History and Anthropology, 1996 Vol. 9, No. 4, pp.

383-414 Photocopying permitted by license only

1996 OPA (Overseas Publishers Association) Amsterdam B.V. Published in The Netherlands by Harwood Academic Publishers GmbH Printed in Malaysia

THE PAST IS A LOWER MOIETY:

DIARCHY, HISTORY, AND DIVINE KINGSHIP IN THE INKA EMPIRE Peter Gose
University of Regina

Introduction

What kind of government did the Inkas have? From the Spanish chroniclers until the 1960's, most answers to this question assumed that the Inkas were imperial monarchs comparable to those of early modern Europe. Debate about Inka political structure primarily focussed around the degree of centralization of the empire. Some stressed the ongoing viability of the regional polities conquered by the Inkas, whereas others discerned a more consolidated and "despotic" mode of sovereignty. Whatever their personal preference in this debate, most commentators assumed that Inka politics took place along a continuum between imperial centralization and regional autonomy, two poles that were personified by the Inka monarch and the provincial lords, respectively. They treated Andean politics as an essentially secular matter, and thought that the main issue was the extent to which the central state monopolized and institutionalized political power. With the pioneering study of Zuidema (1964: 127), however, a new interpretation of Inka government began to emerge, one that claimed that the Inkas may have had two simultaneously reigning sovereigns. It had long been known that like many Andean peoples, the Inka elite of Cuzco divided themselves into "upper" and "lower" moieties. Zuidema and his followers argued that the duality of Andean social organization extended into government, such that each moiety simultaneously provided a sovereign in what was effectively a diarchy (see Duviols 1979a, Rostworowski 1983: ch. 5, Netherly 1993: 18). Suddenly, balance replaced hierarchical centricity as the paramount organizing principle of Inka politics. Exponents of this new vision felt that they had made a radical break with previous understandings of Inka politics, and had discovered a more properly "Andean" model of government that previous generations of scholars, mired in Eurocentrism, had failed to perceive.1
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In this paper, I will critically assess the evidence for diarchy in the preColumbian Andes, and conclude that although it existed in the provincial polities conquered by the Inkas, it was absent from the imperial level of government altogether. In the provinces, furthermore, diarchy was based on hierarchy, not balance. It was one of several principles of political organization that were all subordinated to a segmentary hierarchy that culminated in the Inka sovereign. As in the provinces, the supreme Inka ruler (sapa inka) was from the upper division (Upper Cuzco), however the difference was that his opposite number in the lower division (Lower Cuzco) was not another ruler, but the so-called high priest or "priest who announces" (willaq umu). The chroniclers simply do not mention any institutionalized political representative of this moiety, therefore monarchy, not diarchy, was the overarching feature of this political structure. More serious is the problem of how to interpret the priest-king relation at the pinnacle of the Inka imperial hierarchy. Several Spanish chroniclers (e. g. Segovia 1553: 75-6, Anonymous Jesuit 1590:161) saw it as analogous to the relation between the pope and the king in Christendom, and more recently Zuidema (1964: 246) suggested a model closer to the priest-king relation in Hinduism, where each figure is paramount in his respective domain. Both models assume precisely what needs to be proven in the Andean case, namely the existence of a separation between transcendental religious authority and secular political power. I will argue that such a distinction was foreign to the Inkas, who practiced a relatively monolithic version of divine kingship. In life, the ruler was expected to prove his divinity through conquest, and after death, by providing fertility and oracular advice. The high priest of Lower Cuzco was an oracular medium who represented the Sun as the ancestral unity of previous Inka rulers. Thus, the king and the priest were opposed to each other as the present sovereign to his predecessors, not as "politics" to "religion". I will show how his distinction lay at the heart of Inka imperialism. A final aspect of this paper is a critique of the romanticism and exoticism that underwrites the search for diarchy. Although partisans of the diarchy thesis join most scholars in recognizing the asymmetric nature of socio-political dualism in the Andes, in practice they seek to discover a symmetric sharing of power between social groups. Therefore, they downplay the idioms of conquest and subjugation that generally orchestrate Andean moiety divisions. Instead, they argue that diarchy emphasizes balance and collegiality, not hierarchy and the unilateral wielding of power, as the predominant principles of government.2 Thus, they imply that the pre-Columbian Andes had a profoundly different and more noble political order than that which existed in 16th century Spain (or the 20th century "first world"). For example, Duviols (1979a) and

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Rostworowski (1983) oppose diarchy to monarchy, and present it as an arrangement that was so alien to the Spanish chroniclers that they could not understand or record it properly. Not only did diarchy quickly become the only "Andean" political principle, but the very lack of evidence for it in the chronicles constituted the most definitive proof of its existence. As an antidote to this sort of argumentation, I propose a return not only to the evidence, but also to a broader comparative approach to Inka political structure. Rather than assume the uniqueness of the Inkas as a point of method, I would prefer to discuss them from a comparative perspective. In this way, it should be possible to reveal common ground with other civilizations, but also the precise points where the Inkas diverge and truly are unique.
Structure And History

To understand the monarchy-diarchy debate in Inka historiography, we must begin with the list of Inka sovereigns given by the Spanish chroniclers. The names and deeds of each sovereign were recorded in paintings, epic songs, and knotted strands of yarn (kipus), and the Inka specialists in charge of each of these media were the primary sources for the Spanish chroniclers (see Betanzos 1551: 150, Polo 1561: 141-2, Sarmiento 1572:114). Although the Inka king lists were compiled as history by the Spanish chroniclers, the information on which they were based came from the commemorative traditions associated with Inka kingship. However, these commemorative traditions included much more than a series of narratives and graphic representations of the life and times of dead kings: they also involved the mummification and worship of the sovereign's dead body, and the extension of these ancestor cults into the social and spatial organization of the empire. As we will see, much of the controversy over the nature of Inka sovereignty result from attempts to edit the full range and internal logic of Inka commemorative practices to make them fit with a narrowly conceived version of western "history". Nonetheless, it is here that we must begin. There is a reasonable degree of consistency in the king lists published by the Spanish chroniclers, although agreement is not absolute, and many contradictions arise when different accounts are compared in detail. The version most frequently expounded includes thirteen kings, starting with the founding ancestor Manco Capac and ending with Atahualpa, whom the Spaniards executed in 1533 (see Figure la). Each of these sovereigns was further identified with one of the two spatialized moiety divisions, Lower Cuzco or Upper Cuzco. Sometimes, Manco Capac is represented as the founder of both moieties (see Figure lb). However those kings who

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(a). History
Manco Capac Sinchi Roca Lloque Yupanqui Mayta Capac Capac Yupanqui Tca Roca Yahuar Huacac Viracocha Inca Pachacuti Inca Yupanqui Topa Inca Yupanqui Huayna Capac Huscar Atahualpa time Lower Cuzco Manco Capac

(b). Diarchy
Upper Cuzco

lower
upper lower upper

Sinchi Roca Capac Yupanqui Lloque Yupanqui Mayta Capac Tarco Huaman son of above don Juan Tambo Maytapanaca

Inca Roca Yahuar Huacac Viracocha Inca Pachacuti Inca Yupanqui Topa Inca Yupanqui Huayna Capac Huscar / Atahualpa

(c). S ructure lower upper

Chima Panaqa Raura Panaqa Auayni Panaqa Usca Mayta Panaqa Apo Mayta Panaqa (Capac Yupanqui) Uicaquiraa Panaqa Aucaylli Panaqa (Inca Roca) (Yahuar Huacac) Socso Panaqa (Viracocha Inca) Hatun Ayll (Pachacut Capac Ayllu (Topa Inca) (Manco Capac) (Sinchi Roca) (Lloque Yupanqui) (Mayta Capac)

Yauri Panaqa

Sauaseray Panaq

Masca Panaqa

"Extra 1 Panaqas

Tumi bamba Panaqa Suma Panaqa Iaca Panaca (Huayna Capac)

Figure 1 From History to Structure

immediately succeeded him are attributed to Lower Cuzco, whereas the latter kings are attributed to Upper Cuzco. The first sovereign from Upper Cuzco is usually identified as Inca Roca, but sometimes as Pachacuti Inca Yupanqui. A more detailed discussion of this issue will follow, but for now, the precise changeover point in the genealogy is less important than the overarching pattern of the early sovereigns being lower and the later ones being upper. Not only were these moieties spatialized, then, but they are also temporalized, such that Lower Cuzco was primordial and upper Cuzco was recent. The reasoning behind this pattern will be extensively discussed below. These moiety affiliations of the Inka rulers are the point of departure for the diarchy thesis. Zuidema argued that instead of treating the rulers chronologically, they could be seen as representatives of social groups arranged in a synchronie structure. The moiety division between Upper and Lower Cuzco was the simplest of these synchronie structural groupings. Thus, Zuidema (1964: 53,127-8) paid particular attention to a variant king list from Acosta (1590: Book 6, chs. 20,23) which he interpreted as evidence of two simultaneous ruling dynasties (see Figure lb). Whereas previously, Sinchi Roca was thought to be the second king and Inca Roca the sixth, now they were cast as contemporaries. In this way, the diarchy thesis converted what was previously thought to be an historical succession of moieties into a synchronie structural relation, a core feature that more recent formulations retain (e. g. Duviols 1979a). Zuidema (1964: 128) went on to further subdivide each of these moieties into five royal descent groups (panaqas), each of which was supposed to correspond to a ruler from the traditional chronologies (see Figure lc).

