David Wengrow writes:

Contemporary historians tell us that, by the start of the Common Era, approximately three-quarters of the world’s population were living in just four empires (we’ve all heard of the Romans and the Han; fewer of us, perhaps, of the Parthians and Kushans). Just think about this for a minute. If true, then it means that the great majority of people who ever existed were born, lived and died under imperial rule. Such claims are hardly original, but for those who share Arnold Toynbee’s conviction that history should amount to more than ‘just one damned thing after another’, they have taken on a new importance.

For some scholars today, the claims prove that empires are obvious and natural structures for human beings to inhabit, or even attractive political projects that, once discovered, we have reproduced again and again over the longue durée of history. The suggestion is that if the subjects of empire in times past could have escaped, they’d have been unwise to do so, and anyway the majority would have preferred life in imperial cages to whatever lay beyond, in the forest or marshes, in the mountains and foothills, or out on the open steppe. Such ideas have deep roots, which may be one reason why they often go unchallenged.

In the late 18th century, Edward Gibbon – taking inspiration from ancient writers such as Tacitus – described the Roman Empire (before its ‘decline and fall’) as covering ‘the fairest part of the earth, and the most civilised portion of mankind,’ surrounded by barbarians whose freedom was little more than a side-effect of their primitive ways of life. Gibbon’s barbarian is an inveterate idler: free, yes, but only to live in scattered homesteads, wearing skins for clothes, or following his ‘monstrous herds of cattle’. ‘Their poverty,’ wrote Gibbon of the ancient Germans, ‘secured their freedom.’

It is from such sources that we get, not just our notion of empire as handmaiden to civilisation, but also our contemporary image of life before and beyond empire as being small-scale, chaotic and largely unproductive. In short, everything that is still implied by the word ‘tribal’. Tribes are to empires (and their scholarly champions) much as children were to adults of Gibbon’s generation – occasionally charming or amusing creatures, but mostly a disruptive force, whose destiny is to be disciplined, put to useful work, and governed, at least until they are ready to govern themselves in a similar fashion. Either that, or to be confined, punished and, if necessary, eliminated from the pages of history.

Ideas of this sort are, in fact, as old as empire itself. [Continue reading…]