On Syncretism
It should be clear by now that the palimpsest concept — which relies on a simple metaphor of effacement, re-inscription, and inertia — is woefully underequipped to describe landscape, especially if we understand the latter to be a dynamic collective of human and non-human actors continuously intra-acting in space. Clearly, a more comprehensive device is needed to conceptualize the landscape in all of its social and ecological complexity and dynamism. I have proposed “landscape syncretism” to fill this need (Meyer 2006).
Syncretism may be defined as an “attempted union or reconciliation of diverse or opposite tenets or practices” (OED: syncretism). We most often speak of syncretism in studies of religion, where it is seen as a wedding of beliefs and/or practices, generally after a conversion event (Stewart 2011). Among the most often-cited examples: the Western Christian spiritual year more or less maps onto earlier European pagan
observances, such that Christmas (25 December), The Feast of St. John the Baptist (23-24 June)20, The Feast of the Assumption (15 August), and All Saints’ Day (1 November) fall on or near pre-Christian feast days (Figure 2.2)21.
Not only do the dates of these feasts coincide, earlier pagan celebratory practices have often continued up to (or been reinstated in) the present. For example, one might view the annual Festival Interceltique (“Inter-Celtic Festival”) held in Lorient (Brittany) — which draws hundreds of thousands of Celtic music fans during the first weeks of August — as a contemporary survival of traditional Lughnasa celebrations. Feast-day
59
bonfires remain common throughout France, as well, or did so until fairly recently. Until just a few years ago, “St. John’s Fires” or “Celtic Fires” were lit on many of southern Burgundy’s hilltops (Marquardt and Crumley 1987a). In non-drought years, the echo of earlier pagan “Midsummer Fires” on the summit of Mont Dardon remains an important part of social and political life. Given this apparent continuity of practice22, it is unclear whether the Christian calendar was amended to ease the conversion of pagan populations in northern Europe or because pagan practices simply continued (despite conversion) and early Church leaders felt the need to defuse such heresy. Whatever the explanation, it Figure 2.2. Syncretism in the “sacred wheel” of the northern European pagan and Roman Catholic years. Green lines indicate pagan feast days, labeled on the interior of the wheel. Red lines indicate Roman Catholic Holy Days of Obligation, labeled outside the wheel. (The Feasts of the Ascension and of the Body and Blood of Christ are calculated from the date of Easter, which is a “moveable feast”: the first Sunday after the first full moon following the Vernal Equinox. The observances of the Ascension and of the Body and Blood of Christ are, therefore, also moveable. A range of possible dates exists for each, the beginnings and endings of which are noted here.)
60
should be noted that — aside from anthropological and/or historical treatments (see, for example, Kent 2011; Rey and Richman 2010; Stewart and Shaw 1994) — religious uses of the term syncretism have often been derogatory (or patronizing at best). This is
especially true of those uses offered by representatives of “orthodox” faiths to decry what they see as “heterodoxy” (following Bourdieu 1977).
The use of the term syncretism by developmental psychologists in the 20th century, while not quite as pejorative as that of religious authorities, nonetheless suggested a similar condescension. Early developmental psychology relied heavily on the equation of children with the members of non-industrial — generally cast as “pre-industrial” — societies. The minds of each group were thought to exist in a similarly “primitive” state23
. Discussions of syncretism stemmed directly from this equation and were used to describe hybridities and/or mixed understandings about subjectivity and the nature of the world that were not assumed to characterize the fully mature or modern mind (see, for example, Piaget 1926; Werner 1948, 1957). Syncretism was assumed to be natural to children and the members of primitive society, but pathological if observed in a “modern” Western adult.
