67 pages • 2 hours read
David Graeber, David WengrowA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
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Graeber and Wengrow begin the chapter with an extended analysis of the concepts of work and affluence, as well as an investigation into the origins of private property. Their aim is to dismantle the conventional wisdom surrounding such concepts and how they pertain to early human societies versus modern societies, respectively.
They conclude that, contrary to prevailing beliefs, people in hunter-gatherer societies likely worked far less than their modern counterparts. The idea that technology lightened the burden of work, conceived during the 19th century, is not borne out by the evidence. The same can be said of the concept of affluence. If wealth is defined as having as much as (or more than) one needs or wants of certain material goods, then, the authors reason, hunter-gatherer societies can be seen as more affluent than many modern societies. However, they also caution against sweeping generalizations: “Not all modern hunter-gatherers value leisure over hard work, just as not all share the easy-going attitudes toward personal possessions” (139). That is, looking back to prehistoric societies, “[t]here was no truly ‘original’ state of affairs” (140).
They also note that, contrary to conventional wisdom, prehistoric human communities ranged over far more territory than that of their modern counterparts; indeed, they “spanned continents” (123). Technology does make travel easier—from the horse to the ship, for example—but the overall trend suggests that “the scale on which social relations operate doesn’t get bigger and bigger; it actually gets smaller and smaller” (123). Until very recently, the territory through which humanity roamed becomes smaller rather than larger; regional alliances become more important than far-flung gatherings, where the rules of hospitality once guaranteed the hunter-gatherer quarter wherever distant relations might live.
The authors also explore the notion of an egalitarian society in this chapter, remarking that to define what is egalitarian is notoriously ambiguous. Does it include equality of resources? Equal relationships of power among gender differences? They investigate the work of James Woodburn, a British anthropologist who studied various forager societies in Africa. Woodburn posits that the only way to maintain a truly egalitarian society is never to preserve surplus.
Yet, the authors argue that this analysis is pessimistic: “What it suggests is, again, that any equality worth the name is essentially impossible for all but the very simplest foragers” (129). They go on to examine the nature of freedom in modern societies like the United States versus prehistoric social groups. While contemporary Americans have “formal freedoms” like the right to travel (if they have means) or to flout authority (unless they need a job), early humans and Indigenous intellectuals opt for “substantive freedoms” (131). They argue that the right to travel is vastly less important than the ability to do so.
Turning their attention to recent discoveries in archeology, the authors examine Poverty Point (a Stone Age site in Louisiana) and the Jōmon period in Japan. These sites reveal that prehistoric humans might have trafficked in more than material goods. Poverty Point, with its geographically precise mounds that adhere to “standard units of measurement and proportion” (143), provides a potential example of how knowledge—rather than goods—was transferred between and among groups of prehistoric humans. The Jōmon period in Japan reveals that a great many complex cycles of settlement and disbursement occurred—far more complex than previously imagined by scholars, as more of the archeological record is uncovered. These kinds of discoveries also reverberate throughout Europe. This all suggests that early forager societies were far more complex, more advanced, and more nuanced than once assumed.
They discuss the “Agricultural Argument” which says that because Indigenous peoples were not maximizing the use of the land, the Europeans had a moral duty to take it over. This paved the way for European conquest and colonization. It also ignores the various ways Indigenous peoples utilized and tended their territories (e.g., through controlled burning or terracing land). Ultimately, the evidence suggests that forager societies, contrary to widespread belief, were “capable of supporting anything from priestly castes to royal courts with standing armies” (150). They point to the example of the Calusa (in present day Florida) which had what appeared to be a king and a complex social hierarchy. Many historians—incorrectly, the authors claim—call them “proto-farmers,” because agriculture is the only way to explain such a complex social organization. The authors insist that the Calusa were, indeed, foragers—and that they were a highly organized, hierarchical, and complex group, even without agriculture.
Finally, the authors return to the idea of private property, linking it to the divine. That is, notions of ownership seem always to be linked to ideas of the sacred. The sites discussed earlier in the chapter, such as Poverty Point, are undoubtedly “sacred places” (157), and the idea of private property is linked to “structures of exclusion” (159). Certain objects were the province only of certain members of prehistoric societies (and some modern forager groups)—nearly always for sacred rituals.
This extends to the notion of private property itself: “the true ‘owners’ of land or other natural resources were said to be gods or spirits” (160). This implies that humans have both the right of dominion and the responsibility of caretaking over said land. However, for Europeans, private property is defined as the right of use, the right of enjoyment, and the right to destroy (161). Still, the authors suggest that “[i]f private property has an ‘origin,’ it is as old as the idea of the sacred, which is as old as humanity itself” (163).
In this chapter, subtitled “Why Canadian foragers kept slaves and their Californian neighbors didn’t; or the problem with ‘modes of production,” the authors grapple with the stark distinctions between two neighboring 18th-century forager societies: the Northwest Coast groups and the Californian groups (specifically the Yurok).
