Showing posts with label Christine Helliwell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christine Helliwell. Show all posts

Wednesday, 29 May 2019

12. The Ontological Turn: Perspectivism and the Dividual

Welcome to Section 12 of Culture, Body, and Mind. This as an upper-level cultural anthropology course concerning the Anthropology of Body and Mind.

Revision

In Sections 4-6, we considered concepts such as corporeality, personhood, embodiment, and subjectivity in relation to phenomenology.

The Ontological Turn

 In the 1990s, some anthropologists pushed these ideas further. To understand other cultures, anthropologists began to write positively about ontology, perspectivism, relatedness, sentience and the dividual. These ideas began to coalesce into what is often called the Ontological Turn in anthropology.

Self and Individual (Helliwell)

You might recall in Section 2 we questioned whether the notion of "individual" was an adequate concept to describe the self. You might also recall we read in Section 6 about Helliwell's experience of living in a longhouse; how Helliwell reacted the light and sound created by the flimsy 'walls' that connected everyone living in their section of the longhouse. We can see these two things--a critique of the notion of "individual" as well as a phenomenological methodology--coming together in Helliwell's article. Here she observse that the Gerai don't really have an idea of a private self:

a rather different conception of the area [inside the longhouse] than can be accounted for in terms of “private“ households. This is because while yeg diret might superficially translate as “pertaining to the self,” the notion of diret (“self “) does not, in fact, easily accord with Western conceptions of a distinct, bounded ego or subject. Thus, while the term's use often appears parallel to that of the English “self,“ it  extends far beyond this to denote also what English would translate as “we“ or “us”: any group of people which includes the speaker and which is engaged in some shared enterprise is referred to as diret. Like “we“ or “us“ in English, direct has no specific, the limited preference; exactly who is denoted by varies from context to context. Describing [the inside of the longhouse] as an area “pertaining to diret,“ then designates it as pertaining to the English the “us“ as much as it does to the English “self”.

To recap, Helliwell uses a phenomenological methodology (paying careful attention to the experience of light and sound). This leads Helliwell to question of the self as individual (as well as notions of private and public) to explain her experience.

Private Individuals (Habermas)

Highlighting the cultural specificity of the idea of "individual" and how this related to the constructs of private and public is Habermas. This famous a Marxist theorist, describes the emergence of the ideal of the individual and the notions of private and public in his Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere (1962). Habermas is neither an anthropologist nor a phenomenologist. But it is informative to see how he points to a similar critique of self as a private individual.

At one point, Habermas quotes Trevelyan, a writer from the 1800s. Trevelyan was disgusted by the new bourgeois homes ("modern private dwellings") with their rooms for individuals: 


What Trevelyan was longed for was the old aristocratic mansions of grandeur which had no 'private' bedrooms! It seems that bedrooms were for displaying grandeur.

Sadly for Trevelyan, this new bourgeois ideal of private individuals living in a family home took off. It has become the dominant model for city and suburban living in the Western world. What was then the "new family life" has now become standard. It's how I was raised.

Can you imagine trying to get by without a clear notion of public and private? Habermas argues that prior to the modern era, no idea of public and private existed. It only emerged and only in Europe as the result of a set of specific factors.

Nowadays, the experience of having private rooms probably assists in socializing young people into being individuals. But this was not the case in pre-Modern Europe, nor is the case among Gerai, where the private individual does not exist. 

In a sense, the dividual is a radically different idea of 'self' compared to the individual. The autonomous, self-driven 'thing' I associate with 'me' as an individual is a historical product of modernity.

Multiple Person or Dividual (Strathern)

So what is another model of self? Since the 1980s anthropologists have been developing the concept of the dividual. Perhaps the most famous exponent is Marilyn Strathern, who did fieldwork on Mt Hagen in Papua New Guinea. 

Strathern argues that for the people of Mt Hagen there is no unitary self as individual. Rather there is a multiple self a dividual.  Put simply, you are someone's child, someone else's partner (spouse, girlfriend etc.), someone's parent (if you have a child), someone's grandchild, someone's worker (if you have a boss) etc. But that is all you are. You cannot separate a sense of self aside from your position as you are related to others.

It follows that those 'others' your boss, grandparent etc. are not individuals either, but only constituted by their relationship to you and the people in their lives. As a result, there are no individuals only what Strathern calls "dividuals". This has profound implications for social life, as Strathern shows in her Critique of the Gift.  I try to shed some light on this in a summary of a small part of Strathern's magnum opus. But actually, Strathern does not single out this concept in a handy quotable section, so to explain I turn Smith:

...the individual is considered to be an indivisible self or person. That is, it refers to something like the essential core, or spirit of a singular human being, which, as a whole, defines that self in its particularity. To change, remove or otherwise alter any part of that whole would fundamentally alter the ‘self’; she ⁄ he would then be, effectively, a different person. By contrast, the dividual is considered to be divisible, comprising a complex of separable—interrelated but essentially independent—dimensions or aspects. The individual is thus monadic, while the dividual is fractal; the individual is atomistic, while the dividual is always socially embedded; the individual is an autonomous social actor, the author of his or her own actions, while the dividual is a heteronomous actor performing a culturally written script; the individual is a free-agent, while the dividual is determined by cultural structures; the individual is egocentric, and the dividual is sociocentric....Ram explains that the dividual has been portrayed as ‘someone with permeable boundaries that allow transactions with substances of native soil’ (1994: 145) as well as with others in the community ⁄society.
You can read the rest of Smith's great overview of the ontological turn here. But now let's look at one application of this dividual concept.

