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Academia, like everything else, has its fashions. At the moment, one trend
in both North American and European archaeology has been to un-pacify
the past. Over the past decade, archaeologists have turned away from a view
of the past, dominant through much of the 1970s and 1980s, in which vio-
lence occurred seldom and had minimal social effects. The blinkers removed,
we discover skeletal and archaeological traces of conflict throughout prehis-
tory (Guilaine and Zammit 2005; Keeley 1996; Martin and Frayer 1997;
Walker 2001). We rediscover the truth: we really are a bloody species.
But what do we make of violence? How do we make sense of it when we
uncover it in the past? Our first step here must be to distrust our instincts.
As Anton Blok (2000) has observed, in state societies, violence is normally
understood as instrumental, as a political prerogative used by the state for
specific tactical ends such as maintaining order or protecting its foreign inter-
ests. Within this logic, all other forms of violence are understood as irrational
social pathologies, as deviations to be abhorred, contained, punished or cured.
As academics, we have often constructed theories based upon this position.
Because we understand and justify violence by rationalising it with reference
to a pragmatic social function such as military force or judicial punishment,
we have trouble theorising acts of violence which lack such an evident social
function. Hence we are forced into either inventing a spurious rationality for
it (such as attempts to construe Yanomamo aggression in terms of genetic
fitness) or simply noting its existence descriptively without an attempt at inter-
pretation. Yet neither strategy actually lets us understand violence. With the
former, we simply impose an ethnocentric vision of social action upon the
past. With the latter, we prevent ourselves from putting prehistoric violence
in relation to its social and cultural context, reducing our work to, at best,
simple description and at worst, a decontextualised, voyeuristic sensationalism
of broken heads, mutilated limbs, and cannibalism.
This is tricky ground to negotiate. Fortunately, anthropologists have sup-
plied us with an almost bewildering diversity of paths to follow. Modern and
historical studies provide a means to determine whether or not there is con-
tinuity between the present and the past and to refute the notion that mod-
ern perspectives have little relevance for times and places in the past. To
review the range of approaches briefly, cross-cultural studies have shown that
JCA2_f2-1-11 10/30/06 6:36 PM Page 2
the past had been effectively pacified by modern anthropologists for broadly
ideological reasons. Modern state societies may have an unparalleled ability
to organise destructive mass violence; yet both ethnographic studies of groups,
such as the Gebusi (Knauft 1987) and the Yanomamo (Chagnon 1968), and
archaeological studies, like recent Anasazi reinterpretations, have shown that
non-state societies are equally capable of using deadly force, sometimes with
rates of homicide and war casualties exceeding any known in the modern West.
But what of archaeology? Too often archaeology is a bit player in these
debates. Yet the study of how warfare works and how it has evolved requires
great time depth; we must get beneath the surface of recent history. We must
study different kinds of societies, from foragers to developed states. Moreover,
historically known societies are all either states or tribal societies impacted by
states (for instance, many ethnographies describe groups which have been
pacified colonially, often after a period of armed aggression); a long prehis-
toric sequence is the best way, and perhaps the only way of acquiring the
long comparative perspective necessary to understand the changing nature of
warfare.
One important consideration is ethics, the need to consider the relation-
ship of present politics and the interpretation of the past. It may be true, as
Guilaine and Zammit (2005) suggest, that European prehistorians have pacified
the past in the last sixty years out of a reaction to the horrors of the Second
World War, just as the recent increasing focus on warfare in prehistoric Europe
coincides with the Balkans conflicts, the first open warfare within Europe since
that war. This leads to a basic question: are those who interpret a past that
includes the massed violence that is warfare invoking an anachronism to
explain changes that derive from other actions? Do such interpretive scenar-
ios encourage in some way violent actions—even by discussion of them?
Moreover, who or what is responsible for these events? Are they group or
even individual-centred events, or can they be seen as a result of more regional
or even global events to which humans and human populations can only
respond and which create the necessary requisites for mass violence (see, for
example, Teschler-Nicola et al. 1999).
