Archeology of Violence

SfMIOlfXlm DOUBlf AGfNlS SfRlfS JIM flLtlINC & \YlV£R£ lOIRING£R, £OIlORI fAlAlITRMEGIH It!H B&llilIURO

ARCHfOLOGY

fOUC�ULf LIVE

[Olumo INitWIt'> 01 MI(HH fO�!u1I MI(HH fO�lUll

Of VIOLfNCf

MCHEOLOGY Of VIOLENCE PilOt [U\lRfI

LOll DIMENIlON PAUl VIRIUO

PlfRRf CL�STRH

�mHHICS Of D1S�PPE�R�NCf PA� VIRIIIO COLLECffO INlfRVlfWS Of WILlI�M S. BURROUGHI Willi'" I. Buoru,�

I

Translated from the French by Jeanine Herman

SfMIOTfXT(f)

CONTENTS

The L.lst Frontier

This edition ('of1yright 1'1994 Scmiotl'xr(e)

This translation co pyr ight �1994 Jeanine Herman

All righ ts reserved,

Firsl published in rrench in 1980 as RC((,(c/I('s

d'(lIIrltropologif poliriqllc by

E ditions du Stui!,

Paris.

Thanks to Jeiminc Ilcr1mn. Lewanl1c Jones. SylvCrc Lotringf'f.

9

I

Savage Ethn o (JT<:lphy

19

3

The Highpoint of the Cruise

37

4

OF Ethnocidc

43

5

Myths and Rites of South American lndi,ms

6

P()\\'er in Primitive Societies

87

7

rreedom, Misfortune, the Unn;:lIne8ule

93

53

Keith Nelson. Shack Pastf'. Peter Lamborn Wilson
8

Primitive [conomy

105

Semiol<:xt(e) offIces:

9

The Return to Enlightcnment

119

522 Philosophy 11:111, C ol u m b i a University. New York. New York 10027 rOB 5G8 \OVilli:1111Sburgh SI;1tion.l3rooklyn, New York 11211 USA Tt'lrphot1e: 7iU 387-6471

rax: 718 963-2603

Printed in the UniTf"d States of America,

10 II

II

Marxists and Their Anthropology

Il7

Sorrows of the- Savage Warrior

169

Arch e ol OrlY of Violence: War in Pri m itiv e Societies

139

hRCH£OLOGY Of VIOL£NC£

1 rHf Lh�r fRONrlfR 'T�n'wl'i! \'CJy�g\·s.

f�rew('l1 s;lvageS .. "

CI:l\lrlr Ll'vi-S(ra1J�'"

"\.isten! 'Ihe rapids!" rhC' forest still prevents us from seeing the r;v('r, but thr rO:lr of nash­

ing \Vatcr on great rocks C:ln be hl';lrd clr
companion.

COVCT<>{j

in din. my snout in Ill{' mud. ('T;lwling in humus that

no sun will ever dry.. quitt something.

Still. pl<1ying lkr k f'tt ' s Molloy in til{' A rwl zo ns j,

For close to lwO months, Jacques l . i zot
;]

vari ­

ety of n;]!ur
MO(it'rlH'S, No. )98, M;ty, I'T/I, PI!. 1')11-1 940

IH, y.t twnlami

,

H(H,OlOGY

Of

IHf

VIOl
ce n i linly tht la s t frt:� primitive society in South Anwrit'a and

no douht tilt' world. Polilirians. t'nlrt'prt'nt'urs and investors have kt t hrir I maginations run wild, like the Conquistadors four cen t uri e s ago. S(,t'ing in thiS unk nown south a !l e w and fabulous Eldorallo. where one could find everything: I)ttroleurn, diamonds. rare minerals, etc. In the meantime. tl1r Y a rHl rn ami (('main tht, solt' ma.,lns of their te rritory. At p resC'n t. m;)ny of

the m have nev('r seen tilr W hite Man, as we used to say. and only tWl'nty

yeus ago. ;'l1!l10S1 all wt.:rt oulivious to the ('xiS[CllcC' o f the Nabr:. A n

i nc redi ble bonanza for all ethnologist. Lizot is � tutlyi ng these Ind ians. has alread y spent twa years among tbem. which h
heen e<1sy; 11(' spC';!ks

ARCHfOlOGY

Of

VIOtfN(!

much. It is during the night that the animals come out. Twilight. Hillsides like pyramids rise from the dense vegetation. Tht

Ind i ans never climb them: evil spirits lurk there. We pass the mouth of the Mav(lca, a trbutary of the h·ft ba nk. Several hundred meters to go. A shad­ i

owy fIgure wieldi ng a sm
rope we throw him: w e h av e arrived at Mnvac a . inhabited by t h e

Bichaansiteri. Li70t hns built i\ hou se here, very close to their cllaht/llo (col­

lective Hving q unrter s). A wnrm reunion for the ethnologist nnd his savnges:

t he Indians arc vi sibly happy to see h im ag ain (he is, it is true, a very gener­

ou s whit e man ]. O ne q uestio n is settl('d im m edi at ely: I am his olde r brother. ...

panyi n� him for several m u n th s.

Already the n ig ht is fll l('([ with tht songs of shamans.

for the canoe. a rine. food ill1d objrcts to t ra d !.: with the Indians, il1rludillg

is rather fnr: haI r a d ay of nav igat ion. up river once again. and then a fu ll

th ei r languflge very well and is now beginn ing another st
We Spl'nt the first two wtt:ks in December shop pi ng in C'ar:J(';J<;: a motor

We wasted no ti m e . The n('xt day at dawn. a vi sit to t h e Patanawateri. It

macheu:s. hatch ets, kilomel('rs of nylon fish i ng lint. tllOUSillHls of rl',hhooks

day of walkin g. ,It an I ndian ' s pace. Why lh is expedi ti o n: TIH' m ot h t r of one

(used for tying f't'
wants to see her. [rhis filial desire a c t ually masks a completcly di ffcrtnt

in all sizes. casts of m:1tcb hoxes. dozens and dOLens of spo ols of th re ad

of lizot's you n g ('rtw members is a native of this tribe, al thou gh sht married

w il l make loincloths. From Paris we b r ought about n dOL('n kilo s of rin e

into anotht'r. ror several weeks , she h;!s been vis iti ng her rclativts. !ier son

ht'il(l<; in black . while. red and hlue. I was surprised by the quantities, but

desire. We will come back

Lizo! simply s;)jd: "You'lI see when VH' g(·t I hl' r(· . Thb will go faster than you

think." Thr Ynnomnmi are big c on s umers ; these prqmrations are necrss i'lry.

[0

this.) It gets il hi t complicated in that the s on 's

tribe (the fathe r'S) and the mother's native tribe are ilrch cncmies. The young man, old enough to make a good warri or, quite simply risks being pi trn'd

not only for us 10 be well received. b ut 10 hI' received ;!t all.

with an ;mow if he shows up t he re. But (he Pat anawate ri leader, the boy's

rdy on the In dians. Four hours later, after fl ying Over the savanna. I ht'n

son �" ln short. we can go.

runw ay buill Len Yl'ars ago by the Salesian l1Iission. A brit-f "'top. JUSt long

s ee a Nabe having p roh le ms. We i m �gin e all the runive life forms in the

A small I wo- en gin t" sea plane picks us up. lilt' pil ot doesn' t want t o

tnke all o f o u r car go because of ils weight. S o w e leave 11i{' fuod. W e wi ll

over the he ginning s of the great Amazonian fo rest. we land 1200 kilollle­

ler.s to the south. at Iht: confluence of the 0('<11110 an d the O ri no co. on it

en ough to grct't the m is s io n<1 r y.
p ro ph et' s beMe!; we load the (·anoC'. the 11I0tor is (Iliadit'd. ; I nd we leave.

Four hours upstrC';)m in a (dnoC'.

Shall we ).Haise thl' Orin oc o? II deserv es it. Ev en ;)t its source. this river is nut young. bUI old and i mpati e nt. rolling forcefully from tlle;)ndl'r to meandl'r.

lhousand" of kilometers from its delta it is slill vcry wide. Were iL not for the noise of tllr motor alld th e water sliding beneath the hull. it would seem as

lhoug h we Wl·n.: not moving. Tlwre is no scenery; evt' ryl hing is lhe same, l';)ch

<;('ction of SIMCt' identic;!l to the next: watCT, �ky, (lnd on both banks. infUlit(' lim'''' of sweej)ing furl·st... . We will soon s{'{' all of (his frolll it') inlninr. Gn.·at wlliH' hirds emergl' from (rees and fly stupidly in front of us. lv{'nlUally. Ihey

realize I hey must lack an d fly behind us. A few tortoises from tim{' to linw. an alligator, a large venomous stingmy blending in wilh tht sand bank.... No thing

maternal unde. informed the warriors: �Death to he who tOllches my sister's It is no picnic. Tht ('ntire sou t hern zone of the Orinoco is panicularly

sw;!mpy: we are some times plun grd

t level int o fl ooded l owlanus. o ur

w a is

fr et t angle d in r OOt s . and have to pull a way from (he mud's suction - we

mUSI, (lfter al l , keep up with the others, who burst out laughing when they water

(g re il t

venomous sna.k('sj an d forg(' a.head through t h e same forest.

unC'x po s('d to sky o r sun. Amazoni
As night falls, w(' SCI up call1jl in the n ick of time at a temporary site. We

Sl't up tile hammocks. l ig h t the fires and cal wh ilt we have. mostly banan
p;rilltd in ash. W(' wa lch our neighbors to m akt sure they don't take more.

Our g u ide, a middk-aged man. h:IS lil'('n graced with an incre di ble appl'lit('.

I ll' would gladly flni<;h off my sl1nre. I\e can

w ai t.

The next day around noon, a quick hath in a stream. This is t'liqlll'U{';

the dwbul/o is nOI far ofr. and it is only fIlling that we be clean whl'n WI.:

pre s ent ourst'lves. We IOSl' no !inl{' pen et ra ting the very larg(' gardens wht"rt' hundreds of hanana tree s grow. Our twO young boys p:linr (heir faces with

IH[

UruCII. A few strps away the grr;]l circul;u awning stands. We quickly tllilke our way over to the srction occupied by thr m:uernal aunts of our friend

Ileh('wr. A surpri...t': with the exception of tlucc or four old men, there is not

a sinp;le man. II is an enormoos dlUbulIO, sheltering more tl1an ont" hundred and fIfty proplr. Scores of children p lay in the ce nlm l area, skeletill dogs

bark wt'akly. I [ebewe's mother and aunts. s q uatting, launch into a long

lit
his h am mo c k, he affects the most tol n l indifference, That done, we nre

rrcri ved, that i<; to !lay, they bring us hot uan;1nn puree (e11lircly wclc:ome). In fact, durin g our three- day vi"it, H('I>('w('S mother, a fille (lnd charming SilV­

ngc l ad y, offers uS food at all h ours of the day in smn ll qU:'Illlitirs c;1ch time : forest fruih, liule cr:'lbs and swamp fISh, tapir 111ral. Green b;lJlanas grilled in

ash accompany cvctything. This il) like Vil Cil tion ; we cat. we swing in ham­

moc ks, wc chat. we f<1rt. (TIH' Yilnolllami are true ;mi'its in t h is n'gard ,

bec<1ust:' of the favorablc effects of the b<1n;1I1<1s. In the nocturndl silence. thcre is a const;tnt fusill
tl asuhu (' tNi. A Ydnom:1mi W;lT i<., a surprisl' r<1id: they attack at dawn when

prople
<1ltack. W� would gla dly have awaited the warriors' rl'lurn for it was, UlOt

informed me, iI ve ry i mpressive ('('r('mony. But one can never visit for long

h<.:fnrC' hecom i ng a nuisilllcC,
lie mu..,t look for them elsewhere
AHHfOLO�Y

OF

VIOlfN(!

10. They struggle for quite some lime. she m:lnages to gt't away. Wt" makr

fun of Hebewc. But he dOl'sn't give- up, for a rew minutes lalrr, a darling

twelve- or thincen- year-old girl comes in, her brl'ilStS barrly d('velo l)cd. She wtlnts to, tlnd their frolicking gocs on
A few minutes bl'fore leaving, the distribution of pre-sl'nts. All those who w ant some-thing get it, depending on our stork of course, and alwnys in exchange for something ("Ise: arrowheads, quivers, feathers, e arrin gs, or elsr a sort of credit: "G i ve ntr some fishing line. When you tome IJilck, I'll give you some fIsh." Among th emselves, the Yanomami never give nnyrhin g for nothing , It is rltting 10 behave accordingly. Besides, the l'xch
no t only it trnns (l ction that satisfIes both pa rti es, it is an ob li gation : to rtfuse

an offer of exrhange (it is practicall y unthinkable) would be interpreted as

an act of hostility, a s a pt rp0 ri1 1 ion whose enrl frsult could be war. "As for rnyc:elf, rm a very generous man. I\nd you?" peoplr say when they ilrTivc

hert=. "Do you have mnny objects i n your hag? liere, wke thtsl' lJanilnas,"

An exhausting return, accomplishrd in a day. The hoys are afraid of nUlM

ning into warriors on their way bnck; one never knows what may happt'n.

One of them insisr.<; on taking Lizot's backpad: "Walk ahead with your rine. [f the raiders attack. you will defend us." We arrive at the river in the

evening. without having run infO anyone. But illong the WJY, they point out ;\

sm;'lll area off 10 the side. Last year,
a{(nck died here ('n route. II is ('ompanions erected a funrral pyre to burn thl' body and bring the ashes hack to the dlObul1o. Two days of rest at home. Wr need it. The l3 ici1 Jansiteri make up a raliler

ltlrg!? tribe; t hey have divided themselves into two cilablillos. Ont' on thi..'

ri!:iht b
sitr of thl' f Irst

(haullno,

:lnd the second, on aUf siue, is inhabited by a fami­

ly or Y il n kee Protestants, They don't surprise m(', I've seen tht:ir like... t'lsc­

Wht'fe: fJnat ic , hrutish, practical ly illileralr, So Illuch the brltrr. It is a plea­ sure to confirm the vastnl'SS of l'vangclical failure. (The S <1 lesian s arc no

Illore su cc ess fu l . but thr Indians tolerate thrm more eas ily.) The kadrr :'Ind

shaman of tIl{' rip;ht bank tribe compl a in ahout the AmeriCil.n who preilches

incessant l y against tht: USe of drugs, claims th;ll the Hckoura (spirits invoked

constantly by the sorcl'rl'rs) do nOI rx is l. and that the leader should give up

two of his t h ree WiVl'S. Amen! "That guy is SlaTting to
from him." We heartily ar'IHove. Wh;)[ torment for this peas;1nt from Arkans
tHE

�R{H!OIOGY

Of

VIOlfN{f

IHI:

in the (hob/wu... This prove� to him th(, devil"s exiSten c e.

Tu mul t. Shout ing. 1\ c"l'rt'llloniaJ proc ess ion in the middle of Ihe .:l fter ­ noon. Everyone is on the SH'l'P bank, Ihe men are armed with bows and clubs, the kader bra nd i shes his axe. What is this? A man from the tribe across the way has ('ome to abduct a married woman. The offended pany's peoplr pilc into canoes, cross the river and demand justicc fro m the others. And there, for at least an hour. there is an explosion of insults. hysterical

voci fer
camps are veritable rabble-rousers. They rncourage the m en to fight with terrifying rage ilnd fury. The cuckold is motionless, leaning on his club: he is chnllenging the other man to fight one on one. But the man and his mistress havr fled into the forest. I\s a r('sult. no duel. Little by little, thr clamor

StOPS, and ev e ryo ne quite simply gors back home. Mu(h of it \\',IS theatrical, tho ugh the sincerity of the actors cannot be denied. B('sides. mill1y men have large scars on the tops of their shaVl't1 heads, rollected eluring the l'ourse of

these duels. As for the t:uckold. he will get his wife back in a few dilYS, when, ('XhClUSIC"d from lo vC" Clnd fasting, she rC"(,nlers doml'slic lif('. She will sUTrly be punished. The Yanomilmi are not always gentle with their wives.

&R(Hf010GY

Of

VIOlfN{f

I wander off. Scarc{'ly t w O hundrrd melcr<; aW ily, [ com l' upon a temporary

("ilmpsite. This ron's!. for a w h ile Jl1an surrounded by all of nat ure ' s hostili­

tie<;, tt.'l'ms with secret hUnliln life; it is tr a veled , crossrd, inhilb\ted I� y the Yanomami rrom tOP 10 bollom. It is rare to walk an hour or two Without ('oming across a trace of thcir pa<;<;(lgr: campsites of hunters on expeditions,

vi<;iting tribes, groups of peop l e collecting wild fr uil.

Tile duck is <;oon cooked, overeooked even. We e
is g ood. But only tcn minutes liller our three c ompanio n s bl'gin to w11impcr:

·'We·re si(k! We're so sick!·· ··What's wron g ? '

.

"

··You Oltlde us eat raw meat!"·

Their bad faith is cyniral. but there is somrthing comic in wiltehing these

�turdy men rub their bellies ilnd l ook (IS though they will hurst in to ( rars.

Su rprise d perh8ps by our {c
will have to eat il lilli r more. One goes off to fish. a no ther (w ho knows how

to shoo t) takes the ritle and tries 10 retrieve the for es t p,Hlridge w e heard

singing in the vicinity,., One gunshot goes orr, ilncl a partridge is killed. The

flshrrman soon rt.'turns with twO big piranhas. These wa[erf.i ar(, liwarming w ith the Cilnnihrtl-flsh. If the pa nridge flesh is d el icious , tht' fIsh on Ihe other

g re ;n river. Th('

hilntl is tilslrless. This doe<; not prevent the Indi an<; from boiling eV l'lyt hin g

Irss so: one must look out for sand bilnks, TOl.."ks just beneath the Willer's sur ­

river to trade wilh the downstrp(lm tribes. The bOiltS arc rilled with p ,\ ck ages

Nt hough not as powerful a� the Orinoco, the Dcamo is

lr m dscape is ilS ted i ous as ever, a I.."ontinuous forest . but nilvigating makes it
face. enormous tre('s that block llie current. Here w e ilre en route to the

U p pcr O('arno, territory of thr Shiitilri, as the souther n Yanomami call them.

Three Indians <1ft' wi th u s , i n c l u d i ng Hebewe and the l ta d e r of tile

l3ichaansiteri of the ri ght bank. JUSt as we were leilving, h e showed up

d resse d from head to toe in a shin whose tails reached his calw$, pants, and,

mOSt surprising, tennis shoes. Usually, he is naked, ilS is almosl everyone elSe". his penis attached by t ile foreskin to a small cord knotted ilround his waist. He t'"xplains: "The Shiila ri (Iff.' gr ea t sorcerers. They will probahly (a ' st

spells on all the paths. With thes(', my frct will be p rot eC ted.

"

11(' wa nted to

come with us bec iluse his older broth e r whom he hasn·t sc('n in ilt least

twe nt y years lives there, I\s for us, we want to v isit new tribes and do busi­

ness with Ihem. Since the wholc trip is by w al rr, we can bring t1. lot or

objects with us; Ihere is no weight limit as ther e is when on fool.

The topography has gradu ally changed. A (hilin of hills domin
right bank, the forest gives way to (I kind of Silvannrt with sparse vegetation,

We can cl earl y see a w'lterf.:lll. s p arkling in ( he sun's rays. On this l'vening·s

menu:

a duck I.izot killed ('arlin today. [ delllrt nd thilt it be grilled
boiled as usual. The Indians ('onSent reluctantly. While waitin g for it to cook. 1 ,

all ,'It oncc i n a stew.., Soon, illl that is left ilre tht' hones.

The next day, we come across four canoes. The Y(lnonl<'lmi go down (he

of drugs. All the Indians (al I('"ast the men) are great users of eb('"ll(l. and Ihr

sh
hardly have ilny [It (Ill. On the other hand, the Shiitari ma intai n a qU
monopoly on pr oduuion or lhe drug; they do nOI ('ven need to cultivaH' tile Trees, which grow n.:llUrally on tht: savanna of their region. They hilrv::-St much of it, and through sucns�ive tra de agrl'emcnts from tribe to tri be

('/lclla c v ("ntuili ly n:i1ches those who are deprived of it.

.

We stop for
Wt'VC pla nned tl visit to thl'ir home, three of tht'm - two young mcn
one older man - jump into our ranoe and go h;lck up with u�. Shortly

brfore noon, we arrive ilt a "mall cove. These arr the Aratapora rapids.

According to our passengers. (he cllabuno is still far away, We havC" I here4 fore

.

.

to unload the- canoe , carry thr baggilge five hundred meters up tht'"

river, thl'n pull th e canoe through foaming w ate rs. TIl<' current is stron g, but thrrc arr

lot of us. Almo st two hour� of r f fo n nontthl'ltss. We rest for il

moment at the rdge of the covt'. The area is IHt'lty, the forl'st It's... surror;lttl

1 \

l H f

A I ( H f O L O GY

Of

V 1 0l f N ( E

l H E

ing. revealing a heath of flnt' sand from which t'mergl' l'normou� houldns.

U ( H E O L O G Y

or

Vt O t f N C f

the ml'n. croul"hl'd in a (:irde, take some. They sneeze. l"ou�h. �rimacl', �I-'it.

Dozens of grooves. some mort' than two centimeters dcep. tIrc etched in the

drool: Ihe drug is good. plrasingly strong. evel)'one is happy. A good start to

surfi1cc: these are blade polishers. Everything one might need for the manu­

a shamanic session. The visiting brother. who holds a position of leadership in

facture of po1i<;hro <;tQne hatchets is here: the sand. tht' water. the stone. But

it i:-. not the Yanomarui who desecrate the boulders this way; I hry t10 not

his tribC', is also a mid-level shaman. l.ower level shamans treat their families

know how to work with rock. From time to limr, they wil] fmd a polished

or dogs. ThC'se animals, recently ilcquired from whites. occupy a place in the hitrarrhy of beings approaching human: like people, they are burned when

hatchet in tht' fort'S! or
they die. But the Indians have little respect for them: they scan.:ely rt"td thtm.

of the sky. They will usC" it lO crush

ebcllo

seeds against the bonom of a clay

pot. Who Wl'(C these patient polishers? We do not know. In any Cilse. they

As a result, dogs have taken ovr-r garbage collection at til("

dlObullos.

The most esttt'mcd shamans eX('('c-d others in experience. skill, the num­

prohailly Cl't1turk... ;"lgo. All th
were formrr occup;"lnt... of (urrcnt Yanot11ilmi territory and h ave di sa ppeared,

sileri. thefc is on(' of this c(llibl'r. He officiates almost daily. evt'n when no

throughout Ihe- re-ginn.

one is sick (and so he nt'eds a lot or drugs). This is uecause till' communilY

minutcs later: the

l11ust be ('onstilntly protccted from the illneSSeS
We reload the canoe. head off and arrive fiftl.' e n

dwbullo

is actually q u it(' clo<;(' lU the rapids. whose rushing we C,tll still

hear. The Indians Il:tve lied to us, What they wfl nle d WilS to show up
bl'r of rhilnts they know. ;tnd spirits they

can

invoke. Among the Bichaan­

fr om enemy tribes mobilizt' agilinst it. !I(' himself makes surl.' to expt'l all the diseases capable of anni h ilating till' others. Among the I ndia ns. a nation of

ghosts h aunts the world of men. The chants. an obsessive fepe tilio n of the

samr melanic line. nevcrthekss i l i lo w for c{'Ttain vocal vilriations: they

p ri de- ilnd are acting cocky, The inh il bitants

(aboul fifty) arc calling from the bank. Among them, a man with a gO<"ltel'.

sometimes oscillate bct',vl.'cn it Gregori
our l3ich;'lansiteri compnnion's brotllC'r. Thty recognil(' each o th er immedi­

arm:!. crossed or raisrd up along the tent awnings. Shamed be anyone who

they
ately. TIl(' o 1 cltr brotlle'r is very txcited. gesticulates ano talks a 101 as he

t'lkt·� us 10 his house. The younger urothe-r is no less happy. but t1ol'sn't ICI

hear. they m<"ltcll exactly the slow movement of the dance. the to and fro of

doubts the seriousnl'ss of these riles (it is. after ill1. il matter of life and death). And yet, the shaman will stol> from time to time to tell his wife:

ovtr his mouth, an expression of feigned displeasure on his fact. he lets

'"lIurry and hring some bananas to relative so-and-so! We forgot t o give him

some timC" go by. I hen we ha v e some uan;]na puree.", and we call relax,

And, Quitc simply, he continu('<; his service.

it show. a� i.., filling for a visitor. Strctchrd out in his hammock. one hand

Such aft the rulcs of l·tiquette. To ccit-u ratt:' the event. tht' olner brother or gani7.cs a drug session and

some!"' Or else. approaching us: "Listen, Lizol! I necd some fishing line!"

We have gone up the Ocama a bit onCe again 10 do some night hunting.

prc.-parcs t h e ('bella. Seve'r;]1 m en run uncj('r thtir tents and ftappear more

which hilS brought us illl unexpected en<:ounter. A small Yanomami tribt has JUSt srt ilself up ilt lhe river's edg(', and their c/wbuHQ i ... not 4uill' fll1-

pan ion,>. more a(CUSlOlnl'd to the busint'ss of whi te men. have no rc:-;erva­

now possess meta llic instrunwnls. l'v('n those wi lh whom contact will not

lions about poking fun at these bumpkins. Thc m i�� i onarits have an imbc­

be established for y(';]tS. As a result. differences belween groups al the edge

or !e ...... dressed up. Two robust frllows have donned long dress('<;: t h ey are not aware- of the diffrTc-nc(' buwtl'n men a nd women's clothing. Our Curn�

cilic m,lni;! to dis t ri b u t e clothing to t h e Indians for which t he y havc

alJ... olutely no u�e, ,)5 opposed to metallic tools. fishing lint'. ttc., u !lckni­

a bly more usc-rul in that they fildlitate their work. Thesl' st"l"ond-hand clothrs, Soon filthy.

a re

purt" prestigt' items for their nl'W ownl'r�. The cri­

tique l"ontinuc-s when the food is o ffered : 'These people art· serve tlll'ir v;uest� ungutted fish!" C'nlshtd. then dril'd and mixed with

:-;;lVages!

Thty

another vegttable substant"e. tbel/a,

arlO hardly different from thc others. there- ilre no surpriSl's. All the lri b('s of tll(' Orin oco and thost' of the interior arc s li ght: ilmong the fornH'r, tht'fl'

i... a l o o k of beggarliutss (due to tht cl o th es ) but thaI i s nOI deeply

ingraint'd, sinu' sodal and religious I ifl' has not ill
mb...ion �rie s· vain

(l llt'mpt"

(at lcitSl not up until now). [n short. llil"rt, ;trt' no

"civililCd" Yanomami (with
signifies) to contrast with still "savage" Yan omilmi : Iht'y arl' ,Ill. ('qually.

fm c. £/l"Cn powekr. is ready to be consumtd: it reed tube h fIlled
neighhor blows it up your no<;(' hy exhaling powerfully intn your nostrils. All

I 6

ishtd. Wt' arc llwir flrsl whites. we arl' th(' {'xotk ones this time. For us. they

proud and warlike pagans. Four young men gesticulate on the hank. We dork. They are blessedly t'uphoric and do not hide it. lhtir excitement before [he 1 7

Nab(' is so

greal thill

[Hf

�R ( H E O I O ' Y

Of

1 11 £

VI O I E N { E

they have difflculry expressing themselves; a tOrrent of words is ha ted by

l

t h e clicking of the i r tongues, while thcy hop in plan.' a nd m;nk the rhyt h m

by sl a pp i ng the i r th ig hs . I t is il true p easu re t o see a n d hear tilem rtjoice l i k e

l

this. The Shi it;'\ri are likable. Upon l e av i ng, a few hours laler. w e offer them

three crocodiles that Lizot has killed.

On the day of departu re, we exchange our goods for drugs. Not for per­ sonal use, but to e c hange with till" Parima t rib es, which ilre sorely d p ri ved

x

of t he m . This w i l l be an

t

excelltnt

passpo rt for us. The l e i1 d e r is h appy, ht d i d

A R C ll f ll L ll fi Y

Il f

VIO t E N {f

"fter close to fIftee n years, havl' no t been able to temper t h e Indians' warlike

,mloT o n e iota. Just as well. This resistflJ1('{' is a si gn of health.

Still t h e fact remains tha.t the Mahekodoteri possess thret:' or four rifles, a

�ift fro m the missionaries with the promise that they be used only for hunt­ ing Clnd not fo r war. But try to conv ince warriors to renounce an easy victo­

ry.

These
;'l rrOWS of oth e r Yanomami. This was n o t u n fores eeabk. Tht' attackers - t h e re

m us t ha v e been ab ou t tw en ty- fo ll r - Irt a vo l l ry of arrows fly ov er the

ext'hange for all his cl oth es (which he knows the missionaries will easily

rlwbullo i1t

incident: one of the two boys we took up river with us (he m u st havt been

he considered cowards. This would soon he known. and

good business with his brother's p('()ple. who promise to visit him again. I n replace), he hi1s ohtain ed a lot of ebella, As we push off rom the shore, an

f

about t h i rtetn or fourteen y('ars old) suddenly jumps i n t o the cano('. H e

w a n ts t o go with us, see the coumry. A w o m a n - his mother - throws her­

self into th(' water to h o l d h i m bilck. He then sei 7es a heavy pa

dd l e

and tries

to hit h e r. Other women come to the rescue and m an
ing m
liberal with rtspect to boys. They arc a ll owed to do just
w
viole nce an n
and

p ;-Irt nts avoid {'onsol i n g them w he n. h
rrceived a h i t on the head w i t h ;1 sti c k, t hry co m e r u n n i ng and h,IWI: "Mother! He hit me!"

"Hit him h a rder ! " We p a ss ovtr Ihe rClpids e as i l y. It is a reve rse procession of th e Si1me

spi1ce. It i s just as du l l. We spene! lht.' n i gh t (,mlping in th e open. We have

d ow n p o ur.

As qu it'kly as

possible. Wf' t;lke down the h a m m ocks
large Iravts. It passes, we go back to bed. go back to sleep. One hour later, it S«lrrs all over
lier, which had set tile Patanawa\t.'ri against the I insubu('teri. The results arr

(OUI

of a unit of forty 10 flfry men) Clntont the

I Clttcr, three by fIrearm. What happe ned ? For th i s raid. the PCltClnawal{'ri allied with another tribe. t h e Mahekodoteri. a very bellicose people, pcrmanl'ntly at

war

CI

group is attacked. the warriors must launch a counter-offensive, lest they

their dwbul/o

woul d

bccome a tCl rget for other tribes (to carry off t h e i r women, steal their goods.

and, quite sim ply, for the p l easure of war). n,e Ilasubueteri, t hu s , fel! i n

a mb ush . Tbt.' ri fl es, which they w e re not exp('cling a t a l l, ex ploded, a man ft·11. The others finished him off w i th Clrrows. Stu n ned, h is compa n i on s fled in confusion. Tiley threw thtmselves into the Orinoco to swim across it. And

th ere, three of them pe rishrd. twO from butlet wounds, ont fro m an arrow.

Ont' of the w o un dtd, fIshed out, received a fi n a l hlow: a bow th rtls t into h i s sr oma ch .... The hatred for the enemy is stro ng. . . . Now. t h e H asuh ue teri a re

prep
Somewhat p a n i ck ed hy ( hese events, the missionaries, strongly urged by

Lizot, decide to no longtr furnish mu n it i o n s to the I n o i a ns. A wise deeision,

Iheir riOes i n

every comb,H, and assured of their 5ulJcriority. would multiply

the raids. There could be large-scale s l a u gh te rs that would have b ee n p r
g ro up

invites another to a pa rty with the deliher
upon a rriv a l . It was i n this way that several years Clgo thirty B i chaans it er i

l ost the i r l iv es . res pon d ing to an inviuuion from southern tribes: they wCfe

t reac he rously shot by arrow s ill tht dlObul1o.) We hav e spent the ftrst three w('eks of January p('acl'fully traveling back

Returning to M av aca , w(' !tarn the outcome of Iht comb,it two wt'l'ks ear­ g rave : four denths, it set.'ms.

thtn retreated into the forest. Aut i nstead of ru n n i n g hack

for the M'lhrkodoteri. eXillted lJy this initial success. would from now on us e

The (desired) res ul t of this peda gogy is that it fo rms w ar ri O iS.

already slept a f('w hours when suddenly there i <; a

dawn. i

to the pClth I tild n g to their territory, they waited for the counterillt
the regi o n . (l hey w ou l d gl a d l y

and forth between Mavaca

and th e tribes of the

Mani1vicile riverside, another

tributary o f t h e Orinoco. We a rl' fa m ishe d and have been eating ill th(' Indians' in short v isi ts of two to th ree days. Even if t here is no nH',\l or fISh,

the re arc always banan
the Karohiteri, l.izot's best frientls, IS very pl easa n t. We relax thl'rc. lhe peo­

ple afe fri en d ly, not vel)' demanding, even gi ve n to k i nd n ess. The shaman

Lizot i n ;

offers me tapir l11('at and urges me 10 re m ai n among lh('m. This is a change

lished n('aT their ehnil/Illo. That says a lot ,Ibou t till' fai l u re of I h l' priest... who,

t'd: " G ive me this. give me that. I ' ve run out of flshhook�. I need a m:lchete.

with almost all the tribes in

clo

11(' i s a fritnd o f thl'ir e ne mi ('� . l O n e o f th e lhr('{' S a l es ia n mission<; was estab­ I 8

from the other tri bt's where, having just arrived, one is i mmeC\ i il tc l y i'\CCOSI­ I ,

' � f

A R ( � f O L O GY

O f

VI O l f N C [

What do you havl' in your bag? Your k n i fe is nin:!" And this gut·s on C'on�

5t
.

As a result, a l o n g process of verificiltion and

inspection is required to validate a pirC'(" of i n fornwtion. Whl'n wr Wl'rt; i n

the Pilrima we crossl'd a road. When asked about its dest i n ; l1 i o n , lhe young

miln who WilS guiding us said maybe fifty li m es). "Why ;He you lyi n g ? "I don't know,"

he

didn ' t know (he had trflveJrd I h is pa th

"

l H f

U ( � E O I O 'Y

O f

� t O l E N( E

ing, v ig o rous appt'aranc(' of al most eve lYo ne, men and WOlllen, )!{)unl::( :lnd

.

o l d. All of the"e bodies arc worthy of go 111 g nnkl'd,

It i s u n i formly snid in S o uth America thaI Indians (lrc lazy. Indt.'ed, they

arl' not Chr,·sl,· •ans a n d do not deem it Il('ress(lry to earn thrir bread by the . ,wcal of their brow. And since, i n general. they are most conrrrned with tak­ ing other peo pl c's Im'ad (only th(,n do their hrows swc t). we see that for �

them joy and work fall outside of one another, That sc\ld, we should notr

�

t h a t among t he Yanomami,
j<; how it is in most primitive societies, let us re m clll br r this at s i x ty when d e m a n d i n g: ou r rrti rr m en t fu nds It is a t'i v i l i L. at i on of leisurr sincr: they s p (' n d twenty-one hours d O i n g

.

.

n o t h i ng. They krep thcmsel ves amused. Siestas, prilC'tical jokes arg u m tnts

When I as ke d the name of a bird one day, thry g
During our v iS i t with the Pamnawatcri, IIcbcwl' calls over a boy :lround twelve ycars old :

drugs, eating, taking a dip, they manage to k i l l liml'. Not to

�H· n tl. o n ,

s ex

. . vVhich is not to s
counts, Ya pcs h i ! This is oftrn hea rd : I fee! l i k e h
M
(Tics, sr ream s, protrsts, laughter. The wom
. " [ f you let yourself b e sodomizt'd, I'll give you my rinl·. .

wants, has slipped a h
I:veryone bursts into l a ugh ter. It is a very good jokc. Young mcn arr

. doesn't 1f't go: "She wants to copulate! She frC'is like copulaung,,

merCiless with ViSitors their agr, They are dra gged into the gardens undrr some pretext and there. hrld down while the othcrs unl'
;'\11

explosion p l u n ges you i n t o a n a tlsC'
Indian hasjusl fa rtC:d two o r threr crntimeters from your facc... Lift: in ttl(' chobllJlos is generally monotonous, As everyw here ('Ise, nJP�

tun.�s in t he customary order - wars, festivals , orawls, etc, - do n ot ocC'ur

evrry oay. The most evidcnt activity is the prepllTn l i o n of food
prot'csses by which i t is obtained (bows,
Y
s prc ti ve, in that all p eo pl (" s needs are m et, even more than mct, since thert'

is �lJrplus production, co ns u med during celrbr:ltions . But the ordcr of needs

arc a"cet i ca l ly determined ( i n this sense, the missionaries creilti.' an artiflrial n('('<1 for u n n ecess
might s
,

.

.

1\1 hiS s l i g h test move to nee, a slight squee7e, This must , h u ' b u t slle .

��

And tillS,

it stems., is indeed whnt happens, As i f relations brrween people were not enough to nourish commun ity

l i fe, natural phC'nomena bccome soci
�

way. there is no nature: a climatic di"orc!er, for eX01mple, i mme i
l at rs into cultural terms. O n e late afternoon
breaks out, preceded by violent whirlwinds which threaten to carry away tile

roofs Immediately, all tIll' shamans {six or s('ven of t he m , tht' �rctlt o n e and

.

the lesser ones) position tht'lllsdv('s along the it'lltS . standing, atte m pt i n g to pu"h b a ck the tornado with great cries and grand gest u res , Lizo! :lnd I a e

�

rrcruited to co n t ri bul(' our a r ms ;'lnd voices, For this wind, these gusts,
Sharp cries, at o nc(' u rge n t and p\;1intive, s ud dt n l y ourst fo nh all over

Mavaca. About twenty women havr spread
:lrmed with

fistful of t w i gs With which she b eats the ground. It looks as

though they arc trying to cxtr;t('! somcthing, Th is turns out
t� be the . cil.,c. A

c h i l d is grav(']y i l l , his soul h
1 1

:

I H f

& R C H f O t I H Y

0 1

V I O l f N ( f

shaman stands beside us. S p on ta neously, he sluts telling the myth thai is the basis and foundation of thi s fcm
was long ago. We've forgoHt n everything:' We feel poor. I have Stt'n the rites of dtilt h as well. This was among the Karohiteri....

Around midnighl, the low chant of the shaman awakens us; he is trying to cure so meon e. This lasts for a while. then he is quiet. A great lament then

ri ses into the n i ght, 11 trag i c thorus of women before th e irremediable: a child dies. Th e parents
orhrr women of the tribe participate in the mourning in shifts. the men do

1 11 [

A R C ll f O L O G Y

O �

V I O L E N C f

fOT an h o ur. i n vain. It's a S h ClnlC, sinet.' this was at least fifty kilos of good rneat. We. find (l pol i s her here as well. The next day anothrT ra pid stops us,

hut we do not cross it, for, from here o n i n . we will continue on foot.

�

Upriver, the Orinoeo is practically unnavigable. Losing its majestic p rop r�

tion s. it i s transformed little by !iIIit' i n t o a torr('nl. We are very c lo s e to us >;ource. discovered oat too l o ng ago . O u r day e nd s, and W� spend the night i n the Shuimiwcitcri cl1ablll!o,

wh icl l d o m i n ate<; a high, rocky i mp ass e . The n o rm<11 rites of welcome take pI are, we giv e the chief drugs, which are ra rt' here, and which are immedi­

atl'ly p repa red a n d consumed. "Stay with us." he insists. ·· 0 0 n ot go to see till' oth e rs. They are bad!" These good apostles are hardly thinking of our welfare. What is bothering them are the p res e nts that will be distributed t o

not l eave their ham mocks. It is oppressive. Beneath the sun, the father. still

tilt.' ol he r tribes: they would gladly b e the recipients of this manna. They

her de,HI grandson in a kind o f sl in g : five or six steps forward. two or three

engage in l r<1 d e, then at t he last minute d('cide th<1t it has given mOTe than

the pyre. bows and arrows in their hands.

who h a v e l e ft, a n d use threat to d e m a n d that t h e gifts b e returnt"d,

chimring, prepares the pyre. Meanwhile, the grandmother d.:lnces around it,

ba<.:k. A ll Ihe women are uniled beneath tht" funeral tr nt . the Illen surround When Ihe faiher p laces the body onto the pyre. the women burst into

low sobs. all the men cry. a si mi l a r pain got'" th rough us. We ca n no t resiST the cont<1gion. The fal her brt'aks his bow Clnd arrows and throws them into

�ivl' u'> a g ui d e n o n l'thel('ss. Quitl' ofle n . a g roup will invite anoth("r to it has recl'ived. Without anotht'r thou ght, they will catch up to the others, alrhOugh thq themselves will not r('turn what they have received from

t hei r p;:mners. The idea of a co nt ract would no doubt be lau ghab l e to them. The i r word is ant.' th i ng they w ould never dream of g ivin g. We will h(lve to

up to the sky. for it co n t
clt'al w i t h it as best we can.

ashes are COld. a close n'lative lakes a basket and meticulously collects Clny

woman wake evpryone up. The diagnosis is immediate: a ghost has seized

the fI re. Smoke risrs an d the sham::!n rushes forward to m ake it to go straight

fragmt'nts of bone that were not burnrd. R educed 10 powder and prcserved i n a calabash, they will give rise to

In the co u rst of the night, the increasingly loud cries of a sic k young

tht woman's animal tiouble, an Oller. The other women make 111(" patient

fu n eral festival lal('r on. Thl' follow i n g

walk up and down. imitating "II the cries of the il ll i mal in order to m<1ke it

drrn in order to purify themselves carefully, the mtn to w ,!Sh their arrows,

S oc iet ies . Oil{' m igh t s(ly. only allow thrJl1selves those illnesses they know

CI

day a t dawn. evt'ryone hilS gone down t o t h e river - the women and chil­ soiled hy the baleful emanations of smoke.

Around the twen tiet h of Janu
COllle ha ck . The treatlllent is effectiv(·. for at dawn, she wakes u p cum\ . ..

how Ir. treat; the fIeld of patholOgy has mOTe or less been mastered. I t is no

doubT because of this that our own civilization. able to rliscover so many new re medies through science and technology, is so [) esieged by illness. The

into the S ierra Parima. We first h
way t o a m i ddlt grou nd \)('Iwe('n t he two is not evident. Too bad for us.

with words and gesture". l.i701 is carefu l to slay eX;1ct ly i n t h e' m i dd le of

ra t h er a disonh: rly herd of con ie;11 <1nd pyr;1I11id�shapecl mount<1ins. pres sed

day". As we pa,>s the M a hr kodoteri rl1(Jbllllo, sevl'Tal I n d i a n s threrllen us

th e river; they would be q ui t e cllpable of l a n c i n g <1 f(·w a rro w s at us. Easy

p<1'>"age of the fi rst rap id. A hugt' otter dOl("S o n a rock, then p l u n ges in,

h a rdly disturhing the water"s su rfacr. Befort" w e know i i , our companions have set up camp for thl' night. cu tt i ng vines w it h their leeth. It is elt'
much be�ring- o n the l n d i
rep l a c i n g m et a l ) . Liznt kills a \;1rge capyh ara. bUI we lose ii, a o d t h e cur�

f(' n t C
rhe Parima is not really


cha i n of m o u nt ai ns wilh valleys below. It is

up a ga i nst each other, o ft e n more thim a th o us an d mete·rs high and '>l'par!'!l­

e(1 at their base by :,wampy lowlands. Brtween the

rJltlbu/los of tht: region,

tht· pa ths follow ("T('Sts: we climb. descend, climb again, etc. It is an effon, but ;idl'red, less tiring

(ir one is

in good hrallh] than wallowing:

t h rou gh st<1 gn <1 l i ng wateT o r slipping o n 111(' ro tle n trel' l run k s that serve as

hridgt's. Aftl'r four hours, we reach the I h i rubitcri. We hardly stop tlle rl' UU"I

lnng enough to drop o ff SOIlll' tbella so that we will he wel c o me on our way

h;lCk) clf'sp ite their in"iSlence that we stay (again. a miltl('r of Ihe gift� 10 be 2 1

l H f

0 1"

� R C H f O l O G Y

distribUTed to the others). We forge ahead, and i t i s long. l I appily, everythi n g h;)s an end. a n d toward even i n g, w(' come to the Matowatf'ri. There are compensations. It was worth coming all this way. We penetrate the chabuI1Q and immediately there is a n i ncn:dible ova­ t i o n . They recognize lizot. We are surroundtd by dozens of men brandishing bows and arrows, shouting and danCing around us: ""SIIori! Shori! Brother­ in-law! Brother-in-law! Take these bananas, and these! We are fri en ds ! Nolli!

Fritnds!"" When there are too many bunches in our outstretchtd arms, they remove them and replace th em with others. This is pure joy. Halleluj;l h ! Hei!

/lei! Th ey allow us to rest a bit, but not l o n g enough. For I am soon snapped

up, seized and transported by a bunch of fa natics yelling incomprehcnsilJle

thi ngs i n unison. What is this?

rirst of a l l , there is a v i s i t i n g tribe i n the (therefore overcrowded) chabuJlo th ;1 t has never se-e-n w h ites. Th(' m e n , i n t i m ic!at('d a t first, stay behind the othe rs, barely dilring: to look at us (the women n...: n w i n heneath

the a w n i ngs). But they "oon lose th('ir reservations; lhey approach us, touch us, and from that moment on, tlwrc is no stopping them. Second, they ;"Ir!.' much more j nttre�ted in me th;"ln i n Lizat. Why? J cannot t'xptain this with­ out describ i n g myself a bit. During our walks, we we;"lr shorts and tennis

shoes and, of ('ourse. go bare-chested. Our bodies ;"Ire exposed, and conse­

quently, so is thl' body hair adorning my pector
� hide t � eir c n �husiilS�l : ""A � �

Iwi! lie is so hairy! vVa kOi! You are il strange

h a lry a n . Just I ke a lug anteater! He is a veritabl(, anteater! Have you seen . thIS haIry man? , Thl'Y ('annat get over it, r
;"I

deafe n i n g cho rus of eXC1;]miltions

(sec above). Meanwhile, I am hardly in a stare to rt'j oice, since I fc('1 rather Itke .ItSUS ill the Pa ss ion. For thr women are not contrnl to look or touch:

they pull. they gr<1b t o s('c i f it is well-attached, and J have a very hard time protecting my guillcry. MomC'nts like Ihis stay w i t h you. In the: proce<;s, I've

("ot lect('d quite a few banan;lS. Which is bWt'r than nothing .... During all of

t h is. the <..'Il
DUring o u r S tilY, there W;]s a be aut i ful shamanism sessi o n . Our drugs were welcome. .rhe shamiln danced a n d chanted and wagt'd a tough baltlr agaillst an evil spirit, wh i(:h he fln
I H f

V I O L f N C f

U C H f O L O G Y

O f

V I O l E N C E

I nstead of plunging deeper i n t o tht, Parim
�Utsts of the Ihirubiteri. Tllt'y were gelting ready for !ht' afternoon's festivi­ DC'S. but they still found lime to force our h
O'WIlt'[ seems

to think he is norrn i'l i . W h i l e the visitors are gett i n g ready,

t il i n gs are just as busy here. Every Iria n carefully tidies the fro n t of h i s dWt'lIing with little sweeps of his hand or a slll(lll broom. Soon th(' are(l is d rilred of droppings, bits of ;1 ni mi'l l ann fish bonrs, brok('n baskets, fruit pits. a n d snaps of wood. When everyth i n g is ('lean, evt:ryone got's to i)('d and there is a brief rest i n g period.

rhen the festival hegins. As though propelit'd, twO hoys about twelve .wars old burst into the dwbul/o, and nlll , bows and (lrrows r(lised. dancing around its entire circumference in opposite directions of carh other. Th('y i naugurate the visitors' dance of i ntroduction . Tht'y I.·xit at the same time and art' i mmt'diatt'ly followi.'d by twO adolesct'nls, a n d then by tht' men, two by two, singi ng. Every fIve or six steps, they stol) and dance i n place, some­ timrs flinging tileir weapons t o the noor. Some' brandish Illilcllel('s or metal­ lic hatchets. Lizot points out that they usually exhibit the o�jccls that they inte'nd to trade during the dance. This w(lY the others know w h at to txpect ahf'ad of timr and (,<1 n brgin their calculations.

Shouts and whistles streilm from all the awnings: the spectators approvr.

applaud, cheer, yrll out thrir admiration al the lap o f their l u n gs. Art' th l'y being s i n cere? I n getting to know the Yanomami, I am sllspicious, and imag­ ine that secretly they musl be saying to themselves, "These people art� nor ev

en capable of dancing properly." I mysclf cannot hold back my praise. 1\ 1 1

nf th r m I1re magnificently painted.
yellipa undulate ,md stir on tl1l'ir naked bodies. Oth ers ilre painted white. S o m e display sumptuous feather ornamcnts on their ears and arms. The hllrd afternoon light spark, the richl'sl

h ues of th e forest

Once the men have paraded out i n pairs (this t i m e- th{' women do not daIKe). they come together to do a sort of hon orary walk to lhe same rhythm lind to the sound of the same chants. Th(' point simply is: it is beautiftJI. As soon as the visitors have gone baek into the dwbulJo. th{' rite that is , I

l H f

A R C lt f 0 1 0 G Y

O f

V I O l f N C f

the reason for this festival is celebrated. Men from h01h tribcs who are r('[
arc excluded from the meal. An rnormous leaf tied ,lt both ends - it looks like a rowboat - has hccn fIlled to the brim with banana puree, I

am not sure how much there is exactly, but it must be dozens of kilos. lhe ashes arc blended into the puree, whose taste is probably not even

l H !

,I R C H f 0 1 0 G Y

O f

V I O t f N C f

The guests receive two enormous pack(lges of fo od. meat and bananas prc­ p;JfC'd i n ildvllnce by the rcahu's organizers n n d well-packC'd i n leaves (the

Yanollltltl1i are experts i n I Ji.lckaging). This is the signal for departure. S i l e n t
n

moment t o rr!icve our­

sclv\:"s. The Indians (If(' always interested i n thr way we pee. They crouch.

altered. It is cannibalism, to be sure, since the dead art' being catc-n, bur

The vulgariry of o u r WRy consists in letting the stream splash onto the �r()llnd and make noise. One of them observed mc (' (In'fully.

America. The participants crouch around tht vesscl nnd dip their cnl­

This was not (I triumphant rC'turn. but. something murh morC" SUbtle. And

in a very atten u
ai>ashrs into it. The womC'n's chants of mourning set the mmosphere for the men's funcrenl banqu('!. All of this is carried out without ostenta­ tion ; non-participnnts go on with their activities. or their p
rea/Ill

is (I crucinl moment i n tribal l i fe. Sacred­

" You pee like an old man. It's all yellow."

when Lizot, who was walking ahead. shouttd: "listen! The r
nC'ss is i n the air. They would take a dim vitw of us were we to approach

A thousand years of wnrs. a lhous
t h i s Holy Communion. As for lilking pictures, that would be unthink­

\..,.ish for tht Y'lI1omami. Is this pious? J " m afraid so. They are the last of the­

able .... Things involving dcath must be hand[(,d with care.

b('sieged. A mortal shadow is b e i n g cast on a l l sides .... And <:lfte f'll..' (lrds? rtrh
ered a n d adorned, the men dancc. But it is obvious thnt Ihey put less

has been broken. Perhaps we w l l l sl ("('p without waking a single time .... Some

It is then the hosts' turn to bC' polite to the visitors. P
conviction into it than t h e othcrs. no doubt t h i n k i n g it is not worth

t h e effort. Then t h e p e o p l r pro("eed to t h e trade. The diabullo i s

day, then, oil derricks around the cllabllllos, diamond mines in the hil lsides. policC' o n t h e paths. boutiques on the riverbanks .... fl
buzzing. They display their riches, admire t h e size of arrowh('ad�. the

strllightness o f rods , the solid ity of rope, the beauty o f o r n a m e n t s . Things come. g o , a l l i n rt:lativt' s i l e n c e and i n great mutual distrust. The p o i n t is not to get a bad deal. Night has fallen long; ago, but the festivities continue. The adoles­ cents of both tribes (there are about twenty or twen ty-flve) now cele­ brat{' a h u n t i n g ritual. S i n g i n g and danci n g a l l together, bows n n d arrows raised, they make t h e night {'cho, hammering it w i t h their strps. The-ir singing is full of glorious l ife. We have scarcely h a d a m o m e n t ' s rest. After t h e young hunt ers d a n ce. the ritual of separation lasts u n t i l dawn. the two tribC's saying their good-byes. This consists of <1n oratoriC<11 duel. A m a n from o n e tribe, sented, shouts a series of sentences very loudly and vC'ry quickly.

like a psalmody. from the othn ('nel of thc rhabullo his partner responds - he simply has to repeat what the other has said without m il k i n g a

mistake, without omitting a single word, at the sam{' speed. They don't Sity anything of particular sign ificance to each other, they eXChange news. repeated a thousand timC's, thC' only pretcxt a n attempt to make the adversary stumble and to ridicule h i m . When the two men hnve fln­ ished, two others replace them, and so o n . At the fIrSt light o f day, everything stops. The celebration i s over. 1 6

1 7

2

ShVhGf HHNOGRhPHY (ON YANOM1A) Let us fIrSt say that no peny q u i b h l i n g ("an alter tht n:spcCI a n d fondnt!)s

lhi� hook! deserves, which. w ithout hl'<;ilation. w e can call great. And let us

;11<;0 bear w ilnt'ss to the admiration that tht' qUOlsi-anonymous author of this


lIaving: given tvtrybody th e i r duC'. let us proceed.

