SfMIOlfXlm DOUBlf AGfNlS SfRlfS

JIM flLtlINC & \YlVR lOIRINGR, OIlORI

fAlAlITRMEGIH
It!H B&llilIURO

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

fOUCULf LIVE

ARCHfOLOGY Of VIOLfNCf
PlfRRf CLSTRH

MCHEOLOGY Of VIOLENCE
PilOt [U\lRfI

LOll DIMENIlON
PAUl VIRIUO

mHHICS Of D1SPPERNCf PA VIRIIIO COLLECffO INlfRVlfWS Of WILlIM S. BURROUGHI Willi'" I. Buoru,

Translated from the French by Jeanine Herman

SfMIOTfXT(f)

CONTENTS

The L.lst Frontier

I 3
This translation co pyr ight 1994 Jeanine Herman This edition ('of1yright 1'1994 Scmiotl'xr(e)

Savage Ethn o (JT<:lphy The Highpoint of the Cruise

9 19 37 43 53 87 93 105 119 Il7

139

d'(lIIrltropologif poliriqllc by

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

All ri gh ts reserved,

5 6 7 8 9 10
II II

Myths and Rites of South American lndi,ms

P()\\'er in Primitive Societies rreedom, Misfortune, the Unn;:lIne8ule

OF Ethnocidc

Keith Nelson. Shack Pastf'. Peter Lamborn Wilson <lnd Jordan Zinovich. 522 Philosophy 11:111, C ol u m b i a University. New York. New York 10027 rOB 5G8 \OVilli:1111Sburgh SI;1tion.l3rooklyn, New York 11211 USA Tt'lrphot1e: 7iU 387-6471

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

E ditions du Stui!,

Paris.

Primitive [conomy
The Return to Enlightcnment

Semiol<:xt(e) offIces:

rax: 718 963-2603

Arch e ol OrlY of Violence: War in Pri m itiv e Societies Sorrows of the- Savage Warrior

Marxists and Their Anthropology

Printed in the UniTf"d States of America,

169

hRCHOLOGY Of VIOLNC

1
rHf Lhr fRONrlfR
CI:l\lrlr Ll'vi-S(ra1J'"

frew('l1 s;lvageS .. "

'Tn'wl'i! \'CJyg\s.

"\.isten! 'Ihe rapids!" ing \Vatcr on great rocks C:ln be hl';lrd clr<lrly. FinC'rt) or [v,tnIY minutes of companion. wnlking and we reach the C;lIlOC. None lOO soon. I f l ni"h my t rek like my rhC' forest still prevents us from seeing the r;v('r, but thr rO:lr of nash

COVCT<>{j

in din. my snout in Ill{' mud. ('T;lwling in humus that Still. pl<1ying lkr k f'tt ' s Molloy in til{' A rwl zo ns j,

no sun will ever dry.. quitt something.

For close to lwO months, Jacques l . i zot <lnd I have !H'l'n \f;lvelillp: through Vtnewela's southern tip. in the territory of the Yanomami Indians, known hert." as the Waika. Their country is the last unt'xp[nrt'd (ullexp]o;t ('dl region of South Am('fic;). This cul-dC'-sac in tht: Amazon, part of both V{'nl'Zuel;] <lnd Br;],:il. h<l" up until now r{'sist('d pC1ll'tration llil-ou),!h
;]

vari

ety of n;]!ur<ll obSI;]ele,,: tilt: unbroken forest, unnaviJ.!ahk rivl'f'i (ontT o Ill' ap lJro<lciles their sourer,,), Ih(' rrmolcrH:SS or l'vl'rythin!!:, mnt"', and malar i<l, Allor this is h<1rdly auranivt to ('olonizt'rs, bUI Vl'1)' f:rvoT;lhlf;' to till'
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,
y.t twnl ami

H(H,OlOGY

Of

VIOl<N(,

IHf

ARCHfOlOGY

Of

VIOtfN(!

no douht tilt' world. Polilirians. t'nlrt'prt'nt'urs and investors have kt t hr i r I maginations run wild, like the Conquistadors four cen t u ri e s ago. S(,t'ing in thiS unk n own south a !l e w and fabulous Eldorallo. where one could find
the m have nev('r seen tilr W h ite Man, as we used to say. and onl y tWl'nty alread y spent twa years among tbem. which h<l n0 1

c e n i l inly tht la s t frt: p rim itive society in South Anwrit'a and

much. It is during the night that the animals come out. Ind i ans never climb them: evil spirits lurk there. We pass the mouth of the Mav(lca, a trbutary of the hft ba nk. Several hundred meters to go. A shad
i

Tw ilight . Hillsides like pyramids rise from the dense vegetation. Tht

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

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

owy fIgure wieldi ng a sm<lJ! tor ch runs along a Sleep b<lnk and catches t he lective Hving q unrter s). A wnrm reunion for the ethnologist nnd his savnges:
Already the n ig ht is fll l ('([ with tht songs of shamans.

i nc redi ble bonanza for all ethnologist. Lizot is tutlyi ng these In d ians. has

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

rope we throw him: w e h av e arrived at Mnvac a . inhabited by t h e

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

heen e<1sy; 11(' spC';!ks

th ei r languflge very well and is now beginn ing another st<lY. I am "('CO)11pany i n him for several m u n th s .
for the canoe. a rine. food ill1d objrcts to t ra d !.: with the Indians, il1rludillg macheu:s. h atc h ets, kilomel('rs of nylon fish i ng lint. tllOUSillHls of rl',hhooks

ou s whit e man ]. O ne q uesti o n is settl('d im m edi at e l y: I am his olde r brother. ... We wasted no t i m e . The n('xt day at dawn. a vi sit to t h e Patanawateri. It

We Spl'nt the first two wtt:ks in December sh op pi ng in C'ar:J(';J<;: a motor

(used for tying f't'<ltht'rs t o arrows), beautiful red fl h rir 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, bu t not only f or us 10 be well rece i ved. b ut 10 hI' received ;!t all. think." Thr Ynnomnmi are big c o n s ume rs ; these prqmrations are n ecrss i'lry.
tnke all o f o u r car go because of ils weight. S o w e leave 11i{' fuod. W e wi ll

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

day of walkin g. ,It an I ndian ' s pace. Why lh is expedi ti o n: TIH' m ot h t r of one
into anotht'r. ror several w eeks , she h;!s been v is iti ng her rc l ativts. !ier son of lizot's you n g ('rtw members is a native of this tribe, al thou g h sht married wan ts to see her. [rhis filial desire a c t ual l y masks a completcly di ffcrtnt

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

Lizo! si mp ly s;)jd: "You'lI see when VH' g(t I hl' r( . Thb will go faster than you A small I wo - en gi n t" sea plane picks us up. lilt' p il ot doesn' t want t o

desire. We w ill come back

with an ;mow if he shows up t he re. But (he Pat anaw a te r i leader, the boy's maternal unde. informed the warriors: Death to he who tOllches my sister's
sw;!mpy: we are some times plun grd

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

[0

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

rdy on the In di ans . Four hours later, after fl ying Over the savanna. I ht'n ler.s to the south. at Iht: confluence of the 0('<11110 an d the O ri no co. on it

so n " l n short. we can go. It is no picnic. Tht ('ntire sou t he rn zone of the Orinoco is panicularly
w a is

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

r unw ay buill Len Yl'ars ago by the Salesian l1Ii ssion. A brit-f "'top. JUSt long Four hours upstrC';)m in a (dnoC'.

en ough to grct't the m is s io n<1 r y. <I large. fmndly. ch e c rf ul Italian w it h a

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

water

t level in t o fl ooded l o wla nus. o ur

<;('c tion of SIMCt' identic;!l to th e next: watCT, ky, (lnd on both banks. infUlit(' lim'''' of sweej)ing furlst... . We will soon s{'{' all of ( his frolll it') inlninr. Gn.at wll iH' hirds emergl' from (rees and fly stupidly in front of us. lv{'nlUally. Ihey

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

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

Shall we ).Haise thl' O ri n oc o? II d ese rv 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.

p ro ph et ' s beMe!; we load the (anoC'. the 11I0tor is (Iliadit'd. ; I nd we leave.

unC'x p o s('d to sky o r sun. Amazoni<l. ;) lost p ar (l d isC' ? It depel1d<; on for whom. I find it rather infernal. Let us not spcilk of it further. Sl't up tile hammocks. l ig h t the fires and cal wh ilt we have. mostly banan<lS As night falls, w(' SCI up call1jl in the n ic k of time at a temporary site. We

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

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

(g re il t

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

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

Our g u i de, a middk-aged man. h:IS lil'('n grac ed with an incr e d i ble appl'lit('.
w ai t.

p;rilltd in ash. W(' wa l ch our neighbors to m a kt sure they don't take more. The next day around noon, a quick hath in a stream. This is t'liqlll'U{';

realize I hey must lack an d fly behi nd us. A few tortoises from tim{' to linw. an al l igator, a la rge venomous stingmy blending in wilh tht sand bank.... No thing

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

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

IH[

AHHfOLOY

OF

VIOlfN(!

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 and fIfty proplr . Scores of children p lay in the ce nlm l area, skeletill dogs Ileh('wr. A surpri...t': with the exception of tlucc or four old men, there is not

fun of Hebewc. But he dOl'sn't give- up, for a rew minutes lalrr, a darling have had sex with her seven or cight times. Sht" can't complain.

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

a sinp;le man. II is an enormoos dlUbulIO, sheltering more tl1an ont" hundred

twelve- or thincen- year-old girl comes in, her brl'ilStS barrly d('velo l)cd. She wtlnts to, tlnd their fr olicking gocs on <til night. extremely dis<:Ttl'tly. III..' muSt 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 co u rse , 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
no t only it trnns (l ction that satisfIes both pa rti es, it is an ob l i gat ion : to rtfuse

lit<lny of r('t rim i n <ltions ag;tin<;t thrir son and nephew. The mother fInds him in<.,ufrlcirntly attentive: 'Tvr heen wa iting for you for <;0 long. You h:lven't
his h am mo c k, he affects the most tol n l indifference, Tha t done, we nre

bark wt'akly. I [ebewe's mother and aunts. s q ua t ti ng, launch into a long

co m e , What misfortune to helVe il son lik" you ! " As for h im , strelcherl out in

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

ngc l ad y, offers uS food at all h ou rs of the day in smn ll qU:'Illlitirs c;1ch ti me : ash accompany cvctything. Thi s il) like Vil Cil tion ; we ca t. we swing in ham
forest fruih, liule cr:'lbs and swamp fISh, tapir 111ral. Green b;lJlanas grilled in

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

nothing , It is rltti ng 10 behave accordingly. Besides, the l'xch<lnge of goods is

an act of hostility, a s a pt rp0 ri1 1 ion whose enrl frsult could be w ar. "As for hert=. "Do you have mnny objects i n your hag? liere, wke thtsl' lJanilnas," rnyc:elf, rm a very generous man. I\nd you?" peoplr say when they ilrTivc An exhausting return, accomplishrd in a da y. The hoys are afraid of nUlM

bec<1ust:' of the f avorablc 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

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

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

One of them insisr.<; on taking Lizot's backpad: "Walk ahead with your rine. evening. without having run infO anyone. But illong the WJY, they point out
;\

[f the raiders attack. you will defend us." We arrive at the river in the sm;'lll area off 10 the side. Last year, <l w<lrrior who wns injured during <In

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 <ll lackcrs then nt:r :'I" q uickly <1S possible. for the o t her<; immrdi<lt('ly CO untrr
<1ltack. W would g la dly have awaited the warriors' rl'lurn for it was, UlOt

tl asuhu (' tNi. A Ydnom:1mi W;lT i<., a surprisl' r<1id: they attack at dawn when

than their hushands, who have all gone 10 war against an enemy tribe, the

a{(nck died here ('n route. II is ('ompanions erected a funrral pyre to burn thl' body and bring the ash es hack to the dlObul1o. ltlrg!? tribe; t hey have divided themselves into two cilablillos. Ont' on thi..'
sitr of thl' f Irst Two days of rest at home. Wr need it. The l3 ici1 Jansit eri make up a raliler

h<.:fnrC' hecom i ng a nuisilllcC, <lnd moreover, our (ompilnions are r:lthn :'Inx lOllS to kilVl', They have d one wh ilt they set Ollt to do , il nd are not in te re st 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 k now who his r o tl s i n ... Wl'ft'. But tIl(' rilscill is hilrdJy concernl'd w i th e nr k h in g his ge n r a lo gic<l l k now l cdge : what he W<llltS to know is wh o is he nOI rcl d t ed to. in otller word,. which girlc: he can c:l('rp with. Indeed, in hi, o\":n Irillt' - till'
lie mu..,t look for them elsewhere <IS <I result . This i<; ll1r prinlflry goal of his trip. lie will "uain it. AI nihtfall. 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 lllen ts wresling the hammock. tht stined murmurs, it doesn' t seem 10 b(" going well, 111(' girl d o('s n ' , W:'1I1I l\a rohiuTI - he is felate d to almO\l l'Vl'tyon(' (nil (he wO lllen ;He ofT l im ils).

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

ri!:iht b<lnk of the O rinoco, ,Inti one on the otht:r sidr. A Sales i <ln mission ly or Y il n kee Protestants, They don't surprise m(', I've seen tht:ir like... t'lsc (therr arr th ree in the :'IT('a, all Jt the edge of the river) has been SCI up at the

Wht'fe: fJnat ic , hruti sh , practical ly illileralr, So Illuch the brltrr. It is a plea

sure to confirm the vastnl'SS of l'vangclical failure. (The S <1 les ian s arc no
shaman of tIl{' rip;ht bank tribe c ompl a in ahout the AmeriCil.n who preilches Illore su cc ess fu l . but thr Indians tolerate thrm more eas il y .) The kadrr :'Ind

(haullno,

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

constantly by the sorcl'rl'rs) do nOI r x is l. and th at the leader should give up

two of his t h ree WiVl'S. Amen! "Tha t guy is SlaTting to <lnIlO)! us. This yt'ar 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 we are going to rehuild til(" (1IOhulI() much further away to distance nurstlvl's

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

tHE

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Of

VIOlfN{f

IHI:

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these duels. As for the t:uckold. he will get his wife back in a few dilYS, when, ('XhClUSIC"d from l o vC" Clnd fasting, she rC"(,nlers doml'slic lif('. She will sUTrly be punished. The Yanomilmi are not always gentle with their wives. lr m dsc ape is ilS ted i ous as ever, a I.."ontinuous forest . but nilvigating makes it
<t

StOPS, and ev e ryo ne quite simply gors back home. Mu(h of it \\',IS theatrical, tho ugh the sincerity of the actors cannot be denied. B('sides. m ill1 y men have large scars on the tops of their shaVl't1 he ads, rollected eluring the l'ourse of clamor

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

voci fer<ltion, howled ilrrusation. It looks a s tho ug h they w ill kill ('a ch olher off. and yetlhr who le thi n g is rather entertaining, Thr old w o me n from bOlh

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

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

tie<;, tt.'l'ms with secret hUnliln life; it is tr a ve le d , 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,

(" il mpsit e. This ron's!. for a w h ile Jl1an surrounded by all of na t ure ' s hostili

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

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

is g ood. But only tcn minutes liller our three c ompanio n s bl'gin to w11impcr:

Tile duck is <;oon cooked, overeooked even. We e<l! it. Even without salt, it 'Were si(k! We' re so sick! What's wron g ? '
" .

turdy men rub their bellies ilnd l ook (IS th ough they will hurst i n to ( rars.

singing in the vicinity,., One gunshot goes orr, ilncl a partridge is killed. The hilntl is tilslrless. This doe<; not prevent the Indi an<; from boiling eV l'lyt hin g all ,'It oncc i n a stew.., Soon, illl that is left il re tht' hones. river to trade wilh the downstrp(lm tribes. The bOiltS arc rilled with p ,\ ck ages The next day, we come across four canoes. The Y(lnonl<'lmi go down (he

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

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

w ill have to eat il lilli r more. One goes off to fish. a no ther (w ho knows how

Su rprise d perh8ps by our {c<lsing, they de c ide tlli'lt 10 cure themselves they

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

You Oltlde us eat raw meat!"

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

g re ;n river. Th('

face. enormous tre('s that block llie current. Here w e ilre en route to the

Three Indians <1ft' wi th u s , i n c l u d i ng Hebewe and the l t a d e r of tile

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 Sh iila ri (Iff.' gr ea t sorcerers. They will probahly (a ' st

d res se d from head to toe in a shi n whose tails reached his cal w$, pants, and,

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

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

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

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

sh<lmans would not be ilb le to function without (onsuming (snorting) it in very st ro ng dos.:lges. l3ul th e trees that produrr th('se hililucinog('nir see d s do
not grow everywherc, so that certili n tribes, such as those of Si trr a Parilllil,

hardly have ilny [It (Ill. On the other hand, the Shiitari ma int ai n a qU<lsi

monopoly on pr oduuion or lhe drug; they do nOI ('ven need to cultivaH' tile
Trees, which grow n.:llUrally on tht: savanna of their region. They hilrv::-St

spells on all the paths. With thes(', my frct will be p rot eC t ed.

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

ness with Ihem. Since the wholc trip is by w al rr, we can bring t1. lot or The topography has gradu ally changed. A (hilin of hills domin<ltt's (he

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

come with us bec il us e his older br oth e r whom he hasnt sc('n in ilt least

"

11(' wa nted to

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

much of it, and through sucnsive t ra d e agrl'emcnts from tribe to t ri be

one older man - jump into our ranoe and go h;lck up with u. Shortly
.

Wt'VC p la nned tl visit to thl'ir home, three of tht'm - two young mcn <lnd

We stop for <t few moments to chat w ith tht' Indians. Upon learning til<'lt

right bank, the forest gives way to (I ki nd of Silvannrt with sparse vegetation,
menu: a duck I.izot killed ('arlin today. [ delll rt nd thilt it be g rilled <lnd not
1 ,

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

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

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

boiled as usual. The Indians ('onSent reluctantly. While waitin g for it to cook.

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

river, thl'n pull th e canoe through foaming w ate rs . TIl<' current is stron g, but thrrc arr
lo t of us. A lmo st two hour of r f fo n nontthl'ltss. We rest for il
1 \

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

l H f

A I ( H f O L O GY

Of

V 1 0l f N ( E

l H E

U ( H E O L O G Y

or

Vt O t f N C f

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

surfi1cc: these are blade polishers. Everything one might need for the manu 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 of the sky. They will usC" it lO crush hatchet in tht' fort'S! or <It the rivrr"s edge. and think it the work of the spirits facture of po1i<;hro <;tQne hatchets is here: the sand. tht' water. the stone. But

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

the ml'n. croul"hl'd in a (:irde, take some. They sneeze. l"ouh. 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(" bl'r of rhilnts they know. ;tnd spirits t hey The most esttt'mcd shamans eX('('c-d others in experience. skill, the num

ebcllo

seeds against the bonom of a clay

dlObullos.

throughout Ihe- re-ginn.

prohailly Cl't1turk... ;"lgo. All th<lt r ('ma in are tht {leCS of their labor. <;c<ttttred
We reload the canoe. head off and arrive fiftl.' e n

were formrr occup;"lnt... of (urrcnt Yanot11ilmi territory and h ave di sa ppeared,

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

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

can

invoke. Among the Bichaan

dwbullo

hear. The Indians Il:tve lied to us, What they w fl 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,

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

minutcs later: the

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 ghosts h aunts the world of men. The chants. an obsessive fepe tilio n of the diseases capable of anni h ilating till' others. Among the I ndia ns. a nation of samr melanic line. nevcrthekss i l i lo w for c{'Ttain vocal vilriations: they

they <Ire beside Ihemsl'lves wit h

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

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

sometimes oscillate bct',vl.'cn it Gregori<lll chan! and pop music. AeaUliful 10

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

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

our l3ich;'lansiteri compnnion's brotllC'r. Thty recognil(' each o th er immedi

arm:!. crossed or raisrd up along the tent awnings. Shamed be anyone who doubts the seriousnl'ss of these riles (it is. after ill1. il matte r of life and death). And yet, the shaman will stol> from time to time to tell his wife:

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

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 ltiquette. or !e ...... dressed up. Two robust frllows have donne d long dress('<;: t h ey are
pan ion,>. more a(CUSlOlnl'd t o the busint'ss of whi te men. have no rc:-;erva not aware- of the diffrTc-nc(' buwtl'n men a nd women's clothing. Our Curn lions about poking fun at these b umpk ins. Thc m i i onari t s have an imbc

'"lIurry and hring some bananas to relative so-and-so! We forgot t o give him And, Quitc simply, he continu('<; his service.

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

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

To ccit- u ratt:' the event. tht' olner brother or gani7.cs a drug session and

has JUSt srt ilself up ilt lhe river's edg(', and their c/wbuHQ i ... not 4uill' fll1-

which hilS brought us illl unex pe cted en<:ounter. A small Yanomami tribt

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

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

arlO hardly different from th c others. there- ilre no surpriSl's. All the lri b('s now possess meta l lic instrunwnls. l'v('n those wi lh whom contact will not
of tll(' Orin oco and thost' of the interior arc s li gh t: ilmong the fornH'r, tht'fl'

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

alJ... olutely no ue, ,)5 opposed to metallic tools. fishing lint'. ttc., u !lc kni

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

be established for y(';]tS. As a result. differences belween groups al the edge i... a l o o k of beggarliutss (due to tht cl o t h es ) but thaI i s nOI deeply
(l llt'mpt"

a re

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

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

:-;;lVages!

mb...ion rie s v ain

ingraint'd, sinu' sodal and religious I ifl' has not ill <Ill betn affected by Iht'

Thty
;'j

"civililCd" Y anomami (with <Ill th e repugnnnt d('gradation which that st ate

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

signifies) to contrast with still "savage" Yan om ilmi : 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
1 7

neighhor blows it up your no<;(' hy exhaling powerfully intn your nostrils. All

fm c. /l"Cn powekr. is ready to be consumtd: it reed tube h fIlled <lnd your

another vegttable substant"e. tbel/a,

Nab(' is so

greal thill

I 6

[Hf

R ( H E O I O ' Y

Of

VI O I E N { E

1 11

A R C ll f ll L ll fi Y

Il f

VIO t E N {f

three crocodiles that Lizot has killed.

this. The Shi it;'\ri are likable. Upon l e av i n g, a few hours laler. w e offer them On the day of departu re, we exchange our goods for drugs. Not for per sonal use, but to e c hange with till" Parima t r ib es, which ilre sore ly d p ri ved

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

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

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

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

"fter close to fIftee n years, havl' no t been able to temper t h e Indians' warlike
Still t h e fact remains tha.t the Mahekodoteri possess thret:' o r four rifles, a

ift fro m the missionaries with the promise that they be used only for hunt
;'l rrOWS of o t h e r Yanomami. This was n o t u n fo res eeabk. Tht' attackers - t h e re

ry.

ing Clnd not fo r war. But try to conv i nce warriors to renounce an easy victo

These <lre not saints. This time they fought likt.' whites. but against the

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

excelltnt

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

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

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

incident: one of the two boys we took up river with us (he m u st havt been self into th(' water to h o l d h i m bilck. He then sei 7es a heavy pa

rlwbullo i1t
CI

to the pClth I tild n g to their territory, they waited for the counterillt<lck. W he n

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

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

dawn. i

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

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

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

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.

dd l e

and tries

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

to hit h e r. Other women come to the rescu e and m an <l ge to extract h i m , rag

viole n ce a n n <t gg ress i on . C h i ld re n p l ;'ly gilml's th:11 ar t often brutal. a r;lre thing <tmong tile Indian,
"Mother! He hit me!"

w <t n t . T h ey ilre rve n e n courag('d from early rh i l dho od to ckmonstr<lt(' their rrceived a h i t on the head w i t h ;1 sti c k, t hry co m e r u n n i ng and h,IWI: "Hit him h a rde r ! " The (desired) res u l t of this peda gogy is that it fo rms w ar ri O iS.

liberal with rtspect to boys. They arc a ll owed to do just <lbuut ilnything th ey

ing m <ld ly. from the ca n oe. I/e hitl'S his m Ol h r r. Yanolll<lmi sodery is vrry

and

p ;-Irt n ts avoid {'onsol i n g them w he n . h <lvi n g

sr oma ch .... The hatred for the enemy is stro ng. . . . Now. t h e H asuh ue ter i a re
prep <l ri n g their revenge. Passions arc passed on fro m father to so n .

Ont' of the w o un dtd, fIshed ou t, received a fi n a l hlow: a bow th rtls t into h i s Somewhat p a n i ck ed hy ( hese events, the missionaries, strongly urged by

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

a mb us h . Tbt.' ri fl es, which they w e re not exp('cling a t a l l , ex ploded, a man ft11. The others finished him off w i th Clrrow s. S tu n ned, h is com pa n i on s fled
in confusion. Tiley threw thtmselves into the Orinoco to swim across it. And

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

large Iravts. It passes, we go back to bed. go back to sleep. One hour later, it
Slrrs all over <lg <l i n : rain, waking up wi l h a s t a n , ru n n i n g for cove-r, ttc. A t e rri b l e New Year's Eve.

possible. Wf' t;lke down the h a m m ocks <lnrl s o m e h o w take s h e l t e r beneath

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

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

We p a ss ovtr Ihe rClpids e as i l y. It is a reve rse procession of th e Si1me

Iheir riOes i n

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

<l

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 ss i l J l c with <lrrows. (ExcqH i n t he very rare cases when:
upon a rr iv a l . It was i n this way that several years Clgo thirty B i chaans it er i

d ow n p o ur.

As qu it'kly as

invites another to a pa rty with the deliher<lte intention of m assa c r i ng them

g ro up

l ost th e i r l iv es . res po n d ing to an inviuuion from southern tribes: they wCfe

t reac he rously shot by arrow s ill tht dlObul1o.)

We h av e spent the ftrst three w('eks of January p('acl'fully traveling back

Returning to M av aca , w(' !tarn the outcome of Iht comb,it two wt'l'ks ear
lier, which had set tile Patanawa\t.'ri against the I insubu('teri. The results arr
g rave : four denths, it set.'ms.

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('
the re arc always banan<ls (more than six kinde; arc c ul t i vated ). Staying with Indians' in short v is i ts of two to t h ree days. Even if t he re is no nH',\l or fISh,

(OUI

of a unit of forty 10 flfry men) Clntont the

I Clt tcr, three by fIrearm. W hat h a ppe 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

lished n('aT their ehnil/Illo. Th at says a lot ,Ibou t till' fai l u re of I h l' priest... who,
I 8

11(' i s a fritnd o f thl'ir e ne m i (' . l O n e o f th e lhr('{' S a l es ia n mission<; was es ta b

with almost all the tribes in

the reg i o n . (l hey w ou l d gl a d l y

clo

Lizot i n ;

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

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

the Karohiteri, l.izot's best frientls, IS very pl e asa n t. We relax thl'rc. lhe peo

from the other tri bt's where, having just arrived, one is i m meC\ i il t c l y i'\CCOSI
I ,

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

' f

A R ( f O L O GY

O f

VI O l f N C [

l H f

U ( E O I O 'Y

O f

t O l E N( E

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

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

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

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

It i s u n i formly snid in S o uth America thaI Indians (lrc lazy. Indt.'ed, they sl, ans a n d do not deem it Il('ress(lry to earn thrir bread by the arl' not Chr, . ,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 t h a t among t h e Yanomami, <III Ihe necds of society ilre cover d by an av{'f

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

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

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

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

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

he

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

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 rrt i 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

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

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

When I as ke d the name of a bird one day, thry g<lve me tile term that signifies penis, i 'lll ather time. tapir. TIl<' young men are particularly droll: During our v iS i t with the Pamnawatcri, IIcbcwl' calls over a boy :lround twelve ycars old : " [ f you let yourself b e sodomizt'd, I'll give you my rinl . . . "Come with us into the garden, We'lI sodomize you!"

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

. . vVhich is not to s<ly t h a t that i a l l t h ey t h i n k aboul, b u t It dt:flnlldy

H n t l. o n
,

s ex

M<lv<lca, a m a n and a woman s t rug gl e on the noor of a house, Thrrc arc

counts, Ya pcs h i ! This is oftrn hea rd : I fee! l i k e h<lving st"x! ... O n e day, at
.

(Tics, s r ream s, protrsts, laughter. The wom<ln, who s('rms to know what she
wants, has slipped a h<lnd 1)('lween the man's l egs and grabbed <l test ic l e . , doesn't 1f't go: "She wants to copulate! She frC'is like copulaung, it stems., is indeed whnt happens, l i fe, natural phC'nomena bccome soci<ll events. This is becausC', i n a ce na in As i f relations brrween people were not enough to nourish commun ity

merCiless with ViSitors their agr, They are d ra gged into the gardens undrr some pretext and there. hrld down while the othcrs unl'<lp their penis, the supremt' humilimion, A running jokl': You're slumbering i n n occruly in your hammock w h e n
;'\11

I :veryone bursts into l a ugh ter. It is a very good jokc. Young mcn arr

1\1 hiS s l i g h test move to nee, a slight squee7e, This m us t , h u ' b u t sl le

. And tillS,

explosion p l u n ges you i n t o a n a tlsC'<t t i n g cloud. A n

Indian hasjusl fa rtC:d two o r threr crntimeters from your facc...

evrry oay. The most evidcnt activity is the prepllTn l i o n of food <tnd lhe

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

Lift: in ttl(' chobllJlos is generally monotonous, As everyw here ('Ise, nJP

prot'csses by which i t is obtained (bows, <lrrows, rope, cotto n ) , Lt't us n o t think f o r a mi n ute that the I nd i <ln s are undrn1ourished, Betwt'tn basiC' f;'lTm s p rc ti ve, in that all p e o pl (" s needs are m et, even more than mct, since thert' arc a"cet i ca l ly determined ( i n this sense, the missionaries creilti.' an artiflrial
n('('<1 for u n n ecess<try Clothing <lnlong certain tribes) . l:unhermorC', ftrtiJity, i nf<t ntici<il' and natural selection assure tr ibes of <I demographic optimum, we might s<lY. as much in quantity as i n qual ity. The hulk of infant mortality occurs in th(" first two years: the most Tt'sist<lnt survivt'. HenC'l', thr nourish. , 0 Y<lnomami get <l I an g v('ly well. An <lfnuent society, then, from il C erta i n per i n g . h u n t i n g (g<lrne is rti:ltively a b u n d a n t ) , fi s h i n g a n d h a rv cs t i ng, thc

roofs Immediately, all tIll' shamans {six or s('ven of t he m , tht' rctlt o n e and the lesser ones) position tht'lllsdv('s along the it'lltS . standing, atte m pt i n g to pu"h b a ck the tornado with great cries and grand gest u res , Lizo! :lnd I a e

l at rs into cultural terms. O n e late afternoon <lmong tl1e Ktl roh ne n , a s t o rm

way. there is no nature: a climatic di"orc!er, for eX01mple, i m me i <lt ely tmns
,

breaks out, preceded by violent whirlwinds which threaten to carry away tile

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

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
.

though they arc trying to cxtr;t('! somcthing, Th i s turns out

<I

Mavaca. About twenty women havr spread <I l l ilTOund the cJranullo, E;lCh is

rrcruited to co n t ri bul(' our a r ms ;'lnd voices, For this wind, these gusts, <I re I n fact evil s p i rits, surely se n t by h<lm<lns from an enemy t ri b e, :lrmed with

Sharp cries, at o nc(' u rge n t and p\;1intive, s ud dt n l y ourst fo nh all over fistful of t w i gs With which she b eats the ground. It looks as

t be the . cil.,c. A :

1 1

I H f

& R C H f O t I H Y

0 1

V I O l f N ( f

1 1 1[

A R C ll f O L O G Y

V I O L E N C f

shaman stands beside us. S p on ta neously, he sluts telling the myth thai is the
then asks whether women do thr samt thing i n our country: "YtS, but that

basis and foundation of t hi s fcm<lk ri tu al . Uzot takes fu riou" notes. The man

fOT an h o u r. i n vain. It's a S h ClnlC, sinet.' this was at least fifty kilos of go od hut we do not cross it, for, from here o n i n . we will continue on foot. rneat. We. find (l pol i s h e r here as well. The next day anothrT ra pid stops us,

was long ago. We've forgoHt n everything:' We feel poor.

Around midnighl, th e low chant of the shaman awakens us; he is trying to
I have Stt'n the rites of dtil t h as well. This was among the Karohiteri....

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

ri ses into the n i ght , 11 t rag i c thorus of women before th e irremediable: a child dies. Th e parents <lnd gra n dpa re n ts chant arollnd th e small cadnver
curled i n its m o ther's arms. All night. all morning. without a moment of orhrr women of the tribe participate in the mourning in shifts. the men do chimring, prepares the pyre. Meanwhile, the grandmother d.:lnces around it, not l eave their ham mocks. It is oppressive. Beneath the sun, the father. still i n tc rruptio n . Till" nrxt day, the broken. hoarse voic{'s a re heanrending. The

cure s o m eon e . This lasts for a while. then he is quiet. A great lament then

tion s. it i s transformed little by !iIIit' i n t o a torr('nl. We are very c l o s e to us >;ource. discovered oat too l o n g ago . wh i c l l d o m i n ate<; a high, rocky i mp ass e . The n o rm<11 ri tes of welcome take pI are, we g iv e the chief drugs, which are ra rt' here, and which are immedi atl'ly p re pa red a n d consumed. "Stay with us." he insists. 0 0 n o t go to see O u r day e nd s , and W spend the night i n the Shuimiwcitcri cl1ablll!o,

till' oth e rs. They are bad!" These good apostles are hardly thinking of our
welfare. What is bothering them a re the p res e n ts that will be distributed t o tilt.' ol he r tribes: they would gladly b e the recipients of this manna. Th ey engage in l r<1 d e, then at t h e last minute d('cide th<1t it has given mOTe than 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, it has recl'ived. Without anotht'r thou ght, they will catch up to the o thers, alrhOugh thq themselves will not r('turn what they have received from ivl' u'> a g u i d e n o n l'thel('ss. Quitl' ofl e n . a g ro u p will invite anoth("r to

ba<.:k. A l l 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

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

low sobs. all the men cry. a si mi l a r pain got'" th rou gh us. We ca n n o t resiST
the fI re. Smoke risrs a n d the sham::!n rushes forward to m ake it to go straight the cont<1gion. The fal h e r brt'aks his bow Clnd arrows and throws them into

t he i r p;:mners. The idea of a co n t ra ct would no doubt be lau gh ab l e to them. The i r word is ant.' th i ng they w oul d never dream of g ivi n g. We will h(lve to

up to the sky. for it co n t<l ins evils spirits. About fIVe' hou rs later, when the

clt'al w i t h it as best we can.

ashes are COld. a close n'lative lakes a basket and meticulously collects Clny fragmt'nts of bone that were not burnrd. R ed uced 10 powder and prcserved day a t dawn. evt'ryone hilS gone down t o t h e river - the women and chil soiled hy the baleful emanations of smoke. i n a calabash, they will give rise to
CI

woman wake evpryone up. The diagnosis is immediate: a ghost has seized walk up and down. imitating "II the cries of the il ll i m al in order to m<1ke it how Ir. treat; the fIeld of patholOgy has mOTe o r less been mastered. I t is no way t o a m i dd lt grou nd \)('Iwe('n t he two is not evident. Too b ad for us. rhe Parima is not really
<l

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

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

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

drrn in order to p uri fy themselves carefully, the mtn to w ,!Sh their arrows,

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

COllle ha ck . The treatlllent is effectiv(. for at dawn, she wakes u p c u m\ . . .

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 n g vines w i t h their leeth. It is elt'<lT that w e re thl' supply of m et a l tools suddenly to run OUt, it w o ul d not have

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,

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

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

day". As we pa,>s the M a h r kodo t er i rl1(Jbllllo, sevl'Tal I n d i a n s threrllen us

into the S ie r ra Parima. We first h <l ve to go up the Orinoco fo r <llmost two

Around the t wen t iet h of Janu<lry, we: <Ire on the road for an expedition

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

e(1 at their base by :,wampy lowlands. Brtween the but <l ll ih i n gs con>;idl'red, less tiring

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

ra t h e r a disonh: rly herd of con ie;11 <1nd pyr;1I11idshapecl mount<1ins. p res sed

cha i n of m o u n t a i n s wilh valleys below. It is

rJltlbu/los of tht: region,

tht pa ths follow ("T('Sts: we climb. d esce nd, climb again, etc. It is an effon,

f(' n t C<l rr i es it ofr. 1loping that a trunk might haw stopped it. wr look for i t
2 2

rep l a c i n g m et a l ) . Liznt kills a \;1rge ca pyh ara. bUI w e lose ii, a o d t h e cur

much bering- o n the l n d i <l n s ; t hey would go back to their old methods (fire

l nng enough to drop o ff SOIlll' tbella so that we will he w el c o m e on our way

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

t h rou gh st <1 gn <1 l i ng wateT o r slipping o n 111(' ro tle n trel' l ru n k s that serve as h;lCk) clf'sp ite their in"iSlence that we stay (again. a miltl('r of Ihe gift 10 be
2 1

(ir one is

in good hrallh] than wallowing:

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

I nstead of plunging deeper i n t o tht, Parim<l, we tlilve turned back. This is brieny rested nl) loss. We have stopped at the lhi rubiteri C/I(lbIlIlO where we ' on the way. And here wt: w('r(' able to attend the Yanomami s most soh'mn festival , t he reall ll, t h e ritual consumption of lhe ashes of the dead. Some dist<ln ce from the chabullo, we crossed a provisional campsite, occupied by

/lei! Th ey allow us to rest a bit, but not l o n g enough. For I am soon snapped
thi ngs i n unison. What is this?

remove them and replace th e m with others. This is pure joy. Halleluj;l h ! Hei!

Utsts of the Ihirubiteri. Tllt'y were gelting ready for !ht' afternoon's festivi DC'S. but they still found lime to force our h<lnd: a few c<lns of hooks. a f(,w .. po o l s of fIshing l i n e ; it's always lhl' same. lhe leader scltits us next door to h i m i n tilt cllablillu and offers us
O'WIlt'[ seems

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

rirst of a l l , there is a v i s i t i n g tribe i n the (therefore overcrowded) chabuJlo th ;1 t has never se-e-n w h ites. Th(' m e n , i n t i m ic!at('d a t first, stay behind the othe rs, barely dilring: to look at us (the women n...: n w i n heneath us, and from that moment on, tlwrc is no stopping them. Second, they ;"Ir!.'

the a w n i ngs). But they "oon lose th('ir reservations; lhey approach us, touch much more j nttreted in me th;"ln i n Lizat. Why? J cannot t'xptain this with
out describ i n g myself a bit. During our walks, we we;"lr shorts and tennis

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

banana and swe{'t potato puree. He is in poss('ssioll of an rnormous ]Hl i r of tl'sticles which swing gracefully. They make a strong impression o n LIS. Th('ir to think he is norrn i'l i . W h i l e the visitors are gett i n g ready,

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

quently, so is thl' body hair adorning my pector<lls ( not h i n g extrcnlt', let me assure you). And this rascinates the Indians who h<lv(' nothing more to show than 1.i70t in th is regard. I ;Jm the first fealherless bip ed they 've- met. Thcy do no h a lry a n . Just I ke a lug anteater! He is a veritabl(, anteater! Have you seen . thIS haIry man? , Thl'Y ('annat get over it, r<lving and insisting thin I take- a ('ompltt(' tour of the chabllllo so t hat the- women. lounging: in their ham mo cks , m i ght witness the spectacle from the comfon of thtir own hOllies. What to do? No one asks my o p i n i o n , a n d there I am, a s l r,mge .1nimal p<lraded fro m aw n i n g to awning am ids t
;"I

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

hide t eir c n husiilSl : ""A

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

inte'nd to trade during the dance. This w(lY the others know w h at to txpect Shouts and whistles streilm from all the awnings: the spectators approvr.

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

(sec above). Meanwhile, I am hardly in a stare to rt'j oice, since I fc('1 rather they pull. they gr<1b t o s('c i f it is well-attached, and J have a very hard time protecting my guillcry. MomC'nts like Ihis stay w i t h you. In the: proce<;s, I've
t h is. the <..'Il<l rit;"l iJle Lizol h,ts been douhled ovrr with lilugiller.
Itke .ItSUS ill the Pa ss ion. For thr women are not contrnl to look or touch:

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

DUring o u r S tilY, there W;]s a be aut i ful shamanism sessi o n . Our drugs rhe shamiln danced a n d chanted and wagt'd a tough baltlr were welcome. . agaillst an evil spirit, wh i(:h he fln<llly suc('('('dec! i n imprison i n g i n a basket. J l(' then killed it wilh a hatchrt ;]l1d, compl rt('iy exhaustc-d hy the struggle. fell to tilt 1100r. pantlll!1:. fht' spe(""I <l LOrS warmly encouratd h i m .
, 4

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

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

nf th r m I1re magnificently painted. <lnd circles ilnd lines o f UflICU ancl black

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

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

h ues of th e forest

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the reason for this festival is celebrated. Men from h01h tribcs who are 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 lhe ashes arc blended into the puree, whose taste is probably not even r('[<lted to the dcad person will cat his ashes. The women a n d children

o od. meat and bananas prc The guests receive two enormous pack(lges of f p;JfC'd i n ildvllnce by the rcahu's organizers n n d well-packC'd i n leaves (the As we walkcd toward the Orino("o, w e stOpped moment t o rr!icve our

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... .
n

am not sure how much there is exactly, but it must be dozens of kilos.

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

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. 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. This was not (I triumphant rC'turn. but. something murh morC" SUbtle. And " You pee like an old man. It's all yellow."

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

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 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

rea/Ill

A thousand years of wnrs. a lhous<lnd yrars of cclebrations! That is my \..,.ish for tht Y'lI1omami. Is this pious? J " m afraid so. They are the last of the b('sieged. A mortal shadow is b e i n g cast on a l l sides .... And <:lfte f'll..' (lrds? rtrh<lps we w i l l feel brttC'r once the f1l1nl frontier of this ultimat(, fn:,eclom day, then, oil derricks around the cllabllllos, diamond mines in the hil lsides. policC' o n t h e paths. boutiques on the riverbanks .... fl<lrmony l"vC'rywl1cfe.

ered a n d adorned, the men dancc. But it is obvious thnt Ihey put less 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. - he simply has to repeat what the other has said without m il k i n g a like a psalmody. from the othn ('nel of thc rhabullo his partner responds 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

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

conviction into it than t h e othcrs. no doubt t h i n k i n g it is not worth

1 7

ShVhGf HHNOGRhPHY
(ON YANOM1A)
lhi hook! deserves, which. w ithout hl'<;ilation. w e can call great. And let us
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 <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. ;11<;0 bear w ilnt'ss to the admiration that tht' qUOlsi-anonymous author of this

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'
,

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

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

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

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 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

rirsl p\lblilied in
,

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

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

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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 s pectaTO r 10 the most brut:ll <lnd u nexpected rupture th:lt one (an im ag i n e in twO brothers n("d, 1C'aving 'Elena i n the hilnds of he r assaililntS, a n unw itti n g

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

thE' l i fe of a yo u n g: girl [who could read and writ{' ilnd had had her First

woman among them. then became ihe wife of two succcssive: husbands. the mother of four boys. In 1 9 6 1 . a ft er twenty-two years, she abandoned [he undergone at first in pain and tears, which then l t ssen ed and was rven
beyond our world. forring

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

spent twenTY-two yrars - s('am:ly believablt for us - in an :lpprenticeship,

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

\"ersib ly while' <It elewn yE'i'lrs of age, :l prrson from the western w o rld . I n he r stol)'. we clei'lfly see that after twenty-two ye<lrs, sh(' had not completely f o rgotten htr native Portuguese. whirh she still understood well. And let us

of origin. Elena' s d i fference, luckily for liS, is thac she was already irre

But they almOSt <llw<lYs disappr:lr for('ver. The r(,<'Iso n for this is simple: t hes e very young [hildren soon die, or more likely, l ose all memory of (heir place

l i z:l tio n . she wo uld have certainly made :l radic<ll leap. would have become a Y<l noam a , and would never have dreamt of leaving. Elena Valrro is n ot th(' only case of a white child abducted hy Indians.

world

txpe ri r need

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

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

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 free, unconstrilined discourse, having rome out of her own w o rl d. and not ours. j uxl<lposed with thr other without touching it. of t h e i r world and th e i r bCing-in-th is-world are grad ui'l l ly outlined through a I n short for t ht first limt'. miraC'ulously, a primitivt culturt is bting

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

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

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

nOle l h a t for many yt .. rs afttr her rapture, sht could still recite a few "Our

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

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 iv e in the forest alone for seven

months without fire (her atttmpts. by the way. to make a fire through fric ,>onal iTY surely m<lde the task easi('r. And Irt us not forgr[ that t h i s was a
itS

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

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

without brt.'aklllg the sh rl l . without breaking and e n ttri ng : a rare occ asion
of whid} would othrrwit ncvtr havt' bern told. Thus. in <l way, tht Indi<ln

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

woman, that is. an individual mu('h less vulnerable [han a man. I n other
words, for a 1J0y taktn at tht samt age h t was, the work of l ea rn i n g the Indian world might not h<lve been as easily accomplished. A short time after

btca use 01H' day Elena Val('To dedded to i ntcrrupt her gre'lI journey. the story

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

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 lett i n g him livt'. 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 i s h es the d i ffere n ce benveell a document such the autobiographies of in d i gen o us peoples collected in othef pans
Throughout the book, one notices thnt Elena

world rejt('\('(I

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

tUft

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

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

V:llero was as much f aced

rt'percu'>s ion. it sh eds light on lhe opposite nlovcmt'nt o r I n d i a n s toward the . white world, on this repugnant dcgradatJon that the cynlc;tl o r the natV{' d o not hesiHlte to t h l' Ir:luma and eventually :ldapt {O her nrw l i fe. and 10 m a i n t <l i n a disI<lncl' ot>coming a ki<lIw)lping. But sht was, it seems to us. at t h e perfect agl' bo th to deal with our auentiolt. lin e n t ran ce into tllr lndi<ln world occurred viol ently. t h rouh
ch rist l' n

firSt in th<lt it concerns an eXl'lptitlnill pe rso n a l i ty, secondly in that. t h ro ugh a "ilC'('ulturation." The young girl\ ag-e sltould ('ol1lllltlnd

C<lSt

i interl'stin in two ways,

<1S

rrom it, 10 take a step back. however small. which would p rev e nt l1('r from

cfllIIJ)ferely

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

l 0

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

Yat/oallla and

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ablt' to ust: th ('se

t;'l i n rd il bit of a ci is tCl n ce, because she w as Cllwnys Napagnouma, O.wghter of W h i t es, not only to her Ya n o <l m a co m p a n i o n s but to h e rs(' l f. The savage ethnol ogy that o u r h e ro i n e p r:l c t ices goes as far as co ntest a t io n ; fo r example, for a l o n g time, she" re ma i n ed ski' ptical of the Indians' n:1 ig io u s beliefs and of the cxistenC'e or the /frkollrtl. the sp i ri t s of p l an t s animals and nnturC' tho lt 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(' p l i ('d : 'No, I d on 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 i n sp i red a repulsion in her that s he ra t h e r i m 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) th in 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 n d e rgr oun d 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(' b ody, th('n you g<lthrr the Tl'Il1<lins a n d crush t h 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 n d yo u ('<It them, P i n n l ly. after h av i n g eaten thrm, you go into the fo rest <lIHI you shit tht"1ll out: the n'mains slill have to go through th nl.' Thc /oucllall'G l o o k{'d tit me s t rio tl 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 effo rt to mi'lintain her clirfen:nce whilt" among thelll, Th is Signifies that till' idt.'a of <I r[,turn to her p eo p l e never totally left her. except. we sh oul d stress. during th e 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 rtra i t of h i m fIlled w it h warmth tind am'Clion. and ultimatc-ly wilh bitter n('S5 as well. fro m w h i c h thl' c ru s 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 d es a p o rt ra it of the gre <l t rhitt' Tu p i n a ll1b <l Coniamb('c. could hay(' :lclded t h 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 o n d that united her 10 this man, o('sp i te the occasi o n <l l outbursts of rage. as when he b ro k 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 ri e d \ 0 esca p e. Fusiw(' W;IS big. he W(lS s t ro n g, So much for Elena Valrro. Wh<lt of the h or i 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 wo ul d say.
, ', , ' . "

a l l o w herself to be c-n g u l fC'd hy Indian l i ft brcaus(' slw had always main

".

clrarly ('thnogr;jphic t,llenls precisely b t'Ta us( shl' did nOI

'

of its own t ruth, and that. mo reove r. these very c ul t u res tire. fro m hefe o n i n , 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

s i 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

describes them is such that

pr('dsion Clnc!
' ,

o n e has d ifTlC'u l ty fu l ly u n d rsta n d i n g t h e sw a rm

of deta i ls the deplh and vClriC'IY of obsrrvalions menIioned in pasing, the

('

l I

m u l t i p l e f;'lC'C'ts of t hese tri he'i l i ves. A band o 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 sa l i.e n t 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 t i n g our re<l d i 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 ded it. a tt'd 10 cf i {' se I n d i n ns. The comparison would perhaps be fruitful. The desrrip ti o n of endoc<lnni balism is pa rtir u lMly no te w orthy The faC't , , I II I t s e l f h<ls b e e n re c o gn i z ed fo r il l o n g t i m e , a n d we k n o w t h., t th e Amazonia n Northwest is a ba s ti on of ritual <lnthropoph<lgy, <l l be i t i n a more ane n uate,d form thilll i n other re gi o n s , Wh('n ,I p e rs o n dies, the body is ('n closd I n a ba sket a nd h u n g o n a t ree until the flesh dis<lPPc;'Irs, or els(' Ihe h o dy IS hurnrd imm('diat('ly. But i n hoth C<lS{ S, thr honrs ar{' g ; lI h e TNI. ' ground. red c('d to powder and pr('scrved i n a calabash. Littl(' by lillie. bas('d on reremonl<l l n e eds t h ey a re co n s u med i n <I p u ree of b an a n as . It is s t ri k i n g to come across the S, 'l me theory o f t'nciocann ibalism from th e mouths of the Yil n o a m as that formulate d by the G u a ya k i And yet Guayaki a n t h ro pophagy - unattcnua tcd - is the exaCI opposite of that of t he Yanoilma since t h ey grill th e flesh and eat i t a n d t h ro w a way the charred bones. But 111 both C<lSf'S, i n d i ge n o us thought holds Ihis r i tu al to be a means of re ro n ri l I g tl1(' l i vi n g and thl' detl d, One can also nOt(' that in both t ri ues . dead rt'l;l11('S are e a,len e o l l rct i vely i n lavish cclrbratio ns to which rvcn fMaway . fnends <I re IJlvlted and that, w h eth e r bone powder or grilled flesh, m<ln is n ev cr eaten <llone. but a l w ays bl('nded i n to a veg(, l a b l c suhstance (here, hana n puree. a m o n g the Guayaki. piJ/do pith) En do can n i b l i s m <l i n srribes . It s('lf,. I n a h O l O ge n eOU s space w h i r h surely stems from a si n g l e system , lrSPII(, Us variOus forms. Yrl r<ln s u ch <I I h r o ry b(' ri<lhorat{'d w i t ho ut also Including exocilnnil Jalism, sueh ;IS that which the Tupi-G u;lrani Hacriee? nd w o u ld not the two forms o f a m h ro po p h agy fall within a fI el dI which a s l n ?le a n lys i s would unite? Vollwrd (Inc! H ogl a r 's hypothes is. i n ally C'<lSt. hlCh rt l cu l a tcs Nonhern m zoni<ln rndocil n n i hillism ns " b('g i n n i n g <lgri , . culture, IS nOt w h ol l y convlnclIl g, O n go i n g rcsean.:h will p erh a ps shed more the
: . . .

a h u nd ;'l n ce i n the description of

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

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

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

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

put to such great use. the constant intellectual effon o f remembering the

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.

milke hImself their spokesperson. A delicate t a sk , with mally fmC' pOin ts, to be accomplished under the tribe's discrcN but vigilant control. Should the tribe IO{'ille the- slightest abuse of power (tha( is, the- use of power). the- chkfs pres rige ends: he is abandoned for another more nware of his duties. For having a(1('mpted to drag his tribe- into a war expedition that it reruse-d, for having confused his (Icsirc and the tribe's intcntions, Fusiwe wined himstlf. For<lken by almost everyone, he nevcrthtless persisted in waging Ilis war to fma11y die

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

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

ou r own. in that all efforts of the tribe lend precisely to separate chieftainship and ('oercion and thus to re n de r powl'r powerless in a sense. Concretely, a (hief - it would perhaps bt' more ;) pt to call h i m a director or guide - holds absolutely no power over his people. outside of that w h ic h is quite (\iffC'Tcnt -

! em organizes these properties or that any logic assembles them into a signifl (ant whole. Quite the contrilry. Lct us simply say that the person of Fusiwe pl'rfe(tly illustr<tt('s the Indian con(eption of power. radically di fferent from

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

Pachoriwe Ithe mon key HekouraJ now abilndons Illt'. I. . .J l i e pressed himself
shaman istic phenomena have to say about this? And what ' possesses" this

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

young man. allowing him to put or f his death for several hours until hc Cln 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
l

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

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

('onstantly present in the text that we are dealing with, it leads us to ask:
l 5

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

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

p rov i s i onal enrounter 1Jl'tween chitftain"hip ;1I1c! authority: Wilr. perhaps the

py its own place in West e rn thought.

