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15Archaeology Is Anthropology
Susan D. Gillespie, University of FloridaRosemary A. Joyce,
University of California, Berkeley
Deborah L. Nichols, Dartmouth College
Archaeology is anthropology? A difficulty that arisesfrom
parsing this declaration is the polyvalenciesof both "archaeology"
and "anthropology," as well asthe multiple possibilities for
constructing a relation-ship among them. Most often this phrase has
connotedthe meaning of archaeology as a subfiekl or specialty,one
part of the multi-subfield discipline of anthropol-ogy. A related
construal therefore derives more simplyfrom the resulting
institutional arrangement: manyarchaeologists are housed in
anthropology departmentsand hold advanced degrees in anthropology.
However,the relationship has also historically been treated
asarchaeology trying to be something it cannot or shouldnot be,
another discipline with different objectives andmethods or, if not
another discipline entirely, archaeol-ogy in a wholly dependent and
inferior relationship withanthropology. Finally, there is an ideal
of anthropologyas a field of study whose practitioners address
ques-tions that touch on all aspects of humankindculturaland
biological, social and material, past and presentand thus must
incorporate archaeology as an integralcomponent.
This last was the original vision of anthropology,perhaps always
more a "worldview" than an operatingparadigm (Givens and Skomal
1993:1), and it is becom-ing increasingly unrealized, if, in fact,
it ever existed(e.g., Borofsky 2002). Many who argue that
archaeol-ogy is anthropology do so from this idealized positionand
ask why we cannot work together on these "bigquestions" of human
experience that are so crucial tounderstanding and ameliorating
current conditions andparticipate in bringing about a better
collective future.In contrast, those who argue for autonomy
primarilyadvocate an institutional change affecting
academicinfrastructures, so that archaeology can become a
self-contained university department. They do not generallyfavor
steering American archaeology away from its tra-ditional research
foci, which are grounded within anthro-pology; indeed, some seem to
argue that such autonomy
is necessary because the discipline of anthropology hasitself
moved away from its founding principles, particu-larly the
importance of recognizing the entirety of hu-man diversity,
cross-cultural generalizations, long-termprocesses, and the role of
materiality.
British archaeologist Chris Gosden (1999:2) said ofPhillips's
famous declaration, "Not to define archaeol-ogy in its own terms
appears intellectually lazy, badacademic politics and lacking in
disciplinary self-confi-dence." But, he went on to note, on the
contrary, it is nota question of giving up one's disciplinary
identity oradmitting to some inferiority but of acknowledging
thewider intellectual field of which archaeology is a part(Gosden
1999:2). Another way to interpret this statementis to recognize
that anthropology is as completely exem-plified by archaeology as
it is by any of the other sub-fields. In this sense, archaeology is
anthropology as apeer of other subdisciplines. This was the
perspective ofthe 1950s archaeology within which Phillips made
hisstatement (e.g., Phillips 1955; Strong 1952; Taylor 1983[1948];
Willey and Phillips 1958), although too often inthe context of
having to explain this point to unsympa-thetic or unconvinced
colleagues.
Taking this view, we can look at the question side-ways and ask:
What kind of anthropology is archaeol-ogy? We do not have to fall
back upon the historicalroots of New World anthropology for an
answer. Thathistory aside, archaeology is precisely the kind of
an-thropology called for by contemporary social theory.Archaeology
is an anthropology concerned with historyand the material world,
both on a grand scale and in itsstudy of the way that individual
practices are transformedinto structure (so that what we see
archaeologically ispatterned, not chaotic). It is an anthropology
intimatelyengaged with issues that matter in contemporary
settings,such as the realization of identities at multiple
scalesand the possibilities for integrating academic study
andapplications with policy and practice (e.g., Meskell2002). In
this sense, archaeology is a model for other
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156 Susan D. Gillespie, Rosemary A. Joyce, and Deborah L.
Nichols
branches of anthropologya site where specific disci-plinary
concerns become visible to the public and whereanthropologists can
speak to the public about how tothink about culture, society, and
their continuities anddisjunctions.
In the first part of this chapter we respond to theintellectual
and practical factors raised in the Introduc-tion (Chapter 1) as
arguments for the separation of ar-chaeology from anthropology,
summarizing key pointsmade by the contributors. These views are
supplementedwith additional perspectives as we attempt to
assessinthe conscious role of anthropologiststhe larger issuesof
institutional settings, societal imperatives, factionalconflicts,
history, values, discourse, and action. We con-clude with a glimpse
into our potential futures and askfor a greater commitment from
archaeologists and otheranthropologists to work together to address
these long-standing, complex, and critical concerns.
Intellectual FactorsThe Historical Argument
The argument that archaeology became part of an-thropology only
for historical reasons specific to theAmericasand thus we should
not remain bound to-gether simply for this reasonis often repeated,
butit ignores several key facts. The first is that the linksbetween
archaeology and anthropology were also oncestrong in British
anthropology as well (Gosden 1999);the "uniqueness" of New World
archaeology's histori-cal relationship to anthropology has too
often been over-emphasized. Moreover, some British archaeologists
haveexplicitly called for greater dialogue and cooperationbetween
archaeology and anthropology to overcomethe absence in the United
Kingdom of an institutionalacademic structure that places both
fields in the samedepartment (e.g., Gosden 1999; Spriggs 1977; see
alsoBritish social anthropologist lngold's [1992] remarksas editor
of Man on the unity of archaeology, physicalanthropology, and
social anthropology; see Fox, this vol-ume). According to Gosden
(1999:8), "In Britain thereis currently a closeness between
archaeology and anthro-pology which has not been seen since the
later nineteenthcentury when the two disciplines were one, within
anoverall evolutionary framework....In North America, byand large,
the opposite has happened, especially as faras prehistoric
archaeology is concerned." In other words,the chasm that now seems
to loom large separating ar-chaeology from anthropology is as much
a product ofour history as the closeness that we once felt
(correctlyor not) to exist.
Second, Americanist anthropology ceased to be con-strained by
the Boasian project quite some time ago, priorto the growth of most
separate, four-field anthropologydepartments (e.g., Patterson
1999:163). Early archaeolo-gists and ethnographers divided their
joint investigationsinto the culture history of non-Western
societies betweenthose of the present and those of the past (e.g.,
Dixon1913:558; Steward 1942:341), creating a division of la-bor
thereby (Gosden 1999:205). One of the products ofthese
explorations, and the one perhaps most valued bythe public, has
been culture historical knowledge. By theearly 1960s, however,
ethnographers had mostly aban-doned historical reconstructions to
functionalism, lead-ing Elman Service (1964:365) to note that
archaeologistsalone would have to continue this important work.