This book i s. we might SilY, an autobiography, {('counting twenty-two

years in a WOnlilll'S life. whirh is nev e rt h e l ess not its central thenle, fascinilt­ ing .1S it might be. For through tht personal experience of [lena Valero. thl'

social l ife of
V('nezue!:lll-Brazil i:lll b o rd er i n the mountains o f the Parima. The encountl'r

hetween Elena Valero find the Indians took place in 1 9 )9, when she was tlevrn yr,1rS old; fI poiso nc-(\ Clrrow in her Slonl<Jch est<Jblished her rlrst can·

I "/fO!l!IIlt', taliieT t , \'01. ix, 1%9. pp. 58-6'). 1 Ellore Bioeea, Y(//WO/llo. Recir d 'l/llt" felllllle /Jres;/i('I!IIc ('111e/'fe por Ie�

rirsl p\lbli�lied in

IlJdiells, P ari s Pion, Terre luunaine, 1 96ft ,

,

l H F

H C H [ O l0 6 Y

O F

VI O L [ N ( !

tact with thelll. A band of warriors attacked htr fil mi ly. poor whites of nrazil i n se;lreh of precious wood in an area as yet unexplored. The parents and the twO brothers n("d, 1C'aving 'Elena i n the hilnds of he r assaililntS, a n unw itti n g

s pectaTO r 10 the most brut:ll
thE' l ife of a yo u ng: girl [who could read and writ{' ilnd had had her First

Communion). The Indi:lns kidnapped her and adopted her; she became a

woman among them. then became ihe wife of two succcssive: husbands. the mother of four boys. In 1 9 6 1 . after twenty-two years, she abandoned [he

tribe and the forest to rcenter the world of the whites. Thus. Elena Valero

spent twenTY-two yrars - s('am:ly believablt for us - in an :lpprenticeship, undergone at first in pain and tears, which then l t ssen ed and was rven

txperi rneed

as happin('ss, in the savage l ife of the Yanoama Indians. One

might say that through the voic(' of this woman. whom fate threw into :l

world

beyond our world. forring

her t o inttgr:lte. assimil atl' ,lnd inttriorize

l H f

A H H f O t O GY

O f

V I O L f N ( £

her first world. o n e she rH'vtr wtilily forgo(,2 lIad she been a few yrars youn gtr. that is, had she n o t yet perfectly integrated her o w n onginal eivi­

l iz:l tio n . she wo uld have certainly made :l radic
But they almOSt
of origin. Elena' s d i fference, luckily for liS, is thac she was already irre­

\"ersib ly while'
nOle lh a t for many yt .. rs afttr her rapture, sht could still recite a few "Our

F
the' very subsra/1ce of a cultural universe light-yea/'!) away from her own as

she might not have been able to withstand the shock as well, and would not

Valero's voice, the Indians a re Jctually speaking: thilt thanks to her. the face

and sound from d i ffIculties we c
the most intimate part of herself. one might say. then, that th rough Elrna

have manifested the surprising will 10 livt which allowed her to emerge snfe

of t h e i r world and th e i r bCing-in-th is-world are gradui'l l ly outlined through a

slw had to flee her hosts'

ours. j uxl
tion. the Indian method, W('f(' i n vi'l i n ) . Consequently. her :lge :lncl h e r per­

free, unconstrilined discourse, having rome out of her own wo rl d. and not

I n short for t ht first limt'. miraC'ulously, a primitivt culturt is bting

recounted by itself; the Nrolithic d i rectly exhibits its marvels, a n Indian so('i­

ety rlt'scribes it�elr from lI'it/lill. For t h e first time, wr can �lip into the egg

without brt.'aklllg the shrl l . without breaking and e n ttri ng : a rare occ asion

that merits celebration. How w a s t h i s possib le ? The answer is obvious:

btca use 01H' day Elena Val('To dedded to i ntcrrupt her gre'lI journey. the story of whid} would othrrwi�t ncvtr havt' bern told. Thus. in
world rejt('\('(I

F.lena from its brl'ast, dc-spitf' her long association with it,

allowing us to p ne trate i t through the bias of her hook. The woman's depar­ \ I1 vi t l'S us to considrr the c h i l d 's arrivJl, ihis "accu1tufJtion" ag
tUft

e

clrobullo

and l ive in the forest alone for seven

months without fire (her atttmpts. by the way. to make a fire through fric­ ,>onal iTY surely m
woman, that is. an individual mu('h less vulnerable [han a man. I n other words, for a 1J0y taktn at tht samt age

itS

�h t was, the work of l earn in g the

Indian world might not h
her capture, the young girl met a I3razili
V:llero was as much faced

grain, whi('h raises tIlt' question: how was El en i'l Valero ablc' t o bl'collle: so

with the l ndi (l n world as ill it: o n e C
rt'percu'>s ion. it sheds light on lhe opposite nlovcmt'nt o r I n d ia n s toward the . white world, on this repugnant dcgradatJon that the cynlc;tl o r the natV{' d o

) This to us est ab l ishes the d ifference benveell a document such the autobiographies of in d igenous peoples collected in othef pans

profoundly I n d i a n i'lnd ytt ('Lase t o be so? The

C
i� interl'stin� in two ways,

firSt in th
ch rist l' n

"ilC'('ulturation." The young girl\ ag-e sltould ('ol1lllltlnd

our auentiolt. lin e n t ran ce into tllr lndi
a ki
t h l' Ir:luma and eventually :ldapt {O her nrw l i fe. and 10 ma i n t
rrom it, 10 take a step back. however small. which would prev ent l1('r from ot>coming

cfllIIJ)ferely

Indian :lnd would lall'r incite hrr (0 dC't'idl' to return to l 0

tion, a capacity for wonder, a tendency to question (lnd comp(lre. EIC'Il
<1S

Yat/oallla and

of th e world. in Nonh America in p a rti cu l a r. An informant. no lII iltter how great his talent and how good his memory. re m a i ns 100 CTllrencherl in his own world. too dose to it. or else. f!ll the contrary, too detached. for his world h<1s been destroyed by COlltilCt wilh our ('ivilizarioll. Ultimately then. there is ei ther the i1l1Jlo....ihility of speaking. or fata l discourse. Th is is why a n Indian ('Quid never have written YUl10ama all d why t his hook. is singul:lr. J I

I H f

.d R ( H f O L O G Y

O f

I H f

V I O L f N ( f

ablt' to ust: th ('se

clrarly ('thnogr;jphic t,llenls precisely bt'Ta us( shl' did nOI a l l o w herself to be c-n g u l fC'd hy Indian l i ft brcaus(' slw had always main­ t;'l i n rd il bit of a ci is tCl n ce, because she w as Cllwnys Napagnouma, O.wghter of Wh i t es, not only to her Ya n o
".

,

',

'

.

"

l I

,

� H H f O l O G Y

O f

V I O t f N C f

si n ('e p rimitiv e societies su('h as those of the- Ya n oam a constitute the limit. th e beyond or o u r own civilLcation, !Jnd perhaps. for t h is reason. the mirror

of its own t ruth, and that. moreove r. these very c ul t u res tire. fro m hefe dead or dy i ng, Thus. in twO sensrs, N,lpagnouma i s a ghost.

on

in,

What of the Y a n o a m a ? The e t h n og ra ph iC' richness of t h e book tllat describes them is such that one has d ifTlC'u l ty fu l ly und (' rsta nd i n g t h e sw a rm of details the deplh and vClriC'IY of obsrrvalions menIioned in pas�ing, the pr('dsion Clnc! the a h und ;'l n ce i n the description of m u lt i p l e f;'lC'C'ts of these tri he'i l i ves. A bando n i n g. then, the ic!ea of ret
'

:

.

.

.

:

l l

I II !

A I ( lI f O L O G Y

O f

V I O L E N C E

l � f

light o n this maUer. (The chapler of the book entitltd " Endocannibalism and the Elimination of Widows" remains a mystery to us. since it is a question neither of one nor the other nor of a relationship b�tween th� two.) Equally invaluabll' are thc very nu merous indications theH Yalloama offers on t h e topic of shamanism. One can find complete a n d detailed descriptions of cures carried out by Yanoama donors. literal transcriptions of

ch:lnts through which the shamans invoke thrir lIe/wllra. " spirits" that pro­

tect men. To be a shaman. one must know the chants to call all t h e Hekollra.

One chapter shows us precisely how a young man learns this trade, under the strict guidance of elder doctors. His studies are nOl easy: abstinence, fast­ ing. repeated snoning o f ebellQ, the hallucinogenic drug which the Yanoama put to such great use. the constant intellectual effon o f remembering the

chants that the masters teach ; all of this drives the n eo p hy te to ,I state of physical l'xhaustion and quasi-despair. necessary for winning the Hekouras'

good grace and becoming worthy o f their benevolence: "Fattler, here come t h e lIekouras; th('re ilre many of them. They are dnlleing toward me, Father.

Now, Y{'s, now I, roo. will be a /-Ickoura!..... We would hI.' mistahn 10 think

of t h e l-kkollras as a n instrumental vision: far from existing as neutral tools exterior to the shaman. content to invoke them and use them according to

professional need. they become for him the very substance of his self. the root o f his existence, the very vital force that keeps h i m at once in the circle of men and in the realm of the gods. An indication of the shamans' omic statuS is one of the names that designates them: Hckollra, precisrly. And the sober and tragic end of a young shaman, fatally wounded by an arrow, indeed demonstrates this: "Turning toward his father. he murmured: Father.

the last Hckollra ncar me. the o n t that made me live until your arrival.

Pachoriwe Ithe mon key HekouraJ now abilndons Illt'. I. . .J l i e pressed himself

against tht trunk. stiffened ,Ind (lied." W h a t do current conceptions o f

shaman istic phenomena have to say about this? And what ·' possesses" this young man. allowing him to put orf his death for several hours until hc Cln

gaze upon his faltler one last time and then, this fInal wish fulfl l l l'd, die? [ n

reality. the meager categories o f ethnological thought hardly ilppcilr capable of mensuring the depth and density, Dr evcn the difference, of indigenous thought. Anthropology uncovers. in the name of who knows what pallid Cer� tai ntil's, a flcld to which it remains blind (like the ostrich, perh ;) p s? ) , one t hilt fails t o l i m i t concepts such ilS mind, soul. body, and erstasy hut ,Il the c("ntcr of w hic h Death mockingly poses its question. FaIt, which is perhaps not fate, would have Napagnourna heco nH' the

w ife o f a chief. rusiwe, who already had four wives. Though sil(' was lhe fifth she was not the last. She was visibly the favorite. and her husband l'ncour

�

aged her to give orders to the others, at which she balke-d. But thm is not the l •

A R C H f O I O G Y

o r

� I O t E N ( f

qUl·..,tion. What is of in(;'slirnable irl lcrcst to us is tbat, in spl'aking of her hus­ hand. she paints the very portrait of an Indian chief su(h as it appears i n fl't'urring fa�hion throughout the entire South American rontinent. We find

once agel in the traits that ordinarily describe the model of political nuthority, of chieftainship among the Indians: oratorical wlelll, the gift of song, gen­ erosity, polygyny, valor. This loose enumeration dots nOt signifY that any sys­

! em organizes these properties or that any logic assembles them into a signifl­ (ant whole. Quite the contrilry. Lct us simply say that the person of Fusiwe pl'rfe(tly illustr
ou r own. in that all efforts of the tribe lend precisely to separate chieftainship and ('oercion and thus to re n de r powl'r powerless in a sense. Concretely, a (hief - it would perhaps bt' more ;) pt to call h i m a director or guide - holds absolutely no power over his people. outside of that w h ich is quite (\iffC'Tcnt -

of his prestige among them .lnd of the T.'specl t lilat he is able to i nsp i re . Hence th(' subtle game between the chief and his tribe, read;)ble between the lines of

1'1l'na 's n n rr;)liv(", which co nsis t s of the former knowing how 10 apprec ia te and measure at every mO Tllellt the intl'nlions of Ll1l' l;)tter, in order to then

milke hImself their spokesperson. A delicate t a sk, with mally fmC' pOin ts, to be accomplished under the tribe's discrcN but vigilant control. Should the tribe IO{'ille the- slightest abuse of power (tha( is, the- use of power). the- chkf·s pres­ rige ends: he is abandoned for another more nware of his duties. For having a(1('mpted to drag his tribe- into a war expedition that it reruse-d, for having confused his (Icsirc and the tribe's intcntions, Fusiwe wined himstlf. For�
by almost everyone, he nevcrthtless persisted in waging Ilis war to fma11y die i n it. For his death. almost solitary. was in fa(t a suicide: lhe suicide o f a chief who could nOl bear the re-pudiation inflicted by his companions, one who, u n a b le to survive as chief in the ('yes of his people and his white w ife, I)re­ fnred to die as a warrior. The question of power in this kind of soci('ty, posed properly, breaks with the acad('micisll1 of simple d('scriplion (;) pt'rslH'ctive

close to and compl icitous with the most tiresome exoticism) and points fa m i l ­ Ia.rly t o men of o u r sociery: the dividing l i n e betwcen archaic societies a n d

··western" societies i s perh aps less a malter of technical development than of

the t ran s fo rma t i o n of polit icill ;)utho rity. l l ere. �s well. is an ;)rea tin t would he CSSl'ntial for tile Sci('tl Cl'S of man to k,un to in h a b i t. if only to b ette r ocru­

py its own place in West e rn thought.

There is a circU!1lst�ncc, howevl'[, in which [nd i(lll societies lolera ll' tIlt'

prov i sional enrounter 1Jl'tween chitftain"hip ;1I1c! authority: Wilr. perhaps the

only moment wlwre a chief agf('es to givr orders and his men to execute

them (and this still has to be examined morc closC'ly), Since W,lf is almost

('onstantly present in the text that we are dealing with, it leads us to ask:

what impressions will the reader, even the slightl) forewarned reader, have l 5

l H F

U ( H F O t O G Y

O f

V 1 0 t F N C [

aftervvards? ThC'rl' is reilson to fcar that th ese i m p ressio n s w i l l br u n f
rclcntltss intensity, who do not hC'sitate to riddle with arro\vs today those

who only y('stl'rday w('rC" their uesl friends? And from then o n , the illusions of t h e Noble S C'l v:1g:e 's peaceful habits coli
c ral ly rvrryo n e against everyonc, rhe presocial state of m a n ac co rd i ng to Hobbes. We should bc e!tilr: Ho b be s ' bellul/i omnium cOlma oll1nrs does n o t correspond to iln h i s to r ic m o m e n t i n h u m fl n t:' v o l u r i o n < I n y m o re t h a n

Rousseilu ' s stiltr o f nature dOt'S, a l th o u gh th{' ilbun ri a n l'{, o f warlike episocies

migllt sugg est the con t ra ry with regard to thr Yan o
narmtive spans twenty-two yC'ilrs: secondly. sh e probably g
repon i n g that which impressed her most. n
3

fo rget. without trying to rt'duce the sociologi('al importance of war in these

cultures, that tile Cl rri va l of wh i trs ('verywhC'n' in AmericjJ - Nortll as well as South - led al m ost automatic
tribes. TI1C'sl' po i nrs nl l a n d i n g how

brothers-in-law can think of ma ss
THE HIGHPO INT Of THE CRU ISE

"war" a m o n g the Indians must first be thought of i n terms o f the cirl'ulation

of women. who are never k i l l ed. In ilny ca sr, the Y
well, A n d w hcn possible, subs t i tute the bloody confrontations using
with ritU(lJ c o m b
marriage and W
A fln
ethnologist? It k,1Ves h i m ovC'r",/hd mc:d, but not si1tisflC'd. Indeed. (OmpiHed

to the teemi n g l i fe of Cl pri m i t i ve society. the schol
hesistant m u m b l i n g of a o n e-eyed stutterC'r. A som ewha t biller book. then,

]rilv i n g us with the c('[tainty that w e trav el on the surface of m e a n i ng which

slides a little further aW
guage o f science (which i s n o ! bei ng put i n t o question in any Wily hne-)

seems to rrmain, by destiny pnh
it

dis­

course of Savtlges. INe C
they. to be o n e and the other a t OI1C(,. to be h e re ,me! there a t lhe S
without losing everything altogether
so etlch is re fuse d the ruse of k now l ed g e. whkh in becoming ilbsolute.
l 6

The boat travels t h e l a s t meters and washes smoothly o n t o t h e beach.

The guide jumps on l a n d and shouts: "Women and children fmt!",
met w i t h joyous laughter. He gall
disemb;:uk i n l ively c o m m o t i o n , They are a l l there, t h e Browns
Murdocks, the Foxes and the Poages, the MacCurdys :l.Ild the Cooks. BeforC'

deptlrture, they were ildvised to cover themselves well. but sC'veral of the men have opted fo r sllons. Tiley sl ap themsC'lvcs on th e calves and scratch

their l arge. p i n k k n ees which the m osqu itoes have i m m e d i
from ti me to time, get in touch with nature. "We leave ('Ig

This is prrhilps the tenth contingent of tourists he has led to the I n d i a n village. ROlltine for h i m . Why cil
time. But fo r these people, it is very different. They have paid tl prC'tty p en ny First published in 1('5

214')-23')0.

Temps Moricrll{,s, No. 299-300, June-July. 1 9 7 1 , pp. l 7

I H E (0

6 H H f O t O G Y

O f

l il t

V I O t f N { (

here a n d St'e

the savages. And for the i r money tlwy get the merc i l ess Slln, the b knd ed odors of rivl' r Clnu forest. thC' i n sects, a l l of this strange world which they will bravely co nqut'r. " W i th t h i s l i gh t . I'm goi n g to St'! the ap en u re :11. .. " Some distance aw ay, we 5C't' the domes of fou r ur fIve great (ollcctive living quarters. Cnmerns purring and clkking. th(' S iege ueg i n s. " I t was so i ntere st i n g to SC'C' thost' NC'gro('s! What a curious t h i n g those come

rituals are!" "... no m o n than ten dollars, I told him. In the C'nd, it worked.. "· "ThC" fe vrry uackward. nut much mon° l ik :l bl e than o u r own. uon·1 you think?'· .... .Then when I S:lW WC' could do tite l.3 aha m a.:. as wl'll for the Si'lme pricr. [ s a id to my w i fe: t h at ''> it. we 'Tr going... " The lin Ie g ro up advancrs slowly on Ihe path l i ll ed witit UflH· U uees. Mr. Brown ('xplains that the Indians p ai n t thenl',t'lvrs with the red juice of Ihe fruit when t h('y go In war. " I re:ld this book. I don·! n:mC'mbcr wh:lt tribC' it wa� on. Hut i t doesn·t matln, they're a l l thc same"· Such C'rudilion in"pirC's respect. "The Prescotts? Th ey' re .iUst fo o l �. TIley sa id they werC' t i red. 1 h(' truth is, tht'y wC'rc s ('<1 rrd ! Yes, �carrt say somrthing. romt' ou!. gn't't u.:.. I do n t know." This is b e C'O m i n g disrollccrting. thie; hC'avy siitnct'. tilt' wt'ight or tltt:' °

·

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egi n t o e: � erge from t i ny op � nings, bare· light . Fortun:ltely, the inhabi tants b . g to the i r � k l rtS, me � , too: 100kll1g out from br(,:l sted womC' n. childre n rlingin laZIly throw tng b i ts of wood t o the under th c: i r browS at t h e stmngers and beg in. the l ad ies w � nt to c� re ss t.h e � ea d s of d(lgs. C o n fused conversations o u n g m a n With a Wide grin t l felessl y small childre n who run :lway. a y M r. Po age i s del igh tcd. O.K.!"· ng! ··O.K.! Good Morni repealS: "Well, old chap. hC'w gOtS it?"

icc has been broken. we H e sl ap s th e back of the polyglot. I n shon, the as much. Of co u rse. It say ho me with the savages, not everyone could

arc at

j u st the sa m e . There th ey are. the is not cx act l y what we expecte d, but ' m ·l ea f walls. I ndians. Sows and arrows lean against the houses p al i n g to fea r, and it is nOlh y rl a c d is There own. r i e h on off t goes Everyone for war. b('\Ier not to (fowd. for the p h otoS ilnd a l l . n ot to look rettdy

the Determin ed, Mr. Brown, followcci by h is w i fe, m:lkes his way toward Two . ll e g i a v the of tour complete a take ally t Indian. He will methodic

n t',He s ma n is sit· hours to get Ihe triht' on fI l m i s n ot very m uch . Off to work. Tht' mm a l. From a an of e p hn s the in ling in the shade of a small wooden brnch his pipe smokes he time to time. he brings a baked dilY tube to h is mouth; doesn·t even without displacin g his gaze, whkh s e e ms to sec nothi n g. lIe nineh when Mr. Brown plants himself i n fronl of him. His bl:lck l o cks tumblC' ovt'r h is shoulders. rrveal i n g: the large empty holes in his pi er ced C'a rs .

As Mr. Brown is abo u t to act, so mrthi ng stops him. What ilm I goi n g to say to him? I'm not going to c
The l nditln's "On e

eyes travel from Mr. Brown's feet to

h i s k n {·('s.

peso."

Good. At le as t h e knows what money is. We s hou l d h a v e known . . Anyw ay. t h a t ' s n ot ex p en s i v t'.

"Yes. but you have to take off :lll t h a t! Photo, but not with tl1tH!·' Mr. Brown mimes t he sliding of pants down legs. de m on s tra te s the unbuttoning of :l s h i rt. He' undresses the silvage. he frees him of his filthy. sccond·h:lnd clOlh('s. a

"Me. take off clothcs, fIve pesos."' Good God. how profit-minded can y o u be? 1-1(> is gtn i n g carried aw ay for

picture o r two. Mrs. Brown is starting to lose he r pat iC'n ce. "Well. a re you going to take this pict u re? " "You

s('e how difftcult hc's ueing:!" l 9

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O f

" Get a new Ind i a n ." " It 'd be the S;lme thing with the others . " The m a n i� still sealed, i n different n n c! sm ok i ng pC;lcefully, "Very well. Five pesos." He gol's inside for sl'veraJ momcnts and rea p p ears entirely naked, athlct­ ic, relaxed and comfortable with his

1J0dy.

Mr, Brown daydreams wistfully,

and Mrs. Brown lets her gaze wander over his sex.

"Do you re ally th i n k.. . " don't complicate things. This one is ('nough," Click, click, click, clid ... Five pictu res at d ifft.' re nl angles, Rt'ady for t h e

"Oh, sixth.

" F i n ished," Without raising his voice, the

mall has given a n order. Mr. Brown does

not dare disobey. He disdains hi mse1r, loath(,s himself. . . [, a civiliz(,d white

man convinn:d o f rac i a l l'quality, consumed by rra lt' rna l feelings loward those who did not hav (' t he go od fonune to be white, I comply with the fnst wo rd frum a miserahle wretch who livcS in th e n ud(', whcn he's not dressed

up in stinking rags. He dem a nds five pesos. and I cou ld giVl' h i m five thou­ s;'lnd. He has nothing:, he is less than nothing. ane! when he S;'lys "flllished." [ stop, Why ? "Why the devil does he act this W;jY? W hat difference does it make to him, onl' or two more p ic-tu res?" "You've corn(' ;jc-ro�S ;jn expensive st;'lrh'L" Mr. Brown i s in no mood for humor.

"Look! What live on

do es he want to do with that money anyway? These men

nothing, like an im a ls !"

" M aylle he wanls to b uy

a C;1nlera,"

The I n d i a n eX(lmincs the old fIve peso bill for a l o n g time, thcn puts it in tht house. He sits down and takl's up his p i pe again_ This is re;'l l l y annoying, he isn't paying us the slightest attention. we're here (l n d i t ' s as if we w e ren 't. . , Hatred: th is is what Mr, Drown bcgi ns to feel llefore this b l ock of inertia, Coming al l this way, the expense on 101) o f it. It is i m possi bl e to rel
chooses m;).rtyrdom,

"O.K, Fifteen pesos." • 0

! H f

V I O L f N C f

6 R C H f O L O G Y

O f

V I O t f N C f

same careful The five peso bill. the H'n peso bill are suhjected to the headdress. J A lair, l;).rgc dark m the fro em('rges ��' rut i ny, And a dem igod a in po � yt;'l il. I n tied now iS hair, b to d ne te n k and black sun. has b een fas

pi , feath­ bunchl's of w ute l lhe dark oriflc('s o f his ears, twO woodt.'n dIsks, Two l l shells sma l of s e c ck ;'l ne two by ers al his an k l es ; the vaSt t o rso is divided club. heavy a h is chest. His hand rests on <;l u n g d i a go nal ly ;'l('TOSS "Anyway, this WtlS worth it. I-Ie's beautifu l ! " Mrs. Brown admires him unabashedly. Cl i ck . click, clil'k, dick ... The dellligod o n ly intervenes after the tenth photO in wh k h M r. B row n , modest and paternal, poses next to t he R ed Sk i n. And i t starts all over ag(lin when he wants to buy the s ma l l clay stat­ uellCS, the headdresses, the arrows. a bow. Once the price is i n d icated. the m:ln doesn't say another word, Brown has to knuckle under. Th(' p ro ffe red weapons ,He fi n e ly made. embellished with the down of a wh ite bird, Much din-e re nt from the large bow and the handful of long arrows that rest ;'l giii n�t Ihe hut. sober, unadorned, serious, "How much?"

"A hundn'd pesos," "And {hos('?"

For the fir�t timt' t he I n d i a n e x p ress es an e m ot i o n : his icy face i s mom e n ta rily unsellled b y m i l d surprise ,

"That? My bow_ Fo r anim al s:' Scowling, he pointS to the ma�s of the forest a n d mimes the gesture of

�hoot in g a n a rro w. "Me not selling." This one is n ot getting past me,

We'll sec who 's stronger, if he cnll ho ld oul. "But I want this one. with the arrows," " l .ook, w hat do you want with this one? The others arc really m u (" h prrt­

lier!"

Th e 111<111 lo oks first at his own weapons, t h e n at { ho se he (";). r{'fu l ly made c ustome rs. He t<1kes an a rrow and admires its snaightness, hc feels ti p with his fmger,

for potenti<11

the i)Qll('

"A thousand p e� os, "

Mr. Brown W;'lS n o t ('xpl'{'ting thi;; at all. "What! l I (" s r ra lY ! TI1;'lt's m uc h 100 ('xp('llsiv('!" "That. my bow. Me k il l in g a n imals," "You're ma k i n � a foo l of yourself. P
tHf

one can sec h i m

A R C Hf O L O GY

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V I O Lf N C E

.

" W h,ll a b u n ch of thievC's these people a rC'! C o m p l etely corrupted hy

mon ey t

..

Mr. M
('ome back to the boat. "Two hundred pesos! Can you believe it? To film three m i n utes of tht"se

gi rl s d
" W h a t about m e! This is t he first r i m e l 'vC' seen m y husb
" A n d b
l'asy to mi1ke fl l i v i n g thaI way!" "The Preseotls werc right t ..

4 Of HHNOC IO£ A few year:. ago. the term elhnoC'ide did nOI ('x is!. Profiling from Ihe

t'pl1emeral favors of fash ion. ;)nc! more ccrt;)inly. fro m i ls (l b il i ty 10 rcs p on d

10 a dcm
ogy. 10 e n te r somewhat into the publiC' domain. 13IH do es the accelerated dis­ lribution of

CI

word insure the coherence i1nd rigor of the idea i t has set out

t o convey? It is not clear lhM the meaning of Ih(' word be11('flts from lh e

extc ns i o n an d th at u l ti m at rl y we know exactly w h a t we are t al k i ng about

w h e n we refer to ethnocide. In the minds of its inventors. the word W<1S sure�

iy d rst i n rd to translate a real ity that n o other term expressed. If the need

v'I as felt to (.T("Hl· .1 n ew word, it w as 1)l'('Clus(' Ihrrc was sot1wtil i n g new to

I h i n k about. or t'"lse something old that had y e t to oe thuught. In o t h e r

words. we fell it inadequatC' or i n a pp ro p ri a te to usC' t h e much more w id el y .

Ilsed ··g('no('irie" 10 s<1tisfy this new dem<1nd. We C
s{'rious reflcCTion on Ihe id('(l of elhnocide wilhout fi rst
Created i n 1946 at the Nuremberg trials. the leg-al (.'on(.' eption of genocide

is ,I rt'l· ogn i t io n of a typ (' of nimin
4 2

2R26-2Rfiq

4 1

Ed.

111l i\·l'1"s:1 Ii�. 1 9·/4. jlJl.

I H f

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it refers to the first milnifeslation, duly r{'('onkd by t he law, of th is criminilli­

ty: t h e systematic exterm i n at i o n of European Jews by Gernwn N az is. The

l e ga l derlllition of th(' cr i m e of gen oc i de is root ed, thus, in rClcism; it is its l o gi ca l and, flllCllly, n('('r5sary rroducl: a rac b , m that ckvelops frrtly. as was

the ('n s(' i n N az i Germany. can only lei1d to genocirle. Th e successive colonial wnrs throughout th(' Third Wo rl d since 1945 havl' also given rise to speC'iflc nn:'usations of ge n o cide agai n st colonial powers. But the gilnlC of i n terna�

t i o n il l relations nnd the re l n t ive i n d i fference of p uhl i c orinion prev('nted the i nstitution of a co n sen sus a n a logous to th at o f NU T(' m b c rg ; the I.:ases were ncver pursued.

If the Nazis ' anti-Semitic genocid(' was the fi rst to be tried in the nilme of t he lilW, it was not, on the ot)]('r h a n d. the first to be pl'rp�trat('d. The h is to ry o f western exp :l n s io n in the 1 9 th c(' n t u !)'. the h isto ry o f the establishme nt o f

colonial empirl's by the great [uropr;1n powers i s p un cl u;1t td b y l11l'lhodicn] m assacres of n a l ive popuintions. Nevertheless, by its continental rxpansion, by the vnstness of the de m ograph i c drop that it provokt'd. it is til(' ge noci d e or rhe i n d i genous Americans tll,ll rtta i n s the most a t t e n t i o n . Since 1492.
to function where tl1(' last "silvage" triites subsist nlong the g rei1 t Am,1zo n i a n forest. Throughou t these past yenrs, the massacres o f ! n d i n n s htlve b('en denoun('rd in Brazil. Colombin, and Paraguay. AlwilyS in v:lin. I t is primarily from tl1e-ir Amerkan ex pf' rie n ce tlwt eth n o l o gi sts, in par­ t icular Robert J au l i n . W(' ft' l ed to formulnLc the cO/H:ept of {'rh n o cid('. The c o n cept \-vas first us('d to refer to tl1(' lndi(lns of S o ut h Americn. Thus WI.'

h(lV\' at h a n d a f(lvorable terrain. we might say, for res earch on the di s ti n c ­ tion brtween genocidr nnd rlhnoci(je, since the last i n digenous population s o f the continent are sim ul t a n e o usly victims of tl1ese rvvo typ es of c rim i n a li ty.

I f the term genocide refns to the idea of " racc" and to th e will to extermi­ nate a rnci
I H f

6 R ( H f O L O GY

O f

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ntl it udes ilre div ith'd o n the kind of t re a t m e n t that should be reserved for elif­ f('fr ncr. The g�nocidal mind, if W{' ca n call it that, s i m ply ancl purdy wants to elrn y difTerenc{'. Others arc extermi nated bl'cause they are a l.Js ol ute ly evil. Ethnocide, on the o ther hand. a d mi ts t h e rel nt ivi ty of evil i n diffcrt'm'c: oth­ {'rs are ev il , but we can i mprove th{'01 by making them t ra n sform themselves until they are identictll. preferably. to the mod e l we propose
o p p ose ge n oci d e (lnd ethnocide as t w o perverse fo r ms of pessimism a n d opt i ­

mism. In South A m {' ri ca . the ki ll ers of Indi;ms push t h t' p o.-; it io n of O t h n as di ffe rence to its l i m i t : the s<1vnge I nd ia n is !lot a 11ll111(11l bring, bUl i1 nlrre .:l n i nlill . The murde r of an Indian is not a

c

r irn i n n l aCI; racism is even totally

absent from it, si n c e the practice of rncism would imply the recognition of a

mi n i m u m of IlUmanity i n the O rh n. Monotonous repetition of a very old insult: in d isc u ss i n g ethnocick. before i t w a s called that, Clnucle l.rvi-Str
rem i nds us in Rare et llistoirc h ow the Indians of the Islts wondtr�d w h t't h �r the n e wl y arrived Spaniards were gods or men, w h i l e the whites wondered wlwther th e i n digenous proples were h u m n n or animal.

Who, mor{'ovt'r, are- the practitioners of ethnocirle? Who
souls'? F i rst in rnnk n fe the missionaries, in S o u th Allleri(a but a ls o in other region s. Militnnt propagators o f Christian faith. they strove to substitute the pagans ' barbarous beliefs with the religion of the western world. The evan­ ge l ic n l process i mp l i es two nmai n t ies: fIrst. tila! rJi ff('fC'ncr - pnpn islll - is

unacceptable <"lnd must be refused; seronc11y, thnt the evil of t ll is w r o n g d i f­

ference can be attenuated, indeed. nbolished. It is in this way that the ethno­

cid,,1 n t t itude is rather optimistic: the Other, b;)d to st.:lrt w it h , is co n s id ered pe rfecti b l e ; we r{'cognize in l1im the means 10 e l ('va te hi msrlf, by ici{'ntiflca­

tion. t o the perfect ion that Christianity represents. To crush thr strength of p a g.:l n belief is t o destroy the vny substance of the society. The sought�aftl:r n·sul t is to lead [he indigenous peoples, uy way of true fai t h . from snvngery

to civilization. Ethnocidr is prncticed for t he good of the Savagt. Secular

d isco u rse says the same thing whcn it announces, for example. t h e o fficia l doctrine of the Brnzilian government regarding i n d i g e n o u s policies. " O u r

Indinns," proclaim the ilom i n i strators, "are human beings l i k e anyone else. l3ut the snvage life they lead i n tht fo rest s ("ondemns thcm to poveny and misrty. I t is o ur duty to help th(,111 emancipate themselves from servitude.

s i o n w i t h dC'ferted t'ffects, d e p e n d i n g o n the a b i l it y of resistanc e of thr oppressed m i n o ri ty. The quest io n here is n ot to c h o os e the lr55er or two ev i l s ; th a n s (' r is too obvious, l ess b n rh a ri ty is better thnn morr h a rb n rity. That s<"lld. It IS cthn o e i d e 's tr u e s i g n i fi can ce u p o n wh ich \VC' s h n l l renect herl'.

Th ey have the rigl1t 10 rais(' thrmsc!ves to the d i g n i ty of B r az i l i a n citizens, i n

4 ,

4 5

�

�v

Fthnocid e shares w i t h genoririe an ide n tica l vision of tht Other; Ihe Other is d i fference. certain ly. but it is ("s p ec i a l l y wrong d i ffertnce. Tht:se two

ordn to participate fully i n t h t dt.'vl.'lopmt.'nt of national society lind en.ioy ItS benefitS." The spirituality of ('t hnocide is the ethics of h u m a n ism.

The h o riz on upon wl1ich the C'thnocidnl m i n d a n d practice take shape is

determined ac co rd i n g 10 two axioms. The fi rst proclaims the hil'r(lrchy o f c u l t u r es : there are inferior cultures. n n d s u p e rio r cultures. T h e second

I H t

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axiom affirms tIll' a uso l ute superio rity of wesu'rn Culture . Thu,"" it can only mai n t a i n a relatio n<;hip of neg;ni on with other cultures, and in particu lar with primiti ve ont'<;. But it IS a matter or positiv e n e gat i o n , i n that i t wants to su p press tht' i n ferior cu l l u re, insof3 r as it i s i n ferior, to twist i t 10 Ihe level of Iht, superi or culture . Tht' Indi
di n io n ;u y in ely. each suciety an' pejorativt, d isfi:lill­

('xp<1l ld till: l i s t or ti1('se proper names i ndtfr n i t ely, comp os i n g :l words have the same meCln ing: men. Invl'f<;

w h k h a l l t h e>

sy,",tem aucall y (i<'sie;natcs ils neil-{hbors by namr'i ful. in<; u l t i n g.

thtit

All cuJ ture� t h u s crrate a d i v i �i on of h u m a n i l Y hc tw (' (' n tlll'ms c tv('s on one h;tnd. a repn·... tntat ion p:lr ('xcd lt'nce of tilt· huma n . and the other". which only pOIrtic ipate i n huma nity 10 a lesser degrl't. The dlsco u r<:;(' thaT primi tive s o c i et i es U'it for thr1l1s clvt's, a discourse co n d e ns( d in the n a nles t h �y (,01: fer upon thC Ill'i c lv('s, is thus etl1no celllr ic throu gh .1IHI throu gh: a n artlrm atlOn of the super iority of its cultu ral 3elf. a reru3al 10 recog nize others as rquals. Ethno centri sm appeOlrs, then. to be the most shared t h i n g in the �v o rl (1. and in this persp ect iw. at ) eas t . w('Slr rn cultllrt" does nor di sti n guish lIselr from the oth er<;. It would tvrn be possi ble. pushi ng the a n a ly�is a bit rurther, 1O think of ethno('C'nrrism as a forma l propeny or all tUllur al forma­ tions . itS i n lltren t !O cultu re itsrlf. It is part or a cul t u rc s essC'n c(' to be cth­ noce ntric , pn.'cisely LO tbe degr ee La wh i ch every cultu re consi dcrs itself lhe cultur r par excel l e nce . In other words. cu l tu ral aheri ty i� nevt'r thoug ht o r as I)Ositlve dirft.'r('nce. nUl always as infrri ority o n a hir ra rc il ical axis. The r;t Ct rema ins n evt'l1hd('<;s . lh a t if every c ul tu re is ethn oC'ent ric. only . W(''ite rn cultu re is (,lhno cidal . Thus. it follow s that ctltnocid;tl pr a c ti c e is not till'

'

'

, 6

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linked to ethnocentric conviction. Otherwise. all cultures would nrc""sar· ( , ly . . . hav e t o be ethnocidal, and this is not the cast'. It LS on titlS level, It seems to liS, t ha t a c('rtain i nsufflciency can be located i n the research that scholars, rightly concerned with thr problem or eth n Oc �. de, have conducted for s� me time now. Indetd. it is not enough to recognl7e and aiTIrm the erhnoCldal nature and function or western civilization. As long as we are content to r�tatJllsh the white world as the ethnocidal world, we remain at t h e surface or thi n gs, repeat i n g a d isc ou rse - certainly legitimate, for nothing has ('hanged - thilt has already been pronounced, since even Bishop Las Casas, 1'01 example, al t h e dawn or the 1 6th century. denounced in v('ry clc:ar terms tltt' genocidE' and elhnocide to which the SI)ilnish subjected Indians of t h e h i es a n d of Mexico. From reading works devoted to ethnocide, we come away w i th lhe impre5sion that, (Q their authors, western civili7ation is a sort or ab::.traction withoul sociohistoric roots, a vague esse nc e which has always t:llvelopcd w i t h i n it an eth n o c idal spirit. Now. our culturt' is in no way a n abstracti o n : it i s tht' slowly constitul('d product o f hiscory. a matter of �enl'alogical research. W h a t is it that makes western civilization cthnocidal?

This is the trut: question. Tile analysis of f'tilnorid(' implirs a ll inrerrogation,

beyond the d t: n u n r i a t i o n or raCts, of the historically dt"termintd nature of our cultural world. It is thus toward history that we must turn. Western Civilization is no more an extratemp0r<11 abstraction than it is iI homogeneous re a l i t y, an undifferentiated mass of id e n t i cal parts. This, how­ ever. is the imagE' the aforementioned authors seem to give of it. But if the west is ethnocidal as the sun is l u m i n ous. then this ratalism makes the de n u n c i a l i o n o f crimes and the appe<11 to protect tl1(' victims useless ;lnd evrn absurd. Is it not. rather, because western c ivi li za t i o n is ('thnocid(l\ first ll'irlJill itsdfthal it can then be ethnocidal abroad. that is, against other cul­ IUral romlations'? We cannot t h i n k of western society's ethnocid<1i i n c l i n a ­ tions w i t h o u t l i n k i n g it t o th is charilcl rristic or our own world, a ch<Jracteris­ tic that is the classi(' crit e ri o n of distinction between the Savage and the Civilized. hetwt'en the primitive world and the weSIt"rn world: the former includes all societ ies without a St <1 t('. tht' l at te r is composed of societies with a State. And it is upon th is that we must attempt to reflect: c;tn w t" leg it i­ nlOltC'ly put i n t o persptt'tive t hese twO properti rs or th(' West. 015 eth n o c i d:l l cult ure, as society with a State? If this is the case, we would understand why primitive socicties c;m br rthnocentric without necessarily b e i n g ethnot'ida1.

since they are p re c i se ly societiec; without a State.

Ethnocide. it is said. is Ihr c;uppr('ssion of cultural differences deemed inferior and had; it is tile putting into crrect of principles or identification. a project of reducing the Other to tht" SClme (the Amazonian J n d i a n suppressed a'i Other and reduced to the Samc as tht Br<17ilian ci t iL cn ) . In othc;r word'i, , 7

! II [

� a ( II [ O L O � Y

O f

V I O t f N f f

I li f

ethnocide results i n the dissolution of the multiple i n t o One. Now what about the State? It is, in cssC'nce. a putt in g into play of centripetal force, which, w lll n circumstances demand it. tends toward crushing the oppositt' centrifu '

­

gal force-so The State considers itself and proclaims itself the centt'r of society, the whole of the so c ial body. the absolute master of this body's various

organs, Thus we disrovtr at the very heart of tht S tate s substance the active '

power of One. th(' incli niltion to refuse the multiple, the feilr and horror of differcnce, At this formill level we Sf'(' th .:n ClllIlocidal pr
m achine function in the same Wily a n d produce t h e same effrcts: the w i l l 10

red u cC' diffe rcnce and a l te rity, a sensc and tilsLe fo r the i citntica l ilnd the O n e

C;ttl s t i l l h (' de tected i n t h e fo rms o f w estern civilinltion and t h e State.

Leilving this formal and in some ways struClu ral ist axis to tackle the

diachronic axis of co n c rete history. i<'t us consid e r French culture as

a

put ic­

ulu cas(' of w este rn rivilization. as an ('xemplary i l lustration of the spirit

6 R ( H f O t O G Y

O f

Y I O L f N ( f

of the- h exagon into citizens, due to the institution of free and o b l igatory Whatever remoined o f s e cu l a r schools a n d o bl i ga t o ry m i l i tary S('fvice, w o r l d s u C( : u m b e d . rural d n a l ia c n i ov r p e h t n i e c n e t s i ex s u o m o n to \U traditional consummated: e id c o n h t C' accomplished, been hild ion t a c l df n rra

�

languages were attacked as backwards patois. village l ife redu<:ed to the level k of fol loric sp('ctacle destint'd for the consumption of tourists. Ctc. This brief glance at our country 's history suffices to show thm ethnocidr, ,IS II more or I('ss authoritarian suppression of sociocultural d iffere n c es, is

alre,!dy i nsc ribed in th e nature (lnd functi o n i n g of th(' Stilte machine, which

... tandardizes its rapport with individuals: to (he Sla te , all ci t L ccns art' ('qual

be fo re the law.

To affirm that ethn oc id e starling with the French eXC'lmpk, is part of ,

t h e State 's u n i fying ('sse ncc, logi c ally leads to the conclusion that all state form;'ltions arc eth n o c idal . Let us b ri efly examine t h e Glse of St ates quitc

lind the destiny of the West. Its format ion, rooted in a secul ar past, appears

diffcret\t from Furopean St;'ltt's. Thc l n cils built a govcrn m e n til l machine i n

tus. first under its monarchic form. then und('r its republican form. To e
sion as for the precision and detail of administrative techniques that pt r­

r u l t u ra l world, F r e n c h c u l t un.' is a n a t i o n ill c u l L U re , a cui LUre of t h e FrC'nchman. The extension of the State' s a utho r ity translates i n t o the expan­ <;ioni<;m of the State' s l
and permanent control over the empire's i n habitants, The properly etll ll o c i

dal aspect of this st a te m a ch i ne ue co mes a ppa re n t i n its te n d e n cy to I nca­

guage as it does. This prorcss of i n t egr:lIion obviously i n volves the suppres­

waS i mposed by force. reg ardl ess of the detriment to lo('al cults. It is also

sion of d i fferences, It is thus th
true that th(' p ress ure exerted by the I n CilS on the subjugated tribes never

stri c tly coextensible to expansion and to reinforcemellt of Ih� State appara­

developm en t of cen T ral power corresponds a n increased dep loym en t of the

stituted,
when the p eop le upon whom its aut ho rity is exercised speak the s a me lan­ Franct' wa" only Franchimanie
,

the Albigeois crusade swept down on tll(' South in order to nbolish its civi­

the A nd es that the Spanish
iLe th e newly conquered populations: n o t on ly obliging them to pay tribute

to the new ma <:t NS, but fOTci n g thtm to cclebrate thl' ritual of tIlt' cnn­

qu('rors. th e worship of the SUIl, that i s I nca hi msel f. The Sta te rel igi on ,

reached the violence o f the mani;'l cal Leal w i t h which t h c Spa n i<:; h would 1:ltrr a n n i h i l a t e indi genous ido l at ry. Though skillful diplomats, t h (' I n c n s

li7
('xprlJlsion for the l:lpetian mo na rchy, establishing rranct's borders :llmOSI

k n e w to u s e force w h e n ne<:essary. a n d th e i r organiz;)tion reacted with [he

dC'fmitivcly. appears to be a case of pure ethnocide: the CUlture of Iht' Somh

question. T h c frequent uprisings against t h e central authority o f CULCO,

people of the La ngucdoc became loyal subjects of [he king of France,

v a nquished to r('gions very fa r from their nativ(' territory, that is, (('rritory

'

of france - rel igion, literature, poctry - W
ist tho ught over the (i i ron d i ns' fl'deralbt tendencies, bT(Jught the pO l i t ica l


�uage, politital tr.3ditions. etc.

Provinc('s were repl(lced by a hSlran division

Into d ('p� �tmenb. i n t ended 10 b reak all references to local particulari�ms, :lnd th us .acdlt at(' th(' penetration of slille authority evcrywhere. The final st ;1 ge

�

of thiS movement through which differences would van ish befo rt:' State

power was the Third R('puhlic, which defi n itively transfoml(,(j the inhabitants • a

greatest brutality, as do all SlatC apparalUses when their powrT is put i n t o

first p i t i l essly repressed, were then punished by massivc deponation of t h e milrked by a n e two rk of pl aces of worship

uprooting. deterritori alization, et ll n oc idc . . .

( sp ri n gs,

h i l l sides. grottoes);

Ethnocidal violence, like the neg
t h e es�ence o f lhe Stene i n barharous e mpires a s wtll a s i n t h e civil ized soci­

('tics of Ihr West: all statr orgC'lniZalions aTe etlmocida\, (,Ihnocide is tile nor­

mal mode of existente of the State, There is thus (l cenai n un iversillity t o

ethnocide, i n that i t i s t h e characteristic n ot o n l y o f a vague, indetermin ate "white world," but of a whole ensemble of societies which arc societics with

a St ate Reflection on (·thnociclt' involves an ,:lIlaly...i<; of th(' Sta H' hut must i t ,

,

. ,

l li l

6 R ( 1I 1: 0 L O G Y

O f

l il f

V I O l f N { E

stop rhere? MuSt i( limit itst'lf to thl.' obs{'rvation th
barbarous States (the InC'as, the Pha r
civili2t'd States (the western world) o n the same level or i n the S;lmC' hag?

W(' detC'C't this d i fference" first ilt t h e ievrl of the (,lhnocici.:!l cilp:l.city of

state apparatus("s. I n the first eilse. t h i s C'
of A n d e a n communiti{'s unC't the lanl'T r{'cognizcd the political ;lnd reli­

giouo; authority of the EmprTor. We notiC'e, o n the othe-r hand, thilt in the second case - western Statt's - the {'thllOcidal cap;Jcity is l i mi t l ess, unbri�

died. It is for this vtry T('ilson tha t it ran lead to genocid(', that a nI..' can i n

fnrt speak of tile we51('T1l world as absol utely rthnoclda1. [3ut wlltr!' clof'S

this come from? What docs western civiliziltion contain that makes it i n fi­ nitely morc ctl1flocidal t!lan all o\lH'r forms of society? I t is il�

('('ol/omie prOdllcrioll,

system uJ

precisely a sparr of the tlnlimitl..'d , a space without a

locus i n that it eonstilntly pushes b<'\ ck bound
0 1"

1o R ( ll t O I O G Y

V I O l f N ( f

India ns are su('n all or Sout h Ame rica, the l ast free ' . ber-sct'ke rS. Pres ently. i ' . ilian grow th BraZ th. grow omic econ of st thru s mou enor the d benC'ath . cum IJl· n. b . acce 1 erath l I · IS r C w l 0 lon . colll inrn tal roads, cons trtJct . ' . , r. The trans In pa l-.!c ul., : waC' to rsed trave S ni7a tion of the tt'm tOTlC'

axes of colo ing. cons titut e the in the pat h! . the Ind ian s cau ght sand u nproductive Savages have comp ared Wha t weig ht do sevcral thou ('offrc p l il ta. fare m i n lo:rals , pttrol('um, cattl c r:l.l1chrs, to (he weal th of gold North AmenC'all or die. this is the motto of the West. The . lio n S. . e l c . ?. Product' o w tor pro d U l' ­ all to the last to st almo t1esh. killed the n i this ed lcarn , 1 tllI,·,ns · · III I It d ec1
�

�

manC'nt rorgi n g ahead. What dirferentiates thC' West is c'lpitalism. as thr impossibility of rttlla i n i n g within a froll tin, as the pas.; i n g beyond of a l l fro ntiers; it i s l'apitalism n s a system o f production for which n o t h i n g is

impOSSible, unless it is nOt being iln end i n itsrlf: wht'tller liberal. privatr, itS i n Western Europe. or p l a n n e d , ()f t h e Stnt<.. as in Eastern Europe.

Industrial soci ety, the most formidable marhine of production, is for that ve-ty rea:-. on th(' mOst terrifying m(1chine of d estru rt ion . Races, <;ocitl Jl.'s. i n d i v i d u a l s : space, nature,

�

eas , forests, subsoils: every t h i n g i s useful,

everything rnU
Thio; is why no [('spitl' could b(' givl'n to societies that left the world to its original. tranquil un produC'tiviIY. This is why i n [he eyes of the West, the waste represented lJy the non-exploililtion of immense resourc{'<; was inlol cr­

tlble. The choice left to Illest' societirs rai"ed a dilemma: cithrr give in to production or disappear: either cthnoddc or genOCide, A t the end of (he Iflst century. thC' Indians of the Argentinean p;lmpas wen' completely ext(' fminat­ . cd 111 order to permit ti1{' l'xtrnsivr breed i n g of o;herp or cows which founded the wealth of Argentine-an capitnlism. AI The begi n n i ng of Ihis l'cntut)'. hun­ dreds of thousands of AlllaL.oniiul Indians perio;he-d IJeneath the blows or ruh\ 0

1'1 I/isruin: dr, /,ulirll5 P('(JlI.r I Qllot{'d in R. lll(�v('llin and P. COlt', .UUt'IIr
RUII!}C.', Paris:

Payol.

1':)',2..

\

5 MYTHS AND RIHS Of SOUTH AMERICAN IND IANS One cannot seriously attempt :1n exposition of Indian rel i g ions of South Americ
tion itself in order lo f:1rilitat(' the ex am inati o n of the problem of religion for

the less familiarized re;ldn: indeed can o n t ilpproach the fIeld of the prnc­

ticE'S and llel iefs of South Americntl Indians w ithout flr!ir knowing how the",t

propies lived. how their societies functioned? Let us thus he re m i n ded of

what is only 11 truism in a p pearance : South America is a contine-nl whose

i m mense surfil('(" w it h a few rare ('xccptions (such as th(' AlaC
The following texts ftrst appeared in Lc Dictiol1lJuire des mwl1ologies et do Paris. EditioHS rlnmmarion. 1 1) 8 1 . lInder the dire,tion of Yves Bonnefoy [Published in Engl ish as MYI/w/ogi('s. Chicago, Ullivl' r
religiol1s.

\ 1

I H t

� H H f O L O ' Y

O f

V I O l f N [ E

I H f

notf'. funh ermo n:. that contr ary to curre nt widl'sprtad conv it'tion . the de n si ­ ty o f the ind ig('nous popu lation was relati vely high. Otmo graph ic rl'sear ch. r. o t
the

U n i ted Statcs. const itutes a rad iC !l 1 reexa mina tion of the " <:lass ie" bd ief theH South Amer ica. exctpt in its Ande !ln ])ans . was a quasi -dese rt. Thro ugh the Sill' of the popu lalion (�everal t(' ns of mill ions). the conti nenta l vastn

its trrrito ry. South Amer ica offen 'd IhC' therefore re l igi ous di ve rs i ty.

condi ti ons for eX!\:Jlsive

ess of

cu l tu ra l and

What are the pri n c ipCl I sl)cioculwral eh'lracl('ristics. the essen tial ethno ­ l ogica l determi n a n t s of South Amer ican prop1 es? Th e te rri to ri a l ex te n sion a n d re su l L i ng d i lllatic variat ion make for a su ccess io n of e co l og i l'a l e11vir on­ ments a n d lan dscap es thai lead fro m th e humid . equ
�

\ 4

� R C H [ O L O ' Y

O f

V 1 0 L [ H [ f

t")(tn:. n"� . l'her£» are don'ns of large l i nguistic f;} m i l i es. each comprising a son1l'times s o distanced from the mother ton gue that ' nu111 b\.." r o f di;Jkcts . 'Ileak t h t ' m cannot understand cacll ot h e r. Mo rt'(Jv{'r, a cons ult-r. ho , , t hose w . . l i Il I I' n u mbe r of so-cal l l'd isolatnl l a nguages have to be \ \ .Into .consldera­ . taken . . . p n c l a for they are impossible to integrate IIlto thl' n IOgUlSIIC sto(,k. ) 1l01l. . \ . pe rThiS e xtr aord i n ary crumbling of la n guage results In a sort 0 f C UI t raI (Is

�

ion . The u n i lY

of l a n gu
ge,

�

in f
�

ultur'll unity of a people. the "sryle'" of its civilization. the spirit of liS c l­

wn'. Of ('our..('. there art some exceptions 10 th is "rule," Th us from the pOInt

or view of t h e i r l,mguage. th� Gu'lyaki. nomClci hu n te rs. bt.:! o n g to t h e grl'at rupi-G uarani sloek.

w h ic h

com pri ses a gr ic ul tu ra l tnbes. Sw.:h

a b e rra n t C
�

arc very rare and stem from historical conjunctures th:lt
t he TupL-Guararu..

for

eXillllple, occupied
with the-

e-xception of d ia \ rct i ca l variations that wt'rc

n ol

�ubstan­

Hal enough to prevtn t communication. Now. dtspitc the distances thJt sepa­

r!lIe thr most far-off tribes, the cultural homogene-lty is rem i1rka bl l'. O1S mue h

i n te-rms of socio('conomic l ifl' as i n their ritual activitil'S or the structure- of

tlw i r myths. It goes without say i n g thi'lt cultural unity dOl'S n O f in
�

�ignify l)Otitica! uniry: tht Tupi-G ua ran i tribts pan iC'ipated in the same ul­ . llJr;l1 model w i t hout ever consti tu t i n g a " n ation." S i nce t h ey r('rn a lnrd 111 a perm
. But in recogn izing this affinity bt-twt'{'n language and cui tun.: a n d dLS­

('overing i n the former the pri n c ipl e of unity of {he l atter,

fllHl ourselves forctd to

accep t the mOSt immcdi!lH'

w e i nuned i atdy . consequenCl' of I h lS rl'I
tiollship: there w il l be as Illany cultural co n fi g u rati o ns and thus. :.y�tems ?f

he l ie f. as thrre- are la n gu
bel i efs. rite-s and

myth s . The- probl em from now on is mt'lhod­

o l ogi cal : we obvio usl y cannot "dopt till' i l l usory solution of that would offer an

e n dl ess

�

?

"dieti n3ry"

list of known tribes aod the teemIng ViJnery

of

their beliefs a n d practices. The difficulty In choosing a m et hod for the pre­ s e n t a t i o n of re-Jigious f'l l tS ·

stelT1S i n large

part from the c o n t r a d i c t i o n

hetwten t h e cu ltu ra l homogenrity observed o n a so d o e c onom i c l e v e l dnt!

the irred uc i h l e l1t'ttro�ell eity o n a ...triclly cull urClI level. ,, 0 Ihal ("
resources Clnd '"point of

h o n or." Yet

co ul d olle n o t

discover 1 1 11\.'S of ro r('('

capable of dividing an abstract ic\elllity, transversals ablt to regroup s p ec ift c

flrst Europe,ms ap proa ch ing the New World put into effect : 011 the one hand. soc i eties of t Ill' Andes subj{'cted \0 t h e impt.'rial power of t h e slrong In('iln st ate machine. on the other. trillt·... th i lt p o p u !med the rl'\[ of the c o n i i-

differences? It is indetd such a dtvision among tile A m e n n dia n peop1ts that tile

\ \

l H f

! 2 ( H f O L 0 6Y

Of

1 H E

V I O L ft U f

nent, I n d i a n s of the forest, savanna and pampas, people "without faith, law,

or king," as the chroniclers of thc 1 6th cenJury said. And it is not t oo su r­ p ri Si ng 10 learn that this European point of vitw, bascd largely o n th(' l"thno­

centrism of those who formulated it, WrlS e ch oed exactly by tl1(' opinion that

the Incas professed regarding the po p u l ations that crowded th(' steps of t he Empire: they w ere nothing but palhl"tic s av il gl"S to them, only good e no ug h,

if they ('auld be so reduced. to paying tribute to the king. It w ould not be

any more surprising to l e;'! rn that th e Incas' r('pugnance toward the people of

tht' forrst h;'!d a lot to do with t h e customs of the latter. considef('d h
I t is indeed a l o n g these l i n e s that the i n d i geno us people-s of SOUT h

America arC' d ivided and sC'paratcd: the Andeans and the Others, the (i vi t iled

and thc Silvilges. or. in the terms of t rad it io n al classifl('ation. high ('uJtures

o n t h e on(' hand and forest civilizations o n the othe r. Cultural (as w e l l (IS re l igi o u<;) di fference is rooted as much i n political modes of functioning as i n

�co n o m ic modes of produl'tion. I n ot h r r words. th er(' is n o substantial d iffr r­

en('e - in terms o f riles and myths - between hunting peopte-s a n d fanni n g peoples w h o , instf."ild, form a homogeneous cultural whole in the fa(,e of the

Andean world: an opposi t i on otherwise STated as that of so('ieties wi tho ut a

State (or primi t iv t· sotieti('s) and societies with a Slate. This at least all ows

for the s truc turi ng of the rrJigious space of pre-Columbian /unerica. ;lnd at

thc same time the economy of an exposition of i t. This i s why the flTSt pa rt

of this cssay w i l l ue dedi('ated to the rd ig ious world of primitive so('ielies.

farmer� and hunters combincd. The second part will be a presentation of Andean rt l i gi on : the i<;sue will be to distinguish two autonomous levels, olle

in<;crihcd in the very ancient tradition of pe ilsant ('ommuniti<'s of this regi on.

the other. mu('h more r('('cnt. resulting from the for mat i on and ex p an s i on of

Ihe lncan stilte.