Ia. rly t o men of o u r sociery: the dividing l i n e betwcen archaic societies a n d western" societies i s perh aps less a malter of technical development than of the t ran s fo rma t i o n of polit icill ;)utho rity. l l ere. s well. is an ;)rea tin t would

fnred to die as a warrior. The question of power in this kind of soci('ty, posed properly, breaks with the acad('micisll1 of simple d('scriplion (;) pt'rslH'ctive close to and compl icitous with the most tiresome exoticism) and points fa m i l

i n it. For his death. almost solitary. was in fa(t a suicide: lhe suicide o f a chief who could nOl bear the re-pudiation inflicted by his companions, one who, u n a b le to survive as chief in the ('yes of his people and his white w ife, I)re

he CSSl'ntial for tile Sci('tl Cl'S of man to k,un to in h a b i t. if only to b ette r ocru
There is a circU!1lstncc, howevl'[, in which [nd i(lll societies lolera ll' tIlt'

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

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aftervvards? ThC'rl' is reilson to fcar that th ese i m p ressio n s w i l l br u n f<lvo r_

:1ill('. W h a t to t!link, i nd eed , of pople who ceasC'lessly k i l l ilch other with

c ral ly rvrryo n e against everyonc, rhe presocial state of m a n a c co rd i ng to Hobbes. We should bc e!tilr: H o b be s ' bellul/i omnium cOlma oll1nrs does n o t
correspond to iln h i s to r i c m o m e n t i n h u m fl n t:' v o l u r i o n < I n y m o re t h a n

who only y('stl'rday w('rC" their uesl friends? And from then o n , the illusions of t h e Noble S C'l v:1g:e 's peaceful habits coli <Ipse, s i n ce we o n l y set WC'lr of l i t

rclcntltss intensity, who do not hC'sitate to riddle with arro\vs today those

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

narmtive spans twenty-two yC'ilrs: secondly. s h e probably g<lve pri o rit y to

migllt s ugg est the con t ra ry with regard to thr Yan o<lnw, F i rst, Ekna V<llrro's

repon i n g that which impressed her most. n <lmrly. comh<lL F i nCllly, Itt us not

H does not tribes. TI1C'sl' po i nrs nl<lde, it seCJllS 10 us th<lt even the lC' rm Wi ilppropriately dcs('riIJe the filcts, ror which l'ntitirs <lrt opost'd? ThesC' ;He l ora l allied tribes, t h at is, t ri bl's th<lt lmele their women, a n d who, as <1 result. <Irr rdated to each otl1er. We- may hi1vr a hard t i me undrr'> l a n d i n g how brothers-in-law can think of ma ss<l cri n g ci1rh oth er, hut it srems clear that

cultures, that tile Cl rri va l of wh i t rs ('verywhC'n' in AmericjJ - Nortll as well as

South - led al m ost automatic<llly to a do u b l i n g of h o s t i l i ty and w<lr uetween

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

3
THE HIGHPO INT Of THE CRU ISE
The guide jumps on l a n d and shouts: "Women and children fmt!", <l joke The boat travels t h e l a s t meters and washes smoothly o n t o t h e beach.

"war" a m o n g the Indians must first be thought of i n terms o f t he cirl'ulation

well, A n d w hcn possible, subs t i tute the bloody confrontations using <lrrows 'en out. The result is Ih,tt the bound<lrics between pe<lce <lnd violence, betw( book i s to i nfuse this problem w i t h i ncompar<luly lively mate ri 'l ! . marriage and W<lr, becoml' very bl urred and that one of the merits of th i s A fln<ll word i n conclusion: wh<l! or th e reilder of such a work if he i s a n

with ritU(lJ c o m b <lt us i n g cluhs. thanks t o which vengeilnce c a n be played

of women. who are never k i l l ed. In ilny ca sr, the Y<l n o a m <l know this very

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

to the teemi n g l i fe of Cl p ri m i t i ve society. the schol<lr's d iscourse se('ms Ih('

1Ves h i m ovC'r",/hd mc:d, but not si1tisflC'd. Indeed. (OmpiHed ethnologist? It k,

disemb;:uk i n l ively c o m m o t i o n , They are a l l there, t h e Browns <lnd the

Murdocks, the Foxes and the Poages, the MacCurdys :l.Ild the Cooks. BeforC'

met w i t h joyous laughter. He gall<lnlly o fft: rs his arm to the women, and they

hesistant m u m b l i n g of a o n e-eyed stutterC'r. A som ew h a t biller book. then,

deptlrture, they were ildvised to cover themselves well. but sC'veral of the men have opted fo r sllons. Tiley sl ap themsC'lvcs on th e calves and scratch aren't going to live our l ives in air-conditioned hotels! You have to rough it
"We leave ('Ig<li n i n two hours ... w:i!ch your s calps ! "

slides a little further aW<ly with e<lch step we t('lke to appro<lch it. But this is guage o f science (which i s n o ! bei ng put i n t o question in any Wily hne-)
it

their l arge. p i n k k n ees which the m osqu itoes have i m m e d i <ltely sponed. We

no longer a mailer of eth nO l ogy, Th i n gs rem<l i n i n g what tiley are, th(' l a n dis

from ti me to time, get in touch with nature. This is prrhilps the tenth contingent of tourists he has led to the I n d i a n
village. ROlltine for h i m . Why cil <l n gc h i s repanee? [t is m e t with favor every

seems to rrmain, by destiny pnh<lps. a disco urse on Savages and not

course of Savtlges. INe C<lnnot conquer the frcedom, any mort" C(lSily ttJiln

so etlch is re fuse d the ruse of k now l ed g e. whkh in becoming ilbsolute. <lbol ishes itself i n s i l e n c!.',
l 6

without losing everything altogether <lnd no longer residing' anywher(', And

they. to be o n e and the other a t OI1C(,. to be h e re ,me! there a t lhe S<lme time,

time. But fo r these people, it is very different. They have paid tl prC'tty p e n ny
First published in 1('5

214')-23')0.

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

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the savages. And for th e i r money tlwy get the merc i l ess Slln, the b k nd ed odors of riv l' r Clnu forest. thC' i n sects, a l l of this strange world which they will bravely co nqu t'r. " W i th t h i s l i gh t . I'm goi n g to St'! the ap e n 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 u eg 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 co me 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. uon1 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 u p 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 doesnt 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 s a id they werC' t i red. 1 h(' truth is, tht'y wC'rc s ('<1 rrd ! Yes, carr<i of Ihe I nd i a 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 i g h. 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'u l 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 a k i 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." This is b e C'O m i n g disrollccrting. thie; hC'avy siitnct'. tilt' wt'ight or tltt:'

here a n d St'e

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

arc at

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

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

n t',He s ma n is sit hours to get Ihe triht' on fI l m i s n ot very m uch . Off to work. Tht' m m a l. From a an of e p n h s the in brnch ling in the shade of a small wooden his pipe smokes he mouth; s i time to time. he brings a baked dilY tube to h even doesnt lIe . g without displacin g his gaze, whkh s e e ms to sec nothi n tumblC' s k c o l nineh when Mr. Brown plants himself i n fronl of him. His bl:lck 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 a bo u t to act, so mrth i 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 th e works. What do you think? lIow w o uld you :ld d rf'':'s Ihis... th i s m an ? " "Just d on 't SilY anything. In an y case, he surely wouldn't understand."' Hc a p p roaches and utters. somcwhc re bctwcen injunctio n and request:
' PhOto."
The l nditln's "On e

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

eyes travel from Mr. Brown's feet to

h i s k n {('s.

peso."

Good. At l e as t h e knows what money is. We s ho u l d h a v e know n . . 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 o n s t ra te s the unbuttoning of :l s h i rt. He' undresses the silvage. he frees him of his filthy. sccondh:lnd clOlh('s.
a

picture o r two. Mrs. Brown is starting to lose he r pat i C'n ce.

"Well. a re you going to take this pi ct u re? " "You

"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

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

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" Get a new Ind i a n ." " It 'd be the S;lme thing with the o t hers . "
The m a n i still sealed, i n different n n c! sm ok i ng pC;lcefully, "Very well. Five pesos." He gol's inside for sl'veraJ momcnts and rea p p ea rs entirely naked, athlct ic, relaxed and comfortable with his

1J0dy.

Mr, Brown daydreams wistfully,

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

"Oh,
sixth.

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

up in stinking rags. He dem a nds five pesos. and I cou ld giVl' h i m five thou s;'lnd. He has nothing:, he is less than nothing. ane! when he S;'lys "flllished." [ stop, Why ? "Why the devil does he act this W;jY? W hat difference does it make to him, onl' or two more p ic- t u res?" "You've corn(' ;jc-roS ;jn expensive st;'lrh'L" Mr. Brown i s in no m ood for humor.

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

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

" F i n ishe d," Without raising his voice, the

mall has given a n order. Mr. Brown does

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

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

For the firt timt' t he I n d i a n e x p ress es an e m ot i o n : his icy face i s mom e n ta ri ly unsellled b y m i l d surpr ise ,
h oot i n g a n a rro w.

"And {hos('?"

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

"Look! What

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

live on

nothing, like an im a ls !"

" M aylle he wanls to b uy

a C;1nlera,"

"Me not selling." This one is n ot getting past me,

We'll sec who 's stronger,

if h e cnll h o l d oul.

chooses m;).rtyrdom,

The I n d i a n eX(lmincs the old fIve peso bill for a l o n g time, thcn puts it in tht house. He sits down and takl's up his p i pe again_ This is re;'l l l y annoying, he isn't paying us the slightest attention. we're here (l n d i t ' s as if we w e re n ' t. . , Hatred: th is is what Mr, Drown bcgi ns to feel llefore this b l oc k of inertia, Coming al l this way, the expense on 101) o f it. It is i m possi bl e to rel<l i n a d i gn ified attitude. to hu m b l e this sav;jge by tel ling him to go to he ll . M r, Brown does not want to have come for nothing. Wh al (l bo u t the fe;'l thers? Aren't the re any fcathers?" With grand gest u res he adorns Ihe Indian with fInery, covers his head in ornamenl, equips h i m with l ong w i n gs, "You laking pictures 111e wl 'aring fei1thers, flftcen P('sos." The offer h not disc-ussed, Mrs. Brown smiles approvinly. Her h usb a n d
"

lier!"

for potenti<11

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

"But I want this one. with the arrows," " l .ook, w h at do you want with this one? The others arc really m u (" h

prrt

the i)Qll('

"O.K, Fifteen pesos."

0

Mr. Brown W;'lS n o t ('xpl'{'ting thi;; at all. "What! l I (" s r ra lY ! TI1;'lt's m uc h 100 ('xp('llsiv('!" "That. my bow. Me k il l i n g a n imals," "You're ma k i n a fo o l of yourself. P<lY it. To o bnd for you!" The h uslJand holds out a thousand peso lJill. But the otheT refuses. he wants tel1 h un dre d peso bills, Mr. PO(lge is <lsked to b re ;'l k 1he large bi l l . Mr. Brown. ('xhausll'd, lrnv{s. his how a n d hunting arrO\v'i i n h ,we!. He fI nishes 't!y. l i k(' a th ie f. taking adva n t a ge of the fact that n o off h i s roll or fI l m disc rt:l
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one can sec h i m mo n ey t

..

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

Mr. M<leCurdy more or l es s sums uJl lhe rourbts' gener<11 fee l i n gs as they

('ome back to the boat. gi rl s d<ll1C'ing n;)ked! I ' m sure they'd sl cep with <lnyolle for t w enty ! " "Two hundred pesos! Can you believe it? To film three m i n utes of tht"se

" W h a t about m e ! This is t h e first r i m e l 'vC' see n m y husb<llld gel taken. And by w h o m ! "
"The Preseotls werc right t ..

l'asy to mi1ke fl l i v i n g thaI way!"

" 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

4
Of HHNOC IO
10 a dcm<lnd. to s a ti sfy a c erta i n need for term i n o l o gi ca l p rl' ci s i o n. the use of ogy. 10 e n te r somewhat into the publiC' domain. 13IH d o es the accelerated dis lribution of
CI

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

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

th e word has largely and r<lpidly cxtended t}(yond its piCle(' o f origin. ethnol

word insure the coherence i1nd r igo r 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 w h e n we refer to ethnocide. In the minds of its inventors. the word W<1S sure

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

s{'rious reflcCTion on Ihe id('(l of elhnocide wilhout fi rs t <ltt(' m p l i n g 1 0 d('1('r

m i n e that w h i c h di:;tinguishes the aforementiuned phen ol1lenon from the reality that genocide" fl' preSl't1ts. is ,I rt'l ogn i t i o n of a t y p (' of nimin<liilY her('tofore unknown. More predsl'ly.
2R26-2Rfiq rir$1 pllb l i s lied il\ i;lIcr('/oJl('riia I!lIil'cr'itJli. Pal is, 4 1

Ilsed g('no('irie" 10 s<1tisfy this new dem<1nd. We C<lnno!. c o n se q u e n t l y lwgin

.

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

.

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

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

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

Created i n 1946 at the Nuremberg trials. the leg-al (.'on(.' eption of genocide

Ed.

111l i\l'1"s:1 Ii. 1 9/4. jlJl.

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

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

the ('n s(' i n N az i Germany. can only lei1d to genocirle. Th e successive colonial wnrs throughout th(' Third Wo rl d since 1945 havl' also given rise to speC'iflc t i o n il l relations nnd the re l n t ive i n d i fference of p uh l i c orinion prev('nted the i nstitution of a co n s en s us a n a logous to th at o f NU T(' m b c rg ; the I.:ases were
ncver pursued. nn:'usations of ge n o cide agai n st colonial powers. But the gilnlC of i n terna

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

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 gnocidal 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 th er hand. a d mi ts t h e rel nt i v i 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 oc i d e (lnd ethnocide as t w o perverse fo r ms of pessimism a n d o p t i

colonial empirl's by the great [uropr;1n pow e rs i s p un cl u;1t td b y l11l'lhodicn] m assacres of n a l ive popuintions. Nevertheless, by its continental rxpansion, by the vnstness of the de m ogra ph i c drop that it provokt'd. it is til(' ge noci d e or rhe i n d i genous Americans tll,ll rtta i n s the most a t t e n t i o n . Since 1492. <I mRch i n e of d estruni o n of I n di a ns was put into ge<1r. This machine c-ontinues

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

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

rem i nds us in Rare et llistoirc h ow the Indians of the Islts wondtrd 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. insult: in d isc u ss i n g ethnocick. before i t w a s called that, Clnucle l.rvi-Str<tuss

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

I f the term genocide refns to the idea of " racc" and to th e will to extermi nate a rnci<ll m i n o rity. elilnocic!(o signals not th e physical destructio n of men (in wl1ich ('asr we r(' ma i n within a gentK'idal situation) , but the destrunio n o f their culture. Ethnocide is then the systemati c destructio n o f ways o f liv i n g and t h i nki ng o f people d i fferent from those who lead this venture of destnlctio n . In sum. gr n o ( i d e ,Issassi n a t rs people i n t h ei r llodies. l'thnocide kills them in their m i n ds. I n tither cnse, it is s t i l l a qUt'tion of <k at tl. but of a d i ff(' ren t death: physi("<iI a n d immrdia.te el i m i n ;ltion is not c u l t u ra l oppres

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

to function where tl1(' last "silvage" triites subsist nlong the g rei1 t Am, 1zo n i a n forest. Throughou t these past yenrs, the massacres o f ! n d i n n s htlve b('en denoun('rd in Brazil. Colombin, and Paraguay. AlwilyS in v:lin. I t is primarily from tl1e-ir Amerkan ex pf' rie n ce tlwt eth n o l o gi sts, in par t icular Robert J au l i n . W(' ft' l ed to formulnLc the cO/H:ept of {'rh n o cid('. The c o n cept \-vas first us('d to refer to tl1(' lndi(lns of S o ut h Americn. Thus WI.'

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 nm ai n t ies: fIrst. tila! rJi ff('fC'ncr - pnpn islll - is

Who, mor{'ovt'r, are- the practitioners of ethnocirle? Who <l1!:lcks people's

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

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

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 soughtaftl:r nsul 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
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 benefitS." The spirituality of ('t hnocide is the ethics of h u m a n ism.

misrty. I t is o ur duty to help th(,111 emancipate themselves from servitude.

ordn to participate fully i n t h t dt.'vl.'lopmt.'nt of national society lind en.ioy ItS The h o riz on upon wl1ich the C'thnocidnl m i n d a n d practice take shape is

Fthnocid e shares w i t h genoririe an ide n tica l vision of tht Other; Ihe Other is d i fference. certain ly. but it is ("s p ec i a l l y wrong d i ffertnce. Tht:se two
4 ,

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
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w h k h a l l t h e>

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

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

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

axiom affirms tIll' a uso l ute superio rity of wesu'rn Culture . Thu,"" it can only mai n t a i n a relatio n<;hip of neg;ni on with other cultures, and in particu lar with primiti ve ont'<;. But it IS a matter or positiv e n e gat i o n , i n that i t wants to s u 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. . conse quent ly. C't h no c i d e would not he a n undert aking of dt'stru ct i o n : it is. on the {.:ontra ry. a neCt's'iary lilsk. deman ded hy the h u m a n i ') m in<;rrib ed ill the heart of w('stt'rn culture. We c a l l this vocati on to measu re differences accord ing to the y,Hdst ick or on ( s o w n c u l t u n: ethnoc entrism . The Wesl would be ethnoc 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 p rim 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 ca l 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 procl aim thems elves Yann marni , Ptopl t. .. ; lhat till' Eskim os arc the I n u i t, " M e n . " Wr c o u l d
"

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

linked to ethnocentric conviction. Otherwise. all cultures would nrc""sar ( , ly . . . hav e t o be ethnocidal, and this is not the cast'. It LS on titlS level, It seems to liS, t ha t a c('rtain i nsufflciency can be located i n the research that scholars, rightly concerned with thr problem or eth n Oc . de, have conducted for s me time now. Indetd. it is not enough to recognl7e and aiTIrm the erhnoCldal nature and function or western civilization. As long as we are content to rtatJllsh 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?

di n io n ;u y in ely. each suciety an' pejorativt, d isfi:lill

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 t h 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 p roperti 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
since they are p re c i se ly societiec; without a State. primitive socicties c;m br rthnocentric without necessarily b e i n g ethnot'ida1.

, 6

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,
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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 p u t t i n g into play of centripetal force, which, w lll n circumstances demand it. tends toward crushing the oppositt' centr i fu
'

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

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

of the- h e xa go n into citizens, due to the institution of free and o b l i g at ory Whatever remoined o f s e cu l a r schools a n d o b l i g a t o ry m i l i tary S('fvice, w o r l d s u C( : u m b e d . rural d n a l ia c n i v o r p e h t n i e c n e t s i x \ U to n o m o u s e traditional consummated: e d i c o n h t C' rra n dflca t ion hild been accomplished, 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 i ffe re n c es, is

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

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.

e rcnce and a l te rity, a se ns c and tilsLe fo r the i cit nti ca l ilnd t h e O n e red u cC' diff Leilving this formal and in so me ways s t ruClu ra l is t axis to tackle the

be fo re the law.

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

alre,!dy i nsc ri bed in t h e nature (lnd functi o n i n g of th(' Stilte machine, which

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

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

p ut ic

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 li7<ltion, The t'xtirpat ion of tile Albigensian he resy, a prC'lL X I and means fo r
'

when the p eop le upon whom its aut ho ri ty is exercised speak the s a m e lan Franct' wa" only Franchimanie <lnd its king a pnle lord of til(' Nonhrrn Lo i re
,

stituted, <lnd the State may p roc l a i m itself the exclusiv(' holder o f power

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 r e , a cu i LUre of t h e FrC'nchman. Th e extension of the State' s a u t ho r i ty translates i n t o the expan <;ioni<;m of the State' s l<l n g uilge, fn:'llch, TIl(' n<ltion Illay consider itself con

develop m en t of cen T ra l power corresponds a n increased dep loym en t of the

tus. first under its monarchic form. then und('r its republican form. To e<lth

stri c tl y coextensible to expansion and to reinforcemellt of Ih State appara

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

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

t h e State 's u n i fying ('sse ncc , lo gi c al ly leads to the conclusion that all state form;'ltions arc eth n o c i d al . Let us b ri efl y examine t h e Glse of St ates quitc

To affirm that e th n oc i d e starling with the French eXC'lmpk, is part of

sion as for the precision and detail of administrative techniques that pt r and permanent control over the empire's i n habitants, The properly et ll ll o c i

the A nd es that the Spanish <ldmired as m uc h for irs V<lst terri t o ri a l exten
milt('d the em pe ro r a n d his n u merous bureaucrats to exercise almost tot al

dal aspect of this s t a te m a ch i n e u e co mes a p p a re n t i n its te n d e n cy to I nca iLe t h e newly conquered populations: n o t o n ly obliging them to pay tribute
,

waS i mposed by force. reg ardl ess of the detriment to lo('al cults. It is also
true th at th(' p ress u re 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 S pa n i<:; h would
1:ltrr a n n i h i l a t e i n d i ge nous i do l a t ry. Though skillful diplomats, t h (' I n c n s

qu('rors. th e worship of the SUIl, that i s I nca h i msel f. The Sta te re l i g i on

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

dC'fmitivcly. appears t o be a case of pure ethnocide: the CUlture of Iht' Somh people of the La n gucdoc became loyal subjects of [he king of France,

of france - rel igion, literature, poctry - W<lS i rrev ers i b l y condemn('d and th e The Revolution of 1 7 St), i n allowing tile triumph of th e .latobins' central

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

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

k n e w to u s e force w h e n ne<:essary. a n d t h 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, v a nquished to r('gions very fa r from their nativ(' territory, that is, (('rritory uprooting. deterritori alization, et ll n o c id c . . . milrked by a n e two rk of pl aces of worship

first p i t i l essly repressed, were then punished by massivc deponation of t h e

Into d ('p tmenb. i n t ended 10 b rea k all references to local particularims, :lnd th us .acdlt at(' th(' penetration of slille authority evcrywhere. The final st ;1 ge of thiS movement through which differences would van ish befo rt:' State
a

uage, politital tr.3ditions. etc.

<ls{'ndnnry of P.3risian <ldministration to nn end. The provinres. ns territorial units, h;1<.1 each re l il d on an ancient. c ul t u ral ly ho m oge n eo us reality: 1.311'

ist th o u gh t over the (i i ro n d i ns' fl'deralbt tendencies, bT(Jught the pO l i t i ca l

( sp ri n gs,

h i l l sides. grottoes);

Ethnocidal violence, like the neg<lt i o n of difference, is dearly a I><lrl o f

t h e esence o f lhe Stene i n barharous e mp i res a s wtll a s i n t h e civil ized soci

Provinc('s were repl(lced by a hS l ra n division

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

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

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

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

a St a te Reflection on (thnociclt' involves an ,:lIlaly...i<; of th(' S ta H' hut must i t

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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. civili2t'd States (the western world) o n the same level or i n the S;lmC' hag? barbarous States (the InC'as, the Pha r<lohs, oriental despotism. etc.l and the Where do we 10(<Ite the difference th<lt prevents us from putting lhe

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

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 giouo; authority of the EmprTor. We notiC'e, o n the othe-r hand, thilt in the died. It is for this vtry T('ilson tha t it ran lead to genocid(', that a nI..' can i n nitely morc ctl1flocidal t!lan all o\lH'r forms of society? I t is il second case - western Statt's - the {'thllOcidal cap;Jcity is l i mi t l ess, unbri fnrt speak of tile we51('T1l world as absol utely rthnoclda1. [3ut wlltr!' clof'S precisely a sparr of the tlnlimitl..'d , a space without a
of A n d e a n communiti{'s unC't the lanl'T r{'cognizcd the political ;lnd reli

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

strength no lon ger runs any risk. The Incas tolrnltrd the relativ{' aUlOnomy

this come from? What docs western civiliziltion contain that makes it i n fi

('('ol/omie prOdllcrioll,

system uJ

locus i n that it eonstilntly pushes b<'\ ck bound<lrirs, an infinite spact: of per

axes of colo ing. cons titut e the in the pat h! . the Ind ian s cau ght sand u nproductive Savages have comp ared Wha t weig ht do sevcral thou ('offrc p l il ta. fare m i n lo:rals , pttrol('um, cattl c r:l.l1chrs, to (he weal th of gold of the West. The North AmenC'all . . Product' or die. this is the motto lio n S . . elc.? st almo to the last to all o w tor pro d U l' killed . t1esh the n i this ed lcarn , 1 tllI,,ns III I It d ec1 <l re( tion ers, Gene rnl Sherm an. i n genu ously tion. Onr or their execu can I as rar "As : l l i B lo us killer of India ns, Buffa a ktttr addressed to a famo o . tbe aroun d n i n e and a half millio n burra l III were there estim att, i n 1 8 G2, disap the Rocky Moun tains . 1\1 \ o them havt' plilin s o<t'tweell Misso uri and there d.:lte. . [.' ] At thiS same ]J"'H(' d. h u nted for their meat. skins, ilnd hones : e whos . (heY t'nne, KIOwa, a n d I\p<lc he-. wert aroun d I ()S,OO Il(lwn ee, Sioux nne! these buffa lo. They also disap ptan: d a n n u a l food suppl y depended on numb er of mrn and wom en of the wt're replan'd by douh le a n d triple the ted. .'\ g; mh'n and who ('an bt' coun w h i te: ran:, who have mack this l:lnd his I ion. al l'iviliz and e laws of niltur taxed <Inti governed <ll'l'or ding to the I encl." carrie d out to lhe wao; a whole some chilnge and w i l l uc e will be carrie d Otlt to the e n d ; it will chang The right. lht gener al W<lS left to dliln gl', end when there is n o l o n gcr ilnyt hing

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

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.
i n d i v i d u a l s : space, nature,

fro ntiers; it i s l'apitalism n s a system o f production for which n o t h i n g is

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

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.

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

RUII!}C.', Paris:

1'1 I/isruin: dr, /,ulirll5 P('(JlI.r I Qllot{'d in R. lll(v('llin and P. COlt', .UUt'IIr<i

Payol.

1':)',2..

5
MYTHS AND RIHS Of SOUTH AMERICAN IND IANS
One cannot seriously attempt :1n exposition of Indian rel i g ions of South Americ<l without fIrSt mentioning. i f o n ly schematically. a few gen{'f;ll (;'l(,IS. tion itself in order lo f:1rilitat(' the ex am i n ati o n of the problem of religion for I"hough obvious [0 the specialist, thry must nevtnheless prC'red( ' the exposi

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

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

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

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

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 th e 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 o se (0 thirty m i l l e n n i u m s old. We "llOUld

religiol1s.

The following texts ftrst appeared in Lc Dictiol1lJuire des mwl1ologies et do Paris. EditioHS rlnmmarion. 1 1) 8 1 . lInder the dire,tion of Yves Bonnefoy [Published in Engl ish as MYI/w/ogi('s. Chicago, Ullivl' r<iily of Chicago Prl'ss. 1 9 9 1 .]
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What are the pri n c i pCl I sl)cioculwral eh'lracl('ristics. the esse n ti a l ethno l o gica l determi n a n t s of South Amer ican prop1 es? Th e te rri to ri a l ex te n s ion a n d re s u l L i ng d i lllatic variat ion make for a s u ccess io n of e co l og i l'a l e11vir on ments a n d lan dscap es thai lead fro m t h e humid . equ<lt ori:ll forest of the North (the Am a 70 n ian b<lsin j to th e s<I\"<l n n <lS of Pa t ago n ia and the harsh c l i mates of Tierra d el F u e go . D i fferences in the na t u ra l s u rrou n din gs . t h ro u gh the s pc(' i fl e adilp t,ltion s they dema nd in man. h<lve fa s h io n ed very c o n tm st f n g cultu ral mof l e ls : th e sl'd e n w ry fil rmer<; of the Andes, tile i ti n e ra n t __I(I<;h_ and- burn farmers of the forrst. n o m ad i c hUlltC'"TS a nd colle ctors . BUI one m ust i m m ed i a tt'ly note that h u n t i n g culturcs in Sout h Ame rica are ab o l u t e Jy i n tll(' m i n o r i ty. Its arca of ex p a ns i o n tsst'n tially correspon ds to zone s where agric ultur e was lmpo sibl r eithe r bt'cJuse of the clima te (Tierra dl'l ru ego j or b ecau se of th e natur (' of t h e Vl'ge t!ltio n (tht ArgentJDtClIl p<1mp as w J l h tllt' l f <l bsen ct of fortst). J-:vny whl"T c else. i f agric ultur t is p os s i h l e in {('rm s of indig enou s t t ch n o l ogy (thl' use of fire. t h e ston e ax, thehoe. ttc.). then It exists. and has for s('vl'Tal mille nniu ms. as tht d i sco v e ri es of 'l rcht'o l ogists and ohno lJOt!lnists s h o w . This conc erns the l a rgest p,m of th e SOllth Americ;ln ('o m i ne n t . And it has b ee n t'stab lisht:d that for I h t few hn l a led h u n t i ng socie tifs that bilarrely ureak up the mon oton y of tllis cultu r<ll land sca e . thc abs('nce of agri c ul tu r e is the r('sul t not of the pe rs i s t rll c(' of a p re agnc ultuf <11 w ay of 11 fe. but of a loss: the G u aY,l k i of PCl r a gua y. lhe Sirio no of B o l i v i a prac tked slash -and -bur n !lgrie ullur e. ;l<; did their neigh L J o r.... But ClS a n's u l t of vario us histo rical cir('u msta nces. the p ra ni ce W<lS lost long ago, and they bec<l l1le hUl1leTS a n d col1l'{"tors o n n' agai n. I n otht r words. i n sl(,!ld of an i n flni t(' v a r i ety of eul tun:s . we flntl an enor mou s. hO l11ogt neou s milSS of s oc i l'! i es with i lll i l il r modc s of prod uctio n. In orde r to local(' an ordering prind pltin the d i versi ty of peop les who i ha hit a give n r('g i o n . to s u b m i t the m u l t ip l i c ity of cultu res , to p r i rn <l ry ('1<1s Slf ':<IIlO n. we p r('/r r to call u p o n l i ngU istic l( nilc ria. And fro m tlien o n , we see Ihe Lmagl' of al nl O...t p l'rfect cultu ral uniTY va n ish. an imag e sugg ('stcd by The f('Cll r re n('(' of ,II mos t i d en t i ca l mate ri,ll reSourc(':l. Wha t, i n em ct. i ... Sout h An1t'ric,'l's l i n g-ui ... tic I11Clkt'up. draw n in broad s T rokl's ? In no olhe r reA"io n of t h e w o r l d . p e rh a p s, is the brea kdow n of l !l n gu a gts pu ... het! !O s uc h a n

i ts trrrito ry. South Amer ica offen 'd IhC' therefore re l igi o u s d i ve rs i ty.

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

notf'. funh ermo n:. that contr ary to curre nt widl'sprtad conv it'tion . the de n s i ty o f the ind ig('nous popu lation was relati vely high. Otmo graph ic rl's ea rch. r. o t <lb l y that cond ucted Clt tile U n i vcrsi lY of Cillifornia a t B e r keley in

the

cond i t i o ns for eX!\:Jlsive

ess of

cu l t u ra l and

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

ion . The u n i lY

or view of t h e i r l,mguage. th Gu'lyaki. nomClci h u n te rs. bt.:! o n g to t h e grl'at

rupi-G uarani sloek.

wn'. Of ('our..('. there art some e xce pti o ns 10 t h is "rule," Th us from the pOInt

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

of l a n gu <l

ge,

in f<lct. often p ro vides tile foundatIOn for tile

w h ic h

c o m p ri ses a gr ic u l tu ra l tnbes. Sw.:h

a b e rra n t C<l')l'S

arc very rare and stem from h is tori cal conjunctures th:lt <lrt' r 'J a!lvcly easy
eXillllple, o cc u pi ed <Ill i m m e nse territory by the millions and spok e t h e Same l a ngu age.
10 establish. One essential point should bt noted here:

. t he TupL-Guararu.

for

with the-

Hal enough to prev t n t communication. Now. dtspi tc the distances thJt sepa

ignify l)Otitica! uniry: tht Tup i - G ua ran i tribts pan iC'ipated in the same ul . llJr;l1 m o d el w i t h o ut ev er co nst i tu t i n g a " n ation." S i n ce t h ey r('rn a lnrd 111 a perm<lnen{ state of war. ('overing i n the former the p ri n c i pl e of unity of {he l a tter, . But in recogn izing this affinity bt-twt'{'n language and cui tun.: a n d dLS

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

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

r!lIe thr m ost far-off tribes, the cultural homogene-lty is rem i1rka b l l'. O1S m ue h

e-xception of d i a \ rc t i ca l variations that wt'rc

n ol

ubstan

he l ie f. as thrre- are l a n gu <l ges. To each ethnic group co rres ponds a speCIfiC assonment of

tiollship: there w il l be as Illany cultural co n fi g u rat i o ns and t h u s. :.ytems ?f

fllHl ourselves forctd to

acce p t the mOSt immcdi!lH'

w e i nuned i atdy . consequenCl' of I h lS rl'I<l

o l ogi cal : we o bvi o us l y cannot "dopt till' i l l usory solution of

that would offer an

be l i efs. rite-s and e n d l ess

m yth s . The- pro bl em from now on is mt'lhod

list of known tribes aod the teemIng ViJnery

"dieti n3ry"

of

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

stelT1S i n large

part from t h e c o n t r a d i c t i o n

hetwten t h e cu l tu ra l homogenrity observed o n a s o d o e c on o m i c l e v e l dnt!

the irr ed uc i h l e l1t'tt ro e ll eity o n a ...triclly cull urClI level. ,, 0 Ihal ("<lch ethnic
group POs('sses and cultiv<lles i ts p a rt ic u l a r pe rso n <l l i ty bcrwe-en matt' ri a l

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

tile

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

resources Clnd '"point of

h o n o r. " Yet

co u l d olle n o t

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

\ 4

flrst Europe,ms ap p roa ch in g the New World put into effe ct : 011 th e one hand. soc i et i es 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... t h i l t p o p u !m ed the rl'\[ of the c o n i i\ \

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! 2 ( H f O L 0 6Y

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or king," as the chroniclers of thc 1 6th cenJury said. And it is not t oo su r centrism of those who formulated it, WrlS e ch oed exactly by tl1(' opinion that if they ('auld be so reduced. to paying tribute to the king. It w oul d not be p ri S i ng 10 learn that this European point of vitw, bascd largely o n th(' l"thno

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

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

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 ra ct i ces.

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

i b e.. t hat hav e dap tion is incom plet.e : of te nu merous tr . time. this i n forma s s l a rge ly co m p t n s ated e l he rt vc (' n IS lack ilmes remai n . ThIS . pear,d . ooly til' n , po ul atiOns tat of two ue('ades of field work mo.ng the . p for by the resultS . lVe SOC iet ieS at our diS pTlmlt on u t . The docu me n t s have not been wiped o nt rscarch. 1 6th-c entury chron icles to the most rec from range then, . posal since the sh h Spani t e by ns, more or less ext i rpated As for t h e Andea n religio left by ptions an: know n only th a n ks to descri mtd-seventeenth century, they t s e im on i es colon izers, not incud ing the t . Piaaro's comp anion s and the first . m edi a t el y s u rv ivo rs of t h e lncan ,1TIsto cr,lcy I m I! a t h('red direct ly from the

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

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

America arC' d iv ided and sC'paratcd: the Andeans and the Others, the (i v i t iled

I t is indeed a l o n g these l i n e s that the i n d i g eno us people-s of SOUT h

;Ifter the co nq uest .

en('e - in terms o f riles and myths - between hunting peopte-s a n d fa nni n g Andean world: an opposi t i on otherwise STated as that o f so('ieties wi th o ut a peoples w h o , instf."ild, form a homogeneous cultural whole in the fa(,e of the

State (or p rimi 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 of this cssay w i l l ue dedi('ated to the rd ig io us world of primitive so('ielies.

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

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

the other. mu('h more r('('cnt. resulting from the for mat i o n and ex p an s i on of the spirituality of Smull Ameri(,<ln I n d ian s u n folds. Though tOl1sistcnt with

in<;crihcd in the very ancient tradition of pe ilsant ('ommuniti<'s of this regi on. We will thus be sure to "cover" thr twO domains i n which

Ihe lncan stilte.

the gCJl('ral sociocultural dimensions o f t h ese sotieties. the bipartition of the rtllgious firld would not offe r a sufficiently precise image of i t s obj('ct. Indeed, a ct'rtain number of ethnic groups that stem from th e classic "primi

t u t i o n s nrv('rthtless br("ak away from this mod("1 pr("cisely through the t,-Ike: a brea k pushf'd to it s ('xtr('me by th e lltp i-Gutlrani tribes whose reli third part of this essay.
WI' mus t consider every document co n ce rn i n !!: I n d i a n A m er i c<l as an

tivC' '' modrl as Ill u ch by their modes of produ('tion as by their political insti
inllabilUal. indeed. enigmaTic form<; that th('ir rrligiou<; thought and p T<l(' t i ce

co nst an tly noted, either to Trave lers. missio naries. o r eth n o l o g i sts have anach mt'nt of primit ive peoples to rejoice in it or to deplore it, the strong p ro fou n d religiosity. Any amou nt r i e th t h e i r custom s and traditi ons. that is, society, for e x am p l e, allow s o n t o of time spent ilmon g an Amaz onian . but the invest ment of r('l1glous observe not only the piety of the Sav a ges to d issolve the distin ction co nce rn s into social life to II point that seems hlur tht' hound ilri('s \)etwcen the hetwe-e-n the- se-cular and thr religious, to the sacred: nature. in short. like doma in of the p ro fane and the sp he re of with the s u p er n atur al . Anim ill or soci cty. is trav e rsed through and through a i n gs a n d super natur<ll agent s: plant s c<ln thus at once be natur al b e ng shoou a or n(', someo s atta('k b('ast fal l i n g trec i nj u res som('on(", or a wild not as accidents, but as effects star crosses the sky, they wi11 be interp reted l powers, such as spirits of t he of the del iberate agg ress i on of s up er n atu ra y sham ans. The decided refusal of forest. souls of the de ad . indee d, enem the profane and the silcred would chance and of the disco ntinuity between omy of the religi o us sphere. whi('h l og ic il l l y lead to a b o l ishi n g I h(' auton . idual a n d collcc tlve event S of the would then be l oc a t ed in all the indiv completely absen t from the multi t ribe 's daily life. In rt'al ity. though, never us d i me i on m a n ages to assert religio ple aspects of a p ri m itive culture. the rcumstances. Ihey are therefore more itse l f as such i n certai n sp ec i fiC ritual ci the plal'e and fun ct i o n of divine fI g u res.

1 . IOCIUIfI Of ! H E fOREIl

If

easily deter mined if we fIrst isol;lt e

g i o us tt h n og rap hy demilll cis spt:cial deYelol) m cnt . whirh shall make up the ethnographic re<;our('l'. The i n formation at our disposal is th e refo re wry ahu n d ; 'IIl t. <;ince it begin<; with the di s('overy of Am eri c a. n u t ill the
Si]tHt'

religion such as . i t cie<;c ri bes the I n keepi ng with the Eu rop ea n idea of . d ivi n e. and more s pect ll cal ly. 11(,I,:" een re l a t i o n \)('tw('('n tli(' huma n and th(' s h<lve been h aun Ted , sOIll{'l1mt.:S men and God. ev a n gel is ts and researcher
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u n k n o w i n gly. by the conviction that thert is n o authenlic rei igious fact except i n the form of monotheism. They have attempted to di5COVl'r among South American Indians cithrr local versions of the single great god o r the embryonic seed of the oneness of the divine. Eth nogr<tphy shows U5 the futility of such an undertaking. Almost always. as a matter of fact. Ihe cul tural practices of thesr peoples develop without implicit rcfm;:nce to a single or crntral figure of the divine. as we shall sec. I n olh('r words. religious l ife, thought is ac(ustonled to calling the sphere of t h e divine: the "gods" are i1bsent from the ('ults and rites that men celebrate, becnusc they ,Ire not intended for them. But does (he absence of worship necessarily signif y the absence of the divine? We have believed it possible to dctect. here and the re, dominant divine f,guTrs i n the myths of various tribes. But who decides on this dominance, who evaluate" the h i erarchy of tlH'se represcntaiions of the divine? [\ is sometimes precisely cthnogri1phrrs and more often missionaries who, i m m ersed in the monotheistic f;l ntasy, imagine thcir expecta tions fu l filled by the discovery of such and such particular divinity. Who are these
"gods " thaI ilre nOt worshiped? Th r i r names, in fact, designatC' visible ct.'lc!'
t l a l bodies: Sun, Moon. sUns. constellations. whost' metamorphoses from s eizect i n itS ritual reality, u n folds i n a space outside tiltH which western

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. hitorian<; 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. We must first of <111 avoid confusion betwe(,n worship of HtKestors and worship of the dead. I n digrnous thought. in fact. clearly distinguishes the old dead from the r{'('t n l dead, and each of these categoriC's of the non-liv ing require different treat mrnL What is established between the community of the living anrl Ih<11 of the a ncestors is a diachronic rtl<ltionship. marked by t h e rupture of tempor;ll c o n t i n uity, a n d a synchronic relationship, marked by the w i l l for cultural contin uity. I n o t h e r words. I n d i a n thought situates the a ncestors in a lime before time, in a time where the events that occur are whllt myths recount: a primordial time of various moments i n the foundation of culture a n d thc institution of o;ocit'ty, a veritable t i m r of thr a ncestors w i t h w h o m the souls of the old dead, anonymous and separ<1 1ed from thr living by a great genealogical depth, merge. [n addition. society. instituted as such i n the mythici1l <l nc('stors' fo unding act. constantly reaf firms its w i l l . through the voices of l eaders a n d sh<lm<lns or through the mcans of ritual prilctices. to persevere i n its cultural being, that is, to con form to the norms a n d rules bequeathed them by the a ncestors and trans mitted t h rough mythS. To this end. the anccstors l'Ire orten honored with rit uals whose const'ljuences we shall examine. I t becomcs ci('i1r thilt the illlces tors and their mythical gestures. far from uring <lo;"i m i l illed with Ihe dead. arc considered the very l i fe of society.
5 9

tions brque;1th('d by thr grei11 ancestors or cultural heroes. both often signi fied by the n<1me or Father, Gr<ll1{lfalher o r Our l"rut." Father. Thr name of this distant Clnd abslran god ind ifferent 10 men's destiny, this god without a cult. that is, deprived of the get1('fal relationship that u n i tes h u m an s w i t h the divine, is tlw name o f law which, inscribed at t h e hl:art of lilt' social. guar5 a

cult. [ n oth er words. a l l these "gods" are mOSt oflen nothing but n ames. namcs morc common than pNsonal. ;Jnd as such. indiGltions a n d designa tions of th e socit'ty's "beyond." of t h e cultun:'s Other: I he cosmic alterity of the heavens and ('elestial bodies. the earthly alterity of the nature a t hand. AlterilY that origi nates abov(' all from the cul tu re its('lf: t h e order Df L<lw as an i n"Iitution of the social (or the eultumll is contemporClneous n o t to n1('n, bUI to a time before m e n ; it originates i n mythical. prehuman time. Th(' soci ety finds its foundations outside its( ' lf i ll the t'nsembk of rules a n d instruc

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

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Rrlation with the dead is so me th i n else entirely. F irs t , t hey are the co n 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 iv o rs. If deat h aoolishes the oody, it also brings into being, into autonomous existen<.:e, that which Wl' call the
sou l , for lack of a ben e r tt:rm. A<.:corc:ling to the particular be-litis o f ea c h cul

put the most distance possible hetween the dead p e rs on ' s grave and Ihe 'stroyed, a taboo pacc of the living. All lilt' dc {'rascd 's goods arc burned or dt cIr<ld person is co mp l et('l y annihil<lted. i" (ast upon h is name which from now on is no l o nge r spoken. In short. the That 111(' de ad (tin h;lunt the l i v i n g to the point of anguish in no W<ly

lUre, the number of souls a person bas can vary: sometimes just one. some heconws the ghost of the dc-ct'ased. a so rt of living de ad . In fa<.:t. t he aClual

ti m es

fum'raI rites. i nsofa r 'IS thl'y conCl'rn th e dt:ad body, ,Ire (' ss e n t i a l l y in{('nded
t hr msel ves . Since the souls do not want to l ea ve the surroundi ngs of tilt: vii anet'stors, as the mythi('al fou n de rs o f s oci ety. arc marked w it h iI p osi tive

twO, sometimes more. BUI even if there arc more than one, one of t ll em

"IH1Vcd head for the women. for exampit:. black pain!. s('xu<ll or alimentary

implies a la(,k of emotion in the latter: the manifestations of mou rn in g ( a restri ctions. etc.) are not mt"rt'ly so('ial, for the sorrow e x p ressed is not

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

to wiHcI olT de fl n i t ivrly the souls of lhe dead flO1l1 1 h e l ivi ng : death I('IS loose

hast ily, but according to rules. Thus, in cc rt ai n socicti('s Ihr funeral r i tu a l

fdg ned. Tht d('(l(] persons burial funhermore is not sl a pda sh . " it is not dOl1c

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

Jage or encampmelll. t hey w a n der. es p C"C" i<l l l y a t 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 t he

cydc rol l ows th(> buria l of the de ceilsed : il ri tu a l hunt, dan('es ( a mo n g which.

the socalled dance of th e maritltlo, which the men pcrform with huge ro l l s of kaves o n thtir heads), .1IHI ch a nts go o n for about tWO weeks. Thc skeleron, feathers. Pla('ed in a h aske t, it is flll al l y taken i n a p ro cession to a nearby

sign a n d are therefore close to the community of th ei r '"descendants," so the sign to such an extent that Ihe l iv i n 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

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

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

river where it will be thrown. The ancie nt Tupi-Guarani gtner:111y i n h u nwd case o f fa mo us chiefs or shamans. they proceeded to exhume the skeleton.

thcir dead in gn.::at funerary urns burit 'd in the earth. like the 130roro. in the which among the Guarani bec a m e the obje('t of a cult if t h e shaman w as
great. The Guarani in PCl raguay still maintain the custo m of sometimes p re

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 or even the rites at which the Bororo summon the d ead memory, Thi:-. is why ceremonies such as the Shipaya's " feast of dead souls," morE' from the will t o win Ihe b en ev o l ence of t he ancient dead th;"1n from a
se em to stt'm

serving a child 's skclClon: i nvo ke d under certain circumstances, it assures a nd the diviniti('s. (AiINIBAIlIM Some societies, however, do nol b u ry tht'ir d'(l d : they e(lt the m. TlLis type mediation w i t h th e gods (lnd thu'\ allows communication h('t\vct'll humans

(aroeJ,

desire to celebrate the reccnt dead: with the ancestors. the co m mu n i ry of the liv i 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; aga i nst the dead. de fenst' m('chanisms art' put into t'ffeCl to prottct
s.o (' i cty

everyWhere, in the area b e i n g considered, the tomb is a (,ylinc1ric hole so m e times covered with a l i lli e roof of palm leaves. The body is most often p l aced there in the fet a l pOSition. the face t urn ed in the dircction of th{' sours sup pe r i od ic uphravals of vill agt's wil e n tile ga rd e ns bccom(> unprodu("liv(>. but cemett'ry is i n fact an cstablished spac(' reserved for the dcad whom one can l a ter visit and who are m a i llt(l i ned, 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 bo li s h

What do th ey do w i t h th{' d e a d ? Gcnt'rally, they art' buried. A l m o s t

from t h ei r att acks.

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

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

Tu pi -G u a ra ni or the Carib. who ritually executed and consumed their cap

ra th er to the rel a ti on of exclusion that separates the living fro m the dead. A

posed resting place. The al m os t total abscnce of cemt:teries is due n ot to the

tives. We call the- act of e at i ng the b ody of onc 's own dead (and not Ih3t of

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

the e n e my ) endocannibalism. It can take many forms. Til" Ya n om a m i of t h e

ev('rything including the memory of the dead: how. then . can a p rivikged societies quite s imply to icilY{' t he v i l l ge whcn a dt'<lth O('rUTS in order to
6 0

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.

lelte r to blended into banana purtt and consumed by a re l a t iv e of t h e

de('crlsed. lnv( rsl'ly. the G Uilya k i o f P(l r a gu;'ly grill t h e c u t u p (,;'ld;wcr on a

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

spacr be rel'rvd for them? This will to rupture thus leads m a ny of t hese

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

I H f

6 H H ! O L O G Y

O f

V t O l { N { {

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 its exueme i n that the former, by eJ t i ng the laner, drprivcs them of this fLnal
reality, tndocannibalism pushes t h e separ<ltion o f the l i v i n g: and the dead to

. As doctor' the sh<lman must discover the pl .. H:e {h t' person .s b 0d ysoul unilY' . . . . . \.,.here the soul is held prisoner, l iberate Lt trom captlvlty, and finalIy I t'.\ 'd . 1\
'

hack into the p<ltient's body.

anchora ge i n the space that the grave would constitute. Therc is n o longer the mission assigned to rUIlr: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 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, living mainl<lins thell of the dead in dis junction. ru ptur e, exclusion. 11 follows alliance, inclusion w i th th{' anccslOrsfounders, wh i l e th{' community of the
plell: oblivion, but moreover, indigenous th o u gh

any possibility for contact b(:'lwcl'n thcm, and tndocannibalism accomplishes

IHE SHAIIAN
_

d('ad not exit in South American tribes since the dead arc dt'sti lled to com tends to mark its relation

communicatio n between ea n h a n d h e b eyo nd. hetw c n lhe comrnunlty nd Lnto a d :t or. society the supern<llUral . By transfo r m i n g the p s c o al . I h l s way would In and s If hiS from profiting while him tegrate n would i hloC"k t h l' probable development of h i s psychosLs: the slu l m a n w oulel n o . madm n cared for by socle y. h longer b e his tribe's donor, but in sho rt.

