by Bill Schutt
Getting back to the question of whether or not the Caribs were cannibals, several years ago, during a trip to Trinidad, I met Cristo Adonis, the spiritual leader of the Trinidadian Amerindians. One of the first things I learned was that there were very few of his people left (with no full-blooded individuals among the roughly 600 surviving members). I quickly noted that Adonis avoids using the European-assigned names Carib and Arawak, which he considers slang terms. Instead he refers to his ancestors as the Karina and Locono people. Mr. Adonis told me that his people did practice both endocannibalism, related to religious practices, and exocannibalism, as a way to gain power from their defeated enemies. His evidence for this claim derives solely from ethnohistorical accounts passed down over hundreds of years. I told him that might make some folks skeptical.
“Why,” he asked me, “would indigenous historians pass on stories about their ancestors practicing cannibalism if the stories weren’t based on actual customs?” Actually, I can think of some potential reasons for claiming one’s ancestors were cannibals (e.g., to instill fear in their enemies), but anthropologist Neil Whitehead also thinks that the Caribs were man-eaters, although I found his rationale to be open to debate. To back this up his claim, Whitehead offers accounts by non-Spanish writers describing the Amerindians they encountered as having carried out ritual cannibalism. Whitehead argues that since the English, French, and Dutch were enemies of the Spanish, they would have wanted to develop alliances with the Amerindians. Since the non-Spaniards were presumably on friendlier terms with the locals, they would have been in a better position to observe and report on the actual cannibalistic behavior of their native allies.
Arguing against Carib cannibalism, perhaps, is the fact that the documentation by non-Spaniards regarding the behavior contains some seriously fanciful descriptions. For example, alongside his descriptions of anthropophagy, Sir Walter Raleigh wrote about some indigenous peoples having their heads located within their chests and their feet pointing backwards, the latter a characteristic that made them “very difficult to track.” (See illustration on page 103.)
Interesting for another reason entirely is the most famous piece of Columbus-related circumstantial evidence: Dr. Chanca’s account of the recovery of “four or five bones of human arms and legs” in a hastily abandoned hut. In reality, the good doctor never saw the scene he wrote about in 1493 because he was not part of the landing party. This might come as a surprise, though, if you read Chanca’s work, since his repeated use of the word “we” gives the impression that he had experienced the horrors of the “cannibal hut” firsthand.
Though not a firsthand witness, Dr. Chanca was a strong supporter of Columbus, and because of his professional status, his written accounts carried tremendous weight. Historically, his letters make up much of what we know (or thought we knew) about the Admiral’s second voyage to the New World. Another factor to consider is that Chanca’s description of the cannibal hut was sent back to Spain accompanied by a letter from Columbus, requesting that the doctor’s salary be increased substantially. Since Columbus was already using the cannibal angle to justify his attempts to pacify and enslave the local residents, what are the odds that Dr. Chanca would have penned an accompanying document contradicting the Admiral’s description of the Caribs as subhuman eaters of men? This conflict of interest raises serious doubts as to whether Chanca’s account can be considered unbiased reporting.
But even if the events described by Chanca did take place, the bones Columbus and his men collected from the infamous hut were more likely part of a funerary ritual rather than proof of cannibalism. According to historians and anthropologists, rather than burying their departed ancestors, some Amerindians preserved and worshipped their bones. In 1828, author and historian Washington Irving pointed out that during Columbus’s first voyage, when human bones were discovered in a dwelling on Hispaniola, they were taken to be relics of the dead, reverently preserved. On Columbus’s second visit, however, when bones were found in a hut presumably inhabited by Caribs, the finding became incontrovertible evidence of cannibalism.
At best, then, Dr. Chanca’s letter provides a brief, secondhand account of what may or may not have been the aftermath of cannibalism by the inhabitants of a single hut on the island of Guadeloupe. Meager evidence? Certainly, but the story gained far greater significance as additional authors wrote about the incident. In what would become a blueprint for cannibal tales throughout history, descriptions of the practice were penned decades or even centuries after the actual event and without the input of additional witnesses.
It mattered little whether cannibalism took place in the New World or not, though, since most authors who wrote on the topic had already decided that it had. Historians and writers alike picked up on secondhand, unsubstantiated, and often fabricated stories, added a splash of red, then reported the tales as facts. In doing so they may have enthralled their audiences with the bravery of European explorers, but they did a terrible disservice to history and to the indigenous people who became less and less human with each exaggerated account. As a result, readers—both casual and scholarly—were subjected to a 500–year-long indoctrination period during which they heard little if anything about the genocidal mistreatment of native populations, or even the sociological significance of cannibalism (if the practice did occur). Far more likely, they would come away believing that Columbus and the other European explorers had fought off hordes of cannibalistic subhumans, thus sparing many a grateful savage the horrors of the cooking pot. From the New World to Africa, Australia, and the Pacific islands, cannibalism was generally perceived to be a widespread phenomenon and it would be the role of good Christians—explorers and the missionaries who invariably followed them—to take control of the situation and thus put an end to this most horrific of human behaviors.
