References:

Alizadeh, K., & Ur, J. A. (2007). Formation and destruction of pastoral and irrigation landscapes on the mughan steppe, north-western iran. Antiquity, 81(311), 148-160. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003598X00094904​
Chase, A. F., Chase, D. Z., & Loch Haven Art Center. (1987). Glimmers of a forgotten realm: Maya Archaeology at Caracol, Belize. University of Central Florida.

Chase, D. Z., & Chase, A. F. (2017). Caracol, belize, and changing perceptions of ancient maya society. Journal of Archaeological Research, 25(3), 185-249. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10814-016-9101-z
​
Chase, A. S. Z., & Cesaretti, R. (2019). Diversity in ancient maya water management strategies and landscapes at caracol, belize, and tikal, guatemala. Wiley Interdisciplinary Reviews. Water, 6(2), e1332-n/a. https://doi.org/10.1002/wat2.1332

Chase, A. S. Z., Chase, D., & Chase, A. (2020). Ethics, new colonialism, and lidar data: A decade of lidar in maya archaeology. Journal of Computer Applications in Archaeology, 3(1), 51-62. https://doi.org/10.5334/jcaa.43

Chase, A. S. Z. (2021). Urban Life at Caracol, Belize: Neighborhoods, Inequality, Infrastructure, and Governance

Chase, A. S. Z. (2023). Reconstructing and testing neighborhoods at the maya city of caracol, belize. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology, 70, 101514. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jaa.2023.101514

Graham, E. (2012). Collapse, conquest and maya survival at lamanai, belize. Archaeology International, 4, 52-56. https://doi.org/10.5334/ai.0416

Guderjan, T. H. (2006). e-groups, pseudo–e-groups, and the development of the classic maya identity in the eastern peten. Ancient Mesoamerica, 17(1), 97-104. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0956536106050140

Hightower, J. N., Butterfield, A. C., & Weishampel, J. F. (2014). Quantifying ancient maya land use legacy effects on contemporary rainforest canopy structure. Remote Sensing (Basel, Switzerland), 6(11), 10716-10732. https://doi.org/10.3390/rs61110716​
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​​Inomata, T., Triadan, D., Pinzón, F., Burham, M., Ranchos, J. L., Aoyama, K., & Haraguchi, T. (2018). Archaeological application of airborne LiDAR to examine social changes in the ceibal region of the maya lowlands. PloS One, 13(2), e0191619-e0191619. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0191619

Krause, S., Beach, T., Luzzadder-Beach, S., Guderjan, T. H., Valdez, F., Eshleman, S., Doyle, C., & Bozarth, S. R. (2019). Ancient maya wetland management in two watersheds in belize: Soils, water, and paleoenvironmental change. Quaternary International, 502, 280-295. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.quaint.2018.10.029

May, N. N., & Steinert, U. (2013). The fabric of cities: Aspects of urbanism, urban topography and society in mesopotamia, greece and rome. BRILL.

​Ostrom, E. (1990). Governing the commons: The evolution of institutions for collective action. Cambridge University Press.

Soares, M. D. R., de Souza, Z. M., Campos, M. C. C., da Silva, R. B., Esteban, D. A. A., Noronha, R. L., dos Santos Gomes, Mayara Germana, & da Cunha, J. M. (2021). Land-use change and its impact on physical and mechanical properties of archaeological black earth in the amazon rainforest. Catena (Giessen), 202, 105266. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.catena.2021.105266
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Thompson, A. E. (2020). Detecting classic maya settlements with lidar-derived relief visualizations. Remote Sensing (Basel, Switzerland), 12(17), 2838. https://doi.org/10.3390/rs12172838

​Tsukamoto, K., & Inomata, T. (2014). In KENICHIRO TSUKAMOTO, TAKESHI INOMATA(Eds.), Mesoamerican plazas: Arenas of community and power. University of Arizona Press. https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctt183p8f3

    The Younger-Dryas period was an episode of extreme cooling right at the tail end of the last ice age. In 2007, a team of researchers published a shocking find. From around 50 archaeological sites across North America, all dating to the Clovis period (~13,000 BP), there seemed to be evidence for a massive, catastrophic event. They proposed that

    “one or more large, low-density ET objects exploded over northern North America, partially destabilizing the Laurentide Ice Sheet and triggering YD cooling. The shock wave, thermal pulse, and event-related environmental effects (e.g., extensive biomass burning and food limitations) contributed to end-Pleistocene megafaunal extinctions and adaptive shifts among PaleoAmericans in North America.” (Firestone et al. 2007:16016)

