2011 Hybrid Objects, Hybrid Social Identities: Style and Social Structure in the Late Horizon Andes

Identity Crisis: Archaeological Perspectives on Social Identity Proceedings of the 42nd (2010) Annual Chacmool Archaeology Conference, University of Calgary, Calgary, Alberta

Edited by Lindsay Amundsen-Meyer, Nicole Engel and Sean Pickering

Published by: Chacmool Archaeological Association University of Calgary 2011

Identiy Crisis: Archaeological Perspectives on Social Identity

Hybrid Objects, Hybrid Social Identities: Style and Social Structure in the Late Horizon Andes Cathy Lynne Costin California State University, Northridge

ABSTRACT. By combining Imperial Inka vessel forms and design elements associated with local, conquered populations, artisans communicated essential information about identity in the Inka Empire. Using Peircean concepts of iconic, indexical, and symbolic modes of signification, I demonstrate how the Inka communicated effectively with their diverse subjects about the structure of the state generally and how social identity and social relations were conceptualized in the increasingly heterogeneous world the Inka created.

The vessel illustrated in Figure 1 was among many recovered during the first excavation I took part in in Peru, at Huaca Chotuna on the North Coast in the early 1980s (Donnan, in press). It was — to an inexperienced first year graduate student working on Moche — odd; an Inka form with a Chimú design. At the time — nearly three decades ago — I didn’t pay much attention to what I thought to be an anomalous Late Horizon vessel in an intrusive burial. I didn’t think about that pot for many years, until I began working with museum collections, recording information symmetry patterns in Inka designs, hoping that the design structure of Inka style pots made in the provinces might tell me something about labor mobilization in the Inka empire.

Figure 1. Chimú-Inka hybrid aríbalo from Huaca Chotuna. Photo courtesy Christopher Donnan.

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Although relatively short lived, at its height (c. 1460– 1533 C.E.) the Inka empire was the largest of the preColumbian polities, covering about 775,000km2 of Andean South America and incorporating an estimated 10–12 million culturally and linguistically diverse people (Figure 2). Because the Inka lacked a writing system, material culture played a key role in communicating socio-politically important information. The Imperial Inka style was viewed by archaeologists as highly standardized and the received wisdom was that the state carefully controlled the production of most forms of material culture to control communication about state hegemony and access to power, wealth, and prestige. I was curious as to how


the state recruited and trained large numbers of artisans to produce the items — pottery and textiles — that carried potent messages about identity and associated privileges and prerogatives. Based on the premise that underlying symmetry is at least partially independent from motif, I hypothesized that the symmetry patterns that underlay standardized Inka designs in different parts of the empire might reflect the degree of diversity in the imperial workforce. But that is another story (and another paper). For a long time, Inka scholars held the somewhat contradictory notions that the Inka style was monolithic, but that material culture associated with the empire could be categorized as Imperial Inka, Provincial Inka, and “Mixed-Inka.” The Imperial (or Cuzco) Inka style was represented by objects that scholars believed conformed most closely to formal and stylistic canons characteristic of the imperial heartland. While not necessarily all made in Cuzco, these objects were likely produced by artisans closely trained and supervised by state personnel. The Provincial Inka style was more heterogeneous, exemplified by objects generally conforming to imperial formal and stylistic canons, but exhibiting a greater range of morphological, design, raw material, and/or color variation than Cuzco-Inka. It is generally accepted that Figure 2. Map of the Inka Empire c. 1533 C.E., these vessels were manufactured throughout with locations discussed in text indicated. the empire by artisans recruited, trained, and supervised by imperial personnel or their deputies. “Mixed-Inka” styles are the most heterogeneous of the styles, as they combined Inka In the process of recording “standard” Inka vessels in museum collections, I came upon drawers full of pots that looked remarkably like that “mutant” pot from my early graduate days. These were Inka forms, but they had been manufactured with Chimú technology and they bore unmistakably Chimú designs. At that point, I was definitely interested in ceramic variability in the Inka empire, and I was intrigued. If state production was so carefully controlled, where did these well-made, but seemingly aberrant vessels fit in in terms of messages and state strategies for controlling social status and identity in the empire?

