person in Buddhism are fully addressed and refuted within
Buddhist doctrine.
Nibbana in Buddhism differs from a similar idea found in other Indian traditions,
where enlightenment means becoming part of all that is. In Buddhism, it is the
recognition that no self exists and the release from desire and suffering that accompanies
the belief that it does. It is not, as has also often been suggested, the annihilation of self.
58
There is, after all, no self that can be annihilated. Rather, as Walpola Rahula states, it is
the "annihilation of the illusion of self' (Rahula 1959, 37).
The idea of reincarnation is different in Buddhism, as well. Reincarnation is not
the rebirth of the same self, since no self exists. It is not a person that transmigrates.
What is reincarnated is not an agent or experiencer, but rather a list of "causally
connected impersonal elements" (Collins 1982, 179). According to the views of
Buddhism, our consciousness is carried forward in this life and the next by the objects of
consciousness, particularly our mental states. Thus, our willing, intending, hoping, and
obsessing for certain things are actions that carry our consciousness forth—they are
actions that create our future selves, both in this world and the next (Collins 1982, 203).
The inheritance of the character of our actions on our future consciousness is what is
referred to as karma.
If consciousness inherits karma, isn't consciousness the self or person that is
denied in Buddhism? Though it might seem that consciousness is just another name for
the persisting self, it is, in fact, not, because consciousness is not seen as transmigrating
unchanged. Though it is necessary to rebirth and the continuation of it entails
continuation of the loosely connected aggregates within what we regard as a lifetime,
consciousness is seen as always changing and not as a persisting and unchanging
substratum (Collins 1982, 213-214).
There is, then, no simple refutation of the doctrine of anatta from within
Buddhism and good reason to think that, consequently, Buddhist cultures do not have a
concept of the self or, by extension, of personhood. But, as Steven Collins points out,
ordinary Buddhists, that is, those who are not Buddhist monks, have very little
understanding or concern with the doctrine of not-self (Collins 1982, 68). The doctrine
of anatta is considered to be something realizable and comprehensible only at the highest
levels of understanding and only relevant within a specific philosophic context. It is only
when directly asking questions about knowledge, control, and existence that the doctrines
of not-self come into play. In one's ordinary life—especially the ordinary life of the
ordinary person—references to person and self are common. It is only within the limited
arena of philosophical analysis where these sorts of references are considered taboo
(Collins 1982, 71). Furthermore, not only do ordinary Buddhists freely speak of
themselves as persons or selves or I's, but Buddhist texts also make reference to persons
and selves (Collins 1982, 68).
Most Buddhists believe in a more or less stable self and in personal survival
(Gombrich 1971, 73). Their view of reincarnation and the continuity of personality is not
much different from the nai've Westerner's view. They believe in a series of lifetimes,
each one closely connected to the next through the strand of being the lifetimes of one
person (Collins 1982, 150). Though rebirth is considered misery in Buddhism, the
ordinary Buddhist has no desire to be freed from its cycle just now. According to
Gombrich, "[t]hey are like St. Augustine who prayed 'Make me chaste and continent, O
Lord—but not yet.'" (Gombrich 1971, 17). They would like a better life or to be in
heaven, but they are afraid of the cessation of feeling that nibbana would bring.
60
The ordinary Buddhist, then, is concerned with his or her individual future—a
concern discussed and supported in the Buddhist texts. The texts also discuss morality
and obligations to others, which presupposes interpersonal relations, and emotions and
other psychological states. An emphasis on how to act and what rituals to perform entails
a belief that an individual is a locus of control. Finally, discussion of what actions and
what type of life leads to the least pain and suffering and the most contentment is a
discussion that presupposes reason, not just for those at the highest levels of expertise,
but for anyone who is capable of being guided by its simplest tenets. All six
characteristics are present in the beliefs of the ordinary Buddhist, so there is support not
only for a concept of person in Buddhist cultures, but also for the CCP.
Why then is it so commonly thought that Buddhist cultures lack the concept of
self? What is actually being maintained? The concepts of self and person are not absent
in Buddhism. They are not thought of as referring to imaginary entities. If this were the
case, the vast majority of Buddhists would not regard others as persons or themselves as
selves, but they do. They live in cultures where Buddhism is the major belief system, but
also have governments and family structures and economy and law. The institutions and
practices of Buddhist countries are ones that clearly reflect a view that persons are not
imaginary things, but beings that we orient our social world around. Rather, it seems that
Buddhist thought rejects the coherence of concepts of person upon close examination.
That does not mean that the concept is not present or that it refers to something
imaginary, like the concept "unicorn" does. Buddhist thought recognizes that we have a
61
concept and we use it to describe what we take to be real entities, but, upon close
examination, and after many years of study and reflection, it dissolves into thin air.
Because a concept of person is incoherent, it is not something that should have a grip on
our lives. It is not a concept that we should value or let dictate our priorities. Later we
will investigate whether or not we need say that the concept of person in Buddhist
cultures is fundamentally different than ours, due to this.
C. Cultures with Different Concepts of Person
In this section, we will examine cultures that have been presented as or seem to
provide examples of groups that do not associate one or more of the characteristics that
we do with the concept of person. If these claims are correct, these cultures would
provide examples of groups with a different concept of person than ours. None of the
cultures under consideration have been presented by anthropologists as examples of
cultures without a concept of person. Rather, they seem to lack particular characteristics
in their concept, which make their concept different from ours. We will consider the
characteristics that seem to be missing from the concept of person in those cultures that
seem to provide the best and most likely examples.
1. Rationality: The Eskimo or Inuit
It is a tricky thing to think of what a culture might be like that has a concept of
person but which does not include the characteristic of rationality in that concept. After
62
all, one must reason to form concepts at all. If there was a group that had a concept of
person but did not include rationality in that concept, it would seem that either they
regard themselves as unable to reason (which is to say that they do not regard themselves
at all, since self-reflection requires reason) or they must consider reason as an accidental
property that they have but that is not necessary for personhood. Of course, that means
that many other types of entities would be included in their concept of person than we
include in ours.
In the first case, the idea of a culture which regards itself as consisting of persons
but whose members are not capable of reason is clearly incoherent. Though reason can
be described in many different ways, if reason involves the formation of concepts, then a
culture that is unable to reason is unable to form any concepts at all, let alone the concept
of person. It is questionable that there are cultures that lack reason, but if so, it seems
clear that many in our culture would be inclined not to label them as persons any more
than they label themselves as such (though, of course, for very different reasons).
It might be the case, however, that there are cultures that do not reason as we take
ourselves to do. A culture that reasoned very, very differently than we do might serve as
a candidate for a culture that lacks what we refer to as rationality as a component of their
concept of person (though they might not describe themselves in the same way). A
specific example, cited by Lucien Levy-Bruhl, of what appears to be very different
reasoning from ours is the belief in "genius of a species" among the Eskimo (Levy-Bruhl
1966, 65). The Eskimo, he says, cannot distinguish individuals from the whole—lacking
63
the conceptual ability to reflect on universals and particulars. They may kill large
numbers of a certain species of animal, but completely lack the concept that there may be
an end to the particulars of that kind. If they can no longer find that particular animal,
they do not attribute this to scarcity caused by over-hunting, but instead believe that there
are as many as always, but the "genius of their species" has withdrawn favor and will no
longer allow the Eskimo to find them (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 65).
While the "primitive", in general, notices physical differences between objects,
Levy-Bruhl says that these differences are of no importance to him or her. Rather, they
are only concerned about how much spirit a given object has and often use physical form
to indicate that quantity (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 20). They do not use physical differences as
a means to categorize things into the same kinds of systems that we do, namely
particulars. If he is correct, this may provide an instance of a culture that does not
include rationality, in the way we very often use that term, in their concept of person.
But while Levy-Bruhl is correct in noting that Eskimos recognize a "genius of a
species" and that they often attribute individual scarcity of an animal to the genius of that
species failing to grant favor, it is not the case, as he says, that they do not distinguish
particulars from universals. Daniel Merkur provides an extremely thorough investigation
into the views of spirit and soul in various Eskimo or Inuit tribes throughout Canada,
Alaska and Greenland by reviewing and consolidating the work of anthropologists who
have separately considered individual tribes. He finds a great deal of synthesis among
the concepts of soul and spirit amongst Inuit groups, though terminology frequently
64
differs. Perhaps more importantly for our purposes, however, he seeks to establish the
uncontaminated views of the Inuit on these matters. That is, he tries to establish the
original belief systems before the influence of monotheism on the culture. Since Levy-
Bruhl was writing at the turn of the last century, and hence, also writing before large
scale monotheistic corruption, Merkur's investigation can be used to help us evaluate
Levy-Bruhl's claims.
Merkur finds that the Inuit have many concepts of spirit or soul, only some of
which correspond with the way we generally use those words. One use is as what Levy-
Bruhl and others have called the "genius of a species". Both animate beings, such as
humans, animals and plants, and inanimate beings, such as lakes and mountains and the
moon, have a type of spirit which dwells in them (Merkur 1991, 26). This spirit loosely
corresponds with an archetype or Platonic form in that it is the idea of the thing it
inhabits. However, it is also very different in that it is a personal being which thinks, has
emotions and can communicate (Merkur 1991, 32). According to Merkur, it is "...at
bottom, an idea that indwells in and imparts individual character to a phenomenon. As
such, it has, employs, and most essentially is a power" (Merkur 1991, 32). The spirit is
itself an idea, but it also has the power to make its idea into substance. It is this sense that
the Inuit believe in a genius of a species. However, it should be pointed out that the most
prominent of these spirits—the Earth Indweller, the Caribou Mother, and the Sea
Mother—also dwell in the souls of more than one species (Merkur 1991, 32).
65
The Inuit also believe in two other important principles. The first is a breath-soul,
which animates each thing and without which an individual cannot live and which
continues after death as a name-soul which enables a newborn soul to receive knowledge
until it is developed enough to do so on its own (Merkur 1991, 35). Each human has its
own breath-soul, but each animal, except for bears, whales, and dogs, has a collective
breath-soul (Merkur 1991, 32). The second principle is a free-soul, which contains the
personality, can leave the body during trances and dreams, and is the locus of sickness.
In humans, it is the free-soul that gives individuality. In animals, it is the free-soul that
gives the "shape and personality of the creature according to its species..." (Merkur
1991,35).
Once we recognize these distinctions between types of soul and spirit, we can see
that, though the Inuit hold a belief in a "genius of a species", that belief does not entail
that they cannot separate universals from particulars. Rather, what it shows is that they
are extremely aware of the role of the universal in the particular. Because they have an
individuating principle in the free-soul, it is clear that they recognize that particulars exist
(and the exceptions of some animals and all humans as having individual breath-souls
also serves to demonstrate this), even while emphasizing the role of universals.
Confusion on the matter is understandable, however, since some Inuit groups use the
same term for free-soul as for genius of the species.
The second way in which a culture might be said to fail to include rationality in its
concept of person could be illustrated in a culture that regards itself as having reason, but
66
also regards other creatures which do not as persons, as well. A culture of this sort would
fail to note the differences between humans and non-human animals and would also fail
to regard the ability to think as an important or salient feature of personhood. While
there are many societies about which it has been suggested that humans and animals are
seen to be on equal footing, it is not argued in any of these cases that humans do not
regard the ability to think as important, but rather that they seem to attribute far more
intelligence to animals (and sometimes even inanimate objects) than we do in our culture.
It is not a question, then, of failing to regard rationality as an essential feature of
personhood, but of seeming to instantiate personhood in non-human creatures and
objects. As such, it will be a topic further considered in Chapter Four.
2. Moral Agency
We said in Chapter Two that not only does our culture hold a belief in morality, it
considers persons to be moral agents—that is, units that earn praise and deserve blame
for the choices that they make. We also said that even within our culture there is much
disagreement about what morality actually dictates and what we as moral agents are
obligated to do and avoid. Morality reflects what the right action might be, but how
philosophers in our culture have viewed what that amounts to has greatly differed. Our
institutions and practices provide only a hazy lens into our cultural moral views. Our
laws aim, to some extent, at reflecting our morality, but it is neither the case that every
action that is considered by the many to be morally wrong is illegal (lying to a friend
about your past, for example) or that every action that is illegal is seen by the many to be
morally wrong (jaywalking, for example). The law seems to aim at capturing only those
moral dictates that are better legislated than left to individual judgment. How, then, can
we assess whether or not another culture differs from ours in terms of their views of
moral agency?
One way in which a culture might be said to differ in terms of moral agency is if
that culture seems to have no morality at all. In such a culture, if we dare imagine it,
individuals would simply have no accepted rules for how they are to interact with each
other. They would not recognize duties of any sort to any other person. Any action by
anyone to the detriment or benefit of anyone else would be seen as being on the same
level. All actions, in other words, would seem to be of the same value, unless some other
standard, such as expediency, came into play. Such a society, it would seem, would be
without taboos. Anything would be permissible.
This kind of culture seems likely to disintegrate before a study could be made of
it. A Hobbesian nightmare such as this would kill itself off very quickly or its individuals
would disband out of fear. Fortunately, there is little evidence that there is or has been
such a culture. There are cultures, however, that seem to come rather too close—where
there seem to be so few taboos that resemble ours that one might be tempted to suggest
that morality simply does not exist. In other words, morality seems to be reduced in these
cultures to such a watered-down and weak set of prescriptions that it no longer has any
relevant correlation with the concept of morality in our culture. Those who live in these
cultures, if this is correct, would lack any relevant characteristic of morality in their
concept of person. It has been suggested that the Kaulong provide one such example and
the Ik another.
a. The Kaulong
The Kaulong is referred to as a "gambling society" (Goodale 1995, 61).
Everyone tries to keep his or her resources and knowledge secret from others. The use of
ruses and fibs is exceedingly common, so much so that it is said that no one actually
expects that they are being told the truth (Goodale 1995, 61). The Kaulong, then, seem to
lack moral agency. In a culture where lying is the rule, rather than the exception, it seems
impossible to see anything of our view of morality and, consequently, our view of moral
agency. One need not be a Kantian to bristle at the suggestion of such people—how such
a thing could be viewed as the norm, rather than as a great wrong, is a question any
Western moral systematizer might ponder.
But, while it is true that the Kaulong frequently fib and deceive and that everyone
expects to be lied to, it cannot be the case that lying is the rule of the society.
Communication depends upon being able to believe what someone else says. One simply
cannot navigate the social world without the assumption of (as a general rule) truth.
The Kaulong do fib, but they also have elaborate taboos that forbid lying about
certain things and also oaths that can be invoked to guarantee that one is being told the
truth when it is necessary for one to verify these things (Goodale 1995, 61). Someone
might lie, for example, about how much food he has stored, but he might not be allowed
to lie about whether or not he killed a neighbor. The Kaulong don't live in chaos and
haven't died out because they don't actually live in a society where lying is the rule, any
more than we do. And, though they are highly individualistic, which leads to the fibs in
the first place, they also believe that one's prestige increases when he shares (Goodale
1995, 120). There are, then, obligations to others, though they are often considered to be
obligations arising from self-interest, not from fellow feeling. So, though the Kaulong do
differ in terms of the frequency of which it is deemed okay to lie, they certainly do not
present a counterexample to our Western view of morality and so, consequently, do not
fail to have the concept of moral agency.
b. The Ik
The Ik, on the other hand, not only lie frequently, but they also have no
compunctions about stealing, and they seem to have few real rules of behavior for the
treatment of others. In examples far too numerous to recount here, Colin Turnbull
chronicles the, from our perspective and his, horrific acts that occur daily in Icien society.
Children are cast out of the house at age three and left to starve or survive on their own;
food is stolen from anyone who has it by anyone who is able to get away with it,
including the frequent theft of food from the mouths of those too old or weak to defend
themselves; the old are left by their children to die; lying about anything one wishes is
exceedingly common; charity is looked upon as foolishness; the dead are simply
70
discarded, either secretly buried in an unmarked hole or thrown over the side of a gorge;
the weak and dying are laughed at if they call for help or assistance, even of their own
children (Turnbull 1972). Can a culture of this sort possibly be said to have morality?
Two points should be made. First, these actions are not the actions historically
tolerated by the Ik. In the generation prior to Trumbull's experiences with them, the Ik
had been forced from their nomadic lifestyle to a contained existence in a barren land.
This fact, combined with severe droughts, reduced their condition to one of perpetual
starvation. The behaviors he chronicles are ones of a society that is driven by hunger.
He was made aware of the old times of the Ik, and even met one or two individuals who
still tried to live the old way who told him of the codes of behavior, flouted and mocked
at the time he was with them, that used to mold the culture.
Secondly, no matter how reprehensible the Ik seem to us, even they are not a
society where any behavior is allowed. For example, though stealing, lying, mild abuse,
and neglect are permissible, killing and serious physical abuse is strictly prohibited.
Nowhere in Trumbull's chronicles does he cite an instance of any someone taking the life
of another or directly and intentionally causing another's death. There are, then, some
taboos, even among the Ik, even in their heightened and desperate circumstances. The
question, of course, is whether or not the recognition of one or two duties to others or
prohibitions is enough to establish that the Ik consider themselves to be moral agents and
consider moral agency part and parcel with personhood.
71
It seems to me that there are two parts to the view of morality in our culture. One
part is the rules that we adhere to—the prohibitions and prescriptions that we graft our
behavior onto, or suppose that we should. The second part is the justification for these
rules. In our society the justification rests of the belief that all people are equally
valuable. By noting this separation, I think the case of the Ik becomes clearer. The Ik do
have some moral rules. It is not the case that "anything goes". But, what they lack, and
therefore why their moral rules seem so inadequate and weak to us, is a justification of
these rules based on a perception of moral value and of equal value. When looking at the
Ik, one gets the feeling that any prohibitions they still adhere to are simply from habit. If
they had a firmer, more morally-grounded justification for their few taboos, it seems that
they would have far more rules than they do. I submit, then, that the Ik provide a
formidable example not of a culture that lacks moral agency, but of one that lacks the
perception of people as units of moral worth and of equal moral worth. I will look more
closely at this assertion in Chapter Five.
3. Concern for the Future: Buddhist Cultures
The characteristic of concern for the future involves a feeling of intimate
connection with a future self who we think the appropriate inheritor of our rewards and
punishments and the appropriate perpetuator of our plans and projects. We wish, quite
often, to accomplish certain things or to benefit in the future from current states of affairs
and we often wish to do these things ourselves. We do not want for someone else,
72
someone not like us, someone not closely bound to us, someone not us to benefit or suffer
from our current actions in the future. Built into this characteristic, too, is a desire to
continue in time so that we may benefit or suffer from our actions and so that we may
further our plans and projects. We are not, then, only concerned that if any unit continues
over time and is the receiver of our actions that it is the appropriate unit, but we are also
concerned that there be such a unit to continue over time as the receiver of our actions.
So, our concern for the future is a concern with wanting there to be an appropriate unit
existing in the future to receive our plans and projects, our rewards and punishments.
Cultures that do not involve the trait of concern for the future in their concept of
personhood might not structure institutions and practices radically different than we do,
but they would certainly regard them as existing for different reasons. If food is stored at
all, it would be stored just in case someone lives another day or for others in their kinship
groups. If food is ingested or sores are treated, it would be because one is hungry or in
pain, not because one is preserving his or her body for the future. If friendships are
developed, it is for the enjoyment of the moment, not for long-term benefit. These are
very difficult matters to observe. Cultures that lack concern for the future would seem, in
many ways, to look like ours.
But there do seem to be some institutions and practices that clearly indicate
concern for the future. In our culture, for example, we don't get paid hourly or daily for
our labor, but a week, two weeks, or a month later. That indicates an assumption and a
desire to persist. We plan vacations or for retirement and save money for rewards that we
73
will get after certain accomplishments. We engage in long-term projects and invest our
identities and time in goals that will take many years or even a lifetime to reach. Cultures
that lack concern for the future might look like ours in many of the day-to-day practical
ways that we have mentioned, differing only in why they engage in said practices, but in
other ways, they surely would be different. There seems no reason besides a concern
with one's own survival, for example, for someone to plan a vacation for himself or to
begin the task of writing a book. These things do not benefit the larger group. They are
things designed for the benefit of oneself—to be enjoyed or continued by one's future
self.
Buddhist cultures seem to provide examples of cultures that either regard
continuation in the future as undesirable or that do not actively pursue it and do not
structure practices around it. At the beginning of this chapter, we discussed in some
depth the doctrines of Buddhism and determined that it is not the case that Buddhist
cultures lack a concept of person. That is not to say, however, that they have our concept
of person. It is possible that they do not associate certain of our characteristics together
and so, have a very different concept of person than we do, though we did say that, at a
glance, it seemed that they did evidence all characteristics. One area where it seems
possible that this is not the case is with the characteristic of concern for future. After all,
the goal of Buddhism often is portrayed as the annihilation of self—the cessation of
continuation into the future. This is a mistaken view, as we have seen, but the truth of
Buddhism isn't so far from it that concern for the future is above suspicion.
74
If what the Buddhist realizes at the highest levels of thought is that there is no
self, then he or she cannot coherently will for that self to continue into the future.
Neither, though, can he or she will for that self not to continue into the future. Rather, it
is simply inappropriate to have a feeling about something that doesn't exist just as it
would be inappropriate and misguided for someone to have a feeling about the present
king of France.
So, it seems that Buddhist cultures do present actual examples of lack of concern
for the future. The Buddhist cannot care if he is the recipient of his rewards and
punishments or the perpetuator of his plans and projects. Or at least this is the case at the
highest level of Buddhist thought. The Buddhist culture, though, as we have seen, is
composed of individuals who are at no place near this level of understanding. It is
composed of individuals who wish for a better life, who try to earn merit, who want to be
reborn into a higher station, who collect on debts, who keep promises, who plan for the
next year's harvest, and who take pains to avoid injury or death. Buddhist cultures
demonstrate marked concern for the future. Not only do individual Buddhists follow the
sorts of practices that indicate it, but Buddhist cultures (for example in the cultures found
in Japan and Thailand) also have institutions that imply cultural concern for the future.
There are systems of banking, schools and universities, vacation leave, and retirement
funds.
Even in the Buddhist specialist we see a type of concern for the future. He does
have, while undergoing training, great future concern. Until he reaches nibbana, he
75
wishes for a future in which he understands the great truths—a future where there is no
suffering. It is only at the final moment that concern for the future ceases. So, although
this is the goal of Buddhism, it is the goal of one moment in time—the end of an elusive
prize, the reward for the very few. At every point in the path, the Buddhist has future
concern—for continued existence and for a type of continued existence. The attainment
of enlightenment is a project that occurs over time and which one engages in with the
hope of one's future self reaching its attainment. At the end, it is true, concern for the
future disappears, but only for the very few who ever reach their goal. Aside from the
exceptions of perhaps a handful of their members, Buddhist cultures are cultures
concerned with the future.
4. Interpersonal Relations
A culture that rejected interpersonal relations as a characteristic of personhood
would be one in which persons were not necessarily involved with other persons. In
other words, some significant portion of the population would have to carry on the
business of living quite apart from others. But, by definition, a culture is composed of
people and presupposes not only that they live in proximity to one another, but that they
are involved in each others' lives. It seems impossible that something be both a culture
and lack interpersonal relations, for if it lacks these relations, it is merely an arbitrary
grouping of people, not a culture. What we might find, however, are cultures that have
radically different relations between individuals than we do.
In Chapter Two, we said that part of what it means for us to have interpersonal
relations is that our relations with one another are personal. That is, we relate closely to
some individuals and share our thoughts, feelings, hopes and emotions. We see each
other as unique individuals and not merely as replicas with slight physical differences.
We focus on what is unique about the people we meet, not merely what is the same and
we perceive uniqueness as endowing its possessor with value. The children's writer
Antoine de Saint-Exupery expresses this sentiment beautifully in The Little Prince when
his prince says to a garden of roses about his special rose, "You are not at all like my
rose.. .As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You
are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other
foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world" (Saint-
Exupery 1943, 70). Our relations with others involve connection and closeness, love and
fellow feeling—they involve intimacy.
If a culture lacked this connection, this intimacy, among its members, it would be
true that that culture does not include interpersonal relations, as we have defined them,
among their characteristics of personhood. They might well think that no such intimacy
is needed among individuals for them to be persons. There are, in anthropological
literature, a few suggestions of cultures that do differ from ours precisely in this way.
77
a. The Balinese
Probably the best known example of a culture said to lack our sort of
interpersonal relations is the Balinese, as reported by Clifford Geertz. According to
Geertz, "In Bali, there are six sorts of labels which one person can apply to another in
order to identify him as a unique individual..." (Geertz 1973c, 368). These six are: 1)
personal names; 2) birth order names; 3) kinship terms; 4) tekonyms; 5) status titles.
Personal names, which in our culture are the names primarily used to identify an
individual, are very rarely used in Bali. They are considered extremely private and when
an individual nears the end of his or her life, only a few people might actually know what
that name is. These names are composed of meaningless and arbitrary syllables and no
two individuals in a community are allowed the same ones (Geertz 1973c, 369-370).
Birth order names are ordered in fours. The first born child in every family is called
"Wayan", the second called "Njoman", the third called "Made", and the fourth called
"Ktut". If there are additional children, the order is repeated, with the fifth also being
referred to as "Wayan" and so forth (Geertz 1973c, 372). Kinship terms refer to family
connections, usually tracing back a line of descent through certain members, but also
focusing on a reciprocal connection between certain members. For example, in the third
generation above and below one's own, kinship terms are the same, such that "great-
grandparent" and "great grandchild" have the same term. (Geertz 1973c. 374, 379).
Tekonyms are terms such as "Father of....", "Mother of....", and "Grandmother of..."
These are the most common form of identification and emphasize the importance in Bali
78
of marriage and, more importantly and consequently, procreation (Geertz 1973c, 377).
Status titles describe one's place in the social community, and closely map onto the
Varna or "caste" system, designating status by loosely occupational categories (Geertz
1973c, 368).
The reason for the emphasis on non-specifying individual names and for the lack
of use of personal names is that the Balinese culture emphasizes cosmic order. As Geertz
notes, "Physically men come and go as the ephemeral they are, but socially the dramatis
personae remain eternally the same as new Wayans and Ktuts emerge from the timeless
world of the gods...to replace those who dissolved once more into it" (Geertz 1973c,
372). The cosmos, to the Balinese, has an eternal order and this order is manifested on a
microcosmic scale in society. According to Geertz, what is seen as relevant by the
Balinese is not that which makes an individual unique, because these are only superficial
aspects of her, but rather, her slot in the changeless structure of things. She occupies this
slot, not as a unique individual, but as a representative only of that aspect of the cosmic
structure (Geertz 1973c, 384). According to Geertz, "...the Balinese system of kinship
terminology defines individuals in a primarily taxonomic, not a face to face idiom, as
occupants in a social field, not partners in social interaction. It functions almost entirely
as a cultural map upon which certain persons can be located and certain others, not
features of the landscape, cannot" (Geertz 1973c, 373).
Because, according to Geertz, what is seen as important in Balinese culture is
where someone is located in the eternal statuses of the cosmos, rather than his individual
79
and special identity, everyone, including friends, relatives, strangers, the dead and the
unborn, are depicted as "stereotyped contemporaries, abstract and anonymous
fellowmen" (Geertz 1973c, 389-390). Others must be seen not as unique individuals, but
as transitory holders of eternal structure and to establish and maintain this emphasis, the
Balinese use titles, tekonyms, and birth order names, and kinship terms rather than
personal names. In addition to a formal individuation system, the Balinese also go to
great lengths in social interaction to remove intimacy from face-to-face confrontations,
which would serve to emphasize uniqueness. For them, according to Geertz, ".. .it is
necessary to formalize relations...to a fairly high degree, to confront them in a
sociological middle distance where they are close enough to be identified but not so close
as to be grasped: quasi strangers, quasi friends" (Geertz 1973c, 399).
Though individuals sometimes fail to perfectly execute what culture demands, the
standard of interaction in Balinese society is extremely formal. There is a great deal of
ceremony in personal interaction, with various types of status dictating the rules of
contact and interaction, all of which is, as Geertz says, ".. .a thoroughgoing attempt to
block the more creatural aspects of the human condition—individuality, spontaneity,
perishability, emotionality, vulnerability—from sight" (Geertz 1973c, 399). What is
unique, either in oneself of in others, is radically de-emphasized, according to Geertz, in
Balinese culture (Geertz 1973c, 370).
As Gordon D. Jensen and Luh Ketut Suryani point out, however, Balinese
interaction is not merely ceremonial or formal. While there is a strong emphasis on these
things, if all interaction was only ceremonial and formal, if others were only seen as
anonymous contemporaries, then one would expect that individuals would be largely
indifferent to other individuals. One would merely go through the motions of ceremony
and not worry very much about maintaining interpersonal relationships. However, that is
not the case. According to Jensen and Suryani, the Balinese are extremely attentive to
interpersonal relationships and work very hard to maintain good ones (Jensen and
Suryani 1992, 63). Rather than being indifferent to others, they focus on making sure
that they are in harmony with others, as a rule ending arguments without climax or
resolution in order to preserve peaceful interaction in the future (Jensen and Suryani
1992, 103). The emphasis on harmony is not merely for personal state of mind. Rather,
harmony is seen as the state that should be maintained in the universe, and it is one's duty
to foster it and one's obligation not to pursue actions that disrupt it (Jensen and Suryani
1992, 112). If it were truly the case that individuals were not seen as important and
interpersonal relationships were not valued, one would expect that the means of
establishing harmony would not be by carefully maintaining peace in interactions
between individuals, but rather by some ceremony that aims at influencing the cosmos.
Indeed, if relations were as depersonalized as Geertz implies, there would be little need
for focusing on maintaining harmony at all. The only interaction would be ceremonial
and individual features would be deemphasized, so there would be no need for arguing or
disagreement—those things are the products of conflicting kinds of uniqueness, not the
clash of anonymous fellowmen.
81
One would also expect that there are no unique friendships or loves or that these
things, when existing, are highly discouraged. But, according to Suryani and Jensen, the
Balinese spend much of their time "together...in relaxed chatting, playing with children,
joking, and laughing" (Jensen and Suryani 1992, 64). Adolescent girls and boys are often
found in same-sex couplings, holding hands and demonstrating genuine affection, much
like "best friends" of this age do in our culture (Jensen and Suryani 1992, 112).
According to Jane Belo, while affection between the sexes is prohibited in public, there is
a great deal of non-sexual affection visible in Bali (Belo 1970, 102). She points out that
"Fathers and mothers, grandfathers and grandmothers, love to fondle the young children,
to press their faces into them and 'sniff them, just as in the relation between a man and a
woman. Two girls, two boys, or two bearded ancients will stroll along a road holding
hands or with their arms about each other" (Belo 1970, 103). And, while status and title
are important for naming and are part of what indicates one's role in the cosmos, in daily
life, the Balinese spend more time and focus more energy on their families and
communities than on their jobs (Jensen and Suryani 1992, 64).
In Chapter Five we will look again and more closely at Balinese society in order
to see whether or not individuals are valued personally or merely as slots in the cosmos,
but for now, it seems clear that ceremony and formality aside, once the public sphere is
peeled back, there is a private sphere in which the Balinese also do value and pursue
interpersonal relationships in the same way that we do.
82
b. North Indian Culture
The culture of North India exhibits features similar to those of Bali, in
terms of emphasis on harmony and public de-emphasis of special, close, and unique
personal relations. Even within a household, someone is referred to not by the special
relationship she has with certain other members ("Grandma", "Mom", "Dad", "Auntie",
etc.) but rather by her status in the family (Vatuk 1992, 91). Thus, a grandmother living
in the house may be called "Mother" while a child's actual biological mother is not
(Vatuk 1992, 87). There are no open expressions of love and affection between
members, which might indicate deep interpersonal connections. Husbands and wives are
discouraged from affectionate contact and mothers and fathers do not demonstrate special
affection toward their children (Vatuk 1992, 94). Further, mothers are not allowed to
raise their children exclusively, but must allow various surrogates to share in this role
(Vatuk 1992, 94-95). The goal in North Indian culture, as with the Balinese, is harmony.
Specific and exclusive indications of favor amongst individual members might serve to
make others jealous and disrupt peace and harmony.
At the same time, however, there are many usages of address in North Indian
households, not merely the formal one indicating status (Vatuk 1992, 91). It is suggested
by Sylvia Vatuk that the reason why addresses are based in large part on status is to de-
emphasize the usual types of addresses based on procreation and, inherently, the sexual
nature of individuals (Vatuk 1992, 96). In a culture that is extremely modest and shamed
by the openly sexual, referring to one's biological mother as "Mother" might be seen as
necessarily bringing to mind that this woman had sex and the child addressing her was
the result. If so, this would entail only sexual repressiveness rampant in North Indian
culture, not a lack of attention on interpersonal relations.
It would, however, be troubling if there existed (or ideally existed) no unique
relationships between individuals. But, as Vatuk points out, however taboo such
demonstrations are in public, individuals are expected to have exclusive ties to particular
members and to respond to such feelings with personal displays of attention and
affection. It is considered very natural for husbands and wives to have deep, exclusive,
and very personal feelings for one another. They are also expected to naturally have
deep, exclusive, and very personal feelings for their children (Vatuk 1992, 95). While it
is seen as necessary for the preservation of harmony that children not be raised
exclusively by their mothers, it is seen as perfectly natural and expected that each mother
wants to raise her children exclusively (Vatuk 1992, 95). Such a desire is selfish and
generally runs counter to the best interests of the family, but is an acceptable to desire to
have, if not to act upon, in North Indian culture (Vatuk 1992, 95). Similarly, though it is
viewed as perfectly natural and expected that husband and wife have unique feelings for
one another, they are restricted, for reasons of harmony, from acting upon such feelings
in the presence of other people (Vatuk 1992, 94).
In both Balinese and North Indian culture, then, what at first seems to be very
different from our interpersonal relations is, in fact, only so in the public sphere. While it
is true that we do not make as hard and fast a distinction between rules for public
interpersonal interaction and rules for private interpersonal interaction, a culture that
does, while still having, in some sphere, loves, affection, friendships, and real personal
and unique connections between its members, is a culture that connects interpersonal
relationships with personhood in the same way that we do.
c. The Ik
The Ik present a challenge to the idea that all cultures have interpersonal
relations, not because there are cultural taboos against the public expression of such
relationships, but because among the Ik, people simply don't seem to care about each
other. In a society where children steal food from their parents mouths, where mothers
and fathers throw their children out of the house at age three, where everyone lies to and
steals from everyone, how can we think that interpersonal relations are present in the way
that we have described them to be in our culture? We have described interpersonal
relations as including love, friendship, fellow-feeling, and intimacy. Among the Ik,
Turnbull detected very few of these things. Instances of kindness were so rare, that he
cites as an exception a particular man who regularly joked and played with the village
children (Turnbull 1972, 88). Love is seen as folly and a woman who clearly loved her
husband and did extra chores for him to show her affection was mocked by her village
(Turnbull 1972, 125). According to Turnbull, it is not that the Ik are necessarily
incapable of love, but that love or any other emotion is not valued above survival
(Turnbull 1972, 237). Sentiment for others in any form is a luxury and "...so close to the
85
verge of starvation, such luxuries could mean death, and is it not a singularly foolish
luxury to die for someone already dead, or weak, or old?" (Turnbull 1972, 130). The
state of starvation among the Ik penetrates every aspect of existence. For them, love is
considered a luxury and sex is a waste of energy used better to keep oneself alive
(Turnbull 1972, 253).
Though this viewpoint on interpersonal relations seems to indicate that the Ik
simply exist without them, this is not entirely true. Clearly the Ik have a minimal quality
to their interpersonal relations, but they do still have them. First, and most obviously, the
Ik do live in a culture. They live in villages with others and build their homes near those
of others. They are not so individualistic that they eschew group life. Second, they do
cooperate with each other from time to time, specifically on tasks that will lead to the
production of food or of currency that can buy food (Turnbull 1972, 173, 239-242).
Turnbull notes occasional informal ties of friendship between individuals, such as those
that provide the main basis for the situation of one's home within the village. These
bonds, however, seem to be "fragile and temporary" (Turnbull 1972, 117). But even
quite apart from these gestures, Turnbull does indicate that the Ik keep alive the
institution of friendship in the form of a solemn bond called nyot that is formed between
individuals. This bond is voluntarily forged between individuals and entails the promise
never to refuse anything of the other party (Turnbull 1972,162). The bond of nyot, once
sworn, can never be dissolved. It is primarily because of the perpetuation of this
86
institution that Turnbull concludes that "interpersonal relations, at the most minimal
level, still retained some value and permanence" among the Ik (Turnbull 1972, 182).
5. Emotions
In this section, we will look at claims that particular cultures lack emotion
entirely. If there are such cultures, we should expect that their members not only do not
physically express emotion, but that, if asked, they would deny having them. They would
not require emotional release of any sort and we should not expect to see encouragement
or enjoyment of violence or any sort of sort of heightened emotional state. Rather, we
should expect to see calm, not only in individual relations but in all social practices.
There is evidence from both the Balinese and the Chewong cultures that emotions
are lacking in these groups.
a. The Balinese
The Balinese, as we have said, regard each other with great politesse and
live in constant fear of committing a social faux pas. They have elaborate rules for how
one regards another of a certain social status and present themselves to others as neutral,
bland, and emotionless (Geertz 1973c, 402-403). The formality of presentation serves to
establish the social distance that we have discussed, and this formality extends to all
arenas of public interaction, coloring even the arts. Many anthropologists, including
Clifford Geertz and Margaret Mead have reported that dances and ceremonies in Bali are
87
without climax (Jensen and Suryani 1992, 97). Djelantik has described this tendency in
Balinese art as a tendency toward a "static state" (Djelantik 1986). Between individuals,
arguments simply stop without climax or resolution (Jensen and Suryani 1992, 103).
In Bali, individuals avoid displays of emotion which might indicate anger,
frustration or disappointment (Jensen and Suryani 1992, 108). Since so much of the
Balinese mindset is focused on the importance of cosmic balance, there is a fear that
displays of emotion might do something to disrupt the harmony of things (Jensen and
Suryani 1992, 103). The Balinese also take care to avoid overt displays of happiness or
joy. One wishes to avoid upsetting someone who is not also happy, for example, when
one receives an award and others do not (Jensen and Suryani 1992, 113). Part of the
motivation is the preservation of balance, but another part is a fear of retribution. There
is a concern, since they view the universe as seeking balance, that it might right itself by
punishing an individual by having another treat him or her in the same way. If, for
example, someone does not restrain her joy at an accomplishment, then when she loses
something in the future, another will do the same, causing a deep feeling of pain and hurt
(Jensen and Suryani 1992, 108). And in Bali, children are trained to respond in this
manner from very early youth on (Jensen and Suryani 1992, 113). According to
Margaret Mead, everyone teases little babies by "flipping their fingers, their toes, their
genitals, threatening them, playfully disregarding the sanctity of their heads, and when
the children respond by heightened excitement and mounting tension, the teaser turns
away, breaks the thread of interplay, allows no climax" (Mead 1970, 202). As they grow
older, mothers make their children jealous by borrowing babies and lavishing attention on
them, while strangers provoke them as they are playing. All of these actions serve the
purpose of training the child not to display emotion (Mead 1970, 202).
b. The Chewong
The Chewong believe that if one expresses emotion, then diseases and
difficulties of all kinds will result (Howell 1981, 135). In order to avoid these negative
consequences, they have an elaborate system of rules for suppressing certain inner states.
Some of the rules specify which emotions are to be suppressed, such as the rule that
states that "one must not want something which is not easily attainable" (Howell 1981,
140). Most of the rules, however, are more general, and seek to block expressions of an
individual's feelings (Howell 1981,140). If an individual violates these rules, and shows
feelings or emotions, then bad consequences are thought to occur. For example, mishaps
such as tiger, scorpion, millipede or snake bites are thought to result from longing for
something. As a result, an individual must, according to the rule, immediately act on any
desire he or she has, so that the emotion of longing or desiring does not persist and
physically manifest itself (Howell 1981, 136). If someone else desires something and an
individual does not provide it or withholds that object, then the individual who desires the
object is held to be in danger of attack (Howell 1981, 136).
The fact that there are few outward displays of emotion in Balinese and Chewong
culture should not lead us to conclude that they do not experience emotion. As we've
89
said, they avoid displays of emotion, but do report experiencing emotions themselves. In
Bali, someone who wins an award, for example, will say that they feel happy "in their
heart" and will express happiness privately with family and friends (Jensen and Suryani
1992, 113). They admit to feeling satisfaction and pride when winners of cock fights and
remorse and regret when losers (Jensen and Suryani 1992,107). Indeed, to some extent,
the huge popularity of cock fights in Bali seems to indicate a need for emotional climax
and catharsis where few other such outlets exist. Ritual dance, trance disorders, and
therapeutic trance all serve the same end, effectively and appropriately transferring
unacceptable emotional reactions to specific individuals and situations into objectless
expression (Jensen and Suryani 1992, 114). The Chewong, too, exhibit outward
manifestations of emotionlessness. But, not only do the Chewong have emotions, they
