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BREATHING LIFE INTO THE BUILT ENVIRONMENT:
DEDICATION, TERMINATION, AND THE LIFE CYCLE OF
CLASSIC MAYA ARCHITECTURE
by
Brian Battaglino
BREATHING LIFE INTO THE BUILT ENVIRONMENT
To the casual eye, the Maya universe appears to be a chaotic palimpsest of
superstitious beliefs revolving around an intricate pantheon of deities, nature spirits, and
ghostly ancestors. This perhaps is due in part to the multivocality of Mayan semiotics
(Schele and Freidel 1990). A ceiba tree is not merely a tree to Mayan eyes, but an artifact
of the cultural landscape: it is the pillar that raised the sky during the mythological age,
the central axis of the cosmos, the axis mundi, and the conduit through which the levels
of the cosmos converge. But, when the proper ritual practices are observed, any tree at
any time could manifest itself as the axis mundi of the cosmos, just as any cave, natural
or artificial could lead to such a looking glass into the Maya Otherworld. Axis mundi’s
may be anywhere one cares to look, just as much as everyday inanimate objects were and
still are believed to be permeated with the living force of all things, ch’ulel (Schele and
Freidel 1998). Jade, obsidian, seashells, trees, mountains; everywhere ch’ ulel penetrates,
even the severed skull of one’s enemy.
One would expect then, that this animacy in nature would be reflected in Mayan
material culture that in turn would be a reflection of their cosmology. Furthermore, if the
Nature known to the Mayan eyes consists of a series of patterns, especially that
concerning the circle of existence, one might observe cultural patterns that mimic those
of the natural world. In other words, seemingly purely cultural events as interpreted by
investigators may in fact have had doppelgangers in the natural world.
One example of how Maya culture defines the cosmos is the built environment,
and the cultural practices that serve to demarcate sacred space. So far in the research
literature on this subject many attempts have been made to understand the significance of
the built environment in relation to its reflection of the Mayan worldview. It is an
accepted assertion that the Maya believed the built environment to be an animated
counterpart to their sacred mountains, but what does that mean for the significance of
those archaeological features contained within them?
At present, our understanding of Maya architecture is hindered due to our own
expectations. If we are to comprehend the cosmological significance of architecture we
must view it as the ancient Maya did; as inextricably linked to their surrounding
environment (Ashmore 1991). Therefore, if the Mayan built environment was believed to
be in fact charged with the same life force that penetrates all nature, it must, at least
conceptually, be subject to similar laws governing living things. As such, archaeological
features incorporated into Mayan architecture must serve some cultural function that
would enforce the link between inanimate object and a dynamic living entity. I would
like to suggest that when the built environment is viewed holistically within the
framework of nature and its cultural definition, a slightly different interpretation emerges.
The function of the seemingly disparate categories of archaeological features contained
within Mayan architecture, under a possible single category of “earth offerings”, becomes
more understandable within this framework of the built environment as a metaphorical
organism with a cyclical life-span and requiring regular “nourishment”. These living
“god houses” as Karl Taube has labeled them, thus reflect the same processes as seen in
nature, as will be discussed shortly (Taube 1998) .
First, a discussion of the existing controversy over the archaeological features
incorporated into Mayan architecture is needed in order for us to understand their cultural
significance and function with respect to the construction of said buildings and their
supposed animated properties.
A QUESTION OF CLASSIFICATION OR OF SEMANTICS?
The content of the floors of Maya buildings is highly variable and may include
previous constructions as well as human interments and deposits of artifacts in prepared
pits, labeled respectively, "burials" and so-called "cached offerings", or simply "caches".
Becker has defined a “burial” as a deposit containing a significant number of human
bones, while features containing much smaller quantities of bone he defined as being
“Problematic Deposits” (P.D’s). In situations where “ritual” deposits are found either
with or without low frequencies of human bone, the field classification used is generally
“cache” (Becker 1998).
Much ink has been spent investigating the nature of and caches and burials and
their relationship with each other. The ambiguity of their respective natures stems in part
from a fundamental bias imbedded in post-industrial Western thought. It is the fallacy of
Western bias that we must label every cultural feature discovered in the archeological
record as a distinct category, especially when dealing with the multi-vocality of Mayan
semantic language. The vocabulary used to identify these features itself is inadequate
because such terminology is embedded in modern Western thought, and hence the true
nature of such deposits will continue to elude us due to our inability to see beyond our
own cultural perspective.