    Just like that, the Younger Dryas Impact Hypothesis was born. This sent shockwaves through the archaeological community. If true, it would resolve several open questions all at once. The Younger-Dryas itself would be explained, but so would the extinction of many genera of ice age megafauna. It would also explain the disappearance of the Clovis culture. It’s a great theory. A lot of people were really excited. But then scientists tried to take the next step, and test the hypothesis further. Many tried to replicate elements of Firestone et al.’s study. The original authors said that in the layers of sediment from the Younger Dryas period which they studied, they found

    “a thin, discrete layer with varying peak abundances of (i) magnetic grains with iridium, (ii) magnetic microspherules, (iii) charcoal, (iv) soot, (v) carbon spherules, (vi) glass-like carbon containing nanodiamonds, and (vii) fullerenes with ET helium”

    So that’s what others set out to replicate. Unfortunately, these attempts have been consistently unsuccessful. For example, one study focused on the elevated levels of iridium the original paper had reported, but they found “no evidence of an extraterrestrial (ET)-PGE enrichment anomaly” (Paquay et al. 2009:21505) in any of their samples. Another team, with the first author being my Master’s advisor Todd Surovell, looked for the magnetic particles reported in the original paper. They also came up short, finding “no distinct peak in magnetic grains or microspherules uniquely associated with the YD” and “no support for an extraterrestrial cause of the YD event and New World Pleistocene extinctions” (Surovell et al. 2009:18155).

    Firestone et al. described the ET impact layer from many of these sites as a distinctive “black mat.” Their results suggested a clean sequence: Clovis and megafauna are doing their thing, there’s an abrupt deposition of this anomalous layer at the same moment everywhere, and then no Clovis or megafauna on the other side. That sounds pretty convincing. A study several years later, in 2015, also supported this idea with a bayesian analysis of radiocarbon dates from Younger Dryas boundary layers at sites on four continents, showing that it really happened everywhere at the same time (Kennett et al. 2015). But… that wasn’t really an independent study. It includes many of the authors from the original paper. So another team looked into their radiocarbon dates more closely. Here’s what they did:

    “we first aggregate 14C measurements from Northern Hemisphere YDB sites. We also aggregate 14C measurements associated with a known synchronous event, the Laacher See volcanic eruption. We then use a Monte Carlo simulation to evaluate the magnitude of variability expected in a 14C dataset associated with a synchronous event. The simulation accounts for measurement error, calibration uncertainty, “old wood” effects, and laboratory measurement biases.” (Jorgeson et al. 2019:123)

    And… their results did not support the idea that these layers were deposited at the same time, suggesting that however they were deposited, it wasn’t from an ET impact. Conveniently, there are some other explanations for the “black mats” of the Younger Dryas. For example, one study found that soils in wetlands can accrue many of the same materials found by Firestone et al., so some of the layers at these Clovis sites might be showing us environmental changes, rather than an ET impact. (Pigati et al. 2012)

    Another article points out that while many of the materials Firestone et al. reported make sense individually, they shouldn’t be occurring together in a single ET object. “Any one of these might be a credible extraterrestrial source, but together they are a Frankenstein monster, incompatible with any single impactor or any know impact event.” (Pinter and Ishman 2008:37). Meanwhile, another team found no evidence for a population decline at the end of the Younger Dryas (Buchanan et al. 2008).

    For all of these reasons and more, researchers have been turning against the idea that such an impact ever took place. Despite what certain pseudo-archaeologists with recent hit shows on Netflix who appeared on the Joe Rogan Experience claim, the Younger-Dryas Impact Hypothesis has not delivered convincing evidence. Even though it would be pretty cool.