are obsessed by them. They are constantly focusing on their emotions in order to keep
them in proper check (Howell 1981, 135). As Signe Howell points out, the Chewong
must have emotions or at least recognize the existence of emotions because if they did
not, there would be no need for specific rules to forbid their expression (Howell 1983,
209). Additionally, the overt expressions of fear and shyness are expected and even
encouraged and in certain situations, such as funerals, it is seen as appropriate for
individuals to cry, though too much crying is seen as deterring the dead from going to the
next life (Howell 1981, 141). So, it is not true, even judging by overt manifestations, that
either the Balinese or the Chewong lack emotions. They clearly do demonstrate publicly
90
some emotions and when we look more closely at their belief systems, it becomes clear
that they experience many more, but have rules about public expression.
6. Identification as Locus of Control: The Dinka
In our culture, we regard persons as agents. We think of persons as things that are
able to will and act and whose actions are generally efficacious. This view would stand
in stark contrast with a view that describes persons as passive recipients of action. As we
mentioned in Chapter One, Andrew Lock describes a distinction along these lines as a
distinction between being in control and being under control (Lock 1981, 32). Paul
Heelas, following Godfrey Lienhardt's discussion of the Dinka of the southern Sudan,
describes cultures that perceive themselves as in control—where the locus of control is
regarded as internal to the agent—as idealist systems. He describes those cultures where
the locus of control is regarded as being outside the individual as passiones systems
(Heelas 1981b, 41). According to Heelas, in idealist systems, the self is a subject and the
world is the object. The self is able to act on the world and the world is affected by the
actions of the self. In passiones systems, on the other hand, "the world provides a home
for agency" (Heelas 1981b, 41). In other words, it is the world that acts and the agent
that is affected. According to Heelas, the Dinka culture is an extremely strong example
of a passiones system (Heelas 1981b, 41). If this is correct, then we should expect to
find, in the Dinka, an example of a culture where the locus of control is not located in the
individual, and so which provides a counterexample to our concept of person.
We might expect a culture lacking the view that the individual is a locus of
control to be one where individuals do not make plans or actively engage in steps to bring
about goals. People in such cultures would probably not refer to themselves in speech as
doing things, but would instead parse actions in terms of being affected. We would
expect them to lack an active voice. It seems that they would have no need for practices
of praising or blaming of individuals or for legal institutions that punished or rewarded
individuals. We would expect people in this culture to be wholly passive in their
attitudes and quite likely in possession of a victim mentality.
According to Heelas, the Dinka provide an excellent example of a passiones
society because they have no concept of self. As he states, "The Dinka of the southern
Sudan provide a good illustration of what happens to the psychological when, as we
might put it, the self is taken away from the human individual" (Heelas 1981a, 8, 10). To
follow the strand further, it seems that he thinks that since they have no concept of self,
then they could not have agency and would instead have to locate control of things in
external sources. And, indeed, their worldview includes a belief in sprits (called
'Powers' by Lienhardt) that are an active force in the world and which cause many things
to occur. These Powers are one and many. They are manifestations of the one Divinity,
but take different forms, some of which are Powers that individuals are connected to or
may petition, and some of which are directly tied to clans through inheritance. Heelas
bases his views on the Dinka and their place within the idealistJpassiones spectrum that
he maps out based on the seminal works of Lienhardt. So, it is Lienhardt's observations
92
that we need examine in order to determine the extent to which the Dinka provide an
example of a culture lacking identification as a locus of control.
Heelas bases his view that the Dinka have no concept of self on a passage from
Lienhardt, which we need to quote at some length:
"The Dinka have no conception which at all closely corresponds to our popular modern conception of the
'mind', as mediating and, as it were, storing up the experiences of the self. There is for them no such
interior entity to appear, upon reflection, to stand between the experiencing self at any given moment and
what is or has been an exterior influence upon the self' (Lienhardt 1961, 149).
He goes on to say:
"So it seems that what we should call in some cases the 'memories' of experiences, and regard therefore as
in some way intrinsic and interior to the remembering person and modified in their effect upon him by that
interiority, appear to the Dinka as exteriorly acting upon him, as were the sources from which they derived.
Hence it would be impossible to suggest to Dinka that a powerful dream was 'only' a dream, and might for
that reason be dismissed as relatively unimportant in the light of day, or that a state of possession was
'merely' in the psychology of the person possessed. They do not make the kind of distinction between the
psyche and the world which would make such interpretations significant for them" (Lienhardt 1961, 149).
Certainly this seems rather foreign, and is made more so by the examples that
Lienhardt gives to illustrate his point. For example, he tells of a man who was
imprisoned in Khartoum and who, upon being released, named one of his children
'Khartoum', "in memory of that place, but also to turn aside any possible harmful
influence of that place upon him in later life" (Lienhardt 1961, 149).
Though we think, in our culture, that things from our past can affect us and that
bad events can continue to have consequences long after they end, we also perceive that it
is the memory of the event or place or person that exerts an influence on us, not the actual
event, place, or person (Lienhardt 1961, 150). But this view is not shared by the Dinka,
according to Lienhardt. For them, there is no mind in the sense of a storehouse of
93
memories, so it is not memory that has power, but the actual event or place or person.
According to Lienhardt, the city of Khartoum still had power over this man, not the
memory of his time there. That is not to say that the Dinka have no memories. It is just
that they do not conceive of memories as things isolated in the mind or stored inside
them, but rather as active forces in the world. It is not yet clear what this actually means
for the identification of locus of control, but if Lienhardt is correct, it is clear that the
Dinka have a different view of time than we do, as the passage of time in no way lessens
the power they attach to events (Lienhardt 1961, 150).
It is unclear that Lienhardt is correct in asserting even this much of the Dinka. It
seems quite possible that the examples that he gives can easily be understood within the
framework of memory and the power of past events. But even if we grant this much to
him, we still have no reason to suppose that the Dinka lack a concept of self. The leap
that Heelas makes, in response to this passage in Lienhardt is that because the Dinka have
no notion of 'mind', that they have "no firm basis for thinking of themselves as selves"
(Heelas 1981a, 10). And it would follow, if this were correct, that they could not think of
themselves as agents. And, indeed, much of what Heelas cites of Lienhardt suggests that
the world around the Dinka exudes a great deal of agency and the Powers have a great
amount of control over events. The real question, however, is whether perception of the
agency of the Powers precludes the Dinka from regarding themselves as having agency
as well.
94
For the Dinka, the world is not divided into supernatural (the Powers) and natural
(everything else). Rather, the Powers pervade the world, acting in it and of it, as well as
exerting control over it from a distance. They describe the Powers as being in various
places such as men's bodies, the sky and other particular objects (Lienhardt 1961, 155-
156). The world is infused with Divinity and so the Powers are not objects of belief, but
forces that pervade experience, turning the whole world into an "active subject"
(Lienhardt 1961, 155-156). But the Powers are not always in particular places and they
are not, specifically, always in men's bodies. When a Power is "in" a man's body, the
human and the ultra-human (Lienhardt rejects the idea that the Dinka regard the Powers
as supernatural) meet (Lienhardt 1961, 161). When this happens, or when the Powers are
thought present in other particular objects, then Divinity can be experienced firsthand
(Lienhardt 1961, 158). Religious experience is part of ordinary Dinka experience, but is
not constant.
Since the Powers are sometimes "in" men's bodies, they can play the role of
affecting psychological states. For example, Heelas cites a passage in Lienhardt in which
the Powers prompt an individual to feeling guilty about an action. And, in fact, other
individuals may invoke the Powers to do so to a particular person (Heelas 1981b, 44, 45,
47). Heelas takes this as evidence of lack of self or agency among the Dinka. If moral
responsibility is perceived as located the Powers and it is only when the Powers are "in"
someone that he or she feels guilt, then it seems that there is no self-reflective unit which
is considered present. That is, the self is not needed because all agency, from the causing
of rain to the feeling of guilt, is located in the Powers.
The Powers, however, are not, as Heelas seems to conclude, constantly present.
The Dinka can discuss prospects for the harvest without talking about the Power called
Abuk, who is responsible for good harvests, and can discuss thunder and lightning as
purely natural occurrences, without talking about any Power. In a more telling example,
however, Lienhardt says that a Dinka may complain of a physical ailment like a cold or
headache without attributing these to the Powers. It is only when the headache is
persistent and unbearable or the cold turns to a fever that the Dinka individual begins to
think of how the Powers are affecting him or her (Lienhardt 1961, 147).
These examples provide evidence to support my claim that the Powers are seen as
actively present in the world, but not seen as constantly present in every particular. If this
is correct, then it would seem that the Powers are not seen as constantly present in each
individual and, if so, that agency would have to be attributed to individuals at some
points, invalidating the claim that the Dinka are an example of a culture without an
internal locus of control.
As Lienhardt points out, the Dinka use the Powers as an explanation for things
occurring in the world. Without the positing of these powers, they would have no
explanation for why things occur as they do and, consequently, no recourse or control.
But, with the Powers posited as explanation, the Dinka have a means of understanding
the workings of the universe and, perhaps more importantly, knowledge that gives them
96
power (Lienhardt 1961, 170). When you don't know why it won't rain, then you can do
nothing but wait. When you think that rain is being withheld by a certain Power, then
you are able to petition that Power and take active steps to encouraging it to bring forth
rain. Thus, as Heelas himself ends up pointing out, even when the controller is located
outside oneself, the natural response is to find out how the controller is operating and
what can be done to influence it (Heelas 1981b, 48).
There are various examples to be found in Lienhardt's work both of Dinka belief
in their own agency in the context of directly affecting objects, events, and people, and
also in the context of petitioning the Powers so that they might be steered in a particular
direction and, thus, indirectly influencing objects, events, and people. For example, the
Dinka petition their clan-divinities when they are traveling or lonely in order to help them
in danger and misfortune. They also recognize their obligations to sacrifice to these
deities and expect sickness to result if they do not do so (Lienhardt 1961,106). They
have a hierarchy of specialists who know, to various degrees, how to control the Powers
and who are regularly consulted by non-specialists in order to manipulate them according
to their wishes (Lienhardt 1961, 67).
Yet, even when they have exercised this type of agency to indirectly control
situations, they also maintain direct efforts at control. For example, they do not view the
mystical action of tying a stone representing a lion in a knot of grass as a substitute for
hunting—it is only the prelude for the action of pursuing the animal (Lienhardt 1961,
283). The Powers are called upon for good hunting conditions, in this case, but not
97
expected to animate the hunter and thereby pursue the hunt. In the Dinka creation story,
man is represented as subject to suffering and death, insecure and ignorant, but he is also
represented as active, self-assertive, inquiring, and acquisitive (Lienhardt 1961, 53).
They see ultimate control of life as beyond them, but that does not diminish their
depiction of themselves as active beings.
In other myths, individuals have actions directly ascribed to them, which indicates
that the Dinka regard these individuals as responsible for them. If the Dinka accepted that
the Powers were responsible for all human action, it seems that the myths would reflect
the total lack of agency of each individual. That, however, is not the case. In the
conventional myth of spear-masters, for example, a woman is described as being asked
by a Power to lift her skirt so that the Power, in the form of the sea, might impregnate
her, and she complies. A fight occurs between a half-divinity and an ordinary man and
the ordinary man is described as besting the half-divinity enough that the half-divinity
calls a truce. In neither of these situations is the description of ordinary people one in
which their actions are referred to as coming from the Powers. In fact, in this same myth,
the half-divinity, Aiwel Longar, gives his powers to the man who has bested him and the
other men present and tells them ".. .to look after the country, saying that he himself
would leave it to them to do so and not intervene, except where they found some trouble
to serious for them to deal with alone, and he would then help them" (Lienhardt 1961,
175).
98
Additionally, the Dinka have a series of rules for respect (thek) (Lienhardt 1961,
125). If it were the case that the Powers were perceived as responsible for moral actions,
then no such set of rules would be necessary, since certainly the Powers are not bound by
ordinary human rules. Instead, children are raised with these rules in mind and strongly
forbidden to pursue certain actions, such as playing with the fruits of the tree with which
one's class is associated (Lienhardt 1961, 123). If it were the case that the Powers were
responsible for all moral action, then no such training would be necessary.
A final indication of agency should be mentioned. Lienhardt says that the job of a
diviner is to "...discover a reason for the action of the Power, in some human sin of
omission or commission, and to recommend a course of action. This reason may be
something the patient has half-forgotten—one of the many things which are, as we should
say, 'on his conscience', and which begin to become significant for him when he thinks
himself in danger" (Lienhardt 1961, 152-153). Once the diviner discovers the sin, then
the patient can make reparations. According to Lienhardt, "Confession, by which the
wrongful acts of the self are made present to it and to the community, is therefore often
part of the Dinka way of dealing with sickness" (Lienhardt 1961, 152-153). We see here
a process of self-reflection by individuals on their past actions. They believe that they are
being punished by a Power in the form of sickness for something that they did wrong.
That implies not only agency (that they did something) and moral responsibility (that the
something was wrong), but also a self (that there is a "they" that performed the action).
Heelas does recognize that the Dinka pursue indirect action through the Powers.
He points out that there are countless examples of sacrifices and rituals that are designed
to gain control, through the Powers, over the world they live in. He takes this as an
indication that, however it is conceptualized, man seems to be ".. .universally aware of
his consciousness, his memories...his emotions, and his experiences of acting on the
world, making decisions and so on" (Heelas 1981b, 48). According to him, these indirect
maneuverings help illustrate that "Total passivity or powerlessness runs contrary to the
human experience of being able to act in the world" (Heelas 1981b, 47). That certainly
seems to me to be true, but I think we need not look to the instances of projection and
displacement in order to show that the Dinka have a belief in their own agency. It is not
the case, as we have shown, that the Dinka pursue action and think of themselves as
having efficacy only through the Powers. Rather, there are times when control must be
attained through calling on the Powers and times when it may be pursued directly. The
result is that the idealist!passiones distinction does not reflect what Heelas means it to
reflect. It cannot reflect, if the Dinka are, as he indicates, the strongest example of a
passiones system, a distinction between the perception of agency and the perception of
non-agency. Heelas indicates that the perception of control in our culture is diametrically
opposed to that of the Dinka, but he also points out that we, too, refer to experiences as
beyond our control (Heelas 1981b, 40). We speak of something as being "God's will"
or say "it was our fate" or that we were "out of control". Yet, we still, quite clearly,
attribute agency to ourselves in our culture. I would suggest that, after close analysis,
100
that the Dinka are not much different from us in terms of their locus of control. As with
us, there are some actions that an individual perceives himself as controlling and some
that he does not. The Dinka differ not in their locus of control, but in how they describe
the things that they cannot control.
D. Conclusion
In this chapter, we have considered examples from roughly two different
groups—those that seem to have no concept of person and those that seem to have a
different concept of person than we do. Within the second category, we have seen
examples of groups whose concepts seem to differ from ours through exclusion of one or
more of the six characteristics that make up our concept of person. We have shown that
the major examples that seem most likely to indicate a lack of the concept of person or
the possession of a different concept of person than ours in fact do not provide those
things. We have shown that Buddhism contains a concept of person and that that concept
contains our six characteristics. We have shown that cultures that seem to fail to connect
one of the six characteristics of the CCP with their view of personhood involve those
characteristics in their concept and so share the CCP with us. In the next chapter, we will
look at candidates for differing views of the instantiation of the CCP.
IV. VIEWS OF THE INSTANTIATION OF PERSONHOOD
A. Introduction
In the last chapter, we looked at groups that seemed to either have no concept of
person or a very different concept than the CCP. In this chapter, we begin from the
starting point that other cultures share the CCP. But even if this is so, we cannot assume
that they regard it in the same way that we do. A culture may share our core concept of
personhood, but see that concept as differently instantiated or value the units of
instantiation differently than we do. In this chapter, we will be looking at evidence that
indicates the former, while in the next chapter we will round out our investigation into
anthropological data by looking at the latter.
Though there are many concepts of personhood at work in our and, presumably,
every culture, we have been examining a particular concept here—the CCP. In our
culture, we regard the CCP as being instantiated in a particular way. Though we can
imagine different types of entities (perhaps aliens or very advanced apes) possessing the
characteristics of the CCP, the type of unit that we primarily associate with an entity that
has these characteristics (rationality, moral agency, interpersonal relations, concern for
the future, emotions, and identification as locus of control) is the individual human body.
That is not to say that we don't see some or even all of the characteristics of the
CCP as present in any other units. For example, one might suggest that a corporation is a
person in the sense of the CCP. While it is true that, to some extent, units such as
101
102
corporations are seen in our culture as having many (and perhaps all) of the
characteristics of the CCP, we consider the human body to be the most basic unit of
personhood. By "most basic" I mean that it is in this unit that we first and most directly
identify the features of the CCP. We then extend our concept to other units, but the main
and most fundamental correlation with this concept of personhood is the human body.
In this chapter, we are not concerned with all the ways that other cultures perceive
concepts of personhood to be instantiated, but only the ways that the CCP is seen as
instantiated. We regard the CCP as something that is most basically instantiated in the
human body and we will, therefore, be looking at other cultures for differences in their
view of the most basic unit of CCP instantiation. Just as, in our culture, we regard some
or even all of the characteristics of the CCP as being instantiated in units other than the
human body (like, as we have mentioned, corporations), many other cultures do as well.
Consequently, a culture shouldn't be said to differ in their view of instantiation from ours
simply because they think that the characteristics of the CCP are present in, for example,
the unit of the group or an animal. What links our view of personhood especially to the
human body is the fact that we regard the human body as the first place where all the
characteristics of the CCP come together. For a culture to have a different view than
ours, they will have to regard all the characteristics of the CCP as coming together in
their most basic location in a unit other than the human body. Consequently, any culture
that either doesn't see the human body as a unit of personhood at all, sees it as a unit of
personhood but deriving its characteristics from another unit, or sees a unit other than the
103
human body as the most basic unit of personhood will count as a culture that differs from
ours in their view of instantiation.
There are five prominent views of the instantiation of personhood, other than our
own, that come out of the anthropological fieldwork. The first is a view that the group is
the unit of personhood, rather than the human individual. The second is the view that
persons are instantiated in units smaller than the human individual, specifically in organs
or parts of the human body. The third view holds that persons are located in multiple
bodies and several persons can be located in one body. On the fourth view, persons are
not necessarily regarded as instantiated in any unit. The final view locates personhood in
non-human entities such as animals, trees, and inanimate objects. We shall now examine
each of these views in turn to determine how these views relate to the CCP and to our
culture's view of the most basic unit of the instantiation of personhood.
B. Groups as the Units of Personhood
Many of us are familiar with claims that the group is the unit of personhood in
other cultures. Sometimes this claim is stated explicitly; sometimes it is implied by
references to the group rather than the individual as the unit of morality or some other
characteristic. If these sorts of claims are correct, then there are some cultures that see
personhood as either entirely or primarily instantiated in a collection of human bodies,
rather than in the individual human body. If, as we have argued, there is reason to think
that the CCP is held cross-culturally and if these claims of differences in the views of
104
instantiation are correct, we should expect that some cultures see the group as either the
most basic or only unit of rationality, moral agency, interpersonal relations, concern for
the future, emotion, and identification as locus of control. Either type of claim would
constitute a significant difference from our view of the instantiation of personhood.
While there don't appear to be any claims that any culture regards the group as the only
unit of personhood—at least in terms of the characteristics of the CCP—claims that there
are cultures that locate personhood most basically at the level of the group can be found
in observations Lucien Levy-Bruhl makes about "primitive" societies, Olwen Bedford's
and Kwang-Kuo Hwang's analysis of traditional Chinese culture, and Dorothy Lee's
work on the Wintu.
1. "Primitive" Cultures
Levy-Bruhl points out that in many "primitive" cultures it is customary to say "I
own this land" when one means that the tribe or clan he or she belongs to does. Often,
too, an individual will say about a certain location "I fought here" when he means that his
ancestors did (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 68-69, 85). Furthermore, he says that in these cultures,
if an individual is sick and cannot eat certain foods that will exacerbate his condition, his
relatives are not allowed to do so either, for fear that if they do, it will affect the patient's
health just as much as if he ate it. Also, if one's bone is broken, the bone from a dead
relative is scraped so that it may be applied as a dressing to fix the wound (Levy-Bruhl
1966, 87, 89). These examples seem to indicate that the individual is seen merely as a
function or element of the group, rather than as a separate unit and that personhood is
seen as instantiated at the group level.
Other examples that Levy-Bruhl cites are less general. They indicate that some
one characteristic of the CCP is seen as most basically located at the group, rather than
the individual, level. He cites "primitive" cultures as examples of cultures that locate
interpersonal relations primarily at this level. Citing another anthropologist, he says:
"...as Howitt so aptly puts it... 'the social unit is not the individual, but the group; and the
former merely takes the relationships of his group, which are of group to group.' The
individual does not form a part of a certain group because he has this or that tie of
relationship; on the contrary, he has this or that tie because he forms part of a certain
group" (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 77). This indicates that he thinks that human individuals are
seen in these cultures as deriving any possession of the characteristic of interpersonal
relations from the group to which they individual belong. To prove this point, Levy-
Bruhl cites many examples of social practices, which roughly fall into two categories:
examples regarding familial relations and examples regarding policies about revenge.
Children, he points out, are frequently raised by the entire clan, and names like
"father", "mother", "sister", and "brother" are used for all people of a certain generation,
not just one's direct relations (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 77-79, 81, 85). Marriages are arranged
by one's family, which indicates the importance of the group's wishes over those of the
individual. Often marriage is seen as an exchange and if one clan loses a girl to another
clan in marriage, the latter clan must then marry a girl into the former. Levy-Bruhl
106
asserts that in "primitive" cultures, individuals are seen as interchangeable and takes this
and other examples, such as the fact that if a woman's husband dies she is expected to
marry his brother, to illustrate his point. He maintains that "primitives" see members of a
family as one unit, so a wife must stay married to that unit. It does not matter which man
she is married to, since it is all the same. If a man sleeps with his brother's wife, they do
not see it as adultery, since "the two make but one person" and one cannot steal from
oneself (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 90-92, 99, 102).
In terms of the second category, he says that "primitives" see revenge as a
collective issue. If someone kills a member of another clan or tribe, the members of the
victimized group believe they have a right to kill a member of the clan or tribe to which
the killer belongs.
Upon analysis, however, there are significant problems with both the general and
the specific claims about particular characteristics of the CCP. With regard to the general
claims, we should note that communal ownership, by itself, is not a definitive indication
that "primitives" see personhood of any sort as primarily located in the group, let alone
the CCP. It indicates very clearly that the group plays a strong role in social relationships
and practices, but not that the individual does not play as strong a role or that social
relationships and practices are the only indicators of personhood. Individuality and
private property are often connected, but not always. In our culture, for example, many
priests, monks, and nuns live communally. However, they are not thought of as one
person for that reason. Indeed, the religious beliefs that encourage them to share their
107
possessions also emphasize individual reward and punishment for actions. Further, while
Levy-Bruhl's examples indicate that "primitives" think of most property as belonging to
the clan or tribe and not the individual, he himself recognizes that they see some property
as connected with the individual and distinctly his or hers. These items must be burned
with him or her upon death (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 121). If the group is seen as the most
basic unit of personhood, it is difficult to see why there would be any individual property
at all, especially property that is seen as so personal that it must be burned at the
individual's death. Additionally, he does not show any evidence that when talking about
an experience one individual had that he says "We had this experience" rather than "I had
this experience" in "primitive" cultures. If that occurred, it would provide much stronger
evidence that experience is seen as shared with the group because it would indicate that
the identification of locus of control was not placed at the individual level, whereas his
example merely shows strong attachment to the history of one's group.
The practices of scraping a dead relative's bone to heal broken bones and
avoiding food that a sick relative must avoid also do little to provide clear evidence that
the group is seen in these "primitive" cultures as the most basic unit of personhood. It is
very difficult to directly examine the extent to which his claims are true since Levy-Bruhl
lumps many cultures together and refers to them as "primitives" instead of naming them
individually. This makes it impossible to look at the other practices of the cultures he is
specifically talking about and investigate his claims. However, many anthropologists cite
the practices of scraping or keeping the bones of the dead and do not connect those
108
practices with the special status of the group. According to Roger Ivan Lohmann, these
practices indicate a belief that "death need not end relationships" (Lohmann 2005, 189).
The Asabano, for example, frequently keep skulls or bones of the important deceased in
their houses to give them power in battle, success in the hunt, and to ensure a good
harvest. Lohmann notes: "In honoring the remains of certain ancestors, Asabano seek to
maximize positive exchanges with them, and in this way the deceased remain part of
society" (Lohmann 2005, 192). One honors the bones of one's ancestors which keep
them socially alive and, in return, the deceased protect and help the living. According to
M. Lepowsky, though the bones of the deceased can be used for sorcery, they are "more
often used by the living to request different forms of aid from spirits of the dead, such as
success in gardening, hunting, fishing, love, exchange, or curing illness" (Lepowsky
1989, 204-205).
A slightly different case is discussed by author Amy Tan in her fictional work,
The Joy Luck Club. She tells of a similar practice that existed in traditional Chinese
culture, but which involved the living, rather than the dead. Tan tells of a dying woman
whose daughter cooks soup to try to cure her of her illness. The daughter takes a knife
and cuts a piece of flesh from her arm to add to the soup. Tan's narrator, the daughter of
the woman who cuts her arm, says, "My mother took her flesh and put it in the soup. She
cooked magic in the ancient tradition to try to cure her mother this one last time...Even
though I was young, I could see the pain of the flesh and the worth of the pain. This is
how a daughter honors her mother. It is shou [respect for family and ancestors] so deep it
109
is in your bones" (Tan 1989, 41). In this case, the sharing of flesh is meant to honor the
dying and the hope is that honor will be so great that it will work magic and cure the
illness. There is no evidence, however, that either the daughter or the dying woman see
the practice as adding the same flesh to the body that it already has and, consequently,
regenerating it much like a skin graft, which is what we should expect to see by way of
explanation if this practice reflects the view that the family is the most basic unit of
personhood.
Though it is impossible to tell for sure since Levy-Bruhl does not specify who the
"primitives" are that he is talking about, the practice of using bones to request help from
the dead in some cultures shows that it is certainly possible that those who scrape the
bones of the dead and apply it to their own broken bones are summoning their aid in
recovery, rather than indicating that personhood is seen most basically at the group level
or that members of the family are seen as being so connected that the bone of one can
rebuild the bone of another. We know that in some cultures very similar acts are
performed with the hope that the dead will help cure illness. The practice Levy-Bruhl
refers to may be very closely related. At any rate, the strong possibility that this is the
case casts serious doubt on the practice of bone scraping as evidence for the group as the
most basic unit of personhood.
The family food taboo case is a stronger possibility. Again, it is difficult to tell
what those that practice it take it to mean since we cannot look at their other practices,
because we are not able to identify who they are. Clearly it indicates a very strong
110
connection between members of a family—a much stronger bond than we see in our
culture. But it is not clear that that type of bond entails anything about the unit of
instantiation of personhood in those cultures. Even if what is consumed by one member
of the family is thought to affect another member, that does not mean that the most basic
location of the characteristics of the CCP is thought to be the group level. It seems, at
best, to indicate the instantiation at the group level of some other concept of personhood,
perhaps to do with sprits and essences, but not ours because it does not seem to have any
connection to the traits of the CCP.
There are reasons, then, to doubt that the examples that Levy-Bruhl gives show
that "primitive" cultures see the group as the most basic unit of personhood.
Furthermore, the facts that individuals do refer to themselves separately from the group,
own things personally, and individually contract and suffer illnesses indicate that the
individual is also seen in these cultures as the most basic unit of personhood.
As we have seen, Levy-Bruhl also makes observations about a particular
characteristic of the CCP—interpersonal relations—which might entail that the group is
seen as the most basic unit of personhood. Each of his examples is problematic for its
own reasons, but there is also an underlying common problem to them both. We will first
look at their individual difficulties and then at them taken together.
Beginning with the examples of familial relations, while it is common to refer to
many members of the same generation by the names we take to generally refer to one
particular individual, when asked, individuals in these cultures will name a particular
Ill
individual as his or her mother or father. Further, in many of these cultures, there is a
word for "mother" that is not shared with other women of the same generation and is
reserved only for the one that gave birth to that individual (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 78-79, 85).
It is also important to point out that Levy-Bruhl mentions distinctions made within the
clan or tribe (namely between those in one generation and those in another). If the group
was considered most basic, it seems unlikely that its members would make distinctions
within it in exactly this way. We will return to that point again.
The marriage examples are also problematic. First, marriage is seen in many
cultures as a practical endeavor. Women, though often considered without much value in
and of themselves, are necessary to produce children. The loss of a woman in one tribe
or clan reduces the number of children that group can produce. It makes very good
practical sense that if a woman from Tribe A marries into Tribe B, Tribe B must marry
one of its members into Tribe A to balance the number of women. It does not necessarily
indicate anything about individuals being interchangeable.
Second, though families frequently decide who marries whom, the individual has
a great deal of input on the matter in many cases and a man is able in most cases to
choose his other wives, if not the first one (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 95-96, 99).
Third, marriage practices might tell us less about the most basic unit of
interpersonal relations than they do about the treatment of women. If women are
transferred from one brother to the next, that might indicate less that the brothers see
themselves as the same person and more that women are seen as property and that this
112
kind of property is shared within a family.1 There could be many practical reasons for
this practice, among which might be the guarantee that the offspring of the woman stay
within the family and are therefore guaranteed to contribute to it in the future. Though
there is no firm evidence in Levy-Bruhl's works that this is the case, it is as likely as his
explanation that brothers are seen as the same person. If this is, in fact, their view, it
might well indicate that they do not value all persons equally or in the same way we do,
but it would not indicate that they do not see them as instantiated in the same way.
Finally, the very fact that marriage is a recognized institution in these cultures
indicates interpersonal relationships on the individual level. If "primitives" truly regard
all individuals as interchangeable and conceive of them only under the rubric of the
group, then we should not expect to find unions among their members. Instead we
should expect to find mating to be informal and temporary. Marriage carves out a
relationship between people—it confirms special ties among members of the group. It
distinguishes those involved from all others. Sometimes the relationship, as in
polygamous societies, involves more than two people, and sometimes the special ties are
practical rather than romantic, but the fact remains that some individuals become linked
to each other in this institution in a way that they are not linked with others in the
community and that this link is regarded as serious, permanent (in most cases), and
involving both obligations and rights that are particular to the individuals involved. Even
1If there was evidence that all property was shared, we might have reasons for thinking that there is a
marked lack of individuality in a culture, since ownership practices are often related to views of
individuality. However, as we have seen, there is private property in these cultures. The fact that some
property is shared does not mean that there is no individuality in the culture.
113
if the union is seen by its members as serving the larger community, the fact remains that
carving out specifically recognized legal relationships between individuals links them
together in a special way, a way not shared with other members of the group.
There are difficulties, too, with Levy-Bruhl's use of policies of revenge as
evidence of his view. He often speaks as though revenge is indiscriminate, but in other
places mentions that in these cultures it is important to try to find the particular individual
who did the killing and to kill him. Only if he cannot be found should another member of
that clan be killed in his stead (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 104-105).
Also, though a man is not prosecuted for killing his brother, he is prosecuted for
killing another, more distantly related member of his clan. Certainly we, who do not
regard individuals as interchangeable, understand the idea of vengeance upon the family
of the murderer of one's family member, particularly if the killer cannot be found. It is
not a question of interchangeability, but a question of causing equivalent pain to the
group and individual. And, while we regard the killing of one's brother as prosecutable,
not doing so does make sense when we consider the types of cultures with which we are
dealing. Each person contributes to the success of the family in agrarian or hunting
cultures. One fewer person is one fewer hunter or farmer, and since many of these
cultures live in scarcity, one fewer hunter or farmer is detrimental. If one's brother was
to be prosecuted, two hunters or farmers would be lost to the family. And since the
murder of a more distant family member is prosecuted, we see that, in this case, as well,
there are distinctions made within the group.
114
We should note an important point about these examples. Levy-Bruhl takes them
to indicate that these cultures, unlike ours, see the group as the most basic unit of
interpersonal relations. The examples that he gives to illustrate his point, however, are
ones that reflect in-group distinctions between married individuals and the family,
families and the clan, and close relations and families. Which group, then, is the most
basic unit for interpersonal relations? If divisions are made, as these examples clearly
show, on all of these levels, it is perfectly reasonable to think they might be made at the
smallest unit of distinction: between two individuals. If that is the case (and certainly the
institution of marriage, the practice seeking revenge on one particular individual
whenever possible, and the presence of specific names for certain relations seem to all
indicate that it is) then it is very unlikely that the group is the only unit of interpersonal
relationships and we have reasons to think that the individual is also considered a unit
bearing this characteristic. While there may well be relationships between groups and
groups may be regarded as persons (on some concepts of personhood), what we see here
is that there are interpersonal relations between individual human beings in these
cultures.
Further, the examples that we have given of interpersonal relations between
individuals are ones where individual relationships are not merely extensions of the group
relationships, but rather are individual relationships originating at the individual level.
The fact that such relationships exist prove that the group cannot possibly be the most
basic location of interpersonal relations. If it were, individuals would derive their
115
relationships from the group and only from the group. However, these examples show
that individuals have relationships with one another that are quite separate from the rest
of the group. What these cases tell us is that the group is not the only level of
interpersonal relationships, the individual level is a level of interpersonal relations, and
the group is not the most basic level of interpersonal relations. We have, then very good
reasons to think that the individual is the most basic level of interpersonal relations in
these cultures.
2. Traditional Chinese Culture
Perhaps a case for the primacy of the group is better evidenced in traditional
Chinese culture. According to Olwen Bedford and Kwang-Kuo Hwang, in Chinese
culture "[f]amily is conceptualized as the 'great self {da wo), and the boundaries of the
self are flexible enough to include family members and significant others." The esteem
with which one is held is directly tied to the esteem with which the group that one
belongs to is held. Since this is so, "if the status as a member is lost, status as a person is
also lost" (Bedford and Hwang 2003, 130). In other words, one's standing in society is
tied not to one's own deeds, but (either entirely or in large part) to the deeds and
reputation of the entire family. Hence, when an individual does something bad, it is not
the individual only who experiences guilt, but the whole family that is shamed by this
action. As Bedford and Hwang note, "Because the boundaries of personality extend
beyond the individual, it is difficult to confer objective guilt on a single person when the
116
identity of the individual is not contained within that person but in the person's
relationships." If one brings shame upon his or her group, one risks expulsion from it
(Bedford and Hwang 2003, 134). Without a group identity, someone would have no
identity at all because it is her social identity that determines the rules of conduct that she
operates under, her position in society, who she may talk to, what occupation she may
have, etc. Without belonging to a group, she has no reference for behavior and,
consequently, in a very real sense, no identity.
Clearly the group plays an important role in traditional Chinese culture, but what
do these claims amount to? What could it mean to say that someone loses personhood or
her identity if expelled from the group? Even if she is expelled, she doesn't die.
Presumably, she is still able to communicate and think and have emotions and take
action. Consequently, the loss of personhood or identity of which they speak cannot be
the loss of personhood or the perceived loss of personhood in the sense of the CCP.
Rather, it seems that when Bedford and Hwang talk of loss of personhood and loss of
identity, they speak of loss of social identity—of being outside the walls of society. In
traditional Chinese culture, the family that one belongs to is more than accidental or
incidental to whom someone is. She thinks of herself within the rubric of that group.
Her place within the social hierarchy is determined by her family. The social slot
indicates what jobs she might hold, how to address others, and what ancestors protect her.
Without these things, she does not cease to exist—she does not die or stop functioning—
117
but she cannot exist in that social world—she becomes an outcast. This is no small thing.
Her identity is seriously compromised without these things.
In some cultures, there are factors which affect the characteristics of the CCP that
don't exist in others. In both our culture and the Chinese culture, interpersonal relations
and moral agency are important. However, in our culture, they are not dictated to any
significant extent by our family or clan identification. If a member of our culture gets
expelled from his family, he has the ability to move somewhere else, make new friends,
and establish new relationships. We don't need our family or clan identifications to do
these things and we regard ourselves as alone responsible for our actions. That is not the
case in all cultures and traditional Chinese culture provides an example where clan and
family identification plays a very important role in interpersonal relations and moral
agency. However, the question is whether or not that fact gives us reason to think that
the CCP is regarded as most basically instantiated at the group level in that culture.
There are some strong reasons to think that, though the group is regarded as
having some, if not all, of the traits of the CCP, it derives them from the possession of
these characteristics by the individuals that compose it. For example, when an individual
commits a crime, he brings shame upon the entire family and often the members of the
family are punished for the crime, as well as the individual. However, the severity of the
punishment is correlated to the degree of relationship to the individual, which indicates
that the group is not regarded as a single, indivisible moral unit.
118
Further, there are personal obligations that an individual must fulfill that are not
fulfilled by his family (Bedford and Hwang 2003, 134-135). One example that illustrates
this is the common practice of debt repayment which led to many Chinese peasants
signing contracts with the American railroads in the late 1800s. In traditional Chinese
practice, debts must be paid by the beginning of every New Year. If an individual did not
repay his debts at that time, he was shamed, as was his entire family. As a result, the
family of the individual would pay the debt, but then the individual was obligated to pay
the family or else to bring shame upon it. In order to repay their family, individuals
often took money as advance payment for a contract building railroads in California. It
was the individual who had accrued the debt who worked as contract labor to the
railroads, however, not the entire family or the strongest member, though the shame of
the debt would have visited upon them all (Steinbeck 2002, 353). So, while an
individual's moral agency does directly affect the family in traditional Chinese culture, it
is a mistake to think that this implies that the individual is not seen as a moral agent, as
well, or even that the individual derives its agency from the group instead of vice versa.
While the group is clearly important in traditional Chinese society for the formation of
identity, we should not infer from that that the group is the most basic unit of the CCP.
3. The Wintii
The Native American tribe of the Wintu provides the third candidate. The
anthropologist Dorothy Lee is the primary source of information about this culture. Lee
119
considers the Wintu remarkable due to features of their language that she takes to signify
a lack of self-other boundaries.2 Whether Lee thinks that the Wintu saw themselves as
lacking any of the particular characteristics we have listed or not is difficult to ascertain,
but her work reflects a view that the Wintu did not regularly distinguish the individual
from the group in any respect at all. As she says, "With the Wintu, the self has no strict
bounds, it is not named and is not, I believe, recognized as a separate entity" (Lee 1959a,
131-132). She also describes what she takes to be the Wintu view of the self by asserting
that".. .the Wintu conceive of the self not as strictly delimited or defined, but as a
concentration, at most, which gradually fades and gives place to the other" (Lee 1959a,
134).
Lee supports her view with linguistic evidence. She claims that the Wintu most
often referred to things as universals, not particulars. Particulars were sometimes referred
to, but were, according to Lee, distinguished metaphysically from the universal only as
the speaker mentioned them and ceased to be separate after the speech-act ended. Lee
says: "The particular then exists, not in nature, but in the consciousness of the speaker.
What to us is a class, a plurality of particulars, is to him a mass or a quality or an
attribute" (Lee 1959b, 123). Though she notes that the Wintu always particularized
certain nouns, such as those that refer to living people and animals, she goes on to note
that the general tendency to see the particular as one with a whole extended to the Wintu
view of people. The Wintu, she says, did not see society as composed of individuals, but
2The Wintu are referred to here in the past tense since the tribe no longer exists. Its members have died out
or been assimilated into other cultures and so all sources for their beliefs and practices are historical.
rather saw individuals as delineated from the mass of society in a transient and
impermanent way (Lee 1959b, 122, 128). They did, on occasion, distinguish the self
from others, but saw it, generally speaking, as part of the whole. Just as they might speak
of a particular deer on occasion as separate from Deer-kind, so too, they might speak of
