01 colwell & ferguson 2004 virtue ethics & tthe practice of h

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Virtue ethics and the practice of historyNative Americans and archaeologists along the San PedroValley of Arizona

CHIP COLWELL-CHANTHAPHONH

Center for Desert Archaeology,Tucson, Arizona, USA

T. J. FERGUSON

Anthropological Research, LLC,Tucson, Arizona, USA

ABSTRACTFor nearly a century archaeologists have endeavored to illuminate12,000 years of Native American history in the San Pedro Valley ofsoutheastern Arizona. Although this scholarship has established anessential foundation, it is limited by the construction of history throughthe singular interpretive framework of western scientific practice. TheTohono O’odham, Hopi, Zuni and Western Apache peoples allmaintain oral traditions that provide alternative voices about the livesof their ancestors. This article examines the ethical environment of acollaborative ethnohistory project, which sought to document NativeAmerican histories and adjoin humanistic understandings of the pastwith scientific findings. We argue that a Virtue Ethics approach to thesocial context of this research offers sound moral guidance to a flour-ishing ethic of collaboration. Using this work as a case study, we aimto extend the available research models for future anthropologicalinquiry and broaden the ethical framework of historical research.

Journal of Social Archaeology A R T I C L E

Copyright © 2004 SAGE Publications (www.sagepublications.com)ISSN 1469-6053 Vol 4(1): 5–27 DOI: 10.1177/1469605304039848

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www.sagepublications.com

6 Journal of Social Archaeology 4(1)

KEYWORDSarchaeological ethics ● collaboration ● ethnohistory ● Hopi ● SanPedro Valley ● Tohono O’odham ● Western Apache ● Zuni

■ ON THE ORIGINS OF COLLABORATION: ANINTRODUCTION

One of the major impacts on the practice of American archaeology overthe last two decades of the twentieth century and into the twenty-first hasbeen the profession’s shifting relationship with indigenous peoples.Throughout the 1980s and 1990s archaeologists were forced to confront theethics of their research, the overt and veiled politics of their discipline andthe institutional (and historical) erasure of Native American voices. Repa-triation and reburial have proven to be paramount issues and have capti-vated the attention of the media and broader public (Downey, 2000;Thomas, 2000). These issues have reconfigured museum collections, alteredfield and laboratory procedures and have forced increased communicationamong Native Americans, archaeologists and government officials. Yet, ifrepatriation and reburial were the only concerns that had alienated NativeAmericans and archaeologists from one another, perhaps the fracas wouldhave subsided long ago. Deeply seated conflicts over who controls thetangible artifacts and intangible memories of the past are also at play (Biolsiand Zimmerman, 1997; McGuire, 1992; Trigger, 1980; Watkins, 2000). Forcenturies Native Americans have struggled to maintain their sovereigntyand have power over their land, history and identity (Cornell, 1988;Deloria, 1969). Since archaeology’s beginnings in North America, it hasbeen intertwined in this struggle – equally as recreant and supporter.

Numerous archaeologists now recognize that their discipline depends onthe ability to include the many publics connected to the archaeological past(Jameson, 1997; Lynott and Wylie, 1995; McManamon, 1991). And, asarchaeologists have discovered, among the most important publics arethose whose ancestors form the object and subject of historical research.Collaborative research – that is, where groups jointly work together on aproject – is one way for archaeologists to become engaged with NativeAmericans in a way that benefits all participants (Ferguson, 1996; Swidleret al., 1997). Collaboration in practice lies on a spectrum, which ranges frominformal dialogue among partners to elaborate associations that lastthroughout the entire enterprise of research. For Native American partici-pants, collaborative projects provide documentation and inventories ofancestral sites, employment opportunities, source material for educational

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7Colwell-Chanthaphonh & Ferguson Virtue ethics and the practice of history

programs and a voice in writing their own past. For archaeologists,collaborative research provides the opportunity to strengthen interpre-tations of the past through incorporating new epistemological angles, fostercoalitions with stakeholders who share similar concerns and practice ethicalresearch in a way that both responds to and reflects the values of Nativepeoples. These benefits are not mutually exclusive. Certainly archaeologistsprofit from research in terms of employment, as Native Americans learnabout different worldviews. While each party benefits from collaborativeresearch, the benefits need not be the same for all. And as Lilley andWilliams (in press) have suggested, collaboration may thrive when theinterests of native people and archaeologists are not perceived as princi-pally separate from one another, but rather viewed in terms of integratingshared and mutual concerns.

