The Body of Meaning in Chavin Art.

In the study of pre-Columbian art in SouthAmerica, one particular artistic tradition, that

known (from the eponymous site of Chavín deHuántar, Peru) as Chavín, has been the focus of agreat deal of interest and attention over theyears.1 The interest in Chavín art is related par-tially to the antiquity of works produced in thisstyle (ca. 850–200 B.C.), as well as to its impres-sive range of distribution. Objects of stone, pot-tery, gold, shell, and other media rendered in theChavín style have been found in archaeologicalsites along the coast, in the Andean highlands, andat sites along tributaries of the Amazon Riverwithin much of the territory of the present-daynation of Peru.2 Beyond its impressive distribu-tion in time and space, the central question thathas motivated so much research on this artistictradition is, What is the meaning of Chavíniconography? This is the question that motivatesthe present study.

In more concrete terms, I address the follow-ing questions: What attracts us when we view awork of art in the Chavín style? What were Chavínartists communicating about their understandingof their world in the iconography of this art? And,what (if anything) do we know about the subjectmatter of Chavín iconography as a basis for un-derstanding and interpreting its meaning? To ad-dress these questions, I begin with a rather fanci-ful characterization of the process whereby (atleast in my own experience) one gains a familiar-ity with, and gradually becomes accustomed to,

some of the standard formal elements and organi-zational principles of Chavín art. The purpose ofthis exercise is to develop a basis for beginning todiscuss the relationships between form and mean-ing that may have been important to Chavín artistsas they went about their work, rendering subjectsin the style to which they had become accustomed.

AN EXPLORATION OF STYLE

IN CHAVÍN ART

To begin with, and following Boas’s dictum (1955:9–10) to the effect that “without skill, there is noart,” I maintain that underlying all fascinationwith Chavín art is the perception that a consider-able degree of artistic skill is represented in thecomposition, design, and execution of most worksrendered in this style.Therefore, at the most basiclevel—that of execution—we are constantly reas-sured when we view a range of works in this stylethat the individual Chavín artists had masteredtheir crafts.

At the next level, I suggest that when we viewparticularly complex examples of Chavín artwork, such as the Lintel of the Jaguars (Roe 1974:Fig. 9) or the Yauya stela (plate 8.1; see Roe 1974:Fig. 11), we are often simultaneously repelled andattracted by the absence of a clearly identifiablefocal subject. By this I mean that the eye imme-diately encounters a profusion of complex, inter-locking forms with no easily discernible centralimage and with no clearly defined figure/ground

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THE BODY OF MEANING

IN CHAVÍN ART

Gary Urton

relation among the various parts of the clusters ofimages. It is as though one is viewing a very com-plex, highly stylized jigsaw puzzle, but as towhether or not the pieces are all in their properplaces, and if so what the image in the puzzle issupposed to be “about,” one cannot say with cer-tainty. However, as one begins to sort out and re-group individual elements in a work such as theYauya stela (figure 8.1) or the Tello obelisk (fig-ure 8.2), the abundance of often grim-looking,profusely tusked animals, such as felines, reptiles,and raptorial birds, gradually resolve themselvesinto a central image.

To summarize, and assuming skill as the fun-damental requirement for the production of anywork of art, I argue that on the formal level, weare often fascinated by works of art in the Chavínstyle because:

We encounter an immediate challenge anddilemma in identifying the relationship be-tween what appear to be innumerable partswith a recognizable whole. That is, Chavín artseems to tinker, in a way often uncomfortablefor us, with our part-whole system of classifi-cation according to which we manage, on aneveryday basis, to recognize patterns amongdisparate forms.The subject matter of Chavín iconography isoverwhelmingly concerned with life formsthat have held a fascination for humans in alltimes and places—that is, animals. Perhapsonly dimly, through our remnant pre-indus-trial senses, do we recognize that these ani-mals are for the most part carnivores. TheChavín artists consistently provide an indexof the dietary predilection of their subjects byequipping them with oversized canines, claws,and occasionally, fierce-looking agnathicmouths. Miller and Burger (1995:453–454)have noted that while the principal animalsconsumed by residents of Chavín de Huantarincluded llamas and (to a lesser extent) deerand vicuña, the animals represented in theiconography were in all cases the wild, carniv-orous animals of the tropical forest. Thus,while the subject matter of Chavín iconog-raphy generally conforms to what Fernandez(1974:122) has noted with regard to the im-

portance of animals in metaphorical con-structions more broadly —“[t]his becomingan object, this taking the other, this predictionupon the pronoun, is a process that has formillennia turned to the animal world”—theChavín artists achieved an even greater levelof affective power of such representationsthrough their emphasis on wild carnivores.

CHAVÍN: ART, ARCHITECTURE, AND CULTURE216

Figure 8.1. The Yauya stela (from

Roe 1974:47, Fig. 11)

And finally, despite the initially unfamiliarpatterns of arrangement of the various ele-ments of Chavín composite figures, there isultimately always the body of an animal and/orhuman that we can identify as constituting

what the particular work of art is “about.” Iwould argue that much of the affective powerof Chavín art is its focus on the body—the ob-ject in the world with which we are most fa-miliar and through which we experience theworld. But, what does this art do with, or sayabout, the body? It is the Chavín artists’ ma-nipulations of the body—the transformationof joints and penises into fierce jaguars; ofhair into entwined serpents; and of vaginasinto the sharp-toothed mouths of piranhas—that, as possessors of bodies, commands ourattention.Following from the above observations, I will

argue herein that the body was a subject of greatinterest to Chavín artists. Moreover, I argue thatone of the primary vehicles for representingmeaning in Chavín art is the play of transforma-tions and substitutions of body parts and that thebodies of Chavín composite creatures representstructural “frameworks,” models, or paradigms fororganizing and classifying relations (for example,of ancestry, filiation, and affinity) among a host ofphenomena and domains of meaning and experi-ence in nature and culture. By analyzing these re-lationships between bodily form and meaning inart, we can hope to arrive at a point from whichto articulate some of the core classificatory prin-ciples, values, and meanings in Chavín society andculture more broadly.

THE PROBLEM OF “KENNINGS”

Any new attempt to develop an understanding ofform and meaning in Chavín art requires a con-sideration of the dominant paradigm in the studyof Chavín art today. I am referring to the ideas ar-ticulated in John H. Rowe’s classic study, “Formand Meaning in Chavín Art” (1967a). One of themost influential suggestions made by Rowe in thisarticle was that Chavín iconography should be un-derstood in terms of the construction of variouslevels and forms of visual metaphors, beginning insimple similes and metaphors and culminating inthe representation of metaphors of metaphors;Rowe refers to the latter as “kennings.” Rowe de-rived the idea of kennings from a common liter-ary convention, or trope, used in Norse sagas. It

CHAPTER 8: THE BODY OF MEANING IN CHAVÍN ART 217

Figure 8.2. The Tello obelisk. Museo National,Pueblo Libre, Lima. Photo: Gary Urton

will be instructive to begin with a rather lengthyquotation from Rowe’s study in which he outlinedthe main features of kennings and suggested howsuch a device might have been employed in theproduction of Chavín iconography.

The type of figurative elaboration which ischaracteristic of Chavín art is one with which

we are more familiar in literary contexts; it is aseries of visual comparisons often suggestedby substitution. To give a literary example, ifwe say of a woman that “her hair is likesnakes,” we are making a direct comparison(simile). If we speak of “her snaky hair” weare making an implied comparison (meta-phor).We can go even further, however, andsimply refer to “her nest of snakes,” withoutusing the word hair at all, and in this case we

are making a comparison by substitution. Inorder to understand our expression thehearer or reader must either share with usthe knowledge that hair is commonly com-pared to snakes or infer our meaning fromthe context. Comparison by substitutionwas an especially fashionable device in OldNorse court poetry, and it was given thename “kenning” by the thirteenth centuryscholar Snorri Sturluson (1178– 1241).

