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fAlAlITRMEGIH
It!H B&llilIURO
fOUC�ULf LIVE
[Olumo INitWIt'> 01 MI(HH fO�!u1I
MI(HH fO�lUll
MCHEOLOGY Of VIOLENCE
PilOt [U\lRfI
LOll DIMENIlON
PAUl VIRIUO
�mHHICS Of D1S�PPE�R�NCf
PA� VIRIIIO
I
ARCHfOLOGY
Of VIOLfNCf
PlfRRf CL�STRH
SfMIOTfXT(f)
This edition ('of1yright 1'1994 Scmiotl'xr(e)
This translation co pyr ight �1994 Jeanine Herman
All righ ts reserved,
Semiol<:xt(e) offIces:
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
4 OF Ethnocidc 43
f'if!;t publisheci in LH' Tt'HlJH MO(it'rlH'S, No. )98, M;ty, I'T/I, PI!. 1')11-1 940
IH, H(H,OlOGY Of VIOl<N(,
y.t twnlami , 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<l� n0 1 heen e<1sy; 11(' spC';!ks
th ei r languflge very well and is now beginn ing another st<lY. I am "('CO)11-
panyi n� him for several m u n th s.
We Spl'nt the first two wtt:ks in December shop pi ng in C'ar:J(';J<;: a motor
for the canoe. a rine. food ill1d objrcts to t ra d !.: with the Indians, il1rludillg
macheu:s. hatch ets, kilomel('rs of nylon fish i ng lint. tllOUSillHls of rl',hhooks
in all sizes. casts of m:1tcb hoxes. dozens and dOLens of spo ols of th re ad
(used for tying f't'<ltht'rs to arrows), beautiful red f�l hrir willl w h ic h ttl(' men
w il l make loincloths. From Paris we b r ought about n dOL('n kilo s of rin e
ht'il(l<; in black . while. red and hlue. I was surprised by the quantities, but
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.
not only for us 10 be well received. b ut 10 hI' received ;!t all.
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
rdy on the In dians. Four hours later, after fl ying Over the savanna. I ht'n
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
runw ay buill Len Yl'ars ago by the Salesian l1Iission. A brit-f "'top. JUSt long
en ough to grct't the m is s io n<1 r y. <I large. fmndly. che c rf ul Italian w ith a
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
IHf ARCHfOlOGY Of VIOtfN(!
owy fIgure wieldi ng a sm<lJ! tor ch runs along a Sleep b<lnk and catches t he
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. ...
Already the n ig ht is fll l('([ with tht songs of shamans.
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
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<lny of r('t rim in <ltions ag;tin<;t thrir son and nephew. The mother fInds him
in<.,ufrlcirntly attentive: 'Tvr heen waiting for you for <;0 long. You h:lven't
co m e , What misfortune to helVe il son lik" you ! " As for h im, strelcherl out in
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<lde. As for our own decibel IcvC'!. ours are hdrd to
hear, and hard for u" to hear.... ) There afe worse fates.
To hr honest. the peaceful slown('ss of things is due in part to the
ahscnce of Illt"n, The women ilre much more reserved, less givt"n to in<"olence
than their hushands, who have all gone 10 war against an enemy tribe, the
tl asuhu (' tNi. A Ydnom:1mi W;lT i<., a surprisl' r<1id: they attack at dawn when
prople <Ire still ;l"leep, ninging their <1rrows over the roob. Th03e injurt.'d, Ihe
rart c;tsu;tities, arc mOSt often accidents, in th(' way of the arrow's fall. The
<lllackcrs then nt:r :'I" q uickly <1S possible. for the other<; immrdi<lt('ly COuntrr
<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, <lnd moreover, our (ompilnions are r:lthn :'Inx
lOllS to kilVl', They have d one whilt they set Ollt to do, il nd are not in te rest ed
in p rol onp;ing their Stay. The day we <l rrived. Hebewe spoke with his mother
ill l e l1 !!th, He qUl:stiontd her about his reliltiv('s, wanting to know who his
r otl s i n ... Wl'ft'. But tIl(' rilscill is hilrdJy concernl'd w ith e nr k h ing his
ge nralogic<l l k now l cdge : what he W<llltS to know is wh o is he nOI rcl dt ed to.
in otller word,. which girlc: he can c:l('rp with. Indeed, in hi, o\":n Irillt' - till'
l\arohiuTI - he is felated to almO\l l'Vl'tyon(' (nil (he wO lllen ;He ofT l imils).
lie mu..,t look for them elsewhere <IS <I result . This i<; ll1r prinlflry goal of his
trip. lie will "uain it. AI ni�htfall. his own <lunts bring him a fou rteen- or
flfteen- year-old ¢irl. [hl'Y are hoth in thl' saml' hammock, nexi to minl'.
Judging frOIll ,[1(' commotion. tl1(" violent move lllents wresling the hammock.
tht stined murmurs, it doesn' t seem 10 b(" going well, 111(' girl d o('s n ' , W:'1I1I
IH[ 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 <til night. extremely dis<:Ttl'tly. III..' muSt
have had sex with her seven or cight times. Sht" can't complain.
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<lnge of goods is
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, <l w<lrrior who wns injured during <In
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<lnk of the O rinoco, ,Inti one on the otht:r sidr. A Sales i <ln mission
(therr arr th ree in the :'IT('a, all Jt the edge of the river) has been SCI up at the
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 <lnIlO)! us. This yt'ar
we are going to rehuild til(" (1IOhulI() much further away to distance nurstlvl's
from him." We heartily ar'IHove. Wh;)[ torment for this peas;1nt from
Arkans<ls 10 hear the drug-intoxicatl'd shamans dance and sing every night
tHE �R{H!OIOGY Of VIOlfN{f
hysterical
And there, for at least an hour. there is an explosion of insults.
voci fer<ltion, howled ilrrusation. It looks a s tho ug h they w ill kill ('ach olher
off. and yetlhr who le thi n g is rather entertaining, Thr old w o men
from bOlh
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
StOPS, and ev e ryo ne quite simply gors back home. Mu(h of it \\',IS
clamor
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
in a few dilYS,
these duels. As for the t:uckold. he will get his wife back
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.
Irss so: one must look out for sand bilnks, TOl.."ks just beneath the Willer's sur
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<ltt's (he
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 <lnd not
boiled as usual. The Indians ('onSent reluctantly. While waitin g for it to cook.
1 ,
IHI: &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<l! it. Even without salt, it
is g ood. But only tcn minutes liller our three c ompanio n s bl'gin to w11impcr:
.
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;lt-
tl
1 \
l H f A I ( H f O L O GY Of V 1 0l f N ( E
ing. revealing a heath of flnt' sand from which t'mergl' l'normou� houldns.
Dozens of grooves. some mort' than two centimeters dcep. tIrc etched in the
surfi1cc: these are blade polishers. Everything one might need for the manu
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
know how to work with rock. From time to limr, they wil] fmd a polished
hatchet in tht' fort'S! or <It the rivrr"s edge. and think it the work of the spirits
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
were formrr occup;"lnt... of (urrcnt Yanot11ilmi territory and h ave di sa ppeared,
prohailly Cl't1turk... ;"lgo. All th<lt r ('ma in are tht {«leCS of their labor. <;c<ttttred
throughout Ihe- re-ginn.
We reload the canoe. head off and arrive fiftl.' e n minutcs later: the
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 <It
tl1{' ir homc with White Mcn in a mOtor boat. They allow cd us to struggle
for two hOlHS. when we {"ould havc easily finished the trip on foot. Now,
they <Ire beside Ihemsl'lves wit h 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'.
our l3ich;'lansiteri compnnion's brotllC'r. Thty recognil(' each o th er immedi
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
it show. a� i.., filling for a visitor. Strctchrd out in his hammock. one hand
ovtr his mouth, an expression of feigned displeasure on his fact. he lets
some timC" go by. I hen we ha v e some uan;]na puree.", and we call relax,
Such aft the rulcs of l·tiquette.
To ccit-u ratt:' the event. tht' olner brother or gani7.cs a drug session and
prc.-parcs t h e ('bella. Seve'r;]1 m en run uncj('r thtir tents and ftappear more
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�
pan ion,>. more a(CUSlOlnl'd to the busint'ss of whi te men. have no rc:-;erva
lions about poking fun at these bumpkins. Thc m i�� i onarits have an imbc
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· :-;;lVages! Thty
serve tlll'ir v;uest� ungutted fish!"
C'nlshtd. then dril'd and mixed with another vegttable substant"e. tbel/a,
fm c. £/l"Cn powekr. is ready to be consumtd: it reed tube h fIlled <lnd your
;'j
neighhor blows it up your no<;(' hy exhaling powerfully intn your nostrils. All
I 6
l H E 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.
drool: Ihe drug is good. plrasingly strong. evel)'one is happy. A good start to
a shamanic session. The visiting brother. who holds a position of leadership in
his tribC', is also a mid-level shaman. l.ower level shamans treat their families
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
they die. But the Indians have little respect for them: they scan.:ely rt"td thtm.
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
bl'r of rhilnts they know. ;tnd spirits they can invoke. Among the Bichaan
sileri. thefc is on(' of this c(llibl'r. He officiates almost daily. evt'n when no
one is sick (and so he nt'eds a lot or drugs). This is uecause till' communilY
l11ust be ('onstilntly protccted from the illneSSeS <lnd {'vii spirits that shamans
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
sometimes oscillate bct',vl.'cn it Gregori<lll chan! and pop music. AeaUliful 10
hear. they m<"ltcll exactly the slow movement of the dance. the to and fro of
arm:!. crossed or raisrd up along the tent awnings. Shamed be anyone who
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:
'"lIurry and hring some bananas to relative so-and-so! We forgot t o give him
some!"' Or else. approaching us: "Listen, Lizol! I necd some fishing line!"
And, Quitc simply, he continu('<; his service.
We have gone up the Ocama a bit onCe again 10 do some night hunting.
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-
ishtd. Wt' arc llwir flrsl whites. we arl' th(' {'xotk ones this time. For us. they
arlO hardly different from thc others. there- ilre no surpriSl's. All the lri b('s
now possess meta llic instrunwnls. l'v('n those wi lh whom contact will not
be established for y(';]tS. As a result. differences belween groups al the edge
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 <Ill betn affected by Iht'
mb...ion �rie s· vain (l llt'mpt" (at lcitSl not up until now). [n short. llil"rt, ;trt' no
"civililCd" Yanomami (with <Ill the repugnnnt d('gradation which that st ate
signifies) to contrast with still "savage" Yan omilmi : Iht'y arl' ,Ill. ('qually.
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 Nab(' is so greal thill
1 7
[Hf �R ( H E O I O ' Y Of VI O I E N { E
Returning to M av aca , w(' !tarn the outcome of Iht comb,it two wt'l'ks ear
lier, which had set tile Patanawa\t.'ri against the I insubu('teri. The results arr
g rave : four denths, it set.'ms. (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 with almost all the tribes in the regi o n . (l hey w ou l d gl a d l y clo Lizot i n ;
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
lished n('aT their ehnil/Illo. That says a lot ,Ibou t till' fai l u re of I h l' priest... who,
I 8
1 11 £ 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 <lre not saints. This time they fought likt.' whites. but against the
;'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
rlwbullo i1t dawn. thtn retreated into the forest. Aut i nstead of ru n n i n g hack
to the pClth I tild n g to their territory, they waited for the counterillt<lck. Whe n
i
CI group is attacked. the warriors must launch a counter-offensive, lest they
he considered cowards. This would soon he known. and 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 <l rin g their revenge. Passions arc passed on fro m father to so n .
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,
for the M'lhrkodoteri. eXillted lJy this initial success. would from now on us e
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<l c ti
(ally i m po ssil J l c with <lrrows. (ExcqH i n t he very rare cases when: g ro up
invites another to a pa rty with the deliher<lte intention of m assac r i ng them
<l
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
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<ls (more than six kinde; arc c ul t i vated ). Staying with
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
offers me tapir l11('at and urges me 10 re m ai n among lh('m. This is a change
from the other tri bt's where, having just arrived, one is i mmeC\ i il tc l y i'\CCOSI
t'd: " G ive me this. give me that. I ' ve run out of flshhook�. I need a m:lchete.
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<ll11ly. They arc tireless. and were it not for tile strong imprl'ssion Lizot has
made On them. they would quite simply try to steal our things. The few sc.'n
tenct's I have I('ameu anu remember, having said them hundred" of ti mes,
are: "I don't hav!: enough, There isn ' t any. We don ' t haw any more, Wait!
Later!" Th e tiresome Yanomami.
They do have a sense of humor and are quite prone to jokes. To start
with, they avoid telling the truth on principle (even among: themselves).
They are incredible l i a rs . 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 he didn ' t know (he had trflveJrd I h is pa th
maybe fifty li m es).
"Why ;He you lyi n g ? "
, 0
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, <III Ihe necds of society ilre cover d by an av{'f �
age of I h ree hours of work per person, per day (for adults). Llwt calculated
,
this with chronometric rigor. This is n o t h i n g n('w, we a l ready know that thiS
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
�H· n tl. o n
, ,
1\1 hiS s l i g h test move to nee, a slight squee7e, This must , h u ' b u t slle ��
. .
doesn't 1f't go: "She wants to copulate! She frC'is like copulaung,, 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<ll events. This is becausC', i n a ce na in
way. there is no nature: a climatic di"orc!er, for eX01mple, i mme i <lt ely tmns � ,
t� be the . cil.,c. A
c h i l d is grav(']y i l l , his soul h<ls left h i m ; the women are lookIng for It, sum
m o n i n g it to reenter thl' body and rl'store hralth to the liuk o n e. They frnd
.
.
it. and, forming a l i n e , push it i n fron t of them in t h e dlreC1l0n of he :
c/wbutlo, w(lving thtlr bouquets. TIwy art both gract'ful and fervent.... I he
.
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<lk ritual . Uzot takes fu riou" notes. The man
then asks whether women do thr samt thing i n our country: "YtS, but that
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 <lnd gra n dpare n ts chant arollnd th e small cadnver
curled in its m o ther's arms. All night. all morning. without a moment of
i ntc rruptio n . Till" nrxt day, the broken. hoarse voic{'s a re heanrending. The
orhrr women of the tribe participate in the mourning in shifts. the men do
not l eave their ham mocks. It is oppressive. Beneath the sun, the father. still
chimring, prepares the pyre. Meanwhile, the grandmother d.:lnces around it,
her de,HI grandson in a kind o f sl in g : five or six steps forward. two or three
ba<.:k. A ll Ihe women are uniled beneath tht" funeral tr nt . the Illen surround
the pyre. bows and arrows in their hands.
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
the fI re. Smoke risrs an d the sham::!n rushes forward to m ake it to go straight
up to the sky. for it co n t<l ins evils spirits. About fIVe' hou rs later, when the
ashes are COld. a close n'lative lakes a basket and meticulously collects Clny
fragmt'nts of bone that were not burnrd. R educed 10 powder and prcserved
i n a calabash, they will give rise to CI fu n eral festival lal('r on. Thl' follow i n g
day a t dawn. evt'ryone hilS gone down t o t h e river - the women and chil
drrn in order to purify themselves carefully, the mtn to w ,!Sh their arrows,
soiled hy the baleful emanations of smoke.
Around the twen tiet h of Janu<lry, we: <Ire on the road for an expedition
into the S ierra Parima. We first h <lve to go up the Orinoco for <llmost two
day". As we pa,>s the M a hr kodoteri rl1(Jbllllo, sevl'Tal I n d i a n s threrllen 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
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'<lT
that were thl' supply of m eta l tools suddenly to run OUt, it w o ul d not have
much be�ring- o n the l n d i <l n s ; t hey would go back to their old methods (fire
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<lrr i es it ofr. 1·loping that a trunk might haw stopped it. wr look for i t
2 2
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
tilt.' ol he r tribes: they would gladly b e the recipients of this manna. They
�ivl' u'> a g ui d e n o n l'thel('ss. Quitl' ofle n . a g roup will invite anoth("r to
engage in l r<1 d e, then at t he last minute d('cide th<1t it has given mOTe than
it has recl'ived. Without anotht'r thou ght, they will catch up to the others,
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,
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
clt'al w i t h it as best we can.
In the co u rst of the night, the increasingly loud cries of a sic k young
woman wake evpryone up. The diagnosis is immediate: a ghost has seized
tht woman's animal tiouble, an Oller. The other women make 111(" patient
walk up and down. imitating "II the cries of the il ll i mal in order to m<1ke it
COllle ha ck . The treatlllent is effectiv(·. for at dawn, she wakes u p cum\ . ..
S oc iet ies . Oil{' m igh t s(ly. only allow thrJl1selves those illnesses they know
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
way t o a m i ddlt grou nd \)('Iwe('n t he two is not evident. Too bad for us.
rhe Parima is not really cha i n of m o u nt ai ns wilh valleys below. It is
ra t h er a disonh: rly herd of con ie;11 <1nd pyr;1I11id�shapecl mount<1ins. pres sed
<l
2 1
l H f � R C H f O l O G Y 0 1" V I O L f N C f
, 4
I H f U C H f O L O G Y O f V I O l E N C E
, 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('[<lted to the dcad person will cat his ashes. The women a n d children
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
altered. It is cannibalism, to be sure, since the dead art' being catc-n, bur
in a very atten u<ltcd form compnrrd to what exists elsewhere in South
America. The participants crouch around tht vesscl nnd dip their cnl
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<lssiv ity. And
yet. the festival of the rea/Ill is (I crucinl moment i n tribal l i fe. Sacred
nC'ss is i n the air. They would take a dim vitw of us were we to approach
t h i s Holy Communion. As for lilking pictures, that would be unthink
able .... Things involving dcath must be hand[(,d with care.
It is then the hosts' turn to bC' polite to the visitors. P<linted, fenth
ered a n d adorned, the men dancc. But it is obvious thnt Ihey put less
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
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
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
<llul swift, they disappear i n t o t h e foresl... .
As we walkcd toward the Orino("o, w e stOpped n moment t o rr!icve our
sclv\:"s. The Indians (If(' always interested i n thr way we pee. They crouch.
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.
" You pee like an old man. It's all yellow."
This was not (I triumphant rC'turn. but. something murh morC" SUbtle. And
when Lizot, who was walking ahead. shouttd: "listen! The r<lpids!" [ did not
play coy, I did not say: " A l ready?"" I said 1('l"s go.
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
<itan l i n g book, Elenn V<1 1cro, whose story was rapt -reco rde d by the fOI1Unalt
hal ian doctor, EtlorC' Biocca, w i l l rouse i n the souls of all innO(cnl rca(\rf"S.
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 <l p ri m i t ive society. capt u rC'd in its most absolute otherness and
its most sophislicflled w e a l th is bratt'd, e rn b r<lcrd, drscribed i n ddt find
,
n U :l n c c d s t ro k e s : t h e In ti i ;) n t r i u t of t h e Y a n o a m a w h o l i v e fI t t h e
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·
,
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 <lnd u nexpected rupture th:lt one (an im ag i n e in
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
the' very subsra/1ce of a cultural universe light-yea/'!) away from her own as
the most intimate part of herself. one might say. then, that th rough Elrna
Valero's voice, the Indians a re Jctually speaking: thilt thanks to her. the face
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
free, unconstrilined discourse, having rome out of her own wo rl d. and not
ours. j uxl<lposed with thr other without touching it.
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 <l way, tht Indi<ln
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
e
tUft \ I1 vi tl'S us to considrr the c h i l d 's arrivJl, ihis "accu1tufJtion" ag<linst t h e
grain, whi('h raises tIlt' question: how was El en i'l Valero ablc' t o bl'collle: so
profoundly I n d i a n i'lnd ytt ('Lase t o be so? The C<lSt i� interl'stin� in two ways,
firSt in th<lt it concerns an eXl'l�ptitlnill pe rso n ali ty, secondly in that. t h ro ugh a
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
.
not hesiHlte to ch rist l' n "ilC'('ulturation." The young girl\ ag-e sltould ('ol1lllltlnd
our auentiolt. lin e n t ran ce into tllr lndi<ln world occurred viol ently. t h rou�h
a ki<lIw)lping. But sht was, it seems to us. at th e perfect agl' both to deal with
t h l' Ir:luma and eventually :ldapt {O her nrw l i fe. and 10 ma i n t<l i n a disI<lncl'
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
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<ll leap. would have become a
Y<l noama , and would never have dreamt of leaving.
Elena Valrro is n ot th(' only case of a white child abducted hy Indians.
But they almOSt <llw<lYs disappr:lr for('ver. The r(,<'Iso n for this is simple: t hese
very young [hildren soon die, or more likely, l ose all memory of (heir place
of origin. Elena' s d i fference, luckily for liS, is thac she was already irre
\"ersib ly while' <It elewn yE'i'lrs of age, :l prrson from the western world . I n
her stol)'. we clei'lfly see that after twenty-two ye<lrs, sh(' had not completely
fo rgotten htr native Portuguese. whirh she still understood well. And let us
nOle lh a t for many yt .. rs afttr her rapture, sht could still recite a few "Our
F<lthefs" and a f{'w "Ilail M<ll)'s" if she found herself in a critical silu<ltion.