We will thus be sure to "cover" thr twO domains i n which

the spirituality of Smull Ameri(,
6 H ll f O L O G Y

O f

V I O l f N ( f

ib e.. t hat have d��ap tion is incom plet.e : of t�e nu merous tr . time. this i n forma s s l a rge ly co m p t n s ated e l he vcrt (' n IS n ThIS lack . pear,d . ooly til' n ,ilmes remai . po ulatiO ns t�at of two ue('ades of field work � mo.ng the . p for by the resultS . lVe SOC iet ieS at our diS­ t . The docu me nts on pTlmlt have not been wiped ou r scarch. 6th-c entury chron icles to the most rec� nt � 1 from range posal . then, the since sh h Spani t e ns, more or less ext i rpated by As for t h e Andea n religio left by an: know n only th a n ks to descriptions mtd-seventeenth century, they ies n colon izers, not inc�ud ing the t est im.o Piaaro's comp anion s and the first . s of t h e lncan ,1TIsto cr,lcy I m m edi atel y or v i rv su I! a t h('red direct ly from the

;Ifter the con q uest .

1 . IOCIUIfI Of ! H E fOREIl

co nst an tly noted, either to Trave lers. missio naries. o r eth n o l og i sts have of primit ive peoples to mt'nt anach rejoice in it or to deplore it, the strong sity. Any amou nt religio d n ou f o r th e i r p t h e i r custom s and traditi ons. that is, e, allow s o n t o l p m a x e society, for of time spent ilmon g an Amaz onian . but the invest ment of r('l1glous observe not only the piety of the Sav a ges to d issolve the distin ction co nce rn s into social life to II point that seems hlur tht' hound ilri('s \)etwcen the hetwe-e-n the- se-cular and thr religious, to the sacred: nature. in short. like doma in of the p ro fane and the sp he re of the s up ern atur al . Anim ill or with gh soci cty. is trav e rsed through and throu a d super natur
�

� If

Indeed, a ct'rtain number of ethnic groups that stem from th e classic "primi­

omy of the religi o l og ic ill l y lead to a b o l ishi n g I h(' auton . idual a n d collcc tlve event S of the indiv would then be l oc at ed in all the completely absen t from the multi­ tribe 's daily life. In rt'al ity. though, never �i on m a n ages to assert of a p ri m itive culture. the religio us d i me

t u t i o n s nrv('rthtless br("ak away from this mod("1 pr("cisely through the

easily deter mined

the gCJl('ral sociocultural dimensions o f th ese sotieties. the bipartition of the rtllgious firld would not offe r a sufficiently precise image of it s obj('ct.

tivC' '' modrl as Ill uch by their modes of produ('tion as by their political insti­ inllabilUal. indeed. enigmaTic form<; that th('ir rrligiou<; thought and p T
t,-Ike: a brea k pushf'd to it s ('xtr('me by th e lltp i-Gutlrani tribes whose reli­

g i ous tthn og rap hy demilll cis spt:cial deYelol)mcnt . whirh shall make up the

third part of this essay.

WI' mus t consider every document co n ce rn i n !!: I n d i a n A m eri c
ethnographic re<;our('l'. The i n formation at our disposal is th erefo re wry ahu n d ; 'IIl t. <;ince it begin<; with the di s('overy of Am eri c a. n u t ill the

\ 6

us spher e. whi('h

�

rcumstances. Ihey are therefore more itse lf as such i n certai n sp ec ifiC ritual ci divine fI g ures. if we fIrst isol;lt e the plal'e and fun ct i o n of

ple aspects

IH£ GOO\

religion such as . i t cie<;c ri bes the I n keepi ng with the Eu rop ean idea of . and more s pect ll cal ly. 11(,I,:" een e. n d ivi re l a t io n \)('tw('('n tli(' huma n and th(' s h
Si]tHt'

5 7

I H f

A R C H f 0 1 0 (; Y

O f

V I O l f N C f

u n k n o w i n gly. by the conviction that thert· is n o authenlic rei igious fact except i n the form of monotheism. They have attempted to di5COVl'r among South American Indians cithrr local versions of the single great god o r the embryonic seed of the oneness of the divine. Eth nogr<tphy shows U5 the futility of such an undertaking. Almost always. as a matter of fact. Ihe cul­ tural practices of thesr peoples develop without implicit rcfm;:nce to a single or crntral figure of the divine. as we shall sec. I n olh('r words. religious l ife, s eizect i n itS ritual reality, u n folds i n a space outside tiltH which western

thought is ac(ustonled to calling the sphere of t h e divine: the "gods" are i1bsent from the ('ults and rites that men celebrate, becnusc they ,Ire not intended for them. But does (he absence of worship necessarily signify the absence of the divine? We have believed it possible to dctect. here and the re, dominant divine f,guTrs i n the myths of various tribes. But who decides on this dominance, who evaluate" the h i erarchy of tlH'se represcntaiions of the divine? [\ is sometimes precisely cthnogri1phrrs and more often missionaries who, i m m ersed in the monotheistic f;l ntasy, imagine thcir expecta tions ful ­ filled by the discovery of such and such particular divinity. Who are these "gods " thaI ilre nOt worshiped? Th r i r names, in fact, designatC' visible ct.'lc!'­ t l a l bodies: Sun, Moon. sUns. constellations. whost' metamorphoses from

hum;m to astra! are recountfd i n nUn1rrous myths; thry also name "violent" natural phrnomcna such as thunder. storms, lightning. Very often the names of thr "gods" also r('ft.'r not to the order of nature. but to that of culture: mythic:!l founders of civilization, inventors of agrkulture. cultuf,ll hrroes who i n fact som('{irncs be('Ol1lr (,'elc�tial bodies or a n i m a l s on (,'c their terre-s­ trial task has bCt'n completN] - the Twins. the Tupi-Guar;l n i tribes' mythical heroes. a b a n d o n Earth to t r a n sform them�elve-s i n to S u n a n d M o o n . Although Sun, the older brother. plays a very important rol e i n the rcligious thought of the contemporary Guarani, he is not the ohje('( of a particular

cult. [ n oth er words. a l l these "gods" are mOSt oflen nothing but n ames. namcs morc common than pNsonal. ;Jnd as such. indiGltions a n d designa­ tions of th e socit'ty's "beyond." of t h e cultun:'s Other: I he cosmic alterity of the heavens and ('elestial bodies. the earthly alterity of the nature a t hand. AlterilY that origi nates abov(' all from the cul ture its('lf: t h e order Df L
tions brque;1th('d by thr grei11 ancestors or cultural heroes. both often signi­ fied by the n<1me or Father, Gr
I H f

A H li f O L O G Y

O F

� I O L [ N ( [

antl'es the maintt'nann: uf its order and asks nlt'n only to respect (r"dition. 1 l1is is indred what we lrarn from the tri b es of Tierra del Fuego, among ,.,.hom scholars of the American continents havr sometimes becn leOlllted to locate the most advanced forms of "savage" monotheism: the Temaukel of tilt" Dna o r the W;Jtauinew
<1dolescents durinR i n itiatory rites. One may nOte, by the- way. that unlike th(' Andean socirtics, othcr South Am('rican peoples never depict the "gods," The only not
We must first of <111 avoid confusion betwe(,n worship of HtKestors and worship of the dead. I n digrnous thought. in fact. clearly distinguishes the old dead from the r{'('t nl dead, and each of these categoriC's of the non-liv­ ing require different treat mrnL What is established between the community of the living anrl Ih<11 of the a ncestors is a diachronic rtl
1 H E

� R C H f O L O G Y

O f

l H E

V I O L E N ( E

Rrlation with the dead is so meth i n� else entirely. F irs t, t hey are the con� temporaries of Iht' living, those whom age or sickness tear:-. fro m the Com� m u n ity, the relatives find kin of the s u rv ivo rs. If death aoolishes the oody, it

A R C H t: O L O G Y

O f

V I O t E N C f

put the most distance possible hetween the dead p e rs on 's grave and Ihe �pacc of the living. All lilt' dc {'rascd 's goods arc burned or dt'stroyed, a taboo i" (ast upon h is name which from now on is no longe r spoken. In short. the

also brings into being, into autonomous existen<.:e, that which Wl' call the

cIr
lUre, the number of souls a person bas can vary: sometimes just one. some�

implies a la(,k of emotion in the latter: the manifestations of mou rn ing ( a

soul, for lack of a ben e r tt:rm. A<.:corc:ling to the particular be-litis o f eac h cul­

That 111(' de ad (tin h;lunt the l i vin g to the point of anguish in no W
twO, sometimes more. BUI even if there arc more than one, one of t ll em

"IH1Vcd head for the women. for exampit:. black pain!. s('xu
to wiHcI olT defl n i t ivrly the souls of lhe dead flO1l1 1 h e l iving: death I('IS loose

a nood of evil, aggressive powers against which t h e living must protect

hast ily, but according to rules. Thus, in ccrt ai n socicti('s Ihr funeral ri tu a l

Jage or encampmelll. t hey wa n der. esp C"C"i
the so�called dance of th e maritltlo, which the men pcrform with huge rolls of

tim es

heconws the ghost of the dc-ct'ased. a so rt of living dead . In fa<.:t. the aClual

fum'raI rites. insofa r 'IS thl'y conCl'rn the dt:ad body, ,Ire (' ssen t ia l l y in{('nded t hrmselves. Since the souls do not want to l ea ve the surroundi ngs of tilt: vii·

and fri e nds for whom they arc a sou rce of danger, i l l ness, death . .Just a� the

restri ctions. etc.) are not mt"rt'ly so('ial, for the sorrow e x p ressed is not fdgned. Tht d('(l(] person·s burial funhermore is not ·· sl a pda sh . " it is not dOl1c

lakes place in [wo stagcs. Among t h e Bororo. a vt'ry complex ceremonial

cydc rol l ows th(> burial of the deceilsed : il ri tu al hunt, dan('es ( a mo ng which.

kaves o n thtir heads), .1IHI ch a nts go o n for about tWO weeks. Thc skeleron,

anet'stors, as the mythi('al fou n ders o f soci ety. arc marked w it h iI p ositive

rid of its fl es h, is then exhumed. painlrd with IIf/1('1I a n d decorated with

dead, as potential destroyers of this samt;' soci ety, arc markt;'d with a n ega t ive

river where it will be thrown. The ancie nt Tupi-Guarani gtner:111y in h u nwd

sign a n d are therefore close to the community of th ei r '"descendants," so the

feathers. Pla('ed in a h aske t, it is flll al l y taken i n a p ro cession to a nearby

sign to such an extent that Ihe l iv in g ask: how can we get TId of them?

of the dt'ad

case o f fa mo us chiefs or shamans. they proceeded to exhume the skeleton.

among the South American peoples: far from entenaining thoughts of celr­

which among the Guarani became the obje('t of a cult if t h e shaman w as

brating them. th ey are much morr concerned with ('rasing them fro m their

great. The Guarani in PCl raguay still maintain the custom of sometimes p re­

[t fo l l ow s ronsequently t h at o n e cannot speak of a

(' u l t

thcir dead in gn.::at funerary urns burit'd in the earth. like the 130roro. in the

memory, Thi:-. is why ceremonies such as the Shipaya's " feast of dead souls,"

serving a child 's skclClon: invo ked under certain circumstances, it assures

morE' from the will to win Ihe b enev o lence of t he ancient dead th;"1n from a

a nd the diviniti('s.

livi n g s('('k to conclude (l ild strengthen the (l i l i ance th,H gu a r
(AiINIBAIlIM

or even the rites at which the Bororo summon the dead

(aroeJ,

seem to stt'm

mediation w ith the gods (lnd thu'\ allows communication h('t\vct'll humans

desire to celebrate the reccnt dead: with the ancestors. the communi ry of the vival; agai nst the dead. de fenst' m('chanisms art' put into t'ffeCl to prottct s.o (' icty

from t h ei r attacks.

Some societies, however, do nol b ury tht'ir d�'(l d : they e(lt them. TlLis type

What do they do w i t h th{' d ead ? Gcnt'rally, they art' buried. A l mo s t

o f anthropophagy must he distinguished from the Illuch more wides.prcad

everyWhere, in the area be i n g considered, the tomb is a (,ylinc1ric hole so me­

t re a tme nt reselVcd by several tribes for their pris.on('TS of war. such (lS t h e

times covered with a l illie roof of palm leaves. The body is most often p l aced

Tu pi -G uarani or the Carib. who ritually executed and consumed their cap�

there in the feta l pOSition. the face t urned in the dircction of th{' sours sup­ posed resting place. The al m os t total abscnce of cemt:teries is due n ot to the

peri od ic uphravals of vill agt's wil en tile ga rd e ns bccom(> unprodu("liv(>. but ra th er to the rela tion of exclusion that separates the living fro m the dead. A

cemett'ry is i n fact an cstablished spac(' reserved for the dcad whom one can l a ter visit and who are m ai llt(l ined, i n thiS mannt:r, i n permanence
tives. We call the- act of eati ng the body of onc 's own dead (and not Ih3t of the e nemy ) endocannibalism. It can take many forms. Til" Ya noma m i of the

Venezuela n Amazon burn thc (,:1d ave r on a pyre; they ('011('('( tht fr'lg m ems

of bon e that hClve eS(,3ped combustion and grind tl1em to a powder. This is

lelter to blended into banana purtt and consumed by a rel a t iv e of t h e de('crlsed. lnv(· rsl'ly. the GUilya k i o f P(l ra gu;'ly grill t h e c u t u p (,;'ld;wcr on a

ev('rything including the memory of the dead: how. then. can a p rivikged

woode n grill. Th(' nt'sh. accompanied by t ile pith of the pil/do palm trtt', is

spacr be re�l'rv�d for them? This will to rupture thus leads m a ny of t hese

The bones aTe brokrn a n d burned or abandoned. The apparent effect of

i m i ty to the sl.);1('C or t h e living. Thc Indians' major concern is to a boli s h

societies quite s imply to icilY{' the v i l l �ge whcn a dt'
ronsumed by the whole tribe. with Ih(' excq>tion of the ckcc-;tst'd's fam ily.

encio('annihalism is the t o tal integration of the dead into the living. sin ct' one

6 I

.. . . n t U l U b T

0 1

Y l 0 L f tl ( f

absorbs the other. One could Lhus th i nk of th is funerary ritual as the absolute o!JPosite of the customary auitudc of the Indians, to crea te as largt: a gap as possible hetwet'n thC'mselves and thl' dead. But this is only an ;"lppearancc. I n reality, tndocannibalism pushes t h e separ
its exueme i n that the former, by eJ t i ng the laner, drprivcs them of this fLnal

anchora ge i n the space that the grave would constitute. Therc is n o longer any possibility for contact b(:'lwcl'n thcm, and tndocannibalism accomplishes

the mission assigned to rUIl�r:l1 rite'S in the" most radical manner. One can sec, thtl1, the extent to which th e confusion betw('ell the cult of the ancestors Clnd the cult of the dead i s false. Not o n ly does the cult of the d('ad not exi�t in South American tribes since the dead arc dt'sti lled to com� tends to mark its relation�

plell: oblivion, but moreover, indigenous th o u gh

t

ship to the world of myt h i c
alliance, inclusion w i th th{' anccslOrs�founders, wh i l e th{' community of the

living mainl
that all events c a pab l e of a l te ri n g a l i v i n g per!)on logically refer lO the supreme alteration. deaLh ilS division of the person i n t o a cadaver 8nd a hos­

tile- phantom. Ill ness, as potential death, concerns not only the person's indi­ vidual dest i ny, but
tbe future of the community. lhal is why the Lhera�

peutic u n d erta ki n g aims, beyond curing the sick, at protecti n g the society,

and thiS is <1ls0 why the medical act, by the theory of ill ness t h at it imp1les

and puts into effect, is a n essemially religious ]Hactice.

SHAIIANISM AND IllNfSS I\s d o cto r, tllr sbaman occupies a central place i n the religious l ife of the

tribe which expects him to assure thr good health of its m r mbrrs. I low does C
The

b u t to a sUj)rrnatural origin: the aggression of a certain spirit of n ature. or

th e soul of some o n e recently deceased, an atl
ellemy t ribe. a (voluntary or inVOluntary) transgression of a n alimentary or sexual taboo. etc. Indian etiol ogy cl o sel y assoC"iates i l l n ess. as bodily un rtst .

with the world of invisible powers: the mission ('ntru!)ted to the sh
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a l n Os! a l ways the same: i t cons i s s of a provisionill a n t i c i p Clt i on o f that whtch death producc.:; i n a dermitive m a n n!:'r, namC'ly the separation betwten

th e bouy and soul. Good ht'
soul ,s departure. To cu rt

I

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6 )

I H f

6 H H ! O L O G Y

O f

V t O l { N { {

discover the pl .. H:e {h t' person .s b 0d y�soul unilY'. As doctor' the sh
hack into the p
IHE SHAIIAN

r

u�rortun.ale�y

by We must elimin:lte the widt'�pread conviC"tion - sp ead. 0 1 all e f 1 I to essential e sonag pl'r h at the shaman, thiS cntain ethnol ogists . . , carc ake 1Uld � w y t I oc primitive soc iet i rs , is a son of l u nat i whom hiS s . (lnd t{,(lr a.way from illnesS and m arg i n :l ! ity by chargllig him With a� su n n .., _

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communicatio n between ea n h a n d h e b eyo nd. hetw c � n lhe comrnunlty � nd Lnto a d� :t or. society the supern
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absurdity o f such a discouTSr is d u e t o
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lion. [n other words, one is rarel y predisposed to b e omIng a �h i1man, so thM . anybody, ("ssentially, co ld become a shaman should he so d slr(' . So e fec 1 . this desire. olhers do not. Why might o n e wnnt to oe shaman. An lllc ldent l a . dream, a vi!)ion, a strange encounter. et ) might be i n erp ('tl:d
u

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sc{'m s the tribe whert: he pr�ctiC"es his talent, Much more the w
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over them as much as ht w nn t'> to restOTe htnlth to the sick.

,

Somr [Tibes (in tht Chaco, for eXflmple) rcnlllllcrate til{' sharnnn s tl1ed­

�

icnl ncts by gifts of food, fnbriCS, feathers, ornam nls, elc. If tht' shCl�lC1.n . . . of hIS

enjoys considcrablt status i n all South Amencan SOCH'U(,s,

the �rilcuce

. trade is nevl'rtheless not without risks. H e is a maste r of ltfc {hIS powers can

r('store the si("k), bUI he is also a master of dt n th :

though t to

these

S
confer upon h i m the ability to b�ing dea t h upon others: h r IS

rep ut e d to bc nhlc o kill as well a� to cu re . It IS not a m:lt1er of m nl ('v ol c. n cc . or p erso n a l perversity. Th(' figure of the ('v i ! sorC"ern I S rart'" III SOlLth

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America. l3ut if a shaman fails consecutively in his treatments, or if he pro­ duces i n comprthl'nsiule, tragic ('vents in society. the guilty party is soon dis­ covered: it is the shaman hi mself. Should he fa il to curl' his patients. it will

be- said that h e d id not want to cure them. Should an epidemic occur or a strange death [ilke place: the shnman has without a doubt united with evil

spirits to harm the' community. He is thus a personage of uncrrtain destiny: a

holder of immense prt'Stigc, rcrtainly. but al the S
sil.M i n advanct for tht" tribe's sorrows. an appointed �capegoat. lest anyone

und(' r('�tirn,H(' the p e nil l ty the shaman incurs: it is mOSt often de;lth. As a gcnrrai rul(', shamans art' men. We k n o w of some txceptions however: in the nibrs of the Chaco. for example (Abipone. Mocovi. '[oba).

or a m o n g the Mapuche of C hil e or t h e Goajiro of Venezuela. this function

is often fulfilled by women who arc thrmst'lves no less dislinguisht'd than the men in this regilrd. When assured of his shilmanic calling. the young man u n dergo('s his professiolltli lraining. Of varying duration ffrom several

w r ek.. to several yriHsl. it is gcn('rally acquired under the direction of

anOlher shaman long s i nce confirmed. Somrti mes it is quitt .c; i m p l y the soul of a c!rild shi:lman who is in charge of the novice' s instruction (as a m o n g t h e C a m p a o f Peru). There are. a m o n g t h e C a r i b of Guy;u".a

(Surinam) veritable shaman schools. The apprrmice shaman ' s instruction . taKes the form of a n initiation: siner th e ill nesses they intend to trral ar('

the ('fferts of an action of supernatural powers on tht: body. it is a matter of acquiring the m(,<1ns of acting upon these powers in order to control

t he m , manipulate lhtm, neutralize them. The shaman's preparauon thus

aimo; at gilrnt'ring the protection and collaboration of one or sl'vl'ral of the guardian-spirits [0 assist him in his therapeutic tasks. To put the novice's

sou! in d i rect contan with the world of the spirits: lhis is the goal of the apprl'nticeship. I t vcry often leads [Q what we call trance, thai io;, to the

momen t i n which the young man knows tht' invisible powers r('cognize him as sh<1 m a n . learns the identity of his guardian-spirit. and obtains the revelation of thl' chant. which, hencefonh. will accompany all his cures. To permit thr soul 's initiatory access to tbe supernatural world, the body must i n some wily be abol ished. This is why t h e shamiln's trilining entails an asceticism of th(' body: through a process of prolongrd fasting. continual deprivation of sl('ep. isolation i n the fort'st or bush. massive absorption of smoke or tobacco juice (Tupi-GuilTani. tribes of the Chaco) or hallucino­

genic drugs (the Amazonian northwest). the apprentice arrives at such a state of physical exhaustion and bodily d i l apidation t h a t it is almost a death experit-nce. And it is lhen thaI the soul. liberatl'd from its earthly heavin('ss. alleviated from the weight of the body. finally finds itself on an equal foot i n g with the suptrnatural: the ultimate moment of the "tra nrc." 6 ,

is i bl e . the young I h i m of the inv 0rrere ( is ' that s' on I laman . t he V ' h i m a sI ' t crl' . i n I hencer0 rth makt's that e wledg the kno

man is

� ,1ate'd to wi nll

DRUGI IH{RAP[UII(I. IIIPI.

.

(with the excluslOn detemlincs iIIn('ss seen ave ' h of we thought. . as the rupture . IndigenouS by the Europeans) ca Amen lfl of thIS unity. It ology introducf>d .,s '., restoralion o r all I\ath · l " 'IO(] recovery , Y Uil ·ty d ho in !;ot:aTCI1. 0 f soul· . . nal '1 r '. he must l e av e . . . ,h ' pr(So doctor. IS i\ Iravtlc as " . n a :am I x l l 1ary spm . 5 the au his that . . hy t(' c \ . WS i o; follo must. a o;" eVI sPIf ts· h � the keepers of held capu.... e by � ll' world. combat i nvisih the soul n o a ration explo initiatory ge of . pet it ion of the begi n a voya . Each cure. a Te palle-nt the of s that h e tht: body . powers .. demand tht.' soul and re hio; , to acqui an sham the htness of l !)erm'ned . th(' spim an d I'I g voyage that of exaltation of nce tr of i n a state : trip. almost never � plac e himself preparation for a the IS. at t a so. a cure, . ed or drunk as the body. And of tobacco (smok tLon mp consu ut heavy especi ally in the . e" place withO l ak I rug".' . cultiv ated { . , . ' 1 or of variOUS F or tll1CS quan th rnl extenSively. JUIce in large • s useIndian e h t ere h w est a. northw idu IV d' III or · Amazonian west as a principl e 0 r soul. e I II . . ml. . , such as the Gu,lr. prope r n a me . . merges with the certai n populatlOno; v 'mS I)Ody, " the of h grson I)e (" ' s it pe seriO US illness ca tion that make . ng a articularly re f e The ' nanli name. n : the error III . pe-rso the soul is the sick the f r . lHI! n a me s unsulta0 nOi pMseso; a soul· nosed as tht name' . k. person does Sl e t s. illnes of the � discOVl'ry for Ihe him is the cause on a voyagt: of eav shaman e h so , t e- tells the s ick � . uils him, A n d that s it to him, h < icated comm . havf> the gods he has In fact found . true name . Wh (' n vrry proves that what It IS. R e e o es relativ person a nd his . name. faraw ay. as the p at i ent' s rtal (somctimt:S very . of the \ o st soul search IS m . , . 10 I . IS w t . . Whilt his spml around the patien chants a n d crS n marks th(' shaman dan cie-ties. tht' sham� far as the Sun). ' ' \111 many s o d groun e t with on QUI � . (mara ca). but also <:.eated or stretched mUSIC.l i nst rumr nt a of wHh t' his dall(" on the nature . the rhyth m of . . . s . Oel)cnding he conv erse whIch ' tth WI SplOts rphosis for the trca Ihe v o ices of the elTect mctamo o d nee may shaman jaguar. ,I s n ake. a the diagnosis. the ms himself into a so.. he trans and S: succes on the p:ltien t men! to be a lOVe�ll'nt 10 blow s � ,nterru fltS afe he time, t o I . of the body that . ck the parts ' uird . From time massa ' ge hlm.Ito su n. to co I . t' to k d smo . toften tobacco saliv a are repute and , . n s brcatll . h'lma , e- s th )I . d bo lere. ' I ratl'd i nto the slrk ailing him. Everyw stray sou I I's reinteg the n When shama the . gre,at streng th, u - over' Very Ofll'n • in treatm ent io; {he . cured . sub 1ered ting a rorelgn . the latter is conSI{ eatment by exhihi tle f I t a end hody: al the . . the �icK ]l('Kon 's proves h i s success ,f( u n g from succeeded In extr.l has ht· that stance

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a R C H f O L 0 6 Y

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th orn .
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to the ab<; enc e of thr sou J TI . �o r . the r(' lns em on of the ' � soul is pub licly sign ifie d, a('cord in to the s.am log iC, by , lh ext rac tio the- Object w h i ch , per Cep n of � � tihle and p ,pab lr' gu ar,l Il1ees the IHlt lem the rea liry his clire ::t n d J)roves . the doc,or'.s c o m p et .. c n ce. I h e t h e rap eu tic' fun ctio . n t h o ugh rsse n( l' ,. n o 111(' , o n l y o n e sha man flUS We have the alre ady n dl' rl i n Cd the j . ty of Ira clll g a cle ar lille of dem arc Jtio n in Ind ian cul turcs betwee Ihe soc ial il/H! the reli gio us. the profane and thc sacrrd Ihe mUI l'd,inC a n thc sup ern atu ral. Tht ' H is to say that the shfl man ' s m ,d ,' ,a' , ,' on I's co ns lil n tl y s . rC l' ted , for ('vents the lt pun ctu ate peo ple,> ' ind ivid ual live ' ia s or thc soc � l. rre 0 t � e t n. br . Thu s. he w il l b(' cal l ed to int erpret a d rea m or a vis ion to eCJ(j e wh ·t H"r II C('n aln ' a � sign is filv oril ble or o m i n ous whe n for . exa nl p l , . war exp edi tIOn is I 'eln . g prepared aga inst a n ene my trib e. III this last <'ircum"tJllce i n ' fflCL ht'' sha ma n may a ct Sorcerer or a spe llwc as a . . ast er: he is ci1p aul r sen dmg dl.o;;e ses to the ene tha t wil l wea ken or eve mie � s n ki l l them I ��o I n' there .ls ,n o ritu al act ivir y of any i m p on a nce in wh ich , . the ShiJlll il n d c p l ay a (l CC I S I Ve rol e.

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�

�f

Cle� rly. the religious l i fe of the SOcietirs c0 ' . IISld(. re . n no t be reduce l � C, a rltu a!Jz i1ti on of the ir d ro re l a ti onship t0 tI1< dt' l:d o r to dlseasf'. O f equ ally great b" arin g is the cel ebr, atio n of I I' fC, not on 1y .' ' I n its n a lU ra I m a n l'f est atlO ns (th e h l rt h of a l'h i l d J but <1lso in its more ) o rJ s al asp ec ts (rites of p as J)(" �. OCJ sageJ . I n COn fO nll a n C e with ( he grC "l ( re i l g SHy 0 t h ese peo ple s, wr rhu re l i gIO US sph erC' lak s srI.' (he e into ace o ' U n ! an d perv ade the . . gr('at stages of md d('sllI1Y SO
::

Birth

•

lh e b i rth of a chi ld . ext end s f,l r be ond Its , ' bIO log ica l d ime ns i Y ('("rns n O I on ly the on . It con w mo the r an d tl . 1 (' f
:11('

' � � ;0:('(' }

6 6

6 R C H f O l O ' Y

O f

V I O L f N ( f

(;lboos, sexual restrictions, hunting rit ua ls. chants. dances. etc. (before a n d

<1ftl"r tl1 e bi nh j which find their justification i n the certainty that, i f they are not completed, the child w i l l be threatened by death. The couvade. practiced

by a l l the T u p i - G u a r a n i tribes. has especially caught t h e a t t e n t i o n of

observers: as soon as childbirth begins, the father of the child lies in his

hammock and fasts there until the umbilical cord is cut. otherwise the m o th­

t'r and the child run serious risks, Among the Guayaki, a birth, t h ro ugh the cosmic agit,lIion that it un leashes. thre,ltens the child but also the father: under penalty of being devoured by

j agu ar.

the father must go into the for­

est and k ill a wild animal. The death of the child is of course ascrilwd to the m , w 's defeat before evil powt'rs.

It

iIJitiarioJl

[t

will not be surprising to discover a structural a n alogy between the

ritf's that surround a birth and those that sanction t he passagr of boys and

girls into adulthood. a passage i m m ediately read on twO levels: first it marks social recognition of the biological maturity o f individuals who can

no [onger be considered children ; i t then translates the g ro up ' s acceptance

of the new adults and their entry into its bosom. the full and entire appur­

[cnance of the young people to society. The ru pture w i t h the world of childhood is perceived in indigenous thought and expressed in the rite as

death a n d rebinh: to become adult is to die in childhood and to be born to

�o( ial l i fe, since from then on, girls and boys can freely allow their sexual­ ' ity to bloom. We thus understand that the rites of passage take place, as do

the riles of birth, i n an extremely dramatic atmosphere. The adult commu­

nity fei g n s the refusal to reco gniz e its new equals. the resista nce to accept

thrm as such; it pretends to see them as compct itors, as enemies. But it

also w a n ts to show the young peoplt', by means of ritual practice, that if

they feel pride i n acceding to adulthood. i t is at tile price of an irremedia­ ble loss. the loss of the carefree and happy world of childhood. And this is ren
prise a component of very p a i n ful physical t r ials . a dimension of cruelty and p a i n that makes the passage a n u n forgettablc event: tattooing, sCilTifiw

c a tio n , flagel lation. wasp stings or a n t bites. etc . , whirh the young i n itiates must e n d u re in the greatest silenrc: they faint. but without moaning. And

in this pseudowdeath. i n this temporary death (a fainting deli beratcly prow

voked by th e masters

of the rite), thc identity of the structurc which Indian

thought t'stabl isllCS b etween birth and pass<1gt' clearly a p pears : the passage is a re b i rt h, a rep etit io n of the first birth which must thus be p r('c c d ed by a

symholic death.

6 7

I li f

A I C li f O L O G Y

O f

V I O l f N { f

I li f

�Y1H !NO SOClfIY

a R { H f 0 1 0 ' Y

O f

V l 0 L f N C f

. l e of kn owkdge trnnsm itt('d to LtS tn"ax·,ms no rms nnd l;lws the very e nsemb inilinlion. of ritual e th in ple peo )' oung I n short, t he n the i n itiatory dimension of the ri tes of passage rerers back •

But we know, moreover, that the ritts of passage arc also identincd as

ritual s of i n i t iat i on Now, all i n i tiatory procedures aim at making the postu­ .

lant pass fro m a sUitt of ignorance to a state of know l cdgt" ; their goal is to

lead to the rtvdmion of a truth , to the communication of knowledge: what knowledge do tht South Amtriciln l ndi
��

.

the truth toward which the initiates arc led; this truth si gn al s the fou n d i n g society. under the ausp i ces of its orga n ic law. nnd so('kIY's s('lf-knowledge

arfl rms its own origin in the founding a('t of the ancestors, whose myth con­ titutes the chronicle. This is why, on the level of the actual unrolding or the

what truth do tl1ty reveal to them. to what co nsc i o usness do they i n itiate

�lOments of the ritual, the n n('C'Stors are, i mpl icitly and explicitly, n ecessaril y

them? The ped<1gogy in herent i n initiatory rites dots nOt, of course, c on cem

01

the interpersonal relationship that u n i tes the m
individual adventure. What is at st a ke hert is society itsel f, on the one h
sodery. I n other words, the rites of passage, as rites or i n it iatio n , havr as

th e i r mission to ('ommu n icate to yo ung peopl<' a k now lcdge of the sociely

prep
.

a('qui red

through a n i n iti atory path. i s n o t, i n fact, knowing
know le dge exterior to it. It is, necessarily. th(" knowledge of SOCiNY itself, a k nowledge that i s immanent to it. a n d thnt co nstit utes the very s ub st n n ce o f

�ociety. ils suustantial self. whitt i t is i n itself. I n the initiatory ritt', you ng: people rcceive from society - represelllcd uy the organizers of the ritu
tilt" knowl edge of what society is in it::; being. what conStituH"S it. institutes it: the univer-;e of its r ul es nnd its norms. the ethiralMpolilic
assures the ('ontinuity and prrmanen('c of rhe being o f soci ety. �Y1H !lID fllJlIDAIiDiI

i mpl icated and pr('sent. Are they not the on('s from whom tl1r � Olln g peoplC'

,\f('. i ll fnct. prepari ng to r('ce i ve instrUC'lioll? The ancestors , major l.igures

.

all rites of i n itiation , are i n truth tht real objeC'ls of w o rsh i p in the rites of p
�

f cultllr l h e ro e5 are the � . .

,

riu:s of i ni t i ation that have a central importance In th(' r('[ lglous I l l c o f 111(' Am er i n d ia n peoples. Among the Yahgan of Tif'rrn del Fuego. the privileged mome nt in reli­ gious life was the rite of i n itintion of girls and b oys : it ('ss('ntially cons isl rd or tt:'achin g the i n itiates tht t raditio n al rules of society instituted i n m y thi c a l

limes by Watauinewa, the cultural hero. the grent n n c(·stor. A m o n g t h (' Bororo, the so uls o f the a ncestors (orad are i nv i ted by a specifiC g ro up o f shamans (aroettall'are) to participntc i n certain ceremonies. including the i n i ­ tiation o f the young whose passage into adulth ood a n d cntr;lnCe into the ,

social world thus takes place undrT the aegis of the fou ndi ng ancestors. The C'ulwo o f Brazil similarly articulate the initiation of boys with an i nvo(at i o n of the an ('esto rs. represe n ted i n this cas{' by great trumpets, as they nrc else­

where by cal;lbash-mara('as. It is equ a lly very pro bable among the tribes of the Amazonian Northwest rrucano, W i tOlO. Yagu;l, Tucuna) or of Ihr Upper

What b the origin of lnw as the basis of society. who pro m ul gnted it.

X i ngu [Kamnyura. Awet. Bnenri) or of the A raq u a i a (Karaja. Javac), which

rqJTesent their gods "

"

in the ro rm of masks worn by m a le danccrs, then these

masks. like the musical i n stru ments symbolize not only spirits of the forcst ,

who It'gis[ated i t ? I n d i genous thought. we h
or the rivers, but also the ancestors.

i!sclfl as a rel atio nsh i p of txteri o rity Or, i n other words. i r it reproduces

their religious a n d ritu
re l a t i o nsh i p hetween society ilnd its foundation [that is, b e [\vcl'n society and .

i tsel f. it docs not n ecessn rily found itself. Initi
The pri m itive societies of So u th America invest themse lves totally i n ma l i o n of t h e communal Self. Each cerem on y is a new opportunity t o re mcmber that if society i s good livable, it i s d ue t o t h e respect of no rms .

o f the institut i on of society refcrs back to the prc-soci;l!. to thr tl1tt.:t-sorial:

previously bcqueathed by Iht" an ('esta rs We can then see thaI the refere n ce

the wo rk of the 'lI1cestors. Myth, as namllivt' of thr foun di ng gesture of soci­

society and i ts eternal rt'lll'tition.

�clr. in conformanC'(' with traditionnl rules and norms. But tht found i n g aCI i t is the work of thost;' w h o prC'cedcd men in a ti me p ri o r to human rime; it is

l·ty by the am·estors. constitutes the foundation of soc i e ty. the col l ect i on of

6 a

.

to the ancestors is logic
cal discourse i1 n d the word of the nncestors guarantee the perm,lI1 ence of

b 9

I I -If

A R { I H O I O G Y

2. I H I

O f

l H f

V r O l f H C [

[ Jth

horizon,

a

religious space very d i fferent from that of the Savages. for t h e timer, though the great mfljorilY are fa rmcrs, the imponan("c of natural alimenta­

resources

re m a i n s considerable: hunting, fiS h i n g co l lect i n g. Nature as ,

su ch is n o t abolished by the gardens, and th(' forest tri be s

r el y

a5 mu c h o n

fau n a a n d wild plants as o n cuhivated plants. Not be-c:luse of a technical

- all they would have to do is in crease the su rfaCl' of p lan ta ti o n - but because prcd
d e fi c iency

ecological r{'lationship that the Andean people maintflin with their natural

e-nv iro n me n t follows a co mp l ete ly diffe-re-n t l i n e of re as o ni n g : they are alt, of course. fa rm C'Ts and rdmost exclusively fCl rmcrs in the sense that w i l d res o u rc es count very 1 [\[ l e for thc m . That is t o say t h e Indians o f t h e Andes form an infinitely more intense rela t ionship with the eanh than the Indians

i t is [ruly the nurturing mother for thrm :tnd this. natural­ p ro found i n fiuencc on religious l i fe and ritual practices. I n terms of r('"al a n d sy mbo l i c occupation of space, the forest Indians are p eo pl e of the territory, w h i l e those of thl' Andes afe people of the earth: they arc, i n other words. peasa n t s Rootedness in the earth is ext rt m e ly old in t h e A n des. A gricul tu re started with the third millennium before our nit
ly. h:t>;

a

.

'

from sea level to the high crntral plateau. Andean soeietie!; stand OUI on the

South Am('ri('un horizon by a strmiftC'alion absent elsewhere: they ure hicrar­

ch i ca l i z ed.

or

divided

a l o n g the vertical axis of pol i t i ca l power. Aristocracies

or religious and m i l itary r
mass

of peasants who must pily

them tribute. This division of the social body into t he d o m i n at i ng and the

dominated is very ancirnt in t he AnciC's, as archeol og ic a l research has est<1b­ lishC'd. The- ci vi li7
l e n n i u m beforc o u r era. al ready shows that the habitat was becoming urban

�

and t at �oeial lifc was bring organ ized around the temples. places o f worship iln( p llg n m a ge, under rill' a egis of priests. The history of thC' Andcs by this

�

p � nod '\ccms a

succcssion

�

of em ergi n g and

crumbling

cmpi res

t ron gly

'>

t i n ted

and bcst known of which i s t hat of the Incas. Only . I n formatlon are aval/i'lble about pr(' - I n c an An de a n r(' l i g i o ns.

w1th th('ocrac�. the las

fra gm e ms of t h ro ugh tlw fun (' ra ry

furnllure of tl1('

tombs, the monuments that have sub-

7 0

O f

V I O t f N { f

"isted. t h e fabrics. lhe rcramics, elt". The Incan period, which eXlends from

ANDEAN WORLD

I n penrtrating the Andean world, w e come upon a c u l t u ral

ry

! R { H ( O L O G Y

lht'

century to the arrival of the Span is h . is n at ura l ly better known t hro ugh

the great abundance of

arrhc:ological documents, rh ron i c l e rs· descriptions, systematically undertook to extir­

a nd the in quests of the missionaries who

pate idolatries i n order to Christian ize the Indians. The foundation :tnd ex p a n s i o n of the Incan empire changed the religious fLl�·e of the Andes.

as

one

might ('xpect, bUL without a l te r ing it p rofo u nd ly. imperialism was at o n rr cultural and religious

I n d eed. the lncil.s· po l iti <:a l

.;; i nce (he suhjected Iwoples not only had to recognize the emperor's :tuthori­ ty, but

to

had

attempted to s ubst i tut r

had h ard ly

acce p t

the pOI)ulations i nrt'grated inro

pati o n

victors. On th e other hi'lnd, the lnras their ow n collection of bel i efs for those of rhe cm p ire: th('y did not undenake any rXlir­

the religion of th e

of the loral cults and rites. This is why wt.' filld twO grcat religious

systems in the Andes of

diffusion

went hand i n hand

this period: that of the Incas proper, w h ose with political e-xpansion, and t h at of th e loeill

religions,

i n effect well

the appearance of the Incan state.

beforr

POPUlAR RHIGIDN POpUIM religion clearly expresses [he Andean l n d i a n ·s relationship to

the both

esse n tia l l y a rel i g io n

of peas:t nts, an agrarian rt'tigion. for pla teau . TIll' Ande a n Indian·s pri­ m a ry concern was to gain the favor of powers that p resided over tIl{' Sl'a<>on ­ al cycte and that assured the abundance of thl.' harvest a nd fecu nd i ty of t h c l l a m a herds. This is no doubt why. beyond local particularities, wr can spea k of p a n A n dea n cults and beHefs l'ncompas>;ing the coast and t h £' plateau. or

world: it i s

the coastal people and i nhabitants of the-

-

thr Ouechua and the Aymara a n d the Moehiea.

Tlte gods The- n atural

elements !hi'lt ordered the daily l ife of the-sr

p e asanl

peoples

were exal tl'cl to the status of d iv in e powers: S u n and Moon, often though! of

as b rot h e r and sister as well as h us ba n d and w i fe ; the evt.:ning a n d morn ing stars; t}l e rainbow; the Pacha-Mama. M o th er Eanh, etc. All tllese d iv i n e fIg­ u r es were thf object of cultS and i m p rrssi ve ceremonies. as we shall "ee la1t'f. The essential plant of Andea n agriculture. maize. was reprrsented by n umer­ o u s i magl's of ears of corn i n gold, s i l v e r or �ton('; thrse were the S(ffO-1II0ma, mothers of co rn from whkh abundant Ilarvc<:,t was expected. These divinities were h o nored with offerings. libations (d ri n ks made of fe rnwlltt'd corn), or S<1crifl ces : Ham;] i m mo l a t i on in pani eular, the blood o f which Wi'lS sprinkled over th" c o r n field" ;"Inri used to an oi nt thf' fac('s of partirip.1 n t >; in lil(' ritual. ,

7 I

r ll f

The

d R C !l f O t O G Y

rull vJ ancestors (Inti oj

O f

V r O l f H ( E

I ll f

0

Ille dead

These cults show the d i ffe r e n c e between tht: savage tribes a n d the

Andean peoples. Among the former. as we have sern. the ancestors art' not dead contemporaries of the Jiving. but mythical founders of society. In the Andes. on the contrary. the socio-religious l ife of the community depended largely on t he cult of both the an cestors and the dead; the latter were the

of I he former, i'lnd Anrlc;]n thought, in con t rClSI to Amazonian co nt i n u i ty between the world of tile l i vi n g and lhl' world of tht dt'ad: a ('o nt in u i ty of lht' pe as ;] III com mu n ity thilt occupied tIl{' same soil undt'r Ihe prolection of its gods (tnd its dead. The mythical founding ancestor was frequently representtd by a rock, lI1arkayok, vfnt:rated no kss than the pl ace, pakarina. from which the ilncestor emerged from the subterrane,w world. Ench co mmu n i ty. or ay/Ili. t hus hnd his an ces­ tor a nd rendered h i m a cul t : markayok and pakarilla, test ifI ed to the perma­ nence and identity throug h out lime of the ayllu il nd founded tht solidarity o f familirs thm comprised the communiry. While the funerary ritcs of the Indian<; of thc forest lend to a n n i hilate the dead in order to C;ISt Ihem into o b l iv io n . the Andean Indians, on the con­ tra ry, placed them in ve rita b le crmcteries: tombs were grouped in th e shelter of ('aves or in sons of crypts built in the shn pe of t Ow ers . or in h ol es bored into c l i ffs. Th ey con t i n ued t o p a n i rillate in collective life. for rel<1tives came 1 0 visit and consult them; reguln r offerings maintained their henevolence. and (hey were offen'd stlcriflcts. Far from fo rgetting their dead. (he Indians o f the Andes did everything possible so that Ihe dead w oul d n ot fo rget the l iv i n g .1 nd would look out for t h ei r p rosperi ty: CI relationship of al l i iln c e a n d inclusion. and not on e of exclusion a n d hostility, as i n t h e forrst. This is why, according to the Spanish priests in chinge of ex t i rpati ng the ido l a tr i es, l i k e the the real d ead - i n the form of skeletons or mummies (ma/qui) mythical dead. were objens of ('ult and veneration: in certain ceremo n i al c i r eu mst ; 'l!1 ces . r h ry were decorated with fenlhel'S and precious m a te ri a l s. des e d,l n !

s

c n

th o u ght , made an effon to tmph;)size the

_

The lIulIca

This was the name given t o u gh

h

t

by the

­

In dian s 10 all

bei n gs or natural objects stonts rep resenting the dead. 13 m IlIIoca also were

to contain a supernalur.11 power. S a c red

a ncestors werr /llIncn. as were the mu m m i fi ed

idols and the places t hey could be fo un d, a mountain or a plant. a spring or a grono. a chi l d born w i t h a d e formi ty, a temple. a constel l at i on, or a tomb. On a trip, privil egtd places such as a moun ta i n pass or a rest i ng place in il pa t h were m a rk ed by il heap of stones, aparhira, which t h e travele rs also consitit'red huoca: th ey ad(kd thei r own stone to th i s pile and offered up a 7 1

& R C H f O t ll ' Y

O f

V I O L f N ( f

" - i nt e rse cted with the supernatural. and the Thr sp a ce lhu" < l('nv('s , (I UI( r coca a sort of s a cred en codi n g 0f t'1 e wQrId . a tuted i nst o system Of th e il1loc c . " . I)ctwnn , not only the �onneclJons. included The ensemble of lhe huaca . objects. also figunnes. and and the sacred sphere, but . spatiaI la, 11dscapes amulets that represented each family's p owe rs 0r tut e' age. Thcst" w ert" th t . cOl/opa., sometimes stones of u nus lJa I shape or color. sometimes s tatu ettes "cu I pt rd O r mOlded into thr shape of
•

� �

THE RHTGTON OF THE INCAS I n o rig in and substance. !!lcan religion does not d i ffer p ro fou nd ly fro m rel i gi on . Townrd the I Jlh (' c n l U ry of our era. the lnC<1S o were a smn1t triht of tile C'uzco reg io n . The rel igious ilnd ritual lift' of thest' farmers and shepherds was rootcd. like all praSil nt rommunifirs of thr roast Or of the plateau, i n a desire ror the repetition of (he cosmic order. the elt'T­ , nal return of the same. and ill the hope Ihin. through n:lebratory flies and sacrificial o ffe ri n gs . the divine powers. the ancestors. and t he dead would guarantee the feni l i ry of t h e earth and the permtll1ence of so(' i rry. Fo� reil­ "ons still unknown. the tribe of t he Incas began a ma rch of co n q uest In the ! Jth century which ended only with tht' ilrrivnl of I ll(' Spanish . B t d uri g I. t' lr t'mplrt' this rC'lO'ltiV{'ly hrief period. the Incas pushed back tht: hordt' �f t 1 immeasurably (which co unt ed h{,lwten Iwelve and flflcen nulllon i n ha b i ta nts so - cal l ed p pu la r

':'

�

�

in 1 530). a n d huilt up a n a sto n ish in g machine of power. a Stall' a p p aratus . " mo dern ity " of its institutions

which is still surprising in

the

I m p e r i a l s o c i ety, i n s c ri he d i n a rigorously h i e ra r h i .al p y r n m i d , ex pressed t h e radicill division ht'1Wt'l'l1 I h (> Incas' t ri um p h a n . anstocracy �nd

c c t

the mass of peopJrs. ethnic groupo:;, and Irih{'<; i n tegrated mto the empm\ 1 1

l � f

� R ( H t 0 1 0 G Y

O F

V I O t f N ( f

l � f

whose power they recognizrd by paying it tribute. At t h t top of the h i rra r­

ehy feigned the monarch. the Inca, ,'It once- cilie-f of his ethnic group, master

of his empire, and eanhly representative of the principal divine power. I t would be a mistake t o think thitt the Incas' political - mi lit a ry expansionism

� R ( H f O l O G Y

0 1'

V I O l f N ( f

rem a i ned at the disposition or the ayliu. another w as a l l o (' at rd 10 the State.

itnd the t h i rd devoted to th e SUIl. The construction or numrrous Sun temples errcted in the provinces followl'd t h e mod!:'l of the most famous a m o n g them, t h a t or the impe rial capititl. the Coricancha, I h e true religious a n d

wa.;; accompanied hy religious proselyt izing which imposed their Own system

political center of the empin:. a place o f worship a n d pi lgrim a ge where the

the vanquished. It is it miMake. bel'iluse, in essence, the I ncas' religion hardly

\.,.alls, rectangular in shape. m ea sured four hundrt:d meters in l e ng th . All

had
to forty centimeters wide. The CoriC
religious "el1('od ing:" to subsist. and imposed upon it a "supercoding" ('onsti­

w i l h offerings or go l d or sil ver as wel l as the numerous pt'rsonnel assigned

sals undt·r the ('o n ditio n that they rt"cogni7.e and honor the p;ods or the co n ­

<;elf opened the se aso n of sow ing in the e m p ire.

their a ncient sy<;tem or be l i efs by exalting c{'rtain flgUrt·S in th('ir p a rnhton. by

from throughout tll(' empire by royal a d m i n istrators for their grace a n d

on the subjected peoples by eliminating the traditional riles and bel ie fs of

differed rrom th a t or its deprndenls; secondly. brca usr til(> Inca.;;' domination tended to gain only the obt:diencl' of the subjects and not, ::IS the Sp a n i sh

tuted by t h e ir own religion: rreedorn or worsh ip was al lowed the l n c a n vas­

querors as writ.

As t he ir powl'r gradually incrt'ast'd. the conquerors proce('ckd t o rework

m a k in g reasts and cC'r{'monil'S grandi ose. by giving considemb](' sociopolitical

weight to rel i g ion through the institution or a l a rgl'. extremely hierarchical

clergy. by constructing multipll' tl'mples ;lI1d pl a ('es or wo rship , by a l l oca t ing

to this clergy a l a rgt' part of the tribute paid to the Inca!. hy tlwir suhjects. fire

Olum mies or past emperors could also be found. Coricancha's surrounding along the meticulously constructed masonry ran a hand of fln(' gol d. thirty

to serve i n the tem p l t . There was <1ls0 il gil rd cn where stalks of c o rn made or

gold were st u ck i n t h e ground. By working ritu a l l y in this ga rden , I n c a him­ Outside or" the h ierilrcllical ensemble of priests , fortunc[cJlers, ,md ser­

vants. the p e rson nel or {'ach Sun ttm pl e incl udt'd a g rou p of wOJnrn chosen bl'ilury - virgins or the Sun, the Adla. They wne assembled a nd educated in

sorts of

cloisters (aclla-ll11asi),

wh e re they learned to m a nuracture luxurious

rabrks of vicuna and alpaca, whkh wt re offered i n e n o rmous quamities at

I h (' s a c r i fi ces . Thcy prepared chirlra, a d r i n k made or fe rmented corn,

requited a t every ceremony. Like [he vestals, they were vowed to absolute

cull of rll(" )11II

rhastity. yet it was among these women that Inca chose his concubines as iI major figure in thl' I m'an p a ntheon as

weI! as the women he gave' as rewards to greilt men or Ihe empire, Some of

the resull or two thing:-.: tradition, which ror quitt son1<' time had made the

the serious i l l ness or death or the Inca. earthquakes. eiC. Four thousand peo­

rhe solar star, Imi, l'm l'rg l'd

sun

.t...

pan- Peruv i a n divinity: and sociopolitical i n n ovation. whirh through

the i n s t i t u t i o n or a n i m per i a l system, would t raverse prartically all th e a

archak� d espo t is lll';; and lead to t he idemirlcation of tht' master of l h e empire

with tflr sun. This is why the lattcr llt'l',lme the p ri nci pa l Inean god. as the

lhe aella we re silcriflced at cruciill moments: the accession of a new emperor, ple. it is said. composrd Corica ncila's personnel, of which fIfteen h u n d red

were virgins of the Sun. ( n ('ach I('mple. the virgins were subjrC\eci to tile

a u thori ty of a m a tron ,

Mama-CUI/a, c o n si de ren

thr wire or the Sun: At the

great founding ancestor or royal l i neage : emperors were (' h i l d ren of tile Sun.

r.;ummit of the h i erarchy was the high priest of the Sun. tht' Vilea-Oma. the

cult worsh ip a n d of orflcial religion imposrd on all: it was th ro u gh sun-wor.

ship th
d irectrd the religious life of the l'm p i rc .

su:-.. rt:source count, l'tc.)
grate t h e cult of I n l i into their rrligious system. This i nvolved Ihe impi emt'n­

pan -Peruvian, since hl' was k n o w n a n d honored as much by the Aymara as by the Quechu
ill1portallt resources which assured i t s su h s i s t e-Ilc e a nd all owed H to accom­

and dest royed several successive civilizations. e ngend e red the m e n or the

And so t he cult lhal was rendered took on a value both o f dynCls l i c a r H.:eStOr When the Incas obtai ned the submission of an ethni<: gruu p, they imme­

di ately took a certain n u m b er or ad m in i strati ve mt:'ilsures (il po p ul a tio n cel1-

tation or a cult-orirll!rd t n frastniclUre. th e ('TC'ction or temple.;. the l'stabl i sh­ llH"nl or
k no w

that the Incas

initiateci a I ripa ni t io n of land ror all the subjel'{ed communities: one pan

7

•

emperor's uncle or b rother, who l ivt'd ascrtically in the Coricanch<1 wh('fl' he

Tire cliit of Viracoclia

Vi ra co cha was
we can St(' t h e image of an eternal god-creator of illl t h i ng s (sky a n d earth. Sun and Moon, day and night) and

il hrro-civili7Cr who. a fte r h ilv i n g ('(tilled

presem to w h o m he assign('d their respective territories. taught the art.;;

which would allow Iht'm 10 l ive , and prescribed tht' norms, which would 7 I

I H f

U C H E O L O G Y

O f

V I O L E N C E

assure the proper �ocial and cosmic order. His task completed, Viracodla, having reaclll'd the seaside, Lransformtd his cloak into a boat and dis<1p­ p eared forever {oward the West. I n the flTst e ncou nte rs with the Span ish, the

I ll f

& R C H f O l O ti Y

O f

V I O L f N ( f

between the person of the emperor and the places he went or d n'ilmt of.

Wha tever thei r form, the i1uoro were venerated and honored with silcrit'tces (h('ers made of corn. coca, I l amils. c-hildrtn or women whose hea rts w ould be

offered to the d iv i n ity ). The town of (uzco alOll{' was said to havr rive h u n­

I nd I a ns called t he m viracocha, The I ncas imposed tht cult of thtlr ethnir god, t h e Sun. o n tht rntire e m p ire . In a reve rse process, they transformed Viraeorha, a pan-Andean fig­ ure, into a trihal gOd. It was undrr thr rri g n of the gn:at emperor Pachaeuli (he mled from 1438 to 1 4 7 1 ) that this rework i n g oftbe lnran pantheon's hier­ arrhy took shape, after which I n t i cf..'dcd the n�nt T
dred hU{Jca. The IIIUl ea of ( he e m p ire were p ositioned on i m ag i n ary axes.

It i s, in any case, along this path that Paeachuti continued. lie had a tem­ ple dedicated to Viracocha b uilt at Cuzco w here the god W
of men, so that the rol1el"tivt' des t i ny of the peo ple n arro w ly depended on

institution o f monotheism.

The cult

of T/WI/tin (l11t1

tlie h U {1("(1

zekes. w h ich started <'It Coricandlil and, like rays, reached the borders of the empirr. The proliferation of i n feri or as well as superior divinities in [he Andrs

was a sign of the' infiltration of spac-c and timr hy thr sac red. The m a rk ing of

",P<1C(' by thr Illwca cchoed the punctuation of lime hy ritual p ral"tict.'s .

