HDFHGF

On Historical Consciousness
Author(s): WilliamRoseberry
Source: Current Anthropology, Vol. 38, No. 5 (December 1997), pp. 926-931
Published by: The University of Chicago Press on behalf of Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological
Research
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Books
Review Essay: Ancient Minds

raymond corbey and wil roebroeks
Faculty of Pre- and Protohistory, P.O. Box 9515, NL
2300 RA Leiden, The Netherlands. 1 vii 97
The Prehistory of the Mind: A Search for the
Origins of Art, Religion, and Science. By Steven
Mithen. London: Thames and Hudson, 1996.
288 pp.
Human Evolution, Language, and Mind:
A Psychological and Archaeological Inquiry. By
William Noble and Iain Davidson. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1996. 272 pp.
Interaction between the fields of palaeoanthropology
and psychology is not a recent development, and many
of the themes on the agenda of this joint venture about
a century ago are still at stake in the two books reviewed here. Max Verworn, for instance, in his Zur
Psychologie der primitiven Kunst (1907) mentions his
experiments with peasant children in remote mountain
villages of Germany, where he hoped to uncover ways
of perceiving (and drawing) the natural world that were
close to those of Palaeolithic hunter-gatherers. Much to
his disappointment, he soon found out that even there,
in the midst of nature, education filled even very
young children with huge amounts of Vorstellungsmaterial, to such a degree that at the time they were capable of making their first drawings a pure and uncontaminated perception of nature no longer existed. Young
children and developmental psychology are central in
British archaeologist Steven Mithens The Prehistory of
the Mind, which appeared virtually simultaneously
with Human Evolution, Language, and Mind, by the
psychologist of perception William Noble and the archaeologist Iain Davidson, both from Australia. But
apart from their timing and general theme, these books
have surprisingly little in common; they aim at different audiences, start from opposing philosophical standpoints, and thus have highly conflicting views of what
the mind is and how, consequently, its prehistory can
best be studied.
Early language and cognition are within the range of
a number of disciplines. Current theorizing on the subject, which has been drawing increasing attention over
the past 15 years or so, is fragmented across disci1. Permission to reprint items in this section may be obtained only
from their authors.
plineslinguistics, cognitive science, archaeology, paleoanthropology, primatology, anthropology, philosophy, semioticsas well as within disciplines. Some, for
instance, study language primarily as a cognitive activity of mental mapping or representation, while others
see it as basically a social, communicative activity. In
each of these approaches, some assume a sharp break
with functional capacities already present in nonhuman
primates while others attempt to explain the features of
language as quantitative elaborations of earlier ways of
gathering, using, and transferring information. In all
cases this makes for worlds of difference in conceptualization, methods, and research topics.
A pioneer on ancient minds is the archaeologist
T. Wynn, who since the seventies has been trying to
trace changes in the spatial and technical competences
of early hominids, extrapolating Piagetian insights to
the ontogeny of cognition (Wynn 1989). The linguist
D. Bickerton (1990) has developed the notion of a syntactically poor but semantically rich protolanguage.
The idea of a prelinguistic, flexible mimetic skill, using the body as a representational device, has been proposed by the cognitive psychologist M. Donald (1993).
These and several other contributions have provoked
much discussion, thus enhancing an emergent field of
study (Gibson and Ingold 1993, Mellars and Gibson
1996). Chomskyan linguistics is now incorporating an
evolutionary perspective, and psychologists are explicitly attempting an evolutionary psychology. R. Dunbar
(1993) is studying language as an activity of social
grooming that enhances group cohesion, while other
primatologists as well as psychologists are looking at
symbolic capacities in apes and early hominids.
The fragmented and multiparadigmatic character of
this field of study and the relative invisibility, especially archaeologically, of cognitive processes regularly
provoke skeptical comments about quite speculative
scenarios like those proposed in the two monographs
under consideration here.
the architecture of mind
While Noble and Davidson aim at a more scholarly
readership, Mithen has tried to write a book that
makes the evidence from prehistory accessible to readers who may never previously have heard of an australopithecine or a handaxe (p. 7), and his Prehistory of the
Mind can certainly be called a success on this front; specialists are addressed in many pages of useful more
technical endnotes, a solution that makes for a highly
readable book.
Mithen analyzes the Palaeolithic archaeological record in terms of a research agenda which has broad sup917

918 c u r r e n t an t hr o p o l o g y
port in contemporary psychology and cognitive science:

the modularity of mind. Jerry Fodor, an influential
modularist featuring prominently in Mithens first
chapters, postulates a two-tier cognitive architecture,
with specialized and independent modules that function as input systems (sight, hearing, touch, language)
for a nonmodular central processing system. Fodor argues that each input system is based on independent
brain processes, modular and mandatory, and that the
nature of perception of these modules is already hardwired into the mind at birth. The central system is
where it really happens, the black box where cognition resides and where the information from all input
systems is mysteriously channelled and integrated.
From the plethora of psychological research Mithen
somewhat opportunistically selects and critically uses
some other work to develop further this basic idea of
the mind as, put simply, a Swiss army knife with different blades for different purposes: H. Gardners theory of
multiple but interactive intelligences, the evolutionary
psychology of L. Cosmides and J. Tooby, and the developmental psychology of A. Karmiloff-Smith.
The evolutionary psychologists see the mind as a constellation of many separate adaptive or survival devices,
all developed in the course of human evolution. Each of
these modules has a specific kind of memory and reasoning process, is hard-wired into the mind at birth, and
is rich in survival information about real-world structure. But, says Mithen, the human passion for analogy
and metaphor poses a challenge to claims that the mind
is like a Swiss army knife, and he then turns to developmental psychology. Indeed, we learn, there is overwhelming evidence that children are born with contentrich mental modules that reflect the structure of the
real (Pleistocene) world in which our ancestors lived:
judging from the rapid rate at which children learn, they
must have an innate intuitive knowledge of language,
psychology, biology, and physics.
Developmental psychology furthermore tells Mithen
that ontogenetically things change considerably: with
very young children, up to about two years of age,
general-purpose learning processes and a general intelligence seem to dominate, while later on content-rich
modules with knowledge about language, psychology,
physics, and biology overwhelm these general processes. Then, according to Karmiloff-Smith, soon after
this modularization has occurred the modules begin to
work together, connections between domains are built,
and knowledge becomes applicable beyond its normal
special-purpose goals. Thus the child develops through
three stages: first general intelligence, then modularity,
and finally a cognitively fluid mentality in which the
modules are interrelated.
Mithen, fascinated by the behaviour of his children
(who figure prominently in the book), then turns to the
old ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny, and from this
point on the book is quite predictable for those who are
acquainted with the archaeological record: Neandertals
(and earlier hominids), as far as their minds are concerned, were forever (very) young: capable hunters, good
flintknappers, and socially adroit, all this taken care of

by modules for natural-history, technical, and social intelligence. The archaeological record of the Upper
Palaeolithic shows that these modern humans possessed the cognitive fluidity so characteristic of us;
apparently by then the modules had become intertwined, allowing individuals to express group membership by their style of tool manufacture (social and technical intelligence modules combined), to see plants as
persons (social and natural-history intelligence modules
combined), or to design complicated multicomponent
tools for specialized hunting (natural-history and technical intelligence modules combined).
The notion of recapitulation is crucial in Mithens
book, and though he adopts it hesitantly (p. 63) to
propose a series of architectural phases for the evolution
of the mind which is essentially based on KarmiloffSmiths ontogenetic periodization, this hesitancy is
strikingly invisible in the rest of the book. The story of
how mind as a Gothic cathedral with interconnected
chapels came about is well told. In fact, it is so well told
that the innocent reader may forget about Mithens initial and crucial hesitancy as to that basic assumption,
along with other assumptions which are not necessarily
less controversial: that mind has a modular structure
and that it changes ontogenetically from general
through modularized to cognitively fluid.
behaviour in its context
The quite different approach to ancient minds that Noble and Davidson take will not be unfamiliar to readers
of this journal or, indeed, to those interested in the evolution of language and cognition in general. They criticize the stress on internal computational processes or
other forms of representation found in the work of
Fodor, Mithen, and indeed, mainstream contemporary
cognitive science and interpret mind as mindedness of
behaviour in its context, especially its social setting. As
Mithen does for his purposes, they too make a pragmatic selection from an abundance of available scholarship, ending up with the symbolic interactionism of
G. H. Mead, the philosophical behaviourism of G. Ryle
and the late Wittgenstein, and, above all, J. J. Gibsons
ecological theory of perception. Gibsonians, wary of
too emphatic appeals to various forms of internal processing, take perception to be an adaptive, direct, unmediated relation between an organism and its environment and look upon mind as observable minded
behaviour.
Crucial to their argument, developed in a number of
papers and elaborated in admirable detail in this book,
is how communication came to be unquestionably intentional. Following the aforementioned authors, they
see language as social interaction, whereas many other
workers study vocal skills and symbolic communication in terms of the underlying configuration of brain
functions. Their argument is that practices which happen to be unique to humans recruit the structures of
the brain, rather than being determined by them. . . .

