72 pages 2-hour read

The Interpretation of Cultures

Nonfiction | Book | Adult | Published in 1973

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Part 5Chapter Summaries & Analyses

Chapter 13 Summary and Analysis: “The Cerebral Savage: On the Work of Claude Levi-Strauss”

Geertz acknowledges the 300-year-old debate about what, if anything, differentiates “civilized” and “savage” peoples. It is important to note here that while the derogatory term “savage” has fallen out of contemporary usage in the social sciences for its connotations, Geertz uses it to examine the work of French anthropologist Claude Levi-Strauss. The French term “sauvage” differs from its English cognate in that rather than connoting bestiality and inherent violence, it evokes undomesticated, “wild” freedom. The centrality of French Enlightenment ideas and language connotations to Levi-Strauss’s anthropological theory become evident in his construction of the “Cerebral Savage.” 


Levi-Strauss’s Tristes Tropiques (1955) features an embedded paradox:


The anthropologist seems condemned either to journey among men whom he can understand precisely because his own culture has already contaminated them, covered them with ‘the filth, our filth, that we have thrown in the face of humanity,’ or among those who, not so contaminated, are for that reason largely unintelligible to him (350).


Out of this conundrum arises Levi-Strauss’s theoretical model, which rests on the notion of a universal human mind. By starting from the notion that “[t]he mind of man is, at bottom, everywhere the same” (350), the anthropologist can construct a general, abstract theory of the basic foundations of human existence by “reconstructing the conceptual systems that, from deep beneath its surface, animated it and gave [savage culture] form” (351). Thus, anthropological understanding lies not in physical proximity to the object of study, but rather physical distance that allows the anthropologist to intellectually reconstruct the shape of a “savage” society’s life, supporting the thesis of universal rationality.


Levi-Strauss’s La Pensée Sauvage (1962) begins from the anthropological standpoint that culture, or the “totality of a people’s customs” (350), forms an ordered system. Anthropology becomes fundamentally the study of thought for Levi-Strauss because thinking consists in the endless arrangement and rearrangement of a limited number of anterior ideas into a cultural pattern. Geertz identifies this thinking as “the science of the concrete” (352), whereby the “savage” mind arranges “directly sensed realities” (352) into models of reality. Culture, is therefore, the coherent structure into which images inherited from psychological and historical processes are arranged to formulate and communicate objective analyses of social and physical worlds. From this standpoint, “savage” thought is rational—it forms a logical relationship between a symbolic structure and the structure’s referents and is fundamentally a communication system, the general structure of which can be determined. 


Geertz situates Levi-Strauss’s theory within its intellectual tradition—“the universal rationalism of the French Enlightenment” (356), highly influenced by the work of 18th century French philosopher Jean Jacques Rousseau. Like Rousseau, Levi-Strauss searches for the universal Man—“a rational, universal, eternal, and thus (in the great tradition of French moralism) virtuous mind” (357). “Savage” thought, then, is a primary mode of rational thought that gave/give rise to “civilized” thought, or a secondary mode of thought encapsulated in modern science and scholarship. The human task is to find the middle ground between primary and secondary modes of thought. Anthropology, for Levi-Strauss, is the discipline that aids the search for that middle ground. 


Geertz raises questions about how Levi-Strauss’s “belief in the sovereignty of the intellect” (359) will be received in the social science landscape of Geertz’s time and after. Levi-Strauss’s blending of spiritual and intellectual pursuits prompts questions such as whether generalized abstractions actually arise from an inability to comprehend the objects of study or the failure to realize the personal mission that the anthropologist sets out to complete. By contextualizing Levi-Strauss’s work within French Enlightenment thought and drawing out the interplay between Levi-Strauss’s spiritualism and his positivism, Geertz suggests that, in terms of scientific study, there is, perhaps, less of a distinction between personal motive and professional practice.

Chapter 14 Summary and Analysis: “Person, Time, and Conduct in Bali”

Geertz formulates a general theory about the “way in which a people perceive themselves and others, the way in which they experience time, and the affective tone of their collective life” (361) through a specific analysis of Balinese culture.


