Society for American Archaeology

Settlement Archaeology. Its Goals and Promise

Author(s): Bruce G. Trigger
Source: American Antiquity, Vol. 32, No. 2 (Apr., 1967), pp. 149-160
Published by: Society for American Archaeology
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AMERICAN
ANTIQUITY
VOLUME32 APRIL 1967 NUMBER2
SETTLEMENTARCHAEOLOGY
-
ITS GOALS AND PROMISE
BRUCEG. TRIGGER
ABSTRACT
Settlement Archaeology is defined as the study of
societal relationships using archaeological data. Asepa-
rate approach
is required
because of the inadequacy of
the concept
of "phase" or "culture" for the investigation
of this sort of problem.
An examination of the history
of Iroquoian warfare in the light
of archaeological
and
ethnological data suggests
that while the archaeologist's
ability to interpret prehistoric
social phenomena
remains
severely limited, the questions
raised by this sort of ap-
proach are important and, among other results, will
stimulate a desire to pay
still greater
attention to tradi-
tional problems
of cultural archaeology.
FOR
ALITTLEmore than a decade
-
ever
since the publication
of Gordon Willey's
(1953) report
on Prehistoric Settlement Patterns
in the Viru
Valley
-
there has been an increas-
ing number of studies devoted to the examina-
tion of prehistoric
settlement patterns.
Gen-
erally
it has been claimed
by
those involved that
these studies will shed new
light
on various
aspects of ancient social structures that until
now have received relatively
little attention from
archaeologists.
The term has been
appearing
with considerable regularity
in the titles of
pub-
lications and
grant applications,
indeed so
regu-
larly
that a person may
be forgiven
for
suspecting
that it is sometimes used as an excuse to
apply
for a large grant
to do much the same sort of
research that archaeologists
have been accus-
tomed to doing
on a more modest scale for a
generation
or more. Certainly
an interest in the
social structure and social behavior of ancient
peoples is not new; Daniel Wilson
(1851: 486)
defined it as one of the
goals
of
prehistory
when
he coined that term in 1851. Walter Taylor's
(1948) conjunctive approach
was above all a
reminder to archaeologists primarily
concerned
with cultural chronology of the need to study
all
aspects of culture, which means the social
and ideological as well as the technological.
European archaeologists have long been accus-
tomed to
excavating entire towns and villages
and to
reconstructing the nature and use of the
various
buildings found inside them (DeLaet
1957: 101-03). Indeed the term
Siedlungs-
archiologie was first used (albeit in a different
sense than it is used today) by Kossinna
(1911).
Are the
skeptics perhaps not right when they
suspect that Settlement Archaeology is merely
a new term for something that archaeologists
have been doing all along? Moreover, although
no one has referred to it in print, the opinion
seems to be current that Settlement Archae-
ology, with its societal
interests, is as much as
anything an excuse being used by some archae-
ologists for side-stepping the fundamental
job
of
defining cultures and
working out cultural
chronologies. Obviously a certain amount of
hostility has been aroused by the implication
that Settlement Archaeology is not merely a
new
technique or focus of interest within
archaeology but a
fundamentally different ap-
proach, and one that is superior to those that
have been current up until now. Such claims
seem feeble and pretentious in the absence
either of a clear statement of what the aims of
the
approach are or of
any
spectacular results
of its application. In the light of these doubts,
the
bystander has reason to ask if Settlement
Archaeology does represent a pioneer effort of
any
real importance and,
if
so, what is its rela-
tionship to the
existing discipline of
archaeology.
I believe that Settlement
Archaeology does
represent an
approach of some
importance, but
one that will strengthen rather than replace or
destroy the kinds of
archaeology that exist at
this time.
Moreover, I believe that it has come
into existence as a result of genuine problems in
archaeological theory and, hence, is destined to
fulfill a real need within the discipline. This
sort of
relationship would be in
keeping with
the
development of
archaeological theory to
date.
Like most historical disciplines (except cos-
mology
and earth
history, which are unable to
control the time
dimension), prehistoric archae-
ology has had a
development of
theory that is
not characterized
by
the
abrupt replacement of
old theories by new ones.
Instead, it is character-
149
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AMERICANANTIQUITY
ized by the slow development of new theories
and orientations that find a place for them-
selves alongside
the older ones. The result is a
fabric from which little is lost but in which new
elements serve to enrich older ones. It is well-
known that prehistoric archaeology grew up
alongside
Pleistocene geology
and was very
much influenced by
it. The artifact was long
considered analogous
to a fossil, and it was be-
lieved that any particular
historical epoch
could
be defined in terms of a distinctive assemblage
of artifacts much as a geological period
was
defined by a distinctive assemblage
of fossil
plants
and animals (Childe
1956: 26-9).
It was
generally imagined
that cultural evolution had
moved forward along
similar lines in different
regions
of the world. The
principal
concession
to the uniqueness
of culture was the realization
that the rate of
progress
in various regions
was
different,
and hence it was necessary
to distin-
guish
between the stage
of progress
which a
par-
ticular assemblage
had reached and the
period
when it existed. It was assumed,
more or less as
a matter of course,
that all cultures that were
at the same stage
of development
were similar
in most respects. Moreover,
since living
ex-
amples
of ancient societies could be found
among
the primitive peoples
of the
present day,
the totality
of society
at
any stage
of develop-
ment (except perhaps
the most
primitive)
could
be reconstructed using ethnographic
data. To do
this, nothing
needed to be known about any
particular prehistoric assemblage except
the stage
that it represented.
