Dialectical Archaeology

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3 Dialectical Archaeology WILLIAM H. MARQUARDT

The year 1992 marks the thirtieth anniversary of the publication of Lewis Binford's ( 1962) seminal article, "Archaeology as Anthropology." In that paper Binford called for a new archaeology, one to be focused less on inductive interpretations of artifacts by acknowledged experts and more on the rigorous use of archaeological data to help confirm lawlike generalizations about human behavior. The term "processual" came to signify the new approach to explanation, one concerned with "process, or the operation and structural modification of systems" (Binford 1962:217). Its advocates believed that with an explicit commitment to science, anthropological archaeologists could discover and confirm general laws about cultural processes.

Practitioners in the United States and Britain in the 1960s and 1970s often invoked systems models (e.g., Binford 1968:328-31; Clarke 1968:101-30; Watson, LeBlanc, and Redman 1971:63-87) and notions of ecological adaptation (Binford 1968:331-36; Clarke 1968:57- 58, :75- 77; Flannery and Coe 1968:268; Watson, LeBlanc, and Redman 1971 :88-107). 1 In general, processual archaeologists, then and now, consider their work to be explicitly scientific and generalizing rather than historical and particularizing (see Watson, LeBlanc, and Redman 1984:2).

Since 1975 numerous authors have found fault with processual archaeology. Common to all of the critics is a conviction that narrow materialist explanations- the systemic, ecological, adaptive, and economic models of processual archaeologists-do not account adequately for the social, political, and ideational dynamics of human behavior.

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Marquardt, William H. 1992 Dialectical Archaeology. In Archaeological Method

and Theory, edited by M. B. Schiffer, volume 4, pp. 101-140. University of Arizona Press, Tucson.

102 William H. Marquardt I \

Early critics advocated broadening the scope of archaeological inquiry to include as much attention (or more attention) to social and ideological relations as to material ones (e.g., Bender 1978, 1981; Halstead 1981; .Hodder 1982; Ingold 1981; Kohl1975, 1981; Kus 1979, 1982; Leone 1982; Miller 1982; Moore 1981; Schmidt 1983; Tilley 1981 ). More recently, some have taken a more radical standpoint, reconsidering basic ontological premises of archaeology and questioning whether any objective ·understanding of the past is even possible (e.g., Hodder 1987d; Shanks and Tilley 1987; see Patrik 1985; P. Watson 1986; R. Watson 1990 for critiques of the radical approaches).

There are overlaps among the practitioners of the so-called "postprocessual" archaeology, and some individuals make more programmatic statements than others. The critical viewpoints have been categorized (see useful summaries by Hodder 1985; Leone 1982, 1986; Spriggs 1984; Watson and Fotiadis 1990) as "cognitive," "symbolic/' "structural," "contextual," and "critical," and debate continues in the 1990s. Recent critical discussions of post-processual archaeology include Barrett (1987); Binford (1988); Earle and Preucel (1987); Gardin (1987); Kristiansen (1988); Megaw and Megaw (1988); Schiffer (1988), R. Watson (1990); P. Watson and Fotiadis (1990).

Ian Hodder (1987c:2) suggests that "the term 'processual' has come to be associated with an approach Ito archaeology] which is ... fundamentally non-processual." By this Hodder means that processual archaeologists have not produced knowledge that reveals or elucidates the "processes"- the dynami£s-of human life because they have focused on systems theory, causal functional explanation, and a view of the past based on the interrelationships of "events." This begs the question, How would one recognize a genuinely processual archaeology? In this paper I attempt to provide an answer. I suggest that an archaeology that is truly processual must include appropriate concepts and a dynamic method for their application. I argue in this paper that a dialectical approach meets this objective.

Dialectic has venerable standing within Western philosophical tradition (Marquardt 1985:84-86, notes 3 and 6), but its long and interesting history is unfortunately beyond the scope of this paper. Bhaskar (1983), Evans (1977:1- 52), Lefebvre (1968:79-88), Marcuse (1960:vii-xiv), Weiss (1974), and OHman (1976:52-69) further explicate dialectic's history of usage.

Dialectic can be employed as a worldview, a method of inquiry, and a medium of exposition.2 Dialectic has been unduly neglected

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by processual archaeologists and other social scientists. Disregard of dialectic may be due to ( 1) negative reactions to the appropriations of dialectical language for political purposes, (2) the association of the concept with "dialectical materialism;, (Lefebvre 1968:79-88), which was rejected by many in the Marxist-humanist revisions of the 1920s and 1930s (e.g., Lukacs 1971), (3) the unfortunately oversimplified description of dialectical critique as " thesis-antithesissynthesis, " which belies the dialectical method (Marcuse 1960: xi-xiv), and (4) the superficial dismissal of dialectical concepts by scholars who claim Marxist inspiration (e.g., Harris 1968:230-36, 1980: 141-54).

In spite of the marginality of dialectical thought in archaeology, I believe it could be shown that the terms "dialectic" and "dialectical" appeared in Anglo-American theoretical writings on archaeology more frequently over the past decade than they did in the 1970s. For example, Miller and Tilley refer to a dialectical relationship between power holders and those over whom power is exerted ( 1984: 7), and to dialectical relations between power and resources (1984:8) and between representation and action (1984:13). In an article in which he argues for a hermeneutic approach to archaeological interpretation, Hodder refers to a "dialectic between past and present, object and subject" ( 1991 :9), a "dialectical relation between part and whole-the hermeneutic circle" ( 1991: 10-11), and a dialectical production of sensory data ( 1991: 10). In their introductory chapter to The Archaeology of Inequality, Paynter and McGuire ( 1991:10, 19) write of the "dialectic of domination and resistance." Most authors seem.to use the term informally as an adjective meaning something like "inextricably intertwined," "mutually constitutive," or simply "interdependent." But what does dialectic really mean?

The word can be traced to the Greek dialektike, the art of debating or arguing. Etymologically, then, dialectic is about discourse. In philosophical usage, it has come to mean examining opinions or ideas logically in order to determine their validity. Much of this paper is devoted to elucidating and exemplifying a dialectical mode of thought, but at this point I provisionally define dialectic as a critical method of inquiry and exposition applicable to entities and the relationships between entities, past, present, and future. It must be noted that Marx and Engels used dialectic in both epistemological and ontological senses. In other words, dialectical reasoning served them as a method of analysis and exposition (epistemology), but they

104 William H. Marquardt

also believed that the world behaves dialectically (ontology): that reality is governed by a set of dialectical laws or principles (Bhaskar 1983: 122). I use dialectic in both senses in this paper, as I hope will become clear below.