In Old Norse court poetry kenning be-came the chief basis on which verse wasjudged. The poets responded to this devel-opment in taste by devising ever morecomplex and far fetched kennings as wellas increasing the frequency with whichthey used these figures. The elaboration ofkennings was of two kinds, the kenning ofkennings and the introduction of kenningswhich depended on a reference to a storywhich the hearers were assumed to know.

The same kind of development in the direc-tion of increasing figurative complexitywhich we have described for Old Norse po-etry took place also in Chavín art. Kenningsbecame more numerous and more farfetched, and we can identify cases of thekenning of kennings. We cannot identify ken-

nings referring to stories in any specific way, be-

cause the [Chavín] literary tradition is lost.(Rowe 1967a/1977:313– 314; my emphases)

Now, while Rowe’s introduction of the con-cept of “kenning” has proven to be an importantstimulus for thinking and writing about Chavíniconography over the years (certainly it was thepoint of departure for the present work), there area number of problems with the use of this tropein interpreting Chavín (or any other) art style.The principal problem is, in fact, signaled byRowe’s continual switching between artistic andliterary examples in explaining the meaning ofkennings and other related tropes (such as simileand metaphor) in the above quotation, all thewhile claiming that the literary examples are validfor iconographic representation. However, even acursory look at the comparison between literatureand iconography will convince us that somethingis amiss here. Literary or verbal statements thatmake use of the devices of simile (“her hair is likesnakes”), metaphor (“her snaky hair”), and ken-ning (“her nest of snakes”) produce sequential, orlayered, images in the mind. That is, saying “herhair was like twisted snakes” evokes, first, an imageof hair, and then, the transformation of “hair” into“snakes,” However, when represented visually,these three distinct linguistic tropes will all look ex-actly alike—that is, hair rendered as snakes. Thereason for this, of course, is because a visual rep-resentation of, for instance, a metaphor cannotportray the simile of which that metaphor is a fur-ther elaboration. In short, a visual representationof any one of the three verbal statements can beaccomplished only by means of “comparison bysubstitution” (that is, Rowe’s “kenning”). Thus,the distinctions Rowe makes among the variousliterary devices, or tropes, break down when ap-plied to the domain of visual art.

By appealing to the literary trope of “ken-nings,” Rowe was trying to develop a method-ological approach whereby the symbols andmetaphors suggested by “substitutions” and“comparisons” in Chavín iconography could beused as a basis for the study of meaning in Chavínsociety and culture more generally.The most dar-ing suggestion made by Rowe for the potentialvalue of this approach in his 1967(a) article was


that the symbols and metaphors derived by meansof the analysis of artistic “kennings” might revealelements that would have been explained by, andtherefore were representations of, Chavín mythsand legends. However, in order to make use ofkennings in art for interpreting a mythical state-ment, we would have to be able to refer to the vi-sual ancestry—that is, the prior chain of compar-isons and substitutions—from which the finalimage was derived. Only if we were to have accessto Chavín narratives, which would allow us tomove beyond, or behind, iconographic compar-isons and substitutions could we follow the cumu-lative chains of ever more complex and indirectcomparisons that are the hallmark of “kennings”in literature. Thus, the argument becomes circu-lar and falters once again on the same point notedearlier—that is, that similes, metaphors, and ken-nings are visually indistinguishable.

Therefore, since the route of analysis so cre-atively opened up by Rowe leads, in the end, toany number interpretive quandaries, we must re-turn to Chavín art itself and look for some otherroute of analysis to follow. I would suggest thatwe go back to a body of information in Chavín artthat most students of Chavín iconography haveundoubtedly recognized as central to the style it-self but which, perhaps because of its prominenceand its familiarity to us, has been entirely neglect-ed as a focus of study; I am referring to the body.

I argue herein that the structures and rela-tions organizing the bodies of humans and ani-mals in Chavín art represent models of and forstructured relations among actors (or other ele-ments), processes, and systems of classification inother domains of life (for example, kinship, hunt-ing, curing, eating).The “mapping” of sets of non-corporeal objects and relations onto the body rep-resented the strategy whereby Chavín artistsconstructed their iconographic conventions on theproper and “natural” order of things according toChavín cosmology. The resulting frameworks andparadigms of the body constituted what I refer tohere as the “well-ordered body.” Finally, it is im-portant to stress that the body, with its joints reg-ulating movement, its orifices regulating body–en-vironment transactions, and so forth, is virtuallythe only thing we have in common with the Cha-

vín artists. While I would not suggest that we in-terpret our bodily experiences in the same waysthe people of Chavín did, nonetheless I maintainthat the structures, processes, and experiences ofthe body are the most logical points of departurefor an informed analysis of form and meaning inChavín art.

THE PAIRED AMARUS OF THE

TELLO OBELISK

In order to develop the ideas outlined above, I ex-amine closely a single, but quite complex piece ofChavín art, the so-called Tello obelisk (plate 8.1;figure 8.2). The Tello obelisk, which is currentlyhoused in the Museo Nacional in Pueblo Libre,Lima, was the focus of previous studies of Chavínart and iconography undertaken by Tello (1961)and Lathrap (1977b). The descriptive and analyt-ical strategy to be used here, based as it is on onework of art, will obviously be insufficient to elab-orate fully the iconographic details and variationsthereof common to the full corpus of Chavín art.What we can hopefully accomplish in the spaceavailable here is the articulation of the theme ofthe “well-ordered body,” as defined in Chavinoidterms, as well as the principles of organization andclassification that informed the construction andrepresentation of meaning by Chavín artists, asindicated by the metaphorical comparisons andmetonymic connections which they customarilymapped onto the well-ordered body.

The Tello obelisk is a vertical, rectangularshaft of granite with a step-like notch at the top.The shaft is carved in relief on all four sides.When the four sides are depicted in a single, two-dimensional image (see figure 8.3), we see that thestatue consists of two representations of what isapparently a single type of creature. The head,body, and tail of each creature occupy one or theother of the broad sides of the stela (figure 8.3, A1and B1), while the legs and genitalia, as well asother subsidiary elements, occupy the respectivenarrow sides, to the right of the main body (fig-ure 8.3, A2 and B2).

What kind of “creatures” are depicted on theTello obelisk? Julio C. Tello, who was one of the


first scholars to address seriously the questions ofform and meaning in Chavín iconography, iden-tified this pair of images as “cat-dragons” (Tello1961:183–185). Rowe (1962:18) and Lathrap(1977b:338) identify them as caymans (Melana-suchus niger), the large alligators which, until theirvirtual extinction during this century, commonlyinhabited the middle and lower floodplains of theAmazon River basin. On one level, I would agreewith Rowe’s and Lathrap’s identification butwould insist that, by virtue of the transformationsof the caymans’ body parts into other animals,these creatures have become something morethan just caymans; to use what I think might betheir proper Andean designation, these areamarus (“dragon, giant serpent”). As we will seebelow, amarus incorporate elements of Rowe’sand Lathrap’s caymans with Tello’s “cat-dragon.”