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

urortun.aley

0:

l.

tile- phantom. Ill ness, as potential death, concerns not only the person's indi
vidual dest i ny, but <llso
peutic u n d erta ki n g aims, beyond curing the sick, at protecti n g the society,

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

tbe future of the community. lhal is why the Lhera

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

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

SHAIIANISM AND IllNfSS tribe which expects him to assure thr good health of its m r mb rrs . I low does C<lust is not a tt ach ed to a n,!tuTal a ge n t one f;)11 sick? What is i l lness?
I\s d o cto r, tllr sbaman occupies a central place i n the religious l ife of the

lion. [n other words, one is rarel y predisposed to b e omIn g a h i1man, so thM . anybody, ("ssentially, co ld become a shaman should he so d slr(' . So e fec 1 . this desire. olhers do not. Why might o n e wnnt to oe shaman. An lllc ldent l a . dream, a vi!)ion, a strange encounter. et ) might be i n erp ('tl:d <IS a sLgn that such is the pnth to folloW, and the shamans 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

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 th t' 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

<

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

The

th e soul of some o n e recently deceased, an atl<lck by a shaman from nn

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

ellemy t ribe. a (voluntary or inVOluntary) transgression of a n alimentary or sexual taboo. etc. Indian etiol ogy cl o sel y assoC"iates i l l n ess. as bodily un rtst .

s c{'m s the tribe whert: he prctiC"es his talent, Much more iI POW('T, for Will s shaman the ity, activ shamanic of component w<lrlike the Ihe men. of enemics tIl{' over ut l men over not exen to wants he power that . . i n n um('rable people of invisLble powers, SPIritS, souls. d mons. It IS s a. wnr i or that (hc shnman ron fronts them, ;lOd ns such, h{' Wishes to WlO .1 VICtory r

dtctstC, nwever,

over them as much as ht w nn t'> to restOTe htnlth to the sick.

enjoys considcrablt status i n all South Amencan SOCH'U(,s,

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

soul ,s departure. To cu rt

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'
6 )

whtch death producc.:; i n a dermitive m a n n!:'r, namC'ly the separation betwten

. trade is nevl'rtheless not without risks. H e is a maste r of ltfc {hIS powers can

icnl ncts by gifts of food, fnbriCS, feathers, ornam nls, elc. If tht' shCllC1.n . . . of hIS

Somr [Tibes (in tht Chaco, for eXflmple) rcnlllllcrate til{' sharnnn s tl1ed

the rilcuce

though t to

r('store the si("k), bUI he is also a master of dt n th :

. n cc 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 . or p erso n a l perversity. Th(' figure of the ('v i ! sorC"ern I S rart'" III SOlLth

confer upon h i m the ability to bing de a t h upon others: h r IS

these

S<lntt powers ae

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 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 holder of immense prt'Stigc, rcrtainly. but al the S<lmc lime, someone r('spon spirits to harm the' community. He is thus a personage of uncrrtain destiny: a covered: it is the shaman hi mself. Should he f a il to curl' his patients. it will

, d to the knowledg w i nll 1ate'

DRUGI IH{RAP[UII(I. IIIPI.

is . the young man of the inv is i bl e h i m I ( re e rr 0 ' is I on that laman . t he V ' s ' h i m a sI makt's ' t crl' . i n I that hencer0 rth

I H ,

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).

jiro of Venezuela. this function or a m o n g the Mapuche of C hil e or t h e Goa 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 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

w r ek.. to several yriHsl. it is gcn('rally acquired under the direction of

t he m , manipulate lhtm, neutralize them. The shaman's preparauon thus

the ('fferts of an action of supernatural powers on tht: body. it is a matter of acquiring the m(,<1ns of acting upon these powers in order to control aimo; at gilrnt'ring the protection and collaboration of one or sl'vl'ral of the guardian-spirits [0 assist him in his therapeutic tasks. To put the novice's apprl'nticeship. I t vcry often leads [Q what we call trance, thai io;, to the

(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('

sou! in d i rect contan with the world of the spirits: lhis is the goal of the

mom e n t i n which the young man knows tht' invisible powers r('cognize him as sh<1 m a n . learns the identity of his guardian-spirit. and obtains the revelation of thl' chant. which, hencefonh. will accompany all his cures. To permit thr soul 's initiatory access to tbe supernatural world, the body must i n some wily be abol ished. This is why t h e shamiln's trilining entails an asceticism of th(' body: through a process of prolongrd fasting. continual deprivation of sl('ep. isolation i n the fort'st or bush. massive absorption of
smoke or tobacco juice (Tupi-GuilTani. tribes of the Chaco) or hallucino

genic drugs (the Amazonian northwest). the apprentice arrives at such a state of physical exhaustion and bodily d i l apidation t h a t it is almost a death experit-nce. And it is lhen thaI the soul. liberatl'd from its earthly heavin('ss. alleviated from the weight of the body. finally finds itself on an equal foot i n g with the suptrnatural: the ultimate moment of the "tra nrc."
6 ,

excluslOn iIIn('ss (with the seen ' detemlincs ave h we t. rupture of though . . Europeans) as the IndigenouS Amen ca by the lfl It ucf>d ology introd ., restoralion of thIS unity. ' recovery .,s o r all I\ath , IO(] " l ty ' 0 Y Uil 1 !;ot:aTCI . f hod . he must l e av e in . nal soul '1 r' . ,h ' pr(So i\ Iravtlc . . . IS r. docto as . :aman . " t h e 5I his auxl l 1 ary spm . . hy t(' c \ . i o; a o;" follo WS that must. h ts sPIf eVI the keepers of held capu.... e by ll' world. combat the soul ration o a n i nvisih explo of the initiatory ge . a Te pet it ion of begi n a voya palle-nt . Each cure. the of body s that h e tht: . powers .. demand tht.' soul and re hio; , shaman to acqui the 'ned l I ghtness of !)erm . th(' spim an d I' voyage that of exaltation of nce tr of never state in a : for a trip. almost plac e himself the preparation IS. at t cure, drunk as a so. a . co (smoked or the body. And mptLon of tobac consu heavy ut especi ally in the . e" place withO l ak .' . cultiv ated I { rug" . variOUS , of or . ' 1 F or quan tll1CS th rnl extenSively. JUIce in large s useh e Indian t ere h w est a. northw idu IV d' III or r 0 west l e a princip Amazonian Ie soul. as II . . ml. . Gu,lr. , e such as th prope r n a me . . merges with the certai n populatlOno; mS I)Ody, "v ' the of h grson ' pe it ca I)e (" s tion that make ularly seriO US illness . ng e f re' a artic The nanli name. III . pe-rso n : the error the soul is the sick the f r . lHI! n a me s unsulta0 nOi pMseso; a soul nosed as tht name' . k. person does Sl e t s. Ihe illnes for the of discOVl'ry him is the cause on a voyagt: of eav shaman e h s so e- tells the ick , t . uils him, A n d that s it to him, h < comm icated . havf> gods t found the that he has In fac . true name . Wh (' n e ovrry proves e R IS. It what es person a nd his relativ . name. faraw ay. as rtal s the p at i ent' (somctimt:S very . of the \ o st soul search IS m . , . 10 I . IS w t . . spml patien Whilt his around the chants a n d crS th(' shaman dan sham n marks far as the Sun). s ocie-ti es. tht' ground ' ' \111 many e t on QUI but also with . <:.eated or stretched umr nt (mara ca). a mUSIC.l i nst r of wHh t' dall(" his on the nature . the rhyth m of . . . s . Oel)cnding he conv erse whIch ' tth WI trca SplOts rphosis for the Ihe v o ices of the o elTect mctamo d nee may a an e . a k sham jaguar. ,I s n the diagnosis. the ms himself into a trans he so .. and S: on the p:ltien t men! to be a succes lOVell'nt 10 blow s tS fl ,nterru afe he t o time, I . . of the body that ' uird . From time suck the parts to hlm. ge massa ' I to con . kt'I. to . toften tobacco smo saliv a are reputed and , . n s brcatll . h'lma , th e- s bod) lere. ' I slrk Everyw I. the 'd i nto ailing him. 's reintegratl the stray sou I I n When shama th, the gre, at streng . u - over' Very Ofll'n in treatm ent io; {he . cured . sub ed orelgn er 1 exhihiting a r . the latter is conSI{ f tle I t eatment by a end the hody: al . . the icK ]l('Kon 's proves h i s success ,f( u n g from extr.l s succeeded In ha ht that stance

'

'

6 \

, H ,

a R C H f O L 0 6 Y

O f

V I O l f H ( f

I H {

6 R C H f O l O ' Y

O f

V I O L f N ( f

sec ms, In th (' pla ce vac ant by the cap ture left . . of th(' soul , tl," ... ('VI I SPi rit pla ces a n 0 b' yerl h at by its pre sen ce attests to the ab<; enc e of thr s ou J TI . o r . the r(' lns em on ' soul is pub licly sign ifie of the d, a('cord in to the s. , am log iC, by lh ext rac tio the- Ob n of ject w h i ch , per Cep tihle and p ,pab lr' guar,l Il1ees the IHlt lem the rea liry his clire ::t n d J)roves . the doc,or'. s c o m p etc n ce. .. I h e t h e rap eu tic' fun ctio . n t h o ugh rsse n ( l ' ,. n o 111(' , o n l y o n e sha man flUS We have the alre ady n dl' rl i n Cd the j . t y of Ira clll g a cle ar lille of dem arc Jtio n in Ind ian cul turcs betwee Ihe soc ial il/H! the reli gio us. the profane and thc sacrrd Ihe mUI l'd,inC a n thc sup ern atu ral. ' ThtH is to say that the s hfl man ' s m ,d , ', a . ',, ' on I 's co ns lil n tl y s rC l ' ted , for ('vents the lt pun ctu ate peo ple,> ' ind ivid ual live ' ia s or thc soc .b l. rre 0 t e t n r . Thu s. he w il l b(' c al l e to int erpret a d ream d or a vis ion to eCJ(j e wh t H"r II C('n aln ' a sign is filv oril ble or o m i n ous whe n for . exa nl p l , . war exp edi tIOn is I 'eln . g prepared again st a n ene my trib e. III this last <'ircum"tJllce i n ' fflCL '' sha ma n may ht a ct as a Sorcerer or a spe llwc . . ast er: he is ci1p aul r sen dmg dl.o;;e ses to the ene mie s tha t wil l wea ken or eve n ki l l them I o I n' there . ls ,n o ritu al act ivir y i m p o n a n ce in wh ich of any , . the ShiJlll il n d c p l ay a (l CC I S I Ve rol e.
'

th orn . <l littl e peb ble, bi rd 's dow1/ n ;,.etl' -, . wh ich h l' hils ,brt' n k rep i n g in his mou th. Ttl' a bse nce of the soul ' presence o f if (O H' lg . n b 0 dy are ' fl" 1I ny. no{ , In , tw o different causes of . tl', , ' II nes s; ra th er' I t

(;lboos, sexual restrictions, hunting rit ua ls. chants. dances. etc. (before a n d

of

H':(,

<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 observers: as soon as childbirth begins, the father of the child lies in his

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

: ;: Ir
(l

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 m , w 's defeat before evil powt'rs.
It

hammock and f asts there until the umbilical cord is cut. otherwise the m o th

est and k i ll a wild animal. The death of the child is of course ascrilwd to the

j agu ar.

the father must go into the for

iIJitiarioJl

Cle rly. the religious l i fe of the SOcietirs c0 ' . IISld(. re . n no t be reduce l C, a rltu a!Jz i1ti on of the ir d ro re l a ti on shi p t0 tI1< dt' l:d o r to dlseasf'. O f equ ally great b" arin g is the cel ebr, atio n of I I .' n its ' fC, not on 1y I ' n a lU ra I m a n l 'fest atl On s (th e h l rt h of a l'h i l d J but <1lso in its more ) o rJ s al asp ec ts (rites of p as J)(" . OCJ sageJ . I n COn fO nll a n C e with ( he grC "l ( re i l g SHy 0 t h ese peo ple s, wr rhu s srI.' (he re l i gIO US sph erC' lak e into ace o ' U n ! an d perv ade the . . gr('at stages of md d('sllI1Y SO <IS 10 dep lvid . ual loy th" m I . n SOC' IO-n . tua l eVents.

RlTfi AND CfRfMDNlfi

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

ritf's that surround a birth and those that sanction t h e passagr of boys and

[t

will not be surprising to discover a structural a n alogy between the

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
death a n d rebinh: to become adult is to die in childhood and to be born to

[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 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 thrm as such; it pretends to see them as compct itors, as enemies. But it 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

nity fei g n s the refusal to reco gniz e its new equals. the resista nce to accept

they feel pride i n acceding to adulthood. i t is at tile price of an irremedia

also w a n ts to show the young peoplt', by means of ritual practice, that if

lh e b i rth of a chi ld . ext end s f,l r be ond Its , ' bIO log ica l d i m ens i Y ('("rns n O I on ly the o n . It con w mo the r an d tl . 1 (' f<It I l t'r of t h e new bo rn b Ut 1 h e enl ire COmw Illu nity, pre cis rly . b('cau ' s(' of l 'J s l ' h at j ns a n d ff t t'cls on the religio us O l P C OI n add i h-v ('1. -nl('" arriv a l o f ' tion a l , fJ I)e n1('ml ler inv . olv " a d' es L, nc{' o f the Istu rva cos mi c order: thi s '\ur plu s of r r I h Imb ' ala nc thai it eST abl vokcs Ih(' aw ake ish es. pro n i n g of ;tll sort f h , fo ,m wh ich th r , tri br mu infan t, for they ilfe st pro trc t powc rs o f d <llh stl e 10 ;'I l l new l i fe ' mg of p rot c('( i o Th . . iS , und ert akn tral1sl atc 111 t 0 m u I tlp re ntl' S o f pur ific atio n, alim ent ary

Birth

prise a component of very p a i n ful physical t r ial s . a dimension of cruelty and p a i n that makes the passage a n u n forgettablc event: tattooing, sCilTifiw 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 is a re b i rt h, a rep etit i o n of the first birth which must thus be p r('c c d ed by a

:11('

' ;0:('('
}
6 6

c a tio n , flagel lation. wasp stings or a n t bites. etc . , whirh the young i n itiates

voked by th e masters symholic death.

thought t'stabl isllCS b etw e en birth and pass<1gt' clearly a p p e ars : the passage

of the rite), thc identity of the structurc which Indian

6 7

I li f

A I C li f O L O G Y

O f

V I O l f N { f

I li f

a R { H f 0 1 0 ' Y

O f

V l 0 L f N C f

Y1H !NO SOClfIY

But we know, moreover, that the ritts of p ass age arc a l so identincd as

lead to the rtv dm i o n of a t rut h , to the communication of knowledge: what knowledge do tht Sou th Amtriciln l ndi<lns commun iC<lte to young people, what t rut h do tl1ty reveal to them. to what co nsc i o us n ess do they i n itiate them? The ped<1gogy in herent i n initiatory rites dots nOt, of course, c on ce m individual adventure. What is at st a ke hert is society i tsel f, on the one h<lnd. and on tilt oth er young peopl<' insofilr as they want to belong fu l l y to this prep<Hing to w l' l co mc them. Still I h i s says little: this k n ow l ed gr th e i r mission to ('o m m u n ica te to yo u ng peopl<' a k n ow l cdge of the sociely
.

lant pass fro m a sUitt of ignorance to a s t ate of know l cdgt" ; their goal is to

ritua l s of i n i t ia t i on Now, all i n i tiatory procedures aim at making the postu

.

. ax,ms no rms nnd l;lws the very e ns e m b l e of k n owkdg e trnnsm itt('d to LtS tn" ' oung peopl e in t he ritual of inilinlion. ) I n short, t h e n the i n itiatory dimension of the ri t es of passage rerers back

arfl rms its own origin in the founding a('t of the ancestors, whose myth con ti tu tes the chronicle. This is why, on the level of the actual unrolding or the

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 i c law. nnd so('kIY's s('lf-knowledge

lOments of the ritual, the n n('C'Stors are, i mpl icitl y and explicitly, n ecessaril y
,\f('. i ll fnct. p repa ri ng to r('ce i ve instrUC'lioll? The a n cest ors , major l.i gu res

the interpersonal relationship that u n i tes the m<lster and d is ci p l e ; it is not an

.

i m pl icated and pr('sent. Are th ey not the on('s from whom tl1r Olln g peoplC'

sodery. I n other words, the rites of passage, as ri tes or i n it i atio n , havr as a('qui red
.

f cu lt llr l h e ro e5 are the . riu:s of i n i t i ati o n that hav e a central importance In th(' r('[ lglous I l l c o f 111(' p<lsage: the true cults of mythi('al ancestors or
. ,

all ri tes of i n it ia t i on , are i n t rut h tht real objeC'ls of w o rsh i p in the rites of

01

A m er i n d ia n peoples. Among the Ya hga n of Tif'rrn de l Fuego. the privileged mo me nt in reli g ious life was the rite of i n itintion of girls and b oys : it ('ss('ntially co n s isl rd
or t t:'ach i n g the i n it iates tht t rad itio n a l rules of society instituted i n m y t h i c a l

ociety. ils suustantial self. whitt i t is i n itself. I n the initiatory ritt', you n g: tilt" know l edg e 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 iv cr-; e of ils
l a w. 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

people rcceive from s o ciety - represelllcd uy the organi z e rs of the rit u <l l -

know le dge exterior to it. It is, necessarily. th(" knowledge of SOCiNY itself, a k no w l e d ge that i s immanent to it. a n d thnt co n stit utes the very s ub st n n ce o f

through a n i n iti at o ry path. i s n o t, i n fact, knowing <luout s oci ety thus a

limes by Watauinewa, the cultural hero. the grent n n c(stor. A m o n g t h (' Bororo, the so u l s 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 ad ul th ood a n d cntr;lnCe into the social world thus takes place undrT the aegis of the fo u n di ng ancestors. The
C'ulwo o f Brazil similarly articulate the initiation of boys with an i nvo ( at i o n of the a n ('est o rs. rep rese n ted i n this cas{' by great trumpets, as they nrc else
,

assures the ('ontinuity a n d prrmanen('c of rhe being o f soci ety. Y1H !lID fllJlIDAIiDiI

where by cal;lbash-mara('as. It is equ a l ly very p ro b ab l e among the tribes of th e Amazonian Northwest rrucano, W i tOlO. Yagu;l, Tucuna) or of Ihr Upper rqJTesent their gods
"

who It'gis[ated i t ? I n d i genous thought. we h<lve a l rea dy noted. e n v i si o n s 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 at io nsh i p of tx te r i o ri ty Or, i n other words. i r it reproduces
.

What b the origin of lnw as the basis of society. who p ro m ul gn ted it.

X i n gu [Kamnyura. Awet. Bnenri) or of the A ra q u a i a (Karaja. Javac), which

" ,

in the r o rm of masks worn by m a l e danccrs, then these

m as ks. like the musical i n st ru m ents symbolize not only spirits of the forcst or the rivers, but also the ancestors. The p ri m it ive societies of S o u th America invest th e m se lv es totally i n their religious a n d ritu<ll life, which unfolds as a co n t i n uo usly repealed afflr m a l i o n of t h e communal Self. Each c e r e m on y is a new opportunity t o previously bcqueathed by Iht" a n ('esta rs We can then see thaI the re fe re n ce to the ancestors is logic<llly implicated in the initiatory ritrs: only the m)" hi
.

i ts el f. it docs not n ecessn ril y found itself. Initi<llory rites. in pnrticul ar. hnve the fun cti o n of assu ri n g the auto-rt'production of society. Ihe repr ti l i o n of its clr. in conformanC'(' with traditionnl rules and norms. But tht fou nd i n g aCI i t is the work of thost;' w h o prC'cedcd men in a ti me p ri o r to human rime; it is o f the inst i tut i on of society refcrs back to the prc-soci;l!. to thr tl1tt.:t-sorial:

re mc mb er that if society i s go od livable, it i s d ue t o t h e respect of no rms

.

the wo rk of the 'lI1cestors. Myth, as namllivt' of thr foun d i n g gesture of soci

lty by the amestors. constitutes the foundation of s oc i e ty. the col l ec t i on of

soc i ety and i ts eternal rt'lll'tition.

cal discourse i1 n d the word of the nncestors guarantee the perm,lI1 ence of

6 a

b 9

I I -If

A R { I H O I O G Y

O f

V r O l f H C [

l H f

! R { H ( O L O G Y

O f

V I O t f N { f

religious space very d i fferent from that of the Savages. for t h e timer, though the great mfljorilY are f a rmcrs, the imponan("c of natural alimenta ry

I n penrtrating the Andean world, w e come upon a c u l t u ral

2. I H I

ANDEAN WORLD

"isted. t h e f abrics. lhe rcramics, elt". The Incan period, which eXlends from the great abundance of

lht'

[ Jth

century to the arrival of the S pan is h . is n at ura l ly better known t hro u gh

horizon,

a n d the in quests of the missionaries who

arrhc:ological documents, rh ro n i c l e rs descriptions, 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 fLle of the Andes.

resources

re m a i n s considerable: hunting, fiS h i n g co l l ect i n g. Nature as

,

su ch is n o t abolished by the gardens, and th(' forest tri be s d e fi c iency

r el y

a5 mu c h o n

as

one

fa u n a a n d wild plants as o n cuhivated plants. Not be-c:luse of a technical

I n d eed. the lncil.s po l iti <:a l

might ('xpect, bUL without a l te r ing it p ro fo u nd ly. imperialism was at o n rr cultural and religious victors. On th e other hi'lnd, the lnras their ow n collection of bel i efs for those of rhe c m p ire: th('y did not undenake any rXlir
w h o se diffusion

- all they would have to do is in crease the su rfaCl' of p l a n ta t i o n - but because prcd<ltory exploitation i n a n e col og i ca l ly l{cnerous environ ment [game, fi sh, roots. berries, and fruit) re q u i rcs i{'ss effon. The- tcchno

.;; i nce (he suh jected Iwoples not only had to recognize the emperor's :tuthori ty, but had

had h a rd ly

to

acce p t

the religion of t h e

attempted to s ubst i t ut r

ecological r{'lationship that the Andean people maintflin with their natural

the pOI)ulations i nrt'grated inro

e- nv i ro n me n t follows a co mp l ete ly diffe-re-n t l i n e of re as o n i n g : they are alt, of course. fa rm C'Ts and rdmost exclusively fCl rmcrs in the sense that w i l d res o u rc es count very 1 [\[ l e for th c m . That is t o say t h e Indians o f t h e Andes
form an infinitely more intense rel a t ion ship with the eanh than the Indians

pati o n

of the loral cults and rites. This is why wt.' filld twO grcat religious

systems in the Andes of i n effect well

this period: that of the Incas proper,

went hand i n hand with political e-xpansion, and t h a t of th e loeill religions,

beforr

the appearance of the Incan state.

i t is [ruly the nurturing mother for thrm :tnd this. natural p ro found i n fiuencc on religious l i fe and ritual practices. I n terms of r('"al a n d sy mbo l i c occupation of space, the forest Indians are p eo pl e of the territory, w h i l e those of thl' Andes afe people of the earth: they arc, i n other words. p easa n t s Rootedness in the earth is ext rt m e ly old in t h e A n des. A gri cu l tu re started 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
of the A m a zo n s :

ly. h:t>;

POPUlAR RHIGIDN
world: it i s the of pe as:t nts, an agrarian rt'tigion. for both th e coastal people and i nhabitants of the- pla te a u . TIll' And e a n Indians pri m a ry concern was to gain the favor of powers that p res id ed over tIl{' Sl'a<>on al cycte and that assured the abundance of thl.' harvest a nd fec u n d i ty of t h c l l a m a herds. This is no doubt why. beyond local particularities, wr can spe a k of p a n A n dea n cults and beHefs l'ncompas>;ing the coast and t h ' plateau. or
esse n ti a l l y a rel i g io n thr Ouechua and the Aymara a n d the Moehiea.
-

POpUIM religion clearly expresses [he Andean l n d i a n s relationship to

'

from sea level to the high crntral plateau. Andean soeietie!; stand OUI on the

ch i ca l i z ed.

South Am('ri('un horizon by a strmiftC'alion absent elsewhere: they ure hicrar

or

divided

a l o n g the vertical axis of p o l 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

Tlte gods The- n atural

elements !hi'lt ordered the daily l ife of the-sr

p e asa nl

peoples

them tribute. This division of the social body into t he d o m i n at i ng and the

were exal tl'cl to the status of d iv i n e powers: S u n and Moon, often though! of

l e n n i u m beforc o u r era. al ready shows that the habitat was becoming urban

dominated is very ancirnt in t he AnciC's, as a rcheol og ic a l research has est<1b lishC'd. The- ci vi l i7 <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
.

p n od '\ccms a

and t at oeial lifc was bring o rgan ized around the temples. places o f worship iln( p l lg n m a ge, under rill' a egis of priests. The history of thC' Andcs by this

succcssion

w1th th('ocrac. the las

fra gm e ms of t h ro u gh tlw fun (' ra ry

and bcst known of which i s t h at 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. furnllure of tl1('

of em ergi n g and

crumbling

cmpi res

'>

t ro n gly

t i n ted

tombs, the monuments that have sub-

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 A ndea 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 a n oi nt thf' fac('s of partirip.1 n t >; in lil(' ritual.
,

7 0

7 I

r ll f

d R C !l f O t O G Y

O f

V r O l f H ( E

I ll f

& R C H f O t ll ' Y

O f

V I O L f N ( f

These cults show the d i ffe r e n c e between tht: savage tribes a n d the

The

j J ancestors (Inti o rull v

Ille dead

of I h e former, i'lnd Anrlc;]n thought, in co n t rClS I to Amazonian co n t i n u i ty between the world of tile l i vi n g and lhl' world of th t dt'ad: a ('o nt in u i ty of lht' pe as ;] III com mu n ity thilt occupied tIl{' same soil undt'r Ihe prolection of its gods (tnd its dead. The mythical founding ancestor was frequently representtd by a rock, lI1arkayok, vfnt:rated no kss than the p l ace, pakarina. from which the ilncestor emerged from the subterrane,w world. Ench co mmu n i ty. or ay/Ili. t h us hnd his an ces tor a nd rendered h i m a cul t : markayok and pakarilla, test ifI ed to the perma l nd founded tht solidarity nence and identity thro ug h out lime of the ayllu i o f familirs thm comprised the communiry. While the funerary ritcs of the Indian<; of thc forest lend to a n n i hilate the dead in order to C;ISt Ihem into o b l iv io n . the Andean Indians, on the con tra ry, placed them in ve rita b le crmcteries: tombs were grouped in th e shelter of ('aves or in sons of cryp ts built in the shn p e of t Ow e rs . or in h ol es bored into c l i ffs. Th ey co n t i n ued t o p a n i r i llate in collective life. for rel<1tives came 1 0 visit and consult them; reguln r offerings maintained their henevolence. and (hey were offen'd stlcriflcts. Far from fo rgetting their dead. (he Indians o f the Andes did everything possible so that Ihe dead w oul d n ot fo rget the 1 nd would look out for t h ei r p rosperi ty: CI relationship of al l i il n c e a n d l iv i n g . inclusion. and not o n e of exclusion a n d hostility, as i n t h e forrst. This is why, according to t h e Spanish priests in chinge of ex t i rp ati ng the ido l a t r i es, l i k e the the real d ead - i n the form of skeletons or mummies (ma/qui) mythical dead. were objens of ('ult and veneration: in certain ceremo n i al c i r eu mst ; 'l!1 ces . r h ry were decorated with f enlhel'S and precious m ateri a l s.
d es e d,l n !

Andean peoples. Among the former. as we have sern. the ancestors art' not dead contemporaries of the Jiving. but mythical founders of society. In the Andes. on the contrary. the socio-religious l ife of the community depended largely on t h e cult of both the an cestors and the dead; the latter were the

c n

t h o u gh t , made an effon to tmph;)size th e

" - i nt e rse cted with the supernatural. and the Thr s p a ce lhu" < l('nv('s , (I UI( r coca a co n. a so rt of s a cred e n co d i n g 0 f t'1 e wQrId . uted t i t s il1loc e h t Of ystem s " . I)ctwnn , The ensemble of lhe huaca included not only the onneclJons. . objects. also but figunnes. and sphere, sacred the and dscapes la I spatia , 11 . amulets that represented each family's p owe rs 0r tut e' age. Thcst" w e rt" th t . , sometimes stones of u nus lJa I shape or color. sometimes s tatu ettes cOl/opa. 'I' la I '<lnlt "cu I pt rd O r mOlded into thr shape of <I llamn or ;In e<lr of corn, r . , " , cOl/opa w e rt: ktpt in h om es to protect t h e Inl1alll /;tnt') from I l l n es s. or even ' d i n t h e fields to guamn!tt fe r t i l ity. C'ommunal ('ol1opa (those o f t h e ,lune , " 11 dI' n.g I) I aces ay/lu) wen' extracted at certain m om e nts 0r the year rrom t 1e where thcy were concealed: they were given homage. offered sacnflCes of l l amas or coca. a n d pmyed to. . There WClS il t least onr donor or s h a ma n in each commun ity. He was often appointed by th e God of Thunder w h o who would strikc h i m w i t b lightning. Outside o f h i s t h e ra peut ic functions. Ih s h m a n a l so sl'rved il S a fortun o rlJer. BUI u n l i ke tht forest tribes, shamalllsm I n the Andes was not Ihe centt'T of rtligious l i fe. I t developed into <In ensemhle of rilunl practices, all of which te n d ed to ask the gods, t h e a n ('rst ors . the dead. all rhe powers . called Iwaca. 10 assure th e welt-being of t he OyJ/11 by gu a ra mc !.' l n g Mother Earth's prosperity. This distinctly a g ra ri a n religion transltlUs th(' pf' asant's profo u n d devotion to his soil ovcr which Ihe divint' must W;I\('h.

THE RHTGTON OF THE INCAS I n o rig i n and substance. !!lcan religion does not d i ffer p ro fou nd ly fro m rel i gi o n . Townrd the I Jlh (' c n l U ry of our era. the lnC<1S o were a smn1t triht of tile C'u z co reg io n . The rel i gi o us 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 h o pe Ihin. through n:lebratory flies and sacrificial o ffe ri n gs . the divine powers. the ancestors. and t h e dead would guarantee the fen i l i ry of t h e earth and the permtll1ence of so (' i rry. Fo reil "ons still unknown. the tribe of t h e Incas began a ma r ch of co n q u est In the ! Jth century which ended only with tht' ilrrivnl of I ll(' Spanish . B t d uri g I this rC'lO'ltiV{'ly hrief period. the Incas pushed back tht: hordt' f t 1 . t' l r t'mplrt' immeasurably (which co u nt ed h{,lwten Iwelve and flflcen nulllon i n ha b i t a nts
s o - c al l ed p pu la r

This was the name given t o u gh

The lIulIca

by the

to contain a supernalur.11 power. S a c re d

In dian s 10 all

a ncestors werr /llIncn. as were the m u m m i fi ed

idols and the places t hey could be fo un d, a mountain or a plant. a spring or a grono. a c h i 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 t ri p, privil egtd places such as a m oun ta i n pass or a rest i n g place in il pa t h were m a r k ed by il heap of stones, aparhira, which t h e travele rs also consitit'red huoca: th ey ad(kd th e i r own stone to th i s pile and offered up a
7 1

bei n gs or natural objects stonts rep resenting the dead. 13 m IlIIoca also were

':'

which is still surprising in

in 1 530). a n d huilt up a n a sto n ish i n g machine of power. a Stall' a p p aratus . " mo d e rn ity " of its institutions

the

I m p e r i a l s o c i ety, i n s c r i he d i n a rigorously h i e r a r h i .al p y r n m i d , ex pressed t h e radicill division ht'1Wt'l'l1 I h (> Incas' t ri um p h a n . anstocracy nd

c c t

the mass of peopJrs. ethnic groupo:;, and Irih{'<; i n tegrated mto the empm\
1 1

l f

R ( H t 0 1 0 G Y

O F

V I O t f N ( f

l f

R ( H f O l O G Y

0 1'

V I O l f N ( f

whose power they recognizrd by paying it tribute. At t h t top of the h i rra r would be a mistake t o think thitt the Incas' political - mi l i t a ry expansionism wa.;; accompanied hy religious proselyt izing which imposed their Own system differed rrom t h a t or its deprndenls; secondly. b rca usr til(> Inca.;;' domination tended to gain only the obt:diencl' of the subjects and not, ::IS the S p a n i sh religious "el1('od ing:" to subsist. and imposed upon it a "superco d ing " ('onsti

of his empire, and eanhly representative of the principal divine power. I t

ehy feigned the monarch. the Inca, ,'It once- cilie-f of his ethnic group, master

itnd the t h i rd devoted to th e SUIl. The construction or numrrous Sun temples errcted in the provinces followl'd t h e mod!:'l of the most famous a m o n g them, t h a t or the impe rial capititl. the Coricancha, I h e true religious a n d polit i cal center of the empin:. a place o f worship a n d pi l grim a ge where the \.,.alls, rectangular in shape. m ea sured four hundrt:d meters in l e n g th . All Olum mies or past emperors could also be found. Coricancha's surrounding along the meticulously constructed masonry ran a hand of fln(' go l d . thirty

re m a i n ed at the disposition or the ayliu. another w as a l l o (' a t rd 10 the State.

the vanquished. It is it miMake. bel'iluse, in essence, the I ncas' religion hardly

had <lonr. to ext i rp ,1;t e their idolatries. In rt:ality, they allowed the traditional

on the sub jected peoples by eliminating the traditional riles and bel ie fs of

sals undtr the ('o n dit i o n that they rt"cogni7.e and honor the p;ods or the co n querors as writ.
As t he i r powl'r gradually incrt'ast'd. the conquerors proce('ckd t o rework

tuted by t h e i r own religion: rreedorn or wo rs h ip was al lowed the l n c a n vas

w i l h offerings or go l d or s il ver as wel l as the numerous pt'rsonnel assigned

to forty centimeters wide. The CoriC<lncha housed various sanctuaries fIlled

<;elf opened the se aso n of sow i n g i n th e e m p i re.

gold were st u c k i n t h e ground. By working r i tu a l l y in this ga rd e n , I n c a him Outside or" the h ierilrcllical ensemble of pr i ests , fortunc[cJlers, ,md ser

to serve i n the te m p l t . There was <1ls0 il gil rd cn where stalks of c o r n made or

their a ncient sy<;tem or be l i efs by exalting c{'rtain flgUrtS i n th('ir p a rnhton. by weight to rel i g io n through the institution or a l a rgl'. extremely hierarchical to this c l ergy a l a rgt' part of the tribute paid to the Inca!. hy tlwir suhjects.
fire

vants. the p e rso n n e l or {'ach Sun t t m pl e incl udt'd a g ro u p of wOJnrn chosen bl'ilury - virgins or t he Sun, the Adla. They wne assembled a n d educated in

m a k i n g reasts and cC'r{'monil'S grandi ose. by giving considemb](' sociopolitical clergy. by constructing multipll' tl'mples ;lI1d p l a ('es or w o rsh ip , by a l l oc a t i ng

from throughout tll(' empire by royal a d m i n istrators for their grace a n d

sorts of

cloisters (aclla-ll11asi),

wh e re they learned to m a nuracture luxurious

I h (' s a c r i fi ces . Thcy prepared chirlra, a d r i n k made or fe rmented corn,

rabrks of vicuna and alpaca, whkh wt re offered i n e n o rmous quamities at

requited a t every ceremony. Like [he vestals, they were vowed to absolute

cull of rll(" )11II

.t...

rhastity. yet it was among these women that Inca chose his concubines as iI major figure in thl' I m'an p a nt h eon as weI! as the women he gave ' as rewards to greilt men or Ihe empire, Some of the serious i l l ness or death or the Inca. earthquakes. eiC. Four thousand peo a u tho ri ty of a m a t ro n ,

rhe solar star, Imi, l'm l'rg l'd

a

the resull or two thing:-.: tradition, which ror quitt son1<' time had made the sun the i n s t i t u t i o n or a n i m p e r i a l system, would t raverse prartically all th e archak d esp o t is lll';; and lead to t he idemirlcation of tht' master of l h e empire p a n - Pe ruv i a n divinity: and sociopolitical i n n ovation. whirh through

lhe aella we re silcriflced at cruciill moments: the accession of a n ew emperor,

were virgins of the Sun. ( n ('ach I('mple. the virgins were subjrC\eci to tile ple. it is said. composrd Corica ncila's personnel, of which fIfteen h u n d red

with tflr sun. This is w hy the lattcr llt'l',lme t he p ri nc i p a l Inean god. as the

great founding ancestor or royal l i nea ge : emperors were (' h i l d ren of til e Sun. ship th<lt Inc<ln rc l i gi o n btcamr a rrligion of the State.

cult w o rsh i p a n d of orflcial religion imposrd o n all: it was th ro u gh sun-wor. When the Incas obtai ned the submission of an ethni<: g ruu p , they imme

And so t he cult lhal w as rendered took on a value both o f dynCls l i c a r H.:eStOr

r.;ummit of the h i e ra rc hy was the high p riest of the Sun. tht' Vilea-Oma. the d i rectrd the religious life of the l' m p i rc .

Mama-CUI/a, c o n si de ren

thr wire or the Sun: At the

emperor's uncle or b ro the r, who l ivt'd ascrtically in the Coricanch<1 wh('fl' he

su:-.. rt:source count, l'tc.) <Inn rel igi olls me<1SUfes: t h e vilnqui.;; hetl h:1d to inte

tation or a cult-orirll!rd t n frastniclUre. th e ('TC'ction or temple.;. the l'stab l i sh

llH"nl or <l ck rgy to offi('iale there. a n d of co u rs e, I) rovi d i ng thi.;; cl t rgy with jel'{ed communities: one pan initiateci a I ripa ni t io n of land ror all the sub plbh the !.acrirlces necessary 10 rclehrate the S un . We

grate t h e cult of I n l i into their rrligious system. This i nvolved Ihe impi emt'n

di at e l y took a certain n u m b er or ad m in i st ra ti ve mt:'ilsures (il p o p ul a tio n cel1-

pan -Peruvian, since hl' w a s k n o w n a n d honored as much by the Aymara as by the Quechu<l. Throughout the often o bsc u re myths devoted to Vi ral'o('h('l.
Sun and Moon, day and night) and

Vi ra co cha was <l d i v i n e rlllthropomorphic rl gu re ilt o n ce very ancient a nd

Tire cliit of Viracoclia

ill1portallt resources which ass u red i t s s u h s i s t e-Ilc e a nd a l l o wed H to accom

we can St(' t h e image of an eternal god-creator of illl t h i ng s (sky a n d earth. presem to w h o m he assign('d their respective territories. taught the art.;;
7 I

k no w

that the Incas

and des t royed several successive civilizations. e n ge nd e red the m e n or the

which would allow Iht'm 10 l i ve , and prescribed tht' norms, which would

il hrro-civili7Cr who. a fte r h ilv i n g ('(tilled

I H f

U C H E O L O G Y

O f

V I O L E N C E

I ll f

& R C H f O l O ti Y

O f

V I O L f N ( f

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 ea red forever {oward t he West. I n the flTst e n cou n te rs with the Span ish, the

orm, the i1uoro were venerated and honored with silcrit'tces Wha tever t he i r f (h('ers made of corn. coca, I l am ils. c-hildrtn or women whose hea rts w ould be
dred hU{Jca. The IIIUl ea of ( he e m p i re were p os it ion e d on i m a g i n ary axes.

between the person of the emperor and the places he went or d n'il m t of.

I nd I a ns ca lled t he m vi racoch a, The I ncas imposed tht cult of thtlr ethnir god, t h e Sun. o n tht rntire e m p i re . 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 fro m 1438 to 1 4 7 1 ) that this rew ork i n g oftbe lnran pantheon's hier arrhy took shape, after which I n t i cf..'dcd the nnt T<L1 pl ace to Vi rac och a , thou gh the e1l1pt'ror remained a descendant of the S u n . This pr('(' m i n e n c e <'I c corelt'd t o Viracocha may be the cumul<1tive e ffect of s ('v e rOlI things: the purdy the olo gic al work of pr iests s eek i n !4" a mo re fund<'lMlcntal reI i g i o u s pres cnce than that of th e visible. be it solar; t h e p e rso n al belief of P a ca c h u t 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.

offe red to the d iv i n ity ). The town of (uzco alOll{' was said to havr rive h u n

zekes. w h i ch 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 sp ac-c and timr hy thr s ac re d. The m a rk i ng of ",P<1C(' by thr Illwca cchoed the punctuation of lime hy ritual p ral"ti ct.'s . Feasrs alld ceremonies Rare or unrorrs('etlble ev r n lS ofrrrcd an o pport u n ity for important l"ere
gave rist.' to solemn s<lcriflCes w h i c h <ltlt.'mpttd to appease th e a n ge r of I h r m o n i a l m<'lnifestat i o n s : e c l i pses of the sun or moon, e a nh q u a kes, d rough ts

repe rc us s i o n s on the w el l- be i n g of rhe e mp i rr : <lS t he son or the Sun. he

dc-ilies. Evc-ry1hing, furthermore. th;'lt arrc-ctcd the person of the emprror h(ld

oc-cup i ed the point of contact bttwten the world of the gods and lhe w o rld

It i s, in any case, along this path th at Paeachuti continued. lie had a tem ple dedicated to Viracocha b uilt at Cuzco w he re the god W<lS d ep i c tt:d in t h e f orm 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 i n e a c h provi n ci al capi tal . eq u i p p ed wilh clergy d evo t cd to his cxclusivc service and rcsources i nten{lt-d to assure the maintr nance of the t em pl e <lnd the pri ests . The- cult of Viracocha - ancient Lord. distant Lord, v('ry excell e nt Lord - never became a pop ula r 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 es ote ri c. <lnd less rooted i n the sensu<ll worl d than the p o p ul a r cults. a nd then'hy mark t h ei r spcciflcity as dom i n ;'l n t caste even on thr religious l ev e l . This is why th e 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 i re.
. I l l ilp(1, Thunder, was a lso <1 p <1 n -A n dea n flgun .' in the I n c- a n p;1ntheon.

life was to offe nd the e m pe ror and t hus to incite th e wrClth of the gods. This is why the enthronement of a new Inca, the death of the cmperor. his iltn('ss es, his military defeats put into quest ion the Vf:'ry s;'llvmion of t he empire <lnd the survival of the people: numrTOUS hum<ln s<lC"riflrrs (children. prisoners of W<lr, virgins of t h e Sun) w ere used to reestablish the a 1tt.'red socia -cosm ic o rder i n m en 's favo r. " prose of thr world '" called ror <l somrwhat i mp rovis t'd ri1U<l1 resp o n se. Hut the movement of social life, a move m C'n t <'Inieuliner! primarily in the <lgrari,1Il
c-yele: sow i n g, h arve sting, s ol st i ce s, p ayi n g tribute. Although the yC<lr W<lS preoccupied Ih(' Indi<1ns or t h e Andes. E;'lch month W<lS m<lrked by a particul<lT

t h e personal destiny of lhe Inca. Inversely. to t rans gress the norms of SOCiil1

of men, so that the rol1el"tivt' des t i ny of the peo ple n a rro w ly depended on

These exceptional circu mstances in whkh tvil d i fferen<:e distoned rhe

th ere was al s o an annU<11 cycle or religious ceremonies th<lt cl ose l y followed

The cult

of T/WI/tin (l11t1

tlie h U {1("(1

divi de d into twelve lunar months. it was th e Sun's m o ve me n t in tilr sky Ihat r\('lds. preparing them f o r sowing. etc. Th esc fcasts took place in t h e temples.

M<1ste-r of storm, h,l i l . l i gh t n i ng and r<lin, h e produrcd tumull in llle skies by lllapa's ac-tivitics. They i mp l o re d h i m to send eno u g h rain and offe red h i m

sn;lpping- a s l i n g-shot. As ril r m e rs. the Ande<1n pe o p il' were V('ry aUt.:ntivl ' to

fr<1st that determined the moment of pl a n t i ng. l1<lrvesting, distributing t h e and more often. in public squares rcs('rved ror th is purpose, notably. in the
great sqU<Jre in Cuzco where all thl' rlgures or the Incan p <1 n the on were dis played. including thr mummies o f fo rmer C'mperors. In this regul a r ceremonial cycl('. three fe<'lsts distinguished themselves by th e i r size and import<l nct': two co rre spo nd to the solstices, the third was ori gi na l ly a f(,stival of th e Moon. Austral winter solstice (June 2 1 st) was devoted to the I n t i R<'Iymi. the crl cbration of the Sun, <Jnd at the S<lme time the glo ri flc<lt i o n of h is son 011
1 1

ttf ex pl ;l i n thr supe ri or pos i ti o n of lIlap<1, after V i racoc h a ilnd Inti, i n the ed a saned grid of s pace. The Incas add('d thtlr own systrm to the popul a r
l n Cilll p 'l Il th ("on . For thl' l'at(: of till' I n cas . <lS for the p{,<lsa nt mas"es. the IlIIaca co n stitut

grf..'<1t sacrifIces i n p e ri ods of d ro u g ht . The Andean socit'ti(os' <lgrari<1n charac

Iwnw n e two rk , definecl i n s a n c t i fied plac-es by a rl'al or i m a g i n a ry l i n k

16

I Il [

A R C H t O l O G Y

o r

V I O l f N C E

l H f

A R ( H f O l O G Y

O t

V I O L f N C I:

earth. the I n ca h i mself. This is why all th e highr<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 Inca offered the Sun a drink of clliclla in a silver vase. As with all g re a t fes Raymi took pl<lce, a solar festival as weil. but dev oted besides to the comple capitol for the fi rst glow of the star to appear. Everyone then knelt and the

tra nsgression of s om e prohihition; uncovt"ring tll(' gu i l ty party and purifying h i m also fell upon the furtuntl<::llers. When c i rcumstances d e m a n drci it, a collective and pu bl ic session uf co n fessi o n took place. intended to reesl abl isll th<- s ocio-c osm i c order upset hy the i n fractions committed. The templts of Pachacamac and Lima, places of traditional pilgrimagt. sht'ltered oracles famoUS throughout the rmpire; the emperors themselves did not hesitatr to ronsult them. let us add in concl usion that despite the effons of the Church,
scvral indigenous rites, syn('fticilily bl ended into Christian worship, still

dances. D u r i n g the period of s u m m e r solstice (DccembN 2 1 s t) , t h e Capac ad ul th o o d . Whih: i n t h e p easa n t massrs this passage was n o t rit u ally markl'd, 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
in the dominant class it gav(' rist.' to great cr('monies: entry into adulthood, hunrach icoy (th /lUnrn is the loincloth given to t h young people at th(" e n d

tivals, the inti Raymi was acrompanied by libations, sacrifices. chants a n d

tion o f tht rites of i n i t ia t i o n , marking the p assa ge o f young nobles i n t o

exist tod ay among the Ay mara of Bolivia a n d the Quechua or Peru.

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 o n g with the loincloth, t lley wert givt.'n ba c k their

raithrul ponrait of tht' religiou beliers and practices of t he South American

Though brief, the preced i n g account nt"verthelt'ss allows us ((j dra w a

3 . l H E l U P I - G U!R!N I W O R l D

peoples by noting their esen tial char(lct('risti('S. The religiosity of forest so d

we'lpons. a n d t h e i r ('ars w('rt.' p i nced and adorned with d i s ks. In l h e

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

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

aett."e1. If t he s<Jcrt."(1, as we have said, traverses t h e social through a n d through, invtrsely, the social totally p e rnH'iltt"5 tilt' religious. To say t ha t rcli
giou "sentiment" ('xi<;t primarily i n i ts public expression in n o way ques

{'(irs appe,Hs at oncr ext rovrJ1rd and collective: it is chanted. danced, a n d

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, disastr, mifonun{', Ir!lve this country! Four groups of
II

Ih('ir myths and rites. Nevenheles, t he "j1f'r<;onal element of the religious fact" is largely crasrd i n favo r o f ils coll ective component. which explilins the eno rmous importance of ritual practice. The exceptions to this genrral situation stand out all the mOTe. Various reseilrchrr.s in the second hair of lhr 1< )t h cen tury c ol l e(,led an ('nl'!l1 hl(' of te x ts among the popUlations (now
feTrnl from lhe cl a ss ic hody of my t h s. The religious, indeed. mystic<11 un('i'lsi

Indians of South Amf'rica have shown. and still show, exemplary fi de l ity to

tions the intensity of i n di v i d u al adherence. Like a l l p r i m itivr p{'oplr, thr

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 nc es 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'
t h e m in s a cri ficr , a n d .ankll with it, (Inc!
a ll

extinct) along the lower and middle sections of tl1<' Amazon that is very dif

r i ve rs . The gods and e m p e ro rs participated i n t h e siwwtl ror t h ei r statues and mummies w e re exhilJited in lhe square. White llamas were otTered to
a

was dipped i n t o the a n i mals blood; t h t' gods a n d mummies w e re anoi ntrd In lhis society so i n fust'o w i t h rel i gi os i ty, ev ('ry un d r rt<l k l n g, whl.'tht.'r i n d i v i d u a l o r eoll ecrive, h u m bl e or i m p r ri ; d , had to be prt.'ceded by lin
till' C uz ro inhabitants ale a piece.

paste of corn nour prep<lr('d for t hl' o ccas i o n

societies. This particul arity, rart in So u th America. was developed to tin

ex t rem e among th Tupi-Guar<llli.

sonal re n ecti o n , a s tr i k i n g contrast to tht.' ri t u al rxubt."ra nct' or other fo r es t The lerm T u p i - G u <l r a n i c o m p r i s e s a c o n s i d e r a b k n u m b e r o f t r i bes

na rrators of myth inn of p h i l osoph t' rs o r thi n k ers dl'votrd t o the work o f pe r

ness that i s m a n ifested Iherr suggrsts the existence in tllest" ()('il'tit."s n ot o f

w h i c h belong to rhe anH' lingUistic ramily a n d which a re culturally h o m o

lIam< 1s' lungs blown up so Ihat the blood v essri s Could be i n tcrpreted. Any disorder i n such a worlo could only stem from the (vo lunt ary o r i n v ol u n ta ry)
, 8

inqu iry with the s up ern at u ra l powers: hence the very i m p o rt <l n l role of the fort u netellers. They observed the arrangement of coca leaves thrown onto the ground , saliva trickling through fl llgrrs, i n n ll rds of saniflc('([ animllls,

geneous. Thesr populations occupied a vast territory: i n [ h e South, t h e G u a r a n i extended fro m th e Paraguay r ive r i n t h e West to t h e Atlantic COllst Amazon in t h e North and penetrated tht.' b ack <:ounlry t o a n u n k n o w n
7 9

i n the East; the Tupi po p u l a ted this samr coast as far as Ihe mouth of the

social organization or the Tu pi -G u i'lTil n i conformrd ro the model i n forcl' i n

depth. Thes(' Illdi;Jn n u m hrrrd i n t h e m i l l i ons. lhe economic l i fe ;Jnd

l il t

R C l! f 0 1 0 G Y

O f

V I O l f N ( f

l H f

II R C H f O t O 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 d i 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

IHE PROPHE15
fhough h(lrdly i n a p os i t io n to understand this phenomenon, the first cilfoniclers d i d n o t confuse t h e Jwrai, e n i g m a t i c personages w h o h a d e m e rged from society, with the shi1rn<lns. The karai w e re n o r i n <l n y way

s a n d i n d ivi d u;l I s o r m o re. A ll 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 r a g u ay. 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 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. l i fr c('ntered ilround sham(ln islll. 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

C"oncerned with ther<l!H'utic practices, reserved only for the paje. nor did
they fu l fi l l a s p ec i Ol l i zed ri tu<l l fun c t i o n ; t h ey we ft" nrith('r m i nisttrs of a
t ra di t i o n a l cult n o r the founders of a new cult. neither shamans n o r priests.

What then were the karai? These men were situated tot <l I l y allc! exclusively i n the rtal m of the spoken word. speaking was their only a ct i vi lY : tl\('Y wrre m e n of discourst" (rilt" content of which w i l l be eXilm ined later) which lIH'Y were committed to voicing i n a l l p I Ole('s. a n d not o n l y i n the h eMt o f lh e i r own c o m m u n ity. Tht komi moved about consta ntly, going rrom vil

As in all primitive sodetics oftbe conti nrllt. the Tupi-Guarani's religious

same tasks as el srwhere ; ritual life. whatever Ihe c i n:u m sta n c rs (initiation, ex ec lltio n o f a p riso nrr of war. b u ri a l) was always accomplished in rertrence
life imposed on m e n by t he cultural heroes (M(lira. or by the mythical a n cestors. In this. t h e Tu pi- G u a ra n i did not differ in any

paje.

doct o r -sh il m 3 n s , fulfilled the

lage to v i l l age to h ara ngue attentive I n d i a n s . These prophets' nomadic

vo c a tio n is evrn more surprising given that local tribes. sometimes gath

to the norms that had a l ways assured social col]('sion. the norms and rules o f

Monan,

Slln.

Moon, etc.)

rred in rederations of several villages, werc waging a tllrrC"ijess war. Yrt thr
a l l , and in fact. were rr ((' ivrd fnvently everywhere: people went so far (lS

karai ('ould travel fro m camp to camp with impunity: they ran no risk <lI

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 F r e ll c h . Portuguese. a n d S p an is h travelers \)e<1r wit n ess to

il

differe n ce so consider

to strt'w tile parhs l e a d ing to their vi l l il ge with Iri1ves. to run 10 meet them

allk th<l t it c o n fe rs upon the Tu p i- Ci u a ra ni a n <lbsolutely unique place on the

and lead them b(lck i n process i o n : no matter where they <:amt' from. the kenai w e re n t'ver considered e n e m ies. by his appunen<lnce to a ki n sh i p group a n d a local commun ity. 1\ person thus flllds h i m s el f inscribed from the outsrt i n a grne<llogiC"al C"h<lin of rrl a
t h <'y did n o t have a father, but were the sons of a wotn(ln a nd (l d i v inity. Ilrre dt'pended on thr fa t hec. descent being patrilinear. And yet the kami said t h at

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
SCC' in t h is J pagan m a n i festation of the devil kd by

How was this possible? In primitive society. the i n dividu<ll is defll1ed fust

ment. rcligious i n Qrigin and i n te nt i o n . The Europt'ans. o f course. could only

JgJinst each other. t h is society was deeply wrought by a powerful move

lives a n d i n a network of k i n . A m o n g the Tupi-Guarani. o n e ' s lineage

rhis strange p h e no m e n o n was Tupi-Gu<Hi1ni prophecy. which has co nsta n tly

the henchmen o f SMan.

b e e n m i s i n t e r p ret ed . U n t il recently. it was c o n s idered messi a n i s m . t h e

p roph e ts 10 auto-deify themselves. but at the denial and the refusal of the

WC"

must look nOI at the megal o m a n iacal fan t (lsy which ('aused these

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 o l ogy has not found a s i n gl e rquiv,llent anywhere rise.

father. To state. i n effect, the absence of the father affirmed their dis j u n cture
from a l i neage of relatives, and consrquently. from society i ts el f. I n this type of soci ety, such a discourse was invested witb an incomp<1r<1bly s u hvers ivr (' h a rge : it denied. in effect. the very fra mework or primitive s oci e ty, thai

which h;'IS rt'(rnlly been termed blood tics.

We C<ln easily see that t h e nomadism of the karai w a s a result neithn of

their fa n tasy n o r an excess iv e taste for travr1 , but i n d rrd of rhrir d isjun C"lU rr
from any c om mu nity at all. They w e re literally from nowhtrr. and, by defin ition, could n o t establish resid e n ce anYWhere, since they were n o t members of a ny l i n e(lge. And it is f o r thi wry reason thilt upon a rriv in g at any vil
8 I

8 0

lage. they could not be considered representatives of an enemy trihe. To be

I H

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O f

V I D t H ( f

l H l

A R C H f O t O ' Y

O f

V I O I E N ( E

a n enemy is to be inscribed in a social structurt, which was p recisely not IIle case of the in a sense from everywhere. In other words. their semi-divinity, their partial non-human ness forced them, by tcaring them from human sociNy. to live according to their nature of "beings from the beyond," But it assured them, tribe: the hostility shown toward all foreigners was not fclt toward tht: korai, thJt the Indians. far from thinking the ence of their discourse tlnc! were (cady to welcome their word. at the same time. of tOlal security in the course of their travels from tribc to

kami. And

this is also why. not b e i n g from anywhere. Ihl'Y were

fo r the Indians considered them gods and not men: wh ich amounts to saying

karai mad, did not doubt the coher

' ) . 'I' le ) rad ' 0r ('VI Ica) ness all d t he ir d iscourse that warned of the immanence . . .) d ' h apis measured by the depth of eVIl It d iscours(' unvt'l e : 11 so or l h e

, tel r I n them i n the evil that was destroyi n g soci ety, and the newness of L . r discourse was due exclusive-ly to the c h a n g e t h a t h a " u grauua " IIy th e i ' . r d d' IS Igure It. 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 . . 1ptin<J" to to construct here a genealogy of difference I n thIS SOcIety. not a t te n ) ' prop h ets elucidate its principal effecl: the appcarance- 0 r t H but on Iy to

IH{ DI!(OUR!{ DI IH{ PRDPHH!

What did the

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

komi SIlY? The n:lture of their dis('ourse was simil:lr to their

GU:lrani tribes to this extent? The combined effect of de-mographlc factors populmion to concentrate in large v i l lages,

k a r l ,Upl announced the death of society, What i l l n ess. then, had corrupted he 1 :

' ous rorees, W;1S penee! thaI Tupi-Guarani society. u n de r the pre.ssure 0 r aTl . . . . society refusof ceasing to be a pTlmltlve socIety, that IS, ,I process in the . dwnge, a society rrfus i n g d i fference, T h e discourse o f t h e jng

(a strong increase i n population), sociological faoors (thc ten dency of tl c . rather than to dl"per e, a I S

the usual process). political factors (the emergence of powerful chleftams) brought the deadliest of i n novations to light in this primitive- sodrl Y: th t . . . of social division, that of inequality. Profound malatse, the sIgn of a sen be('ame ou crisis, stirred these tribes, flnd il is this maln ist' thnt the conscious of. They recognized and clecl;lTrd it as the presence of evil and sorrow in SOcit'IY, as the world's ugli ness and deception. One might say the prophets. more sensitive than others to the slow trflnsformations taking . place around them. were the first to bee-ome aware of and to articulate what everyone was fee l i n g more or leSS confusedly but strongly enough that the discourse of the ha rd l y seemed the flherratiolls of madmen . there was thus profound agreement between the Indians and the prophets

karai

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

Junai

so

constantly

affl rme-cI the funda

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 primitive societys discourse - <t discourse of repetition and not of d i ffer who l istened to them. II follows lhflt, despite its total d i ffercllce from rvery

men ta l ly evil character of lh(' world, on the other. they i nistcd that <:onquest of a good world WflS possible . ' The worlrt is evil! The earth is ugly!' they

who told them: we- must find another world.