Even as these ideals of collaboration are becoming ever more estab-lished in archaeological research, the reality of its practice remains adifferent matter. This article is devoted to two central questions: What isthe environment in which collaborative research is practiced today andwhat does an ethic of collaboration entail? In response to the first question,we provide our insights gleaned at the halfway point of a 3-year researchproject sponsored by the National Endowment for the Humanities. Thissection does not deal with the products of this research so much as explorethe collaborative process as it is perceived by the authors. Addressing thesecond question, we place our personal viewpoints into a broader philo-sophical perspective by explicitly incorporating a framework of VirtueEthics, also referred to as Virtue Theory. From this, we show how collabor-ation and the ethical system that drives the collaborative process can beused to expand the available research models for future anthropologicalinquiry.

■ THE SAN PEDRO ETHNOHISTORY PROJECT

The San Pedro Valley begins in northern Mexico and stretches 140 milesinto southeastern Arizona – a lush riparian oasis in the midst of the harshSonoran desert (Hanson, 2001). For nearly 12,000 years humans have livedalong the San Pedro (Antevs, 1959; Haury et al., 1959; Haynes, 1987),leaving behind them the traces of their persistence. Archaeologists haveidentified hundreds of archaeological sites in the San Pedro and theydescribe the inhabitants of this place in terms of the Hohokam, O’odham,Salado, Western Pueblo and Apache peoples, all of whom have livingdescendants among the contemporary tribes in the Southwest. Historianswrite about the Sobaipuri and Apache who lived in this valley during theeighteenth and nineteenth centuries and the trading that was conducted with

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the Hopi and Zuni. The San Pedro Valley thus has multiple histories, eachmaintained by the descendants of people who formerly resided in the area.

The authors (with Roger Anyon, Jeanette Cassa, Patrick Lyons, BernardSiquieros and other researchers) are in the midst of a multi-year project,which entails collaborative research with the Native American groupswhose ancestors lived in the San Pedro Valley (Figure 1). Exploring themesof migrations, violence, social identity, subsistence ecology and populationdynamics, this project aims to add Native American voices to the mosaicof archaeology and documentary history. To supplement archival and litera-ture analyses, the core of the project involves interviews and fieldwork withrepresentatives of the Tohono O’odham Nation, White Mountain and San

Figure 1 The San Pedro Ethnohistory Project study area and contemporaryreservation boundaries

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Carlos Apache Tribes, Hopi Tribe and the Pueblo of Zuni. Each nationcontributes a research assistant and cultural advisors and establishes theresearch framework that best suits its own cultural practices.

Ultimately, this project seeks to document Native American histories ofthe San Pedro Valley, adjoin Native American perspectives to archaeo-logical culture history and expand the humanistic understanding of scien-tific findings of San Pedro history. Using a methodology that recombinesNative American oral traditions and archaeological interpretations, wehave sought to overcome the false dichotomy raised between ‘history’ and‘science’ (Schmidt and Patterson, 1995; Whiteley, 2002). In this approach,the project attempts to redress the legitimacy of a historically informedarchaeology by documenting alternative Native American histories thatexplicitly recognize past and present use of land and resources in theconstruction of social identity (Wylie, 1995). By inviting Native Americansinto the research process and merging Native American memories of thepast with archaeological inquiry, we are attempting to go beyond confronta-tions of the ‘contested past’ (Hill, 1992; Layton, 1989) to develop newperspectives on critical issues of mutual concern and interest.

■ WHAT IS THE ENVIRONMENT OF COLLABORATIONTODAY?

It is necessary to understand the socio-political and historical context inwhich collaboration takes place today because it impacts collaboration inmyriad ways. In our experience, ethical behavior is not independent fromthe larger context that surrounds a single project. What follows is adiscussion of some important aspects of the cultural and intellectualenvironment in which the San Pedro Ethnohistory Project is situated.

The tentacles of NAGPRA

The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA)of 1990 has indelibly impacted the communities of archaeologists andNative Americans. Since its inception NAGPRA has fundamentallychanged how archaeologists and museum professionals carry out researchand the way in which Native Americans have a say in that practice. TheSan Pedro Ethnohistory Project does not explicitly address NAGPRAissues. Our project does not involve excavation, explicit investigation of‘cultural affiliation’, or use any collection under active NAGPRA review.Although we think that many positive outcomes have resulted from imple-menting NAGPRA, including new collaborative efforts (see Dongoske etal., 2000), one of our goals was to use this project to move beyond the

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political tensions inherent in the laws governing repatriation. Yet as theproject has progressed, we have realized that to break free of the tentaclesof NAGPRA is not easy.

