1

Medical anthropology and the problem of belief
Part of the special delight of being invited to give the Morgan Lectures was
the opportunity it afforded me to read the work of Lewis Henry Morgan and
be reacquainted with his life. Though largely remembered for his masterful
ethnography of the Iroquois and his technical kinship writing, Morgan was no
stranger to what we might now call applied anthropology. For Morgan, scholarship
and activism were closely linked. During the 1840s, when the rapacious
Ogden Land Company sought to deprive the Seneca of their land - as Morgan
wrote, "[they] pursued and hunted ... [the Seneca] with a degree of wickedness
hardly to be paralleled in the history of human avarice ... " (quoted in L. White
1959: 4) - Morgan rallied local citizens to the cause of the Indians, and carried the
fight to the United States Congress. In recognition for his service, he was adopted
by the Seneca, made a member of the Hawk clan, and given the name
Tayadaowuhkuh, or "one Lying Across," or "Bridging the Gap," "referring to him
as a bridge over the differences ... between the Indian and the white man."
Morgan's commitment to utilize his knowledge of the Seneca in their behalf has
special meaning for medical anthropology. But it is not simply his activism that
lends relevance to his work. Morgan played a crucial role in carving out kinship
as an analytic domain, and the conceptual problems he faced were similar in
intriguing ways to those which face medical anthropologists. Robert Trautmann,
in his fine book on Morgan's "invention of kinship" (1987), notes that it may
sound odd today to speak of the "discovery" of kinship, since aspects of family
and kin relations are everywhere present and part of everyday experience. In
reality, Trautmann argues, precisely this everyday quality of kin relations made
them resistant to analysis.
. . . the provisions of the kinship system are everywhere attributed to some immanent
order, whether of Nature or ofGod or some other, which gives it the transparency of that
which constitutes "the way things are." Like the air we breathe, it is all around us and
we cannoi see it. Kinship had to be discovered, and it was discovered through the
discordant. noncommonsensical kinship of the cultural other. (Trautmann 1987: 3)
For Morgan, a practicing lawyer, it was his finding, to his great astonishment, that
the Seneca attribute descent and prescribe the inheritance of property and office
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2 Medicine, rationality, and experience Medical anthropology and the problem of belief 3
so differently than we do - that is through females only - that served to
"denaturalize" kinship as a domain and "make it available to consciousness"
(Trautmann 1987: 4). And it was based upon this recognition that Morgan
designated kinship as a cultural domain, an aspect of human societies having
coherence and structure and thus a domain for systematic research and analysis.
Those of us who would turn anthropological attention to disease and illness face
an analogous problem. The elements of observation are readily at hand - in our
own encounters with fevers and pains, chronic medical conditions, or lifethreatening
diseases, and in our experience of the suffering of others. And
although we commonly recognize personal and cultural differences in beliefs
about disease or in what medical sociologists have called "illness behavior," the
sense that disease itself is a cultural domain is strongly counter-intuitive. Disease
is paradigmatically biological; it is what we mean by Nature and its impingement
on our lives. Our anthropological research thus divides rather easily into two
types, with medicine, public health, and human ecology providing models for the
study of disease and its place in biological systems, and social and cultural
studies investigating human adaptation and responses to disease. It takes a strong
act of consciousness to denaturalize disease and contemplate it as a cultural
domain.
From the perspective of the late twentieth century, it is difficult to appreciate
fully the conceptual problem which Morgan faced in the study of kinship and the
human family. It is easy today to be relativist when we consider aesthetics or
philosophy or child-rearing in other societies, recognizing that others may
have more profound or more interesting ways of understanding the world and
organizing social life than we do. Kin systems are part of this social order, and
with the important exception of our assumptions about the prohibition of incest,
diversity offamily relations seems only appropriat~,given the distinctive fonns of
life in which they are embedded. For the Victorians, quite the opposite was true.
The Victorians felt the family to be closely linked to the natural order, both
biological and moral. Other fonns of accounting kin and fonning families were
felt to be unnatural, abhorrently so.
If we contemplate for a moment our own views of medicine, we may recognize
more easily what Morgan faced in his efforts to rethink the human family. We all
know, of course, that medical knowledge has advanced rapidly over the past
century, that it is progressing at a nearly unimaginable speed today. And we have
little doubt that the medical sciences tell us with increasing accuracy about the
human genome or the cellular contributions to disease - that is, about human
biology, about Nature. This knowledge has yielded ever more powerful therapeutics
and resulted in longer and healthier lives. As a consequence, we face a
moral imperative to share that knowledge, to provide public health infonnation
to those whose beliefs serve them poorly as a basis for healthy behavior, in
particular to provide broad public health education for societies with high rates of
infant mortality, infectious diseases, and other scourges prominent in populations
which have undergone neither the demographic nor educational revolution.
Our views of medicine serve as an apt analogy to Morgan's understanding
about the achievements of Victorian society and the family as a dimension of it.
Societies are progressive. Change results from increasing knowledge of the order
of Nature and increasing confonnity of society to that knowledge. Progress occurs
through accumulating practical and scientific knowledge, or as Morgan wrote,
"man commenced at the bottom of the scale and worked his way up to civilization
through the slow accumulations of experimental knowledge" (in Trautmann 1987:
173). For the Victorians, their system of family relations was felt to be such
an achievement, a highly evolved realization of the natural order. We in the
twentieth century conceive medicine to be a similar achievement.
Morgan was thus confronted with a difficult interpretive dilemma when he
found that the Iroquois, whom he so admired, conceived family relations in a
manner considered immoral and abhorrent by his contemporaries. His response,
ultimately, was to reconceptualize kinship - not simply as a part of Nature, but as
a social and cultural domain - and it is in this sense that he "invented" kinship. In
developing his analysis, Morgan distinguished "descriptive" kin tenns, cultural
categories which correctly reflect natural blood relationships, from "classificatory"
tenns, which do not, thus shaping a debate which has been carried on in
kinship studies since that time.
In the course of these pages it will become clear that similar issues are central
to the comparative study of illness and medical knowledge. In part~cul~,.it is]
difficult to avoid.a strong conviction that our own system Qf knowledge reflects
the natural order, that it is a progressive system that has emerged through the
cumulative resultS of experimental efforts, and that our own biological categories
are natural and "descriptive" rather than essentially cultural and "claSSIficatory."
These d,eeply felt assumptions authorize our system of medical knowledge and, at
the s~me time, produce profound difficulties for comparative societal analysis.
Just suc'.!.(l..iffi~uI1~s li,e at th~ heart of the,conceptual problems of medieaLa'nthropology.
Although evolutionist thinking about kinship systems is hard for us to
intuit, making Morgan seem very much a nineteenth-century figure, thinking of
systems of medical knowledge as analogies to kin systems makes it clear that the
issues raised by Morgan are alive today. Our convictions ab.o.u.t.Jhe..trU.1b...clahns.~o£
me~ti~al scien~rf~tYJ1~asilY~Uhou,! reCQgwti.ou..oLollr"Q..w.n..histcipci!Y_and our
deSire to-res'(Ject competing ~nowledge claims of members of other societies or
status groups. Indeed, the confrontation between the natural sciences and
historicism -..!bs view fl)lll..~,!l. ,k...oQ»'J~Qg10.~I!n~X9iQCj,Q!Y.raativ.~}£b.i~t9tiC.,<U
context - has been the central issue of philosophy, the sociology of knowledge,
an~rical studies of science for much of this century, Within anthropology
today, I would argue that medical anthropology is the primary site in which these
issues are being addressed and investigated,
While studies in medical anthropology share many philosophical issues with
kinship studies, including such epistemological dilemmas, they also open onto
quite distinctive domains, It was Morgan's great contribution to recognize the
extent to which premodern societies are organized in tenns of kinship rather than
4 5Medicine, rationality, and experience
property relations, thus placing kinship studies at the heart of all studies of social
organization. While this analysis is also relevant to social and cultural studies of
medical systems, medical anthropology has unique concerns with issues of
biology and culture, with human suffering and ritual efforts to manage disorder
and personal threat, and thus with the investigation of human experience and the
existential grounds of culture. These, as well as the philosophical issues at
stake in cross-cultural studies of disease and health care, will be central to the
discussion to follow.
