Review essay: Collapse and Failure in Complex Societies
Understanding Collapse: Ancient history and modern myths,
by Guy D. Middleton, 2017. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press; ISBN 978-1-316-60607-0 paperback
£29.99; xviii+441 pp., 49 b/w illus, 16 tables
for non-specialist audiences as introductions to the study
of societal failure. This is where the broad-brush similarities end, however. While Middleton’s goal is to provide an
overview of ‘collapsology’ and the multitude of ways in
which collapse has been understood in the study of past societies, Johnson addresses the speciic problem of human–
environmental interaction, inspired by our current global
predicament of rapid climate change.
Here I provide overviews of each book and discuss
points of comparison, dissonance and contextualization.
For the most part, I leave detailed summary and critique
to other, independent reviews. I irst focus on the overall
approaches of each book and their relative merits. I then
turn to issues that are relevant to both books—and to the
wider study of collapse—that are deserving of further treatment: (1) variation in how we identify collapse based on archaeological, historical, and environmental evidence; (2) the
disciplinary and terminological implications of ‘collapse’
and what this means for questions of comparison; and (3)
the broader role of comparative studies concerning societal
failure.
Middleton provides a series of 10 case studies, buttressed by introductory and concluding chapters. The introductory chapter asks probing questions concerning how
collapse is deined, what exactly collapsed and the nature
of comparison. The irst seven cases (chapters 2–8) concern the Old World: Old Kingdom Egypt, the Akkadian
empire, the Indus Valley civilization, Minoan Crete, Mycenaean Greece, the Hittites and the western Roman empire.
He then turns to the New World (chapters 9–11), looking at
Rio Viejo and Teotihuacan, the Classic Maya and the Andean civilizations that preceded the Inka. He inishes with
the classic case studies of the Khmer empire (Angkor) and
Rapa Nui (Easter Island) (chapters 12–13). A bibliographical
essay at the end provides a useful guide for further reading. Throughout, Middleton builds upon an earlier review
article (Middleton 2012) to examine competing narratives
of societal breakdown. In each case he summarizes arguments for and against various explanations that have been
put forward for rapid, often catastrophic decline. He applies
the term ‘collapse’ with some reluctance in favour of complex, historically contingent explanations for transition and
change. Rather than advancing a single theory of civilizational failure, Middleton aims to provide an introduction
to ‘collapsology’, offering a wide-ranging and impressively
comprehensive overview of previous scholarship, written
in an accessible and succinct way that will be appealing for
undergraduate or graduate courses on the collapse of complex societies, or for scholars seeking overviews of regions
in which they do not specialize.
Why Did Ancient Civilizations Fail?, by Scott A.J. Johnson,
2017. New York/London: Routledge;
ISBN 978-1-62958-283-2 paperback £33.99; xiii+293 pp.,
31 b/w illus
Alex R. Knodell
Collapse, societal failure, doom and dystopia are popular
topics, both in scholarship and in much wider spheres of
cultural consumption. The decline or disappearance of human societies has been a point of interest for as long as people have been aware of the vestiges of cultures past, from
colonial sensationalism concerning the ruins of apparently
mighty civilizations through to early scholarship emphasizing historical process (e.g. Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the
Roman Empire, 1776–1789). Modern studies of collapse have
highlighted the topic as a historical and anthropological
problem of comparative interest in the archaeology of complex societies (see the foundational works of Tainter 1988;
Yoffee & Cowgill 1988).
Collapse is most often situated in wider narratives
concerning the rise and fall of civilizations, though it has
not received the same systematic attention as, say, state
formation. Most scholarly treatments focus on particular
macroregions or culture areas, with the Classic Maya and
eastern Mediterranean Bronze Age as frequently recurring case studies (e.g. Cline 2014; Demarest 2004; Iannone
2014; Knapp & Manning 2016). Popular accounts by nonarchaeologists (Diamond 2005) and archaeologists (Fagan
2008) have highlighted environmental degradation and climate change as particularly inluential factors, drawing
comparisons with the contemporary world and hoping to
issue correctives. Recent attention has critiqued environmentally deterministic explanations for collapse, focusing
on transformation, resilience and historical context (Butzer
& Endfeld 2012; Cunningham & Driessen 2017; Faulseit
2016; McAnany & Yoffee 2010; Redman 2005; Schwartz &
Nichols 2006).
