The Maya Collapse

At the beginning of the 9th century, at the end of the Classic Period, the Maya world entered a period of profound disruption and crisis. Cities across the Maya world were abandoned, and those long traditions of royal kingship and elite culture ended. Demographics would change dramatically as city populations declined sharply, and by 1000 CE, the Maya world, and Mesoamerica for that matter, would be changed forever. This event is typically referred to as the Maya Collapse, and sensationalized media typically portrays this as a cataclysmic event that did the Maya in and snuffed out the shining light of Maya civilization. As we'll see in this episode, the truth is far more complex. The last several decades of archaeology have produced a very nuanced picture, so most archaeologists today believe that the collapse was brought on by many factors in different places. That puts us in a difficult spot. On one hand, we want to have a comprehensive overview of the collapse, but on the other hand, we don't want to reduce a very complex topic to generalizations. Striking that balance has made this video very challenging, and it's why it took over a year to complete. That said, I am thrilled to discuss this topic, and I hope that you are thrilled to watch it. In this episode, we are going to look at the changes that were occurring in the Maya world during the 9th century, how these precipitated the collapse, and how those changes played out and influenced the post-classic order to come. What we'll see is that this was not a catastrophic cultural extinction, but an incredible transformation of Maya culture. We got a lot to cover, so so much to cover, so let's get started. Before we start, a few housekeeping items. First, I want to note that this is technically part of a larger series of the history of the Maya Classic period. If you haven't seen the earlier episodes, I'd recommend giving those a watch before you continue, because we are going to be referencing things from those episodes. I've even made a lovely little playlist that you can use. Don't worry, I'll still be here when you get back. But if you like to live dangerously, I can't stop you from continuing. Second, a quick word about sources. When we've discussed the Classic Maya up to this point, we've been blessed with a large body of inscriptions across the Maya lowlands which have been invaluable in piecing people, places, and events together. After 800 CE, those sources really dropped off, both in number and quality, so we need to keep in mind that we are working with a comparatively paltry record. What's even more frustrating is that the records after 800 CE never discuss the decline itself. There were no Maya kings or queens that eulogized the disintegration of their own dynasties for posterity. Shocking, I know. Instead, they commemorated diminishing achievements with increasingly crude and sparse monuments. These are still very useful, but it forces us to rely more and more on archaeology, and this is going to produce a more vague picture of the time period than we've been accustomed to. Thankfully, there is a lot of archaeology that has been done in the Maya area, so we do have a lot of archaeological data to draw from. So much archaeological data that the Maya collapse is practically an academic cottage industry among Mayanists and archaeologists. Third, some people may take issue with the term collapse. I realize that the term is pretty loaded and it's often used in sensational literature, but we are not using it to refer to some cultural extinction event as I said earlier. A good definition comes from archaeologist and anthropologist Arthur Demarest, and we quote, In the case of the classic Maya, the term collapse really refers to the disappearance between AD 750 and 1050 of the specific system of complex states and alliances in the Maya lowlands of eastern Mesoamerica, taking with it the spectacular art, architecture, monuments, and writing that were part of classic period political ideology. That's the important thing to stress. This was the end of an elite tradition characterized by In many cases, some people continued living in the cities, but in those cases, they just weren't erecting monuments. When we think of the Maya population as a whole, rather than just the elite, it's better to think of this as a demographic decline and reorganization. If we look at it that way, the Maya collapse doesn't seem as exotic as clickbait would have you think. Cultures, societies, and empires rise and fall, their peoples divide, regroup, and often reintegrate down the road. We see this all over the world, in Egypt, China, Mesopotamia, and in the Americas too. Alrighty, let's look at the collapse. The first elements of the collapse can be seen at the opening of the 9th century and continuing through the next 150 years. In the 20th century, it was common for scholars to illustrate the collapse as a long, steady, and drawn-out decline. While it's true that the collapse played out over a long period, most archaeologists actually see it as a fairly sudden event. And to get a good grasp of this, we're going to look at what was happening in the 9th century by looking at the available historical record from major Maya sites. By the way, this period is often called the Terminal Classic or Epic Classic in literature, so you might see that used. One way to illustrate the decline is to look at this lovely chart adapted from one in Simon Martin's recent book that shows the number of monuments with dated inscriptions being erected across the Maya area during the 9th century. And as you can plainly see, there is a steady decline until we get silence. Now, we do need to be careful here. Just because a site stopped erecting monuments doesn't mean that the site was completely abandoned. As I mentioned earlier, some people continued to inhabit some of these sites. It's just that no nobility or royalty were commissioning classic-style monuments. We'll discuss that more in a bit. That said, this is still a useful indicator of the political collapse of the city. But let's get back to the chart. As revealing as it is, Martin notes that it's actually a bit deceptive for a few reasons. First, many of the sites represented here were erecting monuments for the first time. And if you look at just the centers that had erected monuments in the previous century, that decline is even sharper. Yikes. Second, many of the monuments at those later dates are of much different quality and do not represent a continuation of the past. What do I mean by this? Many of these sites appear to have ceased continuous monument production between 810 and 820 CE. Even if these sites did not make monuments after that decade, it's clear that this is not a continuation of that classic monumental tradition, but rather an