Plazas, Performers, and Spectators: Political Theaters of the Classic Maya
Author(s): Takeshi Inomata
Source: Current Anthropology, Vol. 47, No. 5 (October 2006), pp. 805-842
Published by: The University of Chicago Press on behalf of Wenner-Gren Foundation for
Anthropological Research
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Current Anthropology Volume 47, Number 5, October 2006
805
Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
Political Theaters of the Classic Maya
by Takeshi Inomata
Theatrical performances not only communicate preexisting ideas but also define political reality as
it is experienced by participants. Theatrical events thus constitute a critical process of integration
and conflict in a wide range of societies and have particularly significant effects on the maintenance
and transformation of premodern centralized polities. The study of performances allows archaeologists to explore the interrelations between political, social, and cultural factors and provides an
approach to action and meaning different from the one that views the material record as text. The
analysis of plazas in Classic Maya society (AD 250–900) suggests that the performances of rulers
depicted on stone monuments involved a large audience and that securing theatrical spaces for mass
spectacles was a primary concern in the design of Maya cities. Such events gave physical reality to
a Maya community and counteracted the centrifugal tendency of nonelite populations.
How did large societies of the past achieve a certain degree
of cohesion underscored by collectively held cultural and
moral values? Anderson (1991, 6) has argued that “all communities larger than primordial villages of face-to-face contact
(and perhaps even these) are imagined” in the sense that
individuals never know most of their fellow members or meet
them but nevertheless bear the image of their communion
(see Canuto and Yaeger 2000). There is, however, a vast gap
between “primordial villages” and the modern nation-states
for which Anderson developed his concept. Whereas he has
emphasized the role of the written media in the creation of
imagined communities, many large communities in the past
emerged without much benefit of writing. While avoiding
naı̈ve concepts of a true or natural community, we need to
recognize that human sociality and identity are rooted in our
sensory perceptions of the presence and actions of others.
Many communities in antiquity were probably not totally
imagined but groups based to some degree on direct interactions between individuals. In addition, no organization can
exist without symbols that give concrete, sensible forms to
group identities (Kertzer 1988, 15). The values, traditions,
and identities of a community are not timeless, transcendent
entities but anchored in the tangible images and acts that each
individual can directly sense.
The relation between the tangible and the imagined aspects
of society is particularly important when we examine political
Takeshi Inomata is Associate Professor of Anthropology at the
University of Arizona (P.O. Box 210030, Tucson, AZ 85721, U.S.A.
[[email protected]]). The present paper was submitted 21 IX
04 and accepted 14 II 06.
entities in the premodern world. The way ancient people experienced the presence of such political organization was not
always the same as ours. Whereas today the notion of the
state is internalized in the political consciousness of numerous
individuals, many early states may not have had resources and
mechanisms to assert their constant presence in the minds
and daily lives of their subject populations. Foucault (1977
[1975], 187) noted that, in premodern Europe before the
technologies of discipline were developed, state power was
what was seen. Likewise, before the rise of modern nationalism, individuals’ identities as members of states may often
have been weaker than their identities as members of smaller
social groups such as kin groups and local communities (Anderson 1991). In certain historical contexts, then, subject populations’ perception and experience of authorities and national unity were highly uneven, accentuated in the specific
temporal and spatial contexts of state-sponsored events such
as ceremonies and construction projects but diluted or even
nonexistent in the routines of daily lives. In those cases, what
many individuals consciously recognized and thought about
may have been the tangible images of the ruler’s body, state
buildings, and collective acts but probably not the abstract
notion of a state.
These considerations call attention to the political implications and consequences of theatrical performances in public
events in which many individuals sense and witness the bodily
existence and participation of other members and the cultural
and moral values of the community are objectified and embodied. In particular, I argue that the development of large
centralized polities would have been impossible in any historical context without heavy reliance on public events. Classic
䉷 2006 by The Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research. All rights reserved 0011-3204/2006/4705-0004$10.00
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Current Anthropology Volume 47, Number 5, October 2006
Maya society (AD 250–900), in which rulers and elites actively
sponsored and participated in public rituals and festivals, provides fertile ground for an exploration of the intersection of
theatrical performances and politics (fig. 1). By analyzing the
spatial contexts of public performances at Maya centers, I
examine how public events facilitated and conditioned the
integration and identity formation of a community and set
the stage for the imposition and negotiation of asymmetrical
power relations.
Theater, Community, and Power
Theory of Performance
Recent developments in performance theory, theater studies,
and dramaturgic analysis provide a theoretical basis for this
study. The concepts of performance used by social scientists
have a wide range of meanings. On one end of this continuum
is a prescribed act in modern theater. Schechner (1977, 75;
1988, 6–16; 1994) distinguishes theater from other types of
performances such as rituals, sports, and games by noting
that it requires the physical presence of an audience that
observes and evaluates it with an emphasis on entertainment.
Beeman (1993, 379) stresses the symbolic reality of theater,
in which the performers represent themselves in roles detached from their lives outside the performance. On the other
end of the continuum is a broad definition of performance
as an enactment of what it refers to (Pearson and Shanks
2001). In this view, the emphasis is on what human beings
do as opposed to thoughts and abstract structures. An explicit
theoretical formulation of this perspective is found in the
concept of the performative utterance in speech-act theory.
Certain utterances do not simply describe social relations but
effect them (Austin 1962). Goffman (1959, 22; 1967) has also
proposed a broad definition of performance: “all the activity
of an individual which occurs during a period marked by his
continuous presence before a particular set of observers and
which has some effect on the observers.” He has emphasized
the theatricality that is present even in everyday activities and
has examined their communicative and expressive qualities,
through which people project different identities and images
under different circumstances.
The present study builds on these diverse theoretical views.
Nonetheless, the purpose of my research requires a definition
of performance that is tighter than those of Austin and Goffman yet broad enough to include various activities which take
place outside of formal theaters (see MacAloon 1984a, 6).
Following Hymes (1975, 13–19), I define performance as creative, realized, achieved acts which are interpretable, reportable, and repeatable within a domain of cultural intelligibility.
What distinguishes it is the qualities that are consciously recognized by performers and an audience. I am particularly
concerned with its theatricality, that is, the quality of communicative acts that requires the presence of an audience
acting as observers and evaluators (Beeman 1993, 383–84).
Figure 1. The Maya area, showing the locations of the centers
mentioned in the text.
Theatricality is defined in terms of the emotional—including
both positive and negative—responses that the performance
produces in participants and its symbolic reality, with a semiotic system distinct from that of unconscious, routine acts
(Fischer-Lichte 1992, 139–40; 1995; Pavis 1998[1980], 395).
In addition, theatricality involves the use of material images
in dynamic motion as media of expression and communication in which the human body takes a central role (Grimes
1987; Read 1993, 10). In this sense, theatricality is present in
many contexts outside of the modern formal theater. Although many of the events that I discuss may be called rituals,
I often use the term “theatrical performance” to make my
theoretical approach explicit (see Moore and Myerhoff 1977).
The significance of these theoretical developments concerning performance can be situated in a broader trend in
archaeology and other social sciences which, inspired by practice theory and agency theory, calls attention to what people
do (Bourdieu 1977[1972]; Giddens 1984). This view is accompanied by a conceptualization of political processes as
indissolubly tied to the so-called cultural domain of society.
By demonstrating that even tastes for certain types of art are
closely associated with asymmetrical power relations, Bourdieu (1984[1979]) has criticized narrow conceptualizations of
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Inomata Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
cultural practices as nonpolitical acts operating in closed systems of aesthetics (see also Inomata 2001b). He has also broken away from the other theoretical extreme, the treatment
of art, theater, and other cultural domains strictly in terms
of the expression or imposition of dominant ideologies. He
has emphasized these domains’ relations to cultural capital,
or valued cultural knowledge, which can be converted into
symbolic capital and political power. Likewise, Gramsci’s concept of hegemony has urged social scientists and humanists
to examine all-encompassing political processes. Building on
Gramsci’s ideas, Williams (1977) has noted that hegemony is
a process of dominance and subordination in which political,
social, and cultural forces are interlocked. Thus, the concept
of hegemony as “a whole body of practices and expectations,
over the whole of living,” is broader than that of ideology.
Such theoretical developments provide critical inspiration for
the archaeological study of performance, which crosscuts the
political, social, and cultural domains.
The archaeological study of performance has the potential
of going beyond approaches inspired by practice theory. A
central issue in this regard is how we grasp the immediacy
of material presence and physical action. As important as the
influence of practice theory has been, it does not sufficiently
elaborate how the materiality of space in which people’s practices are situated empowers and constrains agents (Munn
1992; Smith 2003, 15; see also Hall 1966). Likewise, it does
not fully address the bodily presence of audiences that perceive
and affect the practices of actors. The study of performance
urges us to examine specific details and processes of embodied
acts, material and spatial contexts, and interactions between
actors and observers (Inomata and Coben 2006). Increased
attention to the materiality of space and body also provides
an encouraging avenue for archaeological engagement in political thinking.
At the critical intersection of culture and politics are the
generation, negotiation, and contestation of meaning. The
focus on performance provides a perspective different from
the one that views the archaeological record as text (see Hodder 1986). The text-based notion of meaning assumes the
priority and preexistence of generative rules, thoughts, and
ideas over bodily actions, sensual perceptions, and lived experience (see Geertz 1973; Lévi-Strauss 1963). This assumption is not unrelated to the nature of academic practice centered on intellectual reflections that are detached from the
practical concerns of the world (Bourdieu 2000[1997], 51;
Stahl 2002, 29). The study of performance explores the duality—rather than the dichotomy—of thought and action
without privileging either (see Meskell and Joyce 2003). In
other words, a performance does not simply transmit preexisting meaning but also creates new meaning and transforms the existing one. It acts upon the world as it is experienced by participants and produces social changes (Bell
1992; 1997, 72–83; 1998; Schechner 1994, 626–32; Tambiah
1979). The performance shapes the identities of participants
807
and defines their social relations (Palmer and Jankowiak 1996;
Turner 1957, 1972).
It follows that performance creates and communicates
meaning differently from text. Although a performance usually has a conventional meaning shared by the majority of a
society, such acts are multivocal at a deeper level, representing
different meanings for different people and in different situations (Turner 1967, 50). The ambiguity and diversity of
meanings in performance, however, do not necessarily imply
ineffective communication. Seeing is believing. Bodily performance may sometimes have more persuasive power than
verbal communication (Rappaport 1999; Robbins 2001). We
need to explore the persuasive, creative, and transformative
power of performance while recognizing the fluidity, ambiguity, and indeterminacy of its meaning.
These considerations have important methodological implications for archaeologists. Because of the inherent multivocality of performance, an overly optimistic view about the
possibility of recovering meaning in the past may result in
the imposition of the researcher’s own internal narratives.
Wuthnow (1987, 332–44) has suggested that what he calls the
dramaturgic approach in social sciences, with its focus on the
observable dimensions of actions, utterance, and interactions
in human lives, shifts researchers’ attention from the pursuit
of subjective or semantic meaning to a more productive inquiry into the conditions under which symbolic acts are
meaningful. This observation is particularly true for archaeology (see Barrett 1994). Instead of presupposing preexisting
fixed meanings, archaeologists need to place more emphasis
on examining dynamic processes in which meanings are created and contested through embodied performance.
Spectacles of Unity and Division
Performances may take place on diverse scales, ranging from
a solitary act of one individual with deities, ancestors, or
natural beings serving as a perceived audience to a mass spectacle involving thousands of people. Theatrical events of different sizes all have important political implications. Even
daily practices on a small scale can be highly political, reflecting and re-creating the power relations of the society at
large (Bourdieu 1977[1972]). Therefore we need to explore
diverse operations and functions of theatrical events on different scales without falling into mechanistic categorization.
At the same time, the implications of different scales should
not be underestimated. In the interest of tight argument, this
paper focuses on large-scale performances involving a substantial number of participants, such as public ceremonies,
festivals, and courtly interactions. MacAloon (1984b, 243–46)
and Handelman (1990) call them “spectacles” and “public
events,” respectively.
Public events physically bring together numerous individuals and allow them to sense the presence of others and to
share an experience. In other words, the large public performance grounds the constitution of a community that exceeds
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Current Anthropology Volume 47, Number 5, October 2006
the range of daily face-to-face interaction in the physical reality made up of its members (Da Matta 1984; Handelman
1990, 116–35; Singer 1959, 1972; Turner 1986, 24). It presents
moments of a “real” community. In addition, performers in
public events typically dramatize the moral and aesthetic values of a community (Singer 1959). Theatrical performance is
not simply a reenactment of timeless community traditions
but objectifies and embodies otherwise abstract notions (Bailey 1996, 13; Connerton 1989; Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983;
Rockefeller 1999, 123). This means that spectacles provided
premodern communities, which may have lacked print media
and other communication technologies, with opportunities
to create shared identities and common values among their
members. Theatrical events thus have real and direct political
effects. They create and re-create a community, sometimes
even transcending ethnic and linguistic boundaries (Futrell
1997; Handelman 1990).
The central role of theatrical performance in the constitution of a political community implies that it is a critical
arena for the negotiation of meaning and power (Comaroff
and Comaroff 1991; Dietler 2001). One aspect of this process
is the use of theatrical performance for and by the dominants
as a means of conveying their worldviews, history, cultural
ideals, value systems, and social order (Baines and Yoffee 1998,
235; Demarest 1992; De Marrais, Castillo, and Earle 1996;
Lucero 2003). Another important aspect is the effect of public
performance that defines political reality. Bloch (1974, 59–60)
has suggested that the formalized discourse of ritual does not
allow deviation, leaving only the alternatives of participating
in it and following the protocol faithfully or rejecting it altogether. The implications of serious confrontation or punishment in the latter choice force most individuals to opt for
the former. Whether or not the participants quietly resent
such events, participation defines certain aspects of the social
relations among the parties involved. Theatrical performance
thus is not empty ritual behind which the real mechanism of
power works; it is the real process of politics (Bell 1992,
197–223; Kertzer 1988, 77–101).
Theatrical events are however, rarely unambiguous. The
inherent multivocality of theatrical signs makes the propagation of dominant ideologies difficult if not impossible. Theatrical performance does not homogenize the emotion and
identity of participants (Evans-Pritchard 1974, 207–8). The
ambiguity of meaning and the uncertainty of effects are indeed
critical aspects of ritual and other public events (Fernandez
1972; Kertzer 1988, 57–76; MacAloon 1984a, 9). As Bell (1992,
221–22) points out, ritual and other theatrical events tolerate
a fair degree of internal resistance and lack of interest among
the participants while requiring their consent in the form of
their participation. Public events become effective because
they ground and display a sense of community without overriding the autonomy of individuals. Thus, the solidarity of a
community is produced by people acting together, not by
people thinking together (Durkheim 1965[1915]; Kertzer
1988, 76).
Scott (1990, 2–19, 67–90) particularly emphasizes schisms
hidden behind superficial conformity. He contends that,
whereas the “public transcript” enacted on public stages is
the representation of elites as they want themselves to be seen,
both elites and nonelites have their own “hidden transcripts,”
played out off-stage, which diverge from and contradict the
public one. In addition, theatrical events may be dangerous
times in which the established order can be challenged and
subverted (Van Gennep 1960). In particular, carnivals and
similar public events may provide occasions on which the
populace openly expresses dissent from and resentment of the
powerful (Bakhtin 1968[1965]; Kertzer 1988, 144–50; Scott
1990, 72–75). The system of cultural and aesthetic values of
such events may also constrain the dominant, limiting their
power (Bloch 1986; Inomata and Houston 2001a). The paradox of theatrical performances is that even those designed
to serve the dominant simultaneously empower those who
are intended to be subjugated through emotional elevation,
affirmation of social identities, and renewed affinity to a community (Fernandez 1972).