This was done through
the
recognition
of certain characteristic artifacts. As
long
as archaeology
continued to work within
this sort of conceptual framework,
the archae-
ologist's
main concern was not in defining
cul-
tural units but rather in
tracing
the history
of
the development
of individual types
of artifacts
such as
axes,
bows and arrows,
or wheeled ve-
hicles. This sort of
study
is still carried on
(Rohan-Csermak 1963)
and is
important
for
understanding
the
history
of the
past.
It was
obvious, however,
from an early stage
in the
development
of
prehistory
that the
stage ap-
proach
had serious weaknesses (Wilson 1851).
Because of geographical
and historical factors,
all cultures that were believed to be at the same
level of complexity
were not alike. Moreover,
not all cultures in every part
of the world ap-
peared
to have passed through
the same stages.
If the nature of local sequences of development
was ever to be understood,
it was necessary
to
define meaningful units of culture and to com-
pare them with other similar units. Gradually
the components that were excavated were clas-
sified in terms of cultures or phases,
units that
implied a high degree of cultural uniformity,
rather than in terms of a small number of loose-
ly defined stages. Cultural uniformity implied
some kind of close association on the part of its
bearers, and it was assumed that cultures were
shared by groups of people who interacted close-
ly with each other. Artifacts were now not
studied abstractly and in isolation from one
another -like mechanical assemblages of fossils
-
but rather as the products of functionally
in-
tegrated ways of life. Atanged copper spear-
head was no longer conceived of solely as a
stage in the evolution of spearheads but also
as a weapon that had played a particular
role
in a particular culture. The new framework
created by this historical, as opposed to evolu-
tionary, approach to human
history
did not so
much necessitate a reinterpretation of data as it
provided a supplementary and enriching dimen-
sion to the study of cultures in prehistoric times.
Today, however, the concept of culture itself
creates certain problems when archaeologists at-
tempt to reconstruct ancient patterns of life. In
particular these problems concern the relation-
ship between society and material culture,
the
latter constituting the only evidence that ar-
chaeologists normally have to work with. Ar-
chaeologists like Kossinna (1911) in Germany
and V. Gordon Childe (1929: v-vi) in England
have argued that a culture is a way of life held
in common by a particular people. Kossinna at
least would have argued that this people
or volk
were also characterized by a common language,
a common sense of identity,
and at least to some
degree by ties of social and political unity. Childe
(1956: 113-15) has argued that in the absence
of written records the political separation be-
tween England and the United States could be
detected through variations in culture such as
in the design of eating utensils and railway plat-
forms. It is often assumed that archaeological
sites correspond to communities, cultures to
tribes, and assemblages of related cultures to
culture areas. Yet is such a one-to-one correla-
tion between social and cultural units possible?
Willey and Phillips (1958: 48-51) are among
those archaeologists who believe it is not. Tra-
ditionally, anthropologists have believed it pos-
sible to
assign every human being to a well-
defined cultural grouping. Today it is clear that
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SETTLEMENTARCHAEOLOGY
many
so-called cultures are
separated
not
by
lines but
by
dines.
Changes
can be
observed,
but
only gradually
and over broad
areas,
so that
cultural units must be defined and studied as
arbitrarily
as microraces
(Garn
1961:
18-20),
unless we are to treat
every village
or household
as
having
its own culture. If some cultures lack
well-defined boundaries how can we correlate
societal units with them?
Societal units are in
many ways
as
vague
as
cultural ones but for
slightly
different reasons.
Political structures
can,
and in
complex
societies
frequently do,
embrace several different cul-
tures,
each of which retains its own customs and
beliefs. On the other
hand,
a
single
culture
may
extend over an area
larger
than
any single po-
litical unit. This was true of ancient Greece
and
Mesopotamia (Childe
1956:
132)
and
may
have been true of the
Maya.
In the case of the
Eskimo a common culture
spread
far
beyond
the boundaries of
any political
or social unit; it
was shared
by
a network of small
hunting
groups,
each in touch with its
neighbors
but
never
constituting any
sort of
social, economic,
or
political
unit. At
most,
one
might argue
that
communality
of
language
and culture
give
the
Eskimo a
feeling
of oneness vis-a-vis Indian or
White. Yet
communality
of
language
and cus-
toms does not
always
mean that
people recog-
nize themselves as members of a
single group.
Walloons or
French-speaking
Swiss do not be-
lieve that
they
are
Frenchmen,
nor do lowland
Scots feel
they
are
English.
On the other
hand,
groups
that are
culturally
or
linguistically quite
different
may
be linked
together by
various rela-
tionships
to form a
single interdependent group.
The weakness of
commonly
used definitions of
culture for the
investigation
of social
phenomena
is shown
by
a recent
proposal (Rouse
1965: 9-
10)
that the
peasantry
and elite
among
the
Maya
be
regarded
as two
separate
"ethnic
groups."
If
such a definition were
accepted,
the term cul-
ture would no
longer imply
a self-sufficient life
style,
nor a
society,
nor
any
sort of
political
unit.
The
simple
truth is that while
possession
of a
common material culture
implies
interaction
and close ties
among
those who
possess it,
it
does not
necessarily imply
that the bearers con-
stitute a
single linguistic, social, economic,
or
political
unit. Social
anthropologists, moreover,
are
keenly
aware that the boundaries of
social,
political,
and economic ties
may
be as amor-
phous
and interclined with those of other sys-
tems as are the boundaries of cultural traits.
For all of these reasons it seems
highly
desir-
able that an effort be made to
study
the
social,
economic, political, and,
if
possible,
the
linguis-
tic relations
among prehistoric peoples
as
prob-
lems that are
quite separate
from the delinea-
tion of material cultures. As with the
study
of
the
history
of
particular types
of
artifacts,
the
data are the
same, namely,
the material remains
recovered
by archaeologists;
what is different is
the
purpose
and manner in which
they
are or-
ganized
and
interpreted.