In marked contrast to these other uses, sociolinguists have given a great deal of positive analytical attention to phenomena identified as syncretic, particularly since the mid- to late-1980s. Largely building on the observations of Mikhail Bakhtin (e.g., 1981, 1984), the post-structuralist sociolinguistics of the last 30 years has moved away from earlier “either/or” understandings of language use in bi- or multilingual situations. Instead, discussions of such varied phenomena as code-switching, borrowing, and purity (both linguistic and ideological) have come to focus on the hybridity characteristic of
61
these situations, presenting a “‘both/and’ [understanding] that is ‘not a mere wavering between two mutually exclusive possibilities’ but a real simultaneity of contrasting elements in tension” (Woolard 1998:4, quoting from Bakhtin 1981:281, my emphasis). The deployment of syncretism as a concept in sociolinguistics has grown directly out of the focus on this simultaneity; on the co-occurrence of elements traditionally kept separate, including word choices, grammatical constructs, and forms of address (just to name a few) in speech acts. For example, in a study of simultaneities in communication on Rapa Nui (Easter Island), Miki Makihara (2004) demonstrates that linguistic
syncretism can be a powerful communicative and political tool. Similarly, in a study of language use among Hasidic Jews in Brooklyn’s Boro Park neighborhood, Ayala Fader (2007) shows how different “syncretic registers” (following Makihara 2004) are used to mark gender difference within the Hasidic community, as well as to set Hasidim apart from outsiders (i.e., other Jews and Gentiles).
The discourse on syncretism in (recent) sociolinguistic studies differs from other uses of the term in that it has come to view syncretism without inherent value judgment and, in fact, with curiosity. Further, and of equal importance, the syncretism described by sociolinguists differs substantially from that discussed by developmental psychologists in the degree to which it is a conscious phenomenon. While the linguistic hybridity /
simultaneity observed on Rapa Nui or in Boro Park, for example, is no doubt driven in part by historical factors and speakers’ unconscious habitus, the studies offered by Makihara and Fader (among others) suggest that the nature of this syncretism is also shaped, at any given time, by a speaker’s conscious decisions. This is an awareness, an active negotiation, that we should keep in mind24.
62
Landscape Syncretism
The question remains of how to take these disparate uses of the term “syncretism” and merge them into a concept useful to the study of landscape. In fact, much of the work of merging has already been done. The discourse on syncretism in religion and
developmental psychology approached the hotly debated distinction between the “worldviews” / “cosmologies” of particular groups and the “universal” — read: pure, scientific, Western, Cartesian, etc. — reason underlying particular phenomena in our “lifeworld.” Tim Ingold is among the many anthropologists who have questioned such distinctions. In the essay “Culture, nature, environment” (2000), Ingold draws heavily upon Gregory Bateson’s “ecology of mind” (Bateson 1973, 1980) to demonstrate that the perceived difference between cosmologies and lifeworlds is contrived: for the Cree hunter, for example, what outsiders (i.e., anthropologists) see as a cosmology really is a lifeworld. Further, the lifeworld we modern Westerners take for granted is really our own cosmology. Ingold’s upstart ontological politics puts these two cosmologies-lifeworlds on equal footing in terms of their truth value. Ingold goes on to suggest the divide between “nature”/ “the environment” and “culture” / “society” / “the individual” is similarly contrived. He demonstrates that if nature and culture are distinct, the elements that make up these two domains are nonetheless engaged in dynamic, iterative, co-constituitive, and historical relationships with one another25. It is, therefore, not possible to discuss the individual person per se, but only the individual human organism-in-its-environment26. Ironically, with this move, Ingold returns us to a vision of the world, and specifically of ecology, similar to that decried by early developmental psychologists as syncretic. If the complex dialectic negotiation that produces this organism-in-its-environment is at the heart of Ingold’s dwelling perspective, so too is syncretism.
63
In a similar vein, the syncretism of 20th-century developmental psychology seems to have prefigured the entangled perspectives of ANT and similar theoretical approaches introduced above. What the psychologist Werner refers to as a “thing of action” and describes as confusing a primitive sense of subjectivity looks very like what philosopher Michel Serres (1982) calls a “quasi-object”: a thing that operates and/or circulates within a collective of humans and non-humans, establishing relationships and generating
meaning as it does so. Serres’ notion of the quasi-object (and, less frequently, of the “quasi-subject”) can be found throughout ANT and similarly entangled perspectives. For example, it is fundamental to the distinction that Latour makes between “mediators” and “intermediaries” (see Latour 1999), and, from there, to his argument about the false dichotomy between nature and culture, which looks very like Ingold’s (see, for example, Latour 1993, 2004). Latour’s title observation that “we have never been modern” (1993) seems an affirmation that syncretism, as constructed by the developmental psychologists, is not at all immature, primitive, or pathological. Rather, for Latour and his fellow
travelers (as for Ingold) this kind of syncretism is a quintessential part of normal, everyday social existence.