Geertz (1980, 123–35) goes farther to claim that public
performance in the theater state of historical Bali was the
state’s primary purpose. In this view, the elaborate dramatization of cultural themes through royal ceremonies was not
a tool for the state’s political purpose; rather, the state served
for the realization of this cultural drama. This claim appears
rather farfetched, and Geertz’s interpretations have been criticized by Balinese specialists (e.g., Lansing 1991). Theoretically, his view, which is at odds with the central proposition
of my own, gives primacy to cultural meaning that dictates
people’s actions. Still, his call for a poetics or aesthetics of
power as opposed to the Weberian notion of the mechanics
of power provides an important perspective (see Smith 2000;
Reese-Taylor and Koontz 2001). Although we should probably
avoid Geertz’s extreme argument, it is helpful to explore the
historical conditions of theatrical events that stimulated political centralization and stratification.
Small egalitarian societies, as well as large hierarchical ones,
actively engage in public events. The preparation of a spectacle, along with the construction of theatrical space, may
have promoted the development of hierarchical organization
by requiring dramaturgical and logistical organizers. Clark
(2004; Hill and Clark 2001) presents fascinating data indicating that in Formative Mesoamerica extensive plazas were
constructed at critical junctures of social transformation from
small villages to larger, more centralized communities. Largescale spectacles with associated architectural spaces, instead
of being created after and as a result of the establishment of
hierarchical political authorities, may have preceded and facilitated these political changes (Barrett 1994, 27–32; Bradley
1984, 73–74). Moreover, public events may have created a
condition in which the emergence of central figures in the
form of dramatic protagonists was tolerated or even desired
and demanded by an audience. Such individuals may have
had the potential to become political leaders. In this regard,
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Inomata Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
rulers in many ancient polities appear to have shared certain
qualities with ritual specialists in nonhierarchical societies and
with actors or musicians today (see Schechner 1994, 623).
The archaeological study of the development of large centralized polities should direct its attention not only to the
political maneuvering of a small number of “aggrandizers”
but to the motivation and roles of an audience or the masses
(Pauketat 2000).
These diverse views of theatrical performance are not incompatible. In any society, the potential of performance for
ideological unification and imposition coexists with the persistence of multivocality and a possibility for the subversion
of power through theatrical acts, as does the use of theater
by the state with popular demands for large pageants that
facilitate the emergence of a state. We need to examine the
intersections of these diverse forces and the political dynamics
they create.
The Creation of the Extraordinary
The study of these extraordinary events does not necessarily
run counter to the recent emphasis on domestic lives and
daily routines in archaeological studies; instead, they complement each other. On the one hand, public performance is
embedded in social relations, experiences, and economic activities of everyday lives. On the other hand, the memory of
past events and the anticipation of future ones shape the
perceptions and experiences of daily life. In addition, mass
spectacles affect day-to-day routines economically and physically as well because they require a long period of dramaturgical and logistical preparation, including rehearsal, construction of theatrical stages, and acquisition of foods and
gifts to be consumed and distributed during the events. For
example, colonial documents tell us that the Maya put substantial work into growing turkeys over the year to consume
them on rare festive occasions (Cogolludo 1971[1654], 243,
295), and their Classic-period ancestors certainly spent many
days of the year in the preparation of public events.
In this regard, there is a certain analogy between perceptions of space and perceptions of time in many societies. As
Eliade (1957) noted, in premodern societies the spatial aspect
of the world was not experienced as uniformly neutral but
marked with monuments and sacred places charged with
unique, condensed meaning. The same is true for the temporal aspect. The passage of time was viewed not as monotonous or homogeneous but as punctuated by heightened
emotional experiences of extraordinary events. Even in modern societies, both rites of passage associated with individuals
such as weddings and funerals and calendrical events such as
New Year’s Day and Christmas structure people’s perceptions
of time and life. Thus, just as we cannot grasp unique public
events without addressing their basis in daily life, we cannot
adequately understand the ordinary without considering its
dialectic relation with the extraordinary.
This consideration of the ordinary and the extraordinary
809
leads to the relation between what are generally called the
public and private spheres. It should be clear that by focusing
on large-scale events I do not intend to privilege the “public”
and the “extraordinary” over the “private” and the “ordinary.”
Moreover, an increasing number of archaeologists and anthropologists question the uncritical distinction between the
public and the private (Inomata et al. 2002; Robin 2003). This
does not mean, however, that we should abandon the concept
of the public. The work of Habermas (1991) remains significant in this regard. He demonstrates that what we call the
public sphere was developed and transformed under the specific social conditions of the modern Western world. Instead
of abandoning the concept of the public or presupposing its
universality, we need to analyze how the public sphere is
constituted in each historical context. For this purpose, the
public sphere should be defined in a loose, heuristic manner
as a social field of interaction which potentially involves a
substantial number of individuals and shapes political processes on a large scale.
At the same time, we need to pay attention to the common
criticism of Habermas that his notions of the public sphere
in different periods are highly idealized and their categorical
distinctions overemphasized (Calhoun 1992). Habermas argues that, in the feudal society of medieval Europe, the ruler’s
power was merely represented before the people, constituting
the publicness of representation, but the public sphere as a
social realm of political debate did not exist. Performance
theory, however, indicates that such public representations
are not one-directional acts. Instead, they involve political
negotiations between the central authority and those who view
and perceive them, though their negotiations may not take
explicit discursive forms. These processes, then, are not totally
unlike those of the modern public sphere that Habermas
describes.
I should add that the public nature of political negotiation
through performance is not limited to large centralized polities in the premodern world. Small communities, in which
daily face-to-face interactions are possible, engage in collective
theatrical events that create important political arenas. Even
in modern societies public performances such as inaugurations and the speeches of presidents continue to have political
significance. The importance of mass spectacles in premodern
polities is rooted in the political significance of performance
in general, which can take place on diverse scales in diverse
social contexts. We need to explore public processes of political negotiation in various historical moments to expose
their commonality and variation.
Theatrical Spaces in Classic Maya
Centers
Public Performances in Plazas
Classic Maya society was made up of numerous autonomous
or semiautonomous polities, each centered on a divine ruler.
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Current Anthropology Volume 47, Number 5, October 2006
The importance of theatrical performance is evident in stone
monuments and other artistic media. These often depict rulers
and other elites engaging in performances, indicating that the
dominants were not only sponsors of theatrical events but
also protagonists. Many stelae show rulers in elaborate attire,
such as feather headdresses, masks, jade pectorals, and shell
belts, often in the guise of Maize God or some other deity
(fig. 2) (Houston and Stuart 1996). Some of the accompanying texts note that they are performing ritual dances (Grube
1992). Tokovinine (2003) identifies the word cha’nil, which
may be literally translated as “something being watched,” in
monuments depicting dance scenes. The meaning and use of
this term suggest to him that events such as royal dances were
indeed public performances conducted in front of an audience. Other monuments depict elites playing the ballgame,
which was a ritual as well as an athletic event tied to human
sacrifice and the creation myth. Many public events probably
involved numerous performers, including musicians and
dancers, as indicated by the murals of Bonampak (Miller
1986). Although such iconographic depictions provide valuable information, they deal exclusively with performers and
remain virtually silent about the role of an audience and the
spatial settings of the events. In addition, such pictorial renderings should be viewed as idealized notions of performance
and as representations of how performance was remembered
rather than as the unbiased record of past events (Bergmann
1999; Joyce 1992).
Theatrical performances in Classic Maya society most likely
took place in various spatial contexts, including small residential complexes and sacred locations outside of centers such
as caves. Yet many of the mass spectacles involving a large
audience were probably held in plazas—large open spaces
surrounded by temples and other symbolically charged buildings that marked the core of every Maya city. The use of
plazas for this purpose and the participation of numerous
spectators among the colonial-period Maya are well-documented in historical accounts (Barrera Vásques 1965; Ciudad
Real 1976, 314–71; Estrada Monroy 1979, 168–74; Tozzer
1941, 94, 152, 158–59; see Inomata 2006; Low 2000, 108–9).
Comparable activities in plazas during the Classic period have
been suggested by many Mayanists (e.g., Andrews 1975, 37;
Fash 1998; Jones 1969; Looper 2001; Lucero 2003; Ringle and
Bey 2001).
A more significant line of evidence is the presence of numerous stelae there. It is probable that monuments commemorating public ceremonies were erected in the same
spaces where the events took place to help people to remember
and reexperience their grandeur and excitement (Grube
1992). To develop this argument I must address competing
hypotheses, particularly the one presented by Bassie-Sweet
(1991) that many stone monuments represent rituals held in
the more exclusive settings of caves. The elaborate headdresses
and backracks and heavy jade ornaments shown on stelae,
however, appear extremely cumbersome for entering caves,
which often requires climbing down cliffs and crawling
Figure 2. Stela H from Copán, depicting the ruler Waxaklajuun
Ub’aah K’awiil in elaborate ceremonial attire. Behind it is the
stairway that defines the eastern edge of the Great Plaza.
through narrow, muddy passages. Most paintings found in
caves in fact depict figures with simple clothing (Stone 1995,
31–54). Although Bassie-Sweet correctly points out that some
stelae present symbols of caves and mountains, it is equally
possible that performances were conducted on or in front of
pyramids and temples facing plazas that symbolically represented sacred mountains and caves (Schele and Mathews
1998, 43; Stone 1995, 241).
Courtly events held in palace rooms and depicted in ceramic paintings include rulers and other elites wearing relatively simple attire with small headdresses or hats (ReentsBudet 2001). In other words, the attire shown on stelae, with
enormous headdresses and backracks made of brilliantly colored feathers, is far more extravagant than that used in exclusive architectural settings and appears to have been designed specifically for high visibility in mass spectacles. More
direct evidence is found at Chichén Itzá, Uxmal, and other
northern centers, where small, low platforms were placed in
large plazas. Noting the association of thrones with these plat-
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Inomata Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
forms, Ringle and Bey (2001, 277) argue that rulers occupied
these structures to address large audiences that filled the plazas
(see also Kowalski 1987).
The Bonampak murals lend further support to this view.
They depict scenes of captive presentations and elaborate
dances held on a wide stairway, which Miller (1986, 115;
Schele and Miller 1986, 218) has convincingly identified as
the one flanking the plaza of this center. This spatial setting
presents an effective theatrical stage, heightening the visibility
of performers. Although the murals do not show audiences,
the plaza was most likely filled with a large number of spectators. Also suggestive is the use of large palanquins to carry
rulers and other elites, as depicted on lintels at Tikal and in
some graffiti (fig. 3) (Chase and Chase 2001b, fig. 4.12; Harrison 1999, 133, 153, figs. 77, 94; Trik and Kampen 1983, figs.
71, 72, 73). Ciudad Real (1976, 327) recorded similar litters
used by the colonial-period Maya in public events. Some of
the Classic-period palanquins were decorated with enormous
statues of deities and jaguars towering behind the rulers. Such
ostentatious presentations make sense only in terms of their
use in mass spectacles in open spaces.
Given these lines of evidence, it is highly likely that a substantial portion of stelae depict public performances held in
plazas and other open spaces in the presence of a large audience, although I do not deny the possibility that some of
them show rituals that took place in more exclusive settings.
In this regard, we should note that some of the lintels at
Yaxchilan and panels at Palenque appear to represent acts
performed in semiclosed architectural settings, although others refer to public events comparable to those shown on stelae.
In other words, there is a loose correlation between the spatial
settings in which various types of art were viewed and those
of the acts shown in these art pieces. Stelae set in open plazas
and viewed by many visitors depicted public performances
involving a large audience and in many cases held in the same
spaces, whereas lintels and panels that adorned elite buildings
and could be seen by a limited number of high-status individuals often dealt with rituals attended mainly by court members and held in exclusive settings (see Sanchez 1997). Ceramic paintings were viewed by only a few individuals at a
time, typically in elite residences or administrative buildings.
Many of them depicted courtly interactions that took place
in similar architectural settings, although there are ceramic
paintings depicting public events as well. Though these correlations are far from exclusive, there is a general tendency
for stelae and other artistic media to prompt viewers to remember, reexperience, and reimagine the depicted acts in
spatial settings that were the same as or comparable to those
of the original events.
These observations, however, do not mean that plazas were
used only for public theatrical events. Various authors have
proposed that some plazas were used as marketplaces (Becker
2003, 265–66; Jones 1996, 86–87; Smith 1982, 107). Although
direct evidence for marketplaces is difficult to obtain, such
use of plazas is not incompatible with their primary function
811
Figure 3. A graffito found at Tikal, depicting a ruler being carried
on a large litter with a statue (Trik and Kampen 1983, fig. 72,
reprinted by permission).
as theatrical spaces. Even in public ceremonies, plazas may
have been used in various ways. Such events appear to have
involved the erection of scaffolds and other temporary structures and the use of banners, movable thrones, and palanquins, all of which affected the movements of participants
and their perceptions of theatrical spaces (Houston 1998, 339;
Suhler and Freidel 2000; Taube 1988). Likewise, the erection
of stelae in plazas probably narrowed the potential range of
human bodies’ physical flow and of the places’ meanings by
emphasizing memories of specific events. The Maya in some
cases reset old stelae, attempting to alter or reconstitute the
effects of monuments in the physical and perceptual construction of theatrical spaces.
The Capacities of Plazas
The analysis of plazas as theatrical spaces provides an effective
step for the study of public events by archaeologists, who
cannot directly observe ancient performances. One way to
test the notion of the use of plazas as theatrical spaces is to
analyze their potential capacities. Moore (1996, 147) cites the
estimated space available to individual participants, ranging
from 0.46 to 21.6 m2/person. The lower figure would imply
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Current Anthropology Volume 47, Number 5, October 2006
Figure 4. Tikal.
a tightly packed area with little space for movement, whereas
the higher would leave ample space around each person or
a large open stage for dynamic performance. The figure of
21.6 m2/person, taken from data on Yanomamö villages, is
probably too large, however, for the more urban situations
of the Maya lowlands. Everywhere in the world, city dwellers
have to endure smaller spaces than those who live in rural
settings. In this article I therefore employ the figures of 0.46,
1, and 3.6 m2/person. Moore did not find a consistent correlation between plaza sizes and the estimated populations of
the settlements in his analysis of Andean data, and he suspects
that this is because there were widely different ways of using
plazas for theatrical performances. Thus, these densities
should be viewed only as tentative values for heuristic purposes.
I examine the plaza spaces of three centers of different sizes
as examples: Tikal, one of the largest Maya centers (fig. 4),
Copán, a center of medium size in the southeastern periphery
of the Maya area (fig. 5), and the relatively small center of
Aguateca (fig. 6). Tikal has a history of occupation and monumental constructions that began in the Preclassic period and
boasts numerous plazas connected by wide causeways. Culbert
et al. (1990, 16) estimate the Late Classic population of the
120-km2 area defined by seasonal wetlands and earthworks at
62,000. Along with the West Plaza and the East Plaza, the
Great Plaza probably formed the central ceremonial core of
Tikal (fig. 7). Plazas associated with Temple IV, Temple VI,
and twin pyramid complexes also had the capacity to accommodate a substantial number of people.
Early occupations at Copán also date to the Preclassic pe-
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Inomata Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
813
Figure 5. Copán.
riod, but substantial constructions at the ceremonial core
started during the Early Classic. According to Webster and
Freter (1990, 52), the Late Classic population of Copán was
around 22,000. The public theatrical space of primary importance consisted of the large continuous flat spaces of the
Great Plaza, the Middle Plaza, the East Plaza, and the Plaza
of the Hieroglyphic Stairway (fig. 8). Freidel, Schele, and Parker (1993, 463) point out that stone sculptures depicting the
Maize God dancing were recovered from a large platform east
of the Great Plaza and suggest that the platform was possibly
a place for the preparation, practice, or execution of dances.
