Ancestors and Elites: Emergent Complexity and Ritual Practices in the Casas Grandes Polity (Archaeology of Religion)

Ancestors and Elites EMERGENT COMPLEXITY AND RITUAL PRACTICES IN THE CASAS GRANDES POLITY

GORDON F.M. RAKITA

Ancestors and Elites

ARCHAEOLOGY OF RELIGION A Book Series from AltaMira Press

ABOUT THE SERIES: Few topics have been more neglected by archaeologists than religion, yet few subjects have been more central to human social and cultural life. In part, this neglect has resulted from a longstanding division in Western thought between science and religion; in part from archaeological beliefs concerning what can and cannot be readily interpreted about the past. But new models of science, increasing concern with symbolism and belief, improved interpretive models and theories, and a growing reconciliation between humanistic and scientific approaches now contribute toward making the archaeology of religion a viable and vibrant area of research. This series will publish syntheses, theoretical statements, edited collections, and reports of primary research in this growing area. Authors interested in contributing to this series should contact AltaMira Press. SERIES EDITOR: David S. Whitley VOLUMES IN THE SERIES: Volume 1. J. David Lewis-Williams, A Cosmos in Stone: Interpreting Religion and Society Through Rock Art Volume 2. James L. Pearson, Shamanism and the Ancient Mind: A Cognitive Approach to Archaeology Volume 3. Peter Jordan, Material Culture and Sacred Landscape: The Anthropology of the Siberian Khanty Volume 4. Lars Fogelin, Archaeology of Early Buddhism Volume 5. Christine S. Vanpool, Todd L. Vanpool, and David A. Philllips, Jr., Religion in the Prehispanic Southwest Volume 6. Gordon F. M. Rakita, Ancestors and Elites: Emergent Complexity and Ritual Practices in the Casas Grandes Polity

Ancestors and Elites Emergent Complexity and Ritual Practices in the Casas Grandes Polity G O R D O N F. M . R A K I TA

A Division of ROWMAN & LITTLEFIELD PUBLISHERS, INC. Lanham • New York • Toronto • Plymouth, UK

ALTAMIRA PRESS A division of Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. A wholly owned subsidiary of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200 Lanham, MD 20706 www.altamirapress.com Estover Road Plymouth PL6 7PY United Kingdom Copyright © 2009 by AltaMira Press All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Rakita, Gordon F. M., 1971– Ancestors and elites : emergent complexity and ritual practices in the Casas Grandes polity / Gordon F.M. Rakita. p. cm. — (Archaeology of religion) Includes bibliographical references (p. ) and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-7591-1128-8 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0-7591-1128-6 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN-13: 978-0-7591-1329-9 (electronic) ISBN-10: 0-7591-1329-7 (electronic) 1. Casas Grandes culture—Mexico—Chihuahua (State) 2. Indians of Mexico—Funeral customs and rites—Mexico—Chihuahua (State)—History. 3. Indians of Mexico— Mexico—Chihuahua (State)—Religion. 4. Elite (Social sciences)—Mexico—Chihuahua (State)—History. 5. Indians of Mexico—Mexico—Chihuahua (State)—Social conditions. 6. Chihuahua (Mexico : State)—Antiquities. I. Title. E99.C23R35 2009 972'.16—dc22

2008044354

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To Cally, Nicholas, and Claire

Contents

List of Figures

ix

List of Tables

xi

1

Introduction

1

2

Emergent Complexity

45

3

Ritual and Emergent Complexity

61

4

Ritual Practices at Paquimé

95

5

Interpretations and Conclusions

141

References

171

Index

197

About the Author

207

vii

List of Figures

Figure 1.1. Figure 1.2. Figure 1.3. Figure 1.4. Figure 1.5. Figure 1.6. Figure 1.7. Figure 1.8. Figure 4.1. Figure 4.2. Figure 4.3. Figure 4.4. Figure 4.5. Figure 4.6. Figure 4.7. Figure 4.8. Figure 4.9. Figure 5.1. Figure 5.2.

The Casas Grandes region Tree-ring widths Casas Grandes temporal periods and dates The site of Paquimé Photographic overview of the site of Paquimé Mound of the Cross, Paquimé Sacrificed turkey burials, Unit 13 Cache of beads from Reservoir 2 Photograph of cut marks on human clavicle from feature 44-A-L-13 at Paquimé Histograms of grave good artifact counts Histograms of grave good richness Burial feature 44-A-L-13 at Paquimé Trophy skulls from Paquimé Sacrificed child, Unit 8 Burial under Ballcourt 3 Burial urns, Unit 4 Necklace made from human foot and hand bones Pendant in the shape of a hand made from a fragment of human cranium Broken ceramic hand drums, Unit 13

7 10 15 24 25 29 34 39 99 106 107 114 115 116 132 134 135 149 164

ix

List of Tables

Table 1.1.

Revised Ceramic Period Dating for the Casas Grandes Region Table 3.1. Characteristics of Shaman- and Priest-Dominated Ritual Table 4.1. Distribution of Burial Features, Skeletons, and Grave Goods Used in This Study Table 4.2. Frequencies of Demographic Characteristics by Period and Phase Table 4.3. Summary Statistics for Artifact Count Table 4.4. Summary Statistics for Grave Good Richness Table 4.5. Mean Artifact Counts per Burial Feature of Various Artifact Types Table 4.6. Processing of the Corpse(s) Table 4.7. Burial Location Table 4.8. Burial Facility Table 4.9. Nonmortuary Ritual Troves, Caches, Altars, and Sacred Spaces at Paquimé Table 4.10. Selected Item Frequencies by Unit Location at Paquimé Table 4.11. Sacrificed Macaw and Turkey Burials at Paquimé Table 5.1. Characteristics of Ancestor/Political versus Earth/ Fertility Cults

16 74 100 101 104 105 109 111 112 113 119 128 138 154

xi

xii

Table 5.2. Table 5.3.

LIST OF TABLES

Characteristics of Doctrinal and Imagistic Modes of Religiosity Characteristics of the Earth/Fertility and Ancestor/ Political Cult at Paquimé

155 163

1

Introduction

The process of human population aggregation, the movement of peoples into more densely inhabited or clustered communities, seems to have occurred in a variety of places and times throughout the prehistory of humanity. This is especially true for the peoples of the American Southwest prior to the arrival of Europeans. While relatively large-scale aggregations, like the protohistoric pueblos of the northern Rio Grande or the eleventh-century Chacoan system, probably represent the great extreme of this process, aggregations at smaller scales took place in numerous other regions and times. Typically, however, aggregation involves groups of related individuals (kinfolk) congregating into larger communities with groups of unrelated individuals. In some cases these communities lasted only a few generations, while others lasted for centuries. The ubiquity of aggregation and the variety of its expression are no doubt related to its status as a perennial issue in Southwestern prehistory since the area first received archaeological attention (see, e.g., Fewkes 1919). In addition, the process represents a fundamental enigma in anthropology. The biological and social downsides to increasing population densities (i.e., aggregating) are well discussed in recent literature (Cordell et al. 1994). Aggregated communities must deal with a plethora of difficulties, including increased conflict regarding decision making, depletion of local resources, (resulting in) the need to obtain resources from longer distances, and increased pathogen loads. These factors, combined with the reliance upon a narrowed range of subsistence

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products, leads to a relatively unstable settlement/subsistence pattern in comparison to more dispersed systems. It is no wonder that many researchers have focused upon the question, why do populations aggregate? Indeed, many individuals have proposed answers to this question over the past century. Defensive security, intensification of agricultural practices, attempts to maintain population levels despite environmental deterioration, and the need to have large communities to maintain intercommunity alliances have all been proposed as causal factors. However, it is quite likely that the cause of aggregation was historically particular in different times and places. Indeed, the variety of different types of aggregation processes may only be superseded by the variety of causes for aggregation. And as Cordell (1996, 233) noted, aggregation may be the result of more than just one factor. What is perhaps most intriguing about aggregation processes is that they often are accompanied by increasing sociopolitical complexity within the newly formed communities. Thus, at least within the American Southwest, questions surrounding aggregation have often been shadowed by interest in emergent inequality (Cordell et al. 1994, 132). Again, the question is, why did inequality appear in these aggregated communities? Johnson (1982) attempts to answer this question with his model of scalar stress; he proposes that decision-making hierarchies develop in relation to the increasing need for more efficient information processing among large groups of people. Thus, as populations aggregate, inequality in decision-making roles (i.e., leadership hierarchies) develops to manage the increasing demands of community organization. While questions of this sort are intriguing and useful both for Southwestern archaeology specifically and anthropological discourse generally, I would suggest that they often overshadow other equally interesting questions. How, for example, are aggregated communities formed and sustained? How does institutionalized inequality emerge in such aggregated communities? This book seeks to explore just these sorts of questions. In the process, I explore the role of often overlooked aspects of aggregated communities in the American Southwest: religious organization, ceremonial practices, and ritual specialists. Specifically, I suggest that changing ritual practices and the transformation of ritual specialists, their nature, and their organization may have been important facets of how communities maintained aggregated populations and how institutionalized social inequality emerged.

INTRODUCTION

3

Numerous anthropologists (Norbeck 1961; Radin 1957; Weber 1963; Winkelman 1992) have observed a correlation between different religious systems and sociocultural complexity. This correlation is not a simple one in which complexity in the religious system is mirrored by (or mirrors) sociocultural complexity. Most religious systems, regardless of their associated sociocultural system, are complex entities. The correlation seems to relate to the nature of the ritual practitioners or specialists and the rites they perform. Individual, part-time, shamanlike practitioners are most often the exclusive ceremonialists within small-scale communities. Larger, more hierarchically arranged communities tend to have full-time, institutionally trained and affiliated priests. However, in this study I do not seek to provide yet more evidence in support of this correlation. The argument I make here is that the transformation of religious organization and ritual practitioners is one of the ways in which shifts in social complexity can take place. Ritual communication, in effect, is how inequality and aggregation can be sustained. Symbolic factors are particularly important in facilitating the amalgamation of neighboring peoples into the parent population . . . [and] . . . ritual and symbolic motivations can be crucial in the emergence of stratification. (Knauft 1985, 333)

What I explore here are the special characteristics of ritual or ritualized behavior that allow it to promote both decision-making hierarchies and community cohesion. As Conkey (1985, 307) noted, It is not merely that ritual communication is perhaps correlated with complexity and can be used as a measure of it. Rather, given that ritual communication is one of the means by which social elaboration, social structure, and social reorganization takes on form and can take place, how do we identify such communication archaeologically? Further, are there archaeological contexts of not just the occurrence or presence of ritual communication, but its differential occurrence—in form, context, or even amount? PAQUIMÉ AND THE CASAS GRANDES “PHENOMENON”

Examining the differential form, context, and amount of ritual communication before, during, and after the emergence of complexity in one region is precisely

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what this study attempts. While research on aggregation and emergent complexity in the North American desert west has focused predominantly on those sites north of the U.S.-Mexican border, relatively little attention has been paid to sites in northern Mexico. However, a few archaeologists have been focusing their attention upon a site in northwestern Chihuahua, Mexico, that was “once the nucleus of probably the most developed and centralized polity in the prehistoric Southwest” (Plog 1997, 173). The site of Paquimé, or Casas Grandes, has been known since the early nineteenth century (Hardy 1977 [1829]). Early explorers understood the enormous size and importance of the community in the overall prehistory of the region. Indeed, Kidder (1962 [1924]) felt the site and associated region were important enough to include in his classic survey of Southwestern prehistory. The study described here investigates the evolution of ritual and religious organization at the site of Paquimé and the surrounding Casas Grandes region. The site of Paquimé was founded at the beginning of what is termed the Medio period (ca. AD 1200) and persisted until approximately AD 1450. At its height, it encompassed over 500,000 m2 and may have housed several thousand inhabitants (Di Peso et al. 1974:4, fig. 134-4). The site contained evidence for the specialized production of shell and groundstone artifacts, as well as intensive macaw and turkey husbandry (Minnis 1988; Van Pool and Leonard 2002). Given its large size, economic complexity, and extended occupation relative to other communities in the region, the site provides an excellent opportunity for investigating changes in ritual behavior and religious organization during prehistoric population aggregation and developing sociocultural complexity. What appears to be lacking in recent examinations of the development of social complexity in the Casas Grandes region is a decidedly diachronic perspective. Two issues seem to be at play here. The first is a general ignorance of cultural developments prior to the founding of Paquimé during what is termed the Viejo period (AD 600–1200). Perhaps, this lack of knowledge is due to the difficulty in locating sites occupied during the Viejo period that do not have Medio period settlements superimposed over them (Whalen and Minnis 2001, 103–6). There has been little excavation of Viejo period sites and thus limited information about pre–Medio period developments in the region. The second issue revolves around the internal chronology of the Medio period. There are, at present, considerable difficulties in precisely dating con-

INTRODUCTION

5

texts or sites within the Medio period. For this reason, most researchers view the Medio period as a relatively undifferentiated time frame. The site of Paquimé is a key exception to this problem. At Paquimé, careful excavations allowed excavators to recognize and record changes in architecture and features across the Medio period that directly relate to the development of this large aggregated community. In this study I make use of these finer-grained diachronic observations as a background for the analysis of changing ritual practices and religious organization in the region. In addition to these observations of intra–Medio period change, I include a description of developments during the Viejo period. Thus, I am able to outline the evolution of culture for the region spanning from approximately AD 600 to AD 1450. In order to investigate changes in ritual practices, I have chosen to examine the most ubiquitous and systematically recorded archaeological features that represent prehistoric ceremonial practices within the Casas Grandes region, in particular, human burials. The study described herein examines burial data from four sites: the Viejo period Convento site and the Medio period sites of Paquimé, Reyes No. 1, and Reyes No. 2. I also examine other evidence of ritual or ceremonial behavior from these sites. The goal of this analysis is to discern changes in ritual practices through time. As a result, I reach conclusions regarding the evolution of ritual behavior in the region and the manner in which this behavior contributed to the more than two-hundred-year aggregation of people at the site of Paquimé during the Medio period. I suggest that the evolving complexity of prehistoric populations in the Casas Grandes region led to changes in religious practices and practitioners and that these changes are reflected in mortuary and nonmortuary ritual. The development of new ritual practices and burial forms suggests a fundamental reorganization of ritual specialists and religious structures during a period in which Casas Grandes peoples were forming large conglomerations of population, and sociopolitical complexity was emerging. I argue that these new religious behaviors were crucial to the aggregation of population and emergence of institutionalized authority structures during the Medio period. In the remainder of this chapter, I set the environmental and cultural background for this study. I begin with a detailed description of the regional environment in terms of hydrology, topography, flora and fauna, and climate and then provide a detailed description of cultural-historical developments in the Casas Grandes region from AD 600 to AD 1450.

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Chapters 2 and 3 delineate the theoretical frameworks for my study. Chapter 2 is devoted to examining the nature of emergent sociopolitical complexity from an anthropological and archaeological perspective. In particular, I discuss aspects of scalar stress, decision-making hierarchies, and group cohesion as they relate to aggregation processes. I then offer a model for explaining the shift from kin-based sociopolitical arrangements to multiple kin-group arrangements. This model draws inspiration from theories of cultural evolution as well as theories from within biological evolution that seek to explain certain enigmatic behavior sets. Chapter 3 explores the role of ritual practices in contexts of emergent social inequality and how ritual specialists and religious organization change in such contexts. I also examine the form of ritual practices and how different types of ritual specialists and their associated religious forms affect those forms. In chapter 4, I provide a comprehensive description of ritual practices at the site of Paquimé. I begin with an exploration of how mortuary practices have changed from approximately AD 600 to AD 1450. In particular, I look at the demographics of buried individuals, what sorts of grave goods were interred with people, and the location of burials as well as the handling of corpses. I then move into a summary of the variety of ritual spaces and objects found throughout Paquimé, including sacred architecture, evidence for feasting, sacrifices, music, and the distribution of ritually important ceramics. I advance my interpretations of these ritual practices in the last chapter. I first summarize diachronic changes in mortuary practices and how they reflect changes in displays of status and prestige, interactions with the ancestors, and overall diversity in mortuary behavior. Next, I outline the evidence for the evolution of cultlike religious organizations during the Medio period. Finally, I provide a summary of the development of social and religious complexity within the Casas Grandes region. THE ENVIRONMENT OF THE CASAS GRANDES REGION

This section describes the topographic, hydrological, floral, faunal, and climatological characteristics of the Casas Grandes region. This region is traditionally defined by the international border between the United States and Mexico in the north, the Ríos Bavispe and Yaqui west of the Sierra Madre, the Ríos Bravos and Carmen to the east, and the Laguna Bustillos to the south (figure 1.1; Brand 1933, 1943; Carey 1931; Kidder 1962 [1924]; Sayles 1936b; Schaaf-

FIGURE 1.1

The Casas Grandes region.

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sma and Riley 1999). These markers delineate a region that is approximately 500 km from east to west and 400 km north to south. The study area generally falls in the northwestern corner of the Chihuahuan Desert biotic province as defined by Brown et al. (1998). Topography

The Casas Grandes phenomenon developed in a region that can be divided into three topographical zones: the Sierra Madre Occidental to the west, the basin and range area to the east, and an intermediate district between these two. The Sierra Madre are a rugged range of mountains running approximately north-south between the two Mexican states of Chihuahua and Sonora and are classified as Madrean evergreen forest and woodland as well as Madrean montane conifer forest by Brown et al. (1998, 30). The average altitude for this region is roughly 2,270 m (Schmidt 1973). The eastern basin and range district is similar to many such regions in the Southwest (including those in southern New Mexico–Arizona and central Nevada). It is characterized by north-south-trending ranges approaching 2,425m in height with intervening basins that drop to roughly 1,350m above sea level. These areas include mixed Chihuahuan Desert scrub, semidesert grasslands, and interior chaparral (Brown et al. 1998, 30–31). The Convento, Paquimé, and Reyes sites fall within the transition zone that lies between the Sierra Madre and the basin and range districts. This transition zone is distinguished by north-south mountain ranges with intervening river valleys (e.g., the Río Casas Grandes valley). Hydrology

The defined region encompasses what Schmidt (1973) has referred to as the Northern Interior Drainage Basin. Here the rivers run from the south and west to the north and east, flowing into ephemeral lakes and lagoons. Principal among these drainages are the Ríos Casas Grandes, del Carmen, and Santa María. This river system represents 33 percent of the watershed area of the state of Chihuahua but only 14 percent of the annual water discharge. In periods of severe drought (e.g., the first half of 1990s), the flow in these rivers is significantly reduced. Historically, this situation has resulted in a concentration of population within these valleys. Given a similar concentration of archaeological sites in river valleys reported by Brand (1935; see also Whalen

INTRODUCTION

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and Minnis 2001), this pattern seems to have existed prehistorically as well and certainly represented a significant defining factor for prehistoric settlement patterns. Flora and Fauna

Each of the three regions maintains a distinctive pattern of flora species (Brown et al. 1998). The basin and range areas of the Chihuahuan desert biotic are characterized by creosote, various forms of yucca, mesquite, both prickly pear and cholla cacti, and some grasses. Alternatively, in the river valleys of the transition zone, gramas and needle grasses, agave, and sotol can be found under the canopy of riverside cottonwoods and desert willows. Oak, juniper, piñon and ponderosa pines, and Douglas firs, however, dominate the wetter Madrean forest zones. Large faunal species (with the exception of the lagomorphs and mule deer) are generally restricted to the relatively well-watered sierra and transitional regions. They rarely venture into the more arid eastern sections. Carnivore species include fox, coyote, black bear, badger, raccoon, skunk, and bobcat. Including the aforementioned mule deer, artiodactyles are represented by peccary, white-tailed deer, and pronghorn antelope. Groups of fowl cluster wherever water is available and comprise duck, geese, quail, and wild turkey. The great expanses of mesquite-covered basins are generally populated by cottontail and jackrabbits. The desert scrub, grasslands, and chaparral also contain populations of small rodents, including ground squirrels, kangaroo and wood rats, as well as pocket and deer mice. These smaller mammals are often the prey of the larger reptile species that inhabit the area, such as rattlesnakes, copperheads, and hognose snakes. Smaller reptiles, like the Chihuahuan spotted whiptail and horned lizard, in the basin and range zone feed on insects. Climatic Conditions

The current nature of the environs surrounding the sites discussed herein is determined by temperature and precipitation. There is a predictable gradation of these two variables from the eastern basin and range region west to the continental divide in the Sierra Madre (Schmidt 1973). While mean annual precipitation increases as the mountains are ascended, mean annual temperatures decrease. Annual precipitation in the basins averages approximately 250 mm, while in the sierra it is closer to 450 mm. Average annual temperatures in the

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basin zone reach roughly 16°C to 18°C; in the mountains it approximates 10°C. These conditions produce an arid, warm desert zone to the east and a moist, cool mountain zone to the west. Very little, however, is known about the paleoclimate of the Casas Grandes region. A few studies have provided some information (see MacWilliams et al. 1998). For example, by examining changes in packrat middens from the middle Wisconsin (around forty-two thousand years ago) through the present, Van Devender (1990) has concluded that modern climatic and vegetation conditions were in place by four thousand years ago. Unfortunately, the Chihuahua region lacks a detailed paleoclimatological record for the late Holocene. Scott (1966), however, has published tree-ring growth curves and standardized mean growth data from the Casas Grandes region for the period AD 850 to AD 1330 (figure 1.2).1 He presents tree-ring widths as a percentage of the total growth trend (100 percent represents an average ring width for the series). A twenty-year moving average suggests that during the Viejo period (AD 600–1200), moisture levels (as represented by tree-ring growth) fluctu-

FIGURE 1.2

Tree-ring widths. (Source: Scott 1966.)

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ated randomly around 100 percent. However, during the Buena Fé phase of the Medio period (AD 1200–1275), the moving average takes a downswing. By the Paquimé phase (AD 1275–1350), there is a decline to below 70 percent. There follows a subsequent rebound from this decline with growth peaking at over 130 percent. These data suggest not only a decline in mean precipitation ca. AD 1280, but also an increase in precipitation variation for the post–AD 1280 period. Thus, climatic changes may be related to settlement aggregation, which occurred during the Medio period.2 CULTURE-HISTORY

Most researchers (Braniff 1986; Dean and Ravesloot 1993; Di Peso 1974) identify two broad cultural periods for the Casas Grandes area: a preceramic and a ceramic period. The following account of cultural sequences is divided likewise with a small preliminary section concerning the preceramic period and a larger, more detailed account of the ceramic period. Until quite recently, there has been a decided lack of interest by archaeologists in the Paleo-Indian and Archaic periods in northern Chihuahua. This has resulted in greater clarity and resolution in our knowledge of ceramic periods. Additionally, as this work is concerned with ceramic period mortuary practices, preceramic cultural patterns serve only to preface the period of interest. For complementary surveys of the culture-history of the Casas Grandes region, see Bradley (2000), Kelley and Villalpando (1996), Maxwell (2002), Minnis and Whalen (2004), Phillips (1989), Schaafsma and Riley (1999), Van Pool et al. (2005), and Whalen and Minnis (2001). Preceramic Period

While the Casas Grandes region as a whole has received significant archaeological attention since the early twentieth century, most of the focus has been upon the impressive and ubiquitous ceramic period sites. Some fieldwork was conducted on aceramic remains in the 1940s (Marrs 1949; Zingg 1940) and 1960s (Ascher and Clune 1960); however, this work was centered in southern Chihuahua. It is unclear how representative this material is of developments in the northern portion of the state. Paleo-Indian period (ca. 9500–8500 BC) artifacts have been found directly within the Casas Grandes area (Di Peso 1965; Phelps 1990a, 1990b). Diagnostic Paleo-Indian lithics include Clovis- and Plainview-type projectile points and point fragments. Unfortunately, there has

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been a paucity of research aimed at elucidating the nature of these early occupations. Most interpretations have suggested that the Chihuahuan expression of these traditions is similar to the known patterns from the greater Southwest (Phillips 1989). Equally uninvestigated are human adaptations to the Early to Middle Archaic period (8500–1500 BC) in the Casas Grandes region (Huckell 1996, 331, 338). Beckett and MacNeish (1994) have proposed a Chihuahuan Desert Tradition that they claim applies not only to southern central New Mexico but also extends into the state of Chihuahua itself. They propose that the Chihuahua Desert Tradition is represented by settlement-subsistence patterns distinct from either Cochise or Apache models. In short, they argue for microband exploitation of the desert floor and playas (in the winter) and riverine and bajadas (in the spring and fall), with aggregations into macrobands in upper alluvial zones (during the summer months). Unfortunately, their cultural sequence of four phases (spanning the 6000 BC–AD 250 time range) is based entirely on material excavated outside of Chihuahua proper. As such, it is unclear how well their sequence meshes with actual cultural developments in the Casas Grandes region. Additionally, Huckell has noted (1996, 331, 338) that all three of their Early to Middle Archaic phases (the Gardner Springs, Keystone, and Fresnal) are poorly defined with tenuous chronometric associations and should be assessed with care. The Late Archaic (1500 BC–ca. AD 500) period of the American Southwest has received quite a bit of attention (Huckell 1996, 306–7). Reevaluations of early agricultural adaptations have occurred in numerous regions throughout the greater Southwest (Carpenter et al. 1999; Chisholm and Matson 1994; Gregory 1999; Mabry 1999). Prior to the 1990s, this period in Chihuahua was known through the work of Robert Lister’s excavations in Cave Valley (Valle de los Cuevas) in the Sierra Madre directly west of Paquimé (Lister 1953, 1958). In particular, excavations in Swallow Cave revealed preceramic remains. Lister (1958, 112) argued that the lower levels (levels 8 to 14, from 42″ to 84″ in depth) of Trench 3 in this cave represent a preceramic tradition similar to that found in Bat Cave, New Mexico. He believed that the remains indicate that during the early use of the cave, it served as a camping location with no permanent settlement. Cultural remains from this horizon included preChapalote maize, acorn shells, small amounts of ash and charcoal, and utilized stone flakes and cores.

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While others have recently noted scattered Late Archaic remains in the region (Phelps 1991, 1994), most interest has been focused upon the impressive remains discovered at a number of hilltop (cerros) sites scattered along the Río Casas Grandes valley (Hard and Roney 1998, 1999; Hard et al. 1999). At least five of these cerros de trincheras have been identified. Each contains hundreds of artificially constructed terraces along their slopes. The surfaces of these sites contained hundreds of both groundstone artifacts (manos and metates) as well as diagnostic Late Archaic projectile points. Excavations have uncovered ubiquitous maize remains as well as evidence for the domestication of amaranth from paleobotanical samples. Radiocarbon essays on annuals (including Zea mays) have dated three of the sites (Cerros Juanaqueña, los Torres, and Vidal) to between BC 1300 and BC 100. The appearance of large, aggregated Late Archaic settlements with evidence of significant domesticate utilization in this region, as well as in southeastern Arizona and the Colorado Plateau, has led to a rethinking of the transition to agriculture in the North American desert west (Doelle 1999). Unfortunately, the period between the end of the Late Archaic/Early Agriculture period (ca. AD 500) and the beginning of the first well-established ceramic period (AD 600) is poorly understood. I suspect that many of the horizons from Lister’s Cave Valley excavations fall between his preceramic Swallow Cave material and layers deposited near the surface that show clear affiliation with later developments in the Río Casas Grandes valley. Lister described the materials from these levels as generally conforming to Mogollon cultural patterns known from sites in the American Southwest. Additionally, some of the material from Zingg’s (1940) excavations in southern Chihuahua may fall within this time period. Until explicit investigations of this time period are undertaken, it is impossible to characterize it in other than the most general terms. Ceramic Period

Soon after Di Peso published his original dating sequence for the ceramic period of the Casas Grandes region, controversy erupted over the temporal placement of his various culture-history periods (LeBlanc 1980; Lekson 1984a). In dating periods, Di Peso utilized various chronometric and relative dating techniques (Di Peso et al. 1974:4, 8–36). The former included dendrochronology, radiocarbon dating, and obsidian hydration. The latter involved comparisons of

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stratigraphy and architectural superposition as well as ceramic cross-dating. Di Peso organized his chronological framework by proposing a series of periods and subdividing each period into a succession of phases. This chronological sequence was developed primarily upon the basis of his excavations at the Convento, Paquimé, and Reyes sites, with the later contact and historic periods and phases based upon materials from the San Antonio de Padua mission as well as ethnohistoric documentation. Di Peso’s original temporal sequence is displayed in figure 1.3. Unfortunately, only ten radiocarbon samples from the entire Casas Grandes project were ever processed. The ninety-eight obsidian hydration samples that were processed all come from late contexts (Diablo through European-contact phases) and are therefore not helpful in defining the time ranges for the earlier phases and periods. The dendrochronological samples therefore became the chronometric basis of Di Peso’s scheme. While the Joint Casas Grandes Expedition collected 410 tree-ring samples from the various sites, only seventy-eight of the samples (exclusively from Paquimé) produced dates. Of these, only fifty-three were individual dates and not duplicate samples of the same tree. Furthermore, all of the dated samples were from construction beams that had been intentionally shaped into squared timbers. As noted by Dean and Ravesloot (1993), Di Peso treated these samples as if true cutting dates for the original trees differed little from the derived dates. It seems clear now, however, that the dates obtained from the samples grossly overestimated their age (in some case by as much as one hundred years or more). On the basis of these noncutting tree-ring dates, Di Peso ignored much of the available ceramic cross-dating (Phillips and Carpenter 1999). In this regard, it is also pertinent to note that most previous researchers had agreed (on the basis of intrusive ceramics) that the Paquiméan florescence probably occurred during the Pueblo III-IV transition (ca. AD 1200–1400) within the Southwestern Pecos Classification (Brand 1933, 1935, 1943; Carey 1931, 1951; Kidder 1916, 1962 [1924]; Lister 1938, 1946). Data on trade wares derived from the American Southwest reported by Di Peso et al. (1974:4, 29–33) generally support this supposition. However, instead of questioning the accuracy of the tree-ring dates, Di Peso chose to reconsider the traditional temporal placement of at least one major ceramic type. Thus, his acceptance of the tree-ring dates placed him in the position of having to claim that Gila Polychrome ceramics

FIGURE 1.3

Casas Grandes temporal periods and dates.

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were an eleventh-century phenomenon, rather than a fourteenth-century one as generally accepted (Dean and Ravesloot 1993; Di Peso 1976; see also Rakita and Ravesloot 2008 for a discussion of Di Peso’s thinking at the time). Di Peso et al. (1974:4, 132–33) used the stratigraphic position of various architectural forms (in conjunction with some chronometric dates) to assign the various features, contexts, and assemblages to the defined periods and phases. This technique was likewise applied to all burial features (Di Peso et al. 1974:8: 342, 357). This process was slightly more difficult at the architecturally more complex site of Paquimé and led to uncertainty in phase associations for some contexts and burials. However, Di Peso’s original determinations as to stratigraphy remain unchallenged at this point; thus, the relative temporal positions of the various materials seems reliable. The chronological scheme utilized in this study takes as its basis Di Peso’s original period-phase sequences. However, the absolute placements of the various temporal units are adjusted on the basis of reanalyses of the two important chronometric datasets (see Rakita 2001). The revised period-phase dates utilized in this study are presented in figure 1.3 and table 1.1. Convento Phase (AD 600–800)3

The first phase of the Viejo period was named after the nearby ruins of the historic mission of San Antonio de Padua. Originally, it was assumed that the area to the east of the church and campo santo would contain historic-period dwellings of Christianized indigenous groups. However, trenching uncovered the prehistoric remains of a village (CHIH:D:9:2) that comprise the primary dataset on Viejo period culture. The earliest aspect of this community is repreTable 1.1.

Revised Ceramic Period Dating for the Casas Grandes Region

Period

Phase

Viejo

Convento Pilon Perros Bravos Buena Fé Paquimé Diablo Robles Periodic Spanish contact San Antonio de Padua Apache

Medio

Tardio Españoles

Di Peso’s Original Dates (AD)

Dates Used in This Study (AD)

700–900 900–950 950–1060 1060–1205 1205–1261 1261–1340 1340–1519 1519–1660 1660–1686 1686–1821

600–800 800–975 975–1200 1200–1275 1275–1350 1350–1475 1475–1550 1550–1660 1660–1686 1686–1821

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sented by ten domestic structures surrounding a plaza approximately 40m in diameter. Within the center of this plaza, a larger community house was located. The plaza also contained four storage pits and twelve subsurface burials. Domestic houses are represented by houses-in-pits; that is, support posts for the walls were sunk into the floor of the pit, rather than outside the pit (as is common with pit houses). There was no evidence of wall or floor plaster, and entryways were crude and irregularly placed. House living floors average 10 m2 and contained the remains of unlined, basin-shaped pit-hearths. The original excavators suggested that wall poles bent towards the center and reinforced with cross framing, formed the superstructure of these dwellings. This framework was then covered with some type of plant material that was subsequently covered with earth. The much larger (45 m2) community structure was located within the approximate center of these domestic buildings. Unlike the houses-in-pits, this rounded building had two rows of wall-support postholes as well as six central support postholes. One round, abodelined, and collared hearth was uncovered on the floor of this structure. The superstructure was possibly made up of a sloping roof supported by poles running between the tops of the wall and central support posts. Given the number and size of the postholes, as well as the overall size of the floor area covered, Di Peso et al. (1974:1, 110–11) suggested that the entire community probably built this structure. It is possible that this central building acted either as a communal center for ritual activities (not unlike kivas to the north) or as a communal living space for some portion of the site’s population. There were no indications from the excavation of any of the Convento phase structures that the larger structure represented the domicile of an elite family. Nothing is known of other Convento phase settlements within the region. It is, however, probable that other similar communities existed along the Río Casas Grandes and other drainages within the area. It is also unclear whether the location of the Convento site is representative of or at variance with the entire settlement pattern for the phase. Certainly some of the strata directly underlying the Medio period levels in the Cave Valley caves represent Viejo period contexts (Lister 1958). Unfortunately, it is impossible to tell whether they represent the Convento phase specifically or other Viejo period phases. Kelley et al. (1999, 66) have reported two sites (Ch-159 and Ch-152) that have been radiocarbon-dated to the Viejo period and that are located along “river terraces in similar physiographic settings to the Convento site.”