Volume 38, Number 5, December 1997 919
Practices interact with structures (p. 18)a position

which gives little attention to evolutionary changes in
hominid skeletons during the past million-odd years.
Their continual concern is to explain how human
speaking (or its equivalent in gestured signs) is distinct
from all other forms of communication. How did unintentional communication change into intentional communication? A typical answer to this question is alterations in central nervous system circuitry allowing
connections previously unmadethat is, changes in
the architecture of the mind. Noble and Davidson are
not interested in such explanations. In fact, they dispense with the term mind as referring to any sort of
natural entity altogether. For them mind is simply a
term used to account for the ways in which humans go
about their business. Minded behaviour is linguistic
and essentially interactive, and thus human minds are
socially constructed.
In their view, throwing and pointing led to iconic gestures, which in their turn made possible the transformation of communication into language: a persistent trace
of such a gesture was a meaningful object for perception
and facilitated the discovery that one thing can stand
for another. That discovery, for Noble and Davidson,
was an all-or-none event, a binary condition which is
not explainable in gradualist terms.
The first unambiguous evidence of intentional, planbased behaviour in the archaeological record, in their
view, is the colonization of Australia. Boats and a certain knowledge of seafaring were necessary for this enterprise. Both demanded execution of well-thoughtthrough plans in a complex series of actions the end result of which was not simply determined by continuous
reduction as in the case of stone tools. It is inevitable
that plan-based intentional behaviour existed before it
was expressed in that colonization event, but Australia
and New Guinea fit in in the earliest worldwide radiation of modern humans at about the same time that the
first more complex (multicomponent) tools appear in
the archaeological record: some of these are made not
by simple flaking but by grinding, which means that the
end product was envisaged beforehand.
Such behaviours must have been language-based,
they claim. The discovery of language was more a
matter of behaviour than of evolutionary changes in
biology, themselves heavily influenced by selection
on behaviour in its context. Language as a symbolic
communication system created mindednessbeing
aware of experience and knowledge, being able to judge
and plan and thus better to control the future. This released hominids partially from the immediate contingencies of a specific natural environment, enabling
them to plan logistically in all kinds of environmental
settings, to abstract, to differentiate between us and
them, to invent the supernatural, and to reflect on
past, present, and future.
Noble and Davidsons well-known, controversial
finished-artifact-fallacy hypothesis supports their identification of the earliest modern minds. Attacking a
credo of most typo- and technological studies of stone
artifacts, they claim that the final forms of artifacts

were not necessarily intended as such by Pleistocene
hominids but just more or less contingent results of
continuous flaking, of simple reduction. These tools,
though made with better motor capacities and a few
other extra gadgets, are basically no more sophisticated
than the termite probes chimpanzees wield and therefore correspond to still ancient minds.
Noble and Davidson have woven a very intricate
story to explain how we got to a situation in which you,
the reader of this review, can read and (we hope) follow
our thoughts about two different sets of thoughts about
things that happened in various places way back in
timethoughts written down in England and Australia, sent to printers in, respectively, Slovenia and Hong
Kong, and from there redistributed all over the world.
To do this, they have combined elements from many
corners of palaeoanthropology, psychology, and philosophy. It is impossible here to give a fuller summary of
their basic scenario, which is considerably more complex than Mithens architectural approach.
some archaeology
Noble and Davidsons scenario is more susceptible to
falsification than Mithens, and indeed there are some
points to be brought against it from an archaeologists
perspective. The debate on the Pleistocene colonization
of the northern regions of Europe, for instance, has at
the very least shown that premodern groups were capable of living in a wide range of environments, although
the degree to which they exploited interglacial forested
environments is still a matter of contention. Making a
living in northern Europe in both cold and interglacial
phases was possible only with a considerable degree of
planning (cf. Gamble 1986 vs. Roebroeks, Conard,
and Van Kolfschoten 1992). Noble and Davidson also
have a quite outdated view of the hunting capacities of
premoderns that leads them to underestimate their potential in this respect (see Gaudzinski 1996).
Furthermore, there are other possible indications of
premodern intentional behaviour that they neglect or
ignore. Whereas they state that the regular production
of fire did not occur earlier than the emergence of modern human behaviour (pp. 2067), at least for Europe it
now seems well established that fire was a rather common feature from the later part of the Middle Pleistocene (oxygen isotope stage 7) onward. At sites 250,000
years old or younger burnt flints are often present, coming in handy for thermoluminiscence dating purposes.
Their presence at sites such as Maastricht-Belvede`re,
Biache Saint Vaast, La Cotte de St. Brelade, and Ehringsdorf, to mention just a few, is in striking contrast to
their virtual absence in earlier very rich sites in the
Somme Valley, at Boxgrove, and in all but the uppermost layers of the Caune de lArago at Tautavel. From
250,000 years ago onward, fire was used on a regular basis but only very rarely within structured hearths somewhat comparable to Upper Palaeolithic ones (see Rigaud, Simek, and Ge 1995). There are also, of course,

the recently published Middle Pleistocene wooden

spears from Schoningen (Thieme 1997). These are not
just pointed sticks, and their manufacture represents
considerable investment of time and skillselecting
the appropriate wood with a dense concentration of
growth rings, constructing the tip from the base of the
wood, and placing the centre of gravity a third of the
way from the sharp end, just as in a modern javelin.
The strong points of Mithens architectural scenario
are its robust straightforwardness and the elegant and
archaeologically well-founded way in which it furnishes the cathedral of mind with archaeological data.
What to Noble and Davidson may be disturbing surprises from the archaeological record, such as the spears
from Schoningen, fall nicely into one of the modules of
premodern humans in Mithens scenario. Its integrative
power is enormous, and even the hypothetical find of,
say, a nest of anthropomorphic figurines in a Middle
Pleistocene deposit could be incorporated as a temporary short circuit between two modules. But then, of
course, one might hold against his scenario, as elegant
as it is, that it is less vulnerable to empirical falsification than that of Noble and Davidson, who really stick
their necks out.
We have more problems with Mithens basic explanatory scenario, which is three levels deep in basic assumptionsto such a degree that it is not even convincing to one of the founding fathers of the idea of
modularity, Fodor himself (1996). There are also serious
problems in terms of the internal consistency of the
story: if a transition from a generalized to a specialized
type of mentalityat the transition from the common
ancestor/Homo habilis group to the early humans (H.
erectus)had evolutionary advantages, what were the
advantages of the transition the other way back, in the
Late Pleistocene? As Fodor (1996) has commented, this
cannot be right: the same cause cant explain opposite
effects. We do not get any clear answer to this question, and instead the final chapter gives an extension of
the story far back in time, in which 65 million years
of the mind are simply presented in a few pages as an
oscillation between specialized and generalized ways of
thinking.
cism for its reduction of subjective consciousness to observable behaviour, but perhaps this drawback is balanced by what, by this very move, it can offer to
archaeologists looking for such imponderabilia as intentions and words.
The discrepancy between Mithens mentalist stress
on internal processing and Noble and Davidsons relationist focus on how the surroundings are dealt with
practically highlights some striking parallels with controversies and developments in 20th-century continental philosophy which have only recently begun to spill
over into Anglophone arenas (e.g., Dreyfuss 1993). Edmund Husserls mentalistic and egological account of
mind and intentionality, in the Cartesian tradition, was
attacked by Martin Heidegger with his ecological
analysis of Dasein (being-in-the-world) and by Maurice
Merleau-Pontys theorywhich critically elaborates
upon Heideggerof the unreflexive, embodied intentionality of the corps-sujet, which again inspired Pierre
Bourdieus sociology of habitus and sens pratique.
More specifically, a basic problem in German philosophy has been how, why, and when the spontaneous,
practical interactions of certain living beings with their
Umwelt or milieu (sensu J. von Uexkull) were transcended towards fully reflexive Weltoffenheit or beingopen-to-the-world (sensu Max Scheler and others).
Scheler, for one, felt that Heidegger underestimated this
transcendence to world-openness and, with it, full
humanness. He and others have analyzed this process
extensively as a move towards intermodularity (cf. Mithen) and symbolic language (cf. Noble and Davidson),
thus prefiguring more recent Anglophone scholarship,
which is mostly unaware of this. Such parallelswhich
we can only touch upon heremay have a heuristic
value which is not exploited fully because of linguistic
and disciplinary boundaries. Another germane philosophical point that many philosophers with a background in continental philosophy (e.g., Habermas 1988)
would try to drive home in the present context is the
ultimately reductionistic treatment of human mind and
language in such approaches as the two under discussion here, which characteristically look at mind(edness)
too exclusively in terms of its utility for a range of purposes.
some philosophy
The two monographs exemplify two styles of the contemporary philosophy of mind. Mithen is closer to a
predominantly American approach, oriented towards
computationalist cognitive science, favouring causalnomological explanation, and studying internal cognitive processes that somehow pertain to a physical environment outside. Noble and Davidson are close to
British analytical philosophies of mind which start
from ordinary language and everyday behaviour. This
and their Gibsonian stress on the environment as subjectively perceived lifeworld, we feel, make their approach the more interesting one for Palaeolithic archaeologists studying Pleistocene hominid behaviour. The
philosophical behaviourism of Ryle and Wittgenstein
on which they base their argument has provoked criti-
in conclusion
However speculative Noble and Davidsons explanation
for the emergence of language, one has to agree with
them that alternative or better accounts will not be free
to overlook the conceptual issues they have identified
and discussed, even if every link in our chain is found
to be mistaken in one way or another (p. 220). In the
end one may not learn a lot from them about the past,
but one may learn a lot about how to undertake its
study. Although we are not sure that this last assessment applies to Mithens book, we do recommend it as
wellto general readers because it is well written and
presents a well-knit story with few loose ends or open
questions, which probably means success in the present
era with its need for new grand narratives, and to spe-