Most ceremonial constructions at Aguateca date to the Late
Classic period, prior to an enemy attack that resulted in the
burning and rapid abandonment of the central elite residential
area. Although the analysis of settlement data from peripheral
areas of Aguateca is still in progress, 8,000 would probably
be a generous estimate of its Late Classic population. Most
monuments depicting rulers’ performances are found in the
large Main Plaza. A short causeway connected this highly
public space with a more restricted compound of the Palace
Group, a probable royal palace (Inomata 1997).
Table 1 indicates that these plazas had substantial capacities.
In addition, their layouts show easy access from outside, implying an emphasis on the inclusion of a large number of
participants. In particular, assuming 1 m2/person the Main
Plaza of Aguateca was large enough to accommodate more
than the entire population of its settlement. Using this figure
for space available per person, the combined ceremonial plaza
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Current Anthropology Volume 47, Number 5, October 2006
Figure 6. Aguateca.
of Copán could also have held more than the entire population, but it did not make an effective theatrical space because
buildings obstructed sightlines between its various parts. The
Great Plaza and the Middle Plaza constituted a better theatrical space, but a gathering of the entire population in these
areas would have required considerable crowding. At Tikal,
if participants were packed tightly, the entire population might
have been accommodated in either the central complex, the
area in front of Temple IV, or the area in front of Temple VI.
Realistically, however, most theatrical events probably required ample stages for performers, which would have made
gatherings of the entire population in these spaces less likely.
These observations indicate that, whereas the main plazas of
smaller centers may have been able to hold the entire population (see also Houston et al. 2003, 234; Looper 2001, 128),
public events with the simultaneous presence of the entire
community became increasingly difficult as the size of a center
grew. This tendency may be reflected in the layouts of centers
of various sizes. Small centers such as Aguateca tend to have
one large plaza, where most of the stone monuments are
found, as a focus of community rituals. The medium-sized
center of Copán still maintains this focus on one continuous
plaza area. Large centers such as Tikal tend to have multiple
large plazas and their stone monuments are more dispersed.
In addition to mass spectacles, the Classic Maya conducted
more exclusive performances. Smaller spaces of the East Court
of Copán and the Palace Group of Aguateca were most likely
places for theatrical events. Along with their arrangements surrounding flat open spaces, their function as theatrical complexes is hinted at by Structure 10L-25 of Copán and Structure
M7-33 of Aguateca. These low structures appear to have served
as open stages without roofs or walls and were probably used
for ritual dance (Fash et al. 1992; Inomata et al. 2001). The
estimated capacities of these plazas (based on the figure of 3.6
m2/person) range from 5.6 to 11.4 percent of the total populations, which may correspond roughly with the elite sectors
of society. In addition, architecture and excavated objects suggest that the Palace Group of Aguateca was the primary residential complex of the royal family of this center. Yet we should
note that performances in the Palace Group of Aguateca were
probably visible not only for an audience occupying the plaza
of the complex but also for spectators on the causeway (Inomata
2001a). Theatrical events in restricted spaces appear to have
retained a certain level of inclusiveness.
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Inomata Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
815
Figure 7. The Great Plaza of Tikal viewed from Structure 5D-71 of the
Central Acropolis.
Theatrical Spaces and City Planning
Sequences of construction projects at these centers shed light
on strategies of designing community ritual spaces at Maya
centers.
At Tikal, the final layout of the city resulted from its growth
over centuries. During the Preclassic and Early Classic periods,
the Great Plaza, along with the adjacent East and West Plazas,
was probably the primary focus of communitywide spectacles
at Tikal, although the Mundo Perdido complex also appears
to have provided an important theatrical space. The Great
Plaza was located between the North Acropolis, the most
important funerary place for rulers from Preclassic times on,
and the Central Acropolis, the main residential complex for
the royal family (Coe 1990; Harrison 1970). Clearly, this plaza
was a symbolically charged place with direct connections to
the dynastic past and present. During both the Early Classic
Figure 8. The Middle Plaza and the Great Plaza of Copán viewed from
the ball court.
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Table 1. Sizes and Estimated Capacities of Plazas of Tikal, Copán, and Aguateca
Estimated Capacity
0.46 m2/person
Plaza
Tikal (est. pop. 62,000)
Great Plaza
West Plaza (including areas
in front of Temple III)
East Plaza
Total Central area
Area in front of Temple IV
(including parts of the
causeways)
Area in front of Temple VI
Twin pyramid complexes
Complex Q
Complex R
Copán (est. pop. 22,000)
Great Plaza
Middle Plaza
East Plaza
Court of the Hieroglyphic
Stairway
Total Ceremonial Plaza area
East Court
West Court
Aguateca (est. pop. 8,000)
Main Plaza
Palace Group Plaza
1 m2/person
3.6 m2/person
Area
(m2)
Capacity
% of
Population
Capacity
% of
Population
Capacity
% of
Population
8,506
22,918
18,491
49,822
29.8
80.4
8,506
22,918
13.7
37.0
2,363
6,366
3.8
10.3
6,969
38,393
30,068
15,150
83,463
65,365
24.4
134.6
105.4
6,969
38,393
30,068
11.2
61.9
48.5
1,936
10,665
8,352
3.1
17.2
13.5
25,963
56,441
91.0
25,963
41.9
7,212
11.6
11,322
11,880
24,613
25,826
39.7
41.7
11,322
11,880
18.3
19.2
3,145
3,300
5.1
5.3
12,747
10,932
11,194
5,123
27,711
23,765
24,335
11,137
126.0
108.0
110.6
50.6
12,747
10,932
11,194
5,123
57.9
49.7
50.9
23.3
3,541
3,037
3,109
1,423
16.1
13.8
14.1
6.5
39,996
4,435
6,069
86,948
9,641
13,193
395.2
43.8
60.0
39,996
4,435
6,069
181.8
20.2
27.6
11,110
1,232
1,686
50.5
5.6
7.7
11,456
3,289
24,904
7,150
311.3
89.4
11,456
3,289
143.2
41.1
3,182
914
39.8
11.4
Note: The areas of plazas include the surrounding terrace steps. The capacities of terrace steps are based on their areas regardless of the number
of steps.
and the Late Classic period, stelae were placed in lines in front
of the North Acropolis facing south, leaving ample space in
the southern portion of the area. This pattern may imply that
the use of the plaza as a theatrical space remained relatively
consistent, with performers often occupying the northern part
and audiences mainly the southern. Structure 5D-119, an elevated room built on the roof of Structure 5D-120 (Harrison
1970, 27), was equipped with a throne facing Temple I and
the Great Plaza (fig. 9). It is probable that the ruler or other
elites occupied this vantage point to view theatrical events
(see Valdés 2001 for a comparable throne at Uaxactun).
The first formal floor of the Great Plaza, along with those
of the West and East Plazas, was laid during the Late Preclassic
period. Although evidence suggests that some buildings stood
on Preclassic floors, the exact layout and extent of the early
plazas are not clear (Coe 1990, 167; Jones 1996, 79). Coe
(1990, 173, 195) suspects that during the Late Preclassic period the Great Plaza boasted a floor area larger than the later
versions. During the Early Classic period, the Preclassic buildings in the Great Plaza were demolished and buried under a
new floor. Structures 5D-1-2nd and 5D-2-2nd were erected
at the eastern and western ends of the plaza, disrupting the
connections with the East and West Plazas. In addition, the
construction of Structures 5D-29, 30, 31, 32, 33, and 34 encroached on the terrace of the North Acropolis (Coe 1990,
587–617, 832–38). During the Late Classic period, the ruler,
Jasaw Chan K’awiil, ordered the erection of Temples I and II
over the demolished remains of Structures 5D-1-2nd and 5D2-2nd, which further reduced access and visibility between
the Great Plaza and the adjacent plazas (Coe 1990; Harrison
1999, 142). The Great Plaza was now transformed into a more
exclusive theatrical space. In addition, the population of Tikal
was growing rapidly during this period (Culbert et al. 1990,
108).
As the central complex became less adequate for community events, the next ruler, Yik’in Chan K’awiil, commissioned the construction of Temples IV and VI, along with
associated open spaces substantially larger than the Great
Plaza (Harrison 1999, 153–62; Martin and Grube 2000, 49).
Temple IV measured 64 m in height, and the ruler who stood
on the stair of this building must have been visible from a
wide area. This trend of increasing theatrical space can also
be seen in twin pyramid complexes. During the Late Classic
period, the Tikal dynasty built a ceremonial complex with a
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Inomata Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
817
Figure 9. The throne of Structure 5D-119 of the Central Acropolis, which
faces the Great Plaza.
pair of pyramids at the end of each k’atun (20-year-period).
For the Maya who enthusiastically held various calendrical
rituals, k’atun-ending ceremonies that occurred only a few
times in the life of an individual were particularly important.
Many stelae from various Maya centers commemorated these
events. At Tikal, a newly constructed twin pyramid complex
was most likely the main stage of a k’atun-ending ceremony
in which residents throughout the community participated
(Jones 1969). Each time, an ever larger twin pyramid complex
was built, reaching the apex in Twin Pyramid Complexes Q
and R, commissioned by Yax Nuun Ayiin II during the late
eighth century (Harrison 1999, 167–73).
Despite these efforts, Tikal appears to have been reaching
the point where congregation of the entire population in one
space was physically difficult. The problem may have been
mitigated by the use of causeways as additional theatrical
stages. Harrison (1999, 158, 160) suspects that Yik’in Chan
K’awiil was responsible for the construction of the Maler,
Maudslay, and Mendez Causeways that connected Temples
IV and VI with other areas, whereas Jones (1996, 83) suggests
that the first versions of the Maler and Mendez Causeways
were built a century or so earlier. The Mendez Causeway
measured 50–80 m in width, the Tozzer Causeway 50–80 m,
the Maler Causeway 20 m, and the Maudslay Causeway 30–50
m. Segments of these causeways were as large as the plazas
of small centers, and their width exceeded the practical needs
of daily transport (cf. Chase and Chase 2001a). These wide
streets were probably stages for processions by elites, which
may have been viewed by a large audience occupying spaces
along their edges (see Reese-Taylor 2002; Ringle 1999). The
lintels of Temples I and IV depict rulers seated on elaborate
litters, suggesting that rulers were carried along causeways
before they reached the main stages in front of the temples.
The use of causeways as stages for mass spectacles is comparable to the carnivals and festive parades in the large cities
of modern societies.
At Copán, the Great Plaza and Middle Plaza were constructed at the beginning of the fifth century, which may
correspond with the establishment of a dynasty by K’inich
Yax K’uk’ Mo’ (Traxler 2004). A substantial amount of fill
was placed to create a plaza, which suggests to Cheek (1983b,
344) that its construction involved a significant part of the
community. From the beginning, the plaza appears to have
had dimensions and a layout comparable to those of the later
stage, with its northern end marked by Structure 10L-2 and
its southern portion occupied by a ball court. A notable difference is that the area south of the ball court was originally
a patio surrounded by platforms, and Cheek (1983b, 342–45)
proposes that this area was for residential and private use
whereas the northern sections were for public and communal
activities. In the later part of the Early Classic, the Copanecos
gradually raised the plaza floors, covering some platforms and
creating an open space that would become the Court of the
Hieroglyphic Stairway. At the beginning of the Late Classic
they laid out the floor of the East Plaza (Cheek 1983a). This
sequence may reflect an effort to expand the plaza space as
the population of Copán grew. Although over the centuries
the Copanecos constructed ever higher pyramids on the
southern side, they appear to have consciously preserved plaza
spaces.
The configuration of the Great Plaza of Copán as a theatrical space may have been altered during the eighth century
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Current Anthropology Volume 47, Number 5, October 2006
by the thirteenth ruler, Waxaklajuun Ub’aah K’awiil, who
erected a series of stelae in the central section (fig. 2). This
arrangement of monuments may imply a somewhat different
use of space from that of the Tikal Great Plaza. Fash (1998,
240) suggests that the stairs surrounding the Great Plaza of
Copán may have provided seating areas for audiences. If so,
in many public events performers may have occupied the
central part of the plaza while spectators sat or stood along
its edges. Structure 10L-4, located in the center of the open
space, probably served as a focal point of such performances.
At Aguateca, the Main Plaza was built at the time of the
center’s foundation around AD 700. Whereas the stelae of
the early rulers were placed mainly in front of Structure L85 on the eastern edge of the plaza, the last ruler, Tahn Te’
K’inich, erected his monuments in front of Structures L8-6
and L8-7, located in the southeastern corner, as well as in the
middle of the plaza. This may reflect a shift in main theatrical
stages with the construction or renovation of these buildings.
Prior to the final abandonment, Tahn Te’ K’inich was in the
process of constructing a large temple on the western edge
(Inomata et al. 2004). Thus, having sufficient plaza space, the
ruler of Aguateca did not have to expand it, but the use of
this space apparently changed over time.
These analyses show that the configuration of theatrical
spaces in terms of movements and placements of performers
and spectators varied from one center to another. In some
cases, even the use of the same plaza changed over time with
the construction of associated buildings and monuments. This
observation points to the inherent flexibility of plazas as theatrical spaces. Yet the most important implication of these
histories of plazas is that securing sufficient spaces for public
events was a primary concern in the design of Maya cities.
This means that plazas were meant to accommodate a large
number of individuals and such gatherings were extremely
important for Maya polities. Plazas and causeways were not
secondary spaces defined after the placement of temple pyramids but social spaces of extreme importance in their own
right (Ringle and Bey 2001, 278).
The Politics of Performance in Classic
Maya Society
Although some Maya cities had large populations, a significant
portion of residents were scattered over wide areas. Dispersed
settlement patterns probably fostered a tendency toward the
breaking away of subject populations from the central authorities (Demarest 1992). Economically, rural nonelites appear to have been largely independent of the central authorities in the acquisition of many economic items, with the
possible exception of foreign materials such as obsidian and
dry-season water supplies from central reservoirs in certain
areas (Bishop, Rands, and Holley 1982; Fry 1979; Rice 1987;
see also Lucero 1999; Scarborough and Gallopin 1991). The
centrifugal tendency of Maya populations may have been further strengthened by the high mobility of farmers, who could
change their residences—and possibly their political affiliations—relatively easily, as did their descendents during the
colonial period (Inomata 2004; see also Farris 1984, 72–79;
Restall 1997, 174). It is not clear how important the ties to
a specific dynasty were for the identities of individual farmers
compared with their connections to kin groups and smaller
local groups.
I argue that the critical elements that held together this
precarious integration of Maya communities were mass theatrical events sponsored and organized by the elite. Mass spectacles, in which a large portion of a community assembled
and worked together, provided opportunities for individuals
to witness and sense the bodily existence and participation
of other members. Such gatherings not only facilitated the
exchange of goods, the communication of information, and
the finding of mates but also created moments of “real” communities. Large-scale theatrical events gave physical reality to
a community and helped to ground unstable community
identities in tangible forms through the use of symbolic acts
and objects. In other words, those who gathered for spectacles
made up a community. Classic Maya communities were not
something totally imagined. The “real” community of the
Classic Maya was, however, only temporary. The continuous
cohesion of a community probably required constant repetition of physical gatherings of its members.