    Buchanan, B., Collard, M., & Edinborough, K. (2008). Paleoindian demography and the extraterrestrial impact hypothesis. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences - PNAS, 105(33), 11651-11654. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.0803762105

​    Firestone, R. B., West, A., Kennett, J. P., Becker, L., Bunch, T. E., Revay, Z. S., Schultz, P. H., Belgya, T., Kennett, D. J., Erlandson, J. M., Dickenson, O. J., Goodyear, A. C., Harris, R. S., Howard, G. A., Kloosterman, J. B., Lechler, P., Mayewski, P. A., Montgomery, J., Poreda, R., . . . Wolbach, W. S. (2007). Evidence for an extraterrestrial impact 12,900 years ago that contributed to the megafaunal extinctions and the younger dryas cooling. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences - PNAS, 104(41), 16016-16021. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.0706977104

    Jorgeson, I. A., Breslawski, R. P., & Fisher, A. E. (2020). Radiocarbon simulation fails to support the temporal synchroneity requirement of the younger dryas impact hypothesis. Quaternary Research, 96, 123-139. https://doi.org/10.1017/qua.2019.83

    Kennett, J. P., Kennett, D. J., Culleton, B. J., Tortosa, J. E. A., Bischoff, J. L., Bunch, T. E., Daniel, I. R., Erlandson, J. M., Ferraro, D., Firestone, R. B., Goodyear, A. C., Israde-Alcántara, I., Johnson, J. R., Pardo, J. F. J., Kimbel, D. R., LeCompte, M. A., Lopinot, N. H., Mahaney, W. C., Moore, A. M. T., . . . West, A. (2015). Bayesian chronological analyses consistent with synchronous age of 12,835–12,735 cal B.P. for younger dryas boundary on four continents. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences - PNAS, 112(32), E4344-E4353. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1507146112

    Paquay, F. S., Goderis, S., Ravizza, G., Vanhaeck, F., Boyd, M., Surovell, T. A., Holliday, V. T., Haynes, C. V. J., & Claeys, P. (2009). Absence of geochemical evidence for an impact event at the bølling-Allerød/Younger dryas transition. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences - PNAS, 106(51), 21505-21510. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.0908874106

    Pigati, J. S., Latorre, C., Rech, J. A., Betancourt, J. L., Martínez, K. E., & Budahn, J. R. (2012). Accumulation of impact markers in desert wetlands and implications for the younger dryas impact hypothesis. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences - PNAS, 109(19), 7208-7212. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1200296109

    Pinter, N., & Ishman, S. E. (2008). Impacts, mega-tsunami, and other extraordinary claims. GSA Today, 18(1), 37. https://doi.org/10.1130/GSAT01801GW.1

    Surovell, T. A., Holliday, V. T., Gingerich, J. A. M., Ketron, C., Haynes, C. V., Hilman, I., Wagner, D. P., Johnson, E., & Claeys, P. (2009). An independent evaluation of the younger dryas extraterrestrial impact hypothesis. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences - PNAS, 106(43), 18155-18158. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.0907857106

“War is hell, whether it is fought with wooden spears or with napalm”…”Our common humanity, viewed realistically, can be as much a source of despair, as hope.”
(Lawrence Keeley 1996: 174, 180)

    For centuries, two enlightenment philosophers have framed our thinking on the origin of warfare. Those influenced by Thomas Hobbes saw Stone Age hunter-gatherers as savage, violent, and primitive. The classic line from Hobbes which people always quote is that prehistory was “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short.” Hobbes held the cartoonish view that a constant state of war and violence- a war of all against all - represents the ‘natural’ state of humankind. At the other end of the spectrum, Jean-Jaques Rousseau was the champion of a prehistoric fall from Eden. Rousseau saw humans as naturally pure, good, and peaceful, until the ills of society and civilization corrupted them. References to our closest living relatives in the great apes just seem to reinforce this divide. If you believe Hobbes, you can reference Chimpanzees, who are patriarchal, violent, territorial, and conduct brutal raids against neighboring troops. If you side with Rousseau, you can look to Bonobos- who are equally closely related to us- to find apes that are characterized as quite peaceful, matriarchal, sexually open, and less hierarchical than chimpanzees.

    Today, we actually do have an idea how violent life in prehistoric hunter-gatherer societies was, at least in general, and the debate has - largely - been put to bed. So let’s examine the evidence -  archaeological, ethnographic, and beyond - to find out what war and violence among Stone Age hunter-gatherers might have looked like.

    Archaeological evidence shows interpersonal violence may have taken place deep in our prehistory. At the Middle Paleolithic Sima de los Huesos site, cranium 17 has two perimortem depression fractures on the frontal bone. This individual was a neanderthal, living around 430k years ago (Arsuaga et al. 2014). “The type of injuries, their location, the strong similarity of the fractures in shape and size, and the different orientations and implied trajectories of the two fractures suggest they were produced with the same object in face-to-face interpersonal conflict” (Sala et al. 2015: 1).

