Charles J-H Macdonald
February 2009
Charles Macdonald is a social and cultural anthropologist. He is a Senior Fellow
(Directeur de Recherche) in the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique and a
researcher at the Center for Social and Bioanthropological Studies (Adaptabilité
Biologique et Culturelle -UMR 6578) of the University of Aix-Marseille II. He is a
member in the School of Social Science at the IAS for the year 2008-2009, with the
support of the Florence Gould Foundation. He is a founder and was the director of
the Institute for Southeast Asian Studies (IRSEA) in Aix-en-Provence, and the
founding director of the Asia-Pacific Studies Center (Maison Asie-Pacifique) in
Marseille. He has been a Visiting Research Associate at the Universities of Oxford (St
Antony’s College), Kyoto (Center for Southeast Asian Studies- CSEAS), Leiden
(International Institute for Asian Studies- IIAS), Manila (IPC, Ateneo de Manila),
and Singapore (Asian Research Institute-ARI). Specializing in Southeast Asia, he has
done extensive periods of fieldwork with the Palawan indigenous community in the
southern Philippines as well as with the Raglai culture and society of Southern
Vietnam. Two topics in his more recent studies concern suicide and personal names.
He has published a book on suicide (Uncultural Behavior, University of Hawai’i Press
and Center for Southeast Asian Studies, Kyoto, Honolulu 2007) and edited another
one on names (Asian Names: History, Culture and Identity, Edited by Zheng Yangwen
and Charles Macdonald, Preface by James C. Scott, Introduction by Anthony Reid
and Charles Macdonald, NUS Press, Singapore, in press). His most recent field of
interest concerns anarchic, egalitarian and peaceful organizations, which he examines
in a cross-cultural and theoretical perspective. He is preparing a book on the subject,
while currently completing a Palawan-Tagalog-English dictionary.
Introduction
My aim in this talk is to present a few ideas regarding anarchy in human
organization and to look at what an anarchist anthropology is or could be.
I will proceed in two steps, firstly I will take a look at the relations anthropology and
anarchism have had so far, secondly I will sketch a tentative hypothesis for anarchic
societies (those studied by anthropologists). It may be that an anthropology of
anarchy is an anarchist anthropology, or will fuel an anarchist project, but I am not
sure of that. I am convinced, however, that a true understanding of existing anarchic
societies will have interesting results as far as our understanding of human sociality in
general is concerned. A few definitions are in order. Anarchy has two meanings, one is “disorder”
or “chaos”; the other follows from its etymology “without a chief or leader.” “The
condition of society in which there is no ruler” (Barclay 1982: 13) is the definition
I am using when I employ the word “anarchy.” When I speak of an anarchic
organization, I refer to a situation where rules of conduct are not enforced by any
government apparatus, not even by leaders, a situation with minimal status hierarchy
or no political power. I distinguish anarchic from acephalous. The communities I
have in mind are stateless societies characterized by egalitarian behavior devoid of
status competition, mainly foragers and horticulturalists, who generally lead a
peaceful and ordered life.
In a sense, however, I will not completely reject the other meaning of the
word, “chaos” or “disorder”; I will show that a state of anarchy implies immanence,
randomness, unpredictability and complexity, all concepts that dwell uneasily in a
standard notion of what an ordered society is or ought to be.