Dialectical Analysis in Anthropological Archaeology: Essential Concepts

Agency

By agency I mean the purposeful activity of individual human beings. In the abstract models of many processual archaeologists, agency is not a research focus. Instead, they treat individuals as equivalent elements in a system, or as equivalent rational decision-makers who seek to receive the most they can from the least effort. Like other animals, humans exist in the real world, but unlike other animals, humans experience their surroundings in terms of enculturated cognitive categories and make decisions based in part on their interests (Levins 1990: 118-19). Human activities take place in specific, cognized social and historical contexts. Each individual's perception of a sociohistorical setting differs according to her/his personal experiences, perceived needs, and vested interests. Faced with a decision, the individual weighs alternatives based on previous experiences, social norms, cultural values, and perceived benefits/ penalties. Frame of reference, or scale, is an important consideration. The individual may make one decision if the expected outcome is short term, another if it is longer lasting; one decision if the perceived consequences will affect many people, another if they are expected to remain private.

Contradiction

A phenomenon is said to be in contradiction if it contains opposing elements that together make up the whole. For example, the institution of slavery requires for its very existence two opposing elements: masters and slaves. Furthermore, what is true at one scale may be false at another; what is hierarchically organized at one scale may be heterarchically organized at another (Crumley 1979: 144; McCulloch 1945). For the individual, "reality" depends upon the scale at which a question or assertion is posed. Therefore, sociohistorical phenom-


ena are often in contradiction because disharmonious and opposing structures (see below) can exist as integral parts of the whole social formation.

For example, in Marx's analysis of nineteenth-century political economy, the phenomenon of capital includes the factory workers and the capitalist owners of the factories. It is in the nature of capitalists to exploit workers and it is in the nature of workers to resist exploitation. If this contradiction between owner and worker were to be resolved, the phenomenon of capital would no longer exist (Marx 1967:146- 211).

Contradiction is not synonymous with conflict, although conflicts may arise from contradictions and from attempts to resolve contradictions. Dialecticians assume that human activities take place in constantly changing sociohistorical contexts, in which new actions can come into conflict with outcomes of previous actions and decisions. People perceive their alternatives and apply their decisions at specific spatial and temporal scales. Conditioning these choices are the structures of their surroundings.

Structures

Two kinds of structures-physical and sociohistorical-determine human potentialities. Physical structures include climate, geology, topography, and natural resources. Although nonhuman, these structures are not uncognized. Various topographic features, springs, animals, plants, and even winds may be given meaning and interacted with accordingly (Marquardt and Crumley 1987:13-16).

Sociohistorical structures include all of the economic, legal, and political institutions and relations that characterize a particular social formation. "Relations" in this context are not simply connections between logically independent factors or elements, but are integral to the meaning of the structures. Although sociohistorical structures lack tangible existence (that is, they cannot themselves be weighed, measured, or detected in the way that wind, temperature, rainfall, humidity, or soil fertility can be), they are nevertheless influential in determining human choices (Marquardt and Crumley 1987:7-8).

Sociohistorical structures are also historically interrelated; that is, they are situated in relation to past and future forms. Like the meanings of physical structures, the meanings of sociohistorical structures are mutable and manipulable. Individuals must evaluate


whether any of several such structures are relevant to a specific decision (Marquardt 1985:67 -68). The relevance of a particular structure or the scale at which it is applicable to their lives is not a free decision for most peopl~ because they lack the power to make such decisions for themselves.

Power Relations

Power is the ability to alter events or achieve desired goals, with or without the consent of other individuals who may be affected. Authority refers to the capacity of individuals to influence events as a result of widely recognized knowledge, prestige, or legitimate position. Virtually all individuals have power and authority at one or more scales (Crumley and Marquardt 1987b:610-ll). Resistance to domination takes many forms, from malingering and petty thievery in the work place to organized, violent rebellion (Paynter and McGuire 1991:12-13); resistance in this sense may be conceived as a form of power.

Individual decision-making and relations of power and authority have not figured prominently in processual archaeology.3 In part this is due to the limitations of archaeological data. Historical archaeologists have been more explicit in giving attention to the roles of individuals in power relations (e.g., Leone 1984), but even without written records, the results of decisions and power struggles can sometimes be inferred from the landscape (see Berry 1987:503-24, 549-73; Crumley, Marquardt, and Leatherman 1987:132-154; Green, Berry, and Tippitt 1987:86-88; Paynter and McGuire 1991).

Those who causally link evolutionary advancement. with the emergence of social and political hierarchy (as in the economic geographic [e.g., Smith 1976] and cultural evolutionary [e.g., Johnson 1978] approaches of the 1960s and 1970s) base their interpretations on false teleological premises (Crumley 1987a). In contrast, a dialectician investigates relations of power and authority at multiple scales. A single overarching hierarchy of social power is far more the exception than the rule (Crumley and Marquardt 1987b:613- 15).

The Dialectic of Scale

Agency, contradiction, structure, and power relations are central foci in the dialectical approach. Because individuals act at a number of

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different scales in an ever-changing world (Oilman 1990:41), the dialectician proceeds by means of critical multiscalar analysis.

By scale I mean a certain amount of space or time, relative to the amount potentially under consideration. In terms of space, one may refer to a micro-scale analysis or decision, which is focused on a less extensive area than that of a macro-scale analysis or decision (e.g., Clarke 1977: 11). Similarly, in terms of time, one may focus attention on a brief interval or a long one (e.g., Schwartz 1978:248). No implication of social ranking in terms of population size, degree of social interaction, or cultural complexity is implied in this definition of scale (cf. Barth 1972:218; Berreman 1978; Johnson 1978, 1982; Wilson and Wilson 1945:25). It refers simply to the amount of space and time under consideration.

Out of an infinite multiplicity of scales, individuals comprehend patterns, recognize homogeneity, plan for the future, and operate in the present at specific scales. A scale at which pattern may be comprehended or meaning attributed is called an effective scale (following Crumley 1979: 166). For each conscious decision there is a corresponding effective scale. For each moment of an analysis for purposes of making a decision or characterizing a situation, there is a corresponding effective scale (Crumley and Marquardt 1987a; Marquardt 1985:69-70; Marquardt and Crumley 1987:2-4).

For example, for the farmer deciding what crops to plant and where to plant them, the effective spatial scale is determined both by impinging sociohistorical structures, such as the extent of arable land to which he/she has access and has the resources to plant, and impinging physical structures, such as characteristics of the climate and soil. The effective temporal scale is determined by both physical structures, such as the probable duration of the planting and harvesting season, and sociohistorical structures, such as the availability of people to help with the labor and the realities of obligations (e.g., tribute, taxation, debt, relations of kin reciprocity). Group decisions are also conceived and put into effect at specific spatial/ temporal scales, and conflicts can arise between individuals and between groups because of differing perceptions of scale.

As social scientists, archaeologists seek to interpret past decisions and processes that have left their imprints on the landscape. As outsiders analyzing the landscape, they perceive pattern and homogeneity at certain effective scales. These may or may not coincide with the effective scales at which decisions were made by people in the


past, but one hopes that by skillful application of research strategies and techniques, one can reach some understanding of past agency.