Feasrs alld ceremonies Rare or unrorrs('etlble ev rnlS ofrrrcd an o pport unity for important l"ere­ m o n i a l m<'lnifestat i o n s : e c l i pses of the sun or moon, e a nh q u a kes, drough ts

gave rist.' to solemn s
dc-ilies. Evc-ry1hing, furthermore. th;'lt arrc-ctcd the person of the emprror h(ld

reperc us s i ons on the w ell- be i n g of rhe emp i rr :
oc-cup ied the point of contact bttwten the world of the gods and lhe w o rld

t he personal destiny of lhe Inca. Inversely. to t ransgress the norms of SOCiil1

life was to offe nd the e mpe ror and t hus to incite the wrClth of the gods. This is why the enthronement of a new Inca, the death of the cmperor. his iltn('ss­ es, his military defeats put into quest ion the Vf:'ry s;'llvmion of the empire
" prose of thr world '" called ror
there was al so an annU<11 cycle or religious ceremonies th
the movement of social life, a move m C'nt <'Inieuliner! primarily in the
divided into twelve lunar months. it was the Sun's mo veme n t in tilr sky Ihat

. I l l ilp(1, Thunder, was a lso <1 p <1 n -A n dea n flgun .' in the I n c- a n p;1ntheon.

preoccupied Ih(' Indi<1ns or t h e Andes. E;'lch month W
lllapa's ac-tivitics. They i mplo re d h i m to send eno u g h rain and offe red h i m

and more often. in public squares rcs('rved ror th is purpose, notably. in the

ttf ex pl ;l i n� thr supe rior pos i ti o n of lIlap<1, after V i racoc h a ilnd Inti, i n the

great sqU<Jre in Cuzco where all thl' rlgures or the Incan p <1 n the on were dis­ played. including thr mummies of fo rmer C'mperors. In this regul a r ceremonial cycl('. three fe<'lsts distinguished themselves by the i r size and import
M<1ste-r of storm, h,l i l . l i gh t n i ng and r
sn;lpping- a s l i n g-shot. As ril r mers. the Ande<1n pe o p il' were V('ry aUt.:ntivl' to grf..'<1t sacrifIces i n p e ri ods of dro u g ht . The Andean socit'ti(os'
l n Cilll p 'l Il th ("on . For thl' l'a�t(: of till' I n cas.
ed a saned grid of s pace. The Incas add('d thtlr own systrm to the popul ar

Iwnw n etwo rk , definecl i n s a n c t i fied plac-es by a rl'al or i m a g i n a ry l i n k

16

fr<1st that determined the moment of pl a n ting. l1
1 1

r

I Il [

A R C H t O l O G Y

o r

l H f

V I O l f N C E

earth. the I n ca h i mself. This is why all th e high·r
A R ( H f O l O G Y

O t

V I O L f N C I:

tra nsgression of som e prohihition; uncovt"ring tll(' gu i l ty party and purifying h i m also fell upon the furtuntl<::llers. When c i rcumstances d e m a n drci it, a collective and pu bl ic session uf co n fessi o n took place. intended to reesl abl isll th<- socio-c osm i c order upset hy the i n fractions committed. The templts of

Inca offered the Sun a drink of clliclla in a silver vase. As with all g reat fes­

Pachacamac and Lima, places of traditional pilgrimagt. sht'ltered oracles

tivals, the inti Raymi was acrompanied by libations, sacrifices. chants a n d

famoUS throughout the rmpire; the emperors themselves did not hesitatr to

dances. D u r i n g the period of s u m m e r solstice (DccembN

ronsult them. let us add in concl usion that despite the effons of the Church,

2 1 st), t h e Capac

Raymi took pl
tion o f tht rites of i n i t ia t i o n , marking the passa ge o f young nobles i n t o

adul tho o d . Whih: i n t h e peasa nt massrs this passage was n o t rit u ally markl'd, in the dominant class it gav(' rist.' to great c�r('monies: entry into adulthood,

e n t r y i n lo t h e aristocracy of the lords. As i n a l l i n i tiatory rituals, the

hunrach icoy (th� /lUnrn is the loincloth given to th � young people at th(" e n d

scv�ral indigenous rites, syn('f�ticilily blended into Christian worship, still

exist today among the Ay mara of Bolivia a n d the Quechua or Peru.

3 . l H E l U P I - G U!R!N I W O R l D

Though brief, the preced i n g account nt"verthelt'ss allows us ((j dra w a

o f t h e ritual) inciudt.'d, i n addition t o (he sa cr i tkt's 10 t h e gods, physic,1I trials (nagell!ltioJ1S, wrestling, fasti n g , races), exhortations to Follow tht.' t.'xample

peoples by noting their es�en tial char(lct('risti('S. The religiosity of forest so d­

of the ancesror<;, ctc. Al on g with the loincloth, t lley wert givt.'n back their

{'(irs appe,Hs at oncr ext rovrJ1rd and collective: it is chanted. danced, a n d

we'lpons. a n d t h e i r ('ars w('rt.' p i nced and adorned with d i sks. In l h e

hU:lrachicoy, t Il l' em ph as i s w a s placed less on t he passagr il1lO a d u l t h ood

than on entry with full privil('grs into the aristocracy and on the need for absolute loyalry in the servire oftht" Inca.

The third large I n c a n cerrmony took place in September. The sitoll'Q

raithrul ponrait of tht' religiou� beliers and practices of the South American

aett."e1. If the s<Jcrt."(1, as we have said, traverses t h e social through a n d

through, invtrsely, the social totally p e rnH'iltt"5 tilt' religious. To say t ha t rcli­

giou� "sentiment" ('xi<;t� primarily i n i ts public expression in n o way ques­

tions the intensity of in di v i d u al adherence. Like a l l p r i m itivr p{'oplr�, thr

Indians of South Amf'rica have shown. and still show, exemplary fi de l ity to

would be expellt'd. AI the appearance of t h e new moon, the crowd, gath­

Ih('ir myths and rites. Nevenheles�, t he "j1f'r<;onal element of the religious

errd in Ihe �reat square, would shout: Disease, disast�r, mi�fonun{', Ir!lve

the eno rmous importance of ritual practice. The exceptions to this genrral

this country! Four groups of

situation stand out all the mOTe. Various reseilrchrr.s in the second hair of lhr

was tht.' proeess of general purific.nion of tht.' capitol. from which a l l ("viis

II

hund red armed warrior� rushed forth o n t o

t h r four main roads - leading t o t h e four regions i n t o which thr rmpire was divided - to driv{" away the evils. [ n the city. the i n h a b i tants shook thrir clothes out upon entering t h e i r bomes. C h a n ls, d a nces nnd proces­ sions went on
r i ve rs. The gods and e mpe rors participated i n t h e siwwtl ror t hei r statues and mummies w e re exhilJited in lhe square. White llamas were otTered to

t h e m in s a cri ficr , a n d .�ankll

a

paste of corn nour prep
was dipped i n t o the a n i mals blood; t h t' gods a n d mummies we re anoi ntrd

with it, (Inc!

a ll

till' Cuz ro inhabitants ale a piece.

In lhis society so i n fust'o w i t h rel i gi os i ty, ev ('ry un d r rt
inqu iry with the s up ern at u ra l powers: hence the very i m p o rt
lIam<1s' lungs blown up so Ihat the blood v essri s Could be i n tcrpreted. Any disorder i n such a worlo could only stem from the (vo lunt ary o r i n vol u nta ry) , 8

fact" is largely crasrd i n favo r o f ils coll ective component. which explilins

1< )t h cen tury c ol le(,led an ('n�l'!l1 hl(' of te x ts among the popUlations (now extinct) along the lower and middle sections of tl1<' Amazon that is very dif­

feTrnl from lhe class ic hody of myth s. The religious, indeed. mystic<11 un('i'lsi­

ness that i s m a n ifested Iherr suggrsts the existence in tllest" �()('il'tit."s n ot o f

na rrators of myth inn of p h i l osoph t' rs o r thi n k ers dl'votrd t o the work o f pe r­

sonal re n ecti o n , a s tri ki ng contrast to tht.' ri t u al rxubt."ra nct' or other fo res t

societies. This particul arity, rart in So uth America. was developed to tin ext rem e among th� Tupi-Guar
The lerm T u p i - G u
geneous. Thesr populations occupied a vast territory: i n [ h e South, t h e G u a r a n i extended fro m th e Paraguay r iver i n t h e West to t h e Atlantic COllst i n the East; the Tupi popu l a ted this samr coast as far as Ihe mouth of the

Amazon in t h e North and penetrated tht.' b ack <:ounlry t o a n u n k n o w n

depth. Thes(' Illdi;Jn� n u m hrrrd i n t h e m i l l i ons. lhe economic l i fe ;Jnd

social organization or the Tu pi -G u i'lTil n i conformrd ro the model i n forcl' i n 7 9

r

l il t

� R C l! f 0 1 0 G Y

O f

V I O l f N ( f

l H f

the ('ntire fOTest area: slash-and-burn i'lgricuilure, hunting. fishing. vill ages made up of s e v e ra ! large c o l l e c t ive houses. A n o t a b k far1 "hout t h e I n di ans : their drnlographic density was clearly higher than that of neigh· bo ri n g pop u l atio n s, Clnd the communities could assemble up to two th o u ­

s an d i n d ivi d u;l Is o r m o re. All hough all these tribes have l o n g since disap­ prared, with the ('x<.' tption of some fivc tho u s a n d Guarani who survive i n P a ra g uay. they are I1rvcrt h e l c s s il m o n g t h t best k n o w n o f t h e S o u t h Amerkan cont i ne n t . It i s in (
d(lnt l i ter
As in all primitive sodetics oftbe conti nrllt. the Tupi-Guarani's religious

l i fr c('ntered ilround sham(ln islll. The

paje.

doct o r -sh il m 3 n s , fulfilled the

same tasks as el srwhere ; ritual life. whatever Ihe c i n:u m sta n crs (initiation, execlltio n o f a p riso nrr of war. b u ri a l) was always accomplished in rertrence

to the norms that had a l ways assured social col]('sion. the norms and rules o f life imposed on m e n by t he cultural heroes (M(lira.

Monan,

Slln.

Moon, etc.)

or by the mythical a n cestors. In this. t h e Tu pi- G u ara n i did not differ in any

w a y from o t h e r forest s o c i e t i e s . A n d yet t h e c h r on it:l es of Fr e ll c h . Portuguese. a n d S p an is h travelers \)e<1r wit ness to

il

differe n ce so consider­

allk th
h o riw n of Soulh America. The newcomers found themselves confrontrd with religious phenomen
II R C H f O t O G Y

O f

V I O L f N ( f

IHE PROPHE15 fhough h(lrdly i n a p osi t ion to understand this phenomenon, the first cilfoniclers d i d n o t confuse t h e Jwrai, e n i g m a t i c personages w h o h a d e m e rged from society, with the shi1rn
C"oncerned with ther
What then were the karai? These men were situated tot
lage to v i l l age to h ara ngue attentive I n d i a n s . These prophets' nomadic vo c a tio n is evrn more surprising given that local tribes. sometimes gath­

rred in rederations of several villages, werc waging a tllrrC"ijess war. Yrt thr karai ('ould travel fro m camp to camp with impunity: they ran no risk
a l l , and in fact. were rr ((' ivrd fnvently everywhere: people went so far (lS

to strt'w tile parhs l e ad ing to their vi l l il ge with Iri1ves. to run 10 meet them

and lead them b(lck i n process i o n : no matter where they <:amt' from. the kenai w e re n t'ver considered e n e m ies. How was this possible? In primitive society. the i n dividu
by his appunen
lives a n d i n a network of k i n . A m o n g the Tupi-Guarani. o n e ' s lineage dt'pended on thr fa t hec. descent being patrilinear. And yet the kami said t h at

ment. rcligious i n Qrigin and i n te nt i o n . The Europt'ans. o f course. could only

t h <'y did n o t have a father, but were the sons of a wotn(ln a nd (l d i v inity.

rhis strange p h e no m e n o n was Tupi-Gu
p roph e ts 10 auto-deify themselves. but at the denial and the refusal of the

SCC' in t h is J pagan m a n i festation of the devil kd by

the henchmen o f SMan.

b e e n m i s i n t e r p ret ed . U n t il recently. it was c o n s idered messi a n i s m . t h e

response. current among n u merous primitive peoples. t o a serious crisis resulting from contilCt with western civililation. Messi
Ilrre

WC"

must look nOI at the megal o m a n iacal fan t (lsy which ('aused these

father. To state. i n effect, the absence of the father affirmed their disj u n cture from a l i neage of relatives, and consrquently. from society i ts el f. I n this type of soci ety, such a discourse was invested witb an incomp<1r<1bly s u hvers ivr (' h a rge : it denied. in effect. the very fra mework or primitive s oci e ty, thai

t i o n to cu l t U fr shock. To red u c e the radically d i ffne nt n a t U fe of lupi· Guarani prophecy to mrssian i s m would be to underrslim;ne it, fOf the simple and irrevocahle reason that it C<1me into being among the I n d i a n s well iJefoce

which h;'IS rt'(rnlly been termed blood tics.

the arrival of the whites. prrhaps IOwilrd the middle of th e 1 ')th ('"('nrury. I t is

their fa n tasy n o r an excess iv e taste for travr1 , but i n d rrd of rhrir d isjun C"lU rr

a matter. then. of a native phenomenon which owes noth i n g 10 co nta ct with the West. and which, for this very rrilson, was in no way dirt-(ted against the whitcs; it is indeed a matter of n a t i ve prophecy. for which eth n ol ogy has not found a si n gl e rquiv,llent anywhere rise.

8 0

We C
lage. they could not be considered representatives of an enemy trihe. To be 8 I

r

I H �

.6. X l H I U l O ti Y

O f

V I D t � H ( f

a n enemy is to be inscribed in a social structurt, which was p recisely not IIle case of the

kami. And

this is also why. not b e i n g from anywhere. Ihl'Y were

in a sense from everywhere. In other words. their semi-divinity, their partial non-human ness forced them, by tcaring them from human sociNy. to live according to their nature of "beings from the beyond," But it assured them, at the same time. of tOlal security in the course of their travels from tribc to

tribe: the hostility shown toward all foreigners was not fclt toward tht: korai,

fo r the Indians considered them gods and not men: wh ich amounts to saying

thJt the Indians. far from thinking the

karai mad, did not doubt the coher­

ence of their discourse tlnc! were (cady to welcome their word.

IH{ DI!(OUR!{ DI IH{ PRDPHH! What did the

komi SIlY? The n:lture of their dis('ourse was simil:lr to their

what they articulated utfore fasd nated and enchanted Indian crowds was a discourse of rup[Ure w i t h traditionfll discourse, a discOllnie that developed outsidr of the syslem of norms, rules and antique values bequeathed itnd i m posed by the gods and mythical flnc.:estors, It is herr that the prophetic phenomenon that shook Ihis sotiety impl icates us in an unsett l i n g way. Here. in effect. is a primitive society which. as such, tends to prrsevere in its being by the resolute. conservative m a i n tenance of norms in opemlion since the

of

A R C H f O t O ' Y

O f

V I O I E N ( E

i n the evil that was destroyi n g soci ety, and the newness of L, t�el r I· n them . r discourse was due exclusive-ly to the c h a n g e t h a t h a "u grauua " IIy th e i ' . r d d' l ife i n order to alter II an IS Igure It. social eTlle ged i n here d i d this change come from and how d i d it take p l a c ? We are . . 1ptin<J" to to construct here a genealogy of difference I n thIS SOcIety. not a t te n

�

�

) ' prop h ets elucidate its principal effecl: the appcarance- 0 r t H but on Iy to ) rad 'Ica) ness 0r ('VI' ) . 'I' le all d t he ir d iscourse that warned of the immanence . . .) d : '11 so h apis measured by the depth of eVIl It d iscours(' unvt'l e r h l e o r ' rorees, W;1S r ssure 0 Tupi-Guarani society. u n de the pre aTl ous thaI e! pene . . . . . society refusof ceasing to be a pTlmltlve socIety, that IS, ,I process the in . j n g dwnge, a society rrfus i n g d i fference, T h e discourse o f t h e

�

announced the death of society, What i l l n ess. then, had corrupted

status i n relation 10 society. It w<)s discourse beyond discoursr, in the same way th:\1 they Ihemselv("s were beyond the social. Or to put i t another way,

dawn

l H l

human ti me, and from this society mysteriously emerge men who

proclaim the end of Ihese norms, and the rnd of the world (dependent on these norms). The- prophetic dis(ourse of the korai can be summed up i n an observa­ t i o n and a promise: on the onl' hflnd, they

constantly

affl rme-cI the funda­

men ta l ly evil character of lh(' world, on the other. they i n�istcd that <:onquest of a good world WflS possible . ·' The worlrt is evil! The earth is ugly!·' they said. '·Let us abandon it," they conduded. And their aiJsolutely pessimistic description of the world was m{'t with the general acceptance of the Indians who l istened to them. II follows lhflt, despite its total d i ffercllce from rvery

primitive society·s discourse -
enee, a d iscourse of fidelity to tradition and nOi of an opening to innovation

- it follows, thus. that the discourse of the karai did nOI stem unhealthy to the Indians, a lunat ie-'S delirium, since it reverberated in them as the expres­ sion of a truth for which they were waiting, new prose descri b i n g the new face - the evil face - of the world. [n short. it was nOt tht.' disc-ourse of the prophels that was unileCllthy. but indeed, the world of which they spoke. the society in which they l i ved. The misfol1une of living in this world had rooted

8 2

k a r� l � he 1,Upl·

GU:lrani tribes to this extent? The combined effect of de-mographlc factors

:

(a strong increase i n population), sociological faoors (thc ten dency of tl c . rather than to dl"per e, a I S

�

populmion to concentrate in large v i l lages,

�

the usual process). political factors (the emergence of powerful chleftams)

�

brought the deadliest of i n novations to light in this primitive- sodrl Y: th t . . . of social division, that of inequality. Profound malatse, the sIgn of a sen· be('ame ou� crisis, stirred these tribes, flnd il is this maln ist' thnt the

karai

conscious of. They recognized and clecl;lTrd it as the presence of evil and sorrow in SOcit'IY, as the world's ugli ness and deception. One might say the prophets. more sensitive than others to the slow trflnsformations taking . place around them. were the first to bee-ome aware of and to articulate what everyone was fee l i n g more or leSS confusedly but strongly enough that the discourse of the

Junai

so

ha rd l y seemed the flherratiolls of madmen .

there was thus profound agreement between the Indians and the prophets

who told them: we- must find another world.

LAND WIlHOUI {VIL

The emergence of the prophets and their discourse identifying the world

�

as a plac(' of evil and

a space of sorrow resulted from histo ical circum­ . Stances specifIC to this society: the reaction to a profound cri S I S, the symp­

tom of a serious illness in the soCi;]1 hody, the foreboding of the death of SOciety. What remedy did the komi propose i n the face of this threat? They

urged the Indi:ln'> to abandon YIl'Y mba 'cmcgua, the evil earth. lO reach ylIIY lIlara

tY.

Land without Evil. The latter was the resting place of the gods, the

place where arrows hunted by themselves. where corn grew w i t ll o u t being . . te-nded. territory of the divine-s where thert was no alienauon; t{'rTllory that, hefore the d('struction of the ftrst humanity by the universal flood. was a

p l aee ("ommon to

both

hUl1lans and the divine. I t is Ihus the return to the

8 1

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� R ( W f O L O � Y

O F

l H f

V I O t E N ( f

mythical past th:lI furnished the prophets with th(' me-nns (0 escape t h e pre­

sent world. But the radic-alness of their desire for rupture with evil was nOt limited to lhe promise of a carefrec world; their discourse was i n fused with.

A R C H f O L O G Y

O f

� I O l f N ( f

to the Land without Evil. but through its destruction by fir(' and b� the" gr� at eiest ial jagua r, which will let nothing of contemporary humanlly survive x cept t h e Guarani. Their immensr, pathetic pride maintains them in the cer­

the destructive charge of all norms and all rules, a charge of total subversion

�

single one; il explicitly encompassed thr ultimate foundation of human soci­

world. the Guarani Indians know that their kingdom will come, and the Land

of the ancient order. Their call (0 abandon the rules did nOt leave aside a

tainty that they are the Chosen Ones and that. s �oner o r later, the gods will . caB them to unite with them. I n the cschawloglcal walt for the end of the

lhe rule of the exchange of women, the law prohibiting incest: hence­

without Evil will be t hei r true dwelling p lace.

myo;tiquc appt'areu in a l l it s s i g n i fi c ance . The myth of e�lTthly p<1r<1dise is

B I B LIOGRAPHY

e-ty.

forth. they said. give your women to whomever you want!

Where was the Land without Evi l ? liere, too, tht.' pr()plll·t�· J i m it l t" ss

co m mo n 10 a l m ost all cultures. and it is only after d ea th thai men can gain

access to i t. For tht karai. t he Land without [vii was a real place, con crete,

a cc e s s i b l e here a n d now. t h a t i s . without goi n g t h roug h the orde<1i o f

death. I n conformance w i t h t he myths, i t w a s generally sit uated i n t h e East, whrrr t h e s u n rises. T h e great Tu p i - G uaran i religious migrations a t

thr e n d of t h e 1 5th century were devoted to fi nding it again. Under the

leadership of the prophets, thousands of Indians ab a n do ne d villages and

gardens. fasted and d a n ccd without rcspite, he-gan the- march toward rhf'

East in se arc h of the l a n o of the gods. Jlaving come to the edge of the o cea n , they discovered a major obstacle, the sea, bt'yond which surely the

Land without Evil was to be found. Cenain tribes. however. thought they would find it in thr West. in the d i rection of the seuing sun. Thus, more thew len thousand Indians migrated from the mouth of the Am a L o n ,II the

b e g i n n i n g o f the 1 6th century. Ten years latcr, about three h u n d red of Ih('m reached Peru. already occupied by the Spanish : all the others had died of privation. hunger. fatiguf'. Tht' prophrcy of thr IUJrai affirmed the danger of death that society was running, but i t also translated in its prac­

tical effect - the religious migration - a will for subversion that went as

far as the desire for death, as far as collective suicide.

To all this we should add that p rop h e cy has n o l d is<1ppeared with the

Tupi of the cOilst,.1 region. [t has i n fact been maintained among the Guarani of Paragu
plat:e in 1947: it led a few dozen Mbya I ndi a ns into the Santos region o f Brazil. If t h e migratory flow h a s r u n dry w it h the Inst G ua r
vOC'
spe('ulation, as the- Ie-xts a nd sacred cha n ts . which wr can slill hear from

their mouths, attest. like their ancestors fiv e centuries ago, they know that the world is evil and they await its end. no longer through impossiblt access 8 4

1 . SOCI!1IH 0: lHI f()RHl Biocra, E Ya /i oa ma , Paris: PIon. 1968 (French translation). BUll, A., "Realite tt ideal dans [a pr�tiqL!c chnmalliqllc." 1'/lomJl1e, vul. II. No. 1 . Paris. 1962. ('lasHe:>, P., CIIro/li(IJU� des Ilidielis GrJ(Iyaki. Paris: Pion, 1972 Colba<:ehini. A. and A lhis('u i. c.. Os Haroms oriell to is, Sao PallIa, \942. Dobri7hoffer. M .. J/isroria de los Abipollt". Facllitad de Humanidades. U niversidad Nariollal del Nordtste (Argentinnl. 1%7 - 1 970, Vol. 3 (Spanish translation from the origi n al La ti n) . Girard. R . Les btdiens dt' i 'Am azoll ie ptlTU rr!C'/I lie. Paris: Payol. 1963 (French transla.•

.

t i on ) .

Gumilla, J., 1:."1 Orinoco illlstro(lo y drjrndido , ("Tacas, 1963. Glisinde, M. . Die Feucriand-Indianer, Vol. 3. 193 1 - 1919. Vienna. Handbook oj Souti, American /Ildialls, Smithsonian IIlStiwt(', Vol. I. 1 1 1 , 1\', Wash ington . 1946. Huxky, F., Aimables Saur'oges. Paris: Pion, 1960 (Freucl) translation). !.evi-Suauss, c., Mytltolagiqucs. Vol. 4. Ploll. 1966·1972. Lizot, J., Le (erc/e des!eux. Editions d LL SeLLil. 1976. Lozano. P., Descripcidn corogrnfica (Jel Groll Clioco Gualambo, TUCllman (ArgeJl1ina). 1 94 1 . /l,h.'traux. A., Religions CI Magies i/lriiell ll('s ri'AmeriqlH:' flu Sud. G
2. llif. AliuAN ��!D

gaudin. L .. I.·Empire socinliqr des irlka. Paris, lnsf itut d·ellllIologir. 1928. Busc!mt'll. G.H.S., L e PerDU. Anllaud, 19�8 (Frr!lrh translation). Engel. F.A., 1-e fdol1d(' prec% mbh'JJ des Andes. Hacliclte. 1972. Garc-ilaSD de la Vega, ComelHarios reales de los ItICOS, Buenos Aires, 194). Guaman Poma de Aya[a. Nurt'a (vroJJie-a y RUl' li Gobicrno. Paris. Instinn d'elhno[o­ gie, 1936. Metraux. A.. l.es /11('(15, Editions d1l S('uil. 1962. Murra. J., Formaciollrs ('("onomie-as y politicos dc/ mUllrio alldilJo. Lilila. 19/5. 8 \

r

t R C H f O L O G Y

I H f

O f

V I O L f N f f

Prase, F.o l.es Demirrs I"cas rill (UUD, Ma me, 1974 (French translation).

Rowe, J.H., " lnca Cui ture at tIle Time of the Sp;lIlish Co n quest, American hrdiOIlS, Vol. II, Was hi ngton, 1 9 46.

Wachtel, N., La Vj.�jol! des l'Oincus. G a lh rn ard. 197 1 .

"

Handbook oj South

Zuidema, R.T" The Ceque Systl:'l11 i ll the Social Oryanization oj CUZCQ, Leide, 1962.

3.1,* IUPI·GuulJ, WORlD Abbeville, C., Historri' de- 1(1 Mission dE'S Peres Capucins en /'/5/(' de MoraY/lOll . . , .

Gr:u. 1 9 6 3 .

Cadogan. l . , AYI'II Ropyto, Texfos miricos de los Atbyn-Guarani dd Guoirn. S�O Pau lo 1959.

CardiTn.

.

F" Tmtados da rerrll e genre do Brasil,

Rio de J(lllciro. 1 9 2 � .

Corras dDs primcrrosjesuifGs do Brasil. Vol. 3, ed. by S. Leite. Sao Paulo. 1 9 5 4 .

Clast res, H . . I.n Terre SOliS Mal, Edi'ions d u Selli!. 1 97 5.

6

Claslres, P., Le Grand Parler. A/yrhes l'r (honlS sacrfs drs Indi<'ns Guarani, E diti o ns dll Selli ), 1 9 7 4 .

Evreux, Y. d·. VOYll91' d(JlI� II' Nord du BresiI. jair durallf les ollllCCS 1 6 / 1

Leipzig and Pa ris , 1 8 6 4 .

Lery,

J. de, Histoirc (I'UII l'o,l"agejaicr ell la rerre du Bresi /,

1.01<1110, P . Hisrorio fie 1 0 confluiStlJ del Paraguay .

...•

Vol.

('f

1 6 1 -1 ,

Vo l. 2, Paris, 1 8 8 0 .

5. Buetlos Aires,

187).

POWER IN PRIMIl IVE SOCIHlfS

Meuaux. A., La Rellgioll des Tllpinambo cr ses rapports a/'cc cc/lr des (Jurres Iribus tnpi-gl/orani, Paris, 1 9 2 8 .

Montoya, R. de. (ollf/liisIO e�pirilllal. . . Bilbao, 1892.

NiIlHlCIHt
.

c., Lcyenda dc III (reado" y )uido final d('1 Mul/do. . . Siio Paulo. 1944

(Spanish translation).

Sepp,

A . , Viagell! Il lllisst'sjesuilicos. . . , S�o Paulo, 1 9 7 2 .

.

Soarcs dc SOllza, G., rrorado descrifJril'o do Brasil t'1Il 1587. Siio Paulo. 197 1 .

Sladcn. II., Vera 1Ii�loria

...•

Bucnos Aires. 1944 ( Spal l ish translation).

Till-vet, A., "La cosmographic universellt:. Histoire de deux voyages,"' in Irs FrfHl\'ois CII Amrrif/uc, Vol.

(J, PUF,

19�3.

lthnology has devtloped brilliantly in the past two decades, allowing pri mitive societies to escapc, if not thcir destiny (disappearance) then at l e a s t the e x i l e to w h i c h a n age old tradition of exoticism i n Western

Thought and imagination has condemned them. The na"ive conviction that puropl'an civil ization is absolutrly superior to all other systems of society bas gradually bf'cn substituted by lhe- recogn ition of a cultural relativism

whIch, in rrnouncing the imperialist afrlrmation of a hierarchy of values,

h('n l't�fon:h admits. and refra ins from judging, the coexistence of sociocul­

t u r,,1 differences, In other words. we no longer cas! upon primitive societies the c u r i o u s or amused l o o k of the s o m e w h a t e n l ig h t e n e d , s o m e w h a t hUnl
!
What ('xactly do wc mean hy primitive society? Thc answer is furnished

by thl" most classical anthropology when it aims to determine the specifIC t w i n g of these societies. when it aims to ir,oitate what makes them irre­ rlucihte social fornl
tht"y ,Ire societies WllOSl' bodies do not possess stparall.' organs of political

8 6

fir�t published in Inlt'froga riolls. No. 7,

June 8 7

1976, pp. ]-8.

I H f

J H H f O L O G Y

O f

power. Based on Ihe presence or absence of th e Stall" o n e can initially clas�

s ify these societies and divide: th e m into two g ro u ps ; societies without a State and soc iet i es with a St atr, primitive societies and tht· others. This does n o t mran, of course, that all soc i et ies with a Stat e an.. identic
a whole different from primitive societies. The former all havr this dimrnsion of d i v is i on unknown among the oth ers ; all societies with a Statr are divided in their bring, into the dom i n at i n g and the d om i n at ed , while sodeties w ith � OUt a State are i gn ora nt of t h is division: to rst a !) l is h primitive soc iet i C's as socicties without a SI;]te i s to say lhat they
which, in fact. dt-fmes Ih('m pnfectly : a distinct political sphere cannOt be

from tht' so c ia l sphcn:. From its dawn in Greece. w e know that Westt'rn political th o ug h t ha� been able to disc-rrn the essence of the hum
ourselves in the i n fra·so(·ial, in n on-socirly.

It is mo re or l ess i n Iht'st' t enTIS that
first Europeans judgt-d the Indian� of South Americ
t h ey

dedilred that (hest' PfOPll' were nol polin:d. thilt tlH'sl' were not v('rila.

ble: s oci et i es. Sav
It is quite t rue that. mon° them once, ethnologists thernselv('s have fclt a cen � i n perplexity nol so m uch ill u n derstand ing. but c;illlply i n des cri bing a . . cleulli of primitIve s oc i e t i es : thos(' ca[[('d le
of all

pawn. ch iefut i!lship is l or atd

8 8

I W f

Y I O L f N [ [

o u ts i(/(' t he

('xercis(' of politicnl

.A R ( W ! O I O G Y

O f

V I O L f N ( f

?f

power. Functional ly, this Sl'C'nlS absurd: ho� c a n one think a chieftainship . anci power separately? W h itt use are chI. efs I f tlwy l ark p reCIse ly Ihe es sen t ia l

iltl ri but e that would make them chkfs, namely the a bi l i ty to exercise power uver t he community? In re
w ;]gC'd whcn the case

presentS

i t self. It follows that th(' co ncret e (' m pi ric al functions of th e It
courage. a warlike disposition in order to assure an rffec L i ve dl'frn�t' against ('nrmy

raids or, if possible, v icto ry in the case of an offensive expedition.

But arc these not. one might argue. the very tasks of a defense m i n i s ­

t r r ? C' e rt a inly. W i t h . however, a fund a m e nta l diffr r r ll c e : the primitive

lcadn never m
c a n call i t that)

and imposes it on his community. The strategy of alliance t h a t he develops.

the m i l i tary tactics that he envisions are never his own, but ones That

[('spo n d exactly to the dtsire o r to the explicit will of the tribe. Any deals or negotiations are public. the intention to wage w ar is proel a i m ('d only if society wanlS it to be so. And. nalUr
What, on the oth er hand. about the chiefs functions, not as his group's appointee to external for('ign rrliltions. out in his intt'rn
grou p itself? 11 goes without saying that i f the community recogni7cs him as leader (as spokespr r<;on) when i t
the qU
8 ,

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t H H f O t O G Y

O f

� I O l f N ( [

power. We understand quite well, then, that at the heilrt of his own society, the leader's opinion. propped up by the prestige which he: enjoys, should, if necessary, be listened to with more consideration than that of other individ_ uals. But the particular al1emian with which the chiefs word is honored (and this is not always the case, hy Ihe way) neWT goes so far as allowing it to be transformed into a word of command, into a discourse of power: the leader's point of view will only be listened to as long as it expresses soci­ ety 's point of view as a single total iry. It follows that not only does the chief not formulate orders, which he knows ahead of time no ont' will obey, but he cannot cvrll arbitrate [that is, ht' dof's not hold tile powrr to) w ile n a conflict arises, for eXllmple. belWCE"n two individuals or twO families. He w i l l not attempt to settle the liligCltion in thr name of a nonexistent law of which hl' would be the organ, but to apprase it by app r a l i n g to reason, to the opposing parties' good intentions, by referring constantly to the tr;1di­ tion of good relations urrnrdly bequeathed by the ancestors. From the chiefs mouth spring not the words t hat would sanction the rtlationship of command-obedience. but tile discourse of society itself about itself, a dis­ course th ro ugh which it proclaims itself an i n di vis i bl e community and pro­ claims its will to persevere in this undivided being. Primitive societies ar(' thus undivided societirs (and for this reason, each considers itself a singl(' totality): classless societies - no rich exploiters of the poor; soci('ties not divided into the dominaling and the dominated - no separate organ of power. It is time we take this last sociological propeny of primitiv(' societies complett'ly seriously. Does the separation betw('('n chid­ tainship and pown ml'an that the queStion of power is not an issue, that these societies are npolitical? Evolutionist thought - and its apparently least reductive variant, Marxism (especially Engelsian) - replies that this is indeed the case. and that this has to do with the primitive, that is, primary, character of thesl:' societies: they arc th e childhood of humanity, the fIrst stage of its evolution, and as such, incomplrte. They are destined. consequently. to grow, \0 become adult, \0 go from the apolitical to the political. The drstiny of every society is to be divided. for power to be separated from society, for the State to be an organ thaI knows and says what is in t:veryo!lc 's best interest and puts itself i n charge of imposing it. Such is the traditional, qU
, 0

1 H E

A � C � I: O t O � Y

O f

V 1 0 l f N C f

ed. But this neo-theology of history and its fanatic continuism should be refused: primitive societies henceforth cease to occupy the degree zero of history. swelling with all of history to come, inscriued in advance in their bein g. Liberated from this scarcely innocent exoticism, anthropology Can lhen seriously consider the true question of the political: why are primitive soci eties Stateless? As complet(', adult societies and no longer as infra-politi­

�al embryos. primitive societies do not have a State because they refuse it. hecaUse they refuse the division of the social body into the dominating and the dominated. The politics of the Snv;'lg('s is, in fact, to constantly hinder tht' appearan ce of a separate organ of power. to prevent the falal meeting between the in sti tution of chieft;linship and the exercise of power. In primi­ tivl' soc iety. there is no separ
exercised in a singh:- way; it encourages a singl!' project: to maintain the bei ng of society in non -division, to prevent inequality between men from instilling civision in society. It follows thnt this power is exercised over any­ t h i n g capable of alienating society and introducing inequality: it is exer­ dsed. among other things, over the institution from which the insidiousness of powrr could arise, chieft a i ns hip In th(' tribe, thr chief is u nd er surveil­ Jance; socirty watches to make sure Ihe tasle for prrstige docs not become Ihe desire for power. If the chiefs desire for power becomes too oUvious. the .

p rocedu re put into effect is simple: they tlhandon him, indeed, eve n kill him. Primitive society may be haunted by the specter of division, but i t possesses thl' means by which to exorcise il, The example of primitive societies teaches us that division is not inher­ ent i n the social being. that in other words. the State is not eternal. that it , 1

l H E

A H W £ O L O G Y

O f

V I O L f N C E

has, here and there, a date of binh. Why has i t emerged ? The question of

the origin of the State muSt he shaped in this way: under what conditions

does a soci<.'ty cease to be pri m i t i ve? Why do the encodings that ward off the State fail at such or such moment of h i sto ry? No doubt only a close

examination of the fu nctioning of pri m i t i ve societies will be ilble to shed

light o n the problem of origins. And perhaps the light cast upon the State's

moment of binh will also illuminate the conditions of the- possibiliry (real­ izable o r not) of its death.

7 fRHDOM, M I�fORTUN£, TH£ UNNhM£hBL£ One does not frequently entounter thought freer than thel! of Etienne de La Boetie. There is a singular firmness of purpose in this still adolescent young man (why not call him a Ri mbaud of thought?), an audacity and seri­ ousness in an apparently rlccide-ntal question : how ridiculous to ;ut('mpl to

- unbcambte grlzl' to the closed and a l ways retraced c ircle of even ts . There have been no th i ng but misunderstandings since the COl1rr'UI1 of the Reformed! IT is cC'r­ tainly n O t the refe rence to some sort of historiCC11 detenni nism (the pol i tica l l h i n k of it in terms of the century, to reduce the haughty

ci rcumstances of the moment, appunenance to a social class) that will su('­

c('�d i n disarmin g the ever v irul e n t Discol/rs, tha t w i l l succeed in contradict­

i n g the essential
h isto ry is h a rd ly an oc cn si o n . a pretC'xI, for La BortiC': th('rf' is nothing C1bout

h i m of the pnmphl etc'C'T. the publicist. the: militant. His aggn:ssion explodes

published as �la Bocti e t't 13 qllCSlioli du politi que ..· in La Boetie: Le DiSCOlirs Payol, 19"1fil . Jlp. 229-246. [I.a Rottie·s origi. nal text is publishrd in English as Slal't's by ClIOict', trans. fI.·1akolm Smilh, Surrey England, RUllllymede Books, 1988.1

First

de 10 srrI'iwde l'o/lIl1wir(' (Paris:

9 2

9

J

l H !

A R C H f O l O G Y

O f

V I O l f N C f

l H f

to greater cnds: he asks a totally liberating question because i t is absolutely free of all social or political territorial ity, and it is indeed because his ques­ tion is trans-historical thal we are in a position to understand it. lIow can it be, La Doetie asks, that the majority obeys a single person, not only obeys him, but serves him, not only serves him, but wants to serve him? Right off the nature and sign ificance of such a qucstion excludes the

possibil ity of reducing it to this or that concrete h isto rical situation. Thl' very

possibility of formul ating such a destructive question renecls, simply but

A � ( H t O L O G Y

O f

V I O l f N C f

mat, since "animals... cannOI ad
rnan by i nst it ut i ng a di v i s ion in sociC'lY: frl'-Nlom, (hough inseparable from rnan·s first being:. is banished from it. The sign and proof of this lo�s of

haoically, a logic of opposites: if I can be surprised that voluntary servitude i s a con�tilnt in all societies - in mine. but also in those read about in houks

fn'edom can be witnessed not only in the resignation to submission, but. much morl' obviously, in the love of servitude. In other wo rds, La Boetie t'stablisht's a radical distinction bttwten societies of freedom which conform to lhe nature of man - ·'only born in truth 10 live free ly "' - and socitties

cal

wilhout freedom in which one commands and others obey. One will note

(with the

perhaps

rhetorkal exception of Roman Antiquity) - it is. of course,

because I imagine the opposite of such II society, bet:.luse I imagine the logi­

possibility

of a

society

that would not know voluntary servitude. La

Boetie's heroism and freedom: precisely this 5mootb transition fro m History to logic, precisely this gap i n what is most natura l ly obvious. precisely this breach of th e

general tIl{"

division between

conviction that we can not think of society without its dominating and the domin ated. The young

La

Aoetie

transcends all known history to say: something else is possible, Not al all. of course. as a program to be implemented: La Boetie is not a partisan. As long as they do not revolt. the destiny of the people is, in a sense, of little impor­

tllat.

for the momt;nt, t h i s

distinction

remains purely logical. We know

nothing. in effect. about th e hiStorical reality of societies of freedom. We simply know that, by natural necessity. the first configuration of society

must h a ve been free. with no division between tht' tyrant oppressor and the

prople enamored of srrving him. Then the misfortune occurs: everything is turned upside down. The result of this split berween free society and slave

tance to him; this is why, the author of Oiscours de 10 st:rl'illldr Il% lltairt' can at the same time be- a civil servanl of the monarchic State (hence, the

socifty is that all divided societies are slave societies. That is to say, La

ridiculousness of making lhis work a ··classic of the people""). What he dis­

La Boetie is scarcely concerned with studies in character. What does it really

Boetle does not make distinctions within the ensemble constituted by divid­ ed societies: there is n o good prince with whom to contrast the evil ryrant.

covers, by slipping outside of H istory, is precisely that the society in which

matter whetht'r the

people want to serve the tyrant is historical, that i t is not eternal and has not

prince whom the people serve? La Boctie does his research n o t as a psychol­

princc

is kind or cruel: whatever the case, is it not thc

always existed, that it has a date of birth and that something must have hap­

ogist b u t as a mech a n i c : he is i n terested i n the fu ncti o n i n g of social

pened. necessarily, for men to fall from freedom into servitudt:

machines. There is no progressive slide from freedom to servitude: no inter­

fortune so dcnatured

man, on ly uorn in truth

to live

freely,

to

. . . what

··

mis­

make- him lose

thr memory of his first existence and the desire to retrieve it?""

mediary, no conflguriltion of a social reality C{l uidistant fro m fft't'dom and s e rv i t ude , only the brutal misfortune which drowns the before of free­

from

Misfortune: tragic accident, bad luck, the effects of which grow to the

dom i n the after of submission. What does this me:!n? It means that all rela­

point of abolishing previous memory, to the point of substituting the love of

of power are oppressivr, that all divided 50cictirs arc inhabited by absolute Evi l , that society, as anti�nature, is the negation of frt:edom. The birth of History. the division between good and bad soci ety are a rt:sult of misfortune: a good society is one i n which the natural absence of division assures the reign of freedom. a bad sociecy is one whose divided hC'ing allows the triumph of tyranny. D i agno sin g the nature of evil that gangrenes the entire di v id ed social body, La Boetie does not state the results of a comparative analysis of undi­

servitude for the desire for freedom. What docs La Boctie

say? CI
he flTSl affirms that this p
he calls the division of society into those who command and those who obey


able misfortune. What is designated here is indeed this historical moment of the birth of History. this fatal tupture which

should neve-r have

happened, this

irr
t ion ships

dCl·iphers th(' ilhject sign of a perhaps irreversible decline: the new man. a product of incomprehl'nsible misfortune. is no longer a man, or even an ani-

vided and divided societies. but expresses the effects of a pure logical oppo­ sitio n : his Dis(ours ecboes Ihe implicit but crucial asscrtion that division is nllt an omologicill structure of �ociery, and that consequtntly, before the

9 ,

, ,

I H f

A R C H E O L O G Y

O f

I H f

V I O L E N ( E

unfortunilt{· appl',nance of social division, there was necessarily, in confor­ mance 10 man's nature, a soriety without oppression and without submis­ sion. Unlike Jean-Jacques Rousse au , La Boetie does not say that such a soci­ ely could never have existcd. Even if men have forgolten about it, even if he. La Boetie. has no illusions
1 Cf. in p:micu!ar lhe \'CIY beautiful anicJl' by J a cques Dounlcs. SOliS cow'err

des lIIoirres. in

"Archives

Furop(.\'ncs (Ic

Sociologie," 9 6

vol. XI\',

19"13,

No. 2.

6 R C H E O L O ' Y

O f

V I O L f H ( f

configuration of the State. Reciprocally, the S[
9

7

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� H H f O l O G Y

O f

l H E

V I O L f N ( f

A R ( H f O l O G Y

O f

V I O L f tl ( f

unnameable. Htnce, the necessity for a new idea of man, for a new rvitude. The dena­ turing causes man's will to change directions, toward an opposite goal. It is n o t that the new man has lost his will, but that he directs it toward servitude: the people. as though victims of fate. of il spell, want to serve the tyrant. And though unintentional, this will suddenly reveals its true identity: it is desire. How does this begin? La Boetie has no idea. How does this continue? It is hC('eluse men desire that it be this way. answers la Bortie. We have hardly advanced; objecting 10 this is easy. For the stakes, subtly but clearly fixed by La Boetie. are anthropological. This is a matter of human nature that raises the question: is the desire for submission innate or acquired? Did this desire preexist the misfortune which would then have allowed it to come into being? O r is its emergence due i n stead. ex nihilo, to the occasion of the mis­ fonune. like a lethal mUlation th;,!l defIes all explanation? These questions are less academic than they seem.
let us also guard against all references to psychology: the refusal o f power relations. the refusal to obey, is not in any way, as the missionaries and travel­ ers thought, a character trait of Selvages, but the effect of the functioning of soci
9 8

9 9

­

.

l H f

A R C H f O t O G Y

O F

V I O L E N ( (

l H E

t i o n o f t h e d e s i r e for p o w e r a n d the desire for s u U m i s s i o n . As s o c i a l machines inhabited by the will to persevere in thrir non-divided being. prim­ itive societies institute tl1tmselves

as places

IIliJ('rC

ellil dcsire is

repressed.

This desire has n o chanCt:': the Savages want nothing to do with it. They con_ sider this desirt evil. for to lei it (orne into being would immediat('\y lead to

allowing social i n novation through the acceptance of the division betwe en the d omi n at i ng and the dominatrd. through the recogn ition of the inequality

between mCisters of power and subjects of power. So that r<'latlons between men remain free and equlll. inequality must be prevented: the blossoming of

th(" evil, two-faced desire which perhaps haunts all societks and all individ­ uals of all societies must be prevented. To the immanf'nce of the desire for

�

power and the desire for submission - and not of power itself or sub 1 issi on 1 el r La : itself - primitive societies oppose the musts and the must nots of tl

�

We must change nothing i n our undiv ided being, Wf: must not let the eVIl dt:sire be r{'aiized. We Sl·e clearly now that it is not n{'Cf'SS,H y to have had the

experience of ihe St,lIC in order t o rduse it, to have known the m is fo rt u n e i n order t o ward i t ofr, to have lost freedom i n order to insist o n it. To its chil­

dren, the tribe procl
is false. it is wrong. And so th

as sun
�

wanted to realize the desire for power and invest the body of society with it.

to this chirf desirous of commanding, the tribe, far from obeying. would

answer: you. our equal. have w
to act the chief, he is excluded from society. abandoned. If he insists. the others may kit! h i m : total exclusion, f
{ a i n i n g desire for power and desire for submission i n i m m a n e n ce. They emtrge i n the reality of the exercise. i n thl" divided b e i n g of a society Iwnceforth composed of unequals. Just as primitive socicties
tive because they want to conserve th('ir b e i n g-for-freedo m , divided soci­ eties clo not allow thcmselves t o change; the desire for power and the w i l l

for sfOrvitude arc c o n t i nuously rea l i z ed. I 0 0

A R C H E O l O G Y

O f

V I O t f N [ f

Total freedom of La Bot:tie's thought, we were silying, trans-historicity of

hiS disco urse. The strangeness of the Question he poses hilrdJy d iss oi V('s in ec([l l i n g the author's appurtenance to the jurist bourgeoIsie. n o r I n only

:�'anting to rl'cognize in it the indignant echo of royal repression which in

1 549 crushed the r{'volt of the GaDdles i n the south of France. La B o rti e s '

und ertaking {'scapes a l l attempts to imprison it i n the ,·entury; it is not fami liar th o u gllt in th
fam il ia r thought. The Discollrs is solitary and rigorous thought thM feeds only on its own movement, on its o w n logic: if m
non-di vision, in non-inequal ity. There is, with La Bo�tit, a 5011 of

(1

priori

clt-duct ion of th{' Stnt{'less society. of primitive society. Now it is perhaps on

this point that one could, curiously. d{'t{'rt the century's innuence, La Boetie. taking i n t o account wh
We 5e{'m, indeed. to neglect too often that if the 16th cemury is that of

the R e n aissance. t h {' resurrection of the culture of Greek and R o m a n

Antiquiry. it i s also witness t o a n event whose si gn i ft<:a nce w i l l lri1nsform the face of the West. namely the discovery and conquest of the New World. The return to th{' Ancients of Athens and Rome, certainly. but also the irruption

of what up until then hi1rl not existed, Amerie
tion that the discovery of the unknow n continent held over westt'Tn Europe

by the extremely rapid d i ffusi o n of a l l news from b{'yond the seas. Let us limit ourselves to reveal i n g a few chronological points,2 Staning in 1 493.

Christopher Columbus ' letters regardi n g h i s discovt:ry were p u b l i shed i n

Paris. One could read i n 1 503, again i n Pa ri s

.

the Li1tin translation o f the

story of the flfst voyage of Amerigo Vespucci. America, as the proper name of the New World, appeared for the flTSt time i n Ihe voyages of Vespucci. From

1 507 i n another edition of 1 5 1 5 on, the French translation of the voy­

agcs of the PortUgUf:S{' became best-sell{'TS. I n shon, one did not have to wait

very long i n the Europe of the- beginning of the century to know what was happening in America. The abundance of news and the spe-e-d of its c i rcula­

tion - despite the diffIculties of transmission at the time - indicate among

the cultivated people of the tim(' as passionate an interest i n these new lands and the people who lived there as in th{' ancient world revealed by books. A

d o u b l e d iscovery. the same d('sir(' to know w h i c h invested at o n c c I h (' ancient history of Europe and its new geographical CXie-nsion.

We should note that this w{'(11th o f travel litemture is mostly of Sp<1nish

and Portuguese origin. Th(' explorers and the Iberian Conquistadors actually cr. G. Chimard, L'exotismr americaill daliS la linfrarlire fm llr;lIiw· ali XVlr sie­

tlr, Paris. 1: l 1 1 . 2

I 0 I

I H f

A R C H f O l O Ii Y

O f

V I O l f N ( f

left for adventure i n the name of. and with the fInancial support of, Madrid and Lisbon. Their expeditions were. in fact. cnterprises of the State. and the travelers were, consequcntly. rcsponsible for regularly informing the vcry fussy royal bureaucracies. But it does not necessarily follow that the French of the time only possessed documents furnished by neighboring countries to satisfy tht'ir curiosity. For if the crown of France was hardly concerned at this limt' with plans for colonization beyond the Atiantic and only peripherally interested i n the efforts of the Spanish and the Portuguese, the private enter­ prises concerning the New World were, on the other hand, many and ambi­ tious. The shipowners and merchants of the pons of the English Channel and of the ('nlire Atlantic front launched. at the very bcginning of the 1 6th crntu­ ry. perhaps be-rore. expedition upon expedition toward the Isles and IOward what Andrr ' [ hevel would later call equinoC'tial France. The State 's silence and inertia were answered uy the intt:: nse. buzzing activity of vessels and crews from Honneur to Bordeaux. which vcry carly on established r('gular commer­ cial relations with the South AmeriCiln Savages. [t is thus that in 1 503, thrcc years after the Portuguese Itxplorer Cabr
Cf eh. A. Julien, I.es Voyog('s iiI;' decoul'erte er It's Pr('mirrs Erab/issem elUs.

Paris. 1947.

1 0 2

I H f

! R ( II E O I 0 6 Y

o r

V I O t f N C f

shores to bring back their chronicles. irreplaceable testimonies on the Indians of Brazil. But. with these two master chronicl ers. we already fl Od ourselves i n the second half o f the 16th century. Discours de 10 seflliflld(' /Iolo",oir(' was written. Montaigne tells us, when La Bortie was 1 8 years old. that is, in 1 548. Thai Montaigne. in a subsequent edition of the Essois. returns to this date to say that his friend was in ract only 16. does not make much difference as far as the problem that concerns u.... It would simply make his thought seem illl the more precious. That La Bot-tie. furthermore. was able to revise the text of the Dis('ours fIve yems laler while a student at Orleans secms to us both possible and without conse­ quence. Either t he Discours was indeed written i n 1 54B and its substanc(', its internal logic could not und(' rgo
l H f

A R { H f O l O G Y

O f

V I O l f N ( f

I n a society divided along the vertical axis of power betw('C'n the domi­

n a t i n g and

t h e d o m i n ated. the

r e l a t io n s

that unite men ca n n ot unfold

freely. Prince. despot or tyrant. the one who exercises powcr d('sires only the unanimous obedit'nce of his subjects. The latter respond to his expecta­ tion. they bring into being his desire for power. not because of the terror that he would inspire in

them, but because. by obeying. they bring into

being their own desire for submission. The denaturing p rocess excludes the m e m o ry of free do m . an d co n scqu e n t l y the desire to reconquer it. A l l .

d i v i d e d societies a r e thus destined to endure. T h e denaturing process is

{'xp ressecl at on(e i n the disdain n e c{'ss a ri l y felt by the onc who c o m m a nds those \Nho obey. and in the subjeC'ts ' l ov e fo r t he pr i n ce. i n the cult that

8

for

the p eo ple

devote to

the person of the tyrant. Now this !low of l ove ri s i n g

c e ase l essly from the d e pths to ev{'f greater heights, this l ov e of the subjects for tl1e master equally denatures the rel atio n s between subjects. ExC'luding all freedom. these n:lations dictart: the new law

that gov e r n s sodtry: o n e

PRIMIl IVf fCONOMY

must love the tyrant. Insuffi c i e n t love is a transgression of t h e law. A l l

watch out for the res p e ct o f the law. a l l hold their n e i g h b o r i n estt t m only

out of fidelity to the law. The love of the law

- the fea r o f freed o m

-

makes each subject an a c co m p l i ce of the Prince: obeditnct: t o the ryrant

excl udes friendship between subjects.

Th e age-o l d infatuation with primitive socirtif's assures the Fren('h read­

rr of a rrgular and abundant supply of erhnolog:cal works. They are n o t of

become of the non-divided socicties. or soci­

equal i nteres t . however. fa r from it. From time to time. a lJOok will si
dom. they cannOt jU<;lly survive except in the free exercise of free relations

go u n noti(,ed. ]('onoC' lastl<' and rigorous. salutary as wrll as schola rly. is t h e work o f Marshall S a h l ins, which many w i l l b e delighted to ser fmally pub­

What. rrom now on. w i l l

elies without a ty ra n t. of primitive societies? Displaying their being-for-free­

bt:tween equals. All rela t ions of another nature aTe ess e n t i al l y impossihle because they are deadly for society. Equality engenders friendship. fri e ndsh ip can only be experienced in equality. What the young La Boetie would not

out o n (he grayish horizon of these works: the oc('asion is too riJre to Ie-I i t

lished in French.1 An American professor of great reputation. S a h l i n s is an expert o n

have given to hear what t he Guarani Indians of today say in th e i r

Melanesian societies. But his scientiflc project Ciln h a rd l y be red u c ed to thr

"new breed of ptople" o f yore ! Their great god N a m a n du emtrgcs from t h e

ethnog�aphy of a certain cultural area. Extending fa r bcyond monographk . pOlntllllsm. as the trans(,ontinental v a ri r ty of his reference!> attests. Sahlins

most sacred chams, Indians w h o are the aged but intractable desce n d a n t s of t he shadows and invents the world. He first crCiltCS the Word. the substance

common to the d iv i n e and the human. He ass i gn s to human ity the- dest i ny of co l l ect i n g

the Word of existing in i t and protecti n g it. Hum
chosen by th e de i ti C's .

u n d iv i ded whole: then. only mbo rayu can rl'side thrrr. the l ire of the trioc and its w i l l 10 l ive . the tribal solidarity of equals; Il!borayu: friendship. so

that the SOCiNy it fou nd s

is one. so that the men of this society are all one.4

Cf. P. (lastn·s. 1.t' Gralld Parler. Myrhrs er ellaIlts sncr�s des I"d,ens Gunralli.