Al-though they could no longer obtain ethnographic infor-mation
from their colleagues down the hall, they "couldgo to the library"
(Service 1964:365). But already by thattime, Gordon Willey and
Philip Phillips (1958) and theircontemporaries had broken with
Boasian culture history,turning toward generalizations and
evolutionary concerns(Gosden 1999:4). They sought to expand the
scope ofarchaeological problems and issues from mere typologyas
"history" to the examination of patterns, regularities,and
evolutionary questions on a global scale (see alsoStrong 1952:321;
Taylor 1983 [1948]). And LewisBinford (1962) had already published
his call for a func-tional, anthropological archaeology in his
"Archaeologyas Anthropology."
"History" has been a cornerstone of the on-again,off-again,
relationship between archaeology and ethnog-raphy. When British
archaeologist Grahame Clark(1957:25) declared that the aim of
archaeology is to com-prehend "history in its broader evolutionary
con-notation...which comprehends the whole story ofmankind in
society," he was using the term history syn-onymously with
anthropology as used by some Ameri-can archaeologists of that time,
such as William DuncanStrong (1952:320) in his definition of
anthropology as"the study of man and culture in time and space"
(seealso Taylor 1983 [1948]:28). That is, the ultimate goalsof the
archaeology-as-history and archaeology-as-anthro-pology adherents
were not actually dissimilar. However,American anthropologists
pursued a narrow view of "his-tory" as particularizing or
ideographic, in opposition togeneralizing and nomothetic
"science"read "anthro-pology" (e.g., Kluckhohn 1940; Steward 1949;
Taylor1983 [1948]). It was the presumed science-history di-chotomy,
"a question that has vexed philosophers eversince the emergence of
anthropology as a field of study,"that Phillips (1955:247) was
addressing in his assertion
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Archaeology Is Anthropology 157
that archaeology should consider itself as anthropologyrather
than as the alternative, history, with "its ultimatepurpose [being]
the discovery of regularities that are ina sense spaceless and
timeless" (Phillips 1955:247). Henevertheless recognized that
anthropology was "a hybrid-ization of science and history"
(Phillips 1955:247), stand-ing with one foot in the sciences and
one in history(Kroeber 1935:569; see also Terrell, this
volume).
In explicitly declaring that archaeology should beanthropology,
archaeologists of the mid-twentieth cen-tury therefore were not
simply falling back on a muchearlier tradition of culture history's
alignment of ethnog-raphy with archaeology; on the contrary, they
were re-jecting it. But in the process archaeology moved in
aparticular direction, one that would reinforce schismswithin
archaeology itself and ultimately between archae-ology and the rest
of anthropology in the United Statesbut not in the United Kingdom
(Trigger 1989:316). Adichotomy between history and science is
inevitably false(Trigger 1989:373), a construal that misrepresents
bothby restricting them to extremely narrow semantic andexplanatory
fields and one that, for example, disallowsthe existence of
historical sciences (e.g., Dunnell 1982;Green 2000).
Despite a disciplinary history in which "science"once superceded
"history," today many archaeologistsare now actively seeking to
integrate history and archae-ology (e.g., Boyd et al. 2000) to
attain a more holisticperspective of archaeology as "the
anthropology of long-term history" (Green 2000:127, emphasis
added); it isalso the contribution of the "long term" that cultural
an-thropologist Thomas Barfield emphasizes in his chapterin this
volume. Contemporary archaeological approachesto the past and to
history have become fundamentallyanthropological (contra Leach
1977:167), advanced byour conscious awareness, as anthropologists,
of how ourcontemporary Western attitudes and understandings biasour
constructions of the past (e.g., Knapp 1996). Sig-nificantly,
rather than being satisfied with documentingsequences of events,
archaeologists (and not just thosetrained within anthropology) have
tried to create newways to think about how different aspects of
social ex-istence would have affected individuals and groups,
con-straining some developments while enabling others (e.g.,Trigger
1991). It would be ironic indeed if, at the verymoment that
archaeologists from more "historical" tra-ditions in other parts of
the world are employing suchanthropological archaeological themes
as the household(Allison 1999), archaeologists brought up in this
tradi-tionone that legitimizes such social issueswere toabandon
it.
For their part, many contemporary sociocultural an-thropologists
are utilizing historical data and employinghistorical approaches in
their research (see Hill, this vol-ume), to the point that Maurice
Bloch (2001:293) recentlydeclared "the old distinction between
anthropology andhistory has by now completely disappeared."
Historicalarchaeology is also contributing a great deal to this
jointenterprise (Majewski, this volume). Again, given
thesedevelopments it is ironic that some archaeologists con-tinue
to argue for archaeology to separate itself fromanthropology
because archaeology elsewhere is alliedinstead with the discipline
of history. The "historical"argument for why American archaeology
should leaveanthropologyas if this association reflects nothing
morethan an adherence to an obsolete disciplinary legacydoes not
correspond with the increasingly commonusage of anthropological
perspectives by nonanthro-pologically trained archaeologists or of
historical per-spectives by sociocultural anthropologists.
The Methodological Argument
Methodology has never been sufficient as a base foran academic
discipline. Walter Taylor (1983 [1948]:44)famously declared that
archaeology was an "autonomousdiscipline [that] consists of a
method and a set of spe-cialized techniques for the gathering or
'production' ofcultural information." He went on to say, however,
thatfor the interpretation of those data, the archaeologist
must"become" something elsepreferably an anthropologist.Barfield
(this volume) reiterates this point when he statesthat an
anthropological "archaeology is not primarily thestudy of excavated
material remains, but the study ofhuman beings in the past by means
of this material."
The methods, techniques, and equipment used byarchaeological
researchersdrawn from cultural stud-ies and art history at one end
of the spectrum and phys-ics and chemistry at the otherare
significant only inthe service of specific research questions, and
these comeout of the history of disciplinary debates concerning
whatconstitutes explanation in a particular field of study
(seeArmelagos, this volume). For example, the sheer dataobtained
from chemical analysis of the skeletal remainsof a Classic Maya
noblewoman serve very different endsif they are viewed as
historical evidence of the life of anorganism or if they are part
of a complex exploration ofvariation in human diet between classes
or genders,within an elite group, or across a region.