We do not have space here to discuss exten-sively the concept of amaru as it is used in theAndes. Briefly, amarus have been identifiedthroughout the ethnographic and ethnohistoricliteratures as several different kinds of animals,such as cats (Zuidema 1967); large aquatic con-strictors, like anacondas (Garcilaso 1966:222–223, 495–496; Guaman Poma 1980:50, 65; Pacha-cuti Yamqui 1950:242); black bulls (Ortíz 1973),“dragons” (González Holguín 1952 [1608]:24);and rainbow-serpents (Urton 1981; Whitten1979). Two commonly recurring characteristicsof amarus are especially appropriately men-tioned in this context. First, amarus are general-ly thought of as composite creatures. For in-stance, Ortíz Rescaniere recorded one myth fromthe Mantaro Valley of an amaru that had thebody of a toad, the head of a huanuco, smallwings, a tail like a serpent, and was white withage (Ortíz 1973:69–70). In a similar fashion, theMilky Way which, among other things, is consid-ered to represent the body of an amaru, is com-posed of several different “dark cloud” animalconstellations, including a snake, toad, tinamou,llama, and a fox (Urton 1981). Therefore, amarusare composite creatures—chimeras (compareBompiani 1989).

Second, as suggested in the quote from Ortízcited above, amarus are often represented aswinged creatures. I think it is arguable that thecreatures on the Tello obelisk are also winged.The

wings are depicted in the form of tail feathers (fig-ures 8.3, 8.4; elements A-36 and B-36). Lathrap(1977b: 339) and Rowe (1962:19) concluded thatthese elements represent fishtails. However, whenone compares the tails of the creatures on theTello obelisk (as well as those on the Yauya stela;see figure 8.1) with the objects that are obviouslytail feathers on the harpy eagles shown in Rowe1962:Fig. 14 and Roe 1974:Fig. 1, I think a strongcase can be made that these creatures are “feath-ered caymans.” Thus, I am in basic agreementwith Burger’s earlier interpretation of these ele-ments as the tail feathers of an eagle or hawk(1992a:151). For these several reasons, I think it iswarranted to refer to the pair of creatures on theTello obelisk by the Quechua designation: amaru.

With regard to the representations of the twoamarus, we see that they are composed of bodyparts rendered as other animals (or other animals’body parts) such that, for example, a feline/kneeis attached to a reptile/wrist (or ankle), which ter-minates in the clawed foot of a cayman. Thus, theamarus of the Tello obelisk are composed of jux-taposed animals, or animal body parts, represent-ed within the framework of the bodies of two cay-mans. I argue that the structure and organizationof these compositions give us information aboutChavín structural relations and classificatory prin-ciples on two levels at once. First, certain animalsare regularly related to each other through an as-sociation of juxtaposition, or contiguity (that is,metonymy). Second, through metaphorical com-parisons, these same animals are regularly com-pared to certain classes of body parts; for exam-ple, elbows and knees are commonly representedby, or transformed into, similar animals (such asjaguars), as are wrists and ankles (entwined ser-pents). These particular body parts are membersof the class of body-part connectors we term“joints.” My presumption here is that such com-parisons as that just outlined between a class ofbody parts and particular types, or classes, of an-imals provide us with important informationabout Chavín ways of viewing, ordering, and clas-sifying the world.

In summary, I propose that the bodies of thepair of amarus on the Tello obelisk serve as struc-tural framing devices for classifying and comparingcertain animals in relation to particular body parts,


and/or classes of body parts. This suggests that itmay be fruitful to discuss some general principlesof ethnoanatomy and body symbolism before pro-ceeding with the analysis of the particular classifi-catory principles and structural relations encodedin the bodies of the amarus on the Tello obelisk.

THE ORGANIZATION AND

MEANING OF ANATOMY

From a number of studies of ethnoanatomicalclassification and symbolism within different non-Western cultures (for example, Classen 1993;


Figure 8.3. Rollout of the reliefs on the Tello obelisk(from Rowe 1967a/1977:328, Fig. 6)

Figure 8.4. Reference key to design elements on theTello obelisk (from Rowe 1967a/1977:328, Fig. 7)

Feher 1989; Franklin 1963; Lenormand 1950;López Austin 1988; Marsh and Laughlin 1956;Perey 1975; Stark 1969; and Swanson and Wit-kowski 1977), it has become clear that the termsand principles employed in classifying the parts ofthe body are often the same as those used in clas-sifying other domains of nature and culture, suchas plants, animals, and social groups. In addition,in all languages, human body-part terms are usedin the naming of animal body parts. In light ofthis, as well as the demonstrable fact that humananatomical classifications are more elaborate thanthe anatomical classification of non-human ani-mals, Ellen has argued that the human body is theprimary model of classification, “in both an evo-lutionary and logico-operational sense” (1977:353). In addition, Douglas has argued persuasive-ly that in many cultures, the body serves as amodel of and for society: “In its role as an imageof society, the body’s main scope is to express therelation of the individual to the group (Douglas1975:87; see also Ellen 1977:360). One context inwhich this theme has been developed in Andeanstudies is in Zuidema’s analysis of the body of thepuma used as a metaphor for the organization ofthe Inca capital city of Cusco (1985; see alsoClassen’s study of body symbolism in Inca cos-mology [1993:96ff.]).

There is still considerable speculation aboutwhether body-part terms used in other domainsare egressive (that is, extended from the body tothose other domains) or ingressive (that is, project-ed from other domains to the body). However, thepreponderance of the data suggests that in mostcultures, the body is primary; it provides a modelof and the terminology for classification withinother domains.This extends to the use of relationsamong body parts as a way of describing relationsamong different elements within another domain,or between two similar elements belonging to twodifferent domains (see Ellen 1977: 357–358).

Apart from these general observations on theuse of the body as a model and source of classifi-cations, symbols, and metaphors, there are a fewrelated points that should be stressed because oftheir relevance for interpreting certain bodyparts, or features, that are emphasized in the com-posite bodies (amarus) in Chavín art. First, there

are certain characteristics of the structure and or-ganization of the human body that are respectedin all systems of ethnoanatomical classifications.These include, perhaps foremost, a universal un-willingness to violate the order in which the partsof the body are physically connected. For exam-ple, no society has been found in its classificationof body parts to unite the foot and thigh as a cat-egory opposed to the lower leg (Swanson andWitkowski 1977:328). In this sense, the body rep-resents a predetermined grid of connections andrelations whose basic structural features are al-ways the same, regardless of the cultural setting.Another characteristic element of the grid of bodyclassifications is its symmetry. There is no knownexample in which the two ears, eyes, arms, or legsare given different primary lexemes, althoughthese symmetrical right and left body parts are, ofcourse, commonly accorded different—usuallyopposed—symbolic values (see Needham 1973).

Second, certain parts or elements of the bodyare accorded special significance. These includeespecially the joints and orifices. The principalnamed joints, the body “dividers,” include theshoulder, elbow, hip, and knee. Interestingly,Swanson and Witkowski found in a survey of theethnoanatomical classifications of seven lan-guages that wrists and ankles are not widelynamed (1977:331). They note that “it is what wemight call the ‘dividers’ or ‘general markers ofboundaries’ that most closely approach what wemight refer to as named semantic universal con-cepts or primes” (1977:331). As for the orifices,these include especially the mouth, nostrils, eyes,ears, genitalia, and the anus. In an intriguing studyof body–environment transactions, Watson andNelson (1967) developed a “paradigm of orifices,”which recognizes the centrality of the orifices asthe loci of the major exchanges between an or-ganism and its environment:

All three [mouth, anus, genitalia] function torelate the organism to its environmentthrough the ingestion of sustaining sub-stances or the expulsion of wastes and othersecretions. For this reason, all can easilysymbolize the exchange of gifts and dona-tions with the rest of nature. (Watson andNelson 1967:296)