They begin by addressing the processes that lead to cultural distinctions, which many anthropologists attribute to ethno-linguistic differences. The authors argue, instead, that there are various reasons for how and why different groups, living relatively close to one another, might distinguish themselves—and, indeed, develop entirely different systems of cultural values and social organization. Primarily, they argue that schismogenesis—the process of defining one’s own group as different from another—plays a crucial role.
The Californian tribes resolutely refused to establish agricultural practices, preferring instead to retain foraging as their primary source of sustenance, though they did plant tobacco and other plants for ritual usage suggesting that they appreciated agricultural practices in specific instances. Partly, their rejection of agriculture is related to “reflected questions about values, about what humans really are (and consider themselves to be), and how they should properly relate to one another” (175). The Yurok preferred not even to fish, instead relying on acorns and other tree nuts, because stockpiling fish left them vulnerable to raids. In contrast, the Northwest Coast groups fished and raided. They also enslaved people, which the Yurok did not. The authors argue that the cultural values held by the respective groups led to these very distinct practices.
The Yurok are described as a nearly “puritanical” and abstemious group that valued spirituality, as evidenced by sweat lodge rituals and abstaining from indulgence of any kind. They valued wealth as a means to an end, and consequently, they also emphasized the importance of hard work. In contrast, the Northwest Coast peoples indulged in hedonistic excess, regularly holding elaborate potlatches that encouraged overeating, theatrical contests, and immoderate consumption of all kinds.
This leads the authors to consider the matter of slavery. While the Yurok did, in fact, take captives, they did so in keeping with the general spirit of Amerindian slavery across the Americas. The captives would be cared for, educated in the ways of the Yurok, and eventually allowed to achieve free status once they became fully Yurok. The Northwest Coast peoples, in contrast, enslaved people in perpetuity and made slavery an inheritable condition which was rare among Amerindian tribes.
This practice was the result of their value system. The Northwest Coasters developed an elaborate aristocracy which, in turn, fostered a common population dedicated to the artistic endeavors that accompanied the potlatches and other cultural expressions. The aristocracy itself was beholden to the common population for the retention of their titles, so there was a continuous negotiation as to what the commoners’ role should be. Thus, the raiding, capturing, and enslaving of other peoples served the purpose of providing the menial labor that both the aristocracy and their subjects found unsavory.
The Yurok instead elevated menial tasks “into a solemn public duty,” like collecting and chopping wood for the sweat lodge ceremonies (200). The authors employ this extended example as a model for what they intend to prove with the book as a whole: “that human beings have more collective say over their own destiny than we ordinarily assume” (206). Both the Yurok and the Northwest Coast peoples determined, collectively speaking and over time, their own set of values—against one another, in large part—which then delineated the shape their relative cultures took, the behaviors they displayed, and their relationship to broader concepts like hierarchy, property, and most importantly, freedom.
In this chapter, subtitled “The revolution that never happened: how Neolithic peoples avoided agriculture,” the authors address the issue of farming, challenging the conventional notion that an “Agricultural Revolution” during the Neolithic period is what paved the way for modern civilization.
They begin by relaying a metaphorical story told by Plato about the gardens of Adonis. Plato suggests that these gardens, cultivated merely for their beauty and speed of production, are unworthy of the investment of time and energy; they produce no food, nothing of use. The authors argue that early farming could, in fact, be more like the gardens of Adonis than a supposed Agricultural Revolution. The evidence reveals that for thousands of years many Neolithic settlements used farming only as a supplement to more established hunting and foraging practices. If the advent of agriculture was truly revolutionary, then it would not have languished in the background of other food-procuring activities for so long.
Using the settlement of Catalhoyuk in Turkey as an example, the authors discuss the many female figurines found at such sites: these were once considered fertility goddesses, but this assumption has fallen out of academic favor in the last few decades. However, the authors suggest, perhaps these figures do tell a story of female empowerment. That is, they might be viewed as symbols of matriarchal authority.
Later in the chapter, the authors link this idea to the slow, steady birth of agriculture. It was likely women who innovated in this arena, and not merely regarding the production of food. The advent of farming was more likely the result of the need for other items, like straw for baskets, chaff for construction, the creation of textiles and other household items, etc. Thus, the discovery of numerous female figurines—“their forms revealing an interest in female elders” (220)—at proto-farming communities indicates the importance of women in the development of agriculture.
It would also appear that these communities, like Catalhoyuk, provide “no evidence for central authority” (221). This could indicate that these Neolithic residents lived in what might be termed an egalitarian society—contrary to most scholarly assumptions that farming gave rise to social inequality.
Farming did not come about to replace hunting and foraging activities. In fact, farming was secondary to such subsistence activities for thousands of years. The authors argue that like villages who specialized in bead-carving or shell-processing, farming was also a specialized industry: “Farming itself seems to have started in precisely this way, as one of so many ‘niche’ activities or local forms of specialization” (227). Far from being a revolutionary discovery that inescapably altered the lives of early humans and their societies, farming was just another activity that both aided in trade and contributed to ceremonial practices.