Furthermore,our sister subfields also share many of their
specificmethods and techniques with other disciplines, includ-ing
participant-observation, language elicitation, and
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158 Susan D. Gillespie, Rosemary A. Joyce, and Deborah L.
Nichols
molecular analysis of bone. They, too, must cope withthe same
tensions as do archaeologists concerning wheretheir disciplinary
identities and objectives are best served.This is not a problem
unique to archaeology.
In asserting that our methodologies sufficientlyrender us
distinct disciplines, this argument also pre-sumes that there is
little methodological sharing acrossthe subfields, a presumption
that is refuted by suchintradisciplinary endeavors as
ethnoarchaeology andbioarchaeology. For example, the critical use
of ethno-graphic analogy in archaeological interpretations has
longbeen highlighted as an area where more communicationbetween
archaeologists and ethnographers is needed, notless: "There has
been such a strict division of labor be-tween archaeology and
ethnology that undoubtedly eachhas been handicapped in many
respects by isolation fromthe other" (Service 1964:364). It may
more often seemto be the case that archaeologists are chided for
their ig-norance of ethnology and ethnography (Barfield,
Terrell,this volume); Edmund Leach's (1973, 1977) caustic re-marks
to this effect were said to have "set back relationsbetween the
disciplines considerably" (Gosden 1999:7).But by the same token
archaeologists are rightfully waryof naive projections of
ethnographic descriptions ontoarchaeological materials (e.g.,
Binford 1981; Deetz1972:114; Groube 1977:87; Renfrew 1978:94;
Wobst1978; see Terrell, this volume).
If only archaeologists and sociocultural anthropolo-gists were
more familiar with one another's methods,materials, and objectives,
there could be much more pro-ductive and useful exchanges of
information (which seemto be more frequent with our
bioanthropological col-leagues). Commitment to shared goals should
"witnessan end to a kind of intellectual apartheid that has
charac-terized anthropology for so long" (Deetz 1988:22).
Un-fortunately, the reality is that use of different methodsof
analysis accounts for some of the incomprehension ofarchaeological
work by sociocultural anthropologists inparticular, which is
repeatedly cited as a source of ten-sion and as a spur to
separation. As noted in the intro-ductory chapter, increasing
specialization has definitelydiminished our ability to communicate
across the disci-pline. It points to a need for archaeologists to
educatecolleagues about the way methods unique to our field-work
situation should be viewed and judged, and itrequires good faith
efforts by non-archaeology anthro-pologists to accept that these
involve as much subtletyand sophistication as
participant-observation. There arereal differences in
subdisciplinary culture that seem tobe differentially depreciated
in such dismissive charac-terizations of archaeology as "stones and
bones" or as
"data-poor" (the latter characterization ignoring the factthat
archaeologists typically require large facilities tostore their
"data"!).
Archaeologists have probably done a better job ofkeeping alive a
sense of the actual work of ethnography,perhaps because the field
has treated ethnography as thedefining practice for even the
subaltern archaeologists.In that respect, it seems much more likely
that archae-ologists will speak the language of sociocultural
anthro-pology than the reverse. But here it should be admittedthat
archaeologists may contribute to intradisciplinarytension by their
own wariness about new ethnographicsites and subjects. Yet other
diverse disciplines, notablypsychology (with its fundamental divide
between clini-cal and experimental approaches), have been able to
reacha position that accepts methodological diversity as astrength.
Anthropology, especially reflexive anthropol-ogy, should be able to
achieve as much (see Terrell, thisvolume), but it more often has
the opposite effect.
The point to be made here is that the "holism" ofanthropology as
characterized by the integration of dif-ferent subfieldseach most
significantly differentiatedby specific methodswas also once hailed
as its strength,but it is now considered a fundamental problem and
arationale for dispersal. Interestingly, arguments havebeen made
that once separate departments of archaeol-ogy are created, the
"potential for easy communicationwith anthropologists, classicists,
art historians, and fac-ulty of other departments and programs will
continue toexist. Indeed, it has been suggested that the ease of
com-munication might even be enhanced, especially
wheredisagreements about curriculum and programmatic aimshave
developed into bitter professional hostilities"(Wiseman
2001:12).
In light of this last argument it is helpful to under-stand some
of the rationale for the founding of the twobest known Departments
of Archaeologyat CalgaryUniversity and Boston Universityby Richard
MacNeishand James Wiseman, respectively. Both men were moti-vated
in part as a result of negative experiences they suf-fered as
graduate students at the University of Chicagoin the 1940s and
1950s. At that time MacNeish andWiseman were strongly discouraged
from taking coursesoutside of their respective departments
(Anthropologyand Classics), a prohibition that they rightly viewed
asdetrimental to their training as archaeologists; their
de-partments expected them to become, respectively,
ananthropologist and a classicist. The impact of this expe-rience
was apparently instrumental in their later designsof academic
departments where archaeologists couldmore legitimately obtain the
methodological skills and
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Archaeology Is Anthropology 159
knowledge needed for archaeological practice, insteadof, in
MacNeish's words, being "forced to take coursesin linguistics,
phonemics, and other useless subjects suchas Radcliffe-Brown's
theory of kinship, all of which wererammed down my throat, none of
which connected withanything I was interested in, and I wasn't at
all sure thatany of that stuff was true" (in Ferrie 2001:719;
seeWiseman 1983).
But we must ask, first, given this specific argumentfor why we
need our own departments, whether the samesituation restricting
graduate students from taking coursesin related fields applies
today. It is still a problem in someuniversities (mentioned by
Majewski, this volume), yetmany graduate departments actually
require their studentsto pursue minors or take cognate courses from
other de-partments. Second, if the major problem we are
experi-encing now is our inability or unwillingness to talk
tocolleagues within our own department, how is it goingto be any
easier to talk to them when they are no longerin our departmentwhen
we do not constantly interactwith them on graduate and department
committees or inplanning curricula (e.g., Lees 2002)?
