The subject of this paper is a patrilineage that lives in two communities six kilometers apart in the north-eastern part of Iran. Traditionally this lineage together with its collateral sections has acted as a gentry for an area composed of eighteen villages. They were and still are (both the lineage and its collateral segments) referred to as the “landlords” (arbāb) of the area although their traditional economic status and political influence has been undermined by the Iranian land reform of 1962. The number of adults (above the age of fifteen) comprising the lineage is roughly between forty and fifty and is composed of the descendants of three brothers. These three brothers are in turn descended from one of three other brothers in the next ascending generation; the descendants of the latter set of brothers comprise the entire maximal lineage, the great majority of which lives in the two above-mentioned communities. Most members of the lineage between the ages of fifteen and twenty count the latter set of brothers as of the great-grandparental generation and the former set of brothers as of the grandparental generation.

It is surprising, somehow, to witness the degree to which the concept of national character doggedly maintains its intuitive appeal in the social sciences. Despite widespread criticism of the use of the concept as the basis for studying human societies, few researchers find themselves able to deny that different societies seem to have a distinctive “feel” to them, and it is a rare field worker indeed who doesn't speak, informally at least, of the members of a society in which he has worked in terms of collective “psychological” characteristics. Widely used anthropological concepts such as “ethos,” “value system,” and even “culture” itself reflect this feeling in differing degrees. The inherent intuitive appeal of the national character concept persists, then, despite our best efforts to repudiate it.

In trying to understand this phenomenon, it seems a vain effort to return once again to the question: “Do national characters exist?”. In place of this well-worked exercise, I feel it more profitable to turn away from the natives and focus on the epistemology of the observer.

The scorching wind mingled the dirt and sand, blowing it in the pilgrims’ faces. The sun burned and shrivelled everything. The camels stepped to the monotonous melody of iron and brass bells, their necks swaying rhythmically, their frowning snouts and hanging muzzles revealing their dissatisfaction with their fate.

Through the dust, the caravan moved slowly in the middle of the grey dirt road. The ash-colored, dry, sandy desert stretched as far as the eye could see, shimmering in the heat and at times forming a series of low mounds at the side of the road. For miles not even a date palm relieved the monotony. Wherever there was a handful of stagnant water in a ditch a family had pitched a shelter. The air burned everything, taking one's breath away. It was like stepping into the corridor of hell.

The caravan had been on the road for thirty-six days. Their mouths dry, their bodies weak, their pockets empty, the pilgrims had watched their money supply diminish like snow under the hot Arabian sun.