Even before the project began, as meetings were held with various tribalrepresentatives during development of the grant proposal, it was difficultto explain how a project combining archaeologists and Native Americanswas not NAGPRA related. With so much work involving Native Ameri-cans undertaken solely to satisfy NAGPRA, it was a challenge to describea project originating from other motivations. When our research began, wefound that NAGPRA tacitly structures how all the participants conceive ofand discuss the past. That is, the very language of NAGPRA now struc-tures discourses between archaeologists and Native Americans. Expres-sions such as ‘cultural affiliation’ have become central to the way we talkabout connections between modern people and past groups (Figure 2). Andin a meeting with a museum official, we kept talking about our ‘research’,while he repeatedly referred to the project as ‘consultation’, a term withbureaucratic and legalistic overtones. NAGPRA has also structured howwe can carry out research. A museum participating in our project askedthat we not invite one group of cultural advisors because their tribe was

Figure 2 Hopi cultural advisors talk about human remains and NAGPRA atFlieger Ruin (photograph by T.J. Ferguson, 1 May 2002)

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involved in a dispute about the implementation of NAGPRA. Finally, werealize that although our research does not explicitly deal with NAGPRAissues such as determining cultural affiliation, it has implications for futureclaims of repatriation. If, for instance, we record and publish Hopi and Zuniconnections to their ancestors in southeastern Arizona, those claims couldlater be used in repatriation cases involving collections from southeasternArizona. From our view, the participating tribes are aware of this potentialuse and indeed it is one of their motivations in participating – it is one ofthe benefits of this research for them. Hence, even as we have tried to movebeyond the questions and repercussions of NAGPRA, we find that wecannot move too far, because our project would then become less relevantto its participants.

Structuring collaboration

Another aspect of the environment of collaboration today is the degree towhich we must interface with formal committees of tribal governments. Weare a part of the Center for Desert Archaeology and our research teamworks with the Hopi Cultural Resource Advisory Task Team, the ZuniCultural Resource Advisory Team, the San Carlos Apache Elder’s Counciland the Tohono O’odham Cultural Preservation Committee (a legislativebranch of the Tohono O’odham Tribal Council). Working with these officialcommittees of their respective tribal governments is positive because itgives the project some degree of authority, fosters communication andhelps ensure accountability. These committees explicitly serve to mediatebetween research participants from their tribes and project archaeologists.As a consequence of interacting with multiple committees throughout theresearch, it is our experience that we have to give much more attention tothe way we communicate about the project. Before these committeesexisted, it was easier for the anthropologist to set the research agenda, topursue fieldwork only as a means of data collection. Because we have tointeract with these individuals and they have the power to impact theoverall project, we have endeavored to define how all the involved partieswill benefit from the study. We see the research as a process, as well as aproduct, and so remain ready to bend, change, or build on these initial goals(see Stoffle et al., 2001: 204–6). Through these structured relationships, weare developing a methodology whereby all the participants have somemeasure of power, where even if we have different interests, we all find away to value the work enough to make it successful (Figure 3). Althoughit is not possible to achieve perfect parity and equal power, by merelymaking these our goals, it becomes possible for power to become more fluidthroughout the study. Intentionality is not enough by itself; equally import-ant is how one communicates about them and situates them into practice,but intentions provide the foundation to initiate moral behavior.

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Of course, in the past, Native American hosts have not been simplymired in nescience, the passive participants of self-serving anthropologists(Pyburn, 2003). For instance, the early American ethnographer FrankCushing’s presence at Zuni began tumultuously, but he became an advocatefor the pueblo, as well as an observer. The Zuni allowed Cushing to remainin their pueblo and were able to use him as a link to outside authorities toprotect and promote their own interests (Green, 1979: 407–25). In contrast,Stewart Culin, the first curator of ethnology at the Brooklyn Institute ofArts and Sciences, arrived in Zuni with the goal of amassing collections fora distant eastern institution; he was greeted with the town crier warningZuni citizens not to have anything to do with him (Culin, 1903, 1904, 1907).But Culin had arrived during a horrific drought and, in the cover of night,Zunis would abscond with sacred artefacts and trade the objects to him formoney to purchase food. This example demonstrates a moment of asym-metrical power, where interaction involved only extraction of informationand objects for the use of the anthropologist and desperate actions for thestarving Zunis. Although admittedly an extreme case, we hold it up as theantithesis to activities of collaboration today. Culin exemplifies a long

Figure 3 Apache researchers Jeanette Cassa and Vernelda Grant show ChipColwell-Chanthaphonh pictographs near Nadnlid Cho (‘Big Sunflower Hill’)(photograph by T.J. Ferguson, 19 February 2002)

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history of anthropological practices that have led Native Americancommunities to create formalized committees to negotiate how scholarlyresearch should be conducted. And it is through these committees thatresearchers must demonstrate how their work will be beneficial to scholar-ship and relevant to Native Americans. As Bentz (1997: 130) has forcefullyargued, many Native Americans now ‘require that anthropological researchin their communities serve humanity, as it should have all along and will nolonger allow humanity to serve science, as it often has in the past’.