O n tIl(' other han{1, h ad she been o lcler, that is, almost fully grown (for a girl),
she might not have been able to withstand the shock as well, and would not
have manifested the surprising will 10 livt which allowed her to emerge snfe
and sound from d i ffIculties we c<ln only imagine. W h i l e still preadolescent.
slw had to flee her hosts' clrobullo and l ive in the forest alone for seven
months without fire (her atttmpts. by the way. to make a fire through fric
tion. the Indian method, W('f(' i n vi'l i n ) . Consequently. her :lge :lncl h e r per
,>onal iTY surely m<lde the task easi('r. And Irt us not forgr[ that t h i s was a
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<lve been as easily accomplished. A short time after
her capture, the young girl met a I3razili<ln boy her <lge who had also been
kidnapped. Sudd('nly. he was n o longer spoken of. An abducted woman is <I n
extra commodity for the community. a free gifl, a bonanza, w h i l e a m a n is a
taker of womt:n giving nothing; in eXChange; the tribe would, in principlt,
have nothing to gain lJy letti n g him livt'.
Throughout the book, one notices thnt Elena V:llero was as much faced
with the l ndi (l n world as ill it: o n e C<ln see her obvious pleasure i n observa
tion, a capacity for wonder, a tendency to question (lnd comp(lre. EIC'Il<l was
) This to us est ab l ishes the d ifference benveell a document such <1S Yat/oallla and
the autobiographies of in d igenous peoples collected
in othef pans of th e world. in
Nonh America in p a rti cu l a r. An informant. no lII iltter how great
good his memory. re m a i ns 100 CTllrencherl in his own world. too dose
his talent and how
to it. or else.
f!ll the contrary, too detached. for his world h<1s
('ivilizarioll. Ultimately then. there is ei ther the i1l1Jlo....ihility of speaking.
been destroyed by COlltilCt wilh our
J I
I H f .d R ( H f O L O G Y O 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'
i nsp i re the shaman� and protert th(' p t'op l l "The w o m c n ilskl'd me: 'Don 't
',
yOll b el ie ve in it?' I r(' pl i ('d : 'No, I don t beli('vl' in it. I don ' t st'(, a nyt h i n g
'
alHI I 've newr seen a Hdwu ro.'" Ce r l a i n prankes in sp i red a repulsion in her
that s he ra t h er im pru de n t ly lleg:l e C'ttd to conreal from the Indians. espeC' i a l ly
the endorannib;ll ritual du ri n� which the a sh es of dt:;'Id rel<Hives' boms a re
('onsllmC'd, Ther('. i n it" most llakl'd dimension. ap pe i'll"; <I t rClce of our rul
tun.', n<lmely the horror provoked hy lI n t h ro p op h;'l g:y, Ekna re[alC's the argu
mt.'nt (for it is tnJly an <l rgued displIlGrio) thin sht: hnd about this with her
hushand. wh o "aid to hC'r: "You, you pu t y o ur re l a t i vf''i u ndergr ound where
worms eat them; you don'l love your peOI}\e," To which she veilt.'lllently
replied: '''What I S.:ly is true, You uurn th(' body, th('n you g<lthrr the Tl'Il1<lins
a n d crush th elll , I-vC'n ;tfler Ihey are dead, you make th e nt suffer, Then you
put the asht"s in a SI('W or hananas a nd yo u ('<It them, P i n n l ly. after h av i n g
eaten thrm, you go into the forest <lIHI you shit tht"1ll out: the n'mains slill
have to go through th nl.' Thc /oucllall'G l oo k{'d tit me s t riotl sl y and said:
'Never let tinyone ever hrar you S;)y t h <lt...· I I1('se facts ;'In(\ n t h o usa n d ot hers
cl ea rl y show t h a i Elena preserved a certain rre(,dom in I1('T re l at i o ns h i p with
the l ndi<lns, t h a t s h e always mnde <In effort to mi'lintain her clirfen:nce whilt"
among thelll, Th is Signifies that till' idt.'a of <I r[,turn to her peop le never
totally left her. except. we sh oul d stress. during the time she w a s m.:lrrit.'d to
hC'r rlrst husband, Fusiwe, I n tllt' second part of her n a rrative, 'ihl' dmws a
po rtrai t of h i m fIlled w ith warmth tind am'Clion. and ultimatc-ly wilh bitter
n('S5 as well. fro m w h i c h thl' crus h i n g figure of a classic hero rJ1le"rg{'s.
W i th o u t a doubt, Thcvet. w hose POUrirairts des 110/111/11:5 iIl1l5trt:'� i ndu des a
p o rt ra it of the gre <l t rhitt' Tu p i n a ll1b <l Coniamb('c. could hay(' :lclded th i s nne
,
of Fusi we Elena's very Indian modesty and discrt:tion when speaking of h e r
hushand only furtlH'r emphasizes the depth of the b on d that united her 10
this man, o('sp i te the occasi o n<ll outbursts of rage. as when he b rok t: h er a rm
w i t h a bl u d ge o n . "I was s t ;'ly i n g w i t h the Namotri," she recounts, when
Fusiwe t o o k h e r for his w ife "Afler that day, I n o l onge r t rie d \ 0 esca p e.
.
So much for Elena Valrro. Wh<lt of the h ori z o n <lgainst which Ihis l i fe's
q u a s i - I t' g e n d a ry t raj e c t o ry is o u t l i n e d ? L.egend<lry, indrtd. in t h a t t h i s
Eurydice returns from the b ey o n d : a beyond i n two Sl'tlSl'�, we would say.
l I
I H f � 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 on in,
dead or dy i ng, Thus. in twO sensrs, N,lpagnouma i s a ghost.
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
,
tri he'i l i ves. A bando n i n g. then, the ic!ea of ret<l i n i n g the we<l lt h of material
'
thai satu rat('s the n ; l frativ('. we shall limit D u rse lv {'s to pOinting out a few
sal i.e nt t �ai ts . Not � ithout t<l kin g a mQment, however. to suggesl a p roj ec t
winch mlght be of tn t('r('st. II wo ul d con,� ist of o rdt"ri n g ;'Inc! ilnalyzing illl the
.
raw matl'rt<ll colleC'ted here <lnd ext ract i n g fro m i t - l i m i ti n g our re<l di n g to
YUl1o(Jllla - ., son of monographiC' study. the results of which would t h (' n be
nl ea" u red ilgainst those i n the fo u r volumes that Biocra h as dedit. a tt'd 10 :
l l
I II ! A I ( lI f O L O G Y O f V I O L E N C E
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 •
l � f A R C H f O I O G Y o r � I O t E N ( f
l 5
l H F U ( H F O t O G Y O f V 1 0 t F N C [
l 6
3
THE HIGHPO INT Of THE CRU ISE
l 7
I H E 6 H H f O t O G Y O f V I O t f N { (
(0 come 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
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, �carr<i of Ihe India n s. "
The penh goes t h ro u gh a l a rge g:lrden. Mr. Murdock l o o ks at the han:lna
tree.:.. He wOlild v('ry m u ch like to e;:11 a fruit. hut it is a little h igh. hr would
have tu jump. I ksitaling. he pulls orf hi<; h,l! for a Illonll'nt and wipe� h i s
balll bC'ad.
·'At least you dOll" havC' to worry about gctting scaiprd !"
lie gives up on the ! J a n a l1il. Everyone L� i n :l good mood. Hen.' they are at
the end of lhe path. bC'f\'1eC'n twO of the {'n orm ous huts. Th t'y stop it moment.
as though at :l thresh ol d. The oval place i s deserted, clean. u nsC'ul i n g. I t
serlll<; like a de<ld city.
"This is wherC' Ih('y do their d:lllces at night.'·
At the center is il p o le decorated w i t h black ;"Ind while diamond Shit P l'S.
A vely 3kinny dog sprinkks tfle base of it. barks we:lkly and trots ,tW ity.
"And ! h e t th:lt"s where tht'y to rtu re Pt'oplt' <1t I he Slake!"
Mr. Brown is not completely sun:. but h(' is the ('xPC'rt. Wh i sp e rs. pic.
tures. dri kious sh udde rs .
"Do you think they know how 10 sp('ak?"
Yl.'lJow and green, r(,d and hlue parrots anu great Ill fll'<lWS are t aki n g ,I
n:lp, perrhrd on rooftops.
"Tlwy rould a t l eil'>t say somrthing. romt' ou!. gn't't u.:.. I do n t know."
·
l B
l il t A H ll t O I O G Y O f V I O t f N C I:
Determin ed, Mr. Brown, followcci by h is w i fe, m:lkes his way toward
the
t Indian. He will methodically take a complete tour of the v i ll a ge . Two
n t',He s
hours to get Ihe triht' on fI l m i s n ot very m uch . Off to work. Tht'
ma n is sit·
an a mm a l. From
ling in the shade of a small wooden brnch in the s hn p e of
pipe
time to time. he brings a baked dilY tube to h is mouth; he smokes his
whkh s e e ms to sec not h i n g . lIe doesn·t even
without displacin g his gaze,
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<lll him Mister, after all. And if I address h i m
casually, h e might gCI mad and throw a wren ch into the works.
··What do you think? lIow w o uld you :ldd rf'':'s Ihis... th i s m an ? "
"Just d on 't SilY anything. In an y case, he surely wouldn't understand."'
Hc ap p roaches and utters. somcwhc re bctwcen injunctio n and request:
'· PhOto."
The l nditln's eyes travel from Mr. Brown's feet to h i s k n {·('s.
"On e 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.
"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
a 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
l H F A R C H E O L O G Y O f V I O L f N C f
• 0
! H 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
em('rges fro m the dark lair, A l;).rgc headdress. J
��' rut i ny, And a dem igod
n faste ne d to b iS hair, now tied in a po � yt;'l il. I n
pi n k and black sun. has b ee
, bunchl's of w ute feath
lhe dark oriflc('s o f his ears, twO woodt.'n dIsks, Two
;'l
l
ers al his an k l es ; the vaSt t o rso is divided by two ne ck l c e s of sma l l shells
h is chest. His hand rests on a heavy club.
<;l u n g d i a go nal ly ;'l('TOSS
• 1
tHf A R C Hf O L O GY O f V I O Lf N C E
Mr. M<leCurdy more or l ess sums uJl lhe rourbts' gener<11 fee l i n gs as they
('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<ll1C'ing n;)ked! I ' m sure they'd sl cep with <lnyolle for t w enty ! "
" W h a t about m e! This is t he first r i m e l 'vC' seen m y husb<llld gel taken.
And by w h o m ! "
" A n d b <l rgai n i n g is out of the quC'slion. They rea l l y are (Tude. Lazy. It' s
l'asy to mi1ke fl l i v i n g thaI way!"
"The Preseotls werc right t ..
4 2
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<lnd. to s a ti sfy a c ertain need for term i n o l ogi ca l p rl' ci s i on. the use of
th e word has largely and r<lpidly cxtended t}(·yond its piCle(' o f origin. ethnol
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 .
rir$1 pllb li s lied il\ i;lIcr('/oJl('riia I!lIil'cr'itJli�. Pal is, Ed. 111l i\·l'1"s:1 Ii�. 1 9·/4. jlJl.
2R26-2Rfiq
4 1
I H f A R C H f O L O GY O f VI O L f N C E
4 ,
I H f 6 R ( H f O L O GY O f V I O L f N ( f
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 <I n c! i m pose . Th{'
l'111l1ocid a l nt'g at i on of t h t Other leads to sclf-id{'lltification. One could
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<tuss
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 <l1!:lcks people's
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.
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
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
4 5
I H t A R f H f O L O G Y O f Y I O l E N C f
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,
with primiti ve ont'<;. But it IS a matter or positiv e n e
and in particu lar
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<ln nes::. of the I n d i a n is suppre
ssed i n
order to make hint a Bra7ili an citizen From its agents ' perspt' ctive.
quent ly. C't h no c i d e would not he a n undert aking
. conse
of dt'stru ct i o n : it is. on the
a n i ') m in<;rrib ed ill the
{.:ontra ry. a neCt's'iary lilsk. deman ded hy the h u m
heart of w('stt'rn culture.
We c a l l this vocati on to measu re differences
or on ( s o w n c u l t u n: ethnoc entrism . The Wesl would be ethnoc
accord ing to the y,Hdst ick
"
idal tH'c;lUse it
is ethnoc ('ntric, uecaus e it beli('ves itself 10 br the civiliz
ation. Ont' qu{'sli on,
nevert heless . is raisrti: do(,s our cultur e hold Ihe monop
oly un C'thno cen
trism? E th n ologi ca l experi cnce sugg('sts an a nswer. LC't us
consid er (lie man
ner in which prim iti v e socirt ies name ti1cms
elvrs, WI! can sec' that. in fact,
tilrrr is no auto-d enomi nalion to the extent thm sotietirs.
i n rel"urr ing fash
ion. almost always attribu te to Ihemselvrs (l singlr namc:
Ml'n, J l l u stratin g
thiS cultur al trail with sevl'ral l'x<1m ples,
we n1<1y re cal l Ibm t h e G u a r a n i
I n d i a n s ('all th r ms e l ves Ava. which sign
ifIes me n ; lilat the GuaY<l ki sa y ti1ry
are Ache . .. Perso n ... .. ; that I h t WaikO l of VcnrL ucla
Yann marni , Ptopl t.· .. ; lhat till' Eskim os arc the
procl aim thems elves
I n u i t, " M e n . " Wr c o u l d
di n io n ;u y in
('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
w h k h a l l t h e> words have the same meCln ing: men. Invl'f<; ely. each suciety
sy,",tem aucall y (i<'sie;natcs ils neil-{hbors by namr'i
ful. in<; u l t i n g.
thtit an' pejorativt, d isfi:lill
, 6
I H f A R ( H ! O t O G Y O f Y I O L f N ( f
. . .
( , ly
nrc""sar· linked to ethnocentric conviction. Otherwise. all cultures would
hav e t o be ethnocidal, and this is not the cast'. It LS on titlS level, It seems to
liS, t ha ta 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
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<lttice and the St<lte
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
lind the destiny of the West. Its format ion, rooted in a secul ar past, appears
stri c tly coextensible to expansion and to reinforcemellt of Ih� State appara
tus. first under its monarchic form. then und('r its republican form. To e<lth
developm en t of cen T ral power corresponds a n increased dep loym en t of the
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<l nguilge, fn:'llch, TIl(' n<ltion Illay consider itself con
stituted, <lnd the State may p roc l a im itself the exclusiv(' holder o f power
when the p eop le upon whom its aut ho rity is exercised speak the s a me lan
guage as it does. This prorcss of i n t egr:lIion obviously i n volves the suppres
sion of d i fferences, It is thus th<lt at the dawn of thl..' French nation. when
Franct' wa" only Franchimanie <lnd its king a pnle lord of til(' Nonhrrn Lo i re ,
the Albigeois crusade swept down on tll(' South in order to nbolish its civi
li7<ltion, The t'xtirpat ion of tile Albigensian he resy, a prC'lL X I and means fo r
'
• a
I li f 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,
\ U to n o m o u s ex i s t e n c e i n
t h e p r ov i n c ia l a n d rural w o r l d s u C( : u m b e d .
�
rra n df l c a t ion hild been accomplished, C't h n o c ide consummated: traditional
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
diffcret\t from Furopean St;'ltt's. Thc l n cils built a govcrn m e n til l machine i n
the A nd es that the Spanish <ldmired as much for irs V<lst terri t o ri a l exten
sion as for the precision and detail of administrative techniques that pt r
milt('d the em pero r a n d his n u merous bureaucrats to exercise almost tot al
and permanent control over the empire's i n habitants, The properly etll ll o c i
waS i mposed by force. reg ardl ess of the detriment to lo('al cults. It is also
true that th(' p ress ure exerted by the I n CilS on the subjugated tribes never
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
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
greatest brutality, as do all SlatC apparalUses when their powrT is put i n t o
question. T h c frequent uprisings against t h e central authority o f CULCO,
first p i t i l essly repressed, were then punished by massivc deponation of t h e
v a nquished to r('gions very fa r from their nativ(' territory, that is, (('rritory
milrked by a n e two rk of pl aces of worship ( sp ri n gs, h i l l sides. grottoes);
uprooting. deterritori alization, et ll n oc idc . . .
Ethnocidal violence, like the neg<lt i o n of difference, is dearly a I><lrl o f
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 V I O l f N { E
stop rhere? MuSt i( limit itst'lf to thl.' obs{'rvation th<lt i:l hnocidl.' is tlH' Sl<lte
<lnd that, from this point of view, all Statts arc equill? This would bt to fall
back into (he s i n of abstraction with which we have just fl'proilChcd the
"school of tthnocide"; this would he once again to disregard lh(:" conl'rete
history of our own cultural world.
Where do we 10(<Ite the difference th<lt prevents us from putting lhe
barbarous States (the InC'as, the Pha r<lohs, oriental despotism. etc.l and the
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'<lpaC'ity is l i mited not by [ h e
State 's weakness b u t on t h e contrary by its strength: ctllnoddal p ractice -
{O abolish difference when it beCOnH?S opposition - cea:-es once the Stiltt'S
strength no lon ger runs any risk. The Incas tolrnltrd the relativ{' aUlOnomy
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� system uJ
('('ol/omie prOdllcrioll, precisely a sparr of the tlnlimitl..'d , a space without a
locus i n that it eonstilntly pushes b<'\ ck bound<lrirs, an infinite spact: of per
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<il lJe used, tvel)' t h i n g must be productive, w i t h productivity
pushed to its maximum rate of intensity.
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
.
\ 0
l il f 1o R ( ll t O I O G Y 0 1" V I O l f N ( f
0 r w Il l· C h IS
benC' ath the enor mou s
acce 1 erat-
colll inrn tal roads, cons trtJct lon
ni7a tion of the tt'm tOTlC' S traversed waC'
.
. , r. The trans .
In pa l-.!c ul., ' .
: to
axes of colo
ing. cons titut e the
cau ght in the pat h!
the Ind ian s .
Wha t weig ht
have comp ared
do sevc ral thou sand u nproductive Savages
. fare m i n lo:rals , pttrol('um, cattl c r:l.l1c hrs, �
('offrc p l il ta-
to (he weal th of gold
lio n S. . e l c . ?. Product'
. The North AmenC'all
or die. this is the motto of the West
almo st to the last to all o w pro d U l'
.
tor
1
1 tllI,·,ns lcarn ed this i n the t1esh. killed
,
d ec <l I It
re( · III
·
tion ers, Gene rnl Sherm an. i n genu ously
tion. Onr or their execu
us killer of India ns, Buffalo B i l l : "As rar as
I can
a ktttr addressed to a famo
estim att, i n 1 8 G2, there were
l o . tbe
half millio n burra III
Rocky Moun tains . 1\1 \ o them havt' disap
aroun d n i n e and a
\
5
MYTHS AND RIHS
Of SOUTH AMERICAN IND IANS
One cannot seriously attempt :1n exposition of Indian rel i g ions of South
Americ<l without fIrSt mentioning. i f o n ly schematically. a few gen{'f;ll (;'l(,IS.
I"hough obvious [0 the specialist, thry must nevtnheless prC'red(' the exposi
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<iIll<! desl.:n i n
northernmost Chile), W<"\S clltirely oc c up i e d whrn America was disrovcrrd at
the rnd of the 1 5th rl:ntury. As tile work of pre-historians w i l l n t tes!. t h i s
occupation was q u i t e n n c i e n t , cl ose (0 thirty m i l l e n n i u m s old. We "llOUld
\ 1
I H t � H H f O L O ' Y O f V I O l f N [ E
\ 4
I H f � 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
nu111 b\.." r o f di;Jkcts son1l'times s o distanced from the mother ton gue that
th t' m cannot understand cacll ot h e r. Mo rt'(Jv{'r, a cons ult-r-
'
.
hose . w ho ,'Ileak
i Il I I' n u mbe r of so-cal l l'd isolatnl l a nguages have to be
t ,
l \ \ .Into .consldera
. .
. taken
)
. . .
for they are impossible to integrate IIlto thl' p n n c l a IOgUlSIIC sto(,k.
\ . pe r-
1l01l. .
ThiS e xtr aord i n ary crumbling of la n guage results In a sort 0 f C UI t raI (Is �
of l a n gu <l in f<lct. often p ro vides tile foundatIOn for tile
�ion . The u n i lY ge,
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<l')l'S
arc very rare and stem from historical conjunctures th:lt <lrt' r �'J a !lvcly easy
10 establish. One essential point should bt noted here: t he TupL-Guararu.. for
eXillllple, occupied <Ill im mense territory by the millions and spoke t h e Same
l a nguage. 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 <l n y way
�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
.
flrst Europe,ms ap proa ch ing the New World put into effect : 011 the one
differences? It is indetd such a dtvision among tile A m e n n dia n peop1ts that
tile
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-
\ \
l H f ! 2 ( H f O L 0 6Y Of 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<H
ba ro us : it was often a qU('<;tion of ritual p ract i ces.