Relatedness & Dividual (Bird David)

Remember when we were looking at Hallowell's research on the Ojibwa? I mentioned that, instead of dismissing the perspectives of other cultures, anthropologists say "Let's say they've got it right. What would that mean?" This is the starting point for the next piece of research we consider; Bird-David on the Nakaya.

Nayaka women


Bird-David expands on Tylor's idea of Animism, Hallowell's research, and Strathern's "dividual". She does this by referring to the Nayaka, a forest-dwelling hunter-gatherer people in Southern India (and by a liberal use of italics):

I derive from Strathern's “dividual“ (a person constitutive of relationships) the verb “to dividuate," which is crucial to my analysis. When I individuate a human being I am conscious of her “in herself“ (as a single separate entity); when I dividuate her I am conscious of how she relates with me. This is not to say that I am conscious of the relationship with her “in itself,“ as a thing. Rather, I am conscious of the relatedness with my interlocutor as I engage with her, attentive to what she does in relation to what I do, to show how she talks and listens to me as I talk and listen to her to what happened simultaneously and mutually to me, to her, to us.… As I understand it, this common experience of sharing space, things, and actions contextualised Nayaka’s knowledge of each other: they dividuated each other. They gradually got to know not how each talked but how each talked with fellows, not how each worked, but how each worked with fellows, not how each shared but how each shared with fellows etc. They got to know not other Nayaka in themselves but  Nayaka as they interrelated with each other....

This document is a selection from her "'Animism' Revisited" essay. For conceptualizing this, make sure you don't get interactionism (the problem of how matter interacts with thought created by Descartes' dualism) and relatedness (how self or person identity is created by relating to other persons, both human and non-human.

Dividuals and non-human others

Because dividuals that they not only relate to other humans but also to non-humans. In this tradition, anthropologist Deborah Bird Rose described her anthropological research method (or practice) as "multispecies ethnography". She uses the word Aboriginal-English word "Country", which means the landscape, the animals, plants and humans in it, the spirits of the ancestors, and so on. She finds these things all interrelated and helping each other by helping themselves.
    The mutual entanglement of benefits is well exemplified in the context of Aboriginal burning. My main example here comes from my research in the northern floodplains... On a humanly pragmatic level, 'firestick farming' involves getting rid of long grass and grass seeds which impede travel. It means being able to see the animal tracks, and thus to hunt better. It means being able to see snakes and snake tracks so as to avoid them....
At the same time, burning benefits other animals: new growth is up to five times richer in nutrients than old growth...and many creatures thrive in the aftermath of fire. The benefit to others is also good for hunters. To quote April Bright, whose home country is in the floodplains not far from Darwin:
        'Burn grass time' gives us good hunting. It brings animals such
         as wallabies, kangaroos and turkeys on the new fresh feed of
         green grasses and plants. But it does not only provide for us
        but also for animals, birds, reptiles and insects. After
        the 'burn' you will see hundreds of white cockatoos digging for
        grass roots. It's quite funny because they are no longer snow
        white but have blackened heads, and undercarriages black from
        the soot. The birds fly to the smoke to snatch up insects.
        Wallabies, kangaroos, bandicoots, birds, rats, mice, reptiles
        and insects all access these areas for food. If it wasn't burnt
        they would not be able to penetrate the dense and long spear grass
        and other grasses for these sources of food.
 Burning the country helps animals and people thrive; the benefit is mutual. The evidence is widespread that Indigenous people's burning was carried out in the patchy patterns that sustain biodiversity...Some landscape ecologists claim that the biodiversity of the Australian continent was the outcome of Indigenous people's fire regimes.
     The further point is that fire, too, is set within the communicative matrix. April Bright stated:
         The country tells you when and where to burn. To carry out this
         task you must know your country. You wouldn't, you just would
         not attempt to burn someone else's country. One of the reasons for
         burning is saving country. If we don't burn our country every year,
         we are not looking after our country.
Country tells you: the proposition prioritises country's communication, and positions human responsibility as knowledgeable action in response to country. Human action is thus both directive and responsive. It is directive in almost every foraging context: how and where to pick conkerberries, how and where to dig for crocodile eggs, and hundreds of other actions that depend on human knowledge, tradition, skill and ingenuity. It is also responsive. One of the ways that country tells April Bright that it is time to start burning, for example, is with the flowering of the 'silky oak' (Grevillea pteridi/blia). Living things communicate by their sounds, their smells, their annoying actions, as with March flies, or their brightness and beauty, as with the bright orange silky oak flowers shimmering in fresh sunshine. Within the communicative matrix of country, people respond to the patterns of connection and benefit, nurturing their own lives and the lives of others.
     The Indigenous philosophical ecology discussed here works with multiple, recursive connections. I see four major areas for dialogue concerning the human situation in relation to the living world. The first is that in this Indigenous system, subjectivity in the form of sentience and agency is not solely a human prerogative but is located throughout other species and perhaps throughout country itself. Subject-subject encounter is an ecological process that undermines the whole basis of hegemonic anthropocentrism, defined as the centring of the human within a dualistic system that hyperseparates humans from nature.
    A second area for dialogue is that life processes, although they rely on humans, do not prioritise human needs and desires. The instrumentalism that pervades much of traditional Western concepts of resources is defined provocatively by Plumwood as the viewpoint 'that all other species are available for unrestricted human use'. Such a view is clearly connected with hegemonic anthropocentrism, and denies reciprocal responsibilities among species. In contrast, within the entanglements of benefit I have analysed, humans are one species among many others, both giving and receiving benefit.
     A third area, touched on only briefly in this paper, is kinship with nature. The consubstantial kindreds known as totemic groups include both human and non-human kin. These groups ensure that non-humans and humans are part of the same moral domain.
    A fourth area is that the ecological system is not activated solely by human agency, but rather calls humans into relationship and into activity. A great deal of the literature on human ecological activities in contemporary Western practice--primarily resource use and resource management--assumes the priority of human knowledge and human intentional action. My work with Aboriginal people indicates an alternative. Rather than humans deciding autonomously to act in the world, humans are called into action by the world. The result is that country, or nature, far from being an object to be acted upon, is a self-organising system that brings people and other living things into being, into action, into sentience itself. The connections between and among living things are the basis for how ecosystems are understood to work, and thus constitute Law in the metaphysical sense of the given conditions of the created world.
     I should like to give the last words here to my teacher Daly Pulkara: 'We been listen to [your] story. You, you whitefella, [you] can listen to story too'. The story he wanted us to listen to is clear but not simple: 'I tell you, nothing can forget about that Law'.  (Rose, D 2005, 'An Indigenous Philosophical Ecology: Situating the Human', The Australian Journal of Anthropology, vol. 16, no. 3, pp. 294-305.)