LAND WIlHOUI {VIL

The emergence of the prophets and their discourse identifying the world
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

as a plac(' of evil and

enee, a d iscourse of fidelity to tradition and nOi of an opening to innovation

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
lIlara

- 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

urged the Indi:ln'> to abandon YIl'Y mba 'cmcgua, the evil earth. lO reach ylIIY

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, p l aee ("ommon to hefore the d('struction of the ftrst humanity by the universal flood. was a

tY.

Land without Evil. The latter was the resting place of the gods, the

8 2

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

l H f

A R C H f O L O G Y

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I O l f N ( f

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. of the ancient order. Their call (0 abandon the rules did nOt leave aside a forth. they said. give your women to whomever you want! lhe rule of the exchange of women, the law prohibiting incest: he n ce the destructive charge of all norms and all rules, a charge of total subversion

mythical past th:lI furnished the prophets with th(' me-nns (0 escape t h e pre

' and b the" gr at to the Land without Evil. but through its destruction by fir( 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

single one; il explicitly encompassed thr ultimate foundation of human soci

e-ty.

co m mo n 10 a l m ost all cultures. and it is only after d ea th thai men can gain

myo;tiquc appt'areu in a l l it s s i g n i fi c ance . The myth of elTthly p<1r<1dise is access to i t. For tht karai. t he Land without [vii was a real place, con crete,

Where was the Land without Evi l ? liere, too, tht.' pr()plllt J i m it l t" ss

without Evil will be t he i r true dwelling p lace.

world. the Guarani Indians know that their kingdom will come, and the Land

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

thr e n d of t h e 1 5th century were devoted to fi nding it again. Under the East, whrrr t h e s u n rises. T h e great Tu p i - G uaran i religious migrations a t

leadership of the prophets, thousands of Indians ab a n do n e d villages and 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 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 Spa nish : 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 far as the desire for death, as far as collective suicide. thew len thousand Indians migrated from the mouth of the Am a L o n ,II the

gardens. fasted and d a n ccd without rcspite, he-gan the- march toward rhf'

1 . SOCI!1IH 0: lHI f()RHl Biocra, E Ya /i oa ma , Paris: PIon. 1968 (French translation). BUll, A., "Realite tt ideal dans [a prtiqL!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.

B I B LIOGRAPHY

tical effect - the religious migration - a will for subversion that went as

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 a rch of t h e land without Evil took

To all this we should add that p rop h e cy has n o l d is<1ppeared with the

Gumilla, J., 1:."1 Orinoco illlstro(lo y dr j rndido , ("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. 19661972. Lizot, J., Le (erc/e des! eux. Editions d LL SeLLil. 1976. Lozano. P., Descripcidn corogrn fica (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. gaudin. L .. I.Empire socinliqr des irlka. Paris, lnsf itut dellllIologir. 1928. Busc!mt'll. G.H.S., L e PerDU. Anllaud, 198 (Frr!lrh translation). Engel. F.A., 1-e fdol1d(' prec% mbh'JJ des Andes. Hacliclte. 1972. Garc-ilaSD de la Vega, ComelHarios reales de los ItICOS, Buenos Aires, 194). Guaman Poma de Aya[a. Nurt'a (vroJJie-a y RUl' li Gobicrno. Paris. Instinn d'elhno[o gie, 1936. Metraux. A.. l.es /11('(15, Editions d1l S('uil. 1962. Murra. J., Formaciollrs ('("onomie-as y politicos dc/ mUllrio alldilJo. Lilila. 19/5.
8 \

t i on ) .

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
task of ren ect i on on t h e i r own myths, the path of properly metaphysical

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
the interior journeys t h a t start them on a path of the senrell for tho ugh t. tht

2. llif. AliuAN !D

spe('ulation, as the- Ie-xts a n d 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

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t R C H f O L O G Y

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V I O L f N f f

Rowe, J.H., " lnca Cui ture at tIle Time of the Sp;lIlish Co n q u est, Wachtel, N., La Vj.jol! des l'Oincus. G a l h rn a rd. 197 1 . American hrdiOIlS, Vol. II, Was hi ngton , 1 9 46.

Prase, F.o l.es Demirrs I"cas rill (UUD, Ma me , 1974 (French translation).
"

Handbook o j South

Cadogan. l . , AYI'II Ropyto, Texfos miricos de los Atbyn-Guarani dd Guoirn. SO Pau lo 1959.
.

3.1,* IUPIGuulJ, WORlD Abbeville, C., Historri' de- 1(1 Mission dE'S Peres Capucins en /'/5/(' de MoraY/lOll . . ,
Gr:u. 1 9 6 3 .
.

Zuidema, R.T" The Ceque Systl:'l11 i ll the Social Oryanization o j CUZCQ, Le ide, 1962.

CardiTn.

Claslres, P., Le Grand Parler. A/yrhes l'r (honlS sacrfs drs Indi<'ns Guarani, E di ti o n s
Evreux, Y. d. VOYll91' d(JlI II' Nord du BresiI. j air durallf les ollllCCS 1 6 / 1 Lery,

Clast res, H . . I.n Terre SOliS Mal, Edi'ions d u Selli!. 1 97 5. dll Sell i ), 1 9 7 4 . Leipzig and Pa ris , 1 8 6 4 .
.

Corras dDs primcrrosjesuifGs do Brasil. Vol. 3, ed. by S. Leite. Sao Paulo. 1 9 5 4 .

F" Tmtados da rerrll e genre do Brasil,

Rio de J(lllciro. 1 9 2 .

('f

1 6 1 -1 ,

6
POWER IN PRIMIl IVE SOCIHlfS
lthnology has devtloped br illiantly in the past two decades, allowing pri mitive societies to escapc, if not thcir destiny (disappearance) then at Thought and imagination has condemned them. The na"ive conviction that puropl 'an civil ization is absolutrly superior to all other systems of society bas gradually bf'cn substituted by lhe- recogn ition of a cultural relativism whIch, in rrnouncing the imperialist afrlrmation of a hierarchy of values, l e a s t the e x i l e to w h i c h a n age old tradition of exoticism i n Western

J. de, Histoirc (I'UII l'o,l"agej aicr ell la rerre du Bresi /,

...

Vo l . 2, Paris, 1 8 8 0 .
187).

1.01<1110, P . Hisrorio fie 1 0 confluiStlJ del Paraguay tnpi-gl/orani, Paris, 1 9 2 8 .

Vol.

5. Buetlos Aires,

Meuaux. A., La Rellgioll des Tllpinambo cr ses rapports a/'cc cc/lr des (Jurres Iribus

NiIlHlCIHt<ljU.
Sepp,

Montoya, R. de. (ollf/liisIO epirilllal. . . Bilbao, 1892.

.

(Spanish translation).

Soarcs dc SOllza, G., rrorado descrifJril'o do Brasil t'1Il 1587. Siio Paulo. 197 1 . Till-vet, A., "La cosmographic universellt:. Histoire de deux voyages,"' in Irs FrfHl\'ois CII Amrrif/uc, Vol.

A . , Viagell! Il lllisst'sjesuilicos. . . , So Paulo, 1 9 7 2 .

c., Lcyenda dc III (reado" y )uido final d('1 Mul/do. . . Siio Paulo. 1944
.

Sladcn. II., Vera 1Iiloria

(J, PUF,

...

Bucnos Aires. 1944 ( Sp al l ish translation). 193.

h('n l'tfon:h admits. and refra ins from judging, the coexistence of sociocul

t u r,,1 di ff erences, In other words. we no longer cas! upon primitive societies the c u r i o u s or amused l o o k of the s o m e w h a t e n l ig h t e n e d , s o m e w h a t
hUnl<lnistic amateur; we take them seriously. The question i s how far cloes

!<lking them seriously go?

What ('xactly do wc mean hy primitive society? Thc answer is furnished

by thl" most classical anthropology when it aims to determine the specifIC t w i n g of these societies. when it aims to ir,oitate what makes them irre rlucihte social fornl<ltions: primitive societies arc societies without a State;

tht"y ,Ire societies WllOSl' bodies do not possess stparall.' organs of political
firt published in Inlt'froga riolls. N o. 7 ,

8 6

June 8 7

1976, pp. ]-8.

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Y I O L f N [ [

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.A R ( W ! O I O G Y

O f

V I O L f N ( f

s ify these societies and divide: th e m into two g ro u ps ; societies without a State and soc iet i es with a St atr, primitive societies and tht others. This does n o t mran, of course, that all soc i et ies with a Stat e an.. identic<ll to one <lnoth. er: we could not reduce to <l single type the diverse his to ri cal confIguratio ns of t h e State, and noth i n g allows us to confuse th e arch aic despot ic State, or the l iberal bou rgeo is State. or the totalitarian fasci st or communist States. Bring ('Heful. then. to avoid this confusion which would pr('vent. i n panicu.
Jar. an und('rstanding of the radical novelty and sp('ciflcity of the totalitarian State, we shall note that a common property makes societies with a State as

power. Based on Ihe presence or absence of th e Stall" o n e can initially clas

a whole different from primitive societies. The former all havr this dimrnsion of d i v is i on unknown among the oth ers ; all societies with a Statr are divided in their bring, into the dom i n at i n g and the d om i n at ed , while sodeties w ith OUt a State are i gn ora nt of t h is division: to rst a !) l is h primitive s oc iet i C's as socicties without a SI;]te i s to say lhat they <Ire. in their being. h o mo gen C'o us , bt':cause they arc not divided. Here agai n we fI n d the rlhnologicaJ defmition of these societies: they do nOt h ave a separatr org<ln of power. power is not separatl'd from s oc i ety.
which, in fact. dt-fmes Ih('m pnfectly : a distinct political sphere cannOt be
i s o l a t ed

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 n ecessa 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

power. Functional ly, this Sl'C'nlS absurd: ho c a n one think a chieftainship . . efs I f tlwy l a rk p reCIs e ly Ih e es sen t i a l anci power separately? W h itt use are chI

?f

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; ('nrmy

Taking primitive societies seriously comes down to (his proposition,

from tht' so c ia l sphcn:. From its dawn in Greece. w e know that Westt'rn political th o ug h t ha been able to disc-rrn the essence of the hum<ln <lnd social in the pol itiGtl (man is a political <l n i ma l ), wh i le al so s e i z ing the eSsence of t h e political in th e social division between the dominating and the dominated, between t hos e who kn ow and thus command and those wh o do not know an d thus obey. The social is the pol itica l , th(' political is th e exrr. cis(' of powC'r (It'gi t i mate or not. it m<luers lillIe ht'rej by o n e or sev e ral over the rest of soc iety (for better or worse, it matters litlle here): for Hcmditus, as o r P ato an ? Aristotle. thert' is no sodety exet'pt under tht' aC'gis of kings: SOCiety IS unthinkable without its division between those who co m m an d and th os e who obey, and there where the exercise of power is l a cki n g. we fi nd
ourselves in the i n fraso(ial, in n on-socirly.

courage. a warlike disposition in order to assure an r ffec L i ve dl'frnt' against

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 and imposes it on his community. The strategy of alliance t h a t he develops.

But arc these not. one might argue. the very tasks of a defense m i n i s
c a n call i t that)

raids or, if possible, v icto ry in the case of an offensive expedition.

lcadn never m<lkes a dedsion on his own authority (if we

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

t h ey

It is mo re or l ess i n Iht'st' t enTIS that <It the dawn of Ihl' 1 6 th ce n t ury the first Europeans judgt-d the Indian of South Americ<t . Noting thm t b e chi efs held no pow(' r over tilt' ( ri b es. t h ill o n e nei(lwr commanded hae nor oheyed.
dedilred that (hest' PfOPll' were nol polin:d. thilt tlH'sl' were not v('rila.

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 tl l J i a n ce or hostility with his neighbors. he would have no way of i m posi n g 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

ble: s oci et i es. Sav<lgt's without ra ilh. law, or king.

It is quite t rue that. mon them once, ethnologists thernselv('s have fclt a
cen i n perplexity nol so m uch ill u n derstand ing. but c; i lllply i n des cri bing a . . cleulli of primitIve s oc i e t i es : thos(' ca[[('d le<ldrrs arC' p ar l ! c tl <l l rl y exotic
stripped

of all

pawn. ch iefut i!lship is l or atd

8 8

o u ts i(/(' t he

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

appointee to external for('ign rrliltions. out in his intt'rn<ll relations with Ihe

the qU<llities that he displays precisely in the service of h is sociely. This is

c on fused . w ro n g ly. of course. w i t h

('xercis(' of politicnl

What we call prl'sti g'l', v ery g en era l ly

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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 il e 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 ap p 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 u gh which it proclaims itself an i n di vis i b l 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, q U<ls i gcncral conception of primitive societies as :ir ill('oml)I(,IC'nC's, societies wilhout a Slate. The absence of a State marks tlH the embryonic stage of their existence. their ahistoricity, B U I b this really the case? We can easily see that such 11 judgment is in fact only ;'In ideological j udicc. implying a view of hisTOry ;'IS humanity's lIt'cesstlr)' mov{'mrnt pr{' aeros.. social configurations thm are mt'rhanically engrndered and ('onm'CI-

ed. But this neo-theology of history and its fanatic continuism should be refused: primitive societies henceforth cease to occupy the degree zero of history. swelling with all of history to come, inscriued in advance in their bein g. Liberated from this scarcely innocent exoticism, anthropology Can lhen seriously consider the true question of the political: why are primitive soci eties Stateless? As complet(', adult societies and no longer as infra-politi imitive societies do not have a State because they refuse it. al embryos. pr 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 i e ty. 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 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 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. Chieftainship in primitive society is only the supposed. apparent place of
power. Where is its real place? It is the social Lody itself that holds and exer cist's power as an undivided unilY. This power, unseparated from socicty, is

exercised in a singh:- way; it encourages a singl!' project: to maintain the bei ng of society in non -division, to prevent inequality between men from instilling civision in society. It follows thnt this power is exercised over any t h i n g capable of alienating society and introducing inequality: it is exer dsed. among other things, over the institution from which the insidiousness of powrr could arise, chi eft a i ns hip In th(' tribe, thr chief is u nd er surveil Jance; socirty watches to make sure Ihe tasle for prrstige docs not become Ihe desire for power. If the chiefs desire for power becomes too oUvious. the
.

, 0

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
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examination of the fu nctioning of pri m i t i ve societies will be ilble to shed izable o r not) of its death.

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 light o n the problem of origins. And perhaps the light cast upon the State's

the origin of the State m uSt he shaped in this way: under what conditions

has, here and there, a date of binh. Why has i t e merged ? The question of

moment of binh will also illuminate the conditions of the- possibiliry (real

7
fRHDOM, M IfORTUN, TH UNNhMhBL
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 quest i on : how ridiculous to ;ut('mpl to l h i n k of it in terms of the century, to reduce the haughty

ci rcumstances of the moment, appunenance to a social class) that will su(' i n g the essential <lfflrmation of freedom th<lt is i ts 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

c('d i n disarmi n g the ever v irul e n t Discol/rs, tha t w i l l succeed in contradict

- unbcambte grlzl' to th e closed and a l ways retraced c irc l e of eve n ts . There have been n o th i n g 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 detenn i nism (th e p o l i tica l

h i m of the pnmphl etc'C'T. the publicist. the: militant. His aggn:ssion expl odes

First

published as la Bocti e t't 13 qllCSlioli du politi que .. in La Boetie: Le DiSCOlirs Payol, 19"1fil . Jlp. 229-246. [I.a Rotties origi. nal text is publishrd in English as Slal't's by ClIOict', trans. fI.1akolm Smilh, Surrey England, RUllllymede Books, 1988.1
de 10 srrI'iwde l'o/lIl1wir(' (Paris: 9

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to greater cnds: he asks a totally liberating question because i t is absolutely free of all social or political territorial ity, and it is indeed because his ques tion is trans-historical thal we are in a position to understand it. lIow can it be, La Doetie asks, that the majority obeys a single person, not only obeys him, but serves him, not only serves him, but wants to serve him? possibil ity of reducing it to this or that concrete h isto ri cal situation. Thl' very Right off the nature and sign ificance of such a qucstion excludes the

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 io n in sociC'lY: frl'-Nlom, (hough inseparable from rnans first being:. is banished from it. The sign and proof of this los of

possibility of formul ating such a destructive question renecls, simply but

haoically, a logic of opposites: if I can be surprised that voluntary servitude i s a contilnt in all societies - in mine. but also in those read about in houks cal

because I imagine the opposite of such II society, bet:.luse I imagine the logi

(with the

perhaps

rhetorkal exception of Roman Antiquity) - it is. of course,

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

possibility

of a

society

that would not know voluntary servitude. La

Boetie's heroism and freedom: precisely this 5mootb transition fro m History to logic, precisely this gap i n what is most natura l ly obvious. precisely this breach of th e division between

tllat.

for the momt;nt, t h i s

distinction

remains purely logical. We know

general tIl{"

conviction that we can not think of society without its dominating and the domin ated. The young

nothing. in effect. about th e hiStorical reality of societies of freedom. We simply know that, by natural necessity. the first configuration of society 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

La

Aoetie

transcends all known history to say: something else is possible, Not al all. of course. as a program to be implemented: La Boetie is not a partisan. As long
as they do not revolt. the destiny of the people is, in a sense, of little impor tance to him; this is why, the author of Oiscours de 10 st:rl'illldr Il% lltairt' can at the same time be- a civil servanl of the monarchic State (hence, the

must h a ve been free. with no division between tht' tyrant oppressor and the

ridiculousness of making lhis work a classic of the people""). What he dis covers, by slipping outside of H istory, is precisely that the society in which people want to serve the tyrant is historical, that i t is not eternal and has not always existed, that it has a date of birth and that something must have hap pened. necessarily, for men to fall from freedom into servitudt:

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 s e rv i t ude , only the brutal misfortune which drowns the before of free

. . . what

mis

fortune so dcnatured

man, on ly uorn in truth

to live

freely,

to

make- him lose

thr memory of his first existence and the desire to retrieve it?"" Misfortune: tragic accident, bad luck, the effects of which grow to the point of abolishing previous memory, to the point of substituting the love of servitude for the desire for freedom. What docs La Boctie

from

dom i n the after of submission. What does this me:!n? It means that all rela
t ion ships

say? CI<lirvoY<lntly.

<lccidental - how difficult it has been ever since to think about the ullthink the birth of History. this fatal tupture which

he calls the division of society into those who command and those who obey

he flTSl affirms that this p<lssage from freedom into servitude was unnecessary;

able misfortune. What is designated here is indeed this historical moment of

should neve-r have

happened, this

irr<ltional event which we moderns call the birth of the State. I n sociecys fall into the volunt;lIY submi<;sion of almost illl people to il singlt person, Lil Boctie dCliphers th(' ilh ject sign of a perhaps irreversible decline: the new man. a product of incomprehl'nsible misfortune. is no longer a man, or even an ani-

of power are oppressivr, that all divided 50cictirs arc inhabited by absolute Evi l , that society, as antinature, is the negation of frt:edom. The birth of History. the division between good and bad soc i 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
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unfortunilt{ appl',nance of social division, there was necessarily, in confor mance 10 man's nature, a soriety without oppression and without submis sion. Unlike Jean-Jacques Rousse au , La Boetie does not say that such a soci ely could never have existcd. Even if men have forgolten about it, even if he. La Boetie. has no illusions <lbout lht possibility of its return, what he knows is that before the misfortune, this w as socieTy's mode of existence. This understanding. which CQuid only have been a priori for La Bortit', is now inscribed i n t h e order of knowledge for those of us who repcill the Discours' q uestion . Wt can now acquire an empirical knowlt:dge of what La l30etie did not know. not from logical deduction. but from direct observation. This is because l'thnology inscribes its project on the horizon of tlu.' division already recogniL.ed by La Bottie; its aim is to gilther a body of knowledge that concerns, first and foremost. societies prior to the misfonune. Savages prior to c iv il iza t ion . people prior TO writing. societies prior TO History: they are cer tainly well-named, these primitivt.: societieo;, the flrt soc i eties to unfold in the i g n o r a n ce of d i v i s i o n . tht: first to ('xist lH'fore The fatal misfortune. Ethnology 's privilegt.:d. if not exdusive, obj('cI: socil'ties without a State. The absencc of the Stilte, anthropology's internal crit('rion for d ett'Ttlli n ing thC' existence of primitive societies. implies the non-division of this existrllce. Not i n the sense that divbion of society preexists the institution of the State, but rath('r in the sense that the State itself introduces the division, th e State as motor and foundation of this division. Primitive societies are egalitarian. i t is <1 id somewhat incorreClly. This suggests that the relations oc{ween p('ople 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 c a 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
des lIIoirres. in

1 Cf. in p:micu!ar lhe \'CIY beautiful anicJl' by J a cques Dounlcs. SOliS cow'err

"Archives

Furop(. \'ncs (Ic

Soci ologie,"
9 6

vol. XI\',

19"13,

No. 2.

configuration of the State. Reciprocally, the S[<ltl.' i s but an extension of p()wrr rdations, the ever more tn(1rked deepening of the inequality between those who command and those who obey. All social machines that func tion w i t h o ut power rel a t i o n s w i l l be considered p r i m i tive sockties. Consequen tly, all socicties whose functioning impl ies, however m i n i mally it may seem to us, the exerdse of power will be considered a so-called Suite sodery. In Bodian terms, societies before or ilfter the misfortune. It p;ors without saying that the un iversal essence of the Slate i s not reali7.ed i n il u n i form manner in all state formations, the variety of whil'h history ..hows us. Only in contrast to primitive societies - societies without Ii STilte iln' all the others revealrd to h(' t'quivalent. But onre the misfortune has come to pass, once the freedom that naTurally governed the rC'l<ltions beTween cQuals has been lost. absolute Evil is capilu!e of anything: there is a hier<lfchy of the w o rst, and the totalitarian State i n i ts various contempo f:1ry configurati o n s is there to remind us that however profound the loss of freedom, it is never lost cnough, we ncver SlOP lOSing it. La Boetie cannOt call the destruction of the f] rst sociery, in which the enj oym ent of freedom expressed men'S natural existence, anything but mi5fo nune. Misfortune. that is, an accidental event tll<lt had no reason to pro ducr itself bUT nevenheless d id, I.e Di$co/Jrs de 1(1 seTl1irude I'ololl/(lire ex p l i c itly formulates two questions: why, first of all, did t h e denaturing of man lake place. why did division foist itself upon society. why did the m isfortu n e come to pass? Secondly, how did men pt.:rsevere in the den,uured being, how did ine(I Uality l'onSlantly reproduce itself. how did the misfortune pe rpe t uale u:;e ! f 10 the point of seeming eternal? La Roetie does not answer the first question. It concerns. stated in modern terms. the origin of the Sta te . Where docs the State come from? This is asking for reason from the irrational, iluempTing to red uce chance to necessity, wanting, basically, to abolish the misfortune, A legitimate question, but an impossible answcr? Indeed. noth ing: allows La Bottie to give the reason for the incomprehensible: why do men ren o u n ce freedom? He attempts, however. to respond to the second qUl'stion: how c(ln the renunciation of freedom endure? The p rin c ip a.l inten tion of the DiSCO/Irs is to a n i cul ate this (lnswer. If, of (Ill beings, man is the "only [one] born in truth to live freely." if h e 1<;. hy natur{', a heing-for-freedom. the loss of freedom must have effe('ts on human n acure itself: man is denatured. he dl(lng<'s his nature. lie probably ing occurs not toward the high docs not assume an an ge l i c n,!lure, Denatur hut tOWilrd the low; it i:; a regression. But docs this imply a fall from humani ty into animality? This is not it either, for we observe that a n imills only sub mit to their masters when inspired by fear. Ne ith e r angl'l nor <lnimi11. n(' ithrr prior to nor heyond the human. such is the denatured man, Literally, (he
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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 ing th e denaturing of man as a regressive d i spla c ement toward animality resides in this irreduC'ibJe problem: men obey. not through force or constraint, not under the effect of terror. not because of fea r of derlth , but voluntarily. They obey because they want to obey; they are in servitude because they desire it. What does this mean? Would the denatured man still be a man b!."cause he chose to no longer be a man, that is. a free being? Such is. never theless, the presentation of man: denatured, yet still free, since he chooses alienation. Strange synthesis, unthinkable conjunction, u n n a meable reality. The denaturing that results from the misfortune engenders a new man, so that in him the will for fn:tdom yields irs pl<lce to the will fo r s(>rvitude. The dena turing causes man's will to change directions, toward an opposite goal. It is n o t that the new man has lost his will, but that he directs it toward servitude: the people. as though victims of fate. of il spell, want to serve the tyrant. And though unintentional, this will suddenly reveals its true identity: it is desire. How does this begin? La Boetie has no idea. How does this continue? It is hC('eluse men desire that it be this way. answers la Bortie. We have hardly advanced; objecting 10 this is easy. For the stakes, subtly but clearly fixed by La Boetie. are anthropological. This is a matter of human nature that raises the question: is the desire for submission innate or acquired? Did this desire preexist the misfortune which would then have allowed it to come into being? O r is its emergence due i n stead. ex nihilo, to the occasion of the mis fonune. like a lethal mUlation th;,!l defIes all explanation? These questions are less academic than they seem. <lS the example of primitive socit,ties suggests. There is a third question that the author of the Disrours could not ask. but that contemporary ethnology is i n a position to formulate: how do primitive societies function in order to prevent inequ<llity, division. power relations? How do they come to ward off the misfortune? 1Iow do they prevent it from beginning? For. let us repeat. i f primitive societies are societies without a State. it is hardly because of a congenital inability to attain thc adulthood that the presenct' of Ihe State would sign ify, but rather because of a refusal of this institut i on They ilre unaware of the State because they do not W<lnt one; the tribe maintains a disjunction between chieftanship <lnd power, because it does not want the chief to become the holder of power; it refuses to allow the chief to be a chief. Primitive societies afe socidies thelt refuse obedience. And here
.

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 not 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 rom comillg infO bei'lg. I n deed. (follOWing La ing the desire Jar submission f 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 realiza9 9

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t i o n o f t h e d e s i r e for p o w e r a n d the desire for s u U m i s s i o n . As s o c i a l machines inhabited by the will to persevere in thrir non-divided being. prim This desire has n o chanCt:': the Savages want nothing to do with it. They con_ sider this desirt evil. for to lei it (orne into being would immediat('\y lead to itive societies institute tl1tmselves

as places

IIliJ('rC

ellil dcsire is

repressed.

hiS disco urse. The strangeness of the Question he poses hilrdJy d iss oi V('s in ec([l l i n g the author's appurtenance to the jurist bourgeoIsie. n o r I n only entury; it is not und ertaking {'scapes a l l attempts to imprison it i n the , u g l l t in th<lt it develops precisely against what liar t h o is reassuring i n all fami hum an society's first mod of existence must have necessarily unfolded in
(1

:tie's thought, we were silying, trans-historicity of Total freedom of La Bot

th(" evil, two-faced desire which perhaps haunts all societks and all individ uals of all societies must be prevented. To the immanf'nce of the desire for power and the desire for submission - and not of power itself or sub 1 issi on 1 el r La : itself - primitive societies oppose the musts and the must nots of tl

between mCisters of power and subjects of power. So that r<'latlons between men remain free and equlll. inequality must be prevented: the blossoming of

allowing social i n novation through the acceptance of the division betwe en the d omi n at i ng and the dominatrd. through the recogn ition of the inequality

:'anting to rl'cognize in it the indignant echo of royal repression which in

'

1 549 crushed the r{'volt of the GaDdles i n the south of France. La B o rti e s

fam il ia r thought. The Discollrs is solitary and rigorous thought thM feeds only on its own movement, on its o w n logic: if m<ln is born to be free, non-di vision, in non-inequal ity. There is, with La Botit, a 5011 of

We must change nothing i n our undiv ided being, Wf: must not let the eVIl H y to have had the dt:sire be r{'aiized. We Sle clearly now that it is not n{'Cf'SS,

clt-duct ion of th{' Stnt{'less society. of primitive society. Now it is perhaps on taking i n t o account wh<lt happened in the first half of lhe 1 Glh c e n t u ry.

priori

this point that one could, curiously. d{'t{'rt the century's innuence, La Boetie. We 5e{'m, indeed. to neglect too often that if the 16th cemury is that of

dren, the tribe procl<lims: you are all equal, n O ont' among y o u is wonh more than anoth{'r, no o n e worth less than another, inequality is forbidden, for it

experience of ihe St,lIC in order t o rduse it, to have known the m is fo rt u n e i n order t o ward i t ofr, to have lost freedom i n order to insist o n it. To its chil

the R e n aissance. t h {' resurrection of the culture of Greek and R o m a n

Antiquiry. it i s also witness t o a n event whose si gn i ft<:a nce w i l l lri1nsform the face of the West. namely the discovery and conquest of the New World. The of what up until then hi1rl not existed, Amerie<!. We can measure the fascina return to th{' Ancients of Athens and Rome, certainly. but also the irruption tion that the discovery of the unknow n continent held over westt'Tn Europe

wanted to realize the desire for power and invest the body of society with it.

as sun<lce of inscription o f th(' Law. is the object of <l collective invt:SIJnent which the {'ntire society w ishes for in order to prevent individual desire from transgressing the st<ltement of the L<lw and inftltr<lting thl.' so ial <lre a. And i f by chance one of the equals thM make up the communlly deCIded he

<lIed into the knowledge of this law. I n Ihe initiatory <lct, the i n d ividual body,

is false. it is wrong. And so th<lt the memory of the primitive l a w is not lost, it is inscribed painfully - br<lndcd - on the bodies of the young people initi

by the extremely rapid d i ffusi o n of a l l news from b{'yond the seas. Let us Paris. One could read i n 1 503, again i n Pa r is Ihe voyages of Vespucci. From Christopher Columbus ' letters regardi n g h i s discovt:ry were p u b l i shed i n
.

limit ourselves to reveal i n g a few chronological points,2 Staning in 1 493.

story of the flfst voyage of Amerigo Vespucci. America, as the proper name of the New World, appeared for the flTSt time i n

the Li1tin translation o f the

answer: you. our equal. have w<lnted to destroy the undivided bring of our society by affnm i n g yourself superior to thr others. you. who are worth no more than the oth{'Ts. You shall now bt: worth less than the others. This imagin<lry discourse has an ethnographically real effect: when a chief wantS

to this chirf desirous of commanding, the tribe, far from obeying. would

very long i n the Europe of the- beginning of the century to know what was happening in America. The abundance of news and the spe-e-d of its c i rcula

agcs of the PortUgUf:S{' became best-sell{'TS. I n shon, one did not have to wait

1 507 i n another edition of 1 5 1 5 on, the French translation of the voy

to act the chief, he is excluded from society. abandoned. If he insists. the others may kit! h i m : total exclusion, f<ldicai conjur;lI ion. { a i n i n g desire for power and desire for submission i n i m m a n e n ce. They emtrge i n the reality of the exercise. i n thl" divided b e i n g of a society Iwnceforth composed of unequals. Just as primitive socicties <Ire conserv<l Misfortune: something is produced that prevenls sociny from m<l i n

the cultivated people of the tim(' as passionate an interest i n these new lands and the people who lived there as in th{' ancient world revealed by books. A ancient history of Europe and its new geographical CXie-nsion. We should note that this w{'(11th o f travel litemture is mostly of Sp<1nish d o u b l e d iscovery. the same d('sir(' to know w h i c h invested at o n c c I h ('

tion - despite the diffIculties of transmission at the time - indicate among

tive because they want to conserve th('ir b e i n g-for-freedo m , divided soci eties clo not allow thcmselves t o change; the desire for power and the w i l l

and Portuguese origin. Th(' explorers and the Iberian Conquistadors actually
tlr, Paris. 1: l 1 1 .
2

for sfOrvitude arc c o n t i nuously rea l i z ed.

I 0 0

cr. G. Chimard, L'exotismr americaill daliS la linfrarlire f m llr;lIiw ali XVlr sie

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! R ( II E O I 0 6 Y

o r

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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

Paris. 1947.

Cf eh. A. Julien, I.es Voyog('s iiI;' decoul'erte er It's Pr('mirrs Erab/issem elUs.

shores to bring back their chronicles. irreplaceable testimonies on the Indians of Brazil. But. with these two master chronicl ers. we already fl Od ourselves i n the second half o f the 16th century. Discours de 10 seflliflld(' /Iolo",oir(' was written. Montaigne tells us, when La Bortie was 1 8 years old. that is, in 1 548. Thai Montaigne. in a subsequent edition of the Essois. returns to this date to say that his friend was in ract on ly 16. does not make much difference as far as the problem that concerns u.... It would simply make his thought seem illl the more precious. That La Bot-tie. furthermore. was able to revise the text of the Dis('ours fIve yems laler while a student at Orleans secms to us both possible and without conse quence. Either t he Discours was indeed written i n 1 54B and its substanc(', its internal logic could not und(' rgo <lny illteriltion, or else it was written later. rlil ontiligne is explicit: it dates from La Borrie's eighteenth year. Thus, all <;uIJsequent modifIcation can only be detail. superrlci<ll, destined to speciFy and refIne the present<ltion. Nothing more. And there is also nothing more equivocal thiln this erudite obstini'lcy 1 0 r('duce thought to thilt which is bdng proclaimed around it, nothing more obscuT<lntist than this will to destroy the autonomy of a thought by the sad recourse to innuences. And the Discours is there, its rigorous movement developing firmly. frtely. as though indifferent to all the centurys discourses. It is probably for this rcason thac America. though not entirely absent from the Discours, only appears there in the form of a (very clear) allusion to th('<;e new people th<1t h<1ve JUSt been disl'overed: "But. i n this regard, if. by chanct', a new breed of people w{'re born today. neither accustomed to sub jugation nor attract(,d to freedom, and th('y did not not know what om: o r the other was, o r just bilTely the names. if they wf"re presented with the choice to be serfs. or to live freely according to laws with which they did not {lgr('e: there can be no doubt that they would much rather obey only reason. than to servf" a man ...... We can. in short. rest assured that in 1 548. knowl edge in France concerning the New World was varied. already old. and con stantly upd{lted by the navigators. And it would be quite surprising that someone like La Boetie would not have been very interest('d in what W{lS being w ritten on Am('riri'l or in what WtlS being said auout it i n the ports of Bordeaux, for eX{llllple. n("IT his hometown of 5arl'1I. Of course. such knowl edge was not necessary for this author to think of i'lncl write the Disco/us: he could have articulatl.'d it without this. But how could this young man, inter rogating hims('lf with such seriousne..::s on voluntary servitude. who dreamt of society before the misfortune, how could he not be struck by the image [hat travelers traced, for many years alrc;ldy, of this "new breed or pl'ople." American Savages living without faith, king or lilw. thes(' peoples without law. without emperor. each his own lord?
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n a t i n g and

I n a society divided along the vertical axis of power betw('C'n the domi

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 sub jects. The latter respond to his expecta tion. they bring into being his desire for power. not because of the terror being their own desire for submission. The denaturing p rocess excludes the
d i v i d e d societies a r e thus destined to endure. T h e denaturing process is

that he would inspire in

them, but because. by obeying. they bring into

.

for

{'xp ressecl at on(e i n the disdain n e c{'ss a ri l y felt by the onc who c o m m a n ds those \Nho obey. and in the subjeC'ts ' l ov e fo r t he pr i n ce. i n the cult that the p eo pl e

m e m o ry of free do m . an d co n s cq u e n t l y the desire to reconquer it. A l l

devote to

the person of the tyrant. Now this !low of l o ve ri s i n g

c e ase l essly from the d e pths to ev{'f greater heights, this l ov e of the subjects
for tl1e master equally denatures the rel atio n s between subjects. ExC'luding all freedom. these n:lations dictart: the new law

8
PRIMIl IVf fCONOMY
equal i nteres t . however. fa r from it. From time to time. a lJOok will si<lIld rr of a rrgular and abundant supply of erhnolog:cal works. They are n o t of

that gov e r n s sodtry: o n e

watch out for the res p e ct o f the law. a l l hold their n e i g h b o r i n estt t m only

must love the tyrant. Insuffi c i e n t love is a transgression of t h e law. A l l

out of fidelity to the law. The love of the law

- the fea r o f freed o m

makes each subject an a c co m p l i ce of the Prince: obeditnct: t o the ryrant

excl udes friendship between subjects. elies without a ty ra n t. of primitive societies? Displaying their being-for-free What. rrom now on. w i l l

Th e age-o l d infatuation with primitive socirtif's assures the Fren('h read

become of the non-divided socicties. or soci

dom. they cannOt jU<;lly survive except in the free exercise of free relations bt:tween equals. All rela t ions of another nature aTe ess e n t i al l y impossihle because they are deadly for society. Equality engenders friendship. fri e ndsh ip
can only be experienced in equality. What the young La Boetie would not

out o n (he grayish horizon of these works: the oc('asion is too riJre to Ie-I i t 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 ethnogaphy of a certain cultural area. Extending fa r bcyond monographk . pOlntllllsm. as the trans(,ontinental v a ri r ty of his reference!> attests. Sahlins

most sacred chams, Indians w h o are the aged but intractable desce n d a n t s of t he
"new breed of ptople" o f yore ! Their great god N a m a n du emtrgcs from t h e shadows and invents the world. He first crCiltCS the Word. the substance

have given to hear what t he Guarani Indians of today say in th e i r

common to the d iv i n e and the human. He ass i gn s to human ity the- dest i ny of chosen by th e de i ti C's .

the Word of existing in i t and protecti n g it. Hum<l tls. all equally an: Prote cto rs of the Wo rd. and protectt:d by it. Society is the e nj oy m e nt of t he common good that is thr Word. Instituted as equal by divine dc:cision - by n at ure - society asscmoks as a w hol e, that i s . an
.

co l l ect i n g

{'xploration o f the soc i al dimension long scrut i approaches the fIeld of tconomics in a radically new way; h e archly asks the fundamental q u es ti o n : what of ('co n o m i cs in primitive societie-s?2 A q u rst ion o f decisive weight. as we shal! see. Not thal
u dertakes the systematic nIzed by et hn ol ogists ; he . " ani. 1 9 7 6 . [StOI1t' Agt' E(,ollomic.. Chicago. Aldiflc-Atllcnol1. 1972.J I f S ahh ns Galll :,
French. ) of

u n d i v i ded whole: then. only mbo rayu can rl'side thrrr. the l ire of the trioc
and its w i l l 10 l ive . the tribal solidarity of equals; Il!borayu: friendship. so

that the SOCiNy it fou nd s

Ed. du $l'uil. t974.

is one. so that the men of this society are all one.4

book IS full

1 M . SahIins. Age til;' pit-nt'. Age dnbolldol1te. L'collomie des sorirtfs primil il(,s.

Cf. P. (lastn s. 1.t' Gralld Parler. Myrhrs er ellaIlts sncrs des I"d,ens Gunralli.

w hich $ahhns speaks COllct'fIIS not prehistoric l11ell bU!. of course, primiliV('<; observed for several centuries by tnlVe][('r<;. l:Xplort.'fS. missi(l!l;)irt's and eth no l ogists.
tiS iI

et

of knowledge, i t is also filII o f hU!llor. 1 ilia Jolas. who lranslated H i ll to has r(,lldered it perfectly.
c1rify

'

potential mi"llll(!trstillLdiflg right off. The stone-age economics

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V I O t f N (

others have n o t 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 it to a veri tab l e distortion of ethnographic facts. We flOd ou rs el ves confront received a res po ns e wonhy o f being: called one, but that n u merous authors

I f

A H U f O L O ' Y

O f

have treated it with incredible lightness wht.'n they did not simply surrender

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 a p ti n g primitive social
we

WI:. ca l l economic anthropology h<lve not always known, to put it mildly.

ject ivity. which at Ihr very least ('quires a how to sepa rat E' the dUly of ob

rrality to a pre('xisting conception of society and of history, still vi gorous, as sha l l t ry to de m on strale. In other words, certain representatives of what respect fo r the facts, from the concern of preserving their philosophical or

carried off to tht frontiers of mystiflcation.

science would dema nd prec isc:l y the oppositr, we very quickly fmd ou rselv es It is to denouncing this that the exemplary work of Marshall Sahlins is

ately or u n co n sc i ollsl y, to this or that d i s co urse on s o cie ty when rigorous

po l i t i cal convictions. And once the <In<llysis is subordinated, whether deliher

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

tents himself - but with what vigor! - to reestablishing the t rut h of givens

would force us to rethink traditional ideas of p ri m it ive E'cono my. He con

rC'searchrT. he d oes nOI offn any earth-sh<luering facts whose n ove l ty

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 accessible a n d completc. But Sahlins is the fim w have reop en e d i t ; we that the economy of pri m i t ive- societies is m u s t sec him as a pio neer. could havr been u nden ah: n before h i m : the fIle, in short. was a l re a dy there,

material. Which a m o ll nts to sayi n g that lhe task Sahlins assigns himself

What does this concern? Economic ethnologists have con ti n ued to i n s ist
it

such a st<ll e m (' n t cioes not m e a n to be a truism: namely. that the essential. i f n O I exclusive, function of a g ive n societys produclion system i s t o assure the subsistence of Ihe i n div id U ills who make up the so("icty in question. To
cstablish archaic economy (IS a subsistence economy, we design ale less the

su bs is tenc e econ omy. Clearly

primitive e co n o my fulfills this function. We say that a m a rhi n e fu nctions well when it s <l tis f<lcto ri ly fulfLils the function for whic-h it W<1S conc('ived. I t i s using il s i m i l il r rriterion that w e shall eva l u a t e- t h e functio n i n of the g m a r h i n e of production in primitive societits: dot'S this machin{' fu n ct ion in
conformity to fhe go a ls Ihilt s o e i ery <lssigns it? Does t h is Ol<l c h i n c adequillC'ly
, n ,

gen e ra l function of all production systems than the manner in which the

1 Cf . Cllap!('r I o f Sah lins ' boo k f; or nU Il1('rou (!l!otati express Ihis poi nt of ons of l!Ihors wh o V iew .

insu re lhe s a t isfa c t io n of the r g u P 's a er. al needs ? This is [he rea l q uestion m. t o n e must p ose when 1 00 k i n . g < t pn. mm ve eco n o my. To this, "c I ass lc,. e conom ic ant hropology respond . s with Ih ] de 0 f ,subslsrence e cono my : ) prim i live e co n o my is a sub sist enc . . e eco no 1Y i t lat It JUS t b a re ly ma nag assure societys s u bs i s te n ce es to . . The ir ec nom ]c s<sem al l ows the pri mit ives, at th e pricft of i n cessa n t la bor, not to e or. Stdrve t.o dea th. The pri mit ive t'conomy i s an economy of survival at I ts tec hni cal und erd eve lopment Irre med iabl y forbids the " prod uct ' o,n 0 f sur Plu s and sto ck p i l i n g tha /{'r.SI gua ra n t ee thr trib t wo ul d at e's im m ed late rutu , re. This is the I . m ag e 0r pn 1 11 con vey ed by "scl " m Jll ve m. lolfl ( rs ' . ,I,e S ava ge crushed , by h IS ' eco I og r 'cal en vl ron mem, co n sta n t l y stalked by ram Ine . ' , h au ntr d by the p . . erm a n ent anxI,ety of j., n d lJ1 g so m eth i ng to keep his I ovec j o nes from per ish ; n g. I n Sh on, the prim i(lve eco n omy is a suh . . sist enc e eco nom be a use It I <In eco nom y of pov erty. To Ihis rOl1ception of pri mit ive e o n lY, S ah l r ns tontrasts not . n, con crp t]o a n ot h er but (I uite S imp ly' 'th nOg ra'l h IC facts. He proceeds wit h, am ong oth er t h i n gs , a c l ose exa min a, ] . . ,on O r t j1e work dev oted t0 lh ose Prllll , ltlves most eaS Ily ima gin ed as the m st d epr . l e of a l l , fated as they are 10 occupy a n e m i n e n t ly ho sti le enV iro "' en r w it tec hno log ira ! i n effiCie ncy : t h e . hun ter S-C Ollectors of th e A ust ra , I a n a n d So uth Af ric, a n d eserts, p reC ise ly t Il os e w h o i l J ustr,lle . per fer lly in t h he C'.y es of t't h n oe c o n o ! J crskoviIS, pri mit ive m i S IS suc h a s pove ny N' ow, at IS re l t h e rase? ra phs O n I h e Australians o f rn y J Monog W A hem L lld n d t h e Bo ch lma n s of the t Ka l a hari, resper" 'vcJy, offer tht ncw d et<ti l or 5 a1ISII( , s; the . . " rim e devot ed to econ Ill'S IS measurrd . An omIC act Ivid ( h e n 0 n r sees t 1 . I .11 far from sp<0(j' , " Ing a II th e r th e f eve ns h quesl f r lives rn . or ale <lto < rv .J nou nsh ment , the se !)o -ca'I ed wre tche s on Iy flv (" hou rs a s pen d < d a y on I " , at most and more of te n t)e{:",e en thrc(' and four . hou rs Thus. as a . reSUlt, in a ret a liv 1 Y sh on p eno el of tim e, the Aus tral ians and Bo chi nm ns ver v .r .J su" " I'Iy Ins , ure t h ", s ubs i st enre. A nd we m us t also nOle [ha t, fi rst. th is dai ly work is o n Iy rareI sustain ed, interspe rsed . frequent bre Clks n o as it is w i t h ., s - ec d , ' h " o , Jt nev er Inv o! ves . . !tle wh ole tnb lac t tha t ch ile/r en and e: besid es the . . yo un . IP<l toIIll' P a ntc !(, l ittl e or not a t (III g Ie Cl c tiv i t i es no t eve n . i n tco nOIl1HlU lt s ( P I evo te Ih ell1selves < a1l ( at on('e 10 the searc h for ,ood. A n d Sah lins notes tha t i Ih .Sl' o q ua n ti 'r!cd givens ' reCCn Iy fIrm old er es t i m o gat le I re d, ("on t nie s of Il)l h-cen t Uly t ra . .t vel ers on all po int s. Th us III sp i e of ser , iou s and we ll-k n Ow . n I n fOr ma tIOn , ("en f<l the rs of eco nom ic ain fou n d i n g am hro pol og h ave , ou of wh o l e clo th, inv ent ed the myth of a savage ma . n conde to a (IU aSI -am ma J con diti on through his ina bil ity to exp loi t . the n , a w ra e n vl ro n melll effi Cie ntly . This is wid e of the

V I O l f N f f

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have rehabilitatt'd the primi tive. hunte r by mark a n d it is to Sahlin s' credit to ..ca . J'I t ra vcSty. t l caJ (th eo r.e l1 shin g fact ual truths ag<"lin st the t h eore . J Jl reest a l l1 e economy that not only is e pnml Indeed. it follows from his analy sis . nal affl uent p rim i tive society IS the o n g n ot an econo my of povrny. but that h troub les the dog.mallc to p r o f whic . socie ty. A provocative state ment . u t a n a c u rat o n e : I f t h e pnn: !llve ps e d o schol ars of anth ropol ogy, b ds of lo Intensny, assures t.he saus ac mach ine of producti o n. i n short pe rio .
,

tons funct It se b:cau s, as Sahll n s write lion of peopl e's material nccds, it is, . . fuc to. d wante It If bec;'lu s(' It could, beyon d its objective possibilities. it is o d u c e s u r p l u s , fO .r m a s t o k p.t l r p , y l k c i u q e r o o n ge r a n d m
lion l
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u g able. does n.othl ng about It. It IS C o nsr quently. if primi tive society, t h o ;'l l1ans and Boch l ma n s: once they feel because it does not w an t to. The Austr ry re50 rc:s stop huntl Og and c olle ct th ey h a ve co l l e cted s uffic ie nt al i menta harvesting mort than thcy. can con ing. Why should they fatigue themselves elves, sel.t'ssly tra nsp or ti ng h a y sume ? Why would nomads rxhaust thems when , as Sahlm s says. the surplu s I In provisions from one point to another. as mad as the formalistic e on om l :ts n ature itself? But the Savages are not man the psychology of an Ind USlrlal who. for lack of discovering in primit ive . . . with ceaselessly InrrCa sng h IS .p :o or co m m erci al company head. concerned . fi t doltishly infer from thiS . p n m l{l e ducti on in ord('r to increase his pro under taking . as a resu l t . IS salub n econo my's intrin sic i n feriority. Sah!in s' os i l ophy" which mllk('s Ih(' co n l ('mpo ous, i n th:lI il calml y u n masks this p h all I i n gs. And yet what e ffot .I rary c llp i Hll is { the idelll and me;'lsure of m(ln IS not an en reH n e r, n IS l(lkes to uemo nstr(l l(, that if primi tive . , if he docs not "opllffilze hiS activ because profit does not interest h i m ; that se he does not know how to , but ity, as t h e pedants like 10 say. il is not becau because he does nOI ft'cl like it!

produ tion and o f consumptio n - the "homes" or the " households " in whicll t b e scxual division o f labor, i n de ed prevails. Each unit functions as a seg m ent autonomou s from Ihe w h o l e. and even i f th e rule of exchangr solidly structures the nomad band, the play of centrifugal forct is nevenhe
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cal. What me-rits attention for now i s that the penin('nl Haits s e to dl'scribc the mode of production of s l ash-a n d b u rn agriculturist s also allow us to dtflne the social organiz;'Itio n of hunting pe-oples. From this p o i nt of view, a band of nomads, just like a sedentary t ri be is composed o f units of
-

du('ti on. Taking into account an economic reality (the DMP). Sahlins creates ('atcgo ries that arc properly political i n th<"lt they tou ch the h ea rt of primi tiv{' social organization : segmentatio n. autonomy, centrifugal relations. I t is essentially impossible to think of primitive e con o m i cs outsi<k of th politi

charactcristics he b ri n gs to light: (he predominance of sexual division of labor; segmentary production in view of consumption; autonomous access t o tbe mcans of produl't i o n : a ce n rri fuga l relationship between units of pro

e we u

ent as nomadic hu n t i n g and slash-and-b urn agriculture could be compatibie with identical social formarions is a poinl whose si g n i fic a n c e it would be ;1I>propriale to measure. All p r i mitive communitics aspire, i n terms of their consumer produc tion. to complete autonomy; they aspire to exclude all relations of de p( n dence on neighboring ri b es. It is. i n short, primitive society ' S autarkic idtal: they produce just e nough [0 satisfy a!1 ne(ds. but t h ey m a na ge t o . p rod ce ;'111 of it themselves If the D M P is a system fu n d ame nta l ly hostile to the formation of surp l s it is no less hostile to allowing producti o n slip below t he threshold that would guarantee Ihe satisfactio n of needs. The
'

less presen t Beyond differences in living styles, religious repr('sentati ons, ritual aCl i v i ty, I h e framework of society does not vary from the nomad comm u n i ty to th(' sed e n tary v i ll a ge Thill mal h i n s of p rod uct i on so differ
. '

"

of hunters. Using somet hing Sahlin s docs nOt l i mi t hims(' lf 10 the case ). he exam ines t il e eco no llly of ca!\ed the Do m est ic Mode of Produ ction (DMP be observed today In Afnc a can as neol ith ic s oc i eties , of p ri m it ive farmers. ere is nothin g in comm on, h T ca. or Melan esia, in Vietna m or o t h Ameri s and seden taries who hunt, fish apparently. between desen or forest nom(ld One cou l d arc cssc nt i ;'l Uy depen dent on what t h ey grow. and col l ect. constI that e g: cons id na b l e cl an expect. on the contra ry, as a functi on of the the my. into ;'I n agrari an econo tutes the conve rsion of a huntin g: econo my es, not to menti on. of coursr, blosso ming of <1bsol ut{'ly new ('cono mic attitud itsel f. transformations in the organ ization of so ci ety s condu ned I n v a r o us studit of R e l y i n g on a consid erable n mb er the local co nfi gurat ions l i a et d region s of the world. Sahlin s exami nes in . D M P whose recurr ent tht' (Ml'IClill'si,m, Afri ca n . South Anll'r i c a n elc ) of
. . " "

S u

ideal of economic a ta rky is, i n fan, a n ideal of political independen ce, which is a ss u rcd ;'IS long as one does not nced others. Naturally, this id('al is n ot realized everywher e a l l the t i m c Ecological d ifferences, c l i m a t i c variations, contacts o r loans can leave a soc i e ty unable [0 satisfy t h e need

but

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societics." Thc DMP t hus tends. by virtue of each c omm u n i ty ' s desire for i n dependence . to reduce the risk incurred in exchange determined by need as much as possible: " reciprocity between commercial partners is not only a privilege. but a duty. SpeCifical ly. it obl i g{'s each person to r{'eeive as

ones, find themselvrs e n gaged i n rather intense trade relations. But. he points out i n his tireless analysis of M elanes i a n "commerce ". Melanesian societics do no! ha ve "markets" a n d "tht same no d o u h t goes for archaiC"

for this commodity or that material or an o b j e ct others know how to man ufacture. This is why. as Sahlins shows. neighborin g tribes. or cven distant

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well as to give." Commerce brtween tribC's is not i m port-export. Now the will for inclependcnn' - the aut <l rk ic ideal - i n h(.'fcnt i n the DM!' since it con cerns the co mm u n ity i n its relationship to other communi ties, is also <It work within the commun ity, where centrifugal tendencies push each u n i t of production. each "household" to proclaim: every man fo r him st.'ir! Naturi1lly, such a principle. ferocious in irs <.'goism. i s exercised only rarely: there have to be ex('eptional circumstances, like the fam i n e whose ing hurricanes. This crisis, writes Sahlins, revealed the fragility of Ihe famous (ffects Firth observed on the Tikopi<l society, victim in 1 9 53-54 t o devasti1t we - We, tht' Tikopi:l - while at the same time cleCHly demonstrating the str<.' ngth of the domesti( group. The household seemed to be the fonress of private i nterest. that of the domestic group, a fonress which. in times of cri sis, isolated itself from the outside world and raised its so('ial drawbridges the n orm a l course of d<lily l i fe. the: comm u n i ty does not allow ('('rllri fu gal

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

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

read th(' grratt'r concern for their freed om. Through analysis of the DMP. Sahlins offers us a general th e ory of primi

when n ot p i l l a g i n g its relatives' gmdens. As long as nothing serious al ters

forces to threalen the un ity of its Self, the o b l ig: lt i o ns or kinship ('onlinue to bt' respected. This is why. at the end o f a n extremely technical ilnalysis of the case of Mazulu, a villi1ge of Tonga Vallry, Sahlins thinks it possible to
explain thr undC'rproduction of certain households hy their certainlY that

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), society is, indeed. <l so d ety of abundan("e ( cC'rta i nly the fIrst, perhaps also the last). since all needs arc satisfled. But it also summons the logic at th(' heart such a riaim then imposes. in its paradoxic<ll truth, t he idea that primitive

their solidarity with those best stocked will play in their ravor: "for i f some

of them fa i l . is it not precisely because they know at the outset thM they (an count on the oth ers ?'" But should an unforeseeable event occur (a natur:11 disaster or external aggression, for example) 10 upset the order of things, waiti n g for the bad moment to pass. then Ihe ('entrifugal tendency of each unit of produ('tion asserts itself. th(' household tends to withdraw into itself, the community "atomiz(.'s, ' while This does not mean. howev('r, that under normal ronditions, kinship

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 autonomouly 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' g rl' 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
society without e('onomy. l 'ertainly, but. better yel, a society a gai nst ('cono

compromise between the satisfaction of its own needs and its more general

obligations are always wi l l i n gly respected. I n Maori society. Il1l' household i s "constantly conrronted with a dile mm:1, constantly forael t o maneuver :1nd
obligations toward distant relatives which it must satisf y withol![ compro mising its own we l l - b eing. " And Sahlins also quotes several savory Maori proverbs wh i ch clearly show the i rrit at io n felt tow<1rd overly dem<1nd i n g rt:l atives (when these reci p i e n ts have only a wetlk degree of k i n shi p ), and gen erous acts are then grudgingly accomplishcd.

against sodety by opening a g:1 p between rich and poor. <llienating some. A my: this is the b ril l iant truth toward which $;1l1Iins' rrn ecti o n s on primitive

The DMP thus assures primitive sodety of abundance mrasured by th" ratio of produclion to need; it funclions in view of the {Oral sal isfa('tion of need. refusing to go beyond il. The Savages produce to Jive, they do not live to produC'c: 'The DM!' is a consumer product i on which tends to slow down output and 10 ma i nt a i n il at a rel ati v e ly low level." Such a " s tra tegy " obvi ously i mp l ies a sort of wager on thl' future: n a mely, Ihm it w i l l be made of
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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 Ind itllls. Me<lsu ring the tilllt $Iash-and-bunl farmers spend working, Lizol has come to the same conclusions as S::lhlins in h is analysis of the DMP. cr. in par ticlliar Jacques Lizot, "Economie all socict? Quelques \hernes a propos de l'ctude (i'une commullaule (iAmtrindiens." Jormwl de 1(1 SoC'irrr dc A merjr(lll istt's, IX,

1973.