These observations are interesting in relationto Lathrap’s analysis of the plants represented onthe Tello obelisk. Lathrap argued that, in its to-tality, the Tello obelisk represents a “huge,granitic doxology” in which the two creatures ap-pear to be delivering the gift of cultivated plantsto mankind (Lathrap 1977b:347–348). Theplants often extrude from the orifices of animalsappended to the amarus. For instance, both Telloand Lathrap interpreted elements A23 and A24(figures 8.3, 8.4) as, respectively, a manioc(Manihot utilisima) plant extruding from themouth of a jaguar, the latter of which is in the po-sition of the penis of amaru A (Lathrap 1977b:344–346; Tello 1961:184). Lathrap further sug-gested that this particular iconographic compo-sition represented something on the order of a“credo” of tropical forest, horticultural societies,projecting the message: “Manioc is the semen ofthe Great Cayman” (1977b:348). It is timely totake note in this regard of Gregor’s comment thatamong the Mehinaku, who live on the upperXingu River, in central Brazil, manioc tubers arecommonly compared to phalluses. Furthermore,what the Mehinaku refer to as “women’s food,”the principal example of which is manioc, is con-sidered to become transformed into semen in itspassage through the body (Gregor 1985:81–86).Thus, it appears that Watson and Nelson’s “par-adigm of orifices,” with its emphasis on bodilyopenings as sites of body–environment transac-tions, may have considerable relevance in analyz-ing Chavín body-part classification and symbol-ism—especially in relation to the symbolism ofbody fluids and boundaries.

Third, an important theme in ethnoanatom-ical studies has concerned the principles that un-derlie different ways of classifying body parts.These principles have been defined as:

(a) part-whole (part-of, partiality; analytic)—forexample, “my nose is part of my face”

(b) kind-of (class inclusion; synthetic)—for exam-ple, “my index finger is a kind of finger”

(c) inalienable possession—for example, “this is myear”

While Swanson and Witkowski argue, on thebasis of their study of Hopi ethnoanatomy, thatinalienable possession is the most salient of thethree classificatory modes (1977:322, 325), none-theless, as this classificatory principle depends forits realization upon verbal statements, we cannotexpect to get much purchase in analyzing thisclassificatory principle from the study of iconog-raphy. Thus, we will focus here on the first twoclassificatory principles (a and b, above) in thisdiscussion.

Part-whole and kind-of classifications coin-cide, respectively, with the rhetorical strategies, ortropes, of metonymy and metaphor. Furthermore,metonymy and the part-whole mode of classifica-tion are comparable to what is termed “syntag-matic” relations, while metaphor and kind-of clas-sifications are conceptually and in principle linkedto “paradigmatic” relations (see Leach 1979: 25–27). Turner (1985) has employed the contrast, andrelationship, between syntagmatic and paradig-matic elements in his highly insightful analysis ofthe Kayapo myth of the “bird-nester and the fireof the jaguar.” As we will see later, Turner’s studyof the ways these classificatory modes structureform and meaning in tropical forest myths pro-vides a useful model for analyzing syntagmatic andparadigmatic elements in art as well. I now sum-marize the various methodological approachesand theoretical orientations for our analysis ofChavín art discussed up to this point.

METONYMY, METAPHOR, AND

ANATOMICAL CLASSIFICATIONS

Having digressed in several different directions inthe discussion of how we might approach ananalysis of Chavín body metaphors and symbols,I provide in figure 8.5 a diagram of the artisticforms, tropic principles, ethnoanatomical con-cepts, and the classificatory and cosmologicalprinciples that I propose to use in analyzing theparadigm of the well-ordered body in Chavín artand iconography.

Figure 8.5 begins with a restatement of thecentral elements and compositional forms ofChavín art—that is, animals, plants, and compos-ite creatures (for example, amarus). The chart is


intended to be read both horizontally, along therows labeled “elements” and “composition,” andvertically, between items in columns falling underthe same heading. The horizontal reading of the“elements” row in the chart traces the manner inwhich discrete elements, such as identifiableplants and animals, represented in Chavín art maybe understood to form connected series of ele-ments that reflect Chavín part-whole (analytic)classificatory practices. In the paradigm of thewell-ordered body, this dimension refers to therepresentation of discrete parts connected in syn-tagmatic chains, the crucial anatomical expres-sions of which are joints.

The reading of the “composition” row inFigure 8.5 points to the synthetic, paradigmaticdimension of Chavín art and iconography. In thisdimension, metaphor guides the comparison ofelements in compositional form. This includessuch expressions as, for instance, the comparisonof body parts on the right side of the body withthose on the left, as well as substances inside thebody with metaphorically comparable (accordingto Chavín ideology) substances outside the body(for example, as with semen and manioc). In thewell-ordered body, such expressions, or transla-tions, occur through the orifices of the body.Concerning the notion (suggested in figure 8.5)that symmetry is a kind-of, or synthetic classifica-tory form, we see expressions of this in Chavín artin two dimensions: right/left and upper/lower. Asto the former, whatever body part (for example,the right eye), or set of interconnected body parts(for example, the right hand/wrist), exists on one

side of the body may be likened or compared toits mirror image on the opposite side of the body(the left eye, and the left hand/wrist). As for thecomparison between upper and lower, the hand/wrist combination of the upper body may belikened to that of the foot/ankle connection of thelower body. The classificatory mode of suchiconographic expressions appears to rest on theprinciple of class inclusion (that is, “kind-of”). Forinstance, the right and left eyes are each a “kind-of” eye, just as the hand/wrist and the foot/ankleare “kinds-of” terminus/joint combinations. Thelatter comparison is, of course, especially com-pelling and generalizable when the subject inquestion is a quadruped, as is the case with thetwo amarus in the Tello obelisk.

It is argued here that a full reading of figure8.5, like a full reading of a Chavín artistic compo-sition, is realized in the combination of themetonymic, syntagmatic chains with the meta-phorical, paradigmatic transformations to pro-duce the well-ordered body of Chavín cosmolo-gy. This will serve as the model or paradigm forour analysis and interpretation of Chavín iconog-raphy and classificatory practices as representedon the Tello obelisk. As a prelude to undertakingthat analysis and interpretation, it will be usefulto take account of the semantic strategies andclassificatory principles of the naming of bodyparts in an indigenous Andean language. Now, wedo not know what language was spoken by thepeople who built, occupied, and regularly visitedthe site of Chavín de Huántar. In my discussionbelow, I make use of material drawn from one of


ArtisticForm

TropicPrinciple

Bodily Structure &Organization

Chavín Iconography

ElementsAnimals & plants

Joints

Comparisonto Anatomy

Chavín Classificatory

PracticeCosmological

Paradigm

Metonymy ConnectionsPart-whole(analytic)

= Syntagmatic

CompositionCompositecreatures

OrificesMetaphorSymmetry &translation

Kind-of(synthetic)

= Paradigmatic

Figure 8.5. Elements of Chavín iconography, body symbolism, and classification

the varieties of Quechua (that is, Southern Peru-vian), which was a widespread language of thecoast, highlands, and parts of the tropical forestof Peru at the time of the Spanish conquest.3

Before turning to this discussion, I want tomake clear that my purpose in presentingQuechua ethnoanatomical material is not to sug-gest that these data are directly relevant to theinterpretation of Chavín iconography. In gener-al, my hope is that the Quechua anatomical termsand concepts that we encounter in this discussionmay provide us with useful conceptual and clas-sificatory tools with which to talk about the or-ganization of form and meaning in this ancientAndean iconographic tradition. Certainly, wewill be better off in our attempt to develop ameaningful heuristic device and an analytical vo-cabulary with which to talk about Chavíniconography by exploring terms and conceptsthat derive from “well-ordered bodies” in anyone of the varieties of Quechua, rather than if werely on English body-part terms and classes, or,worse yet, if we refer to works of Chavín art bysuch potentially misleading characterizations as“the Smiling God,” “the Staff God,” or “guardianangels” (Rowe 1962).