    In Upper Paleolithic Europe, a variety of sites contain skeletons exhibiting trauma that hint at violence. For example, at Grimaldi in Italy, at the Grottes des Enfants, a projectile point was found embedded in the spinal column of a child (Dustugue and de Lumley 1976). On Sicily, San Teodoro cave contained an adult woman who was found with a flint point embedded in her pelvis (Bachechi et al. 1997).  But in a lot of cases distinguishing between violence and things like hunting injuries or other accidents is difficult. One Mesolithic example where the evidence is very clear is Ofnet Cave, in Bavaria. At Ofnet cave two pits contained the skulls and vertebrae of thirty-eight individuals, all stained with red ochre, dating to around 6500 BC. One archaeologist states that “The scale of the massacre suggests an attempt to wipe out a whole community, followed by the ceremonial burial of ‘trophy skulls’” (Thorpe 2003: 157).

    Some of the oldest human remains found in late Pleistocene North America also bear evidence of violence. This is the case with burials such as at Grimes Point Cave, Ashworth Shelter, San Miguel Island, and many others. One study observes that skeletal trauma consistent with interpersonal conflict is present in 38 percent of the Paleoamerican skeletons complete enough to exhibit it. (Chatters 2014:79)

    In Egypt, we have clear evidence for frequent, recurring violence from the site of Jebel Sahaba. Dating from ~13-18 thousand years old, this late Pleistocene burial ground contains dozens of individuals whose remains tell the tale. Blunt force trauma, lesions, projectile points embedded in bone, “supporting sporadic and recurrent episodes of inter-personal violence” (Crevecouer et al 2021).

    Do sites like Jebel Sahaba contain evidence for ‘warfare,” or just homicide? That’s a tricky question. First of all it’s hard to find the boundary between war and feuding. If a group kills one or two people from the village in the next valley, is that warfare? Keeley points out that we can often overlook hunter-gatherer warfare for this very reason. He observes that in some studies, “When such a small group of men commits violence against another band or family, even if faced in open combat by all the men of the other group, this activity is not called war but is usually referred to as feuding, vendetta, or just murder. Thus many small-band societies that are regarded by ethnologists as not engaging in warfare instead evidence very high homicide rates.” (Keely 1996: 29)

    Walking that blurry line is already hard, but in archaeology it’s even worse. Barring the discovery of a mass grave or a massacre like Ofnet Cave, it’s difficult to know if people died at the same time, or years apart. Given the struggle of distinguishing between individual and group violence using archaeological data, we are forced to turn to other lines of evidence. One of these comes from ethnographic accounts of hunter-gatherer societies around the world.

    Lawrence Keeley describes hunter-gatherer warfare “a skulking way of war”, and that’s generally fitting. Stealth, ambush, raids at the crack of dawn, followed by quick retreats characterize the ethnographic record. Steven Leblanc ( LeBlanc 2014) lists some of the most general patterns seen when hunter-gatherers waged war. Strangers were often killed on site. They maintained special weapons and tools used only for conflict. Cycles of revenge and feuding were almost ubiquitous. Villages were often sited on hilltops, coastal spits of land, or other defensible locations. Fighting could begin with ranged weapons, but generally ended in close quarters with clubs, knives, axes and spears. And it was just as vicious as modern warfare.

    For example, many aboriginal Australian hunter-gatherers were inveterate raiders. While pitched, rather ceremonial battles took place and rarely caused deaths, ambush tactics were also practiced. One account from Victoria during the late 19th century attests that “revenge attacks and night raids by stealth were a major cause of death, both of individuals and groups” (Pardoe 2014:120). In one such account, they give a detailed description of the murder of a whole band, as revenge for the death of an important young warrior.

    In Papua New Guinea, hunter-gatherer ethnographies also recount bloody inter-group conflicts. The forager societies known from Papua New Guinea were more sedentary than most, with high population densities. For these reasons they seem to have had particularly high rates of lethal violence. For example, consider a large raid that the community of Bitara launched against the Palu sometime during the 1950s. The raid was a punitive expedition for the killing of a Bitara woman, and the Bitara gathered a force of as many as a hundred men to get their revenge. They checked several known Palu camps with no luck, before finding a small group chopping sago logs. They rushed in, and managed to kill three men and two women before the rest of the Palu fled. In another case, a large group from the community of Yigei raided the neighboring Kamasuit, attacking their village in the early morning hours. They killed 11 people and abducted a child as well (Roscoe 2014).