So what does Bird Rose mean when she writes, "Subject-subject encounter is an ecological process that undermines the whole basis of hegemonic anthropocentrism, defined as the centring of the human within a dualistic system that hyperseparates humans from nature"?

All these terms might sound a bit over-the-top, but if you read the rest of her article, you'll see that Bird Rose, to her credit, writes more clearly than most who could be situated in the Ontological Turn. In fact, in an effort to avoid jargon, she forgoes using a couple of concepts that actually might be useful for students. One is "perspectivism". This is a commitment to looking at the world from the perspective non-human others or persons. So if we establish that Country or a Bear might be a non-human other, how does the world look to them? That's the question that perspectivism seeks to answer. The other is sentience. You might recall from Section 3, sentience is the ability to perceive, feel, and experience the world. According to Descartes, only humans, thinking things, have sentience. For Bird Rose animals, even Country, have sentience.

Perspectivism  (Viveiros de Castro)

To oversimplify, perspectivism is the anthropological concept which holds that anthropologists need to understand how, for example, dogs and cats view humans, not just humans view dogs and cats. Perspectivism is a concept that urges us to consider how non-human other perceive the world in different cultures.It rejects the method of just looking at human perspectives as anthropocentric.  Perspectivism also denies the usefulness of distinguishing nature from culture.

According to perspectivism:
 “non-humans see things [the same way] as ‘people’ [see things]. But the things that they see are different: what to us is blood, is maize beer to the jaguar, what to the souls of the dead is a rotting corpse, to us is soaking manioc [cassava soaked to make beer?]” (478) .
The perspective is embodied. The perspective of the world we humans and animals have is not a representation produced by mind or spirit. Rather, perspectivism is a point of view produced/located in the body.   The soul in all bodies, whether cats, humans, monkeys sees the same things but sees them differently because their bodies are different to ours.

Another example of perspectivism is this anthropological account of Yukaghir hunter in Siberia. The hunter adopts the form of a mouse:
The moose-hide coat, worn with its hair outward, the headgear with its characteristic protruding ears, and the skis covered underneath with a moose’s smooth leg-skin so as to sound like the animal when it moves in the snow—all make the hunter a moose. And yet the lower part of his face below the hat, with its human eyes, nose, and mouth, along with the loaded rifle in his hands, make him a man. Thus it is not that he has stopped being human. Rather, he is not a moose, and yet he is also not not a moose…. A female moose appears from among the bushes with a young calf. At first the animals freeze in their tracks, the mother lifting and lowering her huge head in bewilderment, seemingly unable to solve the puzzle in front of her. But as the hunter moves closer, she is captured by his mimetic performance, suspending her disbelief, and begins to walk slowly toward him with the large-legged calf tottering behind her. At that point the hunter lifts his rifle, and in quick succession shoots both dead.
Can you see how the anthropologist attends to the mouse experience of the situation? That is an example of perspectivism. You can read the rest of the article here.


The Ontological Turn

These new ideas--non-human persons, perspectivism, the dividual, personhood, relatedness--have culminated in a movement in anthropology called "The Ontological Turn".