cialists because it is, like the other monograph, a muchneeded, pioneering interdisciplinary piece of work on
ancient minds, however elusive one may think those
minds to be.
References Cited
b i c k e r t o n, d. 1990. Language and species. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press.
d o n a l d, m. 1993. Origins of the modern mind: Three stages
in the evolution of culture and cognition. Cambridge: Harvard
University Press.
d r e y f u s s, h. l. 1993. Heideggers critique of the Husserl/
Searle account of intentionality. Social Research 60:1738.
d u n b a r, r. 1993. Coevolution of neocortical size, group size,
and language in humans. Behavioral and Brain Sciences 16:
681735.
f o d o r, j. 1996. Its the thought that counts. London Review of
Books, November 28, pp. 2223.
g a m b l e, c. s. 1986. The Palaeolithic settlement of Europe.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
g a u d z i n s k i, s. 1996. On bovid assemblages and their consequences for the knowledge of subsistence patterns in the
Middle Palaeolithic. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society
62:1939.
g i b s o n, k., a n d t. i n g o l d. Editors. 1993. Tools, language,
and cognition in human evolution. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
h a b e r m a s, j. 1988. The theory of communicative action. Vol.
2. A critique of functionalist reason. Boston: Beacon Press.
m e l l a r s, p., a n d k. g i b s o n. Editors. 1996. Modelling the
early human mind. Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research.
r i g a u d, j. p h., j. f. s i m e k, a n d t. g e. 1995. Mousterian
fires from Grotte XVI (Dordogne, France). Antiquity 69:
90212.
r o e b r o e k s, w., n. j. c o n a r d, a n d t. v a n k o l f s c h o t e n. 1992. Dense forests, cold steppes, and the Palaeolithic
settlement of Europe. current anthropology 33:55186.
t h i e m e, h. 1997. Lower Palaeolithic hunting spears from Germany. Nature 385:80810.
v e r w o r n, m. 1907. Zur Psychologie der primitiven Kunst.
Bericht uber die Prahistoriker-Versammlung am 23. bis 31.
Juli 1907 zur Eroffnung des Anthropologischen Museums in
Koln. Cologne.
w y n n, t. 1989. The evolution of spatial competence. Urbana:
University of Illinois Press.
Advocacy for the Multiregional

Hypothesis
a l a n r. t e m p l e t o n
Departments of Biology and Genetics, Washington
University, St. Louis, Mo. 63130-4899, U.S.A. 13 v 97
Race and Human Evolution. By Milford Wolpoff
and Rachel Caspari. New York: Simon and
Schuster, 1997. 462 pp. $25
In Race and Human Evolution Wolpoff and Caspari
delve into the intertwined issues of racism and theories
of modern human origins. Given that they are actively
involved in the current debate over human origins, it
is not surprising that this is a book of advocacy for the

multiregional hypothesis. Under this hypothesis, human populations living in Africa, Europe, and Asia have
been genetically connected since the time of Homo
erectus. Because of this gene flow, they have evolved together as a single evolutionary lineage despite current
and past regional genetic differences at any given point
in time. For the most part, this book is an excellent vehicle for that advocacy. The book format gives Wolpoff
and Caspari the space for a thorough examination of the
genetic, paleoanthropological, and historical arguments
both for and against the multiregional hypothesis and
its alternatives. Although many of these arguments will
be familiar to readers, this book is a valuable addition
to the literature because it assembles them and presents
the multiregional viewpoint with a clarity and precision that are difficult to obtain from the primary literature.
Wolpoff and Caspari strongly advocate populational
as opposed to typological thinking. For example, they
raise the excellent question just what is meant by anatomically modern human. They argue that this category must include the range of variation found in people
living today (a population approach) and cannot be defined typologically in terms of a list of modern
traitsmany of which are not universally shared by living humans. Once typological thinking is abandoned,
they argue, the idea of a single origin for all of modern
humanity becomes increasingly difficult to support
from the fossil data. It is also typological thinking that
is the primary basis of racism.
Wolpoff and Caspari approach racism from a historical perspective, tracing much of the current controversy
to the old ideas of polygenism versus monogenism.
Polygenic theories postulate that the human races have
different origins and separate histories (at least until recently, with the idea that human races were purer in
the past). Monogenic theories argue that all human
races have a common origin. As the book documents,
polygenic theories have been used to justify colonialism, slavery, and racism, but racists have rationalized
their position from both polygenic and monogenic perspectives. The stronger tie, in fact, is between racism
and typological thinking. Indeed, polygenism is often a
result of typological thinking; to justify biologically the
existence of different types of humans it is commonplace to regard human races as separate branches on an
evolutionary tree. Typologists have responded to the increasing evidence for the close biological affinities of
human races by retaining the idea of an evolutionary
tree for human races but shortening the branches. Early
polygenic theories had these racial branches extending
to different ancestral ape species. The modern incarnation of polygenic thinking has the branches going back
only a hundred thousand years or so.
This book shows that another perspective arose in anthropology that denies that human races can be portrayed as branches on an evolutionary tree of any sort.
This is the trellis perspective of Franz Weidenreich.
Weidenreichs polycentric theory is not a polygenic
model, although it is often portrayed as such; he re-

garded human evolution as involving a network of populations connected by genetic interchange. This clarification of Weidenreichs views is important for
Wolpoff and Caspari because the polycentric theory is
the intellectual predecessor of the multiregional hypothesis. Thus, the multiregional hypothesis is not a
polygenic model at all but a trellis model, and associations of polygenic racism with the multiregional model
are unjustified.
This book is valuable both for its clear articulation of
a defense of the multiregional model and for its review
of the history of racism with regard to models of human
evolution. Nevertheless, it has some weaknesses, both
trivial and substantial. One is its tendency toward hyperbole. A trivial example is the claim that the genetic
code of the mitochondrial genome is totally different
(p. 40) from that of the nuclear genome; in fact, out of
the 64 triplet codons, the nuclear and mammalian mitochondrial genomes use 61 of them in identical fashion.
A more serious one is the assertion (p. 12) that there
can be no reconciliation between the Eve theory and
Multiregionalism because the two explanations are so
incompatible that both of them cannot be correct. Toward the end of the book (pp. 31213), in contrast, it is
acknowledged that it is only the extreme case of complete, universal replacement without mixture that the
Multiregional model denies took place. Multiregionalism is compatible with the expansion of a population
into an area and hybridization to variable extents with
the preexisting inhabitantsincluding total population
replacement in some but not all regions (for example, it
would include the possibility that Neandertals in Europe were totally replaced). With regard to the fossil record, multiregionalism is compatible with the origin of
a trait (or suite of traits) in one location and then its
spread and replacement of the ancestral trait condition
throughout the rest of the human rangeas long as the
trait spread by gene flow and selection and not by total
population replacement. There is, then, a continuum of
alternatives connecting replacement and multiregionalism, and therefore some reconciliation should be possible.
There are also technical and factual errors in the
book. Once again, some technical errors are trivial for
its central themes (for example, the claim on p. 40 that
mitochondria evolved from a viruslike ancestor instead of a bacterial ancestor). However, other technical
errors relate to multiregionalisms primary tenet that
humans are a single polytypic species and have been for
a very long time into the past (p. 34). Here we see the
central paradox that must be explained by the multiregional theory: there must be sufficient gene flow among
populations for all humans to share an evolutionary fate
over long periods of time, but there must be sufficient
local genetic drift and/or local selection to maintain humans as a polytypic species at any given moment in
time. Much skepticism about multiregionalism stems
from the belief that such a balance between gene flow
and local drift/selection is unlikely. Wolpoff and
Caspari hurt their own case by saying, for example (p.
282), that our species is unusual and difficult to model
because it is polytypic and that the human pattern . . .