Human thought is social in its functions and applications. Because symbols are “material vehicles of thought” (362), the study of culture reveals a great deal about human thought—generally about how individuals orient themselves to the world and specifically about individuals’ characterization of other individuals. However, available theoretical frameworks—structural analysis and personality theory—are limited in their analysis. Geertz is interested in a “describing and analyzing the meaningful structure of experience (here, the experience of persons) as it is apprehended by representative members of a particular society at a particular point in time—in a word, a scientific phenomenology of culture” (364). He undertakes a systematic analysis of observable modes of thought in Balinese symbolic structures of personhood, time, and social conduct.


For background on personhood, Geertz offers Alfred Schutz’s categories of fellow persons as consociates, contemporaries, predecessors, and successors. Consociates share space, time, and daily encounter with those who perceive them; contemporaries share time, but not necessarily space. Neither predecessors nor successors share space and time, but predecessors can be known while successors cannot. Against this conceptual background, Geertz discusses six “symbolic orders of person-definition” (368) in Bali that demonstrate how a Balinese individual perceives fellow people: personal names, birth order names, kinship terms, teknonym, status titles, and public titles.


According to Geertz, personal names are the least important: They are rarely used as they are considered intensely private and indicate no familial or kinship connections. Their disuse also indicates the extent to which the concrete characteristics of consociates are not of social significance in Balinese culture. 


The four birth order names—Wayan, Njoman, Made/Nengan, and Ktut—refer to children and young adults who have not had children. The concrete characteristics of the individual are insignificant; instead, the recurring pattern of birth order names, which are used for different children or childless adults—expresses the “endless four-stage replication of an imperishable form” (371).


Similarly, kinship terms, a generational typology, indicate reciprocity between predecessor and successor. The third generation removed—either into the future or the past—is called the same kinship term, indicating the “immobilization of time through the iteration of form” (374). Kinship terms are rarely used in public discourse and do not indicate distinguishing characteristics: “the Balinese system of kinship terminology defines individuals in a primarily taxonomic, not a face-to-face, idiom […] It functions almost entirely as a cultural map upon which [only] certain persons can be located” (373).


Teknonym are the primary way that Balinese people refer to each other. Like birth order names and kinship terms, teknonym indicate the importance of producing offspring to Balinese culture, featuring terms such as “father-/mother-of,” “grandfather-/grandmother-of,” and “great-grandfather-/great-grandmother-of” (376). Geertz explains three ways that teknonym affect the perception of the self and the acquaintances. First, “the link between husband and wife is expressed in terms of their common relation to their children, grandchildren, or great-grandchildren” (376), and this is of social, economic, and spiritual significance. Second, teknonym indicate the procreational stratification of Balinese society: People are classified as being childless, parents, grandparents, or great-grandparents, which means the stages of human life are conceived of in terms of social regenesis. Third, indicating to whom one is ancestor, as opposed to whom one is a descendant, emphasizes reproductive continuity. 


Status titles, like personal names, are connected to the individual. However, unlike personal names, the status title that one is born into “does not signal his wealth, his power, or even his moral reputation, it signals his spiritual composition” (381), making status titles “images of the underlying relationship between the form of human society and the divine pattern” (382). Status titles are further organized through the Varna System, which organizes social life through cosmology rather than individual qualities:


the diversity of human talent and the workings of historical process are regarded as superficial phenomena when compared with the location of persons in a system of standardized status categories, as blind to individual character as they are immortal (384).


Individual characteristics and linear temporal order are de-emphasized, so as to express a normative image of how society should be ordered according to one’s proximity to the gods. 


Religion plays a significant role in public titles as well. Sometimes used in conjunction with other person-definition names that become secondary to the public title, public titles absorb individuals into their roles as stewards of the public. Public titles are closely connected with status titles and the Varna System, as they determine what public roles individuals are eligible for, indicating that the social order reflects the metaphysical order. The anonymity of public service is, thus, a reflection of the fact that gods are defined by what they govern, as opposed to their characteristics and motivations. Here, temporal order becomes an enduring present—a changeless endurance of specific forms. 