Because power relations exist simultaneously at multiple scales, analysis of the_past must also be multiscalar. Once pattern or homogeneity has been recognized at one scale, one ·must move beyond that scale to another one, smaller or larger, at which the patterns and connectivity will be different.

As analysis proceeds, the understanding one grasps at one effective scale must be preserved but transcended. That is, one suspends the patterns understandable at one scale by moving on to another effective scale. One does not, however, abandon the understanding achieved in the first moment, because it is no less valuable than the patterns and relations to be recognized at other effective scales. One proceeds with the process of suspending, yet preserving scalar understanding until one has exhausted all available sources of information. As an archaeologist, my sources may include paleoenvironmental data, topographic observations, artifact distributions, site distributions, written records, oral history, and supplementary scientific data acquired through experimentation.

The goal one hopes to achieve by this method is the transcending of any single scale to reach a broad understanding of the dynamicsthe "process" -of past social formations. By means of the critical procc;;dure of suspension, preservation, and transcendence, multiscalar analysis proceeds through controlled comparison.

In sum, I argue that an understanding of the dynamics of past human behavior requires comprehension of human agency in a milieu of power relations against a background of structural determination. The approach I advocate is empirical, multiscalar, and explicitly comparative.

Dialectic in Broader Context

Dialectic is a critical method of inquiry and exposition. The dialectician assumes that the apparent world is contradictory, but not because the nonhuman natural world is itself inherently contradictory. People perceive the world only in terms of structures that have meaning for them. In so doing, they project social relations on to their landscape and ascribe meaning to their day-to-day surroundings and activities, but they do not all do it the same way (Keesing 1987: 161).

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If, given the same material elements to work with and the same problem or opportunity, all people could be expected to choose the same tool or rule to apply, there would be no need for anthropology because human behavior could be predicted directly from material conditions. But people are not equivalent in intelligence, experience, strength, or ability, nor are they all equivalently altruistic, even in the simplest societies (Sahlins 1972:129). As Binford notes (1965: 205), "culture is not necessarily shared; it is participated in. And it is participated in differentially."

People comprehend the world in mystifications sanctioned by their own societies. Initial models of reality are obtained by individuals in the process of enculturation. However, the maturing individual comes to realize that meaning is not immutable. In fact, structural rules that were thought universally effective increasingly seem inappropriate or inadequate when applied in differing contexts. Outcomes that directly affect the prosperity, advantage, and even the very life of the individual are not as predictable as he/she once believed; there turn out to be many possible "realities." It occurs to people (more readily to some than to others) that advantage can accrue to oneself and one's kinfolk, allies, or loved ones if one can be involved in producing or selecting models of reality rather than simply in accepting them.

In group decisions, a degree of consensus must be reached, but all who agree with a decision need not all be served by it in the same way. Accord requires only that the decision hold some advantage or serve some perceived need. Some individuals may believe the model of reality to be incorrect Ito lack truth value) or to be ill-advised in the long run, yet go along with a decision to accept it in order to serve short-run interests. Others may disagree because they believe it ill-advised or untrue, but lack the power to control the decision.

In short, the meaning of structures can be manipulated for the benefit of not just self-conscious classes (the issue with which Marx was frequently concerned) but also interest groups and individuals. Conflicts inevitably arise within and between human groups because self interests or group interests dispose people to interpret reality in ways that benefit them, placing them in opposition to people with different interests. Human activity thus takes place in specific but ever-changing sociohistorical contexts, in which some actions are countered by the actions of others, some actions have unintended consequences, and some actions come into conflict with the

110 William H. Marquardt '··

outcomes of previous concrete actions. The emergence and resolution of contradictions is process, and its investigation is best pursued dialectically.

Dialectical Critique

The words "critical" and "criticize" imply analysis and judgment, often rejection or disapproval. In common parlance, "critique" refers to an analysis or review of an art form, literary work, or other human product. However, dialectical critique involves more than analysis and judgment by external criteria.4

The first moment of dialectical critique is negative and skeptical, in the sense that the entity bracketed for analysis is analyzed in order to discover underlying, often hidden contradictions and inconsistencies and to reveal the ways in which it is not what it first appears to be, or fails to fulfill its own intent or purpose. Also to be discovered are its external relations. That is, the entity may seem initially to be unrelated to other entities-hence "bracketable" for consideration at a certain effective scale-but continued analysis reveals its relations, its connectivity to other entities at broader and narrower spatial and temporal scales.

In successive moments of dialectical critique one retains the insights revealed by the continuing analysis, but moves the investigation to other scales, and thus achieves a broader level of understanding, one in which the relations inherent to the meaning and definition of the entity are better understood. In short, dialectical critique shows that the entity cannot be effectively separated out from other entities to which it is related.

Dialectical critique is applicable to social formations of both past and present. For the latter, discovery of internal contradictions and external relations also reveals the potential for transformation. Dialectically informed, purposeful transformation of the world is called practice.

Practice

Dialectical critique-suspension, transcendence, and preservation at a higher level-occurs only by means of human action. Practice, the application of dialectically produced knowledge, can serve as a test of the maturity and authenticity of a theoretical position. If one

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attempts to apply dialectically produced knowledge toward specific goals, the goals will be accomplished only to the extent that the knowledge is isomorphic with socially constructed reality at the scale of application.

To the extent that dialectically produced knowledge is incorrect or incomplete, there will be unintended consequences, but these revelations and setbacks are themselves sources of data in continuing practice. On the other hand, to the extent that the theoretical understanding is valid, the application of dialectically produced knowledge cancels its own validity in the moment of its success because its application creates a different situation. Thus, dialectical practice is totalizing and always unfinished.

Radical social reconstruction of the magnitude envisioned by Marx and Engels is only one kind of practice. The development of theories about social formations is an important kind of practice because dominant ideas about people-in-the-abstract often influence political decisions that affect real people (Patterson 1987). Models and ideas that may have ·been appropriate for conditions in the past may no longer be adequate today, and today's notions will be inappropriate for circumstances tomorrow. Thus, the development of social theory-knowledge about the way social formations are structured and the potential for their transformation-is an important arena of practice. Abstract theories can become influential (that is, they themselves can become objectified as sociohistorical structures), but they are ultimately unfalsifiable except within the boundaries of abstract logical discourse. Therefore, the best validity-test of knowledge is real-world application of that knowledge.

Program

Critically analyzing the apparent phenomena of human relations allows one to identify sociohistorical structures and physical structures that have been adopted as meaningful by people. By exposing the structures that determine and constrain human potentiality, one is in a better position to find ways to move beyond them. Dialecticians focus attention on structured social formations, but they cannot observe social formations in their totalities. One comprehends patterned facts only at particular spatial and temporal scales, and the scale one chooses dictates in part what one comprehends (see Cowgill 1975:509; Friedman 1974:93-279; Marquardt 1985:69; Marquardt

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and Crumley 1987:2-9, 13- 14). A multiscalar analysis is therefore essential, whether the social formation under study is living or dead.

