7 The Myth Takes Shape

„Should a traveller, returning from a far country, bring us an account of men wholly different from any with whom we were ever acquainted; men who were entirely divested of avarice, ambition, or revenge; who knew no pleasure but friendship, generosity and public spirit; we should immediately, from these circumstances, detect the falsehood, and prove him a liar, with the same certainty as if he had stuffed his narration with stories of centaurs and dragons, miracles and prodigies.“¹ So wrote David Hume, in 1748, in An Inquiry Concerning Human Understanding. And yet when Mead depicted the Samoans as a people without jealousy, for whom free lovemaking was the pastime par excellence, and who, having developed their emotional lives free from any warping factors, were so amiable as to never hate enough to want to kill anybody, no anthropological

or other critic, in the fervid intellectual climate of the late 1920s, seriously questioned these extravagant assertions.

It was a time when human nature was being „newly conceived as flexible and malleable and plastic“ by both behavior-ists and cultural anthropologists, and when, in the United States, prominent intellectuals like V. F. Calverton and Samuel D. Schmalhausen (both of whom eagerly accepted Mead's glowing account of the utopian character of Samoa) were proclaiming the advent of „a new enlightenment.“ Indeed, the years before and including 1928 were, in J. B. Watson's judgment, a period of „social Renaissance, a preparation for a change in mores,“ that was likely to become much more of an epoch in history than the scientific Renaissance which began with Bacon.²

To many, during this time of awakening and change, „the new Russia“ was a source of hope that human nature could in fact be molded into other patterns than the Western world had hitherto known. Advertisements in The Nation exhorted American intellectuals to „Go to Soviet Russia,“ where the world's most gigantic social experiment was being conducted. And those who made the pilgrimage returned to write of having been „thrilled by the spirit of the children … trained under the Soviet regime,“ and of never having seen a more engaging picture of happy childhood. There were reports of human nature having been decisively changed, as, for example, in the form that jealousy took under the Soviet regime, and of „mental hygiene“ being inherent in the social organization of the new Russia. In particular, Soviet Russia was thought to be „in advance of the rest of the world in its attitude towards sex.“ Socialism, it was widely claimed, would (as the Communist Manifesto had predicted) bring about the destruction of the bourgeois family and substitute „the free union of the sexes.“³

The free union of the sexes was also being much talked about in the United States. It was the age, as Calverton proclaimed in 1928, of the flapper, with her „wild Corybantian antics“ in „the contortions of the Charleston,“ and her insatiable cravings for „sexual excitement and ecstasies“; a time when in America, more than any country in the world, as the Hon. Mrs. Bertrand Russell observed, there was „an immense amount of excitement about the relations of men and women“ both within marriage and outside of it. This excitement, according to Schmalhausen, had been generated by a sexual revolution in which „ancient degrading taboos“ were being repudiated, and „passion's coming of age“ was heralding „the dawn of a new orientation in the life of the sexes.“ This new gospel, Schmalhausen declared, was one in which, amid „a jazzing of sexual eagerness“ and open-hearted invitations to sensual playful experience, infidelity was no longer deemed a violation of a sacred vow and virginity was sacrificed to felicity.⁴

Promiscuity, in Schmalhausen's view, was „in the nature of things the fundamental reality,“ and the only important problem for the civilized minds of the 1920s was the discovery of educational and social and artistic and recreational forms of behavior that would assist the erotic nature of human males and females to express itself „with ease and dignified naturalness from the cradle to the grave.“ Any primitive community that indulged, or was said to indulge, in „unrestricted sex behavior,“ Sapir noted in the American Mercury, was considered „an interesting community to hear from.“ By those who were part of this „awakening,“ with its fantasies of sexual freedom and sensual playful experience, Mead's portrayal of Samoan society was hailed as the most significant of revelations.⁵

In The Nation, under the heading „Sex in the South Seas,“ Freda Kirchwey began her review of Mead's „impressive study“ by musing that „somewhere in each of us, hidden among our more obscure desires and our impulses of escape, is a palm-fringed South Sea island … a languorous atmosphere promising freedom and irresponsibility … Thither we run … to find love which is free, easy and satisfying.“ And thither, to the sexual paradise engagingly described in Mead's anthropological account of Samoa, the enlightened social critics of the day did indeed run. Schmalhausen, convinced by Mead's evidence of what he called „the innocent, strangely impersonal, naively mechanistic-behavioristic sexing of the light-hearted youths and maidens of far-off Samoa,“ felt there were but „two roads of heart's fulfillment: Samoa or Calvary: happy-go-lucky felicity or tragic intensity“; in his widely read book of 1929, Our Changing