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(,<ln I n d ian s u n folds. Though tOl1sistcnt with
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
Indeed, a ct'rtain number of ethnic groups that stem from th e classic "primi
\ 6
1 H E 6 H ll f O L O G Y O f V I O l f N ( f
1 . IOCIUIfI Of ! H E fOREIl
IH£ GOO\
5 7
I H f A R C H f 0 1 0 (; Y O f V I O l f N C f
5 a
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<l of the Y<lhgan comprise under their names the
intangible norms of the SOCiClI life left to nwn by thrse "gods" Clnd taught 10
<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<lble excepti o n : t h (' zrmi. o r idols of t h e Tano-Arawak of the
Anlilles. and the divine Images that certain (olomlJi;1I1 and Venezu{'lan Iribes
house in their temples. I n both cases. hi�torian<; of religion invoke innuenl'es
rrom Central Amf'ric<l for the fonner. from the Andes for the latler. that is,
from wh<lt we call high culture,
A slrange religion w i thout gods, that of the Soulh Amt'rirtln lndil'lns: tin
absence- so irritating that more than one missionary h;ls proclaimed the-se peo
ple truc atheists. l'eoplC' of rX\TC'mr religiosity nonetl1eless: a socii11 and colkc
liv(' T('l igio<;ity more than individual and privatf'. in til<ll it con(erns the rda
tion of soci ety, as a world of the living. to this Other, the world of its dt· ; td.
5 9
1 H E � R C H f O L O G Y O f 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
also brings into being, into autonomous existen<.:e, that which Wl' call the
soul, for lack of a ben e r tt:rm. A<.:corc:ling to the particular be-litis o f eac h cul
lUre, the number of souls a person bas can vary: sometimes just one. some�
tim es twO, sometimes more. BUI even if there arc more than one, one of t ll em
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
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
t hrmselves. Since the souls do not want to l ea ve the surroundi ngs of tilt: vii·
Jage or encampmelll. t hey wa n der. esp C"C"i<llly at nigh t . nC"ar their relatives
and fri e nds for whom they arc a sou rce of danger, i l l ness, death . .Just a� the
anet'stors, as the mythi('al fou n ders o f soci ety. arc marked w it h iI p ositive
sign a n d are therefore close to the community of th ei r '"descendants," so the
dead, as potential destroyers of this samt;' soci ety, arc markt;'d with a n ega t ive
sign to such an extent that Ihe l iv in g ask: how can we get TId of them?
[t fo l l ow s ronsequently t h at o n e cannot speak of a (' u l t of the dt'ad
among the South American peoples: far from entenaining thoughts of celr
brating them. th ey are much morr concerned with ('rasing them fro m their
memory, Thi:-. is why ceremonies such as the Shipaya's " feast of dead souls,"
or even the rites at which the Bororo summon the dead (aroeJ, seem to stt'm
morE' from the will to win Ihe b enev o lence of t he ancient dead th;"1n from a
desire to celebrate the reccnt dead: with the ancestors. the communi ry of the
livi n g s('('k to conclude (l ild strengthen the (l i l i ance th,H gu a r<l ll te t.'s its sur
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.
What do they do w i t h th{' d ead ? Gcnt'rally, they art' buried. A l mo s t
everyWhere, in the area be i n g considered, the tomb is a (,ylinc1ric hole so me
times covered with a l illie roof of palm leaves. The body is most often p l aced
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 <lnd p rox
i m i ty to the sl.);1('C or t h e living. Thc Indians' major concern is to a boli s h
ev('rything including the memory of the dead: how. then. can a p rivikged
spacr be re�l'rv�d for them? This will to rupture thus leads m a ny of t hese
societies quite s imply to icilY{' the v i l l �ge whcn a dt'<lth O('rUTS in order to
6 0
l H E 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
cIr<ld person is compl et('ly annihil<lted.
That 111(' de ad (tin h;lunt the l i vin g to the point of anguish in no W<ly
implies a la(,k of emotion in the latter: the manifestations of mou rn ing ( a
"IH1Vcd head for the women. for exampit:. black pain!. s('xu<ll or alimentary
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
hast ily, but according to rules. Thus, in ccrt ai n socicti('s Ihr funeral ri tu a l
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.
the so�called dance of th e maritltlo, which the men pcrform with huge rolls of
kaves o n thtir heads), .1IHI ch a nts go o n for about tWO weeks. Thc skeleron,
rid of its fl es h, is then exhumed. painlrd with IIf/1('1I a n d decorated with
feathers. Pla('ed in a h aske t, it is flll al l y taken i n a p ro cession to a nearby
river where it will be thrown. The ancie nt Tupi-Guarani gtner:111y in h u nwd
thcir dead in gn.::at funerary urns burit'd in the earth. like the 130roro. in the
case o f fa mo us chiefs or shamans. they proceeded to exhume the skeleton.
which among the Guarani became the obje('t of a cult if t h e shaman w as
great. The Guarani in PCl raguay still maintain the custom of sometimes p re
serving a child 's skclClon: invo ked under certain circumstances, it assures
mediation w ith the gods (lnd thu'\ allows communication h('t\vct'll humans
a nd the diviniti('s.
(AiINIBAIlIM
Some societies, however, do nol b ury tht'ir d�'(l d : they e(lt them. TlLis type
o f anthropophagy must he distinguished from the Illuch more wides.prcad
t re a tme nt reselVcd by several tribes for their pris.on('TS of war. such (lS t h e
Tu pi -G uarani or the Carib. who ritually executed and consumed their cap�
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 b a n a n a 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
woode n grill. Th(' nt'sh. accompanied by t ile pith of the pil/do palm trtt', is
ronsumed by the whole tribe. with Ih(' excq>tion of the ckcc-;tst'd's fam ily.
The bones aTe brokrn a n d burned or abandoned. The apparent effect of
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<ltion o f the l i v i n g: and the dead to
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�
t
plell: oblivion, but moreover, indigenous th o u gh tends to mark its relation�
ship to the world of myt h i c<l l ancestors as positively as it marks negatively
its relationship to the world of the real dead. Society secks conjunction,
alliance, inclusion w i th th{' anccslOrs�founders, wh i l e th{' community of the
living mainl<lins thell of the dead in disjunction. ru ptur e, exclusion. 11 follows
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 <llso 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.
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
one f;)11 sick? What is i l lness? C<lust is not a tt ach ed to a n,!tuTal a ge n t
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<lck by a shaman from nn
ellemy t ribe. a (voluntary or inVOluntary) transgression of a n alimentary or
sexual taboo. etc. Indian etiol ogycl osel 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 <l m a n is
determ i n i n g whirh of thest powers is rt'sponsibte. But whatever the cause of
tht !Jain, whattver thl' perceptible- symptoms, the form of the i l l ness i s
� t
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'<llth is tllaintaintu 1Jy lh(' c otx i s te nce of the body
�nd the soul united i n tht' perso n ; iIl nt'ss is the loss of this unity by th e
the ilhH'ss, to restore good h eal t h , is 10 Teconstil UH'
soul ,s departure. To cu rt
6 )
I H f 6 H H ! O L O G Y O f V t O l { N { {
IHE SHAIIAN
.
would i n tegrate him while profiting from hiS �If s and In I h l s way would �
hloC"k t h l' probable development of h i s psychosLs: the slu l m an w oulel n o
longer b e his tribe's donor, but in sho rt. � .
�
madm n cared for by socle y. h � � :
absurdity o f such a discouTSr is d u e t o <l Single thing: those who utter II h.lYe
neve r seen a shnmnn.
The shaman, indced, is no di fferent from his patic-nl<; except that he pos�
sesses a knowledge put 10 tht' i r service. Obt<lining this knowledge do s ot � �
d epe nd o n the sh Cl m l n ·s personality but o n tiClrd work, o n a thorough In1l1a�
.
<
lion. [n other words, one is rarel y predisposed to b e omIng a �h i1man, so thM c .
u .
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 <IS a sLgn that
c � �
.
.
such is the pnth to folloW, and the shaman·s vocatIon s u n e r way. The � �
,
desire for prrstige might also determine this ··profrsslonai dlOtC"e: the repu
tation of a ··successful" sh<lman can r;"l<;i1y exte nd bty n 1 the boundaTles of � �
the tribe whert: he pr�ctiC"es his talent, Much more dtctst�C, �nwever,
sc{'m s
the w<lrlike component of shamanic activ ity, the shaman s Will for POW('T, iI
power that he wants to exen not over men l�ut over tIl{' enemics of men. Ihe
. .
i n n um('rable people of invisLble powers, SPIritS, souls. d mons. It IS s a. wnr � �
ri or that (hc shnman ron fronts them, ;lOd ns such, h{' Wishes to WlO .1 VICtory
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 �
. .
enjoys considcrablt status i n all South Amencan SOCH'U(,s,
.
of hIS 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 : these S<lntt powers a�e
though t to 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
t
or p erso n a l perversity. Th(' figure of the ('v i ! sorC"ern I S rart'" III SOlLth
.
6 )
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<lmc lime, someone r('spon
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('
.
6 ,
I H ,
is i bl e . the young
man is
'
that 0rrere (
t he V ' s'I on
I h i m of the inv
' h i m a sI
t crl' . i n I e that hencer0
is laman .
rth makt's
� ,1ate'd to the knowledg
wi nll
DRUGI
IH{RAP[UII(I. IIIPI. .
(with the excluslOn
detemlincs iIIn('ss
though t. we h ave seen. ' the rupture of
IndigenouS . the Europeans) as
'., restoralion
lfl Amen ca by
o r all I\ath " 'IO(] recovery .,s
ucf>d of thIS unity. It
,
introd
in !;ot:aTCI1. 0 f
ology
r '. he must l e av e . .
·
. '1
l
·ty
r. IS i\ Iravtlc
ho d Y Uil
. nal soul· .
t h e 5I xl l 1ary spm .
,h ' pr(So
o;" io;t('c\ hy his au
:am a n . as
" docto
eVI sPIf ts·
held capu.... e by
follo WS that . .
.
� h � must. a
keepers of
ration
world. combat the
explo
�
the soul o a n i nvisihll'
. Each cure. a Te
ge of initiatory
begi n a voya . pet it ion of the
tht: body of the palle-nt s that h e
. powers .. demand
an d I'I ghtness of
tht.' soul and re hio;
.
sham an to acqui
,
!)erm'nedl the
voyage that tion of th(' spim
tr nce: of exalta
at IS. the prepar
i n a state of almost never
plac e himself � ation for a trip.
so. a cure, t or drunk as a
heavy
the body. And . tobacco (smoked
ut
e" place withO
consumptLon of
l ak I
especi ally in the
, . ' 1 or of variOUS ively. F or
.
{ rug".' . cultiv ated
use- th rnl extenS
.
.
_
quan tll1CS
d'IV idua
JUIce in large
a principl e 0 r ·III
ere t h e Indian s
est w h •
certai n populatlOno;
'
.
tion that make
s it person illness ca I)e h�
of the " v mS (" g -
The e f re' a
� articularly seriO US
sick pe-rso n : the
.
the soul is
nosed as tht name'
the name.
s unsulta .
lHI!
0 ��.
f
.
r
k.
the
person does nOi
error III nanli n g
pMseso; a soul· n a m
e
relativ es
person a nd his
.
the p at i ent' s rtal .
the \ o st soul
name. faraw ay. as
search
(somctimt:S very
. . IS . m
. . , of t w I10 IS
Whilt his spml chants around the patien
cie-ties. tht' sham�
a n d
' ' \111 many s o
crS
th(' shaman dan n marks
ca). but also with
far as the Sun).
<:.eated or stretched
groun d
wHh a mUSIC.l i
QUI on � t e
.
his
nst rumr nt (mara
the rhyth m conv erse . s . Oel)cnding
of
he
of dall(" t' on the nature
. . .
elTect mctamo
SplOts WIth ' whIch t-
Ihe v o ices of the rphosis for the trca
,I s ak .
the diagnosis.
men! to be a
the
succes
sham
S: and
an may need o
so.. he trans �� ms himself into a
s � lOVe�ll'nt 10 blow
jaguar
on
.
the
n e
p:ltien
a
t
I .
�
uird . From time
time, he ,nterru fltS that afe
to
' ge hlm.Ito su
. of the body
kt'I. to massa
ck the parts
saliv are reputed
'
n s brcatll . ,
to con .
h'lma
co smo
'
tobac . a
i nto the slrk bod I
toften and
Ilere. th . ).
the
ailing him. Everyw
,
When
e- s
I I's reintegratl'd
the . shama n
- over' Very Ofll'n
stray sou
cured
gre,at streng th,
.
1ered a rorelgn sub
u• in treatm ent io;
the latter is conSI{
'
{he .
nt by exhihiting
� .
f tleI t eatme
. .
,f( u n g from
a
succeeded In extr.l
al the end hody:
proves h i s success the �icK ]l('Kon 's
stance that ht· has
6 \
, H , a R C H f O L 0 6 Y O f V I O l f H ( f
in its more ) o rJ
s al asp ec ts (rites of p assageJ .
I n COn fO nll a n C e with ( he grC "l ( re i ::
J)(" �. OCJ
l g SHy 0 t h ese peo
re l i gIO US sph erC' lak
e into ace o ' U n ! an d perv ade the
ple s, wr rhu s srI.' (he
. .
d('sllI1Y SO <IS 10 dep gr('at stages of md lvid
. ual
l eVents.
loy th"� m I. n SOC'IO-n tua
.
Birth
t 0 m u I tlp re ntl' S o
f pur ific atio n, alim ent
ary
6 6
I H { 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
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<linly why. in many South Americ.w societies, the rites of passage comw
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
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<lns commun iC<lte to young people,
what truth do tl1ty reveal to them. to what co nsc i o usness do they i n itiate
them? The ped<1gogy in herent i n initiatory rites dots nOt, of course, c on cem
the interpersonal relationship that u n i tes the m<lster and d is cipl e ; it is not an
individual adventure. What is at st a ke hert is society itsel f, on the one h<lnd.
and on tilt other young peopl<' insofilr as they want to belong fully to this
.
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<l l -
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<l1 u n ivcr-;e of ils
l aw. Tt-'iH : h i n g tilt law n n d t'onsequently prescr i b i n g fid el ity to t h i s l a w
assures the ('ontinuity and prrmanen('c of rhe being o f soci ety.
What b the origin of lnw as the basis of society. who pro m ul gnted it.
who It'gis[ated i t ? I n d i genous thought. we h<lve already noted. envisi o ns the
re l a t i o nsh i p hetween society ilnd its foundation [that is, b e [\vcl'n society and
i!sclfl as a rel atio nsh i p of txteri o rity Or, i n other words. i r it reproduces
.
i tsel f. it docs not n ecessn rily found itself. Initi<llory rites. in pnrticul ar. hnve
the fun cti o n of assu ri ng the auto-rt'production of society. Ihe repr ti li o n of its
�clr. in conformanC'(' with traditionnl rules and norms. But tht found i n g aCI
o f the institut i on of society refcrs back to the prc-soci;l!. to thr tl1tt.:t-sorial:
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
the wo rk of the 'lI1cestors. Myth, as namllivt' of thr foun di ng gesture of soci
l·ty by the am·estors. constitutes the foundation of soc i e ty. the col l ect i on of
6 a
I li f a R { H f 0 1 0 ' Y O f V l 0 L f N C f
��
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
�lOments of the ritual, the n n('C'Stors are, i mpl icitly and explicitly, n ecessaril y
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 01
.
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<l�sage: the true cults of mythi('al ancestors or 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
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
,
previously bcqueathed by Iht" an ('esta rs We can then see thaI the refere n ce
.
to the ancestors is logic<llly implicated in the initiatory ritrs: only the m)" hi
cal discourse i1 n d the word of the nncestors guarantee the perm,lI1 ence of
society and i ts eternal rt'lll'tition.
b 9
I I -If A R { I H O I O G Y O f V r O l f H C [
2. I H I ANDEAN WORLD
with the third millennium before our nit <lnd und en'lcn t ex('('ption<11 dcv('[op
ment as attcsted by the very adva nced specializalion of culturnl t rch n i q u es,
the vastness of th e irrigation system, and th e surprising v<1riety of plant
species obtained by selection a n d adapted to the difTerl'nt ecological levels
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<lSfes reign over a 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 <lti on of ( hav i n dating from the b eg i n n i n g of t h C' first m i l
.
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
w1th th('ocrac�. the las �
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.
.
fra gm e ms of
t h ro ugh tlw fun (' ra ry furnllure of tl1(' tombs, the monuments that have sub-
7 0
l H f ! R { H ( O L O G Y O f V I O t f N { f
"isted. t h e fabrics. lhe rcramics, elt". The Incan period, which eXlends from lht'
[ Jth 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,
a nd the in quests of the missionaries who systematically undertook to extir
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.
I n d eed. the lncil.s· po l iti <:a l imperialism was at o n rr cultural and religious
.;; i nce (he suhjected Iwoples not only had to recognize the emperor's :tuthori
ty, but had to acce p t the religion of th e victors. On th e other hi'lnd, the lnras
had h ard ly attempted to s ubst i tut r their ow n collection of bel i efs for those of
the pOI)ulations i nrt'grated inro rhe cm p ire: th('y did not undenake any rXlir
pati o n of the loral cults and rites. This is why wt.' filld twO grcat religious
systems in the Andes of this period: that of the Incas proper, w h ose diffusion
went hand i n hand with political e-xpansion, and t h at of th e loeill religions,
i n effect well beforr the appearance of the Incan state.
POPUlAR RHIGIDN
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 d R C !l f O t O G Y O f V r O l f H ( E
The lIulIca
This was the name given by the In dian s 10 all bei n gs or natural objects
t o u gh
h t to contain a supernalur.11 power. S a c red stonts rep resenting the
a ncestors werr /llIncn. as were the mu m m i fi ed dead. 13 m IlIIoca also were
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
I ll f & R C H f O t ll ' Y O f V I O L f N ( f
" 0
(I UI( r coca ,
< l('nv('s Thr sp a ce lhu" - i nt e rse cted with the supernatural. and the
a c o nst i tuted a
system Of th e il1loc .
The ensemble of lhe huaca included not only the �onneclJons. , .
I)ctwnn "
.
spatiaI la, 11dscapes
. but also objects. figunnes. and
and the sacred sphere,
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 <I llamn or ;In e<lr of corn, r'<lnlt' I 'la I
cOl/opa w e rt: ktpt in h om es to protect the Inl1alll /;tnt') from I l l nes s. or even
, " . ,
Earth's prosperity. This distinctly a g ra ria n religion transltlU·s th(' pf' asant's
profoun d devotion to his soil ovcr which Ihe divint' must W;I\('h.
I n o rig in and substance. !!lcan religion does not d i ffer p ro fou nd ly fro m
so - cal l ed p pu la r
o rel i gi on . Townrd the I Jlh (' c n l U ry of our era. the lnC<1S
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 � �
this rC'lO'ltiV{'ly hrief period. the Incas pushed back tht: hordt' �f t 1 I. t' lr t'mplrt'
':'
immeasurably (which co unt ed h{,lwten Iwelve and flflcen nulllon i n ha b i ta nts
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
which is still surprising in " mo dern ity " of its institutions
the .
1 1
l � f � R ( H t 0 1 0 G Y O F V I O t f N ( f
7 •
l � f � 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.
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 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<L1 place to Vi racocha,
thou gh the e1l1pt'ror remained a descendant of the S u n . This pr('(' m i n e n c e
<'Ic corelt'd t o Viracocha may be the cumul<1tive effect of s ('ve rOlI things: the
purdy the olo gical work of priests s eek in !4" a mo re fund<'lMlcntal reI i g iou s pres
cnce than that of th e visible. be it solar; th e pe rso n al belief of P a ca c h ut i him
sl'lf t ll <l t. in a d rram . Vi racoch;'l he-Iped to w i n ;'I n l'ssl'nli<11 military victory
over the Clwnca: a n d finally the logi c inherem perh<lps in <111 despo t ic sys
trtns thilt (h('ir tl\('o(,r<l t i t voc<1t i o n C<ln DC re<l l i 7.(;d in t h e affmnation a n d
institution o f monotheism.
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<lS dep ic tt:d in t h e
form of a solid gold statue the size of a ten-year-old c h i l d. Sanctuaries 01
V i racoch a wen: also built in each provi n ci al capi tal . equi p p ed wilh clergy
d evotcd to his cxclusivc service and rcsources i nten{lt-d to assure the maintr
nance of the tem ple <lnd the priests . The- cult of Viracocha - ancient Lord.
distant Lord, v('ry excelle nt Lord - never became a popular c ul t as did that of
the SUIl. Perh a ps the Incas did not care. since they wanted to instilUte a cul t
that was more ilbstract. more esote ri c. <lnd less rooted i n the sensu<ll worl d
than the po p ular cults. and then'hy mark t h ei r spcciflcity as dom in ;'l nt caste
even on thr religious level . This is why the cult of Viracocha, as OPI)Osed \0
the p opu l. : n cults. did lIO! sU lV i vc for an instant at the end of the em p ire.
16
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
dred hU{Jca. The IIIUl ea of ( he e m p ire were p ositioned on i m ag i n ary axes.
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 .