In the 1960s, it was something of an embarrassment to be identified as a
medical anthropologist. Medical anthropology was largely a practice discipline in
those days, shaped by a group of pioneering anthropologists - Benjamin Paul,
George Foster, Charles Erasmus, Hazel Weidman, and others - committed to
putting anthropology at the service of improving the public health of societies in
the Third World. Social theory was largely peripheral to this discipline, and given
the splendid debates among structuralists, ethnoscientists, symbolic anthropologists,
linguists, and ethnolinguists, all committed to rethinking cultural
studies, medical anthropology seemed a kind of poor cousin. Since that time there
has been an explosion of interest and activities in this field. In 1957, Ben Paul
assembled the names of 49 American anthropologists with experience in public
health; today there are more than 1,700 members of the Society for Medical
Anthropology. More importantly for its place in the field, the diverse issues that
concern medical and psychiatric anthropologists have moved ever closer to the
center of the discipline, and have become ever more prominent in the social
sciences and humanities at large. Discussions of culture and representation have
increasingly turned to the analysis of illness representations, from popular
medical knowledge to social representations of diseases such as AIDS (see Farmer
and B. Good 1991 for a review). Medical institutions have become key sites for
the analysis of power and domination, and feminist studies have drawn on
medical phenomena to explore the gendered representation of women's bodies,
birthing and reproduction, and the relation of these to changes in the division
of labor. I Theoretical and applied work, though stilI in tension, increasingly
nourish one another, and vigorous theoretical debates have developed, which
have relevance throughout anthropology. Indeed, as I will argue, current
concerns in medical anthropology today and the phenomena to which it attends
have the potential to play a special role in revivifying aspects of our larger
discipline.
Over the last decade, my own work - much of it carried out in colIaboration
with my wife, Mary-Jo DelVecchio Good - has addressed the theoretical and
substantive issues in medical anthropology in ways which frame the questions
addressed in the Morgan Lectures. F.:irsJ,.J..b<lye_ a1te.mPJ~~ to ~it!:!a~e medical
anthropology in rel~.tiQIJ),o. ~u~t qf philosophicaLd~batesabout the lJature of
language, subjectivity, aOQ knowledge.2 .J have ~[g~eg t'l~~.<:>u~..ph.i!osophical
presuppositions, whether explicit or implicit, play an important role in
formulating the research program in our field. And I have tried to demonstrate that
Medical anthropology and the problem of belief
medical anthropology provides an extremely interesting vantage from which to
address these very debates.
More specifically, I have explored the idea that a view of scientific language as
largely transparent to the natural world, a kind of "mirror of nature," which has
been an important line of argument in philosophy since the Enlightenment,
has deep affinities with biomedicine's "folk epistemology" and holds a special
attraction for the medical behavioral sciences. I have argued, however, that this
conception of language and knowledge, referred to in our writings as the
"empiricist theory_of medical language':? s~I2'es_po~rll f()r eit.herposs-cultural
research or for our studies'or American science al!.d rn.~.dicine. Those who employ
it are'led to formulate problems in terms of belief and behavior, and often
reproduce our common-sense views of the individual and society. After years of
teaching and carrying out research in medical settings, I am more convinced than
ever that the language of medicine is hardly a simple mirror of the empirical
world. ~ a ric~cultural. Languag~. linkeq .to, a highly specialized ve.rsion~f
reality and system of ~ocial relations, and when employed in medi~al care, it joins
deep moral concerns with its more obvious technic,al functions.
In place of a' medical social science focused on belief and behavior, a number
of medical anthropologists have pursued theoretical and analytic studies more in
keeping with this view of medical language, giving special attention to illness
meanings and experience. My own work has advanced a view of illness as a
"syndrome of experience," "a set of words, experiences, and feelings which
typically 'run together' for members of a society" (B. Good 1977: 27). Drawing
on research on popular illness categories in Iran and from American medical
clinics, our work has explored the diverse interpretive practices through which
illness realities are constructed, authorized, and contested in personal lives and
social institutions. In this view, what philosopher Ernst Cassirer called "the
formative principles" by which life worlds are constituted and organized become
a predominant focus of attention.4 Such a perspective requires an understanding
of language and experience counter to that in much of the medical social sciences,
and frames a quite different set of issues.
Medical anthropology has thus come to be a site for joining debate of critical
social, political, existential, and epistemological issues. To use a metaphor
suggested to me by Amelie Rorty, medical anthropology has become our
discipline's "London," a metropole where diverse voices engage in substantial
matters of the day. Many of the central concerns of anthropology are clearly
present in the issues we face - the role of the biological sciences as both
instrumental reason and soteriology in contemporary civilization; the efficacy
of symbolic practices in the constitution of experience and the production
and reproduction of social worlds; the human body as both the creative source
~~r2:..~ce and the..E!L0[ dominit~-;;'anaeff'01'rSloplace renewed unaerL-standing
offiUii1a"n experience at the neartOf our discipline. The Morgan Lectures,
and their elaboration in this text, were conceived as a contribution to this larger
project.
6 Medicine, rationality, and experience Medical anthropology and the problem of belief 7
The view of medical anthropology I have briefly outlined here has been
criticized from several perspectives in recent years. For example, in an essay
published in Current Anthropology in 1988, Carole Browner, Bernard Ortiz de
Montellano, and Arthur Rubel argue that the excitement generated by medical
anthropology in the early 1970s and its hope for "uniting theory and practice in a
new health science at once cumulative, comparative, integrative, and methodologically
sound" has gone largely unfulfilled. Instead, they argue, medical
anthropology has followed a "particularistic, fragmented, disjointed, and largely
conventional source." Citing specifically the work of Allan Young, Byron and
Mary-Jo Good, and Arthur Kleinman, they go on: "This is because most medical
anthropologists are mainly interested in issues of meaning and in the symbolic and
epistemological dimensions of sickness, healing, and health ... " (p. 681). They
conclude their indictment (p. 682) with a quote from Professor Joseph Loudon, a
physician and anthropologist:
A supposedly empirical discipline which gets unduly concerned about epistemological
worries is in danger of losing its way.... there are certainly some aspects of social
anthropology [including at least some areas of ethnomedicine] where external
categories of more or less universal reference are available which, if used with reasonable
caution, make possible comparative analysis over time and space....
Following this critique, Browner and her colleagues outline a research program
for medical anthropology, counter to the "meaning-centered" approach, that
focuses on "cross-cultural comparative studies of human physiological
processes," which are "essentially the same species-wide" and can serve as
external referents necessary to prevent cross-cultural research from degenerating
into pure relativism.
This essay represents a current debate within medical anthropology. It should
be clear already, however, that it points toward much more fundamental issues. At
stake is not only the question of the place of biology in the program of medical
anthropology, a question I take very seriously, but a critique developed within
medical anthropology. ,over the, past decade of biomedkine and the research
p¥adfgmoftile behavioral sciences of medicine. At stake also are various debates
in anthropology today about how we conduct cultural studies and ultimately about
what kind of human scienc.e anthropology should be. And lying beneath these
debates are opposing views of how historicism - the view that "human understanding
is always a 'captive' of its historical situation" (0'Amico 1989: x) - can
come to terms with the natural sciences, particularly in cross-cultural research.
With all due respect to Professor Loudon, a medical anthropology that ignores
epistemological worries is certain to reproduce important dimensions of
conventional knowledge in an unexamined fashion.
The chapters of this book will explore several specific dimensions of the larger
project I outlined above, all addressing the nature of language, subjectivity and
social process in cross-cultural studies of illness and human suffering. I begin with
an examination of the concept "belief" in anthropology. Specifically, I will argue
that "belief" is a key analytic term within the empiricist paradigm, and that this
concept is linked to a set of philosophic assumptions in a way that is far from
obvious. I hope to show that the emergence of "belief" as a central analytic
category in anthropology was a fateful development, and that use of the term
continues to both reflect and reproduce a set of conceptual difficulties within
"modernist anthropology:" If by "the end of this chapter,I cim raise serious questions
for my readers about" that favorite collection of odd job words of AngloAmericans
- "believe," "belief," "beliefs," "belief systems" - my first goal will
have been achieved.