As for anarchism, the word refers to social theories and political philosophies
with no unified doctrine or single program, but one central concern, the rejection of
authoritarian government and its manifestation in the state together with free
agreement as a guiding principle. It is, in Woodcock’s words “a system of social
thought, aiming at fundamental changes in the structure of society and particularly—
for this is the common element uniting all its forms—at the replacement of the
authoritarian state by some form of nongovernmental co-operation between free
individuals” (Woodcock 1962: 13). The founding fathers of anarchism, Godwin,
Proudhon, Bakunin, and Kropotkin, sought to propose a recipe for a just and free
society and their successors proposed many different views on how to promote a just
society or what a just society exactly looks like. There are violent and nonviolent
varieties of anarchism. There are individualistic, communist and collectivist variants
of anarchism. It is mostly left-wing, but there are also right-wing variants (anarcho- capitalism). Anarchistic ideas and ideals are embedded in various types of intentional
enclaved communities (e.g. Hutterites), intentional enclaved and occasional
communities (e.g., the Rainbow Family—see Niman 1997), political parties or
institutions (e.g., the International Anarchist Congress), social movements whether
insurrectional as in Spain in the years 1930 to 1936, or pacifist and religious
movements not necessarily under the banner of anarchism proper, but having in
common an anti-authoritarian bend, an egalitarian and community-oriented ethos.
In any case, anarchism is an interesting blend of notions for a social anthropologist,
especially for a social anthropologist who has observed at close quarters and for a
long period of time an anarchic society. Not all anthropologists have had this
opportunity.
In the nineteenth century, thinkers like Proudhon or Bakunin were trying to
construct a theory of society without government, without a state, based on
individual freedom, mutualism or collectivism, and federalism. They were mostly
imagining such a society, as the few historical examples, like the Swiss confederacy
observed by Kropotkin, for instance (Ward 2004: 86), or the medieval city commune,
could not provide sufficient empirical ground to test their ideas. It is in the next
century that anthropologists started to intensively investigate a number of truly
“anarchic societies.” They provided a host of empirical evidence leading to the
conclusion that a stable collective existence was possible in a state of anarchy. In a
way, then, the data collected by anthropologists in the twentieth century supported
the theories of the nineteenth century libertarians and anarchists, or at least gave
some indication that these theories had a measure of empirical validity. Birket-Smith,
an ethnographer, wrote in 1959 of the Eskimo: “If anywhere there exists that
community…of which Kropotkin dreamt, it is to be found among these poor tribes
neighboring upon the North Pole” (quoted in Barclay, 1982: 39) Can anarchism
then be validated as a social theory? Or, to put it in another way, is anarchism an
anthropology of anarchy?
In spite of the great many books and articles written on “primitive” societies
and attempts at constructing a comparative theory of social organization and a
typology of such organizations, anthropology has somewhat remained at a stand-still
for almost fifty years now. We have an outdated typology of societies in an
evolutionist perspective, the famous sequence of band-tribe-chiefdom-kingdom-state,
with peasant societies somewhere in the middle. Maybe this is because anthropology
was trapped in functionalism and evolutionism, orientations that were subsequently
abandoned in favor of other pursuits, jettisoning as a result “social structure” and
other pre-postmodern objects. Research on comparative social structure has slowed
down, to say the least, and has not come up with a really new typology, evolutionary
or otherwise. I am proposing, therefore, to look again at the so-called “simple”
societies of hunters-gatherers and horticulturalists, and maybe some others, under a
different light. I will try to understand their complexity because this is what I think they are, but of course their complexity is not what we use to mean when we speak of
large modern urban societies. There is complexity in what looks simple. I am betting
on the fact that the complexity of small, anarchic populations can teach us something
about our own modern sociality and that we can at the same time learn something
about our past.
The Still-born Anarchist Anthropology
A bibliography of articles in the social sciences (Goehlert 1976) covering the period
1900 to 1975 contains more than 400 references on anarchy and anarchism, but only
three or four relate to anthropology or appear in an anthropological journal.