Two recent attempts at synthesis pull together much
of the above discussion, albeit in very different ways. Both
are single-author comparative studies that utilize a variety
of case studies, several of which overlap. Both are written
CAJ 28:4, 713–717
C 2018 McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research
doi:10.1017/S0959774318000343
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Environment and agency between prehistory and
history
Johnson follows a different track, taking as a central
thesis the crippling capacity of social hubris—the failure of
societies to respond to changing environmental and social
circumstances, born of over-conidence in established practices and orders. The book is structured in pairs of linked
thematic chapters and individual case studies that illustrate
how each theme applies in each case. After a brief introduction to social hubris, a second chapter highlights surplus
agricultural production as the foundation of every complex
society on Earth. The paired thematic chapters and case
studies proceed as follows: the environment and the Maya
(chapters 3 and 4); agricultural systems and Mesopotamia
(5 and 6); trade systems and Rome (7 and 8); social organization and Egypt (9 and 10); and unexpected catastrophes and the Aztecs and Incas (11 and 12). A inal chapter (13) examines ‘where we are today’ and suggests ways
forward. Each case study introduces the relevant history of
the culture at hand and works through the various themes
that structure the book (environment, agriculture, trade,
social organization, natural disasters), accompanied by a
more detailed discussion of the theme in the paired chapter. Johnson’s agenda is clear from the start, arguing that
the intensiied human–environmental impacts that threaten
the present world order are likely to have devastating outcomes, which we should relect upon by understanding
how past societies functioned and how they adapted to—
or failed to acknowledge—changing environmental circumstances, often of their own making. These are important
considerations, to be sure, but I often found myself wondering about the intended audience of this book, which is
never made clear. The thematic chapters amount to rather
basic overviews of how human societies function—content
largely derived from Johnson’s undergraduate anthropology courses (p. 164). The case studies are short and largely
dominated by introductory material. They provide some
critique and nuance to previous environmentally driven explanations for social change, but some likely will still ind
them overly deterministic.
In comparing the two books there is some divergence
evident in the disciplinary backgrounds of the authors. Middleton is an archaeologist and ancient historian whose ield
of specialization is Late Bronze Age Greece. In recent years
he has emerged as a leading igure in the comparative study
of collapse, producing another book and two substantial review articles on the subject (Middleton 2010; 2012; 2018—
this last is also a review of multiple books on collapse, including Johnson’s). In each of his case studies Middleton
discusses a broad range of alternative explanations for social
change, emphasizing most often historical contingency and
continuity. As a Mayanist, Johnson’s inclinations and training are anthropological. In particular, his book draws upon
traditions of processual archaeology to foreground relationships between surplus agricultural production, social hierarchy and organization, and adaptation to the natural environment. Middleton provides a greater number of more detailed case studies, with more explicit attention on detailed
comparison, while Johnson aims to situate his work in scholarship concerning the evolution of complex societies.
Recent developments in the study of past environments
have resulted in numerous interdisciplinary studies concerning climate change and its impacts on human populations (e.g. Weiss 2017). In many, environmental factors (climatic shifts, ecocide and catastrophe—whether truly natural or not) are set up against human agency, social processes and culture change. Johnson and Middleton both acknowledge that any societal collapse is necessarily a social
process, but in these and previous studies there is a wide
range of opinions concerning what that means and where
the balance falls between environmental factors and human
action. Middleton (pp. 11–12) follows Tainter (1988) in emphasizing that most discussions of collapse are fundamentally about sociopolitical organization—they thus demand
primarily sociopolitical explanations.