QUECHUA ETHNOANATOMY

The data on Quechua ethnoanatomy discussedbelow are drawn from several different sources.One particularly valuable source is a study byLouisa Stark, entitled “The Lexical Structure ofQuechua Body Parts” (1969). I also refer to dataon contemporary Southern Peruvian Quechuaethnoanatomy that I collected in the communityof Pacariqtambo (Prov. of Paruro, Dept. ofCusco) in two sessions of fieldwork, in 1981–82and 1987–88.4 Finally, wherever appropriate, Ihave also drawn on anatomical terms and con-cepts provided in the early seventeenth centuryQuechua dictionary of González Holguín (1952[1608]; this is the late pre-hispanic, Incaic varietyof Quechua, probably ancestral to contemporarySouthern Peruvian Quechua; see Mannheim1991).5 As there is not space here to give a com-plete accounting of Quechua body-part termi-nology, I confine my discussion below to those

data that appear to be most directly relevant forunderstanding body symbolism and body-partclassifications as represented in Chavín iconog-raphy; that is, I focus here on terminology relat-ing to joints, orifices, teeth, extremities (handsand feet), and what I refer to as the “landscape,”or geography of the body.

JointsOne of the body parts that we find to be of cen-tral importance in the anatomical vocabulary inthe Tello obelisk is the joints. In Quechua, thereare distinct primary lexemes for the elbow(kukuchu, “corner; something bent over”), knee(muqu, “hill, mound”), pelvis (chaka teknin, “hipcross[-ing]”; or cintura pata, “waist ledge”; Stark1969:10) and the neck (kunka). However, thewrists (maki muñica, “arm/hand wrist”) are simi-lar to the ankles (chaki muñica, “leg/foot wrist”).As for the body parts connected by joints, Ellen(1977:366) has noted that joints often representlinks between areas of relative undifferentiation,or of classificatory uncertainty. The commonterm for such long, undifferentiated segments ofthe extremities in Quechua is llañu (“a long, thincylindrical thing”). For example, the buttocks andknee stand at the terminus points of the under-side of the “thigh” (llañu chaka); the elbow andshoulder terminate the long stretch, called llañurikra, from the shoulder down to the elbow; theportion of the arms between the elbow and thewrist is called llañu maki.

Orifices

As for the orifices, the “eye” (ñawi), “ear” (ninri),and “nose” (sinqa) openings are all conceived of as“openings, splits, or windows” (t’uqu). However,unlike these other orifices of the head, the mouthis not conceptualized as a t’uqu; rather, it is com-posed of a mouth [opening] (simi) and an interi-or mouth cavity (simi uxu). The lower body ori-fices are also (like the mouth) lexically distinct:anus (uhete; or sip’uti; Stark 1969:10); vagina(raka); and the urinary opening of the penis (his-p’añin; Stark 1969:10).

The terms outlined above suggest that thereexists in Quechua thought a dual classification of


orifices. This involves a distinction between thethree orifices involved primarily in the intake,through t’uqus, of sensory data (that is, eye, ear,nose) as opposed to the orifices through whichmaterial transactions take place between the bodyand the environment (mouth, anus, vagina, andurinary opening).

It is no doubt significant that body–environ-ment transactions in the Tello obelisk occur pri-marily through the mouth, the penis, and thenose. The Quechua category of orifices throughwhich body–environment transactions occur, andtherefore those through which material transfor-mations take place between the inside and the out-side, is similar but not identical to what we see de-picted on the Tello obelisk. The addition of thenose as an orifice of body–environment transac-tions in Chavín art may be related to the practiceof ingesting powdered hallucinogenic snuffsthrough the nose. We have a substantial amountof archaeological evidence for this practice atChavín sites, including mortars, bone trays, spat-ulas, and snuffing tubes (see Burger 1992a:157–159). This evidence is complemented by de-tailed ethnographic descriptions from present-daysocieties in the lowlands of South America (seeReichel-Dolmatoff 1975; Dobkin de Rios 1984[1972]), as well as by historical sources.Among thelatter is the following description of drug use bythe Muisca of Colombia provided by the seven-teenth-century friar Pedro Simon:

[T]hey take these powders and put them intheir noses and which, because they arepungent, make the mucus flow until ithangs down to the mouth, which they ob-serve in the mirror, and when it runsstraight down it is a good sign. (cited inBurger 1992a:157)

Teeth

The importance of the mouth as a portal of entryand exit in Chavín iconography may be reflectedin the strong emphasis on the canine teeth. InQuechua, the teeth are categorized into two prin-cipal groups: (1) the incisors and canines = punkukiru (“entry, or door teeth”), and (2) all the teethbehind the canines = waqo kiru (“cheek teeth”).González Holguín refers to the canine teeth as

tokma (“canine; fang”), and chocta quiru (chocta =“long pointed [thing]”). Therefore, the canineteeth define the boundary of the “doorway” intoand out of the body. Marked canines indicate, ofcourse, a particular dietary predilection shared byhumans and certain animals, most notably felines.Therefore, the possession of canines represents apoint of comparison linking humans and jaguars.As a marker of boundaries and site of transforma-tion, canine teeth can be compared to joints andorifices.

Hands and Feet

Although in contemporary Quechua the handsand feet are given different primary lexemes(hand = maki; foot = chaki), nonetheless their con-stituent parts are identical—that is, finger/toe =riru (Sp. dedo; Q. rucana; González Holguín 1952[1608]:319); palm/sole = pampa (“flat plain”); hol-low of hand/arch = puxyu (“spring”); and finger-nail/toenail = sillu (Stark 1969:11). Stark’s com-ments on this point are relevant here:

This use of identical lexemes may indicatethat the Quechua Speaker conceptualizesthe hand and foot as being similar, if notidentical, entities. This interpretation issupported somewhat by the fact that in thepre-Conquest (Inca) art of Quechua speak-ers, the hands and feet of the human figureare generally almost identical in represen-tation. (Stark 1969:8)

These observations are important for ouranalysis of the Tello obelisk, because the handsand feet—or the front and hind legs—of theamarus are rendered identically (see figures 8.2–8.4, A- and B-11, and A- and B-34).

The Landscape of the Body

An important phenomenon in Quechua anatomi-cal classification is a lexical overlap in body-partterms with terms and concepts referring to topo-graphical features of the landscape. Stark (1969:8–9) has provided a good discussion of these terms,and I take one example here in order to suggestthe possible significance of geographical concep-tions and classifications for the construction andrepresentation of meaning in the Tello obelisk.


The Quechua term for knee is chaki muqu,and the term for shoulder blade is wasa muqu.Muqu is also the word for “hill.” These varioususes of the term muqu indicate the existence of asynthetic principle of classification in which“hills” can be said to stand—and function—in thegeographical domain in a manner comparable toknees and shoulder blades in the anatomical do-main. That is, hills provide links between rivervalleys, just as knees link thighs and shins (that is,two stretches identified as llañu) and as the shoul-der blades connect shoulders (= rixra, “shoulderof a mountain”) with the depression between theshoulder blades (= wasa wayq’u, “back ravine”).

Furthermore, I would argue that the anatom-ical correlates of “hill” (muqu), representing as theydo points of connection and mediation, allow us toextend these metaphorical connections to the an-imal domain (as is clearly done iconographically inthe Tello obelisk) by linking, for example, elbows,hills, and jaguars. These elements and charactersperform similar mediating functions in their re-spective domains; therefore, they may be meta-phorically compared to each other in iconograph-ic expressions. This is the conceptual basis formaking “comparisons by substitution” (kennings),as discussed earlier. However, while the literarytrope of kenning—as the end point of a progres-sion of tropes beginning with simile and passingthrough metaphor—has no natural grounding,nor can it be expressed, in iconography, the inter-pretive paradigm of the “well-ordered body” pro-vides the motivation, rules, and logic for compar-isons by substitution in Chavín art.