A discussion of possible suggestions concerning a new terminology is beyond the
scope of this paper, unfortunately. However, if for the moment we can tentatively
propose a generalized category of “earth offerings” encompassing the sub-variants of
burial and cache, we may open the door to new interpretations of the built environment
that may in turn inform us about the nature of these “earth offerings”.
The basic question remains, did the ancient Maya conceive of these deposits of
caches and burials as two separate features serving different cultural functions or two
subsets of a single category? To begin with, the human burials that we are concerned with
are those that appear to have had intentional ritual significance; burials outside of the
context of the built environment have no precedence in this argument. Caches whose
spatial position and assorted grave goods indicate intentional interment and could be
viewed as some kind of ritual offering. Likewise, burials oftentimes maintain the same
cognitive element as caches in that the body itself, or parts of it, is an "offering" (Becker
1998).
In many situations, there appears to be distinct boundaries separating the two
categories. The pyramidal Structure B20-1, at Caracol, Belize, is adorned with a
significant architectural feature: a large witz mask, the representation of the witz monster
inhabiting the mythological sacred mountain of the Maya, forms a niche centered on axis
with the pyramid’s stairway. It has been suggested that the witz mask symbolically
“swallowed” the dead previously interred in tombs axially aligned with it. Strong
evidence to support this supposition comes in the form of a cache consisting of a
dismembered human skeleton deposited in the niche, effectively the monster’s open maw
(Chase and Chase 1998). No grave goods of any kind were recovered, and considering
the deposit’s highly symbolic provenance, it has been labeled as having a ritual
“dedicatory” function.
There are many instances when the human nature of the offering is unclear, such
as when a partial skeleton is deposited within a pottery vessel but is also associated with a
variety of “ritual” artifacts. Such an interment might be viewed as a cached offering, but
to what end? Surely the poor soul interred in this manner did not want to be remembered
as being buried in a clay pot, assuming he had no choice, so commemoration of the
individual is probably not an option in this case. But might not the same artifact
assemblage also possibly be considered so-called “burial furniture” (Garber, et al. 1998) ,
therefore qualifying the deposit as a human burial?
In many instances, the boundaries between these seemingly dichotomous
categories tend to merge, with neither the human remains nor the artifact assemblage
dominating one or the other. The difficulty is to determine whether the complete or
partial burial of an individual(s) is a “burial”, the main purpose of which is disposal,
followed by the subsequent commemoration of the individual, or if the human remains
represent a ritually interred “cache”, having a “dedicatory” function (Welsh 1998).
Thus far, archaeology alone has been unable to differentiate between two distinct
categories of function, and this being the case, one might infer that those that produced
the deposit may not have made that distinction to begin with. Indeed, the problem may lie
in semantic bias as we project our own cultural values onto a situation. To further
complicate matters, the accepted literature on the subject fractionates the “cache”
category into two subsets of “dedicatory” and “terminal” offerings. Dedicatory caches are
thought to be distinguished from a terminal offering in that they are either intentionally
penetrating into earlier phases of architectural construction, or are buried within the fill,
even though the latter may be buried by a new construction phase.
Dedicatory offerings include artifacts of a variety of types including jade,
obsidian, or chert “eccentric” artifacts or waste debitage leftover from the artifacts'
creation, a variety of pottery, worked and un-worked shells, and human bone, typically
the bones of the hand, but occasionally skulls and/or long bones of the extremities
(Kunen, et al. 2002). Dedicatory offerings may include any combination of the above
artifacts as well as some not mentioned but its worth noting that these caches often
contain lesser-quality artifacts. Such domestic deposits as found in common residences
maintain similar characteristics as those interred within pyramids, but to a less lavish
extent. Therefore, we can infer a universal ritual system for Mayan society the material
evidence of which is modified only by differential access to higher quality artifacts as
dictated by status (Becker 1998).
On the other hand, cached offerings are many times destroyed by breakage and/or
burning as opposed to being buried intact, earning such deposits the label of
“termination” events. In many cases, this type of deposit may be stratigraphically
correlated with ritual effacement of the building in which it was deposited, and also with
prolonged episodes of burning of its façade. Additionally, burnt materials often occur on
building surfaces in conjunction with the aforementioned façade defacement, to be later
concealed within later construction phases (Garber, et al. 1998).