As is apparent in the Bonampak murals and various ceramic paintings, some spectacles involved numerous elites as
performers, but the strong emphasis on rulers found in stelae
indicates that, symbolically and often physically, at the center
of public gatherings was the body of the sovereign. Rulers
were at once the sponsors, organizers, and protagonists of
many of the large theatrical events. The visibility of the ruler
and other elites was retained to a degree even in smaller-scale
political and diplomatic meetings held in royal compounds
and spaces associated with elite residences (Inomata 2001a;
Inomata et al. 2002). A Maya term for ruler, ajaw, may be
literally translated as “he who shouts” (Houston and Stuart
1996, 295), implying that the origin of Maya rulership was
associated with verbal performance in theatrical events. Similar concepts appear to have been shared by other Mesoamerican societies. An Aztec word for ruler, for example, was
tlatoani, “one who speaks,” and many Mesoamerican arts
depict “speech scrolls” representing acts of utterance. The
centrality of rulers in communal events suggests that the identities of a Maya community revolved around the images of
supreme political leaders. Mass spectacles were probably the
occasions on which people felt their ties with the ruler most
strongly. Large gatherings also gave the elite an opportunity
to impose their ideologies and cultural values on the rest of
society through performances. In public events, rulers often
emphasized their divine nature through the impersonation of
deities and glorified themselves through the celebration of
victories in warfare and the performance of ballgames that
mimicked battles (Freidel and Schele 1988a; Houston and
Stuart 1996; Inomata and Triadan 2003; Looper 2003; Schele
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Inomata Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
and Miller 1986). Theatrical complexes made up of temples
and plazas were also the resting places of royal ancestors,
constantly reminding the participants of dynastic continuity.
Social memory of dynastic history and tradition, then, was
not a timeless entity but a constant process of reiteration and
re-creation through performances which allowed room for
their transformation and for the invention of new traditions.
Further, the references to the dynastic past and royal prerogatives made in theatrical events did not homogenize perceptions and emotions of the participants but provided objectified notions on which they could reflect and act. During the
Classic period the number of dynasties increased as new rulers
emerged at minor centers. Emergent political leaders were
those who took advantage of this flexibility in the system to
invent new traditions that legitimized their political power
through the claim of divine sanction. These observations
highlight the nature of hegemony, which is not a static or
given structure but a process that requires constant attention
and action. It is not confined to political institutions but
involves interrelations between the political, the social, and
the cultural as experienced and acted upon by all those involved (Williams 1977).
It follows that theatrical events were not political tools used
one-directionally by dominant groups. Rulers and nobles were
strongly bound by the cultural and aesthetic values of theatricality that elites and nonelites alike subscribed to (Inomata
and Houston 2001a; see Bloch 1986, 177). Rulers and courtiers had not only the right to conduct ritual human sacrifice
but the obligation to perform bloodletting accompanied by
severe pain and the risk of infection. If they lost in battle,
they were the ones who were sacrificed. In this sense, emergent
rulers at minor centers cannot be viewed purely as the creation
of self-aggrandizing individuals. The growing populations of
such settlements may have desired figures who would take
the central stage in communal events. In addition, the demands of spectacles by elites and nonelites may have been
driving forces for political changes not foreseen by the participants. Large theatrical events required careful planning and
logistical organization. As the population of centers grew significantly during the Classic period, the organization of ever
larger theatrical events may have prompted changes in administrative organizations with the establishment of specialized offices.
Moreover, representations of political relations and values
through performance were in constant danger of failing. Theatrical performance as an interaction among participants involved a process of evaluation by viewers. The meaningfulness
and acceptability of performance were constructed and negotiated through interactions among participants who shared
certain knowledge and expectations but at the same time held
divergent or even conflicting views. Theatrical events were
therefore dangerous occasions for actors. Poor performance
in political theater may have meant the loss of power and
status. The strong emphasis on the performance and visibility
of rulers implies that they were under constant scrutiny.
819
The political effects of theatrical events were also conditioned by the physical properties of the polities, particularly
their demographic and spatial scales. This is precisely because
the social significance of performance is rooted in the physicality of direct interaction and bodily copresence. In this
sense, large Late Classic Maya polities such as Tikal, Calakmul,
and Caracol may have been reaching a size at which political
integration through public performance was no longer sustainable. To avoid misunderstanding I should reiterate that
public theatrical events are politically significant in societies
of any size, but their effects are not the same in different
social contexts. Although Tikal and other large Maya centers
invested considerable effort in securing theatrical spaces for
mass spectacles, gatherings of the entire community—faceto-face contact between elites and nonelites—were becoming
increasingly difficult. These large centers may have been moving toward the establishment of a bureaucratic system of a
more impersonal nature (Houston et al. 2003, 234). It is
suggestive that the royal compounds of these large centers
generally had more restricted access and their occupants were
more shielded from outside than those of smaller centers. The
later course of history in the Maya area tells us, however, that
Maya society never completely crossed this threshold.
Conclusion
The large plazas of Classic Maya centers were designed to
accommodate a large number of individuals. The plazas of
small to medium-sized centers, in particular, most likely held
the majority of the community members on ceremonial occasions. Although the accommodation of the entire population in one plaza became increasingly difficult at large centers
as the polity grew, their residents still made a significant effort
to secure spaces for mass spectacles by creating plazas outside
of core areas and constructing wide causeways. Along with
prominent representations of rulers on stone monuments
placed in plazas, these data indicate that the Classic Maya
strongly emphasized the theatrical performance and visibility
of rulers. Theatrical events probably held together a Maya
community around the ruler and the royal court, compensating for a tendency toward fragmentation. The elite may
have taken advantage of these opportunities to advance their
political agendas, but they were at the same time under constant evaluation by viewers. The presence of plazas of varying
sizes at a center suggests that theatrical events also divided
the community, separating those who were allowed to participate in exclusive performance from the less privileged.
These observations remind us that human sociality is
rooted in the sensory perceptions of others. Public performance is politically significant in any society precisely because
this fundamental aspect of social engagement plays out prominently in theatrical events. Still, the social effects of spectacles
are particularly evident in premodern centralized polities, in
which constant face-to-face interactions of members were no
longer possible and print media and other technologies of
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mass communication were not widely available. In Classic
Maya society and possibly in various other ancient polities,
public events gave physical reality to the imagined community
as the participants witnessed the bodily presence of others
and shared their experience. The political importance of public performances in diverse historical contexts also derives
from the process by which they objectify otherwise abstract
notions of cultural and moral values through embodied acts
and materialized symbols. Such objectified notions do not
necessarily represent homogenized meaning shared by different individuals and groups but provide tangible common
points of reference for reflection and negotiation. In other
words, theatrical events set the stage for the creation and
imposition of power relations and associated ideologies, as
well as resistance to and subversion of them. Instead of assuming the existence of collectively held subjective meaning
in performance, we need to address how performance becomes meaningful in terms of political processes in which its
inherent multivocality and the inescapable physicality of human bodies, spaces, and objects condition and effect social
reality as perceived and acted out by the participants.
Acknowledgments
I thank Lawrence Coben, Stephen Houston, Michael Smith,
and Daniela Triadan for stimulating discussion on this subject.
Marshall Becker, Patricia McAnany, and Julia Sanchez, as well
as anonymous reviewers, provided thoughtful comments on
earlier versions of the manuscript.
Comments
Kazuo Aoyama
Faculty of Humanities, Ibaraki University, Bunkyo 2-1-1,
Mito, Ibaraki 310-8512, Japan ([email protected]). 7
IV 06
This most welcome case study on the physical qualities and
historical contexts of theatrical spaces centered in public plazas explores one important aspect of Classic Maya political
processes—the intersection between theatrical performance
and politics. I find it significant and enlightening concerning
the long-debated relations between Classic Maya politics and
ritual and the mode and degree of integration of Maya centers
of different sizes. Inomata cogently examines critical issues in
such research, including royal ritual as theatrical performance
and the complex nature of its political effects. I present additional archaeological evidence to support his argument for
the two sites he mentions. The study of obsidian and chert
artifacts from Cache 4 of Structure L8-5, located on the eastern edge of the Main Plaza of Aguateca, allows us to document
finely flaked eccentrics and other artifacts deposited by Ruler
3 and his followers in the temple dedication ritual during the
Late Classic period (Aoyama 2006a). Extensive excavation
during the Aguateca Restoration Project Second Phase located
Cache 4 beneath the stucco floor in the southern area of the
temple in 2003. Cache 3 (obsidian and chert eccentrics) had
been found in the northern part of the same temple during
the first phase of these investigations. Thus, Ruler 3 and his
followers appear to have deposited the caches along the northsouth axis of Structure L8-5. A total of 57 pieces of chipped
stone artifacts was recovered from Cache 4—49 made of obsidian and 8 of chert. The obsidian artifacts include a single
complete blade, 11 nearly complete blades, 16 prismatic blade
segments, 19 eccentrics, and 2 large flake scrapers. It is worth
noting that 5 of the 19 eccentrics (3 notched, 1 incised, and
1 a reptile) were made from macroblades. Moreover, two large
flakes were unifacially retouched into scrapers. Interestingly,
their dimensions and weights are almost the same, suggesting
that a knapper deliberately manufactured a pair of identical
scrapers for the temple dedication. In other words, thick, wide
percussion blades and flakes were removed to regularize the
surfaces of newly imported blade cores used for manufacturing these eccentrics. It should be noted that there were no
eccentrics and only a single macroblade among the 2,169
obsidian artifacts collected by the Aguateca Archaeological
Project First Phase from 1996 to 1999 (Aoyama 2006b). Moreover, Cache 4 of Structure L8-5 contained more complete or
nearly complete blades (Np12) than any of the eight other
extensively excavated structures in the center of Aguateca
(meanp2.1, s.d.p2.2). The above data suggest that the Aguateca ruler controlled the main access to obsidian in the city
and that the royal court may have administered the procurement and allocation of El Chayal obsidian blade cores.
A total of 13 notched pressure blades appear to symbolize
“13 serpents.” For the ancient Maya, the Waterlily Serpent,
symbolizing the surface of the water, was a supernatural patron of the number 13. Some Classic Maya rulers used the
head of the Waterlily Serpent as a crown (Miller and Taube
1993, 184). Accordingly, the “13 serpents” symbolized by the
13 pieces of notched pressure blades in Cache 4 were loaded
with ideological meaning. Moreover, 3 notched macroblades
and a notched small percussion blade may have represented
“large serpents” and a “medium-sized serpent,” respectively.
Eight chert eccentrics from Cache 4 appear to have been
manufactured from local raw materials and include 2 scorpions, a standing human, a trident crescent, a crescent, a
reptile, a serrated bifacial point, and an unclassified fragment.
It is important to note that chert eccentrics were associated
with the royal palace and temples but not with residences.
This strongly suggests that eccentrics were considered royal
ritual objects. Meanwhile, taking advantage of Copán’s unusual location near the high-quality obsidian source of Ixtepeque (80 km), either its twelfth or its thirteenth ruler deposited a cache of 700 unusually large macroblades (as long
as 30 cm) and macroflakes reduced directly from macrocores
of Ixtepeque obsidian in the middle of the Great Plaza during
the Late Classic period (Aoyama 1999, 2001). Such large
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Inomata Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
quantities of very large macroblades and macroflakes have
not been discovered either outside the Principal Group in the
Copán Valley or in any other part of the Maya lowlands,
suggesting that they were considered royal ritual objects. The
theatrical performance and dedication ritual involved in the
deposition of royal lithic artifacts in theatrical spaces at Aguateca and Copán must have reinforced the rulers’ political
and economic power.
Marshall Joseph Becker
Department of Anthropology, West Chester University, 19
W. Barnard St., West Chester, PA 19382, U.S.A. (mbecker@
wcupa.edu). 22 III 06
Inomata has undertaken a discussion of an interesting feature
that appears to be central to all lowland Maya cities and towns
of the Classic Period—the tendency for their site cores to
include one or more open zones of varying size that are
commonly identified as “plazas.” Inomata argues that these
spaces were purposely built and used for public performances.
While this use has often been implied, Inomata seeks to understand it in a larger cultural context. Although his inferences
regarding public events are speculative, they may be generally
accepted in the absence of other convincing theories. In effect
this study endeavors to take Lucero’s (2003) study of the
politics of ritual to another level. While doing so requires
considerable speculation, Inomata provides an outstanding
position paper with a lucid review of the literature that relates
performance to various cultural contexts or physical spaces.
Inomata infers that “theatrical performances” or what I
would call group and/or public rituals took place in “plazas”—“large open spaces . . . that marked the core of every
Maya city.” He recognizes that some open spaces may have
served as markets, but he does not develop these possible
variations (cf. Becker 2003). Not clearly stated is the common
use by some Mayanists of the basic term “plaza” to refer to
an open space of any size that is bounded by buildings. Also
problematic is Inomata’s concern with the capacities of such
open spaces, supposedly for what might be seen as a standingroom-only throng. Regardless of the total population of the
Tikal polity, for example, we do not know how many people
might attend public “performances” and whether there was
differential attendance by gender or age. Thus the supposed
“capacity” of the multiple plaza zones at any site may be
irrelevant. Quite possibly the amount of open space at a site
varies with the wealth of its polity and is unrelated and irrelevant to population size.
Inomata speaks of variations among Maya “communities”
of different sizes. Where the most complex of these social
groups, such as Tikal, fit into a continuum of state-level societies is unclear. I believe that at best the largest of these
polities were low-level states. In this I agree with Lucero and
others who have suggested that leaders among the Maya provided only the most basic services to their communities—
821
centralized “authority” for domestic integration or religious
leadership and direction for competition with foreigners,
which took the form of trade as well as military activities.
Inomata’s use of the term “divine ruler” for the leader of
each of the several Maya polities assumes a singularity or unity
of command that I have challenged for the past 30 years
(Becker 1975, 1983, 1986, 1988, 1990). In presenting his evidence he also refers to “images of supreme political leaders”
but neglects to note that these people, regardless of rank, are
also the social leaders who serve as the embodiment of social
integration within the community. In examining the roles of
these leaders Inomata suggests that some “threshold” existed
“that Maya society never completely crossed.” This “threshold” surely relates to a developmental level of state societies
but remains unclear in this context.
The spectacles provided in the public sphere within each
polity (see Habermas 1991) are the concerns of this essay. No
consideration is given to possible changes in function for these
areas over time. Inomata’s lack of temporal controls as well
as his generalizations regarding degrees of complexity are subject to the same criticisms leveled by Calhoun (1992) in reviewing the work of Habermas. He provides an interesting
and useful framework for discussion of imagined processes
of theatricality among the Maya and inferences regarding the
use of what are generally agreed to be public spaces, but the
results remain speculative. No suggestions are made regarding
how one might go about testing them. Examination of the
way any large, open space evolved at a site or was created
through time might provide some interesting information on
the changing uses of such features of the cultural landscape.
At Tikal much of the space in what became the Great Plaza
had once been the location of a number of temples. During
the period when these structures were standing, the area must
have had a very different character and function. The point
when this area of Tikal was cleared and what replaced these
small ritual structures would offer important clues to processes of social change there. Whether open areas at other
sites had similar evolutionary histories is not known. We need
to conduct extensive tests across such “open” spaces to determine what kinds of structures may have once stood in
them and whether small buildings and platforms continued
to occupy areas that now appear to have been entirely
unencumbered.
Oswaldo Chinchilla Mazariegos
Museo Popol Vuh, Universidad Francisco Marroquı́n, 6
Calle Final Zona 10, Guatemala 01010, Guatemala
([email protected]). 4 V 06
The architectural layout of Maya sites, with wide open exterior
spaces, has repeatedly suggested the practice of public performances attended by wide audiences ever since Diego Garcı́a
de Palacio (1927[1576], 91) compared the ruined stairways
around the plaza at Copan to the Roman Coliseum. Various
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Current Anthropology Volume 47, Number 5, October 2006
early testimonies offer eyewitness accounts from the early
colonial period (Landa 1982, 113–14; De la Garza et al. 1983,
324), while ethnographic testimony highlights the importance
of public gatherings involving long and elaborate dances and
performances in the social life of Mesoamerican communities.