Ed. du $l'uil. t974. �

I 0 ,

{'xploration o f the soc i al dimension long scrut i­ approaches the fIeld of tconomics in a radically new way; h e archly asks the fundamental q u es ti o n : what of ('co n o m i cs in primitive societie-s?2 A q u rst ion o f decisive weight. as we shal! see. Not thal u �dertakes the systematic nIzed by et hn ologists ; he

1 M . SahIins. Age til;' pit-nt'. Age d·nbolldol1te. L'collomie des sorirtfs primil il·(,s.

G a l l l. ":, ani. 1 9 7 6 . [StOI1t' Agt' E(,ollomic.�. Chicago. Aldiflc-Atllcnol1. 1972.J I f S ahh n s

book IS full

French. )

'

of knowledge, i t is also filII o f hU!llor. 1 ilia Jolas. who lranslated H i ll to has r(,lldered it perfectly.

�et

c1�rify

potential mi"llll(!trstillLdiflg right off. The stone-age economics

w hich $ahhns speaks COllct'fIIS not prehistoric l11ell bU!. of course, primiliV('<; observed for several centuries by tnlVe][('r<;. l:Xplort.'fS. missi(l!l;)irt's and eth no l ogists. of

tiS

iI

I 0 \

l H f

� IIC H f O L O !; Y

O F

V I O t f N ( £

others have n ot asked it hefore /lim. Why come back, in that ca se, to a p ro h ­ l e m t h a t seemed settled l o n g ago? We quickly s e c, fo l l o w i n g S a h l l n s '

method. t h a t n o t o n l y h a s t h e question of the p r i m i t i v e economy n o t

received a res po ns e wonhy o f being: called one, but that n u merous authors

have treated it with incredible lightness wht.'n they did not simply surrender it to a veri tab l e distortion of ethnographic facts. We flOd ou rs el ves confront­

ed here, no l o n g r r with t h e misi ntrrpretation possible i n all scientific research. but. 1 0 a n d behold, with t h e enterprise of ad apti n g primitive social

rrality to a pre('xisting conception of society and of history, still vigorous, as sha l l t ry to de mon strale. In other words, certain representatives of what

we

WI:. ca l l economic anthropology h
respect fo r the facts, from the concern of preserving their philosophical or

po l i t i cal convictions. And once the
ately or u n co n sci ollsl y, to this or that di s co urse on s o cie ty when rigorous

science would dema nd prec isc:l y the oppositr, we very quickly fmd ou rselv es

carried off to tht frontiers of mystiflcation.

It is to denouncing this that the exemplary work of Marshall Sahlins is

devoted. And one would be mistaken to suppose his ethnographic i n forma­ tion much more abundant than that of his pred('crssors: although a field

rC'searchrT. he d oes nOI offn any earth-sh
would force us to rethink traditional ideas of p ri m itive E'cono my. He con­

tents himself - but with what vigor! - to reestablishing the t rut h of givens

long si n ce collected and known; he has ("hosen to i nte rro g at e cii r('ctly the

avallablc material, p i t i l essly pushing aside received ideas rrgarding this

material. Which amoll nts to sayi n g that lhe task Sahlins assigns himself could havr been u nden ah: n before h i m : the fIle, in short. was a l re a dy there,

accessible a n d completc. But Sahlins is the fim w have reop en e d i t ; we m u s t sec him as a pio neer.

What does this concern? Economic ethnologists have con tin ued to i ns ist

that the economy of pri m i t ive- societies is

su bs is tenc e econ omy. Clearly

such a st
n O I exclusive, function of a g ive n society·s produclion system i s t o assure the subsistence of Ihe i n div id U ills who make up the so("icty in question. To cstablish archaic economy (IS a subsistence economy, we design ale less the

gen e ral function of all production systems than the manner in which the

primitive e co n o my fulfills this function. We say that a marhi n e fu nctions well when it s
I � f

1

A H U f O L O ' Y

O f

V I O l f N f f

insu re lhe s a t isfa c t io n of the r g u P 's a er. al needs ? This is [he rea l q uestion m. � t o n e must p ose when 1 00 k i n . g < t pn. mm ve eco n omy. To this, "c I ass lc,. e conom ic ant hropology respond s with Ih ]·de 0 f,sub . slsrence econo my : ) prim live e co nomy is a sub sist enc i­ . . e eco no 1Y i t lat It JUS t b a rely ma nag assure society·s s u bs i s te n ce es to . . The ir ec nom ]c s<s�em al l ows the pri mit ives, at th e pricft of i n cessa n t la bor, not to e or. Stdrve t.o dea th. The pri mit ive t'conomy i s an economy of survival at I ts tec hni cal und erdevelopment Irre med iabl y forbids the prod uct '" o n 0 f sur Plu s and stock p i l i n g tha t wo , /{'r.SI gua ra n t ee thr trib ul d, at e's im m ed late rutu re. This is the I. m ag e 0r pn" m Jll ve m .1 11 con vey ed by "scllolfl ( rs '· .· ,I,e S ava ge crushed by h IS ' eco I og r'c al en vl, ron mem, co n sta n t l y stalked by ram Ine . ' , h au ntr d by the p . . erm a n ent anxI,ety of j., n d lJ1g so m eth i ng to keep his I ovec j o nes from per ish ; n g. I n Sh on, the prim i(lve eco n omy is a suh . . sist enc e eco nom be ause It I
�

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1 Cf. Cllap!('r I o f Sah lins ' boo k f;or nU Il1('rou� (!l!otations express Ihis poi nt of of � l!Ihors wh o V iew .

, n ,

I 0 7

M

"

,

.

.

•

•

•

•

•

.

•

,

.

,

.

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.

have rehabilitatt'd the primi tive. hunte r by mark a n d it is to Sahlin s' credit to . J'I t ra vcSty. 1..ca eoret .lcaJ (th eo rel . J Jl·shin g factual truths ag<"lin st the th reest a l l1 e economy that not only is �e pnml Indeed. it follows from his analy sis . nal affl uent p rim itive society IS the ong not an econo my of povrny. but that h troub les the dog.mallc to p r o f whic . socie ty. A provocative state ment . u t a n ac urat o n e : I f t h e pnn: !llve pse do schol ars of anth ropol ogy, b s of lo� Intensny, assures t he saus ac­ . mach ine of produ ction. i n short period . It functtons as is, it , nccds ial mater e's peopl lion of bec;'lus(' It could, If It wanted to. fu�c­ beyon d its objective possibilities. it is r o d u c e s u r p l u s , fO.r m a st o k p.t l l i o n l o n ge r a n d m o r e q u i c k l y , p able. does n.othl ng about It. It IS Consr quently. if primi tive society, th oug� ;'l l1ans and Boch l mans: once they feel because it does not want to. The Austr ry re50 rc:s stop huntl Og and collect­ th ey have collected suffic ient al i menta harvesting mort than thcy. can con­ ing. Why should they fatigue themselves elves, sel.t'ssly tra nspor ti ng h a y sume ? Why would nomads rxhaust thems when , as Sahlm s says. the surplu s I� In provisions from one point to another. as mad as the formalistic e �on om l:ts n ature itself? But the Savages are not man the psychology of an Ind USlrlal who. for lack of discovering in primit ive . . . with ceaselessly InrrCa s�ng h IS .p :o­ or comm ercial company head. concerned . fit doltishly infer from thiS. pn m l{l e ducti on in ord('r to increase his pro under taking . as a result . IS salub n­ econo my's intrin sic i n feriority. Sah!in s' ophy" which mllk('s Ih(' co n l ('mpo ous, i n th:lI il calml y u n masks this philos all I i ngs. And yet what effo�t .I� rary cllpi Hll is{ the idelll and me;'lsure of m(ln IS not an en � re�H� n e� r, n IS l(lkes to uemo nstr(l l(, that if primi tive . , if he docs not "opllffilze hiS activ­ because profit does not interest h i m ; that se he does not know how to, but ity, as the pedants like 10 say. il is not becau because he does nOI ft'cl like it! ,

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Sahll n.s writes, . b:cause u

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,

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of hunters. Using somet hing Sahlin s docs nOt l imit hims(' lf 10 the case ). he exam ines til e eco no llly of ca!\ed the Domestic Mode of Produ ction (DMP be observed today In Afnca can as rs. neol ith ic societies , of prim itive farme is nothin g in comm on, There ca. or Melan esia, in Vietna m or o t h Ameri taries who hunt, fish seden and s apparently. between desen or forest nom(ld grow. One coul d they arc cssc nt i ;'l Uy depen dent on what and col lect. consid nabl e cl�ang:e that constI ­ expect. on the contra ry, as a functi on of the into ;'I n agrari an econo my. the tutes the conve rsion of a huntin g: econo my es, not to menti on. of coursr, blosso ming of <1bsol ut{'ly new ('cono mic attitud itsel f. transformations in the organ ization of society s condu ned I n va r � o us studit of R e l y i n g on a consid erable n mber the local confi gurations detail in region s of the world. Sahlin s exami nes . D M P whose recurr ent tht' of ) (Ml'IClill'si,m, Africa n . South Anll'r i can elc .

.

"

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S u

but

.

.

u

.

J a 8

'

H C H [ O l O G Y

V 1 0 L f h' C f

O f

charactcristics he b rin gs to light: (he predominance of sexual division of labor; segmentary production in view of consumption; autonomous access t o tbe mcans of produl't i o n : a cenrrifugal relationship between units of pro­

du('ti on. Taking into account an economic reality (the DMP). Sahlins creates ('atcgo ries that arc properly political i n th<"lt they touch the heart of primi­ tiv{' social organization : segmentatio n. autonomy, centrifugal relations. I t is essentially impossible to think of primitive econ omics outsi
e we u

cal. What me-rits attention for now i s that the penin('nl Haits se to dl'scribc the mode of production of sl ash-a nd burn agriculturist s also allow us to dtflne the social organiz;'Itio n of hunting pe-oples. From this p o i nt of view, a band of nomads, just like a sedentary t ribe is composed o f units of -

.

c

produ tion and o f consumptio n - the "homes" or the " households " in whicll t b e scxual division o f labor, i ndeed prevails. Each unit functions as a segment autonomou s from Ihe wh o l e. and even i f the rule of exchangr solidly structures the nomad band, the play of centrifugal forct is nevenhe­ _

,

.

less presen t Beyond differences in living styles, religious repr('sentati ons, ritual aCl i v i ty, I h e framework of society does not vary from the nomad commun ity to th(' sedentary vi ll age Thill mal h i n s of prod uct i on so differ­ .

'

e

ent as nomadic hunti ng and slash-and-b urn agriculture could be compatibie with identical social formarions is a poinl whose sign i ficance it would be ;1I>propriale to measure.

All p ri mitive communitics aspire, i n terms of their consumer produc­ tion. to complete autonomy; they aspire to exclude all relations of dep( n ­ dence on neighboring ri bes. It is. i n short, primitive society ' S autarkic '

t

idtal: they produce just e nough [0 satisfy a!1 ne(·ds. but th ey ma na ge t o . p rod ce ;'111 of it themselves If the D M P is a system fundame ntal ly hostile to the formation of surpl s it is no less hostile to allowing producti o n slip below the threshold that would guarantee Ihe satisfactio n of needs. The­

u

u

.

ideal of economic a ta rky is, i n fan, a n ideal of political independen ce, which is assurcd ;'IS long as one does not nced others. Naturally, this id('al is n ot realized everywher e a l l the ti m c Ecological d ifferences, c l i m a t i c variations, contacts o r loans can leave a society unable [0 satisfy t h e need

u

.

for this commodity or that material or an object others know how to man­ ufacture. This is why. as Sahlins shows. neighborin g tribes. or cven distant

ones, find themselvrs e n gaged i n rather intense trade relations. But. he points out i n his tireless analysis of M elanesia n "commerce ". Melanesian societics do no! have "markets" a n d "tht same no douht goes for archaiC"

societics." Thc DMP t hus tends. by virtue of each comm u n ity's desire for i n dependence . to reduce the risk incurred in exchange determined by need as much as possible: " reciprocity between commercial partners is not only a privilege. but a duty. SpeCifical ly. it obl ig{'s each person to r{'eeive as

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well as to give." Commerce brtween tribC's is not i m port-export. Now the will for inclependcnn' - the aut
rep t'tition and not of differenct, thai the earth, the sky and the gods will ov('rsee a n d maintain I h e etern
ties, is also
such as the natural catastrophe of which the Tikopia were vktims. are excep­ tio nal. But it is also the rarity of th('sc circumstances that strips naked a soci­ el/s we
st.'ir! Naturi1lly, such a principle. ferocious in irs <.'goism. i s exercised only rarely: there have to be ex('eptional circumstances, like the fam i n e whose

not withstand the test of bad luck." Is this the S avnges ' incurable sh ortsi ght­ edness, as the travelers' ("hroniclcs sny? Rather, in this insouciance one ran

ing hurricanes. This crisis, writes Sahlins, revealed the fragility of Ihe famous

read th(' grratt'r concern for their freed om. Through analysis of the DMP. Sahlins offers us a general the ory of primi­

(·ffects Firth observed on the Tikopi
tiv(' economy. From production adapted exactly to the i m mediate nf-cds of

private i nterest. that of the domestic group, a fonress which. in times of cri­

[he family. he extracts. with great clarity. the law that underlies the system: .....the OMP conceals an
sis, isolated itself from the outside world and raised its so('ial drawbridges when n ot p i l l a g i n g its relatives' gmdens. As long as nothing serious al ters

the n orm a l course of d
... ubsistence goods, it tends to i mmo b i l ize when it reaches this po i n t. " The C'thnographkally founded cI
forces to threalen the un ity of its Self, the o b l ig: lt i o ns or kinship ('onlinue to

a re underproductive (only a segment of society works for short pC'riods of

bt' respected. This is why. at the end o f a n extremely technical ilnalysis of the case of Mazulu, a villi1ge of Tonga Vallry, Sahlins thinks it possible to

society ( n eeds defIned by the sociery itself and nOt by a n exterior example),

explain thr undC'rproduction of certain households hy their certainlY that

their solidarity with those best stocked will play in their ravor: "for i f some

lime at Jow intenSity), that o n thC' other, they always satisfy the nreds of such a riaim then imposes. in its paradoxic
society is, indeed.
of them fa i l . is it not precisely because they know at the outset thM they (an count on the oth ers ?'" But should an unforeseeable event occur (a natur:11 disaster or external aggression, for example) 10 upset the order of things,

That is to say that the economic, as a s('('tor unfolding autonomou�ly man­

then Ihe ('entrifugal tendency of each unit of produ('tion asserts itself. th(' household tends to withdraw into itself, the community "atomiz(.'s, '· while

waiti n g for the bad moment to pass.

sumer production (to assure lhe satisfaction of n('tds) and not as production

This does not mean. howev('r, that under normal ronditions, kinship

clear, fInally (what Sahli ns' grl' at work asserts), is lh(' dis("overy th:11 primi­

obligations are always wi l l i n gly respected. I n Maori society. Il1l' household i s "constantly conrronted with a dile mm:1, constantly forael t o maneuver :1nd

tive societies arc soci('ties that rtfu5e economy.4 The formalist economists arc surpris('d thilt the p rimi t iv e miln is nOt, like

last). since all needs arc satisfled. But it also summons the logic at th(' heart

of this social syste m : srrlictru(Jl/y, writes Sahlins, "eco nomy" docs 1I0t exist. ner in the social artn:1, is abst'nt from the DMP; the laller funC'tions as con­ of exchange (10
compromise between the satisfaction of its own needs and its more general

obligations toward distant relatives which it must satisfy withol![ compro­

mising its own we ll - b eing. " And Sahlins also quotes several savory Maori proverbs wh i ch clearly show the i rrit at io n felt tow<1rd overly dem<1nd i n g rt:l ­ atives (when these reci p i e n ts have only a wetlk degree of k in shi p ), and gen­ erous acts are then grudgingly accomplishcd.

The DMP thus assures primitive sodety of abundance mrasured by th" ratio of produclion to need; it funclions in view of the {Oral sal isfa('tion of need. refusing to go beyond il. The Savages produce to Jive, they do not live to produC'c: 'The DM!' is a consumer product i on which tends to slow down output and 10 ma i nta i n il at a rel ati v e ly low level." Such a " s tra tegy " obvi­ ously i mp l ies a sort of wager on thl' future: n a mely, Ihm it w i l l be made of 1 1

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the cilpital ist, motivated by profit: this is indeed the issue. Primitive society strirtly l i mits its production lest the l'('onomic C's('
society without e('onomy. l'ertainly, but. better yel, a society a gai nst ('cono­

my: this is the b ril l iant truth toward which $;1l1Iins' rrn ecti o n s on primitive

4 We cannot overlook til l' equally exemplary res('arch that Jaques Lizot h
1973.

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SOCltty kad us. Reflections th<.tt art rigorous and tell us more about the Savages than any other work of the same genre. But it is also an enterprise of true: thought, for, free of all dogmatism. it poses the most essential ques­ tions: under what conditions is a society primitive? Under what conditions can p rimit iv e society persevc-re in its undivided being?

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Society w i lhout a State. cla!:islt �ss society: this is how anthropology speaks of the factors th,U Olllow a society to ht' called primitive. A society, thl'n, w i t hout a se pnra tC' organ of political power. a society that de-liberately pre-vents the division of the social body into unequal and op posing g rou ps : "Primitive sociC'ty allows poveny for everyone, but not an' umulation by some." This is the crux of the problem thOlt tht' institution of the chieftain­ ship p ost's in an undivided society: what happens to the ('gOllitOlri<1n will inscrihed <1t the heart of the DMP in the fac� of the c-st<1hlishmenr of hierar­ chical relations? Would t he refusal of division that regulates the economic order cease to operate in the political arena? How is the chiefs supposedly superior status articulated to society 's undivided being? How ar(' pow{'r rela­ ti on s woven b etw ee n tht' trihe a nd its lcadt:r? This themc runs rhroughoul Sahlins ' work, which appronclles the question most directly in its detailed analysis of Melanesian big·man systems in which the p o l it ica l and the eco­ nomic are joined togeth{'r in the person of the chirf. In most primitive societies, tvw esse n tia l qualities are demanded of th{' chief: oratorical talent and generosity. A man unskilled at speaking or avari­ cious would n eve r be recognized as leader. This is not a matter, of course, of personal psychological traits but of formal characteristics of Ih{' institution: a leadt::r mUSt not retain goods. S,lhlins thoroughly examines the origin and effecl.; of this veritable obl i gati o n of generosity. At the start of a b i g-m
largely prevails. the plurality of wives, o n tht other hand, is almost al ways a privilege of important men, that is. the leaders. But. much more than a privi­ lege. the chiefs polygyny is a necessity in that it provides the principle nwans of acting like a IcadC'r: th e work force of supplementary wives is used by the husband to produce a surplus of consumer goods that he will distrib­ ute to the community. One point is thus solidly established for now: in the primitive society, the economy, insof\lr as it is no longt'f i ns rri bed in the movement of the DMP, is only a political 1001; production is subordinated to power relations; it is only al the institutional level of the clllcftai nship that both the necessity ilnd the possibility of surplus production appears. Sahl ins rightly uncovers here the antinomy between the centrifugal force inherent to the DMP and the opposite force that animates the chieftainship: a [t'ndl'ncy toward dispersion in terms of modes of production. a tendrncy towa�d unification in terms of thl' institution. The supposed place of power would t h us be the center around which society, constOlntly wrought by t he powers of diSSOlution. inStitutes itself as a unity and a community - the chieftainship's fo[('(' of integration against Ihe DMP's force of disintegration: "The hig-man :lnd his consuming amhition arC' means whe re by a se-gmcntary society, 'acephJlous' and fr,lgme n t ed into slll,lIl autonomous communities overcomes these cle
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site spectacle that Mel(1nr:sian sorieti{'S offer us. As far JS division. Wt' sr:r: th a t i f thr:re is, in fact, division, it is only that which sepamtes a mi nority of rich workers from a majority of t h e lazy poor: but. and it is here that we touch upon the very foundation of primitive society. the rich are only rich because of their own work. the fruits of which are appropriated and ('on­ sumr:d by the idle massC's of the poor. In other words, socir:ty as a whole exploits the work of the mi nority that surrounds the big-man. How then can we speak of power in rela ti on 10 th e chief. if he is exploited by socicty? A paradoxical disjunction of forccs that all divided societies maintain: could the ch ief. on the one han(!, exercise power over society. social rC'ltllions it institutes: wt' then i ntroduce into primitive society tl conlTCldiction which GlnnOl appear there. How call society's will for equality adapt to the desire for power which would precise­ ly found inequCllity betwcen those who command and thos{' who olll'Y? To raise the quC'stion of political power i n p ri m i tive societies fo rc(,5 one to think of chieftainship outside of power, to ponder this immediate given of primi­ tive sociology: the lead('r is pow (' rl ess. In exchange for his gcntrosity. what does the big-man get? Not the ful fillment of his desire for power. but the frClgile satisfaction of his honor, not the ability to command. but the inno­ ctnt enjoym('nt of a glory he exhausts himself to maintain. l I e works. literal­ ly, for glory: society gives it to him willingly. busy as it is s<1voring the fruits of its ch ie fs labor. Flattercrs live at the expense of those who listen to them. Since the big-man's prestige does not wi n him Clny authority, it follows thClt he is not the fITSt rung of the leQuenc{' of the i n i l iO'lI confusion berwren prestige a n d power

appears. Powerful Polyn{'sitln royalty docs not result from a progressive development of MelanesiCln big-nlCln sy�tems. becCluse there is nothing in these systems to develop: society does not allow the chief to transform his prestige into power. We must, therefore, utterly renounce this continuist con� ception of social formiltions, and accept and recognize that primitive soci­ eties where the chiefs Me powerless arc radical departures from societies where power relations unfold: the essential discontinuity i n societies without a State and societies with Cl State. Now, there is a conceptual instrument generally unknown to ethnologists that Clllows us to resolve many difficulties: i l is the c"tegory of debt. let us return for a moment to the primitive chiefs obligation of generosity. Why does the institution of the ch ieftainsh ip involve thiS obligation? It cellainly expresses a SOil of contr
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Since dcbt rclations belong to the exercise of power. one must be pre· pa red to fi n d it everywherc that power is exefri sed. This is indeed wh at fOy· a l ty t t"a ch es us. Poly n esi a n Of ot h erw is e. Who pays the debt here? Who arc the indebted? Th ey
society and the divided soc i ety. Th e ('o �ceptio n of H istory as a c o n t i n u u m of social formations engendering themselves mecha n i call y one after tht' other fails here, in its blindness to t ht' glaring fact of rup t u re and discontinuity, to articulate tht' true problems: w hy docs p ri m i . tive society ccase at a certain moment to code the flow of power? Why docs it <111ow inequality and divi s i o n to anchor death in the social body which it h a d . u n t i l then. w;]rded off'? Wh y do t h e Savages i m p l e m e n t the chiefs des ire for powrr? Where i s the acceptance of servitude born? A close reClding of Sahlins' book constantly r<1iscs s i m i l a r questions. It d o es nOI t'x pl ic i tly formulate them itself, for the r o m i n u is! prejudice acts as a veritable e pi st e m olog ic a l o!Jstaclc to t h t logic of t h i s an
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Paniai who, before killing their big-man, explained to h i m : .....You s ho u l d not be the on ly rich one among us, we sh o ul d all be the same, so you have to b e e q u al to us." A d iscourse of so ci e ty a ga i ns t power which i s echoed by the reverse discourse of power agai n st society, clearly stated by ano t h er chief: "I a m a chief not because the people love me, but because they owe mc m o n ey and they are scared." The first and only among the experts i n e co n om i c a n t hro p ol ogy, Sahlins paves the wfly for fl new the o ry of prim i . live society by al l ow i ng us to m eas u re the i m me nse heuristic value of the economical-political c at egOl Y of debt. We. must fm a l ly po i n t out that Sflhlins' work fu rni shes an essential p i ec e in the dossier of a debate that. until quite recently. was not inscrihed in the order or the day: wh<1! o f Milrxism in ethnology. and of et h nol o gy i n Milrxism? The stakes i n such an interrog,'ltion are vast, extending far beyo n d university walls. Let us s i m ply call 10 m in d here t h e terms of a p ro b l e m which will be brought up soo ne r or l at er. Marxism is no! o n ly the description of a p art icul ar social system ( i n dustrial capitalism), it is a l so a general theory of history and of social change. This t!leory presents i ts el f as the sc i en ce of society and of hislOI)', it unfolds in th e m a te ria l i st co n cep t i on of societal movement and di scovers the law of this movement. There is thus a rationali� ty of h i story, the being and the \lrcomillg of the so c i o h i sto ri c al real brings up, o n e last time. the economic det ermi n a ti o n s of society: ultimately, these arc the p l ay and the devC'lopment of productive forces which determine the being of society, and it is the contradiction between the development of pro­ ductive forces and the rapports of production which. interlocking social change and i n n ovat i o n , constitute the very substance and l<1w of h istory. Marxist theory o f society and h i st o !)' is a n economic determinism which affirms the prevalenC'e of th{' material infrastructure. History is thinkable hr ca use i t is ralionnl, it is rati o n a l because i t is, s o to speak. nntural, ns M arx says in Dos Kapital: "The development of society's eco n o m i C' formntion is a s s i m i l a b l e to the p rogress of n atu re and its h i s t ory. . . . . . [t follows that Marxism, as a science of human society i n general, can be used to consider a l l social formations histol)' offers us. [t can be used, cenClinly, but even m o re , it is o b l i ged to consider all societies to be a valid theol)'. Marxists, thUS, cannot ign o re primitive society; t h e historical continuism afflTmed by the the.ory they claim as their own does not allow them to. When ethnol ogists <1re Marxists.

t hey obviously subjecI primilive soci­ ety t o the analysis that calls for and allows the inSlrument that I hey pos­ sess: Marxist th e o ry a n d its economic determinism. They must, conse­ quently, affirm that even i n societies <1nterior to rapi!al islll, economics I I 7

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occupieu a central, decisive place. There is, i n efftct, no reason for p ri m i ­ tive societies, for example, to be an exception to the general law that encompasses all societies: p rod u ct i ve forces tend to de vel op. We find our­

selves asking two very simple quest i ons as a result : Are economics ce nt ral

i n p ri m i ti ve societies? Do productive forces develop? It i s precisely the

answers to these questions that Sahlins' book formulates. It i n fo rms us or reminds us that in primitive societies, the economy is not a ma ch i n e that fu nctions autonomously: i t is impossible to separate it from social l ife, reli­ gious life. ritual life, etc. Not only docs the economic field nOl determine the being of primitive soci ety, but it is rather society that determines the place and limits of the economic field. Not only do lhe productive forces

not trnd toward development. bur th e wi]! for u n derproduction is i n h erent

9

in the OMP. Primitive society is not rhe passive toy i n lhe blind g,lIne of

produ(·tive forces; it is, on the con trary, society tilat ceaselessly exercises rigorous and deliberate control over production. It is the social that orders the economic game; it is. u l ti m atel y, the political that dctermines the eco­ nomic. Primitive societies are ma ch i n es of a n t i -production. What. then, i s

the motor of history? How does a n t deduce the social classes o f a classless

THE RHURN TO ENLIGHTENMENT

society, the division of a n undivided society, the alienated work of a soci­ ety tlwt o n l y a l i enates the work of the ch ief. the St
a S t at e ? Mysteries. [ t follows that Marxism C
1 will explain myself: but this will b(' (0 take the Illost use­ less, mOSt supect1uolls precaution: for everything that

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

obs c ur ant i st . We do n o t know whether or n o t i t is possihle to b e Marxist in ph i l oso phy: we see c !ea rl y, however, that it i s impossible in ethno logy.

Sahlins. who exposes the mystifICations and deceptions with which the so­ called hUman sciences too often content themselves. More concerned with

establishing theory starting fro m facts than fluing facts to t h eo ry. Sahlins

shows us that research must be
this i n common - they are incapable of re n ecti n g on man in prim itive soci­

eties without including h i m i n the ethical and conceptual frameworks issued from capitalism o r from thE" critique of capitalism. Their pathetic undenak­ ings are born in the same place and produce the same results: an tthnology of poverty. Sahlins has helped demonstrate the poverty of their ethnology. I I 8

will

need to be told.

that posit themselves i n the refusal of economy, is more th
Iconoclastic and salutary, we W e re say i n g of the great work o f Marshall

I

('II you could only be understood by (hose who do not

shal l be the last to Pierre Birnb
�

polilics . that is, the ques­ approa ching (or not approa ching) the questio n of s. Rather than extrac t the tion of society, i n what we call the social science time on the appare ntly, for co m i c aspects and w i thout spendi ng too much b l urrr-d ldeas, I vir able conJ' u n ction betwee n confid ent tone and , some. i n i' First published i n

Rel'ue froll(oi.H' de science polirique.

no.

de la Fondation nalionale des sciences politiques, Febmary. 1977, I I 9

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o r

w i l l attempt to lcro i n on little by littl(' the Birnbaum has produced his lex!.

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" th e o re t i c;] I "

locus from which

But first. let's correct certain �rrors and fill in some gaps. [t se�m s, according to the author. that [ invite my contemporaries "'0 envy the fat� of Savages." N;five or cunning? No more than the astronomer who invites oth­ ers t o envy the fate of sta rs do I mil itate i n favor of the Savage world, Birnbaum confuses mt" with promoters of an t"nterprise in which [ do not ho l d stock (R. Jaulin and his acolytes). Is B i rnb au m unable, then. to locate the difference's? As analyst of a certain type of society, I attempt to unveil the modes o f functioning and not to construct programs: [ content myself with describing th� S avages, but p e rha ps it is he who fmds them nOble? So leI's skip ovrr this fulile and hardly innocent chatter on thr return of the Noble Sewage-. Besides, l3irnbaum's COnstant references to my book on the­ Guayaki leave me a bit perplexed: does h e imagine by cha n ce that this tri be constitutes my only ethnological basis of support? I f this is the eas�, h e shows an unsettling g<tp in h is inform
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conviction that society could not be thought of without division and admit that primitivt" peoples constituted societies in the full sense of tht" term; or l'lse decide th
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l eg it i m acy ? Thus. the chiefs of whic h he speaks possess the monopoly o n leg it i m ate speech? And what docs this l egi ti m ate speech say? We would be very curious to know. Th us. no one can oppose this speech without com­ mitting a sacrilege? But then these are absolute monarchs, Attilas or Pharaohs! We arc wasting our t i m e then renecting on t he Ie"gitimacy of their speech: for th ey arc the only ones to speak. it is they who command; ir {hey command. it is they who possess political power; if they possess political power, i t is b ecause socicry is divided into Masters and Subjects. Off th e subject: I a m i n terested in primitive soci e ties a nd no t i n a rc h ai c despo t ism . La ll i erre/ B i r nbau m , in order to avoid a slight co ntradi ct i on , shou ld choose : d th e r p rimi t ive soc.: itty i s subjected to the "[Otal constraint" of i ts norms. or else it is dominated hy the ! c gi ti m att speech o f the ch i ef. Let us allow tht professor to talk (lbout this and go hack to the pupil who needs some additional explan
such that. if it is unaware of lhe diffe rence between the rich and the poor. a

fortiori,

it is becaust the opposition between the expl oi tcrs and the exploited

is absent. But this is not the tssential matter. What is notably

absent is the

political division into the domi n at ing and the dominated: the ch iefs are not there to command, n o one is destined to obey. power is not separate from

society wh ich. as a s ingle totality, is the exclusive holder of power. I have

writt en countless times before {and it seems t h is is s til l n ot enou gh I) t hat

power only exists when exercised: a power (hat is not exercised is. in effect. nothing. What, then, docs primitive society do with the power that it pos­

sl'sses? It exe rcises it. of course, and fl TSt of all. o n the chief, precisely to pre­ vent him rrom rulfllling an eventual desire for power, t o prevent h i m from acting the chief. More gen eral ly, society exercises its power i n o rder to con­ serve it . in order to prevent the separat io n of this powcr, i n order to ward orf the i rruption of d ivi sion into the social body, the division into Masters and

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Law, that is, t o the ensemble of norms th at organize social relations. Where does Law come from? Where is Law as legitimate foundation of society horn? In a time prior to society, mythic time; its binhplaee is at once imme­

diate a nd in f in it ely faraway, the space: of the Ancestors, of cultural heroes, of gods. It is the re that society institutes itself as an undivided body; it is they who decree the law as a system of norms, this Law that religion has a mis­ sion to transmit and to make sure is eternally respectcd. What does thi s mean? It m eans that society's foundation is exterior to itself, society is not (he founder of itself: (he fou ndati on of primitive soci ety does not stem from hu m a n decision, b ut from divine action. At this. an idea developed i n a n absolutely origi n al way by Marcel Gaucher. Bi rnbaum declares himself sur­ prised: how surprising, indeed, that religion is not the an opiate. but that the religious component. far from ac t in g as a suptrstructure over socie ty, sllould bl', on the contrary, inherent in the primitive social being; how surprising thtl! this so ci ety should be read as a total social fact! Does Birnb
Subjects. In other words, society's use of power to assure the conservation of

on my orga n icist conception of society. Could it be that he docs n o t under­

its u ndivided being: crtatts a relatio n sh ip betwel' n thl' so c ial being and itself. What third term establishes this relationship? It is prec isely that which caus­

stand what h e reads? The metaphor of the beehive (metaphor, a n d not

es so much worry for BirnbaumJOurkheim, it is the world of myth and rites,

celebrate the festival of honey, compare themselves, indeed, against

it is the religious dimension. The pri m itive social being meditated by rel i ­

to a beehive! This would nOt happen to B i r nbaum ; he is not a poet. but a

gion. Is Birnbaum u n aware that there is no society except under the sign of the Law? This is probable. Religion thus assures society' s relationship to its

Cf..

primitives," [C hap ler Six in M. Sah lins' book. Gal1imard. 1976 !Chapter

for example. -La question du pouvoir dans Jes societes

llltt'rrogariolls, International Journal of Anarchist R ese''lTeh . 7, 1976 1

this presenl bookI.

Cf.

also

Five ill ttlis prescllI book).

my preface

to

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model) is not mine, but t he Guayaki I ndians': these irrational ists. when they al l

logic,

scholar of cool Reason. May he keep it.2

On p age ten of his essay, Birnhaum dec la res me incapable of giving a

sociol ogi cal explanation of the birth of the State. But on page t 9 , i t s eems If Bimbaum is interested in organicist concep tions of society,

he

should read

t.eroi-Gomhan (Le Geste et /0 ParD/e) : he will be gratifIed. Now for a riddle: In South America, the Whites calt thelllseives raciollales: in retation to who m ? I

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Ihat this birth "may now be explained by rigorous demographic determin­ . ism .... It is, in shan, the reader's choice. A few clarifications may guidc this ch oicc . Actually, up umil now, I havc nt:ver said a ny th i n g regarding the ori­ .

gin of lhe State, that is, regarding the origin of social division, the origin of domination. Why? Because this is a matter of a (fundamental) q u estio n of so ci o lo gy and not of theology or philosophy of history. In o t her words, to ,

p ose the question of origin depends on an analysis of the social: under what

conditions can social division surge forth from tbe undivided sociery? What is t h t: nature of tbr social force'S that would lead Savages to acc<'pt the divi­

sion into Masters and Subjects? Under what conditions does pri mitive soci­ ety as undivided society die? A geneology of misfortune, a se a rch for the social dillomclI that can only be developed, of course, oy questioning the primitive social bei n g : the problem of origi n is strictly sociological, and nei­

ther Con do rce! nor Hegd, ntiOler Comte n or E n g-els, neither Durkheim nor

I:Hrnhaum are of any help i n this. In ord r r to u nderst
must btgin with the society that txisted to prevent it. As for k n o w i n g

whether I r a n or ca n not articulate a n answer to t h e q ues t io n o f the origin of the State, I still do not know, and Birr'lbaum knows even less. Let us wait. let

us work, th('re is n o hurry.

Two words now regarding my theory on the origin of the State: ·· rigor­

ous demographic determinism explains its appearance,

,.

Birnbaum has me

say, with a consummate sense of the comic. It would be a great relief if we

could go from demographic growt h to the institution of the State i n a si n gl e

b o u n d ; w e w o u l d have time t o occupy ourselves with o t h e r mattns.

Unfortunately, things are not so simple. To substitute a demographic materi­

l H f

! R C H f 0 1 0 G Y

O f

Y I O l f N ( f

non-division of the social be i n g is due n ot to primitive societies· fetal or ('/llhryonic statt.·, nOt to an incompk\ {:I1l'ss or a noncompletion, but is relat­ rd to a sociological act, to an institution of sociality as rC'fusal of d i viS i on

a .. fefusal of domination: if primitivr societies afe Statrl ess, it is b('caus

�

they art: against the St<1te, Birnbaum, al! of a su dde n, and many others ,liang with him. no longer he ar out of this ear. Ttlis disturbs them. They

don ' t m i n d rhe Stateless, but against the State, hold it! This is an outragc. What about Marx then? And Durkheim? And us? Can we no longer tell our liltle stories? No! This cannot h appen ! Wc have hcre a n illlcres t i n g case of what psychoanalysis calls rcsistence; we Set' w h a t a l l thrsc dOClors are

res ist i ng, and th!'rapy will be it deep hreath.

Birnbaum's readers may t ire of havi n g to choose cons t an tly. Indeed,

ttle author speaks on pag!' n i n e of my "voluntilrism t h a t casts asick all

structural explanation of the State" only to state on page 20 that I a\)an ­ don ··the voluntarist dimension w h i c h a n i mates La Boetie's LJi.�COIIfS . . .

Appare nt ly u n accustomed t o logic, Birnbaum confuses two distinct out­

lines of reflection: a theorC'l i e al outline and a practical outline. The first is

articulated around a historical and sodological question: what is the origin

of domination? The second refers to a political question: w h at should we do to abolish domination? This is n ot the place to address the latter point.

Let us return, then, to the former. It seems to me that Birnbaum quite sim­ ply has not read my brirf essay on La Roeti<' : nothing, o f course, obliges him to, but why the devil p i ck up his pen to w ri t e on things he knows

no t h in g about? I will t hu s quote myself as to the voluntary character of

alism for an economic materialism? Tht pyramid would still he poised on i ts tip. What is cenain, on the other hand, is that eth nologists, historians and

servitudc and to the properly anthropological stakes of La Botie's Distollrs:

demographers have shartd a false cenai nty for a very lo n g time: namely,

desire." (Sec Chapter 7 of this book). A high school student a l ready knows

thai the population of primitive societies was n e c{'ssarily weak, stable, inen.

a l l this: that desire refers to the unconscious, that social desire refers to the

Recent restarch shows t he opp osi te : the primitive dem ograp hy cvolv('s, and

social unconscious, and that sociopolitical life does not unfold only in the

most oftc-n, in the direction of growth. I have, for my part, attempted to

·'And though unintcntional. t h is w i ll sudde nly reveals its true identity: it is

accountability of consciously expressed wills. For Birnbaum, psychological

show that in certain conditions, t h e demographic eventually has a n effect on

conceptions must date from the middle of the 19th century, the category of

Ihe sociological. that this ptlrameter must be taken into account as much as

others (not more. but not less) if one wants to determi n e the p ossib il ity of

desire is no doubt po rn ography, w h i l e will is Reason. As for me, I attempt

changr in primitive society. From this to a deduction of the Stat(' . .

to zero i n on [he arenn of desire as a political space, to est a bl is h that the

desire for power Cilnnot be realized itsrlf without thf" i n verse and symmf"l­

like everyone, Birnbaum passively welcomed what ethnology taught:

primitive socicties arc societies without a Sta te - without a separate organ

rical desire for submission, to show that primilive society is the locus of

of power. Very good. Taking primitive societies s eriously, on t h e o n e hand,

this desire more powerful than its repression? Why docs the commun ity of

they are without a State, why power is not separated fro m the social body.

yield to t h e love of One?

and ethn olog i cal discourse on these societies, on the other, I wo n der why

And it appears to me l ittl e by little that this n o n s e p;l rat io n of power, this -

I 1 4

repression o f this two-fold evil desire, and to ask: Under w hat conditions is

Equals divide itself into Masters and Subj<'cts? How can respcC"{ for tht L aw

I 1 5

I ll f

.oI. R C ll f O I O G Y

O f

V I O L f N ( f

Are we not approaching the truth? It seems so. Would not the ulti m ate ilnalyzer of al! this be what we call Marxism? It is true that, to describe the anth ropology that c l a i m s filiation w i t h Marxism. J used the expression

(which seems to trou ble Birnbaum) "Marxist swamp." This was in a moment

of excessive benevolC'nce. The study and analysis of Karl Marx's thought is one thing. the examination of all that calls itself "Marxist" is another, As for

anthropological "Marxism" - Marxist anth ropology - an obviousness begins (slowly) to emerge: this "anthropology" is mnde up of a two- fold deception, On the one hrmci, it dt"( rpt ively and shamelessly affi rms its relationship with '

the letter and spirit of M a rx ian thought; on the other hand, it deceptively,

and fanatically, attempts to express the social being of prim iti ve society sci­

enti fi cally, M a rxist anthropologists could care less about primitive societies!

10

They don't even exist for these obs cu rantist theologians who can only speak

of pre-capitalist soci e t i es , Nothing but the holy Dog ma ! Doctrine above

everyth ing! Especia lly above the reality of the social being,

The social sciences (and nOl
the ( h ecHe r of a powe rful attempt at i deological invrstment. Marxiflcation! yelps t h e right. which has lo n g s i n c e lost the capacity for comp rehensio n

M�RXISTS �ND

,

But Marx. it seems to me, does not have a lot to do with this cuisine, As for

THE IR �NTHROPOLOGY

him, he saw a little further than Engles' nose; he saw them coming, the

M a rx i sts in reinforced concrete, ahead of time. Their somber, elemental)', d o m i natrix ideology of c o m b a t ( d o e s n ' t d o m i n a t i o n say anythi n g to Birnbaum?) can b e recognized beneath the interchangeable masks called Leninism, Stalinism. Maoism (its partisans have gotten subtle lately) : it is this i deol ogy of conquest of total power (doesn 't power say anything to Birnbaum?!, i t is this ide ol ogy of gra n ite hard to destroy, which Claude .

Lefort has begun to chisel) Wouldn 't this. fmally. be the pla cE' from which

Birnbaum attempts to speak (the swamp where he seems to want to wallow)? Would this not be the undenaking to which he wants to bring his modest

contrihution? And he does not fear, af(rr this, to speak to me of freedom, of thought, of thought of freed o m lie h as no shame, ,

As for his pranks regarding my pessimism. texts such as his are surely

not the kind to make me optimistic, But I ('an assurE' Birnbaum of one thing:

1 a m not a drfratist.

Though it is not vel)' entertaining, we must renect a bi t on Marxist

anthropol ogy, on its causes and effects, its advantages and i n con veniences

.

For if, ethnomarxism, on the one hand, is still a powerful current i n the

h u m a n sciences, the ethnology of Marxists is, o n the ot he r h a n d , of a n absolute, o r rather, radical nullity: it i s null at its root. And this is why it is

not n('(' ("SSill)' to enter jlllo the works in det ai l : one can quite easily consider ethnomarxists' abundant production as a whole, as a homogeneous whole equal TO z ero Let us ruminate then, on this nothingness, on lhis conjunction ,

between Marxist discourse and p ri mitive soc i ety,

A few historical p o i nts fust. French a n t h rop o lo gy has developed for the ,

past twenty years. thanks to the i n sti tut i onal promotion of the social sci­ ences (the creation of numerous ('ourses in l'thnology in the Un i ve rsi t ies and first published i n

I.ivre,

110.

3 , Paris, Payot, pp,

1 3 5- 1 49,

w i th the fo ll owi ng

note: "These pages were written by Pierre Clasues a few days before his d(';!th, He

1976, ]

Cf. UII

homme en trap. R�f1e.riolls sur l'Archipel rill Goulog.

I 1 6

Edilions

du Seuil,

was not able to oversee the tr ansc rip t i o n lems

in

and revision.

Helice, there were some prob­

deciphering Ihe manllsc-ripl. Questionable words were placed in bracket�,

lllrgible words or rxprr�5ions were It:ft bl,mk," I 2 7

l H f

A R C H f O I O ' Y

o r

V I O l f N C f

at the Centre National de la Recht'rche ScientifHlue), but also i n the wake of

Levi-Strauss' considerahly original undertaking. And so, until rtcenlly, eth­ nology unfolded principally under the sign of structuralism. But, around tt'n yeilrs ago, tilt: tendency was reversed: Marxism (what is caU('d Marxism) has gradually ('merged as an important l i n e of anthropological rescarch. recog­ nized by numerous non-Marxist researchers as a legitimatt: and respectable discourse on the societies that ethnologists study. Structuralist discoursc has

I H I:

oI. R ( H f O L O ' Y

O f

V I O l E N { [

dame ntal. I n other words, primitivC' so('iety, less than any other, cannot be thou ght o f without kinship n:i;lIions. ,md yet the study of kinship (such as it bas been ('ond ucled up until now, in Hny CilSl') docs not leach us anything about the primitive social bcing. What use art.' kinship relations i n primitivt.' <;ocil.' lies? Structur;llism can only furnish a single answer, a massive olle: to COdify the prohibition of incest. This function of kinship explain<; [ha[ men

thus yielded to Marxist discourse as the dominant discourse of anthropology.

art not a nimals. and nothin g more: it does not explain how primitive: miln is a pal1icular man. difft:reot from others. And yCt kinship tit's fulfill a deter-

this o r that Marxist, for example, is laughable. I f the Marxists shine, it is not

,ociety mad(' up of equals: kinship. society. equ.:ll ity. even comb.:l!' I}ut this is

For whiH reasons? To invoke a taltnt superior to tlUll of Levi-Strauss i n

due to their talent, for they sorely lack talent. by defmition, one could say: the M a rxist machint.' would not function if its mechanics had Ihe least tilient, as we shall see. On the othrr hand. to attribute, as is often done, the regrt.'s­ sion of strucluralism to the fkklenC'ss of fash ion stems absolutely superfIcial. I nsofar as structuralist discourse conveys a strong thought (a Ihought), it is transconjunctural and i n differt.'nt to fashion: an empty and quickly forgotten discourse. Wt.' shall soon see what is left of it. Of course. wt.' cannot attach

the progression of Marxism in ethnology

10

fClshion either. Tht lam-r was

ready, ah('ad of time. to flll an enormous gap in the stru('turalist discoursr (in

1l1 ined fu nction. inherent in primitive society as such. that is, an undivi(kd

allother Story, of which we shall speak another time. Levi- Strauss' Other great success is silUatt.'U in tht' fIeld of mythology. rhe analysis of myths has provoked fewer voc.:ltions than that of kinship: among other thi ngs, because it is more d iffi cult and because no one. no doubt, could ever manage to do it as well as tht.' masttr. On what condition can his a n a lysis be deployed? On the condition tbat myths constitute a

homogeneous system, on the condition that "myths reflect upon each other," as Levi-S trauss says himself. The myths thus have a rapport with e.:lch other.

they can In.' rcOl'ctcd upon. Wry good. But docs the myth (a particular myth)

reality, Marxism docs nOt fill anything at ;111. as r w i l l aurmpi to show).

limit itself to reflecting upon its neighbors so that the mythologist might

major discourse of social anthropology does not speak of society. What is

abolishes. in a pal1icularly clear manner, the rappon with tile social: it is the

What is this gap where the failure of structuralism takes root? ] { is that this missing, eras('d from the structuralist discourse (essential ly. thm of Lrvi­ Striluss: for, outside of a few father clever disciples, cap<1ble <11 best of doing sub-Levi-Strauss, who arc the struclumlists?), whnt this discourse cannot sp{'ak of, ut.'<:(luse it is nor drsigned for it, is concrete primitive society. its mode of functioning, its internal dynamic, its e('onomy and its politics. But all the same. it will ue said. the kinsllip, thr myths, don 't these count? lC'nai nly. With the exception of cenain M n rxists. eve!),one agrees to rccogni7.t.' the decisive i m p o r t a n c e o f Levi-Strauss' work Elem elltary Stru('tures oj Kinship. This book, moreover, has inspired among ethnologistS

a formidable outpouring of studieS of kinship: there are countl ess studies on the mother's brother or the sister's daughter. Are they able to speak of any­ thing else? But lC't us pose the real question oner and for a l l : is the discourse on kinshi l) a discourst· nn society? DoC's the knowlt'dgc of the kinship system of such and such tribe i n form us about lts SOci,ll life? Not at all: when one

has skinned a kinship system, onc s('arcely knows any morc ilbout the soci­ ety. onC' is still at the threshold. Tile primitive soci,,1 body (",m no! be reduced to its blood {ies and alliances; it is not only a ma('hine for fabricating kin­ ship relations. Kinship is not sociery: is this to say that kinship r('i;Hions arC'

reOect upon them togetlwr? Surely not. Here again, structuralist thought relation of the myths among themselves Illat is privileged at Ihe oUlset, by elision of the place of the production a n d inv�ntion of the myth. the society. That the myths think themselves among each other, that their struCI ure can be analye-d. is cenain: Levi-Slrauss hrilliantly providts the proof: but it is i n a secondary sense: for thC'y fIrst consider the soriety which considers itself in them, and thert:in lit:s their function. Myths make up primitive society's dis­ course on itself; they have a sociopolitical dimension that structural analysis naturally avoids taking into l'onsideration lest it break down. Structuralism is only operative on the condition of cutting the mythS from society, of seiz­ ing them. ethereal, floating a good distance from the space of origin. And this is indeed why i t is almost never a question of primitive social life: namely, the rile. What is th('re that is more collenive. indt.'ed, mort' social, than a ritual? Tile ril(' is the religious m{'diation b{'lwC'l'n myth and society: but. for structuralist analysis. the difflculty siems from the fact that rites do

nOt renect upon each other. 11 is impossible to [enect upon them. Thus. exit

tllC' rite, and with it, society.

Whether o n e appruacht·s StTUcluf.alism from its summit (the work or Levi-Strauss), whrlher one considers this summit according to its tWO major

st.'condary in Ihr primitive sorial fabric? Much to the contrary: they <1r(' fun-

components (analysis of kinship. ilnalysis of myths), an observation emerges,

1 1 a

1 1 9

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� R C H f O L O G Y

O f

V I O L f N ( !

l H f

the observation of an absence: this elegant discourse, often very rich, does nOI speak about the society. It is
dismissed, is replaced by a new ballet, that of the Marx ists (as they call themselves) : they do a robust folk dance i n their big, studded clogs, stomp­ i n g clumsily o n the ground of reseiHch. For various reasons (pol itical and

� R C ll f O L O G Y

O f

� I O L f N ( f

reader and show appreciation : and yet, this is not at all the case. To Adl e r s '

v('1)' reasonablt:: objections (who destroys, as we might expcct, the author's

llndertaking), Meillassoux rcsponds2 in a way that can be summed up easily: those who do not agree with Marxist a n thropology are partisans of P i nochet. Cekom<;a. This is short but to the point. Why bother with nuances when one

is the supercilious prolector of the doctrine? He is a sort of il/legris/c, there is

so meth i n g of a Monseigncur Lefebvre in this m a n : the same stubborn fanati­ cism, the same incurable
social and historical theory, is en t itl ed by nature to extend its discourse to

to doubt the dominant relations of product ion in primi 1 ive social l i fe.

the field of primitive society. Berter: the logic of M arxist doctrine forces it

give the i mpression that he has the monopoly on anthropologiral Marxism.

not scientific), the public applauds. It is, i n effecl, because Marxism, as a

not to neglect any typ(' of society, it is in its nature to speak the truth regarding: all social formalions that mark history. And this is why there is, inht'rent i n the glo bal Milrxist discourse, a discourse prepared i n advance on primitive society.

M a rxist ethnologistS make up :l n obscure but n u merous p h al a nx

.

We

search i n vain for a marked individuality, an origin a l m i n d i n this disci­

p l i n e d body: all devout followrrs of the same doctrine, they profess the

same bel ief. intone the same credo. each surveyi n g the other to make sure the letter of the canticl('s sung by this scarcely angelic choi r arc respected in orthodoxy. Tendcncies. howev� r, are confrontr(j aggressively. one might

Meillitssoux, however, is not alone, and it would be unjust to the others 10

We must, for equity's sake, make room for his deserving colleagues.

Take, for example, Godelier. lie has acquired quite CI reputati o n (at the

bollom of rue de Tou rnon) as a Marxist thi nker. His Marxism attracts atten­

tion, for it seems less rugged, more ecumenical than Meil lassoux·s. There is something of a radical-socialist in this m a n (red on the outside, white on the inside). Could this be an opportunist? Come now. This is an ath l ete of thought: he has undertaken to establish the syn thesis between structural ism and Marxism. We see him hop from Marx to Levi-Strauss. (Jlo p! As though it

were a q ue stion of a little bird! These an� the l urches of an elt'ph ant.)

Let us fl ip through his l;lst work,J notably the preface of the second edi­

argue. Indeed: each of tbem spends his t ime calling the other a pseudo­

tion: a task, which, l('t it be s
his own. It is not up to tn!;', n at urally, to hand out diplomas for Marxist

indeed, makes the man, and this one is not exactly Proustian (this boy does

thei r sectarian quarrels stir the s ame parish, a n d that the Marxism of one is

all), that Deleuze and Guattari have al ready addressed this in Anti-Oedipus,

Marxist impostor, each claims the correct interpretation of t h e Dogma as auth enticity to whoever deserves them

(IlT

Th('m deal with that themselves).

But I can, how ever, (it is not a p l easure, it is a duty) attempt to show Ihat not worth morc than that of an other.

Take for example Meillassoux. H e wou ld be, they say, om' of the thinking

(thinking!) heads of Marxist anthropology. [n this p articular case, pai n stak­

ing efforts have been spared me, thanks to thl' detai!rd analysis Ih;1I A. Adler

hilS devoted to this author'S recent work. 1 Let the reade t refer, the n, to this

work :lnd to i ts criticism: Adlrr's \vork is serious. rigorous, mOTe than atten­

tive (Adler, like M('illassoux - or rather, unlike h i m - is, in f�1C't, a specialist

o n Africa). The M arx i st thinker should be proud

10

have as co n s c i e nti o us II

I C'. M('illa��otlx, Femmes, Gr/.'lli('rS eT CapiTal/_r. Paris, Maspero.

Adkr, "L'rlhnologir pp. l i S - I i'S.

m a rx is te :

1976;

but that their remarks were probably inspired by C1astres (p. 25, n . 3). Go

figure. Godelier is, in any ('<1St. hon est : he admits that he does n o t under�

stand anything he reads (he quotes things and then peppe rs them with excla­

mation points and question marks). God{'lier does not lik(' the- category of

desire, which suits hi m well, by the way. It would be a waste of ti me to try to explain, because he wou ldn t understand. that what Lefort '

a nd

I id('ntify

under this term h as very little' to do with how Deleuze and Gu attari use it.

C.

Me-illassollx, "Sur deux critiques de Femllles, Gr(' lIiers ('I Capilol/x Ol!

Pahrenheit 450.5.� I 'Homme, XVII 2

A.

veTS un nO\lvel obscur, lllt isme?" ['Homme. XVI (4),

1 J 0

not have his eye on the French Academy). [n short the conclusion to this preface is a bit tangled. Godelier explains that Lefort and I pose the question of the State 's origin (in our work on La Boetie) (this is not what it is about at

( I ).

pp.

1 2 3 - 1 2S.

) M. Goddirr. HoriZOIl. {rajas IllIIuis{es ell all/ilrop%

Maspero,

1977.

1 J 1

gie,

2nd

edition, Paris,

r !l f

A � ( U ! O L 0 6 Y

o r

I U t

v r O L f N f f

Lrt us move on. [ n any case, thesr ideas ilre suspect to him, for the bour­

geoisie applauds them, and tH' is doing everything necessary to insure that the bourgeoisie remain the only on<,s to applaud.