Historians, political scientists, and philosophers have clearly shown a much greater
interest for anarchy and anarchism than social anthropologists, and this is surprising
since the latter have been looking at societies without government right from the
start of modern descriptions of hunters-gatherers in the Arctic, in Australia, in South
America and elsewhere. Whereas many anthropologists in the past fifty years have
called themselves Marxists, very few (or even none that I can recall) have called
themselves anarchists or have defended anarchism with a belief that it could explain
human development or human society as well as, or better than, Marxism and
dialectical materialism do (Graeber 2004: 2-3). There are a number of reasons I can
think of, one being that anarchism by nature is a discourse on the future of human
society rather than on its past, a normative project rather than an objective
assessment. It has therefore appeared as a purely critical discourse on the state on the
one hand, and as a moral, even utopian, discourse aimed at the foundation of a
better and more just society on the other. Marx and Engels used anthropology,
particularly the work of Lewis Henry Morgan’s speculative evolutionary history and
the notion of primitive communism. Marxism and anthropology have traded ideas
and information ever since, but there has been mainly a one-way circulation of ideas
between anthropology and anarchism, especially under the form of anarchoprimitivism, showing influence from anthropologists like Sahlins or Levi-Strauss. Still,
the fact that anthropologists have shown so little interest in anarchism is intriguing.
There have been exceptions, one being the young A. R. Radciffe-Brown, later
the founder and main proponent of functionalism in anthropology, a theory that can
be regarded as a pure antithesis of anarchism. Yet, in his student years, RadcliffeBrown professed an admiration for Kropotkin and was known as “Anarchy Brown”
(Graeber 2004:16). I am not sure that there were anthropological seeds for the
blooming of a potential anarchist anthropology in early and influential works by
Marcel Mauss, especially his essay on the gift (Mauss 1925), arguing that human
society was built on gift economies and “prestations totales.” Mauss had his doubts,
also, on the role of the state, but his leanings were towards socialism and not
anarchism. In France, the name of Pierre Clastres is the one most associated with an
anarchist theory in anthropology (Clastres 1989). What sets his ideas apart from
those current at the moment—the seventies, when Levi-Straussian structuralism
ruled the roost—is not that primitive society is stateless, something everybody knew,
of course, but that primitive society was actively geared to prevent the emergence of
the state. For Clastres, primitive society is not without state; it is anti-state. He had an
idea that there was a discontinuity of essence between the primitive form of
organization and the civilized, that the second could not under any normal
circumstance emerge from the former. He saw the emergence of political power as a
mystery to be explained. The internal organization of the Amazonian Indian societies
he took as examples made sure that the chiefs had no power and were actually in an
inferior position compared to their constituents (because chiefs were the only
polygamists and, as such, were in a position of indebtedness towards the other
members of their group). His argument has been criticized on several grounds, one
that Indians could not fight something they did not even know existed (the state),
and second because of a lack of empirical data to support his claim. In spite of the
drawbacks and thinness of his writings (Clastres met a premature death in a car
accident in 1977), he correctly saw in primitive economies a principle of nonreciprocity and, in chiefly positions, roles without power. Clastres can be seen as a
proponent of the long tradition of the “great divide,” between nature and culture,
communitas and structure, Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft. He was correct in
theorizing that primitive societies could not, in normal circumstances, transform
themselves into state societies (214), but the argument needs to be overhauled.
Clastres, indeed, spoke at times of primitive society as an essence, a fixed Hegelian
category, but there are many different kinds of “primitive” societies, and not all of
them are anarchic, by a long way. There is a divide but the fault line lies elsewhere,
not just between modern and pre-modern, but somewhere among the pre-modern.
More recently, the work of David Graeber has spurred an interest in what an
anarchist anthropology could be. In his essay Fragments of an Anarchist Anthropology
(2004), he proposes a number of ideas, asks provocative questions, and probes
avenues into various domains, pointing out problems which have found no solution
in standard socio-anthropological theory: what intellectual tools should we use to
speak of political entities that are not states? (68-9), or “where did the bizarre notion
of the ‘corporation’ come from?” (73). I think some of his insights are excellent,
particularly his attention to the notion of complexity1
. But, in the end, this essay
does not provide, nor does it purport to, a well-articulated set of principles on which
to develop an anarchist anthropology, and these fragments remain alluring, but
tentative and disconnected 2
. Reviewers dispensed scathing criticism (Aya 2006: 591),
but anarchist ideas no matter how mildly and scholarly put, seem to always irritate
and tend to be impatiently dismissed. Elements for an Anarchist Anthropology
The most obvious introduction to a study of anarchy in anthropology would be to go
over the many studies that dealt with the problem of political order in stateless or
acephalous societies. As said earlier, one of the main results of these studies was to
place these social forms at the bottom of the evolutionary ascent towards the
emergence of the state. Strictly anarchic acephalous societies belonged to the category
“band society” and, to some extent, to “tribes,” but “tribes without rulers” (the title of
a book by Middleton and Tait, 1958). Most social scientists have never gone beyond a
notion that these societies were just simple, defined by a “lack of,” and not worth
theorizing too much. I will say a few things below on the band society and the study
of hunters-gatherers.