Balinese depersonalized conceptions of personhood have a significant impact on their sense of time. Depersonalization subsumes everyone outside of oneself into contemporaries, so the categories of consociate, predecessor, and successor, categories that would orient oneself to a linear conception of time, become null.


Geertz’ demonstrates this “detemporalization” through an analysis of Balinese calendars. The complex system of the permutational calendar, consisting of ten different simultaneous cycles of varying lengths of day-names, indicates the extent to which punctuality, not duration, matters to the Balinese: What matters is not “what time it is, but rather what kind of time it is” (393). For example, there are “good” and “bad” days on which to perform secular activities and participate in temple celebrations, and a person’s “birthday” determines temperament and talents. The lunar-solar calendar, while distinguished from the permutational calendar, also indicates the same sense of punctuality in its use: Its division into 12 months of 30 lunar days and 29 or 30 solar days “is more a supplement to the permutational than an alternative to it” (398) in that it acknowledges, at least minimally, the periodic variation of natural conditions, while assigning qualitative significance to the time. 


Accompanying depersonalization and detemporalization is “the ceremonialization of social intercourse” (399), characterized by a high degree of formality and etiquette, distinguished by two features—“shame” and the “absence of climax” (401). Where English conceptions of “shame” and its attendant notion of “guilt” have to do with private and public affective results of transgressions, the Balinese concept of shame, or lek, can more accurately be described as fear “that the public performance that is etiquette will be botched, that the social distance etiquette maintains will consequently collapse, and that the personality of the individual will then break through to dissolve his standardized public identity” (402). This persistent fear, then, governs social behavior by maintaining the deindividualization of personhood. 


On the other hand, the “absence of climax” in social activities maintains the ever-present quality of Balinese time because there is no intended destination or denouement to imply futurity: “Balinese social life lacks climax because it takes place in a motionless present, a vectorless now. Or, equally true, Balinese time lacks motion because Balinese social life lacks climax” (404). The Balinese orient themselves in the social world  through detemporalization. 


Geertz notes that dominant conceptions of cultural integration, cultural conflict, and cultural change in anthropology rely too heavily on the notion that harmony, instability, and incongruity are properties of meaning that behave in expected ways. He argues that integration, conflict, and change are not so simplistic; understanding them requires attention to the thought of those participating in a society ordered by symbolic structures. Since human thought is public, cultural integration is not “all-embracing, completely pervasive, [or] unbounded” (406)—instability and incongruity are just as telling about the way culture works as integration. Thus, culture should be understood less as an octopus: The movement of one limb produces movement in other limbs that together direct change. The octopus analogy updates Geertz’s conceptual development of culture as a web in Chapter 1. 


The Interpretation of Cultures has been largely an analysis of the changes taking place in newly independent states as cultural traditions come up against the establishment of nationhood. Geertz returns to the subject with respect to Bali and theoretical formulation of the link between personhood, time, and social behavior. He notes that certain factors in newly independent Bali, such as Sukarno’s individualized public persona, “the politics of continuing crisis” (410), “a passion for pushing events toward their climaxes” (410), and the “new informality of urban life and of the pan-Indonesian culture” (410) suggest changes in conceptions of personhood, time, and social behavior that challenge the dominant, traditional modes of cultural expression. Still, the value of Geertz’ formulation lies not in its ability to predict the direction of Balinese society, but rather in its development of “cultural concepts as active forces, of thought as a public phenomenon with effects like other public phenomena” (410-11).

Chapter 15 Summary and Analysis: “Deep Play: Notes on the Balinese Cockfight”

Geertz’s discussion of the sociocultural and sociopsychological aspects of cockfighting in Bali culminates in a theory of culture generally and art specifically, with social and psychological implications. 


Geertz describes what he and his wife experienced in Bali in 1958. From Geertz’s perspective, the Balinese people initially received them as outsiders. Still in this stage of invisibility, Geertz and his wife attended a public cockfight that was raided by the police; along with the rest of the villagers, the pair fled the scene. Because of this perceived solidarity with Balinese covillagers and the ensuing rapport Geertz gained from this perceived solidarity, he became an insider who could also investigate “witchcraft, irrigation, caste, or marriage” (417).