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There is a decided paucity of information about Viejo period subsistence practices (Di Peso et al. 1974:8, 247). This lack of information makes it extremely difficult to characterize potential changes in subsistence through the Convento to Perros Bravos phases. What seems certain is that Viejo people were utilizing maize (of the eight- to twelve-row varieties) to some degree. Di Peso et al. uncovered twelve specimens of Zea mays, and these samples represented the only plant remains recovered from the Convento site. Some idea of the reliance upon maize can be gained by examining the distribution of potential maize-grinding tools within the three phases (Di Peso et al. 1974:7, 24). Of the eight metates (or metate fragments) found at the Convento site, only one was associated with the Convento phase; one was associated with the Pilon phase, and four were found in Perros Bravos contexts (two others were not associated with any particular component). Of nineteen Viejo period manos associated with particular phases, one came from a Convento phase context, three from the Pilon phase, and fifteen from the Perros Bravos phase. Furthermore, fifteen specimens of mammal remains and three bird bones were recovered from the Convento site. The majority (66.7 percent) of the animal remains were large mammals like American bison (either Bison bison or Bovinae sp.) and pronghorn antelope (Antilocapra americana). Domesticated dog (Canis familiaris) and jackrabbits (Lepus californicus) made up a smaller percentage (33.3 percent) of the animals recovered. This suggests that while maize may have been an increasingly important resource, the hunting of large game species was significant. The avian fauna were from one Mexican duck (Anas platyrhynchos novimexicana), one turkey (M. gallopavo), and one macaw (Ara sp.). This indicates that both turkeys and macaws were available (but perhaps not common) in the area before the beginning of the Medio period in AD 1200. Ceramics from this earliest phase of the Viejo period are generally similar to those found in the Mogollon cultural tradition to the north (Lister 1953; LeBlanc 1982; Sayles 1936a, 1936b). Based on ceramic evidence, Di Peso argued that five painted types, five textured types, and one redware type characterized the Convento phase. The textured ware types included various forms of corrugations, scoring, incision, and tool-punched decoration. The redware (Convento Redware) was not always slipped but was always fired such that the exterior surface was reddish to reddish-brown. The painted wares were all decorated with red paint on a brown surface. Typical design elements in-

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cluded geometric shapes such as straight lines, chevrons, triangles, terraces, and diamonds. No plainware ceramics were recovered from the Convento phase contexts. Throughout the Viejo period, jar forms exceed bowl forms. No exotic or effigy forms were recovered. The Convento phase peoples seem to have depended upon locally produced items as there is limited evidence for long-distance exchange. For example, locally produced ceramics dominate the Convento phase assemblage. Of the 222 nonlocal ceramic sherds found at the Convento site, none were from Convento phase contexts. Additionally, ornaments made from marine shell (which become quite popular in preceding phases and periods) were also absent from the Convento phase material. Of the twelve burial features from this phase, all were in fairly shallow (ca. 80 cm deep), unlined pits located below the surface of the plaza area. These pits were sealed with large stones or broken groundstone artifacts and soil. All were single, primary burials. Most individuals were interred flexed and either on their left or right side, though two were supine. Arms were crossed near the pelvis, abdomen, or thorax. There was no consistent orientation or facing to these individuals. In all, ten adults and two juveniles were buried; of the ten adults, five were identified as males and two as females. No grave goods were interred with any of these burials, possibly suggesting that status distinctions were not being either indicated or negotiated during funerary rituals. Pilon Phase (AD 800–975)

The remains of the Pilon phase occupation of the Convento site are superimposed over those of the Convento phase. Additionally, some information on the Pilon phase was gleaned from contemporaneous components from the Reyes No. 1 and 2 sites (CHIH:D:9:13&14; Di Peso et al. 1974:4, 174–77). In all, twelve pit houses and one community house were uncovered at the Convento site, while one pit house and one community house were exposed at Reyes No. 2, and one pit house at Reyes No. 1. The Pilon component at the Convento site also contained twenty-eight extramural pits of various functions as well as twenty-two burial features. In all, the Pilon phase occupation of the Convento site covered over 3,000 m2. During the Pilon phase, domestic structures changed from houses-in-pits to true pit houses. The important distinction between the two is the placement of wall-support posts on the edge of the excavated pit in the latter and

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their placement inside of the pit in the former. These structures were somewhat smaller than in the previous phase, averaging only 8 m2. The walls and floors of these buildings were plastered. However, the superstructures of these houses were probably not much different than in the Convento phase. Shallow openings on one side allowed access to the interior space. Fire hearths were common features on the floors of most of these structures. The Pilon phase saw the rebuilding and slight enlargement of the original Convento phase community house. The new structure enclosed a space of approximately 68 m2. It appears that this process involved completely razing the original walls and roof, rebuilding the superstructure, and replastering the floor with the installation of a new hearth. Additionally, unlike domestic spaces, this building maintained the traditional house-in-pit foundation form of the Convento phase. As noted by Di Peso (1974:1, 113), this architectural time lag in public buildings would also occur during the subsequent Perros Bravos phase as well. House 5 of the Pilon phase component of the Reyes No. 2 site may represent another Pilon phase community house. Of all the three phases of the Viejo period, settlement patterns for the Pilon phase are best understood. Lamentably, little is known. As mentioned, three sites were excavated that contained Pilon phase components. Of these three sites, all were along the western side of the Río Casas Grandes, and two of them had community houses. These three sites probably do not represent the entirety of Pilon phase site types. However, they do suggest that the phase is characterized by small agricultural villages along major river valleys. Additionally, the fact that at least two had their own (quite similar) community houses suggests that no hierarchy of site authority or power was in place by this time period. By the Pilon phase, two more painted red-on-brown and four more textured ceramic styles were introduced. Additionally, it is during this phase that the first plainware ceramics were produced. Other than this, ceramic forms and types do not change significantly from the preceding phase. However, this phase does see the appearance of evidence for long-distance trade. In all, ten nonlocal ceramic sherds were reported. Six were from the Mimbres Valley, two from the Little Colorado River region, one from the San Pedro/Santa Cruz valleys in Arizona, and one from the Rio Grande. While not impressive in number, these sherds do suggest that some ceramic items were traded and that most (if not all) of them were from the American

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Southwest. Conversely, marine shell was imported from the south, probably from locations along the Mexican west coast. Thirty-eight shell objects were recovered from Pilon phase contexts. Most of these were whole- or cut-shell beads or pendants, and thirty-seven (97 percent) were recovered from burials. Of course, it is unclear whether these exotic objects were acquired through down-the-line exchange or direct procurement. Their relatively low numbers and high diversity of forms suggest an opportunistic acquisition process. Twenty-two Pilon phase burials were uncovered by excavators. Again, most burials were in sealed pits (also approximately 80 cm deep) within the community’s plaza area. Two unsealed burial pits were located within the fill of previously abandoned structures. All were primary, and most were single interments. Three multiple burials were encountered. Facing and orientation of the deceased, as with the Convento phase, were variable. All individuals were flexed either on their left or right side, though four were placed in a supine position. Arms were most often crossed over the torso; however, some were placed at the sides of the body. Of these twenty-five individuals, thirteen were adults, and twelve were juveniles; three were male, six were female, and sixteen were of unknown sex. Burials of this phase are the first in the period to include grave goods. While most had none, one burial had four items (the maximum). Items in Pilon phase burials included shell beads and pendants, redon-brown ware bowls, plain and corrugated jars, bowls, awls, sherds, and one domestic dog. Perros Bravos Phase (AD 975–1200)

The final component unearthed at the Convento site was that of the Perros Bravos phase. Thirteen domestic structures with three associated plazas, one public building, thirty-three burials, and seven outside pits constitute the material remains of the component. A number of radical cultural changes occurred during this period. Principal among them was the change in domestic house structures. While previous houses were placed within or surrounding rounded pits, buildings of this phase were entirely aboveground and were rectilinear in form. Walls were made of wattle-and-daub built between corner support posts. Roofs were probably constructed with cross-posts supporting small latilla-like material with mud or adobe filling. Floors were well plastered but generally lacked features other

22

CHAPTER 1

than a few hearths. Average surface area for these rooms was 19 m2, and rooms were often clustered into adjoining groups. A single radiocarbon sample (CG(c)/175) of combined corn kernels and charcoal recovered from the floor of one of these rooms resulted in a calibrated date of AD 890 ± 190. The community or ceremonial house utilized in the Pilon phase was abandoned during the Perros Bravos phase. A new public structure was constructed within the east plaza area of the site. This building retained the traditional rounded form of the preceding two phases but was approximately half the size. The floor was well plastered and contained four central postholes, a hearth, and two ash pits. No other Perros Bravos phase sites have been excavated.4 Thus, it is unclear what settlement patterns might have prevailed during this period. Di Peso suggested (1974:1, 184) that the lack of interior hearths in Perros Bravos phase rooms might signal seasonal (summer) occupation of the site. While mobility may have been a factor in the low number of fireplaces, it is equally possible that postdepositional processes or recovery techniques limited the number of hearths identified. Alternatively, hearths could have been placed outside structures. Certainly, the significant investment in architecture and numerous burials suggest greater residential stability. Ceramics for this phase are generally represented by a continuation of forms and styles from the Pilon phase. There is some slight increase in the use of Convento Plainware and Convento Pattern Incised Corrugated types. Additionally, ceramics from this phase include Mata Polychrome. While one sherd of this type was uncovered in a Pilon phase context, it is not until the Perros Bravos phase that this type becomes a significant part of the ceramic assemblage. Mata Polychrome is a natural extension of the usual Viejo period red-on-brown types with simply the addition of black painted design. Of all the Viejo period phases, the Perros Bravos phase shows the most impressive evidence for long-distance exchange in ceramics and shell objects. The number of trade ware sherds found in this phase increased to nineteen: fifteen from the Mimbres Valley, three from the Upper Gila and San Pedro/Santa Cruz valleys of Arizona, and one from the Mexican west coast. In terms of shell items, these continued to originate from the western coast of Mexico. In all, 1,336 separate shell pieces were recovered from Perros Bravos contexts. These items represented nine different species (twice as many as the previous phase) and were processed into many different forms, including

INTRODUCTION

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beads, pendants, tinklers, and bracelets. In fact, ornaments made from shell constitute over 98 percent of all ornaments from this phase. Furthermore, 1,328 (99 percent) of these shell objects were included in burials from this phase. Shell objects thus seem to be increasingly important prestige items in the Casas Grandes region at this time. Consequently, it may be reasonable to suggest that there was an intensification of contacts with other regions. Either this contact was with peoples in contiguous areas with whom they could engage in down-the-line style trade, or they were directly procuring these objects from the original sources. Thirty-three burials were assigned to the Perros Bravos phase on the basis of stratigraphy and architectural association. Of these, twenty-eight were single and five were multiple interments. All, with one exception, were primary, located in subsurface pits either in the plaza or intrusively in previously abandoned structures. The one secondary burial was that of an adult male placed within a pit cut into the fill of a Pilon phase pit house. As with previous phases, there was no standardized orientation. Bodies were most often placed in a flexed position on either side. However, two individuals were placed in an extended position (the first occurrences of this body position in the dataset). Arms continued to be crossed over the torso or placed along the sides of the body. The average number of grave goods increased from the preceding Pilon phase, though most individuals still had none. A maximum of eight items was found in one grave. Grave good types included the same as those found in Pilon phase burials as well as manos and metates, one copper tinkler, a stone plaque, a shell bracelet, and miscellaneous stones or minerals. Medio Period (AD 1200–1475)

The Medio period is generally regarded as the time period in which the cultural fluorescence of the Casas Grandes region reached its peak. Data for this period is almost exclusively drawn from the large and complex site of Paquimé (figures 1.4 and 1.5; a.k.a. Casas Grandes; CHIH:D:9:1) in the Río Casas Grandes drainage. Few researchers would dispute that this site was one of the largest (in both population and sheer size) and most important (politically and economically) within the prehistoric North American desert west. Certainly it has (and had) few rivals. As with the Convento site, Paquimé was excavated by the Joint Casas Grandes Expedition under Di Peso’s direction between 1958 and 1961. At its height, this site covered over 750,000 m2 and may

24

CHAPTER 1

have housed several thousand inhabitants. The Medio period is broken into three sequential phases: the Buena Fé (AD 1200–1275), Paquimé (AD 1275–1350), and Diablo (AD 1350–1475). The first phase sees the original aggregation of people and development of the site. The Paquimé phase encompasses the period of time when Paquimé’s size and influence over the region was perhaps greatest. The final deterioration and demise of this urban center occurs sometime during the Diablo phase.

FIGURE 1.4

The site of Paquimé.

FIGURE 1.5

Photographic overview of the site of Paquimé. (Source: Courtesy of the Amerind Foundation, Dragoon, AZ. Russell Rosene, photographer, published in the Casas Grandes, Vol. 2, 291, fig. 1-2.)

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CHAPTER 1

In a recent publication, Lekson (1999b) has suggested that there may have been a considerable gap in the cultural sequence between the terminal Viejo– Perros Bravos phase and the initial Medio–Buena Fé phase. He bases this conclusion on the supposed early dates for various trade ware pottery types (especially Mimbres Black-on-White and Mimbres Boldface) found in Viejo period contexts, which he states date to the early 1100s and a date of AD 1200/1250 for the beginning of the Buena Fé phase. However, recent work with local ceramic types both in the Casas Grandes and Babicora districts have identified pottery types that appear to be transitional between the bichrome red-on-brown wares of the Viejo period and the polychrome types of the Medio period (Kelley and Burd 1999; Christine Van Pool, personal communication 2000). These new discoveries, as well as previously documented similarities between the Viejo and Medio periods in terms of architecture, shell trade routes, pottery, and metal objects, suggest that significant in situ development and continuity existed within the AD 1100 to AD 1200 time period (Schaafsma and Riley 1999, 245–48). In fact, it is this in situ development, in terms of both ceramics and other aspects of culture, that distinguishes the Medio period. Likewise, Butler (1971) found considerable similarity in the frequencies of cranial and dental nonmetric traits in human skeletal remains from the Viejo and Medio period populations, suggesting biological continuity between the two. The following sections deal with the cultural and social features of the Medio period. Architecture

The site of Paquimé was itself built on top of the ruins of a Viejo period (perhaps Pilon phase) pit house village. Di Peso and his colleagues uncovered seven pit houses and nine extramural pits under one of the Medio period plazas at the site (Di Peso et al. 1974:4, 319–22). However, the Medio period ruins represent a further development of Perros Bravos phase architecture. The initial Buena Fé component is represented by at least nine, and perhaps as many as twenty, single-story “ranch-style” compounds constructed of puddled adobe walls. These compounds are clusters of aboveground, rectilinear roomblocks. Each set of rooms was built against an outside wall that also surrounded associated plaza areas. Additionally, several architectural features characteristic of the Medio period are introduced at this time. These features minimally include T-shaped doorways, raised fire hearths, bed platforms built

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within alcoves, and colonnades. A single water-control system fed the entire community, and at least one compound (Unit 11) had an associated effigy mound in the shape of a long plumed serpent. Population estimates for the site at this time range from one hundred to seven hundred residents. By the late Buena Fé or the beginning of the Paquimé phase, the site entered a period of significant reorganization and reconstruction, perhaps triggered by an unintended fire that apparently occurred in Units 16 and 19 (with evidence of burning in Rooms 3-16, 4-16, 1-19, and 2-19). However, renovation of the site may have been guided by intentional planning of the site’s elites. In this event, the burning of Units 16 and 19 may have been an attempt to raze these structures before reconstruction. Whatever the reason, reconstruction obviously displaced a portion of the site’s inhabitants, since temporary jacal structures were constructed in several plaza areas across the site (e.g., Unit 6, Plaza 2; see Di Peso et al. 1974:4, 331, figs. 226-4 and 238-4). Long trenching and wall casts without breaks, as well as extensive remodeling, indicate that much of the new construction was preplanned. Additionally, the site’s water system was redesigned. The remodeling of Unit 11 (which was subsequently abandoned during the Paquimé phase) illustrates the changes that occurred in the internal arrangement of these compounds at this time. Wilcox (1999, 102, emphasis in original) has conducted a graph syntactic analysis of this unit and concludes, In general it appears that the social solidarity of groups occupying Unit 11, which had formerly been quite strong, became marked by a sharp contrast between internal and external social relations and was weakened significantly, having no internal ceremonial focus. Each of the four plaza groups has a more or less equal relation to the Carrier [open space surrounding the unit] and hence to the rest of the Casas Grandes community. Perhaps it was during the late Buena Fé phase that the outside, public ceremonial facilities became critically important as the locus of community solidarity. One wonders, for example, if the nearby serpent mound was built during the late Buena Fé phase.

Regardless, the reorganization resulted in a significantly altered architectural plan for the site. There continued to be some isolated structures scattered across the site, but these seem to be set aside for specific functional purposes (e.g., Unit 1 as a mescal or pulque production center and Unit 12 as a locus of macaw aviculture). However, multistoried, apartment-style buildings became

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the norm for the rest of the site. While previously roomblocks were separated, at this time most compounds were changed so as to abut one another, thus making most of the site one large, contiguous structure. The overall shape of this structure closely resembles an upside-down letter U with the open end pointing south.5 The population of the site at this point probably ranged between nine hundred and fifteen hundred, according to Di Peso’s estimates. Furthermore, there was a significant expansion of ceremonial or public architecture during this phase. For the most part, these new ceremonial spaces were placed on the (western) outside edge of the site and included platform mounds (figure 1.6), ballcourts, reservoirs, and special burial and effigy mounds. By the Diablo phase, population expansion (either through local population growth or through in-migration) resulted in a general failure of architectural planning. This failure is evident from the extensive remodeling of many portions of the site and generally involved both the haphazard addition of domestic space as well as the domestic occupation of formerly public spaces. Examples include colonnades being enclosed, rooms being added on in plaza spaces, and at least one trash-filled ramp being constructed to provide access to roof spaces. An additional indication of the disorderliness of this building expansion was the general decline in quality of building materials and forms. These new habitation facilities were probably necessary, with the population of the city approaching somewhere between fifteen hundred and two thousand, or more. By the end of the phase, however, some disintegration of the community, either from internal or external cause, is apparent. Portions of the site were burned and others abandoned. This suggests that the elites lost their capacity to control at least portions of the site’s population. Additionally, Di Peso suggested that hundreds of unburied corpses scattered throughout the site suggest some catastrophic end to the city. Settlement Patterns

Several hundred Medio period sites have been identified in the northwestern Chihuahua region over the past century (Brand 1933; Di Peso et al. 1974:4, 6–7; Kelley et al. 1999; Sayles 1936b; Whalen and Minnis 2001). In fact, Medio period sites so dominate the record in the area that it is difficult to identify Viejo period sites without overlying Medio components. Various excavations continue to demonstrate a locational consistency in settlement positioning across these two periods. Surveys and excavations in the area west of

FIGURE 1.6

Mound of the Cross, Paquimé. (Source: Courtesy of the Amerind Foundation, Dragoon, AZ. Russell Rosene, photographer, published in the Casas Grandes, Vol. 2, 408, fig. 110-2.)

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Paquimé by Whalen and Minnis (2001, 103–6) show that Medio period sites were constructed on top of Viejo period habitation locales. Likewise, the joint Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia–University of New Mexico–Museum of New Mexico excavations at the Galeana site in the Santa Maria drainage have identified a possible Viejo period component underlying Medio period roomblocks. However, Medio period sites are not uniformly large, multiple-roomblock sites. There is a range of site sizes and types. On the small end are isolated field house structures, trincheras (i.e., linear rock alignments often situated on slope lands and presumed to be water- or erosion-control features; see Minnis et al. 2006), and rock-art sites (often near springs or other important resources). Other site types include clusters of large roasting pits, ballcourts, and hilltop signaling stations referred to as atalayas (Pitezel 2007; Swanson 1997). Mediumsized sites include those consisting only of one or two small roomblocks such as the Casa Chica site east of Galeana or cave sites in the Sierra Madre, like Cuarenta Casas and the Cave Valley sites. Finally, there seems to be no absence of large, aggregated centers composed of numerous roomblocks with complex architectural patterns. Frequently these sites include some of the features mentioned above (e.g., ballcourts, roasting pits, and trincheras). Among these large regional centers are Paquimé itself, Galeana, Minnis and Whalen’s Site 242, Villa Ahumada, Arroyo Seco (Casa del Fuego), and the El Presidente Site. What seems clear is that during the Viejo-Medio period transition, significant population aggregation occurred across much of the region. While a conclusive explanation for this phenomenon has yet to be advanced, shifting climatic patterns may be one reason. As mentioned above, Scott’s (1966) data suggests that the Medio period probably represented an era of increasing variation in precipitation levels. Thus, populations of agriculturalists during this period may have experienced less reliable levels of moisture from year to year and may have had a reduced ability to predict future moisture levels. While some years may have been exceptionally good (i.e., above-average moisture levels), other years would have been devastatingly dry. Leonard and Reed (1993) have argued that given reduction in water necessary for agriculture, groups sometimes respond by increasing available labor. Additional labor can be allocated to agricultural techniques that offset potential moisture deficiencies (e.g., through so-called pot watering or the construction of water-control features, like trincheras). Available labor can be increased by enlarging the density of

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population at any one particular site, that is by having populations aggregate at one locus. Moreover, in such a situation, populations should aggregate in places most conducive to labor-intensive agricultural practices. Minimally, these would include river valleys and locations with significant floodplain or alluvial land (see Minnis et al. 2006). Indeed, these seem to be exactly the places utilized by Early Medio period populations (e.g., at Paquimé, along the Río Piedras Verdes and Arroyo La Tinaja, in the Arroyo Seco Valley, at Galeana near the Río Santa María) where water is most available and cultivatable land is abundant. Evidence from human burials also supports the idea of a rapid increase in population during the Early Medio period. Utilizing reported age estimates for skeletal remains from the Early and Late Medio period samples, I was able to calculate Buikstra et al.’s (1986) D30+/D5+ proportional estimate of fertility. Proportions were 0.7143 for the Early Medio and 0.5526 for the Late Medio. While not significantly different at the ␣ = 0.05 level, the drop in this proportion may nonetheless represent either increasing fertility or increasing in-migration to Paquimé. In summary, by the Buena Fé phase of the Medio period, there is significant evidence at Paquimé of the aggregation of small, perhaps kin-based, village groups in one location. While these groups are cohabiting in one area, they do seem to be maintaining a certain degree of autonomy (by, for example, maintaining separate domestic roomblock clusters with enclosed plaza areas). However, by the Paquimé phase, population increases, either through local population growth or through further in-migration to the site, resulting in the need to augment the amount of living space. The site’s emergent elites seem to have taken this opportunity to significantly remodel and reorganize the domestic and public architecture of the site. In part, this revitalization seems to have involved an increased investment in public and ceremonial architecture as well as the breakdown of some of the kin-based solidarity exhibited in the Buena Fé phase. By the Diablo phase, population increase at the site led to haphazard addition of domestic spaces. Ultimately, however, the cohesion of the enlarged population could no longer be maintained. The site (as with other centers in the region) was essentially abandoned by the end of the Medio period. It is currently unknown where these populations migrated to, though the Sierra Madre to the west is one likely possibility (see Phillips 2008 regarding the timing and nature of the end of the Casas Grandes phenomenon).

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CHAPTER 1

Subsistence

Maize seems to have been an extremely important staple in Medio period diet. Of the 355 specimens of plant remains found at Paquimé, 255 (or 72 percent) were samples of corn. Cobs of maize are also ubiquitous in excavations at other Medio period sites. Evidence from human remains in the form of dental caries rates and stable isotope levels suggest diets with maize as a significant component. Dental pathology indicates general levels of carbohydrate food in the diet (Powell 1985; Turner, C. 1979), and the caries rate (expressed as a ratio of teeth with caries to number of teeth examined) reported by Butler (1971) for the Medio period sample is 5.2 percent. This rate falls within ranges reported for agricultural societies. Additionally, isotope carbon levels for two skeletons excavated from a Medio period context at the El Zurdo site in western central Chihuahua indicate quite high reliance upon maize (Hill, W. 1992). As reliance upon plants utilizing the C4 photosynthetic pathway (such as maize) increases, ␦13C values obtained from bone samples increase (see Ambrose 1993 for a detailed discussion of the technique). Thus, highly positive values can suggest a significant dependence upon maize (which would be the C4 plant most available in the region). The ␦13C values obtained from the El Zurdo skeletons were –7.1 and –7.2. For comparative purposes, even mean ␦13C values from mid-continental Mississippian samples (intensive corn agriculturalists) are not higher than –11.0 (Buikstra 1988; Buikstra et al. 1987). While the ␦13C values for the El Zurdo samples may be no higher than the rest of the Southwest (e.g., they match values from Pecos Pueblo reported by Spielmann et al. 1990 and Basketmaker II samples from Cedar Mesa by Chisholm and Matson 1994), they are still quite high. Certainly other C4 or CAM plants (as well as consumption of animals subsisting on C4 grasses) may be contributing to these signatures. However, it is considerably unlikely that such values would result from diets not heavily dominated by maize consumption. Medio period peoples also utilized cotton, gourds, squashes, and a variety of wild plants, including agave, mesquite beans, piñon, and walnuts. However, Di Peso et al. (1974:8, 308–17) report no remains of beans (Phaseolus sp.) being recovered from any of the Medio period contexts. What is certain is that an extensive irrigation and water-control system was found not just at the site of Paquimé itself but throughout the region as well

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(Doolittle 1993; Minnis et al. 2006; Schmidt and Gerald 1988). At its height, the water system at Paquimé included three reservoirs, numerous acequias serving the needs of the various roomblocks, and an underground, walk-in well. It seems likely that this system was not designed solely to provide water for people but to plants as well. Maize is a likely candidate, but the raising of cotton and other domesticates cannot be ruled out. Di Peso also claimed that numerous trincheras and other water-control devices in the mountain areas to the west of the site were designed to control and protect the irrigation system in and around Paquimé. However, recent studies have concluded that such features were not (and may not have been intended to be) effective for this purpose (Doolittle 1993; Schmidt and Gerald 1988). They were, however, quite good at improving the arability of local terrain (Minnis et al. 2006). Extremely little is known of the dietary contribution of various meat resources for the region over much of the ceramic period. Di Peso et al. recovered only fifteen fauna bone specimens from the Convento site. An additional 824 specimens were encountered at Paquimé. However, there does appear to be some evidence for a shift from larger- to smaller-sized game during the Viejo-Medio period transition (Di Peso et al. 1974:8, 244). As noted earlier, 66 percent of the Viejo period specimens were from large animals (bison and antelope). During the Medio period, this percentage dropped to only 39 percent, while other game (such as jackrabbits and deer) became more important (at 31 percent, as compared to only 13.3 percent during the Viejo). This change in resource procurement may represent an increased reliance on garden hunting in and around fields or hunting in the foothills of mountains, since these are preferred habitats for jackrabbits and deer. A similar conclusion has been reached by Hodgetts (1996) for the El Zurdo site, a Medio period settlement in the Babicora basin to the south. However, at least one site within the region, the Villa Ahumada site on the eastern edge of the Casas Grandes region, has provided potential evidence for large-scale hunting of lepus species. Cruz-Antillon and Maxwell (1999, 48) report having recovered over ten thousand specimens of four different lagomorph species. Indeed, of the identified specimens from the site (n = 11,196), over 95 percent were from lepus species. Further investigation will be necessary to evaluate this find, but the dominance of lagomorph species does suggest considerable reliance upon this resource either for food or other raw materials (bone and/or fur).

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CHAPTER 1

Equally important is recovery of specimens of turkey and macaw from the Paquimé site. While these species were also encountered in Viejo period contexts, they become strikingly important during the Medio period. A total of 344 common turkeys and 503 macaws were uncovered at the site and represented over 90 percent of identified bird remains (Di Peso et al. 1974:8, fig. 310-8). Of these, 300 of the turkeys and 449 of the macaws were interred in intentional burial pits throughout the city (figure 1.7). The fact that the remains of so many of these birds were buried, rather than deposited in trash heaps, suggests that they were raised for ritual rather than subsistence purposes. Five turkey burials were also discovered at the El Zurdo site (Hodgetts 1996, 156). Some possible explanations are that they were the source of ritually important feathers or that they themselves were ceremonially important as sacrifices. The latter interpretation is supported by the fact that many of these birds were discovered without their heads. The variety of other consumed fauna seems to have increased significantly during the Medio period as well. While only four local species were recovered

FIGURE 1.7

Sacrificed turkey burials, Unit 13. (Source: Courtesy of the Amerind Foundation, Dragoon, AZ. Tommy Carroll, photographer, published in the Casas Grandes, Vol. 2, 568, fig. 354-2.)

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from Viejo period contexts, thirty different species were found in Medio period sites. This increasing breadth in fauna types may relate to increasing difficulty in obtaining necessary dietary protein associated with higher human population densities. Additional species utilized in the Medio period include two species of fish (Gar and Rio Grande Chub), various turtle species, lizards and snakes, pocket gophers, kangaroo and wood rats, coyotes, and domesticated dogs. Of these various animal resources, only domesticated dogs accounted for over 3 percent of the faunal remains recovered from Medio period contexts. Ceramics

Perhaps the most readably recognized aspect of the Medio period in the Casas Grandes region is the development of distinctive polychrome ceramic types. As with the notable changes in settlement patterns and architecture, the Medio period saw several shifts in the ceramist’s craft. In all, the Joint Casas Grandes Expedition at Paquimé recovered over seven hundred thousand sherds and nine hundred restorable vessels. Overall vessel sizes in the Medio period show a slight increase from the previous period. There is an increasing proportion of jars relative to bowls in the Medio period. Additionally, the period sees the introduction of a variety of eccentric vessel forms, from human and animal effigies to bottles and cruciform-shaped containers. The general manufacturing techniques of textured and painted wares improve within the period. These improvements included finer paste texture, more symmetrical vessel formation, and more precise and elaborate painted decoration (Sprehn 2003). The most dramatic changes, though, occurred in vessel decoration. While little changed in terms of plain and textured ware-surface treatment, the Medio period saw the development or refinement of several ceramic types. Redwares were slipped and polished, resulting in a distinctive monochrome type (Playas Red) to which texturing was sometimes added. A polished blackware (Ramos Negro or Ramos Black) that is also sometimes textured is introduced at this time. Most important was the elaboration of polychrome decoration (Van Pool and Van Pool 2007), which saw its initial introduction during the Perros Bravos phase in the form of Mata Polychrome. Medio period polychromes are the product of red and black painted decorations on a lighter background that can range from creamy white to light orange. Decorations range from simple geometric designs to more complex naturalistic

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CHAPTER 1

motifs. Of the polychromes, Ramos Polychrome stands out not only as the most common polychrome type recovered (at 11.8 percent of all sherds) but also the premiere example. The increasing proportion of these polychrome types is mirrored by a concomitant decline in the percentage of bichrome types. Data from surveys completed in the 1930s (Brand 1933, 1935; Carey 1931; Sayles 1936a, 1936b) have amply demonstrated that considerable geographic variation existed in the distribution of the various Medio period polychrome types (see also Fish and Fish 1999, fig. 1.6). In particular, Villa Ahumada Polychrome is localized around the middle Santa María and Carmen rivers, Babicora Polychrome around the Babicora Basin, Ramos Polychrome around Paquimé, and Carretas and Huerigo Polychrome throughout the northern Bavispe and Carretas drainages along the Sonoran-Chihuahuan border. There is equally substantial evidence for temporal variation in the frequency of these types (Rakita and Raymond 2003). Principally, it appears that at least Villa Ahumada Polychrome, Huerigos Polychrome, and perhaps Dublan Polychrome precede the development of Ramos Polychrome. Unfortunately, no data provide greater temporal resolution. Trade and Exotic Items

Commerce seems to have been an important activity for the Medio period peoples of Paquimé. A number of commodities were exchanged between the Casas Grandes area and regions to the north and the south. Principal among these were ceramics, marine shell, copper objects, and turquoise. Additionally, it is highly likely that Paquiméan avicultural endeavors made it an important source of macaws and macaw feathers for much of the greater Southwestern region (Creel and McKusick 1994; Minnis 1988; Minnis et al. 1993). Trade ware ceramics, while only representing 7.8 percent of all whole vessels and 5.8 percent of all sherds found at Paquimé, do indicate exchange between certain regions. Most of the nonlocal ceramics found at the site are from the American Southwest. In particular, Gila Polychrome represented 3.1 percent of all nonlocal sherds and 80.0 percent of all foreign vessels. El Paso Polychrome represented 2.2 percent of the trade ware sherds but only 4.2 percent of all the foreign vessels. Other important nonlocal ceramic types included White Mountain Redware (e.g., St. John’s Polychrome) and Chupadero Black-on-White. Interestingly, only one trade ware vessel was reported as hav-

INTRODUCTION

37

ing been found in a burial context at Paquimé (a Jornada Polychrome vessel in Burial 5-8). Marine shells and shell artifacts were another important commodity at Paquimé. In all, almost 1.5 tons of shell were recovered from the site. Over seventy different marine shell species were represented, most probably collected along the western Mexican shores of Sonora, Jalisco, Nayarit, and Sinaloa (Bradley 1999; Di Peso et al. 1974:8, 162–82). Of the over 3.9 million pieces recovered, 99 percent were small ornamental beads. And while over 99 percent of the shell recovered in Viejo period contexts was from inhumations, less than 1 percent of the Medio period shell artifacts were from burials. Indeed, over 99 percent of the Medio period shell came from architectural features that seem to have acted as warehouses. Rooms 18 and 15 in Unit 8 are examples of these locales. These two rooms contained over 3.5 million shell objects (or 96 percent of all the shell found at the site). Mineral resources were also important to the ancient Paquiméans, especially turquoise and copper. Approximately 1.2 kg (2.65 lbs.) of turquoise, represented by 5,895 separate pieces, were recovered from the site. Much of this material was in the form of finished personal ornaments. Over 39,000g (87 lbs.) of copper were also uncovered during excavation. Most of the 688 pieces were in the form of beads; however, 115 copper bells (also termed crotals) were also discovered. Much of both the turquoise and the copper at Paquimé was located in the warehouse area of Unit 8. Only a little less than 6 percent of all turquoise pieces were recovered from burials, while 35 percent of all copper objects were from inhumations. It is presumed that most of the turquoise found at the site was obtained from sources to the north (in New Mexico), while recent studies have suggested that the majority of the copper items were acquired from western Mexico (Vargas 1995; Weigand and Harbottle 1992). Burial and Ritual Practices

Interments as well as other ritual activities also changed significantly during the Medio period. A more detailed discussion of these practices will be provided in chapter 4; what follows is a brief summary. Over 389 burial features were excavated from the sites of Paquimé (n = 375) and Reyes 1 (n = 8) and 2 (n = 6). Within these features were 591 individual corpses (114 males, 179 females, 298 of unknown sex; 360 adults, 231 subadults). Unlike the Viejo period, the dead were not always buried in public spaces (although that tradition was

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CHAPTER 1

continued in some cases). Of the Medio period dead, 22 percent were interred in room fill or left on the floors of abandoned rooms. Another 43 percent of the burials were located under floors inside rooms. While sealed pits remained a predominant facility for burials, novel forms were also introduced, including unsealed pits or features with removable coverings, tombs, and ceramic urns. Corpse processing varied more widely, and the percentage of multiple burials increased from 11.9 percent in the Viejo period to 27.3 percent in the Medio. Most burials continued to be primary inhumations; however, new corpse-handling techniques did occur, such as secondary burials, sacrificed individuals, and two features with their corpses removed in antiquity. There was also a remarkable diversity of new corpse positions in the Medio period, with individuals placed in a seated position increasing from approximately 2 percent to 22 percent and those placed supine rising from 17 percent to 31 percent. Amounts and types of grave goods also shift with the transition from the Viejo to Medio periods. For example, the mean number of artifacts per burial feature increases from 1.0 to 2.0. The mean number of different types of artifacts per burial almost doubles from 0.8 to 1.4. Indeed, one Paquimé feature contained over sixty artifacts of twenty-eight different types. Of the 777 artifacts found in Medio period burials and the seventy found in Viejo burials, approximately 28 to 29 percent were ceramics and 17 to 18 percent were stone tools for both assemblages. However, the percentage of shell ornaments fell dramatically from 47 percent to 16 percent through time. Much of the difference seems to have been made up by ornaments made from locally obtainable stone (12 percent of all Medio period burial goods). The Medio period also saw the introduction of a variety of newly developed ritual activities. Ritual objects recovered from the site include stone and shell beads; shell tinklers; copper bells; ceremonial arrows; carved wooden and bone objects; eccentrically shaped stone and ceramic bowls; at least one altar stone; human trophy skulls; enigmatic bone skewers; musical rasps; whistles and hand drums; ceramic, stone, and bone effigy figures; and a variety of mineral deposits and pigments. These objects were used in a number of ways. For instance, ceremonial caches of shell beads were placed throughout the city in places such as the bottom of Reservoir 2 (figure 1.8) and under the floors in the corners of several rooms in Unit 14. In Room 42-8, the top portion of a human skull was inverted and set into the plastered floor; the purpose of this is unknown. Moreover, a number of ritual bundles containing exotic stone

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39

and bone objects were also found at the site. Di Peso (1974:2, 587; Di Peso et al. 1974:8, 240) suggested that these items were used ceremonially by shamans. Moreover, as mentioned above, a considerable amount of labor was invested in the construction of public ritual architecture. Three separate ballcourts were built. Two effigy mounds in the forms of a snake and a headless bird, as well as three platform mounds, were fabricated. It is unclear what activities took place in, on, and around these mounds, but at least one was probably used for astronomical or calendrical observations (Mora-Echeverría 1984; Pasahow 1993). Diablo: The End of the Medio Period

As mentioned earlier, by the Diablo phase, the population of Paquimé had grown considerably since the founding of the city. Organized and systematic architectural construction and maintenance seem to have ended at this point. This is evident in the haphazard alteration of formerly public spaces into new domestic areas. It is probable that by this point the established elites of the site

FIGURE 1.8

Cache of beads from Reservoir 2. (Source: Courtesy of the Amerind Foundation, Dragoon, AZ. Tommy Carroll, photographer, published in the Casas Grandes, Vol. 2, 347, fig. 31-2 [number 4, lower right photo].)

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CHAPTER 1

were losing control over the center’s population. An additional indicator of this deterioration in the sociopolitical control of elites is the practice of burying some individuals inside the city’s water-control system. At some point within this period of social decline, probably between the middle of the fourteenth and the middle of the fifteenth centuries, the ancient Paquiméans experienced some calamitous event that led to their abandonment of the site. A natural catastrophe, perhaps an earthquake, could have precipitated the abandonment. However, there is much evidence that the site was the scene of a human-induced disaster, perhaps even warfare. Burned wall plaster and vigas throughout the city attest to a devastating conflagration. Over a hundred corpses were scattered, unburied, throughout the city. Some of these individuals were killed by the collapse of structures around them. Others were left where they died in plazas and corridors. At least one collection of ritual items was scattered along the stairs into the underground well in Unit 8. The central burial crypt (Unit 4) was defiled, with its altar stone overturned and its three burial urns broken. Macaws were left to starve within their nesting boxes, and a considerable amount of roasted agave remained uncollected within one of the large roasting pits. There is no evidence that the site was ever reoccupied to any significant degree. Initial Spanish chronicles report that the site was in ruins by the sixteenth century. In fact, Baltasar de Obregon, the official chronicler of the first European contact with the ruins at Paquimé, declared, We asked them [the current peoples living near the Paquimé ruins] by signs where the former owners of the houses and lands of that town had gone. They replied by signs that they were settled and living six days down the river toward the north, and that they had been forced to move away on account of the war waged on them by their enemies who came from the other side of the mountains. (Hammond and Rey 1928, 207) Tardio Period: Hiatus (?)

It is unclear if the cause of the abandonment of Paquimé was repeated at other population centers throughout the Casas Grandes region. No evidence of similar devastation has been reported yet. Nor is it clear if the collapse of Paquimé was itself the cause of the general decline of the Medio period cultural complex. Regardless, the Medio period cultural pattern seems to have been in decline by around AD 1475. Di Peso proposed what he named the Tar-

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41

dio period and suggested that Paquiméans reestablished themselves and their lifeways in the sierras to the west. However, there is little evidence to support this claim (see Phillips 2008 for more extensive discussion of the collapse of Casas Grandes). The Robles phase material on which Di Peso based his argument seems to date to within the Medio period proper. Indeed, there is little to no information on the region’s culture-history between the end of the Medio period and the arrival of the Spanish. This is not to suggest that the region was completely abandoned. Some peoples probably occupied the area. However, it seems reasonable to conclude that their occupations were not as large and did not have the same impact upon the archaeological record as the Medio period ones. Sometime prior to the arrival of the Spanish, the region around the Río Casas Grandes became the homeland for a number of ethnohistorically documented tribes; minimally, these included the Jova, Jano, and Jocome, as well as the seminomadic Suma, Jumano, and Chinarra groups. When Francisco de Ibarra initially reached the ruins of Paquimé, indigenous groups were living in the area, but in an entirely different manner than the ancient Paquiméans. However, close by lived wild, coarse, and roaming people, who, rather than live in such large houses [as at Paquimé], preferred to dwell in straw shacks like wild animals, exposed to the sun, wind, and cold. They are hunters; they eat all sorts of game, wild reptiles, and acorns. The men go about naked; the women wear short skirts of tanned deerskins or cowhide. (Hammond and Rey 1928, 207)

Ibarra’s expedition was one of several European colonial parties that traversed the North American desert west during the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. Over time, as regions to the south were subdued by the Spanish colonials, the Casas Grandes region (know as Nueva Vizcaya) became a focus of their attention. Españoles Period (1660–1821)

In 1663, the Suma living in the middle Río Casas Grandes made a request to the Spanish authorities for missionaries. Accordingly, Captain Adres Lopez de Grasia was dispatched from El Paso to establish a settlement near Paquimé. By 1664, the Franciscan mission of San Antonio de Padua de Casas Grandes had been founded.

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The mission itself consisted of a church with associated campo santo, cloister, three corrals, and a walled field perhaps used for a garden (Di Peso et al. 1974:5, 916). All were constructed of adobe brick, but using European architectural design styles. To the east were approximately six crude, rectilinear structures assumed to be the homes of Christianized Suma families. The material culture found associated with the mission was overwhelmingly European in either design or manufacture: 93 percent of all personal adornment, 71 percent of tools and hardware, 98 percent of the religious objects, and 100 percent of the horse tack and warfare and hunting gear were European. Only weaving and food-preparation entailed high percentages of indigenous-style tools (100 percent and 51 percent, respectively) (Di Peso 1974:3, fig. 85-3). Twenty-eight burials were uncovered in the campo santo, and an additional seventeen were found under the floor of the church. Most burials were primary, single inhumations with the corpse placed extended on its back with the head pointed east. Of those buried, 84 percent were adults, and 16 percent were subadults. Approximately 18 percent were males, 11 percent were females, and the rest were of unknown sex. Glass ornaments, particularly beads, were the predominant grave accompaniment. A few wood and copper items were also discovered in burials. An additional forty-three bodies were uncovered in a small chapel of the church, but they were incompletely excavated. San Antonio de Padua, along with several other missions in the area, became increasingly important to Spanish activities not only in Chihuahua but also in settlements in New Mexico. In 1680, during the Great Pueblo Revolt, some of the settlers from northern New Mexico retreated to, and eventually settled at, the mission at Casas Grandes. However, the general unrest in indigenous populations continued after the initial revolt. In 1685, the military authorities at Casas Grandes tried and found guilty forty-three Sumas who were accused of planning a revolt (Di Peso 1974:3, 1018–19, note 8). Treason was a capital offense, and they were all summarily bludgeoned to death. Their bodies were buried in the small mortuary chapel, south of the entrance to the church. By 1686, most of the remaining indigenous groups had joined the Apache groups roaming the region. The Apache continued to harass the colonial efforts of the Spanish and subsequent Mexican officials into the early twentieth century (Brand 1933). The next two chapters deal with the theoretical underpinnings of this study. Together with the culture-history summarized in this chapter, they pro-

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vide the context for understanding changes in the mortuary and ritual practices of the Casas Grandes peoples. NOTES

1. Scott “pegged” his floating tree-ring sequence for Casas Grandes to a chronometric time scale by comparison with master tree-ring sequences from the U.S. Southwest. Scott found that the floating Casas Grandes series correlated significantly with these known sequences for the AD 850–1330 period (1966, 69–72). 2. On the other hand, MacWilliams et al. (1998) have suggested that the Medio period may have been more amenable to agriculture since many of the sites from this period are located in areas presently unsuitable to agricultural subsistence. 3. Some confusion can result from the names employed by Di Peso for the Viejo period materials. The Viejo period is known predominantly from material excavated from the “Convento” site located next to the historic-period mission church. However, this site contained three components (representing three subsequent occupations of the same location) that form the basis of the three Viejo period phases. The earliest temporal component (and hence phase) is called the “Convento” phase. Subsequent components/phases are the Pilon and Perros Bravos. Therefore, the name “Convento” refers both to the site as a whole and the first phase of the Viejo period. 4. It is possible, however, that the Viejo period component underlying Unit 6 at Paquimé could date to the Perros Bravos phase. Likewise, radiocarbon dates from the two Viejo period sites reported by Kelley et al. (1999, 66) have one-sigma ranges that fall within the Perros Bravos phase. 5. There are, however, some (Wilcox 1999, 98; but see Lekson 1999a, 86) who suggest that the eastern arm of the U may not have existed. This portion of the site was left unexamined by Di Peso due to the use of the area for modern habitation structures. I agree with Lekson that a closer examination of historic documents does lend support to the assertion that the eastern wing of the site did indeed exist.

