Comparative Cognitive Processes and Systems
“Exploring Every Corner of the Cosmos in Search of Knowledge”
I demonstrate that individuals and social groups became Yorùbá through learning...creating and participating in emergent knowledge production, communicative interactions, and regional social networks ...
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[ These are forms of ] self-consciousness and interconnectedness that constitute our subject’s sociological and historical reality and whose geographical boundaries can be reconstructed from about AD 500 to 1840.
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[They are ] values, knowledge, and practices... constitutive of the Yorùbá [ and ] recalibrated at different points in time as a result of the shifting spheres of regional interactions, transformations in political economies, and environmental changes (9-10).
He describes this shared interpretive context as a ''community of practice,'' a term adapted from Etienne Wenger and Jean Lave's Situated Learning: Legitimate Peripheral Participation (1991) and Wenger's Communities of Practice: Learning, Meaning, and Identity (1998) a concept which Ogundiran describes as ''consistent with my field evidence and the subject’s conceptual category'' ( 9), in other words, with what he has learnt from Yorùbá people he has interacted with.
The “community of practice” concept allows me to make sense of the fluidity, permeability, and networked relations that defined the experience of ancestral Yorùbá in a broad regional context.
This community was a multitiered, boundary-shifting constellation. It included networks of peoples and institutions across multiple polities and speech communities who subscribed to a common set of epistemologies and ontologies—knowledge systems, myths, reservoirs of symbols, cosmologies, and ideologies of social order through deep-time learning, socialization, and interactions.
The ancestral Yorùbá who created, lived, and imagined this community did so through engagement in mutually reinforcing relationships within and outside the Yorùbá language continuum ( 9) .
The deep-time history of the Yorùbá is the subject of this book. It is an account of (1) the experiences and events that shaped the long-term history of the ancestral Yorùbá people; (2) the generative actions that they used to translate their experiences into new practices or traditions; and (3) the principles and values that made life meaningful for them between ca. 300 BC and AD 1840 ( xiii).
The first chapter lays out the theoretical, conceptual, and methodological frame-works that shape the themes and contents of the volume.
I make the case why it is necessary to bring empirical, comparative, and theoretical-minded habits to the study of Yorùbá history (xiii).
This book is a product of methodological pluralism and transdisciplinary interests in which I mesh multi-sited archaeological and material science data sets with oral traditions, objects and iconography, mythologies, his-torical ethnography, festivals, and several aspects of embodied practices, including bodily movements and language sources.
....juxtaposing, blending, integrating, disaggregating, and aggregating different knowledge systems, each of which requires different skill sets. Literacy and education in the subject’s language, cultural idioms, epistemology, ontology, and axiology are as important as literacy in archaeological stratigraphy, artifact interpretation, and material science ( 17).
I have privileged the material aspects of social relations in the stories that I tell in this book.
I do so because materiality takes us to the intimate spaces and deep recesses where the experience of time and culture formation were negotiated and produced by people, communities, institutions, and polities.
For example, I show that glass beads, as epistemic objects, hold the key to understanding the formation of a pan-regional Yorùbá community of practice between the eleventh and fourteenth centuries.
Likewise, I argue that we cannot fully understand how the Yorùbá became entangled in the Atlantic commercial revolution of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries without paying attention to the role of tobacco and cowrie shells.
These are the linchpins for the taste, pleasure, addiction, and aspiration that facilitated the entanglement. These commodities were, therefore, constitutive of the experience of early modernity in the Yorùbá world. The everyday relationship between people and things (materiality) enables me to explore new questions and themes that link individuals and communities to one another and to broad historical processes. The attentiveness to materiality provides useful insights into the intimate processes by which culture is made, tradition is invented, and society is born (23-4).
Based on new questions, evidence, and conceptual frameworks, this book offers the opportunity to rethink Yorùbá history in new ways. In the following pages, I emphasize the cultural-historical approach in order to understand the “ways of being” of the Yorùbá as historical subjects (ontology); their “theories of knowledge” (epistemology); and the regimes of value and aspirational principles (axiology) that they created at different historical junctures.
With these, I account for the cultural forms, practices, events, and ideas, as well as mentalities, imaginations, and meanings that constituted the Yorùbá experience for about two thousand years ( xiii).
In chapter 2, I provide a sketch of the historical groundwork that laid the foundation for the emergence of the Yorùbá world ca. 300 BC–AD 500. I also use a suite of archaeological, historical, and linguistic data to shed light on the four core principles that shaped the Yorùbá cultural identity in the second half of the first millennium AD.
The first is the ilé (House), the building block of their sociopolitical organization.
The second, the dyadic oba/ìlú-aládé(divine kingship/urban), served as the model of political culture and ideology of governance.