of a widespread polytypic species with many different
ecological niches . . . is a very rare one. These statements are incorrect and reflect an ignorance of the nonprimate literature that unfortunately typifies much of
the Eve/multiregionalism debate. When compared with
many other geographically widespread species (including other large vertebrates with strong dispersal abilities), humans show remarkably little differentiation
among regional populations or races. Many other
large vertebrate species show much more regional differentiation than humans and remarkable ecological
breadth. Polytypic species are not rare or unusual, and
it is patent from the general evolutionary literature that
regional differentiation within a species sharing a longterm evolutionary history is commonplace. No delicate balance between gene flow and drift/selection is
needed; polytypic species occur over a broad range of
values of these basic evolutionary forces and are a
robust evolutionary outcome. The belief that multiregionalism requires a delicate and unlikely balance of
evolutionary forces is indefensible when humans are
put in their proper place relative to other species, but
a reader would not reach such a conclusion from this
book.
The greatest weakness of this book is its failure to
portray accurately what has been learned about basic
evolutionary processes in nonhuman organisms and
how this knowledge can be applied to the human condition. Humans are a unique species, but we have been
molded by basic evolutionary forces such as gene flow,
genetic drift, extinction/recolonization, natural selection, and the interactions among them. These basic evolutionary forces operate in all species, and much insight
into the human condition and the significance of racial differentiation can be gained by studies on how
these forces shape patterns of genetic variation and differentiation in species other than humans. These potential insights have been ignored by both sides of the Eve/
multiregional debate and by many students of racism
much to the detriment of the field of anthropology.
Agrarian Production Practices

and Settlement Patterns
c a t h e r i ne b e s t e m a n
Department of Anthropology, Colby College,
Waterville, Maine 04901, U.S.A. 25 iv 97
Settlement Ecology: The Social and Spatial
Organization of Kofyar Agriculture. By Glenn Davis
Stone. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1996.
256 pp.
The last book to be published in the Arizona Studies in
Human Ecology series is a fine example of the best work

in this field. Settlement Ecology: The Social and Spatial

Organization of Kofyar Agriculture traces 40 years of
frontier agrarian settlement by the Kofyar farmers of
central Nigeria that the late Robert McC. Netting first
wrote about in the 1960s. Drawing on field research carried out in the mid-1980s, Glenn Davis Stone presents
a detailed, well-organized, and methodologically
groundbreaking analysis of what has happened to Kofyar agriculture and settlement patterns as these farmers have migrated out of the hills of the Jos Plateau
(where Nettings early field research was based) onto
the plains of the Benue Valley (where Stone conducted
the bulk of his fieldwork). Since Kofyar settlements and
agricultural practices on the frontier differ from those
in the hilly homeland in ways unexplainable in terms
of government or development policies, Stones interest
is in understanding what factors influenced the farmers
residential and agricultural choices on the frontier. His
goal is to use the Kofyar case to contribute to a general
theory of agrarian settlement (p. 188). In particular, he
wants to inject an appreciation and understanding of
the dynamic aspects of agrarian production practices
into agrarian settlement theory, an orientation that he
argues has been neglected because of the tendency in
previous archaeological and geographic work to hold agricultural production constant in modeling settlement
patterns. In contrast, he seeks to demonstrate and theoretically examine how agricultural production practices
affect rural settlement patternsto fill the gap in our
knowledge of how the productive activities of rural agricultural settlements affect the location, arrangement,
size, and duration of these settlements (p. 27). His
book succeeds superbly in meeting this challenge.
Stones interest in the relationship between agricultural production and settlement patterns requires attention to population pressure, a factor both in the Kofyar
homeland and on the frontier, and this leads him to
scrutinize the comparative evidence on Boserups theory that population pressure promotes agricultural intensification. Rather than simply rejecting or validating
that theory, he concludes his review of the literature on
intensification with a more nuanced view which serves
as the starting point for an examination of his Kofyar
material: The road to intensification followed by real
farmers is not as smooth and linear as the Boserupian
global highway; it has bumps and turns that vary with
local conditions (p. 39). The remainder of the book
uses Stones vast data base on Kofyar settlement and
agriculture to investigate the variations in local settings
that didand did notinfluence Kofyar settlement
patterns.
After describing the intensive nature of homeland Kofyar agricultural practices, labor organization, and the
way in which social affiliation is spatially understood
in the hills, Stone turns to the frontier, where Kofyar
families began farming at midcentury. Aerial photographs, Nettings data, and his own in-depth historically oriented household censuses allow him to monitor the evolution of a real agrarian settlement system,
beginning at a zero point with a small initial pioneering population (p. 89). Chapters 6 through 11 trace in
detail the kinds of settlement and agrarian choices

made by Kofyar farmers as the frontier population
swelled over the next several decades and model the social and ecological constraints which affected these
choices. One of his most important contributions is his
attention to both these kinds of constraints. His chapters on the social organization of production, which describe and model the critical role of labor organization
and social propinquity in agricultural production and
residential patterning, serve as an important corrective
to settlement studies which privilege ecological over
social factors. The frontier Kofyars need for large labor
groups and the social practices guiding the formation of
such groups affected their settlement patterns, farm
shapes, compound locations, residential spacing, and
the fine-grained patterning in who lives near whom
(p. 184) in ways clearly demonstrated by the books
graphic analyses. Stone also uses his data to modify Boserups more general theory by explaining the kinds of
factors Kofyar farmers weigh when deciding whether to
intensify or move in the face of land pressure and declining agricultural productivity. Soil quality, local intensification slopes (the marginal return to intensifying
locally), social connections, water proximity, and the
location of roads all affect this decision, and Stone demonstrates how this nexus of factors produces different
decisions in different areas of the Kofyar frontier. His
examination of how decisions to intensify or abandon
an area are made in local settings clearly demonstrates
that settlement patterns are inextricable from the socioecology of agricultural production.
Stone declines to offer a predictive model of the evolution of agrarian settlement, opting instead to demonstrate how Kofyar agrarian settlement evolved and use
this experience to offer more general insights on agrarian settlement patterns and choices and on intensification. One of his central conclusions is that local ecological context and local cultural responses to that context matter and that this kind of variability cannot be
accommodated in a highly generalized predictive
model.
While Stone is forthright in his views that cultural
backgrounds and practices are important in the business of farming and settlement (arguing, for example,
that land pressures inhibition of swiddening may
cross-cut cultural and historical contexts, but responses
to land pressure may differ sharply: one group might intensify agriculture, whereas another picks up and leaves
and another takes steps to rid the area of some of its
farmers [p. 185]) he would like to see a theory of settlement that includes the patterning of cultural responses
to the spatial ecology of agriculture. The Kofyar responded to the conditions of the frontier in particular
(and now extremely well-documented) ways, but Stone
emphasizes that they could have responded very differently. He demonstrates this point in a brief comparison
of the divergent Kofyar and Tiv settlement and agrarian
practices in the frontier area. He would like to figure
out how to grasp this variability (conceptualized here as
stemming from variable cultural goals) and incorporate it into settlement ecology. His study will undoubt-

edly inspire archaeologists, cultural anthropologists,

and geographers to join him in this endeavor.
In addition to its methodological and theoretical
strengths, Stones book maintains a scholarly tone by
incorporating the most useful aspects of earlier settlement and intensification theories without shredding
the earlier theories in the process. Its evenhanded approach to the literature (chaps. 2 and 3) is commendable, and those unversed in settlement or intensification theory will find these chapters lucid and useful.
This book will no doubt set a standard in the fields of
human ecology, ethnoarchaeology, and methodology, as
well as in the theoretical areas of settlement and agrarian studies.
The Tactical Uses of Passion

on Bosnia
r ob e r t m. h a y d e n
Department of Anthropology, University of
Pittsburgh, Pittsburgh, Pa. 15260, U.S.A. 10 vi 97
This Time We Knew: Western Responses to
Genocide in Bosnia. Edited by Thomas Cushman
and Stjepan G. Mestrovic. New York: New York
University Press, 1996. 412 pp.
The Bridge Betrayed: Religion and Genocide in
Bosnia. By Michael A. Sells. Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1996. 244 pp.
In her 1941 masterpiece Black Lamb, Grey Falcon, Rebecca West (1982:20) noted that travelers to the Balkans, unable to accept the horrid hypothesis that everybody was ill-treating everybody else there, each
developed a pet Balkans people . . . as suffering and innocent in terms that strongly resembled Sir Joshua
Reynolds picture of the infant Samuel. But . . . to hear
Balkan-fanciers talk about each others Infant Samuel
was to think of some painter not at all like Sir Joshua
Reynolds, say Hieronymus Bosch. The two books under review are new contributions to Wests gallery.
Cushman and Mestrovic introduce their collection of
essays on genocide in Bosnia with a rather astonishing set of assertions. They first decry a significant
change in the habitus of modern intellectuals, who no
longer are inclined to choose sides and fight for a
cause but instead attempt to be balanced in their discourse. Balance is a necessary quality of intellectual
life, except when it comes . . . at the cost of confusing
victims with aggressors, and the failure to recognize
those who are perpetrators of genocide (p. 5, emphasis
added). They, in contrast, feel that it is vitally important to let the facts speak for themselves, particularly
where genocide is concerned. In response to those who
might perhaps not unreasonably object that the facts
themselves cannot be known except through balanced,