Forms of Classification in QuechuaEthnoanatomy

Although her argument has been subject to crit-icism (see Swanson and Witkowski 1977:324),Stark maintains that Quechua body parts are con-ceived of in horizontal and vertical hierarchicallevels; these, she argues, reflect the overarchingoperation of a principle of partiality (that is, therelations of part-to-whole) in Quechua anatomi-cal classifications and naming. As stated by Stark:

[T]he semantic dimension of [an anatomi-cal] . . . lexeme may depend in part upon itsposition within an overall hierarchy, both

from the point of view of 1) the horizontalcontrasts it makes on the level on which itoccurs, and 2) its vertical relationship to thelexeme of which it is a constituent. (Stark1969:3)

We will return to comment on this important ob-servation in our discussion of the vertical and hor-izontal layout of iconographic elements in theTello obelisk (below).

Having outlined a number of Quechua ethno-anatomical terms and principles, we can now turnour attention to the Tello obelisk to see how thebodies of the two amarus on this stela are organ-ized. Following this overview, we then return tocompare the features of the Chavín “well-orderedbody” to the organizational concepts and princi-ples of classification in Quechua. Our objective inthis comparison is to investigate whether or notthere are any commonalities between the two sys-tems that might provide us with a grounded, con-textual approach—that of Quechua ethnoanato-my—for interpreting form and meaning inChavín iconography.

ANIMAL SYMBOLS AND

ANATOMICAL CLASSIFICATIONS

IN THE TELLO OBELISK

I begin with an outline of what I think are someof the principal diagnostic features and structur-al relations of the two amarus on the Tello obelisk.Several general observations should be made ini-tially:

(a) For the most part, the two amarus are shownin right profile; thus, the representationalstatement made here seems to be that these aretwo different creatures. However, I say this istrue “for the most part” because elements A-and B-36 (figure 8.3)—the heads from whichthe tail feathers protrude at the bottom of thestela—are shown (respectively) in right andleft profile. It is as though the two amarusbegin as a single entity, with complementaryright and left profiles, at the base but then be-come differentiated, moving up the stela as thesingle, lower amaru is transformed into twoparallel versions of the original image. This


may derive from a principle of the unity of likeobjects; that is, the understanding that differ-ent forms of a type (in this case, amarus) are atsome level alike and share a common origin.

(b) As noted earlier, the bodies of the amarus aredivided vertically so that the head, trunk, andtail of each occupy one broad side of the slabwhile the extremities and genitalia occupythe narrow side (to the viewer’s right). Thisestablishes a hierarchy of body parts withthose elements on the broad side(s) as mostinside and those on the narrow side(s) as out-side; the two classes—inside and outside—are connected at body joints.

(c) In keeping with the Chavín design conventionof dividing figures into a number of horizontal“modular bands” (Rowe 1962:14), the bodiesof the amarus appear to be divisible into fivemodular bands,organized as shown in table 8.1.

(d) There is a general emphasis on heads; for ex-ample, the various parts of the bodies of theamarus are made up of the heads of other an-imals, especially felines (for instance, elbows,knees, tails, and penis = heads of jaguars). Themessage seems to be that identity is formedand expressed by, or in, the head of an animal.

(e) There is an overwhelming iconographic in-terest in the canine teeth, which are often de-picted on felines located at the joints, the“body dividers” (that is, at the elbows, necks,knees, pelves, and the point of connection be-tween the pelvis and tail).

(f) Joints are often associated with orifices, espe-cially with the mouths of jaguars.

In addition to these general observations onthe structure and organization of the body partsand composite creatures on the Tello obelisk,there are a number of more specific observationsto be made:

(g) Elbows and knees are represented by similar

but not the same kind of felines.

(h) Wrists and ankles both incorporate reptilianforms.

(i) Hands and feet are depicted in almost thesame way.

(j) There is an equal number of fingers and toes— four of each; these are represented as one

thumb/big toe together with three fingers/toes.

I interpret the significance of the above obser-vations in the following ways, in reference to the


Table 8.1. The organization of modular bands and body parts on the Tello obelisk

Modular band Body parts Design elements (see figs. 8.3, 8.4)

I Head A- and B-5, -6 Wrist A- and B-12 Hand A- and B-11

II Neck A- and B-7, -8, -9, -15 Elbow & Forearm A- and B-14

III Trunk A- and B-16 Genitalia A- and B-24

IV Pelvis A- and B-25, -26, -27, -28, -29 Knee A- and B-31 Ankle A- and B-33

V Tail A- and B-36 Foot A- and B-34

interpretive diagram shown in figure 8.6. This dia-gram illustrates the organization and classificationof body parts according to the classificatory “grid”provided by (a) the vertical division of the two bod-ies into “core” (that is, trunk) and “periphery”(namely, extremities), and (b) the horizontal mod-ular bands coordinating relations among upper/central/lower and inside/outside body parts.

Under the category of metonymic relations, Ireemphasize the point that the head, trunk, andtail on each of the broad sides are juxtaposed tothe extremities and genitalia along the respectivenarrow side. The connections between the cen-tral shaft of the body and the appendages occurat “joints”—the elbows, knees, and the crookedpenis—marked by jaguar heads. The element inthe position of the genitalia of amaru B (elementB-24) is crooked but is not depicted as a jaguarhead. Thus, except for element B-24, we learnthat joints in the anatomical domain are likened tojaguars in the animal domain.

The second observation to stress concerningmetonymic relations in the layout of the Telloobelisk is the juxtaposition of the five modularbands in the vertical dimension, from the top tothe bottom of the stela. This arrangement couldbe interpreted as establishing either a hierarchicalorganization of elements along a continuum fromthe top to the bottom or from the bottom to thetop, or a symmetrical organization in which the

section from the top down to the center (band Ito III) is complemented by the section from thebottom up to the center (band V to III). In viewof the emphasis on symmetry and complementar-ity in other expressions of the organization oficonographic elements in the Tello obelisk, I ar-gue for the latter of the two alternatives outlinedabove.

Combining this observation with that madeabove, in point (b), I would suggest that there is astrong design convention in the Tello obelisk em-phasizing vertical and horizontal complementar-ity. This represents a form of “parallelism”—thatis, the iconographic means for positing a structur-al metaphor—between the elements from thehead and tail inward to the trunk with that fromthe extremities on the narrow panels to their at-tachments with the trunk on the broad panel (thatis, from modular bands I to II and V to IV). Thus,the head downward to the neck is likened to thehand inward to the elbow; and the tail upward tothe pelvis is likened to the relationship from thefoot inward to the knee.There is, therefore, a pow-erful proposition represented in the modular bandorganization of the anatomy of the two amarus,which takes the form of a complementary relation-ship between upper and lower with outside and in-side. The tropic principles directing these expres-sions of parallelism are metonymy and metaphor,acting simultaneously and in concert.


Figure 8.6. Schematic represen-tation of the well-ordered body onthe Tello obelisk

Finally, the modular band division of bodyparts along the central axis of the amarus incor-porates an iconographic theme noted earlier inthe discussion of the points of connection be-tween the extremities and the trunk; that is, jointsare compared to jaguars. We note that along thecentral axes, jaguars are found at the neck (ele-ments A- and B-7) and at the point of connectionbetween the hips and the tail (elements A- and B-25, -27, and -36). Therefore, the points articulat-ing the extremities with the trunk are comparedto the points of articulation between the upperand lower parts of the body inward to the trunk.