2

Emergent Complexity

In this study, I follow McGuire (19831) in defining cultural complexity as being based upon two variables, heterogeneity and inequality. Heterogeneity relates to the number of different component parts or groups of individuals within a system. Inequality refers to differential influence or access to resources across those parts or individuals. In the case of the Casas Grandes cultural tradition, I am particularly interested in examining changes in the complexity of social structure (as opposed to, for example, complexity in language or mythology). In particular, this study investigates the relationship between changing horizontal and vertical status distinctions and the structure of ritual and religious systems. Societies are often characterized as being more complex when divisions of labor or differences in material wealth, access to knowledge, or decision-making authority appear. Such complexity in roles of individuals vis-à-vis one another is frequently referred to as social hierarchy. Of course, these divisions need not be organized hierarchically. A number of researchers have explored social contexts that appear to be complexly organized, yet in which the various units or divisions cannot be ranked hierarchically (Ehrenreich et al. 1995). These situations are analogous to the human brain, where there are divisions of neurological processes between various parts of the brain, while no one part can be thought to control the actions of the others. This form of complexity is referred to as heterarchy, and, while different from hierarchy, it still 45

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CHAPTER 2

represents a departure from less complex social structures in the way in which there are divisions in the allocation of workforce, resources, information, and influence. While such division may be observable within so-called small-scale societies (Flanagan 1989; Paynter 1989), they are often temporary or noninstitutionalized distinctions. That is, the complexity in socioeconomic relations found in small-scale societies is the result of social achievement. Additionally, these sorts of societies typically have a number of mechanisms to ensure overall equality through time. These include communal activities, emphasis on common kinship ties, enforced sharing of resources, surplus redistribution, and communal storage (Bender 1990; Lee 1990). Recent models suggest that long-term, institutionalized complexity emerges when these various mechanisms are circumvented (Curet and Oliver 1998; Feinman 1995; Siegel 1999). Once these mechanisms can be neutralized, ascribed, or inherited, status distinctions often emerge and can become institutionalized. In many ways, the emergence of sociopolitical complexity can be characterized as the shift from kin-based social and political structures to arrangements of multiple kin-groups in one cohesive community. This shift involves changes in the size or scale of the community as well as the concomitant problems in organizing and managing these communities. This chapter outlines the relevant theoretical background for this study and is divided into two parts. First, I describe the cross-cultural picture of the changes typically observed with the emergence of sociopolitical complexity and the major issues facing societies making this shift. In particular, I discuss the increase in community size and the ubiquitous change seen in religious systems associated with the emergence of complexity. Second, I outline the model used in this study to explain how sociopolitical complexity develops and the role that religious systems play in that development. In particular, the model focuses on the role of religion in facilitating the shift from fairly kin-based communities to communities made up of unrelated (or distantly related) individuals. WHAT DOES THE EMERGENCE OF COMPLEXITY LOOK LIKE?

In beginning the study of the emergence of complexity, we might reasonably ask what the emergence of complexity looks like from a cross-cultural perspective. That is, what are the key features or recurrent patterns we see in the development of multiple kin-group-based societies. I do not suggest a return

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to the typological approaches of the past (see below) but a general recognition that fairly robust patterns or regularities do indeed exist and that these patterns provide some insight into the processes involved in the emergence of complexity. As Peregrine et al. (2004, 149) note, [T]here are universal patterns in cultural evolution. Cultural traits evolve in regular ways, and some traits appear to co-evolve in punctuated evolutionary events that may parallel the typologies through which anthropologists frequently classify the cultures of the world.

While numerous co-evolving traits have been identified, for the purposes of this study, two in particular will be discussed. The first such trait is the size or scale of societies as they move from less complex to more complex sociopolitical arrangements. Generally speaking, population sizes increase during this shift. This observation is fairly consistent throughout the history of cross-cultural typological studies. Over fifty years ago, Naroll (1956, 689) used data from the Human Relations Area Files to argue that a “relationship seems to exist between social evolution and urbanization, that is, between occupational specialization or organizational ramification on one hand and size of settlement on the other.” More recently, Earle (1987, 288) and Feinman and Neitzel (1984, 66–71) make note of this pattern in their respective cross-cultural surveys of so-called middle-range societies. Indeed, increasing community size and/or density brings with it specific issues. Interestingly, Feinman and Neitzel (1984, 67) suggest that “the absence of societies having small primary centers and highly differentiated leaders suggests that marked differences in status should be expected only when community size becomes too large to permit daily face-to-face interactions among the populace.” Often referred to as scalar stress, this issue is discussed in greater detail below. The second feature of emergent complexity is the nearly universal shifts seen in religious systems. Most typologies of social complexity or models for the emergence of complexity include fairly significant changes in the structure of religious systems, in particular the specialization of religious leaders (see, e.g., Freeman and Winch 1957). Most cross-cultural studies have found a correlation between the emergence of sociopolitical complexity and the establishment of full-time ritual specialists. Carniero (1970), in his survey of fifty

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cultural traits across one hundred complex societies, observed that 94 percent of the societies had special religious practitioners. This suggests that most complex societies had developed institutionalized religious belief systems. Feinman and Neitzel (1984, table 2.6) find that leading ceremonies was a key function of community leaders in 74 percent of the western North American cultures they examined. As discussed in greater detail in the next chapter, various scales of sociopolitical complexity are correlated with specific types of religious specialists. There are, of course, other attributes associated with the shift from kinbased to multiple-kin-based sociopolitical arrangements. These attributes include such things as craft specialization, establishment of trade networks, and hierarchical status distinctions. However, my view is that population size and religious systems are linked in unique and important ways. Simply put, largesized communities must resolve two specific issues: scalar stress and group cohesion. Further, I argue that certain types of ritual specialists are well suited to address these issues. Scalar Stress

The first issue associated with increasing community size is commonly referred to as scalar stress. I accept the thesis of Johnson (1982) and Kosse (1990) that, as group sizes increase, there is a concomitant decrease in the organizational efficiency of these groups. This organizational inefficiency, or scalar stress, involves the increasing difficulty of information exchange between individuals, the dilemma of coherent decision making by the group, and the necessary coordination of the group’s collective action(s). One solution to such stress is for the community to split into two or more smaller communities (Carniero 2000). However, when fissioning is not possible, other methods for handling increasing scalar stress must be developed. Carniero (2000, 12928) states, “There are also positive structural responses to population growth, responses in which the village in question gives rise to new social segments as it seeks to maintain its integrity.” Thus, in situations where populations are forced to coexist in large, dense communities, the development of increasing complexity in the decision-making structure of the society often occurs. In particular, Johnson (1982) has suggested that in nonegalitarian societies, simultaneous hierarchies develop. Simultaneous hierarchies involve authoriz-

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ing a few members of the society to make decisions for the rest without first having to establish communitywide consensus. Johnson is right that some groups adopt such inequality in their decision-making systems in an attempt to mitigate scalar stress. However, I would agree with Braun (1990, 85) when he argues that the acceptance of such simultaneous decision-making structures does not constitute a sufficient explanation for why they ultimately succeed in allowing the society to maintain a certain population density without maladaptive repercussions: [S]election does not operate in this way. We need to think of scalar stress instead as a kind of potential selective circumstance closely related to existing demographic conditions and social practices. Events, demographic conditions, or social practices in some historical instances could increase the possibilities of scalar stress. Such instances would provide the kind of selective circumstance under which accidents of social practices involving social inequality might find greater replicative success. But people culturally bound by conventions that limit inequality are not likely to yield up such accidents very often.

That is, in given contexts, certain authority structures will either be selected for or against. Braun (1990, 84) further states, If the necessary innovations existed, selection might allow the persistence of an additional layer of sequential hierarchy, or an additional layer of delegated authority. . . . But the possibility of reorganization in a particular circumstance is a matter of historical accident and selection. If none of the people in a particular instance possesses an appropriate possibility, selection will guarantee that no reorganization will take place.

One generalized situation that might favor the selection for increasing hierarchy occurs when there are significant and rapid increases in population density. If, for some reason, groups (particularly those who are unrelated to each other) are compelled to live at higher density levels than previously, I would expect strong selective pressures favoring the development of more complex decision-making hierarchies. The ultimate explanation for the success of such hierarchies is found in the methods that emergent elites utilize to establish and maintain them, their effect upon other conditions of social life, and their articulation with the selective environment. In the following section,

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I discuss one way that authority structures detract from their own replicative success. Group Cohesion and Integration

The decision-making hierarchy posited by Johnson results in additional difficulties for societies attempting to maintain their density above certain thresholds. Delegating authority can bring mixed blessings, however. Accepting other people’s decisions that affect one’s own interests entails a loss of freedom of action. The “other people” comprise a minority whose interests may not coincide with a majority’s in all situations. . . . The potential, perhaps, is even greater with delegated authority, for the conflicts would arise between a minority and a subordinate majority, rather than between a collective and some of its constituents. (Braun 1990, 70)

The hierarchies posited by Johnson to make communitywide decisions are designed to limit the involvement of most individuals. Thus, they provide a more efficient, but less inclusive, decision-making system. While social structures of this sort are important adaptive characteristics of complex societies, they do not, in and of themselves, guarantee the acceptance or compliance of societal members to decisions once they are made. This noncompliance problem is particularly true as societies move from having leaders drawn from their own kin group to being forced to accept the authority of a person from outside their extended family. Thus, for decision-making hierarchies to be evolutionarily successful, there must also be sociocultural mechanisms within the society to lessen conflicts of interests, dampen behavioral variability, and encourage group cohesion. From an evolutionary standpoint, these mechanisms should be selected for in any complex system in which the cumulative occurrence of uneliminated mutation gradually destroys its functionality, and, combined with internal selection pressures in favor of simplicity, gradually removes its complexity. The more complex the structure the more statistically likely it becomes that random mutations will lessen rather than increase the adaptive adequacy. . . . The maintenance of adequate complexity depends upon the continued elimination of such maladaptive variations. (Campbell 1965, 40–41)

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I would suggest that the lack of such cohesion-promoting features explains the instances in prehistory in which population densities increase and decision-making hierarchies develop but fairly quickly fail to maintain these higher population densities. The record of the prehistoric Southwest is filled with such instances of short, relatively dense occupations followed by abandonment. Extremely large, complex communities occupied for more than a few generations are rare exceptions until the Pueblo IV period (Welker 1998). For example, Kintigh (1996, 136) has argued that, in the Little Colorado River region, large aggregated communities were occupied and abandoned relatively quickly (within twenty-five to seventy-five years of being established) in the early half of the thirteenth century AD. After abandonment, community members seemed to have moved into other large communities. Thus, the pattern seems to be one of sequential, though not locationally sustained, aggregation. People who abandoned one aggregated community would subsequently move into another. However, after the establishment of communitywide katchina societies, large aggregated communities persisted beyond a few generations (often into the protohistoric and historic periods). However, aggregations also occurred at a variety of scales with varying degrees of success. For example, Schachner (2001) has suggested that ritual systems and their transformations played an important role in population migrations and aggregation in the Pueblo I (AD 750–900) period of the San Juan area of the American Southwest. Specifically, he argues that there were changes in the nature of ritual architecture during and after a period of relative population aggregation. Prior to AD 840, most of the San Juan population of southwestern Colorado was living in small, scattered hamlets clustered around large (so-called Great) kivas. For a variety of ecological or environmental reasons, at approximately AD 840, these populations aggregated into a few large communities, principally in the Dolores River valley. These relatively large villages were associated with oversized, square, fully subterranean pit structures. Unlike the Great kivas of the pre–AD 840 period, access to these pit structures was often physically restricted to one or a few roomblocks within the community. During the period these villages were occupied, existing kivas were abandoned, and no new ones were constructed. Following AD 880, additional environmental changes led to the abandonment of the Dolores sites and indeed, for the most part, of the region. It appears that much of the region’s population

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relocated in northwestern New Mexico, where scattered hamlets organized around unrestricted great kivas were once again established. Schachner (2001, 183) argues that the Pueblo I period shift from ritual architecture dominated by unrestricted great kivas to pit structures with restricted access represents an attempt by village segments to control access to important ceremonials and thus augment their status: The small size and location of these new communal ritual [pit] structures would have easily allowed certain social segments to control and determine communal ritual participation.

Ultimately, however, this segmented ritual system was unable to maintain community aggregation in the face of climatic fluctuations and agricultural failures. Thus, populations once again returned to more stable, dispersed settlement patterns dominated by more inclusive ritual practices occurring in great kivas. Other researchers have noted that instances of prolonged population aggregation, particularly in the form of multiple kin groups, in the American Southwest are often marked by the development of integrative mechanisms (Adler 1996; Cordell 1996; Cordell et al. 1994). These mechanisms were specific to each historical instance, be it the large aggregated communities of the northern Rio Grande valley during the Classic period (AD 1300–1600), the twelfth-century population centers of the Chaco and Mimbres regional systems, or smaller-scale aggregations during Pueblo I (AD 750–900) in the San Juan basin. Religion, Scalar Stress, and Group Cohesion

Integrative mechanisms can take a variety of forms. Economic activities including trade networks may provide the proper stimulus for cohesion (Welker 1998). Likewise, integration may be accomplished through the use of built environment (Adler 1989; Crown and Kohler 1994; Lekson 1984b) or esoteric groupings or societies within a community (Ware and Blinman 2000). However, I would expect that the most likely mechanism to be selected for with increasing population densities would be those mechanisms that incorporate both the establishment of authority hierarchies and simultaneously promote social cohesion. Religious authorities (and their associated ceremonial sodali-

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ties) that are recognized and endorsed by a community would provide such control and integration. In fact, Kosse (1994, 43) suggests that “religion and ideology as major vehicles of cultural transmission probably had a profound effect on organizational efficiency or the lack thereof.” Wenke (1981, 113) has correspondingly observed that “[o]ne mechanism through which the change of scale of cultural evolution may have operated is institutionalized religions.” Changes in the types of religious specialists may represent one possible mechanism for emerging complex communities to overcome scalar stress. Religious practitioners officiate at public rituals, particularly mortuary rites. Thus, their exclusive access to religious knowledge represents a powerful force for both controlling and integrating society (see Campbell 1972, 32). Indeed, the correlation between changes in sociocultural complexity and religious systems and their ritual specialists is cross-culturally pervasive (Conkey 1985; Norbeck 1961; Lessa and Vogt 1965; Turner, V.W. 1968). This relationship did not escape Bloch (1977b, 289, emphasis in original), who wrote, “the amount of social structure, of the past in the present, of ritual communication is correlated, with the amount of institutionalised hierarchy and that is what it is about.” Various scales of sociopolitical complexity are correlated with specific types of religious specialists because they provide an integrated mechanism for simultaneously establishing decision-making authority structures and promoting the general acceptance of that authority across the unrelated members of the community. KIN-TO-KITH MODEL

The various approaches taken by anthropologists to the issue of emergent complexity are varied (see Chapman 2003 and Wenke 1981 for reviews). While many traditional approaches to the emergence of sociopolitical complexity provide valuable explanatory concepts, no one approach has found favor with all scholars. The model I develop here will be no different. I do not expect that my approach will answer all questions about the topic or that it will provide an explanation entirely satisfying to everyone. However, I do feel that my approach highlights some unique aspects of the emergence of complexity that have often gone overlooked.

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As alluded to in the above quote by Wenke, the emergence of complexity can be conceptualized as a scalar shift. By scalar shift, I mean a shift from communities generally composed of related individuals to communities made up of large numbers of people who are, by necessity, not related or only very distantly related. In the former, all cohabitants are members of a single kingroup. In the latter, the cohabitants belong to multiple kin groups. Obviously, in the latter situation, both the level of cooperation required and the social stress it entails are much higher than in the former. Simply put, the scalar stress noted by Johnson (1982) is a result of large groups of unrelated kin being forced to live within the same community. In such contexts, altruistic behavior is not only necessary but must be based on typical kin-group generalized reciprocity. In the following, I propose a model for conceptualizing the mechanisms at work in the development of non-kin-based altruistic behavior. This proposal builds upon a model originally developed within evolutionary biology to explain altruistic behavior between biologically related individuals. Moreover, my model is based explicitly upon the idea that cultural and societal change through time is a process analogous to evolutionary change in biology. An evolutionary approach to human culture and society is based upon the idea that culture is transmitted from one individual to another in a manner similar to (but not exactly the same as) the transmission of genetic information (Campbell 1965; Boyd and Richerson 1985; Braun 1990; Dennett 1990; Durham 1991; Gerard et al. 1956; Hull 1982; Neff 2001; O’Brien 2008). Thus, there are two lines of inheritance: genetic and cultural. Culture is fundamentally information, and it is this information that is transmitted. Cultural transmission, also known as learning, is not restricted to children learning from their parents but can occur between any two individuals. However, some pieces of culture (i.e., some ideas) are transmitted more frequently than others. For example, the number of people fluent in the English language has increased considerably over the past five hundred years. Over the same time period, the number of Latin speakers has decreased. The differential transmission of ideas (of culture) is similar to the differential persistence of genes in biological evolution. We can consequently speak of the evolutionary success of English and the potential extinction of Latin. Thus, many of the principles used in biological evolution to explain changes in phenotypes are generally applicable to cultural phenomena.

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Within this perspective, there are several mechanisms that can account for the various patterns observable in the evolution of culture (Boyd and Richerson 1985; Durham 1991; Hurt and Rakita 2001; Lyman and O’Brien 1997). For example, biased transmission, where certain individuals are imitated more often than others, can artificially increase the frequency of the cultural traits of those individuals (Boyd and Richerson 1985). Similarly, in small populations, drift acting on cultural traits can significantly reduce trait variability (Neiman 1995). Alternatively, the frequency of some traits is driven by their performance constraints, with more efficient behaviors or artifacts being more frequently copied than those that are inefficient (O’Brien et al. 1994). Additionally, one cultural trait frequently will become associated with another such that changes in the frequency of one will affect the frequency of the other. This condition is referred to as trait sorting (Hurt et al. 2001). The focus of this study is the elucidation of those factors that influenced the replicative success (sensu Leonard and Jones 1987) of specific forms of religious organization and social inequality within the Casas Grandes region. In particular, my model attempts to explain why changes in religious systems are so effective at ameliorating the issues of scalar stress and group cohesion as societies move from less to more complex sociopolitical arrangements. Kin Selection

One of the most significant advances in evolutionary biology within the last century was W. D. Hamilton’s (1964) explicit formulation of what later became known as the kin selection model. Up until that point, biologists had little or no explanation for the altruistic behaviors of individuals they observed in nature. Eusocial insect societies, in particular, posed a conundrum for Darwin and subsequent evolutionists. Hamilton’s model offered an elegant and powerful solution to that problem. The presence of sterile castes of individuals in highly social insects (e.g., ants, bees, and termites) presented a difficult quandary for Darwin’s theory of descent with modification. How did evolution favor individuals who forgo reproduction? It follows from the theory of natural selection that such individuals will be completely eliminated from populations. And yet, nature is rife with examples of these sorts of “eusocial” communities. Hamilton’s model is based upon the distinction between Darwinian (or classical) fitness and inclusive fitness. Darwinian fitness refers to the reproductive

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potential of an individual’s genotype in terms of direct offspring (i.e., children and grandchildren). Inclusive fitness, on the other hand, refers to the combination of an individual’s Darwinian fitness plus the reproductive potential of other individuals who share (in part or whole) the same genotype. Therefore, an individual’s Darwinian fitness is determined entirely by its own reproductive potential, while its inclusive fitness is determined partly by its own potential and partly by the reproductive potential of its genetic kin. In a sense, inclusive fitness takes into account the possibility that copies of an individual’s genes may be passed on to the next generation through its relatives (e.g., siblings or cousins). Once the concept of inclusive fitness is accepted, the organic explanation (sensu Williams 1996 [1966]) of many altruistic behaviors becomes a matter of the appropriate mathematical models. As Williams (1996 [1966]) noted, if we assume that altruistic behaviors are directed at individuals who have a high probability of possessing the same genes as the altruist (i.e., they benefit a nonrandom sample of the population), then the Hardy-Weinberg law adequately predicts their increasing frequency in future generations. While Haldane (1990 [1932]) predicted this situation in general terms, Hamilton (1964) demonstrated it mathematically. Moreover, Hamilton’s calculations predicted when selection should favor altruistic behaviors between related individuals. Kin selection models have been used to explain a variety of altruistic behaviors in both human and nonhuman societies. However, some behaviors seem to fall outside the purview of kin selection. In fact, Campbell (1972; see also Durham 1991) has suggested that truly self-sacrificial acts run counter to genetic tendencies (for individual reproductive success). Goodenough (1995) gives the example of “over-the-top” battlefield heroics. Kin selection does not seem to offer a suitable explanation for instances in which soldiers give their lives for their comrades. The conditions necessary for the model are not met; for example, soldiers are rarely genetically related. Given this, how are such acts to be explained? Kith Selection

Of late, various authors have suggested a new perspective on cultural or conceptual evolution. Originally founded on Dawkins’s (1976) definition of the meme, numerous authors have elaborated upon this concept (Dennett 1990; Hull 1982; Durham 1991; Goodenough 1995; Ball 1984). Basically, the memetics view sees bits of cultural information (i.e., ideas, or memes) as repli-

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cators much like genes (Hull 1980). Memes reside within the human mind (as well as in books, computers, etc.) and are transmitted from individual to individual. Those memes that are transmitted more successfully (i.e., more frequently, with higher fidelity) than others increase in frequency, while those that are not replicated become extinct. In this sense, changes in meme frequencies can be explained in terms analogous to genetic evolution (one major exception being the mode of transmission; see Boyd and Richerson 1985). The memetics point of view leads to discussions of the replicative success of particular memes (as opposed to the replicative success of specific genes in biological evolution). As described above, one of the most important aspects of Hamilton’s model was the conceptual distinction between Darwinian and inclusive fitness. Darwinian fitness refers to the direct replicative potential of an individual’s genotype through that individual’s offspring, while inclusive fitness involves the replicative potential of an individual’s genotype plus all other copies of that genotype. If we extend this distinction to conceptual evolution, we can begin to discuss the inclusive fitness of particular memes. The inclusive fitness of a meme refers to the replicative potential of all copies of that meme. Now, let us imagine that a particular meme produces an altruistic behavior (e.g., the Golden Rule or the over-the-top heroic impulse). The spread and persistence of such a meme would seem to be at a disadvantage in comparison to other memes that are not injurious to their human carriers. A meme that encourages a soldier to throw himself on a grenade to save his comrades will negatively impact its future prospects of being transmitted to others. (This behavior is similar to that of the worker ant who forgoes reproduction in favor of the reproductive potential of the queen.) However, if the soldier’s comrades also carry the meme for grenade smothering, then the soldier’s behavior will indirectly impact the future replicative success of those other copies of the altruistic meme. This mimetic model of kin selection I term kith selection, kith being unrelated but like-minded acquaintances. Kith selection can be conceptualized as analogous to kin selection. If a specific meme produces an altruistic behavior that is directed towards other individuals who carry that same meme, then that meme should persist within the meme pool (i.e., culture). The important point is that a meme that produces altruistic behavior will only be replicatively successful in a situation where other individuals also carry the same meme. A grenade-smothering act

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within a group of soldiers with nonsmothering memes will neither replicate itself nor ensure the survival of similar memes. With a shift from communities composed of related individuals to communities comprising unrelated people, the role of altruistic behaviors toward others becomes essential. Scalar stress (sensu Johnson 1982) requires individuals to accept the authority of other members of the community who are not kin. Likewise, larger communities also require group cohesion and self-sacrifice for the good of the community. Both behavior sets can be explained using the kith-selection model, assuming that all members of a group share a similar suite of memes. Religion and Kith Selection

Religion and ritual have the capacity to develop those shared memes within a community. Wenke (1981, 113) states, A common denominator of the Olmec, Shang, Samarran, and other cultures making the transition from simple to complex forms is the early appearance of belief systems through which exchange was mediated, functional interrelationships sanctioned, and vast amounts of energy expended. These religions motivated large numbers of people to act in a coherent fashion, producing large-scale behavior patterns on which cultural selection could operate.

Cooperation among individuals who share religious beliefs is a case of kith selection. The altruistic behavior of one congregational member towards another often seems inexplicable in terms of kin selection. However, many religious doctrines include memes that call for selfless behavior among the faithful. Often these behaviors are undertaken without any expectation of reciprocity or limitation to kin only (e.g., the Christian ideal of charity). A variety of studies, particularly those by Richard Sosis et al. (Sosis 2004, 2005; Ruffle and Sosis 2007), have indicated the adaptive value of religion in terms of building cooperation and trust among groups of people, requiring individuals to sacrifice for the group, as well as punishing those who act against the needs or interests of the group. Some studies have even gone so far as to suggest that altruistic cooperation and altruistic punishment (i.e., punishment of those who do not cooperate) may evolve hand in hand (Boyd et al. 2003).

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Why is religion implicated in this shift to kith-based cooperation and altruism? Why, as Wenke (1981) and others have observed, do we see changes in religious and ritual systems almost universally with the shift from kin-based to large-scale societies? The answers, I believe, lie in the unique nature of ritual and religious behavior both to assert and maintain authority structures and to establish and sustain communitywide cohesion. The next chapter will explore this dual nature of religious behavior and the impact that various types of religious specialists have on the form of ritual. We will investigate how religions are likely to increase their concern with ethics and to postpone rewards and punishments into the next world as social relations become increasingly diffuse, specialized, impersonal and stratified. (Rappaport 1999, 325) NOTE

1. Interestingly, McGuire uses the Casas Grandes region as one of his empirical examples of emergent complexity. His analysis suggests a rapid increase in both inequality and heterogeneity during the Paquimé phase.

3

Ritual and Emergent Complexity

In chapter 2, I discussed the problems associated with the evolution of more complex human communities. Cross-culturally, increasing sociopolitical complexity is associated with not only increasing population size but also increasing status hierarchy, institutionalized authority structures, and changes within religious leadership roles and ritual practices. I further argued that these associated changes are best explained as cultural adaptations that allowed communities to overcome two fundamental constraints: scalar stress and maintenance of community cohesion. Moreover, I suggested that religious systems were well suited to promote a shift from a kin-based social organization to an extra- or non-kin-based one. In this chapter, I outline the role of ceremonial specialists, religious institutions, and ritual symbols in contexts of emergent complexity. I then discuss anthropological theories that seek to explain the relationship between religious specialists and their associated ritual activities. Finally, I briefly review relevant archaeological correlates within mortuary analysis and ritual behavior in archaeology. ROLE OF RITUAL IN EMERGENT COMPLEXITY

What precisely are the roles of ritual and ritual practitioners in the development of aggregated communities with complex decision-making hierarchies? I argue below that sacred rites and those individuals authorized by society to

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officiate at such events represent precisely the mechanisms that can both provide a community with institutionalized decision makers and foster community solidarity. It is the form and structure of ritual that makes it extremely valuable in accomplishing these two aims. In recent archaeological discussions of ritual in the emergence of complexity in the North American desert west (e.g., Feinman 2000, 213–14; Harry and Bayman 2000, 147–48), the role of ritual has been viewed in dichotomous terms (though see Mills 2000, 8–9; Potter and Perry 2000, 62–66). Prehistoric ritual behavior is either conceptualized as inclusive or exclusive. Or in other words, rites and ritual practitioners are seen as either encouraging a condition of communitas (sensu Turner, V. 1995 [1969]) and communal cohesion or emphasizing exclusivity in social power and structural divisions. It is my contention here that it is ritual’s ability to simultaneously emphasize and crystallize both of these facets of life that makes it a powerful force in the evolution of social complexity. For example, McGuire and Saitta (1996) have argued that fourteenth-century AD western Pueblo social organization was neither strictly communal nor hierarchical, but was in fact a complex social negotiation of both these two alternatives. Potter (1997; see also 2000, 298), on the basis of his analysis of animal remains from the Pueblo I community of McPhee Village, has made a similar argument. By noting a dual use of animals, as raw materials for the production of ritual paraphernalia and as a consumable during communal feasting, Potter argues (1997, 362) that ritual behavior acted “simultaneously . . . as both a force of social integration and social distinction.” These studies highlight my point that in order to be successful, aggregated communities must combine exclusive decision-making structures with cultural features that contribute to social cohesion. Moreover, I hypothesize that to do this, such communities often employ religious systems with specific types of rites, ceremonial practitioners, and religious organizations. Authority

The ritual form is ideally suited to the establishment and maintenance of political authority. Here I differentiate authority from power. Alice Schlegel (1977, 8–9) has defined authority as one type of power. Specifically, she sees it as “the socially recognized and legitimated right to make decisions concerning

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others.” However, by subsuming authority within power, she has by definition excluded the possibility that there can exist authority without power. I am not suggesting that her definition is wrong, simply that it may have the effect of unnecessarily confusing power and authority. I believe a discrete separation of these two variables is more helpful. By power, I mean the ability to make something happen or compel someone to do something. Authority, on the other hand, is the public perception that an individual has the right to, or is lawful in their exercise of, power. For example, both a bully and a policeman have the power to force me to empty my pockets. However, only the policeman has the authority (sanctioned by society only in specific contexts) to utilize that power. In Western, industrialized societies, most authority is established through legal or judicial means. However, ritual still plays an important role in the public perception of that authority (Kertzer 1988). In traditional societies, ritual is often the central form of (re)establishing authority. Authority is an abstraction that can be seen only through its symbolism and ceremonials. This is to some extent true of even formally organized groups, where authority is backed mainly by contract. It is of course far more so in the case of informally organized groups. (Cohen 1974, 78)

It should be noted that authority is not material, though it may have material manifestations. Thus, the investiture of any one individual with authority is less direct than, say, power. Someone can acquire power simply through the acquisition of a firearm or a certain degree of wealth. Authority, on the other hand, must be expressed symbolically. “Authority, the belief that a person has the right to exercise influence over other’s behavior, is itself an abstraction, and people can conceive of who has authority and who does not only through symbols and rituals” (Kertzer 1988, 24). Thus, one of the first ways in which ritual establishes authority is by providing a unique language and context for the symbolic elevation of individuals to positions of political influence. Indeed, it does so by marking off as separate or apart from normal everyday life the actions of those individuals in authority positions. In these matters, ritual and ceremony are employed to structure and present particular interpretations of social reality in a way that endows them with legitimacy. (Moore and Myerhoff 1977, 4, emphasis added)

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This is why so many rituals are seen as marked public acts that are often stereotyped or formalized and directed towards a perceived audience. Additionally, since individuals are transitory (that is, they die) but sanctified authority roles must continue, the symbolic representation of authority allows it to be perceived as unbroken, unvarying, and ceaseless; The stability of hierarchical political systems, paradoxically, depends on the investment of authority in particular individuals at the same time that it depends upon being able to replace them. (Kertzer 1988, 25)

And, Rituals express the continuity of positions of authority in the fact of the comings and goings of their occupants. (Kertzer 1988, 26)

Ritual presentations of authority also allow for varying perceptions of that authority. If authority is established through symbolic representations, then it is possible for those symbols to maintain a certain level of multivocality (sensu Turner, V.W. 1967, 50) within society. Thus, a symbol may represent authority to one person in one way but be perceived differently by another. This representational flexibility allows for varying cognition and understanding of authority roles and their material symbols. Individuals are free to conceive of authority in different ways without being forced into discourse over these discrepancies. Furthermore, as Rappaport (1999, 118–19) has suggested, public participation in a ritual, by its very nature, presents the individual as accepting (though perhaps not believing in) the religious or symbolic canons being transmitted within that liturgy. The timing and occasions of ritual events also provide opportunities for authority roles to be reinforced within a community. To begin with, ceremonies within traditional societies are often related to life crises or specific rites of passage for individuals, often called critical rites (van Gennep 1960 [1908]). Minimally these include births, naming rites, initiations, illnesses, and deaths. Each of these events provides an opportunity for individuals to be socialized within society and its command hierarchy. Part of the socialization process is the acceptance of the legitimacy of authority figures. “One of the most common uses of ritual within an organization is to socialize new members to the values and expectations that make up its culture” (Kertzer 1988, 29). This point is crucial;

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by controlling the means of socialization, ritual practitioners control not only what is learned but how it is learned, as well as perpetuate their own authority in such matters. Indeed, these individuals may actually be the ritual specialists presiding over the ceremony. One of the notable features of these rites [of passage] is that they generally call for the services of an outsider, a specialist. People are not ritually self-sufficient. (Kertzer 1988, 115)

Such ceremonies require the individual to place their safe passage through the rite (and hence from one role or status to the next) in the hands of leaders sanctified by the rest of society. Indeed, V.W. Turner (1995 [1969], 96–97, emphasis in original) notes that office holders themselves must pass through these rites of passage and that the sacred component of each person’s status or role “is acquired by the incumbents of positions during the rites of passage, through which they changed positions. Something of the sacredness of that transient humility and modelessness goes over, and tempers the pride of the incumbent of a higher position or office.” Additionally, cyclical or calendrical ceremonies that involve the welfare of the entire community (e.g., planting and harvesting rites) are also opportunities to bolster authority structures. In these cases, the entire community is beholden to ritual practitioners to assist them in successful completion of the rites. Finally, ritual practice provides a means for elites to actively sacralize their positions of authority. Bloch (1977a, 139) recognizes one way in which this sacralization can occur: Putting statements into ritual language puts them outside society and into nature since the statements appear to have transcended the actions of men and are experienced as though from outside the individual (pace Durkheim).

And, Those who acquire power institutionalize it to make it less vulnerable from the attacks of rivals, they put their power “in the bank of ritual.” They do this by creating an office of which they are the legitimate holders, but which has reality beyond them. This is done by gradual ritualization of the power-holder’s communication with the rest of the world and especially his inferiors. As this ritualization process

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proceeds communication loses the appearance of a creation on the part of the speaker and appears like repeats of set roles specified by the office which appears to hold him. Reality is thus reversed and the creation of the power-holder appears to create him. (Bloch 1977a, 139)

Elites are thus able to use ritual practice to assert that their authority lies not in the machinations of self-motivated individuals (i.e., themselves) but rather is thrust upon them by forces outside the realm of society (nature, or the sacred). Ceremonials do this not only by being practice that is set off from everyday reality but also by suggesting their own invariance and timelessness. Often the unchanging aspect of rites is perceived as being related to the inscription of liturgical orders by sacred forebears. The rules of calendars and liturgies must be conceived (analytically) as a dutystatus relationship between the living and the supernatural “authors” of liturgy. This is the fundamental relationship which spawns ritual performance and the subsidiary duty-status relationships ritual performance entails. Certain individuals will, by virtue of holding positions of authority vis-à-vis the ritual unit, or by virtue of proximity to the “cause” of ritual, have especially important duties with respect to the performance of the ritual. They are thus in a, perhaps temporary, position of authority. (Kerber 1986, 57)

I am certainly not suggesting here that rites actually are timeless or invariant, only that they are often perceived as such. This perception is important for the effective transmission of propositions regarding elite authority. The actual flexibility and multivocality of symbolic ritual communication, on the other hand, allows for such propositions to be manipulated by elites and generally accepted by nonelites. Thus, ritual represents a unique and exceptional medium for establishing and maintaining authority within a community. It is a preeminent venue and language for symbolically representing authority (a property of individuals that, absent legal structures, can only be displayed symbolically). Ritual sets apart some individuals by virtue of their distinctive role vis-à-vis the community. It provides for the continuity and stability of authority despite the impermanence and transitory nature of people holding authority roles. Rituals in traditional societies frequently focus on rites of passage, which makes ritual specialists vitally important to each individual’s important life transitions. In this way, they constantly reinforce the need of every person to accept

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the specialist’s authority role. Ritual symbolism of authority is multivocal (polysemic) and thus less likely to raise objection from an assembled congregation or audience. Finally, rites cloak authority in the mantle of the “sacred” and thus naturalize entitlement. Maintaining Cohesion

As mentioned above, my position is that in contexts of emergent complexity, religious organizations and rites must encourage community cohesion as well as establish and reinforce the positions of decision-making elites. Kerber (1986, 58) stated that “rituals are critical to the reproduction of the highestlevel features of society—those concerned with group identity and solidarity, timeless moral propositions, and, importantly, the structures of the rituals themselves.” I propose that rituals can actively encourage feelings of cooperation and social solidarity among the members of a community. This is accomplished in three ways. First, ritual practice can establish multiple, crosscutting ties of allegiance among subgroups of the community. Second, public participation in rites develops and strengthens through the collective experience of communitas a sense of fellowship within individuals. Finally, participation in ceremonies facilitates the socialization of individuals into community-held beliefs regarding appropriate behavior and provides sanctions or punishments when these beliefs are transgressed. Gluckman (1965, 138–41) has expanded upon an observation made by Kroeber (1917; see also Ladd 1979) that Zuni society is divided and redivided along a multitude of nonintersecting lines. That is to say, Zuni social structure contains a number of subdivisions, for example by clan, fraternity membership, kiva grouping, and cultic association, each of which divides the community into different subgroupings of individuals. Consequently, while a particular individual may not be a part of the same clan as his neighbors, these neighbors may belong to the same katchina society. The different groups establish competing alliances that have a tendency to nullify rifts between any one particular subdivision. Membership in ritual societies therefore has a tendency to lessen conflict within a society and promote social cohesion. Kroeber (1917, 183) observed, However far one form of division be followed, it branches off by innumerable contacts into others, without ever absorbing these. Four or five different planes of systematization cross cut each other and thus preserve for the whole society

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an integrity that would be speedily lost if the planes merged and thereby inclined to encourage segregation and fission.

Over the past hundred years or so, researchers have periodically reexamined the role of such groups, or sodalities, to use Service’s (1962, 13) definition, in maintaining community cohesion in the prehistoric Southwest. The first such examination was by Fewkes (1919), who proposed that such groups developed during the formation of multiclan communities in the Mesa Verde region. Both Eggan (1950) and Bunzel (1992 [1932]) subsequently emphasized the importance of these sodalities in maintaining social cohesion in ethnographically known western Puebloan societies. Later, the archaeological identification of sodalities became an important part of processual examinations of social organization in prehistoric Puebloan communities (Longacre 1970). Recently, there has been a renewed interest in how various sodalities or esoteric societies developed and articulated with other facets of prehistoric Puebloan life. Ware and Blinman (2000) have suggested that Puebloan medicine societies, clown sodalities, moieties, hunting and war societies, and katchina cults may have appeared as a result of major cultural and social upheaval during the fourteenth century. Specifically, they argue that the reorganization of Puebloan society during this period provided an environment that encouraged the development of novel ritual organizations. They further suggest that the ceremonial complexes that developed during the 1300s were formed via a pattern of diffusion and syncretic assimilation by the various Puebloan groups. They (Ware and Blinman 2000, 400) observe, If we are correct that the Katsina religion was only one of a variety of ritual organizations elaborated at about the same time, it is legitimate to ask whether the simple need to integrate large groups of people was sufficient to produce this variety of organizational forms.

