The New Archaeology and the Ancient Maya
by Jeremy SabloffI'm not particularly interested in ancient objects. This seemingly heretical statement for an archaeologist usually takes aback friends who believe that the best way to entertain me is to show me the local museum. On more than one occasion, I have had to explain that beautiful Classic Maya vases or finely carved jade pendants hold less interest to me–and to many of my colleagues - than the scientific investigation of ideas about why and how ancient cultures like the Maya developed. I do not have dreams of finding a fabulous burial chamber with hundreds of beautiful art objects, like a modern-day Howard Carter entering King Tut's tomb.
While I am impressed by those archaeologists who can look at a variety of objects and tell you their age, place of origin, and function, such activities are not the primary concern of many archaeologists, including myself. For us, the traditional "what," "where," and "when" questions of the archaeological enterprise are no longer ends in themselves, but have become means to answering the questions of "why" and "how." We want to understand what made an ancient people as they were, and we are eager to use all sorts of nontraditional methods to find out.
If you ask people on the street to picture an archaeologist, they are likely to describe a person digging in the middle of an excavation (probably dressed in khaki and wearing a pith helmet!) as dirt flies in all directions. But while contemporary archaeologists can often be found in the trenches, they are just as likely to be found seated at a computer terminal running multivariate analyses of distributions of artifacts found on a cave floor. Or they may be found hunched over binocular microscopes examining thin sections of prehistoric pottery sherds, or inspecting large satellite images for signs of early watercourses, or peering through high-tech, laser surveying instruments while mapping preindustrial urban centers. In attempts to link the material remains of a dead civilization with modern cultural activities, the graduate students who are studying with me are just as likely to be excavating in the house or yard of a modern Mexican peasant family as they are to be digging through an ancient Maya palace. Moreover, if you run into them on campus, they are as likely to be carrying a book on sampling strategies as on the Pre-Conquest Maya.
The practice of archaeology today is significantly different from that of just a few decades ago, not only in the battery of new hardware and sophisticated technical analyses now available, but in new approaches to interpreting the past and new methods of studying ancient people.
To some sense, archaeologists dwell in two worlds, the past and the present. Their aim is to understand a culture from the past, but their vision of that culture is touched in many ways by the vogues and lifestyles of the present. Archaeologists cannot escape the biases of modern society, but they can try to control the influence of those biases by acknowledging them. Yet the influences of the present are not necessarily invalid. Archaeologists recognize that human civilizations share much in common. Our views of the present may sometimes give insight into the past, and conversely, civilizations of the past may shed light on the present.
CHANGING PERSPECTIVES IN ARCHAEOLOGY
In recent years, some scholars have been casting a critical eye at how Western culture has influenced the thinking of archaeologists. Clearly, archaeologists are not unbiased observers of the past, collecting completely objective data about the archaeological record. It was not too long ago, for example, that Maya archaeologists did not "see" peasant house mounds because they were not perceived as "important." And we can be certain that archaeologists in the not-too-distant future will shake their heads in disbelief at some of the assumptions and procedures of contemporary scholars.
One of the most perceptive observers of modern-day caprices is the archaeologist Richard Wilk. In a 1985 article entitled "The Ancient Maya and the Political Present," Wilk examines the recent writings of a host of U.S. Mayanists, especially those that have appeared in a series of influential edited volumes on the development of Maya civilization. He found that new explanations of the Classic Maya "collapse" mirrored important political concerns in the United States. Archaeologists were blaming warfare and conquest for the collapse just as the Vietnam conflict was escalating in the late 1960s. Then, when the environmental movement began raising the alarm in the early 1970s, archaeologists revived an earlier argument suggesting that the Maya had misused the lowland soil. During the religious revival of the 1970s suddenly Maya ideology became important in collapse hypotheses–including suggestions that ancient Maya religious prophecies foretelling their own doom had created a fatalism in the Maya that weakened their will to survive. While Wilk's correlations are interesting, they do not prove that current intellectual trends determine which views of the collapse become popular, nor is there anything necessarily "wrong" about archaeologists letting political trends influence their thinking. However, if his correlations are valid, they indicate how careful scholars must be to ensure that current biases are not blinding them to alternative hypotheses or limiting the kinds of data they collect. As Wilk cogently suggests, "Archaeological discourse has a dual nature: at the same time that it pursues objective, verifiable knowledge about the past, it also conducts an informal and often hidden political and philosophical debate about the major issues of contemporary life.... The task is to recognize the nature of the dialogue and to take responsibility for it."