For the most part, this public mindset concerning ritual cannibalism remained until 1979. It was then that Stony Brook University anthropology professor William Arens initiated what became a loud and serious debate over the validity of cannibalism as a social practice. In his book The Man-Eating Myth, Arens argued that, aside from some well-known instances of starvation-induced cannibalism, there was absolutely no proof that ritualized cannibalism had ever existed in any human culture. Instead, according to the anthropologist, the idea of cannibalism had become a handy symbol for unacceptable behavior practiced by “Others”—a broad and malleable category of evildoers that included enemies, followers of non-Christian religions, and any groups determined to retain their “uncivilized” customs.
“The most certain thing to be said is that all cultures, subcultures, religions, sects, secret societies and every possible human association have been labeled as anthropophagic by someone.” Essentially, then, Arens asserted that colonial groups had been guilty of making false accusations of cannibalism against native populations across the globe and throughout history. With Christopher Columbus acting as a poster boy, applying the cannibal tag justified the condemnation and, if necessary, the eradication of anyone accused of engaging in this ultimate of taboos—a practice whose validity (Arens was quick to point out) was always unsupported by anything resembling firsthand evidence.
The reaction to Arens’s incendiary book was swift and mostly negative. His colleagues referred to his man-eating-myth hypothesis as “unsophisticated” and “dangerous,” and that it “does not advance our knowledge of cannibalism.” Some critics also took the opportunity to attack Arens personally, with the most extreme assault coming from anthropologist Marshall Sahlins, who claimed that Arens had proposed his “outrageous theory” for the sole purpose of generating controversy in an effort to sell books. Sahlins took his accusations over the edge by comparing Arens to a Holocaust denier, a stance that even those who believed ritual cannibalism to be a commonplace occurrence found difficult to fathom. One anthropologist, who believed that cannibalism did occur, pointed out that Holocaust victims had been murdered because, like the Caribs, they had been labeled as O
thers and, as such, they became perfect candidates for extermination.
I’ve found myself agreeing with much but certainly not all of Arens’s hypothesis, in part because of the brutal pounding colonial invaders doled out to indigenous groups for centuries. On the other hand, my investigation into ritual cannibalism has led me to conclude that there is plenty of evidence to support the stance that some cultural groups practiced cannibalism and that they did so for a variety of reasons. As for the claims of Carib cannibalism, though, the fact remains that beyond the second- and third-hand accounts, there isn’t a shred of physical evidence, nor is there any indication that Columbus or his men ever witnessed man-eating firsthand.
I met Dr. Arens on a bright, sunny day in his office at Stony Brook University. He seemed apprehensive at first, but after telling him I had little interest in the sensational aspects of cannibalism and that I had an open mind regarding his own assertions on the topic, he began to open up.
He explained that when anthropologists address the more recent claims of ritual cannibalism, much of the evidence they present comes from interviews they or their associates have had with tribal elders—none of whom practice cannibalism anymore. As Arens is only too happy to point out, these former cannibals all seem to have ceased their man-eating behavior just before the arrival of the anthropologists. I gathered that this was too much of a coincidence for him to accept.
In response to this very point, Beth Conklin (who worked with the Wari’ in Brazil) argued previously that the reason anthropologists never observe cannibalism in person is because they are “seldom the first outsiders to set foot in a newly contacted society.” This role, she claimed, is filled by “missionaries, government agents, frontiersmen or traders, who see cannibalism as something to terminate immediately.” Thus, according to Conklin and others, cannibalism either ceases altogether or goes underground before it can be studied firsthand.
Conklin also raised her own concerns about the cannibal denial debate:
Like the many priests, missionaries, colonial officers, and others who considered cannibalism antithetical to what it means to be human, scholars who insist that all accounts must be false seem to assume that cannibalism is by definition a terrible act. They appear blind to the possibility that people different from themselves might have other ways of being human, other understandings of the body, or other ways of coping with death that might make cannibalism seem like a good thing to do.
In other words, just because we consider cannibalism an ultimate taboo, why should the members of other cultural groups necessarily feel the same way?
I asked Arens about Conklin’s statement.
“I think it’s nonsense,” he replied.
“But couldn’t there be a group of isolated people who grew up without the influences that lead Westerners to believe that cannibalism is a bad thing?”
Arens threw me a dismissive wave. “I don’t think that any group of people grow up isolated or innocent of what’s going on around them, and I don’t believe that one group does something that’s not pretty pervasive among the species.”
He continued. “But if you see people eating each other, then you have to accept that they do it. And although I’d be disappointed to have to accept that, I would accept it!”
Yeah right, I thought, retaliating with a respectful but dismissive wave of my own. I found it hard to fathom that a man who had pretty much made a career of rejecting the concept of ritual cannibalism might be converted so quickly.