Their argument that an individual Puebloan community is characterized by a complex synthesis of a variety of ceremonial societies whose development is historically contingent, while probably correct, does not refute my claim that these societies and fraternities have the effect of encouraging community cohesion. The variety in organizational forms mentioned in the above quotation is consistent with similar functional purpose. I would argue that while per-

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forming similar social roles, each community’s ceremonial complex (i.e., collection of societies or cults) developed in a historically particularistic manner for each society. Exactly how do such ritual sodalities contribute to community cohesion? Participation in ceremonies, by the community as a whole or by subdivisions of it, has the potential to reduce the effects of interpersonal conflict and community divisions. It does so by establishing a medium in which collective action can be transformed into collective belief. Durkheim (1965 [1915]) suggested that ritual provokes a social “effervescence” that pervades the participants of ritual and reinforces their communal bonds and their shared conception of society. Geertz (1973, 112) has correspondingly stated, “In a ritual, the world as lived and the world as imagined, fused under the agency of a single set of symbolic forms, turns out to be the same world.” However, ritual is also a forum in which social antagonisms are expressed, exposed, and emphasized. Ceremonials in which this occurs are referred to as rituals of rebellion. As described by Gluckman (1963) and V.W. Turner (1995 [1969]), these rites often feature the reversal of status positions, such that elites are treated as commoners, and commoners exercise the authority of elites. Both Gluckman and Turner have suggested that such reversals act to emphasize (within the sacred setting of ritual) the ordinary order of society. I would further argue that in the case of both ritual effervescence and rebellion, the key factor encouraging community stability is the shared experience of communitas among the participants. In both cases, transition of participants from the ordinary world, through a supernaturally charged liminal period, and finally back into everyday life provides a mutual experience that strengthens collective attachments. Communitas, as imagined by V.W. Turner (1995 [1969], 96), represents a special “modality of social relationship[s].” This unique experience typically occurs during periods of ritual liminality when participants are removed from normal social roles and thrown together to experience their shared humanity. It is a time when participants are without social structure and develop a sense of solidarity with each other. Turner (1995, 96) contrasts the experience of communitas with the normal social structure thusly: [A] “moment in and out of time,” and in and out of secular social structure, which reveals, however fleetingly, some recognition (in symbol if not always in

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language) of a generalized social bond that has ceased to be and has simultaneously yet to be fragmented into a multiplicity of structural ties. These are the ties organized in terms either of caste, class, or rank hierarchies or of segmentary oppositions in the stateless societies beloved of political anthropologists.

This experience of fellowship, outside of normative social structure, encourages a lasting bond and amity among ritual participants. In a more active way, religious structures like sodalities can include regulatory mechanisms that enforce or encourage the abandonment of selfish behaviors. That is, ritual features frequently act as methods for neutralizing the effects of individuals who refuse to act for the benefit of the community. This feature of ceremonial societies is well developed within western Pueblo groups (Eggan 1950, 31–33, 148–52, 190–98, 233–36; see also Eggan 1970). These mechanisms include the intense indoctrination of young children in appropriate behaviors and the enforcement of these behaviors by groups of punitive katchinas. Individuals who fail to conform to societally sanctioned behaviors are at best ridiculed and at worst publicly whipped by masked individuals impersonating supernatural beings. Enforcement of particular behavioral patterns is not only swift and harsh but often takes place during public rites and ceremonies (where the entire community observes). These integrative mechanisms are fundamental to group-level adaptations in human societies (Frank 1996). I am not suggesting here that all characteristics of rites, or even all rites, are functional. Clearly, as Geertz’s (1973, 142–69) classic example has shown, some ceremonial patterns are perceived to fail in particular contexts. This is precisely the problem with the traditional functionalist approach to ritual (e.g., Malinowski 1961 [1922]). However, I would distinguish between “functionalist” arguments in which every cultural feature has a function at all times and “functional” arguments in which a particular culture trait fulfills a necessary or important role in the overall functioning of a society. I am making the latter argument for ceremonial behavior in cultural systems of emergent complexity.1 Nor do I deny the specific agency of individuals in relation to ceremonial behavior. Clearly different individuals interpret and react differently to the same rite. However, the potential for ritual symbols to be multivocal (Turner, V.W. 1967) and for rituals to contain significant indexical content about the participants (Rappaport 1979) allows for ceremonies to be accepted or construed in agreeable terms by groups of individuals with distinct personal agency.

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Indeed, it has long been recognized that rituals and ceremonies are powerful methods for transmitting and inculcating community values, ideas, and memes. These values, ideas, and memes are precisely the sorts of collective representations that Durkheim concerned himself with in his classic work The Elementary Forms of Religious Life (1965 [1915]). Participation in communal rites involves the development of what Durkheim termed collective effervescence and V.W. Turner (1995 [1969]) called communitas. During such periods, participants are symbolically aggregated and encouraged to perceive themselves as part of a united group undergoing a common experience. Olaveson (2001, 98) has indicated that “effervescent assemblies [rituals] thus impart to symbolic objects intense emotions, effectively ‘making the obligatory desirable,’ and binding people to the ideals of their social group.” Kertzer (1988, 63) makes a similar point when he argues, “Rituals bring all the people together, sanctifying their unity and thus counteracting the divisive tendencies that plague their daily social life. The greater the divisiveness in society, the greater the need for compensatory ritual to hold the society together.” Further, ritual has the potential to bring people together in thought and action because it does not require exact concordance between the beliefs of all individuals, merely concordance of action. “Ritual is a means by which we express our social dependence; what is important in ritual is our common participation and emotional involvement, not the specific rationalizations by which we account for the rites. . . . Thus, ritual can promote social solidarity without implying that people share the same values, or even the same interpretation of the ritual” (Kertzer 1988, 67, 69). Rappaport’s (1999, 118–19) observations on belief not being important for acceptance of ritual behavior and the symbolic content therein seems especially relevant here. Regardless of whether an individual feels himself to be part of a group, engaging in certain rituals at least sends the message to others that that individual is a part of the community. This is a key to why ritual (i.e., symbolic communication) is the perfect medium through which groups can be organized and managed. RELIGIOUS STRUCTURE AND RITUAL SPECIALISTS

It is clear that ritual practices can significantly impact the success of novel authority structures in incipient complex societies. By adopting certain ritual forms and religious structures, emergent elites can sanctify and naturalize

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their positions of authority while simultaneously maintaining social cohesion. We should therefore expect to see broad regularities within ritual practices, religious systems, and practitioner types across varying levels of sociocultural complexity. Indeed, such correlations have been noted by a variety of researchers (Norbeck 1961; Lessa and Vogt 1965; Turner, V.W. 1968). I propose that changes in the composition and type of religious organization and associated ritual practitioners facilitate changes in ritual behavior. The newly established rites we see in many emergent complex contexts support elite decision-making structures and secure the cooperation of nonelites. Religious Organization

Numerous schemas for the evolution of religious systems have been developed within anthropological thought. Most notable have been those proposed by Tylor (1958) and Frazier (1890). Counterexamples and critiques of the typological nature of such evolutionary trajectories have excised these theories from most modern conceptions of religious change through time. Additionally, these unilinear models of religious development rest upon the same adaptationist foundations used in processual models of emergent complexity discussed in chapter 2. They are thus susceptible to assertions that they are not truly evolutionary, merely transformational. However, Wallace (1966, 256) has recognized in these approaches “the germ of a valid model.” Specifically, Wallace argues that the evolution of religious systems can be conceptualized as sequential (though not predetermined) changes in the number, type, and arrangement of cult institutions. Here, “[a] cult institution may be defined as a set of rituals all having the same general goal, all explicitly rationalized by a set of similar or related beliefs, and all supported by the same social group” (Wallace 1966, 75). He defined four separate types of cultic organizations: individual, shamanic, communal, and ecclesiastical (Wallace 1966, 86–88). Individualist cultic practices are defined by a lack of ritual specialists. In these religious systems, any individual within the society may propitiate the supernatural forces. Alternatively, cults that maintain a part-time ritual specialist who acquires ceremonial power through inspirational or ecstatic means are termed shamanic cults. The third cultic type, referred to as a communal institution, involves performance by laymen or functionaries who periodically assume sacred leadership roles in directing calendrical rites that apply to large

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portions of the community or the community as a whole. Finally, ecclesiastical cult organizations are characterized by full-time professional clergy who learn their craft from other members of the religious institutions and perform set liturgies. My view is that these defined cult types are heuristically useful for understanding the evolution of religious systems, though I acknowledge that they are ideal types. Thus, any one type definition may be at variance with a particular observed system. Indeed, I expect situations where these cultic types overlap or even exist simultaneously within a given community. Regardless, they do provide a conceptual framework for examining changing religious structures. Indeed, Wallace (1966, 84) notes, “The religion” of any community is, as we have pointed out, more a conglomeration than a synthesis of its various cult institutions. The cult institutions of any community have more or less distinct pantheons, calendars, and mythologies; they have distinct histories; they often appeal to different groups of people; and they have different kinds and degrees of social organization.

The evolution of religion can thus be conceptualized as shifting arrangements of these various institutions. Wallace (1966, 256) suggested that the evolution of religious systems involves the sequential addition of these cultic institutions into the religious system of a society. Initially, a system may be composed of individualistic and shamanic cult organizations. Communal cults are added to these initial two institutions. Ecclesiastical cults devoted to a pantheon of supernatural entities are added next. Finally, the ecclesiastical cult refocuses its attention upon a single (typically monotheistic) deity. Thus, the evolution of religious systems involves the successive addition of new cultic organizations, while previous institutions are maintained (though perhaps not in their original configurations). Ritual Specialists

I suggest that the specific characteristics of Wallace’s cultic types are intimately related to the nature, function, and training of two types of specialists (table 3.1) who perform rites within society. In the following, I examine the approaches of four researchers and their ideas regarding ritual specialists. Each approach highlights important ways in which different practitioner

• Personal experience • Individual • High • Variable, flexible • Unique, individual • Indexical, referential • Individuals • As necessary • Unplanned • Domestic spaces • Some small, specialized locations • Natural landscapes • Healing • Divination • Witchcraft

Ritual knowledge acquisition

Scale of shared symbolic meaning

Control over supernatural

Ritual form and content

Audience and clients

Timing and schedule

Locations and related architecture

Purpose of ritual

• Part-time • Independent • (Fee based)

Features of Shaman-Dominated Ritual

Characteristics of Shaman- and Priest-Dominated Ritual

Occupational intensity and organization

Table 3.1.

• Rites of intensification

• Plazas • Private locations

• Life crises and transitions

• Groups • Communities

• Community

Features of Both

Propitiation Supplication Ancestor worship Maintenance of beliefs and practices • Leadership installations

• • • •

• Plazas and platform mounds • Structured spaces • Built landscapes

• Cyclical-seasonal • Planned

• Cult membership

• Invariant, rigid • Redundant, repetitive • Canonical, liturgical

• Low

• Cult membership

• Formal training

• Full-time • Institutionalized • (Provided w/o fee)

Features of Priest-Dominated Ritual

• • • • •

• • • •

Actions/practices

Paraphernalia

Minerals/crystals Fossils Bone tubes Eccentric objects

Spirit travel Interaction with the supernatural Sympathetic/imitative magic Altered states of conscience Medicinals

• Musical instruments • Feathers • Pipes/smoke • Fetishes • Pigments/paints • Special garments • Alcoholic drinks • Prayer sticks (pahos) • Ceremonial bowls/ containers

Dance/song Prayer Sacrifice/offerings Purification Symbolic replication and recitation of cosmogony • Assigning penance • Exhortation

• • • • •

Feasting Processions Convocations Pilgrimages

• Masks • Permanent altars and ceremonial spaces/rooms • Shrines • Carvings/statuary • Relics (particularly human bone) • Votive deposits • Dedicatory caches

• • • •

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types correlate or evolve in conjunction with different levels of sociocultural complexity. These ritual specialists are what give Wallace’s four types of cults their unique features. Max Weber

Weber (1963) outlined his thesis regarding religious systems and their evolution in his 1922 Religionssoziologie. The key concept to Weber’s approach is his theory of rationalization (Morris 1987). Weber sees a progression of religious systems that involves the substitution of magical elements with systematized and explicit rules and procedures. This progression is what he termed rationalization. This process also includes the replacement of religious leaders who base their power on charisma and magical abilities with those whose influence is grounded in “legal-rational authority.” In many ways, Weber’s approach mirrors Durkheim’s belief in the increasing intellectualism of society (Morris 1987; Bell 1997) or, as we shall see below, Radin’s (1957) formulation of a transition from magic to religion. Moreover, explicit in Weber’s notion of rationalization was the assumption that ethical or moral proscriptions upon behavior developed as magically dominated religious systems gave way to systematic and rational religious ones. Bell (1992), however, has noted that rationalization may be a result of the increasing specialization of ritual practitioner occupations rather than the cause of it. Here, she argues that as full-time religious specialists come to dominate ritual practices, they seek to consolidate or secure their authority by “the generation of official titles, institutions, personnel, and even official language.” By controlling not only how one interacts, but also who interacts, with the sacred, full-time ritual practitioners (i.e., priests) are able to dominate both social and religious “reality.” Thus, priests are able to establish their legalrational authority through the rationalization of their special relationship with the supernatural. This transition would seem to correspond with Wallace’s (1966) sequence of changes in cultic institutions, particularly the shift from shamanic to communal cults. Paul Radin

Radin (1957) also outlines a hypothesis regarding the shift from shamanbased ritual to priesthood-dominated religions. His approach is explicitly economic.

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We must remember, at the onset, that a definite correlation exists between the simpler societies organized on a non-agricultural basis and the extent to which, in such civilizations, neurotic-epileptoid individuals predominate among the medicine-men. The reason for this is purely economic. The competition for this position is there not so intense. The rewards are, after all, not very great. As a result very few men and women of the more matter-of-fact and normal type are attracted to it in contrast to what is the case in the more complex agricultural and pastoral communities. (Radin 1957, 131–32)

Thus, Radin suggests that when societies (generally or in specific cases) shift to (or intensify their reliance upon) food-producing or agricultural economies, the material compensations for being a religious specialist increase. As a result, many more individuals opt for this occupation. Therefore, it is necessary for selection mechanisms or criteria (other than mental instability) to be established by society. These criteria allowed “normal” individuals to join the ranks of religious practitioners but kept their selection in the hands of ordained ritual specialists. Radin further suggests that while, over time, the neurotic-epileptoid predisposition was abandoned, the ritual practices that this psychological criterion led to were not. Rituals thus maintained many of the characteristics of their shamanic heritage: suffering, a trance state, social isolation, and the observance of taboos and purifications. Moreover, Radin sees this evolution of religious structure as marked by the downplay of magical mentality and the emergence of more dominant religious constructs: “One thing is, however, clear, that the better organized the medicine-men are the more prominent the strictly religious ingredients become” (Radin 1957, 150). Here magic is seen in the traditional Frazierian definition as faulty scientific reasoning, while religious attitudes are concerned with a worshiper’s subjugation to supernatural power(s). To be sure, altered states of consciousness continue to be an active focus of research on shamans and shamanism. Both Atkinson (1992) and Norbeck (1961) have refuted Radin’s formulations based upon the assumption of the omnipresent mental instability in all shamanic practitioners. However, Norbeck (1961) also emphasizes an economic cause for the shift from shamans to priests. He concludes, “Among horticultural and stock-raising societies with economic bases providing adequate surplus to allow specialization outside the

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quest for food, full-time experts of various kinds are found.” (1961, 120) Thus, when societies shift to subsistence practices that provide a surplus, ritual specialists are afforded the full-time status needed for the development of priesthoods. Like Radin’s model, priesthood development is associated with changing subsistence practices. Mary Douglas

While not explicitly examining ritual practitioners, Douglas (1973) presented a classificatory scheme that postulated a correlation between a society’s social structure and its symbolic and religious organization. This scheme can be extended to suggest what types of ritual specialists would be associated with different social and religious systems. Douglas’s intention, as noted by Morris (1987, 228), is “to relate specific cosmological ideas with varying types of social constraints.” Her original classification proposes two axes, or variables, upon which the social or political facets of a society can be described. “Grid” represents the level of order and codification of symbolic or classificatory systems, while “group” measures the degree to which individuals are controlled or obligated by social relations with others. Douglas suggests that all societies can be categorized on the basis of their position along these two scales of measurement. Societies with low grid and low group have relaxed social constraints, few societally imposed restrictions, and no consistent or coherently articulated worldview. High grid and group societies, on the other hand, are dominated by indoctrination into sanctioned social roles and symbolic classifications, and behavior is strictly controlled. Douglas (1973, 32) suggests that “when the social group grips its members in tight communal bonds [i.e., high group], the religion is ritualist; when this grip is relaxed, ritualism declines.” Here, she seems to be suggesting that in low grid/group situations, “there emerges a cosmology that is benign and unritualistic” (Morris 1987, 228), or ritual is fairly unstructured, while high grid/group contexts “tend to a routinized piety towards authority and its symbols; beliefs in a punishing, moral universe” (Douglas 1973, 87). Bell (1997) observes that this correlation of ritual with social organization is based upon emphasis of societal cohesion, solidarity, or group identity. Elsewhere, Bell (1992, 130) suggests that Douglas’s model “finds ritual specialists in stratified or ‘high-grid’ societies, and . . . correlates the status of such specialists with a pronounced social hierarchy and a social ethos of piety. . . . By contrast, for a society in which

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the social hierarchy is weakly defined, rituals are more likely to be generated without officially trained or designated specialists.” Thus, this model again suggests a general correlation between the intensity of sociocultural complexity and the types of religious structures present within a society. Michael Winkelman

Finally, Winkelman (1990, 1992, 1996) has developed a classification of ritual practitioners based upon the statistical clustering of cross-cultural data. His analysis resulted in the definition of a plethora of ritual specialist types, including shamans, shaman-healers, priests, mediums, and sorcerers/witches. Winkelman’s data showed a statistical correlation between the existence of priesthoods and intensified agricultural subsistence, social hierarchy, and political integration. From this correlation he concludes, “A social evolutionary model in which these religious-practitioner configurations emerged sequentially as a consequence of agriculture, political integration, and social stratification is empirically supported” (Winkelman 1996, 1108). Within Winkelman’s model, shamans represent the most basic ritual practitioners, and their authority or power is based upon the innate “psychobiological” influence of altered states of consciousness. However, with the shift to intensified agricultural subsistence practices, some shamanic positions within society were transformed into priestly ones. “Priests’ institutionalized basis is in leadership positions of social groups developed to meet the needs for social coordination and control in societies, particularly as related to agricultural processes” (Winkelman 1996, 1108). In such societies, those who continue to act as shamans increasingly fulfill roles as healers, while other ritual specialists (i.e., priests) become the primary mediators between society and the sacred. Thus, his model is based upon the presumption of a sociocultural evolution wherein ritual specialist roles (and presumably religious organization) change in response to economic development, particularly the intensification of agriculture. Following this, we would expect the addition of Wallace’s (1966) communal or ecclesiastical cult institutions (along with the maintenance of shamanic cults, but in new roles) for societies transitioning to more complex sociocultural configurations. Intensification of Ritual Specialization

In many ways, the four approaches outlined above can be conceptualized in the same terms used to describe various levels of prehistoric craft specialization

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(Clark and Parry 1990; Costin 1991). The concepts of context and intensity of production are particularly important in this respect. Context of production relates to how specialists are related to the consumers of their craft. Specialists are usually ranked on a scale ranging from independent to attached, where the former implies no demand or control over the specialist’s products by anyone, while the latter suggests that someone other than the specialist controls the final disposition of products. Intensity of production (scale of production in Clark and Parry’s terminology) refers to the amount of time producers spend employed in their work. In this case, specialists often range from ad hoc, through part-time, to full-time producers. Referring to the models discussed above, changes in the nature of ritual specialists can often be described in terms of context and intensity of production. Shamanic practitioners are usually described as independent specialists able to provide their services to whomever they choose. Thus, their context of production can be described as fairly independent. Priests, on the other hand, are more closely affiliated to the consumers of their liturgies. Priesthoods service the entire community and thus may be considered attached specialists. Intensity of production also differentiates between shamans and priests. As Pettitt (1946, 113) noted, Professionals more appropriately described as true priests for whom practice closely approximated a full-time occupation, were largely confined to sedentary, predominantly agricultural tribes.

Shamans, however, are more likely to be part-time practitioners. The distinction made by Wallace (1966) between shamanic cults controlled by part-time specialists versus communal or ecclesiastical cults with full-time specialists accords with this view. For these reasons, it is possible to describe the intensification of ritual specialization in terms of a transition from independent, part-time practitioners (shamans) to attached, full-time specialists (priests). In this study, ritual features (their nature and standardization) provide the direct and indirect evidence for assessing the intensification of ritual specialization in the Casas Grandes region. RITUAL SPECIALISTS AND RITUAL FORM

Each of the models outlined above offers insights into the manner in which ritual practitioners and institutions articulate with their associated socio-

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cultural systems. Furthermore, each presents hypotheses regarding how changes in social organization might affect religious organization and vice versa. In the following section, I present a set of terms that will enable a more precise discussion of these changes and their relationship to ritual specialists. In focusing upon ritual form, I do not intend to downplay or deny the culturally meaningful content of specific rituals. Rather, my purpose is to explore the morphology of ritual and the types of information that different ritual features tend to express. Moreover, I would argue that the development of full-time religious specialists (i.e., priests) and their associated cultic institutions impacts ritual form (and consequently the material manifestations of ritual). Ritual Canons versus Indexical Messages

Rappaport (1979, 1993) has proposed a distinction between features of rituals that transmit religious canons and those that communicate information that is self-referential. His dichotomy is clearly based upon a perspective that sees ritual as communicative behavior. To accept a communicative purpose behind ritual, he states, is “to accept an expanded notion of communication, one that . . . not only includes ‘saying,’ but certain sorts of ‘doing’ as well.” (Rappaport 1979, 178–79) Bell (1992; see also Goody 1977) has similarly argued that ritual should be considered as a specific manner or way of doing something, rather than as a distinct class or group of actions. Her point is that there is not any simple set of ritual (versus nonritual) acts; rather, any action or practice can be ritualized. Rappaport (1979) argues that the messages that can be communicated within ritual can be distinguished by their source and content. Those messages whose content regards the current situation of the participants are termed indexical (or self-referential). These messages reflect the contemporary, immediate, and particular status of the ritual participants. They are immanently flexible. Wedding vows, for example, express the emotional state of the bride and groom, as well as their acquiescence to a change in one aspect of their respective social statuses (i.e., from bachelor to husband). Moreover, because participation in a ritual communicates a willingness on the part of the performer to accept that ritual, all rituals contain at least that one indexical message. For instance, attendance and participation in a Catholic mass marks one as a practicing Catholic (i.e., attendees accept the Catholic orthopraxy even if they do not accept the orthodoxy).

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Alternatively, Rappaport refers to those messages that concern the enduring, universal, or eternal aspects of nature and cosmos as canonical. These messages do not represent current states or contexts and are thus, in some sense, not only timeless and ahistorical but also constant and immutable. Canonical messages occur in some, but not all, rituals. For example, a soldier’s salute is a ritual expression of a self-referential message (e.g., receipt of an order) without any associated canonical information. Most rituals and those Rappaport (1979, 1993) terms liturgical, however, contain both canonical and indexical information. A Christian wedding ceremony, for example, contains not only the self-referential messages noted above but also religious canons regarding the nature of the institution of marriage and ethical proscriptions. Rappaport also distinguishes these two aspects of ritual communication by their source and symbolic manifestations. While a ceremony’s participants actualize indexical messages, ritual canons are already encoded in the formal elements of the rite. Therefore, self-referential messages can be expressed through whatever variability is allowed by the ritual. Canons are communicated within the ceremony’s invariant sequence of acts, words, songs, and paraphernalia and are thus never encoded by participants of that ritual. Correspondingly, Metcalf (1981) has referred to this dual aspect of rites (being invariant in certain key canons, yet flexible in symbolic quantity) as “ritual economy.” Peircian Semiotics

Turning to their symbolic manifestation, Rappaport explicitly adopts a Peircian semiotic perspective (Winthrop 1991; Parmentier 1985). According to this view, there exist three classes of signs: symbols, icons, and indices. Symbols have an arbitrary relationship to that which they denote. That is, there is no meaningful relationship between sign and signified. The English word “dog” is a symbol for a particular animal. Icons, to the contrary, have an actual resemblance to the signified. A road sign in the shape of a state is an icon of that state. Finally, an index signifies something by virtue of a contiguity or causal relationship. An oil stain is an index of an engine leak. Rappaport (1979, 180) argues that canonical and indexical messages can only be transmitted using certain classes of signs: Canonical messages, which are concerned with things not present and often not even material, are, and can only be, founded upon symbols. . . . On the other

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hand, information concerning the current state of the transmitter may transcend mere symbolic designations and be signified indexically.

This is an important distinction. Because canonical messages are both timeless and conceptual, there exists little potential for associated signs to have a relationship of contiguity with them. Canonical signs, therefore, must be arbitrary; they must be symbols. Note that this fact corresponds well with Kertzer’s notion that authority can only be expressed in symbolic terms. Authority is a canon that must be expressed as timeless in order for it to survive the loss of any one individual authority figure. Signs of indexical information, however, need to be able to reflect changing and particular conditions or contexts. They are thus more often encoded in indices that have a direct and meaningful relationship with what is signified. Rappaport (1979, 182) also makes a further point about ritual form, and it is related to Peirce’s third class of signs: “The invariance of a liturgy may be an icon [an actual representation] of the seeming changelessness of the canonical information that it incorporates.” Finally, Rappaport (1979, 188) points out that within liturgical rituals, those rites with both indexical and canonical content, the ritual’s canons provide the structure that not only conditions what indexical messages are transmitted but how they are communicated as well. In a Catholic mass, the eternal aspect of the religious canons expressed within the Eucharist portion of the ceremony is reinforced by the lack of indexical variability. (Here, as quoted above, the invariance becomes an icon of immutability.) The sermon, homilies, and readings, however, are open to indexical communication as demonstrated by their variability from week to week. Not only does the message of this portion of the mass change (often reflecting the immediate social concerns of the parish), but many churches have now embraced a variety of media employed in expression, including poetry, song, and secular readings. Furthermore, the lay individuals who participate in the mass, for example by reading a passage, are themselves transmitting an indexical message about their own faith. Many of Rappaport’s ideas (including his use of Peirce’s definitions) have been mirrored by the work of several researchers working with ritual. Moore and Myerhoff (1977, 18–19) observe that in extended rituals there is a tendency for fixed segments to alternate with open or variable segments. Often the former are associated with sacred externallyoriginating elements, the latter with secular, regional, or highly particular

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elements. Such juxtapositions are attempts to suggest that the optional, particular segments are as axiomatic as the fixed pieces which usually precede, follow and regularly punctuate the improvised, or localized sections. And reciprocally, the axiomatic matters are enlivened and made relevant by their association with specific, immediate affairs.

Likewise, Tambiah (1985, 124–25), in his introduction to a performative perspective in anthropology, states, The macro-problem I shall grapple with here is the dual aspect of rituals as performances. On the one hand, it can be said in general that a public ritual reproduces in its repeated enactments certain seemingly invariant and stereotyped sequences [i.e., religious canons], such as formulas chanted, rules of etiquette followed, and so on. On the other hand, every field anthropologist knows that no one performance of a rite, however rigidly prescribed, is exactly the same as another performance because it is affected by processes peculiar to the oral specialist’s mode of recitation, and by certain variable features such as social characteristics and circumstances of the actors [i.e., indexical messages].

His point is that the formality or stereotypy observed by many as a key characteristic of ritual is but one part of a ritual’s informational content. Moreover, like Rappaport, Tambiah sees ritual performances as opportunities for participants to express self-referential messages. His study goes on to explore changes in the indexical portion of rituals. Bloch (1992, 1), by contrast, explores the relatively invariant canons of ritual: [W]hile some aspects of the ritual adapted functionally to changing politicoeconomic circumstances, other aspects remained unchanged through time. These unchanging aspects were not in any sense arbitrary; rather they made up a central minimal structure or “core” of the ritual process.

Rodriguez (1996, 9), however, in her study of the Rio Grande Matachines dances, attempts to discern what she refers to as generic versus local levels of meaning: The regional, or generic, is encoded in the common elements of structure and content observed in all performances, and the local consists of the particular way the dance is carried out in a given village, including its elaboration of specific characters or elements, the festival occasion in which it is embedded, and year-to-year variation and change.

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Thus, the concepts of canonical and indexical elements of ritual provide a workable framework within which to explore the effect of different ritual specialists upon ritual variability or uniformity. It is also the indexical and canonical elements of ritual that explain why ritual is so effective at managing aspects of authority and community cohesion in the context of emergent sociopolitical complexity. Ritual canons present as unchanging, timeless, and unquestionable certain aspects of existence, in this case authority structures. At the same time, indexical aspects of rituals participated in by the entire community can encourage individual participants to accept and embrace cohesive, communal imagery of themselves. Indeed, simply by participating in a community ritual, an individual is indicating both his acceptance of ritual canons and his membership in the community. From a methodological perspective, the concepts of canonical and indexical elements of ritual also allow analysis of ritual to focus upon those aspects that should be discernable within the archaeological record. Ritual Form

How might differences between the types of ritual organizations and specialists affect their associated ritual performances? I believe that these differences are related to the level of encoded canonical liturgies and the level of indexical information transmitted in a particular set of ritual practices. As I hope to demonstrate below, we can use the terminology devised by Rappaport to explain the general features of particular ceremonial practices given the organization of their associated religious systems. I argue that this conceptual framework provides insight into the changes that occur as societies move between shamanic-based cultic systems and those dominated by priesthoods, or what Wallace (1966) would consider communal or ecclesiastical cults. Establishment of Encoded Canonical Liturgies

The existence of a priestly cult within a society often has the effect of institutionalizing knowledge about the sacred. The priest is concerned with the conservation and maintenance of a deposit of beliefs and practices handed down as a sacred trust from the founders of the social or religious system. (Turner, V. 1968, 439)

Thus, priests may have little opportunity to make changes in or innovations to traditional ritual forms. Turner’s observation ties in nicely with Bell’s

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reconceptualization of Weber’s rationalization model. While rationalization is associated with the development of priesthoods, Bell argues that it is a result and not a cause of increasing priestly control over rituals. As noted above, rationalization is the process by which religious beliefs are systematized and ritual authority is vested in legal-rational offices. Priests, as defined here, are selected by their profession and receive training in preencoded ceremonies. Thus, priests acquire and orchestrate liturgical rites with significant canonical content. By contrast, in societies not dominated by priesthoods, some level of shamanic power is available to most or all of a society’s members. Furthermore, shamans are often expected to develop their own rites or elaborate on those they learn from others. Grim (1983, 120) explains the situation in traditional Ojibway society: In their rituals Ojibway shamans use the unique cosmological images and gestures that were revealed to them during their initiating dreams or visions. Moreover, the reenactment of these revelations, which were personally communicated to them by the manitou, is the basis of their public performances. Thus each ritual is a unique reenactment that mediates between the society of which the shaman is a member and the sacred world which he or she has personally experienced.

Therefore, it would seem reasonable to suggest that, in general, shamanic rites often contain less canonical messages, while priestly ceremonies are often heavily laden with them. Reduction in or Structuring of Ritual Displays of Indexical Messages

In an opposite manner, the level of indexical information communicated in rituals appears to decrease as priesthoods are established or at least to be restricted in its expression. While “each shaman is distinguished by the manner in which he or she initially experiences and later evokes personal power” (Grim 1983, 120), “what the priest is and does keeps cultural change and individual deviation within narrow limits” (Turner, V.W. 1968, 439). Thus, it seems that shamans are encouraged and even expected to infuse their rites with indexical messages and thereby personalize them. Since shamans are free to vary, even superficially, the religious canons transmitted in their ceremonies, they have greater freedom in the presentation of indexical informa-

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tion. Their ability to do so is no doubt related to their perceived ability to exercise control over their supernatural contacts. Shamans . . . need great personal inventiveness to adapt their communications to their particular life situations. Because of their spontaneity and inventiveness, shamanic rituals are usually less standardized and less traditional than the rituals carried out by priests. (Grim 1983, 10)

Priest, though, have little direct control over the actions of supernatural forces. They are relegated to performing standardized liturgies that seek to propitiate the supernatural and mediate contact with the sacred. Often their rites systematically depersonalize participants and inhibit the expression of self-referential messages. This diminution of indexical content complements Douglas’s ideas regarding high grid/group societies. Her model suggested that in communities where symbolic structures are tightly controlled and social organization is rigid, religious practices take on a highly ritualistic (i.e., formal) appearance, and moral authority is inflexible. Given these observations, how are we to understand the transition or evolution of religious systems and their relationship with ritual practices? Several of the researchers mentioned above (Norbeck 1961; Radin 1957; Winkelman 1996) have proposed developmental schemes based upon economic considerations. All of these proposals are based upon the belief that as societies subsistence practices changed, so too did their religious systems. Specifically, each argues that as societies shifted from hunting and gathering to intensified agricultural subsistence, their ceremonial systems evolved from those dominated by shamanism to those characterized by priesthoods. Winkelman (1990, 1992, 1996) presents the most explicit argument. He states that priesthoods develop as a direct result of agriculture and consolidate their authority with the advent of political integration and class differentiation. Moreover, priesthoods base their position upon providing the social control and coordination necessary for these sorts of communities. Townsend (1997), however, disputes the strict correlation between social complexity and priesthoods. In support of her critique, she notes that societies from Nepal and the aboriginal northwestern Pacific Rim are (or were) highly stratified, politically complex, and, at least in the case of Nepal, agricultural. Furthermore, these cultures employ shamanic ritual specialists. Thus, she suggests

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that the utility of such a developmental model is limited. However, I believe that while her cases seem to disprove the generalizations made by Winkelman, they in fact clarify a crucial variable in the impact that economic change has upon the evolution of religious systems. Winkelman’s model argues that agriculture is the prime mover in the development of priesthoods. While Townsend’s example from the Pacific Rim does represent a generally acknowledged complex society, its economy is firmly based in fishing and marine-resource gathering. Thus, it does not meet the characteristic that Winkelman suggests is the cause of priesthood development. Those societies from Nepal, however, do represent societies with an agricultural subsistence base that regularly employ shamanic practitioners. However, in these cases, Townsend disregards one aspect of Winkelman’s model, which does not suggest that shamans disappear or cease to be utilized with the development of priesthoods. In fact, Winkelman’s model argues that altered-states-of-consciousness-based ritualists do continue to provide services to their societies; however, these services are changed due to the presence of priests. Thus, the Nepalese example, where priests and shamans coexist, likewise does not refute Winkelman’s model. What then is the place of intensified agricultural practices in the development of priesthoods? Agriculture, especially when practiced intensively, requires significantly more social control and organization than that exhibited in hunter-gather societies. Moreover, the planning and preparation of subsistence activities within an agricultural society must be much more far-sighted and predictive. Campbell (1965, 35) has pointed out that the demand for conformity and consonance within a population is greatest in complex adaptive systems, including agricultural ones. These societies, he suggests, require “restraint upon individual . . . impulse (which would represent a systematic selective force counter to the social institution).” Individual initiative and variability can be devastating in such communities, and often conformity and compliance are demanded in the populace (Barry et al. 1959; Frank 1996; Norman 1975). This is not to suggest that all agricultural societies develop priesthoods. However, authority-driven religious systems such as priesthoods do provide the social control necessary for the long-term success of such systems. I would predict that societies based upon intensive agricultural practices but lacking priesthood-dominated ritual systems are destined for only shortterm success. The development of such systems should be reflected in the archaeological record.

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ARCHAEOLOGICAL CORRELATES IN RITUAL PRACTICES

The various characteristics of shamans and priests (table 3.1) would seem to offer a fairly clear division between the two types of religious specialists. But as Townsend (1997, 438) has noted, “Such dichotomies are useful analytically to highlight certain characteristics of a religious role but should not necessarily be taken as a reflection of the real world.” Indeed, as table 3.1 shows, there is considerable overlap in the actions and paraphernalia of priests and shamans. I am comfortable with this overlap as it suggests that the difference between shaman- versus priest-dominated ritual systems is more a matter of a continuum rather than a strict dichotomy. How then do we differentiate the rites of these two practitioner types? More importantly, for this study, how do we identify the archaeological remains of priests and shamans? What are the behavioral (and material) correlates of the two? The difficulty of identifying ritual practitioners in the archaeological record is particularly troublesome. Unlike ethnologists, archaeologists often are left with scant, shadowy, or ambiguous information on actual prehistoric behaviors or actions. Take for example the ritual use of feathers. In the U.S. Southwest, feathers are utilized in rituals performed by both shamans and priests (Lamphere 1983). The latter often use feathers in the construction of masks, apparel, or dedicatory prayer sticks. The former might use feathers in curing rites to draw out afflicting objects from a patient’s body. Given the recovery of feathers from an archaeological context, what conclusions can be drawn? Without a clear picture of the behaviors surrounding the use and deposition of the feathers, it would be difficult to identify the type of ceremonialist involved. Similar observations can be made about musical instruments, alcoholic drinks, pigments, and smoke/smoking. Only a few objects seem unambiguously associated with either shamans or priests, and even these correlations may not hold up in all circumstances. Additionally, given the sort of evolution of cultic organizations posited above, it is very likely that the practices and objects involved in shamanic cults could very likely find their way into the ceremonies of priestly cults that evolve later. Ware and Blinman (2000, 398) suggest precisely that: Keresan-style medicine society ritual probably evolved from shamanistic rites that are millennia old, and various elements of medicine society ritual paraphernalia, as well as many of the ritual behaviors of the medicine men, likely date back to the times of shamanistic curing rituals.

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Such “holdover” traits from ancestral ritual practices can potentially confound the attribution of archaeologically recovered ritual contexts and objects to either priestly or shamanic practitioners. Finally, while archaeologists have recovered direct evidence of ritual practitioners in the form of human burials, these remains are often less helpful that might be expected. Very few burials of this sort have been encountered, the famous “magician” burial from Ridge Ruin near Flagstaff, Arizona, being an extraordinary exception (McGregor 1943). This burial, with its collection of over six hundred personal adornments and ritual objects represents one of the few burials of its type ever excavated. Native American informants from the region who were consulted suggested that the individual may well have been a community leader with considerable religious power. However, even in this case of extraordinary preservation and recovery, the role of this individual as either a shamanic healer or a member of a priesthood is unclear. Indeed, it has also been also suggested (McGregor 1943, 296) that the individual was merely the last surviving member of an esoteric society; therefore, all of the society’s objects were buried with him when he died. Furthermore, in many societies, ritual specialists (especially shamans) are accorded unique burial treatments. Shamans, priests, and other ceremonialists are frequently cremated or buried in special locations away from habitation sites. These funerary treatments can hamper archaeologists’ identification of ritual specialists. Thus, it appears that even burials may not provide unequivocal evidence of ritual practitioners and their nature. If particular ritual specialist types cannot be identified by their burials and no unambiguous lists of shamanic versus priestly ritual objects or features can be developed, how then can we identify these sorts of practitioners in the archaeological record? The approach adopted in this study is similar to that used to identify kivas suggested by Smith (1990). Smith grappled with the problem of identifying which structures in an excavated prehistoric site might be kivas (ceremonial structures identified ethnographically), in the face of considerable variability in observable features and characteristics. He suggested that no specific and discrete suite of traits unambiguously identified a structure as a kiva. Instead, he argued that kivas could be (and were) identified on the basis of their perceived difference from other architecture on the site. In essence, kivas stand out as somehow different from the surrounding architecture.