In the pages that follow, I explore several dimensions of an alternative
theoretical framework for the comparative study of illness and medical practices.
In particular, I discuss issues which have little prominence in an anthropology
framed in terms of belief: the anthropology of experience and what we can learn
from studies of human suffering; studies of interpretation and its constituting role
in social process; and critical analyses of medical discourse and the institutional
and societal relations in which they are embedded. The overall text of this book,
as of the Morgan Lectures upon which it is based, is thus organized not around a
particular piece of ethnographic work - although I will present data from research
in Iran, Turkey, and American medicine - but is designed to explore a set of
theoretical issues in the field.
Science, salvation, and belief: an anthropological response to
fundamentalist epistemologies
I begin with "an anthropological response-to fundamentalist epistemologies"
because of my intuition that there is - quite ironically - a close relationship
between science, including medicine. and religious fundamentalism, a relationship
that turns, in part, on our concept "belief." For fundamentalist Christians,
salvation is often seen to follow from belief, and mission work is conceived as an
effort to convince the natives to give up false beliefs and take on a set of beliefs
that will produce a new life and ultimate salvation. Ironically, quite a-religious
scientists and policy makers see a similar benefit from correct belief.5 Educate the
public about the hazards of drug use, our current Enlightenment theory goes,
heralded from the White House and the office of the drug czar, get them to believe
the right thing and the problem will be licked. Educate the patient, medical
journals advise clinicians, and solve the problems of noncompliance that plague
the treatment of chronic disease. Investigate public beliefs about vaccinations or
risky health behaviors using the Health Belief Model, a generation of health
psychologists has told us, get people to believe the right thing and our public
health problems will be solved. Salvation from drugs and from preventable illness
will follow from correct belief.
Wilfred Cantwell Smith, a comparative historian of religion and theologian,
argues that the fundamentalist conception of belief is a recent Christian heresy
(Smith 1977, 1979). I want to explore the hypothesis that anthropology has shared
8	 9Medicine, rationality, and experience	 Medical anthropology and the problem of belief
this heresy with religious fundamentalists, that "belief" has a distinctive cultural
history within anthropology and that the conceptualization of culture as "belief"
is far from a trivial matter.
A quick review of the history of medical anthropology will convince the reader
that "belief" has played a particularly important analytic role in this subdiscipline,
as it has in the medical behavioral sciences and in public health (see chapter 2
for more details). Why is there this deep attachment to analyzing others' understandings
of illness and its treatment as medical "beliefs" and practices, and why
is there such urgency expressed about correcting beliefs when mistaken? To begin
to address this issue, I first describe in a bit more detail the general theoretical
paradigm that frames what I have referred to as the "empiricist theory of medical
knowledge." I will indicate its relationship to the intellectualist tradition in anthropology
and to debates about rationality and relativism, showing how the language
of belief functions within the rationalist tradition. At the end of this chapter, I
review recent criticisms that have shaken the foundations of this paradigm,
criticisms that suggest the need for an alternative direction in the field. This
discussion will serve to frame the constructive chapters that follow.
The language of clinical medicine is a highly technical language of the biosciences,
grounded in a natural science view of the relation between language,
biology, and experience (B. Good and M. Good 1981). As George Engel (1977)
and a host of medical reformers have shown, the "medical model" typically
employed in clinical practice and research assumes that diseases are universal
biological or psychophysiological~nti~,~e~~lting from somatic lesions or
dysfunctions.6 These produce "signs" or physiological abnormalities that can
be measured by clinical and laboratory procedures, as well as "symptoms" or
expressions of the experience of distress, communicated as an ordered set of
complaints. The primary tasks of clinical medicine are thus diagnosis - that is, the
interpretation of the patient's symptoms by relating them to their functional and
structural sources in the body and to underlying disease entities - and rational
treatment aimed at intervention in the disease mechanisms. All subspecialties of
clinical medicine thus share a distinctive medical "hermeneutic," an implicit
understanding of medical interpretation. While patients' symptoms may be coded
in cultural language, the primary interpretive task of the clinician is to decode
patients' symbolic expressions in terms of their underlying somatic referents.
Disordered experience, communicated in the language of culture, is interpreted in
light of disordered physiology and yields medical diagnoses.
~\7 ~edical ~n~.I~~:: in this par~digm,. ~s c~stitu~ed thr~i.!LQ~e-?i~tiP.!!..2.f
LJ..c· \I empmcal blologJc.!!.~ll~15lseaseentItIes are resident In the phySIcal body;
•.(' '!-.,"<' whetlfergrossly apparent, as the wildly reproducing cells of a cancer, or subtly
c.:!)<t·~X\evident through their effects, as in the disordered thoughts and feelings of schizo~i;
phrenia or major depression, diseases are biological, univerSal, and ultimately
\.~.....	 transcend social and cultural context. Their distribution varies by social and
ecological context, all medical scientists agree, but medical knowledge does not.
Medical theories reflect the facts of nature, and the validity and rationality of
---'~---'-	 medical
discourse is dependent upon the causal-functional integration ofb\OTOi3icarsystern;t n	 ..---~_ _~ ' - . " . ~ One
central goal of the pages that follow is to develop an alternative way of
thinking about medicine and medical knowledge, a theoretical frame that
challenges this common-sense view while still accounting for our conviction that
medical knowledge is progressing, and one that serves us better as a basis for
cross-cultural comparisons. To do so, it is important to recognize the epistemological
assumptions of this common-sense view, and to appreciate its power.
The empiricist theory of medical language is grounded in what philosopher
Charles Taylor calls "the polemical, no-nonsense nominalism" of Enlightenment
theories of language and meaning.? For seventeenth-century philosophers such
as Hobbes and Locke, the development of a language for science required a
demystification of language itself, showing it to be a pliant instrument of
rationality and thought, as well as the emergence of a disenchanted view of the
natural world. The development of such a natural philosophy and the attendant
theory of language required the separation of"the order of words" from "the order
of things," in Foucault's terms (1970), the freeing of the order of language and
symbols from a world of hierarchical planes of being and correspondences present
in Renaissance cosmology. What we must seek, Francis Bacon argued, is not to
identify ideas or meanings in the universe, but "to build an adequate representation
of things" (Taylor 1985a: 249). Thus, theories of language became the
battle ground between the religious orthodoxy, who conceived "nature" as
reflecting God's creative presence and language as a source of divine revelation,
and those who viewed the world as natural and language as conventional and
instrumental.8
What emerged was a conception of language in which representation and
designation are exceedingly important attributes. Such a position was bound to a
view of knowledge as the holding of a correct representation of some aspect of the
world, and an understanding of the knowing subject as an individual who holds an
accurate representation of the natural world, derived from sense experience and
represented in thought. Meaning, in this paradigm, is constituted through the
referential linking of elements in language and those in the natural world, and the
meaningfulness of a proposition - including, for example, a patient's complaint or
a doctor's diagnosis - is almost solely dependent upon "how the world is, as a
matter of empirical fact, constituted" (Harrison 1972: 33). Although this view has
been widely criticized by now, it continues to have broad influence in philosophy,
psychology (in particular cognitive psychology and artificial intelligence
research), in the natural sciences, and in Western folk psychology. It is associated
with an understanding of agency as instrumental action, aud with utilitarian
theories of society, social relations, and culture as precipitates of individual, goaldirected
action (Sahlins 1976a).9
This broad perspective has the status of a kind of "folk epistemology" for
medical practice in hospitals and clinics of contemporary biomedicine. A person's
complaint is meaningful if it reflects a physiological condition; if no such
10 Medicine, rationality, and experience Medical anthropology and the problem of belief II
empirical referent can be found, the very meaningfulness of the complaint is
called into question. Such complaints (for example of chronic pain)IO are often
held to reflect patients' beliefs or psychological states, that is subjective opinions
and experiences which may have no grounds in disordered physiology and thus
in objective reality. "Real pathology," on the other hand, reflects disordered
physiology. Contemporary technical medicine provides objective knowledge of
such pathology, represented as a straight-forward and transparent reflection of the
natural order revealed through the dense semiotic system of physical findings,
laboratory results, and the visual products of contemporary imaging techniques.