Godelicr. on the other hand. is applauded by the proletariat. To his proud

�

rem rks, what ovations in Billancourt! There is. let us admit, something moving {and unexpected) in Ihis ascetic rupture: h e renounces the U n ivcrsity of the bourgeoisie, its pomp and careers. its work and promorions. This is the

Saint Paul of the hUman sciences. Amen. Bur all the same, the reader loses

patience; ran Iilis oaf Uller anything but silli ness? l i e must havt' an idea from lime to time! Godelier's ideas are very d i ffKult to find i n this over­ whelming M a rxist rhetoric. If we put aside the quotations of Marx, and the hanalities of which everyone is guilty in moments of laziness, there isn't much left. let us admit however, that in the foreword of the first edition. and the preface of the second. our pachydl'rm has made a considerahle effort (good intentions are not lacking). Embarking on a veritalJle journey, as h e . says himself, this hardy navigator has crossed oceans of concepts. Wh;H has he discoven:d? Th'lt the represent(1tions. for example, of primitive soci{'ties (religions, myths, etc.) hdong to the field of ideol ogy. Now, it is appropriate

herr to be Marxi .. t (unlike Godelier), that is, faithful to the text of Marx:

�

wllat, i n l' fect. is ideology to Marx? It is the discourse that a dividrd society holds on ItSelf. structured around a social conflict. This discou rse has the mission to mask thl' division ;1Od the conOke to giv{' the appearance of

�

so ial homogeneity. In a word, ideol ogy is the lie. Por the ideological to eXist, there at least has to be soria! division. GodC'Jier is unaware of this;

�

hO\...., hen. could he know thaI ideology, in the sense in which Mi"\rx speaks . of 11. IS a lodern phenomenon, appearing in the 16th century, contempora­

�

neous, as It happens. to tIl{' birth of the modern, democratic State? II is n o t

historical knowledge t h a t weighs upon Gocielier's head: and so, religion, . my h are Ideology for him. He no doubt thinks that idcils are i deology. He

�

A R C U f O t O G Y

O f

V I O l f N { f

i n g: through the Andes (pp. 21-22). And what docs he discover there? That the relation hrtween the dominant caste of the Incas a n d the dominatetl

peasantry constituted an ulIrqual exchange (his emphasis. on top of it). Where did he go to fIsh this up? So, between the Master and the Subject.

there is a n u n equal cxchange? And no doubt also betwern the capital ist and the worker? Doesn't that spell corporatism? GodeJ ier/Salazar. same fight? Who would have thought! Lei us thus enrich Goddier's vocabulary: unequal exch;1I1g:e is simply called theft, or in Marxist ttrms, exploitation. This is thl' price for wanting to be both a structura l ist (exchange and reciprocity) and a Marxist (inequality); o n e is left with nothing. Godelier attempts here to pias­ ter the category of exchangr (which i� only valuable for primilivt' societies, that is, for societies of equals) onto societies divided into classes, that is, structured on inequality: (he mixes everythi n g and writcs - reactiollnry, o f course - n onsense). sometimes cramming religion into ideology, sometimes exchange into i n equality.

Every t h i n g i s t h e s a m c to h i m . Is h e i n t e rcsttd. for c x n m p l('. i n

Australian societies? He notices, with h i s usual finesse. thm there " Ilir re/a­ liollS of

kinship

lI'err also frialiolls

of productioll,

and constitutcd the ec O­

nomic structure"(p. 9, Ihis is still his emphasis), Halt! Production is present! This proposition severely lncks content. Or else. it signifIes thelt rhe said rela­ tions of production arc established between k i n : w h o m else would they hr e�tnblished with? With the enemies perhaps? Outside o f war, all socinl rela­ lions are esraulisiled betwC'"en relatives, o f course. Any b{'ginning ethnologist knows this; this is banal ity without intNest as a result. But this is not wh
of production,

productive forces, developm{'nt of productive forces

- this hard. wooden language th<11 they constantly have i n their mouths all while clinging \0 stru<:lur<1lism: primitive soeil"ly=kinship

rC'"lntions=rt'la­

�)el .leves that rveryone i s like him. [t is not i n primitive soci('ty that religion

lions of production. Cekom,iI.

�
competent and attentive to the facls than Godelier (this is not hard), special­

IS I(I �o l � gy, b u t in Godelier's h e a d :

10 h i m, h i s religion i s ccrtainly his

regard to primi­

\!ve socJetll's, that IS. undivided soC'iC'"tics, classless societies, since by n
A

mnst{'T stroke!

Quite logical ly, his "ideological" conception of primitive religion would lead h I m to determine myth as the opi
I 1 ,

A few brier remarks on lhis, First. on the C
as

of production,

More

M a rsh;:!11 Sahlins in the United Statr<; o r

Jacques Lizot here, who are concerned with ethnology a n d not with (';lte­

chism. have t'st<1hlished thaI primitive society functions prt'cisely l ike a machine of anti-production; that t h l' domestic mode of production still opl'r­ ates below its possibilities; til;)! there are no production reJ
Stolle

Agf'

Economics [Tr,ms,:

Chapter Eight

of

this book]), Narurally, Gode-lier (whose Marxism, as w e <;('e here. is exnctly the same hrand as that of his riv
I I I

Marx

Brothers)

' " t

4 K l l1 t U l U � Y

U i

Y I O L f N C f

ClInnot renounce lIoly Production: othcJ'"\Nise, h e would go b an krupt, he would be unemployed. That said, Godelier is not crazy: here is a good­ natured fe-liow who. with the good-naturedness of a bulldozer. crushes ethnographic facts under the doctrine by which he makt's his living, and who has the nerve to reproach otht:rs for total disdai n for all the facts that con­ tradict them (p. 24). He knows what he is talking about. On kinship. fInally. Though a structuralist, a Marxist C:lnnot understand k i no;h ip relations. What use is a ki n sh ip system? This. pupil GodeJier. is used to fabricate rcliltives. But what ust' is a relative? Surely not to p roduce any­ thing. It is used precisdy to bear the name of the relative unt il the new order. This is the principal sociological function of kinship in primitive soci­ ety (and Ilot to institute the prohibition of incest). [ could no doubt be more dear. I will limit myself for now (for a little suspense always produces the btst effects) to saying that the function of nomination. inscri bed i n kinship, determines tht: entire sociopolitical being of primitive society. [t is there that the ti C" hetween kinship and soci(-ty is located . Wr shall untie this k not another lime. If Godelicr manages to ,>ay a little more about this. we·11 offer h i m a free subscription to Lihft'. Gode1ier"s l)fef,H:e is a bou([uct: the most exquisite nower,> compose j{. A work of art. let us pick one last quote: '·For - and many are n ot aware of thi s - then' hav(' existed and still exist n umerous sOrle- ties divided i n t o orders or caSI('5 or cl asses, in t o exploiters and exploitrd, and w h o, neverthe­ less, do not know the State." Why doesn't he tell us fIrst, for prec ision is important. to whilt societics he is. alluding? Coy of him. As for tht' rest, he clea rly wants to say that one Ci1nnot think of social division without the State, that the division into the dominating and the dominated does not nec­ ('ssarily im pl icille I�e State. What exactly is the State for Godelier? Surely. the ministers, the [Iysee, tile White Iloust', the Kremlin. This i n n ocen ce of the- bumlJkin in the capital is chamling. Godelicr forgets ont" thing. the pri n­ ciple (which the Marxists manage to r('member when they control the Stale apparatus): namely, that the State is the exercise of political POW('T. We can­ not think power without the- State and the State without power. [n other words: there wht're one locates an eff('clive exercise of power by a p eco n omy. the tribull'. the dellt, the alienated work appear as signs and effects of p olit ica l division along the axis of power, [ have demonstrated sufficiently elsewht:re (and Godelier is not the last to have profucd from it. p. 22. for example, but withoul ([uoling me, lhe scoundrel. .. As Kant sair!. thcre :Ire (hose who do not like p
I H f

� R ( H f O I O G Y

O f

V I O l f H C f

primitive society is not divided because it docs not comprise a separate organ of political power. Social division fIrSt invol ves the separation between society and the organ of power. Thus, all non-primitive (that is. div ided) soc ieties comprise a more or less developed figure of the Statc. Where there are masters. where there
A n d now h a v i n g savored t h e sp e (" t
I H f

A R C H E O L O G Y

O f

J il l

V I O L E N C f

A R { H I O L O G Y

o r

V t O L f N C f

the 1 9 t h cen t ury has p roduce d : s c i e nl ism. I n o t h n w o nb, con t c-t11p orll ry Ma rx is m i nstitu tes il sel l' Il<; the st'iciltifl(' disc ou rse on the h istory o f soc i ety.

pe n d l' n t social bt'ing. I n the l o gic of M a rx ist d i scourse, primitive s oc i ety quirt' si mply cannot exist. i t dors not have tht' right to auto nomo us l'xis­

societal transformations that
late r. its necessary future. For

as tht, d iscourse that enunciatcs the laws of h isto ricll l moVt'ment. the

t he

la ws

of

o t h e r. Thus,

M a rx is m C,HI s pl'a k of all types of sorLeties. s i nce it understands t h e p ri n c i pll' of the i r workings in advance. But t he re is mor!': Marxism must speak typrs of sorictit's. wheth('r p oss i ble or rral, for that

OJ

th e

of

all

u n iversality of the laws

discovers cannot suffer a single excC'ption. Otherwise. the doctrine as

it

w hole crumbles. As a resul t. in ordn to m:lilllain not only coheren ce, but

thl' very e x i st en ce of th i s discourse. it is i m perat i vt'

mu lat e

th(' M a rxist conerption of p ri m i t i ve

for thc Mflrxists to for­ sorL('ry. to constit ute a M
anthropology. In dl'fault of which there would be no M
ry, out only the nn alysis of a pnnicul,lT society (tbe capil
century) clabor:ltrd by someone naml'd Marx. But lwre the M
to the sa m e rules of of t ransform at io n that order other social formations. It c o uld not be
functi o n

and

to [hi s colle('( i o n of nonsense. LC't us shed l i gh t . M
1

n o t go back

the m i l i t a n t obscurimtism or

And on this point. thtre cenai nly is

derisivt"

10


roOI of �'I
lake this ;'t\\ ay from the Marxists. Did he not. ill

effC'cl, allow

himself to

write, ill nos ha{Jira/ lllat: [Quot;l1ion mis<;ill� in CJa5trt'�' original m a lluscript).

1 1 6

tt'nce. its

being is o n ly

determined accord i n g to that which will come much

tht'

Ma rx ists. primitive societirs arC' on ly.

they

proclai m e rudi tely. pre-capitalist so ciet i es . Here, t h e n . is a sociNy'S mode of orga n iza t i o n

which was th
a l l h u m a n i t y for m i ll e n n i a, but for the

Marxists. For them. primitive society only rxists insofar as it cnn be reduced

to the

figu re of sociery that

appeared at

the cnd of the

18th ccntury.

ca p ital ­

ism. Before t hilt, nothing counts: everything is precapita!isl. Thry clo not

l ives. thesr guys. I t must hI;.' relnxing to be a Marxist. All of I h is can be e x pla i ned starting with ('a pitalism, for t h ey pOSSt<>s the good doc­ trine. the kty that opt'ns cap itnl is t society and thus. al l historical social for­ mntions. The resu l t: w h a t [meilsu res] soei(,IY for Marxism i n grn e f
division, sepflratc power, tile Stilte appt'flrcd?

But. o n e w i l l w o n d e r, ho w can someth i n g so suspicious work? For, i n recessi o n for some lime, it
great mist
it: the nothi ngness of the

d isCOUfSt: mn'iks

in

effect the being on w h i c h i t feeds, n am e ly. i t s opnc i ty t o diffuse a n ideology of the co nq ues t of powt:r. I n cOlltempornry French sot.:iety. the U n iversity oc cup ies

a consider
pln c e. And in t h t' U n iversity. notably in tile- field of

the human scienc('s (for it

stems morc difficult to be Marxist i n mat ht'rn'llirs or in biology). this politic
1 H E

� R C H E O l O G Y

O f

V I O l f N ( E

good aspiring bureaucrats? One wonders ... This would explain, i n any case, why they mock primitive societies, as we have seen: primitive societies are only a pretext for them to spread their ideology of granite and their wooden language. This is why it is less a matter

of mOl'king their stupidity than of

nushing them out of the real place where they situate themselves: the politi­ cal confrontation in its ideological dimension. The Stalinists are not, i n effect, just any conquerors of power: what they want i s total power, the State of their dreams is the totalitarian Slate: enemies of intelligence and freedom, like fascists, they claim to hold

total knowledge to legitimate the exercise of

total power. There is every reason to be suspicious of people who applaud the maSS
now let us wait and kf"rp our ears to lhe ground: perhaps lhr bron­

tosauruses w i l l bray.

11 �RCHfOLOGY Of VIOLfNCf: W�R IN PRIMITIVf mCIH lfS For the past few decades an abunda n ce of ethnographic l iterature has i)een devoted to describing primitive societies. to understanding their mode of operation: if violence is dealt with (rarely), it is primarily to show how these societies work toward controlling it, codifyi ng it, ritual izing it, i n short, tend to reduce, if n o t i1.bolish it. We evoke the violence, but mostly to demonstrate the h D rro r that it inspires In primitive societies, to establish that tht'y an\ final ly, satieties against violente. It would not be too surprising. then, to observe i n the field of research In contempornry e t h n o l o gy the quasi-absence of a general reflection on violence i n at once its most bnltal and most collective, most pure and most SOCial form: war. Consequently to l i m i t oneself to ethnol ogical discourse, or more speciflc<111y. to the nonrxis­ tence of such a discourse on primitive war, the curious reader o r researcher in social sciences w i l l justifinbly deduce Ihnt (with the except ion of sec­ ondary al1ecdotes) violence does not at nll l o o m over the horizon of t h e Sav
I

) 8

soci<11 being unfolds outside of <1rmed

First published i n l.ibre, 110. 1 . P�ris. Payot. 1977, pp_ 1 3 7 - 1 7 3 .

I ) 9

l H f

A R ( H f O l O G Y

O f

V I O L f N ( 1

[ H f

b e lo n g 10 t h e n o r mal. habitual functioning of is thus excluded from eth � ologi�al .discou rse ; one can think of pri m i tive society without at the same time thInking of war. The questio n , d('arly, is to determine wheth('r this scientifIC d iscou rse is SIleilking . . . the truth on the type of sodety it targets: In us stop l iste n i ng to II for a moment a n d turn toward the reality of w h ich it spea ks. conflict. that war does n ot pri m i t i ve societit·s. War

The discovery of America. as w(' know. provided the West with its fIrst

en ro un ter with th o� e w(' would from then on call Savilg('s. For th(' flrst t i m e .

type of society radica lly dif­ up until then; they had to t h i n k of a 50ciil\

Europeilns found themselvl's confronted with a

ferent from all

they

hild

known

reality that could nOt exist in thrir trelditional representation of thl'" social

the Savages was lit('r<'llly unthink
uration of politictll space, in rhe function of the command of the chief. k i ng. or despot: there is n o society without th(" cha racte ristic division into Masters and Subjects. A hum;]n grouping without the charactcristic division could

not he co nside rrd a society. Now. whom did the discoverers see arise from the Atlantic shores? "People without faith. without law. without king:' at'cording to the chroniclers of the 16th century. The cause was clear: these men in a

state of nature had not

yet acceded to a state of soci ety. There was

q u as i - u n n i m i ty in lh i s j udgme nt on the Indians of

a

B raz i l . UPSl't

d i sco rda n c voices of Mo ma i g n e a n d La Boetit' . �ut. on the other hand, there was not unrestrictl'd came t o

desr ri h i n g

chants or 1eilrned

Savages' customs. Explorers o r travelers, from the lGth century until t h t.'

only by thl'

unanimity wlwn it m i s s i o n a ries, mer­ the (recent) end of

Al;tsk
w o r ld con quest. a l l agreed on one point: whether Americans (fro m Tierra

tiel ruego) or Arri c a n s.

Siberians from the steppes

the isl es , nomads from the Austr
to

primitive pe o pl es were always presented
w a r ; it was their p rti

Furopc
acrumulation gathered i n chroniclcs. t ravr-I literature, reports from priests and pastors. sold i e rs or peddlers. one image continuously emer�ed from the infinite d iversity of

the cultUrt's dt"<;cri bed: that 1 , 0

o f the w

a rrior.

An image

A R C H f O l O G Y

O f

,

V I O L f N ( 1

dominant enough to indull:" a

sociological observatio n : primilive societit's arc viol e n t societies; th('ir social being is a be i ng- for-wa r. This is the impression. in ;lny C
the indigenous tribes fo r years. It would be both easy and useless to make up an anthology of these judgments roncern i ng the popul a ti o ns of very differ­

regions and periods. The aggreSSive d is pOSitions of �h� S �vag�s � re . al most ill ways severely judged: how. i n deed, could o ne Chnsl1anlze, clVlltz{' ent

or convince peo pl e of the v i rtu es

of work and commerce, when they were ?v� n g in g efe�ns . the Prench or P ortugu e se mlSS!Qnelnes opIn­ or celebrating victori('s? I n f(lct. ion of the Tupi Indians of the Braz i l i a n coast i n the mid-16th century <'Intici­ patcs and condenses all t h e discourses ro come: were it not, th ey said. fo r the inressant Welr thest' tribes wage agai nst e a c h other, the coun try would be overpopulated. It is the a p p ;] rc n t p re v a le n ce of war in primitive l i f(' that ret;lins the attention of social theoreticians in the fmt place. To the state of Soriety. whirh, for h i m. is the s oc i ety of th e State. Thomas l Iobbes contrasts no t the real but the l o gi cal FIgure of man in his l1atural conditio II. the statc of men bcfore l iving in s oc i e ty, th
�

p r i ma ril y concernfd with warring aga i n st th fi r n e igh b o rs,

this war which opposes ahstract men against each other. invented for the needs of the cause that the thinker of the civil State is defendi n g, this imagi­ nary war does nor i n

a ny

?

way concern the empiric
war i n primitive society. Nevertheless, lIobbes himself thmks It pOSSIble to ill ustr<'lt e the cogency of his dl'd uctio n from an explicit r(,ference to a con­ crete reality: rhe natur<'ll condition of Illan is n ot only the <'Ibstr
For the savage people in many pl
small f� m i l i es, the concord where of deprndeth o n naturall lust. h;]ve no government
LCI'iathall, l'tiil('d by Richard Tuck, Cambridge, New York. (ambridge

Univc-rsity Prr-ss, p. 88.

1 4 I

l H £

A R C H E O L O G Y

O f

l H f

V I O L E N C E

� R ( H f O t O ' Y

O F

I

V I O t f N ( [

or to the social, they live i n the natural condition of men where the war of

ered. And so onc can observe there the omnipresence of war. Still, this is

each against each reigns. l Iobbes was not unaware of the American Indians'

not a reason to draw up, as others have done, a caricatured portrait, where

intense bellicosity; this is why he saw in their real wars the striking confir­

the taste for the sensational far ecl ips es the capacity to understand a pow·

mat ion of his cenainty: the absence of the State permits the generalizatioll

of war a n d makes the institution of society impossible. The equation: world of Savages=world of war, finding itself constantly

verified in the field, traverses all popular or scholarly representation of prim­

itive society. It is thus that another English philosopher, Spencer, w rites i n

his Prillciples oj Sociology: "In the life o f the savages a n d barbarians, the

dominant events are wars," as an echo to that which three ceneuries before him the Jesuit Soarez de Souza said of the Tupinamba of Brazil:

"

Si n ce the

Tupinamba arc very b el l icose, they are preoccupied with how they wi l l make war on their contraries." But did the i n habitants of the New World hold the monopoly on the passion for war? H a rdly. In an already ancient work, 2 M a u ri ce R. Davie, refl ect ing on t he causes and fu n ctio n s of war in primitive

societies, undertook a systematic sampling of what th e eth nography of the

ti m e taught on thiS subject. Now, it follows from his meticulous prospecting

that with

extremel y

rare exceptions

(the Central

and Eastern Eskimos) n o

primitive society escapes vIolence; none among them, whatever their mode of production, their techno-economic system or their ecological environ­ menl, is unaware of or refuses the warlike deployment of violence which

erful sociological mechanism) In short. if ethnology does not speak of war. it is because there is no reason to speak of it; it is because primitive soci­ eties, when they become th e object of study, have already started down t he road of dislocation. destruction and death: how could they display the spectacle of their free warlike vi t al ity? l3ut perhaps this is not the only reason. One can indced suppose thal eth­ nologists. when starting their work. bring to the chosen society n o t only t h e i r notebook and tape recorder, but also the co nc ep t i on

.

pr cv io usly

acq ui red of lhe social being of primitive societies and, co nseq uen t l y. of the status of v iol ence there, the causes that unleash it and the effects that it has. ,

No general theory of pri mitive society C
thus seems well est ab l i shed that one cannOt think of primitive society with­

a discourse is adequate to the primitive social reality. And so, before examin­

out also thinking of war which, as an i m mediate given of primi tive sociolo­

society and war. Heterogeneous, the discourse on w a r develops in three

engages (he very being of each community implicated i n armed connict. It

gy, takes on a dimension of ullill�rsafity. This massive presen ce of th e fact of war is answered, so to speak, by the silence of the most recent ethnology, according to which it would seem v io l e nce and war exist only insofar as they are warded off. Where docs this

ing this reality, we should brieny outline the received discourse on primitive

major directions: a naturalist discourse. an economist discourse. and a n exchangist discourse. ThC' naturalist discou rse is a rt icu l a ted with penticular stringency by /I..

silence come:: from? r-irst, ce rt a i nly, from the conditions under which the

Leroi-Gourhan i n his work Le Gesre et fa Parole a n d notably in the next-to­

that th rou ghout the world there scarcely exist primitive societies that are abso lutely free. autonomous, without contact with the white socioeconomic

tionable (yet very q uest ionab le) vastness. his historical-ethnological concep­

societies e t hnolog ists are i n te rested in are currently living. We know well

environm('nt. In other words, ethnologists no l onge r have the opportunity

to obs e rve societies isolated enough so that the play of tradi t i onal forces which define and support them can be given free course: primitive war is

last chapter of volume [I, w here the author develops, in a view or unques­

tion of pri m i tive society and t he transfomlations that modify it. [n confo r­ mance' with the indissoluble conjunction between archaic society and the

phenomenon of war, leroi-Gourhan's general undertaking logically includes a vis ion of primitive war, a v i sion whose meaning: is suffIciently indicated by

invisible because tilC're are no more warriors to wage it. I n t h is regard, the

the spirit that runs th roughout the work and by the title of th e chapter i n

p e r mitted these Indians, n o doubt the last great primitive society ill the

of view on socirry appeals to and encompasses, in an absolutely coh e rent

situat i o n o f the Ama7.0nian Yanomami is unique: their st'cular iso l at i on has world. to live:: up to the present as though America h ad n ot b e en disc ov

, M.R. Davit', La GIICff(' dallS Irs sodbes primitil'l:'s, Payol, 19) 1 1 , I

which i t appe ars : thc s o ci al organism. Cl early assenrd. the or ga n i c ist point

-

) Cf. 1%6.

N.A.

Chagnon. YOllomomO. Tile-

FineI:'

1 , J

PI:'Op/c. Holt. Rinellan

ft

Winston.

I li f

m a n n er,

a

A H II ! O L O G Y

O f

V I O L f N C f

l li f

(t'n'lin idea o f war. What auout vioknce, lhen. accord i n g to Lcroi­

Gourhan? IIis answer is clear: "i\ggn'ssive t)('havior has been part o f human

realiry at least since tht' Au�tr;llnnthropes. a nd thc acct'it'rated evolution of

the social
237). Aggrt:ssion

lence:. is thus related to hunwnilY as

sum. as

a

;!

as behavior. that is. the usc: of vio­

species; i t is co('xtensivt' with it. In

zoological property of the human species. violence is identifIed

here as a n i rredurihJf fa ct, a sort of

/lalural

given rootf'd i n the biological

Iwing of man. This spccilk vio]cnrc. f(:alized in aggressive behavior. is not without cause o r t'nd; i t is always o r i e n ted a n d d i rected toward
'Throughout the course of {[me, aggresc;ion appears as a fundamental tech­

A H W f 0 1 0 G Y

o r

V I O L f N ( f

believes he spt'aks. the contemporary primitives. What docs l,eroi-Gourh a n . t' tea<:h us? II is qui U:�. ob� io us (hm If . the gOill o the �thn ograp h i c rxprrienc . . the means of atta I n I n g It IS a�gresslo � : the a n I m a l .,unt is to acquire food, t o b e eaten. B u t tl1('n o n e must Include I n the an'(I o f "/lus t b e killed i n order destroy another h u n t a s a technique of (IC(l u i 5 i t i o n a l l behaviors that

�

1 eo

I' \m of life so that it c;tn be eaten: nOt only a nimals, fIsh and carnivorous i n g against the- fly it �rd<;, but also i nsertivort's (th(' aggrl'ssion of tht' ofnedgl n l i m entary a c q u i s i t i o n

.wallo ws. etc.). I n fart. nil violent techniques behavior. Tlwre is .....ould logic
10

where aggrf'c;sion
exclusion vhnt principally motivatrs the primitive hunter is appetite. to the u n t per­ h ritual. is. that ry. If all othrr srntiments (the case o f non-alimt'nta hunt is the from war :lins to another domain). What r"dically distinguishes

i nsrriilt'd at tht' heart of the l i v i n g orga n i s m : to sUrvivt'. ] lc n c('. the idt'ntifl­

1

nique l i n ked to acqui�itioil, and i n the primitive. its i n itial role is hunting

236). I n he re n t i n man as a natur,,1 heing. violence is defined thus ,1S 11 means of subsis� t('I1C(,. as a means of a'>s u r i n g: subsistenct', as a means to Cl natural end cation of primitive cconomy as prt'datory t'conomy. Thc primitive man, as mil n , i� devoted to aggressive behavior; as primitive. hc is both apt

;lnd

dt'term i n e d to synthesize his naturalness a n d his humanity i n the technical coding of an aggressivity hencefonh useful and profItable: ht' is a hUnJcr.

Let U!) admit this l i n k hrrwcen violence. which is h
niquc of arquiring food, and man's biologic
knce must n1
�u n t i n g

10

us: "Between

(lnd its double, war, a suutle- assimilation i � progressively est
Ilshed. as one and the Dlher art' concentrated i n

class that is born of thc

new economy, that of men with weapons." (p. 237). Hrre then. i n a sentence,
the mystery of thr origin o f soria! division is solvrd: through "subtle assimi­ lation," hun ters gradually become warriors who, as hol
possess th(" means to exercise po!irira] power over rht' rest of thc c o m m u nity . to thetr profIT. O n e may be surprised by the friVOlity of such a remark from

thc pen of a scholar whose work is exemplary in h i s field. prehistory. All this would r('quire further exposition, but the lesson to draw is clear: in tht'

analysis of human fa cts, on� r
from sociol ogy.

Lct u!) relurn then to the probh:m o f war. War would thus i n h e rit its

h<1t the formrr relif's entirely o n a dimcnsion "bsent fro m the lauc-r: <1g:grt's­ iveness. And that the same arrow C;1n kill a man or a monkey is nOI enough make war and hunting identical.

This is indeed why we can compare olle to the other: wnr is pu r(" aggres­ 've hehavior nnd aggressiveness. If war is h u n t i n g an d Waf is tht h u n t i n g of

Ian. I h e n h u n t i n g would h;we to be waT o n t h e b u ffalo. fo r t'xample. 'utside of suppoc;ing that the goal of war is always aliment
,bjt'ct o f this type of aggrt'ssi o n is m
,�,nl of war is never to kill the en emil's i n order

10

eat them. Rather, this

iliologizalion" of
lion of the sociological i n the biological; society hecomes a social organism.

and all attempts 10 aniculatr a non-zoological discourse on society revpals Itself as v a i n . The question on the ron tT
economist dis('oufse

i s somewhat anonymous in 111<1t it is n o t tilt'

particular work of a <>pecific theoret ician. but r<1ll1er tht' expression of a general conviction, a vague certainty of common sense. This disrourse was formrd i n thl' 1 9 t h cenlury, whrn i n Europe the idea of savagery
charge of aggrrss i o n from hunting - a trchnique of alimentary acqu i s i t i o n ;

idea of h a p p i n esc; were bt'gi n n i n g to he thought of separ
war

oulrl o n l y ue a rcprtition. a doublr. a redeployment of the h u n t : more

\y o r w r o ngly, the b e l i e f that p r i m i t i v e l i fe was a happy ! i fr fell ap;"lrt.

Is this true or

There was then a reversal of the old discoursl' i n t o its oppositt': the world

� prosaIcally. war. for Lt'foi-Gourhan. is

tile 11UII!illg oj mCI/.

fals{'? It is not diffIcult to f1l1d OUI. since it suffIces to consult those of whom

1 • •

of the Savagrs from then on became. rightly or wrongly, the world or

1 • \

P O Vt' ny and mi<;(' ry. M u ch mOrt' (tC"(" nlly, rccel ved !>ci('n t /l is po ul t'( j ( US (ro r k � o wJed {he' :;o-Ci11!t ge ha s a 'ir/Jol c1rly d h u m � n s� disco u r , . S a drs(o u rs e , of sCh olars: ( has b ecome anthropology, rbe- fO�J�l�� r;.J WtlC:�;in g the e rtaInty o ,C • " c s of econ om i c dl'Voted rh elllscl f pri m i tive vc!> to �Xt ra c t O V� 'tY as P ", . l n g til t reas tru tl, , IlilVe I l S conse ons for tIll"S qul' w�'es 11 pov(' rcy .;} n JUS frOIll Ih ' d I Unve iling S ('on v sdt'n . {'rgenCt betw nfir di\C'o . u,s (' resul , en com ' ts . a ,noe mo n I i11l1« t/on S{'ns(, gIsts : prim itlv and ' ' cons r"'lltly " � e,' o n o my I� reltcnltcd b ' l " ' i1 su IJSJ'i . Y ethll% _ 5;lva g'l's 10 enct SUbsist , I h " I W 11(, I ' h 'only w re;, [0 Sur allo s Ihe eann or go il vive. If (he , , ('co O S( O f th e J I l f�� I h rcstlolrJ of s u b('('a LJ�(' () f �� t <:'S SOd(,l ies rv i V tl J : t> I o , O n o l (j (' a g l c a l UIl(/t'r th - It is l /)cfo rl' the- n a dt'v ('lol) Oltn . l .. n
m

.

�:� : ; Wllldl � i l l � I�lt'

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t � .;1)

•

eco nomy

0

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�

txpl anarion

:i

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ill ��

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. 5 11<11 We owe (5 0

l H £

A H II E O L O � Y

O f

V I O t f N { [

1 0 speak) the Marxist interpretation, More quickly than their French coreli­ )!iOnisls. who are nevertheless ready to speak the Marxist truth on African J!!e groups or American potlatch. or the rapports between men and women

:H1ywhere. researchers such as Harris or Gross explain the reason for W i lr

a m o n g the Amazonian Indians. notably the Yanom i1 mL4 Whoever expects

�lldt!en illumi nation from this Marxism will be quite disappointed: its sup­

porters say nothing more of it (and no do u bt think ('ven less of it) than all

their n o n - Marxist predecessors, If war is particularly intense a m o n g the

South American Indians. it is due. accord ing to Gross .. nd H;lrris, to a I
of protein in their food. to the resulting need for conquering new hunting

lerritories. and to the inevitable armed connict with the occupants of these

te rr ito ries , In sho rt. the very old th('sis formulatl'd by Davie, among others.

of the i n a bi l iTY of primitive economy to provide society w i t h adequate nourishment.5 Let us simply make a point (hat cannot be developed here

further. If t h e Mi1rxist discourse (an economist discourse if there ever was one1 so easily ass i m i l ates the most summary representations of common sense. it is either thilt this common sense is sponwneously Marxist

(0, spirits

of Mao!) or else that this Marxism only d isti nguishes itself from common

sense by the comic pretension of posing as scientifiC d iscou rs (' , BUl there is something more . Marxism. as a general theory of society and also of histo­

ry, is obliged to postulate The poveny of the p ri m i t iv e economy. that is, the

very low yield of productive activity. Why? Oecause the Ma rxist theory of history (and Ihis is a m :l / ter of the very theory of Karl Marx) un c ovcrs the

I:lw of historical motion and of social chilnge in the irrepressible tcndency

of productive forces to develop the mse l ves . But, so that history can gct u nderway. so that the productive forces can take wing. these same produc�

l ive forces muSt fi rst exist at the stan of This process in the most extreme

weakness, in the most tot al underdevel opment: lacking: this, thcre would not

be the least reason for them to tend to d('vc!op themselves and ont' would not he abl(' to

:l rticulate

SOCiill change and the development of productive

forces, This is why Marxism. as a theory of history founded on the tcndenry of the development of productive forces, mUSt give itself, as a starting point. a so rt of d('gree zero of productive fo rces: this is exactly Ihe primitivt'

economy. henceforth thought of :lS a n economy of poveny, as an economy

in the Amazon B.�.sin , " s H M, arri , wTllc YanOlllamo and AmericalJ Anth ropologist, 71, 1975. pp. 1)26-549 : the Causcs of Wa r in B alld and Vi l l age SO r1clieS,H o �ss and the Yanom ami. sh ows ow flawed the WO�kH f Gr 1 D,R, Gross, "Protdll Capture

'. J. li:l.Ot. an cxpen on

H a rris

I CJ77,

is, Cf. "Populat ion.

and Culm ral

Develop mcnt

h

ResSOllTccs el Guc rre chez

1 4 7

les

Y:\nomallll.

In Llbr{", 2,

.

l H E

A R ( H f O L O G Y

O f

V I O L E N ( f

whit:h, want i n g to wrest itself from poverty, will te n d 10 dcvrl o p its produc­

live forct's. II would ut' a g re at satisfaction for ma n y to know the Marxist

an lhropologists' vit'wpo int o n Ihis: though they go on ;"It len gth aboul forms

of I'XI)l oitat i o n in p ri m iti v l' socit't ies (e l dl' r/youth, man/woman, etc,), they

are less eloquent as to th e foundation of the doctrine they claim to suppon.

ror primitive socic'ly po ses a nucial q u('sl i on to Ma rx ist th eo ry : if t he eco­ n o m i c a l docs nOt con st i tute the i n frastructure t h rou gh w hi ch th e so c ial

b e in g beco mt.'s 1 ran s p a r(' n ( , if t h e p rod urt i ve forces, not t('nd i n g 10 develop

tl1(' msc l ves , do n ot function as ,I dl'ter m in a n t of s oc i a l rhange. wh il t , tllen,

is the mo tor that starts the mOV('nH,'nt of lIistory? That si1 id, let us rrrurn to thc problem of the

p rim iti ve economy. Is it o r

i s it n o t a n economy of poverty? Do its productive forces represent t h e most m i n i m a l d e v e l o p m e n t o r not? The m ost rec en t , a n d m os t s c ru p u l ous.

resea rch i n econo m i c anth rop olo gy shows that the economy of the S av age s, or t h e Domestic Mod(" of Production, in fan :J.llows for Iht' tota l s�llisfaction

o f soci e ty's miltl.:Tial n eeds , at t h e prict' of it l i m i ted p eri od o f productive

activity at a low intensity. In other words. fi1 r from constantly exhausting

th('mse]v{'s in tht anempt (Q survivc, primitive sociery. selcC'tive in tht' detcr­

mini1tion of i ts n('('ds, possesses a m a ch i n e of p roduct ion capable of s i1tis fy ­

ing them, and functions in fact i1 cconl i n g to the principle: to ea ch according

to 11is needs. T h i s is why Sah l i ns was able to speak of the primitive soCicty as

the I1rst affl uent society, Sahlins' and Lizot's an ;l lyses on the quantity of food nl'cessary to a c o m m un ity ;lnd on the ti m e devot('d to procuri n g it imli­ ('i1te that primitive soci('ties, whether it be a question of nomi1d hunters or

sedentary fi1rmer$, art'. in reali ty. i n l i gh t of th e small alllount of time devot­

ed to product i on , veritabJr It'iSllre societies. The work of Sah l in s a n d Lh at o f

Lizot thus mesh wilh
ancient t rav e lers a nd c hron i c 1 ers .G

The economist discourse. i n its pop ul ar, schol a rly or Marxist varimions. explains war as tribrs competing to obtain scar("t' goods. It woul d al ready be

diffl c ul t to un d erst a nd where the Si1vagrs, e n gaged full timc i n the ex haust­

i n g qu t'st fOT food, would find t h e extra ti m e a n d e n e rgy to wilge WelT

n �a i ns t t h e i r n e i gl1bors. B u t cu rrcn t resean:h shows that the primitive ('('ono­

my is, on thc contr
Il'nce. then. is nOI li nked to poverty, and the economist explaniltion of primi­

tivr w a r sets ils s up port i n g ar gu mC' n l s in k . Th e u n i v e r�a l i ty of primitive

a.bundance pr('(" i wl y p roh i bits l i n k i n g it to the un ivt: rsal ity of Wilr. Why i1rc the tribes ;It war? I\t l rast we already know what th e mate ri a l ist a nsw e r is

f, Cf. M. S:J hl iJl �. Age' de pierre. Age 1/'(/VOllda/lcc. I.'(CUJlomir des socidtfs prulli­ tiJ"('�. P;uis. G<1L!illl:Jld, 1976

I 4 8

1 11 £

A R ( II E O L O G Y

O f

V I O l f N { [

,. )rtll . And s in ce economics has nothin� to do w ith war, Ihen pnl1ap" it is

I · l ·Ica I . ' gale toward the. ' I. r('� al)' to turn our . , pTJJnl!IVe war ::;� ppo rt s th(' SOCIological discoll r.�e on c.(cllallgiH ,'he king of Cla ude Levi-Striluss. Such an asse mo n would 'Ippt'ar, flr:-ot of Iderli1 . . IHlTild ox ica l : i n Ihis author's considtri1ble work, wa � occup ies on 1 y a t h·I n . IS lSS'-le an of (' c not nec�ssi"ln­ ortan ) ! m i Ihe yond the fact that . u m e. Bul b e measured by the space a l lotted to it, it so happens, the cl rcu m­

p� �

i

Un?('.T

.1 nrcS. that the general tl1('ory of sO('iety rlaboratcd by L�VI-Strauss nilrw l y depe nds o n his conception o f violence: structurali'it cil'i(,OUT"t' itself is <;l;tkc, I.t,t us, then, ex ami n e il. levi-Strauss considers lh(" question of war in on ly one tcxt. a ni"llyzi n g

t' re l a t i o n sh i p betwccn Wi1r and comme-rn i1mong thc So � th A m C �ici1n J d i a n <; . 8 Wa r, here, i s dearly situi"ltcd i n t h e fi el d of s o c l il l r e l a t i o n s :

;

��

�

rous pop u l � t ion s f \mong t il e Nnmbikwara, a s n o doubt a m o n g I h e n u . �t'-Columbian A m erica . war and c o m m crre .Ire i1CtlVltICS th at are I m po ss l ­ e to study in i sol at i on " [po 1 3 6). And i1 gi1i n : "... martial co nfl i ct:'> ;Ind e('o­

Jl1lic t'xchanges d o nOl mcrely eonstitute two types of ('oexistent re Jilti on s South America. but rather two aS I)Ccts, opposed and indissolublt, of a n gl e and id('nlici11 social process" (p. 1 38). Wc cannot. th�n ,. a c cordi n g 1 0

OJ

:vi-St rauss. th in k of war in and o f itself; i t does not possess ItS ow n sp eCl, ­ city, a n d this Iyp c of activi ty, far from r("quiring a p articul a r {'xaminiltion,

ln, in fact . only be undcrst ood i n "the con text of other el em ents mak m g

,p the soci al who](·...

(p. 1 J8J. I n oth er words, violen('c, i n primitive so('it:ty,

;: not an aU ion om O lls sphere: it on ly takes on meaning i n relat i on [0 t h e

cncral network of tribi11 rc l a l i o n s; violence is on ly a p arti c ul ar case o f th i s

.�Iobal system. I f Levi- Strauss wantS to indicat(, by th is that primitiv{' war is \n activ i ty of a st ri ctl y so ci ol ogira l order, no o ne, of course, would contest

L w i t h the excepti on , howevcr, of lero i - G o urh a n , who merges warlike

activity into the biologi cal order. Ce rta i nl y. ll'v i - Strauss does not l i m it h i m ­ . . self to these vague generalities: h{' furnishes, o n the c on tra ry, a precIse tdea on th e mode of operati o n of p ri m it i ve society, Amerinoian, in an y ('i1SC. Th e

., Natur:J1 rat:Jslrophes (droughts, noods, t'
demography co ncca l Ill(' risk of a social p'lthology horde-ring on war? ThiS is Hot ob v ious . but it is IIJl \0 t he specinlisls of Polynesia or t... 1cI;lllesia (lsl:Jnds. Ihat IS. dO�t'd sp(lces) to (lllsw('r, Cf. Levi-Str:Juss. ··Guerre et commerce chez les lndiens de l'Amerique
Renaissance, vol . I. New York, 1')4). H

I 4 ,

t H E

A R C H f O I O ' Y

O f

V t O l f N C !

t H f

ioentl riration of this mode of operation assumes the highest importance

�

since it dr.t£'rmines the nature and significance of violence a n d of war. Wh a

does Levi-Strauss find i n the rdationship between war and society? The

answer is cleM: " Commercial C'xchanges represent potential w a rs peacefully resolv('d. and wars are the outcome of unfortunate transactions"

(p. 1 3 6).

Thus, not only does war i nscribe itself in the field of the soriological. but it

receives its ultimate meaning from the particular fu n ct i o ni ng of primitive

sociery: the rtlations between communities (whether tribes. bands or local

groups) are first commercial. a n d depending on the sucees" or failure of

these cOlllmneial l' nteq.Jrises, thC'rc will be peace or war between the tribes. Not only arC' war and comlllerce to be thought of in continu ity. but it is

commerce Ihat holds sociological priority over war, a somewhat o ntological priority In that it takes place at the very heart of the social being. Lct us

add, fl l1 al ly. that far from being new, the idea of a conj unction hetween war

and com merce is i n fact an ethnological banality, on the same level as the idea of scarcity i n the primitive economy. Thus the intrinsic relationship b�twe('n war and commerce is assened. i n exactly the same terms as lev i ­

Strauss, by Davie, for example : " I n primitive r;"lses, com merc

e

i5 oft('n an

illternative to war, and the l1l
a modif1('iHion of war" (op. cit., p. 302),

But. one might ohject, the ltxt in question is minor and docs not in any way compromise the grneral theory of the social be-ing such as Levi-Strauss has dev('loped it i n more comprehensive works. Such is not the case. In fact. the theoretir
provision of reciprocal p rest a tio ns : eXChanges are pC'acefully resolved wars, and wars are the result of unsuccessful transaclions."'9 However, on the same

page, the id ea or commerce is explicitly (and wilhout explanation) e l i m i n at­

ed . Describing the exchange of gifts between foreign I n d i a n groups, Levi­

Strauss take" care (0 indicate his ;1handonment of the referrncr to COIll­ merce: ··It is a mattrr, thu", of reciprocal goods, and not of commercial oper­ ations.'" Let us examine this more closely. Levi-Strauss' firm distinction between the reciprocal gift and the com­ mercial operation is :lhsolutely legitimate. Still, it would not bC' superfluous <J Slfllc/lIl"eS [llIlell/aires rle la parcl1Tt, p. 66 of (ht firsl t."dilioll (PUF. (949) o r p. . 18 of th(' secolld cdi t i o ll (�I()IItOJl, (967). Ifhe ElrlJ1cllt(lt\, Structures oj KlIlship.

Boston, 8e;ICOIl Press. 1969. [diled by Rodney Nt't'dham, trans. by James Harle Bell,

John Richart!

\"On

Srurll1er, and Rodney

Needham.]

I 5 0

& R C H f O I O G Y

O f

V l 0 l f N ( [

. w Ity. i n a {Iuirk dt'IOUr through el"onomic :lnthropology. I f the to ex p. l a l n . I ance, I or IHimilive societic<; develops ilgalOsl a backdrop 0 f ;J JUn< I maten aI nr . . I all )y characterize al<;o IS . d I ·dcal ProductIon 01 r . thc D o m � t '· c Mode or . l'I)OlI1lUnilY a�plres 10 produce all that IS n eces"", y . or Its each . 1I11/(/rk�, . nwmilt."rs, Sllbsi"tenc{', In othn words, Ihe primitive economy tends toward

'

.

.

.

· aUlarky withdr not rweeI t in

S(

.

�ltll �

to

.

u

.

' • to so\ •ICll WI ·lICh ·IS IH'rfectly capitble of satisrying all its needs WIthout hilvlllg . l ' ncr of other>' I d I I produce all that we need toO( (I n toO s , wt: arc I · we .. 1e a-;sl'> " tI thl'refort, i n a position to do witho t others. I n o h r words, the allt rk I' C . . ' I ·, .s '·;0 ,'lI1ti-comml'TCIal itlcil!' !.Ike (I l l Ideals, 1t IS nOt always. ,\c( omI·d {,,, . plish('ci ('verywhr:rC': but <;hould cin:umstam'es demand 11 . the" Savages ran

�

� �

:

huaSl of doing without others. This is why the Domestic Mode of Production excluc es

�omm('rC'\. � 1 rl'lation�: tht primitive socielY, i n its being, refuses the nsk, Inherrn � 1 n commerce, of si1crificing its autonomy, of losing its frcC'dom. And s� . I t .IS appropriate that the levi-Strauss or Elemellrary St"'C �:I :f:.'5 guarded h t m"e1r !

fro m rept'at i n g what he wrot� in " Wilr and Commerce.

fo u n derstilnfl any­

t h i n g about primitive wilr. one- must avoid articulating a commcrce {hat

docs not exist.

rhus, it is 110 longer rOll1mcrce that givt's meaning to W<1;1", it is excha � ge:

the intrrpretalion or war stems from tile e.rc/J(JIIgist COII('C'/HIO/! of SOClt'

?: :

Ih{'r� is a continuity between war ("'the result of un�uccC'ssrul tranS<1Cl lons )

�

and exchange ("peacefully resolved wars"). But, just as w a r i n the first v r­

sian o f the Levi-Straussi<"!n theory of violence w<"!s t n rgetcd n<; the potential

no n-success of comll1{"fce, i n thl' exchangist theo!)' w(' se-r nn equivaltnt pri­

orilY
hut

�

�

?

� � b � \llg­

the non-rf'alization of this being w lch 1" iI . fo r-exrhangr: war is the n('giltive and the negation of primitive "oclety In 'iO . far as p r i m i t ive society is p r i m a r i l y a place o r exchange. 111 s o r
txchangt' is the- very e'>Sl'nce of primilive society. Accordi n g t o this eonr('p­ lion, war. a<; a skidding, a rupture of the ll10vement toward exchange, could

only rl..' p rcscl'lt the n o n e<;sence, the non-being of 111e society. 1 1 I S the ,HTl'S­

sury i n rrliltion to the principal. tile accident in relalion TO the subst;tnce.

What the primitive soci(,ty wants is exchangc: such is its sociolo�kal dCSIrl', whkh lend" ronstantly lO\'I;trd reali7ing Itself. and i n rilct, almost alw ay,>

rea!iL('s it"rlf. l' xcC'pt in the rase of all
1 5 I

1 11 £

A A C H f O L 0 6 Y

O f

V I O L f H ( f

I H f

The logic' of tht' excha ngisl conce ption leads thus 10 a quasi -disso lution of Ihe pheno m('non of war. By giving priority to excha nge and viewi ng war as d(>voi d of positi v ity. war loses all institu tional dimen sion: it does not be l o n g to the being of primit ive society. it is only a n accide ntal. uncer tain, un('ss ential charactt'ristic of it ; primit ivt' society is thinka ble witho ut war. Th is exchan gist discou rse on p ri mit i ve war. a discou rse inhere nt in the gen­ eral theory that Levi-Strauss drvl'lops on primit ive society. docs not ta ke into account the et h nogrilp h k given: the
��

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war

1 5 2

A � ( H f (l L (l 6 Y

O f

V I O L f H { f

'

. SC'01rcity of resources would lead to vital competition. type of society. , IhlS . 10 , whIch would produce war. Now. I· r Id lead to isoliltion of groups, . wh J("h wou . . I ·Iclly · . 0 f SOCIOPO deed il profound rel;ltionship betwel'n the mu 1 lip . there IS I. n d tillS . I ·In k 1 )y reversing , undel"it:ln only can one r c len io v :lnd ·t·e� en ll I " , . 1 i t .lC':l1 . . I u ,I order of their prese n tat io n : 11 IS not war th;]t ls t h. r effect of segthe ha b·, tion that is the effect of war. It IS not only tht' to mc n tat .i O n . ·,t is 'se<1menta at once the C'au e o i"I n d t e mea ls to a sou htis war goa!: effrct. but the . � . of primitive soci ety. In Its hl'lng. pnm�(>gmentation the . ffoct ... " nd end ' after ell . . . dispersion; this wish for frag:mematlon belongs to the love socitty wants · 1 r('a I·Izatlon primit ive social eing �hich institutes itself a s h .In an d by lIe . of thiS sociologll:·al will. In other words, p n m l llve war IS the me a ns o a

�

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polit i c(l] end. To ask onestl f. CO Se{IUently. why the Silva ges wilge war IS to . probe the very being of thr l r socIety.

Each piHticular p ri m i t i ve socicty eq u al l y and w h ol l y expresses tht' (·ssen ­

� �

t i a l prope rties of this type o f social fo rmati o n . which finds i t s concn:te real ­ Iy in the p rimi t i vc commun ity. The latter is made up of iln ('nsemble of I. nd ­

viduals. each of whom recognizes a n d c l a i m s h i s a p p u r t e n a n c(' to tIllS ensemble. Togethrr the community gathers and goes bey o nd the divers(> units that C'onstitute it. most often in�('Tibed along the axis of kinship. by integrat i n g them into a whole: elctnentary and rxtended familirs. lineages. clans. moieties. rtc., but illso. for eXi\mp\(', m i l itary societies. cere m o n i a l brotherhoods, il ge groups. etc. The community i s thus more than t h e SU llI of its gro ups. and this I.'st:lblishcs it ilS

(I

poli ticill unity. The pol it icl 1 unity of

the community is inc ri bed in the spatial unilY of the habitat: the people who

belong to the same community live together in the S
lhe nlles of postm
leave his community of origin i n order to join that of his spouse: but the new residence does nor abolish the old appurtenance. and primitive socit'til's. moreover. invent n u merous ways to overturn the rules of resiilt'nC'c i f they are thou ght 10 be too p :l i nful. The primitivl' commun ity is thus

a

10Cill group. This determin<'ltioll t ran ­

sCt'nds t he economiC variety of mo dr s of production. si n c e it is i n di ffere nt to t h e fixed o r mobile character of t h e hillJi till. A locill group ll1
up of n{)madic h u n te rs ;IS well as st'denwry f
hUntl'rs

a st;lblc village of gardtners, posses" the

sOciologic
unity. not only inscribes itself in the homogeneous space of its habitat. but ext('nds its cOlllro1. il coding. i ts Ie-rrilorial right. It is ohvious in the- cast' of h u n ters; i t is also true of farmers who still maintain, beyond their pl;lnta­ lion s. il wild space where they Ciln hunt ilnd pick useful plants: simply. the t e rrit o ry of a b,md of hunters is l ike ly to Ill' 1110r(;' vast tha n that of a vill:!!:!,"c I 5 J

1 M !

! i ( II ! D L 0 6 Y

O f

V I O L f N ( f

of fa r mers , 'llH' localilY of Iht: local group b thu::. its tcrrllOry, as (I nat ural reserve of materi, ll resources. cen a inly, but ('s peci,dl y as all l'xclusi vl' space for the eXerci'il' of comm unity nghb. The exd usivi ry in the us� of the terri� tory i m p l il's a mOvtll1 e ll ( of t' x c l u s i o l l , a n d 110rt' the proper ly politic al dlrntn sion of pnmiti ve sodt't} iiS ,I commu nJly Includ ing US c�setH iaJ reJa� tlonsh lp to the territory de-,Irly apptaf).: the cxi..ll'llCC of the Other is imme� di
What of the bring of primit ive sm:il'ty. ill�olit r as it is f(·;lIizcd. isioll of v� e-allh. chitf!> who do nOt comm and. cultures witho ut mor,lls for they ;'Irt' Ulltlw are of si n , classless societies, soci� c!irs Wi thout a Slale. ele. I n shon. what the writings of (l n cie n t trave lers or mode rn scholar� constantly ( ry Ollt and yet l1e vl'( m a n age to <;0 all(lw s for the aut onomy of kinsh i p group s whirh comp ose thr "'()clt ll l'nstll lhk, and even tht indep e llde n ce of i n d ividua ls. OUbid t, of gl'n�
I \ 4

'In divid u al is polyvalent in a way; men k n o w how to do . eVl'rything try'. e(lCIl ld know how to do. women k n o w how to do everything won1l'n nH: n shou how lO do. No individual is less knowledgahlc or less capable; ShOll Id k n ow . . 01 anot h er more t

,

•

Sav
�

�

n:

S r d r s i r e for a c c u m u l at i o n . Why. i n d l' l·d. woul 1 s u 1l a d t: l f {' a p p e a ? of ('s n a d s;ltlsfacuo tht: needs by measurrd exactly is Product ive

�

��

I I' t ?. e c o n o my. but i t is also Totally useless: w h a t w o u l d 1)(' d o n e w i· l l

Moreovr·r. the ,Iclivity o f ;lccumulation

( produci ng

a useless surplus) could

only be, in this type of society. a st rictly individual en 1t·TjJrise: the l'ntrcp re� . . . nt'ur could only count on h is own strengths, the explanation of otlwrs beIng

<;oriologk(llly impossible. Let us im ag i ne. nevertheless, that d espiu' the SOli4

tude of his effort, the S;lVneur m;ln<'lges to constitute. by thr

sweat of his hrow,

a stock of resources which , let us recall. he would not know what to do w ith sincr it is alre;ldy a mattcr of a sUTj)lus. that is. goods

tl1,n arc unnecesstlry in that they no longer h
mulation would reduce [tStlf thus at o n c e to

tI

pure ]Jhenomenoll of s('lf�

l'xploit
'>elves to this folly ; primitive society functions i n such

a

way that incquality,

exploitation. division are impossible there.

At its actual level of existt'nc(' - the local group - pnmitivt' sOC'i('ty pre4 SCIllS two essential sociologiral proptrties thar t ouch upon its very beIng, the social being thtlt determines the reason for being (ll1d the p rin c i pl e of the

inll'lligibility of war. The pri m itive community is ilt on(e a totality :-I nd il u n i t y. A tot;tl ily in that it is a compiC'I(,. autonomous, whoh: cnsemble. n';!sr�

Its">ly atttJltiv(' to prestrv i n g its autonomy, a socie-ry in (he full sen sl' of tile

word. A unity in that its homogeneous being continues 10 refuse sodal divi�

�i()n, to e-xclude in equality. lO forbid alienation, Primiltvc socicty is a singlt' t otality in t hlt .: tile pri nciple of its unity is not exterior to it: it dol'S not allow dlly eon fIguration of One to dl'lach itstlf from thl' social body in ord('r to rtp�

rcsent it. in order to e mbody it as unity This is why the criterion of n0I1�diyi4 .

'>Ion IS fundamcllt
I \ \

l

l H f

& R C H f O I O G Y

o r

V l O L f l H f

nOt accept power sl'p arat ed from irs bein�, division cstablished who command an d those who ob<,y, And this is
between those

desire or the statement of his priv;1te law, but only th(" sociological desire that

s(lci("ty r("m;J in undivided, ;Jod the [ext of lilw thaI no oni.,' hit!'> established, for

hU Il1 ..1I1 decision, The l e g i s lat ors are also the found("rs of soc i ety - till' mythic;11 ;] r.{'estors, t h e cultural hrroes, the gods, It is of this Law thm the chief is spokrsprrso n : the substance of his discourse always refers to t h e ancestral Law that no ont' can tra nsgress, for it is the very bt'ing of society: to violate: tht: law would be to ;1lfer the social hody, to imrodurc into if tilt.' in novation a n d ehange th'll it absolulely rejcCls, Primitive sociC'ty is a commun ity theH Clssu rcS conlrol of it s terri tory i n thC' n a nlt' of t h e l.aw gu aran tcc in g: its non-division. The territorbl dimC'nsion
munity tht' image of its uniry and lotal iry, Faced wilh neighboring commu­

nilies or bands. a panirular commu nity or band posits itself and thinks of

as absolute dim'rrncc, as irrt:duciblc frcedom, as ,) body possessing t he ll1
will to

which, i n the face of oll1('rs, ilSSt'rts its differcnn. Earh commun ity. in that il is undivided,

can

think of itself as a We. This We in turn I h i n ks of itstlf as a

relationship t h at it m
can be thought of as purely Sliltir, as lot ally inert, as void of movement.

to h(' ablt to funelion only in v i ('w of its own repetition, by making
The glob'll syslt'm seems

primitiv(' monad, far from r e m a i n l l1 g closed upon itself, aelu;!lly opens it,,{'if [a olhers i n the t'xtreme i n tl..' nsilY of till' violence o f war. H o w then

w e think of both t he systcm a n d war? Is war a s i m p l e diversion (hat would transliltt' tht occasional failurr of the syste m , or would th(' system be una bl e to function without war? Wouldn'! war simply be a prerrquisite for tht' primitive <;ocial being? Wouldn't w:H be, nOI the threat of d ea t h , hut the condition of primitive society ' s life? do

\

6

l H f

A R C H E O L O G Y

O f

V I O L f N C !

is clear: the possi il ity of w,)r is i,n s c ri b ed i n h(' being of l n dct'd, the will of e8ch community to assert Its
b

One po i n t . .