The argument that such performances were crucial for the
integration of ancient Maya polities has the virtue of incorporating one of the most salient features of Mesoamerican
public life into the discussion of ancient political practice.
However, it should be noted that early sources mention a
wide variety of representations that probably had equally diverse social functions. For instance, Acuña (1978, 19) distinguished three main classes: okot, mostly penitential and propitiatory dances, including war dances, baldzamil, humorous,
vulgar performances, and ez yah, related to magic spells and
charms. (Colonial-period spellings for Maya words, as used
by Acuña, are respected in this comment.) Clearly, not all
performances carried out in ancient Maya cities had equally
strong political implications, and yet Inomata is right in stressing that they allowed the inhabitants of dispersed settlements
the opportunity for personal contact and intense participation
in community life that may have strengthened their allegiance
to particular cities and rulers.
Classic Maya art and associated inscriptions are explicit
about the participation of rulers in dances and other performances. The interpretation of fully dressed rulers represented
on stelae as commemorating actual performances held in the
plazas where they stand is an elegant explanation for such
representations and their architectural settings. I believe it is
important to add that in many cases public performance by
rulers was related to warfare. As noted by Inomata, the Bonampak murals and other monuments dealing with the presentation of captives typically emphasize their public setting
by showing participants placed on wide-stepped platforms,
most probably facing plazas. Carved stairways—a monumental format that was usually accessible from large plazas—are
largely associated with warfare and captive sacrifice and probably served as settings for such performances (Miller and
Houston 1987). Likewise, rulers’ appearances on large palanquins at Tikal and elsewhere are recognized as commemorating the capture of such palanquins from rival kings (Martin 1996). Numerous stelae show kings with elaborate dancing
costumes standing on debased captives. While the main subject may be a public performance by the king, the presence
of the captives hints at war-related connotations of his performance. This may have implications for understanding the
role of public performance in the creation and re-creation of
Classic Maya polities. By itself, warfare may be a powerful
force in bringing about sentiments of common identity and
allegiance to rulers. Opposition to outside enemies, the shared
vicissitudes of military campaigns, the common concerns of
defense, and loyalty to successful leaders are likely to create
shared identities and may also provide occasions for visual
contact with rulers and their retinues. Ritual celebrations of
war campaigns through public performances of warfare-re-
lated rituals enacted by the kings exemplify the need to “create
the extraordinary,” in Inomata’s words, dramatizing social
relations that are also created in warfare itself. Such performances may also have served to display and distribute war
spoils—an activity that likely stimulated allegiance to rulers
and war leaders even though it is largely deemphasized in
public art.
The perspective advanced in this paper opens a rich avenue
for research, laying out the basic theoretical framework for
further discussion. Potential problems that need to be raised
include temporal and regional variations in the size and layout
of plazas and the presence or absence of monuments commemorating public performances by kings.
Andrés Ciudad Ruiz and Jesús Adánez Pavón
Universidad Complutense de Madrid, Madrid, Spain
([email protected]). 2 V 06
The Classic Maya city was a complex universe composed of
plazas with stelae, altars, sanctuaries, acropolis, palaces, ball
courts, and other specialized buildings, many of them decorated with carved and painted images—a universe surrounded by myriad domestic units and often integrated by
systems of causeways. Its planning was not random; each
space, building, and monument had its own significance and
was placed in the landscape according to that significance.
The Maya architectural landscape was a living entity that was
periodically activated through rituals performed by the rulers
and other actors.
The novel analysis developed by Inomata opens promising
new directions for archaeological research on the functional
and symbolic understanding of that universe and of ancient
Maya culture in general. The interpretation of Maya rituals
in the framework of performance theory gives them a principal role in the reproduction of political structures by introducing spectators along with actors into the representation
and presenting this as an arena in which political revalidation,
rather than simply the prescribed function of the institution,
is the objective of the ritual process. This view is linked to
the archaeological record through attention to the spatial contexts of public spectacles and the identification of the plazas
of Maya centers as the settings for such spectacles. As Inomata
shows, all this permits an approach to Maya urban design
and its transformations in terms of the type of ritual activity
anticipated, especially the number of spectators and the degree
of accessibility and visibility of the auditoriums and stages.
Inomata’s article focuses on an analysis and discussion that
follow one of the many interpretative directions potentially
opened by his approach: the cohesion of a society with centrifugal tendencies that imagines itself as a community
through the experience of a real community on ritual occasions or, in material terms, the capacity of the plazas of centers
such as Tikal, Copán, and Aguateca to contain the dependent
population. With respect to this, we have two observations.
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Inomata Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
On the one hand, the analysis links the presence of stelae
with the largest plazas, but this link cannot be asserted categorically. For example, at Machaquila (Graham 1967; Chocón and Laporte 2002; Ciudad et al. 2004) Plaza A contains
most of the site’s stelae although it is not the largest of the
eight plazas of the central area or the most accessible and
visible. The two causeways detected lead to Plaza D and to
Plaza C, which are the largest ones but have only three and
one stelae respectively. This evidence suggests a close relationship between the social and dynastic memory recorded
on these monuments and the buildings that delimit Plaza A,
in which the majority of the city’s rulers were supposedly
buried. At the same time, it suggests that rituals related to
this whole ideological complex may have been restricted to
a smaller audience.
However, we see the Machaquila example not as challenging
Inomata’s suggestion but as complementing it. From the consideration of the foregoing case it follows that there may have
been a degree of variation over space and time in the guidelines of the design and the public versus more exclusive character of the rituals. If so, we need to determine the diverse
associations between the spatial features of plazas and monuments or buildings. The similarities and differences identified between Maya centers will be related to the various modes
of political revalidation of the rulers. In our view, this variation could be fruitfully explored and interpreted by considering both the size and the degree of accessibility and visibility
of plazas in terms of the concepts that Inomata associates
with them.
Flora S. Clancy
Department of Art and Art History, University of New
Mexico, Albuquerque, NM 87131, U.S.A. ([email protected]).
4 V 06
Inomata convincingly argues that the ancient Maya plaza is
a theatrical space for the forming and maintenance of community. I appreciate and applaud his nonreductive approach
to the analysis of plaza spaces and his attention to the material
forms of plaza as guides for estimating possible functions. My
concerns have to do with the functions and artistry of stelae,
what is meant by performance and performance theory, and,
finally, what we, as scholars of the ancient Maya, do and how
we do it.
Inomata argues that stelae set in plazas depict the public
performances held in those plazas and that their images served
as mnemonic devices to prompt visitors to the plaza to remember and reimagine those performances. In the Maya region, plazas were part of cityscapes long before stelae were
placed there. Preclassic plazas were places where great stucco
works depicting deities were created (Freidel and Schele
1988b). The Early Classic addition to plaza spaces of stelae
representing honored human beings signals a change in the
political and ceremonial intentions for public gatherings. A
823
person’s, or a crowd’s, interaction with stelae placed at the
side of or in the plaza itself is very different from an involvement with massive, isotropic images carved in stucco defining
the platforms surrounding the plaza. Stelae are focal points
while the elaborate stuccos are ambient backdrops. Stelae take
the viewer’s attention away from the ambience of the plaza.
They are potent public monuments and need no imagery in
order to be erected. Tikal has yielded many “plain” stelae,
especially in the Late Classic Twin Pyramid Complexes and
in the Great Plaza in front of Temples I and II. How would
these monuments contribute to the theatrical space? They
could be stage sets, screens, or frames for live actors, but they
are not reminders of past performances. Carved stelae, works
of artistry and homage, express and accrue their own histories
as long as they remain standing. Over time they become independent of the current plaza and its functions, vestiges of
regnal philosophies and histories.
I am not concerned that Inomata has applied performance
theory to his analysis of plaza spaces; I think he does so quite
judiciously. I am no expert in performance theory, so my
question is a general one. Is there a defining difference between performance and “normal” behavior? My qualified answer is that performance is intentional much as the making
of art is intentional—that is, that there is an element of the
irrational in any performance. Inomata states that “seeing is
believing.” I think I understand what he is trying to say; what
one sees with one’s own eyes and hears with one’s own ears
(a performance) is more convincing and believable than what
one is only told to believe. This may be true, but nevertheless
images do deceive; they are created and intended to be illusions. The way performance distinguishes itself from normal
behavior is in its creation of illusions—in its marvelous, believable irrationality. Ancient Maya plazas were surely places
for performances choreographed by royal intentions, but performance is a hazardous tool for crafting civil communities.
Something else is involved; I think it is place (see Basso 1996)
as much as it is performance.
I am both fascinated and concerned about how we tread
the distances between our scholarship and our subjects. Certain pathways can reflect a scholar’s present-day concerns. J.
Eric S. Thompson is an example. His vision of the peaceful,
philosophical, ahistorical Maya has been properly questioned
and abandoned, but ever since he died he has been a negative
target for Maya iconographers and epigraphers. And yet, I
think of his life: deeply religious, he suffered through two
devastating world wars and the terrible depression of the thirties. The ancient Maya must have been a relief to him, a hope
that history could be stilled, that peace could exist somewhere,
and that religious, thoughtful men could temper the politics
of power. About 30 years ago, Western popular culture began
to make human and natural disasters the stuff of romance,
and about 25 years ago scholars began to realize how bloody
and bellicose the ancient Maya had actually been. Is this
coincidence?
In reading Inomata’s first-rate scholarship on plazas and
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Current Anthropology Volume 47, Number 5, October 2006
performance and their roles in the construction and maintenance of community, I was excited by his questions about
how ancient Maya polities contrived to come together as identifiable entities. He writes of ancient centrifugal forces counteracting the formation of community; people could “walk
away” from situations that became intolerable for them. Such
a strategy is no longer possible today; the whole world has
become the community’s stage (pace Shakespeare), and we
have nowhere to go to escape the intolerable. Community,
its formation and its maintenance, is therefore a paramount
issue for today and an effort to understand how the ancient
Maya communities worked is definitely timely.
Nikolai Grube
Institut für Altamerikanistik und Ethnologie, Universität
Bonn, Römerstr. 164, 53117 Bonn, Germany ([email protected]). 16 V 06
I strongly concur with Inomata’s conclusions. Could early
states ever have existed without the display of power and its
divine legitimation in grand arenas? Wherever large audiences
had to be addressed in preindustrial societies, performance
was the principal medium and public plazas for mass gatherings were the locations in societies where writing was only
marginally important. As Inomata shows us, the experience
of the bodily existence of others was necessary to experience
the idea of a community.
Most colleagues will agree with Inomata that the principal
function of large plazas amongst the Classic Maya was to
secure spaces for mass spectacles and public performance.
Although some might stress the possibility that plazas also
served as locations for markets, I find this highly unlikely
given the presence of public monuments such as stelae and
altars in most of the plazas. Performance in plazas, as Inomata
points out, served the Maya rulers and elites to visualize asymmetrical power relations, social hierarchies, and the moral
values of the community. In this regard, the Maya were not
different from most other premodern societies. We can look
at Uruk and Enkidu, which were located in the vicinity of
centers of power and ritual activity on widely visible hilltops
(Oates and Oates 1976, 22), the enormous plazas in Angkor
Wat and Angkor Thom, or the plazas of ancient China (Jackes
and Gao 2004). Large plazas constituted the central spaces of
communities in the late preceramic period in the central Andes during the transformation from small villages to more
centralized communities (Grieder et al. 1988; Moseley 1975).
The importance of public performance for the advancement of political agendas makes the complete absence of plazas in some regions of the Maya world even more remarkable.
The lack of plazas and with it any recognizable urban plan
in the Rı́o Bec region of Campeche has led scholars to interpret Rı́o Bec as a group of settlements without any central
administration (Bueno Cano 1999; Nondédéo et al. 2003,
101). Similarly, large central plazas and urban cores are absent
from sites in the western Puuc region such as Xcalumkin and
from various Postclassic sites such as Santa Rita Corozal
(Chase and Chase 1988, 87–98). These settlements also lack
other symbolic markers of power, such as ball courts, pyramid
temples, multiroom palaces, and stelae. It would be of great
importance to investigate the morphological link between
these features and plazas for a more profound understanding
of their function with regard to the theatrical events in which
they were involved.
The present article also addresses a very fundamental question with regard to the sources of power that were available to
Maya rulers. Writers who highlight the ideological nature of
Maya states often characterize them as fragile units with weak
control over people and territory, based as they are on the rule
of charismatic kings who use kinship and marriage rather then
the bureaucratic institutions of a state to administer their authority. Such weak states would indeed be “virtual communities,” and the state would be absent for most of the population
in everyday life. Inomata wisely avoids distinguishing between
performance and other sources of power, but he implies that
Maya states interfered very little in the life of common people
when he speaks about a state that could not be experienced by
the community other than through public events. However,
ethnohistorical sources from Central Mexico and the Maya
Highlands prove that hegemonic states in Mesoamerica had
the control of exchange networks, trade routes, and especially
the acquisition of tribute as their primary ambition (Grube and
Martin 1998, 134–38).
Mesoamerican elites to some extent had control over the
production and allocation of prestige goods and some critical
utilitarian items, suggesting that the state probably was much
more present and real than is suggested by the idea of an
imagined community. A particularly important aspect of the
power of rulers must have been the control and management
of water, the most vital and yet limited resource in many parts
of the Maya lowlands, especially in cities requiring central
reservoirs such as Tikal and Calakmul (Lucero 2006). In all
of these aspects the state must have been present much more
than only symbolically. The manipulation of ideological factors—the public performance of ritual in grand arenas—
rather then an end in itself was complementary to other strategies for the allocation of power. I would argue here that
“theater” contributed to the cognitive-symbolic base of Maya
states but that the basis of their authority cannot be broken
up into ideological and objective (material) components.
Maya kings possessed considerable power from their position
as heads of an administrative hierarchy and its institutions of
enforcement, including coercive power. Moral authority was
necessary to support the authority of rulers, but rather than
serving only as an instrument backing their power also helped
to motivate and mobilize their subjects.
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Inomata Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
Christian Isendahl
African and Comparative Archaeology, Department of
Archaeology and Ancient History, Uppsala University, Box
626, SE-751 26 Uppsala, Sweden (christian.isendahl@
arkeologi.uu.se). 29 IV 06
I agree with the essence of Inomata’s argument on the centrality of large-scale public events as a key mechanism in the
integration and identity formation of Maya communities and
in legitimizing elite authority, a theme that recently has been
explored from supplementary perspectives by Schortman, Urban, and Ausec (2001) and Halperin (2005), among others.
I am also in total accord with the supposition that ensuring
spaces for such ceremonies was of major concern in Maya
urban site planning and that plazas formed an important
category in this scheme. While I find the course of argument
generally sound, I am not entirely convinced by some of its
central tenets and assumptions.
My chief hesitation concerns whether the concept of “theatricality” is the best heuristic tool when applied in contexts
far removed from the modern formal theater. Although the
theater metaphor is certainly not novel in anthropological
inquiry into political systems in which large-scale public ceremonies formed fundamental instruments of integration and
control, it burdens rather than enhances the current argument. Following Schechner (1994), in contrast to ritual performance theatrical performance accentuates pretending and
entertainment. It is concerned with the moment and is a
display of individual creativity rather than collective performance. The audience consumes for its entertainment rather
than participating, and spectators are usually free to criticize
the performance. Although there are shared features, theatricality is simply not the most appropriate analogy for characterizing the sociopolitical mechanisms of large-scale public
Classic Maya events.