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SOCltty kad us. Reflections th<.tt art rigorous and tell us more about the Savages than any other work of the same genre. But it is also an enterprise of true: thought, for, free of all dogmatism. it poses the most essential ques tions: under what conditions is a society primitive? Under what conditions can p rimit iv e society persevc-re in its undivided being? Society w i lhout a State. cla!:islt ss society: this is how anthropology speaks of the factors th,U Olllow a society to ht' called primitive. A society, thl'n, w i t hout a se pnra tC' organ of political power. a society that de-liberately pre-vents the division of the social body into unequal and op posing g rou ps : "Primitive sociC'ty allows poveny for everyone, but not an' umulation by some." This is the crux of the problem thOlt tht' institution of the chieftain ship p ost's in an undivided society: what happens to the ('gOllitOlri<1n will inscrihed <1t the heart of the DMP in the fac of the c-st<1hlishmenr of hierar chical relations? Would t he refusal of division that regulates the economic order cease to operate in the political arena? How is the chiefs supposedly super ior status articulated to society 's undivided being? How ar(' pow{'r rela ti on s woven b etw ee n tht' trihe a nd its lcadt:r? This themc runs rhroughoul Sahlins ' work, which appronclles the question most directly in its detailed analysis of Melanesian bigman systems in which the p o l it ica l and the eco nomic are joined togeth{'r in the person of the chirf. In most primitive societies, tvw esse n tia l qualities are demanded of th{' chief: oratorical talent and generosity. A man unskilled at speaking or avari cious would n eve r be recognized as leader. This is not a matter, of course, of personal psychological traits but of formal characteristics of Ih{' institution: a leadt::r mUSt not retain goods. S,lhlins thoroughly examines the origin and effecl.; of this veritable obl i gati o n of generosity. At the start of a b i g-m<ln career wt.' find unhridled ambition: a st rat t' gk taste for prestige, a tactical sense for rhe means to ;Jcquirf' il. It is qu ite clear that, to Llvish goods. t he chief must first POSSe-55 tht'm. How does he prOCUTl' Ih{'m? If we eliminate the case, not peninent here, of manufactured objects which tile- I rad e-r receives from missionaries or ethnologists to l a ter redistribute to members of the community, if we co n side r that the freedom to earn ar th e expense of others is not i ns c ri bed i n the relations and mo<inlities of exchange in these socei eties. it remains that. to fulfill his obligation of generosity. the big-man mUSt product' Iht goods he needs by himself: he cannOt rely o n others. The only ones to aid and assist him ilrt' {hOSt' who for various reasons consider it use ful to work for h i m : pe op le of h is kinship who from then on maintain a client relationship with him. The contradiction bttween tht chitfs solitude and the nt'cessity to be generous is also resolved through the bias of polygy n y : if, i n the grt'iu numbt'r of p ri m i tiv t' societies. the rule of monogamy
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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 towad 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 a nd subj{'cts and the most di<;r;mt ori of the socinl division between maSI('rs . 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'

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site spectacle that Mel(1nr:sian sorieti{'S offer us. As far JS division. Wt' sr:r: th a t i f thr:re is, in fact, division, it is only that which sepamtes a mi nority of rich workers from a majority of t h e lazy poor: but. and it is here that we touch upon the very foundation of primitive society. the rich are only rich because of their own work. the fruits of which are appropriated and ('on sumr:d by the idle massC's of the poor. In other words, socir:ty as a whole exploits the work of the mi nority that surrounds the big-man. How then can we speak of power in rela ti on 10 th e chief. if he is exploited by soci cty? 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 pr imi 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
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appears. Powerful Polyn{'sitln royalty docs not result from a progressive development of MelanesiCln big-nlCln sytems. becCluse there is nothing in these systems to develop: society d oes not allow the chief to transform his prestige into power. We must, therefore, utterly renounce this continuist con ception of social formiltions, and accept and recognize that primitive soci eties where the chiefs Me powerless arc radical departures from societies where power relations unfold: the essential discontinuity i n societies without a State and societies with Cl State. Now, there is a conceptual instrument generally unknown to ethnologists that Clllows us to resolve many difficulties: i l is the c"tegory of debt. let us return for a moment to the primitive chiefs obligation of generosity. Why does the institution of the ch i eftainsh ip involve thiS obligation? It cellainly expresses a SOil of contr<lct between the chief and his trihe. the terms of whirh ofTer him the gratification of his narcissism i n exchange for il nood of goods h e will pour ovcr so(..' iety. The obligation of generosity dearly contains an egalitarian principle that pl<1ces trade pallners in a position of equ<llity: society offers prestige which the chief acquires i n exchange for goods. Prestige is not recognized unless goods are provided. But this would be to misinterpret the true nature of the obligtltion of generosity, to sec i n it only a contrClct guamnreeing the equal iry of the panies concerned. Hiding beneath this appearance is the profound inequal ity of society and the chief in that his obligation of grnerosiry is. in fact, a duty, that is to say, a debt. The leadrr is i n debt to society precisely hecause hr is the leader. And he can n{'ver get rid of this debt. a t least not as long as he WClnts to continue being the leader: once he stopS being the leader, the debt is abolisht'd. for it exclusivrly marks the relationship thClt unites the chieflainship and society. At the heart of power rel<ltions is indebt ness. We d iscover, then, this essential f:'lC't: if primitive societies arc societies wi thout a sepa rate organ of power. this docs not necessarily mean thClI they arc powerless soei('ties. societies where political questions are nOt rtlised. It is. on the contra ry. to refuse the separation of power from society thClt the tribe mClintains its chiers indebtC'dness; il is society that remJins tile holder of power and that exercises it over the chief. Power relations cenainly exist: they take the form of a debt that the leader must forev('r pay. The chiefs eternal i ndebtedness guarantees society that he will remain ext('rior to power, that he will not become Cl separate organ. Prisoner of his desire for prestige. the Savage chief agrees to submit to society's power by settling tht' debt that every exercise of power institutes. In trapping the chief in his desire, the tribe insures itself tlgainst the mortal risk of seeing political pow('r become separate from it and lurn ClgClinst it: primi(ivt society is a society against the State.
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Since dcbt rclations belong to the exercise of power. one must be pre pa red to fi n d it everywherc that power is exe fri 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 i f1t :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 ru th 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 ft a 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

Paniai who, before killing their big-man, explained to h i m : .....You s ho u l d not be the on ly rich one among us, we sh o ul d all be the same, so you have to b e e q u al to us." A d iscourse of so ci e ty a ga i ns t power which i s echoed by the reverse discourse of power agai n st society, clearly stated by ano t h er chief: "I a m a chief not because the people love me, but because they owe mc m o n ey and they are scared." The first and only among the experts i n e co n om i c a n t hro p ol ogy, Sahlins paves the wfly for fl new the o ry of pr im i . live society by al l ow i ng us to m eas u re the i m me nse heuristic value of the economical-political c at egOl Y of debt.
We. must fm a l ly po i n t out that Sflhlins' work fu rni shes an essential p i ec e in the dossier of a debate that. until quite recently. was not inscrihed in the order or the day: wh<1! o f Milrxism in ethnology. and of et h nol o gy i n Milrxism? The stakes i n such an interrog,'ltion are vast, extending far beyo n d university walls. Let us s i m ply call 10 m i n d here t h e terms of a p ro b l e m which will be brought up soo ne r or l at er. Marxism is no! o n ly the description of a p a rt icul a r social system ( i n dustrial capitalism), it is a l so a general theory of history and of social change. This t!leory presents i ts el f as the sc i en ce of society and of hislOI)', it unfolds in th e m a te ria l i st co n cep t i on of societal movement and di scovers the law of this movement. There is thus a rationali ty of h i sto ry, the being and the \lrcomillg of the so c i o h i sto ri c al real brings up, o n e last time. the economic det ermi n a ti o n s of society: ultimately, these arc the p l ay and the devC'lopment of productive forces which determine the being of society, and it is the contradiction between the development of pro ductive forces and the rapports of production which. interlocking social change and i n n ovat i o n , constitute the very substance and l<1w of h istory. Marxist theory o f society and h i st o !)' is a n economic determinism which affirms the prevalenC'e of th{' material infrastructure. History is thinkable h r ca use i t is ralionnl, it is rati o n a l because i t is, s o to speak. nntural, ns M arx says in Dos Kapital: "The development of society's eco n o m i C' formntion is a s s i m i l a b l e to the p rogress of n atu re and its h i s t ory. . . . . . [t follows that Marxism, as a science of human society i n general, can be used to consider a l l social formations histol)' offers us. [t can be used, cenClinly, but even m o re , it is o b l i ged to consider all societies to be a valid theol)'. Marxists, thUS, cannot ign o re primitive society; t h e historical continuism afflTmed by the the.ory they claim as their own does not allow them to.

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
fIgure between the u n d ivi d ed I I 6

tinuity is unthinkable: no progressive development. no intermediarv social

t hey obviously subjecI primilive soci ety t o the analysis that calls for and allows the inSlrument that I hey pos sess: Marxist th e o ry a n d its economic determinism. They must, conse quently, affirm that even i n societies <1nterior to rapi!al islll, economics
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When ethnol ogists <1re Marxists.

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occupieu a central, decisive place. There is, i n efftct, no reason for p ri m i tive societies, for example, to be an exception to the general law that selves asking two very simple quest i ons as a result : Are economics ce nt ral
i n p ri m i ti ve societies? Do productive forces develop? It i s precisely the

encompasses all societies: p rod u ct i ve forces tend to de vel op. We find our

answers to these questions that Sahlins' book formulates. It i n fo rms us or reminds us that in primitive societies, the economy is not a ma ch i n e that fu nctions autonomously: i t is impossible to separate it from social l ife, reli gious life. ritual life, etc. Not only docs the economic field nOl determine the being of primitive soci ety, but it is rather society that determines the place and limits of the economic field. Not only do lhe productive forces not trnd toward development. bur th e wi]! for u n derproduction is i n h erent

in the OMP. Primitive society is not rhe passive toy i n lhe blind g,lIne of

produ( tive forces; it is, on the con trary, society tilat ceaselessly exercises rigorous and deliberate control over production. It is the social that orders the economic game; it is. u l ti m atel y, the political that dctermines the eco
the motor of history? How does a n t deduce the social classes o f a classless ety tlwt o n l y a l i enates the work of the ch ief. the St<lte of a society without

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 need to be told. Jean-Jacques Rousseau

nomic. Primitive societies are ma ch i n es of a n t i -production. What. then, i s

society, the division of a n undivided society, the alienated work of a soci

a S t at e ? Mysteries. [ t follows that Marxism C <ln no t b e used to consider

p ri m i t ive society. because primitive society is no! think<lble i n this theoreti cal framework. Marxist analysis is val ua bl e, perhaps, for divided socielles or for systems where, apparrntly, the sphere of economy is ct:ntr<11 (capital is m ) . Such an analysis, wh e n a pp l i e d to undivided societies, to societies that posit themselves i n the refusal of economy, is more th<ln absurd, it is

will

('II you could only be understood by (hose who do not

obs c ur ant i st . We do n o t know whether or n o t i t is possihle to b e Marxist in ph i l oso phy: we see c !ea rl y, however, that it i s impossible in ethno logy.

Iconoclastic and salutary, we W e re say i n g of the great work o f Marshall Sahlins. who exposes the mystifICations and deceptions with which the so called hUman sciences too often content themselves. More concerned with establishing theory starting fro m facts than fluing facts to t h eo ry. Sahlins

shows us that research must be <llive and free, for great thought c a n perish if this i n common - they are incapable of re n ecti n g on man in prim itive soci reduced to theology. Formillist economists and Marxist anthropologists have

shal l be the last to Pierre Birnb<l um does me an honor i n deed, and 1 Out his is not the . e m places hewhich compla in about the comp<l ny in of mterest 1 n that worthy seems ent p ri nc i pa l merit of h i s essay. This docum n t) : I mean that a me u c o d raphic i t is, in a sense, anonym ous (like an ethnog e s p read w a y of d i w very w o r k s u c h as t h i s a b s o l utely i l l ustrate s the

eties without including h i m i n the ethical and conceptual frameworks issued from capitalism o r from thE" critique of capitalism. Their pathetic undenak ings are born in the same place and produce the same results: an tthnology of poverty. Sahlins has helped demonstrate the poverty of their ethnology.
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polilics . that is, the ques approa ching (or not approa ching) the questio n of s. Rather than extrac t the tion of society, i n what we call the social science time on the appare ntly, for co m i c aspects and w i thout spendi ng too much I ' u n ction betwee n confid ent tone and b l urrr-d ldeas, vir able conJ , some. i n i'
de la Fondation nalionale des sciences politiques, Febmary. 1977, I I 9 First published i n

Rel'ue froll(oi.H' de science polirique.

no.

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w i l l attempt to lcro i n on little by littl(' the Birnbaum has produced his lex!.

" th e o re t i c;] I "

locus from which

But first. let's correct certain rrors and fill in some gaps. [t s e 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 a nd 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 ch a 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 gra p 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 trav el ers. missionaries, ch ron i(' le rs , et h n ograp hers who since til(' b egi n n i n g of the 16th ('('ntury h,lVe succeeded each other in thc Nw World. It is nOt [ who. from th is point of view, discovered America. I will :ldd th<"lt my work is Ill u ('h mOft" ambitious th a 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 ma tt ers.
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 o ri 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 to od as an o nt o 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 u l d n o t be, thn. i n this social vision. ally origin of political domination since i t is i n sepa ra ll i e from human society. since it is an immediate given of society. Hence the great stupe-faction of the fIrst observrs 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? Ei 1 he r question th('ir own

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 dec ide 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 th e 1 6th century unanimously took. WIth t h e exception , however, of Montaigne and of La BOelie. the former perhaps under tile influence of th e latter. They, and they alone, thought against the curre n 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 defnd him, I would like to return to Birnbaum's p roposa ls. What is he getting at? Ilis goal (if not his approach) is prfectly (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 ot h ('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 on e 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 tive society: he has read Durkheim. He is a trusting reader: not a d o ubt enters h i s m i n d : Durkheim's opinion of primitive socicty is really the truth a b o ut primitive society. Let us move 011. It follows, thUS, that the Savag society distinguishes itself not by the individual free do,m of me n , but by " the preeminence o f myst i c al and religious thought which sy m b o l .iz es the adoration of everything." l3 i rn b a u m has missed the chance here at a atchy phrase: 1 w i l l supply it for h i m . H e t h i n ks, b u t w i t h o t m a n a g i n g to express it, that myth is the opiate of the Savages. HumaOlst and progres :-.ive, Bir nbaum naturally wishes the liberation of the Savage : we m ut detoxify them (we must civilize them). All this is rather silly. BIrnbaum. l n . f<t ct , is totally unaw<tre that h i s suburban atheism, solidly rootd I n a S('l e-ntism al ready outmoded at the end of the 19th century, meets head on, justifies, t h e missionary e n te rp rise ' s densst discourse and colonialism's most brutal practice. T h e re 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, . SOCIBirnb<tum c<tlis to the resrue- another rninent s peci a l i s t of p n m .ltlve tties. J.W. Lapierre, whose opinion he maks his ow n : "... the chief [. . . J has the m o n opoly o n us a g e of legitimate s p ee ch and [ . . . 1 o one can t a k e . speech i n o rd er to oppose it to the chi ets without co mm ltl l, n? a sacnlege condemned by u n a n imous public o p i n i o n . " This at least IS cler. B u t Profssor La pi e rre i s ce rt ai n l y peremptory. And how is he s o l e a rnrd! What bo ok did he read tllilt i n ? Does he consider t h e s o ci o l o g i cil l concept of
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l eg it i m a cy ? Thus. t h e chiefs of w hic h he speaks possess the monopoly o n leg it i m a te speech? And what do cs this l egi ti m ate speech say? We would be very curious to know. Th us. no one can oppose this speech without com mitting a sacrilege? But then these are absolute monarchs, Attilas or Pharaohs! We arc wasting our t i m e then renecting on t he Ie"gitimacy of their speech: for th ey arc the only ones to speak. it is they who command; ir {hey command. it is they who possess political power; if they possess political power, i t is b ecause socicry is divided into Masters and Subj e cts. Off t h e subject: I a m i n terested in primitive soci e ties a n d no t i n a rc h a i c despo t i sm . La ll i erre / B i r nbau m , in order to avoid a slight c o ntrad i ct i on , shou ld cho ose : d th e r p ri m i t ive soc.: itty i s subj e cted to the "[Otal constraint" of i ts norms. or else it is dominated hy the ! c gi t i m att speech o f the c h i ef. Let us allow tht professor to talk (lbout this and go hack to the pupil who needs some additional explan<ltion, a s brief as lhis might be. such that. if it is unaware of lhe diffe rence between the rich and t he poo r. a is absent. But this is not the tss e nt i a l matter. What is notably What is a primitive society? It is a non-divided, homogeneous society, i t is becaust the op posi t i o n between the expl oi tcrs and the expl oited

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

f ortiori,

ab sent is the political division into the do m i n a t i n g and the dominated: the ch iefs are not

there to command, n o one is destined to obey. power is not separate from

w ritt en countless times before {and it seems t h is is s til l n ot e nou gh I) t hat

society w h ich. as a s ingl e totality, is the exclusive holder of power. I have

power only exists when exercised: a power (hat is not exercised is. in e ffect.
nothing. What, then, docs primitive society do with the power that it pos

sl'sses? It exe rc ises it. of course, and fl TSt of all. o n the chief, precisely to pre vent him rrom rulfllling an eventual desire for power, t o prevent h i m from acting the chief. More gen eral l y, society exercises its power i n o rd er to con serve it . in order to prevent the separat io n of th is powcr, i n order to ward orf the i rrupt io n of d i vi si o n into the social body, the division into Masters and
its u ndivided being: crtatts a rel a ti o n sh ip betwel' n thl' so c i a l being and itself. What third term establishes this relationship? It is p rec isely that which caus es so much worry for BirnbaumJOurkheim, it is t h e world of myth and rites,

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 th i s mean? It m eans that society's foundation is exterior to i tse lf, society is not (he founder of itself: (he fou nd at i on of primitive soc i 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. B i rn b a um declares himself sur prised: how surprising, indeed, that religion is not the an opiate. b ut that the religious component. far from ac t in g as a suptrstructure over s oc ie 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 l a te apostle of the Agt of Enlightenment, now sec more cl tarly what is legitimate i n t he S avag e ehiers speech? This is doubtful so I will clarif y it for hi m . The chiefs discourse is one of t rad it io 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 ut e the Law of the community with the Jaw of his d es i 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 cc na i n l y, after this, hold forth on the oppressive nature of p ri m i t ive society; or even on my orga n ic ist conception of society. Could it be tha t 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 festiv a l of honey, compare themselves, indeed, against scholar of cool Reason. May he keep it.2 soci ol ogi cal explanation of the birth of th e State. But on page t 9 , i t s ee ms
I al l

Subjects. In oth e r words, society's use of power to as su re the conservation of

logic,

gion. Is Birnbaum u n aware that t here is no society except under the sign of the Law? This is p rob a b l e. Religion thus assures society' s relationship to its

it is the religious dimension. The p ri m itive social being meditated by rel i

to a beehive! This would nOt happen to B i r nb aum ; he is not a poet. but a

Five ill ttlis prescllI book).

this presenl bookI.

llltt'rrogariolls, International Journal of Anarchist R ese''lTeh . 7, 1976

1

Cf..

for example. -La question du pouvoir dans Jes societes

Cf.

also

my preface

to

primitives," [C hap ler Six in M. Sah lins' book. Gal1imard. 1976 !Chapter 1 1

On p age ten of his essay, Birnhaum dec l a res me incapable of giving a

If Bimbaum is interested in organicist concep tions of society, Whites calt thelllseives raciollales:

America, the

t.eroi-Gomhan (Le Geste et /0 ParD/e) : he will be gratifIed. Now

in retation

to

he should read for a riddle: In South who m ?

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Ihat this birth "may now be explained by rigorous demographic determin . ism .... It is, in shan, the reader's choice. A few clarifications may guidc this ch oi cc . 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 l o gy and not of theology or philosophy of history. In o t h e r words, to p ose the question of origin depends on an analysis of the social: under what is t h t: nature of tbr social force'S that would lead Savages to acc<'pt the d ivi
,

rd to a sociological act, to an institution of sociality as rC'fusal of d i viS i on a .. fefusal of domination: if primitivr societies afe Statrl ess, it is b('caus

non-division of the social be i n g is due n ot to primitive societies fetal or ('/llhryonic statt., nOt to an incompk\ {:I1l'ss or a noncompletion, but is relat

they art: against the St<1te, Birnbaum, al! of a su dde n, and many others ,liang with him. no longer he a r out of this ear. Ttlis disturbs them. They

conditions can social division surge forth from tbe undivided sociery? What sion into Masters and Subjects? Under what conditions does pri m itive 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 ther Con do rce! nor Hegd, ntiOler Comte n or E n g-els, neither Durkheim nor 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 us work, th('re is n o hurry. th e State, I still do not know, and Birr'lbaum knows even less. Let us wait. let ous demographic determinism explains its appearance,
,.

don ' t m i n d rhe Stateless, but against the State, hold it! This is an outragc. What about Marx then? And Durkheim? And us? Can we no longer tell our liltle stories? No! This cannot h a pp e n ! Wc have hcre a n illlcres t i n g case of what psychoanalysis calls rcsistence; we Set' w h a t a l l thrsc dOClors are

res ist i ng, and th!'rapy will be it d eep hreath.

primitive social b ei n g : the problem of origi n is strictly sociological, and nei

I:Hrnhaum are of any help i n this. In ord r r to u nderst<l nd social division, we

structural explanation of the State" only to state on page 20 that I a\)an don the voluntarist dimension w h i c h a n i mates La Boetie's LJi.COIIfS . . . A ppare nt ly u n accustomed t o logic, Birnbaum confuses two distinct out articulated around a historical and sodological question: what is the origin lines of reflection: a t he orC'l i e a l outline and a practical outline. The first is

ttle author speaks on pag!' n i n e of my "voluntilrism t h a t casts asick all

Birnbaum's readers may t ire of havi n g to choose cons t an tly. Indeed,

must btgin with the society that txisted to prevent it. As for k n o w i n g

Two words now regarding my theory on the origin of the State: rigor Birnbaum has me

of domination? The second refers to a political question: w h at should we do to abolish domination? This is n ot the place to address the latter point.

say, with a consummate sense of t he comic. It would be a great relief if we 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.

could go from demographic growt h to the institution of the State i n a si n gl e

Let us return, then, to the form er. It seems to me that Birnbaum quite sim
ply has not read my brirf essay on La Roeti<' : nothing, o f course, obliges him to, but why the devil p i ck up his pen to w ri t e on things he knows servitudc and to the properly anthropological stakes of La Botie's Distollrs: 'And though unintcntional. t h is w i l l sudde nly reveals its true identity: it is desire." (Sec Chapter 7 of this book). A high school student a l ready knows a l l this: that desire refers to the unconscious, that social desire refers to the social unconscious, and that sociopolitical life does not unfold only in the accountability of consciously expressed wills. For Birnbaum, psychological conceptions must date from the middle of the 19th century, the category of desire is no doubt po rn ograp hy, w h i l e will is Reason. As for me, I attempt desire for power Cilnnot be realized itsrlf without thf" i n verse and symmf"l rical desire for submission, to show that primilive society is the locus of this desire more powerful than its repression? Why docs the commun ity of yield to t h e love of One? repression o f this two-fold evil desire, and to ask: Under w ha t conditions is to zero i n on [he arenn of desire as a political space, to est a b l is h that the no t h i n g about? I will t hu s quote myself as to the voluntary character of

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 demographers have shartd a false cenai nty for a very l o 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 imitive society. From this to a deduction of the Stat(' . . changr in pr others (not more. but not less) if one wants to determi n e the p ossib il ity of tip. What is cenain, on the other hand, is that eth nologists, historians and

primitive socicties arc societies without a St a te - without a separate organ

like everyone, Birnbaum passively welcomed what ethnology taught:

of power. Very good. Taking primitive societies s erio usl y, 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 it tl e by little that this n o n s e p;l rat io n of power, this

Equals divide itself into Masters and Subj<'cts? How can respcC"{ for tht L aw

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Are we not approaching the truth? It seems so. Would not the ult i m ate ilnalyzer of al! this be what we call Marxism? It is true that, to describe the (which seems to trou b l e Birnbaum) "Marxist swamp." This was in a moment anth ropology that c l a i m s filiation w i t h Marxism. J used the expression 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, and fanatically, attempts to express the social being of prim i ti ve society sci the letter and spirit of M a rx ian thought; on the other hand, it deceptively, On the one hrmci, it d t"( rpt iv ely and shamelessly affi rms its relationship with
'

They don't even exist for these obs cu rantis t theologians who can only speak everyth ing! E sp ec i a lly above the reality of the social being,

en ti fi c a lly, M a rxist anthropologists could care less about primitive societies! of pre-capitalist s oci e t i es , Nothing but the holy Dog ma ! Doctrine above The social sciences (and nOl<lbly, ethno logy) nre currently, as we know.
,

10
MRXISTS ND THE IR NTHROPOLOGY
For if, ethnomarxism, on the one hand, is still a powerful current i n the anthropol ogy, on its causes and effects, its advantages and i n c o n venie n ces Though it is not vel)' entertaining, we must renect a bi t on Marxist
.

the ( h ecHe r of a powe rful attempt at i deologi cal invrstment. Marxiflcation! yelps t h e right. which has lo n g s i n c e lost the capacity for comp rehensio n
him, he saw a little further than Engles' nose; he saw them coming, the

But Marx. it seems to me, does not have a lot to do with this cuisine, As for

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 Lefort has begun to chisel) Wouldn 't this. fmally. be the pla cE' from which Birnbaum?!, i t is this i de ol o gy of gra n ite hard to destroy, which Claude
.

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

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

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,

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 between Marxist discourse and p ri m itive soc i ety,
,

1 a m not a drfratist.

not the kind to make me optimistic, But I ('an assurE' Birnbaum of one thing:

As for his pranks regarding my pessimism. texts such as his are surely

equal TO z e ro Let us ruminate then, on this nothingness, on lhis conjunction

,

past twenty years. thanks to the i n sti tut i onal promotion of th e social sci ences (the creation of numerous ( 'ourses in l'thnology in the U n i ve rs i t i es and
first published i n

A few historical p o i nts fust. French a n t h rop o l o gy has developed for the

1976,
]

Cf. UII

homme en trap. Rf1e.riolls sur l'Archipel rill Goulog.

Edilions

du Seuil,

was not able to oversee the tr ansc rip t i o n lems

note: "These pages were written by Pierre Clasues a few days before his d(';!th, He

I.ivre,

110.

3 , Paris, Payot, pp,

1 3 5- 1 49,

lllrgible words or rxprr5ions were It:ft bl,mk," I 2 7

in

deciphering Ihe manllsc-ripl. Questionable words were placed in bracket,

and revision.

w i th the fo ll owi ng

Helice, there were some prob

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at the Centre National de la Recht'rche ScientifHlue), but also i n the wake of

Levi-Strauss' considerahly original undertaking. And so, until rtcenlly, eth nology unfolded principally under the sign of structuralism. But, around tt'n yeilrs ago, tilt: tendency was reversed: Marxism (what is caU('d Marxism) has gradually ('merged as an important l i n e of anthropological rescarch. recog nized by numerous non-Marxist researchers as a legitimatt: and respectable discourse on the societies that ethnologists study. Structuralist discoursc has thus yielded to Marxist discourse as the dominant discourse of anthropology. For whiH reasons? To invoke a taltnt superior to tlUll of Levi-Strauss i 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 COdif y 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,ociety mad(' up of equals: kinship. society. equ.:ll ity. even comb.:l!' I}ut this is 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," they can In.' rcOl'ctcd upon. Wry good. But docs the myth (a particular myth) as Levi-S trauss says himself. The myths thus have a rapport with e.:lch other. 1l1 ined fu nction. inherent in primitive society as such. that is, an undivi(kd

this o r that Marxist, for example, is laughable. I f the Marxists shine, it is not due to their talent, for they sorely lack talent. by defmition, one could say: the M a rxist machint.' would not function if its mechanics had Ihe least tilient, as we shall see. On the othrr hand. to attribute, as is often done, the regrt.'s sion of strucluralism to the fkklenC'ss of fash ion stems absolutely superfIcial. I nsofar as structuralist discourse conveys a strong thought (a Ihought), it is transconjunctural and i n differt.'nt to fashion: an empty and quickly forgotten discourse. Wt.' shall soon see what is left of it. Of course. wt.' cannot attach ready, ah('ad of time. to flll an enormous gap in the stru('turalist discoursr (in What is this gap where the failure of structuralism takes root? ] { is that this major discourse of social anthropology does not speak of society. What is missing, eras('d from the structuralist discourse (essential ly. thm of Lrvi Striluss: for, outside of a few father clever disciples, cap<1ble <11 best of doing sub-Levi-Strauss, who arc the struclumlists?), whnt this discourse cannot sp{'ak of, ut.'<:(luse it is nor drsigned for it, is concrete primitive society. its mode of functioning, its internal dynamic, its e('onomy and its politics. But all the same. it will ue said. the kinsllip, thr myths, don 't these count? lC'nai nly. With the exception of cenain M n rxists. eve!),one agrees to rccogni7.t.' the decisive i m p o r t a n c e o f Levi-Strauss' work Elem elltary
Stru('tures o j Kinship. This book, moreover, has inspired among ethnologistS

allother Story, of which we shall speak another time. Levi- Strauss' Other great success is silUatt.'U in tht' fIeld of mythology.

the progression of Marxism in ethnology

reality, Marxism docs nOt fill anything at ;111. as r w i l l aurmpi to show).

10

fClshion either. Tht lam-r was

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 invntion 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 tllC' rite, and with it, society.

a formidable outpouring of studieS of kinship: there are countl ess studies on the mother's brother or the sister's daughter. Are they able to speak of any thing else? But lC't us pose the real question oner and for a l l : is the discourse has skinned a kinship system, onc s('arcely knows any morc ilbout the soci ety. onC' is still at the threshold. Tile primitive soci,,1 body (",m no! be reduced to its blood {ies and alliances; it is not only a ma('hine for fabricating kin ship relations. Kinship is not sociery: is this to say that kinship r('i;Hions arC' st.'condary in Ihr primitive sorial fabric? Much to the contrary: they <1r(' funon kinshi l) a discourst nn society? DoC's the knowlt'dgc of the kinship system of such and such tribe i n form us about lts SOci,ll life? Not at all: when one

nOt renect upon each other. 11 is impossible to [enect upon them. Thus. exit

alism from its summit (the work or Whether o n e appruachts StTUcluf. Levi-Strauss), whrlher one considers this summit according to its tWO major components (analysis of kinship. ilnalysis of myths), an observation emerges,

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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 c h a n ges The graceful m i n u 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 i tl ed by nature to extend its discourse to the field of primitive society. Berter: the logic of M a rxis t 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. search i n vain for a marked individuality, an orig i n a l m i n d i n this disci M a rxist ethnologistS make up :l n obscure but n u merous p h al a nx
. .

v('1)' reasonablt:: objections (who destroys, as we might expcct, the author's

reader and show appreciation : and yet, this is not at all the case. To Ad l e r s
'

llndertaking), Meillassoux rcsponds2 in a way that can be summed up easily: those who do not agree with Marxist a n thropology are partisans of P i nochet. Cekom<;a. This is short b ut to the point. Why bother with nuances when one is the supercilious prolector of the doctrine? He is a sort of il/legris/c, there is

so meth i n g of a Monseigncur Lefebvre in this m a n : the same stubborn fanati

cism, the same incurable <lliergy to doubt. From this wood, harmless puppets are made. But when the puppet is in power, he becomes unscttling and is

to doubt the dominant relations of product ion in pr imi 1 ive social l i fe. We must, for equity's sake, make room for his deserving co ll eagues .

named, fpr exa mp l e, Vichinsky: To the gulag, nonbelievers! We'll teach you Meillitssoux, however, is not alone, and it would be unjust to the others 10

give the i mpression that he has the monopoly on anthropologiral Marxism.

bollom of rue de Tou r non) as a Marxist thi nker. His Marxism attracts atten something of a radical-socialist in this m a n (red on the outside, white on the

Take, for example, Godelier. lie has acquired quite CI rep utat i o n (at the

We

tion, for it seems less rugged, more ecumenical than Meil lassouxs. There i s inside). Could this be an opportunist? Come now. This is an at h l e t e of thought: he has undertaken to establish the syn th esis between structural ism were a q ue s ti on of a little bird! These an the l u rch es of an elt'ph a nt.) and Marxism. We see him hop from Marx to Levi-Strauss. (Jlo p! As though it Let us fl ip through his l;lst work,J notably the preface of the second ed i

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 th e canticl('s sung by this scarcely angelic c hoi r arc respected in orthodoxy. Tendcncies. h o w ev r, are confrontr(j aggressively. one might argue. Indeed: each of tbem spends his t i me calling the other a pseudo a u th en t icity to whoever deserves them not worth morc than that of a n oth e r. (thinking!) heads of Marxist anthropology. [n th i s p arti cu l a r ca se, p ai n st ak work :lnd to i ts criticism: Adlrr's \vork is serious. rigorous, mOTe than atten o n Africa). The M arx i st thinker s h o ul d be proud
Adkr, "L'rlhnologir pp. l i S - I i'S.
m a rx is te :

Marxist impostor, each claims the correct interpretation of t h e Dogma as But I can, how ever, (it is not a p l easure, it is a duty) attempt to show Ihat

tion: a task, which, l('t it be s<lid i n passing, offers little pleasure. Style, indeed, makes the man, and this one is not exactly Proustian (this boy does not have his eye on the French Academy). [n short the conclusion to this preface is a b it tan gl ed . Godelier explains that Lefort and I pose the question of the State 's origin (in our work on La Boetie) (this is not what it is ab ou t at but that their remarks were probably inspired by C1astres (p. 25, n . 3). Go

his own. It is not up to tn!;', n at ura l l y, to hand out diplomas for Marxist

(IlT

Th ('m deal with that themselves).

th e i r sectarian quarrels stir the s ame parish, a n d that the Marxism of one is Take for example Meillassoux. H e wo u l d be, they say, om' of the thinking

all), that Deleuze and Guattari have a l re ady addressed this in Anti-Oedipus, stand anything he reads (he quotes things and then p ep pe rs them with excla explain, because he wo u ld n t understand. that what Lefort
'

hilS devoted to this author'S recent work. 1 Let the reade t refer, t he n, to this tive (Adler, like M('illassoux - or rather, unlike h i m - is, in f1C't, a specialist
I C'. M('illaotlx, Femmes, Gr/.'lli('rS eT CapiTal/_r. Paris, Maspero.

ing effo rts have been spared me, thanks to thl' detai!rd analysis Ih;1I A. Adler

desire, which suits hi m well, by the way. I t would be a waste of ti m e to try to

a nd

mation points and qu est io n m a rks). God{'lier does not lik(' the- c at e go ry of I id('ntify

fi gu re. Godelier is, in any ('<1St. h on est : he admits that he does n o t under

10

have as co n s c i e n t i o us II

under this term h as very little' to do with how Deleuze and Gu attari use it.
Pahrenheit 450.5. I 'Homme, XVII
2

veTS un nO\lvel obscur, lllt isme?" ['Homme. XVI (4),

1976;

A.

C.

Me-illassollx, "Sur deux critiques de Femllles, Gr(' lIiers ('I Capilol/x Ol!

( I ).

pp.

) M. Goddirr. HoriZOIl. {rajas IllIIuis{es ell all/ilrop%

1 J 0

Maspero,

1977.

1 2 3 - 1 2S.

gie,

2nd

edition, Paris,

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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 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 herr to be Marxi .. t (unlike Godelier), that is, faithful to the text of Marx: holds on ItSelf. structured around a social conflict. This discou rse has the mission to mask thl' division ;1Od the conOke to giv{' the appearance of so ial homogeneity. In a word, ideol ogy is the lie. Por the ideological to eXist, there at least has to be soria! division. GodC'Jier is unaware of this; hO\...., hen. could he know thaI ideology, in the sense in which Mi"\rx speaks . of 11. IS a lodern phenomenon, appearing in the 16th century, contempora neous, as It happens. to tIl{' birth of the modern, democratic State? II is n o t (religions, myths, etc.) hdong to the field of ideol ogy. Now, it is appropriate Saint Paul of the hUman sciences. Amen. Bur all the same, the reader loses

Lrt us move on. [ n any case, thesr ideas ilre suspect to him, for the bour

i n g: through the Andes (pp. 21-22). And what docs he discover there? That peasantry constituted an ulIrqual exchange (his emphasis. on top of it). ject. Where did he go to fIsh this up? So, between the Master and the Sub the relation hrtween the dominant caste of the Incas a n d the dominatetl

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 , of course - n onsense). sometimes cramming religion into ideology, sometimes exchange into i n equality. Australian societies? He notices, with h i s usual finesse. thm there " Ilir re/a liollS o f 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 etnblished 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 - this hard. wooden language th<11 they constantly have i n their mouths all while clinging \0 stru<:lur<1lism: primitive soeil"ly=kinship lions of production. Cekom,iI. A few brier remarks on lhis, First. on the C<ltt'gory ists in primitive economy such 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

patience; ran Iilis oaf Uller anything but silli ness? l i e must havt' an idea

kinship

lI'err also frialiolls

of productioll,

and constitutcd the ec O

wllat, i n l' fect. is ideology to Marx? It is the discourse that a dividrd society

historical knowledge t h a t weighs upon Gocielier's head: and so, religion, . my h are Ideology for him. He no doubt thinks that idcils are i deology. He

of production,

productive forces, developm{'nt of productive forces

IS I(I o l gy, b u t in Godelier's h e a d :

)el .leves that rveryone i s like him. [t is not i n primitive soci('ty that religion

rC'"lntions=rt'la

<lrxlSt .ld Ology. hat does it mean to speak of ideology i n

10 h i m, h i s religion i s ccrtainly his

regard to primi

competent and attentive to the facls than Godelier (this is not hard), special Jacques Lizot here, who are concerned with ethnology a n d not with (';lte

of production,

More

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!

\!ve socJetll ' s, that IS. undivided soC'iC'"tics, classless societies, since by n<lture

as

M a rsh;:!11 Sahlins in the United Statr<; o r

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'

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-

Stolle

Agf'

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

Economics [Tr,ms,:

Chapter Eight

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ClInnot renounce lIoly Production: othcJ'"\Nise, h e would go b an krupt, he would be unemployed. That said, Godelier is not crazy: here is a good natured fe-liow who. with the good-naturedness of a bulldozer. crushes et hnographi c facts under the doctrine by which he makt's his living, and who has the nerve to reproach otht:rs for total disdai n for all the facts that con tradict them (p. 24). He knows what he is talking about. On kinship. fInally. Though a structuralist, a Marxist C:lnnot understand k i no;h ip relations. What use is a k i n sh i p system? This. pupil GodeJier. is used to fabricate rcliltives. But what ust' is a relative? Surely not to p roduce any thing. It is used precisdy to bear the name of the relative unt il the new order. This is the principal sociological function of kinship in primitive soci ety (and Ilot to institute the prohibition of incest). [ could no doubt be more dear. I will limit myself for now (fo r a little suspense always produces the btst effects) to saying that the function of nomination. inscri bed i n kinship, determines tht: entire sociopolitical being of primitive society. [t is there that the ti C" hetween kinship and soci(-ty is l oca t ed . Wr shall untie this k not another lime. If Godelicr manages to ,>ay a little more about this. we11 of fer h i m a free subscription to Lihft'. Gode1ier"s l)fef,H:e is a bou([uct: the most exquisite nower,> compose j{. A work of art. let us pick one last quote: 'For - and many are n ot aware of thi s - then' hav(' existed and still exist n umerous sOrle- t ies divided i n t o orders or caSI('5 or cl asses, in t o exploiters and exploitrd, and w h o, neverthe less, do not know the State." Why doesn't he tell us fIrst, for prec isi on is important. to whilt societics he is. alluding? Coy of him. As for tht' rest, he clea rly wants to say that one Ci1nnot think of social division without the State, that the division into the dominating and the dominated does not nec ('ssarily i m pl icille Ie State. What exactly is the State for Godelier? Su rely. the ministers, the [Iysee, tile White Iloust', the Kremlin. This i n n ocen ce of the- bumlJkin in the capital is chamling. Godelicr forgets ont" thing. the pri n ciple (which the Marxists manage to r('member when they control the Stale apparatus): namely, that the State is the exerc ise of political POW('T. We can not think power without the- State and the State without power. [n other words: there wht're one locates an eff('clive exercise of power by a p<lrt of sociny over lht' rest. we find ourselves confronu'd with a divided society, lhilt is. a society with a Stall;'. Social division into tht dominating <lnd domi nflted is. through <lnc! through, political ; it divides men into Masters of power and Su bj ects of power. That th(> eco n o my. the tribull'. the dellt, the alienated work appear as signs and effects of p oli t i ca l division along the axis of power, [ have demonstrated sufficiently elsewht:re (and Godelier is not the last to have profucd from it. p. 22. for example, but withoul ([uoling me, lhe scoundrel. .. As Kant sair!. thcre :Ire (hose who do not like p<lying their dehts).
1 l 4

primitive society is not divided because it docs not comp ris e a separate organ of politic al power. Social division fIrSt in vol ves the separation between society and the organ of power. Thus, all non-primitive (that is. div ided) soc iet ie s comprise a more or less developed figure of the Statc. Where there are masters. where there <lre subjects who p ay their tribute. where there is a debt. there is power, there is the State. Of cou rse, between the minimal fIgure of the State as certain Polynesian, African. and other roya l ti es embody it, and the more State-like forms of the St ate (linked, pel l - m ell , to demography, 10 the urban phenom('non, to division of labor, to writi ng, etc.l. therc exist considerable degrees in the intensity of the power exerc ised, in the intensity of th e op p re ssi on undergone, th e final degree being reached by the type of power th <lt fascists and communists put into place: there the power of the Slatc is total. the oppression, absolute. But it remains irreducible. the ce ntra l po in t : just as we cannot think of undivided society without the absence of lhe State. we cannOt think of dIvided society Without the presence of the State. And to reflect on the origin of inequal ity, social division, cl a sst"s. clom ination is to reflect on th(" political. on power, on the State, and not on the economy. p ro du ct i on, etc. The economy O"lrises from the politici1l. tht' rela tions of production come from power n:lations, the State en gend ers c1i1 ..s(...

A n d now h a v i n g savored t h e s p e (" t <l cl e of t h i s tomfoolery, kl us approach the important question: whi11 of the Marxist discourse in anthro pology? , was spei1king, in the ueginning of this text. of the r<ldic<ll nullity of Marxist ethnology ( re MI. readers, the works o f Meillassoux, Godelier and company: it is ed i f y i ng). Radical, that is, al fIrst. Why? Because such (l d is course is nOt a sc ient ifiC discourse (thar is, concerned w i t h truth). but a pure ly ideological discourse {that is, concerned with political efficacy). In order to sec this cle<lrly, we must distinguish fITSI between the thought of Marx and Marxism. Marx was. along w ith Bakunin, the first critic of M<lrxism. Marx's thought is a grandiose attempt (sometimes successful, sometimes failed} to . reflect on the society of his time (western capit alism) ;"\nd the history whIch hrought i t into being. Contemporary Marxism is an ideology in thc service of pol itics. The r('sult is that Marxists have nothing to do with Marx. And they ilre the flrst to admit it. Do not Godelier and Mci1Iassoux call tht:msdvcs pseudo-Marxist impostors? h is absolutely true, 1 <lgree with them, they art' both right. Shamelessly, they take refuge i n Marx's beard in order to p l m off their mcrch;1Ildise mo re eITtcicntly. A heautiful case o f false adv e rt l sl n g . But it would take more than one to dishonor Marx. Postmarxian Marxism, bcsides becoming the dominant ideology of the workers' movement. has become Ihe p ri n c ipal enemy of the workers' move ment. has constituted itself as the most arrogant form of the stupidest thing
1 l 5

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o r

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as tht, d iscourse that enunciatcs the laws of h isto ri cll l moVt'ment. the societal transformations that <He e a c h en g l' n d c r ed by

the 1 9 t h c e n t u ry has p ro du ce d : s c i e n l i sm . I n o t h n w o nb, co n t c-t11p orll ry Ma rx is m i nsti tu tes il se l l' Il<; the st'iciltifl(' d isc ou rse on the h is tory o f soc i ety.

la ws

of

pe n d l' n t social bt'ing. I n the l o g ic of M a rx i st d i scourse, primitive s o c i ety quirt' si m ply cannot exist. i t dors not h ave tht' right to a uto nom o us l'xis tt'nce. its

being is o n ly

determined accord i n g to that which will come much

M a rx is m C,HI s p l' a k of all types of sorLeties. s i n ce it understands t h e p ri n c i pl l' of the i r workings in advance. But t h e re is mor!': Marxism must speak typrs of sorictit's. wheth('r p o ss i ble or rral, for that

t he

o t h e r. Thus,

l ate r. its necessary future. For o rga n i z a t i o n

of

all

p roc l a i m e rudi te ly. pre-capitalist so ciet i es . Here, t h e n . is a sociNy'S mode of

tht'

Ma rx i sts. primitive societirs arC' on ly.

they

which was th<lt of

a l l h u m a n i t y for m i l l e n n i a, but for the the cnd of the

th e

u n iversality of the laws

Marxists. For them. primitive society only rxists insofar as it cnn be reduced

it

discovers cannot suffer a single excC'ption. Otherwise. the doctrine as

to the

figu re of sociery that

appeared at

18th ccntury.

ca p ital

OJ

w ho l e crumbles. As a res u l t. in ordn to m:lilllain not only coheren ce, but thl' very e x i st e n c e of th i s discourse. it is i m p erat i v t' for thc Mflrxists to for mu lat e th(' M a rxist conerption of p ri m i ti ve sorL('ry. to con st it ut e 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 t h e i r Mflrxism. Indeed t h ey do nOt
' : they must subject primitive social facts have a cllOin

ism. Before t hilt, nothing counts: everything is precapita!isl. Thry clo not
complicate t h e i r
I h is can be

l ives. thesr guys. I t must hI;.' relnxing to be a Marxist. All of ex p la i n ed starting with ('a pitalism, for t h ey pOSSt<>s the good doc

functi o n

to the sa m e rules of of t ransform at io n that order ot her social formations. It c o uld not be <l Q uest i o n herr of two w e 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 a rt of hiStory (p ri mit iv e society) as in the co n ti n u ilt 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 n o m is m . it [('duct's the s oc i a l body TO ec o n o m i c i n frastrucwrr, the sO('i<11 is the economical. And this is why the M a rx is t anthropologists, per fo rce . s l a p onlO the primitive social body th:lt which they t h i n k fu n ct i o n s e lscw hnc : t he catcgor i es of p roduct io n . rt'l<ltions of production, deve l o p m e n t of t h e prod uct 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 u n g (Mrillasoux), thnl k i ll s hi p rrln lions an' relations of p rod uct i on (G od el i e r).
and

opt'ns cap i tn l is t society and thus. al l historical social for resu l t: w ha t [meilsu res] soei(,IY for Marxism i n gr n e f<l l is the e co n o my, nnd for tIl(' ethnomarxists who go ('Vt'll furtllC'f, whnt m easu res p ri mi t iv e s oc i ety i s C'apitalist soc i ety. Ct'konH;a. B u t those who do not recoil hcforr a bit or fati gu e pose the question in the manner of M o n t ai g n e or La Boclir or Rouss('nu nnd judge wha t has co me after i n rel ..ltion to wh<lt hilS come bt'forc; w h at or post-primitivt' soc i eti es? Why have inrq u a l i ry. social
trine. the kty that mntions. The division, sepflratc power, tile Stilte appt'flrcd?

to [h i s colle('( i o n of nonsense. LC't us shed l i gh t . M <lrx i st a n thropologists. Br<lzen ly, they trnffic facts, trnmple <1nd crush t he m to the point of It-tling nothing remai n . For tht' rea lity o f soci"l facts they substitute the ideology of their d i sco u rse. W ho ; m' M e i l l ass o ux, (iodelier ilnd lht:ir co n so rts "? They art: th e 'o l ogicil l frrllzy. Lyssenkos of rht' humnn srLencl's. JUSt how rar d o es their i d t t h t' i r w il l to pillnp;e e t h n ology. go? A l l tile way, thflt is, a far as t h e eJimina tion. pure and :-; i mp l (', o f p ri tll i t i vt: \ocicty as a spl' [ i fl c soci ety, as an indeLet us rather, on
n o t go back the m i l i t a n t obscurimtism or
1

But. o n e w i l l w o n d e r, ho w can someth i n g so suspicious work? For, i n recessi o n for some lime, it <otill Ilt lracts customcrs. It is quite obvi ous that t hese (.:ustonl{'/"S (the listeners and rendrrs of these Marxism'i) are nOt d e lTIiln d i n g about the quality of t h e products they consume. to S;ly the Ie <1st. Too had for them! !r they like t h :l ( s o up , thry c,ln swallow it. But to ! i t11 i t ours('lves to this would ht" at once very cr u el ,mil t o o sim IJ1t': first. by denouncing the en t crp rise of ethnom<lrxists, \\'e can prevent a ce rt a i n num her or the i ntoxic a ted from dying idiots (this Marxism is the opiate of the dirnwittedl. Out it would hr vcry rri vol ous , practkillly irn :spollsiblt. to limit onesrlr t o (,ll1phasiLing (ir I may say sol the n ul l i ty of a Meill asso ux or of a (j odel i e r. Their work is n ot worth ;l nail. th is is understood. but it would he it
th o u gh great mist<lkC' to u n d e res ti m fl t ('

effect the being on w h i c h i t feeds, n am e ly. i t s opnc i ty t o diffuse a n ideol o gy

of the c o n q ues t of powt:r. I n cOlltempornry French sot.:iety. the U n iversity oc cup ies

it: the nothi ngness of the

d isCOUfSt: mn'iks

in

a consider<lble

And on this point. thtre cenai n ly is

10

<I

roOI of 'I <lrxism. in t-.larx; iT would he

derisivt"

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).

effC'cl, allow

himself to

1 1 6

stems morc difficult to be Marxist i n mat ht'rn'llirs or in biology). this politic<ll id('ology tha t is the Marxism of todflY a(({'m pfs to gai n a foo t ho l d as dominant i d e olob')'. In t h i s glO])fll ilpPilratus. o ur ethno marxists occupy a plil('e t h a t is cer tainly modest bll{ n ot negligible. ThC're is a p o l i t i ca l division of l a h o r ilmi they accomplish their part of t he genl'ral effort: 10 ass u re the triumph or their co m m o n i de o l ogy. Sap ri st i ! Would these not (Iuit(' simply be S tflliniS1S,
1 1 7

the human scienc('s (for it

p ln c e. And in t h t' U n iversity. notably in tile- field of

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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.

11
RCHfOLOGY Of VIOLfNCf: WR IN PRIMITIVf mCIH lfS
For the past few decades an abu nda 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

) 8

First published i n l.ibre, 110. 1 . Pris. Payot. 1977, pp_ 1 3 7 - 1 7 3 .

