Central Andean Language Expansion and The Chavín Sphere of Interaction

Proceedings of the British Academy, 173, 133159. The British Academy 2012.
6
Central Andean Language Expansion and
the Chavn Sphere of Interaction
RICHARD L. BURGER
Introduction
The issue of language has rarely been raised in the study of the Chavn culture
by contemporary archaeologists so it is not surprising that the role of the
Chavn phenomenon in the expansion of Andean languages has rarely been
discussed. The Boasian injunction that culture, race, and language should not
be conated has continued to shape the attitudes of archaeologists nearly a
century after its initial formulation. This is true despite the strong link that
existed between historical linguistics and archaeology at the beginning of
Peruvian archaeology. Ernst Middendorf ([1891] 1959), one of the precursors
of scientic archaeology, was already speculating about the history of Aymara
and Quechua in 1891 and Max Uhle, the rst archaeologist to create a coherent
synthesis of Peruvian prehistory, wrote his doctoral dissertation on historical
linguistics and later wrote about the origins of Aymara (Uhle 1910; Cerrn-
Palomino 1998). Similarly, Julio C. Tello, a native Quechua speaker, studied
and published on Arawak and often reected on issues of native language and
its relation to archaeology (Tello 1913, 1917).
In sharp contrast to these ancestral gures, most archaeologists today
know little about historical linguistics. This reects the general history of
archaeology in the Americas. While John H. Rowe felt a responsibility to
teach and undertake research in all of the subelds in anthropology, and
made scholarly contributions to the history of Quechua, there are few if any
contemporary archaeologists with comparable breadth (Rowe 1950, 1953, see
also 1954). Rowes initial training in the Classics provided a strong foundation
for his linguistic efforts, but backgrounds of this kind are increasingly scarce
among the younger generations. The steady decline in linguistic competence
among anthropological archaeologists is in part a result of a reduction in
emphasis on the four-eld approach in the anthropological departments at
research universities in the United States. In Peru, the disciplinary independence
134 Richard Burger
of archaeology from anthropology at most universities has had a comparable
impact.
In contemporary Andean archaeology, the widespread conviction that
language can only be linked to prehistory at great risk has discouraged many
from acquiring the linguistic expertise they would need to do this effectively.
In contrast, in the Mesoamerican area the ongoing efforts to translate Mayan,
Oaxacan, and other glyphic inscriptions has encouraged archaeologists to
become involved in native languages and an active discussion of prehistoric
language distribution and dissemination is ongoing in a way that it is not in
the central Andes (e.g. Campbell and Kaufman 1976; Justeson and Kaufman
1993). A conspicuous exception to this generalization is the work of the late
Alfredo Torero, who repeatedly attempted to link language expansion to pre-
historic cultural developments (Torero 1974, 1984). Although Torero was a
historical linguist trained in France, he was inuenced by archaeological
research in his writings. Despite his best efforts, most archaeologists were slow
to accept or even consider his conclusions and his work is rarely cited in the
archaeological literature.
Fortunately, historical linguists such as Rodolfo Cerrn-Palomino (2000,
2003), W. Adelaar, Peter Muysken, Ibico Rojas, Gary Parker, and others have
continued their studies of the distribution and diversity of native Andean
languages, albeit largely without input from the archaeological community.
At the same time, the decline in processual archaeology and the emer-
gence of a diversity of theoretical perspectives sometimes glossed as post-
processual archaeology produced a new consensus that some questions about
the past are so important or interesting that it is worth discussing them even
if they are resistant to a conventional scientic approach. The efforts to
broaden the archaeology of the twenty-rst century to include issues of cos-
mology, gender, and other subjects apart from subsistence has created an
atmosphere in which a reconsideration of language in prehistory is much less
shocking than it would have been several decades ago. Moreover, the cultural
history of the ancient Andes is much more advanced now than it was in Uhles
or Rowes time so the potential for addressing issues of language expansion
has been improved.
Language Expansion in the Central Andes:
The Current Assumptions
The symposium that gave rise to the current volume was inspired by the col-
laboration between a linguist, Paul Heggarty, and an archaeologist, David
Beresford-Jones (Heggarty and Beresford-Jones 2010). They, in turn, were
inspired by the pioneering efforts of Colin Renfrew who revisited the relation-
CENTRAL ANDEAN LANGUAGE EXPANSION 135
ship between archaeology and linguistics to help solve the puzzle of Indo-
European origins (Renfrew 1987; see also Bellwood 2005). As a result of their
review of the Andean literature, Heggarty and Beresford-Jones have reached
a set of basic conclusions that were the starting point for the symposium and
are presumed in this contribution to be more or less correct.
As noted elsewhere in the volume, Heggarty and Beresford-Jones believe
that two unrelated language families, Aymara and Quechua, are broadly dis-
tributed today in the central Andes because of two major prehistoric lan-
guage expansions, and that these expansions must be explained in terms of
powerful, expansive demographic, cultural, and political forces. The bases for
positing the two expansions have been established by earlier studies of con-
temporary speakers of native languages, historical documents, and toponyms.
Based on the diversity in these two language families, it is inferred by Heggarty
and Beresford-Jones that the depth of Quechua or Aymara is comparable
with just the very last generation of Indo-European. That is, diversity within
each family is of the same order of magnitude as that of Romance lan-
guagesindeed, if anything, slightly less (Heggarty and Beresford-Jones
2010: 172). Thus, in neither of the two language families are there divergences
that can plausibly have begun more than three thousand years ago.
Heggarty and Beresford-Jones further argue that each of the two major
language families, Aymara and Quechua, was initially disseminated by a sin-
gle continuous expansion from its original homeland (Heggarty and Beresford-
Jones 2010: g. 2). In the case of Aymara, this rst expansion spread Central
Aymara through northern, central, and south-central Peru; a later expansion
of Aymara into the Altiplano of Peru and Bolivia was responsible for what is
now known as Southern Aymara. In the Heggarty and Beresford-Jones model,
the initial expansion of Quechua resulted in the Continuous Zone of Quechua
as well as the northern Peruvian outposts of Quechua; later expansions
probably in Inca and colonial times are seen as producing more distant
Quechua varieties such as those in Bolivia and Argentina. The idea of two
overlapping language dispersals is not new; for example, the distribution of
Aymara toponyms was noted by Max Uhle in the Ica Valley along with the
Quechua toponyms found in the same drainage (Cerrn-Palomino 1998).
In the formulation of Heggarty and Beresford-Jones, the spread of
Aymara is believed to have preceded the expansion of Quechua. This conclu-
sion is based on multiple lines of linguistic evidence including language diver-
sity, language remodelling, and other factors outside my critical purview as an
archaeologist. Unfortunately, they are unable to determine with precision
when the Aymara expansion occurred, since they reject the claims that glot-
tochronology can be used to assign absolute or rough calendar dates to such
occurrences. Rather, Heggarty and Beresford-Jones believe that they can
provide rough approximations of time-depth (orders of magnitude) by
136 Richard Burger
comparing the Andean phenomena with better-known cases elsewhere in the
world, such as the expansion and differentiation of Romance languages in the
Old World. The conclusion they reach is that a long chronology for Aymara
would locate its dispersal some time in the period that spans the beginning of
the Early Horizon to the early/mid-Early Intermediate Period. In contrast,
the long chronology estimates for Quechua place it between the mid-Early
Horizon and the beginning of the Middle Horizon. Thus, if Aymara was the
rst of the two language dispersals it may well have occurred during the Early
Horizon. This raises the question of whether the Chavn phenomenon, some-
times known as the Chavn Horizon or the Chavn sphere of interaction,
could have created the conditions for this unprecedented language expansion.