The blurring line of the observers and observed

Traditional ethnographic research has long depended on ‘participant-observation’ as a focal point of its methodological canon. Since at leastMalinowski, anthropologists have actively sought out the role of observer(Dewalt et al., 1998). Even in the second part of the methodologicalequation, during ‘participation’, anthropologists have tended to retain thatabiding sense of observation: participating does not provide an experiencein itself so much as an alternative way of observing.

In our work, however, there is no clear dichotomy of the ‘observers’ andthe ‘observed’ (if it has ever existed). The Native American collaboratorsare not passive informants, mere one-way conduits of anthropologicalinformation. As active participants in research, they have also expected tolearn – about our own behaviors and perspectives on the past. They thenbuild these alternative non-Indian views into their own understanding ofthe past and present. As Kuwanwisiwma (2002a: 47) has written, the Hopiand many Native Americans more generally ‘want to be a viable part ofthe whole dimension of cultural resource management. No longer do theHopi desire to be treated merely as informants’. The sense of not justobserving but being observed could not be missed with the Hopi culturaladvisors: two advisors videotaped all of the fieldwork, one took copiousnotes and another snapped several rolls of photographs (Figure 4). Andnearly all the Zuni, Western Apache and Tohono O’odham culturaladvisors wrote notes. Here Native American participants are not ‘inform-ants’ as they were for Malinowski but colleagues and fellow researchersworking towards a common goal. During interviews carried out on the Hopireservation, Hopi researchers Joel Nicholas and Lee Wayne Lomayestewawere crucial in setting up meetings, translating and taking notes that willbe incorporated into the final publications. And when a mid-term reportwas made to the Tohono O’odham Cultural Preservation Committee,Bernard Siquieros, an O’odham colleague, co-authored and presented aPowerPoint display with us, in part incorporating superb digital photo-graphs he had taken during the fieldwork. The blurring line of the observerand observed is also a part of the interaction with the tribal committees andother tribal members engaged in research. With each committee, we have

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to present our work, our strategies and ideas and have these critiqued bycommittee members. And when we prepare publications, each committeewill review the work and be empowered to revise it – just as any co-authorwould have the opportunity to clarify her or his own ideas in a given manu-script (Bentz, 1997; Fixico, 1998). Thus, the archaeologists on our projectare not simply observing, they are also being closely observed.

Language and social identity

The language used in interactions between Native Americans and archae-ologists is important because it has the ability to confuse or enlighten andbecause it structures the relations of power within collaborative work: whogets to define what terms (Warren, 1999: 14–16). During much of our field-work, cultural advisors often spoke to one another in their native languageand then provided us with a summary of their conversation or what theywanted us to know. In this way, the archaeologists in the project becamebystanders as the advisors examined an artifact or considered an architec-tural element at a site (Figure 5). Native language provides an alternativeview of the material world for archaeologists because Native American

Figure 4 Hopi advisors Dalton Taylor and Leroy Lewis carry out researchwith Patrick Lyons at the Amerind Foundation Museum (photograph by ChipColwell-Chanthaphonh, 2 May 2002)

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terms are not just descriptive but have specific cultural meanings that imbueobjects with additional layers of meaning. In practice these perspectives aredifficult to incorporate into our research in any expansive way because we– and it is safe to assume the readers of this work – do not fluently speakor read Hopi, Zuni, O’odham and Apache. And, in fact, because few, if any,people speak all four of these languages, the use of English as a linguafranca structures how we collectively talk and think about the past.

Much of the vocabulary archaeologists use to talk about history andhistorical groups is a source of confusion that ultimately undermines NativeAmerican perspectives of the past. One term that archaeologists often usewithout much compunction is ‘abandonment’ (Ferguson et al., 2001: 10–11),which can be defined as the ‘complete and final giving up of property orrights with no intention of reclaiming them and to no particular person’(Oran, 1983: 3). This conception of abandonment is not lost on our collab-orators and they have protested its use by archaeologists (Ferguson, 1998).One objection is grounded on the belief that archaeological sites, that isancestral villages, are not empty because spirits continue to inhabit a placeeven after people’s corporeal bodies have expired. Ancestral villages arethus likened to cemeteries, to liminal spaces where there is the opportunityfor spiritual connections between the living and deceased. A second

Figure 5 Tohono O’odham advisors and archaeologists discuss differentinterpretations of Sosa Ballcourt (photograph by Bernard Siquieros, 28October 2002)

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objection is that contemporary people have not given up their claims to orinterest in their ancestral villages. Tohono O’odham, Zuni and Hopiadvisors have left prayers and offerings at sites and the Hopi directly incor-porate ancestral villages into their conception of the religious landscape.Hence, to speak in terms of ‘abandoned’ sites simultaneously rejects NativeAmerican beliefs out of hand and denies the continuing claims contem-porary Native Americans make to ancestral sites.