1 1
I Il [ A R C H t O l O G Y o r V I O l f N C E
earth. the I n ca h i mself. This is why all th e high·r<l n k i n g offl C'i<lls and local
chiefs of the country wen: called to Cuzeo for this occasion. The emperor,
surrounded by all his relatives and coun, waited i n the great square of his
capitol for the fi rst glow of the star to appear. Everyone then knelt and the
Inca offered the Sun a drink of clliclla in a silver vase. As with all g reat fes
tivals, the inti Raymi was acrompanied by libations, sacrifices. chants a n d
dances. D u r i n g the period of s u m m e r solstice (DccembN 2 1 st) , t h e Capac
Raymi took pl<lce, a solar festival as weil. but dev oted besides to the comple
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
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
of the ancesror<;, ctc. Al on g with the loincloth, t lley wert givt.'n back their
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
was tht.' proeess of general purific.nion of tht.' capitol. from which a l l ("viis
would be expellt'd. AI the appearance of t h e new moon, the crowd, gath
errd in Ihe �reat square, would shout: Disease, disast�r, mi�fonun{', Ir!lve
this country! Four groups of 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 <III night. At d a w n , everyone to ok a purify i n g bath i n t h l'
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<lr('d for t hl' o ccas i o n
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 l l till' Cuz ro inhabitants ale a piece.
, 8
l H f A R ( H f O l O G Y O t V I O L f N C I:
3 . l H E l U P I - G U!R!N I W O R l D
7 9
l il t � R C l! f 0 1 0 G Y O f V I O l f N ( 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 (<lct l h e T u p i o f th e coast who established the
first co n t act between Europeans ;"I n ri the I n di a n s a t lhe dawn of t h e 1 6t h
century. Tr<lvckrs <i n d m i s s i O I1 <lri rs of various Ilfltion(l l i tks hav(' Irft (lb u n
d(lnt l i ter<lture about these peoples, rich in observations o f n i l so rt s, partic
ularly in those fegard i n g beliefs and customs.
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<l t it co n fe rs upon the Tu p i- Ci u ara ni a n <lbsolutely unique place on the
h o riw n of Soulh America. The newcomers found themselves confrontrd with
religious phenomen<l of such v ast n ess and of such a n<lture that they were
ri go rously incomprehensible to the Europeans.
What w a s this? Besides t h e c o n s t a n t W(lrs t h J I pitted various tribes
JgJinst each other. t h is society was deeply wrought by a powerful move
ment. rcligious i n Qrigin and i n te nt i o n . The Europt'ans. o f course. could only
SCC' in t h is J pagan m a n i festation of the devil kd by the henchmen o f SMan.
rhis strange p h e no m e n o n was Tupi-Gu<Hi1ni prophecy. which has co nsta n tly
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<lnism is thus a r(' ac
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
the arrival of the whites. prrhaps IOwilrd the middle of th e 1 ')th ('"('nrury. I t is
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
l H f II R C H f O t O G Y O f V I O L f N ( f
IHE PROPHE15
8 I
I H � .6. X l H I U l O ti Y O f V I D t � H ( f
What did the komi SIlY? The n:lture of their dis('ourse was simil:lr to their
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,
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
dawn of 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 - <t discourse of repetition and not of d i ffer·
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
l H l A R C H f O t O ' Y O f V I O I E N ( E
L, t�el r I· n them
i n the evil that was destroyi n g soci ety, and the newness of
'
. r discourse was due exclusive-ly to the c h a n g e t h a t h a "u grauua
" IIy
d d'ISrIgure It.
th e i .
eTlle ged i n social l ife i n order to alter II an
� �
here d i d this change come from and how d i d it take p l a c ? We are
to to construct here a genealogy of difference I n thIS SOcIety.
. .
not a t te n 1ptin<J"
elucidate its principal effecl: the appcarance- 0 r t H ) ' prop h ets
but on Iy to
0 r )
all d t he ir d iscourse . .
that warned of the immanence '
('VI . 'I' )
le rad 'Ica) ness
ou� crisis, stirred these tribes, flnd il is this maln ist' thnt the karai be('ame
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 so
that the discourse of the Junai
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.
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
l � f � R ( W f O L O � Y O 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.
the destructive charge of all norms and all rules, a charge of total subversion
of the ancient order. Their call (0 abandon the rules did nOt leave aside a
single one; il explicitly encompassed thr ultimate foundation of human soci
e-ty. lhe rule of the exchange of women, the law prohibiting incest: hence
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
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
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<lY whose l<lst migration in se arch of t h e land without Evil took
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<l n i, their mystical
vOC'<ltion, on the other hand, continues to i n sp ire their kami. Thr latt('r,
hen ceforth unable to guide people to th e Land without Evil, havt not ceased
the interior journeys t h a t start them on a path of the senrell for though t. tht
task of ren ect i on on t h e i r own myths, the path of properly metaphysical
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
l H f 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
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
world. the Guarani Indians know that their kingdom will come, and the Land
without Evil will be t hei r true dwelling p lace.
B I B LIOGRAPHY
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<lllimard, 196'1
Perrin, M . . Le (hemin des illdklls 1I10rrs. P"yot, t97G.
Rcichel-Dolmatoff. G., Desalla, Gallimnrd, 1973 (French translation).
Sebago L., "Lt chamnnisme ayorco," I'llomme, vol. V. No. 1 and No. 2.
8 \
I H f t R C H f O L O G Y 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, " Handbook oj South
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 .
Zuidema, R.T" The Ceque Systl:'l11 i ll the Social Oryanization oj CUZCQ, Leide, 1962.
Gr:u. 1 9 6 3 .
Cadogan. l . , AYI'II Ropyto, Texfos miricos de los Atbyn-Guarani dd Guoirn. S�O
Pau lo 1959.
.
NiIlHlCIHt<ljU. 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.
8 6
6
POWER IN PRIMIl IVE SOCIHlfS
8 7
I H f J H H f O L O G Y O f Y I O L f N [ [
8 8
I W f .A R ( W ! O I O G Y O f V I O L f N ( f
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<llity. that t h (" savage chief docs not h ol d the
<l nd does not necessa ri ly me<ln that he is useless: on the con·
p ower to c o m m
trary. he is vested by society w ith a certain number of tasks, and in this
cap<lcity, can be seen as a son of unpaid civil servant of soc i ety. What does a
chief without POWN do? He is responsible. essentially, for assuming society 's
will t o a ppta r as a single total ity, that is, for the commun ity's concened,
ddi beratl' elTon to affmn its spec ifici ty. its autonomy. its independence i n
re l atio n t o other commun ities. I n othe r words, the primi li ve leader i s primar·
ilv t h e man who speaks in tile name of society when circumstances and
l:�CI1lS put i t in contact with others. These others, for primitive societies, are
always divided into two cl asses: friends and enemies. With friends. a l l iances
arc formt:d or reinforced: with enemies, war is 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<lder arc exhib
itrd in the field of international relations and as a result. de m a nd q ual i t i es
rel;'lting to Ihis type of a(·tivity: skill. diplom;'ltie talent in order to ("onsoli.
d ate the n(,tworks of allia nce which will insure the commun ity's seemity;
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<lkes a dedsion on his own authority (if we 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<llly. it cannOt be any other way : were
a leader. i n fact. to (!('cide on his own whether to carry out a policy o f
with his neighbors. he would have no way of i m posi n g
tl l J i a n ce or hostility
his gO<lls o n society. since, as we know. h e is deprived of a l l p o w er. li e h as
o n ly one ri gh t. or rath('r, one duty as spokesperson: to tell Others of the
SOciety'S w i l l and desire.
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<ll relations with Ihe
grou p itself? 11 goes without saying that i f the community recogni7cs him
as leader (as spokespr r<;on) when i t <lffl rms its unity in relation to othC'T uni·
tl(·... society endows h i m wi:h a cenain amount of con fI d ence guar<lnteed by
the qU<llities that he displays precisely in the service of h is sociely. This is
What we call prl'sti g'l', v ery g en era l ly c on fused. wro n gly. of course. w i t h
8 ,
l H f 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<ls i gcncral conception of primitive societies as
-
, 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
f 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<lte org;'l n of power, b('c<luse power is not sepa
rated from society; socicty, as a singl(' tot;'!lity. tlOlrls power in order to main
tain its undivided being, to wrtrd off the appe<lrance in its breast of the
inel'Juality between masters <lnd subjects. between chief and t ri be. To hold
f power is to exercise it; to ('xtrcise it is !O domin;'!!!' thos(' ovrr whom it is
being exercised: this is precisely what primitive societies do nor want (did
not w a n t ) : thiS is why \he chiefs h('rC' are pow('rl('ss, why power is not
detached from the single body of society. The refusal of inequality and the
r('fusal of separate power are the same. constant concern of primitive soci
eti('s. They know very well that to renounce this struggl('. to c('ase damming
f thtse subterranean forces called desire for power and desire for submission
(without liutration from which the truplion of dominntion nnd servitude ('an
not be undl'rslood) they would lose their freedom.
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.
9 2
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
l h i n k of it in terms of the century, to reduce the haughty - 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
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 <lfflrmation of freedom th<lt is its b<lsis. L.ocal and ephemeral
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
Firstpublished as �la Bocti e t't 13 qllCSlioli du politi que ..· in La Boetie: Le DiSCOlirs
de 10 srrI'iwde l'o/lIl1wir(' (Paris:
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
9 J
l H ! A R C H f O l O G Y O f V I O l f N C f
9 ,
l H f A � ( H t O L O G Y O f V I O l f N C f
mat, since "animals... cannOI ad<lpt to serving. except with protest of a con
trary desire.. ..'· This b('ing, which is difficult to name, is denatured. Losing free
clam. man loses his human ity. To be human is to he free; man is a being-for
freedom. What misfortune, indeed, was able to bring man to renounce his
bring and make him desire the perpetuation of this renouncement?
The enigmatic misfortune from which History originates has denatured
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
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
wilhout freedom in which one commands and others obey. One will note
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
socifty is that all divided societies are slave societies. That is to say, La
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.
La Boetie is scarcely concerned with studies in character. What does it really
matter whetht'r the princc is kind or cruel: whatever the case, is it not thc
prince whom the people serve? La Boctie does his research n o t as a psychol
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
machines. There is no progressive slide from freedom to servitude: no inter
mediary, no conflguriltion of a social reality C{l uidistant fro m fft't'dom and
from s e rv i t ude , only the brutal misfortune which drowns the before of free
dom i n the after of submission. What does this me:!n? It means that all rela
t ion ships 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
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
, ,
I H f A R C H E O L O G Y O f V I O L E N ( E
there are rclarions betwccn e(I U011s. These socielies are "egaliwrian," because
they are unaware of i nC(IUali ry : no onc is "wonh" more or less than an othe r,
no one is sU lwriof or inferior. In other words, no on e can do more th<ln anyone
dsc; no one is the holdt'r of power. The inequality unknown to primitiv{' soci
eties splits people into holders of power and those subjen 1O pow('r, dividing
the sodal body into Iht.: dominaTing and tht' rlominated. This is why the chief
Tainship c;)nnot be ;10 indiratton of the rlivision of tIlt' tribe: the chief docs not
command, for he cannot do any mo re than each member of the community.
The SeMe, as a n instituted division of society into high and low. is the
actual impl ementation of power relations, To hold power i s to exercise it:
p o w r r that b not exercised is nOt power. it is only app e il ra n cC' . And per
haps, ffom thie; point of view, c('rtain kingships, African and other, ] would
be classified as that of <lPI)('ilranc{', mort" misleading than OIlC might imilg
i n c . W ha teve r tlw ("ase, power rcliltions prodUCt' the ca pil c i ty for div i s i o n in
society. [n this regard t h ty are the very essrnce of the s ta t e i n sti t ut i on , t h e
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," vol. XI\', 19"13, No. 2.
9 6
I H f 6 R C H E O L O ' Y O f V I O L f H ( f
9 7
l H f � H H f O l O G Y O f V I O L f N ( f
unnameable. Htnce, the necessity for a new idea of man, for a new <lnthro_
pology. La Boetie is in f<lct the unsung founder of the anthropology of the
modern m a n, of the man of divided societies. He anticipates N i etzsche's
undertaking - even more than Marx's - more than three centuries away to
po n de r decline and alienation. The denatured man exists i n decl ine because
he has lost freedom. He exists i n alienation becfluse he must obey. But is this
th e case? Must not a n i mals themselves obey? The impossibil ity of dete rmi n
9 8
l H E A R ( H f O l O G Y O f V I O L f tl ( f
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<ll machines on an individual level, the result of collective action and deci
sio n. There is. moreover, no need to invoke prior knowledge of the State by
;J ri rn itive societies in order to become aware of this refusal of power relations:
tlH':y would Ililve experienced the division, lJet'Neen the dominating and t he
dominated, would have ft:lt the omi nousness and unacceptability of such a
division and would have then returnrd to the situation prior to the division, to
tIle ti m e before the misfortune, A similar hypothesis refers to the afftrmation
of thl' eternity of the State anc! of society's division according to <l relation of
comnwncl-obedience. n1is conception, scarcely innocent in that it tends to jus
tify society's division by trying to locate in division a structure of society as
such, is ultimately invalidmed by the teachings of history and t'thnology.
Indet'd, there is no txample of a society with a State th<lt once ag<lin bec<lme a
society without a Stale. a primitive society. It seems. on the contrary, that there
is il point of no return as soon as it is crossed, and such a passage can only
lake place one way: from the non-State toward the State, never i n the other
direction. Space and time, a particular cultural area or a panicular period i n
our history propose the permanent spectacle of decadence and degradation in
which thl" great state apparatuses engage: the State may well collapse, splinter
into feudal lordships here, divide into local chieftainships elsewhere, power
relations are never abolished, the essential division of power is never reab
sorbed, the return to the pre-State moment is never accomplished. Irresistible.
overthrown but n ot annihilated, the power of the State always ends up
reasserting itself, whether it be in the West after the fall of the Roman Empire,
or in the South American Andes, millennial site of appearances and disappear
ances of States whose fmal expression was the empire of the Incas.
Why is the death of the State always incomplete. why does it not lead to
the reinstitution of the undivided being of society? Why, though reduced and
weakened, do power relations neverthel ess continue to be exercised? Could it
be that the new man. engendered i n the division of society and reproduced
with it, is a definitive, immortal man, irrevocably u n fn for any return to [Jre
division? Desire for submission. refusal of obedience: sociery with a State,
society without a Stale. Primitive societies refuse power relations by prevent
ing the desire Jar submission from comillg infO bei'lg. I n deed. (follOWing La
Goel ie] we cannot remind ourselves too often of what should only be a tru
ism : the desire for power cannOI come into being unless it manages to evoke
ils necessary complement. the desire for submission. There is no realizable
desi re 10 command without the correlative desire to obey. We say that primi
tive societies. as societies without division, deny all possibility of the realiza-
9 9
l H f A R C H f O t O G Y O F V I O L E N ( (
I 0 0
l H E A R C H E O l O G Y O f V I O t f N [ f
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<ll discoverltd Brazil. the Captain of
Gonneville lOuched lht:' Brazilian coast. After countless advent ures, he man
ilgt:d to get b;1Ck to Honfleur in May 1 505, in the company of a young Indian,
Essomrrica, son of a chief of the Tupinnmba tribe. The chronicles or the peri
od have only retained a few names. such as that of Gonneville, among the
hundreds of hardy sailors who crossed the oceiln.) But there is no doubt that
thl" quantity of information we havt' concerning these voyages gives only a
weak idea of tilt' regularity and intensity of the relations between lhe French
and the Savages. Nothing surprising i n this: these voyages were sponsored by
private shipowners who. because of the competition. were ct'rtainly concerned
about keeping their dealings as secret as possible. And tht' relative rarity of
written documents was probably largely made up for by inrormation supplied
fll'�th,1Ild by sailors returning from America. in all the ports of Brittany and
Nonnandy, as far <IS I.a Rochelle and Bordeaux. Esscntially this n1CilnS thilt
since the second deC<lde of the 1 6th century, a gentleman of F ri'lnce was in a
position. ir he wanlrci, to keep himself informed about the evelHS and pt:'ople
of the New World. This flow of information, based on the illlCllsiflcation of
comn1t:'rcial exchange, would continue to grow and become more detail cd at
the same tinw. In \ 544. the navigator Jean Alfonse, d('snibing the popula
tions of the Brazilian COilst, was able to establish a properly f'thnographic dis
tinction between three l<lrge tribes, subgroups of the very large Tupi elhn icily.
Eleven years later. Andre Thevet and Jean de Levy approached these same
'J 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
1 0 1
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
.
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 ,
8
PRIMIl IVf fCONOMY
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
equal i nteres t . however. fa r from it. From time to time. a lJOok will si<lIld
out o n (he grayish horizon of these works: the oc('asion is too riJre to Ie-I i t
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
lished in French.1
An American professor of great reputation. S a h l i n s is an expert o n
Melanesian societies. But his scientiflc project Ciln h a rd l y be red u c ed to thr
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
u �dertakes the systematic {'xploration o f the soc i al dimension long scrut i
nIzed by et hn ologists ; he 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
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 of knowledge, i t is also filII o f hU!llor. 1 ilia Jolas. who lranslated H i ll to
French. 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('<;
tiS iI
of
observed for several centuries by tnlVe][('r<;. l:Xplort.'fS. missi(l!l;)irt's and eth no l ogists.
I 0 \
O F V I O t f N ( £
l H f � IIC H f O L O !; Y
1
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
we sha l l t ry to de mon strale. In other words, certain representatives of what
WI:. ca l l economic anthropology h<lve not always known, to put it mildly.
how to separatE' the dUly of object ivity. which at Ihr very least ('quires a
respect fo r the facts, from the concern of preserving their philosophical or
po l i t i cal convictions. And once the <In<llysis is subordinated, whether deliher
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<luering facts whose n ove l ty
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<llem (' n t cioes not m e a n to be a truism: namely. that the essential. i f
it
, n ,
I � f A H U f O L O ' Y
1 O f V I O l f N f f
s a1l (
t
at on('e 10 the searc h for
• i Ih .oSl' q ua n
ti'r!cd givens ' reCCn
tIy gat le
notes tha
fIrm old er es tim o I re d, ("on -
. . t nie s of h-cen t Uly t ra vel ers
Th us III sp i e of ser
Il)l
,
on all po int s.
iou s and we ll-k n Ow .
ain fou nd i n g
f<l the rs of eco nom ic
am hro pol og h ave � n I n fOr ma tIOn , ("en
, ou� of wh o l e clo
. th, inv ent ed the
to a (IU aSI -am ma J con
myth of a savage ma
n conde �l nC(
the n ,a w ra e nvl. ro n
ina bil ity to exp loi t diti on
me lll effi Cie ntly Thi
through his
. s is wid e of the
1 Cf. Cllap!('r
I o f Sah lins ' boo k f;or
V iew . of � l!Ihors wh o
express Ihis poi nt of nU Il1('rou� (!l!otations
I 0 7
M " , . . • • • • • • . , . , . " .. .
. J'I t ra vcSty.
J Jl·shin g factual truths ag<"lin st the th .
reest a l
Indeed. it follows from his analy sis
that not only is �e pnml l1 e economy �
not an econo my of povrny. but that
.
p rim itive society IS the ong nal affl uent �
h troub les the dog.mallc to p r o f ��
socie ty. A provocative state ment . whic
u
pse do schol ars of anth ropol ogy, b
�
u t a n ac urat o n e : I f t h e pnn: !llve
.
�
s of lo� Intensny, assures t he saus ac �
mach ine of produ ction. i n short period
It functtons
.
lion of peopl e's material nccds, it is,
as
.
Sahll n.s writes, . b:cause
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 ic k ly , 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
th ey have collected suffic ient al i menta
u
ry re50 rc:s stop huntl Og and collect ,
�
all I i ngs. And yet what effo�t .I�
m(ln IS not an en � re�H� n e� r, n IS
rary cllpi Hll is{ the idelll and me;'lsure of
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!
J a 8
l H f H C H [ O l O G Y O f V 1 0 L f h' C f
c
produ tion and o f consumptio n - the "homes" or the " households " in _
t
dence on neighboring ri bes. It is. i n short, primitive society ' S autarkic
idtal: they produce just e nough [0 satisfy a!1 ne(·ds. but th ey ma na ge t o
u .
p rod ce ;'111 of it themselves If the D M P is a system fundame ntal ly hostile
u
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
ideal of economic a ta rky is, i n fan, a n ideal of political independen ce,
u
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
.
J 0 9
I H f A , H H f O L O G Y O f V I O L f H ( f
1 1 0
I H f A R { H f O I O G Y O f V I O L I H ( f
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<ll retum of t h e S<lmc. And this, in general. is
indeed what happens: ch a n ges thnt distort th e lin('s of str('ngth in SOCiety,
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<lkness: "The obligation of generosity inscribed in the Structure does
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
read th(' grratt'r concern for their freed om.
Through analysis of the DMP. Sahlins offers us a general the ory of primi
tiv(' economy. From production adapted exactly to the i m mediate nf-cds of
[he family. he extracts. with great clarity. the law that underlies the system:
.....the OMP conceals an <lnti-surplus principle: adapted to the production or
... ubsistence goods, it tends to i mmo b i l ize when it reaches this po i n t. " The
C'thnographkally founded cI<lim that. o n the one hancl, primitive economies
a re underproductive (only a segment of society works for short pC'riods of
lime at Jow intenSity), that o n thC' other, they always satisfy the nreds of
society ( n eeds defIned by the sociery itself and nOt by a n exterior example),
such a riaim then imposes. in its paradoxic<ll truth, t he idea that primitive
society is, indeed. <l sod ety of abundan("e ( cC'rta inly the fIrst, perhaps also the
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.