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Table 1. Comparison of the attributes of Inka and Chimú pottery. Chimu Inka Formation technique(s) Mold made; paddle and Handmade - coiled anvil Firing treatment/color Smoked and/or reduced Oxidized bi-chrome or blackware polychrome Type of decoration Generally figurative Generally geometric Decorative technique(s) Press-molded; modeled; Painted paddle-stamped Design Structure Scattered Ordered Common Vessel Forms Stirrup spout bottle; roundAríbalo; small plates bottomed jar Chimú-Inka hybrids are among the easiest to spot, because the Chimú and Inka styles are so different from one another — technologically, formally, and stylistically (Table 1). But further investigation made it clear that Inka and local styles were being combined — hybridized — in many other parts of the empire as well (see, for example, Acuto A. 2010:Figure 5.8; Hyslop 1993:Figure 3; Menzel 1976:Plate 51.38).

Figure 3. Typical Cuzco-Inka aríbalo.

What is more, the hybridization seemed to happen in a fairly systematic way. The hybrid pots were not hodge-podge vessels made by potters — even highly skilled Wones — “playing around” with shapes and motifs. Moreover, local forms almost never bore Inka designs. Rather, with just rare exception, when local and Inka elements were combined, the product was an Inka form bearing local designs. And, equally intriguing, the hybrid vessels were almost all one vessel form: the Inka aríbalo.

The aríbalo was a particularly potent object with which to convey ideas about social organization and social identity across the vast expanse of the Inka empire because it employed different modes of signification to communicate ideas about the imperial social and political order. Using the Peircean concepts of iconic, indexical, and symbolic modes of signification (Preucel 2006:56–66), it is possible to consider both how the Inka communicated effectively with their diverse subjects and make a plausible reading of the content of those messages. In understanding how the aríbalo served as icon, index, and symbol of the state, we see first how these vessels functioned generally to convey information about the structure of the state. Turning specifically to stylistically hybrid aríbalos, we see additionally how social identity and social relations were conceptualized in the increasingly heterogeneous world the Inka created. The aríbalo clearly had an indexical relation to the Inka state: the Inka state had a clear, real connection to this object. The indexicality of the aríbalo derives from the state’s direct association with the presence, manufacture, and distribution of these vessels. The aríbalo is a 213 | P a g e


distinctive form, with its tall neck, flaring rim, and conical base (Figure 3). It is associated only with the Late Horizon Inka; no other Andean group made aríbalos. Find that particular flaring rim, gracefully curving neck, or conical base and you know — even if the surface is so highly eroded that you can’t recognize the surface treatment or designs — you’re dealing with an “Inka” vessel. Thus, the aríbalo form is indexical of the Inka state, not only to archaeologists, but, I would suggest, to Late Horizon Andean people as well. Although there are more than a dozen vessel shapes characteristic of the imperial Inka style, only four are found outside of the imperial heartland, in the provinces, in anything beyond miniscule numbers (Bray 2004). In addition to the aríbalo, these forms are a short-necked bottle, a one-footed olla, and a small, shallow plate (Bray 2003). All are forms associated with state ritual and feasting. The aríbalo is by far and away the most common of these four forms, comprising more than 50 percent of diagnostic Inka sherds in the provinces1. The total amount of Inka-style pottery varies quite widely throughout the empire, but regardless of overall quantities, aríbalos are always the most plentiful form. The aríbalo was connected to the Inka state not only because its occurrence was co-terminus with the physical limits of the state, but also because these vessels were manufactured and distributed under the direct or indirect auspices of the state. State control (or at least patronage) of the production of Imperial and Provincial Inka ceramics — those that employ both Inka forms and Inka designs —– is well documented in the literature (see, for example, Costin 2001; D'Altroy and Bishop 1990; D'Altroy et al. 1998; Hayashida 1995, 1998, 1999). Aríbalos were manufactured in two sizes: large and small (Miller 2004). The large ones — which are relatively rrare — were likely used to store and serve a liquid, probably chicha (maize beer). The much more common small ones probably functioned as canteens, used to transport and consume liquids. It is often argued that the small aríbalos were distributed by the state during feasts at which they feted conquered rulers and local work parties completing their tribute labor obligations (e.g., Morris 1982, 1993; Morris and Thompson 1985). Thus, both manufacture and distribution took place under the auspices of the state. The aríbalo, then, served as an indexical sign of the presence of the Inka state, tied directly to imperial conquest, state hospitality and labor control. It held additional meaning as an iconic representation of the nature of the state. Figure 4. Inka aríbalo. American Museum of Natural History 41.1 8084.