In a similar way, archaeologists’ use of terms that frame archaeologicalcultures – ‘Hohokam,’ ‘Salado,’ ‘Anasazi,’ ‘Mogollon’ – are a source ofconfusion. Among many archaeologists, there is an implicit assumption thatarchaeological cultures have real meanings in terms of past social organi-zation. However, our collaborators do not all approach past people in thisway. The Hopi, for instance, understand their ancestors through uniqueclan and religious groups, collectively referred to as Hisatsinom (Kuwan-wisiwma, 2002b). Dongoske et al. (1997: 603) have written:

The Hopi believe these clans ranged far and wide in their migrations andwere components of many different archaeological cultures, including theAnasazi, Mogollon, Hohokam, Salado, Cohonina, Fremont and Mimbres.None of these archaeological cultures by themselves are thus adequate toincorporate all of the Hopi and their ancestors.

The Hopi advisors we spoke with tend to take a much broader view ofancient peoples than archaeologists; one suggested to us that all the south-western archaeological cultures ‘were all Hopi; it is the archaeologists thatgive them another name. It’s been Hopi all along. Our culture was cast instone by the creator’. The Zuni similarly connect themselves to ancestralvillages through historic accounts of their ancestors’ – the Atłashinawke –migrations across the land. The pottery styles and architectural detailsarchaeologists employ to define archaeological cultures are not meaning-less to Zunis today; however, archaeological approaches are often seen asmissing the dynamic interaction of ancestral pueblo people when they focussolely on material culture to overlook language abilities and religiousaffiliations, the essential sources of identity for Pueblo people today. Thus,the continued use of terms referring to archaeological cultures whilediscounting alternative terminologies leads to miscommunication betweenarchaeologists and Native Americans and serves to implicitly contestNative American connections to their ancestral landscape.

■ WHAT DOES AN ETHIC OF COLLABORATION ENTAIL?

The previous section has illustrated some of the more poignant aspects ofthe environment in which collaboration takes place today. Given this

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context, we now consider the moral (for us ‘moral’ is synonymous with‘ethical’) criteria we use to guide behavior in collaborative research. AsWinter (1984: 43) has contended, it is imperative that archaeologists’ ethicalsystem guide scientific inquiries and not let science drive ethics. And yetthe majority of anthropologists consider themselves principally scientists,not ethicists. Even the various Codes of Ethics of professional societies,which aim to provide moral routes for archaeologists, are essentially silenton issues of collaboration. For example, the Society for American Archae-ology’s Principles of Archaeological Ethics only makes the broad norma-tive argument in ‘Principle No. 2’ that:

Responsible archaeological research, including all levels of professionalactivity, requires an acknowledgment of public accountability and acommitment to make every reasonable effort, in good faith, to consultactively with affected group(s), with the goal of establishing a workingrelationship that can be beneficial to all parties involved. (Watkins et al., 1995:33, emphasis added)

Although this principle may point the way and generally support an ethicof collaboration, it hardly provides a strong guidepost for practicing archae-ologists. The Register of Professional Archaeologists’ Code of Conduct(Section I, 1.1c) only states that an archaeologist shall ‘Be sensitive to andrespect the legitimate concerns of, groups whose culture histories are thesubject of archaeological investigations’. The American Institute ofArchaeology Code of Ethics makes no reference at all to either collabor-ation or consultation. An exception is the World Archaeological CongressFirst Code of Ethics (Principle 7), which obliges its members ‘To establishequitable partnerships and relationships between Members and indigenouspeoples whose cultural heritage is being investigated’.

Even as some archaeologists advocate various rule-based approaches,we argue that a virtue-based approach offers sound moral guidance to aflourishing ethic of collaboration. It is interesting to observe that while veryfew discussions of archaeological ethics explicitly have drawn from thecorpus of writings on Virtue Ethics, many have supported the applicationof the virtues throughout the process of archaeological research. Forinstance, the virtue of ‘trust’ often arises, such as in Burley’s (1994: 93)argument that ‘archaeologists must begin to address the concerns of abor-iginal groups regarding uses of their past and create a trust that will allowfor future alliance’. Similarly, nearly two decades ago, Adams (1984: 241)observed that in his cooperation with the Hopi Tribe, ‘of great value is thetrust relationship that exists between the museum and the archaeologicalcommunity and the Hopi’. More recently, Joe Watkins’ (1999) work hasveins of Virtue Ethics running through it, and the philosopher MerileeSalmon (1999: 308) has observed that:

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Although Watkins does not refer explicitly to any ethical theory . . . hisproposal exemplifies the views of [Annette] Baier [an advocate of VirtueEthics] and other contemporary methaethicists in its emphasis on trustrather than formal codes or principles of utility or justice, as the fundamentalbasis of ethical behavior.