And "rational behavior" is that which is oriented in relation to such objective
knowledge.
At this point in the argument, I sometimes feel I have painted myself into a
comer. How can such a view be disputed? This is precisely what we mean by
medical knowledge, and we should all be grateful that medicine has progressed as
far as it has in identifying disease mechanisms and rational therapies. In later
chapters, especially in chapter 3 where I examine how medical students come to
inhabit this specialized world of medical knowledge, I argue that the empiricist
theory hides as much as it reveals about the nature of everyday clinical practice
and the forms of knowledge that guide it, and I develop an alternative approach to
conceptualizing the nature of medical language. In the remainder of this chapter,
however, I want to examine the extentto which the medical social sciences and
some forms of anthropology share with medicine this empiricist theory of
knowledge and outline some of the difficulties that arise for cross-cultural studies
because of this.
Rationality and the empiricist paradigm in anthropology
The empiricist paradigm is most clearly represented by the intellectualist tradition
in anthropology, which was prominent in Britain at the tum of the century and
reemerged under the banner of Neo-Tylorianism in an important set of debates
about the nature of rationality during the 1970s. 11 Although I can only briefly
address some aspects of this debate, even a cursory examination will indicate how
the rationalist position flows out of the "Enlightenment" tradition of anthropology,
demonstrate the critical role of "belief" in this paradigm, and suggest why
it has had such power within medical anthropology.
A central issue in the rationality debate has been discussion of the problem of
"apparently irrational beliefs" (for example Sperber 1985: ch. 2). How do we
make sense of cultural views of the world that are not in accord with contemporary
natural sciences, it is often asked. Do we argue that members of traditional
cultures live in wholly different worlds, and their statements are true in their
worlds, not ours, or even that they cannot be translated intelligibly into our
language? Advocates of a typical rationalist position hold that such relativism is
essentially incoherent, and have often argued either that seemingly irrational statements
must be understood symbolically rather than literally or that they represent
a kind of "proto-science," an effort to explain events in the world in an orderly
fashion that is a functional equivalent of modem science. The crucial interpretive
problem, for this tradition, is how to answer a question stated explicitly by Lukes
(1970: 194): "When I come across a set of beliefs which appear prima facie
irrational, what should be my attitude toward them?" Given our claims that other
forms of thought are rational, how do we make sense of beliefs that are obviously
false?
For much of this debate, Evans-Pritchard's Witchcraft, Oracles and Magic
among the Azande (1937) serves as the primary source. This book was the first and
is arguably still the most important modernist text in medical anthropology. It has
had enduring influence because of the wealth of the ethnography and the richness
of its interpretation of witchcraft as an explanation for illness and misfortune.
Which anthropologist can think of cultural responses to misfortune without
conjuring the imag~ of Evans-Pritchard's young lad stubbing his toe and blaming
witchcraft for its failure to heal, or of the granary collapsing? To these
misfortunes, the Zande explanation was clear. "Every Zande knows that termites
eat the supports [of the granaries] in course of time and that even the hardest
woods decay after years of service," Evans-Pritchard reports. But "why should
these particular people have been sitting under this particular granary at the
particular moment when it collapsed?" Thus, although practical reasons explain
the immediate causes of illness and misfortune, the Azande tum to witchcraft to
answer the "why me?" question, to find an underlying cause in the moral universe
and a response that is socially embedded and morally satisfying.
The Azande text has been the key for the rationality debate for another reason.
Evans-Pritchard in this text was explicitly empiricist, and his work provided
examples that serve as paradigmatic challenges to relativism. Take, for example,
his analysis of the Zande autopsy to investigate witchcraft, which appears as
a substance in the intestine of a witch. Since witchcraft is inherited by kin,
an autopsy may be performed on a deceased kinsman to determine whether
others bear the unwanted substance. Evans-Pritchard (1937: 42) describes the
scene:
Two gashes are made in the belly and one end of the intestines is placed in a cleft branch
and they are wound round it. After the other end has been severed from the body another
man takes it and unwinds the intestines as he walks away from the man holding the cleft
branch. The old men walk alongside the entrails as they are stretched in the air and
examine them for witchcraft-substance. The intestines are usually replaced in the belly
when the examination is finished and the corpse is buried. I have been told that if no
witchcraft-substance were discovered in a man's belly his kinsmen might strike his
accusers in the face with his intestines or might dry them in the sun and afterwards take
them to court and there boast of their victory.
Evans-Pritchard's (1937: 63) interpretation of this dramatic scene is telling.
It is an inevitable conclusion from Zande descriptions of witchcraft that it is not an
objective reality. The physiological condition which is said to be the seat of witchcraft,
and which I believe to be nothing more than food passing through the small intestine, is
12 Medicine, rationality, and experience Medical anthropology and the problem of belief 13
an objective condition, but the qualities they attribute to it and the rest of their beliefs
about it are mystical. Witches, as Azande conceive them, cannot exist.
He goes on immediately to argue that although mistaken, the Zande views serve
as a natural philosophy and embrace a system of values which regulate human
conduct. They are, however, mystical. "Mystical notions," he argues in the book's
introduction (p. 12), are those that attribute to phenomena "supra-sensible
qualities," "which are not derived from observation" and "which they do not
possess." "Common-sense notions" attribute to phenomena only what can be
observed in them or logically inferred from observation. Though they may be
mistaken, they do not assert forces that cannot be observed. Both are distinct from
"scientific notions." "Our body of scientific knowledge and Logic," he says
(p. 12), "are the sole arbiters of what are mystical, common-sense, and scientific
notions."
Evans-Pritchard assumes in this account that the meaning of Zande "medical
discourse" - whether of witchcraft, oracles, or "Ieechcraft" - is constituted by its
referential relationship to the natural order as reflected in empirical experience.
Analysis in the rationality literature follows from this assumption; it frames Zande
beliefs as propositions, then questions the verifiability and the deductive validity
of their inferences. Since we know that witches cannot exist empirically, it is
argued, the rationality of Zande thought is called into doubt. It follows that the
anthropologist must therefore organize analysis in response to the following kinds
of questions. How can a set of beliefs and institutions which are so obviously false
(propositionally) be maintained for such long periods of time by persons who in
much of their lives are so reasonable? How could they possibly believe that, and
why haven't their beliefs progressed, that is come to represent the natural world
more correctly? Do such beliefs imply that the Zande have a different "mentality"
or different psychological or logical processes than we? Do they simply divide up
the common-sense and religious domains differently than do we (as EvansPritchard
responded to Levy-Bruhl)? Are some societies simply organized around
views that are reasonable but wrong?
Not altogether obvious in Evans-Pritchard's text is the juxtaposition of
"belief" and "knowledge." The book is devoted largely to Zande mystical notions
- witchcraft and sorcery - and ritual behaviors, such as resort to the poison oracle.
One chapter, however, entitled "Leechcraft," is devoted to their common-sense
notions of sickness. The language of "belief' and "knowledge" mirror this
distinction. The book begins: "Azande believe that some people are witches and
can injure them in virtue of an inherent quality ... They believe also that
sorcerers may do them ill by performing magic rites with bad medicines ...
Against both they employ diviners, oracles, and medicines. The relations between
these beliefs and rites are the subject of this book" (p. 21; my emphasis). On the
other hand, the Leechcraft chapter argues: "Azande know diseases by their major
symptoms" (p. 482). "The very fact of naming diseases and differentiating them
from one another by their symptoms shows observation and common-sense
inferences" (pp. 494-495). Thus, the book is organized around a distinction
between those ideas that accord with objective reality - and, I might add, with the
medical practice of deriving diagnoses from symptoms - and those that do not;
the language of knowledge is used to describe the former, the language of belief
the latter. Evans-Pritchard's text transcends its empiricist formulation, in
particular because of the subtlety of its analysis of Zande reasoning and the
location of witchcraft in Zande social relations, but it makes explicit many of the
assumptions found more generally in the rationality tradition and shared by much
of the medical social sciences.
If Evans-Pritchard's work on the Azande is the classic modernist text on witchcraft
and illness, Jeanne Favret-Saada's Deadly Words. Witchcraft in the Bocage
(1980), first published in French in 1977, is surely the classic post-modernist
ethnography on the topic. Favret-Saada's ethnography is a first-person account of
her effort to investigate witchcraft in rural France. In the early months of her work,
villagers referred her to a few well known healers who were often interviewed by
the press, but the peasants themselves refused to discuss the matter with her.