In addition, the ways in which the people at Catalhoyuk, and presumably other early settlements, practiced farming was casual, at best. It relied on a technique known as flood-retreat farming which “requires little central management” and has “a kind of inbuilt resistance to the enclosure and measurement of land” (235). Thus, not only was early farming a casual activity, rather than the crucial vector at which “primitive” foraging societies became models for modern city-states, but it was also a communal activity, not the catalyst for the amassing of private property. In other words, foragers and farmers are not two distinct, directly opposed groups of early humans. Rather, they are often the same groups of people, practicing different methods of social organization at different times of the year.
The authors also discuss how, within the Fertile Crescent, there were two distinct swaths of arable land, with two distinct cultural groups living within them. The lowland residents of settlements like Catalhoyuk, with an apparently decentralized organizational structure, followed a different cultural path than the upland residents of the stone settlement at Gobekli Tepe, with its stratified society.
Again, the authors point to the process of schismogenesis to explain this: “The more that uplanders came to organize their artistic and ceremonial lives around the theme of male predatory violence, the more lowlanders tended to organize theirs around female knowledge and symbolism—and vice versa” (245).
As in the first three chapters, the authors set about to explode more myths regarding the origins of modern human civilization. They are interested in endowing early human societies, as well as more contemporary foraging societies, with complexity and agency. Instead of representing a simian-like, “primitive” and unimaginative intellectual capacity, these groups had vastly underestimated political consciousness and the ability to determine their own fates. This analysis has significant implications for what appear to be the intractable problems of today, like global social inequality. The authors are searching for alternative answers to how modern society came to be—and how, presumably, it can be changed.
They are determined to reveal that, contrary to the expectations based on the conventional wisdom regarding early human societies, hunting and foraging societies were quite sophisticated. For example, in discussing the archeological mounds at Poverty Point in present-day Louisiana, the authors critique the use of the word “Archaic” to describe this moment in prehistory: “One word, for seven millennia of Indigenous history. Archeologists who first gave the period its name—which is really more of a chronological slap in the face—were basically declaring, ‘this is the period before anything particularly important was happening’” (145). As the authors make clear, there was much occurring that was of great importance; the mounds themselves are models of geometric accuracy and mathematical precision, repositories of invaluable knowledge for early human societies. They are also, throughout the text, quite adamant about the lack of any “‘original’ state of affairs’” (140). This kind of reductive thinking, like the assumption that foraging societies are “primitive,” prevents a full and rational analysis of the evidence—which necessary for imagining potential for change in the current era.
A blinkered assessment of the past has its roots in the processes of imperialism, colonialization, and European domination that reached its apex in the nineteenth century. This is when concepts of race begin to be solidified, and the “civilizing mission”—by which European missionaries, colonists, and administrators subject Indigenous peoples to their cultural and political will (often through violence)—dominates the political discourse. Thus, the ways in which the story of prehistoric human societies, as well as more modern foraging societies, gets told is inevitably tainted by the rhetoric of European superiority.
For example, the stereotypical notions of “the carefree, idle forager band” arises as a result of “the legacy of European colonial expansion” (148). The European colonizers had to justify and legitimize the seizing of Indigenous lands, so they painted a picture of rootless, aimless, wandering (and innocent, ignorant) foragers, who could not possibly make the best use of the land on which they lived: “Colonial appropriation of Indigenous lands often began with some blanket assertion that foraging peoples were really living in a State of Nature—which meant that they were deemed to be part of the land but had no legal claims to own it. The entire basis for dispossession, in turn, was premised on the idea that the current inhabitants of those lands weren’t really working” (149). The authors aim to correct such dated notions by providing specific evidence, where they can, about how early human societies truly behaved.
They also address land usage, in the form of farming, throughout the book. The authors tackle the thorny subject of agriculture in depth in Chapter 6. While most accounts of the development of modern civilization emphasize the revolutionary importance of the discovery of agriculture, the authors are skeptical. They highlight evidence that shows that agriculture was not instantly transformative. Instead, it seems to have been what amounts to a side hustle for thousands of years. The conventional story says that once humans settled down and raised crops private property became a dominant feature of society, thus giving rise to the accumulation of wealth and inequality. The authors provide numerous pieces of evidence to suggest that this was not the case.
First, as they note:
Neolithic farming began in Southwest Asia as a series of local specializations in crop-raising and animal-herding, scattered across varies parts of the region, with no epicentre. These local strategies were pursued, it seems, to sustain access to trade partnerships and optimal locations for hunting and gathering, which continued alongside cultivation” (244).
Rather than a revolution, agriculture was simply another element in the complex societies of the period.
Second, “there was no ‘switch’ from Paleolithic forager to Neolithic farmer” (248). The two modes of social organization occurred simultaneously.
Third, regarding private property and the social inequality that allegedly inevitably followed, “while agriculture allowed for the possibility of more unequal concentrations of wealth, in most cases this only began to happen millennia after its inception” (248). The conventional wisdom regarding the role of agriculture in social inequality is not borne out by the archeological and ethnographic evidence.
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