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b e lo n g 10 t h e n o r mal . habitual functioning of is thus excluded from et h ologi al .d isco u rse ; one can think of pr i m i tiv e society without at the same time thInking of war. The questio n , d('arly, is to determine wheth('r this scientifIC d isco u rse is SIleilking . . . the truth on the type of sodety it targets: In us st op l iste n i ng to II for a moment a n d turn toward the reality of w h ich it spea ks.
conflict. that war does n ot
pri m i t i ve societits. War

dominant enough to indull:" a

sociological observatio n : primilive societit's arc viol e n t societies; th('ir social being is a be i n g- for- wa r.
This is the impression. in ;lny C<lSt, of direct witnesses i n many climates and throughout several centurirs. many of whom participated in th e life of

the indigenous tribes fo r years. It would be both easy and useless to make up
e n t regions and periods. The aggreSSive d is pO Si t io n s of h S vag s re . al most ill ways severely judged: how. i n deed, could o ne Chnsl1anlze, clVlltz{'

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

The discovery of America. as w(' know. provided the West with its fIrst
they

an anthology of these judgments ro ncern i ng the popu l a t i o n s of very differ

ferent from all

hild

known

reality that could nOt exist in thrir trelditional representation of thl'" social
being: in otht'r w ords, the world of

type of society radica lly dif up until then; they had to t h i n k of a 50ciil\

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: t hey 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 ce rt il i n ty e xp rcs sr d sIaning with the Greek dawn of Europe<ln p o l i t i c a l 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

of work and commerce, when they were ?v n g in g efens . or celebrating victori('s? I n f(lct. the Prench or Po rtu gu ese mlSS!Qnelnes opIn ion of the Tupi Indians of the B ra z i l i a n coast i n the mid-16th century <'Intici patcs and condenses all t h e discourses ro come: were it not, t h ey said. fo r the inressant Welr thest' tribes wage agai nst e a c h other, the coun try would be overpopulated. I t is the a p p ;] rc n t p re v a le n ce of war in primitive l i f(' that ret;lins the attention of social theoreticians in the fmt place. To the state of Soriety. whirh, for h i m. is the s oc i ety of t h e State. Thomas l Iobbes contrasts no t the real but the l o gi ca l FIgure of man in his l1atural conditio II. the statc of men bcfore l iving in s oc i e ty, th<lt i s, under " a common Pow e r to keep th em all in ;]we . '" Now. by what me<l ns is the n a t ural condition o f men dis ti ngu ish ed? Through war of every man ag<linst every m<ln. But, one will say,
p r i ma ri l y concernfd with warring aga i n st th fi r n e igh b o rs,

or convince peo pl e of the v i rt u es

this war which opposes ahstract men against each other. invented for the needs of the cause that the thinker of the civil State is defen di n g, this imagi nary war does nor i n of

not he co n side 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

a ny

state of nature had n ot

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 n t on the Indians of

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' .

not unrestrictl'd unanimity wlwn it Savages' customs. Explorers o r m i s s i o n a ries, mer chants or 1eilrned travelers, fro m 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 A rri 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 p l es were always presented <IS passion <It e ly devoted to w a r ; it was their p a rt i cu l a rly bellicose 'h ;l ril ct er that struck
ut. on the other hand, there was came t o

desr ri h i n g

t h t.'

war i n primitive society. Nevertheless, lIobbes himself thmks It pOSSIble to ill ustr<'lt e the cogency of his dl'd uctio n from an explicit r(,ference to a con crete reality: rhe natur<'ll condition of Illan is n ot only the <'Ibstr<lct construc t i o n of a p h il osoph er. but. in effe ct. the a ct ual , observable fat r of a n ew ly discovered human ity. " It Illay pe ra d ve n tu re hl' th ou gh t , there WitS nt;::v er such <'I t i m e . nor condition of w a rre as this; (lnd I be l i('ve it was n ever generally so. over <1\1 th e world: hut t here are ma ny places, where they live so n ow.
For the savage people in many pl<lees o f Amcric<'l, except the government of

way concern the empiric<ll. e(h n grah i c al raliry

Furopc<ln observl'rs without exception. From the enormous documentary

acrumulation gathered i n chroniclcs. t ravr-I literature, reports from priests and pastors. so l d i e rs or peddlers. one image continuously emered from the infinite d iversity of

small f m i l i es, the concord where of deprndeth o n naturall lust. h;]ve no government <It <'I I I : a n d live at t h i s day i n that hrutish m il n {' r. as I s i d . before.'" I O n e w i l l not be overly surprisl'd by I l o b b es ' quietly dlSd;]tnful p OI n t of view conrerning the Savages; th('se are the receiv ed ide<ls of his t i m e (but i deas rejerted. l et us re p e ilt . by Montaign(' and La Bot-tic): a SOCil't witho t government, without St;1{(" is nOl a soc i et y ; thus. the Sav<l g t's remaIn extcflUnivc-rsity Prr-ss, p. 88.

the cultUrt's dt"<;cri bed: that

1 , 0

o f the w

a rrio r.

An image

I Hobbes.

LCI'iathall, l'tiil('d by Richard Tuck, Cambridge, New York. (ambridge

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each against each reigns. l Iobbes was not unaware of the American Indians' mat i on of his cenainty: the absence of the State permits the generalizatioll

or to the social, they live i n the natural condition of me n where the war of

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

intense bellicosity; this is why he saw in their real wars the striking confir of war a n d makes the institution of society impossible. The equation: world of Savages=world of war, finding itself constantly

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 ob ject 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 no l ogists. 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 n c ep t i o n
, .

verified in the field, traverses all popular or scholarly representation of prim his Prillciples oj Sociology: "In the life o f the savages a n d barbarians, the

itive society. It is thus that another English philosopher, Spencer, w rites i n

dominant events are wars," as an echo to that which three ceneuries before
him the Jesuit Soarez de Souza said of the Tupin a mba of Brazil: Tupinamba arc very b el l icose, they are preoccupied with how they w i l l make war on their contraries." But d id 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 i n g on t h e causes and fu n cti o n s of war in primitive
"

Si n ce the

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 an d 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 y could be why the absence of renections on violence in c u rre n t eth n ol o g 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 a l s o by the adhesion to a ty p e of sociological discourse which tends to exclude waf from th e fIeld

p r cv i o u s ly

societies, undertook a systematic sampli n g of what th e eth nography of the

ti m e taught on thiS subject. Now, it follows from h is meticulous prospecting

that with

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 ullillrsafity. the silence of th e 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 societies e t hno l og ists are i n te res ted in are currently living. We k no w well silence come:: from? r-irst, ce rt a i nly, from the conditions under which the This massive p rese n ce of th e fact of war is answered, so to speak, by

extremel y

rare exceptions

(the Central

and Eastern Eskimos) n o

a d iscourse is adequate to the primitive social real i ty. And so, before examin

of social relations in primitive society. The obvious qucstion is whcther such

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 nex t-to tionable (yet very q uest ion ab l e) vastness. his historical-ethnological concep last chapter of volume [I, w he re the author develops, in a view or unques tion of p ri m i t ive society and t he transfomlations that modify i t. [n co nfo r mance' with the indissoluble conjunction between archaic society and the a v is io n of primitive war, a v i si o n 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 e a rly assenrd. the o r ga n i c ist point

that th rou gh o ut the world there scarcely exist primitive societies that are abso lu tely free. autonomous, without contact with the white socioeconomic to obs e rve societies isolated enough so that the play of t radi t i o na l forces which define and support them can be given free course: primitive war is s ituat i o n o f the Ama7.0nian Yanomami is unique: their st'cular iso l at i o n 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 o t b e en disc ov
-

environm('nt. In other words, ethnologists no l onge r have the opportunity

phenomenon of war, leroi-Gourhan's general undertaking logically includes

invisible because tilC're are no more warriors to wage it. I n t h is rega rd , the

of view on socirry appeals to and encompasses, in an absolutely coh e rent

, M.R. Davit', La GIICff(' dallS Irs sodbes primitil'l:'s, Payol, 19) 1

1 , I

) Cf.
1%6.

N.A.

Chagnon. YOllomomO. Tile-

FineI:'

PI:'Op/c. Holt. Rinellan

ft

Winston.

1 , J

I li f

A H II ! O L O G Y

O f

V I O L f N C f

l li f

A H W f 0 1 0 G Y

o r

V I O L f N ( f

Gourhan? IIis answer is clear: "i\ggn'ssive t)('havior has been part o f human

m a n n er,

(t'n'lin idea o f war. What auout vioknce, lhen. accord i n g to Lcroi

the social <lpparmus has not changrd . 1llyth i n g i n tilc slow de:velopmrnt of phylctic maturation." (p,

realiry at least since tht' Autr;llnnthropes. a nd thc acct'it'rated evolution of

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 given rootf'd i n the biological

sum. as

zoological property of the human species. violence is identifIed

believes he spt'aks. the contemporary primitives. What docs l,eroi-Gourh a n . t' tea<:h us? II is qui U:. ob io us (hm If . the gOill o the rxprrienc c i h thn ograp . . the means of atta I n I n g It IS agresslo : the a n I m a l .,unt is to acquire food, t o b e eaten. B u t tl1('n o n e must Include I n the an'(I o f "/lus t b e killed i n order of (IC(l u i 5 i t i o n a l l behaviors that destroy another technique 1 eo h u n t a s a be eaten: nOt only a nimals, fIsh and carnivorous c;tn it I' \ of life so that

here as a n i rredurihJf fa ct, a sort of

Iwing of man. This spccilk vio]cnrc. f(:alized in aggressive behavior. is not 'Throughout the course of {[me, aggresc;ion appears as a fundamental tech where aggrf'c;sion <lnd al imenrary acquisition art' mt'rged" (p. 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: nique l i n ked to acquiitioil, and i n the primitive. its i n itial role is hunting

/lalural

.wallo ws. etc.). I n fart. nil violent techniques behavior. Tlwre is .....ould logic<llly have t o b e a nalYlrd i n tf'rms of <lggrrs5ivc I n rC<l lity. reason to privilege the human hunter over tht' <lnimal h u nter. exclusion vhnt principally motivatrs the primitive hunter is appetite. to the u n t per h ritual. is. that ry. non-alimt'nta f o case (the srntiments othrr If all hunt is the from war distinguishes r"dically What domain). :lins to another

nedgl i n g against the- fly it rd<;, but also i nsertivort's (th(' aggrl'ssion of tht' of n l i m entary a c q u i s i t i o n

10

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

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

;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. niquc of arquiring food, and man's biologic<ll being, whose: i n t egrity vio in the viole-nee of war. situated? Lrroi-Gourhan expl<lins
<I

Ilshed. as one and the Dlher art' concentrated i n

u n t i n g

knce must n1<l i nta i n . But where is this very particular nggrt'ssiO!1, m;miresled (lnd its double, war, a suutle- assimilation i progressively est<lb

Let U!) admit this l i n k hrrwcen violence. which is h<lrneSSfd in the tcch

10

,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 ,nl of war is never to kill the en emil's i n order , !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

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

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

make war and hunting identical.

us: "Between

10

the mystery of thr origin o f soria! division is solvrd: through "subtle assimi 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 lation," hun ters gradually become warriors who, as hol<itrs of armed force.

new economy, that of men with weapons." (p. 237). Hrre then. i n a sentence,

class that is born of thc

iliologizalion" of <In activity such as war i n evitably takes away its properly social dimension, LeroiGourhan's problematic ronception leads to a dbsolu

eat them. Rather, this

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

thc pen of a scholar whose work is exemplary in h i s field. prehistory. All this 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 Lct u!) relurn then to the probh:m o f war. War would thus i n h e rit its oulrl o n l y ue a rcprtition. a doublr. a redeployment of the h u n t : more would r('quire further exposition, but the lesson to draw is clear: in tht'

economist dis('oufse

i s somewhat anonymous in 111<1t it is n o t tilt'

from sociol ogy.

war

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

charge of aggrrss i o n from hunting - a trchnique of alimentary acqu i s i t i o n ; prosaIcally. war. for Lt'foi-Gourhan. is

tile 11UII!illg o j mCI/.

I s this true or

fals{'? It is not diffIcult to f1l1d OUI. since it suffIces to consult those of whom

1 \

P O Vt' ny and mi<;(' ry. M u ch mOrt ' (tC"(" nlly, rccel ved !>ci('n t /l is po ul <t firic !>t' j ( US (ro ( r k o wJed {he' ge ha s :;o-Ci11!td h u a 'ir/Jol c1rly disco u r , m n s . S a drs(o u rs has b e ( e come anthropology, , of sCh olars: rbeWt lC:;in f l r g the e rtaInty o OJ ,C s of econ om i c " c ;.J dl'Voted rh elllscl f pri m i tive vc!> to Xt ra c t P O V 'tY as tru tl, ", . l n g til t reas , IlilVe I lS conse qul' w ons for tIll"S 'es 11 po v(' rcy . JUS frOIll ;} n d Unve Ih I 'S ('on v{'rge iling sdt'n . nfir di\C'o nCt betw, en . u,s (' resul ' ts . a ,noe com mo n S{'ns(, I i11l1 t/on gIsts : prim itlv and ' ' cons r"'lltly " e,' o n o my I reltcnltcd b I ' " . ' i1 su JSJ'i l enct Y ethll% _ 5;lva g'l's 10 SUbsist , I h " I W 11(, I ' h 'only w re;, [0 Sur allo s Ihe eann or go il vive. If (he , , ('co O S( O f th <:'S e SOd(,l J I l f I h rcstlolrJ of s u b('('a LJ(' () f t ies rv i V tl J : t> I o , O n o l (j (' a g l c a l UIl(/t'r t h - It is l /)cfo rl' the- n a dt'v ('lol) Oltn . l .. n <I Its t u ". 1 ... n v / ro n . , t' m ent " 0W t' rI essn ' Pnm nive ('('on ess i l has n O l om m.l /S ' s eco o my of ba ckgro u n d re. a n i n dlll ( V jJ O Nty, (h.lt r IS ag. P, DOlt n o n of l lns <'OurSt accou l this Wilr lak es p /<l CC nts for r , 11 ' c 1t e oomist dis th e Scarcicy of a V '1 i l I t I Ve Wi l r tty th (' wei'l K s ne ' a t' m { r i i1 1 gOod s l d 1 0 rO U C ( I Vt' fo rces; group.., p ushe-d ea s jnl f prop , , c o n Pt'IU rratr ng these l o n betw (,cn for life: ends i gOod s n al b ::d n c ;lIld this s(rug : ,t ; there is n o l gk O n (' sh O l d t t:'no ug/ r; U 'e . ' ryone , ' . t lIS POVerty of the of ri S S s a enp led s / 'v \Va r b . fjues rion ed , In , lsed on the a il n O b i : (' o his es w h i c y C!e(J ca r,l , h a n n OI l View : " B u ( l er, Oavie pe fect be eilc/} rib ly r s l de of It O ri1 ! nal l Tt's , (hiS poin t of mUS t m i1 i n t <l struggl e agCl i n ;1 co ins . e f PU l t l on :lgil l nsl o r tiS exist a l l oth er f I I J to (.' o n ra n ' ri ence, rl')' r W i l ll v" . " I ,,'t'S an d d " r ' 1 " whi C'h I 5 ' H:s 0f ltJ (r t . d egcn erate C'O mes rt' s t are Jrod ' into dis 'IU te by u ' d, and force. we call whtl has been l Iht's e th at wa/' (p de"fin f'd. ' 2 , a d ' 8 ' ) . 'And agO! IS PUt{' by fo U 11d er tilt:' a n . [(e " ' ,W b i1r orn bt'tw(' r n n i o n of ' vHa l cOmp P Ol H l, ca l g ro u p i n . etili o n .. , fh u " given tribe gs I va fi h e 'e" (eprnd , rmporrance 0f . ' '. in g Oil I ' w a r 78). This a U l ho { J (, IIHt.' In :I nsily of ils r .1 - Wt.' I lav{. Vl I s(,t n . p ro c l i t i v e SOC ie T romp etiio ll " (p. a i m s the univ y b:d e n (, lh,n,o grap o f war Grt'e n l ;.lnd e hic i n fo rma pri m s cap e (hi tion : C'o h on r X l rrlllt:' y ,' ,t' i:S K l n l OS of nel l l l , ;I n except ion, h o s t il i l o f -l e"xplai ns Ddv! Y h (" n a l u ra l e. dur to d e v ot i n g envi ron m(,nt the . energy 10 n w h ich ev nts Y h l ng U l O s t rllggle f f r m l / U t f (' ' , h{' O K i r om ng o r eXis e nc j or f o od O p erat n S il boJU!t' ly im r ' ,' migh l O b ser i n the .? lo p e ativ (, in t i , ve t Il" l e C', , A utr' 1 Se (" ' 79) , B I'an ., s . S{'('m (h (' F<;Kimo Ut. ont no beW'r off I s in' t l ' I i h S J O W. a nd yn p Ih s e :I less :r(' OI r dr rts t il n h ey re n o k., We Sh lIJd ' I K (, th'l n 00. t ha t ! h i s 5 o t ic" U l t er:l h r r cho/ peo ,l rly dist'O ur5 nc(' of Ih .' ( P OPU la r ' " " .t . ' e". tilt" s i mp/e. "scit"nti f exa ctly l'O/l'}l POStul at e 011 p,r _ S 1I0 Il'IIS ., Ive pOverty 'S t o tlle of sO(' i(,' ly m OS t rteen ! av , " . I a djusted amr of l h t. M , IlCim r]y M , , rX I St ar,XIS! l' O ll c anthropol ogy. .....a r is con ep( i on As fa r JS th e c('rn red' , 1/ IS to C1ueS l o n of Non h Amer prim itive / ica" a n tl l ropoI n ghl I

l H

A H II E O L O Y

O f

V I O t f N { [

: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 their n o n - Marxist predecessors, If war is particularly intense a m o n g the porters say nothing more of it (and no d o u bt think ('ven less of it) than all

1 0 speak) the Marxist interpretation, More quickly than their French coreli )!iOnisls. who are nevertheless ready to speak the Marxist truth on African J!!e groups or American potlatch. or the rapports between men and women

: : ; Wllldl i l l Ilt'

eco nomy

:i

t .;1)

<;,;'led.
r

lerritories. and to the inevitable armed connict with the occupants of these

of protein in their food. to the resulting need for conquering new hu nting
te rr ito ries , In sho rt. the very old th('sis formulatl'd by Davie, among others.

South American Indians. it is due. accord ing to Gross .. nd H;lrris, to a I<lrk

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

txpl anarion

: :
ill

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

sense by the comic pretension of posing as scientifiC d iscou rs (' , BUl there is something more . Marxism. as a general theory of society an d also of histo

of Mao!) or else that this Marxism only d isti n guishes itself from common

(0, spirits

very low yield of productive activity. Why? Oecause the Ma rxist theory of
I:lw of historical motion and of social chilnge in the irrepressible tcndency

ry, is obliged to postulate The poveny of the p ri m i t iv e economy. that is, the

history (and Ihis is a m :l / te r of the very theory of Karl Marx) un c ov crs the of productive forces to develop the m se l v es . But, so that history can gct u nderway. so that the productive forces can take wing. these same produc be the least reason for them to tend to d('vc!op themselves and ont' would not he abl(' to
:l rt i cu late

ty

weakness, in the most tot al underdevel opment: lacking: this, thcre would not

l iv e forces muSt fi rst exist at the stan of This process in the most extreme 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'
1 D,R, Gross, "Protdll Capture

/11;;: ;

economy. henceforth thought of :lS a n economy of poveny, as an economy

I , ,

. 5 11<11 We owe (5 0

and Culm ral Develop mcnt in the Amazon B..sin , " pp. 1)26-549 : M, H arris, wTllc YanOlllamo and 1975. AmericalJ Anth ropologist, 71, i the Causcs of Wa r in B alld and V l l age SO r1clieS,H o ss and the Yanom ami. sh ows ow flawed the WOkH f Gr
H a rris

'. J. li:l.Ot. an cxpen on

I CJ77,

is, Cf. "Populat ion.

ResSOllTccs el Guc rre chez

les

Y:\nomallll.

In Llbr{", 2,

1 4 7

l H E

A R ( H f O L O G Y

O f

V I O L E N ( f

1 11

A R ( II E O L O G Y

O f

V I O l f N { [

of I'XI) l o itat i o n i n p ri m i t i v l' soci t't ies (e l dl' r/y outh, man/woman, etc,), they

an lhropologists' vit'wpo int o n Ihis: though they go on ;"It l en gt h aboul forms

live forct's. II would ut' a g re at satisfaction for ma n y to know the Marxist

whit:h, w a nt i n g to wrest itself from poverty, will te n d 10 d cvrl o p its produc

,. )rtll . And s i n ce economics has nothin to do w it h war, Ihen pnl1ap" i t is

are less eloquent as to th e foundation of the doctrine they claim to suppon. b e in g b ec o mt.'s 1 ra n s p a r(' n ( , i f t h e p rod u rt i ve forces, not t('nd i n g 10 develop
That si1 id , let us rrrurn to thc problem of the

ror primitive socic'ly po ses a nucial q u('s l i on to Ma rx ist th eo ry : if t he eco n o m i c a l docs nOt c on st i t ut e the i n frastructure t h ro u gh w h i c h t h e s o c i al

is the m o to r that starts the mOV('nH,'nt of lIistory?

t l1(' msc l v es , do n o t function as ,I dl' t e r m i n a n t of s oc i a l rhange. w h il t , tllen,

I l I ca I . ' gale toward the. ' I. r(' al)' to turn our . , ,'he c.(cllallgiH discoll r.e on pTJJnl!IVe war ::; pp o rt s th(' SOCIological king of C l a ude Levi-Striluss. Such an asse mo n would 'Ippt'ar, flr:-ot of Iderli1 . In . IHlTild ox ica l : i n Ihis author's considtri1ble work, wa occup ies on 1 y a t h . IS lSS'-le an c e n of (' c not n a rt o ) ! m i i"ln ss Ihe that fact the ond y e b Bul e. m . u measured by the space a l l ott ed to it, it so happens, the c l rcu m

p rim it i ve economy. Is i t 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 o s t re c e n t , a n d m os t s c ru p u l o u s.

re sea rch i n econo m i c an th rop o l o gy shows that the economy of the S av age s, o f s o c i e ty' s miltl.:Tial n eeds , at t h e prict' of it l i m i ted p e ri od o f productive
mini1tion of i ts n('('ds, possesses a m a ch i n e of p rod u ct ion capable of s i1 tis f y

t' re l a t i o n sh i p betwccn Wi1r a nd 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 :

. 1 nrcS. that the general tl1('ory of sO('iety rlaboratcd by LVI-Strauss nilrw l y d e pe nds o n his conception o f violence: structurali'it cil'i(,OUT"t' itself is <;l;tkc, I.t,t us, then, e x ami n e il.
levi-Strauss considers lh(" question of war in on ly one tcxt. a n i"l lyz i n g

Un?('.T

or t h e Domestic Mod(" of Production, in fan :J.llows for Iht' tota l sllisfaction

th('mse]v{'s in tht anempt (Q survivc, primitive sociery. selcC'tive in tht' detcr

ac t iv ity at a low intensity. In other words. fi1 r from constantly exhausting

rous pop u l t i on s f \mong t il e Nnmbikwara, a s n o doubt a m o n g I h e n u . t'-Columbian A m eri c a . war and c o m m crre .Ire i1CtlVltICS th at are I m po ss l Jl1lic t'xchanges d o nOl mc re l y eonstitute two types of ('oexistent re Jil ti 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. t h n ,. a c cord i n g 1 0 e to study in i sol at i o n " [po 1 3 6). And i1 gi1 i n : "... martial co n fl i ct:'> ;Ind e('o

OJ

to 11is needs. T h i s is why Sah l i ns was able to speak of the primitive soCicty as
food nl'cessary to a c o m m un ity ;lnd on the t i m e devot('d to procuri n g it imli sedentary fi1rmer$, art'. in reali ty . i n l i gh t of th e small alllount of time devot ('i1te that primitive soci('ties, whether it be a question of nomi1d hunters or

ing them, and functions in fact i1 cco nl i n g to t he principle: to ea ch according

, :vi-St rauss. t h i n k of war in and o f itself; i t d oes not possess ItS ow n s p eCl
city, a n d this Iyp c of acti vi ty, far from r("quiring a p a rt i cul a r {'xaminiltion,
,p the soci al who](...

the I1rst affl uent society, Sahlins' and Lizot's an ;l l ys es on the quantity of

ed to p rod uct i o n , veritabJr It'iSllre societies. The work of Sa h l i n s a n d L h at o f

ancient t rav e l e rs a nd c h ro n i c 1 e rs .G

Lizot thus mesh wilh <lnd confIrm t h e ethnogTi1phiC male rial furnished b y the The economist discourse. i n i ts pop u l ar, scho l a rly or Marxist varimions.

.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 s o ci ol o g i ra l order, no o n e, of course, would contest L w i t h the excepti on , howevcr, of l ero i - G o u rh a n , who merges warlike

;: not an aU ion om O lls sphere: it o n ly takes on meaning i n rel at i o n [0 t h e

ln, in fact . only be u n d crst ood i n "the co n text of other el em e n ts m a k m g

(p. 1 J8J. I n oth e r words, violen('c, i n primitive so('it:ty,

cncral network of tribi11 rc l a l i o n s ; violence is o n ly a p arti c ul ar case o f t h i s

d i ffl c u l t to un d erst a nd where the Si1vagrs, e n gaged full timc i n the ex haust

explains war as tribrs competing to obtain scar("t' goods. It w ou l d al ready be n a i ns t t h e i r n e i gl1bors. B u t cu rrc n t resean:h shows that the primitive ('('ono i n g q u t'st fOT food, would find t h e extra ti m e a n d e n e r gy to wilge WelT

activity into t h e b i o l ogi cal order. Ce rta i nl y. ll'v i - Stra uss doe s n ot l i m it h i m . . self to these vague generalities: h{' furnish es , o n the c on tra ry, a precIse tdea on t h e mode of op era t i o n of p ri m i t i ve society, Amerinoian, in an y ('i1SC. Th e ., Natur:J1 rat:Jslrophes (droughts, noods, t'<lrthqllk('s, the disapprar;llIce of an a ll i m:J 1 spedes. Nc.l can p rovok e a local sC:Jrcity of rcsources. Still, this would haw to l<1st a rath{'T long time- 10 lead to conflict. Anothtr type of sittl<ll1on could, it seems, con fron t a socIety w it h rinilY, wilhout nature bri n g resPoHsiIJI.t': d ocs lhe conjunction of a n ahs ol utely dosed space an d all :JbsoLutely opcn (tha t IS. groWlll gJ
Cf. Lev i-Str:Juss. Guerre et commerce chez les l n d i e ns de l'Amerique <lu Sud:

a.bundance pr('(" i wl y p ro h i b i ts l i n k i n g it to the u n ivt: rsa l i ty of Wilr. Why i1rc 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 the tribes ;It war? I\t l ra st we already know what th e ma te ri a l i st a nsw e r is

tivr w a r sets ils s up port i n g ar g u mC' n l s i n k . Th e u n i v e ra l i ty of primitive

Il'nce. then. is nOI l i n ked to poverty, and the economist explaniltion of primi

my is, on thc contr<lry, an economy of ab un cli1 n ('l;' ;tnd not of SCilrciry: V JQ

demography co ncca l Ill(' risk of a social p'lthology horde-ring o n war? ThiS is Hot ob v ious . but it is IIJl \0 t he specinlisls of Polynesia or t... 1cI;lllesia (lsl:Jnds. Ihat IS. dOt'd sp(lces) to (lllsw('r,
Renaissance, vol . I. New York, 1')4).
H

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A R C H f O I O ' Y

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since it dr.t'rmines the nature and significance of violence a n d of war. Wh a

ioentl riration of this mode of operation assumes the highest importance

does Levi-Strauss find i n the rdationship between war and society? The resolv('d. and wars are the outcome of unfortunate transactions" (p. 1 3 6).

answer is cleM: " Commercial C'xchanges represent potential w a rs peacefully Thus, not only does war i nscribe itself in the field of the soriological. but it sociery: the rtlations between communities (whether tribes. bands or local these cOlllmneial l ' nteq.Jrises, thC'rc will be peace or war between the tribes. Not only arC' war and comlllerce to be thought of in continu ity. but it is commerce Ihat holds sociological priority over war, a somewhat o ntological add, fl l1 al ly. that far from being new, the idea of a conj unction hetween war priority In that it takes place at the very heart of the social being. Lct us receives its ultimate meaning from the particular fu n ct i o ni ng of primitive

groups) are first commercial. a n d depending on the sucees" or failure of

and com merce is i n fact an ethnological banality, on the same level as the idea of scarcity i n the primitive economy. Thus the intrinsic relationship illternative to war, and the l1l<lnner in which it is conducted shows that it is But. one might ohject, the ltxt in question is minor and docs not in any way compromise the grneral theory of the social be-ing such as Levi-Strauss has dev('loped it i n more comprehensive works. Such is not the case. In fact. the theoretir<ll conclusions of lhis supposedly m i n o r texI arc i n tegrally repeated in Levi-Strauss's gn'at sociological work. [/('mell/aT), Slructurcs oj Kimliip, at the end of one of tile m05t importar.t chapters. 'The Principle of provision of reciprocal p rest a tio ns : eXChanges are pC'acefully resolved wars, and wars are the result of unsuccessful transaclions."'9 However, on the same Reciprocity": " There is a link, a continuity, between hostile relations and the Strauss, by Davie, for example : " I n primitive r;"lses, c om merc btwe('n war and commerce is assened. i n exactly the same terms as lev i

' to so\ ICll IS IH'rfectly capitble of satisrying all its needs WIthout hilvlllg lICh WI . l ' ncr of other>' I (I nd toO IsI, wt: arc . . we produce all that we need ItoO( 1e a-;sl'> " tI 'C 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 omd {,,, I . 'es demand 11 . the" Savages ran plish('ci ('verywhr:rC': but <;hould cin:umstam

'd CilI af economIc aUlarky withdr<lwal inlo itself. and the I the comm u nity'S . ideal of polnkal independcllre. In . I the decl( IIlg to depen d anolht'f: I concea . ' . . . ty l commull 1VI 1 1 il ge, pnmltlve the productIOn. consumer its for "If . only on ItS . . . . . . . 1 t IS s r g lghbofl ' { ng relations C'conomlc fur tH'C'd no \l(l" band. etc.) . . . . rise Inlernallonal rl 'l;1tlons III. the pnmltlvt." SO(\ely, ' t rrivl'S /;> not rweeI t in

. :lnthropology. I f the l a l n w Ity. i n a {Iuirk dt'IOUr through el"onomic to ex p . . I ance, I Himilive societic<; develops ilgalOsl a backdrop 0 f ;J JUn< or I I maten aI nr . . I all )y IS al<;o characterize . d I dcal 01 c Mode or ProductIon r . thc D o m t ' . l'I)OlI1lUnilY aplres 10 produce all that IS n eces"", y . or Its each . 1I11/(/rk ,. nwmilt."rs, Sllbsi"tenc{', In othn words, Ihe primitive economy tends toward

'

S(

to

ltll

i5 oft('n an

a modif1('iHion of war" (op. cit., p. 302),

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 !
t h i n g about primitive wilr. one- must avoid articulating a commcrce {hat

huaSl of doing without others. This is why the Domestic Mode of Production excluc es

fro m rept'at i n g what he wrot in " Wilr and Commerce.

fo u n derstilnfl any

docs not exist.

the intrrpretalion or war stems from tile e.rc/J(JIIgist COII('C'/HIO/! o f SOClt'

Strauss take" care (0 indicate his ;1handonment of the referrncr to COIll merce: It is a mattrr, thu", of reciprocal goods, and not of commercial oper ations.'" Let us examine this more closely. Levi-Strauss' firm distinction between the reciprocal gift and the com mercial operation is :lhsolutely legitimate. Still, it would not bC' superfluous
<J Slfllc/lIl"eS [llIlell/aires rle la parcl1Tt, p. 66 of (ht firsl t."dilioll (PUF. (949) o r p. . 18 of th(' secolld cdi t i o ll (I()IItOJl, (967). Ifhe ElrlJ1cllt(lt\, Structures o j KlIlship.

ed . Describing the exchange of gifts between foreign I n d i a n groups, Levi

page, the id ea or commerce is explicitly (and wilhout explanation) e l i m i n at

sian o f the Levi-Straussi<"!n theory of violence w<"!s t n rgetcd n<; the potential

Ih{'r is a continuity between war ("'the result of unuccC'ssrul tranS<1Cl lons ) and exchange ("peacefully resolved wars"). But, just as w a r i n the first v r

rhus, it is 110 longer rOll1mcrce that givt's meaning to W<1;1", it is excha ge:

?: :

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, the non-rf'alization of this being w lch 1" iI . f o 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

no n-success of comll1{"fce, i n thl' exchangist theo!)' w(' se-r nn equivaltnt pri

hut

b \llg

txchangt' is the- very e'>Sl'nce of primilive society. Accordi n g t o this eonr('p sury i n rrliltion to the principal. tile accident in relalion TO the subst;tnce. only rl..' p rcscl'lt the n o n e<;sence, the non-being of 111e society. 1 1 I S the ,HTl'S lion, war. a<; a skidding, a rupture of the ll10vement toward exchange, could

John Richart!

Boston, 8e;ICOIl Press. 1969. [diled by Rodney Nt't'dham, trans. by James Harle Bell,

\"On

Srurll1er, and Rodney

I 5 0

Needham.]

What the primitive soci(,ty wants is exchangc: such is its sociolokal dCSIrl', whkh lend" ronstantly lO\'I;trd reali7ing Itself. and i n rilct, almost alw ay,>

rea!iL('s it"rlf. l' xcC'pt in the rase of all <l("rident. Then Violence ;tnd war ari"t.

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as d(>voi d of positi v ity. war loses all institu tional dimen sion: it does not b e l o n g to the being of primit ive society. it is only a n accide ntal. uncer tain, un('ss ential charactt'ristic of it ; primit ivt' society is thinka ble witho ut war. Th is exchan gist discou rse on p ri mi t i ve war. a discou rse inhere nt in the gen eral theory that Levi-Strauss drvl'lops on primit ive society. docs not ta ke into account the et h nogrilp h k given: the <Iuasi- univer sality of the pheno menon of war. whalevt'r the socieriC's under (onsid eratio n. their natura l enviro nment or their sO<.:ioe conom i(' mode of organ ization ; the intens ity. natura lly vari able. of wa!lik (' a(tivlly. Thus. in a w ay . the ex('ha ngist conct 'ption and its object fall outsid e of ont' <lOoth er; primit ivr reality ext en ds h ey ond Lcvi Straus s' discou rse. Not becau se of the <lu th or' s neglig ence or ignora nce. but bt'c(l use taking wilr into a ccou n t is incom pillible with h i s <lnalys is of society. an an alysis lh<lt can only suPP O rt itself by exclud ing tht' sociol ogical func tion of WilT in primit ive s ociety. Is th is 10 say t h at one must. in order to respec t primit ive reality i n all its dimensions. aband on the idea of society 35 a p l ace of excha nge? Not at all. I t is n o t . i n effecl, a n alrern <ltive : either excha nge o r violen ce. I t i s n o t excha nge i n a n d of itself that is contradictor y to war, but t h e d i scourse that re lu s the o c i l Il l' j n g of p r i m i t i v e sociC' ty exclu sively to eXCha nge. Pnml tlve sooery I S <l sp<lce of t'xchallge, and i t is also il plilce of violen ce: war, o n the snme levl'1 as exchr lnge. bel on gs to tht' p rim i t ive social being . OH I , . c a n n ot . n d t h i s is what must be establ ished, tllink of primit ive sockty . Witho ut t h i n ki n g. at the same timC', of war. for Hobbe s, primit ive society was war of each again st each. Ltvi-S rrauss point of view is symm etrica l a n d inverse to that o f Hobh es: primi tive so('iet y is the excha nge of each with rach, l Iohbes left out exchange. Levi-Strauss leav('s out war. But. on the other hand, is it simpl y a matte r of juxta posin g the disco urse on exch<lnge and the discourse on war? Does reest ablish ing Wilr as an essen tial dimen sion of primi tive socit'ty le<lve intact tht' ideil of exchange as the esst'nce of the socia l? It is obv i ous ly impos sible: to be mista ken on w a r is to be m i st ake n on society. To wh<lt is LeviStra uss ' error due? To a confusion of the socio logiC'al levels on which warll ke activi ty and excha nge fu ncti on r<:spc t vely. By w ishi n g to situat e them on the same level. one is fatally If'd o :lInli nate one o r the other. t o d{'form primi tive socia l reality by mutil ilting n. EXCh ange and war arc obviously to be thought of. not in terms of a conti nuilY that would altow gradually passi ng from one to the Dlher. but i n terms of a radica l disco n t i nu i ty that a l o n e manif ests the truth of primi tive society. . rhe {'xtre me sep;m entilt ion (hm chara ct e r i z e s primi tive socie ty every w h e n..' would be th e causr. it h<ls often been writte n. of t h e frequ ency of

of Ihe pheno m('non of war. By giving priority to excha nge and viewi ng war

The logic' of tht' excha ngisl conce ption leads thus 10 a quasi -disso lution

. SC'01rcity of resources would lead to vital competition. type of society. , IhlS . 10 , r whIch would produce war. Now. I of groups, isoliltion to Id lead . wh J("h wou . 1 . I f . mu e h t SOCIOPO 0 Iclly lip betwel'n rel;ltionship profound . ndeed il . there IS I In k 1 )y reversing . I , undel"it:lnd tillS :lnd v io l e n cr one can only te I en ll war is at once the C'au e o i"I n d t e mea ls to a sou hteffrct. but the goa!: . . (>gmentation of primitive soci ety. In Its hl'lng. pnmthe . end nd ffoct " ' after ell ... . . . dispersion; this wish for frag:mematlon belongs to the love socitty wants Izatlon In an d by lIe 1 r('a I hich institutes itself a s h . eing social primit ive . the me a ns o a m n war p llve words, other In IS will. al l of thiS sociologll: polit i c(l] end. To ask onestl f. CO Se{IUently. why the Silva ges wilge war IS to . probe the very being of t h r l r socIety.
r effect of segI u ,I order of their prese n tat i o n : 11 IS not war th;]t ls t h the ha b, . tion that is the effect of war. I t IS no t only tht' to i O n . ,t is 'se<1menta mc n tat .
,

lC':l1 1it.

"

t i a l prope rtie s of this type o f social fo rmati o n . which finds i t s concn:te re a l Iy in the p rimi t i vc commun ity. The latter is made up of iln ('nsemble of I. nd

Each piHticular p ri m i t i ve socicty eq u al l y and w h ol l y expresses tht' (ssen

viduals. each of whom recognizes a n d c l a i m s h i s a p p u r t e n a n c(' to tIllS

ensemble. Togethrr the community gathers and goes bey o n d the divers(> units that C'onstitute it. most often in('Tibed along the axis of kinship. by i ntegrat i n g them into a whole: elctnentary and rxtended familirs. lineages. clans. moieties. rtc., but illso. for eXi\mp\(', m i l itary societies. cere m o n i a l brotherhoods, il ge groups. etc. The community i s thus more than t h e SU llI of
its gro ups. and this I.'st:lblishcs it ilS
(I

poli ticill unity. The pol i t icl 1 unity of

lhe nlles of postm<lrital residenc!'. a n individual can n at ural ly he hrought to

belong to the same community live together in the S<ltne- place . Accord i n g to

t he community is inc ri bed in the spatial unilY of the habitat: the people who

leave his community of origin i n order to join that of his spouse: but the new residence does nor abolish the old appurtenance. and prim i tive socit'til's. moreover. invent n u merous ways to overturn the rules of resiilt'nC'c i f they are t hou gh t 10 be too p :l i n ful.
The primitivl' commun ity is thus
a

10Cill group. This determin<'ltioll t ran

sCt'nds t he economiC variety of mo dr s of production. si n c e it is i n d i ffere n t

to t h e fixed o r mobile character of t h e hillJi till. A locill group ll1<ly be made hUntl'rs <lnd collectors, <lS m u c h

up of n{)madic h u n te rs ;IS well as st'denwry f<l TlllerS; a w<ln(\ni ng b<llld of

sOciologic<l1 p ro p e rt ies of the primitive communilY. The l atter. <lS pOlilic-al

<lS

a st;lblc village of gardtners, posses" the

unity. not only inscribes itself in the homogeneous space of its habitat. but ext('nds its cOlllro1. il coding. i ts Ie-rrilorial right. It is ohvious i n the- cast' of h u n ters; i t is also true of farmers who still maintain, beyond their pl;lnta lion s. il wild space where they Ciln hunt ilnd pick useful plants: simply. the t e rrit o ry of a b,md of hunters is l i ke ly to Ill' 1110r(;' vast th a n that of a vill:!!:!,"c
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What of the bring of primit ive sm:il'ty. illolit r as it is f(;lIizcd. i<ienttc <ll, i n the i n flllire snies of comm unit ies, hands , vill'lge s. or local groups? The answe r IS pres{'nt in all ethno graph ic literat ure s i n n' t h e West has (aken in ten... t in the Savtlg t' world . Prim itive society has alway s been co n sid ered a p l a ( e o f abSOlu te dirferencr in relatio n to we... tern socielY. a strang e (llld un(hinkabll' , ' pace of a.bsellcc <tlJt' ncc of ;tIl that const itutes the obsrrv crs' sOI'lOc uItUr,ll un ivl'r"e: a wo rl d without hierarchy, IH!opk who ohey no one, a oci('ty i n di lTl' re n t to th po<;e,>sioll of v e-al lh. chitf!> who do nOt comm and. cultures witho ut mor,ll s for they ;'Irt' Ulltlw are of s i n , classless societies, soci c!irs W i th ou t a Slale. ele. I n shon. what the writings of (l n cie n t trave lers or mode rn scholar constantly ( ry Ollt and yet l1e vl'( m a n a g e to <;<lY j<; t h a t pnmit ive society i. in its being, undivided. I'rimi tiVl' sotirlY is u na w , lTe of - becau se it prevt'tIls the tlppCilrance- of - fhe d ifferen c(' hetwl'en rich a n d poor, lht' 0ppo Hion belwe ("n explo iters and Ihc ex pl u ited . the domi natio n of (he chief ovn sodety. The Domrslic Mode of Produ ction. which ;) Sures ! h l: e('onU IllIC a u tark y of til" l'omm unity as such. ,11'>0 al l (l w s for the a ut onomy of ki ns h i p group s whirh comp ose thr "'() c lt ll l'nstll lhk, and even tht i nd e p e llde n ce of i n d ividua ls. O U b id t, of gl'n <!t'r-r elillrd dlVi"I OIl, then : i .... in dTnl. no divi"i oll of l a bor i n primi tivr s oci

of fa r mers , 'llH' local ilY of Iht: l o c a l group b thu::. its tcrrllOry, as (I nat ural reserve of materi, ll resources. c e n a inl y, but ('s pe c i,dl y as all l' x cl usiv l' space for the eXerci'il' of comm unity nghb. The exd us iviry in the us of the terri tory i m p l il's a mOv tll1 e ll ( of t' x c l u s i o l l , a n d 110rt' the proper ly politic al dlrntn sion of pnmiti ve sodt't} iiS ,I commu nJly Includ ing US csetH iaJ reJa tlonsh lp to the territory de-,Irly apptaf).: the cxi..ll'llCC of the Other is imme di<ltl'ly posited i n the act th at txd utks h im ; it is a gai n s t the o t h e r commu n i t k s that ed c h sockty asserts ils exdusiv e rig h t to a dctnm ined territory ; the pojiuca l rt'lation ship w i t h n e ighbori ng: groups is im rtl e d i a t t:l y eSlab lhhed. A re l a ti o n s h i p that I n s t i t u tes itsdf in t hl' polit icill ordtr a n d n o t i n the cconom ical ornrr. let us m,t 1 I ; th( domest ic mode of produc tion b e i n g ' Wh,H it i s . n o local group h a s ,Iny nee-d. i n IJfin d p l e . i O e n c roach u p o n ncighbo rs ' lI:rritory fur provi ... i on " . COl1tro l of the territo ry allows the comm unity to re a li Lc its auta rkic ideal by guarantl'dng it s(,] fsuff1cit'ncy in nsour (rs: thus. it does nol de p l' n d 011 anyOlll'; I I is i n depl'n dcnl. O n e would <lssum . a l l thing" being equal for all local groups. il genera l abscnc T of violtn ce: i t could only arisr i n r<lre cases of territorial violati on: it would only be defens ive, and Illu n eve r produce ibelf, e ac h group r elyi n g on its own tcrrito ry which it hilS no (('ason to l l:JV('. Now. <I ... we k n o w , w a r is w id <: qH (' a d a n d vny o ft t Jl offensive. ' Territo rial tkfrnsr. thus, i... n o t thl' cause' 01 war: t h e r('I;ltio nship hetw('('n w , n and socicty has Yl'l to hc illumin ;ttl.'u.

u al is polyvalent in a way; men k n o w how to do eVl'rything . e(lCIl 'In divid . try' how to do. women k n o w how to do everything won1l'n know ld nH: n shou how lO do. No individual is less knowledgahlc or less capable; ShOll Id k n ow . . 01 anot h er more t<li rnled or 'dual nn fa ll victim to the e nterpnses no illd'IV I . ' . of lhe victim would soon dIscourage the vocallon of < r('latives . tilt' bet te r-o ff' ' 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
,

M oreovrr. the ,Iclivity o f ;lccumulation

l l 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 .

d. woul 1 s u 1l a d t: S l f {' a p p e a 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 ('s Product ive <lctivi!y is exactly measurrd by tht: s;ltlsfacuo of needs a n d . . surplus production is perfectly pOSSIble that: III the pnnu tlve hl'yond ero t n O t>

n:

Sav <l ",(' S worn o r broken. have notl'd t h e- abs('ncr among tlwlll 0 r al I '," ra I)fl " t"d on ((' . .

sweat of his hrow,

<;oriologk(llly impossible. Let us im ag i n e . nevertheless, that d es piu' the SOli4

only be, in this type of s ociety. a st rict ly individual en 1tTjJrise: the l'n trcp re . . . nt'ur could only count on h is own strengths, the explanation of otlwrs beIng

( produci n g

a us eless surplus) could

tude of his effort, the S;lV<lgl.' entreprt>neur m;ln<'lges to constitute. by thr

a stock of resources which , let us recall. he would not know what to do w i th sincr it is alre;ldy a mattcr of a sUTj)lus. that is. goods

tl1,n arc unnecesstlry in t h at they no longer h<lve anything to do with the satisf<lC'tion or needs. Wh a t will happen? Simply. th e 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 e ig h bo rs' hands or stom <l chs The rea l i zat i on of the desi rt' of accu mulation would reduce [tStlf thus at o n c e to
.

tI

pure ]Jhenomenoll of s('lf

l'xploit<llion of t h e individual by hi ms el f, and the e x p l o i tatio n of lhr rich '>e lves to this fol l y ; primitive society functions i n su c h m a n by t he community. The Savagrs <Ire wiSt enough not to ;]balldon them

way that incquality,

exploitation. division are impossible there.

At its actual level of existt'nc(' - the local group - pnmitivt' sOC'i('ty pre4 SCIllS two essential sociologiral proptrt ies thar t ou ch upon its very beIng, the social being thtlt dete rmi n es the reason for being (ll1d the p ri n c i p l e of t h e Its">ly atttJltiv(' to prestrv i n g its autonomy, a socie-ry in (he full sen sl' of tile inll'lligibility of war. The p ri m i t i v e community is ilt on(e a totality :-I nd il u n i t y. A tot;t l ily in t h at it is a compiC'I(,. autonomous, whoh: cnsemble. n';!sr

i()n, to e-xclude in equality. lO forbid alienation, Primiltvc socicty is a singlt' t otality in t hlt .: tile p ri nc i p l e of its unity is not exterior to it: it dol'S not allow dlly eon fIguration of One to dl'lach itstlf from thl' social body in ord('r to rtp
.

word. A unity in that its homogeneous being continues 10 refuse sodal divi

I \ 4

'>Ion IS fundamcllt<llly polilical: if lhe sav;lj:!;e chil'f i" pow erl e"", it is beca.ut'

rcs e nt it. in order to e m body it as u n ity This is why th e criterion of n0I1diyi4

I \ \

l H f

& R C H f O I O G Y

o r

V l O L f l H f

l H f

A R C H E O L O G Y

O f

V I O L f N C !

s(lci("ty r("m;J in undivided, ;Jod the [ext of lilw thaI no oni.,' hit!'> established, for

desire or the statement of his priv;1te law, but only th(" sociological desire that i t has n o t h i n g t o do w i t h

nOt accept power sl'p arat ed from irs bein, division cstablished 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
society does between those

aggrcSSIO
arll1l'

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 territor bl 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 as absolute dim'rrncc, as irrt:duciblc frcedom, as ,) body possessing t he 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 r it o ry, a St'rit'S of nco - mo n a ds t'ach of
itsd f will to is undivided,

possi il ity of w,)r is i,n s c r ib ed i n h(' being of will of e8ch community to assert Its <ilffrTence the dct'd, n l HIIl11tlVr society, , . I th e soug h tthe that so fh { , least inndent qUickly tTa nsfarms stro ng: cn o u o . e assume " f h t d ternt0l)', Violation 0 The dispute, real . differen ce into <I afta n t' ighb o rs ' shaman: this is all that is required for wa r to ' n o f the . , , " the POS II)1 1 ny a f IO 1l"nc a l d breOlk out. to. fragilr equ!llb um, , as a resull. , , _ d co nflict is illl i m med mtC' gIven, But could one l agtnC thIS posslbl11ty
.

One po i n t
. .

is clear: the

IS
_

discover that this i<; impossible for several reasons, First of all. be( tUse of , s pa t i il l d is p r rsio n , P r i m i t ive c o m m u n ities m a i n ta i n ;1 c e rt a lll d I s t a n c e

Strauss' view poin t imp lks? " . . Tilkf' for instance th(' hypothesis of generaltzt'd fnendshlp, We qutckly

t ead of war of ( " I C h a galrl s each, as never Ill'ing Tl'<lli7l'd and i n s . t rary, exch<lnge ot each W i t h (' a c h , :IS Lcvln o c e h t on haVIng, tho ug ht ,

Hobb S

nilies or bands. a panirular commu nity or band posits itself and thinks of

munity tht' image of its uniry and lotal iry, Faced wilh neighboring commu

between each other, both l i te ra l ly a n d fIguratively: betw ee n each h a n d o r village t h ere arc their respectivl' t'rritories, allowing ea h gru p ,to keep ,its di ,t an re. Friend:-.hip dot'S not adapt well to dist an c e . [t IS m,lIntalllcd eaSily with nearby neighbors who can be invited to partie, from whom one can
Tl'lation:-.

. aerept invitation, whom ont C<ln visit. With dislant groups, these tyP(' ot

very

which, i n the face of oll1('rs, ilSSt'rts its differcnn. Earh commun ity. in that il

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
totality in the t(I U<l1 The glob'll syslt'm seems

can

think of itself as a We. This We in turn I h i n ks of itstlf as a

('xch<lng(' only develop belw('('n groups close to one anothtr; distant groups

cannot be established, A p ri mit iv e community is loat h e to trav d far or stay away for long from its own, familiar tl'rrirory: as soon as thcy are no longer "at home," the Savages experience, ri ghtly or wrongly b u t most oft('n rightly, a strong feeling: of distrust a n d fear, Am iabl(' relations of are excluded:
nicy's they

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
do it,,{'if [a olhers i n the t'xtreme i n tl..' nsilY of till' violence o f war. H o w then

can be thought of as purely Sliltir, as lot ally inert, as void of movement.

primitiv(' monad, far from r e m a i n l l1 g closed upon itself, aelu;!lly opens

w i t h all contradicts each ro m m u mai n t a i n and deploy its being as singl(' tot;ll ity, th;-;t i, ils irreducible d i fference i n relation to all other groups, induding neighbors. friends and allies, Th(' l ogi c of primitive society, which is a logic of difference, would contradict the logic of generalizeu exchange, which is a logic of idt'ntity, because i t is a logic of idf'ntiflration, Now, it is th is, " b ov," a ll . th at p ri m it i ve society re fus es: identifying w i t h others, losing thilt which constitutes it <lS surh, losing its vel)' being and its di ffe n.: n C'e , los i n p; til{' abi l i ty to t h i n k of itself as a n autonomous We, I n the idelltit"!l' ation of a l l with all. which gener,llizcd ('xchange and friendship of ,Ill with a l l
Rut the h yp ot h es i s of frit'ndship of all

are, <It

best. Foreign ers. desirt' to

p ro foun d, ('senti,ll

would ('Iltail. (';'Ieh communiry would lose i t s imlividualiry. The exch;'!nge o f

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 b l 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?
\

"h(' l og i c of idtnticalness would g i v(' W<lY t o a son of equa\i7in (iiscourse,

th e molto of friendship

all with a l l would he the drsl ru('tion o f primitive society: idl.'ntifl('!ion i s a mOVement to w <l rd death, tile p rinm ivc social being is an afflfln at i on of l i re ,

tht' di fferenc e unique to t'<lrh

eallon of t h e multiplicity of p;1rtial We 's into a lllcta-Wt, th(' elimination of

of all w i t h

a l l be i n g :

Wt' are

<Ill

the same! The un i fl

:!utonomous co m mu n i ty
I \ 7

would abolish thc dis-

I H !

A R C H ! O L (l G Y

(l l

Y I (l L f H ( !

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A U li f O L O G Y

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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

the l ene ra l waT e l 1 m1l1a(('<; t'xl"h;"lnge. sor1cty. l nat e'i primit ive . . exchange and soc1al Ill'lng, thus. Sl lllultilllCOlISly m'eels resu It ' The I)rinliuve . . WilT, in order to he 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{'nth. ('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 cat' 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('wtd. 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 entcrpr ise, 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!.':
p('I"!'peclive,

g('nerali.'N:1 ex {hange t'limill trs W;IT. hUl al thl" sa n(' timc t'limi . With same

I 5 9

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6 R l H t U l U b Y

U f

Y I O L f t H f

I H !