an individual or speak of themselves on occasion, but generally considered both as part of
humankind, not separately.
Lee's observations, as she readily admits, are gathered from a study, not of actual
behavior, but of recorded material, mostly of a linguistic nature. She draws her
judgments about their views of self and individuality from a language that seems to lack a
specific word for self and also that makes reference to activities that involve the self, but
where those same roots frequently involve others. In Wintu, for example, instead of
saying "My mother is ill", one stated something like "mother ail-I", where the one
individual was not described separately from the other.
There are a number of difficulties with the generalizations that Lee draws. First,
it is questionable how reliable observations about a culture whose practices cannot be
witnessed are. Language is often a reliable tool to understanding a group's mentality, but
sometimes languages are impoverished and sometimes misleading. Actual practices are
far more reliable guides and we lack them in the case of the Wintu. Second, Lee makes
clear that the Wintu did distinguish individuals from the group, grammatically and in
other ways. Her main contention is that they did not think of the distinction as
permanent. But in our own language, we often speak of universals, as well. That fact
121
does not indicate that we don't recognize particulars as existing. We, for example, talk
about mankind, but we also distinguish and talk about individual men. It is unclear how
many or what sort of references would be needed to distinguish these two phenomena.
Finally, and most significantly, though we do not have recourse to the practices of the
Wintu, we do have some of their myths, which indicate recognition of the particular
individuals apart from the group.
The subjects of these myths are frequently the lone acts of particular people. In
more than one, the individual leaves his family member (usually a grandmother) and goes
out into the world on his own. One myth tells of two brothers who go on a journey, one
who does certain things (swim, have a dream, eat) while the other does not. Another
discusses a mother who rejects her children and, later in life, they kill her. There also
survive Wintu prayers in which supplication is asked of the Supreme Being. Many of
these are of a decidedly individual character: "I am getting along as well as I can. I am in
good health. I am going to get something to eat. You had better look down on me"
(DuBois and Demetracopoulou 1965, 73, 285, 292, 297, 306). All of these written
records seem to indicate that the Wintu did conceive of individuals as separate entities
capable of action, since personal pronouns are used, contrary to Lee's assertion that their
language doesn't carve out an individual from the group. And, given that the status
described is particularly individual, rather than that of an entire group (being in good
health, getting something to eat, going swimming, dreaming), it seems quite likely that
122
these myths and prayers also provide indications of the recognition of individuality
among the Wintu.
Though these three cases—Levy-Bruhl's "primitives", traditional Chinese culture,
and the Wintu—all provide examples of cultures where the group plays a very significant
role in an individual's life, they do not provide clear counterexamples to our view of how
the CCP is seen as instantiated. Whether the claims are very general ones about how
these cultures see personhood or specific ones about certain of the characteristics of the
CCP, they amount at best to proof that some concepts of personhood are seen differently
in other cultures and that some or all of the characteristics of the CCP are seen as present
at the group level. They do not, however, give us reason to think that the CCP is seen by
any of these cultures as being most basically located there and we have seen that they
give us good reason for thinking that these cultures also locate it most basically at the
level of the individual human body.
C. Body Parts as the Units of Personhood
In addition to claims that some cultures view personhood as most basically
instantiated in units larger than the individual human body, we must also consider claims
that some cultures view it as most basically instantiated in units smaller than the
individual human body. That is, some cultures appear to think that certain organs or
body parts are units of personhood in themselves, rather than sharing our view that the
entire body comprises the unit of personhood. For example, Levy-Bruhl states that in
"primitive" cultures, the body is seen as a unit of consciousness, but consciousness is also
thought to be present in other things, such as cut hair or bodily fluids (Levy-Bruhl 1966,
114-117). Since consciousness is closely connected with rationality and identification as
a locus of control, as well as necessary for morality, concern for the future and perhaps
also, though less clearly, interpersonal relations and emotions, it seems that any culture
that locates consciousness in a bodily component could be argued to be a culture that
views the CCP as instantiated in such a unit. Though we don't generally share this view,
we do sometimes see personhood as being instantiated on different levels than the human
body. However, when that is so, it is because those units derive their personhood from
the individual body. In Levy-Bruhl's examples, however, personhood does not appear to
be seen as most basically located in the individual human body, but, rather, in some
smaller unit from which the personhood of the human body is derived.
In addition to Levy-Bruhl's "primitives", the Maori also seem to have presented
an example of a culture that located personhood most basically in bodily components.
According to Jean Smith, the Maori dissociated experience from the self and located it,
instead, in bodily organs (Smith 1981, 157). This seems to imply that it was the
individual organs and not the larger unit that we generally take to contain them which
were the units of personhood for the Maori, since having experiences is necessary for
124
agency of any kind, and agency is necessary for many of the characteristics connected
with the CCP.3
In a final example, K.E. Read notes that the Gahuka-Gama go into mourning
when one of their relatives or age-mates cuts his or her hair, and sacrifice is needed to
rectify the loss. Further, it is thought among them that the "loss of any of the bodily
substances through excretion is, in a rather obscure sense, the loss of something which is
an essential part or element of the whole, a loss to the personality itself' (Read 1967, 207,
209). This, too, seems a likely candidate for a culture that views body parts as the most
basic units of personhood.
1. The Ba-kaonde
Levy-Bruhl says of the Ba-kaonde tribe that "in the minds of these natives, a
complete collection of certain appurtenances is the equivalent of the individual itself. It
may be substituted for him, even in particularly serious circumstances." He concludes
that in some cases, "the 'appurtenances' are regarded as the individual's double, and this
double is the individual and can take his place" (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 127). He draws this
conclusion from the fact that in this tribe, babies that cut their upper incisors before their
lower ones must be drowned because they are considered bad luck. According to Levy-
Bruhl, "The interest of the social group demands that the lutala [child who has cut his
3The Maori are referred to here in the past tense because they are a culture that is no longer in existence.
Though some descendents of the Maori remain, they have been almost entirely absorbed into other cultures.
125
upper incisors before his lower ones] which is the bringer of ill-luck should be made
incapable of doing harm, that is, that he should disappear. His mere presence in the midst
of the group would be a continual menace to the life of its members. As a rule, they do
not hesitate to sacrifice him. His mother dares not try to save him" (Levy-Bruhl 1966,
125).
Occasionally, however, a family can get around this rule by collecting teeth, nails,
and hair from the baby and putting them in a bundle, which they then drop in the water
(Levy-Bruhl 1966, 125). According to Levy-Bruhl, they are able to do so because they
. regard these parts, taken together, as the same as the baby. This implies that the body is
not perceived as the only or even the most basic unit of personhood, but that personhood
is seen as contained in the collection of certain bodily components which can be
separated from the body. That indicates that the body parts are seen as the most basic
units of personhood and the human body is seen as deriving its personhood from the
body's parts.
However, the conclusion he draws from this practice among the Ba-kaonde seems
wrong. If it were truly the case that these collections of parts were seen as equivalent to
the babies from which they come, why should this practice be only occasionally allowed?
If these two things are seen truly as equivalent, it stands to reason that either bundles of
appurtenances would regularly be drowned instead of babies or they would be carried
around and treated like babies. If, in the first case, the baby was equivalent to a
collection of removable parts, why wouldn't a family be just as inclined to drowned the
126
human body and keep the bundle of hair, teeth, and nails? If they are truly seen as
equivalent to the person, as Levy-Bruhl states, it seems that nothing would be lost to the
parents by doing so—they would still have their child—and many things would be
gained. They would then have a child that presents far fewer difficulties in terms of
protection and nutrition than a conventional child would. But in cases where the child is
drown, the appurtenances are not carried around or regarded as being the child.
In the second case, Levy-Bruhl himself insists that drowning the collections of
appurtenances is uncommon, though he gives no explanation for why exceptions are ever
made to the rule. But if there are practical advantages (not to mention emotional ones) to
keeping a baby over a bundle and if the two are regarded as identical, it is likely that this
practice would be very common. A child can better contribute to the food stores of the
family and take care of her parents in old age than a collection of bones and fingernail
parings can.
Levy-Bruhl's description of these events and the interpretation he gives them
appears, in the end, to hinge on the solitary nature of the act. He emphasizes that when
the exception is made the mother goes alone to the water and drops the bundle, saying
"Here is the lutala." Because she is alone he concludes that she is not "a pious fraud"
and that she is "not trying to deceive anyone" (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 125). One might just as
easily conclude, however, that she is trying to deceive fate or luck or the gods or spirits
that cause these things. That hypothesis does not contradict the behavior of the Ba-
127
kaonde mothers and also avoids the rather strange implications that Levy-Bruhl's view
runs into.
Levy-Bruhl takes his information about the Ba-kaonde from Frank H. Melland's
research. Melland explains that it is rare that infants are killed because it is rare that they
cut their incisors in the wrong order. When they do, however, their parents are generally
not given the option that Levy-Bruhl describes. He, too, forgoes describing why this
might be, but it seems to have something to do with the fact that such horrible things are
thought to occur if the child is allowed to live that no chance can be taken. He says,
"With a lutala child it is believed that every time one of the milk teeth comes out a
person dies. Similarly if a nail comes off someone dies. If a woman allowed her lutala
child to live, hiding the irregularity, she would be constructively guilty of the murder of
many people, a risk she dare not attempt to take" (Meland 1923, 50). Whatever the
reason for the lack of exceptions to the drowning rule, it should be noted that Melland
also describes other situations of child infanticide, such as children who do not walk on
time (it is thought they are waiting for all of their relatives to die before doing so) and
children born to girls before their first menstruations. If humans were truly seen as
equivalent to bundles of parts, it seems likely that these there would be similar ways to
get around the killing of the child. However, Melland makes clear that this is not so
(Melland 1923, 51). Given these cases, in addition to the other points we have
mentioned, it seems clear that we cannot conclude from the practice of occasionally
128
substituting a bundle of appurtenances for a child that the Ba-kaonde regard humans and
their parts as equivalent.
2. The Maori
The Maori, however, might prove to be stronger candidate. The Maori, according
to Smith, regarded the world and experience as "fickle" and disassociated experience
from the self as a way to cope with its fickleness. Smith says, "The Maori were very
conscious of the fickleness of courage, memory, love, fortune; if these and other such
experiences had been seen to be integral to the self, the self would have been felt to be in
a constant state of flux. By locating his experience in his organs a man distanced himself
from the variability of his experience." Locating experience in the organs also had the
effect, she says, of shifting moral responsibility from the self to the organs where they
could be more easily manipulated by rituals. The result of this view, according to Smith
is that "If the self in the Western view can be seen as the driver of the car, then in the
Maori view it must be seen as the passenger in its body—the body consisting of
numerous parts which, if they are kept oiled and serviced through correct ritual
observance, should run smoothly under their own power and in their own predestined
way." For the Maori, the self was not an entity that controlled and organized
experiences, but rather experience "encompassed the 'self". The Maori viewed organs
as "reacting to external stimuli independently of the 'self." Experiences then happened
129
in someone, not to or of someone—"A Maori individual was not so much the experiencer
of his experience as the observer of it" (Smith 1981, 152,157-158).
If this were the case, if the individual organs were seen by the Maori as the most
basic or only units of moral responsibility, control, and emotion, we might wonder about
their instantiation of the CCP. It is unclear whether or not the Maori saw the organs as
units that had relationships with other organs or larger units, or whether they were seen as
individual seats of rationality or concern for the future. In any case, if it is correct that
they saw the characteristics that Smith mentioned as most basically instantiated in the
bodily organs, then while they have some kind of similar concept of person to our core
concept—they recognize all the characteristics as being linked in an important way—they
do not regard them as instantiated in the same way we do.
Though there are many practical and logistical reasons for doubting that the Maori
saw moral responsibility as most basically located in bodily organs, the best reason is that
their view of ethics clearly indicates that they placed moral responsibility most basically
at the unit of the human individual. According to Roy W. Perrett and John Patterson, the
ideal in Maori ethics is not a "principle of action.. .but a particular type of person: namely
the rangatira, the nobleman or chief' (Perrett and Patterson 1991, 189). Perrett and
Patterson liken the Maori system to Aristotelian virtue ethics, but note that what is
entailed by the ideal differs between the two systems. The rangatira is seen as having all
of the following traits: "accomplishment in fighting; possessing the gift of victory (maia);
having a firm and fearless mind; being contemptuous of death; being magnanimous;
130
'living the life of the whole tribe'; having a degree of reliability of honor that enables one
to stand security for promises and agreements; diligence and skill in obtaining food;
liberality; being of few words; knowing how to manaaki (love and honor) people;
kindness; a certain reserve; being weighty in speech; being supple and steady in
movement and dance" (Perrett and Patterson 1991, 191).
These traits add up to what Perrett and Patterson refer to as "an extraordinarily
endowed psychophysical whole" (Perrett and Patterson 1991, 191). The ethical ideal for
the Maori is an entity that must have an individual human body. This list of
characteristics could not possibly be considered the ethical ideal if moral agency was
seen by them as most basically located in individual bodily organs. If that were the case,
the ideal would describe the proper state for each organ rather than bypassing this
discussion entirely for a focus on a larger entity.
Additionally, practices involving illness indicate that the human individual and
not the bodily components were considered the most basic unit of moral agency. When
an individual was sick, a priest would question her to find out what offense she
committed so that he might exorcize the offending spirit and cure the patient (Metge
1967, 27). This practice indicates that some unit was considered responsible for actions.
If this unit was an organ, the practice would have been described as one in which the
individual was asked what offense her organs had committed, rather than asked what
offense she had committed.
131
Finally, we should not expect individuals to be rewarded or punished for crimes if
moral responsibility lay in bodily organs. After all, if they are the agents, what could the
larger body possibly do to control them? But the Maori did have a system of social
control involving decisions by the chiefs, public opinion, religious sanctions, and
institutionalized legal plunder as retribution (Metge 1967, 26). It appears, then, that if the
organs were seen as involved in any way in moral agency, they were seen as playing a
secondary role to the most basic unit of moral agency—the individual human body.
Since one must be an agent to be a moral agent, many of the comments we have
made about how the Maori viewed the unit of moral agency apply also to how they
viewed the unit of control. We find, also, hints of individual agency even in Smith's own
writing. Rather than deny a concept of 'self amongst the Maori, Smith frequently refers
to this term, describing it in such a way that it is clear that she regards it as instantiated in
an entire body, even though she claims this is not the unit of control. If we recall a
passage quoted earlier, we find Smith saying: "If the self in the Western view can be seen
as the driver of a car, then in the Maori view if must be seen as the passenger in its
body—the body consisting of numerous parts which, if they are kept oiled and serviced
through correct ritual observance, should run smoothly under their own power and in
their own predestined way" (Smith 1981, 158). But this description implies an oiler and
a servicer—something which must take action (perform the necessary rituals) in order to
ensure the proper working of the other parts. Even on her own description, then, it seems
that the individual human body is the most basic unit of control. The difference does not
132
seem to be in terms of the instantiation of personhood, but in terms of an individual's
feelings about and obligations to her body.
Viewing emotions as most basically located in bodily organs seems a bit less
strange than viewing agency and moral responsibility as most basically located in them.
We can imagine viewing the spleen as the location of anger or the heart the location of
love, etc. If we had no surgery, as they did not, we might mean this more than
metaphorically. But does that mean that the self has no emotions? As Smith notes, there
is one emotion that is not regarded as located in an organ and for which one could not
avoid moral responsibility (by disassociation)—shame (Smith 1981, 156). Also, it seems
that the self Smith refers to, which, as we have mentioned, she clearly envisions as
instantiated in an entire body, must, if our previous points are correct, have emotions in
the sense that it must be responsible for the proper functioning of the individual organs,
so even if emotions are located in the organs, they are still of the body and can be
controlled by it.
3. The Gahiiku-Gama
The Gahuka-Gama is our final candidate and though they obviously think body
parts (specifically hair and bodily fluids) are important to whom one is, it does not follow
that they think these things are persons themselves (let alone that the individual derives
whatever personhood it has from them). They do mourn when someone cuts his hair, but
they do not seem to think that that person is now dead just because the hair has been
133
separated from the rest of the body or that the hair is now the person. In fact, family
members sometimes respond by cutting off a finger, which would be some sort of suicide
if they really believed that these parts are themselves persons. Rather, they seem to think
that one 's self has been diminished in some way. Since the acts of the individual affect
the entire family, the person who cuts his hair is required to 'make their [the family's]
skin good' by "killing at least one pig and giving them valuables" (Read 1967, 209). As
Read says, they regard each individual as a "psycho-physical whole" in which one's
identity is tied not only to his psychological properties, but also his physical ones. Each
body part is a member of the body and so is seen as contributing to the nature of that self.
The loss of any of these diminishes the self, in their eyes (Read 1967, 209, 212). Rather
than indicating a belief in instantiation in body parts or organs, the Gahuka-Gama's views
more clearly indicate a very rigorous belief that the entire body is tied to personhood.
D. Bi-presence and Multiple Souls: The Eskimo or Inuit
There are indications that in some cultures a person is seen as instantiated in two
or more bodies as well as indications that a body is seen as housing more than one
person. This view of instantiation differs from the type we treated in our section on group
instantiation. Here, individual bodies are relevant units for personhood, but more than
one contains the person. That is, the person is thought to be present in more than one
body at the same time, as opposed to the view that personhood is primarily affiliated with
a collection of individual bodies. Interestingly enough, the primary sources of cultures
134
that view one body as containing multiple persons and cultures that view one person as
divided among many bodies—the works of Lucien Levy-Bruhl—imply that often both of
these situations transpire at the same time.
Levy-Bruhl states that in some Eskimo (or Inuit) tribes, the soul of an ancestor
goes into the body of a baby and helps her out until her soul develops enough to take over
for itself. For this reason, children are often referred to as "Mother" or "Aunt" or another
title of that type, based on whose soul is helping out. The Inuit, then, seem to think that
two souls are present in the same body. Each child is thought to receive the soul of the
most recently deceased, but there sometimes arise situations in which several children are
born between deaths. In these instances, each child receives the soul of the most recently
deceased. In other words, the soul of the most recently deceased comes to dwell in
several bodies. If there are several deaths between births, all those souls enter the
newborn's body (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 322, 324-325).
Levy-Bruhl admits that these "souls" aren't referred to as "souls" but as "names".
Still, he thinks it comes to the same thing. If, as we sometimes think, souls and persons
are one and the same, then these cases present instances of a culture that views
personhood as instantiated in more than one body or split between bodies (which Levy-
Bruhl calls "bi-presence"). The view in our culture is that the characteristics of the CCP
all come together most basically in the unit of the individual human body and that any
other unit that we see as having all those characteristics has them only as a function of
their relation to the individual human body. Thus, a view of personhood in which
personhood is thought to be instantiated in more than one person or where one body is
thought to house many persons is a very different view than ours because in these
scenarios it seems personhood is not thought of as most basically linked to an individual
human body, but only sometimes corresponding with one. However, a close examination
of the Inuit view of soul indicates that we should not conclude with Levy-Bruhl that the
Inuit think that several persons dwell in one body or that one person is divided among
several bodies, so we ultimately have no reason to think claims of this type indicate a
different view of the instantiation of personhood than ours.
In Chapter Three, we examined the Inuit view of the soul in order to shed light on
whether or not they distinguish particulars from universals. Much of what was said then
is also helpful to the current question of whether or not the Inuit conceive of one person
as located in many bodies or of one body as containing many persons. As we said,
Daniel Merkur distinguishes two types of souls in Inuit metaphysics. The first is the
breath-soul, which gives the body life and warmth and also "imparts consciousness, will,
and reason" (Merkur 1983, 24). The second type of soul is called the free-soul. The free-
soul is that which is thought to be able to leave the body in sleep, illnesses, and trances
without causing any harm to the body. It is thought to give each creature its shape and
personality and, in human beings, individuality (Merkur 1983, 20).
The loss of the breath-soul is what is thought by the Inuit to cause death. After
the breath-soul separates from the body, it does not itself die, but instead becomes a
name-soul—a guardian of the younger generation (Merkur 1991, 20). Each baby is
136
thought to be born without a "mind", that is, without experience, wisdom, or strength. In
a special ceremony, a newborn child is named after a deceased person. The name-soul of
the deceased person (or persons) is then invoked to become the guardian of the child.
The name-soul of a deceased person helps the mind of the infant to develop. After
puberty, it is thought that the mind is developed enough to no longer need the aid of the
name-soul that has previously helped it. The breath-soul of the child is, at that time,
regarded as mature enough to be on its own and when that person dies, he or she will be
capable of becoming the name-soul for the next generation (Merkur 1991, 9, 20).
Though Western thought has tended to associate one person with one soul, it
would be a mistake to assume the same holds for the Inuit belief system. The Inuit have
concepts of two different kinds of souls, which perform two very different functions. As
they describe it, we can see that the breath-soul would be the domain of some of the traits
of the CCP, while the free-soul would be the source of others. For example, the breath-
soul is thought to be the source of reason and strength, so it seems likely that, if asked,
the Inuit would regard the traits of reason, locus of control, and perhaps morality, as
stemming from the breath-soul. However, since it is the free-soul that gives one
individuality and personality, it seems likely that the free-soul would be the source of
interpersonal relations, emotions, and concern for the future. In other words, the
descriptions of each type of soul lead to the conclusion that both souls are required to
compose the CCP. The one soul, one person rule of Western culture is not in play among
the Inuit.
137
Since there is very strong reason to think that the Inuit see each person as
composed of two types of souls, there is no reason to conclude that the Inuit regard many
persons as dwelling in one body or many bodies as containing one person. This
conclusion would directly follow if there was a direct correlation between one soul and
one person, since they clearly regard name-souls as able to become part of young
children. But, since there is no such direct correlation, the conclusion does not follow.
When someone dies, her breath-soul becomes a name-soul and inhabits a newborn's
body. But the name-soul is not a person because the breath-soul was never a person.
Rather, the breath-soul and name-soul are components of a person, and result in a person
if combined with the free-soul. When the name-soul inhabits an infant's body, it
combines with the free-soul of that infant and thus makes one person. There are not,
then, two or three persons in a child's body because there are only components that
combine to make one person in each child's body. Further, though name-souls are seen
as able to dwell in many bodies, that does not mean that one person is thought to be
instantiated in several bodies, since the name-soul is not, by itself, a person. Though we
differ greatly from the Inuit on how we conceive of souls, the fact still remains that we
both regard each person as being instantiated in an individual body and each body as
containing only one person.
138
E. Non-instantiated Persons: The Kaulong
In this section we will consider claims about groups that seem to hold the view
that the CCP is not seen as instantiated or, at least, is not always seen as instantiated, in
any sort of body at all. In cases where it is not seen as instantiated at all, it is clear that
this view differs from our own. However, in cases where it is seen as not always
instantiated, the view is also very different from ours. In our view, personhood is seen as
most basically located in the individual human body and we see any other unit that has
the characteristics of personhood as deriving them from that entity. But it is hard to
imagine that something without a body could derive its personhood from something with
a body. Rather, it would seem that it must work the other way around, that the
disembodied thing (soul, perhaps) gives the body its personhood.
In some ways, we can easily make sense of this idea of disembodied persons and
it does not differ much from the ways in which we view personhood. Many members of
our culture would say that when a person dies, his or her immaterial soul departs the body
and dwells elsewhere as an entity that is not instantiated in any form. However, that
belief is not a counterexample to the view that the CCP is most basically instantiated in
an individual human body. Rather, it is a further assertion about what happens after the
human body is no longer alive. Consequently, we will not consider cases of belief in
afterlife, which are prevalent in most cultures (including our own), as counterexamples to
the assertion that the CCP is seen as being most basically instantiated in a human body.
Instead, we will look at cases that imply that some cultures do not always see the CCP as
instantiated in a human body during this life. Any view of the person as sometimes
disembodied will differ significantly from ours because, though many in our culture do
believe we have souls, both body and soul (if it exists) are needed for the concept of
personhood described in the CCP.
The Kaulong of Papua New Guinea believes that an individual is composed of
three parts: body, self (enu), and mind (mi). According to Jane Goodale, when all three
of these parts are intact, the individual is thought to be "human" (potunus). The enu (also
referred to as the soul) is closely connected with the mi, but the enu is also independent of
it. It is believed to be able to leave the body and to frequently do so. According to
Goodale, "The self frequently leaves the body, and when so detached, it may manifest
itself in the exact image of the body quite apart from the physical container" (Goodale
1995, 37, 38).
Though it is thought that the enu can leave the body at any time, it is thought to
do so most frequently during sleep. When this happens, the self can travel, have new
experiences, and gain new knowledge. Some have no control over where their enu goes
or what it does while they sleep, but others "...develop unusual powers of self-control
and are able to direct their wandering self in deliberate fashion in order to seek out,
discover, see, or hear that which is desired by the person" (Goodale 1995, 39).
Not only can the enu travel, it can become lost to the body. Sometimes a
wandering enu does not make it back to its body and so the individual loses her soul or
self. This most often happens when someone is woken up suddenly, before her enu is
140
able to return from its nightly excursions. It can also happen, however, when one
sustains a severe injury to the body, since shocks to the body also are thought to cause the
soul to leave (Goodale 1995, 42).
According to Goodale, then, the Kaulong think that an individual can continue to
live without a soul, but that in many ways that individual is severely reduced. Since the
enu is the part that acquires knowledge, the individual is not seen as capable of attaining
a n y m o r e o f i t a f t e r t h e s o u l l e a v e s . I n d i v i d u a l s c a n m o v e a n d t h i n k , b u t .. a r e
considered lazy, for they cannot put their thoughts into action where there is no soul to
activate." Soulless individuals are prone to illness and death, but even if they survive,
they are considered "socially dead". That is, since the individual is powerless and unable
to acquire knowledge, he or she is stripped of social identity, ignored by others, and
considered "rubbish" (Goodale 1995, 46, 56).
As we noted in the previous section, in our culture we often are tempted to equate
the word "soul" with the word "person"—that is, many think that what a person is is a
particular soul. So, when we read of the Kaulong and their soulless individuals, we might
think that the Kaulong believe that there are persons existing that are not instantiated.
However, the way we think of "soul" might not graft so well onto the Kaulong idea. As
Goodale specifies, the Kaulong see the "human" as being composed of three parts, one of
which is the body. The other two are mind and soul, but soul can separate from the body.
Soul, then, isn't the sort of thing that encompasses everything about an individual.
Rather, it is, along with mind and the body, part of an individual.
Though Goodale uses the translation of "human" for potunus, we have seen
elsewhere that person and human are often treated as one and the same concept, and there
seems to be no reason to think that is not the case here, as well, so Goodale's remarks
about humans apply to persons. This is an especially safe equivalence due to the
descriptions Goodale gives of each part of the soul. The self or soul is the unit that
acquires experience and grows in maturity, allowing the individual to become more
human and less animal-like as he grows. Without the self or soul, the mind "can only
think and desire" but is not able to bring thoughts and desires into action. The self or
soul must work in conjunction with the mind in order to activate the ideas and desires of
the mind. The self cannot grow and mature without the mind, for it must be controlled
for the self to grow and develop, regardless of how much experience the self acquires.
The mind is the thinking element that reigns in and cultures the self (Goodale 1985, 233).
The mind, then, seems to be the unit of reason, but those facets of personhood that
require agency are the domain of the self or soul. Both the mind and the soul, then, along
with the body, are necessary not only for humanity, as Goodale would describe it, but for
our concept of personhood.
For the Kaulong, then, a person is composed of three parts. For a person to truly
be regarded as existing without instantiation, it would be necessary for both the mind and
the soul to leave the body. According to Goodale, the mind cannot do so (Goodale 1995,
37). Consequently, it is not that a person is seen as being non-instantiated, but that a part
of a person, a very important part, is thought to be able to leave the individual. The
142
individual loses all social status because he or she has lost some features that are
considered extremely valuable, namely, the ability to acquire new knowledge and the
ability to act. The characteristics lost overlap to a large extent with the characteristics of
the CCP of rationality and identification as locus of control. Though we might describe
what happens to these individuals differently, we too might assert that they have lost their
personhood.
If we are incorrect in our analysis and the soul or self is regarded as a person and,
when it leaves the body, a non-instantiated person, then we would expect descriptions of
what souls do as they travel around. We would expect individuals to come into contact
with them or, at the very least, have very definite views of what these bodiless persons
do. And, we should expect that these descriptions would be in-line with the
characteristics of the CCP. We find, however, surprisingly little in Goodale's work that
documents the Kaulong view of disembodied souls. In one place, she notes that "[a]
detached self may manifest in the shape/appearance of a moth..." (Goodale 1995, 39).
This observation, however, tells us very little about the purported activities of the
disembodied souls. Another, more telling clue, comes indirectly in her commentary
about what is thought to happen to an individual after death. According to Goodale,
"Many souls, enu, of recently deceased individuals have been sighted by living people,
recognized, and avoided if possible. These wandering souls may be extremely
dangerous, attacking humans and eating them." She notes that new ghosts are considered
dangerous and aggressive but that old ghosts are considered friendly and supportive, but
she also later adds that after a time, the ghost is safely distanced from the world of the
living and no longer poses a threat, which may indicate that old ghosts are not souls that
have actually become more cultured, but that they lose power and direct connection with
the living (Goodale 1985, 239).
These observations about the souls of the deceased seem to reinforce the view that
any soul, by itself (without an accompanying mind) lacks some of the important
characteristics for personhood. It is able to experience and act, but seems to have no
rationality by which to rein it in and cultivate it. Without this, the characteristics of moral
agency, interpersonal relations, identification as locus of control, and concern for the
future seem to be lost. Souls, then, are no more seen as being persons than the
individuals they vacate. Though the Kaulong have a view of how it is possible for
individuals to lose their personhood, they do not have a view of non-instantiated persons.
F. Non-human Bodies as the Units of Personhood: "Primitive" Cultures
Levy-Bruhl has noted that, among "primitive" people, the traits that we associate
with humans seem to be regarded as present in other types of bodies, as well. The
distinctions that we in the West draw between persons and animals are not drawn in all
societies. Animals, he says, are not seen as being in the slightest way inferior to humans
in terms of mental ability. This is not because humans are seen as deficient in this
respect, but because animals are thought to be far more mentally advanced than we in the
West generally believe. For example, he mentions that tigers and other animals are
144
thought of as human beings in animal shape in that they are seen as able to talk to each
other, work, and have families. He says that transitions are made from human bodies to
animal bodies "in the most natural way, without astonishing or shocking anybody." Not
only are animals thought to have high levels of mental abilities and traits that we
ordinarily associate with humans and, specifically, with persons, some inanimate objects
are also described in the same way. According to Levy-Bruhl, stones are thought to
breed and also to grant favors and protection to people. Trees are seen as "kindred" and
are believed to have a common origin with humans. Finally, the most powerful of all
creatures is seen not as a human, but as a half-human, half-animal that is both-
superhuman and super-animal. These beings are the source for all other beings—infusing
them with their mystic force (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 3-32, 36, 38-39, 55).
If it is true that no distinction is made in terms of mental faculties or other
important traits between trees or plants, rocks, animals, and humans, then a strong case
could be made that in some cultures, the concept of person we are interested in, the CCP,
is not seen as most basically instantiated in human bodies. That is, if animals, trees, or
rocks are seen as possessing the characteristics that we have described as part of the CCP,
it would seem that these things are considered to be persons. The descriptions of these
societies as ones in which no mental distinction is drawn between humans and other
forms of life and in which easy and unremarkable transitions are made between human
body and animal body indicate that these cultures do not recognize the concept of person
tied most basically to human bodies that we do in our culture. If it is true that there are
145
cultures that regard animals as possessors of all the characteristics of the CCP then these
cultures differ from ours in their view of the instantiation of the CCP.
Though Levy-Bruhl does not make the connection himself, some of his remarks
about "primitive" cultures, in other parts of The "Soul" of the Primitive might prove
instructive to our understanding of the "primitive" view of the commonalities and
differences between humans and other forms of life. He says: "[t]he primitive has no
conception of matter, or of a body, whence some mystical force, which we should term
spiritual, does not emanate" (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 113). He notes, pace J.H. Holmes, that
all things are seen as having a sort of soul—not merely a "life principle", but a "living
principle" which enables all things to exist and yet also individuates things (Levy-Bruhl
1966, 17). Because of this common bond, humans feel a close connection with all other
bodies or forms of matter.
But not only is there commonality with other forms of matter, "primitives" also
recognize their dependence on other forms of matter, specifically animals and plants.
Levy-Bruhl points out that part of what causes the "primitive" to feel a communion with
plants and animals is the recognized dependence that he or she has on these things.
Plants and animals are necessary for human life since they are relied upon for food and
medicine. Because of those needs and because plants and animals are capable of meeting
them, they are seen as having special powers—the powers to help humans in ways that
humans cannot help themselves. Humans in "primitive" cultures, therefore, perform rites
and ceremonies in order to garner the affections and good regard of plants and animals so
146
that they might help humans when they are in need (providing them with food and
medicine) and also share with them the power they seem to possess. Trees, for example,
as sources of medicine and sometimes food, are seen as being able to bestow healing
energy, not only through the physical consumption of bark and leaves, but also though
prayer and supplication to the tree as an entity in itself (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 33, 35-36).
The common bond between humans and other forms of life and the powers that
these forms possess are not the only reasons that plants, animals, and stones are regarded
as important and special in "primitive" cultures. According to Meyer Fortes, another
reason for the special status of these things has its origin in the importance and power of
ancestors.4 Ancestors are seen as having ".. .untrammeled power and authority over
human existence, ultimately over life and death." Ancestors are not merely thought of as
deceased humans. They are, because deceased, no longer considered human persons at
all and the death process endows them with powers no living human could have—great
mystical and spiritual powers (Fortes 1987, 258, 270). Levy-Bruhl says that ancestors are
thought of as both human and animal at the same time. He describes this combination as
particularly potent, as they are seen as super-human and super-animal—the greatest
4 Fortes is writing about the Tallensi, an African tribe. Though Levy-Bruhl's comments are not specifically
aimed at this particular group, they are presented as applying to all "primitive" cultures. There is little
doubt that he would hesitate to include a culture like the Tallensi in his grouping of "primitives", as they
are a culture that actively engages in ancestor worship, which he does take to be part of "primitive" culture.
Hence, any comments that he makes about "primitive" cultures are equally brought to bear on this
particular group, and any clarification we get from Fortes on this group should also serve to clarify our
understanding of L^vy-Bruhl's "primitives". Even though one culture cannot provide conclusive evidence
against Levy-Bruhl's claims about "primitives" (and, indeed, since he does not specify the groups he is
including in that category on this issue, nothing can), the case of the Tallensi gives us good reason to think
that Levy-Bruhl might be incorrect in his analysis.
147
possible sources of mystical force (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 53, 55). However they are
described, they are seen as extremely powerful and, consequently, entitled to and
demanding of worship and supplication (Fortes 1987, 258, 270).
Members of these cultures do not see ancestors merely as present and exerting
power from some nether-region. They see them as present in certain material forms—
such as animals, trees, and artifacts that have been dedicated to a particular ancestor
(Fortes 1966, 15). Among the Tallensi, for example, it is taboo to kill crocodiles because
crocodiles are regarded as living shrines of clan ancestors. Killing a crocodile is
considered to be tantamount to murdering another human. Similarly, no tree or plant or
animal that is seen as housing an ancestral spirit may be killed, eaten, or abused. And, as
Levy-Bruhl points out, even stones are seen as sometimes being the housing of ancestral
spirits, and must not be abused (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 30).
While some plants and animals and some inanimate objects, like stones, are
thought to be the "living shrines" of ancestors, not all animals, plants or objects are.
Certain animals, certain plants and certain objects are considered to have special powers
and worthy of special treatment, due to their status as ancestor-bearing. But even Levy-
Bruhl points out that this treatment does not extend to all creatures. Some animals and
plants may be killed without fear of reprisal by ancestors, though often some ceremony is
performed before doing so in order to assuage the power that is inherent in these things in
and of themselves (Levy-Bruhl 1966, 32, 47). So, even though trees are seen as
148
"kindred", they can be felled and used by humans. Even though animals are seen as
having powers, they may be killed and eaten.
It seems fairly clear, then, that not all plants, animals, or inanimate objects are
seen in "primitive" societies as having the same status or characteristics as humans. That
is, some are seen as being fundamentally different enough from humans to justify
regularly killing and eating or using them. Generally speaking, then, there is little reason
to think that these things are regarded as persons since even though members of those
cultures surely kill one another or other human beings occasionally, it is not a regular
practice for most to do so and it is regarded as a very serious matter in any event.
However, one might argue that some plants, animals, and inanimate objects are seen as
persons in these cultures, namely those that are seen as shrines to ancestors. If so, while
not all such individuals would be considered persons, there would be significant evidence
of personhood not most basically attached to the human body.
The Tallensi, however, "...are emphatic that animals as animals are not humans
and definitely not persons." This is true, not only for ordinary animals, but also for those
that subject to totemic taboos as a result of being considered the living shire of an
ancestor. The Tallensi regard the animals, plants, or objects invested with the spirit of
ancestors as something quite different than the body of that ancestor. Rather, these things
are seen only as the "sitting place" or "locus of accessibility to prayer and other ritual
acts" (Fortes 1987, 256-257). While these animals, plants, and objects are not killed,
eaten, or abused, and are seen as having special powers, it is not the animal, plant, or
149
object itself that is seen as warranting special treatment. Rather, it is the spirit that is
living in these things, which uses these bodily forms as a dwelling place. The crocodile
itself is not a person—it is a container for a special and powerful force and, as such, it is
awarded special treatment so that the ancestor that dwells within it may be communicated
with and appeased.
It might well seem that such a distinction does nothing to challenge the thesis that
certain persons (ancestors) are, in fact, seen as instantiated in non-human bodies.
Certainly ancestors are seen as housed in these bodies and perhaps instantiation entails
nothing more. But what is less clear is that the ancestors are, themselves, considered
persons. As Fortes points out, the Tallensi distinguish themselves from animals because,
although they regard animals as having continuity as a species and as being made of the
same physical material as humans, they do not see them as having the same kinds of
cognitive abilities, descent and kinship credentials, social organization, morality, or rules
of jurisprudence (Fortes 1987, 253, 255-256). The Tallensi, then, see animals as lacking
several of the characteristics that humans have and that are essential to the CCP.
Similarly, other entities lacking these qualities would not be seen as persons by the
Tallensi. Though it is unclear what qualities, other than power, the ancestors do have,
they seem to be lacking social organization or rules of jurisprudence or any other
concerns of living societies. More importantly, they have been described as super-human
and super-animal, which indicates that they are quite a bit more like demi-gods than
persons.
150
As for the claim that living persons are viewed as easily moving from human to
animal bodies and that when this is thought to happen, it causes no surprise or alarm,
there are good reasons to think that this belief has been misconstrued. It may be that
some part of the soul is thought to be able to enter animal bodies, but it is difficult to
imagine a coherent belief that the entire person can and does switch units of instantiation
since it would lead to huge practical problems such as failing to identify when someone is
in an animal body and killing them. Even if this were regarded as a common practice,
however, it does not entail a different view of instantiation than ours, since the human
body is still regarded as the most basic unit of personhood. These cultures hold that it is
the person that generally dwells in the human body that enters the tiger body, not the
thing in the tiger body that enters the human body. The connection between the human
body and the person is the most basic one and the characteristics that transfer to the
animal body are derived from its general presence in the human body. If animals were
thought to be persons because of the perceived ability of persons to move from human to
animal bodies with ease, then there should be reports that the person in, say, Fred's body
today is currently a tiger, not just suggestions that some cultures think that someone, say
Fred, is currently in the tiger's body. The fact that no such reports are known indicates
that personhood is most basically tied to the human body. So, neither for this reason nor
for any other that we have seen is there evidence that "primitives" view personhood as
most basically instantiated in a unit other than the human body. Indeed, there is reason
for doubting that they see the CCP as present in a unit other than the human body at all.
151
G. Conclusion
We have recognized in the previous chapters that there are many concepts of
personhood at work in our culture and that it is probable that the same is true for other
cultures. However, there is a certain core concept of personhood present in our culture,
the CCP, and it is this concept that we are interested in examining in other cultures.
Though we regard groups like corporations as persons in some sense (specifically as legal