Fundamentally, the aríbalo represented a body (cf. Bray 2000). These vessels often had faces modeled on their necks, and their designs reproduce textile designs in a way that suggests the aríbalo represents a dressed body (Figure 4). In the Andean world, the clothed body 214 | P a g e


“located the individual within the social order” (Classen 1993:145). Throughout the Andes, clothing was the primary marker of one’s social identity: style, cut, and design signaled ethnicity, class, gender, and other aspects of social identity. At the time of the Spanish conquest, the Inka state was highly stratified, with one’s place in the hierarchy defined by ethnicity, socioeconomic status, and one’s role in the complex system of occupational specialization. As a concomitant of this system — where social identity determined one’s social, political, and economic prerogatives — the state was apparently deeply concerned with expressing and reinforcing the social and physical place of subjugated populations in the empire. The ethnohistoric and archaeological records suggest that the state was actively involved in maintaining rigid distinctions of status and ethnicity through practices that regulated dress, residence, and the consumption of material goods. It is generally agreed that textiles designs conveyed information about social identity, although whether such information was genealogical, heraldic, ethnic, hierarchical, and/or occupational is open to debate (Bray 2000; Cummins 2007; Durland 1991; Rowe 1996; Stone 2007; Zuidema 1991)2. Among the Inka, using clothing to distinguish among ethnic groups was established in their foundation myths and codified in their legal system. To take a person’s clothing was to strip them of their identity altogether; 4000 plus years of Andean political art indicates that the most devastating way to humiliate someone was to parade them naked (e.g., Donnan and McClelland 1999:Figure 4.7; Lapiner 1976:Figures 627–646; Verano 1986:Figure 26). Political domination was demonstrated by confiscating and in some instances trampling over the clothing of defeated groups (Betanzos 1996[1557]:89). Thus, the aríbalo, as dressed body, had the potential to convey symbolic information about how social identity and social relations were constructed in the empire. Mary Douglas (1996) argues the body is a “natural symbol” for society, an idea echoed for the Inka by Cummins (2007), who further suggests that the emperor could stand metonymically for the empire. The Inka-style aríbalo doesn’t represent just any body. It is the embodiment of “Inka” — as ethnic group, as class, and as the state. In sum, the form and decoration of Cuzco and Provincial Inka aríbalos were highly significant, reflecting messages about the embodiment of identity and the state. What does this general understanding of how the Inka aríbalo conveyed meaning tell us about hybrid vessels and the way they conveyed information about social identity and social relations in the provinces? What does it mean when we find this vessel form decorated with locally meaningful designs? If Inka style aríbalos reflect bodies dressed as Inkas, what does it signify when the aríbalo bears local designs, that is, when you have the “Inka” body dressed — as I will argue below — in local garments? There are several possible interpretations. First, the ethnohistoric documents indicate that when the Inka emperor visited a conquered area, he dressed in local clothing. Perhaps these vessels commemorated such visits, with the hybrid aríbalo literally representing the Inka in local garb. Second, it is possible that these hybrid vessels reflected the state’s standpoint on the incorporation of conquered ethnic groups into the Inka social order, modeling how formerly autonomous groups were to be absorbed into the imperial structure. A third possibility is that the vessels communicated local elites’ claims that they, too, were legitimate members of the imperial “body,” warranting a secure place within the social and political hierarchy. Such assertions might have reflected their acceptance of a new social charter, or they might have represented resistance or protest on the part of former rulers at least partially disenfranchised by the imposition of provincial rule. In the first case, local elites 215 | P a g e