Human Nature, his heartfelt cry was „Back to the South Sea Isles!“ to „naturalness and simplicity and sexual joy.“⁶

In a similar vein Bertrand Russell, who had become well known in New York as an advocate of sexual freedom, having read Mead's account, expatiated on how Samoans „when they have to go upon a journey, fully expect their wives to console themselves for their absence.“ And Havelock Ellis, the venerable seer of the sexually enlightened, was unreserved in his praise for Mead's „highly competent“ and „judicious“ study of sex life among the youth of a Pacific island on which, he declared, Americans could profitably meditate. Miss Mead, wrote Ellis, had revealed the existence of a society of wholesome simplicity, where freedom of relationships was practically unhampered before marriage, and which had, furthermore, developed a system of rearing children that had legislated „a whole field of neurotic possibility out of existence,“ so that Samoa had become a place where there was „no neurosis, no frigidity, no impotence.“⁷

This unmitigated claim was made by Ellis in his contribution to a massive volume richly expressive of the ethos of the environmentalism of the late 1920s. Published in 1930 with the sanguine title The New Generation, and edited by Calverton and Schmalhausen, it had a soaring introduction by Bertrand Russell in which he dwelt on the changing attitudes of the day and on how it had become clear that „the scientific psychologist, if allowed a free run with children“ could „manipulate human nature“ as freely as Californians manipulated the desert. Calverton and Schmalhausen were passionately dedicated to the notion that human beings could attain „beauty and high utility“ by „a courageous transformation of the social system,“ and in their preface they singled out for special mention, among their many distinguished contributors, J. B. Watson, and Margaret Mead, the gifted young anthropologist whose „enlightening study“ of Samoa had furnished those who had a „faith in the environment“ with evidence of a singularly significant kind.⁸

In 1924, when the nature-nurture controversy was at its height, J. B. Watson had baldly asserted that there was „no such thing as an inheritance of capacity, talent, temperament, mental constitution and characteristics,“ and in subsequent years he had repeatedly spoken of human nature as having „limitless plasticity.“ However, as the hereditarians were quick to point out, Watson's sweeping assertions were unsupported by any experimental or other substantial evidence, and in this highly insecure situation Mead's depiction of Samoa became of fundamental significance, not only for the proponents of cultural determinism but equally for the wider environmentalist movement that, originating in the nature-nurture controversy, continued into the 1930s.⁹

In their preface to The New Generation, Calverton and Schmalhausen referred with the keenest of appreciation to Mead's „remarkable essay“ in which, with Samoa as her negative instance, she reiterated her conclusion that „with a different social form“ human nature could radically change. By 1930 this conclusion, in addition to having been vouched for by Boas and Benedict, had also been given the unqualified approval of other prominent anthropologists. Lowie, for example, found Mead's „graphic picture of Polynesian free love“ convincing and, in his review in the American Anthropologist, he accepted her major conclusion that the stress and strain characteristic of American adolescents were „not rooted in original nature“ but in the „repressive agencies“ of society. J. H. Driberg, in reviewing Coming of Age in Samoa in Man, described it as being both in method and presentation as „competent a piece of research as could be required“; while Bronislaw Malinowski let it be known that in his eyes Miss Mead's book was „an outstanding achievement,“ and „an absolutely first rate piece of descriptive anthropology.“¹⁰

As George Stocking has shown, „the working out of all the anti-biological tendencies in behavioral science and the complete dissemination of Boasian thinking were not accomplished until after 1930.“ In this working out, such as it was, Mead's assertion of the absolute sovereignty of culture, in answer to the problem that Boas had sent her to Samoa to investigate, was of quite pivotal importance. The acute dilemma as to what, in human societies, was determined by heredity and what by environmental causes, which had loomed so large for the Boasians

in the early 1920s, had to all appearances been solved. With this outcome, Mead's Samoan researches came to occupy a uniquely significant position in the development of anthropology, as of other of the social sciences.¹¹