persons), we regard the concept of personhood captured in the CCP as being most
basically instantiated in individual human beings. Whether or not other cultures regard
the CCP in the same way we do depends on whether or not they regard the CCP as most
basically instantiated in individual human bodies, regardless of other concepts of
personhood they might have and how they regard them as being instantiated. In this
chapter, we have looked at evidence for the claim that some cultures regard personhood
as most basically instantiated in a different unit than we do. While it may be true that
there are cultures that regard some concept of personhood as differently instantiated than
we do, we have argued here that the strongest cases do not show that they do not regard
the CCP as differently instantiated. In these cases, cultures do see the human body as the
most basic unit of instantiation—and so seem to share with us not only a concept of
personhood, but a view of the unit connected to that concept.
V. THE VALUING OF PERSONHOOD
A. Introduction
In the last chapter, we looked at possible counterexamples to the claim that the
CCP is regarded as most basically instantiated in the individual human body in all
cultures. In this chapter, we will look at cultures that seem to provide counterexamples
of another sort—those that indicate that persons, as defined by the CCP, are not valued in
other cultures in the way that they are in ours.
Before we can begin this sort of investigation, we must think about how persons
are valued in our culture. There are many types of value and ways in which value might
be measured. One way in which persons are valued—perhaps the most obvious way—is
in terms being regarded as units of moral worth. That is, we value persons in the sense
that we think they deserve a certain kind of moral treatment. But what sort of moral
treatment do we think persons are entitled to? In what sense to we regard persons as
morally valuable?
One answer to that question is that we have a belief in the intrinsic worth of all
persons. That is, many in our culture believe that individuals are morally important units
that are valuable not for what they can be used for, but in and of themselves. This is a
particularly Kantian way of thinking about the value of the person and one not found
prior to the Enlightenment in our culture. However, it—or something very like it—finds
varying degrees of reflection in many of our institutions and practices (for example, a
152
153
system of government that derives its officials through the process of election by the
populace, trials for those accused of crimes with a defense provided for them, basic
welfare provided by the government for those who are unable to work, failure to hold a
person responsible for the crimes of another or intentionally allow a person to be
punished in another's stead, and the illegality of such practices as forced servitude and
spousal or child abuse) and in some of our important cultural texts (such as the Rights of
Man, the American Constitution, Kant's second formulation of the Categorical
Imperative, and, some might even suggest, the Golden Rule).
There are, however, other theories of moral value—ones that don't describe
individuals as units of intrinsic value but that still seem to accord with these practices.
Perhaps a less philosophically loaded way of articulating a more modest sentiment, one
that takes into account eras before the Enlightenment to a greater degree and other
influential moral views, such as Utilitarianism, is to describe our view as regarding
persons as morally valuable and individuals as the relevant units for moral treatment and
the ones on which rights, duties, rewards, and punishments are generally bestowed. In
other words, we have a view that the individual counts and is the important moral unit.
Though it is not a universal Western belief that individuals are intrinsically valuable, they
are regarded in our culture as significant and generally seen as having equal moral status.
Both Utilitarianism and Kantian ethical theory share the feature that no person is any
more important than any other—that each individual has the same moral status. And it is
this view, even more directly than the view that individuals are intrinsically valuable, that
154
we see evidenced in our institutions, practices, and important documents. Our view of
the moral value of individuals, then, can be characterized as holding that individuals are
both morally significant and equally morally significant.
But if this is how we think of persons and the value we assign to them, why is
there an enormous gap between our theoretical commitments and our actual behavior?
For example, the practice of slavery flourished at the same time and for a long time after
one of our culture's most famous documents professed the view that all men were created
equally. Wars have continued to be fought in which members of some group or another
are regarded as candidates for killing, despite our stated commitment to the principle of
individual moral value. Spouses and children continue to be abused and women and
children are forced into prostitution more often than we like to admit. Given these facts,
what does our commitment to the moral value of every person amount to?
One possibility (which we briefly discussed in Chapter Two) is that those who
behave in these ways do value persons (as described under the CCP), but simply do not
recognize certain individuals as belonging to that group. Another possibility is that
persons are valued, but that value is mitigated, in some circumstances, by other values
(for example, values of self protection, domination, money). A third possibility is that we
are inconsistent in what we value. There are many people who argue for each of these
positions, but regardless of the answer, one thing that seems clear is that our culture has a
philosophical commitment to the value of persons. That is, we may not value individual
persons on all occasions and under all circumstances, but at the theoretical level, we are
155
committed to the view that every individual is of value. Regardless of the school of
moral thinking one attends or the era of Western culture being considered, we see a
significance placed upon a certain unit, the person, which for us is the biological
individual. It is this unit that we have thought of and continue to think of as having a
significant degree of moral value, and as the primary unit for moral assessment and
responsibility.
Moral value is not, however, the only type of value that we assign to persons. We
also regard persons as valuable in that we see the individual as the relevant unit for the
continuation of plans and projects. That is, we value personhood in the sense that it is
connected to survival over time. And when asked what we want to continue on into the
future, when asked where the source of our future-oriented concern lies, we identify not
the group or an organ or even the soul, but the human body. We want ourselves—as
individuals—to be the ones to continue and we make plans and develop projects and
anticipate rewards and fear punishments for that unit.1 This type of value placed on
personhood is not of a moral character, though the two may certainly intersect. It is a
different kind of value, one less directly concerned with the type of person one wants to
or should be than what it means for one to be. We shall call this type of value the
"temporal" valuing of personhood.
1 Obviously there are many people who greatly anticipate the continuation of their souls. However, most of
them would like to see their bodies continue on for quite some time before they continue on as souls only.
That is, the immediate future-concern of most people is on the continuity of their bodies, not their souls.
On both the moral and the temporal level, then, we see that in our culture value (at
least of these two sorts) is focused on the unit of the CCP, though exactly how much
value and of what form is harder to specify. Given our own problems with consistency
and disagreement (especially in terms of moral value) how are we to assess if another
culture regards instantiations of the CCP in the same way that we do or not?
Since we ourselves do not respect the lives of all persons, we cannot, with regard
to the question of moral value, simply look for evidence of that in other cultures. Rather,
the clearest cases will be ones where members explicitly characterize their cultures as
valuing only certain people, that is, where there is an explicit claim that they do not
regard all persons as equally valuable—where certain persons are clearly seen by the
majority of the culture as being without value. Second clearest will be cases where
certain practices and institutions exist that are so completely contrary to a view that the
individual is valuable (and which are not balanced by texts, practices, or institutions that
do indicate this value) that no value on personhood comparable to ours could be present
in that culture.
But even after identifying the strongest candidates, we need a way to evaluate
whether or not the claims by scholars are correct and whether the institutions and
practices are as contrary as they seem, and this will be very tricky. We must check to see
if these claims are valid by evaluating whether institutions, practices, or beliefs to the
contrary exist in these cultures, which cast doubt on the original claim. Even though
philosophical commitments and practical behavior often come apart, as examples in our
157
own culture show, we can use both of these sources because there is some kind of
connection between the two, even if an imperfect and sometimes tenuous one. If our
practical behavior in no way reflected our theoretical commitments, we could not justify
it. Our theoretical commitments can't be useless in the role of sculpting our actions, for
in that case, why have them as opposed to others? We must remember that though
slavery was practiced in opposition to the theoretical commitment to the moral value of
all persons, it was also abolished with that same justification. Our stated commitments
provide us the guide to evaluate our practices and measure when we are straying. So,
though we don't always measure up to our ideals and perhaps sometimes our behavior is
baser than our principles, the two are connected and both provide tools for understanding
a culture.
The second type of value, temporal value, will be easier to assess. We must look
for cultures that that seem to value the continuity of some unit other than the individual.
We will then look at their practices and institutions in order to determine whether or not
that truly is the case. By looking at these two types of value, we will be able to measure
whether or not evidence exists that other cultures value instantiations of the CCP
differently than we do and, if differences exist, what these differences amount to.
158
B. Moral Significance
1. Rejecting the Value of Personhood: Buddhist Cultures
In Chapter Three, we discussed whether or not the CCP is present in Buddhist
cultures. We concluded that though many have maintained that there is no concept of
self or person in Buddhism, there is, in fact, at least one concept of person—the CCP—in
Buddhism, and probably many others. However, the claim that Buddhist cultures view
personhood differently than we do cannot be easily dismissed. We found that at the
highest levels of Buddhist thought, there is a rejection of the coherency of the concept of
person and, consequently, a belief that the concept of person should not have a grip on us
or dictate our priorities. Is it the case, then, that personhood is something not valued (in
any way, let alone in our way) in Buddhist thought?
There is a distinction that can and should be made between valuing the concept of
personhood and valuing persons. The question we are concerned with in our
investigation is whether or not other cultures hold a concept of personhood that we do,
and, if so, whether they regard that concept the same way we do. This latter point, as
we've seen, takes two forms: 1) how they see persons as instantiated and 2) if and in
what way they value persons. What we are concerned with in this chapter, then, is
whether other cultures value instantiations of the CCP in the same way we do, not
whether or not other cultures find the concept of the CCP valuable. Keeping this
distinction in mind goes a long way to determining whether or not Buddhist cultures
regard personhood (in the form of the CCP) in the way we do. Though the highest levels
159
of Buddhist thought hold that the concept of personhood is of no value, that does not
mean that Buddhism holds that persons are of no value.
It still remains a question whether or not Buddhist cultures value units they see as
instantiations of the CCP. In the last chapter, we argued that potential counterexamples
to the view that personhood is instantiated most basically in the individual human body
did not, upon examination, present real differences from our view. We can ask ourselves,
then, do Buddhist cultures value human beings and, if so, do they value them as
significant equal units deserving of moral treatment? The answer may seem obvious.
After all, once we separate the idea of valuing a concept of personhood from the idea of
valuing personhood, we realize that there aren't really reasons to think that Buddhist
cultures differ from our own in how they value persons. However, some quick points
might serve to solidify that commonsensical conclusion.
First, at the highest levels of Buddhist thought, what we call a lifetime is nothing
more than the association of a perceived physical persistence with a given name-and-
form. The idea that we have physical persistence is a formation that our mind
erroneously, but necessarily, generates. The proper training is required to dissipate the
illusion of this physical aspect. At the same time, we also have the formation of a
persisting mind, and so too, training is needed for the illusion to be dissipated. As the
Buddhist monk goes through the process of realizing these truths, it becomes clear that
the self of the present moment is no more connected to a self of a future moment than it is
to one in the next life or to another self existing at the same moment. That is, the future
160
momentary self is neither the same nor different than the current one, and is related
through a string of karma only. There are no persisting elements that are the same, so no
deep connection between the two and, specifically, there are no memories that link the
two (unless one is omniscient or enlightened in this special way, which the theory itself
dictates almost no one could be). There is, then, no more connection, so far as any
momentary self is aware, between one's future momentary selves, one's past momentary
selves, momentary selves not connected with him through karma, and one's current
momentary self. Hence, one is obligated to treat all with "loving-kindness, compassion,
sympathetic joy, and equanimity" (Collins 1982, 193). The view of anatta goes so far in
denying a self that it erases the moral boundaries between self and others. At the highest
levels of Buddhist thought, then, we see an emphasis on the moral value of all persons,
since the Buddhist is called upon to treat all persons as himself.
Second, ordinary Buddhist practice indicates that human beings are regarded as
morally valuable. The morality of Buddhism, even at the lay level, is one of compassion
and kindness, which denotes that persons are considered valuable moral units and should
be treated as such. There are no major claims that the institutions and practices of
Buddhist cultures stand in sharp and inexplicable opposition to those principles.
Consequently, there is good reason to think that, though the concept of personhood is not
valued in Buddhism, persons certainly are. Further, they seem to be regarded in Buddhist
cultures as they are regarded in ours—as morally significant and equally morally
significant units.
161
2. Valuing Persons Selectively
Among those cultures that seem to have a different view of how persons are
regarded are those that appear to regard only some persons as morally valuable. This
selective valuing takes two main forms. First, there are those cultures that seem to regard
only their own members as valuable and whose practices or stated beliefs indicate that
they do not regard "outsiders" as having equal moral worth. Second, there are those that
seem to regard only some individuals in their own culture as morally valuable. In the
first category, we will discuss the Gahuku-Gama and cannibals. In the second category,
we will look at Kaulong, Tallensi, and Indian cultures.
a. Just Us
i. The Gahuku-Gama
The Gahuku-Gama culture of Papua New Guinea is among those
cultures that seem to hold the view that humans do not have equal moral worth. The
difference between our own Western conception and the Gahuku-Gama view is
expressed at length by Kenneth Read, who says of our culture: "...man is conceived to
be a unique center of individuality, the embodiment—as person—of an absolute value
which sets him in some measure over and above the world in which he lives.. .His moral
responsibilities, both to himself and to others, transcend the given social context, are
162
conceived to be independent of the social ties which link him to his fellows. In contrast,
Read says, "To the Gahuku-Gama...man is primarily a social individual, a member of
this or that particular social group, someone who occupies a particular position in a
system of social rights and obligations. Moral responsibilities devolve on him as such,
rather than by virtue of any qualities which are intrinsic to his psycho-physical
nature.. .Thus it is not to human beings as such that men are morally bound, but to human
beings as members of a particular collectivity" (Read 1967, 226-227).
According to Read, the Gahuku-Gama see the value of an individual as
something connected to their social position, not as something that is an intrinsic and
universal property. To the Gahuku-Gama, not all humans are seen as morally equal and
so "[t]hey would have found it very odd, for example, to be told that you should regard
every man, simply as man, as having equal moral value" (Read 1986, 134). The worth of
a man and, consequently, one's obligation to him, depends on his social position. As a
result, the Gahuku-Gama do not regard themselves as having "identical moral
responsibility towards all other individuals" (Read 1967, 195).
Read points out that, among the Gahuku-Gama, one has a certain set of
obligations and responsibilities to one's spouse, a different set to one's children, another
set for kin, and yet a different set for clan and sub-clan members. He recognizes that, on
the surface, this seems no different than distinctions that are made in our own culture.
We, too, regard a woman's obligations to her children as different than those to her
parents or to her employer, for example, and the Moral Sentiment Theorists of the
163
Enlightenment developed a sophisticated moral view based on the levels of our care and
obligations. However, Read thinks that distinctions we make are more apparent than real
because we also recognize that there is, as he puts it, "a common measure of ethical
content in all our relationships" and a minimum of "responsibilities which apply to all the
circumstances in which the individual finds himself' regardless of situation (Read 1967,
198). This is not so, he claims, among the Gahuku-Gama.
Social position—how closely related one is to another—determines treatment for
the Gahuku-Gama. Even friendships reflect this. Someone cannot be friends with just
anyone she wants, but rather must develop friendships with those of the same kinship or
of similar status (Read 1967, 223). It is the determining factor in moral treatment so that
the stronger the social ties between individuals, the greater the moral responsibility. In
other words, individuals treat each other morally not because they regard all others as
valuable by virtue of their shared humanity, but as valuable only if and when a strong
social connection is present.
That is not to say, however, that the Gahuku-Gama have no conception of
humanity as a whole or even of a minimum standard of behavior befitting for humanity.
They say that "Men are not dogs" and clearly, according to Read, imply by that statement
that there are certain ways that men should behave. However, the expected conclusion
does not then follow—they "do not go on to argue or to assert that because man is a
human being—because, that is, of some inherent quality which distinguishes him from
164
other animals—there are invariable standards which he must apply in his relationships
with all other human beings" (Read 1967, 200).
According to Read, because they fail to make that step, one we regard as
following so naturally from the observation that man differs from other creatures, they do
not censure or praise the actions of other cultures. The way that those outside the tribal
system behave is a matter of either indifference or non-judgmental curiosity. They regard
others as "not the same as us" and the further away a culture is from their own, the more
differences they expect and the more bizarre and exaggerated their descriptions of people
are, until, as Read puts it, "zones were reached that resembled the blank areas on maps
that early cartographers filled with humanoid, animal, and vegetable monsters" (Read
1986, 134). But not only do the Gahuku-Gama fail to make moral judgments about the
practices of others outside of their social system, they also, and more significantly for our
purposes, think that their moral obligations end at the borderlands of their social
universes and with regard to those outside, "the individual does not regard himself as
being bound to them by any moral obligation: it is justifiable to kill them, to steal them
and to seduce their women" (Read 1967, 194).
Read gives examples of attitudes and practices that he thinks demonstrate that the
Gahuku-Gama view of moral value is tied to social position rather than to a conception of
individual moral significance. The tribe is the largest political unit and within it, no
warfare is allowed. However, it is not considered morally wrong to kill a member of an
opposing tribe, as long as that member is not related in some way to the killer. Within a
tribe, all homicide is seen as morally wrong, but the degree of the wrongness varies with
the relation of the killed to the killer. It is more serious to kill a member of one's sub-
clan than to kill a member of a different sub-clan but of the same clan. It is less serious
to kill a member of a different clan than a member of one's own, even if he is not a
member of the same sub-clan.
The issue of lying is another example of the relativism with which the Gahuku-
Gama view moral obligation. They condemn lying, not because they see it as inherently
wrong to treat another reasoning being dishonestly, but because '"lying makes people
angry; it causes trouble', and most people wish to retain the good opinion of those with
whom they are in close daily association" (Read 1967, 203). Consequently, it is
considered wrong to lie to those who one is in regular contact with. It is common,
however, for someone to lie to his more distant kin by pleading poverty, to fail to admit
guilt to members of other clans for offenses committed against them, and to expect that
members of other groups do not tell the truth.
Theft is considered more or less reprehensible depending on whether the person
who is stolen from belongs to the same clan, tribe, or sub-clan as the thief and the closer
the social bond, the more significant the transgression.
Finally, the Gahuku-Gama view of adultery serves as a prime example of Read's
thesis since it is clearly condemned within the sub-clan but regarded lightly and barely
worthy of moral censure when it occurs with a woman of a different tribe. He notes that
"[t]hey are less ready to admit adultery with women of different clans of the same tribe,
166
but here too one receives the impression that if a man can get away with it, no great
moral blame attaches to him" (Read 1967, 201-203, 205).
When evaluating Read's conclusions, it is important to remember that the vast
majority of Gahuku-Gama live their entire lives within a radius of ten miles from where
they are born (Read 1986, 87). Since this is the case, it is rare for them to come into
contact with many other kinds of people and very natural that the characterizations that
they give of these people resemble, in many cases, those of mythical figures. Given the
lack of familiarity they have with other cultures, it is not terribly surprising that they do
not formulate explicit moral rules for their treatment of these individuals. After all, if the
view that all humans are units of equal moral worth in our culture comes from the
recognition of the essential similarity between all people, then a culture not exposed to
many other people might not form the same principle. That does not necessarily mean,
however, that they do not view all persons that they are exposed to as units of equal
moral significance and it is their actual treatment of others that we need examine in order
to evaluate Read's thesis.
While it is true that the examples that Read gives seem to provide evidence that
social ties determine, to a great extent, levels of moral obligation, there are other facts
that complicate this picture. Many of these facts are related to Read's own experience
and to the experiences of other white men among the Gahuku-Gama. Read recalls his
arrival in this area and notes that "[a]fter their defensive reaction to our arrival, they
showed no signs of hostility." He reports that patrol officers in the region commented
167
that generally the first whites arriving in a given area were not threatened or attacked, as
"they had no place in the traditional pattern of hostilities, coming from outside of the
relatively narrow range of political rivalries and group identifications." When hostilities
arose between the Gahuku-Gama and whites, it was after contact had been made and
offenses committed. Read notes that there was great curiosity and some fear when whites
originally arrived in the area. Some Gahuku-Gama thought them to be gods while others
thought them to be devils, but neither view, he says, "persisted for any length of time"
(Read 1986,91, 111).
Many of the early white visitors to the Gahuku-Gama were missionaries. These
individuals had no ties to the villages they entered and were generally complete strangers
to the citizens there. Nonetheless, their houses were built by the Gahuku-Gama, they
were given land by them, and they lived almost entirely on the charity of the citizens of
those villages (Read 1986, 107).
Read's own experience was one of being met with frank curiosity—the Gahuku-
Gama wanted to touch his red hair, amazed that it grew from his scalp, and also to watch
him bathe. However, Read does not think that "these reactions expressed anything more
than natural curiosity. There was little indication that they were disposed to regard us as
something more, or less, than human." Read was given a hut to live in and adopted by
one of the tribesman as a younger brother and treated as such. After an absence of
several years, Read returned to the Gahuku-Gama and found himself immediately re
absorbed into the village, introduced to the young children as "grandfather" and told that
168
his own son, who had visited the village once as an infant, had been given a 'role' in the
village that was waiting for him if he should choose to come back (Read 1986, Preface
xvi, xvii, xix, 38,112).
These examples indicate that, despite the hesitancy of the Gahuku-Gama to make
blanket statements about the moral worth of all human beings, they do recognize moral
obligations to those with whom they come into contact. Rather than kill the strange white
visitors, they were amiable, accepting, generous, and helpful. We see nothing in these
examples to indicate that these men were regarded as so different that they did not merit
the sort of treatment given to their fellow tribesmen and that is especially significant
because these men were quite clearly outside their social systems. If the Gahuku-Gama
concept of moral worth rested entirely on one's social position, we would not expect that
someone without a social position would be regarded as having any moral worth and this,
presumably, would be reflected in a certain kind of treatment—treatment very different
from what was in fact experienced by Read, the white missionaries, and the patrol
officers. These examples indicate that, where deep similarities are recognized—the sorts
of similarities captured in the CCP—the moral significance of individuals is also
recognized.
That is not to say, however, that the Gahuku-Gama present no counterexample to
our view. We cannot ignore that levels of moral obligations, in their own descriptions
and actions, differ depending on relatedness. It is not a difficult phenomenon to explain
with regard to those outside of one's tribe. After all, the Gahuku-Gama are frequently at
war with other tribes in rivalries that span many decades and which threaten their
resources and lives. Some factors—such as self-preservation—seem to trump moral
obligations. This is true for us, as well. As a culture, we view the killing of others as
permissible in times of war. However, even on these occasions there are certain things
we think are never allowed and we do not think that things like lying, stealing, adultery,
or killing have degrees depending on relatedness. The fact that killing is seen as more
serious when it occurs within a clan than within the same tribe or that it appears that one
is not regarded as doing something wrong when he commits adultery with a woman of
the same tribe (but different clans) as long as he gets away with it provides us with ample
reason for thinking the Gahuku-Gama concept of morality is different from ours.
If Read is correct and these examples show differences in moral ideals rather than
failures to live up to professed ideas (which we, in our culture, are equally guilty of) then
we need ask whether or not they imply that the Gahuku-Gama do not see humans as units
of equal moral significance. Might there be, even in these examples, a minimum level of
moral value despite differences in obligation? Read's examples neither definitively
support nor dismiss this possibility, but the treatment of white foreigners support the view
that, contrary to Read's conclusions, some minimum standard is recognized, excepting,
of course, one's view of his or her enemies. However, it is no small thing that we
recognize that even if this minimum standard is present, it differs from our view because
recognizing moral significance does not mean recognizing equal obligation or treatment
for the Gahuku-Gama, even ideally. Social forces play a role in their assessment of how
170
others are to be treated. Even if the Gahuku-Gama regard all those they recognize as like
them as morally significant, they clearly do not recognize them as moral equals. Since
moral equality is very much a part of our view of how instantiations of the CCP are
valued, the Gahuku-Gama do seem to differ from us in their view of moral value.
ii. Cannibals
Stated beliefs are not the only source for indications that a culture
only values its own members. Practices can be just as telling as dogma and cannibalism
might well be such a practice. There have been many cultures in the world that have
been labeled as "cannibalistic". Some of these cultures have been the victims of
vilification or misunderstanding, but others seem to have actually participated in the
practice. Though it may be distasteful to us, there is nothing about cannibalism in and of
itself that indicates that personhood is not valued amongst those who practice it. In many
cultures, for example, cannibalism is a means of showing respect for the dead and of
gaining the admired qualities of the deceased (Lidz 1986, 926). In these sorts of
situations cannibalism, rather than showing that there is a lack of value placed on
humankind, reflects a tremendous value placed on it. On the other hand, cases in which a
human is killed for the purpose of being eaten would reflect a view that some persons—
namely those picked for consumption—are not valued.
Claims that a certain culture practices this sort of cannibalism are much rarer than
the reports of the ritualized, honorific type (which is often referred to as "mortuary
171
cannibalism"). There has been some dispute, notably by the anthropologist William
Arens, about whether this sort of cannibalism has ever existed.2 There is, however,
strong evidence that some cultures practiced cannibalism in which individuals were killed
and eaten. Among the most prominent of these cultures are the Maori, the Iroquois, and
the Tupinamba of Brazil.
Each of these cultures practiced exo-cannibalism—the eating of human beings
outside of their own cultures. The consumption of human flesh was, for them, closely
related to the view that it is permissible to exact revenge upon one's enemies. To the
Maori, for example, war could only be declared for a legitimate cause, and each group
kept detailed records of insults and injuries from other groups (Metge 1967, 26). When
the Maori went to war, they did their level best to destroy their enemy. Cannibalism was
the crowning moment of victory. Not only were they slaying their foes in battle, but they
were completing that victory with the ultimate insult—"reducing the defeated to food"
(Metge 1967, 27).
Both the Iroquois and the Tupinamba killed and ate their enemies. The Iroquois
would often take the enemy prisoner and then torture them extensively before killing and
eating them (Abler 1980, 312-313). The Tupinamba, according to many sources, also
2 Arens, in fact, argues against purported evidence for any type of culturally sanctioned cannibalism.
3 The Guayaki and the Southern Fore of New Guinea are also well-known cannibals, but only practice
mortuary cannibalism—the consuming of the flesh of their own members once they have died naturally—
and so aren't relevant to our discussion. There are also claims of exo-cannibalism among the Kukukuku's,
Korowai, and Kombai of Papua New Guinea, but these claims are less seriously regarded than the ones we
are examining and present similar features in that they all are cultures whose cannibalism is confined to
their enemies and so can be effectively treated by looking at the more tenable cases.
172
took their enemies prisoner and killed and ate both the prisoners and some of their
children (Forsyth 1985, 17).
War-party cannibalism does not itself imply that a culture views some persons as
being without moral significance. After all, wars were not started without reason and
there is no evidence that the Maori, the Iroquois, or the Tupinamba ever went to war with
the sole or primary goal of eating their enemies. Rather, the enemy was killed as the
result of other factors and then consumed. There is little reason to think, given this
arrangement of events, that consuming one's enemy added any further moral offense than
killing him in the first place. Since we hardly regard our own war-time practice of killing
as an indication that we don't view persons as units of equal moral value, it would be a
mistake to draw that conclusion about these cultures.
Further, for the Maori, cannibalism was also a question of nutrition. When war
was waged, finding food became a difficulty. A group would live off the land as best
they could on their way to battle, and would consume the food supplies of their
vanquished enemy as well as the flesh of their enemy after the battle (Vayda 1960, 71).
It is more difficult to see non-wartime cannibalism as consistent with the view
that persons have equal moral worth. The Maori practice of eating slaves seems to
provide a significant contrast to our view. Maori women would engage in this practice,
as well as some men. This practice is described by James Cowan, who points out,
"[sjometimes a chief would become 'meat-hungry'; then a slave, preferably a girl, would
be slaughtered and cooked to appease the aristocratic appetite" (Cowan 1910, 238).
But here, too, we must note here some interesting details. All evidence indicates
that it was slaves and not just anyone walking by that were consumed. There is no
evidence that it was ever considered okay for the Maori, the Iroquois, or the Tupinamba
to kill and eat random people for food. According to Christian Clerk, even in
cannibalistic societies, moral rules exist. There are firm taboos about who may and may
not be eaten and rituals that must be performed that surround them. He notes:
"Cannibalism, in reality, is a firmly regulated social event" (Clerk 1975, 3).
Also, evidence indicates that the slaves of the Maori were those captured enemies
who were not eaten immediately after battle (Metge 1967, 27). In this way, they were
very like the Tupinamba and the Iroquois who, although they didn't keep slaves, took
prisoners of their enemies and killed and ate them at a point in time far removed from the
battle. In fact, in the case of the Tupinamba, Clerk says that though all prisoners of war
would eventually be killed and eaten, "this might take place after the victim had been
living in the village for a period of months or years" (Staden 1928, 155).
We should notice, then, that though there is a class of person who is deemed to be
without moral value or at least whose moral value is overridden by their status as an
enemy, none of the well-known and evidenced cases of non-mortuary cannibalism
involve members of one's own culture. Since our culture views the killing of one's
enemies in times of war as morally permissible, it is not the act of killing or even eating
itself that indicates a gulf between our views and theirs.
174
One might argue, however, that the Tupinamba do kill their own. During the
time they are held prisoner, "although subject to a few minor restrictions, the man would
be free in his movement about the village, allowed to hunt and indeed, would usually be
given a woman of the community as his wife, possibly his captor's sister or daughter"
(Clerk 1975, 2). Since their prisoners are given so much freedom and allowed their
Tupinamba women, it appears that they become, in time, just "one of the gang" and are
killed and eaten nonetheless. This interpretation is given additional weight because,
according to Hans Staden, if the woman becomes pregnant with the prisoner's child, this
child is raised among them but, when an adult, they will kill and eat him or her (Staden
1928, 155).
According to Donald W. Forsyth, however, Jose de Anchieta's 1933 manuscript
explains that the Tupinamba believe that true kinship comes from the father's side, not
the mother's. Mothers are "nothing more than bags in which the children grow, and for
this reason the children of fathers, if they are had by [women who are] slaves and captive
enemies, are always free and highly regarded as any other [children]; and the children of
the females, if they are children of [men who are] captives, they regard as slaves and sell
them, and sometimes kill them and eat them..." (Forsyth 1985, 18). And, though the
prisoners stay among them and have some freedom, they are always considered enemies
and don't become "one of the gang".
That is not to say, however, that there are no differences between our view of the
value of persons and theirs. We don't think torture and the prolonged death-watch based
175
on whim that the Tupinamba impose on their enemies is morally permissible. We think
that the heat of battle and the immediate cause of one's life being threatened allow for
behavior that is not otherwise permissible. When these factors are absent, the behavior
is not allowed. The fact that the Maori, Iroquois, and Tupinamba engage in these
practices indicate that these cultures do actually hold the view that certain persons—one's
enemies—do not have moral significance equal to theirs, whereas we think our enemies
do, but that other factors override the importance of that fact. However, even though this
marks an important difference from our view of value, we do need to recognize that even
in these cultures, cannibalism—even of one's enemy—is never taken lightly. As Clerk
points out, "In all societies the conversion of a human being, a social being, to food is
highly charged with meaning, subject to restriction even in cannibal societies." It is a
demonstration of power—a hugely charged and significant gesture. "Like consumes like,
but real cannibalism is never the consumption of the 'perfect like'. Here lies the force of
the cannibal sign. Domination over the 'other' or the 'nearly like' is a way of speaking
about political power, control, and the assertion of identity. Incorporation is the ultimate
domination and determination" (Clerk 1975, 3).
b. Just Some of Us
i. The Kaulong
The Kaulong of Papua New Guinea provide a candidate for a
culture that sees moral worth as residing only in some of its members because they
176
emphasize so greatly the process of "becoming human". According to Jane Goodale, the
Kaulong identify a continuum which ranges from the non-human (or animal-like) to the
non-animal. Great value is placed on doing what is necessary to become potunus (which
Goodale glosses as "human", specifically as "completely human") and so humanity is not
seen as an inborn condition (Goodale 1995, Preface xi). Or, in other words, being born a
human being is not enough to make one non-animalistic. One might wonder if this view
of the accomplishment of potunus has a correlate in the moral arena. That is, it seems
possible that since the Kaulong view potunus as earned, they might also view the value of
a person as something that is earned and which corresponds with the accomplishment of
his or her humanity. Since they view individuals as occupying a place on the
human/animal spectrum, we would expect to see them regarded as having degrees of
value based on their position in the spectrum if this is correct.
Members of the Kaulong try to separate themselves as much as possible from
what is animal-like. They see themselves as human and to them, this means anti-animal.
They avoid insofar as they can those things which remind them of animals. For example,
animals have very white teeth, so the Kaulong blacken theirs. Sex is considered very
animalistic, so it is never discussed and is considered polluting. It does not occur in the
village, but must take place in the forest, where animals live. In addition to these
reactionary measures, the Kaulong believe they must develop the capacities that animals
lack in order to become potunus. In Goodale's words, "It requires one to carve out
clearings from the forest for hamlets and to work hard raising taro and pigs. It requires
177
one to travel, transact, negotiate, and compromise; to attract and not repel people; to
acquire and display knowledge, opening one's very self to challenge and ridicule. It is
very hard to be human." Furthermore, someone is not seen as being potunus if they eat
pork or do not have at least two to four taro gardens in production at a time (Goodale
1995, 73, 123, 179, 253).
Because the Kaulong view the soul differently than we do (as we noted in Chapter
Four), they think it is possible for an individual to permanently lose her soul and yet go
on functioning. Such an individual is considered "rubbish" and is generally ignored by
others, becoming a social non-person. She is seen as capable of rational thought, but
considered lazy because there is no soul to be activated (Goodale 1995, 46, 56). These
two views, that humanity or potunus is earned and not innately part of the human
condition and that humanity or potunus can be lost, combined with the recognition that
frequently personhood and humanity are inseparably bound leads to the possibility that
the Kaulong do not view all instantiations of the CCP as equally morally significant.
Rather, the distinction between the human and non-human and the importance of
achieving humanity might indicate that they place moral value on only a certain number
of these individuals—those who also have the attributes that we have mentioned and that
they regard as distinctly non-animal. But to determine whether or not the views of
becoming human or losing humanity reflect in any way on the value placed on
individuals and, consequently, their treatment, we need to look at the actual moral
practices of the Kaulong.
178
If the distinction between animal and human and the related idea of earned
humanity indicated that some individuals are not seen by the Kaulong as having equal
moral worth, we should expect different strictures for behavior depending upon one's
place in the human/animal spectrum. Clearly young infants and children lack the features
that make one potunus so we can began by looking at the moral behavior towards them in
order to gauge whether or not different standards exist.
Infanticide is not unheard of among the Kaulong. Women (accompanied by other
females) go off into the forest to have their babies and sometimes they will erroneously
report that a baby has died at birth or say that a baby was "thrown away into a hole".
However, these occurrences are not common and they correspond to two different
circumstances. The first is when the birth of the baby follows too closely upon the birth
of a previous child. It seems likely that this behavior is related to very pragmatic
concerns about the difficulties of feeding two infants at one time, since children are
nursed until they are four or five years old. The second is when the baby is perceived to
be born as a "snake" or an "ogre". In other words, babies with extreme deformities are
considered to be monsters and not human in any sense or capable of becoming so and
consequently are killed (Goodale 1995, 118, 155). There seems, though, no generally
permissive attitude about mistreatment of children.
If children were not considered equally morally significant, not is it likely that
there would be accepted practices for treating them differently than other humans, but it
also seems likely that they would not be judged by anything like the same moral
standards. And while children are not regarded as being as responsible as adults, either
among the Kaulong or in our own culture, the Kaulong make great efforts to encourage
the moral development of children and sharing is taught at a very early age (Goodale
1995,120).
There is no indication in the fieldwork about the Kaulong that those who have lost
their souls (rubbish-men) are treated differently than anyone else. They are largely
ignored, it is true, but there is no mention that it is considered, due to their condition,
permissible to abuse them in any way or take advantage of them. Rather, the general
moral strictures of the Kaulong seem to apply to all human beings—whether potunus or
not.
Although there is no evidence that the distinction between human and animal and
the view that humanity is earned entails that persons are not considered equally morally
significant, there is one practice among the Kaulong, very definitely not connected to
either of these things, that does seem to cast doubt on their acceptance of the view that all
units that instantiate the CCP are seen regarded as such. That practice is the practice of
widow-strangulation.
For the Kaulong, both men and women can become potunus and so the practice of
widow-strangulation has nothing to do with the human-animal spectrum that we have
been discussing so far. Rather, it is justified on the basis that marriage is forever and it is
necessary that the married couple are able to "travel together to the place of ghosts"
(Goodale 1995, 23, 53). However, though some men choose to commit suicide upon the
180
deaths of their wives, it is certainly not required, nor is it carried out by another party like
widow-strangulation. The practice of treating a certain subgroup in this way implies that
women are not seen by the Kaulong as being as morally significant as the men.
It is hasty to jump to that conclusion, however. It is true that this practice leads to
women being treated in a way that men are not and that the treatment is harmful and
seems anathema to the view that women are valuable moral units in their own right. But,
in general, Kaulong women are given a great deal of autonomy and respect. Rather than
being treated as second-class citizens, Kaulong women are able to become "big women"
in their tribes and are always the aggressors in courtship. A woman, with the aid of her
brothers, traps a man in a house and works to keep him from escaping. If she is
successful in detaining him overnight, they are considered married. This recognized
active and empowered role is hardly one that would be expected of an oppressed gender.
Furthermore, if a man is married, he must ask permission of his wife in order to marry a
second wife. If she does not agree and he does so anyway, he is seen as committing
adultery. When one does commit adultery, either of this sort or the more common type in
which a married woman sleeps with a man other than her husband, not only is the woman
seen as guilty of moral transgress and killed, but so is the man who was a party to the
incident. If a woman is raped, either the rapist must marry the woman or he is put to
death by the spear. Women, however, are in no way obligated to marry their rapists and
most often do not, so the typical result of rape is the death of rapist. Finally, using
obscene language is forbidden equally by a man to a woman and by a woman to a man.
181
It results in either an extremely heavy fine or the death of the offender, though it is
thought to be more shameful for a man to be sworn at by a woman than vice versa
(Goodale 1995, 144, 161-163, 166-167).
These moral practices do not indicate that women are seen as lacking moral value
or even lacking equal moral value amongst the Kaulong, despite the practice of widow-
strangulation. Certainly that practice indicates a double-standard in their culture and a
questionable gap in the otherwise generally consistent standards of equal moral
significance, but it no more indicates that the Kaulong don't consider some units
instantiating the CCP as equally morally significant than our former practice of slavery
indicates our lack of commitment to that tenet.
ii. The Tallensi
Like the Kaulong, the Tallensi believe that personhood is
something that is acquired over the course of a lifetime and that some individuals fail to
achieve full personhood at all. The question, as with the Kaulong, is whether or not that
belief entails that the Tallensi do not think that all persons are equally morally significant.
Meyer Fortes implies that the Tallensi view of personhood does find reflection in their
view about the value of individuals. As he says, "...a Tallensi is a person strictly and
solely by virtue of the status he or she is endowed with by kinship, descent, marriage and
residence. The creature of flesh and bone and blood equipped with capacities to think
182
and feel, with its organic needs and appetites and its vulnerability to failure, disease, and
death, is of significance to himself as well as others only if he is encapsulated in his
identity as a person" (Fortes 1987, 146). This indicates that an individual is only
regarded as significant and only regards herself as significant or valued if she is a person
and, since personhood is not automatic for all humans, there might be some individuals
who possess the characteristics of the CCP (if the Fortes's use of "personhood" does not
differ from this concept) who are not, then, considered valuable or significant. This
would be very different from our view that those individuals who possess the
characteristics of the CCP are not only valuable, but equally morally valuable.
For the Tallensi, personhood is not automatic because becoming a person requires
one to carry out certain rituals, observe certain taboos, and generally perform the
functions of the social office he occupies. For this reason, children, "madmen", and the
very elderly are not considered persons—or at least not considered full persons. They do
not have the capacity for responsibility or the sense of right and wrong that is needed to
carry out social practices and observe rituals (Fortes 1987, 276, 281-282). Women,
also, are not regarded as full persons, though they are thought to enjoy a measure of
personhood.
Women, children, the very elderly, and the mentally ill are not considered full
persons because personhood for the Tallensi is deeply connected to social position.
Social position is determined not only by one's achievement, but also by one's identity as
a father or grandfather (Fortes 1987, 264). Women are unable to hold ritual or political
183
offices, so they lack an important component of personhood. What measure they do
achieve comes from their identity as mothers or grandmothers. Children, of course, lack
both components, while the elderly and the mentally ill may have descendants but not be
able to hold ritual or political office. Descendents insure that one is taken care of after
death. Only if one's descendents perform the proper rituals and observe certain practices