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Thus, the various Inka sovereigns were representatives of a group of 10 simultaneously-existing descent groups.3 This effectively removed any remaining diachronic component from the list of rulers, and completed the assimilation of Inka history into synchronie social structure (Zuidema 1964: 234). Thus, an early structuralist repudiation of history in the name of synchronie order has underwritten the controversy over the nature of Inka government. There are many technical objections that can be raised against this formulation of Inka diarchy. First, Acosta nowhere specifies that these two lineages were contemporaneous. Zuidema (1964: 128) infers that the last ruler of Lower Cuzco, don Juan Maytapanaca, was a contemporary of Huscar and Atahualpa because he had a Spanish surname. Otherwise, there is remarkably little information available on this individual and his position, in contrast to the other prominent Inka nobles who survived the conquest. How could so important a person be so thoroughly ignored? Acosta copied his genealogies from Polo, which is why they include Tarco Huaman, who does not figure in the standard king lists given by other chroniclers. Unlike Acosta, however, Polo (1585:10) does not continue the line of Lower Cuzco on to don Juan Tambo Maytapanaca, although perhaps his lost account of 1559 did. This only underlines the historical obscurity of Don Juan Tambo Maytapanaca. Second, neither Polo nor Acosta assembled this information to show that the Inkas practiced diarchic government. On the contrary, Acosta (1590: 418) categorically states that they had a monarchy. As for Polo, he appeared as a witness before the inquiry into Inka history sponsored by Viceroy Toledo in 1572 to corroborate accuracy of a series of written accounts and graphic panels (paos) that identify the first Inka rulers with Lower Cuzco, and the later ones with Upper Cuzco (see Montesinos 1882: 252-7). 4 Thus, the authorities cited tum out to offer no support for a diarchic interpretation of Inka government. Even if we assume that Polo and Acosta misinterpreted the evidence available to them, we still have to ask why there is no further evidence for two co-reigning dynasties, and so much for the more traditional view of the Inkas as a monarchy. Arguably, however, none of these objections really matter. From the beginning, Zuidema held that the chroniclers' various versions of Inka history contain so many contradictions that they cannot be treated as history at all. Rather, they should be seen as a corpus of myths, which reveal more about the categories of the Inka's social structure than their actual past. From this perpective, Inka dynastic traditions diverge because they represented different aspects of Inka social structure, which was complex and multi-faceted (see Rostworowski 1983: 103, Netherly 1990: 462). The logical conclusion of this line of argument is that history as we know it is a western concept, which had no counterpart in Andean

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culture (see Netherly 1990: 461). In other words, these authors perceive Andean societies as "cold" (Lvi-Strauss 1966: 234), and thus, resistant to history. It is difficult not to suspect that we are dealing with a romantic inversion of standard western notions of "progress" here. Other exponents of the diarchy thesis, including Duviols (1973, 1979a) and Rostworowski (1988a) have wisely taken a more moderate position, which allows that these traditions may express both the categorical organization and the history of Inka society. More recent advances in structuralist method have revealed how right they were to do so. Sahlins (1985) showed the dichotomy between structure and history to be ill-conceived because events are always created againts the backdrop of a cultural order, which also invests itself in those events, and may change because of them. Furthermore, cultures have different (structural) motives for recounting the past. Rather than continue to assert a problematic divide between "myth" and "history", it might be better to scrap these categories altogether in favour of a more detailed investigation of particular cultural modes of temporal consciousness. For example, Rostworowski (1988a: 13, 53-9) argues that Inka dynastic traditions were constantly marshalled and reworked in the struggles to succeed each dead king. Their aim was to legitimate potential successors, and in so doing, they had to invoke established values and notions about the past and apply them to the present. Therefore, different points of view produced different dynastic histories. One hardly need add that in principle, at least, this does not distinguish Inka history from its western counterpart. Having said this much, I join Zuidema in refusing to view "Inka history" as a precise record of what actually may have happened in the Andes before the arrival of the Spaniards. Rather than see it as an expression of social structure however, I see "Inka history" as an embodiment of the values that underwrote divine kingship in the Andes. In other words, I follow Zuidema in treating the Inka king lists as a veiled commentary on Andean social arrangements, but differ from him in allowing that these arrangements were expressed in a local idiom centred on the past, not a synchronie notion of social structure of the sort that prevailed in anthropology during the 1960's. What is at stake here is the integrity of a form of cultural expression. The structuralists argue that the quasi-historical format of the Inka king lists was an Hispanic imposition, whereas, I suggest that it also had an indigenous basis. Assuming that the accounts of Inka rulers are at least partly mythical, we still must explain why these myths should take the form of an inventory of great rulers and their deeds (cf. Sahlins 1985: 41). MacCormack has shown that from Cieza and Betanzos onwards, Spanish chroniclers tended to impose biblical and classical models on the Andean

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past (1991: 83), but this does not fully explain the quasi-historical format of their accounts. Even the most cursory reading of the chronicles shows that Andean people themselves were vitally interested in the deeds of thei:1 dead rulers, and went to great trouble to record them on quipus and in songs (Cieza 1553 II, ch. 11, Santilln 1553: 10) and to commemorate and recount them sequentially in royal mortuary rites (see text below). The:;e narratives were part of a larger attempt to retain and conserve the legacy of exemplary rulers by mummifying their bodies and constructing statues that contained their hair and nail clippings. But the Spaniards did not perceive the continuity between these narratives, which they could app reciate and convert into "Inka history", and the cult of mummies and statues, which they classified as "idolatry" and repressed without mercy (see Duviols 1971). Structuralist commentators make the same mistake in reverse when they fail to see the Andean "cult of the dead" at work in "Inka history", and focus only on the distortions introduced by Spanish historical consciousness. On the contrary, it was through their historiographie traditions, perhaps more than in any other aspect of their culture, that the Spaniards were most fully able to interact and harmonize with the commemorative practices that were so important to Andean peo pie. Consequently, it would be far more productive to investigate the parallelism, and not just the slippage, between Andean and Spanish sensibilities in the joint creation of "Inka history". Civine kingship was an important motive for historical thinking. Like most Andean peoples, the Inkas worshipped dead rulers who in life had conquered new territories, or expanded the agricultural frontier through terracing and irrigation (see Duviols 1987, 1979b). These actions were considered so exemplary that upon death, the ruler who performed them waf said to turn into stone and remain connected to his kingdom as an anc ?stor-deity who continued to provide his people with life, agrarian fert lity, and oracular advice about the affairs of state. The descent groups (ayllus, panaqas) founded by dead rulers in turn sustained their deified progenitor through sacrificial offerings. An additional aspect of this worship was the commemoration of the exemplary deeds of their founding ancestor. In this way, divine kingship rituals produced and enc Dmpassed a particular sort of history. The Inkas were imbued with these values of life-giving rulership, and diff sred from other Andean people only in that they expected all of their sovereigns to live up to their divine billing as "sons of the Sun", and therefore to go forth and conquer. Thus, most of our primary sources on the Inkas take the form of "Inka history" : a recitation of the illustrious conquest careers of a series of sovereigns starting with Manco Capac. The military exploits of a dead sovereign were commemorated in the purucaya ritual, which was a kind of pilgrimage to the scene of his various battles