It is this possibility that I will explore in this chapter.
The Chavn Horizon and Language Dispersal:
Temporal and Geographical Considerations
When Julio C. Tello (1942) suggested that Chavn provided the cultural matrix
from which all later Andean cultures developed, little was known about the
nature of Chavn culture and even less about the antecedents of this famous
highland centre of civilization. Fortunately, these chronological challenges
have been gradually overcome with excavations of early sites on the coast,
highlands and eastern slopes, and the development of ceramic and other
artefact-based relative chronologies. The introduction of radiocarbon dating
has likewise made an enormous difference in chronological control, although
the vagaries of calibration and the unfortunate presence of the Hallstatt
Plateau in the middle of the Early Horizon have complicated as well as
claried the present understanding (Higham and Higham 2009: 137; van der
Plicht 2004: 45; Zietseva et al. 2005: 99). In any case, the current state of
knowledge of Chavn and its antecedents is signicantly more advanced than
it was in Tellos time or even twenty years ago.
One of the most striking discoveries in recent decades has been that many
of the cultural elements that characterize the Chavn de Huntar centre have
their antecedents along the coast and, to a lesser degree, in the highlands dur-
ing the Initial Period in the second millennium BC. In some cases, antecedents
stretch back even further into the Late Pre-Ceramic Period during the third
millennium BC. This process is best documented for elements of the architec-
tural and artistic style that were synthesized and transformed into the
distinctive cultural elements of Chavn (Williams 1985; Burger 1992; Burger
and Salazar 2008). Nonetheless, as the Late Pre-Ceramic and Initial Period
cultures responsible for these antecedents are studied in greater detail, it has
become increasingly apparent that these pre-Chavn cultures were quite
provincial. Their economies were based on localized subsistence practices and
exchange was limited, usually consisting of items coming from ecologically
complementary sections of the same drainage. For example, in the Lurn
Valley drainage, communities on the shoreline had close ties with agricultur-
alists in the lower valleys who, in turn, had links with farmers in the sheltered
chaupiyunga (middle valley) environment and even more tenuous connections
to rainfall agriculturalists in the upper valley. Almost all of their food and
tools could be produced without contact beyond the limits of the drainage
(Burger and Makowski 2009).
This pattern is worth highlighting because the heavily publicized investi-
gations at the Late Pre-Ceramic centre of Caral in the middle Supe Valley
have led some to presume a degree of pan-regional interaction that simply is
not reected in the artefacts and ecofacts recovered at the site (Shady 2006).
Moreover, investigations in neighbouring valleys of the north-central coast
(Norte Chico) suggest comparable coeval developments to those in Supe; this
research undermines models in which Carals political or economic domina-
tion is posited to extend beyond its own drainage (Haas and Creamer 2006).
On the central coast in the lower Chilln Valley, there are two Late Pre-
Ceramic centres with monumental architecture, El Paraso in the lower valley
and Buena Vista in the middle valley, but they differ radically from each other
and neither looks anything like Caral. These recent ndings reinforce the
impression of limited interaction between small autonomous polities even
within a single drainage (Quilter 1985; Benfer et al. 2010). The Kotosh
Religious Tradition in the northern highlands of Peru might seem to provide
a better case of pan-regional development, but beyond elements of shared
ceremonial behaviour and architecture, the societies involved seem to have
remained relatively provincial and small in scale (Burger 1992: 4553).
The surge in monumental architecture along the coast during the second
millennium BC by the Initial Period cultures of the central, north-central, and
north coast has only begun to be appreciated over the past twenty-ve years
(Burger 1985). Many of these constructions, such as Sechn Alto in the Casma
Valley or San Jacinto in the Chancay Valley, dwarf Chavn de Huntar in
scale, and some scholars prematurely assumed that Chavn de Huntar was
merely one more example of a wider phenomenon of monumental centres
constructed as agriculture advanced and populations increased (T. Pozorski
and S. Pozorski 1987). Yet the excavations at these physically large centres
produced assemblages suggesting that these civic-ceremonial centres were of
importance largely or solely within their particular drainage, but had little
impact beyond it (S. Pozorski and T. Pozorski 1987, 2008). In Casma, multi-
ple centres, each with pyramid complexes of impressive scale, suggested the
presence of two or more polities, while the investigations in Lurn on the
central coast suggested that each of the eight U-shaped pyramid complexes in
138 Richard Burger
the valley may have served as the centre of a small autonomous polity (Burger
and Salazar 2008; Burger and Makowski 2009). At these Initial Period coastal
centres, the absence of clear craft specialization and other indices of a strongly
stratied society with a well-developed elite contrasts with the impression
made by the monumental scale of the architecture. This apparent paradox
becomes more intelligible when one realizes that many, and perhaps all, of the
massive centres were the result of the accumulation of centuries of construction.
It now appears that the rst pan-regional transformation of the central
Andes occurs during the rst millennium BC with emergence of the Chavn
sphere of interaction. If radiocarbon dates are calibrated, this phenomenon
began around 1000 BC and continued until roughly 300 BC. Unfortunately, the
Hallstatt Plateau occurs between 800 and 400 BC and radiocarbon dates that
fall within this span are especially unreliable (van der Plicht 2004; Zietseva et
al. 2005; Higham and Higham 2009). Nonetheless, judging from available
C14 measurements, the Chavn phenomenon appears to begin some two cen-
turies before the Hallstatt Plateau and continues at least a century after it.
Thus, in terms of absolute chronology, the current dating of Chavn ts well
with the Heggarty and Beresford-Jones estimates for the initial expansion of
the Aymara language family.
Much has been written about the Chavn Horizon and it would be
impractical to review all the evidence here. Yet it is important to emphasize
that this phenomenon is complex and involves a host of ideological, eco-
nomic, and social forces (Burger 1988, 1992, 1993, 2008). These include (1)
the spread of a religious cult perhaps in the form of branch oracles through
much of the Peruvian highlands and coast; (2) the emergence of a pattern of
pilgrimage from the coast, highlands and eastern slopes to the centre at Chavn
de Huntar; (3) the growth of the civic-ceremonial centre of Chavn de
Huntar into a proto-urban centre extending over 50 hectares with several
thousand residents; (4) an increase in the long-distance trade throughout the
sphere of interaction facilitated by the use of llama caravans; (5) the emergence
of sociopolitical elites at Chavn de Huntar and other politically autono-
mous centres such as Kuntur Wasi and Pacopampa, and the forging of peer-
polity interaction between these elites, probably through gift exchange and
marriage; (6) the spread of metallurgical, textile, and other new technologies,
some of which were associated with the production of elite emblems or cult
paraphernalia; and (7) the adoption of shared ceramic shapes and decoration
by groups distant from Chavn de Huntar that previously had produced dis-
tinctive local pottery styles. Some scholars who are familiar primarily with the
archaeological record from the north coast fail to appreciate the revolution-
ary impact of the Chavn sphere of interaction because their research focuses
on areas outside it. Moreover, the emphasis that these investigators place on
building scale and particular architectural features leads them to overlook or
underestimate the radical changes that occurred in social organization and
long-distance interaction during the Early Horizon (e.g. Pozorski and Pozorski
2008; Haas 2010).