attempt to revive it. To illustrate this, let's look at the biggest fish in the classical period pond, Tikal. On that chart, Tikal's last date is 869 CE, which might suggest that the city elite held out for quite a long time in the 9th century. A closer look paints a different picture. During the 8th century, the city was consistently building huge temples and erecting stelae to commemorate important milestones. In 810, a stela went up to commemorate the 19th Khatun, and Temple 3 was dedicated by the ruler Dark Sun. After that, building activity completely ceased, and no monument went up for nearly 60 years. In previous episodes, we saw hiatuses for other cities, but this was almost always because the city had been conquered or subjugated by another city. By this point, Tikal had roared back and defeated its enemies. It was a winner, and as far as we can tell, it was not under the control of another city, so this hiatus came out of nowhere. It's likely that this represents a collapse of royal authority. The next monument that went up in Tikal was the one we just mentioned in 869, by Khasaw Chan Khatweel II to commemorate the second Khatun of the new Bakhtun. It would be the city's last, a final attempt to revive royal authority. It's safe to say that royal power had largely fallen apart during the past 60 years and was only hanging on by a thread. In fact, many sites exhibit a similar pattern. The picture that emerges is that after 810, royal authority and activity noticeably contracted, in some cases for good. In instances like Tikal, where there's later construction, it tends to be much smaller, limited, and more crude than earlier work. By 810, Palenque, Yashitlan, Piedras Negras, Kiriguá, and many smaller sites had all erected their final known monuments. Copan erected its last crude and unfinished monument in 822. Calakmul, Tikal, and Toniná were entering prolonged hiatuses and would only erect a few monuments after 810. What makes this all the more odd is that the 10th Bakhtun was about to start and very few cities commemorated this important event. That would be like the United States erecting no monuments, hosting no celebrations, or issuing no commemorative coins in 2076 to celebrate the 300th anniversary of the country. Not a perfect analogy, I know, but you get the idea. This sudden drop off in activity after 810 suggests that something was happening or had happened in the lowlands around that year. Simon Martin calls this hypothetical event the early 9th century crisis. While we'd all love to know more, the details are elusive. Whatever this event was, it had profound consequences that played out over the next century or two. Side note here, I know I keep harping on this, but I want to reiterate that we shouldn't characterize these abandonments as some kind of Maya extinction event with high casualties. For some reason in popular culture, people view the collapse as an end to the Maya. As far as archaeology can tell, the Maya weren't dying out at these sites. Archaeologists do not see mass graves or anything that would indicate that people were dying at an increased rate. In fact, only in some places do we see starvation or a violent demise for sections of the population, and we'll discuss those instances later. But by and large, the Maya people survived the collapse just fine. In fact, their descendants are still chugging along, speaking their languages, and living in the lands of their ancestors. When the Spanish encountered them centuries later, they were thriving. So what happened to the large populations in the lowlands? Remember, the largest cities had populations in the tens of thousands, and a few even topped 100,000. They could have either stayed and tried to continue living in their ancestral lands, or emigrate and seek out new futures elsewhere. Let's look at those who stayed. Although this was the less common option, it's one that is well attested in the archaeological record. Many large sites continued to be inhabited by small populations. Sites like Palenque, Piedras Negras, Yaxchilán, Toniná, and possibly Copán all had occupations after the collapse, albeit with much smaller populations. These sites produced terminal and post-classic pottery, showing that people continued to live there after the royalty vanished. This is also true for smaller subordinate cities as well. Often when you see these stubborn residents mentioned in literature, they're usually referred to as squatters, which is a bit of an unfair term in my opinion. They were simply using buildings and spaces that were unused, just like anyone else would do. Next, let's take a look at those who sought their futures in new areas. Fortunately for them, there were several options about where to go. As it turned out, the collapse didn't hit everyone across the Maya area. Some areas actually did quite well. Even some cities in the lowlands managed to continue classic traditions for a time. It's not known how these migrants affected the places they emigrated to. They may have put considerable strain on the resources available and contributed to the pattern of collapse across the Maya area. On that note, let's look at the other places that held out and bucked that terminal classic trend. A lot of these sites still failed to survive the 9th century, but to get a full picture of the collapse, we need to discuss their history and experiences. Let's start close to home in the lowlands. A good example is the large site of Caracol. When we last mentioned Caracol, it had been humiliated in a star war by Naranjo in 680, and it went silent for the next century. Caracol re-emerged from this hiatus under the reign of K'nich Poy K'wil in 799, and he inaugurated a new building program, and his successor, K'nich Tubil Yopat, led successful wars against neighboring Ucanal and Bital. Caracol was also one of the few cities to commemorate the arrival of the 10th Bak'tun. However, as impressive as this renaissance was, Caracol could not escape the storm. The last monument at Caracol dates to 859, and it must be a pretty impressive one because for the life of me, I could not find a picture of it to show you. Good effort Caracol, but alas. Other sites like Shunantunich, Ucanal, Shultun, and Nakum also had fluorescences in the terminal classic. These centers were erecting large buildings and monuments, and for a while stood in stark contrast to the decline of the lowlands. It's likely that they were absorbing populations from other collapsing cities. However, their classic resurgence was finished by the end of the 9th century, and like their neighbors, they were also abandoned. My favorite exception to this trend, however, is a site that has merited almost no attention until now, Ceibal. Ceibal's historical trajectory is really bizarre, and it could honestly be its own