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(P. Pizarro 1571: 70, Betanzos 1551:1 chs. 30-1, Sarmiento 1571: 219). This aspect of mortuary ritual could not be completed for sovereigns like Inka Yupanqui and Viracocha Inka who had no conquests to recount, therefore their status as deities was problematic (Cieza 1553: II chs. 37, 46). The core notion of Andean divine kingship was thus the development of living warriors into dead deities. Upon death, the body of an Inka sovereign was mummified, and one or more statues of him would be fashioned from gold or cloth. His surviving wives and children would from his descent group or panaqa, which subsisted on the produce form his country estate outside Cuzco, where his mummy and/or statue usually resided. Male and female retainers (yanakuna and mamakuna) attended to the mummy on his estate, and their duties were both agricultural and priestly in nature. Only one of the dead sovereign's sons did not join his father's panaqa, and that was the one who was chosen to inherit the kingly position of sapa inka. The successor was expected to assemble a group of governors and military captains around him to enlarge the boundaries of the empire, to build his own palace in Cuzco, to marry many women and have many children, who would ultimately form his panaqa on death. In turn, his successor would embark on a career of conquest, and leave behind a descent group of his own, and so on. In this way, the social organization of Cuzco could be understood as a series of descent groups founded by dead rulers. The question Zuidema posed was whether the panaqas really were created in an additive, historical fashion, or whether they had always existed, and only later found a connection with particular sovereigns. His answer has always been that the kings were little more than emblems of pre-existing social groups (Zuidema 1964:122, 128, 1990a: 81). Part and parcel of this argument is that there were ten royal panaqas in Cuzco, just as nearby ethnic groups were composed of ten ayllus (Zuidema 1964: 200, Sherbondy 1986: 52). Instead of being an accretional historical phenomenon, the royal panaqas became just another expression of a social structure common to several ethnic groups in the Cuzco area. If Zuidema is right, then presumably there should only have been ten of these descent groups mentioned in the chronicles, and their identity ought to have been at least as stable and well-known as the royal ancestors nominally connected to them. In fact neither condition holds. The chroniclers generally attribute one panaqa to each of the thirteen rulers on the traditional king list, except for Huscar and Atahualpa, whose mortuary ceremonies were impeded by the civil war and the Spanish conquest. Although Zuidema (1964: 12) dismisses this "simple western explanation" of why the latter did not have panaqas, he does recognize from the outset that most accounts mention eleven royal panaqas, not ten (1964: 5, 123). Rostworowski (1983: 141-5, 1988a: 39-41)

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has since shown that there are five additional panaqas mentioned by various chroniclers, two for Upper Cuzco and three for Lower Cuzco, which make a total of sixteen (see Figure lc).5 Zuidema's solution to this problem has been to privilege those sources (e.g. Gutierrez de Santa Clara 1630, Sarmiento 1572), and those aspects of Inka social organization (e.g. the ceque system) which include only ten panaqas, and to insist that there were no more (see Zuidema 1990a: 81). Yet there is no reason why there could not have been ten panaqas organized around the ceque system, and others that were not. We know that the ceque system was created under the reign of either Pachacuti or Topa Inca, and that it involved an exhaustive reallocation of land and water rights in the Valley of Cuzco, with their attendant ritual duities, to the ten panaqas that participated in it (see Sherbondy 1986: 47-9). The "eleventh" panaqa, that of Huayna Capac, held its land outside of Cuzco and its ceque system (Sherbondy 1986: 59-60). There is ample evidence that this exclusion was the source of considerable friction in the final years of the Inka empire. In the war of succession that followed Huayna Capac's death, Huscar threatened the established panaqas with another land redistribution (Betanzos 1551: 207, Pizarro 1571: 54), and Atahuallpa's generals nearly annihilated Capac Ayllu, Topa Inca's panaqa (Sarmiento 1572: 269-70, Mura 1613: 202-3), which according to Sherbondy (1986: 45-6), held the most privileged position in the ceque system. Thus, there was a structure of ten panaqas in imperial Cuzco, one that was fixed primarily by an allocation of land water rights. However, this structure did not necessarily prevent new panaqas from forming or old ones from disappearing. Rather, newly formed panaqas were either expelled from the ceque system, or they had to eliminate already established ones within it, or push them downward through its ten-part hierarchy of rights. This is probably why there are alternate names for some of the more prestigious panaqas, e.g. Hatun Ayllu and Iaca Panaca: instead of being synonyms, they probably refer to different groups that occupied the same position in the ceque system. Thus, it is possible to reconcile the ten-part structure of the ceque system with a processual understanding of how panaqas formed around each successive divine king. Ironically, Zuidema's own research into Inka kinship terminology supports a king-centred "historical" perspective. Apparently, rank was defined from the egocentric perspective of each king, and would vary according to which king one used as a point of reference (Zuidema 1990b: 496, cf. Netherly 1990: 462). Although egocentric terminologies are not inherently incompatible with a stable set of structural relationships among defined social groups, they correspond far better with the traditional, king-centred account of how the panaqas were formed. For

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what the latter involved was a constant redefinition of the social order around each succeeding king, which is precisely what was facilitated by the usages Zuidema describes. Again, one suspects that an overly rigid contrast is being drawn between the systemic and egocentric aspects of how the panaqas were formed. To summarize: when Zuidema decided to rewrite "Inka history" as a synchronie relation between ten social groups, he had to show that the royal panaqas were not actually formed on the death of each successive king, as nearly all the chroniclers claimed they were. Thus, he downplays the very rich information on royal mortuary practices to be found in the chronicles, and cites approvingly those who have directly challenged its validity (e. g. Aranibar 1969-70). But there is overwhelming evidence for the king-centred nature of the panaqas as social groups. They rarely assembled in public without the mummified body of their founder, and devoted most of their resources to maintaining his cult. Polo and other Spaniards actually found most of the royal mummies, so they cannot be treated as purely mythical figures. Although the ceque system has provided new and interesting perspectives on Inka culture, it has hardly dealt a death-blow to this evidence. Whatever the ultimate fate of Zuidema's more radical attempts to reduce Inka history to social structure, there is no doubt that they have changed Inka scholarship forever. At the very least, he introduced a variety of new ways (both critical and constructive) of looking at the available evidence. If the contrast between structure and history now appears misguided, at least it put structure on the agenda. The challenge is now to find ways of talking about structure that do not rule out local historical understandings, but instead make sense of the particular form they take. In this light, the diarchy thesis becomes particularly interesting, since it does not presume to eliminate the chronology of kings altogether, only to truncate it into two contemporary dynasties. Andean Diarchy What do we mean by diarchy? This word has been used to characterize many socio-political systems across the world, and presumably has some claim to generality.6 Perhaps the most concrete definition comes from Hocart (1936: ch. 12), who identifies a pattern whereby a passive senior king, identified with the sun and in charge of law and ritual, is distinguished from an active junior king identified with lightning, and in charge of executive matters and war. Hocart saw this distinction as being different from, but also the source of, subsequent distinctions between the secular and the religious. Fascinating as these arguments are, I find them

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overly restrictive and teleological, and prefer to treat diarchy more generically as an institutionalized dual division of powers. Many concrete arrangements could conform to this minimal definition, and no useful analytic purpose would be served by creating an overly restrictive definition of diarchy that is just an abstract description of one particular case. Rather, the point should be to identify, for comparative purposes, a certain range of variation among cases that display similar, but not necessarily identical, morphologies and developmental tendencies. For the purposes of this discussion, I assume that there is always a tension between similarity and complementary difference in the nature of diarchic powers, also a tension between symmetry and hierarchy in the way they are allocated. When these powers are nearly identical in nature, the inherently unstable condition of dual power results, but when they are overly differentiated, the result is often no longer a division of powers, but an opposition between power and some other term, such as (religious) authority. The more similar these powers are, the more their stable distribution requires hierarchy, whereas the more complementary they are, the more symmetrically they can be allocated. The evidence for a loosely-conceived form of diarchy in the preColumbian Andes is overwhelming. Generally, diarchy was embedded in the dual organizations or moieties that were so common in Andean societies. We have already encountered such a moiety division in the distinction between Upper and Lower Cuzco. I will argue below, however, that the Inka capital is a poor example of diarchy, and that the best examples actually come from the so-called provinces, namely the polities that the Inkas conquered in the creation of their empire. The nonInka polities of the central Andes frequently featured dual territorial subdivisions, each with their own paramount political office. So common were diarchic arrangements, and so central were they to the collection of tribute, that the Spaniards quickly came to a general working knowledge of them:
In each repartimiento or province there are two divisions: one which is called hanansaya [upper division], and the other hurinsaya [lower division]. Each division has a principal leader who rules the nobles and Indians of his division, and does not interfere in the ruling of those of the other division, except the curaca [ruler] of the hanansaya division is the head of the entire province, and the one whom the other curaca of hurinsaya obeys in the things he says. The one from hanansaya has the highest rank in seating, and in everything else, they sit on the right-hand side and those from hurinsaya on the left-hand side, in low seats called duos, each according to their order: those of hurinsaya to the left and behind their principal leader, and those of hanansaya to the right-hand side, behind their curaca.

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PETER GOSE He of hanansaya is the head of all, and he has authority over those of hurinsaya. He calls meetings and governs in general, even though he does not give particular orders. He collects tribute and pays it, because even though he does not personally collect from those of hurinsaya, he collects it from their curaca or principal leader of the hurinsayas, who has collected it from his ayllus. In this there is great cooperation, although sometimes the most powerful, which is he of hanansaya takes some of the ayllos of hurinsaya, and over this there used to be great disputes, but those who are from the right understand well that each must have his ayllos, and that those of hurinsaya the head of hanansaya cannot have (Matienzo 1567: 20-1, my translation).