Our own experiences and those of archaeologists cited above are contraryto scholars such as Kent Greenawalt (1998: 20), who despite his instructivestudy on the relationship between law and morality claimed that, ‘ “ virtueethics”. . . seems of peripheral significance for issues about culturalproperty’. In our discussion we aim to add to these previous studies andsubstantially build on them by more explicitly framing archaeological ethicswith the work of moral philosophers.

Virtue Theory, unlike other moral schemes, does not begin with ques-tions of right and wrong, duties and laws, but rather, questions of charac-ter: what traits of character make a person good? As Crisp and Slote(1997: 2–3) write, Virtue Ethics presents:

an account of ultimate moral reasons which not only is neitherutilitarianism nor Kantian, but makes essential reference to the rationalityof virtue itself. Thus, for example, the real reason why I should not lie toyou is not that it is against the moral law, nor that it is likely not tomaximize well-being, but because it is dishonest. The notions of virtue, then,are more basic than the notions at the heart of utilitarian and Kantiantheory.

Whereas Kantian and Consequentialist theories rely on deontic (Greek for‘doing’) concepts of being ‘bounded’ and ‘required’ to act, Virtue Ethicsturns on aretaic (Greek for ‘excellence’) notions, meaning virtue, characterand excellence (Anscombe, 1958). Virtue Theory provides archaeologistswith a way to examine ethics in light of what constitutes a moral agentbefore jumping to what constitutes a moral action (McDowell, 1997). Thisissue is particularly relevant for an ethic of collaboration, which seemsheavily dependent on the moral motivations and character – as much as thebehavior – of the participants.

Suppose, for instance, that an archaeologist depended on an Utilitarianethic like that famously proposed by Mill (1987) to determine moral actionduring a collaborative research project. Imagine that a project begins andit goes quite well; everyone gets along and the research phase goessmoothly. Real friendships develop between the participating archaeolo-gists and the Indian advisors and one archaeologist even invites an advisorhome for dinner to meet her family. Eventually the project draws to a closeand there results not only goodwill, but also some real friendships amongthe participants. But then, a year later, the befriended advisor picks up thenew issue of the Journal of Social Archaeology and reads an article by hisfriend, the archaeologist, where she says that the Indians were befriended

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only because it was her ‘moral duty and obligation’ to do so; that this projectwas merely the ‘right thing to do’ after balancing the principles of pleasureand pain. Thus most people do not simply desire that others initiaterelationships because of moral obligation, but because of genuine commit-ments to such virtues as trust and friendship. At issue then is not solely thearchaeologist’s action, which may be said to be moral in this case, but ratherthe archaeologist’s motivation. This is not to say that obligation has no rolein ethics, but that taken unconditionally, it is problematic. As Baier (1997)has suggested, even obligation involves virtues, such as trust, becausesomeone must ensure that obligations are met. Someone must judge otherpeoples’ actions, decide if obligations are fulfilled and, if not, perhaps evenpunish those persons in some way. And this judgment of others, the powerof manipulation and coercion, requires trust – trust that these individualswill be honest and fair.

Virtue, suggests the philosopher James Rachels (1993: 163), is ‘a trait ofcharacter, manifested in habitual action, that is good for a person to have’.For Aristotle, the superlative life revolves around the concept of eudaimo-nia – often translated as happiness, living well, or human flourishing – whichcan be attained through the practice of the virtues. Hence, for some philoso-phers, the virtues that contribute towards attaining eudaimonia are thosethat should be pursued. But for many, the source and definition of whichvirtues ought to be sought after depend on specific arguments. One can see,for instance, that verbal honesty is necessary for positive and effectivecommunication and, because all humans are social animals dependent onothers, the virtue of dependability is valued. As a beginning point, Rachels(1993: 163) has provided a list of some of the traits humans ought to foster:

Benevolence Fairness Reasonableness

Civility Friendliness Self-confidence

Compassion Generosity Self-control

Conscientiousness Honesty Self-discipline

Cooperativeness Industriousness Self-reliance

Courage Justice Tactfulness

Courteousness Loyalty Thoughtfulness

Dependability Moderation Tolerance

An advantage of Virtue Theory is that it allows for broader non-Westernperspectives, because it generally does not rely on narrow prescriptions orinflexible maxims. Hence, Brandt’s (1954) discussion of Hopi ethics couldbe categorized under the banner of Virtue Theory. Equally escapingWestern constructs of morality, Smith (1999) has promoted a research ethicsteeped in indigenous concepts of humility, caution, generosity and respectthat may ultimately foster native people’s capacity for self-determination.