While the temporal duration of the Chavn sphere of interaction seems to
t well with the postulated expansion of Central Aymara during the Early
Horizon, the possibility was also contemplated by Heggarty and Beresford-
Jones that a long chronology of the expansion might t with terminal Early
Horizon and early Early Intermediate Period dates. This theoretical possibil-
ity, however, seems to nd little support in the archaeological record. In
reaction to the collapse of Chavn de Huntar and the other centres of the
Chavn sphere of interaction, there was an apparent increase in violence and
decrease in long-distance exchange in most parts of central and northern
Peru. Most cultural groups became increasingly distinctive as they sought to
distance themselves from their neighbours, and thus began the pattern of cul-
tural diversity that characterizes the Early Intermediate Period. Fortunately,
there has been a wave of research on many of these cultures and it would not
be an exaggeration to say that there was surprisingly little interaction between
them. Thus, the major Recuay centre of Yayno near Pomabamba had little if
any contact with coastal cultures such as Moche or Lima (George Lau,
personal communication). Similarly, despite our greatly increased sample of
early Nazca and early Moche cultural remains of Perus south and north
coast, there is almost no evidence of exchange or communication between the
two. This is not to say that long-distance exchange or communication disap-
pears completely, but there is a sharp diminution in pan-regional interaction
and cultural (or economic) integration when compared with the early or
middle Early Horizon.
The geographical extension of the Chavn sphere of interaction remains
incompletely understood, but recent research has conrmed that it reached
Colld in the Lambayeque drainage on the far north coast, Pacopampa in the
northern Cajamarca highlands, and Huayurco near Jaen on the forested
eastern slopes near the Ecuadorian border (Ignacio Alva, personal communi-
cation; Seki et al. 2006, Ryan Clasby, personal communication). The southern
limits of the Chavn sphere have likewise been extended as the result of recent
work over the past decade. The investigations by Reindel, Isla, and Kaulicke
have documented Chavn inuence in an early Paracas component in the
Nasca drainage (Isla and Reindel 2006). As in Ica, it includes incontestable
Chavn iconographic and stylistic elements in both its pottery and textiles.
Similarly, the work of Yuichi Matsumoto (personal communication) and Yuri
Cavero has unearthed a major Chavn temple above the town of Vilcashuamn,
100 km south of the modern town of Ayacucho. This U-shaped temple
complex includes not only a cut stone portal resembling Chavn, but also a
rectangular sunken plaza and a stone-lined gallery similar to the ones in
140 Richard Burger
Chavn de Huntar. Its ritual paraphernalia has features that are similar and
in at least one case identical to ceremonial items found at Chavn de Huntar.
Interestingly, Chavn inuence on temple architecture and iconography pre-
dates the adoption of Chavn-related stylistic features into the local pottery
style. The location of Campanayuq Rumi is understandable given the loca-
tion of the main quarry of Chavn de Huntar obsidian, the Quispisisa
source, which has been located nearly 100 km south of Vilcashuamn (Burger
and Glascock 2000). Thus far no evidence of the Chavn sphere of interac-
tion has been encountered further to the south in Apurimac or Cuzco. It
should be emphasized, however, that even within the core area the Chavn
sphere of interaction was not continuous or xed in extent. There seem to be
some areas in Peru, such as the northern highland region of Otuzco-
Huamachuco-Santiago de Chuco, that resisted participation in this network,
while there are others, such as the lower valleys of Santa, Casma, and Nepea
that initially participated in the Chavn sphere of interaction during the
late Initial Period/early Early Horizon but later withdrew from it and
developed a radically different cultural pattern during the mid-Early Horizon
(Proulx 1985; Burger 1993; Chicoine 2006). Despite the complexities of this
distributional pattern, it can be seen as potentially compatible with the initial
expansion of Central Aymara (Heggarty and Beresford-Jones, personal
communication).
The temptation of strong hypotheses of language dispersals
Despite the possible correlation of the Chavn sphere of interaction with the
initial expansion of Central Aymara in terms of time and space, a conundrum
remains for the Heggarty and Beresford-Jones framework. As their publica-
tion (2010) and subsequent position paper in this volume make clear, they
believe that language expansion must be explained in terms of a limited
number of powerful demographic, cultural, and political forces, and as the
ultimate explanation, they favour an agriculturelanguage dispersal model;
for the central Andes during the Early Horizon they believe that this con-
sisted of a maize-based agricultural package. Although they recognize that
maize seems to have been introduced relatively late into the central Andean
diet, they argue that it provided a necessary component in the coming together
of a particular package that could propel language expansion on great demo-
graphic and territorial scales (Heggarty and Beresford Jones 2010: 189). They
condently state, Only around the beginning of the Early Horizon, we argue,
was this [agricultural] threshold nally crossed, thanks above all to the full
incorporation of a cereal crop [maize] at last. The problem is that the available
archaeological evidence suggests that maize was not a dietary staple within
the Chavn sphere of interaction nor does it seem to have been the crucial
missing component in the early diet of the Peruvian coast or highlands.
Heggarty and Beresford-Jones recognize that their view does not t well
with the current consensus among Andean archaeologists, but they claim that
this is due to a bias by Andeanists in the interpretation of the available data.
They assert that An imbalance remains in how Andeanists perceive the
respective signicance of maize and tubers in feeding Andean populations
through prehistory, an imbalance that rests more on ideological dogma than
on actual archaeolobotanical evidence (Heggarty and Beresford-Jones 2010:
suppl. A, 6). Unfortunately, while the rhetoric of this statement is compelling,
it is also misleading. As they note, the eminent anthropologist John Murra
wrote an inuential essay in which he argued that a diet of high-altitude
tubers and grains provided the staple for highland populations during Inca
times and that maize was a ceremonial crop whose dietary importance had
been exaggerated by the Spanish chroniclers (Murra 1960).