From this description we see that the diarchy of the Andean provinces involved a hierarchical division of similar powers between two rulers. The rulers of upper and lower divisions had similar rights and duties, but the upper ruler outranked his lower counterpart (see also Cobo 1653:112), and represented the unity of both divisions, or the polity as a whole, to the outside world. Within the larger political unit, the ruler of the lower subdivision would serve as the helper (yanapaq) or replacement {ranti) of the pre-eminent ruler of the upper subdivision. However, within their own respective subdivisions, each had his own helper or replacement, as Rostworowski has shown (1983: ch. 5). Netherly (1993) shows that the same pattern prevailed on the northern coast. Thus, dual sovereignty was systematically and recursively developed within many Andean polities. These facts alone are enough to justify accepting diarchy as an aspect of Andean political structure. The question is whether diarchy was a dominant principle, or whether it was subordinate to others. Following Lvi-Strauss' (1963: 158) classic discussion of dual organizations, I will argue that in the Andean case, hierarchy lies behind the appearance of dualism and symmetry. The first clue that diarchy was a subordinate principle can be found in its hierarchical nature. Indeed, diarchy was partially self-annulling because the ruler of the upper group encompassed the ruler of the lower group as the representative of the polity as a whole. In relation to other polities, these diarchies were one political unit and not two: from this perspective their dualism was subordinated, and even suppressed. Point of view determines whether or not Andean polities were diarchic. From an internal perspective, diarchy was salient, and it was possible to minimize the hierarchical nature of the division into upper and lower, since it was primarily in external relations that encompassment took place. Thus, in his earlier writings, Duviols (1973) treats socio-political dualism in a largely symmetric manner, as if it did not involve subordination and hierarchy. This is particularly regrettable, because it is Duviols himself who has assembled some of the best evidence against a symmetric view of Andean diarchy (Duviols 1973).

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In the Cajatambo area of what is now north-central Peru, the division between upper and lower divisions was modelled on the relation between herders and agriculturalists. Broadly speaking, this occupational coding makes sense, since herders occupy the upper ecological tiers of the alpine zone, whereas agriculturalists occupy the lower and warmer valley land. Tillers were called wari, after the tutelary ancestors in agriculture, whereas herders were called llacuaz, after a preferred technique of sacrificing camelids (Duviols 1986: 500). The llacuaces were described as foreign conquerors who arrived more recently from Lake Titicaca, whereas the waris were depicted as conquered indigenous peoples, who were nonetheless skilled in the arts of civilization, and settled their nomadic overlords into a more sedentary way of life.7 The historical validity of these traditions is questionable, as is the degree to which all members of each group actually engaged in their nominal occupation. However, it is undeniable that when people explained the origin of their polities through a mythic conquest of the lower group by the upper group, they also emphasized sectional hierarchy. For this conquest mythology took the hierarchy that otherwise might only be visible in inter-group relations, and implemented it as an image of the internal organization of the political group. Although this did not negate the relations of ritual and economic complementarity that often prevailed between wari and llacuaz groups, it certainly must have coloured them. Gose (1993) has shown how the ritual complementarity of these groups implied the hierarchical superiority of the llacuaz pastoralist-foreigners, who were thought to control the water that wari tillers depended upon. But the main point is that these traditions of conquest, which present the upper group as conquerors and the lower group as conquered, thoroughly dispel the notion of dual power at the core of the diarchy thesis. Andean socio-political dualism was hierarchical because it was enmeshed in broader segmentary processes that structured both the internal organization of individual polities and their incorporation into regional confederations and pan-Andean empires like that of the Inkas. Rather than being a formula that applied only to the division of powers in the polity, (asymmetric) dualism could exist at a level as minimal as the moieties of a hamlet, or expand to encompass the relation between mountain peoples and coastal peoples within the Andean area as a whole (Zuidema 1962: 161). Because it could be applied at various organizational levels, this dualist schema should be understood as a generative principle, in which political organization arose from a process of imbalanced opposition at increasingly higher levels, creating a segmentary hierarchy of units (Netherly 1993). Similarly, the distinction between wari and llacuaz operated as a principle of segmentation in the

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system of hierarchically embedded social groups (ayllus) in Cajatambo. Sometimes the two moieties of a minimal ayllu segment were described as wari and llacuaz respectively, whereas at others, whole ayllu segments were identified as one or the other.8 In this way, the distinction between wari and llacuaz generated and cross-cut social groupings of different magnitudes. At any given level, the hierarchical encompassing of the lower half by the upper half already implied the next ascending level in the segmentary system. It therefore seems likely that diarchy was subordinate, both in logic and in practice, to segmentary hierarchy as a principle of socio-political organization in the Andes. Structural relativity is the outstanding characteristic of segmentary organization. It could encompass diarchy, but also account for local socio-political organization (e. g. ayllu systems), and regional confederations of politices (e. g. the Chancas, the Collas, etc). During the late intermediate period (1200-1400 A.D.), just before the Inka empire, individual Andean polities appear to have expanded and contracted, mutated and disappeared at a bewildering rate. In such a context, the flexibility of segmentary organization would have made it a particularly useful idiom of conquest and alliance. Furthermore, segmentation took many overlapping forms: Before Inka conquest, it was probably expressed mainly through dual and tripartite territorial forms and hierarchies of local, regional, and pan-Andean shrines (wakas, see Duviols 1978, Gose 1993). These idioms of segmentation were retained under the Inkas, who continued to encourage dual organization in the provinces (Cobo 1653: 112, Sarmiento 1572: 110). However, the Inkas subsumed and rationalized these forms of segmentation under the socalled decimal system, which grouped the households of the empire into nesting units of 10, 50, 100, 500, 1,000, 5,000, 10,000 and 40,000. Rather than treat diarchy as something separate from these hierarchical forms of organization, we should see it as a means by which they were realized. Such a conclusion should not be controversial, given the relations of segmentary encompassment of lower by upper described above. But it is precisely as a romantic alternative to hierarchy that the notion of diarchy has been elaborated in Andean studies. As a result, both Duviols (1973) and Rostworowski (1983) have tried to make segmentary dualism into a more symmetric phenomenon than it actually appears to have been.9 To further discuss whether diarchy was a subordinate or superordinate principle of Andean government, we must turn away from the provincial polities to the Inka case proper. Through an examination of the Inkas, we can discover how diarchy was expressed at the highest level of the political hierarchy. If, at that level, we find an unambiguous instance of dual sovereignty, then there is good reason to treat diarchy as the culmination of the entire system. However, if hierarchy is the predominant

THE PAST IS A LOWER MOIETY

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principle involved, then we might expect an essentially undivided form of sovereignty at the very "top" of the system. What was the situation? Exponents of the diarchy thesis, particularly Duviols (1979a), have argued that the Inka empire had two co-rulers, each of whom represented one of the moieties of Cuzco. Although Upper Cuzco provided the primary or "unique" ruler (sapa inka), he was always accompanied by a "substitute" (ranti) or (as the Spanish put it) a "second person" who shared with him the duties of imperial government. According to the diarchy thesis, this substitute was associated with Lower Cuzco. Although the upper group outranked the lower group, this relation of hierarchy was tempered by the notional symmetry of moiety division. Effectively, then, the diarchy thesis posits a link between the moiety system of Cuzco and a kind of dual sovereignty represented by the combined administration of the unique Inka and his substitute. I intend to refute the diarchy thesis by arguing (1) that the supreme Inka was seen as the source of an undivided power that could be delegated to a variety of subordinate substitutes, and (2) that the delegation of the supreme Inka's powers had little to do with the moiety system of Cuzco. Put differently, I challenge the existence of dual sovereignty for the Inkas, and with it, the idea that imperial government was based on the moiety system of Cuzco.
Inka Monarchy

In fact there was only one supreme ruler, the sapa inka, who invariably came from Upper Cuzco, at least during the proto-historical phase of Inka imperial expansion. Although the supreme Inka had many "substitutes" who appear to have shared much of his administrative powers, they do not appear to have been associated with Lower Cuzco, as the diarchy thesis would have it. Most accounts describe these "substitutes" as the governors of the four quarters of the empire or as the Inka's secretary and verbal intermediary.10 They were commonly recruited from among the Inka's full or half brothers, and would therefore have been from Upper Cuzco. Indeed, the only important member of the Inka elite who is regularly associated with Lower Cuzco is the high priest of the Sun or willaq umu, and this is primarily because the temple of the Sun (Coricancha) was located in Lower Cuzco. Cieza describes the willaq umu as someone whose influence competed with that of the Inka (1553: II, ch. 30), but most chroniclers agree that his most important institutionalized power was that of being the final voice in ratifying succession to the office of supreme Inka (e.g. Sarmiento 1572:174, 205, 250-1, 265-6, 268). He was a king-maker, not an alternate or rival king. Several accounts suggest that