I
propose
to define Settlement
Archaeology
as the
study
of social
relationships using
archae-
ological
data. This
study
includes an
inquiry
into both the
synchronic,
or
structural,
and dia-
chronic,
or
developmental, aspects
of these rela-
tionships.
It differs from current "cultural ar-
chaeology"
in that it does not seek to under-
stand various
aspects
of social
relationships
sim-
ply
as further traits to be enumerated as
part
of
the trait
complexes
of
archaeological
cultures
(Childe
1956:
129-31)
but rather as function-
ing systems
of
economic, political,
and affective
relationships.
In
drawing
this
distinction,
I am
more than
splitting
hairs. To
give
an
example,
if one were to
compare
two
early
civilizations in
terms of cultural
traits,
one would
compare
ancient
Egypt
with ancient
Mesopotamia.
In the
first half of the third millennium B.C.
Egypt,
however,
constituted a
single
state whereas
Mesopotamia
was made
up
of
many city
states.
Hence,
if one were
comparing political organiza-
tion,
the units that would be
comparable
would
be one
Mesopotamian city
state
against
the
whole of
Egypt.
It is hard
enough
for the
archaeologist
to re-
construct the subsistence
patterns
and
economy
of the
groups
he studies
although
these are the
aspects
of culture that are most
clearly
reflected
in the
archaeological
record. The social and
ideational
aspects
of
culture,
to
say nothing
of
patterns
of social
relations, have
always
been
considered much harder to work with
(Hawkes
1954:
161-2).
Is it not
possible
that Settlement
Archaeology
has set itself a laudable but
hope-
less task? This time alone can
answer,
but de-
velopments
so far
suggest
that much
may
be
learned about the
past through
a settlement
approach.
Three basic levels of
analysis
can be
defined: the individual
structure,
the settle-
ment,
and settlement
distributions; and each
level
may
be
analyzed independently
of the
others
(Trigger 1967). By studying
the
lay-
out and use of structures-which include
TRIGGER] 151
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AMERICANANTIQUITY
houses, granaries, workshops, temples,
and mar-
kets- much can be learned about the structur-
ing
of nuclear
family
and
larger
residential units
and also about class divisions and
occupational
specializations
within a
community.
Some asso-
ciations
appear quite close,
such as the one be-
tween
long
houses and unilineal descent
groups.
On the other
hand, many groups
that have uni-
lineal descent live in nuclear
family
houses;
hence,
we have
only
a
way
of
identifying
some
situations in which unilineal
arrangements
were
present,
not the cases where
they
were
clearly
absent. Where multinuclear
family dwellings
occur,
but the main unit lacks a
hearth,
we
may
assume that we are
dealing
with a
polygynous
extended
family. Among
other
groups,
how-
ever,
the various wives
may
each have had their
own house or even have lived in
separate
vil-
lages. Temples
and
specialized
structures such
as
granaries (either
individual or communal)
may
reveal a
good
deal about
occupational spe-
cializations or communal
organization.
While
many
useful
insights may
be
gained concerning
the social structure of
particular prehistoric
groups, few,
if
any, perfect
one-to-one correla-
tions
may
be discovered between
types
of build-
ings
and various sorts of social structures.
The
study
of settlement
plans
can also reveal
information
concerning
social relations. Chang's
(1958)
cross-cultural
study
of neolithic
villages
suggests,
for
example,
that a
patterned layout
of
houses
frequently
is associated with extended
family
structures and that
villages
made
up
of
several blocks of these houses
frequently
con-
sist of several
lineages. Attempts
are also
being
made to reconstruct
community organization
through
the
analysis
of artifact distributions
within
single components (Deetz 1965; Long-
acre 1966;
Hill
1966).
These studies seek cor-
relations between residential divisions
(often
based,
or
presumably based,
on
kinship)
and
design
motifs or different
occupations.
In more
complex
societies
social, occupational,
and eth-
nic distinctions
may
be reflected in the
pattern-
ing
of a
community. Except among hunting-
and-gathering groups,
where several sites
may
be
occupied
in the course of a
single year
and bands
may
scatter and come
together depending
on
the
season,
the settlement
normally corresponds
to a
community.
The location and nature of
individual
buildings (in
addition to their
type)
may
indicate
something
about the
government,
religious,
and other
socially integrating
institu-
tions of the
community.
The
presence
or ab-
sence of trade
goods
and a
study
of the economic
activities of the
community
as a whole should
do much to reveal its economic structure and
its
degree
of
self-sufficiency.
In
many places,
however, particularly
in the
tropics,
activities
take
place
in the
open
air and hence leave no
obvious "fossils" in the
archaeolgical
record.
Consequently,
on this level as
well,
it is often
easy
to
say
that some sorts of social activities
were
present,
but it is hard to
say
what other
ones were not.
A
study
of the
spatial relationships
between
different communities
may
reveal
something
about
ecological
and
political arrangements.
Some communities
may
be shown to be
depend-
ent,
either
economically
or
politically,
on other
communities. The settlement of
economically
marginal regions may
be related to the
develop-
ment of
mining
or
trade,
and the avoidance of
certain areas
may
reflect the
relationships
be-
tween different
political groups.
Inferences
drawn from data at one level can be cross-
checked with those drawn from another and
with other kinds of information. The conclusion
that a
large
area
lying
between two
groups
of
settlement was a no-man's-land would be
sup-
ported
if it could be shown that the individual
villages
on each side were fortified and if
large
numbers of
weapons
and the bodies of
people
who had died violent deaths were recovered. It
would also have to be demonstrated that the
intervening
area was not abandoned because it
was disease
ridden,
or otherwise unsuitable for
settlement. It seems
possible
then to make at
least some limited inferences about social struc-
ture and social relations if we
interpret
the evi-
dence recovered
by archaeology
in terms of the
primary
units of settlement
patterns,
whether
individual
structures, community layouts,
or the
distribution of settlements. The
quality
and
profundity
of such inferences will
undoubtedly
improve
as
ethnologists
are stimulated to use
their own data to learn more about the
spatial
aspects
of human behavior. Settlement Archae-
ology
could
conceivably
be an
important bridge
between
archaeology
and
ethnology.