dispassionate analysis, Cushman and Mestrovic invoke
Durkheim: from the perspective of the social construction of reality, a respectable finding of genocide in Bosnia has been made by respectable fact-finding organizations, such as the news media (pp. 1920). One
might well wonder what the author of The Rules of Sociological Method would have said about this assertion
that social facts do not bear investigation, but certainly
no one can fault Cushman and Mestrovic for lack of
commitment to a cause or for any pretense of balance
in analysis.
The cause is the pursuit of Serbian evil. Cushman and
Mestrovic say unequivocally that genocide has occurred in Bosnia-Herzegovina and it has been perpetrated exclusively by the Belgrade regime and its proxies (p. 16), citing the New York Times, a reporter from
Newsday, the law professor Catherine MacKinnon, The
Lancet, and a book by a Croatian-American that was
published by Mestrovics university press in a series under his editorship.
Drs. Cushman and Mestrovic, meet Dr. Sells: Genocide has occurred. It has been . . . fueled financially and
militarily from Serbia and Croatia . . . and the primary
victims have been Bosnian Muslims (Sells, p. xiii, emphasis added). In 199293, Croat and Serb religious nationalists collaborated in Europeanizing Bosnia. . . .
[Croatian President] Tudjmans Europeanization was a
euphemism, like ethnic cleansing, for the annihilation
of Slavic Muslim people and culture (p. 97).
In the two books under review, the authors definitely
have chosen sides and decided to fight for their respective causes, but their causes and sides are clearly different. Certainly, no one can deny them the right to
choose their causes or to fight for them, but how are
the rest of us to assess their respective arguments about
genocide if scholarly balance is unnecessary in this context?
The answer is that we are not supposed to do so. The
arguments in these books are not supposed to be questioned, much less challenged. Genocide here is a God
term, in Kenneth Burkes usage (1969), one that denotes the ultimate in motivation and thus trumps any
other argument, but it is a particularly powerful God
term because of its emotional load. Genocide denotes
the ultimate evil of the 20th century. To question its
use is illegitimate morally.
The books under review are thus not exercises in Platonic argument, depending on reason, evidence, and
logic. Instead, they employ what F. G. Bailey has called
the tactical uses of passion, a form of argument that
seeks to eliminate the mind and the critical facilities.
It provokes feeling rather than thought (Bailey 1983:
23). These books are prosecutors briefs, charging the ultimate crime of genocide and brooking no defense.
Yet the two books are quite different in structure and
in scholarly effort. Sells, a serious scholar of Islam,
makes a serious effort to understand the events in Bosnia, even though the effort is badly flawed, as explained
below. Cushman and Mestrovic, in contrast, engage in
nothing greater than advancing the Croatian cause.

There is a certain irony here, in that they complain that

certain key elements of Serbian propaganda have been
adopted to a large extent by intellectuals, diplomats,
and journalists (p. 25). Cushman and Mestrovic use the
classic propaganda ploy of labeling those with whom
they agree virtuous and truthful and those with whom
they disagree either Serb propagandists or dupes of the
Serbs. Thus, without considering any of the arguments
advanced or the evidence cited to support them, they
label an article by an established scholar who draws extensively on her own fieldwork in Yugoslavia in 1990
(Denich 1994) as perhaps the most glaring example of
published pro-Serb sentiment in the American Balkan
studies community (p. 37 n. 62). Rather ominously,
they note that a further examination of such sympathies in this community is warranted.
Of the articles in the volume, most are by people who
are not scholarly specialists on the Balkans but know
genocide when the news media see it. One, by a former
adviser to the Croatian president, defends the Croatian
cause against the writings of the last U.S. ambassador
to Yugoslavia. The exceptions are a 1993 speech by Liah
Greenfield, who, apparently duped by Serbian propaganda, commits what to Cushman and Mestrovic is the
cardinal sin of referring to the Yugoslav civil war (p.
311), an article by Brendan Simms that draws interesting parallels to Balkan events in the 1870s, and an impassioned but insightful article by the political science
professor Michael Barrett, who, seconded by the Council on Foreign Relations into a working fellowship as a
political officer in the U.S. Mission to the UN in 1993,
writes from experience about the reaction to Rwanda
and by extension about that to Bosnia. None of the other
pieces could withstand serious intellectual critique, but
then Cushman and Mestrovic would probably deny the
legitimacy of any attempt to subject them to it.
The main flaw in Sellss study is that he Occidentalizes the Serbs and Croats, finding the Bosnian war to be
a matter of joint Catholic-Orthodox Christoslavism
leading to their genocidal annihilation of the Bosnian
Muslims. Considering the manner in which these
Christoslavs fought each other in 194145 and 1991
95, this analysis is weak in explanatory power, and
Sellss invocation of Orientalism and Balkanism is
unsophisticated compared with Maria Todorovas seminal works (1994, 1997). It is also factually wrong, since
Orientalizing of Orthodox Christians was part of the political rhetoric of official Croatia (Bakic-Hayden and
Hayden 1992, Bakic-Hayden 1995) as well as the work
of none other than Stjepan G. Mestrovic in the early
1990s (Mestrovic, Letica, and Goreta 1993). Sells misses
the structural logic of the Yugoslav wars (see Hayden
1996a): in 1992 the Bosnian Muslims could have been
Baptist, Buddhists, Bogomils, or worshippers of Baal and
they would still have received the same treatment,
since they were not Serbs or Croats. But Sells is not a
specialist in the former Yugoslavia and thus may not
know this literature, and his chosen people were indeed
being killed disproportionately.
Sells shows the unreality of his analysis when he defines Bosnian as all residents of the internationally
recognized sovereign nation of Bosnia-Herzegovina, regardless of their religious affiliation, who consider
themselves Bosnian, that is, who remain loyal to a Bosnian state built on the principles of civic society and religious pluralism (p. xiv; cf. p. 8). This is not an emic
definition: in what used to be called Serbo-Croatian,
bosanac (Bosnian) means anyone from the territory of
Bosnia, while bosnjak (Bosniak) is now the officially
favored term for a Bosnian Muslim. Bosnians under
Sellss definition became scarce during the free and fair
elections in 1990, when about 6% of the population
voted for a noncommunist party favoring a civil society
of equal citizens and most of the rest voted for separate
Serb, Croat, and Muslim national(ist) partiesthus repeating the voting pattern of every relatively free election in Bosnia this century. As the International War
Crimes Tribunal noted in the judgment in its first case,
convicting Bosnian Serb Dusko Tadic of crimes against
humanity and war crimes, both Bosnian Serbs and
Croats made it apparent that they would have recourse
to arms rather than accept minority membership of a
Muslim-dominated State. Wishful thinking is often admirable and always revealing, but it is not scholarship.
It may be possible to debate the question of genocide
in Bosnia (see Hayden 1996b). Doing so, however, requires rejection of the tactical uses of passion employed
in these books. Toward that goal, and for those who are
not experts on the Balkans, I close with casualty figures
for Bosnia, 199295, that have been put forth separately
by official Bosnian Muslim and unofficial Serb sources
(see Hayden 1996b:746 n. 65): 278,000 killed or missing,
of whom 141,000 were Muslims (50.65%), 97,000 Serbs
(35%), and 28,000 Croats (10.2%). More interesting, the
ratios of these figures to the prewar populations of the
national groups are, respectively, 7.4% of Muslims,
7.1% of Serbs, and 3.8% of Croats. The simplistic tales
told in the two books under review will not help explain
these figures, which, indeed, contradict them. But as
Cushman and Mestrovic would say, these facts speak
for themselves.
References Cited
b a k i c -h a y d e n, m i l i c a. 1995. Nesting Orientalisms:
The case of former Yugoslavia. Slavic Review 54:91731.
b a k i c -h a y d e n, m i l i c a, a n d r o b e r t h a y d e n. 1992. Orientalist variations on the theme Balkans: Symbolic geography in recent Yugoslav cultural politics. Slavic Review 51:
115.
b a i l e y, f r e d e r i c k g. 1983. The tactical uses of passion.
Ithaca: Cornell University Press.
b u r k e, k e n n e t h. 1969. A grammar of motives. Berkeley: University of California Press.
d e n i c h, b e t t e. 1994. Dismembering Yugoslavia: Nationalist
ideologies and the symbolic revival of genocide. American Ethnologist 20:36790.
h a y d e n, r o b e r t m. 1996a. Imagined communities and real
victims: Self-determination and ethnic cleansing in Yugoslavia.
American Ethnologist 23:783801.
. 1996b. Schindlers fate: Genocide, ethnic cleansing, and
population transfers. Slavic Review 55:72748.
m e s t r o v i c , s t j e p a n, s l a v e n l e t i c a, a n d m i r o s l a v
g o r e t a. 1993. Habits of the Balkans heart: Social character
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t o d o r o v a, m a r i a. 1994. The Balkans: From discovery to invention. Slavic Review 53:45382.

. 1997. Imagining the Balkans. New York: Oxford University Press.
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through Yugoslavia. New York: Penguin.
Review Essay: On Historical