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I follow Bell (1992, 88–93; 1997, 81–83) in seeing ritual behaviors not as a separate type of behavior in opposition to nonritual behavior but rather as a way of behaving (see also Gazin-Schwartz 2001, 266–68). Those behaviors (and their material correlates) that are perceived as “ritual” are the result of ritualization—the cultural practice of setting a behavior apart from everyday action and imbuing that action with specialized, often sacred, meaning. Ritualization may involve formality, repetition, and tradition if this sets the behavior off from more vernacular practice, but it need not (Bell 1992, 90). The important aspect of ritualized behavior is that it is distinct from normal practice in the everyday world. Ritualized action is often signified by recurring patterns of deposition of materials in nonordinary ways or places. For example, the recovery of identical deposits or suites of artifacts not typically found together elsewhere in the site suggests ritualization in practices or paraphernalia. Locations that show evidence of repeated sacred activity over time (e.g., accretional deposits or objects, recurrent burning in certain contexts) suggest a cyclical ritualized pattern of behavior such as that often associated with priests. Institutionalized cults dominated by priests should also exhibit dedicatory or votive caches, as well as investment in built sacred landscapes (i.e., landscapes set apart from the commonplace landscape of everyday life). Shamanic deposits, on the other hand, should be more idiosyncratic but retain the expectation of ritualization of practice articulated by Bell (1992, 1997). Caches of shamanic objects should be unique collections of artifacts or features that do not fit the expected material correlates of everyday activities. Ritualized spaces should stand out in the full spectrum of locations at a site. In the case of Paquimé, certainly the ballcourts, special platform and effigy mounds, and uniquely shaped rooms contrast greatly against the backdrop of typical habitation room suites and plazas. I argue that ceremonial contexts will likewise stand out in comparison to nonritual ones. Moreover, I believe that priestly contexts can be distinguished from shamanic ones, not in the specific ritual paraphernalia they contain but in the form and scale of the features themselves. As noted above (and in table 3.1), shamanic rituals are variable, highly flexible, and often unique to practitioners as well as patients. Ceremonies conducted by priests, by contrast, are repetitive, invariant, and redundant in form and content. These observations apply both synchronically and diachronically. That is, shamanic rites are

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unique across a number of shamans as well as across any one particular shaman performing ceremonies through time. Additionally, the timing of shamanic rites is often idiosyncratic as they are often employed during unplanned or unexpected illness or life-crisis events. Priestly liturgies, however, are more similar to one another across various priests and through time (within particular cultural traditions). Liturgies are also performed at more cyclical or seasonally planned times. Thus, I expect priestly ritual contexts to show considerably more invariance, redundancy, and standardization than shamanic ones. This expectation is in line with the above discussion regarding the various amounts of canonical and indexical information being communicated in shamanic versus priestly rites. Carr’s (1995) study demonstrated that factors other than social structure often pattern mortuary practices. As discussed above, the organization of religious structures and ceremonial specialists can significantly impact the range of variability observed within ritual practices. Specifically, I would expect increasing canonical messages to be related to the development of what Wallace (1966) has termed communal and ecclesiastical cultic institutions. These types of religious structures should be organized around more full-time religious practitioners who learn their liturgical orders from other specialists. As more of the ritual practices of the society become the purview of institutionally trained religious functionaries, I expect patterns of symbolic communication to become less variable. In terms of nonmortuary ritual, I expect more repetitive patterns of ritual deposits with the development of priestly cultic organizations. These contexts should show evidence of regular or recurrent ceremonial activities, either synchronically or diachronically. For example, the recovery of identical deposits or suites of ritual artifacts across a site would suggest standardization in practices or paraphernalia. Likewise, locations that show evidence of repeated ritual activity at them over a course of time (e.g., accretional deposits or ritual objects, recurrent burning in ritual contexts) would suggest a cyclical ritual calendar more often associated with priests. Cults dominated by priests should also exhibit more dedicatory or votive caches as well as more investment in built sacred landscapes. I do not, however, expect priestly ritual activities to completely replace shamanic ones. As Winkelman’s (1990, 1992, 1996) studies show, shamans often find new roles as religious organization evolves and priesthoods develop. Shamanic deposits, on the other hand, should be more idiosyncratic.

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Caches of shamanic objects should be unique and may be distributed throughout the site, and not necessarily in specially constructed contexts. Further, I would expect the appearance of distinct iconic sets that would represent cultic societies within the community. Knight (1986) has cogently argued for similar iconic sets that represent various Mississippian cultic organizations. The development of these cultic institutions would be the result of selection for social and cultural organizational systems that could successfully maintain the cohesion of a large aggregated population in the face of growing scalar stress. SUMMARY

In this chapter, I have suggested a general pattern for the evolution of religious systems in response to selective pressures favoring more complex sociocultural organization. Furthermore, I have argued that in such situations, the longterm success of such communities is dependent upon the development of two features of society. The first is a command-and-control hierarchy of decisionmaking elites. This authority structure acted to relieve scalar stress associated with large, dense population settlements. The second is religious or ceremonial institutions that both supported the authority structure of elites and contributed to community cohesion in the face of the potential divisive nature of elite authority. These latter features are likely to be cultic or ceremonial societies and their associated ritual behaviors. These religious institutions and the specialists who direct their activities are especially suited to this task by the types of messages communicated within ritual and the manner in which they are reproduced and transmitted. Specifically, I believe that rituals effective in such situations significantly augment and emphasize cosmological canons (often perceivable as “deep” or embedded traditions), while downplaying selfreferential information. Finally, I expect the development of authority structures and cultic organizations to be reflected in patterns of ritual behavior. NOTE

1. Service (1962, 14), in discussing sodalities, also makes the point that we need to distinguish between latent and manifest function as well as to differentiate the function of such social groups during their development and as they are subsequently perceived. Maxwell (2001) has examined similar issues of function from an evolutionary perspective. His discussion of functional role versus functional effect is especially relevant here.

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Ritual Practices at Paquimé

Charles Di Peso (1974) offered the first interpretation of mortuary and other ritual practices at Paquimé. He saw significant connections between the religious system of the ancient Paquiméans and the religions of the sophisticated culture of Mesoamerica to the south. Connections between Southwestern and Mesoamerican religions and cosmologies have certainly been posited previously (e.g., Parsons 1996 [1939]; Ellis 1989; Young 1994). However, Di Peso (1968; 1974:2) is quite explicit in describing Paquiméan ritual in terms of cultic organizations from prehistoric and historic central Mexico. Unfortunately, this portrait was embedded in his own conceptions of Paquimé’s development and function and his misplaced timing of the Casas Grandes phenomenon, conceptions and timing that have been largely discredited by current archaeologists (McGuire 1980, 1993). In Di Peso’s model, pochteca traders from central Mexico established the community as a trading post (see McGuire 1993) to exploit the resources of the American Southwest, especially turquoise. Di Peso’s view of ritual behavior at Paquimé was therefore slanted to an interpretation favoring Mesoamerican-style religious organizations and practice. While acknowledging that these practices would have had a “strong local flavor,” he argued that “a host of tangible Mesoamerican iconographic traits became manifest at this time [the Medio period]” (Di Peso 1974:2, 546). Moreover, Di Peso’s focus upon economic models, and the pochteca in particular, has in many ways directed the foci of researchers who came after him.

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Thus, recent work with the record from Paquimé has focused almost entirely upon issues of commodity production and exchange and subsistence organization. Until quite recently, ritual practices at Paquimé have taken a back seat to these more materialist issues (Cordell 1997, 413). In this chapter I offer a description of the material remains of ritual practices at Paquimé. I begin with a broad introduction to changing mortuary practices and end with evidence for nonmortuary ceremonial activities. One issue complicating the examination of mortuary and nonmortuary ritual spaces at Paquimé is the tremendous complexity of the architectural spaces and the development and changes within that architecture during the more than two hundred years that the site was occupied. While the relative dating of some of the burials within the Medio period is known from stratigraphic and other evidence, many of the burials are simply dated to the Medio period as a whole. Likewise, while there is information on the sequences of architectural construction and remodeling, there is considerable complexity in temporal designations of rooms and other built spaces at the site. I did not attempt to correlate the timing of each burial, nonmortuary ritualized space, and architectural unit. I assumed that burials and other ritualized features found within architectural spaces were generally contemporaneous within the Medio period. It was also assumed that those placing burials or other ritual features were cognizant of their location and any other features within a given locus. While these assumptions may not be warranted in all cases, it is reasonable to assume that they apply in the vast majority. MORTUARY RITUAL

Most of the data on human burials utilized in this study were drawn directly from the published results of the Joint Casas Grandes Expedition (Di Peso 1974; Di Peso et al. 1974), especially the burial-feature descriptions in Volume 8 of the expedition’s report. However, some minor corrections were made during data collection. Specifically, some features were recoded to reflect an alternative interpretation of the archaeological remains or to correct errors identified in cross-checking through the expedition’s report volumes, and in some cases more accurate, complete, or exact information was added from other sources (Benfer 1968; Butler 1971; Ravesloot 1984, 1988). A fuller description of the dataset used here can be found in Rakita (2001). However, comments on a few issues are warranted.

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Type 2: Unprocessed or Unburied Bodies

As noted in chapter 1, the end of the Diablo phase of the Medio period is marked by what Di Peso (1974:2, 320–25) suggested was an enemy attack on Paquimé that destroyed much of the site and resulted in its final abandonment. Evidence for this attack are 126 bodies that Di Peso interpreted as unburied victims of the attack. “These individuals . . . had apparently been killed and left to lie where they had fallen on the day the city was destroyed” (Di Peso et al. 1974:8, 337). However, this conclusion is not endorsed by all. Walker (1998) has offered an alternative explanation of similar deposits at Homol’ovi II, an ancestral Puebloan village located along the Little Colorado River in Arizona, dating to AD 1330 to 1400. Human remains recovered in numerous contexts at this site did not display traditional funerary treatments. Skeletons were deposited on structure floors, often with trash or other debris. Corpses were unarranged (i.e., arms and legs were extended chaotically, not uniformly flexed or extended, as in intentional burials) and often exhibited evidence of severe perimortem injuries. Walker suggests that such deposits are evidence of kratophany or ritual violence, possibly directed at prehistoric witches or other malevolent ritual powers (see also Darling 1999). Recently, Walker (2001) has made a similar argument for contexts at Paquimé that exhibit evidence of burning and contain “unburied” corpses of the sort that Di Peso interpreted as victims of Paquimé’s final destruction (but see Casserino 2008 for a more recent discussion of these remains). In this study, I follow Di Peso’s judgment that these individuals are victims of some calamity that befell Paquimé and that they are “not properly a part of the study of burial methods and formalized treatment of the dead” (Di Peso et al. 1974:8, 337). Thus, I have generally excluded these individuals from the analysis of mortuary practices. While they are important as part of the human remains from the site, and while I do recognize that the killing of witches may have ritualized overtones, these features do not seem to represent standard ritual or ceremonial activities. Until the nature of these 126 remains is elucidated, it seems reasonable to proceed from this assumption. Extreme Processing of Human Remains in the Southwest and at Paquimé

In the past fifteen years, several publications examining evidence of extreme processing of human remains in the prehistoric American Southwest

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have been published (see reviews in Hillson 2000 and Plog 2003). Examples of osteological evidence for extreme processing include perimortem fractures or breakage, intentional disarticulation, burning, cut marks, percussion pits, and pot polish of bone fragments. Much of the literature has interpreted this evidence as proof of prehistoric cannibalism (evidence in the form of human myoglobin in a human coprolite has also been proffered as evidence, but see Dongoske et al. 2000). Turner and Turner (1992, 1999) and White (1992) made the classic arguments for Southwestern cannibalism. Others (Billman et al. 2000; Darling 1999; Hurlbut 2000; Kuckelman et al. 2000, 2002; Ogilvie and Hilton 2000; Walker 1998) have provided further data on extreme processing or perimortem violence. Additionally, other sorts of evidence have been used to support arguments that prehistoric Southwesterners did indeed engage in warfare and other forms of interpersonal violence (Haas and Creamer 1993; LeBlanc 1999; Lekson 2002; Wilcox and Haas 1994). Di Peso (1974:2, 561) himself was convinced that cannibalism (or at least “vestiges of cannibalism”) had taken place at Paquimé. His attribution of cannibalism is embedded in his discussion of the evidence for the presence at Paquimé of the cult of the Mesoamerican god Xipe Tótec. “Cannibalism, although not unique to Xipe Tótec cultists, was nonetheless a meaningful function of their sect. Paquiméan evidence of this practice was found in their trash in the form of butchering marks on human bone” (Di Peso 1974:2, 564, though see description of type 13C remains, Di Peso et al. 1974:8, 337). In their six-page summary of the remains from Paquimé, Turner and Turner (1999, 215–20) argue that Di Peso’s claim for cannibalism at the site is “not based on adequate evidence.” For example, they cite the lack of detailed data regarding broken, cut, or burned human bone. However, recent reexaminations of the human remains from Paquimé have led some investigators to reconsider the possibility of cannibalism (Casserino 2008; Kohn 2008). Sophie Kohn (2008, and personal communication in 2008), while collecting other data from the remains, has noted a plethora of characteristics that proponents of cannibalism (Turner and Turner 1999; White 1992) cite, including cut marks, burning, percussion marks, and possible pot polish. In particular, she noticed these characteristics on fragments from the upper levels of Burial 44-A-L-13. For example, figure 4.1, a photograph taken by Kohn, shows cut marks on a human clavicle from this feature. Kohn has argued that the human

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FIGURE 4.1

Photograph of cut marks on human clavicle from feature 44-A-L-13 at Paquimé. (Source: Sophie Kohn.)

remains in the top level of this feature were subjected to extreme processing. Further, she interprets these remains as the “primary deposit of sacrificed individuals . . . [who] may have been part of a feast to the ancestors.” Kohn (2008, 6) has also reported a reexamination of 179 randomly selected burials from the site, and his analysis revealed that thirty-five (over 19 percent) exhibited evidence of cannibalism. Casserino’s study found that all of the osteological characteristics used to identify cannibalism at such notable sites as Mancos, Cowboy Wash, Castle Rock, Polacca Wash, and Burnt Mesa were also seen in the samples from Paquimé. It is beyond the scope of this volume to adequately assess the claims of cannibalism at Paquimé. However, it does appear reasonable at this point to assume that a degree of peri- and/or postmortem processing of human remains was occurring at the site. Indeed, I have argued that the Casas Grandes region seems to have one of the more extreme expressions of postmortem corpse processing in the greater American Southwest and northern Mexico (Rakita, in press). Whether this extreme processing is for purposes of nutritional need or ceremonial obligation is unclear. However, given the context of some of the processed remains (e.g., in Burial 44-A-L-13), I argue that the processing of human remains at the site was at least occasionally ritually charged. Summary Statistics of Grave Accompaniments

Quantifying the amount and diversity of grave goods is a common procedure in many analyses of mortuary practices (Rakita and Buikstra 2005). To quantify the artifacts associated with each feature in this study, two variables were calculated for each burial. Artifact count is a simple count of the number of artifacts found within a burial. In the assembled dataset, artifact counts

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range from zero (in many burials) to sixty-three items (in one burial). The second variable, artifact richness, is based on the total number of different types of grave goods deposited within the feature. Artifact or grave richness range from zero up to a maximum of twenty-eight different grave good types. In general, these variables should be fairly representative of the energy expended on the burial itself, though not necessarily the totality of all funerary or ritual activities associated with the feature (Tainter 1978). For example, Burial 4 from Unit 21 (Burial 4-21) at Paquimé contained two common turkeys and two scarlet macaws. The artifact count for this burial is four, and the richness is two. By contrast, Burial 12-14 (Burial 12 from Unit 14) included one Escondida Polychrome jar, one Playas Red miniature bowl, and matting. This feature has an artifact count and richness of three (i.e., it contains three different objects). Thus, while the artifact count provides an indication of the raw number of objects included in a grave, the artifact richness assesses the diversity of objects within a burial. The results of these summary statistics are presented below. GENERAL SUMMARIES OF BURIALS Demographics

In all, Di Peso et al. (1974:8) reported five hundred burial features. These burials were distributed across six different sites and contained 713 skeletons and over thirteen hundred separate artifacts (table 4.1). Of greatest concern for this study are the remains from the Viejo period Convento site and the Medio period sites of Paquimé and Reyes 1 and 2. Table 4.2 shows frequencies of demographic characteristics by period and phase1 designation from these sites. Table 4.1.

Distribution of Burial Features, Skeletons, and Grave Goods Used in This Study

Burial Features

Skeletons

Grave Goods1

Convento Paquimé Reyes No. 1 Reyes No. 2

67 375 8 6

76 577 8 6

1,402 11,601 2 117

TOTAL

456

667

13,122

Site

Note: 1. This number is a count of all individual items or objects found within the feature. Thus, if a necklace was the only grave good and it had been made up of ten shell beads, the count would be ten. See discussion in Rakita (2001) for how composite artifacts of this sort were handled.

252

667

Late Medio1

TOTAL

21 53.8 46 61.3 82 59.9 232 61.2

Count % Count % Count % Count %

404 60.6

13 52.0

Count %

Count %

10 83.3

Count %

142 56.3

360 60.9

Count %

Count %

44 57.9

Count %

Adult

Note: 1. Values in this row are for the Late Medio sample with the unprocessed burials excluded.

379

75

Early Medio

Late Medio

39

Perros Bravos

137

25

Pilon

Early/Late Medio

12

591

Medio

Convento

76

Sample Size

Frequencies of Demographic Characteristics by Period and Phase

Viejo

Table 4.2.

Age

263 39.4

110 43.7

147 38.8

55 40.1

29 38.7

18 46.2

12 48.0

2 16.7

231 39.1

32 42.1

Subadult

129 19.3

46 18.3

63 16.6

32 23.3

19 25.3

7 17.9

3 12.0

5 41.7

114 19.3

15 19.7

Male

198 29.7

81 32.1

117 30.9

39 28.5

23 30.7

11 28.2

6 24.0

2 16.7

179 30.3

19 25.0

Female

Sex

340 51.0

125 49.6

199 52.5

66 48.2

33 44.0

21 53.8

16 64.0

5 41.7

298 50.4

42 55.3

Unknown

102

CHAPTER 4

Generally speaking, most phases display fairly even frequencies of subadults and adults. The one period that stands out is the Late Medio, which shows high frequencies of adults in relation to subadults. This may be due to the large number of adult skeletons that were classified as unburied (type 2) dead from the final calamity that occurred at Paquimé. Table 4.2 shows that when these burials are excluded, the ratio of adults to subadults becomes more even. Additionally, the Late Medio sample could be affected by differential preservation of juvenile remains, archaeological sampling strategy, or differential mortuary treatment afforded to subadults. However, the differences are not so great as to suggest a serious skewing of the sample. The distribution of the sexes of the skeletons is even across most samples with the Late Medio period again being an exception. In this case, females outnumber males almost two to one. This unevenness is only slightly ameliorated when the type 2 (non)burials are removed from the sample. Table 4.2 shows the ratio of males to females from the total Late Medio sample to be 53.8,2 while after excluding the type 2 burials, this ratio changes to 56.8. It is unclear what factors may be causing this discrepancy in the frequencies of the sexes in this sample (see Kohn 2008 for a recent reexamination of this issue). The distribution from the Early Medio period, which was excavated from the same site using the same excavational strategy, does not show as great an unevenness (having a sex ratio of 82.6). Thus, it does not appear that the ratio of males to females for the Late Medio period sample is due to excavation technique. Berry (1985, 59, table 5.9) has noted similar skewed ratios of males to females in skeletal series from the North American Southwest. Berry reports sex ratios for Point of Pines as 86.0, for the total Grasshopper sample as 62.6, for Salmon Ruin as 94.1, and for the Chaco Canyon series as 37.3. The sex ratio for the total Black Mesa series reported by Martin et al. (1991, 42, table 2-7) is 77.1, and the ratio for the Arroyo Hondo series is 69.2 (Palkovitch 1980, 23, table 5). Several possible explanations for this pattern exist. Differential mortuary treatment may be a factor. For example, some proportion of the male population may have been afforded burial off site or been disposed of in a manner that left no indication in the archaeological record. Alternatively, a higher percentage of males may have died some distance from the site, necessitating their burial away from the site. Or, if males were marrying into communities from other settlements, they may have been provided with burial at their natal community.

R I T U A L P R A C T I C E S A T P A Q U I M E´

103

In contrast, it may not be the case that males are underrepresented in comparison to females in these various samples. It may, in fact, be the case that females are being disproportionately overrepresented in these samples. By this I mean, if females have a higher mortality rate than males for particular age classes, they may be representing a larger percentage of the sample, thus skewing the overall sex ratio. Indeed, this may be the case with the Medio period samples from Paquimé, especially within the young adult age class (18 to 35). Females make up 77 percent and 60 percent of the young adult skeletons from the Early and Late Medio period samples, respectively. Sex ratios for older age classes (mid-adult [36 to 50] and old adult [50+]) are fairly even or are skewed toward overrepresentation of males. Thus, it may be that females at Medio period Paquimé were more likely than males to have died in early adulthood. It is difficult to ignore the fact that early adulthood is the primary childbearing period for women; thus, it is tempting to suggest that sex ratios overrepresented by males at Paquimé are due in part to female mortality related to childbearing. At this time, however, it is only possible to draw this conclusion in the most tentative terms. Grave Good Counts and Richness

Amounts and types of grave goods also shift with the transition from the Viejo to Medio periods. Tables 4.3 and 4.4 present summary statistics of grave good counts and richness by periods and phases. In examining the Viejo and Medio period samples, it appears that both artifact counts and richness seem to simply increase during the latter period. However, this observation obscures some rather striking changes in these variables, which become apparent when examined by phase. Initially, both mean grave good richness and mean artifact count increases from zero in the Convento phase to 1.21 and 1.70, respectively, in the Perros Bravos phase. During the subsequent Early Medio period, these values drop slightly to 1.06 and 1.34. They rebound in the Late Medio period to 2.07 and 3.17 (if type 2 unburied bodies are excluded). Thus, we seem to see two time periods in which the richness and quantity of grave goods peak, that is, in the Perros Bravos phase and the Late Medio period. However, the situation is not that simple. An examination of the histograms of these two variables (figures 4.2 and 4.3) shows that many of the samples (especially those with large sample sizes) are nonnormal, being heavily skewed to the right. One Paquimé period grave feature contained over sixty

456

1.86

0.00 0.64 1.70 1.34 2.24 2.04 3.17

1.04 2.00

Mean

5.30

0.00 1.14 2.26 3.17 4.76 6.42 7.78

1.83 5.68

s.d.

0.00

0.00 0.00 1.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00

0.00 0.00

Median

Note: 1. Values in this row are for the Late Medio sample with the unprocessed burials excluded.

TOTAL

12 22 33 53 98 238 153

67 389

Sample Size

Summary Statistics for Artifact Count

Convento Pilon Perros Bravos Early Medio Early/Late Medio Late Medio Late Medio1

By Phase

Viejo Medio

By Period

Table 4.3.

0.00

0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00

0.00 0.00

Minimum

63.00

0.00 4.00 8.00 20.00 26.00 63.00 63.00

8.00 63.00

Maximum

5.90

n/a 1.88 1.53 4.37 3.09 5.67 4.54

2.20 5.55

Skewness

48.55

n/a 2.94 1.42 23.24 10.04 40.96 26.22

4.53 42.43

Kurtosis

456

1.30

0.00 0.50 1.21 1.06 1.74 1.33 2.07

0.76 1.40

Mean

3.06

0.00 0.86 1.34 2.14 3.34 3.44 4.11

1.16 3.26

s.d.

0.00

0.00 0.00 1.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00

0.00 0.00

Median

Note: 1. Values in this row are for the Late Medio sample with the unprocessed burials excluded.

TOTAL

12 22 33 53 98 238 153

67 389

Sample Size

Summary Statistics for Grave Good Richness

Convento Pilon Perros Bravos Early Medio Early/Late Medio Late Medio Late Medio1

By Phase

Viejo Medio

By Period

Table 4.4.

0.00

0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00

0.00 0.00

Minimum

28.00

0.00 3.00 5.00 12.00 18.00 28.00 28.00

5.00 28.00

Maximum

4.12

n/a 1.74 1.08 3.26 2.78 4.24 3.35

1.64 3.88

Skewness

22.02

n/a 2.38 0.63 12.97 8.17 22.26 13.84

2.33 19.08

Kurtosis

Histograms of grave good artifact counts.

FIGURE 4.2

Histograms of grave good richness.

FIGURE 4.3

108

CHAPTER 4

artifacts of twenty-eight different types. This pattern is also recognizable in summary tables 4.3 and 4.4, where skew and kurtosis values for each of the samples are presented. This skewing is not entirely unexpected and conforms to the pattern seen in many burial samples (c.f. Howell 1995). It does, however, mean that traditional measures of central tendency (i.e., the statistical mean) do not necessarily accurately represent the location of the majority of observations. In these cases the median is a more appropriate, comparative statistic. Median values for each of the variables by sample are presented in tables 4.3 and 4.4. The only change in the median artifact count and richness is during the Perros Bravos phase of the Viejo period. Both measures change from 0.00 in the Pilon phase to 1.00 in the Perros Bravos. In the subsequent Early Medio sample, they return to 0.00. Grave Good Frequencies

Diachronic summaries of the mean number of various grave good types per burial by period and phase are presented in table 4.5. Ceramics of all types are fairly common grave accoutrements throughout the Pilon to Late Medio phases. Bowls are the most common form during the Viejo period, with jars becoming more popular during the Medio period. Polychromes and miniature, eccentric, and hand drum ceramics first appear during the Medio period. Ornaments, likewise, are a common accoutrement throughout the phases. However, the raw material of the ornaments placed in graves does seem to change slightly through time. During the Pilon and Perros Bravos phases, ornaments are predominantly made from shell. However, during the subsequent Medio period, raw materials used for ornaments placed in mortuary contexts are fairly evenly split between shell and lithic matter. (Indeed, the use of lithic or stone raw material for grave goods seems to increase across the Perros Bravos to Late Medio phases.) J.E. Douglas (2000) has previously noted the reduction in the amount of shell ornaments from the Viejo to Medio periods. While the frequencies of perishable items like floral and faunal remains may be affected by preservation conditions, the number of pieces of pigments and tinklers (small noisemakers probably attached to clothing) do show trends. Pigments first appear in graves during the Early Medio period and reach their peak during the Late Medio period. The mean number of tinklers peaks during the Perros Bravos and Late Medio phases.

.20 .33 .24 .07 .01 .02 .02 .59 .33 .24 .01 .01 .01 .00 .37 .02 .02 .04 .08 .08 .10 .07

.16 .10 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .52 .49 .01 .00 .01 .00 .01 .18 .01 .00 .01 .00 .00 .00 .03

.00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00

.00

Convento

.18 .09 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .23 .23 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .05 .00 .05 .00 .00 .00 .00

.32

Pilon

.21 .15 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .91 .85 .03 .00 .03 .00 .03 .36 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .00 .06

.39

Perros Bravos

.13 .28 .11 .02 .02 .00 .00 .40 .21 .19 .00 .00 .00 .00 .21 .00 .02 .02 .09 .06 .04 .02

.42

Early Medio

Note: 1. Values in this column are for the Late Medio sample with the unprocessed (type 2) burials excluded.

.58

Medio

.30

Viejo

Mean Artifact Counts per Burial Feature of Various Artifact Types

Ceramic vessels (all types) Bowls Jars Polychrome vessels Miniature vessels Eccentric vessels Effigy vessels Hand drums Ornaments (all types) Shell ornaments Lithic ornaments Bone ornaments Metal ornaments Shell objects Metal objects Lithic objects Bone objects Wooden objects Faunal remains Floral remains Matting etc. Pigment Tinklers

Table 4.5.

.29 .40 .28 .05 .01 .05 .00 .69 .35 .32 .01 .02 .02 .00 .34 .02 .01 .06 .07 .10 .09 .05

.72

Early/Late Medio

.18 .32 .25 .08 .01 .02 .03 .58 .34 .23 .00 .01 .00 .00 .42 .03 .03 .03 .08 .07 .11 .08

.55

Late Medio

.27 .49 .39 .13 .01 .03 .05 .90 .53 .35 .01 .01 .01 .00 .65 .04 .04 .05 .13 .11 .17 .13

.86

Late Medio1

110

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General Patterns in Viejo to Medio Period Mortuary Practices

Location of interments, interment facility, and processing of the corpse changed dramatically from the Viejo to Medio periods (tables 4.6–4.8). During the Viejo period, the dead were always buried in public spaces in plazas or abandoned structures and placed in simple primary interment pits. By contrast, Medio period burials involved a greater diversity of facility, location, and corpse processing. While primary inhumation continued to predominate, new corpse-handling techniques were introduced in the Medio period, including secondary burials, burials with extra elements or elements missing, sacrifice of individuals, and removal of corpses from pit features. Secondary processing and sacrifice of humans is particularly evident at the site of Paquimé. While the frequency of these treatments is small, they do represent a radical shift in corpse processing during the Medio period. Besides the three urn burials found in the Mound of the Offerings (Unit 4), three others were located in Unit 8, and two were found in Unit 15. These later two were discovered commingled within a Casas Grandes plainware jar placed under a sleeping platform in Room 2-15. To the north, in Unit 14, an unsealed burial pit was excavated that had once contained the remains of at least one adult but had been cleared of them (save some smaller skeletal elements) in antiquity. Along with the three secondary burials in Unit 8 was an unusual dish made from a human calvarium (cranial vault) embedded into the floor of Room 44. In Room 3 of Unit 13, multiple articulated and secondary remains of twelve individuals were discovered in a very unusual charnel pit (figure 4.4; burial feature 44-A-L-13). Finally, six human trophy skulls were located in Room 23 of Unit 16. The crania were described as “trophies” due to the multiple holes drilled into the tops of the cranial vaults of four of them, suggesting that the skulls may have been hung from a mobile (figure 4.5; Di Peso et al. 1974:5, 768–71; 1974:8, 240; but see Rakita 2004). Also located within this cross-shaped room was a trove of over 109 pieces of long bones, predominantly black bear (Ursus americanus), some human, mountain lion (Felis concolor), and various other species. These items were associated with a collection of items that Di Peso et al. (1974:5, 768–71) described as a priestly cache. Various types of sacrifices also took place at Paquimé. The skeleton of a twoto five-year-old child exhibited a possibly fatal blow to the back left side of the

22

33

53

971

238

153

455

Pilon

Perros Bravos

Early Medio

Early/Late Medio

Late Medio

Late Medio2

TOTAL

0 0.0 2 0.5 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 1 1.0 1 0.4 1 0.7

2 0.4

Count % Count % Count % Count % Count % Count % Count % Count % Count %

Count %

Body Removed

10 2.2

0 0.0 10 2.6 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 1 1.9 2 2.1 7 2.9 7 4.6

Combination

1 0.2

0 0.0 1 0.3 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 1 1.9 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0

Combination (S)

Notes: 1. One feature, Burial 9-23, was identified in the lab only and is excluded from this table. 2. Values in this row are for the Late Medio sample with the unprocessed burials excluded.

12

388

Medio

Convento

67

Sample Size

Processing of the Corpse(s)

Viejo

Table 4.6.

327 71.9

66 98.5 261 67.3 12 100.0 22 100.0 32 97.0 47 88.7 80 82.5 134 56.3 134 87.6

Primary

5 1.1

0 0.0 5 1.3 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 2 2.1 3 1.3 3 2.0

Primary (–)

3 0.7

0 0.0 3 0.8 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 1 1.0 2 0.8 2 1.3

Primary (+)

4 0.9

0 0.0 4 1.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 3 5.7 0 0.0 1 0.4 1 0.7

Primary (S)

17 3.7

1 1.5 16 4.1 0 0.0 0 0.0 1 3.0 1 1.9 10 10.3 5 2.1 5 3.3

Secondary

86 18.9

0 0.0 86 22.2 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 1 1.0 85 35.7 0 0.0

Unprocessed

22

33

53

971

238

153

455

Pilon

Perros Bravos

Early Medio

Early/Late Medio

Late Medio

Late Medio2

TOTAL

0 0.0 5 1.3 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 4 7.5 0 0.0 1 0.4 1 0.7 5 1.1

Count % Count % Count % Count % Count % Count % Count % Count % Count %

Count %

(Room/Plaza) Subfloor

5 1.1

0 0.0 86 22.2 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 1 1.0 85 0.4 1 0.7

Floor/Room Fill

Notes: 1. One feature, Burial 9-23, was identified in the lab only and is excluded from this table. 2. Values in this row are for the Late Medio sample with the unprocessed burials excluded.

12

388

Medio

Convento

67

Sample Size

Burial Location

Viejo

Table 4.7.

36 7.9

20 29.9 16 4.1 0 0.0 2 9.1 18 54.5 0 0.0 0 0.0 16 6.7 16 10.5

In Vacated Structure

157 34.5

47 70.1 110 28.4 12 100.0 20 90.9 15 45.5 6 11.3 42 43.3 62 26.1 62 40.5

Plaza Subfloor

167 36.7

0 0.0 167 43.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 43 81.1 50 51.5 74 31.1 74 48.4

Room Subfloor

1 0.2

0 0.0 1 0.3 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 1 1.0 0 0.0 0 0.0

Under Bed Platform

3 0.7

0 0.0 3 0.8 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 3 3.1 0 0.0 0 0.0

Vault

22

33

53

971

238

153

455

Pilon

Perros Bravos

Early Medio

Early/Late Medio

Late Medio

Late Medio2

TOTAL

0 0.0 86 22.2 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 1 1.0 85 35.7 0 0.0 86 18.9

Count % Count % Count % Count % Count % Count % Count % Count % Count % Count %

None

41 9.0

20 29.9 21 5.4 0 0.0 2 9.1 18 54.5 4 7.5 0 0.0 17 7.1 17 11.1

Pit

Notes: 1. One feature, Burial 9-23, was identified in the lab only and is excluded from this table. 2. Values in this row are for the Late Medio sample with the unprocessed burials excluded.

12

Convento

388

Medio

Sample Size

67

Burial Facility

Viejo

Table 4.8.

301 66.2

47 70.1 254 65.5 12 100.0 20 90.9 15 45.5 49 92.5 89 91.8 116 48.7 116 75.8

Pit (Sealed)

18 4.0

0 0.0 18 4.6 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 2 2.1 16 6.7 16 10.5

Pit (Unsealed)

5 1.0

0 0.0 5 1.3 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 1 1.0 4 1.7 4 2.6

Tomb

4 0.9

0 0.0 4 1.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 4 4.1 0 0.0 0 0.0

Urn

FIGURE 4.4

Burial feature 44-A-L-13 at Paquimé. (Source: Courtesy of the Amerind Foundation, Dragoon, AZ. Original line artwork. Figure 383-8/Alice Wesche, artist published in the Casas Grandes, Vol. 8, 389, fig. 383-8.)

FIGURE 4.5

Trophy skulls from Paquimé. (Source: Courtesy of the Amerind Foundation, Dragoon, AZ. Nita Rosene, photographer, published in the Casas Grandes, Vol. 2, 562, fig. 348-2 [upper left photo].)

116

CHAPTER 4

head. This child’s body was placed around a roof beam support in Room 21C of Unit 8 during construction (figure 4.6). Di Peso (1974:2, 566–67) interprets these remains as representing an offering to the Mesoamerican god of rain, Tlaloc. Sealed pits remained a predominant facility for burials; however, novel forms were also introduced during the Medio period, including unsealed pits or features with removable coverings, tombs, and ceramic urns. Location of burials also became more variable during the Medio period. While 28 percent

FIGURE 4.6

Sacrificed child, Unit 8. (Source: Courtesy of the Amerind Foundation, Dragoon, AZ. Alfred Cohen, photographer, published in the Casas Grandes, Vol. 2, 639, fig. 433-2.)

R I T U A L P R A C T I C E S A T P A Q U I M E´

117

of burials were in open-air plaza areas and another 4 percent were in vacated structures, 22 percent of Medio period dead were interred in room fill or left on the floors of abandoned rooms. Another 43 percent of the burials were located under room floors within structures. CHRONOLOGICAL SUMMARY OF BURIAL PATTERNS

In all, several fundamental patterns emerge from a diachronic examination of the mortuary practices within the Viejo and Medio period samples. The following provides a summary of those changes. Convento and Pilon Phases

During the initial phases of the Viejo period (Convento and Pilon phases), burials were fairly simple, unlined, shallow pits, all of which were placed within plaza areas. Each burial was a single primary interment with little elaboration and few (if any) grave accompaniments. Most corpses at this time were flexed (either tightly or semiflexed) and placed on one side or the other. Most individuals were oriented to the east and facing north. During the Pilon phase, artifacts first appear as accompaniments to the deceased. While generally rare, these inclusions were most often ceramics or shell ornamentation. Perros Bravos Phase

By the Perros Bravos phase of the Viejo period, few changes had occurred in the overall form of burials. Again, the overwhelming majority are primary, single burials placed in simple pits within the plaza (or placed in abandoned structures). There was the addition of secondary and multiple burial forms at this time, though instances of these practices are rare. However, the number and variety of grave goods increased dramatically within this phase. Ceramics and particularly shell ornaments are common accompaniments and are most frequently interred with juveniles and females. Additionally, some individuals were interred with lithic objects and shell tinklers. Early Medio Period

The settlement aggregation of the Early Medio period occurred concurrently with radical shifts in burial form and content. While a few burials continue to be located within public plaza areas, over 75 percent of interments are located within sealed pits under the floors of occupied domestic spaces. There is

118

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considerably more variety in the types of burials during this phase with significant numbers of multiple burials and novel corpse positions appearing. Orientation and facing of corpses are extremely variable as well. Additionally, new forms of extended corpse processing occur during this period, as do human sacrifices. The amounts and varieties of grave goods decline from the preceding Perros Bravos levels. And while ceramics and ornaments continue to be popular grave accoutrements, eccentric ceramic forms, mineral pigments, and ornaments made from lithic materials increase in frequency. As with the preceding Perros Bravos phase, tinklers appear in burials, though not as frequently. Late Medio Period

The Late Medio period sees a return to high quantity and variety in grave goods, this time predominantly in adult, male burials. Ceramics are very common inclusions in burial features, as are all types of ornaments, pigments, and tinklers. Burials are located within a variety of facilities and are fairly equally divided between intramural (private) and extramural (public) locations. Most burials are primary, single interments, though over 25 percent are multiple burials. Novel corpse treatments occur, and there is considerable evidence of heightened continued interactions with the remains of ancestors in the form of secondary burials, reopening (or keeping open) burial pits, and the curation of portions of human skeletons. NONMORTUARY RITUAL

Evidence for nonmortuary ritual was also gleaned from the Di Peso volumes. Unlike the mortuary data, however, these data were not reported in one section only but were scattered throughout the eight volumes. The information on nonmortuary ritual was collated from throughout the volumes, and much of it is summarized in table 4.9. Various new ritual objects (table 4.10) are used during the Medio period. Ritual objects recovered from Paquimé include stone and shell beads, shell tinklers, copper bells, ceremonial arrows, carved wooden and bone objects, eccentrically shaped stone and ceramic bowls, at least one altar stone, human trophy skulls, enigmatic bone skewers, musical rasps, whistles and hand drums, effigy figures, and a variety of mineral deposits and pigments. Several ritual bundles containing exotic stone and bone objects also date to this period. Di Peso (1974:2, 587; Di Peso et al. 1974:8, 240) argued that shamans used these during ceremonies.

Yes

Yes

No

4

4

4

Room 1-77

No

No

No

3

Ballcourt 1 (Unit 3) Mound 4 (Altar Room 1-4) Mound 4 (Room 2-4) Mound 4 (Room 2A-4)

5

No

2

Mound of the Cross (Unit 2)

Mound 1-5

No

Unit

Associated with Intentional Burials

Possibly priestly Possibly priestly

Priestly

Priestly

Priestly

Priestly

Priestly

Priestly

Attribution1

Public/ceremonial architecture Ceremonial room

Burial vault in platform mound Trench offerings outside burial vault and altar room

Public/ceremonial architecture Altar room in platform mound

Dedicatory cache in bottom of reservoir Public/ceremonial architecture

Context/Description

Shell tinkler, shell bead, human bone necklace (CG/519). (4: 305–15) [Trench offering 1 (S)] shell beads (x561), stone beads (x5), stone bead pendant, cordage (x4), ceremonial arrow (x6), worked wooden fragments. [Trench offering 2 (E)] cordage (x3), ceremonial arrow (x10), worked wood fragments, stone bead pendant (x7), shell bead (x20), stone beads (x16), shell bead (x58), matting. (4: 305–15) Stone bowl, mano, mattock, maul (x2), pestle, misc. debitage. (4: 315–16) Lack of utilitarian furniture or artifacts. (4: 362) (continued)

Maul, Playas red jar, stone beads (x4584), stone bead pendants (x53), shell beads (x59), animal bones. (5: 837) One platform mound in the shape of a cross with four small circular platform mounds at each of the cross ends. Cross is oriented north-south and east-west. (4: 287–92) Outdoor I-shaped ballcourt with two attached platform mounds. (4: 292–304) T-shaped altar stone3 (CG/516A-B, two pieces). (4: 305–15)

Contents References (all citations are to Di Peso et al. 1974; volume and page numbers given)

Nonmortuary Ritual Troves, Caches, Altars, and Sacred Spaces at Paquimé

Reservoir 2

Location

Table 4.9.