That is to say that the economic, as a s('('tor unfolding autonomou�ly man
ner in the social artn:1, is abst'nt from the DMP; the laller funC'tions as con
sumer production (to assure lhe satisfaction of n('tds) and not as production
of exchange (10 <l("quire profit by coml1l('rci!ll i7ing surplus goods). What is
clear, fInally (what Sahli ns' grl' at work asserts), is lh(' dis("overy th:11 primi
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
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('<lPC the social and turn
against sodety by opening a g:1 p between rich and poor. <llienating some. A
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<ls
been doing for s(!'v('Tal years among the last great Arnazoniau ethnic group. the
Yanomami Inditllls. Me<lsu ring the tilllt $Iash-and-bunl farmers spend working, Lizol
has come to the same conclusions as S::lhlins in his analysis of the DMP. cr. in par
ticlliar Jacques Lizot, "Economie all socict�? Quelques \hernes a propos de l'ctude
(i'une commullaule (i·Amtrindiens." Jormwl de 1(1 SoC'irrr dc� A merjr(lll istt's, IX,
1973. P l'. 1 )-' - 1 75.
1 1 I
l H £ A H H £ O L O G Y O F Y I O L f N ( [
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?
1 1 1
I H f A H H f O t O ' Y O f V I O l f N ( [
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<lvages". to f<lshion larg{'r fields of rdation and higher
levels of cooper<ltion." The big-man thus offers. according 10 Sahlins. the
illustration of a son of minimum d{'grt'e in till' continuous curve of political
power which would grildually Ie-Old to Poly nesia n royalty, for example: " [ n
py ramid societit's. the intq;mtion of small communities is perfected, w hil e in
Melanesian hig-man systems, it has hardly bl'gun. and is virtually unimagin
able in the cont('xt of hunting peoples." The big-man would thus be a mini
mOll figure of the PolynesiOln king. while the king would lH' the maximal
extension of the big-man's pow('r. A gel1cal()!;w of powl'r, from i ts mOSI dif
fuse forms to its m ost concent rated realizations: could Ihis be I h l' foundation
of the socinl division between maSI('rs .a nd subj{'cts and the most di<;r;mt ori
gin of the st<lte machine?
Let us cons i(k r this mor(, closely. As Sahlins says, the big-man nccedes
to power by the sweilt of his brow. Unable to exploit the othrrs in order to
produce su rp l us , he exploits himself, his wivt's. and his clienls-relatives: self
exploitation of the big-man and non-exploil<1tion of society by the big-man
who obviously does not have at his disposal the power to force tile others to
w o r k for h i m , since it is p rec is {' ly this pown he is trying 1 0 conq utr. I t could
n o t be a qUl'stioll. then, in such socil'ties. of the soci:!! body's division along
the vertical axis of political power: there is no division between il dominant
m i nority (the chief and his clients) which would command <1nd a domi nated
majority (1Iw rest of thE' t omm u n i t y) which would obey. II is rat h e r the oppo-
'
1 1 1
L H t l K l H t U I U b Y U I Y I U l � N ( t
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. <lncl so('i("ly on the
other, subject this same chief to intensive exploitation? But what. then. is the
nature of this strange power whose potency we seek in v<lin? What is i t
about this power. finally. what cause primitive society to shun it? Can one.
quite simply. still speak of powtr? This is i ncleed the whole prohkm: why
does S<lhlins CClIl power that which obviously is not?
We dctect here the r;'lther widespretld confusion in ethnologi<.:al literilture
hetween prestige and power. What mClkes the big-man run? What is h e
sweating for? Not. o f course. for a power t o whit'h the p('ople o f tht: tribe
would refuse to submit were he even 10 dream of ('xercising it. but for pres
tige. for the positive image that the mirror of society would reflcct back onto
him cclebrating a prodigious and hard-working chief. It is this inabil iry to
think of prestige without power that burdens so milny antllyses of political
anthropology and that is particularly misleading in the CClse of primitive
societies. Dy confusing prestige and power, we fIrst underestimate the politi
cal ('ss ence of power and tht> 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 l<ldder of political pOWCT and th<lt we were
quite mistaken to see him as Cl real locus of power. l I ow, then, do we place
the big-man and other figures of chieft<1inship on a continuum? l iere, a nrc
essClry con'>eQuenc{' of the i n i l iO'lI confusion berwren prestige a n d power
1 1 4
l H f 6 R C H f O L 0 6 Y O f V I O L f N ( f
1 1 5
l H E � R ( H f O t O b Y O f ¥ I O L f N C E
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 <If{', as we well know, those whom ki n gs. high priests o r
d{'sp o ts name the common p eo p l e. whose debt ta kes on the name of tri bute
that th{'y owe to the rulers. Hence it foll ow s that. in effect. pow e r does not
come without debt and that i n v{, fse ly. lhe prese n ce of debt s i g:n if1t :s that of
power. Those who hold power in any soc iety prove it by forcing their sub
je ct s to pay tribute. To hold power. to i mpose triilute. is on{' and the same,
and the desp ot's fIrst act is to p roc l a i m th e o b liga ti o n of payment. The sign
and t ruth of power, debt traverses the politiral a re n a t h roug h ,mel t h rough ; it
is i nh e rent in 1/1(' soc ia l as such.
This is to say t h a t, as a po l iti ca l category, debt o ffers the s u rest criterion
on which to evalu<lte the being of societies. The nature of soc i ety ch a ngE'S
with the direction of the clC'ht. If debt goes from the chie fta i n s h i p toward
sori{'ty. society remains undivided. power remains located in Ihe h o mo ge
neous soci<11 b o dy. If. on th e contrary, debt goes from society toward the
C h i eft a in s h ip , power hCls !Jeen separ;:!ted from soci('ty and i s concentrated in
the hands of the chief, the resulting heterogeneous society is d i v i ded into the
dominating and the dominated. What docs the rupture between undivided
so ci et ies and divided societies consist of? [t is produced when the di re ctio n
of the debt is reversed, wilen the institution turns power relations to its profIt
against society. thus Cre<lling a base and a summit toward which t h e eternal
rerognition of debl climbs ceaselessly in the name of tributc. The rupture i n
the direction o f debt's move me nt separates societies i n su{'h a way that c o n ·
tinuity is unthinkable: no progressive development. no intermediarv social
fIgure between the u n d ivi d ed 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<llysis. But Wt
do see that its rigor brings it i n fi n i te ly closer to such a concepru<11 e l ab o ra
tion. It m<lkcs no mistake about the opposition between society's desire for
equality and the chiefs desire for power, an opposition which can go as fa r
as the m urde r of the leadn. This was the cast' a m o n g t h e people of tlie
I I 6
l W f A R ( H f O t O � Y O F ¥ I O L f N C E
I I 7
l H f A R ( H f O I O G Y 0 1" V I O l f H ( f
I I 8
9
THE RHURN TO ENLIGHTENMENT
1 will explain myself: but this will b(' (0 take the Illost use
less, mOSt supect1uolls precaution: for everything that I will
('II you could only be understood by (hose who do not
need to be told.
Jean-Jacques Rousseau
I I 9
1 11 £ A H Il E O L O G Y o r V I O L f N ( £
w i l l attempt to lcro i n on little by littl(' the " th e o re t i c;] I " locus from which
Birnbaum has produced his lex!.
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<t t i o n . My presentation of e th n o grap h ic
facts co n cer n i n g tile I n dian c h i l' fta i n sh i l) is not at <t i l ne-w: it has be-en
aroun d. to the point of m on oto n y. in tile written documents of all the travel
ers. missionaries, ch ron i(' le rs , et h n ographers who since til(' begi n n i n g of the
16th ('('ntury h,lVe succeeded each other in thc N�w World. It is nOt [ who.
from this point of view, discovered America. I will :ldd th<"lt my work is Ill u ('h
mOft" ambitious tha n l3irnhaum would believe: it is nOt only American primi
tive socicties o n which I attempt to reflect. hut o n primitive society in gener
a l . which e n co m p asses all particular primitive societies. Having brought
these various clarifications t o the fore. let us turn now to serious matters.
With rare l'iairvoyan('(', H i r nba u m inaugu r:ltes his text with a n rrror that
augurs badly for the H'st : "We hav� always." he wrJtes. hqu{'stioned the ori
gins of political d o m i n <t t i o n ..... I t i s exactly the oppositc: we havc n('ver
i n terrogated the question of origin, for, beginning with Greek antiqu ity,
western though I has always assumC'd the social division of th e dominating
and dominated as i n lw re n! to socit"ty as such, U nders tood as an o nto lo g i cal
strUC'fure of society. as the natural stale of the social being. the division into
Mastt'rs and Subjects h<ts consta nt ly be en tho ugh ! o f <"IS th e essence of ;) 1 1
rtal or possible sol'ieties, There co ul d n o t be, th�n. i n this social vision. ally
origin of political domination since i t is i nsepa ra ll i e from human society.
since it is an immediate given of society. Hence the great stupe-faction of the
fIrst observ�rs of primitive societit's: societies without division. chiefs with
out power. people without f;lidI, w i thout l<tw. without king. What di s cou rs e
could the EllrOpt'ans use to d es cri b e the Savages? Ei1 her question th('ir own
1 1 0
l � f ..I R C I1 f 0 1 0 G Y O f V I O L f N ( f
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<tt a non-divided grouping, where chiefs do not command and
,.... hcrt: no one obeys, could not be a society: the Savages are really savages.
.
3nd o n e must civilize them, "pol icc" L1tcm, a theoretical and practIcal jl,Hh
.
which the Westerners of the 1 6th century unanimously took. WIth t h e excep-
tion , however, of Montaigne and of La BOelie. the former perhaps under tile
influence of the latter. They, and they alone, thought against the curren t.
'\' l1icl1, of co u rse, h as esca ped Birnbaum. l it is certainly neIther the fIrst nor
(he last to pedal i n the wrong direction; but since La Roetie does n o t Ileed
m� to def�nd him, I would like to return to Birnbaum's p roposa ls.
What is he getting at? Ilis goal (if not his approach) is p�rfectly (lear.
To him. it is a matter of establishi n g that "the society against the State pre
s('nts itself I . . . ] CIS a sorifty of to t a l r o n str:lint." In oth ('r words. if p r i m i t ivr
society is u n aWilre of social division, it is at the price of <t much m � re
frightful alienation, th<tt which subjects the community t � an oppres� l� e
system of norms that no one can change. "Sorial control" IS ab s o l ute : II IS
. , .
no longer society against tht' State, it is the society ag<tinst the mdlvtd ua l .
I n genuously, Birnbaum explains to us why hr kllo� s so m u c h about pflllll . .
.
most brutal practice. T here is nothing to be proud o f here.
Contemplating the relationship between society a n d cl� l e ft a J. n s h l � ,
.
I , I
I H f A R ( H f O L O G Y O f V I O L f N C f
Cf.. for example. -La question du pouvoir dans Jes societes primitives,"
llltt'rrogariolls, International Journal of Anarchist R ese''lTeh . 7, 1976 [C hap ler Six in
1
this presenl bookI. Cf. also my preface to M. Sah lins' book. Gal1imard. 1976 !Chapter
Five ill ttlis prescllI book).
1 1 1
l H f & H I H O I O li Y O f V 1 0 l f N C f
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<lu'11!LapieTTe. a late apostle of the Agt of Enlightenment, now
sec more cl tarly what is legitimate i n the Savage ehiers speech? This is
doubtful so I will clarify it for hi m . The chiefs discourse is one of t raditio n
(and. i n this capacity. he does not, of course, have the monopoly) - let us
respect the norms taught by the Ancestors! Let us not change anything in
the Law! It is a d is co u rse of the Law that forever establishes society as an
undivided body, the law that exorcises the specter of division, the Law guar
antees the freedom of men against domination. As the spokesperson of
ancestral Law, the chief cannOt say more; he cannot. without running serious
risks, position himself as legislator of his own sociery, substit ute the Law of
the community with the Jaw of his d esi re. In an undivided society. what
could change and i n n ovation lead to? To nothing else but social division. to
the domination of a few over the rest of sociecy. Birnbaum can ccna i nly,
after this, hold forth on the oppressive nature of p ri mitive society; or even
on my orga n icist conception of society. Could it be that he docs n o t under
stand what h e reads? The metaphor of the beehive (metaphor, a n d not
model) is not mine, but t he Guayaki I ndians': these irrational ists. when they
celebrate the festival of honey, compare themselves, indeed, against al l logic,
to a beehive! This would nOt happen to B i r nbaum ; he is not a poet. but a
scholar of cool Reason. May he keep it.2
I 1 1
l H f A � ( H f O l O G Y O F V l 0 I f N ( [
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<l nd social division, we
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
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
demographers have shartd a false cenai nty for a very lo n g time: namely,
thai the population of primitive societies was n e c{'ssarily weak, stable, inen.
Recent restarch shows t he opp osi te : the primitive dem ograp hy cvolv('s, and
most oftc-n, in the direction of growth. I have, for my part, attempted to
show that in certain conditions, t h e demographic eventually has a n effect on
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
changr in primitive society. From this to a deduction of the Stat(' . .
like everyone, Birnbaum passively welcomed what ethnology taught:
primitive socicties arc societies without a Sta te - without a separate organ
of power. Very good. Taking primitive societies s eriously, on t h e o n e hand,
and ethn olog i cal discourse on these societies, on the other, I wo n der why
they are without a State, why power is not separated fro m the social body.
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
l H f ! R C H f 0 1 0 G Y O f Y I O l f N ( f
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!
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<lbly, ethno logy) nre currently, as we know.
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 ,
But Marx. it seems to me, does not have a lot to do with this cuisine, As for
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.
Cf. UII homme en trap. R�f1e.riolls sur l'Archipel rill Goulog. Edilions du Seuil,
1976,
]
I 1 6
10
M�RXISTS �ND
THE IR �NTHROPOLOGY
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
,
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
was not able to oversee the tr ansc rip t i o n and revision. Helice, there were some prob
lems in 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
1 1 a
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
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-
1l1 ined fu nction. inherent in primitive society as such. that is, an undivi(kd
,ociety mad(' up of equals: kinship. society. equ.:ll ity. even comb.:l!' I}ut this is
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)
limit itself to reflecting upon its neighbors so that the mythologist might
reOect upon them togetlwr? Surely not. Here again, structuralist thought
abolishes. in a pal1icularly clear manner, the rappon with tile social: it is the
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
components (analysis of kinship. ilnalysis of myths), an observation emerges,
1 1 9
l H f � R C H f O L O G Y O f V I O L f N ( !
the observation of an absence: this elegant discourse, often very rich, does
nOI speak about the society. It is <l structu r<ll isl11 like a godless theology: it is
a so c iol ogy without society.
Combined with the increase in strength of the human sciences, a strong
- a n d legitimate - demand has thus emerged among researchers and stu
dents: we want to talk about the society, tell us about the society! This is
when the scene cha n ges The graceful mi nu et of the structuralists, politely
.
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
not scientific), the public applauds. It is, i n effecl, because Marxism, as a
social and historical theory, is en t itl ed by nature to extend its discourse to
the field of primitive society. Berter: the logic of M arxist doctrine forces it
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
argue. Indeed: each of tbem spends his t ime calling the other a pseudo
Marxist impostor, each claims the correct interpretation of t h e Dogma as
his own. It is not up to tn!;', n at urally, to hand out diplomas for Marxist
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
thei r sectarian quarrels stir the s ame parish, a n d that the Marxism of one is
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
1 J 0
l H f � 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 '
C. Me-illassollx, "Sur deux critiques de Femllles, Gr(' lIiers ('I Capilol/x Ol!
Pahrenheit 450.5.� I 'Homme, XVII 1 2 3 - 1 2S.
2
( I ). pp.
) M. Goddirr. HoriZOIl. {rajas IllIIuis{es ell all/ilrop% gie, 2nd edition, Paris,
Maspero, 1977.
1 J 1
r !l f A � ( U ! O L 0 6 Y o r 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
�
.
�)el .leves that rveryone i s like him. [t is not i n primitive soci('ty that religion
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
� <lrxlSt .ld � Ology. � hat does it mean to speak of ideology i n regard to primi
\!ve socJetll's, that IS. undivided soC'iC'"tics, classless societies, since by n<lture
they f'xtlude the possibility of such a discourse? It means, first of all, that
Godelier does what he wants with M<lTX, second ly. that he does not know
anything about what a primitivt'" society is. Nc-ither M<lrxist. nor ethnologist!
A mnst{'T stroke!
Quite logical ly, his "ideological" conception of primitive religion would
lead h I m to determine myth as the opi<lte of the Savages. let us nOt prod h i m
. .
along, .he IS dOing what h e can, h e will say i l another lim{'. HIli, i f h i s logic is
null, hiS vocabulary is poor. '1 his vigorous mountaineer in rffect goes Irudg-
I 1 ,
I U t 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<lt
Godelier the Marxist wants to {('II us. l i e wants to i ntroduce, to drop-kirk,
Marxist caregorit's i m o primitive socitty (wheT(' they have no business) -
relations 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
lions of production. Cekom,iI.
A few brier remarks on lhis, First. on the C<ltt'gory of production, More
competent and attentive to the facls than Godelier (this is not hard), special
ists in primitive economy such as 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<ltions b(,cause
(here is no production. for this is the last conC{'Tn or primitive society (cL my
preface t o Ma.rshall Sahlins' 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<ll Meillassoux: they are thr Marx Brothers)
I I I
' " t 4 K l l1 t U l U � Y U i Y I O L f N C f
1 l 4
I H f � R ( H f O I O G Y O f V I O l f H C f
1 l 5
I H f A R C H E O L O G Y O f V I O L E 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.
as tht, d iscourse that enunciatcs the laws of h isto ricll l moVt'ment. the la ws of
societal transformations that <He e a c h en gl' nd c r ed by t he 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 of all
typrs of sorictit's. wheth('r p oss i ble or rral, for th e u n iversality of the laws
that it discovers cannot suffer a single excC'ption. Otherwise. the doctrine as
OJw 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' for thc Mflrxists to for
mu lat e th(' M a rxist conerption of p ri m i ti ve sorL('ry. to constit ute a M <Hx ist
anthropology. In dl'fault of which there would be no M<lrxist lheory of histo
ry, out only the nn alysis of a pnnicul,lT society (tbe capil<llism of the 19th
century) clabor:ltrd by someone naml'd Marx.
But lwre the M<lTxists get trapped in the i r Mflrxism. Indeed t hey do nOt
have a cllOin' : they must subject primitive social facts to the sa m e rules of
functi o n andof t ransform at io n that order other social formations. It c o uld
not be <l Q uest i o n herr of two we i ghts and two me;"tSUfes: if there- ;lfe lnws of
h i sto ry, they must be as l egi t im <1 tc itt the st art of hiStory (p ri mit iv e society)
as in the con ti n uilt i o ll of its course. rhus a singlt' w eight. n si n gl t' measure.
What is the Marxist measure of soci<'ll facts? It is the c("ollomy.4 Marxism is
an f'c o no m is m . it [('duct's the s oc i a l body TO eco n omi c i n frastrucwrr, the
sO('i<11 is the economical. And this is why the M arx is t anthropologists, per
force . s l a p onlO the primitive social body th:lt which they t h i nk fu n cti o n s
e lscw hnc : the catcgor i es of product io n . rt'l<ltions of production, deve lop m e n t
of t h e product ive fOfces. exploiration, etc. To the foreccps, as Adler SilyS. And
i t is t/lus that the rldrrs tx pl oi t thc yo un g (Mrillas�oux), thnl k i ll s hi p rrln
lions an' relations of prod uction (G od el i e r).
And on this point. thtre cenai nly is roOI of �'I <lrxism. in t-.larx; iT would he
effC'cl, allow himself to
1 <I
derisivt" 10 lake this ;'t\\ ay from the Marxists. Did he not. ill
write, ill nos ha{Jira/ lllat: [Quot;l1ion mis<;ill� in CJa5trt'�' original m a lluscript).
1 1 6
J il l A R { H I O L O G Y o r V t O L f N C f
1 1 7
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<lcres in Cambodia or Ethiopia because the massacrers are Marxists.
Should Am i n Dada one day proclaim himself Marxist, we will hear them
yell: bravo Dada.
And now let us wait and kf"rp our ears to lhe ground: perhaps lhr bron
tosauruses w i l l bray.
I ) 8
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<lges' social life, that t h e primitive soci<11 being unfolds outside of <1rmed
I ) 9
l H f A R ( H f O l O G Y O f V I O L f N ( 1
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 .