„A myth,“ Erik Erikson has remarked, „blends historical fact and significant fiction in such a way that it 'rings true' to an area or an era, causing pious wonderment and burning ambition.“ When Mead's account of the pleasant innocuousness of human nature in Samoa was communicated in 1928 to an intellectual world still deeply absorbed in the nature-nurture controversy, it was indeed received with something akin to wonderment. George Dorsey, whose immensely successful Why We Behave like Human Beings had been a kind of harbinger to Coming of Age in Samoa, hailed it as an extraordinary and illuminating book, while the formidable H. L. Mencken was moved to declare that the Samoans lived in Miss Mead's „precise, scientific pages“ more vividly than in popular romantic writings on the South Seas. Most momentous of all was the way Mead's account rang true for the cultural determinists and environmentalists of the day. For these advocates of nurture, as Ruth Benedict feelingly announced in The New Republic, Coming of Age in Samoa was the book for which they had all „been waiting“; the concrete evidence of its „excellent ethnological picture of an alien culture“ was, as Benedict pointed out in a second review in the Journal of Philosophy, „more convincing than any a priori argument“ as to the plasticity of human nature. To demonstrate this plasticity once and for all had long been the burning ambition of the Boasians. Mead's „painstaking investigation,“ so it seemed, had at last achieved this objective. As the Boasians continued their campaign against biological determinism, Mead's conclusions soon took on the status of absolute truths.¹² _v

If Samoa was to be an entirely effective negative instance, leaving no loopholes for captious biologists, it was in such wholly unequivocal terms that Mead's conclusions had to be stated, and, within a few years, so indeed they were. In 1934, for example, in her widely read Patterns of Culture, Benedict, ignoring completely the numerous instances of conflict which Mead herself had reported, blandly advanced the greatly exaggerated claim that in Samoa adolescence was „quite without turmoil“ and a „particularly unstressed and peaceful period“ during which no adolescent conflicts were manifested. Patterns of Culture, like Coming of Age, had an approving foreword by Boas, who in that same year propounded the major generalization that „the study of cultural forms“—an obvious reference to the work of Benedict and Mead—had shown that the „genetic elements“ that may determine personality are „altogether irrelevant“ as compared with the powerful influence of the cultural environment. From this time onward, the conclusion that in Samoa adolescence represented no period of crisis or stress was purveyed in absolute terms, and in subsequent years it was with this rhetoric that the complete sovereignty of culture over biology was attested by ardent cultural determinists.¹³

Throughout the 1930s, the campaign to achieve general recognition of the sovereignty of culture remained Mead's principal preoccupation. At the beginning of the decade, using language quite as extreme as that of Watson, she advanced the view, on the basis of her researches in Samoa and New Guinea, that human nature was „the rawest, most undifferentiated of raw material.“ „The whole of a man's life,“ she claimed in a paper of which Boas approved when he read it in manuscript in 1931, was determined by his culture, this being effected (as she argued elsewhere) by a process in which the „almost unbelievably malleable“ raw material of human nature was „moulded into shape.“¹⁴ Her task from 1925 onward had been, as she described it in retrospect, to document over and over again the fact that „cultural rhythms are stronger and more compelling than the physiological rhythms which they over lay and distort.“ By 1939, so she claimed (by which time Boas, at eighty-one years, had retired), the battle that the Boasians had had to fight had been won. By this time, too, the example of Samoa had become duly incorporated into the literature of the social sciences—as, for example, in Otto Klineberg's Social Psychology of 1940, in which the conclusions Mead had launched in the late 1920s were accepted without question as established facts.¹⁵ Later in the 1940s Mead's central conclusion about Samoa was taken up by other intellectual disciplines, as, for example, by philosophy, as in L. J. Russell's contribution of 1946 to a symposium of the Aristotelian Society. Others of her findings were relied upon by anthropologists. In 1949, for example, Leslie White, in The Science of Culture, cited Mead's report that the Samoans „cannot understand jealousy among lovers“ as proof that jealousy was not a natural emotion in humans.¹⁶

In 1950 Male and Female appeared. „A study of the sexes in a changing world,“ which has become, after Coming of Age in Samoa, the most influential of all Mead's books, it gave special prominence to the „harmonious and unintense“ Samoans, and several of Mead's earlier conclusions were set down in considerably exaggerated form. In 1949 Coming of Age had been presented in the New American Library as an „incisive and original“ scientific classic, and it soon became, as Mead herself has noted, standard reading in courses in the human sciences throughout the world.¹⁷