Harold Barclay is a researcher who stands apart. He is the author of a book
called People without Government (1982). He calls a spade a spade, and puts anarchy
and anarchies squarely at the center of a discussion on societies that many authors
have refused to call so, instead calling them acephalous, democratic, egalitarian, etc.
“I believe many anthropologists, in their own projection of personal and cultural
values, have obstinately refused to apply the one truly clarifying term to those
numerous societies which are without government and are, therefore, anarchies” (16).
Without calling itself “anarchist,” a topicality has been present in
anthropological discourse that could begin to point in the direction of anarchist
thinking. It is the notion of anti-structure, which is a state observed by folklorists and
anthropologists at crucial moments of social cycles: what Gluckman called rituals of
rebellion (Douglas 1954:96), and liminal situations characterized by a symbolic
subversion of hierarchy and role reversals, such as those found in medieval carnivals
that were so brilliantly interpreted by Bakhtin (1970). These crucial and highly
ritualized moments of social life were theorized by Turner (1977) as expressing
communitas, a state of undifferentiated equality, and spiritual togetherness, at the
opposite pole of the definition of regular social structure with its ranked statuses and
ordered roles. In this sense, structure and anti-structure cannot be separated and are
part of the same totality. The binary of structure and anti-structure is reminiscent of
the opposed poles of Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft posited by Tönnies ([1887]1955),
two radically different forms of associative processes resulting, one from a natural
communitarian will, the other from a rational individualistic will (Adair-Toteff 1995:
59). Indulging further in the game of ideological pairing, other mythical divides may
be brought in, rooted in ancestral paradigms such as Rousseau’s “état de nature” and
Hobbes’ “state of war.” Probably our western way of thinking about man has been
one that pits the modern state-dominated condition of social life against some fantasy
of pre-social, pre-cultural and even pre-human existence cast in the “Metaphysical
triangle of anarchy, hierarchy and equality” (Sahlins 2008: 4). This primeval state has
been mainly defined as post-edenic and evil, overwhelmingly Hobbesian rather than Rousseauian (id.). Anarchy being on the side of the primeval and the primitive, any
attempt at its sublimation smacks of anarchism and must be seen as utopian or
regressive. Interestingly, primitive communism, which is more of a myth than
primitive anarchy, did not give such bad publicity to the communist project, at least
in the eyes of the anthropological community. What is so repellent about primitive
anarchy that is so attractive about primitive communism? At any rate, anthropologists
could be suspected of harboring anarchist sympathies, since they were finding some
merit in the stateless societies they studied.
If an anarchist anthropology has not been hatched in European or American
academic nurseries, another current of interest has in part taken its place, and that is
peace anthropology, “the study of peoples whose way of life seems remarkably
peaceful” (Dentan in press: 2)3
. This field has yielded a number of important studies
in recent years (Howell and Willis 1989, Sponsel and Gregor 1994, Kemp and Fry
2004), the latest and most comprehensive to date being Fry’s The Human Potential
for Peace, 2006 (see also Dentan 2008 a) and b). ). Peace studies were consonant
with an anti-war concern dating back to Meadian peace activism, and an interest in
peace and nonviolence flared up during the sixties. Books like Thomas’ The
Harmless People (1959), Turnbull’s The Forest People (1961), and Dentan’s The
Semai: A Nonviolent People of Malaya (1968), seemed relevant to a general argument
against war, but also, as Dentan points out, could have led to some anarchist
vindication of egalitarianism and statelessness, as these nonviolent peoples were also
strictly anarchic. These books found an audience among “flower children,” but again
anarchist anthropology did not flourish as an academically-based school of thought,
and concerns with war were seen as more urgent, maybe, than a desire for peace.