Over the past decade Murras position, based on a critical reading of
Spanish historical documents and a detailed knowledge of modern Andean
ethnography, has been undermined by a series of bone chemistry studies
focusing on stable carbon ratios in archaeological samples from Junin (Hastorf
1990, Hastorf and Johannessen 1993, 1994), Ancash (Burger and Van der
Merwe 1990), and Cuzco (Burger et al. 2003). These studies conclude that
maize was the dietary staple in these three different portions of the Inca
Empire. Hastorf and others have also argued that changing settlement
patterns and infrastructural modications support the hypothesis that the
Inca grew maize as the staple crop of Tawantinsuyu. A dramatic example of
this process has been documented in historical research on the Cochabamba
Basin (Wachtel 1982). It should be noted that none of the cited investigators
had difculty in rejecting the ideological dogma touted by Heggarty and
Beresford-Jones given the unambiguous evidence. For example, a study of the
bone chemistry of human bones from Machu Picchu concludes:
The results from Machu Picchu, particularly seen in association with those from
Jauja and Waman Wain, all suggest that under Inca administration maize was
much more than a ritual crop of great prestige. It seems to have become the
main staple of the diet, overshadowing the potato and other native Andean C3
foodstuffs. The dominance of maize in everyday life seems to have been wide-
spread in the central Andes during the Late Horizon.
(Burger et al. 2003: 1356)
If there is a persistent strain of ideological dogma that continues to inuence
Andean archaeology, it is the presumed association of maize with early
Andean civilization. This idea has been popular for more than half a century,
long before it could be evaluated with archaeological evidence (e.g. Collier
1961). The impression that maize must have had a crucial role in the spread of
142 Richard Burger
early Andean civilization seems to derive, in part, from the traditional view of
the central role that maize played in the diet of pre-Hispanic Mesoamerican
civilization, as well as the crucial role of cereals in the agricultural systems of
Old World civilizations (Burger and Van der Merwe 1990). But the dietary
situation in the central Andes was fundamentally dissimilar from that in
Mesoamerica and the Old World. There was a wide range of food crops
available for consumption as a result of a long process of domestication of
native cultigens on the coast and in the highlands and tropical forest (Pearsall
1992, 2008). In the central Andes, these foods, high in nutrition and caloric
yield, were supplemented by the protein-rich meat of marine animals and
domesticated mammals.
In the case of the Chavn sphere of interaction that is under discussion, it
appears that the Early Horizon diet in the highlands was dominated by native
high-altitude tubers (such as potatoes [Solanum tuberosum], oca [Oxalis tube-
rosa], and ullucu [Ullucus tuberosus]; high-altitude pseudo-cereals (such as
quinoa [Chenopodium quinoa] and kiwicha [Amaranthus caudatus]), and
lupines (tarwi [Lupinus mutabilis]), all native crops naturally adapted to the
high elevations and steep slopes of the Andes. A major source of protein
during the Early Horizon was the meat of two large domesticated animals,
the llama and the alpaca, creatures that were likewise well adapted to the high
grassland (or puna) of Peru that usually begins at 3800 masl. On the coast,
there was a wide range of crops rich in carbohydrates and other nutritional
requirements that were better adapted to lower elevations and these domi-
nated the diet; many of them had originally been domesticated in the
Amazonian drainage, on the forested eastern slopes of the Andes, or even in
the highlands, but they grew successfully in the irrigated lands of the middle
and coastal valleys. These crops included sweet potatoes (Ipomoea batatas),
manioc (Manihot esculenta), achira (Canna edulis), potatoes, peanuts (Arachis
hypogaea), various varieties of squash (Cuburbita cifolia, Cucurbita maxima,
Cucurbita maschata), several kinds of beans (Canavalia plagiosperma,
Phaseolus lunatus, Phaseolus vulgaris), and many types of fruits including
guava (Psidiumgua java), pacae (Inga feuillei), cherimoya (Annona cherimolia)
and avocado (Persea americana) (Pozorski 1983; S. Pozorski and T. Pozorski
1987; Pearsall 1992, 2008). Thanks to the excellent conditions for preserva-
tion in the arid conditions of the Peruvian coast, macrobotanical examples of
most of these crops have been recovered in the refuse in substantial numbers
(e.g. Cohen 1979; Pozorski 1983). Tubers and root crops are underrepresented
among the macrobotanical remains, although they too are sometimes encoun-
tered (Ungent et al. 1981). Fortunately, remains of these foodstuffs are well
represented in studies of starch residues in cooking vessels on the central and
north coast (Victor Vasquez, personal communication).
It should be emphasized that unlike in Mesoamerica, which lacks the
large domesticated animals and rich marine resources found in the central
Andes, there was no nutritional need for a maize-based diet in order to achieve
basic protein levels or other basic nutritional requirements. Moreover, the
prehistoric inhabitants of the central Andes took advantage of the nightly
frosts at high elevations to develop a process of freeze-drying tubers and meat
to produce chuo and charqui, respectively; this freeze-dry process permitted
the storage of the processed tubers and meat for a year or more. Analogous
breakthroughs were made on the coast in the production of dried sh and
molluscs using ocean salt and exposure to the sun. The dehydrated freeze-
dried and sun-dried products were much lighter and less bulky, and therefore
easier to transport than the original foodstuffs. Thus these processed foods
had many of the same advantages attributed by Heggarty and Beresford-
Jones to maize. There is archaeological evidence suggesting that the pro-
duction of freeze-dried potatoes (chuo) and dried sh occurred by the Initial
Period and that the freeze-drying of camelid meat (charqui) was underway
by the Early Horizon (Miller and Burger 1995; Victor Vasquez, personal
communication).
In contrast to the native Andean foodstuffs discussed above, there is now
consensus that maize was domesticated in the Rio Balsas region of western
Mexico from a wild grass (teosinte) and was introduced into the central Andes
as a relatively primitive and unproductive crop. At the outset, it was not well
adapted to high elevations, steep slopes, nightly winter frosts or the frequent
bouts of hail that characterize the central Andes. Maize was also particularly
sensitive to unpredictable rainfall patterns common in the highlands. Given
the small size of its edible portions and the difculty of growing it, it is not
surprising that maize remains are remarkably scarce at archaeological sites
prior to the Early Horizon.
Despite the apparent rarity of maize consumption during the third and
second millennia BC, there is archaeological evidence that there were ample
foodstuffs to support the growth of a dense population. Recent work in the
Supe, Huaura, and Pativilca valleys has shown this for the Late Pre-Ceramic
(Haas and Creamer 2006; Shady 2006) and even clearer evidence exists for
strong population growth during the Initial Period in the Lurn, Moche, and
Casma valleys on the central and north coast among groups that consumed
very little maize (S. Pozorski and T. Pozorski 1987; Billman 2001; Burger and
Salazar 2008). The growth in the number and size of the archaeological sites
constitutes compelling evidence for intensive settlement of the lower and mid-
dle sections along much of the Peruvian coast prior to the Chavn sphere of
interaction. Although near absence of maize consumption was originally
inferred from the macrobotanical remains, in Lurn (Umlauf 2009) it has
been conrmed by stable carbon isotope analysis (Tykot et al. 2006). Stable
144 Richard Burger
carbon isotope analysis is a technique designed to determine the relative
amounts of C4 foods consumed compared with C3 foods. In the Andes, maize
was the only C4 food in the diet because, as already noted, it was domesti-
cated from a C4 grass in subtropical Mexico. All of the other foods consumed
in the central Andes are from C3 plants (Burger and Van der Merwe 1990). In
the Lurn Valley, samples taken from well-preserved human hair at the Initial
Period site of Mina Perdida and human bone from the Initial Period site of
Cardal all indicated that maize did not play a major role in the local diet
(Tykot et al. 2006: 18995, table 14.1). Given the evidence from Lurn and
elsewhere on the Peruvian coast, there is no need to posit that a shift to a
maize staple was needed in order to complete an agricultural package suitable
for driving demographic expansion associated with agriculture, since it can be
shown to have occurred at several places on the Peruvian coast prior to the
widespread popularity of maize.