As you'll recall from Section 3, "ontology" means the study of what kinds of things exist. So in Descartes' ontology, there are two kinds of things: thinking things and non-thinking things. But, if you have got one thing from studying this course so far, you'll realize that this distinction might not apply in other cultures.

Other societies cannot be understood using nature-culture; universal-particular etc. ontologies. It implies that animal (or human) clothing hides a common spiritual essence. Put another way, we spirits adopt human or animal forms; this must be the starting point of a new anthropology.

 The most famous exponent of the ontological turn is Viveiros de Castro. I have summarised his work which bears the rather overwhelming title "Cosmological Deixis and Amerindian Perspectivism".

The Upshot

In the last two decades, some anthropologists have come think that in ALL cultures people are both dividual and individual. For instance, my experiences of becoming a school student, a high-school student, becoming a boyfriend, joining a football team, getting married becoming a father, coaching baseball etc. were all life-changing and all involved new roles and new relationships for me. That is the dividual aspect of my self in a Western context, some anthropologists would argue. Conversely, some would argue that in Aboriginal Australian, Nayaka, Mt Hagen societies, people also act as individual in some situations. 

New Zealand declares river a person

For instance, recently the New Zealand government declared the nation's 3rd largest river to be a person. One press report indicates that the legislation recognized what the Indigenous people of New Zealand, the Maori, had always known; about the river:  “I am the river and the river is me.” 

French thinker Bruno Latour argues in his We have never been modern that Western cultures have maintained a nonmodern culture; that the subject-object distinction is a kind of false imposition. If you think about the way we might love our pet or our car (giving it a name, mourning its loss after a crash); our favorite sports stadium;  we also treat what Descartes would call 'objects' as if they have subjecthood as if they are what Hallowell calls "non-human others".

So maybe after all this prolonged attempt to understand other cultures, we get back to understanding ourselves and our own culture better. If this is the case, then the anthropological project (of understanding all of humanity in its diversity and its similarity) has been furthered by the investigations into phenomenology and ontology. 

Critiques of the Ontological Turn

For some anthropologists, the ontological turn is a return to the exoticism of past anthropology . This critique is proffered for example by Gupta in the Anthropology@Deakin podcast:
With the so-called ontological turn...there has been a return to a kind of exoticism in the discipline...kinds of subjects...[like ] famers close to urban areas practicing agriculture. Those kinds of subjects are totally absent in the whole ontological literature because I think they would be very difficult to explain. To me that shows that there is a kind of a return to the exotic. You know the whole enterprise of journals like Hau and so forth is about that (Anthropology@Deakin, @  19:32).
Thus like all new movements and trends, the Ontological Turn has its adherents as well as its haters. Speaking personally, some anthropologists I speak to informally seem to think this Ontological Turn excessively exotic and romantic and overlooks political and economic realities.  I'll leave you to make up your own mind (assuming we have separate minds and that we as individuals can make them up!).  

Summary

We have travelled a long way over a difficult conceptual landscape. To aid us in our explorations over this wide thought-territory we could have used more concepts. Alternatively, we might have completed our travels with less. In any case, the important concepts we used to guide our journey included corporeality, dividual, ontology, other-than-human, personhood, perspectivism, relatedness, sentience. 

The main point is that the philosophical tradition of phenomenology was taken up by anthropologists. It lead anthropologists in a direction I don't think I could have predicted, namely that carefully attending to our own experience of other cultures will open us up to their own experience of the world. Phenomenological anthropologists questioned notions of self. This questioning led in two directions. Anthropologists questioned whether:
  1. The self was a private individual. In other words, in some cultures a person is a dividual not a dividual. 
  2. Things we had previously thought of as non-humans might also have personhood or selfhood. In other words, in some cultures a person is an animal, or a rock, or even the landscape and its animals in general.

In the next section, we take the idea of embodiment and see how anthropologists took it in yet another direction.

Friday, 8 March 2019

11. Gender & Body: Sex vs gender?

Welcome to "Sex vs Gender" in Culture, Body, & Mind an upper-level undergraduate anthropology course. This week we consider anthropological critiques of the concept of "biological sex".

Revision: Sex & Gender

Earlier we treated gender as cultural and sex as real. For instance we read Nanda (p.3), who defines "gender" as follows: "gender refers to the social, cultural, and psychological constructions that are imposed upon the biological differences of sex". So Nanda implies that imagined gender is fastened upon the reality of sex.

In other words, my wife has a baby, I see it has a penis, that is the baby's real sex. So I identify the baby as "boy" and as "he" grows up so I give "him" blue shorts to wear. Pretty soon "he" starts identifying himself as a boy too as do others. In this way an imagined quality "male" is applied to biological reality (the baby with a penis and y-chromosome).

In this view, sex is biologically determined: xx chromosome = woman; xy = man. Gender
 is the socially constructed ‘bits’ we add on top of sex. For instance, men should be strong, women demurring. This week we question whether sex is real.

Is sex real?