By this time Mead was already something of a celebrity. In January 1950 the London Observer featured her in its Profile series. By showing that adolescence in Samoa was „a peaceful and gentle flowering towards maturity,“ Mead had proved, the readers of the Observer were told, „that it was culture, not physiology, which determined the calmness or explosiveness of adolescence.“ Quite soon after this, in the winter of 1950, E. E. Evans-Pritchard, in the fifth of his authoritative lectures on social anthropology given on the Third Programme of the B.B.C., singled out Coming of Age in Samoa as a good example of a modern anthropological study that treated „only a part of the social life for particular and limited problems of investigation.“ The aim of Mead's book, Evans-Pritchard told his listeners, was „to show that the difficulties of adolescence … do not occur in Samoa, and may therefore be regarded as the product of a particular type of social environment.“ He went on to record that Mead had shown that in Samoa there was no crisis or stress during adolescence, and that it was one of the ambitions of adolescent Samoan girls to live with many lovers as long as possible. Also in 1950, Melville J. Herskovits, in his Man and His Works, dwelt on the point that Mead's demonstration that the adolescent crisis of Euro-American societies was absent in

Samoa had forced on anthropologists the conclusion that the emotional reactions of adolescence were „culturally, not biologically determined.“¹⁸

This uncritical acceptance of Mead's conclusions in centers of higher learning in both Europe and America could occur because none of the anthropologists who had published the results of research undertaken in Samoa subsequent to Mead's expedition of 1925-1926 had in any way questioned her findings. In 1934, in the bibliography of his Modern Samoa, Felix M. Keesing had listed Coming of Age in Samoa as giving „an excellent picture of life in the isolated Manu'a islands“; while W. E. H. Stanner, who visited Western Samoa in 1946-1947, described, in his The South Seas in Transition, the „percipient analysis“ of Mead's writings on Samoa as having revealed Samoan thought, behavior, and values in a „brilliant light.“ During the 1950s, then, Mead's conclusion about adolescence in Samoa came to be regarded as a proven fact which had demonstrated, beyond all question, the sovereignty of culture. Within anthropology, the Boasian paradigm had become quite generally accepted, and such was the intellectual climate that in 1955 Lionel Trilling remarked that an entrancement with the idea of culture had produced an inclination „to assign to culture an almost exclusive part in man's fate.“¹⁹

At this same time, Lowell D. Holmes was working on a doctoral dissertation entited „A Restudy of Manu'an Culture,“ which he was to submit in 1957 to the department of anthropology at Northwestern University. Holmes had gone to Samoa early in 1954, after preliminary training under Melville Hersko-vits, who was a follower of Boas, a friend of Mead, and a fervent cultural determinist. Because of the crucial role Mead's writings on Samoa had played in the establishment of the Boasian paradigm, there was, from a scientific point of view, every reason to subject her conclusions to detailed testing by further investigations in the field. These conclusions had, however, become so well established in the anthropological departments of Northwestern and other universities as to seem eternally true, and Holmes made their systematic testing no part of his concern. Instead he devoted his energies to an „acculturation study“ in

Mead's Samoan Research

which his objectives were the description of contemporary Manu'an culture and the documentation of changes that had „taken place in the course of the history of European contact.“ To this end Holmes spent five months in Manu'a followed by four months in Tutuila.²⁰

Both in his thesis and in an account published in 1958 by the Polynesian Society, Holmes reported numerous facts widely at

variance with the picture Mead had given of the same population of Samoans a generation previously. He reported, for example, that rank and prestige constituted „the focal point of Samoan culture“ to which all other aspects of life were secondary in importance: that the whole pattern of oratory was „based upon a competition between talking chiefs in order to win prestige both for the orator himself, and for the village or family he represented“; that „competitive behavior and efforts to gain praise through excelling one's peers“ were believed by the Sa-moans to be „one of the traditional aspects of their culture“; that the people of Manu'a were „almost fanatical in their practice and observance of Christianity“; that the punishment of children could be severe; that „larger children often hit smaller ones with no apparent provocation“; that a woman had committed suicide because she was prevented from marrying the man she desired; that male informants said that frigidity often produced family tensions; that the chief ground for divorce in Manu'a was adultery, with a woman caught in this act being usually subjected to violence of some type; and that a government report of 1953 had listed rape as the fifth most common crime in American Samoa.²¹