The lack of a nutritional need for a maize staple does not mean that other
factors might not have led to its prominence as a foodstuff, as they apparently
did in Inca times, Thus, to evaluate the Heggarty and Beresford-Jones
hypothesis, it is crucial to seek out archaeological evidence to determine the
scale of maize consumption during the Early Horizon within the Chavn
sphere of interaction. Given the analytical power of stable carbon isotope
analysis to address this question, particular weight should be given to such
studies as opposed to macrobotanical evidence. Fortunately, carbon isotope
analysis has now been carried out at several of the highland centres partici-
pating in this sphere: Chavn de Huntar (3,150 masl), Pacopampa (2,140
masl), and Kuntur Wasi (2,300 masl). In addition, samples from another
highland centre, Huacaloma (2,800 masl) in the Cajamarca drainage, were
analysed; this centre appears to have been more weakly linked to the Chavn
sphere of interaction than the other sites. The rst samples to be studied came
from Chavn de Huntar itself. They were analysed from both the Urabarriu
Phase (1000700 cal. BC) and the Janabarriu Phase (600300 cal. BC). The
Urabarriu Phase is seen as the period of the Old Temple, while the Janabarriu
Phase corresponded to the New Temple. The samples from the Urabarriu
Phase contexts (n=4) ranged from 18.7 to 19.0 while the single sample from
the Janabarriu Phase measured 18.1. These gures imply that maize was
being consumed in small quantities, but was far from being a staple. For
example, the yanacona (lifelong retainers linked to a royal lineage) at Machu
Picchu, who had a diet emphasizing maize, yielded measurements (n=59)
with a mean of -11.9. The conclusion from the Chavn de Huntar analysis
was that maize was a secondary crop within a daily diet dominated by C4
plants such as potatoes (Burger and van der Merwe 1990).
The carbon isotopic study of Chavn de Huntar human remains raised
the question of whether maize might have played a more important role in the
more northern highland centres in the Chavn sphere of interaction, since
their lower elevation was better suited for maize cultivation. Given this doubt,
a second study of human bones from El Mirador, an eastern residential sector
of the site of Pacopampa, was of particular interest. The samples (n=10),
taken from excavations directed by Daniel Morales in a late Initial Period
residence roughly coeval with the Urabarriu Phase, yielded measurements
ranging from 18.4 to 19.6 and averaging 19.3. These results are surpris-
ingly close to those from Chavn de Huntar, despite the lower elevation and
moister climate, and they again point to the role of maize as only a secondary
crop in the Pacopampa diet (Tykot et al. 2006: 1889, 1934, table 14.1). A
third study by Yuji Seki and Minoru Yoneda (2005) found that the samples
from both early Initial Period contexts (i.e. the Early Huacaloma Phase) (n=5)
and late Initial Period contexts (i.e. Late Huacaloma) (n=6) from Huacaloma
in the Cajamarca Valley showed only minor maize consumption, with most
samples yielding numbers averaging around 23, a gure suggesting even less
maize consumption than at Pacopampa and Chavn de Huntar (Seki and
Yoneda 2005: g. 14). At Kuntur Wasi in the upper Jequetepeque Valley, sam-
ples were analysed from three phases: the Kuntur Wasi Phase (800500 cal.
BC), the Copa Phase (500250 cal. BC), and the post-Chavn Sotera Phase
(25050 cal. BC). The Kuntur Wasi Phase samples (n=8) ranged from roughly
23 to 18, while the subsequent Copa Phase samples (n=14) mainly ranged
from 23 to 18 although a single sample measured about 17. These readings
conrmed that at Kuntur Wasi maize was little more than a secondary crop
from a dietary perspective during Chavn times. As at Chavn de Huntar,
there is some indication that its consumption increased slightly over the Early
Horizon, without ever becoming a major foodstuff (Seki and Yoneda 2005:
g.14). In summary, the carbon isotope data from three of the major centres
in the Chavn sphere of interaction suggest that maize was not the crucial
component in the agricultural system supporting this socioeconomic system.
However, the depiction of maize on ne ceramic bottles recovered from
Chavn de Huntar and Kotosh does suggest that maize had already achieved
a symbolic importance greater than its nutritional role by the late Initial
Period (Burger and Van der Merwe 1990).
The carbon isotope results on early Initial Period samples from Huacaloma
and late Pre-Ceramic samples from Huaricoto in the Callejon de Huaylas
(Burger and Van der Merwe 1990) imply that maize was already being con-
sumed, albeit at a low level, prior to the appearance of the Chavn sphere of
interaction, and thus maize cultivation in the highlands should not be
misconstrued as the result of the emergence of Chavn civilization.
The evidence presented thus far might seem sufcient to reject the maize
agricultural language dispersal hypothesis, but it is nonetheless worthwhile to
examine the evidence adduced by Heggarty and Beresford-Jones (2010, see
146 Richard Burger
online supplement A) in support of their argument. Heggarty and Beresford-
Jones begin by making a series of unsubstantiated claims stating that maize is
more robust and variable across varied environments than are tubers; this is a
weak argument given the enormous variability of Andean tubers and their
adaptation to a wide range of environments and climatic uctuations. While
many varieties of maize were developed in the Andes, it never achieved the
remarkable diversity of potatoes (there are more than three thousand varieties
of the latter in Peru). In their efforts to indict the humble potato, the authors
blame the Irish potato famine (184552) on this supposed lack of diversity.
The authors apparently do not realize that it was the specic lack of genetic
diversity of the potatoes brought to the Old World from the Andes and grown
in Ireland that made them so vulnerable to the blight. Had the Irish main-
tained the genetic diversity characteristic of traditional Andean farming (the
International Potato Centre reports that one Aymara farmer cultivated two
thousand varieties in his elds), the blight almost certainly would not have
occurred at such dangerous levels. Ironically, Heggarty and Beresford-Jones
also repeat exaggerated claims about maizes advantages from a discredited
article by David Wilson (1981). This article attempted to prove that the mon-
umental architecture of the Late Pre-Ceramic Period must have been due to a
maize-based agricultural package; this article was considered awed at the
time it was published (see Quilter and Stocker 1983 for an insightful rebuttal).
Three decades of research has proved Wilsons argument concerning the role
of maize in the coasts Late Pre-Ceramic Period subsistence economy to be
completely in error.
The actual archaeological evidence that Heggarty and Beresford-Jones
cite to support their argument is limited and in some cases misinterpreted.