Agency and performance theory have proved very useful,
for instance, in stressing multivocality and human creativity
in social change, but the importance that Inomata’s use of
theatricality attributes to spectators as evaluators is misleading. Theatrical performance emphasizes the singular event
(thus to some extent ignoring history) at the expense of conceptualizing such ceremonies as forming part of more durable
and encompassing ideologically, symbolically, economically,
and physically enforced systems for maintaining community
identity and asymmetrical power relations. While large-scale
political ceremonies formed a series of isolated events, the
sociopolitical order—which would often be the principal message of the elite organizers—was not manifested on these
occasions only. Plazas and other ceremonial spaces serving
similar functions constituted a complex political or ceremonial mosaic landscape that maintained meaning beyond
the isolated event. Since large-scale public events in plazas
were such important aspects of political life in constructing
825
and maintaining community identity and elite authority in
Maya polities, they need to be understood in relation to other
political and economic processes rather than singled out as
the paramount mechanism as they are here.
In Classic Maya communities, authority and political order
regularly permeated the physical as well as the constructed
dimensions of reality; to varying degrees they were present in
the perception of landscape, cosmology, the calendar, the built
environment, land-use rights, and identity, history, and memory. In a sense, then, large-scale public events served to
strengthen sociopolitical order rather than being its outstanding manifestation. I am highly skeptical of the assumption of
a centrifugal tendency in Classic Maya populations that is
fundamental to Inomata’s argument. The characteristically
dispersed settlement patterns of most urban communities in
the Maya Lowlands are probably better understood as conditioned by a considerable reliance on settlement agriculture
than as evidence of a centrifugal tendency owing to weak
systems of political control and authority (Isendahl 2002). I
do agree very strongly with the idea of sociopolitical order’s
being conditional and the subject of social negotiation but
would rather argue that authority—though in flux—was perceptible in the day-to-day life of most Classic Maya commoners. From this perspective, theatricality both underestimates the power of Classic Maya elite ideology to manipulate,
in which the organization of recurrent large-scale ceremonies
formed an essential strategy, and overestimates commoner
reflexivity.
In sum, Inomata’s contribution is a soundly structured,
relevantly referenced, engagingly written, and generally wellargued paper that would have been more convincing had he
focused on performance theory rather than bringing his argument over the edge with theatricality. He has produced a
thought-provoking and stimulating paper on the mechanisms
of political agency in Classic Maya communities.
Rodrigo Liendo Stuardo
Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Circuito
Exterior S/N, Ciudad Universitaria, 04510 México, D.F.,
Mexico ([email protected]). 6 V 06
Inomata breaks new ground in the field of Maya studies by
exploring the intersection of “performance” with politics,
structure, and action. He also raises several key issues related
not only to the nature of ancient Maya political statecraft but
also to the way archaeology should approach the problem of
human agency in ancient societies.
His suggestion that theatrical spaces (an ever-present feature in ancient Maya city planning) were used to counteract
the centrifugal tendencies of elite factions and nonelite populations alike is a fresh and appealing line of inquiry that
ought to be explored, expanded, and discussed. This need is
all the more pressing in an academic environment that sees
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Current Anthropology Volume 47, Number 5, October 2006
pre-Hispanic Maya political organization as the product of
the circumstances advanced by active, powerful, and aristocratic individuals acting individually rather than forming part
of a specialized bureaucratic structure (Webster 2001, 141;
Restall 1997, 24; Inomata and Houston 2001b). In this way,
the “agency” of at least a few individuals is being recognized.
The issue of centralization of political power in Maya society
has traditionally been approached from two points of view,
one focused on the analysis of the places and architectural
features where power concentrates and the other relating to
the individuals subject to such power. Archaeologists have
chosen to pay more attention to the former than to the latter
(de Montmollin 1995, 117). The point made by Inomata in
relation to the way the archaeology of performance might be
relevant to the study of how “the materiality of space” serves
to “empower and constrain agents” is highly significant for
the construction of theoretical bridges that eventually might
join these two seemingly incompatible theoretical paths.
Inomata, by stressing the idea of “performance” as public
display, spectacle, and theatricality, connects neatly with the
growing appreciation in anthropology in general of the role
of the individual and collective action in the maintenance,
transformation, and negotiation of social relations (Carrasco
1991; Carl 2000, 328–29; Low 2003, 16; Gillespie 2000, 135;
Moore 2005). Coming to understand how this process unfolds
in particular contexts (constrained or shaped by previous political events and economic and social structure) is a challenging and productive enterprise both theoretically and
methodologically. The focus on performance might require,
for example, experimentation with unconventional archaeological techniques (space proxemics, perspectives, acoustics,
and a plethora of other techniques routinely used in performance theory) within a rigorous research design anchored in
an explicit methodology in a way rather similar to what Moore
(2005, 215) suggests about the combination of pragmatism
and a theory based on three main components—a solid
knowledge of the ethnography and ethnohistory bearing on
culture-specific sets of beliefs and meanings, the use of social
theory of space, place, architecture, and landscape, and, finally,
the testing of falsifiable hypotheses about the possible relationships between archaeological remains and meaning. This
may be the part of Inomata’s work that I admire most—his
commitment to the development of an explicit methodology
that pays attention to the specifiicities of Maya ancient civilization without losing sight of theoretical problems that concern the field of anthropology at large. In this regard, his
proposal, albeit focusing on just one aspect of the complex
phenomenon of performance in ancient Maya society, shifts
the stress from an analysis of the built environment of ancient
Maya cities (Houston 1998b) to the study of the actions that
took place within it.
Matthew Looper
Department of Anthropology, California State University,
Chico, CA 95929-0720, U.S.A. ([email protected]). 19
IV 06
As an art historian, I am impressed that this article draws
upon humanistic approaches to address the anthropological
and archaeological problem of characterizing the sociopolitical functions of ancient Maya architecture, particularly plazas. Most studies that are relevant to this project are analyses
of ancient Maya literature (epigraphy), architectural history,
or the iconography and iconology of monumental art. While
some of these studies were conducted by anthropologists or
archaeologists fluent in humanistic methods (e.g., Sanchez
1997), a great many were conducted by art historians (see
Newsome 2001). While the integration of arts and sciences
that is evident from this study can be partly attributed to a
general tendency toward interdisciplinary collaboration in the
field of Maya studies, it is also symptomatic of the emphasis
on performance as a mode of inquiry, which, as Fabian (1990,
10) notes, provides a way of “humanizing” anthropology.
Despite this humanistic tendency, the application of certain
theatrical metaphors and models risks secularizing ancient
Maya performance. Several fundamental theoretical models
cited in this article (e.g., Schechner 1988, Turner 1986) present
theater as an essentially secular activity for the purpose of
“entertainment” and thus separate from the more religiously
oriented ritual. Whereas it could be said that such an approach
serves to demystify these performances, the rhetoric of texts
and images constantly refers to the prototypical actions of
supernatural beings who conduct sacrifices and dedicate stone
monuments just as historical rulers do. Maya kings were frequently entitled “divine lords,” testimony to their role as both
political and religious leaders. It could therefore be argued
that the application of theatrical models may distort the focus
of ancient Maya public performances, which were saturated
with religious content.
On another level, the interpretation of social life based on
a theatrical model (particularly as conceived by Goffman
[1959, 1967]) may be problematic because of its basis in conventional Western notions of dramatic representation (Schieffelin 1998). Such performances are predicated on a division
between audience and performer in which the fictive personae
assumed by the performers create a third, on-stage world.
This “symbolic reality” is treated like a sign which is in turn
deciphered by the audience through distanced contemplation.
In fact, the historical origins of the concept of ideology—
invoked frequently in this essay—can be traced to an iconoclastic interpretation of theater as the expressive and intentional manipulation of audience by performers (Summers
2003). In my view, theatrical models of society imply a culturally specific mode of communication which cannot be assumed in the case of Maya performance (Looper n.d.).
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Inomata Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
Indeed, I would go so far as to argue that the communication of cognitive meanings constitutes a relatively minor
component of performance. In addition to their rhetorical
content, the performances are structured in such a way as to
engage the participants’ senses in the recognition and production of forms and configurations known as aesthetic tropes
(Tambiah 1985). These tropes do not “represent” a social
reality that is separate from them but are actualities themselves
in that they are the emotionally loaded patterns through which
social memory is perceived, organized, and manipulated. Because it enlists the intersubjective practices that are integral
to social life, performance actualizes symbolic reality in social
terms rather than merely as a cognitive argument or proposition (Schieffelin 1985).
This is not to say that ancient Maya public performance
was not theatrical in the sense of being highly visual—indeed,
the overwhelming abundance of visual imagery that survives
from this society attests to the desire to enhance the visibility
of certain performances, as do the plaza spaces discussed in
this essay. However, we should not lose sight of the fact that
public performances sponsored by ancient Maya rulers were
fundamentally cosmological (or, dare I say, magical) rites designed to invoke divine blessings and protection and to promote fertility and fecundity. In contrast to Western theater,
the performances did not represent a “symbolic reality” and
therefore did not require a rational human audience to decipher them. What was important was that the performance
be done in the proper way so that divine beings were invoked
as coparticipants. This orientation is demonstrated by numerous images in which deities and ancestors peer down upon
scenes of royal ritual. Analogously, it is possible that plazas
were designed not only with human audiences in mind but
also to address divine agents in the form of deity images
housed in surrounding temples, deified astronomical phenomena, and/or numinous figures embodied in the landscape.
In short, the interpretation of ancient Maya performance
would be well served by taking into account culturally specific
epistemologies rather than assuming an audience-performer
relationship—and the consequent communicative functions—derivative of the Western dramaturgical model.
Lisa J. Lucero
Department of Anthropology, New Mexico State University,
Las Cruces, NM 88003, U.S.A. ([email protected]). 8 V 06
Inomata has contributed a thought-provoking piece that will
be useful not only to Mayanists but also to anthropologists
who study complex societies, and I do not think that anyone
would disagree with his claim that political leaders rely on
public events for integrative purposes. A completely material
basis for political power is not palatable. This is because it is
important to take into account varied practices, agencies, and
827
beliefs. Theater takes into account these different factors; performers and witnesses all have roles that are attuned to specific
events, typically with political overtones, but also perceive
events in ways that best suit their needs or belief systems.
Performers are judged by an audience; success benefited rulers
in the form of social and material support (surplus labor and
goods).
Inomata clearly demonstrates how important political theater is; how and why this is the case are less fully addressed.
For example, Roscoe (1993) details the importance and challenges of not only the need to reach people but the logistics
of doing so. The more people successfully integrated, the more
political capital and the greater challenge for rulers to interact
on a face-to-face basis with their supporters, Again, Inomata
notes that different centers have different audience capacities;
why is this the case? Performers can be judged successful only
if people can participate in the performance to begin with.
Why did farmers, many of whom lived dispersed throughout
the hinterlands, come to centers at all? Because rulers also
fulfilled material needs—specifically, water during the annual
drought. Thus, audience size was influenced by how much
water royals had at their disposal in the massive artificial
reservoirs located next to temples and plazas (Scarborough
2003) and the amount of agricultural land in the vicinity and
beyond (Lucero 2006). Moreover, evaluating royal performances had much to do with seasonal conditions—not
enough water, too much water, and so on. Thus, people
judged as “poor performances” those conducted without immediate results in times of trouble and uncertainty (e.g., succession). The performances were likely ones that had been
performed numerous times before. Social, political, and economic conditions, not just the audience, determined their
success.
As Inomata mentions, with farmers living dispersed between centers, there was likely an element of choice to attendance at royal performances in any given year. Too many
poor performances would have caused farmers to look to
other royals for what they needed. Further, in some cases they
could look elsewhere within the same center (Lucero n.d.).
Every Maya center had several temples and plazas, and while
in some instances additional plazas were built to accommodate growing numbers of supporters, as Inomata suggests,
different groups—lesser royals, elites, priesthoods, community groups, or other special-interest groups—could also have
been building their own ceremonial stages and arenas. I suggest, then, that a poor performance may have resulted first
in people’s trying another temple in the same center. Only
when the conditions that resulted in the change of venue did
not improve would they have chosen another center altogether. This idea goes a long way toward explaining the ornate
Maya civic-ceremonial centers. Performers were always competing for audiences against others within and without. We
can begin assessing whether different groups built temples
within centers by comparing their construction attributes,
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Current Anthropology Volume 47, Number 5, October 2006
ritual deposits, and, when present, iconography and inscriptions (Lucero n.d.).
These few comments aside, Inomata has provided us a
foundation from which to explore further how and why Maya
kings became some of the ancient world’s best performers.
Elizabeth A. Newsome
Department of Visual Arts, University of California, San
Diego, La Jolla, CA 92093-0084, U.S.A. (enewsome@ucsd.
edu). 29 IV 06
This important article directs much-needed attention to the
dynamic role that spectacle and public assembly may have
played in Classic Maya political life. It offers researchers a
new appreciation for the scale and lasting importance of settings designed for ritual gatherings in Maya urban design and
a promising empirical approach to aspects of social experience
that, however intangible, were influential in the constitution
of power. Most of us who have studied Maya architecture
and monumental art have an intuitive understanding of the
theatrical sensibilities implied in the construction of plazas,
causeways, and the free-standing monuments that occupy
them, but we have lacked a fully articulated, explicit methodology for discussing them in objective terms. What is so
rewarding in Inomata’s study is his deductive method for
observing, comparing, and modeling the development of
these performative aspects of social discourse through their
tangible indicators in the built environment. His use of the
concept of “imagined communities” to situate this focus on
performance within the debate over sociopolitical process establishes yet another satisfying convergence between postprocessual archaeology and the growing cognitive, phenomenological, and aesthetic humanism in studies of Mesoamerican
art and writing. As an art historian, I especially value the
opportunities his approach provides for interdisciplinary understandings of the way performance, visuality, and perceptual
experience can sustain and generate cultural knowledge.
The article is ground-breaking in the extent to which the
author utilizes performance theory, a body of scholarship
which has been applied in a very limited fashion to archaeological cultures. The reason, of course, is that mental experience can be approached only indirectly through the archaeological record. Exploring how transactions of understanding,
consensus, and political authority were enacted through spectatorship and performance may inform the examination of
agency and the flow of power in Maya communities. Agency
and power have, however, been engaged in relation to the
built environment in ways that Inomata does not address but
may be crucial to furthering his method. I would be interested
in his perspectives on the way vision interfaced with Maya
spatial order, considering the interplays Foucault (1979[1975];
Bentham 1977) observed between environment and gaze that
promoted royal visibility as an idiom of power. Questions
concerned with the historical reciprocity between Maya architecture and political order may be beyond the scope of
this article but are not beyond the scope of Inomata’s method.
Similarly, the implications of his study for gauging the value
of spectatorship in social process require considering the subject from a more encompassing point of view. His emphasis
on performance as a tool for enhancing power relations adds
a new dimension to what Classic Maya inscriptions have already told us about the political contexts of viewership.
Epigraphers are familiar with a verbal compound that uses
the “eye” hieroglyph with extended sight lines to record the
act of “witnessing” ceremonial events. This phrase, based on
the root il, “to see,” occurs in statements of monument dedications, sacrifices, and period endings to record that individuals of key political importance were present to behold
those events (Houston and Taube 2000, 284–87; see also
Houston and Stuart 1998). Stela 10 at Seibal follows this
expression with emblem glyph titles naming the lords of three
distant sites. In this and similar monuments, the iconographic
depiction of royal performance and display is joined with an
inscription emphasizing the reciprocal act of viewership by
these lords. As Foucault’s observations indicate, vision articulates power relations between the beholder and the object
of the gaze (see, e.g., Bryson 1983).