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the high priest was generally a close relative of the Inka,11 and therefore that he probably belonged to Upper Cuzco before assuming office.12 Unlike other brothers of the sovereign, however, the ivillaq umu rarely appears to have had personal ambitions in wars of succession or usurpation, but is often described as a tutelary figure for young sovereigns who were still unable to govern properly (Betanzos 1551: 291-2, Sarmiento 1572: 253). Perhaps this is why Segovia (1553: 75-6) directly identifies the high priest as the Inka's "substitute". Far from confirming the diarchy thesis, however, this only confirms that the high priest was not the same sort of figure as the Inka himself. The only evidence that suggest Lower Cuzco may have a political representative comparable to that of Upper Cuzco comes from negotiations over land rights around Cuzco in the early colonial period, which Sherbondy (1986: 51) describes without providing a reference. During these negotiations, the representative of Lower Cuzco was Juan Tambo Uscamayta. Although this is not the don Juan Tambo Maytapanaca who appears in Acosta's king list, Zuidema (1964: 87, 128n, 183) argues that the two were actually the same person. It is entirely possible that Acosta could have mistakenly identified this individual with (Apo) Mayta Panaqa when he was actually a member of Uscamayta Panaqa. Alternatively, Zuidema (1964: 209) argues that a given person might represent different groups in different contexts. Even if we accept this argument, it suggests that we are still dealing with a relatively minor figure, a neighbourhood leader who was identified primarily with these panaqas, and not as a second sovereign. This inference is borne out in the appearance of "Don Johan Tambo Usca Mayta" as a 60 year old witness before the Toledo inquiries into the history of the Inkas in 1572 (Montesinos 1882: 248). Here he appeared as one of two witnesses from the "Ayllo de Mayta Capac", along with many other witnesses from other panaqas, all of whom ratified the monarchic view of Inka succession officialized by Sarmiento (1572). It seems that at no point in these hearings did don Juan Tambo identify himself as a second, co-reigning Inka, nor did others identify him as such. Thus, the structuralists' prime historical candidate for the second of the Inka diarchs not only missed a golden opportunity to assert his claim to high office, he actually denied the very framework upon which such a claim could be based. It would be highly uncharacteristic of the Inka nobility to concede their privileges in this manner, given their well-documented willingness to resort to litigation in colonial courts.13 One can only assume that no such office existed. Furthermore, the land dispute Sherbondy alludes to clearly involved neighbourhood, and not imperial concerns. By the early colonial period, the two divisions of Cuzco were no longer the culmination of an imperial system, and might well have been reverting to a relatively more symmetric

THE PAST IS A LOWER MOIETY EMPIRE CONFEDERACY ETHNIC POLITY LOCALITY A

ETHNIC POLITY 1

399

CONFEDERACY 1

CONFEDERACY 2

EMPIRE RULER

= HIERARCHICAL PRE-EMINENCE

Figure 2 Segmentary Dualism

and apparently diarchic relationship typical of a provincial polity. In the process, Lower Cuzco may have found a neighbourhood representative, but contrary to what Sherbondy (1986: 51) implies, this hardly confims that Lower Cuzco had an emperor figure comparable to the sapa inka when it still formed the centre of an Andean empire. Moreover, there are good grounds for doubting that Lower Cuzco ought to have supplied a secondary imperial ruler according to the logic of Andean diarchy. If diarchy functioned as Netherly (1990: 464,1993:18) postulates, the paramount ruler of a polity was also associated with the "upper" division of a series of lower segmentary levels, descending into a particular locality. At each of these segmentary levels, the paramount ruler would have a different replacement, who would be drawn from the opposite or "lower" division. As one moved up the segmentary hierarchy, so the socio-political divisions involved became bigger. By the same token, the replacement was recruited from localities progressively more distant from that with which the paramount ruler was associated. At the penultimate level of the segmentary hierarchy, the replacement would come from the opposite half of the realm, not the opposite half of the locality from which the paramount ruler came (see Figure 2). This means that Lower Cuzco was the counterpart of Upper Cuzco only at the local, but not the imperial level. Therefore, it is only in neighbourhood matters that we find political representatives coming from Lower Cuzco. According to this version of diarchy, it is entirely misguided to search in Lower Cuzco for the Inka's replacement: the highlands of Qollasuyo would be more logical place to look.

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When we leave behind the abstract logic of this system and turn to the historical record, however, it turns out that there was no significant dual division at the penultimate level of imperial organization. Rather, the empire was divided into four major territorial divisions, hence the title Tawantinsuyu (the unity of the four quarters). Rostworowski (1983: 176-7, 1988a: 229) has assembled the information from the chroniclers to show that this territorial quadripartition was echoed in government. Each quarter of the realm had its representative in a governing council, and they were each treated as a substitute for the Inka within their jurisdictions. The evidence for this imperial council seems far more solid than that for Inka diarchy. Yet it has not spawned a quadrarchy thesis, probably because it is relatively clear that we are dealing with a case of delegated, not independent power here. Still, it is entirely possible, as Guarnan Poma (1615: 365) suggests, that two of the representatives of each of the four territorial divisions may have been further identified with Upper Cuzco, and two with Lower Cuzco. It is, after all, very easy to nest quadripartition into dualism. Nonetheless, to make such an argument, one would have to show that the Inkas themselves tried to make the division of Upper and Lower Cuzco encompass that of the four quarters. It is possible that they did so under certain circumstances, but in general, it appears that they did not. When one looks at the empire's decimal system, it too features dualism at its lower levels but culminates quadripartition: two units of 50 households make one of 100, two units of 500 households make one of 1,000, and two units of 5,000 households make one of 10,000, yet four units of 10,000 make one of 40,000. It seems that quadripartition subsumes dualism, and not the reverse. Furthermore, the roads connecting Cuzco to Tawantinsuyu were named after the four quarters of the empire, not the two neighbourhoods of the city. In short, dualism was not stressed in the maximal organization of territory and government in the Inka empire, which renders the diarchy thesis less probable. Because there is no direct evidence that Lower Cuzco provided a substitute emperor, both Duviols (1979a: 78) and Rostworowski (1983: 179) have blamed the Spanish chroniclers for failing to understand a political system that was so different from their own. Not only does this argument beg the question of whether the Inkas really had a diarchy, it raises the far more serious question of why the chroniclers did record diarchy in the places where they saw it, namely the provincial polities. Had they not done so, then presumably we would not know enough to even conceive the possibility of Inka diarchy in the first place. Yet chroniclers such as Polo and Matienzo repeatedly tell us that they studied Andean government for the very practical purpose of furthering the effectiveness of colonial administration. We saw above how Matienzo draws our attention to diarchy as an abstract schema of provincial

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government because it was a key element to the indigenous tributecollection system. The conclusion can only be that the chroniclers did understand Andean diarchy in its broader outlines, but failed to record it in imperial Cuzco because they did not encounter it there. Nonetheless, there are scattered references throughout the chronicles to various sovereigns contemplating a division of the realm into northern and southern domains. For example, Cieza (1553: 207, 220) suggests that Pachacuti entertained this idea, and that Huayna Capac considered reviving it as a way of accomodating the kingly ambitions of both Huscar and Atahuallpa. The proposed division would have distinguished the militarily active northern periphery of the empire from its consolidated southern core in a manner that accords well with the logic of Andean moiety systems. Thus, it seems that genuinely diarchic arrangements at the imperial level were conceivable, but that they took a different form than that proposed by the structuralists, and ultimately did not carry the day. To recapitulate: The major representative of Lower Cuzco appears to have been the high priest or willaq umu, but he was not necessarily recruited from among the people of Lower Cuzco, though he was associated with them by virtue of his occupation. Rather, he was a member of the elite of Upper Cuzco who changed his moiety affiliation upon office. Cobo claims that the willaq umu, like all lesser priests of the Sun, invariably came from the Tarpuntay Ayllu (1653: 224), which Sarmiento locates in Upper Cuzco (1572:119). In short, the claim of Lower Cuzco to sacerdotal supremacy was vaild only at a categorical level, and had nothing to do with actually staffing the priesthood, where Upper Cuzco once again held de facto control. If the notion of diarchy is supposed to imply a duality or balance of power, then it clearly does not apply to this situation. Everything indicates that the royal descent groups of Upper Cuzco manipulated and controlled the only significant position allocated to Lower Cuzco in the Inka court, that of the high priest. We must therefore accept that Andean socio-political dualism was a veiled form of segmentary hierarchy that culminated in monarchy, not diarchy.
Secular Power And Transcendental Authority?