Peace studies, however, gained momentum in the 1980’s, but not out of a political or
ideological agenda (Dentan in press: 10). The main result of these studies is to
drastically reconsider what was deemed as a necessary dimension of human nature,
namely violence and a propensity to wage war, and to cast serious doubts on the
belief that man is inherently violent and aggression-prone (Fry 2006).
Relevant to an anthropological discussion on anarchy has been the study of
hunter-gatherer sociality and the question of band society started by Julian Steward in
1936, followed by Elman Service’s The Hunters (1966), and marked by fierce
controversies that found several venues in symposia and collective volumes (Ingold et
al. 1988, Lee and Daly 1999). Although the phrase “ordered anarchy” had been
coined by Evans-Pritchard in reference to the Nuer, a pastoralist people, some of the
“real anarchists,” if I may call them so, are to be found among the foragers and
hunters-gatherers from different parts of the world, who live in bands, small nomadic
aggregates of fifteen to fifty persons, who are egalitarian and whose leaders hold no
power. They can “persuade but not command” in the words of Lee and Daly (1999:
4). The band society displays great instability in its composition, bands being in a
constant process of fission and fusion. The groups are also affected by a seasonal variation, dispersing and splitting into very small clusters one part of the year, and
concentrating into larger aggregates during the other part of the year. Several other
important aspects of their way of life are remarkably similar among many such
cultures and are in striking contrast to many sedentary and agricultural societies,
leading one of their best interpreters to the conclusion that hunters-gatherers have a
“distinct mode of sociality,” to the point of actually having no society: “The
distinctiveness of hunter-gatherer sociality lies in its subversion of the very
foundations upon which the concept of society, taken in any of its modern senses,
has been built” (Ingold 1999: 399). Later, Ingold explains that “Together, the
principles of immediacy, autonomy, and sharing add up to a form of sociality utterly
incompatible with the concept of society, whether by society is meant the
interlocking interests of “civil society”, the imagined community of the ethnic group
or nation, or the regulative structures of the state” (id : 408). ” Such very provocative
and daring statements deserve attention because, if true, they may contain farreaching consequences for our understanding of human sociality in general. I will
critically examine their truth in the rest of my presentation. I will show that it applies
to other peoples than foragers, hunters and gatherers. It is not the foraging or
hunting-gathering mode of production in itself that explains this specific mode of
sociality, since it applies to a number of horticulturalists as well, but a distinct
disposition to maintain collective life in a state of gregariousness, immanence and
unmediated interpersonal relations. It is not the least surprising and serendipitous
twist in our painfully slow anthropological progress that the very people at the
bottom of the human pyramid, those typically branded as living like brutes in a short
life of solitude and poverty—to paraphrase Hobbes—that these very people have
something decisively important to offer to modern anthropological theory. What
looked like matters that concerned hunters and gatherers only, has seeped into the
anthropology of agricultural people as well. The first—to my knowledge—to call
attention to what seemed at the time an exceptional fact is J. Stauder in an article
entitled Anarchy and Ecology: Political Society among the Majangir (1972). In this paper,
the strict egalitarianism of the Majangir, an agricultural people of southwest Ethiopia,
is noted as to fit uneasily in the then current typology of hunting and gathering
bands with which, however, Majangir society seemed to share most of its
fundamental traits, particularly an absence of any corporate groups outside the
domestic family. The author correctly surmised that the Majangir case was casting
doubts on the evolutionary typology proposed by Service and Sahlins (Stauder 1972:
159, 163), and pointed out, also, that the anarchic state the Majangir were in was an
“adaptive disorganization” (164). Another landmark in the emergence of the
“hunting-gathering type of sociality” applied to non-hunting-gathering people, was T.