To the question of academic responsibility, we suggest a robust answer:
while academics should always be aware of the political context of their
research and of how their work may be integrated into nationalist or ethni-
cally driven views of the past, researchers nonetheless have a responsibility to
grapple with issues of past violence. A willfully pacified view of the past is
no less a political statement, and we can hope that our work, by tracing the
causes and history of conflict, may help counter dangerous myths of the past
and understand how we have got to the present.
JCA2_f2-1-11 10/30/06 6:36 PM Page 4
ological interpretations without benefit of the rich and thoughtful social the-
ories of violence and embodiment developed in cognate disciplines. It is not
a complete caricature to say that, to anthropologists, the study of violence
and warfare is a study of tensions, confrontations, and deadly encounters with
meaning; to osteologists it is the tabulation of skulls with traumatic injuries.
The latter is certainly an important, necessary and laborious task. It is equally
necessary, though, to progress beyond this if we are to actually understand
the data we so painstakingly generate.
form? If so, how have they changed as European societies have evolved from
Palaeolithic foragers to the states at the dawn of history?
The rich and varied archaeological record of prehistoric Europe has, arguably,
been more densely studied than any comparable area across the globe. Yet
there is very little agreement on either the nature or the prevalence of war-
fare in the region (cf. Guilaine and Zammit 2005, Parker Pearson and Thorpe
2005). A good deal of important archaeological data is either unpublished or
else lies unread in unsynthesised case studies. Added to this, investigators have
sometimes taken the preserved record at face value with simplistic interpre-
tations, failing to consider fortifications, weaponry, and iconography as per-
haps rhetorical representations of violence rather than as direct evidence of
it. Sometimes, too, though, they have tended to see such structures as being
of ritual significance due to perceived ‘design flaws’ that in some cases have
been shown to be quite satisfactory defensive works on the basis of ethno-
graphic and historical analogies (Arkush and Stanish 2005). And the lack of
a synthesis of these indicators has made it difficult to compare the presence
and level of warfare at different times and places throughout European pre-
history and to evaluate the various arguments that have been suggested for
the causes of war. As a result, much of the most dynamic recent discussion
of prehistoric warfare has tended to focus elsewhere; especially in United
States, where there has been a good deal of active recent debate.
The European sequence sees the development of major social changes: the
advent of farming, the rise of elites and craft specialists, the manufacture and
social use of metals, the rise of weapons as a gender and prestige symbolism,
and the environmental effects of these processes. By placing prehistoric war-
fare in relation to such changes within a nuanced deep prehistory, we can
begin to evaluate alternative ideas about the relations between conflict, vio-
lence and social setting, and to generate new theoretical understandings of
warfare and society.
The papers in this volume will help to focus the debate on the role of war-
fare and violence in European prehistory. The conference, and this issue,
brings together archaeologists from different parts of Europe to discuss different
aspects of warfare and violence. The topic of warfare and violence in the past
is a large one—indeed, it certainly justifies not merely an issue but a dedi-
cated journal such as this one. These six papers serve both as important case
studies in themselves and as indicators of the highly varied directions and tra-
ditions through which archaeologists have approached the question.
Orschiedt and Haidle provide an insightful example of the value of work-
ing at a very small scale, here the analysis of a single site. At Herxheim, they
show that apparently similar situations of violence and ritual destruction of
JCA2_f2-1-11 10/30/06 6:36 PM Page 9
or social contexts but to cultural traditions, in this case, that of people speak-
ing Indo-European languages. Through a wonderfully erudite review of the
vocabulary of weapons, aggression, defense, and customs of warfare in Indo-
European languages, accompanied by discussion of related archaeological finds,
Mallory outlines the social institutions of conflict in later prehistoric Europe.
What is common to all of these papers, regardless of the scale of vision
and the material analysed, is the determination to treat conflict as socially
and historically contextualized rather than as a “natural” universal. It is neither
facile nor pessimistic to conclude with the observation that a satisfactory pre-
history of warfare and violence in Europe will require research along the lines
of all six, from detailed taphonomic studies at particular sites to constructions
of regional histories and finally to the bold attempt to tackle the big ques-
tions of tradition, context and causation on the continental scale.
Acknowledgements
The conference which gave rise to these papers was funded by grants awarded by
the British Academy, the Environment and Heritage Service of Northern Ireland and
supported by the School of Geography, Archaeology and Palaeoecology, Queen’s
University Belfast.
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