As Chase and Chase note, the treatment of caches, burials within buildings is
remarkably similar in that contents of each may occur in varying conditions: whole,
broken, and/or burnt. Like caches within buildings, burials have considerable variation in
their context and position (Chase and Chase 1998). Contexts they are found in range from
refuse middens to elaborate tombs, and the bones themselves can be found in various
states of preservation and frequency. Human remains may consist of a few disarticulated
metacarpals, to entire skeletons, to mass skull pits such as those found at Colha, Belize,
to be discussed later (Mock 1998). A broadly diverse assemblage of artifact offerings
accompanies these skeletal combinations.
Despite the fact that it is often difficult to definitively prove a correlation between
a construction phase and a single tomb, several instances exist where this is clearly the
case. Construction of a temple platform began subsequent to and directly above Burial
160 at Tikal, Guatemala (Becker 1998). Construction of Structure B20 at Caracol was
similarly initiated by Tomb 4, what one might label a “foundation” tomb, which was
ritually sealed by that building phase (Chase and Chase 1998 ). Interments of this kind
might be interpreted as “dedicatory” either to the construction phase that sealed them, or
that phase of the structure might be considered commemorative to the burial beneath.
Other cases however, such as Structure B-4 at Altun Ha, Belize, complicate
matters of interpretation. In this instance, Tomb 7, which would appear to be the
internment initiating the subsequent renovation of the structure, had been preceded by
several subfloor caches below the crypt that had been intentionally intruded into the
foundation prior to the construction of the tomb (Pendergast 1969 ). While there is no
mistaking the sequence of events, the question remains, which was the dedicatory
offering, the subfloor caches or the tomb, or both? It would seem that the timing of a
cache or burial with respect to construction phases is also a determining factor of its
status as “dedicatory”, but the Altun Ha example is but one that calls into question the
notion that caches and burials are separate categories.
Termination deposits further complicate the already confusing array of
possibilities. Logically, one might expect that a termination deposit ought to be located in
between construction phases or at the very least would occur after several preceding
phases. Once again, using Structure B20 from Caracol as an example, evidence of
extensive burning occurs between the first two building phases (B20-4th-B20-3rd) and also
most heavily following the sealing of Tomb 2, B20-2nd. Both interior and exterior walls
of this phase including the tomb were completely charred ( Chase and Chase 1998).
Unfortunately, not every instance operates within the bounds of logic.
Maddeningly opposing all attempts to impose neat and tidy hypotheses on it, structure B-
4 at Altun Ha contains a subfloor cache containing a deep layer of charcoal extending
11cm below the tomb floor. The charcoal mass was roughly circular, covering an area
27x28 cm, and was aligned with the right hand of the individual entombed above in
Tomb 7. This must be significant considering that the famous sculpted jade head
identified as Kinich Ahau rested on the forearm of the individual, just above that hand
(Taube 1998).
There are several aspects of this cache that defy convention. First, the apparent
“termination” event, as characterized by the extensive burning, has been recorded as
having occurred prior to the primary tomb’s construction. Secondly, mixed with the
charcoal stratum were fragments of jade beads; broken items that commonly occur in
these types of deposits. However, all other artifacts among the pottery or eccentric flints
interred were left intact; what one would not expect of a “termination” cache.
Additionally, there were three other caches contemporaneous with the charcoal
layer that showed no signs of burning and contained only a few scattered broken artifacts.
All caches were excavated in situ so there was no chance of mixing later deposits in any
of them (Pendergast 1969).
So here we have a situation where an inadequately termed “termination” deposit
occurs in the basal level of a pyramid prior to the aforementioned primary burial that
supposedly “dedicated” the structure. Furthermore, the carbonized cache does not even
adhere to the definition of a “termination” event judging by the mixture of broken and
unbroken artifacts. How are we to mitigate these inconsistencies?
A likely explanation as to why an understanding of caches eludes us lies in
semantics. Our own limited vocabulary, rooted in Western cultural bias and life
experience in a modern industrial society, in turn puts limitations on the extent of our
understanding. Terminology such as “dedication”, “termination”, and so forth contain
embedded meanings suggestive of a linear mode of thinking. Modern Western thought
could be said as having a “goal-oriented” character, that is, a progression of events has a
definite outcome, and that outcome is fixed. This however is not congruent with what is
known about how the Maya viewed their world, which was anything but linearly
organized. Therefore our very vocabulary is flawed and inhibits further comprehension.