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To explore how Rachels’ inventory compiled by a non-Indian philosophermight relate to other worldviews, we asked some of the Native Americansadvisors in this project what virtues they like and do not like in archaeol-ogists. A provisional list of attributes specified by some Hopi, TohonoO’odham, Western Apache and Zuni advisors includes:

Cooperativeness Honesty Patience

Courteousness Humility Respect

Friendliness Long-term commitment Sensitivity

Generosity Not patronizing To be oneself

Good listening Openness Willingness to learn

Although some overlap can be found between the lists of Rachels and theNative American advisors, such as cooperativeness, friendliness, generos-ity and honesty, more important is that these accounts do not contradictone another in any fundamental way. For instance, Rachels’ list does notadvocate arrogance as a virtue while the advisors encourage humility.Hence, these lists offer a gateway, not an absolute or exhaustive catalogue,to consider which virtues might guide archaeologists’ responses to theenvironment in which collaborative research takes place today.

NAGPRA often raises contentious issues and will continue to do so forsome time to come. In our project, it has been a challenge to move beyondNAGPRA issues to the historical questions that are the focus of our work.We appreciate how NAGPRA has impacted our fieldwork and vocabularyhowever, because it is one way our project may ultimately benefit ourcollaborators. And if our project benefits the tribes we are working with inthis way then the seeming intrusion of NAGPRA is positive. However, inorder to understand this motivation of using the project for NAGPRA andhow this work might be used even more generally in the future, the virtuesof awareness, openness and respect are vital.

The structured process of collaboration is an important issue because itinvolves more than personal relationships. Collaboration is dependent onprofessional ties, as well as the political infrastructure of each participatinginstitution. For example, in the early fall of 2001, we met with a tribalcommittee. The meeting went well and plans were made for the upcomingyear. However, the committee members were busy with other work andwere unable to undertake the field trips they had requested prior toinitiation of research. Then in the spring of 2002, the committee chairman,an elected official, resigned. After a delay of several months, the chairmanwas replaced following an election, and then we were given another oppor-tunity to meet the committee to reintroduce the project and obtain theirapproval to begin the fieldwork and interview phase of the research. Asour project is structured through institutionalized governmental organi-zations, the membership of which is subject to change, researchers need a

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heightened sense of civility, cooperativeness, self-control and tactfulness.This work can be a long venture and it requires patience and courteousness.

As the line blurs between the observers and the observed, the formerobservers have become the object of attention in new ways. Whether it isin the field having your observations observed with a video recorder ordiscussing research results with a tribal committee, the ambiguousdichotomy compels collaborators to enter into a real dialogue – even aboutdifferences – rather than a silence or simple monologue. A reticence toengage in genuine conversation will only foster narrow-mindedness andexclusiveness. Responding to these conditions, researchers need a strongsense of trust, honesty and thoughtfulness. It can be a challenge to beginforming trust, for in our experience, it is based on past performance, whichrequires time spent together over a long period. It is an evaluation of pastand present work and interactions. So to initiate building trust, the virtuesof willingness to learn and dependability are central.

The power of language and the way in which it pervades issues of socialidentity are key considerations in collaboration between archaeologists andNative Americans. The use of specific terms defines relations of power amongcollaborators, and language can alienate the connections some groups havewith the past as manifested in archaeology. In dealing with the issue of thepower of language, archaeologists ought to be motivated by the virtues oftolerance, humility and reasonableness. These mean a willingness to be criticalof one’s own vocabulary and way of communicating. When objections arevoiced over the naming, classifying, or meaning of sites, equitable consider-ation needs to be given to different viewpoints without embedding orimposing one belief onto another. We are not trying to synthesize disparateoutlooks so much as highlight where these different perspectives articulate,how each informs the other. Weaving together the perspectives of archaeol-ogists and Native peoples entails incorporating multiple (and sometimesconflicting) worldviews. This above all requires the virtue of respect.

With this discussion, our intent has not been to lionize our own ethicaloutlook or roseate our efforts. In practice, moral perfection is only a goal,as we have (admittedly) made errors and misjudgments in this evolvingwork. But our approach has not been one of constant moral evaluation ofspecific acts, but rather an attempt to cultivate habitual action groundedwithin the framework of these virtues. One proponent of Virtue Ethics hasobserved that humans do not naturally possess these virtues and one cannotact on them mechanically or thoughtlessly:

Virtues . . . we acquire just as we acquire crafts, by having previouslyactivated them. For we learn a craft by producing the same product that wemust produce when we have learned it, becoming builders, e.g. by buildingand harpists by playing the harp; so also then, we become just by doing justactions, temperate by doing temperate actions, brave by doing brave actions.(Aristotle, 1985: 34)

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And so we shape our moral character from our behavior and we behavefrom our moral character. Practicing the virtues requires a quotidiancommitment that we keep working to do the right thing for the rightreasons. Hursthouse (1997: 224) has observed that:

Acting rightly is difficult and does call for much moral wisdom . . . moralknowledge – unlike mathematical knowledge – cannot be acquired merelyby attending lectures . . . there are youthful mathematical geniuses, butrarely, if ever, youthful moral geniuses.