This ethnographic report provides substantial grounds for seriously questioning the validity of Mead's picture of Samoa as a place where competition was muted, the excelling of rivals unforgivable, the Christian religion merely a pleasant and satisfying social form, punishment slight and ineffectual, unaggres-siveness the ruling personality trait, suicides of humiliation nonexistent, frigidity entirely absent, adultery a peccadillo, and „the idea of forceful rape … completely foreign to the Samoan mind.“

Logically, if Holmes's ethnography was factually correct (as

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indeed it is) this could only mean, given the general stability of Samoan culture during the first half of the twentieth century (which I shall describe in Chapter 8), that many of the elements on which Mead had based her depiction of Samoa as a negative instance were in serious error, and ipso facto, that the central conclusion she had reached in Coming of Age in Samoa about the sovereignty of nurture over nature was false. This, however, given the intellectual climate of the mid 1950s in the department in which he was studying, was a deduction from his own ethnography that Holmes did not make. Instead, in his doctoral dissertation, he gave it as his opinion that the reliability of Mead's account of Samoa was „remarkably high.“²²

Holmes's conclusion was discussed by Donald Campbell, a professor of psychology at Northwestern University, in 1961. Campbell observed that with several of the broader aspects of Mead's account of Samoa, such as the lack of competitive spirit and the lack of crisis in human relations, Holmes's findings were in „complete disagreement.“ These differences, in Campbell's judgment, could not be explained by cultural change between 1926 and 1954, but rather had to be interpreted as „disagreement in the description of aspects of 'the same' culture.“ This judgment might have been expected to generate a degree of skepticism about Mead's writings on Samoa. So towering, however, was Mead's reputation as against that of Holmes, who had in any event personally testified to the „remarkably high“ reliability of her writings, that there was no lessening of enthusiasm for them. Indeed, with Holmes's apparent confirmation of its findings, Coming of Age in Samoa came to be regarded more widely than ever before as a classic of American cultural anthropology, and by the 1960s it had become the most widely read of all anthropological books.²³

Mead herself had actively contributed to this widespread acceptance by making, in successive editions of Coming of Age, extensive claims for the validity of her Samoan researches. In 1949, for example, she averred that „to the extent that the anthropologist records the whole pattern of any way of life, that record cannot fade, because it is the way of life itself,“ and „once written down … can become a precious permanent possession.“ In 1952, when invited to choose one of her books for inclusion in the Modern Library, she chose Coming of Age in Samoa, remarking that it was the Samoans themselves and their culture and life as they were at the time of her researches that gave her book „its right to continue to be.“ It seemed, she wrote, „an extraordinary historical accident that some few children of some one South Sea island should be given by camera and printing press an enduring existence far beyond the world that their imaginations could have dreamed of.“ In 1961 she wrote of „the absoluteness of monographs of primitive societies,“ which „like well-painted portraits of the famous dead … would stand forever for the edification and enjoyment of future generations, forever true because no truer picture could be made of that which is gone.“ Coming of Age, she indicated, was just such a monograph, and she dwelt on „the historical caprice which had selected a handful of young girls on a tiny island to stand forever like the lovers on Keats' Grecian urn.“²⁴

During the 1960s, as Coming of Age in Samoa edified yet another generation of readers, its reputation, like that of Mead herself, continued to effloresce. In 1963 John Honigmann, in his Understanding Culture, called Coming of Age a classic description of „institutionalized premarital sexuality,“ and Morris Carstairs, in his influential B.B.C. Reith Lectures of 1962, relying on Mead's ethnography, described for the edification of the people of Great Britain how „every young Samoan … has had many sexual experiences before marriage.“ George Devereux, in his incisive From Anxiety to Method in the Behavioral Sciences, ranked Mead's study of Samoan adolescence as „a brilliantly effective exploitation of cultural differences between the subject's and the object's traditional attitudes to certain age groups,“ and as „markedly free from age linked countertransference distortion,“ while D. Price-Williams emphasized that in