The limitations
are,
of
course,
obvious. Hu-
man relations are
complex,
and
totally
different
structures can often serve the same function.
It is a
simple
fact that not all
lineage organized
societies have
produced long
houses.
Moreover,
similar
buildings
often serve
totally
different
functions. In one
community
an
especially large
house
may
be the
private
residence of an
impor-
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SETTLEMENTARCHAEOLOGY
tant
chief,
in another
merely
a
building
used
for
public gatherings. Village squares may
be
used
indiscriminately
for
markets, rituals,
or
public celebrations,
and the evidence recovered
from them
may provide
to the
archaeologist
little or no clue
concerning
their function.
Where there has been marked cultural continu-
ity,
as in the Arctic or in
Polynesia, ethnograph-
ic data
may help greatly
in
interpreting
archae-
ological
data. In the southwestern United States
a kiva can be
recognized
as such even in Pueblo
II,
and it
may
be assumed to have
played
much
the same role in
community
life then as it does
today.
This sort of
interpretation
is
always
a bit
risky, however,
and under no circumstances
should it be extended
beyond
the culture area
originally designated.
As one
example
of the
utility
and limitations
of the settlement
approach,
I
propose
to exam-
ine the
development
of one
institution, namely
warfare, among
the
Iroquoian-speaking peoples
of the Northeast. This is a
topic
about which
there has been much
speculation
but little in
the
way
of
systematic study.
It is also a subject
concerning
which a lot of historical and ethno-
graphic
data are available. These
provide
a
reliable
jumping-off point
for an
investigation
of
prehistoric
times.
In the
early part
of the 17th
century,
when
they
were first contacted
by Europeans,
the Iro-
quoian speakers
of the Northeast lived in seden-
tary villages
and
practiced
intensive slash-and-
burn
agriculture.
Each
village
consisted of a
number of
long
houses which
might
contain
from one to two dozen nuclear
families,
al-
though
the
average
number was
eight
to ten
(Tooker 1964:
40).
The
largest villages
were
palisaded
and
appear
to have contained several
thousand
people. According
to the Jesuit Rela-
tions,
the basic unit of
Iroquoian
social and
po-
litical
organizations
was the matrilineal sib or
extended
family,
each of which
appears
to have
had its own civil chiefs and war leaders. These
sibs retained a considerable
degree
of
political
autonomy
and were known to move from one
village
to another if
they
were dissatisfied with
the conduct of other sibs in the
village (Wrong
1939: 32; Thwaites
1896,
Vol. 8:
105). Village
councils consisted of the
representatives
of these
sibs, plus
other men known for their
bravery
or
experience. Tribes were made
up
of a number
of
villages
whose inhabitants shared a common
dialect
and/or
a common
history. By
the 17th
century
at least three confederacies had
grown
up:
the
Huron,
which embraced four tribes;
the
Iroquois,
which embraced five; and the Neu-
tral,
which embraced an undetermined number.
The tribes
belonging
to such confederacies did
not make war on one another. The Huron
one,
which
may
have been the
oldest,
seems to have
resulted at least in
part
from the
coming together
of various tribes in a
region
that was well suited
for trade with the northern
hunting
tribes even
prior
to the rise of the fur trade
(Trigger 1962).
It is
significant
that the four Huron tribes lived
very
close to each other near the south end of
Lake
Huron,
whereas the
Iroquois
of New York
State formed five settlement clusters
separated
from one another
by
considerable distances.
The Huron
appear
to have obtained much of
their meat and skins
through
trade and hence
were little affected
by
the fact that this
large
concentration of
population drastically
reduced
the amount of
game
that was available
nearby.
This
dependence
on trade also seems to have
pro-
duced
especially large villages (Trigger 1963).
At the time of contact all of the
Iroquoian
peoples appear
to have been in a state of chronic
war,
either with other
Iroquoian
tribes or
confederacies,
or with
neighboring Algonkian
groups,
and sometimes with both.
Sagard
and
Champlain,
two
early
French
writers,
inform us
(Tooker
1964:
29-39)
that each
year
500 to 600
Huron warriors fanned out in small
groups
in
the
Iroquois country
and there
performed
acts
of
daring
and tried to
capture trophies
-
scalps,
heads,
and
especially prisoners,
whom the Huron
took back alive to their
villages.
Such a
party
was
usually
made
up
of
young
men who were
recruited at a feast
given by
the
prospective
leader of the
group.
This individual directed the
war
party
and took the credit or blame for its
outcome. He also
appears
to have
cooperated
with the chiefs in
disposing
of
prisoners, usually
turning
them over to Huron families who had
lost relatives to the
Iroquois.
These
prisoners
were
adopted by
such
families,
and the men
were
usually savagely
tortured to death in a
public ceremony
that lasted several
days
and in
which the whole
village
took
part.
Raids nor-
mally
were made in the summer when the Iro-
quois
women were
working,
and often
living,
in
their
fields,
and
many
men were
away fishing
or
trading.
The chiefs
sought
to
keep enough
war-
riors at home to defend the Huron
villages
against
similar attacks launched
by
the
Iroquois.
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AMERICANANTIQUITY
Three attributes of
Huron,
and no doubt of
Iroquoian
warfare in
general,
are of
special
importance:
First,
it was the means
by
which
young
men
acquired personal prestige.