episode, but today, we're going to have to condense it. The city was originally founded in the middle of the pre-classic, and it actually has the noteworthy distinction of having one of the first e-groups in the Maya area. Unfortunately, it fell into a sharp decline in the early classic period, and became a vassal to Dos Pilas. However, it unexpectedly rose back from obscurity in the classic thanks to the collapse of Dos Pilas. An important stela at the site records the arrival of Akbalon-Haptal to re-found the dynasty in March 830, the day before the 10th Bak'tun. The man knew how to start the new Bak'tun on a high note. Just a quick word, he also has a different name, Huatul-Chatel, and this appears in a lot of the literature, so watch out. Akbalon-Haptal originally came from the city of Ucanal, another city that was enjoying a comeback as well. Once in Ceibal, he set about crafting a regime in the classic style. A monument dated to 849 that celebrated the end of the Ka'tun notes that the kings of Tikal, Calakmul, and Motul de San Jose all witnessed the event. That guest list really shows how high Ceibal had ascended and how low Tikal and Calakmul had declined. I should note that there's some doubt if these rulers were legitimate or grandly titled pretenders to fragmented kingdoms. We'll discuss this more later, but smaller sites were actually starting to use emblem glyphs of formerly great dynasties, so it's possible that these kings weren't actually from Tikal or Calakmul. Although Ceibal never reached the size of the great classic cities, it was still vibrant and it really contrasts with the sad attempts of cities like Calakmul and Tikal to reassert their power. The 17 stelae it erected in the 9th century were the most produced by any city in that century. Unfortunately, Ceibal could not escape the collapse. Despite its impressive rise, it fizzled out in the early 10th century. Another exceptional area we have to discuss is the northern Yucatan. This area proved very resilient in the early 9th century. In fact, it was their time to shine. Puk, Chenes, and Riobec styles have their origins in this time period. The Puk region in particular was one of the final holdouts of the classic tradition, and it shows strong influence from the south. At sites like Uxmal, Sayil, and Caba, not only do we see inscriptions and the art of Maya kingship, but also the blossoming and pioneering of a new ornate style of architecture called the Puk style. This style is characterized by very ornate decoration with masks and geometric patterns and fine stone veneers. Uxmal was believed to be the greatest of these Puk cities based on its size, but the heyday couldn't last forever, and like their southern brethren, the Puk area also saw a decline in the late 9th century. The last monument at Uxmal was erected in 907. Further north during this time, Ekbalam reached its peak, supplanting Coba as the regional capital of the north, but this was short-lived, and Ekbalam's final inscription is dated at 841. The site continued past the 9th century and into the post-classic, but with only a fraction of its peak population. The new northern center of power was a little place called Chichen Itza. You've probably heard of it. Now Chichen Itza survived long into the post-classic, but we aren't going to discuss it here because Chichen Itza did not continue the classic Maya traditions that we've discussed up to now. Instead, a new tradition took hold at Chichen Itza that we are not going to get into today. All you need to know is images like this of Chichen Itza do not represent classic Maya culture. That's all post-classic culture, and a topic for another video. While we're in the north, I want to bring up a little monument that really drives home how classic culture was drying up. At the site of Yash Hom in the northern Yucatan, there's a very poignant homage to the fading classic culture. Take a look at this stela here. Now, to most viewers, this looks like an ordinary stela, but to the four or five people in the audience who really know their Maya glyphs, they are probably raising their eyebrows at this inscription. They're expecting a date inscription based on this introductory glyph at the top. And yet, there's nothing below. I mean, yes, there are glyphs, but they don't say anything. It's the equivalent of alphabet soup, er, I mean, glyph soup, whatever. What does this mean? This shows us that whoever commissioned this stela clearly appreciated the aesthetics of a good inscription, but lacked the means or expertise to see it through properly and settled on an illegible text. It's ironic that this silent monument can say so much about the end of the classic period. Now, I don't want to suggest that Maya writing was dying out. It survived and continued to be used by Maya elites for centuries. In fact, the surviving Maya codices all date to this time period or later. Those scribes were still scribing, but they weren't carving royal monuments. This little guy represents a crude, perhaps desperate attempt to recapture a glorious past that by then was quickly fading into the background. But back to our survey. One part of the north that did very well during the 9th century and largely survived was northern Belize. While this area isn't known for any particularly huge sites and was pretty peripheral during the classic period, it thrived during the collapse with many sites lasting long into the post-classic. A good example is the large site of Lamanay, which thrived during the classic and continued to thrive into the post-classic. Heck, it was still going strong when the Spanish arrived. Now, northern Belize wasn't all rainbows and unicorns. There were still abandonments. Northern sites like were abandoned in the 9th century. And a few sites like Kolha and Nomul have evidence of violence, followed by a shift in ceramic styles that were likely the result of conquest by people in the Yucatan. You might be wondering why this area was so much less affected, but we'll get into that later. Gotta eat your dinner before dessert, kids. Okay, now that we have a pretty good grasp of the collapse timeline, let's take a closer look at the changes that were happening on the ground during the late 8th and early 9th centuries at different sites. One of the biggest changes facing the Maya were changes to their environment. Some of this change was brought about by the Maya themselves, while some was natural. I imagine that many of you associate the collapse with environmental catastrophe. It certainly gets a lot of attention in scientific and popular media, and not without reason. There is evidence that the Maya were putting a dangerous amount of stress on their environment in certain areas. That said, in my humble opinion, this does get overhyped and sensationalized a bit. You've probably