It is instructive to note that the overall struc-ture of the bodies of the amarus arrived at above isstrikingly similar to the divisions and organizationof body segments by means of body decorationsfound among the Yekuana of the Upper OrinocoRiver basin, as described by Guss (1989; see alsoSeeger’s 1975 discussion of body ornamentsamong the Suya). The Yekuana body decorationsinclude arm bands on the upper arms (betweenbiceps and shoulder); strands of beads wrappedtightly around the calves, just below the knees;white beads wrapped around the wrists; neck-laces; and a loincloth passing just below the stom-ach (Guss 1989:41–42). As Guss notes,

Yekuana dress is a deliberate charting of thehuman space, with the trunk of the body fas-tidiously circumscribed from the outer limbsand head. . . . [E]ach Yekuana body is inter-sected by two imaginary concentric circles,the outer running through the wrist andankle bands and the inner through those ofthe biceps and calves. Thus. . . the outer ringof the body—between knee and ankle, bicepand wrist—is also a world of differentiationand division. The inner circle . . . is a worldof wholeness and union. (Guss 1989:42)

To return to the Tello obelisk, the compari-son between joints and orifices in the iconogra-phy suggests an important conceptual relation-ship in Chavín thought between articulation(joints) and transformation (orifices). That is, apoint at which a bend, break, or articulation oc-curs in a connected sequence is similar to a placewhere transactions are made between the inside

and outside of a body. The Tello obelisk glossesthis relationship between classes of anatomicalparts and processes through a particular kind ofanimal: the jaguar. This key iconographic propo-sition requires further contextualization andcommentary.

THE ICONOGRAPHY OF

TRANSITION AND MEDIATION:JAGUARS, JOINTS, AND UNCLES

Reichel-Dolmatoff’s masterful study (1975) of theideology and symbolism of human/jaguar trans-formations among Tucanoan-speaking peoples ofsoutheastern Columbia provides ample evidencethat, in many parts of the lowlands of South Amer-ica, the jaguar was (and still is) thought of as theprincipal animal capable of transforming into ahuman, specifically, a shaman; in this role, thejaguar articulates, or mediates, between humansand animals and between humans and spirits(Reichel-Dolmatoff 1975:130–132; on the role ofjaguars as mediators in myth, see Turner 1985:63–64). Furthermore, Whitten has noted (1976)that among the Sacha Runa of eastern Ecuador,jaguars are conceptually and terminologically re-lated to the kinship category of “uncle,” especial-ly mother’s brother. It is interesting to note in thisregard that in the invocation to keep jaguars awayfrom villages among the Guaraní-speaking Paí-Cayúa, the jaguar is referred to as che tuty, “myuncle” (Cadogan 1973:98).

To expand what appears, upon comparativestudy, to be an interconnected set of symbolic as-sociations, including jaguars, shamans, and medi-ating classes or categories of kin (such as uncles),with other “mediating” classes or categories of in-dividuals, Kensinger reports that most of his maleCashinahua informants said that when aroused,women “become sexually aggressive and insa-tiable because they have an erect and hot penis(clitoris) which causes them to be like jaguars,both dangerous and exciting” (Kensinger 1995:81). On a related theme, Riviére has noted thatamong the Trio Indians of Surinam, shamans arecompared to menstruating women (1969:268),and Hugh-Jones has remarked on the saliency ofsuch a connection for the Barasana, among whom


shamans play a central role in regulating menstru-ation through their control and manipulation ofsacred paraphernalia (1988:125). This last com-parison links the transactional symbolism of ori-fices—or of that which, like menstruating women,is considered to be excessively “opened up” (seeHugh-Jones 1988:125–126)—with joints throughthe comparison among menstruating women,shamans, and jaguars, all of whom are consideredto be in positions or states of mediation, transfor-mation, and transaction with the environment.

Finally, it is relevant to note here Burger’s in-terpretation of a veritable iconographic “pro-gram” at the site of Chavín de Huántar focusingon jaguar-shaman transformations based on themedium of hallucinogenic drugs. The iconogra-phy in question is that seen on several sculptedstone tenon heads, which adorned the walls of oneof the temples at Chavín de Huántar. The tenonheads can be grouped into three sets, each repre-senting a stage in the progressive and reciprocaltransformation between shaman and jaguar.Burger’s analysis of these sets of sculptures is that“they represent different stages in the drug-in-duced metamorphosis of the religious leaders (ortheir mythical prototypes) into their jaguar orcrested-eagle alter egos” (Burger 1992a:157). Oneof the iconographic markers of the transition be-tween shaman and jaguar is the representation ofthe snuff-induced flow of mucus from the nostrilsof these transforming beings. This reaffirms ourearlier suggestion identifying the nose as a majororifice of body–environment transactions inChavín iconography.

To the degree that comparisons betweenanatomical and kinship classifications may be rep-resented in the Tello obelisk by such strategies ascomparing articulation and transformation, thismay have enormous significance for our study ofthe social implications of Chavín iconography.For such comparisons as those mentioned heremay be interpreted as motivated by Chavín ideo-logical principles, which may point to what werecommon social practices in Chavín society. For in-stance, a “confusion” between articulation (joints)and transaction (orifices) may suggest a wider cul-tural principle such as the notion that, in reckon-ing along a collateral line of kin from the point of

view of any particular ego, one may reach an in-dividual—such as an “uncle”—who articulatesego’s kin with other groups. Such a linking posi-tion becomes a point of “articulation” and “trans-action” between ego and those outside his/ hergroup, or of transformations from one group orstatus and another. Such would be the case, for ex-ample, in the numerous lowland South Americansocieties which have (or had) prescriptive cross-cousin marriage and an accompanying termino-logical equation between, say, wife’s father andmother’s brother.6

In terms of the social and reproductive sig-nificance of the iconic set jaguar/joint/uncle, Iwould note that on the Tello obelisk, the penis ofamaru A (figure 8.3, A-24), which is situated onthe narrow panel A1, is represented with a jaguarhead. In this position, the jaguar-penis medi-ates—that is, is a “joint” between—the two com-posite creatures (see Lathrap 1977b, for morediscussion on the jaguar as a mediator in Chavíniconography).

THE ICONOGRAPHY OF

RUPTURE, TRANSITION, AND BIRTH: CANINES AND EGG TEETH

Finally, in terms of ideas and iconographic expres-sions relating to transition, mediation, and thelike, we should take note of the interesting butpuzzling Chavín convention of the “agnathic”tooth row of caymans. This convention involvesthe representation of a sharply pointed tooth pro-truding from the center of the upper jaw, betweenthe incisors (see, for example, figure 8.1). Lathrap(1977b:339) suggests that this trait may havestarted out as a depiction of the constantly visibleupper tooth row of the cayman. Concerning theagnathic element, Rowe stated:

As early as Phase AB we find front view ag-nathic faces provided with a pointed toothin the center as well as the usual canines oneach side. The central tooth is a pure prod-uct of the imagination which can be basedon no observation of nature. (1962:17)

I suggest that Lathrap and Rowe may bothhave been wrong, and that the agnathic trait was,


indeed, based on an observation of nature. Thecentral tooth probably represents the “egg tooth”of a baby cayman.As the naturalist Cutright notedlong ago:

Often the young [caymans] are unable to es-cape from the eggs without maternal assis-tance, even though each one is generallyequipped with an egg tooth. This is an ex-iguous structure sticking up from the ante-rior end of the upper jaw like the sight onthe end of a rifle barrel. (Cutright 1943:233)

The egg tooth is the instrument for ruptur-ing the container (the egg), which allows the cay-man to make the transition from inside the eggout into the world. It is of great interest to noteas well that Chavín artists often combined the eggtooth with well-developed canines—the markerof “felineness” in Chavín iconography. This com-bination appears to link the jaguar, the animal oftransition, mediation, and transformation par ex-cellence, with the cayman at the moment of thetransition of the latter from inside (the egg) tooutside (see Roe 1982a, who has discussed theseand related symbolic features with extraordinaryinsight).