The Theoretical Argument
For many archaeologists, whether archaeologyshould continue a
relationship with anthropology hasdepended ultimately on the
argument stated so succinctlyby Phillips (1955) that archaeologists
should utilize an-thropological theory. If archaeologists and other
anthro-pologists no longer share theoretical perspectives thatframe
common research goals or bedrock concepts suchas "culture" (e.g.,
Flannery 1982; Watson 1995), thenthe rationale for being identified
as members of the samediscipline disappears. We seem to be facing
such a turn-ing point. A version of the science-history dichotomy
isstill with us, rewritten as the older science-humanismpolarity
(Anderson, Barfield, Clark, this volume) or moreoften now as
science-antiscience (Clark, this volume).However, the tables have
turned, and it is archaeologistswho are more often on the side of
science against socio-cultural anthropology, as Geoffrey Clark
(this volume)observes. This polarization has greatly impacted
anthro-pology, but, as Barfield (this volume) notes, it is
bio-logical anthropology that has most notably cleaved off(or in
some cases has been cleaved off), most often tojoin existing
biology or anatomy departments, so perhapstheir departure has not
gained the attention that the moveto create new departments of
archaeology has garnered.
Furthermore, this polarization has impacted theother social and
human sciences, in that it is embed-
ded in the postmodern turn (Barfield, Clark, this vol-ume; Knapp
1996). Some archaeologists have arguedvociferously in favor of
"archaeology as science" asa reason for archaeology to abandon an
increasinglynonscience-oriented anthropology (e.g., Binford,
inWiseman 2001:11) or at the very least to save archaeol-ogy from
the fragmentation that other disciplines are ex-periencing (Clark,
this volume). This stance dismayssimilarly autonomy-minded
archaeologists trained in thehumanities, with whom they presumably
would share asingle Department of Archaeology (e.g.,
Wiseman2001:11). Other archaeologists, however, take the po-sition
that "a holistic knowledge of what has happenedto specific groups
in the past is a matter of great hu-manistic as well as scientific
interest" (Trigger1989:376). As Earle and Armelagos (this
volume)observe, the postprocessual or antiprocessual
critiquesprovide important correctives even to such overtly
sci-entific fields as bioarchaeology. Clark (this volume),
whoargues for a scientific archaeology, nevertheless openshis
chapter with his own biases and discusses theemotive aspects of
anthropologyhow it touches onthe human psyche.
As noted in various chapters, the research of socio-cultural
anthropologists engaged with hermeneutics, phe-nomenology,
alterity, hegemony, discourse, and the likehas greatly diverged
from the focus of the dominantprocessual archaeology. This was not
a uniform split,however, and strong reciprocal relationships
betweenarchaeology and sociocultural anthropology have con-tinued
in some areas, as in economic anthropology (Earle,this volume), and
emerged in others, such as the socialconstruction of landscape,
ethnicity, colonialism, andgender (Majewski, this volume).
Furthermore, while itmay be accurate to characterize contemporary
sociocul-tural anthropology as largely nonmaterialist,
anti-positivist, and antievolutionaryrecognizing that
notableexceptions exist in leading departmentsit is
surelyimpossible to include archaeological diversity in a
singlematerialist, positivist, and evolutionist definition. Infact,
attempts to do so would not only greatly limitarchaeology's
potential (Anderson, this volume) butwould also contribute to
further archaeological fragmen-tation (Graves 1994). It is
therefore important to notethat the oft-mentioned division of
Stanford's Anthropol-ogy Department into a Department of
AnthropologicalSciences and a Department of Cultural and Social
An-thropology did not separate the subfields; there
arearchaeologists, sociocultural anthropologists, and lin-guistic
anthropologists in both daughter departments (seeBarfield, this
volume).
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160 Susan D. Gillespie, Rosemary A. Joyce, and Deborah L
Nichols
Timothy Earle (this volume), who favors a science-like
archaeology, considers that the postmodern critiquein anthropology
and archaeology has proven valuable, ifcontentious, and the
appropriate response is not to aban-don anthropology; rather,
archaeologists should see them-selves as central to the discipline.
Archaeology is notonly essential to the comparative and historical
perspec-tives that help define anthropology's distinctiveness,it is
the only avenue to the study of the greatest di-versity of human
cultural expressions, most of whichexisted only in the past.
Anthropologists from the othersubfieldssociocultural (Barfield),
biological (Arme-lagos), and linguistic (Hill)echo this theme in
theircontributions. All three argue for a stronger mutual
rela-tionship between archaeology and their respective
sub-disciplines.
Barfield reiterates how sociocultural anthropologyis a rich
source of ethnographic description, theory, andmodel building for
archaeologists, providing a nuancedexample from his and others'
work among Afghan no-madic pastoralists. At the same time, both he
and Hillpoint out that archaeology provides sociocultural
an-thropology with the necessary time depth for expla-nations of
change (see also Ortner 2001), which areessential to understanding
not only the past but alsothe present.
This last point is well illustrated by George Arme-lagos (this
volume), who shows how bioarchaeology andan evolutionary
perspective contribute to understandingtwo major contemporary
health issues: malnutrition anddisease. In succinctly making the
case for the impor-tance of socioeconomic factors in human
evolutionarydevelopment relating to diet, Armelagos provides an
im-portant lesson: the "backward-looking" perspective oflong-term
archaeology within a broad anthropologicalperspective provides a
powerful tool for understandingthe present and future of human
populations, "Us" aswell as the "Other."
John Terrell's chapter posits sociocultural anthro-pology and
archaeology as "two sides of the same coin"convergent rather than
complementary disciplines. Heuses the example of how the "Lapita
Cultural Complex"of Oceania has been interpreted by
archaeologistsasboth an archaeological and a historical
phenomenonto highlight another key point of Phillips's (1955)
origi-nal argument for archaeology as anthropology. Phillipsnoted
that the work of archaeologists and ethnographerscan converge when
they employ the same "intelligibleunits of comparative study"; yet,
this remains a stum-bling block, as archaeologists are too often
naive whenthey make ethnographic-like interpretations. Terrell
re-
minds us of the obvious: "the past is (or was) a foreignplace."
Testing ethnographic and historical analogiesremains an important
method to counter the dangers of"commonsense" assertions
unfortunately typical in ar-chaeology that risk ignoring how
different the past mighthave been (see also Barfield, this
volume).