Witchcraft? Only fools believe in that!
"Take an ethnographer," she begins (1980: 4). "She has spent more than thirty months
in the Bocage in Mayenne, studying witchcraft ... 'Tell us about the witches', she is
asked again and again when she gets back to the city. Just as one might say: tell us tales
about ogres or wolves, about Little Red Riding Hood. Frighten us, but make it clear that
it's only a story; or that they are just peasants: credulous, backward and marginal ...
"No wonder that country people in the West are not in any hurry to step forward and
be taken for idiots in the way that public opinion would have them be ... "
The book is an account of how she eventually found her way into the discourse of
witchcraft. She was taken ill, beset with accidents, and sought the aid of a healer
in the region, an unwitcher. She began to interview a man and his family, whom
she had met when the man was a patient in a mental hospital. As they told her the
details of his illness and who they suspected might be responsible, she realized
that they saw her as a healer and now expected her to act on their behalf. Why else
would she ask about such matters so explicitly? Only the powerful would dare to
ask such questions.12 Simply by asking about their difficulties, she was seen to be
entering into their struggle with an enemy wishing them harm, a life and death
struggle in which she was now an advocate for their interests. Witchcraft, she
came to see, was a battle of powerful wills, a fight to the death, a fight through the
medium of spoken words. One could only talk about witchcraft from an engaged
position - as one bewitched, as a suspected witch, or as one willing to serve as
unwitcher. To engage in talk was to enter the struggle.
In Favret-Saada's account, the language of belief, the position of the
ethnographer, and assumptions about the relation of culture and reality are
radically different than in Evans-Pritchard's text. Science for Favret-Saada is not
the arbiter between the empirically real and the mystical, as for Evans-Pritchard,
but one of several "official theories of misfortune," backed by powerful social
14 Medicine, rationality, and experience
agencies: the School, the Church, the Medical Association. Language is not a set
of neutral propositions about the world, which the ethnographer judges to be more
or less empirically valid, but the medium through which vicious and Iifethreatening
power struggles are engaged. The world of illness and witchcraft only
opens to the ethnographer as she enters the discourse. And much of the text turns
on ironic reflections on "belief" - the peasants' claims not to believe in witchcraft,
even as they seek the help of the unwitcher; the mocking view of the authorities
about those who do believe; and Favret-Saada's juxtaposition of the meaning of
belief in her text and in that of Evans-Pritchard. For many ethnographers, as for
the French press, the question is whether the peasants really believe in witchcraft,
and if so, how they can hold such beliefs in today's world. But for those attacked
by a sorcerer, for those peasants - and Favret-Saada herself - whose very lives
were at stake, beliefin witchcraft is not the question. How to protect oneself, how
to ward off the evil attacks producing illness and misfortune, is the only significant
issue to be addressed.
Much has changed in the world of anthropology between that of 1935
colonialist Africa and contemporary post-colonialist ethnography. EvansPritchard's
confident positioning of himself as observer and arbiter of the
rationality of the native discourse is largely unavailable to us today. And throughout
the history and sociology of science, the confident recording of science's
progress in discovering the facts of nature has also given way. I will return to these
issues as the discussion proceeds, but the juxtaposition of Evans-Pritchard's and
Favret-Saada's texts brings into focus the role of "belief" as an analytic category
in the history of anthropology and in the study of such phenomena as witchcraft,
provoking several questions. Why has the discussion of others' beliefs come to
be invoked increasingly with irony? What is the role of belief in the empiricist
paradigm, and why has that position begun to give way? Where does the
disjunction between "belief" and "knowledge," which I noted in Witchcraft, Oracles,
and Magic and which serves as the basis for Favret-Saada's irony, come
from? Why "belief," and what is at stake here?
The problem of belief in anthropology
Rodney Needham's Belief, Language and Experience, published in 1972, is the
classic examination of the philosophy of belief by an anthropologist. Needham
explores in great detail assumptions about belief as mental state, asking whether
philosophers have formulated this with adequate clarity to allow us to use the term
in cross-cultural research, and asking whether members of other societies indeed
experience what we call "belief." After an extraordinary review, he concludes
both that philosophers have failed to clarify "the supposed capacity for belief" and
are unlikely to do so, and that evidence suggests the term may well not have
counterparts in the ethnopsychological language of many societies. Needham's
analysis suggests that Evans-Pritchard's claim that the Azande believe some
people are witches may be a less straightforward description of the mental states
Medical anthropology and the problem of belief IS
of Zande individuals than we usually presume. For the moment, however, I want
to focus on another dimension of belief as anthropologists have used the term in
cultural analysis.
Mary Steedly, an anthropologist who worked with the Karobatak people in
Sumatra, tells how when she was beginning fieldwork she was often asked a
question, which she understood to mean "do you believe in spirits?"'3 It was one
of those embarrassing questions anthropologists struggle to answer, since she
didn't, personally, but respected and wanted to learn about the understandings of
persons in the village in which she worked. After stumbling to answer the
question for some months, she discovered her questioners were asking "Do you
trust spirits? Do you believe what they say? Do you maintain a relationship
with them?" Any sensible person believes in their existence; that isn't even a
meaningful question. The real question is how one chooses to relate to them.
Anthropologists often talk with members of other societies about some aspect
of their world which does not exist in ours and which we are comfortable
asserting is not part of empirical reality. How is it that "belief" has come to be the
language through which we discuss such matters - the Zande witches, or the three
humors wind, bile, and phlegm in Ayurvedic medicine, or the four humors of
seventeenth-century European and American medicine? Moreover, why have we
in Western civilization given such importance to beliefs, such importance that
wars in Christendom are fought over beliefs, that church schisms and persecutions
and martyrdom revolve around correct belief? How is it that belief came to be so
central to anthropological analysis, and what is implied by the juxtaposition of
belief and knowledge?
By far the richest discussion of the history of the concept belief is to be found
in the writing of Wilfred Cantwell Smith, the historian of religion, whose lectures
when I was a graduate student set me to thinking about these matters. In two books
completed during the late 1970s, Smith explores the relation between "belief" and
"faith" historically and across religious traditions. He sets out not to compare
beliefs among religions, but to examine the place of belief itself in Buddhist,
Hindu, Islamic, and Christian history. Through careful historical and linguistic
analysis, he comes to the startling conclusion that "the idea that believing is
religiously important turns out to be a modem idea," and that the meaning of the
English words "to believe" and "belief" have changed so dramatically in the past
three centuries that they wreak profound havoc in our ability to understand our
own historical tradition and the religious faith of others.
The word "belief" has a long history in the English language; over the course it
has so changed that its earlier meanings are only dimly felt today (Smith 1977:
41-46; 1979: 105-127). In Old English, the words which evolved into modern
"believe" (geleofan, gelefan, geLiefan) meant "to belove," "to hold dear," "to
cherish," "to regard as lief." They were the equivalent of what the German word
belieben means today (mein Lieber Freund is "my dear or cherished friend"), and
show the same root as the Latin libet, "it pleases," or libido, "pleasure." This
meaning survives in the Modem English archaism "lief" and the past participle
16 17Medicine, rationality, and experience
"beloved." In medieval texts, "Ieve," "love," and "beleue" are virtual equivalents.
In Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, the words "accepted my bileve" mean simply
"accept my loyalty; receive me as one who submits himself to you." Thus Smith
argues that "belief in God" originally means "a loyal pledging of oneself to God,
a decision and commitment to live one's life in His service" (1977: 42). Its
counterpart in the medieval language of the Church was "I renounce the Devil,"
belief and renunciation being parallel and contrasting actions, rather than states of
mind.
Smith (1977: 44) sums up his argument about the change of the religious
meaning of "belief" in our history as follows:
The affirmation "I believe in God" used to mean: "Given the reality of God as a fact of
the universe, I hereby pledge to Him my heart and soul. I committedly opt to live in
loyalty to Him. I offer my life to be judged by Him trusting His mercy." Today the
statement may be taken by some as meaning: "Given the uncertainty as to whether there
be a God or not, as a fact of modern life, I announce that my opinion is 'yes'. Ijudge
God to be existent."