heard the narrative that the Maya short-sightedly overexploited the forests and soil around their cities with destructive slash-and-burn agriculture, which exhausted the soil. This would have led to smaller harvests, malnutrition, and higher infant mortality, which eventually resulted in the collapse of the cities. Jared Diamond, in his best-selling book, Collapse, How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed, makes such a case about the classic Maya. In such tellings, the Maya become something of a cautionary tale about the reckless exploitation of the environment, one that resonates very well in our own time of environmental crisis. So let's take a look at the evidence so that we can appreciate the foundation of these claims. At Tikal, there's a change in material used in the lintels of buildings. Previously, the Maya architects and builders at Tikal had relied on wood from the Chiclay tree. The wood from this tree is easy to carve and cut when it's fresh, and it's very durable and rot-resistant, qualities that make it highly sought after in the tropical forests even to this day. Prior to 741, all temples in Tikal used this Chiclay wood, but after that date, it stopped appearing in construction for about 70 years. Instead, builders were using logwood trees, an inferior wood that was much more difficult to carve. When Chiclay did reappear in construction around 810, the beams were much thinner than they had been previously. The botanists that first documented this believed that this was because the tall monsoon forests near Tikal were felled around 740, and henceforth, Chiclay had to be cultivated in protective groves so that it could be harvested later, or that they were beginning to import it. Perhaps the most jarring evidence comes from the city of Copan. The Copan Valley was a rich and fertile area that allowed Copan to blossom during the Classic Period. Even before the 9th century, however, the valley was becoming stripped of resources. Pollen analysis has shown that the valley floor was denuded of tree cover, and even the mountainsides were beginning to be deforested. I mentioned this in the previous episode, but it's worth repeating here. This wood shortage coincides with a decline in stucco decoration. Stucco production requires a lot of firewood to burn limestone, and without abundant wood, sculptors and artists at Copan began to carve stone more intricately than ever, relying less on stucco to provide the finishing touches. This deforestation had more dire consequences as well. This could have affected the microclimate of the valley and reduced rainfall. When rainfall did come, it would have eroded the soil on the hillsides. By the early 9th century, the exploitation of the valley appears to have reached a critical point. 8th century burials show that malnourishment and infant mortality were increasing, so it shouldn't be a surprise that by the 9th century, the valley was becoming depopulated as the population began to disperse. The last monuments of Copan paint a pretty pathetic picture. The last Copan king we have any records of, Bukit Tug, only commissioned one monument to celebrate his accession in February of 822. In very poetic fashion, the monument was never finished. Bukit Tug was unable to muster the labor to complete a simple monument as the kingdom went out with a whimper. However, I do want to stress that this doesn't appear to have been the case everywhere, and in fact, some scholars have really pushed back on this narrative. Annabel Ford, an expert on Maya agroforestry, has criticized some of this evidence on deforestation by stressing the sophistication of Maya land use. Those who watched the first episode we did about the Maya classic period will recall that the Maya were very conscious of the benefits that the forests offered. Those trees provided fruits, fibers, latexes, and woods, and the Maya took steps to make sure that productive trees were protected when they cleared land for agriculture. When the Maya cleared their maize fields, or milpas, they eventually allowed old fields to be reclaimed by forests. This new growth allowed the soil to recover and protected it from erosion. Ford argues that those pollen analyses don't necessarily show deforestation, but rather show the mixed use of the land by the milpa cycle, and that this pollen record continues up until Spanish contact. There may have been a lot more going on than we appreciate. Ford's research is really interesting, and if you're interested in Maya agriculture and land management, I highly recommend looking up her work. Another important ecological strain was something completely outside the control of the Maya, drought. This has really occupied scientists for the last few decades, and there's been a lot of research about the ancient climate of the Maya area. A few of you in the audience might be saying, drought? But ancient Americas, the Yucatan is covered by a lush tropical rainforest that is always wet, rainy, and humid. How could a drought happen there? As it turns out, appearances can be deceiving. First, only the lowlands of the Yucatan contain tropical rainforests. The northern part is tropical savanna, which is much more arid. In an area where a lot of people depend on rain to water their crops, a drought would be a big deal. Now remember what I said about water management in the episode on the classic Maya culture. Many Maya cities constructed enormous reservoirs to capture rainwater during the rainy season and to hold it in the dry season so that people in the cities could have clean drinking water. Keeping these in clean working order was extremely important to the success of these cities. As we discussed in that episode, the Maya had several brilliant methods for ensuring water quality, but it doesn't mean that these were safe from failure. Droughts put huge strains on this infrastructure and unfortunately for the Maya, there was a bad drought on the horizon. Environmental scientists have assembled a very impressive array of climate data from ice cores, lake cores, sea salinity records, stalagmite rings, and so on, so we have good data at our disposal. These have shown that several drought episodes hit the Maya area repeatedly over its history. The one that we care about today appears to have struck the Yucatan around 800 CE before abating in the middle of the 9th century and then striking again intensely in the early 10th century. Now this wasn't completely new. Droughts had hit the area before, but this one was very rough. Not only would this have been ruinous for people relying on rain for their agriculture, but it also meant that what limited water there was could be more easily contaminated. The deteriorating water quality would have fostered endemic diseases, disease-carrying pests, and the buildup of harmful