Both of these translations of syncretism from its use in developmental psychology fit relatively well with the definition of landscape that I proposed earlier. This is not,
however, what I had in mind when I first proposed syncretism as a landscape concept. Rather, I wanted to draw attention to more than the conscious and unconscious
negotiations inherent in syncretism (and captured in these translations); I also wanted to highlight the simultaneity implied by syncretism, as discussed by sociolinguists and (some) scholars of religion.
64
Simultaneity in language refers to the presence of elements from different languages within the same utterance and/or linguistic system. Simultaneity in religion suggests a similar hybridity. Implicit in both cases is not only the place — be it physical or
performative — in which these elements come together, but also the time when they do so. Put simply, to be simultaneous means to occur in the same place at the same time. Thus, in thinking about landscapes, we might view a burial mound from 900 BCE as simultaneous with the 20th century house built next to it, even though the two did not originate in the same era. As we observe the two in 2011, they are in the same place at the same time, even if the histories of their arrival and subsequent interactions in that place are markedly different.
Landscape syncretism is the process through which people make sense of
simultaneities: we negotiate new relationships with landscape elements and non-material structures inherited from past generations, as well as with those left behind by “natural” (i.e., biophysical) forces, while — at the same time — we create new elements and structures. In contrast to the palimpsest concept, syncretism implies something more anthropologically meaningful than a cycle of inscription, erasure, and re-inscription in which elements of the past are only preserved by accident, as the result of inertia. While this cycle might be subsumed within landscape syncretism, so too are activities like narration / storytelling, reinterpretation, rehabilitation, preservation, restoration, commemoration, forgetting, isolation, abandonment, and “reinvention” (Hingley 1996). Through such negotiations, humans establish a rich series of dynamic socio-ecological relationships. These include relationships with the inherited elements of their landscape; relations among their own creations and those of past inhabitants; and, by extension, ties
65
of intimacy both with earlier human builders and with the non-human actors that operated within the landscape. In examining landscapes through the lens of anthropology, we should focus on relationships such as these.
Related Perspectives
The “syncretic perspective” I have outlined here is not entirely novel. In fact, a number of related approaches — both at the “edge” of and within archaeology — offer a focus on dynamic human-land interactions over the longue durée. Among these are historical ecology and archaeological studies of memory.
Historical Ecology: The “Domesticated Landscape”
In the seminal volume Historical Ecology (Crumley 1994b), Carole Crumley
describes historical ecology as “a multiscalar temporal and spatial frame, with an explicit focus on the role of human cognition in the human-environment dialectic” (1994a:4). More recently, in (re)introducing historical ecology to a European archaeological audience, Crumley and I have elaborated upon her description. We discuss historical ecology as
a cluster of concepts that offers a holistic, practical perspective to the study of environmental change. It may be applied to spatial and temporal frames at any resolution, but finds particularly rich data sources at what is loosely termed the ‘landscape’ scale—where human activity and biophysical systems interact and archaeological, historical, and ethnographic records are plentiful. The term assumes a definition of ecology that includes humans as a component of all ecosystems, and a definition of history that encompasses both the history of the Earth system as well as the social and physical past of our species (Balée 2006; Crumley 2007). Historical ecology is predicated upon the assumption that it is possible to construct an evidence-validated narrative of landscape transformation resulting from the continual interaction between (spatially and temporally) diverse human activities and changing environmental conditions…. [I]ts salient characteristics will be recognized as those which undergird most archaeological
66
practice. Chief among these are emphases on transdisciplinarity and on collaborative research. Historical ecology perforce draws on a broad spectrum of concepts, methods, theories, and evidence, taken from the biological and physical sciences, ecology, the social sciences, and the humanities. (Meyer and Crumley 2011:109-110)
As should be clear from these definitions, historical ecology offers a holistic orientation to the investigation of landscape changes that result as humans interact with the elements of their environment over time. As such, it is ideally situated to the study of landscape reuse.