Europeilns found themselvl's confronted with a type of society radica lly dif
ferent from all they hild known up until then; they had to th i n k of a 50ciil\
reality that could nOt exist in thrir trelditional representation of thl'" social
being: in otht'r w ords, the world of the Savages was lit('r<'llly unthink<ible for
Europe ;l n thought. This is n ot the place to analyze i n detail the reasons for
this veritable epistcmological impossibil ity: they have to do with the certain
ty, coextensive to all h ist o ry of weste rn civilization, of w ha t hum;]n sor i C'ty
is and sh o u l d b e, it cert il i n ty e xp rcs srd sIaning with the Greek dawn of
Europe<ln p o l i t i c al thought, of t h e p o l iS. i n t h e fra g m e n t e d w o r k o f
I l erac l i luc; . Namely that the representation of society a s suth must h l' embod
ied in thc figure of the One exterior to the society. in the hierarchical c o n fIg
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 only by thl'
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 unanimity wlwn it
came t o desr ri h i n g Savages' customs. Explorers o r
t h t.' m i s s i o n a ries, mer
chants or 1eilrned travelers, from the lGth century until the (recent) end of
w o r ld con quest. a l l agreed on one point: whether Americans (fro m Al;tsk<l to
Tierra tiel ruego) or Arri c a n s. Siberians from the steppes or Me1a ne<;i<lns fro m
the isl es , nomads from the Austr<l lian desens or sedentary farmers from the
jungles of Nrw Guint<l, primitive pe o pl es were always presented <IS passion
<It ely devoted to w a r ; it was their p rti a cu l a rly bellicose �'h ;l rilct er that struck
Furopc<ln observl'rs without exception. From the enormous documentary
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 o f the w a rrior. An image
1 , 0
[ H f A R C H f O l O G Y O f V I O L f N ( 1 ,
1 4 I
l H £ A R C H E O L O G Y O f V I O L E N C E
or to the social, they live i n the natural condition of men where the war of
each against each reigns. l Iobbes was not unaware of the American Indians'
intense bellicosity; this is why he saw in their real wars the striking confir
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
engages (he very being of each community implicated i n armed connict. It
thus seems well est ab l i shed that one cannOt think of primitive society with
out also thinking of war which, as an i m mediate given of primi tive sociolo
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
silence come:: from? r-irst, ce rt a i nly, from the conditions under which the
societies e t hnolog ists are i n te rested in are currently living. We know well
that th rou ghout the world there scarcely exist primitive societies that are
abso lutely free. autonomous, without contact with the white socioeconomic
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
invisible because tilC're are no more warriors to wage it. I n t h is regard, the
situat i o n o f the Ama7.0nian Yanomami is unique: their st'cular iso l at i on has
p e r mitted these Indians, n o doubt the last great primitive society ill the
world. to live:: up to the present as though America h ad n ot b e en disc ov -
1 , I
l H f � R ( H f O t O ' Y O F V I O t f N ( [ I
ered. And so onc can observe there the omnipresence of war. Still, this is
not a reason to draw up, as others have done, a caricatured portrait, where
the taste for the sensational far ecl ips es the capacity to understand a pow·
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<ln economize a consideration of war.
Not only doC's the discourse on war belong to the discourse on society but it
assigns it its meaning: the idea of W a f measures the idea of society. This is
why the absence of renections on violence in cu rre n t eth n ol ogy could be
explained fi rst by th e actual disapprarance of war fo!lowing the loss of free
dom that installs the Savages i n a forced paCifIsm, but also by the adhesion
to a typ e of sociological discourse which tends to exclude waf from the fIeld
of social relations in primitive society. The obvious qucstion is whcther such
a discourse is adequate to the primitive social reality. And so, before examin
ing this reality, we should brieny outline the received discourse on primitive
society and war. Heterogeneous, the discourse on w a r develops in three
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..
Leroi-Gourhan i n his work Le Gesre et fa Parole a n d notably in the next-to
last chapter of volume [I, w here the author develops, in a view or unques
tionable (yet very q uest ionab le) vastness. his historical-ethnological concep
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
the spirit that runs th roughout the work and by the title of th e chapter i n
which i t appe ars : thc s o ci al organism. Cl early assenrd. the or ga n i c ist point
of view on socirry appeals to and encompasses, in an absolutely coh e rent
) Cf. N.A. Chagnon. YOllomomO. Tile- FineI:' PI:'Op/c. Holt. Rinellan ft Winston.
1%6.
1 , J
I li f A H II ! O L O G Y O f V I O L f N C f
m a n n er, a (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 <lpparmus has not changrd .1llyth i n g i n tilc slow de:velopmrnt of
phylctic maturation." (p, 237). Aggrt:ssion as behavior. that is. the usc: of vio
lence:. is thus related to hunwnilY as ;! species; i t is co('xtensivt' with it. In
sum. as a 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 <l goal:
'Throughout the course of {[me, aggresc;ion appears as a fundamental tech
nique l i n ked to acqui�itioil, and i n the primitive. its i n itial role is hunting
where aggrf'c;sion <lnd al imenrary acquisition art' mt'rged" (p. 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
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
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<lrneSSfd in the tcch
niquc of arquiring food, and man's biologic<ll being, whose: i n t egrity vio
knce must n1<l i nta i n . But where is this very particular nggrt'ssiO!1, m;miresled
in the viole-nee of war. situated? Lrroi-Gourhan expl<lins 10 us: "Between
�u n t i n g (lnd its double, war, a suutle- assimilation i � progressively est<lb
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,
<I
the mystery of thr origin o f soria! division is solvrd: through "subtle assimi
lation," hun ters gradually become warriors who, as hol<itrs of armed force.
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<lnnot reduce the social 10 the' natural t h e
'
institutional to tht' biological. Human society sIems not from zoolugy but
from sociol ogy.
Lct u!) relurn then to the probh:m o f war. War would thus i n h e rit its
charge of aggrrss i o n from hunting - a trchnique of alimentary acqu i s i t i o n ;
war oulrl o n l y ue a rcprtition. a doublr. a redeployment of the h u n t : more
�
prosaIcally. war. for Lt'foi-Gourhan. is tile 11UII!illg oj mCI/. Is this true or
fals{'? It is not diffIcult to f1l1d OUI. since it suffIces to consult those of whom
1 • •
l li f A H W f 0 1 0 G Y o r V I O L f N ( f
:lins to another domain). What r"dically distinguishes war from the hunt is
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
1 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<lrY. "nd that the
,bjt'ct o f this type of aggrt'ssi o n is m<ln as game destinrd to being eaten,
eroi-Gourhan'S reduction of war 1 0 hunting has n o foundation. For if W;"lr is
!Idee(] the "'doublc" of Ihe hunt. then g:c:ncr<lli7l.'d <1nthropology is ils 11Ori�
o n . We know that I his is not the case: even among the c" n n i h ;) l tribes. (hr
,�,nl of war is never to kill the en emil's i n order 10 eat them. Rather, this
iliologizalion" of <In activity such as war i n evitably takes away its properly
social dimension, Leroi�Gourhan's problematic ronception leads to a dbsolu�
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<lry will he to establish that primitive
war owes nothing to the hunt. th<1t it is rooted not i n the rt'alily of In,tn as a
species but i n the social being of the primitive society. that through its u n i ·
versality it po in ts n o t tow<lrrl naturl.' b u t toward c u l ture.
The 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 <lnd the
idea of h a p p i n esc; were bt'gi n n i n g to he thought of separ<ltely, when. right�
\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.
There was then a reversal of the old discoursl' i n t o its oppositt': the world
of the Savagrs from then on became. rightly or wrongly, the world or
1 • \
P O Vt' ny and
mi<;(' ry. M u c h mOrt' (tC"("
rccel ved !>ci('n nlly, t /l is po
firic !>t'( j ( US (ro ul <t r k � o
{he' :;o-Ci11!t
m wJed ge ha s
a 'ir/Jol c1rly
, d h u m � n s� . S
a drs(o u rs
disco u r
anthropology, e , of sCh olars: ( b ecome
WtlC:�;in rbe- fO�J�l�� r;.J
has
g the e rtaInty o
dl'Voted rh elllscl ,C f pri m i tive " c s of econ om i c
vc!> to �Xt ra c t P O V� 'tY as tru tl,
I",l S. conse l n g til t reas , IlilVe
.
•
P,
� �
I�lt' � eco
DOlt n o n of
n o my
Wilr
of jJ O V Nty,
lak es p /<l CC
m.l
( d�lll
r IS ag.l lns
i n a re.
l this
nts for r , 11 ' c
th e Scarcicy of a V '1 i � l I t I Ve Wi l r tty th (' wei'l K �s 1t e o�omist dis�
�r
ne '
t �
group.., p ushe-d t' m a { r i i1 1 gOod s l d 1 0
� rO U C ( I Vt' fo rces;
�
jnl� f prop , ea s
Pt'IU l, o n betw
.;1) c o n
;
for life: ends i rratr ng these (,cn
n al:�:�d gOods b
•
���n :c t ; there
O n (' sh O ld is n o t t:'no
POVerty of the
U
l
'
,
. t lIS txpl anarion
ug/ r�;� 'e
of ri ' v
; �
;lIld this s(rug
.
gk
ryone ,
fjues rion ed , In
his �:��y C!�e
S S
(' � s a
(J
en·p led a s il n
a r,l l er, Oavie
Ob i o
� :� : / ' \Va r, b .lsed on the
es w h i c
h a n n OI
eilc/} rib
c ,
View : " B u ( l
� be
O s l d ill ��
pe rfect ly
�� e of It� struggl e Cl ! , (hi S poin
mUS t m i1 i n t <l t of
I I J to (.' o n ra n ' ri
i n ;1 co � PU l t l on :lgil l nsl
v"" I ,,'t'S an d d ' 1 .
ag i n s
a l l oth er f
nal l ri1 Tt's
. e fo r tiS
exist ence,
" 5 H:�s 0f ' rrl')'"r W i l ll whi C'h
d egcn erate I. t C'Omes
'
into dis IU te by
ltJ (rrt's t are
Jrodu ' d,
force. we call and whtll
'
has been th at wa/' (p Iht'se
de"fin f'd., a d
�IS PUt{' by fo ' 2'8') . 'And
U 11d er tilt:' a [(e
' b orn bt'tw ,Wi1r
ni o n of '
agO!
('. r n P O l H l, ca
n .
vHa l cOmp
"
given tribe etili o n .. , fh u " l g ro u p i n gs
va fi'e" (eprnd I
' . h e rmporrance 0f
in g Oil I '
78). This a U l ho { J (, IIHt.' w a r In :I
,
nsily of ils
�
. '
r .1 - Wt.' I lav{- Vl . I
i t i v e SOC ie T
y b��:d
s(,t n . p roc la
i m s the univ � romp eti�io ll " (p.
Grt'e n l ;.lnd e
s cap e (hi � n (, lh,n,o grap
C'o
hic i n fo rma
tion :
��ty
e of w a r
_
�n pri m
l l on K l
i -l nel l , y i:S n l OS of
h
r X l rrlllt:'
ho s t il l o ,' ,t'
h (" n a l u ra l
f ;I n except ion, e"xplai
d e v ot i n g envi ron
ns Ddv! e.
dur to the
m(,nt w h ich
Y
energy 10 n
Y h l ng U l O ev nts
.
o r eXis re nc /j l O K i ng fo r f
o o d ' ,��O ('
s t rllggle f U t �h{' m fr om
migh l O b ser S i ' ,' p erat n i n
, A u�tr�' I'an
b
il �oJU!t' ly imp e r (,
C',1Se (" 79)
ve t Il" ativ in t le . lo the
., s. S{'('m
?
(h (' F<;Kimo ·
,
k.�, We Sh � lIJd
p /11;;: ; Ih ey :I
I
00.
re n o
t ha t ! h i s 5 cho/ ' I K (, th'l n o t
ic" U l t er:l h r r peo �
nc(' of Ih .'
( P OPU la r 011 s i mp/e. "scit"nt
,l rly dist'O ur5
exa ctly l'O/l'}l POStul at e p,r ' " " .t . ' e".
t
., S 1I0 Il'IIS Ive pOverty 'S
ilt"
t o tlle
i f_
of sO(' i(,' ly mOS t rteen ! av I
, IlCim r]y M amr of h t M l . djusted
, , rXI St
a
ar,XIS! l' O ll ce
,
.....a r is con
"
� .
p( i on
c('rn red', 1/ As fa r JS th e
IS to Non h C1ueS l o n of
anthropol ogy.
/ prim itive
tl l ropoI n ghl
Amer ica" a n
I
. 5 11<11 We owe (5 0
I , ,
l H £ A H II E O L O � Y O f V I O t f N { [
s 1 0 speak) the Marxist interpretation, More quickly than their French coreli
e )!iOnisls. who are nevertheless ready to speak the Marxist truth on African
c 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<lrk
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
1 D,R, Gross, "Protdll Capture and Culm ral Develop mcnt in the Amazon .�.sin , "
B
s wTllc YanOlllamo and
AmericalJ Anth ropologist, 71, 1975. pp. 1)26-549 : M, H arri ,
the Causcs of Wa r in B alld and Vi l l age SO r1clieS,H
the Yanom ami. sh ows ow flawed the WO�kH f Gr
�ss and
'. J. li:l.Ot. an cxpen on h
o
1 4 7
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 <lnd confIrm t h e ethnogTi1phiC male rial furnished b y the
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<lry, an economy of ab uncli1 n ('l;' ;tnd not of SCilrciry: V JQ
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 { [
Iderli1
king of Cla ude Levi-Striluss. Such an asse mo n would 'Ippt'ar, flr:-ot of
. IHlTild ox ica l : i n Ihis author's considtri1ble work, wa � occup ies on 1 y a t h·I n
.
. u m e. Bul b e
yond the fact that Ihe i m !)ortan c(' of an lSS'-le IS not nec�ssi"ln
.
i
measured by the space a l lotted to it, it so happens, the cl rcu m
Un?('.T
.1 nrcS. that the general tl1('ory of sO('iety rlaboratcd by L�VI-Strauss nilr-
w 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 :
\mong t il e Nnmbikwara, a s n o doubt a m o n g I h e n u ��
rous pop u l � t ion s f �
�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
. .
I 4 ,
t H E A R C H f O I O ' Y O f V t O l f N C !
<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
t H f & R C H f O I O G Y O f V l 0 l f N ( [
maten aI nr
I or IHimilive societic<; develops ilgalOsl a backdrop 0 f ;J JUn< I I ance,
.
r
.
thc D o m � t '· c . . 01 .
Mode or ProductIon IS al<;o characterize. d )y
I all ·dcal
I
.
each l'I)OlI1lUnilY a�plres 10 produce all that IS n eces"", y Its
1I11/(/rk�, .. . or
WI ·lICh ·IS IH'rfectly capitble of satisrying all its needs WIthout hilvlllg ' to so\ •ICll •
tI1e a-;sl'> "
. l ' ncr of other>'
. . we produce all that we need I ·
toO( I (I nd toO Is I , wt: arc
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(
I·d {,,,
.
. om-
.
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 <HtribU1cd to exchange or which war is but the railurC'. In m ll e r w o ds. �
war dot's not possess any positivity by itself: it ('x presses not t IC s cl<ll b lI1g
.
� ? �
of primitive society, hut
the non-rf'alization of this being w lch 1" iI � b � \llg
.
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<lr as
.
1 5 I
1 11 £ A A C H f O L 0 6 Y O f V I O L f H ( f
1 5 2
I H f A � ( H f (l L (l 6 Y O f V I O L f H { f
'
10
. SC'01rcity of resources would lead to vital competition.
type of society.
whIch would produce war. Now. I· r
, IhlS
, .
Id lead to isoliltion of groups,
. I ·Iclly
·
wh J("h wou .
.
deed il profound rel;ltionship betwel'n the mu 1 lip 0 f SOCIOPO
. -
,
there IS I. n .
:lnd v io len c r one can only undel"it:lnd .
tillS I ·
In k 1 )y reversing
en ll·t·e�
1 i t .lC':l1 I " , . .
the ha b·,
.
I u ,I order of their prese n tat io n : 11 IS not war th;]t ls t h. r effect of seg-
mc n tat .i O n . ·,t is 'se<1menta
to tion that is the effect of war. It IS not only tht'
I 5 J
1 M ! ! i ( II ! D L 0 6 Y O f V I O L f N ( f
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 .
.
nn fall victim to the e nterpnses 01 anot h er more t<li rnled or
no illd'IV I'dual
better-o ff'. tilt'
• ,
. . '
r('latives
< of lhe victim would soon dIscourage the vocallon of
•
' re exploiter. Vyi n g with ('<1ch othtr. ethnologists h<lve n ot{'d the
the appren t , ,, �
(f • indifference brfore t h e i r goods and possessIOns WblCh are easily
Sav <l ",(' S
, .
ra I)fl',"" t�"d on ((' worn o r broken. have notl'd t h e- abs('ncr among. tlwlll 0 r al.I
� �
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 ?
Product ive <lctivi!y is exactly measurrd by tht: s;ltlsfacuo of� needs a n d �� ('s
n Ot t>
. .
ero hl'yond that: surplus production is perfectly pOSSIble III the pnnutlve
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;lV<lgl.' entreprt>neur 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<lve anything to do with the
satisf<lC'tion or needs. What will happen? Simply. the commun ity will hrlp
him consume these rree r('somees: the man who has become rich by t h r
strength of h i s own hand w i l l see h i s wealth disappear i n t h (' b l i n k o f a n eye
into his n eig hbors' hands or stom<lchs The real ization of the desi rt' of accu
.
I \ \
l H f & R C H f O I O G Y o r V l O L f l H f
society does nOt accept power sl'p arat ed from irs bein�, division cstablished
between those who command an d those who ob<,y, And this is <llso why, in
pri m i tive society, it is the chief who is commissioned to s pe a k in the name of
sol'iecy: in his discourse, tile chief never expresses tht:' flights of his individual
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
i t has n o t h i n g t o do w i t h 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
<l l reaciy in c l u des the p o l i t ic al in that it excludes the Otht'r. [t is precisely the
Other as m i rror - the neighhoring groups - who reflect back ontO �he com
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
itsd f as absolute dim'rrncc, as irrt:duciblc frcedom, as ,) body possessing t he
will to ll1 <l i n l<1in its being as a s i n g l e totality, l I ef(' then is how p ri m i t iv e
�oc.:iety concretl'ly Olppt:.lrs: a m u l t i p l i ci t y of separ<ltc commun ities, each
watching over the i n tegrity of its ter rit o ry, a St'rit'S of nco - mo n a ds t'ach of
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
totality in the t(I U<l1 relationship t h at it m<lincains with t h e ec[uivalt'nt Wc's
that con st i t u t e other villages, t ri b e- s, bands, etc, The p ri m i t i ve community can
poo;; i t itse lf \IS a lO ta l i ty becausC' i t institutes itself as a un i ty : it is a whole,
because it is a n undivided Wt'.
At this level of a nalysis, the gt'neral struclurr of primitive organization
can be thought of as purely Sliltir, as lot ally inert, as void of movement.
The glob'll syslt'm seems to h(' ablt to funelion only in v i ('w of its own
repetition, by making <Ill emergence of opposition or c o n n i e t impossible,
Now, et h n o � raph i c feality shows the opposite: far from being i n e rt, the
systtm is in p e rpetua l m o v e . n e n t : i t is not slatic but dynamic, and the
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
do 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?
\ 6
l H f A R C H E O L O G Y O f V I O L f N C !
One po i n tis clear: the possi il ity of w,)r is i,n s c ri b ed i n h(' being of
b �
,
. . . society, l n dct'd, the will of e8ch community to assert Its <ilffrTence
{fh so that the , least inndent qUickly tTa nsfarms th e soug h t-
HIIl11tlVr
stro ng: cn o u o
I .
IS
_
" 0f ternt0l)',
· .
th e assumed
. differen ce into <I real dispute, The Violation
' n o f the nt' ighb. o, rs ', shaman: this is all that is required for wa r to
afta
aggrcSSIO
breOlk out. to. fragilr equ!llb um, , as a resull." the POS II)1·1·ny a f ·IO 1l"nc a l d
� � � � �
one l agtnC ,
arll1l'd co nflict is illl i m med mtC' gIven, But could � , _
thIS posslbl11ty
I \ 7
I H ! A R C H ! O L (l G Y (l l Y I (l L f H ( !
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, <l centrifugal logic of crumbling,
of dispersion, of schism such that each community, to consider itself as such
(as ii singlr totality), n et'ds the opposite f1gun' of the foreigner or enemy,
such thel! the possibility of violence is inscribed ahead of time i n the primi
ti ve social bring; war is a structure of pri m i tive society and not the acciden
tal failure of an unsuccessful ('xc-hange. This strtH:tural status of violence is
illustrated by the univers<llity of war in the Savage world.
Structurally. generali7ed friendship a n d exchange of all with a l l are
i mpossible. Consequently. should we say that Hobbes was right, and from Ihe
i mpossibility of frirndship of all with all conclude tht' n:ality of war of each
agClillst rach? Take for eXilmplr, now, the hypothesis of gl'neralized hostility.