chemicals like nitrogen. The increased erosion we mentioned earlier would have also deposited more sediments into the water supply, further compromising its quality. These developments are very interesting, but it's impossible to say if they are causal or just correlating events. We should also remember that the Maya were not entirely dependent on rain for their agriculture. Some cities took advantage of wetlands, raised fields, and terraces that would have been less susceptible to the effects of drought. There's also been some criticisms about the drought theories. After all, droughts were nothing new to the Maya. They had dealt with them before and likely had strategies to cope with water shortages. Heck, every society that exists and has ever existed must cope with a changing environment. Some scientists have pointed out that the data for drought comes from specific areas of the Maya region and is applied universally to the Maya area as a whole, despite the fact that rainfall totals across the Yucatan can vary immensely. For example, very little paleoclimatic data exists for the western lowlands, which is a shame because that region actually receives much greater amounts of rain than the rest of the Maya area. In this area, modern records show that the rain in the dry season exceeds the amount of rain that other regions of the Maya area get during their wet season. Not only that, but this has Mesoamerica's largest river, the Usumacinta, which empties 59 billion cubic meters of water annually into the Gulf. The western lowlands are also dotted by lakes and streams, and surface water is abundant with very productive agricultural areas. This is an extremely wet and humid area. Several scientists have expressed skepticism that a drought would have left the western lowlands high and dry. Even if surface water was diminished, rainfall should have still been enough to productively farm. Adding even more confusion to the drought picture is the fact that the northern Yucatan was thriving during this time. Remember what we said earlier about cities like Uxmal, Ekbalam, and Chichen Itza? They were hitting their stride, despite the fact that they were located in much drier areas than the southern lowlands. That's because the northern Yucatan is actually quite arid compared to the south. In fact, the driest parts of the north can receive less than half the rainfall of the lowlands. And what's even worse, there's no rivers in the north due to the local geology. If a drought was really stressing those lowland cities to the breaking point, why were the northern cities faring so much better? We'd expect people in the dry north to be fleeing to the wetter south. Now some of you might point out that the north does have underground water sources like cenotes that can provide a ready supply of fresh water. While that's true, cenotes are not everywhere in the north, and there's no correlation between cenotes and prosperity during the 9th century. In fact, most cities in the Puc region completely lacked cenotes and relied on storing rainfall, but still enjoyed prosperity during many of those drought years. What I want you to take away from this is that a drought as a major cause of collapse fits really nicely in certain areas and fits poorly in other areas. Even if it wasn't a tipping point for certain cities, however, it still would have put a lot of stress on the elite to find solutions for water shortages and contributed to growing discontent with the monarchies. Speaking of the elite, let's look at what was happening at Maya royal courts because there's a very interesting trend that emerged in the late 8th and early 9th centuries – the rise of the nobles. In some cities, nobles at Maya courts began to assume increasingly prominent roles in government, and this slowly eroded royal power. One city that we see very compelling evidence for this is Copan. The city's 16th ruler and last great ruler of any merit, Yashpasak Chanyopad, oversaw a resurgence at Copan after its subjugation by Kiriguac. During this twilight at Copan, he erected many monuments and buildings, but he wasn't alone in this. Other nobles in the city were commissioning their own palaces and inscriptions that were every bit as impressive as the king's. Prior to this, kings had had a monopoly on such construction, but at the end of Copan's history, the nobles had no problem getting in on this action. And that wasn't all. They also seemed to be taking a more active role in government because Yashpasak constructed a something hitherto unseen at any large Maya city. Another example comes from Lashtunich, a vassal of Yashitlan. Let's look at Lintel 1, which was carved in 783. Fun fact, this lintel is actually signed by the artist who carved it, so that's cool. A real Maya Michelangelo right there. At first glance, this probably looks like a regular court scene, except that the focus of this scene, the man on the right, is not the king of Yashitlan, Itzamna Baklam IV, but instead, the sahal, Aksak Mash, who presents the king with three prisoners. Quick reminder from the previous episodes, sahals were military captains or lieutenants. Compare this to the exquisite monuments from Itzamna Baklam IV's father, Yashun Baklam IV. In this lintel from Yashitlan, dated to 752, he towers over a submissive captive. There's no question who's got the power here. Looking at that previous lintel from nearly 25 years later, it's wild that a noble could commission such a fine piece from a prominent artist, and it may signal growing power within the nobility. And this wasn't limited to just Yashitlan. Across the Usumacinta region as a whole, a lot more subsidiary titles appear in inscription, highlighting the greater role played by the local nobility. As interesting as this is, it's hard to say whether this rise of noble power is a cause or effect of decline, and we could chicken and egg this all day long, but it is a trend that I think is worth noting. While we're on the subject of declining royal power, one thing that is also worth mentioning is the movement of emblem glyphs. Just a quick refresher, emblem glyphs were royal titles used to identify the city ruled by a dynasty. You can kind of sort of think of them as a royal seal. At the end of the classic period, these emblem glyphs start showing up in very unexpected places. A damaged stela from Shunantunich may link it to Naranjo's ruling dynasty. If this is true, it may represent a move from a failing city and decline to one that was more defensible. It could, however, just as easily represent a usurpation of the Naranjo dynastic title. However, this all assumes that the identification is correct in the first place. In a similar but more secure example, the dynasty at the city of Motul de San Jose appears to have relocated across Lake Paten Itza to the