Perhaps the most overarching change in focus in Maya studies has been a shift from an upper-class or elitist perspective to a broader point of view. Archaeologists now try to give equal importance to all levels of Maya society, from the peasant to the artisan to the ruler. It is essential to emphasize that even though not all traditional Mayanists were upper class, many were, and the overwhelming majority focused their studies on their elite Maya counterparts. On the other hand, the Maya researchers of the past two decades come from many different classes and backgrounds.
After World War II, but especially in the 1960s, a new wave of scholars entered the field of archaeology. Most of these individuals were neither wealthy nor from upper-class backgrounds. Thanks to funding from the National Science Foundation and other new sources, anyone had the chance to carry out his or her own field project on the Maya. Many more positions for archaeologists became available throughout the country, particularly at state universities. The entire face of Maya studies changed. Now students from modest and even poor origins could afford to enter archaeology, which had once been almost a hobby of the rich. These archaeologists brought to their research new interests from their varied backgrounds, perhaps farming or factory work, for example. Because of their broader outlook, archaeologists were more willing to look at the ancient Maya not as something unique but as similar to preindustrial civilizations all over the globe. And many new archaeologists brought to their field suspicions of elite values, or even outright hostility.
In contrast to their predecessors, many archaeologists today are fascinated by the ordinary objects left by peasants and by their manufacture and distribution. They use methodologies that explore the common lifeways, such as the settlement pattern research that maps and excavates peasant houses along with elite ones. In assessing culture change, they consider not only high art and architecture but technology, agriculture, and trade. Modern scholars don't look at artifacts and buildings as isolated pieces; they consider entire sites and regions as objects of scrutiny. Now that archaeologists are able to value the contributions of peasants and workers, they are looking at the Pre- and Postclassic periods with new interest and respect. They appreciate that although Postclassic elite art and architecture certainly were not as accomplished as Classic, most Maya lived better, and the economic and political systems were quite complex.
It is not too much to say that the broader perspective of postWorld War II archaeology led to the current, multifaceted view of the ancient Maya world. Archaeologists are hard at work testing different parts of the new model and adding or correcting details. But just as the new perspective is beginning to come into its own, it has come under attack by a new elite position, albeit one that is more sophisticated and more flexible than that of the past. The new elitism is inspired by important breakthroughs in the decipherment of Maya hieroglyphic writing. The hieroglyphic texts are now revealing much that was unknowable before about wars between centers and royal marriages between leading families. The danger is that archaeologists will draw new conclusions about the Maya that are based solely on these hieroglyphics, which could be the mendacious or fanciful boasting of Maya rulers. Maya warfare or political domination will never be clearly understood without examining all levels of ancient Maya life.
Although the new, more egalitarian perspective may prove barren or unproductive in the long run, it remains only partly tested yet promising. It would be sad to see it compromised before it has had an opportunity to show its potential.
LESSONS FROM THE MAYA COLLAPSE
Many people have the impression that when it comes to the modern world, archaeologists have their heads stuck in the sand like ostriches, so wrapped in what happened in the past that they are oblivious to what is going on in the present. But such is not the case. On the contrary, a number of scholars believe that their studies are relevant to problems facing people today. These archaeologists, myself included, suggest that we can learn from examining the fates of earlier civilizabons.