Gibson’s study of the Buid or Taobuid, a culture from southern Mindoro in the
Philippines (Gibson 1986). A student of Woodburn4
, who was a specialist of hunters
and gatherers and someone who had advocated important ideas—notably the concept of sharing (Woodburn 1998)—Gibson’s observations on the Buid matched
those of Woodburn on the Hadza of Tanzania, particularly their sharing ethos, active
pursuit of egalitarianism, and peacefulness. Other studies in the same general area,
particularly R. Dentan’s study of the Semai—equally an horticulturalist people—
(Dentan 1968, 1992) were starting to form a body of knowledge supporting the view
that the anarchic ethos of hunters-gatherers was at work in groups characterized by
what Woodburn called delayed-return economies. Thus, concepts that seemed to fit
only foragers’ bands—sharing, immediacy, anarchy, etc.—and just the lowest stage of
the evolutionary model proposed in the sixties and seventies, were found relevant not
only for nomadic foragers, but for other social formations as well.
The Ethnography of Anarchy
Actually, before reading Ingold’s contribution, I had reached the same conclusion
myself, namely that the group I had studied, the Palawan people, could hardly be
called a “society,” in the sense of having a “social structure.” It looked to me more
like a collection of individuals and domestic families in perpetual motion. I came to
this conclusion after studying this indigenous group from the Southern Philippines,
for more than thirty years. Let me then give you a very brief synopsis of their
sociology 5
.
Although they also hunt and collect wild products from the forest, the 45,000
Palawan people invest the greater part of their time and effort in upland dry rice and
tuber agriculture. They live in small, dispersed settlements or hamlets, defined with
appropriate vagueness as “neighborhoods,” and are heavily committed to an
egalitarian and peaceful way of life. Until recently, the concept of private property of
land was either unknown or consciously rejected. The inner working of their society
can be grasped6
looking at three different domains: locality, kinship and justice. The
first two, kinship and locality, account for their general morphology: small nuclei of
related domestic families centered on sororal sibling groups, with an initial absence
of male philopatry (male dispersal is within a limited perimeter, however),
predominant uxori- and matri-locality. Neighborhoods are made of an aggregation of
nuclei and vary in composition through time, but at any point in time have an
identity which rests on the place (geographically defined) and/or on the presence of a
senior person of authority. Authority is here again understood as a capacity to
influence or persuade, not as a power to give orders. Authority is constructed as the
outcome of two separate factors, a kinship role and an expertise in customary law.
There is very little asymmetry in status between men and women, and role
specialization is best seen as two overlapping domains of mastery, rather than one
being in a subordinate position to the other. As in other similar cultures of the
region (Insular Southeast Asia), wives are not expected to defer to their husbands, no
more than women to men in general. The neighborhood is also based on ties that lay outside the legal or kinship
realms. It is based on free association between individuals and families. The flexibility
and intricate network of bilateral kinship ties allow for a wide range in personal
choices and selection of neighbors. People become neighbors because they develop a
liking for each other, not just because they are kin. It is often the other way around:
kinship ties are a way to institutionalize friendship (Macdonald 1999). Neighborhoods are large groups of people who acknowledge kin ties. They are, as such, not
“kinship groups,” groups created by the automatic enforcement of kinship principles,
but “groups of kinsmen.” Spatial proximity between households both creates and is
created by free choices and affinities between individuals. The forces of friendship, or
companionship to use Gibson’s apt term (Gibson 1985:392 and passim), are at work.
I propose, also, to use the notion of fellowship, an association of friends, of equals
who share a common interest and freely chose each other’s company to pursue this
common interest. Palawan society is nothing, after all, but a large fellowship or a
series of overlapping fellowships.