island of Tayasal by the middle of the 9th century. Fun fact, this site would actually be where the last independent Maya kingdom fell to the Spanish in 1697. After 859, the Tikal emblem glyphs started appearing at the sites of Ishlu and Himbal, former satellites of Tikal. A century earlier, this would have been unthinkable. Well, I guess not really since Dos Pilas had already pulled that stunt. Whether dynasties were actually on the move or whether new people were impersonating or usurping these old titles is unknown. Remember when I mentioned that monument at Ceibal that recorded the presence of the kings of Tikal and Calakmul? For all we know, those could have been imposters styling themselves as kings of Tikal and Calakmul. Ultimately, both interpretations are possible, but it undoubtedly speaks to the weakening of royal power and authority. Another visible change in the archaeological and historical record is the increasing intensity of warfare and violence. Warfare had long been a feature among the Maya city-states, but it's believed that warfare was restricted to an elite warrior class and nobility, and that there were rules and ceremonies around it. In a sense, it was very formalized. However, many scholars have pointed out that warfare between states seems to have reached a fever pitch just before the collapse. In some areas, violence became more common and brutal, with cities sometimes being completely destroyed. Nowhere is this more evident than in the Patashpatoon regions of the lowlands. Just a quick reminder from the last episode, this area was Dos Pilas' former territory. After Dos Pilas unraveled, it created a power vacuum in which several smaller sites fought to fill Dos Pilas' plates. Unfortunately, things escalated quickly and got pretty violent and brutal. At the site of Cancun, excavations have shown that many city elites were massacred and dumped into a cistern, still wearing their elite clothing and jewelry. Many monuments at the site were also defaced. Whoever came to town had an axe to grind. And this is only one site. Things got so hot that at the former site of Dos Pilas, the remaining population settled in the main plaza, and as violence picked up, they tore down the deserted temples and palace structures so that the stone could be used to build two concentric walls around the plaza. The remains of weapons and decapitated skulls suggest that they were overwhelmed sometime in the early 9th century. The cities that saw a lot of activity in this period were ones that had good natural fortifications. Two good examples are Aguateca and Punta de Chimeno. Aguateca was built on a very defensible limestone bluff, and Punta de Chimeno was built on a peninsula that jutted into Lake Patashpatoon. Both sides built very impressive networks of fortifications to protect them against attack, but ultimately, both cities fell violently. In the case of Aguateca, it happened so quickly that elites at the city left behind all of their valuables in their homes, and no one returned to retrieve their goods or to bury the bodies at the site. Yikes. Things would not die down in the region until about 830. Before you think that this was a restricted local phenomenon, let's move over to the west to look at the rivalry between Yaxutlan and Piedras Negras. Remember that these cities had been locked in conflict since Yaxutlan threw off Piedras Negras' overlordship. This culminated in 808, when K'nitch-Taptu-Skull IV defeated and captured ruler VII of Piedras Negras in a star war. The archaeological record at Piedras Negras shows a violent end, with several buildings being burned and the palace throne smashed. This was catastrophic for the dynasty, and the royal court appears to have ceased activity around 810. You'd think that Yaxutlan would be poised for greatness, ready to be a strong post-classic player on the Maya state. And yet, it was an empty victory. K'nitch-Taptu-Skull IV is the last ruler that we have any record of at Yaxutlan, and his only monument is a simple lintel in Temple III that documents his capture of ruler VII at Piedras Negras. However, this inscription was so poorly and crudely executed that archaeologists originally thought that it was one of the first inscriptions from the site, instead of the last one. A huge contrast to the beautiful and mature artistic tradition we saw with previous rulers. That temple that the lintel was found in was also never completed. The murals at the nearby city of Bonampak were never completed, as all construction there ceased. It's as if the artists and craftsmen just dropped their paint and brushes and chisels and walked away. Instances like this have prompted some scholars to argue that all of this warfare took a toll on the Maya commoners, and that they left the cities to escape the war and violence, and that this put additional pressure not just on the cities and their rulers, but on neighboring areas that absorbed these new immigrants. Arthur Demarest has written extensively on this if you're interested in reading more. Others have speculated that some of this violence was internal, and that rulers grabbed their pitchforks and torches and led a rebellion against elite tyranny and excess, French Revolution style. Remember what I said earlier about Cancun? The violence at that city appears to have specifically targeted the royal residence and royal monuments. Keep in mind, though, that such instances are limited, and that this is not something we see across a wide area. Like we said about the climate evidence earlier, it fits certain areas very well, and others more poorly. Now there's one last line of evidence that I want to investigate, and it's perhaps the most bizarre evidence out there. Foreign influence. Honestly, this was the thing in my research for this episode that surprised me the most. During the 9th century, new types of art and architecture with a foreign flavor began to appear in the Maya region. In particular, the cities that rebounded in the 9th century, like Ucanal and Ceibal, show a lot of this influence. One visible change is in ceramics. In the 9th century, we see the introduction of a new type of ceramic. These were mold-made monochrome vessels that are referred to as fine-paste wares. Remember from our classic culture episode, elite Maya pottery during the classic period was characterized by these beautiful polychrome vessels. If you've been watching this series, you've probably seen a million of these by now. Those fine-paste wares are almost the complete opposite of what elite classic Maya ceramics were. Mold-made vessels allowed people to produce multiple pots quickly, without needing an artist to paint complex designs that had to be carefully fired in a kiln. While these fine-paste wares are impressive in their own right, they didn't require the skill