We read Sharyn Graham in Section 11 on the Bugis five gender system. Graham explained this in terms of male and female. But as she points out in a later publication, there is no need to view sex as real. Discussing a US court case in which "a judge in Oregon allowed a person to legally choose neither sex and be classified as “nonbinary,”" Graham writes:

For many thinkers, such as gender theorist Judith Butler, requiring everyone to choose between the “female” and “male” toilet is absurd because there is no such thing as sex to begin with. According to this strain of thinking, sex doesn’t mean anything until we become engendered and start performing “sex” through our dress, our walk, our talk. In other words, having a penis means nothing before society starts telling you that if you have one you shouldn’t wear a skirt (well, unless it’s a kilt). Nonetheless, most talk about sex as if everyone on the planet was born either female or male. Gender theorists like Butler would argue that humans are far too complex and diverse to enable all seven billion of us to be evenly split into one of two camps.
One theorist who has applied this idea is Helliwell.

Helliwell

 In Western understandings of rape, women’s genitalia and sexuality are frequently understood as inherently vulnerable and subject to brutalization, while men’s are inherently brutalizing and penetrative. Do the Gerai, a community in Indonesian Borneo share this conception? One night a man broke into a woman’s room through a window and, laying his hand on her shoulder, told her to “be quiet”. What happened next? Was this understood as an attempted rape? Why? Why not?

Read Helliwell, C 2000, ""It's only a penis": Rape, feminism, and difference", Signs, v. 25, no. 3, pp. 789-816 and find out.

Content advisory: Helliwell’s “It’s Only a Penis” discusses attempted rape, sexual violence, consent and sexual anatomy. It also examines culturally different understandings of these issues, which some readers may find confronting or distressing. 

Example of the anthropological perspective

I now want to digress and return to the theme of the anthropological perspective.  Can you see how  Helliwell's article "It's only a penis" applies the anthropological perspective? The analysis is based on a story of how, one night a man broke into a woman’s room through a window and, laying his hand on her shoulder, told her to “be quiet”. The women of the village thought this set of events was laughable. Helliwell describes how, for the Gerai, penises are not weapons that deflower innocent virgins. Rather they are vulnerable, almost pitiable, appendages. You can see the principles applied as follows:

*Relativism: Helliwell was initially shocked at what she viewed as an attempted rape; but she surrendered her Western perspective of the events temporarily. 
*Understanding (verstehen): This relativism allowed her to understand that the Gerai understand an unwelcome nocturnal sexual advance could not be equated with rape.
*Reflexivity: This understanding caused her to critique the contemporary Western understandings of sexuality and rape; even to critique her own feminist principles.
* Ethnocentrism:  Helliwell avoided see the actions from the Western perspective.
* Holism: Helliwell drew on larger notions of procreation and agriculture to explain local understandings of the penis.
* Qualitative : Helliwell used very few stats, instead drawing on local Gerai understandings.
* Fieldwork. Helliwell lived with Gerai for over one year, learned their language, participated in everyday life etc. 
*Comparison: Helliwell used various anthropological concepts like "discourse" and "difference" to approach another culture.
*Essentialism: Helliwell does not say that the Gerai are a developing or backward people; she avoids cliches and stereotypes in describing their culture.

OK so that's an example of the anthropological approach applied to a specific context.


Thursday, 17 January 2019

6. Phenomenology & Embodiment: Lived Experience



Welcome to Section 6 of "Culture, Body, and Mind" a course in the Anthropology of Body and Mind.

Revision

In Section 3, we looked one Western philosophical idea: body-mind distinction. This distinction was most famously elaborated by Descartes. The philosophical idea is phenomenology. In the mid-1900s at least, phenomenology was the ascendant philosophy in Europe. Anthropologists have been attracted to the ideas several ideas from  phenomenology, namely that we can understand the self:
  • by paying extremely careful attention to our experience (Merleau-Ponty and 'bracketing off');
  • as being existing alongside other beings in the world (Heidegger and da sein) and not a radically separate kind of being (as in Descartes' subject).
  • as a body interacting with the world (as described my Merleau-Ponty).

Remonstrating with the referee, Anglo-Australian soccer player, Harry Kewell, points his finger. 

Phenomenology in Anthropology

So how did anthropologists make sense of this phenomenology? These presentation notes give some idea on how we might use phenomenology to anthropology.

Merleau-Ponty’s idea of embodiment implies that we see the world in relation to what our body can do in the world. Anthropologists have drawn on this idea, observing that what a body can and cannot do is different in different cultures and this significantly impacts on cultural phenomena and institutions.  In other words, the philosophical idea of "embodiment" provides a way forward for anthropologists to understand the body and culture. Anthropologists doing phenomenology have run with the idea that the body (which constitutes our world for us) is culturally shaped.



Azuri players use their fingers to remonstrate with ref Moreno in 2002 World Cup


Embodiment

The simplest way to approach this idea is to think that certain bodily practices (like how to handshake in Australia, how to kiss in France, how bow in Japan) become muscle memory. If you compile all your culturally specifically bodily practices these effectively change your muscles, possibly your mental process, and even the bones of your body. Now if your body is changed, your perception of the world is changed. In this presentation, I try to explain the anthropological take on embodiment:




Bateson, Why do Frenchmen?