might well have sought to maintain or enhance their social standing in part by appropriating the symbolic language of their new overlords and thereby signaling their willingness to participate in the provincial bureaucracy. In the later, they might have co-opted the Inka’s own mode of signification to assert their views. Or the local colonized elites might have been simultaneously representing both their recognition of their subjugation and their resistance to the total authority of the Inka Empire. How are we to choose among these explanations? In this paper, I focus primarily on hybrid InkaChimú vessels from the North Coast, but also bring in available evidence from other parts of the empire. It is possible that hybrids had different significance in different parts of the empire, given the great cultural, social, economic, and political variability among the peoples conquered by the Inka. However, I suggest that the core signification was similar throughout the empire because the “message” conveyed was apt in a wide variety of contexts. As with Imperial and Provincial Inka aríbalos, I consider the indexical, iconic, and symbolic signification of the hybrid vessels. A key step in evaluating the various possible explications of these hybrid vessels is to determine whether they had an indexical relationship to the Inka state similar to that of the aríbalos that bore Inka decorative motifs. Although chronological control is somewhat tricky, it appears that hybrid aríbalos — like Imperial and Provincial Inka ceramics — are found only in areas under the direct control of the state. It is also necessary to consider under whose auspices the hybrids were produced and distributed. The production of hybrid vessels in particular is difficult to identify, given the nature of the data recovered at production facilities (mostly broken sherds and misfired vessels whose form and/or decoration are often difficult to identify in the first place). However, we do have some evidence for the context in which at least some hybrids were manufactured. Smoked blackware aríbalos were probably being manufactured at the two Late Horizon production locales that have been studied on the North Coast, as evidenced by the recovery of molds and wasters for both Chimú and Inka forms at the same sites (Donnan 1997; Hayashida 1999). There is also clear evidence that the state controlled the production and distribution of hybrids in the Calchaquí Valley of northwestern Argentina (Acuto A. 2010; see also Hyslop 1993). Because it is reasonable to conclude that the production of hybrids took place under the auspices of the state, it is also reasonable to conclude that they communicated messages of importance to the state, rather than messages originating among the local, conquered population. It also appears that the messages conveyed by the hybrid aríbalos were aimed at the local population, particularly along the coast. Unfortunately, most of the vessels with which I have worked have, shall we say, less than stellar provenience information. The few that come from scientifically excavated burials, however, do share one feature: the individuals with whom they were buried were locals, not “transplanted” Inka officials (Donnan in press; Menzel 1976). Although the handful of burials for which we have data might not be fully representative, it appears that none of the individuals buried with the hybrids also had Inka-style vessels with them. But they were elites, not commoners.

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I turn now to the iconic and symbolic signification of hybrid vessels. In deploying these stylistically hybrid vessels among the conquered populations, the Inka tapped into pan-Andean tropes, Inka concepts and locallysalient images. The particular way they combined — hybridized — these elements communicated politically and ideologically potent ideas about the relationships among the conquering Inka and various blocs within the provincial, subordinate population. The metaphor of pot as body is likely one the Chimú and other conquered groups would have understood; this appears to be a panAndean association. The Moche ancestors of the Chimú went so far as to intentionally break anthropomorphic ceramic vessels when they dismembered “real” human beings during their sacrifices (Bourget 2001). Many of the hybrid vessels’ designs are similar to those found on textiles. As with the Imperial and Provincial style Inka aríbalos, the hybrid aríbalos often specifically reference dressed bodies. Thus, I think the intent was to make reference to both Figure 5. Late Horizon Chimú vessel with man ethnic identity and social status in the in the form of an aríbalo. Photo courtesy decoration of the hybrid pots, just as with the Christopher Donnan. Cuzco Inka and Provincial Inka style aríbalos. Another vessel strongly illustrates this point. A Late Horizon Chimú vessel — found in burial near the one where the Chimú-Inka aríbalo illustrated in Figure 1 was found — depicts a human figure who has been “transformed” into a vessel by virtue of the placement of an aríbalo-like flaring rim on his head (Figure 5). The clothing of this figure is carefully rendered depicting a typical elite Chimú style tunic with zigzag design and lower hem fringe (see, for example, Rowe 1984:Plate 1, Figure 91). The association between clothing and identity was well understood on the North Coast; the Chimú also paraded their captives naked (Lapiner 1976:Figures 627–646), presumably to reflect the stripping of their personhood. In general, the motifs on the Chimú-Inka hybrids have deep antiquity on the North Coast and are distinctive of that place. Cummins (2007:292–293) suggests that Inka toqapu designs — found on textiles, ceramics, and other objects — were “signifying devices” that represented territorial units and the social groups that ruled them. Thus, the placement of North Coast symbols on imperial vessels further emphasized the incorporation of Chimú territory and royalty into the Inka social and political spheres. The nature of hybridization in ceramic art — placing Chimú symbols with deep, local antiquity on Inka “bodies” — suggests how the Inka might have coopted Chimú genealogies into their own system in order to justify and legitimize the role of