6 H H f O I 0 l1 Y

V I O t f N ( !

war ,IS tin i nst it ut i on determines tI!liilnce as a tact i c. Th(' strCHegy i s the s a me
thtmst:lves as what they ilre, undivided We 's .

for a l l communities: to prrseven.: in t h e i r ilU(Un0!l10US being. to co n serve

We have a l ready observed that through the will faT political ind('pen

wO

denc(' and exclusive comrol of its territory manifested by each commun ity. now that s eek i ng a n .1lliilnce d ep e n ds on aetu<l 1 w<l r: there is a s o c io l o gi cal and war e me rgr<;. I ndeed. where arr relations of exchange rst;lblished. which

the possi h i l i ty of war is i mmed i a tely inscribed i n the fu m :tio n i n g of these socit:ties: primitive society is a 10(,U5 of a permanent SHItt: of war. We see
priority of w <l r over alliancc. Here, the true re l ati o n s h i p between ('xchange

mt n is the co n cl u s i o n of an " u n i n t e rru pt cd process of rcC'iprocal gi ft s ." I n . t . when two grou ps e n l n l I to re l il t i o n s . they do not at all seek to rea l i y (' <1 o ge w o me : w h< t tl ey want 15 a p o 1 i licomi!itary al l i a n c . and t{' bt:"st xc h I ,S o f reaching th IS IS to ex ch a n L1(' women. Th is is why If the hel d of 0 . . nle.. O . t m o n i a l exchange IS I n deed more restricted than the field of political n, , a ri . cr, it ca n n ot In a n y case surP ass it: alliance at once permits exchange

' l Iian t" it, i t is its l i m i t . eXCha n ge n eve r goes beyond ilJli<lnre. n d int rrupts Lev i-Straus<; co n fuses th e e nd W i th t h e me<lns. A con fus i o n (f!used by h is e l'onre p t i o n of exc h il n gr. w h ic h SitU;l ltS o n t h t sanll' It:v e l txdwnge as a

;:

v ry

sociopolitical units assume a principle of re(.'iprocity? Thesc ilrc prtcisely the the sphere of e xc h <l n gt" is t h a t of a ll i<'l n c c. This docs not mean, of course, groups impl iciltt:d in the networks o f alliance: rxehange panncrs art: a l l i es, that were it n o t for Cllli<ln c('. there would no l o n ge r be exch;l!lg(': e x(' h ,lI l gc

of h u m a n s oc i e ty p ro h i b i t i o n of i n c(,st. e x o g a m y ) a n d fo u n d i n g <In c x ch a nge as a co n seq un cc a nd m ea ns o f political a l l i a n cc (the best all ies. or are rtl iH i ves) . In t h e end, the point of vic'W t h a t SUI)ponS the th t:: l e<1s t bad. t heory of e x (h a n ge is th at primitive society Wilnts e x ch an ge , Str<lussian ,c vi l

\trictly i n t ra co mm u n <l l .

co m m u n i ty ill t h e hean of w h i ch it n eve r ceases to operiltc; it would be

Thus. o n l' e x c h a n ges w i t h ,lilies: there is exchange. be(';luse there i s

would simply flrld i tsl' l f c i r(umscribed within the space o f th e a uto no mo us

that it is a \ociety- forexch .:l nge. th a t the more exch <lnge there is. the bet te r it works. Now. we h<1v e se c n as much o n <lll economical level (the aut<lrkic ideal ) CiS o n a p o l i t ical lev('1 ( will fo r i n d ep e n de n ce) . that primitive society constantly dev rlops a s t rategy deSt i n ed to rcduce the need for l'xchangc <15 mu<:h as posslblt:: t his is n ot at al l it sorielY for ('xC'hangC'. bUt ralhrr a c;oci
try against ('xci1 ange . A nd this app ears w i th th e g re at est d<1rity preC'isely at the junC'wre be tween the exchange of w o m en and violence. We know that

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' r i ta b l e eco n o m i c si g n i fi ca n ce , Irt us repeat), and ('special
Iy the exchange of women. As Lc:-viStrauss 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 i p roc a l g i ft s..... (p. e xch a nge. which affects not only goods Clnd scrvicts but m .: mi m <l n i a l rela

79) . In

s ho rt. the reality of alliance e T a bl ish es the possibility for complete

one of the gO <1 l s of war as sC'rt ed nl0st insistclll ly by <111 primit ive soei(tirs is t h t caplUre of women: on c attacks enemies in order to s e i ze their women. I t matters little w heth e r th e reas o n i n vo ked is a rt"a l cause or a simp\t pre te xt

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 um n n ity, that is, its non<ln im<1lity; it s i gn i fI es ie e xc ha n gr of women founJs sodery as such in the prohibition of i n ct"sr.

ror hostility. liere. war clearly ma n i re sts primitivE' society's proround TCpUg n Cl n ct" t ow a rd r(' (' n t r ri n g th e exch an g i st game: in tilt' exchange of wonwn. a

ttJrc: human sociely unfolds i n [he univnse of (he rule a n d nOI in that of

that h um ;'l n society docs n ot belong to the order of n <l t u r(' but to that of (ul nt't"d, in tilr worl J of the instit ution and nOI i n that or instinct. The exoga m

gro u p gClins women but l os es JUSt ils m any. w h i l e in the W il r for women, the vi('toriotJs group wins women w i th ou t los m g Cl ny. the risk is consicle r<lble

(injury. d e 'l I hl . but so are tht benefi ts : they are total. the women ;He free. Irnl'rest would thus al w ays commtlnd the p refere n ce of war to exchange: but

a n ot her level. I n t h e fr<1 n1t wo rk o f allianct', t h e exchange of w omc n assumes

a l l i a n n:" i n ordr to co n rro n t intvitable cnemiC's under tilt" b('l C'o n d i t io n s .

n r t w o r k of ili l i a n ces between d i ffc r e n t (om m u n i t ies, w h i c h u n fo l d s o n

as n o n <l n i m <'l l society, a n d not exch.:lngr as i n stituted in ti1t framcwork of a

But it is p rec i s r ly a matte r of cxchange i nsofa r CiS i l institutrs h u m a n society

th i s would be a si t u ; lI i on of war of a l l <lga i nst a l l , I hr i mpossi b i l i ty of w h i ch we h av e seen. W<'lT, thus. i n vo lves a ll ia nre ; il l l i ,ln re founds l'xchange. There

L'l rXclulIlge of womrn because on e cann ot do otherwise: si nr r o n l' has cn r

mies. onc must procure .:l l \ies a n d att emp t to t r<1 ns fo r m them into brothers i n l aw. I n v e rsely. w he n for o n l' reaso n or a n o t h n (imlial<1 nrl' of th(' <;rx r<1tio

a clear politi('al signific<lnce: tht: e st a b l i 5h mt' n t of matrimonial Telations

betwC'cn different groups is a way o f concluding ilnd re i n fo r C i n g politi(,<11

tn fav o r of men, extension of POlygy ny. t"tc) til l' g roup d cs i n:s 10 proc u rc 'iupplemrnrary wives. it w i l l aHe mpt to obt <l i n them through v i o l e n ce, T h rough war and not through rxchangt i n w hich they w o ul d win nothing:.
this society wholly t o exch a n ge , is m istakcn on two d is t i n ct but logir.:llly co n ne C'ted points. It is fIrst of all u nawa re _ o r refuses to ,Kk n ow h 'o ge that p r i m i t ive socielies. far fronl <1l w<1 s s r r k i ng t o e x t e n d their field of Y I 6 I

ttl' of fidelity to the il i l i a net'. Accord i n g to U v i S { ra uss , Iht' txeh;tnge o f

I 6 0
L

likr s ol i d ariry. though the links of k i ns h i p art i n no way a d e fl n i ti vr gu;lran

From allies wl10 a re <llso rclativs, o n e may hopr for mure C'Onst8.ncy in war

lrL us sum u p . Thr exchangist discoursr on p ri m itive sor iety. in reducing

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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 of its political being). [t is through war that one ('an understand exchange. course. as the unfol d i n g of the sociality of primitive society, as t h e free play

For this author. the implenwn ltllion of Ihl' principle of Ihus d isappear. . mu i n tht" search for alliance; the laller pcrmlls the transl<lted s . i "',IY . O ,pr . . , womt'n, and thC' exchange ends ]n the negatIOn of war. ThiS , 'han ge of fa t wo ld be <lbsolutely atisf ing, pro rriPI ion of the primitive soci<ll Its eX lst l' CC b ut also of Its u n l v c rs<llllY of know we not t'xist: vidiTlP; waf did . OPPOSltc dlscoursr: the state of war the re<llilY thus holds rhe ethnog raphic makrs t he search for all i<lnce necessary. which provokes the hetWeen groups women. The successful analysis of kinship systems or of mytho e)( cha n gr of with <I fa iled discourse on SOCIety. loical systt'ms thus co('xists
'

and not the reverse. War is not the accidental f a 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 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, co m m u n ity is not: whom will we trade with? buc how ciln we maintain our

political I'n e x a m i n a t i o n of elhnogral) h i c facts reveals the properly specificity zoological a o t neither related is It activity. warlik(' dinH'nsio n o f nor, finally. to a of humanity. nor to the vital competition of communities, violence. W<lr is of suppression the toware! C'onSl<1nt mv('nlel1t o f ('xC'hange

sp{'cifkilY displayed by each group, is present ahl"ad of time as a possibility in the pnmitive social being. For all loc<l1 groups. all Others are Foreigners:

linked to p ri m it i v 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

because war t he re prevents exchangr. understood not o n l y

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 Lvi

;'IS

exchange of

the figure of the Foreigner confirms. for evcry given group. thc conviC[ion of its (dt'nlity as an autonomous Wt:. Th:lI is, the sta\{' of war is pt.:rm<'lncllI. since with fort:i gntrs there can only he hostile r('latlons. whether <lclu<llly implemcntcd in a re<ll war or no!. It is not the l i m itcd reality of armcd con tlin or comb:lt that is essential, but thl' permanence of its possibil ity, tht permanent state o f war that m<l i n l <l i n s all commun ities in thl'ir respec tiv e

di ffl'r{' ncl'. What is permanent. structural. is the state of '1, ;)r with Forei gnt'rs which sometimes culmi n;')!es. i n mtllt:r regular Intt'rvals. rather frequently d r p e n d i n g on thc soci ety. in a c t u a l battle, in direct confron t :l l i o n : the rorC'ignc-r is thus the Enemy. which engC'nders in turn the figure of lhl' Ally. time w<1ging war.

Ih(' price of a confusion betw('cn the founding exchange of human society in

Strauss' !ruth. for tht' latter. primitive soc'iety is a world of exchange: but at

general and {'xchange as a modr of relat ion between different group". And

The ')tate of war is pcrmanem. hut t ht' Stlvages do not neccsSilrily spcnd their W<lr, as e xte rnal policy of primitiv{' society, rt: J a t es 10 i t s Imernal Jloli l'y. to what on(' might call I l1 r inlT.ansigent consrrvatism o f t h i s society. ' x press ('d i n the i n cessant Trfertlle.... to t h e traditional sY5tem of n o r ms. to l

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. B ut 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

tht> a n c estr a l Law w h i c h must always be respected, w h i c h C C l n n o l be :l l l C Te-d. What is primitive society s(,cking to conserve w i t h its conser vatism? It is s('cking to conserve its very being; it wants t o pt'rsevcr(' in its

h(ing. BUI what is this being? It is an undivided being; the social body is

tht: m.1 i n te n a n cl' o f n o n - d i v i s i o n ; it serks to p reve n t t h e appl'tlranc<" of

homogeneous; the community i s a We. Primitive conscrv:l l i s m Ihus seeks t o prevent i n n ov;ltion in sot'iety: i t wants t h t r('spect of tilt' L;lW 10 assure
6 1

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[ H E

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V I O L E N { {

division i n socirry. This is primitive sociery's i ntt'rnal pol icy. as much o n levcl of powcr r!:'lations (thr chit'f is there not to command): t o conserve itself as an undivided Wt:. as a singll' totality.

the tconomic It:vrl (the impossibility o f aCl'umulating wealth) as o n the

But we sec cienrly that the will to persevert: in its undivided being equal ly a n i mates all Wes. all communities: each position of th(' Self implies oppo

h:lY e to Lte inv ent ed. Thus. the logic of primitiv(' socirty is a rt'ntrifugal logic. a logic of the ll1u[tipk. Th(' Savages want tht multiplication of rhe multiple. Now w h at is h the maj o r effe<.:t of t e d tvcl o p mc n t of centrifugal force? It faces an i n s u r mountable harrier. the mOSt powerful sociological obstacle to th(' opposite forcc. centripetal forn.. the logi<.: of u nifIcation. the logic of One: the mor(' dispers i o n tlH're is. the less un ification there is. Wt' see hencl'forth that t he 'lame rigorous logic determi ne's both the internal policy and ('xternal policy

cease. why i t must not cease. why it is permanent. War is whY war cannot mo de of existence of primitivt: society. mnde up of equal. free vileged pri the ;]nd i nd ep e n d e n t sociopolitic;11 u n i ts : if enemies did not exist, thty would

sition

to i m plrll1ent siructur<ll re l Ol ti o ns of hostility (di!>!>uasiun) :lnd the c<l p :l ci lY to resist erfectivl'1y tht' elltt:rprises of others

tive c o m m u n ity can assert its autonomy in rt:lation 10 the otht:rs. If one:

and h ost i l ity to others: the st at t: of war w i l l last as l o ng as rach primi

provt"s itself intapOlble of this. i t will be destTOy{'d by the olhers. The capacity

(10 frn d

off an alla<.:k), i n s h o r the

t.

warlikt' capOlciry of ea<.:h commun ity. is the condition of its autonomy. I n as the principal means used by primitive society to prevent social <.:hange.

other words: the permnnent state o f w <l r Olnd actual war periodically appear The p t'rman e n c e of primitive SOCiNY has to do with th t' prrmancnce of the state of war: the Olpplkalion of i n ter nal policy (to maintain the undivided and autonomous We intact) has to do with the implement:ltion of external policy (to form alliances in order to wagt WM): war is i'lt t he very h(:,;lrt of order to t h i n k of themselvl's as a We. the communiry must bl' both undivided (one) and independent ( to t a l ity) : i n teTll:l1 non -division <lncl extt'rnal opposi life of its bC'ing, it is its goal: primitive socitty is soci('ry Jar tion an:- comiJinrd; e:lCll is a con dit ion for th ... other. Should war ct'<lSt" the ht'an of primitive society will cease to beat. War is it foundation. th(' very

of primitive socirty. On tile one h;Jnd, th(' community W;Jnts to peTSeven: i n ils undivided b e i n a n d prevent a u n i fy i n g authoriry - the figure o f the
d ucing social division between other h n n d , wants to p e rsev(' re i n its autonomou heing. th:tt is. remain commanding chief - from st'parating itself from the sodal body and intro M (lst('f nnd Subjects. The commun ity. 011 the

Itle primitive social being. war {'on<;tit utes thc very mOtor of so cial life. In

l.aw. N ow. whOl\ is the legal power that embraces all differences in order to supprrss them. that t'xiSlS pr('cisely to OlboliSh the logic of lil(' mult il)le a n d 10 substitute it with the opposite l o g i c of unification? What i s the other ety. i n that it is a sepamtc organ o f political power: society is ht'ncefonh divided into those who exercise power and those who submit 10 it. Society is no longer ;'In undivided We. a single- totality. b ut a fra gm en ttel Ltody. a het ('rog{'neous social being. Social division and the ('mergen("(' of the State art' till.' d e at h of primitive society. S o that the commun ity might asst'rt its ditTtr nal1l(, of t h i s One that p r i m i f i v {' society by definition n.:fusl!>? I t is Ihe Stall'. Let us go back. What is the- StOlte? It is the TOtal sign of division in soci

under th(' sign of its own Law: it thus refuses all logic tllar would I('ad it to ubmil to an exterior law; il is opposed to the extcrioriry of t h e unifying

i n it io n, warli k('. . . lo

ately perceptible trait, is thus not the cause o f war, but its dfrct. its specific
dispt'fsion. the p a rcel i n g. th(' ntomiz3tion of the groups. Primitive Wilr is tht goal. What is the fun<.:tioll of primitive war? To assure thl' permanence of the wo rk of a centrifugal logic. a logic of sepnration. which is ex p ress ed from

The disptrsion of l oc a l groups. which is primitive society's most immedi

IMr.

it is. by def

time to time i n Olrmed conOir!.11 War serves 10 milintain each community's

p o l i tic;]i independence. As l o n g as there is war, there is autonomy: this is
10

t'll<.:e, it h as to be u n d i v id ed ; its will 1 0 be a totality exclusive of others f(;sts on t h e refusal of social division: in order to think of the m selv es as We t'xc!u . ..,ive o f Othe-rs, the We must be a homogen('ous social body. Extern<ll segmen

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 tht tifl'ed at tht' sleps of tla: Elllp in: (lIaT tlLese were
Ilvages in
II

Here let us n.'call llo1 lhe d isco urse of Westcntrs on p ri m it i ve mall as warrior,
fJ

tation, i n ctrnal non-division Olre two fact'S of a single rCillity, twO aspects of tht, <;am(' sociologic<ll fun ct i on i n g a n d o f tht' Sill11 C SO C i il l logic. So that the 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(' u n i fi ed illlnge of its

by means of conquest i n to
of

go t's beyond Ihe threshold cOllsidef('d opt im u m by ils socicty, s om e of l l ie people will t's\ablish :trtOli1er vil lage fun/wr away.
1 , ,

This logic cOllcerns 110t on ly intercommunal relations, bul also tilt' upera ti on the community itsdf. In So uth America. wilen the demographic size of a group

ronSfant state

tILe po.r in("(sira.

o f I/'fJr:

.... lIi"lI legit i m ated all a tte mpts to il l te),l ra te ,

tlLem

"'()tiill being. Sociopolitical a u to n o my ilnd sociolog:iral n o n -d i vi s io 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 f ying 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<.: d i m{' ns i ons. for t h e rund:1Ilkntal tt'!Hkocy of p ri m it i v (' society is \Oward cii<;persion nnd not toward
1 b \

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reorganization visible in the co n s.titut i on of social macro-units, it is because

tive soc iety, onr observes lhe action of ce n tri pe[ <l l forn:. the lendency toward

con centr;Hi o n , toward atomiz:ation a n d n o t toward :lssembly. Ir. i n a primi

so cicly is losing i ts pro pe niC's of lotaliry and un ity, it is because this society
is in t h e midst o f n o l o n ger being: primitive. 12

this soc i ety is los i n g Ihe p r i m i t i ve logic of tltt' ct'ntrifuge. it is bcca u se this

Law (auto-nomy, political i n de p e n d e n ce) which excludes s ocial c!1il n g e (soc i ety will n:ll1<l i n what i t i s : is t h e r('fusal of l'xo-nomy, of exterior Law, it is q u i te s i m pl y the rc:fusa l of
tin

State. Each primitive c o m m u n i t y wants to rC Il1<1 i n under the s i g n of its own

Rrfusal of u n ifica t i o n , refusal of the separate One. society ilg a i n s t the

rid: that. as a T( s u l t, tht" i nt i tut io n 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 " . the pnmluv{' world as a n o n - n a t ural world. liobbes nevertheless thin king of to M'C that o n e cannot think o f WilT w i th o u t the State, that one first the wa'> lht'm in a relation of exclusion. For him, [he s oc ia l l i n k insti of Ihink must
' . .

tUU'S i tsel f between men due to "a co m mo n Power to keep ( h e m all in awe:

tilt' State is ilgainst war. What does primitive soci ety as a soc iol ogi cal space
of permant.'nt war tt'll us in cou n te rpo i n t? It repeats Hobbes' d isco urse by n 'vt"rsing Jt; It proclaims Ih:ll the machlne of dispersion functions against tht.' miK hi J1t: of u n i fication; i t tells us th a t W:!r is against th(" S!ate. l l

u n d ivided he-ing). T h e refusal o f t h e State

Only fools c a n Iwlieve that i n order t o refusC' alienation, o n e n'us.t have first experienced it: the refusa.! of a l i e n a t io n (economical o r p o l i t ic a l )
belongs t o tht.' very b e i n g o f this society, i t exp resses its conserv<1tism, its
.

s u b m iss i o n . inscribed as s u c h i n the vt"ry Slructu rt' o f p r i rn itiv(' soci ety.

deliberate will ro re m a i n an ulldivideo We. DelilH:,rate. i n deed a n d n ot o n l y the ('ffen of the ru nctioning of a social milch i n e : tht" Sav a g es k n o w well transliltl' illto t he loss of freedom. What is primitive society? I t is il mu l t i p l i (' ity of u n d ivided c o m m u n i t i e s

t h a t any alteration of their social lift' (any soc ial i n n ov at io n ) c o ul d o n l y w h i c h fl l l o b ey t h e samt" c e n t r i fu g a l l o g i c . W h a t i n s t i tu t i o n a t o n c e

truth of relations between comll1 u n itits, as the ]lri ncipill s od o l o g i ca l means of pro m o t i n g t h e
[

l'xpresses a n d guarantt'('s the p e rrnanrll('e o f this l ogi c ? I t i s war, a s the

forcr of u n i fi cat io n . The war nw(' h i n e is the m oto r of the social machine;

l' n t r i fu g al fOTcr of d is pC'rsi o n against the ('I:nttiprtal

survive without war. The more w a f there i s . t h e less unificntion there is,
the S t at r i n thal i t is society-for-war.

the primil ive social being relieS entirely on w;n, primitive society cannot
and the best enemy of the State is war. Primitive society is society ilgainst Here we are o n ce again brought back

lucidity that has since disappeared, the English th i n ke r was a b l e to <I('t('('\ the to sc' tll:!t w<lr and lil(' State
,Hl'

t o the thought

of lIobbt.'s. With a

profound l l n k, the rlose rel<l!ionship bcrwt't.'n war and the Sl{ltc. He wa s able

cont ra d ictory ! N IllS, that th('Y c:'lnnot exist

tht. Statr p rev (' nts war. Tht' eno r mo us error. al most fatal a m o ngst a m a n of

tog('thrt, that each i ll1 pl i e thc negation of I h e other: war prevents tht.' StiltC', this [imt', is to have believed that lhe society which persists i n wilr of each
ag;linsl each is nOI truly a so c i ety: that thl' S:!vage

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. ws wrought oy ((mripctal forces. hy a logic of lUllflcallon.

world is nOI

a so c i al

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

I I .-\ t thr end of til is attempt at illl archeology of violence, various ethnologi

l : r J l I ' \lnder what COllditions call social divisioll apper 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

Ihi o ccurs? Escntial quest!olls, for bellind tht:m lurk.. the transcendental ques

do primitive societies reart when

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

fn:(' and independent of olhers: war, a major obstacle erected by Stateless

non-division. of mainta i n i n g each commun ity's autonomy as single torality.

societies against [he machine of unification that is the State, is piHt of the

csen("(." of primitive society. One might as wdl say. consequently. that ,, 1 1 primitive sociery is warlike": hence, the ethnographically est;,blishC'cI univer sality of war in the i n fmite varitty of known primitivt societies. If war is a societal attribute. then warlike activity functions as a determ ining factor o f the m <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
bl:lween men and wo nH 'n in primil ivt" ..,oriety.

the frc qu(,nlly a n d often fooli'ihly debateu question o f social r e l at i o n s

I Cf. -Archt 'olngil' dl' I.. violttlct." /illfe. 7 7 - 1 1C1lapter Ell'ven

} 6 9

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warlike function. which, though it allows - even Gills for - acknowledged

Primitive ma n , as such, i s a warrior; each male adult is eq ua l to the

differences in individual talents. particular qual itit:. pt:rsonill bravery and knowhow (in short, a h ierarchy of prestige), it excludes, on the other hand, any unegalitarian d is pos i t io n of thr wa rriors on thr axis of po lit i c ll l power. Warlikc activity does not tolerate. any more than economic a c t i v i ty Or soc ial life in times of peace. the division of the warrior community - a s i n Cli l military organizations - into soldiersperformers an d chiefscomman ders: discipline is not the prinrip;'! 1 force of primitive ;'!rmies : obedience is not the fIrSt duty of the bask combatant; the rhirf doe-s not exercise any commanding power, ror, c on t ra ry to an opinion t h Cl t is as fal,>e a,> it is widespread (t h a t the chief h"" n o power, e.rcepT in rimes o f lI'ar) , th e warrior leader is at no moment of the c:x ped iti on ( prep,u.1 ti o n . h.1tt l(', rnfeiltl in a pos i ti on - should such lJe his i n tt:: n t i o n - to i m p o s t:: his will, to give a n order w h i ch he knows ahead of time will not be obeyed. I n o t h r r w o rd,>. war dot'S not. any more than peace. allow the chief to act the chi("f. To de'> r rib t:: the- true figure of tile- savage- cllief in his warrior d i n1l'ns i o n ( w h at usc is a w a r chief!) requires s pe cia l treatment. I.t us nott:: for now that war docs not open a new fIeld i n the politirill relations between m en : the war chief and the warriors remain Equals; war neve-r c re-ales. even temporari ly. division in primitive society between those who command and those who obey; lhe will for freedom is not ranreled by the- will for victory, even at the prke of operation;l1 efflciellry. The w a r machine. by itselr. is incap.11l1e of {'ngender i n g i n equality in primitivr sodety. Travelers' and missionarirs' ;'!neient chronicles and ethnologists' recent work concur on Ihis observation: w he n <l chi ef seeks to impose his own d esi rr for war on t he commun ity. the latter abandons h im. for it wa n t s to exerc ise its free col l ective will and not submit t o the law of a desire for power. At best, a chief w h o wanls to act the chief is shunned; at worst. he is killed. Such. t h t n , is tIl(' structural relationship p r i m i t i v C' SOCi ety generally maintains with war. Now, a certain type of primitive- SOCiety e x ists (existe-d) i n the world i n which the reliltionship to war wen I far bryonrl Wll;,!l was said
above. These wt:: fe societies i n which warlike activity was somehow subdivid

cd o r overdetermined: on thr one hand, it assumed, as in all primitive soci eties. the properly sociopolitical function of m a i n t a i n i n g comm un itie hy cea sel es sly digging and red i ggi n g: the gap between the-m: on tht other hand. it unfolded o n a completely d i ffe ren t level, no l on g er ;1'> a po l it ic a l means of a soc i ol ogical st rategy - letting celHrifugal forces play thl'mselves o u t i n order to w;ml off all forces o f u n ifIcation - but i n deed as a private go,t!. as rhe IN1";0r 'S personal ('lid. W<lr at this levr-l is n o longer a qruelural e ffe ct of a primitive society's mode of opt"riltion; it is an absolutt:ly fret (lnr! in<1ivid
J 7 0

it is rathe-r clt"a r that it dots have an ('ffect on the sociol og i cal level. What the twofold dimension that war assumes here assign to the nl'W figure does sod:!1 body? It is u po n 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 f Il'arriors. rOIlril U/('(1 by rile cllsclllblr o 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; o n 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 t h i s type of sodety: those who have delib erately chosen to devote t h emsel vt.'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. t h t:: ul ti mate J;o i nt of hon or, the exclusive meaning of their livt::s . The difference hetween lht' p:e n era l case of primitive societies and the panicular case of t h e se soci etit '> appears i mm ed i at el y. Primitivt' s o c iety be i n g warlike by essence, a l l men there art" warriors: potential wMrio rs. because the st<l t e 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 war is e-quClI fo r all. In (he casc o f "warrior ,>oc ie( ies. howe-ve-r, Wilr ;'!Iso ass u mes the character of a personal vocation op('n to all males. sinct each is free 10 do what he W<lnts. hut which only so m e . in fact, reali:le. This sig n i fi e s that. in the general case, all mt"n go to wa r from time to t ime. Cl n d th at. in t h 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 im t:: . when the community as ;;I w h o l e is co n ce rn 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 h e ir own and not ill respollse to a collec t iv e i m p erativr . Whidl, of course. does not in any way s i gn i f y 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 Warr i o r. This is indeed why thl'''e so c i e t i 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 u n i ty such as this 10 t he slightly enigmatic group of
' "

rpr ise i n thal it p ro n eds only from the warrior's dl'cision: the war ual e n t e only the law of his dr,>in' or will . ri or obey!> d Wou l war, then. be the sale arfair of the warrior in this case? Despite [he extrt'mdy pe rso n a l i:le d aspect of w a rl i ke activily in this type of society.
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Its warrio. But where dot's one fmd such societies? We should first not that the wa rlike societies do not represent a spe ci fiC irreducible. immutable essence of primitive soci ety : th ey are only a part ic u la

ease. this particulariry h avi n g to do with the- special place occ u pied by war_ form themselvl's into warlike- societies. depending o n local circumstances

like activity and warriors. In other words. all primitive societies could trans either external ( fo r example, neighboring groups' increased aggressiveness o r, o n th e co nt ra ry, the ir weaken i n g. inciting a n i ncrcase of art ac ks on them)

th

{'ultural area. O f the numerous tribes thai oeeu sharpness of a determineu i n effect, i l l ustrate perfectly. no doubt better them. of most , ry o it r r pird this te

out on the Soulh American ethnographic horizon with the.> cult ure : it stands

and vast tropical region covers a good part of Paraguay. rnt. th is austere contrasting sl!asons) . the hydrogra rgrnt in;l and Bolivia. The climat!' (vcry few rivers). Ihr flora (abundant'e of tho rny vegetatio n adapted to hv (very the Chaco vrry homogeneous from sca rci ty of water) combine to make of nature. But it is even more so from the point of view of virw of i n t t' po

or internal (the exaltation of tht' warlike ethos i n the system of norms that

orders collective l'xi:'.tcnce). Furthermore, the path can be tr,wl'led i n the

op posi t e directi o n : a warlike society could very well cease to he one, i f a

than ;lny oth r r society, wh a t is h:lhitUillly understood by warlike cullurt': witr

is tilt' ;]ctivity most highly valorized hy society, it is the quasi-exclusive occupat ion of <I select number of men. The first Spa n ish Conqu istadors. who,

change i n the tribal thic or in Ihe sociopo l itica l cnvironml'n t alters the taste for war or limits i l s field of application. A primitive society's becoming war like, or its ventu.:ll return to the cI<lssic, previous situCltion. pertains to spe
cific, 10C;l1 h iStory and C' l h n ography. which is sometimes possible to reconsti

having b<lrely reached the edge of the Chi'lco, had to confront lh e repeated <lss;l ults or the c/IGl{!I !'110S I ndians, q uickly learned this at their own expense. Now it so h<lp]lens that, thi'lnks to the luck of h ist ory and to the Jesuits'

tutr. But this is ;lnothl:r problem.

ASS uredly, then. ;ll] over the world. throughout the course of the m i l l e n n i a t h a t this primordi;:l1 mode of h u m a n soei;ll org<lniz<ltion h;lS lasred. there have been wa rrior societies here ;lnd there. em('rgi ng t he n disa ppeari n g. But
n a tu ral l y it would nOt be enough to refer only to the sociological pos si bi l i ty

Beco m i n g w a r l i ke is thus a p o s s i b i l i t y for a l l p r i m i t i v e so c i e t ies .

tenacity. we h<lvC consider<lble documentation on !he p r i n c i pl es of these'

tribes. During the 1 8th century, until their expUlsion in 1 7 68. the Jesuits. en(ourag{'d by thrir successes ;lmongst thr GU;lrani Indians, att rm pt cd 10
i ntl'gr<1te the Chaco into their missionary t.' n t e r p ris e The failure, s t art i ng
. ' .

hefore the expUlsion, was almost total and. as the Jesuits themselves cmpha
<;in', so m ew h a t inevit;lhle: against the evang('lk;l1 mission rose the insur a<;srss d1e positive rrsul!s of a successful spiritual conquest, the missionaries pa tli cul ar nature of the soci eties that fate had ass i gn ed to t h r m : hl'nCt, luck

of all primitive societies becoming warlike societies. and to th(' probabiliry of

mountable obstacle of t h e I n d i a ns rt i :l hol i ca l warl i k e passi o n

Unable to

such a n evolution. The ethnologist, fortunately. hilS ilccess 10 ra the r ancient documents i n which warlike societies aTe described i n great detail. lie m ay even be l uc ky enough to conduct nrldwork among o n e of these soc i et i es. a rare occurrence and all the morc pre('ious. The American cont i n en t, :lS m u ch
.

r{'signed themselvrs to n:flel'ting on their f:l i l u n' and e xpl a i n i n g it by the

'

i n the North as in the So u t h . offers a rat h e r large s;l mp l i n g of Societies varying drgrees, pushed their warlike vocation quite f;l r. i n stitutional i7Cd

ily for us, the m iss io n:1 ri t'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'

w h ich, beyond tiltir differences, have a remarkahle com mon ;llity: they h ,we
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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).

brotherhoods of warriors. allowed war to occupy a ce n t 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' 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
and the a u tob io gra 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

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

reports. <ldvc nturers' chroni cks, missionaries' accounts i n form us that such

ratives of lncii;ln cap t iv es, official Amt.'riran documt.'nts kivil ;lnd military).

Paraguayan p<lrt of lhl: Chaco, close to the P i l colll<1Yo river which separ<ltes
Argentina from Pa rag u ay This river's middle rurrrill borders the territory of

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 po ss i h il i ty was offered to me i n 1 9&6 in thr
!O thl'
.

til" Chul u pi Indians

somh. bewr known in ethnographic l iterature by

[hr ( i n accurale) n<lm(' of Ashluslay but whose self-designation is Nivakle. a

J cr. bibliogr;mhy.

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 contiI 7 1

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n'rm which, as one might e x pect, s i m 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 s tayed with them ror s i x months (May-October 1966). a cco m pan i ed i n my t r av els 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. extranous 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 a ch 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 co m b a t zones a n d irre Hl i t i o n a l social l i fe. Wanting to consolidate th e i r mediably upheaving tr; 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 yi ng o n a p owe rru l war eth os Clnd tribal solidilrity. were abl(' to maintain relative auto n o my. That is to
1

equestrian trib('s wh ic h h a d acquired horses well before the North American

All thes!' societies (AlJil)Onr. Mocovi, Toba. (Juaicuru, Chu l upi .

becau<:,e they il l ustrate perfectly the s i n gul a r world of warrior societies and hecaus e 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 p p 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 im se l r, not only so (hat h{' w il l drl'nl l eg iti m a te the effo rts depl oyed and the risks taken, hut a l 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 re m o n i s , d an c es , chnnts an(] d ri n k i n g parties coll('ctively celebratc or co m me mo ra te h is expl o it 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 v a 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 \

al t he time of Illy stay amongst these Ir1(iians, the war had been s y Ihal long ago. And yet, Jllany men, then fifty or sixty years Old. r them o r r o e " e n fo rm e r WClrriors (former combatants) who, twenty or twenty-five before ( i n the early '40s) still pitil essly ambushed their h e red i tary \rafS i n e n1 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 ev e 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 mn 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 S an c h ez L<1brador or a Dobrizhoffrr. I am indebted to these men - for darifying Illl' st a tu 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 or ate the ne("ssilry lines of move m e n t that describ e the w a rli kc l i ft:. to understand (for t h ey told mC': th ey know) t he s a vage w a rrio r' s de stiny. Let u<:, consider, for e x a m p l (' , the case of t h ree tribes or the ChClCO.

('(c.1

were

ludians. l Iorses are seen among the Abipone from the beginning o f the 17th cen tury; the Chulupi b('came horsemC'n lo wa nl the beginnillg of the t9th cenlury. The
iH,:qllisition o f the horse had.

etis, but

ed t o this new " a T machine that is a Zllount (one doC's 110t fight in Ihe same way

mobil ity that the horses assured t)l(' combat3ms, and their techniqlles were adapt

d i d not alter their rapport witll war: war was

of course, p ro foun d effectS on thr life of these soci simply intensified by the

011 foot and on horseback).

-[

Indi('lls.- in In Solicle cvurrequcnt publiciltioll.

only a Wi)' small portio n of it hns been publislll'd to th is day. Cf. -De quai rient Ics
5101(', New York. ZOIlt' I l ooks. 1987J. This warlike tribe will lit' tl1r sull en of a subse I 7 ,

Of the abllndalH eth nograp hic Illnu:rial

gathrrrd amongst tll(' Chulupi-Nivaklc, dr Milluil, 1974

/'rrnr. Ed iti o ns

I)-oeicly Against

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relation or dependence forces society to ohey thl' warlike m i nority. Warlike c::oC"lety does nOt allow social division to rupture the homogeneity of the social body any more than any Other primitive society; it does nOt let the warriors institute themselves as an organ o f political power separated from society; it does not kt the Warrior incarnate lh(' new rlgure or Master. Still, it would be Jlt'cessary [0 a n alyze in depth lhe procedures that socirty imple m e n ts in order to maintain the distanre between w a rriors and power. It is this essential disjunction th,l{ Sanchez Labrador observes, having noted the propl'nsity of thc Guaicuru noblemen-warriors to hoasting and braggi n g : . . .thrrc is, in t ruth. little dirrert'ncc between a l l o f them (I. p . 1 5 1 ). Who arc the warriors? As one might well imagine, aggressiveness and bellicosity generally diminishing with <lge. warriors are p ri m < H ily recruited

They art' totally indirreren t to evrl)'Lhing, but wk(' ran' of their horses. their labrets, and their weapons with great Zl'a1. (I. p. 238). Dobrizho rfer confirms this disabused observation regarding the same GuaicUTU : Their principal and unique care and knowledge a re of horses a nct weapons (I. p. 190). But t his (llso goes for the Abipone who. from this point of view, a re no \)t'trfr I ha n the Guai(uru. Dohrizhoffer, horrirled by the wounds i nflkred o n children. note" that this is prelude to war for which they arr trail1rd at a very young age (II. p. 48).
ii

from a se l 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 t he 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 ce l e b ra t ed ei'lrlier. ror boys 1 2 to 1 6 yrars o l d . 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 m i l it a ry (,<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 me n t resu l t i n g from e n t raore i n t o th(' warrior group. i t depended excluively on the novicr's I)ersonal valor. A totally ol'tlJ group, 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 i o n in the trihes of the Chaco. as their chroniclers explain. Of the Guaicuru. Sanchez Lahrador wri [t's :
c o n seq u e n t ly. (which s h o ul d prevent viewing th i s group as a closed caste

The consequence or this pedagogy or viole-nce was a m aj or ol1r ro r i'I mbsionary priest: hardly IHepured to p ra ctice Christian virtues. the Abipone activt.'ly avoided the ethics of lOlling one allotller. Christianization. writes the Jesuit, was destined to failure: ... the young Abipone are an obstacle to thr progrrss or reli gion. I n their ardent desire for military glory and spoils, they are avidly cutting the heads of the Spanish and destroying their carts and their fIelds... (11. p. 148). Young men's tastc ror war is no less intense in otherv.;ise very dirferrllt SOCieties. I t is thus that at t h e other end of the American c o n t i n e n t i n Canada, Champl<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

...nine or ten scatterbrained young n1<'n [who] undertook t o

g o t o war, which they did without anyone being able to stop them. ror thl' little obl'diencr they give to their chiefs... (p.

2B5).

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The F r en c h Jesuits l' xperit'n ct'd t h e same disappointments in thcs' , ' G ermiln and Spanish cou terpans i n the Ch a co a century regIOns as t h elr . i n g to stop the war that t]H.'lr allies the J l u ron w e re waging on the later. Want . Iroquois, and at the very least save the p riso ncrs of war from Ihe te rri bl e tOr_ tures that the victors would i n fl i ct, they systematically attempted to buy back the Iroquois cap ti ves from the HUron. To such an offer of ransom, here is what an indignant Huron chit'f answered: I am a man of war and not a merchant, I have come to fight and not to barga i n ; my glory is not in b r i n ging back pre- scnts, u u t in bringing back prisoners, a n d l ea v i n g , I can touch ncitlle-r your hatchets nor your cauldrons; if you w a nt our pris on e rs so m uc h , take them. I stUl have en ough courage to find othrrs; if the enemy takes my life, it wi!! be s a id in Ihe country that since Ontonio too k our prisoners, WI.' threw o u rs el ves into death to get others (1[1. year 1 644, p. 48). As fo r t he Chulupi Indians, their veterans told m e how. between 1926 and 1 935. i n preparation for a pa rt i cul arly decisive and dangerous raid against the , Bolivtan and Argentinean soldiers. thcn determined to extermin<lte them, they had to turn aW;IY dozens of very young men whose i m pet u os ity and lark of discipline tllfe<H(' ned to compromi"e the sucress of the expedition. indced, to turn it into a disaster. We do not need you, said the Kaanokle, there are enough of us, There wcre sometimes n o mort than twelve. Warriors are thus young men . But why are y oun g men so enamored of w a r? Where does their passion originate? What, in a word. makes the w arrio r tirk? It is, as w e have seen, the desire for prrstige, which society alone can bestow or refuse. Such is the link that unites the warrior to his society. the . ttrm that con n ec ts the socia! body and the w a rri or group by establish (hlrd ing a rel ation shi p of dependence at Ihe oulSt'1: the warriors scl f-reill ilation invol ves soci al recognition; the w a rri o r can only think of himself as such if so ci ery recognizes him as such. Carrying OUI an individual exploit b but a necessary condition for a ('qu i ri n g the prestige that only sorial approval c<ln co n fer. I n o th e r words, dep('nding on the circumstances, society could very well refu.se to recog ni ze (he va l or of a warlike action judged i n op p on u ne . provocative or p rem atu re : <I ga me is pl<lyed between sociNy and th c wilrrior in which o ly the t ri b e makes Ihe rutes. The {'hronidI.'rs mC'asure the potency . of the deSir(' for prestige by the passion for war, and w h <l t DobrLdlOffer writes of the Abipone goes for all warlike societit,s:
" rndigt'llolis !lame
of tfll' FrcII('h governor.

ce; he does not Jlro lt from the sit fhe warri or acqui res nothin g in advan . . and is not n{'co m!)(lllled by pnvllege. uilti :)n ., glory is n ot transferaule ass io n . dtrived from a r rimary p<l ss ion: til(,' ,nw of war is ;] secon dary p ' " e an m d1presti ge . War here is a mean s to achltv Ilwrl' rLI ndam ental desirc for ' own goa 1 . IS h ' )$ r l rs desirt for glory, the w arn or hlll1se , '0,,1' , I g , . the w'lrrio 'd Ud VI . kest an d : for t he warrior, war is by far th qUlc Will not 10 powl'r but to glory . But how docs the w arr.lor make SoCI 1ll 0t effic ient me a n s to sillisfy his will. . r upon 11IIn th e p t'stle ety rerognize him? How docs he force socil'ly to cOllfe , does h(' advancl' to establish hs that hl' {'xpects? What p roof, in other words at once rl'al 'l n 1 symu ollc Their . spoils v ict o ry? There are, first of all, the re larkable sln ce gen er more imporrance i n the tri bes of the Chaco is all the . 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 war: Silnch ez Labrador deflnf:s the main re,'lsons for
<

on r t o he nl hy of I They consider the nobi lity most wort . nd whlC' h IS like pa t f l th at whic h is i n hNi ted through blood . s tI rough one s own mony. but rather that which one obtam not 1 0 th e worth ("lncl merit s [ .. . 1 For t h e m , nouiJ ity resides (II. p. 454). hono r of lineage. but in valor and rectitude

The pri nc ipa l reason that makes them b r i n g war to a fo rei g n territory is solely the interest fo r spoils an d vengeanrl' for w h a t they consider offenses (1, p. 310),
To Dobrizhoffer,

the I\bipone explained that

What do the sp oi l s of w ar consist of? Essentially. metallic insl mems, horses and p riso ne rs. men, w om en or children. Metal's purpose .IS ? bvlou : to inc rease the ter hnica l efficiency of weapons (;urowheacis, lance tips,. knives, ("tc.), l I o rses arc m u c h less us('fu1. I ndeed. t h e A bi p o n e , MOCOVI, Toba, Guairuru did nOt lack horses at all: on the contrary. they h ad th ousan ds : some l n ditl n s htld up to 400 tlni mal s find only used a ftw (for Wilr, trave!. ('aro), M ost Abipont' families h(ld at least fifty horses. They th erefo re had no nCl:d for others ' h o rsl'S, ye t ,II th e same time felt they could nevr have enough: it w as (I sort of sport to capture th e e ne m ies' he rds ( S p a n .is h ?r I ndia n), A ris ky sport. naturally. sinct' t' ach tribe jealously watrht'd over ItS
1 7 9

war against the Christians procured for them mon' henefns th a n did pe a ce (II, p. 1 JJI.

1 7 8

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I H {

6 H H E O I O G Y

V I O l f H { 1

dant sources of water. Nev('nhcless. th(' Indians of th(' Chaco riskrd thei r

most precious good. the i m rn(.' ns e herd of horses. I t was (I p re c i o us good, cer tainly. but one of pure prestige. specTacular in its weak use a n d exch angt value . Possessi n g t h ous;J nds of horse's was al so quite a burd('n for each COrn mun i ty because of the obligations it creal('d: constant vigililnce in order to protect t h e m from the neighbors. tht: c on sta n t search for pasturt:s and abun to steal other people's horses, knowing
'

'l't'\ry e n terprises, COlllmon sense explains why the v i cto rs could in ml l , tile V a n ( l u i s he d i n t o slaves wh ose lahor cou Id be exp l01ted ' . m for " 01 trans . h perform: There are no doubt worse con t d' ItJO n s , I n ' \\,!1a1 [askS w oul d they , . .l've of the Guaicuru, as S n nc h ez Labrador IllmseIf exp I alns. ,I heing; a s Ihenl While the m;lSH'rs sleep,
p. 2 5 1 1 . 1 ht' Guaicuru. moreover. hardly look an i n tc r{ <;t in til(' s u h t l (' t i es of
'

stock at t h e e n e m i es expens(' would

lives

Dohrizhoffer indicat('s how massive thfse [ he fts w (' re :

well that clo;)k t h e m

i n cre as in g their live in t w i c e the glory.

th ey

gel drunk or do

other things [I.

Once. in a si ngl e aS<lUIT, the young A b i pont: n1("n. w h o are more ferocious than the <lduITS. s tole 4.000 horses ( 1 1 1 , p. 16).

SOCiil1 distinctions:

Their self-gl orification m n k es n ;l t i o n s of Spanish.

finally. t he
('xpl<lins:

most presliious spoils: prisoners. as SiJnchri' L<lIJT<ldor

them c ons i d e r which t h e y h a v e k n o w ledge. iJS sliJves [11. p . 52).

The

r('sl of t h e

i n c l ud i n g t h e

Their desire for prisoncrs and children of

eve n

tll(,

Sp a n i s h,

any

other nation.

is inex p ressiblr and frenzied (I, p, 3 1 0 ) .

Itm: [ ll iJ t of The part icula r de m og rap hy of thest" warlike SoclClles.

middle of the
. ' .

Though it c a n n ot be reso l ved hac. we sh o u ld at last rn i e th is prob . n t he

<;iderable diffe rence in th e

the status of cnptives among the Guairuru and the Ahipone, there is a con

d esi re to cCipLUre enemies is nev ert h el css strong among th(' Ab i p on e or the C h ul upi Whtn I sta yed with thr Ch ul up i I met two ol d pe ople in o nr of t h e i r vi ll ages. a m a n and a womiJn who had sp(nt long years i n ('Clptivity n nl o ng the loo a. A f{'w ye ars earlier, thry had bt'en reTUrned i n ('xch nnge for some Tobn pris o n ers hrld by the Chulupi. Comparing whllt SCinchez Labrador and Dobrizhoffer write of
. .

Less marked than among the G ualcuru. [ h e

way they art tn.-ated. According

to the Sanchez

prrsenct. adolescents were allowed to rUn free:

LabrCldor. tht prisoners of the Guaicuru were srrfs or slav('s. D u e to their

They do what they Wf'ln1.

This i s the sf"rvants' occupation [I.

without even h el p i n g p. 31 5),

their

puents.

Dohrizhofftr, on t he contrary. notes rtgarding the AbEpont': They would nevrT consider the-ir prisoners of WClr. whether S p a n i s h. InliEan or Negro. CIS se rfs or sl<lves (II, p. [ 39). the tasks demCinded of the prisoners
I 8 0
by their Guaicuru miJsters [he " s l aves" lived l i k e their masters, pankipClting with

were hardly morC' t h a n d a i l y chores: gathering firewood, fe tc h i n g

I n real i ty,

henCt. t h e greal rrequ,n,y o r polygyny I I I . p p . 1 0 2 - IOJI.

,

18th ce n t u ry The G ua i c u ru numbered 7.000. Ihe Ablpone. 1),000. ShOrtly nftrr t h e arrival of Ih l' S p ;l n i sh in these rl gi o n s Ihe first war lOok pl;lce i n 1 542 between the Conquistadors led by A.N. ('abez de Vaca jJnd t h e Guaicuru. who at that time n u m b e red a rou n d 2 1).000. I n l It tl 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 th e . causes for this? We mUSt ob v i ously take into consldn:ltlOn the ep l d e l l cs introduced uy the Europeans. But. as the Jcsuits remClrk, th e ha co tribes. in contrast to the others (the G u a ra n i, for e x a m p l e ) . were hostde to ca n t<l Ct unless b ellic os e w i t h lilt" S pa n is h . and th e rfore wefe relati v ely s he tered from Ihe deadly microbial impact. If the ep i d emi cs are. al i easl III I h lS casC'. b es i d e the poin!. t h en 10 what can t h e depopulation of The tribes be . Cltt ri bu lcd? The missionaries' observations on this point are very speCific, S u rpri sed by the small num b er of children a mo n g t h e G u a i c ru . Sanchz Lahmdor nOHS th <l l altogether he h01s only met fou r cou p l es With tO ch il dren each. the others h n v i n g o n l y one o r n o n e (II, p. 1 1 J . O ob n z h offer makes the s a me observation: the Abiponc h a ve few ch i ld re n . A m o n g thcm. murrover. thc n u m b e r of w o m e n far ex("reds that of m e n , Th e J e s u i t rec ords the s ur e l y exaggerCllrc\ proportion of 100 melt t o G O O w o m e n ;
_ _

water,

cooking, for the r('st,

. There is no doubt (hiJt the morta lity of young men wns vrry high and tha t The (h<lcO t r i b es p a i d a h('(lvy price for t h e i r passion for war. Th i s is n ot however. what nC'co u n l S for Ihe low dt'mogr<lphiC: the polygynous m ar ring es wo ul d have hCl(\ lO co m p e nsate for the losseo;; in nwn. It seems eVident
.

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l H 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 rl1ildrnr o f 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

l1a1lc chi/drC/!, And this is W ilY one of the goals of war was to capture rhe

more specific: there were few b i rths because tile women did nor want to

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

survival. For should not these twa distinct and conv('rgent desi res he l i n ked:

like dynami(. found thelmelves confronted with the question of their own

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

ils OWIl death: sharing this passion. young women agre("d to b e the wivrs of

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

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 against the enemies at fIrSt aimed at conquering prestige goods (horses, pris

(Al)ipollr, Mocovi.