Middleton emphasizes that climate change and disaster narratives have long obscured our understanding of
what we term collapse. Natural developments provide important contexts, but causation is rarely simple. Johnson’s
work is much more environmentally focused, although
his thematic chapters come off as overly broad, generalizing discussions of how societies ‘work’. He pushes back
against critiques of environmental determinism (p. 101),
with a focus on human–environment interaction, especially
in the context of agricultural systems. An obvious takeaway is that a balance of human and non-human factors
should be considered in formulating understandings of social change. Individual studies often skew one way or another, though frameworks of systems and complexity thinking have long offered compromises (e.g. Renfrew 1979;
Woolf 2017).
Historical sources are at once illuminating and problematic when it comes to constructing narratives of collapse,
not least in their variety. Egyptian, Hittite and Roman texts
describe intrigue in royal courts, harem conspiracies and
waves of foreign invaders. Mesopotamian and Egyptian
documents record periods of drought and famine, though
these often emphasize the disorder of the past in order to
exalt a recent restoration of order, raising questions about
the degree to which they contain environmental or political
information.
The very presence and character of state-based writing systems are alternative proxies for sociopolitical change.
Maya royal monuments stop being produced at a certain
time in the Terminal Classic—the (quite long) period associated with collapse—although writing continues in the form
of codices. In the Minoan and Mycenaean Aegean, the successive disappearances of Linear A and B scripts signal an
end to the palatial institutions that relied on them. At the
end of the Bronze Age in Anatolia, Egypt and the Levant,
Akkadian cuneiform ceases to function as a lingua franca
among a brotherhood of ‘Great Kings’.
Etic accounts of collapse provide another type of insight. Spanish priests and explorers recorded the human
and cultural atrocities visited upon indigenous populations
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of the New World at the time of European contact, most
prominently in the cases of the Aztecs, Maya, Inka and the
people of Easter Island. New diseases like smallpox decimated local groups that were at the same time scammed, betrayed and enslaved by European colonists. Europeans often pointed to earlier monuments of these cultures, as if they
had fallen from grace on their own. Narratives of collapse,
then, are often tainted with the colonial agenda of civilizing missions that aimed to Christianize cultures whose best
days were considered gone; and documentary narratives of
decline often advocate a need for a new beginning, or aim
tacitly (or not) to justify racial inequality. We should beware
the genesis of such narratives in other contexts as well (in
the Mediterranean, Middle East, Africa and Asia).
Both authors engage critically with such documentary
sources when available, though they do less in terms of comparing how the very presence of texts can skew interpretations in particular directions. It is noteworthy that causation in collapse narratives trends much more toward climate
or environmentally determined explanations in prehistoric
cases, while in historical contexts, politics and social factors
play a much greater role, often in direct relation to the number of written sources available. Scholars interested in comparison should consider this a problem. In studying societal
trajectories we should not expect completely different results simply because we have different data sources. While
it is true that we can work only with the data we have—
and I believe that we should make the most of it—one of
the strengths of comparison is in the capacity to acknowledge and explicate such imbalances.
turns to institutionalized kingship to tyranny to aristocracy
to oligarchy to democracy to mob rule (Histories VI.XX).
Polybius’ ideas were drawing on Plato and Aristotle, and
were eventually taken up by later political thinkers such as
Cicero, Machiavelli and Kant. Middleton uses the concept
to introduce his chapter on collapse and revolution in
Mesoamerica (pp. 213–14). Emphasizing transition and
deliberate change seems favourable in order to encourage
more nuanced and ultimately realistic explanations for
societal transitions, as opposed to simple or blameless
notions of breakdown.
Questions of comparison are at the core of each of
these books. Where Middleton emphasizes the speciic circumstances of each case, Johnson sees his case studies as
illustrative of globally shared problems and processes. Middleton (p. 20) enumerates the many social forms being compared, even within his own book: political units, such as
states or empires (Rome, the Hittites, Akkad), culture areas (the Maya, Mesoamerica, Mesopotamia), independent
communities, world systems, populations, etc. Both authors also recognize that collapse can refer to many different things: political transition, disintegration of social hierarchies, large-scale societal collapse, and/or population
decline.