Dialectical analysis of human relations need not be limited to living societies. The anthropological archaeologist is sometimes said to be disadvantaged in not being able to question informants or observe human action. And the materials to which archaeologists have access never faithfully represent past social formations in their entireties. On the other hand, the archaeologist often has the benefit of time depth and sometimes the advantage of written records. Supplementary scientific data are also helpful. There is no reason why the empirical findings of the physical and natural sciences should not be combined with a critical dialectical method, so long as the data of science are not themselves exempted from dialectical critique (Marquardt 1985:70).

ln sum, dialectical analysis proceeds with rigor and aims toward utility. One aspect of the dialectical approach is dialectical critique, the process I have described in which cultural phenomena-including both data about social formations and ideas about them-are rigorously examined in order to r"eveal internal contradictions and show the way toward their transformation. In the case of archaeology, I believe that a critical, multiscalar method focusing on agency, structure, and po;wer relations, against a background of conditioning physical and sociohistorical structures, is a fruitful approach.

A second aspect of dialectical method is practice. Anthropologists'/archaeologists' understandings of cultural processes can be put to use in attempting to improve the communities in which they live. This can include, but is not limited to, offering advice to planners; participating in the political process; attempting to increase communication among people of diverse backgrounds, interests, and agendas; educating people in order that they may become empowered to work toward overcoming their limitations; and furthering public understanding of the biosphere and the effects of people on the natural world (see Marquardt n.d.a for an example of using archaeological education to raise environmental awareness at the regional scale). ln short, practice is applied to try to transform some aspect of the world in a way that fosters free human choices and allows individuals to develop according to their own potentials. For the dialectician, critique and practice are not separable, and are best conceived as aspects of the same endeavor.

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Purposeful reconstruction of social relations is an activity requiring the utmost in self-responsibility, needless to say. Activity that increases options for one group of people may diminish possibilities for others. Each person must decide for hei:/ himself how far to become involved in applying insights derived from dialectical critique. There are those who believe that any involvement in attempting to change another (or even one's own) social formation ought to be avoided. For those individuals, these remarks will seem presumptuous at best, pretentious and irresponsible at worst. But humans cannot avoid making choices. Even choosing not to become involved is a political statement that has implications in the world community: Choosing not to choose is itself a choice. If one assumes a dialectical viewpoint, then the formulation of social theory and its application are but different aspects of the same reality, human life is itself inescapably dialectical, and dialectic becomes not an abstract logic but a concrete and immanent ontologie.

I now tum to two examples of multiscalar, dialectical analysis, one from eastern France, the other from southwestern Florida.

Case Study 1: Burgundy on the Eve of the Roman Conquest

The first example is taken from Carole Crumley's work, especially her chapter "Celtic Settlement Before the Conquest : The Dialectics of Landscape and Power" (Crumley 1987b; see also Crumley 1974). The Gauls lived in the part of western Europe that is now France. France is topographically diverse (Crumley and Green 1987: 19-28), and as a result its rivers flow into the Atlantic Ocean, Mediterranean Sea, and North Sea. France is also climatically diverse, coming under the influence of oceanic, continental, and Mediterranean weather patterns (Crumley and Green 1987:28-29). By the first century B.c., mixed agriculture, animal husbandry, and metal-working not only served basic subsistence needs, but provided goods for extensive trade that moved along roads and rivers to destinations throughout western Europe. Patterns of transportation, communication, and the exploitation of natural resources were in part dictated by the physical structures of France, as different social formations projected different templates of meaning on the physical landscape at


different times (Crumley, Marquardt, and Leatherman 1987:153-54). Written information on the Gauls just prior to the Roman con

quest comes from several sources, of which the most prominent is Julius Caesar's (1917) The Gallic War (De Bello Gallico). Caesar's account provides some ethnographic detail on the Gauls, although many scholars believe he derived much of it from other writers such as Posidonius (see Rambaud 1953 and Tierney 1960; for a summary discussion of Caesar's reliability, see Holmes 1911:211- 56; for a discussion of other classical authors who wrote about the Gauls, Crumley 1974:3-9). Although there is still room for constructive debate, the consensus among classical scholars is that the basic data on Gaulish polity boundaries, social structure, and customs are reliable. Archaeological evidence has in many cases served further to counterbalance classical sources, especially in correcting ethnocentric biases that tended to lead classical writers toward overly simple characterizations of the Gauls as backward and despotic savages (Crumley 1974:29-72).

Gaul had no single overarching political unity. Instead, various regions were controlled by separat·e polities. For example, the Aedui and their clients (the Segusiavi, Ambarri, and Bituriges Cubi) controlled east-central Gaul, or present-day Burgundy, including the Morvan mounta~ns, important segments of the Sa6ne and Loire river valleys, and the source of the Seine river. The Aedui were hostile toward the Arverni, their neighbors across the Loire to the south, and towards the Sequani, who lived across the Sa6ne to the east (figure 1 ).

The quintessence of Gaulish political and social organization was patronage/clientage, which operated at several different scales. At the interpolity scale, for example, the Bituriges Cubi were clients of the Aedui, providing military service and taxes to the latter, who ensured the security of the region and the continuity of profitable commercial relations. At the intrapolity scale Gaulish nobles acted as patrons to commoners and gained status in relation to the number of clients, debtors, and other dependents under their control.

Patrons could also be clients themselves. That is, they might have followings of their own, but owe allegiance to a higher-ranking, more influential patron. Nor was the role of patron limited to the nobility; some wealthy merchants and other commoners had their own followings.

Status could be increased by means of judicious marriage into powerful families . Such affinal ties served to extend political alliances. It

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Figure 1. A portion of Gaul, ca. 58 B.C. (after Crumley 1987b:423)

$

SCALE

0 100 200 Km C .. ,,. T

appears that during the first half of the first century B.c . Gaulish political structure shifted from leadership under a hereditary "king" to one in which a chief magistrate (vergobret) was elected annually from among the noble chieftains (Caesar 1917:1.16).

Among the aristocrats the Druids held a special place. Exempt from taxation and military service, they served as religious leaders, philosophers, educators, keepers of history and ideology, and adjudicators of disputes . Druids also officiated at all-important periodic rituals, which included human sacrifices. Druidic training required as long as twenty years, and involved committing a volumi-


nous philosophical literature to memory.5 Skilled craftspersons also enjoyed the patronage of noble families, and were exempt from daily chores of food production.

Gaulish society was not without factionalism and competition. Caesar implies that rivalries pervaded all levels of society and that protection of one's followers from the more powerful was the principal road to authority (Caesar 1917:6.11). In the earlier part of the first century B.C. the Aedui had apparently been the leaders of one of two great alliances in Gaul; their less powerful neighbors, the Sequani, had led the rival group (figure 1 ). However, the Sequani had allied themselves with theArverni, ancient enemies of theAedui, and with the Germans, combining forces to defeat the Aedui. This defeat resulted in the demise of many of the Aeduan nobility, including the entire council of chieftains, as well as the taking of many sons of the Aeduan leadership as h9stages (Caesar 1917:6.12). It was this state of affairs that led the Aeduan chieftain Diviciacus to seek alliance with Rome in the years immediately prior to Caesar's invasion of Gaul (Crumley 1987b:403- 14).