can one become an "ancestor" after death.
Though not the only component, status as an ancestor is necessary for full
personhood. Consequently, personhood is not something that one is born with or attains
all at once. Rather, personhood comes in degrees over one's lifetime and only when one
becomes an ancestor is it fully achieved. If the proper practices are not performed by
one's descendents or if he dies a "bad death"—one that occurs outside the home or is the
result of smallpox, drowning, or suicide—he is not a full person. In other words, it is
impossible to tell if an individual is a full person until he dies. As Fortes points out,
many think of themselves as persons and live a life "masquerading" as persons only for
their lack of personhood to be revealed when they die (Fortes 1987, 193, 261, 265).
But what does this concept of personhood to which Fortes refers actually entail?
Is it the same concept as the CCP? Personhood, as Fortes uses the term, does dictate
certain rights and duties, but these are rights and duties of kinship and citizenship. They
do not "..specify conduct or designate the rights, duties, capacities and commitments that
constitute the actuality of being a person" (Fortes 1966, 12). He also points out that
though virtuous character traits and the performance of good actions are important and
184
well-regarded, they are unconnected to the attainment of personhood (Fortes 1987, 275).
It seems, then, that the concept of personhood that Fortes uses to describe the Tallensi is a
rather restricted one. It refers to their achievements in the social world and has little
bearing on other aspects of an individual. The disconnect between achievement of
personhood and morality is particularly telling, as it indicates that personhood in the
Fortes' sense, while extremely important to the Tallensi, is not directly connected to the
valuing or treatment of individuals. If all individuals manifesting the characteristics of
the CCP are treated as equally valuable moral units, then it little matters, for our
purposes, whether the Tallensi label them as persons or not, and there are no indications
that lack of personhood in this sense entails substandard moral treatment or regard in
Fortes's work.
iii. Indian Culture
Among Indian cultures we find two very different kinds of
evidence for the view that not all persons are considered equally morally significant. The
first sort involves a stated belief that personhood is achieved and is very much like the
sort of claims we have seen present in the Kaulong and Tallensi cultures. The second
sort, however, is rather different than what we have so far investigated.
Like other cultures we have reviewed, there is a belief in at least some Indian
cultures that personhood is an achievement. Anthony T. Carter describes culture in
Western India and states that there personhood is seen as earned. He says,
. .personhood is not inherent in the constitution of particular human actors, for example
their unique or individual souls. Rather, personhood is something that may be achieved
by qualified human actors and conferred upon them by the performance of sanskars
[sacraments]" (Carter 1992,132). The sacraments of personhood are: 1) a mother's
indulgence in the cravings of her fetus, 2) the naming ceremony, 3) the first haircutting
(for boys only), 4) marriage and the thread ceremony and 5) one's funeral.
For the first year or so of a baby's life, he or she is not considered a person,
according to Carter. But personhood does not arrive fully-formed after this time, either.
It gradually accumulates until one marries and is then considered a full person.
Unmarried adults are thought to have some degree of personhood, but are not seen as full
persons—they are described as "incomplete or unfinished". Members of the higher
varnas (or castes) are thought to be able to achieve a higher degree of personhood than
members of the lower ones. A woman is not eligible to become as full a person as a man.
All personhood terminates with the funeral sacrament, though it can be terminated earlier,
either permanently or temporarily, as the result of either deviant actions or the
transcending or renouncing of personhood accomplished by an ascetic (Carter 1992,129-
131).
Again we encounter here the same questions we did when looking at the Kaulong
and Tallensi: is the concept of personhood that is considered to be achieved the same
concept as the CCP? If it is, then does the view that it is achieved entail that some human
beings are not thought as morally valuable as others or is the achievement not a factor in
186
moral treatment and assessment? Our sources for these answers are the stated beliefs of
the many Indian holy books and the practices of the Indian people. One of these sources
seems to reveal that not all instantiations of the CCP are considered equally morally
significant, but for different reasons than these—reasons we are about to examine.
The metaphysics of Indian religion hold that nature operates according to laws
and within a fixed and enduring pattern. One aspect—a very important aspect—of nature
is human society. As an aspect of nature, it is not random or arbitrary, but is part of a set
and lawful pattern. It reflects the order seen on the larger scale in the whole of nature.
The main way in which society reflects the order and pattern of nature is the caste
structure. According to Indian metaphysics, the four great varnas or castes are not
human inventions or the result of human planning or thinking. Rather, they are a
reflection of four categories that nature has divided humans into. There are four main
human characteristics, which roughly correspond with certain human occupations. The
varnas reflect these natural divisions (Leidecker 1933, 185).
The Brahman caste contains those with contemplative and intellectual characters.
They are best fitted for the occupations of thinking and teaching. The Ksatrya caste is
chivalrous and ready for action. They are warriors and rulers. The Vaisya caste has the
sort of character that is good at mediation. They are best able to pursue trading and
working. Finally, the Sudra caste has the characteristics of laziness and unproductiveness
and is best fit for serving and idling (Leidecker 1933, 186-187). These groupings are
187
thought to be found in nature. The caste system only reflects the recognition of the
divisions which nature orchestrates.
But one does not grow up and then come to be assigned a certain caste depending
on how he or she turns out. Rather, one is born into a caste. Because of the Indian belief
in reincarnation, it is thought that no one would be born into a caste in which she did not
belong. The individual earns her place in the caste system by behavior in a previous life.
In addition to these four main castes, there are many divisions within each one.
These divisions mainly reflect different types of work one might do within the broader
category of serving, ruling, teaching, etc. (Leidecker 1933, 187). All ancient occupations
occupy some spot in the caste system. For example, according to the 1901 Census, some
4,500,000 individuals belonged to castes whose hereditary occupation was crime of one
kind or another (Olcott 1944, 648). Some individuals were in the sub-caste of highway
robbers, some were burglars, some assassins, etc.
There is also, however, a fifth caste—one which arose after the lowest of the four
main castes, the Sudras, began to be considered respectable. The members of the fifth
caste were groups of aboriginal peoples and were so despised by the Indo-Aryans that
they were not originally incorporated into the caste system at all (Hiro 1982, 5).
Europeans arriving in India noticed the lack of official recognition of these peoples
within the original caste system and labeled them as "Untouchables" (Dumont 1980, 71).
Over time, however, even this group was incorporated into the caste system and regarded
as part of the pattern of society.
188
The "Untouchables" are a caste that was considered impure.4 Their impurity
stemmed from the occupations to which they are metaphysically slotted. Tasks such as
working with leather or cutting hair, especially of the recently deceased, or washing
clothes were considered impure tasks—they were thought to pollute those who undertake
them. But someone needs to do these things, so those who perform these tasks work for
the whole of society and reflect the pattern of nature just as much as anyone else
(Dumont 1980, 55-56). All aspects of society work towards the whole, even the polluting
and unpleasant aspects.
Morality is closely related to the caste system. The Indian holy books discuss
general duties—ones all humans share, but also particular duties—which change
depending on the caste to which one belongs. To be a good person, one must perform
both duties. That means working to obey the rules of one's caste. If one is successful at
this, he frees himself from that station in the next life (Leidecker 1933, 188-190). Most
of the caste-particular rules are related to what foods and drink someone may partake in,
what occupations he might have, where and how he can travel, and the rules of
untouchability—that is, who and in what way he is able to come into contact with
members of other castes (Pohlman 1951, 378).
In practice, the caste system led to discriminatory treatment. Those who were in
higher castes frequently regarded themselves as superior to those in lower castes,
4 The 1959 Constitution mandated an end to discrimination against Untouchables. Information about
perceived value differences is referred to in the past tense to reflect that in modern-day Indian culture, this
treatment is no longer as prevalent as it once was and is not legally supported.
189
particularly those who had been labeled as "Untouchables" or "Outcastes". A man in a
higher caste could and often did command "servile obedience" from members in the
lower castes while members of those groups had no option but to follow the wishes and
remain subordinate to those in higher castes. According to Mason Olcott, historically
members of the lowest caste—the Outcaste or Untouchables—"live outside of the village
in unspeakable filth, eking out their existence by menial and polluting labor. Carrion is
the only meat that millions of them can obtain. In dry areas they find it difficult to find
water for bathing, and even for drinking...Their touch, their very presence is thought to
contaminate others" (Olcott 1944, 649, 655).
Higher castes could enforce rules upon lower ones such as dictating that they sell
their products at very low prices, forbidding them to dress in certain ways (often the
result being that they were not adequately protected from the elements) and forbidding
them to educate their children. The 1931 Census decreed that Outcastes were forbidden
from using tax-supported roads, wells, reservoirs, and schools, an also from temples,
burning grounds, religious institutions, private tea shops, hotels, and theatres (Olcott
1944, 649, 656).
The caste system, then, led to treatment which was unequal and which indicated
that certain humans, certain individuals who have the characteristics of the CCP, were not
thought to be as morally significant as those who were not in this caste. They were
exploited and used and the justification for this treatment was a commitment to a
metaphysical system. It looks, then, very much like Indian culture did not regard all
190
persons as equally morally significant. Moral value—the treatment one deserves and the
duties one must obey—seemed to depend upon one's caste.
However, the stated moral beliefs of the Indian holy texts from which justification
for the caste system and the treatment that results from it comes looks rather different
than the practice. According to Kurt F. Leidecker, the caste system, by itself, does not
entail a "contemptuous attitude toward a representative of a lower caste" (Leidecker
1933, 187). Rather, the general moral commands that the holy books dictate argue quite
forcibly against such an attitude and against the abuses that result from it. Though each
individual is responsible for his own actions, he also shares in a collective responsibility
for others and society. As we mentioned earlier, all parts of society are important—all
work to reflect the cosmic pattern—and so no part should be neglected or regarded as
inessential. The general moral strictures that every individual should follow, according to
the holy books, dictate virtues such as self-control, non-stealing, non-injury, kindness,
forgiveness, humility, patience, sympathy for others, affection for all beings, speaking
sweetly to all people, and treating others as one's own self. These duties are required of
all people and refer to the treatment of all other people. No caveats are made for
restrictions to their execution within a certain caste. Furthermore, several sources
reiterate "over and over again that the servants should be treated with utmost kindness
and sympathy" (Dasgupta 1965, 16, 25, 91, 209, 211).
In addition to the stated laws which call for treating all humans, and not merely
some, virtuously, there is an important philosophical reason for not discriminating against
191
or abusing members of lower castes. According to the karma system, any injury to others
affects a person in her next life and so it is never advisable to hurt another, regardless of
caste (Leidecker 1933, 191).
Clearly there is a difference between what the stated moral tenets of Indian
culture dictate and what people actually did. We must look at both in order to assess
whether valuing instantiations of the CCP in India differed from our culture in either of
the two ways we have described. The ostensible morality of the culture called (and does
call currently) for moral treatment of all humans. This indicates that all humans are
considered valuable moral units. In that case, neither the sacraments of personhood nor
the existence of the caste system has an effect on how personhood was valued in India.
However, as we have noted, actual treatment does not always mirror stated principles,
particularly with regard to the categories created by the caste system (whether this is also
the case with those who are not considered full persons is less clear). What should we
make of that disparity? Wherein lies the real view of the culture—in theory or in
practice?
We should hesitate before we dismiss actual practice in favor of theory as a true
reflection of a culture's beliefs. What one does is as important if not more so that what
one says she should do. However, we also need to be clear about the fact that the
professed views of a culture are ones a culture strives toward, if not always the ones it
achieves—and in that sense they are the best reflection of a culture's value, even when
actual practice tends to the contrary. Indian culture was not alone in occasionally
192
exhibiting a disparity between stated values and actual practice. This is as true in our
own culture as it is in any other. We have said that though we sometimes fail in
execution, what makes our culture one that values personhood is that we have an agreed
upon dogma that says so, even if we deceive ourselves about the implications of that
dogma in practice. We have not been given any reason to think that Indian culture
differed from us in that respect or, consequently, that they had a different view of how
persons are valued than we do.
iv. Other Cases
The cultures we have discussed are ones that are likely candidates
of groups that do not consider all instantiations of the CCP equally morally significant.
As we have seen, in reality that is only true for some of these groups and only to a certain
extent. But there are many other cultures in the world—far too many to examine—that
practice infanticide, killing or abandoning of the elderly, or condone rape and other types
of harm to women. Though we can't examine them all, we should say a few words about
what these practices mean for the moral significance of instantiations of the CCP.
Infanticide is not an unheard of practice in many cultures. In our own survey, we
have seen both the Ba-kaonde and the Kaulong practice it under certain conditions.
Many other cultures do, as well. The practice of killing infants, whether they are
deformed, thought to be possessed by evil spirits, those who cut their upper incisors
193
before their lower ones, or female infants, seems to indicate a routine disregard for the
moral significance of some persons.
However, it is only a disregard for the moral significance of some persons on a
particular view of personhood—one where infants count as persons because the traits of
personhood are sufficiently broad enough to include them. Certainly such a concept of
personhood exists in our culture and perhaps such a concept is absent in other cultures,
but we should remember that we are here concerned only with one of our concepts of
personhood, the CCP, not all of them and while it is certainly fascinating to note the
differences between our culture and others in this respect, it is not relevant to the
discussion at hand. Infants do not have the traits of the CCP and so offenses against
them, while they may seem morally repugnant to us, do not demonstrate a difference in
the value of instantiations of the CCP.
The same might be said of some elderly individuals, particularly those with very
advanced Alzheimer's Disease or some other mentally debilitating condition, but it
certainly isn't true for the vast majority of elderly individuals. Most of the aged have the
traits of the CCP and yet are still, in many cultures, victims of practices such as killing or
abandonment.
According to Nancy Foner, in many cases the elderly request to be killed or
abandoned. Among the Yakut of Siberia, for example, ".. .extremely frail elders would in
ancient times beg their relatives to bury them. Before being led into the wood and thrust
into their graves, they were honored at a three-day fast." She also notes that "in the past,
194
elderly Eskimos in northern Canada were willing to be abandoned when they became
weak or ill because they did not believe they would really die". They thought their
"name substance" would enter the body of a newborn child and so they would live on.
However, she also notes that not all elderly in all societies which engaged in these
practices wished to be killed or abandoned (Foner 1985, 27). Since they are
instantiations of the CCP, what do the practices of killing or abandoning the elderly
indicate?
In societies where killing or abandoning the elderly is a common practice, the
justification is generally that they are no longer physically or mentally capable of
contributing to the group and, instead, are a burden upon it (Foner 1985, 27). They are
incapable of raising or hunting food and yet require it and so someone else must provide
it for them. Where food is difficult to come by, as it is in the cultures that practice
abandonment or killing of the elderly, this is a tremendous imposition—one that threatens
the lives of the "productive" members of the group. One more mouth to feed and one
less hunter or farmer diminishes the food stores of everyone. Food and survival outweigh
the moral significance of the elderly in these cultures. However, the fact that these
cultures mark the killing or abandonment with rituals indicates that it is not something
done lightly. It is a serious and weighty thing to choose the survival of the rest of the
group over its elderly members, but something they think it is justifiable to do.
We, in our culture, have a stated commitment to the equal moral worth of all
persons. Sometimes we think there are extenuating factors (like war) that override that
195
commitment. We don't, as a culture, think that being dependent on society and
consequently reducing the stores of the "productive" members is an overriding
consideration. In this respect, the cultures that practice abandonment or killing of the
elderly differ from us, but we should recognize that it is not the difference of taking some
lives lightly, but of when moral significance is overridden by other considerations.
Finally, we need to consider cultures that condone the rape, assault, or general
mistreatment of women. We have already discussed some societies that engage in
harmful practices of these sorts such as the Kaulong and Indian culture, and noted their
similarities and differences to us. The same points that were made with respect to these
particular cultures can be applied more broadly without discussing every cultural instance
of misogyny. To a greater or lesser degree, these practices exist alongside others that
reflect some regard of the significance of women. They are certainly not treated as
differently or badly as non-human animals are, though also certainly not—in many
cases—as well as men. Cultures that condone the mistreatment of women differ from
ours (or it is at least arguable that they differ with our culture currently) because they do
not regard all instantiations of the CCP as morally equal, but are similar to ours in that
they regard them as morally significant.
3. Beyond Valuing Personhood: The Ik
In Chapter Three we met the Ik, an African culture in which it is considered
perfectly normal for children to steal food out of their starving parent's mouth, for
mothers and fathers to throw their children out of the house at the age of three to fend for
themselves, where love is seen as ridiculous, and where kindness is mocked. In Chapter
Three I argued that the Ik do have moral rules, though they are somewhat weak, and do
have interpersonal relations. I suggested that what the Ik lack is the view that persons are
units of moral significance.
The Ik don't value other people, though they have some habitual moral rules and
some pragmatic interpersonal relationships. Individuals don't even really value
themselves very much. No one is terribly surprised when food is stolen from them or
when they are lied to or mistreated. Colin Turnbull, the only anthropologist who has
written on this group, tells of one incident in which a woman was lying dying with
broken limbs and no way to get food and she joked with another passing by about her lot.
Horrible treatment and uncaring response is quite what they expect.
What can we say about Ik culture as it relates to the valuing of the CCP? Clearly
the Ik don't value the units that instantiate the CCP in the same way we do. They don't
think that persons deserve certain things or have certain rights or are worthy of the
treatment they themselves desire. But their views, while quite different than ours, are not
incomprehensible when we look at the world in which the Ik live.
The Ik live on the verge of starvation. They are not able to hunt as they did of old
and are able to produce very few crops. They spend the better part of each day staring
out onto the valley from a mountain ledge. The constant, overriding, and all-consuming
concern is with food—with satisfying their basic physical needs. Because these needs are
197
met rarely and never for long, the Ik never move past them to the satisfaction of other
needs or reflection on other kinds of concerns. If we recall Maslow's famous "Hierarchy
of Needs", we see that physiological needs are the most fundamental to us. Until they are
satisfied, other needs are unimportant and not considered. It is difficult for someone who
is worrying about where their next meal is going to come from or how to stop the pain in
their belly to worry about self-actualization—about becoming the best individual he can.
No one in this position is able to consider the corresponding needs and duties of being a
moral agent and recognizing the needs and the value of others. For the Ik, survival
trumps morality.
Perhaps if we were in a similar situation, we would not regard individuals as units
of moral significance, let alone equal moral significance, but as it stands, Ik culture
provides an example of a group that values instantiations of the CCP differently than we
do.
C. Temporal Significance
We will now consider cases of cultures that do not regard the individual human
body as having the same temporal significance that we do. That is, we will look at
cultures that seem to disagree with our view that what it means to survive over time is
that the individual human being (and not some other unit) survive. We should note
before beginning, however, that if there is a difference between us, it may be one of
degree. Many in our culture, too, hold that units other than the individual are temporally
198
valuable. However, our institutions, practices, stated and theoretical views all reflect the
view that the survival of the individual is most valuable—that each one of us has plans
and projects and goals that we want carried out and that we want to be the ones to do so.
We don't count it as survival if we, as individuals, don't survive. While we might also
desire the survival over time of our families or cultures or nations, these desires do not
generally outweigh the desire for individual survival. We should also point out that, as
we shall see, when we talk about the survival of the individual human body, it as the most
basic unit of the CCP, not just as a body. In what follows, we will look at cultures that
have been shown to locate the CCP most basically in the human body and show that they
also consider that whole combination to be temporally valuable.
A culture would differ from ours in their view of temporal value not merely by
regarding some unit other than the individual as desirable for survival over time, but by
regarding another unit as necessary and sufficient for survival over time. That is, if a
culture thinks that what it means for a person to survive is for her family to survive (for
instance), regardless of what happens to her individually, that would mark a departure
from our view of temporal value. Traditional Chinese culture, Balinese culture, and
Buddhist cultures all provide promising candidates.
1. Traditional Chinese Culture
Traditional Chinese culture is often characterized as placing more temporal value
on the family than on the individual. It is a well-known fact that the family unit is
199
regarded as very significant in this culture, but we must examine the extent and type of its
significance to determine whether or not traditional Chinese culture differs from ours in
its view of temporal value.
In Chapter Four we discussed traditional Chinese culture in relation to its view of
the instantiation of the CCP and determined that there was good reason to think that it
regarded the individual as the primary unit. In the course of that discussion, however, we
also recognized that another unit—the family—is regarded as having some, if not all, of
the characteristics of the CCP. Consequently, it is likely that it, too, is seen as a unit of
the CCP, though not the most basic one. It is possible, however, that the unit of temporal
value is the family not the individual, regardless of the fact that it is not the most basic
unit of the CCP. In fact, it is possible that a unit that is not a unit of instantiation of the
CCP is valued over and above one that is for temporal survival. This would just mean
that the CCP is not the relevant concept for that culture for the question of personal
identity over time. We need not settle definitely, then, whether the family is seen in
traditional Chinese culture as having all the characteristics of the CCP and hence being a
unit of it. We need only investigate whether or not there is reason to think that the family
is the only unit of temporal significance.
There are several reasons we might think that traditional Chinese culture regards
the family as the only unit of temporal significance. To begin with, there is an
undoubtedly close connection between the individual's achievements and failures and
those of the family. According to Shu-Ching Lee, ".. .any member's glory is taken to be
200
the glory of the family and his or her disgrace is the disgrace of the household" (Lee
1953, 272). Property, too, is owned in common and, whenever financially possible,
individuals live together in very large extended families. Family ancestors and traditions
are highly honored and fastidiously maintained (Lee 1953, 273-274). According to Lee,
the family is a primary institution and "takes no account of any individual, but places all
its emphasis on the identification of individual members with the established roles..."
(Lee 1953, 274). Marriages are considered unions between families, not a matter only or
primarily between two individuals. Children are born into a united and cohesive group
and raised to identify with and conform to the rules of the family. It is, according to Lee,
"the feeling of 'we' (not of 'I' as in the Western world), which is cherished, cultivated,
and finally incorporated in the personality of the grown-up adults" (Lee 1953, 276, 278).
These facts seem to indicate that many of the plans and projects we tend to see as
primarily associated with and achieved by the individual are primarily linked to the
family in traditional Chinese culture. One's achievements and failures, marriage, and the
raising of one's children are all matters connected with the family. It seems that, since
this is so, the family is the unit that is regarded as significant for the achievement of plans
and projects, not the individual and, hence, the unit of temporal significance.
Things aren't quite so clear-cut, however. The individual's survival is also
valued—sometimes to the detriment of the family. According to Lee, families
disintegrate when there aren't enough resources and "different branches are forced to take
what can still be shared from the commonly owned property and go elsewhere" (Lee
1953, 273). This fact suggests that when the survival of many individuals is at risk, it is
thought better to dissolve the unity of the family than to maintain cohesion. One might
suggest that this, too, is survival for the family since it stands a better chance of
continuing as scattered parts than a united but starving whole. But this explanation
overlooks two important issues. First, the emphasis on extended family, communal
property, and communal raising of children indicates that a portion of the family is not as
much a family as the whole. In other words, branches of the family living apart are far
less desirable—far less of a family—than the whole living together. It is not clear this
sort of dissolution would be counted as the survival of the family at all. Secondly, the
best way to ensure survival of the family in its most cherished and recognized form (the
whole) would be to funnel the resources to the members who can carry on the line, rather
than break up the family in times of financial hardship. Since that is not the practice, it
indicates that the individual is regarded as having a good deal of temporal significance—
sometimes even more than the family unit.
It would be improper to conclude from this one circumstance that the individual is
considered more temporally significant than the family, especially because so many of
the practices we have described offer evidence the contrary. But it also seems wrong to
assume that the individual is not thought to have any temporal significance. As we noted
earlier, it seems to be a matter of degrees. Traditional Chinese culture places far more
temporal significance on the family than we do even if it is not the only unit that they
regard as temporally significant.
202
2. The Balinese
In Chapter Three we saw that the Balinese have the concept of the CCP, despite
claims by Clifford Geertz and others that they view themselves and others as anonymous
slots in an eternal cosmic order. Earlier in this chapter we discussed how their viewpoint
about persons and the cosmic structure relate to the moral significance that they place on
the individual human being and found a good deal of evidence to suggest that they do
regard individuals as morally significant and, in fact, the primary unit of moral
significance. In this section, we will discuss how they view temporal significance.
Funeral practices indicate that it is the human as an individual and not as an
anonymous placeholder that the Balinese regard as temporally significant. Linda Connor
confirms the views that we discussed in Chapter Three and further notes that even though
the prevalent behavior is to maintain calm and composure in the face of death despite
one's inner feelings to the contrary, there are plenty of examples to indicate that deep
personal sympathy is not only felt, but given expression. Connor notes: "Classical poetry
and other literature based on Balinese adaptations of Hindu epics abound with loyal
wives, paramours and maidservants who sink into an abyss of grief at the death of their
loved one (dwelt upon at length by the poets), and who eventually follow the deceased in
departing this world, by the self-destruction known as satia or bela" (Connor 1995, 539).
It is a common practice for families to consult mediums, asking for communication with
the dead and these "are frequently occasions for weeping, heartfelt reconciliation or bitter
203
reprisals, between the parties concerned" (Connor 1995, 539). And though little grief is
generally expressed in front of the deceased, the reason is not disinterest, but a firm belief
in "...the power of the group to progress the soul" which they believe can only be
accomplished by showing equanimity in its presence and which also serves as "a means
of transforming the anguish of the bereaved into calm acceptance and hope" (Connor
1995,547).
These views and behavior show that the Balinese not only consider individuals
morally valuable, they regard them as temporally valuable as well. It is not some
anonymous fellowman who has died and the deceased's spot in this world isn't merely
taken by another. Survival is the survival of this particular person, despite the
conclusions of Geertz and others. It is the deceased as an individual who is mourned,
who communication is attempted with, and who is hoped to progress into the hereafter.
If the individual was seen as nothing more than an anonymous fellowman and,
consequently, not temporally significant as an individual human being, we would expect
to find the sort of behavior that Geertz thought took place—a real lack of interest in or
sorrow regarding death. The fact that the Balinese do experience and express real loss
and sorrow indicates the temporal significance of the individual. The occasion of
mourning is the end of the survival of an individual which highlights that the survival of
an individual is seen as significant.
Not only do the funeral practices show that the Balinese want other individuals to
continue on and regard the survival of another as the survival of a particular individual
204
human body, the same is true of how they regard their own survival. The attempts to
reconcile with, speak to, and even fight with the dead show that the individuals who want
to initiate contact have plans and projects concerning these relationships that they want to
engage in personally—that aren't fulfilled to their satisfaction if left to anyone else. The
incidents of satia or bela also indicate a desire to live one's life in a certain way and
active self-determination of one's future which, though in this case entails the end of
one's life, marks a concern for one's future and a belief in individual survival over time.
3. Buddhist Cultures
It might be suggested that Buddhist cultures place no temporal significance on the
survival of the individual human being. While this may be true on a limited theoretical
level, we saw in Chapter Three that the ordinary Buddhist and even the Buddhist monk
through most levels of training are very interested in individual survival over time and
regard the survival of the individual human body as desirable.
At the highest levels of Buddhist thought it is true that the survival of the
individual human being is not the goal—in fact the realization that there is no individual
human being is the goal—but it would be wrong to assume that there is some other unit
whose survival, instead of the individual human body, is desirable. Rather, the emphasis
of this very high level of Buddhist thought is on the elimination of suffering by getting to
a place where one is no longer concerned about such matters as survival at all. So while
we cannot say that Buddhist culture completely holds a view of individual temporal
205
significance, by and large it does and it holds no view of any other type of temporal
significance (and, consequently, no view that there is a type of temporal significance
more important than that of the individual).
D. Conclusion
The results of our inquiries in this chapter are less straightforward than those of
the previous two chapters. It is a tricky thing to know what we mean when we say that
we regard individuals as having equal moral value. It is a tricky thing to square that
statement with some of our actual practices. It is a further tricky thing to compare our
non-ideal practices with those of other cultures and determine if they really do differ from
ours or not. We have been using the standard of stated beliefs, regardless of actual
practice as a measure of difference. This has been our measure not because it is ideal, but
because it seems to be the only one we have to make the distinction we are examining.
When we use this rough guide, the results seem to be two-fold. First, there are
cultures that don't label certain humans as persons. That is not to say, and generally does
not seem to imply, that they don't regard all humans as units of the CCP. The real issue
is whether they treat each member of humanity the same way or profess to do so. In
some cases, we find that they do not (in the case of the Gahuku-Gama and perhaps the
Kaulong), though they seem to have a minimum standard of behavior for all humans.
They do not seem to think that all humans are deserving of the same treatment. The
second result is that there are cultures in which individuals are not treated as equally and
206
consistently valuable because other fundamental needs are treated as more important (in
the cases of the Maori, the Kaulong, and the Ik).
Both of these results show differences from our culture. In the first case, what is
considered salient about human beings is not just rationality or any of the other
characteristics of the CCP, or even all of them combined, but some extra thing. And,
while it is important and interesting to notice that all units that satisfy the CCP seem to be
given a minimum standard of treatment in all the cases we've looked at, that does not
entail that all are given the same treatment or that the same treatment is thought to be
merited. In the second case, practical matters that we do not experience change the
importance of morality in a person's life. What we can say in conclusion from our
findings is that there seems to be a minimum standard of morality given to all units of the
CCP—a standard higher than most other creatures and that entails that the treatment of
humans is regarded as a serious matter (barring situations where basic needs are
endangered). We found, though, that not all cultures have the view that all individuals
should be treated equally.
In this chapter we also examined whether or not personhood, as formulated by the
CCP, is temporally valued in other cultures. We concluded that in the strongest
candidates to the contrary, there was still a temporal value placed on bearers of most
basic unit of the CCP, individual human beings. However, in some cultures (namely,
traditional Chinese culture), the individual human being is not valued over and above all
other units. This may be because, though the individual is the most basic unit of the
207
CCP, there are other units of the CCP as well in these cultures. Another possibility, one
that we have not been presented with examples of but which might exist, is that there are
cultures that regard the CCP as temporally valuable but that also think some
characteristic on top of the CCP is necessary for survival over time.
With regards to both temporal and moral value, in the cultures we have reviewed
there seems to be a minimum of significance placed on the individual human being as the
most basic unit of the CCP. And though there is not the same level of significance cross-
culturally, they share with us a similar regard for units of the CCP. In the next chapter,
we will discuss why we should not be surprised to find the concept of and similar regard
for the CCP in other human cultures.
VI. GENERAL EMPIRICAL CONSIDERATIONS
A. Introduction
In the previous three chapters, we explored anthropological cases that have been
suggested to be, or seem likely to be, counterexamples to a universal concept of
personhood. In examining these cases, we were able to determine that the strongest cases
for counterexample do not present what they seem to and that these cultures share a
concept of personhood with us (the CCP), a view of how persons are most basically
instantiated (in the human body), and part of our view about how they should be valued
(though they are not valued in all cultures as moral equals, they are regarded as units of
particular moral significance and as units of temporal significance, though sometimes not
the only units of that type of significance). While it is an important task to address the
strongest empirical cases because so much of the relativist's argument is empirically
based, it is perhaps not enough to convince her that the concept of personhood does not
vary cross-culturally. She might be inclined to argue that even though these cases don't
demonstrate counterexamples of the concept, others that we have not considered do.
While I have done my best to consider the strongest cases, it is impossible to consider
every case or to be familiar with every culture that might provide evidence to the
contrary. From what I have said so far, the relativist should be persuaded that variation in
the concept and regard of personhood—at least in one concept of personhood—is less
common than she's been led to believe, but she might still hold that it exists.
208
209
In this chapter I will try to fill in the argumentative gap that is left after the
specific empirical evidence has been examined. If it is impossible to examine every
culture and if the relativist needs something more than what has already been provided,
the only answer is to give her reasons for thinking that the CCP is not shared only by the
cultures we have investigated. We will see in this chapter that when we look at what
cultures are and what pressures are likely to operate on the formation of the concept of
person in cultures, it isn't surprising that we found that the cultures that seemed most
likely to present counterexamples to the concept, instantiation, and value of the CCP in
actuality did not. Since these pressures are likely to operate on concept formation of any
culture, this chapter aims at showing why we shouldn't be surprised to find the CCP in
any culture—why the CCP is not a concept that accidentally forms in some cultures, but
is rather a concept that very naturally springs from those factors that are essential to being
a culture at all.
B. The Roots of Disagreement
Before I begin discussing positive reasons that I think might cause the relativist to
reappraise the likelihood that his position, I think it is important to ask ourselves why the
relativist might hold his position in the first place. In Chapter One we discussed reasons
someone might have for being a relativist, in general, and for being a relativist about
concepts, particular. We also discussed reasons for holding a relativistic position about
the concept of personhood. Most of these reasons were connected to the fact that there
210
does seem to be cultural evidence that indicates that the concept varies. The relativist
then takes this evidence to support the stronger position that there is no concept of
personhood that is universal and no concept of personhood that ought to be universal.
We've spent the last three chapters showing that this evidence isn't as strong as it seems
and doesn't show what we might assume it does, but it is understandable that the
relativist might think the concept varies cross-culturally because there are features of
cultural analysis that often lead to confusion.
As Steven Pinker points out, and as we've seen in many of the cases we've
examined, statements about what cultures believe are often based on language and
behavior (Pinker 366). Neither of these sources is wholly reliable. Languages are
frequently impoverished and the fact that a language lacks a word doesn't mean that the
culture that speaks that language lacks the concept. Pinker points out: "When English-
speakers hear the word Schadenfreude for the first time, their reaction is not, 'Let me
see.. .Pleasure in another's misfortunes...What could that possibly be? I cannot grasp the
concept; my language and culture have not provided me with such a category.' Their
reaction is 'You mean there's a word for it? Cool!"' (Pinker 367). Language develops
under certain conditions and the more diverse a culture's experiences and contacts with
other cultures, the more diverse its vocabulary (Pinker 366-367). Cultures that have not
had the requisite exposure might well lack a word for something or use an expression to
encapsulate it, but that does not mean they lack the concept. The relativist who takes
anthropological or linguistic reports that certain cultures lack certain words to indicate
211
that they also lack the corresponding concepts is vulnerable to making a mistake about
the tightness of the connection between our words and our concepts.
Anthropologists often report on behavior and that, too, can be a tricky source for
drawing conclusions about cultural variation. As we saw with the Balinese and North
Indian cultures, display rules differ from actual feelings quite frequently. In many
cultures there are rules about what emotions and preferences can be displayed, but a
focused analysis reveals that they do have the same emotions and preferences as we do.
Their society simply frowns upon the public expression of these things.
The sources of anthropological evidence are not the only cause for confusion
about the relativism of the concept of personhood. Another factor derives from looseness
in our language. When an anthropologist uses the words "person" or "self' or "human"
they often mean different things than a philosopher would mean. Part of what I think it
has been important to do here is to get clear on what concept we are using and to hold
that concept consistent for comparison rather than trust word usage in various
anthropological reports. Anthropologists have their own set of discipline-related goals
and they are concerned with presenting their material in a manner that best serves the
study in which they are engaged. They are generally concerned with showing what is
different and interesting about other cultures, so their emphasis is often on what varies,
not what is the same. The problem comes not from the usage of the terms by
anthropologists—which is often perfectly appropriate to their task—but from the
assumption by relativists that everyone is using the word the same way. If the relativist is
212
going to use anthropological evidence to make assertions about the concept of
personhood, it is necessary to avoid looking only for disparity and to firm up the
precision of the concepts in question. That seems to be something that has been
overlooked by many relativists and which has contributed to the common and
understandable mistake of thinking that concepts of personhood differ more substantially
than they actually do.
Another explanation is that there are lots of concepts of personhood at work in
any culture—ours included. If we merely look at, say, the ways of distributing blame in
traditional Chinese culture, it seems that our concept of personhood has little in common
with theirs. And this is the sort of thing that causes the relativist to say that there is no
shared concept of personhood. But if we try to see if there is a basic, underlying concept
that is common, as we have done here, we can sort through the real and apparent
differences and the confusion that they engender and really evaluate whether or not
something is shared.
Finally, the relativist might hold her position for philosophical reasons connected
to viewing each culture as an individual set of practices which work together and make
sense within their own frameworks, but whose concepts and behaviors might not make
sense within another culture. While a relativist of this sort might be attracted to such a
view initially because of observations of cultural variation, she is making a larger
philosophical point. Her position is a natural extension of viewing cultures as sets of
practices that have no (or at least none relevant to the issue of personhood) shared
213
pressures that act as determining factors on the formation of the concept. In order to
convince a relativist of this sort, we need to say something about why they should think
pressures on concept-formation exist cross-culturally and why they naturally influence
concepts of personhood. We will undertake that explanation in this chapter.
Relativism about the concept of personhood is not an unreasonable position. I've
tried to show that it is not obviously the correct position by looking at the cases that a
certain type of relativist is most likely to point to for his defense and showing that they
don't provide what he hopes. We can now move on to giving some positive reasons why
we shouldn't be surprised to find the CCP in any human culture and, in doing so, not only
directly address the relativist who holds his position for philosophical reasons, but also
supplement our empirical work and, in doing so, provide reasons why any sort of
relativist about personhood should reevaluate his position.
C. The Concept of Culture
When we think about it, we shouldn't be surprised that we have found the
empirical cases to fail to present counterexamples and we shouldn't be surprised to find
that there are unlikely to be cases in which a culture lacks the CCP, regards it as most
basically instantiated in a unit other than the individual human body, or fails to regard its
instances as significant. Both human biology and the factors that enable human beings to
form and maintain cultures exert pressures that are likely to affect the view of personhood
214
that functions in any culture. When we think about what cultures are, we see that it is
natural for the CCP to be a concept held and similarly regarded by units of that type.
To understand the pressures that operate on the concept of personhood, we need
first to understand what a makes something a culture. Though it might seem to us that
culture is a concept that must have existed since the first group of people capable of self-
reflection banded together, the modern concept of culture is actually fairly recent. It is
true that the observation that people belong to groupings of these kinds is not a new one.
As Samuel Fleischacker points out, people have always recognized that there are groups
of people that differ from one another in areas such as their beliefs, values, practices and
institutions (Fleischacker 120). But what is a fairly recent development is the view that
these groups differ from one another not simply in unimportant ways or ways that result
from mistakes about how things should be done and what is important, but in ways that
are significant, that contribute to a coherent system of living, and that fundamentally
shape the views and beliefs of the members of those groups (Fleischacker 120).
This idea, developed in embryo by Lessing and furthered by Herder, has its roots
in Leibniz (Fleischacker 120-121). From Leibniz's view that individuals are monads,
each with unique (and uniquely faulty) views of the entire universe, Lessing and Herder
extended the observation to cultures (Fleischacker 120-121). If cultures, as they imply,
are like monads, then each culture has a unique perspective on the universe. Cultures are
essentially (not accidentally), then, units of belief and practice that mold the lives of their
members in certain fundamental ways, and that differ from each other. It is this power
215
that cultures have, which other groups do not, or have to a much lesser extent, that gives
weight to cultures and makes them important in a way that many other groupings are not.
Even as we individually differ from each other, even as we have small group divisions,
those differences take place within the commonality of a culture, uniting us in how we
navigate the world, in our essential viewpoints.
But though it is clear that cultures are special groupings and ones of particular
weight, there still remains the task of identifying which groups are cultures and what
characteristics are the important ones for individuating cultures. The discipline of
anthropology is rife with suggestions. Some of these emphasize practices, while others
emphasize beliefs, and some reject both of these criteria and focus on artifacts or
products (Fleischacker 127-128). The seminal work on the topic, Culture: A Critical
Review of Concepts and Definitions, by A.L. Kroeber and Clyde Kluckhohn list more