From the point of view of Durkheimian sociology, the kind of arrangement I
am describing is both simple and mechanical, due to its segmentary nature, and not
organic, that is, based on the complementarity of the segments. I take the opposite
view that this kind of arrangement is complex and organic. The complexity of this
arrangement is a result of two different aspects of its operation. Firstly, “society” in
this case is the aggregation of individual subjects by virtue of what I have called
elsewhere “the conditions of felicity” of collective life, something that ethnomethodologists and Goffmanian sociologists have gone a considerable way to
elucidate7
. The coalescing in a semi-stable aggregate of highly complex subjectivities is
of an order of complexity different from what we usually call complexity while
referring to institutions or “facticities” in modern urban and industrial society. In
other words, society results from a statistical and, above all, random arrangement of its
constitutive elements. That is the second most important reason to call this
arrangement complex. At least three traits defining complexity are present: first, a
sociality based on personal ties and therefore complicated psychological requirements;
second, a great number of possible arrangements; and third, randomness in the result
of these arrangements. As a result, also, there is unpredictability and unstability
inasmuch as the exact number and composition of aggregates in future time cannot
be predicted with certainty. But if aggregates are not permanent, they recreate
themselves constantly and the general result in this constant shift of individual units
between aggregates is the stability of the whole. In other words, aggregates are more
energy than matter. Or better, let us see this as a real living organism, as Edgar Morin,
quoting von Neumann, suggested (Morin 2005: 43). Our body is made of 50 to 100
trillion cells, and 10 to 20% of them are being degraded and replaced each year. The
total number of cells will be replaced in five to ten years, but the organism in which
this process takes place will not substantially change8
. The whole is more durable than the parts, as opposed to, for instance, an automobile engine in which the parts
are often more durable than the whole. By the same token, if you take a Palawan
population in one area composed of maybe 1,500 to 3,000 persons, it will remain the
same social and cultural entity after one generation during which all of its
neighborhoods will have shifted both in location and in composition. Its component
parts will not be the same. I submit that the nature of this complex organization
based on random and unpredictable arrangements of its constitutive parts, is a concept
that socio-anthropological theory cannot come to terms with because, in spite of
disclaimers to the contrary, it rests on a mechanistic and predictable view of society.
The “organic” view of society proposed by Durkheim, is anatomical and mechanistic,
and not truly organic. We have a situation of random and unpredictable disorder on
which is predicated order at another level. This is what anarchy is all about, both
chaos and order at the same time 9
.
The Production of Equality: Community-building
Since equality is almost synonymous with anarchy in its strict sense, to say that
anarchy requires equality is a tautology. The absence of power clearly requires an
absence or limitation of hierarchy, maybe a mechanism like a “reverse dominance
hierarchy” (Boehm 1993). A real anarchic society must limit power relations to an
extreme degree. There must be “no concentration of force at all” (Taylor 1982: 7).
But this is not the result of inertia or just “the absence of” (power, hierarchy, etc.).
Equality is not at all a given to be taken for granted—as sociologists believe, like
Michael Mann, for whom “An egalitarian society is self-explanatory. Hierarchical
differences…are not institutionalized” (Mann 1986: 37). Equality is constructed, an
active process enforced by various means and by constant effort. Egalitarianists do
not just abstain from inequality, like they would from consuming alcohol or wearing
T-shirts; they produce and actively maintain equality. They show an active commitment
to create and preserve it; in the words of R. Lee, “ they are just not sitting ducks
waiting to adopt the first hierarchical model that comes along” (Lee 1992:40). How
do they do it? There are several ways to look at it, but I think it best to look at the
processes through which anarchic people construct their community, to examine the
system, ethos and even style of their relations.
In his cogently argued essay Community, Anarchy, and Liberty, M. Taylor (1982)
posits and demonstrates the need for community in order to make anarchy possible.
Anarchy, community and equality are absolute requirements, each entailing the
others, “they form a coherent set” (Taylor 1982: 167). According to him, any
community has three prerequisites, that of possessing common values and beliefs,
that of maintaining direct and multi-sided ties between its members, and third,
reciprocity.