Geertz explains the symbolic significance of roosters: They are “expressions or magnifications of their owner's self” (419), standing for “what the Balinese regard as the direct inversion, aesthetically, morally, and metaphysically, of human status: animality” (419). He then describes the cockfight, noting its anticlimactic and indifferent character, as well as the body of rules and lore that surround it. Geertz aims to demonstrate the connection between the social life of Balinese people and cockfighting. 


This connection is most explicit in the gambling aspect of cockfighting. Two types of bets take place at a cockfighting event. The first, toh ketengah, is the official bet between two cock owners. After the official center bet is made, the second type of bet, toh kesasi, is made between audience members. These side bets are based on “a fixed and known odds paradigm” (426). When there are large center bets, there is an enormous amount of effort put into ensuring that the two cocks in the ring are evenly matched, making for a more interesting, deep, and unpredictable fight:


The two betting systems, though formally incongruent […] are part of a single larger system in which the center bet is, so to speak, the ‘center of gravity,’ drawing, the larger it is the more so, the outside bets toward the short-odds end of the scale. The center bet thus ‘makes the game’ (431).


Jeremy Bentham’s notion of deep play underlies Geertz’s analysis of the sociological and psycho-sociological significance of cockfighting. For Bentham, deep play denotes “play in which the stakes are so high that it is, from his utilitarian standpoint, irrational for men to engage in it at all” (432). For Geertz, the draw towards deep play cockfighting derives from what the money in the bets represents: status. Cockfighting becomes “a simulation of the social matrix, the involved system of cross-cutting, overlapping, highly corporate groups” (436) and the Balinese’s cultural preoccupation with status and prestige. 


In the village of Tihingan in Southeastern Bali, two status groups stand out: the four patrilineal descent groups that form the major factions within the village and the village itself as opposed to other villages within its cockfighting circuit. Cockfighting in Tihingan supports Geertz’s overall thesis that cockfighting dramatizes status concerns for the Balinese people. For example, men never bet against cocks owned by a member of their kin group or an allied kin group within the village. Furthermore, when there are cockfights between villages, villagers put aside internal animosities and only bet on their local rooster. Almost all matches are sociologically relevant: there are virtually no fights between cocks that don’t have a particular group backing, and between cocks belonging to the same group or subfaction. Most importantly, cockfighting engages


village and kingroup rivalries and hostilities, but in ‘play’ form, coming dangerously and entrancingly close to the expression of open and direct interpersonal and intergroup aggression (something which, again, almost never happens in the normal course of ordinary life), but not quite (440).


For Geertz, cockfighting is an art form that “renders ordinary, everyday experience comprehensible” (443) by ordering themes of “death, masculinity, rage, pride, loss, beneficence, chance” (444) into an encompassing structure. Its power lies not in its production of material outcomes, as no one’s status actually changes from the results of the cockfight, but rather in the qualitative effect produced by the imaginative realization of “a dimension of Balinese experience normally well-obscured from view” (444). Typically, Balinese social behavior is marked by calculated etiquette that prevents the public display and/or resolution of emotional disturbance despite Balinese concerns with status and prestige. Thus, what the cockfight depicts is not how things actually are, but rather what they imaginatively are in terms of the sentiments on which social hierarchy rests. 


Treating the cockfight as text illuminates “its use of emotion for cognitive ends” (449). That is, the cockfight speaks “in a vocabulary of sentiment” (449), teaching a Balinese man, “what his culture's ethos and his private sensibility (or, anyway, certain aspects of them) look like when spelled out externally in a collective text” (449). By interpreting cockfighting as text and art form, Geertz effectively draws out its social and psychological dimensions, particularly as they relate to notions of status hierarchy and self-regard in Balinese culture. He concludes his analysis with what is ultimately another conception of culture: “The culture of a people is an ensemble of texts, themselves ensembles, which the anthropologist strains to read over the shoulders of those to whom they properly belong” (452). With this conception, Geertz proposes that it is possible to analyze a culture in a way that attends to that culture’s substance rather than reducing it to formulas.

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