The value of time depth for anthropology as a com-parative
discipline is not measured on an absolute scalebut encompasses the
more recent historical past, includ-ing industrial and postcolonial
societies. Historical ar-chaeology has undergone significant change
in the latetwentieth century, and its complementary use of
histori-cal and other material records offers much to anthropol-ogy
broadly, especially as sociocultural anthropologydevelops a more
sophisticated approach to history. Notonly can historical
archaeologists contribute to teachinghistory and historical methods
in anthropology curricula,but also, as Teresita Majewski observes
in her contribu-tion, historical archaeologists are familiar with
puttinghistoric particulars within a regional or global system.The
recent focus on colonialism, the expansion of capi-talism, and
postcolonial societies in historical archaeol-ogy resonates with
current interests in socioculturalanthropology. Given this
congruence, it is troubling toMajewski that her graduate students
"rarely connect theirbackground in general anthropology to their
current in-terests." She argues that the potential of
anthropologistsengaged with history in the different subdisciplines
can-not be realized unless programs in anthropology trainstudents
to be anthropologists first.
In all these ways archaeology makes contributionsto
anthropological theory and knowledge, and this pointshould not be
lost. Throughout much of our disciplinaryhistory, ethnology was the
driving force; archaeologymerely reacted to whatever ethnographers
were doing(Flannery 1967:119) and often only after a noticeablelag,
whether it was compiling trait lists, assessing func-tion,
measuring ecological variables, interpreting symbols,or evaluating
agency. Theory in sociocultural anthropol-ogy is still believed to
represent "anthropological" or"ethnological" theory, so if their
theories diverge too farfrom our archaeological concerns, then the
feeling is thatperhaps we should head for the door.
But we should ask ourselves why only one of thesubfields should
continuesince Phillips's (1955)timeto set the theoretical agenda
for the rest of us tofollow. Biological anthropologists have not
abandonedevolution; nor should archaeologists, as "Geoffrey
Clarkexplains in his contribution, and they would do muchbetter by
first comprehending the profound differencesbetween biological and
cultural theories of evolution.
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Archaeology Is Anthropology 161
Archaeologists who employ evolutionary perspectivesshould
therefore "shed their defensive behavior and theirinferiority
complex" (Flannery 1983). Kent Flannery(1982:269), in his
well-known "Golden Marshalltown"lecture, disclaimed the existence
of "archaeologicaltheory" in favor of "anthropological theory," but
he wenton to say, "If some ethnologists want to go their
separateways...well, fine, they can call themselves somethingelse,
and let us be the anthropologists" (Flannery1982:277).
It is archaeologists who have consistently assertedtheir link to
anthropology, always in a context of contes-tation (e.g., in
chronological order: Strong 1936; Taylor1948; Meggers 1955;
Phillips 1955; Binford 1962;Flannery 1982; Deetz 1988; Watson
1995). Ethnogra-phers never have had to do so, taking for granted
thatthey determined the direction of the discipline (and stilldo;
e.g., Borofsky [2002:471 ]), but this is the issue raisedby
Flannery: why should we define ourselves in terms ofwhat they do?
As Richard Fox expresses in his commen-tary, once liberated from
any such pronouncements ofallegiance (and the anticipation of their
rebuttal), wecould get down to actual practice, and then we
woulddiscover how integrated the different subfields really are(see
also Hill, this volume).
One thing we would discover is that the old divisionof labor
between research into the past (archaeology) andthe present
(sociocultural anthropology) is itself becom-ing a thing of the
past. As noted above, ethnology hasbecome more historical, and
archaeology has turned itssights to the present. Historical
archaeology has becomea bridge between past and present (Majewski,
this vol-ume), and Majewski also cites the study of modern
ma-terial culture, for example, Rathje's well-known GarbageProject,
part of a trend that has actually blossomed morein the United
Kingdom than in the United States (seeHill, Fox, this volume).
Armelagos (this volume) detailsthe need to understand current
health and nutritional sta-tuses as the product of long-term
processes that began inthe past, and the same is being recognized
in analyses ofcontemporary environmental problems (Anderson,
thisvolume; van der Leeuw and Redman 2002).
There is still a negative balance between the use
ofarchaeological knowledge by sociocultural anthropolo-gists and
the use of ethnological theory and ethnographicanalogy by
archaeologists, a reality noted by Barfieldand Terrell (this
volume) and reiterated in the variouschapters that highlight Kirch
and Sahlins's (1992)Anahulu as an exemplary study integrating
archaeology,ethnography, and ethnohistoryexemplary in part be-cause
it is still so exceptional. This situation has more
to say about contemporary sociocultural anthropol-ogy than about
whether archaeology is, at heart, ananthropological discipline, and
Hill (this volume) dis-cusses several areas where sociocultural and
linguisticanthropology could benefit by paying more attention
toarchaeology.
Contributing to anthropological theory (e.g., Binford1962)
therefore does not require us to limit ourselves tothe theories
employed by sociocultural anthropologists{contra Gumerman 2002),
whose theoretical positionsare typically far more heterogenous than
archaeologistsmay believe (e.g., Haselgrove 1977:92).
Archaeologicaltheory and practice are also extraordinarily diverse,
butare especially engaged in issues of long-term
processes,cross-cultural comparisons, and the intersection of
thesocial with the material world, as many of this volume'sauthors
have observed (see also Hodder 2001). Thesemajor topics may not be
central concerns in much currentsociocultural anthropology (Earle,
Barfield, Hill, thisvolume), but that does not make them any less
anthropo-logical. And there is nothing to stop archaeologists
fromusing theories and perspectives drawn from other fieldsand
utilizing them to frame anthropological researchquestions. For
example, Gumerman (2002; also Gum-erman and Phillips 1978) contends
that because broadpatterns of human behavior are also being
investigatedby other fields, such as evolutionary biology,
archaeolo-gists have been unnecessarily constrained by being partof
the discipline of anthropology. However, van derLeeuw and Redman
(2002:599) turn this argumentaround to give anthropology priority,
stating that "ar-chaeology and anthropology are ideally suited
tomake an invaluable contribution" to the investigationof long-term
trends in human ecology and thereby "playan important role in the
transformation of socio-naturalstudies" (van der Leeuw and Redman
2002:603). Theinterdisciplinarity and human-centered focus that are
atthe core of anthropology are what give us an edge incontinuing to
develop our discipline beyond its traditionalboundaries.
Even midlevel archaeological theory (e.g., site for-mation
processes) can be seen as contributing thereforeto a diverse body
of anthropological theory, althoughthere may be a need to consider
balance in theorizinghere as well. Indeed, one of the leaders in
the devel-opment of independent archaeological theory,
MichaelSchiffer (2000:5), now believes that that process hasgone
too far and archaeology is better off buildingbridges in social
theory. In all of these endeavors, an-thropological archaeology can
be a leader, rather than afollower. It can help the discipline to
develop new lines
-
162 Susan D. Gillespie, Rosemary A. Joyce, and Deborah L.
Nichols
of inquiry and to tackle issues of more immediate andpractical
concern.