Consciousness
w i l l i a m r o s e b e rr y
Department of Anthropology, Graduate Faculty, New
School for Social Research, 65 Fifth Ave., New York,
N.Y. 10003, U.S.A. 25 vi 97
Performing Dreams: Discourses of Immortality
among the Xavante of Central Brazil. By Laura R.
Graham. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1995.
Neither Cargo nor Cult: Ritual Politics and the
Colonial Imagination in Fiji. By Martha Kaplan.
Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1995.
Purity and Exile: Violence, Memory, and National
Cosmology among Hutu Refugees in Tanzania. By
Liisa H. Malkki. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1995.
Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of
History. By Michel-Rolph Trouillot. Boston: Beacon
Press, 1995.
As anthropologists write histories, they encounter a
number of difficulties, some of them especially relevant
to ethnographic practice and others common to all historical writing. One concerns the special nature of oral
accounts, including performances, rituals, and oral and
life historical interviews, as sources. Another involves
the interpretation of a variety of partial sources and accounts, both oral and written. Yet another has to do
with the tension and relationship between narrative
and historical truth (Spence 1982), which in turn needs
to be considered in relation to the complex processes by
which historical knowledges are produced and distributed and the differently placed audiences that receive,
act on, and modify them.
The books considered here provide materials for a discussion of some of these difficulties. Only one takes as
its primary object a consideration of theoretical and
methodological issues: Trouillots Silencing the Past
considers the structured processes by which historical
knowledges are produced and takes particular social and
political processes as starting points for reflection on
how histories are written. The other three books reverse
this emphasis, presenting ethnographicor historical
and ethnographicaccounts and drawing upon theoretical debates and issues in cultural anthropology for
provocative interpretive frameworks. In Performing
Dreams Graham offers an ethnography of performative

discoursethe construction of narratives of identity
and historyamong Xavante villagers in central Brazil.
In Purity and Exile Malkki concentrates on two markedly different forms of historical consciousness among
Hutu refugees in Tanzania, contrasting them with
Tutsi accounts of some of the same events and Western
treatments of the colonial history of Rwanda and Burundi as well as the recent episodes of mass killing. In
Neither Cargo nor Cult Kaplan explores the relationship between colonial accounts, contemporary and subsequent accounts of cargo cults, and folk knowledge
of the same events and movements in Fiji.
It is, perhaps, not surprising that these three ethnographies are the first major intellectual products (indeed,
the revised dissertations) of individuals in the early
stages of promising academic careers. Trouillots is the
work of a scholar at midcareer who has already produced important substantive work on Dominica and
Haiti and takes this occasion to reflect on central issues
in the anthropological writing of history. His essays are
thoughtful and important, and I shall draw from them
an organizing and interpretive framework for illuminating some of the contributions of the other books. Recognizing the central ethnographic objects and claims of
the other books, however, I shall try to deal with the
substance of their accounts in ways that go beyond
Trouillots theoretical concerns.
Trouillots book is a reflection on the production of
history, concentrating on the tension between historical and narrative truth, which he describes as a distinction between history as what happened and history as
that which is said to have happened (p. 2 and passim).
Noting the inadequacy of a positivist search for a history that unproblematically reports what happened, he
also sharply criticizes an extreme constructivism that
would make of history a story like any othera fiction
the distinguishing feature of which is its claim to
truth. For Trouillot, the really interesting problem is
how histories as stories (that which is said to have happened) are constructed from or in relation to history as
sociohistorical process (what happened).
Three central terms structure Trouillots account:
production, power, and silence. He identifies four critical junctures in the production of history: the moment
of fact creation (the making of sources); the moment of
fact assembly (the making of archives); the moment of
fact retrieval (the making of narratives); and the moment of retrospective significance (the making of history in the final instance) (p. 26). Power relations enter
at each of these junctures, rendering certain facts more
real, recoverable, or memorable than others. There is,
for example, at the first juncture the differential power
to write or record of estate owners and slaves or of state
officials and ordinary people. There is also the differential weight of written materials such as letters, account
books, tax rolls, court records, and civil lists. At the second juncture, some of the vast array of written materials is organized as historical source material and deposited in a particular place, and specific hierarchies of

archives emerge. At the third, individuals writing particular historical accounts select from a range of archival sources, making some more central and authoritative than others, and at the fourth individuals,
organizations, publishers, curriculum committees, and
others construct larger historical narratives, emphasizing certain lines and connections and deemphasizing or
ignoring others.
As is clear from the description of the operation of
power at each of these junctures, different kinds of silence enter into the production of history at each moment in its production: certain knowledges and experiences are never written down or are written in
ephemeral forms and never become potential sources
for historical knowledge; certain sources are defined
as less significant and thus never collected in archives,
and certain collections never gain status as archives;
certain events, persons, and connections drop out of historical narratives, grand and small. One of the pleasures
of Trouillots book is the care with which he attends
to the actual production of history at these particular
junctures. Exploring the practical application of powers
in silencing particular experiences, sources, and accounts, he undercuts any simple positivist attempt to
restrict history to what happened. But his attention to
the practices of making, collecting, and evaluating
sources makes impossible an extreme constructivism
that would make history only the stories historians tell.
His attention to distinct junctures in the production of
such stories restores the complexity of the relationship
between narrative and historical truth.
Attention to particular silences, for example, forces a
return to the various junctures of historical productionthe discovery or reevaluation of particular
sources, the making of new collections (archives), and
the reinterpretation of narratives using known sources
but emphasizing previously unexplored connections.
The substantive chapters of Trouillots book examine a
range of silences. The first concerns the actions of Colonel Jean-Baptiste Sans Souci, a military leader and central figure in the war within the war during the Haitian Revolution, who fought both the French and the
emerging creole elite and was murdered by Henry
Christophe (King Henry I of Haiti). The silencing of
Sans Souci provides the occasion for Trouillot to reflect
on the scant mention of Sans Souci in archival sources
but also on the inconvenience of a memory of the war
within the war (and the evidence it would provide for
class divisions as well as division between creoles and
Africans) for an emergent Haitian nation and its creole
historians.
A second is the silences surrounding the Haitian Revolution in European historiography. Trouillot begins
with the months before the revolution, pointing to the
blindness of French planters to the possibility of slave
action, and then turns to the incredulity of French politicians and intellectuals confronting the events unfolding in Haiti. Next he considers a range of ways in
which the revolution has been handled retrospectively,
citing narratives that displace Haiti from its central
place within a French colonial economy and slaves from

their creative roles as organizers and mobilizers of a revolution and then a nation. The third substantive chapter deals with the creation of officialist cults around Columbus and October 12, 1492, over the past 100 years.
In Trouillots account, the Columbian celebrations
have much to do with more recent political and cultural
phenomena and movements: a Spanish attempt to reestablish influence in the Americas, U.S. expansionism
and its appropriation of a symbol of European civilization and expansion, the appropriation of Columbus by
immigrant groups (especially Italian and Irish) in the
United States asserting their whiteness and their place
in both European civilization and U.S. society, and the
Catholic churchs patronage of the Knights of Columbus. These late-19th- and 20th-century currents are juxtaposed with the actual Columbus and 1492 and with
the historical accounts and public celebrations of the
centuries between 1492 and 1892.
Trouillots book is a helpful and important intervention in discussions of history and anthropology. Placed
in relation to the other books considered here, it helps
us orient and organize our reading of their more specific
and ethnographic contributions. There are, however,
two extensions that need to be made before turning to
these texts. The first concerns the importance of oral
sources and accounts, especially at the first and second
junctures in Trouillots scheme. The relation between
written and oral sources is, of course, a critical one in
which power frequently comes into play as written
sources are privileged over oral ones. It is here, closest
to what happened, that silences and erasures most frequently occur, and it is also here that much creative and
recuperative work is being done, gathering oral accounts and collecting them in archives. It is also here
that the other three books make important contributions.
Second, the pole at which history is that which can
be said to have happened covers a huge range, from the
folk memories of actors and their descendants to a hierarchy of professional historical narratives, including the narratives written by professional historians
within a particular society (e.g., Haiti) but separated by
class, ethnicity, or education from the guardians of
folk memory and knowledge, as well as the narratives
written by professional historians from civilizational
centers. None of these groups is necessarily homogeneous or coherent: there will be important intellectual,
cultural, and political disagreements within each and
important lines of social, intellectual, and political connection across apparent group lines. It is important,
however, to recognize these distinct groups and their respective positions within a hierarchy of historical
knowledges. Trouillot powerfully explores the relationships between European and Haitian historiographies,
but he has relatively little to say about folk memories. It is these forms of knowledge that most interest
the other writers considered here.
Of the three, Graham is the most centrally concerned
with oral performance and history. She is primarily in-

terested in Xavante discourse, poetics, and performance, especially the creative practice of one Xavante
leader, Warodi, in whose household she lived and to
whose memory the book is dedicated. Based on longterm, repeated, and intensive fieldwork in the village of
Pimentel Barbosa, Grahams book is the thickest ethnography of the three. Graham is especially adept at
capturing, describing, and analyzing sounds. Indeed,
one of the most enjoyable and pleasurable chapters in
the book is Sounds of Time, the Time of Sounds, in
which she moves from a description of the 24-hour
round of sounds and silences in the household and village to a treatment of kinship, courting, and marriage,
the dynamics of avoidance taboos, the marking of rank
and gender in everyday and ceremonial speech and song,
and the communication between the living and the
dead. Much of the book builds toward the description
of a single event: Warodis reception of a song from the
immortals in a dream, his organization of a performance of the song, and the performance itself. Through
individual dreams, elders (themselves on their way to
becoming immortals) interact with immortals and receive insight and instruction. They then communicate
their dreams and visions to others by performing songs
disclosed in dreams, teaching the songs, and organizing
their group performance. The process leaves much
room for individual creativity, but both the creative act
and the communication of the vision are organized hierarchically by age and gender.
On its own terms and as a contribution to South
American ethnography, this is an impressive book. Grahams treatment of polyvocality in political discourses
during nightly assemblies, for example, is especially
fine. Here, however, I concentrate on three themes, not
all central to her project, that contribute to our understanding of historical consciousness: (1) the relationship
between visionary performance and wider social and political processes, (2) the relationship between visionary
performance and historical consciousness, and (3) the
relationship between a creative performance (necessarily a singular act) and an archive.
Pimentel Barbosa and Xavante communities in general have been subject to the expansion and encroachment of Brazilian society in the form of the state
(through its Indian Foundation), ranchers, and missionaries. All of these are present in Grahams account from
the prefacein which she recounts her removal from
Pimentel Barbosa by the Indian Foundation during her
first field trip in 1981 because an Indian agent suspected
that she supported Xavante in disputes with local
ranchersto the epiloguein which we are given a
novel account of the fate of creative performance in an
age of mechanical reproduction. With regard to these
larger forces, Graham writes (p. 23):
Despite the magnitude of these events, Xavante
maintain an invincible sense of identity and feeling
of control over historical processes. This sense of
identity and control has fueled the Xavantes extraordinary resistance to Western domination over
the last two and a half centuries. Now, it empowers