than one hundred and sixty definitions of the word—and those only the ones used before
1952 (Fleischacker 128). So, though it is impossible to provide one universally accepted
definition, it is worth while sifting through a few kinds of definitions to arrive at as much
common ground on the concept of culture as we can.
Though Kroeber and Kluckhohn's volume is now quite old, it is still an incredibly
thorough and informative account of the various definitions of culture that have been
given by social scientists. Nowhere else can one find such a complete survey of the topic
and because of that, and since most more modern definitions are heavily influenced by
216
these early definitions, it can be relied on as a source of the types of ways that the term
"culture" has been and is currently used.
Kroeber and Kluckhohn divide the types of definitions of culture that are most
common into roughly six types: Descriptive (broad definitions with emphasis on
enumeration of content), Historical (emphasis on social heritage or tradition), Normative
(emphasis on rule or way), Psychological (emphasis on culture as a problem-solving
device), Structural (emphasis on the patterning or organization of culture), and Genetic
(emphasis on culture as a product or artifact) (Kroeber and Kluckhohn 43, 47, 50, 55, 61,
64).
These categories differ considerably from each other in terms of what is labeled
as the salient feature or features of cultures. For example, if we look at one example of a
Historical definition, Edward Sapir's, we see culture defined as "The socially inherited
assemblage of practices and beliefs that determines the texture of our lives..." (Kroeber
and Kluckhohn 47). This type of definition emphasizes the characteristic of spreading
and preserving information rather than describing culture in terms of a body of beliefs,
practices, habits, etc. That focus is very different from, say, the one found in
Psychological definitions. For example, Piddington defines culture as ".. .the sum total of
the material and intellectual equipment whereby they [members] satisfy their biological
and social needs and adapt themselves to their environment (Kroeber and Kluckhohn 56).
This type of definition focuses on defining cultures not in terms of what information is
important to them or their character as information-spreading and -preserving units, but
217
on those factors to which cultures respond. In still a completely different approach, we
can see in Folsom's 1928 Genetic definition a very different focus: "Culture is the sum
total of all that is artificial. It is the complete outfit of tools, and habits of living, which
are invented by man and then passed on from one generation to another" (Kroeber and
Kluckhohn 64). Here culture is defined in terms of contrast—culture is what is not
natural. In just these few examples we see a glimpse of the enormous range of
definitions of culture that have been given.
What, if anything do these very different types of definitions have in common and
how are we to talk about cultures at all or about pressures exerted on the concepts
developed in cultures without a settled view of the types of groups that they are? There is
probably no way to pick out a feature that every definition shares or that every social
scientist would agree is salient, but it is worth noting that seventy-nine of these
definitions explicitly make mention of culture as something that is inherited, taught,
acquired, transmitted, learned, communicated, or passed down.1 Almost all the others
pinpoint features of culture that become pervasive in groups such as social activities,
habits, customs, beliefs, systems of thought, manners of living, ideas, patterns of
behavior, and ways of life. When we think about how these sorts of things are spread in a
group and how ideas, skills, laws, etc., are inherited, acquired, transmitted,
communicated, or passed down, we see a common strand. Whatever one takes to be the
important characteristic or characteristics of culture, most definitions indicate that
1 This figure is according to my own count.
218
something must be taught by some members and learned by others, that there is some
information that is passed down from one generation to the next or among a given
generation if something is going to count as a culture.
As I've noted, there are various answers as to what that must be. I don't think it is
necessary or possible to arrive at consensus on that issue. What we can say is that
cultures involve teaching and learning. I think we can also say, in keeping with the spirit
around which the concept was formed and developed, that much of this teaching and
learning reflects a comprehensive perspective on life, regardless of what one takes to be
the salient features of that perspective.
This is admittedly general and vague and would hardly be satisfying to most
social scientists as a definition of culture. I don't intend it to operate as one. I merely
wish to say something very general about what cultures are and how they differ from
other groups so that we might better examine some pressures that operate on the
formation of the concept of person within cultures.
One of these pressures is connected to the fact that cultures—in every
uncontroversial case—are made up of human beings and there are certain socio-
biological facts about humans that are likely to affect their views of personhood. The
other is that a culture has to pass down or along its relevant information (be these beliefs,
ideas, laws, customs, behaviors, traditions, activities, or what have you). The
pedagogical process makes likely the recognition and valuing of units of the CCP. In the
219
next two sections, I will elaborate on how these pressures are linked to the recognition of
and similar regard for our concept of personhood.
1. Sociobiology and Human Beings
In Chapter Four, we discussed empirical evidence that seemed to indicate that
some unit other than the human body is the basic unit of the CCP in a given culture. We
found that the likely candidates did not provide evidence for that conclusion upon close
examination. In the course of our analysis, we ran into some common features—-some
common pressures—that influenced the cultures we were discussing and that affected
their worldviews. These pressures often provided us with the means to refute the views
that were ascribed to these cultures. For example, we said that one should not conclude
that the Wintu did not have a concept of person that is connected to the individual body
even though they used language that one might interpret as proving that conclusion. For
there is also evidence that they shared the view that the person is connected with the
individual body: their myths and prayers describe individual acts done by individual
bodies with no confusion about where personhood is located. We saw that the object of
healing, even in cultures where body parts are thought to be significant units, such as the
Maori culture, is the entire human organism. We saw that even among "primitives" hair
and excrement aren't regarded as having the same characteristics as whole bodies, and
that when someone mourns the loss of these things, they are mourning the diminishment
of the whole organism, not indicating a belief that body parts are units of personhood in
220
themselves. We saw, with the Kaulong, that parts of the soul that are thought to be able
to leave the body aren't regarded as having the same characteristics as a united one and
are not regarded as having the attributes of the CCP. We saw that among "primitives"
trees aren't regarded as having the same value or status as humans even when respected
because they lack the same characteristics as humans. And we saw among "primitive"
cultures that no one discusses the possibility that there is a tiger in Fred's body when part
of Fred's soul enters the tiger's body because it is Fred who has the important
characteristics, not the tiger.
The observations we made were not random or unrelated. It's not accidental that,
in cases where it seems that personhood is located in groups, body parts, split between
bodies or sharing a body, in disembodied souls, or in non-human units such as animals or
trees, the human body turns out ultimately to be the most basic unit of the CCP. It is not
accidental because there are facts about the human body that naturally give rise to the
view among human beings that it is a particularly salient unit.
Cultures are composed of human beings and there are certain sociobiological facts
about human beings that are likely to inform the concepts of personhood at work in
groups containing them. There is biological hard-wiring that naturally leads all creatures
to recognize their conspecifics. In nature, we see very few mistakes on the parts of
animals about what sorts of animals they ought to mate with. The survival of animal life
depends on instincts that drive an organism to identify the same sort of organism as
different from other types of organisms and as the proper object for mating. Humans are
221
no different than other species except that our recognition of conspecifics occurs in a
particular way that tends to influence how we view ourselves and others.
Humans tend, because the size and structure of our brains, to be conscious of
much more than other animals. Rather than just being inclined to mate with a certain
type of creature, humans tend to notice that they are so inclined. They naturally pick out
other humans from the fabric of the natural world just as other creatures pick out their
conspecifics, but because they are able to recognize they are doing so, there is often a
conscious identification of other human bodies as uniquely important.
But it isn't just the recognition of conspecifics that inclines humans to see the
human body as a particularly significant unit. It is also that creatures are hard-wired to
do what they can to preserve themselves. Instinctively, animals run away from danger,
fight when threatened, and protect their food stores. Humans act in the same way as all
other animals, but are in a position to notice their inclination to do so. And when a
human feels the need to flee an attacker, it is generally the whole body he wants to
remove from danger, not just certain parts.
Nor are those the only things that humans are likely to notice. Sex between two
bodies produces some definitive number (usually one, but sometimes more) of human
bodies. A body must eat and sleep and drink to stay alive and no body can do those
things for any other body, as one is likely to notice in situations where one is separated
from the group or when resources are limited. No body can learn how to walk or climb
or hunt or swim and directly transfer those skills to another body. Attempts to do so
222
result in noticeable failures. Each body must develop itself and any aid it gets from
others in these respects must come through the indirect transfer of skills that is involved
in teaching and learning.
Because of these factors and because persons and groups of persons are less likely
to survive long without recognizing them, the concept of the human body as a unit of
special significance arises very naturally in human beings. It may be that other units are
also regarded as significant, but that significance is likely to be predicated upon the
understanding that the human body holds a special and basic significance. Regard for the
group or individual organs or spirits or souls or trees or animals is likely to come after an
appreciation of the basic status of the human body. Without that appreciation the group
couldn't function as well since its members have to function and recognize the
importance of the individual bodies that contribute to the group. Neither can body parts
be appealed to for the accomplishment of goals without the concept of a basic and
underlying controller. Spirits, souls, trees, and animals and the significance that is
attached to them in some cultures is a function of the significance that the individual
body is given and an extension of that value. Because human biology inclines humans to
recognize the human body as particularly important, it shouldn't be surprising to find the
view that the human body as the most basic unit of significance arises in human cultures.
Additionally, there may be sociobiological facts about humans that lead us to
recognize some of the other characteristics of the CCP in human beings. Take, for
example, the characteristic of emotion. Charles Darwin said: "An infant understands to a
223
certain extent, and as I believe at a very early period, the meaning or feelings of those
who tend him, by the expression of their features" (Darwin 294). Darwin's belief has
been the subject of scores of studies demonstrating emotion detection in very young
children. According to a 1988 study by Pamela M. Ludemann and Charles A. Nelson,
".. .7-month-old infants respond to some expressions categorically. When familiarized to
multiple models and varying intensities of happy, infants readily respond categorically to
a novel model posing happy and discriminate happy from fear or from surprise.
Similarly, 7-month-old infants are able to demonstrate categorical recognition of surprise
and discriminate this expression from fear" (Ludemann and Nelson 500). A study by
April Kuchuk, Martha Vibbert, and Marc H. Bornstein found that even 3-month-old
infants could discriminate between intensities of a single type of expression—smiling—
and that they preferred more intense smiles to less intense ones (Kuchuk, Vibbert, and
Bornstein 1059). These results do not only apply to static expression, but have also been
duplicated on dynamic expressions, such as would be found in real-life situations (Soken
and Pick 1275). Soken and Pick found that 7-month-old infants not only distinguish
between positive and negative dynamic expressions, but also among different positive
expressions and different negative ones (Soken and Pick 1279).
These studies and many more suggest that humans are hard-wired to discriminate
between expressions and to use them as indications of emotions. According to
Ludemann and Nelson, this is an important skill to develop, especially for infants, and a
natural part of early development because of the limitations in infant communication:
224
"The ability to recognize facial expressions of emotion plays a particularly important role
early in life, when caretakers communicate affect to their infants largely through
nonverbal means (e.g. through facial expressions and changes in the melodic
characteristics of the voice). With respect to facial expressions, it is the infant's role in
this exchange to recognize such displays as accurately as possible, to derive meaning
from such displays, and eventually to use such information to guide behavior"
(Ludemann and Nelson 492).
Though the aforementioned studies were done within a single culture—ours—
there has been a great deal of work done in other cultures on older subjects by both Paul
Ekman and Carol Izard. Ekman performed studies in New Guinea, Borneo, the United
States, Brazil, and Japan and in each study "found evidence of pan-cultural elements in
facial displays of affect." He also found that observers in each culture recognized most
of the same emotions from the same photographs. Ekman's studies aimed at examining
the displays and recognition of interest, joy, surprise, anger, distress, disgust-contempt,
and shame. He used thirty photographs, each showing one clear emotion. In cultures that
lacked words for any of these emotions, he used substitute expressions (for example,
"looking at something that stinks" to represent "disgust-contempt"). He found that there
were similar recognitions for happiness, anger, and fear, and somewhat fewer, but still
many, similar recognitions of disgust, surprise, and sadness. These results also held
consistent in the Western Fore, which is a preliterate society and so unlikely to be
affected by media exposure to Western views about emotion displays (Ekman 1969, 86-
225
88). He also found in later studies that types of smiles are distinguished and
distinguishable cross-culturally and that smiles of enjoyment are perceived as distinct
from other kinds of smiles (Ekman and Frieson 1982).
Carol Izard conducted her studies at the same time but separately from Ekman
and used different photographs, different emotional terms, and examined different
cultures. Nevertheless, she achieved the same results as he did (Ekman 1992, 63).
These studies have also been repeated numerous times by others and, though there is
some disagreement about which emotions are universal, it is widely accepted is that there
are some universal emotional displays and universal recognition of these displays (Pinker
366). So, even though the infant studies have not been done cross-culturally, cross-
cultural work on older subjects indicates that it is likely that emotion recognition is not
culturally relative and so likely not to be the function of enculturation. It is likely then,
that if infant studies were done cross-culturally, they would yield similar results,
indicating that the ability to recognize human beings as having emotions may be a fact
about the development of the human body.
There is also evidence that recognition of other human beings as rational creatures
may have some basis in our biology. As Dare A. Baldwin and Louis J. Moses point out,
looking to others for information and guidance is important to human survival and is the
foundation of human knowledge about the world (Baldwin and Moses 1996, 1915). This
skill, which they call "social information gathering" differs from other ways of acquiring
information, such as direct investigation or observational learning, because social
226
information gathering encompasses not only with the connection between a physical
action and its consequences, but also with the recognition of another as a "carrier of
information", a "conduit for information about the world" (Baldwin and Moses 1996,
1917).
A great many experiments have been done to assess when a human first develops
the skill of social information gathering. One famous example is a visual cliff
experiment in which infants have been found to look for their parents' expressions to
judge how they ought to respond to novel situations. There is some evidence that the
skill develops during the first year and some that it develops later, but there is solid
agreement that social information gathering is a skill that comes with normal human
development by the end of the second year (Baldwin and Moses 1996; 1916, 1934). If
these studies are correct, then the recognition of humans as creatures who hold
information and can convey it comes well before the pre-school years. These studies do
not show that infants equate having information with rationality, but they do indicate that
it is possible that some part of what later develops (when higher level distinctions become
possible) has its roots in human biology.
A third class of developmental study indicates that humans may begin to
recognize other humans as agents at a very young age. This isn't surprising, perhaps,
given the information about social information gathering, but it is interesting how and
when it occurs. At birth, infants track the movement of faces more often than other parts
or objects and imitate the facial and hand gestures of people but not inanimate objects.
227
From three months to a year, "infants smile, vocalize and gesture more in the presence of
people than inanimate objects, while visually fixating and reaching more towards animals
or inanimate objects, even when the inanimate object resembles a human in salient ways
both perceptually and behaviorally (such as dolls, interactive robots and animals)
(Johnson 550).
Not only does the evidence indicate that infants can distinguish people from non-
people at an early age, a study by Susan Johnson also shows that infants detect human
agency at a very young age. Through a series of experiments and modifications,
Johnson's study indicates that infants exhibit attentional following, imitation, and
communicative gestures with some things and not others. They clearly demonstrate them
with adult humans, but also demonstrate them with completely novel objects if these
objects behave as agents—that is, as objects that seem to move intentionally (Johnson
552). The novel objects that infants responded to in these ways are the same objects that
were described with mentalistic language by adults in the experiment: "Adults used
mentalistic language to describe the behavior of the object in just those conditions that
infants followed the object's directional orientation with their gaze. If the object had a
face or if it was faceless but interacted contingently with another agent, adults described
it as 'wanting' something, 'looking' for something, 'trying' to do something, and so on.
This was not the case when the novel object exhibited random movement and the infant
gaze experiments confirmed that result (Johnson 553).
228
Johnson concludes that it seems that by the end of the first year, "infants are able
to categorize a completely novel object as a mentalistic agent on the basis of its behavior
alone" (Johnson 555). Johnson's study shows, she thinks, that infants recognize
agency—the attempt of something to act upon the world—and can distinguish it from
non-relational or random movement (Johnson 555). Her ultimate conclusion after the
several permutations of her study is that "Twelve- to fifteen-month old infants were
shown to treat novel self-moving objects as thought they have both perceptual attention,
communicative abilities and goals if they either look like an agent (i.e. have a face) or
behave in specific ways (e.g. are contingently interactive with other known agents). The
infants were able to detect the highly abstract temporal relationship between actors
whether they themselves were one of the actors or not. Surprisingly, no evidence has
been found within these studies that self-movement alone will elicit this interpretation
from infants at this age. Neither did infants at this age appear willing or able to infer an
object's agenthood solely on the basis of how an adult treated it" (Johnson 557).
Johnson's study is of particular interest because of the introduction of novel
objects and the marked lack of correlation it shows between the infant's assessment and
the treatment of the object by adults. These factors indicate that it is not merely the social
world that an infant finds herself in that influences her views on agency, but that it may
also be connected to biological disposition. If that is correct, then those results should
also hold cross-culturally. Perceiving something as an agent is connected to regarding it
229
as a locus of control, so this part of our concept of personhood may be based in the
biology of human beings, as well.
Because cultures are made of human beings and because there are socio-
biological facts about human beings concerning the significance they attach to the human
body and indications that some of the roots of the abilities to identify other humans as
units of rationality, emotions, and control or agency are innate, there may be biological
reasons to think that these aspects of the CCP may naturally arise in human cultures.
2. Pedagogy and Culture
A second pressure operating on concept formation in cultures is their essential
need to preserve, pass on, and promulgate important information (be these beliefs,
customs, laws, habits, skills, etc.) about their perspectives on life. If cultures can be
roughly individuated by their perspectives, the information that is important for making
up that perspective (whatever this might be) must be learned by each generation so that
the ideas of the group continue. At the point that the ideas are no longer passed along, no
longer considered important, or no longer essential to the worldview of the culture, the
culture ceases to exist and becomes something else. If it is to remain a culture at all, it
must focus on new pieces of information that it finds important, but then these must be
spread and communicated and learned as well. A culture not engaged in the process of
communicating and handing on its worldview is not a culture—it is merely a collection of
people with no unifying principle or underlying foundation.
230
The passing down or handing on of the sort of information that contributes to a
worldview is impossible without teaching and learning. The information must be
articulated by some and received and grasped by others. There are, to be sure, other ways
to acquire information—patterning, conditioning, brain-washing, etc. But the sort of
information that comprises a culture's worldview is generally best passed along through
teaching and has the best chance of continuing to be passed on if the recipient of the
information freely and consciously takes it up. In what follows we will see that the very
process of having a culture at all, that is, being the sort of group that must educate its
members, makes natural the recognition of our concept of person—the CCP.
What does teaching involve? How does it differ from conditioning or
manipulating? For it to really be teaching and not merely talking to oneself, there needs
to be a learner. That learner needs to actually take up the information and grasp it. So, to
begin with, for teaching to be accomplished at all, the teacher needs to be able to identify
learners. That is, the teacher needs to find those capable of taking up and grasping
information. That will mean identifying those who have the mental capacity to receive
and comprehend the information. Comprehension of the sort of information that
characterize cultures—the important ideas of a culture's worldview—requires rationality.
It also requires agency. There would be little point to a teacher passing on
information to a subject that was incapable of doing anything with it. Subjects need to be
able to do things, to be loci of control and identify themselves as such because they need
to actively take up the task of hearing and trying to make sense of the information.
231
Perhaps it is possible to learn passively—when one does not make any attempt to grasp
the information and merely does just grasp it, but the sorts of ideas that generally
characterize cultures (ideas about morality, about the supernatural, about history) are not
the sorts of ideas easily learned in this way. They are hard ideas and if they are really to
be internalized and later disseminated by the learner, they need to be confronted and
employed. So, both the ability to understand and remember the information and the
action of engaging in the learning project are important for the learning process to be
successful, as is the teacher's recognition of those that do these things.
The teaching and learning of culturally relevant ideas also hinges upon the desire
of potential learners to carry on cultural information. That is, it is not only necessary to
identify those that can learn, but also those that would be interested in doing so. The
teacher teaches because he wants certain cultural information to be continued and spread
by those that take up the information and that means that he needs to teach those that
want the information to be continued and spread, as well. The desire for the continuation
and dissemination of the cultural information entails a desire for the group and the ideas
that define it to continue into the future. Wanting a worldview to continue, valuing
certain kinds of information and working to make sure that information is not lost, or
explicitly wanting to contribute to the continued existence of a group shows concern for
the future and also interpersonal relations. It shows an attachment to those that share in
one's cultural worldview and the information that forms it. It shows a desire not only
that the learner has a certain sort of life and knows certain things, but also a desire that
232
others do as well. This desire is strong enough that the learner takes efforts to bring those
things about.
That is not to say that successful learning always involves such a noble
commitment to the continuity of cultural information. We can imagine a learner who is
taught the stories of their culture at an early age and memorizes them. Certainly that
young learner isn't necessarily conscious of the importance of the information or
reflecting on her duties to the culture or future generations. However, she is taught those
stories by a teacher who has the hope that someday that is precisely what will happen—
that she will feel an attachment to her culture and those in it or to the information that
characterizes it and want that culture to continue and will take up her part by passing on
that information. The learner, then, need not immediately demonstrate future concern or
interpersonal relations, but she must be a candidate who is likely to develop these things
if the process is going to continue.
The worldviews of cultures are often composed of stories, treatises, poems, etc.
about the history of the people, the characteristics they have, their views of the universe,
and—perhaps most importantly—the way they ought to live. While it is clear that
important cultural information can concern many other things, it is true that important
cultural information may also, and perhaps must, concern the culture's beliefs about the
treatment of its members and others and what rules, duties, and rights, must be upheld.
These things are important to all cultures; without codes of behavior and a system of
morality, it is unlikely that any group could survive for long. It is very unlikely that it
233
could survive as the sort of group that has a shared worldview (which after all requires a
united and generally cooperating group of people) nor is it likely to be capable of taking
up the task of teaching and learning necessary to the preservation of a worldview.
Furthermore, those explicitly desiring the continuity of a culture or desiring the
continuity of important cultural information are likely, as we have said, to have
interpersonal relations with other members of the culture, want to see them take up the
information involved in the culture's worldview and spread it, and feel a kinship with
those that are inheritors of the same texts and the traditions and ideas they entail. The
identification of this connection with others is likely to lead to the view of others as
valuable units—units deserving of respect and a certain level of treatment. Those that
spread cultural information—the teachers—in seeing others who wish to teach too and
who are devoted to the preservation of the same thing, are likely to regard other teachers
and learners as morally and temporally significant units. They are likely to regard their
continued existence as important since it is one major means to the continuation of the
goal that that teachers have, and also because there are likely to be interpersonal bonds
with others because of their shared goals and ideas. They are also likely to regard other
teachers and learners as morally valuable because they share goals and ideas and are
likely to desire and benefit from the sort of treatment that those spreading the culture's
worldview would themselves prefer.
If what makes something a culture is its worldview and if that worldview must be
passed on for the culture to continue to exist, and if the way that humans pass along
234
information is through teaching and this requires the active uptake of an idea on the part
of the learner, then it shouldn't surprise us that any culture would have to be engaged in
the spreading of the information that is important to its worldview through the process of
education. That process, as we have seen, is more likely to be successful when the CCP
is a concept that is present in their culture and when bearers of the CCP are the focus of
instruction. It is natural that cultures will have the concept of the CCP (and as we've
seen, value its units both temporally and morally) because recognizing these traits as
important and identifying those that have them is helpful to the process of successfully
passing along the very information that allows cultures to exist. Though the process of
teaching of learning does not demand any of these elements, it is far less likely to be
successful without them and since the very existence of a culture relies on successful
teaching and learning, it is natural for these elements to be present.
We should note that nothing about the pedagogical process that has been
mentioned so far entails that the learner must be a human individual or that the individual
body is the most basic unit connected with the CCP. It seems to me not hard to imagine
another kind of creature that learns as a group-mind, where several individuals alone are
incapable of grasping ideas, but combined compose a unit that can learn. So, I'm not
sure there is anything essential about connecting the individual human body to the
process of teaching and learning. What is also clear, however, is that, science fiction
examples aside, no human that we know of does learn in that way. In whatever culture
we may look and however important the group may be, the individual brain must grasp
235
the idea itself. No one can learn for anyone else. No one can take in information and
engage with it and then pass it along without the receiver himself needing to engage with
it. Those in the culture who are in the position of passing along important cultural
information are likely to notice that they must teach to the individual and not the group
because in any group there are different learning styles, levels of comprehension, and
levels of aptitude. It is likely to become obvious that the group cannot learn something
without each individual member mastering it. So, in human cultures, the human body is
naturally regarded the most basic unit of the CCP because the individual human brain is
housed in this unit and the individual human brain is required for learning to occur.
We can also see that nothing about the teaching and learning process entails a
belief in equal moral treatment for all humans. The view that someone is morally
significant might well be linked to the affinity one feels for another that shares
characteristics that she deems important with her, such as ideas and goals. The more
distance there is between cultures, the more likely it is that members of one will not
necessarily perceive members of another as potential learners and hence, not value them
in the same way that they value their own members. It also means that the nearer cultures
are to one another, the more likely it is that they will recognize each other as potential
learners and therefore as having similar characteristics, but also recognize that they do
not share worldviews or the desire to propagate the same information. That might well
make a difference to their rules for the treatment of those outside their culture. In other
words, if we look at what makes something a culture and what makes it possible for that
236
culture to continue, we find that in-culture recognition of moral agency and moral
significance is natural, but that it doesn't entail a view of moral equality, which helps
explain why we have found that that view is not culturally universal.
This view also does not entail that the only unit of temporal significance is the
human body or that units of the CCP are the only things that are temporally significant.
Though it is natural, given these considerations, that the human body is regarded as
temporally significant, nothing about the pedagogical process rules out the possibility that
other units could be considered important for survival over time. While it is true that the
human body is the natural focus of teaching because it houses the human brain, and, as
such is bound to be considered important, there are other values that cultures can have
and other things they might consider important for continuing over time. And while it is
true that units of the CCP are likely to be regarded as something that a culture desires to
see continue over time because they are the units that make the continuation of a culture
possible, cultures may value other things besides those aspects of their members that
allow for cultural continuity. For example, a certain culture may hold the belief in a
particular deity important. They may not only value and want to continue over time units
that are capable of teaching and learning about that deity, but also units that believe in it.
They may believe that continuing over time as a unit capable of acquiring cultural
information is important, but not the only important aspect of continuity over time, that
on top of retaining that ability, someone would also have to retain her belief in this deity
to be the same person over time. In other words, it is natural for a culture to hold the
237
belief that continuity over time involves the CCP because the characteristics of the CCP
enable cultures to survive as the cultures they are. But it might well be the case because
of other values that cultures have that something in addition to the CCP, something added
onto it, is considered necessary for survival over time. So, it is natural for our concept to
be shared and similarly regarded, given the parameters of how important cultural
information is handed on, but there are no obvious parameters that make likely the views
of equal moral treatment and singular temporal value that we find in our culture.
D. Conclusion
In this chapter, I have discussed considerations that I think should persuade the
relativist that the results of our empirical investigation were not coincidental. I have
presented general empirical considerations that I think the relativist must consider and
that supplement the specific empirical work of the earlier chapters. There are real factors
that are at work in human cultures, many of which we saw in our empirical surveys in
Chapters Three, Four, and Five, that naturally shape concepts of personhood. There are
socio-biological factors that incline humans to regard the individual human body as a
particularly salient unit. There may also be some hard-wiring in the human brain that
inclines humans to recognize other humans as rational, emotional agents. There are also
pedagogical factors that make it natural for the concept of person to develop in cultures
and to contain the traits of the CCP. For a culture to exist at all it has to have a
worldview and for it to survive, that worldview needs to continue over time. The way in
238
which we humans most effectively pass along the sort of information that characterizes
cultural worldviews is through the process of education. There are reasons to think that
an effective educational process involves the recognition of learners as units of the CCP.
While neither the sociobiological factors nor the pedagogical factors give us the
entire concept or regard of the CCP that we have indicated is likely to be present in
human cultures, each of these types of factors give us a piece of it. And, since both
factors play a large role in shaping and maintaining cultures, there is reason to think that
together they incline concepts of personhood in every culture to naturally develop in the
direction of the CCP. These considerations have the added benefit of explaining what
we have seen in our empirical studies and giving reasons why those examples are not
likely to be exceptions to any rule about the concept of personhood.
Neither type of consideration entails that a culture see the human body as the only
unit of personhood, neither entails that a culture have only one unit of temporal
significance, and neither entails that a culture have only one concept of personhood. But
they do show us that the conclusions we've seen evidenced in our anthropological review
are not accidental and they buttress the theory that these results are not unique to our
culture or to any particular culture, but apply to cultures in general. They put the onus of
providing evidence to the contrary on the relativist. In the last chapter, I will say
something about why these findings are significant and what it might mean for the
relativist's position.
VII. CONCLUDING REMARKS
A. Retracing our Path
Cultures differ from one another. They differ in their attitudes and in their
practices, in their beliefs and in their ideas. We started this investigation with the desire
to understand how much and in what way they differ in terms of how they see themselves
and others—in how they view personhood. We wanted to know whether "person" was
one of those concepts that is culturally specific and if, as some have claimed, the way we
see persons is unique to us as Westerners. We wanted to know if there was cultural
commonality or if the concept of person is like the concepts of "God" or "family" in its
lack of universality. We wanted to examine the information drawn upon by relativists
about the concept of personhood and determine its strength.
In order to examine cross-cultural views of personhood, we had to begin by
formulating a concept of person that we could use as a comparison. The easiest way to
do that was to use a concept of person from our own culture as the standard, since it is
our culture whose concept of person we are in the best position to describe. We could
then look at claims, suggestions, and implications that certain cultures differed from ours
in their concept of person by examining whether they do, in fact, hold the concept we
specified.
It was pretty clear that this concept couldn't possibly be described as the sole
concept of person in our culture and that any attempt to identify just one main concept of
239
240
person was bound to be met with failure. What we had to settle for was identifying a
minimal concept of personhood that it seemed likely most anyone in our culture would
agree to while recognizing that there were many characteristics in addition to the ones
that we'd named that some would add to it and others would not. This concept became
known as the CCP—The Core Concept of Personhood. It is a concept of person that
links together the characteristics of rationality, moral agency, concern for the future,
interpersonal relations, emotions, and identification as a locus of control.
We also realized that sharing a view of personhood might mean more than just
sharing a concept. If, for example, another culture had the concept of the CCP, but
thought of those traits as only associated with groups instead of individuals, it is unlikely
we would regard them as sharing our view. The same would be true if they held the
concept but regarded its units of instantiation as no more valuable, for example, than we
regard insects. Some close analysis needed to be done if we were going to really
examine if and how cultures differ on this issue. Separating their possession of the
concept from their beliefs about how that concept is instantiated and from what value
they regard those units of instantiation as having was necessary to arrive at accurate and
informative conclusions.
In Chapter Three, we began this process by analyzing claims and suggestions that
certain cultures differed from ours in their concept of personhoqd. We showed that the
claims of differences were generally exaggerated or not, in fact, at odds with their
possession of the CCP. In Chapter Four, we discussed claims that certain other cultures
241
saw personhood as differently instantiated than we do and found that, while some
cultures might also regard other units as having the characteristics of the CCP, the
individual human body was regarded as the most basic unit of the CCP—the first place
those characteristics are seen as coming together and from which other units derive their
possession. In Chapter Five, we examined claims that other cultures value persons
differently than we do and found that, while there are some significant differences in how
some persons are valued, individuals were accorded a level of moral significance in all
the cultures we reviewed, a level higher than most animals and which makes the harming
of them, even when it is approved of, be regarded as a serious matter. We also found
that, though characteristics in addition to those of the CCP might be considered important
for identity over time, and though units other than the human body might also be picked
out as the units of temporal significance in some cultures, the CCP as instantiated in the
individual human body was also considered a unit of temporal significance.
It wasn't enough, however, to merely present cases and to examine what they
really entail. In order to satisfy the relativist, we also need to present reasons why the
results we discovered were not accidental or coincidental. We needed to present general
considerations that were drawn out of the empirical evidence and that contained premises
with which the relativist was likely to agree. In Chapter Six, we discussed two types of
factors likely to be found in any human culture. The first type of factor was connected to
the sociobiology of the human being. The second was connected with what a culture is
and how humans learn and teach the information necessary for the continuation of a
242
culture. If we have been successful thus far, we have found that there are good reasons
for thinking there is a concept of personhood shared cross-culturally and that it is
regarded in similar ways. We now need to discuss the implications of that finding.
B. The Implications of Our Project
The first sphere in which these findings have importance is in the debate about
personal identity over time. The personal identity question has been regarded by many to
be more complex and nuanced than the question of identity over time in general because
persons are so much more complex than other kinds of entities. But even though that has
been a prominent view, there seems to be a tendency to ignore the "person" part of the
issue in favor of the "identity" part.
Some philosophers have focused their attention on what it means to exist over
time without considering enough that the question of what a person is must be addressed
to make any headway on the personal identity question. After all, it isn't continuation
over time if someone ceases to exist as a person. In focusing on what makes a person the
same, it is essential to address what makes something a person at all.
As we have discussed, Amelie Oksenberg Rorty is not a philosopher who has
ignored that question, but she has argued that there is no one concept of personhood.
According to Rorty, the reason that the personal identity question is so complicated and
messy is because everyone assumes there is just one answer to what a person is and so, it
is that which we need to look at to see what it means to continue over time. However,
243
she thinks that simply isn't so. Different cultures and different eras within the same
culture (even ours), she argues, have different concepts of personhood. What it means
for a person to continue over time depends on what a person is, but if there is no one
thing that a person is, there will be different ways of continuing into the future. She
holds, in other words, the answer to the personal identity question is culturally and
temporally (and perhaps in other ways, as well) relative.
We have focused this examination on trying to determine whether or not the
relativist about the concept of personhood is correct in holding that there is no universal
concept or regard of personhood. If he is, then the empirical observation from which
Rorty's view proceeds seems to be sound. What we've found is that, to a large extent,
the information that Rorty draws on is correct. There are lots of concepts of personhood
both within our culture and outside it. There are lots of ways that cultures see
personhood instantiated, and there are lots of differences between cultures in terms of the
value accorded to persons. However, what we have also found is that it is not as relative
as it seems. Though these differences exist, there are good reasons to think that human
cultures share at least one concept of personhood, that they regard that concept as found
in its most basic form in the human body, and that they value those instantiations to a
significant degree, both morally and temporally. So even where other conceptual and
value differences exist, there is good reason to think there is commonality.
This discovery matters to the issue of personal identity over time because,
contrary to the tendency by some philosophers to neglect this issue, persons are more
244
complicated and nuanced than other entities and the answer to our identity over time must
involve considering our unique nature. If we are going to make progress on the identity
issue, we must take into account what it means to be a person. And we can take this into
account because even though cultures differ considerably in their concepts of
personhood, finding that we have a shared minimum concept gives us a starting place.
We can say that whatever else we think of ourselves and others as persons and however
else we value them, it is pretty likely that we at least agree on the concept of the CCP,
bodily instantiation, and significant value. We can use this concept to examine what
must continue over time for continuation of personal identity. We can focus on what it
means for a certain type of entity—a reasoning, valuing, future-oriented, inter-personal,
emotional agent—to exist from one moment to the next. There are many philosophers
who are engaged in projects of this kind—Marya Schechtman's narrative account of
identity, for example. I think our findings here show that they are justified in their
approach and if the concept of personhood that they are using is something very close to
the CCP, this will give weight to their claims that their conclusions apply to persons in
general and not merely to persons in our culture.
Further, because we also examined units of temporal significance, we have been
able to ascertain that there are reasons for thinking that the human body is an important
unit for continuity over time in any culture, despite the fact that other units might also be
considered important.
245
Opinions about the question of personal identity don't prove anything. It is not a
question to be settled by consensus. However, discussions of identity frequently appeal
to our intuitions on the matter. Finding out that we share something of those intuitions
with other persons cross-culturally puts our reliance on them to settle a matter that is
about all persons and not just Westerners on firmer ground.
The second area that could benefit from our findings is moral philosophy. The
cultural relativist holds that there is no value that is held in all cultures and takes the
observation that there is no commonality as the basis for the moral view that there is no
value or practice all cultures should adhere to. While we are not in a position to weigh in
on that second step, the work we've done here casts some doubt on the first part of the
relativist's view. There are good reasons for thinking that all cultures do value
something—the human individual. We shouldn't overemphasize the extent of the
commonality, since it is clear that not all cultures value humans equally and to the same
extent, but we have seen that there are good reasons to think that any human culture
would regard human beings as valuable to a significant degree—at least more significant
and valuable than most other creatures. That might not be the universal view that the non-
relativist is looking for, but it is something important. The relativist needs to
acknowledge the common value of human life and explain why cultures and individuals
shouldn't be held to the standard of acting consistently with that belief. Upon
examination, it might be that the valuing of persons is enough for the non-relativist to
argue for the normativity of certain kids of behaviors.
246
These two areas—personal identity over time and moral thought—stand to gain
through our findings. There may be others, as well. What seems certain is that knowing
as much as we can about the human condition can help us and that understanding
ourselves and others is an important thing. This project has been an attempt to
understand ourselves a little better and hopefully it has succeeded in that endeavor.
CITED LITERATURE
Abler, Thomas S.: Iroquois Cannibalism: Fact Not Fiction. Ethnohistory 27 (4):312-
313, 1980.
Baldwin, Dare A. and Moses, Louis J.: The Ontogeny of Social Information Gathering
Child Development 67(5): 1915-1939, 1996.
Bedford, Olwen and Hwang, Kwang-Kuo: Guilt and Shame in Chinese Culture: A
Cross-cultural Framework from the Perspective of Morality and Identity. Journal
for the Theory of Social Behavior 33.2: 127-144, 2003.
Belo, Jane: The Balinese Temper. In: Traditional Balinese Culture, ed. Jane Belo. New
York, Columbia University Press, 1970.
Carter, Anthony T.: Hierarchy and the Concept of the Person in Western India. In:
Concepts of Person: Kinship, Caste, and Marriage in India, eds. Akos Ostor,
Lina Fruzzetti, and Steve Barnett. Delhi and New York, Oxford University Press,
1992.
Clerk, Christian: The Cannibal Sign. RAIN 8: 1-3, 1975.
Collins, Steven: Selfless Persons: Imagery and Thought in Theraveda Buddhism.

Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1982.
Connor, Linda H.: The Action of the Body on Society: Washing a Corpse in Bali. The
Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 1(3): 537-550, 1995.
Cowan, Donald: The Maoris of New Zealand. Melbourne and London, Whitcombe and
Tombs Limited, 1910.
Darwin, Charles: A Biological Sketch of an Infant. Mind 2: 285-294, 1877.
Dasgupta, Surama: Development of Moral Philosophy in India. New York, Frederick

Ungar Publishing Co., 1965.
DuBois, Cora and Demetracopoulou, Dorothy: Wintu Myths. In: University of California
Publications in American Archeology and Ethnography, eds. A.L. Kroeber,
247
248
Robert H. Lowrie, and R.L. Olson, pp. 279-403. Berkeley, University of

California Press, 1965.
Dumont, Louis: Homo Hierarchicus: The Caste System and Its Implications, trans. Mark
Sainsbury, Louis Dumont, and Basia Gulati. Chicago, University of Chicago
Press, 1980.
Ekman, Paul; Sorensen, E. Richard; and Friesen, Wallace V.: Pan-Cultural Elements in
Facial Displays of Emotion. Science (New Series) 164(3875): 86-88, 1969.
Ekman, Paul; Rolls, E.T.; Perrett, D.I.; and Ellis, H.D.: Facial Expressions of Emotion:
An Old Controversy and new Findings [and Discussion]. Philosophical
Transactions: Biological Sciences 335(1273): 63-39, 1992.
Fleischacker, Samuel. The Ethics of Culture. Ithaca and London, Cornell University
Press, 1994.
Foner, Nancy: Old an Frail and Everywhere Unequal. The Hastings Center Report
15(2): 27-31, 1985.
Forsyth, Donald W.: Three Cheers for Hans Staden: The Case for Brazilian Cannibalism.
Ethnohistory 32(1): 17-36, 1985.
Fortes, Meyers: Religion, Morality, and the Person: Essays on the Tallensi Religion, ed.
Jack Goody. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1987.
Fortes, Meyers: Totem and Taboo. Proceedings of the Royal Anthropological Institute of
Great Britain and Ireland, Presidential Address, 1966.
Geertz, Clifford: From the Native's Point of View: On the Nature of Anthropological
Understanding. In: Culture Theory: Essays on Mind, Self, and Emotion, eds.
Richard A. Shweder and Robert A. LeVine, pp. 123-136. Cambridge, Cambridge
University Press, 1984.
Geertz, Clifford: The Cerebral Savage: On the Work of Claude Levi-Strauss. In: The
Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays by Clifford Geertz, ed. Clifford
Geertz, pp 345-359. New York, Basic Books, 1973a.
Geertz, Clifford: The Impact of the Concept of Culture on the Concept of Man. In: The
Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays by Clifford Geertz, ed. Clifford
Geertz, pp. 33-54. New York, Basic Books, 1973b.
249
Geertz, Clifford: Person, Time and Conduct in Bali. In: The Interpretation of Cultures:
Selected Essays by Clifford Geertz, ed. Clifford Geertz, pp.360-411. New York,
Basic Books, 1973c.
Gombrich, Richard F.: Precept and Practice: Traditional Buddhism in the Rural
Highlands of Ceylon. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1971.
Goodale, Jane C.: Pig's Teeth and Skull Cycles: Both Sides of the Face of Humanity.
American Ethnologist 12(2):228-244, 1985.
Goodale, Jane C.: To Sing with Pigs is Human: The Concept of Person in Papua New
Guinea. Seattle, University of Washington Press, 1995.
Heelas, Paul: Introduction: Indigenous Psychologies. In: Indigenous Psychologies: The