In sum, if the intellectual product that archaeologyseeks to
provide is a systematic understanding of pastsocieties, then it is
a social science (Deetz 1972; Trigger1989:19), albeit one that
incorporates humanistic endeav-ors as well. Within the social and
historical sciences, onlyanthropology opens itself to embrace the
broadest spanof human experience, from remote antiquity to
thepresent. And an anthropology that seeks explanationsinvolving
"processes unfolding, intertwining, spreadingout, and dissipating
over time," to quote the late EricWolf (1990:590), perforce needs
archaeology, an archae-ology that is fundamentally anthropological.
Understand-ing change and the cultural diversity that results
fromchange is central to anthropology (Hill, this
volume).Archaeologists are therefore "true anthropologists,
theanthropologists who provide the time depth for humanexistence"
(Barfield, this volume).
That this huge enterprise we call anthropology re-quires an
intradisciplinary theoretical and methodologi-cal diversity that at
times threatens to explode shouldnot be surprising. But resolving
the discord that stemsfrom the inherent vastness of anthropology
with a nar-rowed focusseparating into groups that
independentlypursue one kind of explanation, one kind of
methodol-ogy, or one kind of research questionis a solution
thatsimply does not advance either archaeology or the restof
anthropology.
Practical Factors
As profound as our substantive intellectual differ-ences may
appear, they can sometimes seem far moremanageable than the more
immediate practical and in-stitutional factors that are also
driving a wedge betweenarchaeologists and fellow anthropologists.
It remains toconsider how to surmount these difficulties.
Educational and Institutional Structures
Despite the presumed impending implosion of an-thropology, a
four-field introductory course in anthro-pology is still not
uncommon in the United States, andmany of us teach survey courses
that introduce basicanthropological concepts that span the
subfields. It maywell be that the holistic approach to anthropology
is bet-ter represented in undergraduate than graduate
curricula,although core courses that span the subfields are not
un-usual even in the latter, but these efforts are often
under-mined by the marginalization of undergraduate teaching
in some U.S. graduate departments. Ironically, anthro-pologists
at community colleges and small liberal artscolleges may have
greater freedom to engage the breadthof anthropology than do their
more specialized counter-parts in large universities. Rather than
view this situa-tion as one of an intellectual disjuncture in the
state ofanthropology between research and teaching institutions,we
suggest instead that smaller colleges may providemore exemplary
models for intradisciplinary communi-cation and the building of a
sense of "community" (fol-lowing Doelle, this volume) within the
entire discipline(see below).
Indeed, far from creating divisions {contra Wiseman2001:12),
teaching provides another arena where archae-ology and
sociocultural anthropology have more in com-mon with one another
than is frequently presumed. AsSusan Gillespie explains in her
contribution, sociocul-tural anthropology is experiencing a
significant ex-pansion in its practicing or applied dimension, just
likearchaeology. In fact, some sociocultural anthropologistsare
looking to the experience of archaeologists in publicpolicy,
professional accreditation, and similar areas as amodel for the
integration of academic and "real-world"training and practice, in
the same way that archaeolo-gists can take lessons from their
applied anthropologycolleagues (Doelle, this volume). Across the
subdisci-plines at both the undergraduate and graduate levels,more
in-depth discussion of the practice and ethics ofanthropology is
needed. In their chapters, Anderson andGillespie challenge all
anthropologists involved in edu-cation to act on their collective
responsibility for thecurriculum, and Majewski, representing
historical archae-ology, also extols the value of anthropological
training.
Despite this potential for cross-subfield fertilizationand
communication, however, it often seems that aca-demic structures
are exacerbating other forces of frag-mentation, well out of
proportion to their importance incomparison with substantive,
theoretical, methodologi-cal, and pedagogical factors (Anderson,
Majewski, thisvolume). Graduate students and faculty are recruited
andgraduated or tenured according to criteria that more of-ten
follow subfield rather than department-wide guide-lines, and it
becomes increasingly difficult for thosewhose research interests
crosscut the subfields to find aplace. Transactionalist
anthropology would explain thissituation much like the operation of
ethnicityour co-presence in the same contexts foments an emphasis
onthe construction of difference, obscuring "what we sharein
common, which is too often taken for granted. But bythe same token,
"there has been a subtle process of mu-tual definition over the
last century or more" between
-
Archaeology Is Anthropology 163
archaeology and sociocultural anthropology, as each hasindelibly
shaped the other (Gosden 1999:9-10).
Barfield and Hill (this volume) mince no words incharacterizing
the segmentary factionalism that arises outof department
demographics in which sociocultural an-thropologists are usually in
the majority and have toooften come to use this fact to their own
narrow subfieldadvantage, losing sight of the longer-term
consequenceson the department and the discipline (because of
theirpresentist and self-oriented tendencies, according
toBarfield). Archaeologists who face the material effectsof
marginalization within their own department on a near-daily basis
will be more likely to question the feasibilityof the status quo.
They do not necessarily want to getout of anthropologythat is, deny
the benefit of theirown anthropological educations or cease to
conduct an-thropologically influenced researchthey mostly justwant
to get out of anthropology departments.
One might conclude that conflictual departmentalpower politics
and the interpersonal tensions that resultfrom them are simply
being masked by an ideology thatcouches our differences in loftier
terms of theoretical andmethodological divides. In our opinion,
these factorsshould not drive the development of the field and
areinsufficient justification to warrant reorganization of anentire
discipline across the country. And as Barfield ob-served, new
departments of archaeology would containthe seeds for their own
segmentary factionalism. He notesthat a more common solution has
been the creation ofsemiautonomous subfield-specific wings within
depart-ments, which may alleviate some of the interpersonalproblems
while still allowing for cooperation and shar-ing within the
anthropological umbrella. Such a struc-ture should also be more
flexible in accommodating theinevitable changes to our discipline.
Wings can createwalls or they can serve merely as administrative
conve-niencesit is up to the faculty who construct them todecide
which.