A nice introduction to the idea of embodiment comes from before anyone in anthropology was even talking about it. Bateson is one of anthropology's more eccentric thinkers. The selection below comes from his 'metalogue' called "Why do Frenchmen". This is an imaginary dialogue between a daughter and her father:
Daughter: Daddy, why do Frenchmen wave their arms about?  
Father: What do you mean? 

D: I mean when they talk. Why do they wave their arms and all that?  

F: Well—why do you smile? Or why do you stamp your foot sometimes?

D: But that’s not the same thing, Daddy. I don’t wave my arms about like a Frenchman does. I don’t believe they can stop doing it, Daddy. Can they?

F: I don’t know—they might find it hard to stop…. Can you stop smiling?

D: But Daddy, I don’t smile all the time. It’s hard to stop when I feel like smiling. But I don’t feel like it all the time. And then I stop.

F: That’s true—but then a Frenchman doesn’t wave his arms in the same way all the time. Sometimes he waves them in one way and sometimes in another—and sometimes, I think, he stops waving them...What do you think? I mean, what does it make you think when a Frenchman waves his arms?                           
D: I think it looks silly, Daddy. But I don’t suppose it looks like that to another Frenchman. They cannot all look silly to each other. Because if they did, theywould stop it. Wouldn’t they?
F: Perhaps—but that is not a very simple question. What else do they make you think?

D: Well—they look all excited…

F: All right—”silly” and “excited.”

D: But are they really as excited as they look? If I were as excited as that, I would want to dance or sing or hit somebody on the nose … but they just go on waving their arms. They can’t be really excited.

F: Well—are they really as silly as they look to you? And anyhow, why do you sometimes want to dance and sing and punch somebody on the nose?

D: Oh. Sometimes I just feel like that.

F: Perhaps a Frenchman just feels “like that” when he waves his arms about.

D: But he couldn’t feel like that all the time, Daddy, he just couldn’t.

F: You mean—the Frenchman surely does not feel when he waves his arms exactly as you would feel if you waved yours. And surely you are right.

D: But, then, how does he feel?

F: Well—let us suppose you are talking to a Frenchman and he is waving his arms about, and then in the middle of the conversation, after something that you have said, he suddenly stops waving his arms,  and just talks. What would you think then? That he had just stopped being silly and excited?

D: No… I’d be frightened. I’d think I had said something that hurt his feelings and perhaps he might be really angry.

F: Yes—and you might be right.
What would you think if a Frenchman stopped waving his arms? Why don’t Americans wave their arms in the same way?

Leenhardt on Canaque space

Read Synott & Howes' summary of Leenhardt on Canaque notions of space and body

 These earlier anthropologists, Bateson and Leenhardt, were not explicitly influenced by theories of phenomenology. Nevertheless, their writing appears to have stumbled upon a phenomenology independently.

Stoller on Listening to Songhay Music

Stoller’s teacher, the healer Sorko Seyni, rebuked him: “You listen, but you do not hear.” Stoller realised that recording and translating Songhay spells was not enough. He had to learn how their sounds were experienced—as forces capable of penetrating bodies, affecting spirits and transforming events.

The Songhay, or Songhai, are a major West African ethnic group living mainly along the Niger River in present-day Mali and Niger. During the 1400s and 1500s, their ancestors built one of Africa’s largest empires. Today, most Songhay are Muslim, while spirit possession and other healing traditions also remain important. To treat illness, Songhay healers may use medicinal substances, spoken spells and music.

Songhai empire


Let's skip the medicinal substances and focus on spells first. Anthropologist Paul Stoller learned that he had to move away from just focusing on the meaning of words.  He also had to learn to experience the phenomenon of spoken words, how they sound to us and to spirits rather than what they mean. 
Image in Stoller (1984, p. 565)

Instruments like the godji (a one-string fiddle) “cry” in ways that stir deep feeling, while the rhythms of the gasi drum create an irresistible soundscape for spirit possession. For Stoller, to understand Songhay music you must listen phenomenologically — attending to how sound is felt in the body, how it organises space, and how it works in ritual.

So to be able to really hear the spells and instruments of Songhay healers, Stoller found that he needed to get away from a Western obsession with sight and things:

“Thee eye and its " gaze, " to use the apt term of Foucault (1975 ), has had a lockhold on Western thought. ... Zukerkandi (1958 ) suggests that the majesty of vision in the epistemology of Western thought stems from our traditional stress on the observation of material things within a field of vision. From Aristotle on we have been conditioned to see colored illuminated things, not colors or light. We feel hard or smooth things, not hardness or smoothness....The gaze of Western thought has seemingly ignored the dimension of sound. “

Vision tends to position the world “out there,” as a collection of objects to be observed. Sound is different: it travels towards us, enters us and passes through our bodies. The godji “cries,” the gasi drum “clacks” and “rolls,” and praise-names are shouted into a medium’s ear. Together, these sounds connect people with their ancestors and draw spirits into human bodies.