The civil offices in
Iroquoian society
were
hereditary
within
par-
ticular
lineages,
but since the order of succession
within the
lineage
was not
defined,
the
young
men of these
lineages
no doubt vied with one
another to
acquire reputations
as warriors. More-
over, by gaining
a
reputation
for
bravery
and
prowess
in war a man not
belonging
to one of
these
lineages might hope
to win a
respected
place
in his
village
council. Prowess in war was
not the
only
avenue to
prestige,
but it was an
important one,
and this made most
young
men
anxious to
fight.
The
chiefs,
who were older
men, generally
tried to restrain these
warriors,
in
part
because
they
were
jealous
of
younger
rivals but also because
they
were concerned
about the
reprisals
that would follow
(Thwaites
1896,
Vol. 23:
91).
The second factor involved in
Iroquoian
war-
fare was blood
revenge.
Raids were made at
least in
part
to
avenge previous
murders. Since
these
reprisals
were
usually regarded
as
killings
by
the
injured side, they
served to
generate
a
continuous and
self-perpetuating pattern
of con-
flict between certain tribes
(Thwaites 1896,
Vol.
10:
273).
Blood
revenge
was conceived of as
possible
from the
lineage
level
up,
and the
understanding
of its
disruptive
effects is shown
by
the
special
efforts which the Huron made to
suppress
it within their
confederacy.
The
Jesuits
report
that in Huron law blood
vengeance
was
considered the worst of all crimes- far exceed-
ing
murder
(Thwaites 1896,
Vol. 10:
223).
Every
effort was made to assure that
compensa-
tion was
paid
to
prevent
the need for blood
revenge, and, significantly,
this
compensation
was
paid
between the
villages
or
lineage groups
involved rather than from the murderer to the
relatives of the man he had killed
(Tooker
1964:
52).
The third
aspect
of
Iroquoian
warfare was
religious.
The torture of
prisoners
was not sim-
ply
an act of
revenge
but was also a ritual act.
The
underlying
motif is
reported
to have been a
sacrifice to the
"god
of war" or to the sun. Al-
though
the
prisoner
was first tortured inside one
of the
long houses,
he was
normally
killed at
sunrise on a scaffold in the
open
air. His heart
was cut out and his blood was drunk
by
some
of those
present.
The
body
was then cooked
and
eaten,
so that the
villagers might
share in
the
prisoner's bravery. During
their brutal and
prolonged torture, prisoners
were
expected
to
sing, dance,
and
express
defiance of their
cap-
tors
(Knowles 1940;
Rands and
Riley
1958: 282-
93).
Warfare between the Huron and their
neigh-
bors was thus constructed around three main
themes - individual
prestige, revenge,
and sac-
rifice. These themes were woven into a
tight
pattern
in which each
complemented
and rein-
forced the other. Certain elements within this
complex may
have been a
part
of the
indigenous
culture of the Northeast.
Others,
such as the
elevated
platform,
the removal of the
heart,
and the
killing
of
prisoners
in view of the
sun,
seem to be of Southeastern and even of Meso-
american
origin.
These elements do not
repre-
sent the diffusion of a whole trait
complex
so
much as that of ideas and elements which
played
a
part
in the
development
of a new
cap-
tive
complex
in the Northeast
(Knowles 1940).
Afew functional
explanations
have been
pro-
posed
to account for
Iroquoian warfare,
and
there are certain
general
theories that can
easily
be
applied
to it. Each of these theories has cer-
tain historical
implications
that can be checked
against
the
proper
sort of
archaeological
infor-
mation. Some of these
explanations
are
psycho-
logical;
others are economic and
demographic.
Steward and Faron
(1959: 325-30)
have
pointed
out that
among
the
Tupinamba,
a
people
of
coastal Brazil with an
economy, villages,
and
warfare not unlike those of the
Iroquoians (al-
though they
are
patrilineal
rather than matri-
lineal),
a
great emphasis
was
placed
on
coopera-
tion
among
the members of the
community.
They suggest
a
possible
nexus between the need
for
harmony
in the crowded
Tupinamba
vil-
lages
and a
projection
of
hostility against
the
members of other bands that
expressed
itself in
warfare and the torture of
prisoners. Despite
the
fact that
many Iroquoians
lived
away
from the
main
villages during
the
summer,
there is evi-
dence of much
repressed hostility
in
early
de-
scriptions
of
Iroquoian society.
Even if Steward
and Faron's
theory
were to
provide
a motive for
aggression, however,
it would not account for
the
specific
forms that the
aggression
assumed.
John
Witthoft
(1959: 32-6)
has discussed
Iroquoian
warfare from a
psychological point
of
view. He
postulates
that warfare increased as
corn
agriculture replaced hunting
as the domi-
nant mode of subsistence
among
the
Iroquoians.
154
[
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32,
No.
2,
1967
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SETTLEMENTARCHAEOLOGY
This
happened
because the decline in men's
role as food
producers
led them to seek more
prestige
as warriors.
Women,
on the other
hand,
projected
their resentment at the lack of male
participation
in routine tasks
by transferring
their traditional role as butchers of
game
to a
new one as butchers of male
captives.
This
theory
has several weaknesses.
First,
it seems to
ignore
the
importance
of
fishing
in the
Iroquo-
ian subsistence
pattern
and man's role as a
clearer of new fields.
Surely
men were more
important
in
Iroquoian
economic life than Witt-
hoft
portrays
them.
Secondly,
the
Iroquois
and
Neutral at least are
reported
to have tortured
captive
women and children as well as
men;
hence,
it would
appear
that torture was not
directed
against
men as
clearly
as some writers
have assumed. These two observations
suggest
that,
even if there was a
good
deal of tension
between men and women in
Iroquoian society,
it was not a direct result of the
prevailing
divi-
sion of labor nor was it the basis of torture. The
similarity
between
Iroquoian
and
Tupinamba
warfare also
suggests
that an
explanation
of
such warfare does not lie in the matrilineal
structure of
Iroquoian society.