A related question is: what is it that is collapsing? In
every case discussed here, life goes on, and in many cases
lourishes, though in a different form. Advocates of collapse
terminology point to scale, degree, or rapidity of change as a
determining factor. Yet there are no ‘clean breaks’, as it were,
and in many cases we see demonstrations of social memory and interest in ancestral or divine connections to preexisting forms (Bronze Age Greece in the time of Homer,
Teotihuacan in the eyes of the Aztecs, the Khmer’s continued dedications at post-abandonment Angkor, etc.). Furthermore, Middleton and Johnson both note that studies of
collapse tend to follow the trajectory of societal elites. In
many cases we might imagine life improving for ‘commoners’ following the collapse of a social system based on high
levels of inequality. Indeed, revolts against the elite are well
documented in many historical circumstances, though often
in different terms—we talk about the ‘French Revolution’,
for example, not the ‘French Collapse’. On the other hand,
we refer to the ‘collapse of the Soviet Union’. Ultimately it
becomes a question of where agency behind social change
lies and who feels its effects, and of course this applies differently in different contexts. While seeking to build terminological consensus in archaeology may be a losing battle, we
can at least advocate for speciicity in deining one’s terms
in order to facilitate understanding and comparison, especially across sub-disciplinary contexts.
In general, the challenges of global comparison are
more noticeable in Johnson’s book than in Middleton’s.
Johnson’s strongest case studies are from the New World.
His Old World case studies often come off as thin, either
too narrow or too broad, and contain occasional errors of
fact. For example: he states that the Epic of Gilgamesh
and the Bible refer to the climatic optimum of 11–6 kya
(pp. 87–8)—both of these textual sources are millennia later
Terminology and comparison
Collapse is typically invoked to describe major social
change in a relatively short period of time, where signiicant qualitative or quantitative decline can be observed in
terms of population, quality of life, or level of sociopolitical
complexity (e.g. Murray 2017). Typical archaeological signatures include the abandonment or destruction of major
sites, a drop in evidence for long-distance interaction and
other economic activity, changes in settlement patterns such
as a decline in numbers of sites or shift in location, etc. In
this sense, it is a real, observable phenomenon. Questions
of agency and emphasis, however, complicate the term in
its application.
The main dificulty of collapse is that the term implies a lack of agency. Something ‘collapses’ under its own
weight, becomes unsustainable, etc. Administrative glut
and environmental constraints are important, to be sure, but
ultimately these are contexts in which human action,
decision-making and organization occur. While I would not
argue that the term collapse should be discarded, deliberate
and intentional reorganization must be brought more often
to the fore in our discussions of it.
Sociopolitical reconiguration—often drastic—has
long been recognized as a normal and recurring process. In
the second century bc the Greek historian Polybius elaborated the idea of anacyclosis, in which primitive monarchy
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Review essay
Alex R. Knodell
Department of Classics
Carleton College
Northield, MN 55057
USA
Email:
[email protected]
and could not possibly make any speciic reference to a
5000-year period of prehistory; he presents the ‘early Roman heartland’ as a chronological period, 700–264 bc (p.
125)—it is not; he says Constantine the Great died in 395
after the council of Nicea (p. 133), which would have made
him 123—he died at the age of 65 in 337. Johnson’s book also
contains some cringe-worthy essentializations, for example
when he argues that Egyptian history lasted 3000 years with
minor interruptions because Egyptians had less hubris than
other societies, meaning that their idea of social order was
more uniied, but still more adaptable, than other states
(p. 186)—I am not sure what this means, especially in relation to the three intermediate periods presented as collapses
on the previous pages. By contrast, Middleton’s book stands
out as carefully researched, with a high degree of factual accuracy throughout, making it a useful resource for people
interested in comparison and the opportunities and challenges it presents.