They note that in Deborah Pearsalls synthesis of early Andean agriculture
(table 7.1) maize is entirely absent until the Initial Period but then suddenly
appears as present or indeed abundant in all ve Early Horizon sites listed
(Heggarty and Beresford-Jones 2010: suppl., 5). An examination of this table,
however, reveals that of the ve sites listed, four date to the middle or late
Early Horizon and are located in the lower reaches of the Casma, Viru, and
Supe valleys. As noted earlier, this portion of the coast did not participate in
the Chavn sphere of interaction at this time so the popularity of maize in
these subsistence economies cannot be invoked to explain the success or
expansion of the Chavn phenomenon. The fth site, Haldas, is shown by
Pearsall in table 7.1 as having moderately abundant maize during 1040895 BC,
but this listing is inconsistent with the excavation report cited by Pearsall (S.
Pozorski and T. Pozorski 1987). The Pozorskis unambiguously state, The
post-temple Las Haldas, Pampa Rosario, and San Diego was accompanied by
the introduction of maize to the Casma Valleynot gradually but imme-
diately (S. Pozorski and T. Pozorski 1987: 119); the post-temple occupation
at Las Haldas is estimated to be contemporary with Pampa Rosario, which
was occupied roughly from 700 to 300 BC. Thus, the sites cited by Pearsall
demonstrate that maize did not become a popular crop in this area of the
coast until it distanced itself from the Chavn sphere of interaction.
The only other archaeological support that Heggarty and Beresford-Jones
offer for their maize agriculture language dispersal hypothesis is the statement
from Brian Finucanes recent article Maize and sociopolitical complexity in
the Ayacucho Valley, Peru that his carbon isotope results suggest that maize
had become the single most important component of human diet in the
Ayacucho Valley by 800 BC (Finucane cited in Heggarty and Beresford-Jones
2010: 189). A close reading of Finucanes article, however, reveals that it is
based on the carbon isotope data from two cave sites, Rosamachay and
Pikimachay. Table 1 of this article indicates that only three bone samples were
run from these two caves (Finucane 2009: 538). All three of these samples
were dated directly by accelerator mass spectrometry (AMS). The single sam-
ple from Rosamachay yielded a date of AD 259423 and the two samples from
Pikimachay yielded dates of AD 131323 and 806552 BC (Finucane 2009:
539). Thus according to these measurements, two of the bone samples date to
the Early Intermediate Period and can tell us nothing about the diet during
the Early Horizon. Thus the Finucane conclusion cited by Heggarty and
Beresford-Jones is based on the analysis of a single bone coming from a layer
immediately below the one containing the Early Intermediate Period sample;
moreover, this date falls within the Hallstatt Plateau and is thus even less
reliable than indicated in table 1. But even if this measurement is accurate, it
remains questionable that we can reach any conclusions on Early Horizon
diet in Ayacucho based on the remains of a single individual buried in a
remote cave. Given the sample size (n=1) and doubts about the context, it
would be wise to regard Finucanes claim about Formative maize consumption
with more than a little scepticism.
In summary, while the Chavn phenomenon had many aspects to it, no
simple correlate can be seen between Chavn and a particular agricultural
staple such as maize. On the contrary, the adoption of maize as a staple
appears to have occurred after the collapse of Chavn and the spread of irri-
gation agriculture appears to pre-date it (Burger and van der Merwe 1990;
Tykot et al. 2006). Similarly, no correlation exists between the expansion of
the Chavn sphere and a specic agricultural technology, such as irrigation. In
the case of irrigation, there is growing evidence that it pre-dates Chavn by
several millennia. Thus the Chavn phenomenon does not constitute the kind
of force of history that Heggarty and Beresford-Jones would like to use to
explain pan-regional language dispersals.
While Heggarty and Beresford-Jones have focused on the relationship
between agriculture and language spread, others have focused on other forces
148 Richard Burger
of history such as warfare and migration. However, there is no evidence that
the expansion of the Chavn sphere of interaction was associated with warfare
or armed conquest. While warfare can be difcult to detect archaeologically,
there are various lines of evidence that can suggest its increasing importance
such as the location of sites in defensible spots, the presence of architectural
features with military advantages (concentric outer walls, parapets, blind
entrances, limited points of access, etc.), weapons (e.g. mace heads, piles of
sling stones), and an increase of skeletal remains with palaeopathological
indicators of violence (Topic and Topic 1987; Arkush and Stanish 2005; Tung
2007a, 2007b). It is signicant that none of these elements has been documented
within the Chavn sphere of interaction (Burger 1992: 225). In contrast, all of
these features become prominent in the centuries following the collapse of the
Chavn sphere of interaction and the abandonment of the pan-religious centre
at Chavn de Huntar. Some of these features may occur during the nal
phase of Chavns decline, but only on the north-central coast, an area
marginal to the Chavn sphere (Ghezzi 2006, Topic and Topic 1978, Wilson
1988).
There is likewise no evidence of population movements associated the
expansion of Chavns inuence. Rafael Larco and more recently Yoshio
Onuki suggested that the development of highland centres prominent in the
Chavn sphere might be due to migrations of coastal groups, such as those
responsible for the Cupisnique culture, and Onuki (2001) has even hypothe-
sized that some of the leaders at Kuntur Wasi could have come from the coast.
While this idea is intriguing, it is not supported by the carbon and nitrogen
measurements published for the Kuntur Wasi tombs (Seki and Yoneda 2005).
Nor do the earliest materials recovered at Chavn de Huntar suggest a coastal
origin for its population (Burger 1984). The possibility that the expansion of
Chavn elements may have been linked to population movements should be
considered, but relevant evidence is scarce. The rst diachronic study of
archaeological DNA focused on the south coast of Peru, including the Paracas
Peninsula, and the Ica and Nasca drainages. This zone is relevant because it
was an important part of the Chavn sphere of interaction. Signicantly,
Fehren-Schmitz et al. (2010) found no indication of population in this region
during the Early Horizon or Early Intermediate Period.
This review of the factors involved with the Chavn sphere of interaction
presents Heggarty and Beresford-Jones and like thinkers with a conundrum.
If the Chavn phenomenon provides the only viable temporal and spatial t
for the expansion of Central Aymara, it is difcult to cling to traditional
strong explanatory hypotheses such as agricultural expansion, warfare and/
or population as the ultimate or proximate explanation for this language
expansion, since these processes are inconsistent with the archaeological
record for Chavn. If the correlation with the Chavn sphere of interaction is
correct, it would seem to imply that other processes not usually considered by
historical linguists may have been responsible for the language expansion.
Cosmopolitanism and Language Expansion
What could the processes responsible for the language expansion have been?