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Chimú leaders in the imperial structure. The Inka legitimized their authority over conquered populations by manipulating general Andean ideologies of kinship. As Moore (2004:84) points out, “the Inka conceptualized social order by extending a ramifying, lineage-based system that allowed for ranking and inclusion.” The Inka themselves recognized human “hybrids” in their social ranking, recognizing the offspring between ethnic Inka elites and their “secondary” provincial wives as occupying an intermediary “kin”/status group (Silverblatt 1987:68; Zuidema 1990). More broadly, after conquest, the Inka in essence rewrote local origin myths to unite them into a single ramifying genesis, drawing local mythohistories into large Inka imperial ideologies (Cummins 2007; Zuidema 1982). Hybridity can allow people to be part of two groups at the same time (Gilchrist 2005), yet show the interconnections among them. It is to this notion of distinct but conjoined identities that I suspect the hybrid vessels refer; all are part of the larger “body” of Inka empire, but each people, each ethnic group, maintains its separate identity. Although the nature of Inka rule varied widely throughout the Empire (cf. D'Altroy 1992; D'Altroy et al. 2000; Wernke 2006), there was a need to express this “distinct but conjoined” relationship between the state and conquered populations as a matter of governing principle in a variety of contexts. In the North Coast case, consider the power balance between the Chimú and the Inka at the time of the conquest and the Inka’s need to rely on local elites to govern the province. When discussing the Inka Empire, we usually think about it at its full extent. However, at the time the Inka conquered the Chimú, the two polities were roughly the same size in terms of territorial extent (Figure 6).

Figure 6. Map of probable extent of Chimú and Inka polities soon before the Inka conquest of the Chimú, c.1460 C.E.