8

8

Room 21-8 (N, central, and S postholes)

Unit

Yes

No

Associated with Intentional Burials

(continued)

Plaza 3-8 (stairwell)

Location

Table 4.9.

Priestly

Possibly priestly

Attribution1

Posthole dedicatory cache and human sacrifice

Scatter of ceremonial (?) objects along the stairwell into an underground walk-in well

Context/Description

Stone effigy3 (x5), copper axe, matting, painted pebble (x2),2 ceremonial stone vessel (x3), Ramos Polychrome bowl, Ramos Polychrome effigy fragment, axe (x12), nesting box entrance (x6), pecking hammer (x2), ceremonial pecking hammer, stone pendant, projectile points, stone bowl (x3), mined deposit material (x4, selenite, quartz crystals, copper ore),2 copper plaque, crotal (x2), Villa Ahumada polychrome effigy fragment, bone rasp, bone effigy,3 stone bead pendant (>20), stone bead (x2), shell armlet (x5), trumpet (x3), stone tesserae3 (mosaic piece) (>5), shell tesserae,3 shell container, shell altar piece,3 shell pendant (>10), shell disk, shell beads (x14), shell bead pendant (x2), shell bracelet (>10), unworked shells (>10), shell tinklers (>20), maul, core, hammerstone (x3), polishing stone (x2), worked stone (x2), plumb bob, rubbing stone (x2), chipped mattock, mano (x4), metate, pestle, stone raw material (altered felsite),2 stone pendant, pigments (x4, red, yellow, white), debitage, bone skewer, pointed bone tool fragment, coarse coil bowl awl, ceremonial axe, stone stool, stone digging tool. (3: 377–79 and 8: 240) [North] turquoise bead pendants (type I, x5), Burial 23-8 (child two- to five-years-old, sex unknown, on left side, flexed around the base of the roof-support post, hole in left side of occipital bone, possible sacrifice3 [?]). [Central] turquoise bead pendant (type V), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x4). [South] turquoise bead pendants (type I, x4). (4: 407–10, fig. 288-4 and 4, fig. 188-4)

Contents References (all citations are to Di Peso et al. 1974; volume and page numbers given)

Room 25-8

8

Yes

Priestly

Subfloor room corner dedicatory cache

[NE] copper bead (type I), turquoise beads (type I, x12), gray slate beads (type I, x19), ricolite beads (type I, x16), felsite beads (type I, x5), red slate beads (type I, x3), fluorite beads (type I, x3), gray slate beads (type II, x3), Nassarius shell beads (type IIIA1, x7), C. echinata shell bead (type IX), L. elatum shell beads (type IVA2, x3), Conus shell bead (type IVA2), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x15), unknown shell bead (type IVA2), unknown shell beads (type IVB, x2), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x4). [NW] copper beads (type I, x2), turquoise beads (type I, x11), gray slate beads (type I, x38), ricolite beads (type I, x35), felsite beads (type I, x13), red slate beads (type I, x10), fluorite beads (type I, x4), apophylite beads (type I, x2), gray slate beads (type II, x11), felsite beads (type V, x2), Nassarius shell beads (type IIIA1, x15), C. echinata shell beads (type IVA1, x2), C. echinata shell beads (type IVA2, x3), S. princeps shell beads (type XI, x2), L. elatum shell beads (type IVA2, x8), O. undatella shell bead (type IIA), Olivella shell beads (type IIIB1, x6), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x19), unknown shell bead (type IVA2), unknown shell beads (type IVB, x3), felsite strand divider (type I), red slate strand divider (type I), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x6), ricolite bead pendant (type I), felsite bead pendant (type I), C. echinata shell bead pendant (type I), C. echinata shell bead pendant (type VI). [SE] copper beads (type I, x5), turquoise beads (type I, x21), gray slate beads (type I, x80), ricolite beads (type I, x98), felsite beads (type I, x25), red slate beads (type I, x10), olivine bead (type I), unknown stone beads (type I, x4), gray slate beads (type II, x9), ricolite bead (type II), Nassarius shell beads (type IIIA1, x20), Olivella shell beads (type IIIB1, x6), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x73), unknown shell beads (type IVA2, x5), unknown shell beads (type IVB, x9), red slate strand divider (type I), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x3), C. echinata shell bead pendant (type II). (continued)

No

No

No

10

11

11

11

Room 38-11

Yes

No

9

Mound of the Heroes Mound of the Bird (Unit 10) Mound of the Serpent (Unit 11, in part) Plaza 4-11

Yes

8

Unit

Associated with Intentional Burials

(continued)

Room 42-8

Location

Table 4.9.

Possibly priestly Possibly priestly

Priestly

Priestly

Possibly priestly

Possibly priestly

Attribution1

Subfloor room center cache

Subfloor cache

Public/ceremonial architecture

Public/ceremonial architecture

Subfloor room cache and curated human remains Public/ceremonial architecture

Context/Description

Cache of beads (CG/2528). (5: 483–84) Unknown stone bead (type 2), Vermetid shell beads (type IA1, x11), O. dama shell beads (type IIIB1, x3), O. incrassata shell tinkler (type IA). [Ravesloot (1988) shows four corner caches. May be in multiple locations within room.] (5: 508–14 and 4: 263, fig. 188–4)

Effigy platform mound in the shape of a serpent. (5: 478, figs. 2-5 and 3-5)

Effigy platform mound. Limited excavations due to historical significance related to burial of Mexican revolution dead. (4: 465–70) Effigy platform mound in the shape of a bird. (4: 471–74)

[SW] copper beads (type I, x4), turquoise beads (type I, x25), gray slate beads (type I, x61), ricolite beads (type I, x61), red slate beads (type I, x36), fluorite beads (type I, x2), unknown stone beads (type I), gray slate beads (type II, x7), ricolite bead (type II), Nassarius shell beads (type IIIA1, x26), C. echinata shell beads (type IVA1, x7), S. princeps shell bead (type VIII), Olivella shell beads (type IIIB1, x3), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x70), unknown shell beads (type IVB, x5), red slate strand dividers (type I, x5), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x6), red slate bead pendant (type I). (4: 259–63, figs. 186-4, 187-4) Animal (American bison) bone, human skull cap3 set into floor. (2: 718–19n17 and 4: 458, and fig. 188-4)

Contents References (all citations are to Di Peso et al. 1974; volume and page numbers given)

Yes

Yes

13

14

14

Room 15-13

Ballcourt 3 (Unit 14, in part) Room 23-14 (NW, SW, SE, and NE corners)

No

Yes

13

Room 14-13

Yes

13

Plaza 3-13 (NW corner)

Priestly

Priestly

Priestly

Priestly

Possibly priestly

Subfloor room corner dedicatory cache

Subfloor room corner dedicatory cache Ceremonial architecture

Ceremonial trove (presumed to have been scattered in this plaza during the Diablo phase) Subfloor room corner dedicatory cache

[NW] turquoise beads (type I, x2), grey slate bead (type I), Conus shell beads (type IVA2, x4), malachite bead pendant (type I), turquoise bead pendant (type I, x4). [SW] turquoise beads (type I, x9), grey slate bead (type I, x6), C. echinata shell bead (type IVA1), C. echinata shell bead (type IVA2), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x3), unknown shell beads (type IVB, x6), malachite bead pendants (type I, x3), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x2). [SE] turquoise beads (type I, x2), C. echinata shell bead (type IVA1), Conus shell beads (type IVA2, x2), malachite bead pendants (type I, x2), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x2). [NE] turquoise beads (type I, x3), C. echinata shell beads (type IVA1, x2), C. echinata shell bead (type IVA2), Conus shell beads (type IVA2, x2), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x5). (4: 259–63, figs. 186-4, 187-4) (continued)

[NE] gray slate bead (type I), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x3), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x2). [SE] gray slate beads (type I, x11), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x12), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x2). [SW] gray slate beads (type I, x5), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x3), turquoise bead pendant (type I). (4: 259–63, figs. 186-4, 187-4) [SW] turquoise bead pendants (type I, x2). [SE] turquoise bead pendants (type I, x3). (4: 259–63, figs. 186-4, 187-4) Indoor T-shaped ballcourt. (5: 617–20)

[Minimally] large stone bowl, polishing stone, shell bead, pointed bone tool fragment (x2). (2: 718n1, 8: 240, and 5: 584–92)

Unit

14

14

14

Room 24-14 (NE, SE, and SW corners)

Room 25-14

Room 26-14

No

Yes

No

Associated with Intentional Burials

(continued)

Location

Table 4.9.

Priestly

Priestly

Priestly

Attribution1

Subfloor room corner dedicatory cache

Subfloor room corner dedicatory cache

Subfloor room corner dedicatory cache

Context/Description

[NE] malachite bead pendant (type I), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x4). [SE] turquoise bead (type I), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x5), malachite bead pendant (type I), turquoise bead pendant (type I). [SW] turquoise beads (type I, x3), Conus shell bead (type IVA1), malachite bead pendant (type I), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x5). (4: 259–63, figs. 186-4, 187-4) [NW] turquoise stone beads (type I, x2), Conus shell beads (type IVA2, x2), malachite bead pendants (type I, x2), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x4). [SE] L. elatum shell bead (type IVA2), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x3). [NE] turquoise stone beads (type I, x8), C. echinata shell bead (type IVA2), S. princeps shell bead (type IX), turquoise bead pendant (type I). [NE] turquoise stone beads (type I, x6), gray slate bead (type I), Conus shell beads (type IVA2, x2), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x3), malachite bead pendants (type I, x3), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x2). (4: 259–63, figs. 186-4, 187-4) [E] turquoise beads (type I, x2), gray slate beads (type I, x14), Chrysocolla bead (type I), Nassarius shell bead (type IIIA1), C. echinata shell beads (type IVA1, x34), C. echinata shell bead (type IVA2), S. princeps shell bead (type IVA2), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x39), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x5). [S] gray slate bead (type I), C. echinata shell bead (type IVA1), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x3), C. perplexus shell tinklers (type IA, x2), C. ximenes shell tinkler (type IA). [W] gray slate beads (type I, x8), C. echinata shell beads (type IVA2, x2), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x7), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x12).

Contents References (all citations are to Di Peso et al. 1974; volume and page numbers given)

14

14

14

Room 30-14

Room 34-14

Room 36-14

No

No

Yes

Possibly priestly Priestly

Priestly

Subfloor room center cache Subfloor room corner dedicator cache

Subfloor room corner dedicatory cache

[W] turquoise bead (type I), gray slate beads (type I, x28), C. echinata shell beads (type IVA2, x2), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x58), malachite bead pendants (type I, x2), turquoise pendants (type XVII, x2). [N] turquoise beads (type I, x3), gray slate beads (type I, x38), C. echinata shell bead (type VII), C. echinata shell beads (type IVA2, x4), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x87), malachite bead pendants (type I, x2). (4: 259–63, figs. 186-4, 187-4) [NE] Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x14), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x2). [SW] C. echinata shell beads (type IVA1, x4), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x18), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x8). [NW] C. echinata shell bead (type IVA2), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x6). [SE] Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x7), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x7). (4: 259–63, figs. 186-4, 187-4) O. dama shell bead (type IIIB1), unknown shell bead (type IVA1, x18). (4: 259–63, figs. 187-4, 188-4) [N] gray slate beads (type I, x5), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x9), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x5). [E] gray slate beads (type I, x6), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x7), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x4). [E] gray slate beads (type I, x10), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x11), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x6). [E] gray slate beads (type I, x4), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x2), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x3), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x5). [S] gray slate beads (type I, x8), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x7), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x3), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x6). (continued)

Unit

16

16

Room 14-16

Room 22-16

Yes

Yes

Associated with Intentional Burials

(continued)

Location

Table 4.9.

Possibly priestly

Shamanic

Attribution1

Ceremonial trove on room floor (may have fallen from upper story)

Shamanic cache (?) on room floor

Context/Description

[S] gray slate beads (type I, x7), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x6), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x3), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x8). [W] gray slate beads (type I, x10), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x5), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x7), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x6). [W] gray slate beads (type I, x19), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x12), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x5), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x9). [N] gray slate beads (type I, x7), Conus shell beads (type IVA1, x4), unknown shell beads (type IVA1, x4), turquoise bead pendants (type I, x4). (4: 259–63, figs. 186-4, 187-4) Ramos Black container, shell beads (x4), ornaments (x5), paints/pigments (x3), small polishing stone, small polished agate,2 sherd disk,2 selenite fragment,2 miniature Casas Grandes plainware bowl. (5: 747–48) [Trove 1] carved bone effigy (in the shape of a human hand from a human cranial bone),3 bone wand (x7), bone skewer (x3), pointed bone tool fragment (x6), coarse coil bone awl (x2), long bone trove (>20 pieces), miscellaneous bone objects, shell stone pendant (x12), stone bead (x35). [Trove 2] mortar, polishing stone (x3), rubbing stone, stone awl sharpener. (5: 765–68 and 8: 240)

Contents References (all citations are to Di Peso et al. 1974; volume and page numbers given)

Yes

18

19

Room 2-19

Shamanic

Possibly priestly

Priestly

Priestly

Shamanic cache on room floor

Public/ceremonial architecture Ceremonial room

Ceremonial trove on room floor (may have fallen from upper story)

Cross-shaped room. Shell beads (x232), stone ornament workshop materials (x2), shell pendant, polishing stone, concretion,2 unidentified stone ornament blank, unidentified stone ornament fragment, shell tinkler, worked bone, pointed bone tool fragment (x2), coarse coil bone awl, human trophy skulls (x6).3 (5: 768–71 and 8: 240) Outdoor I-shaped ballcourt with one attached platform mound. (5: 785–87) Wattle and daub room constructed on small platform with encircling adobe wall. (5: 787–91) Casas Grandes plainware jar, coiled basketry, specular hemitite ore,2 red and green pigments, pitchstone,2 selenite,2 asbestos,2 worked unidentified invertebrate fossil,2 fossil brachiopod (x3),2 quartz crystals,2 pendant (x4, pumice, pumice, sepiolite, limonite), concretions,2 cave material (?), fire drill hearth, worked stone (x2), mica,2 fossil cephalopod,2 obsidian nodule,2 enigmatic sepiolite object,2 calcite insect effigy,2 cruciform (x2, obsidian, dacite).2 (8: 240 and 5: 795–96)

Notes: 1. These attributions are made on the basis of the expectations described here and in Rakita (2001). In general, priestly contexts displayed significant repetition or redundancy in their form or were located within specially constructed sacred spaces. Others displayed evidence of repeated use in ceremonies or human sacrifices or curation of human bone relics. Shamanic deposits were more idiosyncratic. 2. Shamanic item. 3. Priestly item.

Yes

No

17

Ballcourt 2 (Unit 17) Room 2-18

No

16

Room 23-16

. . . . . . 5 9 197 . . . 8 . . . 1 .

Turkey Sacrifices

. . . . . 34 7 11 . . . . . . . . . .

Macaw Sacrifices 9 . 5 . 9 26 4 7 35 21 2 55 . 22 2 1 5 3

Concretions . . 4 . 1 100 . 2 3 . . 4 . . . . . 1

Copper Crotals 3 2 12 23 49 16,007 13 97 107 3,852 . 1,513 . . . 1 139 14

Shell Tinklers

Counts1

Selected Item Frequencies by Unit Location at Paquimé (Di Peso et al. 1974:6–8)

1 2 3 4 6 8 11 12 13 14 15 16 18 19 21 22 Central Plaza East Plaza

Unit

Table 4.10.

. . . . . 2 . . 92 12 . . . 1 . . . .

Ceramic Hand Drums

. . . . . 8 . 1 1 2 . 7 . 1 . . 2 .

Bone Skewers

. . . . . 4 1 . 1 2 . 48 . . . . 1 .

Bone Wands

. . . . . . o o + . . . o . . . o .

Turkey Sacrifices

. . . . . + o – . . . . . . . . . .

Macaw Sacrifices – . – . – – – – – – – + . – – – – –

Concretions . . o . o + . o o . . o . . . . . o

Copper Crotals o o o o o + o o o + . – . . . o o o

Shell Tinklers . . . . . o . . + o . . . o . . . .

Ceramic Hand Drums . . . . . + . – – – . + . – . . – .

Bone Skewers

. . . . . – o . o o . + . . . . o .

Bone Wands

Notes: 1. The frequencies for each artifact category were tested using a goodness-of-fit test against an expected even distribution. All were significant at the 0.01 level. 2. Pearson residuals ([obs–exp]/sqrt[exp]) were calculated for each cell. Those cells with residuals above 2.0 are marked with a “+”, those less than –2.0 with an “o”, and those falling within the 2.0 to –2.0 range with a “–”. Residuals above 2.0 suggest that there were more of an object found in that unit than would be expected by chance; residuals below –2.0 suggest that fewer objects were found than expected.

1 2 3 4 6 8 11 12 13 14 15 16 18 19 21 22 Central Plaza East Plaza

Unit

Significance of Pearson Residuals2

130

CHAPTER 4

During the Medio period, a great deal of labor was invested in constructing public ritual architecture. Three ballcourts were built. Three platform mounds and two effigy mounds (in the forms of a snake and a headless bird) were constructed. It is unknown what sorts of ceremonies took place on these mounds, but at least one was no doubt used for astronomical observations (Mora-Echeverría 1984; Pasahow 1993). Ritualized loci that did not include obvious evidence of human mortuary or traditional disposal-of-the-dead behaviors, but which did feature dedicatory offerings, caches, and ritual bundles, were located throughout the ruin. These collections of artifacts took a variety of forms. Some obviously involved the one-time placement of offerings in a special location. For example, the Playas Red jar filled with stone and shell beads at the center of Reservoir 2 and the numerous subfloor corner caches found in rooms of possible ceremonial significance are also examples. Each of these votive offerings was put in place, covered, and never disturbed in antiquity. Alternatively, the ceremonial items found scattered along the stairway into the underground well below Plaza 3 in Unit 8 were probably strewn there accidentally sometime just prior to the abandonment of the site. In contrast to these single-occasion offerings or those accidentally lost, other ritual troves probably received repeated, perhaps cyclical, revisits. These include the altar room in the Mound of the Offerings, with its Tshaped altar stone and the two trench offerings within the enclosing wall of the unit. Ceremonialists who made use of the human bone necklace and prayed at the altar stone would have visited this area. Other potential locations for repeated or regular ceremonial activities were Room 23 of Unit 16, with its trophy (?) skull mobile and large trove of osseous objects, and the tomb pits of Unit 13 (Burials 13-13 and 44-A-L-13), which were covered with wooden planks, as well as three other burials that were probably left unsealed in Unit 13 (Di Peso et al. 1974:8, 387). The remains of broken hand drums and ornaments were distributed in the upper levels of two of these burials, suggesting that these items were utilized in rituals and then discarded in these sacred locations. The fact that two of these features were covered with wooden planks that could be removed, rather than sealed like other burial pits at the site, suggests that rites surrounding them were not completed.

R I T U A L P R A C T I C E S A T P A Q U I M E´

131

Sacred Architecture

The nature and function of sacred architecture at Paquimé has garnered some archaeological attention (Mora-Echeverría 1984; Pasahow 1993; Ravesloot 1994). Randall McGuire (1980), for example, notes that the site has a distinctly more Mesoamerican character to it than any other site in the North American desert west. In part, this assessment is based upon the existence of not only ballcourts but also multilevel platform and effigy mounds. Within the portion of the site excavated by Di Peso, three ballcourts, two effigy mounds, one cross-shaped mound, and a distinct burial crypt were uncovered (Di Peso et al. 1974:4–5). Di Peso made numerous connections between the ritual architecture at Paquimé and the classic Mesoamerican deities, particularly the plumed serpent god Quetzalcoatl. The effigy mounds at Paquimé are quite interesting in comparison to the community’s other architectural features. One, the Mound of the Bird (Unit 10), is located northeast of the isolated Unit 11 roomblock. The mound generally resembles a headless bird. To the west of roomblock 11 is the Serpent Mound, so called because of its snakelike appearance, including stylized head and solidified caliche eye. While Di Peso did acknowledge that the Serpent Mound might have served to divert runoff water away from Unit 11, he posits a primarily socioreligious use. One possible conclusion is that the (plumed?) serpent and the sacrificed bird were important enough motifs to the ancient Paquiméans to warrant two large public works. Equally intriguing is the Mound of the Cross, located in the north-central section of the excavated portion of the site. Presumably this mound served as a locus for astronomical observations. The structure is composed of masonry retaining walls filled with soil and was constructed in the shape of a central north-south and east-west cross, with each cross end supplemented with a small circular mound. Each of the four circular platforms has a small set of stairs leading to the surface of the platform. While Di Peso was only able to find a limited number of astronomical alignments from the center of the cross, other researchers (Mora-Echeverría 1984; Pasahow 1993) have demonstrated the multitude of sightings available from the east and west circular mounds (those, in fact, with steps). These alignments include the sunrise and sunset on the summer and winter solstices as well as the equinox sunrise and sunset. Pasahow concludes that the mound is potentially associated with the

132

CHAPTER 4

Mesoamerican deities Quetzalcoatl, Xiuhtecutli (the Fire Lord), and/or Tlaloc. Moreover, the unit marks the beginning of a line of sight to the southwest (225°) that passes over the Mound of the Offerings, the Mound of the Bird, and the Serpent Mound and continues 8 km to a structure on the top of Cerro de Moctezuma, the highest nearby peak (Pitezel 2007). Di Peso described this structure, termed the Torreón, as a masonry tower atop a spiral-shaped mound (Di Peso et al. 1974:5, 866–67). Di Peso went further and suggested that because of its spiral shape, this structure might represent a temple to the wind incarnation of Quetzalcoatl (i.e., Ehecatl). Within Mesoamerican myths, ballcourts are locations associated with the sacrifice of Quetzalcoatl. Three ballcourts were identified in the excavated portion of Paquimé. Ballcourts 1 and 2 take the usual I-shaped form common to courts in northwestern Chihuahua, southwestern New Mexico, and central Mexico. Ballcourt 3, on the other hand, is not only indoors but is also T-shaped. Moreover, this court is unique in having several sub-playing-field burials of potentially sacrificed individuals (figure 4.7; Di Peso et al. 1974:5, 617–20). Indeed,

FIGURE 4.7

Burial under Ballcourt 3. (Source: Courtesy of the Amerind Foundation, Dragoon, AZ. Tommy Carroll, photographer, published in the Casas Grandes, Vol. 2, 417, fig. 126-2 [right photo].)

R I T U A L P R A C T I C E S A T P A Q U I M E´

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one of the individuals buried under the center of the court is sitting on top of the other, while one of the females buried at the south end had her right arm detached and placed around her shoulders. More ephemeral ballcourt features have been identified at a number of locations in the region around Paquimé (Harmon 2005; Naylor 1995; Whalen and Minnis 1996). Whalen and Minnis, basing their interpretation of these features on Mesoamerican ethnohistoric documents and mythology, see ballcourts “as stages for personal or factional competitions” (Whalen and Minnis 1996, 744); more importantly, they posit that these places acted as locales where conflict was played out in a ritualized context. Marcel Harmon’s (2005, 2006) study of ballgame courts at Paquimé and in the surrounding region suggests that the emergence of a ballgame cult may have acted as yet one more integrative system within the emerging sociopolitical complexity of Paquiméan society. Harmon (2006, 209) describes the ballgame cult at Paquimé thusly: Three elite kin groups, possibly lineages, each controlled one of the ballcourts at the new site and formed a political confederation even as they competed among themselves. For the groups in control of the two I-shaped courts, the competition would have included public displays involving the physical prowess associated with playing the game, extensive and elaborate ancillary rituals and feasts, elaborate paraphernalia, and gambling. Feasting in particular may have served to transform the divisiveness of the games into a force for social cohesion and maintenance of the political confederation. The power of the kin group that controlled Paquimé’s Tshaped ballcourt was manifested through its control of human sacrifice and the associated ceremonies and paraphernalia. This group may have partially legitimized itself by establishing links to ancestors from the north (Mimbres) through use of the T-shape and by combining attributes of Mesoamercan ballcourts with those of ceremonial structures from their northern ancestors.

Harmon (2005, 477) concludes his study by saying, “In a general sense, the region’s ballgame, in all its forms, may have been one of the mechanisms used to set up and maintain the sociopolitical boundaries inherent in the various, newly arising, hierarchical institutionalized decision-making roles.” Finally, the Mound of the Offerings (Unit 14) offers yet another interesting example of built sacred space at Paquimé. This unit consists of a small effigy mound in the shape of a parrot or macaw head. Unlike much of the rest of the

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site, this unit was constructed both of puddled adobe and dry-laid masonry. The summit of the mound contained a small platform, and a collection of six rooms was situated on its south side. Two of these rooms were burial vaults within which were three Ramos Polychrome urns containing the postcranial remains of two adult males and one adult female (figure 4.8). Found with these individuals was a human phalanges necklace (figure 4.9) and a human bone musical rasp. The third room was interpreted as an altar room. To the south of these rooms were two unroofed rooms enclosed by the masonry wall.

FIGURE 4.8

Burial urns, Unit 4. (Source: Courtesy of the Amerind Foundation, Dragoon, AZ. Alfred Cohn, photographer, published in the Casas Grandes, Vol. 2, 420, fig. 129-2 [number 1, upper left photo].)

Necklace made from human foot and hand bones. (Source: Courtesy of the Amerind Foundation, Dragoon, AZ. Margaret Cohn, photographer, published in the Casas Grandes, Vol. 8, 65, fig. 62-8.)

FIGURE 4.9

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Two subfloor trenches within this enclosed area contained artifacts that potentially represent offerings, including shell and stone beads and ceremonial arrows (Di Peso et al. 1974:4, 305–15). The final disposition of the cranial remains from the individuals interred in this unit is unknown; however, the most parsimonious explanation is that they constitute some of the trophy skulls uncovered in another unit at the site (Rakita 2004). Feasting and Drinking

Ritual practices at Paquimé may have included various other activities, although these practices may not have been exclusively ceremonial. While not unambiguously ritual in nature, the large roasting pits associated with Units 1 and 9 at Paquimé may constitute evidence for large-scale public ceremonial feasting at the site. Evidence for large-scale roasting of maguey in the form of similar pits has also been found at sites approximately 15 km to the west of Paquimé (Whalen and Minnis 2000, 2001). This scale of maguey processing suggests production for feasting or extensive distribution. Minnis and Whalen (2005, 120), using ethnographic analogs and data from the excavation of these features, suggest that “massive amounts of food [i.e., agave] were being processed at Casas Grandes and that some of the production was centralized.” They argue that there is good evidence for communal feasting for both political and ritual purposes at Paquimé. Alternatively, the drinking of pulque, a fermented beverage made from the sap of the maguey or agave plant, may have represented one of the sacraments consumed by Paquiméans. Others (Bennett and Zingg 1935, 149; Kennedy 1978, 114) have documented that Tarahumara groups manufacture a fermented beverage (a variant of tesgüino called méki) from roasted agave or maguey. The heart of the maguey plant may have been roasted at Unit 1, then processed into a fermented drink. Music

Musical instruments represent another class of objects that may have had both secular and sacred functions. However, instead of having an even distribution across the site, copper bells, shell tinklers, and ceramic hand drums seem to be clustered in specific units (table 4.10). Almost all of the copper crotals found at the site, for example, were located in Unit 8. Victoria Vargas (2001) has suggested a role for these items within ceremonies, as opposed to

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the economic function frequently ascribed to them. She suggests that copper items may have been ritual paraphernalia owned custodially by families. Vargas (2001, 206–7) further states, “As in West Mexico, copper items [at Paquimé] appear to be associated with the sacred realm. Their use at Paquimé was strongly associated with ritual, rather than marking status after death or being hoarded for commercial purposes.” Ceramic hand drums, another item with a potential ritual role, were concentrated in Unit 13. Shell tinklers seem to be localized in Units 8 and 14. Sacrifices

Sacrifices of both humans and nonhuman animals also took place at Paquimé. In particular, the ancient Paquiméans engaged in ritual beheading of various avian species, particularly turkeys and macaws (table 4.11; Di Peso 1974:2, 554–55). The latter were most often buried within Unit 8, while the former were laid to rest in Unit 13. Moreover, macaws, turkeys, and parrots were also found accompanying human burials. Four turkeys (one with its head missing), nine macaws, and three parrots were included in human burials. Christine Van Pool (2001, 81–85) has convincingly demonstrated that a sacrifice of macaws is symbolically represented on at least one Ramos Polychrome vessel. Ceramics

Two of the distinctive ceramic types found at the site may be linked to religious or cosmological concerns. The exceptionally well-executed Ramos Polychrome ceramic type was probably made at Paquimé and elsewhere (DeAtley and Findlow 1982; Sprehn 2003; Woosley and Olinger 1993) and is not without some similarities to the Salado wares studied by Crown (1994). Ramos Polychrome vessels often depict plumed serpents, macaws or parrots, life forms (often in effigy), and stepped- and club-shaped elements. Christine Van Pool’s (2003a, 2003b; C. Van Pool and T. Van Pool 2007; T. Van Pool and C. Van Pool 2003) study of symbolism found on this pottery convincingly demonstrates not only the presence of shamans at Paquimé but also their representation in effigy vessels and other iconographically rich ceramics. The importance of this ware for the inhabitants of Paquimé is also indicated by the fact that the urns containing the three individuals in the Mound of the Offerings were each unusually large Ramos Polychrome jars. Much like the

Macaw

Turkey

Table 4.11.

Single Multiple Total

Single Multiple Total

Percentages

Single Multiple Total

Percentages

Counts

Single Multiple Total

Counts

0 65 65

0 34 34

0 0 0

0 0 0

Unit 8

2 12 14

1 6 7

0 2 2

1 4 5

Unit 11

4 17 21

2 9 11

0 4 4

0 9 9

Unit 12

Sacrificed Macaw and Turkey Burials at Paquimé (Di Peso et al. 1974:8)

0 0 0

0 0 0

5 85 90

10 187 197

Unit 13

0 0 0

0 0 0

0 4 4

0 8 8

Unit 16

0 0 0

0 0 0

0 0 0

1 0 1

Central Plaza

6 94 100

3 49 52

5 95 100

12 208 220

Total

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Salado wares, however, Ramos Polychrome is not restricted to funerary contexts. Only 25 percent of all whole or reconstructable, standard variant, Ramos Polychrome vessels found at the site were located in burials. In contrast, Ramos Black was decidedly associated with mortuary contexts. A very lustrous, highly polished black exterior characterizes Ramos Black. Alfred V. Kidder (1916) was one of the first archaeologists to categorize the type, and he described it as being jet black, highly polished (often to a luster), and most often found in the form of a full-bodied bowl with incurving rim (see also Di Peso et al. 1974:6, 160–68; Hawley 1936; Van Pool et al. 1999). While Kidder notes that eccentric forms were not common, he did indicate that small jars with flaring lips are sometimes found. Ramos Black pottery exhibits an unusual intrasite distribution at Paquimé in that it seems to be strongly associated with mortuary contexts. I have elsewhere (Rakita 2001) noted that Ramos Black vessels seem to be most frequently associated with human burials. Of the sixty intact vessels recovered from the site, 63 percent were discovered in burials. Additionally, Ramos Black vessels that accompanied burials were unevenly distributed across the various roomblocks of the site. Most whole vessels found in burials were located in Units 12 (House of the Macaws) and 13 (House of the Dead) at Paquimé. Thus, it seems reasonable to assume that Ramos Black was considered especially appropriate for inclusion in funerary grave goods, particularly in graves in these roomblocks. CONCLUSION

Obviously, ritual behavior at Paquimé, whether related to mortuary or nonmortuary contexts, was exceedingly complex. As Colin Renfrew (1994, 51) cogently expressed, “the identification and elucidation of early cult practices from the archaeological record is a challenging task, and the analysis of the belief systems which sustained them an even more difficult problem.” Indeed, the methods and techniques utilized by archaeologists in elucidating prehistoric ritual are complex and varied (Rakita and Buikstra 2008). In the next chapter, I turn toward an analysis of the belief systems of the ancient Paquiméan. In doing so, I draw on the rich literature in anthropology regarding religious systems and previous studies of ritual both globally and in the American Southwest. My interpretations are based on the application of the ideas and models presented in this literature and the data presented in this chapter.

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NOTES

1. When possible, burial features from the Medio period were grouped into either an “Early Medio” or “Late Medio” phase (see Rakita 2001). Some burial features could only be assigned to the overall Medio period. The Early/Late Medio grouping thus delineates a collection of features from throughout the entire Medio period and thus might present an “average” of Early and Late Medio period burial features. However, it should not be treated as a sample of features falling between the Early Medio and Late Medio period samples (i.e., it is not mutually exclusive of the other two samples as it does not fall within the middle of the sequence of phases in which the other samples are arranged). 2. This ratio is calculated by dividing the numbers of males by females and multiplying by one hundred.

5

Interpretations and Conclusions

The previous chapter reviewed the empirical record of ritual practices, be they mortuary or otherwise, from the site of Paquimé. This chapter explores interpretations of that record. I begin by considering the diachronic changes discussed in the previous chapter, specifically as they reflect changing expressions of status and prestige, relations with ancestors, and overall variation in ritual behavior. Subsequently, I explore the evidence for the development of religious cults during the Medio period. Finally, I provide a summary of the evolution of sociopolitical complexity within the Casas Grandes region. DIACHRONIC PATTERNS OF CASAS GRANDES FUNERARY PRACTICES

This first section summarizes changing patterns of mortuary practices in the Casas Grandes region, as assessed from the samples examined in this study. I offer interpretations of these changes in the following section, which discusses cultic organizations. Changing Expressions of Status

Traditional assessments of status distinctions within mortuary remains focus upon the quantity and variety of grave goods interred with the deceased. The common assumption is that the graves of elite individuals will exhibit greater expenditures of labor and resources than those of nonelites (Binford 1971; Brown 1971; Tainter 1978; see Rakita and Buikstra 2005 for a review of

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the literature). Thus, as societies move from essentially egalitarian to hierarchical social arrangements, expensive (i.e., elite) graves should appear in mortuary samples. Most studies of burial samples utilize two common measurements of grave expenditure—count of the total number of objects within a grave and counts of the number of different types of artifacts within a grave. These two variables are termed the grave good artifact count and grave good richness, respectively, within this study. As noted in chapter 4, mean grave good counts and richness increase through time from the Pilon to Late Medio periods. This pattern is especially true if the type 2, unburied bodies are removed from the Late Medio period sample. Typically, such a pattern would be interpreted as reflecting a progressive increase in the level of social differentiation, hierarchy, or complexity. As social hierarchy develops and elites establish their authority, their positions are represented in richer, more elaborate graves. There is considerable crosscultural, enthnographic support for this generalization (Carr 1995; Kamp 1998). The histograms of artifact counts and grave richness from the Convento and Paquimé samples do represent a progressive left skewing of the distributions. Increasing mean values and distribution skewing have been noted in numerous contexts of emergent sociocultural complexity within the greater Southwest (e.g., Akins and Schelberg 1984; Howell 1995; Mitchell 1994). It may, therefore, be argued that through time the Casas Grandes burial samples display an increasing number of status distinctions. However, an assessment using mean values for these variables may be inappropriate. While the histograms clearly show that some graves include a larger number and greater variety of artifacts, it is equally true that the vast majority of burials contain few if any. The histograms thus show a decidedly nonnormal distribution in which extreme values (i.e., those rich burials) artificially draw the mean artifact count and richness values higher. Standard statistical practice in such cases of skew is to utilize the median as the more realistic measure of central tendency. These values are reported in chapter 4, and it is obvious that it is only in the Perros Bravos phase where the median artifact count and richness reach values higher than zero. Moreover, it appears that juveniles and females are being accorded somewhat more numerous and richer burials than adult males during this phase (Rakita 2001, table 2.13). Equally importantly, we must recognize that the dead do not bury themselves. In this regard, and as demonstrated by others (Buikstra 1995; Hodder

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1982; McGuire 1992; Parker-Pearson 1982), we should consider the living as active participants in the funerary process. Indeed, we would expect the living to utilize the process of burying the dead to attempt to enhance, normalize, or downplay their own social prestige as well as that of the deceased (Hodder 1991, 2–3). For this reason, it is perhaps more appropriate to view the increasing expenditure through time on certain burials within the Casas Grandes region as an increasing level of status negotiations among the living. That is, the living are increasingly utilizing funerary events to mediate their prestige or status relations vis-à-vis one another. Indeed, we would expect just such a situation in the context of emergent complexity. I believe this to be the case. Grave goods initially appear in the Pilon phase but reach their height during the Perros Bravos phase. Particularly important during the Perros Bravos phase are personal ornaments (especially those made from shell traded in or directly procured from the western Mexican coast) and nonlocal ceramics (Douglas, J.E. 1992, 2000). These geographically exotic artifacts are being used to advertise or symbolically express individual success or proficiency in the control of or access to long-distance exchange of important items. This, in turn, is a key factor in negotiations of prestige and sociopolitical power (Helms 1988, 1991). During the Early Medio period, while some burials continue to be rich, again most are relatively poor in variety and number of grave goods. However, unlike the preceding period, adult males receive more and richer grave goods than females or children (Rakita 2001, tables 5.12 and 5.13), though these differences are not statistically significant. Additionally, the amount of exotic shell items declines to Pilon phase levels. This suggests that negotiations of prestige and status, at least at the graveside, are becoming less important. It is during this period that elite status distinctions, previously fluid and negotiated in the preceding period, were entrenched or institutionalized within a firm hierarchy of decision-making positions. Thus, negotiation was no longer necessary. These rich burials probably represent individuals holding significant positions or offices. Note that for both variables, while the distribution is fairly continuous throughout the range during the Perros Bravos phase, there are distinct breaks between the high and low value observations during the Early Medio period (figures 4.2 and 4.3). This is exactly the sort of difference in histogram distributions that I would expect for societies involved in graveside negotiation of

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prestige versus societies symbolically representing social personae of the deceased and their social roles in funerary treatment. Specifically, I would expect a discontinuous distribution of grave good counts or richness for samples made up of individuals holding distinct social roles. If grave expenditure is meant to signal undisputed social roles, then the graves of those holding high status roles should be clearly demarcated from others. Thus, histograms for such samples should be skewed to the right with obvious discontinuity (or breaks) in the distribution and discrete outliers. Outlier values would represent those individuals who had social personae (sensu Binford 1971) that encompassed a number of social roles. On the other hand, the negotiation of prestige and power in the absence of such well-defined roles should produce histograms that are also skewed to the right but that are continuous with few or no breaks. This pattern would be expected because situations where prestige and power are being negotiated should have a range of individuals competing with each other for publicly recognized prestige that varies along a graded scale. Competitors of this sort would be likely to try to match other’s displays or trump them, but only slightly so as to keep their costs as low as possible. The resulting pattern of burial expenditures should be uninterrupted along the range of variation. The histogram for the Perros Bravos phase indicates that during this time period, there was a gradation in the level of prestige or status displays any individual could make during a funerary event. Conversely, the Early Medio period saw strict divisions between those holding elite status roles and those who did not.1 Changing Location and Access to Ancestors