It is possible to imagine a scenario in which the factors mentioned as respon-
sible for the Chavn sphere of interaction could have combined to create a
situation propitious for rapid and extensive language dispersal. Given the
history of Judaism, Islam, and Roman Catholicism, it is reasonable to posit
that the spread of a pan-regional religious cult such as Chavn could have
occurred in conjunction with that of a sacred language linked to a super-
terrestrial order of power. As Benedict Anderson observes, a sacred language
used for sacred texts and prayers, unies peoples of different ethnic and
linguistic histories (Anderson 1991: 12). While in the case of Chavn such a
sacred language would not be linked to a particular script, it could have been
linked to complex iconographic expressions, such as those found on the
Carhua textiles (Cordy-Collins 1976; Burger 1988) These objects, like thankas
for the Tibetans, could have summarized the Chavn cosmological system
expressed in memorized and orally transmitted sacred texts. The spread of
this sacred language (let us say Central Aymara, for the sake of argument),
via religious functionaries connected with branch oracles far from Chavn,
would be reinforced by the experience of believers from these distant areas
who made the pilgrimage to the centre of Chavn de Huntar where the lan-
guage was utilized. If the use of Aymara as a sacred language was eventually
expanded to serve as a lingua franca for exchange transactions and/or social
negotiations between elites within the Chavn sphere of interaction, its impact
would have been further enhanced. Although Central Aymara may have been
introduced as a high-status language among religious specialists and the elite
in a multilingual setting, it ultimately could have become attractive to those
consciously seeking to take on a more cosmopolitan identity and thus it could
have been disseminated throughout society, particularly if it received the
support of the local elite. The hypothetical model just described is not
consistent with the models of language expansion with which we are most
familiar, but at least it is consistent with existing archaeological evidence.
Moreover, it must be acknowledged that our ideas on language dispersion are
strongly inuenced by the experience of western civilization, particularly that
of recent centuries, a time period dominated by powerful and coercive nation-
states. When dealing with a language expansion that pre-dates the emergence
of powerful states and post-dates the expansion of intensive agriculture, it
may be necessary to consider new kinds of models, such as the one outlined
150 Richard Burger
here. This explanatory bias of many historical linguists has been recognized
by Sanskrit scholar Sheldon Pollock who has attempted to provide a more
balanced perspective by developing a comparative-historical account of the
cosmopolitanism that existed in the more distant past. Of particular interest
here is his treatment of the Sanskrit cosmopolis, a trans-regional cultural
formation that existed in most of South Asia and much of South-East Asia
between AD 300 and 1300 (Pollock 1996: 197). Beginning as a sacred language
in a sacerdotal environment, Sanskrit gradually emerged in much of this
extensive area as a public political language by which elites expressed their
power not in terms of material affairs, but in terms of aesthetic power. Thus
the spread of Sanskrit across ethnic, ecological, and linguistic borders helped
create a new kind of zone of cultural interaction, which some might name an
ecumene (Pollock 1996: 199). The dispersion of the language and the
transculturation process at work in the Sanskrit cosmopolis did not depend
on military power, the state, or legal or administrative apparatus. Pollock
writes, The creation of a linguistically homogeneous and conceptually almost
standardized form of discourse seems to have just happened as in a form of
premodern globalization. Pollock observes that the stage for this was set by
the efforts of small groups of traders, adventurers, and religious professionals.
There is no evidence that large-scale state initiatives were ever at issue or that
anything remotely resembling colonization took place. He writes, No ties of
political subservience ensued, no material dependency or exploitation, no
demographically meaningful settlements, no military conquest (Pollock 1996:
217). At its greatest extent, Sanskrit extended from todays Afghanistan to
Java and from Sri Lanka to Nepal. Pollock asks a question no less valid for
Chavn than it is for the Sanskrit cosmopolis: How do we understand the
processes by which whole social strata willingly abandon their linguistic
routines and doxa and submit altogether voluntarily to a new culture?
(Pollock 1996: 232).
Pollock contrasts the spread of Sanskrit with the spread of Latin, which
travelled as the language of a conquest state, as well as being the language of
a missionizing effort by expansive Christianity. Unlike Sanskrit, the spread of
Latin was centralized and militarized, and coercion was very much part of its
introduction. Like Latin, the Sanskrit cosmopolis was also created by action,
but not the actions of a conquest state. It was made instead by the circulation
of traders, literati, religious professionals, and freelance adventurers. Coercion,
co-option, juridical control, and even persuasion are nowhere in evidence.
Those who participated in Sanskrit cosmopolitan culture chose to do so, and
could choose to do so (Pollock 2000: 603).
There is no reason to assume that a Chavn cosmopolis would be identical
or even similar to the Sanskrit cosmopolis described by Pollock. It does, how-
ever, suggest that the conditions created by the Chavn phenomenon can be
considered as compatible with the pan-regional or trans-regional spread of
language, rst in its capacity as a sacred language linked to cosmology and
religion, and subsequently to additional roles in the culture such as elite inter-
action and the presentation of self. Two elements of Pollocks model are worth
emphasizing and linking to the Chavn case. The rst is the way in which a
cosmopolitan world-view can be crucial to the process of language dispersal.
The large number of foreign artefacts recovered at Chavn de Huntar
throughout the history of the temple conrms an unprecedented cosmopoli-
tan atmosphere at the site. This is exemplied by the fact that some 30 per cent
of the pottery consumed in both the temple and the surrounding settlement
appears to be of foreign origin (Druc 1998) and that many cached offerings
such as those of the Galera de los Ofrendas and the Galera de los Caracoles
are made up almost entirely of exotic materials whose points of origin span
the north coast, central coast, and eastern slopes of Peru as well as the shores
of Ecuador (Lumbreras 1993). The melding of foreign building elements and
alien iconographic styles sends precisely the same message (Burger 1992). It is
no coincidence that in one of the last known sculptural representations of
Chavns main deity (sometimes known as the Medusa Stone), he/she is
depicted holding contrasting Spondylus and Strombus shells, both native to
the warm waters off the coast of Ecuador.
The discovery that the east bank of the Mosna across from the temple was
covered by housing belonging to the sites population increases the minimum
extent of the site to some 50 hectares. This is a conservative estimate since
much of the settlement area is now buried under metres of rock and earth
from landslides. Nonetheless, my original population estimate of 2,0003,000
residents would seem even more plausible than when it was made (Burger
1984: 247). More importantly, this population shows evidence of differentia-
tion in terms of social status and occupational specialization (Burger 1984,
2008; Miller and Burger 1995). No other contemporary population centre in
Peru appears to have been as large or as complex. Thus, within its larger trans-
regional cultural setting, Chavn de Huntar would have been an unusually
large and sophisticated cosmopolitan centre where residents, pilgrims, and
traders from throughout the central Andes would have come into contact
with one another. As already noted, no comparable centres existed in the pre-
ceding Late Pre-Ceramic or Initial Period. In fact, even during the subsequent
Early Intermediate Period there is no centre that is equivalent in its cosmo-
politan breadth. While Cahuachi on the south coast and the site of Moche on
the north coast are impressive centres with massive architecture, they appear
to have served a regional rather than trans-regional audience and they embody
rather than transcend the local cultural traditions.