Archaeology in Practice
The impact of the rapid growth of nonacademic or"practicing"
(public, applied) archaeologyoften over-abbreviated under the
rubric of cultural resource man-agementon both archaeology and
anthropology as awhole cannot be downplayed. It introduced
schismsamong archaeologists and within archaeology depart-ments
(especially in the past, when most CRM work wasdone under
university auspices) that remain with us to-day (see Clark,
Anderson, Doelle, this volume). The po-larities do not fall simply
along an academic/nonacademic
or theory/practice divide, however. Even within CRMarchaeology
the feeling has been expressed that tkreal"archaeology has somehow
been hijacked by a larger so-cietal move that values instead
historic preservation (e.g.,Moore 2001). As Gillespie notes (this
volume), the de-sire to better train archaeology students for
nonacademicprofessions has introduced tensions within
departmentsregarding curricular issues, to the point where a few
(butnot the majority) archaeologists have used this factor
topromote separate departments of archaeology.
However, seeing such curricular reform as a
largelymethodological or business issue implies that CRM
ar-chaeology has little to contribute to broad
theoreticalunderstandings of the human past, a view against
whichDavid Anderson and William Doelle (this volume)provide
specific counterarguments. Indeed, the Anthro-pology Department at
the University of Georgia, a de-partment that emphasizes ecological
and environmentalanthropology, has taken the position that "the
distinc-tion between basic and applied research and develop-ment
should be abandoned" (http://anthro.dac.uga.edu/grad). Both
academic and CRM archaeologists work inmultiple communities and
must comply with federal,state, and tribal regulations (Doelle,
Ferguson, this vol-ume). Clark (this volume) expresses the opinion
ofmany academic archaeologists that the growing im-pact of
nonacademic archaeology creates tensions thatare fostering
fragmentation, but altogether these chap-ters argue that the
relationship between academic andCRM archaeology need not be
adversarial but should becomplementary.
Furthermore, the value of anthropological archaeol-ogy to the
nonacademic side of the profession has notgone unnoticed by its
practitioners, despite the claimsby some that archaeology students
would be betteroff if trained in a department devoted to
archaeology.Anderson, of the National Park Service, provides
ahighly personal account of the value of anthropology toCRM
archaeology based on his own biography. His un-abashedly
proanthropology position is tempered by thesecond half of his
chapter, which challenges the disci-pline of anthropology itself to
reclaim its center and totackle the complex global issues of
environmental changeand human welfare. These are issues to which
archaeol-ogy can make direct contributions (see also van derLeeuw
and Redman 2002). The utility of the range ofknowledge represented
by the breadth of anthropologi-cal training in CRM is further
echoed by Doelle, whotalks about the concept of community and the
multiplecommunities of an archaeologist working in the
privatesector. His chapter and those by Rosemary Joyce and T.
J.
-
164 Susan D. Gillespie, Rosemary A. Joyce, and Deborah L.
Nichols
Ferguson provide additional examples of the need
forarchaeologists to be attentive to multiple voices.
The intersection of academic and public interests inarchaeology
appears most prominently in museum andsite interpretation settings.
Joyce draws on her experi-ence as a museum curator and
administrator to arguefor the necessity for museum-based
archaeologists tobe anthropologists in the broadest sense. The fact
thatmuseums serve to interpret curated objects for diverseaudiences
requires that museum archaeologists under-stand how various persons
or groups may construct iden-tities and linkages among themselves
via these objects,which are often seen as the material connection
betweenthe present and the past. Training in anthropology is
fun-damental to the ability to interact with the multiple
stake-holders of the past.
Ferguson more specifically considers settings wherethe findings
of archaeology are important to descendantcommunities. The
relationship between such groups andarchaeologists (and other
anthropologists) is uneasy;for some American Indians,
archaeologists are little dif-ferent from pothunters. Other Native
Americans, asFerguson discusses, have called for archaeologists to
usetheir science to address contemporary needs and issuesof Indian
communities. Ferguson refers to this as "recip-rocal archaeology,"
an archaeology based on a scientificapproach to research and work
products that are broadlyanthropological and that consider the
interests of NativeAmerican tribes and communities.
Ferguson's examples from Hopi and Zuni showhow a reciprocal
archaeology can work in understand-ing traditional cultural places
and cultural affiliation byincorporating an integrative
anthropology and a scien-tific archaeology. His model addresses
some of the con-cerns raised by Clark about the future of a
science-likearchaeology given the growth of CRM in the
privatesector and the current sociopolitics of archaeology.
Un-fortunately, the Hopi and Zuni Tribes' relationship
witharchaeology and archaeologists as described by Fergusonis more
the exception than the rule. This situation maychange, however, as
more tribes develop their own ar-chaeology programs and more Native
Americans becomeinvolved in archaeology. Indeed, the increased
practiceof archaeology by indigenous peoples worldwide
maycontribute to a greater integration of archaeology
andanthropology (e.g., Schmidt and Patterson 1996), andthese
peoples are playing an active role in reconfiguringdisciplinary
agendas.
In other words, there are solutions to all of the mani-fold
problems that have been raised in this regard, whichrequire our
diligence and effort to resolve them but which
will not be improved by the separation of archaeologyfrom
anthropology. Instead, the practice of archaeologyitself would
suffer from such a move.
Professional Affiliations
It is important to recognize that the open debate foror against
autonomy is being conducted virtually exclu-sively among
archaeologists. This is why the 2000 sym-posium "Archaeology Is
Anthropology" was presentedat the Society for American Archaeology
meeting; thefuture of archaeology is most obviously in the hands
ofprofessional archaeologists. Moreover, this volume'smost
immediate audience is the members of the Arche-ology Division of
the American Anthropological Asso-ciation, archaeologists who are
ostensibly most willingto visibly identify themselves with or as
anthropologists.AD members have also committed themselves to
work-ing within the larger association in which they are a
mi-nority and in recent years have seen their efforts rewardedby
increasing numbers of archaeological articles inAmerican
Anthropologist, more archaeologists in AAAoffices and committees,
and a continuing growth in ADmembership, especially among
students.
However, it would be wrong to conclude from thisthat there is a
division in this debate that conforms to themembership of our
professional societies (see Chapter1), with the AAA-AD membership
more likely to advo-cate continued affiliation with anthropology
and the SAAmembership more likely to desire autonomy. After all,the
current SAA president, Robert Kelly, has gone onrecord in support
of maintaining archaeology within an-thropology departments (Kelly
2002a, 2002b); he hasalso served as an AAA-AD officer (and see the
similaropinion expressed for the status of physical anthropol-ogy
by Larsen [2002]). In addition, the archaeologist whohas most
vigorously advocated autonomy over the years,James Wiseman (1980a,
1980b, 1983, 1998,2001,2002),founder of Boston University's
Department of Archae-ology, is a Classical archaeologist, not among
the "sci-entist" types whom Smith (2001) suggests compose
theadvocates for separation (see Chapter 1).