THE LIVING MOUNTAIN
It is widely accepted in the literature that pyramids were conceived by the Maya as
analogous to mountains, or witz in the Maya languages. David Stuart first recognized the
glyph for witz in its many permutations at Copan as a zoomorphic image complete with
mouth, eyes, muzzle, and ear ornaments (Schele and Freidel 1990). These mountain
monsters are identified by a combination of tun (stone) markings and a cleft in the
forehead, and occur on the corners of buildings, on terraces, around doorways, and in
some cases are the doors themselves (Schele and Matthews 1998). Such doors built in the
form of this monster are refered to as ti’ otot, or “mouth of the house”. Applied to the
context of Maya civic architecture and its metaphorical ties to the mythical cave of
creation it becomes the “mouth of the mountain” (Taube 1998). Maya mythology
identifies the road to the underworld, Xibalba, as going through a cave, and the insides of
temples were understood to be the cave portal or path to the Otherworld. So we are
dealing with structures that were regarded as having zoomorphic qualities, in effect
becoming living mountains to the people who created them. In principle, all Maya
pyramids were witz monsters, but there were also metaphors for the universe, as well as
the dwelling place of the ancestors and the gods (Taube 1998).
Pyramids are in fact a “reciprocal metaphor” for Mayan thatch houses (Houston
1998). Just as the pyramids may have either zoomorphic or anthropomorphic qualities as
a witz mountain monster, so are simple residences thought of as having similar
characteristics. A contemporary Mayan house is also a metaphor for the universe, as the
house roof mirrors the structure of the pyramid-mountain. In the Zinacantecan Maya
Tzotzil language referring to houses, yok, “its foot” refers to both the foot of the
mountain and the foundation of a house; sch’ ut, “its stomach”, is the midpoint of a
mountainside as well as the wall of a house; and shol, “its head”, can be a mountaintop or
a house top (Vogt 1998).
The layers of thatch that function as a modern Tzeltal Maya house’s roof is viewed
as the house’s “hair” or “clothing’. The facades of pyramids may also have once been
decorated with thatch and other vegetation in similar fashion (Stross 1998). Hence, the
connection between the basic Maya residence and the civic-ceremonial pyramids defines
the latter as a dwelling place albeit of gods rather than of mortals. In colonial Yucatec,
the common term for temple is k’ u na, or “god house” (Taube 1998). Before a structure,
either monumental or residential, is ready for use by the human and spiritual entities that
will inhabit them, ancient Maya conducted special rituals to, once again, “dedicate” these
structures in order to infuse them with life (Schele and Freidel 1990). The purpose of this
ritual was to infuse the ch’ ulel or “soul essence” into the built environment, and
"dedicatory" offerings consisting of precious materials such as jade, obsidian, human
skulls, etc., correspond to representations of ch’ ulel. These practices are seen as ritually
activating the built environment as a sacred space as well as metaphorically “giving
birth” to a structure (Houston 1998). Finally, a structure is bestowed with a proper name
in the final acts of dedication to complete its identity (Stuart 1998). This is usually
marked with inscriptions next the name of the “owner”, oftentimes the founding patron
interred at the base of the structure.
But like all living things in nature, the built environment, being a tropological
doppelganger of it, must adhere to the same set of characteristics and limitations as other
organisms. That is, they must similarly proceed through a series of stages and birth,
growth, death, but most importantly, they must acquire “nourishment”.
But prior to receiving sustenance, pyramids or houses must be ritually animated
with their own ch' ulel in order that it may function as a useful part of the world (Stross
1998). Vogt has noted that among Zinacantecos of Chiapas virtually everything that is
important and valuable to them possesses an inner soul: domesticated plants (such as
maize, beans, and squash), deer, lakes, trees, caves, the ancestral spirits of the mountains,
and even the sleeping Earth God of the underworld who occasionally requires
compensation. The C' ul Kantela house dedication ritual of the Zinacantecos serves to
satiate the Earth Lord and summon the ancestral gods of the mountains to provide the
house with an inner soul (Vogt 1998).