A second point made by Pollock that deserves further consideration is
his assertion that the Sanskrit cosmopolis expanded by the conscious and
152 Richard Burger
voluntary decisions of local groups to move beyond their cultural traditions
anchored in local space in order to participate in a way that transcended local
geography and language. This did not necessarily involve rejection of local
traditions, but it did involve introduction of new elements and the creation of
new priorities. While this sense of willing and conscious involvement is hard
to get at archaeologically, it may be signicant that during the Early Horizon
there was a widespread acceptance of Chavn ceramic stylistic elements
throughout its sphere of inuence (Burger 1988, 1992, 1993). Since pottery
was usually locally produced and used primarily in household environments,
these production and consumption decisions would seem to reect the will of
the people in a way that other classes of artefacts do not. Even in Inca times,
local household pottery in most areas was slow to incorporate Inca elements
into local styles in many of the areas that they dominated militarily and
politically (Menzel 1959; Morris and Thompson 1985). One can interpret the
ceramic patterning during the Early Horizon as reecting a widespread
interest by local communities in participating in a broader way that tran-
scended some of the provincialism of local identities. The adoption of a new
language for use in special contexts could have been part of this process.
A nal aspect that must be considered is that of chronology. How long did
the Chavn phenomenon last and would this have been long enough to create
the conditions for the spread of an associated sacred language such as Central
Aymara? This question has been complicated by the numerous problematic
measurements that have come out of Chavn de Huntar as a result of the
disturbance of the central architectural core (Burger 1981) and has been
exacerbated by the problems of interpreting C14 measurements for a time
when radiocarbon was uctuating in the atmosphere. Recent reanalysis of the
dates available from Chavn de Huntar and related sites has led me to modify
my original estimates for Chavns phases, which had been based on uncali-
brated measurements. I would now place the establishment of Chavn de
Huntar at approximately 1000 cal. BC and the abandonment of the temple
complex and associated settlement at approximately 300 cal. BC. The initial
phase of the sites occupation, the Urabarriu Phase, is estimated as lasting
from 1000 to 800 cal. BC, while the Chakinani Phase is now estimated as
running from 800 to 700 cal. BC. The Janbarriu Phase was probably longer
than originally believed and may have lasted from 700 to 300 cal. BC, with
most of its measurements falling within the Hallstatt Plateau.
There is evidence now that throughout the seven centuries of its history,
the Chavn centre had vibrant links with groups ranging from the northern
highlands of Cajamarca, the eastern slopes of Jan and the far northern
shores of Lambayeque to the southern highlands of Ayacucho and the adja-
cent shores of the Nasca drainage. In summary, the time-scale and the spatial
scale for the Chavn phenomenon, while less massive than that for Latin or
Sanskrit, is long enough and large enough to explain the dispersal of one of
the major central Andean languages. I agree with Heggarty and Beresford-
Jones that no comparable trans-regional phenomenon occurred either before
or immediately after the Early Horizon.
Archaeology, Language Dispersals, and Hypothesis Evaluation
I support the general effort of studying language dispersals through the
collaboration of archaeology and historical linguistics, and that the forces of
history should be examined to explain the timing and extent of these dispersals.
And while some archaeologists may feel uncomfortable with my efforts to
accommodate the archaeological record to the proposed linguistic model, I
have done so in the hope that this and other similar efforts will stimulate
future efforts to evaluate the model offered here. The role of toponym studies
will be crucial for testing the model, and the need for more detailed topo-
nymic studies in all of the coastal and highland valleys cannot be overstated,
particularly given the ongoing disruption in traditional farming and knowl-
edge of the landscape. If Chavn was the source for the dispersal of Central
Aymara (or Quechua) it should be reected in the patterns of where Aymara
and Quechua toponyms do and do not appear. Similarly, additional detailed
studies of divergence within the different languages in the Aymara and
Quechua language families are crucial, particularly if they can be linked to
the toponymic investigations.
Chavn was not a homogeneous phenomenon. Some areas, such as the
highlands between Quiruvilca and Cajamarca, never appear to have partici-
pated in it (Burger 1992, Perez 1998); presumably these areas should show a
distinct pattern of Aymara toponyms from those areas that were incor porated
into the Chavn ecumene or cosmopolis. Similarly, many of the lower coastal
valleys between Viru and Huarmey, particularly Casma and Nepea, initially
played an important role in the Chavn sphere at sites such as Cerro Blanco
and Huaca Partida, but the populations of this area ultimately opted out of
it after 700 cal. BC (Proulx 1985; Burger 1993; Chicone 2006; Ikehara and
Shibata 2008). Once again, this might be expected to have an impact on the
dispersal of language and be reected in the distribution of Aymara toponyms.
Finally, as the northern and southern limits of the Chavn sphere of inter-
action (or Chavn ecumene or Chavn cosmopolis) become clearer, we should
expect equivalent ssures in the way that the posited major Andean language
expanded and diversied. In the north, it might be expected that Aymara
toponyms should reach a porous frontier running from Lambayeque to
Pacopampa to Jan, and then they should notably diminish. Similarly, in the
south, we would expect the distribution of Central Aymara toponyms to
154 Richard Burger
reach a porous frontier running roughly from the Nasca drainage to the
southern Ayacucho highlands. Obviously, diverse historical factors including
depopulation and recolonization might have impacted the survival of topo-
nyms, but these forces of history can be taken into consideration in the critical
evaluation of local toponymic patterns. Following the collapse of the Chavn
world at the end of the Early Horizon, most areas drew in on themselves. An
increase in violence has been reported in many areas along with a sharp drop
in exotic items being consumed during this period that lasted from approxi-
mately 300 BC to AD 200. In some cases, local pottery styles reasserted them-
selves, and in other cases new simpler styles were introduced to replace the
international Chavn style. The period between AD 200 and 700 is likewise a
period of relatively insular cultural development in much of Peru (Lau 2006:
162). In cultures such as Nazca, Lima, Moche, Recuay, and Cajamarca, this
expressed itself in only limited long-distance movement and exchange focused
on the immediate area or region. These centuries spanning the terminal Early
Horizon and Early Intermediate Period might be expected to have fomented
differentiation in the language that had expanded as part of the Chavn
phenomenon.
When the linguistic data are evaluated in relation to the archaeological
evidence, how good is the t? If it is poor, the possibility that the archaeology
is incomplete or misunderstood should be considered before rejecting the
linguistic dispersal model. For example, if Central Aymara toponyms occur
on the coast to the south of Nazca, the possibility should be contemplated
that the Chavn sphere of interaction expanded into this area. This possibility
has never been intensively studied, and therefore cannot be ruled out. I provide
this hypothetical example in part to suggest how the interaction between
historical linguistics and archaeology could lead to valuable archaeological
eldwork in the future. While the current efforts at explaining major language
dispersals in the Andes may be frustrating, it is important to remember that
these hesitant and awkward initial rst steps will hopefully stimulate a new
wave of research that will yield the evidence necessary for a fuller and more
compelling explanation of the prehistoric spread of Aymara and Quechua.
Without engaging in this discourse, it is likely that the current pattern of
benign neglect of this important subject will continue into the twenty-rst
century.
Note. Special thanks to Barney Bate for exposing me to the work of Sheldon Pollock,
to Jason Nesbitt, Jeffrey Quilter, and Lucy Salazar for helping me rene my ideas on
this topic, and to Paul Heggarty and David Beresford-Jones for their editorial and
administrative efforts and stimulating ideas. I dedicate this to the memory of the
pioneering historical linguist Alfredo Torero.
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