    In Northwestern Alaska Inupiat bands launched frequent, vicious raids against one another. For them, “armed conflict and the threat of armed conflict were basic facts of life” (Burch 2005:57). On the other hand, in the eastern Arctic of Canada and Greenland, larger-scale conflicts between groups was quite rare. When traveling east to west through Arctic Canada, the early 20th century explorer Knud Rassmusen noted a decreasing trust and openness of the peoples he encountered (Darwent & Darwent 2014). While in the western Arctic, men were lionized for their skills as warriors, in the eastern Arctic warfare was discouraged, violence was more harshly curtailed by social norms, and factors like low population densities made committing acts of violence more costly. Two regions with a common heritage - culturally, linguistically, and genetically - with very different rates of violence. So endemic warfare isn’t inevitable. Cultural institutions can help mitigate our worst tendencies, and different factors like population density and resource scarcity can effect things too.

    Steven Pinker’s popular book The Better Angels of Our Nature makes the case that we actually live in far more peaceful times, when compared to much of human prehistory. He has accused anthropologists of generally being too much like Rousseau, naively seeing hunter-gatherer groups as benign pacifists. But criticisms of Pinker’s book make the point that he ignores secondary deaths caused by war, like famine and disease, so he underestimates the number of violent deaths in more recent times. Critics also accuse him of cherry-picking data, being too reliant on very unreliable estimates for historical military deaths, and more (Torpey 2018). Personally, I agree with a lot of these criticisms, and I wouldn’t rule out sociologist Michael Mann’s view that “the world has seen neither a long-term decline in war nor an overall increase” (Mann 2018:57).

    Scholars have tried some ways of predicting average cross-cultural levels of human violence. In one interesting approach, researchers looked at levels of violence among great apes and our other closest relatives (Gómez et al. 2016). Then they tried to predict, phylogenetically, how violent we might expect humans to be. They determined that based on our position in our broader family tree, something like 2% of deaths, on average, ought to come from interpersonal violence. That’s high compared with most mammals, but about what one would expect for great apes. Inter-group violence would have also been a major selective pressure in recent human evolution, driving the emergence of pro-social behaviors (Bowles 2009).

    Here’s another interesting approach to this topic: One group of researchers examined the ethnographic record for societies in which children engage in coalitional play fighting, meaning games where children fight mock battles in teams. They found that such play occurs across a wide variety of hunter-gatherer cultures, and is unlikely to have been introduced to these hunter-gatherers by agricultural or industrial societies. So it doesn’t look like inter-group violence is just a meme that emerged alongside the development of social complexity. They argue that this is evidence humans have an inbuilt motivation to engage in play ”involving key motor patterns used in lethal raiding” (Sugiyama et al. 2018).

    The evidence definitely does not support Rousseau. There was no fall from a peaceful Eden. But of course, it doesn’t really support Hobbes either. We know that our Stone Age ancestors have been fighting each-other since deep in our prehistory, but we also know that not all foraging societies were equally violent. And they certainly weren’t engaged in a perpetual war of all against all. Ancient hunter-gatherers were just people. Sometimes violent, sometimes not. The more we look at ancient hunter-gatherers, the more we find ourselves looking back. “After exploring war before civilization in search of something less terrible than the wars we know, we merely arrive where we started” (Keeley 1996:174).

References:

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Bachechi, L., Fabbri, P-F., Mallegni, F. (1997). An arrow-caused lesion in a late Upper Palaeolithic human pelvis. Current Anthropology, 38(1), 135–140. https://doi.org/10.1086/204594

Bowles, S. (2009). Did warfare among ancestral hunter-gatherers affect the evolution of human social behaviors? Science (American Association for the Advancement of Science), 324(5932), 1293-1298. https://doi.org/10.1126/science.1168112

Burch, E. S. (2005). Alliance and Conflict: The World System of the Iñupiaq Eskimos. University of Nebraska Press.

Chatter, J. (2014). Wild-Type Colonizers and High Levels of Violence Among Paleoamericans. In M. Allen & T. Jones (Eds.), Violence and Warfare Among Hunter-Gatherers (pp. 70–98). essay, Routledge.

Crevecoeur, I., Dias-Meirinho, M., Zazzo, A., Antoine, D., & Bon, F. (2021). New insights on interpersonal violence in the late pleistocene based on the nile valley cemetery of jebel sahaba. Scientific Reports, 11(1), 9991-9991. https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-021-89386-y

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