The question now becomes how to characterize the relation between the sapa inka and the willaq umu. Both supporters and critics of the diarchy thesis have suggested that the moiety division of Cuzco may have represented a separation between the worldly power of the ruler and the spiritual authority of the high priest (see Zuidema 1964: 110, 245-6 and Pease 1981: ch. 1). Such an idea is consistent with the evidence we have

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considered thus far, but it does not hold up under closer scrutiny. First, there was no clear division of labour along secular/religious lines between the supreme Inka and the high priest of the Sun. The chronicles repeatedly mention that the Inka performed important priestly activities in a variety of imperial rituals, during which he neglected the rest of his governing duties (e.g. Betanzos 1551: 51-2, Cieza 1553: II, ch. 7). Like all of the Inka's substitutes, the high priest was essentially a stand-in who acted on behalf of the Inka. It follows that the Inka could reclaim the priestly powers he delegated to the willaq umu whenever he wished. Thus it was said that when Huayna Capac took office, the first thing he did was to remove the high priest of the Sun and take the job on himself, visting all the shrines, oracles and their estates (Sarmiento 1572: 238). Similar, if slightly less dramatic, intrusions on the role of the willaq umu have been reported for other sovereigns (Sarmiento 1572: 191-2). Even when his relations with the willaq umu were cooperative, the Inka would routinely join or replace him in his priestly role, particularly when it came to oracular consultations of the Sun. Furthermore, the willaq umu could assume the non-priestly duties of the Inka under certain circumstances, as during the rebellion of Manco Inca, when he played an important military role (Betanzos 1551: 292, 299, cf. Sarmiento 1572: 253). In short, there was no entrenched distinction between secular and religious authority in this system, and the sovereign not only outranked the high priest in general, but also within his priestly domain. For these reasons, the Andean case does not conform to the separation between worldly power and spiritual authority decribed for other civilizations by Dumont (1970) and Bloch (1977). Its political life was not secularized, nor was its religious life transcendentalist. To better understand the ruler-priest relation in the moiety system of Cuzco, we must return to our previous discussion of divine kingship. We have already seen that the core notion of Andean divine kingship was the transformation of a living warrior into a dead deity. Within this developmental progression, the upper moiety represents the living phase of a sovereign's career dedicated to military expansionism, whereas the lower moiety represents his enduring posthumous influence as a deity, in which the fertility of his land and people was the primary concern. A similar progression existed in the lives of the Inka male elite, whose initiation into manhood, the warachikuy ritual, was decidedly military in character. Their most honourable option was to pursue a military career for as long as they were able, and only settle into the more quietist administrative and ritual occupations of the capital in their advanced years (Cobo 1653: 253). The temporal division between the kings of Upper and Lower Cuzco also reflects this pattern, since all the Inkas' imperial conquests were attributed to the more recent kings of Upper Cuzco,

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whereas the more ancient kings of Lower Cuzco founded the solar cult but did not attempt to subdue their non-Inka neighbours (cf. Rostworowski 1983: 161). The relation between the king and the high priest, as the respective representatives of Upper and Lower Cuzco, conformed to this same pattern. The king was expected to personify the virtues of youthful vigour and military expansionism, at least initally, whereas the high priest was dedicated to consolidating the ancestral cults and the fertility of the empire as it already existed. The military orientation of Upper Cuzco has been demonstrated by Pease (1981): most of the "captains" of the Inka army were recruited from this division, and many were half-brothers of the sovereign.14 These military specialists appear to have been semi-charismatic leaders, around whom congregated an entourage of lesser fighters recruited through the labour-tribute system (Segovia 1553: 74). Together with the ruler, his brothers and sons, these "captains" formed a cohort with distinct but strongly converging interests in pursuing imperialist warfare. For the ruler, adding new territories and overcoming all rivals was the primary means of showing his divinity, and key to how he would be remembered by posterity. More to the point, few Inka rulers could achieve election to their office without a successful military career under their fathers, given the rule of succession by the "most able" of the incumbent's sons.15 For the ruler's brothers and other "captains", military prowess brought booty, a luxurious lifestyle, and perhaps the reward of a chosen woman (aqlla) from the Inka for especially meritorious service (see Betanzos 1551: 43, Cobo 1653: 253). Since a military career made these men responsible for the expansion of the Inka state, they also had the prospect of being appointed governors or lesser administrators of the territories they subdued. There was no clear distinction between the army and the administrative bureaucracy of the Inka state, primarily because of the relentless expansionism of the Inka elite and the chronic rebelliousness of the provinces, particularly on the death of Inka kings. Upper Cuzco's close association with the army thus became a significant means by which it monopolized imperial power, and negated the possibility of diarchy. The more quietist, ancestral orientation of Lower Cuzco is particularly evident in its association with the Sun, supreme tutelary deity of the Inkas, and father of all their sovereigns. The Sun represented the ultimate source and repository of the political authority of each Inka ruler, the deindividuated expression of the permanent influence of the Inkas as a group. On death, each Inka ruler was said to return to the Sun (Betanzos 1551: 128, 137, 145, Cobo 1653: 154), a notion taken literally during the mummification process, when not only was his body eviscerated and dried, but his heart was removed and placed in the golden disk of Punchao (Mid-Day Sun) in the temple of the Sun in Cuzco (Cobo 1653:

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106). Some mummies even appear to have been stored with Punchao in the temple of the Sun. During solar rituals, the royal mummies were not only present, but received the same sacrifices as the image of the Sun in the plaza of Cuzco (Betanzos 1551: 166, Cieza 1553: II, ch. 30, Segovia 1553: 81-2). Although the individual exploits of the royal mummies were not forgotten, nor did they cease to be the focus of particular descent groups, the overall pattern is clear. Upon death, the aggressive, expansionist individuality of the sovereign was arrested, and thereafter he became increasingly identified with the undifferentiated ancestral concerns of the Inkas in general, of which the Sun was the primary expression. The Sun certainly was not indifferent to the politico-military power of Upper Cuzco, otherwise this deity would not have continued to act as king-maker through the oracular medium of the high priest. Nonetheless, it was primarily concerned with the priestly and agrarian activities of Lower Cuzco, not running the affairs of state. The association of dead sovereigns with agriculture is suggested in the very semantics of the Quechua term mallki, which denoted not only mummified bodies, but also trees, saplings, and crops. Once dead, it seems that these exemplary ancestors became increasingly identified with the fertility of the land, as often happens in divine kingships. Thus, the priestly ayllu from which the high priest of the Sun was recruited was called Tarpuntay, which in Quechua, means "planter" or "sower". Therefore, the priestly activities associated with the cult of the dead were also represented as agricultural. In Andean terms, it is entirely logical that these agriculturally-oriented ancestors should also be associated with the lower territorial division. For in the dual organizations analyzed by Duviols (1973), the lower group always is identified with agriculture by virtue of its association with the warmer lowlands. It is primarily as a source of warmth that the Sun, too, came to be associated with the lower group. However, these lower groups are also depicted as having been conquered by roving pastoral militarists of the upper division. The same pattern is repeated is repeated in Cuzco, where the lower territorial division, the ancestral rulers, and even the priests who maintained their cults, were often represented as conquered autochthons (Zuidema 1964: 150-2, 161, 206, 1990a: 9). Undoubtedly the historical reality behind the social composition of Lower Cuzco was far more complex than this, since we know that the Tarpuntays were part of the Inka elite, and were sometimes classified as part of Upper Cuzco (see Sarmiento 1572:119). By equating Lower Cuzco with conquered agricultural priests, however, the sense of categorical contrast with the militarists of Upper Cuzco was maximized. Thus we are dealing with a classic structural opposition, but not one that was purely synchronie, since members of the lower group were depicted as once having held politico-military power. The