Guaicuru)

had

long since

o n e rs), they also assumed ;1 properly economic dimension: to procure not {'Xunt 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 places producing tht desired goods ('sscntially the Spanish colonies); the with weapons in hand. Such a practice could in the long-run create a two fold rC'lation of economic dependence: societys extt'fnal dependl;'nce o n the only equipment goods (weapons), but also C"onsuntrr goods [edible cultivated plants. cotton, (O\)acl"Q, beef. erc.). In othrr words. without exaggerating the

subsistence. namely the warrior group. And so. i t is not too surprising to warriors, was Niadagaguadi. thosl;' thanks to whom w(' eal. leam that thl.'" term the GU<ticuru used to designatt not only h U nlcrs. but Would not this cronomic perversion" of war i n societies tot<tlly devoted

tribes intcrt\<ll dependence on 1he group [hat ,H least panially assuTl'd its

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 ('lonomic fun c t i o n : they systemati-

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

ma nd of ht' . tlem ents. und er the com an and A me ril"a n set XIc Me ed lag pil itary action l i m (<'Illy d . . e tribe onl y tolerate w hos l m0" amo ng otI1l'rs. eron ded G S but stro ngl y al fa rll OU . ' log ic of war. perhaps, pOIls were produ ced . Th( s ugh 'f eno o th war p o ss essio \; 7 : d e m e nts that comprised the spoilS of the an, s l e delal e H TlOr as Th a t h e W. ' hed rt'cogn itio n of . y aI o n e es t , hlis thr t ' tha st ggt IS ' . could S U sou ght -after prestige. I'h' the of ce our a n t ls ess s urh , that spO Ils were anokl c t: \ e n H 6 the K ;"I o r chero pu r n a ce to the cas e. an d t I;' ilp . or pris one rs i no t the by the num ber of horses . . any w;"ly d('t('rm rned , no t 1'n , .!lled III my rollP waS ('ltr a,r j o lp sca rile k bac bril l r y :r('C capturer ! : r r on is as old i n ::: war; tha t this tra diti a l Y n ge ,lTe We . bat . com respected It. . . . t all the Charo trib l's . eflr a. Al mos . Ca as 1I IS in Nor th Am AIlH'rt tor s deS i re to sig n ified thl;' young vic y tl lici xp e enemy To Sl' ClII> the fallen . , lll ssive cerem onies celebratl'.d t he W<1rT1or . I n re. . b 0 r du Ih(' ntO I d te ' mlt I he a( t to the title l z i.n g h i s dcf init ive righ . og n . er. rec mb me new the t of ent ran ce ess ary. thu s. to pos i this . - 0 r WlI rrlo r, It is nec l;'nt t'm obl cnn n chy 0t' for tl1l<; was . mit of the soc ial hie rar wa rno rs OC CUPY the sum dou ble equ atro n: tll sta lps s. mie ene ent to kin his , CI tll ;"ln w I 10, not conl 'or IS , 5c;"l lpt pre stI ge ; a wa rn hou ene my wit ce a m a w ho kill s the them. I mmediate ronse p,l( n : one . n but ction. f distin m l n gl y insign i icant not (I ll'a rrro r. A see . is m i h i ng . p o rtan ce. ' If to be of eXl rem t' I m s ltSe tha t reve;"l I. ugh not dis. anis h heads of h:1i r. tho of sca I ps. Th ere IS a hIe rar chy s . Thu s for the e{I as I hos e of I n d i a n as est el;'mp far by t no e wer . e , d a nd elaIn . ele rna l cIH'mic5. Ikforc al a To)a SC,I1 p, t hei r equ ld cou g hin not i. . n l'hu lup bOr nly rl;'sisted the Bol ivia Chu lu[l l w a rnors 'tub nts. , ng the Ch aco war. the dun upa . occ ils e inat and I;'xt cTm 't o seiz e th CIT tern arm y wh ich wan led 10 d the . wat che d for and atta cke 'i ry UP Ch terr aln r the Adm ir<lb le cxp erts of the eom e thes of \ Ind ians told me sources 0' walcr. I le lIlVaders nca r the rare thir st by l , ic-striCken .. )an o w or" . ,ate d the troopS. w h hats. SIle nt arro:-,s d,ecim s . ' s of Bol ivia n sold iers thu perlsrb le ene m Hun dTtd and the terror o t .' : lI1 Inv r w ian s gave u p arri ors s<li d. tha t the Ind e 0 . Ished; so many. In any. case ' locks. All these gh t back only offrcers a l I r S n a e efully arr<lnged in cases la : t I ir :wn. ca.r ti e h :;at ; s he S al b [et: when tht'y die. thei r relativ es W il l burn a n C l a:t' for the soul a " l p. . ' y access to Ka, n k th of eas the smoke- wrll mark a pa tha t of a Tob" war rior n . tha e hi 110 re mo . oke IS no sm of (he deceased. There . s or tied to war from the cei ling of hut e l 'my ( l ' I ra P,6 '" : (t n"e ritual activ i ty (feSl ivnl s of celeh rae b r O <1nees. 1 h ey w
,

6 R ! H f O t O G Y

O f

V I O L f l( C f

lY

te

:l'lIS

Sou :h

"

. buy vam : to (fade for or 10 s, always f' l hav e a\lempted several timt.' . viI d e I Ie to t l sOll thelf the III\I ians , lih o;ellmg Ihis wonld have bee n, ror

<

II

;t

sca lp'

I B I

I a J

I n t

a l K I U l U Y

O F

V I O l I: N ( f

l H E

A R C H E O L O G Y

0 1'

V I O L E tI {

tion or of com mem orat ion]: Ihis illustrat{'s the dept h of the pers onal l i n k th . or to h un lle{ . I t h e Wilm IS trophy. ' Iere. te . essentially. is the t.'thnographic context in which the l i fe of .or SOCieties unfold s. and tht.' hor izon upon which the most secret web of warr . relations between warnor and tribe is spun. Let us notc i mmediately that if

these rel ations were static. if the relations betwet'n a particular warrior group , and SCI(,ry as a w hol e were stable. inert or sterile, thC' present enterprise of own account - the" {juest for presligC' which socitty would 101e"rate b{'cause 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

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, 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 namely. the m e n , wllO hold a quasi-monopoly on socit'ly's m i l i t a ry rapaci

There is some basis, then. to e x a m i n i n g them: the existence i n primitive

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,

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?

turts and spoils of war resulting from the pillagC' of enemy selliemcnts. A 'pC'at itsC'lf indt'flnittly. with no i m i l a r ituation could reproduce itst'lf and rt , 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

coll crtlvc sccuTlty ilssure"d by the constant weakening of enemies. the cap

of the rimary Ild secondary benefits that the warriors would proCUrt: for it:

on thr rontrary, the point of departure. Just as in these sodetiC's. a son does his initial prowess: he must contin uously start over. for tach ,exploit,acco warrior is in t'ssenct' condelllned immediately calls for anothn of this
res

an C'nemy scalp. One could then suppose that such ,a, fact wold gua,rantee ,e tht' nt'w warrior an irrevocable status and a drfinlllvt.' pestlge w h l c h h , roult! peaC'eruHy savor, This is not the case. Far from helll g f1ll1Sled. I llS , rar{'C' r has. in effect. only just hegun. The fu'St scalp IS not the crownlllg, but.
.

ge " h is desire is realizC'd when a young comba!anl is authorized to pre"' 1 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
, . '

sinle question: what IS a wamor? " ' It is a man who puts his warlike passion t o thC' servIce of hIS dC'slr(' for

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. It IS t h e . luliO n . ' . . . hertnt i n the existence of a body o f warnors and the ct h ICS I)tI onglng . l o gl( 1Il . " Which inerroga[{ that we should amounts, i n ract. to posmg body a this to
'

, temporary i n the specifiC cast's t"vok('d. the e-conomic effects of nUll or a nd

not inherit the glory acquired by his fatheT. IhC' young warrior is n ot frced by plished ie; both a source of prest i ge and a questiOn ing of tillS prest gc . 1 hl'

{'naugh in and of itself; it must be forever proven. :lIld every feat realized , . I he warrior is thuc; a man of permanent dissatisfaction The personallly

/0 f orging

alit-ali. The glory won IS n('vrr

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. ot" a superior prestige Society says, That's good, but you should do mon', obtain our rt'cognition , 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

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

t l ess figure results from a convergence of thc individual desire"

?f growl l (kpencJel1ce on its providers. Ihat is. Ihl' warriors. who would br : to guidC' the lTibe' sodopoliticaJ l i fe as they pl l-ast'd, Though In a poslltOn
I 8 4

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

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

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)?

group. s a specialized org.:1n of the social body. become (J separate organ , o j political pOII ("r , I n othe words. lIoes war harbor within it the possibility

then on exercise i [ on, and if necessary. against society? Could the warrior

socIety), but a (aklng o f pOl/ler by the warrior group which would from

ther own society? ,NOt physical violC'ncl' (a rivil war o f warriors against

surh to action: the Story of his valorous acts, d{"rlaim('d al fl'::.tivals. IS only society will confer prestige upon h i m .

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

(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

it call for further valorous acts, The more the warrior got'<; to war. the mOTe I t follows that if society alone bestowc;

domin ated, alienated by society, BUl couldn't rhis relationship of subordina This possibility is. in efft't't, inscribed in the samC' logiC' of war which ali('l1all'S

or

refusl's glo ry. the warner 15

.

tion be reversed to the bl'l1cfn of the w a rrior. to the detriment of The tribe?

the warrior in the as('rnding spiral of

I 8 5

the eveT more" glorious feat. I his

, n t

a l H t U 1 0 b Y

O f

V I O L f N C f

I H f

A R C H f O l O G Y

O f

V I O l f N ( [

dyna mic of war, ori gi na l ly the purel y indiv idual enterprist> of t he warr ior could gradually transform it into \ht" co t l C'cti ve enter prise or soc i ety : it i w i t h i n the Witrn Or's reach to alien ate the tribe i n w a r. Thc organ (the warri or grou p) can dt've lop the fu n n i on (the warli kC' activ ity). I n what way? W e must first consi der that the wa rri ors, thoug h devoted hy natur e to the indi_ vidua l fulftll nu:nt of their vo{at ion. rogethrr const itute a group determ i ned by he i de t i ty. of their inte res ts : ceas el es s ly orga niz i n g new ra i ds to increa se th e n pr('stlge. rhey wage war, moreover, not again st personal e n em i es, but a g<l i nst enem ies of the cri be. Jt is. i n other wo rds , i n the i r interest never to leav tl1(" en c m i(-s in pea c, always to harass thcm, Ile-ver to give them any respite. As a res u lt the cXlstence in [il is or that society of an organ ized group of " p rofess ional " warri ors tends to trans form the perm anent srOIC o j 1/I(Ir (the g en era l situa tion of the primi tive societ y) into ocilial perm anent /l'ar (the partic ular situat ion of warri or societies).

road. How do we pOSit the rel at i onship b lw ee n soci e ty TheTe is no nliddle from now o n ? It d e pen ds on whether socIety can e rect wa r r i o r s all( I tla' . mcch,misms l i k e l y 10 p rote ct It from Ih {' I t't h ai d'IVISlon J ' Ch ' , IOward w lI dt'fellse
Ihe tt .
.

, , ' J ogbetween two opPosIte desire (to increase glory), c o ntradKtlOn wI , 'd l < i ndlVL I E' must triumph t h ro u gh r<tdlcal exclUSIOn 0f t I o 1e t 1Cr. I t h er t one t h a ,t iCSSUl 1 ' h tl or eJse 1e wamar, ' lot r ical logic carries it away III order to abo I IS o ' l b 'jot . th e . w . rlike logic emerges in order to destroy socIety as an undiVIded body.
. . '

In " . from 1e warnor s R , , Ito m a i n ta i n the social body as a Single tota l l ty I a n (J t I lernal contradiction, there i s conniet bctwn the group's social
.

t h ' warrio r fata lly l e a ds society. It is, for society, a p rob l e m of s u rv i v al : o'> tribe , or the warrior. Which of th e twO will be the stronger? In the e-I tller th . . . , con crt't e social reality o f these SOCletlt'S, WhlCll solution fI n ds the problem.
.
. .

To know, we must look once a gai n to tht cthnology o f thcse tribes. Let us first locatt" the limits assigned to the warrior group as an autono

Such a transforma tion. pushed (Q i ts concl usion , would havc consider able socio logica l consequences since, in affecti n g the very structure of soci ely, it would al te r tl1(' undiv illed be-ing . The power to de-cide on matters of w ar and peact (,in a bsol u trJy cssen [inl power) woul d in ('ffec t n o longe r belon g to soc i ety as surh, hut indte d to the brotherhood of w arr i o rs, which would place- its private interest lJefor e the {'o]!rc tivt' i n te rest of society and woul d make its pa rt i cula r point of view thl" gener al pOint of view of the tribe. Thr warri or would involv c socie ty in it cycl t' of wa rs it w<lntcd noth i ng to do with. The tribe' s foreign polic y woul d no longe r be dCler minrd by itself, hut by a m i n o rity thllt w o u l d push it toward an impos sible situa tion: perm anent war again st all neigh horin g natio ns. F i rst a group seeking pres rigc, tht" warli ke comm unity woul d then trans form itself i n to <l prcss ure gro u p , i n order to puo;h socirty into acn'p ting the inten sifIcation of war, then fmal ly inlO a power grou p, whic h iJlone woul d decid e pellCl ' <lnd w a r for all. H a v i n g traveled this tra j ec tory, inscribl"d ahead of time in the l og i c of war, I h e warri or group woul d hold po we r i1!ld ex e rc ise it over sOl'iety in o rd e r to force it to pursue its goal: it would thus bl' i nstitu ted as i1 sep<lTatl' organ of politi cal powt' r; the entire socil'ty woul e! be mdica l ly chang('d. divid ed into the do m i n at i n g and the domi nated . War rarr]('s withi n it. th('n, t h e dang er of th e divis ion of p ri m it i v e soci ety's homogeneous socia l b ody. A rt'llla rbblr paradox: o n the on( hand . waf ' perm its the primi tive comm unity to pe f'\ev (' r(' in it undiv ided be i n g; on the otlll'r hand , It reve a l o; itself as the l)QsibJe basis fo r d i vi<; i on i!lto M<lst('rs and Sub jects Primi tive society as such obeys a logic of non- divis ion; war tends to subs titUle til is wilh a lo gic of divI.., ion. In a prim itivt' society that h not protected from dyna mic confl ict. from soria ! Itlnov ;n i o n , or,
.

mous org<1nization. In fact. this group is only i n st itu ted and so c i a l ly rccog wo n the ri gh t to cert<lin privil eges (t itl e , Mme, hairdo and

niled as such on the level of acquired prestige: wa rriors are men who have

etc) 110t count i ng the erotic repercuss ions of their prrslige among women.
an e n 'ie m b l e that co u l d elaborate a u n i fIed policy <lnd strategy, a part o f the

special p ai n t i ngs,

The very naturc of their vital goal - prestige - prevents them from fo r m i n g
social body that could promote and attain its own collective objectives. It is,

in f a 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

with whom, i n Ihis rase, he would have to share the benefits of an t'xpedi

forct's : he has no use for the p oten t i al solidarity of his comp<lnions i n arms

tion. A b an d of warriors docs not necessarily lead to a team sport mentality:

S<lvoring p rest i ge is a purely personal affa i r : so is ac qui ri n g it.
ul t im a t ely. the s a va ge warrior's only possible motto is evel)' m a n for hi mself.

ohligates him, i n filct, to aim h ig her, to look beyond, to start <lgain at zro, the series o f his ('xploits. The warrior'S task, i n other words, is an
reach : no

(Ih(' a cco mp l i s h ed exploit) only assures thc warrior of te m po rary satisfacti n, e p h e m era l enjoyment. Each exploit welcomed and ct: ll' b ra t ed by the Inbe

But we il1so see t h at by v i rtue of t h e same logic, the acquired presllge

i n a s e n se , by rt'newing the source of his prestige, by constantly ('xpamllng

quiLl' s i m ply.

1 a 6

ay everyt h i n g . In order [ 0 res p on d to this at oncl' personal <lnc! SOCial

I a 7

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

(ask, illways i n compl ete . He never attains tht goal w h ich is alway"i oul of

rest for Ih(' warrior, except at the end of h is quest.

illj i"itr

" " I t'l I IJ I U , 1

U f

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A H H f O L O G Y
. .

O f

n O L f N ( f

The ir brav('ry is o f course und enia ble , l3ut it stems ]{'ss from a wa rr i or'e; indi vid ,ua l pers? nal ity than from war , 's own logic as war ror pres tige From the p o m t of VI{'W o f the Euro pean s ( i n Nor th Am eric a as well as i n So ut h America). who were b l i n d to thie; logi c of glory the Indi an t e me ri ty c ou l d , o,n ly scelll sens elcss . a b n or m a l . But from th t' i n d i geno us poiO l of view, it Simp ly corresponded [0 th e norm com mon to war riors , War for prestige. the logi C' of glor y: to wha t uhim all' degree of bravc!), coul d thes e Il'nd tbe war rior? Whn t is the natu rc of the exp loit that procures the most glory because it is tmsu q)as sabl r? It is the indi vidu ;ll exp loit, it is the act of th e war rior who a/O IIt" ,ma cks the adv{'rsaries' ram p, who i n this ma jor chal leng e. w here the mos t abso lute incq ual ity is insc riht'd . equ als him selr to all the pow er of his 'omp anio ne;, who clai ms and asscrts his e; up e rio ri
-

dem and o f reco nqu rrin g pres tige thro ugh an e x p l o i t . i , t i s i n deed en ough ror t h e warn or to rtp no e ,Jt the sam e exp loit, to s('u le " peactfulJ Y I repe titIOn I, Into vy b ring ' ing an enem y s s ca l p back to t h e cam p: neit her h t h e tribe wo ld be satis fied r by h is f acil e (so to spea k) solm ion, Each i t h e und ena ktng mus t be more (ilrflcult. the da n ger confront ' ed more ler .s k run ' 'ble [ Il e rl n orc, con,s lrr ab!e , Wh( BcC'ause this i t h e only way for th , rlor , WM , to m a mt;l l n hiS Imllv ldua l ulfferenre I n rela tion to h i s com pan io hecause there is c o mpet i t i o ns, n he[w een the w il rr iors for pres tige, t ach w ri o r s expl oit. prl'c isely bl'cfluse i t is rccognizrd ac; su rh. is a chal leng the others: let them do betk r, The n o v i c e tries to equa l the vete ran. thereb rorc i n g the I.ltte r to main tain the gap of prestige by de mo nst , rati ng mo r bril e!)' The cum ulati ve effrrt of the indiv idua l poin t of hono r. the t ri be s c;ocH I pressu re and thr group ' s i n te rn a l com petit ion is 10 O i ng th(' warrior into the t'sca latio n of teme rity. How does this escalcHion tran slate conc retely i n the fu:ld? For the war riors i t is a matter of e;eek i n g alit m ax i ma l diffJcu!ry whic h wou ld bestow upon their victory even greater valo r, Thus. for exam ple. they will u n d e rta ke l on e r and l on ger expe ditio ns. pene trati ng furth er and furth er into enem y tCfmory. reno uncI ng the security offered by the prox imiry of the i r own terri tory, Or else they w i l l confront 11n e n emy grou p know n for its cou ra ge or fe ro ci ty and whose sC<llps are lhrrrforr mort' esteemt'd tlliln others, They will also risk t h e i r l ives by lead ing raid s at nigh t. wbir h I n d i a n s neve r do, hecause of the added dang er of soul s. spiri ts and phan toms , S i m i l a rl y whe n an .. Uack is orga nize d, the warr iors w i l l move ahead of the fron t lines to laun rh the first assa ult the msel v es, This is beca use ther e is mOTe glory i n , oeat lng the enem y o n his turf. i n his cam p or i n his villa ge. dn shi n g th rou gh arrows or aU{I H'bu <;adt"s, [xp lorers' lesti mon i{'e;. m i s.<.; i o n ar i es cllro niclr s 501dicrs' repons a l l cont ain a great nllm ber of stor ies that i l J us l ra l e Ih{' l)f ve ry at, the savage warriors. sOOlrtim es dC't

"

'

sta rt

'

/;
'

sol1tary presence. , ' tells of t ry i n g to convInce a v<11lant J\lgonk!1l n. , p Cham ::ll , , , w<!rrto r n ot to hC\vt by h i msel f to attark tht' I roqUOIs an d he answered,
rw hel m i ng is the ave I . [or txamlJle
' .

I' r u n n i ng is of litUt help to h i m ; h enceforth h r flOds h1l11self ling 115 anyt 1 favor in this confrontation where the only t h I n g 1' 0 IllS [ ' n, scntch ' lng: rO
rSca l auO . , surprise of hIS '
.

OVf

aillS I all: I h i s is the culminating p o i n t of n , mY g ro u p I\/ol/e ae l . . , . IS hardly :,on I1 ed warnor s sklll n 111 the exploit. l Iere, the expr ri r n c

lIuron wert' surprised to find:

,., and s o m eti m es

rllb is <llso wh<lt the Iroquois do, as the French J( 'suits staying with the h.ntehet i n hand, will even havt the courage to enter the huts

waS i n dee d

to ld him that he had t o Jtavc as carty as possible: whirh he

h is

' l11i1\ It would be im p oss i b l e for h i m to live ir he did not kill em'nlit:; and did nOt avenge h i mst:lf. and that his hean

determined to

do (p. J65),

nn

enemy, totally nakcd and with only

of those he finds sleeping there. to take O i gh t for all defense

of a town at niht. by h imself, then, having murdertd some against a hundred and IWO h u n d red people w h o will fo H ow

h i m on(' and twO entire days

(111. year 1642. p, 55),

lead tll{'

war h(' dt:sired, did not h esi tate to att(l('k Mexican villages. a cco m pa n i ed by

We. k n ow that Geronimo. failing to

Apa ch e into tilt' constant

med admirable. more ofte n . scns ('less.

only two or (hr('e olher warriors,

phy). the Sioux (cpons t h a t

Bl ac k

Elk recalls how

d u r i n g the night. he attempted to steal the Sioux's horses, I3lnck I .lk also

I n his very beaut i :ul memo.irs (cL bibliogra "' , alone a Crow warnor was killed wt
against the American a r m y., n Ch eye n n e

warrior died in

fusillade: he was k i l led, Among the Amazonian Yan o ma m i , morc than o n t

horseman charged

in a famous battle alone. ahead a co m bat t h a t

of his b ro t h ers. into the r<1pld fire or tht'

the famous Fusi w e

one of their peO I)I(', a Kaanokle of great renown, Hnving: reached lhe peak of glory. he thus had n o choice: mounting his beSI war horse. he p n et r<1ted the died i n combat. In \he memory of Ihe Chulupi remains th e vtvaClous figure slitting the throats and scalping on e territo !), of the Toba, alone, ror s('veral days. attacked one o f t l l'lr ,cnmps and

(d,

b i bl i o gra p hy) , The Chulupi sti l l crlC'brate the end of

h e l e d a l o n e against a n enemy tribe. such as

of the century. he would come into the sleepy Chulupi camps at night. n l ne.

of Kalai'in. the famous Toba war rhief, Thl'Y told me how. at lhe beginning

or two m e n each visit,

alway

Several Chulupi warriors res o l v ed to cnptur(' h i m ilnd managed tillS by trapI 8 9

t'SC;\]lmg.

I 8 8 k

g " l n t U I U b 1

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O f

V I O l E N C E

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

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 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

escape. Now. i n numerous caS('S, the future of Ihe prisontr of war was all laid

neller tried to

listen to Champlain n a rrate tile conscqucnres of a battle which he won Over

sticks pulkd the newes and tore them with force: i1nd as thC'y saw that they could not have them, they CUt

gum: then they p ierced his ;"tmlS eto'>e 10 the fists, and with

fm' on the tips of hb fingers and his melllbl'T. After scorching

the to p of his 11'Slicil's, thcy m<1de him eat a certain very hot

them (p. 1 4,)).

MorC' t h a n t h i rty yl'ars later. n o t h i n g has rhl'lnged. as the Jesuits contest in

1642:
one of the prisoners not showing any sign of p a i n at tht' height of his lQrmelllS a n d agonies. the Iroquois. i n furli1ted to see his cOllsram:y, which tlley took ;IS believe that lhe souls of w a rriors who disdain their rage will

be safe Tupi- Guar ani a priso ner of war could We know that a m o n g the s: but soone r or later he . evcn free i n the villag e of the victor . . ancI so u n d " n d yet d I d nOt attem pl to a lhls knew l' l I . and eatcn ted execu ably inevit " anywa y? Cenai nly not a m o n g his own Where would he find r{'fugt'. the r n o [ o n g er b e l o n gs I n d eed. for (hem. the captu red warrio . . to walts only whIch ty ! n U l defi n i t ively l'xciudecl fro m t e com trib e, he is . to tempt a he d Shoul death i n order to aveng e tt I m m e d I ately. . . ll'a rn of h i s pns a s : villag e would refuse to welco l1e h1l1 he e"$l'ape. the people of his er of be fulfille d, In fac"!' the flight of a prison thus must o n er, his destin y don in regard to Canad ian I n d i a n s , is "an unpar war, liS the Jesuit s write p. 42). able crim e" (Ill, year, cible affi n ity. this tr<1gic IHoxim ity [ l ere. then. on all sides, this irredu es cle<1r. Victor ious. he IllUSt immed i Ill'tween the wllrrior and de<1tl1 becom assure his glory with an even greater aIdv Icave a(\in for wllr in order to of the risk confronted <lnd forg i n g fC::,l1 But in ceasekssly testin g the l i mits e n d : solitary death i n t h e fare of ilhe(ld fur prestige he i nvaria bly meets Ihis ccase's throug h this itself to exist erwmie s. Vanqu ished, th<lt is. captur ed, he i1mbig uous nom<1d , he w i l l hen("e \ol'il'llly i n the eye's of his OWI1 people : an if the latter is not granted h i m even fnnh wand er bltv'I't: t'n l i fe and death. prison ers wt:Te rart'ly exe when' (this is t h e case of th(' tribes o f the Chaco single outco me for h i m , a r: l'utcdJ , There is no altern ative for the warrio i n g : whilt i s prove n here. i n short, death. H i s i s a n infmit e task. a s [ was say at the end of his task. whell. is that rile lI'arrior is 1I('I'('r (l Il'llrrior except death ,llong with absolu te glory, accom plishin g: his supreme exploi t. he wins lilt' warrio r is, i n his being, II ht'i ng-for-death. '1 his is why. on this p o i n t ilt least. OobriL lloffer is haJf-m istllke n when

:(' p{'O;lk:

t?

b(ld Olll e n, for they

he writes:

The Abipone seek glory. but never df'rllh (II. p.

360).

make them pay for the dC<1th of [hl.'ir bodies. seeing, as I say, this constancy. they <1sked why he was n o t screa m i n g : he t reated with the S<lme fury with which you trl'ilt Ill C : t h e iron responded, I am doing wh,lt you would not do, if you were

Warriors, Abipone or others, do n o t seek dt':lth in a n d of itself perh;'1p, hUl it i n evitably comes at thl' end of the p<lth they h(1ve decid('d 1 0 tr<1vel: eeking glory. they Illeet death. O n e cannot br surJlried then by the very h i g h rate of Illor t a l i ty a m o n g the w a rriors. The a n c i e n t chronicles havc retained the names and figures of the best among the wllrriors, n<1mely the war died sooner or later in combat. We must also r('memher

scream out loud ilnd cry l i k t' children, and I do not fl i n ch. To

and the fire that you apply to my body would m a k e you

victim;

these words the tigers throw themselves on the ha lf-burnt'd the bottom of the scaffold. <1nd drag h i m :lround till' huts (III,

a n d b u m i n g with fIT(' onto his bloody kull; Ihey rush h i m to

they skin his testides. and throw sand th<1t is all red

that these lo<;st' decimated a specifiC age group: men between the ages of twenty n d forty-fLve. that is. in a sense, thc prime o f this savage chivalry. So much perseverance in this bein g-far-death suggests that pcrl1i1ps the pas sion for glory acted in tht' M'rviee of a more profound p:lssion, that which we I 9 I

chiefs: al most all

year 1 642. p,

42J.

1 9 0

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a K l H U I O G Y

o r

Y I O L i N { {

' H f

& R C H f O L O G Y

O F

Y t O t f N { f

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 to reproduce i tsel f . .

the tribes

rapid disappearance? A collective d{;lth wish of a society no longer aspiring 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

to

O n e last

point is illumi nated here. I indi cated above that o n l y a segment

not

aspir('

to t he

that precedes would henceforth allow one to anticipate the rt'ason for this somewhat unexpected choice. Nevertheless. explain

title of warrior. They renounc('d glory deliherately. All o n e witt thrreby

it themselves:

they want and know Why. During my stay

l ucidity of their politica[ <ltlalysis. The men of these- societies each do what

the <lbsolute frredom of their thought and of their action. as well as the cool

l e t us a l l o w the I n d i<lns to be <lble to observe in their disco urse

o r exploit. But in wa rr ior : p rest ige f

Ieads

"

. tribe accepts an autonomous group of men of war fo rm i n g . . . . . encouraging their vocation by a generous recogmu n 0 f presin itS breast . doesn't this prestige group have a good chance of becoming a pres But . e tig . . a power group? Now i t IS 100 late for th e warnor: ell ' ' her h,< then grQup ' sure . . his status and sham fully [ o s s fare. or e ft n( s hImself meme lunce-s rcno i n his own vocation, a prisoner of hiS deslTC' f o r glory w h i c h )ped tr' I ly l . lIS . riors The W,lf '

lUst man n ' . ' (l ' ' kl y. I(' qUlc !" ken seriously he is forgolten. ThiS IS why t h e KJano kl e r lon . , " . not have a clearer analysis of the relallons that 11Ilk society to We could

leave

again for war. b r i n g back other scalps: i f not. he is no

him st ra ight

to

death. There is

. an exc ha nge b etween society . . . . this con frOlll<1t lon. II IS sO('l ety.

an d

mistress

t 1le

scalped the enemies. [n the group of old combatants, the Kaanokle were rare: most of thtir companions had long since perishe-d i n battle. which is expect ed in the warrior world. Yet it was the non-warriors who explaincd to truth of th e- warrior. For if not w'lnt to br.

warriors. the- Kaanoklt: they possessed the heads of h a i r of enemies they had killed. As for the others, lhy were n o t veritable warriors, for they had never

convrrse with old Chu[upi combatants. A f('w among them were i nstitutiunal

in thc

Charo. [ had the opponun ity time and again to

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 [n provide
conclusion let us leave the specifIC c<lse of warrior societirs to ('omr some of the elements of a response 10 t h e (JToblem of rdations back to t h e general situation of primitive societies. The precedi n g reflections cst;)hlish how this is CI false problem. The promoters of M;)rxist anthropology m a n u fa ctu re rs of this indigent c<l\{'chism whieh has between m('n and women in this type of society: o r rather the' allow us to

hat of eternal glory for the eternity of death. Ahead of time. the warrior is

f the rules of the game, that has the last word: for the ultimate exchange is

me the

Why

TIlis

was the rast' of Akl<lmalse. a shaman of high repute. and of Tanuuh.

would valorous combatants nOI desire 10 be Kaanokle? Dolivians. the of them were

they

wert not Kaanokle. it was btcause they did

immensely k n o w lcclgeabl(' <1bout mythology. a m o n g others. Both around <;ixty-flve yea rs Argen ti n ea ns.

Kaanokle. Tanu'uh's hody, studdrd with scars (from sttel bladcs. arrows and once. Tanu'uh had n o doubt killed o n e or two dozen men. Why aren't haven't you cver scalped your e n e mies? bu[kts) indicated suflkiently that he had narrowly escaped death more lhan

old. they had led countless battles ag<linsl the and the Toba. esp ecia l l y Tanu'ull; but neither

to

th ought of Marx nor with the primitive social reality - ror l;)ck of being ;)ble

do nei t h e r

with the

to find clilSS struggle in primitive society. discover in conflict is the b,lItlr of the society.

the

end that the social

you

sexes. a

bailie

where

the losers are w o m e n : in

lhis

KaanokJC? Why

In

die. In short. this man who had almost l)crished becomr a warrior bt'cilUse

the Clnswt'f was almost comir: Oecause it was too da n ge rous I didn't want to

ten

limes h<ld not wallltd to

his ambigUity,

the

w o m <l n is alienatt'd. exploited. oppressed by

man.

This pio s

credo is curiously echoed by a cert<lin feminist discourse: supportcrs of tIllS discourse

tenaciously

want primitive society to be sexist. w a n t rhe

he

was afraid of deJth.

I t was thus ohvious for being accepting the more

him:

the Kaanokle, as such, is condemned to a m o unts to his friends

killed. To

i nsist

on the glory attached to the title of warrior or less long-term price: deach. Tanu'uh and

of n society of equ;l l i ty.

be lhr victim of mascul i n e dominJtion. Thus,

it

would not ilt all be il tll;]tte r

wOlllan

10

said. you must h r i n g back a scalp. B u t once IH' h as t(lken this first step, tht'

described l h e movement that propels the warrior. To be a KaanokJe. they

There existed among certain North Arnericau tribes (Crow. Hidatsa. Mandau.
CI

PawTlee. CheyeJlTlc, Sioux. ctc.l

1 9 1

brotherhood ofsuicid(,-warriors who ne\'t'r retreated i n combat (cf. bibliography) .

sprcial club of warriors: tilt' Crazy Dog soci('ty, a

1 9 l

 " , ,, , u ' U Q I

V I

V I U L E H C f

bftween [he sexes in their myths, and better yet, in their rites. To state it more clearly: in primitive societies, often marked by masculinity in cenain aspc-cts, indeed by <l cult or viril ity. men are nevl'rtheless - myths, rites and daily l i fe alles( to this sufficiently. To dc-Ierm i n e (he nature of this superiority, to measure its significance, 10 locale the means tllese means, all of this would require long and S('rious study. used by men to protect tllemselves from women, to

'ommunity cssrntiaHy rests not so much on relations between men of the ( and women - a truism of no interest - as on the v ery panicul.n m Ode according to which these cultures understand and t h i n k of d i ffere nces

f Ield of renection for the ethnologist. Why? Because the internal social life

The r{'(li and symbolic, conscious a n d uncoJlscious relations between men ilnd women in primitive society constitute an absolutely faSCi nating

clIsil'c posi ill a d{j rioll ill regards to women. because they rerognize the suprriority of women

t'xamine the effiCiency of

that u n ites war and primitive socidy at least panially determinl's relations like

I will limit myself for now to pointing out how the structural rdationship

betw('en th{ sexes. This soriely. in ils being. is warlike. That is to say all men. in their beings. are warriors, the sexual division of tasks making war war; from time to time, he actually goes. We know well til at primitive war i n

warrior societies. Nevenlwless, since the possibility of war is constantly pre masculin(' destiny.

general i s hardly deadly. exc('pr. o f rourse, i n thc vcry special C;lS(" of the

activity a

masculine function. Man must thus be l"onstantly available for

sent, the possibility of risk, injury or denth is inscrilled in advance i n the marked by his condition: with more or less i ntensity, hC' is a being-for-death. mate relationship, essential proximity between masculinir y alld death.

Man in primitivC' society thus fmds himsdf. hy dC'fmition,

O('ath only comes to a few i ndividu;)ls liuring combat, but be fore hattie, it is equally thre;urning for all. Through the mediation of war, there is a n i n t i 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 would correspond moreover with thC' preceding c o n ception: w o m a n as a esse n t i a l property of women, which i n tegrally d('fincs their bring. is to also evoke the simpl istic idea of woman as the warriors recreation, which good of exchange and as a good of consumption. At this point we must dis What. i n countrrpoint. of women? Let us evoke. JUSt to refresh Ou
;m

(,hac, the case of the ho , as we saw w . It, about IS . bit more children . ":emininity o little " refllslIl 9 to have by cs b krl0\'1 tn the com sociolo gical .ded tile death of but cspcci"ll1y as . I al gi e i 'e idrerl : w'hether there are childr rust as a b iOI O C hi the produ over i what assures womtn s ed TTl d ex crds . women And this s o n sively Is exclu not deperl( t' 1 ld over society. . here beree n lif mity is revealed I m mediate proxi . an - hie. g-far words, be In . In other h er b e i n g , i s a . t h e w o m a n . In at IS h t soclcty sueh woman in primitivC and {'lIl i ll i ll i ry. meln n betwe e frrenc er, di mot f h i " r c fo rth , the o ' being- for-death; as 1C lc warno r, m " n is a I110 I 0 gd ndat1 y c lear' as a n social abu to ns relatio rTI(ldc 's their resptct ive e. It I women . I n a betng-for- I betwe en men and ns woma n is relatio tllC' . deter that death mascul ine unco nscious ieal life an? tribe (culture). the . nsc\Os me unco e ectlv the sexes as the the ("oll difference betwee n recogn ize the fear <lnd a n d envy nds . . unde rsta of death, men , over mcn Sl aves of womtn at a . h t nonty . truth . supc rdial versib1c primitive and primo of life. Such is the by , S ssl ths my ' mis(Te t l. Th women . tes wo uld rev ea . n myths an eI n al t rer me f 0 . SIS mascul s destiny as . serio uS analy . of society Po. thm , I order" attempt 10 . . , y out their VIctOry. pl' reve King the . rea men ' W h Ich sellll1g 111 . dl'Strinl lea I t a . truth that tillS dest iny; the ntuals, lC '00 obviouS 5ate for tI f 0ff. to Compcn ward to m e n i n the face 0 usrd . arc , , ority of I n fe r . . tlOn, . dercll<: 55 n e , k at ea h lnr. W i n tht world 1 liny is femll1 . ,'nloSt everywhere . derd wh at myth s 111 . IS ThiS l w a rId , as (I en? asexua wom as an d. 1S t' to conque r golden age O.r para lost the e Imagin rtcogtllzc. world w it ho u l Ii'omell.

I H i

H H E O l O ' Y

O f

V 1 0 L f M ( {

in

dC:ncrn iIY.

(!la rl1 tlland

\'f

ml'm

cuss the defects and effects of the s!rul"tur::Jlist discourse on women. Tht assure the biological. and bryond that. soriaI reproduction of the communi objeC'l. or as exploited suhjeC{, they are as producers of those whom socirty

rl'ality and the warrior as " . . On cd war . text enVISI ceding pn: Slgl1l h c 1 WilY . .fy n I ' . I ha ve. does n o t i n any represrntatlo n . Which as not or. d rn an wa , . and the . and as polll1cS ' ion of wa r sentat ages. repre Sav the n g (l amo rom f S not, Ihat there IS of them extraCt myths. H e re are twO i n ially. the essent rns st co nce It is expressed, d I n 196 6 Tile fir . s wh ich I ga there . I corpu. warno r. r the o n Chulup i mytholog1c<I cntatio reprrs rtain ee second Mvtlops a origin of war, the

NII I I O NI OF I H E WIRRIO R YIHOl OGICAl WRE\E

ty: women bring children into the world. Far from existing CiS consumed

cannot do without: n,lmt'ly, <:hildren. as the tribe"s immediate and distant future. Obvious. no doubt. but ntcess<lry 10 remember The- warriors wives . I I ,

Bllr young pco de II a single tribe TOb i a JI,' a" r l !IIanls to be Slro/lge , ot' alu!oys cq1lal to cac 1 0 1 b e peo /0 ung Il,(wt pIe !lePEr l lity betwccn rti'O yo bcgl/l! U! IIcn ,I, c I,os/i 'l1g I I 'i r l'rry jl(lrl'cs E r . ro er. II'Clli Ii/all 01(.' o r lt' . fisil fOgctJl rage/ll er, aft' / J1('lr J i l'cd Tiley pI t' II'OS bo'"
The Origin of War

Before. rhe Owlupi

and

the

1 9 \

" .

I U l t " l t

h it l,is adllcrsary a ll tile lu:ad u'irh a I}ien: of 11'00(/, j erellces betu'ecn 111elll.

(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 himsel f: he
/llo l llld i ng 'ii... f oreh ead. Tile Ollur did t he same. This IIJGS the time II'hell rhe Olll/upi a llli tile T aba /11('((' a s in gle tribe: flu,'y spoke the same lallguage: therr were Dilly small dif.

110rty o ff ermcn ted Iiolley. Dllrillg tire parry, tile T obo f a llier (Jot up alld declared: NOli', I tllillk agaill o j my son 1l,1I0 u'as 1110 t H ulet/f 1 0 And he Ilad sel'ual Toba, 11'/10 Iwd berll standing alld sll/gmg acco mpanying lhc:mst:fIICS 1I'0Illel/. /1'110 begall to jiglll at tl,cir Itusbollds' sidrs. Tile comb(l tallts lIad a

e nem ies u'cre the Parrot People. lilc Clloroli.9

Maraca lI'tre tllr only enemies

l

aflln The 1obo declared that rile Ground them. ol,d each /llem to find his j other had starred i t firs!: and yel it /l'as ht, /1'110 had Starin} it! Bl j ore, IIH.'((' Ilod

The b ro thers and the companions o f f:(lch o f the tulo yOllllg IIIfn gathered

of tlIe per j /Jig/If, Ar t il e tim e J' fer Ihe appearallee o r ' st a PCIICd JU 11(JP 1 / S (l'eI1l Iil'ecJ rogrl /rer, J ay, Ollllllpi and roba l "Ial/fllt , . at once the on gln of fS sid(' con It s, ark rem alls for a f w brie f Ihi ngs, cos mic and This myth . ore w a r the order of Bef c of b,rth the rnal day, not ... 4\f a nd \ human time of the ete h ul11 an,

I " ,

A H H f 0 1 0 G Y

O f

V l O l l: tt C f

1 e l'er been r/'f

{c(lSI discord betll'eell the Indialls. /11 this timc, rhe

o f

Folloul;lIg rll(:,st' el'ellts, a parry 1I10S being prepared, a great drinkillg

rlre (hulupi. As J or tile Toba. rlldr ollly

h a rdly said lilis be J ore lie starrrd p ie rci llg tile re/ariFt's alld f ricnds of his SOli 'S aell'ersary. A Ollllapi wa rrio r got lip as ulcll a ll d riddlcel 11';lh arrows

Illjth riltir h a rel/t(S, TIIrll combat begall be(III(,( 1I all men 1"'10 //Ierr d ru ll k . , A n d th( cause o f all o f rllis lI'as tile 111'0 youl/g mCII, Tlte figh t spread to rhe
hard rime sep a rati llg tlle"r.ell'es, f or l ite fighr 11'05
Tltey stopped, pa r/eyed , Gild dccided to mc('r again rite next day to hegil/ the

figlit ago ill.

fiem:

011 b o rll sides.

: it is the pre : IS I is not yet estil multiplicity , on. 0f day night. Social order. as , and , . s ces suc I the by do tcd , bor n: ChuI UP] and T0 ba pu netu\! \ f tribes has yet to be plura as , n c e g age thou h , o f di ffrre other. In othl"r words. sav e from .thems llatl" 'Tt'n ear anc (' and w a r s not diff{ thi nkS of soc iety 's app expressIOn, , lcal g Iholo " , W ar SOCICty. in its m y < r as consubstantial to " nct IO n ; ] ', thinks of wa in conJu nce s ] I'date va ra ere h st' l our "ppt'i disc , , . ' 1 order. The indigenous pnm,uv,e SOCIa the to gs belon ren('cl l on. rrspo nsi bil+ flnth ropol ogical Sl.'t the myth attributes reove-r, 1hat aI the OUI not like We ohserve. tno ' g men Young men do g o the wa r O h hin nc lau the tha t is it)' for thC want glory, and t etw equ ill ity. they want a h I erarchy f t': b'lIldo n lhems('\v ('S to th eir pas a S they lent, ther uc r: to be war+ why they are , vio young men are made t tha y y eaT c l my e Th e. stig l activity sian for pre affi nity bttwcen war like de for yo un g me n. Te riors that wa r is ma rkcd . not be morc cle:uly ma and ge group could

C'd

::;m. ;

The ncxt day (JI dall'' el'crYlhing /J'as rcady. TIH' ho rsem ell p rol'oked eacli ' other. D ressed ollly ill small loille/OtilS o f 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 o f dearl,s, bllt less 01/ oba iilc Cllulupi sick. 1I'lto 11'I're /lIUfe agile alld coulel dodge tlte arrolt'S, Tile T rOI/ a I/ lay (Inti abandollrd a lot of rltei r people, ('lIildrell. IICIl,bOfl/S, TIle Chulllpi l1'Ol)lcn lIursed them. j or tlte IIIotllers o f //lOlly oj these ill j ants had Tlte mcn tlcl'ore(J lhe ('/Itire day to sea/pillg rl/(' dl'ad T oba warriors. These
8

beell killed d ini ng tilt' jight. Among thc priso n ers. r/lere lI'ere also womell. (han of strength, conSisting of tlHllwing the adversary to the grouHd.

group. 10 Drinking partics are often opportunities for br;lwls, Drunk, tbe mC11 let rcsrnt+ the womC'n kt'ep all we<1poll 0111 of Ihe mens [(aell.
I , 6
.

Choroti occupied its left hank . They constituted, witll tile Chulupi, a single lillgllistic melltS, sometimes ruminilted
ov('r

') The Maraco occupy the right b a n k of tht' upper (llment of til(: Pilcrllilayo; die for mOllllis, explode. This is why durillg a party

Wrestling is one of tli(' Chull/pis' preferred spans, ! l is more a gal11(' of <1gility

" TlIc Bli lld Wa rri o rs j sel'eral d(JYs AI th(' (, li d o klC /I'ellt all Il ' sha ll Ollce, IIIallY Ka alio Olligilt, my 5011$. lI'e . T J ;: ; ? J I c' d to sleep. ,;Ie C ppe o st y tllc llg, lki j lI'o o u rrOJII 11'(' s /I a ll takr u \/eep /Iere alld tomo J all rile II '( U+ t ;:a\o sill g J\nd r t o HI VUO IIIC llt, ] lIig , //IC Dur ing 1ry to see (lIIf '3 y badly" '/'/,_ bird got I'e r l. lig. b eca usc /1 sal lg alld tile riors burst out / aug JI ;lI. ago t g gin I-/e begall sill , I ' j III de JU II o Iha t h e 11'0 5 bcillg ma g t!Ie m ll O lW/ . ail e ma ll Y I, t SllI g 'oy. "/ (J d " ' I .' Ha ll' 'b { S .' ' g aga " Illi lIoria:d /1101 beg oll !el ug I y tlle II'llell tln'y gal lip, t lr e rs, Tlit' I1c.rt day, d! So g/l t d less Olall tilt' o l a u. blin . 'J " rile bi rd I am ,ee 0 I'e n gea I . . II Ii'as r/I e bl' 11/ d' Otll + tilt H rhey liad a // galle rllC d less cJWII , tile Olle 1/1/10 lau g/u:: or !Jey cnell. AS1j /! lll a so d All l! 0111 I am rile nor complctely blin d! alld p (lC alll d ' l am le litt a see ld cou d lIe us, lie , :/1 you IIIllSt be ollr gui de! A n JI t l('t I l lig. SOIl : sel: l cal 0 lI,jl olll y aile
' '

hec omc tile l eadt'f.

lng o f thr nl, than of strength, consl,st i, ca1' //re ' n : gla uci clill r. II (in Glla l \)nrl. F0 II J . r:ln 1 2 VIIOH'//ol: utHclel tlficd . aTll<1 Crls taln . (in Spa nih , chui'!a): rnn hrasiliallUlll, 11111 11/11 11
I , ,

of the (hll UplS pre e I!)S O' 8 Wrestling is one Ie gTrlIlI1<1 . . ' ng the arlver:lry to II , owi

I I The w;\T be-tween the

Tona lan1 ,Chll'ens( ): i r

:l l; 4; : e:\ le f g

I H E They all held cach other's Iiolids and f . o rm ed 10l/g IlII c. They CGm the woods; the aile who e to could scc a little ca II ed (l SllIOrm a / bees .' WI / (' re QIJ, res .' A Y bee ans wered him : are Here l am ! But I ltolle I!('ry little hOlley! JuS . . .fu t ellQugll f or my dllldrc n! Theil that is 1101 cnough f i M us' . rr, 1 M ", U'I 'II go niter S! Y es! et's go f urrher! LeI'S go f urther! Cried o;c others ill cllorus. con tillu ed to walk and ('ome to 0110111 cr I P (lce. There, . the guide cal/ed once aga i": Bee. /I'Iiere are you ?

6 R C H f O l O ' Y

O f

V I O l f N ( [

l1('orby

;:

ICy

. j bl.l "" 110 hot grease, l iley got allgry: droplets o Id lli Whv did you bl.lTII lIIe? the /Or

I (In/ lI st'(1 him Fery lIIuCIt 10 St(" ali these blind men earillg ('ds. He flew and sl/Ook i abollc /lIe /nI.'II 'S heads, sprillklil/g them {llId seized (I II

{;O WI!

Thel/ it 's YOllr /I'O/er 111fl / /lIe /Jlill drink! Yes ! Y es! Thor's ir! Th a I 's . it! W e /JI;I! dri nk! . cn ed the oth , ers. 711(:y plunged IlItO . the !llala a"d que " el,e d tl1t'lr tIIIrs ' !, nI I J t' s 'it;, rheir IWlIlls, The y /tad fe lt rhe ir sacks / l a l//a/l Itad ca gh l ' a" ordered his sac k fO ope Itt' ll: tltc sac:/.: O (,Il elj alld 'e t'/fell all tel flltO it, When rhe sack lI'as j llll, its OIl'II('r a r t:J('I ( I' f to ell/pI) Itsc ' l ' f .' tilt: 5OCk ' emptlcd It5t' . . fi" '.) , (llId rhe mall filled it lip all O ler g alll. l Wh en rhey had l'lI/pt ied tfle o sa ('ks (/Ilice. out oj Ihe /1 '( re d , d a l itTlC lif a gn'oT fin:, They b; gan to grill The ' , r. , O' e I ' , aUII't'd, b ITt --./'

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 f u rther. Y Yes ' W I.' /llill go f llrtha! reprolcd lite blil ld mell together TII()I : (0 1/10 again, began ' alld a f ler a lI'hile, the leader called our ollce OgOlll " , Lagool/, IIlherc are you ? Here I Oll/! allsu'ercd a I'cr y large lagooll. I J101' 1.' II 1M o f /I'aIer alld a lot o.fce/s! C

ne a lor o j hvll cyl W ell! If'S yours fhar I/'e lI'iI I eat ! Yes! Yes! T h0 1 's it! W e /llil/ cal it! W e Il 'ill car it! ('fied rite chorus a mell, / blind The mall u'lio could sre . a fiale begall to clliarge the OpCfl /lIg o f rile beehi/Ie il/ fhe tree (II/d to extract rhe }lOlley, . all d ('/Ic ryo lle began TO Cat , B ut f}Irre /lIaS Stl"li all enormous am oull t o f honey So rI C Y TIl bbrd It . all Ol'er rheir bodies, alld started bum ' pin g oud hitting each Othe Why hOile you cOl1ered lI1e lI'itl/ "olley? What abollf you ? Atl d rhey COlltinued to . fig ht 1he olle wI! 0 c: u Id SI.'C a "nit atil'isl.'d fhem 1I0f to figill, to cat Jlle/ /. There / '(lS Still a lot o j 101//:Y, but the me/ J 1I'l.'re I!ery thir:r:': and so they beg an to look f or /I'alcr. . the lT guille rlic/I cal/ed a lagoon: Lagooll, IIIherc orr YOIl ?

1I('f(! AI/d I h

Ofllt'r! It 's Ili/ariolls! I lIlamcd to lallgll so badly, bllt I Ildd it ill, I walll to sec, too! lallg/I, Bu! JUllUtah illsislCd:

' /I 'olllli ,, ! kl/oll! it II'as hc. J?ell' {/II'OY (lIld met tilc IUI/IIIali bird,

Why dill you? fOil j1CIII back /0 They begall bumping each otlltr alld fighril/g ago ill, FOil-

J/e

of his

(r('C, ffe almost burr out laughing but hdd it in, 50 Olat they

(//(;re are lIIell dow/I there! I bur/lf thelll, alld Ihey started to fighr ('ad,

to

111//011/ lie fOld rhe lI'hole story:

No! No! DOlI't go! We ml/SIII', lallgh, alld the littlesl IIlillg mako you

r..'

oll'oy alld only lallgll / rolll j ar away,

No! No! I II'Gllt 10 go!

s!tJ rteti fightillg ago ill, IUl/lllal! could IIOt rcsist allti fled jar c/lough all'ay so was laughing: Where is thaI lallg/lter comillg f r om? rlt<'y asked, 011(' o j them 1I01e, with Itis legs outsid(": alld 50, they were bUrl/t, A
cl a

Tlrat', li e begall lIis little gamt' OIlCC agaill, bunlf tile lIIell ollce og(/ill I/Iho

f oll agreed filially. ami led him I-oll -

J fJ

start /ollgllillg uJicolltrollably, I lI'il/ lea/le rigllt

(0

(he platt' m/lere the u'arriors werc.

rhal he could (a ugh ill peacc, But th(" blind mell SOOI1 realized rll(lt 50111('011(':

7 t

qrabbcd hi. itoicllO') and ]1l1l1g it ill tile directiOIl o f (lic faug/Her, The prorie grass Id/ert' IUI/utalt /lias hidillg caugltt 011 fire. Ill' Ilad hilldcll llimself ill a And rirat's IdlY tilt' J eet o j the IUllu lali bird are mi.

however, thaI Ihis is nOI the ess e n t ial thing, and that this myth is mostly

myth about the origins of a bird's physical characteristic, It s eems to me.

w

ssi ca l

analysis of this myth

o ul d no douhr mnclude

thM

this is

:,:,y(';:o ::[;;, / Tlit'y qOI

: ;:

d,

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 h u m o r thcrcby exp resses t he m ainta ins w a r r i o rs . And

in rel,llion to its

e;/'1/t':'I'/:I:' ";;, ;:
I 9 a

laughter, lhis same laughter tiln!

11

Troir/IO: 1001 for starting a

gap lhal a warrior society what fi l ls the gap is p reCi se ly b ri n gs the warriors their sorrow in the
I 9 9

fm'.

I H i

A R C H f O ( O ' Y

O f

V I O ( f N ( f

SEMIOTEXl() DOUBLE AGENTS SERIES

JI flfING & IYlvm lOiRINm, [OIiORl

society fmc they are primitiv(' society's discourse on itself: L KoRr 1 ...ulCJ..

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

FATAL IIRIlEGitI
)1"
BIlJ)'ll"'O

fOUCAUll llV[: COll[(l[O INlRVIfWI Of MICHH fOUChUll

MICIIH folXAUU

hRCH[OlOGY Of VIOl[NC[
PIII C"IIRII

lOll DIM[NIl ON
P'UI VIIIIIO

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Champlain, S., Les Voyogrs (Ir Samuel C/wJI1plaill . .. , Paris, PUF, 1 95 1 . Elan Nair, Mblloirrs d'l/n Siol/.r, Paris, Stock, 197'1. Geronimo, Memo;res de Geronimo, P a ris, Maspero. 1972. Grinnell. G.B., Tile Cilr.n'lllle Indians, Ull iversity of Nebraska P ress , 19:12. Lo\."i(. R.H. . The Crow bldians. Nrw York, Holt, Ri rl('ha!1 fI Will)IO!I, 1%6. Relations d('jrsllites, MO!ltreOlI, Edi t i o ns du Jour, 1972 (vol. 111,1642-1646: vol. IV. I G47-16S!:i).
BiOCCOl, E., Y Ollooma. Paris, Plan, 1968 [Ff('l1Ch translation).

hl1H1ICI Of OIIAPP[ARhNC[
PAUL VI1I0

COll[(][Q INlfRVl[WI Of WllllhM I. BURROUGHI Willi... I. BUIlJG

II. Ioorw MHO

stMIOHXT(t). THE JOURNAL

JI fLfMING & IYlVfRf lOiRINGfR, [OIiORI
fR"CO!! PmlOl. 10.

Univl:'rsidad Nacional de] N o rdeste (Argenti!ln). 1967 - 1 970. Vo l. 3 (SpOlTlish t ra nsla

(Arge1l1inaJ, 1 9 4 1 . Pauckc, F., Haria alld ,l" para ocd (u l la esrada ('11"e los Indios Mvcovirs), 17491761, Tucuman-l3uenos Aires, 1942-1 9'14, Vol. 4 (Sp anish translation). Sanchez Labrador, J., FI Pa ragu ay Calo/ico, Buenos Aires, 1 9 10, \01. 2.

tion of the La ti n o rigi n a l) .

D o b r i 1 h o ffer, M . . Historio de los Avipon(', F a c u l t a d ric l l u m anidades,

L o z a n o , P . , DecriI'cioll coro!Jrofico riel GrOll Chaco Gua/all1bo. Tucuman

POlYlXUAlIIY

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.

whicli will rem a i n incomplete. Pierre Cla sl rt.'s ]('ft a fl'w brief in ci i ca t ioHS in his notl'S

This t('xt and tile preceding one (Uv re. 77-1) were t o inaugurate a larger work,

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 m i ti 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

1I1cs). [LII)r(" s note.1

2 0 0