Roman society was also stratified into nobility and commoners. ·Ascribed status based on family ancestry, kinship, and gender could be enhanced by achieving additional status: "Noble men were expected to advance rapidly through a ranked succession of political offices; noble women were expected to aid their kinfolk (affinal and consanguineal) in that task through advantageous marriage and interstitial social and political influence" (Crumley 1987b:414). Romans inherited status, alliance, and bonds of friendship long established between families. They also inherited clients, to whom they provided protection in exchange for services. Ambitious noblemen advanced through service in the Senate, eventually qualifying for election as consuls and praetors, which conveyed imperium, the right to command armies. Successful imperial commanders could return to Rome with favors to bestow on loyal supporters. Patronclient relations dominated Roman political structure as surely as they did that of the Gauls (Crumley 1987b:414-18).

At the same time that Gaulish political structures were moving away from kingship and toward broader opportunities for the accumulation of wealth and the advancement of status (ca. 100-60 B.c.), political structures in Rome were moving away from republicanism and toward imperial power (Mann 1986:250-80). This forty-year period witnessed a costly war with the Italians (90-87

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B.c .), the threat of Mithradites VI in Asia Minor (88 B.c.), the attack on Rome by a scorned Sulla (88 B.c.) and his subsequent dictatorship (82-80 B.c.), slave revolts led by_Spartacus (77-71 B.c.), Pompey's suppression of Mediterranean piracy (67 B.c.), the intrigues of Cataline against Cicero (63 B.c.), and the establishment of the First Triumvirate of Pompey, Crassus, and Caesar (60 B.c .) (Grant 1978: 169-209).

On the eve of the invasion of Gaul, Rome had extended its relations of patronage at the international scale as a result of military conquest, colonization, land grants to Roman soldiers, efficient commercial relations, and surplus extraction in the form of provincial taxation. At the scale of the Roman city-state, patronage/clientage was still the paramount means to political power, and a precedent for outright military control of the Roman state apparatus had been set in the first half of the century.

By comparison, Gaulish patron-client relations were more fluid at all scales. From the interpolity scale, where alliances between Gaulish polities called for the exchange of hostages, down to the intrafamily scale, where the debate over political choices split aristocratic families into pro-Roman and contra-Roman factions (Crumley 1987b:413; Caesar 1917:1.17-1.20), an overarching consensus was as elusive as ever, and the size of a man's following still determined his worth (Crumley and Marquardt 1987b:616- 17).

The question of alliance with Rome ca. 60 B.c. must have been particularly anguishing for the Aedui. Some years before, the Aedui had been devastated by the above-mentioned interpolity war against the Sequani, the Arverni, and the Germans. Clientship with Rome would ensure against a recurrence of this disaster, but the Aedui must have been mindful of the loss of independence and cultural integrity that might result. Some segments of the aristocracy stood to lose a great deal if ties to Rome were extended into relations of dependence. The Druids, for example, must have feared the loss of their juridical authority and intellectual prestige, but it is probable that merchants and skilled craftspersons considered closer ties with Rome a potential source of increased wealth, and the possibility of Roman citizenship a distinctly attractive means toward social advancement.

The Aedui faced an important decision. If they joined forces with other Gaulish polities to resist the increasingly evident Roman advance into Europe, their long-lasting commercial ties with the Medi-


terranean might be irreparably severed, they would be vulnerable to invasion by the Germans (whose leader, Ariovistus, was a person of pride and ambition; Caesar 1917:1.31-53), and they would have to make certain s;oncessions to their old enemies, the Sequani and Arverni. On the other hand, if they moved even closer to Rome, or acted in concert with obvious Roman plans to broaden its influence in Gaul, commercial wealth would continue, perhaps even increase, and Rome would protect them from their enemies. However, in becoming clients of Rome they would risk the loss of their proud heritage of independence and profound religiqus beliefs. Officially the pro-Roman faction held sway, but a pro-Gaulish faction continued to resist the Roman presence.

Analysis at the individual scale provides an important perspective on multiscalar political relations in the years just prior to Roman entry into Gaul. One of the most important leaders of the pro-Gaulish faction was Dumnorix, younger brother of the pro-Roman chieftain Diviciacus. Although Durnnorix had no official position from which to speak on behalf of the Aedui, he was wealthy, commanded many clients, including his own formidable cavalry, and enjoyed

. considerable popularity in the Aeduan countryside. In his ambition to become a prominent leader, Dumnorix was free to act in the arena of patronage/clientage, and he did so. He made an alliance with Orgetorix, ambitious chieftain of the Helvetii, and married his daughter. The Helvetii were a Gaulish polity that occupied the territory near present-day Geneva, Switzerland (figure 1 J. Dumnorix' half-sister and various other female relatives were married into other Gaulish polities, and his mother married a high-ranking aristocrat of the Bituriges Cubi, an Aeduan client polity (Caesar 1917:1.18).

Dumnorix played a prominent role in Caesar's campaigns as well. Caesar entered Gaulish territory in 58 B.c. at the request of the Aedui, who allegedly objected to the Helvetii 's marching through their lands. However, it was apparently Dumnorix who had facilitated the entry of the Helvetii into Aeduan territory in the first place (Caesar 1917: 1.19). During the subsequent battle between the Romans and the Helvetii, Dumnorix rode in command of Aeduan cavalry, ostensibly under the charge of Caesar, yet apparently it was Dumnorix who exhorted his sympathizers in the Gaulish countryside to withhold grain promised to Caesar's army by the Aeduan chieftains, among them Dumnorix' brother Diviciacus (Caesar 1917:1.15-23; see Marquardt 1987b for further discussion) .

.. •j Dialectical Archaeology 119

Dumnorix continued his intrigues against Caesar until 54 B.c., when Caesar finally had him executed (Caesar 1917:5.6-7). Depending upon one's reading, Caesar and Dumnorix may be seen as either liberators or demagogues. The point I am making here is that analysis of the acts of individuals can be informative of process when seen in the broader context of multiscalar power relations.

This case study illustrates that the dynamics-the "process"-of the conquest of Gaul can best be understood by means of a critical, multiscalar analysis. Analysis at the individual scale is informative, but the structure of patronage was integral to both the Romans and the Aedui, and the economies of the two social formations were already tied together directly and intricately long before the births of Caesar and Dumnorix.