I do not have the nerve to claim that archaeologists can successfully predict the future or that they should be advising policymakers in Washington. Nor do I believe that archaeological understandings of cultural development can in the normal course of events directly influence political decisions. However, by comparing our modern society with earlier civilizations, we may see more clearly the likely results of trends such as the destruction of tropical rainforests and the rapid shrinking of the farming population in the United States. The "lessons of history" cannot necessarily tell us exactly what tack to follow today, but they can teach us what courses of action have succeeded or failed in the past and why.
Maya studies offer good examples of how the mistakes of the past can shed light on the problems of today. I have long argued that some troubling parallels can be found between the modern world and Classic Maya civilization just before its decline. One such parallel is the destruction of the rainforests throughout the world today and in the southern Yucatan Peninsula of A.D. 800. Can this analogy teach us anything?
Archaeologists Don Rice of the University of Virginia and Prudence Rice of the University of Florida wrote a superb article in 1984, entitled "Lessons from the Maya," pointing out that by carefully studying the effects of deforestation in the Southern Lowlands throughout the Classic period, we can discover the long-term consequences of clearing vast tracts of rainforest. Unlike modern ecological research, which can only study change over decades, archaeological studies can look at results over hundreds of years. These studies suggest that as the Maya cleared away the rainforest, they deprived the thin soils of their protective cover. With no thick foliage to deflect the sun's rays, the soils soon lost their nutrients to the hot tropical sun. Yet because the rapidly growing population needed to be fed, I would argue that the Maya couldn't afford any longer to leave fields fallow and unproductive until they recovered. By using fields year after year, they may have increased erosion and depleted the soil of its minerals. Eventually either the land just gave out or production was so poor that an otherwise minor shock, such as a drought or a war during harvest, left the Maya without reserves. Their choice may have been leave or starve.
On the positive side, the Rices point out that the Maya successfully exploited the tropical rainforest for over 1,500 years, and for many centuries during that period they farmed the rainforest land heavily. By analyzing Maya agricultural techniques and their impacts on the environment, we can perhaps better understand the reasons for both long-lasting success and ultimate failure. This knowledge could be the key to avoiding catastrophe.
A second parallel between ourselves and the Maya is a trend that also contributed to the failure of the Maya agricultural system. At a time when population was growing, many Maya were leaving full-time agricultural production to become urban workers, deserting rural homes to live in the city. Fewer and fewer farmers were being asked to support more and more people. To keep up with the enormous demand for food, the Maya had to increase the yield per farmer. One way they did so was by reclaiming the rich land of the swamps. This worked fine for a while, but eventually that land may have been depleted as well. The lush swamp vegetation that had continually refreshed the soil had been cleared away, leaving the hot sun to do its work. The final result was no better than the clearing of the rainforest.
The clearing of the rainforest and the reclamation of swampland both ultimately failed, and for the same reason. The lowlands of the Yucatan Peninsula could not support the numbers of Maya living there. Does the same fate await nations that are even now destroying their rainforest to feed their multiplying hungry? And if so, will other countries of the world, perhaps our own, one day follow them?
Americans in particular have great faith in the ability of technological innovation to save us in times of crisis. We don't have to worry about overpopulation or dying farms because when push comes to shove, something like hydroponics will emerge to provide enough food. Yet in the case of the Classic Maya, few sign)ficant technological innovations occurred during the critical period before the collapse. With metal-cutting tools, for example, farmers could have cleared fields more rapidly and produced more crops, at least in the short term. But although metallurgy was just being introduced from Central America at the time, metal objects appeared only in religious ceremonies. Is our faith in technological rescue misplaced and dangerous, and can we afford to rely so heavily on its promise?