Anthropology of the Self eds. Paul Heelas and Andrew Lock. London, Academic
Press, 1981a.
Heelas, Paul: The Model Applied: Anthropology and Indigenous Psychologies. In:
Indigenous Psychologies: The Anthropology of the Self, eds. Paul Heelas and
Andrew Lock, pp. 39-63. London, Academic Press, 1981b.
Herskovits, Melville J.: Cultural Relativism—Perspectives in Cultural Pluralism, ed.

Frances Herskovits. New York, Random House, 1972.
Hiro, Dilip: The Untouchables of India. New York, Minority Rights Group, 1982.
Howell, Signe: Rules Not Words. In: Indigenous Psychologies: The Anthropology of
the Self, eds. Paul Heelas and Andrew Lock. London, Academic Press, 1981.
Howell, Signe: Society and Cosmos: Chewong of Peninsular Malaysia. Singapore,

Oxford University Press, 1983.
Jensen, Gordon D. and Suryani, Luh Ketut: The Balinese People: A Reinvestigation of
Character. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1992.
Johnson, Susan C.: Detecting Agents. Philosophical Transactions: Biological Sciences

358(1431): 549-559, 2003.
Kemper, Theodore D.: Predicting Emotions from Social Relations. Social Psychology
Quarterly 54(4): 330-342, 1991.
250
Korsgaard, Christine M.: The Sources ofNormativity, ed. Onora O'Neill. Cambridge,
Cambridge University Press, 1996.
Kroeber, A.L. and Kluckhohn, Clyde: Culture: A Critical Review of Concepts and
Definitions. Cambridge, Massachusettes; The Peabody Museum of American
Archaeology and Ethnology, Harvard University; 1952.
Kuchuk, April; Vibbert, Martha; and Bornstein, Marc H.: The Perception of Smiling and
Its Experimental Correlates in Three-Month-Old Infants. Child Development
54(4): 1054-1061, 1986.
Lee, Dorothy: Notes on the Conception of the Self Amongst the Wintu. Journal of
Abnormal and Social Psychology 45: 538-543, 1950.
Lee, Dorothy: The Conception of the Self Among the Wintu Indians. In: Freedom and
Culture, ed. Dorothy Lee, pp. 131-140. Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1959a.
Lee, Dorothy: Linguistic Reflection in Wintu Thought. In: Freedom and Culture, ed.
Dorothy Lee, pp. 121-130. Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1959b.
Lee, Shu-Ching: China's Traditional Family, Its Characteristics and Disintegration.

American Sociological Review 18(3): 272-280, 1953.
Leidecker, Kurt F.: The Meaning of Caste to the Hindus. International Journal of Ethics
43(2): 183-193, 1933.
Lepowsky, M.: Death and Exchange: Mortuary Ritual on Vanatinai (Sudest Island). In:
Death Rituals and Life in the Societies of the Kula Ring, eds. F.H. Damon and R.
Wagner, pp. 199-229. DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 1989.
Levy-Bruhl, Lucien: The "Soul" of the Primitive, trans. Lilian A. Clare. New York,
Frederick A. Praeger, 1966.
Lidz, Theodore: The Existence of Cannibalism. Science (New Series) 233: 926, 1986.
Lienhardt, Godfrey: Divinity and Experience—The Religion of the Dinka. Oxford,

Claredon Press, 1961.
251
Lock, Andrew: Universals in Human Conception. In: Indigenous Psychologies: The

Anthropology of the Self eds. Paul Heelas and Andrew Lock, pp. 19-36.
London, Academic Press, 1981.
Lohmann, Roger Ivar: The Afterlife of Asabano Corpses: Relationships with the
Deceased in Papua New Guinea. Ethnology 44(2):189-206, 2005.
Ludemann, Pamela M. and Nelson, Charles A.: Categorical Representation of Facial

Expressions by 7-Month-Old Infants. Developmental Psychology 24(4): 492-501,
1988.
Markus, Hazel R. and Kitayama, Shinobu: Culture and the Self: Implications for
Cognitions, Emotions, and Motivations. Psychological Review 98: 224-253,
1991.
Mead, George H.: Mind, Self and Society: From the Standpoint of a Social Behavior ist,
ed. Charles W. Morris. Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1934.
Mead, Margaret: Children and Ritual in Bali. In: Traditional Balinese Culture, ed. Jane
Belo. New York, Columbia University Press, 1970.
Melland, Frank H.: In Witch-Bound Africa: An Acount of the Primitive Kaonde Tribe
and Their Beliefs. New York, Barnes and Noble, Inc., 1923.
Merkur, Daniel: Breath-Soul and the Wind Owner: The Many and the One in Inuit
Religion. American Indian Quarterly 7(3): 23-39, 1983.
Merkur, Daniel: Powers Which We Do Not Know: The Gods and Spirits of the Inuit.
Moscow, Idaho; University of Idaho; 1991.
Metge, Joan: The Maoris of New Zealand and Rautahi. London, Routledge and Kegan
Paul, 1967.
Miihlhausler, Peter and Harre, Rom: Pronouns and People: The Linguistic Construction
of Social and Personal Identity. Oxford, Basil Blackwell, 1990.
Olcott, Mason: The Caste System of India. American Sociological Review 9(6): 648-657,
1944.
Parfit, Derek: Reasons and Persons. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1984.
252
Perrett, Roy W. and Patterson, John: Virtue Ethics and Maori Ethics. Philosophy East
and West 41(2): 185-202, 1991.
Pinker, Steven: How the Mind Works. New York, W. Norton and Company, 1997.
Pohlman, Edward W.: Evidences of Disparity Between the Hindu Practice of Caste and
the Ideal Type. American Sociological Review 16(3): 375-379, 1951.
Rahula, Walpola: What the Buddha Taught. New York, Grove Press, 1959.
Read, K.E.: Morality and the Concept of Person Among the Gahuku-Gama. In: Myth
and Cosmos: Readings in Mythology and Symbolism, ed. John Middleton. New
York, The Natural History Press, 1967.
Read, Kenneth E.: Return to the High Valley: Coming Full Circle. Berkeley and Los
Angeles, University of California Press, 1986.
Rorty, Amelie Oksenberg: A Literary Postscript: Characters, Persons, Selves,

Individuals. In: The Identity of Persons, ed. Amelie Oksenberg Rorty, pp. 301-
323. Berkeley, University of California Press, 1976.
Rorty, Amelie Oksenberg: Persons, Policies, and Bodies. International Philosophical

Quarterly 13(1): 63-80, 1973.
Saint-Exupery, Antoine de: The Little Prince, trans. Katherine Woods. San Diego;
Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Publishers; 1943.
Smith, Jean: Self and Experience in Maori Culture. In: Indigenous Psychologies: The
Anthropology of the Self, eds. Paul Heelas and Andrew Lock, pp. 145-159.
London, Academic Press, 1981.
Spiro, Melford E.: Anthropological Other or Burmese Brother? Studies in Cultural

Analysis. New Brunswick and London, Transaction Publishers, 1992.
Spiro, Melford E.: Is the Western Conception of the Self'Particular' within the Context of
the World Cultures? Ethos 21(2): 107-153, 1993.
Staden, Hans: The True History of His Captivity 1557, trans, and ed. Malcolm Letts.
London: George Routledge and Sons, Ltd, 1928.
Steinbeck, John: East of Eden. New York, Penguin Books, 2002.
253
Taylor, Richard: Does Life Have a Meaning? In: Life and Death: A Reader in Moral
Problems, 2nd edition, ed. Louis P. Pojman. Belmont, Wadsworth Publishing
Company, 2000.
Turnbull, Colin M.: The Mountain People. New York, Simon and Schuster, 1972.
Vatuk, Sylvia: Forms of Address in the North Indian Family: An Exploration of the
Cultural Meaning of Kin Terms. In: Concepts of Person: Kinship, Caste, and
Marriage in India, eds. Akos Ostor, Lina Fruzzetti, Steve Barnett. Delhi, Oxford
University Press, 1992.
Vayda, A.P.: Maori Women and Maori Cannibalism. Man 60: 70-71, 1960.
Warren, Mary Anne: On the Moral and Legal Status of Women. In: Vice and Virtue in
Everyday Life: Introductory Readings in Ethics, eds. Christina Sommers and
Fred Sommers, pp. 392-400. Australia, Thomson Wadsworth, 2007.
VITA
Name
Tina Fender Gibson
Education
University of Illinois at Chicago, August 2001-present, pursuing Ph.D. in
Philosophy
Northern Illinois University, August 1997-August 1999, Master of Arts in
Philosophy awarded August 1999 (enrolled under maiden name, Fender)
Aurora University, January 1995-June 1997, Bachelor of Arts awarded May
1997, Majors in Philosophy and Political Science, Minor in Psychology
(enrolled under maiden name, Fender)
College of Saint Mary, August 1993-December 1994 (enrolled under maiden
name, Fender)
Teaching Experience
Philosophy Instructor
Taught the following courses at Northern Illinois University:
• Philosophy 231: Contemporary Moral Issues: Spring 2007, Fall
2008, Spring 2008
Taught the following course at Aurora University:

• Philosophy 1100: Problems of Philosophy: Fall 2005
Taught the following courses at the University of Illinois at Chicago:

• Philosophy 102: Introduction to Logic: Summer 2005
• Philosophy 103: Introduction to Ethics: Summer 2004
• Philosophy 100: Introduction to Philosophy: Summer 2003,
Summer 2006
Taught the following course at Elgin Community College:

• Philosophy 100: Introduction to Philosophy: Spring 2001
Graduate Teaching Assistant

Assisted in the following courses at the University of Illinois at Chicago:
• Philosophy 102: Introduction to Logic (with Peter Hylton): Fall
2006
• Philosophy 102: Introduction to Logic (with Jon Jarrett): Spring
2005
254
255
• Philosophy 141: Reason and Revelation (with Samuel

Fleischacker): Fall 2004
• Philosophy 104: Introduction to Ethics (with David Hilbert):
Spring 2004
• Philosophy 102: Introduction to Logic (with Daniel Sutherland):
Fall 2003
• Philosophy 103: Introduction to Philosophy (with Marya
Schechtman): Spring 2003
• Philosophy 115: Philosophy of Death (with Neal Grossman): Fall
2002
• Philosophy 104: Introduction to Social/Political Philosophy (with
John Sombotmatsu): Spring 2002
• Philosophy 104: Introduction to Social/Political Philosophy (with
Samuel Fleischacker): Fall 2001
Assisted in the following courses at Northern Illinois University:

• Philosophy 321: History of Philosophy: Ancient (with Sharon
Sytsma): Spring 1999
• Philosophy 353: Philosophy of Problems of Social Science (with
Kelly Salsbury and Sherman Stanage): Spring 1999
• Philosophy 231: Contemporary Moral Issues (with Kelly
Salsbury): Fall 1998
• Philosophy 231: Contemporary Moral Issues (with David
Woodruff): Spring 1998
• Philosophy 231: Contemporary Moral Issues (with Sharon
Sytsma): Fall 1997
Other Positions
• Delegate to the National Graduate Student Leadership Conference:
Nov. 18-20, 2005
• Member of the American Philosophical Association: Student associate
member, 2006-present
• Indexer: Constructed indexes for the following:
o On Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations: A Philosophical Companion
by Samuel Fleischacker, Oxford University Press, 2004.
o A Short History of Distributive Justice by Samuel Fleischacker,
Harvard University Press, 2004.
• Graduate Representative to Philosophy Department: Sept. 2003 to
Sept. 2004
256
Awards
• Graduate Student Teacher of the Year: Awarded April, 2005,
University of Illinois at Chicago
Alpha Chi: Awarded May 1997, Aurora University
• Summa Cum Laude: Awarded May 1997, Aurora University
• Dean's List, High Honors: Fall 1995, Winter 1995, Fall 1996, Winter
1997, Spring 1997, Aurora University
• Dean's List, Regular Honors: Spring 1995, Spring 1996, Aurora
University
Presentations
"The De-Racing of Identity", presented at the Minority Graduate Student
Association Conference at the University of Chicago, Spring 2003

Persons and Cultures PDF

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Persons and Cultures PDF

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Persons and Cultures

TINA FENDER GIBSON

Submitted as partial fulfillment of the requirements

UMI Microform 3380692

whose patience, support, love, and encouragement made it possible.

I would like to express my gratitude to my thesis committee—Samuel

Fleischacker, Marya Schechtman, Walter Edelberg, Steven Collins, and John

Monaghan—for their insights and assistance. I would especially like to thank my

have done to help me become a better writer and a better philosopher.

II. OUR CONCEPT OF PERSON 25

III. CONCEPTS OF PERSONHOOD 53

IV. VIEWS OF THE INSTANTIATION OF PERSONHOOD 101

V. THE VALUING OF PERSONHOOD 152

VI. GENERAL EMPIRICAL CONSIDERATIONS 208

VII. CONCLUDING REMARKS 239

CITED LITERATURE 247

standard for cross-cultural comparisons.

In Chapter Three, I begin the empirical examination by examining cases that

provide counterexamples to the CCP upon examination.

the individual human body.

units of temporal significance.

traits of the CCP.

In Chapter Seven, I offer some suggestions for the applicability of my project.

time and also for moral theory.

considerable overlap in our answers.

is universal or culturally specific. This project is an investigation into that question. I

When we talk about relativism in philosophy, we are often referring to an ethical

another. Morality, on this view, is culturally dependent.

There is also another type of relativism—cognitive relativism. It is this type of

beliefs vary cross-culturally. It is this sort of relativism that is generally referred to in

example, a certain view of time, is universal or whether it varies cross-culturally. This

is that they do.

The two types of relativism—ethical and cognitive—do come together. Ethical

relativism is related to cognitive relativism, specifically to cognitive relativism about

ethical relativism, as well.

Cognitive relativism is a position that both anthropologists and philosophers have

attempt to understand humans. For some anthropologists, part of doing so is determining

what is necessary and what is contingent about humankind. Cognitive relativism is an

According to the anthropologist Clifford Geertz, both relativists and anti-

is not universal to humankind. The anti-relativist or "uniformitarian" claims that very

Cognitive relativism is concerned with differences in beliefs, and these

a cognitive-relativistic position about a concept. Relativism, of course, is not single

are culturally dependent.

culturally dependent. To quote Melville Herskovits, "Judgments are based on

experience, and experience is interpreted by each individual in terms of his own

philosophical arguments against ethical relativism.

perception and allocation in space of rectangular forms to describe, free-hand, a perfect

of concepts that are cognitively relative.

entail cognitive relativism or lend themselves to its possibility. Philosophers such as

C. Relativism and Personhood

Understanding why one might hold a cognitive-relativistic position is important to

both anthropological and philosophical manifestations.

The anthropological reasons stem from observations of profound difference

course, as to what sort of differences exist between cultures, but a prominent

characterization in the literature involves a dichotomy between the Western concept of

person and the non-Western one (Spiro 1992, 116).

The Western view of "person", as described by Melford Spiro, is characterized by

"self-other differentiation, personal individuation, and autonomy" (Spiro 1992, 116). It

conceives of persons atomistically. Each biological individual exists separately from

unique, more or less integrated motivational cognitive universe, a dynamic center of

(Geertz 1984, 126).

Conversely, non-Western societies are characterized as rejecting the atomistic

view of personhood. What it means to be a person is not to be one individual, but to be