and expertise that those earlier polychromes did. They are also very similar to pottery that was being made on the Gulf Coast to the West, and the influence is easy to trace. Some of you out there may suggest that these pots were imported, but studies have shown that these pots were produced locally in the Maya area, particularly around the upper Usumacinta and lower Paseo River. Another odd thing seen on some of these pots are foreign glitz. For example, let's look at this very late classic polychrome pot here. You can already tell that this late pot is pretty basic compared to the polychromes we saw in earlier episodes. What's important here, though, are the glitz at the top. Check this out. In the middle of the inscription, we have these bold, blocky glitz that really stand out from the gentle strokes of the Maya glitz. Those square glitz are actually day signs, but in this case, they aren't recording a date, but the name of a person. Many Mesoamerican people use day signs as their name. What's more, these day signs are not Maya day signs. They're actually in the style that is seen in central Mexico and on the Gulf Coast. Sites like Ucanal, Ceibal, and Quimbal also have examples of monument inscribed with square glyph names. What's going on with these weird western names? Believe it or not, foreign figures with foreign-sounding names begin to appear in some inscriptions in the terminal classic. What's even more unusual is that many of these foreign-coded rulers have the title Calumte. We discussed this term in our classic culture episode, and it's a very prestigious but seldom-used title that referred to the very strongest rulers of the Maya world, like a great lord. But the full title used is actually Ochquín Calumte, which refers to the west. The appearance of these titles hints that these lords were people with powerful western ties. Interestingly, one of the earliest instances of this comes from Toniná, where an inscription dated to 787 references the erection of a monument in the presence of a Calumte, which implies that the powerful city of Toniná was paying homage to a greater power. A really interesting example of a ruler sporting this foreign idiom comes from the site of Ceibal. We're going to be looking at a series of stelae from the imaginatively named Structure A3. This building was constructed by the previously mentioned dynasty founder, in 849, and the stelae are very interesting. These first two look pretty normal and show him as a Maya lord in classic presentation, but check out these other two. Mama mia, what do we have here? Why does Aqbalón Habtal look so different? In the latter two images, he's depicted with non-Maya western features that we typically see in central Mexico. Did I mention that these scenes are all from the same day? Aqbalón Habtal is displaying multiple cultural and ethnic identities to his subjects, and this isn't an isolated incidence. We see other 9th century monuments that depict Maya rulers in foreign attire. One last foreign element worth noting is a new type of architecture that appears in these 9th century cities, circular platforms. Now, this might not seem earth-shattering or anything, but there's more than meets the eye here. Circular platforms were not a feature of classic Maya architecture, but they did appear in central Mexico, where they were associated with the wind god, Ekhot Quetzalcoatl. Those of you who know your post-classic history know that the feathered serpent becomes a big deal, and some scholars believe that this is the earliest sign of the cult of Quetzalcoatl arriving in the area. Although it's worth noting that Quetzalcoatl is the Nahuatl term for the deity, the Maya would have called him K'kulkan. What's even weirder, though, is that these circular platforms don't first appear in the west, as you'd expect, but in the east, in modern-day Belize, along the Hondo, Belize, and Sabun rivers. That is very interesting because if you recall from earlier, that was the same area that actually weathered the collapse really well, but we'll get back to that thread soon. So what to make of this foreign evidence? Are we looking at an invasion or a migration of westerners into the Maya area, or is this a case of Maya lords portraying themselves in a foreign idiom? We really don't know. Both are possible to an extent. In the mid-20th century, many Mayanists who looked at this increasing Mexicanization saw it as evidence of a western invasion, but very few academics today believe this to be the case. Also, we've Maya lords adopt foreign imagery before, particularly after the Teotihuacan Entrada. What we can say is that there was much more interaction between the Maya and their western neighbors, and this interaction went both ways. When we discuss the post-classic sites of Xochicalco and Cacashula some other day, we'll see some really strong Maya influence at work in central Mexico. Honestly, there's a lot more changes and factors that we could discuss. Some scholars have pointed out that the early 9th century crisis occurs just before the 10th Bak'tun, and that perhaps the end of this 256-year cycle may have fatalistically predisposed the Maya to certain changes in society. Overpopulation and disease have been put forth as major factors in the collapse, but pre-Columbian pathologies remain poorly understood. Others have contended that disruptions in trade in the Paten put pressures on elites in many lowland cities. Even hurricanes and volcanic activity have been cited. Unfortunately, we can't discuss them all today or else I'd be releasing a three-hour video next summer, but it's worth pointing out that these are not mutually exclusive to what we've discussed already. Perhaps much of the collapse can be attributed to spectacularly bad timing and dice rolls. These all have merit, and they are worth considering as real factors that contributed to the collapse. Now, before we discuss how these events transformed the Maya world and what the new post-classic world looked like, I do want to mention one last thing that is worth keeping in mind, and that is that the title of this episode is something of a misnomer, because the Maya collapse was not just a Maya collapse. Many other cultures and sites suffered similar fates just before the 9th century. Those who have seen our Teotihuacan episode know that by 750, the city was almost completely abandoned. Those who know their Zapotec history will know that Monte Albán was abandoned between 750 and 800 CE. The years between 700 and 900 were a wild time across Mesoamerica. It was a time when old classic players faded away to be replaced by new players on the Mesoamerican scene. What did this new scene look like? What were the after-effects of the collapse, and how did Mesoamerica change? First, let's look at the demise of royal kingship. The