This ritual and others like it initiate a process that is analogous to birth, while
abandoning or destroying artifacts through ritual was akin to death (Stross 1998). Part of
the animation process of contemporary Tenejapa Maya houses involves the placing of
three hearthstones to represent the axis mundi of the structure, its metaphorical "heart"
(Taube 1998). Cached offerings as well are interred in this hearth, and the blood of a
sacrificial bird, typically a chicken, is allowed to drain into it. All aspects of this ritual are
intended not only to supply the built environment with a "heart and soul", but also to
"feed" it through sacrifice. Such a practice might once again be considered "dedicatory"
(Stross 1998).
The three-stone hearth has been described as a place of creation, as well as a
house's axis mundi, the cosmic pillar connecting this plane of existence with all other
layers of the universe. Its widespread appearance in Mayan inscriptions suggests that it
was a basic feature of Classic Maya households. Although little evidence of their
presence exists within Classic Maya pyramids, in has been proposed that three-prong
incense bowls, which were also a widespread artifact occurrence, served as the hearth.
Thus these censers also act as the vital heart of the structure they were placed in (Taube
1998).
In certain instances, hearthstones are represented in sculpture as tuns set in the
mouths of witz monsters, as occurs on Structure E5-5 at the site of Toniná, Chiapas,
Mexico. In this case, stucco analogues of the hearthstones occur as a triangularly
arranged hearth in a chamber constituting the witz monster's gullet, the chamber
containing evidence of extensive burning (Taube 1998). Once again we are faced with a
situation that defies appropriate classification. Features such as this are considered the
kitchen hearths of the gods and ancestors; places where offerings are made to the spirit
realm. But such intense burning is also associated with "termination" events as well, so
which interpretation are we to believe?
Structure A-3 at Seibal, Guatemala, epigraphically labeled as the "three stone
place", contains considerable evidence of burning on the interior temple floors,
particularly in association with Stela 21, which appears to be a dedicatory cache in the
very center of the building (Taube 1998). David Stuart has suggested that this stela
depicts a figure dressed as the Jaguar God of the Underworld who may be the Classic
Maya god of fire (1993). Another cache directly below this monument consisted of three
jade boulders weighing from 6.25 to 10 pounds; a cached hearth of green jade (Taube
1998). This is yet another example of a case where a "dedicatory" offering interred with
the purpose of animating a structure is found in the same context commonly associated
with "termination".
At Altun Ha, the situation is reversed. Karl Taube has noted that the carved jade
boulder of Kinich Ahau in Tomb 7, Structure B-4 most likely represents the pyramid's
sacred hearthstone although it is not clear where the other two stones may be (1998). In
any case, it is a significant cache due both to its position in the primary burial and its
sheer size. In this instance however, as was mentioned before, the burning episode
occurred prior to the caching of the jade head and the accompanying burial. Once again,
the so-called "termination" event occurred before the actual "dedication", so either we
need to manipulate the criteria of our cache definitions, or throw out the old categories
entirely.
But what of burials? Among the Quiche Maya, ancestors are strongly associated
with the residential abode as the first and foremost dwellers. During Pre-Colonial times, a
house or pyramid may not have been regarded as complete without the founding
ancestor's incorporation into the structure (McAnany, et al. 1999). Ancestor interments
could then be thought of as contributing to the soul of the structure, to "feed" it, and also
to protect it as well. Perhaps the young royal family member interred within the entrance
to the West Group Plaza of Piedras Negras, Guatemala, performed a similar function
(Fitzsimmons, et al. 2002).
Schele and Matthews have suggested that there is an agglutinative nature to the
residual energy accumulated within the built environment (1998). Thus, very old
structures with the oldest hearth-portals through continued ritual feeding via cached
offerings contained the most concentrated ch' ulel of all. Successive human interments
no doubt had a similar function, regardless of whether or not burial initiated a
construction phase. It may have been the case that re-entry into a tomb and the attendant
rituals may have had a hand in feeding the structure. The cases in which human
interments are often followed by structural renovation might be considered an indication
of rebirth, as well as the persistence of a family lineage's affluence (McAnany 1998).
Furthermore, the probable parallel function of both caches and burials is
corroborated by hieroglyphic texts where references to "sealing and closing" and to
"opening" refer alternately to both caches and tombs, further erasing any perceived
boundaries between the two (Stuart 1998). As just previously noted, the built
environment housed a life-force that accumulated residual energy composed of a singular
identity closely identified with both its proper name and the name of the founding
ancestor, but also a collective identity as well which was composed of the sum of all
ancestral interments.