Smith argues that this change in the language of belief can be traced in the
grammar and semantics of English literature and philosophy, as well as popular
usage. Three changes - in the object of the verb, the subject of the verb, and the
relation of belief and knowledge - serve as indicators of the changing semantics
of the verb "to believe." First, Smith finds that grammatically, the object of the
verb "to believe" shifted from a person (whom one trusted or had faith in), to
a person and his word (his virtue accruing to the trustworthiness of his word),
to a proposition. This latter shift began to occur by the end of the seventeenth
century, with Locke, for example, who characterized "belief" along with
"assent" and "opinion" as "the admitting or receiving any proposition for true,
upon arguments or proofs that are found to persuade us ... without certain
knowledge ... " (Smith 1977: 48), and was firmly represented by the midnineteenth
century in John Stuart Mill's philosophy. In the twentieth century we
have seen a further shift as beliefs have come to mean "presuppositions," as in
"belief systems."
A second shift has occurred in the subject of the verb "to believe," from an
almost exclusive use of the first person - "I believe" - to the predominant use of
the third person, "he believes" or "they believe." In anthropology, the impersonal
"it is believed that" parallels the discussion of culture as belief system or system
of thought. This change in subject subtly shifts the nature of the speech act
involved - from existential to descriptive - and alters the authorization of the
speaker, as I will discuss in a moment with reference to the use of belief as an
analytic category in anthropology.
Third, Smith observes that an important and often unrecognized change has
occurred in the relation of belief to truth and knowledge, as these are historically
conceived. Bacon wrote in 1625 of "the belief of truth," which he defined as the
"enjoyment of it," in contrast to the inquiry or wooing of truth and the knowledge
Medical anthropology and the problem of belief
or presence of truth. Belief maintains its sense here of holding dear, of appropriating
to oneself that which is recognized as true. By the nineteenth century,
however, "to believe" had come to connote doubt, and. today it suggests outright
error or falsehood. Knowledge requires both certitude and correctness; belief
implies uncertainty, error, or both. Thus, I can report that a student of mine
believes Lewis Henry Morgan to have been a professor of the anthropology
department in the University of Rochester, but anyone who has studied Morgan's
life knows that this was never so. Smith's favorite illustration of the juxtaposition
of belief and knowledge is an entry in the Random House dictionary which
defined "belief" as "an opinion or conviction," and at once illustrates this with
"the beliefthat the earth is flat"! Indeed, it is virtually unacceptable usage to say
that members of some society "believe" the earth is round; if this is part of their
world view, then it is knowledge, not belief!
Smith goes on to argue that our failure to recognize this shift in meaning has led
to mistranslation of texts in the Christian tradition and ultimately to "the heresy of
believing," the deeply mistaken view that belief in this modem sense is the
essence of the religious life rather than faith. Credo, in the Latin, is literally "I set
my heart" (from Latin cordis or heart [as in cordial] and *-do or *-dere, to put).
Credo in unum Deum was correctly translated in the sixteenth century as "I
believe in one God," when it meant "I formally pledge my allegiance to God,"
Whom we of course all acknowledge to be present in the world. Today, it is a
mistranslation, suggesting that the Credo consists of propositions the veracity of
which we assert. This is historically inaccurate and profoundly misrepresents the
traditional ritual acclamation. Equally importantly, for the comparativist, the
misplaced focus on beliefs as the primary dimension of religious life has led to
mistranslations and misunderstandings of other religious traditions, and in
Smith's view, to the great failure to explore the faith of others in their historical
and communal contexts, even to make faith a central category in comparative
research.
Smith's argument about the importance of placing the study of faith rather than
beliefs at the center of comparative and historical studies of religion has important
implications for the study of illness experience, some of which will become
apparent in later chapters. My interest at this time, however, is the place of
"belief" in the history of anthropology, and what the use of the term tells us about
the anthropological project. In what way does Smith's analysis of belief relate to
the use of the term in anthropological writing? What is the history of believing
in anthropology? How is the use of "belief" related to the epistemological
assumptions of anthropologists?
From my initial explorations, it would appear that the term "belief' as it is
employed in anthropology does indeed connote error or falsehood, although
it is seldom explicitly asserted. A quick scan of the typical volumes on an
anthropologist's shelf will provide many examples. My own favorite, paralleling
Smith's discovery in the Random House Dictionary, comes from Ward
Goodenough's little book, Culture, Language and Society (1981). In a discussion
18 19Medicine, rationality, and experience
of "propositions" and the nature of reasoning cross-culturally, he provides the
following example from the German ethnologist Girschner, to illustrate the
"reasonableness" of members of other cultures.
Consider, for example, the following comment by a Micronesian navigator, defending
his beliefthat the sun goes around the earth (Girschner, 1913 ... )
I am well aware of the foreigner's claim that the earth moves and the sun stands still,
as someone once told us; but this we cannot believe, for how else could it happen that
in the morning and evening the sun bums less hot than in the day? It must be because
the sun has been cooled when it emerges from the water and toward setting it again
approaches the water. And furthermore, how can it be possible that the sun remains still
when we are yet able to observe that in the course of the year it changes its position in
relation to the stars? [emphasis added] (Goodenough 1981: 69).
+Quite reasonable, even if mistaken: that is how the beliefs of others seem to be.
The juxtaposition of belief and knowledge is most evident in the intellectualist
writing of turn-of-the-century British social anthropology. An example from a
classic text in medical anthropology will be particularly instructive. W. H. R.
Rivers' Medicine, Magic and Religion was published in 1924, the first major
comparative study of medical systems by an anthropologist-physician.14 The
book is designed to show how concepts of disease vary cross-culturally, but
focuses largely on beliefs about causation of disease. Rivers uses "believe" largely
in the third person or impersonally; the object of belief is almost exclusively
propositions; and these propositions are, from Rivers' point of view, counterfactual.
For example, he writes (1924: 29):
Thus, in Murray Island, in Torres Straits, disease is believed to occur by the action of
certain men who, through their possession of objects called 20g0 and their knowledge
of the appropriate rites, have the power of inflicting disease. Thus, one 20g0 is believed
to make people lean and hungry and at the same time to produce dysentery; another will
produce constipation, and a third insanity.
His attitude is made clear several pages later, when he discusses the rationality of
such beliefs. "From our modern standpoint we are able to see that these ideas are
wrong. But the important point is that, however wrong may be the beliefs of the
Papuan and Melanesian concerning the causation of disease, their practices are
the logical consequence of those beliefs." This view is conveyed more subtly,
however, and with far more profound implications at the end of the book. The
conclusion is devoted to illuminating the role of belief in the practice of Western
medicine. Whereas in earlier chapters of the book, the word "believe," along with
"ascribe," "regard," and "attribute," appears on nearly every page of discussion
of the medical concepts of others, the word "believe" does not appear in the
final fourteen pages of the book. Here the word "knowledge," and cognates
"recognize," "realize," "acknowledge," and "awareness," are used to describe
Western medicine. Rivers could not have more clearly stated his judgment.
This juxtaposition of what others believe to what we know is not only true of
intellectualist writers such as Tylor, Frazer, and Rivers. Close reading of the
Medical anthropology and the problem of belief
Evans-Pritchard text I have been discussing shows that he uses "belief" and its
cognates to far greater analytic advantage than his predecessors, focusing on the
coherence of a set of ideas. "All their beliefs hang together," he writes (1937:
194), "and were a Zande to give up faith in witch-doctorhood he would have to
surrender equally his belief in witchcraft and oracles." The study of folk "logics"
is an important part of the repertoire of cultural analysis, and Evans-Pritchard was
a master of this genre. Nonetheless, his analysis framed culture as beliefs, and
these were juxtaposed to knowledge - grossly in the introduction of the book, then
in a subtle and nuanced way throughout this classic text.