Multiscalar analysis reveals contradictions within the Gaulish polity. In the arena of the conflict (that is, at the scale of eastern Gaul in 58 B.c.) there was no ambiguity about Caesar's position as consul and imperial commander of the Roman legions, but there was ambiguity in Dumnorix' ambition to lead Gaulish resistance. Dumnorix had considerable wealth, the support of conservative, fiercely independent rural dwellers, the allegiance of a considerable clientage, and probably at least tacit approval of the Druids. However, the vested interests of skilled craftspersons and wealthy merchants lay with continued economic intercourse with Rome. Dumnorix' polity was already far too involved in Mediterranean trade for him to find the support he needed at all scales.

Crumley's analysis of Gaulish-Roman interaction in first century B.c. Burgundy is a dialectical one. It rests on an understanding of both physical structures (e.g., topographic determination of defensive placements and routes of commerce, natural resources) and socio· historical structures (e.g., patronage/clientage, kinship/alliance, descent/inheritance, and political economy). By means of a critical multiscalar analysis, she undertakes controlled comparison of two structured social formations-Aeduan and Roman-in order to reach conclusions about the overall process of the romanization of Europe.

Case Study 2: Sixteenth Century South Florida

The second example of dialectical analysis is from South Florida. The Calusa, who lived in what is now southwest Florida,


from Charlotte Harbor south to the Ten Thousand Islands (figure 2), were a sedentary, tributary, fisher-gatherer-hunter society. Information about the Calusa comes from archaeological investigations (Griffin 1988:48-323; Marquardt n.d.b; Widmer 1988:55-97) and from several historical documents. For the sixteenth century, the principal sources are those of Escalante Fontaneda (1945), a Spaniard who was held captive by the Calusa, Gonzalo Solis de Meras (1923), who accompanied Spanish governor Menendez de Aviles on his expedition to south Florida, and the letters and documents of Jesuit priest Juan Rogel (Vargas Ugarte 1935; Zubillaga 1946). For the seventeenth century, there are lengthy accounts of a Franciscan mission effort (Hann 1991 ), and for the eighteenth, a detailed account of a Jesuit attempt (Sturtevant 1978).

Although the Cal usa lived in permanent towns and exacted tribute from, at certain dmes, all the people of south Florida, their dietary staple was not cultivated plants, but fish. Shellfish, birds, turtles, mammals, and wild plant foods were also eaten (Marquardt 1988: 164-69). The coastal estuarine ecosystem of the Charlotte HarborPine Island Sound area is exceptionally productive because of a combination of geologic, hydrologic, and climatic factors (summarized by Widmer 1988:98-137). Extensive marine meadows and mangrove systems are especially prominent in the two areas around Charlotte Harbor/Pine Island Sound and Cape Romano/Marco Island, both part of the Calusa domain in historic times. In short, Calusa prosperity was linked to the use of nets, traps, weirs, and hooks in an extraordinarily productive, mangrove-fringed, grassy estuary fed by the fresh waters of three major rivers. This inference is based not only on our own detailed analyses of midden deposits (Scarry and Newsom n.d.; Walker n.d.aj, but on well-preserved nets, net weights, cordage, fishing gear, and anchors discovered in 1896 at the Key Marco site (Cushing 1897; Gilliland 1975). Although the Key Marco site is not in the Charlotte Harbor area proper (see Griffin 1988:135- 37), the Key Marco shell and bone artifacts interpreted as fishing gear are quite similar to those from Charlotte Harbor sites (Walker n.d.bj and probably were used for fishing near shore.

Among the Calusa the nobility did not work, and had privileged access to wealth. The paramount chief, or king, acted as a broker with the spirit world, and his well-being was linked to the prosperity of all. He was assisted by a chief priest and captain-general. Spiritual and military specialists managed the ideological and political spheres.

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An organized military enforced tribute-taking from polities throughout south Florida.

Human sacrifice was practiced upon the death of the paramount chief or his pri:qcipal wife, and the chief- could order the execution of a citizen or captive at will. The paramount was expected to marry his own sister, guaranteeing the succession of power within the royal family. Chiefs of other south Florida polities also provided women to become his wives. Distant chiefs managed their own domains, but were responsible for ensuring that tribute flowed to the paramount, who sometimes redistributed wealth to his subordinates (Fontaneda 1945; Goggin and Sturtevant 1964; Laudonniere 1975; Solis de Mer.is 1923; Vargas Ugarte 1935; Zubillaga 1946).

Patronage-clientage seems to have structured Calusa politics. Because ethnohistoric accounts of the Calusa come from missionaries, functionaries, captives, and officials who were themselves from a background of late medieval European political economy (Lyon 1976: 1-70) and who were far from objective observers of aboriginal American Indian life (Lyon 1976: 116-18), one must be careful not to adopt their interpretations of Calusa society uncritically. One could argue, for example, that the recognition by sixteenth-century Spaniards of forms of native political and religious authority, tribute-taking, hierarchical power structures, and alliance through marriage was as much an artifact of their own worldviews as of those of the natives they encountered in the New World.

As part of his argument that capitalism developed in the sixteenth century, Wallerstein (1974:67-129) sees the institution of encomienda as a kind of feudalism-in-action. Under this system, groups of Indians were consigned to privileged Spanish settlers. Encomenderos received the tribute and labor of the Indians, who were expected to produce a surplus far above their own needs. In theory, native labor was supposed to be voluntary, at least after 1549, but the natives could be coerced to provide their labor if it were believed in the public interest (see Wallerstein 1974:90-95 and notes). With this kind of institutional background, then, how can we be sure that the Spanish colonists actually witnessed political hierarchy, tributetaking, patronage, and privilege among the native Floridians?

First, there is remarkable consistency among the different sources. The captive Fontaneda, the priest Rogel, the chronicler (and brotherin-law of Menendez de Aviles) Solis de Menis, and other commentators write of centralized authority and tribute, especially the bring-


ing of Spanish commodities and captives to the paramount. Tribute is tied directly to political authority in the 1612 statement of Olivera that the Calusa paramount "has more than sixty villages [pueblos] of his own, not to mention the other very great quantity that pay tribute to him" (Hann 1991: 11).

Second, two accounts of occasions when the tributary system was challenged are instructive. Tequesta, chief of a polity near presentday Miami and ostensibly subservient to paramount chief Carlos, once refused to surrender some Spanish captives. That this constituted a challenge to Carlos's authority is suggested by the fact that Carlos then sent his soldiers to kill the Spaniards (Barcia, quoted from Parks 1985:22-23). Another defiance occurred when the wealthy polity chief Serrope intercepted and claimed for himself the daughter of Oathchaqua, who was en route to southwest Florida to be married to paramount chief Carlos. It is explicitly stated that the marriage of Oathchaqua's daughter to Carlos would have confirmed an alliance (Laudonniere 1975:111), and I infer that the seizing of the woman constituted a challenge to the paramount's authority (Marquardt 1988:184).