Exploring spectatorship in the Americas may generate possibilities for interpreting Pre-Columbian performance that
conventional Western understandings of the topic fail to provide. For example, Rhonda Taube has learned that connotations of the K’ich’e term for “seeing” or “watching” imply
“liking,” expressing a kind of social approbation for the form
and content of the performance (Taube 2006, n.d.). Her studies of the styles and moods of spectatorship associated with
contemporary and traditional dances suggest affinities with
the collective discourses of affiliation and resistance that Inomata envisions. Productive analogies may also be discovered
in the highly theatrical dance dramas of the Northwest Coast,
where spectatorship, gift giving, and feasting were critical to
validating systems of rank and status. Houston and Taube
(2000, 287) suggest that, for the Maya, sight may have similarly “discharged a witnessing or authorizing function” in
ritual contexts. The viewership involved in the potlatch is not
passive spectatorship in the Western sense but more akin to
what Jill Sweet (1985) called “active listening.” The state of
mind and imagination that Sweet describes obliterates distance between audience and performers and, by ascribing an
active agency to the viewers’ involvement, fosters collective
belonging, harmony, and balance with universal forces. Such
comparative models may expand our perspectives on the social dynamics Inomata suggests for Classic Maya performance
and inform our sense of their political impact.
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Inomata Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
Miguel Rivera Dorado
Universidad Complutense de Madrid, Madrid, Spain
([email protected]). 22 III 06
Is the individual identity of a member of an ancient state
simply the product of actions and ceremonies sponsored by
the authorities? Inomata seems to believe that it is, but there
are historical cases in which there is consensus that abstract
elements are the raw materials—in Egypt involving funerary
customs, the pharaoh, and the gifts of the Nile, in Greece
involving myths, sanctuaries, war, and writers and philosophers, and in Rome involving the idea of the republic and
the “civilizing mission.” He says that the development of large
centralized states would have been impossible without grandiose public events. While these events are important in societies with strong centrifugal tendencies, very primitive technologies, problems of transport and communication, and a
hostile environment such as the ancient Maya and still relevant in many states whose territory is very extensive and
includes different ethnic groups or peoples in different cultural conditions, they are much less so in states with developed
administration, in which integrating factors such as militarism
and religious fundamentalism play a role. I am talking about
identity here; public state actions of course always reaffirm
and consolidate group spirit and are a notable mechanism of
cohesion and integration.
I am not entirely convinced that theatrical events evolve
ambiguously. If this were true, the polyvalence of theatrical
signs would make the propagation of dominant ideologies
difficult or impossible. I believe, in contrast, in the political
usefulness of theatrical performances, which transmit at least
the basic principles of the dominant system of values. Here
I use “political” in the Greek sense because the affairs of the
city call for moral and, if possible, ethical consensus. The
conflicts generated are another story. I cannot say that the
religious ceremonies in the temple of Jerusalem or the games
in the Coliseum were ambiguous in this sense. They were
performances arising from particular cultural orientations and
designed to transmit shared and politically correct values.
I am, however, convinced about the theatrical character of
the public events in Maya cities and their role in enhancing
the cohesion of Classic society, the effectiveness of divine
monarchies, and even the survival of the civilization in such
a hostile environment (see Rivera 1982, 2001). It is necessary,
however, to distinguish performances such as the pwé of
Burma, an outgrowth of the development of social interactions like those that occur in popular celebrations around the
world and are supported by political power, from institutional
theater in the hands of more or less free professionals, often
performing for gain. Political or religious performance is not,
strictly speaking, one or the other but has the character of
829
an extraordinary traditional spectacle with specific, eminently
social ends.
Inomata says that a plaza is a space in the center of the
city surrounded by temples and other buildings with a strong
symbolic charge, but these are features typical of other spaces
that are usually called “courtyards.” Plazas are often simply
open spaces that separate groups of buildings—transitional
areas, in the terminology of architects and urbanists, that
could be classified as no-man’s-lands, if we assigned those
groups to kinship or corporate units, or perhaps as everyone’s
land. Their large dimensions and very irregular and open
design may distinguish plazas from courtyards, but in any
case these are relative and rather vague categories.
I agree with Inomata with regard to the ostentatious vestments that the rulers displayed in public ceremonies, but I
do not share his view of the role of litters and palanquins;
although they were adorned with figures or other motifs, this
does not mean that they were used in public events before a
large audience. These modes of transport, always luxuriously
decorated to express the status of their occupants, were not
usually used as seats or simply for display in fiestas and celebrations. Platforms and staircases seem more logical ways of
raising certain personages above the mass of humanity, although these personages were of course able to arrive by
palanquin at the exact location of the event.
I share Inomata’s view that the main purpose of the plazas
of Maya cities was to accommodate well-attended ceremonies
and fiestas, but it is important to keep in mind the need for
space in which to contemplate certain buildings from an appropriate perspective. Like the plazas in front of medieval
cathedrals, these plazas are not only places for meetings, theatrical performances, and markets but also provide the distance and vantage points that permit the appreciation of the
building’s ornaments and symbolic motifs. Like the great facades of Christian churches, those of Maya buildings were,
for the illiterate people who made up the majority of the
population, immense books in which they could see and understand sacred histories and political doctrines. Moreover,
their size, their style, their craftsmanship, their decoration,
and the perspectives afforded by their plazas contributed to
something equally substantial—emotion.
Julia L. J. Sanchez
Cotsen Institute of Archaeology at UCLA, A210 Fowler,
University of California, Los Angeles, CA 90095-1510,
U.S.A. ([email protected]). 8 V 06
Inomata discusses political performances among the Classic
Maya, concentrating on large-scale events held in public plazas. What the article contributes is not descriptions of the
events themselves, which have been discussed at great length
already, but the perspective from which the events are viewed.
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Current Anthropology Volume 47, Number 5, October 2006
In other words, Inomata asks, “What if we looked at these
data differently?”
Previously, the public rituals of Maya rulers have been
viewed from the perspective of maintenance of political
power, economic strength, and religious ritual. Artistic representations of the rituals have been viewed from various art
historical, iconographic, and epigraphic perspectives. All of
these approaches are valid and provide complementary insights into ancient Maya life. Inomata adds another perspective: looking at the political events as performances in front
of an audience. This perspective offers intriguing possibilities
for the analysis of ritual in general and Maya ritual in particular. Inomata offers interesting ideas and experiments with
a novel approach. Many opportunities exist for expanding on
these ideas:
Theater and performance studies have examined the role
and perspective of the audience. Inomata introduces the concept, and it could be explored in much greater detail.
Inomata briefly mentions the change of sites over time.
Maya sites often grow more restricted over time, with buildings added in or around the plazas. The architectural changes
are doubtless related to changes in the use of space, and it
would be interesting to explore the performance concepts
associated with these changes.
Detailed ethnohistoric accounts describe various activities
at Maya sites. Although the ethnohistories have been mined
for hundreds, perhaps thousands of articles, new ideas may
yet be developed from this work.
Causeways and roads are another oft-studied aspect of
Maya sites. Ideas of performance, procession, and audience
continue to be explored in various ways (Keller 1996).
It is rare now in archaeology to see something completely
new. As my good friend Jim Sackett is fond of saying, people
like to claim that they have said something new when it
actually has been said before (Sackett 2006, 16). Much more
often, contributions come in the form of interesting ideas that
allow us to continue our discussions and explore new directions. Inomata has added several ideas that will stimulate
further discussion and exploration, and I believe that this
means that he has accomplished his goal admirably.
Alexandre Tokovinine
Department of Anthropology, Harvard University,
Cambridge, MA 02138, U.S.A. ([email protected]).
26 IV 06
Inomata’s article offers an important contribution to studies
of Classic Maya royal courts as settings in which the political
and moral orders of “imagined communities” were reiterated
through acts of theatrical performance. The author suggests
that public performances offer moments of “real” community,
of extraordinary experiences that shape the perceptions and
experiences of daily life. He argues that performances are not
“unidirectional” and involve implicit evaluation and negotiation of power and authority between performers and viewers.
Nevertheless, the discussion of theatrical performances and
their settings in Classic Maya polities seems rather unconvincing. I cannot agree with one of the main arguments of
the article, namely, that “public” events are represented primarily on “public” monuments and objects of art. The very
distinction between “public” and “restricted” settings implies
that we know the intended recipients of the messages carried
by the objects, but this is not the case. The famed Bonampak
murals adorn three small dark rooms. The arguably public
scenes of Tikal kings carried in the captured palanquins of
their enemies appear on temple lintels, the least public setting
one can possibly imagine. There are more depictions of
dances, processions, presentations of tribute, and captives on
painted or carved vessels than on carved monuments.
The relationship between the location of a monument and
the events depicted or described on it needs to be clarified.
According to Houston and Stuart (1998), sculptured or
painted images are extensions of the selves of the depicted
actors. These images engage with human participants as if
they were living actors themselves. Consequently, a panel depicting a dancing lord ensures the everlasting presence of a
certain manifestation of that person in the act of dancing in
that place. It does not imply that the original act performed
by the flesh-and-blood character took place or used to take
place at the location of the monument. Therefore, the monuments are not, strictly speaking, commemorative but populate the landscape with ever-acting manifestations of gods,
kings, queens, and nobles.
When it comes to determining the “prototypical” location
of an act depicted or described on a monument, there are
usually few if any clues. Most events take place “in the land/
city so-and-so” (Stuart and Houston 1994). There are no
deciphered terms for “plaza” or “dancing platform.” I am
aware of only two related references to an architectural setting
of dances. The inscription on Dumbarton Oaks Panel 1
(Mayer 1980, 68–70, pl. 75) states that the protagonist danced
in a specific “house” at Piedras Negras. The inscription on
Stela 8 at Piedras Negras (Stuart and Graham 2005) refers to
a dancing event in the same “house” some 35 years later. The
term “house” (naaj) might designate a group of halls with an
adjacent courtyard (Plank 2004). It must have been a fairly
restricted setting.
Given the complexities involved in the analysis of Classic
Maya monuments and inscriptions, it might be productive
to consider other sources of information on the nature of
theatrical events and their spatial settings. For instance, Houston (1998a) suggests using graffiti in determining which areas
of sites were open or closed to human traffic. He notes, among
other things, that there are almost no depictions of humans
on the stairs of the temples. This makes these structures essentially “nonpublic” as far as the presence of living humans
is concerned.
The volumetric assessment of potentially public spaces at
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Inomata Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
Classic Maya sites seemingly offers a robust source of data
for determining the degree of exclusivity of state-sponsored
theatrical events. Inomata follows the method suggested in
earlier publications; for example, Fash (1998, 239–42) makes
similar observations with respect to the role of plazas at Copán, Pechal, and Tikal as settings for public performances of
variable exclusivity. However, as in the case of earlier works
on the subject, it remains unclear to what extent the volumetric assessment of public spaces as opposed to population
estimates for only three sites is statistically significant and to
what extent the observations based on such limited data can
be applied to hundreds of other Maya sites.
The most important question that remains unanswered is
what kinds of public theatrical performances—in terms of
content, not form—were essential to the maintenance of the
imagined communities of Classic Maya polities. Was a community imagined through celebrations of political and military power of its lords, through periodic reestablishments of
space and time, or through the acts of asking for rain and
placating local gods, the “guardians,” the “owners” of the
land? Of course, the available data are very limited, but these
questions are crucial for understanding the role of theatrical
performances in the creation and maintenance of shared identities in Classic Maya kingdoms and merit further investigation.
Reply
I am grateful that so many scholars wrote thoughtful
comments on my article. I focus my reply on three issues
salient in their discussions: (1) theories of performance and
theater and their application to Maya society, (2) performance
and its relation to Maya polities, identity, and power, and (3)
various types of evidence on public events in Maya society
and the methodology of examining them. As I write this reply
in the Guatemalan lowlands, I am unable to consult additional
literature, but our ongoing fieldwork at a Maya site gives me
a renewed conviction of the importance of these issues.
Theater, performance, and ritual. Isendahl and Looper suggest
that the concept of theater is based on a modern Western view
and its application to Maya rituals is inappropriate. This point
concerns a critical problem in the study of performance, and
I appreciate this opportunity for further discussion. Their
criticism appears to derive from their dichotomized view of
theater and ritual. My intention, in contrast, was to explore the
common features of the two. Thus, my emphasis on
theatricality was not meant to replace the concept of ritual, nor
did it privilege individual creativity over collective performance
or entertainment over participation. “Theaters,” even modern
Western ones, are not detached from history, moral values, and
conventional beliefs, and “rituals” can involve heightened
emotional effects, the reactions of participants, and the use of
831
symbols. The theories of theater and performance help us to
focus explicitly on interplays of such factors.
Isendahl’s and Looper’s tendency toward dichotomization
can also be seen in their categorical division of the secular
from the religious. In many societies, including the Classic
Maya, religious notions permeate numerous aspects of daily
life, and what some consider “secular,” such as the theatrical
effect, is present in “religious” ceremonies. Instead of
categorically labeling Maya public events as religious or
cosmological, we should examine complex interplays of
various elements. Similarly, the symbolic reality of theater is
not a unique entity detached from daily lives. As many
anthropologists have argued, culture is a system of symbols,
and human life is saturated with them. In our daily routines
we constantly create, use, and manipulate symbols and
interpret and misinterpret them. I therefore defined
theatricality not categorically but in terms of modes and
degrees of the use of certain signs.
Performance theory presents an even more fundamental
criticism on the dichotomization of thought and action that
gives primacy to the former. When Looper suggests that the
Maya needed to conduct performances properly in order to
invoke the divine beings, he is arguing for the preexistence
of ideas or understandings of the world that generate and
define people’s actions. We need to ask, however, how such
ideas and perceptions came to exist in the first place and how
they were maintained, shared, and transformed. For this
purpose, we have to examine not only the way ideas defined
actions but also the processes by which people’s actions and
experiences shaped their perceptions of the world. Looper’s
comment gives the impression that beliefs in supernatural
beings transcended all other meanings and actions. To me,
the importance of divine beings and the necessity to conduct
rituals properly were parts of the meanings that were created,
reproduced, and negotiated through performance. Conducting
these rituals expressed such meanings whether this was
intended or not, and participation in the events signaled
compliance with these meanings, whether superficial or
wholehearted. It is important to recognize that physical acts
define certain aspects of social relations. As Newsome points
out, modes of physical interaction, including visibility and
invisibility, are closely intertwined with the culturally shaped
nature of power. The performance perspective highlights such
recursive relations between the materiality of bodies, actions,
objects, and spaces, on one hand, and the intangible issues
of emotions, perceptions, morality, and power, on the other.
Looper’s comments, as well as Rivera’s, imply the
assumption of homogeneity and coherence in people’s beliefs
and perceptions at the expense of internal tension and fluidity.
Although Isendahl recognizes agency and multivocality, his
emphasis on “durable and encompassing systems” seems to
hint that he shares a certain aspect of this view. The traditional
concept of homogeneous culture and the overemphasis on
abstract structure have come under serious challenge in recent
years (Abu-Lughod 1991; Dirks et al. 1994; Inomata and
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Current Anthropology Volume 47, Number 5, October 2006
Triadan 2004; Wade 1999). The harmonious appearance of
culture and its continuity require conscious effort by certain
members of society to maintain them and involve contestation
and negotiation. We need to examine how and under what
conditions culture may be shared and when and how it may
exhibit rupture and change.
The theories of theater and performance examine public
events as critical moments in which certain views are imposed,
shared, resisted, and negotiated. In other words, theatrical
events are multivocal. Meanings expressed and interpreted
through performance are not fixed or singular. In this sense, I
am in agreement with Looper’s caution about overemphasizing
the communication of meanings, although this suggestion
appears to contradict his own insistence on the primacy of
religious beliefs in determining action. Clancy’s argument that
images deceive relates to this issue. She appears to have in mind
the ambiguous correlations among physical representations,
their messages, and individualized perceptions discussed above.
In this regard, her view and mine are probably not so different.