them to deal with the events they confront as they
move forward into the twenty-first century.
What needs to be stressed here is that Grahams claim
is substantiated in this book as a feeling of identity and
control created, expressed, and maintained through vision and performance. This is an extraordinary account
of the creation of a local and particular historical consciousness, one that so stresses control that Xavante
reinterpret contact and colonialism as a process in
which they invited and saved the whites (pp. 3237).
What Graham is less well placed to do is assess Xavante
feelings of control as they confront complex and powerful forces of Brazilian state and society. This is in no
way a criticism of the book, which demonstrates both
the inherent strength and weakness of good village ethnography; a critical evaluation of these larger forces
would require the supplement of a regional political
economy.
As an ethnography of the construction of historical
consciousness, Grahams book is especially strong in its
detailed attention to the mechanisms of communication between elders and immortals, the stories and
songs through which historical and cultural continuity
is expressed, the words and phrases and poetic forms
used to establish this continuity, and the discursive performance, including counterdiscourses and commentaries, of dreams and visions. Hers is an intimate and detailed portrait.
After her return from the field and after Warodis
death, Graham received a letter from Warodis nephew
proposing the creation of a local archive of the tapes she
had recorded during her fieldwork. Recognizing the
problem of creating singular and perhaps official versions of what had been individual, variable, and dynamic performances but also hoping to contribute
something of what she had learned and constructed to
Xavante villagers, she copied her tapes and sent them
to the nephew. This allows us to connect with at least
the first three levels of historical production in Trouillots accountthe making of sources (in Grahams recording of elusive and changing oral performances and
memories), the making of archives (in Grahams giving
of the tapes to Warodis nephew), and the making of narratives (in the specific fate of the tapes once they arrived
in Pimentel Barbosa). As Trouillot suggests, certain
kinds of power were at work at each level. We can see
it at one level in the specific intellectual, material, and
mechanical resources Graham brought to and took from
the field and at another in the nephews ability to write
a letter and become the singular recipient of Grahams
tapes. But we see the dynamics of power in an altogether different sense when we consider the fate of the
tapes. When Graham returned three years later, she
could find no one who knew anything about the tapes
or an archive, but in the short period since her previous fieldwork the nephew/correspondent/archivists
younger brother had emerged as a singularly powerful
individual, recipient of dreams and visions that would

ordinarily be well beyond the reach of a junior male. He

was also a skilled and eloquent performer of his visions
in speech and song, attracting both followers and skeptical opponents as the village suffered factionalism and
division. It was only after several days that Graham discovered the young man listening to and memorizing
the taped performances of Warodi that she had sent to
the would-be archivist. The archive had reentered
Xavante social life and become part of a power dynamic
that Graham could not have anticipated.
Malkkis book shifts attention from the discursive to
the political construction of historical consciousness
and is primarily concerned with the shaping of historical narratives, the third juncture in Trouillots scheme.
The work is based on fieldwork among Hutu refugees
in two settings. The first is a refugee camp at Mishamo,
one of several camps set up by the Tanzanian government, the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, and the Tanganyika Christian Refugee Service in
the wake of massacres of Hutu by dominant Tutsi in
Burundi in 1972. The second is the port and border town
of Kigoma, where Hutu refugees attempt to blend with
other ethnically, nationally, and politically liminal personsother Hutu from Burundi, Rwanda, Tanzania,
and elsewhere attracted to Kigoma before and after the
massacres.
Malkkis central problem is the construction of national consciousness in these two settings, and her principal conclusion is that a strong national consciousness,
based on memories of life in Burundi, the experience of
violence, flight, and long-term exile, and an ideology of
return, was powerfully present in Mishamo but absent
in Kigoma, where refugees neither felt nor sought the
experience of cultural and political isolation and community. Most of the fieldwork concerns Mishamo, a
created and coordinated collection of settlements
which in some ways could be seen as if designed for social and cultural isolation, the construction and preservation of cultural consciousness, and even, for the ethnographer, a certain kind of controlled fieldwork. The
camp was extensive and divided into several villages
and hamlets. A condition of Malkkis research permit
was that she reside in the administrative center, making difficult an intensive, daily engagement with settlement life but giving her access to social organizational
and political dimensions of the camp as a whole. Her
fieldwork in Kigoma was marked by the difficulty that
characterizes much urban ethnography of identifying
and isolating a community. Although the community was defined by her project as Hutu refugees, the
very strategy of social blending and individual effacement they adopted meant that they imagined themselves as part of quite different communitiesthe most
important of these being Tanzania, where they hoped
to make a place for themselves, over time, as citizens
without papers.
The kinds of narratives Malkki was able to collect in
the two settings were therefore quite distinct. In Mishamo she gathered numerous group or community narratives; in Kigoma she elicited individual stories of adap-
tation, work and marriage strategies, and the like. She

calls the group narratives she constructed in Mishamo
mythico-histories, and a central source for her cultural analysis is some 47 stories that she presents
as panels. In constructing this interesting source,
Malkki has made two methodological choices: she has
edited and shaped the panels, sometimes cobbling them
together from several similar stories told by various individuals, and she has focused not on whether they accurately describe what happened but on the mythical
truth created in the unique setting of a refugee camp in
order to build a national community of Burundian Hutus in exile. She explains (p. 104):
The mythico-history is misread if it is seen simply
as a series of factual claims. For the facts it
deployed, true and false alike, were only building
blocks for the construction of a grand moralhistorical vision. In this particular case, as with any
other collective past, there exists no Gods-eye
view of history. The worlds made through narrations of the past are always historically situated and
culturally constructed, and it is these that people
act upon and riddle with meaning. . . .
Different regimes of truth exist for different historical actors, and particular historical events support
any number of different narrative elaborations. Such
regimes of truth operate at a mythico-historical
level which is concerned with the constitution of
an ontological, political, and moral order of the
world.
In her own terms, both these choices and the argument about different regimes of truth are sensible and
defensible. Examining the construction of national consciousness among Hutu in the camp, she draws especially on the work of Victor Turner on liminality
(seeing refugees, as a group, as liminal beings), Mary
Douglas on purity and danger (seeing refugees as a particular, and agentive, kind of matter out of place), and
Stanley Tambiah on processes of classification that create social worlds and place people in them in specific,
naturalized relationships. Her interpretation of the
mythico-histories as narratives constructed within a
certain national order of things in which Hutu refugees are both displaced and out of place is especially insightful.
But the book cannot be read solely in these terms, in
part because of the large political and human stakes at
its center. Elsewhere in the book, Malkki confronts different mythico-histories: the narratives of Burundian
Tutsis, who denied the massacres altogether, and the
histories written by interested scholars taking a decidedly Tutsi stance on the formation of interethnic relations, the legacy of colonialism, and the events of the
early 1970s. Attacking the professional historians and
debunking the Tutsi mythico-histories, she presents a
good history of the region that concentrates on the
shaping of Hutu-Tutsi interactions over the longue
duree, during the colonial period, and in the postcolo-

nial consolidation of different power relations in

Rwanda and Burundi. She also offers a postscript that
recounts a return to genocide in the 1990s in the two
states.
Malkkis ability to write these accounts makes more
complex the relationship between narrative and historical truth. It requires a suspension of the earlier suspension of disbelief communicated in her call for different
regimes of truth and a return to concern for what really
happened. The choice confronting ethnographers and
historians is seldom between naive positivism and a
recognition that narrations . . . are always historically
situated and culturally constructed. The interesting issues are how one evaluates the relative truthfulness of
various historically and culturally constructed accounts
not in relation to some positivist standard or Godseye view but in relation to certain discernible and recountable (and, of course, in important senses constructed) facts. Malkki has recourse to such facts in
debunking Tutsi mythico-histories. It seems less important to bring facts to bear on Hutu mythico-histories
from Mishamo, partly because refugees have clearly
been victims and partly because of the purity of their
exile, but Hutu elsewhere and in other circumstances
have shown themselves capable of both mass murder
and massive denial. Tragic circumstances such as
theseand Malkki does an excellent job of communicating and analyzing themrequire a more complex
statement of the problem of truth.
Once we reject an opposition between positivism and
multiple regimes of truth, the interesting question is
how different kinds of apparently truthful statements
are constructed, and this requires a return to Trouillots
interest in the production of history at different junctures and the operation of power relations and silencing
at each of these junctures. Malkkis mythico-historical
panels work at Trouillots third juncture, that of the
making of narrative, but before they could become narrative they had to pass through one of the earlier junctures, that of the making of sources. The narratives
were gathered, edited, and reconstructed from oral accounts communicated to Malkki. By the time they are
presented in the book, they have become texts. With
few exceptions, Malkki does not present a range of variations on a single story or attend to the social and cultural contexts of the individual stories as discourses and
performances along the lines of Grahams work on the
Xavante. This allows her to describe the social and political contexts that shape the mythico-histories (the
massacres, exile, the camp) in greater detail, but the
analysis of the social production of silences that is critical for determining the relative truthfulness of accounts
requires detailed attention to the narratives themselves.
Kaplan reexamines the Tuka movement of late19th-century Fiji and argues that it has improperly been
seen as a cargo cult. She does this by exploring various narratives of Navosavakadua, the ritual priest and
leader seen as the founder and instigator of the cult
colonial accounts that named and extirpated a per-
ceived threat, latter-day Vatukaloko (the polity and