The subtle or explicit representation of belief and knowledge as disjunct
continues to be found in anthropological writing up to the present time. It is most
explicit in rationalist writing and subsequent discussions of relativism. A final
example from Dan Sperber's book On Anthropological Knowledge (1985), which
proposes to "outline an epistemology of anthropology" (p. 7), will illustrate. The
central chapter in the book is entitled "Apparently Irrational Beliefs." It begins
with an extract from Sperber's field diary during his research in Ethiopia, when an
old man, Filate, comes in a state of great excitement to tell Sperber that he has
learned of a dragon - "Its heart is made of gold, it has one horn on the nape of its
neck. It is golden all over. It does not live far, two days' walk at most ... "- and
asks him if he will kill it. Since Sperber had respect and affection for old Filate,
and since Filate was too poor to drink and was not senile, Sperber was left to
puzzle how such a person could actually believe in dragons and about how to
reconcile his respect for Filate with "the knowledge that such a belief is absurd."
Sperber's analysis of this problem leads him directly to the usual arguments
about the nature of rationality. How are we as anthropologists to interpret cultural
beliefs - be they about dragons or the role of witchcraft in causing illness - that
are "apparently irrational," that is, not in accord with how we know the empirical
world to be? Are such beliefs to be taken as literal or "symbolic"? If they
represent literal claims about the nature of the empirical world, why have such
systems not given way in the face of empirical experience? In Evans-Pritchard's
words, why do the Azande practitioners not "perceive the futility of their magic"
(1937: 475)? And what is the alternative? A strong relativist claim that the Azande
world and ours are incommensurable, that so different are they that we cannot
translate between our world and theirs? Sperber follows through these arguments;
he ridicules the view that the mind "actively creat[es] its universe" (Mary Douglas
1975: xviii), as deriving from a "hermeneutico-psychedelic subculture" (Sperber
1985: 38), and develops a detailed analysis of different types of propositional
beliefs. In the end, he concludes that old Filate's belief was only "semipropositional"
and was "not factual," that is, that it was not a kind of belief
intended to really represent the way the world is and not clear enough to be stated
in propositional terms that could be falsifiable. Thus his solution is that the old
man really didn't believe in the dragon after all, that it was only a kind of fantasy
to entertain himself and ultimately the anthropologist.
My intent is not to join the rationality debate and the technical issues it raises
20 21Medicine, rationality, and experience
here, although these questions serve as the stimulus for many of the concerns of
this book, nor to speculate on old Filate's motives. Here my intention is to raise
meta-level questions about the role of "belief" in anthropology. How does it
happen that the "apparently irrational beliefs" provide the paradigmatic problem
for a central tradition in anthropology? Any human science, historical or anthropological,
must deal with problems of translation, of differing world views and
understandings of reality, of course. But how does it happen that "irrational
beliefs" becomes the central, paradigmatic issue?
Surprisingly, there seems to be little analysis of the history of the concept
"belief" in anthropology.15 It is constantly employed, a kind of Wittgensteinian
"odd job word," but often used with little self-consciousness.16 The word almost
never appears in indexes, even when it is employed throughout a text, and thus its
use is not easy to trace. It is beyond the scope of this discussion to attempt such a
history, but a brief review of anthropological texts suggests several hypotheses.
First, the juxtaposition of "belief" and "knowledge" and the use of "belief" to
denote (or at least connote) counter-factual assertions has a long history in both
anthropology and philosophy. This is contrary to what might be expected for both
disciplines - for anthropology, because our primary goal has been to make understandable
other societies in a non-judgmental way; for philosophy, because much
of modem epistemology is designed to investigate the grounds for true belief.
Second, belief as an analytic category in anthropology appears to be most
closely associated with religion and with discussions of the so-called folk
sciences. "Belief" is most closely associated, that is, with cultural accounts either
of the unknowable or of mistaken understandings of the "natural world," where
science can distinguish knowledge from belief. In medical anthropology, analysis
of "beliefs" is most prominent in cultural accounts of those conditions (such as
infectious diseases) for which biological theories have greatest authority, and least
prominent for those forms of illness (for example psychopathology) for which
biological explanations are most open to challenge.
Third, the term belief, though present throughout anthropological writing,
appears with quite varied frequency and analytic meaning in different theoretical
paradigms. For example, it seems far less central in Ameiican anthropology, with
its background in nineteenth-century German historicist theorizing, than in British
social anthropology, in particular in the rationality literature.
Fourth, the representation of others' culture as "beliefs" authorizes the position
and knowledge of the anthropological observer. Though differing in content,
anthropological characterizations of others' beliefs played a similar role in
validating the position of the anthropologist as the description of native religious
beliefs did for missionaries. However, the rising concern about the position of the
anthropologist vis-a-vis members of the societies he or she studies has produced
a "crisis" in ethnographic writing (Marcus and Fischer 1986: 8) and a generalized
epistemological hypochondria,17 and this change in the relationship of anthropologist
to the "Other" can be traced in the increasingly self-conscious and ironic
uses of the term "belief."18
Medical anthropology and the problem of belief
Fifth, despite such post-modem hypochondria in some regions of the contemporary
social sciences, the term "belief' and its counterparts continue to be
important odd job words not only in the cognitive sciences, where culture is
closely linked with states of the mind, but in fields such as the medical social
sciences, where the conflict between historicist interpretations and the claims of
the natural sciences is most intense. Examination of the concept thus has special
relevance for medical anthropology.
These are rather crude hypotheses, which will require further research to
elaborate and to verify or reject. However, they reflect my conviction that it was
fateful for anthropology when belief emerged as a central category for the
analysis of culture. This formation of anthropological discourse was linked to the
philosophical climate within which anthropology emerged, a climate in which
empiricist theories and sharp conflicts between the natural sciences and religion
were prominent. It was also rooted in anthropologists' traditional relations to
those they studied, framed by the superiority of European and American science
and industrial development and by the colonialist context of research. Given the
semantics of the term, that is the meaning "belief" had taken on by the late
nineteenth century and continues to have in the twentieth century, the analysis
of culture as belief thus both reflected and helped reproduce an underlying
epistemology and a prevailing structure of power relations.
A shaking of the foundations
Anthropology's greatest contribution to twentieth-century sociology of knowledge
has been the insistence that human knowledge is culturally shaped and
constituted in relation to distinctive forms of life and social organization. In
medical anthropology, this historicist vision runs headlong into the powerful
realist claims of modem biology. Enlightenment convictions about the advance of
medical knowledge run deep, and although faith in medical institutions has given
way to some extent, medicine is a domain in which "a salvational view ofscience"
(Geertz 1988: 146) still has great force. 19 No wonder that discussions of "the
problem of irrational beliefs" so often cite medical examples.20
Nonetheless, the foundations for a comparative, cross-cultural study of illness,
healing and medical knowledge which is based in the empiricist paradigm have
been profoundly shaken in recent years. Geertz concludes his chapter on EvansPritchard
in Works and Lives (1988), noting that the confidence that shines
through Evans-Pritchard's writing, as well as through Uvi-Strauss's Tristes
Tropiques (1955), is simply not available to ethnographers today. Our relationships
with those we study have changed profoundly, and our confidence in our
own view of reality, even in the claims of the natural sciences to simply represent
the empirical world, has been seriously undermined. This change is represented
by increasingly ironic reflections on terms such as "rationality" and "belief" in
anthropology, feminist studies, and the sociology of science, and by the proliferation
of new approaches in medical anthropology.
22 23Medicine, rationality, and experience
Several aspects of the empiricist paradigm relevant to comparative medical
studies have become especially problematic, pushing our field in new directions.
First, positivist approaches to epistemology and the empiricist theory of language
have come under sustained criticism in philosophy, the history and sociology of
science, and anthropology. Whichever authors one invokes - Thomas Kuhn,
Michel Foucault, Paul Feyerabend, Hilary Putnam, Richard Rorty, or a generation
that grew up with these figures - older theories of the relationship between
language and empirical reality now seem dated. Rationality and relativism no
longer neatly divide the field. Increasingly, social scientists and philosophers have
joined in investigating how language activities and social practices actively
contribute to the construction of scientific knowledge.21
In this philosophical climate, medical anthropologists face the task of
investigating how cultures with their unique fonns of social practice - "illness
behavior," the activities of diagnostic and healing specialists, healing rites fonnulate
reality in distinctive ways, and how knowledge claims and the
meaningfulness of language are organized in relation to these distinctive fonns of
reality. Claims that biomedicine provides straightforward, objective depictions of
the natural order, an empirical order of biological universals, external to culture,
no longer seem tenable and must be submitted to critical analysis. And for this, the
empiricist theory of medical language with its focus on representation will not do;
it must give way to alternatives.
