Ancient cultures were more belligerent than elites would care to admit.
Ancient cultures were more belligerent than elites would care to admit.
R ecent DNA evidence seems to have uncovered information that bucks the conventional wisdom that had existed among elites: Apparently, not everything was always kumbaya among ancient cultures. Up until now, the educated class seems to have thought the following: The Mayan empire, to take a popular example, was a generally impressive civilization. They had charmingly feathered gods with polysyllabic and sibilant names. One day, the earnest, simple people who toiled in the fields of maize looked up, saw conquistadors, and thought, “Oh no, they have brought capitalism.” From then on, everything was bloodshed. But prior to then — so said the elites — peace ruled the day.
If you ask “What about all those skulls, then? The sacrifices to slake the crimson lust of their deities?” Well, every culture has its dark sides, no? Future civilizations will judge us for our football concussions. Perhaps we misunderstood their rituals. It’s possible the devout volunteered to have their hearts ripped out and held aloft over an ululating crowd. There was probably a waiting list! Okay, but didn’t anyone at the time say “Look, all this blood, there’s flies everywhere. What if we just didn’t tear out 50 hearts today — just a couple dozen — and see if the sun rises anyway?” He’d be first in line to go up the steps the next day.
Same with the American Indians. A 2023 survey says 71.2 percent of self-described “very liberal” people believe that Indigenous Americans “lived in peace and harmony,” spending their time standing on hills in the sunset looking nobly connected with nature. Then pale Pilgrims, wearing odd hats with buckles, sailed up to the shore. The Indians, of course, welcomed them, because this is a nation of immigrants, but soon the newcomers’ different cultures and beliefs poisoned their perfect noble harmony. The old culture was swamped by the competing values of the people who surged over the borders, and that was bad —
Err, bad then. Totally different situation today.
Anyway. If a scholar is disheartened when he/she/they unearths some body in a bog with a thick stick through its eye socket, this indicates a complete failure of imagination, an inability to grasp the nature of man. When the hominids first developed a tool with which they could bash the brains of a competitor, they were overjoyed: This is going to be so much easier than hitting him with my hands for an hour, because that hurts. Eventually, some smart chap figured out how to sharpen the tool — the Elon Musk of his day — and there was great rejoicing in the clan: We’ve invented stabbing! When someone first figured out fire, he didn’t think “Ah, now may we roast the flesh of Brother Mastodon.” He probably imagined setting a rival aflame and taking his pointed stick. It’s the essence of raw survival, and we should be grateful for every ethical and moral innovation mankind has incorporated into its general ethos. And we should remember that the divider between our exquisitely calibrated modern selves and the grunting, dumb, thick-browed, hairy clod is not a stout oaken door but a sheet of balsa wood.
It’s also remarkable that the idea that great strife could arise out of trivial squabbles among small tribes is in any way foreign to people who’ve spent any time in the faculty lounge.