“Honestly, I’d accept it,” Arens assured me. “My problem is that no one ever sees it. Therefore, the pattern [of observed behavior] is not eating people, but assuming people eat people and never actually seeing it. The example of the Wari’, that’s a problem because no one has seen the Wari’ practicing cannibalism. So how about the Bongo Bongo? No one’s ever seen the Bongo Bongo do it, either. So you end up going around the world discussing something that no one’s ever seen.”
Anthropologist Jerome Whitfield has been working on ritual cannibalism and its pathological consequences for several decades, principally in Papua New Guinea. I’d been corresponding with Whitfield and related to him my conversation with Arens. He responded via email. “Endocannibalism has been practiced and witnessed by thousands of indigenous people throughout the world. How come a white ethnocentric anthropologist, who has never spoken to these people, or been in their country, can say what they do or why they do something?”
Whitfield went on. “Interestingly, there have been public apologies in Fiji, Vanuatu, and Papua New Guinea by citizens of these countries for the killing and exocannibalism of missionaries. Are they making it up like the Wari’?” To Whitfield, it sounded like Arens believes there is “a huge conspiracy with massive resources that wants to mislead the world into thinking that endocannibalism was an established practice.” And as for a reliance on witnesses other than themselves, Whitfield wrote that, “All anthropologists rely on informants to explain what is happening, even if they witness the event themselves.”
So did ritual cannibalism ever take place? Most anthropologists who’ve investigated the topic seem to think so. But is there any evidence beyond the ethnohistorical accounts and, if so, does it still take place today? As I would learn, to millions of people, the answer is apparently yes.
11: Cannibalism and the Bible
I had to eat a piece of Jesus once in a movie.
— John Lurie (personal communication), costar of Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ
There is another form of ritual cannibalism whose origins are fascinating and whose details may strike many readers as being uncomfortably close to home.
Descriptions of cannibalism in the Bible fall into two distinct categories. In the Old Testament, the behavior was undertaken by the starving inhabitants of the besieged cities of Jerusalem and Samaria. There’s no physical evidence that these events actually occurred (although that doesn’t mean that they didn’t), but since we’ll be covering the topic of survival cannibalism in an upcoming chapter, we won’t be stopping here.
The second type of cannibalism is found in the New Testament and relates to the literal or symbolic consumption of Jesus Christ’s body and blood during the celebration of the Eucharist—the Christian commemoration of the Last Supper. Considering the paramount importance this ceremony has for all Christians, and in light of differing belief systems that exist throughout Christianity, it’s no surprise that there are disagreements concerning the interpretation of the Eucharist. One aspect shared by the vast majority of Christians, however, is a lack of awareness that this particular form of ritual cannibalism led to the torture and death of thousands of innocent people.
The following are two of the most famous passages from the New Testament.
Now as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had said the blessing he broke it and gave it to the disciples. “Take it and eat,” he said, “this is my body.” Then he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he handed it to them saying, “Drink from this, all of you, for this is my blood, the blood of the covenant, poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”
— Matthew 26:26–28
Jesus replied to them: In all truth I tell you, if you do not eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Anyone who does eat my flesh and drink my blood has eternal life, and I shall raise that person up on the last day. For my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood lives in me and I live in that person.
— John 6:53–56
One way to interpret these passages is that Jesus was using a metaphor to convey a concept to his followers. It was certainly something he had done before, since surely even the dimmest of Jesus’s supporters hadn’t taken him literally when he said, “I am the gate” (John 10:9) or “I am the true vine” (John 15:1). In fact, Jesus’s lesson to his disciples during the Last Supper is one of those seemingly rare instances where even evangelical Christ
ians appear to bend their own rules regarding literal translation. For example, the same fundamentalists who believe that Jonah was swallowed by a fish and survived for three days within its belly also believe that the wine and host they consume during Holy Communion are only symbols of the body and blood of Jesus Christ. Strangely, though, the leaders of several major Christian religions (including Catholicism) do not support this host-and-wine-as-symbols interpretation, at least not technically. Here’s how that disagreement came about.
In light of developments resulting from the first four Crusades (e.g., the capture of Constantinople and large parts of the Byzantine Empire), Pope Innocent III summoned over 400 bishops and many lesser ecumenical leaders to attend the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215. Representative rulers from Europe and the Levant were also invited (the latter in reference to an area now made up of Lebanon, Israel, Jordan, the Palestinian territories, Syria, and Iraq). During the meeting, there was apparently little discussion between the Pope and the council attendees. Instead, the pontiff presented a list of 71 papal decrees, which served notice to all present that the Pope’s powers, as well as those of the Roman Catholic Church, had just been expanded. Among proclamations forbidding the founding of new religious orders, strengthening papal primacy, and regulating and restricting Jewish communities, was a decree that spelled out the concept of transubstantiation.