To capture this, anthropologists need to focus on our bodily experience itself. This is the experience that philosopher Merleau-Ponty wrote about:

 Merleau-Ponty (1964:164), writes that the “quality, light, color, and depth which are there before us are there only because they awaken an echo in our body and because the body welcomes them.” 

As anthropologists, we used to focus more on actions or their meanings, but phenomenology exhorts us to attend to the feeling.

Jackson, Lighting a fire

Jackson, more than any other figure, is the proponent of phenomenology in anthropology.

Imagine you are an anthropologist analyzing people going to church. Taking a functional approach, you might say that going to church functions to provide solidarity to the group of church-goers and to provide a sense of psychological calm to each person (this is referred to as "function" below). Taking symbolic approach, you might interpret what Christ's sacrifice or Mother Mary's caring nature means to the church-goers  (this is referred to as "ethnographic interpretation" and "exegesis" below).

But Jackson does not want you to do either of these things.  He wants you, as an ethnographer, to look do what people do and copy or imitate it ("practical mimesis"). He wants you to acquire their skills and bodily habits. By doing this, you obtain a practical embodied knowledge of the culture, which escapes ready explanation. He explains this in relation to lighting a fire among the Kuranko of Sierra Leone.

      . When I first lived in a Kuranko village I used to light my own fire to boil water for drinking or bathing. But I regarded such a mundane chore as having little bearing on my research work, and my way of building a fire was careless and wasteful of wood. It was a task to get done quickly so that I could get on with what I took to be more important things. Villagers joked about my fire-lighting, but did not criticise or censure me, which was remarkable considering the scarcity of firewood and the time consumed in gathering it. Then one day, for no reason at all, I observed how Kuranko women kindled a fire and tended it, and began to imitate their technique which involved never using more than three lengths of split wood at one time, laying each piece carefully between the firestones, and gently pushing them into the fire as the ends burned away. When I took pains to make a fire in this way I found myself suddenly aware of the intelligence of the technique, which maximised the scarce firewood (women have to split and carry it from up to a mile and a half away), produced exactly the amount of heat required for cooking and enabled instant control of the flame.     
    This 'practical mimesis' afforded me insight into how people economised both fuel and human energy; it made me see the close kinship between economy of effort and grace of movement; it made me realise the common sense which informs even the most elementary tasks in a Kuranko village. Many of my most valued insights into Kuranko social life have followed from comparable cultivation and imitation of practical skills: hoeing on a farm, dancing (as one body), lighting a kerosene lantern properly, weaving a mat, consulting a diviner (see Jackson I978b). To break the habit of using a linear communicational model for understanding bodily praxis, it is necessary to adopt a methodological strategy of joining in without ulterior motive and literally putting oneself in the place of another person: inhabiting their world.
     
    Participation thus becomes an end in itself rather than a means of gathering closely-observed data which will be subject to interpretation elsewhere after the event. Devereux has shown that one's personality inevitably colours the character of one's observations, and that the 'royal road to an authentic, rather than fictitious, objectivity' is perforce the way of informed subjectivity (I967:  xvi- xvii). In my view, subjective determinations are as much somatic as psychological in character. Thus, to stand aside from the action, take up a point of view, and ask endless questions, as I did during the female initiations, led only to a spurious understanding and increased the phenomenological problem of how I could know the experience of the other.  By contrast, to participate bodily in everyday practical tasks was a creative technique which often helped me grasp the sense of an activity by using my body as others did. This technique also helped me break my habit of seeking truth at the level of disembodied concepts and decontextualised sayings. To recognise the embodiedness of our Being-in-the-world is to discover a common ground where self and other are one. For by using one's body in the same way as others in the same environment,  one finds oneself informed by an understanding  which may then be interpreted  according  to one's own custom or bent, yet which remains grounded in a field of practical activity and thereby remains consonant with the experience of those among whom one has lived.
     
    While words and concepts distinguish and divide, bodiliness unites and forms the grounds of an empathic, even a universal, understanding.  This may be why the body so often takes the place of speech and eclipses thought in rituals, like Kuranko initiation, whose point is the creation of community. The practical and embodied nature of Kuranko thought is thus to be seen as an ethical preference, not a mark of primitiveness or speculative failure. Likewise, practical mimesis may mediate many insights in anthropological fieldwork. And, because one's body is 'the nearest approach to the universe' which lies beyond cognition and words, it is the body which in so many esoteric traditions forms the bridge to universality, the means of yolking self and cosmos. The way that learning to light a fire disclosed new understanding for me suggests that we might recognise a reality revealed through what we do which is at once the matter and measure of what we say and think. After all, as the Kuranko adage says: 'The word fire won't burn down a house'.
Words are important, but so are actions. So see if you can analyze Jackson’s use of the idea of “habitus” and “embodiment”

Downey on Capoiera

Capoeira is a Brazilian activity which incorporates music, dance, and martial arts among other things. The music is produced by several instruments including a berimbau. Practitioners say they need the music to perform their moves properly; the sound and the body work together as Downey expalins in his article on Capoiera. 
In it, we see how many of our most natural or automatic ways of moving are meaningful and reflect our cultural background. By considering the way Capoeira practitioners hear music, we examine the argument that cultural ‘muscle memory’ is necessary to be able to perceive the world by considering the way Capoeira practitioners hear the music. In this phenomenology of listening, how, according to Downey, can one hear capoeira music? 