�

IS _

aggrcSSIO

�

�

�

�

�

� � Hobb �S

Strauss' view poin t imp lks? " . . Tilkf' for instance th(' hypothesis of generaltzt'd fnendshlp, We qutckly

discover that this i<; impossible for several reasons, First of all. be(· �tUse of , s pa t i il l d is p r rsio n , P r i m i t ive c o m m u n ities m a i n ta i n ;1 c e rta lll d I s t a n c e

between each other, both

l i te ra l ly a n d fIguratively:

betw een each h a n d o r

village th ere arc their respectivl' t£'rritories, allowing ea� h gr u p ,to keep ,its

di ,t an re.

Friend:-.hip dot'S not adapt nearby neighbors who can be

a

well to dist n c e.

[t

IS

�

m,lIntalllcd

eaSily

invited to partie�, from whom one can with . aerept invitation�, whom ont C
cannot be established, A p ri mit iv e community is loat h e to trav d far or stay away for long from its own, familiar tl'rrirory: as soon as thcy are no longer "at home," the Savages experience, ri ghtly or wrongly b u t most oft('n rightly, a strong feeling: of distrust a n d fear, Am iabl(' relations of Tl'lation:-.

very

('xch
are excluded:

they

are,
best. Foreign ers.

w i t h all contradicts each ro m m u­ mai n t a i n and deploy its being as singl(' tot;ll ity, th;-;t i�, ils irreducible d i fference i n relation to all other groups, induding neighbors. friends and allies, Th(' l ogi c of primitive society, which is a logic of difference, would contradict the logic of generalizeu exchange, which is a logic of idt'ntity, because i t is a logic of idf'ntiflration, Now, it is th is, " b ov," a ll . th at p ri m it i ve society re fus es: identifying w i t h others, losing thilt which constitutes it
nicy's

p ro foun d, ('�senti,ll

desirt' to

would ('Iltail. (';'Ieh communiry would lose i t s imlividualiry. The exch;'!nge o f all with a l l would he the drsl ru('tion o f primitive society: idl.'ntifl('�!ion i s a mOVement to w
"h(' l og i c of idtnticalness would g i v(' W
of all w i t h

a l l be i n g :

Wt' are


the same! The un i fl ­

eallon of t h e multiplicity of p;1rtial We 's into a lllcta-Wt, th(' elimination of

tht' di fferenc e unique to t'
:!utonomous co m mu n i ty I \ 7

would abolish thc dis-

I H !

A R C H ! O L (l G Y

(l l

tinction between the We and Ihe Other, and primitive society itself would disappear. This is not a maHer of primitive psychology but of sociological logic: there is, inherent in primitive soci ety, i n Iht' quest for a sort of happy medium 1H'IWn-1l rontr;"lry. i f not rontr;"ldictory. elements? This would be to persist in tl1(' l.tvi Straussian ide;"l 111;"11 w il r ,l!ld exchnnge Clre dev(']opl'd on the same levrl and lhat one is alw;"Iys thl' l i mit ;"Ind the faiiurr of the other. rrom this I 5 8

l l1 f

Y I (l L f H ( !

A U li f O L O G Y

o r

V I O t f H { f

g('nerali.'N:1 ex {·hange t'limill �trs W;IT. hUl al thl" sa n�(' timc t'limi . With same

the sor1cty. ll ene ra l waT e l 1 m1l1a(('<; t'xl"h;"lnge. nat e'i primit ive . . Ill'lng, exchange and m'eels lllultilllCOlISly Sl thus. soc1al I)rinliuve resu It ' The . . to he lIble to comlHne at onc{' the autonomist point of hOllor order WilT, in . nd the rl'fllS;l1 of division. It is to this twofold drmand that the status and un(' tiOn of t'xdwnp;e and war arf related, unfOlding on different levels. 1"11(' Impossibil ity of war of CllI against illl for a given community imme­ diuppon. in m"\'er the ca�t' In IHactin': a community Ilt'vt'r l;"Iunche<; into iI w;"Ir advrnture without flTSI IHol('cunp; itself by m{'ans of diplomatic arts - panics, invita­ lions - t ronst,ln l l y bt' ren('wt·d. for bctrayal is Cllways possible, and oflrn rral. l Iele ;1 trilil ;"Ippe'lrs, dc"crined by traveler; o r ethnographers (IS thr Savagt':)' incoll­ stancy Clncl IClSte for betrayal. But. once agilin, it is not a matter of prinlltivt' r sychology: the inn)ll'>tilncy here signifies simply that tht' alliance is not a CQII\ran. lh;i\ its rupture is n('ver perc('ivet! by the $ava!l:t's as n s(,
�

I 5 9

I H t

6 R l H t U l U b Y

U f

Y I O L f t H f

war ,IS tin i nst it uti on determines tI!liilnce as a tacti c. Th(' strCHegy i s the s a me for a l l communities: to prrseven.: in t h ei r ilU(Un0!l10US being. to co n serve

thtmst:lves as what they ilre, undivided We's .

We have a l ready observed that through the will faT political ind('pen�

denc(' and exclusive comrol of its territory manifested by each commun ity.

the possi h i l i ty of war is i mmed iately inscribed i n the fu m :tion i n g of these socit:ties: primitive society is a 10(,U5 of a permanent SHItt: of war. We see now that s eek i ng a n .1lliilnce d epe n ds on aetu
priority of w
and war eme rgr<;. I ndeed. where arr relations of exchange rst;lblished. which

sociopolitical units assume a principle of re(.'iprocity? Thesc ilrc prtcisely the groups impl iciltt:d in the networks o f alliance: rxehange panncrs art: a ll i es,

the sphere of e xch
that were it n o t for Cllli
would simply flrld i tsl' l f c i r(umscribed within the space of th e a uto no mo us

com mun ity ill t h e hean of w h ich it n eve r ceases to operiltc; it would be

\trictly i n t ra � co mm u n
Thus. o n l' exch an ges w i t h ,lilies: there is exchange. be(';luse there i s

al l i
is m e re ly ttlr conrlusion of an u n i n te rrupted proces:o; of rec iproca l g i fts..... (p.

79) . In

S

s ho rt. the reality of alliance e Tabl ishes the possibility for complete

e xch ange. which affects not only goods Clnd scrvicts but m.: mi m
lions. Wh;}t is th e exrllange of women? At the level of h u m a n soriCLY as such. it
that h um ;'l n society docs n ot belong to the order of n
ttJrc: human sociely unfolds i n [he univnse of (he rule a n d nOI in that of

nt't"d, in tilr worlJ of the instit ution and nOI i n that or instinct. The exogam � ie e xchan gr of women founJs sodery as such in the prohibition of in ct"sr.

But it is preci s r ly a matte r of cxchange insofar CiS i l institutrs h u m a n society

as n on �
n r t w o r k of ili l i a n ces between d i ffc re n t (om m u n i t ies, w h i c h u n fo l d s o n

a n ot her level. I n t h e fr<1 n1t wo rk o f allianct', t h e exchange of womcn assumes

a clear politi('al signific
betwC'cn different groups is a way o f concluding ilnd re in fo r C in g politi(,<11

a l l i an n:" i n ord�r to co n rro nt intvitable cnemiC's under tilt" b('�l C'o n d i t ions . From allies wl10 a re
O �

V I O t f N ( !

mt n is the co nclu si o n of an " u n i n t e rrupt cd process of rcC'iprocal gift s ." I n . t . when two grou ps e n l n l I to re l il t i o ns . they do not at all seek to rea l i y � me : w h< t t�l ey want 15 (' a p o 1 i lico�mi!itary al l i a nc �. and t�{' bt:"st c h<1 o ge w o

wO

�

I ,S o f reaching th IS IS to ex ch a n L1(' women. Th is is 0 . . nle.. O .

�

why If the hel d of n de d exchang I e more restricted than the field of political e IS t m o n i al n, , a ri . n ot In any case surP ass it: alliance at once permits exchange ' l Iian cr, it ca n t" it, i t is its l i mi t . eXCha n ge n eve r goes beyond ilJli
;:

i on of exch il n gr. w h ic h SitU;l ltS o n t ht sanll' It:vel txdwnge as a ve ry l'onrep t of h u m a n s oc i e ty p ro h i b it i o n of i n c(,st. e x o g a m y ) a n d g
(

c x ch a nge as a co n seq u�n cc a nd m ea ns o f political a l l i a n cc (the best all ies. or are rtl iH i ves) . In t h e end, the point of vic'W t h at SUI)ponS the th t:: l e<1st bad. t heory of ex (h an ge is th at primitive society Wilnts ex ch an ge , l ,cvi� Str
that it is a \ociety- for�exch .:l nge. th at the more exch
try against ('xci1 ange . A nd this app ears wi th th e gre at est d<1rity preC'isely at the junC'wre be tween the exchange of wo m en and violence. We know that

one of the gO<1 l s of war as sC'rted nl0st insistclll ly by <111 primit ive soei(·tirs is t h t· caplUre of women: on c attacks enemies in order to s e i ze their women. I t matters little w heth e r th e reason i n vo ked is a rt"a l cause or a simp\t pre te xt

ror hostility. liere. war clearly man i re sts primitivE' society's proround TCpUg� n Cl nct" t ow a rd r(' (' n t r ri ng th e exch an g i st game: in tilt' exchange of wonwn. a

gro up gClins women but l os es JUSt ils m any. w h ile in the W il r for women, the vi('toriotJs group wins women w i th ou t los m g Cl ny. the risk is consicle r
Irnl'rest would thus al w ays commtlnd the p referen ce of war to exchange: but

th i s would be a si t u ; lI i on of war of a l l
L'l rXclulIlge of womrn because on e cann ot do otherwise: si nr r o n l' has cn r�

mies. onc must procure .:l l \ies an d att emp t to t r<1 nsfo rm them into brothers� i n � l aw. I n v e rsely. w hen for o n l' reaso n or a no th n (imlial<1 nrl' of th(' <;rx r<1tio

tn favo r of men, extension of POlygy ny. t"tc) til l' g roup d cs i n:s 10 proc u rc 'iupplemrnrary wives. it w i l l aHe mpt to obt
lrL us sum u p . Thr exchangist discoursr on p ri m itive sor iety. in reducing

likr sol idariry. though the links of k i nsh i p art i n no way a d e fl n i tivr gu;lran�

this society wholly t o exch a n ge , is m istakcn on two d ist i nct but logir.:llly co nneC'ted points. It is fIrst of all u nawa re _ o r refuses to ,Kk n ow h 'o ge -

I 6 0

I 6 I

ttl' of fidelity to the il i l i a net'. Accord i n g to U vi�S{ ra uss, Iht' txeh;tnge o f L

6 H H f O I 0 l1 Y

I H !

that p r i m i t ive socielies. far fronl <1l w<1 s s r rk i ng t o e x t en d their field of Y

l H f

� R { H f O L O G Y

0 1

Y I O t f N ( f

! H f

exchan ge, tend on the contrary t o r('duce its signifLC';'Ince constantly. This discourse consequently underestimat("s the real importance of violence, for the priority and exclusivity accorded to exchange leads i n fact to abolishing war. To be mistaken about war, as we were saying. is to be mistaken about society. Believing that the primitive social being is a bei ng-for-exchange. Levi-Strauss is led to say that primitive society is society-against-war: war is f
of its political being). [t is through war that one ('an understand exchange.

and not the reverse. War is not the accidental fa ilure of exchange, exchange

is a tactical effect of Wilr. [t is not. as Levi-Sn
co m m un ity is not: whom will we trade with? buc how ciln we maintain our

independence? The Savages point of view on exchange is simple: it i s a nec· essary evil: since w e n('ed all ies, they might as wt'll he brothers-in-law.

Hobbes believed. wron gly, Ihat the primitive world is nOt a social world,

because war there prevents exchangr. understood not o n l y

;'IS

exchange of

goods and services, but especially as excha ng(> of women. in
& R C H f O t O li Y

O f

V 1 0 t f N ( f

For this author. the implenwn ltllion of Ihl' principle of Ihus d isappear. . mu� the laller pcrmlls the . transl
�;�

�

�

�

�

�

political I'n e x a m i n a t i o n of elhnogral) h i c facts reveals the properly specificity zoological a o t dinH'nsio n o f warlik(' activity. It is related neither nor, finally. to a of humanity. nor to the vital competition of communities, W
linked to p ri mit iv t' society as su ch (and so it is universal tllcr{'); it is its modr exis­ of opefation. It is the very nature of this sockty that determines the t:xtrCnle the of lH"cause seen, have W(' as which, war, of meaning
sp{'cifkilY displayed by each group, is present ahl"ad of time as a possibility in the pnmitive social being. For all loc
the figure of the Foreigner confirms. for evcry given group. thc conviC[ion of its (dt'nlity as an autonomous Wt:. Th:lI is, the sta\{' of war is pt.:rm<'lncllI. since with fort:i gntrs there can only he hostile r('latlons. whether
tlin or comb:lt that is essential, but thl' permanence of its possibil ity, tht permanent state o f war that m
di ffl'r{' ncl'. What is permanent. structural. is the state of '1, ;)r with Forei gnt'rs which sometimes culmi n;')!es. i n mtllt:r regular Intt'rvals. rather frequently

Strauss' !ruth. for tht' latter. primitive soc'iety is a world of exchange: but at

d r p e n d i n g on thc soci ety. in a c t u a l battle, in direct confron t :l l i o n : the rorC'ignc-r is thus the Enemy. which engC'nders in turn the figure of lhl' Ally.

general and {'xchange as a modr of relation between different group". And

The ')tate of war is pcrmanem. hut tht' Stlvages do not neccsSilrily spcnd their

so h e is forced to eliminate war, in thaI it is lhe negation of ('xchangt': if

time w<1ging war.

Ih(' price of a confusion betw('cn the founding exchange of human society in

there is war, lhert' is no exchange. and if there is n o mort' rxch
inscribes w
W
tht> a n c estra l Law w h i c h must always be respected, w h i c h C C l n n o l be

:l l l C Te-d. What is primitive society s(,cking to conserve w i t h its conser­ vatism? It is s('cking to conserve its very being; it wants t o pt'rsevcr(' in its

h(·ing. BUI what is this being? It is an undivided being; the social body is

homogeneous; the community i s a We. Primitive conscrv:l l i s m Ihus seeks t o prevent i n n ov;ltion in sot'iety: i t wants t h t r('spect of tilt' L;lW 10 assure

tht: m.1 i n te n a n cl' o f n o n - d i v i s i o n ; it serks to p reven t t h e appl'tlranc<" of

I

6 1

1 11 £

A R C li f O L O G Y

O F

V I O L I N ( f

[ H E

division i n socirry. This is primitive sociery's i ntt'rnal pol icy. as much o n

the tconomic It:vrl (the impossibility o f aCl'umulating wealth) as o n the levcl of powcr r!:'lations (thr chit'f is there not to command): t o conserve

A R C H { O L O ' Y

O f

V I O L E N { {

cease. why it must not cease. why it is permanent. War is whY war cannot mo de of existence of primitivt: society. mnde up of equal. free vileged pri the ;]nd ind epe n dent sociopolitic;11 u n i ts : if enemies did not exist, thty would

But we sec cienrly that the will to persevert: in its undivided being equal­

h:lY e to Lte inv ent ed. Thus. the logic of primitiv(' socirty is a rt'ntrifugal logic. a logic of the

ly an imates all We·s. all communities: each position of th(' Self implies oppo­

ll1u[tipk. Th(' Savages want tht multiplication of rhe multiple. Now w h at is

itself as an undivided Wt:. as a singll' totality. and h ostil ity to others: the st at t: of war w i l l last as l o ng as rach primi­

h the maj o r effe<.:t of t e d tvcl o p mcn t of centrifugal force? It faces an i n sur­ mountable harrier. the mOSt powerful sociological obstacle to th(' opposite

provt"s itself intapOlble of this. i t will be destTOy{'d by the olhers. The capacity

forcc. centripetal forn.. the logi<.: of u nifIcation. the logic of One: the mor('

sition

tive c o m m u n ity can assert its autonomy in rt:lation 10 the otht:rs. If one:

to i m plrll1ent siructur!>uasiun) :lnd the c
(10 frn d

off an alla<.:k), i n sho r the t.

dispers i o n tlH're is. the less un ification there is. Wt' see hencl'forth that the 'lame rigorous logic determi ne's both the internal policy and ('xternal policy

other words: the permnnent state o f w
of primitive socirty. On tile one h;Jnd, th(' community W;Jnts to peTSeven: i n ils undivided b e i n � a n d prevent a u n i fy i n g authoriry - the figure o f the

The pt'rmane n ce of primitive SOCiNY has to do with th t' prrmancnce of the

d ucing social division between

warlikt' capOlciry of ea<.:h commun ity. is the condition of its autonomy. I n as the principal means used by primitive society to prevent social <.:hange.

state of war: the Olpplkalion of i n ter nal policy (to maintain the undivided and autonomous We intact) has to do with the implement:ltion of external

policy (to form alliances in order to wagt WM): war is i'lt the very h(:,;lrt of

Itle primitive social being. war {'on<;tit utes thc very mOtor of social life. In

order to t h i n k of themselvl's as a We. the communiry must bl' both undivided (one) and independent (tot a l ity) : i n teTll:l1 non -division
tion an:- comiJinrd; e:lCll is a condit ion for th ... other. Should war ct'
life of its bC'ing, it is its goal: primitive socitty is soci('ry Jar

i n it ion, warli k('. . . lo

IMr.

it is. by def­

The disptrsion of l ocal groups. which is primitive society's most immedi­

ately perceptible trait, is thus not the cause o f war, but its dfrct. its specific goal. What is the fun<.:tioll of primitive war? To assure thl' permanence of the

dispt'fsion. the p a rcel i ng. th(' ntomiz3tion of the groups. Primitive Wilr is tht

work of a centrifugal logic. a logic of sepnration. which is exp ressed from

time to time i n Olrmed conOir!.11 War serves 10 milintain each community's p o l i tic;]i independence. As l o n g as there is war, there is autonomy: this is 10

Here let us n.'call llo1 lhe d isco urse of Westcntrs on p ri m it i ve mall as warrior,

but Ihat. prrha ps kss expct:ll'd but which stems from the same logic, of the Incas. The Inc;ts said or the tri bes th�t �tifl'ed at tht' sleps of tla: Elllp in: (lIaT tlLese were �Ilvages in

ronSfant state

by means of conquest i n to

of I/'fJr:

.... lIi"lI legitim ated all a tte mpts to illte),lra te ,

tILe po.r in("(sira.

tlLem

This logic cOllcerns 110t only intercommunal relations, bul also tilt' upera ti on the community itsdf. In So uth America. wilen the demographic size of a group II

of

fJ

go t's beyond Ihe threshold cOllsidef('d opt im u m by ils socicty, s om e of llie people will t's\ablish :trtOli1er village fun/wr away. 1 , ,

commanding chief - from st'parating itself from the sodal body and intro­ M (lst('f nnd Subjects. The commun ity. 011 the

other h n n d , wants to persev(' re i n its autonomou� heing. th:tt is. remain under th(' sign of its own Law: it thus refuses all logic tllar would I('ad it to

�ubmil to an exterior law; il is opposed to the

extcrioriry of t h e unifying whOl\ is the legal power that embraces all differences in order to supprrss them. that t'xiSlS pr('cisely to OlboliSh the logic of lil(' mult il)le a n d l.aw.

N ow.

10 substitute it with the opposite l o g i c of unification? What i s the other

nal1l(, of t h i s One that p r i mif iv {' society by definition n.:fusl·!>? I t is Ihe Stall'. Let us go back. What is the- StOlte? It is the TOtal sign of division in soci­

ety. i n that it is a sepamtc organ o f political power: society is ht'ncefonh divided into those who exercise power and those who submit 10 it. Society is no longer ;'In undivided We. a single- totality. b ut a fragmen ttel Ltody. a het­ ('rog{'neous social being. Social division and the ('mergen("(' of the State art' till.' deat h of primitive society. So that the commun ity might asst'rt its ditTtr­ t'll<.:e, it h as to be u n d ivid ed ; its will 1 0 be a totality exclusive of others f(;sts

on t he refusal of social division: in order to think of themselves as We t'xc!u­ ...,ive o f Othe-rs, the We must be a homogen('ous social body. Extern
tation, i n ctrnal non-division Olre two fact'S of a single rCillity, twO aspects of tht, <;am(' sociologict bl' united. homogeneous. division-less. Reciprocally. i n order to exist in non-division, it nl'eds the flgUfl' of the Enemy in which it can rc ad tl1(' un i fied illlnge of its

"'()tiill being. Sociopolitical autonomy ilnd sociolog:iral n o n -d i vi sio n ilrc co n ­ ditions for each otll('r, Olnd t he ccntrifugal logic of tht crumhling is a refusal of the u n i fying logic of the One. Ihis concrett'ly signifIes that primi tivt, com­

m u n i t ies ('an nt'ver ,lttain grcOlt sO(' iocirolOgr;]phi<.: di m{' nsions. for t he rund:1Ilkntal tt'!Hkocy of pri mit iv (' society is \Oward cii<;persion nnd not toward 1 b \

I H £

A R C H f O I O ' Y

O f

V I O L f N C {

I ll !

con centr;Hi o n , toward atomiz:ation a n d n o t toward :lssembly. Ir. i n a primi­

tive soc iety, onr observes lhe action of ce n tri pe[
reorganization visible in the co n s.titut i on of social macro-units, it is because

this soc i ety is los i n g Ihe pri m i ti ve logic of tltt' ct'ntrifuge. it is bcca u se this

socicly is losing i ts pro pe niC's of lotaliry and un ity, it is because this society is in th e midst o f n o l on ger being: primitive. 12

Rrfusal of u n ifica t io n , refusal of the separate One. society ilg a i n s t the

State. Each primitive c o m m u n i t y wants to rC Il1<1 i n under the s i g n of its own

Law (auto-nomy, political i n de p e n de n ce) which excludes s ocial c!1il n g e (soc i ety will n:ll1
tin

u n d ivided he-ing). T h e refusal o f t h e State

is th e r('fusal of l'xo-nomy, of exterior Law, it is q u i te s i m ply the rc:fusa l of

A R { H f O \ O � Y

O f

V t O \ f N C f

rid: that. as a T( s ul t, tht" i n�t i tut ion of society involv{'s the end of war, th e 1 W 01J"'lT
thin

.

.

to M'C that o n e cannot think o f WilT w i th ou t the State, that one wa'> the first must Ihink of lht'm in a relation of exclusion. For him, [he soc ia l l i n k insti­ tUU'S i tself between men due to "a com mon Power to keep ( h e m all in awe:··

tilt' State is ilgainst war. What does primitive soci ety as a soc iol ogi cal space of permant.'nt war tt'll us in cou n te rpo i n t? It repeats Hobbes' d isco urse by n'vt"rsing Jt; It proclaims Ih:ll the machlne of dispersion functions against tht.' miK hi J1t: of u n i fication; i t tells us th a t W:!r is against th(" S!ate. l l

s u b m iss i o n. inscribed as s u c h i n the vt"ry Slructu rt' o f p r i rn itiv(' soci ety.

Only fools c a n Iwlieve that i n order t o refusC' alienation, o n e n'us.t have first experienced it: the refusa.! of a l i en a t io n (economical o r p o l i t ic a l ) belongs t o tht.' very b e i n g o f this society, i t exp resses its conserv<1tism, its

deliberate will ro re m a i n an ulldivideo We. DelilH:,rate. i n deed a n d n ot on ly .

the ('ffen of the ru nctioning of a social milch i n e : tht" Sav a g es k n o w well

t h a t any alteration of their social lift' (any soc ial i n n ov at io n ) c o ul d only

transliltl' illto t he loss of freedom. What is primitive society? I t is il mu l t i p l i (' ity of u n d ivided c o m m u n i t i e s

w h i c h fl l l ob ey t h e samt" c e n t r i fu g a l l o g i c . W h a t i n s t i tu t i o n a t o n c e

l'xpresses a n d guarantt'('s the p e rrnanrll('e o f this l ogic ? I t i s war, a s the

truth of relations between comll1 u n itits, as the ]lri ncipill sod o l og i ca l means of prom oti n g t h e

[

l' n t ri fu g al fOTcr of d ispC'rsi o n against the ('I:nttiprtal

forcr of un i fi cat io n. The war nw(' h i ne is the m oto r of the social machine;

the primil ive social being relieS entirely on w;n, primitive society cannot

survive without war. The more w a f there i s . t h e less unificntion there is,

and the best enemy of the State is war. Primitive society is society ilgainst

the S t at r i n thal i t is society-for-war.

Here we are o n ce again brought back

t o the thought

of lIobbt.'s. With a

lucidity that has since disappeared, the English th i n ker was a b l e to
profound l l n k, the rlose rel
to sc�' tll:!t w
,Hl'

cont radictory ! N IllS, that th('Y c:'lnnot exist

tog('thrt, that each i ll1 pl i e� thc negation of I h e other: war prevents tht.' StiltC',

tht.· Statr prev (' nts war. Tht' eno r mo us error. al most fatal a m o ngst a m a n of

this [imt', is to have believed that lhe society which persists i n wilr of each ag;linsl each is nOI truly a so c i ety: that thl' S:!vage

world is nOI

a soc ial

t} S\l('l! i� tlie absolutely l'Xl'III I,lnIY case uf the' Tupi-Guar
I

• •

I I .-\ t thr end of til is attempt at illl archeology of violence, various ethnologi­ cal problems arise, this aile in pa ni c lil a r : What will be the destiny of primitivr Jl'it.'ties that let the wa r machine run ram pant? By pe rmitti n g the autonomy of

tilt' group of warriors in rt.'l ali o n [0 tilt.' comJJlunity. woulrl not the dynamic of war

ralry within it t he risk of sodal divisioll? How

do primitive societies reart when

Ihi� o ccurs? Es�cntial quest!olls, for bellind tht:m lurk.. the transcendental ques­

l : r J l I ' \lnder what COllditions call social divisioll appe�r ill an undivided society? We shall all('mlll 10 answer lhese queslions and others in a serit's of studies which It pres('nl I('XI lI1augurates. I • I

12 SORROWS Of THE SAVAGE WARRIOR One cannot think of primitive society. I rect:'ntly wrOCe,l without at th e

same timr thinking of war. Inhf'rent i n the primitive social being, �n immC'­ diate and univrrsai given of its mode of operation. warlike violence 1lpprafs in the Savages' u n iverse as the principal m('ans of maintaining: this society's non-division. of mainta i n i n g each commun ity's autonomy as single torality.

fn:(' and independent of olhers: war, a major obstacle erected by Stateless

societies against [he machine of unification that is the State, is piHt of the

c�sen("(." of primitive society. One might as wdl say. consequently. that ,, 1 1 primitive sociery is warlike": hence, the ethnographically est;,blishC'cI univer­ sality of war in the i n fmite varitty of known primitivt societies. If war is a societal attribute. then warlike activity functions as a determ ining factor o f the m
bl:lween men and wo nH 'n in primil ivt" ..,oriety.

I Cf. -Archt'olngil' dl' I.. violttlct." /illfe. 7 7 - 1 1C1lapter Ell'ven

} 6 9

ofthb bookl

l H E

U C H f () L O G Y

0 1"

Primitive ma n, as such, i s a warrior; each male adult is eq ua l to the

warlike function. which, though it allows - even Gills for - acknowledged

differences in individual talents. particular qual itit:�. pt:rsonill bravery and know·how (in short, a h ierarchy of prestige), it excludes, on the other hand, any unegalitarian d is pos i t io n of thr wa rriors on thr axis of po lit i cll l power. Warlikc activity does not tolerate. any more than economic a c t i v i ty Or soc ial life in times of peace. the division of the warrior community - a s i n Cli l military organizations - into soldiers·performers an d chiefs·comman­ ders: discipline is not the prinrip;'! 1 force of primitive ;'!rmies : obedience is not the fIrSt duty of the bask combatant; the rhirf doe-s not exercise any commanding power, ror, c on tra ry to an opinion t h Cl t is as fal,>e a,> it is widespread (tha t the chief h"" n o power, e.rcepT in rimes of lI'ar) , th e warrior leader is at no moment of the c:x ped iti on ( prep,u.1 ti o n . h.1tt l(', rnfeiltl in a pos i ti on - should such lJe his i ntt:: n t i o n - to i m p o s t:: his will, to give a n order w h i ch he knows ahead of time will not be obeyed. I n o t h r r w o rd,>. war dot'S not. any more than peace. allow the chief to act the chi("f. To de'> rribt:: the- true figure of tile- savage- cllief in his warrior d i n1l'ns i o n ( w hat usc is a wa r chief!) requires s pe cia l treatment. I.�t us nott:: for now that war docs not open a new fIeld i n the politirill relations between m en : the war chief and the warriors remain Equals; war neve-r cre-ales. even temporari ly. division in primitive society between those who command and those who obey; lhe will for freedom is not ranreled by the- will for victory, even at the prke of operation;l1 efflciellry. The w a r machine. by itselr. is incap.11l1e of {'ngender­ i n g i n equality in primitivr sodety. Travelers' and missionarirs' ;'!neient chronicles and ethnologists' recent work concur on Ihis observation: w he n
cd o r overdetermined: on thr one hand, it assumed, as in all primitive soci· eties. the properly sociopolitical function of m a i n t a i n i n g comm un itie� hy cea sel es sly digging and red i ggi n g: the gap between the-m: on tht other hand. it unfolded o n a completely d i ffe ren t level, no l on g er ;1'> a po l it ic a l means of a soc i ol ogical st rategy - letting celHrifugal forces play thl'mselves ou t i n order to w;ml off all forces o f u n ifIcation - but i n deed as a private go,t!. as rhe IN1";0r 'S personal ('lid. W
l H !

V I O L t N C f

� H H [ O L O G Y

O f

� I O l ! N ( !

rpr ise i n thal it p ron eds only from the warrior's dl'cision: the war­ ual e nt e only the law of his dr,>in' or will . ri or obey!> d Woul war, then. be the sale arfair of the warrior in this case? Despite [he extrt'mdy pe rson a l i:le d aspect of w a rl i ke activily in this type of society. '

it is rathe-r clt"a r that it dots have an ('ffect on the sociol og ical level. What the twofold dimension that war assumes here assign to the nl'W figure does sod:!1 body? It is u pon this body thal a strange space - a fo re i gn space - is outlined : an unforeseeahle- orga n is alt:!ched to it: rl/r particular social grollp rOIl�ril U/('(1 by rile cllsclllblr of Il'arriors. And not by the ensemble or men. For not ;lll me n i n these societies art necessarily warriors; illl do not hear the call to ,"\rms wi th equal i ntrnsiry; on ly some reali:le their warlike vocation. In other words, the w arri o r group is made up of a mi nor i ty of men in thi s type of sodety: those who have delib­ erately chosen to devote t h emselvt.'s . full tillle, so to speak, to w a rli ke Clctivi· \Y. th ose for whom war is the v('ry fou ndat io n of tlleir being. tht:: ul ti mate J;o i nt of hon or, the exclusive meaning of their livt::s . The difference hetween lht' p:en era l case of primitive societies and the panicular case of th e se soci­ etit '> appears i mmed i at el y. Primitivt' soc iety be i n g warlike by essence, a l l men there art" warriors: potential wMrio rs. because the st pH'ciscly because all men af(' always ready for war that a special group. more warlike than the othe rs, Cilnnot differentiat(" itself from the hean of lhe masrul ine community: tht' rdation to war is e-quClI fo r all. In (he casc o f "warrior ,>oc ie( ies. howe-ve-r, Wilr ;'!Iso ass u mes the character of a personal vocation op('n to all males. sinct each is free 10 do what he Witive relat i o n thus ('xi'>ts between sociery
"

J 7

J

I H £

A H � f O I O G Y

O f

l il t

V I O l E N C E

Its warrio�. But where dot's one fmd such societies? We should first not� that the wa rlike societies do not represent a spe ci fiC

;

irreducible. immutable essence of primitive soci ety : th ey are only a part icula

ease. this particulariry havin g to do with the- special place occ u pied by war_

like activity and warriors. In other words. all primitive societies could trans­ form themselvl's into warlike- societies. depending o n local circumstances

A R ( II ! O I O G Y

O f

V I O l f N ( f

and vast tropical region covers a good part of Paraguay. rnt. th is austere contrasting sl!asons) . the hydrogra­ rgrnt in;l and Bolivia. The climat!' (vcry Ihr flora (abundant'e of tho rny vegeta tio n adapted to rivers). few very hv ( the Chaco vrry homogeneous from scarcity of water) combine to make of nature. But it is even more so from the point of view of virw of i n t t' po

� �1�

th

out on the Soulh American ethnographic horizon with the.> cult ure : it stands

either external ( fo r example, neighboring groups' increased aggressiveness o r, o n the co nt rary, the ir weaken i n g. inciting a n i ncrcase of artac ks on them)

{'ultural area. O f the numerous tribes thai oeeu­ sharpness of a determineu i n effect, i l l ustrate perfectly. no doubt better them. of most pird this te rrito ry,

orders collective l'xi:'.tcnce). Furthermore, the path can be tr,wl'led i n the

is tilt' ;]ctivity most highly valorized hy society, it is the quasi-exclusive occupat ion of
:

or internal (the exaltation of tht' warlike ethos i n the system of norms that op posi t e directi o n : a warlike society could very well cease to he one, i f a

change i n the tribal �thic or in Ihe sociopo l itica l cnvironml'n t alters the taste for war or limits i l s field of application. A primitive society's becoming war­ like, or its �ventu.:ll return to the cI
tutr. But this is ;lnothl:r problem.

Beco m i n g w a r l i ke is thus a p o s s i b i l i t y for a l l p r i m i t i v e so c i e t ies .

ASS uredly, then. ;ll] over the world. throughout the course of the m i l l e n n i a t h a t this primordi;:l1 mode of h u m a n soei;ll org
than ;lny oth rr society, wh a t is h:lhitUillly understood by warlike cullurt': witr

having b
tenacity. we h
tribes. During the 1 8th century, until their expUlsion in 1 7 68. the Jesuits. en(ourag{'d by thrir successes ;lmongst thr GU;lrani Indians, att rm pt cd 10 i ntl'gr<1te the Chaco into their missionary t.'nt e r p ris e The failure, s t art i ng .

hefore the expUlsion, was almost total and. as the Jesuits themselves cmpha­

have been wa rrior societies here ;lnd there. em('rgi ng t hen disa ppeari n g. But

<;in', somew h a t inevit;lhle: against the evang('lk;l1 mission rose the insur­

of all primitive societies becoming warlike societies. and to th(' probabiliry of

a<;srss d1e positive rrsul!s of a successful spiritual conquest, the missionaries

n a tu ral l y it would nOt be enough to refer only to the sociological pos si bi l i ty

such a n evolution. The ethnologist, fortunately. hilS ilccess 10 ra ther ancient documents i n which warlike societies aTe described i n great detail. lie m ay

mountable obstacle of t he I n d ia ns rti :l hol i ca l warl i k e passi o n '

.

Unable to

r{'signed themselvrs to n:flel'ting on their f:l i l u n' and e xpla i n ing it by the

pa tli cul ar nature of the soci eties that fate had assi gn ed to thr m : hl'nCt, luck­

rare occurrence and all the morc pre('ious. The American cont i n en t, :lS m uch

ily for us, the m iss io n:1 rit's superb descriptions. e n riched by years of daily contact w i t h tht" I ndia ns. by the knowl edgr of their l a ngu
w h ich, beyond tiltir differences, have a remarkahle com mon ;llity: they h ,we

/l.1il rtin Dobrizhoffer is henceforth associated with the Ahipone tribe. that of

even be l ucky enough to conduct nrldwork among o n e of these soc i et i es. a

i n the North as in the So u t h . offers a rat h e r large s;l mp l i n g of Societies

10

.

varying drgrees, pushed their warlike vocation quite f;l r. i n stitutional i7Cd

brotherhoods of warriors. allowed war to occupy a cent ral place i n t h e politi­ cal and ritual l i fe of the social body. accorded social recogn ition to th i s orig­ inal, almost asocial form of w a r and to the men who w;)ge it. Explorers' reports.
was the C;)S(' with thl' Huron, th{' Algonkin :lnd the Iroquois; more r{'(' ent n a rr
and the a u tob iogra p h i es of vanquished warriors, speak to us of rht Cheyen n e

and thr Sioux. tlH' BI;lckfoot and the Apache. JUSt as bellicose hut less well-known. South Amtrica provides a nthropo­ logical rest'
'

genuine fondness tow;lrd (hese ferocious warriors. And thus. tht' n;lme of

Florian Paucke with the Mocovi, that of Jose Sanchez Labr
These tribes have, for the most p:lrt. disappeared. The rxemplary testi­ monies kepping alive tlltir memory are thus douhly preciolls. But n o matter

how precise and detailed. these hooks C<1l1not take th(' plilCl: of direct obser­ vation of a l i v i n g soci ety. This poss i h il i ty was offered to me i n 1 9&6 in thr

Paraguayan p
til" Chul u pi Indians

.

!O thl'

somh. bew·r known in ethnographic l iterature by

[hr ( i n accurale) n
I 7 J

l H f

A H H f O I O G Y

O f

I ll f

V I O I { N ( {

n'rm which, as one might e x pect, s im ply means ··Mrn." Estim attd at 20,000 at the heginning or th e century, th� Chulupi now se('m to have halted the demographic decline which thr(,;l.tened them: today there ar� around 10,000. I stayed with them ror s i x months (May-October 1966). a cco m pan i ed i n my t r avels by two IndiCln in tcrpreters who. in add i tion 10 the i r own ICln g ua ge, spoke Spanish a n d Guarani fl ue n tly. ·) U n t i l the early 1 9 3 0s, the Paraguayan C ha co was an almost exclusive­ ly Indian territory. a lerra incognita which the ParaguClY.\nS had hardly (laempted to penetrate. And so Ih� t ri bes there I('d their traditionfll, free, a u t o n o mo us lives. where war. especially a m o n g the Chulupi-N ivakle, occupied a preponderant place. Following attempts by the Bolivian State 10 flnnex this region. a murderous w a r e rup t �d in 1 932, the Chaco war, which set the Bolivians agCl i n s t the Pa ra g uay a n s ulltil 1 9 3 5 . a n d which saw the dereat of t h e Bolivian ;nmy. The Indians. extran�ous to this inter­ n a t i o n n l conflict. were neverlhcItss its first v i c t i m s : t h i s fierce w a r (50.000 de at hs on r ach side) occurred on their t('Tritory, a n d notnhly o n t ha t of t he Nivakk, forci n g the Indinns to flee the com b a t zones a n d irre­ mediably upheaving tr;Hl it i o n a l social l i fe. Wanting to consolidate th e i r vil:tory, t h e Paraguayans erected a chain or rorts along the frontiers. and the garrisons also prot ect ed colOnists a n d religious missions installrd on thls virgin tt'rritory, against po t en ti al I nd i a n attacks. Tilt' tribe's age-Old freedom was now over: fairly continuous cont:1ct with the whites and the usual erfects (t-pidrmics. exploitation, :1lcoholism. etc.) d i d n o t take lo n g to spre ad destruction a n d death. The most warlike communities n evert heless reacted better than the oth­ ers: t h is is lhe case of the Chul ul)i4 who, rel ying o n a p owe rrul war eth os Clnd tribal solidilrity. were abl(' to maintain relative auto n o my. That is to 1

All thes!' societies (AlJil)Onr. Mocovi, Toba. (Juaicuru, Chu l upi .

('(c.1

were

equestrian trib('s wh ic h h a d acquired horses well before the North American

ludians. l Iorses are seen among the Abipone from the beginning o f the 17th cen­ tury; the Chulupi b('came horsemC'n lowanl the beginnillg of the t9th cenlury. The iH,:qllisition o f the horse had.

eti�s, but

of course, pro foun d effectS on thr life of these soci­ simply intensified by the

d i d not alter their rapport witll war: war was

mobil ity that the horses assured t)l(' combat3ms, and their techniqlles were adapt­

ed t o this new " a T machine that is a Zllount (one doC's 110t fight in Ihe same way

011 foot and on horseback). -[

Of the abllndalH ethnograp hic Illnu:rial

gathrrrd amongst tll(' Chulupi-Nivaklc,

only a Wi)' small portio n of it hns been publislll'd to th is day. Cf. -De quai rient Ics

Indi('lls.- in In Solicle cvurre-

/'rrnr. Ed iti o ns

dr Milluil, 1974

I)-oeicly Against

tire

5101(', New York. ZOIlt' I looks. 1987J. This warlike tribe will lit' tl1r sull en of a subse­ qucnt publiciltioll.

I 7 ,

A R C H f O t 0 6 Y

O f

Y I O l f N ( F

al t he time of Illy stay amongst these Ir1(iians, the war had been s y Ihal long ago. And yet, Jllany men, then fifty or sixty years Old. r them o r o er " e�n fo rm e r WClrriors (former combatants) who, twenty or twenty-five before ( i n the early '40s) still pitil essly ambushed their h e red i tary \rafS n e n1 i ts . t h e Toba I n d i a n s , w h o o c c u p i e d t h e o p p o s i t e b a n k of tile Pi](o tl layo in Argentina. I had fre q ue nt conversations with s eve rn l of them. Tht' fresh m(" mo ry of rather recent combats, Ih(' warriors' desire lo eXillt tht iT war exploits. the passionate attention of the young m�n w ho l ist e n ed to tht'ir fathers' stories: all or this made mc want to know more about the "wnrrior" sot"iety, about the rit es and techniques of Indian wa rfare. about t he- rdation hetween society and its wClrriors. A<:, much as 10 th e <:hronicle<:, of a San c hez L<1brador or a Dobrizhoffrr. I am indebted to these men - for darifying Illl' st atu S of the- wflrrior in their own community - for i1 110wing me to gl i mpse the traits that makc up the proud rigure of the Warri or, to l orate the ne("�ssilry lines of movem e n t that describe the w a rli kc l i ft:. to understand (for t h ey told mC': th ey know) t he savage w a rrio r' s de stiny. Let u<:, consider, for e x am p l (' , the case of t h ree tribes or the ChClCO.

�

�

becau<:,e they il l ustrate perfectly the s i n gul a r world of warrior societies and hecause the documtnlatlon concerning Ihem is very rich: the Abipone, the CiuClleuru. and the Chulupi. Institutionally accepted and recognized by soci­ t'ty ilS a detennined pl<"lce i n the sociological fI eld, or as a p<1rticul
l H f

A R ( H E O I O G Y

o r

relation or dependence forces society to ohey thl' warlike m i nority. Warlike c::oC"lety does nOt allow social division to rupture the homogeneity of the social body any more than any Other primitive society; it does nOt let the warriors institute themselves as an organ of political power separated from society; it does not kt the Warrior incarnate lh(' new rlgure or Master. Still, it would be Jlt'cessary [0 a n alyze in depth lhe procedures that socirty imple­ m e n ts in order to maintain the distanre between w a rriors and power. It is this essential disjunction th,l{ Sanchez Labrador observes, having noted the propl'nsity of thc Guaicuru noblemen-warriors to hoasting and braggi n g : . . .thrrc is, in t ruth. little dirrert'ncc between a l l of them (I. p . 1 5 1 ). Who arc the warriors? As one might well imagine, aggressiveness and bellicosity generally diminishing with
from a sel e c t (lge gro up : that of young men over 1 8 . The Guaicuru in par­ ticular developeo it compJrx ensemhle of cer(,monial activities arouno war, ceirhrating a hoy 's reaching tile age to carry arms ( afte r 1 6) with a verita­ ble rile of pi'ls<;agr. I n the cour�(' of (he ritual. the adolescc'1ts underwent p fl i n rul physical trials and had to distribute all t h e- i r goods (weapons, clothing:, ornamenb) lO the people of (he tribe. This is a specifkal1y mili­ tary ritual, and n o t a n i n i t i a ti o n ritl': the latter is cele b ra t ed ei'lrlier. ror boys 1 2 to 1 6 yrars o ld . But 111(' yo un g men who su cc ('ssfu l l y underwent the w a r r i o r r i t u a l nevE'rth e l ("<;<; did n o t b e l o n g to the g r o u p of t h e N iadagaguadi, t h e brotherhood o r warriors. t o which only ii particular type of exploit g{1ve access. Beyond the riW
in gestation), buc a mil10riry group at the same time, for <'Ill young men did not come La accomplish the exploit required. a n d among those who d id succeed. /lot all desired (IS we shall sec) to be socii111y Terognized and named warriors: t h at (I C' h ulup i or Abipone combatant refust' the covCled title of Kaanokle or HbcheTo suffict's to show, through the imponance of the renouncement. the- greatn t's" or what he hopes lO preserve i n exchange. In this onc Ci1n read prrC'isely whi1t being a warrior signifies. Th(' warrior has passion for Wilr. A singlilnrly intense p a "is io n in the trihes of the Chaco. as their chroniclers explain. Of the Guaicuru. Sanchez Lahrador wri [t's :

I 7 6

l l1 f

V I O L f N { !

A R ( II I D L O G Y

o r

V ( O t ! N C f

They art' totally indirreren t to evrl)'Lhing, but wk(' ran' of their horses. their labrets, and their weapons with great Zl'a1. (I. p. 238). Dobrizho rfer confirms this disabused observation regarding the same GuaicUTU : Their principal and unique care and knowledge are of horses a nct weapons (I. p. 190). But t his (llso goes for the Abipone who. from this point of view, a re no \)t'trfr I ha n the Guai(·uru. Dohrizhoffer, horrirled by the wounds i nflkred o n children. note" that this is prelude to war for which they arr trail1rd at a very young age (II. p. 48). ii

The consequence or this pedagogy or viole-nce was a m aj or ol1r ro r i'I mbsionary priest: hardly IHepured to p ra ctice Christian virtues. the Abipone activt.'ly avoided the ethics of lOlling one allotller. Christianization. writes the Jesuit, was destined to failure: ... the young Abipone are an obstacle to thr progrrss or reli­ gion. I n their ardent desire for military glory and spoils, they are avidly cutting the heads of the Spanish and destroying their carts and their fIelds... (11. p. 148). Young men's tastc ror war is no less intense in otherv.;ise very dirferrllt SOCieties. I t is thus that at t h e other end of the American c o n t i n e n t i n Canada, Champl
...nine or ten scatterbrained young n1<'n [who] undertook t o g o t o war, which they did without anyone being able to stop them. ror thl' little obl'diencr they give to their chiefs... (p.

2B5).

I 7 7

' n ,

� � l ll t U l U b Y

O f

The F r en c h Jesuits l' xperit'n ct'd t h e same disappointments in thcs' , ' G ermiln and Spanish cou �terpans i n the Ch a co a century regIOns as t h elr . later. Want .i n g to stop the war that t]H.'lr allies the J l u ron w ere waging on the Iroquois, and at the very least save the p riso ncrs of war from Ihe te rri bl e tOr_ tures that the victors would i n fl i ct, they systematically attempted to buy back the Iroquois cap ti ves from the HUron. To such an offer of ransom, here is what an indignant Huron chit'f answered: I am a man of war and not a merchant, I have come to fight and not to barga i n ; my glory is not in b r i n ging back pre-­ scnts, u u t in bringing back prisoners, a n d l ea v i n g , I can touch ncitlle-r your hatchets nor your cauldrons; if you w a nt our pris on e rs so m uc h , take them. I stUl have en ough courage to find othrrs; if the enemy takes my life, it wi!! be s a id in Ihe country that since Ontonio� too k our prisoners, WI.' threw o u rs el ves into death to get others (1[1. year 1 644, p. 48). As fo r t he Chulupi Indians, their veterans told m e how. between 1926 and 1 935. i n preparation for a pa rt i cul arly decisive and dangerous raid against the , Bolivtan and Argentinean soldiers. thcn determined to extermin
of tfll' FrcII('h governor.

1 7 8

1 11 £

V I O l f N ( f

� R C H f O t O G Y

O F

V I O l ! N ( f

� on � r t o he n�l hy of I They consider the nobi lity most wort . h IS like pa t fl­ whlC' �nd blood th at whic h is i n hNi ted through . s tI� rough one s own mony. but rather that which one obtam not 1 0 th e worth ("lncl merit s [ .. . 1 For t h e m , nouiJ ity resides (II. p. 454). hono r of lineage. but in valor and rectitude

ce; he does not Jlro �lt from the sit­ fhe warri or acqui res nothin g in advan . . and is not n{'co m!)(lllled by pnvllege. uilti :)n ., glory is n ot transferaule ass io n . dtrived from a r rimary p
•

•

The pri nc ipa l reason that makes them b r i n g war to a fo rei g n territory is solely the interest for spoils an d vengeanrl' for w h a t they consider offenses (1, p. 310), To Dobrizhoffer,

the I\bipone explained that

war against the Christians procured for them mon' henefns th a n did pe a ce (II, p. 1 JJI.

What do the sp oi l s of w ar consist of? Essentially. metallic insl� mems, horses and p riso ne rs. men, w om en or children. Metal's purpose .IS ? bvlou : to � inc rease the ter hnica l efficiency of weapons (;urowheacis, lance tips,. knives, ("tc.), l I o rses arc m u c h less us('fu1. I ndeed. t h e A bi p o n e , MOCOVI, Toba, Guairuru did nOt lack horses at all: on the contrary. they h ad th ousan ds : some l n ditl n s htld up to 400 tlni mal s find only used a ftw (for Wilr, trave!. ('ar�o), Most Abipont' families h(ld at least fifty horses. They therefo re had no nCl:d for others ' h o rsl'S, ye t ,II the same time felt they could nev�r have enough: it w as (I sort of sport to capture th e e ne m ies' he rds ( Sp a n .is h ?r I ndia n), A ris ky sport. naturally. sinct' t' ach tribe jealously watrht'd over ItS 1 7 9

H C H E O l O G Y

I H £

O f

V I O L E N ( (

I H {

most precious good. the i m rn(.' nse herd of horses. I t was (I p re c io us good, cer� tainly. but one of pure prestige. specTacular in its weak use a n d exch angt value . Possessi n g thous;J nds of horse's was al so quite a burd('n for each COrn� mun ity because of the obligations it creal('d: constant vigililnce in order to protect t he m from the neighbors. tht: con sta n t search for pasturt:s and abun�

dant sources of water. Nev('nhcless. th(' Indians of th(' Chaco riskrd thei r

lives

to steal other people's horses, knowing

stock at t h e e n e m i es expens(' would '

well that clo;)k t h e m

Dohrizhoffer indicat('s how massive thfse [hefts w (' re :

While the m;lSH'rs sleep,

even

tll(,

Sp a nish,

other nation.

d esi re to cCipLUre enemies is nev erthel css strong among th(' Ab i pon e or the C h ul upi Whtn I stayed with thr Chul up i I met two ol d people in o nr of t h e i r vi ll ages. a m a n and a womiJn who had sp(·nt long years i n ('Clptivity n nl o ng the loo a. A f{'w ye ars earlier, thry had bt'en reTUrned i n ('xch nnge for some Tobn priso n ers hrld by the Chulupi. Comparing whllt SCinchez Labrador and Dobrizhoffer write of .

the status of cnptives among the Guairuru and the Ahipone, there is a con­

<;iderable diffe rence in the

way they art tn.-ated. According

to the Sanchez

LabrCldor. tht prisoners of the Guaicuru were srrfs or slav('s. D u e to their

prrsenct. adolescents were allowed to rUn free:

They do what they Wf'ln1.

without even h el pi ng p. 31 5),

their

puents.

This is the sf"rvants' occupation [I.

Dohrizhofftr, on t he contrary. notes rtgarding the AbEpont': They would nevrT consider the-ir prisoners of WClr. whether S p a n ish. InliEan or Negro. CIS serfs or sl
I n real i ty,

the tasks demCinded of the prisoners

by their Guaicuru miJsters

were hardly morC' th a n d a i l y chores: gathering firewood, fetc h in g

cooking, for the r('st,

water,

[he " s l aves" lived l i k e their masters, pankipClting with

I 8 0

'

them conside r which t h e y h a v e k n o w ledge. iJS sliJves [11. p . 52).

n ;l t i o n s of Spanish.

The

r('sl of t h e

i n c l ud i n g t h e

�

Though it ca n not be resolved hac. we sho uld at l�ast rn i e th is prob­ . n the

Itm: [ ll iJ t of The particular de m og rap hy of thest" warlike SoclClles. middle of the

Less marked than among the G ualcuru. [ h e

other things [I.

1 ht' Guaicuru. moreover. hardly look an i n tcr{ <;t in til(' suh t l (' t i es of Their self-gl orification m n k es

is inex p ressiblr and frenzied (I, p, 3 1 0 ) .

.

gel drunk or do

SOCiil1 distinctions:

most presli�ious spoils: prisoners. as SiJnchri' L
any

they

p. 2 5 1 1 .

('xpl
V I O l f H { 1

e n terprises, COlllmon sense explains why the vi ctors could in ml'l't'\ry l , · tile Van ( luished i n t o slaves whose lahor cou Id be exp l01ted '. for m " 01 trans . perform: There are no doubt worse con d'ItJO ns t h ,'In \\,!1a1 [askS woul d they , . I If exp I alns. · · .l've of the Guaicuru, as S nn c h e z Labrador llmse s ,I a heing;

more ferocious than the
finally. t he

O �

Ihenl

i n cre as in g their live � in t w i c e the glory.

Once. in a singl e aS�
6 H H E O I O G Y

�

18th cen t u ry The G ua i c u ru numbered 7.000. Ihe Ablpone. 1),000. ShOrtly nftrr th e arrival of Ihl' Sp ;l n i sh in these rl gi on s Ihe first war lOok pl;lce i n 1 542 between the Conquistadors led by A.N. ('abez de Vaca � jJnd the Guaicuru. who at that time n umbe red a rou n d 2 1).000. I n l Ittl e more than twO centuries. their population thus fell by more than twO thirdS. The Ahipone certainly underwent the SOlnle d('mograpl� ic dr? p, What .'Ift� the . causes for this? We mUSt ob v iously take into consldn:ltlOn the ep lde � l lcs introduced uy the Europeans. But. as the Jcsuits remClrk, th e � ha co tribes. in contrast to the others (the G ua rani, for e xa m p le) . were hostde to ca n t
'

_

.

_

­

henCt. t he greal rrequ,n,y o r polygyny I I I . p p . 1 0 2 - IOJI.

. There is no doubt (hiJt the morta lity of young men wns vrry high and tha t The (h
.

1 8 1

l il t

H l H I: O t O G Y

O f

l H f

Y I O L f N ( f

that the drop i n population was provoked not by the excess monality of men, but by th(" lack of natal ity: there were not enough children, To bt more specific: there were few b i rths because tile women did nor want to

l1a1lc chi/drC/!, And this is W ilY one of the goals of war was to capture rhe

rl1ildrnr of orlJrrs. An operation that was often successful, by the way: the tribes' captive children and adoit'scents. particularly the Spanish. generally refust'd to leave when they had the chance. Nevertheless, these societies

(rsprcia l1y the Abipone, Mocovi and Guaicuru). by the very fact of the war­

like dynami(. found thelmelves confronted with the question of their own

survival. For should not these twa distinct and conv('rgent desi res he l i n ked:

the rlesire of society to Lring war and death elsewhen.... the in(lividual desire of women not to h<1ve children? The will to give death. on the one hand, the refus<11 to give birth. on the other. [n satisfying i l s warlike passion. the

haughty chiv<1lry of the Charo pointed. tragically. toward the possibility of

ils OWIl death: sharing this passion. young women agre("d to b e the wivrs of

w a rriors. but not the mothers of their rhildren. War's mid-term socioecono m i c effects in these societies remilin to be outlined. Some o f these societies

(Al)ipollr, Mocovi.