Each community is i n a ccnfrontlltional situation wirh all the others. the W,lr
mile-hint is funct ioning at full speed, global socicty is composed only of rn e:
mics Clspiring to [re-iprocal destruction. Now nil wars, as we k now, leave a
victur and a vanquis]wd. What i n this case, would h(' Ihc principal result of
wa r of ,111 against all? It would institUte- prt'cist'ly the political Trliltionship
that primitive socit'ty works constantly to prevt'nt: tht' waf of all ag(linst all
would lead lO thr rSli"lhlishment of domination :lnd power {h,a t tbe vinor
could forcibly exercise over lhe vanquished. /I. new social configuration
would then appear, introducing: a relationship of command obedience and
the political division of socicty into MClsters and Subj('C1s. I n other words, it
would be the death of primitive sori(·ty insofar as it is ilfld consider-; ilstlf an
undivided body. As a result. gt'llemlized Wi"lr would producc exactly lhe S;Hlle
rffcct as generalil.rd friendship: the neg.nion of the primitive social lJeing. I n
the cast' of friendship of Cll l w i th a l l , t h e c o m m u n ity w o u l d lose irs
ilutonomOllS total ity through till' dissolution of its difTtrence. I n the case of
w(lr of all ilg;"linst all. it would lose its homogeneous unity through Ihe irrup
tion of social division: primit iv(' soriety is a single totality. It cannot consent
to u niversal peace whkh al il'nates its frredom; it rnnnot abandon itsrlf to
generCll war which ;"Ibolishes its equal ity. It is not possible. a m o n g the
S<lV3ges, to be either friend of ,I l l nr t'nemy of all.
And yet. war is pnrt of the essence of primitive sori(·ty; like exchilnge, it
is il structure of it. Is thb to say thai lIlt' primitive soda! being would br il
sort o f compound of two hrlrrogrnrous elements - a littlt exchange. a lillie
W;"ir - and that the primitive ideal consists of maintaining the equilibrium
betwcen these two {'omponellt'> 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 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
sor1cty. ll ene ra l waT e l 1 m1l1a(('<; t'xl"h;"lnge.
p('I"!'peclive,
. With same
the
nat e'i primit ive .
. Ill'lng,
I)rinliuve soc1al thus. Sl lllultilllCOlISly m'eels exchange and
he
resu It ' The . .
WilT, in order to lIble to comlHne at onc{' the autonomist point of hOllor
. 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
di<lH'ly clils<;ifH's the people surrounding it: Others arr i mmediately c1ilssifled
into friends a n d e n e m ies. With the formrr. 01H," w i l l attt' m p t to form
allianre<.;. with lh(' othl"r"S, one accepls - or one seeks - the risk of WilT. We
would be mistakt'n to g;"llher from this desrription only tht' h;"lna1ity of an
ab<;olutely g-cnera! situation i n primitive society. For it is nect'ss;"lry now to
pO<;(' lhe qut'siion of ;'Ill iCln("{' : why does a primitive society need ;'I1lks! Till"
answer is obvious: h('rause it has e n t' mies, It has to bt' assured of i t s
<;Ir{'n�th. ('enaif! of r('pcated victory ovt'r i t " adver:;ari('". in order to du with
out rhr mil itary ,>uppon. in<i{'{·d. ev('n the nrutrality, of the lillie", This i'>
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 - <tfter whkh supposedly lasting al l i (l nces ilrr formed. but whirh IUU'>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(,<lndal, .mti
that f1ntllly, ;! given rommunity does nut Cllw;"lYs hClve th(' samr allics or the
same en('mie<;. Thr te-nt1S of Cllli;lI1n' ilnd war (an ('hangr, and, following for
tUIIOUS eV('/l!S, �roup B. allied with group /I. Clgains! group C. would lit' pt'r
frctly crtpable of turning against A 10 side with C. Fxpericnn' i n Ihr field
ronsran ll .v offl'rs the spectacle of �urh turnabout", for whidl Ihe 1)t'Ople
responsible always hilve rrasons. What o n e should kcep In mind is til(' pC'r
ll1al1enc(, of the apP;lfatus as a whole - tht· diviSion of Olhers into allies and
enemits - and not the conjullrtural and vllri<lhle place occupied i n this
ilppaT<ltlis hy tht ("ommunities implitilted.
But this mutual. ;Inc! justif1ed, di<;trust tll;"lt allird g:roup<; floc! ind il':1tes
dearly that allianr('s ar!: often consented to unwillingly. thaI (llli;"ln\'C' IS not a
deSired gO<l1 but only a nleans: the llH'ans to attain at t he' lowest n",k and (It
the !east cost a goal that is the war entcrprise, Which amounts to saying that
one is resigned to ililiance because it would hr (00 dangerous to rllg:lge in
Illili tary oper;"ltion<; ;"IlollC'. and that. if onr could. o n e would gladly do with
OUt allies who art' nevrr absolutely reliable, Thert is. as il re:-.ult. iln css('nti;"ll
pro perty (If int("rnCllional life ill primitivC' society: w;lr rdat('s f1rst to <llliane!.':
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<l 1 w<l r: there is a so cio lo gi cal
priority of w <l r over alliancc. Here, the true re l ati on s h i p between ('xchange
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 <l n gt" is t h at of a ll i<'ln c c. This docs not mean, of course,
that were it n o t for Cllli<ln c('. there would no lon ge r be exch;l!lg(': ex(' h ,lI l gc
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<ll .
Thus. o n l' exch an ges w i t h ,lilies: there is exchange. be(';luse there i s
al l i <l n ('e. It i � n o t only a question o f the exch<lngr of good behavior - a cy cl e
o f panies to w h ich peopJe take turns inviting tilch other - but the exchangt
of gifts (w i th o ut v t' ri ta b l e eco no m i c sign ifi ca n ce, Irt us repeat), and ('special
Iy the exchange of women. As Lc:-vi�Strauss writes, "... the exchange of b ri des
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 <l ni a l rela�
lions. Wh;}t is th e exrllange of women? At the level of h u m a n soriCLY as
such. it <l s<;ureS this soricty's h umn n ity, that is, its non�<ln im<1lity; it s ign i fIes
that h um ;'l n society docs n ot belong to the order of n <l t ur(' but to that of (ul�
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 � <l n i m <'l l society, a n d not exch.:lngr as i n stituted in ti1t framcwork of a
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<lnce: tht: e st a b l i5h mt' n t of matrimonial Telations
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 <llso rclativ�s, o n e may hopr for mure C'Onst8.ncy in war�
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�
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
I 6 0
I H ! 6 H H f O I 0 l1 Y O � V I O t f N ( !
fo u n d i n g <In
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
(
c x ch a nge as a co nseq u�n cc a nd m ea ns o f political a l l i a n cc (the best all ies. or
I 6 I
l H f � R { H f O L O G Y 0 1 Y I O t f N ( 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<liled cxchange. Though his discourse is vcry coherent, it is false. The con
tradictIOn is not internal to this discourse, it is the discourse that is contrary
to the ethnographically rcadahle sociological reality of primitive society. War
implies alliance. alliance entails exchange (understood nOt as the differrnce
between man and animal. as tht' passage from nature to culture, but. of
course. as the unfoldin g of the sociality of primitive society, as t h e free play
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<luss hel ieves, thr f<l ct of
exchange that determines the non-existence of war, it is the fact of war that
d('ttrmin('s th(' existence of exchange. Th(' constant problem of th(' primitive
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 <lccordance
wit h tile exog<lmic rule i n the prohihition of incest. Doesn't he say til:ll the
American Savag{'� live in "that brutish manner" and thn1 tht.: absence of
sorial org<lni7.ation is rev('aled in their submission to "natural lust" (there is
no u n iverse of the rule among Ihem)? But l Iobbes' Nror cloe" not mtlke L�vi
Strauss' !ruth. for tht' latter. primitive soc'iety is a world of exchange: but at
Ih(' price of a confusion betw('cn the founding exchange of human society in
general and {'xchange as a modr of relation between different group". And
so h e is forced to eliminate war, in thaI it is lhe negation of ('xchangt': if
there is war, lhert' is no exchange. and if there is n o mort' rxch<lngc, tht're is
no more society. Cerr<linly, excha.nge is inherent in the human social: h u m ;) n
society exists because the exch<lnge of women ex iSIS, bec<luse incest is pro·
hibited. But this exchange has nothing to do with the properly sociopolitical
activity that i s war. and this in n o way puts i n t o qu('stion exchange as
respect for the prohibition of incest. War puts into question exchange as an
ensemble of sociopolitic<ll relations between different communities, hut i l
puts il into question prC'C'isely in order t o found and establish i t through the
mediation of <lllianct'. Confusing these tw O Icvels of ex('hangr. levi-Strauss
inscribes w<lr on this same level. wherr it doesn ' t bt'long, a nd from which i t
I 6 1
! H f & R C H f O t O li Y O f V 1 0 t f N ( f
Ihus d isappear. For this author. the implenwn ltllion of Ihl' principle of
mu� '
-
.
. transl<lted i n tht" search for alliance;
is the laller pcrmlls the
� ,prO."',IY . . ,
womt'n, and thC' exchange ends ]n the negatIOn of war. ThiS
, 'han ge of
�;� rriPI ion of the primitive soci<ll
� � �
fa t wo ld be <lbsolutely atisf ing, pro �
vidiTlP; waf did .
�
not t'xist: we know of Its eX lst l' CC b ut also of Its u n l v c rs<llllY·
re<llilY thus holds the OPPOSltc dlscoursr: the state of war
rhe ethnog raphic
makrs the search for all i<lnce necessary. which provokes the
hetWeen groups
e)( cha n gr of
women. The successful analysis of kinship systems or of mytho
co('xists with <I fa iled discourse on SOCIety.
lo�ical systt'ms thus
political
I'n e x a m i n a t i o n of elhnogral) h i c facts reveals the properly
specificity
dinH'nsio n o f warlik(' activity. It is related neither t o a zoological
nor, finally. to a
of humanity. nor to the vital competition of communities,
C'onSl<1ntm�v('nlel1t of ('xC'hange toware! the suppression of violence. W<lr is
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
tt"nce <lnd meaning of war, which, as W(' have seen, lH"cause of the t:xtrCnle
I 6 1
1 11 £ A R C li f O L O G Y O F V I O L I N ( f
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 of I/'fJr: .... lIi"lI legitim ated all a tte mpts to illte),lra te tlLem
by means of conquest i n to tILe po.r in("(sira.
fJ
,
I I This logic cOllcerns 110t only intercommunal relations, bul also tilt' up era ti o
n
of the community itsdf. In So uth America. wilen the demographic size of a group
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 , ,
[ H E A R C H { O L O ' Y O f V I O L E N { {
ro rnmunily might be able to confront tht t'nemy world, i t mu!>t 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:1-
Ilkntal 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 {
t} S\l('l! i� tlie absolutely l'Xl'III I,lnIY case uf the' Tupi-Guar<llli of SO\lltl Amt.'ril;Ol,
whose society, fro m tile mOlllt'li1 of the d iscovery of lh(' New World. w�s wrought oy
(·(·mripctal forces. hy a logic of lUllflcallon.
I • •
I ll ! 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<l
" nce of tht' State, ;}n anti-war machine par exccl enc('. Incapable of
ap .
of a
. .
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 inin g factor o f
the m <l l e being-in-the-world: in primitive soeiC"ty. m a n is. h y definition, a
wa rrior. An eq u<lti o n that, as we sll;111 see, when brought to light, illuminates
the frc qu(,nlly a n d often fooli'ihly debateu question o f social r e l at i o n s
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 ofthb bookl
} 6 9
l H E U C H f () L O G Y 0 1" V I O L t N C f
J 7 0
l H ! � H H [ O L O G Y O f � I O l ! N ( !
ual e nt e
rpr ise i n thal it p ron eds only from the warrior's dl'cision: the war
'
ri r
o obey!> only the law of his dr,>in' or will .
Woul d 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<l te of war is perma·
ne llt ; actual warriors. when. from time to time. arml'd contlict erupts. And it
i'> 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 w ar 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 W<lnts. hut which
only so me . in fact, reali:le. This sig ni fie s that. in the general case, all mt"n go
to wa r from time to t ime. Cl n d th at. in th e particular case, SOllie men go ro
I/'(I( cOl1srantly. Or, to say i t e-v('n more c l eilrly: in "warrior" soc;it'ties, ;;Ill men
go to w a r from time to t imt:: . when t h e community as ;;I w h o l e is co n cern ed
(,l11d we a rt:: brought once again to the general ea sel ; but. i n ildditi on, a cer·
i<i i n number among them are const ;) n t ly e n gaged in w <lT l i k(' expeditions,
('ven if t he tribe for thr t i m e' being finds itself i n r el a t iv e pt::a rc w ith neigh·
boring groups: tht::y go to war on t he ir own and not ill respollse to a collec�
t ive i m p erativr .
Whidl, of course. does not in any way s i gn i fy tl1<1{ so c i ety rem<lins inclif
rtrtnt or inen before the activism of its warriors: war, o n the contrary. is
(,x<lltrd. the victorious warrior is aJebTtltc::(!, and his ex pl oi ts arr p r.tised by
;.11 in great festivals. A pO'>itive relat i o n thus ('xi'>ts between sociery <ll1{l the
Warri o r. This is indeed why thl'''e soc i e ti es are- distinctly w a rl ike . Still. it w i l l
h(' n e-cess ary to elucidate the very re al and unt:xpectedly profound relation
"hip thar links a comm un i ty such as th is 10 t he slightly enigmatic group of
J 7 J
I H £ A H � f O I O G Y O f V I O l E N C E
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. <ldvc nturers' chroni cks, missionaries' accounts i n form us that such
was the C;)S(' with thl' Huron, th{' Algonkin :lnd the Iroquois; more r{'(' ent
n a rr<ltives h;lve been added to these old accounts. conFirmi ng t h e m : the nar
ratives of lncii;ln cap t ives, official Amt.'riran documt.'nts kivil ;lnd military).
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'<lrch and r{'flection w ith ;\11 i ncom pa rcl bl r nehJ of study const i t ut
ed by Ihl' Grand Chaco. Situ;lled at the hean of the South American conti-
I 7 1
l il t A R ( II ! O I O G Y O f V I O l f N ( f
hefore the expUlsion, was almost total and. as the Jesuits themselves cmpha
<;in', somew h a t inevit;lhle: against the evang('lk;l1 mission rose the insur
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
a<;srss d1e positive rrsul!s of a successful spiritual conquest, the missionaries
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
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<lges, by the Jtsuits'
genuine fondness tow;lrd (hese ferocious warriors. And thus. tht' n;lme of
/l.1il rtin Dobrizhoffer is henceforth associated with the Ahipone tribe. that of
Florian Paucke with the Mocovi, that of Jose Sanchez Labr<lc\or w i t h the
fa mous GUilicuru-Mbaya. as well as Ihe work of Pedro Lozi'l no, historian of
the Society of Jesus, devoted especially to the Chaco socil:ties).
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<lrt of lhl: Chaco, close to the P i l colll<1Yo river which separ<ltes
Argentina from Pa ragu ay This river's middle rurrrill borders the territory of
.
J cr. bibliogr;mhy.
I 7 J
l H f A H H f O I O G Y O 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. of course, pro foun d effectS on thr life of these soci
eti�s, but d i d not alter their rapport witll war: war was simply intensified by the
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 ,
I ll f 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
�
o er
ror them long ago. And yet, Jllany men, then fifty or sixty years Old.
" e�n fo rm e r WClrriors (former combatants) who, twenty or twenty-five
\rafS
before ( i n the early '40s) still pitil essly ambushed their h e red i tary
� 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<lr organ of
t h e s o c i <l I body. t h e warrior groups arc called, respectivrly: H o c he ro ,
Niadagaguadi. Kailll okle. These terms denote not only these men's principnl
,lltiVlty ( w a r). but a l so their a pp urte n ;:t ncc to a n o rde r whosl' superiority is
socially admi tted (a " nobil ity," say the chroniclers), to a sort of chivalry
whose prestige reflects on the entire society: the tribe is proud of ils warriors.
To enrn the name of warrior is to w i n a tirle of nobility.
This superiority or the warrior group rests exclusively o n the prestige
that war ex p lo i ts procure: society functions here as a mirror that g ives the
Victorious warrior a rathe-r flattering image of h imsel r, not only so (hat h{'
w il l drl'nl l egiti m a te the effo rts depl oyed and the risks taken, hut al s o so
that he w i l l b� encouraged to pursue and carry out his brllicose vocation, to
[ll'fSeVcre, in sum, in his warrior bf' ing. Festivals, ce rem o n i �s , d an ces , chnnts
an(] d ri n k i n g parties coll('ctively celebratc or co m me mo ra te h is exploit s, ;'Inc!
Iht Abipone Hochero or C hu l u pi Kaanokle experiences, in the secrtt depths
of his bei n g, lhe truth of this re cog niti o n . meshing the ethical world of trib
III va l u es and thr private warrior's individual pOInt of hOllor.
This is to say that this hierarchical arrangement - not only accepted hy
\Ociery but desired - which acknowledges the warrior's superior social sta
lU<i, do es not go beyo n d thr sphere o f prestige: it is not a h i l'Ta rch y of
jl(lV/ cr whirh t h e warrior group poss('sscs anti e x erc i se s over society. N o
I 7 \
l H f A R ( H E O I O G Y o r V I O L f N { !
Who arc the warriors? As one might well imagine, aggressiveness and
bellicosity generally diminishing with <lge. warriors are p ri m < H ily recruited
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<l1 diffrrences of these societies, a
mi l itary (,<lTeer WitS o p t n to all young mcn i n all the tribes of the Chaco. As
for t h e (' n n obl e m en t resu l t i n g from e n t raore i n t o th(' warrior group. i t
depended exclu�ively on the novicr's I)ersonal valor. A totally ol'tlJ group,
c onseq u e n tly. (which s h o uld prevent viewing th i s group as a closed caste
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 A R ( II I D L O G Y o r V ( O t ! N C f
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
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<lin ortcn rails i n his rfforts t o maint<lin pl'are <lll1ong t he
Iribrs w i th whom he woulo like to forge an alliance: always the same insti
gators of war, the young men. His l o n g-term strategy. based on establishing
peaceful relations between t h e Algo n ki n and the Iroquois, would have suc
ceeded. perhaps, were i t not for
I 7 7
' n , � � l ll t U l U b Y O f V I O l f N ( f
1 7 8
1 11 £ � R C H f O t O G Y O F V I O l ! N ( f
hy of I � on � r t o he n�l
They consider the nobi lity most wort
h IS like pa t fl
th at whic h is i n hNi ted throu
.
gh blood �nd whlC'
.
s tI� rough one s own
mony. but rather that which one obtam
merit s [ .. . 1 For t h e m , nouiJ ity resides
not 1 0 th e worth ("lncl
(II. p. 454).
hono r of lineage. but in valor and rectitude
, . the w'lrrio
the w ar n o r hlll1se l r ' h IS
VI'd Ud, I g'0,,1' , rs desirt for glory,
Will not 10 powl'r but to glory � . kest an.d
: for t he warrio r, war is by far th qUlc
But how docs the w arr.lor make SoCI�
1ll 0�t effic ient mean s to sillisfy his will.
r upon 11IIn t h e p �t'stl. �e
ety rerognize him? How docs he force socil'ly to cOllfe
, does h(' advancl' to establish h�s
that hl' {'xpects? What p roof, in other words
v ict o ry? There are, first of all, the
spoils. Their at once rl'al 'l n �1 symu ollc
imporrance i n the tri bes of the Chaco is all the more
re �larkable sln ce gen er
fo r e co n om iC en ds . l'l �v ln g � oted
.
ally in primit ive society, war is not waged
augm ent tiwr territo ry,
that tht' Guaic uru do not wage war i n order to
for war:
Silnch ez Labrador deflnf:s the main re,'lsons
1 7 9
I H £ H C H E O l O G Y O f V I O L E N ( (
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 well that i n cre as in g their live �
stock at t h e e n e m i es expens(' would
' clo;)k t h e m in t w i c e the glory.
Dohrizhoffer indicat('s how massive thfse [hefts w (' re :
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:
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 water,
cooking, for the r('st, [he " s l aves" lived l i k e their masters, pankipClting with
I 8 0
I H { 6 H H E O I O G Y O � V I O l f H { 1
in ml'l't'\ry
l , e n terprises,
· COlllmon sense explains why the vi ctors could
Ihenl
" 01 transfor m tile Van (luished i n t o slaves whose lahor cou Id be exp l01ted '.
ns t h ,'In
.
,
\\,!1a1 [askS woul d they
perform: There are no doubt worse con d'ItJO
s ,I I
.
a .l've of the Guaicuru, as S nnc h e z Labrador llmseIf exp I alns.
· ·
heing;
While the m;lSH'rs sleep, they gel drunk or do other things [I.
p. 2 5 1 1 .
1 ht' Guaicuru. moreover. hardly look an i n tcr{ <;t in til(' suh t l (' t i es of
'
SOCiil1 distinctions:
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<lCt
_ unless b ellic ose w i th lilt" Spa n is h . and th erfore wefe relati v ely s he�
_
tered from Ihe deadly microbial impact. If the ep i demics are. al i easl III I h lS
casC'. b esid e the poin!. then 10 what can t h e depopulation of The tribes be
Cltt ribulcd? The missionaries' observations on this point are very speCific, .
ring es wo ul d have hCl(\ lO co m pensate for the losseo;; in nwn. It seems eVident
1 8 1
l il t H l H I: O t O G Y O 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\<ll dependence on 1he group [hat ,H least panially assuTl'd its
subsistence. namely the warrior group. And so. i t is not too surprising to
leam that thl.'" term the GU<ticuru used to designatt· not only h U nlcrs. but
warriors, was Niadagaguadi. thosl;' thanks to whom w(' eal.