When Pedro Menendez de Aviles arrived in Charlotte Harbor in 1566, paramount chief Carlos indicated that he wished to take Menendez as his "elder brother" and offered to give his sister to Menendez as a wife; by doing so, he was offering his allegiance to Menendez (Marquardt 1988:179; Solis de Menis 1923:144). Later it became clear that Carlos expected certain favors from Menendez in return, namely that the latter join with him in his war against rival chief Tocobaga (Solis de Meras 1923:229), again suggesting a patronclient relation.

Finally, an account by Juan Rogel states that Calusa paramount chief Felipe (Carlos's successor) put to death the chiefs of fifteen towns because he had been informed that they were about to defect to his enemies, taking their subjects with them (Vargas Ugarte 1935: 91 ). This suggests that a recognized chain of command was at issue, as well as the privilege of tribute-taking. Father Rogel had had experience with other Indians of the southeastern United States and was an astute observer of Indian customs (Lewis 1978).

In sum, the historic Calusa social formation can be characterized as a sedentary, hierarchical, tributary fisher-gatherer-hunter society. Nobles denied commoners access to their own produce. Surplus was extracted by the nobles, military, royal family, and other specialists.

124 Wilham H. Marquardt

Town chiefs guaranteed the flow of tribute to the paramount, who sometimes redistributed it. Disloyalty was punishable by death. Within the Calusa domain, which sometimes included all of south Florida, chiefs~of other polities were subject to the Calusa paramount. Each polity chief paid tribute to the paramount and provided a wife to him. The paramount's authority was legitimate because he intervened with the supernatural world to avert calamities and to ensure that the earth and seas produced their riches.

As in the French case, multiscalar analysis reveals information on cultural dynamics that would not be evident from more conventional treatments. For example, at the scale of the Calusa royal family, an ostensibly orderly and unambiguous succession to the paramountcy was actually plagued by rivalry and competition. The authority of the paramount chief was supposedly absolute, yet he was constrained in his decision-making by the nobility. In one known case, the documents indicate that a successional dispute was caused by conscious subversion of the designated heir by his rivals (discussed in detail by Marquardt 1988:182-84i see Zubillaga 1946:309-11).

At the scale of the Calusa polity, the paramount was allegedly superior over all Calusa town chiefs, yet on at least one occasion (Vargas Ugarte 1935:91) some of the chiefs changed their allegiance to other chiefs. At the broader scale of south Florida, the paramount was ostensibly dominant over all polities, yet on two recorded occasions (the interception of his bride and the withholding of captives) his power was resisted.

I infer that, by the earliest years of the sixteenth century, the effective scale of the Calusa political economy had shifted from south Florida to the circum-Caribbean region due to broader European mercantilist influence, leaving the Calusa paramount with no choice but to enter into a relation of clientage with the Spanish governor of Florida. When, from the paramount's point of view, Menendez de Aviles refused to honor his part of the bargain by crushing the chief's enemies, the chief was disgraced. The downfall of the Calusa paramount known as Carlos can be explained partly by unresolved contradictions concerning his own legitimacy and partly by his inability to control resources and information at the broader scale of Europeaninfluenced circum-Caribbean economy. Eventually Carlos plotted to drive out the Spaniards, and was executed by them. His successor, Felipe, who enjoyed the backing of some Cal usa nobles as well as that of the Spaniards, ultimately fared no better (Marquardt 1987a, 1988).


In spite of having two paramount chiefs and a number of nobles executed by the Spanish, the Calusa were able to resist Spanish domi· nation. They proved intractable en matters of religion, and would co· operate with the Europeans only when bribed. Unable to control the Calusa or to make progress in converting them to Christianity, the Spanish withdrew their south Florida missions in 1569 (Hann 1991).

In addition to the four effective scales at which one can compre· hend patterns in sixteenth-century south Florida- (!) within the royal family, (2) within the Calusa polity, (3) between the Calusa polity and other polities, and (4) between the south Florida polities ' and European mercantilists-one can see further processes by broad· ening the temporal scale. With no attention to the seventeenth cen· tury, for example, one might well surmise that the Spanish machinations in southwest Florida in the 1560s led to a quick decline for the Calusa. In fact, the Spaniards' execution of paramounts Carlos and Felipe did not spell the end of the Calusa domain. As mentioned above, by the early seventeenth century another paramount (also referred to as Carlos) is said to have been in control of sixty towns and receiving tribute from many more. Late seventeenth-century records suggest that there were still some 14,000 people living in the Calusa "province," including 1,000 to 2,000 on the island where the paramount's village was located. Traditional south Florida religious be· liefs were apparently still intact in the late seventeenth century (Hann 1991:157-201). Although the population may have already been declining in the seventeenth century due to European diseases, it was not until the early eighteenth century that south Florida society seriously declined and was displaced by invading Indians from the north (Marquardt 1987a:107- 12i Parks 1985:52-65i Sturtevant 1978). Disease and displacement took their toll on the natives, yet the presence of nobility, elite military, and religious specialists is still noted among remnant south Florida native groups living in the Florida Keys in the early 1700s (Marquardt 1987a:ll0i Hann 1991:420-31).

A dialectical analysis of Calusa-Spanish interaction in the sixteenth century rests on an understanding of both physical structures (e.g., the rich coastal environment on which the Calusa fishergatherer-hunter economy was based) and sociohistorical structures (e.g., patronage/clientage, kinship/alliance, royal sibling marriage, and the hierarchical tributary political economy).

In the examples from France and Florida, an understanding of process-the dynamics of past human behavior-is enhanced by com-


prehending agency and power relations as both are conditioned by physical and sociohistorical structures. In both cases the analysts have undertaken controlled comparisons of two interacting social formations and shown how each changed and was changed by the other, or, more accurately, shown that at a broader scale, the two structured systems cannot be separated from one another in their mutually constitutive, dialectical interplay.

Conclusions

I have chosen to discuss ethnohistoric as well as archaeobiological and archaeological data in these two case studies because the richness of the examples may help the reader to grasp the application of multiscalar, dialectical analysis. Space limitations prohibit including detailed data from archaeological survey, remote sensing, arthaeobotanical and zooarchaeological studies, and excavations for both areas, and, for the French case, additional studies on ancient road networks, contemporary periodic markets and festivals, and iconography. The interested reader will find the details in published works (Crumley and Marquardt 1987a; Marquardt 1987a, 1988, n.d.b).

The challenge articulated by the critics of processual archaeology-to find a way for archaeology to reach its processual potential-is best met not by abandoning the comparative method, but by applying it critically and rigorously at all scales at which pattern can be recognized. One must avoid the temptation to circumscribe an area of study, be it a community, a site, a region, or a time period, except in the most tentative and initial way. An initial scale must be specified, so as to begin the analysis (Marquardt and Crumley 1987: 9), but in order to proceed to a higher level of processual understanding one must suspend the comprehension of one scale and retain its insights, but move on to another. In so doing, the articulations of classes, interest groups, and individuals at multiple scales can be identified and the resolution of contradictions better understood.