As Clark (this volume) observes, the fact that somany
archaeologists in this country were trained in an-thropology
departments provides a powerful factorbecause it is often emotivein
the reluctance of somearchaeologists to give up on anthropology.
But it is there-fore also the case that the majority of
archaeologists whoprefer to establish separate archaeology
departments weretrained as anthropologists. It is unlikely that
they intendthereby to abandon the anthropological aspects of
their
-
Archaeology Is Anthropology 165
research and practice, which for many of us has becomeso
backgrounded that we may give it little conscious at-tention. On
the other hand, if they succeed, then futuregenerations of
archaeologists may not be so fortunate.As imagined by Hill (this
volume) and expressed byGosden (1999:9): "Archaeology would not be
impossiblein the absence of anthropology, but it would be so
radi-cally reconfigured that it is impossible to know what itwould
look like. Slightly more surprisingly, the conversewould also be
true." On the latter thought, Earle (thisvolume) is more explicit,
stating, "anthropology with-out archaeology would be
impoverished."
Furthermore, it is primarily academic archaeolo-gists who are
calling for a "divorce" from anthropol-ogy and who will ultimately
decide which directions totake, and their decisions will impact the
training of fu-ture archaeologists for both academic and,
increasingly,nonacademic jobs. Certainly the rest of academic
anthro-pology (and deans and provosts as well) needs to be-come
engaged in the discussion, but it will involve mostimmediately the
academy-affiliated archaeologists. Ameaningful dialogue within
archaeology and across thesubdisciplines is long overdue.
The Anthropology of Anthropology
More is at stake here than a metaphysical discussionof why and
how archaeology should be a part of anthro-pology, and vice versa.
We are more broadly tacklingthe unsettling issue of the state and
future of anthropol-ogy departments in this country. Like those who
arguefor "archaeology as archaeology," we agree that a "peace-ful
coexistence model"in which all the subdisciplinescontinue to live
together as if residents of the same board-inghouse but do not
actually interactcannot continueto serve as the basis for our
discipline.
In his commentary, Richard Fox challenges us torethink our
penchant to overuse pronouncements, espe-cially the "or it is
nothing" that is tacked onto declara-tions of what archaeology or
anthropology should or mustbe. The research questions that face us
today cannot beaddressed by subdisciplinary loyalties or by an oath
ofallegiance to a four-, five-, or six-field anthropology. Formany
anthropologists, this is what anthropological "ho-lism"
representsthe mere co-presence of different sub-fields in
departments or in "four-field" journals likeAmerican Anthropologist
(Borofsky 2002). But a trulyholistic anthropology is inclusive and
integrates schol-arship across the subdisciplines. Indeed, if a
fundamen-tal value of an anthropological background is the
abilityto work within diverse "communities" and to communi-
cate among groups and individuals with varying per-spectives and
worldviews, as explicitly argued here byDoelle, Ferguson, and
Joyce, then it should not be sodifficult for anthropologists
representing the various sub-disciplines to maintain their own
"community" withindepartments, across the academic/nonacademic
divide,and across the profession as a whole. Anthropologistsneed to
become better anthropologists within their owncommunities.
Instead of seeing holism and the methodological andtheoretical
specialization that it entails as a problem, oras represented only
by the presence of multiple subfieldsin a single department, a
number of archaeologists andother anthropologists realize that
holism is still the keyto anthropology's identity and its future
when it is un-derstood as dealing with all of human experience
(e.g.,Kelly 2002b: 13), with broad themes, issues, and inter-ests
that crosscut the subdisciplines (e.g., Borofsky 2002).As expressed
by Patty Jo Watson, a leading archaeolo-gist, in her Distinguished
Lecture to the AAA-AD,"Anthropology is still the only human science
all abouthumankind" (Watson 1995:690). It is best equipped todeal
with the "big questions" raised also by Earle andClarkWhere do we
come from? Where are we going?and by Anderson and Armelagos in more
specific for-mulationscompelling global issues of racism,
warfareand genocide, identity politics, environmental degrada-tion,
climate change, population growth, poverty, nutri-tion and health,
technological change, and landscapemodification. These are among
the major problems weare having to cope with in the present, but
they also ex-isted in the past. Our methodological and
interpersonaldifferences are therefore of small import when we
real-ize the potential for all the anthropological subfields
totackle common research objectives, the "big questions"that
require multifaceted approaches that only anthro-pology is geared
to deal with (e.g., Gosden 1999:205;Haselgrove 1977:92; Kelly
2002b: 14; Lees 2002:11).
As for the future of multifield departments of anthro-pology,
their days may well be numbered as an outdatedparadigm for which
many of us maintain an emotionalattachment (Clark, this volume;
Givens and Skomal1993) but one that (our anthropological training
tells us)will eventually succumb to evolutionary changes in
aca-demic structures and relationships. This prophecy wasalready
made some years ago by Watson (1995:690),who, while regretting its
likely realization, neverthelessproclaimed,
I cannot get too worked up over the disintegration pre-diction.
Anthropologists have been worrying about thisfor at least 40
years.... In spite of episodic skeptical cri-
-
166 Susan D. Gillespie, Rosemary A. Joyce, and Deborah L.
Nichols
ses within anthropology, and a chronic agoraphobiaabout where
our center is and where our boundariesare, anthropology is still
here...an undisciplined disci-pline, an unruly semi-aggregate, but
one with researchmethods and research results of enormous global
im-portance and great intrinsic interest.Even if archaeologists do
split off from anthropol-
ogy departments, the fact remains that "[anthropologicalthought
is infused into all strands of archaeology"(Gosden 1999:9), and
there will always be anthropologyeven in autonomous archaeology
departments. Indeed,given that archaeology has always seemed the
most in-tegrative and holistic of all the subfields of
anthropol-ogy (Kelly 2002b: 13), one can just as easily
imaginedepartments of archaeology as the future of anthropol-ogy
itself once all the subfields part their ways, becauseof its focus
on integrating past and present, sciences andhumanities, social
processes and their material correlates,nature and culturethe big
questions of who we are,where we came from, how we got here, and
where weare going. From this perspectivealong with all the oth-ers
that have been discussed in this volumewe can morefully understand
that archaeology is anthropology.
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