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Given that the coastal areas were more heavily populated than the highlands, it is plausible that the Chimú Empire was more heavily populated at the time than the Inka Empire. Furthermore, the Chimú had hundreds of years of administrative experience and a sophisticated political economy. In contrast, the Inka were relatively young upstarts and there is little evidence for complex administrative or economic institutions prior to their conquest of the North Coast. Thus, rather than suggesting a situation where the Inka were immediately capable of dominating the Chimú economically and politically, it is probable that the Chimú were both technologically and politically more complex than the fledgling Inka empire, suggesting that the Chimú could have had a strong impact on Inka material and political culture. Indeed it is widely accepted that large numbers of highly skilled Chimú artisans were pressed into the state-sponsored production system and that the Chimú imperial system might have strongly influenced Inka statecraft (Conrad 1981; Rowe 1946; Shimada 2000; Topic 1990). The Chimú, then, presented the Inka with a tremendous administrative challenge. The Chimú were big, they were well-organized, and they had lots of stuff the Inka wanted: skilled artisans, metal, intensive agriculture. Unlike other parts of the empire where the Inka constructed provincial administrative centers in the imperial architectural style and imported quantities of state style material culture such as pottery, there is a relative paucity of imperial style material culture on the North Coast. This is usually interpreted as a sign of the Inka’s “respect” for the Chimú and/or a reflection of the Inka practice of indirect rule. I think the relationship was more subtle and more contentious, and I think the hybrids can help us understand how identity was constructed and manipulated in the empire. Although the relationship between the Inka and the Chimú was somewhat unique, the state needed to make clear a similar relationship between itself and those who served it in a variety of social and political contexts. Hybrids likely reflect a particular set of statuses/relationships within the empire. Particularly in the highly stratified coastal provinces, the hybrids likely reflected Inka strategies for co-opting elites as separate and not-quite-equal. In other areas, where conquered populations were less stratified prior to incorporation into the empire, they might have reflected other forms of service to the state. Hyslop (1993) notes that some hybrid ceramics are found far from the territory of the local component of the hybrid style. For example, Inka-Diaguita hybrids have been found on the eastern side of the Andes in present-day Argentina; the Diaguita are indigenous to the western side of the Andes in what is present-day Chile. Hyslop argues that this stylistically hybrid pottery pertains to mitmaqkuna, groups resettled by the state for a variety of economic, political, and defensive reasons (D'Altroy 2002; Rowe 1982). Mitmaqkuna were given land and other resource rights in the areas in which they were resettled, but were required to live in their own communities, retain their own ethnic material culture, and not assimilate with the local population. Early colonial court cases suggest they were viewed with suspicion — perhaps as Inka “collaborators” by the people among whom they were settled (Murra 1978). Like local elites co-opted into the state bureaucracy, mitmaqkuna occupied an interstitial position in the local sociopolitical territories where they resided. While the mitmaqkuna served a different function in the state than did local elites serving in provincial bureaucracies, the use of hybrid vessels in both suggests that they were integrated conceptually into the empire in similar ways. Alternatively, the “out-of-place” hybrids might represent non-ethnic Inka bureaucrats who served as low-level state administrators outside their traditional homelands.

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Because I suggest that these hybrids were manufactured in state facilities, I think that it was the state that was consciously acting to literally incorporate local claims to power and authority while at the same time providing state authorization for the work of local elites, what is sometimes called “authoritative hybridization” (Alonso 2004). We know that local leaders who were co-opted into the bureaucratic system did not become Inka; this would violate the Inka class system that based identity on ethnic origin as much as on sociopolitical status. What the Inka did was pull cooperative local leaders into the constellation of imperial consiglieres, much the same way the state co-opted the deities and huacas (sacred objects and places) of subject populations as subordinate, but respected components of the imperial pantheon and ritual structure. The nature of hybridization in ceramic art — placing Chimú and other ethnic symbols with deep, local antiquity on Inka “bodies” — suggests how the Inka co-opted the genealogies of other ethnic groups into their own system in order to justify and legitimize their role in the imperial structure. I hope that this paper has shown how analysis of how vessel shape and design schemes were systematically hybridized can yield insight into how identity was conceptualized, constructed and communicated in times of status and class redefinition during Inka imperial consolidation. By conveying information about these newly constructed identities in three ways — iconocally, indexically, and symbolically — the Inka ensured it would reach the broadest possible audience in their multi-ethnic, multi-lingual society. Creating and promulgating new identities for some conquered and co-opted groups — in particular local elites who worked in the provincial bureaucracy but also commoners relocated for state service as mitmaqkuna — was part of the Inka imperial strategy. Chimú and other non-Inka elites might have embraced or at least acceded to these hybrid identities as offering them the most privileges and prerogatives after the conquest, with connections to their local communities as well as to the imperial administration. While pan-Andean constructs were used to communicate these new identities, the underlying principles were Inka, reflecting the ultimate balance of power in the Late Horizon.

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Notes 1

Interestingly, aríbalos comprise under 30 percent of diagnostic Inka sherds in the Imperial heartland, in large measure because the other forms are more plentiful. 2

Zuidema (1977) has argued that some designs might have had a calendrical meaning.

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2011 Hybrid Objects, Hybrid Social Identities: Style and Social Structure in the Late Horizon Andes

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