Witthoft's ex-
planation
does not
functionally
account for the
emphasis
on blood
revenge
or the sacrificial na-
ture of the
killing
of
prisoners.
For
these, only
historical
explanations
are offered.
Andrew P.
Vayda (1961)
has
argued
that in
many parts
of the world warfare
among
slash-
and-burn
agriculturalists (such
as the
Iroquoi-
ans)
results from a
shortage
of soil that is
easily
worked and suitable for
growing crops
with a
digging-stick
or a
stone-tipped
hoe. Under such
conditions conflicts are
generated by
the efforts
of one
group
to seize land that another has al-
ready
cleared or new areas of fertile soil to
replace
ones that have become exhausted. Al-
though
I am less certain of the data on soil for
New York
State,
I am
quite
certain that this
explanation
does not hold for the
Iroquoians
of
Ontario.
Enough light
soil was available to
sup-
port many
times the maximum
Iroquoian popu-
lation,
and it
appears
that the
Iroquoians rarely
returned to the same area even after the fields
were
rejuvenated.
Indeed,
for the reasons cited
above,
much of the
population
tended to be-
come concentrated in a smaller number of areas
as it increased. As a
result, large portions
of
Ontario were abandoned as the historic
period
approached.
Since the
fertility
of cleared land
reclined
fairly rapidly,
there was little cause for
one
village
to covet the fields of
another,
even if
land was hard to clear. It seems more
likely
that
prior
to the
development
of
large
confed-
eracies,
small
groups may
have
fought
over
choice
fishing spots, hunting territories,
or simi-
lar scarce natural resources.
Little,
if
any,
of this
sort of
competition
can be
detected, however,
in historic times.
The
archaeological investigation
of settlement
patterns
in the Northeast should be able to cast
some
light
on the antecedents and
development
of the historic war
complex among
the
Iroquo-
ians. Fundamental settlement correlates should
be observable in the location of
villages
and the
development
of defensive works; supporting
ar-
tifactual evidence should be observable in the
form of such
things
as cooked human bone in
the
village
middens. Some evidence of
raiding
may
also be found in the numbers of individuals
who have met violent
deaths,
and the role of
sacrifice can be studied in terms of direct traces
of
killing-scaffolds (of
which none to
my
knowl-
edge
has been
recognized)
or in the
general
development
of social
organization.
It
appears
likely
that the
development
of the sacrificial
aspects
of torture took
place
in
fairly large
com-
munity settings.
One of the main weakness in
our work lies in the
difficulty
of
tracing
historic
ethnic
groupings
back into
prehistoric
times. Pre-
historic cultures are labelled Mohawk or Onon-
daga
or
proto-Mohawk
and
proto-Onondaga,
but there is little
proof
that these cultures can
be identified
with,
and
only with,
their historic
namesakes or that these
cultures,
as defined
by
archaeologists, correspond
to
peoples
as
they
would have defined themselves. Recent ethno-
historical
research,
for
example,
has led me to
conclude that the so-called
Onondaga
sites in
the St. Lawrence
Valley,
which were
occupied
in the 15th and 16th
centuries,
were inhabited
by
a
group speaking
an
Iroquoian language
or
dialect that was not
Onondaga
or
any
of the
ones known in the 17th
century
or later
(Trigger
1967).
In earlier times the situation was
even more
confused,
and William A. Ritchie
(1965: 299-300)
has
recently
concluded that
the Owasco culture was
produced
and shared
by groups
whose
linguistic
affiliations were both
Algonkian
and
Iroquoian. Linguistic
studies
seem to
suggest
that the
Iroquoians
have been
in the Northeast for a
long
time. Their arrival
has been
tentatively
correlated with the
appear-
ance of the Lamoka culture
(Byers
1961:
49)
or
Hopewellian
traits in the Northeast
(Griffin
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]
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AMERICANANTIQUITY
1944). The fact remains, however, that while
some Owasco were almost certainly Iroquoians,
it is impossible
to work out any linguistic affilia-
tions at an earlier period.
Since there appears
to be no sharp break at any time in the cultural
development
of the Northeast,
it is perhaps
safest to drop linguistic units for the time being
and speak only of the development of social
institutions.
Prior to Late Woodland times, which began
about A.D. 1000, agriculture appears to have
played only a minor role in the life of the North-
east. The people who lived there prior to this
time appear to have depended mainly on hunt-
ing and fishing and to have alternated between
fairly large summer camps and much smaller
and more scattered winter ones
(Ritchie
1965).
Blood revenge is common among such hunting-
and-gathering peoples
and was probably present
in the Northeast from very early times. Bodies
riddled with arrows could be the result of in-
group quarrels, and the extra heads found in
some graves
could be those of loved ones who
had died far off and whose bodies could not be
brought back for burial. The occasional head-
less body found in group cemeteries
(Ritchie
1965: 123) is most easily interpreted, however,
as evidence that heads were already being
sought as trophies in Woodland times. Prior to
Late Woodland times this raiding and blood
feud took place in a context of small unfortified
encampments. In Late Woodland times agricul-
ture became more important,
and the popula-
tion began to increase and become more seden-
tary. Although multifamily dwellings may have
existed in earlier times,
the first prototypes
of
Iroquoian long houses as well as the first pali-
saded villages (Ritchie
1965: 280) appear in
Ontario and New York State at this time. It
would be a simple matter to correlate these
palisades with increasing
warfare. It is also pos-
sible, however, that warfare was not increasing
but rather that with a more sedentary
life
greater protection
was being sought against
the
raids that did take place. It is also possible that
stockades were at first erected to keep bears and
other wild animals rather than human enemies
out of the villages. According
to
James
V.