The third is the complementarity of gendered duality as the epistemological framework for constructing and imagining social order.
And the fourth centers on the search for meaningful living through the quest for immortality.
In chapter 3, I examine how these four principles and the knowledge capital associated with primary glass production and a universal cosmology/theogony were deployed to create the consciousness of a regional Yorùbá community of practice between the eleventh and the late fourteenth century (xiii-xiv).
All histories are patently particular and local, including those often presented as global or world history. In this regard, this book is no different. It is a regional history of the Yorùbá before 1840. Even so, I have paid close attention to the global and regional interactions that framed the actions of local actors who created their own theory of knowledge and defined it as their universal. In so doing, I draw attention to how the ancestral Yorùbá experiences were constitutive of global, transcontinental, and subcontinental histories, and vice versa. (xv).
[My] holistic approach to oral traditions made it possible to explore how ideas and meanings shaped Yorùbá history; how these changed over time and why; and how different layers of ideas and meanings influenced social memory and the creation of oral archives.
This engagement with people’s intellectual lives and knowledge has enabled me to place my subjects at the center of their history; use their language as the basis of disclosing their history; and use their discursive forms, metaphors, logics, and sensibility as the groundwork for understanding their past.
More important, this approach has offered the opportunity to apply some of the tenets of conceptual history to Yorùbá studies, whereby the transformations in the meaning of paradigmatic concepts and value systems, especially relating to gender, personhood, self-realization, and power, are explored and used to explain the Yorùbá experience of time (20).
Whenever possible, I have used certain individuals and materials as the springboard for my narratives and structural analysis of events, actions, thoughts, and practices. The names of many historical actors are preserved in the oral traditions and documentary sources.
In other sources, especially in archaeological sites, we come across the remains of individuals whose names we do not know.
I have taken the liberty of giving these individuals nicknames—first, to acknowledge their personhood as social beings whose actions and thoughts contributed to the making of Yorùbá history, and second, to realize my preference for the narrative style in some sections of the book (25).
An experience, even when perceived and received differently by diverse agents in the same community of practice, must be translated into a mutually intelligible system of meanings.
This communicative interaction is central to the coherence, resilience, self-organizing, and continuity of any community.
Experience is more than what happened, what is conscious, or what is in the discursive realm.
It is also the anticipated, the conscious and unconscious, the discursive and nondiscursive; the feelings, fears, sentiments, concerns, and aspirations; the consideration of what is possible and impossible; the explanation and theorization of the known and unknown; the rumor, perception of reality, and intellectual disposition of the time.
All of these facets of experience—mentality—make people think and act in particular and similar ways, irrespective of the differences in their material relations, and cause them to relate to the world and others in profoundly consequential ways.
Experience defines imaginaries that may become codified as mythologies, ritual performances, and iconographic representations, among others.
They not only make what is seemingly unreal (to the contemporary outsider) believable but also turn the thoughts of men and women toward actualizing or preventing them.
This translation of experience generates what Manfred Frank calls the “semantic foundation of any consciousness”—meaning, significance, and intention.
Therefore, the experience of time generates its own transcripts and historical sources, which, in the case of the Yorùbá, include myths, objects, language, performances, and iconographies.
The uniqueness of these transcripts and their value in understanding the past have served as the basis of the clamor for a decolonized African historiography.
Thus, Bassey Andah, in his critique of the encumbrance of Western social science on African historical study, charged the students of African cultural history to “descend into the burrows of Africa’s invisible silent times, persons, peoples, places and things, the ritual ground where one can truly examine African relationships with history in all its textual manifestation[s] and strive for control of the text of our experience” ( “Prologue.” In Cultural Resource Management: An African Dimension, edited by B. W. Andah, 2–8. Ibadan: Wisdom, 1990.)
He insisted that the focus of such study must be about “the daily activities, . . . social life and institutions, and . . . scientific and literary explorations” of ancestral Africans.
I share Bassey Andah’s conviction that this is the only pathway for identifying what he variously called “an inside history,” an “authentic cultural history,” and an “authentic African biography” where an African can discover his or her “true historical self” ( “Studying African Societies in Cultural Context.” In Making Alternative Histories: The Practice of Archaeology and History in Non-Western Settings, edited by P. Schmidt and Thomas Peterson, 149–81. 1995. 180).
This book is a response to his clarion call and those of like minds.
I am not preoccupied with what we ought to be doing to write an inside, authentic history of Africa, as many critics of African historiography have advocated. Rather, I have set out to implement this agenda for the study of Yorùbá history. I should clarify, though, that I interpret Andah’s “authentic African cultural history” as a history that is compatible with the transcripts of the Yorùbá experience in all of its epistemological, ontological, and axiological ramifications (16-17).
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