References
Butzer, K.W. & G.H. Endield, 2012. Critical perspectives on historical collapse. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences
109(10), 3628–31.
Cline, E.H., 2014. 1177 B.C.: The year civilization collapsed. Princeton
(NJ): Princeton University Press.
Constanza, R., L.J. Graumlich & W. Steffen (eds.), 2007. Sustainability or Collapse: An integrated history and future of people on
Earth. Cambridge (MA): Dahlem University Press and Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
Cunningham, T. & J. Driessen (eds.), 2017. Crisis to Collapse: The archaeology of social breakdown. Louvain-la-Neuve: Presses universitaires de Louvain.
Demarest, A., 2004. Ancient Maya: The rise and fall of a rainforest civilization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Diamond, J.M., 2005. Collapse: How societies choose to fail or survive.
London: Allen Lane.
Fagan, B., 2008. The Great Warming: Climate change and the rise and
fall of civilizations. New York (NY): Bloomsbury.
Faulseit, R.K., ed., 2016. Beyond Collapse: Archaeological perspectives on resilience, revitalization, and transformation in complex societies. (Center for Archaeological Investigations
Occasional Paper 42). Carbondale (IL): Southern Illinois University Press.
Iannone, G. (ed.), 2014. The Great Maya Droughts in Cultural Context:
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Kaufman, B., C.S. Kelly & R.S. Vachula, 2018. Paleoenvironment
and archaeology provide cautionary tales for climate policymakers. Geographical Bulletin 59(1), 5–24.
Knapp, A.B. & S.W. Manning, 2016. Crisis in context: the end of
the Late Bronze Age in the eastern Mediterranean. American
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McAnany, P. & N. Yoffee (eds.), 2010. Questioning Collapse: Human
resilience, ecological vulnerability, and the aftermath of empire.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
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Middleton, G.D., 2010. The Collapse of Palatial Society in LBA Greece
and the Postpalatial Period. (BAR International series S2110.)
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Middleton, G.D., 2012. Nothing lasts forever: environmental discourses on the collapse of past societies. Journal of Archaeological Research 20, 257–307.
Middleton, G.D., 2018. The show must go on: collapse, resilience,
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Murray, S.C., 2017. The Collapse of the Mycenaean Economy: Imports,
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Whither collapsology?
It is no coincidence that increased interest in the relationship
between human societies and global climate change over the
last decades has resulted in more acute interest in societal
collapse, and from a variety of academic ields (e.g. Constanza et al. 2007; Meadows et al. 1972). Middleton, here and
elsewhere (2018, 79), argues that ‘collapsology’ should by
now be considered an established subield within archaeology, as with research orientations concerning state formation, gender or colonialism. I agree, although I note that he
is the only one who seems to use this speciic term (at least
in archaeological literature). At this point, with detailed case
studies and synthetic overviews in hand, it is perhaps time
to turn more attention to speciic comparisons in understanding particular societal trajectories (e.g. Storey & Storey 2017
on the Maya and Rome).
A second question concerns the role of academic studies of collapse in contemporary society. Johnson’s send-off
is to provide a set of recommendations for changing human behaviour at a global scale, based on lessons of the past
concerning how socio-environmental systems work. He is
right to do so, but there is again the question of audience
and eficacy. The challenge is not in making collapse interesting or in identifying potentially disastrous societal behaviours. Lost civilizations and dystopian futures continue
to loom large in cultural imaginations at a global scale. It
is rather in making real research—concerning past societies
and their adaptations (or lack thereof) to changing social
and environmental circumstances—relevant in contemporary social life and policy making (Kaufman et al. 2018). This
is all the more dificult when up against powerful interests that beneit from the very environmental degradation
and growing social inequality that engender radical destabilization. Nevertheless, the scale of global society and questions of sustainability facing our planet make this a social
phenomenon worthy of constant consideration, which also
should be pushed as much as possible into forums well beyond academe.
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Weiss, H. (ed.), 2017. Megadrought and Collapse: From early agriculture
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