Wright (personal communication)
of the Na-
tional Museum of Canada,
cooked human bone
begins
to appear
in Ontario sites during
the
Uren
phase
about A.D. 1300. The
largest
num-
bers of bones are found in sites that
Wright
dates between A.D. 1450 and 1550,
and the
amount declines as the contact period
is ap-
proached. If these findings are confirmed in the
state of New York, they will constitute a good
index of the rise and decline of cannibalism,
and likely of the sacrificial cult,
in the North-
east. What are the social and cultural correlates
of this trend?
The suggestion
has often been made that a
shift to agriculture led to the development of
the matrilineal social structure that is character-
istic of the Iroquoians. It is assumed that matri-
lineal institutions developed as a result of the
assumption by women of a primary
role in food
production. Prior to this time,
when hunting
and fishing were the most important activities,
there had been either patrilineal
or composite
band structures. The first of these alternatives
was more in keeping with Steward's
(1955:
122-
50) formulations, since the Iroquois hunted mi-
gratory game, but it is hard to accept in view of
Murdock's
(1949: 190, 216-9) argument
that it
is hard for a society to shift directly from patri-
lineal to matrilineal descent. The assumption
was also made that the development of matri-
lineal institutions was paralleled by the develop-
ment of long houses. Byers (1961)
has very
cogently pointed
out that in historic times many
tribes that had matrilineal institutions as fully
developed as those of the Iroquoians
lived in
nuclear family houses that differed little from
those seen in the Northeast in Middle Wood-
land and even in Late Woodland times. The
apparent fact that a proto-Iroquoian term,
ra-
hak, which means "father's sister," can be recon-
structed and that it continued to be used in
historic times among the Huron, Seneca,
Tus-
carora, and Cherokee
(Lounsbury 1961) sug-
gests
that a bifurcate-merging system
of kin terms
and hence
possible
unilateral descent may great-
ly predate
the development
of
Iroquoian
culture
(Driver
1961:
315).
It is quite apparent
that
further work in the reconstruction of
pre-Iro-
quoian
kinship systems
will require
the com-
bined efforts of
linguists
and ethnologists
and
that archaeologists
can play only
a minor role
in this task.
Concerning
the evolution of community
and
political organization, archaeology
is
perhaps
able to tell us more. It is
likely
that
prior
to
the development
of intensive agriculture,
there
were tribal groupings
whose members lived
much of the
year
in small
family groupings
which came together periodically
to celebrate
rituals and reaffirm their identity
as a
group.
156
[
VOL.
32,
No.
2,
1967
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SETTLEMENTARCHAEOLOGY
These bands were held
together by
ties of mar-
riage and
descent, and
throughout Woodland
times one of the
major
rituals used to reaffirm
group unity appears to have been the burial or
reburial of the
group's
dead in a common place.
Among scattered hunting peoples this sort of
band organization is
necessary to regulate mar-
riage and land use. It has been noted
among the
Ojibwa of northern Ontario that as new sources
of food and income become available
-
par-
ticularly through government aid
-
families
tend to abandon their winter hunting camps
and remain in the larger summer
encampments
(Dunning 1959). Asimilar
change may have
come about among the
Iroquoians
as a result of
a shift towards intensive agriculture. It is un-
clear as yet what initiated this
change, but one
possibility is that the abandonment of hunting
and fishing as the main sources of subsistence
required the
development of new varieties of
corn suited to the climate of Ontario and New
York State. Even today the northern limit of
corn agriculture is hardly more than a few miles
beyond the northernmost chain of
Iroquoian
villages. Once it became
established, this food-
producing economy led to a rapid increase in
the
population which
probably continued to
grow until historic
times, in spite of a low birth
rate and
high infant
mortality.
As
villages became
sedentary and grew larger,
the old institutions of social control had to be
extended and new ones brought into existence
in order for the new local groups to function.
Even in the 17th century, as we
already have
observed, the matrilineal sib remained the basic
unit of social and political organization. The
growth of
large political units involved the sup-
pression of blood
revenge on the village, tribal,
and
confederacy level.
A
variety
of factors
probably contributed to
this
development. Villages occupying the same
area and
speaking a similar dialect appear to
have formed
tribes, but it is a matter of specula-
tion to what degree these tribal unions were
built on a common sense of
identity that had
already existed in earlier times.
Occasionally,
as
agriculture became more
important, different
tribes
appear to have settled
peacefully beside
one another in areas that were favorable for
trade and
agriculture. There is
strong evidence,
at least in
my opinion, that the nucleus of the
Huron
confederacy evolved in this
way.
Not all of the forces
promoting the growth
of
larger political units were
peaceful. At first,
there were
probably considerable differences in
the size of the tribal
groupings that
developed.
Small
groups
that became involved in
disputes
over
killings
must have stood in
danger
of anni-
hilation. Such
groups probably often sought the
protection
of
larger
ones in much the same
way
as the Wenro tribe
sought the
protection of the
Huron in 1638. This
tribe,
which lived in west-
ern New York State found themselves
fighting
the Seneca and the Neutral at the same time.
They
asked the Huron for
permission to
migrate
to their
country, and in 1638
they did so. Those
who survived the trek north were settled in the
major villages of the
confederacy, particularly
in Ossossane which
belonged to the Bear Tribe
(Tooker
1964:
14).
The
Iroquoians
also
appear
to have
developed
mechanisms for
adopting prisoners and whole
villages
of
enemy Iroquoians
into their tribes.