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diachronic dimension of this opposition resolves itself into a process, in which the upper imperceptibly slides into the lower over time, much as has been described for eastern Indonesia (Traube 1989). This same temporal passage from high to low is particularly wellexpressed in the moiety affiliations of the succession of Inka rulers. The chroniclers generally assign the first five Inka rulers to Lower Cuzco, and the remainder to Upper Cuzco. What this means is that when the denizens of Upper Cuzco looked down the hillside into Lower Cuzco, they were also looking "back" (as we would say) in time. The moiety division between Upper and Lower Cuzco was not merely a vertical geographical distinction, but also a temporal distinction between two different ages or phases of the Inkas' career as a people. In their accounts, the chroniclers make the substance of this temporal distinction clear. The Inkas were an intrusive people in the Cuzco area who, under the leadership of Manco Capac, took up residence around the site of what was to become the temple of the Sun in Lower Cuzco. There they lived among the other ethnic groups of the area, practicing agriculture and priestly service to the Sun. Although some accounts describe Manco Capac organizing Cuzco into upper and lower moieties at this stage, most attribute the founding of Upper Cuzco to the latter reign of Inca Roca, who is said to have led Inka expansion into the higher reaches of the valley that were to comprise that territorial division. Other accounts relate the differentiation of Upper from Lower Cuzco to the subsequent reign of Pachacuti, who established the preeminence of the Inkas in the Andean area by winning a mythical war with the Chanca, during which the incumbent rulers of Lower Cuzco neglected the defense of the city, and dedicated themselves to priestly and recreational activities on their estates in the countryside outside Cuzco.16 What matters is not which sovereign "really" founded Upper Cuzco. Far more significant is the fact that that the distinction between Upper and Lower Cuzco is consistently related to significant episodes in Inka imperialism and the ascendancy of the military in politics (cf. Pease 1981: ch. 1). The founding of Upper Cuzco, it seems, signifies the supremacy of the Inkas over other Andean peoples. The location of this event in "Inka history" shifts, and with it the moiety affiliation of the various sovereigns, as new thresholds of conquest are attained. A similar transformation of the upper into the lower may have operated on a shorter cycle, with each succession to high office. Zuidema (1990b: 501) argues that each of the successive Inka rulers lived in the same palace complex in Upper Cuzco, whereas their respective queens (and children) lived in a comparable palace complex in Lower Cuzco (see Garcilazo 1609:1, ch. 16). Upon death, the mummified bodies of ex-rulers were relocated in buildings outside town, and their successors moved

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into the palace complex of Upper Cuzco. The overall effect of this cycle would have been that mummies and their retinues circulated out of the palaces of Upper Cuzco, while heirs and their factions circulated in. Elsewhere, Zuidema (1989: 257) suggests that those who descended from marriages with non-Inka women lived in Lower Cuzco, whereas those who descended from marriages with Inka women lived in Upper Cuzco. The overlap between these two scenarios was great, since many of the Inka's subsidiary wives were non-Inka, and those born of Inka women remote from reigning sovereign were probably undergoing a subtle drift into peripheral status within the elite of Cuzco. In either case, the subsidiary wives and children, who were traditionally thought to comprise the panaqa of each ruler, would always have lived in Lower Cuzco, even during the life of the sovereign. In this sense, they represented the ultimate destiny of their king, a kind of downward exfoliation that began in his life, and continued into death. In summary, the Inka moiety system encodes not only a geographical and an occupational distinction between militarist rulers and autochthonous priests, but a developmental cycle for the careers of Inka sovereigns, which is echoed in an historical mythology of the Inka people as a whole. Zuidema suggests that in Inka mythology there was a consistent tendency to represent Lower Cuzco as the descendants of timid, senile, original rulers who were incapable of defending their domain, and lost power to younger and more vigorous upstarts, who formed the ruling moiety of Upper Cuzco (1964: 111-3, 138. 156-66). This was not just a matter of the Inka conquest of the original inhabitants of the Valley of Cuzco, but of periodic dynastic renewal within the Inka ruling class itself, as in the mythical war with the Chanca (see Zuidema 1964: 231). Above all, this mythology speaks to the wars of succession that usually followed the death of each Inka sovereign (see Rostworowski 1960). These struggles were the outgrowth of intrigues among the royal descent groups of Upper Cuzco, and an integral part of the Andean notion of succession by the "most able" of the dead sovereign's potential heirs (Rostworowski 1983:1549). In addition, provincial rebellions on the death of a sovereign obliged the successor to reconquer various parts of the realm. Thus, every new ruler necessarily came to power through a display of force. Far from being opposed to legitimate authority, as in western social theory, this force was a sign of the incoming ruler's solar pedigree, and hence, his fitness to rule. Political conflict and instability were anticipated and encompassed by Andean ideologies of divine kingship, which linked renewal to violence. It is of the utmost significance that the upstart militarists of Upper Cuzco outranked the priestly agriculturalists of Lower Cuzco. This shows that we are dealing with a divine kingship that unambiguously treated

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youth, vitality and power as the supreme good (cf. Valeri 1990a: 47-50). Unlike the Hawaiian and Tongan diarchies described by Valeri (1990a), however, the Inkas did not temper their admiration for these values by ranking them below an immobile centre linked to the past. Thus, there was not even an incipient sense in which the Inkas approached a HinduChristian distinction between secular politics and religious transcendence. Instead, the salient distinction was between immediate and remote phases of sovereignty, in which the former set the standards for the latter, in keeping with the overriding in-worldly emphasis on vitality and power. Dead sovereigns were worshipped only to the extent that they had conquered in life, and their divinity was expressed primarily through oracular communication, the fertility of their land and of their descent group: signs that proved their exemplary abundance of life even in death. This was a system that celebrated its own kind of history, but with a relentlessly presentist orientation towards life and power in the here and now. Hence, the current sovereign from Upper Cuzco was always the paramount reference point, even in the ranking system. Taken together, the two moieties of imperial Cuzco coherently expressed the expansionist character of Inka divine kingship. Upper Cuzco represented the current growth phase of the empire and those completed by recently dead kings, whereas Lower Cuzco represented previous, more consolidated episodes of growth that took place in the distant past. This process was very much like the growth of a tree, in which the living outer growth layer is constantly reabsorbed into the dead structural core in a series of growth rings, each of which was equivalent to the reign of an Inka king. Inevitably, the moiety affiliation of particular kings had to be revised periodically as the growth of the empire proceeded. Because this revision was an ongoing process, like the growth that drove it, the chroniclers do not entirely agree on the moiety affiliations of the series of sovereigns running from Inca Roca to Pachacuti Inca Yupanqui. However the disagreement is not particularly serious, and hardly threatens the basic credibility of our sources, as has sometimes been suggested. The main issue at stake is whether Inka moiety distinction was established by the consolidation of their control over the upper reachers of Cuzco (Inca Roca), or the beginning of their expansion into other areas (Pachacuti). In the first case, Inka moiety division was literally mapped onto the geography of Cuzco, whereas in the second, it was detached from it, and linked to a spatially more abstracted process of imperial expansion. In either case, expansion was represented as an upward growth out of Lower Cuzco, very much on a plant model. The subordinate priests and agriculturalists of Lower Cuzco may be contrasted with the military overlords of Upper Cuzco, but all were encompassed by an overarching ideology of growth that was particularly

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well expressed by the agrarian orientation of Lower Cuzco. It was as if an impulse to grow that originated in the agriculture and fertility rituals of Lower Cuzco somehow naturally culminated in the aggressive military expansionism of Upper Cuzco. Here, Upper Cuzco became like a shoot leading the growth of a plant, always at the cutting edge of its development. This metaphorical connection between military expansion and plant growth was fundamental to Andean ideologies of divine kingship, in which a sovereign/ancestor typically achieved defication by expanding the boundaries of the polity in war, or those of the agricultural frontier within his domain. By a similar logic, the Inkas linked agriculture to war in the triumphal militarism of the haylli songs that they sung after victory in war (Santacruz Pachacuti Yamqui 1613: 193, 229), but also during the sowing, sometimes with the participation of the Inka sovereign himself (Guarnan Poma 1615: 250-1). Arguably it is war that metaphorically encompasses agriculture in these songs, just as the upper division generally encompasses the lower in Andean social thought. Yet there can be little denying that here, the more pervasive image of growth that allows these domains to be linked comes from Lower Cuzco. From Lower Cuzco's point of view, Upper Cuzco was a teleological outgrowth of its own agrarian concerns. From Upper Cuzco's point of view, Lower Cuzco was a vestige of its own distant pre-military past. These interacting vantage points can be described in the language of complementarity, but perhaps more significant was the way they created transformational diachronic processes (cf. Valeri 1990a: 58), and an overwhelming impetus towards imperial expansionism.
Conclusion

From the foregoing, it is clear that the Inkas did not practice diarchic rule, if by that we mean two simultaneously reigning sovereigns, each associated with one of the dual divisions of imperial Cuzco. However, an asymmetric form of diarchy did prevail in the provinces as a veiled form of segmentation, in which upper divisions encompassed lower ones to create higher levels of organization. As the apex of this segmentary political organization, Inka Cuzco was the one exception to the rule of diarchy, because it was the one level of organization that was not surpassed by higher one. The fact that this system culminated in a relatively orthodox form of monarchy proves that hierarchy, not balance or dual power, was the dominant principle of the entire edifice. Indeed, from the paramount perspective of the monarch, asymmetric duality at lower levels of the system was highly advantageous, since it maintained hierarchy while also promoting sectoral opposition, and thereby may have facilitated divide and rule strategies.