What I intended, however, was a balanced consideration of the
communicative potential of performance as well. Performance
and viewing have substantial persuasive power with regard to
people’s actions and their physical states. In addition, we should
not assume the existence of the absolute reality hidden behind
screens of illusion. What people do and see makes up the reality
of the world as they experience it.
Isendahl, Looper, and I are probably in a close agreement
on the need to examine specific historical and social contexts.
We are also well aware of the challenge of studying societies
so distant from our own. As Clancy points out, our views are
embedded in our own historical circumstances. Isendahl’s and
Looper’s position, however, appear to diverge from mine as
to how we develop historically sensitive inquiries. My concern
is that the concepts of homogeneous culture and abstract
structure are more inventions of researchers shaped by their
own historical backgrounds than features of past societies.
The criticism of the overarching notion of culture has led
researchers to pay closer attention to the more concrete,
observable events and actions that make up social processes
(Appadurai 1996, 12; Barth 1994, 358; Friedman 1994, 207).
Emphasis on events and actions does not mean disregard of
history. To the degree that participants understand or think
that they understand what happened before and contemplate
the outcomes of their actions, events are tied to the past and
the future. Just as history shapes events, it is implicated in
events. In this regard, I appreciate Newsome’s comments on
culturally constituted notions of performance and vision that
provide a bridge between the physicality of action and its
embedded nature.
Isendahl also criticizes the notion of spectators as
evaluators. However, once we recognize the problem of
uncritically assuming the homogeneity of culture and note
the prevalence of multivocality, the importance of an audience
as evaluators should be clear. While many studies inspired by
practice theory tend to focus on the practices of actors, the
emphasis on spectators as evaluators directs our attention
more to interaction in specific social and spatial settings. This
view does not necessarily presume a strict division between
actors and an audience. The participants can be at once
performers and spectators. Nor does it assume explicit
evaluations by highly conscious critics. Most viewers’ reactions
to Maya rituals were probably far more subtle and less
conscious. Multivocality does not necessarily mean outright
rejection of religious beliefs but may entail varying degrees of
commitment to such beliefs, indifferent conformity, covert
dissent, and individualized ways of internalizing religious
notions. It follows that commoners’ participation in rituals does
not always reflect fervent commitment to religious notions as
Looper appears to imply. Varying attitudes may lead to more
explicit forms on other occasions. The humorous performances
that Chinchilla mentions may have functioned as such social
commentaries (see Taube 1989). One of the most negative
expressions may have been simple nonparticipation. As Lucero
notes, many Maya commoners probably had the option of
not attending ceremonies or of attending rituals sponsored
by different elites, although I would conceptualize this process
less as a win-or-lose game.
Chinchilla and Tokovinine comment on the contents of
performances as opposed to their forms. The study of the
contents of performances is certainly important, and in
particular I strongly agree with Chinchilla as to the
importance of war-related performance for developing
communal identities (Inomata and Triadan 2004). I should
reiterate, however, that we need to recognize the indissoluble
connection of the two instead of dichotomizing them and
privileging one at the expense of the other. In this article I
intentionally highlighted the forms and physical dimensions
of performances because I felt that many previous studies of
Maya rituals and those of other societies had disproportionately
privileged the contents and meanings of these events. I hoped
that the perspective I proposed would lead to new insights
and enrich our understanding of Maya society by
complementing other kinds of work. In this sense, I appreciate
Looper’s and Newsome’s favorable comments about the spirit
of this approach and those of Liendo, Sanchez, and others
who appear to see the potential for theoretical and
methodological advance.
Political process. Becker notes that my use of the term
“divine ruler” assumes a singularity or unity of command,
but he seems to miss my point. I follow many anthropological
studies of divine kingship that stress its symbolic aspect. By
emphasizing the public performances of rulers instead of their
managerial functions, I tried to examine how they served as
embodiments of community identities. A ruler’s institutionalized position as the highest political authority does not
imply a singular command in the operation of the polity. In
this regard, Rivera appears to have misunderstood my
argument about community identities. I do not think that
individual identity was simply the product of ceremonies
sponsored by the elite. Although I argued that experiences of
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Inomata Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
public events contributed to certain aspects of commoners’
identity, I said that we do not know how important the ties
to a specific dynasty were for the identities of individual
farmers. Identities were probably shaped in substantial part
by other factors, including their affiliations with kin groups
and smaller local groups.
Becker says that I do not clarify where Maya polities lie on
the continuum of state-level societies. I find such a onedimensional view of social evolution problematic. Social
changes have multiple dimensions, among them administrative
systems, economic organization, and the symbolism associated
with rulers, which are not transformed simultaneously. This
does not, however, mean that we should abandon cross-cultural
studies and try to understand individual societies in the closed
contexts of their historical particularities. The development of
bureaucratic administrative systems that I discussed is one of
the dimensions that can be examined through comparative
studies, but we should not assume that changes in this aspect
were always correlated with transformations in other
dimensions of society.
Aoyama, Grube, Isendahl, and Lucero suggest elite control
of certain material goods and the daily lives of nonelites in
Classic Maya society. This was not a central issue of my paper,
but I should clarify my position. I believe that it is misleading
to classify states as “weak” or “strong” and that there is not
much point in categorically distinguishing ideologically based
states from bureaucratic ones. Even in modern states with
developed bureaucracies, including the Nazi regime, with its
heavy reliance on coercion, ideology is a critical component
of state power. Equally problematic is the polarization of
centralized control of commoners and the economy and the
absence of such control. Instead, we need to examine under
what conditions and in what ways they had influence or
control. In this regard, Grube’s and my views are probably
not substantially different.
We should also avoid an overly rigid and standardized
model of the state that disregards historical particularities.
The study of states is inevitably affected by our own experience
of living in modern society, in which the state penetrates into
various aspects of daily life through its taxation system, police
force, legal system, city plans, standardized measurements,
omnipresent symbols, and deeply internalized senses of
national identities. We need to consider the possibility that
experiences of living in ancient states may have been quite
different from modern ones. My suggestion of limited state
interference in the daily lives of nonelites in Classic Maya
society was made in such comparative terms. I proposed that
mass spectacle was probably one of the occasions on which
Maya commoners felt their ties with the ruler most strongly,
but I did not mean that the state could not be experienced
in other circumstances. Moreover, the notion of an imagined
community does not necessarily indicate the weak presence
of the state in daily life. On the contrary, the original
formulation of the concept by Anderson implies that an
imagined community can reflect a profound penetration of
833
the state into the identity of individuals. My main argument
was that the heavy emphasis on public events in Classic Maya
society created moments of real community that coexisted
with imagined ones. In contrast, modern society, with a large
population precluding face-to-face contact, is more of an
imagined community sustained partly by a more developed
bureaucracy and communication technologies.
Likewise, in suggesting a centrifugal tendency in Maya
polities I did not mean the absence of centralized control over
certain aspects of commoners’ lives. The foregoing discussion
should make it clear that I do not think that the centrifugal
tendency derived one-directionally from “weak” systems of
political control. Although I agree with Isendahl that the
dispersed settlement patterns in the Maya lowlands were
conditioned by agricultural practices, we interpret the political
implications of these patterns differently. In my view, the
dispersed settlement pattern was a critical contributor to the
centrifugal tendency. Dispersed populations are far more
difficult to control than nucleated ones, as can be seen in the
Spanish strategy of congregación in the Colonial-period Maya
area. To unite a dispersed population effectively, the state
needs certain administrative apparatus, transportation and
communication technologies, and a strong sense of affiliation
to the central authority on the part of nonelites. I feel that
evidence for such features is weak in Classic Maya society,
and I suggested that mass spectacle sponsored by the central
authority was important in counteracting the centrifugal
tendency.
I agree with Aoyama, Grube, Isendahl, and Lucero that the
relation between public performance and other political and
economic processes is a critical issue, although a thorough
treatment of this question was beyond the scope of this paper.
I should stress that in focusing on public performance I did
not intend to privilege it as the paramount mechanism over
others. It is obvious that no polity can exist without its
economic basis, certain administrative mechanisms, and
ideological constructs. Similarly, its development would be
impossible without public performances. In this regard, I
concur with Grube’s view that these diverse elements are
inseparably intertwined. The material control by elites was
rooted in the sense of a community and its moral values,
which were constructed partially through public events and
shared to a certain degree by the masses. Community
identities and the social relations of members mean little
without material settings and physical actions. Furthermore,
political processes take many forms and occur in diverse
settings. For example, I have elsewhere discussed the political
interactions that unfolded in households and other smaller
settings (Inomata 2001b; Inomata et al. 2002). Mass spectacles
become effective only through their connection and contrast
with more intimate but equally political actions, including
food production, craft production, gift exchange, and smallscale meetings.
Lucero points out that theatrical events require logistical
and organizational bases. In a sense, ever larger spectacles
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Current Anthropology Volume 47, Number 5, October 2006
became possible with the development of centralized polities,
with their material supplies and administrative structures. The
reverse may be true, too; we should examine how demands
for public events might have driven developments in logistical
and organizational systems. I am sympathetic with Lucero’s
comment that the social effects of public performance are
conditioned by political and economic settings, but I would
stress that these factors are not external to the participants.
Social consequences are shaped by agents who assess and react
to political and material conditions. In other words, political
and economic settings affect the outcomes of performances
through the participants. This also means that these settings
do not “determine” their success in a mechanistic manner.
Evidence of public events. As Newsome notes, past
performance is not directly accessible to us. Most evidence is
circumstantial. The difficulty in addressing theatrical events
in the past should not, however, deter us from exploring this
vital issue. My argument was that, although individual pieces
of evidence may be rather ambiguous, we can develop sound
interpretations by combining various lines of inquiry. A
particularly important source of information is the
ethnohistoric record mentioned by Chinchilla, which tells us
about mass spectacles held in plazas during the Colonial
period (Inomata 2006). It is very likely that similar events
took place in Classic-period plazas. An important objective
of our study, however, should be to examine how public
performance articulated with polf coritical conditions in
specific historical contexts. Obviously, this relationship
changed from the Classic period to Colonial times, and this
forces us to consider other lines of evidence.
Tokovinine points out that public events are not necessarily
depicted on monuments placed in plazas. As I said, the
correlation between art media and types of performance is
loose and far from exclusive. The important point of my
discussion on the use of plazas was that a significant
proportion of the stelae erected in those open spaces depicted
public performances. The reverse correlation—public events’
being depicted primarily on stelae—on which Tokovinine
focuses his comment is less clear. I have noted that various
lintels and ceramic paintings also show public scenes.
Tokovinine’s criticism involving these examples misses the
point of my argument.
Contrary to Tokovinine’s suggestion, an important clue to
the relations between art media and types of performance is
probably the intended viewers of the images. Stelae erected
in open plazas tended to depict public performances in which
elites and nonelites possibly took part and were probably
meant to be seen by both elites and nonelites. Lintels and
ceramic paintings that show more exclusive scenes, as well as
public events, were most likely viewed mainly by elites, and
individuals of the same social groups participated in the events
depicted.
I agree with Tokovinine that stelae as extensions of the
selves of the individuals depicted populated the ritual
landscape. I also concur with Clancy’s comment that
monuments accrue their own histories. These meanings and
histories, however, cannot be understood apart from the
memories or imaginations of performances by flesh-andblood actors. The accompanying texts typically narrate
specific historical events attended by the individuals depicted,
in some cases with explicit references to their dances and
other performances (Grube 1992). In other words, these
carvings were not general representations of individuals but
anchored to real historical acts. After their erection, the
monuments invited subsequent performances, including
viewing, placement of offerings, and recitals of inscriptions.
Even the plain stelae that Clancy mentions may have been
associated with such performances, though in less direct and
less explicit ways than the carved ones, and it is possible that
some of them were originally painted. Such histories mean
that these monuments mediated between memories of past
performances and future acts. This process was embedded in
specific spatial settings with social agents who occupied these
spaces because, as discussed above, no performance can
transcend its specific context. It follows, contrary to Clancy’s
comment, that stelae never became independent of the plazas
in which they stood.
Becker and Tokovinine consider my data on plaza capacities
irrelevant or problematic. These numbers were not meant to
be direct indicators of the sizes of past events. They are, at
best, circumstantial evidence loosely pointing to the number
of people who could have been involved in events held in the
spaces. This ambiguity, however, does not mean that we
should disregard these data. They have significant implications
when combined with other lines of evidence, including
ethnohistorical documents on Colonial-period spectacles,
depictions in art, and histories of urban development.
Space is in some cases shaped with specific theatrical effects
in mind and in others with a heavier emphasis on symbolic
meanings and cultural conventions. Even spaces in the latter
case, with their unyielding physicality, have effects on
visibility, audibility, and movements of bodies that may not
always be consciously expected by their designers and
builders. For example, as Rivera notes, some configurations
may have been meant in part to provide appropriate
perspectives for viewing buildings. Yet we can still examine
the theatrical consequences of the resulting forms. Likewise,
the pyramidal shape of Maya temples may have primarily
represented sacred mountains, but an effect of this form was
the high visibility of kings and other elites who climbed their
stairs and the near impossibility of their hiding from the
masses. The primary function of palanquins, on which Rivera
comments, was obviously the transport of the privileged, but
they presented significant theatrical effects with the visibility
of their occupants and their elaborate decorations. The
transport of rulers was a spectacle and could have had
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Inomata Plazas, Performers, and Spectators
commemorative qualities, as Chinchilla notes. Such physical
properties of space, including the capacities of plazas, provide
a starting point for analysis.
The archaeological study of performance is in an incipient
stage, and we need substantial work to develop effective
methods of inquiry. One important approach is the analysis of
histories of plazas that Becker and Sanchez mention. One
reason that I chose Tikal as an example was that it was one of
the best-studied Maya sites, but our understanding of the early
histories of its plazas seems to be quite tenuous. Although
Becker suggests that many buildings were standing in the Great
Plaza before the Late Classic period, the Tikal Report (Coe
1990, 587–88) describes only two early structures (Str. 5D-sub
20 and 5D-sub 25) other than those found under Temples I
and II and the North Acropolis. The early configuration of the
Great Plaza is unclear. Our limited understanding of plaza
histories is partly due to archaeologists’ traditional focus on
buildings rather than open spaces. We need to develop research
specifically designed for the study of plaza configurations, their
histories, and meanings. Caches and burials in plazas and
surrounding buildings, discussed by Aoyama, also provide
significant clues to the performances that took place there
(Lucero 2003). The study of these features should include the
analysis not only of their contents but also of the spatial contexts
in which performances took place.
Ciudad and Adánez, Chinchilla, Clancy, Grube, and
Tokovinine comment on temporal and regional variations in
plaza configurations and uses. Although my objective was not
to provide an exhaustive review of numerous sites, I certainly
recognize the importance of this issue. Our goal, however,
should not be to pursue the statistical significance that
Tokovinine notes; we need to consider specific historical
contexts. For this reason I think that overly restrictive a priori
definitions of plazas are counterproductive. Ciudad and
Adánez present an important example of plazas at Machaquilá
that appear to indicate certain forms of performance shaped
by a specific dynastic history. I also appreciate Grube’s
comment on the unique patterns in the Rı́o Bec and western
Puuc regions, which may reflect distinctive political
organizations.
These data at the same time highlight the challenge of
studying past performances through the archaeological
record. They require not only data on physical configurations
of plazas and population estimates but also detailed data on
sequences of plaza modification and local political histories.
At most sites, our grasp of such information is far from ideal.
We should not, however, be too pessimistic. The key is the
explicit focus on people’s actions embedded in material and
historical settings and their relations with thoughts, values,
and power. It provides an avenue of effective inquiry into
past societies and suggests that archaeologists should be able
to make significant contributions to the study of performance.
—Takeshi Inomata
835
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