But as a living being, the built environment must continually require nourishment
to remain vital, and with nutriment comes growth, metaphorically expressed as
successive building phases of construction, following an appropriate offering for
consumption in the form of a cache or a tomb, or a revisitation of either.
David Stuart has written at length about the regenerative properties of fire, and
how the entrance of fire into a tomb and the burning of incense had similar meanings
associated with the symbolic feeding of structures, or at least plays a role in "revivifying"
it (Stuart 1998). However, while much attention in the literature has been paid to
concepts of rebirth and nourishment of the god-house-mountain, little has been said about
the metaphorical "death". One might argue that termination rituals are analogous to
symbolic death of a structure, and this may indeed be the case. But again, terminology
such as "termination" and "death" are couched in the semantic hardwiring of the Western
mind. Nevertheless, death is a necessary ingredient for subsequent rebirth, thus
completing the cycle of existence. A thing must be destroyed so that it may continue to
live.
Which brings us to termination rituals. These types of events as conventionally
understood often contain evidence of burning, but as has been discussed, oftentimes
burning occurs in contexts where a "dedicatory" interpretation is more appropriate such
as at the Altun Ha and Seibal pyramids. Additionally, fire "entering the tomb" has been
described as having regenerative properties (Stuart 1998). Yet, in other cases such as at
the site of Colha, massive burning occurred in many of the buildings there just prior to
the site's abandonment (Mock 1998). It would seem that fire was used ritually for two
purposes: one to instill life, and another to destroy it to pave the way for future life.
THE FIRE AND THE SEED
In order to understand this sequence of events, it may be helpful to seek out other
parallels in the Maya cosmos that may endure a similar process of birth, growth, death,
and rebirth, of which fire is the critical catalyst. Shifting cultivation, also known as
swidden, or slash-and-burn agriculture is one such cultural manipulation of the natural
world, just as the creation of the built environment is.
Shifting, or slash-and-burn agriculture has been a major component of Maya
subsistence since the Formative Period at least and remains so to this day. Contemporary
Maya in Campeche refer to the fields as milpa, and is spoken about in nostalgic and
reverential tones, for it is sacred, and makes human life possible (Faust 1998). The
clearing and planting of fields is undertaken with as much pomp and ceremony as any
building dedication. Proper rituals must be observed involving offerings both to the Wind
Lords who control the rains and the sacred beings who inhabit the forest, the aluxes, in
order to gain permission to use the land (Faust 1998).
The process of this farming method involves the clearing of secondary-growth
forest that is allowed to dry for a brief period, and then the entire cleared area is put to the
flame. The intense heat loosens and enriches the soil, kills insects and their eggs, destroys
weeds and their seeds, and turns the cleared vegetation into a fine ash which the seasonal
rains wash from the soil. Much care is taken to time the burning just right, as an intense
burning is crucial for a successful harvest (Faust 1998).
Present-day slash-and-burn agriculture is in fact a technological analogy of ritual
symbolism. The orientation of fields with respect to astronomical cycles, the way that
they are laid out in a grid and so forth are congruent with the ancient Mayan system of
demarcating sacred space (Faust 1998). As mutual elements in the sacred landscape
possessing the same ch' ulel life force, it is therefore possible, even probable, that the
cultivation of swidden fields and the life cycle of a structure obey the same laws of nature
as they both exist under the same cosmological umbrella. The fires that destroy in order
to make way for new life in the fields are the same that bring new life into the built
environment, and allow for "growth" in the form of building renovations. Just as the field
must be cut and the foliage scattered to prepare for burning, an architectural phase may
be defaced and artifacts scattered across the facade, cache, or tomb prior to either the
burning of incense or a more prolonged, intense "areal" burning.
Evidence from archaeology, ethnography, and epigraphy support such a
correlation between shifting cultivation and the life span of a structure. Caches often
contain a layer of white limestone marl, a lime-rich mudstone, at the base of the deposit,
and is usually followed by burning of either artifacts or incense. Occasionally caches
might see intense burning above this lime matrix.
It is a well-known fact among contemporary Mayan farmers that lime is crucial to
the success of the harvest. Lime maintains the alkalinity of soil that is critical for their
crops' growth rate, their ability to compete with surrounding weeds, and their ability to
absorb nutrients from the soil (Faust 1998). The burning of the fields converts limestone
to quicklime, which washes into the soil, thus raising its alkaline level. Lime therefore is
a critical component of the growth of crops, and may have also had major significance in
caching rituals for the purpose of rebirth.