In the variety of ways outlined in this section,I argue that the well-ordered bodies of the amaruson the Tello obelisk represent sites for portray-ing, and working out, the various terms and ex-pressions of a few key symbols and organizingprinciples in Chavín cosmology.

SYMBOLS AND PRINCIPLES OF

CHAVÍN COSMOLOGY

In the previous three sections, I have attemptedto pull together in a preliminary way data fromdifferent ethnographic and natural historicalsources in order to interpret the significance ofanimals and body parts in Chavín iconography.The product of the combination of these sectionsitself has the feel of a composite “creature”—achimera—like the amarus on the Tello obelisk.That is, both these interpretation and the amarusare composites of elements drawn from diversesources from around the South American tropi-cal forest. The principal virtue of an interpreta-

tion constructed of such heterogeneous elementsmay, in fact, be its methodological and genealog-ical similarity to the processes of selection andcomposition by which the Chavín artists con-structed the two images on the Tello obelisk. Thissimilarity may, however, provide just enough of anopening to allow a new perspective on form andmeaning in Chavín iconography. By this I meanthe following.

As we have seen here, the bodies of the ama-rus provide the framework of a universal logic—based as it is on the human body (see Brown1991)—for the study and interpretation of Cha-vín iconography. The elements, or terms, of thatlogical framework are formed by the segments,nodes, and relations of what I have called here thewell-ordered body. The unity and the sense ofsuch composite wholes are represented in, and areto be understood through, the language and logicbased on metonymic (syntagmatic) and meta-phoric (paradigmatic) structures and relations ofthe human body.These devices and strategies are,in fact, similar to those used by Turner in his in-terpretation of the Kayapó myth of “the bird-nester and the origin of cooking fire” (1985). Forexample, Turner concluded from his study of thismyth that:

symbols have an internal structure, notonly of static oppositions but of coordinat-ed transformations of the relations amongtheir constituent meaningful features. Thisstructure is homologous with the relationsbetween the symbols in question and theother symbolic elements of the composi-tions to which they belong. The meaningand structure of a symbol is . . . radically in-separable from the structure of the com-posite form in which it is embedded.(Turner 1985:52– 53)

Turner’s analysis (which he argues convinc-ingly is fundamentally different from a structural-ist analysis; 1985:53) of the form and meaning ofa multi-episodic myth—that is, a “compositecreature”—from the corpus of Kayapó mythsprovides us with a useful perspective from whichto think about both the relationship between theindividual parts and the composite whole figures


composing the two amarus on the Tello obelisk,as well as the possible relationship between these(part and whole) images and the myths inform-ing the iconography.7 These comments lead usback to the topic of the relationship betweenmyths and kennings with which we began thisstudy.

As I pointed out earlier, the original idea be-hind Rowe’s (1962) introduction into Chavínstudies of the heuristic device of the kenningseems to have been the desire to find a way to in-duce the iconography to “speak” to us about themyths that lay behind, organized, and gave mean-ing to the imagery. We have been straining tohear some murmur of these myths resonatingfrom the sounding board of the kennings we haveidentified in Chavín art over the past three de-cades, without notable success. As I have tried toshow in this article, I don’t think the device of thekenning is well suited to the task we have assignedit. That is, to say that an icon is an example of a“comparison by substitution” (that is, a kenning)does not move us very far along the path of in-terpretation. However, saying that that same iconis located at a determined position within a bodyimmediately places that icon in a logical (in bod-ily terms), well-ordered framework of surfaces,joints, orifices, and—based on our knowledge ofhow bodies work—internal processes, fluids, andsensations. Here, we are in a world about whichwe have some good intuitions—intuitions thatmay provide us with ways of articulating some ofthe principles, structures, and values by whichmetaphorical and metonymic relations amongbody parts, animals, and plants are organized inChavín iconography, such as that on the Telloobelisk. But the implications of this interpretiveapproach do not stop at the corporeal level; thisis both because society is consistently imagined,or seen metaphorically, as a body, and becausewhile bodies are individually experienced, they arecollectively socialized. Thus, whatever we learnabout bodies and their states of transition fromthe study of Chavín icongraphy ought to be apath of entry into the study of Chavín society.

From our preliminary examination here ofsome of the images mapped onto the well-or-dered bodies of the Tello obelisk, I conclude that

the two amarus carved in opposition to each otheracross a slab of granite display a complex, redun-dant “message” built up around the topic of thebody and organized according to the themes ofmediation, transition, and transaction; of bound-aries and the rupture of boundaries; of fertility, re-production, and birth; and the complexities of in-dividual and social identity and alterity. As to theidentities of the characters in this drama and thenature of the individual and collective actions thatled them to become the subjects of representationin the Tello obelisk, I suggest there is only onemoderately reliable source of information that wecan turn to—this is to the ethnographic materialscontaining accounts of myths, rituals and artisticpractices, as well as classifications of animals,plants, social groups, and body parts, that havebeen collected over the years among native peo-ples of the tropical forest of South America. I haveundertaken only a very preliminary review ofthese materials in the present paper; much morework remains to be done.

NOTES

1. This chapter is reprinted in revised form from aprevious article, “The body of meaning in ChavínArt,” Res 29/30, Spring/ Autumn 1996: The Pre-Columbian, pp. 237–255. Copyright 1996 by thePresident and Fellows of Harvard College. Iwould like to express my appreciation to the fol-lowing people for reading and commenting onearlier versions of this paper: Richard Burger,Billie Jean Isbell, Bruce Mannheim, Julia Meyer-son, Ann Peters, Johannes Wilbert, Tom Zui-dema, and an anonymous reader selected by theeditor of Res. The various comments and sugges-tions for improvements made by all of these peo-ple have been enormously helpful to me in writ-ing this paper. I alone, of course, am responsiblefor the opinions expressed, and any errors that re-main, in the paper.

2. For information on the history of research at thesite of Chavín de Huantar, and of studies ofChavín culture more broadly, see Benson 1971;and Burger 1984, 1992a.

3. For studies of the differentiation among and thechronology of the various dialects of Quechua, seeParker 1963; Torero 1964; and Mannheim 1991.

4. Unless otherwise indicated, the contemporaryQuechua anatomical terminology given below


derives from my own fieldwork. As the site ofChavín de Huantar is located in central Peru, itwould no doubt be more directly relevant to ourstudy to work with one of the Central Quechuavarieties of this language. I have used theSouthern Peruvian variety (Cusihuamán 1976)here because that is the variety with which I haveconsiderable experience and a reasonable level offluency in speaking. I invite my colleagues whospecialize in any one of a number of centralPeruvian languages spoken in the central high-lands or the tropical forest to take up this study.

5. Classen has recently (1993) provided a valuablesummary and analysis of Inca anatomical termsand concepts, primarily as recorded in the Que-chua dictionary of González Holguín. Classen’sstudy is concerned principally with understand-

ing Quechua conceptions of the senses, ratherthan (as is the case with the present study) concep-tions and classifications of bodies and body parts.

6. See, for example, the series of articles describingsuch relationships and terminology in lowlandSouth American societies in Kensinger 1985. Iwould note here the interesting comparative per-spective on such relationships that we gain fromBulmer’s study (1967) of ideas about cassowaries—which are considered to be like sisters and cross-cousins to men—among the Karam of the NewGuinea highlands.

7. Although not incorporating ethnographic mate-rials, one of the best examples of the general typeof iconographic analysis that I have proposedherein is Ann Peters’s study of animal and plantimagery in Paracas embroidered textiles (1991).


The Body of Meaning in Chavin Art.

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