After the Huron were defeated by the
Iroquois
in
1649,
one Huron
tribe,
the
Tahontaenrat,
and
part
of
another,
the
Arendahronon, asked
for and were
given the
privilege of
founding
a
new
town, called
Gandougarse, among the Sen-
eca.
Many refugees from the other Huron tribes
were forced to settle in Mohawk and Onondaga
villages (Tooker
1964:
10).
Here the men were
often
killed,
but the women and children were
incorporated into the tribe. Although the events
we describe came about as a result of the fur
trade, the patterns that were followed seem to
have been much older. It seems
likely,
for ex-
ample, that many of the so-called "trade sherds"
found on
Iroquoian
sites result from the incor-
poration of female prisoners into the
group in-
volved. Acareful study of these "trade sherds"
might reveal a good deal about
patterns
of raid-
ing in prehistoric times. No
study has yet been
made of the
psychological
mechanisms that the
Iroquois used to integrate enemies into their
tribes, although there is
highly suggestive litera-
ture on this
subject.
It seems possible that
during the early Iroquo-
ian period men
began to
rely on
proving their
skill as warriors more than
they had previously.
This was not
necessarily because their work had
become
economically less
important, but because
fishing and
clearing fields provided less of a test
of a man's
prowess than did
hunting, which
probably did decline in relative importance.
The result
may have been the diversion of the
search for
prestige into new channels. The
counter desire to
protect one's now permanent
villages and fields
-
in
short, one's
growing
TRIGGER
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AMERICANANTIQUITY
property
-
from the attacks of raiders may have
led to a growing tendency to suppress and, if
necessary, incorporate groups that were chroni-
cally hostile. In this way the original pattern of
blood revenge grew into a new form of warfare
that led to the creation of larger social and po-
litical units. At the same time certain ideas of
human sacrifice appear to have diffused from
the south, as did various other items of material
and ritual culture. These became incorporated
into a spiralling pattern of warfare. This appears
to have happened about A.D. 1300.
By historic times war was no longer waged by
village against village but by confederacy against
confederacy. Since these groupings were sepa-
rated by broad, uninhabited areas and were fair-
ly well balanced against one
another, it appears
that both the amount of violence and the scope
of warfare were decreasing. Raiding continued
because the captive complex was now an integral
part of Iroquoian culture, but until a new crisis
was generated by competition for furs to trade
with Europeans and by the introduction of guns,
the destruction of villages and the removal of
whole groups of people were uncommon. This
process is also marked by the diminishing num-
bers of cooked human bones in village middens.
In
short, prior to the disruption caused by con-
tact with the Europeans, Iroquoian political
relations were tending to become more stable
and more peaceful than they had been in the
recent past.
At the
beginning
of this paper, I defined Set-
tlement
Archaeology as the study of social rela-
tionships using archaeological evidence. Such
studies are conceived of as
something clearly
different from efforts to compile what in essence
are
merely more extensive trait lists for archae-
ological cultures. Iroquoian warfare is a test
case where an optimal amount of ethnographic
information is available and the projection
backwards in time has been very short. More
than
anything else, this example shows what
Settlement Archaeology cannot do. The four
historic Huron tribes lived close together and
had a material culture that appears to have
been
heavily pooled. As yet there are not
enough data to allow us to distinguish the four
tribes in terms of artifact
assemblages,
or indeed
to
distinguish the Huron from their neighbors
the Petun, who were not members of the con-
federacy. From
archaeological evidence alone
we would probably assume that we were dealing
with one
very large tribe.
Likewise, using mate-
rial culture and spatial configurations we might
deduce that there had been five Iroquoian tribes,
but we would not recognize the existence of the
confederacy. In short, we find no simple corre-
lation between settlement patterns and political
organization. We have also drawn a blank in
our efforts to trace changes in kinship structure
through changes in house types. It is not even
clear that, lacking documentary evidence,
we
should be able to tell whether the foreign sherds
in a tribal area are the result of trade or of the
immigration of people as a result of war. Con-
ceivably whole intrusive villages, when found,
would be less of a problem. Even so, without
documents a variety of explanations
of such
villages could be offered. On the other hand,
we have been able to note a correlation between
larger communities, denser concentrations of
villages,
and the growth of increasingly
elabo-
rate fortifications and cannibalistic practices.
Lacking historical evidence the
significance
of
all this would not be as clear as it
is, and,
even
so,
much remains to be explained.
The prob-
lems that are raised serve to stimulate a search
for new
techniques
for eliciting
information
from
existing data,
but perhaps
even more im-
portantly they also stimulate a desire for more
detailed information concerning
the nature and
distribution of sites. The
importance
of the set-
tlement approach in archaeology
is not that it
supplies answers that culturally
oriented archae-
ology does not.
Indeed, by and large,
the
ques-
tions it raises are infinitely
harder to solve than
those raised through the study
of cultural rela-
tionships.
What is
important
is that Settlement
Archaeology
forces us to think through problems
from a new
angle
-
that of social relations. In
doing
so it leads us to
restudy
our data within
a framework that is
complementary
rather than
antagonistic
to the cultural one. Whatever be
the difficulties and inherent limitations of the
approach,
this is
certainly
an
objective
of which
the value cannot be denied.
Acknowledgments.
This
paper
is based in large part
on a lecture given at the State University
of New York
at
Binghamton, February 11, 1966. I wish to acknowledge
with thanks the information concerning
the evidence of
cannibalism in Ontario
Iroquoian
sites that has been
pro-
vided by Dr.
James
V. Wright of the National Museum
of Canada. Dr. Wright's book The Ontario
Iroquois
Tra-
dition
(National
Museum of Canada,
Bulletin
210, 1966)
appeared as this paper was going
to
press.
158
[
VOL.
32, No. 2,
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- . t . _ _ .
f A
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