classic period was defined in large part by its kings and lords. In the post-classic, all of that royal culture was gone. The Maya appear to have given up on the notion of divine kings, and the result is that there were no rulers to commission royal monuments, celebrating victories, ceremonies, or important milestones. Surviving authority seems to have leveled out, and post-classic Maya society looked more egalitarian than it ever did in the classic. Later sites like Chichen Itza and Mayapan are reported in later sources to have been governed by multiple noble groups and families, and if this was the case across the post-classic as a whole, it speaks to a new form of government that involved much more consensus. Many Mayanists have pointed out that for many commoners, this was a boon. The old system under kings may have been burdensome on commoners, who may have increasingly felt the brunt of their rulers' vanity projects and wars. I can't remember where I saw this, and I searched the internet high and low, but I once heard the collapse described as a collapse up for the common Maya people, and while that is a big generalization, I think that there's a kernel of truth in it. Now don't get the idea that the Maya commoners ate the rich and set up some sort of glorious worker's utopia. Rather, what archaeology shows is that the elite survived and adapted to new circumstances. Looking at many sites that survived, large buildings were still constructed, and such projects would have required management and organization. Elite pottery still existed, but it was no longer characterized by those vibrant polychromes that we saw in the classic period. That said, authorities seemed to be much less centralized. Let's take the site of Lamanay as an example. Old classic friezes celebrating kingship were covered up, and old buildings were renovated in post-classic styles. Ceramic traditions continued, but incorporated more exotic Mesoamerican styles. This is interesting because it implies that the leaders at Lamanay were faced with similar challenges, but managed to navigate through them. This leads us to our next big change, trade and communication. During the classic period, the lowlands were a center of trade that moved through the lowlands and up and down the Usumacinta to the coast. After the collapse, trade moved from the rivers to the coast, and this had big implications. Remember earlier when I mentioned that sites in the northern Yucatan and northern Belize weathered the collapse very well? A big reason that they may have survived the collapse was because they were able to reorient their political and economic links to this new trade and the centers that profited from it. It shouldn't be a surprise that sites like Chichen Itza, Mayapon, Tulum, and Tijo were going to be the great Maya cities of the future. In a sense, you can think of the collapse as the decline of the old lowland trade routes, although I'd be cautious because, again, you can chicken and egg that point. Did lowland sites collapse because of trade, or did trade routes collapse because the sites collapsed earlier? What is clear, though, is that surviving sites in the north were able to connect into those trade networks much better, and that trade would play a huge role for those cities going forward. Remember when I mentioned that those circular platforms showed up in Belize before the rest of the Maya area? That might speak to the trade links those cities were forging with western groups from an early time. These new maritime links are embodied by the rise of the Chontal or Petun Maya, who we've mentioned in some previous episodes. The Petun Maya were renowned traders who moved goods in and out of the Maya area along coastal routes. They were much more integrated into the wider Mesoamerican world and show a lot of Mexican influence. In fact, post-classic sites like Chichen Itza show an influx of Mexican features in their art and architecture. In many ways, Mesoamerica emerged from the collapse as a landscape of new connections. So let's wrap this all up. If there's one thing that you should take away from all this, it's that there's no silver bullet that explains the collapse. It was a multifaceted phenomenon that manifested differently in different places. I know that it's been trendy in the past few decades for popular media to attribute the decline of the classic Maya culture to environmental decline, and while that certainly fits several areas, it can't explain the decline everywhere. Violence and warfare were certainly getting out of control in the Peteshpetun and Pasion regions, but in these instances, there were no winners. The triumphant cities were barely able to celebrate their victories before they declined. In several cities, royal power was declining at the expense of the nobles. In the twilight of several cities, they were erecting monuments and taking a greater role in governance. Below them, many of the commoners appeared to have had enough and began leaving the great cities that they had served for generations, migrating to new areas or possibly to the north where the cities continued to prosper. Others went to the Rather than viewing the collapse as a wholesale demise of a culture and people, we should view this as a transformation and one that we can appreciate as a response to a crisis, man-made or otherwise. In the wake of the collapse, Maya and foreign ideas came together to create a distinct post-classic Mesoamerican world. Regardless of what exactly caused the collapse, the collapse didn't showcase Maya weakness. I would argue instead that it showed their resilience. Even if we don't have the full picture, it appears that Maya political culture had become dysfunctional, and to address this, the Maya abandoned their classic rulers and cities and forged new societies that proved to be very durable and successful, even if they were less flashy than prior periods. Admit it, most of you would not relish living under a glamorous monarchy. I would even say that this wasn't the worst thing the Maya survived. They survived the Spanish conquest, and for many Maya living in Guatemala, they survived a civil war and genocide in the 20th century. In fact, their descendants are still around today, speaking their languages, counting their days on the sacred calendar, and living in the lands of their ancestors. And I expect that the Maya will still be around in a thousand years, enduring as they have for millennia. Once again, special thanks to my patrons for supporting my work. You guys are the best. If you would like to join the ranks of these fine individuals and support the show, you can do so on Patreon. The link will be in the description. Don't forget to subscribe and follow us on Facebook. We'll see you next year. Enjoy your holidays, everyone, and take care.