At Cerros, Belize, structures were rebuilt over a sterile paleosol, a layer of
fossilized soil preserved beneath layers of sedimentary soil deposits, but not before a
layer of limestone marl was spread over each house site prior to construction. In addition,
potsherds from the initial building phases were scattered and mixed with the prepared
marl surface (Walker 1998). Presumably, seeding the locus of each building with the
ch'ulel of the founding structures may have been analogous to the initial preparations of
swidden fields.
At Altun Ha, Structure B-4, a massive burning episode occurred after the primary
founding tomb, Tomb 7, was sealed, directly over a layer of lime-enriched soil covering
the roof slabs. Among the carbonized material were a few small bits of jade, a large
amount of as-yet-unidentified wood, and a single carbonized corn kernel (Pendergast
1969).
Furthermore, some sparse epigraphic evidence suggests a connection between
vegetal growth and architectural space. Copan cache censers often display cacao pods on
their sides as if they are growing trees laden with cacao. In Late Classic Maya
iconography, censers frequently depict volutes of smoke strikingly similar to vine-like
vegetal growth. (Taube 1998). Occasionally, architectural inscriptions make reference to
pyramids as having plantlike attributes. Karl Taube has identified the zoomorphic glyph
yax hal witz nal on the Tablet of the Cross at Palenque, Chiapas, Mexico, as the "green
maize mountain", the three-stone place from which the Maize God emerges (1998).
It should be noted that much of this discussion on the subject of slash-and-burn
agriculture as a parallel cultural analog to the building phases of the built environment is
pure supposition, but I believe pending further investigation, these suggestions will
eventually be validated. Our expectations of what the various vectors of evidence are
informing us about Maya culture seriously hinder our progress in our understanding of it.
Only if we take a more holistic viewpoint of Maya cosmology as a whole, and utilizing a
conjunctive, multi-disciplinary approach to research will we have a better understanding
of the cultural landscape of the ancient Maya and their architectural practices.
CONCLUSION
What could be comfortably accepted based on the evidence presented is that the
Mayan built environment was, and remains to this day among extant Maya communities,
a sacred space believed to be the place where their ancestors dwelt, infused with
collective animistic essence. That these structures should also have been constructed and
reconstructed in a cyclical fashion in mimicry of observable natural living processes is a
logical conclusion based on the evidence. Researchers' need for implicit categorization of
archaeological features is, unfortunately, a by-product of the empirical demands of the
modern scientific method. Science tells us that if something cannot be clearly defined, it
cannot be understood.
The blurred characteristics of caches and burials, and whether they dedicate or
ritually terminate a building at the end of its useful life indicate a direct conflict with
what we expect to encounter in the archeological record with our Western thought
structures of "beginning" and "end". The fact that there is a definite pattern of interment
across categories implies strongly that there is less of a distinction than is currently
understood between what counts as a tomb, versus a cached offering serving an abstract
civic-ceremonial function. This evidence is at odds with what is assumed by the
incumbent research paradigm that monumental architecture bears no further significance
other than as status-signifying, self-aggrandizing structural displays of power; inert and
lifeless.
Instead, based on the evidence, I would assert that the "use-life" of a particular
structure and its building phases is intimately related to how the ancient Maya perceived
their world: animate, dynamic, and alive with essence. Archaeological, epigraphic,
iconographic, and ethnographic evidence all indicate the animistic ritual significance of
buildings ranging from the smallest hut to the grandest pyramid, and in fact demands that
researchers recognize their role as "living monuments" requiring spiritual nourishment
for the beings who dwelt within up until the structure is ceremonially "reborn". This
nourishment would come in the form of offerings made of potent artifacts and ceremonial
items, human remains, and sometimes the founding ruler himself whose tomb provided
the metaphorical seed from which the sacred mountain would grow. Additionally, the
significance of fire in ancient Maya culture and its use as both a farming method and a
ritual practice during a structure's "rebirth" cannot be overstated: it represents destruction
for the sake of new life, the very catalyst for growth and abundance.
As the built environment echoes the living world, so is the natural world reflected
in ancient Maya cultural practices, forming a more complete understanding of their
perspective of life.
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