Processual researchers have also identified a cross-cultural correlation between an individual’s social status and the location (within a local area) of burial (Binford 1971, 21–22; Carr 1995, 181–82). Specifically, their studies showed that elites were often accorded different burial locations than nonelites. Locations where community leaders or other elite figures were buried were often restricted to them alone. In archaeological case studies, this pattern is often translated into considering any rare or infrequent burial location as an indication of elite status. Additionally, this sort of analysis is often performed with synchronic data that provides little or no historical context for potential changes in burial locations. There are significant problems associated with such an approach. For example, in the light of Shay’s (1985) demonstration

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that social deviance can be expressed within mortuary treatment, it is problematic to assume that rare treatments (be they burial location or otherwise) always signify that individuals possessed superior social standing. Likewise, Cannon (1989; see also Parker-Pearson 1982) has shown that cycles of ostentation and restraint in burial treatment can significantly obscure status displays in funerary treatment if not examined within a diachronic context. Rare burial locations in one time period may be quite common in previous or subsequent periods, suggesting changing locational preferences rather than status distinctions. Just such a diachronic perspective is offered in the following discussion of burial location in the samples from the Convento and Paquimé sites. During the entire Viejo period, all burials were located either under the floor of plaza areas or within abandoned structures (table 4.7). The frequency of burials in vacated structures increased throughout this period, though this is potentially due to increasing difficulty in finding suitable, unused portions of the site for burials. The Early Medio period represents a departure from this pattern. Plaza burials are rare, while interments under the floors of interior rooms become most common. During the Late Medio period, plaza burials once again become common, as do burials under room fill or in debris on floors. However, burials “in debris on floors” at Paquimé are exclusively “unburied,” type 2 burials. I believe the chronological change in intrasite burial location is directly related to a cultural response to Early Medio period population aggregation at Paquimé. The shift from exclusively outside, public plaza burials to internal, private interments during the Early Medio period is very important. I believe it indicates a change in concern over privacy of rites and access to some of the dead (or ancestors). During the Viejo period, funerary rites occurring in plazas of small villages, such as the Convento site, were observable by all members of the community. Such communally available rites may have acted to cement social cohesion and encourage camaraderie. However, public ceremonies also presented an opportunity for overt displays of status and power negotiations (particularly in the Perros Bravos phase). Thus, the community was brought together to ritually move through the disruptive liminal period of the death of one of its members. At the same time, this sacredly charged period was utilized for mediation of authority, prestige, power, or status. These funerary ceremonies were temporally discrete events, however, having a clear beginning and a similarly clear termination (at least archaeologically), with no extended processing

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or attendance to the deceased. As noted above, the Perros Bravos phase clearly displays some differences from all other phases (both within the Viejo and Medio periods). Peak median values for burial artifact count and richness, as well as high mean numbers of shell ornaments, argue for increasing displays of wealth or (possibly) access to nonlocal resources during the Perros Bravos phase. By the beginning of the Medio period, it is clear that significant aggregation of populations occurred throughout the region. Paquimé itself was built on top of a previously occupied Viejo period village. By the first (Buena Fé) phase of the Medio period, there is evidence at Paquimé of the aggregation of several small, perhaps clan-based groups in one location. That is to say, I believe that a number of the small Viejo period village groups are relocating to Paquimé. While these groups are cohabiting in one area, they seem to maintain a certain degree of autonomy (for example, by maintaining separate domestic roomblock clusters with enclosed plaza areas). When these various village groups aggregated at Paquimé during the Early Medio period, burials move indoors. Changing burial locations were a part of the attempt to maintain the cohesion of these previously autonomous village groupings. I believe that each group attempted to retain control of and access to its affiliated burials by moving them indoors to private locations. In part, this was an attempt to maintain social group cohesion and may have been a method for keeping associated (mortuary) rituals secret from other groups within the aggregated community. However, manipulation of access to the dead generally, and some ancestors particularly, may have been a focus for emergent elites at the newly aggregated community. Curet and Oliver (1998, 220) suggest that in this way traditional impediments to increased inequality could be overcome: [A]n emerging elite often makes use of existing ideology regarding ancestors to dismantle and reorient different aspects of communality and institutionalize inequality. On the one hand, the mystery of the ancestors is reoriented to focus more on the elite while, on the other, communal institutions such as the extended kin group are dismantled to ensure restricted access to resources and status. Most probably this emerging elite included religious specialists who could easily control and manipulate the existing communal religious ideology to change it into an elite ideology.2

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To be sure, a few individuals (n = 5) during the Early Medio period were buried within plaza areas. However, Wilcoxon-Mann-Whitney tests revealed no significant difference between the richness and grave good count of these interments and those placed within rooms (Ho: η1 = η2, Wilcoxon Wrichness = 1,072, Wilcoxon Wart.count = 1,067, prichness = 0.941, part.count = 0.824). Thus, it seems that if elite status is being indicated by more diverse and larger amounts of grave goods, then burial location is not indicative of such status distinctions. However, by the Middle to Late Medio period, population increase (either through local population growth or through further in-migration to the site) resulted in the need to augment the amount of living space. The site’s emergent elites seem to have taken this opportunity to significantly remodel and reorganize the domestic and public architecture of the site. In part, this revitalization seems to have involved an increased investment in public/ceremonial architecture, as well as the breakdown of some of the clan-based solidarity exhibited in the Buena Fé phase. The analysis of Wilcox (1999) supports this contention. During the Late Medio period, burial within plaza areas became more frequent. And unlike in the Early Medio period, there are differences in the amount and variety of burial accompaniments between those located in plazas (n = 62) and in interior spaces (n = 74). Wilcoxon-Mann-Whitney tests show a significant difference in these two variables (Ho: η1 = η2, Wilcoxon Wrichness = 3,081, Wilcoxon Wart.count = 3,078, prichness < 0.000, part.count < 0.000 with type 2 burials excluded). Mean and summed ranks from these tests suggest that those burials located in interior locations have significantly more (and more varied) grave goods than those in plazas. In this case, if status is being indicated by expenditure on burial (as suggested by processual studies), then burial location may also be an indicator of that status, with elites being interred in private locations. Alternatively, it may be the case that the larger grave good counts and richness of interior burials is an expression of increasingly competitive displays by the living at the graveside, as was the case for the Perros Bravos phase of the Viejo period. This may suggest an increasing level of competition among some members of the community for prestige or status. However, as these are interior burials, this social competition must have occurred within fairly small segments of the community’s population. Perhaps this indicates a rising level of rivalry for elite status positions within kin

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groups. In the long run, such competition would have had a destabilizing effect upon the established authority structure. Moreover, new burial facilities (urns, tombs, and unsealed pits), as well as alternative forms of corpse processing (secondary, primary with the addition or removal of skeletal elements, sacrifices, and combinations thereof), appear. These novel treatments suggest the ongoing ceremonial importance of some of the deceased individuals of the community. Indeed, fourteen burials within the Medio period appear to represent loci of continued ritual significance, predominant among these being the open charnel pit in Room 44 of Unit 13. Perhaps during mortuary rites, status displays were replaced by cyclical concerns with the community’s subsistence productivity (via Earth renewal and fertility rites). Finally, ancestorhood, access to ancestors, and their legitimizing properties may have become paramount to already established elites. As Helms (1998, 5–6) has noted in a recent publication, One of the most important archetypes defining qualitative characteristics attributed to aristocrats in centralized polities is well noted, if less well understood, in the scholarly literature: aristocrats are known to be closely associated with ancestors. More specifically, the qualities of seniority or of being “first,” often expressed by concepts of primogeniture, relate aristocrats as a group to ancestral founders and creators of social order and customs, and this association with cosmological origins legitimizes their primacy and their aristocratic positions.

Likewise, there is evidence that portions of human remains were being curated for use in ceremonially charged events. These relics include the human skull cap set into the floor of Room 42-8, the effigy of a hand carved from a human cranial bone in one of the troves from Room 22-16 (figure 5.1), the human “trophy” skulls from Room 23-16, the human sacrifices under Ballcourt 3 and the pillar set in Room 21-8, as well as the necklace of human phalanges found within the Unit 4 crypt. Helms (1998, 27–28) explains why such objects may have been ritually important to emergent elites: One of the major sources of this most necessary and beneficial gift [of fertility and life] of the dead is the bones of the deceased (particularly the skull and long bones), which in general are believed to be the seat of life. . . . Bones convey these energies because they are strong, dry, hard, and relatively imperishable. In addition to being metaphorically and sometime even literally indicative of perpetu-

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FIGURE 5.1

Pendant in the shape of a hand made from a fragment of human cranium. (Source: Courtesy of the Amerind Foundation, Dragoon, AZ. Nita Rosene, photographer, published in the Casas Grandes, Vol. 8, 50 [lower left photo, catalog #CG/6750A].)

ity, bones, because they are durable, can be kept as heirlooms or sacra for generations. Bones thus prefigure the concept of temporal ancestors.

Hertz’s (1960 [1907]) classic study of secondary burial practices provides a basis for interpreting the curation and ritual use of elements of the human skeleton beyond the simple mortuary rites of passage. Hertz argued that corpse condition represented the status of the deceased’s soul as well as the standing of the mourners, especially kin. Thus, the decomposing corpse is symbolic of the liminal position of the deceased’s soul and the setting apart of the kin from the rest of the society. The completion of decomposition and the skeleton’s final interment mark the soul’s entrance into the realm of the dead and the mourner’s reentry into society. However, I would argue that the permanent curation of portions of the deceased’s skeleton (particularly the skull

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and long bones, as noted by Helms above) extends the liminal period of both the deceased’s soul and his kin. Kin members who have access to their deceased ancestors’ remains are able to maintain their unique relationship with these powerful “others” (Helms 1998) and also to sustain their singular status as “outside” normal society. Thus, the remains of ancestors and their ritual manipulation provided elite priests with a powerful symbol of their connection with important liminal cosmological forces. Indeed, human bone relics or objects made from human remains were no doubt unique and symbolically powerful items. Barbara Mills (2004) has recently discussed the role of such inalienable possessions in the construction of authority hierarchy. Inalienable possessions are items having certain features. They are not subject to exchange or circulate widely; they are seen as repositories of knowledge, require special knowledge to produce, are often singularities in that they are unique, and are used in ceremonies. According to Mills (2004, 240), inalienable possessions “establish hierarchy by validating or legitimizing the identity and claims of individuals and groups who are unequal in terms of access to knowledge and resources.” On the basis of these characteristics, human bone relics are quintessential inalienable possessions. In the case of those found at Paquimé, they clearly relate to the ancestors and are a material manifestation of a tangible connection to the ancestors. Burial location generally appears to be related to negotiations of status distinctions throughout much of the Casas Grandes tradition. It is only within the Middle to Late Medio period, however, that specific burial locations become indicative of established social statuses or importance.3 In this regard, the three urn burials in the Unit 4 burial crypt seem likely to represent important personages within the Medio period authority structure. However, the diachronic changes related to access to (and even possession of portions of) the dead indicate a fundamental change beginning in the Early Medio period. At first, it appears that in the context of locational aggregation of clan-based groups, access to the dead was restricted to only those having clan or kinship relations with the deceased. This would suggest that while the population of Early Medio period Paquimé may have been physically aggregated, it was not necessarily a cohesive or socially aggregated community. By the Middle to Late Medio period, however, burials within plazas are once again common, and numerous secondary funerary processes in private locales are utilized for some members of society.

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Changing Variation in Mortuary Behavior

Previously conducted statistical resampling analysis of the Casas Grandes mortuary samples (Rakita 2001) identified important chronological changes in the diversity of, and variation in, mortuary practices. Pilon phase burials show limited variation in burial facility type and location. However, during the following Perros Bravos phase, both facility type and location diversity increase above that which would be expected for that sample. This increasing variation may be related to increasingly competitive displays associated with the burial of community members. As mentioned above, the Perros Bravos phase appears to be a time of public negotiation of prestige and status, particularly around the graveside. Intensifying use of novel locations and burial feature types may be symptomatic of this process. By the Early Medio period, funerary canons (at least as related to feature type and location) are once again being asserted, as the sample from this period shows a return to levels of diversity below expectations as determined by the resampling technique (Rakita 2001). These canons are not exactly the same as those exhibited in the early phases of the Viejo period, however. As noted above, burials are predominately subfloor sealed pits, as with the Convento and Pilon phases. However, feature placement has moved indoors. The reassertion of funerary canons and constraint of power negotiations are likely related to the above-mentioned attempt by the clan-based groups to maintain internal social cohesion in the face of obligatory aggregation and cooperation with other such groups at the beginning of the Medio period. By the Late Medio period, there is a subtle indication that such canons may be relaxing. Diversity in both burial facility type and location increases to expected levels for this sample. In part, this change is due to the increasing use of unsealed subfloor pits and the placement of burials (once again) in vacated structures. I suspect that during the latter half of the Medio period, displays of elite status were increasingly utilized to assert and maintain the developed authority structure at the site. This may have led to a renewed cycle of funerary ostentation (Cannon 1989), one that may have ultimately undermined elite authority. DEVELOPMENT AND NATURE OF CULT ORGANIZATIONS

In this section, I discuss the development of religious cult organizations or sodalities at Paquimé during the Medio period. In doing so, I draw on both

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classical expositions of such organizations and their appearance, as well as newer theories based upon the varying manner in which these social institutions can codify and transmit socially relevant information. Additionally, the role of various ritual practitioners is discussed. Viejo Period Shamanism

Throughout the Viejo period, there is no indication of full-time, institutionalized religious specialists. Community houses at the Convento site probably served both sacred and secular purposes, though no demonstrably ritual items were recovered from any of these structures. Various artifacts of possible socioreligious significance were recovered from Viejo period contexts, including hand drums, concretions, clay figurines, and quartz crystals. However, each of these items was recovered in idiosyncratic locations, often in domestic rooms or plazas, with no apparent repetition or redundancy in their deposition (Di Peso et al. 1974:8, figs. 399-8 and 400-8). The impression that emerges is one of local shamans practicing variable or unique rituals at the behest of clients. While communitywide ceremonials no doubt took place, their form and content were likely to change considerably from one performance to another. The transition from the Viejo to Medio periods saw considerable changes in the organization and structure of ritual specialists in the region. Transformation of the Clan Shaman

As noted in chapter 3, numerous researchers have posited correlations between the evolution of social complexity and religious organizations. Wallace (1966) has proposed that this evolution can be conceptualized as the sequential displacement of shamanic with more ecclesiastical or priest-dominated cults. Siikala (1978) has suggested how such a transformation may take place. She has argued that clan shamans in small-scale communities have a great deal of responsibility for the subsistence success of the group. Specifically, [t]he duties of the clan shaman included not only the protection of individual members of the clan, but above all the maintaining of clan coherence and the safeguarding of its economic interests, such as protection of the clan lands, preventing game from getting lost, also the continued viability of the clan, e.g., through contact with its dead ancestors. (Siikala 1978, 307)

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When the clan structure (in relation to the productive mode) dissolves, shamans become more focused upon healing and unexpected life-crisis ceremonials. In the case of the Siberian communities Siikala (1978, 307) examined, this change was a result of a direct shift in the economic emphasis of the clan-based group towards large-scale reindeer breeding. It is precisely the clan system that provides the guiding line in examining the position of the shaman in the community. As clan systems disintegrated and their economic importance diminished, so did the community ties or status of the shaman. (Siikala 1978, 304–5)

Her model is directly supported by Winkelman’s (1990, 1992, 1996) cross-cultural study. Additionally, after such a shift, shamans are less tied to the clan for support through recognition and clients (i.e., they become free agents). Clearly, the Viejo to Medio period transition represents just such a transition in both economic systems and community structure. I suggest that the clan-based communities that characterized the Viejo period aggregated at large Medio period sites like Paquimé (as well as at Villa Ahumada, Galeana, and Huerigos) as a result of increasing environmental pressures favoring more intensive agricultural practices. As these aggregated communities became less simply locational population densities and more socially integrated communities (as intensification would have required), the role of the shaman as intimately tied to the clan became attenuated. This would have occurred as clan members sought out those shamans whose rites were perceived to be most efficacious regardless of clan membership and, conversely, as individual shamans sought clients outside of their traditional clan constituencies. As this happened, emergent elites would have been establishing their own cultic organizations and associated priesthoods in an effort to exert their authority over the entire community (regardless of kinship ties), as well as to ensure community cohesion. Earth/Fertility and Ancestor/Political Cults and Modes of Religiosity

As a foundation for understanding the changes that occurred in religious organization between the Viejo and Medio periods, I would like to begin by highlighting a distinction proposed by Victor Turner (1974) but originally described by earlier anthropologists (Fortes 1945; Gluckman 1965). Turner suggested that

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a general differentiation could be made between Earth and fertility cults on the one hand and ancestor and political cults on the other. He proposed that these two types of religious structures could be distinguished in a number of ways (table 5.1). For example, ancestral cults are often associated with conquering foreigners, while fertility cults are traditionally indigenous in origin. Ancestral cults emphasize power divisions within a society, while cults of fertility exemplify larger corporate ties. The former are more likely to be exclusionary, while the latter tend to be inclusive. And finally, ancestor cults regularly provide arenas for negotiation of sectional interests. Conversely fertility cults promote shared values and emphasize renewal of the cosmos. To these characteristics, I would add that ancestral cults are often associated with episodic ritual situations dominated by or emphasizing liminality (i.e., periods where an individual or community are between one status and another), while Earth and fertility cults frequently engage in cyclical ritual calendars that compartmentalize such transitional phases and underscore social solidarity rather than status distinctions. In any regard, far from advocating a strict separation between the two, Turner (1974, 185) argues that manifestations of both result “in overlapping and interpenetrating fields of ritual relations, each of which may or may not be hierarchically structured.” Likewise, Tambiah (1985, 136) notes that “rival cults do not seek so much to ‘disprove’ as to outbid one another, and usually a great number of redundant cults coexist and are simultaneously resorted to by clients.” Such a situation, where numerous ritual organizations coexist simultaneously without being arranged in a hierarchical religious system, might well fit the definition of heterarchical complexity (Ehrenreich et al. 1995).

Table 5.1.

Characteristics of Ancestor/Political versus Earth/Fertility Cults

Ancestor/Political Cult

Earth/Fertility Cult

Represent power divisions Associated with foreigners/invaders Emphasize classificatory distinctions Exclusive Dominated by sectional interests Factional antagonism Lineage segmentation Individual culpability Social conflict Negotiation of power differentials Extended liminality

Express ritual bonds Indigenous/autochthonic derivation Encourage group unity Inclusive Advocates disinterestedness Shared values Common ideals/values Group responsibility Social cohesion Masking of power inequities Cyclical process

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Whitehouse (1995) has proposed a complementary distinction, which he refers to as “modes of religiosity.” His distinction is formulated in the context of a Melanesian cargo cult (the Pomio Kivung) and a breakaway or “splinter” cult, but it has relevance in comparison to Turner’s distinction. Whitehouse (1995, 204–9) clearly points out the disjunctions between his dichotomy and Turner’s; however, I believe the comparison is useful in that both authors emphasize important and complementary aspects of their dual classifications. Whitehouse emphasizes the role of codification and transmission, while Turner highlights sphere or arena of influence. The two modes Whitehouse proposes, termed doctrinal and imagistic, are based upon the way in which information is codified and transmitted within each. The doctrinal mode (table 5.2) characterizes the institutionalized and rigid characteristic of the Pomio Kivung. Doctrinal modes often involve extensive exegesis of religious doctrine emphasized in or by frequent ritual events. This leads to uniform belief and practice, as well as to an emphasis on strict moral virtues. Additionally, such codification and transmission practices allow fairly large-scale organization or social cohesion to exist between members. Alternatively, the imagistic mode emphasizes nonverbal codification occurring in infrequent or periodic ritual events. This leads to flexible beliefs and practices among participants. Variability in meaning and practice restricts the scale at which imagistic-mode institutions can organize, resulting in small-scale organizations with focused social solidarity. Significant overlap occurs between Turner’s Earth/fertility cult and Whitehouse’s doctrinal mode of religiosity. A similar overlap exists between the imagistic mode and ancestor/political cults. For example, Earth/fertility cults utilize frequent and cyclically occurring rites to express common ideals and Table 5.2. Characteristics of Doctrinal and Imagistic Modes of Religiosity (Whitehouse 1995)

Doctrinal

Imagistic

Uniform belief and practice Linguistic codification Frequent transmission Diffuse social cohesion Strict moral virtues Large-scale organization Centralized leadership Rigidity

Variable belief and practice Nonverbal, experiential codification Infrequent/periodic transmission Focused social solidarity Moral indulgence Small-scale organization Localized leadership Flexibility

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shared moral proscriptions involving responsibility to the group. These ritual practices encourage uniform beliefs and practices that can be extended across social groupings and large-scale geographic regions. Conversely, ancestor/political cults are organized around infrequent ritual events that emphasize the exclusive rights of a focal or exclusive social group. The ritual information of such cults is coded in emotionally charged, nonverbal rites that are extremely flexible and hence difficult to disseminate across large-scale social or geographic distances without significant modification in their form. THE ROLE OF RELIGION IN THE EVOLUTION OF COMPLEXITY IN THE CASAS GRANDES REGION

In 1994 John Ravesloot argued, Possibly during the Paquimé phase, a Cult of the Dead, similar to the prehistoric Classic Mimbres and Pueblo or Katsina societies, but on a more elaborate level developed at Casas Grandes. Underlying themes of this Cult of the Dead were fertility, water, and regeneration. The corpses of past leaders were treated as sacred objects since they were believed to play a critical role in the community’s successful cycles of agricultural production and plentiful supply of water. Consequently, it was no accident that the funerary monument that housed the remains of these revered past ancestors was constructed in close proximity to the city’s water system and Mound of the Cross. These sacred corpses of past leaders were not only protectors of the living population and a direct link to the cosmos, but provided the ruling lineage with its basis of power. (p. 17)

While I would tend to agree with Ravesloot’s interpretation regarding the existence of an ancestor cult at Paquimé and its relationship to ruling elites’ legitimization of power, I would argue that his conclusions conflate two separate, but perhaps intertwined, religious structures. Certainly, the ancestor cult at Paquimé had similarities to Mesoamerican cults of the dead, Classic Mimbres mortuary programs, and Puebloan katchina societies. These similarities include a concern with rain and other determinants of agricultural fertility as well as the role of the ancestors in the lives of the living. Commonalities can be seen in much of Southwestern and Mesoamerican imagery in the form of clouds and lightning, plumed serpents, the sun and stars, flowers, faces, and feathers. However, I would suggest that the primary concerns of the ancestor cult at Paquimé were not fertility and regeneration but negotiations of power. Regard for abundance in agricultural endeavors was

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the purview of a distinct Earth and fertility cult. In all probability, elite personages commanded important priesthood positions in both of these cultic organizations or sodalities, further enmeshing and mediating their activities and relationship to one another. Indeed, Eliade (1963, 39–53) has pointed out that Earth-renewal ceremonies often symbolically repeat or reenact cosmogony. But far from simply being a method for reminding the ritual participants and audience of the origin myths of the cosmos, these ceremonies play an integral role in recreating the world as it was in the beginning. Thus, these rites reinfuse the world of the living with sacred power. Those individuals presiding at such rites are able not only to reaffirm cosmogony and origin myths but also to assert their ancestors’ roles and their continuing role in the cosmology of the society. Cosmogony and cosmology are thus continually structured and restructured by elite ritual specialists. By controlling priesthood positions in both ancestor/political and Earth/fertility cults, elites are able both to reinforce community cohesion and to affirm their authority roles. While limited evidence suggests rituals associated with the Flower World, a Uto-Aztecan cosmological conception of an afterlife paradise (Hill, J. 1992), this is not to say that this afterworld (or this conception of the afterworld) did not figure in Casas Grandes religious ideology. Hays-Gilpin and Hill (1999, 2000) have noted the presence of flower and possible petal motifs on Casas Grandes ceramics. Birds of various species are frequently represented on Ramos Polychrome vessels. I suspect that ideas regarding the Flower World, if incorporated within Casas Grandes belief systems, were embedded within the Earth/fertility cult posited above. Crown (1994, 220) has suggested that the Flower World was an aspect of the Southwestern Regional Cult. A similar relationship may have occurred between the Flower World concept and the Paquiméan Earth/fertility cult. In an effort to elaborate my interpretation of religious and ritual changes in the Casas Grandes region, I would like to propose a process for how and why ritual practices along the Río Casas Grandes evolve from the fairly traditional practices of the Viejo period into the elaborate and intricate patterns observed during the Medio period at Paquimé. Viejo Period Transitions

To begin with, I would suggest that ritualism surrounding the Viejo period burials at the Convento site, like those from similar sites in the American

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Southwest, probably contained elements of Earth renewal and fertility as well as concern for the ancestors. As with many of the ethnographically known pueblos and modern-day indigenous inhabitants of the Sierra Madre, the connection between death and rebirth was and is a close one. However, as discussed above, the Viejo period burials show an increasing number of grave goods through time, there being none in any of the earliest-phase burials and anywhere from one to eight items in some of the burials from the two late phases. Di Peso (1974:1, 132) noted that the pattern of including artifacts within graves during the Pilon and Perros Bravos phases differed from the Convento phase, when “individuals were probably regarded alike in matters pertaining to social status, age grouping, and political matters” and thus received no grave accoutrements. As I have noted, the traditional archaeological interpretation of this pattern (Binford 1971; Tainter 1978) is that there is an increasing level of status distinction within the society and that these distinctions are being represented (fairly accurately) within the burial goods. Burials with large amounts of goods are representative of high-ranked individuals, and those with few to none are indicative of persons with low status. However, I would argue that the grave goods placed within burials at the Convento site are not so much presents to the dead as they are attempts by the living to demonstrate their own economic or material power. In essence, I am suggesting that during the last half of the Viejo period, graveside ceremonialism became an arena in which sociopolitical authority and power were being negotiated by the living. These negotiations may have occurred more frequently at the burials of high-ranked individuals, but they also occurred at other funerals as well. Moreover, negotiations of social power were probably performed at other common rites of passage, such as births and marriages. The explanation for this observed pattern derives from an understanding of economic and political relations from this period. Viejo period society was far from egalitarian. However, power and authority, being based upon an individual’s kin relations, yearly crop successes or failures, and/or ability to establish trade relations with distant communities, were in constant flux. Power, the ability to make something happen, was transitory. Ambitious individuals, knowing full well that their power was fleeting, attempted to institutionalize their access to positions of authority. Ritual, especially emotionally charged graveside rites, provided them with a venue to do just that. This is indicated by the increasing displays of status negotiations through time in the Convento site burials. As

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noted above, these displays focused upon items originating long distances from Paquimé, such as shell from the west coast of Mexico. The use of such exotics to assert or support claims of political or ritual authority is ubiquitous in emergent complex societies throughout the New World (Helms 1988, 1991). Early Medio Period Aggregation and Crystallization

Two processes may have occurred in the evolution of religious practitioners during the transition from Viejo to Medio period society. These processes are not mutually exclusive alternatives. The first involved the ability of shamans located at sites where aggregation occurred (e.g., Paquimé) to elevate themselves above those shamans who migrated in with other village groups. This process probably parallels the development of power differentials that occurred among the rest of society during the initial aggregation period. That is, individual clans or families originally located at aggregation sites would have had first choice and the strongest claim on the best agricultural lands and other natural resources. Economic differentiation between clans would have been based both on actual material differences in access to resources, as well as perceived social superiority based upon their early presence in the area. A similar situation existed at the Hopi site of Orayvi (see also the discussion by McGuire and Saitta 1996, 209–12). The division of Hopi society into two ranks, or classes, was shown to derive from an inequitable distribution of the key agricultural resource: land. Those clans that controlled good land also controlled the most important ceremonies, and their members were called pavansinom. Landless clans made up the common people, the sukavungsinom. At the same time, however, if the society was to survive, a degree of social integration had to be maintained. This was achieved by a number of marriage restrictions that made it virtually impossible for the pavansinom to intermarry, and by opening membership in the clan-controlled ceremonial sodalities to all individuals regardless of clan. Sacred sanction for the social reality was provided by myths and the high value placed on such personal traits as cooperativeness, humility, and pacifism. In effect, the individual was asked to place the demands of the community before his or her own desires. (Levy 1992, 155–256)

The authority of ritual specialists in the Casas Grandes region may have been established through the perceived success of their ceremonial practices in ensuring their clan/village group’s necessary agricultural production. By contrast,

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the shamans from in-migrating groups may have been perceived as failing in terms of ritual efficacy in the face of declining agricultural production. Indeed, shamans from in-migrating groups may not even be accepted at the new, aggregated community, leaving successful shamans located at aggregation sites in a position of ritual monopoly. The second process may have involved the relegation of shamans to a less active role in the ensurances of community survival. The aggregation of populations at large sites during the Early Medio period probably represented the sort of major shift in economic practice that forms the basis for Siikala’s (1978) model for the shift away from shamanic religious practitioners. When the importance of the clan structure wanes, shamans became more focused upon healing and divination. Thus, some shamans may have moved into less clan-centered ritual roles. In the meantime, priesthoods, with their exclusive control over ritual liturgies would have come to dominate the ceremonial practices of the community. Emergent elites would have been well situated to fill these new ritual practitioner roles. Through time, the various clan-based groupings at Paquimé would have become increasingly socially integrated. Fewkes (1919, 75) suggested a similar integrative process for Mesa Verde communities: Between a stage indicated by single houses and one characterized by consolidated building, there is a phase in which the buildings are grouped in clusters and are not united. We may theoretically suppose that the single house was inhabited by one social unit as clan or family. As the food quest became more intensified and defense more urgent, social units, as indicated by single houses, would be brought together, and as the population increased the amalgamation would be more complete. This social organization, in the beginning loose, in the course of time would become more homogeneous, and as it did so the union of these separate social units would have been closer; and if we combine with that tendency the powerful stimulus of protection, we can readily see how a compact form of architecture characteristic of the buildings here described was brought about.

Fewkes (1919, 75–76) further argued, If the growth of the large pueblos has followed the lines above indicated, and if each unit type indicates a social unit as well, we necessarily have in this growth of the community house the story of the social evolution of the Pueblo people. Clans or social units at first isolated later joined each other, intermarriage al-

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ways tending to make the population more homogeneous. The social result of the amalgamation of clans seeking common defense would in time be marked. The inevitable outcome would be a breaking down of clan priesthoods or clan religions and the formation of fraternities of priesthoods recruited from several clans. This in turn would lead to a corresponding reduction and enlargement of ceremonial rooms remaining.

By the Middle Medio period, institutionalized positions of authority were probably well on their way to being firmly ensconced in the Casas Grandes sociopolitical system. However, these nouveau elites, or caciques,4 as Schaafsma and Riley (1999, 248) refer to them, had two issues with which to contend. First, they needed some mechanism to maintain and encourage community cohesion among a populace of potentially several thousand. And second, they needed to reinforce and preserve their own right to authority, that is, institutionalized power, in the face of growing socioeconomic distinctions. As argued in chapter 3, ritual would have provided an important mechanism for achieving both of these aims. Many interest groups achieve distinctiveness by the manipulation of ritual beliefs and practices. A group may maintain a belief in being the “chosen peoples” or in being “twice born,” or may be the bearers of a purer brand of an established cult, or the protégés of a specific saint, or the followers of a special ritual master, or the bearers or guardians of exclusive secret ritual formulae. Beliefs such as these are maintained and kept alive by a variety of ritual activities, including the observance of totems and taboos. The beliefs and the rituals associated with them are standardized and routinised. Often, they become organized in an exclusive organization. The organization may even become bureaucratically and formally organized with the formally declared aim of maintaining or promoting the cult. (Cohen 1974, 72–73, emphasis added)

Likewise, Knight (1986, 681) has observed that “cults, as institutional forms transcending kinship obligations, provide structural foundations for emergent political power.” I suggest that the Paquiméan elites encouraged a distinction within their traditional ritual beliefs and practices between ancestor/political and Earth/fertility cults. These two cults are represented in the archaeological remains from Paquimé by a variety of ritual spaces, behaviors, and sacra (i.e., art,

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artifacts, and icons that have supernatural meaning within a ritual context; Knight 1986). The political cult, through its focus upon exclusivity and power negotiations, helped maintain elite authority. This was achieved through securing and maintaining a special role for elites as priests within negotiations with ancestors in the afterworld, a process involving the manipulation of human remains in the world of the here and now. This cult would have followed a more imagistic mode of codification and transmittal of its cosmological canons. Membership would have been limited to elites with their exclusive rights to positions of authority. Ritual practices would have been conducted periodically and involved the extension of the ancestors’ liminal power into the world of the here and now. A similar monopolization of portions of community ritual has been posited by Potter (2000) as the mechanism through which emergent elites consolidated their power among the pre-Hispanic Zuni of the thirteenth century AD. By contrast, the fertility cult, concerned as it was with community bonds and inclusivity, provided a ceremonial impetus for social cohesion. It focused upon the interests of the entire society, especially in terms of agricultural fertility, world renewal, and community well-being. During such renewal ceremonies, the elite priests possibly set aside their own sectional concerns and played an important role in coordinating ritual action that was seen to aid the community as a whole. Ceremonials would have been conducted frequently and cyclically at key points in the agricultural calendar. These rites would emphasize adherence to unified beliefs and moral precepts through the perceived invariance of the ritual form. I believe the contrast and interaction between cult organizations of this type, one emphasizing communalism and the other accentuating status differences, was responsible for the dialectic nature of many late Pueblo communities in the greater Southwest, including Paquimé. As McGuire and Saitta (1996; see also Brandt 1994) have argued, these sorts of aggregated communities were neither exclusively hierarchical nor egalitarian but a dynamic mix of both. By way of illustration, a similar duality of ideology and practice was posited by Levy (1992, 3–4) to exist at Orayvi: An ideology was developed that stressed the importance of both commoners and ceremonialists. The authority of the ceremonialists was balanced by his responsibilities to his “people.” Each individual was responsible for his own ac-

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tions and, of course, cooperation and non-aggression were highly valued. In addition to ideology and values, however, two social mechanisms worked to promote social integration and lessen potential conflict. Numerous marriage restrictions precluded the possibility of alliances among a few ceremonialist families; and the ceremonial societies, although controlled by specified clans, opened their membership to everyone. Every individual was encouraged to participate in ceremonial life and was given the opportunity to do so in personally meaningful ways. Even ceremonies performed by these societies were integrated into the annual ceremonial calendar by a sharing of symbols and cooperation among societies.

These dual ritual complexes are evident throughout the archaeological remains of Paquimé (table 5.3). The Paquiméan fertility cult is exemplified by Ramos Polychrome, with its plumed serpent motifs and wide inter- and intrasite distribution, thus perhaps representing a Chihuahuan version of the Salado wares to the north (Crown 1994; though see Van Pool and Van Pool 2007, 112–21, for distinctions between the two wares). The activities of this cult may have centered on the publicly open Mound of the Cross. From here, the community as a whole could participate, and agricultural cycles could be monitored, with key calendrical rituals coordinated. Perhaps equally important was the propitiation Table 5.3.

Characteristics of the Earth/Fertility and Ancestor/Political Cult at Paquimé

Ancestor/Political Cult Private/closed rites I

I I

Private sacred spaces (e.g., Mound of the Offerings) Open burial pits in Unit 13 Private (intramural) dedicatory caches

Sacrifices I

Of birds

Cult of the dead/control of ancestors I I I I

Curated skulls Secondary processing of dead Human bone relics Ramos Black ceramics

Factionalism/exclusivity I I

Ballcourts Ramos Black

Earth/Fertility Cult Open/public rites I

I I

Public platform mounds (e.g., Mound of the Cross) Maguey roasting Public dedicatory caches

Sacrifices I

Of birds and humans

Celestial observation and weather symbolism I I I I

Mound of the Cross Cerro de Moctezuma Ramos Polychrome Hand drums (thunder sounds?)

Communalism/inclusivism I I

Ramos Polychrome Public feasting

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of the wind god at the Torreón on top of Cerro de Moctezuma or various rites conducted within agricultural fields. Ritual practices may have involved the sacrificing of turkeys with musical accompaniment provided on hand drums (figure 5.2), perhaps reproducing the sounds of thunder. Associated with these activities may have been the intentional juxtaposing of secondary, primary, and sacrificial burials. The child sacrifice may represent another act of appeasement or appeal to weather-related supernatural forces. Alternatively, the ancestor/political cult at Paquimé was possibly associated with distributionally restricted Ramos Negro ceramics. Ballcourts, with their ritualized conflict between both secular and supernatural factions, probably acted as important foci for the ceremonies of this cult. However, rites also occurred in sacred spaces whose access was restricted by elites, such as the trophy skull room of Unit 16 or the open burial pits in Unit 13. Again, the sacrifice of humans is indicated in the sub–Ballcourt 3 burials. The large number of sacrificed individuals buried in the Unit 14 ballcourt suggests that Harmon (2005, 512–13) may be correct in suggesting the development and existence of a ceremonial ballgame cult at Paquimé during

FIGURE 5.2

Broken ceramic hand drums, Unit 13. (Source: Courtesy of the Amerind Foundation, Dragoon, AZ. Tommy Carroll, photographer, published in the Casas Grandes, Vol. 2, 393, fig. 89-2.)

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the Medio period. Rites may have also incorporated the sacrifice of parrots and macaws to the sounds of copper bells and shell tinklers. Finally, the secondary burials found within many private, internal spaces may have been an attempt to prolong the liminal period of some ancestors. Similar concerns with honoring ancestors in charnel structures have been noted to the south at the sites of La Quemada (Nelson et al. 1992) and Alta Vista (Kelley 1978; Pickering 1985). Thus, this practice seems to have a deep tradition within Mesoamerican ritual systems. Notwithstanding, as Victor Turner observed, these two components of a religious system need not be mutually exclusive. Knight’s (1986, 676) observations are key in this regard: A dualism of this kind may incorporate elements of an underlying ritual hostility between the paired cults, especially in the case of a popular or communal inclusive cult contraposed against an exclusive cult of nobility. This antagonism may be codified in the force of “rituals of rebellion,” which may involve sham battles or the temporary symbolic overthrow of nobility. The inherent potential for such antagonism underlies need for intellectual reconciliation of varied sets of cult goals and premises that frequently are at odds. . . . But such dyadic religious structures may serve to channel and codify these mutual antitheses by allowing a calendrical alternation of ritual dominance, or some comparable form of cooperative enterprise.

At Paquimé, the Mound of the Offerings exemplifies one important context in which the concerns of these two cults probably overlapped. The unit falls between the Mound of the Cross and the effigy mound of the sacrificed bird. Being in the center of this important alignment, it was eminently visible to the entire community. Some ritual practices at the mound, however, were obscured from view by the masonry wall, thus maintaining the secrecy of sacred knowledge. These activities no doubt included both episodic and cyclical ceremonials. While containing remains of dead ancestors, these remains were curated within Ramos Polychrome urns, thus symbolizing fertility and renewal. Hence, this unit may have acted to merge the transactions and interests of the two cults at the site. Parrots, too, may have been important to both cults. Their images are depicted upon Ramos Polychrome associated with the regional Earth/fertility cult. However, they also constitute one of the possible sacrifices made by the practitioners of the ancestor/political cult.