Coming of Age Mead had made use of „heavy and detailed documentation.“ In 1967 E. L. Schusky and T. P. Culbert recounted how Mead, by performing in Samoa an experiment that paralleled „the method of the chemist or physicist,“ had found that „biological adolescence did not cause problems there.“ And Time magazine told the world at large that Margaret Mead, who

by 1969 was being referred to as „Mother to the World,“ had in Samoa in the distant 1920s provided „solid proof“ for her conclusions.²⁵

By the late 1960s, however, despite these high-flown claims, Mead's account of Samoa had already begun to be revealed by the work of other ethnographers of Samoa as markedly idiosyncratic. In 1969, confronted by a range of well-substantiated facts about the Samoan ethos recorded by Fa'afouina Pula and others, Mead was compelled, in „Reflections on Later Theoretical Work on the Samoans,“ which she appended to the second edition of Social Organization of Manu'a, to admit the „serious problem“ of reconciling the contradiction between her own account of Samoa and other records of historical and contemporary Samoan behavior.²⁶ This contradiction was heightened by the fact that after her investigations in Manu'a in 1926 Mead, while extremely active elsewhere in the South West Pacific, visiting Manus six times between 1927 and 1975, had never returned to conduct further field research in either eastern or western Samoa, and so was unable to produce supplementary evidence in support of her inexplicably aberrant account of the Samoan ethos.²⁷ Nor had she, over the years, as evidence wholly inconsistent with her own account of Samoa was published,²⁸ revised in any way whatsoever the 1928 text of Coming of Age in Samoa, or any of her other writings about the Samoans.²⁹ By the 1970s, however, Mead had come to be viewed, in Morton Fried's words, as „a symbol of all anthropology,“ and such was her prodigious reputation that, despite the contradictions she herself had admitted in 1969, Coming of Age in Samoa continued to be accepted by the vast majority of anthropologists as presenting an accurate picture of the Samoan ethos as it had been in the 1920s. Thus, in Anthropology Today, published in 1971 with thirty-four senior anthropologists from universities throughout the United States as contributing consultants, the reader is told that in Samoa Mead found that „the inner turmoil characteristic of adolescent girls simply was not present“; while in 1972 E. A. Hoebel, in his textbook Anthropology: the Study of Man, referred to „Margaret Mead's famous study of adolescence“ as a classic example of the use of fieldwork as the equivalent to the experimental laboratory, in which she had demonstrated that „Samoan adolescents do not go through the period of psychological stress that characterizes American adolescence, because Samoan culture is free of certain stress-producing features.“³⁰

In the course of fifteen months of field research in American Samoa in 1972-1973, Eleanor Gerber, a highly percipient anthropologist from the University of California, observed that sexual relations in Samoa, far from having a carefree and adventurous tone as reported by Mead in 1928, were marked by „premarital chastity or the semblance of it,“ and her informants all agreed that in their grandmothers' day (at the time when Mead was in Samoa) Samoan custom had been even more severe, with parents being „extremely strict, and all daughters virginal.“ Further, the educated Samoans known to Gerber who had read Coming of Age in Samoa rejected out of hand what they called „all that sex stuff,“ insisted that their parents and grandparents had told them how hard it was in the old days, and declared that „Mead's informants must have been telling lies in order to tease her.“ Yet Gerber's assessment of this immensely significant information was that the sexual morality of the Samoans must somehow have become more stringent since the time of Mead's researches. She construed the unequivocal statements of her Samoan informants as a „rewriting of history,“ so accepting Mead's fanciful account of Samoan sexual behavior in preference to the unanimous and direct testimony of the Samoans themselves about their own values and history. Could any myth, one wonders, have acquired, within the confines of a scientific discipline and during the second half of the twentieth century, a greater potency?³¹

According to Vera Rubin the publication of Coming of Age in Samoa in 1928 marked in many ways „the coming of age of contemporary anthropology.“ Since that time Mead's book has come to be accepted as a scientific classic, and its conclusions continue to be regarded by anthropologists and others as though they were eternal verities. Robert LeVine, for example, has recently referred to Mead's Samoan fieldwork as an example of research conducted in a single cultural setting that „compelled revision of generalizations about adolescence“ for „the species as a whole.“ In the chapters that follow evidence will be adduced to show that the main conclusions of Coming of Age in Samoa are, in reality, the figments of an anthropological myth which is deeply at variance with the facts of Samoan ethnography and history.³²

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