Given my long-term participation in the French Project, which has provided a “laboratory” for the development of historical ecology over the past 30 years, it is perhaps not surprising that my syncretic perspective should so closely resemble the “conceptual toolbox” (Meyer and Crumley 2011) that is historical ecology. Indeed, many historical ecologists may see landscape syncretism as another way of describing
“domesticated landscapes,” a concept that has become increasingly common in the historical ecological literature over the past 15 years. While several similarities exist between the two perspectives, the domesticated landscape concept entails certain assumptions and commitments that I do not wish to fold into the concept of landscape syncretism. For the sake of clarity, these assumptions and commitments merit a bit of discussion.
The idea of domesticating landscapes was originally posited by D.E. Yen in his contribution to the 1989 volume Foraging and Farming (Harris and Hillman 1989). In a study comparing the human-environment relations characteristic of Australian hunter- gatherer groups with those of New Guinea agriculturalists, Yen attempted to demonstrate that early experiments in domestication likely did not modify single species. Rather, he
67
posits, early domestication involved the manipulation of whole biotic suites — effectively, of whole landscapes or “environments”:
Thus, in many respects, the effect of hunter-gatherer domestication of environment may be likened to a form of group selection, in which the plant targets are aggregated as interbreeding units compared with the individual selection practised by the agriculturalist, which establishes closer control over the plants’ breeding systems and can result in the varietal differentiation of species into physiological types… (Yen 1989:66)
Yen saw his “domestication of environment” as a necessary (and logical) first step in the process of domesticating single species. Among the important contributions of this chapter, Yen suggested that environments were originally domesticated by hunter- gatherers rather than by horticulturalists, a view that flew in the face of dominant ethnoarchaeological models and assumptions that, in the 1980s, still viewed foragers as somehow at the mercy of the environments in which they lived.
In the years following the publication of Foraging and Farming, references to Yen’s “domestication of environment” proliferated. Relatively early on, historical ecological authors reshaped Yen’s idea slightly, generating the concept of domesticated landscapes. For example, in a 1994 study of Mediterranean vegetation in the Sahara during the Holocene, Erhard Schulz tells the following story:
The combination of hunting and herding of small livestock, as well as metal production, resulted in a definite change in the soil and plant cover. It caused a clearing of the vegetation and the evolution of an anthropogenic or “domesticated” landscape in the sense of Yen (1989)… [O]ne could imagine that the present savanna system of the Sahel evolved from the contact of the Sudanian and Saharan plant formations under the steadily increasing influence of man. It is to be regarded as a continent-wide anthropogenous or cultural landscape system from the beginning of the middle Holocene on. (Schulz 1994:149)
68
Not long thereafter, in her contribution to Ashmore and Knapp’s Archaeologies of Landscape (1999), Lisa Kealhofer discusses the changes in the perception of and
interaction with the environment that characterized the European colonization of Virginia from 1600 to 1750. She recounts how the Virginian landscape was gradually
domesticated “through warfare, trade, pastoralism, agriculture, industry, and settlement,” increasingly blurring distinctions between the “conceived” and the “constructed”
landscape (Kealhofer 1999:60). Still more recently, Clark Erickson — now among the principal engineers of historical ecology — opens his chapter in Time and Complexity in Historical Ecology (Balée and Erickson 2006) with the following:
In this chapter, I explore a simple hypothesis: that Amazonian peoples of the past invested more energy in domesticating entire landscapes than in domesticating individual plant and animal species. Through landscape engineering and the use of simple technology such as fire, the past inhabitants domesticated the forest, savanna, soil, and water of the Bolivian Amazon, which had profound implications for availability of game animals, economically useful plants, overall biomass, and regional biodiversity. (Erickson 2006:235)
Though they change the wording slightly and elaborate further upon the mechanics, each of these examples (and many others in historical ecology) remain close to Yen’s original concept of environmental domestication. While many of the concerns and motivations included in the concept of domesticated landscapes are valid, I submit that it is precisely this fidelity to Yen’s original formulation that leaves the concept inadequate as a structuring principle, both to the discussion of landscape reuse that I hope to provide here and to broader historical ecological analyses. This inadequacy stems from two pieces of “intellectual baggage” that I suspect were unintentionally co-opted along with the concept. The first of these is a problem of agency. Yen’s political move in
69
remains laudable for the time and academic context. In the 20 years that have passed since the publication of Foraging and Farming, however, anthropology’s mainstream discourse has tended to move beyond questions of whether or not hunter-gatherers exist