Would not this cronomic ··perversion" of war i n societies tot<tlly devoted
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
O f V I O L f l( C f
l H f 6 R ! H f O t O G Y
of �ht'
. und er the com ma nd
Me XIc an and A me ril"a n set tlem ents.
(<'Illy pil laged . d m i l itary action
" amo ng ot I1l'rs. w hos . e tribe onl y tolerate
eron l m 0
fa rll OU
S G but stro ngl y al·ded
' log ic of war. perhaps,
,
.
ugh spOIls were produ ced . Th(
eno
o th
p o ss essio � � \�; 7:· d e m e nts that comprised the spoilS war
'f
of the
an, s
�f
l e
�lY
Th e delal a t h e W. H TlOr as
hed rt'cogn itio n of
uld S U ggtst tha ' t thry aI o n e es t , hlis' .
stig e. ·I'h'
co ' . sou ght -after pre IS
ess n t · a l sour ce of the
s urh , that spO Ils were t�e 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 pris one rs
i� no t the .
num ber of hor ses or
't('rm rned by the . .
�rollP waS , no t 1'n ,any w;"ly d(
ry rile
:r('C
capturer ! : r r
ed III
scalp oj a,r ('ltrmy .�!ll
tra diti on is as old i n
:l'lIS ::: �
bac k
Sou :h
l Y ��awar; tha t this
bril l
We ,lTe ge n d It.
. . . the Charo trib l's respecte
th Am eflr a. Al mos. t all .
AIlH'rt. Ca as 1I IS in Nor
com bat .
young vic tor s deS i re to
xp lici tl y sig n ified thl;'
To Sl' ClII> the fallen enemy e
.
. , l
ll s cerem onies celebratl' d t he
rW<1rT1or . I n re. .sive .
he a( I mlt ' ted I·ntO Ih(' du b 0 -
rec . o g n .l z i .n g h i s dcf init ive righ t to the title
me mb er.
ent ran ce of the new to pos i t this
. r, It is nec ess ary. thu s.
obl t'm l;'nt - 0 r WlI rrlo
for tl1l<; was �n cnn . mit of the soc ial hie rar
chy 0t'
ble equ atro n: tll� wa rno rs OC CUPY the sum lps
dou to kin his ene mie s. sta
,
ge ; a wa rn 'or IS ,CI tll ;"ln w I 10, not conl ent
pre stI ene my wit hou t 5c;"l lp-
mmediat e ronse n ce a m a w ho kill s the
them. I �p,l(� : . n but o n e
insign i ficant distin ction.
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 not dis-
of sca I ps. anis h heads of h:1i r. tho ugh
Th ere IS a hIe rar chy
S for the
s . Thu s
as est el;'mp e{I as I hos e of I n d i a n
elaIn, e d . wer e no t by far 5. Ikf orc a nd
r ele rna l cIH'mic
equ al a To�)a SC,I1. p, t hei
l'hu lup i. not hin g cou ld
"
Bol ivia n
.
'tub bOr nly rl;'sisted the
the Chu lu[l l w a rnors
dun, ng the Ch aco war. . occ upa nts.
and I;'xt cTm inat e ils
seiz e th CIT tern't o
arm y wh ich wan led 10 . atta cked the
terr aln r the Ch�ry UP'i wat che d for and
Adm ir<lb le cxp erts of the e eom
\ Ind ians told me of thes
ade rs nca r the rare sources 0' walcr. I le
lIlV , ic-striCken by thir st
o w or" .. l)an
.
hats. SIle nt arro:-,s d,ecim ,ate d the troopS. w h
s per-
. ' s of Bol ivia n sold iers thu
lsrb le ene m Hun dTtd
and the terror o t .' : lI1 Inv r w Ind ian s gav e up
. e 0 arri ors ·s<li d. tha t the
Ished; so many. In any. case ' lock s. All the se
r S I a �l �gh t back only offrcers
a n e
arr<lnged in cases �
: ��ir :wn��. ca.refully � �l�a�� �h�:
:;at� �� ;ti� �e�t �I he S al s
b �[et: when tht'y die. thei r relativ es W il l burn
a � a n C l � ��a:��t' for the soul
l p. "
. th of eas ' y access to Ka, n k
the smoke- wrll mark a pa
. n tha t of a Tob" war rior
. oke mo re 110hi e tha
sm
of (he deceased. There .IS no s or tied to war
< •
I a J
I n t a � l K I U l U � Y O F V I O l I: N ( f
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
,
by 1cttmg a p;'lrt l cular soria! grouP. that of (he warriors. grow i n its breast,
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<lm!C
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
:
In a poslltOn to guidC' the lTibe'� sodopoliticaJ l i fe as they pl l-ast'd, Though
I 8 4
l H E A R C H E O L O G Y 0 1' V I O L E tI { £
nUll or a nd
, temporary i n the specifiC cast's t"vok('d. the e-conomic effects of
� r nevcrthelcss show that socie-ty is in n o way shfltcred from such an evo
.
But rather than look at local and conjunct ural SllUatlons.
. . .IS t h e
It
luliO n .
l o gl(. 1Il
'
. . hertnt i n the existence of a body o f warnors and the ct h·ICS I)tI onglng
. " Which
.
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'
warrior is in t'ssenct' condelllned /0 forging alit-ali. The glory won IS n('vrr
{'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<lt ' s good. but I can do more, 1 can i ncre<lse my glory.
Society says, That's good, but you should do mon', obtain our rt'cognition
,
ot" a superior prestige In other words, as much by his own personality
(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<lrrior finds h i msdf. I'o/ells HOIeI/S, a
,
prisoner of a logic that relentlessly makes h i m want to do a little more
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; refusl's glo ry. the warner 15
.
or
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('l1-
all'S the warrior in the as('rnding spiral of the eveT more" glorious feat. I his
I 8 5
, n t a � l H t U 1 0 b Y O f V I O L f N C f
1 a 6
I H f A R C H f O l O G Y O f V I O l f N ( [
, 'd l <
wI desire (to increase glory), c o ntradKtlOn , , between two opPosIte ' J og-
t 0 t I t I E'
i ndlVL
,t
. '
lot
o b r ical logic carries it away order to abo I '
IS h l
1e wamar, ' or e Jse
th e 'jot' l
III
. . .
.
. rlike logic emerges in order to destroy socIety as an undiVIded body.
Ihe w tt
road. How do we pOSit the relat ionship b lween society
. .
�
.
TheTe is no nliddle
all( I tla' wa rri o rs from now o n ? It d epen ds on whether socIety can e rect
dt'fellse mcch,misms l i kely 10 protect It from Ih {' I t't h ai d'IVISlon J ' Ch
.
' , IOward w lI
l e m of s urvi v al :
.
h ' warrio r fata lly l eads society. It is, for society, a p rob
o'> tribe , or the warrior. Which of the twO will be the stronger? In the
t
e-Itller th � . .
. . ,
con crt't e social reality of these SOCletlt'S, WhlCll solution fI nds the problem. .
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<lin privil eges (t itle, Mme, hairdo and 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 <lnd strategy, a part o f the
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<lnions i n arms
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<lvoring prestige is a purely personal affa i r : so is acqui ri n g it.
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 <lgain at z�ro,
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 <l l enterprise, a n d o n e t h a t is i n c r e asingly
unprofl lable: the warrior's life is pcrprtual combat. But th<ll still does not
�ay everyt h i n g . In order [ 0 respon d to this at oncl' personal <lnc! SOCial
I a 7
" " I t'l I IJ I U , 1 U f V I O l f N C E
IntoI
" le peactfulJ Y '
repe
• titIOn I, vy b ring
' " ing an enem y s s ca lp back
to t h e cam p: neit her
�
� ��
t h e tribe wo ld be satis fied h
by �h is facil e (so to spea k) solm r
ion, Each i
'
t h e und ena ktng mus t be more
ed more ler
[ Il e rl.s k run � orc, con,s l�rr n'ble
(ilrflcult. the da n ger confront
'
WM ,
, rlor
ab!e , Wh( BcC'ause this i t h
to m a mt;l l n hiS Imllv ldua l ,
� e only way for
th �
ns,
ulfferenre I n rela tion to h i s
hecause there is c o mpet i t i o com pan io
n he[w een the wil rriors for pres
tige, t ach w
i t is rccognizrd ac; su rh. is a
ri o r s expl oit. prl'c isely bl'cfluse
'
I 8 8
I H f A H H f O L O G Y O f n O L f N ( f
· favor
in this confrontation where the only t h I n g 1' 0 IllS
lng: rO
sta rt
' . , '
rw hel m i ng surprise of hIS sol1tary presence. ,
is the ave I . [or txamlJle tells of t ry i n g to convInce a v<11lant J\lgonk!1l'
,
Cham p ::ll n. ,
r ot to h�C\vt· by h imsel f to attark tht' I roqUOIs an d he answered,
' .
, ,
w<!rrto n
rllb is <llso wh<lt the Iroquois do, as the French J('suits staying with the
lIuron wert' surprised to find:
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
only two or (hr('e olher warriors, I n his very beaut i :ul memo.irs (cL bibliogra
phy). the Sioux Bl ac k Elk recalls how a Crow warnor was killed wt "' � , alone
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 against the American a r m y., n Ch eyen n e
horseman charged alone. ahead 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 ina com bat t h a t h e l e d a l o n e against a n enemy tribe. such as
the famous Fusi w e (d, bi bl i o grap 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 trap-
I 8 9
g " l n t U I U b 1 U f ¥ 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 <lnd burnt the miscl'abl(' wretch l i t t l e by little to make
him suffer marl' torment. They l e ft h i m for some rime. throw.
i n g water on his back: t h e n they tore out his l1<1ils. a n d put
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,)).
1 9 0
I H I A R ( H I O l O fi Y O f 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
ancI so u n d " . .
s: but soone r or later he
. evcn free i n the villag e of the victor
d I d nOt attem pl to
and eatcn . I l l' knew lhls a n d yet
" inevit ably execu ted
anywa y? Cenai nly not a m o n g his own
�:(' Where would he find r{'fugt'.
the captu red warrio r n o [ o n g er b e l o n gs t? the
p{'O;lk: I n d eed. for (hem.
� � . .
whIch only walts to
defi n i t ively l'xciudecl fro m t e com l U n ! ty
trib e, he is .
death i n order to aveng e tt I m m e d I ately.
�
Shoul d he a tempt to
ll'a rn of h i s .
the people of his villag e would refuse to welco
.
�
l1e h1l1 : he s a pns
e"$l'ape. � �
of a prison er of
must thus be fulfille d, In fac"!' the flight
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,
Hoxim ity
[ l ere. then. on all sides, this irredu cible affi n ity. this tr<1gic I
es cle<1r. Victor ious. he IllUSt immed i
Ill'tween the wllrrior and de<1tl1 becom
aIdv Icave a�(\in for wllr in order to
assure his glory with an even greater
ilhe(ld fur prestige he i nvaria bly meets Ihis e n d : solitary death i n t h e fare of
I 9 I
1 " 1 a K l H � U I O G Y o r 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,
did not aspir(' to t he 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. l e t us a l l o w the I n d i<lns to
explain it themselves: o n e witt thrreby be <lble to observe in their disco urse
the <lbsolute frredom of their thought and of their action. as well as the cool
l ucidity of their politica[ <ltlalysis. The men of these- societies each do what
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 me the
truth of th e- warrior. For if they wert not Kaanokle. it was btcause they did
not w'lnt to br. Why would valorous combatants nOI desire 10 be Kaanokle?
TIlis was the rast' of Akl<lmalse. a shaman of high repute. and of Tanu·uh.
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<linsl the Dolivians. the
Argen ti n ea ns. and the Toba. esp ecia l ly Tanu'ull; but neither 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 you a
KaanokJC? Why haven't you cver scalped your en e mies? In 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 ten limes h<ld not wallltd to
becomr a warrior bt'cilUse he was afraid of deJth.
I t was thus ohvious for him: the Kaanokle, as such, is condemned to
being killed. To on the glory attached to the title of warrior
i nsist a m o unts to
accepting the more or less long-term price: deach. Tanu'uh and 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
' H f & R C H f O L O G Y O F Y t O t f N { f
man n ' .
. '
lUst leave again for war. b r i n g back other scalps: i f not. he is no
!" ken seriously he is forgolten. ThiS IS why t h e KJano kl e' (l I(' qUlc
lon� r . , "
' kl y.
We could not have a clearer analysis of the relallons that 11Ilk society to
.
.
.
. riors The
W,lf ' ,
tribe accepts an autonomous group of men of war form i n g
. encouraging their vocation by a generous recogmu n 0 f pres-
lIS . . .
in itS breast
.
�
.
..
tige But doesn't this prestige group have a good chance of becoming a pres
a power group? Now i t IS 100 late for th e warnor: ' her h,<
sure grQup '
.
then ' ell
rcno unce-s his status and sham fully [ o s s fare. or e ft n( s hImself meme l-
� � �
. .
� !
tr' l)ped in his own vocation, a prisoner of hiS deslTC' fo r glory w h i c h
"I ly
him st ra ight an excha nge b etween society t 1le
to . an d
Ieads death. There is
wa rrior : p rest ige fo r exploit. But in
. . . .
this con frOlll<1t lon. II IS sO('l ety.
.
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<trrior, only the cer
lainl)' of sorrow. But why? Because the warrior could cause the sorrow of the
society by introducing the germ of division. by becom i n g a separate organ of
power. Such is the defense mechanism that primitiv � �ocicty e fccls to wa rd
olf nIl' risk t h a t the warrior. as such, bears: the und iVIded SOCIal body s l ife
. , .
for the warrior's de<tlh. Thr text of tribal l<lw becomes de<tr here: primitive
sotiety is, in its being. a sociery-!or-u1or; it is at the samc time, and for the
same reasons. a society against the 11'(}rrior.7
There existed among certain North Arnericau tribes (Crow. Hidatsa. Mandau.
sprcial club of warriors: tilt' Crazy Dog soci('ty, a
I
1 9 l
� " , ,, , u ' U Q I V I V I U L E H C f
ml'm
ory, thl:' idea. as summary as it is <lrcepted. of woman as a very precious
··good·' that men would spend their time ex<:hanging and circul ating; let us
also evoke the simpl istic idea of woman as the warriors recreation, which
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<lry 10 remember The- warrior·s wives
.
I I ,
V 1 0 L f M ( {
I H i � H H E O l O ' Y
O f
I
bit more about .It, w ho , as .
we saw in the case of the
":emini
(,hac�,
nity IS
l 9 to have childr
o little en .
krl0\'1 of the tn·bcs by refllslI gical com-
death sociolo
"
but cspcci"ll1y as
.ded tile
sellll1g 111
ntuals, a . that tillS
or tIlC '00 obviou
dest iny; the S truth
to Compcn5ate f f
arc
, usrd to ward 0ff. .
I nfe r·
, ority of m e n i n the face 0
. . tlOn,
1
ea k n e 55, dercll<: . h at
lnr.
. W world
liny is femll1 here i n tht
h s ,'nloSt everyw
· .IS 111 . derd wh at myt , as (I
wom en? ThiS an asexual w a rId
parad.1S t' to conque
r as
golden age O.r
Imagin e the lost
world w it ho u l Ii'omell.
rtcogtllzc.
NII I I O NI OF I H E WIRRIO R
�YIHOl OGICAl WRE\E
rl'ality
. . . On cd war
enVISI and the warrior as
I ha ve. I n 1 h c pn:
ceding text
n o t i n any WilY Slgl1l
"
' . . .fy
not as represr ntatlo n Which does
. , an d . the wa rn·or.
·
1 9 \
" . • 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(/, /llo l llld ing '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.
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 rlre (hulupi. As Jor tile Toba. rlldr ollly
l
of
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
') 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
.
I " ,
O f V l O l l: tt C f
A H H f 0 1 0 G Y
of tlIe per�
j /Jig/If, Ar t ile tim e
PCIIC JU
' fer Ihe appearallee o
st aJ'
S 11(JP rl /rer, 1 /
(l'eI1l pi and roba Iil'ecJ rog
r
l ay, Ollllll
d
/fllt J
"Ial , .
gln of
sid('fS at once the on
This myt � h brie f rem ark s, It con
alls for a f� w
of Ihi ngs, cos mic and
the b,rth Before w a r the order
.
... 4\f a nd
of c
rnal day, not
\ human time of the ete
�I�IS �:�: it is the pre
is not yet estil
sI on. 0f day .
multiplicity
h ul11 an, night. Social order. as
u\! d T0 ba do
, and
,
pu net
,
tcd by the succes , Chu I UP] an
es has yet to be bor n:
o f di ff
�
, as plura�\� f trib
�
�
r re n ce
llatl" .thems e from C'�d�
other. In othl"r words. sav age thoug h ,
,
diff{ 'Tt'n ear anc (' and war s
not thi nkS of soc iety 's app
in its
g lcal expressIOn,
" nct IO n ; ]', thinks of wa
y Iholo " SOC ICty ., W ar
< r as consubstantial to
m
, , .
conJu
' 1 order. The indigenous
nce in ]
I'date s
"ppt'il ra discourst' here va
SOCIa
belon gs to the pnm,uv,e
ren('cl l on.
1hat aI the OUISl.'t
flnth ropol ogical the myth attributes rrs
po nsi bil+
erve. tnoreo ve-r,
We ohs not like
' g men Young men do
it)' for the lau nc hin
g o� the wa r �O h
t
tha t is
equ ill ity. they want a h I erarchy f
etw
t':
::��;m. ;
thC wan t glo ry, and
b'lIldo n lhems('\v ('S to th eir pas ·
S
they a
lent, ther u�c �r�:
why they are , vio t young men are made
to be war+
y tha
e myl l c eaT y
sian for prestige. Th affi nity bttwcen war like
activity
s tha t wa r is ma de for yo un g me n. T�e
rior
rkcd .
not be morc cle:uly ma
and �ge group could
g aga "
5
Illi {
11'0
ug
e
!el
h
/1101 beg oll I '
y gal lip, tlley lIoria:d
'
cJW
•
d
, tile Olle 1/1/10 lau g/u::
.
: �e:\���:l l; 4; �: �
I I The w;\T be-tween the
Tona lan�1 ,Chll�'�e�ns( )��:�� ��i ��r le f g
Ie gTrlIlI1<1 .
ng the arlver�:lry to II
of the (hll UplS pre e
I!)S O' 8 Wrestling is one
i, ca1' //re ' n : gla uci clill
. '
l tlficd \)nrl. F0 II J�
lng o f thr
owi
than of strength, consl,st
,
nl,
1 2 VIIOH'//ol : . r:ln
� r. II (in Glla
utH clel .
aTll<1 Crls taln .
(in Spa ni�h , chui'!a): rnn
hrasiliallUlll, 11111 11/11 11
I , ,
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
YQIJ, res .' A s ' WI
b bee ans wered him :
l1('orby are
Here l am ! But I ltolle
I!('ry little hOlley! JuS t ellQugll for my . .
Theil that is 1101 cnough dllldrcn !
.fu
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
con tillu ed to walk and s.
('ome to 0110111 cr I
P (lce. There, .the
ICy
cal/ed once aga i": guide
Bee. /I'Iiere are you ?
1I('f(�! AI/d I h ne a lor oj hvll cyl
o
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
mell, ' it! ('fied rite chorus
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 bee-
to extract rhe }lOlley,.
all d ('/Icryo lle began
f}Irre /lIaS Stl"li all enormous TO Cat , B ut
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 r..'
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/
thir:r:': and so they beg J 1I'l.'re I!ery
an to look for /I'alcr.
.
the lT guille rlic/I cal/ed
a lagoon:
Lagooll, IIIherc orr YOIl
?
�7 C 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.
Yt Yes ' WI.' /llill go fllrtha!
(0 1/10� again, :
reprolcd lite blil ld mel
l together TII()I beg
alld afler a lI'hile, the an
leader called our ollce "
'
Lagool/, IIlherc are you
?
OgOlll ,
I 9 a
I H E 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
{;O WI! {llId seized (I II �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/e J?ell' {/II'OY (lIld met tilc IUI/IIIali bird, 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,
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<l i t of the n'al wilfrior, ,1 man who is confIdent,
re ckl ess. powerful and respected by rhe tribe, Tha! is t o say thtll t il e myth
inverts reality, thilt i n digenous thought mythologically docs what no on('
would dream of actual ly doing: making fun of warriors. ridiculing them. This
myth's mocking hu m o r thcrcby exp resses t he gap lhal a warrior society
m ainta ins in rel,llion to its w a r r i o rs . Andwhat fi l ls the gap is p reCi se ly
laughter, lhis same laughter tiln! b ri n gs the warriors their sorrow in the
I 9 9
I H i A R C H f O ( O ' Y O f V I O ( f N ( f
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:
BIBLIOGRAPHY
...ulCJ..
L KoRr� 1
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).
• 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
SEMIOTEXl(£) DOUBLE AGENTS SERIES
JI� flf�ING & IYlvm lOiRINm, [OIiORl
FATAL IIRIlEGitI
)1" BIlJ)'ll"'O
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
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, £D.