Second, the nonnative dimensions of the empiricist paradigm seem increasingly
unacceptable. It is not that any of us doubt that the biological sciences have
made astounding advances in understanding human physiology, but we are no
longer prepared to view the history of medicine as a straightforward recording of
the continuous discovery of the facts of nature. Given the rapidity of change of
scientific knowledge, as well as subaltern and feminist critiques of science and its
authority, claims to "facticity" have been seriously undennined. The role of
science as arbiter between knowledge and belief is thus placed into question.
Critical analysis has replaced celebration as the idiom of the history and sociology
of science.
It is a special irony, worth noting, that Evans-Pritchard and Rivers both used
the archaic term "Ieechciaft" to distinguish the empirical aspects of a society's
medical knowledge from its mystical beliefs. From today's vantage, leeching
seems hardly more empirical than mystical, and it is a reminder of the hazard of
using categories from today's rapidly changing medical knowledge as a basis for
judging the empirical validity of claims of others.
For medical anthropology, the inadequacy of using contemporary clinical
practices and biomedical knowledge as the nonn for comparative studies can be
illustrated in several ways. The analysis of healing activities of other societies as
"protoscience" or primitive forms of current subspecialties - as primitive surgery
or folk psychotherapy - is now largely discounted, at least when made explicit. On
the other hand, comparative studies organized in terms of categories and practices
current in biomedicine - for example, cross-cultural analyses of "diagnosis"
Medical anthropology and the problem of belief
understood to be the interpretation of physical symptoms of the individual who is
ill- are more common. Such analyses are, however, as likely to be misleading as
revealing (see B. Good and M. Good 1981). "Diagnosticians" in many societies
seldom inquire about symptoms, and the sufferer is often not even present when
diagnostic inquiries are made. Instead, the social field or the spiritual world is
often the subject of "diagnostic" inquiry. Thus, grounding cross-cultural analysis
on practices current in contemporary biomedicine may produce findings more
artifact than real. Perhaps even more important, given the rich cultural frames for
conceiving human suffering in many of the societies we study, holding up our own
biological language of illness and care as the nonn seems profoundly inadequate.
Third, th~ace of~~_~!uJ.ograp.!Eas objective, scientific observer:-_b.2!h.in
research llodjn ethnog.~9Rhic texts - seems less and less available to us today.
¥;ns-Pritchard could assume such a po;Jt'ion in his writings on the Azande only
by ignoring his own relation to the colonial aujhorities. Favret-Saada (1980: 10)
suggests that even Evans-Pritchard, while conducting field research, could situate
himself outside of Zande witchcraft discourse - beyond possible charges of being
a witch himself, for example - only because the Azande granted him the title
"Prince without portfolio," which served as a kind of exemption from the claims
of the discourse and thus protected him. Whatever the case for Evans-Pritchard
and witchcraft, the position of today's anthropologist is increasingly contested.
When carrying out research in Iran in the 1970s, we could only enter religious
discourse as potential converts, participate in political discourse by assuming
some position in relation to the Shah's struggle for legitimacy as well as the
religious and secular resistance to his rule, or engage in medical discourse
as potential actors. In medical anthropology, arbitrating between belief and
knowledge suggests positioning ourselves within what Favret-Saada calls "the
official theories of misfortune," backed as they are by powerful social agencies.
Finding a stance both as researcher and in the ethnographic text is thus increasingly
difficult. The position implied by the language of belief is often untenable.
Finally, a variety of more technical analyses of belief suggests problems with
the empiricist program, challenging the utility of "belief" as an analytic category,
even questioning the existence in other societies of "beliefs" in our sense of
the word.22 A view of culture as propositional, mentalistic, voluntaristic, and
individualistic - for example, of medical beliefs as rational propositions about the
world, held in the minds (or brains) of individuals, and subject to voluntary
control- is an elaboration of a particular folk psychology; such a view reproduces
an ideology of individualism that matches poorly with much of what we know
about the real world. When invoked in studies of "stress" or "care-seeking," for
example, rational behavior and the "responsibility" of individuals is privileged at
the expense of social constraints and intersubjectivity.23 Finally, the myth that we
can deduce beliefs from "sincere assertions," from statements people make to us
about what they really think, presumed in much of the philosophical literature,
ignores what is obvious to anthropologists - that all discourse is pragmatically
located in social relationships, that all assertions about illness experience are
I
24 Medicine, rationality, and experience
2
Illness representations in medical
anthropology: a reading of the field
In their extended essay on the perceived breakdown of coherent conceptual
paradigms in anthropology today, Marcus and Fischer argue that our post-colonial
self-awareness and a broad loss of faith in totalizing theoretical visions has
provoked a "crisis in representation," which has in tum served as "the intellectual
stimulus for the contemporary vitality of experimental writing in anthropology"
(1986: 8). Linle wonder there should be such a crisis. Despite our attachment to
those with whom we have carried out research and our dedication to represent
their interests and point of view in our writings, we find ourselves part of a
discipline whose history is strewn with cultural representations which now seem
profoundly ethnocentric, often clearly aligned with colonial regimes and those in
power, explicitly gendered, and at times racist. Our embarrassment with this
history is compounded by the fact that many of our informants and articulate
intellectuals in the societies we study now read not only our own books and
articles, but those of our predecessors as well. Their criticism of anthropology's
legacy and of our own work gives the lie to our claims to speak for others, to
represent them as they would represent themselves. Anthropological diSCUSSion~,
of the past decade have thus become increasingly concerned with the nature of
ethnographic representation, with our objectification and portrayal of "the Other,"
with the place of the author and those represented in the ethnographic text, and
with the "authorization" of our portrayals and our claims to ethnographic
knowledge.
Medical anthropology has had its own form of critical self-analysis in the past
decade, arising not only from these general developments in anthropology and
the human sciences but from characteristics specific to cross-cultural studies of
illness, healing, medicine, and health care institutions. Medical anthropologists
can hardly fail to acknowledge links between colonialism and early anthropological
writing on medical "beliefs and practices," which resulted in the use of
highly pejorative analytic terms for what Rivers called "medicine, magic and
religion." But criticism of that early work has often been part of medical anthropology's
specific form of "cultural critique." From its inception, anthropological
25
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located in linguistic practices and most typically embedded in narratives about life
and suffering.24
Thus, despite powerful authorization by biomedicine and the biological
sciences, the empiricist program in medical anthropology is deeply problematic. I
will be arguing in the following pages that how we situate ourselves in relation to
the underlying theoretical issues at stake here is extremely important for how we
conceive a program for medical anthropology. How we situate our research in
relation to biomedical categories and claims, the nature of authority we grant to
biological and medical knowledge, the problems we see as central to the field, and
the way we define the project in which we are engaged are all strongly influenced
by our stance on these issues. More than this, I am convinced that medical anthropology
is one of the primary sites within anthropology where alternative responses
to the confrontation between historicism and the natural sciences are being
worked out.
Although I have focused largely on epistemological issues in this first chapter,
I want to foreshadow the argument to come by noting that all medicine joins
rational and deeply irrational elements combining an attenti~tei1al
bo~~ a concern or the moral dimensions <2... SIC 'liess1uRt"Slineri"ng. In hiS
1VIarett Lecture in 1950~ns:Pfiic11af(f ar~d that "social"imtli'ropology is a
kind of historiography" that "studies societies as moral systems ... " In all
societies, even in the modem world with overarching moral orders no longer
intact, serious illness leads men and women to confront moral dimensions of life.
It is after all a central task of "the work of culture" to transform human misery into
suffering, and to counter sickness with healing.25 Biomedicine, as other forms of
healing, is of special interest because it combines the empirical or natural sciences
with this primal task. It is thus both the privilege and the obligation of medical
anthropology to bring renewed attention to human experience, to suffering, to
meaning and interpretation, to the role of narratives and historicity, as well as to
the role of social formations and institutions, as we explore a central aspect of
what it means to be human across cultures.