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Late Medio Period Collapse

During the Late Medio period, this duality, with its inherent tension, began to disintegrate, perhaps in response to decreasing environmental pressure to maintain aggregated communities. Alternatively, the ritual practices of the two cults may have ossified into ceremonies with only limited relevance to commoner concerns. Tambiah (1985, 166) has expressed such ossification in terms of the relative importance of canonical and indexical messages in ritual: [T]he rituals of ordinary times carry both symbolic or iconic and indexical meanings in different mixes, and the participants too understand these meanings in varying measure, according to their lights, interests, and commitments. One task, then, is to specify the conditions under which rituals—which ordinarily convey both symbolic or iconic and indexical, referential and pragmatic meanings—take opposite turnings: to the right when they begin to lose their semantic component and come to serve mainly the pragmatic interests of authority, privilege, and sheer conservatism; and to the left when committed believers, faced with a decline of referential meaning but with a surfeit of manipulated “implicatures,” strive to infuse purified meaning into traditional forms, as often happens during the effervescence of religious revival and reform.

Alternatively, the ossification process may simply have made the aggregated Medio period sites like Paquimé vulnerable to attacks from outside raiders (Hammond and Rey 1928, 207). Whatever, the cause, this process may have occurred throughout the Casas Grandes region. There is no evidence to suggest that the Medio period Casas Grandes phenomenon lasted beyond the mid-sixteenth century. CONCLUSION

Recently, numerous other studies have argued for the development of cult institutions in prehistoric North America. These studies have included the works of Adams (1991), Crown (1994), Plog and Solometo (1997), and Ware and Blinman (2000) for the American Southwest. Likewise, Brown (1985), Emerson (1995), and Knight (1986) have described cultic institutions for the Mississippian culture. These studies have demonstrated the considerable interpretive value of examining how these religious cults interplay both within and between the societies and communities that support them.

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This work expands upon these studies by examining the differences between religious systems based upon priestly cults and those organized around shamanic practitioners. The examination presented here of the nature of these two different types of practitioners and how they affect the form and content of ritual is, I feel, extremely beneficial. It provides the basis for identifying and differentiating the characteristics of rituals conducted by shamans versus those of priests. I have also examined the role of ritual specialists and their practices in the evolution of sociopolitical complexity. This examination has outlined how transformations in the organization of religious systems and their associated ritual practitioners may be essential to the emergence of complexity in some middle-range societies. The main research questions posed here are, how do societies aggregate into denser occupations, and how do they sustain such aggregations in the face of scalar stress and other factors promoting their disintegration? Equally important has been a consideration of how the emergence of institutionalized inequality affects such aggregations and their eventual success. I have suggested that rituals and their associated religious structures and specialists can be intimately linked to the successful aggregation of populations and the emergence of complexity. I have argued that the role of ritual is twofold. Ritual practices have the ability both to promote community cohesion and to establish institutionalized authority structures within a society. Ritual is able to do this by virtue of its key formal attributes. As an especially symbolic form of communication, it is able both to transmit multivocal representations of community and to express investiture of authority positions within individuals. Ritual is composed of both canonical invariance, which is iconic of sacredness and tradition, and indexical referents that meaningfully relate to participants and observers. I do not mean to suggest that ritual is the only facet of culture that possesses the ability to actualize these two conditions. Other facets of social life can be quite efficacious at promoting community cohesion while supporting authority roles and decision-making hierarchies. Architecture has similar features, as do economic or trade practices. I also suspect that these features can be found in subsistence practices and the allocation of labor resources. It is not that ritual has a monopoly on affecting such social conditions but rather that it is better placed for such a role than other aspects of culture. I believe

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this is so because ritual behavior is fundamentally symbolic communication about the sacred. Nor am I attempting to argue that this dual function of ritual is unique to aggregated communities with elite decision-making structures. I would hold that ritual contributes to community cohesion and the exercise of authority by elites in most (if not all) communities. In smaller-scale societies, authority may not be vested in institutionalized leadership roles, yet aspiring leaders use ritual as a source of social power. In such societies, ritual is also critical in maintaining group cohesion and resolving conflicts. Even in our own society (a complex state if ever there was one), secular ritual serves both to invest leaders with authority and to provide us with a sense of community despite differences of geographic distance, economic status, and cultural or ethnic affiliation. What is unique about ritual practice in aggregated, middle-range societies is the nature of ritual specialists and how they are integrated within a religious system. These specialists, their nature, and their integration are what evolve as social complexity develops. This evolution of religious systems is, in turn, what impacts the morphology of ceremonial practices. Evolution of this sort is historically contingent and specific to each culture and society throughout prehistory and history. NOTES

1. It is possible that the increase in grave goods found within burials through time is related to changing inheritance practices. A similar pattern would emerge if more of an individual’s personal possessions were deposited within the grave and less inheritance of these objects by his or her heirs occurred. Alternatively, changing media or venues of status displays (especially those not represented in the archaeological record) could conflate interpretations of changing amounts of mortuary expenditure. 2. I would, however, disagree with Curet and Oliver that communal institutions must be weakened in such emergent complex societies. Certainly they can be weakened; however, this could result in the ultimate social failure of a community. This may explain why some incipient complex communities are ultimately failures in the long term. My assertion is that such communal institutions, while transformed from their more egalitarian structures, are fundamental and necessary to community cohesion in the face of developing inequality in power or authority.

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3. And in these cases, in fact, it may not be location but corpse processing that is most indicative of status distinctions. The difference in number and variety of grave goods noted in Rakita (2001) may be due to ongoing ceremonial activities at interior burial locales with subsequent addition of materials to the feature. 4. A “cacique” is defined by Schaafsma and Riley as an individual who fulfills both religious and political leadership roles. They do not suggest that the position is restricted to a certain sex, though this may be the case. This definition is used here and conforms to that presented by Dozier (1970, 213).

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———. 2000. Leadership at Casas Grandes, Chihuahua, Mexico. In Alternative Leadership Strategies in the Prehispanic Southwest, edited by B. J. Mills, 168–79. University of Arizona Press, Tucson. ———. 2001. Casas Grandes and Its Hinterland: Prehistoric Regional Organization in Northwest Mexico. University of Arizona Press, Tucson. White, T. D. 1992. Prehistoric Cannibalism at Mancos 5MTUMR-2346. Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ. Whitehouse, H. 1995. Inside the Cult: Religious Innovation and Transmission in Papua New Guinea. Clarendon Press, Oxford, UK. Wilcox, D. R. 1999. A Preliminary Graph-Theoretic Analysis of Access Relationships at Casas Grandes. In The Casas Grandes World, edited by C. F. Schaafsma and C. L. Riley, 93–104. University of Utah Press, Salt Lake City. Wilcox, D. R., and J. Haas. 1994. The Scream of the Butterfly: Competition and Conflict in the Prehistoric Southwest. In Themes in Southwest Prehistory, edited by G. J. Gumerman, 211–38. School of American Research Press, Santa Fe. Williams, G. C. 1996 [1966]. Adaptation and Natural Selection. Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ. Winkelman, M. J. 1990. Shamans and Other “Magico-Religious” Healers: A CrossCultural Study of Their Origins, Nature, and Social Transformations. Ethnos 18 (3): 308–52. ———. 1992. Shamans, Priests and Witches: A Cross-Cultural Study of MagicoReligious Practitioners. Anthropological Research Papers of Arizona State University. Arizona State University Press, Tempe. ———. 1996. Religious Practitioners. In Encyclopedia of Cultural Anthropology, edited by D. Levinson and M. Ember, 1105–9. Henry Holt and Company, New York. Winthrop, R. H. 1991. “Semiotics” in Dictionary of Concepts in Cultural Anthropology. Greenwood Press, New York, 251–55. Woosley, A. I., and B. Olinger. 1993. The Casas Grandes Ceramic Tradition: Production and Interregional Exchange of Ramos Polychrome. In Culture and Contact: Charles C. Di Peso’s Gran Chichimeca, edited by A. I. Woosley and J. C. Ravesloot, 105–31. Amerind Foundation, Dragoon, AZ.

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Index

abandoned structures and sites, 21–23, 27–28, 31, 38, 40–41, 51, 97, 110, 117, 130, 145 adaptation, 12, 49, 50, 58, 61, 70, 72, 84, 87, 88 adults, 19, 21, 23, 37, 42, 101, 102, 103, 110, 118, 134, 142, 143 afterlife, 157, 162 agency, 69, 70 aggregation, 1–6, 11–13, 24, 30–31, 51–52, 61–62, 71, 93, 117, 145–46, 150–51, 153, 159–60, 162, 166–68 agriculture, 2, 12, 13, 20, 30–31, 32, 43, 52, 77, 79, 80, 87–88, 153, 156, 159–60, 162–64 allegiance, 67, 133 alliances, 2, 67, 163 altruism, 54–59 ancestor, 6, 74, 90, 97, 99, 118, 133, 141, 144, 145, 146, 148–50, 152, 153–58, 161–65 architectural features, 5, 6, 14, 16, 19, 20, 22, 23, 26–28, 30, 31, 35, 37, 39, 42,

51–52, 74, 90, 96, 119–27, 130, 131–36, 147, 160, 167; acequias, 33; adobe, 21, 26, 42, 127, 134; alcoves, 27; altar, 38, 40, 75, 118, 119–27, 130, 134; atalayas, 30; beam, 14, 116. See also architectural features: vigas; campo santo, 16, 42; ceremonial, 22, 27, 28, 31, 75, 90, 92, 119–27, 130, 133, 147, 161; chapel, 42; colonnades, 27, 28; crypt, 40, 131, 148, 150; door/entry-ways, 17, 26; extramural spaces, 118; feature 44-A-L-13 (at Paquimé), 98–99, 110, 114, 130; fireplaces and hearths, 17, 20, 22, 26, 127; floor, 17, 20, 21–22, 38, 42, 97, 110, 112, 117, 121–27, 130, 136, 145, 148, 151; intramural spaces, 118, 163; irrigation system, 32–33; jacal structures, 27; latillas, 21; masonry, 131, 132, 134, 165; mound, 27, 28, 29, 39, 74, 91, 110, 119–27, 130, 131–34, 137, 156, 163, 165; pits, roasting, 30, 40; pits, storage, 17; plastered floors, 197

198

17, 20, 21, 22, 38; platform, sleeping, 26, 110, 112; postholes, 17, 22, 120; public architecture, 20, 21, 22, 27, 28, 31, 37, 39, 110, 117, 118, 119–27, 130, 145, 147, 163; remodeling of, 27, 28, 31, 96, 147; roof, 17, 20, 21, 28, 116, 120, 134; roomblock, 26, 28, 30, 31, 33, 51, 131, 139, 146; stairs, 40, 131; tomb, 38, 113, 116, 130, 148; Tshaped door, 26, 119, 132, 133; vault, 112, 119, 134; vigas, 40. See also architectural features: beam; wall, 17, 19, 20, 21, 26, 27, 40, 42, 127, 130, 131, 134, 165; wattle-and-daub, 21, 127; well, walk-in, 33, 40, 130 Arizona, 8, 13, 20, 22, 90, 97 arrows, 38, 118, 119, 136 astronomical observations, 39, 130, 131 audience, 64, 67, 74, 157 authority, 20, 49, 50, 53, 58, 62–67, 69, 76, 78, 83, 85, 86, 87, 88, 93, 142, 145, 151, 153, 158–59, 161, 162, 166, 168; decision-making, 45, 53. See also hierarchy; legitimize, 62–65, 68, 148, 150; positions, 63–64, 65, 66–67, 72, 157, 158, 161, 162, 167; structures or hierarchies, 5, 49, 50, 52, 53, 59, 61, 65, 71, 85, 88, 93, 148, 150, 151, 167; versus power, 62–63, 79, 145, 158, 168 awls, 21, 120, 126, 127 axes, 120 Babicora basin, 26, 33, 36 ballcourt, 28, 30, 39, 91, 119, 123, 127, 130, 131, 132–33, 135, 148, 163, 164 ballgame, 133, 164. See also architectural features

INDEX

beheading, 137 Bell, Catherine, 76, 78, 81, 85–86, 91 beverages, 75, 89, 136; alcoholic, 75, 89; fermented, 136; méki, 136; mescal, 27; pulque, 27, 136; tesgüino, 136 Binford, Lewis, 141, 144, 158 births, 64, 158 Bloch, Maurice, 53, 65–66, 84 body, 21, 23, 42, 89, 97, 103, 111, 116, 142. See also corpses body parts: abdomen, 19; arm, 19, 21, 23, 97, 133; brain, 45; calvarium, 110; clavicle, 98–99; crania, 110; hand, 126, 135, 148–49; head, 42, 116; pelvis, 19; phalanges, 134, 148; postcranial, 134; skeleton, 26, 31, 32, 97, 100, 102–3, 110, 118, 148–49; skull, 38, 110, 115, 118, 122, 127, 130, 136, 148–49, 163, 164; teeth, 26, 32; thorax, 19; torso, 21, 23 bone, 32, 33, 38–39, 75, 98, 109, 118, 119–27, 128, 129, 130, 134, 148, 150, 163 Brand, Donald, 8 Buikstra, Jane, 31 burials: artifact count and richness, 99–100, 103, 106–7, 108, 142, 144, 146, 147; burial facility, 21, 28, 34, 38, 40, 110, 112, 113, 117, 118, 130, 131, 134, 148, 151, 163, 164; charnel, 110, 148, 165; cremation, 90; grave goods, 6, 19, 21, 23, 38, 42, 99–100, 103–9, 117, 118, 137, 139, 141–44, 147, 158, 168, 169; inhumation, 37, 38, 42, 110; interment, 21, 23, 110, 117, 118, 145, 147, 149; location, 6, 21, 28, 37, 38, 42, 96, 100, 102, 110, 112, 116–17, 118, 139, 144–47, 150, 151, 165, 169;

INDEX

secondary, 23, 38, 110, 117, 118, 148, 149, 150, 164, 165. See also corpses: processing burning, 27, 28, 91, 92, 97, 98 butchering, 98 caches. See ritual: caches cacique, 161, 169 calendar, 66, 73, 92, 154, 162, 163 caliche, 131 cannibalism, 98–99 Cannon, Aubrey, 145 canons, 64, 74, 81–86, 92, 93, 151, 162, 166, 167 carbon isotopes, 32 caries, dental, 32 Catholic, 81, 83 cave, 12, 13, 17, 30, 127 Cedar Mesa, 32 celestial alignments, 131, 163 ceramics, 6, 11, 13, 14, 16, 18, 19, 20, 22, 26, 33, 35–36, 38, 108, 109, 116, 117, 118, 126, 128, 129, 136, 137–39, 143, 157, 163, 164; Babicora Polychrome, 36; bichrome, 26, 36; bottles, 35; bowl, 19, 21, 35, 38, 75, 100, 108, 109, 118, 119–26, 139; Carretas Polychrome, 36; Casas Grandes Plainware, 110, 126–27; Chupadero Black-on-White, 36; clubshaped motif, 137; Convento Pattern Incised Corrugated, 22; Convento Plainware, 22; Convento Redware, 18; Dublan Polychrome, 36; effigy, 19, 35, 109, 118, 120, 137; El Paso Polychrome, 36; Escondida Polychrome, 100; Gila Polychrome, 14, 36; handdrum, 38, 108, 109, 118, 128, 129, 130, 136–37, 152, 163, 164;

199

Huerigos Polychrome, 36; jar, 19, 21, 35, 100, 108, 109, 110, 119, 127, 130, 137, 139; Jornada Polychrome, 37; Mata Polychrome, 22, 35; Mimbres Black-on-White, 26; Mimbres Boldface, 26; miniature, 100, 108, 109, 126; monochrome, 35; motifs, 36, 131, 157, 163; plainware, 19, 20, 22, 110, 126, 127; Playas Red, 35, 100, 119, 130; polychromes, 14, 22, 26, 35–36, 37, 100, 108, 109, 120, 134, 137–39, 157, 163, 165; Ramos Black (Negro), 35, 126, 139, 163, 164; Ramos Polychrome, 36, 120, 134, 137, 139, 157, 163, 165; red-on-brown wares, 20, 21, 22, 26; Salado, 137, 139, 163; slipped, 18, 35; St. John’s Polychrome, 36; trade ware, 14, 20–21, 22, 26, 36–37, 143. See also trade and exchange; urn, 38, 40, 110, 113, 116, 134, 137, 148, 150, 165; vessel, 35, 36–37, 137; Villa Ahumada Polychrome, 36, 120; White Mountain Redware, 36 Chaco Canyon, 52, 102 charisma, 76 Chihuahua, 4, 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 28, 32, 42, 132 child/children, 54, 56, 70, 110, 116, 120, 143, 164 childbearing, 103 clan, 67, 68, 146, 147, 150, 151, 152–53, 159–61, 163 clouds, 156 codification, 78, 152, 155, 162, 165 cohesion, community, 3, 6, 31, 48, 50–53, 55, 58, 59, 61, 62, 67–69, 72, 78, 85, 93, 145, 146, 151, 153, 154, 155, 157, 161, 162, 167–68

200

collapse, 40–41, 166 Colorado Plateau, 13 communitas, 62, 67, 69, 71. See also Turner, Victor competition, 77, 133, 147–48 complexity, 2–6, 19, 23, 30, 35, 40, 45–59, 61–62, 67–72, 76, 77, 79, 85, 87–88, 93, 96, 133, 139, 141, 142, 143, 152, 154, 156, 159, 163, 167–68; emergent, 2, 4, 6, 45–59, 61–72, 85, 142, 143, 159, 161, 168 conflict, 1, 50, 67, 69, 133, 154, 163, 164, 168 congregating, 1, 58, 67 cooperate, 54, 58–59, 67, 72, 151, 159, 163, 165 copper, 23, 36, 37, 38, 42, 118, 120–22, 128, 129, 136–37, 165 coprolite, 98 corpses, 6, 28, 37, 38, 40, 42, 97, 99, 110, 111, 117, 118, 148, 149, 156, 169. See also body parts; cremation. See burials: cremation; decomposing, 149; orientation, 19, 21, 23, 117, 118; position, 19, 21, 23, 38, 42, 97, 117, 120; processing, 38, 97–99, 110, 111, 118, 145, 148, 163, 169. See also burials: secondary cosmogony, 75, 157 cosmology, 78, 82, 86, 93, 95, 137, 148, 150, 154, 156, 157, 162 craft specialists, 48, 73, 79–80. See also ritual specialists crotals, 37, 120, 128, 129, 136. See also copper Crown, Patricia, 137, 157, 166 cults, 68, 69, 72–73, 74, 76, 79, 80, 85, 89, 91, 92, 98, 133, 139, 141, 151–57,

INDEX

161–67; ancestor/political, 153–57, 161, 163–65; ballgame, 133, 164; communal institution, 72; of the dead, 156, 163; Earth/fertility, 148, 153–57, 158, 161, 163, 165; ecclesiastical, 72–73, 79, 80, 85, 92, 152; individualist, 72, 73; Katchina, 51, 67, 68, 70, 156; Melanesian cargo, 155. See also Pomio Kivung; Mesoamerican, 95, 98, 156; priestly, 85, 89, 92, 167. See also ritual specialists; shamanic, 72–73, 76, 79, 80, 85, 89, 152, 167. See also ritual specialists; Southwestern Regional Cult, 157 cultures: Apache, 12, 42; Chinarra, 41; Cochise, 12; Hopi, 159; Jano, 41; Jocome, 41; Jova, 41; Jumano, 41; Melanesian, 155; Mimbres, 52, 133, 156; Mississippian, 32, 93, 166; Mogollon, 13, 18; Nepalese, 87–88; Ojibway, 86; Olmec, 58; Pueblo, 1, 62, 68, 70, 97, 156, 158, 160, 162; Samarran, 58; Shang, 58; Siberian, 153; Spanish, 40–42; Suma, 41–42; Tarahumara, 136; Uto-Aztecan, 157; Yaqui, 6; Zuni, 67, 162 curated human remains, 122, 148, 163, 165. See also relics dances, 75, 84 Darwin, Charles, 55 Darwinian evolution, 55–57 dating: dendrochronology (tree-ring), 13, 14, 43; obsidian hydration, 13, 14; radiocarbon (C14), 13–14, 17, 22, 43 death, 42, 64, 137, 145, 158 deity, 73, 131, 132

INDEX

␦13C, 32 deviance, 144 dialectic, 162 diet, 32–33, 35 discourse, 2, 64 Douglas, Mary, 78–79, 87 duality, 162, 166 Durkheim, Emile, 65, 69, 71, 76 economy, 4, 23, 46, 52, 76–77, 79, 82, 84, 87, 88, 95, 137, 152–53, 158, 159, 160, 161, 167, 168 El Paso, 41 Eliade, Mircea, 157 emotion, 71, 81, 156, 158 enemy, 97. See also war environment, 2, 5, 6–11, 49, 51, 52, 68, 153, 166 equinox, 131 ethos, 78 eusocial insects, 55 evolution, 5, 47, 58, 76, 87, 89, 92, 157, 168 exegesis, 155 extinction, 54 factions, 133, 154, 163, 164 faith, 58, 83 fauna, 5, 6, 9, 18, 32, 33, 34–35, 41, 62, 82, 108, 109, 119, 122, 137; antelope, pronghorn, 9, 18, 33; ants, 55, 57; artiodactyls, 9; avian, 18, 137; aviculture, 27, 36; badger, 9; bear, 9, 110; bees, 55; bird, 18, 34, 39, 122, 130, 131, 132, 157, 163, 165; bison, 18, 33, 122; bobcat, 9; carnivores, 9; copperheads, 9; cottontail, 9; coyote, 9, 35; deer, 9, 33, 41; dog,

201

domesticated, 18, 21, 35; duck, 9, 18; fish, 35, 88; fox, 9; game species, 18, 33, 41, 152; Gar, 35; geese, 9; gophers, 35; hognose snake, 9; horse, 42; insect, 9, 55, 127; jackrabbits, 9, 18, 33; kangaroo rat, 9, 35; lagomorphs, 9, 33; lepus species, 18, 33; lizard, 9, 35; macaw, 4, 18, 27, 34, 36, 40, 100, 128–29, 133, 137, 138, 139, 165; mammal, 9, 18; mice, 9; mountain lion, 110; mule deer, 9; packrat, 10; parrot, 133, 137, 165; peccary, 9; quail, 9; raccoon, 9; rattlesnakes, 9; reindeer, 153; reptile, 9, 41; Rio Grande Chub, 35; rodents, 9; skunk, 9; snake, 9, 35, 39, 130, 131; squirrels, 9; termites, 55; turkey, 4, 9, 18, 34, 100, 128–29, 137, 138, 164; turtle, 35; wood rat, 9, 35 feast, 6, 62, 75, 99, 133, 136, 163 feathers, 34, 36, 75, 89, 156 female, 19, 21, 37, 41, 42, 77, 101, 102–3, 117, 133, 134, 140, 142, 143 fertility, 31, 148, 156–58, 162, 165. See also cults: Earth/fertility Fewkes, W. J., 68, 160 fields, agricultural, 30, 33, 42, 164 figurines, 152 fire, 20, 26, 27, 127, 132 Flagstaff, 90 floodplain, 31 flora, 5, 6, 9, 17, 18, 32–33, 65, 108, 109, 136; acorn, 12, 41; agave, 9, 32, 40, 136; amaranth, 13; annuals, 13; beans, 32; C4 plants, 32; cacti, 9; CAM plants, 32; cholla, 9; corn, 12, 13, 18, 22, 32, 33; cotton, 32, 33; cottonwood, 9; domesticate, 13, 33;

202

flower, 156, 157; gourds, 32; juniper, 9; maguey, 136, 163; mesquite, 9, 32; oak, 9; piñon, 9, 32; prickly pear, 9; sotol, 9; squash, 32; walnuts, 32; willows, 9; yucca, 9 Flower World, 157 food, 32, 33, 42, 77, 78, 136, 160 formality, 64, 82, 84, 87, 91, 97, 167 fractures, 98 fraternities, 67–68, 161 Geertz, Clifford, 69, 70 Gluckman, Max, 67, 69 graves, 108, 117–18, 139, 141–44, 147, 151, 158, 168–69. See also burials grid and group, 78, 87 Hamilton, W. D., 55–57 Hays-Gilpin, Kelly, 157 heirlooms, 149 Helms, Mary, 148, 150 Hertz, Robert, 149 heterarchy, 45. See also hierarchy heterogeneity, 45, 59 hierarchy, 3, 20, 45–46, 48–50, 53, 61, 62, 64, 78–79, 93, 133, 142–43, 150, 154, 162. See also heterarchy; decisionmaking, 2, 3, 6, 48, 49, 50–51, 53, 61–62, 72, 133, 143, 167–68. See also authority horticultural, 77 house-in-pit, 17, 19, 20 hunter-gather, 88 icon, 82–83, 93, 95, 137, 162, 166, 167 identity, 67, 78, 150 ideology, 53, 146, 157, 162–63 illness, 64, 92 imagery, 85, 86, 156, 165

INDEX

inalienable possessions, 150 index, 70, 74, 81–87, 92, 166, 167 indoctrination, 70, 78 inequality, 2, 3, 6, 45, 49, 55, 59, 146, 167, 168. See also hierarchy inheritance, 46, 54, 168 injuries, 57, 97 innovations, 49, 85 institutionalization, 2–3, 5, 46, 48, 53, 61–62, 65, 72–73, 74, 76, 79, 80–81, 85, 91, 133, 143, 146, 152, 155, 158, 161, 167–68 Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia (INAH), 30 integration, 50–53, 62, 79, 87, 159, 163, 168 Jalisco, 37 Joint Casas Grandes Expedition, 14, 23, 35, 96 juvenile, 19, 21, 102, 117, 142. See also subadults Katchina. See cults: Katchina Kelley, Jane, 17, 43 Kidder, Alfred V., 4, 139 kin, 6, 31, 46, 48, 50, 52, 53–59, 61, 133, 146, 147, 149–50, 153, 158, 161 kin selection, 55–56, 57, 58 kith, 53, 56–59 kith selection, 56–58 kiva, 67, 90 kratophany, 97 Kroeber, Alfred, 67 labor, 30–31, 39, 45, 130, 141, 167 Laguna Bustillos, 6 Lekson, Stephen, 26, 43 lightning, 156

203

INDEX

liminality, 69, 145, 149–50, 154, 162, 165. See also Turner, Victor lineage, 133, 154, 156 Lister, Robert, 12, 13 lithics, 11, 108, 109, 117, 118; Clovis point, 11; concretions, 127, 128, 129, 152; crystals, 75, 120, 127, 152; flakes, 12; groundstone, 4, 13, 19; manos, 13, 18, 23, 119, 120; metates, 13, 18, 23, 120; mineral, 23, 37, 38, 75, 118; obsidian, 13, 14, 127; pigments, 38, 75, 89, 108, 109, 118, 120, 126, 127; Plainview-type projectile point, 11; projectile point, 11, 13, 120; quartz, 120, 127, 152; turquoise, 36, 37, 95, 120–26 magic. See ritual male, 21, 23, 41, 65, 77, 89, 101, 102, 118, 142 manitou, 86 marriage, 82, 159, 163 masks, 75, 89 Matachines dance, 84 Maxwell, Timothy, 33, 93 memes, 56–58, 71 Mesa Verde, 68, 160 Mesoamerica, 95 Mesoamerican dieties, 98, 116, 131–32; Ehecatl, 132; Quetzalcoatl, 131, 132; Tlaloc, 116, 132; Xipe Tótec, 98; Xiuhtecutli, 132 metal, 26, 109 midden, 10 migration, 28, 31, 51, 147, 159–60 Mills, Barbara, 150 Minnis, Paul, 30, 133, 136 modes of religiosity, 153–56 moieties, 68

mortuary. See ritual Mound of the Bird (Unit 10), 122, 131, 132 Mound of the Cross (Unit 2), 29, 119, 131, 156, 163, 165 Mound of the Offerings (Unit 4), 40, 110, 130, 132, 133–36, 137, 148, 150, 163, 165 mountain, 8, 9–10, 33, 40 mourners, 149 multivocality, 64, 66, 67, 70, 167 musical instruments, 6, 38, 75, 89, 118, 134, 136–37, 164; bell, 37, 38, 118, 136, 165; handdrum. See ceramics; rasp, 38, 118, 120, 134; tinklers, 23, 38, 108, 109, 117, 118, 119–27, 128, 129, 136–37, 65; whistles, 38, 118 myths, 45, 73, 132–33, 157, 159 Nayarit, 37 New Mexico, 8, 12, 37, 42, 52, 132 ornaments, 19, 23, 37, 38, 42, 90, 108, 109, 117, 118, 126, 130, 143, 146; beads, 21, 23, 37, 38, 39, 42, 100, 118, 119–27, 130, 136; bracelet, 23, 120; necklace, 100, 119, 130, 134, 135, 148; pendants, 21, 23, 119–27, 149 orthodoxy, 81 orthopraxy, 81 pavansinom, 159 Pecos Classification, 14 Peirce, Charles Sanders, 82–83 pit-house, 17, 19, 20, 23, 26 plaza, 17, 19, 21, 22, 23, 26, 27, 28, 31, 40, 74, 91, 110, 112, 117, 120, 122, 123, 128, 129, 130, 138, 145, 146, 147, 150, 152

204

plumed serpent, 27, 131, 137, 156, 163 pochteca, 95 Pomio Kivung, 155 prayer sticks, 75, 89 prestige, 6, 23, 141, 143–44, 145, 147, 151 psychobiological, 79 psychological, 77 punishment, 58, 59, 67, 78 Radin, Paul, 76–78 rain, 116, 156 Rappaport, Roy, 64, 71, 81–85 rationalization, 71, 72, 76, 86 Ravesloot, John, 14, 156 rebellion, 69, 165 rebirth, 158 reciprocity, 54, 58, 84 regeneration, 156 relics, 75, 127, 148, 150, 163. See also curated human remains religion, 46, 52–53, 58–59, 68, 73, 76, 78, 95, 156, 161 renewal, 148, 151, 154, 157, 158, 162, 165 reservoir, 28, 33, 38, 39, 119, 130 revitalization, 31, 147 revolt, 42 ritual, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 17, 19, 22, 27, 28, 31, 34, 37–39, 40, 43, 45, 47–48, 51, 52–53, 58, 59, 61–93, 95–97, 99, 100, 118, 119–27, 130, 131, 133, 136, 137, 139, 141, 145, 146, 147, 148–50, 152–53, 154–56, 157, 158–69; caches, 38, 39, 75, 91, 92–93, 110, 118, 119–27, 130, 152, 163; communication, 3, 53, 65, 66, 71, 81–83, 86–87, 92, 93, 167–68; curing, 89; cyclical 65, 74, 91, 92, 130, 148,

INDEX

154, 155, 162, 165; effervescence, 69, 71, 166; fertility, 148, 153–55, 156–58, 161–63, 165; funeral, 5, 6, 11, 19, 43, 53, 61, 90, 92, 95–118, 130, 139, 141–51, 156. See also burials; initiations, 64, 86, 88; of intensification, 74; liturgy, 64, 66, 73, 74, 80, 82, 83, 85–86, 87, 92, 160; magic, 75, 76–77, 90; offerings, 75, 116, 119, 130, 136; paraphernalia, 62, 75, 82, 89, 91, 92, 133, 137; propitiation, 72, 74, 87, 163; rites of passage, 64–65, 66, 149, 158; of rebellion, 69, 165; ritualization, 65, 91. See also Bell, Catherine; sacra, 149, 161; sacrifice, 6, 34, 38, 75, 99, 110, 116, 118, 120, 127, 128, 129, 131, 132, 133, 137, 138, 148, 163, 164, 165; sodalities and fraternities, 67, 68–69, 70, 93, 151, 157, 159, 161; trove, 110, 119–27, 130, 148 ritual specialists, 2–3, 5, 6, 47–48, 53, 59, 61, 62, 65, 66–67, 71–88, 89–90, 91, 92, 93, 130, 146, 152, 157, 159–60, 162–63, 165, 167–68; altered-statesof-consciousness, 75, 77, 79, 88; healer, 79, 90; magician, 90; medicine-men, 77, 89; medium, 79; neurotic-epileptoid, 77; priest, 3, 74, 76–81, 85–92, 110, 119–27, 150, 152, 153, 157, 160, 161, 162, 167; shaman, 3, 39, 72–73, 74, 76–80, 85–93, 118, 126–27, 137, 152–53, 159–60, 167; sorcerer, 79; trance-state, 77; witches, 74, 79, 97 river valleys: Arroyo La Tinaja, 31; Arroyo Seco, 30, 31; Dolores River, 51; Little Colorado, 20, 51, 97; Mimbres, 20, 22, 52, 133, 156; Río

INDEX

Bavispe, 6, 36; Río Bravos, 6; Río Casas Grandes, 8, 13, 17, 20, 23, 41, 157; Río del Carmen, 6, 8, 36; Río Piedras Verdes, 31; Río Santa María, 8, 30, 31, 36; San Juan Basin, 51, 52; San Pedro/Santa Cruz, 20, 22; Valle de los Cuevas, 12 rock alignments, 30. See also trincheras rock-art, 30 sacrifice. See ritual: sacrifice sanctity, 64, 65, 71 scalar stress, 2, 6, 47, 48–49, 52–55, 58, 61, 93, 167 Semiotics, 82–85, 166 Serpent Mound, 27, 131, 132 sex, 21, 37, 42, 101, 102–3, 120, 169 shell, marine, 4, 19, 21, 22–23, 26, 36, 37, 38, 100, 108, 109, 117, 118, 119–27, 128–29, 130, 136, 137, 143, 146, 159, 165 Sinaloa, 37 sites: Alta Vista, 165; Arroyo Hondo, 102; Black Mesa, 102; Burnt Mesa, 99; Casa Chica, 30; Casa del Fuego, 30; Castle Rock, 99; Cave Valley sites, 12, 13, 17, 30; Cerro de Moctezuma, 132, 164; Cerro Juanaqueña, 13; Cerro los Torres, 13; Cerro Vidal, 13; Ch-152 17; Ch-159, 17; Convento (CHIH:D:9:2), 5, 8, 14, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21, 23, 33, 43, 100, 145, 152, 157, 158; Cowboy Wash, 99; Cuarenta Casas, 30; Dolores sites, 51; El Presidente, 30; El Zurdo, 32, 33, 34; Galeana, 30, 31, 153; Grasshopper Pueblo, 102; Homol’ovi II, 97; Huerigos, 153; La Quemada, 165; Mancos, 99; McPhee Village, 62; Orayvi, 159, 162; Pecos Pueblo, 32;

205

Point of Pines, 102; Polacca Wash, 99; Reyes No. 1 (CHIH:D:9:13), 5, 8, 14, 19, 37, 100; Reyes No. 2 (CHIH:D:9:14), 5, 8, 14, 19, 20, 37, 100; Ridge Ruin, 90; Salmon Ruin, 102; San Antonio de Padua, 14, 16, 41, 42; Swallow Cave, 12, 13; Torreón. See sites: Cerro de Moctezuma; Villa Ahumada 30, 33, 153 skewers, 38, 118, 120, 126, 128, 129 smoke, 75, 89 socialization, 64–65, 67 solidarity, 27, 31, 62, 67, 69, 71, 78, 147, 154, 155 solstices, 131 song, 75, 82, 83. See also musical instruments Sonora, 8, 36, 37 soul, 149–50 stars, 156 status, 6, 19, 45, 46, 47, 48, 52, 61, 65, 66, 69, 78, 81, 137, 141–51, 153, 154, 158, 162, 168, 169; achieved, 46, 162; ascribed, 46; caste, 70; class, 70, 87, 159; commoner, 69, 162, 166; elite, 17, 27, 28, 31, 39, 40, 49, 65, 66, 67, 69, 71, 72, 93, 133, 141–42, 143, 144, 146–48, 150, 151, 153, 156–57, 160, 161–62, 164, 168; leader, 2, 47–48, 50, 61, 65, 72, 74, 76, 79, 90, 144, 155, 156, 168, 169; minority, 50; nobility, 165; rank, 45, 70, 158, 159 stratigraphy, 14, 16, 17, 23, 96 subadults, 37, 42, 101, 102. See also juvenile sukavungsinom, 159 sun, 41, 131, 156 supernatural, 66, 69, 70, 72–77, 87, 162, 164

206

surveys, 28, 36 symbols, 3, 31, 40, 61, 63–64, 66–67, 69, 70, 71, 74, 75, 78, 82–83, 87, 91, 92, 137, 143, 144, 145, 149–50, 157, 163, 165, 166, 167, 168 syncretic, 68 taboos, 77, 161 Tambiah, Stanley, 84, 154, 166 temporal/cultural periods: Apache phase, 16; Archaic, 11–13; Basketmaker, 32; Buena Fé phase, 11, 16, 24, 26, 27, 31, 146, 147; Convento phase, 16–19, 20, 21, 43, 101, 103, 104, 105, 109, 111, 112, 113, 117, 151, 158; Diablo phase, 14, 16, 24, 28, 31, 39–40, 97, 123; Españoles period, 16, 41–43; Fresnal phase, 12; Gardner Springs phase, 12; Holocene, 10; Keystone phase, 12; Medio period, 4–5, 6, 11, 17, 18, 23–40, 41, 43, 95, 96, 97, 100, 102, 103, 108, 110–18, 130, 140, 141–51, 152, 153, 157, 159–61, 165, 166; Paleo-Indian, 11; Paquimé phase, 11, 24, 27, 31, 59, 156; Pilon phase, 16, 18, 19–21, 22, 23, 26, 43, 101, 104, 105, 108, 109, 111, 112, 113, 117, 142, 143, 151, 158; pre-ceramic, 11–13; pre-Medio, 4; proto-historic, 1, 51; Pueblo III–IV period, 14; Pueblo IV period, 51; Robles phase, 16, 41; San Antonio de Padua phase, 16; Tardio period, 16, 40–41; Viejo period, 4–5, 10, 16–23, 26, 28, 30, 33, 34, 35, 37–38, 43, 100,

INDEX

101, 103, 104, 105, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 117, 145–46, 147, 151, 152–53, 157–59 terraces, 13, 17, 19. See also trincheras theory, 6, 55, 61, 72, 76, 152 thunder, 163, 164 totems, 161 trade and exchange, 14, 19, 20–21, 22–23, 26, 36–37, 48, 52, 95, 96, 143, 150, 158, 167; down-the-line, 23; exotic, 19, 21, 36, 38, 118, 143, 159; long-distance, 19, 20, 22, 143 trash. See midden trincheras, 13, 30, 33. See also rock alignmentss trophy skulls, 38, 110, 115, 118, 127, 130, 136, 148, 164 Turner, Victor, 65, 69–71, 85, 153–55, 165 Van Pool, Christine, 137 violence, 97, 98 votive deposits. See ritual: caches Wallace, Anthony, 72–76, 79–80, 85, 92, 152 war, 40, 42, 68, 98 water, 8, 9, 27, 30–31, 32–33, 40, 131, 156 Weber, Max, 76 West Mexican coast, 143 Whalen, Michael, 30, 133, 136 Winkelman, Michael, 79, 87, 88, 92, 153 wood, 38, 42, 109, 118, 119, 130

About the Author

Gordon F. M. Rakita is associate professor of anthropology in the Department of Sociology and Anthropology at the University of North Florida. He holds a Ph.D. and M.A. in anthropology from the University of New Mexico and a B.A. in anthropology from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. His areas of expertise include bioarchaeology, mortuary and other ritual behavior, the prehistory of southwestern U.S. and northern Mexico, emergent social complexity, evolutionary theory, human skeletal biology, archaeological method, theory, and research design, and statistical data analyses. He has received numerous professional grants including one from the National Science Foundation. Dr. Rakita has coauthored one volume on Illinois Hopewell ceremonialism and has coedited one volume on the application of evolutionary theory to the archaeological record. He was also lead editor of a volume on prehistoric mortuary ritual. He has authored or coauthored several peer-reviewed articles and book chapters and has presented over thirty professional papers and posters at national and international meetings. He has participated in a variety of anthropological field research throughout North America including projects in Chihuahua, New Mexico, Arizona, Florida, and Barbados. At the University of North Florida, he teaches classes on general anthropology, archaeology, physical anthropology, mortuary studies, quantitative analysis, the anthropology of religion, native peoples of North America, and forensic sciences.

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