Although we have unlimited confidence in our own ingenuity and foresight, it can be cliffficult to guard against a rigidity of thinking that may blind us to fresh solutions. Once again, the case of the Maya is instructive. There are many indications that the Maya elite were aware of the threats to their way of life in the century before the collapse. For example, they intensified their efforts to reclaim more swampland. Yet, with the luxury of hindsight, we can see that one of their principal responses to the crisis seems to have exacerbated the problems. Within the world view of the time, it assuredly made sense to build newer and larger monuments to glorify the gods, who might then intercede on behalf of the beleagured cities. Perhaps the Maya also felt that by demonstrating wealth and strength to hostile neighbors, the impressive buildings would gain the city an edge in regional conflicts. However, the ambitious building projects actually accelerated the decline, by drawing more resources and people from agriculture and by encouraging warfare and thus stressing the land even more than before.
Herein lies another–and perhaps the most important–lesson worth pondering. It is no great insight to state that people's cultural biases and particularly their ideologies may blind them to important changes in the world around them. But the case of the Maya offers a potentially useful variant on this theme. The Maya leadership appears to have become increasingly isolated from the rest of society during the Late Classic period. At a time when the demands on the skills of the rulers were growing rapidly, positions of power were increasingly gained through kinship ties, not necessarily by achievement. The isolation of the elite could have made it even more difficult for them to break away from traditional modes of thought and look at critical problems from fresh vantage points. So even though the ancient Maya leadership perceived the coming crisis, they responded in a predictable, but ultimately disastrous fashion. By becoming aware of our own preconceptions and struggling to go beyond them, we may do better than the Maya.
In his insightful book The Collapse of Complex Societies, the archaeologist Joseph Tainter of the U.S. Forest Service has compared the collapse of civilizations from the Romans to the Puebloans of Chaco Canyon in the American Southwest. He argues that as societies become increasingly complex, a small group of elite rulers tend to benefit exclusively, and the chances of collapse grow rapidly. The Classic Maya of the Southern Lowlands fit this model very well.
Tainter points out that for over a thousand years the Maya peasantry supported upwardly spiraling numbers of monuments, agricultural projects, wars, military and civil specialists, and artisans. But a peasant's hard work did not bring a better diet; on the contrary, the health and nutrition of the population was low, and they further deteriorated during Late Classic times. With the investment in complexity bringing a lower standard of living to the majority, it is no surprise that the civilization of the southern Classic Maya eventually collapsed.
Tainter says that looked at in this light, collapses are not necessarily negative or tragic. As always, the question is, tragic for whom? In the case of Classic civilization in the Southern Lowlands, the collapse of the society was probably tragic for the elite but perhaps not for the peasants. "To a population that is receiving little return on the cost of supporting complexity, the loss of complexity brings economic . .gains."
But does Tainter's theory fit our global society today, too? Tainter maintains that it does, although the interconnectedness of today's world makes it difficult for any one segment to collapse. Like our own world, the Maya realm was fragmented into separate political units. Tainter says, "In this sense, although industrial society . . . is sometimes likened in popular thought to ancient Rome, a close analogy would be with . . . the Maya." Tainter believes that while collapse is not imminent, given today's competitive spiral and the decreasing standard of living for many people, the possibility of total system collapse remains a strong possibility.
The question remains, how do we break this potentially disastrous spiral? Will archaeologists of the future looking at our world wonder why society took just the kinds of steps that aggravated our obvious difficulties rather than curing them? Are we locked into ways of thinking that blind us to the root causes of problems? Are we pursuing solutions that appear to make sense only because we are unable or unwilling to step back and broaden our perspective? Do we look for short-term gain at the price of long-term ruination? Do we rely too heavily on the expectation that technological innovations will bail out the system when our plight becomes critical? Are too many people missing out on the benefits of all our technological triumphs? If the answer to any of these questions is yes, then case studies like that of the Southern Lowland Maya collapse may help in a small way to open the public's eyes and those of our leaders. In the Maya example, the actions taken to solve the dire puzzles facing their civilization failed. By studying the Maya, perhaps we can learn what general kinds of efforts to avoid and how we can strengthen our chances of survival.