Guaicuru)

had

long since

abandoned agriculture. because permanrnt war and pastoral needs (seeki n g

new pasturrs for the horses) were nOI suited 1 0 seden t<1ry l i fe. Thus. they

berame nomads on their terrilOry in groups of 100 to 400 people. living from hunting. fishing ;"Ind collect i n g (wild pl<1nts. hOllcy). If Ihe rcpe;"lted raids

against the enemies at fIrSt aimed at conquering prestige goods (horses, pris­

o n e rs), they also assumed ;1 properly economic dimension: to procure not only equipment goods (weapons), but also C"onsuntrr goods [edible cultivated

plants. cotton, (O\)acl"Q, beef. erc.). In othrr words. without exaggerating the

{'Xu�nt of these functional tendencies of w;"Ir, the r;"lids also Leconte enterpris­ es of pillaging: the Indians found it easier to procure the goods they needed

with weapons in hand. Such a practice could in the long-run create a two­ fold rC'lation of economic dependence: society·s extt'fnal dependl;'nce o n the places producing tht desired goods ('sscntially the Spanish colonies); the

tribe·s intcrt\
subsistence. namely the warrior group. And so. i t is not too surprising to leam that thl.'" term the GU
warriors, was Niadagaguadi. thosl;' thanks to whom w(' eal.

Would not this cronomic ··perversion" of war i n societies tot
to it. be. rather than a local <1('Cident. the effeC( of a logit" inherent to war itself? Does not the warrior f<1t<1lly t ransform himsC'lf into a looter? This is

what we arc ltd 10 helit'vl' by primitivl' sm:ieties who followed an fl.nalogous p<1th, Th l' Apache, for eX<'Imple (cf. b i b l iogmphy). having <1h<1ndoned agricul­ ture, gradually a l l owl'rl war to assume ;"ln ('l·onomic fun c t i o n : they systemati-

I B I

6 R ! H f O t O G Y

O f

V I O L f l( C f

the com ma nd of �ht' . n set tlem ents. und er XIc an and A me ril"a (<'Illy pil laged Me d m i l itary action . . e tribe onl y tolerate . w hos eron l m0" amo ng otI1l'rs G S OU but stro ngl y al·ded fa rll . ' log ic of war. perhaps, pOIls were produ ced . Th( s ugh 'f eno o th war p o ss essio � � \�; 7:· d e m e nts that comprised the spoilS of the an, s l e delal as e TlOr H Th a t h e W. ' hed rt'cogn itio n of . thry aI o n e es t , hlis t ' tha st ggt S IS ·I'h' ' . could U sou ght -after prestige. ess n t · a l sour ce of the s urh , that spO Ils were t: \ e n H 6 chero o r the K ;"I anokl c pu r n a ce to the cas e. an d t I;' ilp one rs . i� no t the of horses or pris . . 't('rm rned by the num ber , no t 1'n ,any w;"ly d( ed III .�!ll my �rollP waS ('ltr a,r oj lp sca rile k bac l bril ry :r('C capturer ! : r r on is as old i n ::: � war; tha t this tra diti ��a l Y n ge d It. . com bat . We . ,lTe . the Charo trib l's respecte . th Am eflr a. Al mos. t all to re AIlH'rt. Ca as 1I IS in Nor deS s i young vic tor xp lici tl y sig n ified thl;' To Sl' ClII> the fallen enemy e he d . , l celebratl' t ll s cerem onies . rW<1rT1or . I n re. .sive ' ted I·ntO Ih(' du b 0 I mlt title he a( the to t righ ive init dcf his me mb er. rec. og n .l z i.n g pos i t this ent ran ce of the new It is nec ess ary. thu s. to r, rrlo . r WlI 0 l;'nt t'm obl cnn �n was ; chy 0t' for tl1l< . mit of the soc ial hie rar rno rs OC CUPY the sum wa tll� n: atro equ dou ble s. sta lps ent to kin his ene mie , IS ,CI tll ;"ln w I 10, not conl t 5c;"l lppre stI ge ; a wa rn'or hou wit ene my ce a m a w ho kill s the them. I mmediate ronse �p,l(� n : . n but o n e ction. f insign i icant distin rrro r. A see m l n gl y . i ng. h i m is not (I ll'a ce. ' be of eXl rem t' I m p o rtan tha t reve;"l I.s ltSe If. to ugh not dish anis heads of h:1i r. tho of sca I ps. Th ere IS a hIe rar chy s . Thu s for the e{I as I hos e of I n d i a n as est el;'mp , e d . wer e no t by far a nd elaIn . r ele rna l cIH'mic5. Ikforc equ al a To�)a SC,I1. p, t hei ld cou g hin not i. lup n l'hu bOr nly rl;'sisted the Bol ivia Chu lu[l l w a rnors 'tub the . war aco Ch the ng dun, upa nts. . and I;'xt cTm inat e ils occ seiz e th CIT tern't o arm y wh ich wan led 10 d the cke . atta and for d UP'i wat che terr aln r the Ch�ry Adm ir
�f

�lY

t�e

:l'lIS

Sou :h

.

S

"

:

<

�

•

. buy vam : to (fade for or 10 s, always f' l hav e a\lempted several timt.' d eviI . I Ie to t l sOll lf the the III\I ians , lih o;ellmg Ihis wonld have bee n, ror

�II

I a J

;t

sca lp'

I n t

a � l K I U l U � Y

O F

V I O l I: N ( f

tion or of com mem orat ion]: Ihis illustrat{'s the dept h of the pers onal l i n k th un lle{ • . I t h e Wilm. or to h·IS trophy. ' Iere. t�e� . essentially. is the t.'thnographic context in which the l i fe of warr�.or SOCieties unfold s. and tht.' horizon upon which the most secret web of . relations between warnor and tribe is spun. Let us notc i mmediately that if

these rel ations were static. if the relations betwet'n a particular warrior group , and S�CI(,ry as a w hol e were stable. inert or sterile, thC' present enterprise of ft'0 ect lon would have to end (1(>re", Wt' would have, in such a hypothesis. a , mmorny of young men - til(' warriors - waging a permanent war for their

own account - the" {juest for presligC' which socitty would 101e"rate b{'cause

of the �rimary �Ild secondary benefits that the warriors would proCUrt: for it:

coll crtlvc sccuTlty ilssure"d by the constant weakening of enemies. the cap­

turts and spoils of war resulting from the pillagC' of enemy selliemcnts. A �i m i l a r �ituation could reproduce itst'lf and rt'pC'at itsC'lf indt'flnittly. with no , innovatIOn alteflng the bC'ing of the social body and the" tradit ional function­ , i n g of SOciety We would have to observe, with Maretl Duchamp, that there

is no, solution bccaust thtre is no problem. The (' nt i re queslion is precisely , tillS: IS there a problem? l Iow should it be anirulatcd?

It i s a quesli ?1l of k n �w i n g whether primitive society i s ru n n i n g a risk , 1cttmg a p;'lrt l cular soria! grouP. that of (he warriors. grow i n its breast, by

There is some basis, then. to e x a m i n i n g them: the existence i n primitive

sociery of a grou,p of sjng� rs or d a n crrs, for eX;'l mple. c10es n ot in any way affect the establishtd SOCial order. But it is a question here of wa rriors, namely. the m e n , wllO hold a quasi-monopoly on socit'ly's m i l i t a ry rapaci­

ty. a m o nopoly, In a sense. on organ ized violence . They exercis(' this vio­ lence on their enemies, But could they eventually exercise i t as well o n

the�r own society? ,NOt physical violC'ncl' (a rivil war o f warriors against

socIety), but a (aklng of pOl/ler by the warrior group which would from

then on exercise i [ on, and if necessary. against society? Could the warrior

group. �s a specialized org.:1n of the social body. become (J separate organ , oj political pOII ("r ,I n othe � words. lIoes war harbor within it the possibility

� �

of w h a t all p n m,Hlve socletks, in C'Ssence. arc devoted to warding off: , , n a m e l y. .the diVISIon of the social body into Masters (the warlike m i nority) and S uhJC'cts (the rest of society)?

We havt' just seen. in the tribes of the Chaco and among the Apache, . of war could transform the search for prtstigious spoils �ow the �yn
Into (he pillage of rC' sourct'S, If socielY allows the proportion of its provisions , att:lllled, from the sJloils of war to grow. il would thereby ts!abJish a relation

?f growl l � (kpencJel1ce on its providers. Ihat is. Ihl' warriors. who would br : to guidC' the lTibe'� sodopoliticaJ l i fe as they pl l-ast'd, Though In a poslltOn I 8 4

l H E

A R C H E O L O G Y

0 1'

V I O L E tI { £

, temporary i n the specifiC cast's t"vok('d. the e-conomic effects of nUll or a nd

� r nevcrthelcss show that socie-ty is in n o way shfltcred from such an evo­ . . .IS t h e But rather than look at local and conjunct ural SllUatlons. It . luliO n . ' . . . hertnt i n the existence of a body o f warnors h· I and the ct ICS )tI onglng . l o gl( 1Il . " Which in�erroga[{ that we should amounts, i n ract. to posmg body a this to '

sin�le question: what IS a wamor? " ' It is a man who puts his warlike passion t o thC' servIce of hIS dC'slr(' for

pre"' 1· ge " h is desire is realizC'd when a young comba!anl is authorized to rlai m his integration into the warnor brotherhood (Ill the stnct s� nse) and IliS ' l'Onflnnation as warrior (Kaanokle. I l ochcro. etc.): wilen he bnngs back •

,

.

'

an C'nemy scalp. One could then suppose that such ,a, fact wo�ld gua,rantee tht' nt'w warrior an irrevocable status and a drfinlllvt.' p�estlge w h lc h h,e , roult! peaC'eruHy savor, This is not the case. Far from helll g f1ll1S�led. I llS , rar{'C' r has. in effect. only just hegun. The fu'St scalp IS not the crownlllg, but. .

on thr rontrary, the point of departure. Just as in these sodetiC's. a son does

not inherit the glory acquired by his fatheT. IhC' young warrior is n ot frced by

his initial prowess: he must contin uously start over. for tach ,exploit,acco�­

plished ie; both a source of presti ge and a questiOn ing of tillS prest � gc . 1 hl' /0 forging alit-ali. The glory won IS n('vrr

warrior is in t'ssenct' condelllned

{'naugh in and of itself; it must be forever proven. :lIld every feat realized

immediately calls for anothn

, . I he warrior is thuc; a man of permanent dissatisfaction The personallly

of this

res

t l ess figure results from a convergence of thc individual desire"

for prestige a n d the social r{'cog n i t i o n that a l o n e confers iL. For each

exploit accomplished. the warrior and society utter the same judgment: the warrior says, Th
(glory before everything) as by his total dependence in H'l a t i o n to the tribe

(who else could confe r glory?) the w
Lacking this, society would quickly forget his past exploits ilnd the glory , they procurt'd for h i m The warrior only exists in w a r : h l' is devoted as

surh to action: the Story of his valorous acts, d{"rlaim('d al fl'::.tivals. IS only

it call for further valorous acts, The more the warrior got'<; to war. the mOTe

society will confer prestige upon h i m .

I t follows that if society alone bestowc;

or

.

refusl's glo ry. the warner 15 .

domin ated, alienated by society, BUl couldn't rhis relationship of subordina­ tion be reversed to the bl'l1cfn of the w a rrior. to the detriment of The tribe?

This possibility is. in efft't't, inscribed in the samC' logiC' of war which ali('l1all'S

the warrior in the as('rnding spiral of I 8 5

the eveT more" glorious feat. I his

, n t

a � l H t U 1 0 b Y

O f

V I O L f N C f

I H f

dyna mic of war, origi na l ly the purel y indiv idual enterprist> of the warr ior could gradually transform it into \ht" cot l C'cti ve enter prise or soci ety : it i with i n the Witrn Or's reach to alien ate the tribe i n w a r. Thc organ (the warri or grou p) can dt've lop the fu n n i on (the warli kC' activ ity). I n what way? W e must first consi der that the warri ors, thoug h devoted hy natur e to the indi_ vidua l fulftll nu:nt of their vo{·at ion. rogethrr const itute a group deter mi ned by �he ide t i ty. of their interests: ceasel essly organiz i n g new rai ds to increa se the n pr('stlge. rhey wage war, moreover, not again st personal enem i es, but a g
�

�

�

�

Such a transforma tion. pushed (Q its concl usion , would havc consider­ able socio logica l consequences since, in affectin g the very structure of soci� ely, it would alte r tl1(' undiv illed be-ing . The power to de-cide on matters of w ar and peact (,in absol utrJy cssen [inl power) woul d in ('ffect n o longe r belon g to soc iety as surh, hut indte d to the brotherhood of w arr i ors, which would place- its private interest lJefor e the {'o]!rc tivt' in te rest of society and woul d make its pa rt i cular point of view thl" gener al pOint of view of the tribe. Thr warri or would involv c socie ty in it cyclt' of wa rs it w
1 a 6

A R C H f O l O G Y

O f

V I O l f N ( [

bctw��n the group's social I nlernal contradiction, there i s conniet " . from a Single tota l lty I a n (J t I a i nta i n the social body as 1e warnor s �R , , Ito m , , ' J ogbetween two opPosIte desire (to increase glory), c o ntradKtlOn wI , 'd l < i ndlVL I E' f must triumph t h ro u gh r
.

'

' h t l1e wamar, or eJse ' r ical logic carries it away III order to abo I IS o lot b . th e 'jot' l . emerges in order to destroy socIety as an undiVIded body. logic . rlike w tt Ihe . . . road. How do we pOSit the relat ionship b lween society TheTe is no nliddle from now o n ? It d epen ds on whether socIety can e rect all( I tla' wa r ri o rs . mcch,misms l i kely 10 prote ct It from Ih {' I t't h ai d'IVISlon J ' Ch ' , IOward w lI e dt'fells i

.

�

.

.

t h ' warrio r fata lly l eads society. It is, for society, a p rob l e m of s urvi v al : o'> tribe , or the warrior. Which of the twO will be the stronger? In the­ e-Itller th � . . . , con crt't e social reality of these SOCletlt'S, WhlCll solution fI nds the problem. .

.

.

To know, we must look once agai n to tht cthnology o f thcse tribes. Let us first locatt" the limits assigned to the warrior group as an autono­

mous org<1nization. In fact. this group is only i nstitu ted and soc i a l ly rccog­

niled as such on the level of acquired prestige: wa rriors are men who have

won the ri ght to cert
special p ai n t i ngs,

etc) 110t count i ng the erotic repercuss ions of their prrslige among women.

The very naturc of their vital goal - prestige - prevents them from formi n g an e n 'ie m ble that could elaborate a u n i fIed policy
social body that could promote and attain its own collective objectives. It is,

i n fa n, the obligatoI)' individualism of each warrior th ilt prevents the war­

rior group from emerging as a homogeneous collect ivity. The warrior

desirous o f acq uiring prestige i s only able and only wantS to rely o n hIS own

forct's : he has no use for the p otent ial solidarity of his comp
with whom, i n Ihis rase, he would have to share the benefits of an t'xpedi­

tion. A b and of warriors docs not necessarily lead to a team sport mentality: ul t ima t ely. the sava ge warrior's only possible motto is evel)' m a n for hi mself.

S
But we il1so see t h at by v i rtue of the same logic, the acquired presllge

?

(Ih(' acco mp l i s hed exploit) only assures thc warrior of tem po rary satisfacti n, ep hemera l enjoyment. Each exploit welcomed and ct: ll' bra ted by the Inbe

ohligates him, i n filct, to aim h igher, to look beyond, to start
i n a s ense, by rt'newing the source of his prestige, by constantly ('xpamllng

the series o f his ('xploits. The warrior'S task, i n other words, is an

illj i"itr

(ask, illways i ncompl ete. He never attains tht goal w h ich is alway"i oul of reach : no

rest for Ih(' warrior, except at the end of h is quest.

T h u s , his is an i nd i v i ci u
�ay everyt h i n g . In order [ 0 respon d to this at oncl' personal
" " I t'l I IJ I U , 1

U f

V I O l f N C E

I H f

dem and o f reco nqu rrin g pres tige thro ugh an e x p l o i t . i , t i s i n deed en ough ror t h e warn or to rtp no e ,Jt the sam e exp loit, to s('u le " peactfulJ Y • repe titIOn I, IntoI vy b ring ' ing an enem y s s ca lp back to t h e cam p: neit her h t h e tribe wo ld be satis fied r by �h is facil e (so to spea k) solm ion, Each i t h e und ena ktng mus t be more (ilrflcult. the da n ger confront ' ed more ler ' [ Il e rl.s k run � orc, con,s l�rr n'ble ab!e , Wh( BcC'ause this i t h e only way for th , rlor , WM , to m a mt;l l n hiS Imllv ldua l ulfferenre I n rela tion to h i s com pan io hecause there is c o mpet i t i o ns, n he[w een the wil rriors for pres tige, t ach w ri o r s expl oit. prl'c isely bl'cfluse i t is rccognizrd ac; su rh. is a chal leng the others: let them do betk r, The n o v ic e tries to equa l the vete ran. thereb rorc i n g the I.ltte r to main tain the gap of prestige by dem o nst , rati ng mo r bril � e!)' The cum ulati ve effrrt of the indiv idua l poin t of hono r. the t ri be s c;ocH I pressu re and thr group ' s i n te rn a l com petit ion is 10 O i ng th(' warrior into the t'sca latio n of teme rity. How does this escalcHion tran slate conc retely i n the fu:ld? For the war­ riors i t is a matter of e;eek i n g alit max i ma l diffJcu!ry whic h wou ld bestow upon their victory even greater valo r, Thus. for exam ple. they will u n d e rta ke l on �e r and l on ger expe ditio ns. pene trati ng furth er and furth er into enem y tCfmory. reno uncI ng the security offered by the prox imiry of the i r own terri ­ tory, Or else they w i l l confront 11n e n emy grou p know n for its cou ra ge or fe ro ci ty and whose sC
"

�

� ��

�

�

'

/;� �

'

,

·

�

med admirable. more ofte n . scns ('less. The ir brav('ry is o f course und enia ble , l3ut it stems ]{'ss from a wa rri or'e; indi­ v i d,ual pers? nal ity than from , war 's own logic as war ror pres tige From the p o m t of VI{'W o f the Euro pean s ( i n Nor th Am eric a as well as i n So uth America). who were bl i n d to thie; logi c of glory the Indi an t eme ri ty c oul d , o,nly scelll sens elcss . a b n or mal . But from th t' i n d i geno us poiO l of view, it Simp ly corresponded [0 th e norm com mon to war riors , War for prestige. the logi C' of glor y: to wha t uhim all'

degree of bravc!), coul d thes e Il'nd tbe war rior? Whn t is the natu rc of the exp loit that procures the most glory because it is tmsu q)as sabl r? It is the indi vidu ;ll exp loit, it is the act of th e war rior who a/O IIt" ,ma cks the adv{'rsaries' ram p, who i n this major chal leng e. w here the most abso lute incq ual ity is insc riht'd . equ als him ­ selr to all the pow er of his �'omp anio ne;, who clai ms and asscrts his e; up e rio ri -

I 8 8 k

I"j

A H H f O L O G Y

OVf� �•

O f

n O L f N ( f

aillS I all: I h i s is the culminating p o i n t of • n , mY gro u p I\/ol/e ae l . . , . IS hardly :,on I1 r ri r n ced warnor s sklll exp the Iere, l exploit. the 111 n l rSca auO I' r u n n i ng is of litUt help to h i m ; h enceforth h r flOds h1l11self 115 .

.

anyt 1ling · favor in this confrontation where the only t h I n g 1' 0 IllS [' n, scntch ' lng: rO . , surprise of hIS

sta rt

.

'

sol1tary presence. , ' of t ry i n g to convInce a v<11lant J\lgonk!1l , , , w
Cham p ::ll n.

h

'

, tells .

' l11i1\ It would be im p oss i b le for h i m to live ir he did not kill is em'nlit:; and did nOt avenge h i mst:lf. and that his hean

told him that he had t o Jtavc as carty as possible: whirh he

waS i ndee d

determined to

do (p. J65),

rllb is
lIuron wert' surprised to find: ,., and s o m eti m es

nn enemy, totally nakcd and with only a h.ntehet i n hand, will even havt the courage to enter the huts

of a town at ni�ht. by h imself, then, having murdertd some

of those he finds sleeping there. to take O i ght for all defense

against a hundred and IWO h un dred people w h o will fo H ow

h i m on(' and twO entire days

(111. year 1642. p, 55),

We. k n ow that Geronimo. failing to

lead tll{'

Apach e into tilt' constant

war h(' dt:sired, did not h esi tate to att(l('k Mexican villages. a cco mpa n i ed by

I n his very beaut i :ul memo.irs (cL bibliogra­ "' � , alone recalls how a Crow warnor was killed wt

only two or (hr('e olher warriors,

phy). the Sioux

Bl ac k

Elk

du r i n g the night. he attempted to steal the Sioux's horses, I3lnck I -.lk also

(cpons t h a t

in a famous battle alone. ahead

horseman charged

against the American a r m y., n Ch eyen n e

of his b ro t h ers. into the r<1pld fire or tht'

fusillade: he was k i l led, Among the Amazonian Yan o ma mi , morc than o n t

warrior died in

a com bat t h a t

the famous Fusi w e

(d,

h e l e d a l o n e against a n enemy tribe. such as

bi bl i o gra p hy) , The Chulupi sti l l crlC'brate the end of

one of their peO I)I(', a Kaanokle of great renown, Hnving: reached lhe peak of glory. he thus had no choice: mounting his beSI war horse. he p �n et r<1ted the territo !), of the Toba, alone, ror s('veral days. attacked one o f t l l'lr ,cnmps and

:

died i n combat. In \he memory of Ihe Chulupi remains th e vtvaClous figure

of Kalai'in. the famous Toba war rhief, Thl'Y told me how. at lhe beginning

of the century. he would come into the sleepy Chulupi camps at night. n l � ne. slitting the throats and scalping on e or two m e n each visit, alway t'SC;\]lmg.

�

Several Chulupi warriors res o lv ed to cnptur(' h i m ilnd managed tillS by trapI 8 9

g " l n t U I U b 1

U f

I H I

¥ I O L f H ( f

ping him. K a l a l r i n ' s exploits arl' evoked with hatred, his death, with itdmira. lion: for he perished under tonun.' without uttering a sound. What good is multiplying the examples? It is enough to read the texts: sw;"trms of anecdotes a l l converge to show that a m o n g the wa rrior, the dis. dilin for danger always accompanies the desire for glory. This conjunction e x p l a i ns m o r e o v e r the b('hav i o r of the w a r r i o r s w h i c h c o n fused t h e Europeans: n a me-Jy, t h a t a comba tflnt captun:d by h i s enemies

neller tried to

escape. Now. i n numerous caS('S, the future of Ihe prisontr of war was all laid

out: a t btst he sUlVivl'd the terrible lOrtures that his masters [ n O icled on h i m at worst (and this was the more frequent destiny) h e was killed. But J e t

u�

listen to Champlain n a rrate tile conscqucnres of a battle which he won Over

the Iroquois in 1609. allied w i t h thr Algon k i ns, capturing a dozen of them: Yet ours l i t a tirr. i1ntl a<; it was weI! aglow, fach took an ember
fm' on the tips of hb fingers and his melllbl'T. After scorching the top of his 11'Slicil's, thcy m<1de him eat a certain very hot

gum: then they p ierced his ;"tmlS eto'>e 10 the fists, and with

sticks pulkd the newes and tore them with force: i1nd as thC'y saw that they could not have them, they CUt

them (p. 1 4,)).

MorC' t h a n t h i rty yl'ars later. n o t h i n g has rhl'lnged. as the Jesuits contest in

1642: one of the prisoners not showing any sign of p a i n at tht' height of his lQrmelllS a n d agonies. the Iroquois. i n furli1ted to see his cOllsram:y, which tlley took ;IS

a

b(ld Olll e n, for they

this constancy. they <1sked why he was n o t screa m i n g : he responded, I am doing wh,lt you would not do, if you were

t reated with the S
V I O l E N C E

be safe Tupi- Guar ani a priso ner of war could We know that a m o n g the s: but soone r or later he . evcn free i n the villag e of the victor . . ancI so u n d " n d yet d I d nOt attem pl to a lhls knew l' l I and eatcn . ted execu ably inevit " anywa y? Cenai nly not a m o n g his own Where would he find r{'fugt'. the r n o [ o n g er b e l o n gs I n d eed. for (hem. the captu red warrio . . to walts only whIch ty ! n U l defi n i t ively l'xciudecl fro m t e com trib e, he is . to tempt a he d Shoul death i n order to aveng e tt I m m e d I ately. . . ll'a rn of h i s pns­ a s : villag e would refuse to welco l1e h1l1 he e"$l'ape. the people of his � � er of be fulfille d, In fac"!' the flight of a prison thus must o n er, his destin y don­ in regard to Canad ian I n d i a n s , is "an unpar war, liS the Jesuit s write p. 42). able crim e" (Ill, year, cible affi n ity. this tr<1gic IHoxim ity [ l ere. then. on all sides, this irredu es cle<1r. Victor ious. he IllUSt immed i­ Ill'tween the wllrrior and de<1tl1 becom assure his glory with an even greater aIdv Icave a�(\in for wllr in order to of the risk confronted
�:(' p{'O;lk:

�

t?

�

� �

he writes:

The Abipone seek glory. but never df'rllh (II. p.

believe that lhe souls of w a rriors who disdain their rage will

make them pay for the dC<1th of [hl.'ir bodies. seeing, as I say,

O f

A R ( H I O l O fi Y

360).

Warriors, Abipone or others, do n o t seek dt':lth in a n d of itself perh;'1p�, hUl it i n evitably comes at thl' end of the p
and the fire that you apply to my body would m a k e you

h i g h rate of Illor t a l i ty a m o n g the w a rriors. The a n c i e n t chronicles havc

these words the tigers throw themselves on the ha lf-burnt'd

war

scream out loud ilnd cry lik t' children, and I do not fl i n ch. To

victim;

retained the names and figures of the best among the wllrriors, n<1mely the

chiefs: al most all

died sooner or later in combat. We must also r('memher

they skin his testides. and throw sand th<1t is all red

that these lo<;st'� decimated a specifiC age group: men between the ages of

the bottom of the scaffold. <1nd drag h i m :lround till' huts (III,

sion for glory acted in tht' M'rviee of a more profound p:lssion, that which we

a n d b u m i n g with fIT(' onto his bloody �kull; Ihey rush h i m to

year 1 642. p,

42J.

1 9 0

twenty � n d forty-fLve. that is. in a sense, thc prime o f this savage chivalry. So much perseverance in this bein g-far-death suggests that pcrl1i1ps the pas­ I 9 I

1 " 1

a K l H � U I O G Y

o r

' H f

Y I O L i N { {

rail the denth instillct, a n instinct which nOt o n l y traversed the warrior group. bUl more seriously c o n t a m i n ated sorielY as a whole: did not the women, i n effect. refuse to have children, thereby condemning

the tribes

to

rapid disappearance? A collective d{·;lth wish of a society no longer aspiring

.

to reproduce itsel f . .

O n e last

point is illumi nated here. I indi cated above that o n l y a segment

of the men in the Chaco tribes aspired to be warriors. thin is. to be called such aftrr having h ro ught back a n e n e my scalp. I n other words. the rest of tile men went to war. but killed t h e enemies without scalping them, that is,

not

did

to t he

aspir('

title of warrior. They renounc('d glory deliherately. All

that precedes would henceforth allow one to anticipate the rt'ason for this somewhat unexpected choice. Nevertheless. explain

it themselves:

o n e witt thrreby

be


l e t us a l l o w the I n d i
the
l ucidity of their politica[
they want and know Why. During my stay

in thc

Charo. [ had the opponun ity time and again to

convrrse with old Chu[upi combatants. A f('w among them were i nstitutiunal warriors. the- Kaanoklt: they possessed

the

heads of h a i r of enemies they had

killed. As for the others, lh�y were n o t veritable warriors, for they had never

scalped the enemies. [n the group of old combatants, the Kaanokle were rare: most of thtir companions had long since perishe-d i n battle. which is expect­ ed in the warrior world. Yet it was the non-warriors who explaincd to truth of th e- warrior. For if not w'lnt to br.

TIlis

Why

they

would valorous combatants nOI desire 10 be Kaanokle?

was the rast' of Akl
immensely k n o w lcclgeabl(' <1bout mythology. a m o n g others. Both around <;ixty-flve yea rs

old. they had led countless battles ag
Dolivians. the

Argen ti n ea ns.

of them were

Kaanokle. Tanu'uh's hody, studdrd with scars (from sttel bladcs. arrows and bu[kts) indicated suflkiently that he had narrowly escaped death more lhan

once. Tanu'uh had n o doubt killed o n e or two dozen men. Why aren't

KaanokJC? Why

haven't you cver scalped your en e mies?

In

,

you

a

his ambigUity,

the Clnswt'f was almost comir: Oecause it was too da n ge rous I didn't want to

die. In short. this man who had almost l)crished becomr a warrior bt'cilUse

he

I t was thus ohvious for being

killed. To

limes h
was afraid of deJth.

him:

the Kaanokle, as such, is condemned to

on the glory attached to the title of warrior or less long-term price: deach. Tanu'uh and

i nsist

accepting the more

ten

Y t O t f N { f

leave

.

again for war. b r i n g back other scalps: i f not. he is no

. tribe accepts an autonomous group of men of war form i n g . . . . . encouraging their vocation by a generous recogmu n 0 f presin itS breast . doesn't this prestige group have a good chance of becoming a pres­ But . e tig . . a power group? Now i t IS 100 late for th e warnor: ell ' ' her h,< then grQup ' sure . . his status and sham fully [ o s s fare. or e ft n( s hImself meme lunce-s rcno i n his own vocation, a prisoner of hiS deslTC' f o r glory w h i c h )ped I ly tr' l . lIS

,

. riors The W,lf '

�

"

Ieads

him st ra ight

wa rrior :

to

�

�

�

�

!

. an excha nge b etween society . . . . this con frOlll<1t lon. II IS sO('l ety.

death. There is

p rest ige fo r exploit. But in

t 1le

an d

.

mistress

f the rules of the game, that has the last word: for the ultimate exchange is

�hat of eternal glory for the eternity of death. Ahead of time. the warrior is

condemned to death by society: no joy for the savage w
conclusion let us leave the specifIC c
back to t h e general situation of primitive societies. The precedi n g reflections

provide

some of the elements of a response 10 t h e (JToblem of rdations

between m('n and women in this type of society: o r rather the�' allow us to

cst;)hlish how this is CI false problem. The promoters of M;)rxist anthropology

_

m a n u fa ctu re rs of this indigent c
to

do nei t h e r

with the

th ought of Marx nor with the primitive social reality - ror l;)ck of being ;)ble

to find clilSS struggle in primitive society. discover in conflict is the b,lItlr of the society.

the

sexes. a

bailie

where

the

end that the social

the losers are w o m e n : in

w o m
man.

lhis

�

This pio s

credo is curiously echoed by a cert
tenaciously

want primitive society to be sexist. w a n t rhe

be lhr victim of mascul i n e dominJtion. Thus,

of n society of equ;l l i ty.

it

wOlllan

10

would not ilt all be il tll;]tter

a m o unts to his friends

described l h e movement that propels the warrior. To be a KaanokJe. they

said. you must h ri n g back a scalp. B u t once IH' h as t(lken this first step, tht'

1 9 1

O F

lUst man n ' ' . ' kl y. !" ken seriously he is forgolten. ThiS IS why t h e KJano kl e' (l I(' qUlc r lon� . , " . We could not have a clearer analysis of the relallons that 11Ilk society to

me the

wert not Kaanokle. it was btcause they did

& R C H f O L O G Y

I

There existed among certain North Arnericau tribes (Crow. Hidatsa. Mandau.

PawTlee. CheyeJlTlc, Sioux. ctc.l

CI

sprcial club of warriors: tilt' Crazy Dog soci('ty, a

brotherhood ofsuicid(,-warriors who ne\'t'r retreated i n combat (cf. bibliography) .

1 9 l

� " , ,, , u ' U Q I

V I

I H i

V I U L E H C f

The r{'(li and symbolic, conscious a n d uncoJlscious relations between men ilnd women in primitive society constitute an absolutely faSCi nating

fIeld of renection for the ethnologist. Why? Because the internal social life

of the ('ommunity cssrntiaHy rests not so much on relations between men and women - a truism of no interest - as on the v ery panicul.n m Ode according to which these cultures understand and t h i n k of d i ffere nces

bftween [he sexes in their myths, and better yet, in their rites. To state it more clearly: in primitive societies, often marked by masculinity in cenain aspc-cts, indeed by
ill a d{jclIsil'c posi­ rioll ill regards to women. because they rerognize the suprriority of women

- myths, rites and daily l i fe alles( to this sufficiently. To dc-Ierm i n e (he nature of this superiority, to measure its significance, 10 locale the means used by men to protect tllemselves from women, to

t'xamine the effiCiency of

tllese means, all of this would require long and S('rious study.

I will limit myself for now to pointing out how the structural rdationship

that u n ites war and primitive socidy at least panially determinl's relations

betw('en th{· sexes. This soriely. in ils being. is warlike. That is to say all men. in their beings. are warriors, the sexual division of tasks making war­ like

activity a

masculine function. Man must thus be l"onstantly available for

war; from time to time, he actually goes. We know well til at primitive war i n

general i s hardly deadly. exc('pr. o f rourse, i n thc vcry special C;lS(" of the

warrior societies. Nevenlwless, since the possibility of war is constantly pre­

sent, the possibility of risk, injury or denth is inscrilled in advance i n the

masculin(' destiny.

Man in primitivC' society thus fmds himsdf. hy dC'fmition,

marked by his condition: with more or less i ntensity, hC' is a being-for-death.

O('ath only comes to a few i ndividu;)ls liuring combat, but be fore hattie, it is equally thre;urning for all. Through the mediation of war, there is a n i n ti� mate relationship,

essential proximity between masculiniry alld death.

What. i n countrrpoint. of women? Let us evoke. JUSt to refresh Ou ;m

r

ml'm­

ory, thl:' idea. as summary as it is
would correspond moreover with thC' preceding c o n ception: w o m a n as a

good of exchange and as a good of consumption. At this point we must dis­

cuss the defects and effects of the s!rul"tur::Jlist discourse on women. Tht esse n t i a l property of women, which i n tegrally d('fincs their bring. is to

assure the biological. and bryond that. soriaI reproduction of the communi­

ty: women bring children into the world. Far from existing CiS consumed

objeC'l. or as exploited suhjeC{, they are as producers of those whom socirty

cannot do without: n,lmt'ly, <:hildren. as the tribe"s immediate and distant future. Obvious. no doubt. but ntcess
� H H E O l O ' Y

O f

V 1 0 L f M ( {

in

(,hac�, the case of the we saw about .It, w ho , as . nity IS more ":emini bit en . childr o little " refllslIl 9 to have by cs ·b krl0\'1 tn sociolo gical com .ded tile death of the but cspcci"ll1y as I. al gi e �� i�� ��'e idrerl : w'hether there are childr � rust as a b iOI O C hi the produ over i ed assures womtn s crds ex TTl d . And this s what sively o n women exclu s I not deperl( ld over society. . here ber�ee n lift' 1 mity is revealed I m mediate proxi . an hie. g-far words, being, is a be In . In other . w o m a n . In h e r soclcty IS sueh th at t h e l i ry. woman in primitivC and {'lIl i ll i l meln n betwe er, i " r c fo rth , the di ffrrence � for-death; as mot h o ' 1C lc r, m " n is a beingwarno as lear' · I 0 gnda�t1 y c to social a n d I110 rTI(ldc abu resptct ive relatio ns their It 's e. In I a betng-for- I en men and women . woma n is tllC' relatio ns betwe that deter . nscious death unco ine an? mascul ieal life tribe (culture). the . me­ ectlv e unconsc\O�s the sexes as the n betwee the ("oll difference recogn ize the fear
dC�:ncrn iIY.

(!la ��rl1 tlland

��

\'f

�:�� �

NII I I O NI OF I H E WIRRIO R �YIHOl OGICAl WRE\E

rl'ality and the warrior as " . . On cd war . text enVISI ceding pn: Slgl1l h c 1 WilY . .fy ' . I ha ve. I n n o t i n any ntatlo n Which does represr as not d an . . , and the wa rn·or. . and as polll1cS ' ion of wa r sentat • ages. repre Sav the n g amo from (l Ihat there IS not, of them extraCtS myths. H e re are · twO i n ially. the essent It is expressed, 6 · Tile first co nce rns . I ga thered I n 196 ich wh s . pu cor I . o r the warno r. Chulup i mytholog1c
·

pco­ single tribe Bllr young TObia JI,' a"de II a r Slro/lge l alu!oys !IIan·ls to be to cac 1 0 1 , o�t' cq1lal b e peo /0 pIe !lePEr Il,(wt betwccn rti'O yo ung l U! IIcn ,I, c I,os/ility bcgl/l! 'l1g I I 'i r l'rry jl(lrl'cs E er. II'Clli ro Ii/all 01(.' o r lt' r. . fisil fOgctJl er, aft' / J1('lr rage/ll J i l'cd pI t' II'OS bo'" · Tiley The Origin of War

Before. rhe Owlupi

and

the

1 9 \

I

" .

I " ,

• I U l t " l t

(ogerl1('(. alice. rhey wellt to baIlie ill tile Pi1comayo and lI'cre !Nt'sf/ing.8 One hii tll(' other a b it liort/: the olle that receil'ed the blQII' orJt:'I1{lcd himself: he

h it l,is adllcrsary a ll tile lu:ad u'irh a I}ien: of 11'00(/,

'ii... forehead. Tile Ollu�r did the same. This IIJGS the time II'hell rhe Olll/upi a llli tile Taba /11('((' a s ingle tribe: flu,'y spoke the same lallguage: therr were Dilly small dif. /llo l llld ing

jerellces betu'ecn 111elll.

The b rothers and the companions of f:(lch of the tulo yOllllg IIIfn gathered

Ground them. ol,d each /llem to find his jaflln The 1obo declared that rile other had starred i t firs!: and yel it /l'as ht, /1'110 had Starin} it! Bljore, IIH.'((' Ilod

1 e l'er been r/'f

{c(lSI discord betll'eell the Indialls. /11 this timc, rhe

Maraca lI'tre tllr only enemies l

of

rlre (hulupi. As Jor tile Toba. rlldr ollly

e nem ies u'cre the Parrot People. lilc Clloroli.9

Folloul;lIg rll(:,st' el'ellts, a parry 1I10S being prepared, a great drinkillg

110rty of fermcn ted Iiolley. Dllrillg tire parry, tile Tobo fa llier (Jot up alld declared: NOli', I tllillk agaill oj my son 1l,1I0 u'as 1110 t H ulet/f 1 0 And he Ilad

h a rdly said lilis beJore lie starrrd p iercillg tile re/ariFt's alld fricnds of his SOli 'S aell'ersary. A Ollllapi warrior got lip as ulcll a ll d riddlcel 11';lh arrows

sel'ual Toba, 11'/10 Iwd berll standing alld sll/gmg acco mpanying lhc:mst:fIICS

Illjth riltir h a rel/t(S, TIIrll combat begall be(III(,( 1I all men 1"'10 //Ierr dru ll k . , A n d th( cause of all of rllis lI'as tile 111'0 youl/g mCII, Tlte figh t spread to rhe 1I'0Illel/. /1'110 begall to jiglll at tl,cir Itusbollds' sidrs. Tile comb(l tallts lIad a

hard rime sepa rati llg tlle"r.�ell'es, for l ite fighr 11'05

fiem:

011 b o rll sides.

Tltey stopped, pa r/eyed , Gild dccided to mc('r again rite next day to hegil/ the

figlit ago ill.

The ncxt day (JI dall'' el'crYlhing /J'as rcady. TIH' horsemell p rol'oked eacli ' other. D ressed ollly ill small loille/OtilS of caraguala fiber. Ihey Il'(,rc armed lI'itil rlll'ir bOil'S fllld INn arrOIl'S Il'irll smootii rips rile 1/1'0 groups lI'ere /lay , large, Tllr ChI/flip; beqoll to (lolI/iJlau:, TJlere were a lor of dearl,s, bllt less 01/ iilc Cllulupi sick. 1I'lto 11'I're /lIUfe agile alld coulel dodge tlte arrolt'S, Tile Toba

rOI/ a I/ lay (Inti abandollrd a lot of rltei r people, ('lIildrell. IICIl,bOfl/S, TIle Chulllpi l1'Ol)lcn lIursed them. jor tlte IIIotllers of //lOlly oj these illjants had

beell killed dining tilt' jight. Among thc priso n ers. r/lere lI'ere also womell.

Tlte mcn tlcl'ore(J lhe ('/Itire day to sea/pillg rl/(' dl'ad Toba warriors. These Wrestling is one of tli(' Chull/pis' preferred spans, ! l is more a gal11(' of <1gility

(han of strength, conSisting of tlHllwing the adversary to the grouHd. 8

') The Maraco occupy the right b a n k of tht' upper (llment of til(: Pilcrllilayo; die

Choroti occupied its left hank . They constituted, witll tile Chulupi, a single lillgllistic group. 10 Drinking partics are often opportunities for br;lwls, Drunk, tbe mC11 let rcsrnt+ melltS, sometimes ruminilted

ov('r

for mOllllis, explode. This is why durillg a party

the womC'n kt'ep all we<1poll� 0111 of Ihe mens [(·aell. I , 6 .

A H H f 0 1 0 G Y

O f

V l O l l: tt C f

of tlIe per� j /Jig/If, Ar t ile tim e fer Ihe appearallee o r st aJ' JU ' d PCIIC S 11(JP rl /rer, 1 / (l'eI1l pi and roba Iil'ecJ rog J l ay, Ollllll lt /fl "Ial , . gln of sid('fS at once the on con It s, ark rem f brie f� w a for alls h of Ihi ngs, cos mic and This myt � Before w a r the order c . b,rth of the rnal day, not nd a e ... 4\f \ human tim of the ete

�I�IS �:�: it is the pre is not yet estil multiplicity , night. Social order. as , and , . sI on. 0f day by the succes tcd d T0 ba do u\! an UP] , ChuI pu net � es has yet to be bor n: as plura�\� f trib , n ce thoug h , re r age o f di ff other. In othl"r words. sav e from .thems llatl" 'Tt'n war s and ear anc (' not diff{ thi nkS of soc iety 's app , lcal expressIOn, g Iholo ., W ar " y ICty SOC in its m < r as consubstantial to " nct IO n ; ]', thinks of wa conJu in nce s ] I'date "ppt'il ra discourst' here va , , . ' 1 order. The indigenous SOCIa ,e pnm,uv the to

h ul11 an,

�

�

C'�d�

belon gs

ren('cl l on. tes rrspo nsi bil+ flnth ropol ogical OUISl.'t the myth attribu tnoreove-r, 1hat aI the e. erv We ohs n do not like me ung ' g men Yo g o� the wa r �O h and tha t is ry, it)' for the lau nc hin glo t thC wan t etw equ ill ity. they want a h I erarchy f t': b'lIldo n lhems('\v ('S to th eir pas · a S they lent, ther u�c �r�: why they are , vio made to be war+ t y tha young men are e myl l c eaT y Th e. stig pre for n activity sia affi nity bttwcen war like for yo un g me n. T�e de ma is r wa t tha riors rkcd . not be morc cle:uly ma and �ge group could

::��;m. ;

" s TlIc Bli lld Wa rrio rs l AI th(' (, lid oj sel'era d(JY klC /I'ellt all Il ' ll sha Ollce, IIIallY Ka alio lI'e $. 5011 J I�;J ;���:. TOlligilt, my C? pped to sleep. ,;�Ie c' oj lI'olki llg, tllcy sto u rrOJII 11'(' s/Ia ll takr u rile II '( U+ \/eep /Iere alld tomo J t ���\o sill g J\nd all VUOHI�o , ] tr� ;:a Dur ing //IC lIigllt, IIIC to see 1ry (lIIf'3 I'ery badly" '/'/,_ bird got l. lig. b eca usc /1 sal lg I J aug / out st bur s rior ;lI. alld tile t I-/e begall sillging ago , I ' JU II oj III de ma llg bci 5 11'0 e h Iha t ll g t!Ie m S .' ail e ma ll lW/ O . Y I, t SllI g "(J d"/'oy. ' I .' Ha ll' 'b { " aga g ' I Illi ug !el /1101 beg oll y gal lip, tlley lIoria:d I1c.rt day, II'llell tln' Olall tilt' ot lr ers, Tlit' d! So l a ug/ . l t d less . " rile bird I am blin ,ee 0'J I'en gea I . . II Ii'as r/I e bl' 11/ d' Otll + tilt H rhey liad a // galle rllC II cJW less d , tile Olle 1/1/10 lau g/u:: �!Jey cnell. AS1jor rile 0111 l! All d so a lll /! am I d! blin ' l am nor complctely litt le alld p (lC alll d lIe d n A us, lie cou ld see a de! , you IIIll St be ollr gui : SOIll('t I l lig. �JI t:/1 olll y aile lI,jl 0 call sel: '

'

hec omc tile leadt'f.

I I The w;\T be-tween the

•

�

:

�

�e:\���:l l; 4; �: le f g

Tona lan�1 ,Chll�'�e�ns( )��:�� ��i ��r

of the (hll UplS pre e I!)S O' 8 Wrestling is one Ie gTrlIlI1<1 . . ' ng the arlver�:lry to II , owi

lng o f thr nl, than of strength, consl,st i, ca1' //re ' n : gla uci clill � r. II (in Glla l tlficd \)nrl. F0 II J� . r:ln clel utH : 1 2 VIIOH'//ol . aTll<1 Crls taln . (in Spa ni�h , chui'!a): rnn hrasiliallUlll, 11111 11/11 11 I , ,

I H E They all held cach other's Iiolids and f . o rm ed � 10l/g IlII c. They CGm the woods; the aile who e to could scc a little ca II ed (l SllIOrm a/ bee . / (' re s ' WI YQIJ, res .' A bee ans wered him : are Here l am ! But I ltolle I!('ry little hOlley! JuS .fu t ellQugll for my . . dllldrcn ! Theil that is 1101 cnough fiM us' . rr, 1M", U'I'II go niter S! Yes! et's go furrher! LeI'S go further! Crie d o;c others ill clloru s. con tillu ed to walk and ('ome to 0110111 cr I P (lce. There, .the cal/ed once aga i": guide Bee. /I'Iiere are you ?

b

;:

ICy

l1('orby

�

1I('f(�! AI/d I h

ne a lor oj hvll cyl Well! If'S yours har I/'e f lI'iII eat ! Yes! Yes! Th0 1 's it! W e /llil/ cal it! We Il ill car it! ('fied rite chorus ' mell, a/ blind The mall u'lio could sre . a fiale begall to clliarge the OpCfl /lIg of rile hi/Ie il/ fhe tree (II/d beeto extract rhe }lOlley,. all d ('/Icryo lle began TO Cat , Irre B ut f} /lIaS Stl"li all enormous am oull t of honey So rI CY TIl bbrd It . all Ol'er rheir bodies, alld started bum ' pin g oud hitting each Othe Why hOile you cOl1ered lI1e lI'itl/ "olley? What abollf you ? Atl d rhey COlltinued to . fig ht 1he olle wI! 0 c: u Id SI.'C a "nit atil'isl.'d fhem 1I0f to figill, to cat Jlle/ /. There / '(lS Still a lot � oj 101//:Y, but the me/ J 1I'l.'re I!ery thir:r:': and so they beg an to look for /I'alcr. . the lT guille rlic/I cal/ed a lag oon: Lagooll, IIIherc orr YOIl ?

o

r..'

;

�7 t

1 am ! Bur I h lle Iler)' /illfr (!'ater! An d IIrry � fell' eels as lI'ell.l 1/ t lat case, /l'e /lJII/ go fu rther. Y Yes ' WI.' /llill go fllrtha! reprolcd lite blil ld mel l together TII()I beg : (0 1/10� again, an ' alld afler a lI'hile, the leader called our ollce " OgOlll , Lagool/, IIlherc are you ? Here I Oll/! allsu'ercd a I'cry large lagooll. I J101'1.' II 1M of /I'aIer alld a lot o.fce/s! C

Thel/ it 's YOllr /I'O/er 111fl / /lIe /Jlill drink! Yes ! Yes! Thor's ir! . Th a I 's it! We /JI;I! dri nk!. cn ed the oth ers , plunged IlItO . 711(:y . the !llala a"d que " el,e d tl1t'lr tIIIrs ' !, nI I J t' s 'it;, rheir IWlIlls, The y /tad felt rhe ir sacks / l a l//a/l Itad ca gh l ' a" ordered his sac k fO ope Itt' ll: tltc sac:/.: O (,Il elj alld '�e t'/fell� all tel flltO it, When rhe sack lI'as jllll, its OIl'II('r a r t:J('I ( I' f to ell/pI) Itsc lf.' tilt: 5OCk' emptl'cd ' It5t' . . fi" '.) , (llId rhe mall filled it lip all O ler galll. Wh l en rhey had l'lI/pt ied tfle o sa ('ks (/Ilice. out oj Ihe /1 '( re d , d a l itTlC lif a gn'oT fin:, They b; gan to grill The ' � , r. , ebITt O'I' , aUII't'd, --./'

�� :,:,y('�;:o�� ��::��[;;, / Tlit'y qOI

�

: �� �;: �

�e;/'1�/t'�:'�I'�/:I:' ";;,� � �;: I 9 a

�d,

6 R C H f O l O ' Y

O f

V I O l f N ( [

I (In/ lI st'(1 him Fery lIIuCIt 10 St(" ali these blind men earillg ('ds. He flew and sl/Ook i� abollc /lIe /nI.'II 'S heads, sprillklil/g them {llId seized (I II

{;O WI!

�d

. droplets oj bl.l "" 110 hot grease, l iley got allgry: Id lli Whv did you bl.lTII lIIe?

Why dill you? They begall bumping each otllt�r alld fighril/g ago ill, FOil-fOil j1CIII back /0

the /Or

of his

(r('C, ffe almost bur�r out laughing but hdd it in, 50 Olat they

' /I 'olllli ,, ! kl/oll! it II'as hc. J?ell' {/II'OY (lIld met tilc IUI/IIIali bird,

J/e

to

111//011/ lie fOld rhe lI'hole story:

(//(;re are lIIell dow/I there! I bur/lf thelll, alld Ihey started to fighr ('ad,

Ofllt'r! It 's Ili/ariolls! I lIlamcd to lallgll so badly, bllt I Ildd it ill, I walll to sec, too!

No! No! DOlI't go! We ml/SIII', lallgh, alld the littlesl IIlillg mako you

lallg/I,

Bu! JUllUtah illsislCd:

No! No! I II'Gllt 10 go!

Jf J

start /ollgllillg uJicolltrollably, I lI'il/ lea/le rigllt

oll'oy alld only lallgll /rolll jar away,

I-oll -foll agreed filially. ami led him

(0

(he platt' m/lere the u'arriors werc.

Tlrat', li e begall lIis little gamt' OIlCC agaill, bunlf tile lIIell ollce og(/ill I/Iho

s!tJ rteti fightillg ago ill, IUl/lllal! could IIOt rcsist allti fled jar c/lough all'ay so

rhal he could (a ugh ill peacc, But th(" blind mell SOOI1 realized rll(lt 50111('011(':

was laughing: Where is thaI lallg/lter comillg from? rlt<'y asked, 011(' oj them

qrabbcd hi.� itoicllO') and ]1l1l1g it ill tile directiOIl of (lic faug/Her, The prorie grass Id/ert' IUI/utalt /lias hidillg caugltt 011 fire. Ill' Ilad hilldcll llimself ill a 1I01e, with Itis legs outsid(": alld 50, they were bUrl/t,

And rirat's IdlY tilt' Jeet oj the IUllu lali bird are mi. A

cl a

ssi ca l

analysis of this myth

o ul d no douhr mnclude

thM

this is

a

myth about the origins of a bird's physical characteristic, It s eems to me. w

however, thaI Ihis is nOI the ess e n t ial thing, and that this myth is mostly

about humor and derision. Whom docs t he myth ridicule? It is the warriors, grotes que cripples, m o re vulnerable and stripped than an i n fnnt. It is precise­ ly the opposite of the p o rtr
in rel,llion to its

laughter, lhis same laughter tiln! 11

Troir/IO: 1001 for starting a

gap lhal a warrior society what fi l ls the gap is p reCi se ly b ri n gs the warriors their sorrow in the

w a r r i o rs . And

fm'. I 9 9

I H i

A R C H f O ( O ' Y

O f

V I O ( f N ( f

SEMIOTEXl(£) DOUBLE AGENTS SERIES JI� flf�ING & IYlvm lOiRINm, [OIiORl

myth. But society is not really laughing at the warrior (in realiry, it makes him die), it only laughs at h i m in myth: who k n ows whether rtal l au ghter would not be turned against it? Another aspect of the myth: it constitutes a sort of d is c reet guard against inequality, Does it not say, in effect, that in a kingdom of blind men. the one-eyed are king? $0 that its moral could be: there i s no good society except under the sign of equ a l ity and no n -d iv isi on . It is a matter of opening one 's eyes! It is a ]Jolitical morality tal('. The class ic or strncturalisl rmalysis of myths obseures the political d i mension of S;lvagt.' thought. Myths no doubt r('ne('t upon each other, as Levi-Strauss writes. but t hey rencct upon

society fmc they are primitiv(' society's discourse on itself: L KoRr� 1 ...ulCJ..

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Champlain, S., Les Voyogrs (Ir Samuel C/wJI1plaill . .. , Paris, PUF, 1 95 1 . Elan Nair, Mblloirrs d'l/n Siol/.r, Paris, Stock, 197'1. Geronimo, Memo;res de Geronimo, P a ris, Maspero. 1972. Grinnell. G.B., Tile Cilr.n'lllle Indians, Ull iversity of Nebraska P ress , 19:12. Lo\."i(. R.H. . The Crow bldians. Nrw York, Holt, Ri rl('ha!1 fI Will)IO!I, 1%6. Relations d('�jrsllites, MO!ltreOlI, Edi t i o ns du Jour, 1972 (vol. 111,1642-1646: vol. IV. I G47-16S!:i).

II. Ioorw MHO

BiOCCOl, E., YOllooma. Paris, Plan, 1968 [Ff('l1Ch translation).

D o b r i 1 h o ffer, M . . Historio de los Avipon(', F a c u l t a d ric l l u m anidades,

Univl:'rsidad Nacional de] N o rdeste (Argenti!ln). 1967 - 1 970. Vo l. 3 (SpOlTlish t ransla ­ tion of the La ti n o rigi n a l) .

L o z a n o , P . , De�criI'cioll coro!Jrofico riel GrOll Chaco Gua/all1bo. Tucuman (Arge1l1inaJ, 1 9 4 1 . Pauckc, F., Haria alld ,l" para ocd (u lla esrada ('11"e los Indios Mvcovirs), 17491761, Tucuman-l3uenos Aires, 1942-1 9'14, Vol. 4 (Sp anish translation). Sanchez Labrador, J., FI Paragu ay Calo/ico, Buenos Aires, 1 9 10, \·01. 2.

• This t('xt and tile preceding one (Uv re. 77-1) were t o inaugurate a larger work,

whicli will rem a i n incomplete. Pierre Cla sl rt.'s ]('ft a fl'w brief in cii cat ioHS in his notl'S

on the field he intended to explore. l1eTr are wll{li seemed to bC' the' other prillcipal ani cu l a ti o n s of his book: the nature of the war chief s power; the war of con qu es t i n p ri miti ve societies as the- possibll' beginn illg of a challge i n tile politic-a I structure (the case of the Tupij: tht role of womtn in r{'lat io n to war; lht' war of Ihe Stal{' (tile

1I1c�s). [LII)r(" s note.1

2 0 0

FATAL IIRIlEGitI )1"

BIlJ)'ll"'O

fOUCAUll llV[: COll[(l[O INl£RVIfWI Of MICHH fOUChUll MICIIH folXAUU

hRCH[OlOGY Of VIOl[NC[ PII�I C"IIRII

lOll DIM[NIl ON P'UI VIIIIIO

h£l1H£1ICI Of OIIAPP[ARhNC[ PAUL VI�1I0

COll[(][Q INlfRVl[WI Of WllllhM I. BURROUGHI Willi... I. BU�IlJG�

stMIOHXT(t). THE JOURNAL JI� fLfMING & IYlVfRf lOiRINGfR, [OIiORI POlYl£XUAlIIY

fR"CO!! PmlOl. 10.

Ohlll 'lAO,"Y MAlIQAU' IIIWNf,

Ii

!I. . 101.

I[MIOl[Xl(f1 Ulh )IA ftlOiNG & Pm, l.\IBo", WIIWN. 101. I[MIOl[X[(O If Rooy RUCKI!, ROBm ANION WlllOO, Pm, [Mao,N WIlION, 101. I[MIOHX[([) ARCHIIWUR[ HRMWl lwlIAil,

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