Those archaeologists who advocate studying human behavior at the individual scale (e.g., Hill and Gunn 1977a; Weissner 1983:258-59), those who urge us to explore all possible aspects of an artifact's context (e.g., Hodder 1986, 1987a, 1987b; Rathje and Schiffer 1982), and those who point to internal causes of social change (e.g., Bender 1978; Brumfiel 1983) are all correct, in my opinion. However, it


would be a mistake to allow the pendulum of archaeological inquiry to swing completely away from considerations of physical environmental determinants, such as subsurface geology, hydrology, and climate. Nor would it be appropriate to ignore sound empirical data from demography, nutrition, or biology just because they have no social-theoretic or political content. So long as we submit data on physical structures to the same rigorously critical analysis we apply to data on sociohistorical structures, data from the physical and natural sciences are admissible, indeed essential to our endeavors.

The dialectical method is empirically informed, multiscalar, and involves the controlled comparison of structured social formations. It is historical, yet differs from history in its emphasis on contradiction and in its commitment to practice. It is explicitly comparative and empirically informed, yet goes beyond science by applying dialectical critique to the practice of science itself. As Levins (1990: ll5) remarks, "a science informed by Marxism ... would recognize the value of analysis and reduction as research tactics but not as philosophies of nature, the equal importance of the general and the particular in science-neither one is subordinate to the other-the necessity both of abstracting from and returning to the concrete, the legitimacy of detachment and the urgency of commitment."

By exploring and exposing the dynamics of human behavior, with explicit attention to agency and power relations, which exist within the conditions of structural determination, one reaches new insights that are useful, yet always partial. Although the analyses are always unfinished, comprehension of human behavior continually emerges, and that comprehension can be applied practically. Practice of the results of dialectical understandings provides their test and their justification.

Acknowledgments

I am grateful to the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research (Sydel Silverman, President), which funded the international symposium, "Critical Approaches in Archeology: Material Life, Meaning, and Power," March 17-25, 1989, in Cascais, Portugal, at which these ideas were first presented, and to symposium organizers Robert Paynter and James Moore for their kind invitation to participate. In Portugal I benefited from the opportu-


tunity to interact with colleagues of many different persuasions, and this paper profited significantly from their critiques. I am also grateful to Carole L. Crumley, Randall H. McGuire, Charles E. Orser, Thomas C. Patterson, Michael B. Schiffer, and Karen Jo Walker for helpful critical comments on the revised version. Corbett McP. Torrence drafted figures 1 and 2.

NOTES

1. The most influential publication bringing the "new" archaeology to professional attentiop was the volume New Perspectives in Archeology (Binford and Binford 1968), a compendium of tangible, if tentative, examples of the approach. The same year also witnessed the publication in Britain of Clarke's ( 1968) explicitly systemic Analytical Archaeology, Flannery's seminal "Archeological Systems Theory and Early Mesoamerica" (Flannery 1968), and Vayda and Rappaport's "Ecology, Cultural and Non-Cultural" (Vayda and Rappaport 1968).

In the 1970s and 1980s much research was undertaken, the majority of it the result of salvage archaeology (sometimes called "cultural resource management" [CRM) in the U.S., "rescue archaeology" in Britain). In America most of this work was explicitly scientific in matters of research design, field strategies, analytic methods, and reportage. In part this is because, in the early days of CRM, agencies that were engaged in land modification often hired archaeologists who had recently completed two-year masters degree programs in academic milieux in which new archaeology was dominant. When put in charge of compliance, they often attempted to enforce the standards of scientific rigor they had learned. Another factor was certification of professional archaeologists (SOPA 1990: 12- 16), a conscious movement on the part of professional archaeologists in the 1970s to ensure that the untrained or inexperienced would be unable to compete for archaeological salvage contracts; one way of accomplishing this was to require explicitly scientific research designs. Competition for federal research support from the National Science Foundation was similarly affected because peer reviewers paid increasing attention to the details of archaeologists' proposed research. This had the effect of imposing more formal and explicitly scientific research designs on proposals submitted to NSF's anthropology program.

2. The so-called "dialectics of nature" is a worldview that sees a dialectical unfolding in all natural processes. Extension of dialectic to the status of universal metaphor was more the work of Engels than Marx, but there is evidence that Marx approved (Bhaskar 1983: 127; Lefebvre 1968: 107). The


view has been elaborated in an important work by Levins and Lewontin (1985), who follow Engels in extending dialectic both methodologically and ontologically into the life sciences (Levins and Lewontin 1985:279). Although I find myself much in sympathy with Levins and Lewontin, especially their critique of Cartesian reductionism in biology, I find troublesome the extension of dialectical ontology, e.g., the notion of contradiction as self-negation, to nonhuman nature. Contradictions, sociohistorical structures, and power relations, in the senses discussed in this paper, are quintessentially human (Marquardt 1985:68).

3. This is not to say that processual archaeologists have ignored individual behavior, but the behavior of individuals in power relations has not received attention until recently (see Patterson and Gailey 1987). For example, a volume edited by Hill and Gunn (1977a) is focused on identifying individual manufacturers of artifacts and studying variability between individuals so identified. However, in the first paragraph of their introductory chapter Hill and Gunn ( 1977b: 1) say that their primary goal "is to contribute to the development of theory, method, and technique to be used in studying human groups, populations, and organizations, not individual behavior per se" [emphasis added). Studies emphasizing hierarchical levels of information processing and decision-making, of which Johnson's U978, 1982) are perhaps the most prominent, highlight the emergence of complexity through specialization, and are not concerned with identifying specific historically determined power relations into which individuals enter. Similarly, archaeologists using so-called "decision-theory" approaches (optimal foraging analysis, marginal-cost analysis, and linear programming) also fail to situate agency within specific historical context.

4. Dialectical critique involves more than negation. In the Hegelian system dialectical critique develops by sublation (Aufhebung), a simultaneous cancellation, preservation, and raising up to a higher level (Weiss 1974:8). For Hegel, dialectic remained in idealist form. Marx adapted Hegel's dialectic to the analysis of concrete, historical processes (Lefebvre 1968:79-113; see Marcuse 1960:258- 322). It is in Marx's sense that dialectic, understood as a method of both inquiry and exposition (Oilman 1976:52-69), is applied here. To enter into dialectical critique (aufheben), then, is to (1) cancel or suspend the apparent pattern, (2) preserve or maintain the information contained within that pattern, and (3) use that knowledge, now freed and raised up to a higher level of understanding (Marquardt 1985:84-85, note 3; see Peri tore 1977:217, 232- 36). See discussions by Stace (1955:88-115) on dialectical and formal logic; Hook (1962:41-75) on Hegel's and Marx's dialectic; Marcuse (1960:312- 22) and Lefebvre (1968:82-83) on the appropriation of Hegel's dialectic by Marx.

5. Although the Gauls used the Greek script for mundane matters, they did not record their philosophies, laws, and other knowledge.


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