Thus, ethical practice for us does not so much demand incessant self-evalu-ation of moral action, as a general embrace of the virtues, enacted throughhabituation.

■ CONCLUSION

Beginning in the 1970s, the discipline of American archaeology wasconfronted with the discord between its professional practice and theconcerns of living Native American communities. What started out as aprotest and rejection of the colonialist aspects of the field was transformedinto a radical shift in archaeological method and theory. Although in thepast several decades we have seen an increase in professional archaeolo-gists’ self-reflection, the conflicts that spurred these changes have been apart of the profession since its very beginnings in North America. Evenmore, as Thomas (2000) has persuasively argued, the strain today betweenarchaeologists and Native peoples is profoundly based on 500 years ofstruggle and the endemic problems of power and control that characterizeWhite–Indian interactions. Collaboration between archaeologists andNative Americans provides new opportunities for each community to learnfrom (and with) one another. It also entails designing projects that alloweach participant to benefit, respect different ways of knowing the past andchallenge historical arrangements of power, whether it is reconsideringlanguage, working with tribal committees, or reviewing manuscripts beforepublication (Fluehr-Lobban, 2003: 242). In this way collaboration is aboutworking together concordantly, as well as recognizing the relations ofpower that have structured interactions in the past and continue to do sotoday (Figure 6).

Because there is a gap between the ideals of collaborative research andthe reality of its practice, a robust ethical framework is needed. We haveargued that Virtue Ethics provides a compelling approach to the many chal-lenges that arise in conducting collaborative research. In particular, we haverecommended firstly that although we may not do entirely without deonticnotions of morality, aretaic notions need increased attention from

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archaeologists; and secondly that archaeologists need a greater appreci-ation for the character of moral agents over prescriptions for specific behav-iors. Thus we agree with Michael Stocker (1976) and to a degree withLouden (1984), who argue for attention on sustained action instead ofsingle acts. An ethic of collaboration involves no simple rule or moralequation; it entails the cultivation of sincere relationships guided byvirtuous ideals – civility, cooperativeness, tactfulness, patience, trust,honesty, thoughtfulness, tolerance and respect. In many ways, this ethicalapproach begins with questions of what constitutes a moral person beforeit addresses what makes a moral archaeologist. This outlook allows for abetter appreciation not merely of what contributes to a flourishing ofarchaeological practice, but more importantly to a flourishing of human life.

Acknowledgements

The National Endowment for the Humanities, Salus Mundi Foundation and Centerfor Desert Archaeology provided key funding for this research. Earlier iterationsof this article were presented at the symposium, Ethics and the Practice of Archae-ology, held at the University of Pennsylvania Museum on 28 September 2002, andthe Association for Practical and Professional Ethics Twelfth Annual Meeting, in

Figure 6 Zuni advisors and archaeologists examine ceramics at the ArizonaState Museum (photograph by Chip Colwell-Chanthaphonh, 26 April 2002)

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Charlotte, North Carolina on 28 February 2003. We are grateful for all the construc-tive comments different scholars provided during these conferences, especiallythose of Robert Preucel and Brian Schrag. We also greatly benefited from the adviceof three anonymous reviewers and Roger Anyon, Alexander Bauer, Jeff Clark,Jeanette Cassa, Jonathan Damp, Bill Doelle, Vernelda Grant, Leigh J. Kuwanwisi-wma, Patrick Lyons, Barbara Mills, Seth Pilsk, Ramon Riley, Bernard Siquieros,John Ware, John Welch and Larry Zimmerman. The staff of the Amerind Foun-dation Museum and the Arizona State Museum graciously facilitated access to themuseums’ collections. This project would not be possible without the help of thepeople who make up the Hopi Cultural Preservation Office, Hopi CulturalResource Advisory Task Team, San Carlos Apache Elders’ Council, TohonoO’odham Office of Cultural Affairs, Tohono O’odham Cultural PreservationCommittee and their advisors, White Mountain Apache Tribe Heritage Program,Zuni Cultural Resource Advisory Team and Zuni Heritage and Historic Preser-vation Office. To them, we are very grateful.

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CHIP COLWELL-CHANTHAPHONH is a PhD candidate at IndianaUniversity in the Department of Anthropology. He is also currentlya Preservation Fellow at the Center for Desert Archaeology(www.cdarc.org), a non-profit institute in Tucson, AZ.[email: [email protected]]

T.J. FERGUSON has conducted research in Southwestern USA for 25years, working on a variety of projects investigating Native Americansettlement and land use, land and water rights and management ofheritage resources. He currently owns a company providing anthropo-logical research services in Tucson, AZ and is an Adjunct Professor ofAnthropology at the University of Arizona.[email: [email protected]]

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