Helliwell on Longhouses

Like all anthropologists entering a new fieldsite with a radically different culture, Helliwell took some time to adjust. She was doing fieldwork in Borneo, among the Gerai. The Gerai were still living in longhouses. She lived in one of their longhouses but found herself initially:

....bewildered and overwhelmed by the cacophony of sound that characterises longhouse life...
    Eventually I, too, was able to appreciate and make sense of this tapestry of sound, and to recognise individual voices as they wovetogether with others in the air and flowed through the spaces of different apartments. These voices will never raise as a dialogue moved across four or even five petitions, but they’re very muted must reinforced the sense of membership in an intimate, privileged world. Conversations were taken up at will...according to the demands of work or body; they were never forced, never demanding a participation, but always both gentle and generous in the reminder of a companionship constantly attend. Even now, the memory of such conversations fills me with emotion; it is they which most clearly define long house life for me and wish distinguish that from from the Australian one to which I have since returned.
    Light also flows along the length of the longhouse particularly at night when the structure is demarcated from the surrounding blackness by the tiny lights glowing up-and-down its length. In explaining why they sow seeds of a plant bearing red flowers in the rice seed, Gerai people told me that once in bloom, the flowers serve as "lights" for the growing rice: "Just as human beings in the long house at night like to see many lights around them and so know that they have many companions in the same way the rice sees the flowers at night and does not feel lonely" . In the long house at night, one is aware of the presence of neighbours by the glow of the lights and the hearths. If a light is not showing in any apartment, its absence is source of concern and investigations...
     While longhouse partition may demarcate the space of each household, then, they simultaneously incorporate the household into a larger community space divided by the movement of sound and light. This movement continually reaffirms – – to any individual household as well as to those on either side of it – – its status as part of the longhouse, and thereby of the community of neighbours that is encapsulated within that long house. It is the  character of these petitions as they are lived and used – – the flimsiness and permeability – – which allows for the creation of community in this way, a point which Gerai people themselves are perfectly well aware. Thus, my attempts, in the early days of residence in my own apartment, to create privacy for myself by filling in some of the gaps in my two petitions with strategically placed pieces of cardboard and bark, were viewed with extreme disapproval by my neighbours. They saw such behaviour as constituting a denial of not only my own "need" for community, but also of their needs in this respect, since by blocking up my participants I was effectively stopping or reducing the flows of sound and light which linked them into the larger longhouse neighbourhood.
Longhouse in Borneo
You can see how Helliwell's anthropology be characterized as phenomenological anthropology. As a method, Helliwell pays close attention to the sensory experience of living in a longhouse; especially focusing on light and sound in this case.

Anthropology & Lived Experience

Anthropologists used to focus on actions and meaning. We'd look at a cock fight in Bali and try understand what it means to the Balinese, for instance.  Phenomenology directs anthropologists to focus on feeling rather than meaning. 

For anthropologists,  the simple 'take away' point is "lived experience". Phenomenology in anthropology means focusing on lived experience. I hear the phrase so often that it sounds like a cliche. But if we tie the idea of lived experience to the phenomenological theories above, I think it qualifies as a profound concept. Strangely enough, anthropologists do not need to be steeped in the theory of phenomenology to do a fairly decent job of phenomenological anthropology. What is necessary though is as anthropologists to carefully attend to:
  1. Ourselves: our own experience when we are doing fieldwork; sights, smells, feelings, fears, etc.
  2. Others: the experience of the people we are doing fieldwork with. In other words, we put aside what nationalism means to Polish citizen, and rather focus on how they feel when they hear the national anthem.
If you are acutely observant of experience and can express through your writing, the chances are you can write about 'lived experience' and your research might even be regarded as phenomenological anthropology.


Limitations

What are the limitations of the school of Phenomenology and the idea of embodiment? As the ideas emerge from Philosophy we can be sure that they have been heavily scrutinized in that discipline. Sometimes, anthropologists just move on to new approaches rather than engage in direct criticism of the old model.   Just like jeans, at the time of writing, have been fashionable apparel for decades, phenomenology still remains 'in vogue'

Further Research

For more please see the brilliant Ken Lieberman and his Seminar on Social Phenomenology.

I've summarised Helliwell's chapter in this blog. 

References

    Downey, G., Dalidowicz, M. and Mason, P. H. (2015) ‘Apprenticeship as method: embodied learning in ethnographic practice’, Qualitative Research, 15(2), pp. 183–200
    Downey, G 2002, 'Listening to Capoeira: Phenomenology, Embodiment and the Materiality of Music', Ethnomusicology, vol. 46, no. 3, pp. 487-509.
    Helliwell, C., 1996. Space and sociality in a Dayak longhouse. Things as they are: New directions in phenomenological anthropology, pp.128-48. 
    Jackson, M. (1983). Knowledge of the Body. Man, 18(2), 327-345.
    STOLLER, P. (1984). sound in Songhay cultural experience. American Ethnologist, 11(3), 559–570.