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The fact that the Inkas did not practice diarchy thus conceived does not mean that the dual organization of their capital was a hollow shell, however. Rather, it embodied a number of important historical ideas and diachronic processes. Upper Cuzco was associated with the living sovereign, the military, and the growth of the empire, whereas Lower Cuzco represented past sovereigns, priests, and conquered agriculturalists. Over time, rulers who had once been associated with the expansionism of Upper Cuzco might be reclassified as belonging to Lower Cuzco, as their deeds were surpassed by subsequent sovereigns. Historical concerns were not alien to the Inkas, but they were constantly being assimilated into the dual organization of the capital, in which past epochs were equated with the lower moiety. This does not mean that the commemorative traditions associated with each individual sovereign were necessarily effaced as the structural position of each ruler was modified over time. Rather, the structure into which they were assimilated was itself diachronic, and therefore cannot be opposed to history in the manner of early structuralism. The moiety system of Cuzco was based on a growth metaphor that worked itself out in time and space through Inka imperialism. Finally, this paper has argued that our understanding of the Inkas is best advanced through a comparative perspective that includes more general discussions of such issues as divine kingship, segmentation, and dual organization. Here, the attempt to turn diarchy into a regional gatekeeping concept that defines a uniquely Andean form of government has had the ironic effect of obscuring our understanding of Inka imperial government, and how it was distinct from the provincial polities it subordinated. Like any other concept intended to monolithically typify a given area, diarchy fails in the Andes. As part of a more flexible conceptual repertoire, however, diarchy remains a useful notion, especially to the extent that it does not fully apply to the Andean case, or means something slightly different there than it does in Polynesia or eastern Indonesia. Ultimately, it may be possible to fix a meaning to this term, just as it may be possible to specify the peculiarities of Andean political organization from a comparative perspective. In the meantime, it is best to resist premature closure. Notes This paper is based on research funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.
1. It would be unfair to attribute this tendency uniquely to Zuidema and his followers. Since the 1960's Inka historiography as a whole has increasingly turned away from larger comparative models and toward an appreciation of what was specifically

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PETER GOSE Andean about this civilization. Following Murra (1980), many have argued that Inka political economy was based on a unique form of redistributive complementarity that was neither tributary or mercantile. Although this particularist orientation has overseen a remarkable growth in our understading of the Inkas, it has long since acquired ideological proportions. For example, Murra (1987: 53) and Pease (1992: 11) arbitrarily claim that the Inkas lacked tribute because they did not collect tribute in kind but rather in labour. In the same apologetic vein, both Pease (1981: 63) and Rostworowski (1988a: 15) deny that the word empire is applicable to the Inka conquest state, and highlight its supposedly benign and organic character by referring to it as Tahuantinsuyu, the unity of the four quarters. It is predictable that this emphasis on historical particularity would ultimately be reclaimed as a romantic charter for modern nationalism. Ironically, however, Murra's initial attempts to discover the Andean were based upon a relatively orthodox version of substantivist economic anthropology, whereas Zuidema's was based on Leiden structuralism. As usual, there turns out to be a metropolitan vision at the bottom of attempts to celebrate the uniqueness of the periphery. Similar arguments have recently been advanced as a general feature of socio-political dualism on a world-wide basis (see Maybury-Lewis 1989: 14). Zuidema does not elaborate on the nature of this connection between sovereigns and panaqas. One possibility is a system of circulating succession, comparable to those which existed in Africa. Although Cieza (1553: 183) suggests a possible alternating succession between Upper and Lower Cuzco, the improbability of this scenario in the Inka case is suggested by Goody's general comments on circulating succession: that it represents an attempt to avoid wars of succession and prevent any one sectoral interest group from monopolizing central office (1966: 142). We know that wars of succession were the Inka norm, and that entire panaqas could be wiped out in them. It is therefore extremely unlikely that anything so high-minded as a rule of circulating succession existed among the Inkas. If such a rule existed, it was routinely breached. I am grateful to John Rowe for drawing my attention to these last two points. Note that Rostworowski treats Cusco Panaqa and Socso Panaqa as different groups, whereas they are probably different orthographies for the same group: she also omits Suma Panaqa from her discussion. See van Wouden (1935), Guermonprez (1990), Traube (1989: 342), Valeri (1990a, 1990b, 1991). See Arriaga (1621: 24, 117-8) and Duviols (1986: 11, 52, 55, 60, 94, 120). There are cases, however, where wari mummies are described as "los primeros conquistadores y fundadores" of a certain locality (see Duviols 1986: 59, 224, 428), which suggests that waris were considered to once have been conquering rulers, prior to their own conquest by intrusive llacuaz groups. See Duviols (1986: 52, 59, 89-90, 202-3, 245, 343, 479-81, 486-8, 489-91, 497). Note that both Duviols (1979a) and Rostworowski (1988a: 183) implicitly revised their earlier formulations, and later recognized the hierarchical nature of socio-political dualism in the pre-Columbian Andes. See Santillan (1553: 15-6), Sarmiento (1572: 258-9), Guaman Poma (1613: 111, 184), and Molina (1528: 280), also Betanzos (1551: 271) and Segovia (1553: 80-1). See Cieza (1553: II, ch. 30), P. Pizarro (1572: 91), and Sarmiento (1572: 142). There are other cases where Inka nobility are said to have switched moiety affiliations (Betanzos 1551: 210, Sarmiento 1572: 254). This is particularly likely in the case of the willaq umu since he is described as a yana or retainer of the Sun (Segovia 1553: 75-6, P. Pizarro 1572: 91), a status that often implied liquidation of membership in a descent group.

2. 3.

4. 5. 6. 7.

8. 9. 10. 11. 12.

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13. Duviols (1979a: 78) claims that the Inka nobility had no interest in pressing such claims because the Spaniards did not understand diarchic government. However, there are early colonial law suites that successfully invoke Andean criteria (e.g. the capacocha ritual) that would have been far more esoteric and problematic than diarchy from a Spanish point of view (see Rostworowski 1988b). Furthermore, one could argue that those Inka nobles seeking self-interested accommodation with the Spaniards would have found considerable advantage in asserting the notion of diarchy during Manco Inca's revolt, when the Spaniards would have welcomed an alternative 'traditional' sovereign. 14. Note that Zuidema (1964: 191-2) argues that these military "captains" were in fact the subsidiary sons of a ruler who did inherit high office, but instead, formed the ruler's panaqa on death. At this stage in their lives, these captains became priestly figures who were more or less identified with and dedicated to the service of their father's mummy (see Polo 1571: 124). This conforms to the transition from high to low proposed below in the text. 15. That a display of military might had to precede a successful administration is well illustrated in Betanzos' account of the succession of Pachacuti Inca Yupanqui by Topa Inca Yupanqui (1551: I chs. 33-6). Upon news of Pachacuti Inca Yupanqui's death, first Antisuyo, then Collao, rebelled against Inka rule, and Topa Inca personally led the armies that quelled these uprisings, leaving Yamque Yupanqui, his elder and more administratively inclined brother, in Cuzco to govern. When Topa Inca defeated the rebels in Antisuyo, he brought their insignia to Yamque Yupanqui and begged him to tread on them, a prerogative that normally fell to the sovereign. Yamque Yupanqui accepted this honour, but died of old age shortly afterwards. Not only does this recall Rostworowski's arguments about co-reign brothers (1960), it specifically demonstrates the idea that the successor should prove himself militarily before assuming all the trappings of sovereignty, even if he had already been elected and installed, as had Topa Inca. By these standards, the antithesis of the good sovereign was the one (like Inka Urcon or Huascar) who immediately dedicated himself to drink, womanizing and fine dress upon installation in office (see Betanzos 1551: 207, 238). 16. Mura (1613: 52) writes that the differentiation of Upper from Lower Cuzco was established under Manco Capac, but elsewhere he attributes the founding of Upper Cuzco to the latter reign of Inca Roca, who is said to have led Inka expansion into the higher reaches of the valley that were to comprise Upper Cuzco (Mura 1613: 69). Cobo (1653: 72) also reproduces these two different accounts of the founding of Upper Cuzco, and notes explicitly that they contradict each other. Although (Polo 1585: 10) and Sarmiento (1572: 145) also identify Inca Roca as the first ruler of Upper Cuzco, who founded it by virtue of territorial conquest, Sarmiento (1572: 182) later notes that the division between Upper and Lower Cuzco was made, or perhaps remade, in the subsequent reign of Pachacuti. Betanzos (1551: 77) also states that the distinction between Upper and Lower Cuzco was established by Pachacuti. In so doing, he implies that Inca Roca belonged to Lower Cuzco, in contrast to the previous chroniclers. This is clear in how Betanzos (1551: 77) assigns Vicaquirao (Inca Roca's panaqa) to Lower Cuzco (Pumapchupa), whereas Sarmiento (1572: 145-6) puts it in Upper Cuzco.

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