people from which Navosavakadua emerged) accounts of Navosa and his legacy, Navosas own account
or what may be discerned of it from colonial records and
contemporary accounts, and recent non-Vatukaloko appropriations of Navosa as a legitimating, founding figure in political movements. The principal example
of the latter is a bizarre attempt by an Indo-Fijian
(Harigyan Samalia) to construct a movement invoking
Hitler, Krishna, and Navosa.
Interestingly, Kaplan found no local, Vatukaloko accounts of the Tuka movement, though she was told
stories about Navosa himself as a ritual and political
leader in which his cosmology and actions were fused
with those of Christian figures. (Navosa had himself
made related and novel fusions of Vatukaloko and
Christian images as he articulated a vision, reflecting
early missionization in the region, that would make
sense to Vatukaloko and to others.) Indeed, the only
narratives that treated Tuka as a movement or cult
were colonial accounts and Samalias idiosyncratic articulation. The colonial accounts are central, as officials
perceived a threat to the consolidation of colonial order,
organized a military campaign, and exiled first Navosa
and then the Vatukaloko themselves. They were also
founding texts for later anthropological understandings
of Tuka as a cargo cult.
The most interesting chapters in this book are the
ones that reconstruct the complex social and political
field of the Ra coast in the second half of the 19th century, the conflict between inland polities and an expanding state at Bau, the intersection between the interests of that expanding polity and those of missionaries
operating out of Viwa and plantations seeking labor
along the Ra coast, and the cession of authority to Britain by eastern chiefs in 1874. The expansion of external
control over the Ra coast and the undermining of the
autonomy of inland polities such as Vatukaloko also involved the reconfiguration of political relations in Fiji
with the emergence of Bau, the imposition of colonial
rule, the development of a plantation-based colonial
capitalism, and the arrival of missionaries. These were
accomplished with violence, including, for example, a
massacre in 1873 and a military campaign against Navosa ending in his defeat and exile. Kaplan is effective in
interpreting the likely local meanings of Navosas ritual
polity in the context of this changing social field as well
as a longer-term field of relations between inland and
coastal polities and in describing the multileveled misunderstandings embedded in colonial accounts of Navosa and his cult.
Less successful are her treatments of recent local understandings of Navosa and her placement of this interesting material within cultural theory. She opens her
book with grand but general questions: What shapes
the lives of colonized peoples? Is their agency a product
of indigenous cultural systematics, rejecting, encompassing, transforming external change? Or is colonial
power the prevailing force in their lives; do they re-

spond to, react to, resist incursion, in an agency already

therefore shaped by colonial hegemonic structures?
(p. 1).
An immediate difficulty here is the polarized, either/
or manner in which the issues are presented. She goes
on to outline three broad strategies for understanding of
local cultural phenomena in the face of global political
and economic forces. Not surprisingly, the first two represent the polarized positions suggested by her questions and the third is in between. One, connected
with Marshall Sahlins, emphasizes cultural difference
and the vitality of local peoples in the face of powerful
external forces. Another, which she identifies with Eric
Wolf as well as followers of Foucault or Gramsci including Bernard Cohn, Edward Said, and Ann Stoler,
stresses the overwhelming power of colonial processes
and constructions. A third, coming primarily from Michael Taussig, explores an epistemic murk between
colonial and local constructions. Kaplan places her own
exploration of different socially located and contested
narratives of particular events in this third stream
(p. 15):
What I want to do, then, in my narrative, is to find
a story of the making of narratives and a story of
their fates as cultural systems are articulated, and
some systems are routinized. It could be called narratography, this sort of effort to understand articulations, routinizations, and even routinizations of articulating systems. In framing my project in this
way, I believe that real history is found both by the
analytic strategy insisting on attention to indigenous history-making and that insisting on attention
to colonial power. I am hoping to find contestatory
discourse in Fijian history and cultural categories in colonial practice as well as vice versa.
This theoretical stance, reasonable enough in itself, is
weakened by its placement within a map of theoretical
debates that makes too few analytical distinctions. By
lumping quite distinct writers and arguments under a
single analytical strategy she leaves herself in a poor
position to evaluate her own strategy. And she tends to
raise broad issues that seem to connect with current
theory but neither emerge from nor illuminate the material at hand. Surely epistemic murk is not the only
intermediate position available to us. Given the importance and complexity of the issues engaged by a consideration of the colonial, anthropological, folk, and
postcolonial construction of knowledges concerning
Navosa and his ritual polity, an attempt at narratography might usefully engage the actual processes of
knowledge production. For this it would be helpful to
move away from representations of major theoretical
currents toward Trouillots junctures of knowledge production. Each of these junctures figures in Kaplans account, and her interpretation of the colonial and postcolonial construction of cults could be advanced by a
disaggregation of them.
Her conclusion is titled Do Cults Exist? Do States

Exist? and her answer on both counts is Ontologically no, historically yes. The answer makes much
more sense for cults than for states. Her argument on
cults rests on her prior examination of the colonial construction of Navosas ritual polity as a cult and the
process by which colonial officers named and rooted out
what they feared. To the extent that anthropologists
have left this process of colonial construction out of
their understandings of cults, both the question and
Kaplans answer are necessary. The second question and
answer accomplish much mischief. Kaplan repeats a
now-standard misreading of Philip Abramss essay on
sociological understandings of the state (1988) as arguing that states do not exist. But Abrams argued instead that sociologists had been lulled by the obvious
ontological reality of the state into treating it as a false
concrete, ignoring the complex process of politically
organized subjection that lay behind its mask. One
can examine that process of subjection and appreciate
its incomplete, fragmented, contested character in periods of colonial consolidation or postcolonial processes
of state formation without denying the states ontological reality. Such denials do not so much engage the
epistemic murk of colonial encounters as create epistemic murk in cultural anthropology.
I raise the problem sharply here because the books are
so strong and the issues so important. The specific questions that have drawn critical commentary herethe
relation between narrative and historical truth and the
construction of historical and anthropological knowledge of and in colonial contexts and processesare the
subjects of much discussion in anthropology and issues
on which a kind of culturalist consensus seems to have
emerged. One of the merits of several of the books discussed here is that their ethnographic focus on bloody
politics allows us to question that consensus.
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On Historical Consciousness

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Review Essay: Ancient Minds

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port in contemporary psychology and cognitive science:

flintknappers, and socially adroit, all this taken care of

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Volume 38, Number 5, December 1997 919

Practices interact with structures (p. 18)a position

artifacts, they claim that the final forms of artifacts

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the recently published Middle Pleistocene wooden

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Volume 38, Number 5, December 1997 921

Advocacy for the Multiregional

is not surprising that this is a book of advocacy for the

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because it is polytypic and that the human pattern . . .

Agrarian Production Practices

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Volume 38, Number 5, December 1997 923

in this field. Settlement Ecology: The Social and Spatial

detail the kinds of settlement and agrarian choices

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edly inspire archaeologists, cultural anthropologists,

The Tactical Uses of Passion

themselves cannot be known except through balanced,

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Volume 38, Number 5, December 1997 925

There is a certain irony here, in that they complain that

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t o d o r o v a, m a r i a. 1994. The Balkans: From discovery to invention. Slavic Review 53:45382.

Review Essay: On Historical

Dreams Graham offers an ethnography of performative

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Volume 38, Number 5, December 1997 927

place within a French colonial economy and slaves from

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the last two and a half centuries. Now, it empowers

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Volume 38, Number 5, December 1997 929

ordinarily be well beyond the reach of a junior male. He

tation, work and marriage strategies, and the like. She

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nial consolidation of different power relations in

ceived threat, latter-day Vatukaloko (the polity and

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Volume 38, Number 5, December 1997 931

spond to, react to, resist incursion, in an agency already

Her conclusion is titled Do Cults Exist? Do States

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borderlands. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. 244 pp.

gent profession and its packaging of knowledge. Stockholm

b r a s s, p a u l r. Editor. 1996. Riots and pogroms. New York:

g o l d s t e i n-g i d o n i, o f r a. 1997. Packaged Japaneseness:

b r a y, f r a n c e s c a. 1997. Technology and gender: Fabrics of

g l u c k l i c h, a r i e l. 1997. The end of magic. Oxford: Oxford

c a r b o , t e r e s a. 1996. El discurso parlamentario mexicano

h a n s e n, k a r e n t r a n b e r g. 1997. Keeping house in Lusaka.

h e r d t, g i l b e r t. 1997. Same sex, different cultures: Exploring

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Volume 38, Number 5, December 1997 933

j u i l l e r a t, b e r n a r d. 1996. Children of the blood: Society,